He was the one responsible for repairing everyone's firearms.
Sweaty, exhausted, and now faced with the only person in the entire camp who didn't have to work strolling right up to his face…
Especially strolling into *his* territory, looking around like so sort of goddamn Marco Polo.
The chanic couldn't help but mock him again.
"You still here, 'little lord'? This isn't exactly your sort of place…"
He hadn't even finished talking when soone else stomped over.
"Hey, Old V! What did you do to my guns? The ones you 'fixed' keep jamming at critical monts—were you trying to get killed?"
The chanic bristled at having his skills questioned. He jabbed a finger at the newcor and glared. "That's on you!"
"Don't give that crap! You nearly got killed—do you understand?"
"If that's how you feel, don't co to . Go buy a brand-new gun in Night City. Problem solved."
"Screw you!"
"No, screw *you!* I'm the only one here who can fix guns! *You're* the one who should be begging *,* not the other way around!"
Right when the two looked ready to start throwing punches, Leo Zane suddenly heard a bizarre sound in his head.
"Zzz…
System loading…
Load complete…
System is now online…"
A stream of data cascaded across his vision like a waterfall.
---
**Na:** Leo
**Potential Points:** 0
**Skills:**
- Gun Repair LV3
- Eureka LV???
---
A flood of knowledge poured straight into his mind.
It felt as though he had undergone systematic training all at once.
A spark lit up in Leo's eyes.
Did this an…
He eyed the junk piled up like a small mountain and the two guns sitting on the workbench.
He stepped forward and picked up one of them—a revolver.
A string of information that only Leo could see scrolled across his vision.
---
**Na:** DR5 Nova
**Type:** Kinetic Revolver
**Damage:** 238–291
**Rate of Fire:** 2 shots/second
**Durability:** -10/100
**Manufacturer:** Darra Polytechnic
**Notes:**
Nova is a classic yet affordable revolver that packs a serious punch. Its iconic cylinder design harkens back to the wild days of the Old West. Though it has a reputation for frequent malfunctions, its relatively simple design makes it easy to repair.
You'll find the Nova in NCPD armories, small corporate arsenals, gangster's belts—even in a lady's purse.
In other words, everyone needs one.
---
Leo's mouth twitched.
Negative-ten durability? Seriously?
How had they even managed to push the weapon into *negative* durability?
Then he picked up the other gun.
More data flashed before his eyes.
---
**Na:** DS1 Pulsar
**Type:** Kinetic Submachine Gun
**Damage:** 53–65
**Rate of Fire:** 8.89 shots/second
**Durability:** -5/100
**Manufacturer:** Darra Polytechnic
**Notes:**
You have to admit Darra's designers aren't afraid to be the first to try sothing new.
The Pulsar looks like soone disassembled a standard machine gun, then handed the pieces to a blindfolded preschooler to put back together.
But hey—there's thod in the madness. Because Darra refuses to follow the crowd, the Pulsar ends up much smaller than most guns in its class, making it more concealable.
Unfortunately, originality cos with a price: this gun's recoil is notoriously brutal, and its parts could be higher quality. In short, the Pulsar is basically a half-failed prototype.
Yet for so folks, the bargain-yard sale price tag is more than enough to make up for its flaws.
You'll see Pulsars turning up in slum shootouts and tucked into the holsters of rookie gang mbers.
---
While Leo was imrsed in these readouts, the chanic eyed him with a mix of shock and anger.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Leo didn't even look at him.
Instead, he turned to the gun's owner.
"I can give it a shot, but I'll need to use this workbench and the tools."
"Use them?" The chanic practically cackled. "This is *my* domain, got it? *My* domain! Nobody touches my stuff without—"
He was interrupted by the nomad who owned the guns. "Go ahead and use them. That bastard can't fix anything anyway."
"What did you say?!" The chanic glared daggers at him.
The nomad shoved the chanic aside and motioned at Leo.
So Leo moved to the workbench.
He took a deep breath.
"All right, let's see if I can actually do this."
His heart pounded with excitent, his hands trembled.
The mont he placed his hands on the revolver, he felt the DR5 Nova's entire structure appear in his mind like a 3D blueprint.
And thanks to **Gun Repair LV3**, he instantly knew how to fix it.
He grabbed the tools and, with sowhat clumsy movents, began the repairs.
An entire hour went by before he finally finished restoring the revolver.
"That's impossible…"
The chanic—who had been so dismissive only monts ago—stared wide-eyed, utterly incredulous.
The nomad bead with joy, cradling the newly repaired revolver like a treasure.
"Thank you so much!"
"No problem."
Off to one side, the chanic still hadn't recovered from the shock.
For a long ti, he had been the *only* gun-fixer in the Bakker family.
But now…
Suddenly, the chanic felt a huge threat looming over him.
Just then, soone else walked in from outside.
"Leo."
"Hey, McCoy."
If anyone in the camp was on good terms with Leo Zane, it was McCoy.
After all, McCoy was the one who had brought him back here when he first crossed over.
Without McCoy, the Raffen Shiv would have probably harvested Leo's organs long ago.
But McCoy wore a grim expression now.
Leo's face turned serious. "What's wrong? You look like you just got so bad news."
McCoy sighed.
He clearly didn't want to do what he was about to do, but there was no choice.
They were nomads, people eking out a living in the Badlands.
Nomads were organized into nations, which were subdivided into tribes, and further down into families.
The Bakker family—McCoy's group—had once thrived, but those days were gone.
Leo wasn't one of them.
They had patched him up, let him stay in the camp for a week.
—Of course, it wasn't just out of kindness.
They had also found a credchip on Leo, which contained a few thousand eurodollars.
McCoy originally opposed touching that money, but Charey—the Bakker family's leader—had seized it "for the good of the family."
And now that Leo could walk around under his own power, with no more profit to squeeze from him, Charey had sent McCoy to kick Leo out of the camp.
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