Much to my amazement, Jackie had it right again, and V adapted to the edge runners' life pretty well. I should have realized that a counterintelligence agent of Arasaka will carry some good chrome, and will have the skills to stood above the common posers on the street.
In the beginning, she lived with Jackie and Mama Welles. V was an old friend of the family, and they welcome her with open arms, hardly a surprise, and Jackie took upon himself the task of guide V through the edge. Showing her around, teaching her who's who on the street, and the life on the edge.
V was very wary of me at the beginning, something that amused Jackie a lot, the woman believed that I was bidding my time before I put her in a sack and deliver her to the scavengers or something. But niet, that was none of my intentions. Jackie added her to our little crew, and I had no problem with that. Among the edge runners crews, having trusted choombattas covering your back was always a blessing.
It took almost six months, more or less, for V to get the pulse of NC, and adapt to it. Sure enough, her experience with Arasaka Counter-Intel was very valuable on the streets, and I had to admit that she was a gato worthy of her weight in gold. In the past, Jackie was the one that negotiated most of the gigs that we took together, the former Valentino was a suave charmer, and knew his way around Heywood.
V took the role of the face of the team like a fish to the water, and I was nova with it. I was not a talker, but a cybered-up rip-and-tear cyborg. If the gorgeous girl wanted to take the spotlight, all for the better. That being said, V was more a Netrunner kind of girl than a real field agent, but with the chrome that she sported, she was more than capable of put up quite the fight against any opposition.
We started to take jobs, as a crew, all over Night City. Starting with the Valentinos, and going up on the districts. Except for Pacifica and Corpo Plaza, we stood clear of those two places, they were hot zones, and not only because the former was a declared combat zone, and the latter was the same but without admitting it, but because of the kind of cred that the gigs at Pacifica will give us was the kind of cred that we wanted to avoid.
I do not want to be Slovuch Smasher 2.0, spacibo.
Of course, when our shared career started, we have a couple of hiccups. It was to be expected, Jackie and I had the same at the beginning. One bad gig, lacking coordination because we were not accustomed to working together, different opinions about the gig, and the fixers, the usual. All crews have those problems whenever they form, or a new edgerunner joins the party.
Curiously enough, even if V was a former Arasaka, our common distaste for the Japanese corporation ended up helping us to get closer.
V knew that Arasaka was a bunch of racist assholes, that a gaijin like her had it severely hard to get anywhere inside of the corpo, that she will always be a second-rate corpo in front of any pure blood Arasaka, no matter the merits. In my case, Arasaka has been the source of the bigger clusterfucks in my life, and my beef with them has not diminished in the slightest over time.
Our work together became smoother with time and continued gigs. From extractions to guns for hire, we were able to adapt to most of the jobs. But we were conscious that in front of the crews that operated from the Afterlife, we were small potatoes. Night City is immense, there are entire cities inside of NC. The megabuildings almost had their ecosystem, with gangs taking control of entire layers, and in a war between themselves before the NCPD took matters into their own hands.
The roles of our crew were soon defined. The face, and more than once Netrunner, was V, with Jackie and I taking the merc and techie spots. Do you want to rig a wheel?. Jackie is your choomba. You want to build, customize and pilot a drone?. I am your choomba. The three of us covered most of our weaknesses pretty well.
Between drinks, and post-gig celebrations at the Coyote and other bizs around town, we started to get more closer. Well, Mama Welles already considered us her niños, so we were almost a small little odd family.
Jackie dreamed big, he wanted to be a Night City Legend, to be at the level of Silverhand, Boa-Boa, and the others. V was slowly adopting that dream for herself, especially when she dug a bit around the Net, and deepened her knowledge of the so-called Queen of the Afterlife.
Rogue Amendiares was a legendary fixer, one that stood at the side of Johnny Silverhand, Shaitan, and others when they nuked the Arasaka Tower. Since then, she turned to the life of the fixer, and since then, she grew into the top fixer of NC. Nothing happens on the street without her knowing, or approval.
V almost saw herself in that spot, a new queen for the Afterlife. After all, Rogue is quite the old lady, almost eighty years old, and at some point, she will want to retire and let her biz to an adequate successor.
In my case?. Niet the slightest idea about what the fuck do I want.
Do not take me wrong, is just that I am happy as I am. I have a crazy family, I have eddies, I have my chrome up and running, I can eat Mama Welles home cuisine weekly, I have a hole where to rest my head between gigs, and in the future, I will buy my AV.
