I'd awoken the next morning in a fog from deep sleep interrupted by the sound of my holo device ringing. I winced as I opened my eyes to the sunlight blazing through the open window I'd forgotten to close the night before.

Why was the sun so bright this morning?

"V? Hello?" Regina Jones's voice echoed from my holo.

Shaking my head and groaning, I replied, "Yeah. Sorry. I'm here."

What the hell time was it?

"Sorry for waking you—at noon."

Christ. What the fuck?

"Yeah. Was a long night." I gulped, memories of Johnny's touch making my stomach knot up. "Did you have something for me?"

"I do. If you're up for it."

Rubbing my palms against my eyes, I held back a yawn. "Yeah. Gimme the deets."

"A client named Phillip Hornsby, a man with an overdue gambling debt that keeps dodging him. Hornsby wants him scrubbed."

"Easy enough." I scooted to the edge of the bed, resting my feet on the floor. "Quietly?"

"Didn't say. I'd assume by any means possible since the guy has been avoiding paying his debt for months. Will send you the coordinates of his last known location."

Stifling another yawn, I nodded. "Sounds good. We'll head out straight away."

"We? You get a partner I didn't know about?"

Fuck.

"Yes," Johnny said, glitching in front of me with his arms folded.

"I. I meant I'll head out straight away. Still groggy."

"Good. And do yourself a favor, V. Maybe have a coffee before you head out to assassinate someone?"

I smirked. "Will do."

Regina hung up, and I held my face in my hands.

"Someone got some good rest last night. I wonder. Why." Johnny dropped his face in front of mine, his gaze peering over the rim of his sunglasses, a satisfied, smug grin curving his lips.

"Don't start with your shit already, Johnny. I just woke up." I grimaced and stood, waving my hand at him as I whisked past him straight to my quaint coffee machine.

Johnny glitched into the living room, leaning on my bookshelf. "I'm waitin' for the gratitude."

"Excuse me?" I snorted, slipped a cup under the dispenser, and pushed the button to expel steamy black coffee.

"I don't get thanks for alleviating the burden of you rubbin' one out yourself?" A sly grin quirked his lips.

Snatching the prepared coffee, I blew on it. "You can't be serious."

Using his middle finger, Johnny slid the aviators down his nose, staring at me and raising a brow.

"For the love of—" Turning to face him, I plastered a fake smile and, in a robotic tone, replied, "Johnny, thanks so much. You're my savior."

Johnny snickered and pushed the glasses back up, still flicking me off. "Was that so hard?"

Giving a glare as my only answer, I turned away from him, scooping a left-over burrito resting on the counter into my hand. After several sniffs, I scarfed down the cold snack as make-shift breakfast.

"We got a gig?" Johnny asked, glitching in front of me and grimacing at my poor food choices.

"Bag and tag." As I shoved the rest of the stale burrito in my mouth, I whisked to my arsenal, grabbing the first pistol I saw and shoving it in the front of my pants. "Should be quick."

"She said, not knowing she jinxed them." Johnny leaned against the arsenal doorframe with a smug smile.

Breezing back to the living room, I turned off the holos and made for the front door. "Please don't do that noir thing again."

I headed down the stairs and called the elevator, Johnny glitching his way behind me, following.

"I entertain you, and that's the thanks I get?" Amusement laced Johnny's tone as he followed me onto the elevator.

"You say entertaining. I say irritatin'." I bit back a smile as I hit the ground floor button, ignoring the news scrolls playing on the televisions lining the back of the elevator.

"We're startin' to sound like an old married couple bickering. You know that, right?"

My spine stiffened, and I cut him a sidelong glance. "All a part of our alike charm, hm?"

Johnny chuckled but remained silent for the rest of our descent and strolled to the street corner where my Quadra Type-66 Avenger was parked. Not wasting a beat, I climbed inside, the partition covering the windshield disappearing once the car sensed my presence. Johnny appeared in the passenger seat, tapping his fingers against one knee.

