Tony Stark
It was a half-hour walk to Victor Vector's clinic. Along the way, they came across a confrontation between the police and the Tiger Claws, and a suit who had jumped off a roof. Or maybe he was pushed—Tony didn't delve into the details. This was the fourth jumper he had seen in Night City, and he hadn't even been in the city for a month.
"Idiots," Eva commented on the dying Claws. The police weren't ceremonious and were crushing the bandits with the iron boot of corrupt justice, finishing off the wounded. "You'd have to be really stupid to rob a place protected by the cops. You can tell they're greenhorns—no chrome, and instead of katanas, cheap bats or just pieces of pipe," she pointed at the scattered bodies. "Clearly rookies, high on the sense of impunity, encroaching on someone else's territory to make some cash. The not-so-smart Claws, lacking brains, soon after joining the gang start getting into trouble because of the gang's rule to avenge their own. They sincerely think it makes them untouchable, but it doesn't. The police, solos, other gangs, even ordinary civilians with strong connections can cut down the narrow-eyed without consequences. The older and smarter ones know this, but the stupid meat sincerely believes and starts acting up."
"So they're weeding out the dumbest?" Tony suggested.
"I don't know," the Mox shrugged. "Apparently, the Claws used to really try to avenge their own, but that was a long time ago. Now, they can send a squad of particularly zealous meat to 'avenge,' but more often it's just friends of the dead, making too much noise."
Tony didn't respond. He knew about this detail in the Tiger Claws' biography but didn't think it would drive their newcomers so crazy and lead to casualties among the civilian population. He noticed the body of a shopkeeper the bandits had tried to rob and passersby who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"I need to make a list of the most problematic gangs," Tony thought. He was literally nauseated by what he saw, and his generally positive mood was rapidly plummeting. Eva noticed this too.
"I know it's unpleasant, but there's nothing we can do about it," she surprisingly perceptively took his arm.
"And just accept it?" he looked into her golden eyes.
"We should protect what we already have, not worry about the rest."
Tony didn't answer. He already knew this; he was no longer Iron Man, with influence over politicians worldwide, an Avenger, and UN Secretary of Defense, but just a guy on the streets of one of the most criminal cities in the world. He knew, but every time he saw such scenes, he had to remind himself of this.
They reached Misty's little shop in silence. The mood was spoiled, but Tony wanted to check on Jackie. He generally liked the big guy, even though he was in a gang—there was no rot in him, and such people should be valued in all times.
"Glad to welcome you again," the shop owner smiled, laying out tarot cards.
"Misty," Tony nodded, and Eva repeated. "How's Jackie?"
"Fine," Olszewska smiled. "He woke up last night, and nothing threatens him—just rest, and he can go home."
"Then we'll go see him," they said, heading to the backyard and down the stairs. Tony involuntarily shook his head. For him, a clinic in a dirty basement was quite a wild thing, but modern technology allowed for operations even on garbage. In general, this world was rich in technologies that Stark considered breakthroughs—like braindances, which radically accelerated learning, becoming a thing that changed the entire human education system. And the disinfection field seriously facilitated the work of doctors worldwide, cheapening treatment and generally making expensive surgical rooms with their regular disinfection unnecessary. But most importantly, these fields were the only reason why modern cities with their garbage weren't overrun by rats and cockroaches.
The first thing Stark saw when he went downstairs was Jackie's doctor himself. A tall, muscular man of indeterminate age, for some reason wearing dark glasses even in the underground room where there was already little light. He was rummaging through his ripperdoc glove, a universal tool that equally well cut flesh and administered drugs, while watching some boxing match.
"Hmm?" he noticed the intruders. "You're the ones who brought Jackie yesterday," he didn't ask but stated. "Come to visit?"
"Decided to check on the integrity of one carcass," Tony smirked, already seeing his involuntary comrade-in-arms. He was lying on the only operating couch, was pale, had a patched-up torso, but overall looked good. "How is he?"
