Let me say it again because some people clearly don't get it:I keep seeing complaints about the lack of updates on We b no vel and W at tp ad. And honestly? I don't care.Yes, some novels haven't been updated in over a week. But I'm going through a breakup that's torn me apart. I lost my cat. I've lost friends. And there's a lot more going on that you don't see.
Don't come at me with nonsense about updates.Everything is up to date on Patreon, and if you want more, that's where it is.I'm posting this message there too — and over there, people are kind. They get it. They never complain, even when I make mistakes. Thank you for that.
I'll post on We bn ovel and Wa tt pa d when I have the strength to. Not before.
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The weather was awful the next day.
Roqi couldn't tell whether the gloomy sky mirrored his mood, or if the rain-heavy air reflected the unease weighing on him.
Delamain dropped them off outside Misty's esoterica shop. But even in those few steps, he and Mower were already soaked up to their shins.
Thankfully, Vik's clinic still had decent drainage. Otherwise, that basement would've turned into a sewage ocean.
Even with Night City's spiderweb of water infrastructure, urban flooding was constant. Whoever designed the city's layout could go eat shit.
They walked down the slick steps. Their wet footprints were quickly washed away by the steady trickle of rain.
"Vik, give her a check-up."
Roqi wasn't in the mood for jokes today. He helped Mower into the chair, then patted the raindrops out of his hair.
"What's the issue?"
Vik spun halfway in his chair, gave a push off the ground, and glided over.
He expertly pulled over the diagnostics panel and equipment, gesturing for Mower to plug in her data cable.
"Radiating neural pain, framerate drops in her optics, nausea, and dizziness."
Roqi listed everything Mower had told him.
It felt like a regular doctor's visit.
Except there were no lab coats, no pristine antiseptic smell—just a mad scientist's basement lair. But when Vik was the one in charge, none of that mattered.
"Yeah. Aftereffects."
Vik pushed his glasses up with his unaugmented hand and started reviewing her readouts.
"To be safe, I'm running a full diagnostic."
"How long? Is it serious? Will it get worse? What's causing it?"
Roqi was pacing, hands on his knees, peering over Vik's shoulder—but the flood of technical terms on the screen might as well have been Martian.
"Relax. Sit." Vik dragged over a chair and tugged Roqi into it. "I can't promise anything, but it's not life-threatening—for now."
"For now?" Roqi shot up like a bullet, the chair skidding behind him.
"It's a precise term," Vik said calmly, still working. "But from what I see, she's holding up okay."
Even though that didn't completely settle his nerves, Vik's calm presence gave him a sliver of hope.
Maybe it really was just a minor problem?
This was Vik, after all. If anyone could fix it, he could.
Roqi tried convincing himself. His chest was painfully tight. Somewhere along the line, he'd bitten his lower lip raw.
"There's juice on the desk. Help yourself."
Still facing the diagnostics, Vik nodded toward some unopened bottles of premium biotech fruit juice—expensive, but one of the few real health drinks in Night City.
"Uh... thanks."
Roqi snapped out of his trance. Only after Mower signaled she was okay did he manage a weak smile. Barely a smile, really.
He checked the clock a dozen times. Paced enough to wear a groove in the floor. After what felt like an eternity, Vik finally pushed the machine aside and stood up.
"Good news. You can sleep soundly tonight—it's nothing major."
Vik walked over to a mystery cabinet, rummaged inside, then started prepping some items on a tray.
"Central and peripheral nerves are moderately damaged. Most likely fried by the old reflex system, but not beyond repair."
He checked a blue vial's expiration date, chucked it in the trash, and opened a fresh one.
"These aftereffects are tricky. Pain and dizziness might stick around for a while."
"How long?"
"If she's lucky? Six months to a year. If not..."
Vik pulled on rubber gloves, calmly portioning pills.
"A lifetime."
"Aren't there any treatments? Can't this be fixed?"
Roqi leaned in helplessly, watching him.
"No lesions. No surgical entry points. Mower's otherwise healthy. Her body just needs time to recover. Don't underestimate the body's natural healing."
"Any permanent fix?"
"You could always replace the nerves."
Roqi frowned. "Is that even possible?"
Vik chuckled as he poured pills into separate trays.
"Not saying it's necessary yet. But yeah, spinal nerve damage is hard to treat. Follow the routine. Take your meds. Rest well. Exercise a bit. She'll get better."
"Unless you plan to replace the whole spine."
Spine?!
They could do that!?
Roqi's face contorted into a pure are you serious? expression. It took real effort to shake his old-world instincts.
This was 2077. A cyberpunk world. Look at Adam Smasher—basically a brain in a tank. Replacing a spine? Child's play in comparison.
Vik noticed Roqi's dumbstruck face and kept going.
"Biotech, Militech—both have spinal kits. But the real top-shelf stuff? That's Arasaka."
"With enough money, even half a body's enough for the corps to rebuild you. But that kind of treatment? It'll cost you the stars."
Roqi watched as Vik calmly sorted pills into compartments.
If only... she were just a normal girl.
She wouldn't have to suffer like this. Wouldn't have to crawl through blood and ruin.
But that was just wishful thinking.
Vik returned with more gear.
"Pneumatic injectors. Two grades of painkillers."
He explained each device carefully. Then he packed pills into organized boxes, explaining their dosages one by one.
"Red pills for severe symptoms—once a day, nothing else that day. Start with this green batch—six total, one per day. Then switch to the big blue ones—twenty-four, same thing. Aerosol? As needed. Always carry one."
He labeled everything clearly with a marker, mumbling instructions like a nagging parent.
"Thanks, Vik. I seriously don't know how to thank you."
Roqi forced a smile. Vik paused, then smirked a little himself.
"Staying alive is what matters. Everything else is background noise."
"Now go, kid. Take your girl. Enjoy life."
He stuffed the meds into Roqi's arms and even tossed in a bottle of juice.
"On the house. Don't put it on your tab."
When Roqi saw the invoice Vik sent, his guilt deepened. The price was nearly at cost—Vik had basically waived his labor.
Mower even managed a rare "thank you." She rarely spoke to anyone besides Roqi.
"You overpaid by two thousand," Vik said without looking up after accepting the transfer.
"See ya, Vik."
Roqi waved and pulled Mower along, bag in hand, disappearing up the stairs.
"Heh... kid."
Vik smiled to himself, cracking open a juice. He turned on a fight replay. The once-silent basement was full of noise again.
.
.
.
🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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