After pulling up the coordinates on the car's holo, I pulled into traffic, flipping on the radio, the song Resist and Disorder blazing from the speakers.

Johnny tsked beside me. "You listen to this shit?"

"I listen to a lot of things. What's wrong with it?"

"It's shit. That's all need be said."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I turned to look at him as we approached a stoplight. "Would you prefer Us Cracks?"

"For fuck's sake, are you trying to kill me?" Johnny adjusted in his seat, wincing.

Taking the rectangular steering wheel again as the lights turned green, I tapped my fingernail on it. "Is that a trick question?"

"Ha fucking ha. How far away's this place, anyway?"

"Few blocks." Obliging the asshole, I changed the station to Morro Rock, Kerry Eurodyne's newer version of Chippin' In playing.

Johnny shoved his fist against his mouth and looked out the side window. "Not much better."

"There ain't no pleasin' you." I shook my head, leaning back in my seat as we reached a stretch with no crosswalks.

"Not true. I'm a simple man. Give me sex, cigs, and music, and I'm straight peachy." He spoke to the window, his voice muffled behind his fist still resting on his lips.

Smiling, I pulled over a few spots down from the address Regina gave, squinting through the windows for any sign of the score. I displayed the image of an overweight man, mid-forties, bald, wearing a tracksuit. "That's who we're lookin' for."

"He tallied up a gambling debt? Shocking."

Grinning—so much grinning as of late—I got out of the car. "Come on. Sooner we find 'im, sooner we can plant a bullet in his brain and go about our day."

"Christ, you really are startin' to sound like me."

I'd been halfway across the sidewalk and paused. "We're on mission. Do ya want me to puke in the streets?"

Johnny chuckled and glitched beside me, waving his hand at the alley. "Shut the fuck up, and let's go."

We were at the alley entrance when squealing tires caught our attention from the parking lot on the other side of the building.

"Shit," I yelled. "Think that's him?"

"Don't know why the hell else someone would peel out of a parking lot in the middle of the day. Move it," Johnny shouted, glitching back to the passenger seat.

Sprinting to the car, I flopped into the driver's side and burnt rubber, my head on a constant swivel, keeping track of oncoming traffic and pedestrians.

"Right there, right there," Johnny yelled, pointing. "He turned."

"Fuck. Hold on." Gritting my teeth, I cut through several cars.

"I think I'm good, V. Not like I'm gonna fly through the damn windshield or nothin'."

Yanking the steering wheel, we made a hard left turn, tires squealing, other cars honking. "Fuckin—you know what I mean!"

Despite swerving through traffic and going nearly a hundred miles per hour, the mark kept ahead of us, and my growl grew louder with each turn taken.

"We're gonna lose 'im if you don't work that goddamned gas pedal," Johnny shouted, pointing at my right leg.

"I fuckin' got it, Johnny," I yelled back.

The score flew through a red light, and I gritted my teeth, having to slow down for a fraction of a second to save us from getting t-boned by an oncoming crossing truck.

"V, he's gettin' away. Punch it. Now!"

"I said I fuckin' got it!"

My foot slammed the pedal to the floor without assistance from me, a glitch of Johnny's leather pants and boot flashing in my vision. Glaring, positively seething, I snapped my glance in his direction. His arms were up in front of him like he himself held the steering wheel.

"Did you seriously just—" Heat flushed my neck, and I forced control over him, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white, and I slammed on the brakes, spinning us a hundred eighty degrees and fish-tailing between two nearby buildings.

As soon as the car came to a complete stop, I punched it into park, swiveled over the middle partition, straddled him in his seat, and shoved my forearm at his throat. His beard brushed against my skin, and my chest pumped from heavy breathing. "How's that for fuckin' concentration, you asshole?"

He stared at me behind the ruby quartz Aviators, shocked and—not surprisingly—turned on. His hands found my hips, gripping them. "Have any idea how badly I wanna fuck your brains out right now?"

"Can't. Too bad. You'll have to take me chokin' you out as a replacement." I pushed my arm forward but still not hard enough to choke him.

