September 8, 2067
Alex Mitchell (Volkov) POV
"What a damn day," I muttered, stumbling into the reception area with a tired groan, my eyes immediately locking onto my assistant.
"Something happen?" Vega asked, concern clear in her voice as she looked up.
"Ran into Night City's most obnoxious reporter. Good thing my new look makes me practically unrecognizable — unless someone's running advanced facial recognition software."
"So, should we be worried?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, curious.
"There's always trouble — it's just a matter of what kind," I said, raising a finger meaningfully. Noticing the confusion on the blonde's face, I clarified quickly; my assistant tended to take things a little too literally sometimes. "Don't worry. I've got everything under control."
Stepping into my office, I immediately noticed an unfamiliar face.
"Hi, Dad!" my daughters chorused, briefly interrupting their heated debate.
"We've got company? Care to introduce your new friend?" My reflexes kicked into high gear as I swiftly assessed our visitor.
And she was certainly memorable. Her striking cybernetic eye implants and unusual skin color instantly stood out. Clearly a biological modification, which made me uneasy — especially considering she was essentially a kid. Bio-implants weren't usually recommended until physical maturity, around eighteen or twenty, due to serious health risks.
Side effects ranged widely, from severe allergic reactions to stunted growth. Hell, there were even documented cases from decades ago where kids had stopped growing entirely after getting bio-augments. Sure, those incidents were around forty years old, and technology had improved dramatically since then, but I seriously doubted these implants had been custom-tailored specifically for her physiology.
"This is Rebecca, our new drummer," Lucy cut in, beating her less quick-witted sister to the punch.
"Yo, choom," the girl greeted me cheerfully, waving.
"Hey, Rebecca, mind if I ask a slightly intrusive question?" Curiosity got the better of me.
"What kinda question?" Becca squinted suspiciously, clearly wary of my intentions.
"Your skin — it's a bio-implant, right?" After she nodded affirmatively, I sighed involuntarily. "I'll be straight with you. Did your parents understand the potential risks when they let you get it?"
"Don't have parents," the drummer replied matter-of-factly, without a hint of bitterness. "Just my older brother now."
"Sorry, didn't mean to pry," I raised my hands placatingly, attempting to smooth things over. Rebecca might've come to terms with her family situation, but that didn't mean I should treat it lightly. "But my original question still stands."
"How the hell should I know? My brother's choom hooked me up with a great discount, so I just went with it," Becca shrugged nonchalantly.
"So basically, you have no clue about the potential side effects?" I asked, looking intently into the girl's cybernetic eyes.
"Nope," the blue-haired drummer shook her head.
"All right, let me put this plainly. Biological implants aren't recommended for kids until they've physically matured. There can be serious repercussions — like completely stopping your growth." I deliberately emphasized the last part.
"Huh?!" She blinked rapidly, suddenly alarmed. "You messing with me, old man?"
"Afraid not," Roxy interjected solemnly, showing her friend a hologram with an online article. "It's well-documented."
"Wait — you're saying I might stay small forever?" the girl exclaimed, immediately taking my words at face value. Honestly, I hadn't expected such blind trust from someone I'd just met. In Night City, that kind of naïveté could get you killed.
"Yes and no," I shrugged vaguely, intentionally avoiding specifics since I'd never encountered a case exactly like hers. "Like I said, side effects vary wildly. Maybe you'll get lucky and just end up with a mild allergy."
"Is there a way to fix it?" Rebecca asked hopefully.
"How long have you had that pigmentation?" Seeing her confused expression, I clarified, "I mean, when exactly did you get painted?"
"About two weeks ago, something like that," she replied, thoughtfully scratching her cheek.
"Do you still have the ripperdoc's contact info — the one who did the procedure?"
"No, but my brother probably does," she perked up slightly, intrigued. "Why do you need it?" I could practically see the question mark floating above her head.
"Judging by your reaction, you're not exactly thrilled at the idea of being pint-sized forever, right?" She nodded emphatically, and I continued, "Then we might still have a shot at reversing the damage — but I'll need to know exactly what pigment was used. And I've gotta warn you, this won't be cheap."
"How much?" the girl asked grimly, eyeing me suspiciously.
"Hell if I know. Price depends on the reagents required for your… well, let's call it 'treatment.'"
