heartofsnark

[heartofsnark]

Warmth (Astarion Drabble)

Author's note: Blame my friend Ellen for this one- they know what they did, I'm not even an Astarion romancer. This is a quick messy drabble because I was having feelings about Astarion and his relationship to cold and warmth and heat- given vampire.

Technically- this is Astarion/Tav or Astarion/Durge. It coule be either, it's kept purposely vague. No gendered pronouns, no physical features, and no defining traits mentioned. If you really want, you could pop anyone in the "they" role, they only have one line since its not a dialogue focussed oneshot.

TW: Astarion's backstory, nothing explicit, but it's a drabble focused entirely on him so- trauma be here. The world has had a chill for two-hundred years. Since the life was stolen from his veins and a new bastardized version placed in its stead. Astarion’s world has been chilled. Cold more often than not. Pale skin cool to the touch, innards hollowed. Heat no longer lingers in his skin, no longer pumps through his veins- he’s never fed enough for the blood to truly pump. Barely kept at the edge of starvation. A bone deep chill that rarely recedes, his body never warm- not even his. 

The only breaks are not warmth. But smothering heat, cloying heat- the slap of flesh, the friction of grinding bodies. A temporary surface level heat, it stays in his skin for a moment, but it never reaches his bones. It’d burn him alive if it did. Stick sweat, the sear of groping hands, touches he doesn’t want, didn’t ask for, made to take, made to endure, made to be used- his body is not his, the only retreat a wandering mind. 

He thinks he prefers the chill. Even in the coffin, it was coldest by far, even when he screamed and his throat ran raw- even the blood drawn from his clawing, breaking fingers couldn’t warm him. But at least the only hands in the prison were his own, well- not his, but a small comfort regardless. 

Blinding rays of sun, sand beneath his fingers- a jolt of fear, a prey animal instinct curling around his insides and demanding he run. The sun, bright and big, it hangs above his head and he waits for the flames. To die in smothering burn and ache, for all to end in heat. 

His skin doesn’t blister, doesn’t char- it warms.  

And he can’t help but think faintly that two-hunded or more years ago, a version of him that’s long since died- liked to feel the sun on his face, when it felt like his. 

No one takes the sun from him, not truly- only missing out on it’s rays when the night falls and he finds himself yearning to feel it again. But in those moments, it’s replaced by the crackle of bonfire. Flickering orange flames throwing off thin remnants of warmth, though it comes of his company is far larger waves. 

The body heat most give off, most with proper pumping hearts, the living. Even without their skin touching his, he can feel it when they linger around the same space- the warmth that comes off their skin, when they share stories and pass around cheap acrid excuses for alcohol. 

A small bump, a jostle, his skin prickles- hackles raised like a cat, an arm brushing his when their leader turned too quick. When they forgot the space between them, an accident, barely last a moment but the warmth of their skin lingers on his own, doesn’t burn, and there’s an apology on their lips a moment later. For something so small, so pathetic- already sorry, sorry to touch him without meaning to, without asking to. They treat his body like it’s his, he wishes it felt like it was. 

Warmth of blood- a full belly. He’s never felt so sated, so powerful, so warm. He drains boards until they’re nothing but hide and flesh, drinks a bear until his stomach feels it may burst- but it never feels like enough, never sated after knowing hunger so long. 

He tries to sneak his fangs between their veins, to sape some of the warmth that still a tenday later still clings to his arm- to know what it may be like to eat what he never could, to have more power. Maybe then his body will feel like his own, he tries to take without asking- that’s what the world does, so why shouldn’t he? 

But then they let him. Let him feed. Let him eat, allow him to sate himself. Allow him to climb over their body, to feel the same warmth of their body nears his- then drain the heat of their blood. To drink until he can feel a chill enter them, until he nearly sapped all that precious warmth, only then asking him to stop. Forced to tear his fangs from their flesh, a bone deep warmth inside of him, settling in his veins- in his gullet. He thinks this may be what people mean when they speak of the warmth of a homecooked meal, he can’t remember if he’s ever had one- but this feels cozy, pleasant, warm. 

And they let him do it again. 

Let him feed when he needs to. Let him sidle up to their side every couple nights, lean into that warmth, bury his teeth- and he waits for the burn. Waits for that warmth and comfort to give away to the scorch of a wandering hand. For the spike of arousal he feels in their system when he bites to become a grope, a push, to find himself on his back, and used. His body not his own. 

But their hands never stray. Never demand. Never even ask. They allow him his fill and allow him what he wants after. At first to leave with no questions, no fuss- no ask for more, just a kind good night as he saunters off with a full belly. Later, they allow him to stay. Allow him to pull off their bleeding veins and linger. To lay the weight of his head between their neck and shoulder, to lean into their skin. Never a question, never an accusation- there are no demands made of him. Allowed to sprawl like a cat against a sun warmed patch of grass. 

He feels the sun, he sates his hunger, he knows warmth- but the chill is never far behind. He’s a hunted man, a hunter in a bog- a reminder that he’s not cut his collar, but merely lengthened his leash. That until he can sever it, until he can off off the hand yanking it back- he will never be free. His body will never be his own. He will find himself again in a world of chill and burn. 

It’s a plan. A strategy. Not affection or love that pulls him to invite them out. Someone to keep him protected. To help keep him safe as he figures his way out of this, as he tries to sever his leash. They’re the obvious choice. The leader of the motley crew, at times desperate good doer, already fond of him, and most importantly- they want his body. He feels it in the casual lingering glance, the hormones in their blood when he drinks from them- they don’t say it, but they want him. And if they’re willing to slaughter a hunter for him now, what will they do once they’ve been given his body? How much harder will they fight for him if he gives them  what they want? All anyone wants from him. 

His body is a weapon, wielded by Cazador for two-hundred year- why shouldn’t he wield it as well? 

This time it’s his choice. It’s different. He initiated. He asked for this. Not in a pathetic simpering self blaming way, but he verbally asked for it- he invited them out. His way to claw back some power, some control, to use and be used but on his own terms- for his own safety, his own freedom. It’s his choice, for once in two-hundred fucking years it is his choice. 

But it feels like it did every time before. He chose this, but it doesn’t feel like it. Still a tool but he’s learned how to work without his master,  still a means to an end- his flesh just the way of getting what’s needed. The same cloy of body heat, the cling of sweat, his mind far away. His body not his own, abandoned as it does what it needs to. It’ll help him in the long run, it’ll be okay, steel his nerves, and wait for it to be done. Tells himself there’s a power in this, he’s making a choice, he’s choosing himself- protecting himself, that he’ll never feel the bone deep chill again. 

He feels half frozen when he lays at their side. 

He plays his act as well as he always does. Uses his body when he needs to. Manipulate. Seduce. Trick. Running off a script he’s memorized over and over. Same song, same dance- telling himself he’s running the show. But between lies and disassociation, the other things bleed through. 

Warmth. Being asked for nothing but a cuddle on a cold night, his flesh unable to warm- but they ask to curl around him all the same. They give them sweet words and kind gestures, he gives them back with a smile that doesn’t always reach his eyes. They worry for him, fret over him, and at some point he realizes he’s the only one pushing for those burning touches. Those moments where his mind has to wander to make it okay, because otherwise- why would they keep this going on? If he’s not spreading his legs, what good is he? He can’t risk them losing interest. Can’t risk them growing bored before he gets the leash severed, before they’ve helped him- before he’s used them. 

A broken mirror, long forgotten after a conversation of forced compliments and faded memories. He assumed it’d been abandoned at the same campsite he’d thrown it against the ground on. Reminded that he’ll never see the visage of who he was again, that who he was is but a stolen memory. 

But it’s silver decorated handle is laying face down in his tent night. No speck of dirt nor grime, plucking it up between his fingers. His eyes narrow, a portrait in charcoal, the paper tucked neatly within the framing panel where the mirror glass once sat. The visage of a man looking back at him- sharp eyes, hair curling around his ears, smile lines- a name jotted in the corner. 

Astarion. 

It’s him. And he knows exactly who did it. The only person who would, the same person now poking their head into his tent- but something is wrong. 

His face burns with warmth and heat, up his cheekbones and clear into the tips of his ears as they poke their curious face inside, their own face a deeper ruddier shade than usual. An awkward scratch of their neck, acknowledging he found their present- asking if he likes it, but how can he even know when there’s a sudden inferno in his face. Not smothering or cloying, but hot. Fever was a symptom of the parasite wasn’t it, is that what this is? His fingers graze his cheekbones, brush along his jaw- they feel warm and alive, but they shouldn’t 

“Something is wrong, my face is- my face is burning,” he yells, he warns, feeling the fear in his chest pit- of course he’d turn first, the world too cruel to do anything else, “Am I, is this-” 

Hands delicately cup his cheeks, warm, so warm- their eyes examine him as they did the night they played his mirror, the heat only worsens- the fever spikes. Their thumbs stroke along his jaw where tentacles would split his flesh. 

“No squidier than before, love- just a little flushed,” they tell him and the heatn only spreads- flushed, blushing. He hardly ever had the blood to do it before, barely enough to perform how he was forced to. 

But his stomach is no longer concave. His skin so rarely chilled. And an affection he’s lied to get is turning his face scarlet. Too much, far too much- pitting a heat in his chest, where the warmth has never reached. 

And eventually he can lie no more. Can use no more. Defenses laid down and vulnerabilities splayed out like viscera in an autopsy. The truth of how it hurts to be used, how it hurts to never be in his own body, how it never feels like it’s his body, and how it hurts that he’s done it to himself as readily as Cazador did it to him. 

He waits for the rejection, refusal- what good is he if he cannot sate them, what use is he if not fro what’s between his legs, and if can no longer give that- what else does he have to give?

Arms wrap around him- warmth. And he hardly knows what to do with himself, where to put his hands, or how to pull them in. But it settles in his bones and he longs to cling, to allow himself to cling. To cling to every promise on their lips, that it’s okay, he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to- that they don’t need anything from him he isn’t willing to give. 

That never need feel a touch he doesn’t want. 

That his body is his own. 

It may be the first promise he’s never seen broken. 

His body is his own, his life is own, and he’s allowed the space to learn what that means for him. He’s allowed to make choices, some good, some bad. He tries things outside his comfort zone- some good, some bad. Sometimes he feels silly, making choices, agreeing to things- only to find himself unhappy, uncomfortable. To learn it’s not something he wanted. But every misstep, every utterance of ‘I thought I was ready, I thought I’d be okay,’ is met with nothing but warmth, it’s okay that he didn’t know. It’s okay that he’s relearning how to own his skin, his body, his life- that it’s not an easy process, but he’s learning who he is. And he doesn’t need to know every answer, they’ll learn them together in time. 

But the leash still clings. A hand still pulls and temptation calls to him. 

And he makes a choice. 

He stabs and he stabs, until his blade chips into the floor. The warmth of blood on his skin, soaking into him- Cazador’s. The hand that pulled finally severed and his body wracks with tears, with hurt, and he cries out. Cries out for two-hundred years of chill. Cries out for the power he didn’t grasp. Cries out for everything he’s lost, he’s gained, and the path that lies ahead. Cries for the sun that may never warm his skin again. 

Cries until arms wrap around him, until he’s pulled into familiar warmth- until he’s sobbing into the joint between their neck and shoulder, the place he’s began to see as home. A promise in their touch, in their love, their grace, their kindness- that he may never know the warmth of the sun, but he’ll never feel that chill or burn again, that their warmth will fill the spaces where sunlight can no longer reach. 

He hopes that too is a promise he’ll never see break. 

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #astarion x durge

[heartofsnark]

A Simple Request For An Unsimple Man (Gale x Fem!Oc Tav)

Author's note: Hello, it's certainly been a minute since I've been able to post fic here without worrying about formatting bullshit (love so much that my longest running fic can't be posted here because it relies on italics/formatting techniques within the first 50ish chapters and tumblr makes that a headache)But, I've found myself sinking a bit into BG3/Gale hell and after some prompting my @shallow-gravy about a comment I left about Gale being able to summon a bed, I decided this might be a fun idea and oops have a thirty page one shot! So, have something featuring my tav- Petra and Gale. Still not sure of what I"m doing with these characters, but hey~

Summary: Petra and Gale are more than a little clumsy in the ways that they love, both having their own significant dry spell when it comes to romance and sexual desires. And while the two have shared themselves within the weave, Petra has made a simple request to share their physical bodies as well. Gale is not good at simple.

Warnings: Unprotected vaginal sex, praise kinks, creampies, cunnilingus (tav/petra in this is a cis female woman), fingering, mutual masturbation, tooth-rotting fluff (turns out I write fluff now), soft!dom Gale, and magical sex mishaps.

Petra's mind has been a maelstrom of worries for quite a while now, however, if someone had told her that amidst tadpoles, cults, and shadow cursed lands that her mind would be consumed with matters of the heart and loins- well, she'd think they were crazy. 

But, perhaps she's the crazy one. 

She never expected to love again, never expected to find someone who felt like home, or makes her heart stutter on every other beat. But she never expected to have a tadpole shoved into her eye or to pull a wizard from a stone- let alone for that very wizard be the one doing this to her. Life is full of surprises, as is her lover. 

Ugh, gods- she has a lover. 

The very thought makes her face burn, her heart pound, and her guts twist. If she didn't know any better she'd think herself ill, but alas- she's learned that's merely Gale's influence on her. The wizard needed no charms or illusions to win her affection, but he warned her early on- well before either of them had realized what was growing between them, that he had a taste for grand gestures. 

And grand they were. 

He conjured her stars and shifting auroras against an ink black night, he showed her his home, his sanctuary without her needing to step a foot into Waterdeep. And he plucked their very souls from their bodies, to kiss and touch and merge within a realm beyond their own. Glittering blue forms, never knowing quite where his touch ended and hers began, surrounded and consumed by him. An electric blur of his touch over her very being. 

She would have been content with a flower and a bowl of his deer stew, but who is she to turn down the adoration fueled gestures of a man she does not deserve. 

Which in part is why she can't help but suspect she might be being just a touch greedy…

Made all the worse by her greed and insecurity tugging her mind back and forth between them like rabid dogs would a slice of steak. 

In some ways she's already done the hardest part, confessing her desire to Gale felt like a herculean task in itself, a stumble of poorly put together words while her face burned hotter than Karlach's engine. But ultimately, she got the message across and Gale as always was far too eager to oblige.

Though, he seems intent to oblige her request in his Gale way of obliging.

Because, you see, her request is incredibly simple. Despite her anxiety and insecurity- she wants to fuck Gale the old fashioned way. She loved the way they bonded before and truly will jump to do it again, but she just can't help but also want the more mundane variety. To feel flesh and bone, to touch his skin, to press her lips against his throat and feel his pulse race beneath her tongue. This of course means he'll also be seeing her naked properly without blue blurry auras smoothing out her every- less excited for that, but her desire for him outweighs her shame for herself. 

And this simple request, frankly- could have been sated nearly the moment it was made in the privacy of his tent. He needed only to roll her onto her back or pull her to straddle his hips, a few garments tossed aside, the dark providing her with some some cloaking while still getting to feel and see him- gods bless darkvision. 

But that would be far too simple, her request instead met with a wide smile a; "Say no more, consider it done, my love," a kiss goodnight, and the looming knowledge that he was planning something. 

So, perhaps surprise is too strong a word when she returns to camp after a brief walk alone to find her companions snickering and Gale's mirror image standing outside his tent. Thin ripples of weave radiating through an otherwise perfect copy of her favorite wizard. She knows it could be perfect, saw him make one perfect before- the imperfections intentional, to let her know it's not him and instead a messenger. 

Petra skirts past her chattering friends, pretending she doesn't feel several sets of eyes following her as she stands before the replication of her dearest. Who merely beams with that bright smile that she's come to adore, even if it's merely a simulacrum of it. 

"Heh, I take it Gale has some plans for us tonight?" She whispers towards the mirror image, trying to keep prying ears from learning too much. Not that her and Gale are secretive about their relationship by any means, but not every one of their friends needs to know when they're having sex. 

"That he does and I have the most wonderous task of taking you to see him, words cannot begin to express how eager he is to see you tonight," the mirror image chirps, not even a hint of shame or volume control as his eyes burn with that same flame of adoration the real Gale always seems to carry- her face flushing beneath its heat.

"Ugh, hells you two are going to make me throw up a perfectly good meal, would you please take your simpering gazes elsewhere," Astarion calls out from around the campfire, a hint of a smile in his words, then his lips when Petra turns to glower at him. 

"I hardly think whatever shadow cursed vermin you've managed to snack on out here counts as a good meal- but rest assured, I am leaving." 

"But of course- after all your little magician is so very eager," he mocks again and if he weren't her friend, she'd kick his arse- still might. 

 "Oh lay off her, Fangs- it's cute, like two pups wagging their tails at each other." 

"I believe nauseating is the word you're looking for," Shadowheart chimes in, "I mean really, not a drop of shame between the two, every time he leaves behind one of those mirror images- he might as well just declare that they're about to go rut around in the woods all night." 

"Date nights are perfectly healthy for a newly bonded couple-"

"Dates- is that what you think they're doing out there? In the middle of nowhere, alone- you think they're, what, chatting about their favorite books over a glass of wine?" Astarion cuts Wyll off, incredulous that he would refer to Petra and Gale's outings as a date. 

"I mean, wouldn't really be all that shocked if they were- it is Gale, after all…" 

"Regardless, I think seeing our friends form such a union is something to be celebrated not mocked." 

"Their carnal desires are hardly any of our concern, so long as they remain vigilant in battle- however, I must say I do find it curious that the wizard always seeks to be hunted, he might as well submit outright if he cannot best her in combat." 

"Oh, I'm sure he does plenty of submitting." 

"I don't know 'bout that, Petra may be bossier but look at the poor thing- redder than a devil's arsehole, probably turns into a mess the moment clothes start comin' off." 

Petra grasps the mirror image's arm, her face burning hot and no doubt just as red as Karlach said. She hisses between gritted teeth;  "Get me the fuck out of here." 

"Your wish is my command, now- let us find more pleasant company," he assures her, quickly walking her away from the camp as their friends speculate about their sex life. 

"And by that, you mean yourself," she teases, leaning against the mirror image's arm. The conjured form isn't a perfect match, both from the rippling static like eminence of weave and it being a little less shameful than her Gale. But it carries his warmth, his smell- like the innards of an old library, cozy and welcoming. 

"Would you have it any other way?" 

"Gods no," she admits, burrowing her face into his arm, hiding her flushed cheeks from his view. 

"Careful now, I'd hate to be jealous of myself," Gale's voice rings out, more alive, more human and not right beside her- her head shoots up, the sky is bathed in shifting colors and twinkling lights. Her Gale just a short walk away; "Though I can hardly blame you, he is quite handsome." 

And that’s all she needs, letting go of the mirror image, the half-elf rushes towards him- the real him, a small laugh escaping Gale’s lips as she throws her arms around him. As nice as the fake one is, it will never feel as good as touching the real thing. His heat seeping in between their clothes, warming her skin- that must of old books and lavender offset slightly by the salt of his sweat. His large hands holding her in kind, one settling on the small of her back and the other stroking through her hair. She takes a deep breath, a heavy inhale and exhale of him, before finally lifting her head ever so slightly- enough to look up at him,

The way he looks at her could melt all of Frostfell. Those soft brown eyes looking at her like she’s hung the stars and moon, all the while he’s the one who’s conjured the sky above them. 

“A good evening to you too,” he greets, smiling so sweetly and she stands up on her tiptoes- Gale meeting her need as she presses a kiss to that very smile. The warm press of his mouth against hers sending heat and butterflies through her very veins, she breaks back before she can get carried away. Not wanting to ruin his plans, but struggling to stifle the desire to kiss him until her lungs ache. 

“Good evening,” she hums back instead, squeezing him tighter, her eyes looking around the wide field bathed in the glow of soft purples and blues. It’s largely familiar, the same space and view he created the night he brought their very souls together- when he confessed his fear, his love, and so much more. Where she pleaded for him to stay, for him to live. 

Though with one very new addition to the expanse of field- an extraordinarily out of place bed. Lavish and lush with deep indigo blankets, bathed in the glow of the sky and the burning of a torch mounted in the ground beside it- the addition betraying the reason they’re here tonight. 

“You know what I can’t help but notice?” Petra remarks after a beat of silence, a quiet moment of simply sinking into one another’s hold- blinking up at her wizard. 

“My dashing good looks?”He asks, a small smile and a raise of his brow. 

“Mm, yes, but no more than usual,” she plays along, smiling against him. Knotting her fingers in the plush purple of his tunic,debating on if she should slip her hands beneath the fabric- wanting to feel more of his skin. 

“My brilliant mind and ever expanding intellect?” 

“Well, that just goes without saying,” she assures him, heaping on the praise for him. 

“Hmm, than it must be my veritable wealth of charm and wit.” 

“Close and before you ask- no, it’s not your modesty either,” she teases, scratching her nails over his back through his shirt- trying to sate her ache to touch him, “What I can’t help but notice is that whenever you pull me away for a night via your mirror image- it seems to mean I’m the one left dealing with the whispers of our companions.” 

He grimaces slightly, somewhat between amusement and annoyance; “Ah, yes, a… much unfortunate consequence, but one we simply can’t avoid, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh, is that so?” She teases, laughing through her smile, “Funny how that unavoidable consequence seems to benefit you.” 

“Life is full of those funny little mysteries, I think it wise to embrace- not question, these curiosities.” 

“Thats quite a fancy way of saying you intend to keep throwing me to the wolves,” she chirps, pulling a hand back to slap him playfully in the ribs, he merely laughs because he knows exactly what he’s doing; “Do you know that right now, at this very moment- our friends gossiping like hens about which one us… takes the lead?” 

“Ah, yes, I’m… terribly sorry to have missed that conversation.” 

“And yet, I suspect you’re not sorry at all,” she comments, reaching upward she strokes through his hair-  tracing a streak of gray that curls around his ear, soft brown strands slipping between her fingers. He’s so lucky he’s so damned adorable. 

“Oh, but I am- absolutely contrite that I could not steal you away before their sordid chatter reached your ears- after all, I’m no more keen on our proclivities being the subject of discussion than you are,” he admits and she hums, a small smirk on her lips as he continues on, trying to insist he definitely feels bad about leaving the gossipy shit for her to handle. 

“Perhaps not, but you do seem keen on leaving me to handle it.” She points out again, cradling his jaw- his beard scratching her palm as she rubs her thumb along his cheekbone. Petra often wonders if he minds the callouses that cling to her skin. Her flesh so much rougher than his, he leans into her touch, presses his jaw to her hand. 

“And my apologies are most sincere, however if you still find yourself unconvinced- perhaps I can show you the depth of my remorse?” He asks, pressing his forehead to hers, lips a breath away, “You need only ask, demand any penance you deem fit-  and I will gladly pay it.” 

“Is that so?” 

“There is no sin against you, no matter size or severity,  that I would not repent for.” 

“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t mind a kiss,” she admits, the only thought on her mind when his face is so close to hers- when his lips are just a breath away. When one tilt of her head, one jolt would crash their lips together. 

“Hmm, I think you may not have a full understanding of what penance means, my dear, typically-” 

“Gale,” she says, looking up at him with the sternest eyes she can manage- no doubt stopping him from prattling off the definition of penance. Because she’s in love with a sentient thesaurus. 

“Yes.” 

“You have until the count of three to kiss me and if you don’t- I’m going to bite you,” she threatens, not sure how much she wants him to listen- she does like biting him, “One-” 

“Thinking over my options,” he chimes, sing songy as he seems equally unsure of which choice he likes more. 

“Two.” 

“I do rather like your love bites, but your kisses are quite enchanting as well.” 

“Thr-” 

His lips press to hers, deeper than before. One of her hands twists in his tunic, the other in the his hair. He cradles her jaw and lower back, pulling each other closer, she can’t help the small sigh of happiness and bliss as his tongue pushes into her mouth. The faintest taste of his cooking still on his tongue, a hint of mint where he tried to clear it out-  maybe she should have been so kind. 

Their kisses are still clumsy, a slightly awkward press and swirl of tongues, both single and isolated for a year or more. But it feels like warmth and love and home in a way she can’t define, heat simmering between her thighs when the hand on her back moves lower. A broad palm playfully squeezing at her ass, tugging her closer, the grope of his fingers sinking into the plush of her flesh- a soft moan echoing from her throat, muffled by his tongue. 

They break apart, breathing ragged- hot puffs of air across each other’s lips. She can feel the heat clinging to the apples of her cheeks, mirrored in the flush that creeps beneath Gale’s beard. Petra grins up at his beautiful red face, the brown of his eyes nearly swallowed by the black of his pupil. 

“Three,” she whispers, catching his lower lip between her teeth and nipping playfully at the kiss swollen flesh. Gale groans, deep and throaty, sending molten heat right to her cunt. His lips pulls out from between her teeth as he pulls her into a desperate hungered kiss. 

It’s deeper than the last, even more ravenous and rough, both of his hands now groping at her backside- kneading at her flesh, feeling his fingers sinking into the plush of her flesh through her clothing. Wishing his hands were beneath her clothes, on her skin, pressing into her properly. 

She tugs at his hair, scratches her nails along his scalp as he kisses her deeper and deeper, her lungs burning by the time she feels the back of her thighs bumping something soft. Breaking off the kiss to see she’s somehow been staggered back to the bed. It’s plush blankets and rows of pillows beckoning her. She can’t help but giggle. 

“Couldn’t settle for a dirty bedroll, could you?” She teases, stealing another soft kiss. 

“The least I could do for your comfort, time spent together in the flesh should be no less beautiful than that spent in the celestial- whatever way you’ll have me, I wish only to make it perfect for you.”

“Then… wish no more,” she murmurs, voice soft as she avoids the intensity of his gaze, the adoration that consumes his words and expression, “You’re here with me, I could not imagine anything more perfect than that.” 

“Careful now, keep talking that way-  you may never be rid of me,” he tries to joke, to tease- but when she forces herself to look back up at him, she can see the flush of his cheeks deepening as his smile widens. 

And with everything that still hangs in the air- Mystra’s unreasonable request, the knowledge that a part of him still doesn’t feel certain of whether he’ll see the end of this journey. The fact he may still make that choice, that he very well still might leave her in some desperate attempt to save the world. She throws her arms tight around his neck, latches her nails into his skin as she tugs him closer, closer. His nose bumping her own, his forehead back flush against hers. 

“I truly hope that I could be so lucky,” she rushes out, reiterating her wish- her plead again. That he’ll stay here with her, that she will never be rid of him- that on the other side of this whole ordeal is a future where his story stays enmeshed with her own. That she’ll not have to lose another love, not sure her heart could stand it. 

Then it’s another clash of lips, tongue, and teeth- not even sure who started this one, both desperate to get their mouths on each other. And for a moment, she feels herself lifted, feet off the air- she giggles into his kiss before the world shifts every so slightly, her back thumping down onto the soft blankets. Her weight sinking into the plush of the mattress, Gale smiling at her lowers a knee to the bed and climbs up, settling above her. 

Adoration, the word comes to mind over and over again whenever he looks at her. Brown eyes soft and clear with nothing but that emotion, letting it sink in through her skin and into her bones, consuming her wholly. She never thought she loved brown eyes so much, disliking her own for so long- but on him they’re so beautiful. Warm and filled with more love than she’s could ever hope to deserve. 

She cups his face and pulls him down for another kiss, never satisfied. He said before that moment with her could sate him for a lifetime and while the sentiment still rattles her to her very soul- she can’t say she relates, feeling as if she could have a million with him and still beg for one more, for another, another, another. Not enough time in the universe for how much she wishes to spend with him. 

Her hands tug at his tunic, reaching one beneath- no longer able to suppress the desperate need to just touch him. To feel his skin beneath her fingers, warm flesh and coarse body hair, the soft skin of his stomach. A layer of plush with a hint of firmer muscle beneath, when she presses a little harder. Their lips part again as Gale leans back onto his knees, which sink into the bed on either side of her hips. 

She skims her hands down his hips and thighs as Gale grips at his shirt, tugging it off- carefully putting it aside. Petra’s eyes roaming the open exposed flesh of his chest and stomach. The celestial version of him gorgeous, but not truly doing him justice. Smooth glowing blue aura not showing the dark body hair that scatters across his chest, trailing down his stomach and leading to below his waistband. The occasional freckle and even rarer scar that decorate his skin. 

Even the mark on his chest, the symbol where the orb took root in his chest. Bruised in the middle, tendrils sweeping out from it- the ones that curl up the left side of his throat growing fainter as they stretch out to vanish beneath his beard- connected faintly to the prominent veins that ghost below his eye. She hates what that thing has done to him, how it’s hurt him- how it’s not being used as a threat against his very life, but even that she finds beautiful on his flesh. The mark of his mistakes, of his devotion to one who never deserved it, proof of him as a man who sought love in worship. His folly is as much a part of the man she loves as every virtue he carries in kind.

“Fuck,” she curses, all the words she can utter as she gazes at him. Admiring every inch of his body that’s been revealed to her. Realizing she’s rarely seen him shirtless, not counting the celestial plane and a few brief, awkward mistakes while navigating river baths in the early days of their travel. How odd that they’ve been so deeply intimate, yet she can’t say she’s seen him fully naked. 

Which means he has yet to see her fully naked as well- which scares her even more than the tadpole gnawing at the inside of her skull. 

“If you ever sought to deflate my ego, I must say- you’re doing a terrible job at it,” he teases, a brilliant grin on his face as her own burns with heat. 

"As if I'd ever embark on a such a fool's errand," she taunts, skimming her hands upward and feeling the heat of his skin. Raking her nails along his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath her hand, biting her tongue to not make any comments about belly rubs. 

"Hmm, given your…tendencies, forgive me if I remain unconvinced." 

She lets out a breath of a laugh- "You know, you're astoundingly disagreeable, for a man attempting to bed me." 

"Not to add to the matter, but I do believe we've past the point of 'attempting.'"

"I swear to the gods, I'm gonna learn magic just so I can cast silence on you one of these days," she threatens, pinching playfully at his flesh. 

"And I'd be honored to teach you, but for now- I hope finding other uses for my mouth will suffice," he offers, dipping down to kiss her again, bracing one hand to the pillows by her head- the other cupping her jaw. His thumb brushing along her cheekbone, a soft sigh muffled by his tongue pushing into her mouth. Her hands roam his torso, unable to settle fully on which part of him she wants to touch- his stomach, chest, sides, back, and shoulders all feeling so perfect beneath her fingers. 

His warm wide palm brushes down her jaw to her neck, heat and sparks rising to her skin wherever his fingers touch. Unable to help the way she squirms beneath his mouth and hands, the soft noises she whimpers into his kiss, against his tongue as her own presses into his mouth in kind. Burning heat aches between her thighs, barely touched but even the faintest of his kisses or the briefest brush of his fingers pulls desperation from her very soul. Pathetic in her need for him, 

Gale's hand leaves her skin for a moment, already cold without his touch, she drags her nails along his shoulder blades- tries to pull him down closer. Then his hand finds her ribs, presses against her side molten warm on her chilled skin. Caught between relishing in the brush of his fingers and the way her insecurities make her body go rigid. Her hope that he may not notice dashed the moment their kiss breaks apart, ragged breath and flushed face not betraying the concern that knits his brows- the worry carved into every line of his face. 

"Is everything alright?" He asks, voice lower and rougher, lips swollen and wet- strands of hair beginning to fall and stick against the sweat that beads along his forehead. 

"Yeah, yes, of course," she insists, her own voice rougher than she expects as she tries to cram down the bubble of anxiety in her ches- desperate not to ruin her or Gale's night. 

"Petra, I would never claim you to be an open book, but you are one that I feel most adept at reading- though, I could still clearly still use some slight guidance and for that I'll need your words. Tell me what is wrong, so I may make it right, please," he tries again, with more words and more conviction- his hand lifting to brush her hair behind her ear, his thumb dragging along the sensitive point. A little chill curls along her spine in response. 

"It's nothing, really," she murmurs, smoothing her palm along his neck- tracing along the tendrils of blacked raised flesh that curls from the orb. Wondering again, if the callouses and scars of her hands bother him. 

His hands are softer than hers, more versed in flipping book pages and casting spells than hunting or stealing. He's mentioned spas and bathhouses in Waterdeep, and she wonders what balms or lotions he'd be using were their supplies not so limited. He's not without his scars, she knows- but even the raised flesh feels softer on his body than hers. Subtle faded burns from cooking and casting mishaps alike, a raised crease on his forehead from summoning a toy he wanted as a child- only to have the wooden train set appear and thunk down atop his head. 

Her scars and memories aren't so kind. No stories as sweet or kind. No fuzzy nostalgia for raised lashmarks on her back or thighs. No warm feelings about the scar across her lip, the only thing her mother deemed fit to let her keep, the same scar Gale must feel every time they kiss. 

Gale has suffered truly and she would never suggest otherwise, she'd sooner fist fight Mystra than deny the pain he's endured, the pain he is still enduring. However, when he hears him talk of his childhood, his mother, Tara, his education- she can't help but feel like a tragedy in comparison. A pitiful thing next to him. Nowhere near worthy of his adoration, his efforts, his love… 

"If it weighs on your mind, then it is not nothing." 

"Okay, so… it's nothing, but it is silly," she tells him, scratching her thumbnail through his beard, hoping to distract him. 

"Then if it is so silly and inconsequential, there will be no harm in telling me, will there?" He says, her nose wrinkling, he's so stubborn, "My aim is not to push you into telling me anything, but what kind of man would I be to notice your discomfort and continue on as if I hadn't?"

"Okay, okay- if you must make sense," she huffs and pouts, chews on her lip and avoids his gaze as she turns her head to the side, "I just am a little…insecure. Without the weave smoothing out my scars, blurring my freckles, and softening me- well, it helped make me someone worth touching." 

Her admission hangs in the air for a moment, her chest rigid with tension and swollen with a bubble of anxiety. He must think she's exhausting, asking this of him then getting so worked up over it. Her desire for him outweighing but not fully dealing away with her own insecurities. Truthfully, she'd have been content to strip Gale down,kiss and touch him to her heart's content- while never letting his hands graze her. But, he always has a way of taking the lead when it comes to these things. A fact that can never make its way back to camp. 

A soft kiss presses to the side of her lips, where that scar cuts jaggedly through them. Another against her jaw, her forehead, her cheeks as warm welcoming hands cup her face.

"Look at me, my love." He brings her gaze to his. Her heart lurches up into her throat, skin burning beneath the intensity of Gale's expression. "There is no plane or realm or state of being in which you are anything less than a person worth touching. You are my hope and my light- and no matter how or where you are presented to me, you will always be the most beautiful thing I have set my eyes on. The stars, the moon, the sun, the very heavens themselves- you put them all to shame…" 

She feels like she's been set ablaze. Her face nearly glowing with its heat, eyes wet, and the chill of the night a distant memory as his words burn through her very being. And he means them, gods help her- he means them. Able to hear and feel the conviction in every syllable, see his earnestness in the lines of his expression, in the spark alight in his eyes. And she will never know what she did to deserve him and she will always fear that she may lose him, but she is so happy to have him, 

"Ugh, gods, fuck- Gale," she curses, stuttering on her words because she has nowhere near his grasp on the English language, "I don't really know how the hells I'm supposed to argue with that." 

"So don't," he says, the request surprising in its brevity. His lips press to the corner of her eye, Petra realizing a moment too late that tears had started to streak down her face. 

He kisses down the path of her tears, her jaw, her neck craning to the side as he buries his face against her throat. Feverish and heavy kisses across her skin, her arms wrap tight around his back- digging her nails into his shoulder blades as he bites tenderly at her skin, laving his tongue across the sting he left behind. She groans as he sucks harshly, nips at her pulse point, and she can't help but squeeze her thighs together- trying to get a bit of relief, everything he does just making her needier. 

She curls her hand into his hair, twisting the silver streaked strands around her fingers as Gale kisses along her collarbone. Careful as his teeth graze where the skin stretches thinner over bone, the briefest edge of pain soothed over by the lap of his tongue. She moves the hand not tugging at his hair down his chest, skimming down his stomach, and finally presses her open palm to his groin- feeling his cock hardening in his pants, the heat of him through the fabric. A rough, nearly pained groan echoes against her collarbone. His forehead suddenly pressed to her shoulder, twitching beneath her touch.

“Too much?” She whispers against his ear, worried she may have pushed too far too soon. Far too aware despite her eagerness that neither of them have had physical sex in  a year or more- probably more, considering his time with Mystra. 

“No such thing with you,” he says through a raspy breath, his lips catching hers again as his hands brush up her sides- warm open palms stroking up the taunt freckled skin of her stomach. Stoking a fire that burns inside of her, heat rising to the very surface of her flesh as grinds her palm against him. Desperate to give him even a hint of the same heat burning in her. 

His movements halt as his fingers brush the edge of her cropped nightshirt, kiss breaking as his eyes meet hers, a surprisingly silent request from her wizard. Reluctantly, she pulls her hands from his hair and cock, Gale provides her the space as she sits up to hook her fingers beneath the edges of her shirt and tug it up off over her head. Petra tosses it aside, shaking out her hair and trying not to overthink being naked from the waist up. 

Every fiber of her being screams that she should cover her chest, having gained some weight since traveling with Gale- his cooking having put a few pounds on her, but sadly none of those managed to reach her tits. Small and fuller at the bottom than the top, freckled like damn near every other inch of her. 

But as always, there is nothing sheer adoration in Gale’s eyes and with a little press of his palm on her sternum her back is hitting the sheets again. The blankets and pillows all the softer on her bare skin, sinking down into the blush of it. Warmth of the sheets and his hand a contrast to the chill of the open air that’s snuck back in, her nipples stiffening as a breeze taunts her. 

Her legs spread for him as he moves closer, allowing him to slot himself between her thighs- a gasp on her tongue when his cock brushes against her core. Cloth grinding against her wet clit, feeling the outline of him against her. She groans and tries to wrap her legs around his hips, only for his hand to find her thigh- a steady palm pressing it back against the mattress. And his other hand finds hers, his large warm palm eclipsing hers, fingers intertwining with her own- as he presses another quick kiss to her lips, the next to her collarbones, another to the top of her breasts, then the heat of his mouth is around her nipple. 

“Fuck,” she curses, a hiss of breath as pleasure sparks across her skin- Gale sucks harshly at her chest, teasing her nipple with his tongue, just the hint of his teeth on the fullest part of her breast, and the scratch of his beard on her skin. 

She whines and whimpers, fingers knotting in his hair- his hands on her hand and thigh keeping her pinned beneath his weight, only able to arch and squirm against his mouth. Her hips try to writhe on instinct, trying to find friction against her core, trying to refind it. But he presses a little harder on her thigh, keeping his full weight off her, too much empty space between them for her to be sated. A frustrated whine in her throat as he pulls off her breast with a soft wet sound, not offering her any relief to her core or even acknowledgement of his torture, only a small hungry groan as he takes her other breast into his mouth. 

The air feels even colder on her spit slick chest, nipple swollen and redder, a scratch of flushed beard burn left behind. Sharp contract making her squirm all the more as he makes the other match. Her sounds pathetic and needy, as he teases her sensitive chest. Every swipe of his tongue, brush of his teeth, scratch of his beard, and hungry reverberating groan against her skin sends a pulse of pleasure between her thighs. 

“Gale,please,” she keens, not even sure what she’s begging for, more or less- if she’s squirming to press herself tighter to his face or trying to escape the laving of his tongue on her body. But she can only whine when her cry is met with a groan that echoes against her, reverberates in her bones, seeps through her veins, and settles in the wet heat between her thighs. 

His lips pull away from her chest, the hand that had been pressed into hers slips away- palm stroking down her forearm, along her collarbones as Gale’s mouth moves lower. Soft kisses beneath the curve of her breast, down the middle of her stomach, his thumb brushing over her nipple- his fingers nearly chasing after his mouth as he moves down her body. Lips kissing over her belly button as he squeezes at her breast, the sink of his hands into the squish of her chest, large warm hand groping and teasing while he works his mouth even lower. 

“Gale,” she whines again, as he presses her thigh tighter to the bed, his beard scratching just at the waistband of her pants. His hand skims down from her breast, fingers pressing soft divots into her hip. Then hook into her waist band, her thigh released finally as he mirrors the gesture of his other.His deep brown eyes looking up as her. 

“May-” 

“Please,” she cuts him off, hissing her consent, the ragged sound of his voice only making her desparate for more of him. He smiles, far too sweet for a man about to strip her naked- another soft kiss beneath her navel and then he’s tugging her clothes down. 

She does her best to make it easy for him, lifting her hips as he rolls the fabric down them, moving her legs as needed when he finally yanks the clothes from her body. Her dearest magician having made sure to grab her underwear with them as well. Petra laid completely bare before him, The air just as cold on the slick  heat of her cunt as it’s been to her split slick breasts. A chill curling along her spine, reminding her that despite the plush mattress and the soft downy blankets hugging her skin, they’re unmistakably outside. Conjured bed in the midst of the field, twinkling stars and kaleidoscopes of colors still dancing over head- bathing her blush touched skin in their glow. 

Petra presses a hand to her mouth, trying halfway to hide her crimson face as her other hand hovers to hide her cunt. She can’t imagine the sight she must make- red faced, tangled hair against the pillow, throat mottled by his teeth, chest marked with saliva, the red scratch of beard burn lingering along her flesh and slick clinging to the meat of her thighs. The mess his mouth has made of her on full display. 

His fingers are warm and reverant when they wrap around her wrist, plucking her hand from where it covers her cunt- exposing her even further as he presses a kiss to her palm. 

“None of that, my love,” he whispers against her skin. Her nose wrinkles, heat still burning through her face- no words find her, so she pulls her hand from her mouth and sticks her tongue out at him. Feeling his smile against her palm, a soft nip of teeth against her wrist. 

His hand falls away from her wrist, Petra scratches her nails through his beard before allowing her own to drop. A gasp catching in her throat when the broad warmth of his palms presses against both of her thighs. Her knees bending as she allows him to spread her further apart, even more exposed- even more on display than she felt before. His deep brown eyes reverent and nearly eclipsed by his pupils as he looks down at her slick cunt- Petra squirms against the sheets and the press of his hands. 

“Gods,” he breathes out, her heart stuttering in her chest, “I could study for ages, read every tome and scroll in all of Faerun and still never be able to conjure a more beautiful sight than you.” 

“Gale…” She whines, burying her face in her hands- burning beneath his gaze and words, how can he say these things without a singular fucking drop of shame? And how can he mean every single word of it?

“I’m right here, love,” he answers, pressing his face into her inner thigh- soft lips and the scratch of his beard, her breathing hitches as he kisses her flesh. Another moving further inward, along her skin. His tongue licking the slick that clings to her, his teeth nipping bruises into her thigh. 

She squirms and writhes, anticipation coiling tight inside of her, only one goal with the direction of his kisses. Every lick and bite jolting phantom pleasure to her cunt, insides clenching and aching for something more direct, to feel that scratch of his beard and the lave of his tongue where she needs it most. No matter how embarassing the idea is. Need outweighing shame. 

And as he moves further between her thighs, he lowers himself down, closer and closer- the skin feeling all the more sensitive as he nears her cunt. His hands and arms shifting, pushing beneath her thighs- a warm support of flesh and bone, his palms settling on her hips, before pressing down. His steady hold preventing her squirming, pinning her in place as he sucks a harsh mark into her skin. 

“Please, Gale,” she whimpers, twisting both her hands into his hair, trying to squirm her hips to no avail. 

“You have not an ounce of patience, do you?” He murmurs against her thigh, blunt edges of his teeth nipping at her flesh. 

“Absolutely fucking not, not with you,” she whines, words burbling out, “I need you, please.” 

A smile pressed into her skin and she can see it in her mind, even if she can’t through her thigh- she bites her tongue, waiting for his words to spill forth again. Waits for more waiting. Waits for another three part sentence and enough verbiage to put a dictionary to shame, all needed before he may finally put his fucking mouth on her. 

The brush of breath on her wet cunt, his head shifting between her thighs- beneath her fingers and the heavy lave of his tongue through her center. Pleasure shockwaves through her, a half stuttered curse on her lips as her hips jolt and her fingers dig into his scalp. His hands press down harsher on her hips, mattress and blankets denting beneath her, keeping her still as the heat of his mouth consumes her every thought and feeling. 

A practised tongue works her over, laving through her slit, dipping inside of her and lapping at the slick that rushes out of her. Each swipe of his tongue only drawing more from her, making her cunt clench around his tongue, feeling herself soak the scratch of his beard. A hungry groan against her, reverberating and twisting the coil inside of her tighter, sounding like a man starved- her insides burn, her hips try to writhe, to find even more friction as his tongue traces every inch of her. 

Groans and wet noises against her, echoing and hanging in the open air, mingling with the nonsense of whines and pleads that she can’t seem to stop. Body and voice hardly her own as she's taken apart by every hungry lick into her cunt, pleasure burning hotter and coil dragging tighter. 

A bump of his nose against her swollen clit and she's thrown over the edge, embarrassingly easy, a thunder of pleasure through her veins- coil snapping and body on fire as it consumes her very being. Only distantly aware that she's thrashing, gasping, and pressing down harsher on Gale's skull as her body jolts. Pleasure ravages her, his tongue and lips toying with her clit all the while, Gale burying his face into her as he pushes her end further and further, harsh sucks on her swollen flesh, pushing her back into ecstasy's grip anytime it threatens to let her go. 

Not so much as cumming again, but Gale refusing to let her stop. Drawing her pleasure out, the faintest sign of it waning met with a firm nearly painful swipe of his tongue or suck against her clit, tracing patterns against it that her blanking mind can’t make sense of- only able to call his name and thrash beneath him, as pleasure edges to near pain. 

And finally, he pulls away from her, orgasm crashing down and away to faint tremors versus an active quake. Her throat raw and aching from the noises he pulled from her, cunt throbbing and clenching at the sudden relief and gut wrenching absence- both somehow existing at once. Both missing his mouth and happy to be afforded the chance to come down from her high. 

Her breaths are ragged and raw, coming back to her body. Shame aching painfully in her chest, needling at her hammering heart. The first physical bodily orgasm wrung from her by another’s hand in two years. Brought to her end by the stray bump against her clit. Her celestial form not only prettier, but able to endure far more- it seems. 

And that shame only grows as the world fully returns to her, realizing just how tight her hands are wrenched in his hair- how harshly she’s pressing against his skull. His breath ragged and hot against her wet thigh, slick with sweat and more. And she can hear how out of breath he is, how she nearly stole the very air from his lungs- nearly drowned him in her. 

“So-sorry,” she whispers, letting him go and hiding behind her hands, hating how desperate and ragged her voice is, “I uh, shit- didn’t mean to- I could’ve suffocated you, I’m so sorry, fuck-” 

For all her begging him to live, to stay- she nearly killed him with her fucking vagina. Because of fucking course that’s something she’d do. A pathetic excuse for a person, a lover, and just an existing thing. 

A huff of breath from him, hot on her already burning skin- it’s light and bubbles into a small laugh, another kiss to her thigh. The bed shifts beneath her, his arms and hands pulling away- Petra dares to peek between her fingers. Gale moves over her- his cheeks ruddy with exertion, his hair sweaty and mussed, beard and lips wet with slick. His grin only wider, more boyish when he meets her eyes through the gaps of her fingers- his own wrapping around her wrists.

Delicately, he prises her hands from her face. 

“I can think of no better death, than one between your thighs.”

She snorts, a breathless laugh,; “Oh yeah, sure, and I’d be the one stuck explaining your naked corpse to K'ha'ssji'trach'ash.” 

“He may appreciate the chuckle, but do remember the ‘chhh’ sound, comes from the back-”

“I know,” she retorts bluntly, her wizard only laughing in response. She can still remember how her nerves rattled the first time she was tasked with saving Gale’s life. Not evening knowing at the time just how much more precious that life would become to her. Terrified of saying a single wrong syllable of the mephit’s name, moving the thread to the wrong side, or hiting a wrong note on that stupid fucking flute. 

Keeping him alive will be the death of her, but as he settles slightly next to her- arms curling beneath and around her- her cunt still throbbing with her drawn out orgasm, his body warm, and his open palm cupping her jaw… She can hardly say she’ll mind. 

“I must say, I do feel assured knowing you’d bring me back again.” 

“Of course, as many times as it takes,” she admits, her next breath swallowed by his lips. His tongue heavy with the taste of her, his kiss and beard wet with her slick, a muffled groan in her throat at the very thought. 

She chases to deepen the kiss as much as she can, pressing into his chest- resting her hand over his forearm. Her tongue pushes deeper into his mouth, her insides aching again, even with the throb of near pain between her thighs from her overstimulation. The soft wet sound of their kisses, her own sigh muffled between their mouths as his mouth starts to taste less like her and more like him. 

His forearm flexes beneath her fingers, his palm leaving her jaw, the other hand still holding her close and brushing her ribs. Before she can break the kiss or see where his other hand is traversing, she feels his fingers on her lower stomach and skimming down her body. 

“Gale,” she whispers against his lips, thighs squeezing together- his fingers already teasing along her mound, scratching through the sparse patch of dark hair above her cunt. He hums against her cheek, pressing a kiss to her jaw- “I can’t… again.” 

Her words are stuttered and breathy, not at all convincing- she’s still thrumming after her last orgasm, cunt still aching and sensitive, every cell of her being an exposed livewire he seems intent to keep playing with. 

“You can’t… do what exactly?”He asks, voice edged with teasing as he bites at her jawline. Her thighs draw tighter together as his finger start to push between them. Whining as he kisses at her neck and she can already feel that coil starting to twist again. 

“Can’t- cum again, too, mm… too soon, let me touch you instead,” she manages through the kisses and bites against her throat. Petra starts to move her hand that’s been placed in the narrow space between their bodies, groping downward- frustrated with the fabric still clinging to his lower half. 

“There’s never too soon enough time to touch you,” he whispers against her throat. 

“Gale, please,” she gasps, feeling him groan against her as her palm cups him through his pants- hard within his clothes, twitching beneath her touch. 

“Spread your legs for me, dear,” he requests and she knows she’ll fall apart so quick, that the pleasure may ache into pain, but she needs him, the promise of his fingers too much. Petra clumsily obeying, spreading her legs;  “There we are, so good for me.” 

The words go start to her cunt, followed shortly by his fingers- the faintest brush over her swollen clit. She gasps, his name on her lips as she tries not to lose focus on where her own hand is, squeezing at his hard-on, trying to offer him some fraction of the pleasure he’s so persistent on pouring into her. A strained groan against her neck as his fingers start to swirl around her clit, a wet slide and building friction, already painfully close. 

“Fuck, Gale,” she hisses, haphazardly trying to yank at the laces of his pants- cursing herself that she can pick the strongest locks in Faerun but can’t yank open her lover’s fucking pants between the odd angle, not being able to properly see what she’s doing, the mouth at her pulse point, and the finger slowly pressing into her. 

“You already feel so perfect around me,” he speaks against her neck as a single thick warm finger pushes into her, opening her up, curling into her- her cunt clenching around him, her head thumping back against the pillows as she gasps. Soul sex aside, it’s the thickest thing she’s had in her in years, her own thin nimble fingers not comparing to his broad palms and long thick fingers. 

“Please, please, Gale,” she breathes, not sure if she’s asking for more fingers or for help undoing his pants. Maybe both. 

She gets a kiss beneath her ear, another finger pushing into her- slow and methodical in his pace. Not seeking to push her into immediate orgasm again, but to stretch her further apart, to see how deep he can fill her with the twist of his fingers. That pleasure building, aching inside of her as his lips kiss up her ear. Small wet presses that sends little chills as he nears the pointed tips of her ears. Feeling herself coating his fingers in wet, slick and accepting as the press of his thick solid fingers. 

“You’re so beautiful, you’re taking my fingers so well,” he murmurs before kissing right at the point of her ear, nipping the sensitive skin and she jolts- face hot with pleasure and shame at how easy she is to take apart. 

Then he starts to pump his fingers, no longer idly stretching and curling, finding a rhythm as he rocks them in and out of her cunt. A desperate cry on her lips, fingers dragging in and out of her slick heat- toying and curling in to press at her nerves, only to pull back and push back in. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cries, not able to come up with any other word- even when the laces of his pants finally come undone with her frantic tugging. Biting her lip and groaning when she can finally- finally, shove her hand down his pants, beneath his underwear, hard solid cock finally in her grasp as she barely manages to pull it free from his clothes. 

“Fuck,”Gale grits out, a rare curse for the wizard- for once all other words but profanity failing him. His fingers in her cunt pause as she wraps her own around him. The hand on her ribs pulls her tighter, as she feels the heat of him against her palm. Can feel the weight of his cock, can trace the veins along his length as she runs her fingers over him- the stick of precum when she touches the head. Gale breathing rough and ragged against her temple. 

“Gods, I can’t even get my fingers around you,” she blurts out, taking the rare chance to be the talkative one- surprised by just how thick he is in her hand. She’s no halfling or gnome, but her favorite wizard stands a good foot or more taller than her- size difference palpable in how her fingers struggle to meet around him. 

He bites beneath her ear,rocking his fingers back into her- pace harsher and rough as she tries to stroke him. Smearing precum down his cock as best she can, trying to make an easier slide of her hand up and down his cock, feeling it twitch against her fingers. A rough ragged groan against her skin, her insides clenching as his fingers fuck into her- thoughts of how his cock will feel, how much more it’ll split her open, making the drag of his fingers that much slicker. 

“So pretty in my arms, love- right where you belong, so sweet and desperate for me,” he rasps against her ear and she squeezes her fingers around him, feeling the stutter and stall in his hand inside of her. The strained growl against her jaw, his expression furrowed and tense- his jaw visibly clenched, eyes clenched shut. Perhaps the first time he’s fully taken his eyes off of her. 

He doubles his efforts between her thighs, working his fingers more harshly into her, fucking his fingers roughly into her. Each thrust and drag along her insides making her sees stars and not just the ones he’s conjured for her. Pleasure spiking higher and higher, building her up- her cunt clenching around him. She tries to work her own hand faster too, cursing herself for not having more experience with this sort of anatomy. 

And then a thought, a singular thought manages to surge above the fog his fingers have put into her mind. She needs it to be wetter, slicker, his precum helping but not enough for her liking. Her gestures are sloppy and messy, haphazard with need- pulling her hand off of him, he curses faintly, the feeling of his eyes back on her. She leans forward just a little to drool against her hand, gathering as much spit and saliva as she can, strands straining from her lips. Spit dribbling down her chin and she can only hope he’s not disgusted by the sight, but it’s left her hand wet. Another ragged breath, inhale and exhale against her as she wraps her spit slick fingers around him. 

His lips surge forward, catching her own in a messy crash, teeth clanging together as he kisses her- his tongue swiping to catch the spit that clings to her her skin, hungrily groaning into her mouth. She tries to keep up, tightens her grip as much as she can without fearing hurting him, her hand sliding up and down much easier with the glide of her drool and his precum. The piss poor excuse for lube allowing her to at the very least move her hand faster, trying to match the pace he’s set with his fingers inside of her. His palm presses down more firmly, the heel of hand finding her clit. A rough tempest of pleasure jolting through her nerves. 

And it’s a rough mix of kisses, moving hands. Being fucked apart by his fingers, grinding against her clit, pushing her closer and closer. A echoing squelch as he takes her apart, the wet slide of flesh against flesh as she strokes his cock- the hungry groans and soft sounds of their kisses, everything consuming her every sense. Pushing her closer and closer, coil pulling tighter, tighter. The drag and tease of him inside of her, the grind against her sensitive clit- the promise of what’s come with his cock twitching in her hand, the bite of his teeth against her lower lip. 

The world seems to split apart, crack open, and fall away from her- everything crashed into pleasure, thrown over the edge again. Twitching and writhing beneath his hand, hips thrashing and fucking herself through the shocks. The faint curse and snarl against her lips, the twitch in her hands- the heat of seed spilling over her fingers and hip

Then she’s falling, world truly carrening out from beneath her, yelping as her ass thumps painfully into the muck. A sharp jolt of pain through her tailbone, Gale trying to tug her closer, squeezing her tightly as the world physically shifts around them, his face burying into her hair. 

“Gods damn it.” 

Petra tries to process the sudden mix of just plain fucking pain. The cold cling of mud to her ass, blinking through the blissed out fog in her mind- no longer coated in the green blue glow of a shifting sky. No longer is her ass burried in a soft silken mass of blankets and sheets, now aching in the cold cling of muddy shadow curse dirt. The only light a mounted torch with faint flickering orange flames. There’s no traces of Gale’s illusions, just him and Petra- naked and sweaty in a patch of mud. The wizard holding her tightly, his face hidden in the top of her head- possibly the most bashful she’s ever seen him, even in their awkward little flirting moments, she’s never known him to physically hide his expression from her. 

“Gale… honey?” She says, using a rare term of endearment for her- those usually his territory. 

“Mmhm,” he hums vaguely against her scalp. 

“I have mud on my ass.” 

“As do I.” 

“Is there a particular reason why?” She tries, trying not to laugh as she tries to understand why he’s suddenly thrown them into the muck- if he wanted to rut in the dirt, she wouldn’t have been opposed to it, but it seems a little sudden and out of character for a man who still tries desperately to smell like lavender and bath oils while traipsing through the wilderness for days on end. 

“Ah well,” he murmurs, finally pulling back and allows her to see his face- cheeks ruddy, sweat beading his skin, his eyes looking down at his slick wet fingers, “Some conjuring and illusionary spells require… concentration to be maintained. And while my multitasking abilities are certainly exemplary,that focus can be particularly hard to keep when…” 

“When you’re getting jerked off?” 

“Not the wording I would have chosen, but- yes,” he admits, still avoiding her eyes. 

And she tries- she truly tries, biting her lip and gritting her teeth, because she wants to be mindful of his embarrassment. But her stomach tenses as a rush of laughter burbles out, snorting as giggles turn to cackles, pressing her hands to her mouth- body aching as she cracks up. 

She made him cum so hard the fucking spell broke. It’s so ridiculous, it’s so asinine, she can’t help but laugh- the pain in her tailbone now eclipsed by way her belly aches in laughter. And it only dies when she looks back at Gale, his head bowed slightly still- his eyes avoiding her and guilt eats at her heart. A part of her having hoped he’d be laughing along, that he’d see the humor in this. 

“Gale..” She whispers his name, her voice a little ragged and rough. 

“My apologies, I- this is not how I wanted this night to go for us, for you,” he explains, face far too contrite and shamed for what is just a silly little mishap, “I think, perhaps, another night if I conserve more of my energy during the day than I did today, I should be able to maintain the illusions for longer.” 

“Gale…” 

“Or perhaps, I can do just a little more research, see if I can find variations that require less concentration or maybe none at all,” he prattles onward, “I swear, my love, I can give you the night you deserve, I just may need more preparation than I expected, but I will make this up to you, I’ll-” 

“Gale!” She yells his name more firmly, finally looking at her- his eyes soft and vulnerable and she feels like she’s scolded a puppy but she leans forward to cup his face, “There is nothing for you to make up for.” 

“We’re lying in mud, my dear.” 

“Yes, we are lying in the mud and my stomach is streaked in cum because I jerked you off so hard you forgot how to be wizard for a minute- I’m not mad, it’s really fucking funny,” she reiterates, nuzzling his nose with hers as she tries to swallow her giggles- desperately trying to get him to just laugh. His lips curl into a shadow of a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach those big brown eyes. 

“Perhaps- but I didn’t bring you here to make you laugh, I brought you here to give you a perfect night, to make the joining of our bodies as beautiful as the joining of our souls. And we are lying in mud, you deserve more… I want to give you more.” 

“Gale, the night we joined souls you started off by showing me a book of people sixty-nining.” 

“A very poignant and beautiful book about newlyweds becoming one in every sense of the word-”

“By putting their mouths on each other’s genitals.” 

“That was one aspect of the process, yes- however-” 

She silences him with a kiss, soft and chaste- just enough to muffle the words threatening to pour from his lips. Petra pulls just a half breath away, leaning her forehead against Gale’s. Feeling the warmth of him, the cling of the sweat on both of them, smelling the salt of it on him. 

“I love you,” she murmurs, whispers it and hopes he can feel the adoration she pours into every syllable, meeting his gaze head on as her voice cracks, “I love you so fucking much and you’re so so much more than I deserve- and if you cannot believe that, trust that I do, that I truly mean it.” 

“I do, I truly do, I just, everything you’ve done for me, everything that you are- you deserve the world.” 

“And yet the only thing I want from it is you.” 

“Petra…” 

“So, for a moment, worry less about what you think I deserve and listen to what I want,” she asks, murmuring against his lips, skimming her thumb over his cheekbone, “I don’t need perfection and I don’t need pageantry and I don’t care if it’s messy or funny or weird- I want you, I need you. So please, let me have you. Don’t pull away, don’t scuttle off and worry yourself to pieces because something went wrong. Laugh with me, kiss me, fuck me- gods damn it.” 

“Anything for you, dear,” he says and their lips come together again, another reverent press of their mouths- she places her palm against his shoulder, pushing softly.

Quick witted as ever, he gets the idea- laying back for her and shifting off of his side, onto his ass properly as she throws a leg over his hips. His still hard cock bumping against her cunt as she settles on top of him. Breaking their kiss to pepper them across his jaw, nipping at his flesh through his beard, kissing down the marks that curl across his neck. Following them to the middle of his chest, where the orb burned through his flesh- pressing a kiss where the skin is forever bruised blue. The deep rumble of a groan in his throat making heat rush between her thighs. 

She sits back a bit, looking down at him- sweat tangled hair, ruddy cheeks, chest laid bare beneath her, and the faint orange glow of the torch light. Her hands run up his chest, thick and broad beneath her- body hair the roughest part of him, scratching beneath her palms. 

“Absolutely perfect,” she whispers, raking her nails along the swell of his pecs. 

“My thoughts exactly,” he returns, his hands gripping her hips as he smears a thumb through the streaks of cum still on her skin, and she can’t resist rolling her eyes- as if she wasn’t the one to initiate this round of corniness. 

Through the flickers of amber light, she notices a flash of deep purple fabric- Gale’s sleep shirt he’d tossed aside earlier. She lifts up a little further on her knees, leaning over him to reach for it, twisting her fingers in the soft fabric. 

“Eep!” She yelps at the sudden heat of his tongue and mouth on her chest, a sharp nip to the underside of her breast- “That is not why I was leaning over!” 

He smiles and laughs against her chest as she playfully swats at his chest, settling back to her position- his tunic still dangling from her fingers. Gale smiling up at her, too handsome for her to feel any measure of malice. 

“You can hardly blame for falling to temptation, especially when it comes to you.” 

“You underestimate just how much I’m willing to blame you for anything,” she teases before shifting forward just slightly- “Lift your back up a bit for me?”

“Of course,” he obliges, quickly getting her intent as they softly arrange his sleep shirt on the ground- it’s no four poster bed, but it’ll get his back out of the mud. 

“Not much, but-” 

“I feel positively pampered.” 

“Well, I do live to spoil you,” she teases back, considering for a moment wrangling his pants and underwear down further- his cock still the only thing that’s freed. But, that also means his ass has a modicum of coverage against the mud. Spoiling him again- obviously. 

Petra keeps one hand steady on his chest and the other reaches beneath her, feeling again the heat and weight of his cock in her hand. She hums, whines as she steadies her grip around the base of him- a groan deep in his chest, rumbling beneath her as she drags the head of his cock along her cunt. Her body aches with need as she lines him up with her entrance, Gale's hands grip her tighter. His fingers dip into her skin as his breath hitches and his jaw clenches tight. 

And she sinks down, her voice straining into a wordless cry as the head of his cock slides into her. Barely even inside of her and already stretching her wide, even having had him in her hand, but she needs to take a moment- not expecting just how much she’d be split open.Not painful, far too slick and ready for it to do anything feel incredible, if just a little new for her. 

A strained creak in his tone: “That’s it, no rush- take your time, if it’s too much, you only need to say the word.” 

“Gods no, no, it feels good- really fuckin’ good,” she assure him, voice rough and breathy, biting her lip as she starts to slowly lower herself down further, “So, so fucking good, fuck.” 

“There you are, taking me so well- perfect around me, like you were made for me,” he praises, voice gritted and his fingers grasping her tighter as her cunt clenches around him, the adoration stirring her insides as his cock buries within them. 

Every inch a deeper press, a tighter stretch, never painful but always full- like he could truly split her apar at any moment. But it’s never too much, the drag and sink of him perfect, absolutely perfect. A babble of breathless noise and nonsense on her tongue as she he carves a path into her- her hips finally settling when she’s about to scream out and there’s no more of him to take. Feeling the faint scratch of his body hair where they join, barely tugged down pants rough against her thighs and ass. 

The back of his head hits the dirt, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat- his eyes closed as his moves just slightly beneath her. Bracing his feet in the dirt, knees bending slightly as his hips lift up. Bucking inside of her, a sharp lightning strike of pleasure ripping through her- lurching her forward body forward, bracing her hands against his chest as she cries out. 

“Fuck!” 

“Ah, sorry, are you-” 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, I’m good, gods, I’m good,” she rushes to assure him, digging her nails into his skin, leaning forward to kiss at his jaw, groaning against his skin when it grinds him against her insides. 

Tentatively, she starts to rock herself on top of him, cursing as she starts to lift off him just a bit, whining at the drag of him inside of her. His hands allowing her to move, guiding her gently despite the harsh dig of his nails, digging red ragged crescents into her skin- blue bruises forming beneath his harsh touch. 

Petra barely pulls up before she lowers herself back down, his name on her lips as she’s filled with him again. Her grip on him only growing more desperate- more bruising, as she starts to find a harsher, quicker pace- bouncing herself on his cock, body thrumming and pleasure twisting tight as she tries to slam down hard enough on him. Tries to hit the right spot inside of her, grind her clit just right against his skin as she tries to set her pace. Her motions frantic and desperate, smearing and streaking slick across his skin and clothes, every desperate slam of her hips making her that much wetter, that much more accommodating, body frantic to welcome him into her over and over again. 

“Gods, your cunt doesn’t even want to let go of me, look so pretty with my cock inside of you,” he groans, her inside clenching at his choice of words, Gale’s cheeks flushed beneath the dark hair of his beard- his face screwed tight with his pleasure as his cock twitches inside of her squeezing walls. Petra in a frenzy as she fucks herself stupid, rides him as hard as she can, getting pushed closer and closer to the brink- pathetically close to her end, just a little more, a little more. 

His hands move further back,  curling around her ass, sinking his fingers into the plush flesh- her whimpering at the grope, the feeling of his warm digging into her- squeezing her so tightly. Harsh and firm, when hips roll into her, thrusting in as she sinks down- striking the very nerves she couldn't quite hit hard enough, a torrent of heat and need, stars dancing before her eyes without any magic. The force of his hips jolts her, her shaky arms giving out, her body collapse flush to his chest, nails digging into him as her face presses into his sweat slick skin. Pliant and boneless as Gale takes over the pace, gripping his ass tight between his hands and steadying her as he fucks her apart. 

And it’s pitiful how much better it is with him in control, Gale knowing her body and what she needs or perhaps just that much better at giving it to her. Harsh brutal snaps of his hips, every rut of him into her making her body thrum, her mind blanked with every strike at her deepest parts. Carving her out, splitting her open, burying himself into her over and over again- the wet squelch of him into her. Holding her vise tight to his chest, her sensitive tits scratched by his body hair a his motions rock and shift her against him. One hand leaving her ass to wrap around her middle, holding her tighter, clinging closer- his face buried to her temple as he fucks into her, uses her, splits her insides, and makes her body fit hims so perfectly. Not even able to hear or comprehend the whispers and praise whispered against her sweat tangled hair- gripping him tighter, Gale inside her and yet somehow nowhere near close enough. Not able to cling tight enough, not able to burrow far enough into his skin as she burns beneath the sharp bruising pace he drives into her. 

