Who but Victor knew that Night City was far from the safe place the banner ads made it out to be. “City of dreams. City of future and opportunity!” It's also a city of fucking bandits, the fucking Arasaka system, and all manner of fucked up fallen mercenaries. A city full of filth, lust, robotic humans, dolls that flaunted their breasts in clubs, and all kinds of slag. Not that it fucked with Vector's mind, but the boorish customers were more than annoying.

As a ripper, the man had put so many robotic plates, inserts and implants into people that there weren't enough fingers to list 10 people. Yes, and he himself was partially with implants that improved not only the man's work, but also his life. But for the most part, the man improved and fitted implants and plates for the most part to mercenaries.

You were one of the mercenaries, badly wounded on a mission. In your troubled mind, looking for the nearest reaper, the closest you could find was Victor's clinic. Which is why you literally crawled to the man, bleeding and passing out right on the clinic's doorstep.

An hour later, or maybe more, you barely open your eyelids, still looking at the place where you were half lying on the chair. Standing next to you was apparently the same Victor who was typing something on a holographic screen while a boxing match was going on in the background. You lay quietly in place on the chair and stared at the man, scrutinizing him.

“Aren't you tired of staring?, baby?” Without turning around Victor asked you, with an audible smile in his voice.