If you'd have told me weeks ago I'd be lying here with a ripperdoc ready to have my cerebral cyberware tweaked to allow a second party complete joint control of my brain, I'd have thought you a straight gonk. But here I was, hoping said second party wouldn't royally fuck me over, and what's more…it'd save my life without handing it over to someone else.
The burning question, though—how'd I get here…
Sometime before…
"For the umpteenth fucking time, Johnny, I'm not smokin' a cig just so you can feel it on my lungs moments later." Crossing my arms in a huff, I smoothed a hand across the shaved part of my head, tossing the teal locks side-swept to the other side over my shoulder.
Johnny paced the length of the alley, his form glitching in and out of view. He pointed to the ground after lurching in front of me. "Why does it even matter to you? The Relic's gonna kill ya before any goddamned cig will."
"Wow." I dropped my hands to my sides, jaw dropping. "Low fucking blow, Silverhand. Low fucking blow."
"Christ." Johnny tore the Aviators from his face, rubbing the back of his chrome hand over his nose and turning away from me. "I didn't—"
Holding my palm up to him, I shook my head. "Yeah. Ya did mean it. Because the world revolves around Johnny fucking Silverhand and his need for nicotine. Right?"
He stopped, glaring at me. "Someone's extra cunt-y this morning." Sliding the sunglasses back on, he leaned against the brick wall.
"And you're still a dick. Glad we're in sync. Now, would you glitch off? We've been arguing in front of Vik's office for the past twenty minutes. Here to get upgrades. Remember?"
Johnny shook his head, making pieces of his long dark hair fall over his shades. "Still don't understand what the hell you could possibly need done. You've got so much chrome you're practically a damn borg."
"You have no room to talk. You have one arm. You don't even know the bene—"
He stormed forward, pointing at himself with that same arm. "That I lost in the war and wouldn't have been able to play guitar without it. Don't patronize me, V."
I'd grown used to Johnny's outbursts the more and more time we had conversations like these. The first moments we realized we were stuck with each other, he'd scared the ever-loving shit out of me, physically pushing me somehow despite being in my head and physically non-existent, threatening to kill me. We'd reached a state of mutual understanding but still drove each other insane.
"Are we done here?" I smacked my lips together, remaining aloof.
"Fine. Whatever." Johnny flicked his hands at me. "We both know the real reason you keep going to this ripperdoc in particular, and it ain't about chrome."
I'd turned for the stairs leading to Vik's and paused with my hand on the railing, snapping Johnny a glare over my shoulder. "Excuse me?"
"You think I haven't felt how you get every time you know you're gonna see Vik?" Johnny made a pfft sound and shook his head. "Please. I guess you can't get another man to touch you, might as well be a ripperdoc you get wet over. Even if it is clinical."
Fury swirled in my stomach and I clenched the railing tighter. "Seriously. Glitch the fuck off, Johnny."
"Gladly." His image disappeared and I sighed at the blissful silence.
Walking into Vik's office, I found him seated at his desk, watching a boxing match on his old as dirt micro-TV. His eyes brightened behind his sunglasses once spotting it wasn't just another customer—it was me.
"V, how the hell are you? What can I do for you?" Vik adjusted the stethoscope hanging around his neck, scooting back on his rolling stool.
Smiling, I dragged a hand through my hair. "How am I? Aside from the nagging rockstar voice in my head, you mean?"
A light chuckle floated from Vik's belly, and he nodded. "How could I forget? Everything good on that front? Still coughing up blood?"
I sighed and leaned a hip on his desk, poking at the tools strewn on it. "It's not going to get better, Vik. Not until I find a solution."
"You will."
We stood silent for a beat, and I cleared my throat. "So, chrome. Think you can check my circulatory implant? Been feeling a bit sluggish lately."
Vik wheeled over to the operating chair. "Yeah? As in, out of breath after a flight of stairs sluggish or your version…running a marathon?"
Snickering, I moved to the chair, drumming my fingers on the armrest. "Ha. Ha. I actually have been getting pretty winded with stairs. I'm scared this thing is making me weaker by the day. What the hell kinda merc am I can't outrun a score?"
"I'll give you a boost. Hop on in," Vik said, motioning with his chin to the chair while simultaneously powering up his tools.
Butterflies beat at my ribcage as I crawled onto the seat, interlacing my fingers and resting them on my stomach. Per routine, Vik kept quiet the entire time he worked, concentrating fully on what he was doing. It made him one of the best ripperdocs in not just Watson but all of Night City.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the overhead light through my lids. A whiff of Vik's aftershave floated into my nostrils, his freshly shaven chin brushing my earlobe as he reached over me. I gripped the edges of the armrest, gulping. Risking opening my eyes, I saw Vik's mouth a breath away and I lifted my head, closing the distance between us, and pressed my lips to his.
Instead of kissing me however, Vik froze, his eyes as wide as wontons. He leaned back, clearing his throat and casting his gaze away. "I uh—I can't say that's never happened before. I understand it—"
Fucking hell.
I raised my palm and rapidly shook my head. "No big deal, Vik. Just read the room wrong. I'm known to do that."
"V, I didn't say I didn't want or didn't—it's just that—" Vik rubbed the tattooed sleeve on his right arm.
"Say no more. We good?" I motioned at my body.
Vik cleared his throat again and wheeled back on his stool. "Yeah. All set. Don't worry about the eddies this time. Was a quick tweak."
"Don't be a gonk, Vik. Here." Our eyes glowed blue as I accessed my account, transferring the currency to Vik's. "Probably need a tweak again in a couple weeks if this chip keeps malfunctioning the way it has been."
"Thanks, V." Vik offered a small warm smile, still clearly taken aback by my sudden move on him.
Quickly jumping from the chair, I gave a little wave and tried to walk in an even pace, but it soon turned into a powerwalk. I couldn't get home fast enough.
I'd been sitting on my l-shaped couch, staring at the neon Night City skyline through the one vertical window in my apartment, ignoring the rotating ads on the holo hanging from the ceiling. An ache pooled between my legs, an uninvited twist torturing my insides, and I soon found myself slipping a hand into my shorts and closing my eyes.
I'd try to conjure memories, images, old vids, of anything that'd help get me off—but my brain betrayed me, glitching into Johnny's memories. A Samurai groupie was riding me/Johnny, her tits bouncing, long silver hair flailing wildly around her. My mind glitched again, morphing into my own memory—me riding an ex-boyfriend in much the same fashion. Despite the fucked up slideshow my mind had become, I continued to play with myself. That was until…the memories clashed—becoming one. I'd become the groupie, and Johnny was the dick I rode.
"Do you want a hand with that?" Johnny's voice whispered into my ear from behind. "Or a Silverhand?"
