David Martinez


    I hesitated, just for a second. She was unconscious now, but from the look of her, she had crawled straight out of hell. The hallway alone could win horror awards, but her? Missing an arm, an eye, leg broken—and even then, she had kept going, cutting through the soldiers one by one until she ran into us.


    Would’ve been preem if it wasn’t so damn tragic.


    “Who is she?” Anderson asked, peeking out from cover.


    “Part of a crew I did a gig with once,” I muttered, crouching beside her.


    Her forearm—gone. The wound was fresh, cauterized but still recent. No way she’d just let it heal naturally before slotting in a replacement. I grabbed a Bounce Back from my gear and injected it into her shoulder to at least dull the pain. The leg, though? That was a bigger problem. I didn’t have the tools to fix it, and I doubted the others would be thrilled if I wasted Task Force Neuron’s time.


    “She got a name?”


    I frowned. Then grimaced.


    Because… shit.


    Did I ever actually get her name? I met her once, but—


    “You have no idea, do you?” Anderson deadpanned.


    “Uh… does it matter right now?” I said, propping her up against the wall. “We’re kinda on a mission here, remember?”


    Seven coughed over the comms. "I suggest you all hurry up. Another team’s moving in.”


    And right on cue, the power cut out.


    Anderson yanked me up. “Look, if she’s someone you know, fine. But we can’t sit around. This Joanne Koch woman isn’t playing games—she’ll send more units. I’ll hold this position and make sure nothing interrupts you, but you need to grab any intel you can. Got that?”


    “Y-yeah,” I stammered.


    “Then let’s go!” Jessy grabbed my arm, already pointing toward a nearby room. “We can dig up the deets here!”


    I barely registered where we were heading—just saw the metallic door slide open up instead of sideways. Inside, a whole lot of shady shit was going down. The kind that reminded me too much of those flashes of Vomi in the desert.


    Tubes. Vials.


    And something inside them that looked real damn close to what a Klyntar should be.


    “Oooohhh, shit—what’s that?” Jessy asked, pointing at the experiments.


    I scanned the setup, racking my brain for anything Vik had taught me that could help decipher what I was looking at. But honestly? This was way beyond me.


    Sticky notes clung to the glass, scribbled with a mix of technical jargon and downright ominous observations.


    “The experiment has been steady so far. It shows signs of self-sentience.”


    Then the real bad news:


    “The nublocleitos cells are hyperactive—degenerating the intestines and feeding off them.”


    Yeah. Definitely not good.


    “I have no clue,” I muttered, staring at the glass.


    One of the vials held something that looked like plasma, swirling sluggishly inside. Then, as if it saw me—if it even had eyes—it suddenly started…


    Cowering?


    CLICK


    "Alright, pictures taken," Jessy said, already using her chromed hand to jack into the lab’s terminal. Her fingers twitched as she worked. "Damn, their ICE is really well-structured. This’ll take a while."


    Leaving the glass alone, I started rummaging through the lab. Drawers, cabinets, headboards—anything that might have documentation. To my surprise, it wasn’t just Vomi who had a habit of using paper to keep track of shady experiments.


    "I found some stuff," I said, flipping through the files, barely glancing at the titles. "Blackwall Expedition Alpha," "Blackwall Discoveries," "DataBank.7872…" I sighed. "Looks like a bunch of recaps. Nothing big."


    "Then the real gold is locked behind their ICE," Jessy said without looking up. "I’ll try to pinpoint it, but take those papers anyway. They’re a good starting point."


    "Maybe," Seven cut in over comms, "but that’s not enough to threaten them. A judge could just say we fabricated those documents to pin the blame on BioTechnica."


    "But I found them here," I frowned, gripping the files tighter.


    "Yeah. In a secret facility in Dogtown." Seven exhaled through the line. "If this was in Night City proper, we’d have leverage. But out here? This barely registers as an inconvenience for the big leagues."


    I looked at the papers again, then sighed.


    "Yeah, you’re right."


    Gunshots echoed faintly from above—probably the unknown team making their way down.


    "Should we be concerned about that?" I asked, already stepping outside.