"Ugh, just my luck," the blue-haired drummer muttered, visibly embarrassed. "Hey old man, can this wait? I'm kinda broke right now."
"The modifications typically become permanent after three to four weeks," I replied, lazily propping my chin in my hand, trying to appear indifferent to her predicament. "In other words, you don't have much time."
I genuinely felt bad for her, no question about it, but intervening too directly might backfire — she could easily take my help for granted. Sure, Rebecca would appreciate it in the short term, but any lasting lesson would be lost. Fixing her problem immediately was entirely doable, but she needed to learn something crucial here: actions have consequences. In short, my daughters' friend needed a harsh dose of reality — something she'd vividly remember the next time she considered doing something reckless. Maybe I wasn't her parent, but something about this girl had struck a chord with me — and besides, helping her wouldn't cost me a dime.
Lucy and Roxy glanced nervously between me and their friend, clearly worried but wisely keeping quiet. Whether they'd picked up on what I was trying to do or simply decided not to interfere, I wasn't sure. Either way, their silence played perfectly into my hands.
"Dad," Roxy quietly pinged me through our internal bracelet comms, clearly preparing to ask something.
"Just watch and don't interfere. This is for her own good," I subtly shook my head.
"Shit... Alright, give me a couple minutes," Rebecca muttered reluctantly. Her cybernetic eyes shifted colors as she disconnected from reality, staying silent longer than she'd promised. I had no idea who the young drummer was contacting, but judging by the rapid shifts of frustration and irritation on her face, the conversation wasn't going well. Still, I didn't rush her — I just waited patiently until she returned to us.
"Uh, old man..." the girl finally broke her silence, hesitating awkwardly. When she didn't elaborate, I nudged her gently for more details.
"Speak up. It's fine."
"We've got a small problem," Rebecca laughed nervously. "Turns out that ripperdoc got flatlined a couple days ago."
"So, I'm guessing there's no way to get the information I need?" Seeing her defeated nod, I let out yet another sigh — I'd lost count of how many I'd given during this short exchange. "Congratulations, young lady. At this point, I'm honestly not sure how to help you," I shrugged theatrically, continuing my little performance.
"Fuck me…" Rebecca groaned, gripping her head and rocking slightly in her seat.
Roxy, sitting beside her, instinctively reached out to comfort her, but Lucy intervened, grabbing her sister's wrist. When Roxy gave the older girl a questioning look, Lucy shook her head firmly, clearly signaling that they needed to stay out of it. Lucy was far more pragmatic than her adopted sister, and she wasn't quick to offer help to just anyone. In her world, people neatly divided into two groups: those close enough to earn her unwavering support, and strangers who barely deserved a second glance.
I didn't want Rebecca to stew in her anxiety too long, but a little patience was necessary. It wasn't pleasant putting her through this, but without it, she'd keep running headfirst into the same trouble again and again. From what she'd told me, her older brother had been responsible for raising her, and judging by her current situation, he'd been pretty hands-off.
The funny thing was, unlike most people around here, her brother hadn't outright abandoned her. He'd stuck around and supported her as best he could, which meant he wasn't a complete asshole. Plus, Rebecca looked neat and healthy enough, with no obvious bruises or signs of abuse. You don't get that carefree attitude growing up in a total hellhole. My guess was that her brother genuinely cared and was doing what he could, limited as that might be.
"Come on, are there really no other options?" The blue-haired girl asked again, fixing me with pleading eyes.
"I'm afraid it's out of your price range," I said, shaking my head. "Getting the right reagents will take effort, and some of them aren't cheap. Worst-case scenario, the treatment could cost up to thirty thousand eddies — maybe even more."
"Thirty freaking grand..." Becca muttered, clearly stunned by the figure I'd tossed out.
It really was a substantial sum. That kind of money could comfortably support a family of three for a year or buy seriously high-end third-class implants — practically military-grade tech.
"Uh, old man, my brother wants to talk to you," Rebecca finally spoke up after another awkward pause.
"Send me his contact info," I replied curtly. It didn't take long — a few seconds later, yet another name appeared on my contact list.
My circle of acquaintances had been expanding rapidly lately. Enough so that I was seriously considering trimming it back down to just the people I actually needed around.
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