Who knows?. Maybe I will take again the Panzerboy gig, and became a courier/driver for edge runners. But that will make more money than I have, and for the moment that is nothing but a dream for the future.
Jackie already knew the tale, but V was quite surprised that I was a panzerboy. It is a running rumor, that most of the veterans of the Metal Wars ended up flatlined due to the PSTD that the Unification wars left on them. Those that were not re-drafted in by the NUSA forces, and were abandoned, or, like my skeleton claimed, dishonorably discharged, ended up like the 6th Street, going psychocyborg, or with the Nomads.
Once the barriers between us lowered, I found myself quite attracted to V.
I mean, she tickled all my boxes. A bombshell red-haired woman, with enough curves to make dolls look like clumsy donkeys, and an unrelenting will to get her objectives no matter the obstacles. The only problem is that she always tried a way of minimal resistance, lessons from her boss at Arasaka, and that could lead to problems in the future.
"You sure about this Hammer?", asked V to me, when we stood on the firing range that she had on the Megabuilding where she had her apartment.
"Da", was my direct answer.
"Why?", she questioned back. "I mean, I am not aiming to become Morgan Blackhand".
"Niet, you are not", I agreed with her. "But you need to know your way about a gun, and you depend way too much of your combat soft".
V grimaced but did not deny my arguments.
"And you can not get me a combat shard or something?", V raised an eyebrow.
"Real life expertise, way better", I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest, before pointing to the shooting range. "Now get to it, chop, chop".
"I hate you", she protested, but took stance on the range, load her Unity, and started to shoot.
V and I stood on the firing range biz that she had on her Megabuilding. The construction was almost a city on its own, filled to the brim with all kinds of business. Fuck, people can live their entire lives in here without any need of going outside; in the Netrunners case, that has been proved to be a fact.
Even after all this time on the streets, V has not abandoned her corporate style of clothing. V was a small neomilitarism fashionista, and has kept her clothing close to her former corpo life but with her colors and personal spin on it.
Breathable reinforced bio-cotton corporate slacks that hugged her toned, perfect legs, almost painted on her amazingly sculpted posterior; carbonweave silk corporate shirt with a harness for her gun, harness that only showed off her, natural, double Ds, with a red tie trapped between those celestial orbs; and ergonomic reinforced corporate evening shoes. She usually dressed in red, green, white, and gold. Running a bit from the Arasaka black and red patterns.
Da, she was fucking hot, and her attitude only made her even more attractive.
More than one Valentino had tried their hand at seducing her, but V pulled quite the trick, and participated in the Valentino conquest meetings, seducing women like the best of them. Oddly enough, they loved her all the more for that and named her honorable Valentino for seducing the youngest daughter of a Biotechnica's board director. Not to mention that V was bisexual, men and women are the same for her.
The worst of all is that she has convinced me; don't know how; to adapt her clothing style, wanting to present a "professional" appearance. Jackie was adamant in never suit up unless the gig demanded it, his street style was perfect for a suave gato like him; literal quote from Jackie; when Jackie demonstrated that he was not going to cave, V turned to me, and I swear to god that she smiled like the cat that ate the canary.
End of the day, I was sporting a completely carboweave silk corporate shirt, with a reinforced synth-leather gun harness for my guns, reinforced corporate racers, reinforced combat bots, and a pair of aviator sunglasses, all in black colors, with a trilayer aramid-weave combat coat or a heavy shock-absorbent jacket, depending on the situation.
The entire day expended in being used as a dressing doll. I am still trying to comprehend how the fuck did I ended like that.
And much to my eternal shame, I dig the clothes. V was smiling with a smug smile for an entire month, but most of the choombas that we hang out with admitted that I filled the suit pretty well, and the ladies of the Mox, albeit on her particular crude style, never stop catcalling me and demanding some "hammer time".
"Not bad, V", I smiled at her, and read the result at the holo screen of the firing range.
V smiled genially and reloaded the gun. Something that I have noticed, is that V is a perfectionist. If something is of her interest, she tries to be as best as she could on that.
"Let's try something a bit different", sending a command to the firing range. A series of Arasaka holo goons started to run all over the firing range.
"Have fun", I let her have her fun shooting down holographic copies of the gonk that almost zeroed her at the Lizzie's.
