Cyber Ascendancy

by ARadomUser

Trapped in Cyberpunk 2077's ruthless Night City, the protagonist awakens as V, armed with knowledge of future events and the game's own system. Seeking to escape V's doomed fate, they navigate heists, gang turf wars, and lethal power plays, hoping to carve out a future on their own terms. But in Night City, every choice comes with a deadly price.

3. King of Pentacles

A/N: Took the chapter down to rewrite parts of it, I repeated myself too much

---

The neon sign above the noodle stall outside H10 flickered, casting erratic red and green hues across the pavement. The air carried a thick mix of soy broth and grilled meat, with a faint metallic tang from the overworked heater behind the counter. Jackie hunched over a steaming bowl, chopsticks moving steadily, his presence as warm and vibrant as the neon glow.

He spotted V approaching and grinned wide. "Chica! Finally. Thought I'd have to finish these myself." He gestured to the noodles, half-offering but not pausing his meal.

V leaned against the counter, a faint smirk crossing her lips. "Nice to see you too, Jackie."

Jackie raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "What's in the bag, chica? Smugglin' eddies, or just makin' a fashion statement?"

V tilted her head, the smirk lingering. "Neither. Just practical."

Jackie chuckled, waving her off. "Alright, keep your secrets." He fished a keycard from his jacket, flipping it to her with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Your ride's ready. Gave her a shine. Figured you'd wanna roll up lookin' pro for the big shot."

She caught the card and slid it into her jacket pocket. "Appreciate it."

Jackie tapped his holo, sending a transfer. Her optics briefly lit as the notification appeared—400 eddies. "Your cut from yesterday," Jackie said. "Had a buddy convert it all."

She didn't double-check the amount—Jackie never shorted her. "You've really got someone for everything, huh?"

"You know it," he replied, drumming his fingers on the counter. "Speaking of, met with the big shot earlier. Wants to finalise the job, but he's gotta meet you first."

V nodded, her gaze briefly flicking past the stall. "What's the angle?"

Jackie grinned, leaning back. "Big leagues, chica. We play this right, it'll be nova. You ready?"

V pushed off the counter, the bag settling on her shoulder. "As ever."

Jackie stood, annoyingly towering over her with an easy smile. "Then I'll ping Dex, let him know you're good to go." His irises flickered neon-blue as he sent the message. "This is it, V. No backing out now."

As they exchanged their signature handshake—a fluid mix of a high-five and fist bump—V felt the reassuring rhythm of familiarity. "Don't wait up too long," she quipped, her smirk faint but undeniable.

Jackie laughed as he sat back down. "She's got this," he muttered, shaking his head with quiet confidence before calling for another bowl.

---

V stood in the garage, her gaze falling on her freshly polished car. The sheen on its surface reflected the overhead lights, every inch looking immaculate. Jackie had clearly gone all out on this. She almost ran her hand along the hood, appreciating the effort but sighed inwardly.

In all honesty, I'd rather walk. It's only five minutes away, and using the car would just mean dealing with the hassle of sending it back to the garage. Even if it's automatic, she thought. But Jackie's efforts lingered in her mind. He'd gone out of his way to make it shine, and the least she could do was honour that.

Sliding into the driver's seat, she tapped the ignition. The low purr of the engine filled the space, smooth and responsive. Her thoughts were sharp and focused; she'd already mapped out how to handle the situations ahead. Manoeuvring out of the garage with practiced ease, V merged into the steady hum of 11 a.m. traffic leaving her radio off.

The streets were alive, bustling with the energy of late-morning commuters. Billboards flashed overhead, and a faint hum of chatter blended with the occasional honk of impatient drivers. Despite the crowd, she kept her focus steady, weaving skilfully through the congestion.

After a few minutes, V parked in a quieter corner not far from Vik's clinic. She stepped out, her shoes hitting the pavement with a soft thud. Commanding her car to return to the garage via a mental command authorised by the keycard, she glanced back briefly as the vehicle smoothly reversed and disappeared into traffic. Most people didn't trust automated systems, preferring to keep control under the threat of hacking—unless, of course, you were in one of Delemain's AI controlled tank-like taxis, everyone trusted those.

She walked the short distance toward where Dexter's ride was waiting. The streets here carried a different rhythm—quieter, more subdued, but still charged with the latent energy of Night City.

The black car parked near the corner exuded wealth and power, but it was the bodyguard beside it who stood out—a beast of chrome and muscle. His posture was rigid, his augmented frame practically radiating intimidation. His tinted visor gave no indication of where his gaze landed, but the slight tilt of his head suggested a thorough scan of her. Without a word, he stepped aside and opened the back door, the motion precise and deliberate.

The door swung outward with a smooth hiss, its pivot positioned at the rear rather than the middle—sleek, unconventional, and ostentatious.

V took a moment, her gaze lingering on the car's polished interior before V sliding inside. The atmosphere shifted immediately. Thick, almost tangible smoke clung to the air, and the hum of low-frequency bass from the car's interior sound system added to the heavy ambiance. Dexter Deshawn sat beside her, his massive frame almost dwarfing the spacious interior. His gold-plated cybernetic right arm gleamed in the dim light as he leaned forward, flashing a calculated smile.

"Yo, Miss V," Dexter greeted, his voice smooth but carrying the weight of someone used to being in control. "A pleasure."

V leaned back slightly, her posture calm, her expression unreadable. "Dexter DeShawn, in the flesh. A pleasure to meet you too," she said smoothly, the words deliberate, her tone measured. Changing her approach to suit her objectives, she kept her demeanour poised—a professional veil over the sharp calculations running beneath. Dexter thrived on appearances, and V was ready to match him move for move.

He nodded. "Let's roll." The car began to move, gliding into the pulse of Night City's streets. "Mind if I ask you somethin' right off the bangle? Would you rather live in peace as Mr. Nobody, die ripe, old, and smellin' slightly of piss? Or go down in a blaze of glory, smellin' near like posies, 'thout seein' your thirtieth?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, and V considered it. Small talk, especially the kind that hinted at philosophical musings, wasn't her thing—least of all with someone like Dexter. But she knew how to play her part, and the response from the game surfaced in her mind spurred by the original V's memories. "You're either somebody, or you fizzle out into nothing," she said finally, her voice steady, laced with the grit of someone who had seen enough of Night City to know its rules. "This place doesn't let you choose."

Dexter grinned, showing a row of gold-plated teeth. "Oh, but it does. See, in my line of work, I choose to be Mr. Chill. But folk who try to take advantage? They get to meet the beast inside." His tone shifted, serious now. "A'ight, listen close. Scannin' a serious job, now. Plain gargantuan compared to smashin' up a scav haunt."

V raised an eyebrow, her gaze steady. Dexter was the kind of 'people's person' who never got his hands dirty—he talked, he dealt, and he delegated. Everything else? Someone else's problem. "Let's hear it," she said, her tone sharp with just a trace of impatience. "What's the job?"

Dexter leaned back, the car's dim lighting casting shadows across his face. "There's this prototype tech—a biochip, to be precise. Job's to grab it. Simple."

"Yeah? Arasaka?" V said casually, as if she was making an educated guess, testing the waters.

Dexter's grin widened, flashing those gold-plated teeth again. "Mhm. Arasaka. Surely that's no problem?"

"No problem," V said dryly. "Just a death sentence. NC's Arasaka turf. Nobody fucks with them here."

"High risk, high reward," Dexter replied with a shrug, the confidence in his voice as steady as the hum of the car's engine. "First rule of the Afterlife. But don't worry. We're gonna do this clean and on the hush-hush. No trace for them to follow. We understand each other?"

V nodded slowly, her face calm and composed, though her thoughts raced beneath the surface. Dexter's lack of detail about the biochip's origins—specifically that it had been stolen by Yorinobu Arasaka—was deliberate. If she revealed her hand too soon, it could ruin her leverage, but there was an opportunity here. If she played this right, she could nudge the conversation without arousing suspicion.

"We're talking about cutting-edge tech here—a prototype biochip?" V asked, leaning forward just enough to convey intrigue without overstepping. Her tone was calm, curiosity laced through her words as her eyes narrowed, calculating the flow of the conversation. "An expansion of the 'Relic', Arasaka's next big thing, right?"

She paused briefly, letting the question settle. The Relic project had evolved drastically between its first iteration and what was now whispered about in the corporate shadows. Relic 1.0, already a marvel, allowed wealthy elites to preserve their psyche as engrams for posthumous communication, albeit with limited self-awareness.

It had even made its way into Night City's elite circles, peddling the illusion of immortality. But Relic 2.0 was a different beast entirely—an internal, top-secret Arasaka project. Designed to implant a full digital consciousness into a new host body, it promised true resurrection at the cost of significant instability, a potential ticking time bomb in the wrong hands.

"Saka doesn't just let things like that slip through the cracks, especially not a prototype," she continued, her voice gaining a sharper edge. "Shouldn't it be locked up tight in Saka Tower?"

Her question hung in the air, carefully phrased to probe without sounding confrontational. It hinted at how unusual it would be for top-tier tech to be anywhere but Arasaka's fortress—a small crack in their otherwise impenetrable armour.

Dexter's grin didn't falter, his fingers adjusting his gold watch in a deliberate motion. His gaze lingered on her.

V tilted her head slightly, her gaze cutting through the tension. "Heard the Kujira went missing from Arasaka ports in Japan last night," she said, her voice casual but calculated, every word chosen with precision. The name of the supercarrier landed like a brick on the table. "Word is, they're scrambling. Sounds like some heavy shit went down. You thinking that's related?"

Nothing of note betrayed Dexter's expression. His face remained a mask of relaxed confidence, the faint smile never wavering. Yet, to V, it felt like the room carried an undercurrent, a subtle tension she couldn't quite pin down. It wasn't in his movements or his tone—it was in the spaces between, the barely-there hesitation.

