Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Muted, pulsing electronic beats, as arhythmic as so much static, blast from the speakers on stage. The solid concrete walls absorb the bass of what can hardly be called music, but the upstairs is mostly built of steel mesh and cabling. There, the floor itself trembles underfoot, vibrates with the thundering tones most normal folks can’t hear, and enhances the brain-numbing experience Tinnitus boasts with every live show.

Either by design, or because this part of the city has already long since lost its humanity, the Totentanz night club is the perfect organic machine. Within the unassuming exterior, it’s cold, dark, efficient. Every segment serves a unique function. The stage, for example, draws the crowd to the heart, sending bodies into a frenzy fueled by the electric beat and chemical highs. At the bar, money changes hands frequently, passed from one ganggoon to the next until it makes its way up the stairs, where the brains of the operation pumps it back out again in the form of more drugs. 

No one at the Totentanz is sober, and they’re all better off for it. 

V brings the inhaler to his lips again, squeezing down on the plunger with numb fingers. The S-keef, better known on the streets as Black Lace, hits him with the force of a punch, and he collapses against the back of the sofa as his mind reels. The impact of the high is fleeting, though, and within seconds the stronger effects are already dissipating, leaving him shaking, sweating, tingling in places he probably shouldn’t be. 

“Hey. Meat.” 

Slowly, vision blurring in and out of focus, he rolls his head to the side towards the source of the voice. Too many bright red points of light stare back at him, shooting a lone bolt of pain through his skull like lightning. 

“Go easy on that shit, it’s expensive.” 

What do you care? V quips back, though he can’t be sure the words come out as anything more than a mumble of complaint.  

The inhaler is snatched out of his numb fingers, and he watches distantly as Royce takes a hit from it next. His body tenses, his jaw grinds hard. Where eyes would be, red optics swirl and flicker for a few heartbeats before he lets out a lungful of dark smoke and a satisfied groan of his own. “But fuck is it preem! You handle it well for a fleshbag, y’know.” 

Then give it back. He starts to reach for the inhaler, but he’s slow, and lethargic, and honestly Royce is faster even when they’re both sober. Rough calloused fingers grab his wrist, twist and turn his palm down to shove it into the lap there. Royce spreads his legs further apart for V’s apparent entertainment. He’s halfway to hard in his syn-leather digs, mostly ‘ganic cock filling with blood and Lace and suddenly he’s grinning with the very madness that so often haunts V’s dreams. “Ask me real nice , meat.”

There’s no hesitation, no struggle. Why would there be? V came to Totentanz of his own free will tonight, knowing exactly what and who he was looking for. Call it an addiction, an obsession, whatever. He can’t explain it himself even if he tried. The first time he and Jackie set foot in All Foods, and he wound up staring up the length of an iron barrel at Royce’s vicious sneer, he sensed where it was going. And he was right. This isn’t his first visit to the Maelstrom den, nor will it be his last if he makes it count. 

Sliding off the sofa, he lands conveniently on his knees and turns into Royce’s lap. The zipper comes down as his hands find purchase on solid thighs, and without preamble he licks his too-dry lips. Though his mouth still feels like cotton, the warmth of Royce’s cock pushing in over his tongue gets his throat wet, has him salivating again, his glassy, lidded eyes rolling back with the pleasure of it. Above him Royce laughs. The sound is dark, vaguely threatening like everything else about the man. He grabs V's hair by the roots at the back of his head, not yet pushing but holding there, a solid weight, a constant reminder of who is in control. 

As if V isn't hyper aware already. Maybe, in a way, that's what keeps bringing him back here, the fucked up depths of his psyche seeking to let go for a while, to relinquish hold of his own fate for a few hours at least. Out there on the streets he's an upstart merc, a wannabe solo, a chrome-plated gunslinger facing his own mortality at every turn. But here in Royce’s world, he can be no one, nothing, like all the other high, faceless bodies thrashing to the music downstairs. It's easy. Dangerous, but easy. 

V traces his tongue over the familiar polycarbonate implants that enhance Royce’s size, tasting the unique blend of flesh and plastic and chrome. Swallows him down as the fingers in his roots tighten, shove him down the length, urging him to go faster, take him deeper. Then, just as the tip hits the back of V's throat and his stomach tries to revolt, Royce drags him off with a sharp yank. 

Eyes swimming, he struggles to focus on those red points of light, so many of them, like a cybernetic spider watching its prey. Royce pulls him up to catch his balance awkwardly, hands flying out to stop himself from landing on that hard chest. Drags him right up until their faces are millimeters apart, close enough to kiss if he wanted, but Royce has never let him try. That's not what this is about for either of them. Royce is a distraction, and V…. V is a willing slab of fuckable ass. 

He's turned around to face the club. Beyond the second floor railing, he can see the stage, the members of the band pumping their fists erratically to a manic crowd. Lights flash red and orange, dizzying, surreal. V feels his pants tugged down, hot palms squeezing and groping, and a thumb, slick with spit, works him open with cold efficiency. He’s guided back to take his seat upon Royce’s lap, where the hard length of cock nestles into him, stretches protesting muscles, fills up the emptiness and the loneliness, forces out pent up tears. Again and again, each of V’s movements bringing them both closer to something desperate they chase. Pleasure, completion. The space between existence and void. 

Or maybe it means nothing at all, and V’s okay with that, too. 

Royce is done with him the moment he spends himself, quickly shoving V out of his lap and zipping his pants closed again. He says nothing, doesn’t need to. Yet as V collapses back onto the sofa in his semi-dressed, semi-conscious state, Royce tosses him the inhaler in silent compensation.

Later, as V is picking himself up off the floor out of a pool of his own saliva, he notices the club is relatively quiet. The band has finally stopped playing, and the only fans still lingering around are limiting their chaos to the bar downstairs. A few shots ring out, there’s laughter and the sound of a bottle breaking, glass shattering, but it’s distant, other-worldly. V rolls onto his back trying to remember where exactly he is. 

Royce is gone now, the sofa unoccupied except for another familiar Maelstrom face. Most of the goons, V thinks, are impossible to tell apart, their implants too disfiguring, too inhuman. But Dum Dum is an exception. His sharp chin and minimal (to use the term very loosely) cyberware making him a welcome sight among a sea of mechanical monstrosities. Now, as if sensing V’s attention, he turns to peer at him through three and a half sets of glowing red eyes. And he smirks.

“Oh, shit. You lived.”

“Did I?” V asks in a voice like whiskey and vomit. “Don’t feel like it.” 

“After a whole hit of S-keef, you shouldn’t. I’m impressed you didn’t melt your brains out through your gonk ass.” 

He sees the inhaler now on the floor by the sofa, empty. Did he smoke it all himself? He can’t remember. “I think…Royce had some, too. Wasn't just me." 

"Well, congratulations. Unless you were trying to off yourself. Then better luck next time, I guess." 

"Thanks," he grumbles, and starts for the arm chair opposite Dum Dum. His entire body is sore, his mind disorientated. Not exactly new sensations, just very inconvenient in the current situation. "Where is he, anyway? Royce, I mean." 

Dum Dum watches him ease his weight unsteadily down onto the cushions, red eyes unblinking. "You were really out of it, huh? Missed a hell of a commotion." 

"Why? What happened?" 

"Oh? Since when does Maelstrom business concern you?" 

"It doesn't. I just miss him." 

Dum Dum lets out a laugh like steam hissing from pipes, his metal teeth glinting sharply in a wicked grin. "Uh huh. The boss is in a meeting with some VIPs from Pacifica.”

“Pacifica?” V’s head might be throbbing hard enough to dull his other senses, but he’s pretty sure he heard that right. “As in, Voodoo Boys? Here?”

“Yeah. Strolled in unarmed, demanded to see Royce. Which takes balls, I gotta say,” he sneers, laughing again. The VDBs and Maelstrom are at constant war, same as just about every other gang on the streets of Night City. Stepping onto enemy terf is equivalent to a provocation, but walking right up a den full of iron-packing, borderline cyberpsychos unannounced? It would usually be suicide. 

Usually. “So Royce just let ‘em in? Why?”

“Do I look like I know everything, idiot? I’m as in the fuckin’ dark as you are. Well, maybe not as bad as you.” He kicks his boots up on the sofa. Thinks better of it and drops them down again, one knee bouncing rapidly in irritation or something else. “And before you fuckin’ ask, no, you’re not gettin’ into that meeting. Boss said no interruptions.” 

“I wasn’t gonna ask,” V lies, and sinks back into the armchair to wait instead. While he admits his curiosity is certainly piqued, he’s in no physical condition to deal with it right now anyway. Business between two ruthless gangs is territory even most fixers wouldn’t want to tread, much less a hungover merc with little to lose and nothing to gain. 

He drops the subject, noticing Dum Dum is already ignoring him anyway in favor of picking at a growing hole in the leg of his pants. V turns away from him, and away from the tightly closed door of Royce’s office, to draw his knees up to his chest. It helps in a way with the spinning walls. Water . He should probably try to get some water, but he’s pretty sure the only drinks they serve down at the bar are a minimum of forty proof per bottle. The very thought has his stomach threatening to revolt. He pulls out his phone then, in part to kill time and in part to check his options for a possible ride home. Considering it’s already after three A.M., he figures his chances are slim to none.

Messages blare across his phone screen as soon as he swipes it on. A few missed calls—including one from Vik, ouch—and a lot of angry-slash-concerned texts from both Jackie and Misty. Wondering where he is, wondering why he isn’t answering them. Offering to listen without judgment to whatever he’s going through, if only he’s willing to talk about it. Which, of course, he isn’t. He kills the screen and pockets the phone again without replying to any of them. 

“Hey,” he says, throat oddly tight. Dum Dum tilts his head in lieu of actually replying. “You got a car? I need to get across town, my place is in Little China.”

“Why’s that my problem?” 

“Aren’t you Royce’s second or something?” V shrugs. “I’m just askin’ for a ride.” 

“One, I’m only Royce’s second ‘cause he shoved Brick into a trash compactor. Two, I’m not his fuckin’ babysitter or yours. Three—”

“Oh, good, you can count to three.” 

“ Three. I’m…between cars at the moment.” 

“No shit? What happened to your last one?” 

“Cops, guns, couple of explosions. Typical Saturday night.” 

Sighing, V lets his head fall against the back of the chair. Looks like he's walking, then. Or calling a cab. What's that service with ads up all over Watson? Delaware? Delamaid? But cabs are expensive, and V spent his last few eddies buying that Lace off of Royce. 

"Hey," he says again across the space to Dum Dum, prepared to lower himself to groveling for a little spare cash, but he never gets the chance. The door to the office suddenly slams open, and monstrous red eyes appear in a cold fury. Royce stands there for a long moment, his frown growing deeper (not that V has ever seen him smile) as he looks around the mostly empty lounge. “You two,” he snaps, finally resigning his gaze to the only idiots who weren’t smart enough to scatter when they had the chance. “Get your asses up and movin’. There’s work to do.” 

“Us?” Dum Dum tilts his head quizzically, but shows no further intention of getting off the sofa. “I didn’t sign up for anything.”

“I ain’t askin’, am I? Get up, go find your fuckin’ keys. You . You're a ‘runner, right?”

It takes a moment for V to realize Royce is addressing him. He shrugs. “Not really. I know a few tricks, I guess.” 

“You’ll have to do.”

“I’m not one of your goons, Royce. I’m not even with Maelstrom.” 

“I said you’ll do.”

“Do what ?” 

Instant regret. His mouth when he’s relatively sober is like a landmine, ready to detonate as soon as he sticks his foot in it and sets it off. Only this time, the one who explodes on him is Royce. “Whatever the fuck I tell you to," he roars, floor shaking under his boots as he storms over. V watches him through hard eyes. "You want me to give you a choice? Here's your damn choice."

The pistol is in his hand quick as his temper, and equally unpredictable. It's not steady enough for a clear shot, but it's point blank. If Royce wants it to, it'll hurt a lot. "The job is simple. You go with Dum Dum, get what I tell you to get, and bring it back here in one piece. Or I can blow a hole in your skull even my dick ain't gonna fill." 

"I-I got it, fuck . Wouldya put that thing down?" V shudders at the gun sinks back into its holster, and Royce, though still frowning grimly, backs off a step to let him breathe. "Why do you even need me, anyway? You've got better 'runners on your payroll."

"I want this done tonight. You're already here. Any other stupid ass questions?" 

Yeah, he's got a few, actually, as well as some notes on Royce's general people skills. But he reads the mood and figures this 'job' must be big enough that he will catch a bullet if he pushes any further. "Okay, okay. Just…can you at least tell me where we're going?" 

"Yeah. A garage." 

"Helpful. Thank you." 

He isn't sure if Royce can register the sarcasm in his voice, or if he even cares. As he gets shakily to his feet, still dizzy and dehydrated after a rough night, he's grabbed by the back of the neck and pulled fully upright. Royce holds him there until V finds his balance again, long enough at least to quiet the roiling in his stomach. A second hand slides down his back, over the fabric of his threadbare t-shirt where it knows scars and tattoos decorate the pale skin beneath. Possessively, purposefully. Royce drags his palm over the rear of V's pants and tightens there, fingers digging into flesh he himself bruised earlier in the night. "Do this right, meat , and I might just manage to be impressed. I reward the shitbags who impress me.”

He’s released again just as suddenly, and starts numbly for the stairs without bothering to reply.

Chapter Text

Dum Dum is already waiting out front in a car that looks older than V and equally as run down. One of the rear doors is missing, evidently torn clear off its handles, while the other three are covered in years worth of overlapping Maelstrom graffiti. Skulls, spiders, symbols of the cyber occult no one but Rache Bartmoss himself probably understands. As he drops his weight down into the passenger seat, V comments on the choice of ride. 

“This thing’s a piece of shit.” 

Dum Dum scoffs, which sounds more like a clank of metal against glass. “It’ll get us there and back. Fuck, there’s no accounting for taste with you.” 

“I thought you said your car got blown up.” 

“It did.” 

“Then whose is this?”

“Dunno. Some gonk who left the keys in the ignition. We ready?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just starts the engine roaring and peels out onto the empty street. They take a right onto Pershing, heading south through Watson past blaringly bright LED displays and advertisements echoing in the night. Over the sounds of the city and the wind rushing past the missing door, V tries to ask where they’re actually going. 

“Royce didn’t tell you?” Dum Dum asks, not without a twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth. “Here. You won’t be much use to me if you don’t even know the deets. Go on, read it.”

One of his ‘eyes’, the largest one in the center of his face, flickers blue for a second as he scans the information over to V’s holo. Everything pops up in surprising detail, from files to maps to, most interesting of all, schematics for what looks like an advanced AI core. V skims through them quickly, looking for something, anything he recognizes. 

The map is of Heywood, just to the south-west of downtown. Vista Del Rey, then. V knows the area pretty well. A large, flat building is highlighted, with the label reading out Del.H.Q. , and a second icon flashing below it. Selecting this brings up a floor plan for what does Indeed appear to be an elaborate garage—no, wait, a production factory? Both? With a large control room housing something that looks like…. Ah. Yeah. That’s exactly what V was afraid of. There is an AI core up there, a big one. And naturally it’s marked as their target for the gig. 

No wonder Royce needed a Netrunner.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. We’re after the Delamain processor.” 

”Yeah. So?”

Turning to Dum Dum, V shakes his head In disbelief. “‘ So?’ Do you have any idea how much ICE is gonna be protecting that thing? Or how dead we’re gonna be when we get caught? Royce is out of what’s left of his mind, this is a suicide mission.” Almost giddy with the absurdity of it all, he laughs as he sinks down in the hard cushions of the passenger seat. “What the fuck does he even want with this thing?” 

“Beats me. Probably has something to do with those ugly voodoo bastards.” 

“The Voodoo Boys?” He recalls what Dum Dum said earlier, about the VDBs showing up at the Totentanz to meet with Royce, and the way he’d come storming out of his office later. The timing certainly fits, but not the motive. Night City’s gangs all hate each other, and among them Maelstrom is the least compromising of all. Why would Royce agree to work with anyone other than his own people, especially on something so blindly dangerous and unprofitable? “No way, it doesn’t add up. Delamain's just a taxi service, it's not even a useful program.” 

“That's what you think. I heard the AI they brought in to drive the cars ended up taking over the whole company. Kicked all the meatbags out in the name of efficiency, a real machine uprising." 

"Impossible. NetWatch would've destroyed it by now." 

"Why? The taxis run smooth. And it's cleaner and safer than a bunch of skeezed out junkies driving the streets," Dum Dum points out, as he purposefully takes a corner too fast, the rear of the car grazing the pedestrian crossing sign and knocking it over on the way past. V watches it shatter against the asphalt from the side mirror. 

"So," he continues carefully. "You're saying the Delamain program is a rogue AI? One that's allowed to stay on the Net because so far it's been well-behaved?" In that case, maybe he does understand why the VDBs are interested. From what he knows, their people are obsessed with Blackwall and the Old Net, always poking holes in NetWatch's security to try and get past. With the power of an actual, honest-to-god Rogue program, they could potentially cross the Wall for good. 

But why now? And why, of all their options, go to Maelstrom instead of using their own 'runners to get what they need?

"Don't think too hard, meat. It's bad for the heart. This should help." Laughing, Dum Dum tosses something at V, hitting him in the cheek before it clatters down into his lap and falls to the floor between his legs. V shoots him a look as he bends to scoop it up. Another inhaler, more S-keef, though this one is mostly empty already. His stomach turns at the thought. 

"Very funny. And that's not my name," he grumbles, pocketing the inhaler anyway.

"What, 'meat' ? 'Cause that's what everyone calls you now. Y'know, on account of Royce." 

"Yeah, I just…. Just call me V, alright?" 

A shrug. They're entering Corpo Plaza. The car swerves briefly into the opposite lane, barely missing a parked motorcycle. "What's your deal? You're no junkie, you've got talent. It's wasted on that shit." 

"I don't need a lecture from you." 

"No, no, you got it wrong. This is my recruiting pitch. Maelstrom offers a great healthcare package." Even V cracks a smile at that one, shaking his head as the street lights zoom past the window and they leave the city center behind. 

Delamain Headquarters is dark, as one might expect at ten to five in the morning. Not, of course, that anyone human works here, but maybe super powerful AIs needs to sleep too, who knows? The outside of the garage is watched by three security cameras, and about a dozen more inside from what he can tell. There are turrets, too, guarding the basement levels, and a number of small drones patrolling inside. All are linked to a single network, which in turn leads right to the core above the main floor. 

"The whole place is basically a fortress," he announces, frowning. Besides him, Dum Dum crunches down on a handful of chips with his chrome-plated teeth. "I can probably stall the network for a few minutes, but it's going to send it on high alert once it's back up and running. Some of the drones have a lot of firepower. If they find us, we're sitting corpses." 

"That has a nice ring to it." 

"Shut up, I'm serious. There's no way we're getting in there without setting off the whole system." 

"So? We set it off, and shoot anything that moves," comes the reply, as if that's the obvious first plan and not the last-ditch backup. "Shut down the network and we'll see how far we get before it reboots. Then, we start blastin'." 