"Blood loss, thermal burns affecting some organs, one kidney failure and partial intestinal failure, stomach damage, ribs crushed to dust... and other minor things. Overall, nothing irreversible, but the body is severely weakened, so I'm keeping him on a vitamin cocktail, but once he recovers from the surgery, he'll be jumping around as before."
"This buena persona replaced part of my liver on credit," the discussed man spoke up, grinning with all thirty-two teeth at the sight of the visitors. "But he's starving me," he immediately saddened.
"Your stomach and intestines were damaged," Victor objected. "You'll have to starve until the synthetic parts of the stomach fuse with the native ones and the stitched intestines restructure."
"I know, I know," he sighed sadly. "I hadn't eaten properly the day before yesterday either," Jackie confessed.
"Be patient," the ripperdoc smiled. "As they say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
"And poorer," Jackie added.
"Poorer?" Eva didn't understand. "I thought Victor was a Valentino ripperdoc, and they feed off the common fund."
"No, Vic is a freelance ripperdoc," Jackie corrected the girl's misconceptions, and Stark's too.
"I have a private practice," he confirmed, making the newcomers look at him respectfully. You had to have quite a pair to work without a roof in Night City—it was like being a tasty prey for all the city's hyenas, from Scavengers to corporations. Of course, there were nuances why such loners weren't particularly touched, but their nerves were regularly frayed.
"Yeah, so now I owe him a round sum," Jackie continued.
"Forget it," he objected. "Pay back when you can; I'm not in a hurry and don't charge interest."
Tony and Eva silently exchanged glances again. Meeting a ripperdoc who not only saved a patient without money but also installed implants on credit without interest or extortionate prices... they had found an endangered species.
"So can we congratulate you? Will you be returning to work for the Valentinos soon?" Eva asked.
The Moxes had friendly-neutral relations with the Latino gang. The Valentinos didn't leave their district, and the Moxes didn't interfere with them pushing their goods in their establishments, taking a percentage, and the gangs themselves were too far apart, literally in different parts of the city, to conflict.
"No," Jackie suddenly became serious. "I'm leaving the Valentinos," he admitted.
"Oh, really? What's with the sudden change, Big Guy? If it's not a secret," Stark's curiosity flared.
"Yeah. You have a kind of family business there," Eva supported his question.
"No secret, I just want to catch bullets on my own terms and for myself if I do," he honestly admitted. "And I don't like what the Valentinos are up to," he grimaced.
Tony and Eva exchanged glances again. A conscientious bandit? Right after a conscientious ripperdoc? Now that was a truly surprising day.
"Well, good luck. If you need cool guns or anything else, let me know; I'll set you up in the best way. You've seen my creations," Stark offered his services.
"I'll keep that in mind," Jackie nodded.
"Well, shall we go?" Eva asked.
"Victor, right?" Tony turned to the ripperdoc instead of answering.
"Call me Vic. Everyone calls me that."
"Okay, Vic," Tony nodded. "I've been thinking about seriously getting into chrome supply and wanted to discuss some points with you. Since the opportunity has presented itself."
Tony had long understood that his old methods didn't work in his new life, but it was one thing to understand and quite another to accept. However, yesterday's unpleasantness clearly showed him that the locals, thanks to implants, were at the level of full-fledged supersoldiers and could give even Cap with his enhanced serum body a run for its money. This didn't mean Tony was giving up on his suit; he would continue to build it, but even under the most optimistic forecasts, a full-fledged Iron Man armor of the first models would be available to him in five or six years, while combat implants were already accessible to him now. It was another matter that he wasn't willing to put just anything into his cherished body.
The further conversation took half an hour... not very polite toward Eva, but Tony, up to a certain point, simply hadn't delved into the market of modern implants, content with the principles of their design and operation, which is why he was unpleasantly surprised by the assortment available to Night City's ripperdocs. In short, the implant market now offered either mass-produced junk, or old stuff, or something from the premium segment, but none of the three options suited Stark. Even the top chrome of solos was a generation or two behind military analogs, and something comparable could only be found in high-end stores, but they had their own specifics. High-end implants could be compared to sports cars, while military implants were tanks, planes, and artillery. Comparable in cost and manufacturing complexity, but their directions didn't intersect at all.