"You got sharp ears, Miss V. I like that," he said, his voice as smooth as polished chrome. Still, there was something else—an edge, faint but unmistakable. A note of caution threading through his words. "Let's just say the timing's… interestin'. And that ship? Won't even be docked 'til Thursday." His grin widened a fraction, like he was letting her in on a private joke. "But you don't gotta lose sleep over that."

V leaned back, her smirk sharp but fleeting. The subtle confirmation wasn't lost on her. The Kujira's absence was more than logistics—it was a sign of Arasaka's disarray, a ripple effect that might've extended all the way to Night City. It reinforced her theory: Arasaka's vulnerability was the only reason this job existed in the first place.

Still, doubt gnawed at the edges of her confidence. Had she said too much? Dexter wasn't one to miss a slip, and her gamble might have tipped him off more than she intended. She shoved the thought aside, but not before it left a faint chill in her gut. Dexter was far better at games like these—calculated, practiced. The only reason she was ahead now was because he underestimated her and because she had something he didn't: a clearer view of the bigger picture.

Dexter's understood the Kujira's link to the biochip—enough to track its movements—but he didn't seem concerned about whether it was docked in Night City or not. This suggested one of two things: either the heist was structured to succeed regardless of the ship's location, or Dexter didn't fully comprehend the ship's significance. Of the two, the latter was true—the deeper implications surrounding the Kujira were beyond his grasp.

Thus she couldn't rely on him to see the full picture. For now, she'd play along, keeping her cards close. Thursday was in two days, sooner than her own estimate, though she still didn't have the exact time of arrival. That was fine. The specifics didn't matter as much as one critical detail: she needed the heist to go down on Wednesday, before the Kujira docked and brought its passengers within reach of Yorinobu Arasaka.

The timing was even tighter than she thought, but manageable. Dexter would interpret a push for a Wednesday operation as a tactical move—capitalising on Arasaka's apparent disarray. He didn't need to know her true intentions. But as V pieced the situation together, one critical misstep surfaced in her mind: Yoko. She'd revealed too much to the netrunner earlier that day. The thought was a cold knife in her gut.

A moment of vulnerability—one careless slip—and now Yoko had information that could disrupt everything. A fuck-up like that could jeopardise her position before the game even started. V resisted clenching her jaw, forcing herself to push the doubt aside. What was done, was done. For now, she needed to focus on controlling the narrative with Dexter and ensuring the heist unfolded on her terms.

Dexter raised his cigar, taking a slow drag, the ember glowing faintly in the dim car interior before he exhaled a cloud of rich smoke. "Before any of that, we've got two things," he said, shifting gears with practiced ease. "First's a conundrum with the Maelstrom boys. Needs active resolvin', that. Second's a rendezvous. Client who brought us the job's anxious. Wants to parley with one o' the team."

"What's the issue with Maelstrom?" V asked, her tone sharp, leaning forward slightly.

Dexter passed her a shard, and she slotted it in. A holographic map flickered in her vision. "Got a classic tale for ya. Psychogang jumped a Militech convoy two weeks back. Got away with the gear. Militech don't even know Maelstrom's involved. Now, that convoy was carryin' the Flathead—a little combat bot, prototype tech. I bought it off Maelstrom's leader, Brick, but three days later? Brick gets dropped by his buddy Royce. Royce's in charge now, and I don't know if he's gonna honor Brick's deal. To make it juicier, Meredith Stout, a Militech corpo, is sniffin' around, desperate to recover her convoy."

"Royce. What's he like?" V asked, her expression unreadable.

"Straight psychopath," Dexter replied. "Chrome-lovin' kind."

"Borderline cyberpsycho" she muttered.

Dexter chuckled. "Indeed. The kind who'd throw a friend through an industrial microwave just for fun. First thing to burst are the eyeballs. Get a nice, clear 'pop!' Then the rest goes goulash."

"And Stout?" V asked. "What's her deal?"

"Corpo agent. Internal affairs. Got a stick up her ass, but she's desperate. Wouldn't be surprised if you could use that."

"Noted," V replied evenly. This was a decision she'd already made long before stepping into the car.

For a fleeting moment, she considered demanding payment upfront from Dexter, citing the dangers and unpredictability of dealing with Maelstrom. But she'd already tested his patience, and pushing further wasn't worth the risk. Reining in her ambitions, she let the thought slip away, knowing she was already walking a tightrope.

"What about the client? Why the meeting?" Asked V.

Dexter's expression darkened slightly. "Woman's name's Evelyn Parker. Vettin' her wasn't easy. Put the word out lookin' for intel. Some brothers from Pacifica told me to stop diggin'. End of convo. She insisted on meetin' someone with skin in the game. Yours truly'll be remote. T-Bug ain't no people person. Jackie… well, he's good at some things, but you know how it is. Leaves you."

V leaned back, letting the weight of the conversation settle. "How early can we make this heist happen?" she asked, her tone calm but underscored with intention. "Logistically, the sooner, the better, no? Less time for loose ends to tighten or for people to figure out what we're planning. I can wrap up everything you've laid out by the end of today."

Dexter's grin widened, his gold-plated teeth gleaming faintly as he tapped a finger against the armrest. "You're eager, I'll give you that. Sooner's always riskier, though. Rushing can rattle even the smoothest operator. But…" He paused, his gaze sharpening, the weight of consideration clear in his tone. "Sometimes, you're right. Less time for others to make moves."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a more deliberate rhythm. "Alright. You handle the Flathead cleanly—no hiccups—and get things squared away with Miss Parker today. I'll have the prep for the heist finalized by tomorrow. How's that sound to you?"

V nodded, her expression unreadable, though her mind worked fast, confirming the next steps.

Dexter leaned back, a knowing look creeping into his eyes. "One more thing, miss V. You've got all the makings of an edgerunner, no doubt about it. But tell me—when it comes down to it—quiet life or blaze o' glory?"

The question lingered as the car slowed to a halt. "Blaze o' glory," V said lying right through her teeth, her voice steady and convincing.

Her shoes hit the pavement with purpose as the door closed behind her. Watching V walk away, Dexter leaned back into the plush interior, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm on his knee before pulling up his holo overlay and a call connected instantly as she picked up on the first ring.

"Yo, Dexter, you called?" T-Bug's voice was crisp, clipped, all business.

Dexter let a beat pass, his tone smooth and deliberate. "Your friend V," he began, dragging out the words just enough to hint at something deeper.

T-Bug made a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. "What now? She already screw somethin' up?"

Dexter chuckled softly, low and measured. "Not a screw-up, T. Let's just say she's… sharper than advertised."

T-Bug's tone shifted slightly, an edge creeping into her words. "She's good. You knew that when you asked for her."

Dex leaned back, his gold-plated arm catching the dim light as he spoke, each word slow and deliberate. "Good? Sure, that gets you noticed," he said, his tone smooth but edged with weight. "But better than good? That's where the real money's at." He glanced at his watch, the motion unhurried, almost lazy. "Got a feelin' this ain't gonna be a one-and-done thing with her."

"Didn't think you rattled so easy," T-Bug shot back, her voice cooling, though there was a faint trace of amusement beneath her sharpness.

"Rattle?" Dexter let out a feigned laugh, soft and disarming. "Nah, T. Just means I gotta tweak my flow, that's all. But next time? Don't undersell what you're bringin' to the table."

T-Bug paused for a moment, then replied, her tone flat but edged. "Noted."

Dexter's chuckle lingered, warm and steady, masking the edges beneath. "Just keep it in mind, T. I like my surprises planned. Fling her my stylist's deets—tell her it's all on me. She's got the chops, no doubt, but if she's gonna be rollin' with me, she oughta shine a little brighter. Don't let her know I told you that though. Keep it clean."

The call ended abruptly, the faint glow fading from his eyes. He leaned back into the plush seat, the leather creaking softly under his weight. His gaze shifted to the cityscape outside, where neon lights bled across the glass in jagged, fragmented patterns—a kaleidoscope of ambition and decay.

A faint grin curled his lips—knowing, calculated. There were no bad pieces in his game, only tools waiting for the right hand. It wasn't about playing fair. It was about knowing how to win.

---

V walked away from the car, already calling for her own, her shoes hitting against the cracked pavement with confidence. She didn't look back at the car she had just exited or scan her surroundings—walking as though she belonged, even though she had no idea where she was. The street was dimly lit, flanked by graffiti-covered walls and flickering neon signs advertising outdated tech and street food stalls. A faint buzz of electricity hung in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of burning trash.

Ahead, the road sloped gently upward into a underpass, its entrance shadowed by the street above. Neon signage flickered against pools of stagnant water. A stupid joke popped into her mind, one she stifled before it reached her lips. Under the dim amber streetlights, a few stray figures loitered, their eyes tracking her with a predatory edge, sharp and assessing.

Once she was certain she was out of sight of Dexter's car, she paused under the shadow of a broken streetlamp. A faint hum of static filled her ears as her car, already en route, came into view on the map. She leaned against a graffitied wall, staying put until her vehicle arrived.

As she waited, V's mind circled back to the heist. Manageable, she told herself, though the looming presence of the Kujira gnawed at her thoughts. Dexter might ignore its significance, but she didn't. The supercarrier might as well be a nuke—an oversight that could upend everything he thought was under control.

Still, the lure of tens of thousands of eddies whispered in her mind. The payday, the reputation, the chance to climb the ladder—it was all tempting. Yet, playing Dexter and twisting the situation to her favour came at a cost she wouldn't admit. Confidence wasn't the same as invulnerability.

V's car eased to a stop beside her, its engine humming softly. She slipped into the driver's seat and merged into traffic, letting the rhythm of the city guide her nowhere in particular. As the neon lights blurred past, she pulled up her holo UI and dialled Meredith Stout. If the heist was going to work, she needed the Flathead—and to get it, she'd have to play Militech's paranoid corpo to her advantage. Stout was a powder keg: desperate, cornered, and willing to break anyone who stood in her way. Perfect, if handled right.

In every version she'd run through her head—and in the game—failing to secure 10,000 clean eddies always led to chaos. Her plan was straightforward: pay with Militech's tainted money, get the bot, and side with Maelstrom against Militech when the time came. It was the least messy path, keeping Jackie and herself alive while avoiding a shootout in the gang's labyrinthine hideout.

