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The trip back didn't take me long. It's rare for major incidents to occur in Sixth Street's territory. The Sixth Street gang handles any unwanted visitors efficiently, which works in my favor. They're hard to call "good guys," but at least they have something resembling a code of "honor."
When I arrived at my workshop, I found Inga busy at work. She was diligently patching someone up while two other people stood by the entrance. Judging by their appearance and insignias, they were with Sixth Street.
"Need a hand?" I asked.
"A couple of extra hands wouldn't hurt," the blonde replied without taking her eyes off her work.
"Alright, I'll sanitize and join you."
I quickly changed into my work coveralls, scrubbed my hands with antiseptic, and slipped on a pair of medical gloves. Even though we have specialized mechanical tools, sometimes you still have to get your hands dirty.
When I returned, Inga immediately pointed to the patient's image on the computer screen, and I was a bit taken aback. It looked like the guy had been put through a meat grinder — there was no other way to describe it. He had multiple wounds of varying severity, and if it weren't for the expensive meds in his system, he'd be long dead. It reminded me of something similar, but much stronger, that Inga had injected into Lucy and Roxy a year ago.
"What's the payout?" I asked.
"Forty for the work, twenty for the synthetic organs," the white-haired girl replied as she finished transplanting the patient's liver with a synthetic equivalent.
"Did they pay up front?"
"Forty now, the rest after the job."
"These gangsters are getting pretty rich these days," I said with a smirk, shaking my head as I dove into the long and painstaking process of organ transplantation.
You could say the guy got lucky — the damage was mostly to soft tissue, which isn't too expensive to replace. The synthetic organs are the real cost. Besides the surgery itself, there are many factors to consider, including the patient's blood type. Fortunately, the guy on the operating table had O positive. The surgery took us an hour and a half in total, with most of that time spent on transplantation and replacing damaged body parts. Unfortunately, we couldn't replace everything with organic material, so the man had to have his left arm replaced with an implant.
"What's his condition?" One of the client's friends approached me, nervously shifting from foot to foot.
"He'll live," I replied casually, waving a hand. "You can go see him now. The surgery's done, and he's already conscious. He shouldn't exert himself until the organs fully stabilize. In about three days, he can start with light activity. Here," I handed them a bag of medications, "these are regenerative drugs and tonics. You know how to use them?"
"Of course," the light-haired guy said, gratefully accepting the bag.
"If anything unusual happens — like the organs not taking or if your friend starts coughing up blood — bring him back here, and we'll fix it." Just as I finished speaking, the man from the operating room hobbled out, quickly supported by his friends.
"Thank you!" They expressed their gratitude as the remaining payment was transferred to our account.
"Yeah, no problem." After handling the clients, I glanced at the clock out of the corner of my eye.
I had about an hour and a half left before my appointment with Jeremy, so I figured I'd get everything ready for his arrival. With Vega's help, I managed to prepare pretty quickly. The most time-consuming part was setting up the sensor calibration system. This system would control the sensitivity of Martinez's implants, and if anything went wrong, he wouldn't be pleased, to say the least. But I wasn't too worried — Vega would back me up if needed. I'd already enlisted her help with similar tasks back at the camp when I worked on implants with Roosevelt.
In general, there isn't much conceptual difference between augmentations, as they're all built on basic cybernetics principles. The only real variations are in the number of sensor blocks, which can be more or less depending on the model. These blocks manage all system functions, including tactile sensations. Additionally, every piece of augmentation hardware comes with factory-installed safety limits to prevent accidental violence. After all, artificial limbs have far more strength than natural ones.
My own body has something similar, though much more complex. I still don't fully understand how I can control the strength of my body, which far exceeds human limits. By my estimates, I'm currently about twenty times stronger than a peak human. My speed and coordination are also remarkable, not to mention my ability to learn and retain vast amounts of information. In my previous life, I was considered "smart," but my current capabilities are on a whole different level.
Come to think of it, Inga isn't exactly an ordinary girl either. When I studied her blood, and later her entire body, I noticed signs of external interference. This answered some of my questions about the peculiarities I'd observed in Kiwi's body. According to her, her parents were skilled doctors, and they could have administered something to her when she was a child. It's entirely possible — if my father could think of something like that, why couldn't someone else?
***
Time flew by as I prepared for the procedure, and before I knew it, the hour of Jeremy's arrival was upon me. With just five minutes to spare, the man finally walked into my workshop. Martinez looked around with curiosity, patiently waiting as I finished tinkering with the operating chair.
"Everything's ready. Get comfortable, and we'll start," I called him over while powering up all the necessary equipment.
"Nice setup," the brunette said, nodding in approval.
"Better equipment means less chance of screwing up," I replied.
"Can't argue with that," he chuckled before removing his jacket and settling into the chair.