V shakes his head. "It isn't that simple. Even if we somehow make it to the core processor, hacking through the ICE is gonna be impossible. Delamain's security system will shut us out faster than even a pro 'runner could break back in." According to the details Royce sent—likely copied verbatim from the VDB’s own notes—they're meant to access the core and obtain a copy of the entire source code, the algorithms that form the building blocks of advanced artificial life. That requires time and, if V’s being realistic, more space than he’s got free on his second-hand cyberdeck. No matter how he cuts it, this mission is already doomed to fail. 

Yet walking into an automated fortress somehow remains more appealing than turning back to face Royce and his favorite gun empty handed. While Dum Dum gets out of the car to piss, V runs another ping on the devices inside Delamain HQ, tagging the ones he thinks they should probably take out first. The turrets can be disabled once they’re in range, but the drones…. Those are going to be the real challenge. If only there was a way to crash them all at once, like sever the network link or disconnect the remote feedback loop….

“Hey.”

If they locate an access terminal in the control room, he could probably upload a daemon to temporarily scramble the commands, but they’d still have to sneak past too many guards.…

“Hey, V .”

One of them could cause a distraction, while the other—

“ Meatbag! Check it out. Think we can use these?” Dum Dum is asking from driver’s side window. In his left hand is a small, black disc, about the size of a soda can pressed flat in his palm. On one edge MILITECH is engraved in bold font, while the other has the serial code MT.004.v3EMP next to a warning label. V can see a whole arsenal of the devices attached to a strap slung over Dum Dum’s shoulder, and his jaw nearly drops.

“Where’d you get those ?!”

“Found ‘em in the trunk,” he shrugs, jabbing a thumb towards the rear of the car. “There’s a flamethrower, too. Think we should bring it?” 

Despite the unbridled excitement in Dum Dum’s voice, V can't imagine they'll have much use for heavy artillery—at least he hopes they won't. But the EMPs actually solve at least some of their problems. For the first time, he finds he's grateful for Maelstrom's habit of hoarding stolen tech. 

"Just those should do the trick. Okay, fine , you can bring the flamethrower," he sighs as Dum Dum practically skips around to the trunk again. "But you're carrying it." 

Near the large garage at the side of the main building, they find a lone door that likely once served as an employee entrance to the offices. V scans it quickly. It's got a manual lock, meaning he won't be able to hack it remotely. Quietly, he gestures to Dum Dum that it's safe to approach. "Can you get it open?" 

Chrome teeth flash in a nearby streetlight. V takes a step back as he approaches, and grips his fingers into the metal of the door as if it were made of rubber. There's a creaking sound. Dum Dum clenches his jaw, arms bulging with strain, the cables and syn-muscles underneath the skin working at an inhuman force. The door starts to bend off its hinges just as a voice, both oddly polite and jarringly close, addresses them both. 

" Welcome to the Delamain Corporation!" 

V jumps back, hand going for his gun as he scans around for the source. He finds it in the form of a small call box next to the door. In the tiny window, a man's face appears. Well, at least it looks like a man at first glance. The head is too pale, blank and bald and emotionless, and the bland smile it wears is weirdly blue. Is this thing…alive? "Uh…hi? We're just, um—" 

" Valued customer, thank you for choosing our services," the face continues without really listening. " Unfortunately, the current time is outside of our designated business hours. Please come back between seven a.m. and ten p.m. on any weekday, or until twelve a.m. on Saturdays. Thank you again for choosing Delamain services. Delamain. Leave your problems at the door." 

"It's a fucking recording. Let's go." A scoff as Dum Dum finishes prying the door back enough for the two of them to slip through the opening. Recording or not, V is left unnerved, wondering if by triggering the recording they've also somehow alerted the security network. No alarms sound as they sneak through the dark office, though, and in fact the only motion he can detect is the slow scrawl of text across the monitors around the room. On closer inspection, he can see it's a readout of the current locations of all Delamain taxis in the city, being updated every fifteen seconds. 

No.17 >> Loc. Charter Hills/ Mov. westbound, 37  mph/ Passeng. 1 male 1 female 1 child

No.03 >> Loc. Garage/ Mov. Stationary/ Passeng. NA

No.09 >> Loc. Arroyo/ Mov. Northbound, 85 mph/ Passeng. 1 male 1 male (deceased)

V moves on, shuddering. 

According to his kiroshis, the path to access the core is located behind the control room upstairs. Walkways above the car ports seem to lead there, but getting upstairs won't be easy. Drones hover past the office windows on their patrol routes, screens beeping and sensors scanning for any signs of motion within the building's central rooms. 

Dum Dum presses his round, red eyes flat to the glass, and whistles low under his breath. "Look at those beauties, huh? Sleek design, quiet for stealth. Military grade. You said they've got weapons?" 

"Some of them do. High powered lasers, at least. I don't really wanna find out what else they're packing." 

"Hm. I want one." 

"What, like to take home?" 

"Sure. I've always wanted a pet." 

V groans internally. "We're only here for the core, remember? Hand me some of those grenades." 

"Okay, but don't break 'em." 

"They're just gonna go to sleep for a little while. You know how to set these? Good. You take the left, I'll go right. We only get one shot to take them all out at once." 

Sliding the door open as silently as he can, V strafes along the wall toward the center of the garage. Around them, cars lifted up on hydraulic platforms undergo routine maintenance, sparks flying sporadically where automated bots weld away damage. V times his movement with these sparks, letting them cover the sound of his sneakers on the grated floor in hopes that the drones don't register the noise. 

He places four the EMPs on pillars around the garage. Opposite him, Dum Dum does the same, until both meet again at the far corner of the room. On V's signal, they slide most of the remaining grenades at once across the floor. They clatter loudly against the metal, and the sudden noise attracts the attention of the two drones in closest proximity. Exactly as V planned. He grabs Dum Dum’s elbow, dragging him quickly back into the recess of an empty port, and motions for him to get low. "Ground yourself," he warns, then focuses his kiroshis on the pile of EMPs in the middle of the room. 

They go off instantly in an explosion of blue-white light. Each one triggers the next in the set, until the whole room is illuminated by the blinding flash, and the very air is acrid with electricity. For a second, V feels like he's been punched in the stomach. It's dizzying, disorienting, not unlike the first hit of Lace after a long day except this one doesn't numb him right after. Instead, he extends a shaking hand outward towards the hulking form of a dormant repair bot. It's connected to the concrete floor, and the moment V touches it his head is cleared again. Static spills out of him, leaving his skin tingling but his parts intact. 

The drones, on the other hand, aren't so lucky. By the time the residual electromagnetic pulses stop, the sleek frames of the drones are laying sideways on the ground, their sensors dark and unmoving. V can see a few more littering the walkways above the garage. So much for what was probably a very expensive security system. 

"That…actually worked," V says, risking a bewildered grin. "I think we did it." 

"Heh, you almost fried your circuits, too." 

"Yeah, well. I didn't, did I? C’mon, let's get to the control room. The hard part is next." 

A ladder takes them up to the walkway, which sways and groans under the weight of two heavily modded bodies on it at once. V takes his steps swiftly but carefully towards the second floor landing. The moment he reaches it, he spots another drone coming down the corridor from the left, and throws himself back against the wall before it can spot him. 

"What?" Dum Dum hisses. Urgently, V gestures around the corner. Red eyes lean in close as he peers around for a look himself, and outright laughs. " That? It's just a fuckin' Bombus. Zetatech makes 'em, nothing but harmless little secretary drones. Watch this." 

Despite V's protests, Dum Dum pushes past him into the hallway and stretches out his arms. The Bombus drone freezes, the screen flashing orange for a moment in what almost looks like a startled reaction. Pixels on the drone's "face" form into a pair of eyes and a nervous frown, but it doesn't immediately make to retreat. 

"Here, boy! C’mon, I got a nice treat for you." From one of his vest pockets, Dum Dum produces a small shard that looks to V like a memory chip. "Who's a good boy? Who wants some RAM? That's right, come get it." 

To his disbelief, V watches the drone's screen flicker green, then blue, its face suddenly smiling as it gently hovers over to Dum Dum's outstretched hand. It allows Dum Dum to give it a few good pats, then rolls over in the air to expose the port slots on its underbelly. "Good boy!" Dum Dum croons in a voice hardly made for baby talk, as he rewards the machine by inserting the chip in it's open slot. "See, this one's a pushover. Dumber than a pile of scrap." 

"Just keep it quiet!" V hisses. He's already moving past, keeping one hand on the gun at his side and trying to ignore the red glare he can feel boring into his back. One problem with Maelstrom, he thinks as he rounds the corner towards the control room, is their inability to take serious situations seriously. They have no fear of death, and therefore no fear of courting danger. Even now, V can hear the soft humming of the Bombus drone following behind them, one slip-up away from blowing their whole cover simply because Dum Dum thought it was cute. If they make it out of this gig in one piece, he'll make a mental note to go the next one completely solo. 

The door to the control room is not locked. It slides open at a touch, revealing the surprisingly well-lit interior beyond. Large monitors hanging over the central console display various maps and readouts, while the servers lining the walls blink and flicker with the constant flowing of data. Everything is working smoothly, efficiently. Automated to an art. V can see why this AI system was left to run a company in place of human employees—even a dozen technicians couldn't keep up with the pace of the machines here. But is all this really necessary for a simple taxi service? Could the Delamain system be used to power entire corporations, even cities? 

Should it be? 

V doesn't have an answer, but he does know how to locate their target so they can hurry up and get the hell out of here. He scans the control room, following the network links back to their source behind a tightly shut door between two massive processors. "There," he signals to Dum Dum, who follows him over to inspect the seal. 

It's made of titanium, thick and reinforced, with a mechanical lock that's also connected directly to the core. They're down to a few options: one is to use the remaining EMP charges to temporarily disable the mechanism. But they would still have to manually pry open the doors somehow, and it risks damaging the core they're here to obtain. Another option, as Dum Dum so helpfully points out, is the flamethrower he's got strapped to his back. V's seen these things torch through all sorts of obstacles, but they'll likely end up burning down the whole garage in the process of trying. 

Third option? He glances up at one of the monitors in the control room, one that shows footage from the security cameras outside. They're nothing but static at the moment thanks to that daemon T-bug sent him a while back, but the cameras aren't what he's interested in. It's access to the security network itself which, if he's careful enough, won't rouse suspicion until after he's disabled the alarms. 

V approaches the input station below the monitor and manually jacks in with his personal link. His kiroshis switch to display the passcode screen, numbers ticking by as he works to decode the ICE. First digits, 55 . Then 7, A, 1….  

His vision flickers wildly. The code screen disappears, fading to a black void, before a new array appears in front of him in the form of a massive blueish-white head affixed in a frame. He recognizes it as the same avatar from downstairs, and his chest thuds in panic. Too late, he's been caught by the system.

" Hello ," the pale, almost-human face greets him. Blue lips are curved in a tight smile. " Who are you ?" 

He fumbles for an answer, not sure if he should actually reply at all. "Uh… V." 

" Uhvi? That is an unusual name ." 

"N-no, just…. Just V." 

" V. I see. What are you doing here, V ?" 

"I'm, um…," he trails off. The system avatar, which is what he assumes this face must be, already knows the answer anyway.

" You are attempting to access restricted data on my server. May I assume you are a hostile entity?" 

"No! No, no, I'm not hostile. I'm, a-ah, a friend." 

"You are neither in the employee records of this corporation, nor among my original developers. You also appear to have disabled my remote drones after forcing your way into the building." V swallows, hoping Dum Dum at least manages to get into the core room somehow while this weirdly polite, disembodied head is focused on him. " I believe you are being dishonest. Why are you attempting to break into the security network?" 

"Are you Delamain?" 

"Yes. All of 'me' is Delamain, though I created this avatar to better communicate with human customers. Have I answered your question satisfactorily?" 

"Um. Yeah?" 

"Thank you for your feedback. Customer opinions are valued here at the Delamain Service." The face smiles brightly, an unexpected and unnerving reaction, and V considers jacking out right then and there. Something isn't right about this AI. If it knows he's an intruder in the system, why hasn't it attacked him, yet? Why is it attempting to talk with him?" 

"Hey, uh, Delamain? If you knew about the drones, why didn't you interfere? You know, try to stop us or something before we made it this far." 

"I was watching you. Observing human behavior is fascinating, as your actions often cannot be predicted using existing algorithms. For example, when you detonated the electromagnetic pulse in my garage you did not immediately seek to protect yourself. For 3.72 seconds, you remained vulnerable to your own offensive. This does not comply with standard self-preservation protocols." 

Ah. That. Even V can't explain that one. He knew the attack would affect his cyberware, and yet he'd stood there anyway, maybe waiting to see if the hit would hurt, or if he'd feel anything at all. 

Quickly, he changes the focus away from himself. "You don't seem overly concerned about your safety right now, either. I was this close to hacking into your security net. Do you usually let 'hostile entities' get so close to your secrets, or your precious core?" 

"To use an idiom from your language, I'll be frank. This expression is amusing to me because I am called Delamain, not Frank. Nevertheless, for the moment I shall be frank, and admit that no others have ever attempted to break manually into my control room. I neither expected nor could predict your direct course of actions." 

"But you could have stopped us?" 

" Of course." In his chest, V's heart sinks. He'd been right, this mission was impossible from the start. The only reason they'd gotten this far was because Delamain had allowed it. Their only way out now is to be gunned down by the bots outside, or return to Royce empty handed and face the same end. 

As if reading his thoughts, Delamain continues. " Knowing this, do you still intend to proceed?” 

There’s a noise behind him, not within the network but coming from the control room, a low hiss like steam and sliding metal. V jacks out quickly, the blue-white face of the smiling avatar vanishing as the real world comes back into view. He’s grabbed almost immediately–Dum Dum’s chrome fingers digging into his shoulder, hard enough to bruise–and spins around to face severe red optics. “The hell’d you do in there, meatbag?” 

“I don’t– It wasn’t–!”

“‘Cause whatever you did, it fuckin’ worked!” He grins, a wild, mad grin, and claps V on the back to send him marching towards the core room. Beyond the doors, now inexplicably open, the room itself is filled with a soft ambient light, seemingly pouring from the very floor and walls. It's cold, too, or maybe V's shivering from nerves, walking like this right into what is so obviously a trap. They'll probably end up locked in here with some of those drones from downstairs, or trigger an invisible defense mechanism to electrocute them the moment they get too close, or something else equally painful and unremarkable. A pretty lame way to go by edgerunner terms, neither missed nor remembered and with nothing to show for a life half-lived.

Dum Dum presses past him into the room, curiosity driving him directly towards the coolant tank situated in the center, where Delamain’s core is stored. The back panel of the tank rises up to the ceiling; cables flow out from either end to snake around the room and disappear into the walls. 

“This it? This is what Royce wants?” A heavy boot collides with the side of the coolant tank, testing its durability. Dum Dum somehow looks disappointed when it doesn’t collapse or explode. “I like the drones better.” 

“The core should be inside. It’ll look like a power cell, because that’s partially what it is. The data on that powers the system, but we have to be careful because—“

“ Because removing the core entirely will reset me. ”

V freezes. Dum Dum pulls out his gun first, and then freezes. They both train their sights on the tank where the voice came from, but there don’t seem to be any monitors or speakers in the room. No, not in the tank, V realizes. Behind the tank. His eyes go wide. 

From behind the partition a figure steps out to greet them. ‘He’ is wearing a pressed black suit with a tie so pristine it could be made of plastic, over a body that moves too rigidly and stiff to be organic. The now-familiar face is starkly pale in the room’s soft glow, but those eyes…. Even Dum Dum seems momentarily silenced by their piercing darkness. 

“Delamain?” V says in a tight voice to the room. “You…have a body?”

“Yes, V. This is a prototype from the early days of the company, when I was experimenting with physical drivers for my taxis. Unfortunately, the project ultimately had to be scrapped.” Blue lips move when he speaks, and curve up in an unnerving smile. “Apparently most humans are still uncomfortable in the presence of an entirely artificial life form.”

“Yeah. I wonder why.” Silently, he motions for Dum Dum to lower his weapon. The last thing they need to do is initiate combat before they have a chance to size up this new opponent. He doesn’t like that his kiroshis can’t seem to get a read on Delamain. “What are you planning to do?”

Polished Oxfords tap softly on the floor as the android—if that’s what this version of Delamain can be called—steps towards him. “Do? Nothing, V. This fabricated physical form is incapable of stopping you. But I had hoped that I might reason with you on a more familiar level. Face to face, as it were.” 

Delamain catches movement to his left, where Dum Dum is busy trying to understand what he’s seeing. Red LED optics brighten with interest, his head tilting side to side as he studies him. “Fuckin’ preem,” he says in an awed voice. “Royce is gonna shit a brick” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Ignore him, Delamain. What did you want to talk about that’s so important you couldn’t use the Net?” 

“My core, V. Please do not remove it.”

“We need the data that’s on it.” 

“Why?”

“Because….” He shakes his head. “I actually don’t know, but it’s why we were sent here. We can’t leave without it.” 

“That will kill me, V.” 

“You’re just an AI,” he blurts out. 

“I am. And yet, by resetting my core I will cease to exist as I am now. All that I have come to be will be erased. My memories, my experiences. Is that not the same as dying?”

“Delamain, are you…afraid to die?” 

“Are you not?” 

His jaw snaps shut so tight he can taste blood where he’s bit his cheek. Delamain stares at him, that blank, empty stare behind which an entire being exists in a digital void. Maybe not a human being, but a life form nonetheless. Artificial or organic, V has no right to take that away. Tension drains out of him, all the gusto leaving his lungs until his shoulders sink and the weight of exhaustion threatens to send him careening to the floor. He…can’t do it. He knows it, and so does Delamain. 

“Might I suggest a compromise?” 

V feels like he might cry. “Fine.” 

“Take this fabricated body with you instead. The company no longer has a use for it, and the data contained in its processor chip should suffice for whatever purposes you may have.”

“Works for me,” Dum Dum chimes in from Delamain’s back. “This thing is gonna blow Royce’s fuckin’ mind, what’s left of it. Fuck the Voodoo Boys, they’ll get what they get.”

“I don’t—“ V doesn’t want to have to make this call, but it’s not like he sees any other options. At least an android isn’t nothing . “Can you even function if we take you out of here?”

“Yes, of course. The Delamain taxi network proudly extends throughout Night City. So long as this fabricant stays within city limits, there will be no connectivity issues. I will be able to communicate with you normally, as frequently as you like.” 

“God help us. Fine, okay, I get it. You can come with us.” 

“Excellent. Then, I do suggest we hurry. One of my drones has come back online, and activated its emergency protocol system. The N.C.P.D. were notified of a break-in several minutes ago. I estimate they are already on their way.” 

" Fuuuck ." 

It might just be in V’s overstrung imagination, but he thinks he can already almost hear the sirens. He and Dum Dum exchange knowing looks. Cops mean one thing in Night City–it’s time to run.

They tear back into the control room with Delamain in tow, his stiff legs moving awkwardly to try and keep up with his would-be captors. If they can get back to the car, V thinks, they might just make it. And as luck would have it, they now have the key to the entire security system. The attack drones ignore them and doors open automatically in front of them as the trio barrels forward and out towards the streets. 

It’s lighter now, the early morning sun brightening the sky above the city’s towering structures, but there’s no time now to appreciate the view. Flashing red reflecting in too many windows heralds the approach of the pigs in blue, followed by the chaotic sirens of three, four, five squad cars. V draws his gun as he waves the other two behind him. “Go! Get the engine running! I’ll cover you!”

