## Chapter 1 — Victor’s Question Victor Vektor had learned a long time ago that Night City did not knock politely. It limped in bleeding through one door, crawled in vomiting stimulants through another, staggered down the stairs with a knife wound somebody insisted was “basically handled,” or arrived in the arms of a friend who had suddenly discovered religion somewhere between the gunfire and the clinic. Most trouble announced itself loudly. This one did not. The man came down the stairs like someone who had found the entrance by accident and was not yet convinced it belonged to the same world as the street outside. He stopped on the last step, one hand on the rail, shoulders squared by old habit rather than present confidence. His clothes were dirty, damaged, and wrong in the particular way Victor noticed before most people did. Not fashionable distress. Not scavenged streetwear. Not armor stripped off a corpse and repurposed by some idiot trying to look dangerous. Field wear. VERY old field wear. The kind that had been through heat, impact, dust, and something worse than weather. Victor looked up from the diagnostics panel. The man looked back. No chrome-glare. No Maelstrom twitch. No chemical shine in the eyes. No combat high. No visible weapon drawn, though Victor did not mistake that for harmless. “You looking for help?” Victor asked. The man took half a second too long to answer. “Yes.” His voice was rough. Dry. Controlled badly enough that the control itself became information. Victor set the tool down. “Then sit.” The man looked at the chair as if assessing whether it might become hostile. Then he crossed the room and sat with the careful economy of someone whose body knew how to conserve motion when the rest of him did not know what was happening. Victor had seen panic. This was not panic. Panic burned hot. It made people loud, stupid, slippery, or dangerous. This was colder. This was a man holding a map inside his head and discovering that every street had vanished. Victor pulled the scanner arm closer. “Name?” The man blinked once. For a moment Victor thought he had not understood the question. Then he said, “Skulker.” Victor’s hand stopped just short of the panel. Only for a fraction of a second. Long enough for an old professional to notice himself noticing. Night City was full of ridiculous names. Handles, callsigns, gang tags, stage names, net aliases, jokes that had survived too many gunfights and become identity by accident. A name by itself meant nothing. But some names came with pressure. Victor had heard this one before. Not often. Not directly. Around the edges of other conversations. From people who did not usually waste names. He looked back at the man in the chair. “Skulker,” Victor repeated. The man’s eyes sharpened a little. “You know it.” “I know people who might.” That was close enough to truth and far enough from promise. Victor started the scan. The machine hummed. Soft light moved over the man’s face, throat, chest, hands. Surface trauma. Old bruising. Dehydration. Elevated stress markers. No active toxin signature worth the name. No clear neurological corruption. No chrome rejection, because there was barely any chrome to reject. No obvious catastrophic internal injury. That made Victor more concerned, not less. People who walked into his clinic looking like the world had tried to erase them usually had something medical to explain it. This one had absence. Victor watched the readout update. “You know where you are?” The man looked toward the ceiling, then the walls, then the stairwell behind him. “A clinic.” “Good. Which city?” Silence. Victor let it sit. The man’s jaw flexed once. “That’s the problem.” Victor leaned back slightly. “Try me.” The man looked down at his hands. They were steady. Too steady. The kind of steady that came from locking everything else behind a door and bracing the door with both shoulders. “I remember Horizon,” he said. Victor’s face did not change. Inside, something small and sharp moved. “Horizon what?” The man’s mouth tightened. “Protocol.” Victor had heard that word too. Never from someone who wanted to explain it. The scanner finished its pass with a quiet chime. Victor ignored it for the moment. “What else do you remember?” The man looked up. For the first time since entering the clinic, something almost like frustration broke through the controlled fog. “A car,” he said. “Impact warnings. Heat. A fireball coming straight at me.” Victor waited. The man’s eyes focused on nothing in the room. “Then nothing.” “How much nothing?” The man swallowed. “All of it.” Victor looked at the readings again. The body in front of him was exhausted, stressed, and underfed, but not broken in any way that matched the story. No fresh blast trauma. No burns. No injury pattern from a recent vehicle detonation. Nothing that made ordinary sense. Night City rarely made ordinary sense, but Victor preferred when it at least made the effort. The man’s gaze had dropped back to his hands. “What year is it?” he asked. Victor did not answer