This wasn't some fantasy. Charging through a den of cyber-enhanced maniacs wasn't just reckless—it was suicidal. The thought of Jackie bleeding out beside her over a few thousand eddies twisted her gut. Letting go of the potential profit from Militech's shard was worth it if it meant walking out alive.

She sank back in her seat, her eyes on the gritty streets ahead as the call connected. It didn't take long.

"Stout here. Start by telling me how you got this number." Her voice was clipped, sharp, and as cold as V expected. Classic Meredith Stout—angry at the world for putting her there. V smirked faintly, letting a measured pause hang in the air before replying.

"Know more than your number," V said smoothly, her tone calm, almost teasing. "Heard you misplaced a convoy."

On the other end, the faint sound of a man screaming cut through the line. Stout barked an order, her tone as razor-sharp. "You! Shut him up!" The scream abruptly stopped, and her focus snapped back to V. "Spill what you know. Don't make me wait."

V didn't flinch. She'd expected this. Stout was dangerous, but her desperation made her predictable. "Nuh-uh," V said evenly, her voice carrying just enough cool authority to keep the upper hand. "Not on the holo. Let's meet—cut a deal."

There was a tense silence, the kind that stretched seconds into eternities. The soft hum of her car's engine filled the void, and V's smirk grew faintly as she imagined Stout weighing her options.

"A deal…" Stout repeated slowly, the word dripping with suspicion. She wasn't the type to trust easily—or at all—but desperation had a way of forcing people's hands. "Fine. First exit off Skyline, driving toward the NID. Storm channel under the overpass—meet you there."

The call ended abruptly, the holo fading from V's vision. She leaned forward, gripping the wheel with purpose as her smirk lingered. Desperate people were easy to read, and Stout had just handed her exactly what she needed. Time to make her move.

Her map updated, plotting a route to the meeting destination. The highlighted path snaked toward the north-eastern edge of Watson, firmly Maelstrom territory—a dangerous stretch.

Easing her car into traffic, V allowed herself a moment to think. The hum of the engine merged with the faint murmur of the 11:40 a.m. traffic, leaving the towering concrete jungle loomed behind, as she approached the grittier industrial zones Maelstrom called home. Every turn brought her closer to chaos, the faint buzz of static tension settling in her chest.

Jackie couldn't know about this deal. It wasn't a question of trust—Jackie was loyal to a fault—but that same loyalty could be a liability with someone like Stout. V knew the woman operated on pure paranoia. Stout would have drones scanning for backup, hunting for any sign of a setup. If Jackie showed up, it wouldn't matter how harmless he acted—Stout's suspicion would spike, and the deal would implode before it even began.

Jackie wouldn't see it that way. To him, going in alone would be reckless—an unnecessary gamble. He'd follow her anyway, convinced he was doing the right thing. That kind of move might work in a street brawl, but not here. Stout didn't play by street-level rules. She was a corpo backed into a corner, and desperate corpos with resources and power were some of the most dangerous players in Night City.

V steadied her breathing, fingers drumming against the wheel. Alone, she had control. With Jackie, she'd be splitting her focus, and that wasn't an option.

As the industrial zones came into view, the streets became narrower, the buildings more decrepit. Faint graffiti marking Maelstrom's territory flickered in the glow of passing lights. V kept her gaze sharp, scanning the alleys and corners for anything suspicious.

The air grew thick as V descended toward the storm channel though an underpass. navigating a sharp, downward turn. The hum of the city above gave way to the metallic screech of rusted pipes and the distant, rhythmic thud of machinery. As she slowed, the scene ahead came into view: Stout stood near a heavily armoured SUV, flanked by two chrome-laden bodyguards. Their stances were rigid, their eyes sweeping the surroundings for any sign of trouble.

V pulled her car into a spot parallel to the entrance road, directly opposite their position. She killed the engine, the faint growl fading into silence. Her fingers lingered on the wheel for a moment, the static buzz of tension in the air matching the faint hum in her chest. She exhaled deliberately, letting the moment settle and getting into character.

Stepping out, she closed the car door with a deliberate click. Her boots met the cracked pavement with a steady rhythm, the sound echoing faintly in the confined space. She walked with practiced swagger, adjusting her jacket with a casual motion as her gaze flicked toward Stout. The Militech agent stood rigid, her sharp eyes tracking V like a predator sizing up its prey. V pushed down any lingering nerves, letting a sleazy smile curve her lips—it added to the persona.

Meredith Stout turned toward her and stood rigid, her voice sharp and clipped as she spoke. "Meredith Stout. Take it you were the one to call."

V halted a few paces away, her posture calm but her mind alert, in the role of a greedy merc who knew less than she let on but wanted more. "Got an offer for ya," she began, but before she could finish, something heavy slammed into the back of her head.

The world spun as she hit the ground hard, the cold, oil-streaked concrete scraping against her cheek. Pain flared briefly, but she forced herself to stay in character.

"Thought you could blackmail me, fucker?!" Stout snarled, towering over her like a storm. "Set conditions?! Got any more for me?!"

Before V could react, a sharp kick landed in her stomach, sending a jolt of pain through her body as her HUD flickered—her HP had dropped by 8. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to stay down, knowing the situation demanded composure over retaliation.

Stout needed control to feel safe. "Calm the fuck down!" she barked instead, her voice sharp but controlled, hands raised in mock submission. "I just wanna talk!"

One of Stout's bodyguards crouched beside her, roughly plugging a cable into the port behind her ear. The invasive jolt of data-link initialization made her jaw clench, but she kept her expression carefully controlled. Above her, Stout crossed her arms, her glare slicing through the dim light like a blade.

"Christ, Meredith…" a man's voice muttered weakly from the shadows. V's gaze flicked to him—Antony Gilchrist, pale and sweating, restrained near the SUV.

"Shut your trap!" Stout barked without looking at him. Her attention snapped to the bodyguard. "That fucking thing ready?"

"All set," came the reply.

Stout leaned closer, her voice colder than steel. "Now answer my questions. Honestly. Forthrightly. Are you here alone?"

V let her features flicker with faux fear. "Yep. Just me."

The bodyguard nodded. "It's the truth."

Stout gestured sharply, and a drone emerged from the SUV, its hum slicing through the tension as it swept the area. Her gaze didn't waver from V, studying her with predatory precision.

"Now listen close," Stout began, her tone measured and cutting. "This piece of shit, Antony Gilchrist—" she jerked her head toward the restrained man "—is he your contact? The one who leaked intel on the convoy?"

V barely glanced at him before answering. "No, never seen him before."

The bodyguard confirmed, "Checks out."

"Listen," V began, steadying her tone, "I know where the transport is. I can help you. Just want a favor in return."

Stout's expression remained as cold and unyielding as steel, but a faint glint of calculation flickered in her eyes, betraying her thoughts. Before she could respond, Gilchrist's voice cut through the tension again, desperate and raw, his protests echoing in the underpass.

"I told you! I fucking told you! I'm not the mole! Jesus Christ!" Said the mole.

V suppressed the urge to smile as one of Stout's bodyguards moved to silence him. The poor bastard was digging his own grave, and Stout seemed all too willing to hand him the shovel.

"Shut him up," Stout ordered flatly.

The bodyguard shoved him into the SUV, silencing him with a grunt and the slam of a door.

As V adjusted her posture, still feigning tension, she muttered, "Couldn't've been chill from the start?"

Stout's eyes narrowed. "Shut the fuck up. Tell me what you want."

V's tone shifted, deliberate and measured. "I need a bot—Flathead model. The guys who ripped you off have it. Promise me that bot, and I'll point the finger."

Stout raised an eyebrow, considering. "You have a plan how to deal with 'em?"

"They're expecting payment, ten thousand" V replied simply, leaving no room for interpretation.

Stout paused, her gaze narrowing further. "Fine. But on one condition—you pay with our money."

A faint smirk tugged at V's lips at the mention of money. "Sounds good enough."

Stout reached into her jacket, her movements precise and deliberate, likely authorizing the transfer of eddies. She produced an encrypted shard, holding it out with a sharp, almost mechanical motion. V took it without hesitation, sliding it smoothly into her pocket, her expression fearful.

"You pay with that chip," Stout said, her tone sharp as the edge of a blade. "And that's all you gotta worry about. Try to fuck me in any way, and I'll be seeing you real soon."

From inside the SUV, Gilchrist's muffled voice rang out again, frantic and raw. "You're making a mistake! This cunt's already good as dead! And she'll take you down with her!"

V ignored him, locking eyes with Stout for a moment longer before turning on her heel. Her shoes echoed against the cracked pavement as she walked away, the tension of the encounter still coiled tightly in her chest. Reaching her car, she let out a slow, measured exhale before sliding into the driver's seat. The encrypted shard burned like a weight in her jacket pocket, but she couldn't let herself think about Stout's threats now. There were bigger moves to make. It was now a bit past 12:40 p.m. meaning she had less than half a day left to get everything done.

V leaned back in her seat, her thoughts shifting to Jackie. It was time to loop him in. She tapped her holo, and the familiar ringing sound buzzed in her ears for a moment before Jackie's face lit up her display.

"Yo, V! How'd it go?" Jackie's grin was as warm and wide as always, though a flicker of curiosity lingered in his tone.

"Dex wants us to snag this bot—Flathead model—from Maelstrom," V explained, her tone casual but brisk. "Then after that, I'm supposed to meet the client."

Jackie's grin faltered slightly. "Maelstrom, huh? Never easy with those gonks. What's the plan? We just takin' it?"

"I've got the eddies to pay them off," V replied smoothly, skirting over the details of her meeting with Stout. Jackie would understand her reasoning if she explained it—he always did from the original V's memories—but she could already picture the look on his face if she brought it up now: that flicker of concern mixed with disapproval. It wasn't something she wanted to deal with. All he needed to know was the essentials. "We'll figure out the rest in person."