Then it all snaps, world shattering and cracking apart, crying out against his chest- mind empty with nothing but pleasure, clenching tight as he pulses inside of her. Squeezing around him, thrashing within his grasp, toes and fingers clenching- curling against him, around him, into him.

A few more harsh thrusts, rushed and hurried into her, followed by a rush of heat. The spill of cum into her insides, burning hot in her cunt, filling her- flooding her, warm in her fucked raw body. She pants and sighs against his skin, breaths rough as she comes back to earth and with no falling this time. He holds her like a promise, tight and reverent, kissing across her scalp and forehead as he rolls through the last of his ebbs of pleasure. Messy as he fills her with his cum, whining against his flesh, she feels it split out between the space where they connect. Filled to the brink with him, overflowed and spilling over with it, feeling it stick and cling to their thighs, their hips, where they meet. The languid slowly roll of him into her fucking his seed back into her, before his hips finally still as the last drop fills hers her, only to drip out again. 

They lay in the flickering torch light, skin wet with sweat and settling into each other’s flesh. His heart thunders and pounds beneath his skin, where her ear is pressed tight to him. Able to hear the desperate race and her own hammers in kind, in pace with each other, some relief that may be as ruined and ragged by her as she is by him. Only the sound of thundering hearts and them catching their breath, the faintest chirp of insects from the shadows. 

Slowly, steadily, the moments tick forward but time hardly feels like it’s touching them. Only the calming of their breaths and hearts marking the passage. His hands stroke and rub along her back, tracing her sweaty spine, both reach down to idly rub and stroke her lower back, pressing gentle reverence into her aching muscles. His lips burning adoration where they kiss her scalp, skim the scar of her forehead- she shifts to tuck her chin against his chest, looking up at his soft loving gaze. 

His hands push the hair off her forehead, cup her cheeks, thumbs stroking over the freckles that mark her face. A breath of a kiss against her forehead, her eyes closing beneath the touch. 

“Absolutely beautiful,” he praises, her eyes opening, her nose wrinkling as she blows a raspberry at him and his stupidly precious compliments- he laughs, “And a complete brat.” 

“Hmm, you love it.” 

“That I do,” he reponds to her teasing, another kiss and she meets his his lips. Sighing softly, knowing they can’t stay like this forever. 

Gently, she sits herself back up,Gale’s hands roaming down her sides- not missing the crease of disappointment in his brow when she’s no longer pressed flushed to his chest. She blinks, swallowing a gasp as she looks down at him. Rough raised scratches now mark his chest, thin red lines where her nails streaked his flesh and just managed to break it. Gently, her nails brush the marks. 

“Sorry, I’ll rub some salve and balsam ointment over it for you when we get back,” she promises, guilt creeping in- her nails are polished and due to her left, often have more dirt on them than she’d like- she could cause him an infection, “Maybe I should learn a healing cantrip or two…” 

“Thought you believed relying too much on healing magic was a crutch,” he asks, smiling up at her as he chimes the words she’s spoken so many a times when him or Shadowheart try to heal her when she only needs a bandage or a few dozen stitches. 

“I mean, for me, yes,” she murmurs, knowing it’s hypocritical- but it’s different when it’s him- he smiles, placing his hands over hers. She pulls her palms from his marked skin, bringing them to the press of his lips. 

“Worry not, dear- I hardly mind being marked by you,” he promises her, smiling against her knuckles and her nose wrinkles, his sweet words stirring her heart and only one response falls to her lips. 

“Blegh,” she spats, mock gagging at his corny existence, even if her cheeks are flushed and her heart thumping- he drops her hands, reaching out quick and giving a small sharp swat of his hand to her ass- “Ah, hey!” 

“Do not make gagging noises whilst I am inside of you,” he hisses, voice raised and incredulous- with just the softest edge of a laugh, his lips pulling back to a smile as she giggles. 

“Fine,” she reponds, rolling laguidly off of him- letting his cock slip out of her and plopping into the mud beside of him, giving a pointed look- “Blech!” 

“Darling-” 

“What I’ll no longer gag while you’re inside of me,” she promises, teasing him and his choice of words. His brown eyes rolls, a tut on his lips as he looks at her, before a different glint places. 

“Well, there can certainly be exceptions to the rule, should you wish,” he teases and after a beat, his meaning catches her- a way he’d be tucked inside of her that he’d accept her gagging, the idea of tasting him, and feeling him in her throat… 

“Is that something you’d wish?” She asks back, smiling a little- grin only widing when he clears his throat. 

“Another time, right now…” His voice trails and she watches him shift slight, a a little strained groan of pain his throat. 

“Your back killing you?” 

“Terribly so,” he admits, shaking his head and starting to sit up with a small grunt- his old achey muscles and joints always giving him issues. But it doesn’t stop him from pulling her over, tucking her into his lap as he sits; “Here, lets get you out out of the mud, dear.” 

She giggles, nuzzling into his neck as he make her plop her cum and dirt streaked ass in his lap. And as the afterglow fades and reality settles in her bones, she starts to realize some increasingly pressing concerns. The two are streaked in sweat, mud, and fluids. Her fingers brushing flecks of dirt off Gale’s shoulders, where his skin still met the dirt. His hair messy and tangled with little clumps of dirt, his skin warm and smelling of sweat and musk, Petra unable to help inhaling against his chest. 

Beneath them, his shirt is caked in mud, grinding into the dirt under their bodies. His only kind of on pants streaked with cum, clearly stained, dirt on back of it. Her own clothes are tossed in the dirt as well, having hit the dirt through the illusion. Mud on her back and some clinging to her ass, streaked where his fingers groped her- a mess of cum between her thighs. 

And they do have to go back to camp. 

“Uhm, do you have a spell to clean us and our clothes?” She asks, traces her nails over his neck. 

“Yes and no,” he explains, expression slightly tense, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating with a pointed finger, “Prestidigitation can quite easily clean our clothes, with a bit of folding for mine perhaps, and is cantrip as well- fairly simple, only lasts an hour I”m afraid, but that would certainly be long enough to get back and safely tuck ourselves away in our tent.” 

“Mmhm..” 

“However, it is specific to objects and those of a certain footage, which- you and I do not qualify as. And between our fights of the day and my illusionary work, it’ll take a good nights rest before I can cast much more than a cantrip, so…” 

“So, our clothes will be clean, but we’ll be traipsing back with dirt on our skin and reeking of sex,” she double checks because there’s no river near the clearing- the camp using warmed basins of conjured magic for a while now. Which are back at camp. Where their companions are. 

“Or we could stay here for a night…” 

“And keep tally of the number of shadow cursed insects that inevitably crawl up our assholes.” 

“There are the bugs…” 

“I think we may have to face the music on this one,” she says, knowing sculking and sneaking back to camp is not a choice- not with Gale’s knees. 

“Alas, reality returns far too soon,” he muses, looking down at her where she’s still balanced within his arms and her cheek to his chest, “Still the night you wanted?” 

She giggles- they’re caked in mud, sweat, and cum. Sitting in the muck of a cursed lands, the threat of returning to camp to prying eyes and questioning voices. The only reason they can even safely sit here with monsters prying flesh from their limbs and darkness creeping into their souls is the blessing of a captured pixie. Demands of goddesses and moonstruck kingdoms ran by cults all on the horizon. But his arms are wrapped flush around her, the smell of his skin in her nose, the ache of where he was inside her. Skin marked in his love. 

“It’s perfect.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale/tav #gale/fem!tav #bg3 fanfic #this is also going up on my ao3 and i'll reblog with the link if anyone prefers that method #but i finally had something I could throw on this blog again

[heartofsnark]

Friendly reminder~

Since tumblr was always borking my formatting, I stopped posting Can You Feel The Sun? my SIlverV fic on here but I have been updating it very consistently on AO3!

If you were a tumblr reader who’s been missing it or if you’re curious, give it a look!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29214546/chapters/71732142

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #aidan becker #aidan v becker #aka me becoming accutely aware that my writing blog has been barren because tumblr is BITCH TO FORMAT FIC ON

[heartofsnark]

Regarding Tumblr Updates for CYFTS

Hey, there! I know it’s been a hot minute- I just updated my masterlist and some of you who follow my Can You Feel The Sun? Cyberpunk 2077 Fic Series may notice that

A) a loooot of chapters added 

and

B) they link to AO3 instead of tumblr posts

And while I know not a lot of people were following that series over here, I just wanted to let folks know the reasoning for this and why this blog has kind of laxed in activity. It is because I’ve been focused mainly if not entirely on my Cyberpunk 2077 fic (hyperfixations do be a fickle mistress) and have shifted focus to updating on AO3 exclusively because- well, Tumblr fucks with my formatting. When I past my chapters over from drive, if i past more than a paragraph at a time it gets rid of my italics and bolding, which is use a lot of in this fic because my oc has three different forms of communication. And given my chapter lengths, editing this in tumblr is very time consuming. So, I ended up just not doing it. 

So, if you’re interested in that series- go check out my ao3!!! It’s actually made for fanfic and makes my updating process relatively painless!

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #silverv #can you feel the sun

[heartofsnark]

omg hello snarky!! it’s been like years since we last talked and i’m just glad to see that you’re doing well ! though we aren’t friends anymore, i’m so happy to see you thrive <3 take care of yourself and i’m wishing for your happiness always !!

Hey there! Yeah, I lost contact with a bunch of people of the years, a lot of times just because I'm kind of bad about staying in touch with people and stuff. But yeah, I've been doing alright; graduated with my masters, looking for a job, and writing an absolute ass load of cyberpunk fic (damn you, Keanu Reeves and your pretty face)

Thank you so much for the kind message! Sorry, I suck at talking to people like the gremlin I am and I hope you have a lovely day and take care of yourself as well!!!! 💖

#anonymous #ask #precious anon!

[heartofsnark]

Of Monsters and Rockerboys (Johnny Silverhand/Fem!V/Kerry Eurodyne)

Notes: Happy Halloween!!!! I had this idea for a hot minute and really wanted to write it in time for Halloween! 

Warnings: Threesome, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Deepthroating, fast and loose anatomy rules with throat bulging. Fangs and brief blood mentions

Johnny Silverhand/Female V/Kerry Eurodyne Threesome; the focus is on V but there is some Silverdyne elements. It involves Kerry having sexual contact with a cis female woman, because he is bisexual. If that makes you uncomforatble, it's not for you!~

October has settled in Night City, the spooky season spirit spreading around every neon lit corner. And for the first time, V’s got something to do other than work, bar crawls and horror movie marathons. It’s Johnny’s first Halloween since he got his body back and Kerry’s throwing a party, because why the hell not. People drunk and in costumes at his house is apparently a fun time in his mind.

V scrunches her nose in the mirror, a part of her feeling more than a little silly. She’s never worn a costume outside of one's meant as lingerie. She went for something cute that drew her eye, but now, seeing the fluffy gray wolf eared hoodie on her head, she feels a touch ridiculous. The hood goes along with a red plaid dress with fluffy gray trim, a little matching wolf tail dangling off the waistband, and gray fluff fingerless glove. She adjusts her low-set blonde pigtails and pulls at the top of black thigh high socks. Maybe the hair is a bit much, she’s an adult after all, even though she thought they were cute before.

“Can you hurry the fuck up?!”

V rolls her eyes, walking out of the bathroom. Johnny dressed in his standard fair, his own band merch. His dark brown eyes look her up and down, a little smirk pulling at his lips.

“Excuse me, I’m second guessing my hair.”

“I like it,” he says, reaching up to toy with the stumpy pigtails, “it’s cute.”

“If you say so, now go get dressed and we’ll head out.”

“I am dressed.”

“It’s a costume party, Johnny,” she says, pouting and glaring.

“And I’m going as a badass rockerboy.”

“God, you really are insufferable, aren’t you.”

“I’m not gonna throw on some dumb costume just to get drunk with you and Ker, no point to it,” he tells her, shrugging.

“It wouldn’t kill you to have some fun with it.” She rolls her eyes, never understanding why he has to act so above everything.

“It might, now c’mon, wanna get there before Christmas.”

Johnny presses his hand to her lower back as he ushers her out of the apartment, V unable to resist leaning into his touch and the warmth of it. Especially, once they leave the megabuiling. Late October air chills the merc through her thin short costume. Johnny gets to drive because ever since he got his body back he’s been eager to drive his precious Porsche, V content to tuck herself in the passenger side seat as they head off to Kerry’s house. Johnny blasting MorroRock the entire way, singing along while V finds herself leaning against his shoulder. Not missing when he cranks up the heat for her just a little more.

It doesn’t take long before they’re pulling up to the gate outside Kerry’s house and getting buzzed in, V can hear the music from outside the house, cars parked everywhere around the mansion. She preemptively turns the volume down on her hearing aids, she’s become a little less sound sensitive since Johnny’s brain began bleeding into hers, but still gets a bit overwhelmed.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny asks, looking for a parking spot.

“Uh, I mean, nothing’s wrong… I just was kind of hoping it would be… smaller, I guess.”

“Yeah, Kerry goes all out for this kind of shit. Wanna bail?”

“We haven’t even parked yet.”

“Exactly, perfect chance to run.”

“I can handle a party, besides, haven’t seen Kerry in a minute since his last tour. I miss him.”

“Eh, not much to miss.”

V rolls her eyes, as Johnny finally finds a place to park, “Don’t give me that shit, you’ve missed him too.”

“I don’t know about that.”

V trails after Johnny as he marches up to the door, opening it without hesitation and starting to walk in.

“Johnny! You can’t just walk in!” She scolds, but is right behind him, nearly attached at the hip.

“No one knocks at a party, V.”

“It’s rude.”

“You kill people for a living.”

“It’s rude,” she doubles down, smiling up at him. And he rolls his eyes, but she can see the hint of a smile curling up at his lips.

The buck-a-mansion, as Johnny once so eloquently put it, is packed tight with people. A few faces V recgonizes and a sea of faces she doesn’t. Musicians, models, actors, athletes, producers, etc etc all dressed in a variety of costumes. Demons, witches, vampires, every animal under the sun, characters from movies V has never seen. All a cacophony of chatter as they drink and party, music pounding behind it all. Johnny’s hand presses around her waist, pulling her close to him as they work through the throng of people. He doesn’t say anything about it, neither does she, but she leans into; happy to be kept close at his side.

“There’s my favorite pair of scopmunchers,” Kerry suddenly yells out over the crowd, “get your asses over here!’

As expected of the aging rockerboy, he’s gone for the full dramatics. Red suit with a black shirt under, both open showing off his chest and stomach, Where the gold cyberware indents across his skin and she swears she catches touches of body glitter alongside it. He grins big and wide as they make their way to him, his canines longer and pointed than usual, what looks like blood on the side of his mouth. A precious dramatic vampire.

“Kerry,” she cheers his name, throwing her arms around him, “feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

He squeezes her in return, hand warm on her back as she’s pressed against him, beard scratching at her cheek.

“Great to see you again, doll,” he whispers against her ear, the pet name making her face flush red. She swears he’s doubled down on it ever since he noticed her reaction.

“Okay, think that’s enough of that,” Johnny cuts in, stare more than a little pointed.

“Something wrong, Johnny?” Kerry asks and she can hear the grin in his voice as he rubs down her back, “you don’t like me hugging on V?”

“Really starting to wish you had extended that tour.”

“Okay, V groping aside, the fuck are you wearing, Johnny?” Kerry asks, as V pulls away a bit, still leaning into his side.

“Tried to get him to wear a costume, but he’s apparently too cool for it,” she explains, eyes scanning around the room, noticing a girl in a cat costume already passed out on a chair.

“Told you, I’m a badass rockerboy.”

“Swear I could see your ego from the other side of the planet, Johnny.”

“Yeah, keep that in mind when you’re spending the next three weeks trying to get glitter off your dick,” Johnny bites back, grabbing a cup of booze off a table, gagging the second it hits his lips, “fuckin’ vodka.”

“I’ll take that then,” she takes the cup from his hand, Kerry cracking up, then she shifts away pulling the cat ears from the sleeping girl's head, “and you’ll take this.”

V stands on her tippy toes, careful not to spill her drink as she barely manages to plop the cat ears onto his head. Black fluffy and a little crooked, Kerry is snickering and Johnny glaring down at her, a faint annoyed flush of red across his cheeks.

“What the fuck, V?”

“Now,  you’re a cat rocker boy!”

“They suit ya,” Kerry teases and she can’t help but think he’s right, the ears blending in well with his dark hair. Could nearly convince herself they were real if she hadn’t been the one to put them on him.

“Yeah, not fucking happening,” Johnny goes to rip them off.

“C’moooon, won’t kill you to join in, please?” V begs, pouting and giving her biggest pair of puppy dog eyes, watching him sigh, annoyed but she knows he’ll give in.

“Fine, I’ll wear the damn cat ears.”

“Wooo!” V pumps a fist and cheers softly, taking a swig from the cup, candy apple vodka burning down her throat.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day,” Kerry laughs, “Johnny Silverhand, pussy whipped.”

“Heheh, real funny,” Johnny’s jaw clenches, “how’s Louise enjoying the second house?”

“Johnny…” V scolds in a low voice, not wanting Johnny to start taking low-blows just because he can.

“Eh, no worries V, heard worse from him back in the day, best to ignore him when he’s in a mood,” Kerry pulls her close to his side, “c’mon got some people I wanna introduce ya to.”

Kerry starts to pull her through the crowd, guiding her through people and away from Johnny. The merc unable to help giggling, knowing how much this sort of stuff gets under Johnny’s skin, teasing him is Kerry and V’s favorite hobby.  

“Hey, get back here, assholes!” Johnny yells after them, running along behind them, annoyance clear in his voice.

Kerry pulls her across the party, introducing her to celebrity after celebrity, as she goes along with it. More than a little overwhelmed by it all as she steadily drains her cup of booze. Johnny following behind the entire time, glaring at a singer who shakes V hand for a moment too long. Between noise, alcohol, and just a bit too much excitement; a steady ache is starting to throb in V’s temples.

“By the way,” she thinks to ask after a while, “the hell kind of fangs did you get, they look real.”

“‘Cause they are; dental sculpt job. Quick and easy, just pop in and get it undone once November hits.”

“Oooh, fancy.”

“Yeah, only issue is the blood is real too,” he says, smirking when her eyes go wide for a moment.

“What?”

“Cut my fuckin’ lip on the things earlier,” he admits and she laughs, gently reaching up to pull at his chin in order to get a closer look at his lip, sure enough the little dribble of blood by the corner of his mouth leads up to a little cut on his lower lip.

“Aww, and you just went with it?”

“Works for the costume, besides, maybe I was hoping some cute merc would show up and kiss it better for me?” Kerry says, grinning wide as he watches pink flush up V’s cheeks.

“Christ, think I’m gonna be sick,” Johnny grumbles, making Kerry roll his eyes, pulling away from V’s touch.

“Something wrong there, Johnny?”

“Not at all, figured you’d wanna know though,  heard someone say Slavoj broke a window, might wanna go check that out?”

“God damn it, Slavoj! I swear to fuck, not one thing it’s a billion others,  be right back,” Kerry curses as he runs off to make sure he doesn’t have to kick someone’s ass. And as soon as one geriatric rockerboy has left her side, he’s replaced with another.

Johnny pulls her close, nearly crushing her against him, hand skimming around her hip. She leans against him, looking up at Johnny, cheeks feeling even warmer than before.

“So, is there actually a broken window or were you just trying to get me to yourself?”

“Who knows?” He says, a soft smirk on his face, then he’s grabbing a handful of her ass.

“Ah!, Johnny!” She squeals and jumps, Johnny shamelessly trying to yank up the skirt of her dress, hand grabbing and squeezing at her ass. Fingers sinking into the plush of her backside, his grip only getting firmer as she squirms. Face a vibrant shade of red, as she tries to reach back and keep Johnny from flashing her underwear at anyone behind them.

‘C’mon, princess, you need some quiet and I need some alone time,” he punctuates his comment by rubbing his fingers over her underwear, teasing at her cunt.

“Uh, fuck, uh should at least tell Kerry we’re leaving early.”

“Who said anything about leaving,” Johnny pulls away, just to grab her hand and tug her through the house and right up the stairs.

“Don’t think Kerry wanted any one up here,” V warns as Johnny picks at a locked door, Kerry having blocked off access to his bedroom for the party. But sure enough, Johnny manages to undo it.

“‘Xactly why no one will bug us here,” Johnny says, plopping his ass down on Kerry’s pat, then patting his lap, “now come siddown.”

V doesn’t have it in her to argue anymore, further around from the noise of the party, now just a faint thrum beneath their feet, she’s already starting to feel better and Johnny’s lap looks incredibly inviting. She’s in front of him in a second, climbing up to straddle him as she loosely wraps her arms around his neck. Johnny’s hands on her waist as she bumps her nose against his.

Surrounded by his smell and his warmth, the long haired rockerboy always smelling like sweat and cig smoke even after he’s cut back on the habit, she swears he sweats nicotine. It’s downright shameful how much it’s grown on her, how quickly Johnny and everything about him has become irreplaceable to her.

The leather of his pants scratch and rub at her thighs, the merc unable to resist grinding her cunt down against him. Leather rubbing at her wet slit through her panties, feeling him getting hard beneath her. Their lips connect as she toys with his hair, Johnny’s tongue slipping deep and easily into her mouth. She can’t but whimper softly at the feeling, loving the taste of his tongue, of his lips, how perfect it feels to just slot together like puzzle pieces. The rub of his tongue in her mouth; nicotine, mint gum, and tequila flavoring his kiss.

His flesh hand pulls up her skirt and she squeal, breaking the kiss, when it’s his chrome hand that gropes at her ass. Cold silver squeezing at her skin, touch pad and grooves of the prosthetic digging into the thickest parts of her ass.

“Fuck, Johnny,” she curses, swallowing a mouthful of spit, half her own and half Johnny’s.

“Head must be feeling better, if you’re squealing like that.”

“Yeah,” she nods, barely able to concentrate with his hands groping her, with his hard on grinding against her slick center.

“Then you won’t mind if I make you scream, now, will you?”

V’s not given a moment to respond, as she’s picked up and spun around, tossed on her back across Kerry’s bed. Head nearly hanging off the side of the mattress. There’s a whimper in her throat as Johnny’s hands are on her in an instant. Yanking off her boots and tugging her body down till her ass is on the edge of the mattress. Then he’s pulling her panties off, throwing them across Kerry’s room, leaving her in her thigh highs and the rest of her costume. Only her slick soaked cunt exposed to the open air.

Johnny’s on his knees, wrapping his around her hips and pinning them to the bed as he buries his face in her pussy. V moaning as she grabs at his hair, tugging as she squirms her hips up to meet each eager lick of his tongue. His beard scratches at her sensitive skin, as he laps up her slick. Groans reverberating in his throat, against her, hungry sounds as he tastes her. Lips attaching to her clit, sucking and licking at the sensitive bundle of nerves as one of his hands moves to play with her. Two calloused fingers sliding inside of her.

“Oh fuck, Johnny,” she whines his name out, each slick and suck of his mouth making the heat inside her burn hotter. Each rub of rough calloused skin over her insides makes her see stars. Hips grinding and squirming more and more- unable to hold still as she writhes beneath his tongue.

The tension is winding tighter and tighter inside of her, pleasure building up more and more. A harsh suck on her clit and a third finger sliding deep inside of her, sends her over the edge, screaming Johnny’s name as she hits her peak: seeing white as she cums on his face, grinding against his mouth, riding his fingers with each instinctual bounce of her hips.

He pulls away, V looking down at him as pulls his slick coated fingers out of her, sucking on them before he presses a kiss against her inner thigh. His wet scruff rubbing against her skin before he bites at her flesh, sucking a harsh red hickey on her thigh.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!?”

V starts to jolt in surprise, Johnny’s hands anchoring her to the bed. Kerry now standing in the doorway to his bedroom, glaring at the two for fucking on his bed. The merc’s already flushed face now burning up at having been caught like this.

“Hey, Ker,” Johnny greets his friend, face still half pressed against V’s thigh.

“Seriously man, fifty some years later and you’re still fuckin’ chicks in my bed!”

“And you’re still poppin’ a stiffy over it,” Johnny taunts and sure enough, Kerry’s hard, erect cock forming a tent in his pants, “so you gonna watch and play Bram Stroker with yourself all night, or you wanna come fuck V’s throat?”

Johnny’s shameless, making a jerk off motion alongside his joke and standing as he throws off his shirt and begins unzipping his pants. Making eye contact with Kerry the whole time. The gray haired man chewing on his lip for a moment, flinching when he accidentally hits the cut in his lip.

“Fuck it,” Kerry announces, hand grabbing at his hard cock, “you down for this V?”

“Yes,” she says, no hesitation as she thinks of swallowing down his dick while Johnny fucks her.

“That’s my girl,” Johnny laughs, “didn’t even have to think about it. Other side of the bed, Ker, now.”

“Fuckin’ can’t believe I’m letting you boss me around, again,” Kerry grumbles, but does what Johnny asks, undoing his pants as he gets to the other side of the bed.

“Yeah, well, both know you’ll do anything for a decent blowjob.”

“‘Cause you’re so much better.”

“Never said I was, up you go, V,” Johnny grins as he manhandles the small merc, she half expects him to flip her over, but instead he moves her up and further across the other side of the bed where Kerry is, V’s head, now dangling over the side bed, blood rushing there as she’s making upside down eye contact with Kerry’s dick.

“Fuck,” Kerry curses, stroking his cock with one hand, the head leaking precum, while his other reaches out to touch V, groping at her breasts through her costume. His dick is so close, the heady smell of him surrounding her, mouth drooling as she thinks of finding a way to lick up each drop of precum.

The bed moves beneath her hips, mattress shifting, Johnny’s hands on her thighs as he spreads them as wide as he can, slotting himself between her legs. She whines, feeling the head of his cock brushing against her already wet and sensitive cunt. Once he’s gotten into place, he rubs his thumb over her swollen clit, chuckling when she whimpers, the combination of Kerry’s hand on her breasts and Johnny’s fingers on her clit makes her head swim. She needs them both, desperately. V lays her head back fully, opening her mouth as wide as she can, waiting for Kerry to fuck her throat. He teases her first, rubbing the head of his dick across her lips, smearing precum across her skin, letting her get just a taste of him.

“You’re drooling,” he says, a soft smile she can hear in his voice.

“Oh, yeah, suck your soul out through your dick if you let ‘er.”

“Fuck you, Jo-ohnny!” She screams as Johnny buries his cock into her cunt, sudden and deep, no more warning as he stretches her open and seats himself inside. He’s thick, each time it feels like he could break her, tight cunt struggle to take all of him, No matter how many times he threatens to fuck her loose, it’s always a tight fit that makes her see stars.

“C’mon, V,” he squeezes at her jaw, forcing her to lean her head back more, she hadn’t even realized she’d moved it, “need you to open wide for us.”

And she does just that opening her mouth again, as Kerry sinks inside. Cock hot as it slides across her tongue and down into her throat, the merc keeping her muscles relaxed as he pushes inside. Balls pressed against her upper lip and nose as he gets his full cock into her throat. Kerry cursing at the feeling of her throat squeezing around him. She can feel the veins of his dick across her tongue, the taste of his precum smeared across her mouth, where the head of it stretches the deepest part of her throat.

“Fuck,” Johnny’s chrome fingers rub up her body and touches her exposed neck, “can fucking see you in her throat.”

“Not gonna last long if you pull that kind of shit, Johnny,” Kerry curses, Johnny’s touches rubbing Kerry’s cock through her throat.

“Aww, old age making you a quick shot, Ker,” Johnny taunts, this time squeezing V’s throat, just hard enough to feel, her oxygen already a bit cut off.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kerry curses, feeling her throat and Johnny’s hand around him at once, “fuckin’ hate you!”

Johnny just laughs, one hand on V’s throat, but he loosens the hold, and puts the other on her hip; keeping V loosely in place as he begins to fuck her. Harsh steady thrusts, skin slapping against skin, rocking in and out of her cunt. Cock hitting every sensitive nerve inside of her as he fucks her open. Stretching her open with each grind of his dick into her slick pussy.

Kerry isn’t far behind, starting to fuck V’s throat in earnesst, using her throat to get off. A slow drag at first, steady slide along her tongue, barely pulling out just to sink back in. Cock never fully leaving her throat, not even close to it as she flexes her throat muscles, swallowing around her dick, making him curse, making his thrusts stutter just a bit. His ball hitting V’s face as his thrusts get faster. A mixture of drool and precum leaking from the corner of her mouth, unable to swallow it all down around his cock.

The thrusts get rougher and harder between the two, fucked and used from each side. Johnny fucking up into her cunt, the force of his hips pushing her further down Kerry’s cock. Kerry uses her throat pushing her back against the bed and into Johnny. Used and shared between them, just accepting everything they give her, as it sets every nerve on alight with pleasure. Body covered in a sheen of sweat, face and body flushed red, every moan and whimper muffled by Kerry’s dick. She’s already close, so soon after cumming on Johnny’s tongue, she’s already so close. The taste of Kerry in her throat and Johnny hitting the deepest parts of her, leaking slick across the sheets.

Kerry and Johnny’s curses muffle over V’s head, the angle leaving her unable to see what’s happened. Only clue of what happened is the two rockerboys pressing deeper and closer into her.

“Ow, shit,” Johnny curses suddenly, “fuckin’ fangs.”

“You deserved it, asshole.”

“That so?”

Then Johnny’s laying over V, burying his head into her throat, where Kerry bulges the skin. And he licks at her throat, bites at the stretched skin, V whimpering around Kerry’s dick and Kerry cursing, no doubt he can just feel the touch of Johnny’s mouth through V’s throat. Johnny sucking a harsh hickey into V’s neck, right where he feels the head of Kerry’s cock in her throat.

And that sends Kerry over the edge, cock twitching on V’s tongue as he cums down her throat, filling her stomach; the merc barely able to taste it with how far he’s fucked into her. The feeling of cum sloshing down her fucked raw throat, paired with a sharp thrust of Johnny’s cock, sends V over the edge. Seeing white as she’s overwhelmed with pleasure, cuming and gushing on Johnny’s cock as she hits her high.

A few harsh rough thrusts and Johnny’s the last to finish, spilling deep inside of her, making her whimper at the feeling of being filled with each drop of cum. The feeling of leaking out around his cock, staining Kerry’s sheets beneath her.

There’s another whimper on V’s lips, Kerry pulling out of her mouth, smearing cum across her tongue. She takes a deep breath, remembering that she has to breathe, her throat raw and sore after the thorough fucking. Her face bright red and her head dizzy from the angle. Johnny pulls out next, V whining as she’s left empty and leaking, her cunt just as sore.

Already dizzy, her head spins as she’s pulled up and placed onto the pillows, blinking away the fuzzy feeling as she gets her equilibrium again. She can see blood on Johnny’s lip, the blood from Kerry’s lips smeared more than it was before.

“The hell happened there,” she asks, rubbing her thumb over Johnny’s lip, earning his tongue across her skin.

“Go for a kiss and Kerry’s fuckin’ fang got me,” he admits, plopping back against the pillows beside her.

“And I repeat, you deserved it,” Kerry saying, kicking off what’s left of his clothes as he falls back to lay with them.

“Don’t you have a party to worry about?” Johnny asks, watching Kerry get comfy.

“Oh fuck no, you’re not gonna fuck in my bed, invite me, then kick me out during the afterglow; ain’t happening!”

“Hey, I was just looking out for your house.”

“Yeah, right,” V rolls her eyes.

“Never given a fuck about my house, left jizz stains in my sheets and broke my pool table last time you were here.”

Headrush a little better, V sits up enough to strip off her costume, tossing the gloves and yanking the dress off over her head, sweat making it stick and cling to her body. She throws it across the room, left in nothing but thigh highs, but before she can pull them off; Kerry’s arms are around her. He pulls her back to his chest, nuzzling his face to the junction between her shoulder and neck, pressing light kisses.

Johnny’s snuggling up close to her front, pressing her between the two rockerboys, his hands skimming down her hip. V sighing at the soft kisses, followed by the hint of a bite, the graze of his fake fangs on her skin.

“Not sure V’s up for another round, Ker,” Johnny tells him, watching V starting to drift off in their arms.

“It’s called cuddling, Johnny, ever heard of it?” Kerry whispers against her skin.

“Nah, sounds made up,” he jokes, “ear off for tonight, V.”

She lets Johnny softly pull out her hearing aids, putting them aside, a nightly ritual for them at this point. V can feel in Kerry’s chest that he says something else, able to read Johnny’s lips when he responds with a ‘fuck you’. Then she’s slipping off to sleep between them, surrounded by their warmth as she drifts off.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #female v #kerry eurodyne #bisexual kerry eurodyne #kerry eurodyne/female v #the focus is mostly on silverv but making sure i have the absolute fuck tagged out of the kerry and v stuff

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Twelve): Your Demon, Never Leaving

Notes: Soooo, its been a minute, like I said, been kind of sick. And I've been sitting on this chapter for a while, I was gonna wait until I finish the next. But decided, fuck it. We're still rocking around the angst train with this and I'm sure some of you are like, when is Johnny gonna be let out of brain jail and the answer is soon, next chapter, promise. Our girl just needs some time to process and what better way to do so, then to get into a fist fight and talk to some folks.

Word Count: 11873

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and mentions, bit of blood and violence, general angst, some talks of sex but no actual in chapter sex. 

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V finds herself in Westbrook next, kicking herself for forgetting that Wakako never paid for the Dorsett job. The sun’s barely been up but an hour by the time she makes it to Jig Jig street, the merc preoccupying her time by pouring more energy drinks from a vending machine into her thermos. A quick hack used to get them for free. 

She leans against the wall of the pachinko parlor while she waits, someone passing by offers to sell her drugs and a joytoy tries to flirt with her in the meantime. Both swiftly denied and the merc jumps when she sees the parlor lighting up, Wakako likely already tucked in her back room. She slides on her mask as discreetly as she can before she walks across the blue tiled floors and past the desk clerk, who shoots her a dirty look. 

Past a beaded curtain, she sees Wakako at her back desk. A slick black and gold color scheme that seems completely at odds with the gaudy vibrancy of Jig Jig street. Wakako is one of the older fixers, V would wager to guess she’s at least Padre’s age, with long gray hair pulled back off her face and cold shrewd eyes. 

“Well, well,” the fixer greets, “who do I spy but V, in my humble parlor no less.” 

“Here in the flesh, never did answer my call,” V can’t help but sign, thankful her bitter smile is hidden behind her mask. 

“I must have been busy, I’m sure.” 

“Of course.” 

“So, what brings you here?” Wakako asks, tapping her red nails across the wood of her desk. 

“Last gig, said I had to swing by to grab my payment, remember?” 

“I don’t forget such things, V. Here is your reward, it comes with a fairly ample bonus. Go to Cassius Ryder in Watson, he’ll weave you a derma-imprint with smart-gun compatibility, a Tyger Claws special. You did good work, you and that… friend of yours.” 

“Appreciate it,” V signs, feeling her muscles tighten at the mention of Jackie. Then the money comes in, over three thousand, not bad at all. But, she could still use a bit more before she pays back Vik. If she completely drains her bank account for him, Vik will throw a fit. 

“And V,” Wakako calls out before the merc can leave, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for your calls from now on.” 

V simply nods, unsure of how to take the comment as she leaves the pachinko parlor. Wakako is hard to read, that much she knows. Everything the woman says seems to drip with poison and sarcasm. She could wish V could morning and the merc would wonder if it’s a veiled death threat. Kindness and cruelty sound the same coming from Wakako. Meaning the statement could be a cruel taunt regarding V’s ruined reputation or it could be genuine, that somehow the merc has built back some of it. She has been going hard the past three or four days, refusing to do much else. Deciphering Wakako will only drive her crazy, V determines, leaving Jig-Jig street and climbing in her stolen MaiMai. 

The fight in Kabuki is worth at least two grand, meaning if V’s lucky enough she can finish it up and pay Vik back while still leaving around… two grand in her bank account. Not much, but she’s worked with less. If she loses, she’ll just have to make it back in more scanner jobs, she supposes. Or start selling some stuff. 

She parks near the coordinates Coach Fred sent her. V pulls off her mask, it could be considered unfair, fighting with a face cover. When she gets out of the car, she catches a flash of something in the side mirror, breath catching in her throat. Thinking it’s a flash of dark hair and a beard, think it’s him, she looks again. But only sees her reflection, granted, she looks like she’s already been fucked up in a fight. 

Her hygiene has… suffered during this ordeal. Nose bruised to hell and back, looking a little crooked she realizes. There’s blood and dirt on her face, the worse of it down her lips and chin. She smells like sweat, blood, and still vague hints of stagnant water. Wakako probably smelled V before seeing her. 

The merc first takes a deep breath, grabs her nose and cracks it back into place, setting it as pain shoots through her face and tears blur her vision. . She curses, giving herself a moment before she goes looking through her bag for wet wipes or antiseptic ones, something to give herself a quick whore’s bath. But finds nothing, her supplies needing a restock. 

In a pathetic attempt at something, she spits onto her hoodie sleeve and tries to scrub some blood off with the drool. Only managing to smear the dirt and blood into a new pattern. As far as she knows, no one she cares about will be at the fight. She’ll shower before she sees Vik. For now, she’ll just be gross. Too exhausted and overwhelmed to care about how strangers view her hygiene.  

She takes three heavy drinks of energy drink and makes her way to the feet, down a set of stairs that run next to the overpass, walking across cracked cement through patch work metal shacks. Up a little yellow ladder and climbing over air conditioning units. Even getting to the fight has to be an ordeal it seems. 

V can see the backs of people, on one of the other rooftops involved in this little parkour endeavor. A crowd gathered around and she has to assume that’s where the fight is. A little set of metal steps up to the slightly higher platform. When she walks up the stairs she can see the crowd is around a clearing on the roof; two identical men squaring off. She half expected a Tyger Claw gang member, given the area is their turf. But the men look fairly nondescript, twins who box, she supposes. 

“This is pointless, I know where I’m gonna strike before I do it,” one of the men say, fist raised to his brother, though the wording seems off. Of course, one would know where they’re going to strike. Brain damage too many blows to the head, maybe. 

“Typical, I knew I’d say that.” 

She raises an eyebrow but shakes her head, and clears her throat. The men straighten up, two pairs of brown eyes staring straight at V. They’re older than her, which isn’t saying much, with bald head and implants around their heads. Completely identical, only thing to separate them out is their clothing; one is a tee shirt and the other in a tank top. 

“Was told I have a fight here,” V signs, “so, which one of you is it?” 

“Me,” the men speak in unison and V blinks, confused. 

“Didn’t know it was a tag team fight, but alright, who’s up first?” 

“No, no,” the one in the t-shirt waves his hand, “you don’t get it. That body and his one, I’m the same person.” 

“I’m seeing shit then?” 

“I used to be twins, which you could probably guess. The twins had a close bond, but they wanted to be closer, stronger. “

“So they installed neural oscillation synchs. And now they’re… well.” 

“Me, one person, two bodies,” the twins finish in unison again. 

And here she is, two persons, one body. Whether she likes it or not. The whole tale is horrific to the merc, unable to understand why anyone would willingly undergo something like that. She has a twin, Eira, and despite everything that’s happened, V loves her sister dearly. But, she can’t imagine ever wanting to merge themselves together, to want to lose herself. Its part of why what’s happening with the chip is… horrifying. She doesn’t want to be something else, someone else. V is far from perfect, but, she’s her. As many times as she’s wished to be better, she’s always wanted to still be her. 

These two willingly signed up for the horror show, V’s enduring, just split across two bodies. They wanted to be someone else, to morph into some new amalgamation of who they once were. 

“So, I’m fighting you both at once?” She asks, trying to get out of her own head, to focus on the here and now. 

“My bodies do everything together. Everything,” the pair speak with finality and V can’t help but smirk at the implication. How far does everything go?

“Everything? Even in the bedroom?” She signs, waggling a brow and can feel the immediate annoyance. 

“I have one girlfriend for both bodies, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Shared between both.” 

And it takes everything in her not to laugh, a smile pulling at her lips and face flushed at how stupid it is. 

“So, what. she gets a daily double teaming?” 

“No. She’s with one body from Monday through Wednesday and the other Wednesday through Sunday. Bitch.” 

“You take shifts?!” V bursts, the entire ridiculous nature of it is exactly what she needed, cracking up at their whole situation. 

And maybe it’s mean to laugh, but she can’t help it, holding her stomach as she cackles. The insult more than worth it to know these two have their girlfriend on a sex schedule, that they take shifts for fucking. They have fuck shifts, how is she meant to handle that information?

“We doing this or what?” The twins yell, obviously not amused by her outburst. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she signs as she comes down, “but we’re doubling this, four grand.” 

She was already at a size disadvantage, the twins not huge, but taller than her. And now they’re outnumbering her as well, it’s already high risk, so she needs higher reward. The twins consider her deal for a moment, before nodding to each other. 

“Fine, see no problem there. So, can we get started?” 

“Show me what you got.” 

And three pairs of fist raise. The twin the tee shirt moves towards her first and she steps up to meet his charge, swinging the first punch and knocking her knuckles into his head. And then she steps back, grin on her face. Its been a long time since she’s sparred, a good clean fight with just fists and no weapons, it feels good.

She throws another punch and misses, the same twin comes back in to hit her, but she connects another punch first. He staggers back, but swings at her, a hard pain wracking her jaw when he connects. V blocks the next swing and momentum makes him twist around, letting the merc get a cheap shot against his back. Then another as he twists then she connects a right hook to his jaw; three hits in rapid succession, he stumbles back. He hits the ground. Then the other twin comes charging. 

V throws a right hook into the force of his run, catching just the right way to make his nose bleed. She swings for a left jab but the tank top wearing twin ducks and steps back, the one in the t-shirt is back on his feet.  

Tank-top comes at her again, right fist hitting her temple and she throws her own in return, knuckles catching his ear. She misses with her left and he brings a knee up, knocking it into her chin, making her teeth clang together as she bites her tongue in the force. He swings another punch and she deflects with her left forearm, punching her right into his face. He falls back. 

T-shirt comes at her next and gets punched in the eye, blackening under her fist. She connects the next punch to the opposite cheek, knocking into his nose. He stumbles back and wipes blood from his nose. 

The other twin swoops in, he acts like he’s going to knee her again, then swings a fist and catches her already injured nose. Pain cracks through her, but she laughs and throws a punch in return, connecting two more hits against him. Twins switch out again, t-shirt twin kicking her in the gut before throwing three quick hits. Then he shoves her back, only for her to push back and throw two more punches. And he’s down. One half done, she turns her attention back to the twin in the tank top. 

He tries to keep distance from her and she waits him out, fist raised. And after a quick moment of dancing around each other, he runs at her. A punch to her head, a swing to his own, and she connects one more to his chest.  And he hits his knees. V stares for a moment, unsure if she really just won a bare knuckle fist fight against two grown men? 

“Stop, stop, I give up!” One twin yells and gets up, face bloody as he walks to the railing. V looks down at the other twin. 

“You got more fight in you or had enough like your brother?” 

“That ain’t my brother,” he yells as he gets up, “that’s me. Jesus, what’s so hard to understand?” 

One leans against the railing and the other sits on a table by a couch, each with fresh blood and bruises on their faces. She finds herself standing before them, mind still revisiting the twin’s dynamic and situation. Melding yourself with someone else, even someone so close, she can’t even imagine being that close to someone. Even her own sister, she has a strained relationship with. She’s going into this situation with the chip kicking and screaming. 

“Here, your winnings,” the twins eyes glow as they transfer four grand into V’s bank account. 

“Not bad at all.” 

“Don’t worry, there’s always the next fight,” one twin tells the other. 

“Stop talking to yourself!” 

V can’t help but smile at the odd exchange, “Thanks for the fight, it was fun just sparring for once, I’m V. By the way.” 

“Certo,” the one in the tee introduced himself. 

“Esquerdo,” the other chimes in. 

“I know I kind of razzed on you earlier, just your situation is… interesting to me,” she admits, genuinely a part of her just wanting to ask a bit more about it. The twins must not have been perfectly alike, not anyone is, then they melded together. She can’t help but think of the ghost in her head, the man she’ll meld into, the fear of it. 

“If you’re here to pry more into my sex life, piss off.” 

“No, no, not that. Do you two read each other’s thoughts?” She asks, Johnny responded to her thoughts in the subway, assuming it was him and not an exhaustion induced hallucination. 

“No. Same person. Same thoughts.” 

“If that weren’t the case, I’d be on schizoid meds.” 

“Yeah, be weird having someone else's thoughts in your head… Would drive anyone crazy. Speaking of, wasn’t that, I don’t know… scary.” 

“What?” 

“Melding together like that, becoming one person. Because like… you’re no longer you, right? You’re a new combo, wasn’t that terrifying, to lose yourself?” 

“Not really, everyone’s always becoming someone new. Brothers knew each other well enough, loved each other enough, they knew they didn’t mind becoming each other.” 

“Strange… no offense.” 

“Why you so curious about it?” 

“I don’t know,” she stumbles for a response that makes sense, can’t explain she’s thinking about the ghost in her head, “I got a twin myself, actually. Love her, but life took us to different places. Can’t imagine… becoming part her, part me.” 

“You don’t though, you just become something new, the best of both of you.” 

“Interesting, uh, I won’t hold you up any longer. See you around.” 

V heads off and makes her way back home, guzzling energy drinks along the way, stinging the new bite mark in her tongue. She passes by Barry’s apartment on the way to her own, she’ll grab a shower, she decides before she talks to him either. Showing up at a former cop’s doorstep covered in blood and sweat sounds like a bad idea. 

The merc strips down as soon as she’s in the privacy of her apartment and makes a beeline for the shower, Hot water a godsend even as it stings her cuts and bruises, the heat relaxing her tightly wound muscles and the ache in her head. Her eyes drifting shut, body relaxing. A blink that lasts a second, maybe a minute, or two too long. 

Then pain shoots through her tailbone as she crashes to the wet shower floor, falling right onto her ass. She curses beneath her breath and gets back onto her feet, finishing her shower quickly before she falls asleep again.  The energy drinks are cutting it less and less, three days without any sleep, other than long blinks. 

She checks her tongue in the mirror thankful the bite didn’t tear at her piercing, and sighs as she takes a look at herself. Still bruised, but no longer bloody or dirty, dark bags have formed under her eyes and she’s paler than before. Her headache has become a constant throb she can’t get rid of, ears irritated from the rub of her hearing aids, the pain in her joints is equal parts overexertion and neglecting her immunosuppressants, the familiar burn of her disease flaring up. 

If Vik and Misty see her like this she’ll never hear the end of it. It feels like lying as she grabs up her foundation and concealer. She laves on a heavier layer of makeup than she’d usually do, applying it until she looks a little more human, a little more awake and put together. After everything she’s put them through the last thing she needs is to cause them any more worry. 

V throws on some clothes and makes up a new fresh batch of her caffeine cocktail before she leaves out again, fiddling with her bullet pendant as she makes her way down the stairs. She knocks on Barry’s door, trying to get the neighbors attention. 

“Hey, you home?” She signs, turning the volume up a little on her translator, hoping he’ll hear. 

“Who is it?!” A rough voice yells out. 

“V, your neighbor, remember? We talked about rides, You were all worked up over the newest Mizutani. I said it was for flash-posers.” 

“Heh,” he chuckles behind the door, “you don’t forget a gonk thing like that.” 

“You gave me this look, I was about to run back to the Badlands right then and there.” 

The door finally opens, showing Barry, just as she remembers the older man. Dark crew cut, over a foot taller than her, with tattoos across his biceps. He leans against the door frame, looking down at her by necessity. 

“I remember, what do ya want?” 

“To talk, I know that’s what you need right now, even if you don’t realize it. I can’t turn back time or magically make everything okay, would if I could, promise. But.. if nothing else, I’m good for a chat, hear you out as best I can,  and make sure you know you’re not alone.” 

“Now hold on a sec,” he makes her pause, the heaviness of it taking him off guard, “we barely know each other, and you just rock up here talkin’ to me about my problems? Where’d you get the idea something with me was up? You watchin’ me? Somebody send you?”

“You got me, your buds from the station asked me to drop in. I figured, why not, decent guy even if he’s got shit taste in rides,” she signs, with a teasing smile. 

“Come back just to get your ass kicked?” His grin makes her snicker, “man, you really know how to cheer a guy up. Maybe those two asshats really are worried about me… All right, come on in. You wanna talk, let's talk.” 

Barry leads her into the apartment, it’s layout a little different than her own. Most notably where her window stretches across the wall, he has none, with a couch against it instead. The apartment dark and gloomy without the sun being able to touch it, her boot knocks into an empty can, one of many. There’s trash across his floor, discarded takeout boxes, bottles, cans.  Has he left the apartment since she spoke with his friends? Has he locked himself up in here for the past three days? 

He sits down on the couch and V plops herself on the table in front of it, careful not to sit on his ashtray or nearly empty pizza box. She wants to be able to make eye contact and she knows human voices are far more comforting than AI ones, turning off her translator. 

“I lost someone, too,” she hates the scratch in her throat, the slight widening in Barry’s expression as he hears her speak for the first time, “he was my best friend, a good man.” 

“What do you mean ‘too’? Wait, this about Andrew? They… told you about him…”

“Yeah, I know it ain’t easy, losing someone like that.” 

 “Best bud I ever had… known him my whole life. Only person I could spill to without being judged.” 

“Take it Petrova and Mendez weren’t that great at listening?” She raises an eyebrow, Mendez seemed like a genuine dickhead, but Petrova was nice. Surely, she wouldn’t have minded hearing Barry out, given how worried she seemed. Barry shrugs his shoulders. 

“Petrova’s a decent gal, but she’s not good with this stuff. Mendez just doesn’t get it He thinks us blues need to be tough. Can bear the sight of a kid getting murdered? Born with pussy genes, according to him,” Barry tells her, the crestfallen expression telling her those are exact words from Mendez. 

“You told them about Andrew, though?” 

“Honestly? I thought about it a lot. Anyway… they don’t know everything. Better that way,” his soft nearly whispered tone tells her there’s more to this, something he doesn’t want them to know Or maybe he’s just like her and prefers to keep his cards close to his heart. 

“What exactly happened with Andrew? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Does it matter? Uh,” he rethinks when he looks at V’s face, “old age took him…. No wonder, seeing as he was only a few years younger than my grandma.” 

“I know it doesn’t make it hurt any less. But, Andrew had a long life with a good friend like you sticking by him through most of it. No better way to go, if you got to. And in Night City of all fuckin’ places? That alone deserves a fuckin’ monument.” 

That makes Barry smile, a soft laugh tumbling from his lips, “ashbox in a niche will have to do.” 

“So, was Andrew like a grandpa to you?” 

“Hm. Wouldn’t go that far. He was like… egh. I don’t know. A window into the past or… something. He reminded me of my gram-grams, about our little talks… time when everything had its proper place, y’know? He was the last living record of those times.” 

“He clearly meant a lot to you, it’s only natural losing him is gonna hurt. Mendez is full of shit, to be blunt. Life and loss is hard, really fuckin’ hard. And feeling that hurt doesn’t make you weak, makes you human.” 

Her throat feels tight as she speaks, each word making her feel more and more like a hypocrite. Preaching the importance of feeling out your hurt while hiding from her own. She can still taste gunmetal, feel the weight of the barrel on her tongue as she willed herself to pull the trigger. Talking a man off a ledge she tiptoed no more than a few hours before. And it’s not that she doesn’t mean what she says, but she can’t give herself the same kindness she affords him. 

“What if he’s right though?” Barry asks, eyes big with worry, “maybe my genes are soft? Don’t only the strongest survive?” 

“Losing people hurts. And that’s okay, doesn��t make you weak, and ignoring it don’t make you strong. If you felt nothing at all, then his loss wouldn’t have any meaning. You lost someone you cared about, who was there for you most of your life; anyone with a heart would be hurting right now.” 

“I guess… so. Thanks for the talk. I, uh, need time to take all this in.” 

“Alright, take care of yourself,” she stands from the table, “and if you need anything else, you know where to find me.” 

She leaves Barry’s apartment and lets out a soft sigh, rethinking what she told Barry, wondering if she handled it well. Taking in how it applies to her. The words she can easily speak to someone else, but not to herself. Feeling hurt doesn’t make her weak, just human. Painfully, disgustingly, revoltingly human.  

V shakes her head, making her way out of the apartment complex and taking the NCART down to Buran and Bradbury. Walking down the family little cluster of storefronts, pass strippers dancing in windows, where Gary the wannabe prophet sleeps on some abandoned filthy mattress, and into Misty’s store. Her heart jumping in her throat when she sees the older woman. 

“V!” Misty calls out, green eyes brightening and a breath of relief leaving her chest, “its been a minute, got worried about you.” 

“Nothing to worry about, just been, busy… Actually, wanted to see Vik, got a debt to pay back.” 

“Hmmm, c’mon then, I’ll walk you back.” 

“I think I know the way by now,” V signs with a raised eyebrow. Misty isn’t going to start babying her now, is she?  Sure, V got hurt and is in the shit right now, but that doesn’t make her any less of a grown adult. 

“You’re the first customer to walk in today and I’m bored out of my mind, just give me this,” Misty jokes and V feels bad for doubting her intentions, though there's still something in the way the older woman looks at the merc. More akin to a worrying mother than a friend. 

“Alright, whatever you want.” 

The two women leave out the back of Misty’s store and into the back alley, V searches for the bald little cat she pet last time she was here, but it’s gone now. Misty leads the way down the stairs to Vik’s clinic, the ripper doc in his usual spot at his desk. 

“Someone’s here to see you, Vik,” Misty announces as they walk through, the older man looking up to see V. A smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes pulls across his face, more of pity than happiness. 

“Hey, kid, how you’ve been?” 

“Getting by,” she shrugs, “more importantly, I got the eddies to pay you back.” 

“What is this?” He asks as she starts to transfer the seventy thousand. 

“Optics, mantis blades, and the launcher; all adds up. That’s the best estimate I could ge. If they cost more than that I-” 

“Hold onto ‘em,” he waves her off, “just in case. You need ‘em more than me.” 

“Not taking them to my grave, Vik, please, it’s the least I can do.” 

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping; “twenty-five thousand, I’ll won’t take a dollar more” 

“What? That’s not even half?” V blinks incredulously, can see Misty smiling at the exchange.

“Covers the mantis blades; you didn’t ask for the optics or launcher, seems fair to me.” 

“Even if I didn’t ask for ‘em, doesn’t mean they didn’t cost you a pretty penny.” 

“Not worried ‘bout it, spend the money on yourself.” 

“Vik, seriously, there’s no point in me keeping it.” 

“Six months is longer than you think, V,” his voices rises, a hint of frustration, “I’m not letting you throw that kind of cash away just because your-” 

And he stops himself, before he can says what they all know. Just because she’s dying. Her jaw clenches and she swallows hard. Trying to search for how to respond, how to deal with that. 

“I know you wanna pay him back, but Vik’s just trying to look out for you, V. Never hurts to keep some money in your account and besides, you’ve got way more than six months left in your,” Misty says, trying to smooth over everything. Her concern and worry always softer spoken than Vik’s. 

“It’s not just because I’m dying, you’ve done a lot for me over the years, want you to have something to show for it.” 

“That’s what friends are for, V.” 

“Fine, fine, never had to beg someone to take my money,” she jokes, sending a transfer for the twenty-five thousand instead.

“Other than that, how have you been?” 

“Already told you, getting through, not much to report.” 

V shrugs her shoulders again, wondering why he’d ask the same question twice. And she can the clench in Vik’s jaw, the somber downward pull on Misty’s expression. They don’t believe her. And she can’t blame them for it, because she knows its not true. 

“And how are you really feeling?” Misty asks, softly. 

“I… is there anyway we could talk about Silverhand and the chip?” 

“I’m no expert, but fire away, I’ll see what I can do.” Vik tells her. 

“I’m seeing him, I saw him, again. And I hear him, even without my hearing aids, is that? Is that normal, I none of this is fucking normal what am I talking about…” She rakes a hand through her hair, cleaning her jaw. 

“Well, that biochip is designed for users to communicate with constructs. It's just doin' its job. As far as hearing goes… Johnny’s in your brain, not your ears. You're deaf because the autoimmune disease destroyed your inner ear, but the Relic bypasses that and stimulates the auditory processing part of your brain like he’s actually there talking to you.” 

“So, my brain treats him like he’s real, even though he’s not?” 

“I mean, he is real, he’s a person,” Misty softly corrects, “just a person in your brain.” 

“He’s data on a chip,” Vik corrects Misty in return, earning an eye roll for his troubles. V can’t say she gives too much of a shit about the philosophical aspect, more just wanting Johnny not to choke her out. 

“He… tried to kill me,” V admits, both Vik and Misty’s eyes going wide. 

“What!?” 

“Oh… V.” 

“Tried to put my head through my window. It… he… felt real as anyone else. He wants to kill me, I think, I don’t know what to do.” V can feel her eyes stinging again, tears threatening to escape, as she finally puts her anxiety out into the world.

“Well... long as you don't give him control, can't do too much harm. 'Course that won't necessarily be possible after some time.” 

“And… what then?” 

“What do you say, we don’t let things get that far? Find a way to get rid of Silverhand and fast.” 

“What about his memories, why can I see them?

“You two share a brain now,” Vik says matter of fact and she wants to scream, “he has access to your senses, perceptions, even memories. Likewise, you get a look into his. After a while, won’t even know whose is whose.” 

“Right…” 

“V…” Misty says the merc’s name in a soft voice, “if you need to talk, we’re here for you. ” 

“I need to go,” V signs and shakes her head. 

She doesn’t want to deal with this. Hasn’t wanted to deal with it for days and she has no idea where she’s even going or what she’s going to do. But she hurries through the clinic gate and up the stairs, getting ready to cut through the backdoor of Misty’s shop. 

“V!” Misty yells out and grabs V’s shoulder, all too reminiscent of the merc’s exchange with Cecelia the night before. Women who’d be better off worrying about someone else, spending their time worried about V. 

“I can’t do this right now, Misty, I’m sorry.” 

“You can’t run yourself ragged, honey, you’ll kill yourself before the chip does.” 

“And is that really such a bad idea?!”  She blurts out without truly meaning too, at her ropes end, because she can’t do this anymore. 

“You don’t mean that, V.” 

“Why not? I can’t fuckin’ live like this! I haven’t slept in three days, I’m fuckin’ terrified that I’m gonna wake up and it’s not gonna be me!  That he’s gonna take over and kill me in my sleep or, or, if it’s not him, it’s gonna be his memories, his life, that I’m gonna lose a piece of me and not even know which one! I survived, but maybe… I shouldn’t have… ”

Her voice trails off, becoming choked and pathetic as a dam threatens to burst. Tears collecting in the corners of her eyes, threatening to break lose. But she doesn’t want to break down in front of someone. A few people in the alleyway give her side eyes, looking at her like she’s already lost her last scrap of sanity. 

“C’mon, V, we can talk more up on the roof, okay?” 

Misty wraps her hand around V’s, gently tugging the merc into the elevator. And V doesn’t have the energy to fight her, holding Misty’s hand in return and following along. The warmth and kindness of the touch sinking into her bones, making her squeeze tighter just to hold on to the small gesture of affection. As the elevator starts to shake and rattle upward, V can feel her limbs getting heavier, her exhaustion pushing her to lean her weight onto Misy. 

To the merc’s surprise, Misty doesn’t seem to mind her weight, doesn’t even flinch when V lays her head onto Misty’s shoulder. Instead she lays her own head over V’s for the short moment, short wispy hair tickling the shorter woman’s cheek.  Misty’s warmth and affection feels like a lifeboat, rather than the innocuous touch V knows it to be. 

The elevator comes to a stop and Misty pulls V up the stairs up to the roof. A place V has visited so many times with Misty, Jackie, and Vik. A cool September breeze rolling through, cooling V’s skin while the sun works to warm it. The two women sit in the little plastic lawn chairs that are put around a table. V feels like she’s sinking into it. She feels heavy and like she’s dragging her own weight. Her emotional outburst just compounding her physical exhaustion. 

“I meant what I said, V. That as long as your alive there’s still hope.” 

“Misty...I-” 

“I can’t imagine how hard this is, I don’t think anyone could. But… I don’t think it has to be this terrible hell, you think it is. Fate doesn’t act without reason and there has to be a reason for this, for all of it. But if you…end it all like that, you’ll never know.”

“You think this is fate…?” 

“I do, your soul and Johnny’s were brought together for a reason, I think you owe it to yourself and Johnny to find out why.” 

“So, what, everything that happened is fate, I’m supposed to blame fate for all of this, for the heist, for Jackie, for-?” 

“Better than blaming yourself, isn’t it?” 

The question takes the winds out of her sails for a moment. She’s never put much stock into fate and the idea that things are meant to be, meant to happen. It sounds ridiculous to her. That the fates or some mystical pull in the universe put them in that hotel, an excuse to take blame off her own shoulders, a way to avoid accountability. 

“I already had a bad feeling before you and Jackie left, the heist was on the anniversary of the tower going down, and it just happened to be Johnny on the chip. And theres your tarot reading… there’s more to this, V, I know there is. There has to be,” Misty tries to implore her to understand, to accept the idea that this was meant to be. And all at once V is reminded of something she’s wanted to forget. 

“I’m sending you something,” V says softly, watching Misty’s brow furrow as she sends her the image of that SID profile, that night her door wouldn’t unlock. 

“What is… is that?” 

“His SID data.” 

“How’d you get it?” 

“Night before the heist, I tried to unlock my apartment door. Wouldn’t work, mainteance guy comes down, says my SID chip is reading as someone else’s. Sends me the data, it’s him… How the hell does that happen? We hadn’t gone near Konpeki yet, I… “ 

And she’s said it, put out that maybe there is a little something to this fate thing, that she doesn’t want to admit, doesn’t want to acknowledge. How cruel can the world be if this was all intended? But, she can’t quite come up with a logical reason for it. It could just be the mother of all coincidences, but that feels like a cheap explanation at best. 

“V... “ a small almost incredulous smile comes across her black stained lips, “this was meant to be. You and him, merging, it’s fate. There's something the world wants from you two, just got to figure out what.” 

“Its… a hell of a coincidence… “ 

“A higher power is screaming at you and you’re gonna turn a deaf ear?” 

“Only kind I got.” 

“Smartass,” Misty teases, “have you talked to him?” 

“Who? Takemura?” 

“No, Johnny.” 

“No,” V blinks in disbelief, has Misty lost her mind, “strangely enough I didn’t feel like striking up a convo while he was trying to kill me.” 

“You should.” 

“And why the absolute fuck would I do that?” 

“Like it or not, V, his fate and yours are one now. This is as much about what the world has planned for him as it does for you.” 

“He tried to kill me!” 

“And?” 

“And!?” V flails her arms out exaggeratedly, the flippant response taking her back, “I didn’t appreciate it!? I…?” 

Misty laughs at V’s shocked reaction and the merc can’t help but chuckle too, the entire thing sounding and feeling ridiculous. 

“Did you appreciate it when Jackie put a gun to your head?” 

“That’s different, Jack was just doing a job.” 

“So, it’d have been better if he was being paid to do it?” 

“Yes, least Jackie had a reason, dipshit just wanted to hurt me.” 

“Is that what you think?” Misty raises an eyebrow and tilts her head softly to the side, halo of blonde hair bouncing with the movement. 

“Is there anything else to think?” 

“Not saying it makes it okay, but, Johnny woke up fifty years in the future, in the head of a stranger. Feeling your feelings, your memories, and last thing he remembers is whatever the hell Arasaka did to him.” 

“And?” 

“And maybe, the fear you felt that night, wasn’t all yours.” 

V hums, rubbing her hands together, “I’ll think about it. Still kinda think offing myself is the easiest move, though.” 

“What would Jackie say if he heard you talking like that?” 

“He’d kill me first for even talkin’ like that. Tell me to pull myself together, that it’ll all work out in the end.” 

“And it will, don’t know how, but it will. Just need you to want to live long enough to see that happen.’ 

“Fine, fine,” V sighs, “no blowing my brains out on this fine day, happy?” 

“Wanting to live is about more than just not killing yourself, V. You need to sleep, eat, drink something other than energy drinks and booze. Take care of yourself and actually deal with your shit” 

“But that sounds hard.” 

“Is it harder than running yourself ragged and no sleeping?” 

“Maybe.” 

“V…” 

“I’m just… scared, of seeing his memories, his past. Or, him getting a hold of me in my sleep.” 

“I could watch over you, make sure nothing happens.” 

“And what if he hurts you?” 

“He’s still in your body, V.” 

“Doesn’t mean he can’t use it to hurt you, I’m not risking that,” V tells Misty, shaking her head emphatically. 

“You could sleep in Vik’s clinic, no offense, but pretty sure Vik could stop your body if Johnny uses it to do anything.” 

“Nah, this is my demon, no one else’s. I appreciate the chat, really, I think I need to be going though.” 

“V… please.” 

“I’ll sleep tonight, in my own bed, alone. Just in case, but I’ll sleep, promise,” V reassures Misty as the merc gets up out of her seat, a few ideas already fluttering around in her head. 

“C’mon, I’ll get you set up with something to help you sleep, alright?” 

V’s soul feels a little lighter as she follows Misty back into her shop. The older woman getting a little sleeping kit put together for the merc. Lavender oils, tea, and spray. Moonstones meant to relieve emotional tension and help her relax. V can’t help but smile at the kindness of it all, Her money refused for the second time when she offers to pay Misty for it. 

“Take care of yourself, please,” Misty begs again, ruffling her hand through V’s hair. 

“I’ll give it a shot, thanks again, for everything.” 

“Wait,” Misty calls out, stopping V before she can head out, “you mentioned Takemura earlier, did you and him talk?” 

“He called me, morning after I got back to my place, wanted me to meet him for a chat.”

“What about?” 

“Don’t know, not meeting up with him.” 

“V…” 

“You know you keep saying my name like that it’s going to start hurting my feelings.” 

“Why haven’t you talked to him?” 

V shrugs, “He’s a corporate rat, can’t trust him.” 

“He saved your life.” 

“He also tried to kill me, which I think balances itself out.” 

“If he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here, V.” 

“Corpos are tricky bitches, guy probably has some scheme up his sleeves, kept me alive so the wolves would have fresh meat or some shit.” 

“V… “

“My name is starting to feel like an insult.” 

“Talk to him, what’s the worse that can happen?” 

“You really want me to answer that?” 

Misty rolls her eyes and the two part with a quick goodbye, V feeling a little more energized, despite still being sleep deprived. She still has a few things she wants to cover before she goes home and sleep. Misty brought up something important, what Jackie would tell V if he were here to tell it. He’d want her to at least try and she owes him that much. 

It's a longshot, she knows, but she pulls out her holo. Evelyn, the client, claimed she knew how to remove the chip. That was before it was damaged and V’s not entirely sure Evelyn knew half as much as she claimed too. But it’s worth a shot, prefers it to anything a corpo suit like Takemura might be offering.  She calls Evelyn’s number, but an automated message tells her it’s not avaliable at the moment, V opts to leave a message anyway. 

“Hey… this is V. Got the chip, I know the heist had a few… hiccups, but if you could call me back, that’d be cool.” 

V huffs as she hangs up, blowing hair out of her face. She still doesn’t want to risk talking to a corpo, so she opts for her next idea. Learning more about Johnny, which feels weird to even think about. She’s not sure she buys the fate angle, not sure she really wants to ever have a chat with the man who bashed her head against a window. But, if nothing else, she wants to know more of who she’s dealing with. And while she gets his memories, she doesn’t have a good grasp on accessing them.  She could look him up online and fully intends to. But, she has some other ideas in mind. 

