Cyberpunk: Fatherhood

by RobinRounds

Car wrecked. Mom in the hospital. Bills are due. Desperation setting in. Our only chance is a number in mom's old holo records. It's listed as "Vinny - Emergencies Only!" I mean, fuck it, he can't make it worse for us. Right?

32. Chapter 32 - Into The Void

Months prior, when V had told Jimmy Kurosaki that Locked-In Syndrome was a bitch, he'd said it out of spite and a need to make the man afraid.

Not from personal experience.

That perspective was changed. Vincent Linder could say with absolute certainty that being trapped awake and aware in your own body was definitively 'a bitch'.

You could see, hear, taste and touch everything at once, while simultaneously incapable of moving.

You were fully aware of everything you were experiencing, yet powerless to change it.

All you could do was sit back and suffer through the show.

The first act?

Meeting his sister.

V cursed as he thought about what had happened, even as his traitorous body started to regain its faculties.

She had tackled him, then tased him of all things. The electricity pulsing through is body and effectively stunning systems both 'ganic and cybernetic. Had plugged in her personal link, unleashing some daemon or another to further cripple his cyberware. The girl was stronger than she looked, returning him to his seat with only a token struggle. Her hands were oddly calloused as she held his head, forcing him to look at their father as he delivered the coup de grâce.

"Welcome home, brother dearest." He felt her lips on his cheek as she disconnected her personal; probably looking more like she was hugging him.

"Brother?" He choked out, confused. She was even younger than David, but he could see the resemblance between herself and him. "No, fuck no..."

A noise came from the doorway, and V...no, Vincent's head turned to see his mother moving back into the room. She looked to have caught the tail end of their interaction, if her laughing while telling Valerie to properly introduce herself was any indication.

"I tried to stop her, but you know how stubborn she is."The bastard chuckled, even as Valerie apologized to the two of them before gushing about she was so excited to finally met her brother.

"No, this is wrong! How the fuck could you two have brought another child into the world?!" V raged, trying to stand and beat the shit out of the bastard. But he couldn't move, nor did the bastard seem to hear him.

"Well, there go my doubts that she's my sister." V both felt and heard himself laugh, one hand patting his sister's head. "I'll admit I'm a little more than surprised, but it's a pleasure to meet you."

Unheard, V screamed, incoherently and ethereal, unable to contain the emotion he felt at the sight.

His body shifted in the chair, scooting a little closer to the table as the Linder's robot butler came back with coffee (and a plate of food that had been saved for his sister).

"Guess your earlier mood was just because you needed to eat, eh Vincent?" His Father laughed as he accepted a cup of coffee from the butler.

"Maybe, its been awhile since I've had a proper full course meal." The body of Vincent Linder laughed, full of familial cheer, accepting his own cup of coffee as his father started going over some plans for the week with him.

Trapped within his own mind, the imperceptibly imprisoned son was cursing everything and anything the man said.

"Well, now that that's settled. Vincent? Would you like to see some of what I've been working on?" Mother asked, not waiting for an answer as the black plaited butler brought over a datapad.

Over coffee and chocolates, the stolen body listened politely as his mother showed off some of her latest design jobs. Offering up compliments or polite critiques as he saw fit.

V could admit that his mother did have talent when it came to design and décor. Too bad that wasn't enough to make him enjoy the experience.

Vincent's second cup of coffee was nursed as Valerie (and mother) brought him up to speed on her life. Father meanwhile sat back, smiling as he watched the scene play out before him.

For anyone on the outside? It was storybook family wholesomeness.

For V on the inside? It was pure hell.

Again, he thrashed against the mental barriers keeping him from piloting his body – praying and begging that he left himself a way out even as the bastard said they should call it a night.

"Aw, but I want to spend more time with my brother." Even though she was sixteen, she still pouted and whined with all the charm of a five-year-old. "Can't you stay longer Vinny?"

V's soul screamed with immeasurable rage, only one person was allowed to call him that. Fortunately, the corpo-drone of his body seemed to want to be professional and agreed with his unheard opinion.

"It's Vincent." He said, playfully ruffling his sister's hair.

"At least until I get out of here." The real Vincent thought, even as his body kept talking.

"But father's right, I've a few things to take care of. Tell you what; how about next time I'm over – you show me your room and tell me more about those actor's guild awards you're so proud of?"

"Deal." She hugged him, releasing him as mother came over and took her place. Vincent hummed contently as he hugged his mother, giving her a kiss on the cheek before releasing her. Nodding to the plaited butler who held the door open for him. Shaking his Father's hand as the man stepped outside with him. A few final words being exchanged as they walked to the car.

"You're staying at your place in City Center, yes?" It was less question and more command, and the drone nodded. "Good. See you tomorrow, son."

Father gave him a final pat on the back before returning inside, even as the drone climbed into his car to head for his apartment in City Center. Close to work, and secure, the drone felt it was the ideal place to stay.

And the last place that Vincent wanted to be...But he couldn't fight the drone's control over their body.

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Morning had rolled around, along with one of his Father's cars. Similar to the night before, the man greeted the stolen body of his son warmly – and he, or rather the machine controlling him, reciprocated in kind.

"Have you already had breakfast?" His father asked, holding the door open for him to slide into the back of the car. "If not, there's a lovely creperie on the way that your mother loves to stop at. Personally, most of what they serve is a little too rich for my taste, but the coffee's top notch."

"I have, but I won't say no to another cup of coffee." The drone nodded his thanks as the old man made a comment about coffee being the true lifeblood of the corporate world. The two men shared a laugh as his father snapped his fingers with that unique double snap, sending them speeding towards the place in question.

Vincent might have agreed the coffee was good, if he could actually experience it for himself. And he was kind of annoyed that the drone hadn't been paying attention to where the cafe was. Just so he could maybe go back on his own.

Or where they were going.

All he could see when they finally reached their destination was a building that looked like any of the hundred others in Night City. The drone had followed father inside, the older man being greeted cordially by the staff.

Introductions were made and hands were shaken with such ease that the real Vincent could have written this trip off as the bastard wanting to introduce his son to some of his colleagues. Something that he thought was the case the night before when they discussed plans. That changed the moment the bastard revealed to him the other reason for their visit.

To have his chrome replaced.

All of it.

Vincent listened as the bastard spoke to his puppet-son, stating how everything was top-of-the-line products. How some of what he was going to be receiving wasn't even yet on the market. He was thankful that the drone at least showed a small amount of hesitation at that last part.

"Don't worry," father placed a comforting hand on the puppet's shoulder. "I assure you, everything has been fully tested and approved. Not to mention, the men and women here are from my own personal medical team. A dozen of the finest ripper-docs Arasaka had to offer in addition to other specialists."

The bastard's words did nothing to calm Vincent's shackled spirit.

The puppet nodded with its absolute loyalty, calmly agreeing with his father's assessment. Smiled as he signed the necessary forms and paperwork – both digital and physical. Even made small talk as he was lead down a hall to an examination room and instructed to strip. Denied the dignity of even a hospital gown, the exposed puppet was lead into an operating theater.

The drone looked around the room, but didn't make any comments as the man escorting him helped him get situated on the operating table.

Inwardly, Vincent had been thrown into a rage. The sight of the various pieces of chrome, surgical tools, IV bags and vials of liquid triggering his fight or flight response. Unfortunately, he couldn't do either as all his begging, bargaining and arguing against what the bastard had arranged went unheard. He only ceased his mental thrashing when he realized there was an additional occupant in the room. A doctor who had started to explain some of the procedures.

Vincent was thankful that it wasn't the bastard – but had a feeling the man was probably watching from somewhere.

"Now, unfortunately Mister Linder-" The doctor began, her voice gentle.

"Please, Mister Linder is my father. Call me Vincent." The drone waved away the formality, while the real Vincent went into another frenzy.

"As I was saying, Vincent." The doctor tried again, "we're not going to be able to put you fully under for the majority of these procedures as we need to be able to monitor your faculties. You are to be given a number of prototypes and we're very wary of complications. You will be administered anesthetics to numb the pain, but I can not guarantee the procedures will be entirely without pain. Should some of it become too much at any point, please let us know and we will adjust the dosage as much we can. If you can not communicate verbally, tap your hand three times against the table. Understand?"

"Well enough." Ever agreeable, the drone took a moment to shift and adjust himself on the table as the doctor explained the order of operations and procedures to him.

"Now, we're going to start with your skeletal system as its the main support for everything else. From there, we'll move to your circulatory system." She kept her tone professional, while keeping the explanation simple. "Once those are in place, we'll move onto your nervous system before taking care of the externals. Finally, it will be any additional implants before we work on your optics."

"Save the worst for last, huh?" Vincent couldn't bring himself to argue with the puppet's assessment. A phantom pain making his own non-existent eyes water.

"Pardon the pun, but that's one way to look at it." The doctor smiled. "It's actually because of the upgrades we'll be doing to your nervous system. As these new model optics put the heaviest strain on them, we give your nervous system time to settle and sync up with the rest of your body beforehand. Makes recovery a little faster."

"I'll take your word for it." The puppet gave a nod as the doctor checked in with some of the others, confirming that everything was ready to go.

"Alright, if you're ready Vincent, we'll get you numbed up and begin."

"I'm not, but I don't get a say in the matter do I?" The real Vincent cursed as the puppet gave the okay. An anesthesiologist came over then, administering the first dose of painkillers. Four injections, one to each shoulder and both thighs.

V prayed the woman screwed up the dosage to lethal levels. Medical euthanasia and the uncertainty of death would be better than the cuckolded view of reality he was currently living in.

His prayer went unanswered, and instead he was treated to a damn good entry in the category of 'worst experience of your life'.

Laying there on that table, Vincent could only recall one or two other occasions where he had felt so powerless. And it wasn't just a side effect of the chemicals now coursing through his veins.

Through the eyes of the puppet, he watched them carefully peel away the dermal layers. With careful hands and precise cuts, he was reduced to a naked skeleton everywhere that wasn't covered by synthetic skin. The sight made him feel exposed in every sense of the word.

As the doctors started to work, Vincent couldn't decide if he preferred the puppet looking at the ceiling, or watching the procedures. He wished he could block his ears, but even if he was in control of his body, it would have been impossible. With dull pops, Vincent realized the organic portions of his arms and legs were being disconnected at the joints. As for the cybernetic components, they were removed outright. What had once been a rebellious man had been rendered into a psudo-limbless torso, crippled and caged, in a body piloted by a pretender preferred by his patriarch.

Defiled was too weak a word for how Vincent felt at he lay upon that surgical table. Was this how Kurosaki had felt as he peeled away layers of skin?

