"Speaking of which, Old Vic, I really did find a big score recently."
Jack understood the doctor's cautious advice. After all, you only got one life—once you died, you were really dead, and all the money you had made became useless. Still, he had decided to go for something big.
"You know Dexter DeShawn? That big black Jesus from the Afterlife Nightclub—over three hundred pounds, huge gold arms. His name carries serious weight among the In-Betweeners. He's looking for people for a major job lately, and V and I are planning to give it a shot."
As he said that, Jack looked a little dreamy, as though being noticed by an important figure made him feel especially proud.
If someone awesome thought highly of you, didn't that mean you were awesome too?
"Tch. I may never have been a Mercenary, but I used to be a boxer. Mercenary In-Betweeners are just like boxing promoters—parasites living off other people."
Doctor Victor remained unmoved. Instead, he tried to talk him out of it. In his eyes, In-Betweeners were exploiters too: they took jobs, assigned work, provided a ride, then sat safely in the rear drinking and bragging. Once the job was done, they took over forty percent of the profits? That was practically robbery.
"No matter how awesome he is, that doesn't prove anything. It only means he hasn't screwed up yet. How long has he been in the business? Less than three years, right?"
In fact, surviving three years as a Mercenary In-Betweener in Night City was already pretty impressive. At the very least, it meant there probably wasn't anything seriously wrong with him.
After all, the people In-Betweeners dealt with were armed. If the cut was unfair or they screwed someone over, it was very easy for those people to