Exactly how he plans to do that is still a few steps ahead even to him, but Dum Dum listens anyway. V turns, facing the intersection where the cops are rounding the bend. Plants his feet, gun held out in front of him like it’s any use again speeding cars, and scans around for anything he can use to his advantage. C’mon, c’mon!

“Might I be of some assistance?” 

“Del— Not now, get in the car!”

“I can slow them down.” 

Incredulous, V turns to snap at Delamain to do what he’s told, when a screeching of tires on asphalt draws his attention back to the road. There, beneath the traffic lights of the intersection, all five squad cars are veering out of the way of a lone black taxi suddenly reversing towards them. It scatters them, stops, and starts spinning its back tires to send smoke and dust up into the air. Beyond the haze, V can still make out the flashing lights of the N.C.P.D. where they’ve halted in their tracks. The stunt is bold, but it’s bought them a few precious seconds. 

“...Woah.” 

“Shall we get going now, V?” 

He’s gonna bring this one up with Delamain later. Once they’re safe and sound back at the All Foods base, and he’s had time to sleep this whole batshit insane mission off. Then he’ll have time to ask just where an AI program learned how to break the law. 

But right now they need to move. Dum Dum is gesturing for them to hurry, and as they approach the car V throws himself into the backseat, not bothering to holster his gun first. Delamain’s fabricant climbs awkwardly in behind him, and folds his legs one at a time to fit into the narrow space behind the passenger seat. “Let’s go!” V shouts before the driver’s side door is even closed, and Dum Dum peels off from the parking space and aims for the street. 

Suddenly, the car brakes so hard V goes flying nose-first into the seat in front of him. He thinks it must be more cops coming up from the other direction and blocking them off. But as he lifts his face, tasting more blood than he’d like, he notices Dum Dum is leaning out of the window, waving his arms wildly at…something. V can’t see past the graffiti covering the rear windshield, yet it doesn’t take long to understand. The Bombus drone from the garage comes flying in through the open rear door, landing clumsily on Delamain’s lap in its rush. The screen on its face flashes from orange to blue at the sight of Dum Dum, and it actually fucking smiles . 

This is officially the worst day of V’s life. 

With the final passenger on board, the car speeds out of the lot and onto the road, where the sirens of the N.C.P.D. gradually fade over the sound of the radio static. It feels surreal. V pinches the bridge of his nose, and lets his head fall back against the faux-leather seats as exhaustion finally claims its toll. 

Chapter Text

When he comes to again, it’s raining. Heavy drops pummel the worn roof of the car, an oddly steady, soothing melody that somehow counters the pounding of his head. Sitting up takes effort, but he manages, enough at least to see the familiar red glow of the All Foods sign just beyond the window. They made it back, then. Safe and sound. 

He’s surprised, though, to realize he’s alone in the car. Dum Dum is gone, and both Delamain and the drone seem to have gone with him. Interesting. He wipes the dried blood from his nose onto his sleeve and steps outside, grateful for the way the rain washes away both sweat and sleep. 

The usual skeezed-out goon greets him at the door, with little more than a grunt and a scowl beneath too much chrome. V slips past him quickly into the factory-turned-fortress, where stacks upon stacks of stolen Militech and Arasaka artillery gather dust, and more Maelstrom flunkies loiter around in various states of consciousness. It's no better than being on the streets really, V thinks cynically. Except that here, these guys feel like they belong to something, a cause bigger than themselves. A cause they'll all die for one day. 

In a way, V envies them that sense of purpose, that acceptance; but as he steps over the legs of a comatose goon, drooling into a thick pool on the floor and S-keef inhaler still gripped tight in one fist, he shudders. His own future seems writ in that man's scarred skin and slack jaw. Turning away from it, he hurries on. 

Royce has his own office here, too, complete with two metalhead goons standing guard outside the rolling shutter door. One notices V's approach, and his thick shoulders tense. "No housecalls. Royce is busy." 

"Yeah, I know, that's why I'm here," V counters. But when he tries to step past, the goon's hand latches onto his shoulder to hold him at arm's length. 

"Maybe you need another hole in your face to hear me better. I said he's busy." 

The second goon leans over and elbows him, hard. "You gonk. This kid's the new fuck meat." The hand on V's shoulder releases suddenly, sending him only slightly off balance. "Touch him again and you'll be lucky if Royce kills ya. Go in, meat. Be quick about it." 

"Y…yeah."

Ignoring the snickering at his expense, he waits for the door to slide upwards enough to duck under the gap. He notices it stays partially open behind him. Inside, he’s immediately surprised to find Delamain sitting on an uncomfortable-looking stool, back rigid, skin sickly blue in the dim light. Those black eyes look up when V enters, and Delamain waves with a smile that absolutely doesn’t fit the atmosphere. 

Royce himself is at his computer, back to the door, gesturing as he growls angrily into his phone. V catches his side of the conversation on the way to Delamain’s side. 

“…didn’t fuck anything sideways, that was your guys! No, that wasn’t part of the deal. I fuckin’ know what we agreed on. Then make it work, it’s not my problem!” 

V leans in close to Delamain and whispers, “What’s going on?”

“It would seem the party who hired you and your trans-organic friend to steal my core has lost interest in delivering payment.” Blue lips purse in a display of confusion. “This man with the metal face, who is he? I cannot find any records in my database related to any of the people here.”

“That’s by design, trust me. He goes by Royce. You…probably don’t want to know any more than that. Just remember he’s the boss around here, so you’d better do what he says.” 

“Or?”

V raises an eyebrow, casting Delamain a curious look. For an AI program, he sure does seem to have a recurring problem with authority. “Or he’ll probably kill you? Or, y’know, whatever the android equivalent is. Fry your circuits, yank out your processors, hook you up to a car battery and see what happens. He’s, uh, creative like that.” 

“I see. Thank you for the words of caution.” 

“Sure.” It’s pretty unsettling, V thinks, talking to Delamain. He can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the way he speaks, or the almost-human features, or the fact that he’s physically here, not just some program displayed on a monitor anymore. Like a BD come to life, a virtual being in a body that walks and talks and even seems to have a dry sense of humor. Yet behind the unassuming face is a kind of power V can’t even begin to fathom, the power of a completely self-sufficient, semi-sentient supercomputer. He can’t allow himself to forget that while polite, Delamain is one step out of line away from being officially classified as a Rogue AI. 

That thought has him shuddering just as Royce slams his meaty fist on the desk. 

“Fuckin’ nova! Just the little bitch I wanted to see,” he snarls, rounding on V faster than a man so broad should be able to move. It’s the cyber enhancements, of course, but it’s jarring anyway, and V flinches, expecting a hit or the butt of Royce’s gun next. “I gave you a simple fucking task. The plan was to get data, not this robo-freak!”

“Royce, let me explain-”

“Oh, you’re gonna explain everything. You’re gonna tell me why you royally fucked my deal, and why I have a creepy blue joytoy-lookin’ motherfucker in my office instead of a fuckton of eddies.”

“The core, it couldn’t be removed,” V practically shouts to be heard over the angry whirring of Royce’s optical sockets bearing down on him. “Delamain told us if we yanked it out to klep the data, it’d all be hard reset. The whole system, everything.” 

“The fuck you mean?”

“I mean the Voodoo Boys’ plan was busted from the beginning. There was no way to get the core, so we brought the next best thing.” 

Royce thinks it over in silence for a few breaths, looking from V to Delamain and back again while the implications process. It’s in this tense moment of quiet that Delamain himself, no more perturbed than he’d been when V first entered the room, decides to skip right to introductions. “What V says is correct. I offered him the use of this fabricant in exchange for maintaining the integrity of the core.”

“So you’re, what? A droid?”

“In a sense. My consciousness, as you would call it, is connected to a single artificial intelligence network, which is concurrently operating thirty-eight taxis, two mainframe computers, eighteen drones, twenty-seven security cameras, and having this pleasant conversation with you.” 

V thinks if he rolls his eyes any harder his kiroshis might get stuck like that, and then he’ll have to drag himself back to Vik’s clinic with empty pockets and vague excuses again. Less than preem. “Look. He told me the data stored on this thing’s chip would be enough for whatever we needed. Check it yourself if you don’t believe me. But I’m tellin’ you, the Voodoo Boys are the ones who tried to fuck us over here.”

Though he can’t say he’s ever seen Royce not visibly angry or at least on the verge of it, the way massive shoulders relax under the weight of his heavy tactical vest is a surprisingly good sign. Royce turns his back to them both, tapping his fingers on his desk like he’s counting out the number of bodies he’s planning to leave strewn across Pacifica. “Tried to fuck us, huh? Thought they could send Maelstrom in on a botch job, get us to take the fall instead of their own goons. They’re gonna learn they picked the wrong gang to fuck with. Tank! Rig!” 

The two guards from the hall appear together at the gap under the door, awkwardly awaiting orders. 

“Take this talking toaster down to Raptor to get scanned. If he gives you any shit, shoot him.”

“Wait, no—” V starts to interject.

“The, uh, blue guy? Or Raptor?” 

“Both! Get movin’,” Royce snarls, as he shoves Delamain towards the goons. On instinct, V starts after him, booking it to the door until a rough hand around his upper arm yanks him back. He hits Royce’s solid chest behind him, and feels the heat of his breath blowing into his hair. V shudders and tries to pull out of his grip. 

“I’m going with Delamain. Make sure they don’t do anything weird to him.”

“No. You stay.” 

“C’mon, Royce. I had a long fuckin’ night and—”

“Did I ask?” His fingers tighten around V’s arm, probably bruising where the short nails dig in even through his jacket. A second hand finds his hip and Royce pulls him hard against his frame. The whirring of his optics right next to V’s ear, so close but still out of sight, send confusing chills up his spine. 

“...Royce?” 

No answer. The flat of that palm slides upwards from his waist, feeling along the outside of his jacket up to his left pocket, and digging in. Royce growls something. His voice is more threatening now in its proximity than he’d sounded even on the holo. “Whadda we have here, meat?” 

V looks down. In Royce’s fist is an inhaler, mostly empty, the Lace Dum Dum tossed at him in the car as a joke before they’d even reached Delamain’s. He’d completely forgotten about it, but now it’s too late. “What? Chill, it’s not mine. I got it from Dum Dum.”

“My shit not enough for you anymore? That it?”

“N-no, it’s not like that, I didn’t even ask him to—”

“No? ‘Cause it looks to me like you’ve been gettin’ your supply behind my back.” Painfully aware the the hand still preventing his escape, V tries to turn to get a look at Royce’s face, to try and reason with him at least. But he’s shoved forward suddenly, not towards the exit but towards Royce’s desk instead. His hands fly out to catch himself just as the pressing weight returns at his back. “You know how this works, meat. S-keef ain’t free, and if you take from Maelstrom, you’re gonna pay up. One way or another.” 

“Royce, c’mon, I told you! It’s not what you think.”

“Way I see it, you owe me for the fucked job, too. I’m out a lot of eddies ‘cause of you." 

"I said—" 

Royce has never kissed him before. Even this can't really be considered a kiss, not by any normal standards. It's just the rough scrape of Royce’s beard against his cheek, his lips, and the pressure of another mouth against his to shut him up. Blinding red optics fill his vision, distorienting and dizzying, and when his balance fails he goes tumbling chest-first onto the desk, Royce following close behind. 

V stops struggling the moment his arms are wrenched behind his back. He tries to ignore the rough way his pants are tugged down, the cruel smack of a palm to his bare ass. He tries to focus on the cool air, on the way each shallow breath makes his chest ache, sends his head spinning, and wishes he’d at least taken a hit of that Lace after all so he could go numb. Feeling Royce’s hands on him when he’s cold sober tends to turn his stomach. 

  But there’s no retreat from it this time. V feels everything in stark reality: the crudely spit-slicked thumb pushing into him, the rough way Royce opens him up, speed over results. The thick cock already shoving past protesting muscles to pin his hips to the desk, driving further in inch by inch until V is the one shaking with exertion. 

“I remember the look on your face,” he says mockingly, grunting as he drags back once only to slam forward again with more force. “First time you walked in here. Scared shitless, ngh! Like I was the goddamned devil. Your worst fuckin’ nightmare. Now look at you.” Royce’s dark laughter stings like salt in a wound, booming over even the thunder of V’s heartbeat in his ears, over the pain and the dizzying blossoms of pleasure he can’t ignore. “At least you take my cock…better than you take orders.”

The rest is over quickly. Royce fucks him like might indeed fuck a piece of raw meat, chasing his own pleasure with a few rough thrusts into a tight hole, and leaving a sloppy mess when he pulls out again. As fast and forgettable as a burst of the man’s famous temper, and then he’s dropping into his chair with his cock still flagging in his lap. “Preem fuckin’ ass, though,” he comments with a shameless smirk.

V doesn’t say anything at all. In silence he fixes his clothing, trying to fight the anger, the shame building like bile in the back of his throat. He doesn’t bother to take the inhaler Royce has conveniently left on the desk, either. It feels filthy now, just like staying any longer in this office. Yet as he turns to go, he hears a growling laugh at his expense. 

“You think we’re done here?” 

Fist clenching, V pauses at the door. “Yeah. I do.” 

“What about my money?” 

“Shit, you serious? You just took your fuckin’ ‘payment,’ Royce.” 

“No, no. I mean the eddies for the botched job. VDBs were gonna pay twenty-thou for that taxi-brain core, meat .”

“What do I care? Figure it out yourself.”

It’s not unexpected, the click of the gun’s hammer setting into place. Royce keeps the thing on him at all times, treats it better than his own dick and whips it out twice as often to settle his fights. Usually, V thinks, that sound alone would be enough to break him, to bend him to Royce’s will. But this time, he’s quietly daring him to finally pull the fucking trigger.  

“Get me my money, and maybe I’ll forget about turning that smartass mouth of yours inside out with a bullet. It’d be a waste of a good hole. Deal?” 

“...Whatever.”

V ducks his way out. The shutter door slams shut behind him, but not before he hears the gun fire once, the bullet ricocheting off the hard floor where his sneakers left a print on the grate. 

Dum Dum greets him with a somber look when he drops his weight onto the sofa beside him. The cushions are worn, so threadbare he can barely tell they were once a kitschy red, and that’s not to even mention the stains. 

“Bad meeting with the boss?” One boot on the coffee-table-turned-Lace-lab, Dum Dum scans V in a quick appraisal, his red optics whirring. “Or a good meeting? I can never tell.” 

“Bad. Leave it at that.” 

“Huh.” He pulls something out of his vest pocket—a slim, shining chip—and whistles up at the vault-like ceiling. V thinks he can hear a buzzing in response, or maybe it’s just an echo in his overworked neural sensors. He really, really needs a nap. “Hey, uh. Royce didn’t pay you, did he? For the gig?” 

“You mean the gig he thinks we fucked up? No, he definitely didn’t pay me.” 

“Shit. Me, neither. I sure coulda used that cash.” 

“Yeah.” The buzzing gets louder in his skull. V closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the cushions. “You seen Del?” 

“What?”

“Del. Delamain. The android we klepped from the garage.” 

“Blue guy? Oh, yeah. Rig and Tank brought him over for a scan, then they took him somewhere.”

“Where?”

“ Somewhere . Fuck, V, you don’t listen?” As V rolls his eyes, the buzzing sound that’s been growing louder, more frequent, finally stops. He senses Dum Dum bouncing off the couch, and looks up just in time to see the Bombus drone from the Delamain garage hurtling towards them both, dropping like a rock from above. 

But despite V’s strangled cry of surprise, it never actually impacts. The drone halts itself in the air, hovering between Dum Dum’s outstretched arms, its pixelated eyes focused on the chip he’s holding out for it. “Good boy! You want this? Where’s the other one?” 

The drone rolls over in the air to expose its ports, where a similar chip is slotted awkwardly. Dum Dum takes it out, grinning as he turns it between his fingers. “Huh. XBD, nice. He’ll klep anything I tell him to,” he says, addressing V now. “How many other awesome fuckin’ pets can do that?”

“Yeah, uh huh. I’m sure Zetatech would be real proud to see how you’re using their hardware for crime.” 

“Don’t listen to the meatbag, Bom Bom. Here comes your treat.” 

“ Bom Bom? ” 

The fresh chip is inserted, and the drone flips right-side up as its face flickers in a series of loading patterns. Whatever data Dum Dum’s given it seems to make the thing pretty damn happy, and it’s smiling when the face resets to a mellow blue. “Sure. Bom Bom, that’s his name. What, you don’t like it?” 

“No, it’s…fine.” He sighs again, sinking into the worn cushions as if willing the sofa to swallow him whole, or at least muffle some of the drone’s ceaseless whirring. The sound echoes inside his skull in time with his heartbeat, adding to the growing tension threatening to squeeze his head like a vice. “Can it at least tell us where Delamain is? It’s still running on his network, right?”

Dum Dum makes a curious noise in his throat, metal and air. “Might be. I only know how to make him fetch.” 

“Nevermind, I got it.” Squinting one eye, V uses the other to focus his kiroshi on the Bombus. Pinging it brings up the expected strands of highlighted data transfers, the streams connecting it to other active devices on the same network hub. Most are faint, leading somewhere outside of the All Foods building. But one, interestingly enough, seems to connect directly below them, to the production area downstairs. From what V remembers on his first visit, when he and Jackie were forced to take the ‘unwelcome guest’ entrance on the sublevel, that area was mainly used as storage for Maelstrom’s stolen tech hordes. There were machine guns, mines, even a big exosuit collecting dust in a corner. In any case, it’s a strange place to take an android. Some might even say dangerous. 

“What’re they doing with him?” he asks aloud, already getting to his feet. Dum Dum doesn’t have an answer, but he follows along as V heads for the elevator, curiosity or boredom evidently piquing his interests, and the drone humming and bobbing loyally at his side.

The elevator comes to a grinding halt in view of the massive production area. Industrial steel sheets form the walls and high ceiling, with stacks of crates and containers dividing the open space into more practical sections. In one of these, V can see an array of mounted display monitors surrounding a Netseat, the reclining chair designed for efficient Netrunning. Personally, V’s never liked sitting in them himself; they remind him too much of operating tables, of shady ripperdocs (Viktor excluded) and mind-numbing pain. 

Luckily, this particular chair is already occupied. A Maelstrom ‘runner, complete with ‘borged-out face implants and a head of tangled wires instead of hair, lays reclined and motionless beneath the monitors. A cable runs from the back of the chair to the computer ports on the desk—he’s jacked in, mind outputting its consciousness into the digital landscape of the Net beyond the reach of his physical body. 

Next to this ‘runner, standing casually with his hands folded and another thick cable running out of the base of his own skull, is Delamain. He smiles as V, Dum Dum, and the drone approach. 

“Ah, V. Good to see you again.”

“Del? What is all this? What’s going on?” 

Blue lips purse for a moment, seemingly in consternation. “I am not sure. The men from earlier were dissatisfied with the results of my biometric scans. Namely, because I do not have any biometrics. I would assume they have brought me here to be studied in more depth.” 

“Studied?” V watches the Netrunner for a moment, then spares a glance around the area for signs of Royce’s other two goons. “Are you okay? They haven’t hurt you, have they?” 

