*Beep!* The scanner probe emitted a soft beep.
The doc pulled back the cable and turned to face David.
“Your cheap chrome is totally fine.
Nothing wrong with it.” “So what I saw…” David rubbed the port on the back of his neck.
“Like I said, hallucinations.” The doc’s voice left no room for doubt.
“Textbook braindance aftereffects.
Your brain’s packed with all that junk footage, making it impossible to tell what’s real and what you made up.” Hallucinations?
Impossible!
David still couldn’t accept this explanation.
He had never killed anyone in his life; he’d barely even been in a handful of fights.
If it was really just a hallucination, how had he been able to slaughter those 6th Streeters so effortlessly, like a battle-hardened soldier or hitman?
“What I’m curious about is…” The doc looked at David with an unreadable tone.
“How did you manage to kill those 6th Street gangers with just that low-grade chrome?” “What did you say?” David froze.
His face went pale, but he forced a weak laugh.
“Kill people?
Don’t joke around like that…” “Cut the crap.” The doc pointed toward the door.
“That bike out there—you drove it off the scene, didn’t you?” “…” David said nothing.
“Why’d you go after 6th Street?” the doc asked out of curiosity.
David opened his mouth, giving up on excuses.
Lowering his eyes, he muttered quietly, “For the bike.” “A Brennan Apollo?” The doc vaguely remembered the bike’s brand.
“That shit ain’t rare.
It’s barely worth anything.” “It wasn’t for money…” David’s voice grew fainter, embarrassed.
“I jacked the bike to get to North Watson.
And I didn’t kill them!
It was that voice…” As his words died down, silence fell over the clinic for a few seconds.
Then the doc burst into laughter, the sound growing louder and louder.
“Hahaha!” Doubled over, he leaned a cyberhand on the workbench.
“And you claim you’re not a cyberpsycho?
You jacked a bike and murdered people just to get to North Watson—and fucking 6th Street at that!” “You really are out of your damn mind, hahaha!” “Doc, keep this quiet!” Realizing how insane it sounded, David said with a sour expression, “After all those BDs I sold for you!” The doc’s laughter slowly subsided.
He took off his visor, revealing a pair of murky, grayish-blue eyes as he looked down at David.
“Keep it quiet?” “How much were those BDs even worth?
You think your petty little deals were making me rich?” “Selling you out to 6th Street—now *that’s* gonna give me a real payday!” “?!” David’s pupils shrank in shock.
Instinctively, he tried to scramble off the operating table, but his thighs had no strength.
His knees buckled, sending him crashing directly onto the floor.
“You…” David tried to speak, only to realize even his tongue was numb.
“Inhaled muscle relaxant.” The doc stood over him, looking down.
“Started kicking in the moment you laid on the table.
Timing’s just right.” “I contacted 6th Street before you even stepped through the door.” “They’re on their way right now.
Ten minutes out, maybe less.” He squatted down, bringing his face close to David’s.
A smirk finally broke across his murky eyes.
“Santo Domingo is their turf.
You’re not escaping.” “Wh…
why?” David’s lips twitched as he managed a few slurred syllables.
“Why what?” The doc chuckled.
“Everyone hustles for profit in this world.” He stood up and looked down at him.
“This isn’t personal between you and me.
It’s just business.” “Business…” David mumbled the word back.
He remembered the illicit braindances, the shady deals under the table, how Doc never probed or jacked up the price.
He had thought it was trust.
It was just business…
David closed his eyes and didn’t utter another word.
“Ha.” Seeing this, the doc stopped paying attention to him.
He had checked.
David’s chrome had no offensive capabilities, and he carried no weapons.
Immobilized by the muscle relaxant, he was fish on a chopping block, utterly helpless.
Walking back behind his workbench, the doc pulled a BD wreath out of a drawer, strapped it onto his head, leaned back into a tattered recliner, and pressed play.
Silence washed over the clinic.
Paralyzed on the floor, David stared with bloodshot eyes at the dim yellow light overhead.
He hated Doc for betraying his trust, and he hated that lunatic even more for ruining his life.
If not for him, he would still be a student at Arasaka Academy.
How would he have ended up a prisoner of a back-alley ripperdoc?
He thought of Gloria, and his eyes stung.
Mom hadn’t seen him climb to the top of Arasaka Tower yet…
No!
He couldn’t die like this!!
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down a bit.
David tried moving his fingers.
His fingertips were still numb, incapable of exerting real force.
To move, he needed adrenaline.
Adrenaline increases sympathetic nervous system excitation and alleviates muscle relaxation—a detail mentioned in his biology class at Arasaka Academy.
Adrenaline…
where was he supposed to find that right now…?
Wait!
David suddenly realized something.
MaxDoc!
MaxDoc was a life-saving med carried by everyone in Night City, from mercenaries to ordinary citizens.
Someone had mentioned it in one of the illegal BDs he scrolled.
Beyond core ingredients for clotting, pain relief, and anti-infection, MaxDoc also contained secondary compounds to stabilize vital signs and prevent loss of consciousness.
Those components were low-dose neural stimulants!
Where was that MaxDoc Mk.1 the lunatic looted off those corpses?
Thinking of this, David suddenly sensed something off.
Under the overpass, he had clearly seen the lunatic shoving everything onto his person.
But how could his body have had enough space to hold all that gear?
And another thing: The weapons were supposedly on him, so why couldn’t he feel their weight?
Back then, he’d been so stunned by the lunatic slaughtering 6th Streeters just to jack a bike that he’d overlooked these red flags!
Damn it!
What now?
MaxDoc…
As David worried frantically, the next instant, a cold metallic sensation fell into his palm without warning.
He stiffly looked down.
A silvery-white hypo injector rested quietly in his palm, the pale blue liquid inside the tube shimmering faint specks of light under the dim bulb.
No warning, no physical contact.
It had materialized out of thin air, dropping straight into his hand.
This…
David stared at the injector in his hand, eyes widening in disbelief.
Did he have a pocket dimension specifically for storing meds and gear?
Was this the lunatic’s doing too?!
A thought struck David, sending a sudden wave of chill down his spine.
Controlling time and space, acting with unhinged, bizarre cruelty—the guy’s identity was practically screaming at him.
A demon!
I’m possessed by a demon!
David didn’t dare dwell on it and quickly suppressed his panic.
Right now, the top priority was escaping!
He strained to roll his eyes toward the workbench.
Doc was leaning back in the recliner, BD wreath strapped over his head, his eyelids twitching slightly.
Seeing that the doc wasn’t paying attention, David began painstakingly moving his hand.
Lacking strength, every single millimeter of movement took every ounce of power in his body.
Sweat slid down his forehead and stung his eyes.
Finally.
With everything he had left, David pressed the injector against his neck.
He had seen his mom give injections and mercenaries shoot up on the streets, so he knew roughly where to aim.
The needle slowly pierced his skin, finding a vein.
*Hiss—* With a hiss of compressed air, the icy liquid flooded into his bloodstream.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds…
David felt a surge of heat explode in his chest.
Then his blood rushed through his limbs as if ignited.
Sensation returned to his muscles.
The MaxDoc was working!