“Ha ha.”
Viktor let out a hearty laugh as he removed the dical device strapped to his arm.
“The kind of jobs my contacts can get? With arms and legs that thin, you wouldn’t last a day.”
Arthur pinched his arm—just skin stretched over bone.
He couldn’t even steady a gun anymore. Years of malnutrition had left him not only weak, but brittle, his bones ready to snap at the slightest strain.
Even the work he once excelled at was now beyond him.
“I’m really out of options. No matter how unsuitable the jobs you suggest, I’ll have to try them.”
Arthur’s voice carried an uncertainty he wasn’t used to. Never before had he been driven this far—fighting just to eat.
“If you’ve got nowhere else to go, you can stay here.
Get your body back in shape first, then think about work. anwhile, I can keep an eye on how those leftover drugs are affecting you.”
Viktor’s tone held not the slightest impatience.
Arthur had already cost him more than a little, yet Viktor felt no resentnt.
Maybe he really ant what he said—he liked Arthur.
“Thanks, Vik.”
If this friendship was genuine, it would be Arthur’s first true bond in this strange new world.
...
Ti passed quickly. With good food and plenty of rest at Vik’s, Arthur’s health steadily improved.
Though still lean from a distance, the sickly pallor had faded from his face.
For nearly two weeks, he remained by Vik’s side, helping however he could.
Generous as always, Viktor taught him much about cyberware.
One day, just after Arthur had helped treat a minor patient, soone hurried into the clinic.
It was a woman, lips painted black, eyes shadowed with strange dark makeup. Her short yellow hair was ssy and wild.
Her na was Misty, who ran an unpopular fortune-telling shop above Vik’s clinic.
“Hey, Arthur, Vik. NCPD ca by—they couldn’t find that woman’s ID info. They want you to bring her back.”
Her strange appearance contrasted so sharply with her soft, airy voice it almost felt unreal.
“That’s impossible. Even after death, a citizen’s records are kept for at least a year. How could they not find anything?”
Viktor slumped into a chair, leaning forward to power on the screen at his desk.
The sounds of a boxing match erupted from it.
“Soone definitely tampered with the records. Don’t forget that strange drug you saw on —the one you’d never seen before.
It’s obvious soone’s using Scavs for human experints.”
Arthur stood nearby, eyes fixed on the sa screen.
“Hmph. Those corporations are no different from Scavs. None of them treat people like people.”
Viktor didn’t turn, but his voice dripped with anger.
Right then, the cheers from the broadcast hit their peak, as if echoing his words.
“Anyway, NCPD wants us to take her. Otherwise, they might euthanize her.”
Misty spoke calmly.
In this world, ignoring it might have been the wisest choice. But Arthur still asked:
“What’s her condition? Will she ever wake up?”
Naturally, the question was for Viktor, who had stabilized her injuries.
“Most likely a car accident. She suffered heavy trauma.
The worst injury was her neck. The ergency tracheal implant saved her life, but the spinal contusions and dislocation caused severe nerve damage. I can’t say when she’ll wake up.”
Arthur fell silent at the explanation.
She was a stranger, but he still wanted to help. Yet, after leaning on Viktor so much already, he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
Noticing his troubled look, Viktor smiled, stood up, and patted his shoulder.
“Go bring her back. I’ve got a dPod ready—it won’t take much effort.”
Then, with a faint smile, he asked,
“You really have no connection to her?”
Arthur shrugged, his answer touched with lancholy.
“No. I just spent too long with an old friend. Helping strangers doesn’t bother .”
He turned to Misty while pulling on a coat.
“Let’s go see what’s going on.”
...
At the NCPD substation in Little China, a swarm of officers in blue bustled chaotically, ignoring them completely.
After much effort, they finally found the woman in a cold, isolated room.
Her twisted neck had been corrected and neatly bandaged—Viktor’s work.
Beneath her tangled red hair, her face had regained so color, though her eyes stayed closed, showing no sign of waking.
“Looks like I’ve got work to do.”
Arthur looked at her and said to Misty with a dry, self-mocking tone.
“Better not owe Vik too much, or he’ll kick out.”
Despite her eccentric makeup, Misty smiled faintly. By nature, she was quiet.
“Vik’s good to his friends. Just don’t argue with him about which boxer’s better.”
“His picks are always wrong.”
“Vik just doesn’t like cyberware. He looks down on fighters who rely on it.”
Misty’s voice was low, carefully asured so it carried just enough.
“Arthur hoisted the woman onto his back, carrying her out. He agreed with Misty—those dusty trophies on Vik’s wall weren’t fakes.
...
After settling the red-haired woman, Arthur went straight to Viktor.
“I need work. Can you hook up with sothing?”
“I know a few Fixers,” Viktor replied, “but are you sure your body’s ready? You’ve only been healing for two weeks.”
Arthur frowned. He had no mory of these “Fixers.”
“What exactly do they do?”
Viktor studied him, realizing his confusion was genuine, then explained:
“They’re the ones who find jobs for rcs. Like headhunters, with plenty of resources and intel.”
“Headhunters?” Arthur rubbed his chin.
“They must take a big cut. Why don’t rcs just find jobs themselves?”
“Fixers serve a purpose. First, they assess a mission’s risk—like a form of protection.
They’ve got wide networks, reliable info, and save rcs a lot of trouble.
But most importantly, confidentiality. Most of these jobs are shady, and clients never show their faces.”
Viktor’s face was half-shrouded in the dim clinic light as he spoke.
Arthur understood, and even felt reassured.
“Shady work—that was what he did best.”
“Still a rookie, huh? Fixer jobs are dangerous. You’d be better off sticking with .”
Viktor’s concern was genuine. He clearly didn’t care about the losses Arthur had caused him—that was just how he treated friends.
Arthur grinned and shook his head. He wasn’t going to let Vik talk him out of it.
He owed him, and he would repay that debt. Besides, he trusted his own skills.
This “old” cowboy might look young again, but his draw speed hadn’t slowed a bit.
With a revolver, he’d ruled the West. With modern guns, he could do the sa in Night City.
On everything else he could be modest. But when it ca to gunplay—
Arthur never missed. A gunslinger with Death in his eyes.
Patting Viktor’s shoulder, Arthur said firmly:
“Make the connections. Trust .”
Viktor looked at his determined face and smiled, shaking his head.
He never questioned a friend’s choices—that was their life.
He preferred staying quietly in his dark clinic, steady as stone, waiting for the day his friends needed shelter from the storm.
“You’ve chosen the path of the Edgerunner. I hope you make it far.”
“What’s that? Edgerunner?”
Arthur’s puzzled look made Viktor sigh.
“rcs live under constant gunfire, always at the edge of society, one step from the abyss.
That’s why they’re called Edgerunners.”
Arthur laughed heartily.
“Just a bunch of outlaws, huh?”
Viktor paused, then nodded.
Edgerunner, huh?
But Arthur preferred to call himself—
A outlaw!
...
(70 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser
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