Chapter 133: A Debt Paid in Death
While Glen wrestled with his internal turmoil, David took a deep breath. Summoning all his courage, he stepped forward, placing himself directly in front of Joric's immense, intimidating form.
The boy's voice trembled with unavoidable tension, but he held his head high, his eyes burning with the resolve of one with nothing left to lose. "Boss... please... save my mom... Whatever the cost, I'll pay it!"
Joric's crimson optical lenses zoomed slightly, locking onto the boy like twin searchlights.
Perhaps it was a faint echo from a fragmented memory of his pre-transmigration life, or perhaps the sheer will burning in the boy's eyes—a fire disproportionate to his age—triggered a microscopic variable labeled "Interest" in his logic-core.
He did not directly respond to the plea for healing. He didn't even spare a glance at David's imploring expression.
He simply tilted his head slightly, issuing a silent data-stream command.
The servo-skull hovering at his side, its eye sockets pulsing with blue light, glided silently to hover directly in front of David.
The sight of the pale bone fused with cold metal, hovering in eerie silence, was far more unnerving than a direct threat.
Before the boy could react, the skull's jaw clicked open. It projected a precise, pale-green scanning grid that washed over David from head to toe, outlining his slender frame. Simultaneously, a fine red laser beam targeted his eye, performing a retinal and micro-vascular pattern recognition scan.
"Hold still," Joric's voice was flat, like a machine's startup prompt.
This inhuman examination drew varied reactions from the onlookers.
Maine crossed his arms, brow furrowed, watching in silence. He had seen stranger things in the trans-dimensional jump, but this treatment of a human being like an object to be analyzed still triggered an instinctive distaste.
Dorio subconsciously shifted half a step forward, as if to offer some meager support, but ultimately held her ground, her eyes filled with concern.
Rebecca's lip curled, ready to crack a joke, but seeing David's tense profile and the eerie floating skull, she swallowed her words, fidgeting restlessly with her cybernetic fingers.
Lucy's pupils contracted slightly. As a netrunner, she was accustomed to the invisible flow of data, but this "scan"—so physical, so invasive—sent a different kind of chill through her.
Glen, the ripperdoc, was simply starstruck. Compared to his own crude tools and rough techniques, this precise, efficient, unknown technology was like comparing a stone axe to a laser scalpel. His face was a mask of terror mixed with supreme envy.
The moment the scanning grid vanished, a hair-thin probe extended from the base of the servo-skull. With lightning speed, it pricked David's arm, collecting a micro-sample of blood and tissue.
Immediately after, another probe equipped with sensors gently but irresistibly pressed against David's temple, emitting a barely audible low-frequency pulse to assess deep neural response and cognitive potential.
The entire examination was quiet, rapid, and efficient, carrying an undeniable, cold indifference that treated the human body as a precision machine.
David stood rigid, feeling the cold touch on his skin and the faint prick of pain. His heart hammered in his chest so loud he could hear his own blood rushing.
faced with this absolute, inhuman technology, he felt like a specimen on a dissection table, stripped of all secrets and dignity.
The air was heavy with an indescribable pressure. Only the faint hiss of the servo-skull's internal components and the nearly inaudible friction of the probe against skin could be heard.
The servo-skull transmitted all collected data to Joric's processing core in real-time.
A comprehensive, thorough standard Mechanicus biological screening and gene-sequence analysis was completed in seconds.
Oceans of data surged through his consciousness—comparing, evaluating.
The analysis results materialized: This individual, designation David Martinez, possessed a genetic sequence stability approximately 17.3% above the local baseline for his age group. His neural synaptic transmission efficiency showed significant optimization potential. His latent bio-electric affinity for standardized mechanical interfaces actually met the minimum baseline for Mechanicus initiate selection.
While this aptitude was far from exceptional—even mediocre—compared to the many worlds Joric had seen, finding a "raw material" that barely met the basic standards in this world, with its severely skewed tech-tree and generally "rough" gene-pool, was a minor anomaly.
It meant, at least, that this young chassis was not entirely incapable of supporting deeper mechanization.
This unexpected finding caused Joric to objectively adjust the evaluation weight of this "variable" upward by a negligible one percent in his cold logic sequence.
"I offer you two choices," Joric's voice rang out steadily, as if stating the most mundane fact, yet the conditions he laid out sent a shock through everyone present. "First: capture a Rogue AI entity possessing autonomous motive logic for me. As payment, I will fully restore your mother."
The air froze. A Rogue AI—an entity from the digital abyss, unpredictable and incomprehensible. Its danger and the difficulty of capture were beyond the imagination of ordinary people.
For a rookie student who hadn't even fully figured out the rules of the street, this was an impossible task, tantamount to catching lightning with his bare hands.
Whether anyone in this world could actually achieve such a feat was unknown—perhaps except for the mysterious "Boss" standing before them.
"Second," Joric continued in that unwavering monotone, giving David no time to digest his fear, "become my apprentice. You have one standard year to master a knowledge-system I designate."
His crimson lens seemed to flicker almost imperceptibly toward Glen, whose face was a mask of complex emotion. Joric was referring to the very list that had made Glen despair. "Then, you will use your own hands to heal your mother. As the price for acquiring this knowledge, you will serve me for two hundred years."
He paused, anticipating David's doubt regarding lifespan. "Do not concern yourself with whether your natural lifespan can support this contract. Even should your biological life terminate, I possess methods to ensure your continued fulfillment of the agreement until the two-hundred-year term is complete."
Then, as if to make the concept of "ensuring fulfillment" more concrete, he delivered a contingency plan in his cold voice that left everyone dumbfounded. "Of course, if at the end of one year, you fail to meet the designated standard of knowledge mastery, the contract will deem you in default.
"At that time, you will be required to pay 'tuition' equal to double the value of the knowledge provided.
"I possess the capability to ensure the recovery of this debt as well. Execution methods include, but are not limited to..."
As he spoke, the servo-skull hovering nearby flashed its blue oculars, projecting a holographic image into the air.
The image displayed the current hottest rock stars of Night City, "Us Cracks." Dressed in shimmering cyber-kimonos against a backdrop of dazzling holographic fireworks, they were energetically performing their hit song "Ponpon Shit." The intense electronic beat and the roar of the crowd seemed ready to burst from the projection.
Joric's massive, dark-red armored form stood immobile before the slightly absurd and garish projection, his voice cutting clearly through the music. "...reconfiguring you into a specialized entertainment-servitor. You would debut as a 'healing-type cyber-idol,' repaying your debt incrementally through commercial performances, merchandise sales, and fan donations.
"According to my calculations of Night City's various commercial models, this is the most efficient vector for you to clear your debt."
The sweet smiles and dynamic dance moves of the idols in the projection formed an absurd, spine-chilling contrast with the cold implication of Joric's words and David's instantly pale face.
Rebecca's lip twitched. She whispered to Pilar, "Holy scrap... that's crueler than just killing him..."
Glen, the ripperdoc, instinctively took half a step back, the last spark of hope in his heart extinguished. This entity's "tuition" was indeed something no ordinary person could afford—whether paid in money, freedom, or... dignity.
(End of Chapter)