    Anderson was still checking on the girl. She was breathing lightly, steady but unconscious. That seemed like a good sign, but I wasn’t about to assume.


    “They didn’t take the elevator. Probably going the long way around,” Anderson muttered, keeping watch over the maze of corridors.


    "Here, take a look." I handed him the files. "Anything with ''Blackwall'' in the name doesn''t sound good. I get that there''s valuable data beyond it, but even experienced Netrunners get fried messing with that thing."


    Anderson flipped through the documents. "What’s in the DataBank.7872 file?"


    I opened it and skimmed. "The expedition at Blackwall Sector-K was a success. Casualties were minimal, and we recovered Dr. Mercer’s projects… blah, blah, blah… dated back to 2064."


    "So they’ve been after this for over a decade," Seven hummed, thinking aloud. "But isn’t Sector-K one of the worst? Why go in without a proper task force?"


    "I think they did—they said casualties were minimal. Could mean ‘only the disposable ones died,’ or something like that." I tapped the file, piecing it together. "Then there’s Expedition Alpha. Maybe BioTechnica put together a team just to breach the Blackwall."


    Anderson turned to me briefly before refocusing on his watch. "That’s odd. BioTechnica’s a biotech corp. Why the hell would they have the kind of gear needed to crack the Blackwall?"


    "Jessy will figure it out once she’s done," Seven said. A second later, his voice perked up. "Oh, I’ve got access to the camera feed."


    "Don''t mention it," Jessy quipped, oozing pride.


    "Good. Can you tell who the other squad is?" I asked.


    It took a moment, but Seven finally answered, “They just wiped out the main hall’s squad. One’s built like a beast, another’s a muscular woman, and the last one looks like a walking noodle. Not a proper squad—just mercs.”


    Something about that description felt way too familiar. Where had I seen a group like that before?


    “We can handle them if it comes to it,” Anderson nodded to himself.


    “Can you share the footage?” I asked. “I think I might know them.”


    “You sure know a lot of people who shouldn’t be here,” Seven muttered but sent it over anyway.


    And the moment I saw the feed—yep, that was Maine’s crew.


    “Yeah, I know them too.” My gaze flicked toward the unconscious girl—I still couldn’t remember her name. “They’re after her.”


    “They’re after the corpo? Why?” Jessy asked over comms. “I doubt they even knew about this place. It’s Dogtown, after all.”


    “The thing is, she’s not a corpo,” I corrected. “I don’t know what kind of gig they’re running, but Maine wouldn’t just leave her behind.”


    Wait—


    “Maine?” Seven repeated, confused. “His name’s a state? Why does that alias sound—”


    Oh, shit. I shouldn’t have said that.


    “Heads up, movement,” Anderson warned, making me drop the topic and take cover.


    Footsteps—fast, rushed. Faint breathing. One person. They ran past without even glancing our way, a lone soldier gripping his shoulder, stumbling, then collapsing. I kept my Overture and Lexington trained on him, waiting.


    No movement.


    I moved in to check. Warm body, no pulse. Dead.


    “Clear,” I called, turning back to the girl.


    Gunfire echoed above us—getting closer.


    “Jessy, how’s it going back there?” I shouted.


    “Downloading now!” she snapped back. “But this process takes time!”


    “Right!” I turned back to the hall, gripping my weapons tighter.


    “I’ve seen some of the shit they did here,” Anderson said, his voice calm but with a distinct unease. “Human test subjects, torture, something about RNA Rewriting…”


    “Ribonucleic Acid,” I said.


    Anderson sighed. “Yeah, that means nothing to me, choom.”


    “It’s a nucleic acid present in all living cells. It carries instructions from DNA for protein synthesis. Some viruses even use RNA instead of DNA,” I explained. “But rewriting RNA? That’s new. Genetic manipulation usually targets DNA.”


    Seven hummed in thought. “So BioTechnica isn’t just messing with genetics. We already have flash clones for people who don’t want cybernetic limb replacements. Near-perfect copies of what they lost. But evolving human capabilities? That’s dangerous.”


    Keep it cool, David. Just play dumb.


