Levi was stunned.
He hadn’t expected to find a living legend tucked away in a tiny back-alley clinic in Little China.
He stood at the threshold of the surgery, momentarily paralyzed by the realization.
“Come on in, friend.
Don’t be shy.
Misty said a very interesting customer was coming, and I wanted to see for myself.” Viktor Vektor looked at Levi with a warm, easy-going smile.
He possessed a relaxed demeanor, not at all like a hardened Night City local; he felt more like a retired father figure who had made it big in the Wild West.
Levi didn’t waste time.
He stepped into the clinic, observing the practical, no-nonsense setup—surgical mechanical arms suspended from the ceiling, shelves stocked with legitimate cyberware, and a clean, sterile operating table.
There was no street-trash graffiti here, no garish neon.
It felt grounded.
Honest.
“What kind of surgery?
Replacing implants?” Viktor asked, entirely unbothered by the high-end Kang Tao SMGs resting on his counter.
“Bullet extraction,” Levi said bluntly.
“Here, here, and here.” He pointed to the spots where the stray rounds from the Trauma Team had punched through his skin.
“Hmm…
how long have they been in there?” “About half an hour,” Levi calculated.
“Half an hour?” Viktor frowned, walking over to the operating table.
“Strip to your waist and lie down.
Let me take a look.” Levi set his weapons aside, shed the scavenger’s blood-soaked rags, and lay down.
He waited for a sign of malice, a flicker of a hidden agenda—but there was none.
Just a calm, professional air.
Is this really a safe house?
he wondered.
Viktor examined him, then blinked in surprise.
“Strange.
Your wounds are healing remarkably well.
This doesn’t look like an injury from half an hour ago.” “Must be a natural talent,” Levi laughed off, keeping his secrets.
Viktor didn’t push.
“Fair enough.
I need to run a basic physical, if you don’t mind.
No blood draw, just a pre-op check.” “You’re the doctor.
I trust you.” Levi agreed—mostly because he knew he could put a bullet through Viktor’s head before the man could finish a hostile move.
In this city, you couldn’t be too careful.
Viktor pulled a data cable from his wrist and plugged it into Levi’s port.
Blue light flickered across his Kiroshi eyes.
As the data scrolled, Viktor’s clean-shaven face twisted into a mask of pure disbelief.
“Holy—!
You dare come to Night City with this little cyberware?” “Zeiss optics and a Zeiss OS?
These are antiques.
I thought that company went bust years ago!” Viktor shook his head.
“And you haven’t even installed synthetic lungs?
That’s suicide in Night City.
The smog and dust will eat your lungs alive.” Viktor had seen it all, but he’d never seen a merc crazy enough to walk into the city with such obsolete, small-time junk.
“Your physical health is surprisingly good, though.
You haven’t been here long, have you?
You didn’t run into any Scavs, did you?” “I did,” Levi said with a smirk.
“But my luck was better than theirs.
They’re dead.” “Yeah…
I’d say your luck is quite something.” Viktor looked at him with newfound respect.
“Need anesthesia?” “No.
Just get them out.” Levi refused.
He wasn’t going under while vulnerable in this hellhole.
“Fair enough.
The customer is king.” Viktor shrugged.
In Night City, that level of paranoia was a survival trait.
He engaged the mechanical arms.
As the blades sliced into his skin and the cold alloy probed his muscles for the lead, searing pain flooded Levi’s brain.
He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead, refusing to make a sound.
When the final bullet clattered into a metal tray, Levi let out a long, ragged breath, his pale face finally regaining a hint of color.
“All done, friend.” Viktor looked at him with genuine admiration.
Anyone who could endure that without anesthesia had a level of willpower that put most mercs to shame.
The last person I saw with this kind of grit was a girl named Valerie…
“Thanks, Doc.” Levi sat up.
Viktor handed him a spray-bottle of medical adhesive.
“Take this.
Apply it every day.
You don’t want these getting infected.” “Thanks again.” Levi felt a rare spark of genuine warmth.
“One more thing,” Viktor added, turning back to his monitor where a heated boxing match was playing.
“When you’ve got the eddies, get that Zeiss trash ripped out.
If it goes haywire, you’re toast.
Get some Kiroshis and a proper deck—Fuyutsuki or Parallel.” “You have those here, Doc?” Levi asked.
He’d decided: if he was going to upgrade, he was doing it here.
“Don’t have Kiroshis in stock, but I’ve got standard optics and a Parallel deck ready to go.” “Can you do it today?” “Your wounds haven’t closed yet.
Implanting now would spike your rejection rate.
Come back in a few days once you’ve healed.” “Fair enough,” Levi said.
“What do I owe you for the surgery?” “Small job.
300 eddies.” Levi tapped into his bank account and transferred 20,000 Eurodollars.
Viktor spun around, bewildered.
“Levi, that’s way too much—” “That’s a deposit for the next round of implants,” Levi said firmly.
“Don’t refuse, Doc.
I trust you.” Viktor smiled, turning back to the fight.
“Alright.
See you in a few days, kid.”