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heartofsnark · 3 years

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Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Four): Leave My Head Among The Stars

Notes: Okayyyyyy, so here’s the thing, I started to write this chapter and what I planned to have in it and then I suddenly had 66 pages of content. So, I had to split it up. So I have three chapters, including this one, written up. So, these next couple updates for this will be fairly quick. I’m trying to get to johnny quick, but act 1 is a doozy, I hope you’re still enjoying the content though.

Word Count: 9268

Chapter Warnings: Mild violence, weird sexual tension,

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

Fingernails scratch at V’s back, the merc whining as she’s gently stirred awake. Her eyes are still blurry with sleep and the sun is just beginning to filters in through her window when she looks up at the older woman. Sunlight illuminates Cecelia, makes her freckles stand out on her tanned skin and turns her eyes molten gold. Her lips move and V has to refocus, not just stare at the far too out of her league woman, and focus on reading her lips.

“….work….”

That’s all she can read across Cecelia’s lips and she grumbles, rolling off of the older woman. V wraps her blankets tightly around herself, forming a cocoon as her fuckbuddy leaves the bed. She watches for a minute, before it hits her; she makes a vague disgruntled noises as she grabs the hem of Cecelia’s shirt, stopping her from leaving. The older woman looks at her for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights as she looks at the sleepy curled up merc tugging at her clothes.

“Pancakes…” Is all V says, assuming her voice sounds as heavy with sleep as it feels, she grabs some eurodollars off her bedside table. The merc pushes the money into Cecelia’s hands, paying her for the food she brought in last night. Cecelia’s face drops, though V’s sleep laden brain can’t begin to understand why.

“Well...kinda...feel...prostitute,” V’s unfocused eyes struggles to read Cecelia’s lips, but she can fill in the blanks. That this exchange of money, even if meant for pancakes, has made Cecelia feel like a prostitute.

“Don’t worry,” V yawns, signing a little sloppy from exhaustion, “I don’t pay for sex, so you’re fine.”

Then V’s passed back out against her pillow.

V wakes up, an hour or so later, rolling out of her sheets, Cecelia already long gone. She rubs at her sleep laden eyes and shoots a quick text to Jackie, letting him know she’s ready to meet up whenever he is, so she can see his big news. He texts back almost immediately, proclaiming he’s on his way. V decides to use her time to quickly clean up the mess of last night; cleaning her toy and changing out her sheets. She’ll have to do laundry soon, but that’s an issue for later tonight… or later this week...or month. V will figure it out, at some point. She grabs a quick shower and changes her clothes.

Despite the heat, she opts for a cropped hoodie, jeans, and her old slightly ratty backpack. Her mask, air hypos, max docs, bounce backs and extra weapons packed inside along with ammo. Night City necessities. It may seem like a bit much but, her mask can’t fit in her pocket and Jackie likes to spring gigs on her. She slides her optic contact case in her pocket, alongside her phone, turns on her translator choker, then puts in her hearing aids. Her ears twinge, still a little raw, she was more focused on sleeping than doctoring them last night.

She tucks her favorite knife into a thigh holster and her preferred gun in a hidden holster in her waistband. Armed to the teeth, V ties her boots and heads out the door, letting it lock behind her, nose twinging again at the smell as soon as steps out. V starts out through the big walkway that goes into balconied steps, though the view is just more apartments, the elevator that leads to the front is a floor down across from one of the clusters of shops that sit on that floor. Every couple of floors there's a services level. In this one megabuilding alone there are probably twenty restaurants and forty gun shops. Hell, her vending machine in her apartment has the option to order a joytoy or sex droid from the brothel eight floors up.

Her holophone buzzes, bleeps, and lights up inside of her pocket as she walks past the cluster of vending machines. She checks, expecting a text from Jackie, that he’s already waiting on her. And instead groans.

REMINDER, TAKE YOUR MEDICATION!!!!!!! :3

Her phone notification screams at her and she groans under her breath. She stomps back up the stairs and back into her apartment, grabbing a flat Nicola Sakura and using it to swallow down her immunosuppressants, then she leaves her apartment, again. V’s mentally cursing her own forgetfulness, she can remember to keep twenty different weapons on her, but her medication manages to slip her mind routinely.

The chatter of strangers fills the services floor as she walks through, past the initial pocket of vending machines, then restaurant stands, and then as if to mock her when she eats that garbage; a gym section of the floor. All of which is followed by a gun shop. It's all a weird medley of sounds and smells that her sensitive self struggles with.

Theres the clinging of sodas from the vending machines, the searing sound of cooking dishes, the talk of strangers, the grunts of people working out, the thwacking of people hitting punching bags, the clanging of weights, advertisements screaming at her to buy something, the muffled sound of gunfire from the Second Amendement’s shooting range, and robotic whirrs of Coach Fred’s punching bag robot.

And the smells, dear lord the smells. Gunpowder, sweat, and cooking food; all mingled with people’s own body odor or perfumes with just a sprinkle of hot trash.

She considers turning her hearing aids off and grabbing her chapstick, as she passes by Coach Fred’s section of the floor where he offers boxing training, a raised platform to box on. He punches and trains against his training droid.

“Hey, V!” The older man calls out, before she can mute the world, padded robot stopping next to him, “How you like my new Punchin' Bag? Just gave me a nextgen ass-whoopin', he did. Be curious to see how he handles the likes of V... Heh. So how 'bout it?”

“Pff,” V can’t help but scoff just a little, Coach Fred is easy a foot or more taller than her and more muscular, but he wants to see her take the damn thing on, “sure.”

“Light on your feet. Keep that head movin'!” The boxer tells her as she steps up into the crude boxing area and he steps out.

