PRIVATE Night City Hustle

[Dmitri Antonov]

---

​

Location: Megabuilding H3 - Heywood
Time:11:00 PM
Tags: @Anders Whitard

A Friendly Visit...​

People like to hate on the city, but it still always found a way to make Dmitri take pause now and again. Something about the neon lights mixed with rain in the dead of night; although in truth, there never really was a 'dead' of night in Night City. While the maintenance roof access parapet he was standing behind was relatively isolated, the street level dozens of floors below him was characteristically alive with all manner of The City's usual denizens. Street walkers, drug addicts, teched-out thugs; complete with NCPD patrol cars turning a blind eye to half of the crimes taking place right under their noses - Heywood was known as the "biggest bedroom in Night City", yet there were plenty who still left the light on as they rummaged about...

Including Dmitri.

Granted, using the same analogy, Dmitri was the weird kid staring down while everyone else slept; but his 'voyeurism' was for a good cause tonight. The optical zoom of his Kiroshi Optics magnified to some of the cars passing by the Megabuilding he was roosted within, looking for one car in particular that belonged to a specific netrunner known as 'Takeshi Kurosaki'. Dmitri and Takeshi were... old pals to use the term loosely. More accurately, Takeshi was a netrunner with flexible morals that usually slanted wherever the eddies flowed from. Dmitri had taken advantage of that fact on a few occasions, and it went without saying that most freelance netrunners throughout the city did work for strange bedfellows throughout their respective careers. But Takeshi was different; although he was good at what he did, he broke the one rule that's been the end of many that came before him.

Don't feck with Militech if you know you can't get away with it.

Dmitri wasn't stupid - there were plenty of freelance netrunners who accepted contracts from Arasaka or other rival corps to try and attack Militech when they were vulnerable, but that was different; it was business. But Takeshi wasn't working for Arasaka when he poked his finger in the cookie jar, or more accurately; a corporate slush fund worth hundreds of millions of eddies. To make matters worse? Some specific people knew that Takeshi was an associate of Dmitri's, which meant that Takeshi broke another very deadly rule - don't feck with Dmitri.

He was going to learn a lesson from that fact very soon, whether he realized it or not. The idiot didn't even have the good sense of going into hiding, probably because he thought Militech themselves were too dumb to find the traces he left behind. He even kept driving his tuned Quadra Type-66, the sound of which began to hit Dmitri's ears even all the way up here as it rounded the corner. He entered the parking garage, which began Dmitri's internal timer for when Takeshi would likely enter his apartment - although he didn't have to guess, since he had placed a small reader next to the access card pad of Takeshi's apartment. As soon as he swiped his key, Dmitri would get an alert.

This afforded Dmitri the time to casually walk over to the other side of the balcony; the side of Takeshi's apartment window, as coincidence would have it. Dmitri had pre-installed an anchor point on the concrete wall of the structure, with a harness and rappel line fastened to it. Normally, Dmitri would have gone down to the front door and bypassed the lock of the apartment to enter without incident - but Takeshi was a paranoid little shit at the best of times, and warded the software of his access system from such security bypasses. So that left a very simple, very direct form of entry. Dmitri wasn't crazy about heights, but what else was a low level enforcer supposed to do?

He donned the harness, and sent out a small drone which hovered down the side of the building. Normally the privacy glass would prevent eavesdropping into individual units, but Militech had access to some pretty unique toys, and was open-handed with them for the use of their enforcers. He slowly guided the drone down the length of the building, scanning each unit - pausing at one in particular as a very... alluring tenant was changing her clothes - until he came to Takeshi's, which was about 8 floors below the balcony. After securing the rappel, Dmitri climbed the railing and stepped over the side.

His feet patted against the structure, with the line holding him upright as he walked along the side of the building as if he were casually strolling along the sidewalk. His heart was pounding in his chest given that he wasn't crazy about staring straight down toward the pavement, but his biologically induced panic was short-lived as he approached the window of Takeshi's unit. He pivoted around, allowing the rappel to twist around to the front of his body. He gripped the line, and peered into the unit. Takeshi had just walked into the bathroom, which meant the living area was empty, and thus ready for Dmitri's entrance...

<<Entry Music>>​

He pulled out his pistol and shoved off from the glass, pushing off several feet away. He leveled the barrel of his gun and fired several shots into the glass, which weakened the structure enough for his feet to smash through. He landed on his back with a thud, but was quick to trigger the release of the rappel and rise to his feet. He could hear a commotion in the bathroom (as one would logically expect after hearing a window of a high-rise get decimated), with Takeshi bursting through the door just as Dmitri stood erect and leveled his pistol. "Would it kill you to answer your phone once and a while? I thought we were friends..."