    “Y-yeah, real dangerous. Imagine if I had, uh… monster-like abilities or something.”


    Damn it, not that dumb!


    “Honestly? If that was true I would be glad that I am on your side.” Anderson shrugged, “How close is that merc squad?”


    Phew! Thanks, Anderson! Huge save!


    Seven checked the footage again, “They''re clearing the eighth underfloor right now.”


    <hr>


    Pilar snatched the rifle from the gonk he just dropped, took aim at his choom, and fired without hesitation—then crumpled to the floor, overwhelmed by the pain. Unlike Maine, who had the muscle and sheer willpower to push through, Pilar wasn’t built to tank that many hits. At this point, even a Bounce Back Jr. wouldn’t do much good—if anything, it’d make things worse, overloading his system and amplifying the pain instead of dulling it.


    Maine took a few last shots at the remaining soldiers, but his aim was off. At least they weren’t firing back anymore. Dorio rushed to Pilar’s side, her own body riddled with bullet holes, though her subdermal armor had absorbed most of the damage.


    She knelt beside him, checking his injuries with quick, practiced movements. "Shit, Pilar, stay with me," Dorio muttered, pressing a hand against the worst of the wounds. His breathing was uneven, shallow. The blood loss was bad.


    Pilar coughed, trying to laugh but barely managing a smirk. "Dorio… you should see the other guy."


    "Yeah, yeah, real funny," she growled, but the worry was clear in her voice. "Maine, we gotta move, now!"


    Maine was already on it, reloading as he covered their position. The hall behind them was littered with corpses, but there were still distant shouts, more boots thudding against the floor. Reinforcements were coming.


    “We don’t have much of a choice. Either we go further down or face everything that’s coming for us,” he said, trying to plan their next move.


    They were pinned. On one side, reinforcements—likely prepared to counter them this time. Corporate militias weren’t dumb enough to fall for the same tricks twice. Maybe some of them had Kerenzikov or Sandevistans, or worse, a way to hack their chrome mid-fight. On the other side, more soldiers. Even if the blackout cut their line of sight, the facility’s cameras still fed them their location.


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    If they ran, the beast would chase. If they stayed, they’d be eaten alive.


    Pilar was too injured to move on his own. Dorio could carry him, but that would leave Maine to handle even more enemies solo. Their only real options were to ambush the incoming squads and make a break for it, or keep heading downward into the unknown.


    Maine made the call. “Carry him. Go after Rebecca. I’ll hold them off.”


    Splitting up was the only move that made sense now. Alone, he had a better shot at outmaneuvering BioTechnica’s forces than if he had to protect the others too.


    “Are you psycho?! You can’t handle them all by yourself!” Pilar protested, wincing through the pain. Even for Maine, this was a suicide mission.


    “I never said I’d fight them head-on.” Maine smirked before activating his Sandevistan and vanishing in a blur of speed.


    “Fuck, he’s smart, but sometimes he pisses me off,” Dorio muttered, already hauling Pilar over her shoulder. “Let’s hope he knows what he’s doing. Now let’s find that explosive midget.”


    “Ow,” Pilar groaned as his ribs pressed against her shoulder. “I know she’s alive, but…”


    “Save your breath,” Dorio cut him off, finding the last fire exit and charging down the stairs. “Focus on staying awake. We can’t lose you, you brain-rotted potato.”


    “Hah!—Ow.” Pilar wheezed, the laughter costing him.


    The corridors mirrored those upstairs—dark and claustrophobic. The dim emergency lighting barely made a difference. Dorio could only use one hand to shoot, and while her Burya packed a punch, even with her chrome, its recoil was brutal. If she got shot first, counterattacking would be tough.


    As she moved, an eerie silence settled in. Too quiet. Either this was an attempt to lure her into a false sense of security, or the previous shootouts they’d heard had already decided the fate of everyone down here.


    Then, rounding a corner, she spotted a body. A single high-caliber shot to the head. The soldier had been caught off guard while hiding, slumped in the corner. Looked like he’d tried to escape from something. Following his path, she found more bodies scattered ahead.


    An ambush.