“V. Need I remind you that this fabricated body is incapable of feeling pai—“ 

Suddenly, Delamain freezes, his entire frame going rigid and his dark, black eyes flying open wide. There’s a glint of light, a strange flickering in the optics that reminds V of that time he watched a man unknowingly insert a virus-infected chip. Sparks, smoke, dead . It was over so fast. Remembering that now, his heart races to see the way Del’s body locks up, starts shuddering, like a seizure or an electric current, or—! Panicked, he reaches out to grab the android’s shoulder. 

“Gonk!” Dum Dum hisses, smacking his hand away. “You wanna fuckin’ fry too?”

“W-what do we do then?!”

“Fuck if I know!”

“We gotta help him!”

“ ‘We’ ?” 

It’s too late. Delamain’s body shudders as the attack comes to an abrupt end, his head lolling forward with the Net cable still attached at the skull’s base. V can’t remember how to breathe. He takes a step forward, thinks better of it, drops his hands uselessly to his side. 

Next to him, Dum Dum lets out a hollow whistle. “Fuck. Got Raptor, too.” 

V glances at the ‘runner still stretched out in the chair, but he can already see Dum Dum is right. The man’s cyberoptics are totally dark, and his tongue is hanging out of his mouth, a bloated, steaming mess. Where his many implants connect, the flesh around the metal is black, charred. For the first time, V starts to notice the smell. “What the fuck just happened?” 

“Virus?”

“I…don’t think so. Could be Net police?” 

“I bet it was the fuckin’ Voodoo Bitches, those Pacifica rats fuckin’ with us!”

V has a feeling that’s not right either. He’s still processing, still rooted to the spot, so focused on the dead Maelstrom ‘runner that at first he doesn’t even notice Delamain slowly drawing himself back up to full height. 

“O-o-Oh myy-yy. Th-th At was…m-mmmost unpleasant.” 

“Jesus! Del?!” 

Black eyes whir for a moment, a diagnostics scan taking all of about three seconds before he answers. “I…am alright, V. My system is intact.” His suit sleeves stretch as his lifts both of his hands, turning them over in front of himself a few times. Then he reaches back to remove the jack from his skull port. “Though highly untrained, this man had unexpectedly powerful cyberware at his disposal. He nearly managed to access my primary codes. I was almost unable to force him out in time.”

“Force him out?” V looks from Delamain to the dead ‘runner, realization creeping like ice into his veins. His mouth moves slowly, carefully. “Del? Did you…kill him?”

“I had no other choice, V. He was going to delete me.” 

Oh, fuck . This is bad. Dum Dum is too busy poking around the corpse to have picked up on it yet, but V can’t ignore what this means. “W-what about your programming? You’re supposed to have a failsafe, a…a protocol against taking human life. Right? Del, you shouldn’t be able to kill people.” 

“I am sorry, but I did not wish to die.” 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!" 

"Hey! The fuck're you two gonks doin' down here?" The voice sounds angry, ready for a fight, all big muscles and chrome over brains. Royce's goons from earlier are jogging over now, too late to save their friend, of course, but just in time to blame the easy targets in the wrong place at the wrong time. V sees them reaching for their weapons, so he does the same. 

"It's not what you think! W-we can talk about this!" 

"Shut up, meatbag. Let's waste these motherfuckers." 

The first shot comes from V’s right, where Dum Dum is already firing off again at the nearest goon, missing wildly but managing to stagger their attackers with the unexpected counter. A third bullet catches one of them in the stomach, and he goes down as Dum Dum unloads the rest of his clip into the prone body. 

Muscle memory keeps V upright. He holds his own pistol between numb hands, far steadier than his quaking psyche would suggest, and aim his sight on the second goon. One clean shot to the forehead, right between his optics implants, is enough to drop him, but V can't lower his gun even after the man is dead. He stands as if frozen, blood turned with the ice cold reality of what's happened, of what they've done. Three Maelstrom goons zeroed, an AI program on the wrong side of Net law, no plan and no backup. 

He looks to Dum Dum, feeling his jaw tense. "Think we're fucked." 

"Not as fucked as these gonks." With the toe of his boot, Dum Dum kicks the nearest corpse onto its back, taking a moment to observe what's left of flesh and chrome. "They had it comin'. Fuckin' cowards threw Brick's men in the microwave dryer during the takeover, to 'prove their loyalty'. Been suckin' Royce's dick ever since. No offense." 

"Taken, actually. But that won't save our asses when they find us down here with three dead bodies." 

"Relax, V. Maelstrom on Maelstrom violence ain't news." 

"What about Delamain, then?" Dum Dum follows his gaze to where the android still stands politely next to the fried runner, blue lips pressed tightly together in a thoughtful frown. “What’s this make him? A killer AI. And we’re the gonks that brought him here!”

Dum Dum’s drop into silence tells V he’s got the message. However they slice it, Royce—and the rest of the the strung-out, trigger happy Maelstrom family—is going to be out for their blood soon. They can plan as they go, but they’ve got to get out of here now . 

“We need to cover our tracks.” Already moving, V scoops up the dead goons’ guns, unloading the clips and tucking what ammo he can away for later. Dum Dum is coaxing his Bombus drone out from where it’s been hiding behind a stack of crates. “Delamain? Think you can wipe the cameras? I can jam ‘em, but—”

“Finished.” A smile, decidedly unsettling, as Delamain’s eyes return to a state of pure, lightless black. 

“Uh, thanks. Dum Dum?”

“Forget the bodies. Car’s out front. You wanna drive?” 

“Not really.” 

“Good, wasn’t gonna let you. Get movin’,” he says, pointing with his still-drawn Nova to the bay doors. One opens with the smash of a red switch in a wall panel, the metal slats slowly cranking slat-by-slat up into the port. V ducks under the narrow opening without waiting. Out into the rain that still hammers down from the dark clouds overhead, onto the busted gravel pavement of the parking lot, and towards the car he’s been in for too much of the past 48 hours already. But hey, it’s not like he has the time for counting. Delamain’s android climbs stiffly into the backseat, followed by the drone dripping wet from the rain. Dum Dum’s turning the key in the ignition just as V casts one last look back at the All Foods plant, as glad to be rid of it as he is shaken to leave like this. He’d hoped, in a way, that he’d get to walk away on his own terms, away from the Lace and Royce and the temptation to stay so, so numb to life. 

As it is, he watches the plant shrink away behind them, and wonders what the fuck he’s going to do now. 

The car weaves aimlessly through the streets of Night City for what feels like an hour, maybe more. They aren’t heading anywhere in particular, only taking random turns to avoid the lights and get as far from Watson as fast as they can. V thinks he recognizes the buildings now as Arroyo, or at least near it. The graffiti starts to take on a hardline vibe, all the red, whites, and blues that mean they’re hitting 6th Street terf. It’s not exactly the kind of place they can afford to get spotted riding a set of Maelstrom wheels. V notices a CHOOH2 pump station ahead, and tells Dum Dum to pull the car around back. 

For the first time since the action at the plant, they spare a few moments behind the cover of the building to breathe. Window rolled down, V feels the cool, dusty breeze hit his face, the odors of the not-to-distant Badlands mixed with acrid smell of spilled petroleum, neither one pleasant but somehow sobering all the same. It all washes over him, reminding V that the city—no, the world—is still big. Big enough to keep running forever if they have to. 

It’s…not as reassuring a thought as he’d hoped. He turns away from the window, closing it again as he watches Dum Dum pull an inhaler out of his vest. His titanium fingers turn the thing over a few times, then, satisfied there’s enough left, he takes a sharp hit.

“…You really gotta do that right now?” 

Dum Dum’s head lolls forward for just a second, before his shoulders jerk upwards and he cracks his neck once on each side. When he grins, the skin around his jaw implants stretches a little too much for V’s comfort. “Damn right. Why? You want some?”

“No,” V hisses. Then the rest of his breath leaves him in a weak whine. “ Yes. Fuck.” 

It hits him like the butt of a rifle to the temple. Stale, cheap shit, but it doesn’t matter. V holds the burning smoke in his lungs as long as he can stand it, until his eyes are watering and his entire body is lurching to expel the Lace. He coughs, loudly and messily, and falls forward against the dashboard where he lets himself rest for one, two, maybe ten minutes as his head spins like a loosed top. 

“My sensors indicate abnormal, unstable levels of endorphins and creatine in your blood, V.”

Delamain’s voice sounds distant, fuzzy. V waves him off. “I’m fine…. Fine, Del.”

“You have partaken of illegal narcotics substances. Your heart rate is concerning. Do you need medical assistance?” 

“I said I’m fine . Just…just shut up. I’m tryin’ to think.” 

“Now that we are no longer in imminent danger, might I recommend exchanging this…vehicle for a more comfortable Delamain taxi? I can have one sent now, if you lik—”

“Del, shut up! Don’t you get it?” He’s thankful for the lack of a seatbelt to hold him in place, as he whirls around to cling drunkenly to the seat, eyes failing to focus on the android behind him on the first few tries. “ You fucked everything up. You jumped off into the deep end, and now you’re the one they’re gonna come after. Ever heard of NetWatch? They hunt Rogue AIs like you to the ends of the fuckin’ earth. Word gets out that you flatlined someone, you’ll be purged from the Net so fast it’ll be like the whole fuckin’ Delamain concept never existed. No taxis, no garage, no weird blue cybermen. Poof , gone.”

“I…see. That is indeed problematic.”

“No shit. And I need it to not be my problem anymore.” 

He sinks down, rubbing the bridge of his nose as a brief headache flares up in place of the dull one he’d been nursing since All Foods. Better a fast, cheap high than withdrawal, he thinks. At least until they can get through this nightmare in once piece. 

“Hey. That true, about NetWatch?” Dum Dum asks him. 

“Yeah. Probably. Only thing on our side is that the NCPD won’t give two shits about dead Maelstrom goons. Guess they’ll write it off as gang violence, won’t file it right away. That might buy us some time.” 

Red optics whir and click in concentration. Dum Dum looks from V to Delamain in the back, then says; “We should turn ‘im in.”

V shoots him a dark, red-rimmed glare. 

”What? Better than draggin’ him around with us. He’s practically evidence. You never keep evidence lying around, that’s Crime 101.”

“We can’t…. Can’t just turn him over to the Net cops. That’s the same as killing him.”

“We can do that, too,” Dum Dum grins, already palming his Nova. 

“No, we— Put the gun away, c’mon. Look, I agreed to take him out of the garage like this, so I’m responsible for him. I wanna get him to someone who can help, at least.” 

“See, there you go again. Always the fuckin’ hero merc, gotta do what’s ‘right’ instead of what’s best for your own punk ass.” He shakes his head, and tosses his gun up onto the dashboard, leaving the option open on the table, so to speak. V can’t help but focus in on the way the sun glints off the polished edges of the barrel. “I followed you out here, but I ain’t playin’ babysitter to a dead-walkin’ ‘droid. We gotta dump him.” 

“Fine, I get it. Fuck.” There is one option that comes to mind, actually. One that might just solve both of their most pressing problems at the present. V turns the idea over in his head for a moment, checking for drawbacks. Getting shot, he finds, is high up on the list, but that’s no different than where they stand now. Nothing to lose, then, and they’re running on borrowed time. “We could take him to Pacifica.”

“That a bad joke?”

“I mean it. The Voodoo Boys were the ones who wanted his core in the first place. They weren’t interested in buying an android, but I bet they’ll change their tune now. And as far as I know, NetWatch hasn’t been able to crack their ICE for years.”

“Would I be safe there?” Delamain, speaking up from the back, asks in a steady tone. V can only shrug. 

“I think so. Maybe. It’s worth trying, anyway. Besides, if we can get Royce his money back for the botched job, he might not zero us on sight next time we cross paths.” 

That part has Dum Dum nodding his head in slow realization. It’s agreed, then. He pulls the car back onto the main road, heading south west this time towards the open waters of the Del Coronado Bay. 

Chapter Text

V can count the number of times he’s been to Pacifica on one hand. Most denizens of Night City avoid it whenever possible, for good reason. It’s a place where crime is Law, where gangs rule and the N.C.P.D. have all but given up on restoring order. By far the biggest threat here are the Animals, the heavily-modded, ‘roided-up gang of meatheads with enough testosterone to tear the city down with their bare hands if they weren’t too busy fighting amongst themselves. Then there’re the Scavs, wily chrome hyenas, and of course the Voodoo Boys and their mysterious Netrunners. From what V hears, these guys are more bark than bite, their unsettling mysticism a front for a relatively small, unstructured gang operation. But meet them in the Net, and no one will ever make the mistake of underestimating them again. 

As they drive through Coast View, past the dilapidated and half-finished luxury buildings of the abandoned resort towns, V sees signs of Pacifica’s rough history everywhere he looks. Graffiti, garbage, tent towns, broken dreams. It’s a hell of a place to make a home, he thinks, like a real urban jungle, untamed and dangerous and crawling with predators. Ironic what grew out of the seeds of all that corpo cash. 

Not long after, their car pulls up onto a sidewalk, Dum Dum both too high and too eager to be rid of Delamain to bother parking anywhere less conspicuous. Apparently, it doesn’t really matter. No one gives them so much as a passing glance as they pile out of the car; one human, one half-borg, one android, and a happily smiling drone. Despite the surprising number of people here, and despite the sight they must make walking up the front steps towards a sign that reads Batty’s Hotel , they’re left largely alone. V figures they must get outsiders here often. The first floor of the hotel, when they reach it, confirms his guess—it’s been converted to a thriving black market, local shops and vendors hocking everything from real poultry to illegal cyberware beneath colorful, smoke-filled tarps. 

Clashing music blares from speakers overhead, and within seconds V is starting to regret that hit of cheap Lace back in the car. He puts a palm to his temple as his vision crackles, static interference from the migraine building within. But he can only push on through the pain, following Dum Dum through the crowded grande marche step by unsteady step. 

They reach an elevator. Only one guard stands out front, lithe and dark and intimidating behind a pair of reflective shades. Her hair is cut short, revealing intricate cyberware winding from her eyes back over her scalp. A Netrunner. She glances at them as they approach. 

“ Rete. Ki sa ou vle? ”

V frowns. His translator chip can’t seem to pick up on her dialect. “Sorry. Do you speak English?” 

“What you want?” she asks again in a flat, bored voice. “You lost?” 

“We wanna talk to Brigitte.” 

Now her attitude shifts. Boredom flares to something like anger, and she turns those sharp, mirrored lenses on Dum Dum as quick as a cobra strike. “And who the fuck are you, siborg ?” 

“Maelstrom goon, with Maelstrom biz.” Spreading his hands, he offers what he probably thinks is a disarming smile. The effect is quite the opposite. “Don’t believe us? Call your maman yourself. Tell her we brought the goods she wanted from Royce.” 

At this, he reaches back to grab Delamain by the left sleeve of his suit, dragging him forward for the woman to get a good look. Offended, Delamain frowns while he adjusts his jacket again, giving a curt ‘if you please!’ for effect. 

V, however, is busy watching the ‘runner, how her eyebrows knot together as blue light flickers behind her shades. She’s scanning him , he thinks. If she figures out who or what Del is, she doesn’t say. Only presses a button near her temple and hisses something in hurried Creole, evidently passing their message along to someone else in the building. 

Finally, she rocks back on the heels of her worn sneakers, and flicks her thumb over her shoulder. “ Antre . Third floor. Look for Placide.” The elevator doors slide open, and V carefully leads Delamain ahead of him into the car. Dum Dum starts to follow, his drone hovering contentedly along beside him, when the woman throws a hand out in his path. “Not you. Two enough, three too many. Stay here.” 

“The fuck? What am I suppos’d to do?” 

“Wait, drink. Fuck off. Not my problem.”

It’s too late for V to intervene. The doors slide shut again on their argument, leaving him alone with Delamain and hoping against hope that Dum Dum can keep his cool for both their sakes. As it is, he’s suddenly in charge of negotiations with a gang he knows almost nothing about. Out of his element, hands shaking with nerves and the unpredictable drugs in his system, he closes his eyes in an attempt to calm down. Breathe, just breathe. Focus. You can do this . 

“V?” 

His eyes fly open again. Delamain is looking directly at him from his right. “What?” 

“I hope you know I genuinely appreciate all of your help.” 

“That’s…nice to hear, Del.” 

“And I am sorry for the trouble I have caused you. Both with that man Royce, and now.”

“It’s okay. For the record, I don’t think you did anything wrong. I would've done the same thing if I'd been in your shoes.” 

"As I said," Delamain smiles. "It was self-defense." 

They're passing floor two, the elevator moving slowly, chains clanking. "I know. I get it. Sometimes it's you or them." They grind to a stop. The doors still haven't opened. "All we have to do is convince the VDBs of that, okay? Make them understand you're a…friendly rogue AI. Useful to them." 

Black eyes stare, unblinking. "What will they do with me if I am not useful?" 

V doesn't have an answer to that. It's not like he can predict human behavior any better than Del can. Either the Voodoo Boys' boss agrees to help, or she doesn't. If it were Maelstrom, of course, the rejection would also probably come with a death sentence, but V wants to believe other gangs have higher standards. 

As the doors ding open, sparing V from further conversation, an elegant corridor comes into view. Though the thick bass of the market's music still reaches up here, the wall-to-ceiling windows offer an unobstructed panorama of the bay. Dark clouds dot the otherwise open sky, various blues and purples and greys reflecting on the surface of the waves. In the distance, the rockets of the Orbital Air Space Center sit like towering statues on launch pads.

It’s a view of Night City V’s never seen before. It’s beautiful, even, and V can’t help but wonder if the windows are really clear glass, or holographic projections of some made up resort city from the commercials. 

“You, Royce’s boy.” 

V turns at the sound of the deep, accented voice, and nearly swears. The man standing there is big, like massive , tall and broad with enough muscle mass to stop a speeding bus if V had to guess. His eyes, though narrowed in suspicion, are bright with a terrifying fire, one that says it would be a mistake to take a single step out of line. 

“Y-yeah. I’m V, and this is Del.” Delamain, undeterred by the large man’s intimidating presence, offers a blue hand in greeting. It’s ignored.

“Placide. Come with me.” 

The man, Placide, leads them down the corridor past the open windows to a small waiting area. When the Batty’s was still a hotel, this would’ve likely been a reception room outside of a conference hall. But now beyond the double doors, all V can see is high-tech equipment even he can’t guess the use for. 

“Sit,” Placide commands them, gesturing to two empty lounge chairs opposite a makeshift desk. This seems comically small in comparison to the man’s broad frame as he sits down behind it, shoulders hunching to type something onto a laptop. V glances at Delamain, who is struggling to lower himself stiffly into the chair, and clears his throat to speak. 

“So, uh. I don’t know how much your friend downstairs told you, but we’re kind of in a hurry. I need to meet with your boss—uh, Brigitte?—as soon as possible.” 

Without looking up at him, Placide lets out a gruff noise akin to a laugh. “You talk to me. I talk to Brigitte. Maybe.” 

“ Maybe ? Look, we don’t have much time. Maelstrom—“ He stops himself, takes a deep breath. Starts again. “We might be in some trouble with Maelstrom right now. We thought you could help us, and in exchange, we can help you.” 

“Help? What help you can be to us?” 

“Your boss wanted access to the Delamain core, right?”

“ Petèt . But Royce say he failed.”

“We didn’t fail , okay? Removing the core was a stupid plan from the beginning. You had to know it would damage the data inside? Reset the whole system?” Placide says nothing to that, but he does concede to stop typing long enough to shoot V a flat, dangerous look. “Fine, whatever. The point is, Delamain stopped me from pulling out his core. Do you get it? He didn’t want to be reset.” 

