Chapter Text
The wind howled through the Badlands. V crouched low, donning Johnny’s aviators to keep out the dust it kicked into his eyes. He eyed the horizon. Dark clouds were already forming there, dust swirling like a great cloud of smoke. V cursed under his breath.
Johnny stood beside him, arms crossed as he scowled at the growing sandstorm. “Wow. Caught in a haboob in the middle of nowhere. Feel like the big leagues, yet?” Johnny shook his head. “C’mon, let’s delta while we still got the chance.”
V frowned. The storm was still a good few miles off. “We run now, the thief makes off with the goods. You ain’t gonna be the one who's gotta tell Rogue we ran out mid job ‘cause the weather got a little hairy.”
“Hmph.”
V snickered. “Aw, it’s not so bad. Look, signal ends here.” He pointed to a long-abandoned CHOOH2 station in the distance. “We’ll be in and out ‘fore the storm’s ever even on us.”
Darkness shrouded their approach. The wind turned out to be some small blessing—its low whistling through the brush covered any sound and any footprints V made were quickly brushed over. Not that it was necessary—the place seemed to be empty. There were no lights within the station, no voices, no signs of life. The idea was only reinforced by the fact that V’s Kiroshis didn’t pick up any heat signals in the vicinity.
What his Kiroshis did pick up on were the goods. A crate of stolen tech sat against the outside of the building, tucked behind a dumpster. Right where the tracker said it’d be.
V crept towards the gear. “Nova,” he whispered as he cracked open the crate. Inside was the stolen tech: high quality cyberdecks and a few custom demons Nix must’ve cooked up.
V frowned as he noticed an empty space in the crate. “Rogue said there’d be some preem ICE cracking equipment.”
Johnny peered into the crate. “Isn’t that it?”
V cocked his head to the side as he stared at Johnny. “Yeah, it’s right there. I was just reminiscing ‘bout when Rogue gave us this gig. For fun.”
“Fuck me if I don’t recognize all your netrunner bullshit.” Johnny put his hands on his hips.
“It’s just fuckin’ context clues—”
V was cut off as blinding pain ripped through his shoulder.
He didn’t look down, didn’t need to. He’d been shot enough times to know what a bullet felt like. Instead V reached for his iron, silently cursing as his injured arm didn’t move as fast as it should’ve.
His fingers barely brushed against his iron before another pain—not a bullet this time, but something coming from inside his skull—tore through his head. The ground rushed at him, and V’s arms wouldn’t respond to catch him. The last thing he heard was Johnny calling his name.
“V!”
—
“Hey, V! V! Wake the fuck up!”
V was nowhere, floating peacefully in that cool, heavy nothingness, when a familiarly irritating voice shattered it open like an icepick. The pain flowed in soon behind it.
V ached. The hangover he’d gotten after Johnny’s big night out was looking damn near appealing compared to the pounding in his head now. He pinched the bridge of his nose—or he tried to, at least. What actually happened was that as soon as he shifted his arm a pain radiated out from his shoulder so blindingly agonizing that he nearly blacked out again.
Right. He’d been shot. Breathing raggedly, V tried again. He moved more carefully the second time but found no more success. His hands were bound tightly behind him to the chair he was sitting on. Some experimentation revealed his ankles to be similarly bound. He squirmed, grimacing every time he shifted his shoulder, but no matter how he twisted he couldn’t manage to loosen the bonds. Whoever had done it clearly hadn’t wanted to chance anything.
“The fuck?” V asked in his head. “Where are we?”
“How the fuck would I know that?” Johnny replied, leaning casually against the wall. “Just see what you see, and Sleeping Beauty just now decided to open his eyes.”
“Thanks. Real fuckin’ helpful.” V twisted as best as he could to try to get his bearings. The place was clearly abandoned—rotten wood, cobwebs, and trash older than him littered the room—but he couldn’t tell if it was the same abandoned fuel station. It had to be nearby, though. Even without windows, he could hear the dust storm raging outside. There was one door to his right and another behind him he could see if he contorted enough. A desk on the far wall was the only thing in the room not covered in a layer of dust. It was hard to make out exactly what was on it in the low light, but he caught a glimpse of a laptop connected to the ICE cracking gear. So that’s where it went.
He did get a good enough view of his shoulder, though. The front and back of his shirt were coated in dried blood. V silently mourned the tank top that he’d never be able to get the stain out of. The wound itself had been sloppily bandaged with tape and a wad of dirty fabric. Vik wouldn’t consider it up to snuff, but the lack of fresh blood meant it was good enough for V. Bleeding out in some gonk’s basement didn’t seem to be the kind of thing to earn you a drink in the Afterlife.
V frowned as he realized the implication of what Johnny had said earlier. “Wait, were you awake before I was? You can do that?”