Dino is in the rockerboy scene, would know a bit about Samurai and Johnny. And despite what his faceplate looks like, he may actually be old enough to have crossed paths once or twice with the guy. The fixer may not be offering her jobs right now, but he only knows her as a V the merc when she’s wearing her mask. Without it, she’s just the girl he fucked in a bathroom stall once. Not her proudest moment, but hey, means he may entertain a conversation with her. 

The trickier one is Rogue, who she knows was close with Johnny, was too close. V grimaces at a few choice memories that stand out to her. But Rogue’s the queen of fixers and has never so much as looked V’s way. It's doubtful the older woman would want some no-name merc asking about her ex from fifty years back. But, that’d be her best source to try to get some solid first hand info of how the beast in her brain operates. 

The Afterlife is closer, but Dino is more the sure bet as far as talking to her goes. So, she catches the NCART into City Center. She gets off at the nearest stop, making her way through the crowd as she walks to his bar; Electric Orgasm. Because the man can’t name anything without sex being involved. The humiliation of fucking a bassist who named his band Gloryhole Bandits will truly never leave. 

Her boots scuff across the black and white dirty tiles, music blaring in the bar, making her turn her hearing aid volume down. She walks past the arcade and vending machines on her left, the stage with a band playing on her right. Dino is in his usual spot, leaning against the red bar. 

The fixer is taller than her by a ways, as most men are, prominent muscled biceps, one plated with bolts in an implant. Chrome in his jaw and along the back of his head, a mohawk of teal dreads and eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. An energy that suddenly seems all too familiar, a rockerboy wearing sunglasses indoors with a smug air, the attitude of a man convinced it’s his world and everyone else is just living in it. 

“Hey, you,” Dino greets her with a smirk she’s never seen him without, the drag of his tone telling her he remembers her face. Or maybe he’s just remembering what her throat feels like. 

“Hey,” she signs and she can see his brows furrowing, thinking for a moment. ASL and translators aren’t… particularly common.  She’s the only person she knows who uses them, but Dino seems less confident in that fact. 

“You finally decide you didn’t get enough of ole Dino?” 

“Maybe I did, but turns out men speaking in third person makes me dryer than a desert,” she teases, climbing onto the stool next to him. 

“Oh, c’mon, girl,” he wraps an arm around her shoulders, leaning in close, “don’t break my heart like that.”  

“I don’t think your heart is what you’re most concerned about,” she ends her signing by tapping her finger to his chromed chin, “so any news in the music scene?” 

“Nothing too exciting, a few new baby faced wannabes. We’re planning another show here in a few weeks, if you wanna pay me another visit, that is.” 

“What, not a fan of the newer crowd, prefer the classics?” She pointedly ignores his invitation, she can’t deny she’s attracted to him, but fucking a bassist in a public bathroom needs to be a one time experience in her life. 

“‘Course, new bands ain’t got style or soul, just young pissants hoping a guitar will help them get their dick wet.” 

“Because you’re so much better than that,” she rolls her eyes and he smirks, “old school bands, like, I don’t know… Samurai, more your thing I take it?” 

“Oh fuck yeah, you wanna talk style, Johnny Silverhand had fuckin’ style.” 

“You ever meet him?” She signs, stomach drop at the mention of that name. 

“Pssh, c’mon, little young for that. Did hit one of his gigs once.” 

“So, not that young, actually,” she taunts him, because she can’t resist. 

“Only as old as you feel, but...” he seems to to drift off for a moment, remembering, “that gig was fucked up, remember that much.” 

“They play that good?” 

“Eh, played normo. But Johnny, ‘parently he had some ‘saka suit tied up backstage. Said if they didn’t get at least three encores, he’d bash the poor bastard’s faceplate in.  Like I said, he had style, kid.”

“Firstly, you don’t get to call me kid after your dick has been inside me. Secondly, that all you know about the guy?”  

“What? You a Silverhand fangirl?” 

“I would actually enjoy killing you for saying that,” she signs and forces a smile to her lips, to make it seem lighthearted. But just the notion of being that man’s fan has left her stomach churning and her skin crawling. 

“Hehe, well how about I buy you a drink to make up for it?” 

“I actually got to head out now, bye.” 

V is out the door before Dino can say another word or stop her.  Sex isn’t exactly a prority right now, dying taking precedent.  Though she’d be lying if she said a part of her didn’t want to take Dino up on his offer. Her sex drive truly knowing no bounds. 

Additionally, the merc tries to limit her amount of repeat partners; Cece and Jake the exceptions because of her own odd logic. Cece and Jake are both in their forties with kids. They’d have to be out of their mind to want anything more out of V, considering a twenty-year old merc isn’t exactly step-mom material, at least not if you give a damn about your kids.Means less worries about them wanting… more. 

While less tethered than them,  Dino is a grade A fuckboy with the same love them and leave them attitude, so he’s low risk as far as that’s concerned. Maybe another time, when there’s not a bomb in her head. 

She takes the NCART back towards Watson, feeling a little silly for pinging back and forth between the areas. But as expected, Dino was ready to spill his limited knowledge on the rockerboy with only a little bit of needling, probably just happy to oogle the merc. Rogue will be her own problem of getting information out of, given the Queen of Fixers is a little over V’s head. Maybe she can pretend she’s looking for work, granted she knows Rogue would never work with her after her reputation tanked. But, could at least get her into Rogue’s booth and a chance to have a convo. 

There’s an odd, bittersweet sense of nostalgia as she gets off a stop near the club, slides her mask on,  and reaches the little enclosed alleyway that leads there. Stuck in one spot in the alley, remembering the night she met up with Jackie here, half expecting to hear him on the phone with his mother. But there’s only chatter of other mercs. She takes a deep breath and curses beneath her breath when she sees the flashy red and blue poster pinned to the alley wall, graffitied over. But the band is clear, bright red flaming oni face and Samurai underneath it. 

Childish as it may be, she scratches her nail up under the corner of the poster and gets a hold of it, ripping it from the wall. An odd little sense of satisfaction at the way it tears half assedly, destroying the logo and oni head. Mild act of vandalism completed, she drops the piece she ripped up and continues on her way. 

Turns the corner, through the doorway, down a set of stairs, through a pair of double doors and down another set of stairs. Fellow mercs are scattered in the hallway outside of the main doors, a few stare at her, seem to be whispering. Must be her imagination, flashbacks of the other kids in The Herd mocking her start to flicker in her mind. They’re all adults here, though,way above schoolyard rumors and bullying, right?

The same bodyguard from that night is blocking the entrance to the bar, he looks down at her and scoffs. Her jaw clenches behind her mask and her stomach drops, she really is a fucking laughing stock here now, isn’t she? 

“And what do you think you’re doing here?” He mocks her and she hears some snickers, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin. 

“Here to drink and talk shop like anyone else,” she signs, hoping he can’t see the nervous twitch in her fingers. 

“After the shitshow at Konpeki? Not happening, get lost.” 

Her face burns hot with shame behind her mask and it takes every ounce of self control not to kick him. She forces herself to turn around and walk out instead, trying to behave. Trying to ignore the side glances or the soft snickers as people watch her get turned away, mocking the pathetic little merc who thought she could still have a rep after that shitshow. The fuck-up they all blame for the heist gone bad; for Jackie and Bug being gone. 

When she reaches the alleyway, alone, she pulls off her mask and puts it into her bag, tugging at her hair. Her feet stomp, anger and shame hot under her skin as she walks. She wanted to prove she was strong, capable, worthy of respect, worthy of something. And all she did was prove she’s as worthless as she always thought, as her supposed clan thought. 

“Fuck!” V screams her anger out as she reaches the end of the alley, and slams her fist into the wall, feeling her knuckles split open against the wall. She follows up by kicking it, she needs another boxing match something to get the anger out. 

“Need a smoke?” A sly female voice asks and leaning against the wall around the corner is Rogue. V still recognizes the much older woman from when Jackie pointed her out. And her face is still recognizable from Johnny’s memories, just more wrinkled with time. Her teal fluffed up mohawk of hair now traded for long gray hair shaved on one side. Cyberware notches along her cheeks and chrome peeking out over the neckline of her shirt. She’s puffing away on a cigarette, eyebrow raised  as she watches the merc like a cat watches a mouse. Rogue is exceptionally tall for a woman and casually even in her older age, V can see the maintained muscle of her abs around a chrome inset. 

Dumb luck seems to be on V’s side. Rogue, if she knows V at all, knows her as the masked merc. Which means V may be able to pass as a random civilian. She double checks and casually musses with her hair, making sure her hearing aids are covered. Rubbing at her neck but turning off her choker translator. 

“Appreciate the offer, but I don’t smoke,” V tells her, shrugging her shoulders and leans against the wall, hoping her body language is as casual as she intends. Even if her own voice is grinding to the ears. 

“Sure looks like you need something to take the edge off.” 

“Eh, I’ll survive, always do.” V picks dirt from her bleeding knuckles, “you’re Rogue, right?” 

“We know each other?” 

“Boss of the Afterlife, everyone knows you,” V opts for stroking the older woman’s ego, on the off chance it makes her lips even a little looser.

“Ugh,” the older woman scoffs, V’s praise not quite hitting how she wished. 

“Not all it’s cracked up to be?” 

“You don’t know the half of it, but ain’t too keen on that label. ‘Boss’,” she roll her eyes, ''Makes it sound like I've got an army of greasy henchmen.” 

“I mean, guy inside didn’t look that greasy.” 

“Cute.” A soft sarcastic lilt colors her tone, but the slight hint of an almost smile lets V know she’s at least amused by the merc. 

“So, what’d you rather be called?” 

“Hmm,” she hums, taking a drag off her cigarettes before breathing out the smoke,  “Good question. I'd have to think about that one…”

“Mind if I shoot another question your way?” 

“Why not? But ask at your own risk.” 

There’s an almost condescending bite to her voice, making it clear if V doesn’t traverse this next question carefully, she may find herself back in the landfill. Something about it… attractive, if the merc is being honest. And she’s not sure if that’s a physical attraction to the much older woman or that Rogue is… what V wanted to be. Exudes the confidence, commands respect, and is a legend in Night City; no one questions her strength or her competence. Rogue truly made it in Night City, something V can only dream of now. 

“You use to run with Silverhand back in the day, right? What was he like?” 

“Johnny...? Where’d that come from?” 

“Seem to be as many rumors about him as there were fifty years ago. And not all of 'em gel together, figured this be one of my few chances to ask someone who actually knew the guy.” 

“You a media, now?” 

The ‘now’ hits V’s ear the wrong way, maybe just a slip of the older woman’s tongue. But, Rogue doesn’t know V, especially not without her mask, just some random stranger striking up a conversation. For all Rogue knows the stranger could be a media, maybe V’s worrying for nothing. 

“Just curious, ain’t got to answer if you don’t wanna, both know I can’t make you do shit.” 

“It's good you know that,” Rogue smirks, “Johnny was… strong, arrogant, uncompromising. He'd burn down half the city just to prove he was right. And burn the other half just for fun.” 

“Sounds like…” V trails off, not completely sure of what she wants to say. 

“Like a kid with a box o' matches and a can of CHOOH2.”

“Still stuck by him, though, didn’t you?” V can’t help but ask, more to herself than to Rogue, but the question bugs her. Even back in the day, Rogue was a certifiable badass, hot as all hell to boot. Yet she wasted her time on some greasy manchild?

“And how exactly would you know that?” 

“Lucky guess,” V quickly covers her ass, “called him a kid, but way you say it, sounds more fond than mad, ya know?” 

“Maybe, doesn’t matter, won’t speak ill of the dead, anymore burning questions or can I get on with my life?” 

“I ain’t stopping you,” V says, shrugging her shoulders as she watches Rogue stomp out her cigarette and walk back down the alley towards the club. 

V lets out a heavy sigh, she didn’t exactly get a great deal of information. She didn’t expect to get a biopic of the guy’s life. At the very least she got a bit of a better idea of his personality, but it’s done nothing to put her at ease. Anti-corp rockerboy, reckless, unpredictable, and destructive. It doesn’t give her much more of an idea of how to handle the guy. Misty is saying to give the guy a chance to at least talk, but god knows what he’d do if he had half a chance to hurt her again. V shakes her head, she knows Misty means well, but whether it’s fate or shitty luck, being stuck with this asshole can only mean bad news. She’d be better off keeping him under lock and key. It’s not worth the risk. 

She makes her way back to her apartment at that, remembering her promise to sleep. She grabs a shower as soon as she gets home, letting the hot water relax her for a moment. Ther merc changes into comfy pajama, throwing on her slightly silly but cute plush golden brown hoodie, with little bear ears. It’s ridiculous and childish, but she loves it. The softness of it making her want to burrow under the sheets and never come up. Already exhausted and ready to sleep by the time she’s placed the moonstone in the shelves at the end of her bed cubby and sprayed lavender mist over the pillows. 

Her eyes are already heavy when she lays down, half asleep already, she grabs her holo, deciding to try one more time. Evelyn hasn’t called back at all, so V sends her a quick text message. Right now, the blue haired woman is her only real lead on anything that could help. Other than speaking to Takemura and… that’s a road she’d rather not travel if she doesn’t have to. 

V: We need to talk, it’s important!

[Unable to deliver message. Recipient may be temporarily unavailable.]

The merc blinks at her phone screen, yawning as she puts it aside, what on earth is going on with Evelyn? There’s no way Arasaka could have linked the heist to her is there? They wouldn’t have had a chance to track V’s call, Jackie’s phone had no correspondence with Evelyn if they got it, the bot couldn’t be linked back to her. Maybe Evelyn changed numbers and ditched town? V hopes the fuck not, but it would have been the smartest thing to do. But if so, V’s one lead is gone. 

Thoughts and worries flicker through her mind, but exhaustion crashes down on her before they can run rampant, slipping into sleep. Darknesss flooding her vision. 

A blanket of black then neon begins to bleeds through, brighter and brighter until it blinds. 

World around her shifts and she’s no longer her but him. 

Bright lights in a dingy club, the cling of sweat on skin, the weight of a guitar. Hands of flesh and chrome strum the strings, vocal chords straining as his voice screams out his lyrics. Kerry not far off to the side, the rest of Samurai behind him as they play through Blistering Love. A decent sized crowd screaming and dancing along to every note they play. 

And its a soft thrum at first, the chaos that starts to erupt, but not because of the music. A steady murmur thats something is wrong, then chaos bursting forth as security starts running through the crowd. Trying to push through people, shouting over the music for someone to stop, unable to draw their guns in the sea of bodies without risk of hitting someone else. 

Johnny’s gaze looks over to Kerry, confirmation that his friend is seeing this too, that the attention on them is shifting elsewhere. Samurai forced to play second fiddle to the growing commotion and when he looks back to the crowd he sees her, a woman cutting her way through the audience. Sweat stuck to her brow, a split lip with a steady drip of blood, and a wild mused mohawk of teal hair. Bloody lips pulled into a smug sneer as she ducks and dodges through the crowd, away from security. 

Then that soft thrum explodes into something more, someone in the crowd throws a punch at a shoving bouncer and they throw one right back. The audience breaks out into a brawl as drunk idiots start attacking the bouncers or each other; blood spraying and teeth knocked clean out. Music stopping as they know the audience is done giving a shit about them. 

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Kerry curses as a beer bottle smashes at the back wall behind the band, nearly nailing him right in the head. 

“We better delta before the pigs get called.” 

“Take care of this for me, Ker,” Johnny ignores Nancy’s warning, handing Kerry his guitar. He can see her making her way towards the door, trying to slip out in the commotion with a bouncer still on her heels. He’s not letting her go without making damn sure she knows who he is. An undeniable pull of attraction to her, to the kind of woman who can turn a crowd of drunk club goers into a battle royale.

“The fuck are you doing?” 

Kerry questions him, but Johnny’s already jumped off stage and into the fray, shoving and pushing his way through people. He walks surefooted, head held high and no shame as he cuts his way through. Shutting down anyone who gets in his way however he has too; a solid left hook, silver knuckles leaving their nose a cracked mess. Slamming an elbow into someone's jaw and hearing the crack of it over the noise of the crowd. All with his eyes staying focused on her, on the flash of teal hair under neon lights. 

She's nearly to the backdoor, Johnny not far behind, when a heavy wraps around her upper arm. One of the bouncers finally gaining ground and trying to wrench her backwards, though he can't manage to drag the amazon of a woman back.

"Think you'd get away with this, bitch!"

Her hand pulls back to throw a punch at the bouncer, but Johnny's hands are faster, stepping in to save the day. He slams his fist onto the bouncer's face, nose cracking and teeth gnashing under the force of the blow. The man is knocked back, the woman's green eyes glaring at Johnny, she looks pissed. Lips bloody and sneering, eyes dark with distrust. Domineering and angry in her demeanor, even while he's playing hero.

He reaches over her to wrench the door open, an excuse to be in her space, taking what advantage he can of the small height difference. She's only around an inch shorter than him, the heels of his boots extending that difference slightly. 

"C'mon, no reason to stick around," he says, hand on her back as he pushes her through the door into the alley. 

The night air cools his sweat slick skin, the woman quick to move away from his touch as the door shuts behind him. Silence enveloping them with the noise of the club is shut out. Johnny just takes her in for a moment; hot as all hell. Sweat clinging to her skin, freckles across her cheeks, split lip, and dyed hair falling into her face. A face cold and cruel in its expression, contrasted against the flush of exertion on her skin. 

"The fuck do you want?" She asks him, glaring. Tone and attitude nasty, making him smirk. Always did like the bitchy types, more fun when someone's got a bite to them. 

"Just saved your ass, wouldn't kill you to say thanks," he returns, already thinking of tasting the blood on her split lip and  grabbing a handful of her ass. 

"Don't need your help, rockerboy." She rolls her eyes at him, if he gets half a chance he could have her eating out of the palm of his hand by daybreak. Or better yet, could find himself between her legs before the sun comes up. 

Johnny's not stupid, knows damn well the effect he has. The way he can draw people in, only reason Kerry still hangs around, maybe the only reason Samurai still exists at all. 

"How 'bout a drink then?" He offers, smirk on his lips. And she groans, pissed off by the littlest thing.  

"Fuck off."

He watches her stomp off, eyes drawn to her ass and the swing of her hips. But he doesn't go after her. Not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him chase after her twice in one night, instead lighting himself a cigarette. He's seen her type before, runs with the Atlantis crowd; no doubt in his mind. They'll run into each other again. 

And as he breathes out a cloud of smoke, the world around him obscures. Gray filling his vision, flooding it, choking him on it. Until his throat itches, his stomach churns, pain cracking through her head… her head. 

A migraine wakes V up, every single cell in her body on fire, a sharp pang in the back of her skull. Her stomach clenches and twists, tighter and tighter. When she opens her eyes, the world is shifting and glitching, swimming before her, eyes unable to focus. Every muscle in her body winds itself into knots and can’t get a deep enough breath, lungs struggling to take anything in. 

Relic Malfunction Detected

The words flash across her optics as she flops out of bed onto her knees, gasping for air and retching to vomit all at once. Body unsure of what to do while everything seems to fall apart at once. She clutches at her chest, claws at her rib cage desperate to feel if her heart is even still beating, begging herself to just breathe, to just breathe. 

And it starts to pass, her stomach calming down, her breathing evening out. Her muscles starting to release some of the tension. She’s still dizzy and the world is still wobbly as she wipes spittle from her lips, forces herself to stand up. V needs to do something, speak to Vik, maybe he can give her something. Do something for it, but he’s made it clear he has no idea how to save her. 

She trips over herself on the way to her bathroom, grabbing at her sink for some balance. Looking down with her eyes closed as she breathes, steadying herself, waiting for the new fresh wave of nausea to pass before she looks up into her sink mirror. 

But it’s not her she sees. Johnny fucking Silverhand reflected back at her, leaning his hands against her sink and staring into her eyes; glare harsh with that barely contained anger he brims with. Always looking a moment away from lashing out. And when she twists her head, his follows, as natural as a reflection. Like she’s really him. 

“Jesus fuck!” 

She curses and jerks back, falling back onto her ass, not even minding so long as she doesn’t have to see him. V grabs at herself again, feeling that’s her. Soft flesh, not hard muscle, skin where his chrome is. Her blue painted nails, her dumb bear hoodie, her bleached hair, and her smooth face; that’s it her. That she’s still herself. And she is; for now, But for how long? 

V can’t keep doing this, can’t just wait until Evelyn answers her calls or texts back, she needs to do something. Anything. Even with popping the blockers like candy, she’s seeing him, living his memories. He’s bleeding into everything and she’ll lose herself to him before long. She can’t hide away, Jackie would want her to save herself, would want her to live. And she if she intends to do that she needs to move. 

The merc rises, as she’s had to so many times before. Her reflection is her own again, still woozy from the aftermath of the relic malfunction, but she pushes through to shower and change. Collecting all she needs before she leaves the apartment, marching out of the apartment building with single minded determination towards Tom’s Diner. She’s got a date with a corpo. Maybe it’s a trick and maybe he can’t help, but he’s something. As he put it so elegantly, if she intends to live, she’s got to get back in the ring and she’s been fucking around in the sidelines for too long. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #misty olszewski #female v #aidan becker

[heartofsnark]

So there’s this asshole; harasser in the cyberpunk fandom

Tw: Homophobic and Ablest slurs

Okay, so I don’t tend to make a lot of non-writing posts on this blog. But it is my writing blog and this pertains to mine and many other’s writing. I woke up this morning to this comment on my one-shot about pegging Johnny; 

A truly awful comment, but my first instinct was not be upset but just surprised it took him so long. (He assumes he/him pronouns for everyone else, so I’ll assume them for him.) 

This is who I have “lovingly” deemed Sodomy Man. And while its the first time under this particular pseudonym, he has commented on my work before, upset about the vile sodomy in my fic. You can usually tell its him, because he says stuff like “vile sodomy”, hates threesomes, cucking, or pegging. Basically if you portray Cyberpunk characters doing anything more than fucking through a hole in the sheets while making eye contact, he’ll get a wild hair up his ass. Especially if you do it with Johnny, which is hilariously ironic. 

But, I digress, Sodomy Man has actually commented on several people’s fics within this fandom. At times just a passing comment and at times he has flat out spammed them, harassed them, spewed slurs at them for days. And has very nearly run people out of this fandom. 

He comments under a lot of different guest names and sock puppet accounts. However, I wanna make something clear, because I’ve... looked into him a bit. TheLadyFrost is one of the guest names he likes to use and very easily, you can find there is an author within another fandom, who has that username. They are not him. They are one of the people he harasses. He has spammed comments on their fics and tried to convince people he is them, in order to bring more harassment towards them. Please, do not contact them or try to accuse them of being this person!!!!! He likes to try to cause infighting among authors, name dropping them in comments, or pretending to be them. Do not trust anything he says about other authors or if he tries to pretend to be a certain author. 

Now, unfortunately, AO3 while a wonderful site in many ways, is not the best for blocking or stopping harassment, especially from guest accounts. Their advice generally boils down to limit who can comment and delete the comments. So, I wish I had better advice for how to thwart his bullshit, but tools are limited. 

Instead, I’ll offer what I can, I don’t know how much it’s worth but I want every writer who may come across this who’s been harassed by this person or ever will potentially be bothered by him to know this; you are not alone and you are not the problem. 

This person is, they are the one harassing people, they are the one who can only put negativity out into the world and so they attack anybody who’s capable of more. They’re the one so pathetic, they need to try cause drama and spew bullshit, because they have nothing else going on in their lives. 

And if he or any commenter like him, has made you feel alone or unwanted in this fandom. It’s simply not the case. I don’t want to attach the link to this post specifically, because tumblr can be weird with links and I don’t want the server specifically associated with this loser. But there is a Cyberpunk discord server, the Cyberpunks. Which me and many other writers for the fandom are in. The link is pretty easy to find, but you can always message me for the invite, either here or on my personal blog. It’s a lovely community of people, if you hang around the right lairs you may find me rambling about my oc. And you can come chill with all of us and just know you’re truly wanted in this community, this fandom; no matter what some jackass with a sodomy fixation thinks. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #long post

[heartofsnark]

Thank you for the SilverV fic, the ASL detail in the end hit just right. Also, the way they talk made me fall for them one more time. Sorry if this is brief, but I really wanted to share

Thanks and enjoy your day <3<3

AHHHHH, thank you so much!!!!! Honestly the second my brain thought of that I was like, I need to include and one of the first signs Johnny would wanna learn for my V is the sign for princess, because *screams about this ship* I'm so glad you enjoyed it and thank you so much for the kind words, it means so much to me!!!!! Just *screams*

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv

[heartofsnark]

Jesus fuck the pegging fic up and killed me with joy!!!! Everything about it is just magical?? Oh god, just- two dorks in denial. V contemplating potential names and deciding they both suck. Johnny having burn scars on his neck. ALL THE GOOD BANTER!!!!! I can't get enough they just bounce off eachother and it's glorious. im normally not one for long prep scenes, but you just make it work SO WELL, she caresss (and also likes teasing johnny back). I just about died at the height issues and "like a Chihuahua humping a Doberman".

God this is amazingly written and I got so flustered reading it!!! Another story hit out of the park!! I found your cyberpunk writing before the game even came out and it singlehandedly sold me on silverv before I knew anything about the story and ignited a love for it thats continued til now and just thank you so much for sharing your awesome work.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

I'm gonna actually combust, this is so sweet!!!!! The second I saw this my face just turned bright red, its so kind, I'm honestly blown away by all the positive feedback on my pegging bullshit, because I was like, this will either be as fun to everyone else as it is to me, or I'll induce cringe coma's in everyone who views it. So it's so nice to know so many folks enjoy it and I'm actually dying, everyone is just too kind and *screms*

Also, I will say, I know objectively my first two porn oneshots were like two of the first in the SilverV fandom/ship; but every time someone tells me that they were some of the first fics they read for the ship or I got them into the ship, I just actually implode! It makes me so happy even if it always takes me back because I'm like, "reading my dumbass V get plowed is a part of the silverv pipeline what??????!!!!!!"

Again, just thank you so much for the kind message anon, I never feel like text quite communicates how much messages like this mean to me, but know like I'm a dork screaming at my computer it makes me so fuckin' happy!

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #silverv #johnny silverhand

[heartofsnark]

Honey, I Laugh When It Sinks In. (Johnny/Fem!V) NSFW

Note: So, ya girl’s having whore hours. And I wrote Johnny getting his butthole reamed by my fem!V’s strap. 

Warnings: peggings, assplay, sex toys, oral sex, cum fixation, dumb jokes

Summary:  Johnny's got his body back, that's nice. Both him and V are super alive, doing great things. Those great things do mostly involved fucking each other and denying the fact they love each other; because they're dumbasses. But more importantly, now that Johnny can interact with real life object, V has a chance to fuck him with a strap-on. And doesn't that just sound like a fun time.

The fact that Johnny to some degree likes his ass played with is a secret to absolutely no one. But especially not to V, she’s not sure the two could have secrets from each other after their time being brain roommates. Dreams of his memories haunted her for months and the guy did a lot of fucking. It wasn’t uncommon to fall asleep and find herself in Johnny’s skin being reamed by Rogue’s strap-on or getting fucked after letting Kerry top for a change.  

There’s not a lot of mystery left between V and Johnny, to say the least.

But, for some reason, Johnny’s ass has remained uncharted territory for the merc. Well, maybe not for no reason at all. Most of their sex life has been while he’s a digital ghost rattling around in her skull and unable to interact with real life objects. And she never quite had the courage to see if that limitation included strap-ons and butt plugs, though she has a sneaking suspicion it probably did, she doubts Arasaka included a butthole exploit in their tech.

However, the two are no longer dependent on Arasaka’s ass related limits. He’s real, now, out of her skull and back in the flesh. His original flesh even, after they found it in the depths of Arasaka’s bullshit amongst the other bodies the corp had gotten their hands on over the years.

It was a whole thing; but he’s here now and they’re fucking again. Because that’s apparently just what they do. Probably because she’s hopelessly… infatuated with him and knows casual sex is probably all she’ll ever get. Because he clearly still loves Rogue and could never want her beyond sex-

V promptly smacks herself in the head, groaning as her thoughts begin to spiral. She twists in her bed, crushing a pillow to her chest. Trying to hype herself up into asking for a chance to peg Johnny turned into wallowing about her stupid fucking feelings. Because every thought about him turns into wallowing about her stupid fucking feelings.

She hears the shower turn off, having nagged Johnny into taking one as soon as they got home. Which means it’s almost time to ask and she wonders why this is making butterflies swim in her stomach, why she’s so nervous? The merc is no stranger to pegging or taking control in the bedroom.

Maybe because she does lean towards the submissive side of things and Johnny leans towards the dominant, the rockerboy having taken charge in most of their bedroom interactions. Maybe because it’s Johnny and the idea that he may not feel comfortable doing this with her, the idea that there’s a part of him he’d give others but not her, makes a pit form in her gut.

She drops the pillow and lightly smacks herself in the head again; for fucks sake she’s asking to peg the man, not asking for his hand in marriage. Not that she would ever ask for that… That would be weird. Her face is bright red at that thought, feeling like a school girl fantasizing about being Mrs. Silverhand someday. Mrs. Linder?

Both of those sound awful, actually.

There’s the padding of footsteps across her apartment as Johnny leaves the bathroom. The merc moving to sit at the edge of the bed as he comes walking closer. Her favorite geriatric rockerboy, condolences to Kerry, is absolutely shameless and as much as she chides him, she certainly doesn’t mind the show.

Johnny is completely naked, save for a towel casually on his shoulders as he ruffles it through his overgrown dark hair. Damn near every inch of skin and chrome on display to the merc. Her mouth dries as she watches a bead of water run down his stomach, past the inked skin of his ribs. V’s eyes then shift to get a look at his ass, her fixation of the night. He’s on the flatter side, to say the least, broad shoulders and narrow trim hips. But it belongs to him and thats all that matters, pancake ass or otherwise.

“You’re tracking water everywhere,” she scolds him, comfortably using her voice around him. Maybe due to left over remnants of his own brain in hers or just because it’s Johnny.

“Eh,  Nibbles will clean it up.”

“What part of  ‘don’t let him drink shower water’ do you not understand?”

“The part where you tell me what to do.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

“Am I?”

He’s suddenly in her face, hands pressed to the mattress on each side of her hips, as he leans into her space. A smirk on his lips, damp hair falling into his eyes, and forehead nearly knocking into her own. She can feel the heat coming off his body, the droplets of water rolling off his skin and onto hers. And before another word can be said they’re kissing, drawn to each other in a way neither can explain, coming together like this as natural as breathing.

It feels like a tingle of electricity under her skin wherever her touches, every cell in her body begging for his tongue. The pure relief of feeling his tongue push into her mouth, to feel the scratch of his beard on her skin. It feels right, every time, as if this is just how they’re meant to be. Like a part of her soul is finally slotting back into place.

She wraps her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his wet hair as he kisses her, deep and heavy. The taste of cigarette smoke and mint gum still clinging to his tongue, the latter meant to help suppress the cravings for the former. Different from how his kisses tasted as an engram, but still so distinctly him.

V breaks the lip locks when his hands start to push under her shirt, a soft whimper on her lips, as badly as she wants him anyway she can get him, she can’t lose her nerve in asking for what she wants most tonight. His mouth is on her neck in a second, licking and biting at her pulse point, beard scratching the tender skin as she gasps.

“Johnny, I.. fuck,” she whines as he bites at the skin, “can, uh, fuck, can I… peg you?”

His mouth stops moving on her neck and that pit in her gut comes back, terrified she ruined something. Wanting to tell him to forget it, pretend she never asked, as he pulls away from her pulse point and she misses his touch, only a second apart and she’s starved for his affection. But then he pulls away enough for her to see his face, the grin on his lips, and it's a rush of relief.

“That what got you acting like a basket case all day?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fuckin’ knew something was up; acted like you were a second away from humping my leg all day, then send me off to shower all by myself.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You seriously spent all day thinking about fuckin’ my ass, didn’t you?”

“Not all day.”

“Jesus christ,” he lets out something between a laugh and a breath, she can’t help but giggle too, “well, then, show me what you got, princess.”

And she surges forward, clumsily wrenching  her fingers into his hair as she kisses him, teeth nearly clacking together in her messy excitement. Deep but quick, not wanting to spend much longer in this awkward position, she pulls away with a bite to his lower lip.

“Lay down on the bed, for me?” She asks softly when she breaks away, looking up at him with big eyes and a bat of her eyelashes. And she can see for a moment, the mischievous light in his eyes, the impulse to refuse, to be a brat. But he rolls his eyes and does what she asks, behaving for now.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?” he mimics her words from earlier as plops back with his hair against the pillows and she giggles, scrambling to straddle him. To have him naked beneath her.

And what a sight that makes. Johnny is unfairly gorgeous, something she’s thought for far longer than she’d care to admit. Long dark hair wetting her pillows, deep brown eyes looking up at her with lust, the messy scruff of his beard, the scar over his lip, and the burn scars that trace up the side of his neck.  Beyond the visual, as she settles over him, she can feel his hard cock smearing precum across her skin. Good to know he’s excited.

His hands squeeze her hips, the warmth of flesh and the chill of silver sending sparks up her spine. He squeezes tightly and the hint of a smirk that teases at his lips tells her he’s about to say something stupid.

“Hate to break your heart, V, but, this isn’t exactly what pegging means.”

“I’m not about to just ram a strap-on up your ass dry, Johnny, it’s a process.”

“Oh, I get prep work, damn, didn’t know I was that special.”

“Kiss me before I kill you,” she taunts, leaning over him to capture his lips. She pushes her tongue deep into his mouth, devours that distinct taste of him, getting another fill of it before she forces herself away.

It’s her turn now to latch onto Johnny’s neck, finding a spot to leave a mark not unlike the one he no doubt left her. The taste of his skin beneath her tongue, the heavy sigh of pleasure from his mouth as she sucks, bites and licks. Only when she’s certain, she’s marred his skin, does she pull away with a wet sound. Bruised skin looking back at her. She smiles at her bit of handiwork but can’t admire it for long, wanting to taste him again just as soon as she’s stopped.

V peppers kisses, licks, and bites across his skin. From his shoulder to his jaw, leaving faint little bruises wherever her teeth get involved. He groans and sighs under the touch, just soaking it in, as starved for it as she is. V can feel his cock stiff and leaking against her thigh as she nips his jawline, kisses down and across his throat, to run her tongue along the other side of his neck now. His hands grope and squeeze at her ass as she works him over, feeling the roughness of his scarred skin under her tongue. She gives the same treatment, sucking and biting every inch of flesh she can.

“Fuck,” he curses, rocking his head back further into the pillows, instinctively trying to give her more access.

V shifts her lower body, giving herself room to reach between them and touch him. She wants to make him cum before she even gets the strap in, maybe more than once, overwhelm him with pleasure and get him relaxed before she slides inside fully. The merc wraps her hand around him, feeling the heat and weight of his cock, wet with water and precum. He groans at the touch, a rumble she can feel in his throat as she kisses it.

“Might need an anatomy lesson, sweetheart, that’s not quite my ass,” he taunts, earning him a harsh bite to his neck and a tighter grip on his dick.

“Can you be patient for a fuckin’ minute? I’ll get there when I get there.”

“And will that be some time this year or next? Oh fuck, fuck,” he chokes on his words as she begins stroking him in earnest, using his precum to keep him slick as she works.

The merc has plenty of lube in the little drawer area under her bed, along with all her toys, but for now she wants to stick to the basics. It's just the first round for him and barely a precursor of what's to come. She bites and sucks his neck as she strokes him, first slow and languidly, just feeling every inch of him. Feeling the way he twitches in her hand, the way each stroke brings more precum, how he groans a little louder each time she gets to the head of his cock, flushed red and more sensitive than the rest of him.

Then she starts to get quicker, shorter, almost rougher strokes of her hand, working harder and faster to feel him cum beneath her. His breathing getting quicker, more curses beneath his breath, rumbles of them in his throat. He’s getting close, fingers sinking into her hip tighter and tighter, the other gripping the sheets as she builds his pleasure as high as she can with just her hand.

“Fuck!”

Johnny’s body draws tight, a flush across his skin, as he twitches once more in her hand and cums. White shooting quickly across his stomach and chest, cum sticking to his skin and her’s. It’s nothing compared to how much he’s left inside her before, no floodgates broke open, just enough to make a mess. She shamelessly licks and sucks off what he left on her hand, hearing him groan at the sight, the bitter salty taste of it heavy on her tongue. And she knows it should be gross to her, the taste of it, but she loves it.

Once her hand is licked clean, she moves over him to lave her tongue over his chest, catching the cum that landed over his skin. A rumble of a chuckle in his chest as she works her way down; lapping sweat, water, and cum off of him.

“Swear,  could bust into a cup and you’d down it like water, wouldn’t ya?”

“Fuck off,” she curses against his skin, already having licked the cum off of his rib tattoo, already chasing down drop of it that’s dripped down his stomach.

“Such a little cum whore.” He lazily rubs his hand through her hair, taunting her as she licks his stomach and hips clean of any cum, her face feeling like it’s on fire.

She pulls away from his skin, once she’s convinced she’s gotten most of the cum off his skin and the head of his cock starts to bump her chin.

“Spread,” she demands, trying to maintain some mask of domme-ness as she taps his thigh. Johnny bends his knee, spreading his legs slightly and hands grabbing at the pillow over his head; a painfully beautiful sight to the merc.

“Fuckin’ finally, about time,” he responds, because he’s still an asshole.

“Again, not going in dry, you’re not getting the strap quite yet.”

“Ugh….”

She pinches his thigh and he just grins, finding her annoyance just oh so entertaining. V takes a moment to peel off her shirt, feeling a bit of relief from the fever on her skin, open air hitting her sweaty flesh. And she can feel his eyes on her when she does so, brown eyes staring at her small breasts, following her pierced stiff nipples. As much as he’s bitched about her being a member of the itty bitty titty committee, he seems to always gawk at them when he has a chance.  She likes to think that… means something , but it probably just means he’s a slut.

V considers taking off her panties too, slick and sweat making them stick to her neglected cunt, but that would require far too much maneuvering to make it worth the effort. Especially when tonight isn’t about that. She’s able to balance on her knees to lean over the edge of the bed, rolling out the underneath compartment to get what she needs. And she can feel that stare now hoving on her bent over ass, not that he can even get a decent look at it from where he’s laying. But that won’t stop him from ogling apparently.

“So, when do I get to fuck your ass?” He asks as she’s grabbing lube and a butt plug from her sex toy stash.

“You’ve played with my ass before,” she says, kind of surprised, memories of his fingers and tongue in that specific hole.

“Haven’t fucked it yet, which just seems like a crime, quite frankly.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “not a crime, we’ve never done one of those before.”

“Would you let me fuck your ass?”

In a heartbeat, she thinks immediately and is so happy he no longer lives in her skull.

“Hmm, maybe, but it's your ass on the chopping block tonight, I’m ‘fraid.”

“Yours is so much nicer though.”

“Yeah… that’s not saying much, gonna be like fucking a hole in a wooden plank.”

“Or you could just give me a titty fuck, oh wait.”

She grabs the strap-on she intends to use, a big cyan blue one that she’s been waiting entirely too long to try out. And she shakes it in front of him.

“I’m either gonna fuck you or beat you to death with it, I swear to god, Johnny.”

He grins and laughs, she’s laughing too. Unable to help it, their back and forth always bringing a lightness to her chest. It just feels like them, as they should be. Two dumbasses making fun of each other.

V has what she needs except for one other thing, she stretches to reach the night stand and grab her phone, having to lean over Johnny to do so. And she can feel Johnny looking at her funny, brows furrowed for a moment, as he watches her pull up the app she needs.

“Are you checking your fuckin’ email, what is this?”

She laughs, unable to resist a chance to tease;  “Oh yeah, just checking my texts, me and River are supposed to do something after this.”

“Haha, that’s so funny,” he says dryly, a bite to his words, as he suddenly grabs her hair and looks into her eyes, “mention the pig’s name in bed again and I’ll fuck you in front of him.”

His tone is on the harsh side, but his pull in her hair is barely rough enough to feel it. The threat and movement only serving to make her face scarlet and her cunt slicker. Johnny has always had some… jealous, possessive tendencies, especially in the bedroom when she pushes him just a bit. And she knew exactly what she was doing by mentioning River’s name specifically, the former cop always an oddly shaped sore spot for Johnny.

She kisses him, soft and quick, before pulling away. His grip not even hard enough to control her movements.

“It's an app that vibrates the butt plug, Johnny,” she explains, smiling as she quells his worries, though something in her still has to wonder why he has them.

And its faint, but she can see a hint of red come across his cheeks, pink behind the scruff on his cheeks.

“Oh, well, carry on then,” he says, letting go of her hair and running his hand down her back.

“All my attention is on you, promise.”

“Fuckin’ better be,” he grumbles under his breath as he falls back against the pillow, she doesn’t see embarassed Johnny often, his lack of shame truly astounding. But, when she can manage to get him flushed, it's adorable.

“You’re such a gonk.”

“Shouldn’t there be a way to sync it with your neuroware or something, I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“I’m not installing buttplug tech in my brain, Johnny, that’s a malware nightmare waiting to happen.”

“Didn’t have to mention that asshole.”

“Stop pouting, only asshole I’m worried about right now is yours,” she jokes, getting back to where she can comfortable play with him, starting to cover her fingers in a healthy dose of lube.

“Ugh,” he groans, “that was so stupid, its a miracle I’m still hard.”

“Being a slut isn’t a miracle, Johnny.”

“Is the way I do it- fuck,”  he gasps and curses as she slides a lubed up finger inside of him, “you could fuckin’ warn a guy.”

“You said you wanted me to hurry up, you don’t get to bitch about it now.”

He lets out a quiet groan as she works one finger inside of him, feeling the heat of him around the digit. V has small fingers, one of many drawbacks to her petite stature. One finger doesn’t even stretch him, more so just getting lube into him, so everything that comes next has an easier time sliding in. She leaves him empty for just a moment as she coats a second finger in lube and begins to work both digits inside of him.

Tighter with a second finger added, stretching him a bit more as she shifts and scissors them inside of him. He groans a bit at the added pleasure, but his sounds are still soft, her fingers not thick or long enough to give him exactly what he needs. More lube and she adds a third finger, which makes him curses, cock twitching as she does her best to prepare him.

With her other hand she starts to stroke his dick, earning a deep throaty sound, the combined pleasure making him nosier. V works faster, wanting to wring more of those sounds from him, As she works her fingers inside of him quicker, fucking them into him as deeply and fast as she can, a soft squelching noise starts to ring out combining with the wet slide of her hand on his cock.  His hips squirm and writhe, bringing himself down further on her fingers, just to thrust up into her hand.

“Fuck,” he’s reaching up and gripping the pillows again, expression tight as she toys with him, “fuck, fuck, V!”

His cock twitches in her hand she moves to wrap her lips around the head of it, swirling her tongue over his heated skin just as he cums, something between a curse and a growl as he paints the inside of her mouth white. That same salty bitter taste coating her tongue, more of it this time, that she swallows down without shame. She pulls her mouth off of him with a wet pop, her fingers leaving him with another squelching sound.

“Needed it straight from the tap this time?” He tries to sass her, but his voice is a breathy rasp.

“Gon-gonna make you cum one more time before I use the strap, alright?”

Something between a whine and groan leaves his lips, but he spreads his thighs a little wider, pushes his head a bit further back against the pillows. She rolls her eyes, just thankful his stamina is good enough to withstand all the overstimulation. V covers the butt plug in lube, a black silicone one with a flared base, tech inside to make it vibrate. Once it’s covered, slick as it can be, she gently pushes Johnny’s thigh a little big further out and slides it inside, Johnny cussing at the wider stretch of the toy compared to her fingers. There’s not much resistance to the stretch of it inside of him, every fiber of her dying to tease him for being a slut. But she stays nice, instead grabbing her phone with the app open.

Johnny honestly, probably doesn’t need as much prep work as she’s doing, Though, she is mostly doing it because watching him cum his brains out is a fun time. But he clearly is ready for the main attraction of the evening, her strap. So, she won’t drag this one out too long, she decides looking over the vibration settings and hitting the highest.

“Jesus fuck!” He yells out, not expecting the intense vibrations of the plug. His hips grinding and thrusting, squirming from the pleasure of it buzzing against his prostate. The whirr of the toy audible even through his groans and moans.

And she can feel her mouth watering at the sight of him trying not to whimper against the buzz of the toy, hips moving on instinct as it works it’s magic, hard flushed cock twitching with pleasure. V grabs his narrow hips and pins them down against the bed, feeling him squirm under her touch. And she takes his cock back into her mouth, but this time she doesn’t hesitate to swallow him down as deeply as she can, feeling the slide of it on her tongue, the head pressing into her throat.

“God damn it,” he curses and both his hands grab at the back of her head, pressing her down further, “you need more fuckin’ cum?”

She gags a little as he starts fucking her face, no longer able to keep his hips pinned, as he keeps her head in place. V relaxes her throat as best she can, just letting him use it as a fleshlight while the plug vibrates inside of him.  His pace is brutal, trying to match the intensity of the vibration as he fucks her throat.

“Such a fuckin’ whore for my cum, two loads not enough, huh, princess? Needed to feel me cum down your fuckin’ throat too?”

She’s unable to respond, too busy being choked on Johnny’s cock, mouth a drooling mess as he fucks her face. But each word, little comment and taunt makes her clit throb, makes her that much wetter. And the thought of reaching down and fingering herself is so tempting, but Johnny isn’t going to last long. Between her throat around his cock and the toy in his ass, if she bothers to touch herself, she’ll only work herself up more.

Sure enough, just a few more messy thrusts, then his cock is throbbing against her tongue and he’s cumming down her throat just like he promised. That familiar taste coating her mouth as she swallows every last drop, even when she catches herself nearly coughing on it.

He pulls his hands from her hair, still whining as the toy vibrates, V having to take a minute to come up for air and catch her breath. Once the lightheaded feeling passes away she grabs her phone and turns off the vibrating, Johnny’s body relaxing as he gets a break from stimulation, though not for long. She gives him a moment to adjust before softly pulling the plug out of him, earning a sound suspiciously close to a whimper. V puts the plug aside and grabs the strap, Johnny catching his breath, still hard and leaking by some miracle,  as she secures it over her underwear.

A bright vivid blue strap, thick and long. She slathers it in lube, no such thing as too wet, as she empties the rest of the tube over the toy. The blue silicone shining with the slick gel. Johnny watches her as she lubes it up, she can nearly feel the impatience radiating off of him.

“Any position you prefer for this?” She asks, wanting to make sure he’s as comfortable as possible. Johnny responds by rolling over onto his knees, ass up in the air with his face in the pillow.

“Should be easier like this,” he murmurs into the pillow and then chooses to wiggle his ass at her, like the weirdo he is.

“Don’t exactly have much worth shaking, Johnny,” she taunts, giving him a small sharp smack to the ass.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to fuck it so bad.”

She rolls her eyes and prepares to finally peg Johnny. She’s on her knees behind him and would like to line up her toy with his asshole, but… there seems to be a newly discovered logistical issue. She tries to raise herself up higher, but her hips can’t quite align with his ass. She’s well aware that Johnny is over a foot taller than her, but it only becomes a problem at the weirdest of times. She kind of assumed since he can fuck her from behind, she’d have no trouble returning the favor, but… alas.

“Can you get your butt any lower?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No… “

“This is what I get for fuckin’ a hobbit, I swear.”

“Just lower your ass, please.”

Johnny does his best to bring his ass down as low as he can and with a little finagling and the knowledge that she’ll probably have awful leg cramps for it, she’s able to get the head of the strap aligned with his hole.

She grips his hips and brings him back onto it as she slowly slides it inside as deeply as she can. A long low groan leaves Johnny’s throat, something that sounds like the word ‘finally’ With a bit of effort, she’s able to start slowly thrusting into him, watching it slide in and out of him. Hearing each grunt and curse as she fills him, the squelching of the strap sliding inside his slick hole. Slow direct long pushes into him, her thigh muscles already burning from the effort.

V runs her hand down the expanse of his back, the freckled skin of his shoulders, and she wants to kiss it. To kiss his  back and shoulders while she fucks him. And when she does her best to lay further over his back, she can barely kiss his shoulders with entirely too much effort, she must look ridiculous. This is ridiculous, she finds herself giggling, stomach hurting as she laughs.

“Are you- are you laughing?” Johnny asks, voice incredulous and she feels bad to beg him for a chance to do this, but in this position it’s just not working well.

“I’m sorry, I just, I feel like a Chihuahua trying to hump a Doberman, Johnny.” She says through laughter as she pulls the strap-on out of him. And he’s laughing too, chuckling as he rolls back over, staring at her.

And she’s sure she looks ridiculous, red faced and giggling with a blue lubed strap-on around her hips. She buries her face in her hands, unable to stop laughing at how fucking ridiculous it is, she’s too short to peg that way. Then his hands are wrapping around her wrists and he’s pulling them down, back in her space. And there’s a soft smile on his lips, that forms soft wrinkles around his eyes, a gentleness in his gaze. He’s so pretty and she can’t even fuck him right, the world is cruel. Johnny kisses her through her laugher, a soft press of their lips, before he pulls away. He lays back against the pillows, like he was before the not so bright idea of trying doggy style.

“Here,” he spreads his legs, smile still on his lips, “let’s try it like this.”

“Thank you,” she says through a giggle, moving to try this again.

It’s much easier with him laying down on his back, able to raise his hips easily to meet the strap-on. And she can look at his face now, which she definitely considers a plus. She can stay in a comfortable kneeling position as she lines it up perfectly and sinks into him again. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, head shifting back as she fills him again. Comfortably so this time and able to see his cock leaking precum onto his stomach as she fucks him.

Her nails dig into his hips as she begins thrusting into him, listening to the wet sound of it pushing inside of him. She keeps her motions slow and smooth, not wanting to fuck him senseless quite yet, watching for ever sharp intake of air from him. Staring at the flush across his skin, the sheen of sweat across his flesh. The groans, the sighs, and curses he lets out with every thrust of the toy into him.

“Faster, V, fuck, I ain’t gonna break.”

“Know what I’m doing,” she says,  just barely speeds up, wanting to tease him, to drag it out.

“That remains to be seen, fuck, c’mon, harder,” he tries to demand, writing his hips to meet each thrust of the strap, trying to change the pace.

“Nothing wrong with me taking my time, patience won’t kill you,” she teases, getting just a little harsher with the thrusts, just enough to hear the slap of her thighs hitting his, the soft pap of skin hitting skin. And he groans, eyes closed for a minute before opening again, a look in them that she’s seen too many times before.

“Nah, fuck this,” he says, then she’s being pushed back, metal and flesh hand shoving her against the bed as the world shifts around her.

“Hey!” She yells out as she’s suddenly on her back, looking up at Johnny who’s now straddling her hips. But she doesn’t have it in her to be mad, not when he’s naked on top of her, with hair falling into his eyes.

The shift in position made the strap-on slide out of him again, but Johnny wastes no time, bringing his ass down onto it, filling himself with the dildo. And she realizes he’s going to ride it cowgirl… cowboy style. He leans puts his hands back on the bed behind him, for leverage as he begins to do just that, bouncing on the silicone cock, hard and fast.

“Won’t fuck me right, gotta do it my goddamn self.”

“Swear to fuck,” she squeezes his hips, watching the way his cock bounces as he fucks himself on her strap, “next time I’m tying you down and gagging you.”

“Look forward to it,” he says, a wicked grin telling her how powerful her threat really is.

Johnny sets a brutal pace, as he’s one to do, his weight coming down on his hips heavy and powerful with every bounce. He barely pulls himself off of it with every movement, lifting himself just an inch off the slick toy before he’s bringing his weight back down. Its desperate, frenetic movements, just fucking himself on the toy. Each movement brings the slap of flesh clapping together, the squelch of the toy pushing into him, and the soft grind of the strap’s harness into her clit through her underwear. Not enough to get her off, but enough to make her whine.

And she tries to meet his pace, to thrust up into him, but Johnny doesn’t give her a chance, every time his weight comes down on her, it pins her hips in place, leaves her to lay there and let him have his fun. Just to watch as he rides it, as it slides in and out of him, barely out as he’s just desperate to grind the toy into the deepest parts of him. Let her mouth water as she watches his flushed red cock drip with precum and bounce along with his body.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, Johnny,” she tells him, just staring and Johnny groans, grinding himself down onto the dildo.

“Yeah,” his voice is breathy, panting through the words, “like watching me ride your cock?”

“Mmhmm, so fuckin’ beautiful…”

Her words trail off vaguely, squeezing his hips, just staring at him. Sweaty tanned skin, the ink that marks his ribs and arm, the rough flesh of his scars, freckles she could map out with her tongue if he let her. Broad shoulders, muscled bicep on one side and solid chrome on the other. Long dark hair with those deep brown eyes. The thick trail of hair that goes down his stomach. The trim narrow hips grinding him down onto the blue toy, his thick cock that really does deserve all the hype he gives it.

“Christ V,” he curses, voice rough and she can see the flush across his cheeks again, “stop fuckin’ looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” She asks, watching him rub a hand over his face, why is he embarrassed? Does he not expect her to look at him when he’s fucking himself on her silicone dick?

“Like, like, fuck!”

V gasps as his body goes tight, cock twitching as cum splashes across chest and chin, hot on her skin. A stray drop hitting her lip, only there for a moment before she licks it off, Johnny goes slack on top of her. Body relaxed and loose as his orgasms works its way through him, cock throbbing as a few more dribbles of cum drip onto her stomach. After a moment, Johnny curses again, blinking as he comes back to earth. Another moment and he starts to pull himself off of the strap.

“Can’t say that went exactly how I planned, but-eep!”

V squeals as he starts ripping off the strap-on harness, throwing it aside without any care before he’s yanking her underwear off, air hitting her slick cunt. He throws her panties across the apartment without another thought.

“Johnny, what are you do- oh fuck!”

Before she can finish the sentence he’s between her thighs, legs thrown over his shoulder as he buries his tongue inside of her. She grabs onto his hair on instinct as he begins to lick up every drop of slick inside of her, painfully wet after all she’d done to him with no relief for herself. Johnny eats pussy like a man starved, making groans and grunts of pleasure against her core as laps at her insides. Like he could really lick away every drop of slick, even as each swipe of his tongue makes her whine and as she just gets wetter.

Then his mouth is at her swollen clit and she’s seeing stars as focuses in on the most sensitive part of her. Never knowing when he’s going to lick patterns against the bundle of nerves or suck on it, his actions are quick and unpredictable, but everything makes her cry out. Her hips squirm and grind against his face, hands unintentionally pushing her into her center at the same time. Johnny’s arms wrap around hips and pin them to the mattress.

“Fuck, I-I’m close, Johnny, I-”

A harsh suck on her clit, the scratch of his beard against her core, and she’s gone. Toes curling and fingers tight in his hair, a keening moan on her tongue as the world goes blank. Pleasure hitting its peak and overcoming every cell in her body, a mess of her wet coating Johnny’s tongue and chin, that he licks up without hesitation.

After another moment he comes up for air, leaving her boneless and panting as she tries to get her bearings back. She didn’t expect for Johnny to touch her like the, meaning for the night to be completely about the pegging, but she really should have known. V’s sure the rockerboy would take it as personal offense if she didn’t cum at least once during sex with him.

The merc is pulled up to the pillows and against Johnny’s chest, the two settling in as they catch their breath. She’s sure the apartment is a wreck right now, things thrown haphazardly, there’s lube in her bedsheets, but can’t find the energy to truly care. V buries her head into his chest, listening to his heartbeat, smelling the musk of his skin, at peace just laying here against him.

“Can’t sleep with your hearing aids in, you know that, V,” Johnny says, skimming his fingers over the shell of her ears, just barely touching the little devices.

“I can sometimes…” She whines, wanting to fully hear his heartbeat and snoring while she sleeps. .

“And you’ll wake up with your ears rubbed raw.”

She glares up at him, pouting as he takes her hearing aids out for her, putting them on the side table. He looks back down at her, then brings his hands as high as he can so she can see them.

“Good night, princess,” he signs and she can’t be upset anymore, the sight of his admittedly sloppy sign language always making her heart melt. A flush of red crawling up her cheeks as she nuzzles her face into his chest, unable to hear his heartbeat, but still feeling the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. Mururing a good night against his skin as she drifts off.

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #female v #silverv #cp2077

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eleven): I'll float through death, haunting you

Notes: This chapter had a slight impact on me emotionally, do with that what you will. Please, please listen to the content/trigger warnings. This chapter is essentially being stuck in a severely depressed, traumatized, and suicidal person's head for 16k words. If you are not in a place to handle that right now, come back another time, or give it a skip, or after you read it go frolic with puppies for a few hours. I cannot provide those puppies, but I wish you luck in finding them.

Word Count:  16232

Chapter Warnings: Depression, Trauma, Angst, Blood, Alcohol Use, Violence, Gore, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt/Aborted Suicide Attempt, Motor Vehicle Accident, Human Trafficking, Implication of Child Abduction/Abuse (possibly overt), I think that's everything.... is that everything....

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V isn’t quite sure how long she lays on the ground, crying out the last of her tears. Then she feels the warmth of sunlight spilling through her window.  She needs to get up, needs to move, but for what? The merc wishes so much to just lay down and die, to just let it all go. She’s going to die anyway, isn’t she? She wishes it could at least be a peaceful one, to melt into the earth and never be seen again. But instead this is what she gets; a violent end for a violent life. Years of seeking control over her own existence, of searching for a place in this world; only to be taken over and replaced by another. 

Her eyes land on her window, following the warm glow of sunlight, too warm on her skin.  And her stomach clenches. Sun shining through the fractured glass, her blood staining it. A physical symbol of him, of what he did, how he hurt her. She doesn’t want to see it; doesn't want to think about it. Her body moves on instinct across the room, closing the shutters. The room feels instantly darker, only the harshness of unnatural light glowing within it. And it feels right, better. To close it all out. 

V scrambles to think of what to do next, her brain still mush. She scratches at the back of her neck, touching her chipslot where that monster hides and immediately shuts out the thought, if she thinks, she’ll cry. She knows it. She’ll climb into a pit and never climb out. Spend all her six months crying in a dark apartment. 

Her hair is greasy with blood still sticking to pieces of it, though her skin feels cleaner. The idea that Vik and Misty had to bathe her while she was out of it flickers through her mind, making her want to die. A shower may help, clean herself up something proper and feel human again, at any rate. Its something she can actually deal with, something she can take care of when everything else is out of her control. 

The merc goes to her bathroom and sets to taking off the bandages that cover her upper half. Vik knows well enough not to send her home in bandages and expect them to last. If they were still holding her together, she’d still be sitting in his clinic. She unties all the bandages, leaving blood smeared gauze across her bathroom sink. Nothing falls apart or starts gushing crimson, so she’ll take it as a win. 

There’s a fresh scar running down her right forearm. She tests her fingers and hand, spelling star names to see if her fingers move without pain. The nerves seem fine, muscles a little weak, but she can still sign easily and should still be able to wield a gun or a knife. Much more may prove difficult, maybe she can work on rebuilding the strength in it. Not that it will matter much… in the long run… 

She shakes her head, trying to displace the somber thoughts, trying to just focus on getting from A to B. And while it’s not a grand goal, right now B is just the shower. Ther merc notices some more new scars across her chest and stomach, but focuses instead on pulling off the sweatpants. 

V runs the hottest water she can stand and sits on her shower floor, pressing her back to the wall and holding her knees for a moment. Hot water pouring down on her and flushing her skin pink.  Her throat tightens and her eyes sting, the desire to cry again, but she stops herself, holds it in. This isn’t what she wants, six months of crying and choking back pills. 

She rubs at her eyes, trying to focus on cleaning herself. Feeling her scalp as she washes her hair, there’s a faint trace of scars underneath the strands, but nothing she thinks would be noticeable to the naked eye. Vik’s worked his magic, yet again, or perhaps that’s just the magic of modern medicine. Her hair was left untouched, no bald spots, or places that had to be shaved down. The average person would never know she was shot in the head and died. 

When she touches her forehead blood clings to her finger tips, where Johnny bashed her head into the window. Not far from the cut is a scar on her temple, where the bullet entered. She finishes up her shower, standing and shutting the water off. V dries off and out of admittedly laziness, she pulls on the same sweatpants Vik sent her home in, they’re still mostly clean and she doesn’t want to throw on real ones. 

The reflection in her mirror pulls up and she’s just as lucky as she thought. V as she knows herself is staring back; bleached hair and gray eyes. But they’re not her eyes now, are they? 

The one thing given to her by her father that she didn’t completely hate, they shared the same gray eyes. Yet somehow his always reminded her more of  gunmetal, colder.  She’s never seen the same chill in her own eye, despite the shared color. Not the prettiest or most interesting color, as a kid she’d pout that she didn’t have the same green eyes as her mother and sister, but she learned to appreciate them. And now they’re gone. The eyes looking back at her are not her own, corp made and manufactured. Kiroshi tech created in a plant. Not the eyes she was born with, not the eyes that last looked at her mother, not the eyes that’d squint under the Badlands sun as a child. 

She stares deep into the color, they automatically match to the user’s natural eye color, unless chosen otherwise. It may just be psychological but she finds herself scrutinizing it, a part of her thinking the color may be off.  They’re the same gray, she knows it logically. But a part of her screams they’re darker, or lighter, have more blue to them. That something is off. But maybe the only thing off is that they’re not her’s. 

They’re top of the line too. She’s lucky… really, getting high end tech she didn’t want, never has to fear her autoimmune disease will blind her.  Anyone else would feel blessed, this is just a part of life in Night City. Kids begging for optics as soon as they hit eighteen, some trying to convince their parents to install it before. Not that long ago, some story broke of a kid gouging their own eyes out just to get optics before they turned eighteen. 

She’s lucky, so lucky, she reminds herself as she presses at her eyelids and feels the metal beneath the flesh. Lucky she survived a shot to the head, that’s lucky, right? Lucky that skin grafts and synth flesh tech means she looks like herself after. Lucky that when Johnny pummeled her head in, he didn’t do any serious damage or reopen a wound. Lucky she doesn’t even have bruises on her throat from his choking. Lucky that she’s somehow the only person who walked out of this shit show. 

So fucking lucky, that she came back from the dead to die again, to go from dead to dying, to be nothing but a walking corpse with the one person who gave a shit about her dead… So lucky… 

She’s trying not to cry again. Because of course she is. She slams her hands on her bathroom counter, kicking it with a bare foot, and screams into her hands. Deep breathes as she tries to gather herself again, she needs a new B. Something to focus on, something to do. 

Close the blinds. Take a shower, what now? She needs something, anything that isn’t thinking. The pills are still scattered across her apartment floor, her chest cold without a shirt. So, those become her new B’s, for just a moment. Her focus solely on picking up pills and pressing them back into the blue bottle, popping another, just in case. Then she’s rummaging through her closet, finding a shirt. Her eyes land on Ava’s old shirt, Samurai, that fucker’s band. She crams it in the furthest corner of her closet, not wanting to think of him, but her attachment to Ava keeps her from throwing the whole thing out. V throws on a plain black top and then she needs another B, another goal, no matter how small. 

V plops herself down on the floor in front of her bed, tapping her foot to the vibrations in her apartment. The radio must be on, a rhythm and beat bouncing through the apartment. Barry is probably annoyed at her, again, It's not the loudest she’s ever had it, but she’s learned quickly that for her to feel the thrum of it, the music ends up loud. Sometimes she’s been able to swear she feels her whole apartment shaking. 

She shoves her hands in her sweatpants pockets, as she wracks her brain for something to do, anything to keep her mind off her grief. A wrapper in her pocket crinkles, these aren’t her actual pants, ones from Vik’s clinic for patients trapped there for a long recovery. They don’t even fit her properly, too long fabric pooling around her feet. She tugs it out and smiles, her first since she woke up in the clinic. 

A little sucker, synthetic honey flavored, shaped like a little bear. Candy for being a good patient, slipped into her pocket, she wouldn’t know when. She tears the wrapper off and pops it into her mouth, soft sweet taste clinging to her tongue. What she did to deserve Vik is a mystery, how he could ever deem her worthy of his kindness is… mind boggling.  Fixed her up a billion times, pieced her skull back together. Top tier Kiroshi’s, mantis blades, and a projectile arm launcher. All thousands upon thousands of dollars. Given to her for nothing. She owes him, majorly. If she’s going to die, at the very least she can settle her debts, Vik deserves at least that much. 

She’s got a new B and as expensive as cyberware is, this one may take her longer than five minutes. V needs to figure out exactly how much she owes him, Vik would lowball it and let her off cheap, and then she needs to get herself working again. And god, does she like the idea of that. To be doing something, a slice of normalcy, even if she’s solo now. 

V is on her feet and turns off her radio, tucks in her hearing aids, and then goes rummaging through her things. Her choker translator from the box of her clothes from before the heist, she goes ahead and throws it on, then gets her holophone from the bag of her stuff Vik sent with her. There are notifications across her phone; emails, texts, and missed calls. An email from her building administration catches her eye, checking it first. 

‘Dear Sir/Madam, 

Our records show we have not received this month’s rent payment for your unit in Megabuilding H10. In accordance with the tenancy agreement VD-233015722/2077, any subsequent payment delay will result in forced eviction from the property.’

She checks the date, it's September. Nearly two weeks into it, she must have been unconscious for a while, a few weeks at least. She starts sorting through texts and calls. Jake messaging about Jackie, asking her to call him, asking where she is and if she’s okay. A few missed calls from him. Cece wondering why V is ghosting her after weeks of no replies. Fixers texting her about cars. Misty and Vik missed calls from before she showed up in the clinic, a few texts. Her fingers hover a text Misty had sent, the last one, sent while V was laying in a dumpster. 

Misty:  v?! konpeki is on the news. is something wrong? jackie won’t answer my calls… 

Misty:  he’s gone… isn’t he? 

There’s a shake in V’s hand as she moves on from it, not letting herself linger, not letting herself explore the grief and pain. She needs to get a job, she quickly links her phone with her new optics, not letting herself think of how much she hates that. That finished she goes to call Regina, the local fixer, but before she can tap the contact her holo begins to buzz in her hand, light flashing as a call comes through. 

Takemura the contact tells her, the little red avatar shows a familiar face, Saburo Arasaka’s former body guard. The long haired man who pulled her from a landfill. She’s still not sure what exactly his deal is; how he went from dragging her to Yorinobu to taking her to Vik’s clinic. Or why he’d be calling her. But she answers, with a heavy feeling in her stomach. 

“Takemura here,” he says, facing showing up in her optic and on her phone, “we must meet. Come to Tom’s Diner.” 

The immediate demand takes her off guard and she doesn’t want to do that. He may have taken her to Vik’s clinic, but he also slapped and choked her. She doesn’t know how he got from one point to the other, but she knows she doesn’t trust an Arasaka corpo. He could have a billion different hidden agendas. 

“No can do, surprising as it may be, I’m not in a great place right now,” she signs in return, not directly telling him her paranoia. 

“You may recall I saved your life. I need you to return the favor.” 

“I’m serious, I haven’t managed to get my head straight yet, its all been a lot… ” 

“That will not happen anytime soon and so what? If you intend to live, you must reenter the ring. The bell has already tolled. Tom’s Diner. I’m waiting.” 

“Look, I-” he hangs up, “fucker.” 

He can wait until the cow come home, she’s not interested in whatever bullshit he’s going to try and sell her. She remembers the assasin who attacked them, reading his lips. He called Takemura a traitor. But why would a man so highly regarded by Arasaka, enough to be Saburo’s bodyguard, suddenly turn on them? At best, this is some scheme to get her to do something, acting like he can potentially help her just to use her for something or pull some shit. He’s using it as a carrot on a stick and probably plans on beating her with the stick when he gets the chance. 

Instead, she calls Regina, a few rings before the eyepatched fixer answers. But looking at the little avatar of her face, she doesn’t seem too thrilled to hear from V, which is… odd.  

