Chapter 10 — Flashlights and Robbers
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"Mr. Victor! Please look this way!"
"Mr. Victor, there are rumors that you lost to a rookie fighter today. Is it the young man beside you?"
"Mr. Victor, The Sports Daily claims you're past your prime! How do you respond to that?"
The moment Victor and Xen stepped out of the restaurant's private perimeter, the flashes hit like a dozen stun grenades going off in a confined alley. Reporters swarmed in waves — chrome arms, data implants blinking, holo-recorders hovering above their heads like drones hunting for soundbites.
The assault of light and noise made Xen dizzy. He finally understood why Victor had insisted on wearing sunglasses before leaving — and why the Fixer had been clever enough to slip out the back door without them.
The man who was once just a local Ripperdoc — at least in the world Xen remembered — was now Night City's most popular sports idol.
"Sorry, today's a rest day," Victor said smoothly, voice calm amid the chaos. "No long interviews. As for whether I'm past my peak — let the ring and the next match speak for me."
Even in the flashing frenzy, Victor's poise didn't break. He answered questions like a man dodging jabs — fluidly, efficiently, and without taking a hit. He never once mentioned Xen.
That discretion, Xen realized, wasn't for secrecy — it was mentorship. Victor knew the dangers of fame too well. The higher you rose, the more people tried to dissect your story.
He cut through the crowd, gesturing for Xen to follow, and together they slipped into the sleek black sedan waiting by the curb. The reporters kept shouting, chasing like predators scenting blood, but Victor didn't glance back.
"Let them guess," he said, smiling faintly. "It's what they're paid to do."
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As the car doors sealed with a muted hiss, the noise outside faded into the hum of the engine. Xen exhaled, blinking away the afterimage of camera flashes still burned into his retinas.
"Tomorrow," Victor said, adjusting his shades, "they'll probably write that you're a corporate clone or a runaway test subject. Once, a media outlet in Atlanta claimed a rookie fighter was a genetically engineered supersoldier. It got ten million hits in two hours."
He chuckled, starting the car. "People in this city don't want truth — they want a good lie to believe in."
The luxury sedan glided away from the curb, its body humming with the muted purr of advanced engines. Xen looked around, taking in the simple but refined interior. The seats were reinforced leather, the panels matte black steel, and a small crucifix swung gently from the rearview mirror — the only decoration Victor seemed to allow in his otherwise clinical space.
"[Detected: Villefort Alvarado V4F 570 Mission (2055 Model) — Blueprint scan complete. +1500 Research Points acquired.]"
The notification blinked across Xen's inner HUD, his R&D interface humming to life. He focused slightly, bringing up the technical overlay — an exploded model of the car's engine and frame forming in his mind's eye.
Fifteen-year-old design. Double-axle front build. Poor mechanical endurance. Excellent torque distribution.
The moment he studied it, new options surfaced in his mental interface:
— Weight reduction through hybrid titanium struts.
— Shock compensation upgrades.
— Software-assisted load balancing for smoother drive dynamics.
Cost: 500 Research Points.
He almost grinned. Fixing the flaws of luxury machines — that was new territory. His system wasn't just scanning artifacts anymore. It was engineering better futures.
But he also noticed something strange. Until he confirmed an upgrade by spending points, he couldn't retain the full schematics. It was like seeing the outline of a secret and then forgetting the details. The knowledge dangled like bait.
Even as he tried to mentally record it, the vision dissolved back into faint static.
"Lost in thought?" Victor's voice broke his focus.
"Huh? Oh — yeah. Just… admiring the car."
Victor smirked. "Admiring, huh? Then why not drive it yourself?"
Xen blinked. "Wait, what?"
Victor signaled left, easing the car to a smooth stop at the curb. "Come on, kid. Live a little. You don't have a license yet, no ID — perfect time to do something stupid before the world tells you not to."
Xen laughed nervously. "Are you serious, Mr. Victor? I've never driven something like this before."