The smile of V was fierce, it was obvious that she was having a blast taking her holographic pound of flesh of the holo-gonks. In the sixth months, V has become a very competent fighter, and I know well because Jackie and I have trained her; not to mention Coach Fred, that has taught V some good and valuable lessons in the art of smashing the face of the enemy.
The coach was trying to convince V to take some championships fights all over the city, that the girl had the talent to be a preem boxer, and I agree. The problem is that V is a preem boxer, but not a preem street fighter. Boxing is limited, constricted to the ring, and the rules. In the street, in real combat, rules are thrown out of the window, torched with Hydro, and buried with extreme prejudice. And that's without the impossible shit that cybered up gonks can pull out of their asses. But boxing was the perfect way for V's body to always be in top shape, so if she ever wanted to go for the championship, I will be on her corner all the way.
V stopped shooting and I recognized the blue tint of her eyes. She must be taking a call. Soon, the uplink of a call pinged my HUD, the caller was Jackie, and V wanted me to be on the conversation.
"Hammer, V, how is your date going?", saluted the cheerful man, half-joking, half-serious.
Do Niet ask me why, but every choomba and their mothers were convinced that V and I were a couple?. It was pretty odd because I am convinced that the choombas of the hod has seen me stuffit with Rita on more than one occasion, how some of the joy-toys and dolls of the Valentinos considered me a badge of honor, etc. With that in mind, how come they think V and I were a thing?.
"Ey, Jackie, I am with Hammer at the firing range of my megabuilding", replied V ignoring the date joke. "The komrade thought I needed more gun practice".
"Practice makes perfection". It was the truth.
"Somehow, with Hammer being the porky that he is, I can see why he would have taken you to such a place for a date", laughed Jackie, "but I am with Hammer on this one, iron practice is always a good practice, chica".
"Hate you too", grumbled V.
"Anyhow, I have biz", changed the tone of the conversation, Jackie. "Wakako Okada, from Japantown, has given me a call, she has a gig for us, today".
"Okada, she is the top fixer of Westbrock", mumbled V, chewing her lower lips in thought. "This can be a good thing for us, if we got on her good graces, she will open the gates of Westbrock for us".
"That's what I thought", nodded Jackie.
"Shit, if it is today, I'm out". Sadly, I had another gig today. "Today, I have the gig with Mr. Hands".
"You can take the gig alone?", asked V, to me.
"Da, it is a pretty straightforward gig, I can do it alone", I nodded. "You two take Okada's gig, that takes priority, I will deal with ".
"Sorry, ese", apologized Jackie.
"Niet, no problem". I shook my head. "I will end it quickly, and try to join you".
"Sounds like a plan", smiled V. "I will give a call to Okada, let's see what she wants".
After saying my goodbyes, I took a cab to my home at H1; Delmain, always; and after gearing up for the gig, I took the elevator to the garage, and picked up the bike that I had for solo gigs. An Apollo cycle that I had customized a bit. Mostly a sheath for a DB-4 Igla shotgun, reinforced frame and wheels, and bigger storage space.
Checking that I have all my gear lock and load, I gave a call to to confirm the provided route and drove my bike out of the garage and into the streets of Night City. It took me a bit of time to reach the target of this gig.
was a fixer from Pacifica and dealt with gigs of that district. However, the place was a combat zone, a war between the Voodoo boys, the Animals, and, if the rumors are true, Netwatch. The place was a mess, gang violence, and drug trafficking is the bread and butter of the district, but the locals had accustomed to it.
One could think that in such a lawless zone, biz will be booming, but the fact is that the locals did not like outsiders, and without the approval of the Voodoo boys, or the locals, no one is allowed in the zone. Usually, that would be the end of any of my crew attempts to do biz in Pacifica, neither of us had contacts there, and neither of us wanted anything to do with the Voodoo boys.
Still, Mr. Hands needed an outsider for this particular job, a fodder from Heywood, as the target was moving into and out of that zone. Hands gave a call to Padre, Padre gave a call to V, and I was on my way to ambush my target and vaporize it to kingdom come.
A van of the Animals, filled to the brim with "juice", the steroid-like drug that they use to enhance their bodies to inhumane levels, will be driving down from an illegal laboratory on Vista del Rey, all the way to Pacifica. Hands wanted the van, and the Animals inside, eliminated.