    Every corpse had been taken out at the same time—shot, sliced, or burned with surgical precision. One had his chrome fried, the burn marks on his implants making that much clear. Dorio carefully set Pilar down, making sure not to aggravate his wounds.


    “I’m going alone from here. Play dead. If anyone comes, make it convincing.” She glanced at the bodies, then back at him.


    “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” Pilar groaned, shifting into a more lifeless sprawl.


    Dorio nodded and pushed forward.


    This section of the facility looked more advanced than the rest. Some of the doors had labels detailing research purposes. One led to a storage room filled with samples—some kind of goo-like substance. It wasn’t just stored; it moved. Reacted.


    She turned a corner—


    —and found herself staring down the barrel of a Saratoga.


    “Howdy,” the man holding it greeted, almost casually. “Who the hell are you?”


    Dorio shifted subtly, barely perceptible. “Does it matter?”


    “A bit,” the man said, spitting on the floor. “What are you doing here?”


    Why wasn’t he shooting her? She had no protection on her face—one shot, and she’d be done. Yet, instead of pulling the trigger, he was asking questions. Tactical gear or not, that wasn’t normal.


    She chose her words carefully. “I’m here to rescue someone.”


    “You and your crew, right?” He took a few steps back. “Saw you leave the other guy near the dead soldiers.”


    Dorio’s eyes flickered with alarm for just a second. “If you did something—”


    “Oh, relax. I saw, I didn’t do anything.” He waved it off and lowered his gun. “Still, who exactly are you here to rescue? The corpo dwarf?”


    “She has a name.” Dorio stepped out of the room, keeping a wary eye on him. “Is she alive?”


    “Barely, but yeah.” He exhaled, glancing back. “You should grab your choom. Corpos have a bad habit of double-tapping bodies. Sometimes triple.”


    Dorio didn’t need to be told twice. She turned on her heel, rushing back to Pilar and hauling him up.


    “H-Hey! What the hell—?” Pilar yelped as she lifted him again.


    “Rebecca’s alive,” she said, this time not bothering to be gentle. “We’re moving. Now.”


    As they neared the corridor where Dorio had last seen the man, her eyes locked onto Rebecca—being treated, albeit roughly, by another guy in tactical gear.


    And God, she was in bad shape.


    One leg broken. One eye gone. Her right forearm missing. Whatever had happened to her—it hadn’t been quick, and it sure as hell hadn’t been painless.


    Dorio set Pilar down next to Rebecca, then turned to the one tending to her wounds.


    That’s when she saw his face. Recognized the haircut.


    “David?!”


    David glanced up but didn’t stop working. “Dorio.”


    “The kid from the last gig?” Pilar blinked in disbelief. “Choom, this is one hell of a coincidence.”


    “So this is your other crew.” The man from before rested his Saratoga on his shoulder, nodding. “Well met.”


    Dorio shook her head, pushing past the surprise. “What are you—? No, doesn’t matter.” She dropped to a knee beside Rebecca. “What happened to her?”


    “Torture, most likely.” David’s voice was calm, professional. “This is a Ripperdoc’s style—removing or chipping chrome in rapid succession. I’m doing what I can, but I don’t have the tools to make sure she survives this.”


    “Those bastards…” Pilar clenched his jaw, staring at his sister’s mangled form. This was my idea… He didn’t realize it yet, but guilt was already creeping in, mistaken for pure, seething hatred. “Sasha was right about BioTechnica. They need to be wiped off the fucking map.”


    David applied a gel to Rebecca’s forearm, keeping the wound clean enough to buy her some time. Then, he secured a splint around her leg to prevent further damage.


    “That’s all I can do for now,” he said, then called out, “Jess, what’s our status?”


    A feminine voice echoed down the hallway. “Done! We can leave now!”


    “Then let’s delta,” the man said. “David, time to say goodbye.”


    “Right.” David nodded, then turned back to Dorio. “How’s Pilar?”


    “He’ll live,” she said, eyeing the squad he was with. A kid—no, a very young-looking girl—came jogging back from the corridor.


    “So this is what you do when you’re not around?”


    “That or the Academy,” David shrugged. “We’ll talk more when we’re not in the sights of corporate guns, alright?”


