Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The old Japanese woman sitting behind the dark oak desk held the key to Vincent Guerra's evening activities in her skull. She wore the same blend of neo-kitsch-meets-entropy clothes to work at the back of the Pachinko parlor. Tonight, it was a starched-rigid red blouse that opened from the black Nehru collar to her bellybutton, revealing the tattoos that marked her as a member of the Tyger Claws. A sharp amber glow flitted around her pupils, framed by her round glasses, as she inspected the datashard he had handed her just moments ago.

V slouched down in the cheap wood and plastic chair in her modest office. The pale wood frame and red vinyl cushions clashed with the Japanese decor, and V realized it was the only thing that had changed in the ten years he'd been working with her. The jade statues of dragons that looked so bright and vibrant when he first stepped foot inside were now dull from layers of dust. The plastic laminate over the synthwood designed to give the planks made from recycled wood pulp the illusion of 'ganic were chipped, revealing the yellowed fiber beneath.

Wakako Okada removed the shard from the port behind her right ear and stared at V over the rims of her glasses as she placed it back in the translucent red plastic case on the desk. V snapped to attention and sat up straighter. He rubbed his hands on his thighs over his dark jeans like a twitchy addict.

Because he was.

Not addicted to drugs per se, unless one counted addiction to the chemicals one's own body produces. For V, those chemicals were oxytocin, endorphins, and dopamine released during climax.

"Well?" he asked sharply.

Wakako nodded and opened a drawer in her desk. She slid the shard case inside and slammed it shut as her eyes flashed blue to transfer V's fee to him. "Contract closed. Payment in your account."

V shot up out of the chair, so eager to find his next release he nearly knocked it backward, and walked to the door.

"A word of warning, Mr. Guerra," Wakako said.

V turned in the doorway to look at her and shoved his right hand into the pocket of the brown crystaljock merc jacket with the Samurai logo emblazoned on the back he always wore. He picked at the already raw skin around his thumb. Wakako's eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips and inhaled sharply before speaking, like what she was about to say pained her. There was no softness or empathy in her eyes, not that there ever was. Whatever this "warning" was, it wasn't given out of care for V.

"Your ritual self-debasement is not going unnoticed," she started.

V opened his mouth to speak but felt like any exhalation would simply blow a puff of sand. He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed, begging his salivary glands to work so he could defend himself.

"Some free career guidance, my dear." The pet name held no love, he was not a dear grandchild, he was a disgusting smear in her office. The wrinkles around her lips deepened when she spoke next, and V thought he saw a sneer brush her upper lip. "You are too old to be doing this."

"I-", V cleared his throat, trying to gather any moisture from the ambient air, "I don't know what you're fuckin' talking about, Wako." He clenched his fist inside his jacket. Was that not what Jig-Jig Street was for? The way V saw it, he was just putting the fixer's money back in her own pocket.

"Get your shit together, V." His name was spat across her lips, like the shell of a sunflower seed carelessly dribbled onto the floor. She turned in her chair and continued a phone call he'd interrupted earlier in her native Japanese.

V shook with rage and trembled with self-hate. He stomped out of the pachinko parlor and onto the pink and blue streets of Night City's premier destination for all the sex and debauchery you could find—outside what Maelstrom or Scavs offered. And V was getting closer and closer every day to finding out just what delights the brutes had for sale because the drinking and anonymous sex just didn't fill the black hole inside his chest anymore.

He hunched his shoulders and pulled the tall collar of the jacket closer around his face. The neon blue light running along the inside of the collar for the personal temperature control blurred his peripheral vision. He liked it better that way. It made it easier to look at the working boys and girls, easier to make a selection. He didn't have to see the grim details that made him feel guilty for being a willing participant in this cycle of depraved poverty.

"Hey baby, you lookin' for some company tonight?" a girl in a pink vinyl bodysuit and holographic skirt called to V when he walked past. He stopped and looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. The blue light from his collar turned her body fuzzy, so all he saw was a thin silhouette and the hard peaks of her nipples straining against the vinyl. A transaction screen popped up on his retinal display next to her, showing how much this "company" cost.

V grunted in affirmation and transferred the hundred eddies. She took his hand, it was cold and clammy, and led him down a darkly lit alley to a wall of one-hour couples coffins. He paid an additional 50 to rent. The booth was five feet by five feet, just enough room to bend someone over or get on your knees. The woman did the latter and V placed his hand on the back of her head, stroking her glossy brown hair. He stared at the grimy off-white wall three feet in front of him covered with stickers and graffiti with the usual cynical messages of hopelessness.

V wondered how many people had actually blown their brains out in this exact room. He thought about what Johnny would say if he were here.

<Why not add yourself to that list?>

Then the rockerboy's voice blurred into V's own self-hating monologue as it always did since Johnny had been gone. "Do it you asshole. You worthless piece of shit. No one would miss you. Jackie hates you. Wakako knows what you're doing. She's probably watching you right now getting this useless blowjob from a gutterslut. Do the world a favor."

"You want me to try something else, baby?" the joytoy spoke with a cloying baby voice that made V nauseous. But it snapped him out of his depressive reverie. As he expected, he hadn't been able to get hard.

He looked down at the woman, her lips and chin shining wet in the dim yellow overhead lighting. He saw the bags under her pale blue eyes, the sores from synthcoke on her ashy face covered under pounds of the wrong color foundation. Her lips were a sickly, pale pink with a ring of red swelling around them from the fake silicone injections likely done by Fingers. His flaccid dick hung in her hand, her thumb propping the head up so she could stick it back in her mouth.

He felt nothing. No emotion, no physical sensation.

"Keep going," he mumbled and turned his attention back to the wall. The hair that looked glossy was just oily, and he felt his hands drag over the thin strands.

"Look honey, you pay for the time not the happy ending, alright?" She dropped the baby voice. He wished she hadn't. She had a scratchy, husky voice. One marred from years of drinking the worst back alley smash a Scav could brew. "I'll be down here for the whole hour if you want but won't get no fuckin' refund if you don't come."

V looked at her again. "I know," he snapped. "Keep going." The woman sighed and continued doing her best with what she had been given while V thought about every decision that led up to this point. He wished he had been home when his parents were murdered. The fucking Bar Mitzvah they scheduled but didn't even attend.

The slobbery friction became a sensory nightmare, and he put his hand on her forehead, roughly shoving her back away from him to whiny protest. He zipped up his pants and left without saying a word.

The night was hazy and still relatively young. If he didn't find something—or someone—else in the next half hour, he would just go home and run a porn BD. Except, he was so numbed to them now the illusion was gone. He knew it was his own hand touching his cock and not the pretty boy's mouth. V walked backed towards the entrance of Jig-Jig street, back towards Wakako's. His feet stuck to the pavement with every step from whatever mix of fluids, human or otherwise, were caked on the floor of the coffin. He tried averting his gaze from the Tyger Claws lining the streets lest they be the ones keeping an eye on his sins for the old hag. But the damn sticking sound suddenly felt louder in his head, it felt like it echoed. Like everyone on the street knew where he had been and what he just failed at doing.

He stalked the shadows of dead storefronts, shoulders slouched and fists clenched in his jacket pockets, wanting nothing more than to get out. Because it felt like everyone was looking at him and he didn't want to be known, he wanted to curl up in a ball—and die—and go to sleep.

Gig to fucking gig and for what? There were no "major leagues" for him. He was just a shit-ass two-bit merc. Alone.

All alone.

He and Jackie talked, sure, but nothing was the same since Johnny left. Johnny and the search for his cure was what kept V going, it gave him purpose. Stop the biochip from killing him, get Johnny a body. Two years since the construct disappeared. Two years without the one person who knew him better than Jackie, who could feel what he felt and understand everything in seconds. The thought of never finding someone with that connection again is what caused him to cry himself to sleep most nights. He missed Johnny more than he had expected.

It destroyed him. Two years into his life spiraling out of control and Wakako's warning was fair. Because if the gigs dried up, then he really would have nothing left. He would have to ki—

V looked up in time to stop himself from bumping into a large crowd outside the pachinko parlor. They were facing the building across the street from the parlor and V looked at the pink neon sign above the black and pink pinstriped fabric awning over the front door.

V frowned as he surveyed the crowd. He didn't remember seeing this before. To be fair, Wakako didn't keep late hours, and he usually entered and left Jig-Jig down a side alley explicitly to avoid the parlor. Though, after what she said today, maybe there was nowhere to hide. V merged into the crowd, sliding between warm bodies until he got to the front of the group. A woman with light brown skin in a yellow string bikini was pole dancing in a window display. She had curly blonde hair piled in two space buns on her head with pink luminescent hairbands keeping them in place. Her thick lips were painted dark pink and her eye makeup matched. She had tiny hearts drawn around the corners of her eyes in red.

She looked warm and friendly, and he wanted her to hold him. She played to the crowd. She'd stop and sway, running her hands slowly up and down her body while making eye contact with people in the crowd. It was clearly a scheme to get customers into the club, a free show to advertize what they can find inside. V thought about it when the woman finally left after about ten minutes. But he didn't have the energy for it, didn't want to put the mask on. He just wanted a release and to go the fuck to sleep.

But he didn't want to go home just yet, either. He looked over the crowd through the melange of mercenaries, corpos, and gangoons. How sweet, he thought, all united by the same chronic human condition: being horny. V rubbed the back of his neck, someone must be performing next if no one had left the crowd except to go in. He had nothing better to do. Stay in one place on the street long enough in Night City, and something interesting is bound to happen. Usually something lethal.

V was first stricken by her sharp eyes. Her mouth was certainly in the shape of what seemed to be a smile, but there were no wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes, no fullness in the apples of her rouged cheeks. There was a hidden rage boiling behind her eyes that drew V in, like knowing a hot stove is hot because it's red, but feeling like you can't know for sure unless you get close enough to get burned.

The white light around the platform in the window glittered across the thin gold lines of cyberware that circled her joints, waist, and chest, giving her body the look of an articulated toy doll. She wore a silver string bikini with pink platform heels and started the dance lazily walking around the pole.

He studied her, just as she studied the crowd. Because it wasn't simply surveying the crowd for potential customers, it was recon. The way the anger in her eyes became focused and targeted, her gaze staying in one place for a few seconds too long then darting precisely somewhere else, repeating that pattern, like a lioness lounging with her pride but always watching for threats or prey.

When she leaped up onto the pole, V was surprised at the amount of visible musculature in her thighs, back, and upper arms. While dancers were incredibly toned, it wasn't just from dancing. There were smaller muscle groups he recognized because he specifically targeted them in his own routine. They helped him fight, run, hold powerful weapons with even stronger recoil.

She wasn't just a dancer, V was sure of it. But she wasn't a merc, either. V had a thing for faces, or, well, his cyberdeck had a thing for being connected to the NCPD database and regularly scanning and detailing profiles of individuals that he ran heuristics against to highlight any threats or fellow mercs. It was bad for business if you accidentally flatlined a colleague.

The woman leaned back as she spun and closed her eyes. Seeing her body extended and swirling mesmerized V and his thoughts turned from the professionally curious to prurient. Her long green and yellow curls gently dragged across the platform and he felt a physical emptiness in his hands, dying to know what it would be like to have her hair wrapped up in his fist. She was graceful and moved with precision and purpose, such that no movement was wasted. She had total mastery over her body—over me, I want to be your fucking slave. She dismounted, planting her heels firmly on the platform.

And looked at him.

V's breath caught in his throat and he shifted back into the crowd, feeling like a traction beam was focused on him. Wanting to hide, hide from the anxiety of being acknowledged. It was something in the way she looked through him.

But part of him wanted her to see him. He wanted her to witness his depravity, to acknowledge him as worthless, to validate his misery and dispatch him swiftly.

What was worse? Feeling suicidal or wanting to be killed with just as much desire by someone else?

V stepped back into place and filtered everyone and everything out from around them. She ran her hands along the sides of her body, continuing her recon of the crowd. V's chrome fingers twitched as he again felt an emptiness in his palms, that he is missing a tactile sensation so fundamentally from his being that his hands existed in a void of their own. He thought about seeing Vik for a connection check tomorrow.

She rubbed her left hand across the top of her chest, her fingertips brushing across her small breasts—so fucking soft—and the black cyberware under her collar bones. V felt a heat emanating from the center of his chest, from the depths of the black hole inside him. It wanted her, and maybe he would feed it after all. Go inside, get a dance from her. He'd likely sleep better. Her right hand moved across her lightly defined abdomen—need to taste you.

The longer V watched her, the more his curiosity matched the intensity of his arousal. He didn't care about the black hole, he wanted to know—biblical and literal—who the fuck she was. Her breasts—fit so perfectly in my mouth—weren't simply small, they were small—what color are her nipples?—because her pectoralis major was larger. He could identify specific muscle groups in her quads—would you crush my skull from how hard I would make you—when she gripped the pole with her—it would be so worth it—legs. When she grabbed the pole with her hands, he recognized in her the same deltoid definition—could she pin me down?—he had from years of using guns.

The white light in the booth suddenly turned red, bathing her in a hostile glow, while a track from Tinnitus replaced the nauseating lazrpop emanating from the club. She again leaped up onto the pole and grasped it with her thighs, locking her ankles together. She bent backwards and V took a single step through the thinning crowd as her spine turned from a natural curve into a sharp angle. With no visible signs of injury, V assumed the doll lines were a kind of joint modifier.

She relaxed her thighs and slid down the pole to the floor, landing in a dramatic back bend. She lifted her legs up slowly into splits, a perfect 180-degree angle, and V raised his eyebrows. He felt his cheeks flush hot. When she folded back over herself into a sitting position, some of the crowd gasped and more walked off, her core so brazenly on display. But V only walked closer, still hiding behind others. He wanted to fuck her and talk to her, preferably at the same time.

She got back onto the pole and moved her body in jolts and sharp angles, jerking around to the beat of the song. She had great rhythm and V wondered if she'd go with him to Totentanz to see Tinnitus live sometime.

<Uh huh, right, ask a stripper on a date>, the imaginary voice of Johnny, V's own self-saboteur, echoed in his head.

V swept the thought away with an image of this woman on her knees in a grimy, bloody bathroom stall at the club with him. He finally exited the crowd and stood only a few feet away from the window. She was holding her current pose, one leg wrapped around the pole with the other out behind her. V crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot, the more room he could make for himself in his pants without having to physically adjust himself the better. When she moved into another unnatural angle, he tilted his head, following the sharp curves of her body with his eyes. Her body went limp, and she slowly spun herself around the pole. Her hair hung over her head as she began twitching her body to the beat again.

He couldn't get enough of whatever the fuck this was. The song grew quiet, a pause in the track with muffled base before it revved back up into synthmetal. He recognized the song now, it was "Zombie Joytoy" off the score they did for the horror porn BD Zombie Joytoy 6. V peered down at her and saw the tiniest movements in her spine, her vertebrae shifting apart in increments. She put one hand—wrap it around my cock, please, I will do anything—against the glass. V gasped and reflexively took a step back when her elbow dislocated and inverted. But only reflexively. He stepped closer again, one foot away from the window. He didn't know if he'd ever feel close enough, or if he'd ever know her. He felt that the only way this need for her could be satisfied was on an atomic level in the vacuum of space.

He wanted to create an astronomical anomaly with her the likes of which any universe had never seen. Something that would finally satisfy and quiet the black hole. He wanted to consume her as she consumed him.

Her fingers spread further and further apart as she lightly pulsed her fingertips against the glass, triggering small red lights. Her pinkie and thumb eventually made a 180-degree line from tip to tip across her palm. It looked monstrous and inhuman. But it looked perfect to V.

He stepped closer and looked down at her chartreuse hair, lime green with bright yellow highlights. He looked down her body—dig my nails into your back and hips as you ride me like you ride the pole—and he noticed the gaps between her vertebrae had grown larger, her whole spine stretched. The pause ended, and the screams started. She slammed her hand against the window sending red lightning bolts scattering across the window from her as a chorus of guttural moans and cries rang out across the melodic sound of a hard drive dying. When she jerked herself up, her face jolted in surprise, but only for a second. The first genuine expression he'd seen her make, and he smiled. What other faces can you make for me?

She removed her hand from the glass and raised both above her head, grabbing onto the pole. She shifted her legs down to reduce the vertical angle of her waist and moved her torso to the right while her hips stayed stationary. When her hips and waist almost formed a right angle, she smiled back at him.

A feeling he didn't recognize, not at first, coursed through his veins. Her eyes were a breathtaking verdant green, she had an aquiline nose and through the matte black lipstick he wanted nothing more in the world than to kiss her. His breath grew shallow as he watched her dislocate her left shoulder with a jolt and wrap it behind her back. He felt dizzy, not because she was now groping herself with her left hand on her right side. He rested his forearm against the window and placed his forehead on his arm, watching her. She arched her back and V quietly gasped as her ribs jutted forward, like they'd pierce her skin.

They locked eyes, and he was transported into a red pulsing plane of existence, this horrific goddess that he wanted nothing more than to destroy him. His demise would be equal parts pain and pleasure and he would accept and welcome death with a smile on his face.

He flattened his palm against the glass, and she placed her own over his. He thought he could feel the heat emanating from her hand. She smiled again, one that caused small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. Her cheeks were flush with a line of gold cyberware embedded across the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. She had a gold nose ring and her eyelashes were long, framing a black and violet smokey eyeshadow look. She was devastatingly beautiful. You are going to be the death of me, aren't you?

She gracefully extended her arms out in a demi seconde, flexing her latismus dorsi muscles. And again, V was taken aback by the hidden bulk. She kept her ribs inflated and moved her torso side to side, giving the illusion of a cobra in a defensive pose. V watched her joints work themselves back into place and when she dismounted, she walked towards the window. Towards him.

He put his palm back on the glass. She looked behind her for a moment, her hair whipping over one shoulder. She had no tattoos, only the gold cyberware across tanned skin. A subtle and delicate look over her strong frame. The muscles were hidden when she wasn't working, it seemed, and she looked lithe. It made him want her even more, knowing the kind of power that existed under the surface. He stopped smiling and started feeling sick. Not nausea, something metaphysical, in his stomach and chest. Not the black hole, not lust. Something much, much deeper. An unfathomable need, an anguish, a yearning.

A screaming, wailing human instinctual need.

She turned back around and their eyes met again. V swallowed hard, swallowed bile. She drew a heart with her finger on the touch glass around his hand.

He knew what the feeling was now and he couldn't stand it. It shouldn't be happening. Not now. Not like this.

She turned around and he hurried back to his car.

He drove home with his elbow propped on the open window, running his fingers through his hair analyzing everything he just felt because it couldn't be happening. He wanted to cry and puke. He wanted to scream and laugh. He wanted to drive off a cliff. He would never see her again. THe club was across from Wakako's and he couldn't be seen going in there. She would just have to be the girl in the window forever.

But why did that make this new affliction hurt even more than the gaping void? Why did the thought of living a life without her hurt as much as living a life without Johnny?

Chapter Text

V jolted awake, breathing hard, and slapped his knockoff Us Cracks alarm clock Kerry had sent him from one of his overseas tours with the group. It fell to the floor and shattered into sharp pink and purple plastic shards. V rubbed his mouth and chin with the palm of his hand, still feeling the dream woman's blood and juices on his face. Watching the woman in the window contort her body last night had blended with his murderous merc work inside his subconscious, leading to yet another gore-filled sex dream.

“Motherfucker," V mumbled when the holophone implant in his head pushed a tinny version of "Chippin' In" into his auditory processing center. "The fuck you want?" he snapped at Jackie.

"Mano, not even a hello? It's three in the afternoon, why are you still asleep?" V saw on the holo image displayed on his retinal field his best friend and surrogate brother working on his precious ARCH Nazare in his small garage.

"Late night," V grunted and sat up. He rolled his neck, cracking the tight joints, and stretched. He cursed when his left hand hit the wall of the cubby his bed was in. He had been eyeing a much bigger loft in the Glen for some time, but couldn't justify the expense, not until he knew for sure what was happening with the Relic, how long he had before it would kill him.

"Uh huh. Jig-Jig again?" Jackie set his tools down and looked into his phone, narrowing his eyes at V. While V didn't have his own holo image displayed, he knew what the disapproving look meant.

"Fuck off, Jack. Don't need that shit." V sat on the edge of his bed. Jackie was going to lecture him on his supposed sex addiction and suggest Misty knew someone who knew someone that could help.

Like clockwork, "Misty knows some—"

V slammed his hand on his bed in frustration, "For the last time, I'm not fucking addicted. You can't get addicted to sex." V knew it was a problem and had been a problem since he was 13 and had jerked off into the toilet in the bathroom covered in his parents' blood. He knew he’d had a problem when the lady cop told him they were dead, and all he could do was stare down her shirt at her tits. He had known he would always have a problem since he'd woken up the next day and felt an empty, gaping wound in the center of his body, the center of his soul. It had felt like something had been torn away from him, something he could never get back.

Jackie slammed his toolbox shut. "Whatever. Listen, got a date with Misty tonight. Can you handle a gig for me? Simple transpo in the Badlands, muy fácil."

V flopped back into bed and stared at the ceiling of the cubby, plastered in BD centerfolds. "Man, I don't wanna drive all the way out there, fuck. Where's the drop-off?"

"Quit your bitchin’. Just gotta klep a ride and drive it back to Dakota's."

V sighed–it was a distraction at least. "What time?"

"An hour," Jackie grunted as he got up from the stool he sat on. The image took a moment to adjust as the bright light from the open garage door flooded the room. Jackie kicked up the kickstand and rolled his bike out to the alley.

"Fuck you. Send me the detes." V hung up before Jackie could say anything else to ruin his day. He looked at the text Jackie sent while he brushed his teeth. The hard work had already been done, the Thorton Gecko was parked at the Sunset Motel and Dakota's garage was just a skip and jump away. Sill, the drive out there from Kabuki would leave him free to think about last night. Think about her.

He turned on the shower as hot as it would go, which was never hot enough with all the tenants sharing a giant water heater on his floor. He leaned his head against the shower wall, letting the water pound his neck. It did nothing for the persistent tension. 

The more the dancer in the window moved–the more inhuman she looked–the more intrigued he was. Not by the display itself, but by who she was. She was some kind of solo, he was sure of that, not a merc. He wanted to know her, everything about her. His heart fluttered at the thought. He needed to know who she was, where she came from, what she tasted like, what she felt like, what it would be like to be inside her. Did she think about him, too?

He watched his semen swirl down the drain. He wanted her, needed her so badly. V decided he would go to the club after the gig and see if she was there. He washed with his three-in-one shampoo, conditioner and body wash and remained under the rapidly cooling water for a few more minutes. He squinted his eyes shut as the butterflies turned into the same nausea from last night and dry heaved. 

What did he think was going to happen? Some fairy tale? Love at first sight? Get fucking real. She was just really attractive, that's all. Get a dance, maybe go to a private room if she offers, go home. Same routine, different girl.

Nibble slept in his laundry basket, and she protested as he grabbed his faded Samurai t-shirt from beneath her. He picked up his faded dark jeans and brushed them off before stepping into them. Nibbles settled back in but he picked it up, making her mew again, and kissed her between her ears. She jumped out of the basket and ran to his desk to sleep across his keyboard. The monitor flashed an error message from whatever keys she had mashed together and he turned off the monitor. He grabbed the same jacket he wore last night, slipped into his high tops, and left for the garage.

He got into his beloved Helen, a shitty older model Archer HELLA EC-D. Matte black with neon green trim and scuffed to hell, it was his baby. He tapped the bulldog bobblehead glued to the dash before studding into his car. As he feared, the drive out there was plagued with his hateful internal monologue. Why had Johnny been gone for the last two years? How could he abandon V? Most of all, why did he feel so fucking lonely? What was he missing? What was missing from him? Her. He just wanted to stop running from the Relic, from his life. His dream had been to become a Night City legendary netrunner, like Spider Murphy. Now, he just wanted to survive and be happy. But he couldn't do that—without her—without knowing what was going on with the Relic. Was it deactivated for good? On the one hand, it would mean he no longer lived on borrowed time. On the other, he never got to say goodbye to Johnny.

Desert gravel crackled under the tires as he pulled into the Sunset Motel parking lot. The car was hard to miss, it was neon green, the same shade as his car's trim. He parked his shitbox next to the off-road sedan, snapped a pic, and sent it to Jackie with the caption, "You owe me."

The car's worn leather seats had residue along the edges where yellow foam was straining to escape its duct tape prison. V had to adjust the seat as far back as it would go to fit his 6'1 frame. He flicked the coyote bobblehead on the dash and drove the short trip to Dakota’s garage. V eased the vehicle into the open bay awaiting the delivery and headed to the office for payment.

"No Jackie?" the nomad fixer asked. She had an utterly piercing gaze that unnerved V. Like she was in on a joke and he was the punchline, an anvil was going to fall on his head at any minute. Could she see through him, too? Was she also going to lecture him on his “ritual self-debasement” as Wakako called it?

"Nah, asked me to take over," V replied.

Dakota shrugged and her eyes flashed blue as she transferred the fee to him. "As long as the job gets done."

V flicked a neural impulse to his holophone, opening his garage app and selecting Helen to be delivered to him. He sat on a bench on the western side of the building, where the sun was beaming. He closed his eyes, stretched his arms across the back of the bench, and leaned his head back. The smell of desert dirt, motor oil, and coyote piss heating up in the sun filled his senses. It beat the smell of smog, blood, sweat, vomit, and desperation in Night City. It was small moments like sitting in the sun–the small joys in life–that gave him hope. Moments that reminded him that sometimes, only sometimes, things weren't all bad. That there was still joy to be found in the world if you just stopped and looked around.

Like her.

The wooden bench shifted slightly under V as someone sat next to him. He opened his eyes and pulled his arms in. A woman with light brown skin and long, black, pin-straight hair tied up in a high ponytail sat next to him. She wore tight pink jeans and a black cropped t-shirt with a low-cut neckline.

"Waitin' for someone?" she asked with a drawl straight out of an old western.

"My car," V said. With this interruption to his meditation on the little lights in life, he grew impatient waiting for his car.

"You from around here?" she crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward, resting her arms on her leg, pushing her cleavage upwards. V glanced down briefly. Her skin looked dewy, and his mouth began to water.

"Nah, just finished a gig. You?" he crossed his arms over his chest and looked away from her, trying to seem disinterested. He wanted to go home, all he could think about was seeing the girl in the window again. He ached for it.

The woman nodded, "Mmhm. Cohen family, born and bred." She put her hand on his thigh and he looked over at her. She winked and stood up, "Come with me, I wanna show you something, city boy." She stretched out her hand to him. V saw a tattoo on her inner forearm of a red Magen David with a spanner and wrench crossed over each other in the center.

The hunger rose inside V. He grabbed her hand, "Clan insignia?" he asked. Her hand was warm and calloused.

The woman giggled an affirmation and led him behind the shop, between two dumpsters.

"Uh," V stared at her blankly, but the gnawing seeped in further. She grabbed his other hand and pulled him in close to her, pressing their bodies together. She smelled like rain on the desert.

She grabbed his crotch and kissed him. The rough touch startled him and the taste of BioTechnica lemon cigarettes made him nauseous. He closed his eyes just as he heard the beep in his head announcing the arrival of his car to within 50 feet of him. He could leave now, he wanted to. But his body was controlled by someone else, something else right now. It never let him leave, not until it was finished. He grabbed the back of her head and pressed her face harder into his. Their teeth clicked together as they groped each other, trying to find a rhythm that V knew would never come–because she wasn’t her.

She giggled into his mouth when she grabbed his cock. He knew her hand was around it, he felt the warmth and the hardened skin of her calluses against the soft skin of his flaccid dick. His flaccid dick. She pulled down her pants, shimmied one leg out and wrapped it around his waist. V noticed her hand wasn't moving much as his own body wasn't responding. She was losing interest. V shoved her against the brick wall and ravaged her neck, kissing and suckling the soft flesh while he groped one breast in his hand.

He thought out of the girl in the window. He imagined his hand was holding her breast, squeezing and pressing against the hardened pectoral muscles beneath it, that his tongue was lavishing over the embedded cyberware above her collarbones. He spat on his hand, rubbed it once on his cock, and fucked the woman hard and fast. She made some noises and he didn't care if they were from pleasure or pain, and finished in five minutes. He tore himself out of her, turned on the balls of his feet, and walked away from her as he finished buttoning up his pants.

"Hey!" She called after him. "You gonna fuckin' tell me your name at least?" V didn't look back, he extended his middle finger from his chrome fist and waved goodbye.

The drive home felt faster than the one there, even with rush hour traffic. V felt butterflies at the pit of his stomach again and he tried to will them away, to swat them down with his mind. But he just kept thinking about the woman in the window. He wondered what she felt like, what she tasted like, what her voice sounded like. His excitement that ignited the butterflies turned to anxiety that swooped in and snatched all the pretty butterflies in its beak, crushing them, as he fell into overthinking about what to wear and how to impress her. A bigger animal, self-loathing, would swallow those birds whole telling him what a fucking gonk he was for thinking she'd give him any more time of her day than what he paid for. When he got home, he was shaking from adrenaline and nerves in equal measure.

In the shower he chanted to himself, over and over, "Just a strip club. Just a fuckin' strip club. Just like any other you been to. You see her there? Great! You don't? Find another one!" He scrubbed hard but couldn't shake the visceral sensation of his own shame and emptiness. He put on tight black jeans and red boxer briefs with a plain black t-shirt. 

Nibbles sat on the bed next to him as he laced up his sneakers. He looked down at her, "You be good now, okay? Don't eat any more fuckin' wires. Do what you do best: sleep, eat, and look cute." She eyed him indifferently at first before slow blinking. V smiled and stroked her head.

V parked closer to Cherry Blossom Market, away from Jig-Jig again, hoping the walk to the club would cool his nerves. He saw a man dancing in the window today, and if V wasn't a man on a mission, he'd have stopped and watched. V walked through the crowd and to the door. A large woman held her hand up to him and her eyes turned amber as she scanned him. She was taller than him with biceps bigger than his head. He figured Doll Parts wasn't part of the Mox and outsourced their security to the Animals. She grunted and nodded in affirmation before stepping away from the black metal door.

When V opened the door, he was greeted with loud lazrpop, strobe lights, and the mixed fruity smell of a million different kinds of body glitter and spray. Other than the strobes, the club was dark with walkways to the bar and areas between the booths and tables lined with pink LEDs on either side. He followed the path straight ahead of him to a bar at the back of the club. A middle-aged woman with short brown hair and round glasses was drying a glass with a rag. She wore a blue pinstriped button-down shirt with the short sleeves rolled up. A pack of cigarettes was tucked into one sleeve. She nodded her head up at him in greeting.

"Tequila," he said over the music. He leaned against the white bar top that changed color with the tune and surveyed the floor, looking for her. The bartender pushed his drink across the pink glowing surface at him and he noticed a name tag that said "Janice." He picked up the drink and downed it in one gulp, it tasted like shit. He held up two fingers to order a double, and then he saw her. She was entering from behind burgundy curtains at the back of the main stage. Before Janice had a chance to take her hand off the glass, V snatched it off the bar top, transferred the eddies for the drinks and a tip and walked to the stage. He sat at the rail, front and center.

The woman who had been haunting his every waking and sleeping moment since he saw her last night was wearing a pink vinyl coat down to her mid-thigh held together by a matching belt. She propped the collar and pushed her chest forward, exposing her cleavage as she sauntered towards the pole. The lights from the stage and strobes reflected off her coat, making her glow, she looked ethereal.

Bass-boosted lazrpop drowned out the crowd as the woman took her place in front of the pole. She started by sliding up and down, caressing her thighs and opening them as she got closer to the floor. She wore black and pink platform stiletto heels and black fishnet stocking with garters. She looked at V and his heart stopped. 

But there wasn't any sense of recognition. Because of course there wasn't, he was just another horny asshole like all the others.

She dropped to her knees and arched her back, and V imagined what he would do to make her move like that. The vinyl coat changed color from pink to orange when she stroked her body, activated by the heat of her hands. V's heart fluttered. When he took a sip of his tequila, he noticed his hand was shaking. She ripped the belt out of the loops in one motion and tossed it at V. She winked at him as he caught it. He knew it was an act and she was doing it for a better tip. But he hoped she wanted him, too. The belt changed color from the heat of one hand and the cold from the drink in the other.

She held the coat shut as she stood up and walked along the rail, tips shoved into her garter or shoe. It was rare to see a dancer not accept digital transfers, but then again, it required keeping an open connection to save the dancer from having to approve every single one. She didn't walk past V though, and he was grateful for that. But she did look at him again and her eyes narrowed, only briefly, but long enough that he noticed. Did she recognize him? He sipped his tequila, the heat of the drink thrumming down his chest.

She made her way back to the pole and turned her back to the audience. She pulled the coat open with a dramatic flourish and shimmied it down off her shoulders. The gold cyberware lines around her joints dazzled in the strobing lights. She looked over her shoulder, her chartreuse hair brushing over the collar of the jacket. V wanted to run his finger through her curls, smell them, get lost in them.

A man smoking a cigar next to V yelled, "Take it off!" V expected a wink, a smile, even a nod to the patron. But she simply glanced at the man and focused her attention back on her routine.

She gently and slowly — just like that — let the jacket slide down her arms and held it at her elbows, teasing the crowd. She wore a pink, sparkly string bikini top. She looked over her shoulder again, and another patron jeered, impatient, not knowing the meaning of a strip show. It was supposed to be slow and sensual. She was something to be savored. She wiggled her butt cutely as she straightened her arms and let the jacket fall to the floor, revealing her matching g-string bikini bottom.

She slowly bent over at the waist, extending one hand to her jacket while the other traveled down the side of her legs. For once in his pitiful life, V found himself not staring at the barely contained cunt being presented. He was focused on her hair as it extended further between her legs because he wanted to see her face. His attention was rewarded as she looked at him from between her legs, grasped the jacket, and slid it back through her legs at him. His heart pounded in his neck.

She sprung up onto the pole, elbows and knees wrapped around it, while others hooted and hollered. She let her arms go and bent her back, reaching her hands to the audience—to me. She built momentum as she twirled and when the song changed, she released one leg, pointing it out while the other knee clutched the pole. He was utterly enraptured watching her legs, hips, and abdomen muscle flex, contract and ripple with every move. He wanted to lick every inch.

He lifted the glass of tequila to take another sip. He couldn't remember if he'd ever wanted someone this badly, like his whole body utterly ached for her.

Even his heart.

He jolted at the sudden thought and swallowed the rest of the tequila in one gulp.

During another back bend, she untied the string holding the bikini top together and tossed it at another customer. She had gold nipple piercings, the jewelry in the shape of an arrow through a heart. He didn't wonder what color her areolae were anymore. They were slightly larger than a sand dollar and a pinkish brown hue that reminded him of ruddy starfish in tide pools.

She got off the pole and crawled around the stage, squeezing her breasts together, so the other patrons could slip bills into her cleavage. While for others, she tucked their bills behind their ears and grabbed them with her teeth. She got to V and their eyes met. He felt absolutely electrified, acutely aware of every cell in his body dying or dividing. She sat up on her knees and spread her legs, looking down at him as he looked up at her, towering over him. He slid a stack of bills between her legs. The right corner of her mouth registered a barely perceptible twitch. Was she suppressing a smile?

When her dance was over, V left the rail and sat down in a booth facing the staff entrance, from which the girls entered and left the floor. He ordered another tequila. He had to pry his feet off the sticky floor with every nervous repositioning of his posture. The table wobbled when he'd set his glass back down. He wanted to wait for her, wait until the last minute. He dismissed every other dancer that solicited him and if, by the end of the evening, she didn't come out to the floor, he'd get a dance from someone else and go.

She appeared from another part of the room, not the staff entrance like he'd expected. She wore a black bodysuit and calf-high black leather platform boots. She'd removed the fishnets and had spread shimmering gold glitter over her bare skin. She moved gracefully and confidently, her head held high and her posture relaxed—but not too relaxed. The hypervigilance of a merc, he mused. A man sitting in a booth across from V paid for a twenty-minute lap dance and it felt like torture. Every time she had her back to the man, she was staring at V. And he stared back, watching her gyrate and move with an expressionless, maybe even bored, look on her face, no hint of even a fake smile. He liked that, she knew how to move her body and she knew that was all that mattered. None of these people cared about the facial expressions she made when they had her tits or ass in their face.

When she was done, his heart sank as she left. He had hoped she'd have seen him next. He thought about giving up and looked around the room for another dancer to call over. But he just couldn't resist how much of himself longed for her so completely. His eyes unfocused, zoning out to stare at a spot on the floor until he smelled citrus and pomegranate and looked up at her.

The lace bodysuit hid most of her features, but he could still see a glint from a strobe bouncing off the gold nipple piercings. She handed him a glass. He took a sip without looking away from her. He didn't want to miss a single second. He needed to memorize her, every feature and flaw, every mannerism and twitch. It was tequila. It was good. He raised an eyebrow at her, "How'd you know?"

She spoke confidently, "Lucky guess." Her voice was smooth with the tiniest hint of gravel, like a pristine record played on an old turntable. "Would you like a dance?"

V could tell she knew she had him and asking was only a courtesy. He swallowed hard, finished the drink, and nodded. She took the drink from his hand, her fingers brushing against the chrome of his Gorilla Arms cybermodified hands. It sent a spark through his veins that felt more exciting than any sexual arousal he'd ever felt before. It was a tether to the present, to her. She positioned herself in front of him and lifted her arms, swaying her hips from side to side. She wore a black choker with a silver clasp in the shape of a heart in the middle, that she wasn't wearing when she danced for the man across from V. She had put it on just for him.

But why? He didn't want to get his hopes up. He was paying her for this time and attention, it was surely just a ploy for the tips. And it worked, though her mere existence in his vicinity, a glance at him, was worth more than all the gold and diamonds in the world.

And he wanted that all for himself. He wanted to hers and for hers to be his. V tried to resist these indulgent and ludicrous thoughts.

"So, you live around here?" she asked. She extended her hands to her side and rotated her wrists as she gyrated to the music. The pink light behind her cast her arms in a silhouette and V saw the undulating definition in her biceps.

V wanted to grab her hips, but he sat on his hands instead. The right corner of her mouth twisted up in a mean smirk when she noticed and V melted. "Born an—" his voiced cracked and he cleared his throat, "Born and bred in Heywood." His face felt hot, "You?"

He'd never felt this nervous around anyone before and certainly never around strippers. But something was stirring inside him. A feeling of potential and hope, genuine belief that if he played his cards just right, she would be his.

"Nomad," she said plainly. She turned around and swung her hips side to side, a hypnotic pendulum and he was mesmerized. She turned back around, stopped, and straddled him on the bench. V pulled his hands from beneath his legs quickly, trying to avoid touching her, and clasped his hands behind his head. She put her hands on the back of the booth, on either side of his head and balanced herself upright, teasing him, not sitting in his lap just yet. She leaned closer and V prudishly leaned his head back away from her. As much as he wanted her, he felt like he wanted to get to know her first. He looked up at her, his breath shallow.

She tilted her head to one side, "I think I saw you last night."

A warm strobe glanced off her face revealing a glowing subtle smile that left V breathless, "You did."

Her smirk extended into a full, real smile as she slowly lowered herself onto his lap. He tried and failed miserably to hide his expression and body language. He felt all the tension in his body melt away and furrowed his brows in an almost pleading expression. She tilted her head forward, brushing his face with her soft curls, and he sighed.

Her shampoo must be where the intoxicating scent came from. Her curls in his face, the pomegranate was stronger. A memory flashed in his mind, celebrating Rosh Hashanah with his family. Dipping apples in honey, shoveling sour pomegranate seeds into his mouth, staining his hands and mouth with a dark red.

The song changed and she gyrated to the music in his lap, still only on her knees, and a familiar pressure in his pants grew more and more. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

"And? What did you think?" her hot breath on his ear sent shivers through his body.

He licked his lips, "You were incredible."

The song changed again to a rocker ballad, and she stood up and turned away from him for a brief stretch. He took the moment to adjust himself so his erection wasn't as noticeable. She turned back to face him. Her skin glowed under the strobes and for a brief moment a spotlight shone behind her head, an angelic halo fit for a goddess. She straddled him again, still kneeling. The heat emanating from her body felt comforting and erotic at the same time. He wanted to pull her into an embrace so badly and get lost in intimacy, lost in her.

She grabbed his neck, her hands on either side, and her hands were just as soft and warm as he had imagined. She caressed the black cyberware that cut into the black tattoos along the center of his neck. She moved her hands down across his chest, his stomach, and stopped at his waistband. V gulped and laced his fingers behind his head again to resist the impulse to touch her. She smirked again, but not mean like last time, there was a mischievous glint in her eyes.

A look he fell in love with. Another image appeared in his mind, one of him and the woman celebrating Rosh Hashanah together. Was she even Jewish? That was never important before. But some ancient longing burrowed its way through his soul.

She grabbed his arms and pulled them towards her. She moved her hands down his muscular forearms and linked her fingers in his. "What, uh, what brought you to Night City?" he asked. His breath hitched when she put his hands on her waist and moved them up and down along her sides, demonstrating where to touch. He cautiously followed her lead, slowly, wanting to savor every centimeter and learn the peaks and valleys of her body. The lace felt rough as he went against the grain, and every space where he could feel her skin sent a bolt of animalistic lust through him.

"Work," she replied coolly. V moved his hands up her back, the bodysuit ended just below her shoulder blades and he trailed his fingers along her bare skin and watched goosebumps ripple across her flesh. He felt his heart beat faster, time slowed, and he saw himself pulling her down to him, kissing her deeply and—confessing his love—flipping her over on the couch and taking her right there.

"What kinda work? This?" V needed to keep talking, to stay focused, to not get lost, to not fuck this up—and lose her.

She smiled and shook her head, "No, just work. I have," she paused for a moment, tilted her head, and bit her lip in thought. "Certain skills that are more useful in the city."

"Like what?"

She took his hands again, moved them to her breasts and squeezed. He felt the hard muscle beneath the soft flesh. She finally sat down in his lap and V noticed a brief look of surprise. His whole body tensed as he tried to will his dick to settle down like an over-excited terrier but the heat emanating from between her legs only made his cock twitch. She raised an eyebrow, and V braced himself for the worst.

She started grinding herself back and forth into him, into her, and he shuddered an exhale. "Like this." She leaned forward and licked his neck from the collar of his shirt, slowly moving upward and trailing her tongue along the outer edge of his ear. The hand not cupping her breast moved to her thigh and squeezed. He melted underneath her, every muscle weak, waiting for her to command them.

"Is-is this allowed?" he ran his thumb across her hard nipple and her breath stuttered.

"Mmhm," she nibbled on his ear. He moved his hands to her sides and down the lace bodysuit. He gripped her hips as she ground a little faster and a little harder. He failed to stifle a small moan, and his reaction only made her quicken her pace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her breath beat a hot staccato against his ear as he dug his fingers into her hips, pushing her to go faster, harder. He needed to be inside her, to melt in her arms, to let her own him.

She pulled back and stuck her hands under his shirt. They were cold, and another wave of goosebumps danced across his skin. He engaged the thermal controls in his cyberware and trailed his ice-cold fingers up her back. She let out a small yelp and arched her back, reflexively trying to get away from his hands but he pulled her closer, burying his face in her chest, breathing her in.

She pulled her hands out of his shirt and grabbed his hands, stopping her movements. "What's your name?" She was out of breath, in the dim light V could see a slight flush across her cheeks.

"V, just V," he wondered if he should as her what her name is. Or if she'd just give him the stripper handle. He wanted to know her, all of her.

"Well, Just V, would you like to go to a private room?"

V froze and the earth came crashing around him, shattering into a million pieces as his blood ran ice-cold. The gulf of loneliness opened up within him as that feeling, that shitty fucking feeling of devotion, enveloped him so completely that it blocked out the black hole of desire. His cock went soft as he nearly shivered in terror at this change inside him. He managed to shake his head.

"Well, it was lovely to meet you, V," she stood up but let her hand linger in his. "I'm Bea." Her smile was warm and genuine but it only made the terror stir and he felt the tequila bubble inside his stomach, fighting to escape its digestive prison.

He smiled, "You too, Bea," her let her name linger on his tongue for a moment. "Can I see you again?" The second the words came out of his mouth he shriveled inside. He wanted to disintegrate, it was so fucking gonk. She was being paid to be nice to him, why the fuck would she go on a date with him?

She laughed, but it wasn't mean, it wasn't at him, it was bittersweet. Something in her face changed, a sadness at the corner of her eyes that V couldn't decipher. "Sure. I'm here Tuesday through Friday," she squeezed his hand.

"Th-that's not what I mean," he looked down at the floor, hoping to hide his blushing.

She took a step back, keeping his fingertips still in her hand, "I know. Later V." She turned at walked away, but kept stealing glances back at him.

When V got back into the car he punched the steering wheel and berated himself. He screamed, deep and guttural, it made his throat sting. The black hole, while terrible, was consistent. It was predictable. He knew what to do with it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK!" he yelled again and felt tears fill his eyes. "That's can't happen, can't fucking happen." He tries so hard to feel nothing and to do whatever he needs to feel nothing, ever.

He texted the only person who he knew would understand on an instinctual level what he was feeling and thinking and that knew how to help. His ex. His personality construct's ex. The only living person who knew him better than Jackie.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Kerry Eurodyne. A tear dropped onto the screen, requiring him to press the new message button multiple times until the touch screen registered it.

V rolled his eyes and started for North Oak.

He attached an image of his fridge filled with a variety of beer and a fresh, unopened bottle of Centzon tequila front and center.