Jackie nodded, leaning back on his end of the call. "A'ight, chica. Where we meetin'?"

V glanced at her map, eyes scanning for a spot far enough from Maelstrom's HQ to be safe but close enough for them to coordinate. A secluded location caught her eye. Perfect. She pinged him the details.

"Got it," Jackie confirmed after a quick glance at the coordinates. "I'll see you there. Don't start without me, eh Chica?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," V replied with a faint smirk before ending the call.

Sliding into the driver's seat, she pulled out of the storm channel, merging back into the light traffic, well at least compared to further down south. The route to the meeting point was straightforward, but the tension in her chest simmered as the reality of dealing with Maelstrom loomed closer. V arrived at the parking location, her car gliding into an empty spot north-west of the All Foods plant. Killing the engine, she checked her surroundings before leaning back in her seat to wait.

V scanned the credit chip, her interface lighting up as a warning flashed—Daemon detected. Her frown deepened. Removing the virus would strip Stout of her leverage, leaving her exposed. Without it, she'd know Maelstrom's location but fail to secure evidence on the mole, meeting a grim end: her head shaved, feet encased in concrete, and dumped into Night City's bay.

For a fleeting, very brief second, V considered leaving it. Maybe it wasn't her problem—Stout's plans, her life, none of it mattered to V. But then the reality sank in. If she left it intact, it would be her and Jackie's problem soon enough. The last thing they needed was Maelstrom breathing down their necks, thinking they'd double-crossed them.

Collateral damage, she thought, without a pang of guilt. Stout's death wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. She wouldn't be the first to die in Night City, and she sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

She took a breath, the pause almost imperceptible, before initiating the override. The chip's interface flickered as she stripped the malware clean, the system rewarding her with a crafting recipe for a tier-three Synapse_Burnout quickhack. It was a nice find, especially this early, but the utility was limited—she couldn't even use it until she got her hands on a tier-three cyberdeck capable of running it.

Sliding the now-clean chip back into her jacket, V resolved to keep moving forward.

Next she opened her character window and quickly allocated her 2 Perk and Stat points, already knowing what to do. Both stat points went into Intelligence, raising it to 8. She selected the two perks: Optimization, boosting RAM recovery by 35%, and a Technical Perk Glutton For War, providing an instant recharge of 5% for health items and grenades after eliminating an enemy. The upgrades settled in with a faint hum, her mind felt sharper.

That'll do, she thought, closing the menu.

The stat points weighed heavier on her mind than the perks. Those were permanent, and she couldn't afford to waste them. The perks, on the other hand, could be reshuffled anytime, so she'd just grabbed what was immediately useful. The plan was clear: raise Intelligence to 9 soon to unlock powerful perks like Hack Queue, then start investing in Cool to sharpen her composure and resilience under pressure.

Minutes stretched on, the hum of the city filling the quiet as she watched the distant flicker of lights and the occasional shadow of a passing vehicle. Jackie took his time, but that was fine. V used the forty-minute wait to gather her thoughts and mentally prep for what would be the third tense meeting of the day. When his familiar bike finally rolled into view, the knot of tension in her chest eased slightly. It was showtime.

As Jackie dismounted, V glanced toward the direction of the Maelstrom base and motioned for him to park farther away.

"Farther back," she said firmly.

Jackie raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "A bit overkill, don't you think?"

V's gaze didn't waver. "Trust me, it's not."

She didn't add the rest—that every calculated step was a buffer against the worst-case scenario. The thought of losing Jackie to a careless mistake wasn't something she could stomach, even if it meant looking paranoid.

Jackie sighed but relented, bringing his bike farther back as V had instructed. As he kicked the stand into place, he glanced at her with a mix of curiosity and irritation.

"All right, chica, what's this all about?"

"Maelstrom robbed a Militech convoy. That's how they got the bot," V explained, keeping her voice low. "I've noticed some suspicious characters and drones around. Pretty sure Militech's prepping for an attack."

Jackie cursed under his breath. "Pendejos. Always poking the tiger. You sure this bot's even worth all this trouble?"

V nodded, her expression serious. "Need it for the heist. We pay for the bot and get out ASAP. Let Maelstrom and Militech handle the fireworks if it comes down to it."

Jackie's lips curled into a lopsided grin. "Good call, V. Let those cabrones take each other out."

With an unspoken understanding, the two stepped out of the alley and onto the dimly lit street. The faint hum of Night City surrounded them as they walked, their shoes echoing softly against the pavement. A couple minutes later, they found themselves standing just shy of the old All Foods factory, now one of Maelstrom's bases, tension thick in the air.

Jackie cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, his usual grin creeping back onto his face. "Man, look at us. Walkin' into a Maelstrom den like it's just another Tuesday. Feels like I'm finally livin' the edger dream, huh? Big risks, big scores—that's what it's all about, chica."

Edger? Please don't tell me that's supposed to be short for edgerunner, V thought, stifling a laugh. Who calls themselves that unironically? A faint smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head.

"Uh-huh," she replied dryly. "Just make sure that big head of yours stays attached to your shoulders."

Jackie laughed, oblivious to her internal commentary, and gave her a playful nudge as they turned toward the looming entrance.

V strode down the wide slope, Jackie close behind, their footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness. The faint glow of neon reflected off the factory's grimy walls, casting shifting patterns over the chipped concrete. She stopped at an intercom beside the looming garage door, the device streaked with rust and grime. With hesitation, she jabbed the button with her pinkie. I'll wash my hands later, she thought.

After a brief, shrill ring, a voice crackled through the speaker, sharp and suspicious. "Hm. Don't know you." That must be Dum Dum, thought V.

"Just open the fuckin' door," she shot back, her tone curt.

"Yeah? You make a fuckin' appointment?" Dum Dum sneered, laced with mockery. "'Cause I don't see nothin' in my book."

V exhaled sharply, irritation flaring. "Wanna talk to Royce. Dex sent us."

There was a pause, just long enough to stretch her patience thin, before the voice returned. "Main room. We been waiting."

The intercom clicked off, and with a grinding screech, the massive garage door began to lift. The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air, mingling with the distant hum of machinery from inside. V cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Jackie, who met her gaze with a small nod, his expression eager but wary.

The two moved cautiously through narrow walkways crammed with stolen Militech equipment, the air thick with the acrid smell of oil and burnt circuitry mixed with old food. Crates and pallets were stacked haphazardly along the path, some still bearing Militech's stark branding, others cracked open to reveal deadly hardware inside—rifles, launchers, and tech far beyond what any gang should have access to.

As they approached a door, V noticed a camera positioned overhead. It swiveled toward them, a faint red light blinking as it scanned her and Jackie. She knew this wasn't just a standard security measure—it was the netrunner in charge, meticulously searching for any contraband or heavy weaponry, like grenades or launchers, that might pose a threat.

She kept her expression neutral, knowing full well her backpack would go unnoticed. Jackie stood still beside her, his hands loose but ready, as the camera beeped softly and turned away, signalling them through. V exhaled quietly. So far, so good.

V's gaze flicked to the walls, where automated turrets loomed, their sleek barrels twitching slightly as they tracked the pair's movement. The faint hum of their servomotors was a constant reminder of the firepower primed to spring into action at a moment's notice. Further ahead, anti-personnel mines dotted the edges of the walkway, their faint red sensors blinking like tiny, watchful eyes. It was clear that Maelstrom had wasted no time integrating the stolen gear into their defence systems.

Jackie muttered under his breath, his steps slowing as his eyes darted over the equipment. "Man, they've turned this place into a fuckin' fortress."

V didn't respond, her focus locked on the path ahead. A pair of Maelstrom gangers loitered by a mounted turret near the next corner, their multiple glowing red spider-like optics casting a faint red hue over their cyberware-mottled faces. They didn't acknowledge V or Jackie, their attention fixed on calibrating the weapon.

She clenched her fists briefly, feeling as though they were walking into a literal and proverbial minefield.

As V and Jackie stepped further inside, they entered a massive factory floor, the scale of which hit her immediately. Before she could take it all in, a powerful spotlight snapped on, its harsh beam briefly blinding her. She raised a hand instinctively, her Kiroshis taking a second to adjust, flickering faint outlines as they recalibrated. Jackie grumbled beside her, squinting away from the light.

When her vision cleared, the scale of the operation became alarmingly clear. The room was packed with Maelstrom gangers, far more than she had anticipated. By 2077, the gang was estimated to have around 1,300 members, and this building—seemingly a central hub for their stolen goods before they were distributed elsewhere—was crawling with them. V wouldn't be surprised if 100 or more of them were somewhere in the building, given the fifty or so scattered across this room alone.

The air was thick with tension, and the gangers weren't shy about making their presence known. Jeers and heckles followed the pair as they walked, Maelstrom's signature blend of cybernetic menace and unhinged bravado on full display. A particularly burly ganger with mismatched cybernetic arms twitched at them with exaggerated motions as they passed, his glowing optics narrowing in mock amusement.

"Look at this pair—Dex's errand kids!" she hollered, the laughter spreading through the room like static over a commlink.

"Don't trip on your way in, fuckin' meat," another sneered, lounging against a stack of Militech crates with a toothy, chromed grin.

"Hey girly," a gnarled voice rasped, dripping with sleaze. "Bet you'd look fine with some chrome. Maybe worth lookin' at for once."

V's lip twitched. Guess anything flesh and blood doesn't do it for these scrapheaps anymore.

V kept her pace steady, her eyes locked on the elevator at the far end of the room, ignoring the rest of the remarks thrown her way. The sheer number of armed and augmented gangers crowding the space wasn't lost on her. The whir of servos and the clatter of mechanical limbs served as a constant reminder of the precariousness of their position. If this went south, they'd be outgunned and outnumbered—with no escape in sight.

Jackie, walking just behind her, muttered under his breath, loud enough only for her to hear. "Real warm welcome. Feel like a fuckin' VIP."

V snorted softly but kept her expression neutral. "Let's just keep moving," she replied, her voice low as they finally reached the open elevator that automatically closed and started moving up as soon as they both entered, the work of a Maelstrom netrunner.