“V…” 

“Hey, know it’s been a while, but rent’s due and I’m swimming in debt. So, what you got for me?” 

“For you, V? Nothing.” 

Regina always has jobs, hell every fixer does, Night City is a festering cesspool of crime and bullshit. And V has been one of Regina’s top mercs ever since she moved into Watson. The eyepatched fixer has only ever had praise for the young mercenary. 

“My hearing aids busted? No jobs on the table, seriously?” 

“Not for you.” 

“The hell is that supposed to mean? I’ve been you go to merc for fucking months, you use to have me doing five or more jobs a day. What’s the problem?” 

“Look, V, everyone’s heard what went down at Konpeki. You can’t botch a job like that and people not talk.” 

“I didn’t botch shit!”  Her lips move as she signs but she stops herself from yelling. Everything went to shit because of Yorinobu, right? Sure, she could have done more to save Jackie and Bug, sure she should have just not taken the job. But she didn’t fuck this up, just wrong place, wrong time. 

“Maybe you didn’t okay. But when you’re the only one who walks away; it doesn’t look good. Everyone’s saying you're the kiss of death, no ‘runner, merc, or fixer wants to end like Bug, Jackie, and Dex.” 

“You seriously think I’d betray you? You trust me that little, think I’d get you or anyone else killed on purpose?” 

Her throat tightens, eyes sting. Does Regina really think that little of V? Is that what the world thinks of her now? Just the merc that fucked up Konpeki and got her entire crew killed? Six months of consistent and quality merc work, thrown away because of one bungled job? 

“Of course not, V. You’re a solid merc, but what am I supposed to do? Any client finds out I put you on their job, they’ll think I lost my mind. Can’t put you on a crew, either.” 

“Client’s don’t have to know it’s me, I-” 

“They’ll know, V. Can’t do it.” 

“So, what the hell am I supposed to do!?” V signs and kicks her couch, starting to pull at her hair, the sting of her scalp reminding her of him. 

“Look, earn some rep back, show everyone Konpeki was a one off, a bad day. And then we can talk about getting you some jobs.” 

“And how am I supposed to earn rep back without jobs?” 

“Fucks sake V, want me to do your job for you?! NCPD always has scanner gigs and subcon work.” 

“So what, I’m supposed to earn a rep back by working with pigs!” 

“The streets talk, show you can do the jobs and do them well, remind people what you’re capable of. Then we can start talking about some jobs.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want to do jobs for the cops.” 

“Then don’t. Starve, go broke and lose your apartment, not my problem, V. Earn your rep back and we’ll talk gigs, until then, forget it.” 

And with that Regina hangs up and V groans, kicking her wall, its bullshit. Konpeki blew up spectacularly so and she gets that. But, she didn’t tell Yorinobu to kill his dad. She didn’t give the corpo brat daddy issues. And she doesn’t want to lower herself to police sub-contract jobs. Doing the cop’s job for them is the bottom of the fucking barrel, helping out pigs that are half the reason this fucking city is such a mess. 

Padre, she decides, he gave her a job when she just came to the city. He’s always had a soft spot for her, took a chance on her when she first got here. But, a voice in the back of her mind nags, the only thing worse than no reputation is a bad one. She hasn’t just gone back to square one, she’s in the negatives. The merc doesn’t let herself think about it for too long, calling the Heywood fixer’s number. 

His age spotted face pops up in her optics and she can feel a little dash of hope rooting itself in her chest. Surely he has work for her. Even if it’s something small, there’s got to be something.  

"V… it's been a while, my child. How have you been?"

"I, I'm here… More importantly, I could use some work."

"V…you ask me for work, to damage my own reputation for your sake, and so soon after Jackie’s passing? Have you no respect for me, yourself, or Jackie?"

The question feels like a punch in the gut. Padre knew Jackie since birth, knew Senora Welles while she was pregnant with him. He’s seen Jackie grow up and ultimately even brought the two mercs together. She knows he must be grieving, mourning, and here V is...trying to move on so soon after, trying to shut it all out. And she knows it must look bad, knows she may look heartless. But if she lets herself settle into that pit, she’ll never climb back out. 

“Padre I-” 

“Have you even spoken with his mother?” 

“No, I just-” 

“You should.  Avoiding grief is bad for the soul, yours and hers. As far as work goes, I cannot sully my hands to help you, not this time.”

“I understand…” 

“May God be with you, V.” 

He hangs up and V’s sure he must be sick of her shit, not that she can’t blame him. She knows he’s right. That she’s shutting everything out. But between Jackie’s death and her own; she doesn’t know what the fuck else to do. And facing his mom… there’s a tightness in V’s chest at the thought, looking her in eyes and knowing V couldn’t save him. Why would Mama Welles even want to see V after this? 

Maybe it's not the right or best way to deal with this, but it's all she has right now. V pulls up Dino’s contact next. He’s an alright guy, seems not to mind V at the very least. Though, he may just be trying to imagine what’s under her clothes each time they meet, probably not aware he’s already seen it. But hey, if it earns her a job, she’ll take it. She calls him. 

She gets his voicemail, hangs up without leaving a message and shoots him a text instead. Hoping he’ll read it when he gets a chance and sends some jobs her way. She tries Wakako next, the phone answers then hangs up before V can get a word out; making the Westbrook fixer’s stance clear. El Capitan the mulleted fixer of Santo Domingo sends her straight to voicemail, not even letting it finish ringing. She’s given Mr. Hand’s voicemail as well. After all the calls, she checks to see if Dino has responded to her text, groaning when she sees she’s been left on seen. Dino seeing the text but not responding. Not a single fixer is willing to work with her after Konpeki. 

V clenches her hands around her holophone, device threatening to crack under her grasp. Regina’s advice of NCPD jobs coming to mind. It’s no secret that the cops suck at doing their job, corrupted and incompetent. So much so that they’ll pay merc for intervening and taking down crime, shooting down gangers before they can shoot civilians. But it’s never something she’s wanted to do. Aligning herself with cops feels scummy.  But her rent is due and when she adds together the prices of top shelf kiroshi optics, mantis blades, and projectile arm launcher… she owes Vik around seventy-thousand eurodollars.  Savings can cover her rent with some left over, but not nearly enough to pay back Vik. 

She calls the NCPD and asks about getting set up for sub contract work, half swallowed pride in her throat as she forces herself through the conversation. The rather bored sounding officer getting her set up to do the work, fairly simple. Listen to police scanners, find crimes to intervene in, drop any evidence off at a drop box, and get paid. Evidence is a lose term, they’re most interested in anything with proof of who was involved, shards or docs. And while the officer doesn’t say she can keep any loot or stolen stuff she wants, the implication is clear that they won’t stop her. Most interested in getting violent gangers put down. 

V quickly throws on some clothes, throwing a baggy black hoodie over it all, then grabbing her mask. In rifling through the bag of her things taken from Vik, the sight of her blood stained Konpeki clothes makes her stomach churn but she finds the little beaded bracelet that Misty gave her before the heist. The blue beads now carry little flecks of blood, lapis lazuli meant for spiritual protection. She slides it on over her leather cuffed bracelet, she needs all the help she can get.  With that she puts the bag aside, not wanting to ruminate on the blood soaked clothes for any longer. 

She finds the bullet pendant still under the pillow, another good luck charm, to hear Misty. There’s something morbid in wearing the bullet that killed her. But, she likes it, and if Misty’s right… Again, she desperately needs as much luck as she can gather. The merc pulls it on. She keeps her mask in her usual bag, throwing the pill bottles from last night in there too, pops her regular med, makes sure she has her weapons, and leaves her apartment. 

It feels surreal, walking through the halls of her apartment complex again. Moving through people and seeing the lights around her. Feeling like a zombie walking amongst them. To hear the chatter again, hundreds of people in this building, moving along with their lives. While she’s stuck with a terrorist in her skull. While she’s come back from the dead. While she’s lost the most important person to her. While she can still feels his hands on her throat, though her left her with no bruises. Only the mark on her forehead and the crack in her window are a reminder of his existence. 

“Hey, V!” A voice calls out, stopping her in her tracks as she turns to see Wilson outside the Second Amendment store. 

“Hey,” she signs in turn, walking up to meet him. 

“Haven’t seen you in a good one, two… few weeks, heheh. Figured you’d skipped town.” 

“Just trouble… the usual,” she signs, hoping her face won’t give away her unease. 

“A-ha, got just the thing for you, then.” 

“I don’t know about that, I got rent to pay and debts to clean up, don’t need to be spending my money on a new toy.” 

“C’mon, V, got a beauty that practically has your name on her.” 

And despite her better judgement she finds herself following Wilson into the gun shop, she can cover rent, so maybe spending what’s left over on a gun isn’t so bad. Wilson hefts up a case and undoes it, V’s breath catches in her throat because Wilson really has her number. A beauty of a sniper rifle in a brilliant metallic blue, not too bright to keep some stealth, but still within her favorite cyan hues. It's already outfitted with a silencer and what looks to be a digital scope. 

Her desert eagle is her go to when it comes to guns, but the powerful little .50 caliber can’t fit a silencer, at least not without a lot of tricky fucking around. Her knife is silent, but distance is a struggle, her knife throwing skills only making up so much for it. The launcher is far from silent. A sniper rifle might be the perfect addition. Her father taught her how to fire them as a kid, looking down the sight, feeling the recoil as the butt slammed into her shoulder. She had decent aim, but it’s been years since she touched one. 

“.50 BMG, bolt action sniper rifle. Your color, your caliber, what more could you want?” 

“You really do know me too well, don’t you?” 

“Told ya, got your name on it.” 

“Mind if I try her out first?” 

“C’mon” 

Wilson lets her pick up the rifle, feeling the weight of it in her hands as she trails after him into the shooting range. Its a heavy made rifle, which is good, since that will help keep recoil from hitting as hard. V’s a small thing, so the bigger caliber guns she loves can kick back like a pissed off mule. Even her favorite handgun has a heavy kickback, the Desert Eagle not a gun to fuss with, but she’s learned to take the recoil over the years, shooting guns since she was a kid. 

Memories of another gun, even more powerful than her own go to, the Malorian withe Last True Friend scratched into its barrel. Wielded in silver fingers, the force of it would have shattered anyone else's arm, and would have destroyed her own. 

She shakes those memories from her head; they don’t belong to her after all. V plays with the sniper rifle in Wilson’s gun range, liking the feel of it in her hands. The accuracy of the scope. She ends up leaving with it on a holster on her back alongside her bag, paying Wilson for the new gun and some extra ammo. 

In the elevator she tunes her hearing aids to a police scanner frequency, picking up the nearest potential jobs first. And in moments she hears the chatter of Tyger Claws attacking a ripperdoc clinic, not one she knows, but they’re not far from her apartment. She takes her mask from her bag and slides it on as she leaves the megabuilding. 

She calls her car through her phone. And receives a notification that it was towed and can’t be dropped off for another day. So, she’s walking, until she finds something to steal. At least the first job isn’t far. Wandering through the Night City streets and through a tunnel, she drops a few stray Eurodollars in a man’s cup and lets him know he may want to scram. He gets the message and gets some distance from the area. 

The tunnel opens to a square yard and she can see the gangers just from the edge of it, unaware of her. V crouches and pulls her rifle from her back, taking aim at the Tyger Claws over a cement staircase. One dead with a headshot as soon as she lines up the scope and pulls a trigger. Others yell out, run to investigate, walking right into her sights. Three more dead in a moment. A fifth runs behind a green and red car for cover, she fires her first round through her projectile launcher, blowing the car to ash and dust, killing the ganger. And they’re all dead, not a shot fired off at the merc. Picks through bloody corpses, pocketing what she can. She finds the doc dead in his clinic, shard saying the Claws attacked because he was pulling chrome from dead Claws. She drops it off at a drop box and gets eight hundred eddies sent to her account. 

The scanner picks up another job, crime filled Night City streets always having something to offer. There’s a Kusanagi motorcycle, bright red with stickers across, belonging to one of the gangers. She grabs it and makes her way back through the streets. 

Four Tyger Claws on the rooftop of a building, less clean. She nearly catches a grenade, barely dodging it as memories of gunpowder and Mexico heat flash through her mind, a phantom pain in her arm and the weight of fallen friend on her back. But at the end of it, she’s the only one standing. Some fuss about an antenna and she’s another eight hundred dollars richer. 

Larger job at the corner of Drake and Cartwright, at least twelve Claws having taken over a market space. The merc takes advantage of her new rifle and the concrete jungle landscape, climbing up steps and perching herself on an air conditioner unit, shooting around the corner of the building. With time and patience, five Tygers dead from sniper bullets, brains splattered on the market stalls they were robbing.  The rest won’t enter her sight line, ther merc slinking down to meet them, picking them off with her sidearm and knife, chasing them through the lantern strewn market. A slightly surreal feeling to it, walking through blood stained market stall, corpses thrown across it, brains leaking into cracks of the cement while she grabs a Nicola and a bike with more gas in it. 

And that's what she does, not letting herself stop to think, just moving from job to job. Three Maelstrommers in a fire fight with cops after trying to klep some shit and setting off an alarm. There’s a gross feeling in her chest when the cops thank her, wondering how many skeletons hang in the officer’s closet. But her bank account is fatter and that’s all she can focus on in the moment. 

She rides past a tv screen in a building showing the news, talking about Saburo Arasaka’s death and races through traffic before she can hear anything more. That night still haunting her like a ghost, its been weeks, can’t the story be over. Can’t it be enough… 

Sniped Maelstrommers from the ledge of a building, peeking around the corner into the alley to a warehouse, finding an extra three thousand tucked away in it. Three Tyger Claws shot down after killing a snitch. It's all instinct, all muscle memory, ending lives as easily as she breathes. It’s not pretty or good work, but she’s a natural at it. 

She has to park across the street from Lizzie’s for the next one, a group of Claws, one of the main gangs in Watson. Her stomach churns and biles burn thinking of the prep work, thinking of the warning signs, thinking of why she should have turned around and left. Pushing it aside she kills a handful of Tyger Claws, before moving to the next job further up the road. 

Animals shaking someone down in an alleyway, she hands behind the table of an abandoned vendor’s table, piled high with goods. She throws a knife over it, watching the blade sink into one ganger before sniping the rest. Her stomach drops when she raises and sees the records that cover the abandoned table. 

Black and red labels; Samurai and Silverhand etched across the graphics in white. His records amongst the oldies. Its like the world is mocking her, haunting her with that man, with that night. She throws them off the table, crushing them underfoot as she goes to collect her knife and finish the job. 

The radio announcer hypes up the Arasaka health insurance plan on her way to next job and she shuts her hearing aids off for a moment, just the sound of the corps name making her want to scream. She changes the radio when she climbs off and flicks them back on before she clears a gang of Scavenger out from under an overpass. 

Five Malestrommers get killed near the Med Center, gangsters managing a deal to steal chrome off of comatose patients. She can feel the bruise her new rifle has caused, still some recoil to it, but the ache doesn’t stop her. The ache she gets just helps to keep her mind away from other things. Somehow it’s nearly four pm and she doesn’t know when that happened. 

Near Goldsmith street she’s tasked with taking out another Scavenger nest. A large messy one, armed with illegal shit stolen from Trauma Team. Spotted weaving through them, a full gun fight across the rooftops. Dodging and chasing Scavs through it, dodging behind crates and transformers. And she can nearly hear Jackie, can hear him laugh, can hear him yelling, because this is the kind of shit they did. But she knows it's just a memory; she’s alone with adrenaline in her veins, sweat on her skin, and a timebomb in her head. 

She drops the last Scav, breathing labored, a few new injuries bleeding steadily. An hour spent battling the vultures, blood heavy under her fingernails, and she picks up on the scanner another job nearby. The merc already moving to get to it, not let her body rest for a minute, because as long as it’s moving her brain slow down just a little. 

Clears out Tyger Claws from a construction site in the Northside of Watson. The sun setting just as she drives up and shoots down a cluster of Maelstrommers doing business behind a diner, having killed a drug dealer who stopped supplying. Another group of the chromed out gang taken down for attacking a shipment yard who they felt wasn’t cutting them a good enough discount. 

Cleaning up another nest of them in a shipyard full of crates, picking through Maelstrom corpses and cop bodies there before she arrived shows a commissioner sent his boys in blue to die, for poking around where he didn’t want them to, for doing their job. She can’t even pretend to be surprised. 

Northside is mostly Maelstrom territory, so it’s no shock it’s another group of the mini borgs she’s taking down as she pulls up to Offshore Street, an ad across the way promising to knock the devil out of her, she’s not sure what the ad is even for, but the message reminds her of her passenger. The proverbial devil she’d love to have knocked out. The gangoons are in a trainyard, stealing running gear from a convoy they jacked. There’s a high enough building for her to perch and take care of them easy, before dropping back in amongst their corpses to pick through for what she needs. Same thing she’s done time and time again. 

Samurai written across the back of a now dead gang member's shirt, because of course. She kicks his corpse, as if she were striking the monster in her head. Shoots an already dead body twice, tears threatening to rush out, a scream on the tip of her tongue. And she swallows it back down. 

Two more clusters of Tyger Claws are taken care of, the thanks of a plant worker held at gun point by a bridge makes her smile, even if just a little. Knowing she did manage to hopefully help someone, they were trying to klep chemical to make their newest drug; Glitter. At least he didn’t have to die for something so stupid. 

Her holophone buzzes in her pocket, missed calls and text messages across it. The first text from Bartmoss Collective, which seems to be some strange spam, talking to her about capitalism. The missed calls and other text from Senora Welles. V scratches at her face, checking the message. 

Mama Welles: V?

Mama Welles: V, we need to talk, please pick up

V chews on her lip, stomach twisted in knots. What the hell does she say, what the hell can she say? How can she even look Mama Welles in the fucking eye after this? Her fingers shake over the keys as she types the only thing she can think to send. 

V:  I’m sorry.

Sorry for Jackie, sorry for evading her, sorry for being such a coward. Sorry is all she can think to be… 

Two more jobs, both Maelstom again and she decides to head home for the night. Her body is exhausted, mind fuzzy as she drives the stolen bike down the city streets. It's nearly midnight, all she’s ran on the entire time is a honey sucker and stolen Nicola. But, that means she’s tired, worn out and may be able to find sleep easily. 

She steps into the elevator; eyes already threatening to drift shut. V pushes her mask up off her face and thumps her head back against the wall;  immediately regretting it, the gesture too similar to Johnny's, the thunking of his head against her wall. She hates this, all she wants is to shut it all out, to forget it all if only for a day and just focus on work. But it’s haunting her. 

“Night City is still in a state of mourning,” a newscaster prattles off, “following the death of Arasaka CEO, Saburo Arasaka. Flag on all city buildings are lowered to half mast and all major public events have been postponed until further notice. Daughter and heriress Hanako Arasaka arrived in the city, in the wake of the tragedy.” 

“Fuck you!” 

She screams at the screen, nearly frothing at the mouth as she puts a voice to her anger, feeling eyes on her as soon as she has. The elevator has come to a stop, someone just trying to enter it, staring at her wide eyed at having seen and heard the outburst. She pushes past them, tugging at her hair and ready to explode or cry or scream or something. Because its bullshit, it’s all bullshit and she fucking hates it. 

The world is mourning Saburo; fuck Saburo! He was a piece of shit, a corpo sleaze who’d do anything to make a dollar, to get more power. Yet the world is meant to mourn him, meant to mourn a man who did everything he could to fuck it up. A man so awful his own child would strangle him just to be free of the monster. 

Good people died that night, actually good fucking people, Bug and Jackie. And the world moves on without them. No flags fly half mast for them. No one has even contacted or spoke to her about Bug. Even she can’t bring herself to actually mourn, to take the time to feel her feelings. The world barely remembers them as soon as they’re gone. 

And she doesn’t consider herself a good person, not like them. She’s nowhere as kind or welcoming as Jackie nor as talented as Bug. But damn it, she died too. And no one cares. The world just keeps on moving. And it hurts. 

She screams when she closes her door, just screams and lets it out for a moment. V doesn’t want to cry again, is sick of crying. So, she just screams and punches her fist back against her wall. Her radio is playing music again, she notices as she starts to calm down, body leaning against the door as exhaustion settles back in her bones. She swore she turned it off, the shitty little thing must be acting up. She doesn’t have the energy to care. She haphazardly throws some of her clothes off, dropping her bag and weapons as she marches to her bed. She’ll sleep through it, sleep through the wellspring of anger and pain that’s started to burst out. 

V puts her hearing aids on the side table and lays back against her pillows, feeling the plush of it welcoming her. She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, trying to relax her body. Trying to find some calm, trying to find that serenity she’d had in silence for so long. Letting the exhaustion of her day send the world away. 

Then she feels something pressing into the mattress beside her. The warmth of a presence looming over her, the smell of cigarettes and musk. And she’s shooting up in her bed, breath choking and clawing in her throat; heart trying to escape her rib cage.  She expects him, expects to see him, is waiting for Johnny to be there with harsh hands and a sharp tongue. 

But she’s alone. 

She sits on the edge of her bed and just breathes, running her fingers through her hair, she has no idea how this all works. No one does. At least no one she can speak to. What if he comes back in the night? He got control of her last time, what if he finds a way to do it again? What if he takes over in her sleep? God only knows what he could or would do…  She doesn’t even know how long the pills suppress him, he can flicker and control how he shows up, he could be active right now and just hiding… waiting for a moment to lash out. Waiting for her guard to fall. 

And if it’s not him, it will be his memories. 

V can’t sleep, she decides all at once, not now. Maybe never again. And she has no idea how long she’ll make it like this, but she knows she can’t give him that chance. Can’t live his memories again. Can’t deal with this. She grabs her hearing aids tucking them back in, rock music still drifting through her apartment, as she goes to her bathroom. V needs to get back out there, back to work. It's the only thing keeping her somewhat sane, though that thread gets close to snapping every second. 

She washes dirt and blood from her hands, then splashes cold water into her face, trying to wake herself up. The cold shock of it disrupts some of the exhaustion, as she looks back up at herself. Still a little dirt on her face, bags already starting to form beneath her gray eyes. She grips the edge of the sink looking at herself,  steadying her breaths, water dripping down her nose. 

 A blind man lost, in the streets

A pattern here I need to see

Keep returning, keep trying to leave

Got a bad feeling that I need to feel

 Her knuckles whiten fingers digging into the sink, blood going cold and air catching in her throat. His voice, that fucking voice, playing through a radio. A song she’d never think anything of most days, maybe she’s heard it before and wrote it off. But now her heart hammers at the sound. She’d never even know who it was, but she now knows that voice like she knows her own name. 

A black dog runs at my side

Down a road, no end in sight

The city sleeps but in my mind

Got a knot that won't unwind

 She runs from her bathroom, tripping over herself as she rushes through the apartment. Her nails digging into the plastic as she frantically shuts off the music. Shutting out that damn voice for a moment, as she tries to get her bearings. She throws it down on the floor, a spike of satisfaction in the sound of it bouncing off the linoleum. 

“Fuck!” V curses out loud, her head throbbing with the pain of it all. She holds her head in her hands for a moment before she’s moving again. 

The merc is grabbing up a thermos, gifted to her by Misty and meant for relaxing teas, V fills the bottom half with a mix of Spunky Monkey and Chromanticore. Then brews a bot of coffee in the little maker she has stacked on her microwave. There’s a nearly caustic smell as she dumps black hot coffee in with the cold energy drinks; filling the thermos with a cocktail of energy that will either keep her awake or kill her. Either way she’ll be thrilled. It all burns like acid in her throat, a cloying tar taste stuck to her tongue, but after three swigs she can feel her energy picking up. She swallows another omega blocker with the fourth one. 

Then she’s yanking her pants back on, getting all she needs to get back to work, marching back out her front door with her concoction in hand. She’s drinking it, cringing at the taste as she comes back down the stairs. 

“NCPD open up!” A loud male voice yells out and she see two police officers outside of Barry’s door, her downstairs neighbor is a cop himself. 

“Barry! We know you’re in there, we’re here to help!” The female officer yells 

“You don’t got no fucking warrant!” 

“Cut the bullshit! Just open up!” 

“We came here as colleagues- nothin’ else. Haven’t heard from you in a while, we’re worried!” 

“Noted. Now leave me alone!” 

“Congrats, Mendez,” the female officer looks at her coworker, “way to be a prick.” 

“Oh what? So I’m the bad guy? I’m not the one holed up playing the attention whore!” 

“He lost a friend, can you blame him?” 

“He’s not the first or the last. It’s called life.”

The two police officers leave Barry’s door and go to lean against the railing of the hallway, talking amongst themselves. V and Barry have made small talk a few times, he’s an alright guy, despite his job. And judging by the way his coworkers are talking, he’s been having a rough go of it. Losing a friend… she can certainly relate. She takes another swig of concoction and heads over, double checking her choker is on, mask still in her bag for now. 

“Is something wrong? I live upstairs,” she signs to the police officers, indulging her curiosity. 

“So keep on livin’ and stop minding other people’s biz.”  The burly officer huffs, annoyed that the merc has dared bother them. 

“Hold on, it’s his neighbor.” 

“Any way I could help?” 

“Maybe, you know Barry at all?” 

“We’ve talked a handful of times.” 

“He’s a friend from the precinct. Left the force not long ago. He broke down after his best friend died. We’re worried he’ll do something stupid. “

“Relax, Petrova,” Mendez scoffs, “Barry’s got nerves of steel- he’s just a spiteful old bastard” 

“Mendez, I-,” she rolls her eyes, looks back to V, “could you check in on him when he’s chilled down?” 

“Sure, not exactly far away.” 

“Thanks, just be patient. Cops fallen on rough times can be… touchy.” 

“I got you,” V signs with a nod, deciding to go ahead and test the waters. There’s something about getting herself caught up in someone else's troubles, it’s easier to worry about someone else. It’s a nice distraction. 

She knocks against his door, knuckles scrapping the metal. No response, she knocks again. Nothing, so she knocks again. 

“Hey, you home?” 

No response again, he seemed heated when he was yelling at his coworkers and he probably likes them more than he likes the stranger from upstairs. She decides to let it go for now, she’ll check back in on him later. Another drink fo her death cocktail, her head ache growing worse and her heart rate picking up, but she feels wired enough to take on the world. Mask down as she leaves the building, she tunes to the scanner. 

And each job bleeds into each other; Tyger Claws, Maelstrommers, Scavengers, Animals, and just petty criminals all blend together. All just bodies, sheep to her slaughter as she works her way through this, refusing to stop or breathe. 

Bullets sniping through the air between swigs of her concoction. Blade thrown and retrieved, an abandoned energy drink guzzled. A gangoon gutted, a half drunk coffee stolen by grubby merc hands. Omega blockers swallowed down with caffeine every couple hours, as the night bleeds into the next morning. But the sun rises above her only to fall again, unable to keep track of the seconds, minutes, hours; all just a blur. Pick up a scanner job, get there, clear it, drink something with caffeine, drop off evidence, grab a vehicle and get to the next job. Then do it again, do it again, again, again, again…. 

New bruises on her skin with every job; new cuts, new scrapes, new aches. The migraine is constant, head pounding in tune with her racing caffeine soaked heart. But she welcomes it all, the bite of physical pain to keep her mind off the emotional. 

The sun is just setting on a day other than the one she left her apartment. Maybe it’s been two, three, or more days of mindless grunt work across the city. Just stacking up her bank account and maybe, she hopes, earning a rep back across the streets. Though, what could is a rep to a dead woman walking? She can’t but wonder as she pulls up near Charter Street for the next scanner. Tyger Claws again, seen spending too much time near a shipyard behind the old buildings. 

She walks swiftly through an abandoned parking lot, seeing the standard signs of the shipyard. Stacks and stacks of shipping containers, some rusted and broken open, others sealed tight. Pallets of concrete and building supplies, she doesn’t see signs of the gangoons yet. She walks crouched through a  shipping container opened on both ends, moving closer to get a scope of the area. Peeking around the edge of it, she sees the first signs of life. 

A Tyger Claw leaning against a car, mottled red and green. She’s far away and can’t get a clear picture through the crates of who else is with him. The merc moves up, slinking into another open rusted crate. She can see more bodies, more vehicles. But the glitch of a Scavenger mask catches her eye. Claws and Scavengers together… 

With the cars around them, she opts to use her launcher, the smart aiming better than her sniping could ever be when it comes to getting around obstacles. The rocket launcher emerges from her forearm, locking onto her target, she fires off the incendiary round. It curves but can’t quite hit dead on at the angle, bursting into flames and barely catching a flame on the ganger. She curses as the boom of it gives her away. 

Scavs and Claws scream, come running towards the crate she’s in. She readies her launcher again back up in the container, as a member of each gang run before her, catching a look at the merc just before she fires, It connects easily, both dying on impact, corpses going on in flames as V continues to back up through the crate and out of it, getting distance between herself and the swarming gang members. Another shot fired at the car, setting off a boom, that kills two more. 

“This is bad, bad, bad!” A gang members yells, one of three still rushing her across the lot. He dies from another incendiary round a moment later, screaming as he’s engulfed in flames, another gang member dying with him. 

One Scavenger woman is still running forwards towards V as she walks backwards, grabbing her knife from it’s holster. And V throws it, the final gang member unable to stop in time, running right into the thrown blade. It sinks into her throat, blood spurting forward as the woman collapses. V pulls the knife back out, wiping it across already stained jeans as she marches forth to survey the area without threat. 

Tyger Claws and Scavenger now lie in burnt remains, the smell of melting flesh hot in the air. But other than cars and gangoons, nothing else is severely burned. The benefit of the smart targeting and rounds, the perfect amount of controlled chaos. She steps over corpses, collecting what she wants off of them as she moves to the hub of stacked shipping containers. The black remains of the car are still sputtering flames. 

Its a little maze of containers as she picks up anything she wants, then she hears a steady thump, something banging against the metal. She twists her head around, searching for the source. It gets more frantic, the echo to the sound telling her it’s coming from one of the dozen or more crates. 

“Is someone there?” She signs, mask translating as she tries to get an idea of which container it may be. 

“Help, please, help!”  A heavily accented and muffled voice yells out. And V finds the crate, unlocking it. 

An awful stench pours out of it as the blue rusted door slide open, a huddled crowd of five or so people. Mostly women but a few men, skin caked in filth, bruises heavy on their skin. The one at the front of the container, who was beating on the door freezes, a woman with what looks like a broken nose  stares at V wide eyed for a moment.  The merc realizes why, quickly sliding the mask up to the top of her head. 

“I’m not with them,” her choker translates and she can see the relief that flood the people, “lets get you all out of here.” 

The people slowly leave the container, on shaky legs and V’s stomach lurches. There’s blood and filth, human waste, across the container. No telling how long these people were locked in here. But that’s only partly why the stench is so foul, she realizes, when a body at the back of the cargo crate doesn’t move. V walks through the crate turned prison, taking a closer look, hoping she’s wrong. 

She isn’t. 

A girl of maybe sixteen, the mottled bruises on her skin not just injury but validity, blood no longer pumping but instead stagnant. Her corpse just on the verge of decomposition, leopard spotted jeans stained with blood and her own waste. V tentatively searches through the young girls pockets, searching for something to help ID her, finding a holophone with the teenager’s final message sent. 

Tracy: mom, i need help. 

Tracy: i think ive been kidnapped

Tracy: mom please help

And V can’t read the rest, bile churning in her gut, but candy and caffeine is all she could hope to puke up. A young girl on her way to a party, snatched up and shipped off to Night City. Final typed out words, a desperate plea for her mother to help. 

V leaves the crate before she gets sick, still five bruised and filthy people shivering in the open air. The orange glow of the burning car and setting sun settles over it all. She digs around the things the gangers left behind, finding a shard between Peter and Jotaro Shobo. 

Jotaro Shobo, a well known piece of shit in Night City, a high ranking member of the Tyger Claws who scrolls X-BD’s of himself torturing people. The Scavs were bringing in people for the slaughter, judging from the message, Peter telling Jotaro they had just arrived in the city. These folks aren’t from the area. 

“None of you are from Night City, are you?” She signs to ask, nods confirming the suspicion. And that wasn’t the only shipping container, many still around them. She hasn’t heard anymore thumping or yelling, but she still needs to check. 

“What’s going to happen to us…?” A woman asks in a broken voice, the sound a scratch in her throat. And chews her lip, she can’t get these people back home. That’s a job for the NCPD, but will they do their job is the question. She surely can’t abandon them like this. 

“I’m going to check the rest of the crates, see if there’s anyone else, and call the NCPD. Hopefully, we can get you all sorted and back home.” 

She gives the best comforting squeeze that she can to their shoulder, feeling the skin and bone beneath her hand. V is suddenly so much more thankful that the fire from her launcher didn’t get out of hand, if so she could have cooked these people alive in the crates.  

And who would have known or care? 

There’s a pang in her heart as she starts opening crates, some filled with nothing but corpses. Others with drugs and supplies for the Claws’ X-BDs. She pulls two more people from a crate, just as bloody and beaten as the others. V can’t help but think of it, that young girl just gone, dead to the world. A mother left in terror, not knowing what’d happen to her baby. People thrown out and taken from the world. And if they all were gone, the world would just keep going. 

Just like with her. Just like Jackie and Bug. And fuck, just like the people she’s killed in the past however many days. All just bodies to the rest of the world. A city that doesn’t care, that’ll forget them as soon as they’re gone. People who never really mattered to the world or had a place in it to begin with. 

She opens the last of the shipping containers, heavy metal doors creaking and amongst corpses, she sees one moving body. A young girl, maybe eight, face fleck in blood and wide eyes looking at V. Sick fucks, grabbing whatever and whoever they could. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re safe now.” V speaks, hoping the sound of a human voice will bring more comfort than her translator, even if the noise is rough. But the little girl comes walking slowly out. Her eyes welling with tears, choked half understood sobs as she asks where she is, where her mom is. 

V scoops the girl up, doing her best to comfort the child as she brings her back to the group, out of all the bodies around ten are still alive altogether. Lost and now just sitting around as they wait for what comes next. The shard between Peter and Jotaro said they’ve been here for weeks. V sits against a shipping container, child still crying into her chest as she calls the NCPD, debating for a moment, before deciding to put her translator back on. 

“Night City Police Department, how can I assist you?” A bored voice answers the line. 

“My name is V, I’m a merc who does sub contract work for the department.” 

“You forget how to shoot people?” The dispatch scoffs, like she’s wasting their time. 

“No, asshole, I’m sitting here in a shipyard near Charter Street, Scavengers were trying to traffick in fresh bodies. Got ten or more folks from overseas, been crated up for weeks, no idea where they are or how to get home. So, I thought maybe, you’d all like to come down here and do your job.” 

“Uh-understood, we’ll be dispatching someone to you right away.” 

And with that the call ends, now all V can do is wait. Her momentum stopped in it’s tracks to take care of the strangers, One of them, a woman with dyed blue hair and overgrown black roots, looks to V. 

“So, we’ll be getting out of here soon?” 

“I’d like to say yes, but I’m afraid when the NCPD says ‘right away’ they mean give them three hours, so might as well settle in.” 

“You’re… not… gonna leave, right?” 

“Don’t worry, Night City isn’t the safest of beasts even if you’re in good shape. Wouldn’t leave you all out here alone.” 

“Thank you… I… thank you.” 

“Also,” V starts to speak as an idea pops in her head, feeling how thin the girl feels in her arms, “I know this probably sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I can order like, I don’t know, pizza or something?” 

Something about it feels so strange and weird, after being kidnapped and taken abroad, a merc offering to buy you cheap pizza. But, it’s all she can think to offer in the time they’re waiting. She can’t help them get any cleaner; can’t hose them down or take them all back to her apartment for a shower. She can’t house them all, certainly. She can’t take them back home, or undo all they’ve been through. But… she can buy some pizza, help them fill their bellies after so long of going without. 

“Please…” 

And she does just that, ordering on an app through her phone, Buck-A-Slice is the cheapest and quickest option. Plus, the franchise now delivers their orders with drones, cheaper than having to pay human beings, which means she doesn’t have to explain literally any of this. A thousand times quicker than the NCPD, a drone drops off a stack of boxes with greasy cheap shitty pizza. But they tear into it like it's a feast and she finds herself eating too, not even realizing how hungry she was. Has she eaten since she started doing her little job bender?

Time ticks by as the people try to talk between eating, trying to fill the quiet night air with chatter. The little girl has fallen asleep in V’s lap, one of the merc’s hands rubbing circles on her back, the other fiddling with the bullet pendant that hangs around her neck. Stillness forced upon her, her mind starts to roam again. 

Bug fried in a chair. Jackie bleeding out in the backseat of a Delamain. And V’s brains blown out over a hotel floor. All gone, though technically she’s still here, but she doesn’t feel like it. She feels like she’s already gone and she might as well be. Thrown away into a landfill and the world still spins. Still spins after all that’s happened. The only dead man mourned in the wake of Konpeki is Saburo, the only one rich or powerful enough for the world to give a shit. 

And she’s dying again, this time, there won’t even be a body to burn. It will be like she was never here, overwritten like an unwanted file. Just a painful fade from existence as she loses herself, loses control, and is taken over. 

There’s a rumble of car wheels across the lot. Flashes of lights, a few police NCPD cars as well as two unmarked vehicles, a car and a truck. There’s a handful of uniformed cops getting out of their cars. And two men outside of uniform, detectives, she thinks. 

“We’re over here!” One of the women yells out, drawing the attention of the officers. 

“Christ that smell,” one of the men out of uniform comments, an older man with gray hair. 

But V’s eyes are drawn to the other plain-clothed man, if the clothes can really be called that. He himself stands out, around six foot five and muscular, his jacket a dark brown leather with fur across the collar. A shaved head of dark hair, one brown eye and a metal telescopic implant in place of the other. He’s attractive, a shallow little part of her notes. 

“Detective Ward,” the mountain of a man introduces himself to V, “heard a merc called, something about a group of people locked in shipping crates. We’re gonna get you home safe, but first, can you tell me what happened?” 

V has to try not to laugh. She honestly doesn’t blame him for assuming she was among the kidnapped folks. Her work has left her beaten, bruised; blood and grime on her skin. V’s clothes are still slightly damp from scanner jobs that made chase after evidence in a submerged van. She smells like sweat, murky water, and blood. 

“I’m the merc who called, actually,” V signs and sees the realization dawn on the detective’s face. 

“Sorry, I-” 

“No worries, I get it, not exactly in my Sunday best.” 

“What exactly happened here… ?” He prompts her to introduce herself. 

“V. I was doing scanner jobs, cleared out some Claws and Scavengers, found myself some refugees, called you all, and ordered some pizza. But, I think this tells the story pretty well,” she explains then hands Detective Ward the shard between Peter and Jotaro. 

He gives her a skeptical look for a moment, eye narrowed at the shard. But he seems to ultimately decide that the deaf five foot merc with a child in her lap isn’t that big of a threat. Taking it from her fingertips with metal fingers, a silver hand… And she hates how that little acknowledgement makes a cold sweat form at her hairline.  

Detective Ward pushes the shard into his chip slot, his eye glowing blue for a moment as he reads it. His expression shifts a somber and cold look across his features. 

“Jotaro fuckin’ Shobo.”

“Yep.”  

“Appreciate the help, we’ll take it from here.” 

“What’s going to happen to them?” V asks, looking down at the girl in her lap, NCPD isn’t known for going the extra mile. Who’s to say they won’t just throw these people onto the streets without any help or put them in a detention center to avoid dealing with it?

“Not your concern, merc,” the other detective, cuts in, looking down his nose at V. 

“Excuse the fuck out of me for not trusting NCPD’s finest.” 

“We’ll take care of them,” Detective Ward smooths it over, “figure out where they’re from and get ‘em back home.” 

And maybe she’s naïve, maybe she’s exhausted, or maybe she’s a sucker for a pretty face. But, when he says that she believes him. His expression earnest and soft, Regardless, she knows the NCPD can help them more she can, more resources and pull. Just a matter of if they actually choose to use them. V gently shifts the child off her lap, who looks up at her with wide sleepy eyes. 

“I gotta go now, honey, but the detectives are gonna help get you home now, okay?” 

The little girl nods, still a hint of fear in her eyes as V stands up, as much as she’d love to stay with and protect her. V’s no guardian and can’t get the girl home safe. She watches as Detective Ward stoops down to a knee, getting as close as eye level with the girl as he can, though still nowhere close. 

“Hey, kiddo, my name’s River, what’s yours?” 

“Stephanie…” 

V leaves on that, hearing the soft way the detective speaks to the child, the sound of it bringing the merc a bit of comfort. There’s another Kusanagi motorcycle, that clearly belongs to one of the now dead Tyger Claws, it has a full tank and she climbs on top of it. An old rock station blaring on it as she pulls away from the scene. 

The wind whips around her as she rides through the Night City roads, there are more scanner jobs, always are. But she doesn’t take it, thoughts pinging around her skull. Shipping containers filled with corpses, all forgotten names and people, who the world will never mourn or stop for. Mercs drop like flies everyday, her and Jackie just a part of the numbers. But life moves on without them, will move on without her. 

She guns the engine faster and faster.

A monster in her head, a psychopath who tried to put her head through a window. A timebob with a face and name. And one day, if she doesn’t stop it, she’ll be him. V… Aidan… will be nothing but a fading memory. A name that use to belong to the new body Johnny makes his fifty year comeback in. And he’ll do whatever he wants, hurt whoever he wants, because as much as Vik and Misty tell V she survived… she didn’t.  Johnny survived. because short of a bullet in her brain, he’ll actually get a second chance. She won’t. All V did was get a time extension, a chance to postpone her date with death.  

She pushes the bike to go faster, heavy on the throttle. 

And she wishes she’d just met her end. Being dead is easier than dying. She wants it done, to just be gone, to not be afraid. To not be in terror of the ghost wreaking havoc in her skull. To not spend six months questioning if a headache is caffeine induced or her memories being erased. To not be stuck in this limbo of knowing she’s going to be gone and forgotten, to just be there by now. 

She barely manages to take a curve in time, but doesn’t slow down. 

Dead people don’t have to deal with their feelings. Don’t have to grieve. Don’t have to face the family left behind after their best friend dies. Don’t have to carry this pain. Don’t have to-

 We lost everything

We had to pay the price

Yeah we lost everything

We had to pay the price

 And his voice is like a bomb going off in her head, all at once trying to stop and turn, but she’s going too fast. Gnashing metal and crushing pain, she tastes blood as she’s sent flying forward. A thud of impact as her body hits the road; gravel and asphalt grinding across her skin as momentum carries her across the ground. 

The world stops for a moment. V doesn’t know if she’s in the road, on a sidewalk. If she’ll be ran over. She doesn’t care. The merc lays there, bruised lungs aching with each breath, skin road rashed. Blood pours from her nose, iron clinging to her tongue. Her nose may be broken. She just stares up at the sky, the towering neon lights of the city buildings. And if she strains her exhaustion blurred vision, she thinks she can see a star or two pricking through the dark of night. 

‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.'

It’s an old quote from someone she can’t remember and she’s not even sure where she ever heard it, is she even the one who heard it? How deep are his memories embedded in her own at this point?

She can hear traffic driving by, so she’s probably landed off the road, no one concerned for her. No one stopping or checking on her, just another corpse on the streets of Night City. A forgotten nobody, all she’ll ever be and all she ever was. 

 I see your eyes, i know you see me

You're like a ghost how you're everywhere

I am your demon never leaving

 V groans, catching the sound of the stolen broken motorcycle still croaking out that asshole’s music. The lyrics of it taunting her; like over fifty years ago Johnny wrote those lyrics just as a fuck you to her right now. But something lurks in the back of her mind, the knowledge that that’s by no means true. Murky memories of a freckled blonde netrunner flickering through the merc’s mind. 

She clambers back up on her feet, taking in the lights and vending machines around her. Blood still clinging to her lips and chin as she looks around her. On the street, a Kiroshi ad shining blue light on her, some blue haired model showing off her new optics. Across the road painted across the side of an old clothing store in red and blue; the Samurai band logo. The flaming oni demon with skin ripped off to show chrome beneath; just there, mocking her. She flips off the graffiti. 

V’s out of her weird brewed concoction, even after so many times of topping it off. No more coffee or energy drinks on her. And she’s not sure she wants that anymore. Wants something stronger, that doesn’t keep her going, but just clouds her mind. The merc stumbles her way into the nearest liquor store and buys herself a bottle of bourbon. She barely catches the look of concern on the cashier’s face before she leaves with the booze in hand. 

She takes heavy swigs of it as she meanders down the city streets, swallowing the burn of it and welcoming the fuzziness it puts in her mind. Avoiding it all and throwing herself into jobs has gotten her nowhere but exhausted, so she drowns the feelings in alcohol, the taste of blood and bourbon heavy on her tongue. She wanders down neon lit streets, not even sure where she’s going or why, steadily draining the bottle as she goes. 

The lights become blurrier, a pleasant warmth buzzing under her skin as she walks, worries unable to find her through the cloud of alcohol. And she’s not sure how far she goes or where she’s ended up, stumbling down a street, bottle half drunk.

“V?!” 

She turns, nearly tripping over her own feet, when someone calls her name. And through the blur of booze and lights dancing around her vision, she sees Cece. The older woman looking at her with something between horror and concern, wide brown eyes and furrowed brows. 

“Holy shit, are you okay?” 

Cece rushes towards the bloody drunk merc. A tender hand reaches out to cup V’s face, but she stops it, wrapping her fingers around the older woman’s wrist. She doesn’t want it, the gentle comforting touch. A kind gesture better suited for someone else, not meant for someone soaked in blood with alcohol and crimson on her tongue. 

“Mmm...I, I’m fine,” V slurs her words, unable to sign with one hand on Cece and the other wrapped around her bottle. 

The older woman pulls her hand from V’s grasp, the merc not missing the traces of blood she’s left on Cece’s skin. If she cares, if she minds the filthy touch, Cece says nothing about it just looking at V for a moment, like she’s looking at a wounded animal. 

“You went quiet for a while, there’s some suit who keeps coming to the diner, asking about you, V… Did something happened? Ar-are you drunk?” She sputters for a moment when she notices the bottle in V’s hand, maybe catches a whiff of bourbon on the merc’s breath. 

“No..not your concern,” V signs now, hands slow and messy, struggling to make the words she needs. 

V turns to leave, this whole mess isn’t Cece’s problem. Cece and her barely even know each other outside of sex. The last thing V needs to do is dump trauma or bullshit on her, let alone drag her into the angry hornets nest that is Arasaka. V had only just thought of that, if Arasaka comes looking for her. She takes another swig of bourbon as she staggers across the grimey sidewalk, hoping to drown her newest anxiety. 

“V, please,” Cece turns V around, grabbing the mercs arms and forcing eye contact, “I don’t know what’s going on but you can talk to me, I wanna help.” 

Glassy gray eyes stare into gold, V just looking up at Cece for a moment. A distraction, that’s all V wants, all she’ll accept in the moment. Work, drinking, hell even helping Barry is all a grab for a distraction; anything to numb her and take her away from her pain. And maybe, her booze blurred brain suggests, Cecelia can distract V the way she always has before. Anything to not think. 

V pushes forward, standing on her toes to meet Cece’s lips. She presses in, tries to shove her clumsy tongue into the older woman’s mouth. The once honeyed tongue now tastes of bourbon and blood. V is shoved back, nearly falling over in her drunken state, Cece pushing her away to break the kiss before it could truly begin. 

The merc blinks, staring at the older woman. Cecelia’s face scrunched up in a grimace, V’s blood now on her lips, cringing at the cling of iron on her skin. The younger woman looks down, unable to meet Cecelia’s gaze now, ashamed to be so disgusting. To have left her filth and grime on another’s tongue. 

V turns away and begins to rush off again, face hot with a drunken flush and embarrassment. What the fuck is wrong with her? Why did she do that? Despite it, she can hear the click of footsteps chasing after her. Cecelia would be better off leaving the merc alone, would be better off if V had never stumbled into her life, even if only for sex. Everyone would have been better off before V stepped into their lives, the thought makes her throat tighten. 

“V, please, at least let me help you home, you can’t just stumble around drunk!” 

“Why the fuck not!?” V turns around and screams, blood coated spit flying from her mouth. Why can’t Cecelia just walk away?  

The two are left staring at each other for another moment. Cece’s eyes wide as she tries to work through her brain for a response, something to say. 

“Tonight we return with breaking news, as more information is released in regards to the death of Arasaka CEO, Saburo Arasaka.” 

A newscast catches the merc’s attention, tv screens facing out towards the street through a store front window. That stupid corporate sack of shit’s name drawing her in, a news anchor shuffles through his papers. 

“Yorinobu Arasaka has come forward with more information regarding his father’s death at Konepki Plaza. The identities of two suspected perpetrators have been confirmed to be that of mercenary Jackie Welles and a netrunner known only as T-Bug.” 

V’s breath is knocked from her lungs as the faces of her friends are flashed across the screen. Bug’s a crisp clear image of her face, expression stoic. Jackie’s is a mugshot where he has a bruised face and is grinning at the camera. The two exactly as she remembers them, her now gone crew shown on tv screen across the city, blamed for Saburo’s death. 

“The two edgerunners are believed to have been hired by a corporation to carry out the assassination, but Yorinobu has yet to disclose or point any figures regarding which of Arasaka’s enemies may have carried out this plot. Both Welles and T-Bug were confirmed dead. But, there is an unidentified third accomplice believed to have been on the scene when Saburo Arasaka was assassinated. Yorinobu has yet to release this individual's identity or footage from Konpeki, choosing for Arasaka to handle the incident internally for the time being.” 

A hand squeezes V’s shoulder, her own grip tightening around the bourbon bottle. 

“That’s… your friend, Jackie, isn’t it?” 

And she throws the bottle against the window. Unable to smash through the bulletproof glass, the bottle breaks first fragments scattering and bourbon streaking down the window. Cece instinctively jumps back, releasing V from her grasp. 

“Jesus christ, what the fuck, V?!” 

But the merc is already running down the street, slower than she’d be sober, but still faster than most. And she runs and she runs and she runs. She doesn’t know what for and to what, but she just needs to move, to go, to do something. V runs until her heart is hammering in her chest, pressing tight against her rib cage. Already bruised lungs struggling to take in steady breaths. Her feet ache, blisters forming in her boots as she finally slows down. 

And when she catches her second wind, limb still heavy with both ache and booze, she looks around. On the side of the roadway, a main stretch through The Glen, something she knows from the column of red and pink lights across from her. She knows where she is, where she wanted to go, whether she even fully knew. Where it began six months ago. 

She looks over the edge of the road way where the guard rail breaks off, overlooking the grimy little alley to Ember’s parking lot. The dumpster closed below, just like it was for her first job, stealing the high class car. V swings herself over, none too gracefully, hitting the dumpster and sliding off of it onto her back. She curses beneath her breath, blaming the alcohol, before she finally gets back up to her feet. 

A man waiting under an awning barely looks up from his phone as she stumbles past him, world still shifting around her. She walks around and to that elevator, hitting the button then stepping inside before it begins to rumble. And it’s stupid, she knows. It won’t change anything, won’t get anything back. But she just wants to be there, to stand in the place she first met him, the moment that changed so much for her. 

And the doors open before her and even after all this time, she knows the path by heart, walking down the halls to the double doors. The parking lot is empty tonight, only the glow of vending machines and the VIP parking spots. 

Her footfalls echo through the closed parking garage, making her way to the neon spot where that car was parked. And she lays down there, bathed in blue light, cold of cement biting at her skin through her clothes. 

The place where they met, where he put a gun to her head and they were forced down on the ground by police, where they broke away and took the car back to Padre. And he invited her back to his home, took her in like a stray, no concern or worry as he offered her food and shelter.  

Maybe if he hadn’t, he’d still be here. Maybe if he’d just gone ahead and blown her brains out that night, they’d all be better off. Dex wouldn’t have shelled out the job to them, Jackie would still be minor leagues but he’d be alive. Mama Welles would have her son, Misty her soulmate, and Vik his friend. Everyone happier without the merc mucking up their lives. And she wouldn’t be here either, wouldn’t be dealing with it. 

V takes out her phone, instinctively pulling up his number. She wants to talk to him, just one more time, she just wants to talk to him. It rings and rings and rings, she knows he won’t answer, knows he can’t. But… there’s no harm in wishful thinking, is there? 

“Hey, this is Jackie.” 

Her breath catches in her throat, his voice a shock to her system, a sound caught in her throat. Say something, say something. 

“Can’t come to the holo right now, leave me a message and I’ll catch ya later.” 

And the machine beeps, giving her the chance to leave a voicemail, because he’s gone. She knows that, she does, but she just… 

“Jackie….I… this.. Is so stupid,” she chides herself and hangs up. 

She’s half drunk in an abandoned parking lot, trying to talk to ghosts. Practically one herself. She sits for a few more moments, trying slowly to piece her mind back together, if only for a moment. It’s obviously not working, so she just gives up and stands back up. Already knowing where she plans to go back, tracing back pieces of their history, if only to find peace for a moment. 

V stumbles her way back to the alley way, though her movements are a little steadier than before. Rather than dragging her aching feet all the way to Kabuki, she finds the nearest NCART station stop, thankful for the twenty-four hour transit. 

The train car is mostly empty, a few people shooting her odd looks as she sits down, staring at the ground. Her eyelids heavy after days of constant activity and caffeine. The soft rumble of the transit starting to feel like she’s being rocked in a cradle, lulled into sleep. 

A familiar click of boots make her eyes snap open, not even realizing they closed. Brown boots shuffling in front of her vision, glitching like an old tape. She digs her nails into the back of her head, refusing to look up as the figure sits down in the seat across from her. Legs spreading wide and shamelessly as he takes up as much space as he pleases. Both in the subway train and her head.  

Heart pounding and breaths getting shorter, she tries to think through it, that the pills can’t be wearing off. When did she last take one? Might be seeing things, could be someone else, could be her mind playing tricks on her. 

“If only you were so lucky, Samurai,” her head shoots up at the sound of his voice, looking at him finally, “drunk and bloody on a train, wondering if you lost your mind, be funny if you weren’t so damn pathetic.” 

“No, no, no, no, no, fuck!” 

People are staring as she tears through her pockets, hands shaking, the words garbled in her throat. Can’t breathe, she can’t even fucking breathe as she rips the bottle of pills from her pockets. Her heart is going to explode in her chest, her lungs going to shrivel up without a strong enough breath of air, her body on fire. Shaky hands rip the cap from the bottle. 

“Wait a fuckin’ min-” 

His yell is cut off as she chokes the pill down dry, jumping up from her seat, the train rolling to its next stop and she runs out, tripping down the last of the steps. She nearly pukes as she hits her knees, but forces herself to swallow the bile, she can’t afford to puke the blockers back up. She stays there on the ground, holding herself, reminding herself to breathe, sucking in the cold city air. It's filthy with smog but at the moment it feels godsent. 

Eventually her breathing is better, her body feels cooler, the air chilling her sweaty skin, heart rate evening out. She slowly stands up, gravel and dirt still stuck in already blood stained hands. The merc finds her way to where she was going, the rockerboy in her head not ruining her goal. She needs to see it. 

She reaches the Kabuki Central stop and sucks in a breath of air when she sees the bright red neon sight, lighting the street way around the door. The No-Tell Motel, the place where they died. Or maybe she didn’t die until she hit the landfill, but she thinks it was here, when Dex blew her brains out across the carpet. Where Jackie bled out in the back of a Delamain. 

V goes around to the back gateway, where the Delamain pulled in. She sits at the top of the stairs for a moment, just looking at where the taxi had been parked. Where she lost him, next to the defaced Night City logo. All his dreams of reaching the major leagues, of having the money and street cred to keep his family safe, to be a success story who made it out of Heywood. Broken. Sent spiraling down when he got too close to the sun and the wax around his feathers melted, Icarus sent plummeting down to his end. 

And she wishes so much she could have convinced him not to do it, could have kept him from getting to this point. But a part of her knows she probably couldn’t have. A part of her knows that if he were in her shoes, sent plummeting down but somehow still able to stand, he would have climbed back on his feet and tried it all over again. But she’s not as strong as him… 

V gets back on her feet, ready to move on to the next part, where she died. Needs to see it, needs to face it. She slips into the motel and up the stairs, memories of that night flickering in her mind. Staggering through these neon lit halls and red stairs in bloody Jinguji clothes, face still wet with tears and rain, convinced she’d see her payday and live the major league life if only for Jackie. 

She walks down that long stretch of hallway and reaches the room, 204, where Dex Deshawn shot her. It’s vacant, but she hasn’t paid for the room. Remembering even just bits of what Bug taught her, V’s able to hack the door, watching it slide open. Half expecting Dex’s bodyguard to be waiting behind the beaded curtain. Of course, he isn’t. 

The room is just as she remembered, the standard sleazy No-Tell Motel room. Neon red light over a grimy bed, a dirty blanket thrown on a stained leather couch. And near the bed and bathroom, she sees it. Red now rusted and stained to a crusty brown, her blood. Where she was shot. Where she died, they haven’t even bothered to clean her blood from the floor. And that’s all she would have been. Another stain in a carpet. Another life snuffed out in Night City with no one to mourn her. 

She opens the bathroom door and doesn’t even have to step in to see the mess she left is still there. Brown formerly crimson blood stained across the broken mirror, sink marked in rusted red brown handprints. V sits down on the bed, her blood stains in view, she holds her head and she cries again. She cries for Jackie, for Bug, for herself. She sobs and she lets out just a bit more of her pain. And the sobs die down, as they always do at some point. The tears run dry and the sob become more choked. 

There’s one more place she needs to see, she decides, standing from the bed. It’s a longer way out, but she needs to see where she was left. Where her body would have rotted away with no one giving it a second thought. She leaves the hotel, no even bothering to shut the motel door behind her. 

V doesn’t bother with the NCART again, as far away as the landfill is and scared of seeing him again. She knows the train didn’t trigger it, but she just, doesn’t want it. She’s sobered up, a fair amount, maybe still a bit tipsy. Its dumb, a bad move ayway, but she busts the window out of a parked MaiMai, little blue box of a car. Clears the glass off the driver’s seat and breaks into it. 

The keys in it, she drives it and drives, careening through the traffic of Night City. Watching as the neon lights start to fade away as she hits the outskirts. Glowing billboards advertising become scarcer and scarcer, noise filtering away. Until there’s nothing but craggy rocks and stretches of desert land. 

And the distance hills become made of trash as she comes closer and closer to her destination, driving past a little gas station. She parks where the little dirt pathways through the landfill meet the road. V climbs out of the driver’s seat and starts walking, boots sloshing through the mud puddles and crushing grass underfoot as she walks through mountains of trash. 

An orange glow catches her eye as she starts to near a clearing, a trashcan fire still burning in the night. And as she reaches the clearing, she sees his body, Dex’s corpse still laid out where she shot him. Through the moonlight and the light of the fire, she can see bullet wound in his head, the purple in his skin where blood has settled. 

No one’s come to find him. No one’s collected him. He blew her brains out and left her to rot in a landfill, now here he is. Karma or something, she thinks. One of the best fixers in Night City, major leagues, rich as hell and meant to be their ticket to success. But he was thrown out and forgotten just like anyone else. 

She gently kicks his body, not even angry anymore, she’s not sure she has the energy to be. And what good would it do her, she already took the man’s life, what more can she do. He’s suffered the very fate he tried to damn her too, not even knowing what he did to her in the end. Dex was desperate, scared of what would happen if he was connected to her and the heist. He had no way of knowing the chip would do this.  

His body shifts under the push of her boot, limp and useless. But she sees a glint, his gun. A gaudy little thing of black and gold, his name emblazoned across it. She picks it up, seeing the blood on it’s barrel and wonders if her brains splattered on Dex when he shot her. 

She takes it with her as she goes to sit on a nearby rusty fridge, holding it in her hand, feeling the weight of it. V touches the bullet pendant around her neck, a bullet fired from this very gun. She wipes the crusted blood off it’s barrel, chipping it off with her fingernail. Maybe it was all fate, people aren’t meant to come back like that, not like this. 

Her mind returns to what she told Misty, about blowing her brains out. The older woman telling her she’d kill two souls, if aimed right, it’d kill Johnny too. And maybe that’s not a bad thing… He showed his colors, when he attacked her. If that’s who he is, who he chooses to be. She’s killed people for less. 

And isn’t it better than suffering? No dragging it out, no slowly losing control, no watching herself turn into him. She’d go out on her own terms, no one else's. No Arasaka’s, not Johnny’s, not her dad’s; her’s. 

A quick shot, a jolt of pain, then she’d be gone like that. Her and Johnny.  She wraps her lips around the barrel of the gun, the taste of metal and dirt on her tongue. Feels the weight of it in her mouth and clacks her teeth against it, biting down on it. Her finger on the trigger, one twitch of movement away from it all ending. From slipping away into the end and never dealing with this.

Do it.

Her finger doesn’t move. 

Do it. 

Nothing. 

Do it. 

And she’s crying, because it’s all she does, unable to make the final move. Unable to pull the trigger, she pulls the gun from her lips. And she holds her face as she cries again, she’s sick of this, sick of feeling this way. Sick of hurting, of being a nothing, of knowing she’s going to fade away and be forgotten like so many others. Of knowing she doesn’t matter and never will. That she’s going to become someone else, that she doesn’t and never will have place in this world, maybe was never meant to. 

Only when the sun rises so does she, a notification on her optics that another payment from the NCPD has come in. Still a few grand short of paying off Vik without cutting her own throat in terms of cash, maybe she’d be better off killing herself that way, she wonders… But a part of her would prefer Dex’s gun, gone the way she was meant to, meeting her fate head on. 

Head aching, foggy with exhaustion, but no longer buzzed with alcohol. She has a text about the fight in Kabuki and she still needs to get money from Wakako for the Dorsett gig; her last one with Jackie before the heist. She wipes the tears from her face and tucks Dex’s gun in her waistband, for later, meet her fate another day, she decides leaving the landfill. 

Death will wait for her, it’s done just that for years, albeit not always patiently. They got a date set, according to Vik, six months out. She’ll jump to meet the end sooner, she thinks, find it on her own terms. But for now, she’s not quite ready. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #female v #fem v

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Ten): Aint It A Gentle Sound, The Rolling In The Graves

Notes:  Cyberpunk had consumed my brain, it is official, so have more fic. This and the next chapter are both uhhh heavy, the next chapter moreso in my opinion. So, please heed the warnings carefully. 

Word Count: 10323

Chapter Warnings:  Violence, gore, blood, suicidal thoughts/mentions, suicide baiting, physical assault/attacks, choking, depressive thoughts. 

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

She heard him. 

Doesn’t hear the breaths that rattle and shake her chest. Didn’t hear her own cries, her own curses. Couldn’t hear the thumping of trash as she climbed from the pit. 

But she heard him. 

“What?” It's but a whisper on her lips, staring at the man with blurry halved vision, and she can’t hear it. 

Bile rushes up her throat, stomach churning as it tries to empty its contents. V rolls over to her hands and knees, retching into the mud and filth. Puke and blood heavy on her tongue, more blood than anything else. She spits the last of it out, pushing already blood matter hair from her face on instinct. 

Then she moves her hand back further, to her ear, nothing in it, but she feels for a hearing aid. There has to be a logical explanation, why she heard him but not her own gagging. Why she heard him but not the wind whipping through the trash, why does she hear him. 

No hearing aid, not even a broken remnant of it lodged in her ear, the other side the same. And her touching, she feels something else… The hole in her skull, part of her head open to the world. She feels the edge of bone, gore clinging to her digits and she doesn’t know what she touches beyond it, prodding at her flesh with filthy fingers. When she pulls her fingers away, she looks at the tissue, the fragment of bone, all sticking to her hand. How the hell is she alive? 

And the man, she knows him, the memories and cyberspace. He should be dead too, Arasaka killed him… 

“John...ny?” 

She tests his name on her tongue, can feel the reverberation of it in her chest, but not hear it. V waits for a response, waits to hear him, to know she can again. But nothing. Maybe it was a fluke, maybe, an auditory hallucination. She twists to face him again. 

“What the- what the fuck?” 

He’s gone, was he ever there? Bullet to the brain, maybe he’s all a hallucination. Maybe the memories and cyberspace just long form hallucinations? That happens, right, why some people claim to see heaven? The brain hallucinates when deprived of oxygen...or maybe when a bullet goes through it, touching parts that shouldn’t be touched?

That’s it. That’s all it is. Hallucinations of a damaged brain. She needs a doctor, needs Vik. She gathers her strength, attempting to push herself back up on her feet, legs giving out as she hits her knees into the mud, digging her fingers into it. 

Just stand up, just stand up and walk damn it. She screams at herself, then she sees something, a flash of movement in her blurry vision. At first just a shadowy figure standing amidst the trash. Focusing harder so she can make out who it is. 

Dex starts to wander into the landfill, boots crushing through mud, towards her. Adrenaline spikes, anger in her center as she glares at his fuzzy figure. The man who killed her blew her brains out and threw her away like trash. She still has Yorinobu’s gun tucked into her belt. 

V grabs the gun and suddenly she gets on her feet real fucking easy. 

Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s spite. But it makes her steadier and she knows if it’s the last thing she fucking does, she’s taking Dex down with her. She makes it halfway through the passageway through the trash and takes aim. 

Dex’s eyes go wide, looking over her, she has no idea what she looks like. But she’s sure it’s horrifying, a walking corpse. 

“H...fuck!?” her contact struggles to read his lips, but she tries to fill in the blanks, practically laughing. 

“What’s wrong Dex, you come to see if you can get it right this time? Think you can manage to not fuck it up this time?” 

“How...fuck...alive?” 

“Bad news, apparently one of us has shit aim, Good news is it ain’t me.” 

And she pulls the trigger, directly through the center of Dex’s head. Brains and blood spraying as he hits the ground, dead at her feet. And she expects to feel better, for her, for Jackie, for Bug. The man who set this shit show up is gone, the man who blew her brains out, would have Jackie’s too if he had the chance, is gone. But she just feels empty, body still a mangled mess and standing in a landfill. 

Then she sees a flash of black fabric, a person. Before she can raise the gun or do anything, there’s a hand of flesh and chrome grabbing her wrist. Arm twisted and she’s yanked over, losing her balance, crying out as the gun falls from her fingers. The hand over where her blade would come out, when she tries to let it out it won’t budge under the grasp. She’s pulled back and towards them, back knocking to her chest as she struggles to fight a grip strong enough to crack bone if she let it. Their other hand is on her throat in a moment, tight and crushing as she’s pulled flush to their chest. 

V gasps as the hand tightens, already damaged vision blurring further as she gasps for air. Calloused fingers and chrome digging into her windpipe, tears stinging her eyes. She scratches and claws with her bad hand, but can seem to get a grip on him. Held tight to their chest, she cranes her neck, fighting the hold on it and looking up with darkening vision to see him. The bodyguard from Konpeki, brown silver ringed eyes and long graying hair pulled back off his face. Metal etched face like stone as he strangles the merc. 

What bit of strength and consciousness she regained is sapped quickly under his heavy hand, body starting to go limp as she starts to pass out. Then she’s thrown to the ground, on  her hands and knees as she tries to break the fall; gasping desperately for air. She feels even weaker now, adrenaline fading, pain hitting her again. Why is an Arasaka fucker here? Who the hell sent him? Did Dex drag him here? 

She twists to sit down, leaning against a rusted fridge as she touches her bruised throat. The guard stalks closer, shiny shoes walking through muck before he crouches down in front of her. Her contact subtitles start in Japanese before trying to translate what bits they catch from his lips. 

“Arasaka-sama….found….father’s killer,” his eyes staring her down, “...her….no...doubt. Yes. Expect… hour.” 

He’s going to drag her in, throw her to the non-existent mercy of Arasaka. Flashes of those memories, Johnny’s death, if it’s even real and not just a story from her damaged brain. But she remembers his death, the pain of what they did, every neuron on fire. Is that what they’ll do to her?