Dmitri cracked a wry smile, which was returned by a look of panic in Takeshi's eyes. Dmitri's free hand began working on the clasps of the harness while the pistol remained firmly trained on Takeshi. "D-Dmitri! I-I Was j-j-just about to come and s-see you..."

"How nice of you." Dmitri said with a monotone, unsmiling.

"C-can I g-get you some w-w-water...?" Takeshi made to move to the kitchen, which was interrupted by a clicking sound from Dmitri's Lexington. Takeshi stopped cold in his tracks, with a pregnant pause filling the room.

"Have a seat. Let's catch up." While Dmitri's words may have seemed friendly, they sounded as menacing as the pistol trained at Takeshi's forehead. A bead of sweat rolled down the netrunner's brow as uncertainty flashed across his eyes - they couldn't help but flash to the kitchen then back at Dmitri, which told the enforcer that his 'friend' had more than just dishes and an empty refrigerator in there. Seeing that he was not really in a position to deny his guest, Takeshi took a seat on the couch behind him just as the harness dropped from off of Dmitri's form and onto the floor with a thud. It was only then that Dmitri strolled over to the kitchen, and began running his hand along the under-cabinets and cupboards to find what Takeshi may have wanted instead of the water he offered.

It took only a few moments to feel the frame of a Unity pistol taped to the underside of the sink. He ripped the pistol from its mount, and waved it at his friend. "Man, you got lead in the water. I wouldn't drink this if my life depended on it..." Takeshi gulped hard as Dmitri checked the safety and slid the pistol into his empty shoulder holster. He then grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and dragged it over to about 8 feet away from the couch, where he then spun it around and sat down.

He was about to say something when a loud noise could be heard on the other side of the door, along with a loud commotion. Dmitri's attention lapsed just briefly as he glanced at the door, which gave Takeshi the opening he needed.

He charged from the couch with a knife in his hand. Dmitri had only a moment to react as he fired a hasty shot, which struck Takeshi in his left shoulder. The blade slashed wildly, cutting a deep gash across the left side of Dmitri's face and damaging the Kiroshi implant. Pain radiated across Dmitri's face as his vision blurred, but his instincts kicked in as he fell backward, causing Takeshi to trip over the chair that was then thrust into his legs. Dmitri's Lexington flew from his grasp, but his free hand was too busy reaching out to block the stab Takeshi had aimed into his damaged eye. The two men struggled for a few moments, with the netrunner gasping as he tried to will the blade-tip into Dmitri's eye socket; while Dmitri's left hand held the knife at bay mere inches from his damaged implant. Dmitri's other hand struck out, smashing across the side of Takeshi's face with a hammer-blow. The netrunner scrambled off of Dmitri, with the knife flying from his grasp as well. Takeshi's 'fight or flight' instinct veered to the latter, as he quickly shuffled to his feet and made for the door. Dmitri was a bit more physically conditioned, so he got to his feet first and reached the frantic hacker just before he reached the handle.

His left arm wrapped around Takeshi's neck as his right arm cradled around the base of his cranium. As Takeshi fought against the hold, Dmitri used the seconds he had to spare and spun the netrunner's head around like a wind-up top. A loud crack filled the apartment as Takeshi's neck shattered, and his form grew limp in Dmitri's arms. Dmitri's reflexes remained tensed as he awaited for his adrenaline to ebb away. Eventually, he let go of Takeshi, and allowed his body to slump to the floor. He breathed greedily through his mouth, but eventually closed it and drew in several deep breaths through his nose; letting each out from his mouth. He could hear voices from the other side of the door, but they eventually died down. This part of Heywood was one where something was almost always going down, and most people kept to themselves for fear of getting wrapped up into something larger than themselves.

It was likely that no one noticed what had just happened here, which gave Dmitri the time he needed to finish what he came here for. He knew Takeshi wouldn't say anything had he been alive to endure interrogation - that wasn't Dmitri's specialty anyway. Instead, Dmitri came for the chip in Takeshi's brain. He hit the ejector release at the base of his ear, and pulled the chip out. Normally, the next step for Dmitri would be to call it a night and bring this chip to his superiors at Militech, but he had a few highly lucrative reasons to bring this to a friend of his first, who could alter some information while removing a few other pieces that could prove to be... highly profitable.

Plus, he had a bum eye implant now, so there were two reasons to make an after-hours call to a friend of his. Dmitri placed the chip into a small protective case, and reached for his phone. He hit one of the speed dial keys, and the line rang. When the line picked up, Dmitri's voice echoed softly: "I need to visit in 15. I'll make it worth your while dyadya."