V cracks her knuckles as the automated training bot stands in front of her, the small merc raises her fists, all the only sign the droid needs to initiate combat mode. It swings a right hook at her and she dodges. A left hook next and she blocks, countering with her own punch, knuckles connected with it’s padded head. That first strike knocks it off balance enough to land two more, the bot stopping in defeat. Easy enough, maybe Coach Fred put it in easy mode?

“You got one helluva punch there, champ. Ever thought of monetizing it? I can arrange a fight or two. Whaddaya say?” The former coach asks her, sitting down on a bench.

She’s not so sure, most of her combat skills being focused on killing opponents and getting the drop stealthily. She can hold her own, but fighting a gangoon on the street where only one of them is going to walk away from it is different from a controlled fight with rules. Sparring with Jackie and the odd training session with Fred or Vik her only experience in boxing. But… money is money. She can give it a shot, go low stakes on the first one, she does well keep going. If she blunders it, no big loss.

“You arrange fights still?”

“Mmhmm and I think you got a knack for this, You've got sharp instinct, good edge. You can go far, especially if you get chipped. These fights… let's just say they aren't legal. Buuut… very lucrative.”

“And you get a cut, I assume.”

“I get a small percentage of the total winnings, you know, as your agent. You get the rest.”

“Of course, I’ll consider it, zip me the details of the first fight.”

“Like I said, good instinct.”

V rolls her eyes and continues through the service floor with a wave bye, passing by a Fuyutsuki and someone spray painting a cement wall. The bright neon red of the Second Amendment gun shop sign bathes the end of the services floor, just across from the elevator.

“V!” Wilson calls out and by god, why’d she turn on her hearing aids, “got some sweet new .45’s in, come take a look!”

“Can’t right now, in a rush, when I get back, promise!” She signs quickly, uses her elbow to jam the call elevator button.

It thankfully reaches her floor fairly quickly, allowing her to wave a quick bye to the older man, and stepping inside. There’s a slight relief as the doors close and she hits the floor she needs, the elevator carriage rocking into movement. While the screens still play advertisements, it's one sound, instead of a hundred. She uses some more lip balm, vanilla flavor on her lips and the sweet smell hitting her nose.

She adjusts the volume slightly on her hearing aids, lowering it just a bit more as the elevator comes to a stop. While not technically a services floor, the front entrance of the building is nearly as bad. There are at least ten or more restaurant stands in that area, V walking past everyone trying to sell her a burger or hot dog.

The sunlight hits her as she walks down the stairs that lead to her building and she spots Jackie, well his back. He’s sitting at a food stand that’s a very short walk from the building, because there certainly is not enough inside of the building. He’s got his face buried in a takeout box of synth-beef chow mein, not even noticing as V creeps up on him.

V’s nearly at his back and the street vendor raises an eyebrow, no doubt wondering if his customer is about to be robbed. Then she’s jumping to throw her arms around Jackie’s neck in a mock headlock, more so just hanging off the giant’s back.

“And its V with the headlock~” She jokes, voice low in his ear and he laughs. His chuckle making his chest vibrate and she can feel it.

“Someone’s feeling better,” he comments as she detangles from his back, “you, get your beauty sleep or…?”

He waggles his eyebrows at her as she climbs up onto the seat next to him, swinging a foot out to kick him. Her boot just bouncing back off his shin.

“I don’t kiss and tell, Jackie, you know that,” she signs and rolls her eyes, red flushing up her cheeks at the thought of giving details.

“Yeah, I just like seeing your face go that shade of pink, hehe.”

“I swear to god if your big news was just an excuse to give me shit.”

“Nah nah, got something to show you, first, chica.” Jackie grins ear to ear, like the cat that ate the canary. He tosses his trash into a bin and smacks her shoulder to follow him, bouncing like a kid on their way to the christmas tree.

“I’m already terrified,” she taunts as she hops down and follows him to a curb, a motorcycle parked there.

It's an Arch Nazare, slightly older model but not ancient by any stretch. From the sideview, the detailing is slick. Black with red branding and detailing, the exhaust and some pipework a bright gold color. The gold’s a little gaudy for her liking, But, she sideyes Jackie. His favorite red and black jacket, heavy gold jewelry bouncing on his chest. Gonk probably sunk more into the paint job then he did the actual bike. She can’t help but chuckle and when he proudly leans against the bike, his grin ear to ear, megawatt and shining brighter than the sun. When she peeks at the top detailing she can see a Calavara style skull decal on the dash. It screams Jackie.

“What’cha think, jaina?”

“It's beautiful and very you; how’d you manage to score a ride like that? Custom paint job too, I presume. Must have cost a pretty penny.”

“Muy peque, took out a loan , but ah, totally worth it. Got her on the cheap actually, Dorsett job dividend.”

“You already blew your cash from that job?”

“Someday you’re gonna have to actually spend your money and live a little, V, you know that?”

“Nothing wrong with saving back for something nicer down the road,” she retorts, thinking of her little jar of cash in the storage space beneath her bed. She’s been trying to take so much from every payday aside to save.

“And uh, what are you saving for again?”

“....a Kusanagi...or a Projectile Launcher...or a bigger apartment...or…”

“You’re stockpiling cash and you don’t even know what for, chica,” he laughs at her indecision, her ultimate splurge item she’s saving for changes weekly, “look, check this out.”

He straddles the motorcycle and turns the ignition, the Arch roaring to life and it’s… loud and rumbly, not even remotely subtle. She can picture it now, him showing up to a gig on it and getting blasted to pieces immediately.

“No, V, don’t,” he cuts the engine, pointing a finger at her from where he sits on the motorcycle.

“What?”

“Don’t make that face at me!”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you’re about to piss all over my parade.”

“I do not piss on your parade.”

“You do and you’re about to do it right now, I know you V, you got a billion thoughts rattling around that skull of yours and not one of them is good.”