Whatever that feeling might have been was forgotten as the orthopedic surgeon started to call for tools, informing the puppet that they were replacing his current skeletal system with the Epimorphic variant. While he might have been numb to the pain, he heard every pop as one by one every bone left in his torso was removed. Only to be replaced a moment later with swift and professional precision.

Helpless in all meanings of the word, he struggled to rationalize the sensations. That it was only his mind filling in the missing information based on what he could see.

A small comfort, one that did not help when compared to the much grimmer picture that was being painted.

"Hand me the Feen-X and the universal booster please?" The masked doctor currently hunched over his new torso addressed one of his colleagues.

Numb as he was, Vincent could feel the weight of the doctor's hands as he attached the upgrades to his new skeleton.

"Alright, thoracic cage and internals in place. Calkins, you're up." The orthopedist moved away, giving puppet and passenger a view of their next surgeon. Doctor Calkins moved over to the table and picked up a tray of prepared implants. Vincent recognized two of the three pieces.

The first? A high-end Biomonitor; the kind reserved for suits and those who could afford the attempt to live forever.

The second? A second heart to replace the one he currently had. He couldn't recall who made the standard model, but the one being carried over had Trauma Team's insignia stamped on it...Along with an additional valve-like cylinder that wasn't on standard models.

If he had to guess? The bastard had managed to get his hands on one of Trauma's special 'black heart' models. The kind that their medics would shove into a 'high-risk' client to make sure they stayed living.

True Vincent would have been impressed, maybe even felt a sliver of thanks, if he didn't know that his sire had only done it as additional insurance to protect his assets.

The third piece was one he didn't recognize, but in an odd form of serendipity, one of the other specialist didn't seem to recognize it either.

"Prototype clutch padding." Vincent had heard of them, but hearing that this was a prototype variant raised a red flag. "It's called an Isometric Stabilizer."

"Where'd it come from?"

"Somewhere in Dogtown."

Even if he wasn't in his current situation, he would have been happier without that knowledge. Outside of its walls, if there was one thing Dogtown was known for, it was scavenged gear and well over-worn wares. Adding that to the fact that this particular piece had come from the bastard? That raised more red flags than a corporate-backed communist revolution.

"Okay Vincent, ready to continue?" The cardiologist asked, and the puppet vocalized his approval. Vincent mentally voiced his own rejection of treatment, but it went unheard. "Alright, take a few deep, steady breaths for me? That's in – in, hold two three, out two three..." The ripper counseled, even as the anesthesiologist administered another dose. "Just focus on breathing, alright? You shouldn't feel anything, but if you do feel something, it's normal. Alright? Everything you may feel is normal."

Once more, the puppet nodded, and Vincent could feel the body growing heavy as the medicine went to work. A few moments later, and Vincent was thankful he had chosen to follow along in spirit. It kept his locked mind off the feeling of wrongness in his chest as connections to arteries and veins were severed and rerouted temporarily as one false organ was traded for another. A collective sigh of relief came from Vincent, and some of the doctors as Calkins announced the procedures a success.

"Okay Vincent, we're going to temporarily give you a 'high spec' pain editor while we bring you partially out of anesthetic and take a little break." He heard the doctor clearly, but had a feeling the puppet was off somewhere in La-La Land as he only gave a reflexive bob of his head. "This will also give us a chance to check how everything's settling in before moving onto the next system."

Vincent groaned, a similar sound coming from the drone as he came back to reality. A couple scans were made and when the results came back clean, his body was cleared for the neurosurgeon to proceed with his work.

"My assistants and I are going to be working on both your nervous system, and your frontal cortex. We're going to take turns asking you questions as we work to make sure everything is in order as we go. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The puppet hummed as a shot of medicine was administered to the back of his neck.

"Good, now I want you to remember the following words; apple, cat, tree."

"Fuck. This. Shit." Vincent mocked as the assistants brought over his latest set of parts, letting the medicine take effect. He went silent as the three of them did a quick inventory and inspection of the cyberware that would be added to his head. Listening to see just what the bastard had ordered.

Most of these upgrades were surprisingly basic. An EX-Disc, RAM upgrade, and memory booster – all of the highest quality. Vincent also noticed the new cyberdeck waiting for him; the mark five variant of the Arasaka Shadow. Oh, and the bastard had also opted to give him a set of NeoFiber to help mitigate any damage that may happen to his neck and spine.

For a brief moment, Vincent had the irrational thought that the bastard had done something right. Too bad that went out the window when he heard the surgeons discussing the fact that his Sandevistan was going to be removed and replaced with a synaptic accelerator and Kerenzikov.

With all their poking and prodding, Vincent wondered if they'd come across the chip that turned him into the puppet they were working on. He knew removing it would kill him, but what would happen if it got damaged?

Given how the surgeons were weaving the two systems together by tugging and pulling at nerves and wires. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. But then again, if the chip was damaged...Would he be released back into his body? Or forever locked in his mind? Or would that still kill him?

Finding the answer would have been more entertaining than listening to the puppet answer the same questions over and over. Making sure that nothing was being 'wired wrong' as one of the surgeons put it.

Too bad they didn't know that all the answers were what the bastard had programmed for the puppet and not Vincent's honesty.

"Seems everything is in order. Once again, we're going to give you a little downtime as we run a few scans to make sure your systems are meshed properly with your nervous system. How are you feel Vincent?"

"Thirsty." The puppet licked his lips. "Like shit." The body's real owner thought.

"And my head feels like someone's pulling my hair." The puppet moved their head side-to-side, as if that would loosen up the feeling. "Feels like someone took a hammer to my brain."

"Also, I'm a little cold." The puppet's eyes wandered down to his body, noting the current state of 'undress' he was in. "Burning with rage."

A cup of water was offered then, and instructions given that he could drink it, swish it around his mouth, but that he should be mindful of swallowing.

"Anesthetics have come a long way, but there's no guarantee that even a little water won't upset your stomach. If you feel even the slightest bit nauseous, please say so." The puppet took the cup, and Vincent found himself wishing he could have a drink, or several. All lethal levels of alcohol. "As for your head, that feeling should subside on its own in a few minutes."

The puppet gave a nod, letting out a sigh of relief as he spat the water back into the cup. That sigh of relief turned into a slightly pained groan that the attending physician was quick to ask if he felt okay.

"Sort of? Feels like I need to use the bathroom."

The shame Vincent felt at at his body's natural functions was nearly immeasurable. Still devoid of working legs and arms, the puppet had to be helped by staff every step of the way. At least after they were done washing him they had finally given him a disposable gown to cover up with.

"How do you feel now? Do you need anything else?"

"Much better." The puppet nodded, looking at his still exposed parts. "Would like some new skinn though."

"And I'd like to get the fuck out of here!" Vincent cried, ignoring the dermatologist who informed him he'd be covered soon enough. Another quick check of his vitals, and the puppet was cleared for the next round of alterations.

If Vincent thought he felt violated with the rippers working on his internals. Then he felt desecrated as they began to work on his externals.

The remains of his arms were removed in their entirety in favor of being replaced with full prostheses – in particular ones with electrified monowires. At first glance, this 'upgrade' wasn't so bad. But take into account that the bastard had chosen the Arasaka 'Corporate Security' Model; a mostly black mechanical limb with accents of red and the Arasaka logo stamped on the shoulder and forearm. Unable to be covered with additional skin, it was insult to already injured pride.

"Real subtle there..." Vincent grumbled, even as the drone praised the new addition.

His legs were next. He supposed he should have been thankful that all they did was trade out his fortified ankles for the quieter Lynx Paws. If that and the new cyberdeck weren't signs that the old bastard was trying to get him back to his Counter-Intelligence routes, Vincent didn't know what would be.

"Just a few more implants to go." One of the surgeons informed the puppet, even as he started to install two additional prototypes that Vincent had never heard of before.

"What the fuck is a Cellular adapter?" He never received an answer as the red honeycomb of synthetic muscle was attached to his exposed form.

"The fuck is Chitin?" Though the eyes of the puppet, he watched as what seemed to be a variant of subdermal armor was woven into the mix. At least the final piece of cyberware was something he recognized – Optical camo.

"Alright, let's get you into some new skinn." The dermatologist came over with a roll of the synthetic skin, a perfect match in color to what little organic flesh remained.

That news should have cheered Vincent, as it meant one step closer to getting out of here. Instead, it made his thoughts on the situation worse. All of the changes made to him were ones he might have done on his own, depending on what a job called for. But since all of them were what the bastard wanted? All hand-picked to make him exactly what was desired?

Vincent prayed that his new skinn would trigger something within his immune system. Maybe a lethal round of 'cyberware rejection syndrome'?

Surely the feeling of his body rejecting its own limbs and other systems couldn't be any worse than the total body dysphoria he was already feeling while sitting in the backseat of his own body.

"Alright, just one more implant to go."

Strike that, there was one thing that just might be worse.

"The optics, right?" The puppet asked, and someone who Vincent assumed was the optometrist nodded. "So what am I getting?"

"Where the fuck was this curiosity with the other pieces of tech!?" Vincent screamed, even as one of the assisting doctors started to apply some sort of topical analgesic around his eyes and forehead.

"Kiroshi's latest contribution to the world of optics; The Oracle. Not to be on market for a few years, but I guess your old man cared about you enough to pull some strings." The optometrist reached over to the table and held up the piece in question. A cybernetic eye with more wires tailing from it than Vincent cared to count. "How does the area around your eyes feel?"

"Itchy? Yet numb?" One of the puppet's hands came up and scratched at the skin, gently tapping his forehead.

"Oh good, that means the topical has taken. Now for the paralytic to ensure your eyes remain open." She picked up a small syringe and started injecting it at various points around the puppet's eye sockets. "Anderson, administer the next dose."

Vincent saw the anesthesiologist nod before she injected something into the puppet's neck. After a moment, his view of the world dipped lower as the painkillers worked their magic. He saw the doctor's hand move under his chin and raise the head back up, resting the chin on a support. Her eyes staring into his as she appraised his condition.

"Okay, he's numbed – we can proceed without issue."

Those words should have been a comfort. A promise of no pain or suffering.

This might have been true for the puppet, who's conscious mind had the benefit of being able to feel the effects of the medicines he had been given.

It did nothing for Vincent, trapped awake and aware thanks to his father's chip buried in his brain, who could do nothing but sit and watch the sight of a horse needle growing ever closer to the puppet's eye. He tried to look away, but found he couldn't even shut his own phantom eyes.

He flinched as the needle penetrated, even as the puppet remained still. Numb to the odd squelching sound the needle made as it pushed in.

