Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

05:00 PM — Scavenger Den on Crescent Street — Japantown, Westbrook

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆

V's POV

The neon kanji of Japantown bled pink and blue against the smog, promising pleasure and escape to anyone with enough eddies. But beneath the holographic cherry blossoms and the endless loop of corpo ads, Night City fed on dreams like a starving animal. 

A radio plays in the background, and a familiar, booming voice speaks excitedly. It’s something everyone has heard echoing through everywhere—bouncing down the megabuilding halls, blasting through the streets, and on endless TV grids playing on loop. 

“Helloooo there, Night Cityyyy! Stanley here with ya, and we got another day ahead of us in this city of dreams. Oo, I love this town!” A young woman with bright, silver hair sits listening inside a car, tucked away in a dingy parking lot of a tattered apartment building. 

A Scav den, hidden in the narrow alleys, beyond the pink holoads of Cherry Blossom Market. Perfect place, really. The market’s a busy place designed to disorient, to sell you better choices in a city encouraged to consume the next best thing in a sea of A-grade junk.

It's the kind of hecticness that distracts, that lays down the perfect cover and trap. Where people who aren't careful can stumble in the shadows. They could be your local flatout drunks, junkies high on stims, a homeless guy seeking quiet, or some poor corpos in shady deals—anyone can suddenly be the next victim to go under a Scav's knife, snuffed out and lost in the crowd. 

Ding!

Dex: [ 7PM, Afterlife. Wrap whatever you two are doing up. ] 

The woman sighs deeply, playing the next station without a glance at the radio. Instead, she scans the basement, her gaze following the red light emitted from the corner, near the elevator. She spots the surveillance camera and in the next breath, her eyes glow.

CONNECTING TO CAMERA...100%

Another text pops up from the corner of her HUD. 

Wakako: [ Remember, V. You cannot extract the asset safely without first removing the threat. I’ll speak even more plainly: make sure Sandra Dorsett gets out alive. ]

Night City’s different gangs have their own flair and flavor to their style of murder, but the Scavs? They’re one of the more… resourceful bunch, finding ways to make use of almost every inch of their victims. Every piece of chrome in their “donor’s” body, every enhanced organ keeping them breathing—it all translates to eddies.  

They've turned human harvesting into an art form, and their galleries are the screams echoing from abandoned lots throughout the sprawl. Well, and from the shelves of the seediest underground BD shops, where collections of every brand of psycho’s sick secret can be scrolled and sold. 

S W I T C H I N G. . . C A M E R A . . .

Almost every room in the building has a damn Scav, but the woman saw no signs of her targets yet. Another fucking Scav…The lack of hierarchy makes them also almost impossible to kill at the root. Cut off one head, and twenty more of these cockroaches scatter into the shadows, only to regroup somewhere else. Without designated turf to defend, they're everywhere and nowhere—a fluid nightmare that adapts, survives, and feeds on whatever flesh the city provides.

S W I T C H I N G. . . C A M E R A . . .

“Any updates, V?” a man with a heavy accent speaks through the comms. V jumps between camera feeds, her eyes staring intently on her screen with pinpoint, laser focus, until she finally pulls up a view she’s been waiting to see since the gig started. A trashed space that looks like it used to be an office, full of Scavs hanging out—most are kronked out by the couch, while others stand watch behind a door. All were armed to the teeth. But more importantly...

“Found the room where they keep the fresh deliveries, Jackie. Can’t use the front door, too many of ‘em hangin’ ‘round. I’ll open the empty apartment next to theirs, you’re gonna have to hop over their balcony to get in.” V watches as a big guy with a loud Valentino's jacket scratches his head, tugging at the small hair bun sitting atop.  

He puts his engraved gun on his holster, the flashy, golden design catching light. “Always makin’ me work for it, eh, ‘chica?” he says with a smile in his tone. 

V scoffs at that and teases, “On the contrary, I’m making you work less. Fewer leads exchanged, more eddies for us. And you get to keep yourself intact.” A quick hack to the building’s security controls, which had little-to-no ICE thanks to the Scavs preference for a bloodier, straightforward approach, and she manages to pop the door open. 

Jackie moves in low, heading for the balcony as instructed. He hesitates for a moment, pulls himself back as if gearing up, and then jumps over to the next balcony. He lands softly and slides from the momentum, leaving a trail of dust behind him. “Easy for you to say with your ass chillin’ downstairs,” he responds with a little breathless laugh. 

"Focus now," V said as she scanned the group of Scavs in the apartment’s living room, huddled close enough for her to upload a daemon that can have them pass out, one after another with her Contagion.

“Stay sharp. Gonna make the fuckers inside too sick for anything else, but there’s two more in the other room that’s gonna notice a bunch of pukin’ Scavs for sure. Get ready to pop!” Jackie crouched low behind the balcony railing, checking his iron one more time. "Locked and loaded, 'mana. Do your digital voodoo."

V's eyes glowed and danced across her cyberdeck interface, targeting the cluster of Scavs sprawled across the grimy couch. The daemon wormed its way through their neural implants like a digital viper, striking long before anyone knew what was happening. "Uploading now. Three... two... one..."

100% UPLOAD SUCCESSFUL...

The effect of Contagion was immediate and brutal. Through the feed, she watched the Scavs writhe and convulse, their augmented nervous systems overloading. "Beautiful work if I do say so myself," V muttered, already switching camera angles to track the incoming threats.

"Preem work, V. If not a little…disgustin’," Jackie's voice crackled through the comm as he moved toward the apartment's sliding door, his nose wrinkling at the smell of vomit and blood. Just as predicted, the bedroom door burst open. 

Two Scavs emerged—a heavyset woman with chromed arms and a wiry guy with a mohawk, both packing serious heat. They took one look at their downed choombas and started scanning for threats.

"Right on schedule," V said, cycling through camera feeds. "Two hostiles, just like I—wait, fuck." A third heat signature emerged, someone she missed from her scans. Shit, shit, shit. "Jackie, I missed one! Three hostiles, not two!"

"Mierda! Kinda busy here, V!" Jackie had already engaged the first two, ducking behind the kitchen counter as bullets chewed up the cabinets around him. V’s eyes were moving fast, jumping between cameras to get better angles. Two of them were moving to flank Jackie on either side.

"Biggest gonk's coming around your left side!” V didn't hesitate—she uploaded a Reboot Optics directly through the security cam. "Blinding the chrome bitch, now!"

The woman stumbled, clawing at her malfunctioning optical implants as Jackie popped up from cover, his gun in hand, firing two shots. One straight into her hologram mask, and another through the guy’s chest. 

"Two down, but that other bastard's still—" Jackie was cut short as another Scav rounded the corner, assault rifle already chattering. He was still inside the other room, in a blindspot V couldn’t virtually reach.

V switched to another camera, desperately looking for an angle. There—the bedroom cam had a partial view. "Jackie, bedroom! I can get him from there!" She uploaded another Reboot Optics, and the big Scav's targeting system died just as Jackie dove for cover.

"Now's your chance!" V shouted into her comm. Jackie didn't waste the opening, putting three rounds into the blinded Scav. The man dropped like a sack of wet concrete, the holographic ‘x’ mask on his face glitching, his cyan clothes a stark contrast to the blood red pooling underneath.

"Jesus, V. That was too close." Jackie's breathing was heavy. V slumped back in her driver's seat, adrenaline still coursing through her veins, a sense of smugness reflected in the fire in her eyes. "Just glad I caught that third gonk before he flattened you into a synth-burger. Now find Sandra before more show up."

"Copy that, 'mana. Moving to the next room now.” Jackie should have been used to seeing what Scavs leave behind, but seeing their victims up close made the big guy feel like he just contracted one of V’s viruses. 

A light shone on an operating table, spotlighting a woman, or what was left of her. “Fuck, is that our girl? We’re too fuckin’ late, V!” Jackie rushed over to the victim, frustration heavy in his voice and steps. 

“Chill, choom. Wakako said our client’s top-shelf, premium TT insurance and all. Keep lookin’,” V tried to reason, but she couldn’t blame Jackie’s growing nerves. Something big was coming up for them, after all. They couldn’t afford to mess up their street cred now.

“Shit, you’re right…fuckers, they stacked ‘em like sardines!” Jackie cried out, and V watched from the camera feed as he carefully carried a woman packed in with other bodies in an ice tub. 

“Poor girl…I heard stories where people get PTSD without ‘em knowing why. One day she’ll be drinkin’ a nice cold drink and then boom—scared shitless…” Jackie mused, genuine sadness in his tone as he gently held the shivering woman.

“That’s why we gotta focus, Jackie. We can still save her,” V's fingers danced across her interface, scanning Sandra's vitals through the security feed. The woman was barely breathing, but something was off. "Jackie, wait. Her TT biomonitor should've triggered by now. Premium package means instant response when vitals drop below critical."

"So where the hell are they?" Jackie grunted, adjusting his grip on Sandra's limp, shivering form. V cycled through different scanning modes until she spotted it—a faint interference pattern emanating from Sandra's neural port. "Got it! There's something jamming her signal. Check her ports, probably a shard."

Jackie carefully laid Sandra on the floor and tilted her head. "Found it, V. Black market blocker shard, right in her main port. These Scav pendejos really thought of everything."

"Pull it out, but be ready to delta. The second that thing's out, Trauma's gonna know exactly where she is."

Jackie's thick fingers carefully extracted the shard. The moment it cleared Sandra's port, her biomonitor started lighting up, emergency beacons screaming across every frequency.

[TRAUMA TEAM ALERT: PLATINUM MEMBER CRITICAL]

[ETA: 2 MINUTES]

"Shit, they're comin' in hot!" Jackie scooped Sandra back up, making for the balcony. "Better get your ass outta there, V. Trauma don't ask questions when they're on a pickup."

V was already packing up her gear. "Way ahead of you. Get her to the balcony and delta the second they have her. Those psychos shoot first and check badges never."

Through the cam feed, V watched Jackie emerge onto the balcony just as the distinctive whine of AV engines filled the air. The Trauma Team AV descended like an angel of death, its mounted turrets already spinning up. Jackie set Sandra down gently and backed away, hands visible.

"Package delivered," Jackie's voice crackled through comms as he ran off once the coast was clear, making a beeline for the elevator. "These médicos look ready to flatline anything that moves."

V pulled out of the parking structure, and she looked up, seeing the Trauma Team flying away. At the same time, Jackie's Arch roared to life in her rearview. "Clean work, choom. Wakako's gonna be pleased," V said.

"Pleased enough to pay us on time, I hope," Jackie laughed, pulling up alongside V's car. "Speaking of time—gotta delta now. You got D-man's text? Can you fuckin’ believe it?" he said with awe in his tone.  

"Big leagues mean big risks, Jack. You sure about this?"

"'Course I'm sure. Mama didn't raise no quitter. Besides..." his voice softened, "promised her I'd make something of myself. No more worryin' about where rent money's coming from, you know? Maybe get her a place outside Heywood, somewhere nice."

V smiled despite herself. Jackie's optimism was infectious, even when they just barely made it out of a human chop shop. "And Misty? She on board with your grand plans?"

"Mi cielo? She gets it. Threw the cards for me last week—said change was coming. Misty always knows..." He chuckled, a fond look on his face. "But yeah, she knows what this means to us. To all of us."

“Well, we better delta the fuck ages ago then! Watson’s going on lockdown tonight, remember?” V responds, ready to bolt.

“Fuck, well I call that perfect timing.” Jackie replied with a wide grin. Despite looking like a hardened gangster, his eyes and boyish smile reveal his softness.

V checked her internal clock and grinned. "After seeing what those Scavs left behind, might need a few shots of tequila first."

"Now you're talkin' my language, chica. Race you back? Loser buys the bottle."

"You're on, Welles. But first…" V takes out a purple inhaler from her pocket and takes a deep puff. True to its name, her nerves explode into something that can only be described as glitter—a feeling of oversaturating colors that spreads through all her senses. Jackie looks at her in slight disapproval, “Ah, better get off that shit, I’m tellin’ ya.”

Instead of answering, V revved her engine and zoomed off, the neon lights of Night City blurring past as they tore through the streets, leaving the horror of the Scav den behind them. For now, at least, they could pretend this city wasn't trying to kill them—just two friends racing to the Afterlife.

The radio crackled back to life as they drove: "This is Stanley, reminding you beautiful people—another day in Night City, another dollar earned or another organ harvested! Stay safe out there!"

07:00 PM — Afterlife, Watson

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆

There’s a saying in Night City, and that the only path worth walking in this dump is the one that leads to the Afterlife, where the best deals are made and the most eddies are stacked. The old club was humming with an electric energy, from the heavy thrum of the music to the cacophony of conversations, plans spoken plainly by the best edgerunners in the biz. 

“Shit, we’re actually here. You know this used to be a morgue before?” Jackie said in awe, and V laughed, shaking her head at him. “Jackie, I’m the one who told you that before.” 

“Oh... our damned benders must've jumbled my head. Still blows my mind, though," and his excitement was evident, V noticing the way his chest was puffed up and how widely he strode towards the entrance fearlessly. It was a wonder, really, knowing what awaited them ahead. Both mercs stopped before the bouncer, a hulking man with metallic plates of chrome on the bridge of his nose and the sides of his jaw. 

"Hey, Mr..." Jackie's eyes squinted, and his scanner revealed the bouncer's name. "Emmerick, my guy!” He whistles. “You lift? Packin’ some huge muscles there. Me too, I work out a lot. Like to keep fit for the biz, you know?” V wanted to shrink into herself as she eyed the bouncer. 

He was a well-known member of the Animals, and they’ve always been known for their exotic code, opting for homebrewed enhancements designed to push their physical prowess instead of traditional cyberware. 

With an insane addiction to working out and a brutish talent for martial arts, they’re infamous for being one of the last “purists” gangs in a city where cyberwere can make your bread and butter. Well, I guess some don’t mind cybernetic mods like beastial jaws, V mused. “You here for someone, or are you two just gonna hold up the line?” Emmerick spoke up, his tone unamused.

“Here for Dex,” V immediately pipes in, cutting off whatever plans Jackie has of playing chooms with an Animal. Emmerick eyes them, shakes his head, and then moves to the side to make room for their entry. They make a beeline for the bar, needing something to take the edge off. V’s lungs felt heavy; she didn’t know if it was because the air hung thick with smoke, ambition, or both. 

“Holy fuck, V, look at that old lady by the booth over there. That’s Rogue, Queen of the fuckin’ Afterlife!” Jackie gushed next to her, and she glanced at the woman he was pointing to. 

She hears a chuckle, and then a friendly voice cuts in, “You best not underestimate her. Even with her age, she can still pack a punch better than a lot of mercs in this joint. You two freshies?” V glances at a smiling woman with auburn hair and notices her name tag: Claire. 

Jackie immediately leans onto the counter, practically shaking in excitement like a kid on Christmas morning. “Evenin’, Claire! The name’s Jackie Welles, and this chica right here is my partner, V. Remember those names, 'cause we gon’ be the next locals and legends of the Afterlife!” 

Claire laughed, genuine in her mirth. She plays along with Jackie and says, “Oh? Well, let me welcome our upcoming legends with some drinks on the house. So, what can I get ya?” Jackie drummed his fingers on the counter. V was particular with her drinks, and so she spoke up first. 

“Tequila, agave nectar, bitters, a splash of Mexican beer, chili peppers, and an orange twist, please,” V asked; it’s one of her favorite drinks. “Whoo, that’s more like it! I’ll have the same, M’am!” Claire nods in recognition and says, “Ah, the Johnny Silverhand special. Good choice!” 

As Claire prepares the drinks, V asks, “What do you have to do to get a drink named after ya?” The friendly bartender didn’t pause in making her concoctions as she responded, “Well, ya gotta die a legend.” 

“Sheesh, gotta let us live as legends a lil first, don’t ya think? But just in case, here’s mine, chica: a shot of vodka, on the rocks, lime juice, ginger beer… oh, and most importantly—a splash of love.” Claire laughs again and hands them the drinks. “Will remember that, for sure. Enjoy!” 

V and Jackie clink their glasses together for a cheer before downing the entire drink in one go, letting the fire burn through and spread in a pleasant tingle.

With that, Jackie leans in conspiratorially. "Say, Claire, what's the word 'round here? Any interesting biz floating around?" He glances toward the back booths. "Heard Dex was out of town for a while."

Claire's hands never stop moving, but V catches the slight tension in her shoulders. "Oh, you know how it is. Fixers come and go. Take their little vacations." She sets the first drink down with practiced ease. "Though two years is a long holiday, even for someone with Dex's... appetite for the finer things."

"Two years?" Jackie whistles low. "That's a lot of beach time."

"Mmm. Some say Pacifica didn't agree with him." Claire's tone stays casual as she also leans in. "Others say he just needed a change of scenery. You know how Night City is—sometimes you gotta step back before you step up."

V observes the exchange, noting how Claire's friendly demeanor never quite reaches her eyes when discussing Dex. The bartender's good—gives just enough to seem helpful without really saying anything. Must be some classic Afterlife survival skills.

"Well, he's back now," Jackie grins. "Must mean biz is good again, yeah?"

Claire slides the second drink across. "Good for some, maybe." She wipes down the bar, considering. "Word of advice, since you two seem really fresh—Dex plays big. Real big. Just make sure you can swim before you jump in the deep end."

"We can handle ourselves," V says quietly, speaking up for the first time.

Claire meets her gaze, and something passes between them—a recognition, maybe. "I'm sure you can. Just remember, in the Afterlife, reputation's everything. And Dex..." she pauses, choosing her words, "let's just say his rep took an interesting turn before his vacation."

Before Jackie can probe further, she's already moving to serve another customer, leaving them with their drinks and more questions than answers. 

"Interesting turn?" Jackie mutters to V. "What's that supposed to mean?"

V takes a sip, the burn of tequila mixing with unease in her stomach. Claire had said just enough to confirm her suspicions—Dex isn't the same fixer who left Night City two years ago. Question is, what changed? And more importantly, why's he so eager to work with nobodies like them?

Just on time, Dex’s bodyguard came into view and said with his robotic voice, “He’s ready to see you guys now.”

V and Jackie followed the chrome-heavy bodyguard through the Afterlife's maze of booths and back rooms. The music faded to a dull throb as they entered Dex's private corner—a booth shrouded in shadow and cigar smoke, where Night City's real business got done.

