I will grudgingly admit that I'm a bit out of the loop when it comes to modern music. But I pay attention, you know? After some careful consideration, I'm ready to admit those Cartesian Duelist guys aren't aren't the talentless scops I originally thought. But beyond that...Us Cracks? Den of Degenerates? Let's Eat Grandma? And what the ever-loving fuck is a Lizzy Wizzy?
I'm getting distracted. Point is that without Johnny Silverhand, the music scene seems to have gone to shit just like the rest of the world. But the big borg guy with the melodramatic name? Dunno. Somethin' about him doesn't seem half bad. Puts on a good show, at least.
V is no stranger to dicey situations. But trailing an Animal through a labyrinthine concrete undercroft to fuck-knows-where is a first even for her. Too late to get squeamish now, though; they've already bought a one-way ticket to a meeting with Frankenstein, and she gets the distinct impression this is one of those offers you don't refuse.
Buffalo guides them along a passage littered with trash and the last dregs still hanging on to the buzz of the show. There are a few chrome junkies shooting up stims in dark corners, some groupies in Frankenstein t-shirts gushing over the performance, and even a cluster of reporters arguing with a stern-looking security guard and haggling for access to the controversial rockerboy. They pass a pair schmoozing it up in the hallway, moaning and making out like horndog teenagers. Judy flushes in the gloom and starts paying close scrutiny to her footwear as they pass the two by.
V isn't sure what got into the Mox back there on the club floor. Sure, they've flirted back and forth a bit - or maybe more than a bit, honestly - but V hasn't been holding her breath for anything to come of it. Nothing but playful banter, right?
But the way Judy felt in her arms... the taste of those lips... She shivers and does her best to suppress a blush of her own. Pull yourself together, girl. You're not some hormonal high schooler anymore. She was probably just a bit tipsy and decided to live it up a little.
It's a bullshit take and she knows it. But it's as good an excuse as any, and she has a hunch Judy isn't gonna be down for discussing the matter for a good long while. Nothin' wrong with that, and for now there are more immediate issues at hand. Buffalo still looms large in front of them, cutting a wide path through the dwindling crowd. A few more twists in the path and he stops at a barricaded door marked, EVENT STAFF ONLY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE HANDLED WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.
"Shit," Judy murmurs. "They take security seriously here, don't they?"
Buffalo jerks his head as he tugs open the door. It squeals on its tracks and greets them with a shower of sparks.
"In," he grunts. "Both."
Clean, simple, and hard to argue with. V nods and steps over the threshold, Judy hot on her heels. She expects the Animal to bring up the rear, but the roid-head slams the door shut behind them. They are very abruptly alone for the first time since arriving.
"Um..." Judy clears her throat. "Did we just get kicked out?"
"I don't think so." V moves further down the dark hall. Her companion keeps close. "Got the feeling Buffalo back there wasn't any flavor of bouncer."
Another concrete corridor, this one deserted and lit with sinister redlight. It's a long one, stretching so far off into the dark that they can't see the end. Ominous to say the least, like something out of a second-rate horror BD like Mantis Blade Massacre III: Cyberpsychos Unleashed.
"So what do you know about this Frankenstein guy?" Judy whispers as they progress deeper into the dark.
"Listened to some of his stuff," V replies. "Not half bad."
"Not what I meant, shithead." Judy shoves at her shoulder. "I mean like, is this guy gonna zero us the moment we walk through the door?"
"I... don't think so?"
The Mox scowls at her. "That doesn't sound like a confident answer."
"Look, from what I know the guy is up to his balls in controversy. Came out of eastern Europe, one of the first rockers to be like more chrome than man at this point. Half think he sold out when he accepted sponsorship from Biotechnica and the other half think he's only a short shove away from goin' cyberpsycho as it is. A bit unpredictable, don't you think?"
"And he wants to meet with us. Why?"
"Damned if I know. But stay behind me until we figure out what the hell is going on. Just in case."