immediately. Not because he was cruel. Because there were moments when a doctor had to decide whether truth was treatment or impact. He chose neither. Not yet. “You got someone I can call?” The man gave a humorless little breath. “If I knew that, I’d have gone there.” Fair. Victor stood and moved toward the cabinet. He took out water first, then a nutrient pack, then a mild stabilizer. Nothing heavy. Nothing that would blur cognition more than necessary. The man watched every movement. “Drink,” Victor said. Skulker took the water. He did not gulp it. Good discipline. Bad sign. Victor handed him the nutrient pack next. The man stared at it. Victor sighed. “It’s food.” “That’s food?” “In this city, yes.” Skulker looked at the packaging like it had personally disappointed him. Victor almost smiled. Almost. “Eat it anyway.” Skulker did. Not happily. That, at least, was familiar. Some things survived every kind of world. Victor turned back to the terminal and opened his contact list. He did not have a direct number for Walking War Crimes. He was not sure he wanted one. People like that did not belong in a ripperdoc’s address book unless the universe had already lost an argument. But he did have Triad. More specifically, he had Mai. If there was a person in Night City who could hear a strange name, place it correctly, and decide what kind of disaster it belonged to without making the room worse, it was Mai. Victor selected the call. It rang twice. “Victor?” Mai answered. Her voice was calm. It usually was. That was why he had called her. “Mai,” Victor said. “I need background on a name.” A very small pause. “Which name?” Victor looked through the glass partition at the man sitting under clinic light, eating bad packaged food with the offended restraint of someone who remembered better centuries and refused to forgive the present one for existing. “Skulker.” Silence. Not confusion. Recognition. Victor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Mai.” “How long has he been there?” “Long enough for me to run basic scans.” “Is he alive?” Victor looked at Skulker again. “Yes.” Another silence. This one had weight. Victor had heard all kinds of silence in his clinic. The silence before bad news. The silence after a patient realized a limb was gone. The silence of someone choosing whether to lie. Mai’s silence was different. It was the sound of a structure rearranging itself around a fact too large to ignore. Victor kept his voice even. “He says his last clear memory is Horizon Protocol. A car. A fireball. Then nothing. He’s lucid enough to answer questions, but disoriented. Physically stable. Stress markers high.” “Do not let him leave.” “That serious?” “Yes.” Victor rubbed a hand over his face. “Then I need a question answered before your people fill my clinic.” “What question?” He looked at Skulker again. The man had stopped eating. Not because he was finished. Because he had noticed the tone of the call. Victor lowered his voice. “How long has Skulker been missing?” Mai did not answer at once. That was answer enough. “Victor,” she said finally, “I need to call Jello.” “Do that.” “I will call you back.” “I’ll keep him here.” “Thank you.” The call ended. Victor stood still for a moment with the phone in his hand. Then he exhaled through his nose, put it away, and went back into the exam room. Skulker looked at him. “Bad?” Victor pulled the rolling stool closer and sat. “Complicated.” “That’s worse.” “Usually.” Skulker looked toward the stairwell again. Victor followed the glance. “No,” Victor said. Skulker’s eyes returned to him. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were thinking about leaving.” “I don’t know you.” “Correct.” “I don’t know where I am.” “Also correct.” “And you just called someone.” “Yes.” Skulker’s posture changed by half an inch. Victor noticed. “Easy,” he said. “If I wanted you restrained, we would already be having a different conversation.” Skulker stared at him for a long moment. Then the tension eased by the smallest possible degree. “Who did you call?” “Someone who knows how to reach people who know you.” That landed. Not gently. Skulker looked down again. “WWC?” Victor did not pretend ignorance. “I think so.” The man closed his eyes. For the first time, the control slipped enough to show what was underneath. Not fear. Not relief. Something more difficult. A man bracing for the possibility that hope might be real. Victor gave him a moment. Then he stood and picked up the stabilizer. “Take this.” Skulker opened his eyes and looked at the injector. “What is it?” “Something to keep your nervous system from trying to climb out of your skull. Mild. You’ll stay clear.” “I need to stay functional.” “You need to not drop from shock in my clinic.” Skulker studied him. Victor held the look. “I am very good at my job,” Victor said. “Do not make it annoying.” That worked better than reassurance. Skulker extended his arm. Victor administered the stabilizer, then checked the response. Good. No rejection. No adverse spike. “Now sit,” Victor said. “I am