“All I was going to say…”

“Mmhmm.”

“Is, you should maybe consider swapping out the tailpipe.”

“It’s got a rumble, the chicas love that.”

“It’s got a rumble that tells every gangoon within a twenty mile radius that you’re coming their way.”

“Fair enough.”

“And… you should probably tinker with the fuel injection too, upload a new map, and slap on some thermal tape until you fix the exhaust.”

“V!”

She folds her hands on his shoulder, then balances her chin on top of them, giving him puppy dog eyes. He’s huffy, not meeting her gaze. V knows damn well her tendency to be a buzzkill, especially in comparison to Jackie. Its a bad habit that always leaves her feeling guilty, but also an impulse, because...if she isn’t prepared for worst case scenarios...that’s death.

“But I am really happy for you, it's a gorgeous ride and you look like a total badass on it.” She whispers, close enough that only Jackie can hear, hoping the honey sweet words will make him feel better. And she can see the smile pulling at his lips, that soon becomes that big grin she loves as he finally meets her gaze.

“Okay, okay, your buzzkilling is forgiven. You can stop blowing wind up my ass.”

“Hehe,” her face drops with realization, “Jackie, where’s my car?”

“Oh, uh, I dropped it off to my guy, Miguel. Fixed it up like new, you can call it whenever you want. But I figured, you’d rather grab a ride on this baby.”

“Ooooh, hell yeah.”

“C’mon, was planning on stopping by Misty’s, lets go.”

That’s all the provocation V needs, hopping onto the back of the Arch. The backseat space is limited, Jackie taking up the vast majority of the seat. But she slips behind him easily, wrapping her arms around his stomach. Her hands can’t quite fully meet around him, having to just tangle her fingers in the front of his jacket. Then the engine comes roaring to life, Jackie taking off from the curb.

She can’t help but laugh, Jackie not holding back as they go speeding down the city roads. He blasts the radio, blaring a song she doesn't know from the bike's speaker, mingling with Jackie's laughter and the wind whipping around them.

But it's not overwhelming, not too much, never could be with Jackie.

They weave through traffic, riding on the middle lane and not letting anything stop them as they pick up more and more speed. She’s pressed tight against his back, leeching off his warmth as the wind manages to send a little chill up her spine. Her cheeks ache from grinning as they cruise over a hill in the highway, catching air for a moment, her entire body bouncing when the bike hits the road again. If not for her tight hold on his jacket, she might have gone flying which only makes her laugh harder.

He doesn't slow down until they start to reach the stretch of city where Misty's store and Vik's clinic are, Jackie slowly pulling up onto a curb to park. Their bodies shifting forward at the stop, V’s chest pressing even closer into Jackie’s back for a moment.

"Joyrides over, jaina," he says, playfully tapping her hand where it sits on his stomach.

She lets go, allowing her friend to pull away and get off the motorcycle. His body language starts to shift, as he stands in front of her, looking off somewhere else. He takes a deep enough breath that she can see his chest move with it, then he crosses his arms and kicks at the pavement.

"She's a smooth ride," V signs to him, swinging her legs over the side of the bike so she can face him directly. Is he second guessing his decision? She didn't mean to make him feel bad about the choice.

"Uh," Jackie scratches at the back of his neck, "remember what I said, about having big news?"

"Is..the Arch not the big news?" She asks, pulling a leg up onto the motorcycle and resting an elbow on her knee.

"Ah nah, I'm proud of it, but this...chica, is so much bigger than that.”

"Okay...you wanna tell me or…?"

"Got a sweet ass j-o-b lined up for us; you, me, and Bug."

"I get the feeling this is different from our usual gig.”

“I mean, maybe it's not as big as that,” he puts his hands on his hips and shrugs, trying to play coy with his news, “Just that it's fronted by a little-known someone named Dexter DeShawn.”

“What!?”

“Only the top fixer in Night-fuckin'-City! Fat-assed Black Jesus of the Afterlife. Three hundred pounds of partly gold-plated cool.”

Dex Deshawn is one of Night City’s best, a fixer known for working in the Afterlife club, where the best jobs and contracts are done. Two baby mercs like her and Jackie couldn’t dream to set foot in the place, still cutting their teeth and making their name. Hell, Dex hasn’t even been active in NC for two years and V’s still heard of him, leaving that much of a mark on the city. But, she chews the inside of her cheek.

“He’s back in the city?” She asks first, wanting as much detail as possible.

“Yeah, gang wars two years back. Somehow Dex got caught up in the craziness. Lotta bodies lyin' in the streets by the time the shootin' stopped. Eh, Dex got lucky, though. Managed to slip under the radar tir tempers cooled. Took a while… but he's made one hell of a comeback.”

“Two years is a hell of a break, the fuck was he doing?”

“Ah, guessin' he shoved pizzas in his mouth while jerkin' off to hardcore virtus. Important thing is he's back, needs a fresh crew and he found us.”

If he’s made such a comeback and is still that high up in the underground world, why would Dex come to them? They’ve been steadily building themselves up over the past six months sure, a solid network of fixers who work with them and a reputation for clean work. But, they still aren’t legends, not major league players. V isn’t even chipped much beyond the basics. People like Dex have a black book of borged out solos with corp money funding them, that can do basically anything they can do but better and quicker.

Only difference is, they’d be cheaper. So, unless he’s looking to exploit them for some rinky dink shit job…

“Okay,” she signs, deciding to just ask, “but why the hell would he be scouting us? You and me ain’t exactly major leagues yet.”

“You, me - nah. But T-Bug, she's the one that hooked us up, got us talkin’ knew it was a done deal the moment he laid eyes on me. 'Cause, c'mon - ain't nobody who can resist this. Am I right?”