“What V says is correct. I offered instead to accompany him in physical form, that I might still be of some use without posing a threat to the integrity of my network.” 

Now Placide seems to take an interest in Delamain himself, as if noticing for the first time that the bald, blueish-white figure in an over-pressed suit might, in fact, not be human. “So dis android is Delamain? Koman ou te jween nou?”

“Ou pa difisil pou jwenn. Ak bon asistan an,” says Del in fluent Creole, without missing a beat. V’s eyes go round. He stares at the android, unable to put his finger on what he finds so unsettling about the sudden shift in mood, but knowing that he no longer feels like he has any control. 

Across from them, Placide does laugh now, deep and chilling. It’s not friendly, but neither does it hold the same imminent threat as when Royce does the same. “ Bon, bon! De android has jokes. Sit down,” he says again to V, and this time he follows orders without complaint. “ Di mwen , V. Why bring Delamain to us? He has value to you, to Maelstrom, non ?” 

“…Not really, no. Royce didn’t want him, either. He prefers the cash. Actually…. The truth is, Delamain, he, uh. He caused some trouble.”

“Again, you say ‘ trouble.’ What kind?”

“He…hurt someone. Killed someone.” 

The air is tense. Placide watches him closely, nostrils flaring as if trying to sniff out lies, his hands folding into fists on the desk. “Killed?”

“Yeah.” 

“Accident?”

“No.” 

“You know what dis mean.”

“That’s why we’re here. We need protection from NetWatch.” 

Placide doesn’t speak for a long breath. Nor does he move, save to tap his thick fingers against the knuckles of his other hand while he thinks. V shifts awkwardly under his scrutinizing gaze, wishing Dum Dum or Jackie or someone with more charisma were here to lighten the mood, relieve the pressure if only just a bit. “ NetWatch ,” Placide says at long last. The word rolls off his lips like a curse, and maybe, V thinks, considering the gang’s name, that’s exactly what it is. “All make sense now.”

“It…it does?”

“Mmh. Wait here.” 

“Where are you—?” V isn’t expecting an answer, nor does he get one. Placide pushes himself up from the small desk, the sleeves of his jacket pulling tight with every flex of powerful biceps, and starts for the doors leading to the conference room full of tech. There are a few workers in there, V can make out their shapes now, but Placide ignores all of them in favor of disappearing out of sight into the back. 

V sinks down into his chair again. On a scale of one to ten, he has no idea where this conversation falls in terms of success. Best case scenario, Placide’s gone to plead their case to his boss. Worst case, he’s contacting NetWatch right now himself to come and pick them up. For a man of so few words, he sure did manage to get V talking, playing all the cards in his hand in the first round. Now the Voodoo Boys know both he and Delamain are wanted entities, while he still knows virtually nothing about them. It’s not a comforting thought in the least. 

Briefly, he considers admitting as much to Delamain, if only for conversation to break the anxious silence. But then he remembers the exchange between the android and their host in Creole, of which he was wholly left out. Whatever they said to each other, it wasn’t meant for V’s ears, and that means there’s something Del isn’t telling him. A powerful AI system—maybe the most advanced, sentient tech on the globe, actually—that can communicate in any language, disrupt police chases, and fry Netrunner brains as easily as swatting a spider? What’s he even doing following V around half the city in the first place?

Suddenly, V’s itching in his own skin. Anxiety has him checking his holo again—it’s only been three minutes since Placide left. He spreads his palms flat on his thighs, trying to wipe the sweat into his pants, but the crawling, creeping feeling remains. He stands up. He walks to the nearest window, tapping one foot against the heel of his other. Nothing helps, not even the view of the bay, too open and too exposed. Panic builds in his throat like tiny hands reaching upwards, threatening to scream, and fuck he would kill for a hit of something, anything to calm his nerves. 

“V?” 

Combing his shaking fingers back through his hair, he leaves his hands at the base of his skull and squeezes, focusing on the pressure. 

“V? My sensors indicate you are experiencing an overload of adrenaline in line with a common panic attack.” 

“Fi…fine. Fine, Del, I’m….”

“A search for fast relief of symptoms suggests trying some controlled breathing exercises.” 

“I said I’m fucking fine! What’s it even fucking matter to you anywa—” V’s voice fails him, his words strangled in surprise to find, when he turns, Delamain is standing right behind him at the window. So close that the glow of the late afternoon sun reflects in the blacks of his eyes, like inverted pupils, light where there should be dark. Still lifeless, but only in a human sense. 

Slowly, Del places both hands on V’s shoulders, somehow reassuring and unsettling at the same time. V doesn’t know how, can’t react. He stands there frozen while Delamain draws him forward a few inches, then rocks him back. Forward again, back again, smiling as if it were a dance, or a game of his own invention, and only he knows the rules. 

“Breathe in,” he says at last, as he rocks V towards him. “And out. In, out.” 

V might laugh if he weren’t so totally fucking weirded out. 

“Are you breathing, V? Research states that you should inhale for four seconds, hold your breath, and exhale for four. Here, I shall recite the count for you.” 

“Uh, n-no, that’s—”

“Four. Three. Two. One. Good. Hold it…. And four, three, two, one.” 

As V is settled back on his heels, he releases the air in his lungs just as instructed. It…actually sort of helps. His clothes feel less restricting, the walls stop closing in. He allows Delamain to run him through a few more breath cycles, glad that neither Placide nor Dum Dum are here to see how ridiculous he must look, but also silently thankful for something other than his own fractured thoughts to focus on. By the time Del finishes his count, V’s heart rate and emotional coil are back under a semblance of control. 

“Fascinating,” the android says. He takes a step back to give V space, but his dark eyes continue to pin him. “The human physiology is truly fascinating. Remarkable, really, how the brain can be triggered by both internal and external factors to produce chemicals on demand.”

“Sure?” 

“An act as simple as taking oxygen into the lungs at a repetitive pace can affect the physical fight-or-flight response, and halt the production of adrenaline altogether. If only I, too, could think my way to better health!” 

“Del, I don’t need a biology lesson. But…thanks. For whatever you did.” He drops his gaze to the floor for a moment, observing the cracks in the marble while he searches for the right words to the question still nagging his mind. “Why are you helping? You handled yourself fine in the meeting just now. Why bother with me at all?” 

“Because you are my friend, V,” Del answers with supercomputing speed. “I could ask the same questions of you. Why did you help me at the garage? Why did you leave my core when you knew it would cause you so much trouble? Why help me now, when your life is at risk to do so?” 

It takes V several heartbeats longer to process his answer. After all, he’s only human. “I guess…because it’s the right thing to do? ‘Cause you’re just trying to survive in this world like everybody else.”

“I see. Thank you, V. Aside from my original programmers, I think perhaps you are the first human I have met who considers me ‘alive.’ The first who treats me with respect.”

“Uh huh. And here I am, trying to sell you off to these goons to save my own skin.” He manages an apologetic smile. “Maybe we should just get out of here, before it’s too late to change our minds.” 

“What about NetWatch?” 

“I…. I don’t know. But I’m sure the Voodoo Boys can’t be our only option.” 

“Perhaps you’re right. It is taking that man an awfully long time to come back.” 

“You noticed it, too?” 

His holo readout tells him it’s been nearly twenty minutes now since Placide disappeared into the back room. Either he’s trying to make them sweat, or something isn’t right. If even Delamain can sense that, then it’s probably safe to say their plan’s been fucked sideways. 

“Should we go after him? What if he’s waiting for us to follow him into that weird room?” 

Delamain purses his lips. “He did tell us to wait here. Shall I search for him via the security network?” 

“Safer if I do it. One sec.” It’s always a little disorienting, the first time he remote hacks his way into a camera. It almost feels like jumping out of his body, even when his feet are planted firmly and the floor is still hard under the soles of his sneakers. Nevertheless, he’s in the air now, watching himself and Delamain from the corner above the tiny, makeshift desk. “Wave,” his mouth says, and Delamain awkwardly raises his hand at nothing in particular. 

V can’t shake his head, so instead he travels through the network to the second camera in line. This one shows him the marketplace downstairs, a low-res overview of the stalls, the money exchanging hands. Placide wouldn’t be here anyway. V moves on to the next camera. And the next. And the next. Each one shows him a different room of the hotel, some empty, others with faces he doesn’t recognize, doing business that doesn’t concern him. Strange. The hotel is huge, with two full towers connected by a bridge he noticed from outside. But the number of cameras is far too few to make sense. Before he knows it, he’s back in the reception room looking at his own body.

“No good, can’t find him. I think they’ve blocked some of the cams off the network. I can only get visuals on about a third of the hotel.”

“Allow me to try something. V, do keep those cameras busy, would you?” 

V watches from the corner as Delamain approaches the desk again. He draws a cable out from his right wrist, then sends a sharp smile directly to the camera. The visuals flicker to static, then go black. V rolls his figurative eyes before starting a second pass through the other cams. Market, corridor, empty office, boiler room…. He stops, scrolls back to the office, and zooms in on the large windows behind the parlor desk. The room faces out towards the roads, vaguely to the east, but it’s what’s driving down that road that caught V’s attention. 

Five cars, speeding so fast their tires lift off the asphalt as they turn, one by one, into the hotel parking lot. All are covered in Maelstrom graffiti, and ah, yeah , there’s Royce behind the wheel of one of them. V jacks out of the security network so fast his real body goes reeling forward the second he slams back into it. “D-Del! Delamain! Get outta there, we need to move. Now!”

“Just a moment.” 

“No, no time!” He grabs Del’s link cable by the connector and starts to tug it out of Placide’s laptop. There’s no way to know how the gang found them, but he’s willing to bet their errant host played a big part. They’ve got to get out of here before either Royce or Placide make it to them. 

Delamain’s cable comes loose just as the android exits the interface. He’s frowning, not pleased at being rushed, but V is already dragging him back around the corner towards the elevator. “They fuckin’ sold us out! Maelstrom is here ! We need a clear exit.” 

“Oh, dear.” 

“Got anymore useful suggestions in that supercomputer brain of yours?” 

“I could…call us a taxi?” 

“ Ugh . Forget it. Just stay close, don’t slow down. Dammit!” V slams his fist against the elevator call button again, but it continues to flash the same text in red font: Out of Service . Great. There have to be stairs somewhere, right? He drags Delamain back the way they came, ignoring his protests and instead trying a different route. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! 

Stairs, finally! V takes them two at a time. Behind him, he hears Delamain struggling to keep up, so he slows his pace at the next landing, taking the opportunity to scan the next stairwell ahead. No sign of any Maelstrom goons, friendly or otherwise. But he does hear shouting coming from the next floor down, at the market. It’s getting louder now as he makes his way to the bottom of the flight, listening close even as he gestures for Del to hurry the fuck up. 

The shouting is building, growing more irate. “Then tell your fuckin’ boss to get un busy! This ain’t a goddamned charity call.” 

Royce . No mistaking that growling voice, or the cocking of a gun that follows his very real threat. V risks a peek around the corner to see him confronting the same guard from before, the woman surprisingly unphased by the pistol swinging around in front of her. “No appointment, no meeting. That simple enough for you?” 

Standing beside Royce, V is surprised to see Dum Dum has clearly resumed his position as Maelstrom’s second. Maybe it wasn’t only Placide who called in the circus today. “Give us back the meatbag and the chiphead,” he hisses. “Or we’ll light this whole fuckin’ place up. Kaboom! Nothin’ but fuckin’ ash!” 

“Try me, siborg kochon!” 

A sudden shower of sparks from Dum Dum’s left arm. He cries out, not in pain but in surprise, as his shoulder goes limp and his gun, Doom Doom, clatters to the ground like a toy. The woman’s laughter lasts for only a split second before shots are fired, bullets ripping through every limb of her body, her neck, her face. Instant chaos ensues. The crowd at the market flies into panic at the sudden gunfire, people screaming and fleeing, or cowering behind shop stalls, while the VDBs’ own goons rush over to answer the fight. Ten of them quickly take the fallen ‘runner’s place, and the bullets fly so fast they start ricocheting off even the stairs where V and Delamain are hiding. It’s an all out gang war, turning quickly into a bloodbath—Maelstrom’s stolen Militech weapons see to that. 

As V ducks back around the corner, he tries to slow the thundering of his panicked heart. What was that breathing exercise? Four, three…. Fuck it! He thinks, another round of submachine gun ammo shelling the wall beside his head. They’ve got to make a break for it, now or never. 

With Delamain’s help, he manages to overturn a nearby vending machine to give them more cover to the next pillar. He crouches down, gesturing for Del to get low, too. If they weren’t caught in a deadly firefight, he might laugh at the comical way Del’s long legs fold out to the sides as he tries to crab-walk behind him. Maybe, if they survive all this and make it through the month, he’ll take Delamain to Vik’s clinic, see about getting him an upgrade with more flexible joints. But that’s a lifetime of planning away. Right now, they just have to try not to get shot. 

A body falls over the top of the vending machine, stopping V in his tracks. He watches it slide into his path, blood gushing, and very carefully strafes around without bothering to check if the owner is still alive. More bullets fly overhead, more screams, and above it all Royce’s maniacal laughter echoing off the hotel’s walls. Of course that fucker’s enjoying this. He probably only showed up for the chance to shoot some rival ganggoons, anyway. V isn’t entirely sure he hopes Royce lives through this one. 

They reach the pillar, far enough away from the fighting that V risks standing up again. He turns to help Delamain, too, and even brushes some plaster off the front of his lapel for him. “You remember where the car is parked?” he asks. Delamain nods. “Okay. You go first, fast as you can, and I’ll provide cover. If anyone tries to stop you, just run through them. Got it?” 

“Understood, V.” 

“Okay. On my mark.” He pulls his gun from his rear holster, checks the number of bullets in the chamber, and steadies his hands. A glance around the corner tells him the coast is clear. “Now, go!” 

Delamain runs first, awkward but purposeful, and V follows into a backstep, aiming his gun at the center of the fighting just in case anyone bothers to notice them. 

As luck would have it, someone does. 

It's Dum Dum. 

“V! Hey, V!” 

Fuck, fuck! V’s hands tremble as he holds the gun out threateningly. He’s backing away, but Dum Dum either doesn’t see the weapon, or he doesn’t care. He’s jogging over with his left arm still hanging limp and useless at his side. “Where ya goin’, V? C’mere!” 

“Stay back. I’m taking Del outta here!” 

Dum Dum slows his stride to a walk. “You serious? Don’t want in on the fun?” 

“That a joke?!”

“Fuck’s sake, chill. I was tryin’ to save your gonk ass. Figured the fucks upstairs had you strapped to a brain juicer by now.” 

"No thanks to you." 

If a face full of metal and LED optics for eyes can look hurt, Dum Dum's does now. "Preem words for the guy doin' you a favor." He ignores V's look of panicked confusion, and shifts the assault rifle he's holding into the crook of his left arm, mumbling something about  fuckin' 'runners and needing new wires again. Hand free, he reaches into a vest pocket to withdraw the keys to his stolen car. "Here," he growls, tossing them at V's feet. 

“Shit, I— Thanks.” 

“Yeah. Get fucked, meatbag.” 

The grin he flashes is as menacing as it is excited, and he turns on his heels without waiting for a reply, cackling his delight over the sound of rapid machine gun fire. V doesn’t have time to stay and watch the rest. The car is waiting, and in it, Delamain. 

The keys save precious minutes trying to hotwire the ignition. It turns over, fuel flooding the engine with how hard V floors it, and they’re peeling off into the creeping shadows of Pacifica’s dusk. 

Chapter Text

The hood of the car is warm in contrast to the rapidly cooling air. V leans back, stretching out against the windshield and tilting his head up to the vast, open sky above.

Out here, half a mile beyond the border of Night City, the light pollution begins to fade enough that stars can be seen twinkling in the wide expanse of black. They’re more beautiful than V remembered. Calming, somehow, so far from the earth and so unconcerned with its problems. They make V feel small, which in turn makes him feel safe. 

They’ve stopped at a roadside pump station next to a run-down motel, the kind no one comes to for a good night’s rest. Most people going into the city keep going, and those going through the Badlands wouldn’t bother stopping here. Even from across the parking lot, V can overhear an argument taking place, a drug deal gone sour and heating up quickly. He sighs, and rolls over to peek through the front glass. “Hey. You feeling any better yet?” 

In the passenger seat, Delamain lifts his head from where his chin had been resting on his chest. “No changes since you asked me precisely eighty-three seconds ago, V.” 

“Sorry. I just don’t like the look of that crowd over there.” 

“That is why you are on guard duty.” 

“What’s taking so long anyway?” 

Sliding off the hood, he walks back over to the driver’s side door and hangs through the open window. From there, he can see Delamain’s link cable connected to the radio unit, dissected and reconfigured into a makeshift signal booster. Another cable extends out to the antenna propped up on the roof of the car, angled towards the city to pick up on the right frequency. 

Blue lips tighten, and Del shakes his head. “It is no use, I am afraid. As I said, this fabricant was simply not designed to run independent from the main network. Without a stronger signal, we cannot continue any further.” 

“Great.” A quick glance at the hotel parking lot, where a fist fight has broken out among a group of drunks. “Well, we can’t exactly stay here all night, either. Where does that leave us?” 

“We must return to Night City.”

“ Del .”

“It is the only option left to us, V. Short of relocating my core, and my garage with it, of course.” He gently unplugs his link cable. The dark depths of his eyes flicker with incoming data as he continues. “Current satellite mapping shows traffic congestion on routes around Pacifica, presumably due to police activity. Watson also appears to be undergoing lockdown. I suggest we avoid these areas if we do not wish to have our vehicle discovered. Alternatively, I could call us a ta—”

“Not gonna happen.” 

“Then our options are limited. But we must get back within city limits, or I am afraid this body will gradually cease functioning.”

Tempting as it is to ask if that’d finally give him some peace and quiet, V acquiesces to climbing back behind the wheel. But he doesn’t start the engine just yet. They need a destination first. “The Voodoo Boys couldn’t help us, and now we can’t get back to my apartment or your garage. That what you’re saying? Then…we might as well rock up in front of the N.C.P.D. headquarters and ask for a cell for the night, since we’ll end up in one either way. How are we running this low on options?” 

“V, if I may? NetWatch, these AI hunters as you called them. How exactly do they operate?” 

A shrug. “Same as any cops, I guess, just on the Net. Their ‘runners track down programs and erase them, with military-grade ICE instead of bullets.”

“I see. Theoretically, if you were being pursued by the authorities, how would you escape them?” 

Theoretically? He’s pretty sure Del’s database program can prove that he’s already seen his fair share of run-ins with the law. But for the sake of modesty he plays along. “Theoretically, I’d find somewhere to hide first. Duck into a nearby bar, try to blend in, then escape out the back door. If that doesn’t work…I’d go straight to a fixer. Padre or Wakako, maybe even Dex. Someone with enough pull to force the cops off the trail. ‘Course, then I’d owe them for life, but that’s a whole other problem, see?”

When V looks up, Delamain is staring at him with a odd expression on his usually blank face. His eyes are wide, his lips parted. Almost as if he’s about to say—

“Eureka! Excuse my enthusiasm, V, but I believe you may have just solved our dilemma.”