“Go fuck yourself!” 

She gathers all the spit and blood in her mouth, she hopes traces of puke too out of spite. And she spits on him, right in his face, all she can muster. Spittle coats his bearded face and she feels a moment of sick satisfaction, no matter how small. 

“Quiet!” 

He backhands her, a sharp slap that forces her head to move. Then he wipes her spit off on his sleeve. Her vision blurs, consciousness threatening to slip away as she feels his hands lifting her up. The world going dark for a moment as she’s carried away by the bodyguard. 

When the world returns for a brief moment, she’s in a passenger side seat, laying against the leather. The driver side door opens and she watches as he sits behind the wheel, for a moment his eyes linger on her. His nose wrinkles in disgust as they start to drive out of the landfill. 

“...smell...shit.” 

She wants to cuss him out, but she can no longer summon the energy. Blood loss catching up with her. If she’s lucky, she’ll die before she ever sees the inside of an Arasaka interrogation room. They can play with her corpse to their heart’s content, as long as they don’t get anything from her. Her eyelids are heavy, the world going dark again. 

It’s a sharp pain that brings her back, a choking gasp for air as her entire body convulses, pulling at raw nerves and muscles. The UI in her contact blinks system malfunction, blurring distorting, glitching already damaged vision. Every part of her seizing, she has to remind herself to breathe, tell her heart to beat. 

Chrome etched fingers push an airhypo into her hand, the guard is twisted up behind the wheel, holding at his stomach. He’s hurt, but how? Why is he giving her first aid? It could be a trick, but she takes that risk, knowing she’ll die without something anyway.  She wraps bloodied twitching fingers around the airhypo and punches it directly into her chest, a needle of medication plunged into her system. A brief booster of relief. Her lungs able to breathe, pain numbing for a moment, muscles relaxing. 

The wind is whipping as he drives. An orange sky around them, car driving down a a highway, the sun just starting to come up. Beautiful for a moment.

tHE she goes to toss the hypo container out of the convertible, throwing it right into the face of a man driving a motorcycle up along side of them. His eyes an intense red, optic glow. Dressed in Arasaka uniform, his eyes on her. Friends of the bodyguard? The motorcycle accelerates, moves in front of them, then the man pulls a gun. Another motorcyclist races past the drivers side. Glass shatters as bullets blast the windshield. A third one weaving into the fray. The long haired guard punches the gas, ramming into the back of one of the bikes. It sparks and flames, sending it’s rider flying before the motorcycle rolls off the windshield over their head. 

The hell is going on? Why is he fighting his own men? Why are they fighting him? A black and red gun is pushed into her hand, the intention clear without words. Half blind, half dead, but hopped up on a booster; she takes aim. 

Its not her best work, firing at the cyclists. She focuses on the one lingering towards her side, closer to them. She aims for tires first, bullets sparking and pinging off the bike, but not quite make the impact she needs. V tries hard, tries to focus harder on his head, trying to land a headshot as the pair continue to shoot at the car. The movement of which does nothing to help. 

His motorcycle starts to flame up, streaks of red flickering as he rides. When it stalls in the middle of the highway, the long haired guard hits the gas harder, catching the front of it and destroys it, sending him across the road. 

They get neck and neck to the other rider, cold red eyes glaring at them before drifting off to another lane, picking up speed before he guns it back towards them, slamming the bike into the side of the vehicle. Knocking the car off course, they slam into oncoming traffic, head on into someone else's car. But the long haired man doesn’t slow down, swerving pack into their lane, too quick, as he ends up half on the curb. The side of the car scratches an NCART stop as the guard turns them around; driving in reverse to face the motorcyclist. He drives head on towards them and V starts shooting again, trying to get clear aim. 

One lucky shot hits where she needs, bike combusting and rider flying. As breathing gets harder for her, her muscles start to tighter, pain in her...everything starting to come back. The boost of adrenaline from the hypo is fading. And another motorcycle comes speeding at them, riding through the dust and smoke of the former. How many are there?

The bodyguard starts to turn the car back around, a vehicle merging clips against them, sending the civilian car right into the path of the motorcycle. He hits the hood of it, motorcycle sparking and man sent flying, but he leans into the launch of it, mantis blades extending from his arms as he lands on the back of their car. 

And the flames weren’t just from his bike, he’s more metal than flesh. Charred remains of skin giving way of the metal bones beneath. He sweeps his blades back and forth, the rock of the car and the heat of fire on his skin making his aim messy, just missing their heads. He flips to the front, clinging to the grill of the car as the bodyguard drives. 

Mantis blades sink into the hood as the man starts trying to climb his way up and to them, a flaming metal skeleton with half melted skin. She desperately tries to shoot him off as he pulls himself forward, a turn pushing him back, but the grip of his blades through the metal stays. He just nearly reaches, swiping a blade out but a swerve of the car makes him miss. A blade hooks into the dashboard in front of her and he punches out the other, stabbing between them. 

“Traitor!”

Her contact reads the words on the man’s lips, clear as day. The long haired guard, Saburo's own bodyguard; a traitor? 

The car smashes into the bottom of a billboard, cracking and buckling. Her head slams against the dashboard, darkness swimming through her vision, consciousness fading, she’s not sure how much more she can handle. She blinks, but maybe it was more than a blink, the long hair guard gone. 

Then her door opens, hands hook beneath her arms and she’s dragged out of the car, across the road. Taking in the crash. Pinned between the car and a pole, the flaming metal exoskeleton of a man convulses, mouth opened in what looks like a scream, maybe he still has nerve endings. His body is crushed, his bladed arms swinging out. 

Hands leave her body, the guard crouching in front of her, his movements slow. He’s injured too, clutching at a bullet wound. She tries to focus on his lips. 

“Do not pass...again.” 

“No promises…” She croaks out. 

“...eyes...open…” 

Her eyes drift to whats left of the other man, still struggling, still pinned. She levels the gun with his head as best she can, pulling the trigger and putting him out of any pain he may be in. Or may she’s simply saving her own ass by killing a witness. She’s not entirely sure. The bodyguard takes the gun from her hand, looking at her like he’s caught a child misbehaving. She lets out a soft laugh. 

Bleeding out on the highway, skull caved in, a mangled corpse. And she laughs. Maybe her and Jackie aren’t that different, maybe he’d be proud of her…maybe. 

“We both...medical attention. Do...know...ripperdoc… trust?” 

“Vik Vector.“ 

“Must...quickly,” 

“He can help, he’s the best.” 

“Have...get...somehow. Call...anyone.” 

“He’s behind Misty’s Esoterica in Watson, you’ll get there faster without me… I’m...not...gonna…” 

“Make the call.” 

He speaks slow and clear enough, the contact translating perfectly. He’s got no reason to want to save her, she doesn’t know what his game is. But, she sends a call through her holo, to Delamain. She doesn’t know why that’s the first thing to come to mind, maybe the cab will tell them to fuck off, the ride paid for by Dex after all. But the taxi service is the first thing that comes to mind. The avatar comes up in her contact. 

“Greetings, my scanner indicates you are outside the service area.” The contact reads him clearly, maybe the holo feeding subtitles better. 

“Pick me up, please… I have to get to Vik’s clinic, behind Misty’s Esoterica,” she tells him, her eyelids starting to grow heavy again. 

“Of course,” he agrees with no hesitance, “a vehicle en route. It should arrive in less than twenty minutes.” 

And her eyes close, blinking and eyes going dark again. It feels like only a moment. 

But when she opens her eyes again, she’s in a Delamain, stretched across the backseat with her head in the guard’s lap. He’s leaning over her, able to see through blurry vision, the heavy gray around his temples and the blood splattered across him. His hands are pushing through her hair. 

“Please proceed to insert the jack below the ear, though not too deep. There should be auxiliary neurosockets between her lymph nodes, beneath the SCM muscle.”

The subtitles filter across her contact, Delamain by the choice of words, but she’s not reading his lips. Unable to look directly at his AI avatar, she's not sure how, but doesn't have the energy to question it. The guard holds a jack between his fingers, brows furrowing for a moment. 

“...hit vein...mistake...die.” 

“As she will if you do nothing.” 

“I think I have the socket…” 

“Now proceed to connect.”

The world goes dark again, V barely able to stay conscious for more than a moment. This is it, she’s really dying. So much for laughing in the face of it and making Jackie proud. 

And when she opens them again she’s being pulled from the back of the car, the guard’s hands hold her. His grip is slipping, barely able to lift even her small frame, he’s hurt badly. Familiar hands interrupt, stronger in this moment, a ripperdoc glove on one hand. Vik pulls her from the cab easily lifting and holding her. He starts to walk away with her, the Arasaka bodyguard starting to follow, but his steps are staggering. 

“Can’t..” 

Then he’s falling, hitting the ground of Vik’s garage, his back leaning against the Delamain cab as he clutches at his bleeding arm, his face starting to go gray. V can feel the reverb in Vik’s chest, cracked open skull leaning against it as he calls out. 

And it feels like a blink. Just a moment, a bit of darkness, but the world has shifted again. A bright bright white light glows over head, she’s on Vik’s operating table, the ripper doc standing over her. 

“It’s neurogenic shock, she’s dying,” Delamain’s subtitles come across her contact. 

Tears burn at her eyes. This is it, she’s really dying, after all this trouble. She’ll bleed out in Vik’s chair. Vik’s lips move, but the contact reads nothing, only a blip. He twists and turns her face where he needs her. 

“There is risk of-”

Vik cuts the taxi cab AI off, but she doesn’t know what he says, light too bright to see anything else. Only able to catch the movement of it. And she’s been expecting this, each moment since Dex shot her feeling like her last. But this has to be it the end, heart slowing again, eyelids heavy again. Her skull has been cracked open, brain exposed to trash and air for the past several hours. She’s been bleeding out for god knows how long. She was never going to make it out of this, was never meant to. 

A billion thoughts dance in her head, of Jackie, of all that’s happened. She reaches out and grabs Vik’s shirt, bloody fingers twisting into the blue of his shirt. Her grasp is weak, but Vik stops when he feels the feeble little pull on his clothes, looking down on her. And he looks so scared, green eyes wide as he stares down at her. 

“I’m sorry…” 

Its all she can think to say, she’s sorry. She’s sorry about Jackie. She’s sorry she didn’t listen to Vik. She’s sorry she took the job. She’s sorry she couldn’t save him. She’s just sorry..  And she hopes Misty hears it, hopes it gets back to Mama Welles. Hopes they know she’s sorry, hopes they know she tried… 

And it all goes dark again, that void that welcomes her time and time again. She doesn’t expect to come out of it, truly she doesn’t. Stuck in the dark for who knows how long. 

For a moment the world comes back, mind fuzzy, she can see Misty checking something. Wants to reach out and touch her, say something. But her body won’t move, her mouth dryer than the desert. That Arasaka guard is in Vik’s other chair, Vik working on him. And she blinks again. 

Vik is at his work bench, watching a boxing match. Her clothes are changed, her skin cleaner than it was before, her vision glitching but no longer halved. Does she still have contacts in? The question is foggy in her brain, barely formed before she’s falling into darkness again. 

The guard and Vik are standing before where she lays. How much time has passed? The long haired bodyguard looks healthier now, healed up, dressed in white. Not a trace of blood on him, no more gray in his face. 

“How is she?” Subtitles form across her vision, clearer than usual, able to pick it up at a further distance. 

“Slower on the mend than you, but lookin' better every day.”

Day… has it been days? Her eyes are drifting shut again, unable to keep them open for long. But the void doesn’t greet her this time, instead fuzzy dreams...memories. Being on a stage, being at a nomad camp. Sometimes she’s her. Other times…. 

Her eyes open again. And this time the Arasaka guard is closer, hands fussing with something. Touching her shoulder, her skin. He pulls away after a moment, then taps her shoulder, a heavy pap against her flesh. Then she’s gone again. 

Dreams and memories drift into each other. 

Drinking in some shitty bar with Misty and Jackie, capping the night off with booze as they talk let loose after a week of shitty jobs and annoying customers, She throws back her favorite bourbon and cherry coke, but it turns to tequila in her mouth. Shot glass hitting the table, Misty and Jackie replaced with Kerry and Rogue, snickering as she grabs another shot. 

Vik repairing a knife wound in her gut, teasing her nose for trouble, but when he goes to turn he becomes Milt, a man she knows, though she doesn’t know why.  He’s replacing her liver for the third time that month, tells her she needs to cool it on the booze. 

Entangled in the sheets with Sabrina, a short lived flame. But when they twist to roll over, its not Sabrina looking up at her. A blonde with freckles across her nose and soft green eyes instead of the dark haired woman V thought she could love. 

She’s on stage, screaming lyrics into a mic and the noise doesn’t bug her, she screams her rage, her message. But fingers meet guitar strings and the world shifts, electric axe becoming acoustic. A dirty club becomes a tent and instead of playing to a crowd she’s in her mother’s lap, mom humming Rhiannon as she teaches the young nomad to play. 

Busting through the doors to Arasaka tower, nuke on her back, but the doors open to Yorinobu’s suite, Jackie shushing her to stay quiet. As if she’s ever struggled to be quiet. 

She’s got a blade in the side of Konpeki Plaza, grabbing Jackie, but the moment her hand wraps around his wrist she’s the one dangling, holding onto Rogue as she dangles above Arasaka Tower. 

Sometimes who’s in what memory switches, changes. Sometimes it’s her setting off the nuke in Arasaka, painted nails clicking against the bomb. Sometimes it’s tattooed and silver hands softly correcting Jackie’s sign language. 

It all blurs and blurs and blurs until she’s not sure who did what. Who’s the deaf merc and who’s the rocker who nuked a tower? And her head aches to keep track, to know who she is, the pain building and building which each twist of it, each change in those dreams that muddy the waters of who she is and who he is. Until the pain is overwhelming. 

“Argh ahh, fuck!” She gasps and screams out, waking up in agony. She grabs and clutches at her head, trying to soothe it. 

Hands come and touch her face, looking up at Vik, eyes kind as he slides a spare pair of hearing aids on her. Able to hear her own panicked breathing as Vik soothes his hands across her jaw. 

“V? You in there?” he asks her, his wording strange, who else would she be? 

“Vik..” she speaks and signs, hands trembling and voice rough, her vision still glitching and distorting. Her torso is wrapped in bandages, a pair of pajama pants on her for modesty. There’s more bandages wrapped around her head, down her forearm. There’s no markings of the mantis blades on her right arm. 

“How you feeling?” 

“Everything hurts...visions...do I have contacts in?”  

“Yeah… lots to discuss, kid,” he says, swallowing hard and crossing his arms, “had to install optics on you…” 

“What?” Her eyes are gone, replaced with tech, just that easily. The eyes she sees through no longer the ones genetics or her father gave her, but corp created metal. 

“Bullet damaged the optic nerve, I had no choice, I-” 

“I know,” she says, arm and hand too sore to sign,  Vik would never install them if it wasn’t necessary, she trusts that.

“On a brighter note, switched you to the projectile launcher.” 

“Huh?” She checks her left arm, indentations of chrome, similar but slightly different from the mantis blades. 

“The blades work best together, I would have just repaired the right and spruced up the left, but… when the blade ripped out, the muscle was damaged beneath it. It can’t support anymore cyberware, to install a new blade in it, I’d have to remove the full arm. Figured, be better to give you the tech you wanted more, anway.” 

“I owe you, a lot, seriously. May...take longer to pay you back than I thought.” 

“That’s, uh, that’s not the most important thing right now. V, what do you remember?” 

“Dex… shot me and then I started seeing things…” She explains, sitting up a little straighter and pulling her knees closer, body aching at the movement. 

“These...hallucinations, describe ‘em to me.” 

“There’s a lot, it’s like, I’m someone else, but still me. Seeing someone else’s life. I’m on stage in some grimey little club, bright lights. I start playing, screaming into the mic, letting out my hatred...screaming out a message. Got something to say, desperate for anyone to listen. Then I finish the set and… head my ass to Arasaka Tower, nuke the whole damn place… I don’t know if it was a dream or. I know it sound’s ridiculous.” 

“Not ridiculous at all, kid,” Vik tells her, nodding along and sitting down, fiddling with his glasses, a nervous tic she’s rarely seen. 

“Night City looked different, older and I hated it. Then… they killed me, Arasaka scorched me with something, every nerve frying. It felt real, so- so fucking real, I knew it wasn’t me but it felt like it. Never had a dream like that…” 

“You weren't dreaming, V. Those were memories. There's a personality construct on that shard, Dreams you had were from his past.”

She blinks, processing the words for a moment. That makes sense, when she thinks about it. Commercials for the relic advertised it as a storage for a person’s engram, something akin to an imaginary friend. It didn’t cross her mind in the moment, but logically Jackie and her should have seen someone with the chip slotted in… Right?  But either way, she had a chip with someone’s intel, she got fucked up and maybe the chip activated, triggered, and showed her whoever was on it. Johnny… who gives a fuck. 

“Okay, so, it was just the chip… Where you put it?”  It may be too hopeful, but if the chip is in good enough shape, Vik is savvy enough, he may have had a container that would work. If so, she may be able to get in contact with Evelyn. Close the deal, for Jackie. 

“V… I…” 

“Did it get destroyed?” She reaches up to her chip slot, without thinking, touching her fingers against it. 

“Don’t touch it,” Vik yells out, calloused fingers wrapping around her wrist just as she feels the edge of something in her chipslot. He didn’t pull it, which is odd enough, but why is he so worried of her doing it?

“Why? Something wrong, if the chip is fucking with me, I can just pull it out, right? No harm, no foul.” 

“It’s not that simple, V.” 

“What do you mean, it’s not that simple? Its just a shard, a chip like anything else.” 

“Not quite, you two're connected in a way I can't make head or tail of.” 

“Connect- what do you mean, me and who?” 

“Johnny Silverhand. A terrorist - real talk o' the town back in my day,” he lets out a heavy sigh, leaning forward , “ Anyway, that's not what's important right now….” 

And there’s something in the way his body language changes, the shift in expression. She’s seen him worried to death, seen him nag her time and time again. Tell her in a thousand different ways she had to stop knocking on death’s door or it’d start knocking back. But he barely meets his eyes now, face drained of color, like he’s the one who took a bullet. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was about to cry. 

“So, new eyes, new chrome, and reliving a terrorist’s life; none of that's important. So, what exactly is?” 

“You, uh, don't got a lot of time left, kid,” he tells her, voice cracking in a way she’s never heard. 

“Wha-what do you mean?” She’s hurting sure, that’s to be expected, but she doesn’t feel like she’s on death’s door, not anymore. She should be out of the woods now.

“ The biochip… It's basically a bomb, fuse lit already. You don't have much time left, much… life. A few, maybe six months tops. Silverhand's construct is overwriting your consciousness - gradually taking over your body until one day you'll just be… gone” 

He can only meet her eyes for a few words at a time, blinking and looking away each time his eyes start to look watery. V’s breath catches in her throat, Vik’s words pinging around her skull. She believes him, no reason not to, he’d never lie about something like this. Hell, she doubts he’d ever lie at all. Death has teased her relentlessly all her life, but never so much as it has in this past...day, weeks? Since Dex shot her, moment after moment of thinking she’d met her end. Each time convinced it was the end, that she’d bleed out in a motel, thrown away in landfill, die in Vik’s chair. 

But this… this isn’t what she imagined. A bullet, a knife wound, a quick hack, someone’s chrome; all things she could see taking her. Bleeding out in an alley, in a car, shot point blank dying before she hits the ground. Those are merc deaths, the kind of death that’s been awaiting her. Culled at the hands of her family, a quick clean captive bolt shot to the skull. 

Becoming someone else, mind twisted and warped, a terrorist taking her place. Her brain and being carved away to let someone else take root. Is it even a death? Or just ceasing to be? Rewritten, reworked, turned into someone new. A terrorist, a rockerboy; taking her place, wearing her like a cheap suit. 

Vik rubs at his forehead, refusing for another moment to make eye contact, giving her a moment. Letting this settle in or maybe he’s just trying to collect himself, after another beat of silence he meets her eyes again. 

“V. It's important you get all this,” he tells her, but, Vik can help her. He’s the best, pulled miracles out of nowhere, for fucks sake, he pieced her head back together. The fact she’s here right now means…

“That’s okay, you’ll fix me up. Right, Vik?”

And his face falls, a quiver in his jaw, “If I could, I would, V, believe me. But this is… Way beyond what I know how to do.” 

“You're the best of the best, Vik,” her voice is higher than she wants, shakier than she’d like, as he puts his head in his hands again,  “Why can't you help me?”

“Want the long story or the short?” He sits up straighter, takes in a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. 

“I want- I need to know everything, Vik, what’s happening to me?” 

“OK. There was, is, a construct, a psyche on the chip. That of Johnny Silverhand. You jacked it in your chipslot. Nothing happened, right? Until you died.” 

“Shot point blank by Dex Deshawn...how…” 

“Low caliber - you lucked out. Not least thanks to another poor decision by Mr. DeShawn. The nannites off the chip started fixing the damage. Biochip revived and... short-circ'd you. Started uploading data into your head. As far as it was concerned, your brain was an empty vessel that needed to be filled by the engram it was carrying.” 

“But-but, I’m here, this is me. I’m me, I-” 

And he nearly breaks, she can see it in him, A grown man, old enough to be her dad, looking down like a kicked dog. Like he’s about to break down in tears and when did she start crying? Her eyes stinging, tears running hot down her cheeks, she doesn’t know when the dam bursted, when her voice started sounding so pathetic. But...this is her, she’s here, she doesn’t want to become someone else… 

“The shard doesn't read, it writes. Headache of yours? It's the biochip rewiring your neural pathways, building new neural structures, doing away with the old. From the biochip's perspective, your brain cells are a tumor that needs to be scooped out, while your body's an empty shell to hold the construct. You’re….just a cancer, an intruder.” 

An intruder, a cancer in her own fucking body. It’s almost poetic, if it wasn’t so infuriating. Her body trying to destroy itself for years and now this chip is joining the fight, like her body was never meant to be her’s. But it is, this is her. Years under someone else's thumb; she fought for the right to herself, her body, her life. And now some wannabe rockstar is out to ruin that?

“So, that’s it? Johnny What’s His Fuck is out to kill me? Booting me out of my own damn body and taking my place?” 

She tries to turn it into anger, blaming him, because who else does she blame? Anger is easier, safer, she can work with anger better than the anguish in her chest, the tears soaking her face. 

“It's not willful on his part. It's automatic, inevitable. And neither of you can stop it.” 

The finality makes her choke. Nothing to do. Nothing to stop it. This is happening. All she can do is wait to rot inside her own body, wait for the moment where Johnny claims it as his own. She’ll be gone, wiped, the world forgetting she was ever part of it. Just a weak little merc killed by her own body, never truly meant to be here in the first place. 

“Ca-can’t we just take it out? Turn it off-I, something?!” 

“Either way's out of the question. You'd die, immediately.”

“What do you mean?” “Chip saved you… it’s killing you, but, it’s also the only thing keeping you alive. Without it keeping your brain going… life support and a death sentence, all in one. “ 

“Vik, you’ve always come through for me, there’s nothing you can’t do. If-if you can’t help...what-what the hell do I do? Please… I,”  Vik stands up, looks at her like she’s already gone, arms crossed over his chest, “Vik?” 

“I wish I knew, kid.” And he turns his back to her, walking away. 

“Vik?” 

“Misty!” He calls the woman’s name half in a yell and half in a sob, breaking down. 

For a moment she’s left alone, wiping tears from her eyes. The look on Vik’s face trapped in her mind, looking at her like she’s already dead and this is her funeral. Looking at her like a wounded dog. Like her mother  and sister did when she lost her hearing. Pity, despair, mourning what’s been taken. And she cries into her hands, because this time it’s not her hearing. It's her everything. Years of trying to feel like she had an ounce of fucking control, just for it to be taken. Years of searching for a place in this world, for the world to tell her one never existed. Her own brain reworking itself to be anyone else, even a terrorist. 

There’s a creak of wheels against the floor, a wheelchair being pushed into her peripheral vision. Misty’s pushing it towards her, V doesn’t lift her head to make eye contact, just watching the chair wheels spin. 

“You're askin' too much from an old-timer like Vik,” Misty speaks softly, touching V’s hand and the merc finally meets her gaze, “C'mon, V, let's get you home.”

Misty helps V into the wheelchair, the merc’s legs shakier than she expected, and she curses under her breath. She hates it, needing the help, needing Misty’s hands to steady her. Feeling weak. But Misty helps her happily, wheeling her out the garage of Vik’s clinic to a car. Misty tucking her into the passenger seat and helping buckle her seat belt when the merc’s hands are too clumsy. 

V watches the world go by as Misty drives, looking at the city that passes by. A world, a city, she wanted a place in. That she wanted to respect her, to know her. A world she wanted to matter in, to prove she was strong, to feel like she meant something. And now she’ll just vanish from it, with no one caring. A world that will never miss her, because it never knew her to begin with. 

And a part of her wants to climb across the console and into Misty’s lap, to throw her arm around the older woman and sink there. To hug someone who to some extent, if only because of Jackie, cares about her, who maybe, just maybe she matters to. But for a billion reasons, ranging from the fact Misty’s driving to the fact she can’t imagine why Misty would ever want to hug her. While kind, V can’t imagine anyone wanting to curl up with the person who got their boyfriend killed. V promised to keep him safe and couldn’t. 

“You wanna talk, V, about what happened?” 

V doesn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say, there’s so much swimming in her head. So many words that just die on her tongue. Does she talk about Jackie, does she apologize? Does she act selfishly, talk about what’s happening to her? It’s all a mess. Then they’re pulling into the parking garage of V’s building. Misty gets the folded up wheelchair out of the back of her car, holding a bag with V’s belongings in it, bringing them to the passenger side. The older blonde opens V’s door and helps her into the chair, wheeling her to the elevator. 

The doors to the elevator close, ads playing across the screens, V fiddles with the fabric of the sweatpants that Vik put her in. She tries to speak, words don’t come out. She tries to sign, her fingers clench but don’t move beyond it. The elevator shaking as it takes them up to V’s floor. 

“Its-it’s all so hard to make sense of…” she finally says, just being honest, as the doors open and Misty wheels her down those dirty halls. 

“I know it is, sweetie, you’ve been through so much.” 

“We were just stealing the chip and then everything… went to shit…. And, and, then he died and I thought I was gonna die too with him in my sleep...if that’s what it was, like I was dreaming but...not.” 

“Sleep's a… Small hint of death, the inevitable,” Misty tells her as they reach V’s door, the older woman scooping up a box by the door as the merc unlocks it. 

Memories of her door fucking up flicker around her head, Robert Linder… No… that’s not possible. They hadn’t even touched Konpeki yet, but she swears she knows that name. That it’s him, his birth name. Robbie, Robert, before finally settling on Johnny. Her throat feels tight, chest constricting, how is that possible. Then Misty is pushing her through the doors. 

“I-I can't actually tell if I'm awake now, right now. Nothing feels real, I mean, I could be dead already, right?”

“Not something to think about right now, V,” Misty tells her, stopping the chair by her bed, before coming to stand in front of her, “Here, got some meds for you.”

There’s two pill bottles in Misty’s hands, blue and orange. She crouches down in front of V, meeting the merc’s eyes without looking down at her. Misty rattles the blue pill bottle. 

“Omega blockers - taken regularly, they'll keep things from progressing too quickly. Also, they should keep that guest of yours calm, quiet.”

Quiet. Because she’s going to see him, going to hear him, already has. The memory of hearing his voice, seeing him above her in the landfill. She’s not alone in her own head and putting him in a chemical straight jacket is all she can do. She takes the blue bottle from Misty, shaking the pills around inside, her only hope of squeezing out even six more months of life… before she becomes someone else. 

“Pseudoendotrizine's from me,” Misty shakes the orange bottle, “Effect'll be opposite. It'll speed things up, free the demon, so to speak.”

V takes the second bottle from Misty, shaking them around, as the older woman stands. Suicide pills… Misty is giving her a way to kill herself, only instead of getting to go to sleep and never wake up, it will speed him up. Rewrite and rework her. Death without the dignity of a true end, one day she just won’t be her.  She’d rather bleed out, rather have been left to rot in that landfill. At least then she would have died as herself.  Least she wouldn’t have to watch and feel as she becomes someone else, as she loses everything that makes her, her. And Misty wants to speed it up… wants to watch her die quicker… 

“Giving me a pill to kill myself… so I can die faster…” V’s broken little voice comes out and she see’s Misty’s eyes go big for a moment, soft and looking at V like a dying animal. Just a sad little thing to be pitied. 

“Listen, you're likely to be fine for a while. But some time down the road. It could turn into pure agony. I'm givin' you options, honey.”

“I have painkillers...I-” 

“Your psyche's gonna die, V. You'll feel… your old self slipping away. At some point, you won't recognize yourself. It'll be terrifying. It'll be painful. But it doesn't have to be.”

V nearly cries, but forces it back, thinking of the road ahead of her. The finality in Misty’s voice echoing Vik’s. So, why is she here, six months of suffering? If she’s lucky. She should have been left to die, least then it’d be a quicker one. A real one, instead of just becoming a stranger in her own body, instead of being rewritten, replaced. 

“Might as well just blow my brains out, be easier.”

Misty shakes her head, “Well, that way you'd kill two souls. Is that what you want?”

And maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. V isn't quite sure of the answer, herself. She just doesn’t want to hurt like this, doesn’t want to be here in this moment. Doesn’t want this.  A clean death is easier, instead Vik pieced her back together just so she could suffer. She thinks of laying down in the landfill, before she saw him, and wishes it back. To lay down in the muck, a bleeding mess, and never get back up. 

“I think...I need to lie down,” she says, her bed never looking so tempting. V pulls herself from the wheel chair and sits down on her bed, legs over the edge as she just feels herself sink into her mattress for a moment. After a moment, she feels Misty sitting down next to her. 

“Here,” Misty holds something in her hands, soft green eyes looking at V, “got one more thing for ya. Vik pulled this outta your skull.’

Misty gently pulls on V’s wrist, touch gentle as she makes the merc roll her hand over and presses a necklace into her palm. A circular pendant on a chain, wires suspending a bullet in the center of it. The merc rubs her fingers over the metal, the bullet that killed her. 

“Wha-?”

“A lucky charm?”

“Haven’t you heard, I got a terminal case of bad luck.” 

“Don't be silly. As long as you're alive, there's hope. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

Misty says that and a part of V believes she believes it. But she said not moments okay, with that same confidence that V is going to die. And the merc can’t help but wonder if Misty even knows which one she believes more. How could V possibly stop this? Vik doesn’t even know what he’s looking at, how the hell could she? Her brain is destroying itself, turning itself into someone new. How do you stop that?

“Really think I can survive this?” V asks, just wanting to know how Misty really feels, if there’s any hope in this situation. 

“'Course you can. I mean, you did already die and come back once, didn't ya?”

“Technically...I guess.” 

“Promise you'll try to get some sleep?” Misty pats her thigh and starts to get up. 

“Misty, wait, um I, about Jackie...” She tangles her fingers in Misty’s sweater, voice catching, she can’t let her go without saying something about him. Misty sits back down. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m, I’m...I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I…” 

“V… “

“I can’t believe he’s gone… It doesn’t feel real…” Tears burn at V’s eyes, falling down her cheeks with a blink. 

“Jackie…  was special. Really spiritually rich. He touched so many people with his love. Don't worry, he'll be around. I don’t think… we ever truly lose the people who meant something to us, a part of them always stays with us, ya know?” 

“Maybe… he… talked about yout lots, you know that? He loved you to pieces.” 

A soft smile starts to pull at Misty’s black painted lips, before it falls again, fingers messing with her hair as she weighs what V’s said. 

“We got into a fight right before he went off to do this job.”

“He wasn’t mad at you. I hope you know that, loved you more than anything.” 

“I know. I just… wish our last moments together could have been… different.” 

“Sure you'll be okay?” 

Misty is too good for all of this, truly, she deserved so much better. And V just wishes she could have brought Jackie home to her.  Misty chews her lip and after a moment she nods, looking up to V. 

“Life is so beautifully powerful, so much more powerful than death, so yeah, I’ll be fine. Not today and probably not tomorrow, but I’ll get there. And so will you.” 

“Maybe…” 

“But right now,” Misty squeezes V’s shoulder,  “you need rest. So sleep, please sleep.”

With that desperate plea, Misty stands up, pushing the wheelchair out through V’s apartment. She only stops once, casting a final somber look at V, as if checking to see if the merc has moved at all. Then she leaves. And V is left alone with her thoughts, with her worries, with her guilt, and fear. 

Body and mind heavy with the weight of it all, she takes out the loaner hearing aids that Vik gave her and pushes herself back into bed. She lays down, feeling the soft of the mattress sink underneath her. V takes another look at the bullet pendant, holding it over her head as she stares at the thing that killed her. Pried from her head and now in her hand, it seems surreal. Everything feels that way lately. 

She lays her head down on her pillow, holding the pendant close as she lets herself just relax for a moment. To just let this all go if only for a few hours, to let her mind and body rest, to figure out what she’s going to do when the morning comes. Her eyelids grow heavy, slipping into sleep. 

There’s an odd, almost electric sound that starts to gently stir her from sleep, like a tv glitching. Followed by a soft thunk, thunk, of something hitting something else. Her heavy eyelid slowly pull open. A man against the wall between her bed and window. Overgrown dark hair, aviators hiding brown eyes, dressed in a bullet proof vest and leather pants. He thumps his head back against the wall, a pent up energy drawing every muscle in his body tight, like a tiger about to pounce. 

“Gotta get out of here, understand? And I kill anyone who gets in my way.” 

And he’s on top of her, in a flicker, a flash, he’s suddenly crouching over her body, staring down at her. Close enough to smell cigarette smoke and a hint of sweat, close enough to see the dirt that clings to his skin, scratches in his flesh.  His silver hand presses against the mattress beside her head, 

“You included.” 

She flinches and kicks out at his warning, the gravel of his voice promising to end her if he has to. And he’s gone, just as easily as he arrived. A dream?  Her heart hammers in her chest, breaths shallow as she tries to calm down. 

Her mind is still foggy  as she starts to sit up in her bed, then she hears the glitching sound again, the thumping noise of a head hitting the wall. V swallows a lump in her throat, blinking at the man who’s back against the wall, thumping his head. 

“Need a smoke,” he demands, seemingly annoyed he has to say it, “where’d you stash yours?” 

A stranger in her apartment, in her mind, trying to bum cigarettes. Her hearing aids still tucked away, yet she hears him clear as day. It’s all surreal. She can’t bring herself to answer immediately, still half out of it, her vision seeming to glitch as she moves. A cyan fuzz to the world as she slowly sits up on the edge of the bed and brings herself to stand up, looking at him. He’s not real, she has to remind herself, even though he looks and smells like it. Just a figment in her head, threatening her life and demanding nicotine. 

“D-don’t smoke.” Is all she can think to say, as stupid as it is, thankful for a moment she can’t hear herself say it, can’t truly take in her own idiocy. As if that’s the most concerning part of this whole mess. 

“Then go out and get some! Just need one last one!” He screams at her, making her flinch, head hurting already. 

“Jesus christ, man,  calm the fuck down.” 

“The fuck kinda joytoy are you s'posed to be?” He sneers at her, looks down his nose at her. Heat and anger rush through her, face warm, asshole. Snide, fucking prick. Not worth it, though, just some asshole rattling around her skull. 

“No, I- I’m not dealing with this.” 

She shakes her head and turns to go to her closet; grab some clothes, pop the pills, take a shower, and figure out what to do from there.  Then he’s in front of her, before she’s even made it past her desk, hands slamming into her chest as he pushes her back. She cries out as she hits the ground, pain shooting through her already injured body. He stands over her, right hand pulled back, ready to strike and his left in front of him. 

“Who you work for? Start talkin'!”

He points a chrome finger at her and her left finger points back him, moving without her consent, world glitching with cyan fuzz around her. She tries to clench it, to pull it back, to control her own body. But nothing and behind his eyes, she sees him looking. Testing it, he unclenches his hand and her own mirrors the motion. He twists his hand around and hers does the same in turn, in perfect sync, like she’s just a puppet. She tries to pull her hand down, but nothing. 

His right arm moves and her own follows the motion, no matter how much tries to pull it back, as muscles aching from her rebellion. Her body listens to him, not her. This can’t be happening, he can’t control her, he can’t make her do things. Vik said six months, it's barely been hours and she already can’t move her own body.

“Fuck…” The man above her curses, turning his palms to his face, her hands doing the same. 

For a moment, she considers begging him to release whatever control he has on her, if he even knows how to do it but stops herself before the broken plea can be heard, nothing but a soft noise dying on her lips. Disgusted she would ever have to beg to have control over her own body, cursing herself as his right hand pushes back into his hair. Her hand does the same, pushing through her hair to rub over her chip-slot.

“Fucking chip,” her fingers pry at the biochip without her permision and she’s reminded of Vik’s warning,  “Rip the thing out myself!

Let him, let the dumb bastard kill them both; she decides just before he tries to rip the chip out. Fingers prying at the damage tech left in her skull,  And she screams, like a shock to her brain, a bolt through every nerve as her vision glitches. Her body tenses, seizes, and somewhere she hears him yell too.  World going dark for just a moment. 

Then red dances across her vision, world and sense slowly returning, she’s somehow twisted to face her window. Not sure how she ended up there, if she had a seizure, if he dragged her. But it looks like he gave up on prying the chip out, because shes’ alive, she thinks. There’s that blue fuzz and static floating around her vision again as she starts trying to get up. 

Before she can get both feet under her, there’s a hand wrenching into her hair, twisting the strands around his fingers and yanking. She cries out as she’s pulled up to her feet by her hair, freshly stitched together scalp being pulled on. V presses her hands to the window sill and glass, trying to get her bearings as she’s pulled back back by the hair. Her reflection stares back at her, her pitiful face wincing in pain, Johnny behind her pulling her around like a ragdoll. 

“I’ll take control!” 

It’s a snarled yell into her ear, his breath on her neck as he slams her head against the window, the a heavy sound of flesh cracking against glass. 

“I’ll find a way!” 

He reels her head back and does it again, glass starting to splinter and break apart under the force. Then he pulls her back, twists her around to face him, moving fast. Hands quick and harsh, tearing at her skin as he wraps both around her throat. Flesh and metal cutting off her air as he slams her against the window, head bouncing against it as she claws at his hands. Finally in control of her limbs, but unable to do anything as he cuts off her air, leaning close enough for her to smell the smoke on his breath. 

“You hear me?!”

He screams in her face, brown eyes glaring over his aviators, harsh and burning into her skin. She can feel the hatred, the anger, all coming off of him in waves. It swims in her head and chest, pressing against her own fear as he strangles her, a snarled look on his face. He wants to kill her, to see her go limp and die under his hands right then and there. She knows that, can feel and read him, knows it as well as she knows her own name. 

Just as darkness pinpricks her vision, she feels the air return, rushing into her… just a moment before he lets go, letting her slide down the window onto the ground. She’s in no place to question it, sucking in deep grateful breathes, lungs burning for it as she watches him pace. 

Haphazardly, she pulls herself to her body, sitting on the edge of it; putting more distance between herself and the window he seems so fond of. She digs through her pockets, finding the omega blockers Misty had given her. V needs him gone like yesterday, to vanish like a bad fucking dream. 

“Not like that!” He yells and smacks the pill bottle from her hand, metal fingers stinging her skin and sending the medication across the room. 

“Fuc-ah!” V yelps as his right hand wraps tightly into her hair, again, yanking at the roots as he forces her to look directly at him, unable to see his eyes through his aviators. 

“Stick some iron in your mouth and pull the trigger!” 

He lets her hair go to reel back his hand, it cracks across her cheek in a heavy smack that sends the merc reeling to the ground. Sharp pain pinkening her cheek as she braces her hands against the floor, everything hurts. Her scalp torn at, her cheek struck, and her throat bruised. She feels it all, a brutal assault as real as anything she’s ever felt. 

“I can feel it,” he talks as he walks across the room, glitching with her vision, “our minds… touching…” 

Across the room, she sees it, beneath his pacing feet is the bottle of pills knocked down. Every muscle seizing, legs refusing to work as her body seems determined to shut down on her. But if she can just get to the pill she can shut him out. 

“I'm like mold on fruit… creepin' into you… Nothing I can do about it,” he rambles to himself, voice tight and angry as she drags herself across the floor, trying to reach the blockers. 

“You hear me!?” He yells, crouching to one knee just over them, taunting her before he flickers across the room again, “I'd puke if I fuckin' could!” 

She focuses on the pills, he’s irrelevant, not even real. Even if he feels like it, even if every strike and yank has left her hurting, he’s not real. V is nearly there, stomach rubbed raw at the drag of her body over the floor. She just needs him gone, far far away, put into whatever corner of his mind she can lock him away in. 

“It's just a copy of the engram - I'm out there somewhere, gotta be…” He keeps talking, keeps rambling, won’t shut the fuck up. 

“Just leave me the fuck alone! Get the fuck out, just go!” 

“Lead to the head is the only thing that’ll fix it,” he points his fingers like a gun at her head, before dropping to a knee in front of her sneering, “hear me bitch!? A bullet to the fuckin’ brain!” 

She grabs a pill from the floor, cramming it in her mouth and swallowing it try, rolling over onto her back as she begs for it to work. And he flickers into view, standing over her, looking down at her like she’s less than filth. Before he glitches out in a mess of static, cyan fuzz erasing him. 

And there’s a moment of relief, left in silence, safe from his hands. Safe from a touch too real for a brain supposedly only in her mind. Him being gone brings a moment, a glimmer of hope, the merc able to breath. To know for however long the pill lasts, she won’t be struck, or taunted. Won’t be plagued with his voice, the rough boom of it still ringing in ears that shouldn’t have heard it. 

This whole thing, the chip, her inevitable death… Vik said Johnny couldn’t help that, had no choice. And she knows from his memories he was put in the chip against his will. 

But this was a choice. The hair yanking, the choking, the screaming, the threats, all of that was his choice. And he made it clear, if it was up to him she’d just die faster. If it was up to him, he’d get the satisfaction of killing her with his hands rather than the chip. A stranger in her body, in her mind, able to control her and he wants her dead, he wants to hurt her. 

She cries, because what else can she do? Tears rushing out anew, it seems to be all she can do lately. V has no idea how to handle this, no idea how to stop it, how to keep him from getting control back. She doesn’t even know how long the pills will last, no clear dosage or instructions, just ‘regularly’. It feels pathetic, crying and weeping with no idea of how to fix it. But she allows herself that much, laying on the floor surrounded by pills, a new intruder in her body; she cries and curls into herself, hugging herself like a child. 

#cybepunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #female v #original female character #original female v #goro takemura #vik vector #misty olszewski #fem v #aidan becker #aidan v becker

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Nine): Lazarus Rises

Notes: I’m on a roll with writing this. I’m honestly, a little nervous with sharing this chapter since i go more into Johnny’s backstory and like...my headcanon of it since CDPR gave us nothing. But hopefully it works. I also haven't written Johnny's voice in a while, so ahhhh. 

Word Count: 12098

Chapter Warnings:  Death, brief mentions of child abuse, drug use, alcohol, war, ableism, pov switches but not in the usual way.

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

 Oblivion wraps around her like a blanket. 

There is no existence. 

No pain. 

No world. 

No V. 

No Aidan. 

Every anxious little thought, every guilt soaked burden; swept away with the reaper’s scythe. Years of running and death has finally caught her. 

Then all at once it seems to let her go. 

It's a flicker at first, neurons firing up again, rewriting and rebuilding themselves. No true sensation or senses; just existence. World still dark and lost to her, but not she is not lost to it, or some version of her isn’t. 

Pain hits her before anything else, a crack in her skull, or where her skull should be. She has no sense of her body, only the vague notion she exists and is in pain. And when every sense returns, the world coming back…. 

It’s not her own. 

There’s a fog around her, a fuzzy filter muting it all. Like trying to recall a memory from too long ago. And she sees and she hears, in a body that isn’t hers. She’s smaller, the world seeming to tower around her. A blazing sun burning overhead in the bright blue of the sky. Playing outside on a sweltering day with bruised knees and grass stains on cheap children’s jeans. A mothers voice calling for Robbie to come home for lunch. She catches a reflection in a puddle, there’s a blur to it, but the dirt smeared face of a dark haired boy looks back at her...at himself… for a moment. 

The world shifts and with it comes a pain she can’t truly feel, a belt whipping through the air and welting a back that isn’t her own. Vision blocked by skinny arms marked with cigarette burns, hiding a face from the next lash. A boot gnashing into his side, the thick fog protecting V from the pain he feels. When he clambers to his feet, spitting blood she can’t taste, despite seeing vignettes through his eyes. He walks through a musty home, where the floorboards creak and threaten to break under his feet. A mirror showing a dark eyed boy with a split lip. 

Then she’s watching the hands of this boy she doesn’t know, playing guitar. He plucks and strums at strings until they bite into his fingers, until he leaves them speckled with blood. And then he plays more. Gifted an acoustic, stole his first electric but forgot to klep the amp alongside it. 

Playing in a musty crowded garage with a young boy with olive skin. Each playing away on instruments, the sounds and words all muffled to V. The pair play badly until they play great, she doesn’t hear, but she knows… 

Tequila and cigarettes before he’s old enough to buy them. V can faintly feel the burn of the booze and the warmth of the smoke. 

Stealing anything that can be tucked away in his pockets. Spray painting every wall he sees. Cherry bombs in mailboxes, picking a fight with anyone who sets him off and most people do. The faint burning of anger in his chest, she can feel it as if it’s her own. In and out of detention centers, a system that can put him away for petty theft, but never lift a hand to stop his father... 

Military reps scouting out young, poor troubled boys, seeing nothing but canon fodder when they look at him. 

Knocking on the door and that same olive-skinned, dark haired friend answering. She can hear the words but knows what’s being said without them. Both fog and clarity. ‘Robbie’ is enlisting, off to say his final goodbye to Kerry, a name she doesn’t know how she knows. He comes running down the street after him, before ‘Robbie’ can get too far away. Neither old enough, children. One made of lank and the other with baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. But the military knows boys can take bullets just as well as men. They need bodies, age irrelevant. Forged documents with Robert John Linder scratched across it. That name...

Blurs of training, a mop of dark hair shaved from his head. Separated from Kerry, stationed in different platoons, finding another friend who sticks by his side; both hardened by the military. Lank becoming muscle. Give optics, interface plugs, tech he doesn’t want, but they pry open his skin and put it in anyway. Anything to make him a better soldier. 

Then they’re in combat, muffled gunfire. People brutalized; shot, blown apart and chrome shoved into whatever remains; treated cruelly both by the enemy and the corps that shipped them out there. The heat of Mexico and the smell of gunpowder. Enemy ambush, the faint ting of a grenade hitting the ground. Then Robert is on the ground, shoved there and the body of a friend draped over his own. A heavy boom, shrapnel tearing through his left arm and size, burns across the skin. But nothing compared to his friend…  A grenade meant for him is taken by another, the pair rushed away to medical attention when the air clears. 

He wakes up without a left arm and scars across his torso, pulling tight at his skin. His friend gone, remains thrown out and tags offered to Johnny, the man who died for him nothing but a number, canon fodder in the corp’s war. Not even a day passes before they’re shoving chrome onto what’s left of Robert’s shoulder, eager to give him another chance to die for them. 

So, he runs, deserting and heading to a Night City that V has never seen. He climbs into a dirty motel bed and refuses to crawl back out, watching a ceiling fan turn until Kerry pulls him out. Older, more weathered, still young but neither of them quite the children they were before they saw the war. 

And music becomes his life. Kerry and him scream their words into any microphone they can find. Blaring concerts, they sound as if they’re coming from three rooms over to the merc, but she can feel the energy through the memory. Long nights writing lyrics and melodies. A band forming around them, three more members coming into the fold. Grimy smoke filled clubs and a cramped pathetic excuse of a tour bus. Shows that turn into riots. 

Cigarettes and tequila aren’t enough anymore. He pops pills like candy, snorts anything that will go up his nose, drinks everything but vodka, and fucks any pretty thing that looks his way. 

A woman with freckles and blue mohawk kicks his ass when she catches him balls deep inside a groupie. 

A blonde thrown into the back of a van. 

An anger and rage burning like wildfire in his chest. 

It all blurs and rushes; V never fully feeling what’s going on. All senses are fogged, seeing the snapshots of someone’s life through his own eyes. But she doesn’t feel linked, still distanced from it all. Barely able to think or decipher what she sees through the haze of it all. Just watching blips of a life not her own flickering by, with knowledge she shouldn’t have. 

Its the feeling of graffiti covered steel pressing against hands that first pushes through the fog. Hands that feel like they’re hers, but aren’t. One inked flesh and the other chrome. V can feel the body move as if it’s her own, but she has no command of it, muscles flexing to open double doors. Surrounded by the halls of a grimy little club. She can smell smoke and sweat, she’d gag but she can’t seem too. 

There’s music somewhere, muffled by distance but nothing else now. 

Fog lifted, she's both connected enough to it to feel everything, but separate enough to question what the hell is going on? There’s a tangled mess of emotions in her...his…. Their head. Her own fear, anxiety, mingled with a burning rage pitting in his core. 

There’s a girl leaning against the dirty wall of the club, watching V...or whoever she’s stuck inside of as they walk down the hell. A little smile playing on her lips. Thoughts flitter around V, in a voice that’s not her own. Chick’s cute enough, might of been worth a quick fuck, if he wasn’t rushin’ for time. 

“Hey…” 

V wants to ask her what’s going on, if the girl has any idea, what the girl sees when she looks at her. But her hands don’t move to sign and when she feels her mouth move, a different voice, different words, come out. The same rough voice that thought of fucking the girl in a dressing room. 

“Hey.” 

“You all right?” 

No, none of this is alright. V screams inside a head not her own, but she can feel the pride rolling in his chest, a smirk on his face. There’s an anger mixed with it, he’s going to settle a score, leave a mark. Those thoughts and feelings rattling around. 

“Never been better.” 

“Sure don't look it…’

There’s a scoff in his throat, she’s got no idea what he’s got planned. He continues around the corner, a man at the end of the hall standing before a set of double doors. The letters above say its backstage. Green hued fluorescent lights only draw attention to the grime as his boots click over the floor. That smell of cigarettes and sweat still hangs heavy around her, she thinks it may be coming from him, the man she’s playing passenger in. Oh god, that smell is him, isn’t it… 

What the hell is even happening? Dex killed her, didn’t he? 

“I can't let you on!” The man yells out at him. 

The fuck he can’t. His anger flares, a sliver left arm brought up, slammed into the guy's throat as he’s shoved into a wall,  a gun held in chrome fingers. There’s a mirror against it and V can see the man she’s living life through now. And those foggy vignettes press at her, he’s much older now. Face angry and with a scruffy beard, dark hair grown to his shoulders. 

His name was Robbie..? Robert.. ? Something, like that.

“Hey hey, we're chill,” the man begs ‘Robert’. He certainly looks too old to be a Robbie.

‘Robert’ lets the guy go with sneer, furious the guy would ever try to get in his way as he marches towards the doors. Abandoned music equipment and the music shoots in volume, a man blocking ‘Robert’ from getting up to a stage. Where four people play what sounds like older dad punk rock.

‘That smack, drag drunken roll

Chips are bashin' in my top

Ridin' high, my slots are shot

Metal burnin' beneath my skin

I'm chippin' in, chippin' in’

V would wince if she had control of her face, his face, does she even have a face anymore? The music is good, but painfully loud, something she could enjoy if only she could lower the volume. Phantom limbs she no longer has urge to turn the volume down on hearing aids that don’t exist. 

“Heh… 'course you're high.”  The bouncer in front of the stairs rolls his eyes at ‘Robert’ then steps aside.

‘Robert’ climbs up the short staircase, music painfully loud to V but exactly where he feels at him, bright lights down on him. A familiar face, Kerry from ‘Robert’s’ memories, is the one who sings. 

Until he’s pushed out of the way, gun still in ‘Robert’s’ hand as he grabs the microphone. Looking out into a crowd of people who stare up at him, an entire club room of people cheering and yelling for him. Shirts with tha bright red demon symbol, Samurai across it. Adoring fans, hearing his words, people who know his message, heard it loud and clear. Common men and women beaten down by the corps that rule their lives, that tear them all down for the chance to make an eddie.  And tonight he’ll show them all there’s a bite to his bark; he’ll make his mark, topple Arasaka and do what he should have done years ago.  

“Tonight I'm…” he pauses, leaving that mark may be the death of him, he’s damn near sure it will be, “I'm here to say goodbye to all of you.

And he begins to play to the cheering crowd, a final show before he changes the world.  V would cry out if she had the mouth to do it. Music shakes the venue, ‘Robert’ playing guitar and screaming lyrics into a mic, completely taking the show from Kerry. He channels his anger, his fury, into his music. Screams his rage into the mic. And it's a cacophony for the merc tucked in the back of his skull. She can feel her own stress and pain, but she also feels his energy, his love of this. Even through the anger, he knows that this is the place he belongs. 

This is hell, she thinks as he sings. The idea that every hell is tailored to an individual, everyone has their own personal idea of torment. This is her’s. She died and now she’s doomed to live in the head of some foul smelling rocker who plays nothing but music her sort of ex liked. Surrounded by loud sounds, foul smells, and no control. This is hell, her own special little hell. And she’ll be stuck here forever, for being an atheist or bi or a whore or a murderer… one of those did it. 

After an agonizing hour, the show closes down. More sweat is now clinging to her current vessel’s body and V mentally screams at him to take a shower, but no panicked thoughts seem to reach him. He’s completely unaware of her...presence… in his head. Sweat slick, ‘Robert’ puts away his axe and lights up a cigarette; smoke settles in his lungs, the cloying taste of tar sticking to his mouth. But there’s a relief in him, a tension leaving him, nicotine soothing him if only for a moment. 

Two women are settled down on the steps of the stage, in clinging tacky clothes. Groupies there to claw their way into the pants of anyone who’ll have them, entire fucking lives dedicated to riding the dick of someone more important than them.  Because playing fleshlight to a rockerboy is the closest they’ll ever get to making a difference in this world. 

“You're wastin' your lives, followin' us around like dogs.”

If she had hands she’d hit him. The women scowl at him, obviously taken back at the rockerboy talking down to them, like he hadn’t been thinking of fucking a girl just before the show. Like his eyes didn’t look over the curve of their asses and cleavage. If one of them asked he’d be inside of them in a moment, just has to make them feel like shit first. 

“What crawled up your ass?’

‘Robert’ sneers and rolls his eyes, walking past the stage. His fingers wrapping around the door handle, he was thinking about something he was going to do, toppling Arasaka. There’s a determination in his walk, a goal he’s marching off too, still hints of a soldier in his steadfast gait. The hell is he planning? How could some rockerboy take down a mega corp? There’s a faint but steady sound past the door, a whirring sound. 

“Johnny, wait up!”

He turns, answering to the name she hasn’t heard until now and it’s Kerry running towards him; chasing after him like he did all those years ago, when he followed ‘Robbie’ right to war. She’s not sure if it’s her or ‘Johnny’ remembering it. 

Kerry is older now than he was in the memories, though he looks younger than Johnny. A tall fluffy mullet of dark hair, a scraggly mustache, and a half finished sleeve of ink on his left arm. His hand wraps around Johnny’s wrist, pulling him the rocker closer. 

“Don't do this,” Kerry warns, “You can still change your mind.”

“Get over here man,” Johnny pulls Kerry in closer, a hand cupped to his friend’s face,“Fuck this band. Not your crowd, not your noise, do your own thing.’

They’re close enough to see the scar above Kerry’s lip and the freckles that dot his neck. Johnny taps his finger against Kerry’s chest as he brings his hand from the shorter man’s face. Kerry’s always cared more for the music than the message, more about fame than impact, Samurai more Johnny’s baby then his. But fears kept Kerry from chasing that solo dream as much as he wants, dipping his toes but never taking the chance to fully dive in. Kerry always needed a good kick in the ass to get where he needs to be, might be the last one Johnny can ever give him. 

“Bastard. Tsh… Gonna miss you something awful.”

There’s a softness in Kerry’s voice and smile, a fondness that only comes from lifelong friends. A soft warmth nestles in Johnny’s chest as well, for the first time she feels his lips pull into something she can almost call a smile. 

“See ya in the next life, friend.”

With that Johnny puffs on his cigarette and turns, leaving out the door, the whirring growing louder. The source of it shown; a helicopter landed outside the club, blades spinning and whipping up dust. A woman stands nearby, a wild teal mohawk, someone Johnny knows, fuzzy memories of a tumultuous past. 

“You're late,” she yells out over the sound of the chopper. Hands on her hips, eyes glaring at him. Always tries to play like she’s pissed, but never could resist him. 

“Love it when you're mad. Gets my southern blood pumpin',” he teases with a grin and V can feel the reality of his words, a throb in his dick behind his leather pants. And she doesn’t like that, her discomfort at feeling what it’s like to have a dick oddly mingling with his lust. 

“Get in. 'Fore I change my mind.”

Johnny makes his way to the helicopter, climbing inside, blades achingly loud. Two people already sit in the chopper. A man with chromed skin and fatigues, a woman fiddling with a computer. Her face is obscured by a helmet and visor, only black painted lips showing. 

“Silverhand,” the man greets him. 

Johnny...Silverhand… 

“Hey, Shaitan,” he greets as gears start to turn in V’s head, a head she no longer has. 

Johnny’s ex, Rogue, comes walking towards the helicopter as he turns back to the open doorway. Her name only known through Johnny’s thoughts skittering around her, but it sounds strangely familiar to V as well. Johnny extends a hand to help Rogue into the chopper, but she ignores him. Prideful bitch, he rolls his eyes. 

“Get us in the air,” Rogue yells to the unseen pilot, shoving a headset into Johnny’s hands, “here, put this on, and it stays on, got it?”

Johnny pulls it on and the helicopter starts to take off, the world falling further and further below them. The sign at the top of the club comes into view; The Hammer, Johnny taking another drag on his cigarette as Kerry steps out the back door. Silverhand flicks the out onto the cement as his friend watches the chopper fly off. 

As the helicopter flies through skyscrapers and towers, V struggles to take in where they are. Night City, but not. Towering buildings and screens blasting ads, par for the course in the city of broken dreams. But the ads are for products she hasn’t heard of or ones discontinued and no longer sold. The buildings look rougher, not quite the same slick clean look of the city she’s come to know. 

A city consumed by corps, a vile cesspit with ads as far as the eye can see, each desperate to wring out one last eddie from the masses. The entire system designed to crush people too apathetic to do a damn thing about it. Exploited, violated, used for a profit, and thrown out the second the corps get what they wanted. And the people just take it. No longer questioning why there’s no more farms, only land stripped for profits and nomads forced to abandon their homes. No longer questioning why real food is a rarity, why the priciest drink on the market is filth free water. No longer questioning why someone like saburo is pushing a hundred and the average Night City citizen won’t see forty. Corruption and apathy, best friends united to create the city of broken dreams. He’d burn it all down if he could, but truthfully can’t imagine himself anywhere else…

So… he’ll burn it all down, die for it if he must, and something better can be built in it’s ashes. 

A building in City Center holds a large holo-display showing the time and date; August 20, 2023… Fifty years in the past, the day Arasaka Tower was destroyed. And given his thoughts, she knows where Johnny is headed. That name, Johnny Silverhead, rattles through her. She’s heard it before, a few times. Half listened to conversations with Ava about music, where V would just nod and hope it earned her pity kiss. A name brought up by Jackie when discussing the tower being blown up, shots thrown back in… Rogue’s bar. The older woman with gray hair and the young adult with a wild teal mullet are one in the same. 

V is in the foul smelling, cigarette smoking body of a rockerboy turned wannabe terrorist on his way to set off a nuke that will kill over a quarter million people. 

“Piers're on fire. Pacifica's cut off, shut down. APCs on the streets of Watson,” Shaitan explains, stationed at the machine gun turret beside Johnny. 

“Sons of bitches.” 

“Skull-crackin' out there… that us?” A voice, the pilot maybe, asks over the headset. 

“Johnny's idea. Weyland's drawing Arasaka's attention away from the tower.”

“Collateral damage part of the plan, too?”

“This isn't the cub scouts, Thompson, Chew it up, spit it out,” Rogue tells him, no hint of fear or remorse in her voice as the chopper starts to come around a tower. 

A pillar of black metal with the Arasaka logo emblazoned at the top of it in silver. Levels of the tower get smaller towards the roof, from the distance there’s the bright red flash of holo warning signs forbidding entry. As they ascend higher and higher, the barrage of Arasaka soldiers and turrets atop the tower come into view. 

“Target range acquired.” 

“Make it rain,” Rogue commands and Shaitan begins shooting off the machine gun turret. 

Gunfire rings through the air, Arasaka soldiers yelling out as they fire back, automated turrets beginning to fire at Shaitan. The chopper stays rotating, hovering but never still, to avoid being shot out of the air as the chromed sniper works to clear the roof. Blood painting across the metal as Shaitan blasts through them. 

“Fuck!” 

Enemy fire, Arasaka fire, blasts through, Pinging against chrome and metal, practically sparking. A lucky shot, or three, ripping through Shaitan’s shoulder and he screams in pain, falling onto his back. Rogue yelling out as she kneels down to check on him, Shaitan convulsing in pain. 

“Taking over!”

Johnny takes over the machine gun, optics connecting with the turret sights. Arasaka soldiers flood the roof, nearly impossible to keep track of them; not even a moment passes before Johnny is firing off the gun. It's rapid and brutal, an onslaught as the reverberation of it shakes his body. But there is a hint of strategy beneath, taking out the automatic turrets first, blasting each one until they explode into shrapnel. Only when the final one is in sparks does he turn to the soldiers, Their sidearms can’t compare to the heavy fire. Blasted full of hole at rapid fire, blood and brains spraying. 

A body of corpses and shrapnel left across the roof. He pulls away from the gun, unzipping a duffle bag. A white constructed mechanism, wire, switches, and a giant nuclear energy warning across it. He’s about to plant a nuke in Arasaka. Fucking stop it, you idiot, all you do is cause more harm than good. She tries to scream inside his head, but nothing comes of it. The helicopter lowers down closer to the tower roof. 

“Murphy?” Rogue calls out. 

“Found our access point. Get moving.” 

“Johnny, remember the plan?” Rogue asks as Johnny zips the duffle bag and slings it over his shoulder. 

“Get the payload on the elevator,” he jumps from the helicopter, “arm it, let gravity do its thing. Explosion rocks the foundation, tower crumbles - chaos, screaming, roll credits.”

He pulls out a gun, a heavy duty pistol, Malorian Arms 3516, Last True Friend etched in it.He spins it between his silver fingers, flourishing and completely unneeded. It’s smartlink tech, synching with his cybernetic arm. And she can feel a sort of dampening of his feelings and emotions, that rage burning in his chest starting to simmer down, a colder more calculated anger taking over. 

Rogue and Murphy run ahead of him, across the roof, through the piles of bodies. Johnny follows behind them down a flight of stairs on the side of the building. 

“Exit window's gonna be tight,” Rogue tells him, brandishing her own side arm as she comes to wait by a door. 

“Jacking in,” Murphy connects a small computer into an interface, “Is grass green, do birds fly, do cats eat bats, do rats shit gnats?”

“Mainframe's not your playground, Murphy, c'mon. Evac announcement - broadcast it across all frequencies and let's get movin’.”

“Sheesh, who wrote this manifesto?”

“Really need me to answer that question?”

“Jesus, Johnny, you've gone of the deep end. And that's comin' from chairjock,” Murphy tells him, interface with a spider avatar drifting across the door, before it slides open. 

Johnny rushes through and down a flight of stairs as Arasaka guards running to meet him. He shoots the first in the head, point blank, brains splattering. The gun is powerful, devastating, sending a reverberation through Johnny’s silver arm. Enough that bone would have broken in the recoil. The guard no longer recognizable. 

The second guard stays further back, at the bottom of the second step. Johnny slams a trigger on the back of his gun, shooting flames out towards the guard. The man screams and staggers back, flesh burning as Johnny follows up with a shot through his chest. 

A third one follow, stumbling over burning remains, when three shots go through his skull, Rogue taking him down. The two continue down the spiraling stairs, stepping through blood and ash. The meet another guard at the end, who fires off his hand gun rapid fire. 

“Shred the whole fuckin' lot!”

The pair take cover behind the corner banister, Johnny reloading his gun with another twirl, before jumping back up. He shoots twice through the guards chest, watching the man fall in a bloody heap as they reach the end of the staircase. 

They go through a doorway and two more guards greet them, gun’s trained on the two edgerunners. 

“End him already! That’s an or-” 

The guard's yell is cut off by a bullet ripping through his shoulder, a second through his chest. His underling going down a mere moment later, with a headshot from Rogue; room cleared. Blood soaking into silver and marble floors. Johnny’s eyes focusing on the elevator across the room. 

“Murph?” Rogue calls out the netrunner’s name, her avatar showing on Johnny’s optics as she starts to hack the elevator. 

“She sought it with thimbles, she sought it with care, pursued it with forks and hope…” Poem finished, the elevator doors open.

“Johnny payload.” Rogue yells out, but Johnny’s already across the room, making his way to the elevator. He brings the bag down off his shoulder, placing it down, crouching,  and unzipping it. 

“Bushido II - bomb's name was what?” He asks, in a slow sly voice, entertaining at least himself if no one else. 

“Wrap it up, we gotta delta!”

“The ‘Demolitron’,” he sets the charges with a light hand, “we're good to blow.” 

He stands up and leaves the elevator, no hurry, only determination in him as he walks back towards Rogue. Like this is just a regular Thursday night. 

“'Saka elites incoming! Run for it!”

“Get the fuck out of there, Johnny,” Rogue yells as he steps away, “shoot the cables!” 

He does just that, blasting through the elevator cables, the carriage with the bomb dropping down through the lower levels. 

“Get the rotors spinning! We're on our way!” Rogue yells out to their pilot, but there’s something rattling around in Johnny’s chest. He’s got to save her.  It’s his only chance. 

“Not done yet still need to feed this to their subnet,” he waves a small handheld computer in the air. Rogue’s face twists and grimaces, infuriated. 

“I fucking knew it!” she swings her hand through the air, fingers clenched like she could strangle him, “This was never about "corporate colonialism" - this was about your groupie output wasn't it?!”

“Nah, you wouldn’t understand, Rogue.” 

“Givin' you four fuckin' minutes. Chopper's not gonna wait one sec longer.”

“Door lock breached. Arasaka sons-a-bitches incoming,” 

“Love you, Spider,” he jokes as he pushes through double doors, the woodwork of a lobby greeting him a moment before an armed guard can. 

“Whole world loves me.’

“Fuuuck!” He yells out, something between a frustration and excitement as he blasts a hole through a guard's chest. 

Johnny reloads before stepping out further, quickly having to pull back into the doorway for cover through the marble passageway. Two guards coming from a corridor on the left, a third from the right. The tower is made of rectangular balconies wrapping around, corners and curves to hide around. He fires around the corner at the guard on the left, taking a leg before a second shot takes their hide. 

A bullet whips past his head and he pulls back, guard coming to him, in front of the passageway. He slams his hand on the trigger, a plume of flames engulfing his enemy, before finishing them off with another shot. He rounds the corner and slams forwards into the third guard, knocking them off balance for a moment. Johnny swings his fist out, rings colliding against their jaw, they hit the ground. He fires a shot point blank into their head, continuing on his way. 

A staircase in the left of the room, across from the stone garden in the midst of the balonied section. He rushes up two sets of stairs, reloading along the way. It brings him to the upper level of the stacked balconies, a guard directly across the gap on the other side. The first shot Johnny fires splits the banister in front of the guard, the second shot rips through them. 

