Chapter 19: We Made It

"You guys pulled off a big job this time?"

Inside Viktor's ripperdoc clinic, the man tossed the question out casually as he patched up Jackie's wounds.

"You could say that. Corpo gig. Almost got our asses handed to us."

Jackie shrugged. "After selling off the gear and scraps, I walked away with about 40,000. Maelstrom gear doesn't sell for shit, but we kept a Crusher shotgun."

"Bringing your ass back in one piece is what matters."

Viktor pressed a staple-gun-like device to Jackie's arm.

Click.

One swift press, and the wound sealed shut.

He gave Jackie a firm pat on the arm, then headed back to his chair.

"All patched up. Before you go, grab some airhypo injectors. Next time, jam one into yourself before shit hits the fan—it'll help a lot."

"How much, Vik?"

Jackie reached for his credchip.

"Call it a celebration for your big job. On the house."

Waving them off, Vik leaned back, eyes drifting to the boxing match on his screen.

Ding.

The fight resumed.

"Thanks, Vik. I'll bring some drinks next time—we'll knock back a few."

Jackie rolled his shoulder, testing it.

Satisfied, he turned to Karl and Oliver.

"Alright, let's celebrate. Job's done."

"Any place in mind?" Oliver asked. "I'm not too familiar with Watson."

"There's a solid izakaya over in Kabuki. What do you think?"

Jackie turned toward Karl, waiting for his take.

"Japanese food, huh?"

Karl paused. Then nodded.

"Been a while. Could be worth checking out. But isn't Kabuki a den for hustlers and scammers? Didn't expect a decent restaurant there."

"People still gotta eat after a long night of scamming and partying, choom."

Jackie grinned. "Trust me, the place is legit. Not that I've had 'authentic' Japanese food, but it's damn good."

Sold.

With Jackie hyping it up, the three jumped into Oliver's car and headed toward Kabuki Market.

On the way, they talked about how they'd spend their 40,000 eddies.

Forty thousand was a lot in Night City.

Enough to surpass 90% of the population's net worth.

Even for mercs, few ever saved up that much.

Most edgerunners lived gig to gig, blowing their earnings instantly.

Even among survivors, five-digit savings were rare.

Hell, most low-tier mercs didn't even have gear better than random Maelstromers.

Jackie went first.

"I'm setting aside 10k for a ride—either a car or a bike. The rest? Going to Vik for some subdermal armor."

He tapped the dash.

"That psycho Maelstromer we fought? Not even a Saratoga could punch through her plating. Once I get my own, I'll be a damn tank."

There was another reason Jackie wasn't salvaging cyberware from the corpse.

One—

Jackie took pride in his Mexican roots.

And while Mexicans joked about death, they still respected it.

Stripping corpses for parts?

That was scavenger work.

And he hated scavengers.

Two—

Cyberware from another body was already customized.

Second-hand implants rarely synced well with new users.

Even if they fit, they malfunctioned.

Worst case?

They triggered cyberpsychosis—a mental rejection of foreign tech, leading to madness and extreme violence.

Even NCPD avoided cyberpsychos.

Only psychosquads handled them.

Jackie wasn't risking that.

Oliver, curious, asked:

"A second-hand junker's what, 10k? What kinda car are you looking for?"

"Anything with four seats."

Jackie shifted uncomfortably in the cramped passenger seat beside Karl.

"Anything's better than this tight-ass ride."

"Tch, my car's for picking up girls—not squeezing in two grown gonk-ass mercs."

Oliver fired back.

"And this baby's worth 29,000 eddies, even second-hand."

Jackie scoffed.

"Picking up girls? In a Nomad cargo hauler?"

"Santo Domingo girls are practical."

"Yeah, sure. Like I haven't seen girls from Santo."

Jackie snorted.

"Your neighborhood's right next to the Badlands. Dust storms 24/7, rough skin, but somehow they've got 'high standards'? Nah, Heywood girls—that's where it's at. Hot, passionate, and real."

"Real? You mean easy. Say two words and a Heywood girl's in your lap."

"Alright, knock it off."

Karl sighed.

Squeezed between the two, he felt like a sandwich.

Time to change the subject.

"Anyway—Oliver, what about you? What's the plan?"

Oliver thought for a second.

"First off, I need an apartment. Sleeping in cars or motels sucks."

He looked at Jackie.

"Then cyberware. I won't survive as a merc without at least something."

"You still thinking about being our team's medic or sniper?"

Karl asked.

"Yeah. I'll look into what fits."

He turned back to Jackie.

"Thinking about staying in Watson. Any recommendations?"

"High-rises in Little China. Rent's alright, food's cheap."

Oliver nodded.

"Oh yeah. That's where I first met Karl."

He glanced over.

"What about you? Got a plan?"

Karl shrugged.

"Might check out the same place. If it works, I'll move in."

"And the leftover eddies?"

"Haven't decided. But I'm definitely ditching the Lexington. I need a real handgun."

The car was filled with banter and laughter as they followed the nav—

And finally arrived at their destination.