10 a.m. the next morning. Jack was leaning on his motorcycle, waiting downstairs at V's apartment building.
When he saw Yogan coming down from upstairs, Jack greeted him enthusiastically.
"How's it going, bro? Did you sleep well last night?"
"Jack, you're truly my best bro, huh? I told you something in confidence, and you went and told V right away? Luckily, V went to the hospital later that night to visit a patient."
"Not just V. I told Viktor too. He'll probably be calling you soon to have you come by for another check-up."
"You really got me, Jack. I didn't help you cover with Mrs. Wells the other day and you're still holding that against me?"
Jack's expression turned serious.
"Bro, this isn't about grudges. I talked to Viktor in detail. That implant inside you — the one nobody can trace — it's a ticking time bomb in your body. Sure, I won't deny it's saved your life more than once. But now, it's gonna take your life."
Yogan shrugged helplessly.
"I know, but what can I do? Viktor can't even figure out what that thing is, and I don't know when I got it implanted. Anyway, forget that for now. Why'd you call me down this morning?"
"To pick up some other life essentials, of course."
"You said last time: 'Yogan, the stuff you've already bought is enough to last someone a hundred years.' And now you're telling me there are more essentials?"
"Bro, this is a different story. This item is a basic necessity for anyone living in Night City. Maybe you won't use it every day, but you need to have it."
"The way you say that... I've got a bad feeling."
Sure enough, Jack took Yogan to a large shopping center. But the items sold there were a bit... unusual.
Yogan's face immediately darkened.
"I knew it. Jack, how the hell are guns considered 'daily necessities'?"
"Now that's where you're wrong, bro. You know the saying—'When in Rome, do as the Romans do.' In Night City, if you're not packing heat, you're not safe. Especially someone like you, who has to walk home at night after work. You know my job — I can't walk you home every night."
"Besides, you can't install cyberware. Without even a basic weapon for self-defense, you'll end up tied up in some Scav's hideout and V will have to come rescue you again. Plus, this is your Second Amendment right. Carrying a gun means you're upholding the law."
"I remember there are plenty of gun shops elsewhere. Why come all the way to a mall this huge? Judging by the decor, nothing here looks cheap. If I wanted a self-defense weapon, I could just grab one of those 'auto-slicers' from a street vending machine."
Jack shook his head.
"No, no, no, bro. That's where you don't get it. I know a veteran who's seen real combat. He once told me, 'Treat your gun like your wife. If you neglect her, one day she'll take her revenge tenfold.'
"And let me tell you — never call that vending machine junk a 'gun' in front of someone who actually knows weapons. If you do, they'll beat your legs to a pulp."
"That 'auto-slicer' you mentioned? That thing's just a pile of plastic held together with glue. If you can get through ten shots without it jamming, you're lucky. Its recoil's ridiculous for such a weak bullet, and even seasoned shooters can't land more than a few shots on target."
"To put it bluntly, auto-slicers are only good for scaring off law-abiding citizens. If you run into a gang member, they're about as useful as a candy wrapper."
Yogan interrupted Jack's long-winded lecture.
"Alright, alright. So what kind of gun do you think I should get? I don't have a lot of cash right now."
"Relax, bro. When have I ever screwed you over?"
"Does last night count?"
"C'mon, man. That's cold."
"I'm just stating facts."
The two of them entered the mall. Yogan had to admit, the firearms megastore was eye-opening.
"Heh, pretty wild, huh?" Jack grinned. "This is the biggest gun mall in all of Night City. Maybe even the world. If you can name it, they sell it here. Guns, attachments, ammo — even a few shops with 17th-century antiques. Of course, those are collector's items. Only folks who don't know where else to throw their money buy that stuff."
"So, where exactly are we headed?"
Jack lowered his voice and asked mysteriously, "You know the gun V always uses? That Nue?"
"Yeah, what about it?"
"That thing is her baby. She spent a fortune on it, but damn was it worth it. You've never fired it, have you? The feel of it — man, you don't even know."
"And what does that have to do with where we're going now?"
"Everything. We're headed to the shop where V got her gun. Gonna get you a solid piece too."
With that, Jack led Yogan into a gun shop called The Second Amendment.
Just as Yogan had expected, the owner was a pot-bellied man with a handlebar mustache and a balding head.
"Hey there, Jackie boy! How's that piece working out for ya?"
"Smooth as butter, Wilson. I brought you a new customer."
Wilson rubbed his hands together eagerly.
"A new customer, huh? Welcome! You got something specific in mind, or want to browse?"
Jack dragged Yogan to the counter.
"With an expert like you, there's no need for us to guess. My bro here needs something for walking home at night. Think you can hook him up with something reliable?"
Wilson stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Walking at night, huh? Alright, kid. Besides self-defense, any other requirements?"
"Not really, that's it for now."
"Let me be upfront. With guns, you get what you pay for. Those vending machine 'auto-slicers' can't compare to something like an Omaha or a Kenshin. If you're chasing top-tier performance, you'll need to cough up the cash. But if your standards are more basic, your budget doesn't need to be sky-high. What's your price range?"
Yogan gave it some thought.
"Boss, what do you have in the three to five thousand range?"
"Three to five thousand? Not bad, kid. That kind of budget can get you a decent sidearm for self-defense."