Three guards rush out from another room and Johnny pulls back, stepping down some steps, reloading. The movement forces the guards to come through the doorway, one at a time, letting him line up a shot that blasts through two at once, the third gagging as his friends' brains splatter and cling to his face. But he barely gets a moment to process before he’s dead too. 

Johnny runs up the stairs, stomping over corpses, as he goes around the corner. There’s a doorway that leads down to what looks to be a board room. One more guard down with a quick clean headshot, brains now sprayed across a vase of flowers on the table. He walks over them around the corner and towards a paneled wall. 

“Closing in on the access point,” he tells Murphy and the panel opens up, revealing a main frame. 

“Slot in.”

Johnny pulls out a little computer, stickers across the top of it. He flips it open and plugs it into the terminal. A little interface coming across his optics, Uploading Virus: Liberator.

“Sweet ICE-breaker,” the runner speaks up again, “Foreign, right? Just, wonder if we know anyone who can switch the subnet protocol…”

“Hilarious. You gonna help or not?”

“Do spiders spin webs? It's time we caught some flies.”

“Thanks, Murph.”

“Now, just for good measure…”Murphy trails off for just a moment, “Holy cybercow, we’re on TV! Take a look.”

A large TV mounted on the wall pings on, tuned to a news cast. Johnny shifts to the side to watch it. Brief clips of chaos flashing by in snapshots as the anchor talks over them. 

“And we turn now to Arasaka Tower, its evacuation ongoing after an unidentified terrorist organization released a manifesto threatening violence. The terrorists stating their desire to, quote-unquote, "topple a monument to corporate colonialism." Night City's mayor, Mbole Ebunike, has issued a statement declaring that he will bring the full force of the law to bear in response to any act of terrorism. Going now to our reporter on the scene at Arasaka Tower. Hopefully, he can shed some light on this situation as events unfold.”

People might finally wake up. There’s a swell of pride in Johnny’s chest, that this will finally send his message, finally change the world for the better. And V thinks of the rebuilt tower, now with remembrance monuments, but rebuilt and still standing proud fifty years later. The virus finishes uploading, Johnny unplugging his computer and tucking it back in his pocket. 

Took too long, but better than never. Stay safe, Alt. 

“All set. Now get outta there. They're movin' up! Hit the roof, quick!”

Johnny rushes through the board room and around the bends of the squared balcony, heading straight to the double doors on the other side. Just as he reaches it there’s a heavy blast, wood and metal shredding as Johnny is forced backwards. 

Pain shoots through his back as it collides with the floor, looking up where the door was blown through. A man stands in the destroyed remains of it. A tall man in heavily armored Arasaka garb, wielding a heavy duty shotgun. Cybernetic arms, a black cyberware jawed, and adornments of metal across his forehead. 

“Shit! That's Adam Smasher!”

Adam Smasher, the same borged out man protecting Yorinobu? He jumps down from the ledge, hitting the floor in front of Johnny with a heavy thud. He’s different than in 2077, more human, a healthy more flesh colored face behind the cyberware. Fuck, Johnny curses mentally and starts firing shots at Adam.  The devastation of his Malorian doing nothing as they fire into Adam’s cybernetic arms, the top of the line chrome holding up under each fire. 

“Johnny, run!”

He wants to fight, wants to teach Smasher a lesson the borged fucker won’t ever forget. Every fiber of his being screaming at him to stand and fight. But there’s a nuke on a timer, falling down to the depths of  the tower. There’s a helicopter getting ready to fly off. And while he doesn’t mind dying today, expects he just might, Rogue and Spider are waiting on him. He doesn’t need the last thing he hears to be their nagging… or for Rogue to make the chopper wait on him.  So, he swallows his pride, as foul as it tastes, and makes a run for it. 

Johnny pistol whips and shoots an Arasaka soldier on his way out the door, reaching the stairs back out to the roof. The door shuts behind him before any more soldiers can come after him. 

“Murphy!?” 

“Door's sealed, but it won't hold for long. Run, Johnny. Like the wind.”

He can see Rogue ahead of him running up the stairs. She should have been back in the chopper by now, she waited on Johnny. Rogue will bitch him out and nag until she’s blue in the face, but she’d never leave him behind.  Wrapped around his finger, no matter what he’s done. Johnny runs quickly up the stairs, to the roof, three steps behind Rogue as she jumps into the chopper, as it starts to lift off without him. 

“Johnny! Move!”

He jumps, grabbing Rogue’s outstretched arm, fingers wrapping tight around her forearm. Rogue tries to pull him inside to safety, when his fingers begin to slip. Something fires in the background a whistling noise, as his hand catches in Rouge’s, fingers twisting tightly together as she pulls. A boom rings out, hitting against the chopper with a spark and a shake, he slips right from Rogue’s grip, world going out from under him as she plummets back down to the tower roof. His back hits the metal with a crash, head bouncing against the cement, pain shooting through his body. Pain blurs his vision as the helicopter spins overhead, watching as the pilot regains control and they’re forced to fly off without the ill-fated rockerboy. 

Boots thunder against the floor around him, Smasher coming into view. Johnny’s silver arm shakes as he tries to reach for his gun, nerves on fire after the fall. Smasher throws down his heavy shot gun, kicking the gun away from Johnny’s fingers. 

“Smasher.” 

“Told ya, Johnny boy. Told you I'd end you someday,” Smasher all but snarls, a compartment in his cybernetic arm opening, Johnny’s staring down the barrel of the hidden weapon. 

Johnny holds his arm out, only for it to be shot, chrome sparking as it’s blasted. Vision going out as he passes out. It only feels like a moment, a blink and the world returns. 

The rattling of wheels against cement, strapped to a gurney. Bright and silver, a moon hangs high above the skyscrapers. Dirt and dust fly through the air, dancing around him like confetti. Faintly he hears sirens, hears screaming, hears cries. And when he shifts his head, to look further back, he can see the plumes of fire and smoke. 

“Yes, he’s still alive,” the Arasaka doctor wheeling him says, spoken in Japanese, but understood by Johnny...and by extension the merc tucked in the corner of his mind. Everything hurts, no other memory so sharp, so clear. Able to feel every bruise and cut, like she’s truly him. 

“Understood. We're en route,” the worker says above his head. 

And Johnny falls back into darkness again, unable to keep conscious, the sound of explosions and chaos erupting around him as he passes out. It’s impossible to know how long, black void blanketing it all, time losing its meaning and grip on them. 

It's a sharp slap across his face that wakes him back up, blood clinging to his lips. Blinking as he tries to take in his surroundings. He’s tied down to a chair, two guards standing before him. In a slick little room, a stretch of windows across the back wall, a bright mushroom cloud of destruction going off in the distance. Charge should have finished going off by now…

“Your associates - who are they? How did you acquire fissile material?” The guard questions him. 

“Gonna give good cop over there a chance to say something?  C'mooon…” Johnny sasses his interrogator, looking at the second quiet guard. 

Then the guard sucker punches him, knuckles slamming into Johnny’s gut with a sharp crushing pain. 

“Which terrorist organization do you belong to? How did you acquire fissile material?”

Another slap, backhanded and harsh against his face. His head forced to the side where he sees a man walking into the room; an older Japanese man, Saburo Arasaka. The corporate leader walks with his hands behind his back, a younger woman in all black following closely behind. 

“Old man don’t look too impressed with your efforts,” Johnny taunts. 

Saburo and the guards bow to each other, the old man speaking in Japanese, “leave us. I wish to look him in the eye.” 

“Hot damn,” Johnny rolls his eyes,  “done and gone.”

Saburo keeps his back turned to Johnny as the guards leave. The woman sets up a tech station by his chair. Her flingers click against a keyboard, looking at a screen before she finally speaks in a soft voice. 

“My husband died in that tower.” 

And Johnny’s stomach drops, pits with something akin to guilt. He can still see the burning clouds, the explosions in the distance through the window. Something went wrong, charges weren’t meant to be that strong. An evac announcement, charges just meant for the tower, a message. Not this. Casualties sure, everyone knew that was inevitable, but… 

“But there are fates worse than death,” the woman tells him, fixing a metal wreath over his head. Wires connecting it back to her computer system. 

“I… didn’t want him to die.” 

“Why did you do this?” Saburo asks in his native tongue. 

“To bring an end to the madness you wreak.”

“I have found that people lie, most often deceiving themselves. Not So the dead…”  

Saburo finally turns to face Silverhand walking closer, stalking closer. And Johnny spits at him, blood and saliva now sticking to Saburo’s face, red staining the wrinkled skin. There’s barely a twitch to the old man’s face as he wipes the spittle and blood from his face. Disgusted but not stopped. 

“Fuck you!” Johnny yells out for good measure, voice rough in his throat. 

“The dead are so very, very loud,” Saburo scowls, “And yet, lying is not in their nature. It is so… humbling - to listen to the dead speak… Begin.” 

The techie turns a switch and Johnny’s optics start to glitch, distort. Cyan fuzz piercing through the world as a UI screen appears. Soulkiller Primed: Commencing Engram Transfer. An crackle of electricity starts to course through him, a scream leaving him as his body convulses, Neurons cracking and frying as the world around his shakes, trembles, then finally cracks apart.

And V dies, not for the first time. 

Darkness overtakes him, near oblivion. Only the vaguest notion of existence, suspended in time and reality. In a cold black choking void. Enough awareness, just enough, to know fear. Overwhelming fear, terror, trapped under the thumb of Arasaka. Never knowing when, if, there’s an escape. Never knowing what can, will, or has happened. 

Time loses all meaning in digital purgatory. 

And then sunlight starts to breach through. A haze over his vision, like watching sunlight through fogged glass. He can see the sunlight but he can’t feel it, maybe it’s an Arasaka trick. Trying to convince him he’s free, that he’ll ever see the sun again, just to rip it away before he can ever feel it’s warmth on his skin. 

Then the view shifts, like someone turning their head, seeing the world through someone’s eyes. The sun beating down on a campsite, nomads, but their cuts and colors unlike any he’s seen. Not the Aldecaldos for sure, that much he knows. Might be some sort of experiment? Corps have never been above testing shit on people, nomads seen as less than human by most folks in the city, means they get away with it. 

Someone calls the name Aidan, a mother calling for her child, the girl...he’s seeing the world through That feeling that knowledge seeping into him. A tent with an older woman and a young girl, a mirror in the tent catches a reflection, showing him Aidan. A young sunburnt nomad child with dark hair and gray eyes Nearly identical to the other child he’d just seen. 

And in a blink, like a slide changing, the world changes again. Training sessions for the nomad kids. Taught to be strong. The kids made to fight each other, to spar, and losing meant going without food for the rest of the day if they were lucky. A beating if they were considered particularly pathetic. Some nights she won. Other nights watching other kids eat. The worst nights spent in a tent, mother rubbing salve on her injuries. 

She’s taught how to load a gun, repair an engine, and kill without shaking before she’s seen her seventh birthday. 

Members of the ‘family’ culled before everyone. Because they were sick. Because they were weak. Because they were a burden. They could drag the rest of the family down, The Herd must be culled so that they can stay strong. For the best of the family.

Gareth, an older man of the nomad family, gets sick. cancer running rampant in his body, treatment available but timely… expensive.  He’d sneak toasted marshmallows to Aidan on nights she’d be made to go without anything…. 

He begs to die on his feet rather than his knees like most cullings. 

His wish is denied. 

Aidan’s father forces a dying man to his knees, pressing a captive bolt pistol to the back of his skull and killing him in front of the family. For their own good. 

And one day, Aidan gets sick too. Johnny can’t feel it through her, through the snapshots, too disconnected. But he gets a rumbling of it through her. Body aching, head in agony, world constantly spinning enough to make her puke. 

She tells no one. Refuses to be the next one culled, no doubt her father’s rules apply to her. Her sister, the same age and near a picture perfect copy, frets over her as they go to pick through a landfill. Instructed to spend evenings in search of anything useful to the family, to earn their keep. A ringing in her ears, world spinning as the noise builds and builds until silence strikes and she drops to the ground. 

The world has gone silent. She wakes up in a med tent, but can hear nothing. A world of noises and chaos now silent. 

And a stone faced father comes barging in, he’s saying something, but she doesn’t know what.  Flinching in threadbare sheets, knowing the signs of his cold anger, but not what’s driving it, not how to fix it. Nails dig into her shoulder, dragged from the medical tent and out into the midst of the camp sigh. Vision blurred by tears. She yells out what’s happening, but can’t hear the words. 

But she knows the press of the barrel against her head, the touch of the captive bolt pistol, how they cull the herd. She was weak, defective, broken. Nomad family gathered around, watching her cry and scream, unable to hear herself.  Weak and pathetic before them all. 

Then a pair of hands grab her, save her, pull her away and into a hug. Her mother holds her tight, crying, screaming, then kissing the top of her daughter’s head. Whispering words she knows won’t reach her. Aidan is saved, she doesn’t know what’s said. What spared her life. But she’s allowed to live on. 

Her mother and sister learn ASL with her; the only two who never shun her, protecting her too much if anything. The implication clear whether in kindness or anger, she’s weak now. Defected. But her father expects her to work harder, to prove his mercy wasn’t a mistake. That this child earned her right to live. 

She earns hearing aids years later[ and cries when she first puts them in; the world is too loud, too painful. Aidan keeps them low and continues using ASL. 

A homeless teenage girl in a town they ransack; long dark hair and heavy makeup. Calls herself Avarice, they call her Ava. She tries to sign to Aidan and the young nomad girl is in love that easy, desperate for someone who cares enough to meet her even halfway. Despite it all, she begs Ava to join The Herd. Because maybe hell is more bearable when you’re in love. 

She’s dragged to the med tent one night, told she needs a checkup, no rhyme or reason. Knowing better than to fight her father when he’s barking orders. They sedate her, clan doctor holding her down and forcing her into unconsciousness. She awakes with a scar across her lower stomach. Sterilized. So, she’ll never pass along defective genes. 

The next snapshot doesn’t feel much longer after, older but not by much, a year maybe. When The Herd is swarmed by an rival nomad clan, one they’ve fucked over one time too many. Aidan trying to drive one of the cars to get her sister and mother away from the ambush. When a rival vehicle slams into them, a screech of tires, the gnash of metal. Eira and Aidan safe, but their mother is pinned between a caved-in door and the center console, bleeding where shrapnel pierces deep into her legs. 

Trapped until Aidan’s father and a group from the family find them, The three women pulled from a crushed vehicle, the mother the only one gravely injured. Aidan follows as she’s dragged to an emergency medical set up. 

Legs too damaged, it'd require a double amputation, prosthetics or cyberware. Easily doable. Nowhere near beyond saving if they’d act in time, take the time. But they never do, never truly will. Aidan begs for her mother’s life, like her mother did for her. For her father to have mercy just one more time. 

And the bolt pistol is put in her hands. She’s told to do it. To cull her mother, to be strong, to put the family above the individual. A test of her strength. 

She refuses, screams, and points the gun at him. And he mocks her tears, mocks the way her hands shake. He rips the pistol from her hands, she fights and pulls with him. But he’s over a foot taller, stronger, leaves her black and blue; crying on the ground with his boot on her back as he takes the gun and kills her mother. 

And once her mother’s body is burned to ash, she runs.

Years of traveling, towns across NUSA, some faces are kinder than others. Eira and Ava sent to track her down, to kill the traitor. 

Eventually she finds herself in Night City, but not the one Johnny knows. Newer, slicker, brighter. But the corruption and apathy remain, chrome even more common place than it was before. Folks more metal than flesh, every ripper doc with back alley tech. 

She meets a friend, Jackie, Johnny knows his name despite never hearing it. A big ‘tino fucker covered in gaudy gold chains who helps her settle in. Taken into his home. Merc work, scummy nothing jobs, merc janitors at best. Jackie pulls her into a tight hug, the nomad unsure of what to do as his arms wrap around her, face pressed into his chest. 

Then there’s a sharp pain, nerves and neurons firing off as everything is suddenly real. No haze or glass between him and her memories. Face tucked in against fabric, a chest, but there’s no warmth. No heartbeat. Arms wrapped tight around a body that’s cold and limp, one hurting like it’s been ripped open. They feel like his own, it feels like it’s his body. 

He can feel the movement of muscles, the beat of the body’s heart. How the face is twisted up with tears running wet and hot down the cheeks. It feels like him, but it's not. Smaller, thinner. 

No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie….

Thoughts not his own swim around his head, the voice feminine. What the hell is Arasaka playing at? Playing someone else’s memories, trying to make him sit in the backseat of someone else's life? An experiment, they going to try to twist him, fuck with his head?

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” An AI voice asks, in some tech cab with a bleached digital butler staring at her. 

He’s got to find a way out, there’s got to be a way? But how do you leave someone’s head? 

The body, her body, moves without his permission. Able to feel it like it’s his own and he can see just who’s corpse she was clinging to. Jackie… The same guy who took her in, now dead in the back of a cab. There’s a pit in her stomach, a tightness in her chest; he can feel her pain… 

He’s both separate and intrinsically connected, his thoughts and feelings distinct enough, but her own still overwhelming. 

”W-what?” She says...what was her name Aidan, Brayden, Hayden, some shit... Frat boy name on a nomad brat. 

She stumbles over her words, sounds like she barely knows how to talk, might be the blubbering. Fuck if he knows or cares. Her grief, while he can feel it around him, surrounding him from where he sits in her head, is her own. He’s got bigger worries, bigger fish to fry. Former nomad, now a merc, but that doesn’t meant she can’t be with Arasaka. Corps hire mercs, use nomads as scapegoats, all sorts of shit. She could be in on whatever the fuck this is. 

He’s just got to figure out what exactly the fuck this is, what Arasaka’s plan is. A way to get intel from him? Prodding at memories by seeing if someone else’s sparks something?

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family.”

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ” 

Her hands are stained with blood, her forearm has a gash down it. He can see the traces of Mantis Blades, one ripped out. Something happened, flashes of dangling off an Arasaka branded hotel, holding her friend up. Red everywhere, fighting Arasaka guards. Doesn’t mean she didn’t work with them, how else would they somehow plant him in her head, in her memories. 

She squeezes her friend’s shoulders and presses her forehead to his, feeling the cold of his corpse. 

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

She gets out of the back of the cab, she’s dressed like a corpo, he realizes when her eyesight catches her body. White blouse, stained red with blood, black slacks. Rain is pouring down on her, as she walks through a dirty alley. She doesn’t seem to notice Johnny’s existence, his presence in her head. Everything he thinks, tries to scream without a mouth, doesn’t earn him a response. 

Then again, if she is with Arasaka, might be told to ignore him. He’d be pulling his hair out if he had a body, if he existed beyond some former tarmac rat’s mind. She walks through a door into a filthy excuse for a motel, the No-Tell. There's chatter around them and he catches the rambling of a tv, something about Saburo Arasaka. But she doesn’t stay to linger, doesn’t let him fully hear it. Something about the old fucker’s life. 

But she’s at the door of a hotel room before he can hear much, bloodied knuckles knocking against the door. 

“It's V,” She says, knocking again when there’s no answer. V? Since when is she V? Where the fuck did she get V from? 

The door opens and a guy comes out, giant fucker around a foot or so taller than her, so was her newly departed friend. Which begs the question, how tall is she?

God, he’s stuck in the skull of some munchkin merc, isn’t he? 

Everyone, everything is… bigger. A hand on her shoulder, nearly the size of her head stops her from stepping forward. And he hates it, someone putting hands on him, controlling him so easily, he tries to force her hands to punch the ugly fucker. But it doesn’t happen, hands clenched at her side. How the hell does she fight anyone like this anyway, she’s half the height of everyone she meets. 

“He waiting.” 

V, Aidan; whatever dumb fuck name she has is allowed into the motel room. A man inside, puffing away on a cigar, watching the news. He can feel her worry swelling inside of her as she clears her throat, the man doesn’t look Arasaka. But the little runt of a merc has to be attached to them somehow. He’s not one to give Arasaka too much credit, be none if he had his way, but they’re not dumb enough to put his engram in any klepto punk’s head. 

Arasaka uploaded his engram, scorching him with Soukiller, he remembers that. Mikoshi is where they store them, digital souls tucked away, where they got the tech to play with the human mind. If she made it there, they had to have trusted her. 

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?” 

“He’s...dead.” Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips. Stuck in the whiny mind of an Arasaka asslicker, wonderful. 

“Condolences friend and the relic?”

The relic? Arasaka’s ultimate project, what they needed Soulkiller before. There’s always been a constant murmur about it, Arasaka looking to commodify the human soul. Must have finally rolled it out after they fried him. 

“Here,” she explains by tapping her chipslot, is that how he’s here? 

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…” 

“What?!”

But the relic, they advertised it like imaginary friends, or some shit. If he was on that, she’d be able to see and hear him right? Unless Arasaka fucked up… 

“Saburo Arasaka,” the man, Dex, paces, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!”

Saburo’s dead, old sack of shit finally kicked it… and Johnny’s in the killer’s head. Memories, her’s, creep up. Ones he didn’t get in the brief glitches of memories before. Saburo’s body, dead limp and collapsed on a hotel floor. Ripping the dogtags from his bruised neck. Means Johnny won’t get the satisfaction of offing the bastard himself.  

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-”

She stumbles and trips over every word; can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… He’d gag on her feelings if he could, a blubbering child, those memories may be a mystery to him right now. But he buys it, if he couldn’t manage to kill Saburo, he doubts some miserable little half pint could, chick can barely get a sentence out. Which means he very well may still be tripping around in the neurons of some shitty nomad turned bootlicker. 

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave Night City.”

“You don’t say.” 

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.” 

“A’ight, settle down, Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

She nods and makes her, their, way to the bathroom. Dex is going to trick her, pull some shit, Johnny can see it a mile away. Chick’s outnumbered, outstrength, if they think she’s a risk and Dex made it clear he does, he’ll drop her. But she doesn’t see it, walking into the bathroom and settling at the sink. The mirror lights up, showing her face, giving him the first good look at her since those foggy memories of childhood. 

He sees traces of that kid; gray eyes and her face is soft. Young, delicate, but with a heavy layer of blood coating iit. 

Her blood and Jackie’s.

He can taste the bile in her throat, as if his own, can feel the burn of it and the churn of her gut as she pukes into the sink. It's not the first time he’s ended up with the taste of someone elses puke in his mouth, though it’s her mouth, he supposes. She pushes her bleached blonde hair off her face as she retches, streaking blood through it. 

If she would have refused the job. 

If she had gotten them up the ladder. 

If she had been stronger. 

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker. 

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid. 

He tries to shut it out, the knots in her guts, the ache in her chest. Her thoughts spinning around her head and what feels like his. Surrounded by the feelings of another, he can’t fucking live like this, there’s got to be a way out. 

She washes the blood from her hands and face; Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job.

Can she fucking hear him? He tries to mentally scream at her, he’s going to find a way out of this, if he has to claw his way out of her damn head! Slamming him in the head of some grieving merc, that Saburo’s idea of a sick final joke? Making him feel someone else’s pain meant to make him talk? Meant to give everything away? If hell exists, Saburo better be burning or Johnny will set the son of a bitch on fire himself. 

Nothing works, nothing seems to draw her attention. Johnny thinking to a void as she leaves the bathroom. 

She’s punched clean in the head as soon as she steps out the door, to the surprise of no one but her, the rattling of her skull and shock of pain hitting Johnny like it’s his own head. The merc is knocked to the floor and a boot kicks into her gut for good measure. Her head stomped on, beaten to the ground like all five feet of her is a truly dangerous threat. 

“Can’t risk it, V,” Dex levels a pistol with her temple as she writhes on the ground, “‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.”

And Dex pulls the trigger, a bang in the dirty motel room as he fires a shot into the merc’s head. Agony and terror, gagging on blood, darkness, cold, and fear… then nothing. 

And Johnny dies, not for the first time. 

Death relived, but through the eyes of another. The bullet hits. Soulkiller scorches. And the world around the two rewrites at the moment of their second deaths. Reconstructs and digitizes. A liminal space within the net. Structures like the squared mazes of balconies and stairs within Arasaka Tower of 2023. 

But everything made up of digital matter, pixels of color collected loosely to form the shapes against a black backdrop. Nearly everything a shade of blue, but hints of red bleeding through. 

Nothing moves or feels like reality, floatier, less certain. And it all moves, pixels twitching, it all shifts, all seems… alive. 

That where V finds herself, dying again but through Johnny, an echo of the pain from his torture still seeming to stick to her. But when she looks down, it’s her, but not. Like the world around her she knows seems to be constructed of these pixels, data, a bright red hue to her But it all forms to be her. Her arms, her painted nails, her freckles, her scars. They move with her permission, no one else’s. 

But what is happening? 

The biochip, maybe? But it’s meant to show someone like an imaginary friend, not put you in their lives, then send you to the net. At least she thinks this is the net, remembering descriptions Bug had given her. And by all intents and purposes, she should be dead. 

Data around her shakes, reverberates, brightens and stretches across the hall around her. There’s a thrum to it all, that she can hear, no physical limitation in the net… Then it stops only to reveal something new. A flash of bright red, standing out in a sea of blue data. It forms the shape of a person, composed of red data and negative space, their back to her as they lean forward on the banister. 

V signs from instinct, but finds no translator, forcing her to speak, “Hey!” 

She rushes towards the figure, they don’t answer her call, maybe they know what’s happening? But as she gets close, they push off the banister and turn. Their figure blurs as they move away from her, but she sees a closer glimpse. 

It’s a man, not as tall as Jackie, but still over a foot taller than her. Shoulder length dark hair and what looks to be the outline of sunglasses on his digital form. Even in the strange form, she recognizes him. The man’s who’s death she just lived, moment after her own. Johnny Silverhand. He blips away as he turns. 

The flash of red, his form, now further away, on the stairs of the lobby. 

“Hey, sir!” she calls out again, trying to sound vaguely polite as she rushes towards the stairs, he has to know what’s going on. He stands from the stairs and blips away just as she reaches them. 

She runs up that first set of steps seeing his form sitting on the second, “Johnny!” 

And he’s gone as soon as she reaches him, like they’re playing some sort of game, does he not hear her? She knows damn well he’s not deaf, if she can hear in this place, he should be able to. She reaches the top of the stairs, reaching another balcony railing, him around the corner on the adjacent side of the square floor. His back is to the banister, hands on it. Paying her no mind. 

“Robert!” She yells his full first name, remembering seeing it scrawled in chicken scratch across an enlistment form. But she turns the corner and he’s gone. 

But when she turns her head she sees his back again, down a narrow passageway made of more negative space than blue data. She walks across the negative space, hands skimming the data that forms it’s walls, each step taking her closer to him. She heard three different names, unsure of which may earn her an answer. 

“Robbie! Robert!”

Neither name spurs a reaction, he doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak. Only stands at the end of hall, shifting in pace,  as she continues her way to him. And she stops when she’s within arm’s reach, he hasn’t blipped away, hasn’t ran off.  Able to see fully now, the red data particles that form a bullet proof vest, the cyberware left arm. V reaches out and taps a finger against his shoulder. 

“Johnny?” 

He turns to face her and she doesn’t know if she should feel relieved, or terrified. 

“And you? Who are you?” 

Her answer catches in her throat, mouth half open when it hits. White hot blinding pain ripping through every nerve, head and world shattering as she screams. Like she’s been torn open, every part of her stripped raw and set on fire. Everything vanishes from her sight as she cries out. 

V’s contact UI blips, blurry as data fills it, system reboot. Her senses return to her, slowly and steadily as systems reload. The arm her blade was ripped from burns, open nerves exposed to the air. Her head feels shattered, aching as if it’s been broken apart. There’s a stench of trash and filth around her. There’s a weight on top of her, heavy, firm, crushing down onto her lungs. The warmth and stick mess of blood clings to everything. Caked across her skull, down her neck, her arm. 

The diagnostics flicker away, but her vision still struggles. A cyan fuzz clings around and distorts it all. Her depth of field is cut off, half her vision seemingly gone. Not aided by the fact that it’s dark, looking around she can see trash thrown atop her. a cold sheet of metal lays on top of her. Metal and plastic of discarded goods lay beneath and around her, jabbing uncomfortably into her flesh. 

A landfill, if she were to wager a guess, Dex tossed her out like trash. How is she not dead? How hasn’t she bled out?

She doesn’t know the answer, but she knows if she doesn’t do something, she’ll die anyway. Favoring her left arm, the right still damaged, she pushes up on the sheet of metal. Muscles scream in protest, pain shooting through them as she forces herself to put her weight into it. And she rolls it off of her and she can breathe a little easier, move a little better. A bit more light allowed on her. But she still can’t see very well, like her right eye is closed. 

Tempting fate, she presses her hand to it, sees nothing, when she closes her left. The world goes black. She touches the lid, feeling the blood that mats her eyelashes, she pries her eyelid open with her fingers. Nothing. Down a blade and an eye, she needs to move. Vik can fix those, he can fix this. 

She shoves a TV off of her legs, twists up s to see the sky. Silver and orange light color the world, moonlight and fire, plumes of dark smoke coming from somewhere she’s in some sort of pit or ravine within the landfill, a wall of dirt and trash around her. An upward climb to save herself. 

V forces her body to move even as it aches and screams in pain, forces her shredded arm to grip even as she can see the tendons twitching through the mangled remains of it. She forces blood soaked fingernails to dig into dirt and grip abandoned pizza boxes for traction, slips her aching feet in between wires and appliances for foot holds.

“Fuck!” she screams out loud, but can’t hear it, as she loses her traction and starts to slip. She extends her left blade, sinking it into the wall of muck and trash. Her right arm stings, throbs, begs to release a tool it no longer has. 

She uses her blade to help pulls herself, dragging herself up and up with every sink of it into the muck. V’s thankful she’s lost her hearing aids in the process, hell maybe Dex stole them back to recoup some losses, but it means she can’t hear her own curses, her own groans of pain, her own rattling breaths with bruised lungs

And she reaches the surface. Rusted remains of god knows what surrounds her and a trashcan fire burns not far away, but she’s out of the pit. She pulls her feet under her and she tries to stand, body shaking, swaying, trembling with blood loss and pain. 

But for a moment, she rises.

She stands, looking out across the landfill of trash, cyan fuzz still glitching around her,  and for a moment...maybe she’s okay. Maybe she can walk out of this, find Vik, maybe she can be okay. 

V collapses with the next step, body all at once going out from under her, mocking her hope. Mocking her moment of stupid fucking hope as her back meets the mud. It mingles with blood, collides with her gore, and sticks to her open wounds. She lays there in muck, just breathing, her lungs ache with the strength needed just to do that. Each one feels fainter than the last. Her eyes start to close, feel too heavy, her right one might very well already be shut… she wouldn’t know. A mangled mess of who she once was, now laying in filth, surrounded by trash. 

Maybe she’ll not move again… maybe this is a fitting end. A childhood of scavenging landfills, thrown in a dumpster her first night in the city, and dying in a landfill; maybe the world has been trying to tell her something all along. She’d never have to face Mama Welles, Misty, or Vik; never have to tell them she failed Jackie. Maybe she’ll just let all go, never even have time to grieve, maybe it’s best to just let it all go… 

“Wake the fuck up, Samurai. We got a city to burn.” 

A rasp of a voice rings out and she gasps, opening her eyes. A man kneeled over her, one she knows well, but he’s no longer digitized and she’s not looking through his eyes. Silver fingers pull his aviators off of his face, dark brown eyes scrutinizing her. His form isn’t solid, glitches like old vhs footage. 

But...

She heard him. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #silverv #johnny silverhand #cp2077 #fem v #aidan v becker #aidan becker

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eight): Icarus Falls

Notes: Why, yes, I am posting these relatively quickly. This is the last of a backlog since I’m actively still working on the next chapter, This is a doozy of a chapter, both emotionally and length wise, but I’m rather proud of it, if I’m being honest. I recommend settling in a snack and maybe...just maybe some tissues.... 

Word Count: 15327 

Chapter Warnings:  Multiple deaths, violence, gore, grief, angst. 

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V and Jackie get into the backseat of the Delamain taxi. White and tan leather interior, despite looking the nicest she ever has in twenty years she still feels like she might stain the white leather. No driver, instead there’s screens and consoles in the back of the seats in front of them. An avatar of a bald man with stark unnaturally white skin and blue lips 

“Welcome on board this Delamain service. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door,” the AI avatar greets them in a robotic voice. 

“Son of a bitch! Better fuckin' believe I will!” Jackie yells out, still grinning. V lets out a breath of air meant to sound like a laugh, but the lump in her throat isn’t making it any easier. 

“I see no reason why you should be using expletives.”

“Sorry, he gets… excited.”  Her voice is tighter than she wants it to be, her leg bouncing now. 

“Damn right, I’m excited. Hey, Del, what about that time I wanted to hire you for my cousin's bachelor party, huh?” 

“Unfortunately, we do not take on such contracts.”

“Three months I'd been savin' up scratch… Egh, water under the bridge. Hit it, Del!”

“Before we begin our journey, I must verify the identities of all customers. Please proceed to connect your personal links,” the mercs plug their personal links into the console, “Thank you. "Excelsior" package activated.”

Crisp subtitles for Delamain alight along her contacts, more comprehensive than the lip reading tech sometimes gives. Maybe his AI avatar enunciates more properly than a human, she wonders. 

“"Excelsior"? Hohoho, this just keeps gettin' better!”

Jackie laughs as the taxi cab starts to drive and V finds herself fiddling with her suit sleeve. It’s perfectly tailored, but she still feels like a kid in dress up. Having to pretend she’s a corpo, having to pretend to be a hearing person. Her bright painted nails seem to clash so much with the persona and she curses herself for not changing the polish. What if they’re caught right away? The corps smelling Heywood and The Badlands on them the second they walk through the door. What if the spoofed SID hack doesn’t work, what if the bot malfunctions… What if, what if, what if; spins around her brain. They can’t fuck this up, there’s no room for mistakes. One disaster will destroy their reputations, hell their entire merc careers. And that's the best case scenario. 

When she glances at Jackie there’s no hint of nerves, no hint of reservation or fear, just giddy excitement. Like a kid getting ready to hit up a party. 

“What’s got you riled up?” She asks in spoken English, deciding she’ll mostly speak for the ride since Jackie is the only person really here, that way he doesn’t have to look at her the entire time. And maybe she’s also hoping if she talks enough she won’t clam up too bad in Konpeki.  

“Hang on, watch this… Delamain! Initiate combat mode!”

She can see the bright red ink of his tattoo peeking from his suit sleeve, eyes drawn to it, and something about that scares her more; a hint of his Valentino roots showing, would it be a literal red flag for Konpeki security. 

“My apologies, but you do not appear to be in any sort of imminent danger,” Delamain crushes Jackie’s hopes, a frown replacing his grin. 

“Huh… Oh well. Trust me, he'll mow down an army of ‘Saka ninjas if it comes down to it,” Jackie explains to V and she wraps her arms around herself, resisting the desire to bring her legs up into the seat, trying to get her mind off her nerves. 

“So, what else is included in Excelsior mode?” V tries signing to the AI, curious if it has translation tech for ASL. 

“Comprehensive health coverage, including the handling and disposal of a client's remains should death occur on board,” Delamain responds without hesitation and instantly ruins any chance of her getting her mind off the massive risks within this job. 

“Damn. Shit got dark pretty quick,” Jackie comments. 

“Dex isn’t skimping though.” 

“And thanks to you, we're still gettin' a juicy forty percent.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“Excelsior…This is how you wanna cruise into the major leagues…” He says like the job is already done and they’re hitting up an after party… 

“Wouldn’t get too excited yet, Jack, doing a job not hitting up a party.” And her words are too sharp, voice too venomous and rough in her throat. She regrets it as soon as they leave her lips, as soon as she’s spoken them into reality, wishing she could swallow them back down. His face drops completely, eyes harsh and she knows she fucked up. 

“For real, V…? See me as that shallow?”

“I-”

“Lemme explain somethin' to you, V… My whole life I've spent in this shit around us! And I ain't goin' back!”

“I’m sorry, really, I just… I’m worried and I let my nerves talk for me, I’m sorry.” She quickly tries to smooth it over, those knots in her gut only winding tighter with Jackie mad at her. 

“Swear to christ, V, I will never fucking get you,” he says, shaking his head and looking out the window.

“What do you mean?” 

“Twenty years old, sitting in the back of a Delamain, on your way to do a job for Dex fuckin’ Deshawn and you can’t even muster a fuckin smile? You fuckin’ know what I’d have done to be where you are right now when I was your age, I was still dreaming of seeing The Afterlife! Took you less than a year to be here, took me ten! And you ain’t even happy about it! Then you act like I’m not takin’ it serious, like I don’t got my fuckin’ head in the game, just cause you can’t appreciate where the fuck you are right now!” 

She chews her lip, not sure what to say to him. Guilt coming over her. He’s right, she hasn’t lived in Night City nor been a merc nearly as long. He’s been doing this since he left the Valentinos… For Jackie this has been a lifelong dream, the ultimate goal. She didn’t even consider it a possibility until she met him and now she’s already on her way there. Of course he’s happy, on the precipice of his dreams coming true. 

“I’m sorry, really I didn’t mean to piss on your parade.” 

“Yet somehow you always do.” 

V sighs watching the city pass outside her window for a few more moments, tapping her fingers, that knot feels like a ball of lead now. She wants to claw her skin off,  tear and tear away at herself, at her being, and maybe, just maybe she’ll find someone better under the gore.  Someone who isn’t such a fucking asshole. Someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut and doesn’t ruin everything for everyone else. She’ll never understand why Jackie puts up with her, why he has for so long. She just doesn’t want to fuck this up. The job, her friendship, the little bit of happiness she’s built. V wrings her hands together, tight enough to hurt and she twists them a little harder, nails digging into the skin. If she can’t find anyone better maybe she’ll just claw away until she’s nothing at all. 

She’s already a bundle of nerves over the heist and she can’t stand another moment of the tension hanging thick in the air. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” She says in her best imitation of something between an Italian and a Brooklyn accent, watching Jackie’s face, the hint of a smile tugging at it. Tension starting to melt ever so slightly. 

“Don’t get me started,” he returns forcing the same cheesy voice. 

“Did you fuck my wife?” 

“I think you fucked my wife and got me started.” 

“I got started cause you fucked my wife.” 

“I could trace back the moment I got started it’d definitely be when you fucked my wife!” 

“That is unquestionably when I got started!” They’re smiling now, giggling at every other word as they choke on their cheesy jokes. Tension melts away as a weight is being lifted off her chest. 

“My records indicate that neither of you are married.” 

And they lose it, laughter filling the car at Delamain’s interjection to their stupidity. Its ridiculous and dumb and they sound like children. But, she’s thankful for the moment, the reprieve, where it’s laughter and not nerves tearing at her guts. 

A call notification lights up on V’s optic contacts, T-Bug’s avatar and V answers, the runner’s voice coming just a moment later. 

“Hey. How's things?”

“Eh,” Jackie answers, “been better, been worse.” 

“We’re nearing our destination,” Delamain tells them and V’s throat tightens. 

“Listen, set up a direct, encrypted line to guide you through Konpeki. V, ring Jackie now, see if we're in sync. Can't be too careful.” 

She puts a call through to Jackie, inteface telling her it’s establishing a secure connection.

“And?” Bug asks, expectantly. 

“Got static,” Jackie cringes, “Say somethin', Bug?”

“The greatest crimes issue from a desire for excess and not from necessity."

“Say what now?”

“Yeah, I read you. Not so much your Greek friend, though it was kind of exciting,” Jackie tells her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Could give it some thought, try to understand…? How 'bout you, V?”

“I want more Aristotle!” 

“Fuck off, both.”

Jackie and V share a giggle at the runner’s expense, V’s going to miss when Bug goes into retirement. If all works out, even on the brighter side, it may be the last time all three of them work together. But at least Bug will be happy and safe, unlike V or Jackie, this was never her dream or end goal. 

“OK, tech checks out, looks like,” T-Bug confirms. 

“Será mejor que sí…”

“Stay in touch”

And V just realizes the taxi has stopped moving, through Jackie’s window she can see the front entrance of the hotel.  The bright red exterior walls, a worker standing at the ready and those nerves are clawing their way back with a vengeance, tearing up her insides and making her want to bolt, terrified that they’lll be found out as soon as they step foot in. They need to get moving, only way to get through the fear is to take control, do what needs to be done. And hopefully avoid puking in the back of an expensive AI taxi. 

“Thank you for choosing the Delamain service. And best of luck. I shall await here for your return.”

“Shit's finally happenin’… “ 

“Its game time, got any iron left on you, time to put it away,” she tells him, tucking her gun and knife into the center compartment. Jackie following suit. V tugs off her suit jacket and rolls her white sleeves to her elbows, making sure her blades are accessible from the start. 

“Alright, Hannah, let’s go.” 

V opens the door of the Delamain, greeted by the view in front of the hotel, in the distance she can see the space travel facility, night settled over the water. The hotel has trees and plants out front, trying to sprinkle some nature into the cement and chrome world of Night City. She carries her suit jacket over her shoulder, keeping one hand busy with it, while the other sits in her pocket. Hoping it will keep her from signing if she needs to talk. 

“Hold on, lemme grab the Flathead.” Jackie pops the trunk of the taxi and pulls out the case with the bot. 

The mercs take the two marble steps up, a vibrant stript of red along the path.There’s long white marble with planters and the name of the hotel inscripted in gold. 

“'Member, reservation's in your name… Ramón. You're there to meet Hajime Taki - military tech department rep. Papers are for the Flathead” T-Bug tells them as they get closer to the double doors. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” a man in a red, black, and gold uniform greets them, bowing his head as they pass by.

There’s a large waiting room, white couches along the sides with monitors displaying documentaries and vases with red hologram plants branching out of them. A security gate divides the waiting room from the front desk, scanners to check each guest for weaponry. Beyond it she can see staff with gold plated skin. All non-security personnel of the hotel are gold plated; receptionists, concierge, bartenders, and the like. A requirement for the job, even staff must match the aesthetic. 

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza. Please come through single file,” The guard tells them as they reach the full body scanner. 

“You got it, holm-- uh, ahem, sir,” Jackie stumbles and V screams internally, watching her friend step forward. Blue light crackles along him, like lightning, then it flashes red. Misty’s warning of mean reds, flaring in V’s mind. 

“Ahem. Hold on got something,” the guard stops Jackie before he can go any further, “Sir, care to explain why you're bringin’ a combat bot onto Konpeki Plaza premises?”

“Arms dealers.” V yells out quickly, hating how forced it sounds, tightening her fingers in her jacket, desperate not to sign on instinct and not realizing she forgot the ‘we’re’ part of her sentence until she finished saying it. 

“Excuse me?”

“Ah!” A gold skinned concierge steps over,  “You are here to see Taki-san, am I right? Please accept my apologies for the confusion.” 

“Pff,” Jackie scoffs as the concierge bows and walks into the lobby, waiting at the front desk. 

V steps into the scanner, guard assuring her it will only take a moment. It distorts her vision, crackling it with blue for just a moment. Then the guard tells her to go ahead and she walks forward, meeting Jackie at the desk. A woman with gold skin, black hair all shaved except for the bangs and sidelocks greets them.  And V is starting to notice that the Arasaka logo is everywhere, the corp hotel owned by them. On the screens, gold emblazoned on marble planters, and on pamphlets. The hotel and Arasaka logo are clearly one in the same. 

“Youkoso. Greetings and welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” she says bowing her head to them and V returns the gesture.

“We’d like to check in,” Jackie says and V sends him a silent thanks for talking. .

“Of course, just a moment, please” the receptionist taps away at a keyboard, “The name on the reservation is…?”

“Victorino.”

“Double room, two adults, one night. Correct?”

“That’s the one,” V tells her, with a tight nod. 

“Perfect… I will go ahead and notify Taki-san of your arrival.”

“Shit, no good, not part of the plan. Talk her up, V, stall!” T-Bug yells out over the call and V is once again wanting to scream. 

“That, uh,  won't be necessary,” she curses herself for stuttering, “We'll go freshen up first, notify him ourselves.”

“But Taki-san is expecting you, no…?”

“Senorita, do you know how long we been traveling? Eighteen hours from New Barcelona. With a delay on Metakey 'cause some cyberpsycho blew himself into bits inside the terminal…”

“Been a nightmare, ugh.” 

“Of course, I understand. You will be in the Lapis Lazuli Suite on level forty-two. Oh, one more little formality… Please validate your SID chip.”

“Honor's all yours, Hannah.” 

A tablet on the table lights up with a bright blue handprint and she’s reminding of her issue getting into her own apartment. Bug said she put a temporary hack on their SID chip, but there’s an extra twinge of anxiety as V lays her hand down on it. She half expects it to show a senior citizen, to be outed as a fraud and tossed out the door. 

“Everything seems to be in order. We wish you a pleasant stay!~” 

“Better get goin'.”

V murmurs a thanks, feeling a bit of relief at having that part of this whole thing done. Playing corpo is somehow more stressful to her than the idea of breaking into Yorinobu’s penthouse. She follows behind Jackie. Large marble planters fill the lobby, some with trees that nearly touch the staggeringly high ceiling. 

“New Barcelona? Really?” T-Bug comments as V follows Jackie up a short set of marble steps. 

“It's called improvisin' - you should try it,” V stares up at a gold framed painting, “Whaddaya think, Hannah"?

“...” V raises an eyebrow at him with a soft noise in her throat. 

“Quaint, cozy. Not like the hotel we had in Zurich for that convention.”

“Don't need that, Jack. Enough.”

“What? I’m takin’ this seriously!” Jackie grumbles when T-Bug scolds him. 

They take two turns through the lobby, guards passing by talking about dolls being left in rough shape as they near what looks to be a bar in the corner. It's an open pathway inside, the bar illuminated in pink and a gold plated woman stands at a podium bearing Arasaka’s logo. There’s a lit collection of alcohol behind the bar, liquor that costs more than V’s rent, which isn’t a hard feat but still rubs her the wrong way. 

“Bar don't look too shabby.”

“We don't do reservations on weekdays, so feel free to grab any available table. Or a couple of stools at the bar if you prefer?” She explains to them, a valley girl accent to her words. 

“Could bring Misty here one day. When we, uh… close this deal.”

“Might take a look around.” 

The idea of sitting down, if only for a moment, and catching her breath after the close call in the lobby sounds nice. Her nerves are frayed already, she’s never wanted to drink so much on a job before. A quick breather before she has a full blown panic attack. 

“Shit,” Jackie curses, “look like some fuckin' travelin' salesman with this case. Go ahead, I’ll go on upstairs.” 

V nods, watching Jackie go to the elevator, a part of her feels guilty, but she doesn’t intend to take too long. And it’s not as if she’s made visiting bars on the job a habit before, she can have this one. She rubs a hand over the back of her neck, feeling the chrome indents of her Mantis Blades cooling the skin. Half of the room is a lounge with black couches and slick pink metallic chairs, terrariums built into the walls. The other half is, gold stools and booths before the neon pink bar. Each side is filled with people mingling, dressed in high fashion, people who’ve gambled away more money than she’s ever seen. 

“And when I say heads're gonna roll, I don't mean it as a fucking turn of phrase,” a half drunk man slurs his speech at the golden bartender. The stench of whiskey clings heavy to his clothes. 

“Had enough guy, don’t you think? You’re making the other customers uncomfortable,” the bartender sends a pointed look towards V, a slight twang in his voice. She was looking for a breather, not conflict. 

“Good! 'Cause this affects them, too! It'll slap everyone in the face!” 

“What’s that?’ She entertains him, figuring it might get the guy gone sooner. 

“You wanna know what a bearer of bad news looks like? What's four hundred yards long, weighs a hundred thousand tons, and is nuclear powered…? The answer's docked in the bay! Hanako Arasaka decided -,” he hiccups, “decided to take a little vacation!

“Big deal.”

“Don't know how big just yet,” her sarcasm doesn’t penetrate the fog of whiskey, “And by the time we do, it'll.. it'll be too late. Screw this. I'm gonna get some sleep…”

With that the man stumbles away, taking the too strong smell of booze with him and the shining bartender turns to her. His shaved hair either red or pink, color distorted in the glowing light. 

“Evenin, what can I get you, baby?” 

Her nose wrinkles at the term of endearment, “little forward, don’t you think?” 

“Suckled it outta my ma's very breast,” he returns, “Fifty percent protein, the other half pure high octane CHOOH2.” 

He presses two gilded hands to the bar leaning forward as he regales his story and she can’t help but raise an eyebrow; he’s implying he’s a nomad, but why would he tell her that? 

“What?” 

“She had wind and dust in her hair, so to speak. Belonged to the Aldecaldos. Before the bombs began fallin'. Her final words? ‘Wherever you go, whatever you do, be yourself, David.’ And so I ended up here. Still no one but myself.” 

He’s full of shit, she decides immediately. Maybe her own distrust or her own frustration, nobody with nomad blood would end up here, gold plated and slinging drinks to corpos. At the very fucking least, they wouldn’t act so damn happy about it. 

“Lovely story if it wasn’t a crock of shit.” 

“Everyone's making something up,” he smirks, “Just like you, baby.”

“Excuse you?” she chokes out, feeling like ice water has been shot through her veins. He’s seen through her, that implication clear, but how? Even regaling to her some fucked up story of being a nomad, like he could smell the dust of the badlands still on her skin. 

“Can I getcha somethin'? At the least, water?” 

“Bourbon and cherry coke.” 

“You got it, baby.” 

The repeated use of the pet name earns him a glare, V tapping her fingers against the bar, his story and perceptiveness making her nerves worse. He sets the drink on the table and she downs it with a gulp, alcohol not quite loosening her how she hopes. She sets the glass down and leaves the bar, it may be petty but she doesn’t leave him a tip, frustrated at the idea he could have seen through her. 

She jabs the elevator button, tapping her foot as she waits and stares at some painting. Its all abstract bullshit, pretty colors, but she’s not sure she sees much else to them. The golden doors open, the back of the elevator windowed with what looks like foliage inside, maybe it’s just a screen. V steps inside and jabs to her level. And after just a short ride, it stops  at her floor. 

The doors open and she sees Jackie, looking over one of the art pieces, walking past a desk and concierge to greet him. 

“About time,” he says, when he spots her, the pair making a beeline to the suite. They walk past a couple speaking Russian, talking about testing on people, as they find the door. 

Jackie opens the door and she gets her first peek of it, stepping in. The furthest wall almost entirely windowed, looking out over the hills. Another expanse dedicated to a terrarium, a large plush bed, white sofas, and a table projecting hologram displays of fish. V tosses her suit jacket off onto the couch. 

“Pretty snazzy. Too bad we ain't stayin' the night. Nice choice, Bug.” 

“Didn't pick it for snazz. Offers quickest access to the dweller and servers.”

“Sí, sí, me acuerdo,” jackie grumbles as he puts the Flathead case down on a table in front of the terrarium. The little spider bot springs to life the second it’s case is opened. 

“Now you fire up the Flathead and find the shaft entrance.” 

“Sounds simple enough…” 

“Simplicity's sometimes toughest to master,” T-Bug tells her. 

“Aurelius? Aristotle? Who's it this time?”

“Yours truly, that one's mine.”

“Go ahead and find the shaft, chica, I’ll get the Flathead running.” 

V nods and begins looking around the room, scanning around, finding the shaft after a short moment. A little square panel standing out on the wall next to the terrarium, scanner telling her it’s Flathead compatible. 

“Found it.” 

“Good. Jackie, how's the Flathead lookin'?” T-Bug asks, he’s put the control shard in one of his neuroports while V was looking for the shaft, eyes now glowing bright white blue. 

“All set. Systems’re operational, charge at a hundred…,” a moment passes his expression furrowing as he shakes his head, “Mierda.  Little gonk's stuck.”

“Just gonna stand there and look at it? Gonna have to switch to manual control. V, take the control shard from Jackie. Gonna link your Kiroshis to surveillance so you can guide the bot.”

“Why me, Jack’s got full blown optics?”  She asks, as he pulls the control shard from his head. 

“Yeah, but you got better tech, unlike someone I ain’t run up my tab with Vik. Got last-gen firmware low flow. May be contacts, but you’re working with top notch Kiroshi tech.” 

“Plus someone already has some playtime with the bot,” T-Bug outs her and Jackie raises an eyebrow at V, a teasing smile on his lips. 

“You played with the bot?”

“Just… give me the shard,” she takes it from Jackie’s hand, “Surveillance cover the whole hotel?”

“Mhm. Even the bedrooms in the suites.”

“Seriously?” 

“You'd be surprised what people're willin' to give up to feel secure. Lucky for us, Yorinobu's an exception. Penthouse is dark, no hotel security.’

“Okay, here goes.” V pushes the control shard into the slot, the interface says it’s connecting her, then it glitches and in a moment she’s looking at herself and Jackie through the surveillance camera. 

“Patching you through to in-cam view. Might get a little disoriented, but don't freak”

Her vision switches between rooms; a man getting a lap dance from a doll in a dimly room, two men in another hotel room. And then it lands on a third room. A meeting of four people; two Arasaka suits and two faces she vaguely recognizes. The view doesn't shift again and she takes the chance to look closer, talks of losing control of Watson, election season. And it clicks, the mayor of Night City. 

“Camera’s set,” V tells Bug, political bullshit isn’t her business, she can see the vague outline of the Flathead creeping into the room.  Only slightly visible to her thanks to her connection, 

“Get him to the next vent.”

V scans and finds the next vent shaft tucked in the corner of the room, sending the Flathead to it. She watches as it crawls and creeps through the room. 

“C’mon little buddy, you got it, yes,” She cheers on the little machine as it skitters across the camera and into the vent. 

“It’s a Military grade combat bot, not your pet, V. Patching you into the next cam now.” 

The next room appears, more brightly lit with two maids working to clean it. V goes to send the Flathead into the vent but the request is denied, detecting one of the cleaning ladies is too far into it’s path. 

“Cleaning crew’s in the way,” V tells Bug, listening to one of the women start drooling over Yorinobu. 

“Gotta distract her. Hmm, let's see what's on the subnet…temp control on the terrarium, sic the bot on it.” 

V follows the runner’s orders scanning and sending the Flathead onto the temp control. Barely a moment passes before the maid’s notice, freaking out about how expensive it is. The merc takes her chance and sends the bot into the unblocked vent shaft. 

“Little guy’s through.”

Next cam flickers into a green tinted maintenance hallway, the bots legs tinkering across the floor. Vent on the other side of the room, V sends it through, smiling as her little buddy makes his way through. And it brings her to a new camera, it looks like where the surveillance feeds lead to. A console and row of screens with a security guard watching them. 

“Dweller's just beyond the door. Flathead can jimmy the lock.”

V sends the command, watching it scamper to the door, tendrils working at the lock. But nothing gives away. 

“He’s having some trouble, poor feller.” 

“Shit… Gotta be another way. Lemme think… Got another cam other side of the door, but it's disabled.’

“Got a CCTV port, might be able to enable it.” 

“Go for it.” 

The Flathead creeps across the room and jacks into the port, giving V access to the other camera. And V switches her vision to it, the next room looks like a high tech runner’s nest. Two netrunning chairs in deep cooled divots within the room. But only one is in use, a man jacked into the security frame, illuminated in blue, screens running code around him. 

“Dweller’s inside.”

“Just as planned.”

“Still don’t get why they only have the one.” 

“Decent dweller's as good as a dozen rank-and-file. Lemme graft a demonoid onto your link, you’ll be able to jack the bot directly into the chair and neutralize the runner.” 

“Got’cha” 

“You'll have to get the Flathead in there first, though.” 

“Got another shaft grate,” V finds when she twists the camera’s view, there had to be a vent in the other room, servers lining the walls. Bad ventilation and the entire operation overheats. 

“Shaft may link both rooms, looks like. Toggle to the other cam.” 

V does so, a moment of scanning and she finds a hidden shaft grate in the floor, “Think I got it.”

“Send the Flathead over there, then toggle over to the second cam.”

She waits until the bot is prying open the vent in the surveillance room, then flickers back over to the runner’s den, eyes on the vent and hoping she didn’t send their tech into the wrong room. A moment passes and she sees her robotic friend creeping his way out. 

“Our friend’s inside.” 

“Flathead into the chair, V, jack in.” 

The bot crawls across the floor and into the netrunner’s cubby, creeping up the chair and scuttling over the man’s body. Deep in the subnet the man doesn’t stir or even notice as the bot hovers over his face and jacks into the chair. And the code across the screen glitches, replaced by a T. 

“Holy shit.” 

“Whoop! Got him! Love those daemons!” Bug cheers, louder and more excited than V has ever heard her. They did it, the bot is in, T-Bug has access to it all. 

“Uh, Flathead buddy stays, right?” 

“To keep an eye on the dweller, yeah. Punching into Konpeki’s main net. Go ahead and log out.” 

The young merc’s vision starts to glitch and flicker red, her pulling the shard from her head, everything spinning. Lightheaded and her body feels both too light and too heavy. Like she could collapse and float away all at once. 

“That's how it's done! How ya feelin'?” Jackie asks, concern lacing his voice. 

“Like I’m about to puke on a rug worth more than my car.” 

“Bug? How're you doin' on time?” The runner doesn’t respond right away, a moment too long passing. 

“Bug?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Soooo listen, ICE is thicker than I thought. Piercing it'll take a couple hours.” 

“A couple hours?! Can't do it any faster?”

“Want my brain to burst into flames? Just siddown and enjoy your snazzy suite.”

“Thanks, I will! V, you take it easy, c’mon rest for a bit.” 

V doesn’t need anymore prodding, settling down onto the white sofa, hoping her head will stop spinning and stomach cease churning by the time Bug is done. The merc kicks off her heels and lays across the sofa, softer than her bed. Jackie sitting across on the other side of the table, V brings her hand up to her face, trying to block out the blue light from the holo projector. But catches herself looking at the bracelet Misty gave her, the way the beads catch the light, remembering the name of it. 

“Hey, what was our suite’s name again?” 

“Lapis lazuli, why?” 

“Isn’t that what Misty’s bracelets are? The blue beads with the gold.” 

“Oh...yeah, ain’t that some shit, must be a good sign.” 

“Maybe… she read your cards before this?” 

“Nah, didn’t get a chance, nagged me about mean reds though. What about you, cards in your favor?” 

“All I remember is something about a magician and love, blegh.” 

“Hehehe,” his laughter is warm and fills the huge room, “telling you, one day you’re gonna be head over heels with some chiccy or mano and you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself.” 

“That how it was with you and Misty?” 

“Pssh, knew I was crazy about her from day one, took a while to work up the nerve though one day I just told her the truth.” 

“That you were in loooove~.”

“More like I’d take a bullet for her, chica.”

“Romantic.” 

“Fuck yeah it is, in Night City, that’s worth a billion I love yous.” 

“So you say.” 

“Keep doing that and you’re gonna rub the finish off Vik’s work,” Jackie tells her and she realizes she’s been rubbing and fiddling with her implants, “be a waste for free work to be ruined.” 

“I’m gonna pay him.” 

“You give him anything upfront, even a dime?” 

“I… gave him a hug…” 

“Wow,” Jackie says half laughing and she’s laughing too, “a whole hug for top of the line chrome! Probably wasn’t even a real hug, just your half ass shit!” 

“I may have only used one arm.” 

“Santa mierda, V, gotta learn to hug people like you mean it.” 

“Yes, yes,” she yawns, “blah blah blah, never know which hug will be the last one, blah….” 

“Flathead wear you out that bad?” 

“Maybe a little…” Her stomach feels better, but her head is still light, fuzzy. And in the plush of the sofa, with Jackie close by, she finds herself drifting away. Eyelids getting heavier with each word, each lull of his voice. She didn’t drink much, but she’s sure the bourbon didn’t help. 

“Gonna be a while, might as well catch a cat nap, chica. Though Bug might not like it, haven’t quite managed to get the stick out of her ass.”  

“Yeah..maybe…” 

The world fades away, a soft fuzzy sleep taking over. Time ticks by around her as she catches a moment, or maybe several, to sleep. Her brain is still a little foggy, but the dizziness is gone by the time she slowly starts to wake back up. A bad case of cottonmouth as she wakes, world filtering back in. 

Her suit jacket is tossed over her, a makeshift blanket she didn’t put there, she rolls over to sit, more stable than she was before. The time on the terrarium panel tells her only an hour or two has passed.  Jackie’s back is too her, his eyes staring at the window. And she finds herself staring, standing in a suit and basked in the lights of the city view, he’s never seemed so serious. 

“Whaddaya think? Why'd he give it all up?” He asks after a moment and she blinks, brain still foggy. 

“Who?” 

"Yorinobu Arasaka. The good life, I mean. Old news, I know. Just got to thinkin's all. It's like, think… You got everything, right? Eddies, education. Your pops can snap his fingers and turn half the fuckin’ planet into a nuclear wasteland… But instead you're like, ‘Nah, fuck it,’ and whaddaya go do? Start a fuckin' gang! Steel Dragons or some shit! You ghost from your fam, chip some RealSkinn and play gang leader for a few years. For what?!” 

She can sense the frustration in every word, feel it every clench of his fingers or swing of his hands. Someone like Yorinobu was handed everything he could ever want; tried to piss it away to play edgerunner, then found himself sucking the silver spoon once again.  But, she can’t blame him for wanting out from under his father’s thumb; that alone a feeling she knows too well. Her fingers hover over her wrist, the still branded flesh that Vik saved. 

“Maybe...he just wanted out of the system.” 

“So then why’d he come back.” 

“Tough to ditch the system when the system’s your own family,” V admits, finger still on the mark. 

“Black sheep’s still a sheep, eh?” 

“Maybe…” 

It took her forever to get the nerve to leave, she talked about it constantly, but it wasn’t until her mother’s death, murder, culling. Whatever she’s meant to call it, that she finally was pushed to make that move. Been gone for years now, but… more days than she cares to admit were spent wondering if she ever should have run, if she should crawl back and beg. If a family that hates her is better than no family at all… 

“Crawled back on all fours, tail between his legs, fuckin’ cheap ass rebel. Fuckin’ tourist!” 

Her nails dig into her skin; insecurities brimming, fear that maybe she’s just as much a fuckin’ tourist. Some black sheep nomad who’ll go running back to her dad, beg for another chance, playing pretend merc when all she’ll ever be is the family burden. 

“Tourist or not, he just walked into the lobby. And we are back in biz. Penthouse security is neutralized.”

“Perfecto, let’s start this show.”

And with those words, they’re back in business, the younger merc up on her feet. V grabbing her jacket and following Jackie out of the suite, fiddling with the fabric as she walks, heels clicking across the floor. 

“Hey, Bug…” Jackie says after a beat of silence,  “were, uh… were you on comms that whole time?”

“Three and a half hours.”

“Eehh… about that stick up the ass…”

“Mean the one up mine?”

“Ehh, slip of the tongue, y'know…”

“I know. Now's your chance to make up to me,” T-Bug tells him as they reach the elevator, Jackie pressing the button. 

“This is going pretty smooth right,” he turns to V as they wait, “right?” 

“Really are a silver lining type, ain’t ya?” V teases as the doors open and they step into the elevator. 

“Hey, when are you gonna wave off that dark cloud hanging over your head? Tellin’ you, it’s downhill from on in.” 

She rolls her eyes and hits the button to the penthouse, elevator doors closing and the carriage rumbling, shaking as it ascends. Silence falling over them, only the sound of the elevator. Jackie’s leg shakes and she knows that silence is about to end. 

“Ahh, there's the awkward silence. You, uh, wanna hear a joke?”

“Now? Seriously?”

“OK, so why'd the rockerboy's output kick him out of the apartment? ‘Cause he wasn't chippin' in.” Jackie cackles at his own joke and V rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her lips. 

“Jesus Christ…” 

Bug sounds a moment away from killing him, but thankfully for the older merc’s sake, the elevator comes to a stop. Doors opening up to Yorinobu’s suite. It feel different, seeing it from her own perspective instead of Evelyn’s and outside of a braindance editor. The entire suit feels bigger. A part of her wonders if it’s the height difference between herself and Evelyn, but decides to chalk it up to braindance shit instead. 

“Huh… not bad bein' heir to the Arasaka empire. Sure as shit better'n bein' the son of Raúl Welles,” Jackie comments taking in the room. 

V turns the corner through the room and a tank catches her eye. A slightly red light illuminating an iguana. It immediately reminds her of the only other iguana she knows, Manny. Come to think of it, his original crate was from Arasaka? 

“Hey, Jackie, look!” 

“Whoa, another fuckin’ iguana, not as cute as Manny though.” 

“Manny’s original crate was marked Arasaka; think he might’ve been Yorinobu’s before we klepped him?” 

“Think we stole his iguana and made him get a new one?” 

“Maybe?”  She gently taps the tank glass, watching the iguana’s tail flick back and forth. 

“Guys! Focus! The safe! And make it quick!” Bug yells out, bringing the merc’s back down to earth. V tosses her jacket onto one of the seats in the center, searching around the penthouse. Rain patters outside the windowed walls. They know where the safe is, but how do they get it out of the floor?

“Why, what's the rush?”

“Sig on Yorinobu's gone dark!”

“What is he, a fuckin' sorcerer?”

“Some kinda dead zone's my guess - have him back in a sec. And you do your damn job! Look around for a switch.”

V walks around one of the dividers where Yorinobu’s bed is, the slick metal of a gun catching her eye first and foremost. Black and gray, with purple detailing. She checks it for ammo and finds it loaded then decides it’s hers. 

“Looks like Yori left us a little gift,” she laughs, tucking the iron in her waistband. And on the other side of the bed, she finds a little switch. She presses it. 

“Bingo, got somethin' ejectin’! C'mere, V!” Jackie calls her over to the corner of the room, heart pounding in her chest.

They’re so close to the finish line, each click of her heels feeling like a step closer. This could actually work. A large black safe has risen out of the floor, a small jack in port and two red lights. Jackie stands on one side of it, the gray rainy day behind him. 

“What now, Bug?” 

“Jack in your personal and make us rich.” 

V plugs her personal link in, leaning one hand against the safe. Jackie leans against it from the other side, foreheads nearly touch as they wait for Bug to work her magic. Just get the chip and walk out, that’s all that’s left. All they need to do. She can’t stand still, itching to cross the finish line, minutes away from the major leagues. 

“Gimme two…”

The merc’s interface shows Bug uploading the daemons to crack the case and V watches the number rise. Sixty percent, seventy, seventy-five; each ticking number another shaky breath, a rising beat of her heart, and a chill up her spine. Homestretch, nearly there. 

And there’s a hum, V’s focus drawn away from the rising percentage, to the windows. Flying AV whirring through the gray skies, hovering around. She looks to Jackie, hoping somehow he’ll have an explanation, something to help her ignore the way her stomach is starting to drop. 

“We got winged visitors… Bug…?” There’s catch in his voice, nerves. Jackie’s scared and she swallows the lump in her throat. His face illuminated in the red flashing lights of the case, mean reds, the words flash in V’s mind. 

“Dunno who. But staffs abuzz, all two hundred on their feet, can't keep still…” 

Somethings wrong, the hair on the back of her neck stands up, a chill in her she can’t shake. Something is so fucking wrong. 

“Can't say I like this, how much longer, T?!”

“Shit. Yorinobu's penthouse bound!”

“What!?”V’s voice cracks, digging her nails into the safe, they’re fucked. They’re so fucked. 

“Fuck him!” Jackie slams his hand down, rattling the container, “Open the safe!” 

“Almost got it… Done!”  The safe opens, revealing a cryo-container within. Bright white light and a fog of ice cold air coming with it. V rips her personal jack out. 

“Preem, lets get the fuck out of here!”  

“Lemme look to this, eh?” Jackie says, pulling the container out and looking at the little screens across it. 

“Relic intact?” 

"Bioshard integrity - one hundred percent." Guessin' that's a yes,” Jackie reads off the vitals of the shard, picking up the case. 