Dexter DeShawn sat like a king holding court, his considerable bulk draped in gold chains and expensive fabric. But V's eyes immediately locked onto the woman beside him—definitely not Evelyn Parker. This woman radiated a different kind of danger: the quiet confidence of someone who'd survived the Net's darkest corners.

"Jackie, V," Dex drawled, not looking up from lighting his cigar. "Meet T-Bug. Best netrunner you'll find outside of NetWatch's most wanted list."

T-Bug barely glanced at them, her attention split between three different screens floating in her peripheral vision. Her fingers danced through invisible interfaces as she spoke. "Your daemon signatures are sloppy. Spotted you the moment you walked through the door."

V's jaw tightened. "Appreciate the critique," She said, looking at the floor to hide her irritation. "Though last I checked, I wasn't hired to impress anyone with my signature."

Jackie, ever the mediator, jumped in with his trademark enthusiasm. "T-Bug! Heard stories about you—that Biotechnica job? Preem work, truly preem!"

T-Bug finally looked at them properly, her expression unreadable behind designer optics. "The Biotechnica job was five years ago. Ancient history."

"Ancient history that still gets told," Jackie beamed. "Like that time you—"

"Gentlemen, ladies," Dex interrupted, blowing smoke. "We're not here to trade war stories. We're here because you two survived what should've been a massacre." His eyes glinted. "Militech and Maelstrom in one room, and you walked out with my Flathead. Impressive."

V shifted in her seat. The pickup a few days ago had been a shitshow from start to finish. Militech trying to use them as pawns, Maelstrom high on combat stims, and bullets flying from every direction. They'd barely made it out.

"Got lucky," V said carefully. "Intel wasn't exactly complete on that one."

Dex's smile didn't waver, but something cold flashed in his eyes. "Intel's never complete in this biz. That's why you adapt. That's why you survive." He leaned back. "Speaking of intel—Evelyn Parker. How'd that meeting go?"

Jackie jumped in before V could formulate a careful response. "Smooth as silk! That doll's got access like you wouldn't believe. Knows exactly where the package is, security routines, everything we need."

"Everything?" T-Bug's fingers paused mid-air. "She gave you the ICE specifications? Black ice protocols? Daemon architecture?"

V felt heat rise in her cheeks. "She gave us the physical layout and—"

"Physical's only half the equation," T-Bug cut in. "Maybe less when we're talking about Arasaka." She turned to Dex. "This is why you need me. No offense to your local talent, but Arasaka's net architecture isn't some gang's homebrew ICE. It's military-grade, and it kills."

The dismissal stung more than V wanted to admit. She'd been running the net since she was eleven, had also ghosted through corps' systems that would make most runners flatline themselves rather than risk it by fourteen. 

Just don’t have the cred, she thought, but she bit her tongue, remembering Evelyn's whispered offer after their initial meeting: "Why split it with Dex? Take the chip straight to me after..."

"No offense taken," V lied smoothly. "If you've got experience with their systems, that's what matters."

Dex nodded approvingly. "See? That's the attitude that'll make us all rich. T-Bug handles the net side, keeps you invisible. You two handle the physical extraction. Clean, professional, in and out."

Jackie sat back on the booth as if the wind was pushed out of him. "This is it, V. The big leagues! Konpeki Plaza, Yorinobu's own suite... When we pull this off—"

"If," V corrected quietly. "If we pull it off."

The booth fell silent. T-Bug's typing resumed, a steady rhythm like rain on chrome. Dex studied V through the cigar smoke, and she could feel him measuring her, weighing whether her caution was an asset or a liability.

"You having second thoughts?" Dex asked, voice deceptively casual.

V met his gaze steadily. "No. Just like to know all the angles. The pickup for the combat bot taught me that surprises aren't always pleasant."

"Smart," T-Bug said unexpectedly. "Paranoia keeps you alive in this biz." She pulled up a holo display, showing Konpeki Plaza in all its glory. "Which is why I've already started mapping their outer defenses. By the time we go in, I'll know every node, every daemon, every piece of ICE they've got."

The display was impressive, V had to admit. Layer after layer of security protocols, all mapped out in T-Bug's distinctive style. Professional. Thorough. Everything V prided herself on being, but it’s obvious now that maybe she’s not.

"When do we move?" Jackie asked, eyes gleaming.

"Two days," Dex announced. "Gives T-Bug time to finish her prep, gives you two time to rest up. That Militech dust-up probably has you running hot. Need you cool for this."

V's bad feeling intensified. Two days felt both too long and not long enough. But Jackie was already nodding, already buying in completely.

"We'll be ready," her partner declared. "V and I, we're gonna make this the smoothest grab you've ever seen."

Dex smiled, all teeth and gold. "I'm counting on it. My reputation's riding on this as much as yours. We do this right, and Night City's gonna remember our names."

Or bury them, V thought, but didn't say.

As they stood to leave, T-Bug finally looked directly at V. "Word of advice, rookie. Whatever daemon suite you're running, upgrade it. Arasaka's ICE has a taste for overconfident netrunners."

V smiled tightly. "Thanks for the tip. I'll be sure to remember that when we're all counting our eddies."

They left the booth, Jackie practically bouncing with excitement while V's mind raced. Evelyn's offer, Dex's smooth assurances, T-Bug's dismissive competence, the Militech ambush that felt too convenient...

"Told you, V!" Jackie exclaimed as they headed for the exit. "Major leagues! Dex, T-Bug, the whole crew. This is our moment!"

"Yeah, Jack. Our moment." V forced a smile, trying to keep up with his zeal. 

“Come on, let’s celebrate tonight with Misty! One last trouble at El Coyote Cojo, cause we gon’ be hittin’ up the Afterlife more after this!” Jackie said, nodding to Claire as they walked past her, as if making a silent promise.

But as they stepped back into Night City's neon embrace, V couldn't shake the feeling that they were already caught in someone else's web, and every move they made only tangled them deeper. She looks over at Jackie and his distant stare, and she wonders if she could ever truly see his vision. 

09:00 PM — El Coyote Cojo, Heywood

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆

Rock blared through the bar’s speakers, its driving beat thumping in rhythm with V’s heart as she sits back, the high from the previous gig long gone. Valentinos are scattered in one of Heywood’s most beloved speakeasies, a go-to hub where both riffraffs and the honest working class on this side of the city can relax. 

Seed is sown, I'm chippin' in

Roll the bones, I'm chippin' in

Embed the code, I'm chippin' in

Mayhem flows!

Samurai’s biggest hit still manages to rise above the crowd’s noise, and V winces, tired of the distorted riffs and an old timer’s guttural voice screaming through the speakers. With a sigh, V grabs her Broseph Ale and takes a deep swig. 

“Hey, ‘chica, who took a piss in your drink, eh? We should be celebratin’ tonight!” Jackie’s voice cuts through her reverie. V sighs, her nerves tying into tight knots. 

“Something’s not right about the gig, Jackie. First, the pickup from Maelstrom exploded right to our faces—literally, and then Evelyn wanted to—” V can already see Jackie’s mood shift, and he shook his head, his hands waving off her concerns. “This again? Sure, there were some…hiccups along the way, but ain’t every gig that way?”

“Not when it’s as huge as klepping from Ara-fuckin’-saka, Jack…” she snapped, half-screaming, half-whispering. V knows she tends to find flaws in… well, anything, but sometimes she wonders if it’s to balance out her best friend’s blind enthusiasm.

“Relax, V. This is gonna be our big break, ‘course it ain’t gonna feel easy. And don’t even dare mention what that doll said. This is our chance to get our well-earned, five-star review from Dex,” Jackie joked, his tone light, but there was a serious determination in his eyes. 

Misty leaned forward on the table, her bangles chiming softly, making her presence known. “I get V’s hesitation. I read your cards while waiting for you guys, and well…" she said quietly, her dark eyes studying V's face. "I got the Fool,” Misty finally said.

"See? Even the universe thinks this gig's cursed," V muttered, taking another pull from her Broseph.

Jackie laughed, but it sounded forced. "Aw, come on, Misty. Don't go fillin' her head with more doom and gloom. "

"I'm not trying to scare anyone, babe," Misty said, her voice gentle but firm. "But the energy around this job... It's different. Volatile. Well, the Fool isn’t necessarily bad. It’s a sign of new beginnings, taking a leap of faith—even though it may be coming from a place of naivety."

Jackie smiles at that. “That sounds plenty good to me,” he notices V’s thousand-yard stare, the silent tapping of her fingers, and the incessant chewing of her bottom lip. “What’s really eating at you, V?”

V stared into her beer, watching the foam settle. The bar's ambient noise—laughter, clinking glasses, the crack of pool balls—felt distant, like she was underwater. "It's T-Bug," she finally admitted. "Dex doesn't trust me to handle the net on this one. Brought in his own ‘runner instead."

"So? T-Bug's got a solid rep," Jackie said, but his tone was less dismissive now. "More experience with this level of—"

"It's not just about experience, Jackie." V's voice carried an edge of frustration. "It's about control. I studied every system in that hotel, every backdoor, every security protocol. But of course, T-Bug gets the role—everyone in the business knows her handle. She's run jobs for fixers I can only dream of working with. And here I am, some netjockey wannabe from Heywood,”

Jackie was quiet for a moment, absently peeling the label off his Tecate. The music shifted to something softer, but V could still hear the old rocker's voice echoing in her head from the previous song. Chippin' in. The irony wasn't lost on her.

Jackie frowned. "You're not a nobody, V. You just saved Sandra Dorsett's ass with skills T-Bug would respect."

"Would she, though?" V took another swig, the bitter taste matching her mood. “Besides, that’s not my point. T-Bug is practically on her way to becoming a legend in cyberspace, so why is she lumped with newbies like us? Something stinks here…”

"You know what I think?" Jackie said, finally. "I think you're scared."

V looked at him steadily, but there was a sharper edge to her gaze. "As we should be. Don't get too cocky and turn into a gonk, Jack."

"You think I don't know the stakes?" Jackie leaned forward, his eyes losing all their previous mirth. "Nah, 'mana. It's scarier to just stay where we are, putting our lives on the line everyday too, I should add... all for shit pay in Scav dens."

V wanted to argue, to tell him that he was talking out of his ass. But the words stuck in her throat because he was right. 

"Look," Jackie said, his voice softer now. "I get it. But think about it—when's the next time someone like Dex is gonna give gonks like us a shot at the majors? This is it, V. This is our ticket out of the small time."

V looked around El Coyote Cojo—at the peeling paint, the flickering neon, the faces of people grinding through another day in Night City's machine. Jackie was right. Opportunities like this didn't come twice.

"Besides," Jackie added with a grin, "you think I'm gonna let some fancy Corpo tower take down Jackie Welles? Por favor. I've been preparing for this my whole life."

Despite herself, V found herself almost smiling. Almost. "Your whole life, huh?"

"Damn right. Blaze o’ glory for us—I’m done dealing with scraps and shit in this street." Jackie says, believing every single word.

He leans back, his eyes heavier now. "Don't get me wrong, mana. This is our home... you, me, and Mist..." He continues, "I'll always have some weird love for it in the same way it took care of us... in its own messed up way too, of course."

V chuckled lowly in agreement. Heywood, both its rough edges and the soft warmth of its family-rooted community, was all they knew—but two days from now? She spins the drink in her hand absentmindedly, a small smile starting to spread on her face. This stubborn man really thinks they have a solid shot at this gig.

"But don't you think it's time to show this city that we're bigger than this?" The air hanging over the table was charged. She's got to admit, begrudgingly, that the man could give a good pep talk every now and then.

Misty's smile was small, yet proud. She adds, "The cards don't show failure, V. They show transformation. Sometimes that hurts, but it's not always bad." With that, she and Jackie shared a gaze, a silent understanding, a promise. V looked away, giving them privacy, which was easy enough to do as her thoughts raced. 

But both her friends were right—it's time to move forward. She finished her beer and signaled the bartender for another. The weight of tomorrow pressed down on her like Night City's smog—heavy, inescapable, toxic. But maybe that was just how it felt before the inevitable change came, like a tidal wave. 

"One more round," she said. V takes a deep breath, and a fire is renewed in her eyes. "Then we go home and get some sleep. Two days from now, we either become legends..."

"Or we become cautionary tales," Jackie finished with a dark chuckle. "Either way, we'll be remembered."

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Chapter Text

8:56 PM — Heywood NCPD Precinct

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River’s POV

Two years away on “vacation”, yet somehow, one of Night City’s biggest fixers (literally and figuratively) is back in the game. It didn’t make much sense—Dexter DeShawn took years to build his name underground and had plans of retiring early. Plus, from what he gathered, he wasn’t the type to take the hustle on his own, nor would he jump right back to biz cause he missed some hot action. Trouble in paradise, maybe? 

“Go home, Ward.” Han said as he passed, his tone dulled and his expression disinterested. A nightly routine. River only grunted in response, his brows furrowed deeply, brain itching. 

Word on the street is that Dex made powerful enemies in Pacifica, and while River thinks that’s just how his side of the world turns, he knows that disaster follows the wake of someone desperate to take back a win. 

He felt Han come up behind him, and he glanced to see his partner’s disapproving look. “Jesus, even the top brass has got nothing on DeShawn. We got actual cases to worry about already.” River knew how people were getting more tired with his…insistent observations. 

“Just checking for loose ends in this story, Han. Listening to gossip, you know, break room talk.” River casually replied.

"Maybe the old fixer just missed some good ‘ol scopdog," Han said with a lazy grin, not even looking up from whatever he was scrolling through on his phone. "Two years eating corpo synth-food on some tropical beach—probably came back craving real Night City grease and MSG."

He waved dismissively at River's desk without lifting his eyes. "Look, we got enough cases to keep the brass happy without you digging up ghost stories. Half these files are gonna solve themselves anyway—gang war casualties, ODs, the usual. Why make extra work?”

River felt a buzz on his phone, and what he read just fueled his suspicions. 

₱€₱€: [ Yo, do I get an extra tip for sayin’ somethin’ stinks up in Room 204? ]

River: [ Depends on what kind of stink we're talking about. The kind that pays overtime, or the kind that gets badges retired early? ]

₱€₱€: [ The kind that makes the evening news, choom. Big fish swimming in my little pond tonight. ]

River: [ How big we talking? And don't jerk me around—my patience runs thin after midnight. ]

₱€₱€: [ Let's just say this fish used to own half the ocean before he took his little “vacay.” Now he's back, looking desperate and dangerous. That big enough for you? ]

River: [ Interesting. This fish got a name, or am I supposed to guess? Info's only worth eddies if it's solid. ]

₱€₱€: [ Got none other than Mr. Dexter DeShawn himself gracing my establishment. Didn't have to tell you shit, so I expect some fat eddies for this. That, or you can fuck off forever. My gracious intel-loaded ass? Gone! ]

Transfer sending……. . .sent.

₱€₱€: [ Pleasure doin’ biz. ] 

His CI at the No-Tell Motel—heh, so much for the name. “You should really find a new hobby. Dinner?” Han was almost shocked to see River stand up, but his gut was speaking louder than his stomach tonight. “Can’t—got a date tonight.” His partner shook his head at that, a knowing look on his face. “That stack of reports ain’t enough work for you?” 

River didn’t dare spare another look at his desk, grabbing his go-to leather jacket instead. “Just don’t forget to cover your ass. Don’t want to lose one of NCPD’s finest to a rando gonk from the wrong side of town. Lock up, will ya?” Han didn’t need to tell him twice; River can move out and about the precinct even with his eyes closed. 

“There’s no sitch, just out to meet and mingle. Tell you all the boring ‘detes tomorrow,” He nodded to his partner, and Han could only chuckle. “Whatever you say, Ward. Hope you get some sleep, cause I sure will.” Something tells him that he wouldn’t be getting even a wink—just another thing his gut is saying tonight.

03:03 AM — No-Tell Motel, Kabuki

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Even with the sun and stars long gone, the neon signs and lanterns light up one of the seediest sub-districts of the city. Kabuki always feels more alive at night, and on the surface, its contrasting beauty stuns. Old, oriental-inspired architecture set a traditional backdrop, while the holographic Cherry Blossom trees reel you in.

Look a little longer and deeper, though, and you’ll see that there’s all kinds of sin that sells. Stalls with shady BDs of fantasies no one dares to share out loud, street-grade Glitter and Black Lace to numb your mind, and just plain ‘n classic sex on display.

Joytoys, gangs, and junkies prowl the maze of alleys that make up the heart of NC’s most infamous black market. You can almost feel the place pulse with illicit excitement. But beyond the glamorous promises, River sees victims. Notice the trafficked girls with glazed eyes, people with their cyberware stolen by Scavs left out to survive in the streets, and the place’s false beauty reveals an ugly truth. Just another ad, another trick.

River sat quietly inside his Mack, parked in a shadowy corner away from the hustle and bustle, and with full view of anyone going in or out of the No-Tell Motel. There wasn’t really any need for a guy like Dex to hide in this dump just to get a taste of romance, so what kind of clandestine meeting is he up to? 

River considered his options. He could book his own space near Room 204, but he didn’t really have the tech to do or hear much of anything. That, and he didn’t have a warrant for Dex, so all he could do was wait. That’s fine; he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he did in the force if he didn’t have the patience for it. Huh, maybe he should get a new hobby.

But before he could even explore the thought, he heard a car screeching from the distance. This has gotta be it, River thought as a Delamain cab came to a sudden halt. Well, well… What's a fancy suit doing in a place like this? Even more curious was its state: littered with bullet holes and dents that don't fit the well-known, luxurious cab’s clientele. 

He could make out two people sitting at the back, and then a bloodied-up woman with silver hair stumbled out and hobbled into the motel. One of the things River learned in his time in the NCPD: the right intel was always worth the wait. With that, the Delamain promptly drove off, but he was able to catch a glimpse of the man inside—a buff, Latino-looking guy bleeding out at the back, his eyes glazed and lifeless.

Shit. River took his radio and called for a dispatch. “Got a possible 10-67 riding on a shot-up Delamain cab exiting No-Tell Motel, along Titan Street. Latino guy, wearing a suit, but he doesn’t look like your usual corpo. Not too sure, though. Was just on my way home when I saw it, Watson’s not in my jurisdiction. Need someone to be hot on its tail,” a beat of static on the radio, and then a response, “Dispatch to Patrol One, you hearin’ this?” 

“Patrol One. Sounds like Ward—how come you still find ways to put my ass to work even after your move?” 

