Iron bars, an operating table used for implant surgeries, plus a myriad of strange devices that Leo couldn’t identify—pretty much standard fare in Night City come 2077. Any legitimate hospital or ripperdoc clinic would have the same.
The difference might be that their place was bigger or better-lit. Unless, that is, you woke up on a scavenger’s black-market table—then you were in deep trouble. The Scavs would happily strip every implant and organ from your body. If you ended up in their clutches, your only option was escape or suicide. At least suicide would spare you further torment.
And if neither was possible, your last hope was to pray they remembered the anesthetic.
“Heeey, Vic. Up already, watching boxing this early?”
Viktor shut off the screen he was watching and turned around. “At my age, what else is there? Not much interest in all the stuff you young folks go for.” His gaze fell on Leo. “So this your friend?”
“Not just a friend,” Jackie said seriously. “He’s my partner—the real deal.”
Jackie was always meticulous about word choice: friend, brother, partner. He never misused them.
“A partner, huh? Well, so long as it’s paying business, I’m all ears. What brings you both here?” Viktor’s tone was casual, like a diner waiter asking for your order.
Jackie rolled his shoulders, producing a series of pops and cracks. Turning his back to Vic, he traced a line down his spine with a finger.
“I’m thinking of swapping in a Sandevistan. How’s that sound?”
Viktor nearly dropped his shades. “You serious, Jackie? That implant ain’t something you just slap on. Here, I’ll give you an example you’ll get.”
He set aside his glasses. “Right now, folks can replace eyeballs like it’s nothing. If your optics malfunction, you just get a new pair. But back in 2022, before eye implants became common, if your vision got worse, you’d use glasses or get laser surgery. Even then, you had to go through extensive exams first, to see if you qualified.
“Sandevistan” requires even more pre-op tests—and if you skip those? You could die.”
Jackie’s jaw dropped. He’d thought you could just tack a Sandevistan onto the spine, or maybe swap out the entire spinal column in one go. Didn’t expect so many hoops.
“Is it that bad?”
“This ain’t Two Point Hospital, Jackie.”
“But I heard some people yank Sandevistan from dead cyberpsychos and slap it on themselves, no problem. Though they are just built different and tend to not be the brightest bunch”
Viktor took off his shades and carefully wiped them with a cloth. “Every body is different. Some folks have better anti-rejection than others. Some don’t. The wildest example I’ve seen is Adam Smasher, who’s practically sold his soul to Arasaka. The guy’s basically a walking machine packed with electronics—even his brain has implants. If someone else tried what he’s done, they’d have gone cyberpsycho ages ago.
You really think you’re on his level?”
Jackie mulled it over, then shook his head.
“Exactly,” Viktor said, sliding the shades back on. “Besides, what do you need that for—planning a raid on Arasaka?”
“Come on, Vic,” Jackie grunted. “Night City’s basically Arasaka’s turf. I’d have to be suicidal to target them.” Then, quieter, “Though, if the gig’s worth it…”
Viktor chuckled. “All right, no jokes. So what are you really after?”
“I’m not kidding—I want a Sandevistan. If that’s no good, how about a Kerenzikov?”
“That might be more realistic,” Viktor said, stroking his chin. “It’s not as powerful as Sandevistan, but the side effects aren’t as intense either. Problem is, I don’t have any in stock at the moment. If you’re set on it, I can make some calls and let you know if I track one down.”
Jackie grinned widely. “I knew I could count on you, Old Vic.”
Viktor nodded and turned to Leo. “And you’re…Leo, right? Anything for you?”
While Jackie and Viktor were chatting, Leo had noticed the clinic’s layout: quite spacious for a basement operation. The front part was used by Viktor as a ripperdoc’s workspace. But there was a large, unused area deeper inside.
“Mind if we talk over there?” Leo asked, pointing.
Jackie blinked. “What’s with the secrecy, choom?”
Viktor glanced between the two. “All right, I don’t see why not.”
He was baffled, but he’d seen all sorts in Night City, nearly becoming a legend himself. Add to that, Jackie had personally brought Leo here, calling him a “partner,” something Viktor had never heard him say about anyone else.
Trusting Jackie’s judgment, Viktor led Leo toward the rear of the clinic—a big open space that might once have been a repair garage.
“All right, say what you need to,” Viktor prompted.
Leo gave no explanation. He simply transferred 50,000 eurodollars to Viktor on the spot.
Behind his shades, Viktor’s eyes nearly bulged. That was enough eddies for some primo military-grade implants. Yet the shock didn’t end there.
“That’s not for me,” Leo explained. “I want you to use it to give Jackie and two other friends of mine the best possible cyberware. I’ll bring them here another day. If it’s not enough, let me know—I’ll cover the difference.”
An implant goes inside your body, so installing a subpar one is a recipe for disaster. Best to go with top quality or not at all. Otherwise, you risk side effects, complications—anything from scarring, chronic pain, and inflammation around the circuits to mental or psychological problems.
Shoddy or bootleg neural implants could warp your mind, causing depression, emotional numbness, hallucinations, or addiction issues.
Used or counterfeit parts? Double the risk. And the absolute worst is ripping implants off a corpse. If you jam a dead person’s cyberware into your body and something goes wrong, you might revert to a lesser implant or seek proper medical treatment—often still curable to a normal life. But if it leads to cyberpsychosis, you’re done.
As of now, no known full cure exists.
Jackie, for instance, wanted to install Kerenzikov—like a downgraded Sandevistan. It still boosted reflexes, just for a shorter time and with weaker effect. Many mercs and even boxing pros used it.
Corporate security teams, on the other hand, went straight to top-shelf Sandevistan. But that approach was all harm, no good. Implants are best done step by step, like going from grade school to high school to college. If you skip straight to the advanced stuff—no matter how legitimate—it might overload your system. A safer route is to start smaller, gradually raise the load, and if there’s trouble, revert to a weaker implant before it’s too late.
But truth was, not many in Night City had Leo’s kind of resources. Most were like Maine—scraping by with whatever they could find, be it from corpses, back-alley secondhand, or knockoffs. They lacked the luxury to be choosy. If it worked, that was enough.
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