"What if I develop my own implant? Can you advise where to get all the necessary equipment? And knowledge bases for a ripperdoc, preferably."
"I can help with the bases; I still have them from when I was learning," Vic pleasantly surprised Tony. "But with the equipment, sorry, I can't help. I'm not a mechanic; my job is to install new chrome, patch up bodies, and fix broken ones. If you need a repair kit, I can advise, but as for design... only the corps can help you there, but they have entire laboratories working on implant development."
"Not an option, you understand," Tony replied thoughtfully. He was already considering where he could get the necessary equipment, but without the girls' help, he wouldn't manage here.
"You can try Dogtown," Jackie spoke up. "It's a real bloodbath, but top chrome, experimental guns, stolen advanced corporate equipment—it's all there. The only thing is, it costs a fortune, and on the way to or from the seller, they'll try to rob you, but those are details."
"I'll think about it," Stark agreed, though he was leaning more toward robbing some corporate lab that had to be in the vicinity of Night City. Or in that very Dogtown. "Okay, thanks for the chat, Vic," he shook the ripperdoc's hand. "Get well soon, Big Guy," he said to Jackie.
Susanna "Susie Q" Quinn
A tired girl burst into the small room of the Lizzies club. Little remained of her original appearance except for her black, almost coal-like skin, while her limbs had been replaced with homemade combat implants, her face was a solid implant not even covered with synthetic skin, and her jaw had implants favored by professional boxers—all of this repelled people, even despite her alluring figure and smooth, against all odds, skin. This wasn't what you'd expect from the leader of the Moxes, known for their beauty.
Susanna Quinn had taken the position of Mox boss relatively recently, and less than six months had passed. A former soldier, the daughter of a drug addict and an alcoholic, she had run away from home to join the army as soon as she turned eighteen and was a truly talented soldier, quickly learning the craft of killing. Officers welcomed her, comrades respected her, veterans condescendingly smiled at the junior, already enrolling her in their ranks, and her personal life was going well. A freshly minted major had taken a liking to young Quinn and began courting her as an officer should—flowers, polite phrases, pleasant compliments... personal shooting lessons, sparring with overly long holds, his award pistol in her hands. It seemed everything in her life was going well... then the war began.
Susie Q didn't like to remember that time, or what came after. Her suitor was one of the first to die in that war, and she herself went through almost the entire meat grinder, ending up a half-dead wreck with torn-off limbs, a face half-melted, and barely alive liver and kidneys, killed by combat stimulants. Returning to her "native and beloved" Night City was hard for her, not only because of the realization that she had ended up where she started, only with ruined health and garbage instead of arms and legs, but because the organs and burns constantly hurt. In that state, she quickly slid into drugs and prostitution. Surprisingly, even she had "appreciators." Then... months of work, sliding into the drug pit, and waiting for death when her already killed body finally gave up under the pressure of the synthetic junk poured into it. She was already on her last breath when she was kidnapped by Scavengers. In general, she expected this and didn't resist much, just wanting to somehow end it all, since she lacked the courage for a simple bullet to the head... and a gun with ammunition. Lying in an underground black operating room, she awaited her fate, habitually fighting the pain in her body that returned every time the drug fog dissipated. The other victims cried, begged for mercy, called for help, but she... she just waited. Surprisingly, they were saved. The Scavengers got too greedy and overreached, snatching girls who worked for the Moxes, and taking too long with the large volume of "goods," so the combat squad of bandits arrived in time, shot up the scum of Night City, and saved most of the kidnapped, including her. Then... she got lucky. One of the girls who came to rescue their own turned out to be her former neighbor, with whom they often hung out as children, and from there, word by word, she was introduced to their leader. The Moxes had always had trouble with military strength, and here their leader was presented with a broken but veteran of the corporate war, who had undergone full training with practice and survived where others perished. And then... to her own surprise, the former broken whore began to emerge from the abyss of despair, even befriending her boss, starting to perceive her as a kind of sister. Susie quickly proved her ability to kill, began to pull up other girls, strictly enforcing order in their bar, and taught the guards the same, fully working off her restored health and new implants, literally living for work. This didn't go unnoticed, and she was promoted, made one of the captains, eventually appointed head of their security and deputy head of violence. And everything would have been fine... if the previous Mox leader hadn't been killed. Who, how, and why, she didn't know, no one knew; though everyone side-eyed the Tiger Claws, they had no evidence or clear motives, so they just ground their teeth in impotent rage. But worst of all, with the leader, the entire past top of the organization perished, even the accountant. And if the Moxes didn't suffer much in combat terms, in everything else, there was quiet horror. Secret accounts known only to the accountant and the leader were lost; the experienced administrator who managed all their establishments and knew the specifics of each didn't leave a deputy, just like their only decent netrunner, which is why they were leaking from all sides. The gang was still holding on, but they had already lost two bars and one brothel, seized by more significant gangs, and Susanna herself couldn't do anything, desperately trying to save at least the core of the Moxes. She was even succeeding, but it was sad to watch them being bitten off piece by piece and terrifying to imagine what they would have to do later to survive.