Chapter Text

V opened his eyes to the high ceiling of Kerry's villa for the fifteenth day of drinking and fucking. He inhaled deeply as he stretched and was delighted to smell bacon. He peeled himself off the white synthleather couch and rolled over. He thudded painfully onto the floor where his hand landed with a splat in something cold, wet, and mushy.

Last night's vomit. Or was it this morning's? Even older? V inspected his hand, pondering the timeline of the previous 48 hours, and curled his lips in disgust. Whether at himself or at the sensation, he wasn't sure. They were the same, to him. He and vomit. The same thing. Regurgitated out of life's gullet, only to be sucked away by a well-paid Filipino maid and her wet-vac.

He wiped his hand on a dry part of the carpet and mustered all his strength to stand up. His body felt heavy and stiff, like he was stuffed with clay—a golem, devoid of my autonomy, only she holds the scroll. He padded to the giant kitchen where Kerry's cook stood in front of a shining steel stove. The Filipino man wore a pristine white, short-sleeved uniform with a black apron. V walked over to the large industrial kitchen sink next to the stove and washed his hands in the scalding hot water.

"Nagugutom ka ba?" the young man said. V blinked at the cook who gestured at the two pans on the stove with eggs and bacon. V nodded, and the cook shooed him out of the kitchen. V sat down on a rickety barstool on a cabinet island behind the cook. He smelled Kerry's heavy cologne before he heard his footsteps and swallowed an all too wet belch that burned his throat.

"How ya feelin' bud?" Kerry leaned against the counter on the opposite side of V. He wore a breezy short-sleeve white linen button down and light blue swim shorts. A pair of large, round sunglasses perched on his head.

"Fucking shit," V replied. He was suddenly very aware that he was only wearing boxers and blushed. He and Kerry spent the majority of their relationship naked, but there was still something about them simply being friends now that made V feel coy. 

The cook placed a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, fried bacon, and buttered wheat toast in front of V. He scooped a forkful of real egg onto the toast and took a bite, savoring the expensive flavor. The two weeks he'd spent here had done nothing to make him forget Bea, but he realized he needed to weasel his way over to Kerry's more often to take advantage of the rich rockerboy's access to 'ganic ingredients.

Kerry snatched a piece of bacon off the plate, and V glared at him. "Why don't you get outta town? Spend some time with the Aldecaldos?" Kerry wiped his greasy fingertips on V's equally greasy hair as he walked past.

It wasn't the worst idea. Although, Panam said she never wanted to see him again, and he doubted Mitch or Saul or any Aldecaldo wanted anything to do with him after they had learned he'd cheated on her. Hell, Mitch had shot at him as he ran to his car half-naked from the tent he and Panam had shared. He wasn't sure if the girl he'd been fucking had met a better fate.

But, they were fun drunks, and he would do anything—including hard labor—to stop thinking about Bea. "Yeah, alright. Can I borrow your pet sitter for another week or so?" Nibbles was living it up in an incredibly lavish underground pet hotel.

Pets were illegal without a license, and Nibbles had been picked up off the street. She was getting daily coconut oil massages and cubes of real dried fish. V almost thought it would be cruel to take her back to his megabuilding. But caring for her forced V into a routine that required he care for himself, too.

"Of course! Now, I got a fucking tan to maintain. Fuck off," Kerry waved to V behind him as he walked out onto his deck. 

TO: SKEEZY

FROM: FG

SUBJECT: I'M WAITING

DO YOU HAVE HER OR NOT?

TO: FG

FROM: SKEEZY

RE: I'M WAITING

SOON

"I promise, you're gonna like him," Jackie said, with confidence. Bea wiped a smear of blood off her boot with her thumb and glared up at the hulking cholo. She stood up, her six feet of height barely making her eye-level with his chin, and shoved him out her apartment door.

"Tell me, Jackie, what happened to the last guy you tried setting me up with?" she entered her code into the keypad and toggled the door lock. Bea spun her keys around one black lacquered fingernail as they made their way to the megabuilding garage. Despite the height difference, Bea's legs were longer, and she had no trouble keeping up with her friend. Her only friend.

Jackie groaned. "You kicked him in the balls."

Lizzie's Bar, ten in the evening, three weeks ago. Bea remembered the feeling of the man's soft testicles between her toes when she had slammed her open-toed stiletto-heeled foot into his crotch. It was one of the more satisfying sensations. Didn't quite beat the feeling of cartilage crumbling between your knuckles, teeth crunching under your boot, or the wet gurgle when you sliced a screamer's throat. But it was close.

"And why did I kick him in the balls?" She had done more than that, but Jackie didn't know that– didn't need to know. 

When they had parted ways for the evening, Bea had gone back inside Lizzie's, pulled the guy out of a BD booth, dragged him outside, and made him feel exquisite pain. She made a mental note to remember to throw his ear in the incinerator when she got home. She had ripped it off and stuck it in her pocket before she left him there in a puddle of his own piss. It was sitting in a plastic cup of water under her bathroom sink.

Jackie sighed, "I know, I know. Because he called you a used slab of meat when he found out you were a stripper." It wasn’t something she had let him forget.

They exited through a creaking metal door, and dark green flecks of paint fluttered out as the cool night air breached the musty arcology. Their motorcycles were parked side by side, as they always were when they traveled together. Jackie's, a cherry red ARCH Nazare, and Bea's, a black and green Yaiba.

"And?" Bea crouched down next to Jackie's bike. She winced when one of her knees cracked with the movement—she would need an enzyme infusion soon. She ran her finger across the smooth chrome of a brand-new exhaust pipe and noticed other components Jackie had replaced on his own, at her recommendation. He’d done quite well, and she felt a swell of pride. 

"And because he made a tasteless joke about doll clubs," Jackie said.

Jackie telegraphed his movements from miles away, and it's why he kept losing to that shithead with the stupid face tattoos when they boxed. Bea saw in crisp detail the minute shift in his left foot when he lifted his leg and extended his foot to playfully shove his boot into her ribs, hoping to send her off balance and away from his bike. She stretched her left leg out to the side, planted her hands behind her, and bent backwards. His boot whispered in the air inches above her rib cage.

She twirled on the ball of her foot and caught Jackie's leg in a lock, sending him toppling to the ground. "When will you fucking learn Jacquito?" With a grunt, she curled her leg tighter, bending his knee at a painful angle.

Jackie growled and slammed his hand on the ground three times. Bea let go and dusted herself off. She grabbed her black helmet with kitty ears from her bike's pannier. When she kicked the bike into gear, the front of the ears lit up green, the same shade of chartreuse as the lights around the Yaiba's wheel, and sped out of the parking garage.

V lay back on the dusty red sofa next to the fire pit with his hands clasped behind his head. The clouds were passing by at a rapid rate and off in the distance, a grey smudge connected the sky and desert, millions of colorless tendrils coming down from the heavens to scrape the ground. He inhaled deeply: petrichor. 

Saul had been the one that ended up calming down Mitch and Panam and convincing them to let V stay in the camp for a bit. They needed the help taking inventory of all the generator and vehicle parts they got in a trade with the Merari clan. V was enlisted in hard labor, and Panam seemed to take great joy in ordering him around. Instead of using the heavy machinery they had for the task of moving entire pallets around, she had V unloading each box individually and then breaking down the wood pallets with his Gorilla Arms. His reward for a job well done was a warm Broseph.

Cal, the newest member of the camp, walked towards him and V hardened his face. The guy gave him the fucking creeps, but he helped around the camp and wore the Aldecaldo patch, so V played nice.

"Hey man, some of us are going down to the Rattler tonight. You wanna come?" Cal asked. He had opted for heterochromia when getting his eyes chipped. One had black sclera and a white iris, the other white sclera with a black iris. He also had scars on his arms from repo'd cyberware. 

None of that meant anything, either by themselves or together. But having grown up in Night City, V had learned those scumfucks affiliated with scavs had a certain smell about them, no matter how much they tried to assimilate into polite society. Every day V spent in camp, he was just waiting for Cal to give him an excuse.

V shook his head, "Nah, you go have fun, man."

"You're missing out, brother! Bound to be some hot nomad chicks, outside the family, if you know what I mean," Cal smiled at V with sharp silver teeth. V knew exactly what he meant—Raffen Shiv. Granted, V had fucked a couple Shiv in his "pass around party boy" days, not to mention the time he'd accidentally fallen in with a Wraith group at 16.

His week with the Aldecaldos was almost over. Nothing had helped get the girl out of his head. The hard labor distracted him enough during the day. At night, he’d get drunk with the Aldecaldos. But, by the time he went to bed, all he thought about was her sleeping next to him in this tent. Waiting for sleep that never came, V would listen to Panam and Saul fight, toss and turn when coyotes screamed, then walk out into the desert in the middle of the night to scream back at the wild dogs.

V watched Cal amble away and took a swig of his near-empty bottle of Broseph. When he set the bottle down, he saw Saul walking towards him with Panam close behind.

"Hey V, got something we could use your help with," Saul said. V straightened up on the couch.

"Would love a distraction. What d'ya got?"

The Rattler was a bar on the border between Night City proper and the Badlands. No one knew who the previous owner was, only that it used to be a proud nomad establishment, the Badlands's own Atlantis. Now, locals enticed by the nomads they saw on braindances came to get their shit stolen or worse by Wraiths. Bea slowed down when it came into view to ride next to Jackie and connected with him on holo through their helmets, "Why're we here, Jack?"

"Tranquilo, you'll see."

Bea looked up at the flashing neon rattlesnake, its tail two sets of lights flashing on and off to give the illusion of movement, before following him inside. It was hazy with cigarette smoke and country synth played on a jukebox. The place always smelled like coyote piss and was filled with Raffen, and tonight was no exception. All the hairs on the back of Bea's neck stood on end. She hated it here. 

She scoped out the bar, spotting weapons printing under shirts and inside pant legs wherever she looked, recognizing Wraiths by their jackets and freshly exiled nomads from the pale spots on their vests where clan patches had been ripped off. Something Arasaka forced her to do to her own clothing the third day she was in their care. Unlike Bea, those were not new recruits to Arasaka's child soldier division. They were new members of the Raffen Shiv, vying to join the ranks of the Wraiths or starting their own gang of scopsuckers.

Jackie's "friend" was sitting at the bar. He had a greasy, long pink ponytail and striking eyes — one black and one white. 

"Jack! Jackie! The Jackster! How you been, man?" The man's voice was deep and scratchy. Bea and Jackie sat down on either side of him. The stools were hard plastic and a sharp edge cut into Bea's thigh when she rested her feet on the bottom rung.

Jackie slapped the man on his back, “Been good, been good. How ‘bout you?”

“Yeah, same.” The man turned to Bea and extended his hand, inviting her to shake it, “Hey gorgeous.” His hand was cold and slimy, his grip weak. It reviled her. "The name's Dave." When he smiled, the neon sign for Centzon tequila hanging above the bar reflected off his sharply pointed metal teeth.

"Hey," Bea replied curtly.

"Told me he had a pretty hermana, but didn't say just how pretty. Damn!" He pronounced the Spanish word like he was trying to hack up a hairball. Bea sneered in disgust, imagining peeling his face off with a dull blade.

Dave smiled, it was crooked, like his face had been replaced with a fun-house mirror. One eye crinkled on the side where his mouth moved upward. It was unsettling, a smirk without any feeling. Bea ordered shots for them, downed it, and immediately ordered another.

“Let’s toast,” Dave said and held up his glass. He looked at Bea and gestured his toast towards her, “To beautiful women.”

“Raffen,” Bea coughed out and drank. An instinctual warning crawled up her spine every time this guy opened his mouth. Bea looked him over while he and Jackie carried on a conversation about gigs. Dave wore a denim nomad vest, but it was missing a family patch above the left breast pocket. “Hey,” Bea tapped Dave on his shoulder.

When he turned, she poked the light denim square where the patch should have been, “What happened to your family patch?” Bea tapped her glass twice on the bar again and downed another shot. She hated him. His existence was wrong, incorrectly assembled in body and mind.

“Got ripped off during a job we did, need to get a new one,” Dave chuckled and looked away from her.

“Oh, that’s such a shame,” Bea sneered. “Hey, what clan are you with again?” He wasn’t with a clan, he was Raffen. She knew it. It could also be the drink. But even if he wasn’t Raffen, she still wanted to pound his face in.

“The Aldecaldos!”

Bullshit. Nomads were proud of their clans, and replacing that patch would have been a priority as soon as he got back from the gig.

“Oh, cool. I know some of them.” She tapped her glass twice again and the sound pounded her skull. She needed to slow down, but everything in this bar enraged her. She never let Jackie forget about the man he tried to set her up with in the hopes he’d stopped trying at all. She didn’t need to be with anyone. If she ever felt lonely, it was her fault for losing control of herself.

Another drink. Another tap. Bea squinted her eyes shut to gather her proprioceptive bearings. 

"¡Híjole! Slow down, Bea," Jackie hissed.

“Chill, choom. She’s just havin’ some fun,” Dave took Bea’s shot and drank it himself.

Bea was going to catch him in his lie and expose him to Jackie for the fraud he is. “So, how long ago was the job? What were you up to?” she asked.

Jackie cleared his throat, “Bea, come on. Stop interrogating him. Let’s do another toast!” Jackie signaled to the bartender to bring another round of shots.

“Thought you wanted me to slow down, Jack?” Bea slurred.

Dave looked at her hungrily. “To uh, to nomads!” he said.

“Right, to nomads,” Bea said flatly.

They all clinked glasses and drank. Her throat was numb from the previous shots and it felt and tasted like water. 

Dave stood up and turned to Bea, “Hey, I’m gonna go outside for a smoke. Wanna join me?”

“Sure.” Bea still felt like a fight. All her alarms were firing, but she couldn’t think through the liquor and scop-rock blaring through the bar. She hoped he would make a wrong move and give her an excuse to crush his face under her boot.

Dave lurched more than he walked, he hunched his shoulders and stomped. He didn’t hold the door open for Bea. Outside, it was chilly. Bea shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels, while Dave fumbled and patted his pockets.

“So, what was that last gig again?” Bea put on an innocent voice, hoping she came across as genuinely curious, so he’d let his guard down.

Dave pulled a wrinkled pack from the back pocket of his jeans. He ignored her question. “Found em! Hey, you want one? New flavor from Biotechnica.” Dave handed her the pack, but she pushed it away and shook her head. In the lighter’s flame, she saw a cold smile and empty eyes.

She shuddered. Bea wasn’t sure if it was the cold or a twinge of fear. He exhaled a puff of smoke in her face. It smelled like clove, a flavor Biotechnica cigarettes have had since they started making them. She coughed and waved the smoke out of her face. Her hand turned into two then three limbs and the smoke turned purple and pink. She clenched her eyes shut and wobbled in place.

Dave took another drag and blew more smoke in her face. She stumbled forward into him and he caught her, “Come on babe, don’t be like that.”

Bea weakly pounded her fists into his chest, “L-let me g-go.” She would kill him. The last coherent thought she had was the simple fact that she would kill him. 

Dave fished her phone out of her jacket pocket and she watched him send a text on two overlapping images of her phone in his hand, “Goin’ back to his Jack. Don’t wait up!”

"Really? A fucking mine?" V stared at the fading blue architecture blueprint for an abandoned mine currently being used by some Raffen. He folded his arms and read the notes in Panam's handwriting where she had annotated various points of egress and speculation around where they were keeping the captives. It was the most thoroughly documented plan he'd ever seen come from Panam.

"What, afraid of the dark?" Panam teased. V looked up at her smiling face, her eyes glinting with the familiar glee she got before gigs. After Saul had convinced her to let V stay with them, she took him aside and yelled at him. A lot. He stood there and agreed with everything she said, every name she called him. She didn’t forgive him–and never would–but she never forgot all that he did for the family, and that mattered. The more time he spent in camp, the closer they got to rekindling their friendship.

"Don't like rats," V mumbled and looked down, suddenly very interested in the dirt accumulating between the grooves of the metal picnic table.

"Are you fuckin'—did you say you're afraid of rats?" Mitch hollered from the opposite end of the table.

V gritted his teeth. "What's the situation? What are they fuckin' doing in there?"

"What else? Human trafficking," Saul said. He flicked V a couple of memos and news articles detailing a recent wave of crimes across the Badlands. People had been kidnapped, with their bodies showing up days later, with all their mods and organs removed in brutal fashion.

"Fucking hell," V mumbled. "Alright, who we rescuin'?"

"Whoever we can," Panam said. She chugged the last of her Broseph and slammed the bottle on the metal picnic table. "So, you in?"

V looked at the blueprints again and noticed a new annotation in the corner. Someone had drawn a little doodle of a rat face. V looked at Mitch, who quickly tucked a white pencil into the breast pocket of his green jumpsuit when their eyes met. "Yeah, might as well. When?"

"Two days," Saul said.

Bea opened her eyes. Her brain struggled to process and correlate the sensory input between her eyes and ears. She heard the roaring of a motorcycle engine, her own screaming, her heart pounding. She saw a grey blur, sometimes broken up by yellow lines, only inches from her face. Her eyes widened in fear as her brain finally put the pieces together: Dave was Raffen. She would kill Jackie if he tried to set her up with someone again. And she was going to kill Dave and everyone else wherever he was taking her. Her hands and feet were hogtied behind her and the seat dug into her diaphragm. Her screaming quickly turned into hyperventilating.

"Shut the fuck up!" the man driving the motorcycle screamed and hit her with the butt of his pistol. She choked on dust and debris as they slowed to turn onto a dirt path and he hit her again, knocking her limp.

She briefly gained consciousness again as she was being yanked off the motorcycle. Her head hurt, her chest hurt, her stomach hurt, her fucking everywhere hurt. How long had they been riding?

"That her, Cal?" she heard a woman ask.

"Yup," the man who introduced himself at the bar as Dave said.

Bea watched the light from the opening of the cave disappear into a pinprick as Cal dragged her by her hands across the dirt. When the light went out, Cal dropped her on the cold, wet ground. Someone grabbed a fistful of her hair in their hands and lifted her head up. She looked up at a blurry but grinning face with sharp teeth. They slammed her head into the ground and once again she was out.

TO: FG

FROM: SKEEZY

SUBJECT: GOT THE PACKAGE

HOW SOON CAN YOU BE HERE?

FROM FG:

TO: SKEEZY

RE: GOT THE PACKAGE

TWO DAYS. NEED HER ALIVE.

Bea gasped awake as a gush of ice-cold water hit her body and millions of tiny icicles stabbed into her skin. She looked around wildly, trying to see anything between the blinding spotlights. She finally turned her attention to her body. Which was naked. A wide purple bruise was forming across her abdomen. She looked up at her shackled hands connected to a chain run through a ring bolted into the wall. She shivered and bit her lip, hard. The copper taste calmed her because it was pain she could control, pain that returned ownership of her body. She followed the spray of water to a large hose held by a person-shaped void in front of the spotlights.

The water shut off and the person dropped the hose with a loud clang. In the following silence, Bea heard her teeth chatter. The person walked over to her. It was Cal. Or Dave. Or whatever the fuck his name was. His hair hung around his face and shadow obscured his eyes so only the white sclera and single white iris could clearly be seen. He grabbed her face with the same cold and slimy grip she felt in the bar and moved it back and forth, inspecting her. A cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth, and Bea inhaled deeply. Biotechnica clove.

She spat and bared her teeth, "You worthless fucking trash! I knew it! I knew you were fucking raf—"

Cal slapped her across her face hard and she tasted copper again. "Boohoohoo, we're Raffen Shiv," he taunted. "Who gives a fuck? All you nomad bitches are the same." He grabbed her by her neck and pushed her body into the wall, shoving a knee into her crotch to keep her upright. He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and held it close to her collarbone.

"Do it asshole." The heat radiating off the cherry felt soothing compared to the all over freeze that crept into her bones.

He put the cigarette back into his mouth and used his newly freed hand to touch her neck and trail his fingers down across her breasts, to her hip and back up. He flicked her nipple piercing with his finger and smiled. The burning tip of the cigarette reflected in his silver teeth.

"Oh, I am going to enjoy ripping you to fucking shreds," Bea hissed. "I'm going to tear your balls apart with my bare hands. I will rip your throat out with my teeth." She inhaled deeply and the clove smoke made her eyes water, "I will BATHE IN YOUR FUCKING BLOOD!" she bellowed.

Cal laughed hysterically. When he calmed down, he plucked his cigarette out and stubbed it out on her chest. Her wet skin made it sizzle. "You got some rare chrome in you, know that? Got a real freak lined up that wants you specifically."

Raffen and scavs, two peas in a fucking pod.

"Skeezy!", Cal yelled, "When's FG comin'?" Cal stepped away from Bea and she relaxed her arms a little, trying to control her breathing.

"Day and a half," the man called Skeezy replied.

Cal turned back to Bea. "We gotta keep you alive and in one piece. Client didn't say 'nothing about your mind though," Cal tapped the side of his temple. He turned back around and hooted. It echoed across the cavern and was replied to in kind, one after another, a cacophony of ravenous hyenas. He walked away and the construction spotlights turned off.

Bea's hands and feet were numb. Even the ambient warmth of the construction lights had been better than nothing.

Cal yelled from somewhere in the distance, "Yo! Hit her with that blocker shit! Gotta make sure she can't use her mods."

Footsteps squeaked across the wet tile. A modulated woman's voice spoke and Bea looked up. She wore a digital face mask, where green scan lines obscured her features with a crude red smiley face. She injected Bea with something that burned. "Nighty night piggy."

Annie despised Frederick Gordon. But Frederick Gordon had her brother trapped in a Militech brig in the middle of the Atlantic. He said every day she worked for him was a day less on her brother's sentence. Her brother should have been free two years ago.

"Annie, call the car," Frederick said. He spoke with a Transatlantic accent, an affect he purposely practiced. Annie knew because she booked his recurring voice lessons. He preened himself in a hand mirror, combing back his blonde hair.

"Yes, sir," Annie replied. She pulled up the Delamain app on her datapad and ordered the usual Excelsior package. "Destination?"

"Classified. I'll tell the cab when I get in," Frederick turned to her and smiled. The corners of his mouth were strained from the surgery and injections he'd had over the years to hide his aging and it made his perfect white teeth look too big for his mouth. He straightened the red bolero tie he wore under the collar of his blue button down short-sleeve shirt. "Please make sure the facility is prepped and that Dr. Yamamoto has everything he needs."

"Understood. Anything else?" Annie asked. She knew there was. There always was. It was the same thing every fucking time.

"Oh, have you heard from your brother lately?"

Annie forced her muscles into the best facsimile of a smile she could manage, "No. But I do hope he is well."

Frederick patted her face, grabbed his black sport coat and hung it over his shoulder with one hand. Annie handed him his black square sunglasses and watched him leave the mansion.

When Bea woke up, she was warm. Still naked, but there was a heater nearby. Her shoulders and wrists screamed in pain from being strung up for so long. She flexed her hands and rotated her wrists inside the shackles. She opened her eyes and squinted, getting used to the overhead lighting. She was inside a locker room, though, less a room and more an area. She was chained to the only wall while the rest opened up into the cave. Cal sat on a warped metal bench in front of her, smoking another cigarette.

"Fourteen hours left, baby. What should we do with you? Be a shame to let all that meat go to waste," the cherry flared and he exhaled rings of smoke.

"I'm going to savor playing with your guts," Bea choked out. Her mouth and throat were dry. She licked her lips, chapped and bleeding.

A woman spoke up from behind Cal, "Come on! Get the show started!"

Don't stray too far from the camp, Batty!

Lest the Raffen getcha!

Bea knew what was next. Every nomad girl knew and they were taught how to deal with it. How to survive. How to make it through so you could make it home. All that mattered was doing what you had to do to make it back to camp alive.

"Alright, alright. You'll get your show," Cal stood up. His movements were awkward, like he didn't belong in his own body. 

He shrugged off his vest, a Wraiths vest, not like the one he'd worn at the bar. He peeled his red tank top off revealing a torso littered with scars and metal, a mix of removed and re-added modifications over and over. Bea noticed one arm was slightly shorter than the other when he tore the belt out of his pants and wrapped it around his hand, placing the skull-shaped buckle over his knuckles before swaggering over to her. His confidence annoyed her.

She licked her lips again and swallowed hard before speaking, "Don't get your dick too close to my mouth. I bite." 

She closed her eyes and braced herself. Cal slammed his fist into her jaw. She heard the break within her skull before she felt it. She spat two teeth out at him. 

"Respect the tactic." She spat more blood out at him and licked around her mouth, spreading the blood around her face. "But I got a strong jaw. I'll crush and grind and grate and pulverize your cock between my gu—."

Cal punched her in the side of her head, another crack, and her vision spun. 

"You gonna fuck me already or what?" Bea yelled.

Cal reached in front of her face to grab her chains from the hook above her, and she lunged forward, biting into his arm. Her jaw throbbed with pain but she forced herself to clench as hard as she could. Salty copper filled her mouth and when he pulled his arm away, a chunk of flesh remained between her front teeth. Bea sucked it into her mouth and chewed, staring Cal down, expressionless. Every time she brought her jaws together, pain flared in the fractured bone. But she kept chewing the stringy, tough meat.

"You fucking psycho cunt!" His eyes flicked back and forth between the ragged wound on his arm and her smirk as she chewed. A hint of fear crept beneath the rage that filled his eyes.

She spat the mangled flesh out at his feet.

Cal reached up from the side instead of the front and grabbed her chains. She snapped her teeth at him and growled like a dog. He slammed her onto the ground and jammed his fist into her stomach. Her eyes bulged as she coughed and gasped for air. He motioned for someone to aid him. Two people came, one to hold her arms down and the other to keep her legs spread.

"Careful, Dave," Bea sang her warning. She coughed and growled, "My pussy will eat you alive." She grinned and pushed her own blood out through her teeth.

She stared into Cal's eyes, smiling as the seconds ticked by. He had to look away. Bea looked up at the person holding her arms, still grinning. It was involuntary. It was bloodlust. When she licked the blood off her teeth, the person holding her arms had to look away too.

"Come on, Cal," she yelled, “I know you can do better than that!" 

"Fuck you!" he grabbed her neck with one hand and slammed the buckle into her face, over and over, until she was out.

"What is the fucking hold up?" Frederick snapped at Delamain.

"I do apologize, sir. It appears the line through the border is much longer than expected," the polite AI voice replied.

"Will we make it in time?" Frederick asked.

"We will not."

Frederick slammed his fist into the screen on the back of the seat in front of him until it cracked.

"S-sir, pl-p-please refrain from damaging the vehicle or your Excelsior package will be void."

Bea awoke two hours later in a heap on the floor being hosed off again. She watched the blood and body fluids swirl over the cracked blue tile and down the drain. Her whole body hurt. She was tired. She was starving. She had to survive.

Cal's heavy brown boots appeared in front of her, "Twelve hours! Let's get you cleaned up and ready for surgery."

He squatted down in front of her and turned her head up to look at him. She winced when he touched her broken cheek. "Oh, sorry, honey. Guess we got a little rough, but, as long as your cyberware is still intact!"

Bea's hands twitched and she realized she wasn't chained. She was free.

Cal stood up and turned around, "I told you to clear the fucking bodies out of the goddamn cages! Get that one ready for her."

Bea shook, not from being cold, but from all the anger and lust for death that coursed through every liter of blood in her body. She took some deep breaths and focused on her body, checking where it hurt, what she could move. The mods weren't active due to the blocker, but her exercise regimen to maintain the muscles supporting her joints were as strong as ever. She slid quietly and slowly a quarter turn so she was directly behind Cal's legs. She paused to make sure no one noticed. Cal was still barking orders. She glanced behind her and stretched her legs out. Her toes just barely hit the wall but she thought it should be enough.

She wrapped her hands around his ankles and pulled back. Her feet hit the wall, giving her the leverage she needed to topple him. She was on him in a flash. She straddled his back and squeezed his neck between one elbow while the other hand grasped her wrist. She pulled the grip tighter and tighter as he clawed at her arm. She relished the wet, gurgling sound coming from his throat. 

"I am going to peel your face and wear it like a fucking mask as I slaughter the rest of your friends," she hissed.

She wished she didn't have to end it so soon; she wanted to hear the full range of sounds his suffering could make. She jerked her wrist towards her as hard and fast as she could, and his neck snapped with a satisfying crunch. It reverberated up her arm like the tingling touch of a lover.

The scavs yelled over each other, trying to organize a resistance. Which didn’t make sense, she was just one girl. If they knew about her cyberware, they knew she didn’t have any combat ware. FlexxSys was recalled and effectively useless. She had standard circulatory system chrome you could get at any ripper. Perhaps they wanted her corpo coprocessor. She knew it had monitoring soft on it, it was how her handler handled her.

She ripped herself out of her untimely reverie when she heard guns being checked and dug blindly through Cal’s pockets. Her situational awareness training was instinct. She tracked three gangoons coming towards her on the left and two more from the right. All five with automatic rifles. She knew how to kill people in hundreds of different ways, but even the strongest skinweave under bulletproof plates couldn't stop a barrage of bullets. She was cornered.

Her eyes darted around, looking for an escape, for anything else she could use since Cal’s pockets were empty. Did she have enough time to rip his arm off? Not the first time she’d have had to kill someone with a humerus. The five scavs formed a firm line and marched closer and closer. She clenched her jaw and bared her teeth, balling her hands into fists.

They wouldn't kill her, would they? Would they risk that kind of payday?

Fuck it.

With a warrior's cry, she charged at the row of scavs. None of them fired. Bea smiled as blood splashed across her face and chest. She shoved an elbow into the solar plexus of someone behind her while she jammed her thumb into the eye of another. She spat and snarled a curse in Yiddish, "Vi tsu derleb ikh im shoyn tsu bagrobn!"

A strong fist curled around her right arm and then another around her left. She screamed, her throat raw and guttural as they dragged her towards the cages, kicking and spitting like a feral cat. "I will skin you all alive! I will slurp your fucking guts down like ramen! I WILL KILL ALL OF YO—"

A rifle opened a gash in the back of her skull, and she was out.

Panam led the charge in her modified Thorton, with the other nomads trailing close behind. She looked over at V who had his personal link out and hovering over the port to the turret. She nodded to him and grabbed the radio. V jacked into the turret on Panam's truck. 

"Get ready! We're coming in hot as fucking hell!" Panam called to the rest.

V heard the other 'Caldos whooping and hollering in reply, guns checked and loaded. His heart pounded. For the first time in a long time, he felt alive. Panam's Thorton burst through the barricade and sent splinters of wood and plastic flying past the truck. She ran over scavs while V mowed down the rest, clearing a path for the clan following behind them.

Until it jammed. Because of course it did.

He jacked out and slid back into the vehicle from the top hatch, "How many times did I tell you to update your fucking firmware?!"

Panam handed him his assault rifle, "It's a mechanical issue!"

She slid to a stop, positioning the vehicle front and center to use the bulletproof doors for cover. Panam climbed out first, pulling her custom Grad sniper from the backseat with her and positioned herself behind the door.

"Then fucking fix it!" V jumped out of the truck and crouched behind the passenger door. V aimed down his assault rifle’s scope to survey the field. A silenced shot from Panam's rifle popped a scav's head like a water balloon 200 feet away.

Mitch and Carol pulled up next to Panam and got out of their van. Mitch crouched low and hurried up behind V, "V, take a crew to the right, check the cages there. Carol and I will hold here, we've got some new explosives we've been cooking up."

"On it." V slammed a fresh mag into the rifle, crouched low, and motioned for two other nomads that came up with Mitch to follow. From the long entrance they sped through, the abandoned mine opened up into a massive room filled with heavy crates and abandoned construction and mining machinery. About twenty rusted iron gogo dancer cages were standing against a series of crates, their doors facing the wall of the cave. V and the other two Aldecaldos hustled along the edge of the wall to their right, sticking as low as possible. V's knees ached. He hadn't had to crouch-walk like this in so long. 

V got a better view of the cages that lined their left flank. They were about five by five foot each, and one after another only contained piles of wet, shining viscera. "Come on," he pleaded quietly. Someone had to be alive. Someone had to make this worth it.

They were halfway through checking the first ten cages when V saw two scavs struggling with a naked woman in the very last cage who was covered in blood and bruises but fighting like a motherfucker. She headbutted one of the scavs and knocked him off balance. He released her and V fired at the other. He was too far to get a good shot, but it was enough of a distraction for the woman to lunge at the guy’s neck with her mouth open. She pulled away and spat something out on the ground as blood spilled out onto her chest, covering her naked body. He saw a hint of yellow-green hair under the blood and gore, and his heart skipped.

The scav that got knocked down regained his balance and pulled a knife on the woman. V tried firing again, but a tattoo of bullets peppered the wall above him and he had to whip around to return fire.

"Keep going! We've got you," one of the nomads following him said. A bullet sliced along V's bicep and he cursed. He looked back between the nomads and the girl and saw the knife, glinting in the construction lights, slashing at her arms, raised to protect her face.

V provided more covering fire before turning back to the cages. When he did, he saw the knife jam into her stomach, tearing upwards, as the force of the blow lifted her off her feet. V stood and ran. Another bullet scraped his cheek as he raised his rifle and fired a clean shot through the scav's head as the woman dropped to the ground.

V slid to his knees through the blood in front of her and slung the rifle around his back, adjusting the strap to free his hands. He raised his shaking hands over her, ready to help, but she was covered in so much blood he couldn't tell where she was hurt. She looked at him and was grinning, completely crazed. V leaned his head back to dodge as she thrust her hands up and scratched at his face. 

He grabbed her wrists and placed her hands over her stomach. She was too weak to keep fighting. "Fucking calm down! I'm trying to save your goddamn life!"

Her eyes fluttered and she turned her head away from him. V saw the gold cyberware across her nose and cheeks.

It was her.

"MED HYPO!" he screamed at the 'Caldos catching up to him. He caught the green and white autoinjector in his fist and slammed it into Bea's chest. Her eyes opened in shock for one moment, a flicker of recognition in her face before she collapsed again.

V tore off his shirt, balled it up, and placed it under her hands. He lifted her up, her blood warm against his bare chest and stomach, and rushed to Panam's truck. Bea opened her eyes briefly, lifting one of her hands up again towards his face. "Keep your fucking hands down!" 

She lost consciousness again and her hand flopped back down onto his shirt, soaked through with blood. He gingerly placed her in the backseat and slid in after her. He pressed his hands over hers, keeping pressure on the wound, and she moaned in pain. Panam was already hopping into the driver's seat.

"Fucking drive!" he yelled, and Panam sped off like hell on wheels.

She had to live. She had to fucking live.

He never took his eyes off her rising and falling chest, and his hands never stopped shaking. Not until she was in the camp’s ripper chair. He attended the mission debrief, but all he thought about was how careless he was. Sprinting out of cover, his hands shaking. His fucking hands shaking. Panam met the ripper when he finally left the trailer. V watched Panam’s face from a distance to get an idea of whether the news was good or bad. Regardless, V decided he couldn’t be there when she woke up.

When Panam smiled and patted the ripper’s arm, V turned around and left for his car. He needed to forget her. 

Forgetting her became his new purpose. Instead of filling his senses to not feel feelings, he filled his time to think of anything but her. And forget her, he did, until during a particularly weak-willed evening, V went back to Doll Parts and asked for her. They told him she had quit weeks ago. 

That made it even easier, no risk of seeing her in the window of Doll Parts. He didn’t know what he would do if he saw her again. 

A small part of him, a part he refused to acknowledge but had made its existence known like a mosquito bite you try not to itch and when you accidentally do, it never stops itching, wanted to see her again. So very, very badly.

Chapter Text

V stared at the blood-splattered wall behind Robbie’s desk. His eyes glazed over, making the blood blend with the shredded American flag that poorly covered the stains. He wondered how and when those stains were made as the ersatz soldier droned on behind his desk.

Robbie, a fixer aligned with 6th Street, had a job for V. A very special and very lucrative job. V wasn't sure how he had landed such a gig because Wakako had been right–his rep was tanking and none of the district fixers took his calls anymore. V picked at the grimy, textured plastic armrests of the blue deckchair, the kind with vinyl slats that would trap your balls if you weren't careful when wearing swim trunks.

Robbie cleared his throat and leaned over his desk to snap his fingers in front of V's face. "You listening? This is important. No room for cocking it up." V refocused his eyes and nodded. "Alright, there's a bunker out in the badlands. Client needs what's inside." Robbie had a heavy Chicago accent. The "th" in "there" came out as a "d".

"What am I klepping?" V slouched forward in the chair and rested his elbows on his thighs. His hands hung limp, as impotent as he felt. He flexed his fist, watching the yellow ceiling light shimmer across the chrome. He looked back up at Robbie and his stomach churned. Little sleep and an expired frozen burrito didn’t mix well with reckoning with the lowest point in your career, maybe the last of your career. The fixer opened a drawer in his desk and the faded flaming skull tattooed on his shoulder seemed to smile at V. V quickly sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Confidential," Robbie held a shard case between his middle and forefinger. "Now, I got a shard here with the details. I don't care how it's done, just get it done." Robbie slid the shard case across his desk to V. "And don't fuckin' call me until the gig is done. Figure shit out yourself."

V rolled his eyes and pried himself out of the chair and placed his hand over the shard case. Robbie pulled a knife from his green bulletproof vest and stabbed it into the desk, centimeters away from V's hand. V looked up at Robbie and hid the boiling rage with a blank expression. Just because his street cred among fixers had tanked, didn’t mean his reputation as an efficient killer was suddenly erased. "I know I'm your last goddamn chance in this town," Robbie growled. His other shoulder had the 6th Street logo tattooed on it, but the bright yellows and blues were striped white with scars. 

V gritted his teeth and splayed his hand out, his pinky making contact with the knife as he stared the fixer down. He could rip the knife out and jam it into Robbie’s neck before he could say OOH-RAH. He wanted to. He wanted to slice that smug smile apart and remind Night City who V was.

And who was V?

The fixer lurched forward, grinning, thinking he was going to startle V. When V didn't budge, the fixer glared and ripped his knife out of the desk. "Get the fuck outta here!"

"Fuckin' macho bullshit," V muttered when he was settled into the worn black seat of his shitbox sedan, Helen. 

He slotted the shard in and watched the overlay on his retinal field. The shard contained a dossier on the mark that held the key: information about his proclivities, tastes, routines, his security. V's eyes widened when he saw the guy was a high-level Militech corpo. In fact, he was the vice president of R&D. No wonder the job paid so well. But, why the fuck did it go to a bottom-of-the-barrel fixer like Robbie?

V chewed on the info on the drive home. There were a few clubs the man frequented, including a doll club. That would probably be the easiest way to klep the key. But the mark was a regular straight man and V couldn't get close to him undercover as a doll. All the female mercs he knew hated his guts and refused to work with him. He could try Panam, but she would murder him as soon as she heard what he needed her to do. He didn't want to burn any recent goodwill he'd earned back, and he would need the Aldecaldos' help to locate the bunker. He could call Viper, but unless she was willing to draw on eyebrows and…no, he needed a real woman.

V slept on it. In his levelheadedness since forgetting the girl, he remembered Jackie didn't hate his guts. They had been best friends, V was just a fucking asshole. Maybe doing this gig together would help bring them close again.

V texted Jackie the next morning:

Jackie called V a few minutes later on holo. He was pacing the room he used for a "bedroom" in his garage, dimly lit by the candles around a sand mandala he was making at Misty's recommendation. "I got just the girl for this," he said, with more than a hint of excitement.

V raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Nova, I'll get the uniform ready. Meet at Afterlife tonight. Ten?"

"Yup, hasta luego," Jackie stared into the holo cam with a big grin and winked at V.

"Hasta luego, cabrón," V turned his own holo on for a moment to smile back at Jackie before hanging up.

V felt giddy. Not just to meet whoever Jackie was bringing, but that he and Jackie were working a gig together again. And, meeting a new girl would be nice, too. He still got ghostly pangs of some vague desire for a woman whose face he couldn't see anymore. Would be nice to have a distract— new obsession.

V got to the bar early to reserve their booth. He wore his usual black jeans, merc jacket, and a black tank top. He ordered a rocks glass of tequila and eased into the black leather booth. He placed the gym bag with the uniform under the table and set the shard cases—just so—on the table. He wanted to make a good first impression, that he was a professional and this was a professional gig, regardless of what he was asking her to do.

V looked up when Rogue slid into the seat across from him. She arched one sharp eyebrow when she saw his prep work. "A job not from me?" she asked coolly.

He smiled sarcastically at the old woman. She still intimidated the fuck out of him, even more so after he had let Johnny use his body for a bittersweet date night with her. "There a law against organizing gigs from other fixers at the After?"

Rogue smirked, "No. Surprised anyone else even hired you. Heard your star had fallen quite low." She looked at the shard cases on the table and reached her hand out, "May I?"

V slapped her hand away, "Fuck off."

Rogue shook her hand and pouted in mock pain and alarm. She leaned forward and looked at him. Her gaze commanded attention. She exuded a confidence and worldliness he would never have– and she also made him a little sick, because she reminded him Johnny was gone.

"How about a deal, V? Let me take a peek. If you pull this gig off, I'll give you a second chance." She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on the back of her hand. Intel was Rogue’s game. If her font of information ever dried up, she’d lose her crown, scepter, and throne in the Afterlife.

V could imagine what Johnny would say. First, he would berate him for letting his rep tank, and then he would tell him not to squander this to protect a relationship with the shittiest fixer in Night City. He swallowed hard and nodded.

When she slotted the shard in and her eyes turned amber, she immediately started laughing. "Oh, I should have known it was Robbie. God, you really have hit rock bottom."

V shifted in his seat uncomfortably. She was right, Rogue was always fucking right. She pulled the shard out and placed it back in the case. "Let me know how it goes, V," she slid out of the booth and stood. "Good luck, kid." Rogue spun on the balls of her feet and walked off, her long, confident stride clearing a path between the crowd as she returned to her own booth.

V sat upright in the booth and fidgeted with the placement of the data shards again when he saw Jackie walking towards the booth with a woman. She was tall with yellow and green hair. V had to do a double take. Lots of people in NC had that color of hair, and besides, hers was straighter, up in a ponytail, and she had bangs. The girl in the window did not have bangs. The woman walking toward him wore a loose green tank top and tight black leather pants. V clocked an HJKE Yukimura smartpistol in a drop holster strapped to her right thigh. 

He couldn't help but stare, and as she got closer, V realized this femme fatale wasn't wearing a bra. Her nipples formed tight points in her shirt and, unless it was a trick of the light, revealed the slight outline of nipple piercings. V gulped down his whole glass of tequila and picked up a screamsheet on the table, holding it up in front of his face, pretending to read to hide the redness spreading across his cheeks.

Two pairs of footsteps, one heavier than the other, stopped at the edge of the table. "V, meet uh, heh, Bea," Jackie chuckled and then mumbled, "Didn't realize your names would rhyme."

V smiled behind the magazine, "Sounds like you stole my gimmick." He had a smooth voice with a slight gravel and a hint of some eastern NUS accent on the vowels. He never understood where he got that from, since his family all came from Mexico or Spain. The vowels occasionally turned nasally if he wasn’t careful, and he needed to be careful, he needed to turn the charm up to eleven.

"B-E-A-," Jackie enunciated the letters, "You're 'V. Just V'."

V slapped the screamsheet down on the table, "You're goddamn right I—" he looked up, "am." It was her. She changed her hair, sure, but her green eyes and the gold cyberware across her cheeks, the gold lines around her arms, the lips he dreamed about kissing.

It was her.

He had tried so hard to forget, but she was permanently etched into his brain. It didn't look like she recognized him, a small mercy. He could make a better first impression. Jackie nudged her into the booth first. When he slid in, he nudged her even closer to V until their legs touched. Her leather pants were cool against the thin denim of his worn jeans. 

V turned to her and stuck his hand out to shake. The same electric pulse when her fingers brushed his against the glass of tequila was magnified by her whole hand grasping his. It was soft and warm; she wore a thin gold bracelet around one wrist and a series of thick black and gold rings around each finger. He let his touch linger; she felt like a lifeline and if he let go, he would drown.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she squeezed harder and harder. She was testing his grip. Unfortunately for her, the Gorilla Arms cybermodification replaced his 'ganic hands with chrome. His fingers and hand bones had been replaced with a titanium rig of pistons embedded inside a steel skeleton and covered by chrome aramid-weave SynthSkinn. He smirked when she realized she couldn't squeeze any harder.

"Why the fuck am I here? What's the gig?" Bea said. She glared first at Jackie and then back at V.

"Jesus, down to biz already? I wanna know who I'm working with," V replied. He could feel her thigh muscle tense against his own.

Bea snatched the Broseph off Claire's tray before the bartender had a chance to put them down. "I'm really good at killing and if you play your cards right, maybe I'll even demonstrate," she took a long swig of the beer, "on you."

"No killing on this job." V waited for Claire to set his down before taking a sip. And did Bea look…disappointed?

"Right. Jackie mentioned needing a "feminine touch"," Bea sneered at the phrase. "So, what exactly am I doing here?"

V gestured to the shard cases on the table, "Slot in." V had prepared the shards himself earlier that day. On their retinal field displayed a floor plan for a doll club called Johnny's Angels and a profile for a man named Frederick Gordon. "Frederick holds a key. All you gotta do is get close and klep it off 'im."

Bea ripped the shard out before the programmed briefing finished. Her jaw tensed. "No, find someone else."

Jackie finished reviewing the shard and replaced it in the case. "Can't do this without you, Bea," he said. He took a deep swig of his beer and shifted in his seat. He looked like he was a little kid in school waiting for a detention sentencing.

"Yes, you can," Bea turned her icy glare on Jackie. "Shitload of other women you can choose from, why me?"

Jackie blushed and looked away from her. "You used to work in a club like this," he mumbled.