Another Animal waits for them at the eventual end of the passageway, though this one doesn't sport a helpful, "Hello, my name is..." tattoo like his buddy outside. He raises a hand and brings them to a halt as soon as they draw near enough.
"Weapon check," he says. "Hand over any iron you got on you. You'll get 'em back when your meet-and-greet is done."
V scowls. "Tryin' to tell me a big-time shock-rocker like Frankenstein is scared of lil old me?"
The Animal chuckles; a deep, synth-twisted rumble that grates on the ears. "Formality, sweetheart. If you cause trouble, Frankenstein himself'll leave nothing of you behind but a smear of tomato juice on the floor. The big guy's nice like that."
V grudgingly ejects the control chip for her Mantis Blades and forks them over to the Animal. Her skimpy dress can't hide much more, but the brute pats her down for good measure anyway. Judy too, though the Mox hisses that she doesn't like carrying weapons besides the net-tech implanted in her head. Satisfied the two are about as harmless as the cockroaches skittering around in the corners, he sends word to the room beyond that visitors are inbound. But before he lets them go, he has one last surprise.
"You check in with the Fixer yet?" he demands. Only now does V see that he's carrying a hefty crate in one hand.
"Fixer?" she frowns. "What Fixer?"
As if on cue, her holo chimes in her ear. The incoming avatar is a familiar one, and one that sends a disgruntled rock on a dive into the pit of her stomach. A screaming skull and the words Afterlife can mean only one thing - and whatever it is, it ain't good.
"Rogue." She answers the call with a scowl etched onto her face. "You keepin' tabs on me all of a sudden?"
"Don't flatter yourself, hun. I keep tabs on everyone. You should know this by now."
"I'm assuming you're the one who plucked the puppet strings on this meetup with Frankenstein?" V glances at Judy and mouths, I'm sorry. The techie throws a shrug and folds her arms to wait, but there's no mistaking the irritation in her quiet huff. "Was kinda trying to have a relaxing evening, you know."
"And now the fun is over. Got a gig for you. Easy eddies for barely any work. A rare offer, comin' from me."
"I wish I could argue that I'm not your personal errand girl, but it seems like I ain't got much choice in the matter."
"Seems so."
She sighs loud enough that Rogue can hear it over the holo. "So what's the gig? Don't tell me you want the rocker zeroed. He's supposed to be coming out with a new album soon."
"Nothing so crass, don't worry." There's a smirk in Rogue's voice. "Viktor and I have some biz of our own. Since you were in the neighborhood, you volunteered to be the middlewoman."
"Uh-huh." A roll of the eyes from V. "Specifics, please."
"Animal in front of you has a case. Biometric scanner. Jack in, let it take a scan, and you'll be cleared to access what I need."
"Which is?"
"A briefcase. Specifically, a briefcase in Frankenstein's possession, one he owes me as payment for prior intel. Without the bio-scan, just touching the thing will fry any implant you got attached to meat. It's fancy like that."
"Fancy indeed. The rocker know I'm coming for it, or is this gonna be a smash-and-grab?" She doesn't like the idea of this strange situation breaking down to a shootout, especially with Judy here. The girl might talk a big game, but they both know she isn't the fighter she sometimes pretends to be. If anything were to happen to her...
"He knows you're on your way - I managed to secure you and your Mox friend a pair of VIP backstage passes. Shoot the shit with the big guy if you want, but make the trade and bring the briefcase to me. The cut's fifteen percent and you're back home tonight with barely a half hour's delay."
"That's it?"
"Like I said: easy gig."
"And what exactly is in the briefcase? Oh wait, let me guess. You'll have to kill me if you tell."
"You know me so well."
Rogue cuts the feed and V mutters a curse. "Looks like I'm back on the clock. Rogue doesn't like taking no for an answer."
"Since I'm taggin' along," Judy says with a quirk to her lips, "that mean I get a cut?"
"Why the hell not?" V passes a leveled arm over Judy's head, from one shoulder to the other, and "knights" her for the evening. "For one night only, you are officially an Afterlife edgerunner."