"Boss, Eva and a guy are here for you," the voice of her bodyguard distracted the Mox leader. Asian features, purple hair tied in two braids, long false eyelashes behind which the color of her eyes wasn't visible, and an ultra-short top barely covering her chest. And pink arms with purple spikes that could tear metal.
"Thanks, Dolly, let them in," she replied, normally sitting in her chair, not like before, sprawled like a jellyfish.
By the way, one of her small joys lately was Eva, a talented girl who promised to grow into a top fighter of the gang. Her disappearance would have been a blow to their already small group, but she returned with a bang and panache... and the smell of ash and gunpowder. And today, she brought them her savior, according to her, some cool mechanic who sold custom weapons to the Valentinos through Padre.
Susie didn't expect much from the conversation; most likely, he would ask for a reward for saving Barnes, which he would honestly receive. Not much, they already had financial problems at the moment, and Eva wasn't particularly high in their internal hierarchy. And who knew, maybe she could sway him to her side? All the gods of this damned world saw that her gang now needed any help, and she was ready to grab even a ghostly chance.
"Suit," was the Mox's first thought when she saw her visitor. A well-groomed appearance, a classic hairstyle that was clearly cared for, no visible chrome, and an old-style business suit that no one wore anymore... except her counterpart.
"Tony Stark," he greeted her charmingly, smiling and showing perfect, natural white teeth, kissing her hand. The former loader implant, modified for combat, felt nothing, but the important thing was that this guy wasn't afraid at all.
The Moxes were a small gang, only two hundred people, but even so, Quinn had to deal with corporations much more often than she would have liked, both during her army service and already in the gang. It was hard not to intersect with the true masters of Night City when you lived in it and tried to make a living somehow. And all of them, with very rare exceptions, had one thing in common: fear. They could shake your hand, smile sweetly in your face, assure you of friendship and admiration, but their eyes gave them away. Excited, tense, always focused on you as if you were a rabid animal that might pounce. Corporates, for the most part, weren't used to violence; for them, all their victims were nothing more than lines in reports, dry numbers of relentless statistics, not living people. And when they were forced to go into the field, to meet those whom they contemptuously called scum in their high offices, cleaners of their own shit, ready to die for scraps from their table... they were afraid. They were afraid because they understood what kind of people these were, knew that these people were restrained only by the military power of the corporation standing behind them, and if that powerful shadow disappeared from behind their backs, they would immediately pounce on such a weak, valuable, and tasty victim, squeezing everything they could out of it. Like people in a zoo, they contemptuously curled their lips, were amused, or provoked the wolves behind the fence, content with their position as rulers of the world, but if they found themselves alone with a wolf, they would immediately be seized by the fear of prey before a predator. Their gaze trembled, their movements were constrained, their backs were tense, and their legs were ready to bolt at any moment, not caring where, just away from the source of that very fear. Stark didn't have this. His gaze was firm, looking eye to eye, his posture relaxed, his movements natural, and the smile on his face not forced but quite natural. He couldn't help but understand his position—he was in the middle of a gang's den that made a living through violence—but nevertheless, standing here, he felt confident, simply refusing to be afraid.