    “Yeah, sure.”


    With that, they were gone, disappearing down the hall.


    Pilar gritted his teeth, pushing himself upright before kneeling beside Rebecca. He placed a hand gently on her head, his voice strained.


    “We need to get her to a Ripperdoc.”


    Dorio exhaled sharply. “We will.”


    She lifted Rebecca, adjusting her carefully, while Pilar struggled to keep up.


    It didn’t take long to see the aftermath Maine had left behind.


    One group of four lay sprawled on the floor, bodies charred, with high-tension cables still spitting electric arcs nearby. Further down, another group lay unconscious—faces slack, limbs twisted at odd angles. The dents in the walls, some shaped suspiciously like heads, suggested they’d been taken out with brute force.


    When they reached the fire exit leading to the upper floors, they spotted Maine finishing off a soldier with a clean shot to the head. His AJAX clicked as he reloaded, his stance relaxed but ready.


    “Path’s clear,” he said, glancing up at them. “But they’re smarter than I gave ‘em credit for.”


    Dorio eyed the destruction. “What did you do to clear the way?”


    Maine exhaled sharply, giving the AJAX one last check before slinging it over his shoulder.


    "Electric grid was exposed in one section, so I lured a few into a shock trap. The others?" He motioned toward the crumpled bodies. "Let''s just say they got real intimate with the walls."


    Pilar let out a short, pained chuckle. "Remind me never to piss you off, big guy."


    Maine just smirked, then shifted his gaze to Rebecca. His expression darkened. "She doesn''t look good."


    Dorio nodded. "She''s barely hanging on. We need to get her to a Ripper, fast."


    Maine didn''t hesitate. "Then let''s move."


    With Rebecca secure in Dorio’s grip and Pilar pushing through his own pain, they ascended the fire exit. The building still creaked from earlier damage, the distant sounds of corporate squads echoing through the lower floors. The moment they reached the main hall, Maine kicked the door open and scanned the area.


    "Coast is clear," he muttered. Then he tapped into his comms. "Falco, you in position?"


    A few seconds of static, then—


    "Got eyes on ya, big man. Meet me at the west side. Got the ride warmed up."


    Maine gestured for them to follow. "Let’s get the hell outta here."


    <hr>


    “Just remember to come back if the irritation returns, alright?” Vik said, wiping his glasses with a rag.


    “Will do,” the patient replied, already heading out the door.


    It was a slow day at the clinic—had been ever since Vomi disappeared two weeks ago. These days, the place only got crowded when people gathered to discuss biz.


    David had managed to buy the Autoshop for next to nothing compared to its actual value. That meant Lev was working overtime, hiring staff, bringing in engineers, and sourcing supplies from the local scrapyards to get things running. Ciri was still deep into her studies, finally learning about the world without needing to ask a question every five minutes. She stopped by now and then, but way less often.


    Gloria, meanwhile, was back to regular shifts, keeping things steady. She sometimes mentioned how her coworkers gossiped about David and the Arasaka Academy—how jealous they were, how David was supposedly growing into his corpo role. But Vik knew better. David was playing the part, but whether he’d actually follow that path was another story. If it weren’t for all this symbiote, Klyntar—whatever the hell it was called—maybe he would. But with his gigs straddling both sides of the law, Vik wasn’t betting on him becoming the next Yorinobu.


    Aside from that, the clinic had been quiet.


    Vik leaned back in his chair, slid his glasses on, and turned on the entertainment system. The Boxing Prize Fighters League was on. Had nothing to do with the WBA or WBC from the last century. These days, almost every boxer had chrome—pain nullifiers, speed boosters, strength enhancers, reaction implants. Hell, some didn’t even bother with real training anymore, just slotted a chip and moved like a pro overnight.


    Vik exhaled through his nose. No use dwelling on the good old days. They weren’t coming back.


    Vik sighed and reached for the remote to turn off the screen, thinking about grabbing a snack to pass the time—


    “Viktor!”


    Misty burst into the clinic, but before she could say anything else, a group of people shoved past her. Vik recognized them instantly. And they weren’t alone.