V frowned and looked at the cyberware on her arms. They were doll lines, but she didn't have a doll chip slot on her neck.

"Fuck you," she turned to V and looked utterly furious. "And fuck you, too. I'm out of here." She stood up and V was worried she was about to vault over the table if neither he nor Jackie moved to let her out until Jackie grabbed her arm.

"Sit down, hear him out," Jackie said.

V took another sip of beer, "The payout is significant ."

"How much?" Bea froze for a few short moments, and V held his breath. Would she leave anyway? She sighed audibly then sat back and folded her arms. V exhaled.

"Six figures," he said confidently. He saw Jackie's eyes bulge. Because V was lying. It was 50k.

She narrowed her eyes. Would she call his bluff? "What's the split?"

"Fifty-fifty," V said, “Fifty to me, and fifty for you two to split up however you desire.” She wanted to negotiate? Easy, nothing he hasn't had to do before.

Until she stared into his eyes and he got lost in the verdant forest within. “Thirty-five for you, thirty-five for Jackie, thirty for me," Bea countered.

"Bea, come on," Jackie started before V cut his hand across his neck to stop him. It wasn’t the best deal they could get, but V hoped agreeing would entitle him to a date after.

"Deal," V said. "Now, I have a uniform for you."

Bea arched an eyebrow. V leaned over the edge of the booth and felt cold air brush across his side as his shirt and jacket rode up, exposing the surgical scar along his hip from a Mantis Blade wound. He wondered if she was checking him out. When he sat back up with the clear plastic package in his hands, he noticed a very subtle flush across her cheeks. He handed the package to her.

She inspected the contents in the plastic and threw an annoyed glance at V. He had been purposeful when packing the uniform, so the pieces couldn't be made out without taking them out of the package. He had wanted to see how the prospective woman would react, piece by piece.

Bea gracelessly shoved the shard cases, screamsheet, and anything else not nailed down– including their drinks–forward on the table. V grabbed his and Bea's bottles with one hand, chrome fingers clinking against the glass, before they had a chance to spill. She tore the top open and dumped the contents of the package out onto the table. V studied her face as she riffled through the contents.

She picked up a cheap black chain collar with a silver pendant of the Samurai logo hanging off a small ring, tested the strength of the metal chain, then set it to the side. V noticed the faintest twitch from her lower right eyelid as she unfolded the red spandex leotard. It had a drop shoulder neckline and a large round cutout on the right side that exposed the side of the wearer's breast down to the hip bone. Bea's jaw tensed and a faint vein on her temple pulsed.

Bea folded it back up and looked at V, anger blazing like a forest fire in her green eyes. "What, neither of you wanted to wear this outfit?" Her voice was calm and steady, not betraying her true feelings.

V grinned, "I think you'd look much, much hotter." He snuck his hand below the table and placed it on his thigh, letting his pinky inch across to Bea's thigh. She tensed tighter. Oh, she wanted to beat the shit out of him. He would thank her and ask for more.

"Come on, Bea. It's just for a couple hours," Jackie said. He rubbed one hand across the back of his neck and looked at V, a pleading expression on his face, asking to please stop fucking with her.

Bea turned her head to look at Jackie and then back at V. Gold hoop earrings captured the light and glittered between green strands of hair falling loose from her ponytail. "Fine. New split. Twenty-five to V, twenty-five to Jackie," she paused for a moment, "fifty to me."

V barked a laugh, "No fuckin' way. Forty, forty," he pointed to him and Jackie, "you get twenty."

Bea put her hand under the table and grabbed V's pinky finger. She bent it back, trying to hurt him. She had to have known it wouldn't work, and he smiled smugly at her. She bit her lip, and a rush of blood took a southerly detour from his brain. She slowly moved her hand up and down V's finger, miming jerking him off. He felt a flush trying to sneak its way up his neck.

Bea slammed her other fist into his bicep. He yanked his hand out of her grip and rubbed his arm. Wrapped around her fist was the choker with the Samurai logo between her fingers. A small piece of brown leather hung off the bottom of the pendant. She was beaming, absolutely glowing, relishing his pain. 

"I would hate to see you in a hostage situation, V," she said. His name on her lips made his heart flutter like it did the first time at the club. "Seeing you tied up might be fun, though," she added, only loud enough for him to hear.

V chugged the rest of his beer and slammed the bottle down on the table. "Thirty-five to me and Jackie, thirty to you," V said. Bea unwrapped the choker from around her hand, placed all the items back in the plastic bag, and set it between her and Jackie.

She placed her hand on V's thigh and squeezed. "Forty to me, sixty for you and Jackie to split up however you desire."

V grabbed her wrist and moved her hand closer to his inner thigh, he tried to control his breathing to prevent the hitching as he glided it up near his crotch. He leaned in close to her. "Deal." His cock twitched inside his tight jeans, feeling the heat radiating from her hand against him.

She snatched her hand away and slapped it on the table, "Great! Next round's on you."

Bea loosened up the more she drank. V drank slowly; he wanted to remember every detail, every morsel of personal information. He learned she knew how to kill a man in no less than one hundred ways with a pencil; she was proud of her dicksucking skills—V made a mental note to find that out for himself—and she was Jewish. V choked on his beer, remembering how he wondered if she was Jewish when her pomegranate scent had dredged up ancient childhood memories of Jewish holidays.

The night was nearing the end and V upped the stakes with tequila and a game of "I never." He learned that Jackie had a crush on their second grade teacher and had given her a very suggestive Valentine’s Day card in third grade, Bea’s second favorite weapon was a Nekomata sniper rifle, she was a stripper before she became a merc—confirming what he already knew–her favorite color was ugly 1970s chartreuse, and she had no friends. Jackie protested, but she claimed he didn't count.

Claire came by for last call and V ordered another round of tequila. When she returned, V took the last turn of the game. He had been thinking about it all night; it was perfect to fuck with her, to see how rattled he could make her. To see what was under this polished, fake personality she was wearing. "I never got kidnapped by Raffen Shiv."

Jackie mouthed, "What the fuck, V?" at him as Bea was the only one to slam the shot. Her head bobbed for a moment as she blinked the drunk out of her eyes and looked at V and Jackie's full shot glasses.

Jackie shook his head. V wore a self-satisfied smirk. Her eyes focused, her face flared into a sneer, and V was too slow– the last shot had gone straight to his head.

Bea grabbed one of the empty beer bottles and smashed it on the table before kicking the table out of the way, sending all the bottles and glasses crashing to the floor. Bea leaped onto V's lap and held the broken glass at his throat, slowly pushing in enough to draw blood.

V was swept away by memories of the lap dance enhanced by her hot breath on his face, alcohol beneath the citrus and pomegranate, her breasts pressing into his chest, her strong thighs gripping his and her soft hand pulling the tail of his mullethawk back to expose his neck.

"What do you fucking know about that?" she snarled.

"Bea!" Jackie lunged out of his seat towards them with his arms out. V didn’t want him to interrupt, he was having too much fun.

 "Stay out of it!" Bea’s command was firm and steady.

Before she could return the bottle to V's neck, he grabbed her wrist and twisted, making her drop the bottle. He wrapped one strong arm around her waist and stood up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist to keep herself from falling.

He was still smiling as a trickle of hot blood tickled down his neck. "Nice way to thank the guy that rescued you," he replied.

Bea reared her head back and slammed it forward, a sharp crack echoing in his head from his now broken nose. He laughed. He didn't feel the pain from his nose scrunching with laughter, he only saw and felt her . Bea struggled against his grip and he wrapped his other arm around her thigh. He felt how firm her muscles were and wanted to be between those powerful thighs, making her scream with his ton—

Bea slammed the base of her hand into his broken nose. It sent a shockwave of pain causing him to loosen his grip. She wriggled free, and he whirled away from her. She kicked behind one of his knees, sending him kneeling into the pile of broken glass. She picked up a shard, cutting her own hand in the process, and wrapped her legs around his neck, pulling him back into her and to the floor. Glass crunched and embedded itself into her bare shoulders. She sliced against his neck, but the skinweave armor he was chipped with blocked the shallow cut. He laughed harder, and her thighs instead tightened around his neck.

"Tell me what the fuck you know!" she yelled. "Or I swear to fuck, I will pop your fucking head off your goddamn neck."

As the blood was blocked from his brain, it moved to his cock. He choked out a chuckle at the poor timing and potentially new fetish he discovered in himself. He grabbed her ankles with both hands, got his feet under him, stood up, and slammed her into the floor on her stomach and into the glass again. He frowned and paused briefly at the sight of glass embedded into her back, feeling a sudden strong tenderness and care for her rise inside him.

He straddled her and held one arm across her shoulders, digging the glass in deeper and pressing her face into more. "Aldecaldos had a job. I said sure. Your guts were spilling out of you when I found you in the fucking cage. Brought you back to their ripper. You're fucking welcome, Bea." He released her and stepped out of the booth, brushing glass off himself.

Bea lay there for a moment, breathing hard. She released the shard of glass in her hand. V walked in front of her and held his hand out to help her up. She looked vulnerable. V wanted to drop to his knees and remove the glass from her back, wipe up the blood— with his tongue.

She glared up at him, not moving. Jackie arguing with Emmerick about breaking up the fight was merely a whisper on the wind. He imagined her eyes looking up at him, kneeling with his co—V rolled his eyes at himself and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her up to her feet against her will. "You done?" he growled quietly.

Bea smiled, the cuts from her face dripped blood across her lips and between her teeth. V wanted to kiss her.

As if she read his mind, she pulled his head in, crashing their lips together. They were as soft and plump as he had hoped. Her blood tasted sweet, and he wanted to take her right there in the middle of the club. She licked across his lips before forcing her tongue between them. His mouth opened without resistance and their tongues swirled around each other, fighting for dominance. V closed his eyes and put his arms around her waist again, slowly moving his hand further down her lower back, inching his fingers into her waistband.

She kneed him in the balls as hard as she could and bit into his lip, drawing blood as he tried to break away. Jackie and Emmerick both sucked in air sharply. Bea released him, and V saw she was grinning the same way she did when he rescued her: bloodthirsty. He doubled over and coughed, swallowing the sour tequila rising up in his throat. 

She bent over to meet him and they locked eyes. She ran her hands up his back and scraped her nails against the back of his neck, eliciting a ripple of goosebumps that immediately soothed the nausea. He had to hold back a whimper. "See you tomorrow night, shithead." She stood up and turned on the heel of her boots, dipped back and slammed a fist into his gut, causing him to finally puke.

He watched her walk off, shoving her way between Jackie and Emmerick like they were simply strands of a beaded curtain. She brushed the glass off her shoulders and walked with confidence and nonchalance, like she hadn’t just been one half of a bar brawl. He stared as her ass and her hips swayed with each step.

He was so fucking in love.

Chapter Text

V woke up feeling bruised, beaten, and unable to breathe through his nose. A smile crept across his lips as the phantom feeling of Bea's thighs around him and her hand pulling his hair flooded his memory. He tried to hold on to the feeling of her hands on his skin as he delved into what it would feel like to fuck her in the same position she head-butted him.

He plucked the tank top he wore last night off the floor and wiped off the fluid streaking pale lines across his stomach. He tossed the shirt in his laundry basket on top of other similarly abused shirts, folds crusted and hard. Nibbles batted at his leg as he walked too close to her splayed out on the floor on his way to the bathroom to shower and he playfully slid her across the black tiles with his foot. V opened up a group chat via holoimplant on his retinal field. Jackie had flicked him Bea's contact after slamming a bar towel full of ice onto his broken nose.

V spent the rest of the day reviewing his prep. He wanted it to be perfect. Not just to improve his rep and get a second chance from the Queen of Fixers, but he wanted to impress Bea. But, why? Why did he care so much? Why was she different? He shook her out of his head, couldn't get distracted. He sat down at his electronics workbench and cracked his neck. Nibbles brushed against his legs before jumping up onto the table. He picked her up by her scruff and held her like a baby, "You are so lucky you're fucking hairless." He kissed the top of her head and dropped her onto the floor.

He grabbed his cyberdeck, adorned with chibi stickers of the Samurai band members, a rainbow heart sticker, and a pinup of the eponymous Zombie Joytoy from the BD series. He grabbed the hardware interface cable and plugged it into his laptop, cracked his knuckles, and got to work. He checked the biomonitor program and ensured it was configured for a female, six feet tall, and about 180 pounds. The soft would be accurately configured when he had her jack in the first time, but he wanted to run some simulations to calibrate the stress monitor.

It was about four in the afternoon by the time his simulations completed. SYSFUNC NOMINAL flashed in green across the screen. He made himself some coffee. It was the lowest of low quality and the smell made Nibbles hide under the bed, but it was his favorite. He sat back down at his desk and downloaded the latest access codes for the club's security systems. That took another two hours.

He ate a microwaved burrito and cherry NiCola for dinner, fed Nibbles, then got ready. He looked at himself in the mirror. The bridge of his nose was a light purple with broken blood vessels spreading out along the sides. The immediate ice had helped the swelling, but he'd still had to crack it back into place himself. Wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last. One eye was significantly darker than the other from when her palm hit his nose at an angle. He probed his split lip with his fingers, only opening the wound again. He rinsed his mouth with saltwater after brushing his teeth and sucked on his bloody lip as he went to his closet to get dressed.

He wanted to look cool but professional, and not like he was trying too hard. His stomach fluttered in anticipation thinking of Bea in the skimpy outfit as he searched through his clean clothes. He settled on a Tinnitus T-shirt and his usual black jeans and black high-top sneakers. He debated on wearing his jacket, but he'd be crammed into the back of the van with Jackie for the whole evening.

V picked Jackie up at El Coyote Cojo in the custom black Villefort Columbus cargo van they'd outfitted together for gigs. It had custom interior bulletproof plating with windows replaced by CrystralDome. Multiple monitors were mounted on the passenger side of the back of the van each with their own backup solar powered battery. V idled outside the bar and drummed his fingers on the black steering wheel waiting for Jackie to come out the front door. V looked at the megabuilding looming in the distance. The one Bea lived in was the same megabuilding V lived in until he was 13.

V nodded to Jackie in greeting when he left the bar. Jackie walked around to the back of the van and tossed a black duffel bag in with the rest of their gear. Mama Welles popped her head out of the door and she and Jackie exchanged some muffled words V couldn't make out from the thick passenger window glass. When Jackie opened the door, he muttered a curse under his breath as Mama Welles went back inside. Jackie settled into the front seat and turned to V, "Listen V, please, calm the fuck down."

"What are you talking about?" V pulled away from the curb and flipped a u-turn, heading down the street towards the megabuilding.

"We can't do this gig without her. Don't fuck it up by thinking with your dick." Jackie sent a text to the group chat with their ETA of five minutes.

"Hey, I can be professional," V didn't quite believe it himself, though.

Jackie directed him to a guest parking spot in the parking garage. On floor 10, the floor V's family lived on. "Jackie," V started.

"She's on floor 17, don't worry," Jackie patted V on the back and they walked towards the elevator. The call button was bright red, indicating it was out. They would need to walk seven flights of stairs up to her floor.

Jackie was slightly more out of breath than V when they got to Bea's front door and they waited a few minutes before knocking to compose themselves. V knocked on the green metal door to apartment 17F.

When she opened the door, a wave of nag champa escaped into the hallway. Bea was wearing a threadbare pink bathrobe, so thin he could see her hard nipples. She crossed her arms over her chest and V snapped his eyes up to her face and smiled. Her face was flush from the hot shower she must have just taken and her straight hair was curling at the bottom as it air dried.

"Pinche elevator was out again," Jackie cleared his throat and V slapped him hard on his back.

"I'm sure the hangover didn't help," V said.

Jackie pushed past Bea and beelined for the kitchen. Bea blocked the entry after letting Jackie pass. Barefoot, she didn't have to move her head up to look at him, but she did have to tilt her eyes up to meet his own. She uncrossed her arms, letting one hand catch on the robe, opening it enough to reveal her bare decolletage and a hint of cleavage.

She raised her eyebrows expectantly at him, but V didn't know what she was expecting him to do. A snide comment? An apology? As the flush in her face faded, V noticed a few scratches from the glass he had shoved her face into last night. He placed his hand on her cheek, lightly rubbing his thumb across the small cuts. He winced at the small but rough scabs.

Her eyes lowered briefly and V noticed a slight pressure in his hand, both movements lasting for only three seconds, as she leaned into his touch. When she returned to herself her eyes snapped back up at him. She reached one hand up and tweaked his nose with her fingers. He cursed and saw she was smiling, not bloodthirst, amusement.

Jackie had his head in the freezer and V walked around the apartment as Bea poured them glasses of water and got a towel for Jackie to wipe his sweat off. She had posters for horror BDs like Zombie Joytoy, Killer Korpo Klowns from Outer Space and Foreign Body. "Watch any XBDs?" he called out to Bea. He took a seat on the cracked blue synthleather couch in the living room. The nag champa scent came from an incense burner in the shape of a cat on a console table opposite the couch.

"Fuck kinda person you think I am?" Bea called out from the kitchen.

"Just curious, considerin' the Maelstrom interpretive dance you did, I wanted to know where the inspiration came from." On either side of the console table were two small black bookshelves filled with horror novels and horror memorabilia.

V watched her as she walked around the apartment. Her legs were smooth, she walked with long strides and every step gave V a glimpse at her inner thighs. Jackie collapsed next to V and the couch squeaked. He fanned himself with the towel as he set the ice pack across his bare chest. Bea sat down across from them on the coffee table and crossed one leg over the other. V tilted his head as she did, looking between her legs and Jackie smacked V upside the back of his head.

Bea snickered then composed herself when V looked at her. She was so close, their legs almost touched. She smelled like the same citrus and pomegranate; she wasn't wearing any makeup, and V thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his entire life. Their eyes met, but he didn't look away, he couldn't.

Bea extended her foot, touching V's leg. His heart quickened and his breath hitched. She subtly leaned over, pulling the robe just a bit further from her chest, revealing the gold cyberware that circled her breasts. She glanced at him and a flicker of a smirk crossed her face before she returned her attention to Jackie. "Other than the hangover, you ready for tonight?" Bea asked him.

"Todo bueno," he replied. "V?"

Bea looked at him and the world disintegrated in his peripheral vision so only she remained.

"Earth to V," Jackie said and snapped his fingers in front of V's face.

"Excited," V said. "And you, Bea?"

"Oh, I'm just fucking peachy," she said flatly.

Jackie slapped his hands on his knees, "Well, get changed chica, time for your shift."

Bea stood up and twirled on her feet, her scent washing over V. He watched her saunter to her bedroom. Before shutting the door, she briefly glanced over her shoulder at him. When Bea finally slammed her bedroom door shut, V felt like he could breathe again.

"V, cool it with Bea. Won't get anywhere," Jackie said.

V looked at him, "What're you talking about?" Why was he warning him a second time?

"I see the way you looked at her last night and I know you've seen her at Doll Parts before. I also know-"

V rolled his eyes and interrupted Jackie, "Nope, not like that." Wasn't it, though? Jackie knew her best, why shouldn't he get advice from him? Because it's fucking embarrassing and she hates your guts.

Jackie patted V on his back, "All's I'm saying is it's dangerous for your health."

V swallowed hard, "I told you, you can't get addict-"

"No, V, I mean…her. She's dangerous to your health, mano."

Well shit, that just made V want her even more. Clearly, she was capable of handling herself as proven by their first sparring session last night. They were equally matched and, while V wouldn't admit this to her, she probably would have won the fight if they had kept going.

Bea cracked the bedroom door open and a small sliver of warm light spread across the floor, "Don't look! I have to put my makeup on!"

Her curly hair was dry and hung down off one side and she looked directly at V. He could see the choker around her neck and she had sprayed some red glitter across her chest. A detail not required by the uniform. V thought she hated the uniform, why go the extra mile?

Jackie leaned his head back and put the towel over his eyes. V hid his expression and returned her stare, "No."

"¡Hijo de puta!" Jackie elbowed V in the ribs.

Bea slammed the door shut. She was mumbling something but V couldn't make it out behind the door.

"V, I'm serious," Jackie hissed.

She cracked the door again, not peering out and spoke from behind the door, "You should be lucky this started with Jackie and wasn't a rando pairing from a fixer."

She threw open the door and V inhaled sharply. Red was her color, it made her pale olive-toned skin pop and her nipple piercings created two small pebbles in the front of the leotard. And the cutout, God, the cutout, the soft curve of the bottom of her right breast, her sharp hip bone, V licked his lips. He wanted to pause time. In the daytime lighting he could see every detail. Some of the doll cyberware was broken up in some places with scars. God the scars, she had so many. She moved effortlessly. From head to toe it was like the world was made for her. He wanted to memorize every inch of her body.

And taste it.

"Fucking hell," he said quietly.

Their eyes met as she walked to the bathroom and he felt like he would melt, he knew he would be putty in her hands. "But you, V?" she pointed one long thin finger at him, light glinting off the black nail polish. "You're on thin fucking ice. In fact, I don't ever wanna see you again after this job."

He wanted her to make him melt, wanted to be putty she could mold into whatever the fuck she wanted him to be, do whatever she wanted him to do.

Bea shut the door to the bathroom and V exhaled. Jackie sat up and threw the towel down on the coffee table.

He looked over at V, fire in his eyes. He'd never seen him so angry, not in a long time.

V looked down at himself, hiding his shame and blushing. His eyes widened slightly at the noticeable bulge and he braced himself.

Jackie looked where V was looking.

But V wasn't fast enough.

Jackie slammed a huge fist down into V's lap, punching him directly in his dick.

"What…the…hell," V doubled over and groaned.

When he recovered, Bea finally left the bathroom. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She walked to the closet by the front door, threw on a thigh-length black leather overcoat and tied it around her waist. When she bent over to put the boots on, V leaned forward and tilted his head. Jackie slapped him upside his head again.

Bea turned around and leaned against the closet door, "Well? Can we delta the fuck out already?"

Jackie and V both nodded enthusiastically and stood up. V tossed Jackie the keys, "You drive, I wanna make sure Bea is prepped."

"Oh, is that what you're gonna do?" Jackie mumbled.

V held his hand out to help Bea into the back of the van but she only needed one graceful step up with the height the uniform's heels gave her. She sat with her legs stretched out and her ankles crossed. V sat cross-legged next to her and pulled up a 3D red wireframe display of the building layout using the holoprojector on his deck.

"We'll be parked here," V switched to an aerial view and placed a pin in a parking lot across from the club. A dotted line showed the path from the van to the employee entrance. "Cherie will meet you at the back and take you to the dressing room. She'll prepare the spiked drinks, too. All you gotta do is serve them. Once they're out, grab the key and we're back in time for a nightcap."

"Easy, right Bea? Told ya you'd have nothing to worry about," Jackie said.

Bea studied the hologram and profiles in silence.

"Sooo, Bea. You got any plans after this?" V asked.

"Uh huh, burning this outfit and then blocking your number," she snapped the cyberdeck shut and handed it back to him.

"I think I liked you better when I was paying you to be nice to me." He put the deck back in the holster strapped to his thigh. He didn't understand the mixed messages, the hot and cold. She almost melted into his touch but whenever she spoke, it was nothing but ire. He could tell she enjoyed making him squirm.

And he liked to squirm for her.

Jackie took a hard turn and Bea leaned into V, he put his hand down between them to steady himself. Bea quickly righted herself but placed her hand down next to V's. For the remaining, excruciatingly slow three minutes of the drive she inched her hand closer and closer to his. He could feel the heat radiating off her finger. Again, was it her body betraying her words?

He went to close the gap but Jackie slammed on the brakes, "We're here!"

Jackie opened the back door and climbed in with them. Bea moved closer to the door, getting ready to leave.

"Alright, testing our holo links now," V said. He got the three of them on a holo call.

"Eat shit fuckwad. You hear me okay?" Bea asked.

"Preem," Jackie laughed.

V just shook his head, "Loud and clear. Alright, Bea patch me in." He forgot to mention this part. Because of the lack of cameras, he'd need direct access to her core to see through her Kiroshis. Jackie also insisted on the biomonitor feed.

Bea frowned, "Excuse me?"

"Bea it's fine," Jackie put his hand on Bea's shoulder.

"No cams in the rooms. Gotta watch through your eyes and Jack wants your biomon feed. Promise, that's all," V said.

"I can handle myself," Bea pushed Jackie's hand off.

"Just humor me, will you?" V said.

"Time's wasting Bea, let's go," Jackie said sternly.

Bea huffed, "Fucking fine. Opening a port."

V pulled a laptop out of his bag and paired up their connections, he moved the biomon feed to a monitor mounted inside the van. He looked at her, "Seeing my handsome face through your eyes. All set," he smiled.

Bea sneered again, "Fuck you."

"Promise?"

She slammed the van door shut when she left.

"Fred should arrive in ten minutes," V said on the holo. He set up a countdown timer to display on the corner of their retinal fields.

A short woman with blonde bobbed hair and a southern lilt greeted Bea at the staff entrance, "Hey darlin'! Come on, I'll show you to the dressing rooms."

V realized he was right about Bea knowing how to recon when he'd seen her scan the crowd during the window dance. She slowly looked all around, from floor to ceiling so they got a clear picture of each area she entered including points of entry and egress and cameras. They walked through a dark hallway with peeling paint and muddy linoleum floors and into a neon-lit purple and pink dressing room.

"They'll be in booth 11, hun, on the VIP floor. When they order, come out to me at the bar and I'll have the spiked drinks. Oh! And my name is Cherie."

Bea nodded, "Got it. Thanks." Bea turned and looked at her and Cherie in the mirror, Cherie gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and left. Bea mouthed, "fuck you" in the mirror.

"Promise?" V whispered. She rolled her eyes and V smirked.

Ten PM on the dot, Frederick's Delemain dropped him off. He was tall, 6'5, wore a black Militech suit, freshly pressed. He ran a hand through his slicked back thick blonde hair as he walked into the club.

"Heading your way now," Jackie said.

They watched Bea take off her black coat and drape it over a chair in front of one of the makeup booths. She looked at herself in the mirror.

V tried to stay focused, but he was entranced by how the warm lighting around the mirror made her skin glow. She checked her makeup and tousled her hair a little. She stuck a hand into the top of the bodysuit to readjust her cleavage. V cleared his throat and Bea winked in the mirror.

She walked through the dimly lit corridors, continuing to scan. V began updating the floor plan data he had with new details. Hopefully, they would never have to come back here. But he could return the updated data to Rogue instead of Robbie as a bonus to the intel he was already planning on sending her.

Bea looked down at her legs as she walked up the stairs to the VIP floor, she had thick, powerful thighs. V again wondered what it would be like to be between them as her muscles rippled.

She found booth eleven. It was near the back of the floor, across from the bar. She tapped the programmable glass and the door slid open. Frederick and three other men were sitting at a coffee table in a corner of the room. The place reeked of skeeze.

"Good evening gentlemen, and welcome to Johnny's Angels. What can I get started for you tonight?" Bea tried to sound sultry. It reminded V of how she talked to him at Doll Parts.

Bea looked around at each man while V scanned them in quick succession. The other three were from Kang Tao. V wondered if Militech knew this rat was selling their tech to the highest bidder. They placed their drink order and Bea left.

She leaned against the bar and spoke with Cherie, "First dose?" Bea asked, and the woman nodded. Cherie handed her a tray with the four whiskeys they ordered and poured a bit of clear liquid from a small glass vial into each drink.

Bea returned, and the men stopped their conversation, but Frederick waved at them to continue. She set their drinks down on the table in front of them.

"Great, get out of there and wait a bit. Should give the second dose in about an hour," V said.

Bea turned to leave but Frederick grabbed her wrist, hard. She dropped the empty tray she was carrying and it landed on the carpet with a soft thud. V watched the room blur as Frederick spun her around and into his lap.

Bea let out a demure giggle, "We have dolls if you'd like more entertainment later. I'm just your waitress for the evening." She tried to stand up.

V glanced up at the biomonitor feed when the stress sensor spiked. Bea looked down and they could see Frederick had his arm wrapped around her waist, his hand resting on her bare skin exposed by the cutout. V felt a slight pang of jealousy, that it should be his hand. The stress sensor normalized, even as they watched the tips of his fingers creep into the bodysuit. Her quick composure and control painted more of the picture he first gathered recognizing the muscles in the window dance. She was more than a merc, she was a professional. But for what? Or for who?

"Ah, but I want you," he whispered in her ear.

"Baaaarf," Jackie groaned.

Bea crossed her legs and put her arms around his neck, she sub-vocalized through the holo, "Easy job he says. Simple he says."

"Now, gentlemen, where were we?" Frederick continued speaking to the Kang Tao corpos.

One of them cleared his throat and Bea looked at him. His features were too small for his round face. V pulled up a dossier he found on the net, low level R&D, no actual buying power. "Is…is it confidential?"

Frederick laughed, it was short and more like a bark. He gave Bea's shoulder a squeeze with the hand not feeling her up, "VIP booth. Requested waitresses with chips. Won't remember a thing."

"So, about the bunker?" another man in a plum suit asked. Bea looked at him, yet another low level corporat. Did any of them have any decision making power?

"All there, packed neatly away, safe and sound. You'll have a working prototype and the schematics," Frederick said.

"And the key?" the third man said. Bea looked at him and V cursed.

"None of these fucks have any buying power why're they here doing this?" Jackie said to V.

"In a safe location. I will open the bunker for you," Frederick said. Bea's stress mon spiked again, and she looked down, he rested his fingers by the part of her breast that was exposed.

The spike maintained its position. She had recognized the SNAFU and wanted out.

"Fuck. Alright V, let's delta," Jackie said.

Bea's stress spike settled.

"No, we need to see if we can learn where the key is otherwise we're back at square one," V said. The biomon feed beeped an alert and V looked at the monitor. Her heart rate spiked from the calm and controlled 75 to 95.

"Come on V, that wasn't the plan," Jackie said.

V slammed his hand against the wall of the van, the noise causing Bea to jump. This was his last chance. His last chance to save his rep and save himself.

"Shut up, Jack. Know what I'm doin'. Bea, see if you can get anything else out of him."

"Safer than a private room upstairs?" Bea cooed. They watched Frederick's face fill her field of view and then blacken as they heard her softly kissing his face.

"Mmm, my own penthouse, baby. Toughest huscle you'll ever find, turrets, cams. You name it, I've got it," his face came back into view as Bea leaned back to look at him.

Jackie yelled at V, "Okay, get her out, now!"

"You boys must be thirsty after all this talking. Let me get you some more drinks," Bea looked down, and the biomonitor alarm went off again. They saw his hand was inside the bodysuit, his fingers playing with her nipple.

"Baby, didn't Cherie tell you? I'm a VIP. We get you all to ourselves."

Bea looked over at the other men as they laughed and adjusted themselves. V's stomach churned. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was just another gig, one like any other. Didn't matter who he was working with, it was just a gig. She was just a merc, just another sap like him. She had to have known what she was getting into.

V felt like they were losing control of the gig. He called Cherie, "Can you get her out?"

"No can do, hun. 'Bout to get into a booth of my own. Should be free in about twenty minutes, though. I'll check on her then."

V and Jackie sat side by side, watching the feeds. The view rapidly switched between Bea looking down to see where Frederick's hand was and back at the others.

They sat in silence for ten minutes until the biomon feed began beeping quickly. They watched, helplessly as Bea looked down, looked at Frederick, looked at the door, looked at the three men, looked down again. Frederick's other hand was stroking her inner thigh. V tried calling Cherie again but no answer.

The visual feed went black as Bea closed her eyes, they heard her take some slow, deep breaths and when she opened her eyes again, her biomonitor was completely level.

All V and Jackie could do was watch. Jackie looked away, V stayed glued to the feed with his arms crossed. V didn't want it to get this far. It really was supposed to be simple. He had planned meticulously, run simulations on Frederick's personality profile, on the location. Her safety was guaranteed.

Her physical safety. As in, there was no risk of her not leaving the club alive.

Bea looked down and Frederick's hand made its way into the crotch of the body suit as they all continued talking business. Through the breathing exercises, her biomonitor metrics remained at a heightened level. Higher, but steady. That professional calm was quickly over in five minutes as her vitals spiked again, rapidly. First her heart, then her blood pressure and finally her breathing. Though, that one was rapid because Bea started making fake moaning sounds.

Jackie had to step outside. V continued watching, fists clenched. It was painful. She didn't sign up for this. But then again, didn't she? This was the logical conclusion in the simulation where they didn't get knocked out. The prospective woman would distract him acting as a doll. V cursed, he usually planned for the worst. But he was just so excited to have a gig in the first place, and then to do a gig with Bea and Jackie.

And he needed it to work. He didn't tell her about the simulations for fear of her backing out last minute. But, he knew she wasn't naïve.

V lowered the volume as Bea's biomonitor became deafening. Bea looked down and V saw why, saw where Frederick's hands were and what they were doing. To her. "Are you listening V?" she subvocalized. "Are you enjoying this? Getting off on this?"

"No."

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

"No."

"Sitting there, imagining his hands are yours, that you're the one with his fingers shoved-"

"Jackie is still connected," V said. His heart raced and he felt sick.

"Good," Bea began moving her hips in time with Frederick's fingers pumping in and out of her.

At last, Bea looked up at the door when it opened, Cherie and another girl were standing there. "I am so sorry, but I need to steal the lovely Katra away from you. I am sure you will find Denise even more appetizing." Denise began dancing for the men and touching them, distracting Frederick enough so Cherie could extract Bea from his grip.

Bea took one last look behind her at the men and sub-vocalized in a sing-song voice, "Ready or not, V…"

V broke the visual connection and they heard her run through the halls to the dressing room bathroom. They heard retching followed by slurping water from the faucet and splashing it on her face. They heard her breathing slow, then the sound of her feet walking across the carpet, the rustling of her putting her jacket back on.

Then, the door to the exit being shoved open, kicked open maybe?

V got out of the van and stood next to Jackie, facing where Bea would exit from.

A black and green bullet was heading right towards V, face contorted into pure rage.

Jackie's eyes widened and he walked towards Bea, putting his hands up, trying to stop her, "Yo, yo Bea slow down! Chill!"

She shoved Jackie out of the way with one arm as she reared her fist back.

V was on the asphalt of the parking lot looking up at the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his entire life. The most beautiful woman that ever wanted to kill him. She lifted her leg and V watched her thigh muscles flex, the fabric at the crotch of the bodysuit stretch, and he felt his blood flow elsewhere.

She slammed her heel down into his crotch. V's eyes watered and he rolled onto his side so he didn't choke on his own vomit.

"Bea!" Jackie yelled again. He was behind Bea, trying to grab her arm but she only elbowed him in his nose as she kicked V in his stomach, the sharp point of the boot sent a piercing pain through his core and he coughed.

Bea screamed, a long feral screech. She breathed deeply and dropped to her knees in front of V. She grabbed him by his hair and lifted his head. She tilted her own to look at him, "When this gig is done and I get paid, you should leave the city. Because I will hunt you down. I will tear your flesh off with my teeth."

"Hot," V choked out. Bea tried so hard to control it, her face muscles tensing uselessly against the smile creeping across her lips. The smile stayed as they stared at each other, her eyes softening at the corners. He licked his lips before uttering an "I'm sorry" as she stood up. He wasn't sure if she heard him. It didn't matter.

Jackie helped V up and hobble to the back of the van where he took down the equipment.

Bea curled up behind the passenger seat and watched V as he sat at the opposite corner of the van. They drove back to Bea's place in silence.

Chapter Text

A thick silence hung over the darkening interior of the van. Jackie's leather jacket quietly swished against the polyester front seat as his hands dropped from the steering wheel and into his lap. V stared at Bea from the opposite corner of the van. None of them had spoken during the drive home. V felt like he was suffocating but was too paralyzed by Bea's piercing gaze to get out.

"Jackie," Bea was the first to speak. Her voice was calm and cool, it unnerved V. "Get out."

V's skin prickled.

"I'll wait by the—" Jackie looked at V in the rearview mirror.

"You know the code. Make yourself comfortable." Bea's eyes never left V's.

Was she actually going to kill him? He'd deserve it. Of course, he would. It was his op, it was—"Isn't this what you wanted?" she'd said.

Sure it was, he got intel and the gig could continue. They're just two mercs working a gig together. V curled his hands, flat on the floor of the van, into fists and braced himself for the worst—for what you deserve.

"Jacquito," Bea said softly with a lilt. V saw Jackie's shoulders slouch in defeat. He looked at V in the rearview mirror once more.

"Y-yeah, let me just get our gea—"

"Get the FUCK out, Jackie!" Bea shouted, without ever looking away from V.

V loosened the pistons in his hands. He flitted his fingers through an invisible piano concerto, hovering on the neural impulse to engage his Gorilla Arms, preparing to defend himself to the death. He kept his eyes trained on her, scanning her for microexpressions or muscle tension. Anticipating the first blow. She was angry, but her body was calm, and that unsettled V more than anything else.

The van creaked and shifted as Jackie exited and slammed the door shut.

Sure, V wanted to fuck Bea and even thought he was in love with her. But he wanted to live more than he wanted her.

The sudden realization made his fingers pause their idle symphony. As if on cue, Bea lunged forward with a terrifying quickness and agility inside the small space. Her arms and legs looked sharp in the shadows, like a spider crossing its web towards prey. 

But then she stopped, squatting at his feet. She tilted her head to the side, examining him. As the light from inside the van faded, his fingers took up their movements again. Bea gracefully tilted herself over onto her knees and crawled towards him to straddle his shins, keeping her distance but still pinning him. 

She wasn’t hitting him. Not yet, at least. Maybe he really was a fly trapped in a spider’s web.

He tried to keep his defenses up, but her proximity was disarming. He gulped and spoke quietly, "I'm sorry, Bea. I really a—"

"Shut the fuck up," Bea said. V snapped his mouth shut, the only sound in the van now their breathing and the quiet whir of the servos in his hands as he kept his combat mod primed. "Just listen."

Bea leaned forward and placed her hands over his knees. The pressure on his shins combined with her weight on his knees stretched the joints backwards in a way they usually weren't supposed to stretch. "What do you think it means, V, when someone says a job needs a "feminine touch"?" She enunciated every consonant, the words sharp in the otherwise oppressive vacuum.

V opened his mouth to answer and Bea cut him off with a scoff. "Rhetorical question." She pressed more of her weight onto his knees and he winced. "But sit with it for a moment." 

Wasn't like there was anything else V could do. He could shove her off him, easily. But part of him was overpowering his self-preservation instinct. And that part wasn't lust.

What was it, then? Love? Empathy? Guilt?

Bea slowly, achingly, crawled forward with silent precision. No whisper of fabric, no scrape of shoes along the floor. V's breath quickened. She placed her hands on his thighs and dug her nails in. Her face was a mask of pure malice. His breathing had gone shallow.

Would they at least share another kiss first?

"You needed a sex object," Bea said. V frowned and she rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're so fucking naïve." She crawled forward again, her hands on his upper thighs now.

Her sex appeal had disarmed Frederick so she could get the key off of him. That's all she had been there for. To make it easier to get the key. 

"I really am so—"

Neurons fired sensory impulses in quick succession. The weight of one of her hands removed from his thigh, a sharp stinging across one cheek, the salty taste of blood in his mouth as the split from the other night in his lip reopened. 

"I said," Bea took in a deep breath, "Shut the fuck up and listen." V nodded. The pain felt good. He wanted her to do it again.

She crawled closer, finally straddling his lap, her knees notched in perfectly between his hands and hips. He had to tilt his head up to meet her eyes as she hovered over him. Bea slammed her hands on either side of his head against the back of the van and he jumped. She narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized him. 

It was all so tantalizing to V. The danger and intensity, her body against his, the warmth of her fishnet-covered legs against his thighs. Her eyes traveled down to his mouth and he licked his lips, tasting copper.

Bea bit her lip and squeezed his lower lip around the cut, producing more blood. She softly traced her thumb over his upper lip and back down to the cut. V couldn't breathe. She wiped more of his blood over her thumb and stared at him as she licked it off, expressionless. The pistons in V's hands quieted.

Did he want to live more than he wanted to die by her hand?

She leaned forward, hovering her lips over his own. V closed his eyes and shuddered, finally exhaling the breath she stole. It was too much; he needed to put his hands on her, to close the gap between their lips, to profess his undying devotion.

The softness of her breath on his lips created an aching need inside him. "I could kill you in a myriad of ways, right here, V." Her voice was sultry, erotic. She licked her lips slowly, her tongue dancing across his. V sharply inhaled when she grabbed the back of his neck. "Choke you, suffocate you, break your neck." She tightened her grip and V tilted his head back, savoring her death threats. She trailed her other hand down his neck to squeeze his thigh. "Bite that juicy artery in your neck apart." She traced his carotid artery with her thumb and goosebumps rippled up his neck. "Or tear out your femoral, my mouth so tantalizingly close to your cock." V let out a small whine.

Bea moved the hand on his thigh to the front of his neck and slowly squeezed, "I like to watch their faces change colors."

Tighter, make me pay, V thought.

V swallowed against the pressure, his Adam's apple struggling under her grip.

"See the fear and defeat in their eyes."

She squeezed harder and V resisted the call of self-preservation, keeping his hands flat on the floor of the van. Her lips touched his, not as a kiss but a caress. She moved her hand up his neck to the base of his jaw and pressed her fingers into his carotid arteries, reducing the blood flow to his brain. His eyes fluttered and his cock twitched.

He couldn't tell if she was playing with her food or if this was going somewhere, but he was tired and hungry. The van was getting hot and he needed fresh air and he needed to get away from her, even just for a few moments. He didn't like how she made him feel. He didn't like what she did to him, how easily her mere proximity broke down his defenses.

He didn't like that he felt weak around her, vulnerable and impotent.

He struggled to swallow and took a risk. "May I speak?" His voice was quiet, strained.

"You may.”

"I think-" He tried to clear his throat, and Bea loosened her grip.

"I didn't know you had a thought in your goddamn mind." Bea nipped at his lip. V whined again, a pathetic, high-pitched, needy sound and he felt her smile against his lips.

He placed his hands on her waist. The bare skin was cold. He engaged the thermal controls in his Gorilla Arms and warmed his hands up. Her eyes briefly narrowed as she tried to suppress a shiver.

Impotent? Pathetic? Weak?

No.

He moved his head forward now, his need outweighing the possible death sentence. But she moved her hand higher up his jaw, pinning his head back against the wall of the van. He swallowed again and licked his lips. "I think being killed by you would be a privilege."

Bea pulled her head back and looked at him incredulously, taken off guard. Her lower lip had a bloody vertical line where her mouth had hovered over his. He took advantage of her surprise and dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her waist, rolling them together to the floor of the van, pinning her beneath him. He shoved his knee between her legs, right up between her thighs, but not too close. 

V was annoyed now, and while he wanted to play with her, he was just too goddamn tired and the van was suffocating and his cock throbbed against his pants so much it hurt. She tried to push him off, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms to the floor. He moved his head close to her neck and inhaled deeply, savoring the first full breath since her hands had been around his neck. She smelled of sweat and warm citrus. Her collarbones were exposed by the neckline of the bodysuit, and he dropped his head down and licked slowly from her collarbone up her neck to the corner of her jaw. He could feel her heartbeat quicken against his tongue, but she didn't squirm, didn't make a sound.

"I also think," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, "That I don't like being fucking threatened." He gripped her wrists harder, finally engaging his Gorilla Arms to overlap his fingers over his thumb and Bea grunted in pain. "I'm fucking tired. If it's alright with you, killer, I'm going to go back to your apartment, to your bedroom, take off my clothes, lie down on your bed, and sleep like a fucking baby. And you," he gently pulled on the small gold ring in her earlobe with his teeth, "Can go fuck yourself."

He felt her cheeks move in a smile against his face. "Promise?"

V released her and made his way to the back door of the van. He looked back at her before opening the door. Bea was propped up on her elbows with her legs still spread, and V's mouth watered. When the smile dropped and her face once more became a mask, he opened the door and got out. They wordlessly walked back to her apartment.

Jackie was on the couch, already snoring away. Bea had a budding headache and her body ached. She went to her bedroom, quietly shut the door, and sat on her bed. She wasn't sure if the message had gotten across to V that she didn't want or need his pity. She was a professional. Sex to her was like any other weapon or gadget she used on gigs.

Bea pulled off the boots and rolled her ankles around, stretching them. Her knees looked red and raw from straddling V in the van on the corrugated plastic floor. She pulled the choker off and rubbed her neck, her vertebrae crunching when she stretched her neck from side to side. She grabbed a green tank top and her favorite red plaid boxers and quietly opened the door again. V was sitting in the kitchen, looking at his phone. She tip-toed to the bathroom to shower.

She had a nightly ritual: shower, massage her joints, clean her HJKE Yukimura, go to sleep. Tonight, she could only do two out of four. Maybe three, if she got lucky and her insomnia wasn’t too bad.

She peeled off the bodysuit and fishnets and looked at herself in the mirror. Bruises were forming at her wrists where V had pinned her. She smiled. He wasn't afraid of her. She liked that.

She turned the water on as hot as it would go and stepped in. The warmth soothed her physically, but the knowledge there were two other people in her apartment had ruined the sense of sanctuary she usually felt. She'd lived with Jackie previously, but that had been his place. This apartment was hers and only hers. She had meticulously chosen and placed the decor to create a sense of herself. Not an Arasaka solo. Not a sex worker. Not any number of masks she wore. Just Batsheva.

She started with her curl routine. While she usually blow-dried it straight, she still took great care of her hair. It had always been the one selfish beauty indulgence she held for herself. Makeup was for work, just another costume, another piece of body armor, of the mask. But she loved her hair and as long as she'd kept it out of the way, Arasaka had allowed her to have it as long as she wanted.

