8. The Burdensome Task

“The surgery is over. You’re fine now. Get up, but don’t move too much—the anesthesia will linger for a while.”

Hearing Victor say this, Carl gently touched his spine and slowly slid from the operating table to sit on the side.

“How do you feel now?”

Oliver, who had been silently watching the surgery for hours to avoid disturbing the procedure, finally broke his silence and eagerly inquired about the results. “It took me quite a while to get used to it when I first adapted.”

Carl replied, “I can only say it’s more bearable than I expected.”

As he spoke, Carl realized that with just a thought, he could try connecting to the local area network servers of various companies.

“I removed the back-end programs left by the companies selling them. This neural interface pod only provides you with some basic connection functions. To increase computational power or use it for technical tasks, you’ll need to install other components. Don’t get too carried away; if you’re not careful, hackers might turn this against you and invade your own body.”

Victor warned as he moved his hand, still numb from the surgery. He had performed the operation using an external mechanical arm, which had taken a physical toll on him after such a long time.

“You can try creating a personal account on it now. The money can be stored there, and unless someone takes you out or hacks into your operating system to crack your account, no one else can access the funds.”

Victor glanced at the bloodstained bills. “If you need to install more components later, I suggest using online payments. Hard cash is harder to launder.”

Upon hearing that money was hard to launder, a vague image of a mob boss complaining about dirty money flickered through Carl’s mind.

Victor’s appearance was deceptively ordinary; no one would guess that this mature, handsome man with a face full of stories was such a skilled cybernetic doctor.

“I’ll remember that. But if I take someone out, can I really take the money from their personal account?”

“If someone dies, you can hack into their personal operating system and seize their funds.”

Oliver chimed in, “If you’d had this neural interface pod earlier, maybe we could have bought everything outright without issues.”

“Then I’ll be sure to keep that in mind next time.”

Walking over to where he had placed his gun bag before the surgery, Carl opened it and tossed Oliver’s gun back to him.

Oliver caught his pistol with a smile.

“Oh, my dear New Star, you’re back. Ready to find some work, KK?”

---

[DR-5 New Star]: A traditional revolver, prone to damage but easy to repair—everyone needs one.

“No money means you have to work.”

Carl slipped the extra two hundred euros Victor had given him into his pocket, lifted the bag, and said, “I still need to find a gun shop to sell these cheaply and buy some bullets.”

“Are you planning to look for work now?” Victor, who had just settled back to watch the boxing match on his computer, heard their conversation. He slid his foot on the floor and turned his chair around.

“Your cybernetic limbs don’t have much protection. If you’re going out, remember to buy a bulletproof vest at the weapon store. It won’t stop all weapons, but sometimes it might just save your life.”

“A bulletproof vest? Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

Carl recalled that back in pre-transit America, selling bulletproof vests was prohibited. Cyberpunk life was truly different. He nodded in gratitude at Victor’s advice.

“No need to thank me. I think having polite young men like you in Night City is a blessing.”

Victor turned back around, and the sound of the boxing match resumed.

Carl and Oliver left the cybernetic clinic, and before leaving, Carl even closed the clinic’s iron folding door behind them.

Victor was indeed a good man—few these days cared less about money and were willing to offer discounts, especially those who were cybernetic doctors. Carl decided he would return here for future cybernetic repairs or upgrades.

In Night City, no shop was easier to find than a gun store. In a city where everyone carried a firearm, gun shops outnumbered convenience stores. Just a few steps from Victor’s clinic, Carl and Oliver spotted a gun shop by the roadside.

The guns in the bag didn’t fetch much—selling the entire bag brought in only 2,500 euros. Clearly, they were lowballed, but since it was just some side loot and the shop owner threw in a few boxes of bullets and holsters, Carl didn’t complain. Experiencing the digital transaction and seeing the 2,500 euros added to his personal account was a strangely thrilling first experience.

“Beep.”

After Carl finished the transaction, Oliver noticed 1,250 euros had been transferred into his own account. Seeing the number, he immediately looked at Carl.

“Help me split it half when we meet.”

Before Oliver could refuse and try to transfer it back, Carl cut him off. “Since we’re planning to work together, a fifty-fifty split is only fair. If you want to divide things that precisely, wait until we handle bigger jobs.”

Carl meant that since they were just rookie mercenaries, there was no need to split hairs now. For bigger jobs, they could divide the profits according to contribution.

---

“No, I just mean this feels like the first money I’ve earned myself…”

Oliver didn’t mind; he was just a bit emotional. “I always spent my dad and sister’s money before. I got kicked out of the gang in less than a week. This is the first time I’ve felt what it’s like to make my own money.”

“Sounds like you had it pretty good before.”

For Oliver, who came from the streets and had never earned money by petty theft, his father and sister had always protected him well.

After handing some bullets to Oliver, Carl looked outside at the gloomy sky. “So, how do we find work now?”

“Find a middleman?”

[Middleman]: Intermediaries who connect edgerunners with clients. They take a cut of the payment but handle most of the technical headaches. In this era, they are indispensable partners for mercenaries aiming to take on serious jobs.

Carl recalled the information about middlemen. He agreed with Oliver’s suggestion; mercenaries without connections or knowledge trying to pick up jobs themselves would likely get scammed out of their pay. Finding a middleman was definitely the smart choice. But before that, there was a small problem.

“Do you know any middlemen?”

“I didn’t plan to become a mercenary before, and I have no reputation. I don’t know a single one.”

“Hmm.”

Carl and Oliver exchanged a glance.

How do you get jobs by finding a middleman if you don’t know any middlemen? And how do you build a reputation without taking jobs? If you don’t take jobs, how do you get a middleman to find you?

A vicious circle.

On the first day forming their mercenary team, Carl and Oliver were already troubled by their inability to secure any contracts.