The Animals had set up shop in the Grand Mall of Pacifica, under the command of their Alpha, Sasquatch; true name Matilda K Rose; and have started a gang war with the Voodoo boys. Why?. No one had the slightest idea, but sure as hell people would like to know what the fuck are the Animals waging war like that.
The supposed route of the van was marked on my HUD, along with the tracker that Hands had on the van that the Animal used. I had zero doubts that this gig came from the Voodoo boys, using Hands to hire an outsider and get their hands clear of any repercussion. But I did not care, the gig was straightforward enough, and the pay was good.
After a bit, my optics located the van, driving quite boldly down the roads of Vista del Rey, and I rev up my Apollo to reach the van before they abandon the sub-district of Heywood, and started compiling a demon to hack in the van's systems. Even if the vehicle was an old jalopy, it had an OS, that I could hack, and stop the van.
Quickly calculating the options, I sent the quick hack to the van, making it crash and shut off, just at the time that they reached a traffic light. With the sudden crash of the ancient OS of the vehicle, the Animals at the driver seat, was busy cursing and pounding the machine to make it work, so she did not care much for the biker that has parked at her side.
Until said biker picked up his shotgun, introduce it through the open window of the van, and blasted the head of the ganger into a shower of gore, reinforced bone, and cranial fluids all over the front of the van. Unless the gonk had some serious armor under the skin, she was fucked. I have emptied two twelve-gauge explosive bullets at point-blank, against the back of her head, which tends to be enough to put any gonk six feet under unless some heavy chrome is involved.
The sudden, and explosive demise of the driver, shocked the Animals inside of the van, not expecting any attack, neither such brutal and quick death of one of them, supposedly way stronger and sturdier than the average gonk out there.
Taking a couple of grenades, I toss them into the van, and drive my bike ahead of the van, taking distance from the explosion. Ten seconds later, the Animals were already rushing out of the van, carrying whatever juice container they can hold in their big hands. The insides of the van exploded, tossing that chemical all over the windows and the open doors, jumping a bit on the hair for the explosive force.
One of the two surviving Animals saw me, and decided to charge me, so, I reload my shotgun, took aim, blown up his knee, and when he lost balance and fall face-first into the concrete, I pulled the trigger again, making a big chunk of the back of his head go flying all over the asphalt.
The remaining ganger continued running with the juice, so I whipped my custom RT-46, let my cyber optics do their job, and pulled the trigger, burying a bullet on the back of the neck of the running ganger. The electrically charged bullet pierced the enhanced flesh of the ganger, shattered his dense vertebrae, and make him fall forward like a puppet with his strings cut.
Sheathing my revolver, I reloaded my shotgun and scanned the fallen gangers, and the van, just in case there was someone still agonizing, or some of the three gonks that I have killed were still breathing. I severely doubted any of these gonks had a Trauma Team contract, but better be on the safe side of the equation.
The van was already burning and smoking, due to the combination of the explosion of the grenades, the juice, and the hydro of the fuel tank. Putting my shotgun back into the bike's harness, I recorded the wreckage, and the corpses scan, and drive out of the crime scene. Thanks to the bugs that I had on the NCPD systems, I knew that someone has given a call to the NCPD and that a patrol was on their way.
Quickly calculating a route out of the way of the patrols around, I dodged them and opted to drive into some of the secure zones of the district. Even in this lawless concrete jungle, there are places where everyone tried to be civil as possible, or, better said, where getting the iron out was never the first option.
Parking my bike near one of the natural parks that the Arasaka Waterfront has, I gave a call to as I light a cigar. Biotechnica outdid themselves when they managed to cultivate genetically altered tobacco. They even marketed flavored varieties. I was smoking a "Real Man" cigarette of that brand, meaning it was jalapeno flavored tobacco. Spicy, I will give them that, next I will buy a chocolate one; for a change of peace.
It was impossible for anyone that was not an Arasaka employee to get in the waterfront, but the parks were open to anyone, as long as the gonks did not get too close to the corporate zone. It suited me just fine, I only wanted a small corner to have a chat with Mr. Hands, and none of the usual gonks of Watson will bother me here.
Giving the net-exclusive fixer a call, I attached a small recording with the corpses scan, and the visuals of the scrapped van, to reassure that I have done the job. Mr. Hands was very satisfied with the results, and due to how fast I have completed the gig, and how determined I have been to eliminate all the targets, he throws a small extra on the eddies of the reward.