Dmitri didn't use the Russian term for 'uncle' for just anyone, but in this case that also usually meant that he wanted something, and he felt the need to butter up the guy on the other line. He couldn't help it if 'dyadya' was the only ripperdoc in town he knew he could trust with something like this. He'd get over it.

---

 

[Anders Whitard]

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The Ashlar Clinic
Heywood
Night City​

@Dmitri Antonov

The hum of the luminescence was, for the first time in hours, the only sound in the clinic. It echoed faintly, racing to fill every void left empty now that the last surgery of the day was completed. It was a low, persistent noise, with just enough razor-saw edge to irritate even unaugmented ears once they tuned into its pitch—like a fruit fly flitting against a window.

Anders sighed, the energy drained from his body after hours of meticulous focus. He sat on a small stool in the corner, surveying the large chair that, only an hour earlier, had held the sleeping form of a middle-aged woman from France. She'd mentioned being in Night City on business—wasn't that what she'd said? How she had sustained the injury to her neck, he hadn't asked. Likely some sexually charged encounter with someone other than her husband. Not his concern. His job wasn't to ask why but how: How to fix the damage. How she intended to pay. He was sure all parties would leave satisfied—except perhaps her husband and his accountant, wondering why a tidy sum had been charged at a 'boutique' in North Heywood.

The location was respectable enough—close to the Corporate sector but just far enough to fly under the radar. It suited Anders perfectly.

He stood at last, the strains of music beginning to rise from the hi-fi built into the room. Mozart. It was always Mozart. Anders felt an affinity with the great masters, their legacies enduring long past their mortal spans. Their achievements were all that remained, their names synonymous with greatness. The Requiem. An apt choice, he thought.

The surgery was done. The woman had left through the back door, one hand pressed gingerly to her temple, the other clutching a prescription for anti-inflammatory patches and neural stabilizers. Anders stood in the dim workspace, surveying the aftermath. Time to clean.

The surgical tray lay cluttered with tools—precision scalpels, a delicate spanner for the neural interface, a micro-soldering wand—all marked by dried bio-gel and flecks of blood. Each instrument told the story of the repair. One by one, Anders placed them into his aging autoclave unit, its casing pockmarked from decades of wear. The door groaned as he sealed it shut, reminding him of the sleek, silent sterilizers of his corporate days—machines that never complained or needed coaxing. He set the temperature manually, twisting the worn dial with care.

While the autoclave heated, Anders pre-cleaned the more delicate tools that couldn't handle high pressure. A shallow tray of isopropyl alcohol shimmered under the pale light. He dunked his micro-soldering wand, watching as the alcohol hissed faintly, dissolving organic residue. A lint-free cloth followed, wiping it clean in smooth, practiced motions.

"Back then," he muttered, "there was a tech for this. A cleanroom bot. All automated." His accent, a melodic blend of North German and the occasional west-coast tang, gave his words an unusual rhythm. His father would have hated it, he thought.

Next came the surfaces. The operating chair bore faint smudges of sweat and adhesive residue where the woman's head had rested. Metal counters nearby glistened with streaks of bio-gel and coolant from the implant. Anders grabbed a bottle of industrial-strength disinfectant, the label half-peeled, and sprayed the chair liberally. A single-use cloth followed, pulling away grime with slow, methodical strokes. Every inch of the chair had to be spotless.

The counters came next. A microfiber pad soaked in the same disinfectant made quick work of the surfaces, scrubbing until the metal reflected the overhead lights. In a better-equipped lab, he'd have nanobot sterilizers to handle this—machines that scoured every microbe, leaving a gleaming finish. Here, it was just him and his fading patience. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the counter—a gaunt face lined with years of stress. He looked away quickly, focusing on the task.

The final steps: air and waste. Anders activated the portable HEPA filtration unit. Its quiet whir grew into a steady hum, scrubbing the room of airborne pathogens. He glanced at the readout—a blinking green light. Functional, if not perfect.

In the corner, a biohazard disposal bin sat waiting. Anders gathered the refuse: crumpled gauze, disposable gloves, the synthetic skin adhesive wrapper. The woman's old cranial panel, with its fried circuitry, went into a separate compartment. Traceable components didn't belong in regular trash. With everything sorted, he sealed the bin and set the incinerator timer. The smell of burning waste would linger for hours, despite the filtration unit. He'd grown used to it.