Judy rolls her eyes but smiles for real now. "I'm honored."
"You should be."
"Cute as this is," the Animal interrupts with a low growl, "Frankenstein's still waitin'. I suggest you don't keep him longer than you need to." He hefts the crate up, splits it along the middle, and reveals the humming tech inside. Biometric scanners, ID back-checks, holo-screen readouts of dna, vitals, cyberware registration - the works.
"Jack in."
V does as told and plugs her personal link into the box. A shimmering beam of light emerges from the container and passes up and down her face, downloading and registering identification sigs. It only takes a few seconds before the entire contraption beeps. Good to go. The Animal punches the door pad and it rumbles open like the sealed entrance of a tomb.
"Welcome to the inner sanctum," he growls. "Don't overstay your welcome."
The room inside looks like a converted server den for the hotel above, now serving as the personal chill-out pad for the band now that the concert is done. A few groupies cluster here too, no doubt fellow VIP ticketholders. Most are gossiping among themselves or snapping pics with members of the band - V recognizes the drummer and bassist slumming it up with identical bored expressions.
A massive raised slab dominates the center of the room, draped in pale blue cushions like a throne from some medieval harem. And sitting upon it is one of the largest men V has ever seen.
He's not actually that big. But the man has to be at least half borg at this point, and the expansive armor plating does wonders for his physique. Even reclining in the arms of no less than three hungry joytoys, he seems more tank than human. The only 'ganic left in him is a head, chest, and half a leg. It's all pale skin and burn scars, and what little is left unravaged is a whirlwind of eastern European tattoos. The rest is all heavy metal: riveted blue-black armor plate, spiderweb tangles of nerve conduits jabbing into mottled flesh, and huge muscle-tone cyber arms complete with curving shoulder pads that would look more at home plating the back of a Militech APC than a rockerboy.
A tired-looking medical tech fusses over these obsidian implants, connecting tubes and plugging shards. A bank of tech readouts blink in the shadows behind the slab-seat and a quick scan reveals them to be "repurposed" Trauma Team hardware. The tubes snake back into these towers, which hum with a building drone. The behemoth rests his head back against the cusions and closes his one visible eye. The other is covered by a glassy half-mask that obscures everything from the nose down, neatly dissecting a ragged half-curtain of graying hair.
"Do it."
The tubes and other tech infrastructure behind him hum to life. Milky fluid chugs its way down through the piping and sucks down into the open sockets scattered about his battered body. He flinches with a pained grunt and his hands tighten into trembling fists, but he lets the mysterious sludge do its thing. Eventually the fluid runs dry and the tubes come loose with loud hisses of steam. He sits up and flexes his arms with a low growl.
One of the joytoys purrs, running a finger down a polished line of armor plating. "Better?"
A short nod from the rocker. "Better."
The medic speaks up as he feeds the tubes back into the tech towers. "Then remember to take your goddamn boosters next time. Those implants aren't going to carry you forever. Not unless you want to go psycho within a month."
"Noted." An icy blue eye snaps to the doorway and takes in the two waiting there. He brushes away the woman clinging to his shoulder and leans his forearms onto his knees. The motion pulls a harsh synthetic buzz from his cybernetics.
"It would seem we have visitors." He motions them in. "Come closer. Rest of you, get lost."
One of the women pouts. "Aww, but we just-"
He glares at her only once. The room falls eerily silent and all three women slink off the bed without another word, casting dour looks at the unexpected newcomers as they saunter past. The med-tech stuffs his shit into a bulky case and follows after them. The rest file out without a word, more than accustomed to the non-negotiable commands of the beast in black. No more VIP time for them. Then the door slams shut after them, and they're gone.
Judy prods V, who takes a slow step into the light.
She isn't afraid, exactly, but the huge black-armored man carries a dark air she doesn't like. The last time she felt this level of mechanical menace, she'd been hidden away in a room with Adam fucking Smasher. The comparison makes her queasy for a whole shitload of reasons. Judy sticks close to V's shadow as they move further into the room.