Vincent's thoughts screamed as only an imprisoned psyche could, a sound that could never be heard in the physical plain, but it did nothing to hide the sickening wet pop that came from the original optic being removed. His field of vision now cut down by nearly a third. He would have been thankful, if it had actually shielded him from seeing the process done in reverse as the doctor repeated the steps with The Oracle.

It looked like a mass of tentacles approaching. Felt like something crawling around inside his skull as nanomachines and other cybernetic wonders began meshing the connections of the optics with his brain.

And while he still didn't have full vision back, probably a side effect of everything getting wired together. It was oddly relieving to see the needle retreating away from the replaced eye.

As if to spite that droplet of relief another one came in a moment later to take his remaining window to the world.

Even though he knew what to expect, it didn't make the procedure any easier to endure the second time around.

Especially when everything went dark and the only guide Vincent had to everything going on around him were the sounds.

The sound of something sliding wetly into place. Followed up by skittering. Or maybe of something twisting and writhing just out of sight. Of something wetly locking into place.

With an internalized cracking sound, the darkness was pierced by an all too sudden brightness that made Vincent's body flinch.

The puppet returned to its motionless pose, held in place even as he looked out over the room with his new eyes. With newfound clarity, Vincent watched as some of the other doctors started to clean up the operating theater, and watched one of the surgeons gently wiping at the skin around the body's eyes, and parts of their face.

Slowly, V noticed the puppet was moving his hands, bringing them into his line of sight. The doctor put him through a few simple test; showing him flash cards or asking him to name objects she was holding. Checking that everything was calibrated correctly.

"Alright, everything seems to be in order with your optics." She made a note on a datapad as one of the neurosurgeons moved over to them.

"Alright Vincent, there's just one more thing we need to take care of." The man started to explain. "Final software updates an-"

He got no further as the sound of someone knocking on the door alerted the doctors within of a visitor. Everyone fell silent, and through the enhanced eyes of the drone, Vincent watched as the neurosurgeon moved to the door to speak with whomever was behind it.

This seemed to intrigue the puppet, as he turned his head to try and better hear the conversation going on. Unfortunately, they could only hear the surgeon's side of the conversation.

"Sir? Doctor Hirmand?"

"Another specialist?" Was it bad that Vincent wished the bastard had paid for an audio upgrade? Maybe that's what this newcomer was here for.

"We're nearly done with everything...Yes, there's that, but after all the other work?" The surgeon sighed. "Look, I'm not saying that we can't, but that we shouldn't..." Vincent would have blinked if he was able. Did this surgeon care more about his patient's health than monetary gain? "Hirmand, I get that it's mostly cosmetic. But I'm just saying it would be unwise to do it now as the other facial components..." He heard the surgeon hum, suspecting the man had just been sent something. "Alright, but as his systems need time to settle. This is the last one before the software upgrades have to be done, and the body allowed to rest."

The surgeon stepped back, allowing another person to enter. She was wearing similar garb to the others, and the only thing to set her apart was the case in her hands.

"I need to finish getting this man's updates ready..." The surgeon lead the newcomer over. "Doctor Hitchmoth, this is Doctor Hirmand from cosmetics. Can you brief her on the patient's facial cyberware?"

The optometrist nodded, going over how she had just finished replacing his optics. Dr. Hirmand nodded, stating she was glad she got there when she did.

"Great. Makes it so much easier to install faceplates when the optics are already done."

Vincent didn't bother listening to her explain why it was easier. He was too busy internally screaming, even as he learned it was one of the pure cosmetic models. The type that let you give yourself higher cheekbones at will, or a squarer jaw without actually altering your facial structure.

Because of course the bastard realized Vincent still had his face.

And just couldn't stand to leave anything uniquely him alone.

"Sorry Vincent, gonna have to numb you up again." The optometrist's voice was gentle, and he could hear a hint of apology in it as once again some topical and injected painkillers were given. "I promise this is the last procedure."

She looked towards the neurosurgeon who seemed to be spearheading the whole twisted operation, seeing the man nod.

Once more, that was something that should have been comforting. Maybe to the puppet it was, but for Vincent it was the sight of another nail being hammered into his metaphorical coffin. He could do nothing as he felt the effects of the painkillers again. Watched through paralyzed eyes as sections of skin were peeled off his face. Felt the occasional bit of pressure as wires or electrodes were attached. Heard the gentle cracking of electricity as systems came to life even as he heard the faint squeaking of new skinn being pulled over parts of his face.

"And done." Dr. Hirmand announced, using a warm, damp towelette to wipe his face. "Here, take a look."

The cosmetic surgeon handed him a mirror, and Vincent felt most of his remaining resolve break. The face looking back at him was both familiar yet alien at the same time.

"How do you feel now Vincent?" The chief neurosurgeon addressed him again.

Vincent felt the puppet smile, saw the flexing of his body's fingers as the mirror was set aside. "Like a new man."

Vincent felt himself go cold at that declaration. And it froze over completely as he was treated once again to the sight of his body. If he was capable of it, Vincent would have been crying at the sight.

None of his original chrome remained; it seemed the bastard only cared enough to leave some of his internal organs untouched and a few select sections of organic flesh intact.

Everything was new, and tailored just so to please the bastard's eye. To create the perfect son.

"And it's official. The only thing we have left to take care of is the software upgrades." There was an edge to the neurosurgeon's voice, as if he was challenging anyone to say otherwise. "Turn your head to the side please?"

The puppet complied, not caring as the neurosurgeon attached a cord to him. This time to his personal link.

Trapped inside his mental prison, Vincent could only whimper as he felt himself be swarmed by hundreds of threads.

Dozens of connections to minds and machines worldwide, each poking and prodding at his cyberware and the mind that controlled it. Customized software was torrented to his hardware at blinding speeds, a streamlined series of improvements and optimizations to bring his body's every move to its maximum potential.

Vincent felt his body heave and wheeze and gasp. Felt the puppet's ironclad grip slacken for just a moment.

Then it all went dark.

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Vincent had had his share of hangovers. Of waking up feeling sluggish and disoriented after a difficult assignment and/or a night of partying.

All of those times paled in comparison to his waking up from surgery the day prior.

He had woken up feeling weightless and heavy at the same time. His eyesight distorted, as if looking out through a fogged shower window. Vincent's body took a breath, and immediately choked as his mouth was splashed with a not-quite-water-like liquid that was quickly receding away from his face.

He heard voices, but couldn't understand them due to the water-like liquid in his ears and his own coughing. Vincent heard the hiss-like pop of a watertight seal being broken. Felt gentle hands moving around and underneath him as they lifted him to a sitting position as he coughed.

"Get him out of the 'recovery tank' – careful now." He heard one of the doctors say, feeling more hands underneath and around him as they lifted him out of the tank and placed him onto a proper exam table. Felt the soft touch of towels removing any remaining not-moisture, and the feel of a robe or similar garment being draped over his shoulders. During the process, his body turned their head as much as he could, seeing the tank he had been moved from. It looked like a corrupted version of a netrunner's ice bath. Or maybe some twisted sensory deprivation tank.

Not that it mattered either way; Vincent didn't feel anymore comfortable in his new skinn. Oh sure, the pain had stopped as everything was now accepted as a part of him. But it did nothing to help his shattered psyche.

"Apologies Vincent. You woke up a little sooner than we expected." The neurosurgeon who had advocated against further body modifications addressed him. "Aside from your throat possibly being a little raw from your coughing fit, how are you feeling?"

"Alright, maybe a little tired...and cold." The drone adjusted the robe he had been given, slipping his arms into the sleeves properly before pulling it closed.

"Okay, and how does the robe feel against your skin?"

"Soft." The drone adjusted the robe a bit more. "Just wish the tie for it was longer..."

"Yeah, we hear that a lot." The neurosurgeon chuckled, making note of something on a nearby computer. "Anyhow, we're going to run a few more tests. I know, but the good news is if these come back green, you'll be able to get out of here."

"About fucking time." Vincent thought. Sure, he was only a passenger, but it would be good for his body to get out before the bastard decided to make some additional modifications.

"Great, hold this please?" What looked like a child's sensory book was placed in his hands. "We're going to further test your senses. Open the book to page nine please?"

The puppet complied, and Vincent cursed as he was forced to follow along.

He looked at pictures through eyes that didn't belong to him.

Felt the world around him by hands attached to him, but weren't his own.

When the book was put down in favor of testing his motor skills, his steps seemed just a little too long or too short depending on where and how he was moving.

Everything felt familiar, yet alien at the same time. Disoriented, yet clear – like looking at a surrealism painting. Or maybe it was like being in a AR game, except Vincent was watching someone else play with his character.

And they weren't doing a very good job of it.

He supposed he should have been thankful when the puppet passed all the tests with flying colors and received the green light to leave. And could admit that maybe that he should have paid more attention as a small bag of medications and postoperative care instructions were given to the drone. Or have read over some of the discharge papers the drone was currently occupied filling out.

Instead, he was more focused on trying to figure out where they'd go from here.

"Alright Vincent, everything's in order." The doctor currently assigned to him gave a nod as he typed something into a datapad.

"Not everything." The drone joked, gesturing to the fact that he was still only wearing the robe he had been given.

"Ah yes, if you'll follow me." The man lead him down a short hallway to what appeared to be a dressing room. A garment bag was hanging off the mirror, a simple tag attached to the zipper identifying its contents as belonging to him.

"Least they cleaned my suit..." Vincent's thought, watching as the drone unzipped the bag to reveal the contents. Instead of his suit like he expected, Vincent was greeted to the sight of a new black twill suit; one that had been tailored just for him. The white undershirt was pristine and perfectly starched. Even the neck tie was ironed to a perfectly smooth plane.

"You've got to be shitting me..." Vincent groaned as the drone dressed, he was no stranger to fashion, but he had seen this particular style on the bastard far too often.

The puppet didn't seem to share the revelation, asking the air if anyone had some pomade as he tried unsuccessfully to fix his hair. Meanwhile, Vincent focused more on the face staring back at him from the mirror. The bastard hadn't made any major changes, but the minor tweaks were just enough to throw him off.

And make anybody who knew him do a double-take.

A knock at the door had the puppet turning, and Vincent felt a small touch of relief that he didn't have to stare at himself anymore. Never mind that he was now staring at the bastard at the door...Who of course was wearing the exact same suit. The only difference being that he was wearing a golden tie, whereas the puppet-son had been given a deep red one.

"Suit looks good, you look good." Father commented as he appraised the transformation, not even bothering to check how he was feeling. "Tie's a little crooked...And what's going on with your hair?"

"Still getting used to the new hands." The puppet looked back at the mirror, pulling on his tie's knot to loosen and adjust it, before pulling it taut.

Was it too much for Vincent to ask for the arm servos to malfunction and turn the tie into a noose this time?