“So it goes in this city.” River responded, trying to sound calm, but his body was practically buzzing. The person from the other side of the radio chuckled, a little too casual for the situation and his liking. “Yuuuuuuup, a 10-67, on it. Dispatch to Patrol Two, might need assistance. Oh, and Ward?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Go home and get some sleep.”

“Uh-huh,” was all he could mutter out. Things moved faster than River expected as he watched a tall, beefy, and chromed-up guy with boxy sunglasses—Dex’s personal bodyguard?—carrying the very same silver-haired woman he saw before dumping her in the trunk of a limo. Dex followed suit and immediately sat himself at the back. 

Just then, his radio came to life, and he heard something that made the hole he found himself in even deeper than he had anticipated. “We need a large-scale police response to the scene at Konpeki Plaza, City Center. Saburo Arasaka has been killed, I repeat, Saburo Arasaka has been killed. The suspect was last seen escaping on a Delamain cab; all units respond.”

River's mind raced as the pieces started clicking into place with sickening clarity. What began as surveillance chasing a hunch had spiraled into something that reached the very top of the corporate food chain. Saburo Arasaka—the most powerful man in the world—is dead. 

Twenty years on the force, he thought, and I've never been this far out of my depth.

This wasn't some gang turf war or corpo espionage gone wrong. This was the kind of operation that toppled governments, that redrew the global power structure. The kind that left bodies scattered across continents and witnesses buried in unmarked graves. 

The irony wasn't lost on him: after two decades of chasing small-time criminals through the city's underbelly, he'd finally found the big score. Problem was, it might just be the last case he ever worked.

Should've listened to Han, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. Should've gone home. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

With a good distance from Dex’s car, he finally set out to follow his trail. As he drove, he tried to link broken pieces of info together, but nothing fit. What would Dex even gain from flatlining Arasaka himself? And who were the gonks he hired who thought they could pull off something this insane? Dex can’t do much with a weapon, but he earned his street cred for his killer instinct for people. Did he overshoot his shot with this one? 

He worked the questions over and over as the flashing ads shifted to hills of trash, but River drove on, determined to find the answers.

03:46 AM — Scrapyard Somewhere in the Badlands

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“Stop right there!” River held Crash firmly, his sights dead center on Dex’s head. He had some good distance between them, with plenty of scraps to help him take cover if shit hits the fan…or more like, when. The bodyguard was clearly more threatening, but with him carrying the silver-haired woman, he had just enough leeway to de-escalate the situation and get something out of this monumental mess.

Dex laughed nervously, putting both his arms in the air. “Easy there, officer…?” Dex asked, his voice carrying that familiar slick smoothness that he often uses to charm himself out of trouble. River decided to bite. “Detective River Ward, NCPD. Got a tip about some trouble involving you, wonder what it’s about.” Crash remained pointed at Dex, unwavering. 

“Well now, Detective Ward, see I’m just passing through the city. Got tied up in some business complications, as you can see…” Dex nodded to the woman. “Now, now, I know what it looks like. But we were just doing biz as usual when her brain fried. Cyberpsychosis, a really nasty case. That’s when I decided to lend a helping hand by…putting her out of her misery, you know how these sitches go.” 

It often takes a team of MaxTac to incapacitate anyone with cyberpsychosis, but River wasn’t surprised to find Dex grasping at straws, lying to the teeth. “Uh huh. And that business complication you were having doesn’t happen to involve Saburo Arasaka getting flatlined?” Whatever Dex was going to say died in his throat, and his eyes darted between River and his bodyguard. 

“Now that’s one hell of an accusation to throw around without proof, Detective. I'm just a simple businessman trying to clean up after some... ambitious contractors who bit off more than they could chew." Dex tried to keep his cool, but River can hear the panic creeping in his voice. He kept his stance steady—cornered criminals often try to claw their way out with whatever means necessary. But while they get increasingly dangerous, they also become incredibly predictable. 

“Cut the crap, Dex. NCPD's already got units responding to that Delamain. All that blood trail leads to you.”  River caught the shift in the bodyguard's stance—chrome muscles tensing, augmented reflexes coiling like a spring. The guy's eyes flicked between Dex and River, calculating angles, waiting for his boss to give him the green light to turn this whole situation red.

"Boss," the bodyguard's voice was a low growl, mechanical undertones betraying heavy vocal modifications. "This gonk's fishing. No way NCPD's got anything solid, or we'd be swimming in badges by now."

But Dex wasn't listening. River could see the fixer's mind racing, weighing options, probably running through every exit strategy he'd ever planned. The sweat on his forehead caught the scrapyard's harsh lighting, and his hands trembled slightly despite being raised.

"Look, Detective," Dex said, forcing that trademark smile that had talked him out of a hundred tight spots. "Maybe we can work something out here. You want answers? I got 'em. You want eddies? I got those too. No need for this to get messy."

The bodyguard's grip shifted on the woman’s unconscious form, and River caught the subtle movement—muscle memory preparing to drop dead weight and reach for iron. Here we go. "Only thing messy here is whatever you did to her," River replied, not buying Dex's suddenly cooperative tone. "Put her down and back up with your hands in the air, nice and slow.” 

The bodyguard must’ve thought this to be the perfect moment to break the standoff, deciding to throw the woman at him as a distraction before showering him with lead. River's instincts kicked in before his brain could process what was happening. 

His mind screamed at him to move as the woman's limp form sailed through the air. He twisted sideways, catching her with his chrome hand while keeping Crash trained forward, but the impact sent them both tumbling behind a rusted car chassis just as the bodyguard went for his shot.

Bullets sparked off metal where River's head had been a split second before. He could feel the weight of her modifications as he pulled her deeper into cover, checking for a pulse. Still breathing, still alive. Whatever Dex had planned for her, it wasn't finished yet.

"You missed your chance to deal, Detective!" Dex's voice carried over the gunfire, no longer smooth but cracking with desperation. "Should've taken the eddies!"

River heard footsteps—heavy, methodical. The bodyguard was advancing, probably trying to flank around the car wreckage. He caught a glimpse of movement through the gaps in the scrap metal—Dex scrambling toward his vehicle. 

Coward's running, leaving his muscle to clean up the mess. River didn't hesitate. A quick, but sure aim to the bastard’s huge head, and his finger on Crash squeezed. Dex went down face-first into the ground, a bloody hole punched through his forehead.

The bodyguard roared, and River felt a sharp pain spread through his sides; he was also hit. But it was too quiet now. River held his breath, listening for the telltale scrape of chrome against metal, the soft whir of servos adjusting aim. There—to his left, maybe ten feet out.

River popped up and squeezed off two quick rounds toward the sound, then immediately dropped back down as return fire chewed up the air where he'd been. The bodyguard's mistake was anger—chrome-enhanced muscle charging through the scrap like a raging bull instead of thinking tactically. River waited, listening to the footsteps, timing his move. When the shadow passed his cover, he rolled out low, Crash singing twice more.

The bodyguard stumbled, chrome sparking where the bullets found their mark, but his subdermal armor absorbed most of the impact. River cursed, scrambling for new cover as return fire chewed up the ground where he'd been.

Can't trade shots with military-grade chrome. River's mind raced as he pressed against a pile of engine blocks. But chrome needs maintenance, needs power...He spotted it—a thick power cable snaking from the bodyguard's spine to his weapon systems, partially exposed where his jacket had torn. One shot. Had to be perfect. Time to even the odds.

River took a breath, steadied his aim, and squeezed. The cable exploded in a shower of sparks. The bodyguard's weapon arm seized up, his enhanced reflexes stuttering as his combat systems crashed. In that moment of malfunction, River put three more rounds center mass.

This time, they found their mark. The scrapyard fell silent except for the distant hum of the city and River's own ragged breathing. He stood slowly, Crash still raised, approaching the bodies with the caution of a man who'd seen too many "dead" suspects spring back to life.

Both men were down for good. River holstered his weapon and approached Dex's body cautiously. The fixer's phone had skittered a few feet away during his fall, the screen cracked but still functional. River pocketed it quickly—whatever contacts, messages, or call logs were on there might be the only way to trace how deep this conspiracy went. Evidence first, questions later.

The silver-haired woman lay where she'd fallen, unconscious but breathing. River pulled out his phone, staring at the screen. One call to dispatch, and this whole mess becomes NCPD business. Official channels, proper procedures, by-the-book investigation.

But something about the woman in the dirt, about the scope of what he'd stumbled into, made him hesitate. In Night City, sometimes the official channels led to the wrong kind of answers. He carried her to his Mack, and to his surprise, she stirred and groaned. “I got you, you’re safe now. Can you understand me?”

The woman tried to open her eyes, seemingly fighting off the heaviness. She could only grunt in response, but it was enough. “Need to get you to a ripperdoc you can trust, stat. Know anyone?” 

By some miracle, she managed to croak out, “Viktor…Vektor…Esoterica…” River knew the name—every cop in Watson did. Viktor Vektor ran a small clinic in Little China, stitched up more than his fair share of badges who couldn't afford questions in their medical records. Off-the-books work, but clean. The old ripper had a reputation for keeping his mouth shut and his work solid.

"Viktor it is," River muttered, gently securing her in the passenger seat. She was fading again, her breathing shallow but steady. Whatever chrome was packed in her skull, it was working overtime—he could see the faint glow of neural interfaces flickering beneath her skin like dying neon.

He winced at his own injuries, but he’s got enough airhypo to kick himself back to gear, so he set off. No going back now. The moment he'd pulled that trigger, he'd crossed a line. NCPD would want answers he couldn't give without admitting he'd been operating outside his jurisdiction, following hunches instead of orders.

The drive back to the city gave him time to think—too much time. Every red light, every checkpoint, every passing patrol car made his pulse spike. He'd become part of whatever conspiracy had gotten Saburo Arasaka killed, whether he wanted to be or not.

"Hey," he said softly as the woman's eyes fluttered open again. "Stay with me. What's your name?"

"V," she whispered, so quiet he almost missed it over the engine noise. Hope you're worth the risk, V. In more times than he can count that night, his gut somehow already has an answer to that. 

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Chapter Text

09:00 PM — Somewhere in Night City?

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

V’s POV

Screams everywhere, heavy drums that beat through your heart, aggressive guitar shreds that pierce through your thoughts, then finally, all the anger simmering inside howled into harsh vocals onto the mic. Everything hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the hatred firing through your veins. You bare your soul out to the crowd in front of you, hoping for a catatonic release, but you never reach it. Instead, the void inside you grows hungrier, desperate to consume everything. 

You’re fighting with strangers now—yet somehow, they feel familiar. You smoke outside, glaring at Night City. Something is off, like you’re in a dream that’s trying to copy your home. Strange…everything’s the same but different.

Another painful glitch in your system, like the cells in your body breaking with every malfunctioning pixel, and you find yourself gunning through…Arasaka? Corpo-swines fall like flies, their bodies full of holes, the ground and walls slowly being painted crimson. Did you do that? Somebody is talking to you, and somehow, you take comfort in the voice’s steely confidence. 

"We're almost there, Johnny. Keep your shit together." The voice cuts through the chaos like a knife—sharp, no-nonsense. Rogue. But the name also feels wrong in your mouth. The world fractures again. You're not you. You're a rage incarnate, a walking middle finger to everything corpo. Your metal arm feels heavier than death itself as you slam another mag into your Malorian. The gun speaks your language better than words ever could.

"Arasaka's gonna burn tonight," you hear yourself say, but it's not your voice. It's gravelly, soaked in nicotine and hate. Then—pain; white-hot, searing. A slug tears through your chest, and suddenly you're drowning in your own blood on the roof of Arasaka Tower. The nuke's armed. Forty-five years of fury compressed into a single moment of—

09:30 AM — Viktor Vektor’s Clinic — Little China

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SYSTEM CRITICAL ERROR

NEURAL PATHWAY COLLAPSE IMMINENT

REBOOTING...

V is screaming. The world tilts sideways, and she’s falling through memories that aren't hers, each one leaving holes in her psyche like cigarette burns.

"Easy, V. Easy now." That voice. Not Rogue. Someone else. Someone real.

V’s eyes crack open to harsh surgical lights. The smell hits her first—antiseptic mixed with gun oil and something distinctly metallic. Vik's clinic. She knows this ceiling, every water stain and crack. How many times has she stared up at it while Vik worked his magic?

"There she is." Vik's weathered face comes into focus, worry lines deeper than usual. "Thought I lost you for a minute there, kid."

V tries to speak, but her throat feels like she’s been gargling gravel. Everything hurts—not just her body, but something deeper. Like someone took her soul, put it in a blender with battery acid, then poured it back in wrong.

"Don't try to move much yet. You've been out for..." Vik pauses, checking something on his monitor. "...going on six hours. What’s the last thing you remember?” Broken memories flash through like a glitching projector, a hodgepodge of images: rocking out on stage, storming Arasaka…Konpeki Plaza, Saburo…dead, T-Bug’s screams, fighting with Jackie…

Then, she finds herself staring at Dex’s gun. A faint smell of trash wafts through her memories for some reason. V grabs her head as it spins, and she groans. “It’s a mess, Vik. I  was…singing on stage? And then gunning through Arasaka? Night City looked different, too…feels like it’s all just a bad dream,” Vik nods grimly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

See you in the big leagues, partner, her voice echoes. Why did she say that? Jackie…an image of him bleeding out at the back of a Delamain cab pierced through her mind, some kind of nightmare. 

Hot tears start to prickle the back of her eyes, and she looks at Vik desperately, “The Relic. We got it, right, Vik? And Jackie…?” Vik hangs his head low, and V realizes that the memories of her best friend dying at the back of a Delamain cab was real. No fuckin’ way.

“I’m sorry, V…” Vik’s chrome hand squeezes V’s shoulder as she starts to cry. Chest tight, every breath feels like inhaling broken glass. “T-Bug too…and that slimy motherfucker shooting at me.” V’s eyes widen at that, and she sits up, more alert now. 

“Dex shot me! Knew that piece of shit was bad news! Or was I halluc—” Vik sighs heavily and cuts you off. “You weren’t hallucinating. A detective brought you in here from the scrapyard, said you’d been shot at.” 

The memories slam back like a freight train. She could see a blurry silhouette of a tall man looming over her, and of a rich, soothing voice, and then a faint smell of real leather. Just my luck! A detective’s onto me already?

“FUCK! And the Relic? I remember Jackie slotting it into my head before he…” there was a painful lump on her throat. Vik's expression darkens, and he pulls up a neural scan on his monitor. The image makes her stomach drop—her brain lit up like a Christmas tree, red warning indicators everywhere.

"The Relic's still there, V. And it's..." He takes off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "Christ, I don't even know how to explain this. It's not just corrupted data. It's active. Writing over your neural pathways like they're blank slate."

"Writing over—what the fuck does that mean, Vik?" Her voice cracks. "Just pull it out!"

"Can't." The word hangs in the air like a death sentence. "The biochip's integrated too deeply. Your brain's treating it like damaged tissue, trying to repair itself using the engram data as a template.”

V recalls the thrill of leading the crowd’s energy on the stage. Similarly, she could feel her blood pumping in excitement as she spearheaded the charge against Arasaka…wait. “So then, me raiding Arasaka…” she paused. 

“Those weird memories you're seeing? That's not hallucinations, kid. That's someone else's life bleeding into yours." The room spins. "Whose memories?" Vik hesitates, checking his readouts again. "Biochip’s data says it’s Johnny Silverhand. The rockerboy terrorist who—"

"—nuked Arasaka Tower in '23." The words tumble out before V can stop them. She can taste the cigarettes, feel the weight of the Malorian in her hand. We're almost there, Johnny, Rogue’s voice reverberates in her head.

The Queen of the Afterlife herself—every wannabe, gonk edgerunner in the city can only dream of getting her attention. V never thought she’d cross paths with NC’s top fixer anytime soon—if ever. Only one to genuinely want to try reaching that high was Jackie.  "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Get it out, Vik! Cut it out, burn it out, I don't care—"

"V, listen to me." His hands grip your shoulders, firm but gentle. "Any attempt to remove it now would flatline you instantly. The Relic's the only thing keeping your brain from completely shutting down. It's... it's keeping you alive while it kills you."

The door chimes, and Misty glides in, pushing a wheelchair. Her eyes red-rimmed, surely crying over Jackie. "V's awake?" Her voice is barely a whisper.

"Misty..." V reaches for her, and she takes your hand, squeezing tight. "I'm so sorry,” she manages to choke out, and Misty’s other hand touches V’s forehead, checking her temperature with practiced ease. "Mist, we need to get her somewhere safe," Vik interjects. "Her apartment, maybe. The Relic's unstable—could trigger another episode any minute."

"Episode?" V tries to stand, legs shaky, but Misty moves to help her sit in a wheelchair instead. "Vik, you gotta have something. Some contact, some specialist—"

"This is beyond any ripper in Night City, V. We're in uncharted territory here." Vik helps steady V as she sits, his augmented hand cool against her arm. "Best I can do is give you some immunoblockers, might slow the progression. Buy you some time to... to figure something out."

Buy time. Like she’s goods with an expiration date. Misty turns the wheelchair and pushes towards the exit. "Come on, V. Let's get you home. You need rest."

"Rest isn't gonna fix a dead terrorist eating my brain, Mist."

"No," she says softly, "but it might help you find clarity."

V wants to laugh. Or scream. Or both. Instead, she let them guide her toward the door, Vik pressing a bottle of pills into her hand. "Take two every day. And V?" He catches her grey eyes, and for the first time since she’s known him, Viktor Vektor looks scared. "If you start seeing him—really seeing him—you call me. Immediately."

 09:45 AM — V’s Apartment — Megabuilding H10

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It feels like forever since V was last in her apartment; it’s hard to believe that it’s only been a day. Less than, even, and all of a sudden her life’s turned upside down. 

Misty stops near the bed and tries to help V stand up. “Come on, honey. Some rest would do you some good. I know it seems pointless right now, but trust me, just rest for tonight,” she soothed, her sad eyes heavy, yet sincere. Misty was one of the rare pure souls in Night City, truly a gem who still believes in the beauty of serving others and not the other way around. 

Knowing this just made V’s heart hurt more. She played a part in Jackie’s…she breathed shakily, and reached out for Misty’s hand. “Listen, Misty… about Jackie…” Misty looks at her expectantly, patiently. 

“He talked about you lots…up to the end,” V wasn’t good at comforting people, or anything much else, really—that’s why she preferred plunging the Net. Rather hang with AI than people, less complications…or at least, the heartbreaking kind.

