"Haha."
Viktor let out a hearty laugh, simultaneously taking off the auxiliary medical device from his arm.
"The jobs my acquaintances introduce are not something your skinny arms and legs can handle."
He squeezed his arm, the sensation of bone clearly transmitted, it was practically skin and bones.
He couldn't even fire a gun normally now; long-term malnutrition had not only made him weak and frail, but even his bones seemed exceptionally fragile.
Even his old profession, he couldn't do it properly now.
"I really don't have many options right now. It seems even if the jobs you introduce aren't suitable, I'll have to try them."
Arthur's words carried a hint of uncertainty. He had never been pushed to this extent, where even eating became a problem.
"If you really have nowhere to go, staying here with me isn't out of the question.
You can decide on work after you've recovered, and it will also make it easier for me to observe the effects of those residual drugs in your body."
Viktor's tone showed no impatience at all.
Arthur's predicament brought him tangible losses, but he felt no aversion or anger.
Perhaps, as he said, Arthur was very much to his liking.
"Then thank you, Viktor."
This friend, as long as he was genuine, would be Arthur's first life-or-death bond in this strange world.
Time flew by. The food at Viktor's place was indeed good, coupled with ample rest, Arthur's physical condition was improving daily.
Although he still looked thin from afar, the yellowish, sickly pallor was gone from his face.
For nearly half a month, he had been following Viktor, assisting him.
Viktor was also generous, teaching him a lot of knowledge about cyberware.
One day, Arthur had just helped Viktor deal with a minor patient when a figure rushed into the clinic.
It was a woman with jet-black lipstick, dark, strange makeup around her eyes, and messy, unkempt medium-short yellow hair.
Her name was Misty. She ran an unpopular fortune-telling shop, right above Viktor's clinic.
"Hey, Arthur, Viktor, the NCPD came looking. The woman's identity information couldn't be found, and the police want you to take her back."
Although Misty's appearance was strange and wild, her voice was ethereal and gentle.
This huge contrast made her seem extremely contradictory.
"That shouldn't be. Even in 'death,' citizen information is retained for an extra year. How could it not be found?"
Viktor sat heavily on a nearby chair, leaning forward to turn on the screen on the table.
The sounds of boisterous and passionate boxing emerged.
"Someone clearly tampered with it. Don't forget that strange drug on me that you've never seen before.
It's quite clear that someone is using Scavengers for human experiments."
Arthur stood to the side, his gaze also fixed on the screen Viktor was watching.
"Hmph, those corporations are no different from Scavengers. They don't really treat people as people."
Viktor didn't turn his head, but his tone was full of indignation.
Just then, the cheers on the screen reached their peak, as if agreeing with Viktor's point of view.
"Never mind that for now. The NCPD is asking us to take that woman away, otherwise they might euthanize her."
Misty added.
In such a world, ignoring it would actually be the wisest choice, but Arthur still asked,
"What exactly is her condition? Will she never wake up?"
This question was naturally directed at Viktor, who had stabilized the woman's injuries and had some understanding of her condition.
"It was probably a car accident. In short, external forces caused her a lot of harm.
The most fatal injury was to her neck. Although the emergency cyberware trachea saved her life,
the spinal contusion and dislocation-induced nerve damage are also very severe. I can't estimate when she'll wake up."
After hearing Viktor's explanation, Arthur fell silent.
Although she was a stranger, he still wanted to lend a hand, but Arthur had already troubled Viktor and couldn't bring himself to ask now.
Seeing Arthur's solemn expression, Viktor smiled, stood up from his chair, and walked behind him.
"Go bring that woman back. I have a ready-made life support pod here; it won't take much effort."
He patted Arthur's shoulder, a habitual faint smile on his face, and then pressed, "Are you and that woman really not related at all?"
Shrugging helplessly, Arthur's reply carried a hint of melancholy.
"No, not at all. It's just that after spending a long time with an old friend, I'm quite willing to help strangers."
Saying that, he turned his gaze back to Misty, putting on a jacket.