    They had two people in terrible shape.


    “Vik, these people—!” Misty started, trying to explain.


    “They need help. Now.” Maine didn’t wait for permission, just carried Rebecca straight to the recliner.


    Vik’s casual demeanor vanished in an instant. Rebecca wasn’t in any condition to wait.


    Pilar, struggling to stay on his feet, made his way to the cabinets, rummaging through them in search of medical supplies. “Here, take this,” he muttered, shoving a pack of tools toward Vik. “Just—just make sure my sis stays alive. We’ll pay good eddies for it.”


    Vik took the tools but shot him a look. “You need to sit down. Now. You keep moving around, you’ll bleed out before I even finish patching her up.”


    “But I—”


    Dorio cut him off, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Sit. You’re not proving anything by dying of anemia in a clinic.”


    Reluctantly, Pilar sank into a chair, grumbling.


    Vik focused on Rebecca, quickly assessing her condition. A missing forearm. An eye gouged out. A broken leg. Some first-aid had been attempted—sloppy work, but better than nothing.


    He grabbed a syringe, injecting anesthesia near her leg before carefully setting the bones in place. That part was straightforward. What worried him was her eye. One wrong move, one twitch of his hand, and he could hit a vein or, worse, cause a tumor.


    “Steady hands, Vik. No room for mistakes.”


    He cleaned the wound carefully, using a fine-tipped tool to check for any debris. It wasn’t just about stopping the bleeding; it was about making sure no infection would set in.


    He could feel the weight of Maine’s presence nearby, watching closely. Vik didn’t blame him. The kid was in bad shape, and even though Maine wouldn’t say it, he cared.


    “How’s she lookin’?” Maine finally asked, voice low but tense.


    “She’ll live, but she’s gonna need serious work after this,” Vik muttered, focusing as he secured the dressing over Rebecca’s eye socket. “I am a ripper, with proper gear. I can stabilize her, but I can’t rebuild her now.”


    Pilar let out a shaky breath, glancing between his sister and Vik. “We’ll get her whatever she needs. Just… just don’t let her die, alright?”


    Vik nodded. “Not on my watch.”


    Dorio crossed her arms, glancing at the doorway. “We can’t stay long. Corpo heat might still be looking for us.”


    Vik didn’t look up as he moved to Rebecca’s arm, disinfecting the severed stump. “Then you better figure out where you’re heading next while I finish this.”


    The clinic was silent for a moment, except for the quiet hum of equipment and Vik’s steady movements.


    Then, from the hallway, Misty’s voice cut through the tension.


    “There’s movement outside,” she said, peeking at the cameras.


    “What kind?” Vik asked, injecting meds into Rebecca’s arm.


    Watson wasn’t exactly known for heavy activity unless it involved gangs. Even then, gangsters tended to leave rippers alone—holding grudges against medics was bad business when you might need patching up later.


    “The kind we don’t like.”


    Corpo suits, moving through the streets, asking questions. And not nicely.


    “Shit,” Pilar muttered, trying to stand, but he underestimated how drained he was. His legs gave out, and he fell right back onto the couch with a grunt.


    “It’s fine. You two should go. I’ll handle them,” Vik said, nodding toward the door. “You—get to the back room. No one goes in there, so you’ll be safe.”


    Pilar didn’t argue this time.


    Maine took a moment to assess the situation in silence before nodding. “Make sure they live.”


    Dorio followed him out, leaving Vik to his work.


    “Sorry for the trouble, Misty. And thanks for the help,” Vik said with an apologetic smile.


    “You need any help?” she asked, stepping closer. “Never seen someone this messed up up close.”


    “Then you haven’t spent enough time around me,” he joked. “But no, she’s stable. If I do any more, her body’ll get stressed and won’t heal properly.”


    “How’s that work?”


    Vik sighed. “Push her too far, and her body could reject the treatment—cybernetics and all. She needs rest, food, and time to rebuild blood levels before anything else.”


    Vik glanced at the closed door. “Same deal. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s not critical. Just needs time.”


    Misty folded her arms. “And if those corpos come knocking?”