The man rises to his feet amid the hiss and whine of waking hydraulics. He looms over the two with an inscrutable look in his sole remaining eye, head scraping at least seven feet and change. V half expects some spectacular display of violence in the next moment, a lethal display of fireworks or an incoming barrage of bullets from hidden, implant-mounted weapons.
Instead, the man offers up a metal hand.
"Frankenstein," he introduces himself. "But if you're here, you already knew that."
"Uh..." V shakes his hand. His palm alone is bigger than her whole face. "V and Judy."
"Pleased to meet you," Judy murmurs from behind V's shoulder.
"Want a drink?" Frankenstein thuds past them toward the bar.
"I, uh..." V glances at Judy, who shakes her head. "We'd love one."
"Help yourself. Full spread, courtesy of the hotel." A cylinder spins out from his armored cheek with a whine. He tugs it free and pours two fingers of whiskey into its hollowed-out center like his own personal shot glass. It slides back into the facial implant and his eye closes as he savors the taste - however the hell that works. "Good shit, too."
He waves them closer. "I take it you're the pair that bought the last minute VIPs?"
"Sort of," V chuckles nervously. "Rogue has a long reach."
He scrutinizes her and a chill runs down her spine. Then he emits a drone of inlaid pneumatics and shrugs. "Well here I am. Tricky Vik Frankenstein, in the flesh." A short, rumbling chuckle. "Such as it were. You got meet-n-greet questions for me, now's the time to ask 'em. Or we can just enjoy the drinks and move on. Got a half-hour before I have to delta."
He pours another helping into his cheek implant and slots it into his mask.
"Where..." Judy begins.
"Germany." He glares at her. "Where'd I get the implant work done, right? Germany."
"How-"
"Car crash. Kinda."
"Word on the street says it was a corpo hit." V frowns. "Something about stealing secrets from the upper-ups at Biotechnica."
"That's the word on the street." Frankenstein growls deep within his half-mask. "Bout as reliable as the streetcorner prophets screamin' about the end of the world." His whole body seems to rumble as he pivots to stare at her. "Word on the street says that you're one of the Afterlife edgerunners. Newcomer, but a promising one. V, right?"
"Rogue likes to talk."
"Only to some," he replies. "But your rep seems clean enough. And you..." He turns his stare on Judy, who almost chokes on her tequila. He scrutinizes her for a moment, narrowing that one pale eye. "You're a Mox."
It's not a question, so Judy nods. "You know your NC gangs."
"Colorful bunch. Back east all we have are scop-slingers: rapists, murderers, the like. You Americans seem to take pride in your..." He hunts for a word before grunting, "Character."
V is certain that's not a compliment. But she lets it fly and instead leans against the bar. "You've done your homework. Do you give all the VIPs this kind of treatment?"
A digitized chortle buzzes from within the huge man's respirator. There's venom in his tone when he speaks next. "Most VIPs that stagger through my door are half-drunk and more than content to grovel at my feet, proclaiming my unending musical brilliance."
"Not your speed?"
"It's enough to make me puke up my implant fluids." One eye rolls. "Only so many times you can scream out the lyrics to Symphony of the Gutter-Born before it starts to sound like pretentious trash."
"So why do it?"
"Gotta pay the bills. Or did you think all this tech comes courtesy of charity?" He clenches a fist and a hi-caliber cannon unfolds from his forearm with a meaty thunk. He shifts it into the light, showing it off, then lets it retract back into its housing. He returns to his drink as if that settles the matter.
"How'd it really happen?" V presses. "Couldn't have been as simple as a car wreck."
"What's your interest?"
"Call it a solo's intuition. I got a good nose for trouble."
He sizes her up. "Trouble's all you'll get if you stick that nose where it doesn't belong."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Could be." He shrugs. "Who am I to say?"
"Uh-huh." V doesn't sound intimidated in the slightest - strange considering how fucking intimidated she actually is inside. "If you'd wanted to kill us, you'd have done it already."
