Takemura Goro lay silently on Viktor's operating table, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His breath was calm, but beneath that calm was a weight heavier than chrome.
Viktor's voice broke the hum of machines as his cybernetic hands moved deftly across the old samurai's body. "You've got extensive muscular atrophy," he murmured, his tone that of a surgeon who's seen too much. "The kind that comes from having half your implants torn out. Your muscle fibers aren't regenerating anymore. Cell repair's slowed to a crawl."
He adjusted a monitor, the soft blue light reflecting off his lenses. "All I can do now is stabilize what's left. Keep you from degrading further."
He glanced down at his instruments. "No more suppressors in your system… behavioral chip wiped clean… whoever stripped you did a thorough job. Clean slate."
Takemura's voice was steady. "Neo, your friend here is truly skilled. To assess my condition so precisely, with such limited tools—he's remarkable."
Neo didn't look up from the auto-mag he was flipping through on the couch. "Old Vik's only limited by his equipment," he said lazily. "You put him in Arasaka's med labs, he'd make their entire surgical team look like street butchers."
Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. "I just fix what's broken, Neo. No need to polish my halo."
He looked up again. "You said you'd tell me the story behind all this, right? I'm starting to get curious."
Neo closed the magazine, expression cooling. "It's complicated," he said. "So I'll keep it simple."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "The night we infiltrated Konpeki Tower to steal the Relic, Saburo Arasaka arrived in Night City—quietly. Not even his son knew he was here. No official records, no entourage. Just his personal AV."
Takemura's eyes flickered slightly at the mention.
"That night," Neo continued, "I fought both you and Adam Smasher. When I cut Smasher down and you were about to face me… Saburo Arasaka died upstairs. In his penthouse suite."
He paused, voice low. "When you rushed back, all you found was the Emperor's corpse. Yorinobu Arasaka declared him dead on the spot, barred Trauma Team from entering, and claimed we—Night's Ember—were the assassins."
Takemura closed his eyes, remembering that night, the panic, the betrayal.
"Then he threw you out," Neo said. "Stripped your implants, your access, everything that made you useful. The rest?" He tilted his head. "I'm guessing the Arasaka death squads that came for you afterward left those scars."
Viktor let out a slow whistle as he continued adjusting the samurai's cybernetics. "Didn't think there was that much history behind this mess. Guess even legends bleed the same red."
He examined Takemura's worn optical implant, tapping a diagnostic screen. "Both your eyes and your behavioral chip are shot. No point in patching 'em—I'll just swap in new ones."
Takemura opened his mouth to protest, but Viktor was already at work. "Close your eyes," he said simply.
A minute later, the clinic filled with the quiet click of mechanical calibration. The smell of antiseptic mixed with the faint ozone tang of fresh wiring.
"Done," Viktor said finally. "Try them out."
Takemura blinked. The world snapped into sharper focus than he'd felt in weeks. His new optics gleamed faintly red as they synced with his nervous system.
He flexed his hands, then moved—fluid, strong, almost reborn. "Incredible," he said softly, his face breaking into a rare smile. "This precision… this balance… remarkable work."
Viktor just grinned.
Neo smirked from his spot on the couch. "Don't get too sentimental. For Vik, tuning behavior chips is child's play. You should've seen him when he still boxed—back when his fists could tune ribs instead."
Viktor laughed. "Those days are long gone."
But Takemura stood, bowing deeply to the old ripperdoc. "You have my deepest gratitude, Viktor."
Viktor quickly waved him off, half embarrassed. "Come on, man, don't do that. You're one of us now—Night's Ember looks after its own. Boss said fix you up, so I did."
Takemura turned then, bowing again—this time to Neo. "Thank you, Neo."
Neo sighed. "Damn, the neon and the bows… it's too much sometimes. You people make gratitude feel like a moral burden."
...
Takemura sat down, cradling the steaming cup of tea Viktor handed him. His new eyes caught the reflection of the sterile lights above. "Yorinobu must pay," he said quietly, every word weighted with intent. "I have allies—few, but strong. We intend to expose the truth to the world, to force him to confess. But for that, I need evidence."
He looked up, the faintest hint of desperation breaking through his stoicism. "This city is not Japan. I have no network here. No influence. And I am hunted."
Viktor crossed his arms. "So, let me guess—you came to us to make Night's Ember your network. You're not picky, huh? Mercs, punks, whoever gets the job done."
Takemura nodded without shame. "I am no saint. I am a samurai. And a samurai does whatever is necessary to honor his master. I will use every tool, every contact, every devil in this city if it means avenging Saburo-sama."
Neo's lips curved. "Let me see if I've got this straight. If I agree to help, you'll give me anything I want. Your loyalty, your service—even your life?"
Takemura didn't hesitate. "If we succeed, everything I have is yours. Including my life."
Neo's voice softened, almost amused. "And if what I want… is your code?"
Takemura went still.
Then, with quiet dignity, he nodded. "Then you may take it. Take my bushidō, my honor, my purpose. When my vengeance is complete, give me the death I deserve."
For a long moment, Neo said nothing. He just watched him—this relic of a lost age, willing to die for an emperor already buried.
A true samurai. Unbending. Absolute.
And in that moment, Neo knew he wanted him—not as an ally, but as a brother-in-arms.
Finally, he spoke. "All right. I'll help you."
Takemura exhaled, a sound halfway between relief and gratitude.
"Good," Neo said. "Now tell me your plan."
Takemura took another sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. "We'll call for a hearing. Neutral ground. Witnesses who command respect. We'll use data reconstruction and signal backtraces to prove Saburo-sama's death wasn't your doing. That Yorinobu silenced him to seize control."
Neo's eyes narrowed. "And your allies?"
"Someone… powerful," Takemura said carefully. "More influential than Anders Hellman."
Neo tilted his head. "You mean you're not working with Hellman?"
Takemura smiled faintly. "Your research is thorough, Neo. But no, Hellman is a small fish. The one I speak of… can shake the world."
Neo's tone sharpened. "If we're partners, there's no reason to hide names. Trust goes both ways."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but firm. "You couldn't find Hellman. That's why you took Evelyn Parker—to draw me out. Isn't that right?"
Takemura's new optics flickered once in the dim light.
He didn't answer.
But his silence was all the confirmation Neo needed.