“Wait, when? Where the fuck was I?”

“Uhhh, probably in the sheets with Cece, if I had to guess.”

“You said you had a date with Misty last night!?”

“I did, didn’t I.”

“What the fuck, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Dex is big on meeting his crew members one on one. Wanted to get a read on me, without anyone else around. No point in getting you excited until he was sold on me."

“Okay, fine,” she rolls her eyes, she would have appreciated a heads up, but there’s worse tragedies, “So, what’s the gig? He give you the specs?”

“Well, that's the thing, you see. Our lord and savior wants to tell you everything himself. Face to face, have your turn in the hot seat.”

“Oh, okay… how’d it go with you and Bug?” She can’t help the nerves suddenly bubbling up inside of her. V has to meet one of Night City’s top fixers, convince him she’s worth hiring. That’s only vaguely terrifying.

“Eh, not that bad, but… T-Bug and Dex go way back. And my face is yesterday's news, you’re the wild card here. Dex says he needs to check you, talk to you No pressure, but the whole thing is riding on you at this point.”

“Yeah, no pressure.”

“Ain’t as bad as you think, okay? Trust me. Dex is the real deal when it comes to fixers. Don't get me wrong, don't got nothin' against the Padre or Wakako, but… Dex is in a league of his own You know what I'm sayin'?”

“Still a fixer, may just be roping in the cheapest gonks he can find, so he can drop our corpses in the landfill once everything is said and done.”

“Hey now,” his tone dipping a little lower than usual, “didn’t pull you out of the trash just to see someone to throw you back in, mija.”

She doesn’t miss the softness in his eyes, the hazel green looking at her so affectionately, then his large warm hand ruffles through her hair, bringing that tinge of red back to her cheeks. Mija is a rare term of endearment from him, just that bit more familiar and sweet than his usual chica or jaina. As much as she worries, she knows if anything does go sideways, Jackie will be there to help her.

“I know that, Jackie,” she signs, then jabs his stomach, trying to dispel the tender mood, she searches for a topic switch,“so, when's the meet with Dex?”

"Uhh...now."

"What?"

"Just around the corner, next to Gramsci Burgers, he's waiting on you."

"What!?" She blinks, in disbelief. V has to meet him, today, now. Completely unprepared. Has Jackie lost his goddamn mind?

"Time sensitive stuff, V, we gotta get this ball rolling, and quick.”

“And you couldn’t have said any of this before?”

“No worries, you’ll be fine, I’m gonna go pop in to see Misty,” he points his thumb back over his shoulder, “while you talk us up and seal the deal, alright?”

“Not alright, none of this is alright.”

“You got this, chica, just make us look good.” With a heavy clap on her shoulder, he starts to walk away. Fucker.

“I’ll key your fucking bike!” She signs, upping the volume on her translator.

“Love you too, jaina, text me when you’re done!~” He yells back, knowing her threat is an empty one.

Then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd around the storefronts. V groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. Why on earth does she let him do this shit? A heads up, that’s all she asks for. Now, she has a meeting with one of the most influential fixers in Night City, with no idea of what to say or how to handle it. Make them look good, how the hell does she do that? He’s a loud mouth and she’s deaf, they sound more like a sitcom duo than a competent pair of mercs.

V shuts off her choker translator and gets her mask from her bag, sliding it onto her face and putting her hood up. The young merc climbs down from Jackie’s bike, leaving the dusty boot print on the seat, a little bit of petty rearing its head. She wrings and twists her hands together as she walks towards Gramsci’s Burgers, boots stomping across trash strewn pavement. She passes by hot pink tinted windows in buildings with strippers dancing to entice passerbys, a large open alleyway where a few groups of homeless people cluster in together.

The merc keeps her head down as she passes a skirmish between a group of Tyger Claws and the NCPD, a blood bath beneath an overpass. Between pigs or tigers; she has no preference. Not her fight. The sound of an emp grenade being thrown, pushes the merc to change the side of the street she walks on, she’s gotten used to the violence of Night City before the smell.

Shaded beneath a cement overpass is a sleek black limousine; Chevillion Thrax 388 Jefferson. An expensive well armored vehicle, one that certainly suits a man of Dex’s status. If the car itself was not enough protection the six foot seven bodyguard standing outside the rear doors tops it off. A portion of his face silver plated and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She takes a few steps closer when the large stoic mass of a man sees her. He says nothing, only opening the rear door.

V swallows the lump in her throat and adjusts her mask; nerves pit in her stomach, a chilled sweat on her skin that doesn’t come from the August heat.

The smoke hits her first when she starts to climb inside the car, despite the open windows and door, choking her through her mask. If it were anyone other than Night City’s top fixer, she’d already be gone. Instead she sits in the leather seats, sitting next to Dex. While crude, Jackie’s description was apt.

Dex Deshawn is a large man; dark dreadlocks and a rounded belly. He puffs away on a cigar, his right arm gold from the elbow down. The fixer and Jackie have similar tastes in colors it seems; red, black, and gold. Gold cyberware, a gold watch, and gold chains all adorn the fixer. Red leather vest over a black shirt and red tinted sunglasses hiding his eyes. The guard shuts the car door.

“Miss V, masked merc herself. A pleasure,” he greets her, his voice deep and smooth. His bodyguard is moving to get into the driver's seat.

“Happy to meet you,” she signs and she can see a little twitch in his eyebrow, as her tech translates. Its unorthodox.

“Weren’t joking ‘bout you; no face, no name, and no voice,” he chuckles, seemingly amused at her quirks before speaking to the driver, “let's roll.”

A beat of silence, V’s mind already spinning at those words. Jackie is incredibly excited for this gig, she’d hate to be the reason it tanks, not to mention it’s a great chance for her too. A chance into the major leagues, to really prove herself and make bank doing it. But if Dex is… put off by her secretive tendencies and unorthodox presentation, that could spell disaster.