Finally, he gave the room one last inspection. The tools gleamed, the counters sparkled, and the air smelled faintly of disinfectant and ozone. Good enough—for now. He closed the door with a soft push on the pad, the heavy click of the lock signaling that the room was sealed. The air system would begin its full decontamination cycle. Thorough, even now.

Through the waiting lounge, Anders passed shelves lined with books he'd collected over the years. First editions in German from the mid-20th century sat beside reprints of works that had survived two centuries. The room felt more like a library than a clinic. The linoleum floor gave way to thick carpet as he entered his private office. Here, he allowed himself some comfort: a large desk, storage cabinets, and a window overlooking the bustling street below. From this vantage point, he could even glimpse Memorial Park.

Sinking into his deep armchair, Anders resolved to enjoy what little remained of the evening. Emergency work helped offset the rising costs of his practice but drained his most precious resource: time.

The phone rang. He grunted, shifting forward to glance at the display. Against his better judgment, he answered.

"I should expect it's long past your bedtime, little Dmitri?" His tone was pointed but not without affection. Dmitri's breathing was heavy, the strain evident even through the connection. Anders frowned but said nothing, aware of the precariousness of unsecured channels.

"Very well. I shall leave the light on." A familiar code. Dmitri would use the alley entrance, avoiding the main elevator that served the building. Anders would have to buzz him in and watch the cameras closely.

He disconnected the call and sighed. The next track on the hi-fi began—the Dies Irae. Day of Anger, Day of Terror. Grumbling, he turned it off. Padding back toward the surgery, he prepared for another long night.

---

 

[Dmitri Antonov]

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​

Location: Megabuilding H3 - Heywood
Time: Late
Tags: @Anders Whitard

​

Keeping it in the Family...​

Dmitri couldn't help but smile at his old friend's response when he picked up the phone; said smile being quickly replaced with a wince as the adrenaline left his body and the pain from the slash across his face began to radiate. He grabbed a kitchen towel and pushed it firmly on the wound. He still had a functional Kiroshi Optical implant, of which he put to good use scanning the apartment for contaminants that could trace back to him. The knife had copious amounts of his own blood, along with a few trace spatters on the floor. He calmly walked over to the bathroom, finding little-and-less in the way of medical first aid equipment (big surprise). He took the same kitchen towel he used to dab his wound, wrapped it over on itself until it formed a longer improvised rope, and tied it across his face in a make-shift bandage.

He then took some time to contaminate the crime scene, first by taking a fresh towel and dabbing it in a clear alcohol substance from an open bottle on the table. He then wiped the knife clean before finding the sheath and storing it in a jacket pocket. Then, he took the remainder of the alcohol and sprinkled it over the flecks of blood. He wore gloves, so the risk of fingerprints being present in the apartment was non-existent. The last thing he had to worry about was making sure he left the building without being seen by the cameras. He arrived at the megabuilding clandestinely enough, keeping to the exterior emergency catwalks in lieu of the camera-riddled interior corridors. He put back on the harness he had used to infiltrate the apartment, and activated the retraction feature to ride back up to the roof.

Upon returning to his perch, he removed the anchor point, and stored the harness and all in the duffel bag he left up there. He then made his way down the catwalk to the back alley he parked his Archer within. A couple of bums turned to look at him, with his response being to toss them a handful of eddies worth a modest sum. "Thanks for keeping my ride safe. Did you guys see anything... interesting?"

They both nodded their heads from side to side, resulting in Dmitri giving them both a knowing wink (although with only one serviceable eye, it really was just a blink). He popped the trunk and threw the duffel bag in. At that, he drove off at a casual pace, raising little if any suspicion as he made his way due west to an isolated section of the waterfront, where he rolled down the window and threw the Unity pistol and knife - watching as they both made a satisfying plop before sinking to the bottom of the bay. Then, roughly half past midnight - he made his way to Ander's shop.

He parked his Archer in its usual spot by the back alley, just outside the cone of light by a street-pole. He locked the car, and made his way to the back door. He glanced up at the camera - towel bandage and all - as he hit the buzzer. He flashed a broad-yet-weary grin as he glanced up.

---

 

[Anders Whitard]

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The Ashlar Clinic
Heywood
Night City​

@Dmitri Antonov

Anders had just about finished brewing the kettle, a hangover from his youth, when he heard the buzzing from the alley.

Dmitri.

He took the part metal, part plastic kettle off the conductive element, placing it on the countertop with care. He couldn't drink tea whilst it remained at this freshly scalding temperature and so a few minutes would improve its overall quality, he found. It was a hangover from his youth, to boil it himself. There were simpler ways to achieve the same outcome but he still enjoyed waiting for the water to simmer and boil over; one of life's simple pleasures.