“Yeah, sure. Why would I have to sleep at the same time you did?”
“I don’t know!” V said. “Could you always do that? You’ve just been…I dunno, sitting in my mind while I’m asleep?”
Johnny crossed his arms. “V, I’ve been sitting in your mind when you jerk off. Don’t get why you’re gettin’ hung up on this.”
V shook his head. “Nah. Still weird watchin’ me when I sleep.”
“It’s not fuckin’ weird!” Johnny threw up his hands and stormed out of V’s line of sight. “Not like I’m fuckin’ choosing to watch you sleep. Boring as hell being stuck in your head when you’re awake, let alone when you’re gettin’ your damn beauty sleep.”
V snorted. Johnny was too easy to wind up. “Whatever. Now shut up. I’m tryin’ to think.”
“Hurry up. I’m gettin’ sick of the decorations. Serial killer chic isn’t exactly my vibe. Pull your netrunner shit and get us out of here”
V tried to scan his surroundings, cursing under his breath as his Kiroshis wouldn’t respond. Neither would his cyberdeck. Suddenly the Kiroshis not adjusting to the dark like they should have made a lot more sense. His stomach dropped.
Johnny stopped his pacing, standing directly in front of V. He tilted his head to the side. “What is it, V?”
“My chrome’s not respondin’. None of it.” V started wriggling again, cursing louder when there wasn’t any give. Who the fuck tied knots so good? Did this guy take fucking knot tying classes? Who the fuck took knot tying classes?
You gotta calm down, kid,” Johnny said, crouching down in front of V. “Your holo working?”
V grimaced, shaking his head. Any sort of connection had been jammed. Even his clock overlay had been cut off. With no windows either, he had no way of knowing what time it was. Hell, he didn’t know what day it was.
No, V reminded himself. He could still hear the dust storm beating against the walls of the building. Those storms didn’t last more than a day at their worst, so he couldn’t have been out much longer than a few hours. Then again, that also meant that he hadn’t been gone for long enough for anyone to notice he was gone. He could die in this stupid shack and no one would even notice—
“Gotten out of worse before this.” Johnny interrupted V’s train of thought. He stood. “If they haven’t killed us yet, they must need you for something.”
“Yeah?” V asked, still trying to shimmy out of the ropes. Wriggling only seemed to make them tighter, the ropes digging into his flesh as he twisted back and forth. “What reason do you think that is?”
“Who gives a shit? Point is, we can use it.”
V closed his eyes. He needed to keep his breathing under control. The room wasn’t getting smaller. “You get off hearin’ the sound of your own voice, that it? How ‘bout you try saying something helpful, ‘stead of just complaining about shit you’re not even paying attention to.”
“Please.” Johnny rolled his eyes. “Maybe your merc shtick just isn’t that interesting. Thought of that?”
“Shtick?” V asked incredulously. “You seriously—”
V’s thought was cut off by the sound of a door creaking open behind him. V contorted in his seat in an attempt to see who had entered but couldn’t get a good view. The lights flicked on before soft footsteps approached, stopping directly behind V. V leaned his head all the way back, looking right up at the newcomer.
V had a better look at him now—if upside-down—and found the woman disappointingly ordinary. She sort of looked like if flour had been pressed into the general shape of a person. She looked to be in her thirties with an average build and an averager face. Vaguely soft features, your basic low level corpo-rat clothes. No chrome besides the deep dive port peeking out from under a shaggy tuft of blond hair. She had to have been the netrunner who’d shot V. Not a bad netrunner either, if she’d managed to hack V’s system through all his personal ICE to knock him out. V flashed the woman a grin.
The netrunner scowled. “You’re awake.”
Johnny snickered in the corner, pulling down his shades as if to get a better look. “This is the chick who took you down? Gee, you really are Night City legend material, aren’t you V?”
V ignored him, keeping his eyes on the netrunner. V’s heart was pounding but he kept his face composed. “Aw, c’mon. That any way to greet a guest? Now, my name’s V. And you are…?”
“I know who you are,” the netrunner said in an empty monotone.
She wasn’t reacting much to V’s cockiness. She might’ve seen through it, or she might’ve just not been an expressive kind of person. He opted to lean towards the second—V’d learned a long time ago to stick to a story. He’d still insist it wasn’t him who’d stolen the communion wine from Padre back when he was fourteen. The fact that the half-empty bottle had been found stashed in his room was mere coincidence.
V raised an eyebrow, still looking up at the netrunner standing behind him. “...You really gonna make us chat like this? Not to diss your hospitality any, but my neck’s startin’ to get a bit sore.”
The netrunner didn’t reply, but V thought he caught a slight pink tinge to her cheeks as she crossed to his desk.
