ch-27

Yogan looked at the Lexington pistol in his hand and said, "V, why don't you let me take a look at your gun? Maybe I can fix it."

V stared at Yogan's face for a moment. "You know how to fix guns?"

"You never know. Just let me take a look. What do you have to lose? If it works, you'll save the money you'd otherwise spend on repairs."

"Alright, give it a shot. If you really manage to fix it, maybe I can introduce a few new clients to you."

"V, you're too generous."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. The clients I can bring in are probably people like me—newcomers who've been scraping by in this business for a while. The veteran mercs already have their own contacts. I can't bring them in."

"That's fine. Having someone is already a good start."

Yogan took the damaged handgun from her. In his vision, the gun appeared like a 3D model, with its structure displayed in intricate detail.

[Structural flaw detected]

[Slide mechanism is faulty]

[Barrel structure is flawed]

[Optimization possible: Proceed?]

Yogan noted that the system marked the gun as structurally flawed, not broken.

"V, do you have another Nue?"

"Yeah, but the hammer from that one is currently installed in the one you're holding."

V got up and returned shortly with another Nue, this one missing the hammer.

Yogan took it from her, and the system began scanning it again.

[Trigger assembly missing]

[New manufacturing blueprint detected. Replace existing one?]

Yogan mentally confirmed the system prompt. Using the newly registered blueprint, he scanned the damaged pistol once more.

[Blueprint uploaded]

[Structural damage confirmed]

[Slide deformed]

[Barrel deformed]

[Trigger assembly recognized]

[Proceed with repairs?]

Looks like the system needs a functioning firearm to serve as a model for repairs.

Yogan handed back the Nue without the hammer. "I should be able to finish repairing it by tomorrow morning."

"I'll be waiting for the good news, then."

---

The next morning, with heavy black circles under his eyes, Yogan returned the fully repaired pistol to V.

V pulled the slide back and inspected the weapon closely. Everything was working perfectly. "Damn, you're pretty good. You could open your own shop with skills like this."

"That's a relief to hear. Now, I need to catch some sleep."

Last night, after finishing his shift at the bar, Yogan studied gun disassembly tutorials online.

He uploaded every component of the Nue into the system as a blueprint to avoid the disaster of giving V a half-repaired gun without a hammer.

However, the system's repair and manufacturing functions came with a price.

After fixing V's gun, Yogan pushed further—he used the system's fabrication ability to create five Lexington pistols.

The moment the fifth one materialized, a violent tremor ran through Yogan's arm, and an overwhelming wave of rage surged into his mind. Realizing something was wrong, he quickly took several deep breaths and used the neural stabilizers prescribed by Viktor. Only then did his emotions calm.

"So that's it," Yogan thought. "The system consumes SAN value to power certain functions. No wonder Viktor warned me about cyberpsychosis risks."

"Guess I'll have to be more cautious with the system from now on."

But that could wait. After a sleepless night, all Yogan wanted was to crash and sleep like the dead.

---

Meanwhile, V and Weina sat in their car, preparing to carry out their next contract.

But today's assignment was... a little odd.

Sitting in the driver's seat, V muttered to herself, "That old guy was weird as hell. Why couldn't he just deliver this box of books to his nephew himself? Had to hire mercs for it?"

Weina, seated in the passenger seat, suggested, "Maybe they have a bad relationship?"

"If they had a bad relationship, would he even bother sending anything?"

"You think the job is suspicious?"

"That's not what I meant. Look, we're only getting 200 eddies for this run—that's rock bottom for Night City. At this pay, I doubt there's any major risk. But if you're right and there is bad blood, the biggest thing we might need to worry about is the nephew punching us in the face when we show up."

They soon arrived at the delivery location—an apartment complex in the Valley District. A place clearly designed for short-term rentals.

V knocked on the door. "Anyone home?"

The apartment was dead silent.

Weina asked, "Maybe they're not home?"

V knocked again. "Doesn't make sense. The old man said his nephew would definitely be in today."

Just then, an irritated voice came from inside. "Who the hell is it? Can't a guy get some damn sleep?!"

V composed herself and responded politely, "Sir, we're here to deliver something. Would you mind stepping out to sign for it?"

"Didn't order anything. Don't want anything. Go away."

Clenching her teeth, V kept her voice gentle. "Sir, it's from your uncle. He asked us specifically to deliver it to you in person. Can you please cooperate for just a moment?"

After a brief pause, the sound of a door unlocking came through. A disheveled young man yanked open the door and glared at them. "Fine. Give it here."

V handed over the box. The man turned to slam the door.

V quickly stopped the door with her hand. "Just a moment, sir."

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Weina jumped in. "Sir, your uncle asked us to take a photo of you receiving the package. Otherwise, he won't release our payment. Could you please help us out here?"

The man was about to refuse, but something in his demeanor shifted.

He squinted at them for a few seconds, then grumbled, "Fine. Take the damn picture and get it over with."

V activated the photo function in her cybernetic eye and snapped an image of him holding the package.

"All done—"

SLAM!

The door shut so violently the gust stirred V's hair.

"Son of a... If I ever accept another delivery job with weird personal requests, I swear I'm a damn mutt."

Weina tried to soothe her. "Relax, V. Job's done. Whatever problems that old man and his nephew have, it's none of our business."

"I'm just pissed off. Lately, every gig we get is just delivering crap to a bunch of ungrateful bastards..."

---

Inside the apartment, a muscular Black man hiding behind the door lowered the gun in his hand. The disheveled young man, now solemn, fiddled with a device resembling a high-grade audio interceptor.

They weren't alone.

The Black man turned to a middle-aged man further inside. "Sir, wasn't that a bit risky?"

The man replied, "If we let them keep knocking, they might've drawn more attention. As for the photo—let them take it. They won't get anything useful from it."

He turned to the young man. "Ben, what do you think of those two mercs?"

"They're gone, sir. They didn't seem like agents from any corp. I don't think we've been exposed."

As he spoke, Ben's face shifted and warped, revealing a completely different identity beneath.

The older man nodded. "Still, we must proceed with caution. Since our Special Ops team made that mess during the conflict with Arasaka, Intel Division needs to deliver results too."

"This mission involves multiple infiltration teams in the Valley District. Even if upper command thinks that intel isn't important anymore, we're getting it—no matter what."