His fingers drummed against my ass. "Kinky. But while we're bickering—yet again—our mark is halfway to Japantown by now."

"No, he's not."

Johnny's hips shifted beneath me, and heat pooled in my stomach. "Oh?"

"The last direction he took will lead him straight to the barricades. With speed he was goin', he won't be able to stop in time before his tires pop. That means—he'll be on foot." I pressed my waist tighter against him, making him grunt.

"Know the guy's a fat piece of shit but you aren't exactly in top form to run that distance, V."

I leaned forward, bringing our noses an inch apart. "Don't matter. Because the only way back to the main road—" Jutting my chin over his shoulder at the alley my car blocked, I grinned. "—is this alley."

A devilish grin ever so slowly pulled at Johnny's lips, and his grip tightened on my waist. "Very, very, clever."

"And he should be comin' right about—" I opened the passenger side door, crawling over Johnny's lap and removing my pistol from my waistband.

Mr. Track Suit rounded the corner, a sweat stain covering half of his t-shirt and dripping down his face. He paused with his hand on the wall, hunching forward, and breathing—hard.

"You Mark Croan?" I held my pistol behind my back, rubbing the grooved edges of its hilt.

Mark's eyes widened, and he pushed from the wall. "Fuck." He went to run, but his right leg gave out and he fell to his knees.

Standing in front of him, I raised the pistol to his forehead. "Shoulda paid your debts, Mark."

Before he could plead—which I could never stand hearing—I pulled the trigger, ignoring the blood spatters spackling my cheeks. Not wanting to risk the NCPD showing up quicker than I could high-tail it out of here, I slipped the gun back in my pants and hoisted my arms under Mark's armpits, grunting as I dragged him to the nearest dumpster.

"Christ, V. And you call me a terrorist. How many people have you killed like this, huh?" Johnny glitched into the alleyway, propping one boot against the wall.

"Really?" I grunted, blowing out a breath before pulling the body further. "You really wanna get into this right now?"

Johnny shrugged. "Not like I can help ya. Are you sure you can even lift that tub of lard?"

"I'm fine." Standing straight, I put my hands on my hips and took a deep breath—and a break—before lifting the dumpster lid and hoisting the body up.

It took far more grunting and time than a previous version of me—pre-relic me—would've taken, but eventually, the body was hidden, and I slammed the lid shut, pressing my back against the dumpster to catch my breath.

"Well, you look like shit," Johnny mumbled, squatting in front of me.

I gave him the middle finger since words escaped my lungs and slid down the dumpster until my ass met the concrete. "I need to—" I gulped. "I need to see about getting my arms upgraded. Almost pulled my back."

"More chrome? Fuck, V. You keep doin' that you really will turn into a borg."

Pushing to my feet in a huff, I steadied myself with the dumpster handle. "What the hell d'ya want from me, Johnny? You wanna raid Arasaka? Destroy Mikoshi? I need to be at least half at my best to do that, and my body's failin' me—fast."

Johnny remained squatting, dangling his hands between his legs. "Yeah. I get that." He slowly rose to his feet and hung his thumbs through his belt loops. "Gonna guess which ripper you're gettin' to do it?"

"He knows what's goin' on with me. Just makes sense."

Johnny kicked a cigarette butt on the ground. "Know he's gonna make a move this time, right?"

"What? Bullshit. He turned me down before, 'member?" Shaking my head, I brushed past him to the car.

"Nah. What he did there was called 'being professional.'"

I peered into the side window and used the backside of my shirt to wipe the blood from my face. "I still say—bullshit."

Johnny glitched beside me, leaning his back on the car with his arms folded. "Fine. Wanna make a bet? I bet you smokin' a cig so I can feel smoke in my lungs again that he will."

Shrugging, I opened the car door through Johnny. "Fine. Like you said, not like a cancer stick's gonna kill me anyway if you win, right?"

And as Johnny snickered into the wind, off, we drove—back to Vik's.