In that familiar underground clinic, Vik studied the data before him, occasionally scribbling notes on his handheld terminal...
"It really is a fine piece of work." He scrutinized the red cyberware from every angle, giving it a thorough inspection. "This is a more advanced model. The performance boost may not seem huge, but it greatly reduces the strain on the body."
That much was clear from its design—much smaller than the one David had worn on his back, slimmer, more refined, and compact.
"Looks like you haven't decided... who's going to have this installed." Vik shook his head slightly, watching the group trade uncertain glances.
"That's one reason we came to you..." Arthur raised his hand as he sat back in the chair. "You're the expert."
"Alright... fine..." Vik gave the terminal one last glance, thought for a moment, then turned to V. "My recommendation... is that V should use it.
Sandevistan doesn't enhance reflexes so much as overlay them. From that angle... Arthur, this cyberware isn't a good match for you.
And Jackie... he's too big. Like I said, Sandevistan isn't about reaction time—it's about harnessing sudden bursts of speed, and that demands agility."
"Then it's settled... V." Arthur said flatly. He had brought the device back himself. "Looks like we're troubling you again, Old Vik."
"Hmph... why tell me that..." Smiling, Vik was already setting out his surgical tools. There wasn't much prep to do. Once the recipient was chosen, the operation could begin.
Time was short. Mr. Hans's call could come at any moment, and every extra hour counted.
Vik's skills spoke for themselves, and the case had included full technical specs. By afternoon, V was already awake.
She felt a new status display flicker in her neural interface. Using the implant felt like instinct, as natural as breathing.
"How's it feel?" Vik asked with a smile when he noticed her stirring.
"Doesn't feel like much." V twisted slightly, focusing on the subtle changes in her body. The sensation was so faint it was practically nothing—which was the best outcome she could hope for. "Your hands are still as good as ever. If you ever wanted to join a corp, they'd be lining up to sign you."
"After all these years, it's still the same—craftsmanship takes patience." Old Vik chuckled, watching her test the implant while poking fun at himself. "Of course, the day Old Vik's hands give out, all that skill goes with 'em."
But as he studied the lively spark in V's expression, Vik's eyes darkened for a moment. He enjoyed these quiet moments, just watching his friends. He'd had plenty in his not-so-short life, but most had ended up as memories...
And when it came to V's condition, his medical knowledge gave him little reason for optimism.
...
That afternoon, Mr. Hans's comm finally came through. He sent nothing more than an address—where they might find the Pacifica Voodoo Boys.
It was a Haitian enclave. Even in their own stronghold, the Voodoo Boys remained invisible—their movements, even their identities, stayed hidden from outsiders
Lately, they'd been clashing constantly with NetWatch. Pacifica had never been calm, but the fighting was fiercer than usual.
This time, all four of them went—including Rebecca. They drove south...
Arthur and Jackie had already tangled with a Voodoo Boys boss last year, and that fight had left plenty of corpses behind.
So this trip to Pacifica was bound to be anything but peaceful.
Inside the car, everyone was armed. Arthur's Achilles rifle rested on the dash.
Vik had repaired it. His sidearm was powerful, sure, but it couldn't match the punch of a thermal kinetic rifle.
In the backseat sat Rebecca and V. Rebecca turned her face away in irritation. Whenever those two were together, she always seemed to get the short end.
"We're here..." Arthur said, eyeing the row of buildings ahead. Tropical palms lined the center of the road, some alive, some withered.
Though they were still in the city, Pacifica somehow felt brighter, maybe because its towers weren't packed in as tight as elsewhere.
The moment the car stopped, all four stepped out, weapons openly displayed.
They wanted the Voodoo Boys' attention. If negotiations failed... then they'd start shooting.
This was Haitian turf, and there was no way the locals would miss such an armed and conspicuous group.
Sure enough, within moments, several dozen men blocked their path. Their clothing was strange, their faces inked with tribal patterns.
"You there..." The leader, a wiry figure, swung a machete loosely in his hand and barked: "The boss wants to see you. Follow me. If you run, we'll turn you into a sieve."
The group followed without hesitation. They were still out in the open, and Pacifica's broad streets meant they weren't worried about being trapped. As for being surrounded—well, that just came down to whose bite was harder.
Before long, they reached a massive shopping mall. It wasn't tall, but it sprawled wide, huge pillars holding up an inverted trapezoid of steel and concrete.
The building looked nearly complete, at least from the outside—no trace of abandonment.
Inside, the place was alive with noise. Countless stalls and shops crowded the floor. After pushing through the press of people, they finally saw the stairs leading up.
Here, everything felt like a different world. Glass and tiled floors reflected the light, brightening the space, and outside's raucous music finally fell silent.
"We meet again."
A broad-shouldered black man stood a short distance from the stairs, looking down at Arthur and the others.
Arthur's eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hat. His blue gaze flicked from the man's brow to the center of his chest.
"Our last meeting didn't end well. Now, let me introduce myself properly... Placide."
His voice was low and gravelly. If not for his slow, deliberate delivery, his words might have gone unheard.
"I'm curious... what brings you here?" His eyes swept over the guns they carried, though his expression never changed.
...