"Better?" His body asked, standing up straight as in a cliché movie moment the bastard took a comb out of his pocket and fixed his son's hair. Satisfied, the man gave a single nod of approval, making the puppet smile. "So what is the plan for today?"

At least the puppet asked a smart question for once.

"We're going to be returning home." Father motioned for him to follow, and the drone moved without question. "Give you some time to rest in an environment where you can be monitored for any issues."

"You mean observed to make sure your puppet wasn't fucked with." Vincent grumbled, but the puppet nodded. "Ah yes, the doctors did say there was a chance for side effects to show up hours after surgury. Are you sure I won't be a bother though?"

"Not at all my boy," he placed a hand on his shoulder. "It was actually your mother's idea to have you stay with us while you finish recovering. And there's quite a few things I didn't get to show you at dinner that I wanted to."

Vincent hoped that the corporate drone side of the construct posing as him would show up and decline the invitation. That he would argue that he'd be fine on his own, or that he had his own remote work to do. Basically come up with some excuse that the bastard would accept and not argue.

"Very well then." He nodded, and Vincent virtually kicked an imagined wall in frustration. "Mother did want to spend some more time with me. Although, do you think she'll be upset with the changes?" The puppet gestured to himself, "she did take quite a few stills at dinner before I had the work done."

It was a meaningless question that had Vincent groaning as he remembered his mother fussing about. Posing him, his sister (forget all the changes to his body, that was probably the hardest thing he was struggling to get used to), and the bastard for various stills. The woman had even roped the plaited butler in to taking a couple 'Family photos' that she intended to have painted or printed and framed.

"Upset? No. With all the image editing software, she'd probably have everybody touched up anyhow before going to print." The bastard chuckled, "but I'd brace yourself for another round of pictures. I know I am."

There was a playful reluctance on the bastard's words, the two men sharing a resigned laugh at the thought.

Vincent meanwhile imagined bashing his head against the earlier imagined wall, trying to ignore the puppet's eagerness in 'catching up' with the bastard as they drove back towards home.

Now an unwilling passenger, Vincent was treated to a scene similar to when his personal hell started. The white-plaited butler had greeted them at the door, head bowed slightly as he welcomed the two in. Mother came trotting over shortly afterwards, once again giving him a hug before standing back to admire him.

"And I thought you looked handsome before." In true mom fashion, she just had to wipe away a near-imperceptible bit of dirt on his face.

"Eleanor..." Robert let out an airy snort at the display.

"Mother..." Both puppet and Vincent rolled their eyes.

"Oh shush, both of you." She frowned playfully at the bastard, before looking back at the puppet. "It's just that I've seen you more in the last forty-eight hours than I have the last few years." She teased, and despite everything Vincent actually felt a tiny tug of guilt at the fact.

"Forgive me mother." The puppet bowed his head just slightly, shrugging. "But you know how it is."

"Oh indeed." She stared at his father. "Why until your father came back a few months ago, I hadn't seen him for a year. And Valerie only got back from boarding school that morning after being away for months."

"I'll try to be better about visiting." The drone smiled, the expression being mirrored by his mother. "But for the moment, father said he had something he wanted to show me."

Mother looked over at father, who gave a single nod of his head.

"Don't worry Eleanor, you can have him later." Father reassured, and Vincent had a feeling he himself was stalling for time before another round of pictures. "I promise this won't take long. I simply wish to show Vincent the workshop."

"Robert, I've never seen you spend less than two hours in there." She sighed, but gave him a gentle nudge towards the man. "I'll be in my studio. Let me know when you're done, and I'll have one of the butlers put a pot of tea on for us."

"I'd prefer coffee..."

"Sounds lovely." The puppet agreed, before falling in step alongside his father. As they walked, the puppet asked a few questions as he looked around the place he once called home – and the bastard was more than willing to answer them.

It was another rare moment of the puppet-son's actions helping Vincent in his confinement. Allowing him to add on and make adjustments to the map he had made at dinner. Now in the light of day, Vincent could see the bastard hadn't been kidding when he said they had remodeled.

The overall size of their North Oak villa hadn't changed. And while most of the rooms were where Vincent remembered them being from his youth, there had been a few changes that warranted a guide. Some, like the sacrifice of one of the sitting rooms in favor of expanding his mother's studio were minor. While others – like the bastard's workshop and office moving to the basement, were major.

"Why did you move it down here?" Vincent only realized the puppet had asked the same question as they started walking down the stairs. "Thought you liked the natural light the old garage provided?"

"I did, but I realized I needed a little extra privacy." The biometric scanner beeped as the bastard placed his hand against the panel. "That, and there's better insulation down here to keep the electronics cool. When I decided to expand, it was much more cost effective to move the shop entirely versus installing the new insulation and the other improvements that the garage would have needed for my current endeavors."

With a hiss, the sliding panel door gave way, lights on the ceiling coming to life at the same time to reveal the room.

From what he could recall, it didn't seem too different from the old workshop he saw when he was younger. The poured concrete tiles on the floor were clean. Filing cabinets fought with tool chests, racks, and shelves for space on and against walls. Then there were the multitude of monitors, all showing various schematics. Various tools and utensils littered the surfaces of workbenches and desks, competing for space with pages and data shards.

Everything was in plain sight for Vincent to see...If the damn puppet would just look where he wanted him to.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Very nice." The puppet hummed, looking around the room. "Definitely much larger than your old workshop..." He nearly tripped over a wire running along the floor. "Yet still slightly chaotic."

"You sound like your mother every time she comes down here." The old man mused, gesturing for his son to join him at his desk. He watched as a small terminal rose up from the desk, one that the bastard was now instructing his son to connect his personal to.

"Why?" Vincent felt a moment of hope at the question, that the puppet might refuse depending on the answer. That was quickly dashed as the puppet still sat down and complied without waiting to hear an answer.

"Need to make sure your upgrades didn't mess with your connection to our family's network." The bastard moved to his computer, standing as he typed a couple things. "Should only take a moment. Apologies, you may feel a slight throbbing sensation in your head."

Vincent growled as he suddenly felt a dozen other minds start to connect with his. It was like the software updates from the night prior, but somehow more uncomfortable. Information about various projects, but no concrete details passed through his mind. It was overwhelming for him, and now that he had a level of clarity, the puppet seemed to agree.

"It can be a little much. Most of the information is mine..." A hum escaped the puppet, one eyebrow raising at a piece of information that crossed his mind. "But as I suspect you just discovered, there are a couple things in there from your mother and sister."

"Yeah." The drone's head nodded, "although, is the link supposed to be one-sided?" Vincent could see the puppet trying to access some of the information. And while he found himself able to read, he couldn't make any alterations.

"Yes. Unfortunately, I've only given you the lowest tier of permissions." Father almost managed to sound disappointed. "I'll probably increase your clearance after the original occupant is done sitting in time out."

Vincent intangibly flinched at those words. Did the bastard know his original consciousness was still there? Or was he making a terrible dad joke about how he had a new body?

Either one was a terrifying thought.

"Can't say I blame you father." The puppet replied, unplugging his personal at the man's request. "I have been a little out of line with my recent actions."

Much as the flesh-puppet's words pissed him off, Vincent was semi-grateful for the view the puppet was giving him as he played the part of repentant child. Even though the puppet's eyes were focused on his father, Vincent's were free to wander as much as his confines allowed.

He looked behind the bastard, seeing a few of the monitors on the walls. Some were just charts, but two or three of them were of particular interest. The first seemed to be a diagram of Pacifica, primarily focused on Dogtown. Another might have been blueprints or the floor plan of a building. There was also one that looked like a street map, but as it was only in his peripherals, he couldn't exactly confirm it one way or another.

"Come on, turn your head would you?" He made the wish, but it was ignored as the puppet instead bowed his head, showing humility as the bastard gave him a light dressing down. Vincent's curse at his luck was quickly shoved aside as he realized now that he had a perfect view of the pages littering the desk.

"Dogtown Restoration Project? Director Abernathy's...personnel file?" He wished the print was bigger on some of the other documents. "Requisition forms?" On part of the laquered surface of the desk, he could see a reflection of the computer screen. Unfortunately, his possessed eyes couldn't make out any details beyond what might have been a couple pictures.

"Now, as to why I also brought you down here." The bastard's voice brought Vincent out of his spying attempts as the puppet raised his head. "This is a bit of a non-sequitur compared to some of the other things I wish to discuss, but your mother's birthday is coming up. Not so subtly, she hinted that she wanted some new plants for the garden. I found several bushes that I think she would enjoy, but would like an additional opinion."

After a couple keystrokes, the bastard turned the monitor so the puppet could see. "Of these, which do you think your mother would like more?"

While the puppet looked at the various shrubbery, Vincent focused more on the other tabs and files he could see opened in the background.

Vincent couldn't say if the bastard was baiting him, or if it was just dumb luck – but he could clearly see titles and parts of open files and tabs not related to horticulture.

He moved his eyes as best he could to the page open behind the nursery's, seeing banner letters calling it the 'Replica Project'. What little he could see didn't make sense without full context, but there were one or two images that stuck out to him. They were vaguely familiar; One reminding him of an exoskeleton, while the other showed what might have been a diagram of a person's nervous system being wired to a metal chassis.

"Fuck, where have I see those pictures before..." His eyes flicked to an open tab, seeing first the Arasaka logo before seeing the page's name. "Cyberskeleton Project – Proto...type?" His brain filled in the words he couldn't see, and suddenly it clicked.

The 'Cyberskeleton Project' had been one of Tanaka's projects before he had been 'removed' from the company. And while he couldn't be certain, given his lack of clear vision, it seemed the bastard was taking more than just inspiration from the now defunct project.

Vincent wished he could see and read more. That the puppet would stop looking at shrubbery and instead notice the rest of the screen. That he'd see the same tabs and curiosity about what else his father was working on would be piqued. Instead, the puppet stuck to his requested task, and eventually put forth a vote for 'California lilacs' as he turned the computer back towards the bastard.

"Personally, I'd go for the 'dark star' variant. I think mother would appreciate the contrast it would bring compared to the lighter flora."

"That's what your sister said too. Except she wanted the 'Victoria' variant and I like the 'Marie Simon'..." He chuckled, muttering something about getting all three and letting mother pick an additional one to make a 'family tree' section in the garden. The puppet nodded, while Vincent groaned at the terrible joke. "Eh, we'll see." He turned the monitor off, taking a moment to stretch. "Now that the hard part's out of the way..." The bastard moved from behind the desk and over to one of the other workbenches, motioning for the puppet to join him. "Got a few other things I'd like for you to look over."

