The operation was a success.
As a ripperdoc, Rocky did not hold a license, but no one in Night City cared. With Vik around, he did not worry about accidents.
He installed a Kiroshi ocular for the client with practiced ease, then detached the forearm and mounted a new prosthetic arm.
After a stretch of work, he waited for the anesthesia to fade and let the client inhale a mild stimulant. The procedure ended cleanly.
Rocky stretched and took a long breath.
Huh, why do I feel off today? Feels like something is going to happen. Did I stay up too late watching Braindances? He carried a strange premonition, but calmed himself. Maybe he had not rested well. That was the story he told himself.
"Vik, it's done. Any more clients today?"
"No appointments. It is late. Pack up." Vik did not turn his head after the transfer came in. That said enough about his confidence in Rocky's skills.
Rocky cleaned the shop in short order.
He stopped at the heavy bag, stripped off his shirt, and showed the strong, explosive muscle he had built.
His left arm had no bionic skin installed. A Gorilla Arms frame full of chrome-and-ceramic lines sat in the air, the fusion of flesh and machine giving off a quiet pressure.
He strapped on training gear, taped up, and started boxing practice.
Vik had been a legendary Night City boxer. Later, tired of ring politics, he retired and became a ripperdoc in Watson.
He kept his habits of watching fights and working the bag, so one corner of the shop held his old trophies and a rack of boxing equipment.
After work, Rocky usually asked Vik to teach him to box. A legendary boxer under your own roof should not go to waste.
Bang. Bang bang.
Gloves on canvas sounded in the shop. Vik, who had been watching a match, turned toward the noise and shook his head with a small smile.
This guy never rests.
Since Rocky arrived, he had been learning without a break. By day, he followed Vik through surgery, medical tooling, and implant know-how. After closing, he pulled Vik into boxing lessons. From what Vik knew, Rocky also went home and studied netrunner basics at night.
To Vik, a newcomer who worked this hard had a goal worth chasing. Maybe revenge. Maybe fame. Perhaps just the will to live well.
Either way, Vik's view of Rocky shifted from initial helpless acceptance to respect. He saw something of his younger self in the kid.
Teaching costs energy, but Vik still chose to help.
It fit that Vik loved boxing too. Having someone to train with made the nights feel more complete.
Vik stood and came over, pulling on gloves. Rocky stopped at once. It was their weekly sparring time.
"Hope you beat me this time."
"Count on it. When I put you on the mat, can I take half those trophies and put them in my new clinic?" Rocky pointed at the wall of cups, joking. They were Vik's old honors.
"Those are past tense. If you can really beat me, you can take them."
Vik smiled and agreed.
After two years of training, Rocky's strength was already close to Vik's. Last time, Vik only won by a hair. Maybe this time Rocky would win.
If that happened, Vik would not mourn the trophies. He would be proud.
They warmed up and cleared a space in the shop, then touched gloves and began.
Punch, block. Back and forth. Their shots exploded with power, cutting the air with a clean whistle.
They knew each other too well. Both had to depend on reactions in the moment to break the guard and land.
They deadlocked for a long time. Flesh met flesh without a decisive break. If it kept up, endurance would decide it.
Who would prove stronger, the older legend or the young fighter forged by two years of hard work, was hard to call.
On the current pace, Rocky held a slight edge.
The balance snapped. Rocky, who had been defending well, felt a tremor in his chest. That strange feeling surged again, as if his soul told him something important was about to happen.
He reset fast, but the slip slowed him half a beat. Vik's hook got through and landed square on Rocky's face.
Vik showed no mercy. He seized the opening, pressed forward, and threw a rainstorm of heavy punches.
They had been balanced on a blade. Rocky's mistake gave Vik a clean line. The ending wrote itself.
Rocky hit the floor.
"Why the lapse? Thinking about your new clinic?" Vik took Rocky's hand and hauled him up. He did not scold him, only teased with a touch of concern.
"No. It is just a weird feeling I cannot explain. Maybe I did not rest well." Rocky shook his head.
"Then call it for today. Go home and sleep. You need to live long enough to use what you learned. Keep this up and people will think you are a corpo dog buried under debt who never rests."
"Yeah."
Someone knocked on the clinic door as Rocky reached for his bag. A message from Misty popped up on the terminal.
[Delivery team is at the door. I let them in.]
"I got it." As the shop assistant, Rocky approved the visitor request. The clinic door unlocked.
Three men in suits came in. Two carried a large cargo case.
This was the latest batch of implants from Vik's supplier.
The deliveryman noticed the two muscular men with bare arms looking his way and felt lucky he was not there to cause trouble.
He had reason. The last group of Scavs who tried it got sent off needing cyber dentures after Rocky finished with them.
"Hello, Mr. Viktor. Here are the implants and plug-ins you ordered. This is the packing list. Please verify."