Jackie was one of the few families she had left who really understood her, and now he’s gone too. Eaten up by Night City, just like the rest. Tears welled up in her eyes, and Misty squeezed her hand, a small smile in her face. 

“You got to know a side of him no one ever did, you know? Lots of people think he’s just this goofball, but he’s a real dreamer.” Misty had a far away look in her eyes, like she was in a different time and place. 

“Gonna become a legend, ‘chica. Get that respect, give you a proper life…” trying to mimic Jackie’s accent and candor made both women chuckle. But just as it came, V found hers fading quickly, and she looked out of her window. 

She could’ve chosen a better apartment, especially since she finally scrounged enough eddies for it. But when she and Jackie were scouring for spaces, Megabuilding H10 took both of their breaths away with its preem view of the city.

High enough for the sounds of gunfire, traffic, and angry gonks from all walks of life to be far away. It used to feel like she was gazing at a vivid painting, a bright metropolis where she could make a name for herself. 

V could only stare back out the window. “We had a fight before you two left, you know…” Misty’s voice was small, fragile, as she sat back, looking at the beauty of Night City staring back at them. 

“He was never really angry at you. I don’t think he ever could, you know,” V whispered back with a slight tilt of her head. 

“I know…I just… wish our last moments were different.” There were a million what-ifs written behind Misty’s glossy eyes, and the brilliant lights outside shone on both women’s faces. There was nothing much that V could say after that, except that she wished the same.

“I’ll take back everything it stole. I’ll make sure this city remembers our names… remember Jackie’s,” V finally spoke up, her voice rough and tired from keeping everything inside her from spilling out. “Jackie’s still here, V. He loved so many people, he’ll always be remembered. That’s not something that anyone or anything can take away,” Misty said, her dark, eyeliner-smudged eyes determined, and her voice sounded steady despite it all. 

Misty stared at her for a while and then picked something out of her pocket. It was a bottle of pills. “You got the immunoblockers from Vik…here, my gift to you.” V took it, wondering if she’ll need to spend the rest of her days taking meds on the clock. Realistically, she knew she’d die young. But more on going out with a bang, not slowly and painfully with a tapeworm in her head. 

“Pseudoendostrizine, if you want to give a lease to that guy renting your head.” V’s eyes widened and she pulled her hand back, as if she was bitten. “Excuse me, what the fuck? You gave me pills to help the terrorist take over my brain?” The blue pills looked like just another form of a loaded gun: both spell the same thing for V.

“Oh, honey, no!” Misty gasped, eyes wide in horror. “Not saying you should take them to give up. God, no. I just…” She sighed, her voice hitching slightly. “It’s not cyberpsychosis, but the pain, loss of self? I’ve seen it happen to people, so I guess, I just wanted you to have a choice. Control over something, when everything else is being taken away.” 

“And give my body to a terrorist?” V snapped. Christ, she was exhausted, and she couldn’t control the waves of emotions crashing over her. Misty doesn’t deserve to be dragged down with her, drowning. She knows she’s trying to stay afloat her own way, too. “Sorry, Mist, I’m just… it’s just all a bit too much right now.” 

Misty shook her head. “No, I’m sorry too. That was… Jackie always said I could be too practical about the metaphysical stuff.” V tried to give a smile and squeezed her hand. “I get it. Just…I’m gonna find a way, okay? Got some leads already anyway.” 

She thought of Evelyn, the client who pulled all the strings behind this shitshow of a scene. That, and there was the detective, she mused, but she needs to sleep for a week first before drawing up an angle for this. 

“That’s our girl, always on the move.” Misty said with a smile, her eyes lighter this time. She fished another thing inside her pocket, and V lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Got more pills to add for your hospice patient?” 

Misty looks at her pointedly, “Just like you said, V. You got plans, and I got hope.” The blonde woman’s tall, layered hair swayed as she turned to grab something. “Here…it’s the bullet Vik fished outta your head and I thought…well, why not turn it into a lucky charm?” 

V laughs darkly at that, but takes the necklace and turns it around her hand for a closer look. A .22 caliber almost flattened at its tips, with wires holding it smack in the middle of a circular, metallic casing—like a dreamcatcher. 

“Lucky, huh,” V murmured, still staring at the necklace. She could see Misty stand up from her peripheral and take the wheelchair away. “You survived a bullet to the head, didn’t you? Nothing luckier than that.” Misty moved for the door, paused, and gently said, “Good night, V. Things’ll look up in the morning, I’m sure of it. So please, please rest.” 

Now, silence.

Alone in her apartment, the pills weigh heavy in her hands. She sighs and stands up, dragging her feet toward the bathroom to make an attempt to wash it all away. But when V passed the mirror, she saw the glass explode. Well, not literally, but it glitched, her reflection fracturing into a million pieces, before stabilizing. 

A man with shoulder-length hair, red-tinted shades, and a scowl that looked permanent on his face was behind her. V spun around, and he’s still here. He sneered, “Who the fuck are you?” Johnny Silverhand, leaning against her bathroom wall like he owned the place. 

“No, nu-uh. No fuckin’ way you’re really here.” He started pacing at that, like a junkie tweaking and vibrating in anticipation for the next fix. “Need to get outta here. Got shit to do, and I’ll flatline anyone in my way.” 

“Don’t care what you want. Get the fuck outta my head!” V moved to grab and open her Omega Blockers, when all of a sudden, a sharp pain blossomed through her head, like fire spreading through her veins. Her hand has grabbed a fistfull of her own hair, and she—or Johnny, had slammed her head on her vanity mirror. 

He pulled his hand back to punch her, but then realized that it was V’s arm that moved back. A pause, realization dawning, and stopping their lungs from working for a beat. “What’d you do to me, bitch?” Johnny growled at her. V tried to scramble for the pills again, which was now strewn across the sink. 

He grabbed the sink, forcing V’s body to reject her commands. They struggled, taking a mental wrestle to see who’d come out on top. 

Johnny moved their—her hand to rip the chip out of her brain. They both spoke at the same time, “No, wait, don’t—ugh!” “Fucking chip, get outta my head—arghh!” V felt like her head got zapped by lightning, but this also got this digital parasite crumpling to the floor. 

“I’m rippin’ you outta MY head MY way, asshole!” V manages to ground out those words and take a pill to block the engram. Finally, Johnny fizzled out of her consciousness, but V now knew that he’d come back later on like an aggressive cancer. “Fuck me…” V can only take so much in one day, and with her overloaded senses and emotional whiplash, she passes out on her bathroom floor.

 07:15 PM — V’s Apartment — Megabuilding H10

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

V felt the pain first—a throbbing ache radiating all over her body, then intensifying at the head. She groans and tries to move, only noticing now that she’s on the floor as she feels the cool tiles beneath her. She had a violent meeting with the tapeworm in her head last night, and she’s hoping that it’s all just a bad dream. 

Slowly cracking her eyes open, that silent prayer was immediately answered in the form of the rockerboy chainsmoking in her living room. He was splayed against her couch, as if he’s always been doing that for years, and he glares at her through the pixels of smoke. 

“Took you long enough. Get your ass up and take me to my body, bitch!” 

V groans loudly at that and rubs her face. How do you even react when there's a terrorist in your head? All that talk of being hopeful last night, but now, laying on her cold, bathroom floor, she realizes that dying may have been the better option than whatever kind of hell she’s in right now. She could see a notification from her HUD, so she pulled it up. It was a text from Misty. 

Misty: [ Left some synth-chicken soup hanging by your door. Figured burritos won’t be a good choice as your recovery food. Don’t hesitate to reach out for help anytime, okay? I mean it, V. ]

V stared at the message, her vision blurring at the edges. The tapeworm moved from the corner of her eye, and she could see him lean in on his knees. “Think you got the time to be feelin’ sorry for yourself?” 

V ignores the tapeworm as she stands up weakly and looks at herself in the mirror. Dried blood at the top of her head, deep and dark circles lining her eyes. She looks like she’s just nursing the worst hangover from a messy night. No one would’ve guessed that she just survived Arasaka and a bullet to the head. 

V stared at her reflection, watching as it flickered and glitched. For a moment, she saw Johnny's face superimposed over hers—those dead eyes behind red shades, that permanent sneer. She gripped the sink until her knuckles went white.

"What, admiring the view?" Johnny's voice dripped with mockery. "Hate to break it to you, but you look like hammered shit."

"Fuck off." The words came out as barely a whisper. V turned on the tap, splashing cold water on her face. Pink-tinged water swirled down the drain.

She stumbled out of the bathroom, each step feeling like walking through quicksand. The apartment felt too big, too empty. Jackie's jacket was still draped over her desk chair where he'd left it days ago. 

"Christ, you're really gonna do this?" Johnny materialized by her window, cigarette dangling from his lips. "The whole woe-is-me routine? Your choom's worm food, and you're joining him soon. Big fucking deal. Welcome to Night City. ‘Least I know that much hasn’t changed in this dump."

V collapsed onto her bed, pulling her knees to her chest. The weight of everything crashed down—Jackie’s really gone, and she can’t even grieve about it normally. "Shut up." V's voice cracked. "Just... shut up."

"Or what? You'll cry harder?" He took a long drag, exhaling smoke that shouldn't exist. "This is pathetic. I'm stuck watching you waste away like some—"

V took her pills, and almost immediately, Johnny flickered out of view. But somehow, she could still feel him there, a constant pressure in her skull.

Days Later

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

V hadn't moved from her bed much except to use the bathroom and take her immunoblockers. Even those small actions felt monumental. Her phone had blown up with messages—Misty checking in, Vik asking about symptoms, various fixers offering gigs. She'd ignored them all.

Her hands started shaking around noon—not from the Relic, but from withdrawal. The chrome inhaler she'd used for glitter sat empty on her nightstand, had been for days. V dragged herself up, rifling through drawers with mechanical precision.

The tapeworm materialized, perking up as he watched her search. "What's the stash looking like? Please tell me you got something better than those immunoblockers." V found them in the back of her closet—three unmarked red pills and a half-empty bottle. Street downers. The kind of garbage that'd fry your synapses if you weren't careful. She stared at them, then at the immunoblockers Vik had given her.

"Oh fuck yes!" He leaned in eagerly. "This shared consciousness thing might actually pay off. Pop 'em, let's ride this together!"

V dry-swallowed two downers, feeling them stick in her throat. The tapeworm's excitement thrummed through their connection, almost childlike in its intensity. She waited until she felt the first tingling of the high starting to creep in, that warm cotton beginning to wrap around her thoughts.

Then she grabbed the immunoblockers and took two.

"Wait, what are you—" His rage exploded through her skull as the blockers kicked in, severing his access to the high. "You petty, spiteful little—" The downers hit her full force, but he got nothing. She could feel him raging in her head, cut off from the sensations as the immunoblockers did their job. V sank back onto her bed, letting the chemicals blur the edges of everything.

Sixteen years old, on the roof of an abandoned building in Heywood. The Valentinos were throwing a block party below, music thumping through the concrete. Jackie had "borrowed" three cans of spray paint from his cousin's garage.

"It's perfect," he said, shaking the can. "Right where everyone can see it."

They were tagging the water tower—the one visible from half the district. Misty was the lookout while V jury-rigged a jammer from spare parts to scramble the security cameras.

"What if we fall?" Misty asked, peering over the edge.

"We make sure Heywood remembers us then," Jackie laughed, already halfway through a giant 'J'. "V, you're next!"

V grabbed the blue can, her hands steady despite the height. She'd always been good with precision. Next to Jackie's wild signature, she added her simple 'V'—sharp, clean, perfect.

Misty took the red, adding a small lotus flower beneath their names. "For growth," she said. "Because we're going to be more than this place expects."

They sat on the edge afterward, legs dangling fifty feet up, passing around a bottle of real tequila Jackie had lifted from the party. The city spread out before them like a circuit board, all light and possibility.

"When we're rich and famous," Jackie said, "I'm buying this whole block. Gonna turn it into something better."

"When we're rich and famous," V corrected, "we're getting the hell out of Heywood."

"No," Misty said quietly. "When we're rich and famous, we're coming back. To show every kid down there that they can be more than what Night City tells them to be."

They clinked the bottle together, three kids on top of the world, their tags glowing in the neon night like a promise.

The memory faded. Those tags were probably still there, V realized. Still visible from half of Heywood. Still promising something that would never come true. Her holo buzzed. Another message she wouldn't read. The world wanted her to keep moving, keep grinding, keep pretending she had a future worth fighting for. But all she had were ghosts and—

Twenty-one years old, El Coyote Cojo was buzzing with more energy than usual. They'd just pulled off the impossible—getting Kirk Sawyer off Pepe's back for good.

"Mi carnalita!" Pepe grabbed V in a bear hug, his eyes misty. "Thirty years I've been behind this bar, and never thought I'd be free of that parasite."

Kirk Sawyer—Heywood born and raised, just like them. That made it worse somehow. He knew exactly how desperate people got, exactly which pressure points to squeeze. Pepe had borrowed just two grand when Mama Welles got sick, and Kirk had turned it into twenty through interest that would make a corpo blush.

"Should've seen V work," Jackie boasted, spinning on his bar stool. "Sliced through Kirk's setup like it was made of paper. Every loan, every dirty deal, every broken kneecap—all documented and sent to his enemies."

V smirked, nursing her tequila. "Helps when your password is 'KirkRules77.' Gonk never knew what hit him."

"And when his muscle showed up," Misty added, her hand gentle on Jackie's bruised knuckles, "Jackie convinced them to reconsider their career choices."

"Convinced?" Jackie laughed. "More like introduced them to my friend here." He kissed his cybernetic fist. "Turns out Kirk's top enforcer was a huge fan. Kept asking about my workout routine while I was rearranging his face."

Pepe slid another round across the bar—the good stuff, not the usual synthanol. "You kids gave me my life back. Kirk's probably halfway to Santo Domingo by now, trying to outrun the Valentinos AND the Claws."

The bar was packed with locals, all raising glasses to the two young mercs who'd stood up to a neighborhood predator. 

"This is what we're meant for," Jackie had said later, the three of them sitting on the bar's roof, watching the sunrise paint Heywood gold. "Not just surviving. Protecting people. Being heroes."

The memory faded like smoke. V pressed her palms against her eyes until she saw stars. All those people they'd helped, all those lives they'd saved in their little corner of Night City. And for what? Kirk was probably back in business somewhere else. Pepe was pouring drinks for other dreamers. And Jackie...

Jackie was gone.

Her apartment felt smaller than ever, the walls pressing in. She could still taste that good tequila, still hear the bar singing their names. Heroes of Heywood for one perfect night.

Now she couldn't even save herself.

Time crawled. The immunoblockers sat on the counter, mocking her. How many more memories would she lose? How many more pieces of herself would be overwritten by someone else's rage?

She stumbled back to bed, curling into a ball. Outside, Night City hummed its eternal song of sirens and advertisements. Inside, V drowned in the space between who she was and who she was becoming.

The worst part wasn't the physical pain. It was knowing that somewhere out there, tags on a water tower still promised a future. A bar stool sat empty where Jackie should be drinking. And Misty lit candles for the dead instead of shyly reading their future.

All those dreams, all those promises, reduced to this: a dying woman in a dark apartment, replaying memories like a broken BD, waiting for either salvation or the end.

Her holo buzzed again.

She didn't look.

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

The tapeworm had been mercifully quiet, appearing only to make snide comments about her hygiene or to complain about the boredom. 

But now, as afternoon light filtered through her blinds, he materialized again. "You know, I've been thinking," he said, sitting on the edge of her bed. His tone was different—less hostile, more contemplative. V didn't respond, just stared at the ceiling.

"About your friend. Jackie." He studied his metal hand. "Seemed like a good guy. Naive as fuck, but... good."

"Don't." V's voice was hoarse from disuse. "Don't you dare talk about him."

He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice carried something almost like... understanding?

"Yeah. I get that." He stood, pacing now. "Had a choom like that once. Santiago. Died in my arms after a corp raid went sideways. Kept saying we were gonna change the world." A bitter laugh. "We didn't change shit."

V turned to look at him flatly. “You know I can feel what you feel too, right? Lyin’ piece of shit…” she says with a tired sigh. She doesn’t have any fight left in her at this point. 

He put both his hands up in the air. “Alright, you got me. Ain’t chooms with Santiago, couldn’t care less if he died. But you know what? I’ll at least shoot the fucker who fucked with us.”

V continues to stare blankly, but it was hard to feel empty when there was a walking, talking virus all up in her ass. 

"Can't promise to be much of a friend or help you heal. But we can help each other take revenge. That's what ties us together." His metal fist clenched. "You gonna roll over and die? Or go out with a bang and make sure everyone at Arasaka remembers your choom's name?"

V stared at him, and through their shared connection, she could feel it—the calculating coldness beneath his words. He didn't give a shit about Jackie or her grief. This was just another angle, another way to get what he wanted. She was a means to an end, a dying vessel he could use for his vendetta.

And the worst part? She didn't care.

"You're manipulating me," she said flatly. His expression didn't change, but she felt his satisfaction ripple through their connection. "So? It working?"

"They killed Jackie," she said quietly, choosing to ignore the question.

"They killed him," he agreed, leaning forward like a vulture sensing weakness. "Question is—what are you gonna do about it? Let his death mean nothing? Or give it purpose?"

V's hands balled into fists. The anger was better than the emptiness. Cleaner than the grief. If he wanted to use her rage, fine. She'd use him right back. "First things first, we find out what happened to me."

V swung her legs off the bed, testing her balance. Still shaky, but manageable. "First things first," she said pointedly, ignoring the tapeworm and standing slowly. "I need a shower. And food."

He rolled his eyes, but he flickered out of view. V could still feel his impatience buzzing in her skull as she made her way to the bathroom. The hot water stung against her skin, washing away days of sweat and dried blood. She stayed under the spray until her fingers pruned, letting the heat work out some of the stiffness in her muscles.

When she emerged, wrapped in a towel, he was looking out her window, glaring at Night City. Her stomach growled, and she felt weak. 

V doesn’t have much energy to go down and buy fresh food, so she eyed the vending machine in her space. It could only spit out three things: burritos; XL, XXL, or XXXL. The rockerboy fizzled next to her and looked at the machine with disdain. 

"This is what you get when consumerism wins. Farms get burned, and you get… whatever the fuck this is.” At this point, the tapeworm was sounding more like an old man complaining about modernism and wishing for his bygone days. 

V unwrapped one and took a massive bite. Still good. The familiar taste of the synthetic, special sauce made her eyes water—not from spice, but from memory. How many late nights had she and Jackie ended there, talking about their dreams over cheap beer and burritos? 

