Riku loaded the two poor souls into the car and slid into the driver's seat, flooring it with a screeching launch.
Jack Welles sat quietly in the passenger seat, glancing at Riku. The "alien" seemed to be pulling himself together.
"This kinda thing happens all the time in Night City. Someone's probably getting their kidneys jacked right now," Jack said, breaking the silence. He figured Riku's mood was off because he wasn't used to Night City's brutal reality, coming from outside its chaos.
"I get it," Riku replied after a pause.
He hadn't expected Jack to pick up on his mood, but it made sense. For one, Riku wasn't hiding his feelings—they were written all over his face. For another, Jack Welles wasn't just the rough-and-tumble gonk he seemed. The guy was loyal, righteous, and sharp as a katana, like a modern-day Musashibo Benkei with a soft side. Noticing Riku's vibe was par for the course.
The two fell silent as the Curtis's engine roared through the night, pulling up to the small church Padre had designated.
"We'll take it from here. Padre's waiting," a guy who screamed Heywood said, tapping on the window as soon as they parked.
Riku and Jack hopped out, handing the car over. Jack chatted with the guy for a sec—clearly, they knew each other.
Vroom!
The Curtis roared back to life as the Heywood guy drove off without a second thought.
"Just like that?" Riku asked, watching the car disappear down the street.
It wasn't the first time this had happened, judging by how casual Jack and the guy were about it.
"Of course. Padre'll make sure they get patched up," Jack said confidently, then grinned at Riku. "What, you wanna foot their medical bill yourself? Got the eddies for that?"
Riku didn't have a comeback. Jack had a point—they'd done their part, and now it was up to Padre. They'd gone above and beyond already.
"This was actually a lucky break. I've flatlined plenty of Scavs, but saving people like this? Doesn't happen often," Jack said, his tone heavy. He hated Scavs and their organ-harvesting gigs with a passion.
"Let's go see Padre," Riku said, brushing it off and heading into the church. Jack followed close behind.
"Got it," Padre said as they entered the confessional. He was just wrapping up a call, hanging up as they walked in.
"You two did good. Here's your pay," Padre said, transferring the eddies with a flick of his wrist.
Riku checked his account—his balance jumped from zero to 3,000 eddies. He wasn't sure if that was decent or chump change. Glancing at Jack, who looked unfazed, he figured it was standard.
"Don't complain, kids. That money was scraped together," Padre said, his voice low, almost apologetic. A crew of over a dozen heavily armed Scavs, and the payout was only 9,000 eddies total. No wonder no one wanted the job.
That 9,000 came from the Heywood locals, who'd pinched every penny to make it happen. Regular folks slaved away for 2,000–3,000 eddies a month, barely covering living costs. Saving up that much meant going hungry.
Padre didn't take a cut—he was just the middleman, doing it out of duty.
"Three grand for Scavs? That's more than fair," Jack said. He loved taking out those organ-jackers, but he knew unless they nabbed someone important, no one paid for Scav hunts. Scavs weren't dumb—they targeted nobodies like drifters, slum-dwellers, or outsiders. Why risk grabbing a corpo when a homeless guy's parts sold just as well, without the heat?
"What about V? She didn't come with us," Padre asked, curious. Hadn't they gone to bail her out?
"She's still cleaning up the scene. Her cut…" Riku trailed off, realizing Padre had paid them so fast V hadn't even shown up yet.
"Don't worry, Riku. I've got her share set aside," Padre said, waving it off. He'd been a fixer in Heywood for years—screwing over mercs on payouts wasn't his style. Riku's concern was natural for a newbie, but Jack? He didn't bat an eye. He knew Padre was solid.
Riku nodded. Asking about V's cut was reasonable—she wasn't here, after all.
"Padre, got any big-money gigs?" Jack asked, clearly not satisfied with the 3,000 eddies. He was hungry for a real score.
"There's one. Just came in. But it's best for a netrunner," Padre said, nodding. This was a legit high-stakes job.
"I know a netrunner. Solid choom," Jack said, his eyes lighting up. He wasn't about to miss a chance to make a name for himself.
"Tell us about it, Padre," Riku added, leaning in. Three grand was fine for a month's living, but for serious chrome—like a new cyberdeck or implants—it was pocket change. Even his Kirōshi Optics, basic as they were, cost 3,000–4,000 eddies. Most folks settled for cheaper knockoffs.
"Alright, here's the deal. The target's a biotech corp," Padre began, diving into the details.
Jack's face lit up like a neon sign. In his years as a cyberpunk, he knew one thing: any job tied to a corp meant serious eddies.
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