He didn't even check the camera feed, knowing full well it was Dmitri. He took more than a passing care in the lad's welfare. He had no real reason to, other than feeling like he could use a friend in the big bad city. That and his connections to Militech proved useful, especially as Anders was somewhat in their peripheral care. They had bought his offices out outright when he landed in them almost fifteen years ago, a gift for his corporate betrayals, he surmised. Otherwise, they left him well enough alone. Except for Dmitri, who couldn't seem to sneeze without causing a traffic incident or body count.

He went along the hallway, down from the office and the lobby, and clicked on the pad, allowing the lock that controlled the alley entrance to release. He held it for five seconds, hoping that Dmitri would hear the release mechanism and make good the three stairwells to his office. He'd probably find it quicker than waiting for the industrial lift that would crawly slowly up to the third floor. He leaned against the wall, waiting patiently for whatever state the Russki was in.

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[Dmitri Antonov]

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​

Spoiler: Author's Note OOC

Dialogue from Anders featured in this and any future posts has been coordinated separately with his author, and pasted within for continuity and flow. The same is true for any dialogue from Dmitri featured in Anders' posts.

​

Location: The Ashlar Clinic - Heywood
Time: Late
Tags: @Anders Whitard

​

Keeping it in the Family Pt. 2...​

It was strange how time seemed to crawl when one was nursing a wound on the face. Even though it only took a few moments for Anders to buzz Dmitri in, it felt as though the wound was throbbing with each passing second. Needless to say, when the ripperdoc buzzed him in, Dmitri shoved through the door without a moment to lose.

Fatigue began to bite at Dmitri's limbs as he made his way up the three flights of stairs. His right hand grasped the railing while his left nursed the towel over his eye, which was now near-fully soaked through with blood. While Dmitri was no medical expert by even the remotest interpretation of the word, the first thought in his mind was that he'd likely need stitches. While the cut seemed clean, a gash that size likely wouldn't clot on its own.

But, Anders was among the best ripperdocs Dmitri knew, and had been able to work miracles for him before. Maybe he could do some form of skin graft, or some other form of cybernetic magic. Eventually, Dmitri would reach the interior entrance to the clinic, and allow the door to pull closed just as he passed through.

Before a word was spoken, Dmitri could feel the disapproval from the German (in the most precise of ways, as they had a knack for exhibiting). Anders shook his head as he reached up to remove the improvised bandage from Dmitri's eye: "I am not going to even bother asking you how it is you came upon these injuries. It is like you are determined to see yourself dead and turned to ash as quickly as possible."

'I know.' Dmitri replied mentally, instead taking the chiding in silence as the Doc vented his frustrations. It was the same song and dance each time; Dmitri just had to let it happen.

Anders led the younger man into his CLEAN and READY FOR SURGERY IN THE MORNING operating room, all the while continuing as he did so. "Are you hurting elsewhere? Dare I ask about the man who did this to you? Does he yet live to tell the tale?"

"Relax doc-" Dmitri gave the man a wane smile: "It's not as bad as it looks, honest." It was an obvious lie, and one that served little purpose other than to save what little ego Dmitri had left in this situation. The two men had known each other long enough though, for Anders to know when the 'bull' was running thick.

Dmitri jacked-in as if on queue, which allowed for Anders to begin running a system diagnostic while he commenced examining the wound.

"I got careless. I grabbed his gun, but didn't think to plan for a knife on his person. He jumped me when I took my eyes off of him." Oddly enough, Dmitri grew a bit somber. This wasn't the first time he had taken a life, and even though Takeshi had it coming... it still had an effect on Dmitri, however small it reduced to with each successive time. "He won't be doing much of anything anymore..."

The ripperdoc knew when they were broaching a subject best left settled there. For his part, Dmitri tried to shield the man from most of his more... unsavory business. It seemed as though Anders' mind drifted in that direction too by his next set of questions:

"Does Militech know-WILL Militech know? Or is this yet another 'off-the-grid' hatching of yours?"

"Believe it or not, I was on the clock tonight. Don't worry, all of this is being expensed." The character returned to Dmitri's tone as he responded; his usual nonchalant, calm and downright-casual attitude returning in place of the sobriety that threatened to overwhelm the moment. "The guy got in over his head and went after Militech directly. He was an... associate of mine, and let's just say it was in my best interest to handle it for them instead of letting the authorities handle it themselves."