“Mind if I ask you something right off the bangle?” Dex’s voice pulls her back from her thoughts, the car moving as the fixer switches his cigar from gold fingers to flesh ones.

“Go for it.”

“Would you rather live in peace as Miss Nobody, die ripe, old and smelling slightly of urine? Or go down for all times in a blaze of glory, smellin' near like posies, 'thout seeing your thirtieth?”

The question takes her aback for a moment and the gears in her head start to turn. Honestly, she never even thought she’d make it to twenty. Felt like she’s been living on borrowed time ever since she was a kid; the first press of iron against her skull from her own father at nine. There are corpos pushing two-hundred and she can’t comprehend living beyond thirty. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t want a long, happy life. But, it’s never seemed like an option. She doesn’t necessarily want to die young, it just seems inevitable, but she can’t say she truly cares if she dies old either.

“Quiet life was never on the table for me. But, truth is, no matter the lifestyle you live, we’re all one stroke of bad luck away from death.”

“That so?”

“Look, I’ve been dodging death all my life. Been shot, beat, stabbed, hacked, strangled; you name it, someone’s done it to me. More close calls than I can count. And I’m still sitting here. This girl used to live with her sister, just a few floors above mine. Then she caught a stray bullet coming home from the gas station. Went to buy a snack and a gang fight broke out. She wasn’t in a gang, wasn’t a merc, just a nineteen year old kid who’d chat my ear off about how she wanted to have her own bakery one day. So, why did I make it to twenty and she didn’t? “

Death doesn’t discriminate and it doesn’t care what kind of life you’re trying to live. Its nipped at her heel all of her life, but hasn’t taken her and won’t until it’s damn ready. What’s the point in hypothesizing whether her life will kill her sooner or if she’d live longer if she settled down; neither are a guarantee of anything. She might as well live her life how she sees fit, hit the major leagues, and death will strike her whenever it sees fit. V has watched and heard so many tales of those in her megabuilding, good people, better than her… losing their lives for no good reason. Because there is none; no logic to suffering, no rhyme nor reason to why or when death takes us.

“Jackie did say you think too much,” Dex laughs, “though maybe he just doesn’t think enough.”

“Not the answer you wanted?”

“No right answer, just a pet topic of mine, helps get a read on people. T-Bug voted for the quiet life, been planning her retirement for years. Jackster went blaze of glory, no shock there. And then there’s you, throwing the whole damn question out.”

“Someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”

“Maybe so.”

There’s something in his slight grin, his tone, and smooth voice that tells her this is going well. That somehow, she hasn’t fucked this entire thing up, yet, emphasis on yet. Her hands itch to fiddle with her shirt, no longer signing and needing to keep busy. But she stifles that instinct, forces her leg to not bounce with nerves.

“A’ight,” Dex speaks up after a moment, “listen close. Scannin' a serious job, now. Plain gargantuan compared to smashin' up a scav haunt.”

So, she’s gotten the gig? Don’t act excited, she tells herself, exited puppy merc is not a good look.

“What’s the job?” Moments like this she’s so glad she’s nonverbal, her throat feels like sandpaper. Her palms sweaty as she signs.

“There's this… prototype tech - a biochip, to be precise. Job’s to grab it. Simple.”

“Simple, sure… Assuming the tech belongs to a corp?” It has to be something big for Dex to be scouting for it.

“Mhm - Arasaka. Surely that's no problem?” His brow raises above his glasses.

“Course not, corps fuck us over everyday, be a crying shame not to return the favor every now and again.”

“Shit, you ain’t playing around. Got a feelin' this could be a start of a beautiful friendship built on heaps of eddies.”

“One step at a time, you got some sort of plan for grabbing this chip?”

“Two things,” he holds up two gold plated fingers, “First's a conundrum with the Maelstrom boys. Needs active resolvin', that. Second's a rendezvous. Simple. Client who brought us the job's anxious. She wants to parley with one o' the team.”

V’s face scrunches; why would the client need to meet? Its unusual to say the least, clients don’t usually meet the mercs directly. That’s the entire point of a fixer, a middle man to get them in touch and keep the deal fair. They’ve already got in touch with the fixer and arranged the gig. The hell else do they need?

“What’s the client’s deal? Why she need to meet?”

“Woman's name's Evelyn Parker. Vettin' her wasn't easy. Put the word out was lookin' for any kinda intel…”

The merc rolls her fingers, when Dex’s words drop off, encouraging him to explain further.

“Some brothers from Pacifica got back to me. Tol' me to stop lookin', end of convo, heheh. Anyway, our lil client insisted on meetin' someone with skin in the game - you know, who'll be there for it all. Yours truly'll be remote, T-Bug ain't no people person, and Jackie's only good at some things - I know you know what I mean. Pretty much leaves you.”

“Because I’m sure being unable to see my face or hear my voice will put her right at ease, I’m sure.”

“Ain’t there to give her the warm fuzzies, Miss V. She needs to know I sent a solid merc who does solid work.”

She both gets it and doesn’t. Jackie is the most sociable of their little motley crew, but he can be hard to take seriously, coming across as a bit more goofy. Its not a dig, she loves that about him. But, if you’re trying to convince a client you’ve gotten the best mercs for a job it can be a detriment. T-Bug tends to make people, especially strangers, feel downright insulted. So, V supposes she presents as a middle ground. Serious, yet vaguely off putting in her presentation, but competent and she won’t call the client an idiot even if they are.

“Understood, whats the deal with Maelstrom?”

“Slot in the shard,” he explains, getting a shard from the door compartment, holding it out to her. She takes it and slots into her mask, the interface suddenly clouded with a map and UI interface.