"Of course." The puppet gave a nod, giving Vincent a final teasing view of the pages on the desk before the ever filial son moved to obey.

01010111 01100101 01101100 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000110 01100001 01101101 01101001 01101100 01111001

True to his mother's earlier prediction, Vincent had spent a good two, maybe three hours in the company of his father in the workshop. The man showing off more than a few 'token projects' and reports that he was working on. Of course, the bastard didn't share any details about projects that Vincent might have actually cared about. Not that the puppet was bothered by that fact, being more than content to soak up whatever the bastard had to say.

At least the bastard had been kind enough to share his notes about various pieces of tech and chrome.

Almost all of which Vincent recognized as now being a part of himself.

It was almost bittersweet, finding out that the bastard hadn't been lying about the testing and research done on the experimental chrome. And at least now he had an understanding of it that he could explain to others...if he ever was back in control.

"Now, there's just one final thing I wish to discuss with you." The bastard lead him back to the desk, and the two entered a nearly perfect recreation of their initial arrival. Only difference is the puppet didn't have to connect his personal while the bastard booted up the computer again.

Once again, Vincent tried to see some more of what was on the desk, but the damn puppet wouldn't break focus from his father and give him more than undefined shapes. He tried again to get a better view of the monitors, but was only greeted with the same three from before with the same level of details.

Resigned to his current position, all Vincent could do was sit and listen as the bastard finally got to the heart of the matter and this meeting. Revealing what he wanted in exchange for 'all those wonderful upgrades'.

The bastard put forward two different orders.

The first? Plot out the murder of Director Abernathy.

"Not that I'm protesting, but why?" Again, Vincent asked the same question as the puppet. Not because he disliked the woman per say but...

"Because she's been getting in my way. Sticking her fingers where they don't belong." He wished the old man would elaborate on that. Suspecting it had something to do with his work in Dogtown, but lacking any concrete evidence beyond what little he had gleaned before. "Did you know she's been lobbying to have you promoted to the head of Counter-intel now that Jenkins is gone?"

"I did not." The puppet sat up just a little straighter, as if pleased with that development. Vincent might have felt the same, if it hadn't meant another set of hands trying to control him. "But I thought you wanted me to earn a promotion or two?"

Vincent almost felt proud of the puppet for throwing a variant of the shade his father had thrown at them their last meeting back his way.

"I do, but her meddling in it has made some of my work just a little more..." He paused, as if trying to decide on the right word. "Complicated."

"Is that really all?" Vincent sighed, mentally pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. That feeling only grew when the damn puppet-son accepted the answer. And multiplied as the puppet agreed to take the job.

"Not that we could have refused." He thought bitterly as the bastard smiled and handed over the pages he had on Director Abernathy. These were followed by a case of data shards, all of which the puppet took without question, even as the bastard offered up the answers.

"What you have there is the floor plan to her apartment. Personnel and medical files of both her and her lover, Claudette Dalitso. And some other information about projects she is working on."

The puppet's head looked down at the items in question, hands shuffling some of the pages and allowing Vincent to confirm some of his earlier observations.

"With all this information, I should be able to provide you with a plan to take her out by this time tomorrow." Once more, Vincent reluctantly agreed with the puppet's assessment. Hell, if that information was truly what the bastard claimed, he could probably put something together in a few hours...If he could just work uninterrupted. "Just need a place to work..."

"Then lets go back to the apartment instead of staying here." He offered, unheard by all but himself.

"I already told you you're welcome to stay and work here. Set up in your old room, or use the guest office." The old man offered casually, as if he felt lighter now that his intentions were in the open. "Saves you the hassle of lugging everything back and forth."

"You have a guest office?" Both Vincents raised an eyebrow, sharing the same thought.

"Of course. Comes in handy for visiting executives and clients. Allows them to give a presentation or handle shared clients and accounts in a much more relaxed atmosphere than actually being at work." He chuckled, promising to show him the room later even as the puppet accepted the offer.

Vincent meanwhile cursed his luck for the umpteenth time, but maybe there would be something in the office he could use to help his situation? Or even in his old room...if the puppet felt nostalgic enough to check it out?

"Perfect." Father had nodded, looking please at the answer. "Now, as for my second request. I simply wish to meet my grandson, and make amends with his mother." The puppet shifted in the chair, and Vincent hoped he was feeling as uncomfortable as he was at the idea. "Now, I'm not saying you need to bring them over here, but maybe arrange a time and place for us to meet? Somewhere they'd be comfortable?

"No. No, no, no!" It pained him to admit it, but he'd rather never see his family again than drag either of them into this. Or back in in Gloria's case. "Please remember that night. Please remember..."

"Uh, Gloria and I, kind of had a fight? And David's mad at me too for that..." The puppet rubbed the back of his neck, and Vincent both praised and cursed his honesty. He also cursed his own memory, unable to recall if he had told the bastard about that prior to now.

"I'm sure you can find a way to make amends with them." The bastard caged his fingers, thinking. "Perhaps start with David? Gloria might give you a second chance if she sees David doing the same."

"Third chance."

"True." The drone nodded. "Guess I can try, but...Well, you know how stubborn kids can be." He saw the hand gesturing to himself, felt the drone smile at the self-burn.

"Only seems to be the boys." Father mused, "then again. I can thank your sister for more than a few of these..." He reached up to his head and pulled on his silver-dusted hair. The two shared a laugh at that, with the puppet apologizing for any of the ones he caused.

Vincent felt certain his own hair would have already turned gray if he was the one in control of their body. The pair spent a few more minutes talking, before the bastard had to take an incoming call. The double-tap the bastard did as he picked up the call a command Vincent recognized all too well. A wordless gesture of dismissal as the man switched to 'work mode' even as the drone moved out of the workshop in favor of retracing his steps to his mother's studio.

Much to Vincent's semi-annoyance, another few precious hours of planning time were wasted as the drone spent time with their mother. Of his sister, there was no sign, but mother had explained that Valerie was finishing up a project for school. 'I don't want to be doing work over break' was the logic Valerie told her, and neither Vincent or the puppet could argue.

"Great, now if we can just go work on our damn projects?" Vincent requested. Not because he actually wanted to do what the bastard had asked, but because he wanted out of the twisted game of house he found himself in. Fortunately, something else his mother had said seemed to remind the puppet of his own jobs, and he mentioned as such.

"Father said something about me using the guest office?"

"Oh yes, that room." Mother laughed softly, gesturing for him to follow her. "It was actually my old office, but once your father expanded my studio, I decided to move everything in there for convenience sake. Of course, your father couldn't just let the space go to waste, so he converted it. Although I'd say its more like a conference room as opposed to an office now, but I'll let you decide."

Like a pull-along toy, the drone followed his mother a short distance to the room in question. It was larger than he expected; with parts of side walls having been replaced with cork panels and white boards, effectively turning them into massive display boards. The side and back windows looked out over a seaside skyline – a dead giveaway that the 'window' was actually a digital display panel. The kind meant to make windowless rooms feel more open. A conference table capable of seating ten comfortably dominated the center of the room. Behind it was an old oak desk, holding a computer and a printer. A ceiling-mounted projector was aimed at the same wall as the door, a massive white board doubling as a projector screen.

There was even a water cooler and coffee maker on a single counter in the corner next to the white board.

"Yes, this will do nicely." The puppet-son smiled, thanking his mother as he set the items his father had given him on the table. His mother had smiled at that, before departing. Taking a seat in front of the computer Vincent saw the puppet connect his personal to a slot in the table. A moment later and the drone was logging into the computer. Of course, as he suspected, it had been locked to all but the most basic functions.

"So much for potentially poking around." Vincent sighed as his body began looking through the various options that could be projected on the screen. The seaside skyline was traded out for a rainstorm before he turned his attention to the information he had been given. "Finally."

Vincent's entertainment at the situation was short lived. With everything the drone had been given, all the planning and plotting was almost criminally easy. Working through the night and into the morning – the drone had only stopped working once for about an hour when his mother had summoned him to dinner. And in a demented sort of way, a much needed break from the monotony.

Now however, they were standing before one of the walls, studying their plan. It had become a massive display, containing additional details and plans. Additional documents and notes were projected on the display screen behind him, and it was this that his body was currently looking at. The drone hummed, studying the notes as he sipped at his third cup of coffee for the morning, snacking on one of the fruit-filled croissants one of the butlers had brought them after the drone declined the invitation to breakfast.

The real Vincent meanwhile twitched as he looked at what his counterpart had come up with. It was a sound plan, but he could see one or two spots that he considered 'sloppy'.

Not that it mattered, as he had no say whatsoever over the whole thing. All he could do was make his own plan that he'd never get to use to stave off the boredom he felt.

His body finished off breakfast, and checked the time.

"He should be awake by now..." A final swallow of coffee was taken, before the drone selected the number it was looking for from V's holo contacts. "No sense in delaying any further..."

[Calling: David]

"Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up..."

["The fuck do you want?"] David's cold greeting did little to relieve the agony Vincent was feeling at the current situation.

["Wanted to talk to you."] The drone apparently decided that partial honesty was the best policy. ["To apologize for my behavior the last few weeks."]

["I...I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"] Vincent was proud of the sass David was throwing his way.

["I said I wanted to apologize."] His voice repeated, ["wanted to make amends for how distant I've been the last few weeks."]

Vincent hoped that his body's willingness to apologize was raising warning flags in David's eyes. He still hadn't actually apologized for how he acted when he first met the boy.

["Who are you? And what have you done with V?"] Any other time, Vincent might have laughed at that old joke. This time he prayed it was an honest question.

["I may have gotten some new chrome, but I assure you, it's me."] "Bullshit."

["Is that where you've been? Chroming up like a metal head instead of fixing the problems you've made?"]

["No, it was just some standard maintenance and part replacement."] The drone looked at his arms, ["decided to try out the monowires Lucy seems so fond of. How is she doing by the way?"]

Vincent's non-existent eyes popped out at that question. Contrary to what everyone seemed to believe, he didn't dislike Lucy. She had, arguably, been good for David. He could almost overlook the fact she had borderline groomed him. After all, she gave him something, no...Someone to fight for. No, he just didn't trust her. Felt she might have some ulterior motive. After all, why-

["Since when do you care?"] The question seemed to have caused a paused on David's end as well.

["Look, I know Lucy and me started off on the wrong foot an-"]

["You strapped a makeshift bomb collar to her neck! Oh, and also strapped them to her friends!"] He could feel David's anger, ["you didn't just go off the wrong foot. This was the whole fuckin' leg!"]

["You're right."] The puppet gave a nod, and Vincent twitched. He couldn't argue his son's assessment. ["In the heat of the moment, I overreacted. But overtime, I've seen how she's changed you. You used to walk with your head bowed, anger in your step. But now? I see you walking with your head held high, a spark in your eye that only gets brighter when she's around."]