She ate mechanically, forcing down the food despite her churning stomach. Her body needed fuel, even if every bite reminded her of what she'd lost.

"So," He materialized across from her, "now that you're all cleaned up and fed, ready to talk strategy? Or you need a nap too?"

V could feel his mockery, but also the undercurrent of genuine anticipation. He wanted—needed—her cooperation. And despite knowing she was being played, despite feeling his manipulative satisfaction, she found herself nodding.

"Yeah," she said, finishing the last bite. "Let's talk.”

The grief was still there, a raw wound that might never heal. But the anger Johnny had so carefully stoked? That was useful. That could keep her moving.

Jackie always said they'd be legends. Time to prove him right, even if she had to make a deal with the digital devil to do it. 

“First things first, call me Johnny. Gettin’ tired of you callin' me tapeworm and some other shit in your head.” 

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

Chapter Text

10:00 AM — V’s Apartment — Megabuilding H10

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆

V’s POV

V's fingers flew across the keyboard, the staccato rhythm the only sound in her apartment. With her windows covered, her space was cloaked in darkness, except for the soft, blue light of her laptop painting shadows under her eyes as she scrolled through weapon listings—throwing knives, smart guns, anything to turn a netrunner into a solo.

Getting back to the grind wasn’t as simple as it seemed, especially now that V’s run out of stims to help power her through. She’s been squeezing her brain dry for a game plan, but without a partner, she feels lost. 

“You wouldn't be if you'd just listen to me.” Johnny materializes next to her, but she ignores him.

Two weeks of sharing headspace with Johnny Silverhand had taught her a few things: he was most active when she was stressed, disappeared entirely when she slept (small mercies), and had opinions about absolutely everything.

They agreed to work together, whatever that means. But even without answers, she needs to move. 

Two weeks of her rotting away in her apartment and shutting down the rest of the world. In between it all, Misty continued to visit her and drop off food, and V’s guilt gripped her heart painfully. All she wanted was to just…stop existing, but how could she, when everyone else is trying to step up and fill the hole Jackie left? 

V curses underneath her breath at the prices—there’s no way she’d be able to afford a high-quality weapon with the latest mods installed. She stops for a moment, remembering something: if she can’t buy it, perhaps she can just mod it herself? After all, there were a lot of deadly things you can randomly find in Night City. 

Johnny looked at her curiously, maybe because he was bored, and asked, “Aren’t you a netjockey? I’ve seen your memories, kid. You’re not a sharpshooter.” 

V's jaw tightened. "Yeah, well, things change. Can't hack my way out of every situation."

The comment dragged up a memory, unbidden. They'd been what—fifteen? Sixteen? Padré had finally agreed to teach them how to handle iron, saying they needed to know how to protect themselves in Heywood. They'd gone out to the storm drains, where the sound wouldn't carry.

"Here, mija," Padré had said, placing the old Unity in V's hands. "Respect it, but don't fear it."

V had squeezed the trigger and missed the bottle by a mile, the recoil nearly knocking her on her ass. Jackie had laughed—not mean, just his big, warm laugh. "Ay, Valerie, I mean... V, you're supposed to hit the target, not scare it to death!"

Misty had been there too, before she and Jackie were really a thing. V had offered her the gun, but she'd taken one look at it and stepped back, shaking her head. "Eh..." She'd wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't think it's for me."

Jackie had taken the gun next, and it was like watching someone find their calling. First shot—dead center. Second shot—split the remains of the bottle. “I can just hack you… or the gun!” V grumbled, not wanting to admit that she was impressed. Padre certainly was.

V had kept practicing that day, and the next, and the next. But it never clicked. Her hands were made for keyboards, not triggers. So Jackie became her muscle, and she became his brain. Perfect partners.

Until she'd gotten him killed.

"So your solution is to become a dollar store Solo?" Johnny leaned against her desk, his digital form casting no shadow. "Throwing knives? Really? What are you, a circus act?"

"They're quiet, untraceable, and I can practice without burning through ammo." V clicked on another listing—a set of balanced throwing blades from a vendor in Japantown. Still too pricey. She had a lot to pay for, but right now, there's too little left in her account for it all. "Besides, with the right cyberware, I could—"

Johnny's tone shifted, less mocking now. "Look, I get it. You're used to having someone watch your six while you're jacked in. But playing Solo ain't just about the iron. It's about the mindset."

V finally looked at him. "And what? You're gonna teach me? Last I checked, your methods involved nuclear weapons."

"Hey, that was plan B." He actually cracked a smile. "Plan A involved good old-fashioned lead. Which, by the way, I was pretty fucking good at."

She turned back to her screen, scrolling through more affordable options. Smart weapons with aim-assist, projectile trajectory calculation, micro-missiles... all priced like they were made of pure gold.

"You know," Johnny continued, "there's an easier way. Let me drive for a bit. Just for the combat situations. You handle your netrunner shit, I handle the shooting. Partnership, right?"

"No." The word came out harder than she intended. "This is still my body, my life. I'm not giving you an inch."

"Even if it keeps us both breathing?"

V's hands stilled on the keyboard. That was the crux of it, wasn't it? They were both dying, just at different speeds. Her from the Relic eating her brain, him from... whatever existence this was.

"What even are you?" she asked quietly. "Are you really Johnny Silverhand, or just... data pretending to be him?"

Johnny was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, the usual swagger was absent. "Fuck if I know. I remember dying. Remember the heat, the pain..." He flexed his metal hand, watching the light play off chrome that didn't really exist. "But I also remember waking up in your head like no time passed. So either I'm the real deal, or I'm such a good copy it doesn't matter."

"The Secure Your Soul program," V murmured. "Arasaka's been advertising it to the ultra-rich. Digital immortality."

"Yeah, but that's voluntary. Nobody asked me if I wanted to be a fucking engram." The bitterness in his voice was sharp enough to cut. "And last I checked, they weren't shoving those chips into random mercs' skulls."

V minimized the weapon listings and pulled up her research on the Relic. Dozens of browser tabs, medical journals she barely understood, corporate leaked documents that were so heavily redacted they might as well have been abstract art. Every search led to dead ends, paywalls, or sites that mysteriously went offline the moment she tried to access them.

"This is different. Experimental. But that's all I can find." She scrolled through another useless page. "Everything about the Relic 2.0 is locked down tighter than Arasaka Tower. All I've got are references to 'Project [REDACTED]' and some bioware compatibility charts that make no fucking sense."

"So we're flying blind." Johnny's form flickered with agitation.

"The only thing I know for sure is that it's not the same as the commercial Secure Your Soul program. This thing is... active. Changing things." V rubbed her temple where a fresh headache was building. "But whether you're really you or just data thinking it's you..."

"Does it matter?" Johnny's voice was quiet now. "I remember being me. Isn't that enough?"

V didn't have an answer for that. Her holo pinged, and for a moment, she thought it was Misty again… but it was worse. From the corner of her HUD, she could see the name Mama Welles. The guilt hit like a physical blow. V buried her face in her hands.

"You gotta face them eventually," Johnny said, surprisingly gentle.

"And say what? 'Sorry, I got Jackie killed chasing a score that was too big for us?'"

"That's not—"

"It is." V's voice cracked. "I knew something was off. Could feel it. But I wanted to believe we were ready for the big leagues. I wanted..." She laughed bitterly. "I wanted to prove I was more than just another Heywood street rat."

Johnny materialized sitting on her couch, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. "Kid, I've gotten a lot of people killed. Good people. People who believed in what we were fighting for." He met her eyes. "Hiding from that fact is the coward's way out."

"Since when do you give pep talks?"

"Since I got stuck in the head of someone determined to wallow."

"You suck at it anyway,"

He stood, pacing her small apartment like a caged animal. "Look, we need to be smart about this. You need gear, I get it. But more than that, we need information. About the Relic, about what Arasaka was really planning. And sitting here hitting refresh on the same dead ends ain't gonna cut it."

V sits back, stumped. She didn’t want to admit it, but Johnny was right—the first action plan is to learn more about the Relic. There’s only one person she knew who might know more than meets the eye about this. 

“I need to talk to Evelyn Parker.” With a start, V stands up, grabs her go-to jacket, and walks out of her apartment for the first time in two weeks. The smell hit her first—synth-fried food, detergent, and trash all mixed together, capturing the essence of every Megabuilding in Night City. 

Some people lay on the grimy floor, passed out drunk in the hallway, while others were huddled together by the stairs, gossiping and eating like they were out for a picnic within these high, cemented walls. NCPD were banging on a neighbor’s door, and the usual maintenance crew was slapping on a quick fix to the building’s sparking, dilapidated systems. 

Johnny’s face was scrunched up as he leisurely walked beside her. “The doll? You won’t get anything outta her. No, we need to talk to Rogue.” Now it was V’s turn to disagree—she’d like to explore other options first. She’s not ready to face the music at the Afterlife just yet. "You think they're gonna let me in after my fuck up?"

Ding!

The old elevator rattled and sounded like it was hanging on by a nail. V stepped out on the ground floor, the rusted, rickety thing groaning in protest behind her. The lower levels of the megabuilding were always more alive—more food, more people, more trash. 

She needed to get to Misty's and then Vik's before heading out to find Evelyn.

"V! Hey, V!"

She turned to see Robert Wilson standing by the noodle shop out front. He was the building’s go-to weapons vendor, and he liked to host shooting competitions at his shop. V never really hung around by the 2nd Amendment, but Jackie was real chooms with this guy. 

"Wilson," she acknowledged, not really in the mood for small talk.

"Come here a sec, kid." His weathered face was unusually serious. "Been meaning to catch you."

V hesitated, then walked over. Wilson studied her for a moment, taking in the dark circles, the haunted look.

"Heard about Jackie. Shit news, kid. Real shit news." He pushed his nearly empty bowl of ramen away. 

"Wilson, I really need to—"

"Just give me a minute." He reached inside his pocket, pulling out a pistol. "You know, we've got this tradition in Heywood—on your sixteenth birthday, your dad gives you a gun. I didn't get one, cuz I had a shitty dad. But you're way past your sixteenth, aren't ya? High time to get yourself a solid piece of iron."

He offered the weapon to V. His gun, Dying Night—a reliable 9mm, nothing fancy but solid.

"Wilson, I can't—"

"You can and you will." His voice was firm but kind. "Jackie was good people. Used to come in here, talk about making it big with his partner. That was you. So take it. Do right by him."

V's hand trembled slightly as she picked up the gun. It was heavier than she remembered guns being. "Thanks," she managed.

"Don't thank me. Just stay alive, yeah?"

As she walked on, a little bit shocked by this random act of kindness, Johnny whistled low. "Free gun from a weapon's dealer. That's... actually kinda touching. In a Night City way."

"Jackie made the impression," V said quietly, holstering the Dying Night. "I was just... there." Now fully out in the streets, the city was just as restless as ever. Why does it seem like everyone is always rushing to be somewhere else? In between the cacophony of the crowds, there were your usual gunshots echoing from the distance—your daily NC noise. 

“Fuck me, it’s even uglier than I remember,” Johnny complains next to her. 

10:30 AM — Misty’s Esoterica, Little China

She took the stairs down to Misty's Esoterica, needing the walk to clear her head. She takes a deep breath, promising herself that she’ll enter the shop at the count of three. One… breathe, two… breathe, three…breathe, and yet she didn’t move an inch. 

“Take your time, we’ve definitely got it.” Johnny piped in next to her. There was no comfort in his tone, but the sarcasm was enough to break V from spiraling again. 

The shop was empty when she entered, just Misty sitting behind the counter, arranging tarot cards. The familiar scents of a wide range of incense filled V’s nose—of white sage, lavender, and sandalwood, smelling like a heavenly respite compared to the fetid air outside. 

"V!" Misty's face lit up, then immediately shifted to concern. "You look..."

"Like shit. I know." V approached the counter. "Misty, I... Thank you. For the food, for checking on me. You're dealing with your own pain and you still—"

"We're family." Misty reached across the counter, squeezing V's hand. "Jackie would've done the same."

"I'm gonna do better," V promised. "I've been hiding like a coward while you've been—"

"Grieving in my own way." Misty's smile was sad but genuine. "We all handle it differently. You here for Vik?"

"Yeah. Check-up." V hesitated, then asked, "How are you, really?"

Misty's hands stilled on the cards. "Some days are harder than others. I keep expecting him to walk through that door, you know? Making some joke about the incense making his eyes water." Her voice caught slightly. "I pulled the Wheel of Fortune this morning. Change, cycles ending and beginning... The cards keep telling me to accept what is."

"That's... that's tough, Mist."

"The universe doesn't stop for our grief." Misty traced a finger along the edge of a card—The Two of Cups, V noticed. Partnership. She's been with Misty long enough to get a feel for her cards, but she could never seem to find what her spiritually-attuned friend does so easily. "But that doesn't mean we have to face it alone. You've been isolating yourself."

"Seemed easier than..." V gestured vaguely.

"Than feeling it?" Misty's dark eyes were knowing. "The pain doesn't go away, V. It just gets heavier when you carry it alone."

Johnny materialized by the crystal display, silently examining them with mock interest. 

"I keep thinking about what I could've done differently," V admitted quietly.

"Don't." Misty's voice was firm but kind. "That path leads nowhere good. Jackie made his choices, just like you made yours. He wouldn't want you drowning in what-ifs."

"What would he want?"

Misty smiled, a real one this time. "He'd want you to keep kicking ass.” Both women laugh softly at that. “But mostly?" She squeezed V's hand again. "He'd want you to take care of yourself."

V nodded, then glanced at the tarot deck Misty was using. The cards looked new, their edges still crisp, the gold foil catching the shop's dim light. Her throat tightened with recognition.

"Is that... is that the deck Jackie got you?"

Misty's fingers stilled on the cards. "You recognize it?"

"'Course I do. He dragged me to five different shops looking for the right one." V's voice came out rougher than intended. "Kept saying it had to be perfect. I was the one who suggested getting you a new deck in the first place—said your old one was getting worn out."

"He mentioned that." Misty's eyes glistened. "Said you knew I'd been wanting this specific edition."

"Jackie was shit at remembering details like that," V managed a weak smile. "But he wanted to get it right."

Misty carefully gathered the cards, holding them like it were something precious. "He gave them to me a few days before he... Said he wanted me to have something beautiful to work with." She looked up at V. "Every time I use them, I feel like he's still here somehow. Watching over us."

V watches as Misty shuffled the deck with practiced ease. "They're beautiful, Mist. He'd be happy knowing you're using them."

"The cards from these... they've been intense. Clear. Like they're trying extra hard to guide me." Misty paused. "To guide us. V, whatever you're planning, whatever you think you need to do... be careful, okay? There's a storm coming."

"I always am," V tried to say lightly.

"No," Misty's grip tightened. "You're not. Neither was Jackie. But this time, please. Be careful."

V nodded, swallowing hard before whispering, “I’ll visit you more often, I promise.” She squeezed Misty's hand once more before heading down to Vik's clinic.

10:45 AM — Viktor Vektor’s Clinic, Little China

The old man was just finishing with a patient when she arrived, sending them off with post-op instructions. He turned to V, giving her a once-over with practiced eyes.

"About time you showed up. Sit." He patted the chair. "Let's see how that brain of yours is holding up."

V settled into the familiar chair as Vik ran his scans. Johnny flickered into view, leaning against the wall with arms crossed.

"Degradation is progressing," Vik muttered, frowning at his screens. "Slower than I initially feared, but..." He met her eyes. "You need to find a solution, V. The blockers are just buying time."

"I know. That's why I'm here." V sat up. "I need chrome, Vik. Better reflexes, maybe a cyberdeck upgrade. But my accounts are..."

"Dry. I figured." Vik rubbed his chin. "I could extend credit, but we're talking serious eddies for what you'd need. Combat chrome ain't cheap."

"I'll figure it out. Always do." V paused, remembering. "Vik, were you able to handle Jackie? I know it's stupid to even ask but... how was Mama Welles?"

Vik's eyes widened in shock. "V, you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Jesus, kid." Vik pulled off his glasses, rubbing his face. "You really have been off the grid. We tried calling, but..." He looked at her with a mixture of sympathy and disbelief. "The Delamain cab never made it. Arasaka intercepted it."

V felt the blood drain from her face. "What?"

"Corp cleanup crew. They seized the cab, took..." Vik couldn't finish. 

"I..." V's voice came out strangled. "I turned off my holo. Couldn't handle..." The guilt crashed over her in a fresh tidal wave. 

"They took him?"

"Likely protocol. Anyone connected to the incident—"

"No." V stood abruptly, fury replacing the guilt. "No, they don't get to just... He deserved better. His family deserves—"

"That's what we all said," Vik's voice was heavy with old anger. "Lupe has been beside herself. No body, no funeral, no way to say goodbye properly."

V's hands clenched into fists. While she'd been wallowing, Mama Welles had been trying to bury her son and couldn't even do that.

"I need to find Evelyn," she said, voice cold. "Now."

"V, whatever you're thinking—"

"She knew." V turned to Vik. "She knew more than she told us. About the job, about Arasaka, about everything. And now Jackie's gone, and they took even his body while I hid like a fucking little bitch." Her grey eyes were hard as chrome. "I'm done hiding."

Vik sighed. "No point in stopping you when you get like this. Too stubborn. But V? You’ve still got a team, don’t forget that.” 

V left without answering, the weight of that conversation too heavy to carry right now. Outside, the anger burned hot and clean, cutting through everything else.

"Finally," Johnny said, falling into step beside her. "Some fucking fire. Use it. Channel it. But don't let it make you stupid."

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

Chapter Text

011:07 AM — Heywood NPCD Precinct

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆

River’s POV

The precinct was in a constant state of chaos, here in Heywood and all other districts, thanks to the city-wide investigation into the events at Konpeki Plaza two weeks ago. The official story was that Saburo Arasaka was poisoned, and the only legitimate lead they have is that the getaway car used was a Delamain.

River closed the file on the Ramirez kidnapping case—another Sixth Street territorial dispute that ended with a body in a dumpster. Solved, but too late. The kid had been dead for three days before they found him. He rubbed his cybernetic eye, the implant aching from too many sleepless nights scanning security footage.

Two weeks. Two weeks of regular Night City horror while the biggest case of his career burned a hole in his conscience.

"Ward, you get the Torres surveillance sorted?" Captain Sanchez called from across the bullpen.