“You said you know who I am,” V said, cracking his neck. When the netrunner didn’t respond, V continued. “Guessin’ that means you’ve heard a bit about the kind of things I’m capable of.”
The netrunner pulled open her laptop without giving V another glance. “Merc from Heywood. Long list of petty crimes on your record. Some not-so-petty ones.”
V narrowed his eyes. The netrunner was no slouch, the hack had shown that much, but that was all public information. “Pretty vague, that.”
The only sounds in the room were the clacking of the netrunner’s keyboard and the howling of the haboob outside. The tense silence stretched so long V wasn’t even sure the netrunner would respond. V had switched his focus to craning his neck trying to catch a glimpse of the laptop screen when the netrunner finally looked over her shoulder. “Your real name’s Vincent. Born in Heywood. You’ve done time. Juvenile and adult facilities. Primary associates are Padre, Jackie Welles, and a ‘T-Bug’. Lots of enemies. Arasaka, primarily. They want you dead pretty badly.” The netrunner turned back to her work.
“Wow, impressive,” V said, letting sarcasm seep into his words despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. “And what did you make of all that?”.
The netrunner didn’t turn back to V. “No one’s gonna come looking for you,” she said flatly.
Shit.
Hurtful. True, maybe, but hurtful nonetheless. And not the kind of thing he wanted his kidnapper to think.
“Quite an impression, that,” V said coolly. He reminded himself that the netrunner had blushed, gotten flustered. He hoped he hadn’t imagined the small crack in her facade. “Wouldn’t say it’s the most accurate, but it’s definitely working for your scary kidnapper shtick.”
“You’re just saying schtick because I said shtick,” Johnny said.
“Shut up,” V shot back. “And quit sayin’ shtick.”
The netrunner barely gave V a glance. “No living family. No record of you with Trauma Team, so it’s not like they’ll come looking. You work on your own. Any associates are either dead or irrelevant.” The netrunner turned away. “It’ll be a few days before anyone even notices you’re missing. If they do.”
“You’re forgetting my fixer,” V said, ignoring the leaden feeling in his gut. “She sent me here, ‘n’ you don’t think she’ll notice if I go and vanish on her?”
The netrunner lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “Mercenaries are disposable to fixers.”
V held himself as straight as he could while bound to the chair, stifling a wince as he disturbed his shoulder. “Biz ain’t. That merch you klepped has some mighty powerful people mighty pissed off at you. Think they’ll just give up if they suddenly get radio silence from me?”
The netrunner stiffened. That was a good sign. With any luck, she really was beginning to crack.
V eyed Johnny without turning from the netrunner. “You think Rogue will send someone?”
Johnny shrugged. “Fifty years ago? Without a doubt. The Rogue of 2077 is a different story. There’s a reason she’s still around with her little bar when everyone else she ran with is long buried.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Can’t see her letting someone who robbed her go, though. And I think she’s got a bit of a soft spot for you.”
“Really?” V asked, a grin tugging at his lips despite the situation.
Johnny snorted. “Don’t cream your pants. I said a bit. And this chick could kill us long before she ever realizes something went wrong with the gig.”
Figured. “So we’re fucked,” V said.
“We’re fucked,” Johnny agreed. “Gotta find our own way out of here.”
V glanced at the netrunner. The woman was no hardened criminal. She’d been easily flustered by V’s taunting, she hadn’t seen through V’s bullshit facade and bluffing, she clearly hadn’t thought through the reality of klepping from the city’s top fixer, and, most damningly of all, she hadn’t outright killed V when she’d had the chance.
“Listen, choom,” V said, softening his tone. “Doesn’t have to end badly, this. Rogue doesn’t care ‘bout flatlining some gonk just to make a point. You let me go, you give back what you took, and everyone’s happy. You don’t…” V paused for dramatic effect. “...then the next guy she sends won’t be near as nice as I am.”
“Switchin’ to good cop?” Johnny stepped closer to the netrunner, looking her up and down. “Might work. If I had to guess, gonk’s just some corpo in way over her head.”
It had to have gotten through to her. The netrunner was fixed staring at her laptop, frozen except for her leg bouncing a mile a minute. After an agonizing moment where V was certain his heart would pound straight out of his chest, the netrunner stood.
The netrunner was only halfway to her feet when the door swung open for a second time. The netrunner whirled around as heavy footsteps approached behind V, paling as she saw whoever had just entered. V was hopeful it might’ve been one of Rogue’s, but any hope of that died when he heard the unfamiliar voice booming behind him.
“Why the fuck is this guy still breathing?”
“Carver, I have it under control—” the netrunner started, her hands held up like she was speaking to a wild animal instead of a man. Given how heavy the footsteps were, she might well have been.