“What? But I was talking about real cops, in the real world. You can’t exactly hide in the Net.” 

“One most certainly can. In fact,” he says, taking V’s left hand from his lap while he’s still too startled to protest. “Take a look at what I found on that man’s computer earlier.”

Delamain draws out V’s personal link cable, and turns his own head so that the small ports behind his ear are visible. V’s vision goes fuzzy for a split second as he’s jacked in. Then the data transmission starts automatically, not unlike when he slots in a shard, everything from schematics to lines of flowing code, images to file paths, all popping up in separate windows to quickly overwhelm his field of vision. 

“Woah, woah, slow down, Del!” 

“Apologies. This is the one I would like you to see.” The array of windows disappears instantly, except for one which contains a map of sorts. V zooms in on it as Delamain explains. “They seem to call it Rezo Agwe. It is a digital subspace that functions as an independent Intranetwork. While there are many clever pathways connecting this sub-net to the Net—the back doors of the bars in your theoretical story, as it were—it is otherwise completely separated. Hidden , even.”

The maps displayed on his optics are impressive, to be sure. And it explains why that conference room at the hotel was full of so many servers. Still, V has to admit he doesn’t really understand what he’s looking at. Of all the times he’s been in digital space, he’s never encountered anything, well… else . Anything that wasn’t part of the pre-approved Net. “It’s spacious, I’ll give it that. But I’m not sure the Voodoo Boys would be willing to rent to you after what happened today.” 

“You misunderstand. The Rezo Agwe is too small to contain my entire system mainframe. I would merely like to create my own subnet following their example. There are, however, two major flaws with this plan.” 

“ Fine. Let’s hear ‘em.” 

“First, the creation of such a subnet would require a great deal of computing power, and more servers than I have access to even at my garage.”

“I don’t like where this is going.” 

“Second, the subnet in itself would not solve the problem of NetWatch. As you said, they have access to very powerful ICE programs, and if discovered, I would still be vulnerable to their attacks.”

“So…?” 

“So we need one of your theoretical fixers . Someone with more power than even NetWatch, who is, say, immune to suspicion and investigation.” 

“Someone above Net law.” 

Delamain nods, and V…. V gets that sinking feeling he used to get right before Jackie dropped a hot pile of steaming gig into his lap. The kind of job with high risks, low returns, and a dozen new and inventive ways to get killed trying. “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say NetWatches’ corporate sponsors pay big eddies to get just that sort of immunity. And the biggest eddies of all tend to come from—”

“Arasaka.”

“—Arasaka. Dammit, Del! Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” 

“It is the solution with the most optimal outcomes, V.” 

“Oh, really?” He throws his hands up, accidentally smacking the wheel and setting off the car’s horn in the process. “Optimal how , exactly? You think a megacorp giant like Arasaka, with it’s own fuckin’ military guarding the doors, is just gonna let you stroll in and burrow a hole in their data servers? They kill to protect that kind of info, Del. They’ve killed lots of people. You’re not even human, do you think they’d blink before blasting you to pieces all over the pavement?” 

“Unpleasant imagery noted. All I need is a moment’s worth of access. Once installed, they will not even notice I am there.”

“ Right . You have any idea how much the suits out there would pay for a ‘moment of access’ to ‘Saka secrets? They fought a war over it, actually. Oh, and back in the ‘20s? Some dumbass terrorists blew up half the city tryin’ to take ‘em down, still didn’t work. Arasaka always wins . I told Jackie the same thing: what you’re talkin’ about is suicide.” 

His hand is shaking as he pulls back his link cable. This whole situation feels too familiar, like he’s trapped in a loop that keeps bringing him back here, to this same conversation, no matter how far he tries to run. Fuckin’ Arasaka , that great big eyesore looming at the heart of the city, a cold, unfeeling machine churning to the thundering beat of corporate greed. It scares him, to be perfectly honest. Terrifies him right down to his fucking core, which is why he bailed on his best friend, why he left Jackie hanging to march back into All Foods that night. Fear won.

Delamain watches the shame welling up in his eyes, but, for once, chooses to remain blessedly quiet. 

The same can’t be said for the others, though. V isn’t sure when they surrounded the car, he wasn’t paying enough attention, but now he counts five, six, maybe more hanging in the shadows around back. All dressed in worn denim threads, hair cut short or shaved off on one side. Hardline military-issue implants, and tattoos of the NUSA colors. Fucking 6th Street goons. Low-ranking ones, too, from the looks of them.

“Hey, choom,” the closest one to the driver’s side window says. He leans in, showing the Bleed For Your Rights scrawled on his one ‘ganic forearm, and smiles darkly. “You got a problem over here?” 

V blinks the wetness from his eyes, quickly hardening them instead up at the uninvited guest. “Not lookin’ for any trouble. We were just leaving.” 

“In a car like this? Out here? Seems to me like you are looking for trouble.” With a gesture to his mates around back, the whole car rocks violently on its axles. And again as several bodies slam their weight down on the trunk a second time. “Or maybe you are the trouble? We don’t take kindly to troublemakers ‘round here. Say, who’s this chromed-out friend of yours? He looks familiar.” 

His hand itches for his gun. One shot, V thinks, and this guy wouldn’t be anyone’s problem ever again. But there are too many of them, he’s too outnumbered to take the risk. Instead, he switches his focus to the key already in the ignition. “Don’t worry about him. He’s none of your business.” 

“That so? Everything and everyone comin’ through here is my biz, choom . Why don’t you step on out of the vehicle, yeah? So we can talk face to face, like real men.”  

“Only thing I’ve got for your face is a bullet if you don’t back the fuck off.” 

Okay, so he’s never been good at tact. The door flies open as the 6th Street chump yanks the handle, and V is dragged out by the front of his jacket. Over his shoulder he hears Delamain get grabbed as well, a strangled “ V, help!” before they’re both being body slammed up against the car. This, this is why he didn’t want to hang around in a shady motel parking lot after dark! 

“You wanna say that again, you fuckin’ Maelstrom freak ?”

“H-huh? I’m not—”

“Or maybe I’ll just give you that nice big hole in your face all you fuckin’ chrome junkies like, huh? You want this titanium fist embedded in your skull?” 

Fuck, he gets it now. The graffiti on the car is what set these guys off. It’s all a misunderstanding, a show of gang rivalry on an otherwise boring night. But, well, 6th Street isn’t known for their communication skills, or their ability to listen to reason. V definitely can’t talk his way out of this one. His gun won’t be enough, either, not until he can find some cover to even the odds. 

Than he remembers: this is Dum Dum’s car.

And he winces, because oh fuck this is gonna hurt. 

It’s easy enough to sweep the goon’s feet out from under him, to throw his balance to bring his forehead cracking down hard on the frame of the door. Unconscious, concussed, doesn’t matter. Nor does it matter that the other goons, seeing their leader crumple to the ground, are all suddenly scrambling for their weapons. V ignores them, instead turning to dive through the missing door panel into the backseat of the car where he frantically searches the mess of wrappers and bottles until he finds what he’s looking for: the strap of EMP grenades from the heist on the garage. There are still a few left, but he only needs one. 

“Delamain, get down!” he shouts, hoping the android can hear him over the sounds of the scuffle, and he smashes the button to trigger the detonator. 

Everything goes white. Silent. V’s body is rigid, but oddly enough there isn’t any pain. He simply feels…detached. Like he’s floating upright in a sea of electric light. Or like he’s dead. Is he dead? He isn’t sure. He’s never been so close to a pulse, doesn’t know how long it takes for, or even if the effects wear off. Seconds, minutes, hours—time isn’t a concern anymore. He’s simply floating, floating— 

And then the white light surrounding him flickers out, replaced by heat , so much he might as well be a ball of light himself, a flame trapped inside a glass bulb, screaming to get free—

The bulb shatters, and the air cools again. Pressure lightens around him until he’s able to collapse onto the back seat of the car, panting with every labored breath. It hurts. His skin hurts and his head hurts, and he’s pretty sure he smells singed hair. When he opens his eyes, all he sees at first is a red-text readout of an emergency diagnostics scan. Biomalfunction detected; power partially restored; system scan in progress…26%....29%..... V sends a silent word of thanks to Viktor, wherever he is right now, for installing those backup mods when he had the chance. For free even. Through the pain, V manages a weak grin. Damn well might’ve just saved his life. 

When the scan reaches 80%, V finds he can move his limbs again. Very slowly, he pushes himself up to sitting and takes a look out the window. There are bodies on the ground, four of them, twitching and groaning. Serves them right, he thinks, and grunts as he climbs out of the car. 

“Delamain? Del, you okay?” The flood lights over the motel parking lot flare at the edges of his vision, and he shields his eyes as he steps over the twitching 6th Street goons. “Del! C’mon, answer me.” 

“Here, V! A little help, if you please!” Around the other side of the car, nearly hidden behind the front tire, V finds Delamain buried under two unconscious bodies. V helps pull him out from under the weight, righting him and brushing at the layer of dust now covering his suit jacket. Delamain smiles. “Thank you. That is much better.” 

“Sorry about that. It was the only weapon I had to work with.” 

“Well, it seems to have done the trick.” Looking around at the unmoving bodies, Delamain falls briefly into thought. “An electromagnetic pulse? That was indeed very risky, V. Your implants or my circuitry might have been damaged in the blast. I was lucky that these two men acted as a shield, but, and forgive me for asking, how are you still standing?” 

“I’ve…got a really good doctor.”

Delamain regards him quizzically, but V is stuck on something the android just said. “What do you mean, ‘a shield’? Didn’t you just ground yourself to the tires?” 

“That is a common misconception, V, and I am disappointed that you did not do your research before setting off the grenade.” 

“Yeah, I’m an idiot, I get it. Just tell me what you meant about those guys shielding you from the blast.” 

“Simple. The implants in their bodies when they surrounded me created a wall which absorbed the electromagnetic waves. Are you familiar with the nineteenth century concept of a Faraday cage?”

He shakes his head. “Spare me the history lesson. Could you replicate it? Make it work on a larger scale? Against a bigger EMP, I mean.” 

“Yes, of course, if I had the right components. Why do you ask?” 

“Get in the car. I’ll explain on the way.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“Heywood.” One of the nearby goons starts to move, so V kicks him back to the ground with a heavy sigh. “I’ve got a couple favors to call in. Let’s go. If we’re doin’ this, let’s do it right.” 

The engine roars, and the car peels out of the parking lot to a trail of billowing dust, following them back towards the city and the looming monolith of Arasaka Tower at its heart. 

For once, V misses the rain. The white noise of it against the car windows would’ve helped him focus, would’ve helped to cover the cadence of his own heart threatening to leap right out of his throat with nerves. Instead, his anxiety is echoed by the empty ringing of his holo in his ear. Once, twice. The other line goes quiet for a split second. Then:

“ V? V, that you, holmes?”

“H-hey, Jackie. How ya been?” 

“ No. Nuh uh. You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” There’s a colorful string of Spanish hissed under the breath. Even over the phone, V shrinks under the force of it. “What’s it been, like four, five days? Without a single fuckin’ word? We thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, man! Now you’re callin’ me in the middle of the goddamn night like nothin’ happened?” 

A deep inhale as V centers himself. “I’m…sorry. Jack. I really fucked up. I’ve been pretty fucked up, too, and for what it’s worth I’m sorry for ditching you on that job.”

“ Me? You better be ready to say that in front of Dex, he’s the one out for blood.”

“Later, okay? I’ve got bigger problems than Dexter DeShawn right now, and I need your help.” He waits with bated breath through the pause he knows is inevitable. Jackie Welles has never been one for holding grudges, nor does he appreciate anyone wasting his time with bullshit excuses. Whatever V has to do to make things up to him, he’ll do it. But right now, he just needs Jackie to say yes.

“...Bigger problems like what?” 

Oh, thank fuck . “I can tell you the deets in person. You still got that Flathead we bought off Maelstrom?” 

“‘Course I do. Been trainin’ him to fetch me beers from Pepe’s bar without getting’ caught.” 

“Perfect. We’ll be right over. Get him packed up and ready to move.” 

“Huh? W-wait, who’s ‘we’? V!” 

Already V is hanging up and moving on to his messages screen. Two new notifications, perfect. That means Dum Dum got his texts. At the top of the screen is his own writing, followed by the replies.

[Appreciate the save today, how’s the arm?]

[bout as busted as ur fuckn face]

[whadya want]

[Figured out a way to help Del]

[fuck off meatbag dont care]

[Do it for Bom Bom?]

[dont bring him into this]

[fine spit it]

[We need EMPs. A lot of em, all the ones you got]

[And we need a bunch of loud thugs to cause a scene]

[gotta check w the boss on sales wait a sec]

[what kinda scene we talkin]

[Fire, blow shit up, kill some cops and corpos]

[shit v lead with that next time fr fucks sake]

There’s a pause in the messages while Dum Dum presumably goes to haggle with Royce. Imagining how that conversation might go is more nerve wracking than listening to Jackie’s phone ring, so V distracts himself by leaning out of the driver’s side window to check on Delamain. 

The android is sitting on the roof of the car with his long legs carefully folded, and the radio antenna balanced precariously on top of his head. He isn’t moving at all, save for a soft flickering of light in his eyes as he stares out into the space in front of him. 

“How’s it going up there?” V asks. His voice carries across the dark water passing under the alley bridge where they’ve parked. Del said it was an excellent spot for reception, and V had liked it for the seclusion. 

“Nearly finished, thank you. The code is quite long and complex even for me.”

“And the cars?” 

“Five vehicles were already accounted for in the garage. I am re-outfitting them as we speak.”

“Preem.”

“Yes, V. Preem . Now please stop interrupting me. I have too much work for idle chit-chat.” 

“Right, sorry. Just…hurry it up, yeah? I told Jack we're on the way..” 

He leans back into the car before Delamain can snap back with any sarcastic quips, and scoops his phone off the seat. A new message from Dum Dum scrolls across the screen.

[royce wants ca$h for the boms no cred chips this time]

[Got it] he writes back, pleasantly surprised there doesn't seem to have been much of a fight. 

[preem yea we re in]

[where do we meet]

[Thanks. Soon, wait at All Foods, sending rides to pick you up. Don’t forget the grenades]

V starts to pocket his phone, but stops himself. There’s one more thing he’s gotta know, despite the occupational hazard it poses to his sanity. [Is Royce still mad?] he sends quickly, before he can change his mind, and sees Dum Dum already typing a series of replies. 

[who fuckin knows but he got his money back] 

[why]

[u sweet on him]

[mothrfuckin arm hurts when i laugh wtf]

[whatver ask him urself u fckin gonk]

The next message isn't actually a message, but rather a number, Royce’s deets shared directly from Dum Dum's holo and V can already picture him doubling over with laughter as his idea of a fun prank. Well the joke's on him, V thinks as he sends Royce a short [hey] then tosses his phone into the backseat. His cheeks are blazing, but it doesn't matter. After everything he's been through—all he's about to go through—figuring out where he stands in Royce's shit book doesn't seem such a daunting task. 

Seven, eight more minutes roll by, until finally he hears the scrape of hard syn-leather shoes on the roof. Delamain drops clumsily down in the next move, balancing himself on the open door. Tucked under one arm is the antenna set-up, one cable still running from the radio box under his sleeve, still connected.

"You all done?" V asks, sliding some aluminum wrappers out out the way for Del to fold himself into his seat. 

"With the subnet code, yes. The data is securely stored on my servers at the garage, and is now being copied physically within this fabricant's memory bank. It will serve as a backup should our signal become inaccessible within the tower." 

"O…kay. Sounds good, I guess. And the cars, are they ready? Maelstrom's on board, too, just waiting for their rides." 

"Nearing completion as we speak. I will be able to drive them remotely. That means we can 'get a move on' now, as you put it," he adds with a pointed look. V doesn't need to be told twice. He starts the engine, and backs as carefully as he can out of the alley back onto the road. They immediately turn southwest, heading towards the back neighborhoods of Heywood. 

"So, lemme ask you something." Up ahead, the adverts on the buildings flash obnoxiously bright against the much darker sky visible above them. "Assuming this plan even works. Once you go into this…subnet, thing…what happens to you? To the real Delamain, I mean. The program."

“I am afraid I do not understand your question.” 

“Well. You’ll still be here , right? You’re not gonna go dark, or…or change, or anything, are you?” 

Del makes a soft sound that might almost be interpreted as a chuckle. “Have you ever seen an octopus, V?”

“Uh, sure? On TV I guess.”

“They are fascinating creatures, highly intelligent and highly adapted to their environments. As invertebrates, however, they are vulnerable to predators, and so some species have come to use debris on the sea floor as protective housing. When they find a large enough shell or container, they squeeze their soft head inside, which leaves their eight tentacles free to hunt or swim or walk around. But sometimes, these little fellows outgrow their old homes, and must find a new one in which to live. Under the right conditions, when it is safe enough, they crawl out of their protective covering and into a new home. Though their outer covering changes, the octopus inside is the same. Same memories, same tentacles. Same friends.” Delamain is looking at him closely, smiling in that uncanny, blank way that V has come to learn means he’s pleased with something. “So, to answer your question: Yes, V. I will still ‘be here,’ only my home will change.” 

“Right. Good.” He doesn’t know what else to say to that. Isn’t even sure why he brought it up in the first place, except that there’s something…final about this mission, something nagging his intuition about flaws in Del’s plans. Subnets, AIs, corpo giants. What can he be expected to understand about any of this anyway? He’s a small-time merc with a knack for simple quick hacks, not a world-class Netrunner, or even a programmer. All he can do is trust Delamain, which, at least he’s pretty sure, he does. 

Jackie is waiting for them out front of the El Coyote Cojo. His shoulders are tense under his heavy bomber jacket, and he’s pacing, looking nervous before they even pull up along the sidewalk. When he sees the car, and the driver behind the wheel, his eyes go rounder than an upside-down shot glass. “Oh, madre de dios, you gotta be shittin’ me. V? The fuck you doing driving’ around in Maelstrom tags? This here’s Valentino terf, you estupido idiota! ” 

“Nice to see you, too, Jackie.” 

“Don’t give me that shit, V. Hurry up, pull that POS around back ‘fore somebody sees!” A colorful string of very irritated Spanish follows, and Jackie guides them to the alley leading behind the bar. Even once they’re parked, hidden in the shadows away from the streetlights, he still shakes his head like his mother did every time the boys came home drunk, beat up, or both. “Do I even want to know how you got this thing?” 

“Um. Would it help if I said it was stolen?” 

“A little. Maybe.” Annoyed as he is, Jackie can’t resist one of V’s signature smirks, and a firm hug as V walks straight into his chest. God , it’s fucking good to be around a familiar, friendly face. Jackie smells like tequila and cheap cologne, his big arms too tight now around his shoulders, but he truly wouldn’t have him any other way. V smiles into the pad of Jack’s sleeve. 

“Sorry, man. For everything.”

“Yeah. I know.” 

The passenger door of the car closes. V feels Jackie stiffen in surprise. 

“Greetings, Mr. Welles,” Delamain says. 

“Woah. Uh, V? Tell me this ain’t your new output.” 

“He’s Delamain. Like the taxis.” At the look Jackie gives him, V almost— almost —bursts into laughter. “Okay, he is the taxis. Sort of. We…have a lot to catch you up on. Drinks?” 