"Wrapped it this morning, Captain. Perp's in holding." River didn't mention he'd been running the footage at 3 AM because he couldn't sleep, mind racing with theories about silver hair and corporate conspiracies.

Every NCPD hustle was hounding the AI-led cab company about the Arasaka incident, but surprisingly, Delamain had proven bullheaded and tight-lipped.

"Client confidentiality," the blue-toned AI would say. They'd issue a warrant, but somehow, Delamain got its digital hands tied for exhibiting dangerously erratic behavior, so no one could contact it anymore. Convenient timing.

River's desk was a graveyard of closed cases from the past fortnight—a Maelstrom organ harvesting ring (shut down, twelve arrests), a joytoy murdered by a client (solved, perp doing twenty to life), three gang-related shootings (two solved, one cold).

He'd thrown himself into the work, hoping it would quiet the nagging voice that kept asking about the woman with grey eyes.

But every crime scene, every witness interview, his mind would wander. What was V doing? Had she recovered?

He got her ripperdoc's contact before he left her at the clinic, and would ring his holo every few days, but Mr. Viktor Vektor wasn't much of a talker.

River had squeezed information out of all kinds of people, but all he could get out of the stubborn ripperdoc was a vague promise. "Just give V some time. You'll run into her eventually, trust me." Two weeks seems long enough.

Every day that passed made the trail colder, and his illegal midnight searches through NCPD databases had yielded nothing new about her whereabouts.

"Damn, it's still morning? Feels like I'm already on OT." Han's voice cut through his thoughts, his tone clearly bored as he turned from his desk. "Been swamped since the Emperor finally croaked, need a change of scenery or else I'm going full psycho. Got time for Chubby Buffalo's?"

A thought struck him. Tom's Diner was just a few blocks from Viktor's clinic...

"Make it Tom's Diner and I'm in. Your wheels," River said with a carefully casual smile.

Han whistled. "Not saying no to their pancakes, let's delta!"

Both detectives stood up and moved for the exit, Han looking excited for the sweet distraction, but River's mind was already drawing up plans to finally check on the mysterious V. At the car, he ran through what he'd learned about her during his off-hours digging—23-years-old, born in Heywood, adopted by Sebastian Ibarra. Interestingly enough, she wasn't affiliated with the Valentinos, despite her direct ties with them.

There were only two crimes filed under her name. One was when she was only eleven, petty theft from hacking vending machines. The other was in her late teens, charged with grand theft auto along with a certain Jackie Welles. River recognized the man as the same one he'd seen dead in the back of the Delamain cab, which was unsurprisingly seized by Arasaka first before the NCPD. 

On paper, they seemed like Heywood's average street kids. But V... no full name in her records, and despite being close to one of Night City's most notorious gangs, she had completed an impressive amount of Dispatch calls, somehow doing more to help the little people than your everyday beat cop.

River sighs deeply, frustration seeping into his tired bones as he fails to paint a clear picture of what kind of woman she is.

 Tom’s Diner — Little China, Watson

Tom’s Diner, a favorite cop hangout in Watson, and for two good reasons too: pancakes and coffee. The giant, neon hamburger sign stood tall in front of a busy market, inviting anyone craving a taste of nostalgia. 

Han slid into a booth with practiced ease, already flagging down a waitress while River positioned himself with a clear view of the street—specifically, the alley leading to Viktor's clinic."Pancakes for me, sweetheart. Extra syrup," Han ordered, then glanced at River. "And my partner here'll have...?"

"Just coffee. Black." River's eyes never left the window. Han snorted. "Still on that detective diet, huh?" The coffee arrived strong, toasty but not bitter, exactly how Tom's always served it. River took a sip, using the motion to scan the street again. A few locals shuffled past—a chrome-armed merc, two Tyger Claws on bikes, an elderly woman clutching a shopping bag like it held gold.

"You know," Han said between bites of syrup-drenched pancakes, "for someone who claims he's off duty, you sure look like you're casing a joint."

"Old habits." River forced his attention back to his partner. "How's your Arasaka poisoning theory holding up?"

"About as well as a paper umbrella in acid rain. Whole thing stinks worse than Pacifica's sewers." Han wiped his mouth. "But hey, let me take a break from this, will ya?"

River nodded absently, then caught movement in his peripheral. A flash of silver hair emerged by the street leading to Vik’s. His pulse quickened.

"Actually, I just remembered—just saw someone who owes me for that thing with the Sixth Street punks last month." River stood, his eyes glowing blue as he transferred his share of the bill to Han. "Gonna collect while we're here."

Han looked up, confused. "What thing? And since when do you—"

But River was already moving, pushing through the diner's door into the hectic crowd. He caught up to the silver-haired figure just as she turned the corner, only to find himself face-to-face with a heavily modded poser sporting the same chrome-silver style.

Not her.

"Watch it, badge," the poser sneered before disappearing into the crowd. River exhaled slowly. I’m already on the way… he mused, then with a confident stride, he made his way to Viktor's clinic. The sign flickered weakly, and the metal grate was half-closed. He ducked under it, descending the familiar steps.

 Viktor Vektor’s Clinic, Little China, Watson

"We're closed—" Viktor's voice called out, then stopped. "Detective Ward. Figured you'd be back." The old ripper didn't look up from cleaning his tools. "If you're here about V, you just missed her. Left about twenty minutes ago."

"I need to talk to her. This is bigger than—"

"Than what? Than her life falling apart?" Viktor finally met his eyes, and River saw the protective anger there. "Kid's dealing with enough without badges breathing down her neck."

"I'm trying to help her, Mr. Vektor."

"By dragging her into whatever mess you've stumbled into?" Viktor shook his head. "Look, I appreciate what you did at the scrapyard. But V needs time to process what's happened.” River's jaw tightened. Another dead end. But Viktor's expression softened slightly.

"Tell you what," the ripper said, turning to look up at the insistent detective with a tired expression. "She mentioned needing to visit Lizzie's Bar tonight. Something about meeting a contact.” 

The Mox? This girl seems all over the place, River mused, wondering how someone like her could have connections with Night City’s colorful gangs. 

The old ripper continued talking, even as he swiveled his chair back to his desk and opened an old video of a boxing match. “Oh, and you make me sound like her father calling me that, so drop the formalities, will ya? I got a feeling I’ll be seeing you more often." 

River nodded his thanks and turned to leave, then paused. "Viktor... is she gonna be okay?" 

“Just go easy on her, okay?” was the ripperdoc’s only response, drowned by the sound of crowds cheering and fierce, heavy punches being thrown.  

 Tom’s Diner — Watson, Little China

Back at the diner, Han had finished his pancakes and started on River's abandoned coffee. "Let me guess," he said as River slid back into the booth. "Your 'collection' didn't pan out?"

"Something like that." River checked his watch. Lizzie's Bar. Tonight. Finally, a real lead.

"You keep looking for trouble, Ward," Han warned, but there was no real heat in it. "Whatever you're chasing, it better be worth it."

River thought about silver hair and grey eyes, about the weight of a dying city's biggest secret.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."

07:46 PM — Lizzie’s Bar, Kabuki, Watson

River is leaning against his Mack, the glow of Lizzie's Bar's neon sign casting an electric pink haze across the rain-slicked pavement. The bass from inside thrums through the concrete like a second heartbeat, mixing with the muffled sounds of synthesized moans and blood-pumping melodies. 

The scent of cheap perfume, cigarettes, and something chemical—probably glitter—wafts out every time the door opens, releasing another satisfied customer or welcoming fresh meat. He eyes the bright pink-haired woman guarding the entrance, her modified bat crackling with electrical current as it rests on her shoulders. The weapon's surface is covered in scratches, dents, and what might be dried blood—or just rust in this humidity.

The petite bouncer was looking right back at him, cybernetic eyes glowing faintly in the dark, analyzing him like a predator sizing up prey. River was a tall guy with a build that could rival a member of the Animals, but he's got a feeling she'll pounce, full claws out, at the first sign of trouble.

"Hey big guy, either you get inside for some fun, or you get the fuck out. This parking lot ain't a reception," she scolded, her voice carrying that particular Mox edge—protective and aggressive in equal measure.

River straightened up, fishing out his NCPD badge but keeping it low, discrete. "Just waiting for someone. Won't cause any trouble."

The bouncer—Rita, according to her scanner—laughed sharp and bitter. "A badge at Lizzie's? Now I've seen everything. You here to shake us down, or did your wife finally kick you out?"

"Neither." River pocketed the badge. "Like I said, waiting for someone."

Rita's grip on the bat shifted, the electrical hum intensifying. "Well, detective, this is Mox territory. We don't appreciate pigs sniffing around our girls. Or our clients."

Through the club's tinted windows, River caught glimpses of dancing silhouettes bathed in purple and pink light. Somewhere in there, clients were lost in braindance fantasies, living out desires they couldn't afford or couldn't admit to in the real world.

"Look," River said, keeping his voice level, "I'm not here on official business. Just need to talk to someone who might show up tonight. Silver hair, about this tall—"

"Oh, her." Rita's expression shifted from hostile to knowing. "V's inside already, has been for the past hour." She smirked. "Guess even street solos need to blow off steam after a job goes sideways."

River's jaw tightened. An hour. He'd been sitting out here while she was already inside.

Rita noticed his frustration and her smirk widened. "What's wrong, detective? Jealous? Tell you what—500 eddies and I'll let you in. But you cause any static with our girls or interrupt anyone's session, and this bat gets real friendly with your skull. Mox protection means something here."

The bouncer's stance relaxed slightly, but River knew it was calculated—she could spring into violence in a heartbeat if needed. Behind her, the door opened again, releasing a wave of heat and the sound of Lizzie's signature track—"Night City" remixed with enough bass to shake your bones loose.

"So," Rita continued, electrical bat humming against her shoulder, "What's it gonna be, detective? You coming in to wait like a civilized perv, or you gonna keep lurking out here like some cyberpsycho stalker?"

River sighs and walks towards the brightly-lit entrance, trying to ignore the amused chuckle of the bouncer. She moved aside, her hands in a mock pose to let him in, and she sneered, “This isn’t a play pen for piggies, so you better know your place.” 

River ignores the comment, he’s used to people’s disdain for the NCPD. As he walks into the BD club, a flash of all things glitz and glamor almost pushes him to a sensory overload. River trudges on, his eyes darting around to chance upon silver hair, like a white beacon in this oversaturated scene. 

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks as River sits at one of the stools. The bar is near the door leading to a private room, and seeing as there’s no mystery woman in question to be found here, he’s guessing that she’s got business there. “Just a Broseph,” he didn’t want to drink anything hard that’d muddle up his brain, which was already wired up. 

The bartender—an Asian guy with geometric tattoos crawling up his neck—slid the beer across the bar's glowing surface without a word. His eyes lingered on River though, taking in the leather jacket, the rigid posture, the way River's gaze swept the room like he was cataloging exits. Everything about River screamed 'cop' or 'corpo security,' neither of which belonged in Lizzie's.

“Know anyone named V who frequents this joint? Got a date with her,” River asked. Bartenders always had the best stories to tell, and with a preem view of the ins-and-goings in the club, the detective hoped to make useful small talk. 

“Nope, don’t know any V’s in my life. Heard too many names to remember even that one letter,” the bartender replied dryly, his demeanor casual, but his intense gaze says he knew more than that. “Fair,” River responded, not wanting to be aggressive tonight and blow his shot. 

River nursed the Broseph slowly, using the motion to survey the room. The main floor was a writhing mass of bodies, some dancing, others lost in the trance-like state that came with jacking into a BD. Private booths lined the walls, their occupants hidden behind beaded curtains and hazy smoke.

A Mox girl in platform heels and not much else sauntered past, pausing to size him up. "You look tense, choom. Need some company? First-timer special, help you loosen up?"

"I'm good, thanks." She shrugged, unbothered. "Your loss. But if you change your mind, ask for Cherry." She disappeared into the crowd, leaving a trail of synthetic pheromones.

The bartender hadn't moved far, still cleaning glasses but keeping River in his peripheral vision. Every so often, River caught him exchanging glances with the other Moxes—subtle communication, probably debating whether this out-of-place customer was trouble.

River checked his watch. Twenty minutes since he'd walked in. The door to the private rooms remained firmly shut. Around him, Lizzie's pulsed with its own desperate energy—people seeking escape….connection. 

A burst of laughter from a nearby booth. The clink of bottles. Someone jacking out of a BD with a gasp. All of it felt distant, muffled by his singular focus on that door.

Then it opened. Silver with a hint of blue undertones, hair like the color of moonlight. Pink lips turned downwards, and sharp eyes that look like it can see through anything. Up close, River was almost shocked to see how approachable she looked, at least for someone in her line of work. 

Still, he knew he should tread carefully—it’s always the unsuspecting ones that land the punch. Not to mention the chrome he knew she was packing. That, and the scowl on her face is evidence enough of the mystery woman’s foul mood. River takes one last swig of his Broseph before taking the plunge. “V,” he calls out, his voice nearly lost in the music. 

V stopped in her tracks, and her eyes snapped to him, calculating. “Don’t know you. What do you want?” she asked, straight to the point, a slight edge to her raspy voice. Whatever happened behind those doors, it must have really wound her up. 

“Mind if we talk somewhere more private? It’s important,” River tried to keep his tone friendly, as if any change in his tone or sudden movements would prompt her to pounce. V scoffs, crossing her arms. “Like I said, don’t know you. Think I’m gonk enough to just follow strangers?” 

River sighs and grabs his badge, letting her identify him. V's jaw tightened at the sight of the badge. Her eyes darted to the exits—a merc's instinct—before settling back on River. "NCPD, huh? And here I thought this day couldn't get any worse."

"I'm not here to arrest you," River said quietly, pocketing the badge. "Just need to talk. About what happened a few nights ago."

The color drained from V's face for a split second before her mask slammed back into place. Around them, Lizzie's continued its neon-soaked revelry, oblivious to the tension crackling between them.

"Don't know what you're talking about." She moved to step around him.

"Scrapyard. Bullet wound. Ripperdoc in Little China." River kept his voice low, aware of the bartender's continued surveillance. "Ring any bells?"

V stopped, her shoulders rigid. When she turned back, her grey eyes were hard as chrome. "Your car. Five minutes. Try anything, and they'll be scraping you off the pavement."

River nodded. His eyes flashed blue briefly as he transferred eddies to the bar's account. As they walked out, Rita caught V's eye from the door, a silent question in her gaze. V gave a subtle shake of her head—I've got this—and the bouncer reluctantly stood down.

The night air hit them like a slap after Lizzie's suffocating warmth. V followed River to his truck at a careful distance, her hand hovering near where a weapon would be concealed. He noticed—of course he did—but pretended not to.

"Get in," River said, sliding into the driver's seat. V hesitated, then climbed into the passenger side, her body angled toward the door. Ready to bolt. "You've got five minutes, detective...?"

"Ward. River Ward." It was surprisingly polite of her to ask, even as the blue glow of her eyes reveals that she must have scanned him already. He turned to face her properly, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the way her fingers drummed against her thigh. Nervous energy or stim withdrawal, hard to tell. "And you're V. Just V?"

"That's all you need to know." She studied him with the same intensity, taking in the cybernetic eye (one of the oldest models she knows—a botched job, too), the weathered hands, the way he filled the space without trying to intimidate. "So. You saved my ass at the scrapyard. Thanks for that. We square now?"

"Not quite." River kept his tone conversational, non-threatening. "See, what I found that night? It's got the whole city turned upside down. Saburo Arasaka's dead, and you were bleeding out in Dex DeShawn's trunk."

V's face gave nothing away, but River caught the slight hitch in her breathing. "Dex is dead too," he continued. "Which leaves you as the only person who knows what really happened at Konpeki Plaza."

"Assuming I was even there." V's voice was carefully neutral.

"The Delamain cab. The blood trail." River leaned back slightly as he noticed V stiffen, giving her space. "I'm not trying to jam you up, V. But something big went down, and I think you're in over your head."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "In over my head? That's the understatement of the fucking century." Something in her voice—not just fear or anger, but a bone-deep exhaustion—made River ease off. This wasn't a typical interrogation. The woman beside him looked like she was holding herself together with wire and spite.

"Look," he said, softer now. "I'm not here as a cop. Not officially. What I saw that night... it doesn't add up to the story they're feeding the media. And I've got a feeling you're caught in the middle of something that's going to get a lot of people killed."

V turned to stare out the windshield, her reflection ghostlike in the glass. "Why do you care?" she asked finally. "What's one dead merc to you?"

"I've been doing this job long enough to know when the fix is in. And, well..." He hesitated, then decided on honesty. "You didn't look like a killer back then. You just looked like someone trying to survive."

V's eyes flicked to his, and for a moment, he saw past her guard. Saw the weight she was carrying, the desperation she was trying to hide. "That still doesn't explain things. You doin' this cause what… just out of the goodness of your heart?"

River looked down, understanding her sentiments. It was easier to let this city stoke your anger, to make you jaded, but there's still some softness left in this place worth fighting for. He could almost see his niece and nephews' mischievous, toothy grins. "You make it sound like it's something I should be ashamed of." He wanted to protect whatever little good was left in this city, but he wondered if he was being a hypocrite, knowing what he had to sacrifice along the way. With that, he saw his sister's angry face flash in his mind for a second.

"Ashamed, no. But that's something you rarely see in Night City."

"Sadly, I know what you mean."

V looked away first. "Even if I knew something—which I'm not saying I do—what makes you think I'd trust a badge? Especially one operating 'not officially'?"

River reached into his jacket, and V tensed immediately, her hand twitching toward where he suspected she kept a weapon. He moved slowly, deliberately, pulling out a damaged holo. Dex's holo—gold trim tarnished with dirt and dried blood.

"Easy," he said, placing it on the dashboard between them. "Found this at the scrapyard. Figured it might have answers."

V's eyes locked onto the device, recognition flashing across her face before she could mask it. "That's—"

"Dex's, yeah. Problem is, it's locked tight, probably custom encryption work, knowing his paranoia." River watched her carefully. "I've tried every NCPD decryption protocol we've got. Even called in a few favors with our tech division. Nothing."

"So?" V's voice was guarded, but he could see her mind working, those grey eyes calculating.

"So I need someone with real skills. Someone who knows their way around ice that isn't store-bought." He paused, letting that sink in. "Your record mentions some interesting incidents with vending machines and security systems. Can I take that as someone with diverse experience?"

A slight smile played at the corner of V's mouth. "Flattery will get you nowhere, detective."