"Let's go, we'll see what's going on."
When Arthur and Misty arrived at the NCPD branch in Chinatown, a group of blue-clad cops were bustling about in a chaotic manner, and no one seemed inclined to pay them any attention.
They spent a great deal of effort to find the woman in a cold, secluded room.
The abnormal twist in the woman's neck had been corrected, and she was wrapped in neat white bandages, a result of Viktor's emergency treatment.
Under her messy red hair, her face had regained some color, but her eyes remained tightly closed, showing no sign of waking up.
"Looks like I'll have to get to work," Arthur said to Misty in a self-deprecating manner, looking at the woman.
"To avoid owing Viktor too much and getting kicked out."
Misty curved her lips. Although her makeup was exaggerated and strange, she had a quiet nature.
"Viktor is very good to his friends, as long as you don't argue with him about which boxer is better."
"His taste in boxing isn't great; he always picks the wrong one."
"Viktor just doesn't like cyberware, and he looks down on those athletes who get stronger through cyberware, that's all."
Misty spoke in a very low voice, controlling it to just the right volume for others to understand.
Arthur carried the woman on his back and walked outside. He also agreed with Misty's words.
Although the trophies on Viktor's wall were covered in dust, they were surely not fakes he had someone make.
After settling the red-haired woman, Arthur immediately sought out Viktor, asking him to introduce him to work.
"I do know a few Fixers, but can your body handle it? You've only been recovering for about half a month."
Arthur pondered for a moment, realizing he had no memory of any "Fixers," so he had to ask, "What do these Fixers... do?"
Viktor looked at Arthur's expression with confusion, and seeing that his bewilderment didn't seem feigned, he began to explain.
"They're a bunch of guys who find work for mercenaries. They're in intelligence and headhunting, and they usually have a lot of 'resources' at hand."
"Headhunting, huh?" Arthur mused, stroking his chin.
"They'll definitely take a lot of money. Why don't mercenaries find work themselves?"
"Fixers have many uses. First, they assess the danger of a mission, which is a kind of protection to some extent.
Moreover, they have many connections and are well-informed, which can save a lot of trouble for a mission.
Of course, the most important thing is confidentiality. Most of what they handle are unsavory dealings, so the client naturally won't show their face."
Viktor explained, shadows forming on his face in the clinic's single-sided light.
Arthur understood, and even felt a sense of reassurance—
"Unsavory dealings."
Heh, that's what he was best at.
"It seems you're still a 'rookie.' Fixer jobs are very dangerous. You should honestly just follow me and learn."
Viktor looked worried. He clearly didn't care about the losses Arthur caused him; this was his attitude towards friends.
Grinning, Arthur shook his head, signaling Viktor to stop trying to persuade him.
He was determined to repay Viktor, and besides, he had great confidence in himself.
Although this "old" cowboy's body had regained its youth, his draw speed was unaffected in the slightest.
With an old-fashioned revolver, he could dominate the West. Now with new firearms, he could still dominate Night City.
Arthur could be humble about everything else, but when it came to marksmanship...
Arthur had never missed.
His eyes were the eyes of the Grim Reaper.
Patting Viktor's shoulder, Arthur said firmly, "You make the connection. Trust me."
Gazing at Arthur's determined face, Viktor also smiled and shook his head.
He didn't like to question his friends' decisions; it was their own lives.
He preferred to hide away in this dimly lit clinic, standing like a reef behind his friends, waiting solitarily for when they needed shelter from the storm.
"You've still chosen the path of an Edgerunner. I hope you go far."
"What's that? Edgerunner?"
Seeing the confusion on Arthur's face, Viktor explained helplessly.
"Mercenaries' lives are full of gunfire and bullets. They walk on the edge of society, with a bottomless abyss beside them.
So, people who do this kind of work are called Edgerunners."
Listening to Viktor's explanation, Arthur laughed heartily.
"Aren't they just a bunch of desperadoes?"
Viktor paused, then nodded in agreement.
Edgerunner, huh?
But Arthur preferred to call himself—
A Cowboy!