After a bit of small talk, and promises of future biz, I closed the call with my net account being 3K eddies richer. Now that was a nice profit.
With the gig concluded, I look out for Jackie and V contacts, if they were locked, means that they are in the middle of the gig of Okada, and I will have to wait. Much to my annoyance, they were locked, so I decided to get close to Kabuki, the location where the gig was, supposedly, taking place.
From the waterfront, it was just a small drive to Kabuki, stopping in front of the edge of the district and checking that the comms of my crew are still locked. They were not, and I drop a line to V. Jackie will be with her unless something wrong has happened.
"The gig of Hands is done, how's yours V?". The icon of V accepted my call.
"Perfect timing, Hammer", chuckled Vi through the call. "We have also finished the gig".
"Putos Carroñeros", grumbled Jackie joining the call. "These guys are psychos, I tell you".
"Scavengers, I take", I snarled. It was no secret that I took a bit of pride in my Russian ancestry, and seeing the Scavs walked around as if they were the bloody organiskaya, make my artificial blood boil.
"Yeah, them". Nodded V. "We were about to take my car, and get back home. Sending you the coordinates".
"Ah, speaking of that, can I borrow your wheels, V?", suddenly asked Jackie. "I have a date with Misty, and my bike is at the garage".
"Let the komrade, have the car", I set the bike to the coordinates that V has sent to me. "I am with my Apollo, I will give V a ride back home".
"You two", huffed V. "Okay, Jackie, but don't get accustomed".
After joining the other two, I give V one of the spare biker helmets that I always carry on the storage slot of my Apollo. The helmet was the civilian version, but with a bit extra armor, and a neuroconnector slot to run comms through the glass.
The crew separated again, this time for more pleasant business, and I drive V back to her home. We talked about our gigs during the ride, using the holo to keep a conversation without the noises of the city interrupting. For a pilot like me, it was pretty easy to drive and keep a conversation; I was accustomed to driving hover tanks, and AVs, in the past, the sensory overload of those systems soon makes the pilots grow very efficient at multitasking, and have a thousand eyes on everything.
What we did not expect was the roads blocked by a police blockade. That was unusual, but when we stop on an interdiction, we were the first-row witness of the brutality and efficiency of the MAX-TAC in action. The black AV-9 that was the mark of the house, descended over a bunch of poor gonks, a metalganger pose that was exterminated in ten seconds by the psycho squad of the NCPD.
A shiver ran down my spine when I saw Melissa jump down the AV, and empty a Militech Crusher in the face of the metalganger. She must be pissed, and not considering the gonks worthy of the effort, is she has not taken out her Mantis Blades yet.
Lieutenant Melissa Rory, a senior member of MAX-TAC.
Mel was a cyberpyscho; one of the poor gonks that suffered from malfunctions from the Higurashi 20-13 Mantis Blades; that the MAX-TAC managed to capture alive and draft into the psycho squad. Two years before the NCPD did the same to me, she was already on her way to climb the ladder, though, her psycho tendencies have not diminished in the slightest, just re-routed for a love of the hunt.
Da, Mel and I were close, if that's what you are asking, that's why I felt the shiver down my chrome spine. Fortunately, it would be impossible for Mel to recognize me with my helmet on, and my net skeleton completely different from anything that she knew from the old me.
V felt the shiver and asked what's was wrong, I lied a bit, telling her that the MAX-TAC is the true apex predator of the city, and I fear the day that they were sent after my ass. I was not nearly close to psychosis. The point is, that I felt saner than I have ever felt in my life. But there is always the chance of a gig going south and end up with the psychos after your ass.
Despite my shadow link to the NCPD network, the intervention of the MAX-TAC in front of me was just an unexpected occurrence. They were on route to another job, and when they saw the metalgangers shooting out, they decided to have a quick snack. Quote from the mission report on their network, I swear to god.
Anyhow, with the NCPD locking down the hood, and knowing where and who was at the blockades, I drive V and me through the adequate streets, until we reached the garage spot of V's apartment on Megabuilding H10. Parking my bike there, I joined V in the elevator of the megabuilding.
I could have sent my Apollo back to my garage at H1, the AI of the machine was advanced enough for that, but with the police blockade ongoing, the last thing I needed was for a burned-out cop to shot my bike. I had grenades, ammo, a custom shotgun, and several other things on my bike that I would prefer to keep, spacibo.