Beside her, Jackie shifted his weight, the tension evident in his posture. When the doors slid open with a metallic screech, they stepped into a dimly lit room bathed in red and blue neon, the haze of smoke curling through the air.

The meeting room was a chaotic display of Maelstrom's twisted aesthetic. Thick cables snaked along the walls, converging on a netrunner slouched back in a chair, his neural ports glowing faintly as he remained plugged into the building's system. The monitors were in pristine condition and casted a faint glow over the runner, contrasting with the claustrophobic tension.

At the centre of it all were two mismatched couches—one a battered red vinyl, the other an even more tattered brown faux-leather. They flanked a makeshift table cobbled together from pallets, its surface covered with a grimy, dark green plastic sheet stained with who-knows-what. The smell of machine oil, ozone, and sweat hung heavy in the air, completing the scene of organized chaos that screamed Maelstrom.

A cybered-out ganger stood waiting for them as the elevator doors slid open, his seven glowing red optics locked onto them with unsettling precision. The flickering neon lights above cast jagged shadows over his scarred, cybernetically enhanced face, accentuating the grotesque array of modifications grafted to his flesh. His jagged grin widened as he leaned forward on one knee, every motion deliberate, his posture a performance of menace.

"So," he rasped, his voice grinding like steel on steel, "whaddaya want?"

V didn't flinch, her expression calm and unreadable. "Here to see Royce. We got biz to transact."

The ganger straightened up with a snort, his optics briefly dimming and intensifying like flickering embers. "Mr. Royce is busy just now. You'll deal with me."

Her eyes flicked over him, taking in every inch of his cyber-enhanced figure with coolness. "You got a bot—model MT0D12, Flathead."

"And?" His head tilted, the eerie red glow of his optics sharpening. "The hell you care?"

"The guy I represent is interested in buying it," she replied evenly, carefully omitting any mention of Brick, Maelstrom's former leader. No need to open old wounds unnecessarily.

"Business, huh?" The ganger chuckled, a low, broken sound that reverberated through the room like nails on a chalkboard. "You'll talk to me. Name's Dum Dum. Now, couch. Plant it."

V gave a small nod, keeping her movements measured. She lowered herself onto the battered brown couch, her posture deliberately relaxed, projecting nonchalance without letting her guard down. Dum Dum turned his gaze to Jackie, gesturing sharply toward the red couch nearby with a flick of his head. "Ahh, well, shit. Goes for you too."

Jackie stayed rooted in place, arms crossed over his chest. "I'll stand," he said flatly.

Dum Dum's tone immediately hardened, his stance shifting as if he was gearing up for a fight. "This so fuckin' hard? Fuckin' ass on the fuckin' couch!"

Jackie didn't move, his voice low and laced with defiance. "Make me."

Dum Dum's grin spread wider, splitting his face like a jagged gash, and a harsh laugh bubbled out. "Thought you'd never ask." In one fluid motion, he levelled his pistol at Jackie's head, the red glow from his optics making the moment feel more like a predator toying with its prey. "Sit your ass down 'fore I plant a bullet in your skull."

V stepped forward, her voice sharp and cutting through the tension. "Jesus, Jack. What gives?"

Jackie shrugged, his posture relaxed despite the gun pointed at his face. "Primerito, I don't like this guy's tone. Segundo, sitting on your ass makes you an easy target."

Dum Dum didn't flinch, his gun unwavering. "Last chance. Sit your ass down, or I'll make you."

V sighed, her patience worn thin. "Jack, sit down."

Jackie met Dum Dum's gaze for a beat longer, tension brimming in the air like a lit fuse. Finally, he exhaled and muttered, "This ain't gonna end well, but… shit." Reluctantly, he dropped onto the couch, his every movement deliberate and tense. The atmosphere in the room was thick enough to cut, the hum of servos and the faint whir of Dum Dum's optics the only sounds as the standoff diffused—at least for now.

V hated dealing with Maelstrom, both in the game and right now. Their cyberware might've been cobbled together from low-grade scrap, but there were enough of them to pose a serious threat—while moulding them into highly functioning cyberpsychos. Dealing with them felt like playing chess against someone who'd set the board on fire: chaotic, reckless, and impossible to predict unless you were crazy yourself.

She wasn't sinking to their level of crazy. Not today.

Luckily for them Dum Dum seemed almost reasonable, for a Maelstrom at least. He perched himself on the edge of the nearby makeshift table facing V, pulling out an inhaler with a casual motion. His jagged grin softened, though his optics still glowed with a faint, unsettling intensity.

"Well, all right," he said, his voice lighter now, as if he were trying to smooth the jagged edges of the situation. He held the inhaler out toward V. "Come on, gotta lighten up. Take a hit."

V glanced at the inhaler, then back at him, her expression unwavering. "I'll pass."

Dum Dum's grin widened as he pulled the inhaler back. "Suit yourself, princess," he said, before taking a long, deliberate inhale. The hiss of the device filled the air, and a visible wave of relaxation washed over him. His shoulders loosened, and the manic edge in his demeanour dulled just slightly.

He exhaled sharply, the chemical haze in his breath lingering. "Now we can talk. Here we go—the Flathead, model MT0D12."

V folded her arms, keeping her tone cool. "Militech's not gonna come lookin' for it?"

Dum Dum snorted, waving the question off like it was a bad joke. "Fuck 'em. Let 'em hop around and try. We removed the serial number, lifted the access locks using our soft. Once it's yours, it's yours."

"Need to see it," V said firmly.

"Suit yourself." Dum Dum motioned to the side of the room, his tone shifting into that of an overly eager salesman. A Maelstrom lackey shuffled over with a black case, setting it down on a nearby table with a clunk. Dum Dum plugged a chip into the port at the back of his head, and the change was immediate. All his smaller optics powered down, leaving only the large central one glowing, its hue shifting to the same vibrant blue as the bot before them.

The Flathead unfolded itself from the case, its four spindly legs moving with an eerie grace, each actuator humming softly. The sleek design was covered in matte black armour, almost insect-like in its precision. The bot tilted its "head," a faint mechanical whirr accompanying the motion, as though it was aware of being watched.

"Fuckin' tricked-out, this thing," Dum Dum said with pride, the bot's movements mirroring the excitement in his tone. "Dynamic, thermo-optic camo armor. Full cognitive immersion with a Raven controller. Pimped-out, prototype actuators made of titanium-vanadium-Kevlar composite." His grin stretched wider as he leaned closer to V, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "And watch this… Fully integrated link, too. When the spider starts crawlin' up walls, danglin' from ceilings…"

The Flathead suddenly activated its camo, vanishing into near invisibility with a faint shimmer. It scurried up the wall with uncanny silence, its legs barely making a sound as it clung to the surface like a predator stalking prey. Even knowing it was there, V struggled to keep track of its faint outline as it moved effortlessly across the room.

V raised an eyebrow, hiding her awe. She'd seen the Flathead in-game, but here it was alive—effortless, sleek, a tech geek's dream. It stirred a flicker of nostalgia for the robot toys she'd loved as a kid, their ads promising wonders reality couldn't deliver. For a moment, Dum Dum's presence faded, replaced by pure admiration for the engineering masterpiece before her.

Dum Dum let out a short laugh, clearly enjoying himself. "So, whatcha think?"

Before she could answer, he added with a mocking edge, "Heh. Look at that—picky little fucker. Let's see your cred. 10 thou"

The faint hiss of hydraulics caught V's attention as the garage door to her left began to creak open. Slowly, a figure stepped forward, partially shrouded by the shadows of the opening. Royce's face came into view—metal-plated and grotesque, his eyes glowing with an intense, fiery red, framed by jagged cybernetic augmentations that made Dum Dum's mods seem tame. He exuded an aura of malice, his gaze drilling into V like a blade.

Animals, every single one of them, V thought. The irony wasn't lost on her—there was an actual gang called Animals, but they were just muscle-bound meatheads. Maelstrom? They were a different breed entirely, feral and twisted, with their jagged chrome and bloodlust barely hidden behind their cyberware.

V didn't flinch, calmly pulling the credit chip from her pocket. The weight of ten thousand eddies felt significant in her palm as she held it up, letting the light catch it. Double-paying for the bot stung her pride, but it was a calculated investment—one she was determined would pay off.

Royce's lips curled into a smirk as he stormed into the room with purpose, snatching the chip from V's hand. His voice dripped with disdain as he sneered, "Just like that. Fuckin' pansies. No wonder you're Dex's lapdogs—can't even wipe your own ass without him holdin' your hand."

A chorus of laughter erupted from his cronies scattered around the room, their distorted chuckles reverberating off the walls. Royce grinned wider, clearly enjoying the attention, and added, "Bet you even needed him to tell you which one of his balls to suck on, huh?"

The laughter swelled, some of the Maelstrom gangers slapping their knees or pounding the walls in delight. Royce basked in their amusement, his fiery red optics glowing brighter as he shot a smug look at V and Jackie.

The quality of the jokes rarely mattered when the person making them was in charge, V thought. Normally, bad jokes would only make them more irritating, but she feigned an annoyed expression anyway, stealing a glance at Jackie. He was doing the same, though his irritation was far from fake. Well, most of them are going to die anyway, so it really doesn't hurt me, she mused.

Royce passed the chip to the netrunner as the laughter gradually died down, some of the gangers coughing as they settled back into their posts. The netrunner plugged the chip in, a faint hum filling the room as they scanned it. After a few tense seconds, they nodded, giving the all-clear.

Royce waved dismissively. "Take your bot and fuck off."

Just as V and Jackie picked up the bot turned to leave, the room was suddenly filled with the blare of alarms, red lights flashing wildly as chaos erupted. The unmistakable sound of gunfire rattled through the walls—Militech had arrived.

As the alarms blared and gunfire erupted outside, Royce's fiery red optics darted toward the source of the chaos. The room shook slightly from the shockwaves of Militech breaching the defences. For a moment, he seemed poised to turn on V and Jackie, his hand twitching toward his gun.