["Okay..."] Vincent shared in David's confusion and discomfort.

["Look. Despite how things started off, Lucy's a good girl."] Vincent wondered what the puppet's definition of 'good' was. ["I can tell she cares about you, and that you care about her."]

["Get to the point V."]

["Look, I know you and I on the outs."]

"That's an understatement..."

["But I'm biting the bullet here and extending the olive branch. I wanted to invite you, and Lucy, if she wants to come along, to meet my parents – your grandparents."]

An odd strangled sound came from David as he tried to articulate his thoughts. ["Wh-why Lucy? Why not just me? Or me and mom...Actually, thinking about it. You owe mom an apology more than me!"]

Vincent was both hurt by, yet proud of David for those words.

["I know I do, and I was going to call her after this."] Vincent would rather have his optics replaced ten times over than listen to what the puppet might say to Gloria. ["But I was hoping we could start to bridge some of these gaps in our family together. And before you say otherwise, I want you to know that I've come to see Lucy as part of this family."]

An odd strangled sound came from David, but before he could articulate his thoughts, the puppet continued.

["Now, now. I'm not saying this meeting has to happen right this minute. Just hoping we can arrange something in the near future."]

"Say no! Say no!" Vincent prayed that the once highly rebellious gonk his son had been was still in there somewhere. That he would tell the drone to fuck off. Make some excuse or another to refuse the invitation.

["Uh...I'd have to, call mom? Maybe? And check what's going on with the crew? And talk it over with Lucy..."] It wasn't an outright dismissal, but Vincent was phantom fist-pumping the air at David's hesitance and excuse making. He hoped it meant that the boy had realized something was wrong. ["Can I, uh, maybe call you back? You kind of caught me while I'm, in the middle...of something."]

["Of course son. Take all the time you need."] With a simple thanks from David, the line went dead. "But please hurry..."

Even though the puppet didn't sound upset as the call ended, Vincent still felt and heard the sigh that accompanied it. He couldn't tell what his body was thinking, but suspected the drone was considering his next course of action.

With slower movements than before, the drone moved back to the coffee machine and poured his fourth cup.

"Maybe I should take the kid's advice..." The drone's words filled Vincent with more terror than anything else so far, even as he selected another name from his contacts.

[Calling: Gloria]

An almost orgasmic level of relief flooded through Vincent as the call was ended after a single ring. That simple action meant two things. The first being that Gloria was alive, and the second being that she didn't want to talk to him.

Too bad that wasn't enough to dissuade the drone from leaving a message.

["Gloria, I need to pour my heart out to you and beg for your forgiveness. I am truly sorry for the immense burden I placed on you this past week. I should never have blindsided you with all my emotional baggage without a proper heads-up. When I professed my desire for us to make things right, for our family to be whole again, I meant every word."]

["My love for you, Gloria, burns deeper than I ever realized. It never wavered, not even for a moment. I am willing to do whatever it takes to mend what is broken between us. Please, find it in your heart to forgive me and give us a chance to rebuild what we once had."]

It was the most empty yet heartfelt apology Vincent had ever heard. And the worst part? He agreed with every bit of it.

Meanwhile the drone sighed and took a long drink of coffee, letting the liquid energy recharge him after two draining encounters. He had just sat back down when there was a knock, accompanied by the door opening to reveal the bastard standing there, briefcase in hand.

"Good morning son..." He looked around the room, seeing the collage of ideas on the wall, before noticing the empty plate. "I see you've been busy, and that you got the croissants your mother insisted be brought to you."

"I regret not having gotten them when they were still warm. But they were still delicious." The drone seemed thankful for the distraction. Taking another sip of coffee even as the bastard moved to pour himself a cup. "Also, you might need to refill the coffee supplies in here."

"Long as you didn't use all the natural sugar, we won't have a problem." The older man laughed, reaching under the counter to add a couple packets to his coffee. "Now, care to show me what you've come up with."

"Of course." Ever eager, the puppet walked his father through the plan he had come up with. Vincent meanwhile groaned. He had watched as the puppet made the plans, and it was oddly exhausting hearing about it again. Like watching a re-run of an already boring episode. Even the occasional question put forth by the bastard did nothing to make the experience anymore enjoyable.

"I approve." The bastard said a few moments after the puppet had finished his performance. "Although, I do have a favor to ask. Would you kindly give this to Director Abernathy before seeing to her execution?"

"May I ask what's in the case?"

"No." The answer was flat, delivered with a tone Vincent knew meant 'let it go'. "If she asks, tell her the truth that you don't know. Call it a 'peace offering' from me if you have to."

"Of course father." The puppet took the case, bouncing it up and down slightly as if appraising its weight would reveal its secrets. "Anything else?"

"Yes." The bastard placed a hand on the puppet's shoulder. "Go and get some real rest. I've pulled a few strings so you've still got a day or two of leave before you'll need to go back to the office."

Another nod came from the puppet as he took the case, giving a respectful bow to his father as he stepped out of the room. Taking a moment to finish their coffee and collect his own pages, the puppet finished up before taking his leave.

It should have been a relief to Vincent that the bastard hadn't asked about his second assignment. Maybe he understood that that was the harder of the two assignments? Then again, he realized that thanks to the drone's confession, that the bastard would know there would be resistance. And that he was probably waiting for his puppet-son to supply additional information.

Either that, or the old bastard was up to something bigger that was just slightly more important than bringing his recently discovered grandson (and alienated potential daughter-in-law) into the fold. Or more likely, several somethings at once.

A fact that left his imagination filled with bitter tastes and waves of discomfort even as the bastard's fortress faded into the distance.

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After a day of minor delays and inconveniences (the damn puppet forgot to approve one of the automatic payments that required a two-factor authentication). The doll currently known as Vincent Linder was finally returning to the office...And able to start on its plan to eliminate Director Abernathy.

Much to his initial shock, she had been the one to call him, looking to set up a meeting. This was a small blessing in the plan the drone had come up with – as it eliminated the need for him to have a reason to call her first.

"Good, now I won't have to hear the song and dance about having information about Jenkins...And can get right to the fact that she hinted at the promotion months ago." He had thought the drone's willingness to divulge some of that information sloppy, but had to admit his own plan to meet her ahead of her execution hadn't been much better.

Vincent decided to focus instead on how his return to the office was heralded with little fanfare. One of his regular baristas at the cafe wrote 'welcome back' on his cup. And from his department, only one or two others took the time to welcome him back. They wished him well, and exchanged the usual office banter before going their separate ways.

Everyone else was more than content to ignore him and go about their own lives. Something Vincent couldn't decide if he was thankful for or not. It meant less people getting in his way, but at the same time might have meant less allies if something went awry.

Upon entering his personal office, Vincent was pleased to see though the puppet's eyes that nothing had been disturbed. Sure, the cleaning staff had come in and dusted, but everything was where he left it. He felt the doll nod, and heard the familiar squeak of his chair as the drone took a seat and booted up their work computer.

"Alright, let's see what backlog awaits me." The doll cracked his knuckles, checking first that no one had used the computer in his absence. Finding the security log in order, the puppet checked his messages. Once more, the usual assortment of files and cases met his eyes as he looked them over.

"Well, least I get a break from being a corporate drone..." It was a terrible joke that brought Vincent no relief as his body worked. "Ugh, can you read and type any slower?"

Vincent couldn't help but critique his body hijacker's methods. Apparently when it came time for the bastard to program efficiency, the 'corporate' option had been selected. This meant that the job would get done, but at a pace that was inconvenient for the other party.

In this case, that party was Vincent.

Sue him. He was stuck back-seating his body being taken for a joy-ride, he was allowed to be petty.

He must have been able to read the same page at least three times before the drone moved onto the next one and started the process all over again.

Idly, he wondered if any of this was on purpose. A way for the bastard to get back at him, without doing any actual harm.

"Oh, now that is interesting..." The drone muttered, looking over a memo about a potential visit from one of the Arasaka children.

Okay, so maybe some of what Vincent could see was important. That didn't make being a prisoner in his own body any less annoying or tedious. He was almost thankful when the familiar tone of an incoming call broke up the monotony.

Too bad he hated who was calling.

["Hello sir."] Even though it was his father, the drone had opted to address the man professionally.

["Hello Vincent."] The bastard's voice replied, matching the professionalism. ["Have you gone to see the Director yet?"]

["No sir. My meeting with her isn't until three."] The drone leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to stretch. Vincent caught sight of the clock, it was currently one-thirty. ["Was just about to take a break and grab a quick bite to eat before paying her a visit."]

["Excellent. Let me know how it goes."]

["Of course sir."] The call came to an end, and the drone gave a single nod as he locked his computer. The case for the director was left behind, locked safely in his desk before heading to the cafe.

It irked Vincent something fierce that he couldn't savor the steak wrap the drone treated himself to. He promised himself the first thing he'd do if when he got his body back was treat himself to some 'ganic steak. Or maybe go for the full surf and turf experience.

"Oh, nearly showtime." Vincent heard the drone mutter as he noticed a clock. It was only two-thirty, but the puppet clearly wanted to make sure he'd be on time. After stopping by the washroom to fix his hair and adjust his suit...The new one his father had gifted him. The drone had reclaimed the case from his office and was taking the elevator ride up to Director Abernathy's office.

He stepped out of the elevator and walked the short distance down the hall, greeting her secretary with a nod as the man noticed him.

"Greetings sir, do you have an appointment?" The secretary asked, gesturing to a terminal before placing his hands on the keyboard.

"I do." The puppet smiled, showing his ID and connecting his personal for additional confirmation. "Vincent Linder. Employee number NC770416."

The secretary checked the information against what was on his screen, indicating the puppet could disconnect before pressing a button on a nearby intercom. "Director Abernathy, Mister Linder is here to see you."

"Send him in." The secretary nodded and gestured to the door as the electronic lock clicked open. With a nod of thanks, the puppet stepped into the office. It was similar to the bastard's guest office, and Vincent couldn't help but wonder if one had borrowed the design from the other. The biggest differences being that this one actually had windows, and the conference table was one of the high-tech types with a digital display and computer built in.

Abernathy was seated at her desk, while there were several other ranking members of her department already seated around the conference table. A less initiated suit might have been surprised to find that Abernathy wasn't alone, but Vincent knew why they were there.

To observe the interview that would lead to his promotion. Giving a nod to the others as he passed, the drone made his way over to her desk and offered a professional greeting.

"Director Abernathy, a pleasure to see you again." He gave a tiny dip of his head in respect, "I trust you are well?"