She slid down to the floor as she let the conditioner sit and began massaging her joints. Her FlexxSys cybermodification allowed her to dislocate and relocate her joints—any joint—at will. All it had cost was chronic pain and her body never producing collagen on its own again. She took special care with her wrists, feeling a slight clicking as she rotated them.

She washed her body with her citrus and pomegranate exfoliating scrub. She licked her lips and thought she faintly tasted copper. She thought about V and how his blood tasted, almost sweet. She thought about how warm his hands were on her waist, his hot breath on her ear, holding her down until she begged for release.

She needed release.

Bea grabbed the detachable shower head and sat back down on the floor of the shower. She tried her best to be quiet, biting her lip, unable to get a good hold on her wet, slippery thigh. She was panting when she finished.

It was just a fantasy. She couldn't stand him and his incompetence, his pity. It annoyed her. He annoyed her.

She stepped into her boxers, wincing at the loud pop coming from her left knee, taking a moment to stretch her arms and shoulders after pulling on the tank top. She held one arm out with her palm up and her other palm beneath her elbow and slowly pushed up as she rotated her elbow against the pressure until a soft pop and wave of relief reverberated up her arm. She hadn't had an enzyme infusion in a few weeks and had been waking up with her elbows and hips out of place again.

When she left the bathroom, she noticed the kitchen light was still on and that V was watching her. She felt his stare follow her to her bedroom, and she swayed her hips, slightly more than normal, just for him.

V was restless. And hot. And itchy. And mad. And stupid. And a little horny, but that was normal.

He pulled his shirt off over his head and folded it neatly on the kitchen chair next to him, then unbuckled the cyberdeck holster on his thigh and put the deck on the table and holster on top of his shirt. He wouldn't be able to sleep tonight and he needed to formulate a plan. The key was at Frederick's compound, and Frederick had been kind enough to reveal some of the physical security they could expect. He rolled his neck, feeling tight where Bea choked him. A slight smirk creeped across his lips as he revisited the feeling of her soft hands on his neck.

He opened his cyberdeck and got to work. It was much more primitive compared to what he could do with his netrunning chair at home, but it would work on such short notice. He accessed a CCTV feed pointed at Frederick's mansion. From there, it was easy to find an access point into the compound's network. After a couple of hours, he had the data he needed.

Bea tossed and turned, feeling too hot one minute and too cold the next. Her joints ached, her head hurt, and she just wanted to sleep. She didn't want to leave her bedroom because she didn't want to risk having to talk to V. But it was too fucking much. Her mom had taught her that the more you fought to get to sleep, the less luck you would have actually falling asleep. She grumbled into her pillow before throwing the covers off.

She opened the door a crack and peered out. Jackie was sprawled across the couch, one hand on his stomach and one behind his head. He was always an easy sleeper. When they were roommates, his snoring through the shared wall of their rooms had been just the white noise she needed to sleep.

The light was still on in the kitchen. Fuck. V was up and still in the kitchen, right where she needed to go. She took a deep breath and quietly opened her door further, stepping out and padding to the kitchen. She stopped when she saw him. He was standing at the sink and his bare back was facing her. In the soft yellow overhead lighting, thick bands of scar tissue in curved rows cast shadows across his shoulder blades and down his back. They followed the curve of the horns on the ram skull he had tattooed in the center. When he moved, the scars and rippling muscles worked to almost bring the ungulate to life. It carried forward the haunting theme of the skull tattoo on his face and how it hollowed out his features.

As she got closer, she saw more scars from bullet and knife wounds. There was also text tattooed on part of his back, lyrics to a song she knew but couldn't quite place. Bea stopped again, one foot held above the tile, her other still on the carpet, as V turned around.

He startled back against the counter and mumbled a curse. He had more tattoos on his chest and even more scars. Bea wondered if he was clumsy or just terrible at his job to have gotten hit so many times. V sat back down at the table and began working at his cyberdeck, not acknowledging Bea. That almost hurt. She walked to the drink machine and they briefly shared a glance out of the corner of their eyes, quickly looking away when they noticed the other. Bea took two mugs out of the cabinet above the machine and placed them in two slots beneath the two nozzles of the machine. She pressed a button to make two cups of hot chocolate.

She turned around and leaned against the counter as she waited for the machine to finish. She looked over at V's deck. Red lines of code were traveling across a black screen at an incomprehensible speed to Bea as he typed. The keyboard attached to the cyberdeck was smaller and had fewer keys than a standard QWERTY keyboard. Some kind of shorthand, she guessed.

The machine beeped behind her. She grabbed the two mugs by their handles and turned back to the table. She slid the chair at the head of the table, next to V, with her foot, keeping the mugs steady, as she sat down and placed them on the table. She wrapped her fingers around the mug, to hold it with both hands up to her lips, but snapped her fingers away at the intolerable heat. She had forgotten to reset the temperature after making coffee this morning.

V looked up at her and then down at the mugs. "Can't sleep?" He continued typing as he watched her.

Bea shook her head in affirmation. "What are you doing?"

V looked at the monitor of his deck and stopped typing, "Coding." His voice was tense and Bea felt like she had intruded, despite it being her own home.

Bea nodded slowly and looked down at the steaming mug. "Coding…what?"

V tapped on a big blue key, then carefully shut the deck. He turned in his chair to face her, resting one hand on the kitchen table and draping his other elbow across the back of the chair. Bea found it hard not to admire his figure. Functional muscle, naturally defined, an effortless working beauty. "What we'll need for tomorrow."

The levity and charm from earlier was gone. He looked serious and very, very tired. If she could see the dark circles under his eyes, she was sure they'd be deep. She picked the mug for V up by the handle and handed it to him. "Here, you should sleep. My mom would make hot chocolate when I couldn't sleep." V's metal fingers brushed against hers as he took the cup, and Bea felt an aching need in her hand, begging to be touched again. "It usually knocked me out after a few sips, but I'm starting to think she just drugged me."

V smiled and steadied the cup with his other hand. When he set it down, steam was rising from his hand. "You don't feel that?" she nodded towards his hand. She could still barely touch the cup with her fingers.

V looked down at his hands and shook his head as he raised them up in front of him, rotating his palms to examine the shiny chrome. "Nah, jailbroke 'em and tweaked the sensor soft to adjust temp thresholds. Got tired of burning my fucking fingers with a soldering iron."

Bea picked her mug up and blew across the top, testing the temperature with her lips. "Why not just wear gloves?" She felt the joints in her fingers suddenly cramp and quickly set the mug back down. She placed her hands in her lap, under the table where V couldn't see, and massaged each joint.

He looked at her like the answer was obvious. He pulled a shard out from his cyberdeck and held it between two fingers. "Quickhacks come on shards like this, right? Churned out at factories by the hundreds of millions with special machinery."

Bea squinted at the chip, no bigger than a fingernail.

"Well, I like to make 'em and break 'em. Requires fine movements and fast fingers," he placed the shard back in his deck. "And I have…very fast fingers."

Bea stifled her laugh at the innuendo and it came out as a snort instead. She looked down at her cup to hide her blushing.

They sat in awkward silence. V stared into the mug of hot chocolate and Bea stared at him. He was handsome in this lighting and she wondered if he was what her aunt's romance novels referred to as "tall, dark and mysterious." The overhead lighting obscured his eyes even further, any light escaping his strong brow was absorbed by the black tattoos around his eyes. The only detail she could make out was the cold grey of his irises when he looked at her.

He was certainly the most attractive patron she'd ever seen at Doll Parts. She'd asked one of the girls about him once. They'd said he'd always go to a private room or get other "services" from girls when offered. Always. Every time he was there and every time it was offered. So, why hadn't he gone back to a room when she had offered?

He had well-defined, muscular arms, and she enjoyed watching the veins and muscles on his forearms flex when he picked up his mug to take a sip. She thought about how he only needed one arm to hold her up by her waist at the bar. She enjoyed watching him a lot, actually. It surprised her just how much.

She finally felt like her hands could tolerate the heat when she picked up the mug and looked over at V. As she held the cup up to her mouth and tilted it to take a sip, the drink hit her lips just as he looked over at her. She startled, turned her head, and spilled scalding hot liquid over her bare upper chest. She winced and slammed the mug down on the table. "Shit," she mumbled. She walked to the fridge and opened the freezer, looking for the ice pack. But Jackie hadn't returned it earlier. She grumbled and grabbed a kitchen towel hanging off the handle of the fridge and began soaking it in the sink under cool water.

V's chair creaked when he stood up, and he went to the freezer. Bea looked over at him as he opened it and stuck his hand in. "Wanna see a neat trick?" he whispered. He smirked and Bea listened as some servos whirred inside his hand. The burn stung. She wrung out the towel and placed it over her chest. It barely soothed her.

V quietly shut the freezer door and slid behind her in the cramped space between the table and sink, pressing his body against hers. The heat of his bare skin on hers felt more soothing than the hot chocolate. He placed one hand on her hip and crept the freezing cold hand over one shoulder. Bea set the towel down in the sink. He placed his palm flat against her chest, slipping his fingertips under the neckline of the tank top, resting them against the top of her breast, right where it began to curve. She gripped the edge of the counter. It was exhilarating and soothing. She hadn't been so intimately close with someone, out of pure human connection and nothing more, in so long.

Neither of them breathed for a few very long seconds. A small shiver ran through her and he pulled her closer against him, resting his face on the back of her neck. Bea realized how tired she was, how tense she was. The disparate sensations between the cold of his hand and the heat of his body, the skin to skin contact, made her melt. She tried to remind herself it was just oxytocin, nothing more. She closed her eyes and swayed lightly. V slid his hand up her chest and to her shoulder, while he snaked his other around her waist, pulling her into an embrace. She didn't mean to, and she didn't want to, but a small sound in the contented sigh escaped her throat.

She could feel his self-satisfied smirk against her neck, but she didn't care. She wanted to take him to her bedroom, to sleep like this. She'd never been held in bed.

She'd never been held like this at all.

They stood there until their breathing shared a rhythm. Bea's head drooped as she began to doze and jerked it up, headbutting V. She turned around in his arms to look at him, still in his embrace. He seemed no worse for wear.

V warmed both of his hands up, a soft soothing warmth penetrated her skin. She felt something stir inside her, their faces so close together. It was the way he looked at her, an imperceptible softening in his eyes. It was the way he touched her, right here in this moment, his hands soothing and warm and not traveling despite the electricity surging through and between their bodies.

He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

She didn't know what to do. With her body or with her hands or with all the thoughts and feelings she couldn't identify. Her breath quickened and she felt an unfamiliar panic. Was it panic? There was some kind of kinetic energy building up in her muscles but to do what?

V pulled his head back and looked at her, "Is this oka—"

To do this.

Bea's hands flew to his face, one hand on his cheek his stubble prickling her palm, her other hand cupped the base of his skull, her fingers combing through his hair and she brought his head to hers, her lips to his. It wasn't mean, it wasn't a trick, there wasn't an ulterior motive. She followed an impulse she hadn't felt in…well, it was something she'd never felt before. But she liked it.

V stayed rigid as adrenaline coursed through Bea's body. Was she doing it wrong? Whatever this was. Was she supposed to do something else? Usually, at this point, the men wanted her to touch them. Maybe that's what she was supposed to do? She moved the hand on his cheek down his chest and to his waistband.

But he grabbed her hand and pulled their faces apart. She looked up at him, puzzled. He took her hand and placed it back on his face. Okay, he wanted to do more of that? She'd had people like that before. She closed her eyes and brought her face closer again, but it didn't feel right.

"Bea," V said quietly.

The natural comfort she had just felt in the spontaneity was gone and she was adrift, flailing for a mask that didn't fit. A mask that was so comforting, a mask she wore for her entire life, a mask she wore during the gig, around Frederick, around V, just hours ago.

It was gone. She grappled with it, but it was grains of sand slipping through her fingers into a void. She reached and reached and reached and it was nowhere to be found.

She snapped her eyes open and dropped her hands, suddenly acutely aware of where she was and what she felt and it all felt bad and she wanted out. Her hands shook as she wriggled out of his grasp. He let go and stepped away from her as she scurried away, her back to the wall. She breathed hard and looked around wildly for an escape.

"Hey, what is it?" V frowned at her, concern and care in his face.

Bea looked at him, her eyes wide. Who was that? Was that her? Did she kiss him? Was that real? Was that her? Or was that the other her? The one with the mask that fit like a second skin. The one that allowed her to do all the things she did with her body for money. What did it mean if it was her? Why him? Why now?

She, again, tried to reach for a mask, any mask, any script, any routine, something, anything to help her. Anything to instruct her on what to do next, how to act, what to say. She was raw and vulnerable and not masking, not masking. No one had ever seen her without a mask. She'd worn it since she left with Arasaka suits. Every sensation hit her all at once. The clothes on her skin, the ambient air from the AC blowing across her peach fuzz. She wanted to peel her skin off.

V took a step towards Bea, she must have looked like a terrified prey animal. "I'm fine," it came out as one word as she sprinted to her bedroom. She slammed the door shut, tore off her clothes, and jumped under the covers, scratching at her skin. She curled into a ball, wrapping the comforter as close to her body as possible, trying to emulate the comfort her second skin usually gave her.

Who was she?

Chapter Text

V awoke to the sound of sizzling chorizo and burning nag champa incense. He sat up and cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and flexed the pistons in his Gorilla Arms. The thin carpet he'd slept on was uncomfortable at best, and a torture device at worst. While his and Bea's megabuildings were owned by the same corp, his had fresh tile installed when he'd moved in. He wondered how long Bea had lived here to still have carpet. He grabbed his shirt he had used as a poor excuse for a pillow and pulled it on.

A woman laughed from the kitchen, and V cocked his head. A woman? Was that Bea laughing? It wasn't the demure giggle or mean scoff he'd heard before. It was real, genuine laughter.

"No one knocks my matzo brei! You love that shit, and you know it," Bea's voice was tinged with light.

"I’m cooking us huevos rancheros, end of discussion. I need something more substantial in my body than fuckin' crackers and scrambled eggs," Jackie replied and another musical cascade of laughter—giggling—came from Bea. It was the sweetest sound V had ever heard. He finally stood up and dusted himself off. He took a moment to stretch out his aching back before joining them in the kitchen.

"Did I hear that right? Matzo brei?" V asked when he stepped onto the cool tile in the kitchen.

Bea looked up at him. Her hair was damp and the ends curled as it dried. She wore a dark green sports bra and black running shorts. Dark circles under her eyes met a subtle flush scattered across her cheeks and nose when she smiled. She sat at the same end of the table as last night. It was the only seat with a view of the front door. V sat down across from her and his bare feet brushed against her own beneath the small table. He wanted to sit like this, with her, seeing her smile and laugh first thing every morning.

"First of all, Jack," V watched Bea as he spoke, she smiled at him and his heart leapt. "It's not crackers and scrambled eggs. They're matzo crackers, okay? Unleavened bread. Second, it's not scrambled eggs. The matzo is soaked in the egg mixture."

"The fuck you know about Jewish food, V?" Bea raised an eyebrow at him. She stood up and walked to the drink machine, only a few steps away. The running shorts barely hid the curve of her tight ass cheeks. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him, "Coffee?"

"Only if it tastes like shit," V replied. "And," V paused for a beat. When Bea had turned her head back, her hair fell across one shoulder and the sun from the window across from the kitchen highlighted tiny freckles along her skin. "And my mom made it for me every morning before school."

Bea turned around to face him and folded her arms across her chest, she narrowed her eyes. Jackie sidled past her to grab something from the fridge, and she shoved him out of the way playfully. "Bar mitzvah?" she asked.

"February 14th, 2065," V said. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his own arms. "Bat mitzvah?"

"August, 2064." Bea grumbled something to Jackie when he shoved her out of his way and back to the tiny dual burner stove.

"No date?" V had hoped to get her birthday out of the question.

Bea shook her head. "Nomads. All did it in a group once a month for anyone that turned 12 or 13 that month." Bea turned back around and pressed a few buttons to start the coffee drip.

Jewish nomad, then, V mused. What had happened to make her leave her clan behind and stay in Night City? He didn't know much about the Jewish nomads, but he knew that they'd be even more tied to family and clan than nomad goyim clans. It would take disowning or becoming Raffen, and to Jewish nomads those were practically the same thing.

V tested her bonafides further. "Fave Mel Brooks movie?" 

This was a tough one, V knew. While they had converted his films to BD, it was still just watching a movie on a screen. And if she was a nomad, then it was even less likely she'd ever seen a Brooks film. He wouldn't hold it against her, but he'd make her watch as many as he could find. Maybe go to that drive-in theater he'd went to with Rogue and Johnny two years ago, make it a proper date.

He winced at the memory. At the Johnny-shaped gap in himself.

"Goddamn, are you almost done? I'm fucking starving," Bea nudged Jackie.

"It's done when it's done! Go siddown!" Jackie shooed at her with a greasy spatula.

Bea rolled her eyes and turned to face V again, her body language becoming languid and relaxed, "What's a dazzling urbanite like you doing in a rustic setting like this?" She delivered Gene Wilder's lines from Blazing Saddles with perfection diction and enunciation. She nodded her head at V, asking him the same.

V cleared his throat, "Because, unlike some of the other Robin Hoods, I can speak with an English accent." Jackie groaned. Bea groaned. He had tried to mimic an English accent like Cary Elwes in Robin Hood: Men in Tights but it came out as a southern drawl.

The drink maker dinged and Bea grabbed their mugs of coffee. She handed him a chipped green mug and patted his face. He wanted to hold her hand and lean into her soft touch, but she took it away too quickly as she sat down. "I don't think Fourth Wall will be calling you back anytime soon, babe." The pet name, even in jest, made V's heart burn and catch in his throat.

Bea leaned across the table and curled her finger, urging V closer. The coffee was intensely aromatic, warm bitter notes with undertones of sweet cocoa. Combined with the smell of her body it was all so, so…bittersweet. 

There would be no movie date no waking up together no happily ever after and what was even in this coffee no fucking no love no life no hope no Bea and V sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-

The low dulcet tones of her quiet voice knocked him out of the spiral of self-doubt, "Couldn't help but notice you took the floor last night. Thought you said you were gonna take my bed and I could go fuck myself?" Bea smirked.

V blushed, caught in his bravado. He sat back in his chair and sipped on his coffee, the warmth soothing his spiral further. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than you, it seems," Bea sat back and drank her coffee. V ran his hand over his hair, feigning a stretch to check for bedhead.

Jackie turned off the stove and, after a raucous clattering of dishes, turned around and dropped two plates of huevos rancheros in front of them. He grabbed a third plate for himself and sat down, "Dig in, kids!"

It was divine and V noted how it almost tasted exactly like his dad's with a bit more kick. "Oh my god, this is so fucking good, Jack," V set down his fork to catch his breath after wolfing the food down. 

"So V," Jackie said between huge bites, "What'd you cook up last night?" Jackie snapped his fingers at Bea and pointed to the jar of salsa on the table, just out of his reach.

Bea picked it up and held it away from him. "Don't fuckin' snap at me!" Jackie rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers again. Bea tried to look stern through her smile, "I will call Mama Welles right now—"

"Por favor," Jackie dragged out the last syllable, ending with an "uh" like a whiny kid. Bea smirked, satisfied, and handed the jar to him. He ladled out nearly half the jar onto his pile of synthprotein and veggies.

"Jesus, go easy with the salsa Jack, your stomach ain't as young as it used to be." V took another sip of coffee, it was too sweet for his tastes, and cleared his throat. He imagined if Bea didn't kill him for this now, she would when the gig was done. "We're going with Plan Bea," he smiled innocently, knowing the verbal pun would go unnoticed.

"What happened to plan A?" Bea pushed her empty plate away from her and sat back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Defensive, ready for the other shoe to drop. V stood up and walked to a bench by the door where he'd left his cyberdeck tucked neatly between his sneakers. With a crisp click, he pulled the shard out of the deck, placed it in a case, and tossed it to Bea. She snatched it out of the air with one hand.

V sat back down as Bea slotted in the shard. He drained his coffee and waited, bracing for her reaction. He watched her face, connecting her expressions to the various segments he'd programmed. Her lips firmed into a thin line as the red wireframe display switched from an overview of Frederick's mansion and security to a heavily curated dossier.

FREDERICK GORDON, 43
COLORFUL HAIR
SMALL BREASTS
CLUBWEAR
BDSM

Bea's eyes widened and V wasn't sure how much of her iris was amber from the data processing or channeling the fires of hell itself to engulf him. Because what she was seeing about now, was a red wireframe sketch of her body, nearly biblically accurate, rotating in a T-pose on a black screen with the label "PLAN BEA" floating above it. V just hadn't been able to help himself.

When Bea finished, Jackie was already up clearing plates. She pulled the shard out and held it between her fingers. She looked at V. "You want some more coffee?" she asked coolly.

V lifted the mug up, intending to take a sip. Bea reached across the table and grabbed the mug out of his hand. She popped the tiny piece of plastic and silicon in her mouth and chewed, crumbling it to bits. She maintained eye contact with V as she spat the pieces into his mug, emphasis on the spit. She slid the mug across the table to him. "When do we leave?"

"Whenever you're ready." V looked into his mug and imagined Bea spitting directly into his mouth, wondering what it would taste like and what it would feel like. Would she dig her nails into his face? He wanted that, he wanted her to—

"Did you know, Jackie?" Bea asked. The pale tips of his ears flared red while he continued washing the dishes. "Uh huh," Bea concluded. They sat in silence as Jackie finished while Bea stared V down.

Jackie dried his hands on the towel tucked into the refrigerator door and turned to them. "Bea, will you need the bathroom right away?" Bea shook her head and stood up.

Jackie slammed the door to the bathroom shut just as Bea entered her own room. V saw her hand on the edge of the door hesitate for a moment, but she didn't close it. Was that on purpose? Maybe she thought the sound of Jackie slamming the door was her own door shutting.

V sat on the couch in the living room, directly across from her bedroom and watched her. She stood in front her bed, the edge facing the door, and pulled the sports bra off over her head, her small breasts bobbing from the angry force. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slid the running shorts down next. V slid his hand down his leg and gripped his knee. The whole goddamn time they had been in the kitchen together, she hadn't been wearing any panties. His mouth watered. The full curve from her lower back to her muscular thighs cemented in his brain, a fantasy he filed away for further exploration later.

She strode across her room out of view, though he could hear drawers open and rustling. When she came back into view, her back was still facing him. Did she not feel a breeze from the open door? The ceiling fan in the living room was on, lazily spinning away.

He wanted to memorize her, identify the scars by touch and know the stories behind them. She stepped into a black lace thong and V shuddered an exhalation watching the thin fabric slide between the smooth skin of her ass. She moved back to where he couldn't see.

The familiar heat in his core wanted more, needed more. He quietly walked to her room, stepping lightly on the balls of his feet across the carpet, and leaned against the door frame. He crossed his arms, if for no other reason than to prevent him from touching himself…or her. She bent over to open the drawer at the very bottom. V bit his lip to stay silent as he watched the fabric slide between a part of her body he hadn't had the pleasure of seeing in daylight like this.

She growled in frustration and slammed the drawer shut, the clutter of makeup, hairbrushes, and accessories clattering together atop the dresser. V held his breath as she walked between the bed and the door, somehow still not noticing him. She bent over again and V had to angle his hips back so she didn't bump into him. He realized suddenly he was teasing death. But that didn't stop the intense erection screaming for release from its denim and cotton prison, for release into her because she was right there, right fucking there he could just—

She tossed a squat black fabric suitcase on the bed and turned around. Her breasts jiggled when she squealed, a sound V didn't think she'd make when startled. She seemed to have such good control of herself—the things I'd do to you to make you lose control, to make that sound—he thought she would go straight to hitting him. Instead, she froze, her eyes wide. V hid his expression because she would have gutted him if he smiled the way he wanted to. He prayed she wouldn't look too closely at the crotch of his jeans.

She blinked and swallowed before speaking, "You seem to have a problem with respecting privacy." She walked closer to V and leaned against the door, mimicking him. Instead of folding her arms across her chest and hiding her breasts, she folded them under, only emphasizing the supple flesh.

V straightened up and took a step closer to her. They looked into each other's eyes and V felt himself get sucked into the lush forest inside them where a pack of wolves waited to ravage his body. "What can I say?" He trailed a cold, metal finger along the curve of her taut bicep to her sculpted shoulder. "I'm persistent when I find something I want." Was it obvious every word dripped in desire? That if she let him, if she wanted it…?

Goosebumps danced across her skin. V followed them from her neck and down her chest with his eyes, small bumps raised through her darkened pink areola. Her breath caught when he took a step closer. He returned his gaze to her face, studying her. Her aquiline nose with the cute gold nose ring in her left nostril had a characteristically Jewish bump below the bridge of her nose. The gold cyberware across her cheeks was embedded, the raised skin around it playing in the shadows from the light reflected off the chrome. An unfamiliar sensation of longing forced its way through the black hole in his chest and his brow furrowed. Time froze as he watched her age in his mind, as they aged together, as he knew he would always look at her, always see her, always want her in the exact same way he did right now.

He trailed his fingers across her shoulder and up her neck. The servos in his hand broke the silence as he rapidly warmed and cooled his fingertips as they moved across her skin. His teasing was rewarded with a shiver and the briefest quirk at the corner of her mouth as she suffocated a smile. He took another step closer and could feel her hard nipples against his chest through his shirt, the metal of her piercings cold in the ambient air. He wanted to warm them up with his mouth. He traced her jaw from the corner to the tip of her chin and tilted her head up. She moved willingly, before he even reached her chin she knew what he wanted. She licked her lips as he parted his own and brought his head closer and closer and—

The bathroom door slammed open and Bea jumped. "Oh man, you were right, V. Should have gone easy on the salsa. I just saw the ninth circle of hell and it was my burning asshole!" Jackie yelled.

V dropped his hand and—did she whimper? V stepped back away from her, and she crossed her arms to hide her breasts. Jackie peered past V. "Shit, sorry. Didn't realize I was ruining a moment."

V turned around as he and Bea replied in unison. "You didn't."

Bea slammed her door shut the minute V was clear of it. She sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath, pressing her shaking hand to her belly to focus her breath, to calm the panic rising inside her.

He was going to kiss her. God, he was going to fucking kiss her and she was going to kiss him and would that have been that bad?

Yes. 

Because he would die. Not now, not in the next few days, maybe not even for a few years—if she got lucky. But he would die. Her world would be ripped away from her again like it had been so many times before she had learned her lesson. Before she had learned to stop the feeling called hope before it had a chance to start.

Of course, she'd been friends with Jackie for so long, and he was still alive. Somehow. She caught him saying her name and crawled to the door to listen.

"You want my advice, V?" Jackie asked.

V scoffed. "No." Bea heard a rustle and then a quiet "ow" from V.

"Take it slow, like corpo bureaucracy slow."

"It's not like that, Jackie. Got no intention of—"

"Cut the bullshit, V. I've seen the way you look at her, like a fucking starving dog. It don't matter how close we are. She's not just another one of your joytoys, she's family. You hurt her, I’ll kill you. ¿Comprendeme?"

“Ay, sí, lo entiendo, joder,” V replied.

Bea froze. She wasn't kind to Jackie, just like she wasn't kind to V, just like she wasn't kind to Honey or Viktor. She curled up onto the floor, the rough carpet scratching her skin.

All of them she tried so hard to keep at arm’s lengths. Why were they still so kind to her?

One solitary tear was absorbed by her hair, and before another could fall, she opened the gaping hole inside herself, crushed her heart in her fist and squeezed all the hope out. Every last drop. Before she stomped on it with her Arasaka Training Facility uniform boot and kicked it into the void.

She sat up and analyzed the racing emotions with a distant calm.

She couldn't care less about V.

Jackie was just a useful alibi.

This gig would pay for her next infusion, something Arasaka would not. That was all that mattered.

V and Jackie sat on the couch waiting for Bea to finish getting ready. He rubbed his hand on his left thigh and bounced his right leg up and down nervously. Jackie elbowed him in his arm, "Chill the fuck out."

V couldn't chill the fuck out because this whole gig relied on Bea now. He needed this to work. If the gig didn't get done, he'd be screwed for good. Getting a second chance from Rogue was his way out of this self-destructive spiral.

Bea prepared thoroughly for missions. Some of the most important choices involved her wardrobe. Dresses were harder to conceal weapons and gave little in the way of movement or support depending on the style. The only dresses she owned had been packed up with her stripper clothes when she moved out of Jackie’s place and into her own six months ago.

Bea dropped onto her stomach at the side of the bed and looked at the abused cardboard box labelled DOLL PARTS. The box had survived three moves, a flooded apartment, and being thrown out a window. The latter was how Jackie tossed it down to her from their apartment window when she had moved out. She shoved her arm through the mess of forgotten beef jerky wrappers, soda cans, bloody encrusted gauze and socks with no pairs until she felt the box at her fingertips. After a few more minutes of grasping and turning she finally got a purchase on the box and dragged it out from under the bed. She plopped it onto the bed next to the suitcase and tore open the top.

Bikini after bikini after bikini, fishnets, tights, garters. Where the fuck were the dresses? She dropped the box on the floor and kicked it back under the bed. She moved to the other side of her bed and grabbed another box labelled DOLL PARTS. This box was filled with the items from her dressing room and station at Doll Parts before she'd left.

Mesh bodysuits, mesh robes, translucent jacket. She pulled that one out. It was the color-changing one she wore during the dance for V. Bea winced. Not for V. He had just happened to be at the rail that night.

But you targeted him. You liked him. You thought he was cute. You wanted to see him. You—

Bea clenched her fists and held her breath as she tried to interrupt her inner monologue.

love him. You love him and you don't even know what love is. You're so fucking stupid. He only wants to fuck you. You will never be free of Arasaka, accept your lot in life and get over it. Get over it. Get over it. Get over it get over it get over get over it.

Bea exhaled and continued her search. A sarong, more bikinis, an unopened package of nipple tassels, a hairbrush, makeup, condoms, and Honey's favorite lip gloss. Well, if Honey hadn't asked for it back by now then she wasn't missing it. Bea pulled that out and tossed it onto the dresser at the foot of the bed with the rest of her makeup.

Where the fuck…? Bea cracked the door open, "Jackie, did I leave a box of my shit back at your place?"

Jackie shook his head. Bea cursed and shut her door again. She put the box and suitcase back under her bed as well and stood with her hands on her hips looking around her room. If she were a little black dress, where the fuck would she be?

Bea checked her dresser. Her closet. She opened the door again, "Are you sure?"

"Hundo, Bea," Jackie replied. Bea made a point to look at the floor or at the kitchen or anywhere but at them. She felt raw and unmasked again. Unmade. She slammed her door shut and shuddered.

She dropped back to the floor and looked under her bed again then under her nightstand. Finally, she found a slinky black sequin dress under the dresser. The only dress she owned that covered most of her tits and ass. She stood up and dusted it off before holding it against her. It was long with a slit on the right that went up to her hip, backless, and had a cowl neckline.

She shook the dress out one more time then smelled it. Nothing a little perfume couldn't fix but she sure as shit wasn't taking it to get dry-cleaned. Why bother? She'd throw it away after the gig. She wanted to destroy anything that could remind her of V. Of hope or of love or of her stupid impulsive—

"Sally and Bea sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" they chanted.

"I'm not a fucking dyke like her!" Sally kicked dirt in Bea's face as Sally's lapdog dug his knee into her lower back. "No one, not even other girls, will ever like you with those fucking caterpillars over your eyes."

"Well, Sally Spiegelman, I like my fucking caterpillars," Bea grumbled to herself and shook the memory of her childhood nemesis out of her head. She replaced it with the memory of Sally's screaming and the smell of her burning face after Bea had "accidentally" shoved her into the campfire a year later.

She shimmied into the dress and looked at herself in the mirror. She tried pulling the slit together to see if she could hem it to be more modest, but her thighs refused to cooperate.

She tested how well she could move in the dress. She flexed her arms, crouched, squatted, ran in place. She felt ridiculous, the most she'd have to do was flirt with him. She bent over and her eyes widened. She saw the opposite wall in the mirror between the dress. She also saw her nipples. She shuffled to face the mirror and looked up. She groaned as she stood up. Nothing she could do about it now. It wasn't like they had time to go dress shopping.

All she had to accessorize with were simple gold hoops and a thin gold chain necklace. It would have to do.

She flung open the door and struck a pose, her right toe pointed, her leg bursting through the slit. She turned her head to the side and put her hands up. "Ta da!"

V's leg stopped bouncing and he gripped his thigh. He had stopped breathing. The afternoon light streaming in behind Bea from the window in her bedroom illuminated her in an angelic glow. The pose accentuated the musculature in her leg, and he imagined his hand sliding along her smooth, firm calf then up and up and up until his fingers found just the right spot. He wondered if those muscles were as strong as the rest of her.

Jackie smacked V upside the head. "Yo, I asked are you ready to go?" 

Bea walked to the console with the nag champa incense and bent over just enough so V could see her bare breasts. He swallowed and shifted uncomfortably as his pants felt tight. She licked her fingers slowly, making a show of wrapping her red painted lips around her forefinger, sliding it into her mouth to the base of her knuckle, and staring at V as she slowly pulled it out. He shifted again when she licked her thumb and pinched the burning end of the incense stick, extinguishing it.

Jackie drove while Bea and V sat in the back of the van again. She made Jackie give her his copy of the briefing shard to review during the drive, seeing as she had spat hers into V's coffee that morning.

They parked down the street from Frederick's mansion in North Oak. Jackie got out and climbed into the back with them. Bea's eyes flashed blue as she opened a port for V to connect to her biomonitor and Kiroshis again. He had thought about this last night. It was the part of the plan he most struggled with. He couldn't think of any reason for her to trust him with this. They only had info on Frederick, the key, and a floor plan of the house. Her Kiroshis and biomonitor feeds were the best way to keep track of her. The milliseconds between all the security protocols they’d have to get through to share data could mean life or death. While he could guarantee her physical safety at the club, he couldn't here. He knew she was capable, but he needed this to work.

V swallowed and shook his head, "No. Direct connection is less risky, no lag." He curled his left ring finger, flexing the tendon that popped out the personal link in the heel of his hand.

Bea frowned as her eyes returned to the usual bright green, "Fuck no. I'm not giving you direct access. Are you insane?"

V tilted his head back and rubbed his hand through his hair, he made a small grumble and looked at Bea. "You wanna go in there with the little recon we got? Fine. Suit yourself!"

"Oh, so you admit this is a shitty plan and your prep sucks?" Bea snapped back.

Jackie snapped his fingers at them, "Oye, you know he's right Bea. Will you two stop fucking bickering so we can finish this? Can’t you just revoke access when we’re done? At the very least, Bea, do it for me. Please?"

A few torturous moments passed as Bea was silent, long enough for V to believe she'd back out.

"Fine."

V sighed in relief and squeezed in next to Bea. His right hand brushed against her bare leg and he felt her startle at the touch. She tried to pull the dress over her leg, but the slit had nowhere to go over her thick thighs.

She moved her hair to the side and tilted her head, exposing the neuroport behind her ear. V unspooled his personal link and handed the end to her. It was netrunner etiquette to let the person you were jacking into make the connection. He warmed his hand up as she plugged the cable in. He waited a few more moments for the heating to finish before resting his wrist in the crook of her neck.

Their eyes flashed amber as she transmitted her access protocols to V. It was intimate, more personal than sex, a more severe connection. V cupped the base of her head as they established the link. He was so focused on pairing their systems, he mindlessly rubbed his fingers against her neck, the smooth strands of her hair moving seamlessly across and between his chrome fingers. She closed her eyes but V watched her. Watched her features relax, her shoulders drop some tension. He wanted to hold her hand and tell her it would be alright. 

His mind soon drifted elsewhere, thinking about a life with her. Their home together smelling of fresh baked challah, a bowl of pomegranate seeds on a table next to the couch that she snacked on while they watched a movie together. Nibbles stepping into the bowl of honey he was dipping apple slices into. Rosh Hashanah together, Hanukkah, Passover, anniversaries, vacations. It was an aching need that he felt would collapse his chest with just how badly he wanted that. He wanted to live, he wanted to live for her, with her.

Bea cleared her throat. Her eyes were open. "You can jack out now," she said softly.

V blinked, "Shit, sorry." He let his hand linger a little longer. His expression was serious, he hoped she knew, even through the shameless flirting, how much he respected her and respected what this meant. “I promise, as soon as you come back out my access is gone.”

Bea put her hand on his wrist, cold and firm. "It's fine."

V curled his hand flush against the base of her head as his personal link returned to his arm. His thumb brushed against the freshly penetrated port entrance and she shivered. She leaned her head back into his touch and sighed before wrapping her fingers around his wrist and removing his hand from her neck.

V flicked her biomonitor and Kiroshi feed onto the monitors like before. She moved towards the back of the van to exit but V grabbed her wrist. She looked at him, a flicker of fear and anxiety crossed her face. "Good luck, Bea."

She yanked her hand away. "Don't need luck. I'll be fine." She slammed the door shut behind her.

Chapter Text

Deep breath. In. Out.

Bea jumped when the van door slammed shut behind her. When she slammed the door shut. Why did she slam the door shut? He was just being nice. She smoothed her dress out with her hands and loosened her shoulders.

In. Out.

She was fine. Everything was fine. She didn't need luck. She'd done riskier gigs than this before. She would be just fine. Perfectly fine.

In. Out.

Sure, Arasaka had a whole team doing the prep work and recon before she was given a gig and she had always supplemented it with her own. But she was a professional. She would be just—

"Will you stop answering like that?" Miriam sighed as she closed the trailer door.

"Like what?" Bea kicked the step stool out of the way and climbed up onto the ripper chair on her own. Twelve years old and already 5'6.

Miriam mimicked Bea, "Fine. I'm fine." Bea settled into the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're not fine, kid. Spill it. What did Sally do to you this time?"

"Yo, isn't Kerry's mansion around here?" Jackie asked over comms. Kerry? Kerry who?

"Yeah, couple blocks south. Should get his landscaper's name, Freddy's house is fucking hideous," V replied.

In. Out. His voice was soothing. No, it's grating. You hate it. Get it the fuck together, Batsheva.

Frederick's house was hideous. A painted white iron gate greeted her at the end of the driveway, flanked on either side by two concrete, white walls.

In. Out.

The sun glinted off her shining black nail polish when she pressed the buzzer at the gate.

"You still talk to that old rockerboy? Thought your break-up was rough," Jackie said.

"Shut the fuck up," Bea hissed. Kerry Euro-fuck or whatever? No time.

In. Out.

Frederick's voice made Bea's blood bubble under her skin. "Uh, can I help you?"

In. Out. Remember your lines.

Showtime.

FADE IN:

EXT. NORTH OAK - DAY

BEA shifts her weight back and forth, she's impatient.

BEA

(casual, sexy) You remember me, right?

Bea lowers her head, bats her eyelashes shyly, and looks up into the security camera. She's playing the part perfectly.

FREDERICK (V.O.)

(annoyed) What?

Bea clenches and unclenches her fists.

FREDERICK (V.O.)

Oh, the doll from last night. (hesitation, pregnant pause)

BEA

May I come in?

FREDERICK (V.O.)

Why are you here?

ZOOM IN: Bea's left eyelid twitches in annoyance because nothing can ever be easy and simple.

BEA

We want to thank you for being such a big, big spender.

A buzzer sounds and the gate creakily, slowly, slides open. Bea swallows, fixes her hair, takes one last deep breath before entering the beast's lair.

V drums his fingers against his pant leg as he watches the mansion and grounds come into view. Bea is nothing if not professional as she looks slowly out across the area, reconnoitering for them. V taps a button on his deck and takes a screenshot of a few areas. He quickly marks visible cameras and possible hidden turret alcoves before returning his attention to the screen.

He pauses for a moment. He wants to reassure her. Should he? She needs to focus. Her vitals are fine. Right? She's fine.

"We're right outside. You need help, just say the word." He instantly regrets it. Bea replies with a disdainful, single syllabic laugh.

DRIVEWAY

Mansion is gaudy, reminiscent of the McMansions of the 90s and 00s. There is no mark of individuality, no class, no significant architectural story. Quintessentially corpo.

FREDERICK swings the door open, slow, taunting. He's wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt. No shoes.

PAN DOWN TO: Pale feet, blonde hair curled on the knuckles of his toes. Dirt along the edges of his nails mar the polished corpo facade.

Frederick leers at Bea, looks her up and down, browsing meat at a deli counter.

BEA

(demure) As I said, to thank you for being a VIP and such a huge spender, Cherie arranged a little personal time for you.

Frederick grins, his teeth as white as his shirt as white as his house as white as the lighting and thunder roiling inside Bea's nerves.

FREDERICK

Awfully kind of her.

Frederick steps further into the entryway and extends one arm, inviting Bea in. Bea hesitates, she bites her lip. She swallows and looks back at the sprawling, boring courtyard.

COURTYARD

The midday sun reflects off the pale rocks in the xeriscaped yard. The sharp plants, cacti and agave and aloe vera, feels oppressive and dangerous. But Bea can't help but only hope she sees this ugly garden again.

DRIVEWAY

Bea follows Frederick inside.

INT. MANSION (ENTRYWAY) - DAY

More white. White walls, white tile, white rug, white furniture, white-hot fury in Bea's belly at saying yes to Jackie.

BEA

(sultry) We're not just Johnny's Angels, we can be your angel too.

SOUND: V typing, electric buzz in Bea's head as the scanning module in his cyberdeck connects with her Kiroshis.

Frederick slams the door shut. Bea jumps. He grabs her wrist, tight, not as tight as before, not tight enough to bruise. But still, a tightness that says, "You're mine now." That says, "I own you." That says—

Deep breath. In. Out.

He leads her to the kitchen. All white, all spotless— not when I'm done with him. Must spend a fortune on cleaning.

KITCHEN

Looks like it was never used, probably never has been. Stainless steel double sink, stainless steel oven. If it's not white, it's perfectly polished stainless steel. No food or dishes or decor on the counter. No magnets on the fridge.

FREDERICK

(genial, hiding his puerile excitement) Get you something to drink?

Bea swivels her head around, pretending to marvel at luxury she'd never seen before. Playing the part of stupid joytoy, it should give the boys in the van enough time to scan for the key.

BEA

(subvocalized) Anything?

JACKIE speaks over comms, heard inside Bea's head.

JACKIE (V.O.)

Nope.

Bea shakes her head in reply to Frederick and continues her visual sweep.

FREDERICK

You sure? Might want to make sure you're well hydrated before we explore just how thankful of an angel you are.

Frederick slides up next to Bea, touches her arm. She struggles to hide her revulsion.

ZOOM IN: Goosebumps travel down her spine.

V (V.O.)

Frisk him, is the key on him?

JACKIE (V.O.)

Frisk him? Really?

V (V.O.)

Shut up, it's my op.

Bea ignores the bickering and turns her attention to Frederick. She grabs the hand on her arm and lifts it above her head, twirling under it.

BEA

(playfully) I feel like dancing! How about you, darling?

Frederick taps a screen embedded in the kitchen counter, classical music plays throughout the house. He leads Bea to the living room.

BEA & V

(in unison, one voice tinny, the other Bea's) Stravinsky?

Frederick moves one hand in an off-tempo conduction of the introduction to "The Right of Spring".

LIVING ROOM

White leather couches, white high-pile carpet, tall windows with white drapes, white sound system. Drapes are open, bright sunlight streams in. The space feels bright and hot.

FREDERICK

I had a ballerina once. Exquisite ankles. I paid her to perform the entire piece until I could see blood through her pointe shoes.

Bea is tense, pretends to wobble in her heels walking on the plush carpet. Frederick stops his conducting and wraps an arm around her waist. Bea jolts.

ZOOM IN: Veins in her right forearm pulse as her hand instinctively curls into a fist.

BEA

I can be so clumsy in heels!

She slides her heels off, hooks her fingers through the strap. She spins herself in and out of Frederick's arm with one hand in his, keeping her head steady as dancers do when spinning.

FREDERICK

(flat, no hint of whimsy or amusement) You're making me dizzy.

Bea twirls again, out one last time as Frederick draws the curtains with a thought command to his home management system.

JACKIE (V.O.)

V, you catch that?

BEA

So, a ballerina, you said?

Bea twirls into his arms.

BEA

I've heard they're very flexible.

V (V.O.)

Oh yeah, I can get in through the cameras and have that whole system under my control.

Bea twirls out but Frederick grabs her by the neck. She walks backwards as he pushes her into the wall. She holds her head up high, doesn't struggle. He presses himself into her, pins her. Moves his hand from her neck down her arm— not now, don't think about him, not now, focus— the strap of her dress falls off her shoulder. He grabs her hand and places it on his cheek.

FREDERICK

(calm) Slap me.

BEA

(stutters, stunned) I'm sorry?

FREDERICK

(firmer) Slap me.

Bea's fingers twitch, clearly wanting to do more than slap. She rears her hand back halfway. The slap echoes through the high ceilings, the pink handprint quickly pales to skin tone.

FREDERICK

(dominating, angry, wanting) Slap me like you mean it, you worthless joytoy cunt.

JACKIE (V.O.)

Woah! Language. V, never call Bea a cunt.

V (V.O.)

Uh, had no plans to.

Bea can't hide her smirk, the twinkle of barely controlled bloodlust in her eyes.

BEA

My pleasure.

She rears her hand all the way back, moves it forward to his cheek once, checking her aim. The slap again echoes, louder and harder, reverberating in the room. He shudders and sighs. A red welt along his cheek in the shape of her hand forms. Frederick is grinning like a maniac, nothing human behind his eyes.

Bea's seen this look before and her blood chills.