    Vik sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Then I tell ‘em what they wanna hear—nobody’s here, and I’ve got a business to run. Most suits don’t like getting their hands dirty unless they have to.”


    She didn’t look convinced. “And if they do have to?”


    “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”


    Misty shook her head. “You’re way too calm for this.”


    “I’ve had worse,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “You should get back to the Esoterica, make it look normal. Last thing we need is them thinking we’re hiding something.”


    Misty hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, Vik.”


    “No promises,” he said, before turning back to Rebecca and checking her vitals.


    Stable, just as he said, but weak. Now, what could have caused this level of damage? If Vik recalled correctly, Rebecca didn’t have any major cyberware—no reinforced limbs, no subdermal plating. Her optics were standard, but nothing that justified tearing one out. Scavs usually went for biomonitors and neural ports, things they could resell later.


    Vik scanned her remaining eye, and there it was—the answer.


    A memory probe.


    Ripped straight from the socket.


    So this wasn’t just a ripperdoc gone bad—someone had tried to interrogate her. Torture her. And when pain didn’t break her, they’d gone for the brute-force method: direct memory extraction. Corporate methods, designed to shatter a person beyond repair. But there were signs she fought back. Vik noted the bruising on her knuckles, the hairline fractures in her ribs—not from the torture itself, but from taking hits. Bullet grazes, shallow cuts, and marks on her neck told the rest of the story.


    Rebecca fought like hell to get out.


    And that complicated things.


    Vik set the scanner to analyze her neural activity, searching for deeper trauma. Sure enough, her frontal lobe had taken a hit. It wasn’t a concussion—he could’ve handled that easily. This was worse. It meant potential personality shifts, impulse issues, maybe even permanent aggression. He could fix it… but it wouldn’t be pretty.


    For now, all he could do was let the meds work.


    Leaving Rebecca to stabilize, Vik grabbed his med bag and stepped into the back room where Pilar was resting.


    “How is she?” Pilar asked the second Vik appeared.


    “You want my professional opinion or my honest one?” Vik set the bag down beside him. “Take off your shirt.”


    Pilar pulled it off, wincing slightly. “Just tell me straight. She gonna flatline, or is she good to put a few rounds in some gonks?”


    “She’ll live.” Vik started prepping anesthetic. “But there’s a risk.”


    Pilar didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of risk?”


    Vik injected the anesthetic before cutting into his skin, extracting the first bullet. “Her brain took damage. From the torture. Not a concussion—those are easy. This? She’ll need surgery. The kind that might change how she thinks. She could become aggressive at the slightest provocation.”


    “Hah… then you don’t know my sister,” Pilar said, forcing a weak chuckle. But he didn’t laugh. This wasn’t funny. “How bad is it?”


    “Bad,” Vik said, dropping the bullet into a metal tray. “Feel anything?”


    “No. Numb as… hell, I dunno.”


    “Good.” Vik moved on to the next bullet. “The risk is high. That’s why I’m asking you. I can’t make this decision for her.”


    Pilar exhaled sharply. “Can’t we wait until she wakes up?”


    “Short answer? Yes. Long answer? Yes, but if we do, the damage might be irreversible.” Vik met his gaze, dead serious. “She could end up infant-minded, trapped in a coma, or—worst case—a conscious vegetable. If we wait too long, there’s no undoing it. We have to decide now.”


    Pilar removed his weird glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.


    This was his fault.


    He’d talked her into being bait.


    “Why the fuck did I think that was a good idea?”


    David could’ve taken the role. Hell, Sasha would’ve been an even bigger target for Biotechnica.


    “Except we didn’t know it was Biotechnica.”


    Fuck. Hindsight was a bitch.


    But now? Now he had to make a choice. Risk her life on the surgery or risk her mind by waiting. Could he live with himself if he did nothing? Could he live with himself if he did?


    “…Do it,” Pilar said, voice firm. “Please. It’s better than nothing.”


    Vik nodded. “Alright. Stay put. I’ll finish patching you up, then get to work once her vitals are stable.”


    Pilar swallowed hard. “Thanks.”


    Now, all they could do was wait.