Corporate politics could be confusing at best, and outright cutthroat at its worst. Strictly speaking, the 'services' Dmitri performed for Militech weren't exactly as straight-laced as filing paperwork and reviewing stock orders. There were quite a few instances - more than you might think - where companies like Militech or Arasaka preferred to handle them quietly. 'In-house resolution' was the term for it in Militech, and they had a sizable budget for such 'resolution measures'. For situations like what Takeshi got involved in, the uninformed might wonder why they wouldn't just involve NCPD to let them handle the situation. Such a person would only need to spend a single night in Night City to understand why that was such an idiotic idea.

At best, NCPD was an underfunded and overworked law enforcement agency who tried their best to provide a level of stability to an otherwise chaotic urban jungle. At worst? They were a group of corrupt thieves, extortionists, and in many cases amateurs who differentiated themselves from the street gangs of the city only by the badge they wore. Were there some honest hearted men and women among them? Probably, and Dmitri wouldn't take their effort and intentions away from them. But that didn't make the institution they served any more noble than the cesspool it was.

"That reminds me-" Dmitri began, altering the subject a bit as Anders went about his work: "I told you I'd make it worth your while right? Even though Militech is taking care of the repairs... I need your help in the other part of the reason for why I got involved. You... ok with knowing more?"

Call him sentimental, but a part of Dmitri viewed Anders as the type of friend you looked out for; who you tried to insulate from 90% of the crap you dealt with. But the truth was, Dmitri needed Anders' help with the chip he took from Takeshi. He hoped the ripperdoc would say yes, otherwise... well, Dmitri wasn't sure what plan B would be.

---

 

[Anders Whitard]

Anders eyed Dmitri ignoring the question for a moment. The faint hum of the equipment filled the silence. He set a sterile suturing kit on the tray nearby and gestured toward it. "You want stitches? They'll hold, but you'll scar. Might add some 'rugged charm' to that face of yours, though I doubt you need help in the 'rough' department."

Dmitri shook his head, leaning back in the chair and wincing slightly. "Anything you can do to make it look as clean as possible. I... didn't exactly get away spotless. A couple of coked-out bums saw me on the way out. They may have been druggies, but they still had eyes."

Anders let out a low sigh, reaching for the dermal regenerator instead. "Fine, fine. No stitches. But whatever I do, it will sting."

Dmitri gave him a flat look. "No shit."

Anders smirked faintly, powering up the regenerator and adjusting the settings. The device began to hum softly as he aligned it with the gash. "Hold still. If you flinch, you'll end up looking like a melted candle."

The heat and bio-polymer compounds worked quickly, sealing the wound layer by layer. The skin knit together seamlessly, though it left a faintly waxy appearance. "It'll settle in a few days," Anders said, leaning back to inspect his work. "You might even forget how stupid you were to let this happen." He arched an eyebrow. "Not that it's my job to remind you or anything."

He swapped tools and began cleaning up residual damage around Dmitri's implant port. His tone grew lighter as he worked. "And just so you know, your Big Cry Baby circuitry seems to be functioning perfectly. The diagnostics confirmed it. Thank God that I care, huh?"

Anders paused, setting down his tools and giving Dmitri a more serious look. "Care isn't the right word, but let's just say I'd rather you didn't bleed out on my floor. Now, about this 'favor' of yours..."

He gestured toward the scanner, which was still hooked into Dmitri's neural port. "Let me guess. It's the chip from that 'associate' of yours? The one who tried to fillet you?"

As the nature of his predicament dawned on him, Anders let out a sharp exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. "So, let me be getting this straight. Militech knows about this? You're not dragging me into some off-the-books mess that'll have corpo hit squads breaking down my door?"

Anders stared at him, his expression unreadable. "And it is good, ja, about expenses because Militech always plays nice." He turned back to the scanner, adjusting its settings. "Fine. I'll take a look. But if this thing burns me, I'll implant a 'Big Cry Baby' chip in your skull and crank it to eleven. Are we clear?"

The scanner beeped as Anders initiated the chip's decryption. He worked silently for a few moments, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. "This will take a while," he muttered. "And you'd better have a damn good reason for dragging me into this."

He glanced back at Dmitri, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "And don't think for a second I won't collect on this."

@Dmitri Antonov

 

[Dmitri Antonov]

Theme Music: Star Eater - Daniel Deluxe​

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​

Spoiler: Author's Note OOC

Dialogue from Anders featured in this and any future posts has been coordinated separately with his author, and pasted within for continuity and flow. The same is true for any dialogue from Dmitri featured in Anders' posts.

​

Location: The Ashlar Clinic - Heywood
Time: Late
Tags: @Anders Whitard

​

Just a Little Off the Top​

"F*CK!!!" Wasn't there some oath about 'not doing harm' to your patients? Dmitri would have said as much, but the expletive was the only thing that came out when he opened his mouth.

