Cables and metal protruded from the Colonel's arm as you worked calmly inside his cyberware. His grip on the half-empty bottle of vodka tightened as you poked a little too deep and caught a bandaged nerve.

"Apologies.", you gave him a smile, gentle and sincere.

You almost felt sorry for having to hurt him, but options were severely limited. The alcohol only helped so much, dulling the pain a little, but not taking it away completely. A slight red glow had spread across his face. But all in all, he seemed calm.

"I admire your determination.", you admitted and began to work on his arm again.

Silence was your constant companion, whether you were working on the dogs or yourself. Rarely had you visited a ripper, but then they had always been very talkative.

Especially that one ripper, a Night City legend, Viktor Vektor. He had said it calmed the patients, took their minds off the procedure and helped them ignore it.

Even though you found it difficult to figure out what a man like the Colonel wanted to hear, you couldn't help but try.

"It's fine.", his voice was rough from the alcohol, tongue heavier.

Still, his words were clear. Just like the look on his face when he looked at you. You smiled.

"It's not often that I have the honour of working on someone who is... alive."

He snorted, his broad chest moving. You found your eyes focussing on his toros. Small brown hairs were showing in the neckline of the shirt he was wearing. He had chest hair.

Somehow you liked that. He had such a clean, sterile appearance that a bit of hair made him look rougher, wilder and less like a sculpted soldier. A doll to control.

Kurt had been born in 2031, not quite thirty-eight. So one could call him middle-aged, though he looked pretty good for that.

A little too good for your taste. The thought pissed you off.

Never before had you felt so attracted to a man just because he had certain physical characteristics. Most had been nice enough for a moment to take advantage of them for a night, never to see them again after that.

The colonel, on the other hand, stirred something completely different in you. Interest and the urge to stay with him. Simply because you wanted to. For no reason at all.

Annoyed, you rolled your eyes, shoved the thought into the darkest corner of your dispatch and carried on working.

"Vodka... a good choice...", Kurt suddenly said into the silence, shaking the half-empty bottle in his lap. "I have friends in Siberia. Met them on a mission. They know how to make good vodka."

"Never been there.", you admitted. "Only Saint Petersburg. It was stunning."

"Not to be compared with the cold, the vast plains.", he took another sip.

Slowly you thought he was no longer drinking to forget the pain.

Carefully you opened a connection between his upper arm and hand, preventing the fingers from moving. A series of slots appeared underneath. Strange, because there was no need for chips inside cyberware. All connections were created externally. Or were given by cables and receptors.

Kurt's eyes jumped to your hands, which nimbly jumped between screws and connections until the prosthesis detached from his shoulder.

"I hope that doesn't hurt.", you said and clamped the now detached arm between your legs.

Only the two main cables now connected it to his nerve pathways. He shook his head and took another sip. The red glow on his face darkened.

Without thinking, you picked up the bottle and placed it on the side next to you that he couldn't reach. He frowned in protest. You looked at him. Your eyes met.

"Tell me about Siberia.", you said.

The request was so gentle, so honest that it could almost have been a plea. But that was crazy. You never asked for anything. Never. You just took it, demanded for it. And so far it's always been given to you. Sometimes voluntarily. Sometimes by force.

His lips curled. White Kiroshi eyes wandered lazily through the darkness.

"It's cold.", he said drily. "Lots of snow. And mountains."

You snorted. Leaning over the prosthesis, you tried to listen while trying your best to reach the chip slots with the small tools without causing any damage.

Your eyes lit up red to analyse which of these chips had an actual function. The connection to Six opened immediately. A firewall appeared, disappeared again and finally some windows showed info.

Two of the three chips actually had functions related to the arm's efficiency. Only the third one was labelled with a warning.

Silently, you ordered Four to see if it was a virus. The process was running.

"That sounds like you didn't spend much time there.", you remarked, trying not to lose the conversation.

"Two years.", he grumbled and closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Two winters, two springs, two summers and two autumns.", you said. "I would have expected more impressions than just... snow."

He huffed and for the first time he had to grin so broadly that his white teeth showed.

"I drank a lot, hunted a lot.", his hand rose to caress the knife on his chest. "Yakut knife. Good for everything, skinning, catching fish, throwing. It was named Fang."

"It was a gift.", that was no question.

The analysis of the chip ended and another warning appeared. Four's algorithm had categorised it as hostile. You took a quick look at the connections of cables and nerves.

"This could hurt...", you mumbled, carefully applying the first tool.

Kurt winced. He stifled a sound in his throat, swallowed it down.

"There were some nice ladies.", he pulled the knife out of its leather sheath and let it dance between his fingers. "One liked me."

With a little pressure, you levered the chip out of its socket. Your heart jumped, you could feel sweat rolling down your forehead. This was the first time you removed a chip completely.

Thanks to Three, it was blocked. Still, you feared that there was an instant trigger that would kill you both upon removal. A scratching sound filled the tense silence.

"I heard Siberia has beautiful women.", you said.

"It does.", his eyes fell on you. "But... something was missing."

The chip came loose.

"I wonder what a man like you asks for, Colonel.", you smiled contentedly, the chip between your fingers. "If even the women from Siberia don't appeal to you."

"They did.", he admitted. "But not quite like you."