"Well enough." The director pulled her attention away from the computer. Vincent could feel her eyes appraising him, and so could the puppet if the slight straightening of his back was any indication. He caught her eyes flick to the case in his hands. "Yourself?"

"Fine, thank you." The puppet remembered the case in his hands. "Oh, before I forget, this is for you." He set the case on her desk, and Vincent saw her raise an eyebrow. "And before you ask, I have no idea what's inside. I'm just acting on A.S.F. Director Linder's order that it be brought to you."

"A.S.F. Director Linder?" The woman hummed, pulling the case closer. "The man raised you to be corporate to the bone if you're referring to him so formally. Even Yorinobu will refer to Saburo as 'his father' before giving the corporate title."

"No offense meant to the Emperor and his kin, but I'd like to make my way in the company without riding on someone else's coat tails."

"Finally, something we agree upon." Vincent grumbled, ignoring the bureaucratic exchange of pleasantries. The only thing to spark his interest before they got down to business being Abernathy briefly peeking at the contents of the case before storing it underneath her desk.

Maybe he'd add 'steal the case back' to his own plan to eliminate the director.

"Please, take a seat." She gestured to one of the open chairs at the table, introducing the others seated even as she got up to take her place at the head of the table. "I am aware of the potential consequences and influence I have in our professional relationship, so let's maintain a respectful and cooperative demeanor during this interview. Do we have an understanding, sir?"

Given the circumstances, the corporate double-speak was expected. Vincent knew this, and so did the drone who was quick to respond in kind.

"As long as you maintain a professional demeanor, I am willing to cooperate and maintain a positive atmosphere in the presence of others." The puppet professionally sassed back, and Vincent sighed. "God, could corporate drones sound anymore robotic?"

Vincent knew the answer was yes.

"Now Mister Linder-" Vincent braced himself to hear the same stupid joke, but fortunately the drone stayed quiet. "I'm aware of the circumstances surrounding the incident with your former supervisor."

"If there is concrete evidence to support your claim, it would be advisable to notify the authorities promptly." The drone put a little humor on his reply. Vincent knew that she knew, but neither was about to admit it. He heard a small chuckle come from one of the others, but could tell they didn't fully understand the meaning of their words. "I do wonder if the memorial service for him will be smaller of larger than the one for Executive Seremetis."

"Counter intelligence does have more employees to spare than accounting." She replied, raising an eyebrow, "surely some could take a little time off to attend?"

"Who can say." The puppet shrugged, "Jenkins wasn't the most popular guy in the office. Can't imagine too many shedding tears over his death. Indeed, I've only been back a day or two, but everyone seems a bit happier with him gone."

"Yourself included?" Abernathy's lopsided smile told Vincent all he needed to know.

"I will admit I count myself among those who are happier that he's gone." If he was capable of it, Vincent might have actually chuckled at that. "After all, it means his position is now open for someone else to take the reins."

"Whole new meaning to the phrase 'hostile take-over'..." It wasn't lost on Vincent how the puppet had adjusted his jacket at the same time.

"Can you please provide a valid reason for why I shouldn't have security escort you off the premises for that?" Abernathy responded to his veiled sass and true reason for this song and dance.

"Because you are seeking an individual who can effectively manage this department and is susceptible to leverage tactics. Someone with whom you have significant leverage and control, such as myself." The puppet decided to cut right to the heart of the matter.

Abernathy nodded, seeming pleased with his reply. "You demonstrate a significant amount of confidence and drive."

"I've found that, in order to succeed within this challenging company, I must maintain a high level of ambition. Without it, there could be potential consequences that may jeopardize my well-being." Again, Vincent felt himself smile. Idly, he wondered just how long Abernathy was going to keep up the facade.

"Well then, I trust that your ambition will benefit both of us and lead to success."

"M'am?" The drone decided to play dumb a moment as Abernathy typed something into the table's computer.

"You have been chosen as the 'interim' head of Night City's counter-intelligence offices."

While Vincent had a feeling the position wouldn't be outright handed to him, the puppet seemed a little surprised and voiced their opinion.

"Interim?"

"Yes, interim." She input a final command, calling up several files on the table's display screen. They were forms detailing his new position and request for promotion. "Unfortunately, I am unable to provide you with an immediate move as formal approval processes must be followed. Rest assured however that your position is guaranteed once all necessary steps have been completed."

"Understandable." The puppet inclined his head, giving a tiny bow. "Thank you m'am."

"You're welcome," Director Abernathy stood up then, one hand held out before her. Understanding the gesture meant that the meeting was over, the puppet copied her actions and clasped her hand. "And congratulations."

The puppet thanked her again, shaking hands and accepting accolades from some of the others who had been watching their meeting.

Meanwhile, Vincent couldn't help but sigh that Abernathy wouldn't live long enough to see her for him come to fruition.

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After another all-nighter in the office, Vincent's body was finally able to return back to his home in City Center. No dinner with the family. No meetings or additional work. Just him and the classic elegance of his upper class apartment. Even though he was just a passenger, he felt a sense of comfort at being back in a place that was his. The drone seemed to agree, and started running through their homecoming routine.

He let out a sigh of contentment as the lights of the kitchen came up in perfect time to him taking off his suit jacket. Hooking it over his arm, he stepped into the kitchen and made his way though it and over to the small hallway that lead to his bedroom.

Normally, the apartment's lights would come up the moment he entered a room. This time, he noticed there was a small delay as he moved.

"Don't tell me the sensors are dusty again." The drone muttered, and Vincent was inclined to agree. It wasn't an uncommon problem in buildings with sensor controlled lighting.

"Likewise, it might also be because of that damn 'energy-saving' system that drove up the rent." Vincent replied, even though he knew the drone couldn't hear him. Either way, the system seemed to be back at its usual level of operation as they moved into the bedroom.

A hum escaped the drone as they looked around the room. Everything was as Vincent had left remembered leaving it; basket of clean but unfolded laundry at the foot of the bed. Sheets pulled up without actually making the bed. Three-quarters of the way empty bottle of water sitting on the bedside table.

The suit jacket was carefully placed on a hangar, the pants joining it before being moved to the section of the closet reserved for items that needed to be dry cleaned. His shirt, tie, and socks were lazily tossed into the 'dirty' clothes basket, leaving their body in nothing but his underwear.

If Vincent had been in control, they'd have gone to take a shower and wash away the feeling of the last few days.

Instead, the drone decided to simply change into a pair of boxer shorts before collapsing onto the bed.

"This is nice." Vincent agreed with his body's assessment, enjoying the feel of their own bed. The softness of the sheets.

"Should probably make something to eat." The body muttered, reluctantly hauling himself off the bed and over to where a silken house robe hung. Sliding on the robe, the body made his way back into the kitchen and started to browse through the fridge.

"Least he's partially following my routine..." Vincent looked out the windows of his prison, watching as his body poked about the kitchen for something to eat. The drone's attention to the task at hand was slightly derailed as he noticed the radio. "Now put on some music..."

"What the..."Vincent heard himself curse, noticing that his body had now moved to the control panel on the wall. He watched the drone tap at the touch screen through narrowed eyes. "Why is everything lagging?"

Various strings of code met his limited view as his body set the panel to run a diagnostic routine. After a few seconds, the system reported no errors. "Nothing here..."

"Don't tell me this fucking doll chip is messing with my other systems." Vincent huffed as the drone stepped into the small armory that housed his gear, assorted tech, and the main server for the house. Once more, the body ran a diagnostic routine on the apartment's main server, giving Vincent a great view of it.

"Wait a minute..." Vincent's metaphorical eyes narrowed as he looked at the server, even as his body awaited results. While the majority of the ports and sockets were glowing with the soft blue light that indicated they were working correctly. One of them was glowing red, an indicator of a problem. But since he knew it was connected to one of the lights over the mirror in the bathroom, Vincent didn't care.

What really caught his attention was the single port that was blacked out. Something like that meant one of two things.

The first? Something had gone wrong, and that particular port was broken. Unlikely given the amount of safeguards in place that usually alerted one to a problem before anything major happened.

The second? Vincent had done...something, but had removed his memories of what that was. He couldn't even recall what that particular slot was used for. Vincent turned his attention to the report his body was reading, noting that there were no problems listed. His best guess? That some sort of deadman's switch was on, and that it had been coded in such a way as to not affect other systems.

"Software checks out, must be some fault with the hardware..." His body groaned, "eh, mostly everything else is still working...Something to deal with later."

A sense of relief flowed into Vincent with those words as the drone closed up the armory and returned to the kitchen. If his assumption was correct, there was another power in play at the moment. However, that power needed time to work, but he couldn't remember anything specific about it. All he could do was pray that the drone wouldn't catch on to what was wrong.

Luckily, while the consciousness of Vincent Linder had all the time in the world, the body didn't have that luxury. It went about tossing a Burrito XXL into the microwave, cracking open a can of Cirrus Cola to wash it down. Checking messages and e-mails not related to work as he ate.

Vincent supposed that it was a good thing that the drone would have to keep up appearances and follow the routines that Vincent Linder had set for himself. All things that would hopefully keep him from potentially discovering...whatever he had done.

With that thought in mind, and a cautiously optimistic sense of relief, the real Vincent Linder allowed himself a chance to relax, even as his body continued to work on other matters.

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After another day or two of navigating the life of Vincent Linder, it was finally time for the drone to enact his plan. While the drone seemed to be the picture of calm, Vincent had been more than a little nervous. He wasn't sure what would happen to his body (or himself) if things went tits up.

Not that he could do anything except sit back and watch as the drone made final preparations before setting out to enact his plan. He had 'borrowed' a car, not wanting anything that could potentially be tied to him. He kept to the main roads, and followed almost all of Night City's traffic laws.

"Couldn't get rid of my lead foot, huh?" Vincent huffed. It wasn't the first time the drone had driven since their upgrades, but he couldn't help but wonder just what the drone's hurry was in this case. "Eh, if it gets the job done faster without any additional mess..."

He left the thought unfinished as the drone pulled the car into a nearby lot, eyes going to one of the many high rises in the area.

The Westbrook apartment building Abernathy lived in was just on the border of the district. A tower with Multi-floor apartments that stretched across the length and width of the building. Her personally paid for three floors of corporate life and luxury was the third from the top. Only access being an constantly surveyed elevator with multiple security groups hired on by dozens of different residents. Or an emergency access staircase with the same levels of surveillance and a fatigue inducing hazard besides.

Inside her apartment, her personal security was just as lethal. Four of Arasaka's finest guards from special operations, a dozen of Arasaka's R Mk 2s as support patrol, and three Militech Wyverns for air patrol. A camera was somewhere in every room, two if it was important or large. Best of all, each and every room had at a wall or ceiling-mounted 'David IIIC' automatic defense turret.