"And just so you know, your Big Cry Baby circuitry seems to be functioning perfectly. The diagnostics confirmed it. Thank God that I care, huh?"

"Yeah - I'm doing the rosary as we f*ckin' speak... I'm pretty sure you get off on this you sick bastard." Anders likely knew that it was the pain talking, even though Dmitri wasn't the most 'straight-laced' corpo he had met when it came to his vocabulary. Eventually, Anders finished his repair of the slash and the Kiroshi Optic.

Anders paused, setting down his tools and giving Dmitri a more serious look. "Care isn't the right word, but let's just say I'd rather you didn't bleed out on my floor. Now, about this 'favor' of yours..."

He gestured toward the scanner, which was still hooked into Dmitri's neural port. "Let me guess. It's the chip from that 'associate' of yours? The one who tried to fillet you?"

"...That's the gist of it, yeah." Dmitri was weighing how much he wanted to share with Anders. The Doc wasn't new to this life, but a part within Dmitri felt a duty to insulate him even still. At least, to some extent. "His name was Takeshi Kurosaki - a freelance netrunner who's worked with pretty much everyone in town. But this time, he got greedy and decided to steal from them. He was pretty high on his own supply, and figured Militech wouldn't know or care that he was leeching off of one of their slush funds. Thing is, he was an associate of mine, and they did catch him. They were gonna take him out one way or the other, and his 'extracurricular activities' for me were best kept private-"

"So, let me be getting this straight. Militech knows about this? You're not dragging me into some off-the-books mess that'll have corpo hit squads breaking down my door?"

"Hold on to your f*ckin' cane and let me finish - good god." There was a comical edge to Dmitri's tone, and Anders likely knew it. Only an idiot would legitimately 'tell off' a Ripperdoc within arms' reach of his own tools. "Yes, Militech knows about this... to a certain point. Takeshi was involved in some of my 'off the books' messes, but that's not what this was." Dmitri's tone was like that of a teenager explaining why it wasn't his fault his girlfriend was pregnant - a slightly 'over the top' reasonable tone hoping that would ease the parental figure that was Anders. Even still, he was telling the truth. Anders was good at telling when Dmitri was lying, especially when he was still plugged in.

"...still, I don't need them rummaging around his brain chip without it being... 'cleaned up a bit'. There shouldn't be anything 'incriminating' per se, but Takeshi was a crazy gonk-head at the best of times so it's probably better to be safe. And... it just so happens that he also has the account information of the stolen money on this chip. Should be a few hundred thousand in the account." Dmitri's usual, sickeningly sweet charisma returned. He even flashed a sly grin as the pain ebbed: "The way I see it... sure I could return the whole amount. That'd be a feather in my cap, maybe a pat on the head. But why not... take a small finders fee? Nothing major, and nothing stupid - if I take the whole thing, that's easily traceable and we're both screwed. But if a small percentage of it, say... 10% or so - was moved into an untraceable account, then put into both of our pockets?"

Dmitri shrugged with both his jaws and his shoulders. "'Sorry guys, I guess I didn't get to him in time. But you got most of it back'. We can even forge some gonk in your system that he bought some tech from some other doc. Yall don't ask where the money comes from anyway. If our story is convincing enough, with the right evidence - Militech won't spend the time to track down twenty grand. It's a rounding error to them."

Anders stared at him, his expression unreadable. "And it is good, ja, about expenses because Militech always plays nice." He turned back to the scanner, adjusting its settings. "Fine. I'll take a look. But if this thing burns me, I'll implant a 'Big Cry Baby' chip in your skull and crank it to eleven. Are we clear?"

The scanner beeped as Anders initiated the chip's decryption. He worked silently for a few moments, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. "This will take a while," he muttered. "And you'd better have a damn good reason for dragging me into this."

He glanced back at Dmitri, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "And don't think for a second I won't collect on this."

Anders got quiet on him, and honestly Dmitri hadn't quite figured out whether that meant it was good or bad. But in the end, he got what he came for. Dmitri jacked out of the chair and planted a (likely unwelcome) kiss on the German's cheek. "That's the Kraut I know! The way I see it, half that take is yours. Just make sure it can't be traced back to us and I can run interference on my end. Think you can forge something in your system that a rival doc sold Takeshi some tech?"