sitting.” “Continue.” Skulker gave him a look that, under other circumstances, might have become humor. Victor took the win. Upstairs, Night City kept moving. Engines. Voices. Distant sirens. Neon through dirty glass. The constant low pressure of a city that had forgotten how to be quiet. Below it, in the clinic, a man who remembered another world sat under medical light and waited for the people who would know whether he still had a place in this one. --- ## Chapter 2 — The Call Mai lowered the phone slowly. For several seconds, nobody spoke. Ace watched her from across the Safehouse kitchen. Kiro looked up from his laptop. Marco paused halfway through pouring coffee. Lena quietly set four mugs on the table without asking why. Shammy looked toward Mai. The air around her seemed just a fraction more still. Ace was the first to break the silence. "Victor?" Mai nodded once. "Something happened." Nobody interrupted. Mai almost never needed to be hurried. She sat down at the table, resting the phone beside her. "Victor has someone at the clinic." Ace leaned forward. "Who?" Mai met her eyes. "Skulker." The room stopped. Even Kiro, who had never served alongside Walking War Crimes, immediately understood from everyone else's reaction that this was not an ordinary name. Marco slowly lowered the coffee pot. "...Skulker?" Mai nodded again. "He remembers Horizon." Nobody moved. "He remembers the vehicle." Silence. "The fireball." Another silence. "And then..." Mai looked down for a brief moment. "...nothing." Ace leaned back. "...damn." No one tried to fill the silence. There was nothing useful to say. After nearly half a minute, Mai picked up the phone again. "I need to call Jello." Ace simply nodded. "Do it." --- The line connected almost immediately. "Jello." "It's Mai." A short pause. "I know." Mai frowned very slightly. "You were expecting my call?" "No." Jello's voice remained calm. "But if Victor calls Triad asking about Skulker..." Another brief pause. "...either the impossible happened..." His sentence remained unfinished. "...or someone is about to have a very bad day." Mai allowed herself the faintest smile. "The first one." Nothing. Not static. Not breathing. Nothing. Then Jello spoke. "Tell me." Mai did exactly that. No speculation. No theories. No interpretation. Only facts. Victor's clinic. Alive. Physically stable. Remembers Horizon. Remembers the fireball. Remembers nothing after that. When she finished, several seconds passed before Jello answered. "Has he left the clinic?" "No." "Good." Another pause. Then, quietly: "Don't let him." Mai recognized the tone immediately. Not urgency. Certainty. "He won't." "I'll call the others." "No details?" "No." Mai understood why before he explained. "If this isn't Skulker..." Jello stopped. "...I won't put them through it." Mai closed her eyes for just a moment. "Understood." "If it is..." Another silence. "...they deserve to see him with their own eyes." "I agree." "I'll be there shortly." The call ended. Mai remained seated for a moment. Ace looked at her. "Well?" Mai placed the phone back on the table. "He's calling WWC." Marco quietly exhaled. Lena reached over and rested a hand on his arm. Shammy spoke softly. "He's protecting them." Mai nodded. "Yes." Kiro looked around the table. "I've never seen Jello hesitate before." "He didn't," Ace answered. "He made sure hope didn't arrive before certainty." Nobody argued with that. Mai stood. "We should go." Ace was already reaching for her jacket. No excitement. No rush. No unnecessary words. Just quiet understanding. If Victor had really found Skulker... ...Walking War Crimes had just recovered the one thing they had never truly managed to replace. --- ## Chapter 3 — Waiting Victor put the phone back into his pocket. The clinic felt quieter now. Not because anything had changed. Because waiting had begun. He walked back into the examination room carrying another bottle of water. Skulker looked up immediately. "No news?" Victor handed him the bottle. "They're coming." "Who?" "The people I called." Skulker accepted the water without opening it. "They still exist." It wasn't really a question. Victor sat down on the rolling stool again. "I believe so." Silence settled between them. It wasn't uncomfortable. Just unfinished. Victor opened the medical chart again. "Any dizziness?" "A little." "Nausea?" "No." "Headache?" "Manageable." Victor nodded. "Good." Skulker looked around the clinic once more. Everything caught his attention. The medical scanner. The lights. The walls. Even the advertisements visible through the dirty basement window. None of it matched the world he remembered. Finally he asked the question again. "What year is it?" Victor looked at him for several seconds. "You'll hear it from your people." "You already know." "I do." "And you won't tell me." Victor folded his arms. "I could." Another pause. "But I'd rather not have you collapse before they arrive." Skulker almost smiled. "So it really is that bad." Victor shook his head. "No." He chose his next words carefully. "It's that big." That