BEA

(subvocalized) Can I kill him yet?

V (V.O.)

Only if you want Militech knocking down our doors.

Bea speaks, nothing important, Frederick hits her as hard as she hit him, maybe harder. The scene glitches with chromatic aberration and static.

JACKIE (V.O.)

What was that?

Bea touches her lip, looks down, sees blood on her thumb above a line of burgundy lipstick.

Frederick pulls his hand back to slap her again, but she grabs his wrist.

BEA

(subvocalized) Got it under control. Do I really? Fuck.

The way V touched her arm, traced her skin, his voice, his gravel, the endearing accent on the vowels she just wants to see the ugly cactus outside. Reminds her of home. Of home. Is he home?

No. No no no. Fucking FOCUS.

Why don't we move somewhere more comfortable?

FREDERICK

(growl, animalistic) Nova idea.

HALLWAY

Photos line the wall showing Frederick shaking hands with CEOs, vacationing in exotic locales. A diploma for an MBA from a foreign university. He poses with extinct mammals at elite and illegal hunting grounds. Lifeless eyes in every photo, just as dead as the things he kills.

V (V.O.)

Still fucking nothing. God dammit!

BEDROOM

White room, red neon lights line the ceiling. Recessed bookshelves on the wall—white—filled with awards, antiques, collectibles, corpo motivational bullshit.

Bea sets her shoes down by the door. Frederick unbuttons his shirt. She looks at anything but him.

We expected this. But you didn't prepare. You didn't prepare The Script. The most important one. Your armor. Too fucking distracted by the stupid boy. This is why. This is why I separated you. This is why I broke you. Why I broke us.

I have it under control.

BEA

(angry, hint of panic; subvocalized) Please tell me you found it.

She moves to one wall of bookshelves, traces spines with her hands as she lazily walks along the wall.

BEA

Quite the reader, hm?

FREDERICK

Oh, those are just for decoration.

Frederick taps a button and the room goes dark. Sounds of things moving, squeaking. The red neon lights up the room, casting a red hostile glow. The bookshelf turns into a display of sex toys and bondage gear.

You are not afraid. You are not afraid. He is nothing. Remember the script. 

BEA

(subvocalized, crack in the armor) V? 

V (V.O.)

No. Not yet. You're fine.

I'm not fine. I'm not fine. I need you.

JACKIE

V, come on.

V

No! Bea, I'm uploading an x-ray program to your Kiroshis. We'll be able to see what's on the other side of the shelves.

Shut down. Shut the fuck down and play the part. Play the goddamn part. I'm scared. I'm without a mask. I have no script. I am fucking empty.

BEA

(subvocalized, wavering) Make it fucking fast.

"Gonna feel weird, like getting a hair stuck in your eye, just a sec," V said. The feed on the monitor split into two screens. The feed on the left showed the regular, non-augmented feed. On the right, was a grayscale feed of the room. V set up a simulscan program, but even with both programs running at the same time, it would be slower than he had hoped.

He wanted it to be easy. She said so herself, she was a professional. She understood the risks; she explained that after the club. He needed this to work. No matter the cost. Shut down. You're a professional fucking merc. You've used people in worse ways before. Play your part.

When Bea turned around again, the bed had flipped into a raised wooden slab with a leather strap at the four corners. V's own heart rate matched Bea's as she looked the man up and down. He was naked except for black leather chaps and a belt with a variety of knives.

V felt his pulse in his neck.

"Le Sacre du printemps," Johnny says.

"What?" V watches the record spin, feels the timpani and bass in his chest.

"Stravinsky, it changed music forever," Johnny uses his cigarette like a conductor's baton and follows the experimental metre, rhythm, and stress. He gestures towards the sheet music on the table. "Gonna get you fuckin' cultured, V. Just because you can tap into me to play guitar, don't mean you know shit about composing music."

Bea's biomonitor became a metronome with V's beating heart following the time signature, the timpani in his chest leading the orchestra.

Frederick dropped to his knees and crawled to Bea as she backed away.

"Allegro, from Italian meaning cheerful. Fast, cheery, bright."

"Emphasis on the fast?"

"Always."

"Bea, look around the room, not at him," V said.

Bea flinched, it was harsh, mean. Please, no.

V drummed his fingers along the side of his deck. His heart jumped into his throat, nestled itself behind the hyoid bone as wet kisses joined the sonic fray.

"Sforzando, sudden and strong emphasis." The cherry of Johnny's cigarette falls to the floor and dissipates into pixels as he brings his hand down with force, directing the start of the time signature change.

Bea looked down at Frederick once, then looked up around the room and back down to Frederick. It's time to go, Bea. You don't need a script for this. Just let it happen. She felt sick. Her instinct was to fight, to flee. But she never left a job half-finished. And she didn't need Militech knocking on her door. They'd surely figure out who she was really working for.

V's stomach roiled, but they couldn't go in. They needed to find the key. His survival was on the line.

A flash of bookshelves and metal awards.

A skeletal hand hovering over a tibia.

Antique guns and collectible ceramic plates.

Phalanges curled, digging into fibula.

"Tell me you fucking have something." The panic was clear in Bea's voice. The knot in his stomach hardened, became a mallet beating a rhythm against his intestines. Bea looked down again.

Translucent lips pressing into faded grey flesh around a femur.

She tilted her head back for a moment and resumed scanning the room.

Metal spikes along silicone covered rods.

"Tenuto, sustaining a note. You know, like when you first enter a tight as fuck hole," Johnny thrust his hips.

Tenuto grunt.

Distal phalanges six inches from trochanter of femur.

Still nothing. Bea wondered if she should put on the show, if it would protect her, help her get her mask back.

V flexed the pistons in his hands. "Bea, the shelf behind you changed too quickly before I could get a scan." V tamed the vomit burbling up and down like a vocal run in his throat. "Turn around," he commanded. It wasn't a request. His survival was paramount. Never look back. If you must kill, kill. If you must burn all of the world to the ground, then let it burn.

Two pairs of hands. Two thumbs over pectineal line. Phalanges intertwine.

Frederick's skeleton stood up, white pockets of flesh over cheekbones folding and contorting into a gruesome smile. Into malice. Bea turned around, moaning lightly as if she were stretching. Scanning resumed when she faced the bookshelf. V flicked the red scanning percentage to her retinal display.

At 85% the feed narrowed, flickered, and the scanning stopped. V slapped the monitor and cursed. "God dammit, Bea!"

She whimpered as fabric ripped.

"Vivace, fast and lively!" Johnny pas de bourreed across the living room.

"V, we know it's there, yeah?" Jackie's voice was tense, but even. "Just call it. We'll take him down and get the key."

I will die. He will kill me. I'm empty anyway. The script, I need the script. I'm in control. I'm fine. I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine.

Frederick cooed in Bea's ear, the voice over comms dripped slime down V's spine as he spoke, "I like it rough. You like it rough?"

The feed expanded again as her head moved back. "Answer me, whore," Frederick growled. V balled his hands into fists. If you must burn all of the world to the ground, then let it burn. Let it burn. Survive at any cost.

"Uh huh," Bea said blithely.

"Uh huh, what?" Frederick tightened his grip on Bea's hair and she grunted.

"Yeah, I like it rough," Bea replied flatly. V felt every muscle fiber in his body surge with electricity.

"That's what I thought." A spike of pain registered on the biomon as the feed narrowed again to black. It expanded and closed again three times as Frederick pounded her head into the wall. Her eyes remained half-lidded, an aspect ratio forced on screen.

"Y'know, why does an output have all these holes if they're not made to plug something in?"

The screeching biomonitor drowned out the sound of Frederick spitting in his hand, but Bea's eyes flicked down and through her body.

Thick phalanges wrapped around a cord of grey. Pelvises jerked together.

Jackie wrapped a thick, calloused fist around V's neck and pulled his ear to his mouth. Hot breath and spittle hit his ear as Jackie spoke. "No fucking way, V! We're going in there right fucking now. This ain't happening again."

V shoved him off. If he has to burn the world down, then he will let it burn. He tried to force open the black hole in his chest, to swallow his anger and anxiety and fear for her. The girl in the window.

"No! We have to be fucking certain!" He couldn't take his eyes off the monitor.

Pelvises together and apart. Together and apart.

The biomonitor was deafening. A single tone screaming through the van, screaming through V's heart inside his throat.

Jackie punched V in the side of his face and grabbed his head in two meaty hands. He dragged V close to the monitors. The scanning monitor was black as Bea had closed her eyes. Jackie muted the biomonitor alarm. In place of the digital cry came a human's.

Was it hers?

"Fuck!" V shouted. "Fine, 85% it is." V pulled his custom Lexington out of the holster in the small of his back and checked the chamber.

INT. FREDERICK'S MANSION (BEDROOM) - DAY

Bea's eyes open wide just as Frederick finishes. Survive. Just survive. She rams her head back into his face; he groans.

BEA

(saccharine, sarcastic) What, done already baby?

90% flashes across her retinal display as Frederick grabs her by her neck, both hands squeeze.

BEA

(strained, choking) I thought you liked it rough?

95% flashes next, then finally.

"Hundred," Bea whispered. She was free.

Frederick paused, "What did you just say?"

Frederick yanked her away from the wall by her neck. Her feet kicked air and her hands scratched at his as he lifted her up off the ground. He choke slammed her down onto the wooden slab. Bea flailed as he dragged her up the rough boards. She knew splinters were lodged in her back, but she didn’t feel them. She didn’t feel anything except the innate drive to survive, the one feeling she could never numb, no matter how much she tried.

“Yemakh shmoy ve-zikhroy!” she rasped. 

Frederick loosened his grip around her neck enough for her to gasp for air as he was distracted trying to reposition her on the slab. She used her next breath to snarl and spit like a fractious cat, clawing at any flesh she could.

Frederick slammed his fist into Bea’s temple, and her vision scattered as she tried to resist the force to turn her head with the punch. He kneeled one knee on the bed and put his mouth to Bea’s ear. “You’re lucky I like when they fi–”

Before he could finish his gloating, Bea sent a synapse to FlexxSys to loosen a couple vertebrae in her neck so she could turn her head inside his grip. She clamped down on the cartilage in his ear, the crunch echoed in her jaw as it tore away from its better half when Frederick fell away from her. Bea spat the ear out and took in gulping breaths of air.

“I thought you liked it when they fought back?” her voice was hoarse and her vocal cords were surely bruised, but she still shouted. She scrambled off the table away from him and sprinted to the door of the bedroom.

Frederick pounced on her back just as her vertebrae was falling back into place. She fell with a hard thud on her stomach and a painful crack inside her spine that would have killed her if she didn’t have the cybermod to hold her together.

“What the fuck did you say hundred for?” Frederick grabbed a fistful of her hair and shoved her face into the carpet. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the worthless joytoy cunt that’s going to fucking kill you!” Bea screamed.

Her fingertips were inches from the doorway. She was so close, so close to being free. I’m going to die here. I’m going to die here for that stupid fucking gonk. Did they not hear me say the scan finished? She dug her fingertips into the carpet, trying to pull herself out from under Frederick’s hulking mass. She wagered he had to be at least 400 pounds, with half of it in chrome.

Frederick stood on his knee and flipped Bea over onto her back. He wrapped both hands around her neck as Bea tried to buck her hips, force him off of her. She tore gulfs into his face with her fingernails, but none of it stopped him. 

Bea closed her eyes and scanned the picture of the room she committed to memory once she entered it, looking for a revelation about any weapon she could improvise. Door directly to the left. Heels by the door. Wall. Home tech panel. Bookshelves.

Heels. Heels.

Above you. Right side.

Bea kept her left hand fruitlessly trying to force space between his hands and her neck as she reached her right arm up above her, flailing for the straps of her heels. Her fingertips brushed against them, but she couldn’t snag her fingertips through. Her vision fading, her breathing shallow, she told FlexxSys to dislocate her shoulder.

She closed her eyes and felt her arm go limp. 

She stretched her arm up as far as she could and curled her fingers around the straps. She let go of Frederick’s hand, tossed the shoe into her left hand, and jammed it into his shoulder with the last of her strength. Frederick let go of her neck and grappled with the heel as Bea coughed, unable to get a full breath with his body pressing into her.

The doorbell rang.

Bea and Frederick both looked at the tech panel in the wall as it lit up when the doorbell rang again.

Frederick got off of Bea and punched her in the face again, stunning her. He walked over to the intercom, gathered his composure and answered, "What do you want?"

A familiar voice crackled over the intercom, and Bea’s skin erupted in goosebumps. "I just need a moment, sir. Is this a bad time?" 

Bea’s eyes fluttered as she tried to remain conscious, tried to resist the relief she felt hearing– Prince Charming –V’s voice. She rolled over onto her bad arm and grabbed at Frederick's ankles, trying to topple him. He kicked her in her stomach and fell onto her again. "Uh yeah, it’s a very bad time," Frederick said with a grunt. He pulled the knife out of his belt and brought it down on Bea. She crossed her arms, blocking his blows and shredding her flesh to ribbons. Her blood pooled into a warm puddle in the cleft between her breasts as he struggled to stab her.

Frederick punched Bea in the face again. Once, twice, three times and she was out.

Frederick’s voice came over the intercom again, “Now fuck off.”

V winked at the camera, hoping Bea saw him. That she knew she would be okay, that it was okay, that he deserved and would take any punishment she meted out— that he lo —

He took a step back and kicked the door, the heavy chrome in his legs splintering the wood and glass easily. He ran through the house, Jackie not far behind, following the path Bea took to the bedroom. They found Frederick on top of Bea, his knife poised above her heart, a stiletto heel sticking out of his shoulder.

Jackie shoved past V and kicked under Frederick's chin as he raised his head, flinging him backward and off of Bea. V dragged Bea away and Jackie kicked Frederick in the face again, teeth and blood flying up into the air as the man gurgled and writhed on the floor. V propped Bea against the wall as Jackie hauled Frederick out of the room kicking and screaming.

V knelt down in front of Bea. "Oh fuck, come on Bea," he whispered. Her head was limp, her curls plastered to her scalp with her own blood. V's hand shook as he moved the hair away from her face and stroked her cheek. He used his other hand to place two fingers against the carotid artery in her neck. With the muted biomon in the car, V hadn't been able to confirm if she was actually still alive.

"V, is she breathing?" Jackie didn't have to do it over comms, V heard him yelling from the kitchen. Frederick screamed.

V counted the beats.

"Prestissimo pianississimo. Extremely soft, faint," Johnny whispered. “The way your heart settles after a good fuck and you can finally sleep.”

"Get off me!" Bea screamed. She shoved him away and kicked wildly at him. Her bare foot connected with his nose and a crack echoed in his head as a flash of white flared across his eyes. She kicked him again, connecting with his stomach. Her last kick, his groin. The pain was exquisite, but it meant Bea was alive, and that was worth it.

He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side. He pressed his face into her head, blood salting his lips as he found himself kissing the top of her head again and again.

"Bea, it's me!" She weakly struggled against him, only able to squirm. "You're safe." He moved one hand to the back of her neck, keeping her head against his shoulder as she collapsed in his arms.

V felt his heartbeat slow, the bile fade. Bea's hair was stringy and his shirt was surely being stained with blood. But he didn't care. She was safe. She was here. She was in his arms. The quiet calmed him.

"Moderato, Goldilocks. Neither too fast nor too slow, just right," Johnny conducted a smooth 4/4 time signature with his hand.

"V, is she alive?" Jackie asked again. V heard one loud, cracking and squelching punch.

"Yeah Jack, she's vital as fuck."

Chapter Text

V's lower eyelid twitched. The kind you couldn't see if you looked in a mirror. Hidden rage. It boiled inside him, getting faster and more violent as they had patched Bea up. Jackie had to convince V not to kill Frederick. Or yourself.

Or himself. But shouldn't he be proud of himself? He didn't let his dick fail another gig. But you failed.

V circled Frederick, swinging a ball gag they'd found in one of his toy chests around one finger as Jackie finished checking his bonds. The heel of Bea's stiletto was still embedded half an inch into Frederick's shoulder. The surrounding area was a beautiful purple—beautiful?—and caked with blood. V could only imagine the amount of force it took for Bea to shove the small, square heel through Frederick's muscle.

Oh, Bea.

V didn't want to think about her. Every time he did, bile swarmed up into his throat. Shame and disgust were just the tip of the iceberg. Once they got her onto the bed, they were able to take a full accounting of her injuries. Her nose was broken, the back of her head was split open, her top lip was swollen and bruised, her right cheekbone was fractured beneath the carpet burn down her face. They were able to put her right shoulder back into its socket, but only after they stopped her arms bleeding from the defensive wounds. Her legs were scratched up with splinters embedded in her flesh from struggling against the wooden slab.

Neither the pain from setting her broken nose nor popping her shoulder back into socket was enough to rouse her.

V looked around the kitchen, no longer pristine white. Jackie and V's footprints had sullied the tile and carpet, while Frederick's blood accented the cabinetry.

"The shit in the bunker is worthless," Frederick spluttered through his broken jaw.

V stopped in front of Frederick and snapped his fingers in front of the man's bruised and bloody face, "Hey! You'll speak when I say you can fuckin' speak." V gestured his head toward the bedroom at Jackie, "Go check on her. Me and Freddie need to have a little chat."

Jackie flicked the shoe lodged in Frederick's shoulder as he passed. A shockwave of pain made the man groan.

V crouched in front of Frederick with a crazed grin. "Freddy, my buddy, my pal. We're friends right?"

Frederick only glared at V through the eye not swollen shut.

"Cooperate, and we'll let you live. Maybe a little worse for wear, but alive." V patted Frederick's knee and stood up. "So, be a good lad and tell me: where is the key to the bunker?"

Jackie and V knew where the key was. It was inside a fingerprint-locked safe that looked like a commemorative baseball. They were just killing time until Bea woke up. It wasn't like she had a Trauma Team plan, and they didn't want to move her so soon after patching her up. The stitches and glue would need some more time to set.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

V looped the ball gag on the corner of the kitchen chair Frederick was in and walked behind him. He placed his hands on the man's shoulders, away from Bea's heel. The servos in his arms whirred as the chrome heated. Not too hot, at first, V started at a hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit. Hotter than a person should run naturally, but not enough to scald. They'd let Frederick live, if only to save them from Militech.

V rolled his neck and loosened his shoulders. "So, the bunker full of worthless junk doesn't need a key?" At a hundred and eighty degrees, Freddie started to catch on, concern flickering in his one good eye. An acrid smell wafted into V’s nose as the Synthskinn started to singe.

A low mewling escaped Frederick's throat at two hundred and fifty degrees. It made V's ears tingle; it felt good somewhere deep inside him. It felt good to hurt. To maim. "Well, gee whiz! I sure hope Kang Tao doesn't know that you were trying to sell a key that doesn't exist."

At three hundred and seventy-five degrees, well, that’s a temperature that could burn your casserole. Freddie’s mouth warped in agony as he tried to answer the question that would make the pain stop.

"It's on the," Frederick gasped, "Fuck! Oh fuck, it burns!"

At four hundred and fifty degrees, V dug his fingertips into Frederick's skin. The flesh burbled under his palms as V's hands sunk past the germination layer as he kept steady pressure on his fingers. Frederick would need an expensive skin graft with thick applications of nanites for weeks if he didn't want deep scars in the shape of V's hands.

Frederick wailed, and another spark of pleasure traveled up V's spine. He curled his lips at the strange stench of burning flesh. It was almost sweet, almost like ribs barbecuing after the first slathering of sauce. But the acerbic smoke from the melting synthetic fibers woven into his skin made their way onto his tongue.

Frederick moaned, a pathetic bleating call. V would have punched through his chest and roasted Frederick's heart in his fist if he could. He would have to settle with grilling human cuts of chuck, instead. The temperature gauge at the base of his thumb flashed six hundred and eighty degrees Fahrenheit before disappearing again. Frederick begged and pleaded as the sweet smell of roasting fat filled the room, overpowering the sour smell of Realskinn. He choked on his saliva as his screams echoed through the high ceiling of the kitchen, punctuated by sharp, sizzling, pops.

V removed his hands with a wet, ripping sound and walked to the kitchen sink. He turned his hands over, putting his fingers together and pulling them apart to watch the strings of meat stretch between them. He rubbed a piece of gristle between his thumb and forefinger and was surprised at how much it felt like synthbeef. He turned the sink on with his elbow and cooled his hands down to a respectable ninety-six degrees and washed off the charred meat. His hands shook, causing the chrome to clink together quietly. He balled his hands into fists and looked behind him. Frederick's head lolled back and forth. V took a deep breath before turning off the sink.

He walked back over to Frederick and flicked the water off his fingers into Frederick's face. "Hey, where do you keep your uh, what are they? Fuckin' uh…" V made a snipping gesture with his first and middle finger. Droplets hissed as they fell on the smoldering remnants of the man's shoulders. 

Frederick's eyes were glazed over when he looked up at V. "Please, I'll—"

V grabbed the ball gag and walked behind Frederick again. He grabbed both ends in his hands and shoved the rubber ball in the man's mouth, snapping Frederick's head back so he looked up at V. The one eye not swollen shut was red and puffy, the skin a deep blue from Bea's thrashing. Subconjunctival hemorrhages marbled the whites of his eyes. V glanced at his own reflection in the freshly washed, shiny chrome of his fists.

Feels good, don't it? And where's that pesky black hole? That's right, it's gone. What's the difference between fucking and killing? A heartbeat in the hole you're stabbing.

He was grinning. He didn't feel the smile; he didn't feel the tightness across his cheeks or his lips curved against his teeth. But he was grinning. Was he enjoying this? Yes. Was he simply enjoying the violence—yes—or was it because he loved—yes.

"Thought you liked it rough?" V fastened the gag and released Frederick's head with a shove. He walked back to the kitchen and dug through the drawers until he found what he was looking for: sharp, shiny kitchen shears. They were nearly as clear and sparkling as his fingers.

V returned to Frederick and called out to Jackie, "Which finger?"

"The thumb!" Jackie shouted back.

"Left or right?"

Frederick made a sound against the ball gag that almost sounded like a word, but only drooled red saliva down his chin.

"I think it's the right one!"

V crouched down behind Frederick, placed his fleshy thumb between the shears, and squeezed. A satisfying crunch rippled through his hand as the finger popped off cleanly at the first knuckle. Blood spurted out onto V's jeans.

"Thanks choom." V looked at the man and pondered his fall. Someone so strong and powerful reduced to a wet, shivering mess. No amount of money or influence could save one from the inevitable fragility of the human body. Even Adam Smasher still had human flesh inside his hulking metal frame.

V crouched down again in front of Frederick. The man's face hung limp as bloody saliva dripped onto his leg. V grabbed his jaw and squeezed. The crepitation between the broken pieces of the man's jaw tickled V's hand. He jerked Frederick's head up to look at him. V's voice was low and sharp, enunciating every word to ensure Frederick understood.

"When I see you again, and I will see you again, I will kill you. But first, I will make you experience pain so exquisite, so beyond whatever sadomasochistic fantasy you could imagine." V felt the smile this time. The grin stretched across his cheeks, almost painfully. When he stood back up, he slammed his hand down on Bea's shoe next to the weeping handprints he’d left in Frederick’s body, digging the heel in all the way.

V shook with adrenaline as he walked down the hall back to the bedroom. You feel it, right? The black hole is satisfied. He stopped before entering to compose himself, to stop smiling. He didn't want Jackie or Bea to see how deranged he looked. He breathed deeply and touched his face to make sure the smile was gone.

The bedroom smelled like blood, and V suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Bea, despite her height and muscular frame, looked small on the queen-sized bed. The top sheet and comforter were piled in a bloody heap in one corner of the room. They had used it to stem the bleeding while Jackie tore the house apart looking for first aid supplies. The trash can next to the bedding was overflowing with gauze and bandages. Deep at the bottom were Bea's torn panties. V had stuffed them there before Jackie found them. He needed Jackie to focus now.

"Yo," V tossed the finger to Jackie, who dodged and let it fall to the floor.

"That's fuckin' disgusting, you do it!"

"You just beat a man senseless, how is that any different?" V walked over to where the finger lay and picked it up.

"Everything was still attached to his face."

V rolled his eyes and snatched the baseball out of Jackie's hand. He set the baseball and thumb on the bedside table and sat on the bed next to Bea. He crossed his legs and forced his body to relax. The slouch felt unnatural. His nerves screamed for action, every muscle in his body felt like it had pent-up kinetic energy that had to be released.

"She ever wake up?" V asked quietly.

"No." Jackie leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "She's okay, though. Her biomon is still connected in the van, been keeping an eye on her vitals." He sighed. "Culo still alive?"

V nodded and looked at Bea. Jackie had folded her hands across her chest, and V frowned. "If she's not fuckin' dead, why'd you…" V trailed off as he lifted Bea's hands and placed them down at her sides, gently, careful not to move the bandages over her arms. The warmth of her hand proved she was alive, but she didn't look it. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead and upper lip, her face was wan. He placed the back of his hand, the part not covered by chrome, across her forehead and cheeks. She was warm, but not quite feverish.

Violence was a tool V tried to avoid. Not that he was a pacifist, he loved a good scrap as much as the next merc. Something about when he was checking Bea for more injuries, cleaning up her thighs, holding her in his lap while Jackie wrapped up her arms, that broke something inside him. No, broke isn't the right word, something didn't break. His devotion grew. It was dangerous, the way it seeped into his nervous system and rewired pathways for violence.

V had never realized violence could also mean love.

"Hurry up, V. Wanna get out of this hellhole." Jackie paced around the room.

V picked up the baseball, it felt lighter than normal. He opened a seam in the baseball that was darker with thinner thread than the other seam, revealing the scanner inside. He picked up Frederick's thumb and pressed it into the scanner. In a few seconds, a small beep sounded and a thin card slid out from the other seam. V grabbed the card between two fingers and flipped it over. It was white with a black magnetic strip on the back. He placed the baseball and thumb back on the bedside table.

Bea moaned. V and Jackie both froze and stared at her, waiting to see if she was waking up. Her brow furrowed, then softened. But she didn't wake up.

V took his cyberdeck out of its holster and propped it open on his lap. He slotted the keycard into a custom external reader he had Velcroed to the lid of the deck. He began the analysis to ensure the card was the correct one and would still work.

He sat his deck down in front of him and leaned back against the wall. He closed his eyes, but the image of pelvic bones being thrust together had burned itself into his eyelids. He forced himself to keep them closed. Forced himself to replay the biomonitor alerts screaming in his ears. He should have called it off, should have found someone else. He should have called Viper in the first place, she could surely bypass a lock requiring an old school keycard. But things were still rocky with his best friend since she'd gotten out of prison in Atlanta last year.

Wouldn't anyone else have just gone through the same thing? The success of the gig hinged on sex. It didn't matter.

Hazard of the job.

Right?

"Rich motherfuckers, man," Jackie spoke, snapping V out of his shame spiral. "They buy all this fancy-ass memorabilia. Don't know, don't care what any of it really means or what it's worth!"

V looked at Jackie, he was standing in front of a shelf full of religious iconography and relics.

"Like, look at this, V." Jackie walked over to V and shoved a small statuette in front of his face. "Santa Madre figure from 19-fucking-50!" It was in pristine condition with exquisite, fine detail on her face. Not even the richest churches in the best parts of the Glen would have something as well-preserved as this.

A quiet, scratchy voice spoke up from the bed. "What, like that's old?"

V snapped his deck shut and Jackie dropped the priceless statue. It shattered when it bounced off the bed and fell to the floor. Jackie rushed over to the other side of the bed and sat down next to Bea. He held her hand while V got on his knees and checked her over. Her neck was still red, her nose and lips were still swollen and beginning to bruise, but she was otherwise okay.

"Get the fuck off me. I'm not dead, you gonks." Bea grunted when she tried to sit up, but V and Jackie both placed a hand on either shoulder, shoving her back down flat.

"I'll go get you some water," V said. He didn't want to leave her side ever again. But he couldn't face her, couldn't face what he'd done. Because it was all his fault. It was his prep, his plan, his command to wait until the scan finished before going in to help her.

Frederick's eyes followed V as he navigated the kitchen. "Happy to report she's alive." V poured a glass of water from a pitcher in the fridge and walked over to Frederick. He held the glass steady in his left hand as he punched Frederick with his right, never spilling a drop of water. Frederick whimpered and coughed around the ball gag in his mouth.

V wiped blood from his hand off on his jeans. He stopped in the hallway to listen in on Jackie and Bea talking.

"You made me drop a priceless heirloom," Jackie whined playfully.

"I'm sure the Santa Madre will forgive you." Bea coughed.

"Honestly…" Jackie's voice quavered. "I was more worried about what Mama Welles would do to me if I got you killed." V walked in and handed the glass to Jackie, who helped Bea sit up. He put the glass to her lips, but Bea grabbed it and swatted his hand away.

"How are you feeling?" V instantly regretted the gonk question.

Bea drained the glass before speaking. Her eyes narrowed, she glared at V, "How do you think I feel?"

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

We expected this, though, right? You should have known it was too good to be true, especially with this gig.

Bea handed the glass to Jackie. "V and I need to have a little talk. Would you mind getting me some more water carnalito?"

Jackie grabbed the glass and stood up, he patted V on his back and bent over to whisper in his ear, "Told you she'd be bad for your health."

V sat down on the edge of the bed. Some color had returned to Bea's face after the water, but her eyes were sunken, only made worse by the bruising. She didn't look dead anymore, but she didn't look very lively, either. V wanted to wrap his arms around her, to tell her how he was so afraid, so afraid of losing her. How sorry he was. He wanted to get on his hands and knees and beg for forgiveness.

She didn't look at him. She folded in on herself, physically and emotionally. She hugged her legs, not seeming to care how much her body hurt or how little the dress covered. And V, for maybe the first time in his life, didn't look up her skirt.

"How much did you see and hear?" she asked quietly, her voice shaky.

V hesitated and cleared his throat, "All of it."

Bea shuddered and hugged herself tighter. "Jackie, too?"

"Yes." V reached his hand out to touch her arm, a gesture of comfort. She twisted his wrist and pulled his face to hers. Her eyes bored through him, a burning flare of anger. "Don't do that to me ever again." Bea gasped, and her grip loosened, surprise crossed her face, like she didn't know what she just said or what it meant.

"Do…what? What did I do to you?" What didn't you do? You almost got her killed. It's all your fault.

Bea let go of V and turned her head away from him. There were purple streaks on her neck from Frederick's hands. V sat silently. Waiting for judgment, for his punishment. For what he deserved.

Bea's shoulders shook twice, and then she inhaled deeply, held it, and exhaled.

Leave her?

"Use me like that," she muttered.

V's heart sank to his stomach. Thought it was a hazard of the job, V? She said she was used to it.

When she turned back to him, her cheeks were wet. She stretched her legs out and set her hand down next to his on the bed, their pinkies touching. She reached her other hand out towards his face and V flinched.

Her brows furrowed briefly, enough for V to feel guilty for flinching. She rubbed her thumb gently across his lips where it was swelling from biting his lip when she kicked him in his face. The touch was soft, intimate. His heart fluttered in his stomach, a soft beat of a butterfly's wings clearing some kind of darkness inside of him.

She grimaced when she hovered her fingers over the bruising across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes. V closed his eyes, her touch felt healing to his body and mind. Maybe it's okay. Maybe she can forgive you. That's the salvation you want, not from Hashem, but from a goddess. Someone to absolve you of the guilt you feel for simply existing.

"Did he get you?" Bea asked quietly.

V overlapped his pinky with hers and shook his head. "Jackie kicked Frederick in the face to get him off of you. We subdued him pretty quickly after that. He's tied up in the kitchen. Nah," he curled his pinky under hers, "These babies are from some upstart cruiserweight that would give Vik a run for his money in the ring." Bea looked confused. "You kicked the shit out of me, Bea."

Bea sucked in air between her teeth. Their heads turned to the doorway as a muffled scream came from the kitchen, followed by Jackie laughing. Bea moved her hand away from V's when Jackie walked in with the glass and V stood up.

"You ready to go, chica?" Jackie asked when he handed the glass to Bea.

She nodded, drained the glass, and threw it across the room. It shattered against one of the bookshelves. Bea rotated where she sat and got her legs off the bed and her feet on the floor. V put his hand out to help her, but she waved him off. V stepped back and watched. She stood up and put her arms out to her sides to steady herself. She looked like a newborn fawn.

She was going to fall. But V wanted to see just how far her stubbornness would take her. Bea lifted one foot and took a step forward.

V registered the shift in her center of gravity in seconds. He shot his arm out in front of her chest to catch her, her face mere inches from the wall. He pulled her upright and put his other arm around her shoulder. "Take it slow." 

Bea tried shoving him away, but every time he let go, she tilted in another direction.

Jackie walked ahead of them as V helped Bea shuffle to the kitchen. She stopped in front of Frederick, with V propping her up. Frederick's eyes were heavy and he shook with shock. She reached her hand out to grab her heel and tried pulling. Frederick screeched.

"Can you get that for me?" she asked Jackie.

"Mm, el gusto es mío," Jackie said. He tore her heel out and Frederick reared his head back, gurgling screams muffled behind the gag. Tears created clean rivulets between the dried blood around his face. Jackie handed the shoe to Bea. "Let's give her a minute alone, V." V let go of Bea for a moment to see if she was steady enough on her own. She waved him off and Jackie grabbed V's elbow and led him to the foyer.

"All good with the key?" Jackie asked.

"Shit, left my deck in the room." V turned back but stopped in the entryway to the kitchen.

Bea held her high heel over her head, wobbling slightly on her feet. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, staring at her torturer, considering him. Whatever she thought, her final judgment was clear. Like a judge’s gavel punctuating the finality of a death sentence, she slammed her heel down on his crotch. A squelch came from between Frederick's legs, followed by blood dripping down from the center of the chair. V felt his own testicles cringe and curl up inside his body defensively.

"Fucking hell," V muttered. He hurried back to the bedroom to grab his deck and Bea's other heel. When he returned to the kitchen, she was leaning over the sink, splashing water over her face. V placed a hand on the middle of her back and she instinctively elbowed him in his solar plexus.

He groaned. Bea turned around and he held the shoe out to her as he gasped for breath. "Do you…" He swallowed and breathed deeply, grimacing. "Want me to get the other one?"

Bea snatched her shoe out of his hand and placed it on her foot, "Leave it." She limped to the foyer, V following close behind. She turned around and took in the living room one last time. She sneered and said, "Zol er krenken un gedenken," punctuating the Yiddish curse by spitting on the floor.

V smiled. He knew a handful of Ladino words, but never learned Yiddish. Hearing it on Bea's tongue touched something in his heart. Its proximity to Hebrew was enough to light a comforting fire inside him every time, a feeling of belonging and connection.

Jackie and V left first, sneakers crunching over the broken wood and glass. Bea followed.

"What'd you do to the guy?" Jackie asked.

Instead of answering, Bea cursed and V turned to look at her. She was holding her bare foot in one hand and trying to balance on the other foot. It was not going well for her. Her ankle was wavering like a bobblehead spring in its heel. V, again, went to help her and she, again, waved him off. Blood sprinkled the ground from her foot. If she kept going like this, she was liable to break her ankle.

V scooped her up in his arms. She yelped and scolded him, "Hey! I can fucking walk! Put me down!"

V ignored her.

Until she put her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. He looked down at her. Her eyes were closed and V felt a growing warm, wet spot through his shirt, tears he thought, though later he’d find it was more blood. He adjusted his arm under her upper back, shifting her closer, and she curled her arms tighter around him.

Jackie had already opened the back door for them and was sitting in the driver's seat, waiting for them. V stood there awkwardly in front of the open doors. He didn't know if he should let her stand or get in the van herself. He looked down at Bea and she looked up at him. His brain short-circuited. In the warm glow of the sunset she looked exhausted, sad, and vulnerable. Too vulnerable. He felt like he was going to cry himself.

"You can put me down now. I can get in there myself," Bea said. V set her down gently and followed her into the back of the van, closing the doors behind him.

Chapter Text

Once they’d all settled into the van, Jackie called back to them, "I'm starving, let's get burgers! That diner you love should still be open, Bea."

"You asking or telling us where you're going?" Bea replied.

"Telling you!" Jackie cranked the radio up and pulled away from the curb.

V grabbed the medkit off the wall, next to the monitors and next to Bea. She flinched at the sharp sound of the velcro. He sat back down across from Bea and reached one hand out towards her, "Foot. Gimme."

Bea shook her head and looked away from V. "I'm fine."

"Stop fucking saying you're fine, you're not fine. You have multiple fractures, lost a fair amount of blood, and have shards of glass and splinters in your foot." V huffed when Bea shook her head again.

V slapped a button next to him and turned on the overhead light. Bea looked paler than when she was in the bed. She was beginning to bleed through the bandages wrapped around her arms. She stretched her legs out, placing her injured foot in his lap.

He took some tweezers out of the med kit and propped her foot up on his knee. None of the shards of glass or wood splinters were too deep, though he couldn't be certain in the dim lighting. Her toes were finely manicured and painted black, her skin soft. Was there any part of her rough or calloused? Other than her personality.

Jackie took a sharp turn and Bea lifted her leg up for a counterbalance. Her dress slid across her thigh, and this time V looked. He regretted it immediately.

Bea kicked her bloody foot into his chest, which she also seemed to regret based on her cursing.

He told himself he looked to check for more injuries, but it was instinctual. He couldn't fill his senses enough with her. Every second of every minute of every hour of the day he wanted to smell her and taste her and see her.

"You really want me digging around in your foot? Fucking hold still." V clamped his hand over her ankle and held her foot steady as he plucked out all the shards and splinters he could find. She took it like a champ, not a single twitch until he poured some antiseptic over her foot, which she did not take like a champ.

"Motherfucker!" Bea screamed. She slammed her fist into the side of the van and groaned. "Fucking warn me next time!" 

V wrapped her foot in gauze and placed it gingerly back in his lap. He held both hands out and gestured her towards him with his hands. "Arms."

Bea didn't move but her face twisted into an impish grin. Something in her eyes dulled slightly when she said, "Make me." It didn't sound quite like her. Or, it did, but it sounded like the Bea he met at Doll Parts.

The bandages on her arms were losing what few white spots remained. She needed to get properly stitched up and fast before she lost too much blood. He grabbed her ankles and pulled her to him, spreading her legs on either side of his waist. She screamed and laughed; it was musical. The corners of her eyes creased when she looked at him, amused shock on her face. It was the first time he'd seen her genuinely smile. Even during breakfast, she was still guarded. The dullness in her eyes was from something deeper, a deeper pain he knew he'd never ask her about.

The longer he stared deep into her eyes, the more he recognized the shape of the black hole in his chest.

Bea leaned back on her hands to keep her upright. V looked down at her, the dress had ridden up and bunched between her thighs. He returned her smirk and slid his hands down her legs; he felt ridges around where the lines of cyberware embedded into her skin. She raised an eyebrow when his hands reached her thighs. She put one hand over his to stop him from going further—and right into his trap. He grabbed her hand and pulled her upright.

Jackie took another sharp turn and Bea slammed her hands on the van on either side of his head to keep herself from falling into him. The last time she'd done that, her hands were around his throat and shortly after, their lips together—not now.

The citrus and pomegranate was faint, overpowered by the metallic scent of blood and her sweat. It made him feel ill, though not from the scent itself. Blood never bothered him. It was why she was bleeding—why I made her bleed.

"Arms," he said quietly.

Bea licked her lips. They were still swollen and a little bloody, but he wanted to kiss her all the same. To feel what it was like to genuinely kiss her, to taste her, to know her.

She kept her legs around him but adjusted so she could lean back with one hand while he worked on the other arm. The cuts were nasty, some so deep he could almost see the layers of fat in her arms. Nothing their military-grade auto-stapler couldn't fix. It would hurt like a bitch, though. V opened the blister packaging and held the stapler up. "You ready for this?"

Bea nodded and looked away. He set the auto-stapler to work, placing it at the top of one wound and holding her skin together in front of it as it moved across the cut. Her legs around him twitched and tensed as she powered through the pain. He watched her the whole time, studied her. He watched the microexpressions that accompanied the twitches to see how she hid her pain. Her lower left eyelid would twitch, her nostrils would flare, she'd lick her lips before sucking her lower lip between her teeth.

He re-wrapped her arms when the auto-stapler completed its work and she moved back to the opposite side of the van. He wanted her to stay there in his lap; he wanted to feel what it was like to have her legs wrapped around him. He doubted he would ever get another chance.

She leaned back against the van and stretched her legs out, putting both feet in his lap. "Louder!" she yelled out and Jackie turned the music up. Bea closed her eyes and V rested his hands lightly over her ankles.

He was staring off into space, lost in his own fantasy of a life with her again when they parked at the diner. Coming home from a gig and rubbing her sore feet, patching her up from a stray bullet she caught while covering him as he was netrunning. He'd graduated from resting his hands on her ankles to rubbing one of her legs. Where would take her on a date? Probably Lizzie's, dancing and drinks. Did she like to dance? He was a terrible dancer. She'd laugh at him, but he wanted her to. He would make a fool of himself every second he was around her if it made her laugh again, that sweet musical laugh that echoed inside every chamber of his heart.

"V, what'cha want?" Jackie's voice called from the front seat.

V jumped and snapped out of his daydreaming. Bea was asleep, but he crossed his arms across his chest to keep his hands to himself. "Same thing I always get, synthbeef burger and fries."

"Extra mustard, I know," Jackie said. V put his hands around Bea's ankles to lift them, to get up, but Jackie shook his head. "Don't wake her, I know what she needs."

V settled back in when Jackie got out of the van. He looked at Bea. Her hair had fallen over her face and her head rested on her shoulder. Her chest rose and fell in a hypnotic rhythm that had V rubbing her legs again, eyes unfocused.

Bea adjusted her legs and crossed her ankles. V jumped again and shoved his hands under his thighs.

Bea yawned. "The emotional damages you owe me may be more than whatever you're getting from the fixer." She smiled and nudged him in his stomach with her uninjured foot.

V chuckled and nodded in agreement.

She stretched and sat up, removing her feet from his lap and crossing her legs. She stuffed the excess fabric between her legs for modesty. "Where are we?"

V didn't need to answer. Jackie opened the back door and the van filled with the smell of greasy fried food. He tossed V one bag and another to Bea. He also handed Bea a giant chocolate milkshake with a huge dollop of whipped cream, chocolate shavings, and a cherry on top. Before letting go on the shake, Jackie grabbed the cherry, popped it in his mouth, and stuck the stem back in the whipped cream.

"Oh, pendejo!" Bea shouted. She pulled out a dollop of whipped cream with her finger and flung it at him. Jackie was faster and shut the door. The dollop hit the window with a splat and slowly rolled down to the floor. Bea smiled and looked at V as she sipped on the shake.

They parked in the garage of Bea's megabuilding, but no one spoke. V watched Bea, her expression subtly going through a range of emotions he couldn't decipher. Finally, she cleared her throat and looked at V, "I'd like to be alone for a bit."

"Are you sure? Jackie should go with you, just to keep an eye out for anyone that might come after you." V thought it was a very real possibility, assuming Frederick didn't die from his injuries. The man would most certainly be out for revenge if not to claim back his property.

"Nah, she can handle herself," Jackie said. "Ain't that right, Bea?"

"Ye—" Bea's voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "Yes, I'll be fine."

The adrenaline was wearing off and she was rattled. Her hand shook when she reached to open the door.

She watched the van idle in the parking lot as the grate doors to the elevator slid shut. She didn't hear the car start after the elevator started to move. Fucking gonks. She wasn't made of porcelain and she wasn't going to shatter.

Her legs shook and she tried to put equal weight on both feet, to ground herself with the pain in her foot. But ground her from what?

The van smelled sick and sour with Bea gone. V wanted to go after her, he wanted to make sure she was okay. He wanted to spend as much time with her as possible because time was fleeting. He was a walking time bomb, fuses snuffed and unlit for two years. But the possibility of the Relic booting up again hung over him like clouds of acid rain.

"Jackie, you really should go, I can pick you up tomorrow." V crawled towards the front of the van and knelt behind the passenger seat.

"Can't, doing some shit for, uh," Jackie turned his head to look at V but darted his eyes away. "She doesn't wanna see me right now, mano."

V narrowed his eyes. "Well, she doesn't wanna see me either. You're closer to her than I am."

Jackie slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "Yeah, I am. I should have known better than to get her involved in this shit. We should have called that netrunner chick, Cobra or whatever."

"Viper," V corrected. "You had good instinct, Jack, she did good."

Jackie shook his head, "Yeah, well…I can't face her. Just go sit outside her apartment or some shit for me, okay?"

It took two tries before Bea could get her hand steady and dry enough for the biometric reader to read her palm and the chip inside her hand to unlock her apartment. She turned the light on, but the dim yellow light was jarring, she promptly turned it back off.

She first went to her kitchen and drank three glasses of cold water. When she went for a fourth, her right shoulder locked up and she dropped the glass in the sink. The money from the gig would pay for an infusion, but she first had to make it through the night. She limped to her bedroom and pulled out a tin of mints stashed in a recess hidden behind her bed. Inside were four ampules of Flexible Extension System Hypermobility Collagen Overdrive Combination Serum; or, as her and all the other test subjects called it, "flesh cock." They were likely the last four doses to exist in the world.

And highly illegal. FlexxSys had been recalled because FLESHCOCS was the chemical compound that stopped the user's body from producing its own collagen regularly.

Bea stared at the precious, bright red liquid and rubbed her shoulder. It was for emergencies only, for when her skin and organs weren't producing their relative connective tissue anymore. She'd asked Vik about synthesizing more but he had refused. Using it would only accelerate the natural connective tissue system's reliance on the modification making protein-loading less effective leading to needing infusions every week and eventually every day.