“Got a classic tale for ya. Psychogang, doin' its thing two weeks back jumped a Militech convoy, got away with the gear. Corp don't even know Maelstrom's involved. Now see, convoy was carryin' the Flathead - a little combat bot, a prototype. And I need me that bit o' high-grade military tech. 'Cause if we don't get that bot, we don't get no 'Saka chip. An' we sure as hell don't get no happily ever after. But don't get excited, it's a single-use toy.”

The images shift to show her the bot and its details, it reminds her of a spider. A flat metal base with spindly legs from its sides. The serial coding of the tech comes up.

“Now, I flat out purchased the damn thing from Maelstrom. Problem is, I did so from a gent went by the name of Brick. I say "went" 'cause Brick was the leader. Three days after we'd sealed our deal, his friend and gangmate, one Simon Randall, AKA Royce, plain dropped his ass. Royce is in charge now.”

The interface shows Brick; his actual name Declan Griffin. He has the pretty standard Maelstrom look, more metal than flesh. Glowing red optics implanted into his face, sandy hair shaved on the sides. Then it switches to Royce; no less decked out, but bigger and wider built. His head completely shaved with a thick dark beard; his red eye optics seeming to go further back, like his entire frontal lobe might be gone. Standard Maelstrom attitude; scrap out the flesh that matters, switch it out with chrome and damned the consequences.

“ And I got no way of knowin' if he aims to honor his predecessor's word. To add to this ‘shitstrom,’ one Meredith Stout of Millitech has developed an interest in said convoy.”

A woman pulls onto the screen, long blonde hair slicked back off of her face, icy colored eyes and dressed in tight black corp clothes. Sharp facial features and cyberware around her left eye. Standard corp look. The shard deactivates, nothing more to show, the world comes back to her view.

“New leader, what’s his deal?”

“Straight psychopath- chrome-lovin' kind.”

“And the skirt?”

“Corpo agent, internal affairs, Been skittin' 'round town askin' after the convoy as if her life depended on findin' it. The one lead she got's zip-tied in her trunk. Stick up her ass ain't growin' any shorter, so she must be gettin' desperate. Be wise to think how you could use that,” he smirks, “ ‘Course, to do so you'll need that frazzled cat's info. Sendin’ it now.”

V’s holophone lights up, as Dex’s optics glow beyond his glasses, him sending her the contact information. She’s not entirely sure if and how she’d use the Militech angle.

“Okay, think I got everything I need to get to work.”

“Why that's just music to my ears. I'll set up the meet with Miss Parker at Lizzie's Bar. Flathead, though, is gonna be all you.”

They both go quiet for a moment, V thinking as Dex continues to puff away on his cigar. Dex seems to approve of her, going ahead and giving her the prep work, but this opportunity could still be lost. If the client doesn’t approve or the Maelstrom debacle goes sour. This isn't a done deal, not yet. But she got through step one, which feels herculean. But something is still nagging at her.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Something I wasn’t clear on?”

“Why us, me and Jackie? T-Bug I get, but why me and him?”

“Think I’d be better off looking elsewhere?”

“No, no, I ju-”

“Chill, I’m just teasing, Miss V. I get it, really, not even a year in the city, right?”

“Yeah…”

“As far you’re concerned you’ve barely cut your teeth, right? Wondering why I’m scouting someone out who’s still in merc diaper?”

“About sums it up.”

He’s laughing again, seeming to find her confusion funny, or maybe there’s a joke she’s missing. But that doesn’t make the knot in her stomach go down any easier.

“Talent don’t always recognize itself, I suppose,” he laughs, “thing is I took a break from the city for a good two years and its left me with… a bit of appetite. Wanted to scout a fresh team. New Bug from before and I heard Jackie name around before I took my leave, just in passing not a merc you’d look twice at. Heywood boy with some messy work.”

“Hmm,” she hums behind her mask, hoping this isn’t going to be Dex shit talking Jackie.

“Nothing against the cat, I know you’re chooms, but when I get back to NC and start looking for talent; well turns out Bug is working with Jackie on the regular. Ask her what’s changed, tells me he got himself a new partner. Skilled merc who’s helping him out; stealthy, effective, and damned good at what she does. Bug don’t give out compliments like candy. Ask around a little more, well, damn near every fixer’s got something to say about Jackie and his newest partner Miss V. Six months and she’s more talked about than some mercs who’ve been doing this for years.”

“I don’t know about all that.”

“Believe it or not, I got a couple years on you, Miss V,” he jokes, “so trust me, I know talent when I see it.”

“Thanks.”

Silence falls back over the car ride, V taking in what he’s said. He’s blowing smoke, he has to be, she’s not anything special or talented. She just does a job like anyone else. Maybe Bug’s word does mean a lot, but V still can’t say she’s doing anything more than anyone else.

“One more thing, Miss. V,” Dex says as the car takes a turn, “Quiet life or blaze o' glory?”

She can’t say she has a more concrete answer, still not confident she prefers one to the other. V can’t imagine herself doing anything else, she’s not cut out for it. But, doesn’t mean there aren’t parts of that life she doesn’t crave. Stability, security, and eventually settling down; doesn’t sound too bad. She finds herself thinking of Jackie and Misty. Despite Jackie wanting the blaze of glory, she knows he talks about marrying Misty and having kids one day. His life no more quiet than hers, but he still has plans of becoming a husband and father…

The car starts to slow, pulling up to the curb around Kabuki Market, construction work scaffolding lining a space between two buildings.

“Later, now,” Dex gives a short farewell as the car stops and V gets out of the limo, scuffing her boots across the pavement. The limousine pulls away, leaving V alone on the sidewalk. An empt

She tugs her holophone from her pocket, pulling up Jackie’s contact. The first ring barely starts before he’s answering; his face in a video call panel in her mask’s optics. There’s no doubt in her mind that he’s been messed up with anticipation.