Abernathy's home was a fortress, a well earned reflection of her paranoia.

Even having seen the building's layout, the patrol routes, the interior décor, given the keys to this would be castle, Vincent would still hesitate before attempting to force entry. A team would be made, backup secured, an escape route planned. V had killed many, and god willing would kill more when he was himself again. However, he couldn't lie to himself. He didn't think he had what was needed to pull this off.

The drone obviously thought otherwise.

It started whistling as they were entering the building, without a care only a smile, a few minutes were wasted by standing at in the lobby. The body's eyes glowing as their new cyberdeck was at work. The drone mimed nodding along to a conversation, gesturing like it was talking to someone on the holo. In reality, the drone was digitally dick deep in the building's security. Abernathy may have prepared her personal apartment for a siege. The landlord didn't do the same. In under a minute every clearance needed to explore or enter any untenanted part of the building was given and granted.

The elevator came when it was called, and soon Vincent's non-concentually borrowed body was headed for the roof.

A soft ding marked the arrival at their destination, and after a short walk up a small staircase, the drone stepped out into the rapidly approaching night.

"Showtime." The real Vincent Linder meant it in the sense of watching what might be a particularly bad B-movie. The drone meant it as the signal that he was starting on his plan.

As it had planned, the drone took appraising measurements of the area. The drone walked to the edge of the building and leaned over the edge a bit further than Vincent would have been comfortable with.

"One, two, three..." The drone counted aloud, making note of which floors contained Abernathy's apartment. Satisfied, he moved back from the edge, and Vincent breathed a sigh of relief.

He might not have liked his new body, but he liked the idea of ending up a smear on the sidewalk even less.

That relief was short lived as the drone resumed counting, pulling some of the monowire cord out of his arms as he did. This wire was attached to one of the parts of the plan that V considered sloppy – a Neodymium-composite 'anchor' that would serve to hold his tether.

"Been better off going in through the ventilation system." He mused, even as the drone secured his anchor before giving a few experimental tugs to it and the wire. Satisfied that it would hold his weight, the drone casually walked to the edge again, making the final checks.

"One of the shafts is right there. Stop the fans, drop in and shimmy our way to her floors." V noted as the drone walked back to his anchor. A final tug was given, before the drone took a deep breath, steeling himself even as he walked back to the edge. This time, he stopped and put his back to the skyline, instead staring at his anchor as he let himself fall over the edge.

Using the wire like a rappel cord, he kept a mental count as gravity pulled him past the other seven or eight floors before he activated the built-in stopping mechanism of his monowires. There was a loud click as the mechanism activated, arresting the drone's momentum and making him 'bounce' in the air as he stopped before the second floor of Abernathy's apartment.

"Would have been a lot safer." V cursed his body's methods, not appreciating how he probably looked like the window washers of old hanging before the tinted glass.

The drone of course didn't care about that. He was too busy taking full advantage of the Oracle's ability to spot tech beyond the walls. Cameras were pinged and shut down with quickhacks in groups of four at a time, striking at them in no particular that he had gotten them all, he nodded and proceeded to hack the controls for the windows – opening the one closest to him.

With all the ease of a child playing on the swings, the drone carefully swung himself over and grabbed the sill before pulling himself inside.

"Solid ground, how I miss you." V sighed, not caring about the drone sending some signal or command up the wire to disengage it from the anchor. It retracted into his arm with a soft hiss, the anchor abandoned on the roof. Others might have seen leaving the anchor as sloppy, but Vincent knew that it would corrode to dust within weeks of being exposed to Night City's weather.

He let that thought go, following the drone's eyes as he scanned the room. Appliances were pinged, and those with motion sensors shut down. Vincent almost gave the drone credit for their point of entry – it put them just outside of the kitchen. From the plan, V knew this was exactly where it wanted to be. Something that was confirmed as the drone padded across the carpet and onto the tile of the kitchen. Two knives were pulled out of the block resting on the counter; one a small pairing knife, the other a filleting knife.

Both well maintained and perfect for his body snatcher's intentions.

The knives were carefully holstered in a leather pouch at his side as he swiftly moved for the security control room. Similar to the armory in his own apartment, the door to the security room had a hermetical seal that gave way with a near inaudible hiss as it retracted into the wall. An earlier scan in the kitchen showed that there was nobody inside, and the drone took full advantage of that. He stepped inside and began to do a little reprogramming.

All the cameras were shut off permanently as opposed to the temporary window his hacks gave; the last two hours of footage also deleted as a just-in-case.

A couple more keystrokes, and all of the bots had been put into friendly mode. Something that would ensure their body's safety as the IFF would recognize it as 'friendly' – while the security guards would be marked as hostiles.

"Better hope they don't activate, or we're bound to disturb Susan's beauty rest." Vincent thought as they moved out of the security room, door closing automatically behind them. Keeping his back to the wall, the drone carefully inched his was down the hall towards the stairs that would lead to the third floor and Abernathy's room.

Their steps came to an abrupt halt as they heard the faint scuff of feet from behind a nearby door. Recalling the floor plan, the drone knew the sound had come from the bathroom.

"One of the guards. He'll pass by on his way back to the room." Vincent recalled the patrol path of the guards, even as the unfortunate one stepped out of the bathroom. The man had only taken five, maybe six steps towards the security room before the drone pounced. One of his arms quickly wrapped around the guard's head, effectively covering the man's mouth and nose and stopping his protest. At the same time, his other arm snaked its way down to the drone's belt, removing the smaller pairing knife as he pulled the guard back into the bathroom.

In one fluid motion, the knife was brought up and stabbed into the guard's neck with deadly accuracy. It perfectly pierced the carotid artery on the way in, and severed it fully on the way out. A single gurgling huff was the only sound to come from the guard as his body went limp.

"Alright, I'll give you credit for killing him here. Now what?"

It was the drone's turn to grunt as he pulled open the door to the bathroom's linen closet and tucked the guard's body in on the floor. At a glance, it might have looked like he had crawled in there to take a nap. But closer inspection would reveal that the drone had returned the knife to the guard's neck. For added detail, it had even positioned one of the guard's hands to make it seem like he tried to hold it there to keep pressure on the wound long enough to call for help.

Shutting the closet door, and then the bathroom door, the drone pinged the nearby thermostat to confirm the location of the other guards. Seeing them on the floor below, he continued on his way up to the third floor and towards his destination of the master bedroom.

Even in the dark, Vincent could see it screamed of her social class. Statues and fine paintings were on the walls, the carpet was plush underneath his body's feet. An absolutely massive bed was pushed up against a wall, and he could see his next targets huddled underneath the covers.

Stepping over a couple empty booze bottles and a few recently used "toys" Vincent would have been happier not seeing, the drone moved over to the bed and studied his targets a moment. It was almost humanizing, seeing how peaceful both Abernathy and her lover looked in sleep. A picture on Abernathy's side of the bed was decorated with hearts, the frame engraved with the name of her and her lover.

"Susan and Claudette..." Vincent read the names out of boredom as the drone worked on uploading a jammer, ensuring that Abernathy's connection to Trauma Team wouldn't be triggered. Satisfied, the drone proceeded with the final part of his plan.

The remaining kitchen knife was stabbed into Abernathy's neck three times – the executive's eyes having opened on the first, remained open on the second, before closing for a final time on the third. In that same window, her lover stirred, but was quickly stilled by the drone running the same knife he had killed Abernathy with across Claudette's throat. A single gurgle was the other woman's only reply as the life drained from her eyes.

The drone waited a few precious seconds, making sure that both of his targets were truly dead before he started posing the scene. The knife that had taken both women's lives was carefully placed in Claudette's hand. The bodies were then shifted in just the right way to make it look like she had stabbed Abernathy in her sleep, before slitting her own throat in a murder-suicide.

"Like one of Mama Welles' soap operas." V thought, seeing the drone even go through the trouble of messing up the sheets just a little more. Satisfied, the drone gave a nod before beginning his return to the second floor. His plan? Distract the remaining guards and go out the front door.

The drone had just taken his second step when it happened.

A pulse, or maybe more appropriately a flood of information and data hit the drone. V didn't know everything the drone had been programmed with, but he instantly recognized the signatures of a malware attack.

In particular, one of his own coding.

The drone seemed at a loss, the occasional twitch escaping him as the program did its job. Mentally, Vincent crossed his fingers, realizing that the drone, no...his body had done the same. A few more seconds passed, and V felt something pop in his head. He sniffed, hand coming up to wipe at his nose. Eyes noticing the smear of red coating his thumb.

Control might have been returned to the primary operator, but the system was still lagging. If V thought his steps were heavier before, then he was now wearing concrete shoes. His eyes couldn't seem to focus on one thing, flicking here and there and seeing everything and nothing at once. Blindly, he reached out in front of him even as he willed his legs to move. Body still lagging, V didn't notice the pedestal in front of him, or the vase resting upon it.

The rattle of him bumping into the pedestal was quickly overshadowed by the sound of it falling over. Accompanied by the high pitched shattering of the vase striking one of the few sections of hardwood not covered by carpet.

"Shit." Wobbly as his body was, V's other senses were still functioning normally. And he could hear chatter coming from the guards on the lower floors as they started searching for who or whatever had caught their attention. "Need a little more time..."

Feeling weak from the reset, V decided to use the nearest piece of tech to ping everyone's locations. He could see one of the guards moving up the stairs, while the other two patrolled below. "Need a little help..."

His prayer was answered as he heard one of the security bots come to life as he activated his optical camp. The guards search for him was cut short as they were engaged by the security bots. V could hear them yelling, and exchanging shots with the bots even as he stayed low and made his way towards the elevator on the legs of a drunken beggar.

He was just about even with the elevator when the time on his camo ran out, revealing his body to the guards. Their attention shifted to him as the elevator door opened and he stumbled inside, slamming the button for the roof. Sure, he could have gone down – but by now Abernathy's guards had probably called for reinforcements. With a gentle ping, his elevator arrived at the roof, but a nearby light indicated that a second one was rapidly approaching.

"Got one chance at this..." V thought, stumbling over to the edge with the intent of recreating the drone's dive to bypass his pursuers. Before he could enact that plan, he heard the ping that signaled the arrival of the second elevator. Saw the remaining three guards from Abernathy's place step out.

He looked back over the edge, noticing the track of the NCART and the train that was rapidly approaching. Not wanting to be pinned and killed, and lacking the time to make a tether, V decided to use his newfound freedom to take his fate into his own hands.

"I can't give up now." He said to himself, "Not till that old bastard is dead and buried."

Taking a deep breath, he mustered all of his remaining strength and took a running leap off the building.