But then, his lips curled into a snarl as he muttered, "Fuckin' Militech. Knew they'd pull some corpo shit."

The suddenness and scale of the attack made it clear where Royce's suspicions lay. This wasn't the work of two hired hands like V and Jackie—it was exactly the kind of power play he'd expect from a corporation like Militech. His inherent paranoia, a hallmark of any Maelstrom leader, worked in their favour. To him, Militech's timing wasn't suspicious—it was predictable.

Royce spat onto the floor, his focus snapping to his cronies. "Get your asses movin'! Don't let those corpo bastards take an inch!"

V kept her expression calm, not giving him any reason to think otherwise. The chaos outside ensured his priorities were elsewhere, and in his mind, Militech's hatred for Maelstrom ran far deeper than anything two nobodies like V and Jackie could orchestrate. For Royce, this was just another corporate attack—not a betrayal from within.

As the gangers scrambled, V and Jackie stayed rooted in place, blending seamlessly into the chaos. Royce's barked orders cut through the cacophony as he stormed off, his attention fixed on the immediate threat. The timing felt almost too convenient, but for now, the frenzy of bullets and shouts kept Royce preoccupied. With survival and retaliation dominating his focus, there seemed little room for him to seek out answers—or scapegoats.

Only Dum Dum seemed remotely clear-headed amidst the chaos. Whether it was the drugs mellowing him out or just something in his wiring, V couldn't tell. He stood firm, his optics flickering as he processed everything, then turned sharply toward her.

"Well, fuck. Was it you?"

V's hands went up slightly, palms out, her voice steady. "Hey, we want the bot. Militech wants to take the bot back. We're as screwed as you if we don't get out of here alive."

Dum Dum tilted his head, his optics narrowing, then snorted. "Fair enough. Corpo bastards'll try anythin'." Gazing at the door Royce left through for a bit.

Jackie exchanged a glance with V, disbelief flashing briefly across his face. That fucking worked. Crazy does as crazy do, I suppose.

Suddenly, Dum Dum turned back to V and barked, "Then grab your bot and haul ass!" He motioned toward the exit with a sharp jerk of his head as another explosion rocked the building. Without waiting for a response, he bolted from the room, chasing after Royce, leaving only the netrunner on his chair, plugged into the system as the last Maelstrom member in sight.

Not needing to be told twice, V and Jackie quickly grabbed the Flathead case and slipped into the chaos. Without a word, Jackie drew his twin pistols, his movements fluid and instinctive. V shifted the weight of the case onto her shoulder, freeing her hand for her own weapon, though she let Jackie take point—he was sharper with his guns, and they both knew it without needing to say a word. The screech of turrets activating and the roar of Maelstrom gangers clashing with Militech soldiers filled the air. The factory had become a warzone.

The main problem with Maelstrom's base was immediately clear—there were only two exits. The way they had entered was through the massive garage door, now under heavy scrutiny from Militech forces. The alternative was a smaller door meant for people, but it too was being watched by Militech operatives. Both escape routes were effectively cut off and even worse, right next to each other.

Whoever repurposed this building for Maelstrom deserves a punch in the gut, thought V.

Unless they could carve out a new exit somehow, their only real option was to throw in with Maelstrom, lending their support in the fight to hold the line. It wasn't an ideal situation, but increasing their chances of victory—even temporarily—meant increasing their odds of survival.

V spotted a ladder leading up to the upper catwalks. Without a word, she motioned to Jackie, and the two began climbing. The rickety ladder creaked under their weight, the echoes lost amidst the chaos below. At the top, they found an old control panel. V hit a button marked with faded symbols, and ancient machinery groaned to life. The conveyor system ahead of them sputtered and started moving, revealing slabs of plastic wrapped meat dangling from hooks.

The stench hit immediately.

"Ugh, who knows how long that's been there," V muttered, covering her nose as Jackie grimaced. the fact that the wrapping had clearing broken somewhere spoke to how long it had been.

"Chica, I don't even wanna guess," he replied, his voice muffled as they moved forward.

The red-lit backways they navigated were claustrophobic, lined with pipes leaking steam and grime-coated walls. The sound of the fight grew louder with each step, the distant gunfire transforming into a relentless barrage as they neared the exit. The tension was suffocating, each turn feeling like it could lead them straight into the crossfire.

Finally, they reached a secluded balcony overlooking a medium-small, square workroom far below. V crouched low, her eyes scanning the chaos beneath. The room was split vertically down the middle into two makeshift battle lines.

On the left side, Maelstrom gangers had fortified their position with towering stacks of scrap metal and industrial machinery, their crimson optics glowing eerily through the smoke. On the right, Militech soldiers were holding their line methodically, taking cover behind counters and heavy equipment, their combat helmets reflecting the intermittent flashes of gunfire.

V and Jackie were perched high above in the room's bottom-left quadrant, tucked into the shadows of a grated platform. From this elevated vantage point, they had a clear view of the battleground below, the railing and scattered debris providing them with ample concealment. The grenade marks and strewn bodies painted a grim picture—a battle that had already peaked in intensity and was now caught in a tense, simmering stalemate.

V couldn't shake her irritation. The fact that Militech had already infiltrated this far into Maelstrom's stronghold wasn't just unsettling—it was a glaring red flag.

Jackie, crouching nearby, leaned closer, his voice low but carrying a hint of his usual humour. "Hell of a party down there."

V's eyes stayed sharp, scanning the chaos. Timing was everything. Move wrong, they'd get shredded in the crossfire. Or… they could tip the fight from here, their positioning was perfect for striking without being seen.

V crouched low, scanning the chaos. "I'll quickhack from here," she muttered. "Grab some grenades from my bag."

Jackie raised an eyebrow. "Grenades? How'd Maelstrom miss those?"

V smirked. "Secret compartment. Only two at a time, though."

Jackie looked like he was about to whistle but then shook his head. "Damn. Guess that's some primo tech you got there. Fancy piece of work."

V kept her expression neutral, resisting the urge to smile. The alternative—that I've got a system that can infinitely regenerate grenades and spawn them out of hammerspace—is so ridiculous he'd laugh me off the balcony. She pushed the thought aside. Let him think it's just expensive gear. It's better that way.

She swapped here vision, her quickhack system lighting up in her vision. "Take the grenades, use them wisely—it takes a while for them to come out of the compartment. We'll thin them out from here and look for an opening to move. Got it?"

Jackie grinned as he reached into her backpack, his fingers feeling for the small hole she'd cut to create the so-called 'compartment' where the grenades would drop out, there was a joke there somewhere, thought V. "Got it, chica."

With that, V shifted her attention back to the chaos below, her quickhack interface lighting up in her vision. A Ping quickhack drained her remaining five RAM, and the effect was immediate. The outlines of Militech soldiers lit up through walls and debris, a web of hostile signatures blooming in her view. It was far from all of them—this was only a slice of the force, but it was enough to give them an edge.

Nine Militech soldiers were currently facing off against fourteen Maelstrom gang members, both sides locked in a tense standoff. Neither seemed eager to advance, instead holding their positions behind makeshift cover.

In the adjacent room, the density of Militech soldiers appeared far greater—V counted at least twenty-six, though she doubted her Ping quickhack had revealed all of them.

This in combination with their entrance speed suggested to her that Militech hadn't entered through either of the two fortified entrances to this room. Instead, they likely breached the building elsewhere, forcing their main force into a stronghold position to overwhelm the area. The Militech soldiers in this room, holding the line with deliberate precision, reinforced this theory.

V forwarded the data to Jackie with a mental command, the positions of each marked soldier appearing on his HUD. She glanced back at him, spawning a grenade into the compartment in her backpack. "Take this," she whispered, her tone sharp but steady.

Jackie nodded, his usual bravado flickering in his grin. He took the grenade, staying low and out of sight, and lined up his throw with precision. Moments later, a muted explosion reverberated through the space, sending shards of debris and panic rippling through the marked enemies. Their cover, once a stronghold, was now compromised, forcing them to scatter. The lack of safe positions along their line meant they would either need to regroup under fire or push forward in a desperate attempt to secure better cover.

"Good hit," V muttered, a faint smile crossing her face as she saw two enemies drop, triggering a 10% instant recharge for her grenades. She quickly shifted her focus back to her quickhack interface, spawning another grenade for Jackie to use. Letting him handle the grenades kept him actively involved and focused while she scanned the map layout, planning their next move. It was an efficient division of tasks—he handled the immediate chaos while she stayed one step ahead, waiting for her RAM to recover for the next quickhack.

To turn the tide, Maelstrom needed to capitalise on their numbers and sheer unpredictability. V's task was to get the remaining fourteen—now thirteen—gang members into the next room, forcing Militech to divide their forces across multiple fronts. With three RAM available, she activated a Reboot_Optics quickhack on a soldier attempting to push forward. The sudden disorientation made them stumble, leaving them vulnerable. A lucky bullet from Maelstrom's suppressing fire found its mark, dropping them instantly.

Jackie's next grenade arced through the air, landing near another Militech soldier. The threat of the explosion forced them out of their cover and into a hail of uncoordinated fire from Maelstrom. Their body crumpled, a brutal mix of flesh and shattered chrome painting the floor red and grey.

With the odds now thirteen against five, some of the remaining Maelstrom took it as a signal to charge. Chaos erupted as they stormed Militech's positions, dragging some of the soldiers into close combat, where punches and blades replaced bullets. The messy brawl left ten Maelstrom standing, emboldened by their apparent victory. Without hesitation, they surged into the next room, chasing their momentum and leaving the first battleground behind.

Fucking psychos, V thought, shaking her head. They hadn't even paused to figure out who was tossing the grenades or pulling off the quickhacks. Yet, despite herself, a grin tugged at her lips—wild, uncontrollable, and impossible to suppress. The controlled chaos was intoxicating.

She and Jackie descended the metal walkway to ground level, their footsteps swallowed by the relentless cacophony echoing through the factory. As they approached the doorway to the next room, V pressed herself against the wall, peering cautiously around the corner.