"Jury's still out," is all the big man grunts.
"So spin it. Don't gotta worry about me going to the media with anything. Discretion is part of the biz with street samurai."
"So they say." Frankenstein sighs, though it crackles out of his vocoder like a harsh blare of static. "Not much to tell that the screamsheets don't already." He flexes the compound-armored fingers of one hand. "Flying high on the rockerboy dream when I pissed off the wrong people and got burned because of it. Not just sliced up by corpo agents but literally burned. As I said, things work different back east."
He pulls aside what's left of his hair to display the twisted, ravaged mess of melted tissue clustered about the border of his mask. He leans against the bar, which groans under his weight - gotta be at least half a ton, probably more. "Seemed the corp didn't have use for a smoldering corpse of a rocker, especially one as well-known as Viktor Fucking Frankenstein. So they scooped up the cinders and pieced 'em back together with wires and pipes."
"Let me guess: It wasn't a good samaritan trip. The corp had conditions."
"Got it in one." Another portion of whiskey disappears into the cheek slot. "Biotechnica brought me back from the dead. Figured it was fair game to say they had a stake in their investment, a say in future biz. If I disagreed, they could easily put me back where they found me, ashes and all."
"And now everyone calls you a sellout."
"O grămadă de nenorociți," he rumbles. V's translator program doesn't have factory-standard compatibility for Romanian, but she gets the gist of his statement.
"And the hit on Trauma Team after? That related or were you just blowin' off steam?"
His eye takes on a cold, faraway look. "Bit of both, I suppose."
V glances at Judy, who shrugs and helps herself to a hit of tequila. Frankenstein waits in silence a while before breaking the silence with a grunt. "The Biotechnica hit I mentioned. Wasn't alone when everything went up in flames."
"Family?"
"Wife. Sister. Son."
"Shit. I'm sorry."
"Collateral damage." The sigh from his respirator sounds more like a snarl. "Only later that I learned Trauma Team fucked up their response. All three flatlined on the way."
"Trauma Team doesn't mess up like that."
"No." His stare darkens. "No they don't."
"Internal job? Another hit?"
"Sure looked like it." He straightens to his full height. "Biotechnica weren't the only enemies I'd made, so I figured I'd go ask Trauma myself. They took exception to that. So I took their lives." He glares down at the woman before him. "I call that a fair trade."
"Certainly patched up your rep. T.T. is a tough target."
"You're telling me. Needed even more implant work by the time I was through with them." His eye flashes red with a personalized update. He consults it for a moment, then lets out a rumbling grunt. "Time's running out. Enjoy those drinks while they last.
"You." He gestures to V. "Follow me."
"What for?"
"I could say I got biz for you." He narrows that one burning eye.
She glances at Judy, then slowly trails after the black-clad giant. He leads them a good distance from the techie, into the shadows where V has to fight to make out her host beyond the glint of his armor. He rounds on her, implants warbling as he does, then lowers himself into his earlier seat like a king settling onto a throne.
"Rogue gave me the lowdown about you. Says you're good."
V scoffs. "Always got the feeling she hated my guts."
"She also said you're a stuck-up pillow princess with delusions of grandeur."
"Ah, now that's much more in character."
"Reminds me of me in the old days." He glares at her. "That's not a compliment."
"Okay..."
"So don't go proving me right. You runners aren't invincible, no matter how much you might play dress up and pretend you are."
"Danger's... part of the biz," she replies. But even she can feel how hollow the words ring - those of a posturing poser, not a died-in-the-wool believer. Frankenstein can see it just as clearly as she can.
"Something rattled your cage," he declares. "And rattled it damn hard."
She scowls. "I... had a gig of my own go south. Fucked me over good and tight too."
"They all do, sooner or later." He looks her up and down with a gaze so powerful he may as well be x-raying her from top to bottom. Prosthetic fingers tap against the concrete armrest. "Discretion goes two ways. What's here stays here."