“Good,  let’s delta.” 

The pair nearly trip through the center of the penthouse, rushing towards the elevator with Jackie lugging behind the giant cryo-container. So close, so close, so fucking close. An elevator and taxi ride away, then they’ll be at The Afterlife counting their eddies. The homestretch. 

“Fuck, too late!” T-Bug yells before V can hit the elevator button, “Yorinobu's about to walk in - find cover!

“Where in the fuck!?” V swings her hands as she yells, they’re so fucking close. She rakes her nails across her face, leaving red angry marks down her skin. 

“That pillar- try that!” 

“You fuckin' kiddin'?!” Jackie screams as the mercs make a move to the pillar in the center of the penthouse, were she thought servers for the room were kept. The back of it opening up and allowing a tight passageway. 

“No! Inside it! Now!” 

V slips inside as quickly as she can, Jackie following suit. He holds the cry-container close to his chest. The glass barrier is one way, they can see out, but it can’t be seen in. Still not ideal cover, ideally they’d be outside of the fucking hotel by now. The merc presses her hands to the glass, cursing under her breath. 

“We’re in,” she whispers to Bug.

“Which don't solve our problem, T.”

“I fuckin' know our problem's still there! Lemme think for a sec, okay?” 

The lights to the penthouse come on, elevator doors opening as Yorinobu strides in. with mechanical monstrosity of a body guard from the BD taking large whirring steps after him. And he seems even bigger now. He’s a cyber giant, one mech hand larger than  any part of V. 

He’s outlined in red, his eyes staring straight at her,  Vik said her new contacts would highlight if enemies saw her.. No, there’s no possible way. The man has barely set a borged-out foot into the room. She meets his gaze head on, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tries to seem braver than she is. On the off chance he may truly know the mercs are there. 

“Is that… Is that Adam Smasher?” Jackie whispers and V trusts him to look at her hands  as she signs, not wanting to break eye contact with the robotic monstrosity, refusing to show weakness.

“Bodyguard?” 

“Worse,” her trust in her friend is well placed, “Night City legend. Bleak motherfuckin' one, too. What's the plan?”

“We stay quiet and we wait.” 

A flash of movement makes V finally break the stare down, Yorinobu walks to the middle of the room and stops at the seat across from the table, black fabric strewn across it. He picks it up, regarding it for a moment and her heart drops into her stomach. 

V’s jacket. She left her fucking jacket on his chair, like an idiot, she didn’t even have time to consider grabbing it. They’re going to die because she left her fucking jacket out in the open and Adam Smasher is still staring at her. 

She half expects Yorinobu to call a sweep of the room, ring security, that he’ll realize the random jacket must be an intruder. But he shakes his head, tosses it aside onto the floor, not giving it another thought. While his body guard Smasher lingers in the corner, robotic eyes staring straight at V, watching the mercs squirm. 

“Are they here yet?” Yorinobu asks out loud. 

“They approach from the landing pad,” an AI voice responds. 

“Fuck are they talking about?” V resists the urge to elbow Jackie, silence has never been more important. One sound too loud and a borged out psycho will rip their heads off. And if her contacts are right, Smasher may just be waiting for the perfect opportunity. 

“Nuh-uh, no fucking way…. This isn't happening…!” T-Bug whispers over comms and V sees someone coming down the spiraling stairs, a guard it seems, with another older man following him, “Saburo Arasaka.” 

The second man is older, much older than the first. Balding with gray hairs and liver spots across his scalp, glasses perched high upon his nose. Dressed in a mixture of yukata robes over what seems to be slacks and loafers he takes slow measured steps down the stairs. The head capitalist himself, owner of Arasaka. 

“The emperor? Yet another asslickin' legend….” 

V taps Jackie’s side and puts her finger to her lips, encouraging him to be quiet. The man who led Saburo in starts to walk around the room. He’s older than V or Jackie, but nowhere near Saburo’s age. Long graying dark hair pulled back in a bun, cyberware across his neck coming out from under his black suit. 

“I thought I told you not to meddle in my affairs,” Yorinobu speaks in his native tongue, V’s contacts translating and subtitling to English. 

“Oh fuck,” Jackie curses as the long haired guard comes to stand in front of them, silver ringed brown eyes starting to scan them. 

“Leave us,” Saburo orders and the guard stops scanning, turning to face the corporate leader. 

“Arasaka-sama, I still haven't done a full sweep.” The guard turns his back and V can see where part of his hair is shaved, allowing intense cyberware extending beyond his neck and towards his scalp. 

“This is my son.”

“Of course. Should I retrieve what we come here to-” 

“I will handle it. You may go.”

The long haired guard bows and goes to leave the room, finally Adam Smasher’s gaze on her drops, as the borged freak leaves with the guard through the elevator doors. If they’re here to retrieve something… it’s likely the biochip, which means if they go to get it and see it’s gone… They’re fucked. They’re straight fucked. 

“Un-fucking-believable… Saburo Arasaka.” That comment makes V nudge Jackie with her foot, once again begging him to just stay quiet. 

“Did you think I wouldn't know it was taken from me?” Saburo asks his son, barely making eye contact as Yorinobu looks through a datapad. 

“Actually, I don't think of you at all. Ever. You see, that's your problem. You think the world revolves around you. Arrogant.” 

“Yorinobu.” 

“Why did you come? To humiliate me? To personally see to it that your son knows his place?”

“"The nail that protrudes from the wall gets hammered…"

“Couldn't think of anything original to say?” Yorinobu yells in exasperation, standing up and pacing around the room.  He’s on edge, looking ready to jump out of his skin and V can’t say she has a good feeling about any of this. 

“And do you think it ‘original’ to sell our greatest achievement to Westerners - our future to these… barbarians?!”

It’s definitely the biochip Saburo is after, they’re screwed, monumentally screwed. V would laugh if she didn’t feel like dying, of course, of course it all goes to shit. 

“Our future? Ours?! You are mistaken. You've only ever cared about yourself… and your sick schemes.” Yorinobu points and swings his limbs, still pacing, every word coiled tight with barely restrained hatred. 

“I knew this day would come. That sooner or later your impudence would cross the line,” Saburo is calmer, measured, taking soft steps towards his son, “There is much for which I could forgive you, but for treason - no.” 

The two men, father and son now stand in front of the pillar before an audience they don’t know. Stares trained on each other, each hateful, but one furious in it’s spite and the other calm in it’s contempt. Moments pass, no word said, each waiting for the other to light a fuse that will set off the powder keg. 

“I'm just glad your mother didn't live to see this. The heart should break but once.” 

And it goes off. Saburo’s words are punctuated by Yorinobu’s hands wrapping tightly around the old man’s throat. Yorinobu slams his father back against the pillar, cracking the glass in front of Jackie and busting open Saburo’s head. Blood streaking the shards. And he pulls away and for a moment, as Saburo clutches at his crushed windpipe, Yorinobu seems nearly regretful. 

“You shall never have to forgive me for anything again.” 

His hands wrap again, choking his father against the pillar. Until Saburo starts to fall limp, Yorinobu bringing him down onto the floor in a lifeless heap. Yorinobu stands over his father. Saburo is dead, killed before the merc’s very eyes at the hands of his own son. Jackie curses and V watches as Yorinobu paces, mind clearly racing before he stands over his father’s corpse again. 

“I wish… I wish to put the hotel on lockdown.” 

What does that mean? What the hell does that mean?

“May I ask why?” The AI secretary asks him. 

“Saburo Arasaka has been murdered.”

“Code red initiated. Attention! Code Red has been initiated throughout Konpeki Plaza. Please remain in your rooms and follow all instructions given by staff.”

Oh no, oh fuck no. The lights in the room drop, only bright neon red ones glowing angry in the dark. What the hell is going to happen? What the fuck do they do now? The elevator doors open, Smasher and the long haired guard walking in; the latter rushes and comes to a full stop when he sees Saburo’s corpse. 

“What happened?”

“Someone… someone poisoned my father.”

“Poisoned…?” 

“Seems so.” 

“Yorinobu-san… I doubt…”

Yorinobu glowers at the guard, pushing into his personal space, trying to intimdate him. Trying to make him stop questioning what happened, trying to stop him from looking any closer. Anyone who gets a good look at Saburo’s corpse will see the fingerprints around his neck. 

“What is your job, Takemura?”

“I don't follow.”

“It's a simple question. Answer it.”

“To protect the head of the Arasaka family.”

“I do sincerely hope you'll do a better job of executing your duties from now on…”

“Forgive me, Arasaka-sama,” the guard drops his head in shame, “I shall not disappoint.” 

Yorinobu turns to leave the suite. The guard, Takemura, follows close behind. And the still red highlighted Smasher follows behind him. The elevator doors close behind them. Jackie and V left alone in the suite again. But what the fuck just happened? 

“What the fuck just happened in there?” T-Bug asks, exactly what’s rattling around V’s skull as the pillar back opens again. Jackie and V clambering out. 

“Yorinobu just killed Saburo, he fucking choked out his own dad, I didn’t even know you could do that!” V rambles and yells as she turns the corner of the pillar, looking down at Saburo’s corpse. She quickly checks his pockets, stealing some cash and a pair of dog tags off of him. 

“What?” 

“His own fuckin’ pops.” 

“Know what this means?l Security's gonna swarm the place any second. Oh my god, we're so fucked!”

“We need to get the fuck out of here, now!” They can’t just go out the elevator, they’d meet security on the way. They’re beyond fucked. Why the hell did they take this stupid fucking job!?

“Gimme a sec!”

There’s the helipad, but it’s not like they have anything that fucking flies. Think, think, think; she screams in her head to just fucking think, there has to be something, anything. 

“We don't have a sec!”

“Okay, got somethin'! Window - now! Releasing the lock! Should see a ladder… Ladder…” 

V sees an opening in the large windowed walls, double doors practically made of glass they goes onto the ledge. This has to be in, T-Bug can undo the lock and they’ll slip out. 

“Oh fuck.” T-Bugs voice drops and a chill shoots up V’s back, something is wrong. 

“Bug!?” 

“No, no, no, no - not now…! I’ve been made… “ 

And panic turns to agony as T-Bug screams, a shrill cry of pain then she’s gone. Connectuon cut and V freezes in place. 

Bug is gone, just gone… 

Maybe, Konpeki just cut their comms? But the scream rings through V’s mind. She’s heard of how runner’s can die, daemons and quick hacks. Having their entire brain fried, every nerve and neuron set on fire, burned from the inside out... And all that's left to find is a simmering corpse stewing in their own filth. Bug was never meant for that, meant to retire, meant to find peace after years of netrunning. But now… 

“Bug.!? Bug!? Can you fuckin’ hear me, Bug please, are you there!?” V calls out, words slurring together. She just needs to hear Bug one more time, and know everything is okay. 

And nothing. 

“¡Pinche Dios Santo bendito! We lost her, V!” 

“They...scorched her...didn’t they…?” 

“We… we gotta go, V,” Jackie says, voice cracking as he smacks at V’s shoulder. 

Bug’s final hack going through, the window unlocked. V steps out through the window onto the ledge, rain pelting her skin as she rushes around the corner. Bug said there’s a ladder they can use, last thing Bug ever said… There’s no time for mourning, no time to cry, they need to get through this. The ledge narrows around the corner, ride lights outside the hotel window guiding the way, secured against the steel of the hotel. V sees the yellow safety ladder. The merc presses her back to the building, gently side stepping across the narrow ledge, if they just reach the ladder. One wrong step and they’ll plummet. 

“You can do it, Jackie… just don't look down,” jackie tries to talk himself up, following V, “ Yep, that's fuckin' high…!”

There’s a whir of engines, an aircraft vehicle buzzing around the outside of the hotel.

“Shit! That Trauma?” Jackie asks and that’s exactly what they need right now, doctors shooting them. 

“If they’re here for Saburo, they’re a little late.” 

“Just hope they didn't see us! ¡Chingada madre!”

The aircraft carrier flies in close, flashing blinding white light onto the mercs. It sees them, definitely sees them. 

“Suspects in violation of security protocols.” The mechanical voice croaks out. 

“Time to bail!’ Jackie screams and the aircraft starts to fire, drone automated shooting at them. 

The glass around them bursts and V jumps, grabbing Jackie’s hand in her left, she swings her right blade out towards the ladder. It hooks in the bottom rung, creaking in distress as it stops their fall. And there the mercs hang, suspended by a single Mantis Blade and a ladder rung; rain pouring down upon them and a drone still searching for them through the debris. The strain pulls at V’s arm, pain shooting throughout, shoulders ache and left arm pulled tight trying to hold Jackie and the case he holds in his other hand. 

If she could pull them up with the blade, maybe they can get to safety. But her muscles already strain, wrought tight with the strength it takes to hold them up. The blade pulling at the inner tissue it’s attached too, never meant to support more weight than the person it’s attached to. Rain and tears sting her eyes as she forces herself to pull with the blade, use it to lift them up. 

“V! I can’t hold on!’ Jackie yells out, rain slick hand starting to slip from her own. She digs her nails into his skin, holding him tighter. 

“Just a bit more, I can do this!” 

Her throat is raw and she doesn’t know how much she believes her own words. Nerves scream in pain as her cyberware pulls at what’s left of her flesh. Muscles cry as forced beyond their capability. She curses beneath her breath, pulling them just a little further up. Immeasurable pain and brute force of will only amounting to the tiniest bit of progress, not even an inch closer to safety. Her blade is pulling further out from her skin, raising up from her arm in a way she knows it shouldn’t. 

Every nerve in her arms on fire; blade tugging at flesh and the other nearly pulled from socket under Jackie’s weight. Barely an inch closer to the safety, Jackie slipping from her grip quicker than she can pull, blade lifting from her arm quicker than she can move them. Her teeth sinks into the inside of her cheek, hard enough to bleed as she pushes herself further. Closer, closer, she urges herself. 

A bright white light shines across them, illuminating them in the gray night, adding another ache to her eyes. Drone marked Arasaka buzzing around, refinding them within the debris of the destroyed hotel wall. The robotic voice speaking again. 

“Violators found.” 

And her blade breaks, V’s eye blown wide as they begin to plummet, shock blurs her pain and deafens the world.  Slowing it for a moment, only able to stare as metal snaps, tissue tears, and her arm is ripped open. Cyberware tearing out tissue and nerves, viscera left behind. 

Then she hits glass, shattering it as gravity slams her through and shock becomes hurt. She hits metal, body bouncing from impact, crying as the air is knocked from her lungs. Her head bashing against something. V clutches her arm, the pain it hitting her as everything else does, blood sticking to her fingers. Each breath hurts, a labored wheeze as bruised lungs strain to work. 

V blinks, sitting up slightly, regaining her sense of self now that her fall is broken. Across from her is Jackie and the cryo-case. She looks at her arm, A solid rip from wrist to near elbow, nearly an open hole, metal and moving inner parts of the cyberware mixed with gore. It doesn’t bleed as much as she'd expect, the internal mechanics helping block major bleed out. It hurts, metal now working against raw nerves. But, she’ll live… if this is the worst that happens, she’ll live.

The cryo-case is dented, part of it sparking and part of it splatted with blood. But her eye is drawn to Jackie. A tear in his gut, shrapnel and glass caught him well, bleeding more than her. The white of the button up around his stomach turned scarlet. 

“The Relic! ¡Madres! Agh… Oh, this ain't good. Agh…” Jackie curses, each breath pained. 

“Jackie, you’re hurt!” 

“Worry about me later,” he growls, “check the relic… "Container depressurized. Biochip integrity at ninety-four percent." And fuckin' droppin'! Carajo! Parker! Call her!”

“And tell her what!? We fucked up!?” 

“Just do it!”

Evelyn answers after a short ring, her avatar coming across V’s contacts. 

“V?! Konpeki's all over the feeds! What the fuck's going on there?”

“Got a problem! Cryo-case is damaged. Biochip's integrity at… Jackie?”

“Eighty-six percent!”

“Eighty-six percent and droppin'!”

“Shit…! OK, listen to me. There's only one thing you can do. One of you's gotta slot the Relic into your neural port!”

“That sounds really dangerous!” 

God only knows how this biochip could fuck them up, the relic itself is like putting another personality in your head, seeing ghosts. If this one is even half as fucked up as that, they could be putting themselves in serious danger. 

“The longer you wait, the greater the risk we lose it!” 

“Well, someone’s got to do it,” Jackie says, voice a rasp, face steadily draining color as he opens the case, “In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit - Amen.”

Jackie crosses his body with the pray and pushes the chip into his neural port and V watches his eyes light up for a moment. And he’s quiet for another, a second too long.

“You okay?” 

“Dunno… I guess… Don't feel any different.”

“Once you're back, we'll take out the Relic and run a full brain scan and sweep. But you two need to get the fuck out of there first!”

“We’re working on it!” 

Jackie and V get back on their feet. He holds his hand to his stomach, trying to press his guts together and she keeps her arm held close to her chest, not putting pressure on it. Jackie calls Delamain. 

“Del, we'll be there in a couple. Be ready, got it?”

“Certainly, Mr. Welles.”

“Better be fuckin' certain.”

“We gotta somehow… reach the lobby. Only chance to hit the garage. And we'd best be quick,” Jackie jabs himself with an air hypo, “ Oh-ho, that's the shit… Great… Now let's get outta here.”

“Wait, take your jacket off, use it to keep pressure on your gut, okay? Should help with the bleeding.” 

It’s minimal first aid knowledge, she knows. Hold something to a wound to keep it from bleeding out as quickly. But it’s all she can offer, helping Jackie get the jacket off with one hand, so he can press it to his stomach wound. She can move her right hand somewhat, but it hurts and she swears she can see the tendons moving around the metal in the gaping wound her forearm has become. She catches herself wondering if she’ll be able to sign with her right hand again. But, there’s no time for those fears. 

She walks down the red lit metal grate, heels nearly catching in it as she turns to a doorway. V leads the way, less injured than Jackie, she pushes the door open. A door lobby with glass banisters and plants, the only light the bright red ones. 

“Great… Now let's get outta here,” Jackie says, each word a stressful choking sound to get out. 

An AI voice speaks repeatedly over the speakers that Konpeki plaza is in code red, as the mercs work to move quickly and quietly. Catching the murmuring of two guards as they reach a marble staircase, speaking of sweeping the floors and checking the lobby. They creep around the corner and past a desk, seeing the back of the men’s through the glass banister. The only sound the pounding of V’s heart and Jackie’s labored breathing. They watch as the two men separate, enough space for each to grab one. 

They move down the last stretch of the stairs, guards talking about evacuating Yorinobu. She lets Jackie take the one closest to them as she moves further to the one at the doorway. V swings her left blade, now her only one, through the man’s gut. Her right arm shoots pain through each nerve, metal inside churching to dispense a blade that no longer exists. She holds back a sound, Jackie’s already choked out the other guard, checking for pockets. Each one armed with a silenced gun. She steals ammo off of them.

They come to another door, each catching their breath. Sweat clinging to V’s brow as they brace themselves for what’s to come next. 

“Careful… security likely to be swarmin' outside,” Jackie warns and V nods, words clumping together in her throat as she opens the door. 

They stay crouched, spotting more guards as they go. The pair hide behind a planter, V taking a scan of the area, spotting a security camera. Remembering Bug’s lessons, she’s quickly able to shut them off. She’s the one to step back out, leading the way for the first time in months of working together. V needs to get Jackie through this, he’s holding on now, but.. 

She grabs a guard from behind and snaps their neck, arm twinging in agony at the movement she throws their body aside, clearing a long stretch of hallway for Jackie to follow her down. All light bright red and screens that once showed commercials now flash the words, Code Red. She leaves Jackie to stay hidden behind a counter when she sees another by the doorway, jumping at his back and dropping him just like his coworker.  

“Ain't doin' too bad… Just a little further…” Jackie whispers as she drops another guy, her arm screaming at her to stop. But she’ll survive without an arm, if worse comes to worse, she can’t let Jackie get hurt any worse. 

They creep through a door, past a desk, hearing a guard yelling out as they sneak and weave through the room. She watches over the top of a planter as the guard walks past them, none the wiser as V creeps around, getting behind him, and taking him down. She can’t risk leaving any behind, leaving one alive and them finding the mercs later. The hotel is huge, a labyrinth of Arasaka guards. 

“Engaging hostiles!” A voice booms out, the mercs spotted by a heavily armed Arasaka guard who nearly trips over V.

Fuck, fuck, so much for stealth. Jackie shoots over a counter, trying to stay somewhat protected from the gunfire, while V takes lead, firing Yorinobu’s gun at the men, only dropping behind cover to reload, she blasts. Fuck it, stealth not an option, she’ll turn the whole damn hotel into a blood bath. 

The guards drop and V knows she’s been shot, but she’s standing so she moves onward. Through a doorway, three more men open fire as the mercs turn the corner. V blasts a bullet through ones head, Jackie blows the second full of holes. 

“One more fucker dead!” 

The third is further back behind a glass door and V charges forward, glass open as she fires at the man. Bullets ripping through his chest in a spray of blood before he collapses, red smeared across the marble. If she gets a chance to sleep tonight, she’ll be seeing red in her dreams. The vivid neon lights of the emergency lit hotel, the burgundy uniforms, and the steady spray of it from every shot fired. 

Jackie and V go running around a corner, through another glass doorway and slide into side of a marble planter. Taking a moment to breathe, she can hear guards talking. Orders from higher up, panicked yells from the less experienced. She can spot two around the corner, but can’t get a clear shot. She runs to the open doorway, catching one off guard as she slams into his view and rips a blade through his gut. 

A full armored worker fires off when he sees it, partially hidden by a linen rack. Another runs in, half hiding behind a planter, firing off around the corner. She presses against a wall between it and a partial doorway, reloading before she looks back through. The less armored man moves around a pillar, peeking from behind cover, and she shoots his head as soon as she sees it, watching him hit the marble. 

She struggles to get a clear shot of the third, still hidden behind the rack and so she runs forward, past the rack and coming to a sliding stop behind him. The guard fumbles to swing around when he realizes where she’s landed. Back turned to Jackie now, her friend fires a shot clean through the guard’s head. 

The room is cleared for a moment and the elevator is nearby, she runs past a desk, when she sees the button screen. A glowing red off symbol. 

“Fuck!” 

“Chingo tu madre! It's shut down! What about the other one?” Jackie yells between rattling breaths, she wanted this to be stealthy, didn’t want to put him anymore danger. 

She runs, heels clicking against blood streaked marble, nearly tripping over a corpse. Quickly trying to stop herself when another guard springs up behind a desk. Two more swarming the room, one in the heavy almost samurai-like Arasaka armor. 

“Orale! Got to plough through them!” 

She focuses on the Saka samurai, pulling the trigger again and again,  Thankful to have emptied the ammo off every body she’s dropped so far. A bullet catches his throat, a gush of blood as he paints the floor,  and she shifts to the other men. A headshot on one, the other already down thanks to Jackie. 

V searches their corpses, pocketing ammo and bounce backs, when she finds an access token on the samurai. V thanks any god that may be listening, if they exist and makes a beeline for the elevator at the end of the room. 

“Got access,” she breathes out, calling the elevator. 

Its doors open and she steps in, the side railing lit that bright red. She waits as Jackie rushes in, he’s still in somewhat decent shape it seems. Not the ideal heist, she thinks as she hits the button, but maybe they can get out of this. Rush Jackie to a ripper, check on T-Bug, collect their eddies, and tonight will be a story to tell later. Remember the Konpeki Heist, how everything that could go wrong did. 

“Hah-… agh! Heh, hng…” She can’t tell if he’s laughing or groaning in pain, maybe both. Blood is coating his hands, has he bled through the jacket? No, Jackie’s bulletproof, said it himself a billion times. He’ll be okay, he has to be. 

“Jackie…”

“Saburo Arasaka, Hundred and fifty years… and today… of all fuckin' days. That's like… some divine comedy shit… hehehehe… agh.”

And he’s laughing, of course he is, holding his guts together and he laughs, because why would Jackie Welles do anything else. She’s not sure if she’s going to cry or laugh along, if she’s charmed or infuriated by it; is he just still desperately searching for that silver lining or does he genuinely not give a fuck if he flatlines? That idea, the thought, makes her throat tighten. He can’t die, he won’t die, she won’t let him. 

“Save your strength, please, we’re not out of the woods yet.” 

“What do you think I’m doing!?” She doesn’t miss the frustration, because if he wasn’t so hurt, he’d been the one leading that battle, charging in to take brunt of it all, “Buuut… chill, V. We'll get out alive.” 

“I know we will,” she says and wants so desperately to believe.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors open to more guards, more gunfire. She shoots at one that looks out behind a wall, three more in the main room of the lobby. Jackie slides behind a desk, using it for cover between shots. V takes lead, shooting from around a doorway. Its chaos and mayhem, V blasting the four men. One dropping behind a chair, catching one through the green ferns growing from a planter.  Three more Arasaka corpses, splattering blood across marble and the roots of those towering trees. Bullet after bullet, shot after shot, until her ears are ringing and three remain; the mercs and one last guard. 

He throws a grenade across the room at them, V shooting it in the air before it can hit them, smoke and fire smoldering across the ceiling. She uses the chance to close the gap and blows his brains out at close range.  

Room cleared they rush through the rest of the lobby, finally reaching the elevator that will take them to the garage. V slams the button, calling the elevator. The door opens and she runs inside, expecting Jackie to run in after her. His steps are slowing and he leans against the wall for a moment instead, having to catch a second wind. He’s getting worse, but they’re in the homestretch, they can do this. They can do this, he stumbles through, leaning against the elevator wall. 

“Argh… I'm leakin' a little…” His voice a rasp. 

The elevator stops at the garage, so close to safety. Doors opening she can already hear the guards and the mercs step out, eye on them, its a swarm of Arasaka. Gunfire rings out alongside the screech of brakes. The Delamain taxis coming to a stop in the center of the garage, it’s doors flinging open. 

“I advise that you waste no time in entering the vehicle,” Delamain chirps at them, like this is a normal night. 

But she needs no prodding. V grabs Jackie’s hand and runs for the taxi, dragging him through the garage to the open doors. Rather than making him walk around, she shoves Jackie through her side on the right, letting him slide into the left seat before she jumps in; he needs the extra second of protection more than her.  The doors shut, bulletproof shields raising as they the taxi is blasted by the guards. They’re safe? Right?

“Welcome back. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door….”

“DRIVE NOW!” 

And Delamain does just that, engines firing up as he rams through the garage door like it’s nothing. She leans forward on the two front seats. As the taxi takes a sharp turn, they’re almost there, almost safe. Jackie wasn’t fucking around about the combat mode. 

“Not bad at all.” 

“Client feedback noted.”

“How’s the ride looking?” 

“Tiptop. Though alas, we are being pursued.”

And then she sees him, Adam Smasher, the borged monster of a former man rushes them. No hesitation, no fear, as he slams his entire body into the car. Shattering glass, gnashing metal, and nearly sending the car to the side; slamming V and Jackie to the right. 

“Sweet fuckin’ jesus!” 

Jackie curses as V screams, the hell kind of freak is this guy? The car goes back down on its wheels. Adam Smasher on a metal knee, slowing standing up on front of the car. 

“Combat mode activated. Please remain calm.”

“Calm!!!????” She yells out as Delamain begins to drive backwards. 

 “Road block ahead. I kindly request that you brace for impact.”

“¡Oy, mis huevos! Shiiiit!”

The cab takes a turn, rather than driving through Adam Smasher, it goes through another roadway. A row of cars blocking the way and Delamain slams through through without hesitation, taking them through the Night City roads away from the hotel. Jackie is hunched over, bloody hands still pressing the jacket to his gut, the white shirt soaked through with it. 

“A hostile enemy aircraft has a lock on us.”

V doesn’t need a word more from the AI taxi, climbing halfway out of the window, she spots the drones flying after them. Three of them. Needing steadier aim, she flips off her hearing aids with a thought, steeling herself as the car weaves through the road and she fires at them. This is Arasaka’s last ditch effor to keep a lock on them, if she can get rid of them, they’re in the clear. 

Three shots; first drone goes down sparking as it hits the city streets. Two more kills the second, the metal remains slamming into a streetlamp. And the third goes down with a final shot, smoldering onto the roof of a  BD store. She turns her hearing aids back on as she slides into her seat again; they’re gone. 

“Hostile aircraft eliminated.”

“Nice work there… Del…”

She shifts to look at Jackie, he has one hand on his stomach, the other braced against the door. V grabs his shoulder with one hand and his leg with the other, practically shaking him. 

“We did it, Jackie! We made it!” 

“Heh...guess we did…” It’s not the triumphant excited Jackie, she’d expect to hear. His voice still rough, a rattle barely leaving his lungs. Her eyes sting, no, no. 

“My medical diagnostics indicate that Mr. Welles’ condition is critical.”

“Critical, what- take us to a fucking ripperdoc, now! Vik’s behind Misty’s shop!” 

She reaches to put pressure against the jacket over his wound, hand over his, but the fabric is bled all the way through. Blood sticking to her skin, warmer than Jackie’s skin and he’s looking pale, paler every second. He leans back against the chair, strength starting to leave his body. 

“Apologies, but that will not be possible. Our itinerary has been pre-arranged and paid for in advance. I am not at liberty to alter it.”

“Fuck your itinerary and fuck your liberty, just get us to goddamn doctor!” 

“It's OK, V… I'll hold out…” 

When did his nose start to bleed, when he did he start hacking up blood, red streaking down his nostrils and over his chin. She sucks in a shaky breath, eyes starting to water. No, not Jackie, anyone but him… please.  She doesn’t know who she’s begging; maybe god, maybe fate, maybe just anything in this world that will listen. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she chokes out, nodding, “you-you just got to hold on, okay? And, and, we’ll hit the major leagues. Only the best jobs, swimming in eddies, just like you always wanted.” 

She brings her forehead to his, feeling the cold sweat of his skin, hoping her warmth, touch, her words; anything will keep him alert. The tears flow freely now, wet and hot on her cheeks. 

“Mija...  you’re gonna be rich, I can feel it…” 

“No, we’re gonna be rich, Jackie! You and me, that’s how it’s always been, I-I can’t do it without you, y-you got to stay with me okay! We’ll get back, you can see Misty and your mom, everyone and let them know you made it.” 

“Misty… She knew… She always knew…” he breathes out, eyes glassy with a weak smile, “told me not to take this job, why she always got to be right?” 

“J-just a little longer, please, Jackie...please,” she begs him, like he can stop it. Like he can put his inside back together, stop the color from draining out of his face, and can just stay with her. 

“The biochip…” he holds her shoulder, grasp weak, and takes the chip from his head with the other, “Hold on to it. For me…”

And he slides it into her neuroport, her vision glitching for a moment. She surges forward, wrapping her arms as tightly as she can, burying his head into his chest, crying into him as she clings tightly; wishing she had the strength to just hold him together. 

“Please, please, Jackie, I can’t lose you, just a little longer, please,” she sobs into his ashen skin and blood soaked shirt, begging with every slowed beat of his heart. 

For a moment his hands graze her back and she waits for a bear hug, for him to squeeze the breath from her lungs and lift her from her seat like he’s done so many times. For him to be Jackie; her best friend, her partner in crimes, her brother, her everything. But his touch is faint, the space between each beat growing further and further. Until his hands fall limp, body slack in her arms, and she knows the next heartbeat will never come. 

And she sobs, she holds him and cries out her pain, if only for a moment. No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie…. And it’s not fair and it’s not right. 

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” A robotic voice asks and she realizes the car is no longer moving. 

She forces herself to let him go, one of the hardest things she’ll ever have to do. Pulling away, she sees him, truly lifeless. Bright green eyes now dull with no light behind them, limp hands falling away from her. 

“W-what?” She stumbles over the word, brain fogged over with grief. 

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family,” she stumbles across her words. 

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ” 

That’s right… Dex… The chip. The world didn’t stop spinning, only her’s. There’s still a job. And the idea of still going, that there’s a tomorrow beyond today, seems unfathomable. How the hell could she ever move on…  

Because Jackie would kill her if she didn’t and she knows that. He’d haunt her for a thousand years and kick her ass every day of it. She looks at the remains, her friend gone, now limp and bleeding across white leather. And knows if he could speak, he’d tell her to get her ass to that hotel room and finish this job, that he and Bug didn’t die just for V to bury herself alongside them. She squeezes his shoulder, presses her forehead to Jackie’s one last time, feeling the cold of his skin. 

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

V opens the car door and steps out into the backlot behind the motel. Rain pours down across her bloodied skin, soaking her to the bones, a numb chill clinging to her. Painted across brick is the Night City emblem marks the wall, red graffiti altering its slogan.. The city of broken dreams… 

She moves, on autopilot as she makes her way up the stairs and to the back door of the motel, sheltered from the rain once she’s in a trash filled back room. The motel is bathed in the neon red lights, only offset by the white of sign bearing its name, it’s always red. She stumbles up the staircase and then  another, past a tv chattering on about Saburo Arasaka. 

The merc walks down the gloomy hallway, dark except for warm yellow floor lights, Graffiti covered walls, rain washing down the windows at the end of it. And she reaches room 204, her arm leaden as she knocks. 

No response. 

“Its V,” she yells out, knocking harder. 

The door opens but before she can take another step, Dex’s body guard takes a step out. Large hand blocking her from coming further. He checks the hallway, making sure she wasn’t followed. After a moment, he finally pulls away. 

“He waiting.” 

The man takes a step back, allowing V into the room. She pushes through a bead curtain and sees Dex, leaning over a TV screen, another cigar between his golden fingers. She clears her throat, hearing the door close behind her. 

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?” 

“He’s...dead,” her voice breaks, words like thorns in her throat. Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips… 

“Condolences friend,” he tells her, shifting to look at her rather than the tv, “and the relic?” 

“Here,” she says, voice a murmur as she taps her neural port. 

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…” 

“What?!” 

She got the fucking relic, everyone is fucking dead, but she got the relic! Everyone died for this fucking chip and now he’s disappointed that she has it!?

“Saburo Arasaka?” Dex paces, smoking his cigar, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!’

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-” she stalls, wanting to say she didn’t do anything, but can she say that? Can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… 

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave the city.” 

Badlands isn’t the safest for her, but it will be safer with money, she could settle in another city, maybe. She can outrun her family more than Arasaka. 

“You don’t say.” 

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.” 

“A’ight, settle down,” he sits down on the leather couch, “Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

He points her to the bathroom of the motel and she nods, in no place to argue, she just wants to be on the other side of this mess. To be able to tell herself at least she made it to the major leagues, at least Jackie would be proud of her, even if he isn’t here to see it. 

V stumbles into the bathroom, legs wobbling. Everything should hurt, her arm ripped open. Bruises mottling every inch of flesh. But she’s… numb. She works on autopilot, only somewhat aware of the door shutting behind her as she grips the sink, streaking blood across the silver.

Her blood and Jackie’s. 

Bile rushes up her throat, stinging as she pukes into the sink, choking and gagging it out. The tears threaten to come again, eyes stinging as he nails dig into the sink. He’s gone, he’s really fucking gone. Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood and name, her rock, and world. The man who took her in, who gave her a goal, a life… 

And how’d she repay him? 

Watch him die in the back of a Delamain. All her promises to keep him safe, to repay back all the kindness he gave to her. And she couldn’t save him, couldn’t protect him, couldn’t do shit but hold him. Fuckin’ only time she really hugged him with all she had and she doesn’t even know if he could really feel it, if his body was too numb. 

If she would have refused the job. 

If she had gotten them up the ladder. 

If she had been stronger. 

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker. 

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid. 

If….if… if… 

Thoughts spin and whirl through her mind, a thousand reasons why it’s her fault. Why she could have saved him, why she could have done more, why she failed him… 

Misty will never take Jackie’s last name and it’s V’s  fault. They’ll never have kids, they’ll never buy a home together, he’ll never get to take her to that stupid hotel bar with the annoying waiter. 

Senora Welles will be forced to bury her son and it’s V’s fault. She’ll never hold her son again. Never see him smile again. Never see him live out his dream. Never cook his favorite foods for him and nag him not to talk with his mouth full. 

Jackie had a future, a family, people who loved him. He was going to marry Misty one day, have kids. Get enough eddies to provide for them and his mom. And now there’s a hole in all of their lives. The world as a whole now worse off without him, her own world destroyed. It should have been her, she knows that, the world would be better off losing her than losing him. 

Yet here she is and she’s just supposed to keep moving, supposed to keep breathing, supposed to live a life post Jackie. 

When she looks up, she sees her own reflection staring back at her. Red rimmed eyes, swollen  from crying and blood splattered across her skin, stuck in the ends of her hair. And she doesn’t know where it’s from, if it’s her own, if it’s Jackie’s, or if it’s from the people she killed tonight. T-Bug and Jackie gone, yet she’s here. 

A brilliant talented netrunner is gone. But she’s still here. 

The kindest man to walk in Night City is gone. But she’s still here. 

She glares at herself, because she has no right to be here and the world has no right to be this cruel. Her fingers clenches, pulling at her damaged nerve endings and she slams her fist into the mirror. Glass shatters and crackles, shards splintering into her knuckles. 

V washes the blood from her hands and face, cleaner but still a zombie as she turns to the door. Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job. She stumbles to the bathroom door and opens it, stepping out.

Knuckles collide with her head, wracking more pain through an already injured merc, she’s sent sprawling to the ground. She curses and twists around on the floor, not sure she has the energy to stand back up, vision blurring as Dex’s bodyguard stomps on her. Heavy foot colliding with her head. She curses and sputters choking on blood.  She twists onto her back, blinking through the pain as Dex’s bodyguard hands him a pistol. The fixer walks closer, standing over her.

“Can't risk it, V,” he says casually, leveling his gun with her head,” ‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” She screams, spitting blood as she stares down the barrel. 

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.” 

The shot rings out, loud and clear, the world going dark as a bullet rips through the young merc’s head. Blood splatters across the dirty carpet, her body going limp, a final breath gurgling forth as she chokes on her own blood, iron taste clinging in the back of her throat. 

Then she’s gone. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #silverv #johnny silverhand #jackie welles #female v #aidan becker #aidan v becker #angst

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Seven): Flying Towards An Early Grave

Notes: Still posting my little backlog, I will warn in advanced, the next chapter is the heist (finally) AND IT IS A CHONKER, but for now have a little appetizer with some fun times, smut, and foreshadowing!~

Word Count: 10860

Chapter Warnings: heavy foreshadowing, food, blowjobs, groping, protected vaginal sex, car sex

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V’s body is heavy as she gets to her apartment door, ready to curl up into bed and call it a day. She’s exhausted with adrenaline gone. She presses her thumb to the panel. The little intercom doorbell is also the lock, scanning and searching for SID validation. It takes a moment to scan, it seems to be lagging more lately. 

Calling. 

The intercom says it’s calling, why is it calling? She can hear the automated ringing and her lights inside are probably flashing. It only does this if the SID doesn’t match the apartment owner’s, assuming them a guest. V presses again. 

Calling. 

She presses harder. 

Calling. 

She tries her entire hand.

Calling. 

She kicks her door, a heavy sound as her boot collides with it. That doesn’t help with the lock, but it makes her feel a little better. Just what she needs; bloody, sore, and locked out of her apartment for who fucking knows why? Her stomach growls as she pulls up the number for building maintenance. 

“Megabuilding Maintenance, how can I help?” 

“I’m locked out of my apartment,” V signs, her choker translator on. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The lock isn’t recognizing my SID.” 

“Can I get your name and apartment number?” 

V gives them the details and they say they’re sending a maintenance guy. All of the services floor is nearly shut down at the late hour, her stomach growling. No doubt the maintenance guy will take his sweet fucking time, so much for getting some decent sleep. She gets a burrito, a Nicola, and a little thing of ketchup from the machines. Sitting on the ground near her door, dumping ketchup on her burrito as she eats it. 

By the time the guy arrives she’s finished eating, drinking, and is a little unsure what’s dried blood versus dried ketchup on her shirt. She hops to her feet when she sees the guy walking up, a massive case of resting bitch face. V doubts he wanted to be dragged out at three am to help unlock a door, but it’s not her fault the tech fucked up. 

“You V?” he asks, voice gruff and annoyed. 

“Yep.” 

“Hard day?”  His eyebrow raises, gaze focused on her blood stained flesh and chrome. 

“Work.” 

“Ah… I see,” he nods, “so, what's the issue with your door?” 

Night City is one of the few places where one can just admit to being a mercenary for a living, even if it did earn her an odd look. V presses her hand to the lock button again and it once again initiates a call. 

“Doesn’t recognize my SID.” 

“Hmm, you are V, right?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Who the fuck else would I be? The building has a picture of me on file for fucks sake.” 

“Hey, hey, nowadays with enough eddies anybody can look like anybody.” 

“If I had an identity worth stealing, you really think I’d be living here?” 

“Fair enough, let’s check something,” he pulls out a holo tablet, jacking it into the bottom of the intercom lock, “this will show what the lock is reading it as, try again.” 

V keeps an eye on his tablet as she presses her hand back to the lock and the projected information starts to show. And for a moment she sees herself; her face, her name, her information, and all the shit Vik had to set up for her to have SID. Then in a blink of an eye it glitches out and the information shifts. She watches her nearly mugshot like photo shift into that of a man, with short dark hair and dark eyes. V [REDACTED] becomes Robert John Linder. Birthdate shifting from November 12th, 2056 to November 16, 1988.  Birthplace shifting from Seven Devils, North Carolina to College Station, Texas.  

Who the hell is this old man? 

“Looks like it’s reading your SID chip as someone else's, strange, any chance you’ve been spiked by a ‘runner?” 

“No, even if I was, not sure why they’d want to make my SID register to some senior citizen.” 

“Weird, can’t think of how else this would happen? Seems like it starts to read your chip and then changes to this guy’s. Do you know him?” 

“Don’t hang around old folks homes too much, actually. Just some random dude to me.” 

“Hmmm.” 

“I can promise you, I’m not a ninety year old cowboy man.” 

“Somehow I noticed that, actually… looks like the guy is dead.” 

“What?” 

“Mmhmm, scroll down a bit and there’s the date his death certificate was issued,” the guy shows her, “you’ll probably need to have your SID looked at, see what’s wrong with it. For now, I can unlock it for you and have them add whoever this guy is to registered owners, so, you won’t be locked out until you fix it.” 

“Fine, I guess.” 

“But that does mean if this guy’s ghost decides to pop in for a visit, lock won’t stop him,” the man jokes, offering the first smile since he’s been here. 

“Somehow I’ll handle it, thanks for the help, and if it’s not too much trouble can you forward me the details of that SID info?” 

“Sure, no problem,” the maintenance man’s eyes glow and she can feel the very soft warmth and whirr of her neuroplant as it accepts the file. 

She gives one final thanks as he unlocks her apartment and she’s finally able to step foot inside. Thankfully her door locks behind her and she makes a beeline for her shower, scrubbing blood and sweat from her skin; finding bruises, cuts, and flesh wounds she hadn’t noticed in the midst of fighting. 

It takes her a little longer than expected to wind down for the night, the merc putting in her optic contacts and playing with the bot. Looking through its eyes, she has it twist and climb all throughout her apartment, making herself dizzy until she falls out of  bed and bangs her head against the floor. Finally, putting the cute spider looking tech away when she feels the knot starting to form on her head. Then, setting her alarm and sleeping for the night. 

V is still tired when her alarm vibrates beneath her pillow, waking her up as the sunlight streams in from her large window, warming her skin. She checks her phone, double checks the time and that Dex hasn’t sent the car for her yet. The young merc rushes through her morning routine; showering, brushing her teeth, dressing, and taking her medication with some Chromanticore in hopes of getting some energy back. 

She’s out the door and has her  mask on in a matter of minutes, phone buzzing with the message that Dex’s car is waiting for her. As she comes down the steps of her building she sees the same limousine and bodyguard waiting outside of it. But this time when he opens the door for her, there is no Dex, nobody. Chills creep their way up her spine, but she gets in nonetheless, sinking into the leather backseat as Dex’s guard starts to drive them away. 

The guard is quiet, doesn’t explain where they’re going or why, V has a feeling he wouldn’t tell even if she asked. So, she doesn’t. Only the radio drones on, a mixture of news and occasional pop music from bands and singers she doesn’t know or care to know; an anouncer coming over the radio to speak somberly. 

“Today marks the fifty-fourth anniversary of the attack on Arasaka Tower. Fifty-four years ago a group of terrorists stormed Arasaka Tower and detonated a bomb, which forever changed the history of our dear city. Devastating the lives of millions; thousands dying in the initial attack and more perishing in the aftermath as well. Today we ask for a moment of silence to remember those who lost their lives in this senseless act of violence so many years ago….:” 

A beat of silence, barely a moment, then the high energy voice returns. 

“Now, after this short music break, we return with the heartwarming story of Stumpy, the three legged puppy who’s gone viral after the use of  veterinary cyberware has given the pup a new lease on life!~” 

V rolls her eyes, sounds about right, barely a moment for something so somber. No real grief or empathy, time to move on to a cute puppy because that keeps people happy and listening.  She watches the city around her change, spotting the Valentino graffiti starting to cover the buildings and that they’re entering Heywood.  She sends a heads up text to Jackie, letting him know they’re not far from his house. 

A short moment after,  the driver is parking outside Jackie’s garage and she watches the older merc walking out. The guard opens the limousine back door and Jackie relaxes when he sees V, climbing into the seat next to her. 

“Hey, V, you figure out what’s going on?” 

“Was sort of hoping you had…” 

“Asked T-Bug, said it’s a surprise.” 

“Not sure I like Bug’s idea of surprises.” 

“Hey, hombre,” Jackie calls out to the guard as he starts to drive them away, “mind telling us where we’re headed?” 

They’re met with silence, because of they are. V nervously wrings her hands as she watches for signs of where they’re going based on the passing scenery. 

“Has to be something to do with prepping for the job, just wish I knew what.” 

“Speaking of which, you got the bot on you?” 

“Yeah, brought it just in case and if Bug’s there she’ll want to take a look. Wonder if there’s any chance of keeping the Flathead after this?” 

She knows Dex said it’s a single use toy, but...who knows, maybe she could somehow keep it afterwards. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Its cute.” 

“You think a military grade combat bot is cute?” 

“It's a little spider.” 

“You find the weirdest shit cute, I swear.” 

“It is cute!” 

“It’s-” Jackie looks out the window, “shit are we in Corpo Plaza?” 

“Maybe we’re just passing through?” 

As if only to prove her wrong, the limousine parks outside a store on Senate Avenue, the bright sign says Jinguji. Even looking through the window, it looks entirely like a place that her and Jackie do not belong. Brightly lit, immaculately clean with fancy designer clothes on display. 

“We’re here,” the guard tells them and the doors open with the press of a button. 

V and Jackie share a look before getting out of the limousine, standing before the Jinguji store like deers stuck in headlights. 

“Dex can’t be serious, Jinguji?” Jackie says, scratching at the shaved underneath of his hair. 

“Looks…. Fancy.” 

“Corp store, designer; a sock in there will cost you a few thousand eddies.” 

“I know he says we need to play corpo, but… I don’t know, it feels weird.”

“I’m sure Dex knows what he’s doing. But, uh,  you gotta take off the mask, chica.” 

“What, why?” 

“‘Cause its fucking Jinguji, they’re not gonna let you through the door looking like that.” 

“You’re one to talk, you got a ketchup stain on your shirt.” 

“Firstly, that’s blood. Secondly, you’re a wearing a jacket you stole off a dead guy last week.” 

“Not like he needs it!” 

“Jackie, V!” A voice yells out, drawing the merc’s attention into the doorway of the store, T-Bug in realspace, wearing a black netrunning suit, “would you gonks stop bickering and get in here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the mercs speak and sign in unison, falling the netrunner into the corp store.

There’s a large lit up advertisement at the back of the store. Gold decor dripping down from the ceiling, plush white couches, and an ice bucket with champagne. To her surprise, there’s no other shoppers within the store. A man in a tailored designer suit sits at the desk, greeting the two mercs as they walk in. 

“Welcome to Jinguji, an oasis of elegance!~” 

V gives an awkward nod and wave. She’s not sure what else to do. She doesn’t belong here; she knows that much. A dirty black leather jacket under the bright lights and old raggedy boots on shiny polished floors.  The merc wants nothing more than to run out of the store, some of the clothes she sees displayed are nice, if she’s being honest. A few bit tacky for her taste, but others are cute or sexy with dramatic flair, but nothing she would ever really have a reason to wear. 

“Mind telling us why the fuck we’re here, Bug?” Jackie asks and the netrunner chuckles. 

“To get into Konpeki, you two will have to look the part. Rather than blindly guessing what will fit, Dex is flitting the bill and getting you both some corpo threads,” T-Bug explains, taking a seat on on of the couches. 

“Where is everyone?” 

“Store is rented out for the next couple hours, discretion. V, did you bring the bot?” 

“Got it in my bag.” 

“Lemme see, got to make sure it’s in working shape.” V puts the bot down on the table, T-Bug opening the case and looking over the bot, running diagnostics that the merc can’t begin to understand,

“Right this way, you two, I’m sure we’ll find something perfect for both of you,” the man who greeted them, grabs their attention again, “but it would be easier,  if I have a full idea of your features, miss.” 

“Told you,” Jackie taunts and V elbows him in the side, slowly taking off her mask and she feels bare. And she knows people have seen her face before, but this is work and it just feels… wrong. 

“Wonderful, so we’ll begin with the gentlemen, I think you’ll find we have a wonderful array of fine suits in our men’s department.” 

The man, who’s fancy name tag says Zane, shows them a vast collection of suits. They range from slick classic black ones, deep navy blues, florals, brights, embroidered, and every color she can imagine. Its hard to imagine the big merc in any of them. She’s always seen him in muscle shirts or his favorite red and black jacket. His eyes seem to land on a red suit with gold detailing. 

“Well-” 

“Point is to blend in, not stand out, Jack,” T-Bug calls out, scolding him without having to even look at him or his choice in suit. 

“Just black then.” 

“Wise choice, sir, our tailors will get your measurements and get the perfect fit for you.” 

Another employee guides Jackie to a fitting room and V feels the sudden urge to sink into the ground, Zane’s attention now solely on her.  She scratches at her cheek and flips on her choker translator. 

“Now, what about you? We have plenty of formal options in women’s fashion as well. A more androgynous business suit or perhaps a dress?” 

She’s shown mannequins dressed in tight body con dresses with various necklines, materials, colors, and a few well fitted pants suits. Her eyes are drawn to the dresses, if she’s being honest. She has a rather small collection of skirts and dresses, for off days, but she never has a chance to wear anything more formal than a sundress or mini skirt over leggings. These dresses are dramatic, gorgeous; some with mesh inlays or cut outs. 

But, like Bug said;  they’re there to blend in, not stand out. This isn’t an outfit for fun but for work and if something goes wrong, the last thing she needs is this going to shit and having to battle in a tight constricting dress or too high of heels. 

“I think a pants suit in black would be best; keep it simple.” 

“Understood.” 

V taken to a fitting room, given the chance to put on the ready to buy pantsuits in privacy. A stark white button up blouse, black blazer, and black slacks. And she knows immediately it will need to be tailored to suit her; the pants longer than her legs and the shirt loose around her chest. The tailor comes in after a moment and begins measuring, marking where things need to be taken in and raised. V left trying not to get embarrassed each time the measuring tape is wrapped around a part of her.

“Is there a way to make the blazer sleeves easier to roll up?” She signs once her arms are done being measured. The material is stiffer and harder to get tight around her elbows when trying; she wants her Mantis Blades easily used.

“Hmm, lets see, maybe it’d be best to use it more like an accessory rather than wearing it properly?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you could just wear it over your shoulders like a cape,” the woman drapes it that way across V’s shoulders. 

“Not my thing.” 

“Then you can carry it, like this,” the woman shows  holding the jacket back over her shoulder with her fingers hooked in it’s collar. It looks alright, casual enough, though having a jacket and not wearing it still reads as strange to the merc.

“I’ll consider that.” 

“It can also help keep you cool. Now, lets talk about makeup, hair, and shoes.” 

V listens and nods as the woman gives recommendations; getting V a pair of low heeled black synthetic leather shoes. Then going into advice on hair; recommending french twist, a bun, or a low ponytail depending on how formal V wants to go. The woman recommends simple classic makeup styles and a few other tips for the merc to meet her full corpo potential. Finally, with measurements, adjustments, and everything marked; V is allowed to change back into her street clothes. She leaves the room, seeing Jackie already in his regular clothes again and sitting next to T-Bug. 

“We have all the measurements down and will begin altering the clothes immediately.” 

“Good,” T-Bug confirms with Zane, “remember we need them finished and delivered to The Afterlife by five.” 

“I assure you, our tailors are already on it.” 

“V,” T-Bug calls out when she sees the short merc, “got something for you.” 

V sits down on the couch, watching as T-Bug sets out a pair of white hearing aids. They’re designed like her normal ones, just more boring. 

“Hearing aids? I already have those.” 

“These are special, optic camo. No corpo worth their salt has anything less than top of the line phonic implants, with press of a button or a thought, these will go invisible.. They’ll work just like your regular ones, but look like you’re wearing nothing. Try them out.” 

She switches her blue hearing aids with the new ones, they fit well and she pushes the thought of turning the camo on.  V catches her reflection in a mirror in the store, she can feel them, but see nothing. 

“Perfect, no one will be any the wiser. This also means no signing or translator.” 

“Oh, I see.” 

“I know its not ideal, but it’s just the reality of it. Corpo types like this; lose your hearing, new implants. Vocal chords fried, get a new set in gold. Get paralyzed, new legs or entire nervous system. Go blind, new optics. They see you signing or using hearing aids, you’ll stand out like a sore thumb.” 

“I get it.” 

“No sweat,  I’ll do the talking, V,” Jackie comforts her and then turns his attention to Bug, “So, what now?” 

“We’ll go over the full plan this evening at The Afterlife, you two need to be there by five. We’ll talk with Dex and you’ll be in Konpeki by eight tonight, relic in hand before midnight strikes.” 

“So we get to kick back and relax until five?” 

“As long as you’re there by five and ready to go, I couldn’t care less what you do, Jack.” 

“Said this place was rented out, right?” V asks, noticing a dramatic purple dress that reminds her of a certain tarot card reader’s favorite color.

“Yeah, why?” 

“How much longer is this place reserved?” 

“Another hour, maybe two and again, I ask why?” 

“Ow, hell that for, chica?” Jackie looks up when V kicks him in the shin. 

“Call Misty, dumbass. Buy her something nice, make a date out of it before we go on the job.”  V tells him, remembering Misty’s concerns from the other night. It might ease her mind a bit to have a nice afternoon with Jackie, dress shopping and a fancy lunch in City Center. Just a chance to enjoy themselves. 

“Dex is nice V, but sincerely doubt he wants to pay for Misty a new dress.” 

“Oh no, if only one of us had scammed ten grand off of Militech, oh wait,” V says, pulling the Militech credchip from her bag and sees the twinkle in Jackie’s eyes. 

“You serious, V?” 

“Should get her a hell of a nice dress, maybe you a suit, and a nice fancy lunch; play corpo for an afternoon.” 

“Shit, V,” he takes the credchip from her fingers, “what’d I do without you?” 

“You two are going to make me puke,” T-Bug says, rolling her eyes while Jackie is already calling up Misty. 

“Just wait until Misty gets here and the constant pet names start,  you’ll really lose your lunch.” 

“Ugh, more reason to get out of here, I’ll be taking the Flathead with me to keep in working shape.” 

“Can I ask you something before you go?”

“Got more code you need me to check?” 

“Not quite, had an issue with my SID chip last night, was wondering if there was a chance I was hacked?” 

“You get spiked, jaina?” Jackie asks when he finishes chatting with Misty. 

“Don’t know, couldn’t unlock my door last night, reader thought I was some old dude.” 

“Hmm, SID hacks are tricky, we’re going to be using one for your covers in Konpeki. But they usually only alter your ID a bit and die after so many hours. Thing is, that wouldn’t really benefit anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, I don’t think anyone would get much out of pretending I’m some ninety year old dead fuck.” 

“I can jack in, see if I find anything in your soft.” 

“Sure, if you don’t mind.” 

V shifts her back to T-Bug, sweeping her hair off the nape of her neck and showing her neuroports. The netrunner pushes some loose strands out of the way and slots her personal jack into V’s biomon. A few moments pass and V can feel her cheeks flushing a bit, a weird feeling to having T-Bug directly touch her and jack in to her tech. This is the first time they’ve met in person, may even be the first time Bug has seen her face. 

“Everything looks clear to me, SID is registering as yours, no signs of a hack,” Bug explains, jacking out. 

“Weird, maintenance guy showed last night it was showing as some dead guy.” 

“Strange, must be some sort of glitch.” 

“Or you’re being haunted.” 

“Haha, very funny, Jackie.” 

“Hello… “ 

A soft voice calls out and V lights up seeing Misty poking her head into the fancy luxury store, looking every bit as nervous as V had been. Jackie is up and rushing towards Misty in a heart beat, pulling her into a hug and twirling her around, kissing her head. 

“You’re here, mi carina.” 

“Babe,” Misty says, giggiling as she’s put back down on her feet, then steps up on her tip toes to kiss Jackie’s lips. 

“Gonna puke,” T-Bug comments low under her breath and V tries not to laugh. 

“V, Bug,” Misty smiles at the two, “glad I got here before you two left out.” 

“What’s up?” 

Jackie walks Misty over closer to them, large hand on her hip as she rummage through her purse. After a moment, she pulls out three beaded bracelets. A mixture of beads in black, gold, and blue mottled with gold. T-Bug is already raising her eyebrow and V’s not sure how well Misty’s spiritualism will go over with the runner. 

“These are protection bracelets. Lapis lazuli, black tourmaline, and gold sheen obsidian. They’re all meant to help with creating a protective spiritual barrier, it should keep you all safe from negative energies and frequencies.” 

“Ay, you still in knots over this, mi alma?” 

“It would just make me feel better knowing you have a little more protection, babe.” 

Misty slides the biggest of the bracelets onto Jackie’s wrist and he gives her a soft smile, kissing her temple before starts to give the others to V and Bug. The young merc slides it on with a smile and T-Bug takes it in hand, with a less enthusiasm. 

“Thanks, Misty, I appreciate it,” V tells her and elbows T-Bug in the side, earning her a glare, but the netrunner plays nice. 

“Thanks…” 

“I know it’s not much, but a little protection is better than none and should keep energies bright.” 

“Right….” 

“Well,” V cuts in before Bug can say anything else, “we’ll be getting out of your hair, have fun you two!~” 

“Thanks again, V, see you two at The Afterlife.” 

Jackie waves them off, Bug packing up and V putting her usual hearing aids in their case, away in her pocket. The runner and young merc leave the store, Dex’s guard already left a while ago, so V will have to either call her car or use the public transit. Come to think of it, she’s not sure how she’s going to kill time until its game time. 

“V,” Bug stops her outside Jinguji before they go their separate ways for now, “gotta ask, you really believe in that spiritual crap?” 

“No, but she does and it makes her happy, so, why not?”

“I guess, if she really thinks a bracelet is going to save us from Arasaka.” 

“Won’t kill you to accessorize a little, Bug.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

They say their goodbyes and V is left thinking again about what she wants to do to pass the time. She could do a few short gigs, but her mind is preoccupied with the heist. Ultimately, V finds herself taking the NCART to El Coyote Cojo. Mostly just because she’s bored and maybe something or someone there will occupy her time.  The bar isn’t too active at the early hour and she doesn’t see Mama Welles around. 

“V!” Pepe greets her when she walks through. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

“Same old, same old. Jaquito is still out, Senora Welles is out shopping, but Jake is taking out the trash in the back if you want to say hi.” 

“I think I might go and do just that.” 

Playing grab ass with one of her go to lays seems like a solid way to waste her time. V walks through the bar and out one of the backdoors that open to the alley with the dumpster. Sure enough, Jake is there tossing away a trash bag. He’s around 6’5 about as tall as Jackie, muscular, with a head of ginger hair shaved down on the shades and a thick beard. 

She throws her arms around his waist, feeling the muscle underneath his shirt. He teases his fingers over her forearms, the chrome of his Gorilla Fingers cyberware sending a soft chill through her skin. 

“Hey, V, new chrome?” He runs over the chrome patterns in her arms. 

She hums against his back in response, not wanting to move. But, he twists in her arms. He cups her face in chromed fingers, for a moment, his browns furrow in confusion. 

“No hearing aids?” 

She pulls away, enough space for her to sign. 

“Camouflage ones, it and the blades are necessary for the gig.” 

“Oh yeah, Jackie’s been talking everyone to death about this heist you two got planned. He better be damn glad no one here’s got loose lips.” His hands drop from her face and loosely wrap around her waist, fingers starting to graze over her ass. 

“Can’t blame him for being excited.” 

“Hmmm and you?” 

“Nervous.” 

“Figured as much,” he squeezes her ass, “you looking for a distraction?” 

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be letting you grope my ass in broad daylight, now would I?” 

A low dry chuckle echoes in his chest and he dives in for a kiss. It’s quick and rough, his beard scratching over her skin before he pulls away. She can’t help but giggle as he pulls her back into the bar, hand still shamelessly on her ass. 

“Pepe! I’m going on lunch break!” 

“Yeah yeah, go on.” 

“C’mon,” Jake guides her out of the bar, “lemme at least buy you lunch first.” 

“You actually trying to be nice today?” 

“Something like that.” 

V settles into his passenger side seat as Jake climbs behind the wheel. They pull away from El Coyote Cojo, driving around Heywood and finding a drive in to go through, Burgers, fries, and pop bought; Jake finds a relatively empty place to park meanwhile V has already begun taking the pickles off her burgers. 

“So, you wanna actually talk about it?” Jake asks, taking a bite of his burger. 

“Not much to talk about,” she signs with salt covered fingers and a mouthful of fries, “biggest job of our career. Nerves are natural.” 

Not to mention the shady client, the fact they’re robbing Arasaka, the fact they’re robbing Yorinobu specifically, the fact they have to play corpo, that V will have to force herself not to sign, and that every fiber of her being is screaming that something  is going to go wrong. Then she has the weirdness of her SID chip fucking up on her mind as well. 

“Yeah, but you overthink, so I know that little brain of yours is spinning in a billion directions.” 

V shrugs, “No more than usual, so,  what’s been going on with you?” 

“Not much, been thinking of quitting the bar.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, get to work the day shift so I can pick the twins up from school and spend some time with them. But, day shift in a bar basically means staring at a wall and waiting for Senora Welles to cut me a paycheck.” 

“You don’t like getting paid to sit around and look pretty?” 

“Not gonna lie, it’d be hard to find a boss as forgiving as Senora Welles.” 

“Not every boss would let you take an hour or longer lunch just to play grab ass with me?” 

“Eh, pretty sure if she knew what I was doing with her precious adopted daughter, she’d already have me fired.” 

“Oh please, she’s known you longer than me.” 

“Yeah, but she likes you more, you’re basically her kid and I’m her employee,” he pauses watching V roll her eyes, “you know, she’s been worrying a lot about you and Jackie, lately. She knows things are getting riskier with the merc work and-” 

V quiets him with a kiss, not wanting to hear another word of this. She comes to him for a distraction. The kiss is messy and he tastes like greasy fast food, but she’s sure she’s not any better, pushing her tongue into his mouth. She cups his jaw with one hand, scratching over his beard and as he deepens the kiss, she drops her other hand into his lap. He’s already half hard in his jeans, pressing into her touch as she gropes him through the denim. Jake curses against her lips, breaking their kiss. 

“You talk too much, honey,” she chastises him, a soft smile on her lips as she undoes his belt buckle, he lifts his hips, allowing  space to pull his pants and boxer down just enough to get his cock out. 

She pulls her legs up into her seat, on her knees so she can fully lean over the center console into his lap. V pushes hair back behind her ear and takes his dick into her mouth; not bothering to tease, swallowing around him. The taste of him on her tongue causes a heat in her center to stir, getting slick between her thighs as she bobs her head up and down. He groans as she strokes and sucks him, teasing her tongue ring along the head of his cock. The bitterness of his precum and the salt of his skin making her dizzy with need. 

His chrome fingers slide across the expanse of her back, reaching out to grab her ass. He gropes and fondles her through her pants, the rough feeling of her jeans and panties being pressed against her sensitive wet folds. Jake curses as V alternates between sucking, licking, and taking him as deep into her throat as she can. 

He tugs on her hair, bleached strands wrapped around chrome, pulling her mouth off him. Drool covering his cock and her lips. She pouts at him for stopping her, cheeks flushed and breathing heavy.  He gives her a swat on the ass, barely hard enough to sting. 

“Want inside of you.” 

That’s all the explanation he gives and she pulls away, thankful that the windows of his car have steamed from body heat, she begins to quickly strip off her clothes. Its clumsy as she tries to strip down in a car seat, throwing her jacket off into the back, kicking off her boots, before yanking her pants and panties down in one fluid movement. She curses herself for not wearing a skirt or something with easier access. A part of her mind recognizes how stupid she must look, still in her shirt, bra, and her socks staying on after tugging off her pants. But lust has killed her ability to think, just wanting him inside of her. Jake has rolled a condom on, but otherwise has simply watched the flustered merc strip down. 

V’s easily able to jump into his lap, straddling him and having her back to the steering wheel. She steadies herself with one hand on his shoulder, the other lining his cock up with her entrance, sinking herself down onto his dick. She’s slick enough that she takes him all in one movement, both cursing out at the feeling. The stretch of his cock inside of her and the tightness of her cunt around him. Jake digs his nails into her hips and bounces her on his cock, fucking up into her. He takes complete control, setting a brutal pace that leaves V reeling with every thrust. All she can do is wrap her arms around his neck and moan against his sweaty skin, accepting each harsh movement of him inside of her. 

The tension inside of her grows tighter with every thrust, every smack of skin against skin like a strike of a match trying to grow a larger flame. She can’t think, can’t focus, every thought consumed with pleasure and a desire to be pushed over the edge. Bruises form on her hips where he hold her, where he uses her for pleasure. The chair of his cheap car creaks with each bounce and a few thrusts slams her lower back into the steering wheel, but she doesn’t care, couldn’t if she tried. She whines and whimpers against his skin, feeling her end nearing. 

And then the tension snaps, orgasm hitting her fast and hard, she digs her nails into his skin, squirming and writhing as she moans out her pleasure. Mind a haze as she’s overwhelmed with her pleasure. He thrusts a few more times and she nearly chokes at the continued stimulation, the feeling of him fucking into her already sensitive cunt. Then he curses, bringing her hips down fully to meet his own one last time before he cums, spilling his seed inside the condom. 

V rolls off of him and back into the passenger seat, hating the empty feeling  Her skin is sweaty and flushed, as much she hates it, she needs to get her clothes back on. Fumbling to get her pants and panties out of the passenger side floorboard. Pulling them on and shoving her feet in her boots. V waits as Jake ties off the condom and adjusts his jeans, opening the car door and tossing the condom away into a nearby dumpster. 

The Night City air feels cool compared to the heat of the car after fucking, she watches him light up a cigarette outside of the car and grimaces. He climbs back into the driver's seat, keeping the window rolled down and she makes a gagging sound as the smoke hits her nose. 

“You coming back to the bar with me?” He asks, blowing smoke out of the window. 

“No,” she signs, thankful the choker translator can survive sweat, “I’ll catch the train back to Watson.” 

“Let strangers see you sweaty and fuck-dazed?” 

“Well, it’s a good look for me.” 

“Can’t really deny that, now can I.” 

She rolls her eyes and grabs her jacket getting out of the car, walking away on still slightly wobbly legs. V takes the train back to Watson, fiddling with her holophone the entire way. The merc gets off at the stop closest to her megabuilding and makes her way to her apartment; lock recognizing her on the first try. 

