"Yo, let's exchange contact info first."
Letting go of Riku's hand, Jack Welles tossed out a casual request to add him as a friend.
"Uh… sorry, I don't have any."
Riku's face flushed with embarrassment. It was like someone asking if you've got a WhatApp, or email, only for you to admit you don't have any of those. Total awkwardness.
It's not that you can't live without them, but having nothing makes you feel like you're stuck in the Stone Age or something.
"Uh…"
Jack Welles blinked, caught off guard. But he quickly pieced it together—Riku was probably one of those old-school types, like a samurai who shuns modern tech for the purity of physical training. People like that were less likely to have cybernetic mods.
"How about a phone number, then?"
Jack tried a different angle. Surely, even out in the wilds of Night City, you'd at least have a phone, right?
"…"
Riku stayed silent, and the awkwardness hit a new level.
No email, no WhatApp, no twitter—and now, not even a phone? Jack was floored.
"Dude, don't tell me you don't even have a legit ID?!"
Jack's jaw practically dropped, but then he thought it over. It wasn't that surprising. Night City was a magnet for stowaways chasing the "City of Dreams" legend. Sure, the place was a crime-ridden mess, but some still believed in the hype. In Night City, if you've got the guts and the skills, you can live large—fast cars, beautiful people, the works.
Leaving? Nobody leaves Night City. Not unless it's in a body bag.
"Well, looks like we've got some work to do tonight."
Jack shrugged it off. Riku clearly had a story, but Jack wasn't the type to pry. Everyone in Night City had their own baggage, their own monogatari.
"C'mon, let's get you a phone first."
Jack snapped into action, ready to drag Riku out the door. Contacts were key in this city—without a way to reach each other, you're as good as ghosts.
"Hold up, Jack. Actually, I'm cool with getting a chip slot installed."
Riku stopped him, dropping the bombshell. Why mess around with a phone when you could go full cyberpunk with a brain-machine interface?
"Huh? I thought you were…"
Jack froze, surprised. He'd pegged Riku as anti-tech because the guy didn't have a single gizumo (cybernetic implant) on him. Was Riku actually coming around?
"Man, trust me, this thing's way better than a phone. Once you get it, you'll be hooked—swear it," Jack said, grinning as he tapped the neural interface port on the side of his head, hyping it up like a shonen hero hyping their ultimate move.
Honestly, buying a phone might've been more hassle than getting Riku a neural chip implant.
"Thanks, Jack. But, uh, make sure we go to a trustworthy gizumo ishi (cybernetic doctor), yeah? You've got someone in mind, right?"
Riku thanked him, dropping a subtle hint. He was hoping Jack would take him to Old Vic.
Old Vic—full name Viktor Vektor—was a gizumo ishi both V and Jack trusted. In a city full of shady, black-hearted docs, Old Vic was a rare gem. A man of principles, a true street samurai, and one of Night City's living legends. If you needed cyberware, he was the guy to trust.
Riku's body was… unique. He wasn't about to let just anyone poke around with a scalpel. Too much to explain, too much at stake.
"No worries, choom. In Night City, you won't find a better gizumo ishi than Old Vic."
Jack gave a thumbs-up, already planning to take Riku to Vic. It was a no-brainer.
"Then what're we waiting for?"
Night had fallen outside, and Riku was itching to move. He stood up, ready to roll.
"Ha! Straight to the point, huh? Let's go!"
Jack chuckled, not wasting a second as he headed for the door.
Their trip to Old Vic's was, well, kinda ridiculous—they took the subway. Night City's rapid transit system, NCART, to be exact.
"What's wrong with the subway? It's quick, it's convenient. If you ask me, Nightcorp should build more stations," Jack said, lounging in his seat with a taco in hand, munching away while gesturing like he was running the city.
Riku didn't have a taco—he couldn't eat that stuff anyway, so he politely turned down Jack's offer to grab him one.
"Wouldn't hurt if they tightened up security a bit," Riku shot back. They'd literally witnessed a robbery while boarding. It wasn't their stuff getting jacked, but still.
"You're asking Nightcorp to fix the NCPD? They pour eddies into those corrupt keisatsu (cops), and it doesn't do a damn thing," Jack said, finishing his taco and tossing the wrapper in the trash. He wiped his mouth, grumbling.
NCPD—Night City Police Department. Supposedly the city's law enforcement, but everyone knew they were just corporate guard dogs.
"Call 'em the city's keisatsu if you're being polite. Call 'em what they are, and they're just the company's lapdogs," Jack added, not holding back. But he wasn't wrong—the system was rotten.
Riku didn't respond. None of this mattered much to him. Right now, his focus was on stacking eddies (money).
One perk of the subway? The view.
Maybe to cut costs, or because parts of Night City were built on reclaimed land, NCART's lines were mostly above ground. From the train, you could soak in the city's chaotic beauty.
Even at night, Night City glowed. Neon lights bathed the streets, and massive billboards sold dreams too big for most to touch. Ads were everywhere—walking, riding, even in deserted alleys, you couldn't escape the relentless product pitches.
Riku was already getting annoyed by the ad bombardment, and they'd barely been out for a bit.
Soon enough, they reached their stop: Watson District's Little Chinatown.
The subway was way faster than in the games—no loading screens to slow things down. Watson was a trek from Heywood, but NCART got them there quick.
Jack led the way, weaving through the district's maze of streets until they reached their destination.
It wasn't a clinic, though. It was a psychic shop—Misty's Esoterica. Small, packed with exorcism trinkets and occult vibes.
"Misty's Esoterica? Doesn't exactly scream 'healing center,'" Riku joked, knowing full well Old Vic's clinic was tucked behind it.
"Haha, you're wrong there, choom," Jack said with a hearty laugh, clapping Riku on the shoulder. "Old Vic fixes the body, and Misty patches up the soul. They're the ultimate nakama (comrades)."