She clenches her teeth, debating hard. She just met this guy and so far he hardly screams cool, collected, and trustworthy. Even now she can't escape the feeling the half-borg behemoth would rather unsling that fancy arm cannon and blow her to squishy bits on the spot. Still, she glances over to confirm Judy isn't listening in, then screws up her courage the best she can.
"Can I ask you something?"
He inclines his head like a monarch bestowing favor upon a loyal subject.
"What would you do... if you knew exactly how you were gonna die? If you knew exactly how it was gonna feel? And if that knowledge, that weight, kept pressin' down on you, getting heavier day by day?"
"Memento Mori," he replies simply.
"No, you don't get it. I've... shit, it's happened to me before. Dead. Done. Game over. And I got lucky enough to score a second chance, but..."
He leans forward a little, into enough light that she can see the furrow in his mangled brow. "You're preaching to the choir, sister. I've been to the other side too, if you'll recall."
"But how did you... y'know, bounce back from that?"
"I slaughtered an entire tower full of Trauma Team fuckheads."
She glares at him. "I'm being serious."
"So am I." The titan shifts with a pained groan. "V, no one is gonna have an answer to your question that makes sense because none of it makes sense in the first place. There's no reason I should be alive right now, but I am. Same as you. All we can do is keep plugging forward the best we can."
"Not sure I can pull that off. Not with the kind of curse I got hangin' over my head."
His cold gaze doesn't waver. "Doesn't take a mind-reader to see you've got an itch in your trigger finger. You've got game in this town and you're looking to hunt it down."
"You... could say that. Living on borrowed time, to tell the truth. Burning out quicker by the day."
"Then let me say this as well: despite what Rogue or the other Afterlifers will tell you, there's nothing to gain from going out in a blaze of glory." He cranes his neck, which crackles loudly. The livid burn scars across his scalp seem to shimmer in the gloom. "Been there, done that, and the payoff is never worth the buy-in."
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying that when the time comes to take that shot you've been searching for, remember that you have more to lose than you might think. And in the end, trying to pull the trigger might do more damage than you intend." He gestures to himself. "Look at me. Tried to live the rockerboy dream. Crashed and fuckin' burned. The road to hell and so on."
"So what do you propose?" V demands. "Give up? Let nature take its course and waste away into the wind?"
"What I propose is simple. When the moment comes to choose between your legacy and your life..." His eye shifts away. "Think of her."
V follows his gaze to its subject: Judy, still sipping at her drink. When she notices them watching back, she starts and gives a halfhearted wave.
"You think you're sneaky," Frankenstein snarls. "The way you shoot looks at her when she's not looking." He rests back in his seat with a rumble. "You're not sneaky."
"I don't-"
"I do," he interrupts. "And I know how it feels to be left behind. Hell doesn't begin to describe, and I don't know about you but your girl there doesn't seem the type to deserve to pick up your pieces. Edgerunners in this town burn hot and bright, it's a fact known the world over. But the real challenge isn't dying a good death - it's living a good life."
"Heh. You remind me of a ripper I know," V says with a small smile. "Old-timer. Don't make 'em like that anymore."
"Of course not." That single blizzard-blue eye shines in the dark. "These days they have to be built custom."
The same eye flares red again with another reminder of his looming itinerary and he hoists himself up with another rumble. Up, up, up he goes, until he dominates the room once more. He snags an armored briefcase from next to the throne; in his hands it's almost as diminutive as a matchbox. He holds it out to her like a peace offering.
"You got ghosts, there's no denying that," he says. "Don't go lookin' to join them too soon. There are enough in this world already. "
She takes the briefcase. He lumbers toward the door, pausing only to sling a long leather trenchcoat over his shoulders, the sleeves ripped away to accommodate his bulky arm plating. He offers a short nod to Judy in passing with a parting growl of, "Good to meet you, Mox. Enjoy the tequila. On the house."
"Uh... thanks."
The colossus clanks his way to the door, ducking to squeeze his way through. Then it sheaths shut behind him and it's just V and Judy again. The Mox looks to her companion with an eyebrow raised, tequila still in hand.