Bea closed the tin and placed it back in the recess. She took off her tattered dress, holding her arm bent in front of her chest to take pressure off her shoulder. She lit some more nag champa on the console in the living room and then walked to the bathroom, turning on the shower as hot as it would go, hoping the mirror would fog quicker. She didn't want to see herself. Didn't want to see the proof that she was a weak, pathetic failure.

She shut her bathroom door, took a deep breath, lined her shoulder up, took another deep breath.

The scream she let out muffled the loud pop of her shoulder returning back in its socket.

She thought about sending a text to Jackie and V, asking when she could expect a payout. She didn't want V to know about this, about her mortal weakness. Only Vik knew, she couldn't risk anyone else knowing and using it against her.

When V entered the elevator he could smell a hint of pomegranate. He closed his eyes and leaned against the grated wall. What would he say to her? Sorry you were raped, because of me, but can you let me into your house?

Bea tested the shower with her hand, not too scalding, just hot enough to be soothing and ease her into being boiled alive. She peeked under the bandages in her arms and saw the flesh was already knitting together. The military-grade auto-staplers had nanites embedded into the staples but she never expected them to work that quickly or that well. There wouldn't be any scars.

She unwrapped the bandages and tossed them in the trash can before stepping into the shower. Under the hot water, her muscles loosened, but there was no soothing release. No calming cleanse. Bea never relaxed. She was always primed to go off, a gun cocked and ready to be fired. She needed to feel like the weapon she was supposed to be. Always.

Because who was she if she wasn't a weapon?

She sat down and leaned against the shower wall. Who am I if I can't keep my shit together during a routine gig?

It was all her fault, of course. If she'd only been more vigilant, stronger, not weak. If she didn't let her emotions weaken her. He was a liability she couldn't afford. You're a liability you can't afford. Bea gently banged her head against the shower wall. Weak, a weak little girl. You're no princess, you have no knight in shining armor coming to rescue you. Give it up you fucking pathetic brat. Bea moved her head under the water, gently twisting her head from side to side letting the patter of water around the back of her ears drown out her saboteur.

"Are you sure you don't want a different story tonight? Miriam got some new books in with her last pediatric supply run," mammeleh said.

"I'm sure, tell me the one about the princess who saved herself," Batty nodded resolutely to affirm her choice. Mammeleh's smile lit up the sky, brighter than the full moon out that night.

"Alright, Batty. But you need to see Miriam, tomorrow. I think you'll really like the books she found," Mammeleh picked up a worn picture book off the crate next to Batty's cot.

"No! She's going to give me shots!" Batty pouted and slid the edge of her sleeping bag up over her head. Truthfully, she wanted another story. Sally and her brutes were awful today. She was tired of rescuing herself. Surely the princess had friends that could save her? Someone to hold her?

"No one is coming to fucking save you," she hissed.

Her holophone implant buzzed in her ear with an alert about someone knocking on her front door. She pulled up the doorbell camera on her retinal field. She couldn't see his face, but she saw the stupid tattoos on his ears.

"Is it another story about the princess saving herself?" Batty asked as she rolled up her sleeve for Miriam.

"In a way. Batty," Miriam set down the empty needle. She didn't have any shots for Bea. Hannah had wanted her to talk to Batty about Sally's bullying again. "Princesses don't have to do everything alone. They often have knights and handmaidens, friends and other family that help them."

"Like nomads?"

"Just like nomads. Do you remember the Miqra family tree I showed you?" Miriam looked at the faded poster on the wall with the twelve tribes, their assorted clans and families and respective symbols laid out on a tree of life.

Batty made a noncommittal sound and folded in on herself. Miriam crouched down next to the ripper chair and took Batty's hands, "Sweetie, listen to me. You are never alone. Okay? You never have to fight alone, ever. You're a nomad. You have family spanning across the country, hell even the world!"

Batty turned her face away from Miriam, to hide her tears, to always show that she was strong. But she wouldn't be able to defend herself against Sally if she kept pretending it wasn't hurting her. If she didn't talk about it.

"Yes?" Bea's voice was small, but V heard her. He startled back away from the door.

V cleared his throat, "It's V, can I come in?"

"No," her reply was quick but firm.

V tilted his head back and sighed. "Look, Jackie wanted me to keep an eye on you in case any of that asshole's goons show up." V pressed his forehead against her door. The image in her retinal field darkened and she closed the screen.

"I thought he said I'd be fine," Bea replied. It was more biting than she intended.

V sighed hard, into the mic so it popped inside Bea's head. "I'm not going anywhere. You can either let me in or I can wait out here all night."

"I'm not letting you in. Go. Home." Bea shut down the interface and muted all alerts. He could sit out there all night looking like a fool or he can go home. It didn't matter to her. She wanted to be alone where she was safe. Nowhere is safe. Safe in her own home with her weapons and her fluffy towels and her big comforter and her beef jerky.

"82052, remind the class the first rule you learn at this Academy," Hannah said.

Bea jumped up and stood straight, staring at the matron, "Hai Hannah-san! Nowhere is safe. No one is safe. Nothing is safe. Hypervigilance keeps you alive." She sat back down.

"Come here 82052," Hannah said. Bea swallowed hard. Her stomach churned. She swallowed her fear and walked to the front of the class. Hannah positioned her so her back faced the class. She snapped at two Arasaka guards and called them over.

They tore off Bea's t-shirt and held her arms out straight. Faded red lines criss-crossed her back from where she was punished for her last transgression a month ago.

Hannah pulled the gold ball on the top of her cane off. Attached to it was a piece of bamboo. Bea's nostrils flared as she tried to control her hyperventilating.

"Can anyone explain how 82052 got caught in today's exercise?" Hannah traced her hands across the healing marks on Bea's back.

Jessica raised her hand and Hannah nodded at her to answer. "She's weak and got tired much earlier than the rest of us. When she got to the first checkpoint, she didn't clear the area before sitting down to take a break."

Hannah cracked the cane against Bea's back and she bit her lip to hold back her scream.

Bea shivered, she felt cold under the hot water inside the sauna she was creating in her bathroom. She hugged her legs to her chest as tight as she could. She walked through Frederick's apartment in her head, finding all the spots she never checked, all the escape routes she should have clocked.

She could have saved herself. She would have been fine if he wasn't in her fucking ear the whole time. She worked best alone. Always alone. She was always alone. She wanted to be alone. It was how she survived.

Alone. All alone. Forever.

Breathe. Get over yourself. Take your fucking shower and go to bed. Buck the fuck up Batsheva.

Bea breathed in deeply and extended her hand to the shelf in her shower to her left. Her hand shook. Her flesh protruded from the staples holding her cuts together. She felt sick.

Bea uncurled herself and got on her hands on knees and retched. First just spit, then bile until her stomach felt concave.

"FUCK!" she screamed, an extended groan. She was frustrated with herself, frustrated with how weak she was being, how pathetic she was. Green and yellow liquid swirled around the drain and she tried to expedite its passage to the drain with her hands.

She curled up into a ball on the floor of the shower. She felt tired. Whole body tired.

The doorbell rang again in her head. She didn't answer, but she listened. First a knock and a soft, "Come on, Bea." Then he slapped his hand on the door. She watched him walk in a circle, mumbling to himself. He looked into the camera and said quietly, to himself, "Please, just let me help."

You never have to fight alone.

The lock beeped and V startled. The screen turned green and read OPEN. He took in a deep breath as the door slid open. As soon as both feet were on the carpet the door slammed shut. A small amber dot from incense burning in the living room was the only light in the pitch black apartment. He pawed around the wall by the door looking for the light switch.

His eyes adjusted quickly. The light was enough to navigate to the living room. He peered into her open bedroom door but didn't find her anywhere. He heard the shower running.

He paced in front of the bathroom door. Did he knock? Why would he knock? She was in the fucking shower, he could just wait. She'd be out whenever, he could just sit on the couch and wait.

He turned away from the door, but Bea called out to him.

"V?"

He placed his hand on the door and pressed his forehead against it. "Y-yeah," he cleared his throat, "Yes, I'm here. What do you need?"

"Will you talk to me?" Her voice sounded small, tired.

"Yeah! Of course. Uh, anything in particular?"

"Open the door."

V stood up and hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "A-are you sure?" She'd be naked, probably feeling vulnerable. The last thing she needed was someone she barely knows seeing her so vuln-

"Open the fucking door, you've seen me naked already." Bea raised her voice, exasperated and clearly in pain. The knob felt cold in his hand and it clicked against his chrome when he turned the doorknob. The bathroom was steamy and smelled like vanilla. He shut the door behind him and sat on the floor next to the shower.

"Um, let's see," V started. He rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't have any fight left in him. He just wanted to be there for her, just wanted to help.

"Okay, when I was younger, my mom would add dried onion flakes to the matzo brei." He had expected a merc story to come out, not his childhood. He never talked about his childhood with anyone but Viper and he never talked about being raised Jewish.

V heard squeaking and looked over. Through the frosted glass, he saw a shadow sitting on the floor of the shower. Bea was silent. The shower pattering against her skin was the only sound in the foggy bathroom.

"Y'know, because the egg and onion ones were expensive. And while they were shit for absorbing the egg, we were poor as shit so my ma would get the bulk cases they sell at Passover 'cause it was cheaper," V continued.

"Did you ever go to a Seder?" Bea asked quietly.

V looked over at the frosted glass. "Think my Bar Mitzvah was the only time I ever went to a synagogue. Nah, mostly just some cultural shit, especially after my grandparents died." He leaned his head back and looked at the shelf above the toilet with little figurines. They were little cat statues, toys from a set he'd seen advertised on TV before. Some were sitting, some standing and attached to a scratching post. "What were Seders like as a nomad?"

He wasn't sure if she'd answer. And that would be okay.

When she did, her voice was a little stronger, a little lighter. "Crazy busy. All the canteen tables would be lined up end to end, one single chair for Elijah—"

"Yeah, how the fuck did you do all the chair/open door shit for Elijah thing when it's just one big open space?" Bea snorted. "What, you got a table in a single tent and that's where you set out the wine? Open the tent flap for him?"

"Shut up," Bea laughed weakly.

"I mean, it was the desert too back then, though, right? God, what d'you think fuckin' camels were like? I think I saw photos at my bubbe's of my mom petting one at a fair in Mexico."

"Come here," Bea said.

V sat up straighter and turned his head to the shower. "W-what?"

"Just…come here," she said, a little louder.

V stood up. He didn't think about getting undressed, about his clothes getting soaked. He thought about whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, he would do. He wanted to be there for her.

For as long as she'd have him.

He slid the door open. She was hugging her legs against her chest again. Her hair was longer wet, when it wasn't curled. The chartreuse was a darker, warmer green. But her bangs had a wave to them, now that they were wet. She'd washed her makeup off and her skin was red, either from the hot water, scrubbing herself raw, or both.

He sat down cross-legged next to her and kept his hands in his lap. Bea rested her head on his shoulder and reached across his lap, lacing her fingers in his.

His breath was shallow, anxious. She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and V's anxiety washed away.

"V?" Bea asked.

"Yeah?"

She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. "Your clothes are getting soaked."

"I know."

They sat there, side by side, holding hands, until the water ran cold.

V got up first and turned the water off. He slid open the door a fraction, so as not to let the warmth out, and grabbed a towel off the top rack. He extended his hand down to her and she grasped his forearm to stand. She wobbled, limping on her bad foot, and fell over into him.

"Careful," he gently chided and wrapped the towel around her back. He expected her to take it and get out of the shower.

A strange sound came from her throat, a kind of choking squeak, hitched breaths. Her body grew tense, every muscle and bone and joint becoming a solid mass and then…jelly. V slid down the shower wall with Bea in his arms as she cried. Quietly at first, then heaving choking sobs. She grabbed his t-shirt in her fists and screamed until she was out of breath. A single, pained wail that V knew had been building for a long time.

He let her scream and cry for as long as she needed. Even when a shiver ran down his spine as his clothes grew cold. He let go of the ends of the towel and wrapped his arms around her. He felt some of the tension in her body release.

Bea sniffled and spoke, her voice muffled and stuffy, "Guess you didn't bring a change of clothes?"

V laughed and stroked her hair. "No. No, I did not."

"Got some of Jackie's somewhere that might fit." Bea sat up and looked at V. He pulled the towel up over her shoulders and never looked down past her collar bones. Her face was red and puffy, her curls were frizzy from drying in the humid shower.

V wanted to kiss her and whisk her away from Night City. He didn’t have a destination in mind, somewhere that wasn’t here.

She stood up and wrapped the towel around her chest. She placed her hand on the top of his head to steady herself as she stepped out of the shower. "C'mon, get outta those before you get hypothermia. I'll toss 'em in the dryer later."

V stood up and looked at her. "A-are you sure?"

"No, just stay in the fucking bathroom in your wet clothes all night, you fuckin' gonk." Bea smiled.

He liked it when she called him a gonk, because she was usually right.

He crossed his arms, hands gripping the bottom of his shirt. But he paused. Not that he'd ever shown any kind of modesty before, but something felt different. He'd seen her naked, but she'd never seen him naked, only shirtless.

"Close your eyes," he said.

Bea stared at him, expressionless, and plainly said, "No."

He grinned. She was doing the same thing he did when she changed into the Johnny's Angels outfit. He untied his sneakers and peeled off his socks. The wet shirt clung to his skin, he looked down and saw how it revealed the outlines of his muscles and the bumps of all the scars. He looked back up at Bea and she tilted her head, clearly admiring him. He pulled his shirt off over his head and shook his hair back into place. He draped it over the shower door to dry.

She looked away at first while he unbuckled and pulled his belt out of his pants. When she looked back at him, she was smirking. The belt slipped out of his hand and dropped to the floor with a clang that made Bea jump. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. V gulped and hesitated, his hands hovering over the waistband of his jeans.

Bea huffed. "Hurry up, I'm getting cold!"

"You could leave and get dressed. I don't need you here for this." V felt his face flush. He felt like a schoolboy that just fell in the mud in front of his crush.

Bea unfolded her arms and placed one hand on her hip. The movement lifted the towel up, revealing more of her thigh. V felt blood flowing to the last place he would have ever wanted it to flow right now.

"But I want to be," she said.

V looked down as his face felt hotter. He unbuttoned his jeans. They were heavy, bunched around his ankles. He hopped out of them, kicking his legs free and almost falling. Bea giggled and his heart fluttered. He righted himself and looked down. His wet boxers clung to his skin and he folded his hands over his crotch.

Bea waved her hand, urging him to continue, "Unless those are dry, they have to come off."

He had hoped the first time she saw him naked was in a much nicer and sexier context than this. He slid them down and quickly replaced his hands over his crotch. She was smiling. He wasn't sure how much of him she had seen.

But maybe that wasn't so bad.

She tossed him another towel and left. He wrapped it around his waist and looked at himself in the mirror. He tried to style his hair but it was too fluffy from air drying. He splashed some cold water on his face and took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves.

Bea sat on the couch, looking out the window at the traffic below. She looked cute and disheveled with her frizzy hair. Between that and her post-sobbing face, it was genuinely her. No mask, no makeup. Just…Bea.

He walked over and put his hand on her shoulder, she jumped. He pulled his hand back and knelt down, meeting her at eye level. "You gotta be exhausted," he said. Bea nodded but didn't move.

Finally, they both stood up and she looked at him.

His heart stopped. The forest fire in her eyes pierced through the black hole in his chest, through his past and his future, through eons of human history following his DNA back to the primordial ooze.

And he knew he would do anything for her, for the rest of his life.

V scooped her up in his arms and she squealed with laughter. It was a sound that cleansed the whole apartment, that scared away ghosts and made his stomach do giddy somersaults. She beat at his shoulders in fake outrage as he walked them to her bedroom. He set her down on the bed, gently. "Go to sleep," he commanded.

"I could have walked," she folded her hands behind her head and crossed her legs. V looked at her, resplendent in joy, the red puffiness fading from her face.

V shrugged. "I was getting tired of just being in a towel. Where's Jackie's shit?" It wasn't true. It was impulsive. He didn't know what it was, what this tender feeling was inside him. He just wanted to care for her, to—love—be there for her.

Bea sat up and pointed behind him, "Box labelled "Jackie's Stuff" behind you."

V dug through the box and found a pair of basketball shorts that he figured should fit. He left her room for the bathroom to get changed. When he returned, Bea was curled up under the covers with her back facing him, the towel hanging over the door. He turned off the light and turned to leave.

"Wait," Bea said.

"Yeah?"

"Stay with me?"

"Are you sure?" V wanted to hold her more than anything in the world. He wanted to make her feel safe. Safe with him. Safe in his arms.

"Will you stop fucking asking me that? I'm sure! I'm always fucking sure! Lay down."

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," V said. He lay down on top of the covers next to her. He wanted to keep as much fabric between them as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable, and he also didn't want any involuntary body swelling interfering.

Bea cleared her throat. "What are you doing?"

He didn't look at her but could feel her staring at him. "Laying down like you asked."

Bea huffed and threw the covers off. She was wearing a tank top and panties. V silently cursed himself. She walked to the foot of the bed and tried yanking the covers out from under him, tugging and pulling. He rolled off the bed and stood up. She walked closer to him and held up the corner of the covers for him and waved her hand, telling him to get in.

He did as he was told, as he always would. For her.

Bea got back under the covers on her side of the bed and curled up on her side, back facing him. Warmth radiated from her body against V's bare torso. He remained on his back, arms pinned under him.

Bea huffed again and threw her arm back behind her, groping for him. All she did was slap around his chest.

V groaned in frustration. "What? What the fuck do you want, Bea?"

"Are you fucking gonk?" she hissed.

"Use your words."

"I need you to fucking hold me!" she shouted.

V tried to hold back a laugh. He rolled on his side and scooted closer to her. "Oh, you needed me. Why didn't you say so?" He curled his hand over her waist and hit bare skin. He gently tugged the bottom of her shirt down and lay his arm over the fabric. She linked her fingers in his and pulled his hand up to her chest, between her breasts, pulling V closer. The soft flesh of her breasts on either side of his hand had him chanting a pleading calm the fuck down to his dick until he finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

V didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want the dream to end. Bea's arm was around his waist, her head on his chest. Her soft breathing across his bare skin tickled. Her skin was warm and soft. One of her legs overlapped his, her knee partially over his pelvis, pressing softly into his—not now. The way her body pressed against him and over him was like two puzzle pieces in their proper places.

He never wanted to untangle. He wanted to wake up like this every morning. Carefully, softly, he wrapped his arm around her and rested his hand gently over her shoulder. She groaned quietly and rolled her shoulder away from his touch. He had forgotten how cool his chrome could get.

He warmed it up a little and she…

She moved her head upward, nuzzling into his neck and stretched her arm across him, squeezing him against her. A warmth flooded his veins, a comfort he hadn't felt since…when? Even with Kerry, he never felt settled. It had been nice, but it had been a distraction. They both had known it wasn't going to last. But this?

He would do anything for this, for her. Did he lo—

Bea inhaled sharply and lifted her head to look at him. V's eyes shot open at the movement and he quickly untangled himself, scrambling away from her and falling on the floor with a loud thump. "I-I'm so sorry I just woke up and you were there and—" 

Bea flopped her head back down onto the pillow and closed her eyes. V sighed with relief and stood up, sure that his tailbone was bruised.

In the bathroom, he stared at the off-white washer and dryer stacked atop each other. The labels over the knobs were so faded he wasn't sure if it was the same one he had in his own megabuilding unit. Fuck it, he thought, and hoped for the best. He picked up the heavy, cold pile of wet clothes and tossed them in the dryer. He pressed a few buttons for what he hoped was temperature and time and slapped the biggest button he assumed was start. The dryer lurched, groaned, and began spinning. It wobbled against its cubby walls and he hoped the noise wouldn't wake Bea.

He turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted with deep, dark circles under his eyes and deeper bruising across his nose. His hair was greasy. He tilted his head back and stretched. The crackling from every joint in his spine echoed in the bathroom.

When he opened his eyes—no, no fucking way—he jumped back away from the mirror, the towel rack behind him jamming into his shoulder blades. He rubbed his eyes hard and kept them closed for a few moments, afraid to open them again. Afraid of what he saw. What he both wanted and didn't want to see. It couldn't be real. Viktor had confirmed the construct was nowhere to be found and his brain wasn't being overwritten anymore.

"Okay, you fuckin' pussy, just open your goddamn eyes," V whispered to himself. He took in a deep, shuddering breath and opened them when he exhaled. He only saw his own, pathetic reflection.

Part of him was disappointed. Ironically, having Johnny gone made V feel more disconnected from himself than ever. He couldn’t trust that his thoughts were his own anymore because they didn’t always sound just like him. He saw Johnny everywhere in himself. A hand gesture in conversation that felt natural but tripped an alarm wire in his brain, striking a chord of dissonance and grief at the same time, or a food he used to hate but now craved. The Texan twangs were the most terrifying to V because Johnny never spoke with one. But every once in a while, a little long vowel here, a dropped consonant there, reminded V just how deep Johnny had burrowed into his brain.

V looked over at Bea's shower and back at the dryer. He sniffed under his armpits and decided not to subject Bea to that. He slid off the shorts and folded them, placing them on the corner of the bathroom sink. He felt vulnerable and almost impure, uncouth, standing in her bathroom naked. The cool start of the shower water helped him wake up and he stretched again. Her mattress had been harder than his and also didn't have a weird, lived-in dent in the center so that no matter which side one slept on, they always rolled back to the center. He made a mental note, that he would surely forget, to get a new mattress.

He looked at the variety of plastic tubes and bottles in pink and purple with flowery patterns on the labels lined up in a row on the shelf across from him. He pored over the labels and found one labelled “Red Sunburst Shampoo.” In small print below that, it said, “Fresh citrus zing with antioxidants from pomegranates and acai berries.”

V opened the bottle, and immediately got hard. Because it was her. It was the perky citrus and pomegranate he smelled during the lap dance, in the van, every time she walked past him. His heart skipped a beat just as his cock twitched. She was probably dead asleep…right? He didn't seem to have a say in the matter as his hand moved to wrap around his cock and stroke. He sighed and leaned against the wall, cradling the shampoo bottle in his arm, close to his face.

He was taken by his fantasy, completely wrapped up in the idea of fucking her in her own bed. He didn't hear the bathroom door open. He certainly didn't hear the quiet whisper of fabric brushing against skin. He heard the shower door open, but by that point it was too late. His moan hurtled up through his diaphragm, the muscles in his throat too relaxed to catch it, when he saw Bea.

Bea. Naked. In front of him. Watching him.

If it weren't for the water catching his semen mid-spurt, it might have landed on Bea instead of down the drain. No, file that for later. He willed his erection to stop, to soften, to please Hashem if you have any mercy make it stop. Just cut it off right now, please.

She stood in the door to the shower, blocking his escape. He looked down at the shampoo bottle, feeling like a teenager caught with a Playboy magazine. He closed the cap with one hand, his other still wrapped around his cock—please, please, please, enough—but instead he dropped it. Bea giggled as she stepped into the shower and shut the door.

He stepped forward to move past her to leave, but she put her hand on his chest and shoved him back. "Please, don't stop on my account."

V made himself as small as possible against the opposite wall as she stepped under the water. She tilted her head back to soak her hair. The water streamed across her hard nipples like miniature waterfalls. V closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists at his side. Every muscle fiber in his body screamed for action, to grab her, to take her, to taste her because while he was embarrassed, her catching him, mid-orgasm no less, excited him. And now here she was, in the same shower with him, no boundaries stated, no lines drawn.

Bea cleared her throat and V opened one eye, afraid that opening both and taking in a clear picture of her naked, wet body would truly be his doom. Her head was tilted down, looking at him. He quickly clasped his hands over his dick, trying to shove the erection down between his legs. 

"Would you pick that up and hand it to me?" she asked.

V looked down at the shampoo bottle he'd dropped. Bea stepped closer to him, out of the water. He looked up at her, both eyes open now. How could he have tortured himself by not looking at her? She was resplendent and holy, the shine on her skin, the droplets across her breasts, the warmth of the shower, her hair draped over her shoulder, her face flushing in the hot water. He felt an ache in his hands, a dire need to touch her. And he didn't know how much longer he could hold out. He needed to get out of the shower and away from her. 

"I—"

"You can do it." Bea smirked.

Oh fuck.

"Be a good boy now." Her voice was low, warm, and soft, just loud enough to carry over the pattering of water.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, god help me. V's knees went weak and his legs shook, like she had spoken some magic spell to pacify him and drain out all his strength, all his will. She had a habit of making the idea of becoming a slave seem appealing. He crouched down and picked the bottle up, careful to keep his eyes down. Was his mouth watering? He was so close, grab her hips and pull, his tongue so—

Bea grabbed the bottle from his hand and the shower was again transformed into a pomegranate orchard. Stronger now, as the magic potion, the love spell, dispersed through the steam. What manner of witch was she that she made him feel so drunk with desire? Completely shitfaced on want and need.

When she finished washing herself clean, she handed the bottle back down to him. Down? He wasn't sure when he had decided to kneel—like the goodest boy ever. Did he decide? Or did she command him with her treacherous pomegranate witchcraft? He took the bottle and stood up—too fast–wobbling for a moment. He watched hungrily as the lather slid smoothly down her chest and abdomen as she rinsed, down her legs—between them. What he wouldn't give to be between them. When she was done, she stepped towards V. He froze.

"Do I need to tell you how to shower, too?" She popped her hip out and rested her hand on her waist, tilting her head to the side, still with that playfully condescending smirk across her lips.

When he didn't move, she placed her hands on his shoulders and turned him sideways, sidestepping past him to switch places so she could lean against the wall. The head of his cock brushed against her thigh. While she seemed unfazed, V gasped. The glancing touch was gone too soon but so electrifying against her soft skin. Her skin. His breath shuddered, the tiniest squeak escaping his throat. Bea leaned against the shower all as V began to shower. She grabbed a long, narrow bottle and shook it a few times before attempting to squeeze the contents into her hand. Based on how hard she was squeezing, the bottle was near empty.

"Motherfucker," she murmured as she shook the bottle again and slammed it against her palm a few times. V's erection finally softened. He very much still wanted to be drowned in her cu—Not. Now. But the situation was so…domestic. The simplicity of sharing a shower, of watching her struggle with a bottle, witnessing her routine, sharing a routine.

Something inside him yearned for every morning, every shower, to be like this forever.

"Need some help?" he asked. Bea glared at him as he snatched the bottle out of her hands, not waiting for an answer. He grabbed her hand and held it palm up as he engaged his Gorilla Arms, ever so slightly, to crush the bottle a little harder than she could. "Say when." A dollop of pink opalescent liquid dribbled onto the center of her palm. She snatched the bottle back and replaced it on the shelf.

She ran the conditioner through her hair with her fingers, taking care to comb through sections and ensure every strand was well coated. He thought he spied a glimmer, a hint of the same hunger he had watched her with as her eyes traveled up and down his body, watching the soap slither down his smooth chest, filling the shallow channels between abs he was lucky to have defined for such little work to maintain, and terminating into the black thatch of coarse hair at the base of his once-again hardening cock.

He turned around and finished rinsing quickly, then moved to open the door. Bea grabbed his upper arm, and he noticed her hand was too small to wrap completely around his bicep. Her fingers were long and thin, delicate almost.

"Stay." There was a small waver in her voice. "Please." V frowned briefly but nodded, and they switched places again.

He sat on the floor and looked up at her. Her stomach was taut with tightly defined obliques, her legs steady, her arms and hand movements practiced and graceful. But her breathing was shallow. Despite the warm, relaxing water, she was tense. She closed her eyes as she rinsed out the conditioner and finished her routine, vigilance never easing.

Bea stepped out of the shower first, just as the dryer beeped. V shut the shower door after her to take a few minutes to compose himself. Once he heard the bathroom door open and shut, he got out. He opened the dryer and pulled out his clothes. They had shrunk. Because of course they did. Because this day could not get any worse. Because Hashem hated him specifically and only him. At least his boxers still fit. A little more revealing than he'd have liked, but she'd seen him naked and fully erect now.

V called Jackie to request a change of clothes before exiting the bathroom. Bea sat on the cracked synthleather couch, drinking a cup of coffee. She'd changed into running shorts and a tank top again. She smiled at V when she saw him, twisting into a mean smirk as her eyes traveled down his body. She licked her lips then took a sip of coffee. "We forgot to put your clothes in the dryer," she said.

V's face grew hot and he nodded.

"And so you tried doing it yourself." Bea strained to finish her sentence, trying to stifle a giggling fit when V nodded again. She stood up and walked to her room. "I found another box of Jackie's while you were finishing up. You can look through it."

V followed her back to her bedroom and sat at the foot of the bed. She opened her closet and bent over, the tiny running shorts exposing the curve where her firm ass met her muscular thighs. V closed his eyes and bit down on his lip hard, trying to will the image of coming up behind her, pulling her shorts down, and fucking her bent over in the closet out of his brain.

Bea cleared her throat and V opened his eyes. She was holding the box and looking down at his lap. "You good?"

V stood up quickly, grabbed the box, placed it over his crotch and hurried back to the bathroom. Most of Jackie's clothes were way too big for him. He and Jackie were both strong and muscular, but in different ways. V was trim and fit, any definition coming from daily merc work and genetic luck. Jackie was bulky, he took great care working out and tuning his body as much as he tuned his bike. All V found that fit was a Valentino's muscle tank with armholes cut down to his waist that showed his nipples. The shorts he had carefully folded were not on the bathroom counter, and he wondered if Bea had taken them on purpose.

Between the huge tank top and tiny boxer briefs, he looked like a fucking clown. The humiliation and indignity might be too…well, if it would get her to laugh, then it would always be worth it.

V opened the door and met Bea waiting for him. Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked him up and down, and he watched in what seemed like slow motion as her mouth turned into the biggest grin followed by the sweetest laughter he'd ever heard.

V swallowed. "I mean, he pulls the look off so well, I never really thought about the individual pieces of clothing." He started flexing, trying and failing to make his frame fit the shirt. Bea doubled over and did she just…snort? "Fuuuck, Bea. Am I a weenie? Do I need to go to the gym more? I thought he and I benched the same but goddamn."

Bea's hysterical laughter filled every empty corner of the room and every dark spot in his universe. It echoed inside the empty chambers of his heart, breathing new life back into the beats he'd never been able to end himself, if only due to the Second Heart cybermodification. He felt alive. He felt…almost happy.

When she finally contained herself, Bea stood up and looked at him. Her eyelashes were clumped together, damp with tears from laughing so hard. She looked like stifling more laughter was causing her pain. He flexed his bicep again, which made her face turn bright red and new tears appear at the corners of her eyes.

She stroked his arm. "You," she paused to take a deep breath and wiped her eyes with her other hand. She moved her hand up to his shoulder. "Oh, I needed to laugh like that. Oh Christ, V." She squeezed his shoulder and moved her hand down his chest, stopping it over his heart. "You're fine."

"Oh, you think I'm fiiine, huh?"

Bea rolled her eyes and walked away. "Just fine. You hungry? Still got leftovers from yesterday."

V sat down at the kitchen table and watched her make more coffee. Her freshly washed and treated curls bounced around her shoulders. Out of everything he'd seen in her apartment, from how hard she had to look for a little black dress to the makeup strewn without care across the dresser, he never would have guessed she cared so much about her hair.

"I don't blame you for the job going tits up," Bea said, "tiny pun intended." She pulled a Tupperware container from the fridge and tossed it in the microwave.

V frowned and shook his head, looking down at his hands resting on the table. "No, it was my failure. My shitty recon, my shitty intel, my shitty decision-making." She'd almost died because of him, the hell was she saying?

The microwave beeped and Bea pulled two forks from a drawer and stuck them into the container before plopping it on the table between them. She grabbed salsa from the fridge and sat down. V watched her eat with the surprise and intense interest of a primate researcher as she shoveled leftovers into her mouth and would then tilt her head back to pour salsa directly from the jar over the bite of food.

"Jesus, don't choke Bea," V said with a laugh.

She swallowed, seeming to not chew at all, before washing it all down with coffee, wiping her hand across her mouth. "I can't go into detail, and Jackie doesn't even know the extent. But, I've been at this a lot longer than Jackie has, and maybe even you."

V chewed slowly, wanting to listen carefully. He spoke with a half-chewed chunk of egg in his cheek. "What do you mean?" Jackie had said she was new to the merc scene, that she'd started after she quit Doll Parts. What the hell could she mean by "at it longer than you?" He thought they were both around 27, and he’d only started doing merc work full time at 22.

Bea shrugged. "Whatever, forget I said anything. We going to the bunker today?"

V narrowed his eyes for a moment, wondering just who the fuck she was. He had thought that if Jackie trusted Bea, then he could trust Bea. Her green eyes flicked over to him, disarming the red flags trying to coalesce into a coherent conclusion about these inconsistencies. But all he saw was another universe where they were wolves frolicking through a forest as green as her eyes.

He nodded and called Jackie on holo so he could see what V was wearing. He put the audio on speaker. "Bea do not let him take that top off, I have to see this with my own eyes, holy shit!"

Bea finished off the leftovers and V marveled at how much food she was able to put down. Sure, they'd only shared breakfast and burgers together, but she hadn't scarfed them down like she did just now. She put the dishes in the sink and then grabbed around for a box above the fridge. She pulled out a stick of beef jerky and sat down.

"Jesus, you're still hungry? I thought I was a human garbage disposal," V said. He did feel utterly stuffed.

Bea dipped the jerky in her coffee and stuck it in her mouth. She rotated her wrist to show V the audible click and then chomped down. He didn't know what she was trying to show him, and the door buzzed before he'd had a chance to ask for clarification.

V put his head in his hands, trying to hide his faux embarrassment as Jackie's booming voice echoed from the entryway. "Where is that gonk-ass motherfucker?" Jackie walked to the kitchen and V stood up. He twirled for him, showing off the outfit like he was shopping for a prom dress.

Jackie sputtered, dropped the bag he was carrying with V's clothes, clasped his hand over his mouth in disbelief and dropped to his knees laughing. His loud guffawing was infectious, and V found himself stifling a giggle. He didn't want to spoil their fun.

Bea walked behind Jackie and smacked him on the back of his head. "Be nice. Poor boy just doesn't know how to do his own fuckin' laundry."

"H-hey! I know how to do laundry!" 

Jackie's continued laughter drowned out V's protest. "I'm sorry, mano. The tiny briefs, my shirt, the tiny muscles. It's just too much!"

"My muscles aren't tiny," V mumbled.

Bea grabbed the bag and handed it to V who immediately left to get changed. Once he'd turned away from him, he smiled so wide his cheeks hurt.

The black van was coated in dust when they arrived at the bunker, seated in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, Badlands. Panam and Mitch were waiting for them, leaning against her truck. V had called them, needing experts in the area to help pinpoint the exact location. In return for them running around with nothing but a vague description, he promised first dibs on anything but what V was looking for.

On the outside, the bunker looked like any old and abandoned trailer out in the desert. The windows were boarded up, the steps to the door rusted and barely connected. The door itself was the only sign it wasn't a normal trailer. It was black metal with a big silver wheel in the center. Next to the wheel was a key card reader. The door had some gaps around the edges, where the unforgiving desert had eaten away at the cheap materials. V was certain the trailer was completely empty and had been placed around the door to obscure the bunker underneath.

"Alright, let's go get the merch." Jackie flipped the key card around in his hand. "Who would like to do the honors?"

Jackie, Mitch, Panam, and V all stared at Bea. She looked less than enthused when she snatched the key out of Jackie's hand and walked to the door. "If this is booby trapped and I die, I'm haunting you all from my grave."

"Just open it!" Panam scolded.

The card reader itself was worn down and Bea had to slide a fingernail between the reader to clear sand out before trying the card. Nothing happened after three tries. V walked over to her and leaned against the trailer.

"Is the power even on?" he asked Jackie.

Jackie glared at him. "What, you think I forgot to check that?"

Bea, V, and Panam all spoke simultaneous affirmation.

"Pinche de madre," Jackie mumbled as he walked to the back of the building.

A smirk crossed Bea's face when she looked at V. "Glad we can agree on one thing," she whispered.

"And what's that?" V leaned closer to her.

"That Jackie's a dumbass."

"So, V, what d'you think we'll find inside?" Mitch leaned against the outside wall of the trailer, opposite V.

"Oh, I do hope it's another BDSM dungeon," Bea said flatly.

"Excuse me?" Panam exclaimed.

"Best not to ask." V looked over at his ex-girlfriend. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one foot as she glared at him. He had lost her trust, even on gigs, when she had caught him making out with another man half-naked in their tent. She was an excellent shot and had taught him all he knew about sniper rifles, and he'd really hoped to work with her again someday.

Or at least be invited back to the camp for parties.

Mitch's pragmatism about the possibilities of what they could find of immense value in the bunker had been the only thing that had convinced Panam to help. It was also that same priority for the camp's survival that had helped V sneak out and away from the mob being rallied. But not before Mitch had knocked V's back molars out of their cozy place in his gums.

Jackie cursed, then a clang sounded, and finally a rumbling and whirring as a generator fired. The light on the card reader turned red and Bea slid the key through again. It turned green after about ten seconds with a loud click. Bea grunted as she turned the wheel and the heavy door slowly swung open.

A dank, musty smell escaped from the doorway, and Bea coughed and waved her hand in her face as she walked into the building and fumbled around for the lights.

V's Kiroshis quickly adjusted to the new lack of light. Bea raised her foot to step forward, and V grabbed her arm, pulling her back towards him.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. V scanned the wall and found the switch. They were looking down at a narrow stairwell, on which Bea had been about to break her neck before he'd grabbed her.

"You're welcome," V said, and let go of her. The bunker shuddered as the clicking and whirring sounds of objects being powered on echoed up and down the stairwell.

"The way this place looks, I don't know if the chip is here, V," Mitch said.

"It will be here," V said. If it wasn't, he didn't think he'd ever see Bea again.

The walls down the narrow, short hallway were corpo beige; either that or the yellowing of age had turned the once white wall that color. They were lined with some Militech-branded p posters.

LOOSE LIPS SINK AVS

AN ENEMY EAR MAY BE NEAR

DON'T DISCUSS:

-TROOP MOVEMENT

-AV ROUTES

-WAR EQUIPMENT

"War equipment?" Bea read off. She swiped her finger across one of the posters, barely making a dent in the ancient, caked layers of dust.

Mitch stopped next to her and looked at the other posters. There was a grim nostalgia in his reply. "Must have been from the 4th Corporate War. Saw similar posters with the NUSA."

The main hallway was lined with metal shelves and stacked banker's boxes. V peered into a couple, mostly filled with personnel files, maps of Night City and memos. Nothing they were looking for or that could help them find what they're looking for.

V almost ran into Bea in the claustrophobic hallway when she stopped and turned to look at him. "Do you even know where we're going?

V rubbed the back of his neck and looked at her sheepishly, "Uh…no. Robbie just said it would be here." No matter the destination, he would follow her to oblivion.

Bea rolled her eyes, turned on her heel, and charged ahead while the rest looked in the other rooms.

When they'd exhausted most of their options, Bea called out from the end of the hall. "I think I found it!"

V hurried down the hall to the room Bea's voice came from. It was an office, a metal desk with a computer and brown leather chair were in the center of the room. Military awards hung on the wall next to photos of a smiling nuclear family, complete with a Golden Retriever dog. Bea leaned her arm across a large safe in the corner and grinned at V, pleased at finding something of interest first. "Can you crack it?" she asked him.

V crouched down in front of the safe and touched the worn number pad on the front. He turned his eyes up at Bea, an angle he rather enjoyed having her standing over him, looking down on him. "'Course I can. The SEKURE model B-17 was at the center of multiple international corporate espionage events. The company went bankrupt from being drowned in lawsuits a decade ago. Some disgruntled employee uploaded a zero-day exploit they never patched." He looked back at the panel and engaged his implanted cyberdeck, pulling up a red grid that hovered over the keypad in his retinal field. He made some hasty calculations, queried the file on various security company protocols in his local storage to confirm, then pressed 9034 on the keypad. He blinked to dismiss the display when the safe clicked and the display above the number pad turned green.

Bea stepped behind V and bent over to look inside the safe. Her hair brushed against his face and he nearly lost his balance. The red case was sitting in the safe, all by its lonesome. Bea reached in to grab it but V slapped her hand away and took the case. He walked to the desk and sat down in the rickety desk chair. He slid the case open and sure enough, the chip was there, nestled in the velvet groove.

Bea rolled him back a little away from the desk and hopped onto the dusty surface. She spread her legs and leaned back on her hands. V glanced between her legs, a compulsion that she caught, and he blushed. He swiveled in the chair away from her and slotted the shard into his neuroport.

His eyes flashed amber as the data displayed on his retinal field. "Oh fuck," he whispered. A wireframe schematic for a military combat chip was rotating on the left. On the right, were additional notes about the software, something about doll chips, and a request for more funds stamped "DENIED" with Frederick's name at the bottom.

"What? What is it?" Bea asked. She sat up and snagged the chair by the armrests, spinning V to face her as she dragged the chair closer. She put her feet on either side of the seat next to V's thighs to keep it steady.

V removed the chip and placed it back in the case. He set it on the desk and placed his hands on the back of Bea's calves. It was a strangely intimate but comforting gesture. And he was glad for the comfort, because this was big and very fucking serious. Fifth Corpo War serious. Bea matched his serious expression when he spoke. "Schematics for a doll chip that could turn anyone into a corpo soldier. It was close to being finished but required more training data before moving to human testing."

Bea frowned. "Training data? You said corpo soldiers, like combat training?"

V ran his right hand up and down her leg, a neurotic gesture he usually reserved for his own right thigh when anxious. "The prototype was going to be implanted into an actual Militech Solo and would build the software based around the Solo's work."

Bea pulled her legs back away from him and scratched the left side of her neck under her earlobe. V figured it was the mention of doll chips. Their unique ports were implanted on the left of side of their necks. But he had never seen any sign of one on her.

V went into the hall to find Mitch. He explained to him the nature of the chip and wanted his advice. He didn't know who had hired Robbie and didn't feel like he could return the chip in good conscience.

"Really? You're a merc with a good conscience now?"

"Shut up Johnny."

Shit, Johnny isn't here, get it together.

Mitch had been a Panzerboy and V figured he'd understand the gravity of the situation, the risk of starting a new war if V was just a middleman in some corporate espionage.

Mitch sighed heavily and nodded. He rubbed the stubble on his chin with his black synthetic hand. "V, you know what I'm gonna say, right?"

Jackie popped out of a nearby room. "You want us to haze our fixer?"

"Be quiet," V snapped.

"You know what that would do to our rep? Are you fucking kidding me right now, V? Say you're fucking joking." Jackie stomped over to them.

V paced back and forth, wringing his hands. On the one hand, he needed this gig more than anything. On the other, he didn't want to get drafted into a fucking corpo war. Once again, he was trapped into a situation he didn't ask for. Trapped into making a decision he had no right to make. Trapped into self-fucking-sacrifie. For the first time in the past two years, he wished he could ask Johnny for advice.

"FUCK!" V punched the wall and walked up and down the hall, muttering to himself. "Choose between Hanako and Yorinobu, save the fuckin' president, save yourself and let your best friend die or save your best friend and let yourself die, get involved in a local mayoral conspiracy, investigate yo—"

"V?" Bea's voice was far away. His head was full of the faces and voices of all the people he hurt for his own interests. He'd hurt her for his own interest.

"V." Bea grabbed V's arm, and he felt like he was pulled back from the vacuum of space and into a pressurized cabin again.

He blinked at her and she nodded towards Mitch.

"You know how the world would change for the worse if Arasaka got their hands on this? And what if Militech uses this to finish the prototype, huh?" Mitch gestured towards Bea with one hand before crossing his arms. "Alright, Bea, you're likely the most impartial one here. If Kang Tao were already after this thing, then we know it's a big deal. We also can't confirm who the client is. Regardless of if it's Militech or Arasaka, we risk another corpo war."

V knew Mitch was right. He knew the magnitude of what they were looking at. Fuck, what would he tell Robbie?

V shook his head, "No. We cannot haze our fixer. Absolutely not!"

It was Bea's turn to pace, and she stuck her hands in her pockets. "I have…first-hand experience with Arasaka military tech." She looked at V, a sad, almost pleading look in her eyes. "It cannot get into their hands."

V yelled again in frustration.

"Shit, I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but you know she's right, V," Jackie said.

"It's now or never, V." Mitch poked V in his chest.

Well, if these schematics got out, they wouldn't even have a fixer to haze. V closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He’d always liked the Aldecaldos and especially Mitch. Giving it to them would probably jumpstart his journey back into the good graces of the clan. "Fine. Let's look through one last time, see if there's any good shit left that can make this day not a total bust." V handed the shard case over to Mitch who put it in the breast pocket of his jumpsuit. Mitch nodded at him in appreciation.

They returned to searching. Panam and Mitch found lots of old tech in a couple workshop rooms, while Jackie found some memorabilia and other useless tchotchkes in the bunk rooms. V and Bea checked the back storage closets and armory where they found some old weapons in disrepair and work jumpsuits. V's attention caught on a vintage soldering iron while Bea was enamored by a first gen Militech Hercules. Unfortunately, it was broken. They moved to a closet at the back of the armory that was a little too small for the both of them.

V got an idea. Maybe it was the wrong move, but he couldn't hold it in anymore. He had to kiss her, a real kiss, not a fucking peck. When Bea turned around, V grabbed her hand and pulled her into the closet.

They were packed like sardines, face to face, barely enough room to move. He closed the door. The smell of the desert, dust, and her body wash filled the closet. It was intoxicating. His heart pounded in his throat and his stomach fluttered like it had when he had played spin the bottle at Julissa's 13th birthday party.