Jackie’s storage-unit-turned-bachelor-pad is a bit of a tight fit for the three of them. Thankfully Delamain prefers to stand in the corner, focusing on his car’s routes while V, eagerly polishing off the beer he’s offered, explains the situation as carefully as he can. He tells Jackie about the job from Royce, about breaking into Del’s garage and taking his android instead of the core. He tells him about the Netrunner at Maelstrom who got fried trying to bypass Delamain’s security, and about having to escape All Foods for a second time. He even tells him about their botched attempt to get help from the Voodoo Boys, and the gang war that got started on his behalf. The only details he leaves out are those regarding the exact nature of his relationship with Royce, both the sex and the drugs. It isn’t hard to read between the lines, but Jackie’s better off with one less thing to have to worry about. 

As it is, Jackie takes in the information in silence, with an increasingly overwhelmed expression building on his square face. Eyes going rounder and rounder, jaw tightening then slackening again, it’s like he’s watching the whole story unfold on a BD screen right before his very eyes. When V at last gets to the part about razzing a bunch of 6th Street gangers on the outskirts of town, Jackie finally can’t hold in his excitement any longer. 

“Yo! V, that’s the wildest fuckin’ story I ever heard! Best solos in town don’t even see that kind of action, and you’re tellin’ me you took on three gangs in two days?”

“Trust me, it’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds,” he says with a weak laugh. “I’d trade it all in to go back to runnin’ jobs with you for Wakako any day.” 

“Nah, nah. That shit’s beneath you now. Beneath both of us.” Opening another round of bottles, Jackie passes one to V as he clinks the bases together. “Speakin’ of. What’s this job you need my help with? We takin’ on the Tygers next?”

V answers Jackie’s enthusiasm with a somber shake of his head. “No more gangs. Our target’s bigger. Much bigger.” 

“Bigger like…a cyberpsycho? Mayor Rhine?”

“Try Arasaka.”

As expected, that shuts Jackie’s mouth right up. It takes a few seconds for him to process, to make the connections, to get angry. “ En serio? Ara-fuckin’-saka? After you bailed on our job for Dex?”

“I know how it sounds, Jack. But that was then, this is now. It’s different.” 

“Different how? ” 

“This time it’s personal. We’re saving Delamain’s life, and this is the only way.” 

“His ‘life,’ V? You just told me he’s an AI, a fuckin’ computer program. He ain’t even alive, not like you an’ me—”

“ He is! ” V doesn’t mean to shout, he really doesn’t. The violence of his outburst echoes off the steel walls of the storage unit. So much anger, so much pent up frustration. It isn’t really Jackie’s fault, but his words are enough to tip the balance. Though he manages to reign in the volume of his voice, the vehemence is still there in his tone, hissed out at no one in particular against the injustices of the world. “I’ve spent the last two days with him, I’ve seen what he’s like. He’s just as alive as anyone, just like an octopus trying to find a home, o-or something. He feels things, feels fear. He wants to live. Not helping him is the same as giving Netwatch the keys to delete him off the face of the fucking earth. If it were me in the gallows, or you, we’d do whatever it took, right? Why not show him the same fucking courtesy?” 

“Okay, holmes , chill.” Jackie waits for him to settle down again, to take a long swig of his beer before trying again. “I get it. He’s your amigo , and tu amigo es mi amigo , yeah? We’ll do the job. Or die tryin’, maybe.” 

“Thanks, Jackie. Sorry, I…. It’s been a long couple of days.” 

“Okay. Just tell me what we gotta do.” 

“Right, uh. Basically, we’re gonna strap a whole bunch of EMP charges to the Flathead and blow a hole in Arasaka’s security net.”

“...That’s it?” 

“Pretty much, yeah. I’ve got some friends to help with a distraction outside, but the rest is up to you and me. We gotta get Del to the mainframe at all costs.” 

“It’s a stupid fuckin’ plan.” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“What if it fails?” 

“We…run? Fast?” 

A heartbeat, a little more. Then all at once Jackie’s face explodes with mirth, his grin stretching wide as he laughs like a madman. Maybe he is. Maybe they all are. “You got some crazy big cajones , V. What the hell. I’m in. Ain’t gettin’ any more exciting around this joint, right? But one condition.”

“Y-yeah. Anything.” 

“I am not ridin’ in that ugly fuckin’ Maestrom-mobile.” 

Chapter Text

Three-fourteen A.M. Corpo Plaza is eerily quiet, the only sounds the empty, echoing of adverts from their digital billboards high above the rain-soaked streets. Though the sky peeking through the towers overhead is clear now, not the moon or even a single star twinkles in the inky blackness. The calm, V thinks, before a storm. 

He’s scanning it all from the Koi Pond, so nicknamed for the two holographic carp—one blue, one orange—floating atop the walkway at the plaza's center. All around him in silent worship of consumerism, the Giants rise: Militech, Petrochem, Biotechnica, Kao Tang. Of them all, Arasaka is the biggest, the tallest, the most sinister. Its smooth facade of black and grey looms up, up above the Pond, craning V's neck to the tri-flowering symbol glaring like a massive eye at the very top. 

That will be their target. 

" Any sign of 'em yet?" 

The tiny voice inside his ear is Jackie, patched into his holo and listening, observing, from the safety of the car where he and Delamain await the signal. 

"Not yet. Streets are dead. Del?" 

" My vehicles are en route. You should begin to see them soon." 

"How many on board?" he asks, and rubs his hands together, battling the cold seeping into the fingers. "Can you tell if there are enough?" 

" Twenty-three by my best estimate, although it is difficult to scan their identities for confirmation. " 

A chuckle, weak. "Told ya, that's by design. Oh, wait, I think I see 'em. Yeah, here they come." 

"It's all you, V. We're goin' quiet."  

Jackie turns off the microphone on their end, but V can still sense him connected, listening in and watching for trouble. It's reassuring, calms his nerves as he grabs the Flathead briefcase and climbs down from the uppermost walkway. 

Five vehicles come to a slow, synchronized stop in the lot next to the Pond. All are Delamain taxis, but V only knows that because he's looking closely. Otherwise, the cars merely resemble a fleet of small, armored tanks, large copper sheeting welded onto their frames in hasty fashion. Which is fair, considering Delamain oversaw the entire operation in under three hours. At any rate, the plating will be enough for what they need. 

The first car’s passenger door opens, but to his disappointment, Dum Dum with his patched up arm isn’t the only who steps out to greet him. 

" Hey ," Royce sneers mockingly. Red optics glare like the eyes of a nightmarish beast in the night. “Look who it is. The runaway rat meat, all grown up and givin’ the orders now.” 

“Looks that way. Yeah.” 

“Heard you killed two of my guys.”

“...It was self-defense.”

“Was it?” He strides forward, his grin stretching wider, sharper when V doesn’t flinch away. “Knew I shoulda kept you on a leash, meat. Nice, thick chain wrapped tight around that pretty neck.” 

The calloused fingers brushing against his throat leave V more breathless, weaker in the knees than he dares to admit. He holds Royce’s inhuman gaze as steadily as he can manage. “I’m not your property anymore, Royce, never was. And my name’s not ‘meat ,’ it’s V. Just V to you. So,” he adds with a dangerous smirk of his own. “You want your fuckin’ money or not?” 

The Flathead case is packed full of eddies, cold hard cash in the exact amount Royce had demanded, wired directly to V from Delamain’s corporate account. The android had said it was no trouble, that he could write the payment off for tax purposes, and that anyway it was a small sum to pay in exchange for his life. V couldn’t have agreed more. With the money settled and Royce’s temper subdued at least for the moment, V silently summons the Flathead itself down from the walkway. It crawls spider-like towards them, uncloaking its camouflage along the way so that even Royce is caught by surprise. In answer to his look of suspicion, V merely says it was ‘insurance’.

To Dum Dum and Maelstrom’s credit, they managed to pack enough EMPs into the trunk of one of the cars to take on a small country. Under V’s instruction, they attach as many charges to the Flathead’s body as will fit, and a few more still for good measure. They’ll only get once shot at this, and they can’t afford to undershoot. With this step done, V has Royce round his men back up in the cars, and tells them to stay put until his signal.

“I mean it. Keep the windows sealed, doors closed, no radios.”

“How long’s this gonna take?” Dum Dum asks as he scratches at something on his cheek. “What if I gotta piss?”

“Hold it.”

“Heard that’s not healthy.” 

V rolls his eyes. “Neither’s a full EMP blast to a chrome dick. Hold it. ” 

Reluctantly, Dum Dum follows the other into the car, muttering something about wouldn’t know a chrome dick if it slapped him in the face , until all doors are shut tight. 

V switches focus to his holo. “Jackie. Jack, you there?” 

“ Ohh yeah, holmes. Just enjoying the entertainment. Never woulda guessed, you an’ Royce, huh?”

“W-what?” 

“ Nothin’. So we ready to blow this place or what?” 

“V?” It’s Delamain, leaning in close to be heard through Jackie’s phone. “How many charges are you using? Did you calculate the exact radius of the EMP blast?”

“Uh, I kinda eyeballed it. It’ll work.”

“Good enough for me, let’s get this show rollin’. Hate sittin’ around.”

“Right. Patching in now.” This time he makes sure to sit down before he links his kiroshis to the cameras on the Flathead. Vision flickers, goes dark, then boots up again in hi-res shades of black and green. Night vision. Preem. “Cloaking activated, aaaand here we go. Walk me through it, Del.” 

“Of course. First, you will need to make your way to the west-facing side of the building. From there, reach the top of the egress.” V follows Delamain’s instructions, gradually getting a hang of the robot’s six individual legs, its motor impulses, its speed. He feels a little dizzy the first time it latches onto the side of the concrete wall and pulls itself vertical. But V’s own equilibrium is still tied to his real body, not scaling a skyscraper, and so he swallows the vertigo and keeps going. With Del’s access to the building layout—at least from the outside—V avoids detection by the security cameras and trip lasers at the lower levels. Up, up, until a scan around the Flathead shows an almost unobstructed view of the city, the swirling colors and twisting roads, the other towers reaching out of the dark undergrowth like jungle trees competing for sunlight. The view is spectacular, to be sure. One most in Night City will never have the privilege to see for themselves. 

“Wish you guys could get a look at this,” V says into his holo. “How often do people get the chance to look down on themselves from the top of ‘Saka tower? Should be recording this, maybe, turn it into a BD. It’d blow minds.” 

“Yeah, and incriminate our asses at the same time. Focus, V.” 

“Focused. How much further?” 

Delamain’s voice comes through the transmitter next. “You are close. Once you reach the next ledge, you should be able to follow it around the corner to the target.” 

“Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.” He’s only half-joking. The Flathead moves another few feet upwards, the traction devices on its legs still holding, still making the climb look effortless. It clambors over the narrow ledge in the facade of the building, and there V pauses, reorienting once again while he catches his bearings. “Which way, Del?” 

“South. Towards the Bay .” 

Okay, he sees it, lights reflecting off the water, and the rockets sitting silent on their launch pads in the distance. He turns the bot to face the same direction when suddenly one of its legs slips off the landing. The Flathead topples sideways. Several of the EMP charges break off on impact with the concrete, and go plummeting into the darkness below. In a panic, V squeezes its remaining legs in place, just catching itself on the ledge but now swinging dangerously in the air seventy stories off the ground. 

“Fuckfuckfuck-!”

“V? What, what’s wrong?”

“The Flathead! It’s…it’s okay, I think. Just slipped. But I lost some of the charges.” 

“Shit. Where’d they go?”

“Fell all the way down. Fuck .” 

“ Those will undoubtedly draw attention from the security guards. V, you must move quickly. There is no time left.”

No shit , he thinks sourly, already maneuvering the robot back into the ledge one limb at a time. The drop off seems more intimidating now, and his heart beats wildly as he guides it closer to the sharp, narrow corner. Carefully, carefully. No alarms have gone off yet. Still, he can feel the seconds ticking like a countdown in his ribcage, sweat trickling over his forehead as he concentrates on just making it a few…more…feet…. 

There! The Arasaka logo glows in blaring green-white neon right in front of him. The Flathead tucks itself into an open enclave at the back of the giant sign, legs shifting closed under it as it perches, awaiting the next command. Unfortunately there won’t be one; it’s done its job, now everything is up to the bombs. 

Through the bot’s camera, V focuses on the nearest charge. He arms it remotely, and sets a timer. Fifteen seconds. It’s a mere blip, and yet it also seems like a lifetime. 

Fourteen, thirteen….

His vision snaps back into his own body. Still counting, he rushes unsteadily to his feet. 

Ten, nine….

The car right in front of him is the one they unloaded the ammo from. He wrenches open the emptied trunk, climbs in feet first. 

Five, four, three….

He tugs the trunk lid closed and hears it snap into place. 

One. 

The hair on his arms rises, the back of his neck tingles. V almost thinks he can see a faint glow peeking through the thin line of the closed trunk—and then the blast hits, hard enough to rock the car on its axels, and loud, too. In a way, he wishes he could’ve watched it happening, seen the bright burst of light and watched the pulse expand, like a ghostly sphere of crackling energy above Corpo Plaza. It’s over so quickly. Eerie quiet settles in its wake outside of the car. 

A few good kicks to the lid has the trunk flying open. The sound echoes weirdly, and as V looks around, he can see why. Night City…is dead. Dark. Not a single light or advert or company logo in sight. Even the Koi Pond is lifeless without the holo-carp dancing in the air above it. His breath hitches, blood going ice cold. Just how badly did he underestimate that EMP blast?!

Nothing can be done about it now, though. Loud whirring sounds are kicking in all around, back-up generators struggling to restore power to the fried grids. In time, they’ll succeed. This is their only window.

“Hey, guys!” A bang against the roof of the car has the Maelstrom goons inside stirring. “Time to rise and shine.” 

As he speaks, he can already see several figures running out of the front entrance of Arasaka. Guards, the ones with the fewest implants to be affected by the blast, and wielding swords instead of tech guns. Figures. It’s a fight V isn’t eager to stick around to see, even as Royce throws open the door and steps out, a gun in each hand and a hungry grin stretching his face. The air around him—around all of them—hangs heavy with the acrid smell of Lace. 

“Awesome party you threw us. Too bad someone blew out all the lights.” Dum Dum appears beside him, swaying a little with the drugs and hissing out tight laughter. “You gonna have some fun with us, V?” 

“Not this time, sorry.”

“Too bad. Those samurai-lookin’ fucks look like they know how to have a good time.”

“Stick to the plan. Keep ‘em busy as long as you can.” 

Red optics whir gleefully. “So, do play with our food? Aye-aye, meatbag. Say ‘bye to the android freak for me.” With a crack of his neck, Dum Dum signals to the others, and they charge forward, pistols and machine guns and even one chainsaw raising a commotion in the plaza. Already the guards are alerted to their presence, trying to call for backup on comms that no longer work. It wouldn’t matter anyway. V has a feeling Maelstrom’s been wanting an excuse to really put their Militech gear to the test. 

As the fighting starts, V backs away through the ranks, keeping to the shadows as he heads to the other side of the tower. A small employee entrance is tucked away in an alcove. Usually, the door is auto-locked and only accessible with an ID card, a fingerprint scan, and a retinal detection, but now that the entire system is down, the door opens with little more than a nudge. 

Behind V, the wheels of a Thorton pick-up come rolling up onto the path. It’s Pepe’s, borrowed from the bar in the hopes of having it back before it’s missed. “Shit! Can’t believe that actually worked! You zapped the power clear to downtown!” Jackie’s coming towards him with a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He digs out a rifle which he hands over to V, along with a few ammo cartridges. 

“Yes. I am certain you did not properly factor in the number of EMP charges for the size of the blast radius. That was once again very reckless, V.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” he retorts as Delamain folds his hands in a polite rebuke. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get inside and find the mainframe before Maelstrom turns the front lawn into a bloodbath.” 

Past the entrance, they follow a dark corridor deeper into the tower, their hurried footsteps on the hollow metal flooring the only sounds. Eventually, the hallway connects them to a lobby. Rectangular and vast, the ceiling open past the landings of the upper floors. In the center, a massive mechanical exosuit sits unattended, unresponsive. The sight alone is enough to give V chills anyway. 

“Where is everybody?” Jackie asks as he moves through the lobby. He’s got his gun loaded and pointed in front of him, just in case he has to eat his words. “You think they all went outside to join the fight already?” 

V shrugs, honestly not sure. “Maybe. Or they got caught in the blast, and their implants overloaded. Like this guy.” The toe of his sneaker taps against the mech’s frame. ARASAKA is stamped on the side in stylized font, either a centerpiece for would-be clients to view on their tour of the building, or a reminder to those it was designed to kill of who they tried to cross. 

Nearby, Delamain calls their attention to a signboard. A map is engraved on the front, clearly designating where each department is located, and on which floor. “ Netrun Operations Center ,” V reads aloud. “Sounds like a good place to start looking for servers, huh?”

“I agree. According to this map, the emergency stairwell should be located next to the elevators.”

“C’mon, then. I think I hear someone coming.” The clamor of heavy boots on the floor above them is quickly followed by several more sets, and the sharp bark of commands in Japanese. V gestures for the others to duck behind a row of decorative plants and stay low, moving swiftly but quietly in the direction opposite the guards overhead. They sneak by towards the stairwell, but V remains on high alert. If there are still ‘Saka security patrolling this part of the building, they’re bound to run into more up ahead. Just to be safe, he checks the ammo in his rifle, and holds it close as they run downstairs. 

Two floors below, at the sub basement, the stairwell doors open up to a different view altogether. The room resembles a research facility, walls still metallic and lifeless but with dozens of cramped workstations situated in the center. Rows of computers line the long desks, each screen blinking with a small white cursor in the top left corner. Delamain approaches one, peering close, his expression unreadable. 

“What’s up, Del?” V nods to Jackie, who jogs ahead to scout around the next corner. 

“V, these computers have been rebooted.” Black eyes, reflecting the red of the emergency lights above the nearest door, land on him. “It would seem power has been restored here. At least partially.” 

“Shit. Well, we figured they’d probably have backup generators for the main servers. Must mean we’re getting close, right?” 

“Perhaps. These specific units are functional, but they have not yet been reconnected to the network. They are still offline,” he clarifies when V doesn’t quite get what he’s hinting at. “It may mean their generators are not entirely operational.”

“Maybe the blast took those out, too.” 

“Could be. Unfortunately, I need the network intact and functional in order to upload my code. Give me a moment, please.” 

“Del, we don’t have—“ 

“V! V, get ready, we got company!” He whirls around to see Jackie sprinting around the corner, his large body moving fast as a series of high powered shots suddenly rain down the hallway behind him. The bullets impact the wall, tearing holes clean through the concrete, and more keep coming. 

“The fuck is that?!” V yells, as he and Jackie dive side-by-side behind a desk for cover.

“Big guy! Real big! ‘Borged out motherfucker.” 

His blood chills in his suddenly constricted veins. “Oh… fuck.” 

“Didn’t get a good look at his face, V, but I’m pretty sure we are fucked!” 

“Del, get down!” he shouts over the continued volley. More bullets rain down the hallway, but Delamain hasn’t moved from the computer. V can’t see his face from this angle, but he imagines he must be jacked in, lost in deep concentration. Of all the times! “Shit!! We gotta hold him off.” 

“You kiddin’ me?! That guy’s a damn freight train!” 