The blockade put a damp in my plans to drive back to H1, so V waved my worries, and let me crash on her couch for the night. Out of gratitude, I picked up the task of going to her favorite food stall on the H10 and pick up her favorite synth dish. We would have killed someone for Mama's cooking, but the available industrial food was all that we had at hand at the moment.
In the meantime that I am picking up the grub, V will be taking a shower at her apartment.
She was the one that has been gallivanting through corpses, and she can not entirely shake off the sensation of the body of the target, Sandra Dorsett, a Night Corp corpo. The Cold, cut-up meat of the corpo girl, the cruelty, and disregard of the Scavs for her body, tossing her, barely alive, into a cube of ice, with another, carved up the body, like beef at the butcher's shop.
Da, that was as ugly as it sounds.
Patiently waiting for my turn at the favorite takeout of V, I entertain myself with the latest gun catalogs on the net. Arasaka and Militech are always, toe to toe in bringing the best guns to the market, but there are gems like Malorian or Techtronika that crafted some of the most beautiful gonk killers that I have seen in my life. There are also the solid weapons that Nokota, creators of the D5 Copperhead, put on the market for all war necessities that any civilized society could have.
With my and V's dinner in a bag, I walked back to the elevator to get to V's apartment, by this time, she should have finished her shower and would be perusing the comms for any text left by any contact. V took pride in her face role among our tiny crew. Jackie, V, and me, with the occasional extra like T-bug, when the gig demands it, were an aspiring preem crew of netrunners.
With a single pulse, V's apartment recognized my ID and let me pass. Once inside of the comfortable and tidy apartment, my senses picked up the sounds of the shower, meaning that V was still cleaning herself under the water. Odd, maybe it was her way of coping with the aftershocks of the gig.
Scavs butcher houses are always a nightmare or carved up flesh, chrome, and people being treated like little more than synth-flesh, hanging from hooks, carved up for spare parts or organs, and then tossed around like waste, or tossed into ice cubes for later processing as fertilizer for the city farms. I have personally torn more than a new one to dozens of those hellholes, but the scavs numbered on the thousands, and I was just one man, not some kind of Bushido-X superman.
Setting up the plastic bag with our dinner on the kitchen counter, and take out of the dinner out of the plastic bag, setting up the takeout packages over the counter. I tapped V's kitchen drink tab, V was not much of a fan of any alcoholic beverages that were not sake, but she had a beer tab, just in case. Taking a sip of the beer, pure commercial brand, but I was not complaining, I walked to the wardrove.
With a small smirk, I hang my coat, and my inner jacket on V's wardrobe, picking up the scattered clothes that she had left on the floor before entering the bathroom. Putting them on the washing bin, I take the gun harness and the gun that she usually carried and brought them to the small armory that she had on the apartment.
V was not a weaponsmith like me, she tends to carry an Arasaka Kenshin; a good choice of Tech pistols; her monofilament implant, and a knife, for the moments when things get ugly. Her small armory only contained the kit to kept her pistol up and running, with a katana expositor; empty, and a bunch of empty gun slots. Leaving her iron and mine on the armory, I exited the small workshop. I left my beer glass on the counter and walked to the door of the bathroom.
"V, dinner is ready", I knocked on the door.
"Ah, okay, give me five", she muttered from the other side.
Five minutes later, a barely dressed V; on nothing more than a criminally tight thong, and a white shirt way too small to contain her bountiful bosom; exited from the bathroom, drying her vibrant red hair with a towel.
Pic recorded and engraved forever in my brain cells as "perfection". The only reason why my pants did not explode at my dick growing into a baseball bat-sized monster, was because I have locked down my grower implants, before they reacted to the peak of my arousal, and made me pierce the counter of V's kitchen with my erect dick.
"Nova, my favorite", she took a seat at the stools of her small kitchen and proceed to dig with gusto the takeout. V seemed to be hungry, but something on her body language told my Kiroshi scan that she was not well.
Burying my desires to rut her into a coma; V tended to provoke those reactions in me; I let her eat in peace before I ask any questions.
And I was also eager to put some fuel on the tank. Due to my biomods, I was capable of eating anything organic and turn it into nourishment, but I can still taste what I eat, and I preferred to eat food than just chew on a protein bar like the ones that the MRE of NUSA delivered to us as our main menu. Chunking no more, spacibo.
