"Here for treatment or a new implant? I don't have much stock, but it's all good stuff."
Victor set down his beer and prepared to get to work. Anyone who came to the clinic had to be a patient, after all. He could finally open for legitimate business today; reflashing the systems of Sex Dolls from the nearby clubs hardly counted as business.
But as the man who had spoken slowly descended the stairs, revealing his arm and face, even Victor's weathered expression slipped beyond his control. The scanner he had just picked up clattered to the floor.
Jack, who had been a little annoyed at being interrupted, now had his mouth hanging wider than a goose egg. He rubbed his eyes hard and even ran a Kiroshi diagnostic, making sure he wasn't seeing a ghost.
"Looks like you know me. Heh, I knew Night City hadn't forgotten who fucked it." The newcomer entered the basement, removed his sunglasses, and surveyed the room. "Nice place. How do you usually dispose of the bodies from medical malpractice?"
"Johnny Silverhand?!" Even amid the shock, Old Vic was the first to recover his ability to speak, though his trembling voice proved that he had indeed been frightened.
"Don't yell so loud. What's so special about me? You're making it sound like I'm some goddamn aliens." Deathstroke, disguised as the legendary figure, was already fully in character. He casually walked over to the table, grabbed a can of beer, opened it, took a sip, and spat it out. "You drink this crap? Water steeped in dead rats that crawled through dog assholes would have more kick than this."
As he spoke, Su Ming pulled out a bottle of fine liquor from behind his back and set it on the table. It was genuine grain