After the lead deliveryman in a suit finished, he handed Vik a shard with the detailed specs and tracking data for the shipment.
This was not his first drop to Vik's clinic; he moved like he knew the room.
"Okay." Vik took the shard and slotted it into the clinic terminal.
Vik's place counted as an underground clinic, but it did not run like most back-alley shops. Every implant here came from legitimate suppliers. Some were second-hand, but all were swapped through clean channels, not Scav pulls off corpses.
Supplier lots were traceable end to end, from model to batch to route. Vik's check now was standard receiving protocol.
"L, take a look. Most of these were ordered for you. Double-check them." Vik waved Rocky over.
Vik was right. Most of the cargo was Rocky's. Over two years, Rocky had grown into a qualified ripperdoc. Vik's client base stayed steady, but the shop did not need two surgeons forever. With Vik's help and his saved eddies, Rocky rented a storefront and started fitting out his clinic. These pieces were the initial stock Vik ordered on Rocky's behalf. Vik fronted the payment.
"Oh. Got it." Rocky snapped out of a thought. The moment the crew walked in, that odd feeling he carried sharpened. When the suit produced the inventory shard, the feeling peaked. Something important rode inside it.
Vik slotted the shard, and the terminal pulled the contents. Rocky set his breathing and watched the screen.
"Kiroshi oculars, Stephenson Net Access Ports, Gorilla Arms…" Vik read while he cross-checked the crates.
When Vik finished the verification, Rocky frowned. Nothing looked off.
With the counts clean, Vik sent the balance to the supplier.
"Thank you for your continued business. We look forward to serving you again." The suit delivered the boilerplate, then left with his men.
When the door shut, Rocky pointed at the shard. "Vik, can I keep that shard? I want to study it."
"Sure." Vik passed it over. The shard belonged to the buyer anyway. Only a slice of this lot would restock Vik's shelves. The rest would soon ship to Rocky's clinic. Keeping it made sense.
"Alright, I am heading out. See you tomorrow, Vik."
"See you tomorrow."
Rocky packed up, pocketed the shard, and left the clinic.
A few Night City locals sat or stood in knots in the narrow alley behind Misty's Esoterica. Some traded news about gang fights and cyberpsychos. Others cursed corporate squeeze and civic rot. Rocky was used to it. He stepped out to the main road. Little China did not glow like Kabuki or Japantown at night. It was not a pleasure strip. Most foot traffic was civilians just off shift, hurrying home to guard the scraps of time the corps had not stolen.
Half a block later, he turned a corner into chaos. NCPD had engaged a cyberpsycho. Little China saw fewer cases than other zones, but "fewer" never meant "none."
Crowd control broke—the unlucky paid first. A projectile launcher on the psycho's frame fired; the blast sent half a torso skidding across pavement to stop at Rocky's feet. He stepped back fast to avoid the spray. The ruined face still read as a middle-aged woman. With his eyesight, he caught the work badge on her chest—just an ordinary laborer.
He did not linger. He turned away and took a different street.
Ridiculous or not, this was Night City. This was cyberpunk. Corps ruled from above and squeezed every wallet. Below, gangs crossed and clashed without end. Cyberpsychos with weaponized chrome snapped without warning and harvested whoever stood nearby. Oppression and despair rode under the neon polish. Survival for the lower city was the only honest theme left.
This was why Rocky shadowed Vik and learned so much. In this broken city, living well was not simple. You needed skills to earn and abilities to survive.
Rocky lived two streets from Vik's clinic. He reached Megabuilding H10 soon and let himself into his apartment.
"Let me see what this is."
He showered, loosened the ache out of his muscles, settled his head, and slid the shard into his personal system slot.
The read finished quickly.
Besides the implant manifest he had seen at the clinic, one more entry existed: an unknown program.
The answer lived there. Curiosity pushed him. He ran it.
{ Probe No. 1145149527007 of the Dimensional Module Library is running… }
{ Trying to connect to the main library… }
{ Connection successful! }
{ System adaptive installation in progress… }
Pop-ups stacked across his personal UI. The display looked strange and familiar at once. His skull hummed.
A system? Not a prank. If it was real, his "golden finger" had finally arrived. Late, and with a weird entrance, but here.
{ Installation successful! }
A new subsystem appeared on his personal interface, labeled: Module Library.