For a while we just have dinner in silence, eating the takeout, and enjoying a moment of peace. Once we finished, we toss the containers to the recycling bin of the apartment, and picking up some glasses, filled them with V's sake, lightening up a cigarette. V chuckled at my jalapeño flavored brand, she was a traditionalist, and the flavored tobacco amused her.
"For a job well done", she chuckled and click her glass with mine, drinking the strong Japanese alcohol in one gulp.
"Da", I follow her example. I was not all that of a fan of sake, and my biomods quickly attacked the alcohol as if was poison. To get me drunk, you will have to force me to drink smash by the barrels.
I always founded curious how V had a deep-seated grudge with Arasaka for the betrayal that put her on the Street, yet she still kept a lot of customs from her time as Arasaka Counter Intelligence. The sake, the mannerism, the Japanese idiom, the preference over Arasaka products, well, like the old saying goes, you can take the rat out of the corpo, but not the corpo out of the rat.
"You okay Komrade?". I asked her, putting the glass on the sink. "You seem a bit off".
"Something is weird with my OS", she shook her head, letting the smoke of the cigarette out of her mouth. "I had to plug into the OS of the girl at the scavs to light up her Trauma Team contract, maybe something slipped in, a neuro virus, or something along those lines".
"Pay tomorrow a visit to Vik, then", that was not a suggestion. The Scavengers are famous for pulling all the nasty tricks of the books to get their preys, the last V needs are to have a scrap code bomb rummaging her noggin's OS.
"Yeah, I will do that", she nodded in acceptance.
Without anything more to say, I just cleaned up what little we have used to have dinner, and joined her at the couch of the apartment. She was smoking in peace, leaning on the synth-leather of the couch, and watching NC's night sky through the panels of her apartment windows. With my cigarette on my lips, I joined her on the couch, the silence stretched between us, but that was a good thing. We did not want inane chatter to fill the silence, it was the opposite, we liked the warm, comfortable silence between us.
After she ended her cig, she slipped into my arms, cuddling with me, and sighed before V shut her eyes and drifted into sleep. I shut down my biomods, before I blast her with enough pheromones to make a glacier go into heat, and my cock ripped my pants apart, in an erection capable of piercing the armor of a tank. I have been given the tacit permission to stay for the night and to act as her body pillow. A very chromed up pillow, but a pillow, nonetheless.
This gig has screwed up with V, and I can only guess how.
Seeing the scavs and the corpo girl, V must have had a flashback when Jackie and I saved her from the corpos that betrayed her. I acted as a scav to scam the corpos that wanted to flatline her, but it if wasn't for Jackie and me, V did not have any illusion that the corporats that sold her would have flatlined her or worse.
Preem ladies like V; sane, healthy, gorgeous, and with preem chrome on them; are priority targets for Scavengers, X-BD, and all kinds of slaver business all over town.
Of course, the moment I even caught a whisper of someone trying to pull that one of V, I will start another rampage, that will make the one that put me at MAX-TAC as a children's book. V was part of my crew, the only family that I have left, and I will be dammed if I let some slovuch screw with my family again.
Carrying V to the bed in a princess carry, I set us up in the big bed that V had on her apartment, covering her with a blanket, she curled at my side, resting the bald side of her head over my reinforced torso. Hugging her frame to mine, I stood there, in silence, warming up my microgenerators so she would be hugging a warm piece of flesh, instead of the cold chrome under the synth-flesh that was most of my body.
Sleeping was not much of a necessity for me. One of the cyberware that the NUSA put on me, allows me to shut down parts of my brain, so I can operate in a semi-sleep state, getting all the benefits of a night of sleep, without the need to stop any activity that I could be doing at the time. It did not substitute sleep, at some point, I will have to sleep properly.
Now that V was sleeping, I had the temptation of jacking into her OS and run a scan for myself. I was worried about whatever the Scavs could have left on her. But I opted for niet doing. First, because it was a slovuch move to jack into anyone OS without being invited, and second that I was not a ripperdoc. In my haste, I may do more harm than good.
Sighing, I uploaded some schematic that I have on the back folders, and set up a list of old songs, to listen to as I mentally worked my next gun project.
Say whatever you want about Jhonny Silverhand, but the gonk sure knew how the shred a guitar. The songs of Samurai were a pure rage, pure emotion translated into guitar rifts that accompanied the raw lyrics of the infamous rocker boy.
I would have liked to know the man.
Careful with what you wish.