The scene that met her eyes was utter chaos.

A storm of clashing ideologies and tactics brought to life. On one side, Maelstrom gangers moved like frenzied animals, their cybernetic limbs glinting in the harsh strobe of muzzle flashes. They howled and jeered, unleashing a barrage of gunfire with little concern for aim. Some charged headlong into the fray, mantis blades slicing through the air with predatory grace. Others ducked and weaved between debris, letting loose grenades that exploded with reckless abandon, scattering friend and foe alike.

On the other side, Militech soldiers advanced in lockstep. Their riot shields formed an unyielding wall, absorbing incoming fire as marksmen fired calculated shots from behind the line. The precision was almost mechanical—every move purposeful, every shot measured. When a Maelstrom ganger lunged forward, claws scraping against reinforced shields, the soldier responded with a shotgun blast, sending the ganger sprawling. Behind them, drone support hovered, their lasers painting Maelstrom positions for coordinated strikes.

The air was thick with smoke and the acrid tang of ozone, punctuated by the screech of mantis blades on metal and the deep, rhythmic thud of grenade launchers. Sparks flew from damaged machinery, and the walls bore fresh scorch marks from errant shots and explosions. A Maelstrom ganger, half his face replaced with jagged chrome, leapt off a collapsing stack of crates while firing wildly, diving into Militech's backline before exploding.

For every Maelstromer taken down, another seemed to spring forward, charging with reckless abandon, their adrenaline-fueled insanity keeping Militech's disciplined advance from fully breaking through.

V crouched behind a grated platform with Jackie, scanning the battlefield. The chaos was mesmerising—a dance of destruction where neither side seemed willing to give an inch. Maelstrom's numbers and sheer unpredictability gave them an edge in ferocity, but Militech's coordination and superior tech balanced the scales. It wasn't clear who was winning; it was a stalemate born of two opposing forces locked in a brutal, unrelenting grind.

"What do you think?" Jackie whispered, his voice barely audible over the cacophony.

V didn't respond immediately, her sharp eyes tracking a Maelstrom ganger leaping onto a riot shield. The ganger screamed as they claw through the soldier's visor, before a hail of fire arrived too late from their teammates.

"They're both insane," V muttered finally, her voice low but carrying the edge of truth. "One just hides it better."

She ducked back into cover, scanning the chaos. Slipping past this mess without getting caught wasn't an option.

Sometimes the simplest solutions were the best, V thought, her eyes flicking to a crumbling wall and then to the map highlighting a vacant room just north of them. Not elegant, but if anyone could turn brute force into strategy, it was Jackie.

"Jackie," she said, pointing to the wall in question. "Think you can bash through that?"

Jackie followed her gesture, stepping up to the wall and inspecting it with a critical eye. He ran his fingers over the cracked, uneven surface, testing its strength. After a moment, he straightened up, nodding to himself with a confident grin.

"Jackie Welles, demolition expert," he said, more to himself than to her, before stepping back. Rolling his shoulders, Jackie took a deep breath, muttering under his breath in Spanish, "Esto me va a dolermás a mí que a ti."

With a shout, he charged forward, slamming his shoulder into the wall with all his weight. The concrete crumbled under the force, dust and chunks of debris raining down as the wall gave way, revealing the dimly lit room beyond.

Jackie turned back to her, dusting off shoulders with his hands with a lopsided grin. "I should go into architecture, don't you think?" Gesturing to the new doorway.

V raised an eyebrow, smirking as she stepped through. "Keep at it, Jack, and you'll turn this place into a real open floor plan. Might not leave much of your left chrome, though." She patting his shoulder, with a chuckle walking with Jackie to the next room.

The room they were in was cramped and cluttered, a storeroom packed with limbs and other cybernetic parts, stacked haphazardly on shelves and in crates. The variety was staggering—some low-tier pieces barely better than scrap, others sleek and cutting-edge, clearly stolen from high-end suppliers like Militech and Arasaka.

V's gaze swept the room until it landed on one particularly striking prosthetic. It was a sleek, white arm with minimalist lines and a polished surface that practically glowed under the dim lighting. There was something almost elegant about it, and for a moment, V found it visually pleasing—its design a stark contrast to the gritty chaos surrounding her.

"Nice-lookin' piece, huh? Not Maelstrom's style" Jackie chuckled, nudging her slightly as he glanced at the arm. V nodded but didn't reply, her eyes lingering on the prosthetic before shaking herself out of the moment. Focus, she thought. This isn't the time to admire shiny tech.

But still, V thought, activating a Ping to scan the room. The interface flared to life, confirming no cameras or security inside. Outside, though, a camera east of the actual entrance swept back and forth with mechanical precision. A glance at the earlier room showed the camera had already been destroyed—likely Militech's work to cut Maelstrom's netrunner's eyes. Nothing said they couldn't make a quick buck out of it.

She glanced at Jackie and tilted her head toward the shelves. "We're grabbing the more expensive-looking limbs. Take the arms, they sell for more," she said quietly. "The backpack's bigger than it looks, and these arms? No trackers or serial numbers. Maelstrom would've stripped them already."

Jackie raised an eyebrow, his usual cocky composure slipping into surprise. "You serious? Usually, I'm the one pullin' this kind of reckless shit."

V shrugged, a faint smirk on her lips. "We're not getting paid for this gig, Jack. Might as well take what we can while we can."

He blinked, then broke into a wide grin. "Fair point, chica. Let's get to it."

They moved quickly, sifting through the piles of cyberware and grabbing the best-looking pairs. V made sure to snag the sleek white arm that had caught her attention earlier, her movements efficient and deliberate. Jackie, meanwhile, kept watch on the doorway, his gaze occasionally flicking back to V.

"Damn," Jackie muttered after a while, watching her shove yet another pair of pristine arms into the already stuffed backpack. "How the hell are you fitting all that in there?"

V gave him a sly look, zipping the overstuffed bag shut. "Told you—it's bigger on the inside."

Jackie shook his head, half in disbelief, half in admiration. "You sure that thing ain't got some corpo tech in it? Looks like it's eatin' the damn arms."

V grinned, adjusting the straps on her shoulders as the backpack bulged, practically stuffed to the brim as she hit her weight limit. "Just smart packing, Jack. Now let's move before they stop fighting."

Her Kiroshi display flickered briefly, showing her earlier Ping results. Of the twenty-six soldiers she'd marked, three were already down. Despite the losses, the noise and ferocity of the fight hadn't let up. If anything, it sounded even more chaotic.

She wasn't worried about Maelstrom pinning her and Jackie as suspects. Their paranoia and chaotic nature made it easy to deflect suspicion—especially with Militech ripping them apart. Maelstrom would sooner turn on their own, blaming betrayal from within rather than considering outsiders had slipped through their defenses.

With one last glance at the shelves, she and Jackie slipped out of the room, heading up the stairs. The faint whir of the east-facing camera marked their first obstacle, its steady sweep demanding precise timing. Without needing to exchange a word, they ducked low, their movements synchronized as they moved fast and quiet. The muffled sounds of gunfire and shouting grew louder with each step, a chaotic symphony that pressed them to move even faster.

As they pushed east, the gunfire grew sharper, the echoes ricocheting off the walls in deafening waves. V's thoughts raced, weighing their options. The main entrances? Death traps. The hallway turned south, leading straight into the heart of the firefight. They needed something different. Another option. Unconventional. A route no one else would think to take.

They halted at the edge of the second-floor walkway overlooking the main factory floor, where the ceiling arched higher to house rusting industrial machinery. V's gaze flicked upward, catching sight of thin, worn patches in the roofing where All Foods' original builders had clearly cut corners.

The thought snapped into place. How had Militech infiltrated so quickly and deeply?

It had to be the roof. Breaching it would've given Militech direct access to Maelstrom's vulnerable interior, bypassing the gang's heavier defences at the entrances entirely.

V grabbed Jackie's arm. "Roof. That's their breach."

Jackie's gaze followed hers, sharp and quick. "Makes sense. We'll have to move fast—drones'll be watching."

V nodded as Jackie cracked his knuckles, glancing around. "Alright, here's what we're gonna do." He motioned to a pile of crates stacked against the far wall. Without hesitation, they began shoving and arranging the boxes, creating a makeshift tower beneath the roof's weakest-looking section of thin, corrugated metal out of site from the chaos below.

Jackie climbed the stack first, his movements quick and sure. Reaching the top, he drew his fist back and struck hard.

CLANG!

The impact echoed through the structure, metal groaning but holding. He didn't hesitate, throwing another punch.

BANG!

The sound was sharper this time, a jagged crack splitting through the steel. Grabbing the edges, he wrenched with all his strength.

SCREEEECH!

Metal tore apart under his grip, the sound grating and loud, but it disappeared into the symphony of chaos below. The hole was just wide enough to climb through.

As Jackie pulled himself up, the distant thrum of helicopters grew louder, their blades slicing the air—a stark warning that time was running out.

Jackie hauled himself through the gap effortlessly, then turned back, extending a hand to V. She grabbed it, and with a firm pull, he hoisted her up onto the roof. The cool night air greeted her, sharp against her skin, as she crouched low. Her eyes swept the area, taking in every shadow and movement, her focus honed by the tension thrumming through her veins.

From their perch, V spotted helicopters hovering just below, pounding the north-east exits with firepower. Chaos reigned as Militech's assault surrounded the area. These weren't scouts—drones had that covered. The choppers were mobile tanks, deploying infantry and hammering key points, restrained only by the stolen goods they couldn't risk destroying.

V handed the Flathead case to Jackie, balancing their load. Spotting a route, she pointed south-west. "Scaffolding over there," she said, her tone sharp and focused.

Without another word, they broke into a run, the metal roof groaning faintly under their weight as they made their way toward the scaffolding. The sooty air mixed with the distant rattle of gunfire and the mechanical whir of approaching drones. Jackie's sharp eyes caught the first sign of trouble.

"Drone, two o'clock!" he barked, raising his pistol.