V tried to turn around to see who the latecomer—Carver, apparently—was to freak the netrunner out so much, but he froze as he felt cold iron pressed against the back of his skull. V swallowed, blood running cold.
“Clearly, ya fucking don’t, Bent! Last thing we need is some gonk fuckin’ merc! Can’t afford distractions this late in the game, when we’re so damn close to gettin’ what we need,” Carver shouted at the netrunner—Bent, shoving the gun into V with each sentence for emphasis.
“V, ya gotta do something,” Johnny warned. V thought he heard fear creeping into his voice.
“Bent here’s right!!” V said quickly. “You can’t kill me.”
All three of them—Johnny, Bent, and Carver—were staring at V. V assumed Carver was staring at him, at least. He’d stopped shouting, anyway.
Carver walked around the chair V was tied to, finally giving V a chance to see his face. Carver was about as different from Bent as someone could be. Bent was soft edges wrapped in generic clothes, so forgettable that V forgot what she looked like every time he blinked. Carver was all harsh lines and angles. His face was so square that he could be ported to that low-res Trauma Team arcade game without losing a bit of detail. He was tall, with a wiry frame decked out with more chrome than ‘ganic flesh. He had to be wearing a fortune in cyberware alone. No wonder he walked so heavy. That kind of stuff must’ve weighed a ton.
“Oh, yeah? And who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and can’t fuckin’ do?” Carver said, looking down at V. His iron was still aimed at V, pressed right between his eyes.
“Name’s V,” V said coolly.
Carver frowned, showing every ounce of effort it took him to think. “Huh. Heard that name before.”
“Most people have. It’s also a letter.”
In retrospect, V should’ve expected his smartassery wouldn’t go over well. Retrospect didn’t do anything about the pain shooting through his head as he was promptly pistol-whipped. V doubled over in the chair, breathing heavily. He could already feel the sting where his eyebrow had been cut, the blood dripping towards his eye. It wouldn’t look good to take too long to recover, so V sat up as straight as he could. He looked Carver directly in the eyes.
“Well guess what, V? I don’t give a fuck who you are. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t flatline you here and now,” Carver said. It’d be funny how hard Carver was trying to sound badass if V wasn’t currently looking down the barrel of his gun.
“‘Cause I got a fuckin’ dead man’s switch, that’s why,” V lied. He kept going, talking as fast as his mind could make it up. “I get zeroed, suddenly you’ve got Night City’s top fixer on your ass. Second my heart stops, even for a second, she’s got your exact location. Good luck even tryin’ to run with that storm outside.”
Johnny looked between V and the two captors. “Bent over here’s the one who disabled your cyberware. She knows everything you’ve got. She’ll know you’re full of it.”
“I know,” V said to Johnny quietly, locking eyes with Bent. He silently begged the netrunner to back him up. She’d had the chance to kill V one time before and didn’t take it. V prayed she’d do it a second time.
“...It’s true,” Bent said after what felt to V like an eternity but was probably only ten seconds. The longest ten seconds of V’s life, for certain. “I, uh, couldn’t crack the ICE.”
After another agonizingly long few seconds, Carver dropped the gun with a sigh. “Fuck! Fine, fuckin’ whatever, we keep the gonk alive for now. Find a way to crack that fuckin’ ICE, and for fuck’s sake keep an eye on the fuckin’ merc. Fuck!” And with that last bit of excessive profanity, Carver stormed off into another room.
V and Bent stared at one another, each understanding but neither willing to be the first to acknowledge the fact that Bent had just saved V’s life. For the second time.
It seemed the elephant in the room would continue to go unacknowledged. Bent sat down at her laptop once again, once again acting as if V wasn’t even there. V opened his mouth, but Bent cut him off before he could speak with a single word. “Don’t.”
So V shut his mouth, looking to Johnny instead. “Ya know, I’m gettin’ real sick of peeps pointing guns at me.”
Johnny leaned against the wall. “You’re in the wrong line of work.” He eyed the netrunner. “Quick thinking back there. Bought us some time. It won’t last, though.”
“Yeah,” V sighed. “I know. Figure somethin’ out, though. Probably.”
“Better do it fast. I doubt you’ll last much longer than that storm outside. Your imaginary dead man’s switch becomes a hell of a lot less threatening once they can just drive away.”
V let his head fall against the back of the chair. He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath now that he wasn’t in imminent danger. Carver had fallen for his story, but the facts were unchanged. V was stuck somewhere out in the Badlands, no chrome, no iron, no one looking for him. He’d managed to extend his life a scant few hours, but he was still fucked if he didn’t find a real way out. What else was new?
The raging storm howled outside. Somewhere outside an old abandoned CHOOH2 station, a phone sat next to a forgotten pair of sunglasses. Half buried in sand, its faint glow showed seven missed calls. It started buzzing with an eighth.