"Nice to meet you, Chocolate," he winked at her, causing a slight stupor.
"Chocolate?" she raised an eyebrow, folding her arms under her impressive chest.
"Because you're sweet and dark," Tony pretended not to understand, while Eva, standing behind his back, gasped for air with wide eyes like a fish out of water.
"You've got balls," she chuckled.
"If you want, I'm ready to prove it. If Eva doesn't mind."
"Wh... you... uh!" the young Mox was lost in indignation. As far as Susie knew, she hadn't even been kissed yet. What could she do? Being a scoundrel by nature, she wasn't interested in all that, which is why, without even noticing, she broke more than one male heart. And female ones too, for that matter—she was too beautiful, the little devil.
"Okay, enough dubious compliments and even more dubious proposals. You're here for a reward?" the main Mox decided to get straight to business.
"A reward?" Stark was surprised. It even seemed sincere. "I wanted to discuss joining your gang," Stark replied, smiling again, causing the interlocutor's eyebrows to shoot up.
In general, men were in the Moxes, but not many. Mostly civilian specialists, too valuable to keep in low positions or as outside contractors. The same netrunner and accountant were representatives of the stronger sex—one was the son of a Mox and grew up in the gang, the other was an obsessed pervert, so there were no particular problems with Stark's admission to the gang... except for his motives.
"And what do you want from joining us?" Susanna Quinn asked, offering the guests to sit opposite.
"Let me outline the situation?"
"Go ahead."
"Let's start with the main thing," leaning back in his chair, crossing his leg over his leg and placing his hand on it, he began. "I'm a genius. This isn't an evaluation, not inflated self-worth or self-deception, just a fact. Engineering, genetics, programming, some areas of medicine, chemistry, and physics—I can handle all of this better than most modern 'scientific luminaries.' I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. I can see in your eyes you don't believe me." Oh, there was far more than just disbelief in her eyes. "Then just look up 'Poland. Tony Stark,'" he smirked self-satisfiedly. "Or ask Eva about my grenades and try to find analogs for less than ten thousand eddies. I assembled mine from household chemicals and a basic 3D printer, by the way. And now you should have a question: what is such a beautiful and brilliant me doing with you, a mid-to-low-tier gang with a bunch of problems. The answer is simple: because I'm so beautiful, sooner or later, the big guys will notice me if I decide to act. And I won't like their actions."
"And you want to hide behind our backs?" The conversation had long since stopped being pleasant; now her hand was reaching for the pistol.
"What were you listening to?" Tony rolled his eyes. "I said I'm a genius. Your gang, at best, has between two and five hundred fighters, albeit of relatively good quality, while the Tiger Claws alone have more than five thousand. Even if you suddenly developed feelings for all things beautiful like me and were willing to lay down your lives to defend my carcass, you wouldn't succeed."
"And you want to fix this," the Mox leader finally understood the meaning of all this demonstrative bravado.
"Exactly," the blue eyes narrowed contentedly. "If you had bothered to look online, as I suggested, you would have seen that I'm credited with a breakthrough program in medical cybernetics, a full-fledged logistics structure for weapons production that starts with material extraction and purification, and new weapon models that the entire Polish army is switching to."
Susanna checked, typing the name Stark and Poland into her desktop computer, clicking the first link... and saw the self-satisfied face of the man sitting in front of her, only younger, still a child, shaking hands with the President of the Republic of Poland. Five minutes on the internet made her take the guest's boasting much more seriously. Now, in her eyes, he was no longer a self-confident idiot with inflated self-esteem and pride instead of brains, but a quite valuable specialist... with the same inflated self-esteem, but at least justified.
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100 power stones= 1 Bonus Chapter
advanced chapters available on{P@treon/Anna_N1}