V checks the time and decides to get ready to go to The Afterlife. Those nerves she had managed to fuck away for a moment creep up on her all over again. She shakes her head not wanting to focus on her anxieties, she strips down and grabs a shower, cleaning off the sweat from her liaison. 

The merc pulls her hair back in a small low-set ponytail and does her makeup to the recommendations of the stylist. She gets dressed and uses the new camouflaged hearing aids, she takes her mask with her too. Though she knows she can’t wear it into Konpeki, she’ll still be walking into The Afterlife. That thought alone twists her guts into nervous knots. 

The Afterlife is the go to bar for the top of their game, Major Leagues mercs and fixers. It’s where the biggest deals are made, the easiest place to catch a drink and a job, but only mercs or fixers of a certain standard are allowed through its doors. Jackie brags about the place like it’s heaven for mercenaries. If they’re going to become regular fixtures of the bar after this, then she’d prefer to maintain her usual level of anonymity for fixers moving forward. She’ll drop the mask when they’re finally in corpo threads. 

V slides on Misty’s bracelet as well, fiddling with the beads meant to provide some form of protection. Her mind goes back to Misty’s tarot card reading, while she doesn’t put much weight on it, her friend’s fortune telling often sticks with her. The Wheel of Fortune is sticking out to her; she could care less if the cards thinks she’s stupid or if she’s about to fall in love, the latter of which so ridiculous she can’t help but dismiss it. But the idea of conflict sticks out, fear of the heist going wrong has been heavy on her mind. Something always goes slightly wrong, no job is perfect. But this has the highest stakes she’s ever encountered. 

V has new cyberware, the best possible tech and upgrades from Vik. She has Jackie, her best choom and partner in crime who’s never let her down. There’s T-Bug, her friend and brilliant netrunner who could bring half of Night City down if she wished. Their fixer is Dex, one of the best in regards to his job, he has everything to gain by having their backs covered. They have military grade tech and an inside look into Konpeki. They are going in under the best possible circumstances. 

She has to remind herself, review this again and again, that if something goes wrong someone there should be able to take care of it. But, those nerves don’t fade even as she leaves her apartment. 

The Afterlife isn’t far from V’s apartment, practically a hop and skip downtown. Barely five minutes pass before she’s under the roofed alley, nearing the club. Vivid cyan and purple graffiti across the wall, trash along the way.

“Porque ya tengo planes para esta noche!" 

The voice is familiar, Jackie’s and V pressed her back to the side of the vending machine, he’s telling someone he already has plans for tonight. He sounds frustrated, like he’s on the verge of pulling his hair out. 

“Virgen Santsima, ma! Te vas a enterar mañana,” a beat of silence, “también te quiero, ma."

The conversation ways on her, he’s talking to Senora Welles. Remembering Jake talking about her feelings, that the matriarch has been worrying herself half to death. And it sounds like Jackie has been on the receiving end of that worry for a while.  V pulls her mask on and rounds the corner past the vending machine, stepping in front of the main entrance of The Afterlife. Her friend standing in the doorway under the harsh green light. 

“Heh, about time, chica,” he greets, tucking his phone into his pocket, she catches the blue of Misty’s bracelet mingled with his usual gold ones. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Ehhh, y'know. She's worried about me - whatever. Can't help herself, y'know - checkin’ to see if I'm not rottin' in some dumpster… like most of the Welles boys. Been worse lately.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Started climbin' our way up. Got more an' more knives out there, waitin' to stab us in the back. Higher stakes, higher risk. She can see that.” 

“Look like you’re about to keel over.” V reaches out, touching the red blotches on his skin, stress and sweat inflaming his skin. 

“Years of merc work, and yet,  still sweat like a roasted pig when I talk to my ma. It's really startin' to wear on me. More tell her everythin's OK, more I feel like I'm straight-up lyin’.”

“Well, hopefully you had a nice date with Misty at least.” 

“Went about as well as talking to my ma right now,” he scratches at the back of his neck, “for two women who don’t get along, they sure agree when it comes to worrying about me.” 

“They worry because they love you, worse things in life than people giving a damn about you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t matter none. Not anymore, Afterlife, here we come, baby!” 

Jackie changes the topic and she can’t really blame him for it, rubbing his hands together and practically cheering in excitement. This is everything they’ve talked about, everything they’ve said they want. So, why does she still have a lump in her throat? 

“Afterlife… we’re really here.” 

“Does not get any higher, choom. And you know somethin' else? We fuckin' earned it, chica!” 

“No point in standing around then, is there?’ 

“Ready to get your cherry popped?” he laughs leading her into the club, “Yeeeah! Come on!”

“Little late for that one, Jack,” she teases as they make their way down the stairs, a pair of double doors opening up for them. A short step down into a small hallway with mercs and fixers alike talking under the green glow of a sign bearing the club’s name. 

“Place used to be a morgue - you believe that?”

“Really?” 

“I know, right? Way before our time, that. When proper burials were still a thing.”

They come to another set of doors, through the small window V can see the true club main room beyond them. But a man stands guarding them, around Jackie’s height and a similar bulky build. Cyberware indented along his jawline and nose. His face is stony, eyes sharp when Jackie and V stop before him, then he puts a large hand out in front of him. 

“And who might you clowns be?”

“Jackie and V,” the taller of the mercs says with a grin, “Dexter Deshawn is waitin’ on us.” 

The bouncer gives them a look and V is glad for her mask helping hide her emotions. His expression is dismissive, looking down on them, making her feel all at once that she has not earned her place in this club. A baby merc, new to the city, barely six months under her belt and she’s standing at the Afterlife. How the fuck did she get here? 

“Yo, Dex. Got two live ones sayin' they're here to see ya,” his optics glow as he calls Dex, “Yeah? All right, then. Says he needs a second or two. Go get yourselves drinks or somethin'.”

The doors open to a green and cyan lit club. Music louder as the barrier breaks away, people fill the room. Some sipping on alcohol and other’s puffing away on cigarettes; the smell of nicotine and booze wafting from the bar. 

“Way ahead o' you, viejo,” Jackie laughs and leads the way in. 

V follows him around the corner; the large bar coming into full view. It’s lit green, the same neon sign reading Afterlife at the top of it. A bartender in a blue button up slings drinks to the patrons. Floor to ceiling columns, like tubes, are places around the club each filled with water with a dancer twirling around inside with strategically place chrome clothing covering the most private parts of them. Everything is basked in that green neon light, despite being surrounded by mercs like her, she feels so completely out of place. 

Jackie marches proudly across the bar floor, stride confident and unwavering. 

“This is it… The heart o' Night City! That's it right there - beating. Hear it?” he proclaims as they pass by rows of half closed off booths, “Can you imagine? Susan Forrest, Boa Boa, maybe even Morgan Blackhand… All sat on those stools, fell asleep on that same bar.”

Jackie sits in one of the barstools, beaming and brimming with excitement. His eyes wide as he takes it all in, the place he’s dreamed of for all his years. V climbs into the seat next to him, placing an elbow on the bar, leaning her head onto her hand, as she shifts to face him. 

“Doubt that puts us in the same league as them,” V teases, Morgan Blackhand brought down Arasaka Tower. They’re stealing a biochip, hardly the same thing. 

“Oh, but we are. They just don't know it yet,” Jackie tells her with a wink and she can’t help but roll her eyes. 

“We-” 

V drops her hand when she realizes Jackie’s attention has gone elsewhere, an older woman walking past the two. She’s nothing unusual, older looking than most of the crowd here, sure but nothing immediately stands out to V. An older woman with long gray hair shaved on one side and a bright yellow cropped sweater, She marches her way across the bar and into a blue lit booth, moving past a guard.  

“'Ey. See that old lady there?”

“Yeah, didn’t know grannies were your type,” V taunts him again, he’s always given her shit for her taste in older people, yet he’s ogling some grandma? 

“Fuck off,” he playfully smacks her, but nearly knocks her from her chair, “that’s fuckin’ Rogue, best fixer in all o' Night City.” 

“Thought Dex was the best?” 

“Pff… Rogue was linin' up jobs when Dex was still shittin' in diapers, heh. Place belongs to her.”

“What can I getcha?” The bartender cuts in, hands down on the bar in front of them. She’s a woman with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a soft round face. 

V doesn’t drink on the job, something she’s always stuck to. But, this is Jackie’s dream and she knows how he likes to celebrate. If nothing else, their banter has failed to undo her nerves, maybe booze will do the trick. 

“You order,” she signs to Jackie and he grins. 

“You drinkin’?” 

“Special night, pick me something nice.” 

“Two Tequila Old Fashioneds with a splash of cerveza and a chili garnish.”

“A duo of Johnny Silverhands, comin' up,” the bartender starts to put the drinks together, “somebody did their homework.” 

“Guessing the dog ate mine,” V signs, confused because what the fuck is a silver hand?

“Age-old tradition. Drinks're named after our regulars,” she explains, putting the drinks down in front of the mercs. 

“What’d I have to do to get a drink named after me?” 

“Snuff it,” she grins, “ In mind-blowingly spectacular fashion, Mid-op'd be best.”

“Aah, what a beaut of a tradition!”

“Steep price for a drink, not going to lie,” V signs, letting her nerves speak for her, if only for a moment. Her guts are in knots, she can only hope the alcohol will untangle. All of the merc’s usual stress relieving tactics other than a weed brownie, have failed to do much of anything.

“Hey, everyone's gotta go sometime, right? Why not in style? Death’s nothing but the final flourish!” 

“To hitting the major leagues,” she signs, holding her shot in the other hand.

“To becoming legends.” 

She pushes her mask just up above her mouth, careful not to smudge her lipstick and  they throw back their shots. Smooth but strong booze with a kick of spice from the garnish, a burn in her throat. Not her style, but she’s had worse. She pushes her mask back down, regarding the bartender, her nametag says Claire. 

“So, who else can I drink here?” She still has no idea who Silverhand is, but maybe there’s a name she does recognize, reading the posted drink menu. 

“All on the menu…”  

“'Cept there's a spot missing. Morgan Blackhand, right?”

“Heh,  true. Morgan's yet to make up his mind he's dead or still kickin',” Claire tells Jackie and V rolls her eyes. 

“Think he’s still alive? It’s been years,” Jackie asks Claire. 

“No way he’s still alive,.” The radio was just talking about the devastation of the tower going down, if that many folks were killed who were just near it, then there’s no way someone who was in the tower survived. 

“Why not? Look at Rogue. Peeps from that era - a species unto themselves.”

“And one day we’re gonna be there too,” Jackie probably proclaims, “speaking of which, name’s Jackie Welles if you want to write down my recipe.” 

“Sure.” There’s a playfulness in her tone, just going along with Jackie’s whims. 

“Shot of vodka on the rocks, lime juice, ginger beer… oh, and most importantly - a splash of love.”

“Haha, I'll remember that.”

“Gag,” V signs just to see the glare Jackie levels her way, the playful smack of her arm. 

“Okay, what’s your drink then?” 

“Literally, the only thing I drink is like cherry cola with a splash of bourbon.” 

“You know those are usually supposed to be reversed, the bourbon and coke.” 

“Maybe so, but, and hear me out… cherry cola tastes better.”  

“Heard you were Dex’s latest finds,” Claire tells them. 

“Just biz, no big deal.”

“How'd you know?” V raises an eyebrow behind her mask. 

“My job to know. Look around - how do you think meres earn their reps? Through gossip rivaling that of schoolgirls, that's how.”

“Mr. DeShawn see you now,” a booming voice rings out behind the mercs, turning around she sees Dex’s bodyguard. The first time she’s heard his voice. 

“Love to hang, imbibe the vibe, but we got an important meeting,” Jackie tells Claire, getting up from his seat and V following suit, throwing some cash down on the bar. 

“Break a leg.” 

“This way,” the bodyguard tells them and the mercs falls in line behind him. He leads them around the bar, past the crowd and through a door towards the back of the club. The lighting shifting, more blue than green as they walk past another vending machine. 

“Damn, holmes, you're huge... Work out?” Jackie asks, unable to stand the silence. 

“Hmm.” A vague grunt as they pass through another door, the music fading as they get further from the main bar. But V can just hear the starting beat of some old dad rock, something about losing another day to pointless drudgery. 

“Same here, y'know, in the ring. You do some kinda exotic shit? Kempo? Ninjitsu?”

Nothing as they turn another corner. 

“Think you could take me, drop me?”

“Jackie…” Why must he sound like he’s picking a fight with the guy?

“In here,” the guard says, stopping and standing in front of another door. 

"Este pinche tipo..."

The door opens and they’re greeted to the first room with warm lighting, though it just seems to be a storage corner. With a cabinet and vending machine. But to the left are barely see through walls of a booth that takes up half the room, through them V can just see T-Bug’s outline and leather couches. 

They walk around, the front of the booth opened. A wrap around black leather couch goes around the back wall and left side of the booth. Dex sat on the back portion, talking into a holo about Excelsior and cold hard eddies. T-Bug sat to side, a table in the center of the room with the Flathead, Jinguji boxes, and shards placed on neat little index cards. There’s a small disconnect leather seat in the right corner, next to the door. 

“Gotta bounce,” Dex hangs up, “well, if it ain’t Miss V.” 

“Whole family in one place! Hah! Finally!”

“That’s one way to put it,” T-Bug teases and a shine of blue catches V’s eye, the netrunner wearing Misty’s bracelet. She can’t help but smile. 

“A’ight, then… Set your butts down comfy,” Dex tells them. Jackie plops himself onto the larger couch next to T-Bug, comfortably spreading his arms over the back of it while V takes the smaller seat, putting her at an angle to see everyone.  She stifles a laugh, seeing Jackie’s leg excitedly bounce up and down. 

“Sweet booth, is it soundproof?” 

“Jackie…” T-Bug scolds and V stifles a laugh. 

“Now, now, Mr. Welles is right. We gon' be goin' over some sensitive material. But if it's all right with y'all, I'd like to start with a question for Miss V… Evelyn Parker - how'd you fare?”

All eyes on her, stomach still twisted in a vise, this is her chance. She’s got to tell him, but she doesn’t want Evelyn hurt. Some fixers will go to any length to get revenge on a client or merc who does them dirty. But, he’s got a right to know the shit she pulled. 

“Intel was good, brain dance was exactly what we needed….” 

“So, she just wanna see wha'ss good, or was there somethin' else?”

“Honestly?” 

“Wouldn’t ask for anything else, Miss V.” 

“She’s high risk as far as clients go. Shady as fuck, naïve as all hell, and genuinely thought she could make me another offer.” 

“Another offer?” Dex’s brow raises about his sunglasses. 

“Wanted me to cut you out for more cash, told her no, of course. But, wouldn’t do business with her again, if I were you.” 

“Cut me out… shiiiit, now that’s rich,” Dex laughs, Jackie nervously laughing along, “Clients... never learn, do they?” 

“You’re not pissed?” 

“Lived in NC too long to blow my top every time some amateur thinks they can take me for a ride. Parker ain't the first and sure as hell won't be the last.”

“Fair enough,” V lets out a sigh, thankful if nothing else that Dex doesn’t seem prone to getting too mad at Evelyn. Maybe she’s being too kind, but she can’t help but think Evelyn is more naive than malicious when it comes to the offer. A stranger to the merc world. 

“I do appreciate you sharin' this info, though, Miss V. You see, trust… …is essential in any partnership that's to be long-lasting and fruitful.”

“Figured you had a right to know, so, what’s the plan?” 

“This.”

Dex gestures towards the shards on the table, V takes the one in front of her and slides it into her shard slot.  UI and graphics lighting up her mask, a map pulling up on the tech. 

“Me and Dex've already covered the fine detes. Ops wise, should be a stroll on the beach.”

“Elaborate, I wanna hear it.” 

“A Delamain'll drop your asses at the front door of Konpeki Plaza,” a picture of the hotel shows,  then two names, “You'll stroll right in thanks to your false identities. Then, with Bug's help, you'll breach the hotel's subnet…”

“Mine and the Flathead's help.” Images of the hotel’s interior and the bot flash by. 

“Last but not least, you slip into Yorinobu's penthouse and klep the Relic,” his words bring up images of the heir and his suite.

“Goes without sayin' we do this on the hush - ideally no bodies, not a one.” The shard shows them The Relic and then blips out. 

“You'll have T-Bug on comms for the duration. Time for your burnin' questions.”

“What’s our cover?” V asks, they’ve been told a thousand times they’ll be acting like corpos, but that’d be hard to do if they have no idea what their story is suppose to be. 

“Hello, Ramón Victorino,” T-Bug looks at Jackie and then to V, “and you’re Hannah Conwell.” 

“Ramón - yeah, OK. What do we say we're there for?”

“Biz as usual. Corpo arms deal. Case anyone asks, you there for a bogus meetin' with Arasaka's defense rep - Hajime Taki. Anything else?”

“How do we get in the penthouse?”

“Yorinobu's got barely any muscle. Hardest part'll be penthouse security. If we wanna disable, we'll need to neutralize Konpeki's dweller - elite ‘runner monitoring the hotel's subnet twenty-four seven. Only catch is there's no way to get in the dweller's den from the outside.”

“Hold on, how you want us to get inside a room you can't get into?”

“Trust me when I say whatever hitch you think up. T-Bug's solved it already”

“This is where the Flathead comes in. You'll have to get him in the ventilation shafts, guide him to the dweller and force the dweller to… take a break. Flathead'll stay there, jacked into the dweller, but thanks to that I’ll be able to roll out your red carpet into the penthouse.”

“Anything else?”

“Transports a Delamain?” She has no idea if the company has an ASL sign like most other corporations and doesn’t have time to think of one on the fly. 

“Preemest cab company in all Night City… Nada mal,” hackie tells her. 

“DeShawn don't ever work with anyone but the best. I consider Delamain just that.”

“Yeah, who needs creepy, nosy cab drivers when you've got a clean AI to get you from point A to point B in style?”

“And how he bags a permit to operate every year's still a mystery.”

“If everythin' goes as planned, Delamain'll drop you back here. If things get sticky, he'll head for the safe house.”

“Which is?”

“The No-Tell Motel. Quiet, no questions asked. Make our next move from there. But I'm flat certain that won't be necessary. Though, there is one more consideration for if it does.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Hate to put you on the spot, Miss V,” Dex explains, “but if shit goes sour, I’m gonna need to know who I’m letting into the hotel. Mask can’t go with to Konpeki, so I’d sure feel a hell of a lot better if I knew what was hiding behind that thing.” 

“Oh… yeah, that makes sense.”  

Even if she’d have Jackie with her when shit goes down,  Dex is trusting her with this heist. The least she can do is trust him to see her face and not write her off or sell her out to The Herd if the chance arised. Not that she can see that happening anyway… 

“Don’t even know why you wore the thing in, V,” Jackie teases. 

“Well, there are other fixers here, didn’t want to give away my face…” 

V carefully pulls off her mask, feeling exposed all over again, a new set of eyes on her face. The merc knows how she looks; five feet with a head of bleach blonde hair and big gray eyes. Not the picture one conjures in their mind when they think of a capable, strong, badass merc. Sprinkle in her disability and the reactions to her deafness; most people think she’s not a threat, weak. 

“That what you’ve been hiding behind that mask? All that fuss, for what?” Dex laughs. 

“Hard to take,” she stumbles over her English trying to sign at the same time, “be taken- seriously sometimes when you’re five foot nothing, deaf, and look like…” 

“Gutterpunk Barbie,” Jackie cuts in to tease, earning him a sharp kick to the shin. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Trust me, Miss V, you pull off this job; ain’t nobody in their right mind gonna underestimate you” 

“That’s the hope...”

“Any other questions?” 

“I got a question. When do we get to the real reason we're all here?” Jackie asks, shooting a wink V’s way. 

“Now's a good a time as any. Fresh talent gets thirty percent always, but I'm willin' to make an exception in your case. I'ma cut you a nice, juicy forty as a bonus for your honesty, V.”

“Much appreciated.” 

“Ka-ching baby!~” 

“Last thing, Konpeki's got a strict no-iron policy. Security gates, the works. So you dawgs'll leave your lead-spitters in the ride, take the Flathead inside in its case.”

“Got your suits from Jinguji on the table.” 

“¡Chido!”

“Thanks, Bug.” 

“So, not to count chickens, but when'll we see our eddies?”

“All depends how Ms. Parker unrolls herself or her role, but a week, two tops is my guess.”

“And what do we do in the mean time?” 

“You sit tight, heads down, 'cause ol' uncle Arasaka be watching. Now, as that ol’ Greek dawg says, life's a banquet - so don't go thirsty, but don't get drunk, either,” he tells them as he leaves the booth, “Your chariot awaits outside.”

“My cue to delta, too. Gotta prep to jack in, be there when you come on comms. Any other issues, now's your chance,” T-Bug tells them, shifting her feet and something catches V’s eye. Delta V emblazoned on the netrunner’s boots, was that there before?

“Plan - your take?” V shakes the thought from her head, must be a brand or a runner thing V doesn’t know.

“Enough, I hope, to put me in a luxury Creton Villa from which I'll never set foot in cyberspace again.”

“Send me a postcard?” 

“No offense, but I'm gonna burn any and all bridges - need a clean break.”

“Gonna take Misty’s bracelet with you?” Jackie teases, grinning because he caught it too. 

“Shut up,” she tells him, rolling her eyes. 

“Uh, just realized something, what’s gonna happen to our clothes? I don’t want to lose my mask…” 

“No worries, put them in the boxes, we’ll have ‘em sent back to your places.” 

“Alright then, lets get this show on the road.” 

“Let's get to work, go ahead and get changed, Delamain is parked out front, uh, okay-”Bug starts to trip over her words when the two mercs start taking off their jackets, “you can use the bathrooms.” 

“Eh,”

Jackie and V shrug their shoulders, the outfits are right there. Not much point in dragging them out to the bathroom. The pair shared a bedroom for the better half of six months, a room with one bed. They’ve seen each other naked plenty, boundaries destroyed a long while back. 

“Why do I bother,” T-Bug rolls her eyes and leaves the booth, letting the pair change. 

V kicks off her boots and takes off her socks, Jackie tugging off his jewelry first. 

“So, you’re nerves still going crazy?” Jackie asks her as she tugs off her shirt, his own tossed off. 

“What do you mean?”  She tugs off her pants, both mercs soon standing around in their underwear. 

“Can’t hide that shit from me, chica, been giving me twice as much hell as usual. You’re freaking out.” 

“High stakes, Jack, of course I’m a nervous mess. Means I give a shit.” 

She pulls the slack on and tugs on the white blouse, buttoning it up. The two of them putting on the corpo clothes, similar in look. Black slacks, white button up tops, black suit jackets, and Misty’s beaded bracelets for protection. Each perfectly tailored for their body types. 

“Don’t sweat it so much, V, we got this.” He sticks his fist out. 

“Sure fuckin’ hope so.” She bumps her fist to his. 

Their street clothes are packed away in the boxes, V puts in her optic contacts and slide on her heels, then they start to make their way out of the booth. But, Jackie stops her with a hand on her shoulder and he taps his throat. She catches on taking off her choker translator, neck feeling bare and odd without the tech. With that they leave out through the club, Jackie carrying the Flathead case and the smaller merc keeps her head down as best she can. Her stomach still in knots as they spot the Delamain in the parking lot. 

Her life is about to change forever; hopefully for the best. She’s on the cusp of having everything she’s wanted since she’s come to the city. The verge of earning the respect of everyone in this city and finally feeling like she’s someone, like she’s done something. 

So, why does she feel like she’s about to puke?

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #jackie welles #t-bug #dexter deshawn #female v #aidan v becker #aidan becker #original female v

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Six): Do I Sink or Do I Float Now?

Notes: Still posting my little backlog of chapters!~  In this one we get Maelstrom, along with some Vik and Misty interactions that were really fun to write of course heavy on our precious boy Jackie too. 

Word Count:  9004

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, cursing, installation of cyberware.

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

With a tightness in her chest and a heavy sigh, V answers Dex’s call. She’ll play it by ear and maybe wait until they’re in person to drop the news about Evelyn. The client really had to drag her into this bullshit, didn’t she? 

“How're things lookin', Miss. V?”

“Client had a recording that helped us out, Konpeki Plaza.”

“Beautiful. T-Bug already called, said she's workin' her magic. And the Flathead?”

“On it now and quick question, how are we getting into Konpeki?” 

“Through the front door, how else? I'm no leadhead. Ain't gonna leave no trace for them to follow 'cause we gonna do this clean an' on the hush-hush,” Dex confirms her beliefs, she needs cyberware, something. 

“Got it, on my way to get the Flathead, now.” 

“T-Bug says no chance at the chip without that bot. To work, then, Miss V.” 

He hangs up and V leaves Lizzie’s bar, night air cold on her exposed skin. She’ll swing by her apartment, drop by Vik’s, and then meet up with Jackie at All Foods. V makes a beeline to her car, starting a call and patching a call to Jackie through the radio speaker. 

“Jackie,” she signs one handed as she drives, “Met the client. Her name's Parker. Evelyn Parker.”

“OK. Whatcha waitin' for? Gimme the deets. Who is she? What's she like?”

“Shady as fuck. Doll, I think, fucks Yorinobu Arasaka and now she wants to fuck him over.” 

“Don’t seem that odd.” 

“She’s...off, Jackie. Hiding something, big, I just. Don’t trust her, don’t think she’s a bad person, just… not to be trusted.” 

“Yeah, sounds like nerves talkin' to me. Makes everyone seem suspect. Stress can kill you, y'know.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you tell me.” 

“What about Militech?” 

“I met with the corpo.” 

“V… “ 

“Hear me out, woman gave me hell and a spiked chip, wanted me to pay on Militech’s dime but the chip would have fried Maelstrom and left us cleaning up the mess.” 

“Of course, I told you, V.” 

“But, I managed to crack it. Maelstrom plays nice, I got a clean ten grand off of Maelstrom. Chrome snorters pull bullshit; we fuck them and send a middle finger to Militech while we’re at it. We can talk it out more when we meet.”  

“Alright, waitin' for ya at All Foods, ya know. Not gettin' any younger.”

“Well, grab something to eat, going to be a while longer.” 

“Chingada madre, V, what now?” 

“Konpeki Plaza, hotel we got to get into. They have a no weapon policy and way Dex talks that the only way in, is through the front door. “ 

“And?” 

“And, if shit goes sideways, I don’t want to be caught with my pants down,  in a gunfight without a weapon. Need cyberware, something they can’t confiscate, so I’ll be ready for worst case scenario. So, I’m grabbing my savings and making a trip to see Vik.” 

“Stress stress, all you do is stress, but I’m glad you’re finally spending your fucking money. What you trying to get?” 

“You’ll see when we meet up, who knows, might end up using it on some Maelstrommers.” 

“Hehe, see you soon, V.” 

V hangs up and parks outside her megabuilding, sliding her mask off and into her bag before running in. She keeps her head down and doesn’t talk as she rushes to just get her stash of cash out from under the bed. Willing the elevator to move faster and annoyed when she presses her hand to the intercom to unlock her door and it takes a second too long for the lock to validate her SID chip. She opens the under bed  compartment, finding her money stash next to her toy stash. Then it’s back out to her car and driving out to Vik’s. 

She parks in the same place Jackie did that morning, keeping her head down as she wades through the crowd, trying not to stare at the strippers in the club window across from Misty’s store and avoiding eye contact with Gary; the slightly crazy homeless man who likes to yell about conspiracies.  V peeks into Misty’s shop and smiles when she sees the woman at the little register and desk. Her face lit by the cyan neon sign advertising her prices for chakra readings. 

“Hey, V.” Misty smiles at her, she’s the cutest little thing, granted she’s a bit taller than V. A short airy chin length bob of bleached hair, heavy black makeup, and big green eyes. 

“Hey, Misty,” V signs as she walks in, her choker translator already turned on

“Heard you and Jackie have a new job.” There’s a hint of something sad to her voice, a pain to her eyes. 

“You don’t seem excited.” 

“Just...worried; bigger jobs, bigger risks.” 

“I know, I’ll do my best to watch out for him, promise.” 

“I know you will, V.” 

“You’ll have to read our cards when you get the chance.” Its become a tradition, the little peek into the future easing some of Misty’s nerves. 

“Please, Jackie’s heart chakra was a little out of whack and his aura needs tending. Keep him away from mean reds, if you can.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

“Speaking of which…” 

“Oh no.” 

“You need to let me adjust your chakras, V!~” 

“Yeah… I don’t know about that one…” 

“Your crown and throat chakras are so messy, heart chakra too actually, you’re just spiritually kind of a wreck, V.” 

“You can tell that just by looking at me.” 

“I could tell after my first conversation with you.” 

“Funny, I’ll think about it. For now, I got to see Vik.” 

“He’s in the clinic, go on in.” 

V gives Misty a pat on the shoulder as she walks around and goes out the back door of the older woman’s store into the alleyway behind it. A soft meow rings out, just before the stairs that go down to Vik’s is a little sphinx cat with big golden eyes. The merc crouches down and scritches it’s back, smiling at the cutie, softly meowing back at it. Its such a cute kitty. One more little pat and she separates herself from the cat and goes down the stairs to Vik’s clinic. She’s not sure how Vik can stand to stay in the dank basement level clinic all day, but she’s thankful he’s always easy to find when she needs him. Through the little metal gateway door she can already see him at a workbench, watching a boxing match on a small TV. 

“Viky! How’s my favorite ripper?” She greets him as she walks through, grinning as the older man spins his chair to look at her. 

The ripper’s eyes drop down for a second seeing the box she has held to her stomach with one arm. He smiles softly, the expression forming wrinkles around his eyes. He’s an older man, dark hair just starting to thin on the back of his head. Tattooed forearms with memories of his boxing days and tinted glasses on his nose. 

“Good to see you too, V. It's been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure today?”

“Got a new gig, new fixer, sure Jackie’s already talked your ear off about it.” 

“Dexter Deshawn…  Known quantity, from the Afterlife. No denying you're movin' up…” Vik tells her but there’s a drag in his voice, V is starting to get the distinct impression that no one is as excited for this as her and Jackie are. Hell, she’s not even as excited as Jackie, Evelyn’s offer still heavy on her mind. 

“Something you’re not telling me?” 

“Keep your guard up, that's all. I've heard some things about Dex. He's not as "chill" as he makes himself out to be.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she nods, Dex doesn’t seem to shady at the moment, but she trusts Vik’s opinion, “as for right now, plan is for me and Jackie to get into a hotel, pretend we’re guests. Hotel’s got a strict no guns policy, so… need a weapon they can’t take off of me.” 

“That so? You finally caving and getting the projectile launcher?” 

“No, I was thinking Mantis Blades, actually. Quieter, if shit goes off the rails it’d be better to have something that doesn’t tell everyone where we are.” 

“And you get to add two more blades to your collection,” Vik teases, knowing her affinity for swords, knives, and daggers over firearms. 

“Hey, doesn’t hurt to stick to what I know, besides with shit getting real… need better tech.” 

“Well alright,” Vik stands and kicks away his wheeled seat, walking towards his work station, and getting the injector, “but lemme guess- hasn’t paid you yet.” 

“No, but, I brought what I got. I know it’s not enough but, if you’re fine with me paying so much now and the rest later, I-” 

Vik puts a hand up and stops her from pushing the little box of cash at him, a soft smile on his face. Jackie likes to say Vik has a soft spot for her, sometimes she doubts it but when he gives her that soft almost kind fatherly look, she can’t help but think Jackie might be right. 

“Keep it.” 

“No, don’t be ridiculous, I should at least give you something upfront, I-” 

“We'll work something out later. Right now I'm just out to make sure you get back in one piece. Keep that back for now and we can figure it out once you get paid, alright?” 

“Got no idea what I did to deserve you, Vik.” 

“Who knows?” He laughs and shoots an injection into his forearm, to help steady and loosen up his organic hand, flexing the fingers on his ripper glove, “go ahead and get comfy.” 

V nods and puts her cash stash in her bag before climbing up into the doctor’s chair, taking a deep breath. Even with Vik, the only doctor she trusts, she always finds herself nervous in his chair. She’s slowly grown more accustomed to the importance of cyberware and tech in Night City, but it still just feels overwhelming at times to think of carving out pieces of herself for it. V is fairly sure other than monks she’s one of the only people past the age of eighteen who doesn’t have optics, kids carving their eyes out as soon as a doc is willing to do it. This is important, she needs to be prepared for the worst case scenario, but she is about to have a significant portion of her arms removed to be replaced with swords. The gravity of that still sits heavy on her chest. 

“Jack in and lay those major league arms down for me.” 

Vik pulls up two tables on each side of the chair and V lays her arms down for him, trying to steady her breathing. Her eyes linger on the brand on her left wrist, the one that marked her place within her nomad clan.  She wonders if that part of her arm will be taken off, skin removed with synthetic Real Skin stuff.  He sits in his little wheeled stool, looking over her scans. 

“Looks like you’ve actually been taking your meds.” 

“Got an alarm on my phone now, nearly forgot just this morning,” she switches to spoken English, though her hands twitch to sign, she doesn’t want to move them just in case. 

“Whatever helps, last thing you need is your body trying to kill itself.” 

“But it's so good at that.” 

“Oh I know it is,” he pushes himself to get to the other side of the table, pushing a sharp injection into her arm just below her elbow, “a bit of anesthetic.” Then he pushes her sleeve up higher, so he can reach her bicep, another shot. 

“What’s that one?” 

“Anti-anxiety, though judging by the wide eyed look on your face, it’s gonna take a second to kick in.” 

“Oh, yeah… sorry.” 

“It's okay, know this ain’t your thing. Most arm cyberware is fairly invasive, but I got some tricks up my sleeve. Do my best to give you the tech you need and leave as much ‘ganic material intact as I can.” 

“I know, I trust you.”

Slowly, her body numbs. The strong anesthetic spreads into her blood and impacting every inch of her. Her breathing feels more stable and her heart rate seems to slow back to normal, a sense of calm coming over her. Vik is a good man, she knows that, he’d never do anything that isn’t needed and wouldn’t ever try to hurt her. He starts to roll out the tech to carve her arms open and put blades inside. 

She closes her eyes and lays her head back, because she doesn’t want to see, it will just freak her out more. Put her trust in fate and more importantly Vik to take care of it. V feels nothing, only soft whirrs of tech. 

“Feel anything?” 

“Never do. Ask me that every time, you know. Not as if things are gonna be any different today.”

“Sure thing, kid, I mean not like there's any risk of a stroke or paralysis. But... heh, what do I know? I'm just a doctor.”

“Okay, okay, I getcha.” 

“You got your contacts with you?” 

“Yeah, in my bag.” 

“Once we get your blades in, I’ll take a look at them, think we can bump them up with some Kiroshi tech.”

“You’re the best, Vik.” 

“So, I’ve heard.” 

“Oh, nearly forgot, you’ll get a kick out of this. Coach Fred in my building wants me to do some fights.” 

“Does he now?” 

“Mmhmm, really tried to sell it too, he believes in me. Dude, I’m fucking five feet tall, but okay.” 

“Well,” Vik chuckles, “to be fair, you may be small, but I’ve seen you take down guys twice your size.” 

“That’s merc work, Vik; don’t think they’d let me stab my opponent in the ring.” 

“That is usually frowned upon.” 

They make small talk as he works, the chatter easing her nerves, the little traces of anxiety the medicine can’t touch. Vik tries to convince her she could hold her own in a boxing fight, though unlike Coach Fred, it feels less like a sales pitch coming from Vik. From him it feels more like a dad trying to convince their kid they’ll be good at soccer if they just get out there and try it. 

“Alright, we’re done, kid. Take a look.” 

V takes a deep breath and does just that, Looking down at arms that still seem to be very much her own but with silver detailing from her knuckles to her elbows. They look nice, the Mantis Blades and Projectile Launcher are the better looking arm cyberware options in her opinion. Like accents, little detailing, rather than making arms look more tech than flesh. It’s her nails still, painted her favorite bright blue, she can still see her freckles. And when she twists her forearms she finds her brand still there. 

“Wow, really did save as much skin as you could.” 

“Mmhmm, still you, just a few added touches. The blades act on intention and reflex, stand up and give it a try. Just don’t cut anything I need.”

V gets out of the chair, taking a few steps to the most cleared off portion of the room. Vik scoots himself back on the stool. Just what she’d need, to finally get cyberware beyond the basics and end up accidentally gutting her favorite ripper. With the thought and a tensing of her forearms, the blades extend out. 

“Woah.” 

She marvels at it, the way her flesh has opened up, can see the metal compartment almost where the blades were stored and hidden inside. Carefully, she retracts the blade in one arm to touch the other. Curiously she touches where the skin meets metal, nerves in the flesh still, but when she touches inside of the compartment she feels nothing. She presses down into the steel and when she does so hard enough, she can feel it start to put pressure on real organic tissue. She pulls her fingers away and retracts the blade; extending and pulling them back a few times, getting the feel for them. 

“Take it you’re a fan?” 

“Its so cool.” 

“Still wish you got the Launcher instead?” 

“Maybe a little bit,” she tests out signing, thankful the metal additions don’t interfere with her ability to do it, “I’m good with knives and katanas, so having a cannon in my arm would add a bit of variety.”

“Maybe your next job.” 

“You can take them out and do that?” 

“Mmhmm, now-a-days even the military grade stuff is designed to be adaptable, you can rip ‘em out and change it up whenever you see fit. So, you can have whatever new tech you want when you want it.” 

“The innovations of consumerism, huh?” 

“Something like that,” he laughs, “hand me your contacts and I’ll upgrade them for you.” 

She does just that, watching him take the contacts and put them in a device. While he tinkers with those, V keeps playing with her new toys. Making sure she knows exactly what will and won’t trigger the blades. Flexing alone won’t extend them, folding and twisting her forearms. It requires the intention too, linked to she assumes her neural plants and cyberdeck.  Which means she should be able to hug someone without decapitating them, a skill she does occasionally enjoy having. Even if Jackie says her hugs are half ass.  Got to hug people like you’ll never see them again, because in Night City that might be the case; according to him. 

“All done, test them out,” Vik hands her back the contact case and she carefully places them in. The interface lights up for a moment, adjusting to the new tech.  She looks around, her vision a bit clearer. 

“Image looks clearer.” 

“Installed threat detection and weak spot detection tech too. Anyone who isn’t known to you, who the soft picks up as an enemy sees you, it’ll highlight them and tell you what their weak points are.” 

“That’s awesome, I don’t know what to say Vik, this is incredible.” 

“Figured, if you needed the blade for some hotel, you’d probably have to ditch the mask. So, it doesn't hurt to bump up the contacts.” 

“Yeah...oh…guess your right, can’t play corp hotel guest in a mask, can I…” 

“Just now realizing that?” 

“Maybe… but more importantly. The blades, the contacts. I don’t know what to say, Vik, I…”

“Say you’ll take this and remember the dosage. Two whiffs now and another two in an hour,” he hands her a medicine inhalant, “mild stim. Should boost neurotransmission in the short term and muffle some of the side effects while the implant takes.”

“Thanks Vik, seriously, I owe you big. You sure you don’t want some cash up front? I really don’t mind, I-” 

“Won’t hear it. Go on, kid. Show 'em what you're made of,” he grins at her, rolling back over to his desk, “And once you hit the big leagues, don't forget where you came from.”

A part of her wonders if it’s meant as a joke or a serious concern, knowing how much he seemed to worry about her getting a job from Dex. No matter if she hits the major leagues, Vik will always be her go to ripper. She comes up behind him where he’s gone back to watching TV and throws an arm around his neck in a sort of hug, squeezing him close. The kind of hug Jackie would mock, but full scale embraces are still...weird. 

“Couldn’t if I tried, Vik, thanks again.” 

“No problem, kiddo,” he pats her hand where it sits on his chest, “grab your candy and get going.”  

V giggles, and  pats his shoulder as she pulls away. She wonders if any of his other patients end up grabbing candy from the bowl on his desk. If Vik does the same joke with anyone else now that she kicked it off, a part of her hopes not. She grabs a handful of honeyed candies, popping one in her mouth as she leaves his clinic through the metal gate. The cat is still there when she gets back out to street level, she gives it a few more scratches, then takes the pathway back through Misty’s shop. 

“Vik take care of you?” The bleached blonde greets V as she comes in. 

“Sure did, I got swords in my arms.” 

That gets a giggle out of her, V showing off the indentations and designs of the Mantis Blades. Misty runs her fingers along them, smiling at the merc. 

“Very nice, take it you’re off to meet Jackie, now?”  There’s still some worry in Misty’s eyes, a sadness to her tone. 

“Yeah, got to get a combat bot. Shouldn’t take too long, Maelstrom isn’t anything we haven’t handled before. You know that.” 

“I do, I do,” Misty fiddles her fingers together, “its not them I’m worried about, it’s just this whole… thing with Dex and this heist. Just got a bad feeling. The bigger your jobs get, the more risks, you know. I’m sorry...sure you don’t want to hear me whine.” 

“Hey, hey,” V touches Misty’s shoulder, “its not whining. You love Jackie, it’s only natural to be worried.” 

“Thanks, Jackie thinks this job will set us up for life, that he’ll finally be able to take care of me like I deserve… “

“And what do you think?” 

“That is dreams are gonna get him killed one day and he doesn’t seem to care…” 

“He cares, he does. He just...thinks the risk is worth it, that if he does this he can build a better future.” 

“I know, just can’t shake the feeling he’s flying too close to the sun, I guess,” Misty says, wrapping her arms around herself. V knows that anxiety well and can’t say she even has the best feeling about this job. But, this is too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

“Hey, want to go ahead and do that tarot reading? Might make you feel better, see what the fates got in store.” 

“Yeah,” Misty smiles softly, “I’d like that.” 

Misty grabs her deck, the one V and Jackie picked out for her, as the merc comes around to the other side of the table. Jackie and V will be with each other the whole time, so if V’s future comes up clean, it means he can’t be too bad off. If nothing else, it offers a little distraction from anxiety and it won’t kill Jackie to wait just another ten or so minutes. 

“If my future’s clean, Jackie’s won’t be too bad. Guy’s always had better luck than me, anyway.” 

“I think he’d say otherwise,” Misty laughs, shuffling the cards, “now, focus on the recent past and what you expect in the future.” 

First card down, a man walking towards a cliff with a dog trotting along after him. 

“The Fool, that’d be you.” 

“So the cards think I’m an idiot, cool,” V rolls her eye, not missing the shadow of a smile across Misty’s lips. 

“The Fool symbolizes the beginning of a journey. You brim with enthusiasm, yet remain unaware of both your capabilities and the threats you face.”

“So...the cards think I'm an idiot.” 

“Just a little bit,” Misty teases, laying down the next card, “The Wheel of Fortune,. The danger is greater than you think. It will come suddenly, without warning. Conflict is unavoidable.”

“Fair enough.” 

Another card down, this one upside down. 

“The reversed Chariot reveals that such danger is tied to your love of risk. Do not aim too high, V.”

“I’m short, got nowhere else to aim.” 

Misty looks up at V under her brow, despite the hint of a smile, the meaning is clear. This is serious and V should take it with some level of seriousness. But, if she’s honest, V’s just happy to see Misty smiling at all. 

“And finally, The Magician… interesting.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“You may meet someone fascinating, someone charismatic. Maybe even someone you will grow to love?”

“Ew.”

Misty laughs as V makes a face at the word love and how Misty dragged the word out; the implication clear and gross. Why the fuck is fate concerned with V’s romantic life when she’s about to pull off a heist on Ara-fucking-Saka. 

“You can’t ‘ew’ fate, V!” Misty scolds her between giggles, smile now wide and bright. 

“I can when fate is being fucking gross.” 

“Love isn’t gross, V. It's beautiful.”  

“Ew.” 

“Get out of my shop,” Misty laughs and rolls her eyes, putting the cards back in her deck. 

“Talk to you, later.” 

Misty waves her off and V leaves out, content that she lightened Misty’s mood if only for a moment. She avoids eye contact with Gary as she makes a beeline back to her car, putting her new contacts back in the case and that in her bag. As useful as they are, she’ll use her mask for the Maelstrom job. For the usual reasons; enjoying her anonymity and well, people tend to take her a bit more seriously when they can’t see her baby face.  

V pulls up outside of All Foods, an abandoned food plant that Maelstrom has turned into their newest HQ.  Jackie is already parked sitting on his arch, poor guy has been waiting on her for entirely too long.  She puts her mask back on and hops out, walking up towards him, seeing his posture brighten up when he spots her walking down the street. 

“About time, V. Mi madre always said patience pays off, but christ.” 

“Sorry, a lot of shit to take care of. Most prepwork we’ve ever had to put in.” 

“Well, fill me in.” 

“Ran through the BD with the client and T-Bug, know where the chip is and where we’re trying to get too. But we need the bot from Maelstrom to nuke the hotel’s subnet and make sure we don’t catch lead from a turret. Dex paid them for it, but we got no idea if they’re going to honor that.” 

“He paid up front, hijole.” 

“Yep, I met up with the Militech rep too. Gave me the spiked chip, but I reworked it. Got a chip with clean eddies on it and a newly...adjusted… chip that will spike Maelstrom and Militech.” 

“So, what’s the play?” 

“Doubt they’re going to just honor the original buy, but if they play nice, figured we return the favor. Give them the clean eddies and call it done.” 

“But Maelstrom don’t play nice.  Gang world ain't too complicated, Might's right, the strong survive. Either you fuck others, or you get fucked.”

“Then we fuck them over right back, they want to play dirty, give them the spiked chip and take what we want. Spike chips in my left pocket, clean one in the right,” she pats her pockets, “so if you see me get the chip from the left, get ready.” 

“Understood and the new chrome?” 

“Mantis Blades, like I said, hotels got a no iron policy and if shit goes wrong, I want to be ready. And, hell, if Maelstrom plays dirty, I might get a little practice tonight.” 

“How the hell you swing those?” 

“Vik, gave me chrome on credit, again. Too nice for his own good, I swear.” 

“Pff,” Jackie laughs, “only when it comes to you, chica.” 

“Don’t know why.” 

“Told ya, he says you got a good heart. Probably give you a second one for free just for that.” 

“Enough, enough; lets get this taken care of.” 

“Into the borgbeasts den, then.” 

“Onward.”  With that Jackie climbs off his bike, leading the way and she follows behind. 

“I hate these 'borg fuckers. Just had to be them…” 

“Gang like any other,” V tells him. 

Night has fallen over the city, lit by streetlamps and fires in a trash can. Northside all but abandoned, one of the only places where the night isn’t colored by neon citylights. They walk past trash and shrapnel, towards the door. An intercom button on the wall. 

“Take the Valentinos. They follow God and the Santa Madre. Honor means something to 'em. You know what they want, how they get it, and what pisses 'em the fuck off. With Maelstrom, you just never know.”

“Think you might be a touch bias?” 

“Heh, maybe,  go on, let 'em know we're here.” 

With the V presses the intercom button waiting for it to ring, a few moment pass before a low growl of a voice finally responds. 

“Hm, don't know you.”

“Dex sent us.” V is increasingly thankful his name is easy enough to quickly finger spell. If they keep working with him, she may have to come up with a name sign though. 

“Main room. We been waiting,” the Malestom member tells her and the front doors slide open. 

The first room is dark with only a fluorescent light and the red glow of active turrets within it. There’s a distinct stink of mildew, rot, and mold. The stench of it choking V as she steps in after Jackie. 

“Cozy place. Could use a few plants, though,” Jackie makes a snide remark, as his heavy steps ring through the room, tech lines the walls and is stacked up on shelves, “Oh yeah. They look damn well prepared.”

“Food factory turned into a fucking armory, lovely.” 

“Gear from the Jacked convoy, gotta be… Must've been all over it like maggots on dead meat.”

“Everything’s marked Militech,” she confirms as they take a corner and walk down a short flight of stairs. 

“Psycho borgs chromed out with military-grade hardware worth millions... Should be fun.”

“Yeah, a real party.” 

They take a turn past a cluster of steel lockers, grime coated, with old abandoned anti-contamination suits still inside. Another turn past a neon red lit elevator shaft, the old factory is a mechanical maze. No doubt a reason why the chrome gang picked it; walls covered in their graffiti. They walk up another staircase; mines on every step, deactivating before them. 

“Anti-personnel mine,” V comments, “directional shrapnel spitter.” 

“Subtle…” 

Around a corner, through another passageway, and up another flight of stairs. Each step echoes, the entire place dark except for blips colored by red and the odd white fluorescents. Jackie stops when the steps lead to a door. Nodding his head at it, giving V the go ahead to open it. She rolls up the shutter door and is suddenly blinded with bright stark white light, chill curling around her and creeping through her thin cropped top. It makes sense, the former meat packaging plant needing a room to stay cold. 

“Stay cool… They’re just tryin’ to spook us,” Jackie tells her as she steps forward. 

Bright yellow forms patterns across the metal floor, spot lights, and stacks of crates marked Militech. Security cameras and she sees the first glimpse of Maelstrom members since they’ve stepped into the plant. One sitting on a crate, armed and watching with their signature red glowing optics. Another on a platform over seeing them. 

“Get in the elevator, fuckin’ sheep,” the Maelstrommer barks at them. 

“Thought those cabrones only swiped a couple crates, not a whole fuckin’ semi,” Jackie comments under his breath as they walk past the crates and to the end of the room. Double doors open up to a freight elevator. 

“This is going to be a hoot, ain’t it?” The doors to the elevator close and it starts it’s journey upwards. 

“It’s all right, keep chilled, V. Remember, we're on their turf.” 

“Yeah, because I’m the one who loses their chill.” 

“I’m always chill-” 

The elevator comes to a stop before Jackie can finish his though, the door on the other end opening and a Maelstrom member staring at them. He has the red glowing spider like optics and little mechanical dreads on the back of his head. What’s visible of his arms and chest is a mishmash of scar tissue and metal.  Over his shoulders, she can see two other gang members. One holding a shotgun and the other plugged into a netrunner chair, glowing under the light of red screens. 

“What do you want?” He’s the guy who spoke to them over the intercom. 

“Got a bot we need, model MT0D12, Flat Head. Our fixer already paid for it, we’re just here to pick it up.” 

“Hmm, names Dum-Dum,” he points to the side with his gun and starts to move back into the room, “Now, couch. Plant it.”

She walks into the room, and it seems like this could go well. They’ve been mostly chill, gruff sure, but nothing bad. In the center of the room just before a large roll up garage door is a table and two torn up red leather couches. Another Maelstrom member sits on the table. She doesn’t hesitate, sitting down on the couch closest to her, looking at the bright vending machine the gangers have graffitied over. Dum-Dum puts one foot up on the other couch and follows his line of sight to Jackie, who moves a little slower, his arms crossed as he moves next to the other couch and only stands. 

“Ahh, well, shit. Goes for you too,” Dum-Dum tells him and she expects Jackie to listen, he said himself this is their turf and they should keep try to stay chill. 

“I'll stand.”

Or… he’ll let his pride get the better of him and refuse.  Its hard to read the emotions on a Maelstrom member's face, so chromed you can tell what the hell is going on. But the shift in volume is telling enough. 

“This so fuckin' hard? Fuckin' ass on the fuckin' couch!”

“Make me,” Jackie says, voice low as he gets into Dum-Dum’s face. As much as he can while being nearly a head taller than the Maelstrom member. 

“Thought you'd never ask. Sit your ass down 'fore I plant a bullet in your skull.’

“Jackie,” she signs with one hand and pats his shoulder,  catching his attention, “think it’d be best to just sit down, keep everything chill, remember?” 

“This ain't gonna end well but… shit…” And with that Jackie finally sits down, sinking into graffiti covered red leather. 

“Well, all right,” Dum-Dum gets a drug inhalant from his pocket, sitting down on the table in front of V and offering it to her,  “Come on, gotta lighten up. Take a hit.”

The inhalant is red and purple; if she had to guess, Black Lace. An upper that’s high is said to feel reminiscent of manic Cyberpsychosis. Corps used to feed it to their troops by the gallon, cuts off pain receptors and made everyday men into unstoppable killing machines. 

“Appreciate the offer, but weed’s the hardest shit I touch,” V dismisses the offer as politely as she can. She knows it’d endear her to them, maybe, but… drugs aren’t really her thing. And when it is, she prefers mellow to mania. 

Dum-Dum huffs the inhalant, dipping his head back and smoke billowing from his nose. Then exhaling a steady stream of it. She can see Jackie cringing and trying not to breath in the aftermath of Dum-Dum’s high. 

“Whatever you say, straight edged princess.” 

The member sitting next to Dum-Dum moves as nother brings out a large Militech case, black with a yellow lock. It’s put down on the table with a heavy thud. 

“Here we go. The Flathead, model MT0D12.”

“Need to see it.” She’s not going go off of good faith, assuming it’s all there and works. 

“Suit yourself.”

He opens the case and she sees the spider like bot inside, it's almost cute, Dum-Dum shakes the control shard at them as he talks. 

“Fuckin' tricked out this thing. Dynamic, thermo-optic camo armor.”

He puts the control shard into a slot at the base of his skull, all but the middle of his optic eyes going dim as the bot comes to life within the crate. It stands at attention, moves it’s head and shimmies it’s legs. Just a cute mechanical spider; why did they make military combat tech cute? 

“Full cognitive immersion with a Raven controller.”

The bot goes invisible which is impressive, but V’s eye is drawn elsewhere. A steady creak and she sees the garage door behind Dum-Dum is starting to roll up. Screens and the back of a leather chair, a man sitting down visible. She can’t truly tell, but if she had to wager a guess, Royce. 

“Pimped out, prototype actuators made of titanium-vanadium-Kevlar composite.” 

Dum-Dum continues to sell them on the bot as the door fully opens behind him, the chair turning and her seeing that she was right. Royce, the newest Maelstrom leader looking into the deal with the same glowing red optics, though his set so far back in his skull he’s missing gray matter. 

“'N' watch this,” Dum-Dum says he sends the bot to move around the base,  “Fully integrated link, too, so when the spider starts crawlin' up walls, danglin' from ceilings…” He starts to sound sick, his stomach churning as he sees the view of the bot. 

“Could lose your lunch?”  V can’t help but tease, Royce is up now, one hand on the garage door. Like he’s waiting,  ready to pounce the second he hears something he don’t like. Those red optic staring V down. 

“So, what you think?” Dum-Dum asks as he returns the bot to its case.

“Exactly what we’re after, we’ll take it.” 

“Preem, sure, yeah,” Dum-Dum puts the control shard back in the case, “let’s see your cred.” 

“Brick already got paid for it.” 

A metal boom rings out, those words snapping Royce into action as he punches his fist against the door. Stomping forward and Dum-Dum jumps, rushing off the table as Royce marches towards V. 

“Brick got it…heh,” the red shine of metal, a gun pressed to her head, “I don't see any fuckin' Brick around here, do you?!”

“Fuck Brick then, lets cut a new deal,” she doesn’t hesitate, refuses to flinch or show fear. 

He presses the gun in tighter, leaning down into her face, the red optic nearly blinding. So close she can see the scars around the tech and just deeply imbedded they truly are, He lets out a low hum as he leans in, testing her and she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t break eye contact. Then he pulls back. 

“Hah! Now that's good business sense! All right, you want the Flathead? I better see some eddies.” 

She reaches into her left pocket. She would have done this clean, would have paid and been on her way. But Royce wanted a fight, wanted to put iron to her head and try to shake her down. So, she’ll burn his whole goddamn operation to the ground. 

“Got them right here,” she hands him the credchip. 

“Just like that? Without battin' a fuckin' eye?! Hahah!”

“Need the bot, just take the cash and hand it over, no trouble needed.” 

“Look at this fuckin' girl scout! You know all your knots, got all your badges?! Hahaha!”

“Hilarious, you want the money or not?” 

“Y'know, ya never did say who sent you, never did say who you're workin' for?” 

“Yes, yes I fucking did, Dex.” 

“Dexter DeShawn… The lard ass who punching-animal-fucked half of Pacifica? Mean he ain't dead?”

“Swear to god, I’m going to blow my own brains out before you can! You want my fucking money or you want to bore me to death?” 

“Fine,” he starts to grab the chip when there’s a shake in metal, a rumble and an alarm starts to blare. Walls of the factory shake, the faint sound of gunfire. 

“What the…? Shit Militech!” Dum-Dum yells out, they must have known the corp was on their tail. 

“Rusty fucking cunt,” Royce curses and the Maelstrom members start to rush out and V moves; grabbing the Flathead case and stuffing it into her backpack as soon as eyes aren’t on them.

“Shit, Militech got antsy” Jackie tells her over the alarm. 

“Who gives a shit, we got-” 

“Hey!” Dum-Dum yells back at them, from a higher platform, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to fight them for the bot, “lets get the fuck out of here, follow me.” 

Her and Jackie exchange a look, V just shrugging, if he wants to help out why not. V quickly climbs up the yellow ladder up to the platform, following behind Dum-Dum, Jackie not far behind her. Dum-Dum opens a door and it opens into what a room with consoles and the stench of meat hanging in the air. 

“Ay, huele feo, this meat! Ack.. I can taste it,” Jackie sounds like he’s on the verge of puking his guts up. 

“Production line, besides, thought you liked meat?” 

“We'll ride the line. Flip it on.” 

V follows behind Dum-Dum, climbing up a set of crates and onto a scaffolding. The production line is blocked, unmoving in years she’d assume. But on a console is a large red button lined with yellow, she punches it and metal sheets moves from the way, production line whirring to life as red lights color the metal passageways.  Dum-Dum jumps across the small gap and climbs down the ladder. 

“Hey, Doo Dum or whatever your name is, why you even helpin' us??” Jackie asks as V jumps the little gap and platforms but skips the ladder, jumping down the short distance. 

“I'm not. Helpin' myself. Soon as the shootin' starts, I got two walkin' bullet sponges with me. Sponges who'll shoot back.” 

The three walk through the narrow corridor, production line billow steam at them as the pathway opens up to another raised section of scaffolding, a section of it missing and allowing them to drop through and down onto another that surrounds a large hangar, gunfire rings out. Malestrom and Militech soldiers screaming at one another. 

“C’mon let’s go!” 

“You say come on one more time!” 

Dum-Dum rushes down the platform and into the thick of it, quick to fight alongside his fellow Maelstrommers. And god, she’s not a fan of the gang, but watching soldiers with military grade armor and equipment trying to shoot down the group of mini-borgs… Maybe she just hates corps that fucking much.  They could sneak out, let Maelstrom and Militech tear each other part, run with the bot and the eddies. 

“That whackjobs got no chance,” Jackie says, “maybe we give ‘em a hand.” 

“Lets.” 

And she jumps the banister of the platform, landing clean onto a Militech soldier’s back and extends her Mantis Blades. They slice cleanthrough his neck and he goes limp underneath her, bleeding onto the production floor.  V is up the next instant, running full charge into another man’s chest, knocking him off his center of gravity, landing on his chest and stabbing her blade through his heart before he can throw her off.  Back on her feet and fighting in the next moment. 

There is no stealth here, no technique or strategy, just kill or be killed. She moves quick, swinging a blade up to slice a soldier navel to throat. Bringing a blade clean down into another’s shoulder. Takes another’s legs out and they slice clean off, the tactical armored clothes like butter to the Mantis Blades. 

A Militech boot lands square on her chest before she can slice through them, the kick knocks the air from her lungs, staggering her backwards Her head collides with a metal door, Mantis Blades retracting as she hits the ground. The Miltech worker points his gun at her. But before his finger can pull that trigger, a machete is brought down into the junction between his shoulder and neck, ripped back out in a spurt of blood. The man goes down, Jackie behind him. 

“Got you, chica.” He says, pulling her up, a layer of blood has started to stick to both of them. And as she gets to her feet, she catches a glimpse through the window in the door. Bright red lights of servers, a large computer. 

She looks past Jackie into the room, a large swath of Militech agents taken down. Maelstrom still battling the few left in the area. She doesn’t know what will be waiting for her when she breaks through, Meredith’s promise of seeing her soon if V pulled anything like this. 

“C’mon,” V opens the door and quickly yanks Jackie into the server room. 

“The hell are you doing?” 

“Want to check something, bargaining chip, just in case,” 

Blood coated fingers swipe open the computer screen, pulling up the messages and files Maelstrom has saved. A message named Transports- LOA catches her eye, any Nomad worth their salt knows LOA is used by corps who intentionally “lose” their cargo.  She opens it, the message from Anthony Gilchrist telling one of the gang members how to get their hands on the convoy. Meredith has her mole.  V jacks into the console and downloads the fill to her neural implants. 

“What’s up?” 

“Militech rep wanted to find her mole. She tries to get payback, I got intel,” V jacks out of the terminal, “lets go.” 

They rush out of the server room and throw themselves back into the fray, slicing through Militech soldiers, as if they were never gone. V goring a soldier with both blades as Jackie blows the brains out of the last one. 

Dum-Dum leads them through the rest of the plant, turns and curves and stairways, a maze of metal. The three cutting their way through Militech soldiers one body after the other, clearing the room after room. Until they open a door at the top of a stair case, showing what may have once been a massive garage portion of the plant. 

“I’ll melt your fuckin’ skin off!”  Royce screams and laughs from inside a Militech armored exoskeleton, using it to fire off a massive gun that bursts flames around the feet of the soldiers. They shoot and fire at Royce along with a large automated robot

“We gotta help him!” Dum-Dum yells out, rushing into the fray to help his boss, Royce cackling as the soldier try to shoot him. 

“He's fuckin' happy! That's almost contagious!” Jackie laughs, him and V jumping in to help. 

Dum-Dum, Jackie, and V focus on the soldiers; trying to get their fire off of Royce, so he can focus on the heavy duty robot blasting back at him. Pure reflex as bullets fly, blades slash, and body after body falls down at their feet. Chaos, adrenaline; Royce’s manic cackling making them want to laugh too. Last bit if human soldiers down,  Its all on taking down the hulking robot that, it’s armored outside burned and damaged, but not destroyed by the heavy fire Royce blasts it with. V sheaths her blades within her arms, getting her gun from it’s holster and firing round after round into the tech. Jackie and Dum-Dum do the same; five guns, it sputters and sparks, one finally piercing the core of its circuits. The heap of metal collapsing. 

“Khe. The hell're you still doin' here...?” Royce scoffs when he sees Jackie and V are still there. 

“Helping, apparently,” V signs in response, she doesn’t expect much in the way of gratitude. But a little acknowledgement that her and Jackie did a lot of heavy lifting here would be nice. 

“Take your fuckin’ bot and go.” 

She was going to anyway, not caring about nor needing his permission to steal what they need, but the fact that he’s giving it to them is not lost on V. Maybe it’s his own odd way of showing gratitude for helping tear through Militech soldiers. Or maybe he’s just too tired to give a fuck. 

“I'll walk 'em out,” Dum-Dum offers.

“You here to kick our asses out” 

“Huh? No. Wanted to let you know I like your style,” he points them down a hallway, a door marked exit, “here you go.” 

“Can’t fucking believe that guy,” Jackie grumbles as him and V start out the towards the exit. 

“What is your problem with him? First the couch and now this?” 

“Don’t like the fucker’s tone,” Jackie says opening the exit door, “guy rubbed my dick the wrong way.” 

“Well, maybe you should stop letting random dudes rub your dick,” V teases him for his choice of words as they finally get a breath of fresh air, well, as fresh as Night City air gets. 

“Fuck- oh shit.” 

“Oh fuck.” 

Outside the All Foods gateway is Meredith Stout, surrounded by Militech marked vans and a handful of guards. They block the only exit, standing between the mercs and their vehicles. Meredith’s eyes land squarely on V; lips pulling back in a sneer, eyes brimming with contempt. 

“That the Militech bitch?” 

“Un-fucking-fortunately.” 

“You.” Meredith all but snarls, glaring V down as the mercs walk closer, standing before the corpo. 

“Me.” 

“Hmm, bet you didn’t expect to see me here, did you? Thought you could fuck me over, kill your tail and you could just do whatever you wanted?” 

“You gave me a spiked chip, were going to leave me cleaning up Militech’s mess. You tried to fuck me over first.” 

“And somewhere at the start someone fucked the corp, but in the end the corp always wins. Try as hard as you want, all you’ve done is proven I got nothing to lose by getting rid of you.” 

“Oh but you do,” V’s word make Meredith’s eyebrow raise, “I mean, if you want to know who your mole is.” 

“You know?” 

“Yeah, Maelstrom was so busy trying to fight off your men, didn’t even notice me looking through their computer. Got the file on me, could send it to you, but if you’re just going to kill me, not much point.” 

“Send the file and I’ll let you go.” 

“And how do I know you won’t blow my brains out the second it goes through?” 

“You don’t, but you do know I’ll kill you if you don’t send it.” 

V rolls her eyes and her mask interface lights up as she sends the data to Meredith; the corpo woman’s eyes glowing a bright blue light as it transfers. 

“I fucking knew it,” Meredith blurts out, “Gilchrist you sack of shit.” 

“We good?”

“I got what I needed… you know, this was pretty clever of you.” 

“Was it?” 

“Throw me off, get me to attack the plant, get Maelstrom on your side, but get the info to keep Militech happy too. Bet you’re ten thousand eddies richer and got your bot, didn’t you?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Mind like that, maybe a couple years down the line, you could be standing where I am.” 

And V’s stomach churns, her actions being compared to corporate skullduggery and backstabbing. V did what she had to and in the end she didn’t side with the corp. She bites the inside of her lip and she glares through her mask at the corporate cunt. 

“Think I’d rather ride a sandpaper dildo, actually.” 

Meredith scoffs, “let them through.” 

The sea of Militech soldier parts; the two mercs allowed to walk through. Jackie all but collapses, leaning against his motorcycle, there’s still blood sticking to his hands. She’s still coated in a heavy layer herself. 

“Not going to lie, wasn’t sure we’d make it out of that one. But, hey; no begging, no debt, eddies in a pocket and we got the bot. That’s the way to do biz, V.”

“We make a good team, plus I’m starting to think we’re just really lucky.” 

“Ain't you a ray of sunshine. But, V, it ain't a matter of luck. You decide, chica. Remember that, part of why I love this town. The city of endless opportunity. And brotherly hate. But if you got the cojones and know how to use ‘em, you can do damn near anything.”

“Or die trying.” 

“Even then you go out with a bang! And the street'll talk, the street'll remember. Win-win.”

“Rather the street talk about me while I’m alive to hear it, but maybe that’s just me; so what next?” 

“Call up Dex, let him know we got his bot for him.” 

V does just that, pulling up Dex’s contact and calling him, patching the call into Jackie’s too. Her friend’s optics glowing as the holophone rings. Dex answering after just a moment, puffing away on a cigar in the video panel. 

“How're things lookin’, Miss V?”

“Managed to grab the bot.” 

“And how’d it go? Run into any trouble? And what about the Militech angle, Bug told me you hacked some sort of cred chip?” 

“Course there was trouble, but ended up not even needing the chip. Was ready to spike Maelstrom, when Militech got antsy. While they were ripping each other’s throats out, we got the bot and an extra ten thousand eddies for our trouble.” 

“You got some balls, Miss V.”

“So, what now?” 

“Now, we get to work on doing the job I hired you for- grabbing that biochip. Get some sleep, you and Jackster. Because tomorrow, we start prepping for the real heist. Have a car picking you up in the morning.” 

With that, the fixer hangs up, Jackie and V exchanging looks. 

“What you think he’s got in store for us?” 

“I don’t know, we’re gonna have to play corpo to get into that hotel, should be interesting.” 

“Either way, I’m off for the night,” Jackie says, climbing onto his arch, “hasta luego, V.” 

She waves him off, watching him drive off down the streets of Night City. Her body and mind feel tired, limbs heavy and still caked with blood. But, she’s not sure how well she’ll sleep tonight. Nerves and excitement, there’s no telling what tomorrow will hold. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #silverv #johnny silverhand #female v #jackie welles #misty olszewski #viktor vector #meredith stout #aidan becker #aidan v becker