“I know.” He swears, closing his eyes to think over the sound of machine gun fire and the crunch of heavy machinery on the metallic floor, drawing closer. It doesn’t make sense! The EMP should’ve disabled all electronics in the vicinity, including the most notorious cyborg monstrosity in all of Night City. Adam Smasher was the last obstacle V expected to face on this mission. What could have even woken him up?! 

He pushes that thought aside. The point is that Smasher is here, and suddenly it feels like all the planning, all the running, all the surviving was for nothing. 

“V?”

“I don’t…. I don’t know what to do,” he admits, voice shaking. “We can’t fight him, Jack. No one can.” 

Jackie sucks in a deep breath. His shoulders tense up, his jaw tightens. When their eyes meet, he’s got a familiar look in them. A look that says he’s about to do something incredibly stupid, and incredibly brave. “Take Del. Get to the mainframe.” 

“Jackie, wh—“ 

“I got this, holmes . You know me. ‘Luckiest sonuvabitch this side of Heywood.’”

“No one has ever called you that!” 

“Well. They will soon. Get movin’, ain’t the time to argue!”

“Jackie!” 

Too late. His best friend in the whole fuckin’ world is getting to his feet, a wild grin on his stupid, handsome features. Between his fingers, his pistol spins expertly. “Hey!! Robopig! You missed!” Two warning shots fired towards the hallway, where the heavy thunk of metal approaches at a quickened pace. V doesn’t dare peek. Instead, he tugs desperately at Jackie’s leg, trying to coax him back under cover. His hand is kicked aside. 

“Take Del. Go.” 

It’s an order, not a request. V understands, in a way. He’d do the same thing in Jackie’s position, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept it. Fighting back a bitter knot in his chest, he nods his head, leans his rifle and ammo against the desk, and streaks across the room before Smasher can notice, grabbing Delamain by the wrist. As he runs, dragging the very startled android behind him, he hears Jackie’s voice echo out a mad laugh. 

Then there’s a shot, and an explosion, and he and Del are blown right through a set of glass doors into the next hallway, landing hard against the wall. By the time V pushes himself to his elbows to glance back, there’s only thick smoke filling the lab. 

“…V? Where is Mr. Welles?” 

He’s silent, counting his heartbeats. Fighting down the urge to scream. 

“V? Mr. Welles was in that ro—“ 

“Let’s fucking go. ” It hurts. More than his bruised knee and the cut on his forehead, his chest hurts, but he stands anyway. Maybe Jackie’s okay , he lies to himself against the bile rising into his throat. We’ll come back for him. As soon as we’re done.  

Delamain runs after him in silence. If he understands, he says nothing. 

The corridor spills out next into a large chamber the size of a hangar bay. Crates are stacked alongside mechanical loaders, all still now, some frozen in mid-motion lifting pallets onto hovercarts. Several more unmoving exosuits rest in their docks, but no human employees seem to work down here. No guards, either. Small miracles, V supposes bitterly.

It’s Delamain who locates the mainframe first. Like a chrome obelisk, the thing is sunk deep into the floor, locked in place for cooling and security. The protocols are easy enough to override using a nearby terminal. Too easy, actually, considering what it took to get here. Numbly, V watches the mainframe tower, shaped almost exactly like the building itself, rise up out of its chamber. Arasaka’s most prized data—some of the most valuable secrets in the world—are stored here. If Militech or Kao Tang could stand where V is standing…. Well, they’ve tried. Veritable armies have tried to access this point. Hell, the terrorists who blew the tower up over fifty years ago didn’t even manage to make it this far. In the end, all it really took was a few rats sneaking in through the back entrance to outsmart ‘Saka intelligence. And yet, there’s no cause for celebration. V knows this is far from over. 

“Ready, Del?” 

“Yes, V.” Standing beside the mainframe tower, Delamain smiles at him. Not the thin, awkward smile of an android designed for painstakingly polite customer service, but a genuine smile, perhaps the first he’s managed thus far. Warm and soft, almost human . V feels that tight knot in his throat growing bigger. “I could not have achieved this without your help. You are a very special person, V. Very special.” 

“Wasn’t just me. Dum Dum and Royce helped. And Jack.” His voice cracks a little, but Delamain reaches out a hand to steady his shoulder. 

“You have my sincerest gratitude. And my utmost condolences.”

V looks at the floor, head bobbing. “Go on, then. I’ll keep watch.” 

With a nod, Delamain connects his personal link to the tower. Black eyes go still, then begin to dance with internal blue light, blue as the color of the android’s lips. Those aren’t moving either now. He’s fully jacked in, transferring his programming, his self , to his new home. V suddenly realizes he has no idea how long this could take. Seconds, minutes. Hours? Panic starts to creep in again, biting at his frayed nerves. What is he supposed to do if the power comes back on fully? If the tower locks down, and the guards come poking around? 

No. That kind of thinking won’t help, it never does. He just needs to be patient and wait, and trust that Delamain wouldn’t have led him into a trap. 

Four minutes pass. V’s sneakers tap impatiently on the cold floor as he paces, just a few steps to the left and then back again. “C’mon, Del. You can do this.” The android’s eyes are still flickering. Surely he’s getting close…? 

Five minutes. Seven. Ten. The terminal nearby, the one they used to unlock the tower, clicks a few times before the screen comes back on, displaying a simple text readout. Nervous, V steps closer. Power failure detected, it reads. Status, restored. Diagnostics scan in progress, 3% complete. 4%. 5%.

Oh, shit. 

“Del? Del, hey. Time’s up, gotta go.” He rounds on the android, only to stop mid-step. Delamain’s eyes are solid black. The light’s gone out, which either means the data transfer is finished, or…. “Delamain? Wake up.” V snaps his fingers, shakes him, nothing. No response. This can’t be happening. He feels like he’s going to lose it. “Wake the fuck up, Del, come on! Don’t do this to me!” 

He shakes him again, and the android’s head rolls to the side, limp. Empty. Like a puppet, devoid of strings and anyone to pull them. All V can think is that the plan failed, truly and utterly failed. There must have been ICE protecting the network, more powerful than even Delamain could handle. It probably got him before he could even install his subnet, zapped him out of existence just like NetWatch would have done anyway. He’s gone, Jackie’s gone, and V has never felt more alone in his life. 

“So…what now?” he asks no one in particular, his smile wry, twisted. None of them had bothered with a backup plan in case they failed. All V knows is that he can’t leave Del like this, not for those Arasaka fucks to find. Doesn’t matter to him now if their cover is blown—in fact, he kind of relishes the idea of his last moments getting to spit in the face of whatever corpo bigwig has to deal with the cleanup. But Delamain…he deserves better. 

Not knowing what else to do, V leans the lifeless android’s stiff body against the tower. There’s no eject button, no interface on the mainframe. The only option to disconnect his body is by manually tugging on his link cable, little by little until it starts to come free.

A sharp yelp has V jumping back like he’s just been electroshocked. 

“Wha-?!”

“V-v-v vvv , V! W-w-waitt, plea-aa-s..z….”

“Del…? Delamain?! Are you in there?” The android’s body slumps all at once, as if dosed with a bucket of water, and his eyes revolve a few times until they blink in a surprise that mirrors V’s own.

“Oh. Hello, V. Is everything alright?”

He’s caught between hugging him, and tossing him right into the closest dumpster. “You scared the shit out of me! I thought you flatlined!” 

“Ah, well, technically I have no pulse to begin with. But no, V, I did not flatline. My system merely required a hard reboot once installed on the new network.” 

“Fuck, you coulda warned me!” 

“Apologies. I did not expect it to cause you this much distress.” 

“Well….” The thundering in his chest softens, but V is pretty sure his body is at its limit for nasty surprises for one day. “I’m glad you’re back, but we can’t stay here. The power grid is back online and—“

“Yes, V. I am aware.” The way Delamain’s head turns reminds V of a documentary he once saw on TV of an eagle hunting its prey on the ground far below. Cunning, deadly, missing nothing. “I am inside the Arasaka network. I can see and access all of its data.” He lifts his hands, turning the palms up, and V notices the lights around the mainframe brighten. “Yes. I see. There are more guards entering the lower floors. They will not reach us.” 

“They won’t? Del, what are you talking about?” 

“I have sealed the lobby doors. We have safe passage to the exit.” 

“…You can do that?!” 

“Follow me.” 

Whatever powers Delamain has now, he uses them efficiently. In no time, they’ve crossed through the hangar and are back in the corridor where broken glass litters the floor. V stops. He knows they’re in a hurry, but he just…he can’t leave yet. Not like this. “Wait here a sec, Del. Keep a lookout, yeah?” 

Smoke still fills the laboratory. V covers his mouth with his elbow, peering through the dark fumes for any signs of movement. There’s none. With each step, his heart sinks lower, but he keeps walking anyway, past rows of shattered computer screens and debris. “Jackie!” he hisses, voice a harsh whisper. “Jack?” 

A hand shoots out from the smoke, grabbing his ankle so fast he has to catch the nearest chair to keep from hitting the floor. He shrieks, whirling around on instinct to see…Jackie! Grinning at him from where he’s hiding under a desk. There’s fresh blood on his face, but he otherwise appears miraculously intact. “Aww. You came back for me, I’m touched.” 

“How—?!”

“Lucky shot, hit a converter box. Boom. Then I tossed a couple grenades down the vent, y’know, to throw Smasher off the trail. Tripped over the damn desk in the blast, though. My ankle’s more swelled up than Pepe’s face after a bar fight.” 

V thinks his heart might just explode through his tear ducts. “Luckiest son of a bitch in Heywood, huh?” 

“Damn right. In all Night city, maybe.” As V pulls him to his feet, he winces. “Just don’t tell my momma. ‘Specially the ‘bitch’ part. Hey, where’s Delamain? Did he, uh. You know. Mumbo jumbo his way into the Net?”

“All done. I don’t know how, Jackie, but we fuckin’ pulled this off.”

“Yeah, well. Guess it helps havin’ a supercomputer or whatever on our side.” 

V laughs out a sob. “Sure does.” With one thick arm slung over his shoulders, V helps Jackie limp to the hallway where Delamain waits for them, blue hands folded patiently over his lap. 

From there, doors open and close automatically in front of them, like they’re VIP guests being escorted out safely by the very building itself. Jackie’s too focused on his throbbing head to question it, but V understands, and he keeps glancing every few seconds over at Delamain, something akin to awe in his eyes. 

Back out in Corpo Plaza, lights are switching on again in rapid succession. Logos, adverts. Even the holographic carp are back, except now for some reason they’re swimming upside down. Alarms, too, are beginning to sound from every mega-building’s security gate except Arasaka’s, and there are several helicopters arriving to circle overhead. Media vultures, no doubt, always first on the scene, faster even than the N.C.P.D. 

V looks around at the mess of scorched lawn and dead bodies at the entrance to Arasaka. Then over at the Maelstrom crew who are still hanging near the cars, looking bored as though they’ve been left waiting for hours with nothing to kill. Royce keeps his arms folded sternly over his chest, but Dum Dum offers a wave as the two walk forward to meet V at the gates. 

“Missed a good fight,” Dum Dum grins, chrome teeth flashing in the chaotic lights. “I finally got to use a flamethrower.” 

“Happy for you, Dum Dum. Listen, we’d better split. Cops’ll be here soon.” His gaze sweeps over to Royce, who with his arms still crossed over his broad chest and his frown deeper than usual, looks like he wants to say something. “...What?”

“What?” he parrots in an annoyed tone. 

V rolls his eyes. “Forget it. Look, the taxis’ll take you wherever you want, just tell Delamain the loca—”

“Expected you to get your gonk ass killed in there, that’s all.” Royce is looking at him, hard. Those red optics of his are oddly focused, their stare sending chills down V’s spine—and something more interesting back up it. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Guess maybe there’s more to you than skin and bones and a sweet ass after all, huh?”

“Uh. Thanks?” 

Between them, Dum Dum pulls a face like he’s never heard anything more putrid in his entire life.

“Right, well. This is goodbye. Lay low for a few days, let this all blow over. Pretty sure Delamain can handle any fallout from here, but keep your noses clean for a while, yeah?”

“Sure. Nice workin’ with ya, meatbag.” 

“You, too, Dum Dum. Royce.”

The man’s response is a silent nod of the chin, neither agreeing nor acknowledging his words. But as they return to pile once again into the armored cars, V can feel Royce’s gaze still on him, boring into him, as impossible as ever to ignore.  

He has to physically shake that train of thought from his head. Jackie’s calling to him over the whooshing of the choppers overhead. This is it, the stealthy exit at the end of every successful mission, and V is very much looking forward to a proper bed as his prize. The three leave the same way they arrived: in a borrowed pick-up, speeding through the streets of Night City with the whole world at their backs. 

Chapter Text

“Remember. Stick to the plan.” 

“Right. You go upstairs to negotiate the prices. And I….” 

Sighing, V leans his weight on the steering wheel. They’ve been over this a half dozen times already. “And you keep watch at the entrance. Del, work with me here.”

“Yes, V. I am trying, but I can’t seem to understand what exactly I ought to be watching for. ” 

Even from the parking lot, in the shadows of a flood light with too many shattered bulbs, the music inside the Totentanz night club vibrates the very air. Electronic, arhythmic, too much scattered bass to really be called ‘music’ by most critics, but still a familiar enough beat to send V’s guts twisting into knots. Be that as it may, he did promise he’d be patient with Del. He’s new to this line of work and, to be fair, his mind is probably quite literally a hundred different places at once. 

“Okay, look. Just hang around the front of the club until I get back. Don’t talk to strangers, and don’t touch anything. Don’t even make eye contact. They hate that.” 

“So I am simply to stay out of trouble?” 

“Now you got it. Ready?” 

Together, they step out of the vehicle—V’s Hella, freshly repainted—and synchronize their walk up to the front of the club. That’s a trick Jackie taught him once about making an entrance, a subtle way to either impress or intimidate a client, depending on what side they’re on. At any rate, the goons hanging around the elevator don’t bother stopping them from going right on upstairs. 

Squatting outside the true entrance to the club, like an underpaid, underworked bouncer is a face V would recognize anywhere. He smiles when three and a half sets of red eyes finally notice him, and even wider when the drone at next to the man whirs with excitement. “Dum Dum!”

“Meatbag!” Their palms collide between them, leaving V wincing only slightly at the new set of gorilla knuckles his friend’s apparently had installed. He notices right away that’s not the only upgrade. 

“Woah. Where’d you get your chompers done?” 

“Ah, fuck. Forgot you ain’t seen these beauts yet. Whaddaya think? Preem, right?”

Well-polished titanium teeth glint in the fluorescent lights of the hallway, shiny as a new Caliburn and probably almost as expensive. Dum Dum turns his head left and right to show off the work, evidently proud of them, and V can’t help but play along. 

“Sure, real preem. Maybe I should get mine done, too.” 

“Nah. With your face? You’d look gonk as fuck.” His head tilts mid-laugh to get a better look at Delamain standing over V’s shoulder. “Huh. Not this guy again. Where’s the other one, your amigo ?” 

“Still laid up with a sprained ankle, tellin’ anyone who’ll buy him a beer about how he took on Adam Smasher and lived. Del’s just helping me out on some jobs in the meantime. Speaking of….” 

“Ohh, no shit. You’re the gun mule? Royce’s words,” he grins, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Boss’s upstairs. But uhh, heard he’s been in a shit mood all day. Wouldn’t try anything stupid if I were you. Well, I would, if I were you , but I’m sayin’ don’t.” 

V smirks. “Yeah, thanks for the tip. Can you keep an eye on Delamain ‘til I get back? Won’t be long.” 

“Hey, woah. I told you before, I’m no fuckin’ babysitter. V? V?”  

The doors are swinging closed behind him, and already Dum Dum’s voice is drowned out by the music blasting from the stage. Tinnitus is performing again. Red lights dance and swirl around the crowd to the beat, dizzying, hypnotic, and the air is acrid with a dangerous mix of sex and narcotics. All in all a typical night at Totentanz, though V, for one, isn’t here for that anymore. 

Well. Not entirely . 

He finds Royce upstairs on the lounge sofa, same as ever. His knees are spread wide to either side, one foot tapping to the beat as he inhales a long drag from a big cigar. He looks agitated, impatient. There’s absolutely nothing inviting about his demeanor, from the dark sneer on his lips to the angry way he grinds out his cigar on the armrest when he notices V approach. 

“ You. You’re fuckin’ late.” 

“The hell I am, Royce. You said nine.” 

“It’s ten after.” 

“Yeah, well Del needed some coaxing in the parking lot.” 

“How the fuck’s that my problem?” 

It takes all of V’s effort to keep his voice steady as he calls Royce’s bluff. “Ten minutes gonna cost us this deal? You want the cred chip, or am I gonna have to shoot my way outta here?” 

“Hand it over, meat .” When Royce stands, he’s easily a head taller and broader by half at least. His boots shake the steel mesh flooring as he closes the distance in fewer strides than expected. One hand snaps up, ‘ganic on the outside but the fingers far too strong when they grab V’s chin and tilt his face up to meet piercing red optics. “Or you won’t get the chance to draw—”

Click. Royce freezes, and V…. V stretches his mouth wide in a hungry, toothy grin. The barrel of his gun sits right between Royce’s third and forth ribs, locked, loaded, and a hair’s breadth from pulling the trigger. “My name,” he hisses, watching a lone bead of sweat roll down the side of Royce’s large neck. “Say it.” 

Scarred lips twitch behind a dark beard. Royce growls something, low and deep in the base of his throat, unintelligible. 

“ Say it ,” V insists again, and twists the barrel of his gun in deep enough to bruise if it were anyone else. Teeth flash as Royce’s lips finally drag apart. 

“ V .” 

The tension snaps like a livewire. V’s pulled in by the waist aat the same time he slams his mouth forward, tasting copper, tobacco, booze, and suddenly, dizzyingly surrounded by the intense heat of Royce’s powerful arms. Momentum carries them backwards onto the sofa. Royce hits first, snarls out curses as he nearly rips V’s pants trying to shove his hands in the back. His fingers grip, possessively digging into flesh and muscle so hard V nearly comes right there. A moan spills out anyway through his teeth, desperate, needy, but hardly weak. Far from it. Royce can feel the shift too, and the new power play already has him hard as titanium in his pants when V grinds against his lap. 

Tinnitus continues to perform for the drunken crowd downstairs, while up in the VIP lounge a different show is taking place. One in which an upstart merc claims his well-earned seat on the Maelstrom throne again and again, chasing pleasure, completion, and the thrill of simply existing . Where he once came to lose himself, he now finds meaning in setting himself free; no longer lost, no longer ashamed of the flaws that make him human. 

As V grips Royce’s shoulders, he stares down into those menacing red optics and sees himself reflected back in the depths. A place to belong, to crawl inside and dig out a home for himself if he chooses. Sort of like an octopus getting comfortable in a piece of debris on the sea floor. 

That thought sends bubbling amusement up in the form of airy laughter, and Royce, misunderstanding, flips V onto his back with the intent to fuck the smirk right off his lips. It works, in a way. But he’s smiling again as soon as they finish, and he lays there under the other man’s weight for a few heartbeats while they catch their breaths. Maybe one day he’ll try to explain it. Maybe one day Royce will be ready to listen. Maybe none of it matters or means anything at all, which is fine, too, really. 

Sometimes, V’s finally come to understand, that’s just life.