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[Anders Whitard]

Anders stood there for a moment, resisting the urge to wipe his cheek where Dmitri had planted his unwelcome affection. He muttered under his breath, "Verdammter Clown," before turning back to his tools. Dmitri's charm had a way of grating on Anders—like sandpaper on raw metal. Still, there was a begrudging respect buried deep beneath the annoyance. The kid was reckless, sure, but clever. Too clever for his own good.

The faint hum of machinery filled the room as Anders turned his attention back to the scanner. The interface glowed faintly, running through its decryption sequence. The chip was a mess of overlapping security protocols, sloppy firewalls, and, unsurprisingly, a handful of custom backdoors Takeshi had likely written in a haze of synthetic stims and hubris.

"Idiot," Anders muttered, shaking his head. "Robbing Militech without encrypting your slush account? Amateur hour." He began tweaking the system to isolate the relevant data, his fingers moving with practiced precision.

The room remained silent except for the hum of the scanner and the occasional beep from Anders' tools. Dmitri's pitch about skimming a percentage of the stolen funds lingered like a bad taste. It wasn't the first time someone had proposed something shady to him—far from it. Night City didn't breed saints. Still, this kind of job came with risks. Big ones.

Anders spoke without looking up. "You know, Dmitri, there's a reason I don't usually work with your kind. Too much drama. Too many loose ends."

He paused, examining a cluster of corrupted code in the chip. With a few deft keystrokes, he bypassed the issue and resumed the decryption. "Militech isn't stupid. They might let twenty grand slide today, but if they catch a whiff of something bigger, they'll come down on us like a hammer. And guess whose door they'll knock on first?"

"Whoever we pin it on." Dmitri arched his eyebrow, knowing that Anders expected a different answer, yet choosing to provide his own instead.

Anders raised his eyebrows incredulously. Dmitri continued, undeterred.
"Pin it on that guy who works on the joy-toys. You know he's ripping them off anyway. And they call me a scumbag."

Anders let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. He turned his head slowly to glare at Dmitri, his expression somewhere between incredulous and tired. "The guy who works on the joy-toys? Brilliant. Let's just pin a Militech heist on a two-bit ripper running scams on pleasure workers. Because that won't raise any eyebrows at all."

The scanner emitted a series of well-timed beeps, signaling the decryption was complete. Anders plugged the extracted data into his personal system, combing through the files. It didn't take long to find the account information Dmitri had mentioned, along with a few surprises.

"Looks like your boy Takeshi kept some trophies," Anders said, scrolling through the data. "A few encrypted messages, a list of contacts… oh, and a handful of personal logs. Sloppy, like I said. He practically gift-wrapped this for Militech."

Anders got to work, erasing the incriminating data and crafting a believable trail of breadcrumbs. He created a fake transaction history showing Takeshi purchasing high-end tech from a rival ripperdoc. A few tweaks to the timestamps, and it would look like Takeshi had blown most of the stolen money on black-market mods before his untimely demise.

It wasn't perfect—nothing ever was in this line of work—but it would hold up under casual scrutiny. And in Night City, that was often all you needed.

"There," Anders said, leaning back in his chair. "Clean as it's going to get. The rest is up to you. Don't screw it up."

@Dmitri Antonov

 

[Dmitri Antonov]

Theme Music: Star Eater - Daniel Deluxe​

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Spoiler: Author's Note OOC

Dialogue from Anders featured in this and any future posts has been coordinated separately with his author, and pasted within for continuity and flow. The same is true for any dialogue from Dmitri featured in Anders' posts.

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Location: The Ashlar Clinic - Heywood
Time: Late
Tags: @Anders Whitard

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Just a Little Off the Top​

Even though he had no interest in learning the trade or much less doing it, it was a wonder for Dmitri watching Anders get to work. The old man took to cyberware like Dmitri took to, well stealing eddies in a manner of speaking. Anders was easily among the best ripperdocs in the city, and he'd saved Dmitri's life on more than one occasion (bitching all the way).

"There," Anders said, leaning back in his chair. "Clean as it's going to get. The rest is up to you. Don't screw it up."

"C'mon, when have I ever let you down?" Dmitri shrugged as he grabbed the chip with one hand, reaching out with the other as he paid for the services Anders performed for him well after hours. He then turned to the stairwell and opened the door, but paused before going all the way through. He looked back, and added: "And... uh... thanks again doc. I don't know what I would have done without you." He waved the doctored chip at Anders. "You deserve every penny."

Without another word, Dmitri exited the office and descended down the stairs. His Archer was where he left it, wherein he wordlessly jumped inside and drove off; back into the city in the wee-hours of the night, where he would hopefully get back to his apartment and get a few hours of sleep... before getting right back out there again.

Such was the life of men like him.

End Thread​

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