Chapter 319
2-IN-1 chapter
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David Martinez's past few days hadn't been good.
Before losing consciousness, he remembered being caught in a firefight and a car crash with his mother on the overpass—then everything went dark.
When he woke up, he found himself lying in a private hospital room at Trauma Team's headquarters.
His injuries weren't severe, and with proper care, he was able to get out of bed and move around the same day he woke up.
But while his mother was no longer in critical condition, she still couldn't leave the hospital.
The one thing that let David breathe a sigh of relief was that the medical bills had already been paid by someone else—they didn't have to worry about that astronomical debt.
David spent the whole day at the hospital looking after his mother, until hunger gnawed at him. When he tried to buy something to eat at the hospital cafeteria, he found the prices outrageously high—he couldn't afford a thing.
Helpless, he used the last bit of credit on his maglev card to ride the maglev back to the megatower in Santo Domingo where they lived.
But just as he arrived at the base of the tower, before he could even take the elevator upstairs, he received a cold, robotic call from Arasaka Academy.
The caller informed him that his mother had promised to pay for repairs to the school's online education system, but they hadn't received a single euro, and therefore, per policy, David was being expelled.
David tried to explain, but the voice on the other end wouldn't hear any of it.
After delivering the expulsion notice, they simply hung up.
David didn't even know how he made it upstairs, how he got home.
His mind was consumed by how he would explain all of this to his mother.
Gloria cared about his schooling more than her own job. Especially after their heart-to-heart before the crash, David finally understood how much effort and hope she had placed in him.
Now, telling her that he had been expelled from Arasaka Academy would render all her sacrifices meaningless.
Would she even be able to bear that?
David was lost in thought until he bumped into the door of their apartment, snapping him back to reality.
At first, he didn't realize what was wrong.
It wasn't until he reached out to push the door and found it locked that he calmed down enough to notice the message displayed on the door panel: "Access denied: overdue rent."
Frustrated, David kicked the door—and then he had an idea.
He would climb in through the ventilation shaft.
While resting on the sofa inside, David finally had time to look through the things he'd brought from the hospital—his mother's belongings.
A hospital-issue jacket, and something wrapped inside it that looked like a mechanical spine.
David knew next to nothing about cyberware, but he wasn't stupid—he knew how to search.
He took a photo of the spinal cyberware, uploaded it to his computer, opened a browser, and searched.
Within moments, he found a slew of results.
After clicking through a few pictures, he identified it: a Sandevistan.
A military-grade cyberware implant—normally prohibited from civilian circulation. Acquiring one legally required status, wealth, and power.
Alternatively, it could be obtained through a fixer—if you were lucky enough. After all, this was a premium item: high-end, in-demand, and scarce.
David tried following online guides to identify the model.
But he couldn't.
He also couldn't figure out which company had made this particular unit.
Still, knowing that it was worth serious money lifted his spirits.
He didn't dare call any fixers—he didn't even know any.
David wasn't a genius, but he had self-awareness.
He was just a student. Fixers were experienced, worldly people. If he tried to deal with them, they'd eat him alive.
Sitting in the dim living room—its power and water cut off due to unpaid bills—David buried his head in his hands and thought for a long time.
Eventually, an idea came to him.
He sent a photo of the Sandevistan to the ripperdoc who had installed the cracked braindance software for him.
A few minutes later, the doc called back.
"Doc, did you see the photo I sent you? But first I gotta say—"
"You screwed me over with that cracked upgrade you gave me!"
"How'd it screw you over?"
"Your hack didn't even work—it fried Arasaka Academy's entire online education system!"
They say people's joys and sorrows never truly align—and nothing illustrated that more than this moment.
Instead of sympathy, the ripperdoc burst out laughing: "Pfft—hahahaha! Seriously? Kid, you're a legend now!"
"Save it. I'm in deep shit—now I have to pay them or they're kicking me out."
"Pah! So that's what this is about? Forget it! I'm not giving you a single euro!"
"Wait—wait a second! Let's not talk about that. Did you see the picture I sent? That's military-grade cyberware, right?"
"Eh…"
"What do you mean, 'eh'? Is it or isn't it?"
The doc dodged the question: "Sort of."
Which meant it was.
If it wasn't, he would have flatly said so.
David felt a surge of hope.
If this really was military-grade cyberware—and if he could sell it—they'd have the money they needed.
Even though the school had expelled him, maybe if he paid the damages and begged the principal, they'd reconsider.
David didn't miss his life at Arasaka Academy. He didn't believe that graduating would land him a cushy job at Arasaka either.
But this was Gloria's dream.
He had no dream of his own—but he could still protect his mother's dream.
He could struggle, work, and fight for someone else's hope.
"If I wanted to sell it… how much do you think it'd go for? Just hypothetically."
What David really wanted to ask was: *could you help me sell it? I'll give you a cut.*
But he didn't say it directly.
The ripperdoc's answer enraged him: "Five thousand euros."
David shot to his feet.
"No way! No way it's worth that little!"
Five thousand euros?
Even a basic, mass-market implant would cost thousands.
Let alone a high-end piece of cyberware like this.
Even as inexperienced as he was, David knew this Sandevistan had to be worth tens of thousands—maybe more.
After all, a good gun these days could cost tens of thousands of euros—there was no way a high-end cyberware implant would go for less.
(The anime implies that the Sandevistan David installs is a basic model—but that means basic within the Sandevistan category, which is still high-end compared to most implants.)
David's opinion of the ripperdoc plummeted.