"It's not flattery. It's fact." River leaned forward slightly. "Whatever's on this holo could help both of us. You want answers about what Dex was really planning? About who else might have been involved? This is our best shot."

V reached for the holo, but River pulled it back. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"We do this together," he said firmly. "I'm not just handing over evidence to someone who might delta the second they get what they want."

"And I'm supposed to trust you won't slap cuffs on me the second I crack it?" V's hand was definitely on her weapon now, though she hadn't drawn it.

"Right now, I might be the only person in this city who can help prove your case… and not want to kill you while we're at it." River's eyes glowed blue—a quick flash as he sent his contact data to her neural implant. "Look, I'm not asking for an answer right now. Take some time. Think it over."

V's eyebrows raised slightly, clearly not expecting that. "You're giving me time to think? What kind of cop are you?"

"The kind who knows pushing too hard gets people killed in this city." River slid the holo back into his jacket. "When you're ready to talk—really talk—reach out. But V? Don't take too long. We both know there are others looking for answers, and they won't be as patient as me."

V's own eyes flickered blue in response, accepting the transfer. She studied him for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression. "You're either the worst cop in Night City or the only honest one left."

"Maybe both."

"Right. Well, this conversation never happened," she said, reaching for the door handle.

"V." Something in his tone made her pause. "Whatever you're planning, whatever you think you need to do... be careful. The people involved in this, they play for keeps."

A sad smile tugged at her lips. "In Night City? Everybody plays for keeps."

She turned back one more time, her silver hair catching the neon from outside. "That holo... how do I know you won't use whatever's on it against me?"

River met her gaze steadily. "Because if I wanted you locked up, you'd already be in processing. I'm after the truth, V. Nothing more, nothing less."

Something passed between them—not quite trust, but maybe the possibility of it. Then she was out of the car, disappearing into the neon maze of Kabuki. River sat there for a long moment, her presence lingering like smoke. He'd gotten nothing concrete, but somehow, he knew this wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

Chapter Text

Lizzie's Bar

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆

Vs POV

“"Wait—the pig handed over evidence? Just like that?"

V trudged onto the cold evening, but it was an effort to keep her eyes focused ahead. "And you don't find that suspicious? Nobody gives away leverage for free, V. Not in Night City."

V knew the detective was going to make his appearance sooner or later, but she didn’t expect this. She imagined a sea of red and blue to surround her, or at the very least, an overconfident gonk who’s hiding behind the badge. River, on the other hand… 

The look in his organic eye was something she could recognize, a mixed sense of earnestness and intensity that made her nervous. There must be something more he’s after, his own slice of the pie at the end of this game. His scanner says he’s too old to be holding onto ideals… after all, V knew that hopeful people like that always die too soon, crushed by the city’s weight.

“Oh V, I thought you were better than that... Didn't you grow up learning you can't trust pigs?" 

“Let me think for a sec, for fuck’s sake!” V can feel her head pulse. When V stormed out of Vik’s clinic, the anger she felt pushed her into overdrive. Her mind laser focused on finding Evelyn, she knew that the BD editor working at Lizzie’s was a direct link that could point her to the right direction.

Judy was rough around the edges and hotheaded—almost like a mirror of V, just a different brand of crazy. She can definitely respect the tech-savvy woman’s craft and convictions, but their similar demeanors put the two women at a standstill. 

Earlier that evening — Lizzie’s Bar

Down the basements of Lizzie’s Bar, there was a tech-head’s wet dream: multiple screens rigged in one console, data dumps on holographic displays, fiber cables snaking across the floor, walls, and ceiling like digital vines, and the rhythmic hum of high-end processors. This is where the magic happens.

“Didn't I tell you not to come here?” Judy’s voice wasn’t loud, but the sharpness in her tone was enough to cut through the computers’ noise. One of the best BD specialists in the biz was hunched over her editing rig, fingers dancing through sequences with practiced precision. Raw emotion captured as data scrolled past, a mix of arousal indexes, fear responses, and pleasure spikes, all elements she can fine-tune into personalized experiences. 

“Need to find Evelyn,” V said, straight to the point, knowing that the Mox sitting casually before her wasn’t who liked to play around. Neither did V. 

Judy spun in her chair, her undercut catching the holographic light. Shades of pink, blue, and green bounced across her face, making her look like something out of her own edited dreams. “Oh, now you care? After going MIA and leaving us to deal with your fuck up?”

V hung her head at that, her chest aching with pangs of guilt. Still, she kept her eyes on the Mox in front of her. "I can’t back down on this, you know that. She's the only one who knows what really went down at Konpeki."

"What went down?" Judy stood, fury radiating off her in waves. Her hand slammed onto the desk, making the holo-displays flicker. "What went down is you and that gonk partner of yours fucked everything up! Evelyn trusted you, and now she's gone dark. Won't answer my calls, won't—" Her voice cracked slightly.

V felt her own temper flare. "Jackie's dead because of this job. Don't act like you're the only one who got burned." The words hung between them, raw and painful. Johnny materialized behind Judy, leaning against a server rack. "Catfight brewing. My money's on the techie—she's got that cornered animal look."

Judy's expression shifted, some of the anger bleeding into something else. "Shit. I didn't know." She ran a hand through her hair, messing up the carefully styled undercut. "Evelyn said he seemed like a good guy."

"Disappear where?"

Judy's fingers moved across her keyboard, pulling up schedules and client logs. "Back to Clouds. Said she'd be safer there, that her regulars would protect her. Some of those Tyger Claws have been sweet on her for years."

"You let her go back to that place?" V stepped closer, noting how Judy's workspace was chaos—empty stim inhalers mixed with high-end tech manuals, half-eaten takeout containers stacked next to custom hardware.

"Let her?" Judy whirled around, eyes blazing. "You think I let her do anything? You think I didn't try to convince her to stay here where the Mox could keep her safe?" Her voice cracked. "But Evelyn always does what Evelyn wants. Always has her own angle, her own plan."

Something in the way she said it made V pause. "You care about her."

"Care?" Judy laughed, bitter and short. "I've edited every BD she's ever made. I know every micro-expression, every tell when she's scared or lying or..." She stopped, jaw working. "Yeah. I care… She went back to Clouds three nights ago," Judy continued, voice steadier now. "Was supposed to check in with me after her first shift. Nothing. Not a word. Even Maiko—and that bitch keeps tabs on everyone—says she hasn't seen her."

Johnny leaned forward. 

"The Tyger Claws wouldn't hurt her," V said, though doubt crept into her voice. "She's too valuable."

"That's what I keep telling myself." Judy pulled up another screen—employee records, shift rotations. "But her biometrics just... stopped. After her second appointment, the system shows nothing. Like she just vanished."

V studied the data. In a place like Clouds, where every heartbeat and breath was monitored, people didn't just disappear. "Someone wiped her from the system."

"Or something happened that made her untraceable." Judy's voice was barely above a whisper. She turned to face V fully. "Look, I know we're not exactly chooms here. But if you're really going to look for her..."

"I am."

Judy searched V's face for something—sincerity, maybe, or just desperation matching her own. Whatever she found made her nod. "Then be careful. Clouds isn't just some dollhouse. There's something else going on there, something the Tyger Claws keep locked down tight."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. But the ice protecting their systems? Way beyond what they'd need for a brothel." Judy's fingers drummed against her desk. "Find her, V. And when you do..." Her voice softened. "Please let me know."

Back in the present...

V stood on a corner in Kabuki, the neon lights reflecting off wet pavement. Her mind churned through everything—Judy's barely controlled desperation, Evelyn vanishing into Clouds, and an overly curious detective who seems too good to be true in a city that keeps on eating itself from within.

V's hand went to her pocket, where Dex's encrypted holo sat heavy. River had shown it to her, said he couldn't crack it. But he hadn't threatened her, hadn't tried to leverage it against her. Just admitted he needed help.

When was the last time a cop admitted weakness to a criminal?

"He's got an angle," Johnny insisted. "They always do."

"Maybe." V pulled out her phone, staring at River's contact info. "But right now, I need someone who can get into Clouds without raising flags. And he needs someone who can crack Dex's paranoid encryption."

"This is a mistake. You can do this on your own, or with the BD chick. Anyone at this point!"

"Probably." Before she could change her mind, V typed out a message:

[Got a proposition. You help me get into Clouds, I'll crack that holo you showed me. Dex always kept insurance—might be something about Konpeki on there. Interested?]

The response came quicker than expected:

River: [When and where?]

V: [Tomorrow. I'll send coordinates. And detective? Come alone.]

River: [That was the plan. V? Be careful.]

V stared at that last message. 

"I can't believe we're fucking up this bad already," Johnny groaned, his dark maroon shades now in hand, while the other rubbed his face in frustration.

"I'm being practical." V pocketed her phone and started walking. "I need to get into Clouds without alerting the Tyger Claws. He needs that holo cracked. Simple trade."

"Nothing's simple when badges are involved."

V ignored him, already running through what she'd need. Decryption tools for Dex's holo. Research on Clouds' security. And...

She stopped walking, staring at another contact in her phone. Padre. The name sat there like a weight, bringing with it memories of Sunday dinners and disappointed silences. Her thumb hovered over it.

"Oh, this should be good," Johnny drawled. "Crawling back to daddy for help?"

"Shut up." But her hand was trembling slightly. 

He'd raised her after her real parents died, given her a home when the streets would have eaten her alive. But he'd never invited her into the Valentinos, his family. Right now, though, after what happened with Jackie... she needed to talk to him. 

"Just call him," Johnny said, unusually subdued. "Pride won't pay for shit in this city."

V gave him a pointed look at that, then took a deep breath and hit call. Each ring felt like an eternity.

"V." Padre's voice was exactly as she remembered—warm on the surface, but with that underlying edge of authority. "It's been some time, mija."

"Padre." The word felt strange in her mouth after so long. 

Silence stretched between them. She could picture him in his garage office, probably polishing one of his vintage cars while his boys counted eddies in the back. There were so many things she wished she could say, but the weight of it all kept the words lodged in her throat. 

She could hear him sigh quietly, barely audible against the humdrum static of the call. "I never wanted you to be part of this life, V. I kept you out of the business because I thought... I hoped you'd find something better."

There was a beat of silence.

"There is no 'better' in Night City," V said quietly. "There's just survival."

"Sí. I suppose you've learned that now." Another pause. "Come by the garage tomorrow night. I'll have something for you. But V?"

"Yeah?"

"This makes you a Solo working for the Valentinos. Not family business—just business. You understand?"

The distinction hurt more than she expected. "I understand."

"Good. And V? The streets whisper about you. Be careful who you trust."

The call ended before she could respond. V stood there, phone in hand, feeling more alone than she had in years.

"Well, that went about as well as expected," Johnny commented. "Nothing like family disappointment to really round out a shit day."

V started walking again, faster now, like she could outrun the feeling. 

She'd find Evelyn. She'd fix this fucking chip in her head. And if that meant trusting a detective who looked at her like she mattered even if she was a criminal? Well, she'd made worse bets in Night City.

Chapter Text

08:30 AM — Reconciliation Park, Heywood

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

River's POV

River looked around the park, a green repose amidst the concrete jungle, appreciating the calm before the storm he’s about to walk into anytime now. That morning, he woke up with a text from V, just a time and coordinates for their meeting place. He knew they would be in contact soon, but he didn’t expect her to move that fast. 

He sat back and took a sip of his coffee, soaking in the tranquil moment. With lush trees swaying in the morning wind, River can almost let himself relax. Almost. As if on cue, he heard her husky voice cut through the silence. “Is that two coffees I see?” 

River looked up to find V standing a few feet away, hands in her jacket pockets. In daylight, he could see what the neon of Lizzie's had hidden—the exhaustion etched into her features, the slight tremor in her left hand she was trying to conceal. 

Still, she looked striking. Her expression may be grim, but her clothes were a stark contrast: a bright pink motorcycle jacket lined with cyan threads, paired with skintight maroon-stained, leather jeans and knee-high boots. River didn’t expect such a loud look from her, although he suspects he should be used to surprises from now on. 

"Figured you might need the caffeine," he said, sliding the extra cup across the bench.

V studied it suspiciously before sitting down, maintaining careful distance between them. "Black?"

"Seemed like a safe bet."

She took a tentative sip, then another. "I’m particular with my coffee, but good call." Her grey eyes swept the park once more. "Chose this place for a reason. Public enough that you won't try anything stupid, isolated enough that we can actually talk." 

"Smart." River kept his tone neutral, letting her set the pace. "Thanks for reaching out."

"Yeah, well." V stared into her coffee. "Figured you'd keep digging anyway. Rather control the narrative than have you stumbling around, making noise."

"Fair enough." He waited, knowing the first rule of interrogation—sometimes silence drew out more truth than questions.

V's jaw worked like she was chewing on words, deciding which ones to spit out. "What exactly do you know about that night?"

"I know Saburo Arasaka is dead. I know you were in Dex DeShawn's trunk with a bullet in your head. And I know your connection to whatever went down at Konpeki cause I saw you from that Delamain cab that got reported." River paused, studying her reaction. "What was the job, V?"

She took a long pull of coffee. "It was supposed to be a heist. Simple snatch and grab. Dex hired us to steal something from Arasaka's penthouse suite."

"Us?"

"Me and Jackie Welles." Her voice caught slightly on the name.

River's expression softened. "I saw him in the Delamain. I'm sorry."

"Don't." Her voice turned sharp, brittle as glass. "Don't pretend you give a shit. You're here for information, not to play therapist."

River held her gaze steadily. "You're right. I didn't know him. But I've lost partners too. The best ones..."

V blinked, caught off-guard by the simple honesty. She looked away, jaw tight. After a moment, she continued, voice carefully controlled: "The job went sideways. Completely fucked from every angle."

"What were you stealing?"

"A biochip. Prototype tech called the Relic." Her fingers tightened on the cup. 

“Who funded all this? Dex isn’t big like he used to, so setting the bar too high too fast just seems like a gonk move. There must be someone pulling the strings for all of you?” 

River’s stare was intense now, but he couldn’t help scratching the questions itching in his brain. V sighed, before taking another sip of her coffee. “A doll from Clouds, Evelyn Parker. She was Yorinobu’s lover.” 

River sat back, eyes wide. He didn’t expect the direction this was going. V spoke again. "Everything was going smoothly until... fuck. Until Yorinobu and Saburo showed up."

River straightened slightly. “Missed the detes’ on the biggest reunion of the decade?” V scowls at that.

“Was kinda just thrown in for one shitshow of a surprise to another, no thanks to Dex. Long story short, the Relic we stole was also stolen… by Saburo’s own son. The big man flew to NC ‘cause of that, and then…” V’s entire body looked tense, and her eyes looked shaky, a clear sign that she was traumatized more than she would admit. “Well, let’s just say the reunion ended with Yorinobu choking his father dearest to death.”

“Fuck. So that’s why Dex wanted to cut you off… What about Evelyn? What’s her angle on this? Revenge? Or just a plain ‘ol chance to steal enough to retire?” River ended up murmuring to himself, lost in thought yet again. There were always more questions than answers in his line of job. Meanwhile, V looks at him curiously. 

“Yeah…well, I thought so too. But Jackie…” V stops and changes her tune. “So I gave you plenty on my side already, even without the juice inside Dex’s holo.” The merc’s dark eyes squinted at the now perked up detective, stopping him from his attempt to fish for a larger catch early in the game. With an intense gaze, V said, “Your turn to scratch my back.” River faced her completely at that, both his organic and cybernetic eyes waiting. 

“Naturally. But I gotta ask…you’ve been more cooperative with me than I expected. Why’s that?” Not that River didn’t appreciate it, but he was more used to people mistrusting badges in these parts. V huffed at that and said, “Don’t get any ideas, I’m not your choom. But… I guess… This is to thank you for saving me that day.” Surprisingly, her cheeks got tainted with a faint, pinkish hue.  

“You coulda just ripped the info outta my dead body. But instead… you took me to Vik’s. So…yeah,” V shrugged. “That’s all you needed to know to make us square, detective.” River was surprised by her sincerity, another thing he didn’t expect from someone in her line of work. 

“No need to thank me, it was the right thing to do.” He chuckled at the incredulous look she gave him. “But what happened to the Relic you guys were stealing?” V’s demeanor changed after that. After a tense moment, she tapped her head. 

“Chip got damaged while we were runnin’. Jackie slotted it into my head before he… and now, well… it’s pretty much stuck in my head.” V immediately held up a hand just as River was about to open his mouth. “Look, that bit of the story is complicated. Let’s get to the second date first before going for deep talks, alright?” 

V’s tone was teasing, and even though River knew she was just trying to distract him, he still couldn’t help but cough slightly from embarrassment. He shifted in his seat, and made a mental note to search about the Relic and how it was such a “prized tech”, so much so that the Emperor himself flew half the world for it. 

“I see your gears turnin’ and before you jump to conclusions… I got something from Dex’s holo, but before I share it, I need connections from you too. Nothing too dangerous… just the ones that hopefully help me fix this problem in my head.” 

“Sounds fair to me. So what’s your pitch?” 

"Found out that Evelyn Parker went MIA. Not surprising after it blew on our faces. So, I need your help finding her. Know any ways to get into Clouds without having to use the back door for once? Can't make a bad impression with Tyger Claws, got business with 'em too,"

River considered his options, then leaned forward slightly. "Actually, Clouds is already on my radar. Been working a case—dolls going missing from there. Not just quitting, but completely vanishing."

V's eyebrows raised. "Missing dolls? That's not exactly headline news in Night City."

"This is different." River's voice dropped lower. "Started about six months ago. Every few weeks, a doll gets 'fired' for some minor infraction. Except they never show up at other clubs, never access their accounts, never contact family. They just... disappear."

"You think Clouds did it?"

"I know something’s going on behind the scenes." River pulled out his phone, showing her an encrypted file. "Got testimony from a doll who managed to run before her 'termination.' Said she overheard management talking about shipments to Biotechnica and some corpo black sites. Experimental braindance tech, behavioral modification programs—nasty stuff."

V processed this, her mind already working angles. "So the Tyger Claws are selling their own people?"

"No idea. My guess? Not all of them know. Middle management at Clouds is running this behind their bosses' backs, making extra eddies on the side." River's jaw tightened. "Been trying to build a case, but every time I get close, witnesses disappear or recant."

"And you think Evelyn got caught up in this?"

"Timeline fits. If she knew something about Konpeki, made herself a liability..." River shrugged. "Would explain why she's MIA instead of just laying low."

