"Hello? You're... uh, Maine?"
On the other end of the line, a woman's voice was nervous.
This seemed to be her first time dealing with edgerunners. She'd even forgotten to state her purpose.
Maine frowned. "I'm not buying any big guns. Don't fucking call—"
"Wait! I'm not a sales rep!"
The woman sounded desperate.
"Then spit it out." Maine wasn't exactly friendly. Edgerunners didn't like these random calls.
Normal people would text first to ask, not blurt out someone's name like some clueless rookie.
Rude.
"You need me to pay you to talk?"
Maine bit down on his cigarette. His mood was already sour.
"Hey, listen — I contacted a fixer in Santo Domingo... He said you're doing well, told me to talk business with you."
"You in Night City right now? The fixer said he hasn't seen you in a while."
Maine didn't say where he was. "I moved around. Go where the eddies are, that's normal... What's your business, lady?"
"I joined a private clinic rescue team here in Santo Domingo. Usually... uh, I can..."
"Right, cyberware. I've got some decent cyberware and weapons. You interested in buying?"
The woman on the other end seemed afraid to speak loudly. Stammering.
Maine usually hated wishy-washy business partners, but she was talking about cyberware.
Cyberware, weapons, and corporate secrets dug up by netrunners — those were Night City's big-ticket items.
"Tell me about your cyberware."
Gloria, pacing in the laundromat, exhaled in relief. So many people had rejected her. Maine was the most patient one.
"The cyberware's stripped from bodies. Parts too — whatever you need, I can... pull it off."
Maine's eyebrow rose. "Lady, you didn't mention you were a Scav."
"No no no, I'm not a Scav — you know how it is. Lots of people die to police or cyberpsychos. We also get outsourced work from MaxTac and Trauma Team, especially the expired clients."
"Please... think about it."
Gloria finally gritted her teeth and forced out those last two words, trembling.
Maine hesitated. "Lady, you need to send me footage of your work environment — I won't deal with organ harvesters. Let me see that you're..."
Gloria quickly replied: "Don't worry, I'll send footage when I have a job. Definitely not organ harvesting. As for the type and quality of cyberware, can't be picky — you'll need a buyer who isn't too choosy."
Please. This is Dogtown. What kind of sales channel don't they have?
A smile spread across Maine's face.
He wasn't one to turn down money.
Dorio watched Maine grinning like he was watching porn braindances. She punched him in the gut.
Maine winced, sucking air through his teeth. "Got a good lead."
Pilar had his hands behind his head. "Oh man, eating good in both Night City and Dogtown. Keep this up and we'll make a few hundred K before Christmas!"
Dorio was interested now.
"What?"
Maine tapped his temple. "Someone from Santo Domingo. Says she's selling cyberware and weapons. Doesn't sound like a Scav. We'll wait for her reply."
Dorio tilted her chin toward the clinic.
"Should we run it by Mr. Cole?"
Maine nodded. "Since we're all working together, we share the profits too. If this supplier's legit, making some extra on the side isn't bad."
After a long wait, Dogtown's sky had turned golden-red.
With ozone holes everywhere these days, Night City's sky was unusually beautiful. AVs streaked across the burning clouds. Dogtown's loudspeakers broadcast Hansen's speeches.
A rare moment of peace.
Night was coming.
Ethan looked at his palm. The Gorilla Arms' data fed into his neural interface. To his surprise, the panel could read cyberware quality!
By now, Ethan understood the panel was basically the game's framework from his past life. This world didn't crudely fix items into quality tiers like the game did, but the panel gave him quantified reference points. This helped him keep track of things.
[Gorilla Arms · Epic]...
Purple tier?
Ethan's heart sank. Now he understood why the ripperdoc had looked at him that way.
Ordinary mercs rarely went beyond blue-tier chrome...
The doctor brought out several vials. "On the street they call these suppressants. In Dogtown we call them blockers — same thing. Use them daily. If you're fine when they run out, if your head's still clear, you can stop. If not, come back and buy more."
"Or we remove them."
Ethan asked: "This was stripped from a corporate soldier, wasn't it?"
Costin seemed surprised this kid was so sharp. "Yeah. Dogtown soldier — former Militech combat engineer, corporal. The Gorilla Arms on your hands came from him. Corporate gear."
"Don't worry, washed all the blood out. Cleaned the blood vessels too."