"Got it," V replied, already scanning it. Her quickhack blazed across her vision, disabling the drone's optics. Its red sensor lights dimmed, and Jackie fired, his three shots piercing the drone's frame and sending it spiralling to the ground in a shower of sparks.

"Nice shooting!" V called, but they didn't slow down. The noise and the drone going quite would attract more heat to them.

They reached the scaffolding and climbed down quickly, their feet clanging against the metal rungs with each hurried step. Behind them, the chaos grew louder—gunfire, explosions, and the steady hum of drones—but neither looked back. Reaching the ground, they broke into a sprint toward their vehicles parked north-west, just out of Militech's immediate sightlines.

Jackie passed the case to V before swinging a leg over his bike, the engine roaring to life with a deep, guttural growl. V slipped into her car, gripping the wheel as the dashboard lit up, the hum of the engine steadying her thoughts. Without hesitation, they tore away from the scene, engines howling as they disappeared into the endless sprawl of Night City, the neon haze swallowing them whole.

Moments later, V's holo lit up, Jackie's face appearing on her interface, his expression a mix of adrenaline and relief. "Chica," he said with a breathless laugh, "you think they'll miss us?"

V's smile, lingering since the moment Jackie had thrown that first grenade, refused to fade. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins as her gaze stayed locked on the road ahead, the city lights streaking past in a blur. "Maelstrom will keep them busy," she replied, her tone steady but tinged with satisfaction.

Jackie's laugh came through the holo, easy and relieved. "By the time we drive around and the heat cools off, it'll be dinner. Why don't you swing by? Misty's cooking enchiladas tonight—real good ones. She always makes way too much. Starting to think she's trying to fatten me up, make me uglier," he joked, his laughter rolling out freely.

V smirked, considering it. She had time to kill anyway—Lizzies didn't open until 6 p.m., and she didn't exactly feel like sitting alone in her apartment after the day's adrenaline dump. "Yeah, alright," she said. "Sounds better than scavving for kibble."

The hum of the car's engine held steady, a low, constant counterpoint to the storm in V's thoughts. Each turn pulled her further from the chaos of Maelstrom's base, but the tension clung to her like smoke. The Flathead sat in the seat beside her, its sleek frame a silent reminder of the risks ahead. Tomorrow. It always came too soon.

---

The apartment above Misty's shop was cozy and full of character. Warm light filtered through colourful tapestries hanging on the walls, softening the harsh edges of the city outside. Potted plants filled the corners—all thriving under the faint glow of an old lamp. The faint smell of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the rich aroma of freshly cooked food.

The furniture was inviting—a worn sofa, pleasant chairs, and a low wooden table that looked like it had seen countless meals and conversations. The small kitchen in the corner was cluttered with jars of spices and herbs, each carefully arranged yet adding to the space's chaotic charm. It was undeniably Misty—a blend of warmth and quirkiness that made the apartment feel like a refuge in a city that didn't know the meaning of the word.

Misty had inherited the building from her parents, including the basement where Vic's clinic operated. A home, a business, and stability—a trifecta that would usually make V's jaw clench with envy. But tonight, the enchiladas stole her focus.

The enchiladas weren't real food—not like she remembered back home—but close enough to fool her senses. Misty's touch made the flavours sing, each bite a perfect mix of spice and warmth. It hit harder than any meal she'd had here, spreading a fleeting comfort she wasn't used to.

Jackie leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach with a contented grin. "Told you, chica. Misty's got the magic touch. You'd think she was tryin' to make me her little gordito."

V smirked, raising an eyebrow as she leaned back in her chair. "Half the work's already done for her. You're practically there." She said looking mockingly at his stomach.

Jackie feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oof, low blow, V!" he said with a laugh, his grin only growing wider.

Misty chuckled softly, shaking her head as she wiped her hands. "Well, if he didn't eat like it's a competition every time, I wouldn't have to make so much."

V, meanwhile, zoned out of the exchange, her gaze fixed on her plate. The chaos of the day played on a loop in her mind—heated negotiations, the deafening roar of gunfire, the sharp hum of drones, and the brutal sound of metal tearing apart. The thin line they'd walked between survival and death felt even sharper in the stillness. The voices at the table blurred into background noise, eclipsed by the relentless churn of redoing calculations in her head for the next move.

"Valerie?" Misty's voice broke through, soft but firm, her brows knitting together with quiet concern. She leaned forward slightly, tilting her head as her hand hovered just above the table, as though debating whether to reach out. Her eyes searched V's face, warm and attentive, inviting honesty without pushing too hard. "You alright?"

V blinked, glancing up as if startled. "Yeah," she said quickly, forcing a faint smile. "Just… tired. Long day."

Misty's eyes lingered on her, thoughtful but nonintrusive. "It's okay to take a breath, you know. Chaos can wait a little while."

Jackie, oblivious to the undercurrent, let out a satisfied sigh and stretched in his chair. "That's what I've been sayin'—take life as it comes. V, we've got this. The big payday's comin'. The big leagues, V."

V forced a grin, the kind she knew Jackie would buy without question. "Yeah," she said, her voice carrying a faint edge of cheer. The warmth of enchiladas and Jackie's banter was a welcome distraction, even if the knot of doubt coiled tightly in her chest refused to loosen.

She took another bite, more to keep herself occupied than to savour the food. The fleeting moment of comfort had passed, replaced by the weight of what came next.

After a beat of silence, V spoke up. "You know anyone we can sell those arms to?"

Jackie chuckled, his grin widening. "Chica, we both know someone." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "His name's Vik."

V rolled her eyes and let out a small laugh, covering her face with one hand. "Of course. Vik. Should've known," she muttered. The memories from the original V were there but accessing them felt like trying to recall a distant, hazy memory. Yet when they did come, they hit her all at once, flooding back with vivid clarity.

The warmth of the moment felt suffocating. In her past life she'd, somewhat psychotically, measured everything's worth against her own body parts—a cold but reliable method to keep her priorities straight. This extended to people. Strangers were nothing; family, everything.

Jackie? He was worth a limb or two.

The thought annoyed her. When had he climbed so high? Without the original V's memories, he'd barely register. Yet here he was—valuable in ways she couldn't explain, and it grated on her.

She nodded after a moment, pushing the thoughts aside and shifting her tone back to business. "The heist should be good for tomorrow, Jackie. I'm buying Trauma Team Platinum for the day—it should cover you too. Just in case."

Jackie raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Damn, chica. That's some serious eddies. You really think we'll need it?"

V hesitated for a second, her fork pausing mid-air. "It's just a precaution," she said, her tone casual but with an edge of seriousness that wasn't lost on Jackie. "Can't afford to take any chances with this one."

Jackie snorted, leaning back in his chair with an easy grin. "One of these days, chica, you're gonna prep for a snack like it's a heist." His teasing tone cut through the heaviness of her words, but his eyes held a faint glimmer of understanding.

V smirked, tilting her head at him. "And one of these days, you'll plan more than five seconds ahead. But hey, miracles happen, right?"

Jackie let out a bark of laughter, tapping his chest dramatically. "Oof. You got me there, V."

As the conversation drifted, her hand brushed against the table, fingers idly tapping as the weight of the day pressed heavier on her chest. The laughter and warmth around her felt like a thin veneer, barely shielding her from the cold truth she couldn't shake.

her gaze lingered on the Flathead case, its sleek metal contours catching the soft glow of Misty's lights. It was more than a tool—it was a promise, a risk, a gamble. Tomorrow, she thought, the weight settling in her chest. Tomorrow, everything changes.

---

Author's Note:

PMs or reviews for any feedback or suggestions are greatly appreciated!

Whenever I write a new chapter, I make a point to reread the older ones. Inevitably, this leaves me cringing at some of the choices I made and making small edits to improve them. So, if you're rereading an earlier chapter and notice something has changed—no, you're not going crazy. I've probably tweaked a line here or polished a detail there.

Also, if you're wondering about the underscores in terms like Synapse_Burnout, let me clarify: it's not me trying to look cool or fancy. That's not even how I'd label functions if I were coding—I'd use camel case formatting for readability such that it reads as 'synapseBurnout'. The underscores are purely for clarity in the text, ensuring that the two words stay distinct. The first time I wrote Synapse Burnout, it didn't show on mobile despite there being a space in the Doc manager on the website, and instead of changing it everywhere, I decided to embrace it as a stylistic quirk. It might be weird, but at least it's consistent (now).

This chapter ended up longer than planned—I thought Misty's was the perfect stopping point. I don't write chapters to hit a specific word count or keep you hooked but to stop where it feels natural for the story. Longer chapters deepen immersion, though they don't follow the light novelorfanfiction meta of short, frequent updates to stay at the top of the 'just updated' list. Maybe someday I'll refine my pacing and upload more frequently, but for now, older me can deal with that headache. Sorry in advance.

In this chapter, I wanted to highlight V and Jackie's dynamic. It's one thing to say they're a team, but I wanted to show why that partnership works. That said, I wish Jackie had gotten more moments to flex his shooting skills—but working within V's POV has its limits. Don't worry, though—he'll get his time to shine in later chapters.

The Sakura tangent is random, but hear me out. Pre-Shippuden Naruto really dropped the ball on her, right? I mean, aside from that one Chunin Forest scene, she was in generational aura debt. Shippuden tried to fix it, but man, if Kishimoto had given her that giant golden axe from the concept art? Aura restored and going crazy. Sakura with that big ass golden axe would've been so cool—all prior digressions forgiven for her early Naruto levels of cringe.

And that's what I want for Jackie. He doesn't need a literal axe (though wouldn't that be awesome?), but I want his growth and badassery to feel earned—something that makes you go, "Ah, that's why he's in V's corner." This chapter laid the groundwork, but I promise there's more to come.

Anyway, back to the story: pacing is a work in progress, especially when balancing tense action with comedy. I cut down V's inner monologues here and used off-screen time to suggest her actions, hoping readers will intuit what she did. Let me know if that works or if it feels clunky.

As always, I'm open to feedback—drop a review or a PM if you've got thoughts, suggestions!