"Do we really have time for seven minutes in heaven?" Bea asked. She sounded annoyed, but not mad. Please, please let this work.

"Yeah, seven minutes."

He felt her hand go for the doorknob and he grabbed it, lacing his fingers with hers. He placed his other hand on the back of her neck and stared into her eyes. The thin rows of light from the slats in the closet door gave them a depth and dimension he could drown in.

Okay, careful now, be smooth. He tucked her hair behind her ear and rubbed his thumb against her cheek, "Girl in the window." Her skin was soft, and he barely felt the delicate cyberware that stretched across her nose and cheeks.

He felt Bea's smile. "You were a good boy." He was. But he finally had her in a private booth.

V counted the minutes, trying to not get stranded in her eyes. A small part of him was afraid to make the first move. It was an anxiety that had shadowed every interaction he had with her. Dread, expectation, waiting for the other shoe to drop. At any moment she would—abandon him like his parents like Johnny like Rat like everyone else he ever lov—

"Six and a half more minutes," she whispered.

V laughed. "Down to the second, huh?" He pulled her head closer and their lips met—well, their noses smashed because V couldn't see her face very well and had forgotten to tilt his head. Her lips were as soft as he had dreamed and the vibrations from her giggle across his mouth joined the beating of his heart, branding it, searing her name deeper and deeper through the firm muscle, permanently warping it. There was no coming out of this unscathed, the damage was permanent.

She placed her hand on his cheek, and he tasted lemon and honey from her lip balm.

She broke off the kiss first and looked at him as she stroked the scarification on his face with her thumb. "Five minutes left," she said, a little breathlessly.

He pushed her back against the wall of the closet and she let out a shuddering breath as he spread her legs with his knee and nestled his thigh up against her, the heat of her radiating through his pants. He slid the hand from her neck down to her lower back and up her shirt and pulled her body towards him, his hands exploring her bare skin greedily. He felt his cock swell and tighten against his jeans, and he never wanted to take his hands off her. He kissed down her neck and licked a bead of sweat dripping down over her carotid as she thrust her hips down and forward. He returned the motion with his thigh in kind. She ran her hand through his hair and made the tiniest moan, a soft mewling lasting only seconds but long enough to imprint an echoic memory.

He forgot where he was, forgot they were in a closet in a bunker she nearly died helping him get access to in the Badlands near Night City in NUSA on planet Earth. She was his universe and their passion at this moment orbiting around and through each other, colliding in heavy breaths and whispers of hands across skin and fabric across hands and hair through fingers and the quiet wet sounds from his mouth as he lapped and nibbled and savored the thin flesh over her neck feeling her heart beat with his tongue.

"Three m—" he bit down, growling into her skin, an untamed animal in absolute heat. She pulled on his hair, dragging his head away from her, but he only pulled against her, needing to clamp down on her like a leech, branding her as she branded his heart. "Minutes," she said shakily.

That was cruel. Couldn't they stay here forever? He was rock hard now, and it was too soon, he needed so badly to see this through to its logical conclusion, to the third act climax. She finally put her hand against him, sliding her palm up and down the length, and he closed his eyes, resting his head on her shoulder. Too distracted, totally spellbound by finally experiencing the real thing, the thing he had thought about every night he touched himself for the past three months since they first met at the club.

It was his turn to shudder and get breathless. "Fuck." Except it came out louder than he intended, and she giggled again and quietly chided him, saying his name, his name, and goosebumps traveled under his hands across her back.

One hand still on her lower back, pushing her through the rhythm, urging her to keep using him, he snaked his other up the front of her shirt, lightly tracing across her stomach, causing another ripple of goosebumps. She wore a tech bra that molded to the wearer's skin. He grabbed at the center, jerking her towards him, breaking the seal between the bra and her breasts. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, before opening her mouth and biting his neck. 

He was a good boy, and he gritted his teeth and contained the noises straining against his vocal cords, begging for release. The whir of the temperature controls in his hands joined the orchestra of sighs as he cooled his hand down and deftly shoved his hand under her bra and was once again so pleased that the real thing was so much better than his imagination. She yelped at the cold and he felt her nipple harden in his palm as he kissed her quiet. Her soft flesh fit in his hand oh so perfectly, the firm muscle beneath reminding him she could snap his neck as soon as she got bored, rip his tongue out if he wasn't using it the way she liked, that she was a predator and he was prey.

She pushed him away from her and said, "Time."

He grabbed her waistband and pulled her towards him, grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her face so he could speak against her lips, so she could taste his want, his need. "Five more minutes." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a request. It was a demand.

"Nope." She grabbed his hands and twisted, releasing his grip on her pants and mournfully releasing her breast from his hand and it felt so empty, so devoid, as if its only purpose was to touch her.

"One more minute?" He kept his hands to himself but kissed her on her lips, then her cheek, and down her neck again.

She giggled. "No! We have to go."

"What if I beg?" He licked her neck again from her collarbone to her jaw.

Bea actually paused. Was she considering it?

She put both her hands on his face and kissed him then pushed him away from her. "No. Let's go."

He sighed, sounding like a sad puppy dog basking in the sun with nothing to sigh about. A huff at the delightful injustice in the world. He ran his hands through his hair and couldn't help grinning from ear to ear. His pants still felt too tight and he stuck his hand down to adjust himself as much as he could. He wiped the sweat off her face and fluffed up the back of her hair where her head was mashed into the wall.

Bea opened the door and V's face burned red-hot, not from the hot closet and exertion but because Mitch, Panam and Jackie were all standing there. Would the embarrassment ever cease today?

It was worth it.

Mitch and Jackie gave Panam some eddies, and she looked satisfied. "Told ya so."

V looked over at Bea, her head down, her cheeks were bright pink and one hand clamped over her neck where he was sure he left a small bruise. He cleared his throat and looked to the side.

"Mano, I told you to take it corpo bureaucracy slow." Jackie looked angry. But what the fuck did he have to be angry for?

He grabbed V by his shirt and used the momentum to punch V square in his face. The crack was so loud, Bea gasped.

"Ow! What the hell, Jack?"

"For all the shit you pulled and made me pull for this gig. For making me hurt Bea like that. And for you not keeping it in your fucking pants for more than 48 hours." Jackie stormed out of the bunker and Bea followed.

"Huh, senses must be dull in my old age. I remember pulling that move in a similar bunker out here ages ago," Mitch said.

"I know how men work," Panam said. "And I especially know how that cheating, lecherous fucking bastard works."

"Oh ha ha," V said nasally before snapping his nose back into place.

When Bea and Jackie returned, Jackie looked less angry and Bea was glowing. She looked at V and smirked. She had a dimple on her right side when she did that.

He would kill for her. He would die for her.

She owned him now. Body, heart, mind, soul, everything was hers and he would let her take and take and take until he was a dried out husk.

Chapter Text

Dr. Kenji Yamamoto had never had to implant artificial testicles before, but he knew the medical theory enough to make Mr. Gordon happy. His life depended on making Mr. Gordon happy, ever since the Militech researcher had found out about his failed attempt to defect from Arasaka.

"Why the hell do I pay you to be my personal physician if you can't see me immediately?!" Frederick bellowed, spittle flying into the face of the thin Japanese man. "I'm keeping you in my own home, I should be able to see you whenever the fuck I want!" His voice echoed along the metal walls of the cleanroom.

"I would not call kidnapping and blackmailing me payment for my services. Now take off your pants and let's get this over with." Dr. Yamamoto walked to a small metal fridge on a metal countertop and pulled out a sealed packet containing what looked like a hard-boiled egg inside a clear solution. He gently squeezed it, ensuring it was still firm and fresh.

Frederick removed and neatly folded his black dress slacks and black Jinguji briefs and placed them on a chair next to the door. "Table warmth medium," he said to no one.

A pleasant, perky female voice from the center of the room replied, "Now heating table. Ten seconds left."

Dr. Yamamoto pressed a button to stop the centrifuge next to the fridge and plucked out a vial of red liquid. He opened the sealed packages of forceps, syringes, and scalpels and placed them on a blue tray liner draped across a surgical tray.

"Heating complete," the voice said. Frederick got up on the table with a grunt.

"Have you been keeping up with the nanite cream I ordered for your burns?" Dr. Yamamoto had been thankful Frederick had been anesthetized when he had wheeled the man into the cleanroom or else he would have seen the doctor smile at the perfect handprints.

"Of course. And they're still not fucking healed! You said there would be no marks left, no redness, nothing. Why can I still see that fucker's handprints on my shoulders?"

The doctor rolled his eyes and unwrapped the egg. "I told you it will take at least a month for the outer layers to finish regenerating." He extracted the full contents of the vial and injected it into the egg, then placed the egg on a heating element in front of him and watched as the white color transformed into Frederick's skin tone. Ripples bubbled up across the egg's flesh as it created wrinkles to match Frederick's intact testicle.

"Fuck! Alright!" Bea slapped her phone for the 5th time and finally answered the call. "What?"

A modulated voice on the other end, deep and crackly like it was poured through a strainer of static said, "I'm sorry, did I interrupt your beauty sleep?" He spoke in Japanese with a strange Texas twang.

Bea replied in Japanese with a string of curses.

"Tsk tsk, Habu. That's no way to talk to the man with the keys to your next infusion, is it?"

Bea sat up in bed, wide awake now. She pulled up her phone screen on her retinal display and saw Wild Steve's icon. Her handler had a cruel and immature sense of humor and had gotten a custom icon commissioned by some furry artist online. It was an anthropomorphic Sakishima habu snake tied up in a lasso with a ball gag in its mouth, wearing a cowboy hat with a Sakura flower buckle on the hatband. The snake had comically huge tits and gold cyberware around its body, not dissimilar to Bea's FlexxSys.

Her lip curled as she got the eerie feeling of being watched. Because she was being watched. Over the years, she'd become attuned to Steve's vocal mannerisms, even through the distortion, and could tell when he'd activated her holo display. It was never something she could control and it wasn't part of the phone's soft. Just one of the cute monitoring functions of the corpo soft in her brain. His own private show, whenever he wanted.

"Ex-Militech R&D guy–" Steve started.

"Just send me the fuckin' dossier and I'll work out the details like always." Bea rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck.

"Ah-ah, not so fast, my sleeping beauty. Got some specifics."

Bea frowned. The only thing that had ever mattered in the near decade since she'd been doing this was that the target was dead and no one knew it was Arasaka. The method was up to her. "Why?"

"What d'you mean, why? Company says jump and you ask how high."

"Yeah, whatever, keep talking." Bea slid out of bed and padded to her kitchen, stopping every few steps to twist or pull or squeeze one joint or another to put her body back together.

"Guy hangs out at a doll club called Mr. Nobody's but is mad irregular. We don't have a handle on his schedule, so you gotta pose as a doll for a bit and he'll show up, eventually."

"Eventually?!"

"Yeah, eventually. You won't have to wait long, he's one of the financial backers. They've been trying to beat out Clouds since the whole slaughterfest of goons a couple years ago kinda tarnished their rep."

Bea sighed and pulled an XXL EEZYBEEF breakfast burrito from the freezer. "Okay, then what?" She popped the burrito in the microwave and started the coffee maker.

"Zero him, duh."

Bea sneered and moved her mouth repeating his words, silently mocking him. "All that fucking work as a braindead hooker just to kill him? Why can't I just find him myself?"

"Who am I, Habu?"

Bea sighed again. Her shoulders slumped, and she felt tired. So tired.

"Who am I?" Wild Steve repeated, his words sharp.

"Arasaka," she replied.

"Jump," Steve said and hung up.

A secure file transfer popped up in her retinal display as the microwave and coffee machine both dinged that they were done. Bea collapsed in the kitchen chair. She felt like concrete was being poured over her, suffocating her and fixing her in place. She'd never get out of Arasaka's grasp. At least not alive.

V folded his left arm behind his head and put the photo of Bea she'd sent him last night on his retinal display as he got to work with his right. She was fully clothed in a tank top except for the tiniest hint of cleavage. It may not have even been cleavage and was just a trick of the light but he didn't care. He rarely went back to his memory of her at Doll Parts and preferred thinking of their moments together. The way she smelled, the way her curls bounced when she laughed, the softness of her hands.

His orgasm was soured by his inner monologue turning to Johnny's voice. "You're fucking smitten, it's pathetic. Getting off and it's not even because she's naked? Come on, man, have some dignity." V grimaced instead of moaned as he spurted onto his stomach.

He wiped himself off with his trusty crusty shirt on the floor and texted her.

"Were you just dreaming about me?"

V watched the typing indicator start and stop a few times before she finally replied:

"I woke up two hours ago, so no."

Sometimes he hated how literal she took everything. Took all the fun out of flirting. But that had its own charm–it made her unpredictable. He had a routine and scripts for flirting and getting people into bed. None of it worked on her. But she wasn't a challenge to be conquered or a puzzle to be solved. She was an experience; she was an enigma and a light in his life and the only good fucking thing to come from this godforsaken city.

He had seen her two days ago and already missed her. They hadn't been on a "date" yet. They'd hung out at bars but were usually chaperoned by Jackie. They were friends, but he longed for something more, so badly.

"What're you doing today? Got somewhere I wanna take you." Would she take that as a date? He didn't want to scare her off, didn't want to be too forward. They hadn't been affectionate since he'd held her in bed. They would hang out, he'd make her smile, then she'd reluctantly hug him when he opened his arms to say goodbye.

Stop overthinking. Just let it happen.

V got out of bed and walked to his kitchen where a pot of moldy coffee was sitting in the sink. He wrinkled his nose, turned on the ball of his foot, and walked to the small vending machine nestled in the wall between the beaded curtain to his bathroom and his bed nook. He punched a button for coffee and received a red error signal in his retinal display indicating it was out.

His phone pinged.

"Work."

V raised an eyebrow. Not that she hadn't been making her own name as a merc, but the three of them worked closely and rarely had a gig one of the others didn't already know about.

"Got a gig?"

"Yeah, gonna be offline for a bit."

V punched a button for a Nicola and waited as the machine cranked and whirred and spirited a soda from the Megabuilding's central kitchen to his waiting hand.

His stomach lurched, either from the carbonation in his empty stomach or because he had a feeling something wasn't right.

Bea sat in the office of the eponymous Mr. Nobody, a short, thin man with wiry grey hair. His ears poked out at 90-degree angles against his face, which was hidden by a silver mask. She watched her painted face in the polished metal, made sure she always had a sultry smile and polite head nods at the proper intervals as he lectured her about the club rules and her schedule.

"On weekends, you're effectively on call." He had a whiny voice, like his nose was perpetually stuffed and his balls had never dropped. He said call like "cawl", the same Eastern NUS twist V had, though V's was endearing.

"Customers pay beaucoup bucks to get you all to themselves and their party for 48 hours. We swap models out if you get worn out, though." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and a bead of sweat trickled down his neck.

Bea's eye twitched. 'Models' he called them. They weren't human beings, they were models of cars, sex toys, they were products, things. Toys to be played with and thrown out when they could no longer be repaired.

She thought about how to make this a double homicide, how to get him on her way out of the club. But another one would just take his place, wouldn't they?

"How do you know when a model gets worn out?" Bea checked her face in his mask to make sure she still looked eager, that her boiling rage was well hidden.

"We'll install a sensor in uh, your uh." Mr. Nobody waved his hand like he was trying to find the word.

"Vagina?" Bea finished his sentence for him.

He brought his hand to his neck and rubbed his stubble, like he was trying to push down a gag reflex. "Yeah, it just checks like the health of the organ or something. It's all in the onboarding packet. But, new hires get a couple weeks before they're put into that rotation. We have to build up your profile, make sure you follow the rules, and that your satisfaction scores are high enough. If they're not, we'll evaluate and make changes if we have to."

"What kind of changes? Doll chips tailor to the customer's preference."

"Usually cosmetic. If you want to stick around, we'll probably need to get you a nose job."

Bea raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sure you know, you've got a huge nose, it looks too…Jewish," he said the word quietly, like he didn't want anyone else to hear his antisemitism.

"Bro will you sit the fuck down already?" Kerry said and threw a cheese puff at V's head.

V was pacing in front of the big screen TV, trying to tap out the perfect text to Bea. He hadn't heard from her in two weeks and he was getting worried.

"How long this job gonna last? I miss y-" V erased his message and stared up at the ceiling.

"Take. The. Hint." Kerry said and threw the remote at V.

V dodged the projectile and tapped out the message, "How long this job gonna fuckin last???"

He sat down on the couch next to Kerry. The debut of the TV movie he had a bit part in was being aired tonight and Kerry had invited him over to watch it.

"Wait, grab the remote for me," Kerry said and shoved V off the couch.

Bea came back to her body as the door to the booth closed. She was sore and sticky and the room smelled of sweat and strawberry lube. She jacked her personal link into a port hidden behind the bed and watched on her retinal field as her memory of the session was uploaded to the central club server and then erased. When it was done, a small drawer slid out from the wall with water, beef jerky, and pre-moistened hot towels.

Bea cleaned herself up as best she could, cracked her neck, and walked to the back of the booth with water and jerky in hand. She pressed a hidden button on the opaque glass door and it slid open to the hallway between booths. She walked to the dressing room and grabbed another bottle of water from the communal fridge, grabbed her phone from her locker, and collapsed onto a couch.

She felt a fist clench around her heart seeing three new texts from V. She didn't read them, just cleared them. She had been careful not to open the message and leave him on read. She didn't want to make things worse for him. Ghosting was the more humane thing to do.

Only humane for you, you fucking coward.

Betty came storming into the dressing room buck naked. Her hair looked sticky and there were bits of fruit garnish tangled in it. "Georgia, you look like shit. Let's hit the fucking showers." Betty had taken Bea under her wing, taught her the ropes, snuck her snacks and drinks, held her when she cried, patched up her wounds.

Bea chugged her second water bottle and followed her to the showers. "What the hell happened to you? And where are your clothes?"

The showers were open air, no stalls, just shower heads placed every couple feet. Bea took off her bikini and shoes and followed Betty to two open shower heads.

"Girl, you would not fucking believe the session I just had! You know, it's one thing to have your body and clothes fucked up, but these are $600 extensions! Ruined!" Betty looked forlornly at the shower water as it sputtered then flowed out of the showerhead.

"I'll help you pick all the bits out. We start from the ends and work our way up with washing. It was a sew-in, right? Should be fine at the scalp." Bea stepped under the water and felt small scrapes and cuts on her body sting.

Betty let Bea wash off before turning around and letting her work through her hair. Paige, a petite girl with a blonde pixie cut walked to the showerhead next to Bea.

"That investor is coming today!" she said.

Fucking finally. "Oh, cool," Bea replied. She picked a lemon slice from deep within Betty's mess of waves and handed it to her like she was offering a snack. Betty laughed and smacked it out of her hand.

"I hear whoever he sees gets a huge tip. If he really likes you, he'll buy you for a week! Like, the real you. Not the doll," Paige continued.

"That's bullshit," Betty said. "I've been here three years and not once has that ever happened with any of the investors."

Bea frowned. "So, does he not get a doll when he comes?"

"No, he does," Paige said. "Hey, can you hand me a fresh washcloth?" she pointed to a cabinet near Betty who opened it and grabbed a black washcloth, handing it to Bea who handed it back to Paige.

"He just likes talking a bit before getting to know you. I hear Mr. Nobody isn't the one doing the hiring, the investor is, and that Mr. Nobody sends all the new hire profiles to him, and he has to sign off on every one."

Bea picked the last bit of garnish out of Betty's hair and draped the long locks over her shoulder, letting the girl know it was ready to be washed.

The investor wasn't supposed to know her beforehand. It was all pre-planned. They'd just magically match and that was supposed to be that. He'd go into her booth, she'd jump him, then get the fuck outta there.

Frederick stood in Mr. Nobody's office, his gun pointed at the man's head. "I asked you a question."

Mr. Nobody's silver mask had dropped to the floor. He had no eyebrows, no facial hair, and no nose. Just a gaping triangle of flesh with two holes in the center of his face. He held his hands up. "I told you already, Mr. Gordon! She applied just like all the others. She'd worked at tons of other strip clubs before and I thought she was perfect. Honest!"

Frederick pulled the hammer back. "What did the name on the application say?"

Mr. Nobody pulled up Bea's file in his retinal display. "Georgia Carlton. Here, I'll send you the file."

"No need. Keep her on display but don't allow her to match with anyone but me." Frederick released the hammer and placed the gun back in his holster. Mr. Nobody fell to the ground, scrambling to put his mask back on.

Bea had been sitting in her booth for two hours with fuck all to do. She had called up to the front desk three times to confirm no one had matched with her. They weren't allowed to bring any outside material or gadgets inside the room, so she'd been alone with her thoughts, which was never a good thing. Especially because she'd been thinking about V for the past three hours. It had been a month since she'd seen him, and he had stopped texting her a week ago. It made her sad. Because even though she was trying to push him away, she couldn’t deny the hooks in her heart, the jagged slashes through her barrier. She couldn’t deny the freedom she felt around him. But she couldn't allow any distractions from her work. Every minute as a doll was a minute she wasn’t under control. If she was totally under control every minute she was out, then she was safe. She would be focused, in control, and ready for action.

And feelings were antithetical to her idea of being focused, in control, and ready for action. It was an idea that had been beaten into her during training. Any weakness in your personality, in your mind, all led to death. Love, affection, joy, sadness, these were distractions and distractions meant death.

A chime went off from the intercom by the bed, indicating she had a client coming. A second chime, programmed by Wild Steve, indicated it was the mark. She jacked into the port hidden behind the bed, waiting for the upload to get the doll chip routine started. But nothing happened. She jacked out and in again, waiting but still nothing. Her heart raced. "Hey, hello? Is the upload glitching?"

The door whispered as it slid open and a looming figure blocked out the pink ambient light from the hallway. Bea turned to look.

"It's not glitching at all, Bea. I want you to be aware for every second we're together."

His voice chilled her bones and her heart quickened as her breath became shallow. It took too many precious seconds to realize cognitively who it was. The door to the employee hallway opened and two hulking Animals walked in. She couldn't see their faces well in the dim light of the booth, but when they turned their heads to look at Frederick, she saw their exotic biosculpted faces. One had the snout of a pig and the other that of a tiger, complete with whiskers sparkling in the light. 

Bea shot up from the bed and lunged at Frederick, screaming obscenities. "I should have fucking killed you!"

Frederick caught her by her neck and chokeslammed her back onto the bed. He snapped at the Animals ordering them to pin her down. Frederick straddled her to keep her legs together while one Animal held her right arm down, the other yanked her left hand up to the port in the wall. He smashed her ring finger down and something painful snapped inside her hand. Her personal link popped out and the Animal plugged it into the socket.

Bea's eyes fluttered and she lost consciousness for a few seconds. When she awoke, the Animals were gone and Frederick was sitting on the edge of the bed next to her. Every synapse in her brain screamed at her body to move, to lunge, to grapple, to scratch. Her face contorted in confusion and pain and rage as she sat up and reached one hand out to Frederick. Her hand shook as she tried to form a fist, her fingertips only barely curling.

Frederick caressed her arm up to her neck and placed one hand on her face. "I made this just for you, Batsheva."

"Don't call me that," Bea spat at him. She reared her hand back, readying for a slap. She swung her arm forward and it stopped just inches from his face.

"I told you I wanted you awake for every second we're together." Frederick grabbed her face roughly and turned it to him, kissing her on her mouth. She wanted to bite his tongue, but only found her own tongue tangling with his, unable to control it herself. She was drowning, losing sight of the surface of the water, drifting further and further down until it was inky blackness.

V paced around his apartment, trying not to step on Nibbles when she weaved between his legs. He called Jackie again.

"You really haven't heard from her? Because you can just tell me if she told you she doesn't want to have anything to do with me anymore."

"For the hundredth time, yes. This is normal, V. She gets odd jobs from time to time and I don't hear from her for weeks. Just relax, mano."

Misty spoke up. "If it's meant to be, it will happen, V! Let it happen!"

V rolled his eyes and hung up. He checked the timestamp of the last message he'd received six weeks ago from Bea. "ttyl".

Bea had just finished with a client when Frederick walked in carrying a tray of medical instruments. Bea sighed, "Please, I'm so fucking tired."

"And I told you, I would let you rest when you tell me what you did with the schematics." Frederick set the tray down on the bed and stroked her hair. He took her arms and dug her personal link out of its slot in her arm. The area around the implant was red and inflamed. She refused to do it herself. It was the one thing she could control, and he would just have to dig it out himself.

Bea laid back on the bed. The previous session with the client was uploaded, but the deletion stopped at 25%. A spike of pain shot through her head and she sat up, holding her head and wincing. "What-what the fuck was that?"

Frederick picked the program he wanted for this session and sent it to the central server to upload to her. The pain sent a white-hot flash, blurring her vision, but she felt kinetic energy run through her body. The wall port sparked when the upload finished and Bea grabbed a scalpel from the tray, ripped her port out of the wall and tackled Frederick to the ground.

"What the–" Frederick barely had time to exclaim before Bea was trying to cut his neck. It was rabid fury, a feral animal lashing out at all costs. Deep wounds opened in his face, slivers of flesh, blood. The blood. She stared at the blood, focused on it, wanted to remember it as he grabbed her wrist and called his goons on the holo who came and grabbed Bea. Her face was pushed into the ground and she saw a piece of Frederick’s nose fall to the floor just as an Animal punched her in her temple and knocked her unconscious.

Frederick palpated the pink skin around the conspicuously smaller tip of his nose. The sloppy stitch job the Animal did on the other cuts were itchy. But he needed to be certain. He needed to be absolutely fucking certain. Then he could get Dr. Yamamoto to fix his fucking face. He confirmed with the doctor that if he got home within 12 hours of the dismemberment, he could regrow the tip of his nose. It had been six hours.

Frederick left Mr. Nobody’s private bathroom and walked to the techie’s office in the center of the club. He’d had to step away to collect himself before he smashed the poor teenager’s face in. He had only recently become an angel investor and hadn’t been able to install his own trusted technician yet.

He stormed into the office and commanded, "Run the diagnostic again."

"Look man, I've run it five times now. I still have no idea what the fuck I'm looking at," the kid wore a backwards baseball cap and had mustard stains on his black band t-shirt.

Frederick stormed over and rolled the kid to the side. He crouched down and browsed through the results of the diagnostic. The doll chip was intact, but there was some interfering hardware. He compared the five results and realized there was a second doll chip.

"Why are there two doll chips? Can't you people do anything right?" Frederick bellowed.

The kid shrugged. "No idea, man. Look," he rolled back over to the desk and entered some commands, querying Bea's hardware. Most of it was coming up as mid-range, average merc hardware. He didn’t believe that for one second based on his experience fighting her. If she was a corpo it would certainly be spoofed. Or, she was just a rich merc that paid a netrunner for the job. 

The techie pulled up a map of her body showing where the cyberware was placed and zoomed in on her head. He zoomed in further to focus on her chipslots. One was full. "That's our hardware. The serial number matches the one in our database for Georgia."

He pointed to the chip that lay just beneath the slots. "This? Got no fucking clue. The hardware matches a doll chip but I can't get any data from it. I don't know if it's even functional.”

"Send everything to me. The query results, the logs from when you installed the chip, everything." Frederick had a giddy feeling in his stomach. Had Arasaka completed a live version of their military doll chip? It would make sense as to why the mercs stole the schematics. If Arasaka already had a model ready for production then all they’d need is to find his schematics to dominate the market. 

Of course, his schematics were hardly fucking useful without live test data. But if she had the data he needed then he’d only need to write a couple lines into every doll program the club uploaded to her to extract the data as she worked.

"Will the regular routines still work?"

The techie nodded. "Yeah. I just wouldn't use your homebrew soft for a bit."

Frederick clapped a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Good man. Put her back in rotation."

Chapter Text

Frederick studied Dr. Yamamoto from across his desk. The doctor was busy polishing his glasses with his lab coat and his expression was unreadable, which made him harder to manipulate. Frederick was an imposing figure with his broad shoulders, 6’4 frame, and searing eyes. One look from him usually left people trembling.

He had proof that Dr. Yamamoto had defected from Arasaka when the man had reached out to his office asking to meet. The doctor specialized in behavior modification, personality engrams, and neuro-cybernetics. Frederick didn’t need to look at the data the doctor was trying to sell to know the man was more valuable than the data. He didn’t know why the doctor was unshakable. Frederick was the only thing standing between him and Arasaka assassins.

"We need to extract the data from the chip," Frederick said.

Dr. Yamamoto nodded. "Fine, but you bring her here. I'm not going there. I can't work when she's strapped to a fucking bed. I need her in the lab so I can ensure nothing interferes with the transfer. We don't know what protocol Arasaka is using. If we're not careful, we'll kill her and lose the data."

“I have a plan, Kenji. I just need to add a few lines of code to her regular programming and it will extract and transmit the data without us needing to lift a finger.” He felt smug. Finally, finally he could show Militech his worth. The military doll chip would make them trillions. Private military corporations, corpo security firms, hell even the NUSA military would want the chip.

“Frederick, this isn’t some fucking low level datafortress. These are at least a decade’s worth of memories, neural mapping, sensory data, and chemical and electrical signals sent to every cell of a killing machine’s body behind sophisticated encryption algorithms.”

Frederick’s eye twitched. Deep down he knew the doctor was right. It was the same data he had listed in his request to Militech to fund the human experimentation phase.

But he wanted more time with her. He was eager to get the data and finish his prototype, but that would take time. A few more days with her wouldn’t hurt. Well, it would hurt her, just not his plans. "Fine, fine. I'll have the club keep her reserved and out of rotation. I can wrap things up here and be back with her in a few days.”

Someone was banging on the door to V's apartment. "Go away," V slurred.

"You know I can bust down this fuckin' door, mano! Fuckin' open it!" 

V unlocked the door remotely and held his middle finger up as Jackie walked in. Bottles clanked as he waded through the mess of fast food trash and empty alcohol bottles across the floor. He grabbed V by the collar of his musty t-shirt and dragged him out of bed. V landed painfully on his hip with a thump against the linoleum.

"Pull yourself together! I know where Bea is!" Jackie smacked V in the face with one big meaty palm, then dragged V by the collar to the bathroom and tossed him, fully clothed, into the shower. The water was ice-cold.

"Jesus, Jackie, the fuck?" The cold water sobered him up fast, and V tore off his clothes and switched the water to hot. He shivered, waiting for the water to warm up. 

Jackie leaned against the bathroom counter. "Got in touch with a friend who knows a techie who's seen Bea. She's at some doll club. He doesn't know why she's there but our boy Frederick—"

V turned the water off, feet slipping as he tried to run in place before catching his footing and smacking into Jackie.

"Jesus Cristo, V," Jackie mumbled. He tossed V a towel before walking out of the bathroom. V wrapped the towel around his waist, went to his kitchenette and stuck his head under the sink, gulping down water. 

"So, where is she and when are we leaving?" V knew he should have listened to his gut. But what would he have been able to do? All gigs were dangerous, that was just being a merc. He should have pressed harder on the details.

He should never have let her go alone.

V shook his head. What mattered was what he did now.

Jackie sat down on his couch. "Doll club named Mr. Nobody's.”

V’s stomach lurched. He never wanted anyone to touch her, not like that.

“She's been Frederick's pet project. She sees clients, but he apparently visits her frequently.” Jackie finished.

V's hand shook when he went to snatch a t-shirt off its hanger. He pulled it over his head, digesting the information. Frederick already tried to kill her once. “How long has she been there?” Was she even alive?

“A little over a month.”

Frederick wouldn’t let her go that easily, the man was a sadist, she had to  be alive. "Okay, so let's go, let's bust her out." V finished getting dressed and turned to Jackie. His nerves were on fire. He should have been cool and calm, this was just like every other rescue gig. Hell, he had to rescue the fucking President once. But he didn’t lo–care about ol’ Madam Pres like that.

"It's packed with Animals. Won't be so easy," Jackie said. "But I have an idea." V walked to the weapons room, Jackie following.

"You're so fucking gaga for her, right? You'll jack in and probably match right away. Then you grab her, we delta, and we're home before you can say 'roid rage." V grabbed some pistol mags off his workbench and tossed them to Jackie. "It's mostly dolls using these employee hallways between booths and backstage, so you should be good to use that as an exit route," Jackie continued. "I'll be parked at the back entrance and ready to meet you at the door if you gotta bust out guns blazing."

Kill Frederick, rescue Bea, live happily ever after.

Betty sat with Bea on the bed in booth six. Her booth. Her prison. Well, she could technically leave whenever she wanted. Was there a process for requesting a new handler at Arasaka? She got through the day by imagining the navy blue walls splattered with Mr. Nobody’s blood, his severed dick sitting on the pink pillow and the pink leopard-print bedspread replaced by Frederick’s flayed flesh.

“Earth to Bea!” Betty snapped her fingers in front of Bea’s face.

Bea smiled at her. “I’m listening, I promise!” Betty was the only other doll that seemed to genuinely care. Even if she wasn't a housemother like Honey, she did her best. Tonight, Betty had brought Bea a perfectly cooked synthbeef steak for dinner while she munched on her own salad.

"So the guy says his safe word, right?” Betty had an old school valley girl accent with a high, nasally pitch. Bea loved listening to her stories because the uptalk made everything sound like a question. “And I'm like standing there with this fake baby belly on and this guy is just like laying on the bed with his diaper, full of shit mind you, out on the bed beneath him." She was still wearing the cow-print bikini the client had requested. The two triangles of fabric barely contained her large, pale, breasts.

Though it was amusing to imagine this petite woman with pitch black hair and twenty inch extensions–made of real human hair, as Betty like to remind Bea–wearing a huge pregnant belly, Bea only smiled weakly. Something was going on at the club. She'd had an extended break from Frederick and other clients. She didn't like it; she definitely didn't trust it. She prodded at the steak with a fork but felt too queasy to eat.

She just wanted to go home, to V.

"He calls me mommy and like asks me to change him. I told him he shouldn't have said the safe word because I've like never changed a baby's diaper in my entire life!"

Betty cackled. Her laughter was infectious and soon Bea was laughing with her. For a moment, she felt human again, not like a piece of meat.

"Did he leave?" Bea asked after catching her breath. She took a bite of her steak, for Betty.

Betty smiled, her crooked and overlapping teeth shining in the dim white light of the lamp above them, and nodded. "He offered to walk me through it and I told him the safe word means the session is over and if he didn't get the fuck out he'd have like more than just shit filling his diaper."

When they finished eating, Betty made Bea face her. She gently stroked the yellowing, healing black eye. "Georgia, I'm gonna get you outta this.” 

It was what she said every time Bea ended up hurt. She’d wave her off and tell her she was fine, that she could handle it. She’d fronted as a joytoy before, had sex with targets, used her body to get the job done as fast and efficiently as possible. But she’d had breaks between those kinds of gigs. Long breaks where she could feel like she retained her autonomy, such as it was. But Frederick was…

Bea shook her head vigorously. Arasaka would send someone eventually. They had to know something was wrong by now, right? They wouldn’t just leave her alone, she knew too much. At the very least, they’d send someone to kill her or confirm she was dead.

“I’m gonna make sure you finally tell that guy you’re always going on about that you love him.” Bea started to protest, but Betty's eyes went glassy as she looked at something on her retinal display. "Shit, I gotta go. I'll be back to say goodbye before I head out, okay?"

Bea nodded and Betty kissed her on her cheek before leaving. The glass door to the employee hallway whispering shut felt like a stone rolling over the entrance of her tomb. Bea fell back into bed, fell back into the void inside herself she’d pried open. It was the same one she recognized in V and it was for the same purpose: to protect herself from her own emotions. 

The only logical reason she could think Frederick was doing this to her was just simple revenge. Which was boring and pathetic and she never missed a chance to remind him how little she thought of him. She resisted every chance she got. Frederick liked to play with her and would let her scratch and spit and claw like a feral cat until she got too close, and then he’d trigger the programming preventing her from hurting him.

The Animals that guarded her booth 24/7 were too strong for her. The first time she’d tried to escape, they had posted two at the entrance to her booth and two outside in the employee hallway. She’d tried to slip out the back, thinking if she was just quiet and low to the ground she could trip them up. She’d taken down dozens of goons with just her hands and her wits, but the Animals employed at the club were chipped and roided to high heaven. She was fast, but she wasn’t faster than a Sandevistan with reflex boosters. She was strong, but she wasn’t stronger than an Animal with an arm nearly as thick as her entire body. Multiple fractures and dislocations later, and she’d accepted she could only bide her time.

They let Betty visit her and eventually got rid of the goons patrolling the hallway as long as she stopped trying to escape. So she stopped trying to escape. But she never stopped fighting. Whenever one of them or Frederick entered the booth, she was on them in a flash. Of course, it always ended with her injured or Frederick triggering the passive programming, but hey, at least she wasn’t trying to escape.

But it was starting to wear on her. The memory erasing function was becoming less and less effective and the more memories she retained of what Frederick did to her or allowed his friends to do to her, the less she felt like fighting. She tried to compartmentalize it, to overwrite it with other memories, to plot revenge, to imagine how she would kill Frederick and how she would make him feel every second of it.

It was never enough.

She folded her ring finger and jacked into the port by the bed. She’d never met the club techie face to face. He had an office near the center of the club, and Bea had passed by the door when she went to Mr. Nobody’s office to interview. But she had gotten to know him with how frequently she was jacking into the central line to run maintenance on Frederick’s custom software. They’d talk through an intercom by the port and he’d tell her about the latest game he was playing or movie he'd just seen. He sounded young to her, too young to be working in a place like this. Their talks, though brief, were a connection to the outside world she cherished.

The first time the memory eraser only got 50% of the way through before crashing, she’d asked him if it was possible to upload a program when a client wasn’t in the room. He'd said it was.

Bea watched in her retinal display as a loading bar appeared, showing her the “sex kitten” routine upload progress. It was just a courtesy the techie had given her, as dolls never knew or needed to know the names of programs they were running. They just jacked in, disappeared for a bit, and jacked out when they were back.

The Animals usually had to force her back out. But the handful of hours of mindless bliss she got were worth it every time. She hoped she wasn’t getting the techie in trouble, but the fact he kept doing it for her was a good sign.

She closed her eyes and felt her body sink into the shag carpet from a vintage 1970s porno mag. When she opened them again, she wasn’t Bea. She wasn’t stuck in a doll booth waiting for Frederick’s next torture. She had never been a solo for Arasaka. She had never been a nomad. She had never been Bea.

She was nobody.

Jackie dropped V off at the entrance to the megabuilding and pulled around to the parking garage. Mr. Nobody's was on the 4th floor and V would need to get Bea downstairs. Jackie wanted to be able to peel away without worrying about slowing down through the turns between levels of the garage.

V walked into the club, which smelled like bubblegum but looked rundown. It was certainly no Clouds. The receptionist behind the front desk smiled at V. She had fluorescent pink hair in a tight high ponytail and wore a modest sleeveless blue dress. "Welcome to Mr. Nobody's, where nobody does it like us. We offer great discretion, top shelf models, and any fantasy your heart desires. Please jack into the terminal."

V plugged his personal link into the device and closed his eyes. He cleared his mind of anything but Bea: the citrus and pomegranate scent that clung to her hair, the musical sound of her laughter, her dulcet voice, her hot blood on his hands, his hands tangled in her curls, the sweat on her skin, their kiss. Headshot after headshot flashed on his retinal display. When it stopped, it listed eight people, four on each side. Only one photo was faded with "UNAVAILABLE" in red letters beneath it. The name below said "Georgia" but it was definitely Bea.

"I'll take her," V said. He tried selecting Bea, but the screen flashed red.

"I'm so sorry, sir, she's indisposed at the moment. You'll be pleased with any of the other models."

Were they too late? Was she dead? "Why is she listed as a match if she's unavailable, then?"

The receptionist shifted on her feet, uncomfortable. V thought she was hiding something. "I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to share that information."

V yanked his cable out and leaned across the desk, grabbing her arm, and pulling her towards him. "What room is she in?" he growled.

"I-I-I-"

V slammed his fist on the desk. "Tell me, or the next thing I hit is that pretty little faceplate of yours!"

"Booth six! You need a VIP token! Here!" She pulled a keycard out from beneath the desk and slid it across to him. 

V took it and headed to the entrance to the inside of the club. He paused for a second, realizing what he'd just done on impulse, and opened a transfer request to the woman, sending a thousand eddies with a note apologizing and thanking her for her discretion. He should have started with the bribe, but adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He felt ashamed for reacting like that, he was usually smoother, more composed, but the thought that Bea was dead–he just needed to get to her.

He stalked the hallways, clocking where the Animals were patrolling and adding them to a map of the club he was sharing with Jackie. At the back of the building he found stairs to the VIP rooms. He scanned the keycard in front of a panel and glass doors slid open to a staircase. The first floor had been dark, dingy, and a pale pink color. This floor was bright blue and white with loud lazrpop and a bar.

V ordered a drink from the bar and scanned booth six. The person in the room came up under a fake profile in the NCPD database as Georgia Carlisle, deceased. V watched the Animals, continuing to learn their patrol patterns as he sipped his drink. The alcohol did nothing to soothe his nerves. The last time he’d gone head-to-head with an Animal was Sasquatch at the GIM, and, granted, she had respected him after, he’d barely made it out alive.

He waited for a blind spot to room six and slipped inside. His heart stopped when he saw Bea. She was on the bed, curled up into a ball. She only wore a black lace bra and panty set and there were scratches and bruises in multiple stages of healing all over her back. There was no recognition in her eyes as she sat up and looked at him. 

She smiled unnaturally, and purred, "Well, don't you look just delicious."

It made his skin crawl, it was so antithetical to who she was. She never flirted with him, or if she did, it was concealed in insults. He found that endearing. V connected to a panel in the wall by the door and brightened the lights. He gasped sharply when he saw even more bruises and welts on every part of her body.

Bea sauntered over to him. Even her hip sway was unnatural, not at all like when she’d exaggerate it to tease him. His heart ached when she grabbed his hand, her own soft but clammy. She led him to the bed and patted a space next to her. When he sat down, he got a closer look at her face. There were deep, dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was sallow, her cheekbones gaunt and her lips pale. She looked haunted.

She leaned forward and ran her hand through his hair. Her touch was soft and sent shivers down his spine as she pulled him in for a kiss. V closed his eyes and put one hand on her left wrist. Her lips were dry and cracked, and he swore he felt her lower lip quiver. He wanted to stop this, wanted to say some kind of safe word to get her out, but he wasn’t programmed as a client like he had been at Clouds, and there was no safe word he could use. He had to focus. He couldn’t worry about how much it hurt seeing her like this. How much it repulsed him.

Bea broke off the kiss. "You look overdressed. Take off your shirt, let me see how strong and tough you are."

"Not yet," he said. He kept his hand on her left wrist and nudged her to lay back on the bed, straddling her. She ran her icy cold hands up under his shirt, clawing her ragged nails against his skin. 

V inhaled sharply when her hand traveled down to his waistband and he felt himself harden as she inched her fingers inside his jeans. He reminded himself this wasn't real, this wasn't her, it was programming. The faster he got her out, the faster he could stop this. He grabbed her other wrist and pinned it above her head, holding both wrists with his hand. He needed to get her left arm close to the port in the wall but couldn’t let her see what he was doing. It was easiest to play into this, keep her docile. He leaned down to kiss her again, moving from her mouth to her neck and she moaned theatrically.

He unlatched his cyberdeck from the holster on his leg as quietly as he could with his right hand. He kissed back up to Bea's face and shoved her face to the side with his hand so she couldn't see what he was doing. Without meaning to, he continued the kiss and started to grind against her. It was instinct, the black hole opening up inside him, clawing for release from the agony of the past few weeks without her.

Focus, fucking focus, you creep. He fondled her breast and squeezed as he opened his deck and set it on the pillow by her head. Just to keep up the ruse– or at least that was what he told himself. He growled in frustration, unsure how to get her personal link out with one hand holding both of hers. Bea giggled and growled back. She bucked her hips up and ground back into him. 

He prayed to Hashem, asking for forgiveness because he'd never take advantage of anyone like this, but these were very special circumstances in that he was trying to save a woman that had the capacity and training to kill him if she didn’t recognize him. He didn’t want to risk finding out if the program had any self-defense measures. He undid his pants, grabbed her right hand, and shoved it into his boxer briefs. Bea hummed with approval and V grunted when she began slow strokes.

He readjusted himself so he could keep her right arm snug against her body, which required him lifting his hips up, only allowing her more room to stroke his full length. He gulped and kissed her, unsure whether his moans were fake or real to cover the sound of him pressing a couple buttons on his deck and moving it above her head and out of sight.

"Come on, baby, don't you want more than just my hand?" she cooed. "I'm getting so wet just thinking about you being inside me."

V kissed her on the lips and down her other cheek, turning her head to the right. "I like to take my time." He bit her neck, hard, as he depressed her ring finger to pop her personal link out, hoping the pain would distract her from the sensation of her link being released. But it didn't budge. He adjusted to see her wrist better as he kept sucking and nibbling on her neck and saw how inflamed and red the port was.

It broke him. He'd seen her scraped and beat up before, but the violation of her personal link, a bond they'd shared once before, that he’d treated with such respect…his self-control failed him as his grip slackened and his knees buckled. Bea took her chance. She flipped him over, knocking his cyberdeck between the bed and the wall and he mumbled a series of profanities, cursing his luck.

Bea wriggled her way down to his knees and he put both arms above his head, trying to grab the deck from behind him. She kissed the waistband of his shorts, trying to tug them down, but he wouldn't lift his hips.