Post-surgery dizziness lingered. While resting, Ethan organized his future goals.
As for this world's economy, he could only describe it in two words: collapsed.
Before transmigrating, Ethan had controlled game characters. Most gig payouts were a few thousand eddies. Legendary cyberware cost only tens of thousands and was sold everywhere — affordable.
Reality: legitimate military cyberware channels were rare.
His crew's Dogtown payouts weren't bad. Three dangerous jobs averaging around ten thousand each — barely enough to afford upgrades.
It was mainly the Cole identity's income that let him afford this arm swap.
Regular mercs wanting decent blue-tier offensive cyberware had to save for ages. Each piece ran seven to eight thousand.
Their payouts? One to two thousand per job. Sometimes just a few hundred.
Meaning: having two or three blue-tier offensive implants was already impressive for a merc.
Only corporate agents, elite mercs, and gang leadership could afford lots of purple-tier chrome.
This explained why one arm plus miscellaneous repair costs hit sixty thousand — with repairs alone being only about ten grand.
Dogtown had more cyberware channels and cheaper prices. In Night City proper, this arm alone would've cost fifty thousand!
"Want to try it out?"
Costin pointed at flood sandbags in the distance. "Help me move a couple. Feel the strength."
Ethan stood. His hand gripped lightly. The water-soaked sandbag weighed over two hundred kilograms, but in his hand it felt like a grocery bag.
"The programming includes gradual nano-muscle charging. You can test it on a junk container outside — safe travels."
Ethan carried the sandbag out like an obedient idiot.
Costin watched him leave, expression somewhere between anticipation and resignation. He smiled, then turned back to his computer.
Outside, Ethan tossed the sandbag aside. In the distance, Rebecca spotted him and waved happily.
Ethan glanced at a shipping container beside him. He signaled them to wait, then threw a punch.
The arm made clicking sounds as it operated. His heart seemed to pump a rush of excitement. The container's entire side caved in rapidly with a series of crunching sounds.
Ethan's other fist followed. Three consecutive punches!
The final blow landed like artillery on the dented section. The metal exploded outward like it'd been hit by armor-piercing rounds, leaving a black hole.
Ethan pulled his arm out of the hole, disbelief on his face. The crew exchanged glances.
"Pilar, what kind of chrome is that?" Maine had a feeling he might not win a close-quarters fight against Ethan anymore.
That punch — no amount of strength training could produce that kind of force.
Pilar craned his neck, seemingly scanning with his optics.
"This crazy bastard probably stuck combat engineer Gorilla Arms on himself. Shit, he's got balls!"
Watching Ethan approach, Maine studied his expression. No signs of discomfort.
"You okay?"
Ethan nodded, clenched his fist, patted his bicep, and flashed an innocent smile.
A transfer notification lit up in Ethan's optics.
[Transfer]: 2,000 eddies.
"Take it easy. Cyberware's expensive — save some money for emergencies. We won't always be lucky enough to have gigs when we're broke."
"But... looks like you're putting me to shame. I need to get some serious hardware too!"
Ethan was surprised, then smiled.
This dark-skinned roughneck was probably worried this young kid didn't know how to manage money, so he thoughtfully gave him some living expenses.
Ethan wanted to say: Actually, I'm not poor.
But Maine had always been like this. A big brother who paid attention to every team member's state of mind... especially the new ones.
"So... Heavy Hearts?" Rebecca asked tentatively.
Ethan was about to refuse when Rebecca pouted: "Come on, come on! Worst case I'll cover your drinks!"
Finally, everyone piled into that beat-up graffiti van. They tore across Dogtown's cracked, weed-choked roads, speeding toward the district's most happening club.
Author's Note on Economy:
In the game, a single legendary cyberware piece might cost ten to twenty thousand eddies. Even legendary optics are only 9,000. This creates a problem: if gig payouts are just a few thousand, everyone thinks "damn, that's poor." But if payouts were ten to twenty thousand, you'd be fully kitted after ten jobs.
So I've pushed cyberware prices up slightly — especially offensive and time-dilation types. But I've maintained balance: cyberpsychosis means even the wealthy don't install chrome recklessly (see Emma and the protagonist's hesitation).
Also, there are acquisition thresholds for military cyberware. The protagonist can't just walk into any clinic and pull out a Sandevistan Apogee — that would break Night City. But I won't do artificial scarcity either. Growth will be earned through actual ability progression.