“Just got done chatting with our new fixer.”

“Heheh. Gordito's a big deal - literally and not, yeah?”

“Intense, but guess I faired alright, wants us to klep some tech, but we got prepwork first.There's this combat bot, military prototype. Maelstrom grabbed it. He paid to take it off their hands and then they had a switch in management.”

“Right, right, heard about that. Royce versus Brick - hostile takeover.” Jackie’s tone is terse, uneasy. Valentinos and Maelstrom have a history, while Jackie might have left the Heywood gang, it doesn’t mean that history is suddenly gone.

“Yeah, we got to talk to the new guy, Also gave some details of a Militech agent, in case we could use her to get what we want.”

“Ehhh, I don’t know about that, chica. Militech’s more likely to cut you throat than cut you a deal.”

“Not a fan of getting the corp involved either, but I sincerely doubt they’ll just hand it over. And I really don’t want to have to spend eddies on a tech he already bought.”

“It’s your call V, but I say keep the corpos sidelined.”

“Well, then there’s the other thing. Client who puts the job on the job wants to meet with me.”

“What? Why?”

“Apparently, she’s intent on meeting someone who will be there directly, I got the go ahead.”

“The fuck is Dex gonna do? Ride around in his limo, chat chicks up on the holo?”

“Hey, said it yourself, his job means his rules.”

“Must know what he's doin'… So, how you wanna play this? Maelstrom or Client, what's first?

“Client, she’s the one putting the job on the table. If she doesn’t give us the nod, then there’s no point in risking our neck with Maelstrom.”

“Orale, In that case, I'll head to All Foods, put my nose to the ground, sniff around. Hasta luego.”

Jackie hangs up and V sucks in a heavy breath; checking the time on her holophone. It’s five, an hour until six which is when Lizzie’s opens up. That alone seems like, an interesting choice on the client’s behalf. A braindance club run by the Mox, one of the only gangs V can say she genuinely likes. It’s made up of mostly sex workers who defend other sex workers. The club is mostly used for people to get braindances of the sex workers; but there’s a bar and dancefloor as well. V and Jackie have been there on gigs before. Not a bad little joint, but she has to wonder if this means the client is a Mox, a joytoy trying to rob Arasaka blind?

Speculation will get her nowhere, she decides, rubbing her face under her mask. She has some time and she’s not far from where T-Bug said she should pick up her little gift. A layered roof store on the top of two floored structure across the street, a bridge over the road leading her to it. Having to find a stairway outside the marketplace that loops around to the bridge.

T-Bug sent her to a dark little netrunning shop where a girl wearing dark glasses works at the desk. The exchange doesn’t take long, T-Bug had the clerk save back a Ping quickhack. A fairly basic little daemon that works with V’s mask, contacts, and internal cyberdeck. The clerk lets her play with it, pinging their security camera. Then V’s finding herself leaving the store with barely five minutes killed.

She fiddles with her phone, considering the Militech woman’s contact. Jackie’s right, not that she needed the reminder that corps are a fucking nightmare. But, the truth is she doesn’t truly know what the hell to do about Maelstrom. They need the bot; Dex made that clear. But the chrome loving gangoons don't really like to honor their deals, they’d sooner carve out V’s tongue and replace it with a cyber one just to see what happens. They’re going to expect Jackie and V to pay again. Or they’ll expect a war. And starting a war with a gang, on their turf, while they’re fresh off robbing a Militech convoy… Its a death sentence.

Fuck it, won’t hurt just to meet with the corpo, see if it gives her any ideas. V’s smart enough to handle herself against any corpo bullshit, she decides. Sorry Jackie. She presses the contact and rings Meredith Stout. In a short moment, the corpo woman’s image is in the video call panel. She looks just as she did in the shard, black formal clothes, slicked blonde hair; though the video panel has a layer of smoke as she puffs away on a cigarette.

“Stout here. Start by telling me how you got this number,” she says, a cold sharp tone and it sounds like there's a man groaning, struggling somewhere out of view.

“Little birdy told me you lost a convoy,” V teases, and can see Stout’s expression draw tight, brows furrowed. Then theres another groan, louder and sharper.

“You! Shut him up!” a smack rings out, “Spill what you know. Don't make me wait.”

“Not over the phone, meet me in person and we’ll cut a deal.”

“A deal… Fine. First exit off Skyline driving towards the NID. Storm channel under the overpass - meet you there.”

It’s still not that far away, roughly a five minute drive through China Town and up to Northside. Balls deep in Maelstrom territory; meaning Militech must already have an idea of who’s stole their shit. Not that they truly need the tech back, the militarized corp could lose a few hundred tanks and not see a dent in their bottom line. But pride or something.

She calls her car from her holophone when she reaches the road, her car pulling next to her in just a few moments. V climbs into her car and cringes when the radio turns on as soon as she starts the engine, Jackie’s station of choice coming on. She flips it off and drives, watching as Night City somehow manages to get worse as she gets closer to the meeting spot. Northside, use to be a hub of jobs and opportunity, now its just abandoned buildings covered in Maelstrom graffiti. V would call it the bad part of Night City, if not for every other part of Night City. But it is the biggest eyesore. Hell, Pacifica is a crime infested mess, but at least your mugging will have an ocean view.

V doesn’t go all the way down below the overpass, choosing not to meet them directly and immediately by going through the tunnel. Instead, she takes a left near Charter Street, going up towards the top of the overpass. She stops as the road is cut off by rickety metal gating, a homeless man passing through. V parks and walks through, there’s a bridge that crosses over the storm channel and she drops to a crouch as she walks over it. Getting a look at what waits for her below.