answer lingered. Skulker slowly leaned back in the chair. "I've been trying to remember." Victor waited. "I know there was a mission." A nod. "I remember driving." Another nod. "I remember alarms." Victor remained silent. "The fire." His eyes narrowed slightly. "And then..." Nothing. He pressed his fingers against his forehead. "I know something happened." Victor didn't interrupt. "I know people should have been there." Another pause. "I just can't remember who." Victor quietly closed the medical chart. "Don't force it." "I don't like missing pieces." "Nobody does." Skulker gave a dry laugh. "I built my life on missing pieces." Victor couldn't argue with that. Instead he stood and walked toward the small coffee machine. "You drink coffee?" Skulker looked genuinely offended. "What kind of question is that?" Victor allowed himself the smallest smile. "Good." He poured two cups. Handed one over. Skulker took a careful sip. His expression changed immediately. He stared at the cup. Victor already knew what was coming. "This..." Skulker looked personally betrayed. "...is terrible." Victor laughed. Actually laughed. "Welcome to Night City." For the first time since entering the clinic... Skulker smiled. It lasted barely a second. But it was enough. Upstairs, tires hissed over wet pavement. Somewhere outside, a siren echoed through the city. Neither man moved. Both listened. One because he had lived here for years. The other because every sound belonged to a world he had never heard before. Eventually... a vehicle stopped outside the clinic. Doors opened. More than one. Victor looked toward the stairs. "They're here." Skulker slowly set the coffee cup down. Whatever happened next... his life was about to begin again. --- ## Chapter 4 — Arrival The vehicle outside rolled to a quiet stop. Victor heard doors open. Not one. Several. He stood. Skulker looked toward the stairwell. "You know them." Victor nodded. "I think I know enough." Footsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Nobody came running down the stairs. Nobody shouted. Nobody announced themselves. The clinic door opened. Mai entered first. Ace followed half a step behind. Victor had expected them. The four people behind them... those he had not. Badger. Heavenly Father. Grouse. Jello. Victor had met them individually before. Rarely. Usually after somebody else had made terrible life choices. Seeing them together... ...felt different. The room became quieter. Not because anyone demanded silence. Because they carried it with them. Nobody spoke. Not immediately. Skulker slowly stood. His eyes moved from one face to the next. Badger. Heavenly. Grouse. Jello. Recognition arrived slowly. Then all at once. His shoulders dropped by perhaps a single centimeter. Enough for everyone in the room to notice. Badger folded his arms. Looked Skulker up and down. "Hm." A beat. "You're still ugly." The room remained silent for exactly one second. Then Skulker answered. "So are you." Badger nodded once. "Good." Another pause. "You remember that much." Something small changed in the room. The tension didn't disappear. But it loosened. Victor caught Ace smiling very slightly. Even Mai allowed herself the smallest breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Heavenly stepped forward. He looked Skulker over with calm, clinical precision. No drama. No emotion displayed. Just assessment. "You've lost weight." Skulker looked down at himself. "I've noticed." "We'll fix it." No promises. No speeches. Simply a statement. Grouse walked over next. He stopped within arm's reach. Studied Skulker for several quiet seconds. Then gave one short nod. "Good." That was all. Jello remained where he was. Watching. Measuring. Making absolutely certain. Finally he spoke. "Welcome back." Skulker looked directly at him. "I'm trying." Jello nodded. "We know." Victor quietly stepped forward. "I should probably give you the medical briefing." Every head turned toward him. He held up the small medication injector. "Mild stabilizer." He looked at Heavenly. "He'll need another dose tonight." Without hesitation, Heavenly accepted it. "I'll take care of it." Victor continued. "Stress response is elevated, but physically he's in surprisingly good condition." Badger glanced sideways. "Surprisingly?" Victor looked at him. "For someone whose story makes no medical sense." Badger accepted that answer without another question. Victor closed the medical chart. "Don't push him today." Nobody answered. Nobody needed to. Victor realized something. They had already decided exactly that before walking through his door. Outside... Night City continued exactly as before. Inside... Walking War Crimes stood together for the first time in a very long time. Nobody celebrated. Nobody cried. Nobody made a speech. They simply occupied the same room again. For them... ...that was enough. --- ## Chapter 5 — One Day at a Time Nobody moved toward the door. Not immediately. Victor appreciated that. Too many people assumed that finding someone was the same thing as fixing them. It wasn't. He