"First, I'll map the sensory matrix of your implants, and then I'll start analyzing all the data. The procedure will be lengthy and done in several stages."
"Not even started yet, and you're already trying to scare me," he joked, relaxing into the chair.
"Oh, I'm all kindness," I said with a smirk as I tightly fastened the straps, securing his limbs firmly in place.
"Just like Dr. Mengele?" Martinez raised an eyebrow in mock concern.
"If you keep talking, I might work without anesthesia. Just like Dr. Mengele," I shot back, tightening the last strap.
"I'll be good, I promise," he said, raising his hand as if taking an oath.
Rolling my eyes, I began the first stage of the procedure. The initial task was to upload a sensory imprint of all his implants into the computer. This process isn't quick, and it can be uncomfortable. During the imprinting, the implants temporarily stop sending tactile signals to the brain, and some patients even experience a sensation of free-falling in zero gravity.
After a few minutes, I had a detailed readout of all the augmentations in Jeremy's body. As I reviewed the data, my mind kept short-circuiting at the sight of the numerous hacks and makeshift fixes I uncovered. The fact that these implants were still functioning was nothing short of a miracle. Everything needed to be rebuilt from the ground up — rolling back or restoring to factory settings wasn't an option. Fortunately, one of the ripperdocs had left detailed notes after installing the implants. The data file still bore the signature of the person. This saved me a ton of time and allowed me to jump straight into fully recalibrating the systems. In simpler terms, I was about to redevelop the software that would run the entire system.
As a foundation for the work, I drew on the advancements from my old suits, which were left in the care of the Bakkers clan. The sensory systems in those suits were leagues ahead of what was installed in Militech's "Stormtrooper" implant set. While I focused on integrating the entire cascade of systems, Vega had already connected to the augmentations, initiating the calibration process for each module individually. Thanks to her computational power, we managed to get everything done fairly quickly. In the end, all that was left was to synchronize everything with the control processors, which also needed replacing. The old ones had long outlived their usefulness and were due for a mandatory upgrade. When everything was finally finished, I restored Jeremy's access to his sensory inputs, helping him steady himself.
"Now, you'll need to go through a series of specialized exercises to complete the calibration process. I've replaced and upgraded a lot, so the sensations might differ significantly from what you're used to," I explained.
"Got it, doc," Martinez replied.
He meticulously followed my instructions, and before long, the results of my work were apparent. The mercenary had changed noticeably, even in appearance. His posture, fine motor skills, and many other subtle details had transformed him in an instant. It was clear that he no longer faced the challenges he had struggled with before.
"So, how does it feel?" I asked, watching the brunette as he continued to test out his newly enhanced body.
"It's like being reborn," Jeremy admitted honestly, smoothly rising to his feet.
"We'll also need to calibrate the other computational systems, but for that, we'll need to head to the shooting range. I've synchronized all your implants and cleared out the old junk, so the response time should be noticeably faster." I didn't mention that I had also tweaked his optics, removing a hidden tracking system — just as a precaution, but no need for the patient to know about that.
"Good to hear," Martinez chuckled, confidently heading in the direction I indicated.
Things went even better at the range. The mercenary's extensive combat experience allowed him to quickly adapt to his new capabilities, while I made the final adjustments. After two hours of painstaking work, we were finally done.
"For the first time in years, I feel this good."
"All systems are tuned and ready to operate at 100%. I've also added tips and operating instructions to your database. With those, any good ripperdoc will be able to assist you. As for my work here, I'd say it's done."
"How much do I owe you?" the man asked, all business.
"For the work, as we agreed. And I'll charge an extra twenty for the processor replacements. The old ones were barely hanging on, so I had to scrap them."
"That's all? That's not much," the mercenary remarked, surprised. "You don't strike me as the altruistic type."
"There was a high chance of things going wrong. Besides, I gained much more from this job than you might think. Experience in our line of work is far more valuable than zeros on my account." I shrugged casually, keeping an eye on the incoming funds.
"Fair enough," the brunette chuckled as he slipped back into the coat he had set aside earlier. "Didn't expect to find such a young and highly skilled specialist in our megatower. Where'd you learn if you don't mind me asking?"
"I grew up in a nomad clan. The folks there taught me a lot, as you can see, it wasn't in vain."
"Thanks again, Alex. Here," he said, sending me an electronic business card. "If you ever need my services, you know who to call. Oh, and one more thing, you modify weapons, right?" After I nodded in confirmation, he continued. "Do you also create custom devices?"
"Of course. Do you need something specific?"
"Not right now, but I'll be using your services later. I think we can call it a day." Jeremy extended his hand.
"Indeed, it's getting pretty late. I'm sure they're waiting for you at home." I replied with a smile, shaking his hand.