V was quiet for a moment, studying him. "So what's your play? Can't exactly badge your way in there asking questions."

"No, but I could go in as a client. Been building a cover identity for weeks—lonely cop, going through a divorce, needs some comfort. Classic mark for a place like Clouds." He caught her skeptical look. 

"Wouldn't be the first badge to use their services. Place prides itself on discretion."

"And where do I come in?"

"Saw your files, seems like you got a talent for running. You can guide me through. But more importantly—" River leaned in, "—I can ask around for some gossip, while you dig through their net through my eyes.”

V was quiet for a minute, her expression troubled. "You'd let a merc—someone you barely know—into your head?" Her eyes narrowed, searching for the catch. "That's a lot of trust for someone who just met me."

"Maybe. But you need someone who can walk in the front door without raising alarms. And I need someone with the skills to actually find what we're looking for." River met her gaze directly. 

"Besides, this trafficking ring? Every doll that disappears is someone's family, someone's friend. Can't just let that slide… I’ve been grasping at straws for months. The fact that you need my help with Clouds is almost pure luck."

“I wouldn’t know if it’s right to call this luck.” V tilted her head, reassessing him. "And… well, most badges would use this to make a big bust, get a promotion."

"Not interested in promotions built on other people's misery. Just want to find these missing people. And if helping you find Evelyn means we can expose this whole operation..." He shrugged. "Call it a win-win."

"A badge actually doing his job. In Night City." V's tone was skeptical but not dismissive. "Jackie would've said you're either the real deal or the best liar we've ever met."

"Guess you'll have to figure that out for yourself." River was looking at her with a steady gaze, and she wondered if he was simply being confident, maybe earnest… or both. V drummed her fingers on the bench, thinking.

"Let’s take this time to gather more info—don’t want to fuck things up again. And River?" She stood, tossing her empty cup in the recycling. "If this is some elaborate setup to build your case on my back..."

"It's not. We find Evelyn, we get your info, and we find the missing dolls. Everyone goes home who can." 

She studied him for another long moment, then nodded. "Your coffee's not bad, by the way. Next time, though? Try the vendor on Skyline and 7th. Best in Heywood."

River watched her walk away, her cotton candy jacket making her silvery wisps pop out even more. It was interesting—she wanted to stay covert for this meeting, yet her clothes made her easy to track through the morning crowd. 

He watched until she deliberately turned a corner and vanished. He sat there for a moment longer, finishing his coffee and wondering what the hell he'd just signed up for.

His phone buzzed. 

[ And detective? Might want to practice looking less like a cop before the big day. Try slouching. Maybe draw some eyeliner. ]

Despite everything, River found himself actually smiling. Yeah, this was definitely going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

10:30 AM — Reconciliation Park, Heywood

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

V’s POV

“You really grow up in the streets? What happened to punks who had the balls to fight the system, not sell out and become a pig’s streetrat?” Johnny was fuming at V. Being a raging symbol of shittin’ down on authorities, V’s cooperation with the badge left her in a mental wrestle with the digital tapeworm.

“I don’t fucking trust badges too. You know I grew up in a town where they’d either beat you up or just plainly not give a shit, but I’m not a gonk. With you in my head, I’d take just about any kind of help. You just like to burn all your bridges and blow shit up for your problems,” V argued back in her head. 

She needed time to hash out her plan with the badge. Dealing with Tyger Claws territory behind Wakako’s back…V shivered at the thought. She didn’t want to put more crosshairs on her back. That, and she needed her eddies, badly. 

Johnny fizzled into view again, a few steps ahead on the street where Jackie’s arch was parked. Let’s do it our fucking selves. You got your netshit right? Why trust a pig? After everything’s done, you’ll be the first one he’ll throw behind bars, and I ain’t lettin’ myself rot in another cell.

It’s no secret that the NCPD is just another gang in Night City; the only difference is that they get to play nice with authorities who can protect them—give them the lease to flaunt their own taste of power, masked in the colors of justice. In V's eyes, those dark blue threads reminds her more of a deep bruise. Thwap! Crack! She could always hear what the police baton's sounded first before remembering what comes next.

But the look in River’s eyes…she’s never seen anyone so sincere in wanting to help out simply because it’s the right thing to do. Jackie and Misty came the closest, but even they had their own reservations. 

“Nah, it’s just the old, shitty cybernetic eye.” Johnny said with a matter-of-fact tone. For the nth time that day, V sighs. From her scans, River appears to be 43-years-old. And based on her research (of course, he wasn’t the only one who did some digging), he became a police officer as early as 23-years-old, and quickly earned the title detective just a few years later. 

That’s a long time to witness the tragedies of Night City…but somehow, he doesn’t seem jaded, like her. Maybe he was just another Jackie, a dreamer; but she knows those types get burned in the process one way or another. 

It’s almost too good to be true to have someone like him help your case, but something in her gut tells her that it’s worth giving that odd badge a chance. Besides… she didn’t follow her gut when it told her to run away after meeting Dex, and look where that got her. Still... fresh from betrayal, V knows she needs to be careful, or she'll get burned.

“That’s why I fucking told you to bring me to Rogue. Unlike the pig, I actually know her long before you were an itch in your Dad’s ballsacks. She’ll help us cause we got history, and besides, she owes me. Simple, no hidden motives, just pure chemistry and old-fashioned chaos.”

V mounted her bike and snapped, “Jesus, Johnny, that’s the dumbest fuckin’ idea ever. How do you think it’s gonna go? Before I can even finish explainin’ that it’s somehow your gonk idea, she’d have me shot in place.” 

Johnny glitched into the back of V’s motorcycle, as if he was riding in tandem with her. From the bike’s side mirrors, V saw him roll his eyes. “Trust me, Rogue’s heard a lot of dumb shit in her life, and me having a digital resurrection is just another one in her list.”

"Yeah, and I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see her dead ex-boyfriend hitching a ride in some random merc's skull." V revved the engine, merging into traffic with practiced aggression. "Face it, Johnny. You're old news wrapped in new problems."

"Old news that could save your ass if you'd just—"

"I've already got a lead." V cut him off, weaving between a Villefort and a delivery truck. "And it doesn't require me to beg legends for scraps."

Johnny's reflection flickered with irritation. "Oh yeah? The pig's holo? You really think that paranoid fixer left anything useful on there?"

"Men like Dex don't trust anyone. That's exactly why they document everything." V's hand drifted to her jacket pocket, where the weight of the encrypted device sat like a promise. "Contacts, contracts, contingencies. If there's a trail to Evelyn, it starts there."

"If," Johnny emphasized. "Big word for something that might just be his porn stash and takeout orders."

V ignored the jab, her mind already running through decryption protocols. Dex had been paranoid—corporate-grade ICE at minimum, probably with custom layers she'd need to peel back carefully. But she'd cracked harder systems before. Maybe not something that matches Arasaka subnet like T-Bug, but she’s danced through enough black ice and daemon traps.

This was just a dead fixer's secrets. How hard could it be?

"You're thinking too loud," Johnny complained, materializing beside her now, his form keeping pace with the bike like a tethered ghost. "I can practically hear the gears grinding."

"Then maybe tune out for once." V took the exit toward Megabuilding H10, the familiar towers rising against the smog-choked sky. "I need to focus."

"On what? Playing house with your new cop friend?" Johnny's tone dripped with contempt. "You realize how this looks, right? V, the big bad netrunner, running errands for a badge."

"It's not running errands. It's strategy." V's jaw tightened. "River's got access I don't—like he said, Clouds is already on his radar.”

"So now you're helping the pigs bust crime rings? Jackie would be spinning in his grave."

The mention of Jackie hit like a punch to the chest. V's grip on the handlebars tightened until her knuckles went white. "Don't you dare talk about Jackie just because you’ve seen my memories. You didn't know him."

"I know he wouldn't have trusted a badge with his life."

"Jackie trusted everyone." The words came out rougher than intended. "That was his problem. Mine too, apparently." She thought of Dex's smooth promises, Evelyn's calculated seduction of the job, T-Bug's confidence that she could handle Arasaka's ice. All of them dead or disappeared now.

And here she was, trusting again. A cop, of all people.

"See? You know it's stupid." Johnny's voice had lost some of its edge, something almost like concern bleeding through. "So why do it?"

V was quiet for a long moment, the city blurring past in streaks of neon and chrome. When she spoke, her voice was steadier. "Because River gave me the holo. Didn't have to. Could've kept it, used it to build a case, climbed the ladder like every other badge in this city." She pulled into the megabuilding's lot, killing the engine. "Instead, he put it in my hands. No leverage, no threats. Just... trust."

"Trust." Johnny said the word like it tasted rotten. "In Night City. From a cop."

"I know how it sounds." V swung off the bike, rolling her shoulders. "But right now, I'm literally out of options."

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

V’s Apartment

She started toward the building entrance, Johnny falling into step beside her. "River's useful. He gets me into Clouds without raising flags, I crack the holo and share what's inside. Simple trade. And if he turns out to be just another Night City snake..." She shrugged. "Then I deal with it. Wouldn't be the first time."

"And Evelyn?" Johnny asked as they waited for the elevator. "You really think she's got answers about the Relic?"

"She was Yorinobu's lover. Had access to his penthouse, his schedule, his secrets." The elevator doors opened, and V stepped inside. "Someone like that doesn't just stumble into a heist targeting Arasaka's crown jewel. She knew what the Relic was. Maybe even knew what it could do."

"Or she was just another pawn, like you."

"Maybe." V watched the floors tick by. "But pawns talk when they're scared. And wherever Evelyn is, she's hiding from the same people I am. That makes her desperate."

"Desperate people are dangerous."

"So am I." The elevator dinged, and V stepped out into the familiar hallway. Her apartment door felt heavier than usual as she approached it, like crossing a threshold into something she couldn't take back.

Inside, the space felt emptier than ever. Just silence, the hum of her electronics teetering closer to going into overdrive, and a ghost in her head who wouldn't shut up.

V settled into her netrunning chair, pulling up her deck interface. Dex's holo sat on her workstation, innocuous-looking but heavy with secrets.

“If there's nothing useful on there, we're going to Rogue. Non-negotiable.” Johnny said, materializing in the chair across from her.

The work was gonna be slow, methodical—peeling back layers of paranoia one at a time. But somewhere in this tangle of data was a thread that led to Evelyn Parker. And that woman with the striking blue hair and her head way up in the clouds led to answers.

She'd find that thread. Pull it until everything unravels.

And then, maybe, she'd finally understand what the hell she'd gotten herself into. Lost in that train of thought, she couldn't help but glance at her drawers, noticing the empty stash.

River was waiting on intel. Evelyn was ghost. Padre expected her tonight. And every wasted hour was another one this chip spent turning her brain into Johnny's personal playground.

In short, she needed some strong stims. “That’s probably the smartest thought you’ve had all day,” Johnny piped in, half relieved and thrilled. V glared at him as she picked up her jacket and headed out the door. She really needed more eddies, fast.

☆⋅⋆ ─₊‧⁺₊‧⁺─ ⋆⋅☆ 

Somewhere in Heywood

Every district in Night City had its back alleys, little pockets that ran on their own rules. But Heywood's? Different breed entirely.

Felt like stumbling into one of those old gangster flicks V caught on late-night TV as a kid—grainy, loud, and full of people who'd knife you as quick as shake your hand. Vandalized buildings boxing in food carts hawking mystery meat, everyone shouting over everyone else, air thick with smoke and spray paint and the kind of smog that probably shaved years off your life.

Funny thing was, V didn't mind. The chaos here had a rhythm to it, a warmth you couldn't fake. Some kid's sick beat just dropped from a busted radio in the corner, bass so heavy she could feel it in her teeth.

Yeah. This dump felt like home.

"You mean this dump?" Johnny flickered into view, parking his ass on a crate like he owned the place. Face all scrunched up like he'd stepped in something. V couldn't even be mad—actually cracked a smile at how lost he looked.

V, Jackie, and Misty used to waste whole nights here. Talking shit, making plans, pretending they weren't just another set of dreamers waiting to get chewed up. But she wasn't here to get sentimental. Had a connect to find.

"Hey choom, been a minute. You know how I like 'em dogs," V called out, spotting exactly who she was looking for.

"V! Holy shit, thought you finally got yourself flatlined." The vendor—Scop Scott, though V had no clue if that was his real name or just what stuck—wiped his hands on an apron that probably hadn't seen soap since the last mayor got flatlined. Gold teeth caught the neon glow from a fresh Valentino tag nearby, hair so yellow it was practically a safety hazard. "The usual?"

"You know it." V dropped onto the plastic stool, its familiar creak settling something in her chest. "Extra onions, extra—"

"Extra sauce, no relish, yeah yeah." Already working, hands moving on autopilot. The tremor in his fingers was worse than V remembered—gonk was definitely sampling his own product again. His funeral. "Some things never change. 'Cept you look like shit, chica. No offense."

"None taken." Stomach growled loud enough to be embarrassing. When'd she last eat? Before the park with River. Maybe before Lizzie's. Fuck, maybe before Vik's. Hard to keep track when your brain's got an unwanted tenant.

"This guy sells drugs out of a hot dog cart?" Johnny materialized on the stool beside her, sizing up Scop Scott like he was some kind of exhibit. "Gotta admire the hustle, I guess."

V didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. Scop Scott slid the foil-wrapped dog across the counter, and she was biting into it before her hands fully caught up. Synth meat with that faint plastic aftertaste, drowned in whatever secret sauce the guy swore he'd take to his grave.

Shouldn't work. Did anyway. Something about the combination just hit different.

"So," Scop Scott leaned in, elbows on the counter, voice dropping into that register V knew too well. Business mode. "You here for the dogs, or the other stuff?"

V chewed slow, buying time. Scop Scott had been her go-to for years—glitter when she needed to crack ICE that didn't want to be cracked. Never asked why, never ran his mouth. 

"Need some sparkle," she said, keeping her voice low. A couple young Valentinos posted up at the end of the alley—all chrome and attitude, probably harmless. Probably. No point advertising anyway.

Scop Scott sucked his teeth. Never a good sign. "Bad timing, chica. My connect got pinched last week. Been dry ever since."

"Fuck." Grip tightened on the dog. No glitter meant no hyperfocus. No hyperfocus meant days slogging through Dex's paranoid-ass encryption instead of hours. Days she didn't have. 

"But..." Scop Scott grabbed a rag, started wiping down the counter. His tell. Something off-menu coming. "Might know a way you could help yourself. Help me out too, if you're feelin' generous."

"Here we go." Johnny leaned forward, interest piqued despite himself. "Always a catch with these small-time hustlers."

"I'm listening." V pushed the empty foil aside, already running calculations.

Scop Scott jerked his chin toward a crumbling apartment block at the alley's end. Murals crawling up the lower floors—La Virgen keeping watch over stylized lowriders and names of the dead. Standard Heywood décor. "See that building? Fourth floor, 4C. Scavs been running a cook lab outta there 'bout a month now."

"Scavs?" V's eyebrow shot up. "In Valentino territory? Somebody's got a death wish."

"Or somebody's getting paid to look the other way." Scop Scott shrugged. "Point is, they ain't just cooking the usual garbage. Got a whole setup for glitter production. Premium shit—the kind NetWatch pops before deep dives." His eyes got that hungry gleam. "Fresh batch ready to move, from what I hear."

"And you want me to, what? Knock politely?"

Raspy laugh that turned into a cough. Definitely needed to lay off his own supply. "Nah, chica. Want you to do what you do. Ghost in, grab what you need, ghost out. Keep enough sparkle to fry your synapses for a month—rest comes to me. I'll throw in six hundred eddies for your trouble."

V clocked the building automatically. Two visible entry points, fire escape snaking up the east side, probably a service door around back. Cheap security setup, if Scavs were running it—those gonks always skimped on tech, figured their reputation was enough deterrent.

"How many inside?"

"Three, maybe four. Skeleton crew during the day—rest are out hunting 'donors.'" Scop Scott's face darkened. "Nasty fucks. Wouldn't lose sleep if they ate some lead."

"She's actually considering this." Johnny sounded almost impressed. "Raiding a Scav drug lab for some focus juice. Jackie's little dreamer really has fallen far."

V's jaw clenched, but she let it slide. Johnny didn't get it. The glitter wasn't about chasing a high. It was about cracking that holo before Evelyn vanished for good. About finding answers before this chip finished rewriting her into someone else.

About survival. Same as always.

"Security?" Already in work mode. Same headspace she hit before any job—cool, calculating, emotions shoved into a box for later.

"Basic shit." Scop Scott was grinning now, smelling the deal. "Cameras in the stairwell, but we're talking knockoff Kiroshis—you could probably brick 'em by blinking too hard. Maglock on the door, nothing fancy. Real trick's the window."

"Window?"

"Fire escape runs right past 4C. Window's got an alarm rigged, but it's ancient tech. Pre-war, maybe. You fry that, you're in clean." Pause. "Oh, and they got a dog. Ugly chrome bastard. Barks at everything."

"A cyberdog. Preem." V exhaled through her nose. Quick math: disable cameras, kill the window alarm, handle any Scavs dumb enough to be home, grab the sparkle, delta before anyone notices.

Simple. Clean. The kind of gig she and Jackie used to bang out before breakfast, then celebrate with cheap beer and big talk about their futures. The thought hit like a knife between the ribs. 

"You good, chica?" Scop Scott was watching her. Something like concern in his eyes—weird look on a guy who made his living pushing stims to desperate netrunners. "Spaced out on me."

"Fine." V stood, rolling her shoulders loose. "Six-fifty. And I pick through the glitter first—take what I need before you see a single gram."

Scop Scott made a show of thinking it over. They both knew she had him. "Deal."

Gold teeth flashed, but his voice went serious. "Just... come back breathing, yeah? Been too many funerals this month. Don't need another."

He knew about Jackie. Of course he did. Heywood was a small world dressed up like a big one. Word traveled fast when one of their own got flatlined.

"Keep a dog warm for me." V managed something close to a smile. "I'll be back."

She headed for the building, Johnny falling into step like a shadow she couldn't shake. Afternoon sun was bleeding out, throwing long shadows across the alley. Somewhere close, a kid was laughing. An abuela's voice cut through, shouting something in Spanish about homework and respect.

"You know," Johnny said, and something in his tone made her glance over, "this is the most alive I've seen you since I crashed your skull. Raiding drug labs, wheeling and dealing with hot dog pushers..." He almost looked approving. "Maybe you're not completely hopeless after all."