A Chevillion Ragnar Militech van; painted sleek black and armored beyond comprehension. Three people; two muscular guards and Meredith. The guards are chipped to hell and back; intensive cyberware. Something to be expected of any Militech employees, especially ones hired for muscle. There’s a small, childish, urge to hop down and surprise them. But that very well could end with her being shot. Instead, she behaves, makes sure her gun is loaded, and takes the stairs down; ill maintained metal steps with chipping yellow paint.

“Look lively!” Meredith calls out to her men as she catches sight of V, her expression nearly wrinkled with disgust at the sight of the masked merc, but extends her hand, “Meredith Stout. Take it you were the one to call.”

“That’s me,” V starts to sign with one hand and goes to shake the corpos hand with her other.

Then a fist collides the side of her head, quick, heavy it shoots pain through her skull. She’s knocked to the side, falling to the ground, stars dance in her vision. She fumbles to get her knife and stand up, but the guard is quicker, grabbing her wrists and yanking her up to her feet, just to wrench her hands behind her back. He’s easily over a foot taller, able to pull the small merc around and hold both wrists in one hand. Holding V back as Meredith draws closer, gloved hands reaching out and ripping the merc’s mask off, revealing the glowering blonde behind it.

“Thought you could blackmail me, bitch!” Meredith pushes her fingers into V’s hair, then yanking and tugging the merc’s head to the side as the guard shoves a jack into her neural port, “Set conditions?! Got any more for me?!”

V spits in Meredith’s face, her skull is white hot with pain between the yank of her hair and the punch. She can’t help but grin, watching her spit stick to to the corpo’s skin. Meredith lets go of V’s hair; reeling her hand back then smacking her across the face, sharp and strong enough to make the merc’s head move. Meanwhile the guard does god knows what, without her mask or contacts, V has no optic interface to tell her what’s being done; what the Militech goon could be doing.

The van doors open for a second behind Meredith, the other guard yanking a man out of it at gunpoint. A small, weasley guy in a suit with a face bruised black and blue.

“Christ Meredith!” He yells out.

“Shut your trap!” she looks at the guard holding V, “That fucking thing ready?

“All set.”

Leather clad fingers dig into V’s chin, Meredith forcing her head up, no doubt leaving bruises across the merc’s face, “Now answer my questions. Honestly. Forthrightly. Are you here alone?”

“I use ASL,” V forces herself to growl out, blood boiling. Who the fuck does this cunt think she is? Not only has V’s comfort of anonymity been ripped away, but her preferred form of communication is too.

“Sounds like you speak English just fine to me, now answer my fucking question, are you here alone!?”

“Yes. You crazy fuckin’ cunt, I’m here alone!”

“Its the truth,” the guard says, a fucking lie detector, of course.

“Do a sweep, now,” Meredith commands and a silver drone leaves the back of the van.

“Now listen close. This piece of shit,” she looks at her other captive, “Anthony Gilchrist is he your contact? Is he the one who leaked intel on the convoy?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!”

“You answer to me bitch, Anthony Gilchrist!”

“Got no fuckin’ clue who he is or why I’m suppose to give a shit!”

“Checks out,” the guard tells Meredith.

“Came here cause I know who jacked the convoy, where the tech is.”

“Hmmm,” Meredith hums.

“I told you, I fucking told you, I’m not the mole!” Anthony screams out.

“Shut him up!”

“Unhand me now before I-- ungh!” Without another word Anthony is shoved back into the van.

“Her, you can let go. I wanna hear what she has to say.”

The guard rips the jack out from her neuroport and lets go of her wrists. The skin is bruises she notices as she grabs her mask off the ground, the snaps thankfully not broken as she slides it back on, tension in her shoulders easily only slightly with her face covered and arms free.

“We’re a little beyond that now, don’t you think,” Meredith remarks snidely, rolling her eyes.

“Fuck you,” V signs first thing.

“Stop wasting my god damn time, what do you want?”

“Gang has your tech, given where we are, I assume you know which one. All I want is one combat bot from it, thought we could help each out, but I’m not so sure.”

“Hmm, you have a plan of how to deal with them?”

“They’re expecting payment, but I don’t have the eddies laying around.”

“Course you don’t,” Meredith quips and V rolls her eyes.

“So, without cash, the option is to take it by force.”

“You’ll pay, but with our money.”

Meredith holds out a credchip shard, little chips that hold a certain amount of cash on them. V chews the inside of her cheek, looking at the green shard held in a gloved hand, it seems too good to be true. Because it certainly is. But, she takes the credchip.

“You pay with that chip, and that's all you gotta worry about. Try to fuck me in any way, and I'll be seeing you real soon,” Meredith delivers a final threat before climbing into the van, her last guard clambering into the drivers seat.

“You're making a mistake,” Anthony screams from inside the van as it takes off “This cunt's already good as dead! And she'll take you down with her!”

And then they’re gone; V left with a bruised face, a tender scalp, and a credchip in her hands. Jackie was right, she’s sure, god knows aligning with corps isn’t her way of doing things. There’s no way in hell, a Militech rep is just going to hand off ten grand without a plan.

V takes quick and steady steps back up the stairs and she sees it as she gets above the storm channel. The Militech drone, still hovering. Following her, tracking her. Her hands on her pistol in the next second, promptly shooting the drone down in sputtering sparks. Meredith can fuck off if she thinks V is just going to lead them to the Maelstrom hideout.

The assault and interaction bit up a chunk of time, so she climbs back into her car, time to meet the client. Anxiety pitted tight in her gut as she drives back down the Night City roads.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #jackie welles #meredith stout #johnny silverhand #silverv #eventually #aidan becker #aidan v becker #female v #can you feel the sun?

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