This quack had already gotten him expelled, and now he was trying to lowball him.
David had even helped the guy sell plenty of cracked braindances to other students.
What a backstabber.
The doc sneered: "David, if that thing had a clean history, sure—you could ask a high price. But tell me—"
"Heh heh… a broke kid like you, who couldn't even afford a legit braindance headset and came to me for a cracked one—how would you have gotten your hands on a clean Sandevistan?"
David had no answer.
"Nothing to say, huh? You know what kind of risk I'd be taking to help you move that thing?"
David tried to push back: "Even so, five thousand euros is too low—"
"Then there's nothing I can do. You're free to sell it yourself—if you can find a buyer, and don't get hunted down afterward—hahahaha!"
With that mocking laugh ringing in his ears, David furiously hung up.
"Treat me like a fool, will you?!"
David kicked the sofa as if it was the doc himself.
Of course, the sofa didn't care—but his foot hurt like hell.
Clutching his foot and rolling on the floor in pain, David had a fleeting thought: *what if I just installed the Sandevistan and became a cyber-merc?*
But he immediately crushed that idea.
Doing so would mean dropping out for good.
His mother was still lying in a hospital bed. If she learned he'd given up on school, she'd be devastated.
But there was no way he could sell the Sandevistan to that ripperdoc at that absurd price.
And he didn't dare approach any fixers—he was too young, too naive.
Frustrated, David shook his leg, his mind racing.
Eventually, a vague image surfaced in his mind.
He froze.
Just before he had fully lost consciousness after the crash, David remembered: someone had approached them… and had Trauma Team take them away.
While he was in the hospital, he had learned from staff that it was that person who had paid their medical bills.
He didn't know why that person had done so.
But if there was anyone in Night City he could trust to buy the Sandevistan without scamming him—it was probably that man.
After all, anyone who could summon Trauma Team for strangers had to be loaded and would not care for a cyberware that cost a few 10s of grand.
…....................
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Since returning to Rocky Ridge, Leo's life had settled into a daily routine.
With the company facilities still under construction, he, V, and Lucy all had time on their hands.
Leo had spoken with Mitch and Scorpion, officially appointing them as instructors, raising their daily pay from one thousand euros to three thousand. That meant they'd be earning nearly one hundred thousand euros a month—no complaints from them.
Even though the shooting range and VR training rooms weren't ready, they had already crafted a personalized training plan for José.
Their mission was clear: turn this soft kid into a proper soldier.
So for the past few days, on the flat ground outside the construction site at Rocky Ridge Mountain, two old veterans could be seen driving an off-road truck—chasing a sweat-soaked José as he sprinted for his life.
No choice: since various training facilities weren't built yet, Mitch and Scorpion had decided to start José with the most basic training—running.
After all, no matter how times changed, physical fitness training remained paramount.
Leo hadn't been back to Rocky Ridge these past few days, waiting for a call from Rogue. But before Rogue's call came, someone unexpected showed up.
"Want something to drink? Tea? Coffee? I'm not letting you drink alcohol—you're too young for that anyway, and it's too early to drink."
David, wearing his mother's medical center jacket, nervously shook his hands. "N-no… no need."
"Alright. Coffee it is."
Leo thought that for such a young kid, he probably couldn't handle black coffee, so he added some sugar first.
"Try it. If it's still too bitter, you can add more."
He set the steaming cup of coffee down in front of David.
"T-thank you…"
David awkwardly took the cup in both hands and took a sip. It tasted strange—he'd never drunk coffee before. But David didn't blame the coffee. He assumed it was just that he wasn't used to it.
"Your mother's still in the hospital?"
"Y-yes."
Leo smiled gently. "Relax. No need to be so tense—I don't bite."
David nodded but remained stiff.
"You're here because of the hospital bills?"
David shook his head. "No."
"No? Then—?"
"Please take a look at this first."
David handed over a large black plastic bag—he'd been clutching it tightly the entire time as if it contained something very important.
Leo gave him a puzzled look but took the bag and opened it.
His expression sharpened immediately.
Inside was a Sandevistan.
And when Leo scanned it with his tactical goggles, he realized it wasn't any known model, nor could he determine the manufacturer.
"Where did this come from?"
David froze, then lowered his head without answering.
Judging from his reaction, Leo could already guess most of the story and didn't press further. Instead, he asked, "So, you're trying to sell this to me?"
David finally raised his head. "I looked it up online—this implant is called a Sandevistan. I couldn't find its model or maker, but it's clearly high-end cyberware."
"I think you're a good person—you wouldn't cheat me. I need money. Badly. So I came to you."
That confirmed what Leo had just been thinking. But David was just a student—there was no way he'd have access to something like this himself. The only possibility was his mother, Gloria.
Leo still remembered Gloria, wearing her Night City medical center transport team uniform.
Coincidentally, the night before, the MaxTac team had killed a cyberpsycho—and the Sandevistan cyberware from that body had mysteriously disappeared.
Which meant this Sandevistan was almost certainly that missing unit.
That explained why David had come to Leo. The implant had an unclear provenance—David couldn't go to a ripperdoc or broker with it.
But this kid wasn't stupid—he knew Leo was a safer option.
"What do you need the money for? If it's for hospital bills, I've already covered those. There shouldn't be any urgent expenses."
Leo estimated that selling this implant to a fixer would easily fetch over €$100,000.
David wasn't in the biz, but the fact that he had brought it to Leo meant he was cleverer than most kids—he must have some sense of its value.
But then that raised the question: what did a minor need that much money for?
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