Victor grinned and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Don't worry. You'll stay on starter gear. Top speed's slower than a bicycle. I'll keep a hand on the emergency brake. You can't wreck this beast even if you try."
As Victor climbed out, Xen slid behind the wheel. The interior smelled faintly of machine oil and synthetic leather. His fingers brushed over the steering wheel — and the system's embedded tactile sensors flickered in his mind.
The Blueprint experience data included driving simulations from hundreds of test drivers. Their precision, their control, their calm — it all synced into his instincts. He could almost feel how to drive this thing.
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"Alright," Victor said, leaning against the door, a relaxed grin on his face. "Show me what you've got."
Xen fastened his seatbelt, fingers brushing the ignition pad. The engine hummed awake like a resting giant. He was about to push forward gently when a flicker of movement caught Victor's eye.
The grin vanished. His expression froze — sharp, hard, alert.
"Victor?" Xen asked quietly.
Victor's tone dropped to steel. "Stay still. Don't do anything stupid when you get out of the car."
A chill ran through Xen's spine as he saw the glint of metal pressed against Victor's back.
"Don't move," a rough voice ordered.
The man holding the gun was young — barely older than Xen. His cybernetic arm was crude and scratched, patched together from salvaged plates and black-market servos. His eyes jittered, pupils dilating and contracting — cheap combat augments twitching from chemical overload.
"Where the hell do you think you're parking, old man?!" the gunman barked, yanking Victor back with a metallic grip.
Victor's stance shifted subtly, controlled tension in his shoulders. He knew what that weapon felt like — cold, unsteady, deadly.
"Take the car," Victor said evenly. "Don't hurt anyone."
The robber laughed, the sound cracked and feral. "You think I want the car? Nah. I just want to see some rich prick on his knees."
He turned his eyes on Xen. "You, fancy boy — out of the car! Lick my shoes, and maybe I'll forget to blow your pretty head off!"
Xen froze. He saw Victor's hand twitch, readying himself for a move, and realized he needed to buy time.
"Okay… okay," Xen said slowly, raising his hands in surrender. His expression softened into fear, even as his mind raced.
The robber stepped closer, pressing the gun against Xen's forehead. "That's right. On your knees, doggy—"
In a flash, Xen moved. His right hand clamped the man's wrist like a vice. The gun slammed against the roof with a metallic crack. The car's panel groaned under the impact.
"Bad idea," Xen hissed, his knee snapping upward into the robber's gut. The impact folded the man in half.
Victor's fist followed an instant later — a blur of seasoned power. The punch landed with a sound like a drum hit from hell, sending the gunman sprawling onto the asphalt. His body twitched once and went still.
The gun clattered onto the street, its polymer casing cracked.
"[Detected: Lexington Pistol. Blueprint scan complete. +150 Research Points.]"
Xen blinked, the notification flashing across his HUD as he flipped the safety on the gun and placed it on the seat.
Victor stood over the unconscious man, breathing steadily, his expression cold. "That's Night City for you," he said. "Doesn't matter who you are — someone always wants to take what's yours."
Xen looked at the dented roof and the faint scorch mark where the muzzle had grazed the paint. "Guess we're lucky," he muttered. "Could've gone worse."
Victor turned to him, his tone softening. "You handled yourself well. Next time, though — don't wait for them to get that close."
Xen smiled faintly. "You didn't look too worried."
"I wasn't," Victor said, getting back in the driver's seat. "I just wanted to see how fast you'd move under pressure."
Xen chuckled. "And? What's the verdict?"
Victor grinned, starting the engine again. "Not bad, rookie. But don't let it get to your head. In Night City, even when you win, someone's still aiming at your back."
As the car rolled back onto the neon-lit highway, the city unfolded before them — endless lights, endless hunger. Xen glanced at the cracked pistol lying beside him, its weight heavier than it should have been.
Another Blueprint. Another lesson.
He didn't need Victor to tell him the truth.
In this city, even survival was just another fight waiting for the next round.