He got one finger around the handle of the deck just as Bea pulled his cock out of his shorts. "Fuck!". Bea giggled and began stroking him again. He inched the deck up from the bed and felt Bea's hot breath on his shaft.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry about this, Bea," he said and thrust both knees up and into her chest, knocking her off the bed. He stuffed his dick back in his pants but had no time to button them back up because Bea had grabbed his ankles and was trying to yank him to the floor, laughing.

He flipped his deck open and kicked Bea in the face with his sneaker. He heard a crack and she shouted in pain, scrabbling back and giving him time to at least zip up his pants before he pounced on her.

"Just hold…" She was struggling beneath him and he couldn't get his hand around her wrist again. "Fuck!" Her nose was bleeding and he thought back to their fight at Afterlife. She could take as well as she could give. He punched her in the face, apologizing over and over.

Her eyes fluttered and then Bea was looking at him, eyes wide and beginning to water. "V?"

V nodded, but before relief could wash over him he heard banging on the door.

"Georgia, what's that racket?" a deep voice with a modulated effect like a growl of a tiger said.

Bea's eyes fluttered again and she began babbling at him, attempts at dirty talk that made no sense but she still squirmed beneath him. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Bea,” he grimaced as he punched her twice in the temple and knocked her out. He called Jackie on the holo. "Might be coming in hot. She's in bad shape."

"Georgia! Open the fucking door or we're breaking it down!"

V put the deck back in its holster, and hoisted Bea over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Then pulled his pistol out of the holster at his back and opened the door to the employee hallways as Jackie had indicated and away from the banging.

A voluptuous woman with pale skin and black hair dropped her tray of water, wash cloths, soaps, and first aid supplies and opened her mouth to scream. Before she could, V blurted out, "I love her. I'm trying to help her. Help me." V had startled himself but didn't have time to process what he had just professed. He could hear the Animals busting down the other door to the room.

"Where is she?" one of them yelled. "Call the boss!"

A pig snorted and said, "On it!" with a squeal.

"What's her real name?" the woman asked.

V looked at her exasperated. "Don't have time for this! What's the fastest way out of here?"

The woman put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh shit.” A wave of recognition washed over her. “You’re that guy she was always talking about!”.

"Bea, it's Bea. I don't know why she was here. Now, will you help me? Please?" He hoped the desperation in his voice made his intention of getting her out clear.

"Turn left the first chance you get and follow the hallway down to a cargo elevator. That should take you all the way out to the alley."

V nodded and turned, the woman grabbed his arm. "Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't get her out. And tell her to fucking call Betty sometime, here's my number."

V got the contact, nodded again, and ran just as the door to the hallway crashed open.

Betty screamed, "Hey! What the hell are you brutes doing?! Where's Georgia?" A tiger roared, Betty's scream turning into a gurgle as a loud bang echoed down the hall after V.

He pressed the button to call the elevator and turned around to see a hideous pink man sprinting towards him. The elevator dinged and opened just in time. V squeezed in and hit the button for the ground floor and then the "close door" button. "Come on, come on," he chanted. He adjusted Bea on his shoulder and switched his pistol to his other hand so he could wipe the sweat off his shooting hand.

The door closed just as an Animal slammed into it, the sliding doors bulging inward. The man squealed like a pig, screeching and yelling commands to other Animals. The elevator began its descent and V closed his eyes, said a prayer, and kissed Bea's side like she was a good luck charm.

The elevator lurched and creaked as an Animal landed on top. V pressed the third and second floor buttons, and the elevator halted at the third floor. When the door opened, two Animals stood there with their massive arms crossed. V pulled up his quickhacks and pushed two hacks to cripple their movement then shoved past them, sprinting down the hall.

"Jackie, where are you? I'm on the third floor, have to take the stairs!"

"Stairwell, second floor!" Gunshots echoed through the phone.

V looked behind him and saw the two gangoons getting up and dusting themselves off. He looked for the emergency exit signs pointing towards the stairwell. When he slammed through the door, Jackie was on the stairs, firing at two Animals. He got one in the head and the other in his chest, destroying the circulatory cyberware in a bright spectacle of sparks and synthblood.

Jackie looked up at V. "I'll clear a path, just get her the fuck out!"

V followed Jackie down the stairs, careful not to slip on the blood and bodies Jackie had left behind. When they got to the last set of stairs, an Animal blocked their way, one much larger than the others, who'd had his face sculpted into that of a bulldog– or as much as one could be with human facial structure. He was carrying a heavy machine gun. V pulled up his interface again and scanned the man, looking for any vulnerabilities. But all he saw was Jackie's blood and Bea's blood, and their corpses and himself standing at their graves.

Jackie fired, hitting his arms and chest. V shook his head and tried to fry the Bulldog, but his internal deck didn't fire; it was unresponsive. That was what he got for customizing his own quickhacks. They were prone to freezing up and crashing the system after firing. V checked his task manager and killed the processes for the quickhacks, the one keeping his holophone connected remotely to his phone, the temperature controls on his Gorilla Arms, and his modified leg joints freeing up enough processing power to short circ the gun.

The gun jammed and sparked. Bulldog roared and tossed the gun at Jackie who ducked under as it hit the wall behind him. Jackie's gun clicked. "V, cover me!" V was running on empty, on both ammo and processing power. He'd only ever needed two quickhacks max in combat, but that was because he generally wasn't carrying someone on his shoulder, and if the hacks didn't take them down, he'd get them fast with his silenced pistol.

If Bulldog was as borged out as he thought, causing a short circuit should buy them time. The Animal pulled a pistol out from his waistband and Jackie's other gun clicked. V focused and fired off the hack, overloading the Animal who seized, foam seeping from his mouth. In his fumbling, his pistol went off and a nauseating squelch came from Jackie's body.

"Oh fuck, Jackie!"

Jackie reloaded and shot the Bulldog in his head. He pulled a medhypo from his pocket and stabbed it into his chest. "I'm fine, chico," he grunted, but blood pooled quickly on the floor beneath him. V's chest tightened as images of hauling Jackie through Konpecki, holding his guts in as they fought their way through Arasaka goons. V almost slipped trying to avoid the stream that was coming down Jackie's leg as they descended the stairs together.

They jumped the last few steps to the final landing and Bea groaned. Jackie opened the door and V sprinted for the van, the rest of the world blurring around V until only it remained.

"V! Get the fuck outta here! Delta!" Jackie called out. It didn't sound urgent, but there was a strain in his voice that made V turn around, the same strain when he said he was fine after shards of glass tore him open on their fall from Yorinobu’s penthouse.

His heart sank. He felt weak and almost dropped Bea. Jackie was kneeling on the pavement, hands up, his dual pistols on the ground. Frederick had his pistol shoved into the back of Jackie's head.

"Tsk tsk, V. I prefer sharing my toys, no need to take them from me," Frederick said. His calmness chilled V. Jackie looked pleadingly at V, silently urging him to just go.

Frederick pulled the hammer back. V was paralyzed. His breath came fast, his head spinning. This couldn’t be the end, not when Jackie had survived death before. He was invincible, he was going to be a fucking legend. They’d made it to the major leagues and he was going to be a Night City legend.

"Don't worry about me! Just get her out!" Jackie's voice cracked. His jeans were soaked with blood, which blended with the leather pattern of red roses embroidered on the sides.

"Three…" Frederick counted down.

V dropped his pistol and shifted Bea down into his arms. His breath was fast and ragged. He looked down at Bea and back at Jackie. He wouldn’t get to him in time and even if he did Frederick would just shoot V and that would leave Bea at Frederick’s mercy with no one to save her and he’d have failed but Jackie he needed Jackie he needed his best friend he needed him so badly he never imagined a life without him but Bea would die and he would die and he needed to live and needed to save her but fucking Jackie. Tears welled in his eyes.

"Take care of her for me." Jackie smiled at V.

"Two…"

V wanted to vomit, wanted to run, wanted to save Jackie. Not again. Not again. He had almost died once. He couldn't die here. "Jack," his voice cracked.

"Remember V, I will kill you if you hurt her," Jackie cackled and turned his head to look at Frederick. "Just get it the fuck over with you drama queen," Jackie sneered.

Frederick pulled the trigger and Jackie's face exploded onto the pavement. V's knees buckled, the air in his lungs knocked out, but he had no time for grief, no time to yell at Hashem for doing this to him because then Frederick turned the gun to V. He mustered his strength, turned around, and bolted for the van.

Frederick fired but only grazed his shoulder. V got the passenger door open, set Bea down as gently as he could, and slid across the hood to the driver's side. He didn't bother to shut his door; it shut itself as he sped off.

He was breathing hard, hyperventilating, mumbling under his breath. He fumbled for Bea's hand and linked his fingers tight between her limp ones. He rocked in his seat, nodding as he drove, "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine. She's gonna be okay. It's going to be FUCKING FINE!" He screamed and choked down a sob.

Frederick smashed the techie's head into his computer monitor again and again until the screen shattered. He pulled the kid's head back, shards of glass piercing his face. Frederick spat on him and dropped him, limp, to his desk. He screamed and thrashed around the office, tearing down server racks and monitors. So close, he was so close to finishing the chip.

All he had needed was live test data. It had been there in his grasp. He was close to completely pacifying Bea, he had watched every time he entered as the vivacity in her burning green eyes faded. He had just wanted one more day with her and then he’d have taken her back to Kenji’s little lab. But he had her number now. He knew her dirty little Arasaka secret and he would retrieve the test data, no matter the cost.

V pulled into his parking spot. He was despondent, moving on autopilot.

Park. Get out of the car filled with blood and memories.

Shut the driver side door. Jackie always drove. This feels wrong.

Open the passenger side door.

Pick Bea up.

Shut the passenger side door. This was your door.

Lock the van you and your best friend kitted out together when you started doing gigs full time as a team.

Walk to elevator.

Choke back a sob.

Look down at Bea. Feel nothing.

Get off elevator and walk to apartment. Ignore weird looks. Scan biometrics.

Nibbles greeted him at the door and rubbed against his legs. He ignored her.

Lay Bea down on bed.

The autofeeder in the kitchen dinged and released kibble that clattered into the metal bowl. Nibbles ate noisily, smacking and crunching.

Go to weapons room. Get laptop off workbench. Sit next to bed on the floor. Look at Bea.

Her normally bouncy curls were greasy and dull, her lips pale and dry. She had ligature marks in various stages of healing on her neck.

Stop looking at Bea. Think about Jackie.

No. Stop thinking about Jackie.

V scrunched his eyes shut as the visceral, slow motion clip of Jackie's forehead exploding outward and fragments of bone and brain and flesh splattering the pavement seared itself into the back of his eyelids.

Put down laptop. Run to bathroom. Vomit. Sit against toilet. Hold head in hands. Cry.

No. Stop crying. Must help Bea.

Get up. Rinse mouth out with mouthwash. Splash water on face. Go back to laptop.

Nibbles was lying on Bea's chest and V frowned. There had never been another person Nibbles ever cuddled up to. He'd had hundreds of people in his bed over the years, and she had run and hid from all of them. V knelt on the floor and put his ear to Nibbles, listening to her purr as he put his arm across Bea's waist. He closed his eyes, and let the purring empty his mind.

Chapter Text

Everything is fine. Everything is just fucking fine. Focus, V. Nibble's purring was soothing, but he could only clear his head of all thoughts and Jackie for so long. Bea needed him.

V kissed his cat between her ears and sat back down next to Bea. He opened his laptop and laid out the problem in his head. She likely had a doll chip from the club, but he couldn't see any visible doll chip port. He'd need to find the chip, eject it, run a bioscan to check for internal injuries and a digital scan to figure out what happened with the program he'd interrupted.

Then call Vik and have a good cry about Jackie.

He pulled up manuals on multiple doll chip models, hoping to find one that matched hers. Surely some manufacturer out there had created one to blend in with the skin or to be implanted beneath the skin. But manual after manual, schematic after schematic, all of them said they required a dedicated port, and all were visible in the neck. Maybe he'd just missed it and had to look harder.

V set aside the laptop and knelt next to Bea again, brushing her hair off her face. He let his hand linger on her bruised cheek. He'd seen and experienced for himself how strong she was, but she looked fragile now. 

He gently turned her head to the side and felt along the occipital bone behind her right ear for her standard chip slots. When there wasn't a chip slotted in, the slots should be smooth and flush with the skin. He ran his fingers over them again, slowly, and found there was indeed a shard in one of the slots. It had been jammed in so that it only had a slightly raised profile, which is why he had missed it. The skin around the implant was hot and tender

He searched his workbench, digging through loose wires, piles of blank shards, and broken motherboards to find his penlight. Nibbles opened one eye and squinted when the bright light turned on in her direction. V held it between his teeth as he used his other hand to move Bea's hair out of the way and bend her ear forward. He grimaced when he finally got a good look at the abused port. He carefully tried to push the chip in, to trigger the mechanism that popped the chip out, but Bea moaned as pale fluid leaked from around the slot.

Nibbles growled at him and he took his hands away, putting them up in an appeasing gesture.

The whole slot would need to be repaired. He didn't have the equipment to do that, and he needed to get the chip out first. Then he could call Viktor to fix her 'ganic and cybernetic parts. V carefully slid Bea closer to the edge of the bed so he could sit cross-legged on the floor. He set the penlight on the side table, angling it to illuminate the back of Bea's head. He wouldn't be able to grab the chip with his fingers, and if he tried pulling it out that could damage the port even more.

Doll chips split you down the middle and she had been in the middle of a program when he'd knocked her out. The longer it stayed in her brain, the higher the risk of a permanent personality shift or even brain damage. He could have scrambled her brain irreparably already. He should have just called Viktor, but the time it'd take to explain it and wait for him to get there was time they didn't have.

V paced around the weapons room. Ports and slots were delicate pieces of hardware and it was bad enough her wrist port was fucked up. That, at least, was just irritation, though it might require a bit of repair from Viktor to get it to pop out easily again. They must have damaged the spring attached to the ring finger ligaments.

He'd tooled around with his Gorilla Arms before, making custom modifications and repairs. This should be even easier than that. V grabbed a multi-tool, his computer repair toolkit, and a can of compressed air. He sat back down and looked at Nibbles. "Don't get mad, I have to do this to help her, okay?" Nibbles looked at him, stood up, stretched and turned her back to him, curling up into a ball.

V took a small nylon brush out of the kit and gently brushed any debris from around the slot, being careful not to open the scabs. He palpated the area, checking where it felt softest and most tender, where the flesh seemed thinnest and thus where he'd want to brace her head to support the slot without further damage to the surrounding implant site. He grabbed some forceps once he found a spot that would work and clamped them around the chip.

If he pulled it out slowly, it could cause pain. If he pulled it out fast, it could cause damage. He wiggled the forceps a little at first, trying to ease the chip out with a side-to-side movement, but it didn't budge. He pulled directly and it still didn't move. He should just take her to Viktor rather than waiting for a house call, but he couldn't bring himself to get back in that van.

No choice but to just yank it out. The sooner he got it out and ran an analysis, the sooner he could call Viktor to fix any damage he'd exacerbated or created through his brute force.

V placed his palm against the side of her head, his thumb and forefinger around the slot, keeping the skin taut. He adjusted the grip on the forceps and counted to three.

One…he aligned the forceps again and adjusted his grip.

Two…he clamped the forceps.

On three, he ripped the chip out and let go of Bea's head. Bea's eyes fluttered open and she winced and groaned.

V's heart lept out of his chest, he was so relieved. "Bea? Hey!" he got to his knees and put his hand on her face. "Hey, you're okay." 

Her eyes were dull, her face expressionless. She opened her mouth to speak, said nothing, and closed her eyes again.

"Shit," V mumbled. Of course it wouldn’t have been that easy. 

He sat back down and released the doll chip from the forceps into his hand and looked at it with the penlight. The white plastic was dark red and yellow from dried blood and plasma. The pistons in his fingers whirred as he crushed it in his palm.

"Now, what the hell did they do to you?" He opened up two analysis programs to run simultaneously. One would run a deep diagnostic using her biomonitor giving him a readout of any critical medical issues while the other would scan her cyberware and, most importantly, her core processor which connected and coordinated all cyberware functions. It would be the fastest way to get an idea of what was damaged and how badly, so he could run further diagnostics on the impacted components. He grabbed a rubbing alcohol wipe from his computer repair kit and opened it. Nibbles flicked her tail, annoyed with the strong scent. V carefully cleaned around Bea's neuralport, being careful not to get the open wounds around the chip slots lest he wake her up with the sting.

He pulled the neural cable out from his laptop and gently jacked it into Bea's port, hitting some keys on his laptop to start the scans. Nibbles stood up, stretched, walked in a circle, yawned, then settled back down onto Bea, loafing on her chest. V smiled, "You like her, huh?" V said softly. Nibbles opened one eye to look at him. "Yeah, I do too."

V crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back again the wall. He wanted to take the time while waiting for the scan to finish to clear his head, to let the adrenaline rush burn out. But every time he closed his eyes, Jackie's gore lay splattered across his retina. V took out his phone instead and opened a new text to Viper.

It had been too long since they spoke, but she had been Jackie's friend just like him. He wanted his friend. But did she want him? Their last fight had been about how he had abandoned her, and stopped returning her emails when she was in prison. He had tried to explain the Relic, that he had been hunted by Arasaka and couldn't risk telling her. But it didn't matter. What was done was done.

"Hey, Jackie's dead." He hovered his thumb over the send button.

His laptop dinged, indicating the scan was finished and V set his phone down. Various rows on the biomonitor scan flashed red or yellow. She had a lot of internal damage, but nothing that would kill her. There was deep bruising, bone splinters, her joints showed extreme wear and tear, and of course the inflamed and infected flesh around her personal link and chip slots. Nothing he could do about any of that right now. He saved a copy of the readout to send to Viktor later.

The system scan showed no malware but listed one anomaly. Bright red text flashed across the readout:

UNKNOWN CHIP DETECTED

V frowned. He had removed the doll chip; he had no idea what else could be in there. V opened up his command prompt and ran query after query to make the unknown chip known. Every single scan was either blocked or turned out the same errors. Could it just be software emulating physical hardware? Permanent chips slotted deep inside the skull weren't out of the ordinary, especially for corpo behavior and control soft, but those were in, like, bona fide corpos. Not random nomads.

A new message appeared.

UNKNOWN CHIP DETECTED

SOFTWARE INCOMPATIBLE WITH COPROCESSOR. PLEASE UPDATE OR UNINSTALL.

V tried to query the software on the chip and was met with the same denials. The last request he tried, he got the error message:

THE HABU VIPER

SILENTLY SLEEPS IN HER DEN

SHE'S MINE FOREVER

A sakura flower in a snake's mouth covered V's screen and the text behind it distorted and melted off the screen. He quickly jacked his laptop out and ran with it to the bathroom sink where he ripped it apart with his Gorilla Arms and filled the sink with water, soaking the components for good measure.

He knew a fucking 'Saka netrunner haiku virus when he saw it. They were usually used by wannabes and amateur analysts but he didn't feel like risking the time countering it.

V sat back down next to Bea. Was she an Arasaka corpo? Was his hypothesis about it being a permanent corpo chip correct? His instinct was screaming at him, going over all the past incidences that proved she had some tie to Arasaka. Her knowledge of Arasaka at the bunker, her caginess about her skills and history.

He'd loved Nate once, and he was a corpo…

V needed to jack directly into Bea's brain to figure out what the hell was going on. Sure, that was fine, no problem. He hadn't slept in over 24 hours, it would be a fucking breeze. V grabbed his phone and configured the killswitch for the tech in his apartment and the data in his head. If he flatlined for over one minute, it would all be erased.

"Sorry baby, gotta move you," V said to Nibbles. He gently pushed Bea closer to the wall so he could lie down next to her. Nibbles stood up and scolded him, but held firm through her wobbling. She sat back down and started cleaning herself. V next went to the kitchen and grabbed the six-hour ice pack he used for runs outside the chair, tossed it on the bed and took off his jeans and shirt. He turned on the fan in the middle of the room and set the AC as low as it would go. His skin prickled with goosebumps.

"You really gotta move now." V picked Nibbles up and she squirmed out of his arms and ran to the couch.

Direct links were risky. He, at least, had the higher risk of overheating due to the increased processing power his implanted cyberdeck required. Depending on what he found and what he had to do, Bea's own neuralware could be at risk. 

When he looked at her he wanted to cry. He felt nauseous seeing her in this weakened state. Forget the chip, he wanted to hold her. He finally had a chance to look at her in the light, and she was more than just the girl in the window. She was a force of fuckin’ nature. He’d seen her with her guts spilled out on the floor of a Raffen cage, her arms slashed to ribbons, her body beat to shit, and every time she bounced back. She’d be okay, then. She’d be fine.

She’s fine, she’s gonna be fine. She’ll be back and you’ll be together and everything will be okay. He choked back a sob. “Fuck! Focus, goddammit!” He rubbed his eyes and growled in frustration. “Get it the fuck together, V.” He looked back down at her, trying to see her as another puzzle to solve, a problem to hack, and not the woman he loves passed out with god knows what happening to her psyche. Should he change her clothes? She was still in the stupid black lingerie, more bloodstained now than before. He should put her into something clean and dignified. Dignified?

V put the ice pack back in the freezer while he dug through his closet for clean clothes and found a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers that he thought should fit her. Nibbles was already waltzing her way over to the bed and V shooed her back. He knelt down on the bed next to Bea and warmed his hands up, trying to decide where to start. His hand shook as he went to slide it beneath her body to unclasp her bra. His hand didn’t stop shaking when he pulled the bra off, refusing to recognize scabs in odd patterns around her nipples as bite marks.

After pulling the shirt down, he took the knife from his multi-tool and cut the panties at the hips on both sides so they’d easily slide out. He was careful when pulling the boxer briefs up past her ass, using tiny yanks to shimmy them up between her firm gluteus muscles and the bed. He neatened her hair as best he could and looked her over once more. Viktor would be able to fix the physical issues. V just had to get her conscious.

He grabbed the ice pack again and got into bed next to Bea. He placed a hand on her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers, "I'll get you out of there, even if it's the last thing I do." 

This had to work. Had to. Without Jackie, without Johnny, without Viper, Bea was the only person he thought he'd ever get as close to. The only person who'd understand him.

V rolled on his back and placed the ice pack across his bare chest and shivered, the contrasting warmth of Bea’s body next to him raised goosebumps across his flesh. V squeezed her hand, comfort for him rather than for her, and depressed her ring finger, gingerly prying the link out of its socket, being careful not to aggravate the skin around the implant even more. He took a few deep breaths, trying to regulate his breathing to keep his heart rate as low as possible for the dive. A tiny voice in the back of his head, his inner Rat he’d call it, told him not to do it, that it was too risky without a chair or at the very least a bathtub full of ice. But he didn’t care, he had to save her. On one final inhale, he jacked her link into his own neuralport.

A flare of static crossed his vision and his head pounded. He ripped out the plug and fumbled for the penlight again. He pulled the end of the link close to his face and saw fraying along the cable. "Fuck me," he mumbled.

He carefully spooled it back into her wrist and pulled his own cable out. The voice again screamed at him, telling him he would melt his brain and then they’d both be dead. But he had to save someone today.

V jacked into her neuralport and lay back down. He laced his fingers in hers and dropped into his interface. It made his stomach queasy, like the drop from a roller coaster, falling through the inky blackness. He lifted his hands inside his interface, palms facing up, and a series of icons for various programs floated around him. He tapped an icon with a magnifying glass to start the deep scanner, then tapped the one with a brain with a GPS pin sticking out of it to start the neuralnet mapping.

The mapper slowly turned the surrounding emptiness into a red wireframe office floor. He conjured a water cooler next to him and leaned against it, resting his elbow on top of it while he waited for the structure to finish.

An orange light flashed in the upper left corner of his vision, where his anti-malware program scrolled messages and alerts. It sensed an unidentified threat, minor but not insignificant. V tapped an icon of an ice cube wrapped in chains, which pulled up a submenu for deploying different layers of ICE. He tapped the third tier for a layer of black ICE around both he and Bea. He looked up at the orange light and thought for a moment, figured it was better safe than flatlined, and tapped the second tier, deploying a level of ICE around him alone. Should be enough to protect him from whatever was still in her brain.

The deep scan finished and V dismissed the water cooler. He was getting into the real work now, and while he always enjoyed his own cleverness at what he conjured in his interface, he couldn't waste the resources during a raw dive like this. With no way to monitor his vitals and control his temperature and respiration, he needed to conserve the strain on his brain. He probably should have been doing this on a terminal in the void but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to focus and remember all the commands.

A giant version of Arasaka's three-pronged logo flashed in front of V's face, shrank, and then began moving through the office building. He followed the logo, passing through different doors, hopping over cubicles representing other physical structures and neural systems the brain controlled. The logo stopped in front of a door labelled "LIMBIC SYSTEM". It pulsated for a few beats before dissipating.

V raised his hands, palms up again, but then flipped them down. Two sets of menus displayed on either side of him now: offensive quickhacks floated in a column on his left side, while a column of defensive programs floated on his right. He lowered his hands and they maintained their position, pinned to the edges of his retinal display.

He extended his ghostly hand and grasped the doorknob. It felt cold. It wasn't, really; it was just a trick of perception the brain pulled so you didn't lose your mind navigating a void lacking any sensation. He let go of the knob. Was he ready for this? Ready to know if she worked for Arasaka or not and what that would mean? 

Well, he had to save someone today.

He turned the knob and opened the door. 

Inside, a virtual construct of a Doberman sat on top of a wireframe desk. The red wireframe figure stood on all fours when V walked in, growling and snarling. He took a step closer. Unlike a realspace dog, he couldn’t read the body language of this one. The dog licked it chops with a green pixel tongue and V took another step closer. The dog leaped off the desk and lunged at him. It whined when it hit a wall made of red hexagons that bulged towards V. The ICE construct flattened and turned invisible as it pushed the dog back.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, motherfucker," V mumbled. An info screen from the deep scan displayed next to the construct:

ARASAKA

MILITARY CHIP

COMBAT ENHANCEMENT

MODIFIED PERSONALITY

KY NOTES: LEAN, MEAN KILLING MACHINE. MONITOR FOR UNWANTED EMOTIONS AND ADJUST PERSONALITY PARAMETERS AS NEEDED.

WARNING: INTERFERENCE DETECTED. REMOVE DOLL CHIP. RESTART MILITARY CHIP.

ALERT: SUBJECT IS INCAPACITATED. RESTART MILITARY CHIP IMMEDIATELY.

The dog lunged again, and a crack formed in the second tier of V's ICE. Shit shit shit. The fuck did all that mean? The doll chip was already removed, so where would this military chip even be? Her shard and chip slots were both clear now. And if he did find it, how was he supposed to restart it? And what would happen if he did restart it?

The dog snapped its jaws and pounced once more; the crack widened and red pixels broke off from the hexagons and flew into nothingness. This program was much stronger than he’d anticipated, but what the hell was it?

"You gonna just stand there or you gonna do something?" Johnny said.

Johnny?! V whirled around looking for where the voice came from, a stupid instinct, since he controlled his interface. But was that really him, or was it another trick of his perception? He didn't have time to investigate, however, as the dog lunged one last time and his ICE exploded. V stumbled back and the construct tackled him to the ground. V put his left arm against its neck as it snapped its jaws at him. The drool coming from the dog's wireframe mouth was made of green pixels that stung his arm when it fell onto him. Tiny red pixels disappeared wherever it touched, leaving gaps in his virtual form, a representation of the virus eating away at the firmware.

He'd seen some mean, offensive constructs in his time, but never one that directly attacked the BIOS like this. He cursed himself for his cockiness. He had gotten rid of the safeguards that would knock him out of his interface if the BIOS got borked shortly after he got the deck installed. He’d be extremely lucky if all he got was brain damage and not flatlined if his deck died.

V queued up the offensive hacks while he tried to move his right arm into place.

A black dog runs at my side

Down a road, no end in sight

The fuck? The Samurai song was deafening, reverberating throughout his interface. Music never played in his interface unless he conjured it himself or he got distracted and a song he had stuck in his head creeped in. It sounded crystal clear, like he was listening to it on the radio.

V got his left arm free but the dog's jaws clamped down onto his right arm before he could get it under the neck again. V slammed all three of the queued up offensive hacks into the construct. As the dog disintegrated, V watched in horror as his own arm followed suit. The pixels of his arm turned from red to green as the virus, spread through his virtual body.

"Showtime!" Johnny shouted into V’s ears.

The noise of a crowded club pierced V's ears, a guitar being tuned, the familiar sounds of a Malorian reloading. He looked around, looking for Johnny. Was he dying? Was this finally it? Was this his life flashing before his eyes? The life he shared with Johnny?

A bright light seared across his interface, disintegrating everything in its path. Only white static remained. It hadn't worked. It hadn't fucking worked! One or both of them were dead.

He'd failed Bea.

Black ink bled into the white, and the red wireframe interface began rebuilding itself. But the lines weren't solid. They vibrated, wiggled like plucked guitar strings, his interface remade from sound.

"Heeeere's Johnny!" Johnny, in full technicolor, not as a wireframe construct, appeared down the hallway and ran towards V at full speed with his arms outstretched. V's soul ached seeing his grin, and then Johnny's palms slammed into V's chest, throwing him backwards into the void. "Time to wake up, kid."

Chapter Text

V opened his eyes and jolted upright, banging his head on the top of his bed cubby. What the fuck? What the fuck? He took a few deep breaths to stop his hyperventilating and grabbed the ice pack that had fallen into his lap. It was completely melted after what he calculated must have been a three or four-hour dive. He shivered and turned the AC and fan off with the fire of a synapse. V dropped the ice pack to the floor and pulled his link out of Bea's head, brushing a stray hair from her face.

Please let this work. He rolled out of bed and grabbed another laptop off his workbench, making sure it still had charge. He jacked the laptop into Bea's port and ran diagnostics, anxiety bubbling low in his core as he watched the apps work. They all came up clean. No more unknown chip, no more errors.

V sighed in relief, but something still gnawed at him. He hadn't even done anything. There was no way any Arasaka virus would just let go that easily. He still needed to call Viktor, though. He could go digging around in Bea's brain later, now that her tech was stable. Nibbles bounded off the couch and jumped up on the bed, standing on V's pillow and sniffed Bea's hair. She sneezed twice and gingerly stepped onto Bea's chest, curling up in a ball.

V turned to get a glass of water and grabbed his head as a searing, pulsing pain ripped through his skull. "Fuck, fuck!" he choked out, dropping to his knees.

His lungs felt like they were filled with razor blades on every inhale. As he coughed and coughed, he felt his esophagus get ripped to shreds. Spitting blood out onto the linoleum, V collapsed onto his side and curled up, trying to catch his breath.

It had been two years since he had felt pain like this.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When his heart stopped pounding in his throat, he opened them again and screamed.

There was Johnny, crouched in front of him, staring down over his aviators at V.

A million thoughts crashed through his consciousness all at once. Is the Relic killing me again? Why is Johnny here? How the hell did this happen? Did Johnny actually push me? Am I dying? I don't want to die. Please, I don't want to die. Just as V had started to accept death, Johnny had disappeared and V had had two years to live. They hadn't been a good two years, but he was alive. And he had met Bea. I don't want to die.

V closed his eyes and focused on his breath, slipping back into the liminal space in his head that allowed him to communicate with Johnny directly.

<Wh—how are you here? And where the fuck have you been?> V opened his eyes and glared at the engram.

<Hell if I know. Where have you been?> Johnny stood up and walked around the apartment. It was like he had never left. V felt an aching, dull kind of pain thrumming in his chest as his emotions roiled and cascaded. Beneath the cacophony shone a white-hot spear of relief that sent warmth through every cell of his body: he had been made whole.

V sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. <Enjoying life without you.>

Johnny laughed and it echoed in his skull. Goosebumps traveled up V's spine. He'd missed that sound. <We both know that's not true. As soon as I popped back in I got all caught up.> Johnny leaned against the window next to V's bed, conjured a cigarette and lit it. <You naughty boy, tsk tsk. You should do hard drugs like a man to cope with your abandonment issues instead of any disease-riddled joytoy hole you can find.>

V rolled his eyes which made his head hurt. <Not you too, I get it enough from…> He trailed off, tears welling up.

Johnny flicked his cigarette into nothingness. He walked back over to V, knelt down and put his hand on V's shoulder. The construct wasn't really there, wasn't actually corporeal, but the Relic controlled his perception to make him think it was. And it worked. He leaned into Johnny, quieting a sob to not wake Bea while Johnny embraced him. One best friend gone forever, another returned.

It was more than that. They were brothers in arms; they shared the deepest parts of themselves with each other whether they liked it or not. Johnny disappeared with a digital whisper once V had calmed down. His ribs hurt from his dry heaving and he went to his kitchenette to find sustenance. He tore open the first protein bar he found, not bothering to check the expiration date, and took a vitamin-packed juice cocktail from his emergency stash in the mini-fridge. Deep dives always left him famished.

He soaked a towel under the faucet in his bathroom and wiped up his bloody puke with his foot while he continued eating. Nibbles was still fast asleep, rocked comfortably by Bea's steady, rising and falling chest. V didn't want to die. If there was good in the world, if Hashem really existed…he couldn't die. Not yet. Please, not yet.

In the shower he stared at his feet, letting the hot water do its work on his neck and shoulders, waiting for the tension to leave. He cried, quietly at first, before collapsing to the floor and curling up in a ball, hugging his legs to his chest as he sobbed. Images of his short life with Jackie played in his head, interspersed with flashes of his blood and skull fragments. Playing basketball as kids, becoming friends again through Kurt, moving in with Mama Welles, moving out on his own, their first gigs together, klepping the Relic, nearly dying. V cried until he couldn't cry anymore. Cried until he felt empty, staring at nothing while the water ran cold.

When he started to shiver, he reached a hand up and slapped the faucet, turning the water off. He took a deep, shuddering breath to compose himself and got dressed, grabbing a clean blanket from his closet. He slid into bed next to Bea and draped the blanket over them and Nibbles. The cat opened her eyes and chirped at him, crawling out from under the blanket. She sniffed his face, licked his nose once, then settled back on Bea's chest again.

He was exhausted but couldn't sleep. He kept watch over Bea, occasionally checking her pulse and scanning her vitals. She appeared to be actually sleeping, not just unconscious. He hoped that was an improvement. He'd call Viktor first thing tomorrow.

He closed his eyes, listening to Bea's steady breathing and Nibbles's light snoring.

"J-Jackie?" Bea slurred.

V opened his eyes. "Oh shit, Bea! You're awake!"

"Whe—where's Jackie?" Her voice was dry, scratchy, and weak.

Fuck. He didn't know if he should tell her now or wait.

<Tell her now, easier to take the pain at all once.>

V swallowed and turned Bea's face to look at him. She licked her lips and opened her eyes. "I…uh…" V sighed. "J-Jackie is gone, Bea." His voice cracked.

Bea frowned. "Okay. When will he be back?"

<Oh, Bea,> Johnny said. A metal hand appeared and stroked her hair.

V placed his hand on her cheek. "Bea, he's dead."

"Oh," Bea yawned. "Okay." She closed her eyes and quickly fell back to sleep.

God dammit.

V watched Bea until light came in through the closed blinds. He was antsy and restless, even though his body was screaming for rest, and he got up and sat down on the couch. He called Viktor.

"V? Clinic ain't even open yet. What's wrong?" V didn't think Viktor was actually old enough to be his dad, but it felt like it sometimes.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" V asked, keeping his voice low.

"No, just making coffee. What do you need?"

"Vik, Johnny is back."

Viktor was silent for a few moments and V heard a light switch click followed by Viktor appearing on holo, V switched his own display so Viktor could see him.

"Damn, kid. Two years." Viktor shook his head. "Well, how're you feeling? Relic attacks started up again? Seeing and talking to your parasite?" Viktor chugged his coffee and stood up.

"Fine, yes and yes. But that's not why I'm calling," V said. "I need you to make a house call."

"Can you make it down to the clinic? I'll be there soon." Viktor was already out the door.

"Uh, it's not for me. I got someone here I need you to check on," V blushed when he looked over at Bea. "Can't give you more detes over the phone but," V rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. "Look, I'll owe you."

"You'll owe me a fucking check-up and a few brain scans after."

V gave a halfhearted chuckle. "Deal."

After they hung up, he laid on the couch, trying to sleep. But his brain wouldn't quiet down. He paced in front of his bed instead. He wanted Bea to wake up, wanted her to miraculously be fine and be herself again.

When Viktor buzzed, V bolted to the front door. A little out of breath he said, "She's on my bed."

"She?" Viktor raised an eyebrow.

"Not like that. Just fucking check her, would you? Here, I took a bioscan earlier." V flicked the file to Viktor.

Viktor set his kit down on the bedside table and nodded towards the cat. "You mind?"

V picked Nibbles up. She meowed and he had to pick her claws out of the blanket.

"Thanks, now, would you mind stepping back?"

V walked to the weapons room and Nibbles jumped out of his arms. She glared at him, right up until the autofeeder dinged and dumped out her breakfast. V shut the door to the weapons room and paced, reviewing his work. Her brain should be good. She'd spoken and she'd slept. She should be fine. Just fine. Just fucking peachy.

He jumped when he heard Bea scream followed by Viktor yelling, "Yeah, yeah, go back to sleep."

V sat down on the floor and gently banged his head against the door.

The autofeeder had gone off for Nibbles' lunch when Viktor finally knocked on the weapons room door. Viktor waved him to the couch and sat next to him.

"First of all, who the hell is she?"

"Friend, 'nother merc I did a gig with," V didn't look at Viktor when he answered.

"A 'friend', right. Well, your 'friend' is in rough shape. She'll be okay, physically. But, Christ V, the hell happened?"

V sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Does it matter?"

"It does if you want me to be her doctor." Viktor failed to hide his annoyance.

V closed his eyes and leaned back. "Just, some fucker at a doll club. Had her for over a month."

Viktor stood up and sighed. "Figured it was something like that." He walked back over to the bed and continued working on Bea.

V got up and started pacing again. Nibbles, happy with a full belly, wove between his legs tripping him. He slipped and fell on the floor, too tired to get up again.

It wasn't long before Viktor returned, looking down at him. "Surface stuff is fine. She'll have a few scars. Internally?"

V sat up quickly and Viktor motioned for V to follow him to the weapons room and shut the door. They talked for over an hour. Viktor described the damage to her reproductive organs and the non-invasive procedure he had performed. The sedative he had given her would wear off in an hour. She shouldn't lift anything more than ten pounds in the next couple of days, but the structural cyberware he had inserted was already filling in the gaps left by her missing organs. She would be back to running and gunning in about 48 hours.

"Wait, missing? You said it was non-invasive." V frowned.

"Yes, technically non-invasive, as in I didn't have to crack her open."

<You're gonna kill the fucker that did this, right V? Scum like that don't deserve to live.>

<One thing at a time.>

"You should tell Jackie," Viktor said. "He needs to know."

After what V had heard, he was too full of rage to cry again. How many times would he have to say it? His voice broke. "He's gone Vik. He's fucking gone."

"Goddamit," Viktor said, quietly. He put his arm around V and squeezed. "I'm so sorry, kid." Viktor looked at V for a moment before pulling him into a hug. V squeezed tighter than he'd meant to and heard a small grunt inside the aging boxer's body. Viktor kissed the top of his head before V pulled away. "I'll tell Misty and Mama Welles. Let me know where he is and I'll take care of it."

When Viktor finally left, V lay back down with Bea. She was lying on her side and he put his arm around her, closing his eyes. He felt like he could finally sleep.

"V?" Bea said quietly. Her voiced sounded better, stronger.

"Hey, yeah, I'm here." He took his arm off her and Bea rolled over to look at him. Her eyes were pink and puffy under the yellowing bruises, but the green of her irises was brighter.

Bea propped herself up on one elbow and looked down, fidgeting with her hands. "What happened to me?"

He wondered how much he should tell her, but decided he owed her all of it. He took a deep breath and started with what he knew about what had happened at Mr. Nobody's. Bea filled in the missing pieces she could remember. When he told her about Jackie and what Viktor had said. She just listened patiently, a contemplative look on her face.

"And now, we're here. At my place," he said. He bit his lip, waiting for the worst, for her to cry, to scream, to hit him, to leave.

Bea moved closer to him, curling up into his chest and putting her head under his chin. Her hair was still greasy and the bubblegum smell from the club made him queasy, but he didn't care. She was alive and she was here. He put his arms around her and couldn't tell if she was crying or shivering until his chest felt hot and wet. Finally, he fell asleep.

When they awoke the next day, V was on his back and Bea had her arm around him, her head on his chest. Nibbles was loafing, nestled in the curve of her waist. He felt Bea's breasts pressing against his skin where his shirt had ridden up in his sleep.

Now is not the fucking time. He didn't want to risk another untimely biological reaction. He carefully lifted her arm and she opened her eyes. "Sorry, was trying not to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"I've been awake for a few hours." Bea sat up, dislodging Nibbles from her Bea-shaped throne, and winced from the slight pain in her abdomen.

"Easy now." V sat up and put his hand on her arm.

"I need to shower. Will you help me?" Bea looked up at him with a sheepish smile. The right corner of her mouth quirked up, like she was trying to control a smirk.

Willing every sex hormone in his body to chill the fuck out, he nodded and stood up, extending his hand to her. She slid to the edge of the bed and grasped it tightly as he helped her up. She hobbled to the shower with him and leaned against the wall while he turned the water on and waited for it to get warm.

"I'm glad you're here," Bea said, so softly he almost didn't hear it.

He shook his hand off once the water was warm enough and turned to her. "Yeah, no problem."

<Oh, very smooth.>

<Fuck off, Johnny.>

<Missed you too.>

Bea was able to take her own shirt off but when she tried to bend over to remove the boxers, she wobbled and almost fell. V yanked them to the floor in one movement and helped her into the shower where she sat on the floor. V stepped into the shower, still in his own shirt and boxer briefs. Bea frowned at him and made a vague hand gesture he could only interpret as requesting he undress as well.

"Don't judge me," he said when he sat down next to her. "But all I have is 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. This shit will make your curls frizzy as fuck, I'm afraid."

Bea laughed, then groaned from the pain. She turned so her back faced him and pulled all her hair back behind her, tilting her head back. V ran his hands through her hair, gently detangling her curls with his fingers. She leaned back further and looked at him.

The fire had returned to her eyes, color to her cheeks, and she smiled at him. His heart raced as he kissed her forehead. There was a millisecond of a frown and a faltering smile and V's stomach lurched. He felt like he had done something wrong—got Jackie killed—and he'd never be forgiven by the universe. He lathered and warmed his hands up, washing her hair and massaging her scalp.

After, he helped her up to stand. She had gotten her upper half clean herself but couldn't bend over. V breathed faster as he tried and failed to control the involuntary physiological reaction to being so close to the part of Bea's body that made his mouth water most. She was zoned out and didn't notice. Thank god for small mercies.

He made sure she was fully rinsed off and grabbed a towel off the rack. He dried her then wrapped the towel around her and walked her back to his bed. He got dressed in jeans and a plain black t-shirt, then dug around in his closet and drawers. He tossed some options on the bed next to her. An ancient oversized Us Cracks shirt, his favorite Samurai t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs or regular boxers. He turned around to give her some privacy.

Bea cursed as she tried to get up. "Hey, help me." V turned around. She was wearing the Samurai shirt and had his boxer briefs up to her thighs.

"Damn, that's my favorite shirt," he teased. He gave her his hand to help her stand and with her arms on his shoulders to steady herself he pulled them up the rest of the way. She sat back down with an overly dramatic sigh.

"I am hungry and would like a change of scenery," Bea declared. She stood up on her own and her eyes widened as she quickly sat back down. She blushed and looked away from him.

V crossed his arms. "Are you telling me you've been able to walk this whole fuckin' time?" He wasn't mad. He enjoyed taking care of her.

Bea smirked. "The pain was real. But…yeah." She looked back at him and stood up again, walking to the couch. She sat down and Nibbles laid in her lap, purring away.

V scrounged up some bread and butter and made her some toast, grabbing an orange juice from the mini fridge.

"Hey, so, I had to go poking around in your head," V said as he handed the plate to Bea and sat down. "That doll chip had some virus I had to remove. But it was weird. It was something about an Arasaka military chip. Do you know anything about that?"

Bea's face blanched. "No, but…no it must have been related to the doll chip. I mean, I don't have a doll port. They just shoved some homebrew shit in there when Frederick got hold of me."

V shook his head. "Nah, this was vicious. I can make some calls and see what we can find out."

Bea shook her head vigorously. "No, it's probably nothing. It was probably just something with the doll chip Frederick did."

It was not the doll chip and she was being fucking cagey again.

<She's an Arasaka corpo, V!>

<No, she's not.>

<Think with your head and not with your cock for once, V! She's playing you.>

V didn't press further. He had errands to run today, anyway. The hardware shop had texted him yesterday, they had gotten some upgrades and deamons in stock that he had been waiting for and they'd only hold them for another few hours. "I gotta go run some errands. You gonna be okay alone for a couple hours?"

Bea nodded. "I'd like to go back to my place when you're back, though."

V nodded. "Oh, of course, yeah. Call me if you need me and I'll run right back here, okay?" He'd kill for her, he'd die for her, and he'd lose out on some preem gear for her.

He stood up and Bea followed him to the door, Nibbles jumping off her lap with an annoyed grunt.

He turned around to look at her and she hugged him, a little forcefully. She squeezed tightly and he quietly sighed and held her. He felt every muscle in her body relax, melting in his arms. He didn't want to leave her, ever. But he wanted to give her some time to process and decompress. If the hug was any indication, they'd be cuddling on the couch as soon as he got back.