"Are all your nights like this?"
"Most nights end with more shooting, to be honest." V shrugs and hefts the briefcase. Whatever Rogue's got cooked up inside, it's heavy as a motherfucker. "Not that I'm complaining. You ready to delta?"
Judy finishes the last of her drink. "Have to say, V, this wasn't what I was expecting when you dragged me along. But... I don't think it was that bad."
V smiles. "We should do it again sometime."
"Yeah..." Judy's expression falls a bit. "Listen, V, I-I think... I think I gotta take some time after this. Get my head on straight."
"You talkin' about what happened before?"
With a downcast nod, she confirms. V heaves a short sigh but puts on a brave face.
"Ain't like I'm going anywhere," she lies. "When you're ready to talk about... y'know, things, then I'll be there. Whenever you're ready."
"I... thank you, V."
"Now what do you say I drop you off back where I found you? It's been a long night, and I apparently gotta make a dropoff to the Afterlife before the sun comes up."
Judy snags the bottle of tequila and gestures to the door. "After you."
Frankenstein's words ring through V's mind as they prep to leave, back out into the scarlet hallway now empty even of its Animal bodyguards. The world has suddenly grown so much more complicated. Back in the day all that mattered was hitting the Major Leagues and roaring her way into the history books. Now that the reality of such a venture is laid out before her, it all seems so... juvenile. Like something out of a kid's comic book. She doesn't want to go out in a blaze of glory, but she also doesn't want to live out her days in boring mediocrity. But this is Night City: there is no middle ground.
One part of what Frankenstein said rattles her more than the rest. When the moment comes to choose between your legacy and your life... think of her.
Think of that kiss...
This night has been full of surprises, most involving Judy. And they're surprises that herald a lot of new problems coming down the pike. The last thing she wants is to wind up hurting Judy like she's hurt so many in the past; the techie has been through too much as it is. But she also can't deny the thrill that shoots through her gut at the memory of that spotlight of nervous passion. She'd give almost anything to rewind the clocks and put herself back into that moment.
Ugh. Thoughts for another time. Right now the most important thing is getting Judy back home, dropping off Rogue's surprise, and crashing for a solid eight of shutdown. Anything else is tomorrow's mess to mop up. It's not even close to enough to get her mind off the matter, but it does lift a little of the weight from her shoulders.
As they head back through the underground, bound for the street, V leans over and mutters, "Have to say, you did pretty well as an edgerunner. For a sidekick."
Judy chuckles.
"So what'd you think of Frankenstein? The music, I mean."
"Like I said before: nothing but screaming."
"Aww, come on it wasn't that bad." V throws up the devil horns and does her best to imitate Frankenstein's bass-line synthetic rumble. "Lay em in the gutter, put em on the floor! Lay em in the gutter, put em on the floor!" Judy shoves her, but V keeps going. "Let your hate burn! Let your lust grow! Let your heart bleed! Uh-huh, uh-huh!"
"I almost wish he was still playing, just to shut you up."
"Then it all crashes down and you break your crown, and you point your finger but there's no one around. Just want one thing, just to play the king, but the castle's crumbled and you're left with just a name."
-Metallica, King Nothing (Leigh Jarvis Remix)
Author's Note: Fun fact: after starting 2077 for the first time, I did what I often do with adaptations and dug into the source material. I'm not really a tabletop RPG kind of guy, but the old Cyberpunk rulebooks piqued my interest with the depth of their worldbuilding. I figured, "What the hell? Let's give this character creator a shot."
Viktor "Frankenstein" Teodorescov was the result. I left everything up to dice rolls besides the name. His origin, profession, clothing, even large parts of his appearance had nothing to do with my decisions and I have to admit, I'm very impressed that such a cool character could be born from random chance.
I'm also kinda cheating the system here because Frankenstein will be a major character in my upcoming sci-fi novel, "Corsair." Figured it might be fun to give him an outing in the universe that inspired him. Shameless self promotion? Absolutely. Fun? Also absolutely.