looked around the room. "Sit down." Badger sat. So did Grouse. Jello quietly pulled over another chair. Heavenly remained standing beside Skulker. Exactly where Victor expected him to be. Victor nodded almost to himself. "Good." He picked up the scanner once more. "I know everyone wants answers." Nobody interrupted. "But today isn't about answers." He scanned Skulker one final time. "Today is about making sure he doesn't collapse." The results hadn't changed. Elevated stress. Dehydration. Sleep deprivation. Nothing immediately life-threatening. Everything immediately exhausting. Victor lowered the scanner. "He's going to be tired." Skulker looked mildly offended. "I've operated for three days without sleep." Victor didn't even look up from the display. "I believe you." A beat. "Today you're taking a nap." Badger smirked. The first real one. "I like this doctor." Skulker sighed. "I already don't." A faint chuckle escaped Grouse. Barely audible. Victor looked directly at Heavenly. "He eats." A nod. "He drinks." Another nod. "He takes the medication." One more. "And if he decides to be difficult..." Badger answered before Heavenly could. "We'll remind him." Victor raised an eyebrow. "How?" Badger looked genuinely puzzled. "The usual way." Victor decided not to ask. Probably healthier. He handed Heavenly the small case containing the medication. "One dose tonight." Heavenly accepted it without looking inside. "I'll handle it." Victor believed him immediately. He turned back toward Skulker. "For the next few days..." Skulker interrupted. "I know." Victor looked at him. "No unnecessary strain." Victor blinked once. "You've done this before." Skulker shrugged. "Not as the patient." For the first time since entering the clinic... Victor laughed. "So that's what feels wrong." Even Skulker managed half a smile. Victor closed the medical case. "All right." He looked around the room one last time. "I've done everything I can." Nobody rushed to stand. Nobody rushed Skulker. Nobody urged him toward the door. The silence stretched comfortably. Finally... Badger pushed himself to his feet. He looked at Skulker. "No hurry." A pause. "We've already waited." Nobody said how long. Nobody needed to. Skulker slowly stood. He looked at each member of Walking War Crimes. Then at Triad. Finally at Victor. "Thank you." Victor shrugged. "I just did my job." Skulker nodded once. "Exactly." For a brief moment... the entire room understood one another perfectly. Then Badger opened the clinic door. Cool evening air drifted down the stairs. Night City waited outside. Patiently. It wasn't going anywhere. --- ## Epilogue — After They Left The taillights disappeared around the corner. Nobody spoke until the sound of the engine had faded into the city's endless evening noise. Victor stood in the clinic doorway with his hands in his pockets. "They'll be all right," he said quietly. Mai nodded. "They always are." Victor looked toward the empty street for another moment. "I've treated plenty of mercenaries." A faint smile. "They're different." Ace slipped her hands into her jacket pockets. "They're family." Victor nodded once. "I noticed." He disappeared back into the clinic. The door closed behind him. Silence settled over the street again. Kiro was the first to breathe out. "I've never seen Jello like that." "He was worried," Lena said softly. Marco shook his head. "No." Everyone looked at him. "He was hopeful." Nobody argued. Panam leaned against the parked vehicle. "So..." She looked down the road where WWC had disappeared. "...that's Skulker." "Yeah," Ace answered. Panam smiled faintly. "I thought he'd be louder." Ace laughed. "So did Badger." That earned a few quiet smiles. Even the tension of the evening eased a little. Shammy remained looking toward the street. The breeze gently moved strands of her silver-white hair. "He'll need time." Mai stepped beside her. "Yes." Shammy looked at Mai. "I think he was afraid of me." Mai considered the thought. "For a moment." Shammy lowered her eyes. "I understand." Ace walked over and gently bumped Shammy's shoulder with her own. "He didn't reject you." Shammy looked up. "He asked for time." A small smile appeared. "That's different." "It is." The group began walking toward their own vehicle. Nobody hurried. The evening had already become something else. Not a rescue. Not a mission. Simply... an ending. Marco opened the van door. "So..." He looked around at everyone. "Coffee?" Kiro immediately groaned. "Please tell me we're not going to Victor's supplier." Ace burst into laughter. "No." Mai's lips curved into a smile. "I think Skulker has suffered enough for one day." That finally broke the last of the remaining tension. Laughter spread through the group. Warm. Quiet. Ordinary. As they drove back toward Watson, Night City looked exactly as it always had. Neon. Traffic. Rain beginning somewhere in the distance. Nothing had changed. Except... somewhere else in the city... Walking War Crimes was whole again. And somehow... Night City felt just a little safer because of it.