#the stool works for the corpos

[aceghosts]

And I try to move on, but I just can't let go

Summary: Rooney Shepard takes a missing person's case at the request of Rogue Amendiares; they do not expect the client to be their ex-boyfriend, Yorinobu Arasaka. Title comes from nightlife's fallback. Rating: Mature Warnings: Referenced Character Death (Specifically Jackie and Rooney's), Referenced Human Experimentation (Rooney), and I think that is everything. Let me know if I need to tag for anything else. Words: 5,198 Author's Note: Just wanted to explain: Rooney's original universe is Mass Effect. I've tried to blend part of the events of Mass Effect (not the aliens and reapers, but their pre-service history and similar events) into Cyberpunk 2077. I tried to fit it in as best I can, staying within the confines of the universe, but I've changed parts of canon. Tagging: @bbrocklesnar. @marivenah, @voidika, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @amalkavian, @onehornedbeast, @captastra, @alexxmason, @captmactavish, @inafieldofdaisies, @vizarding, and @thedeadthree. I added everyone who liked this post; I hope it's okay that I tagged you. If you want to or don't want to be tagged, let me know.

AO3

Music blasts loudly as Rooney Shepard steps into the Afterlife, a deep frown on their face. Around them, patrons of the club shout, trying to make themselves heard over the music. Their head throbs, a headache forming as they head towards the bar. Why couldn’t this have been a holo call? Rooney supposes it must be an important missing person’s case if Rogue wanted to drag them down to the Afterlife. Glancing over to her booth, Rooney catches sight of Rogue holding court, already occupied with some merc. Could be a while before she’s ready to see them. They grab a stool at the bar, catching sight of themself in the reflection of the glass panels. In the neon green light, Rooney looks sickly pale, washed out. The dark circles under their eyes stand out prominently, a thousand-yard stare gazing back at them. If it were anyone else, Rooney would describe them as haunted, but they’re fine, nothing is wrong with them. They have to be fine.

A moment later, Claire is in front of them with a sympathetic smile as she places her hands down on the bar. “Here for work or play, Shepard?”

“Work.” I would never come here for relaxation, Rooney adds silently. Relaxation used to be nights building model ships with a decent beer. Or a night at some cheap dive bar with V, Jackie, Misty, and Vik, chatting and listening to classic rock. Now…Now, V is dying, and Rooney needs to help them find a cure. No matter what it personally costs them.

Claire nods, motioning over their shoulder. “Understood. Although, I think some hope that you might come in here for a night off.” They follow her gaze, towards a Corpo, sharing a table with two of his colleagues. He raises his beer in greeting before motioning to come over, all while giving Rooney a flirtatious smile. Not interested. Shaking their head, Rooney looks back to Claire. They weren’t really interested in anyone like that since…“I’ll get you your usual, Shepard, even though you look like you could use a beer.”

“Thank you.” As Claire goes to get their drink, Rooney breathes deeply. Focus, Rooney, Focus. They need to be focused, especially for a case.

She returns with their soda, sliding it towards them as she glances over towards Rogue’s booth. “Rogue is ready for you.” They nod, flicking the creds to her along with a good tip as they get off the stool. Rooney takes the drink with them, making their way over to Rogue.

Squama nods as they approach, with Rooney returning one of their own as he moves to let them pass. Behind him, Rogue lounges, faintly reminding Rooney of a Lioness from the old nature vids they used to watch as a child. She watches them carefully, despite her fairly relaxed posture. “Shepard,” She greets them with a fairly no-nonsense tone, motioning for them to sit.

“Rogue,” Rooney sits, placing their drink down on the table. They watch her carefully, knowing Rogue is one of the few people not to underestimate in Night City. You do not become Queen without disposing of a few pawns. Besides, Rooney is curious about why they are here. Normally, Rogue preferred to give them cases over the holo with a slightly mocking tone or have a client reach out to Rooney directly. It was the rare few that ever required Rooney to come to the Afterlife. 

“I have a job for you.”

Rooney raises an eyebrow, holding back a sarcastic response. “I assumed. Why meet in-person for this one?”

“This job requires…” Rogue pauses, looking away briefly as she searches for the right word, “discretion.”

As Rogue looks back at them, alarm bells ring in their mind. Adrenaline spikes as their heart beats faster. Rooney tenses, eyes scanning around the room for potential threats. Nothing good ever happens when someone mentions being discrete. They know all too well from their time in the military that it meant covering up dirty laundry, protecting the reputation of powerful people. And if anyone should find out the truth? God help them all. For all Rooney cares, someone else can have this case. “No.”

“No?”

Shaking their head, Rooney stands, on high alert, “I don’t want it. Give it to someone else.”

“Shepard, don’t be so dramatic,” Rogue rolls her eyes, “You haven’t even heard-.”

“Don’t care.” Right now, they’re getting the same bad feeling about this job as they had about V and Jackie’s gig with that idiot Dexter DeShawn. And look where those two ended up: Jackie six feet under and V well on their way there. “I’m not interested. You can find-.”

“Sit,” Rogue commands with more authority than some of their previous COs, “Hear me out, and if you still don’t want it after, I’ll find someone else.”

Leave. LEAVE! Their brain screams at them, but curiosity wins out in the end as Rooney sits back down.

“You weren’t my first choice for this gig, Shepard.”

“So, that means others passed on it.”

“You might not be my first choice, but I haven’t told anyone else about it yet,” She pauses for a second, “I hoped I could think of someone else for this. You won’t like the client.”

“Rogue, if you’re trying to convince me, you aren’t being very persuasive about it.”

“You’re only here because you get results. And the client needs results.” She emphasizes that last part, her voice taking on a serious tone. “The client needs you to find someone. Quickly and quietly.”

“A merc could do that for you.”

“They also need someone who isn’t the type to shoot first and ask questions later. They need someone who can handle this with a fine touch.”

“Again, I’m sure you could find a thousand mercs in this city who meet that requirement. I’m a PI.”

“Not as many as you would think,” she counters, her gaze drifting down to their left hand, the metal one forced on them by Arasaka, “You might find this case to be personal.”

They clench their fist, his voice in their head: “I hope you make him and Arasaka regret doing this to you”. Saburo Arasaka might be dead, but his shadow loomed large over Night City and Arasaka still. “Rogue, are you saying that Arasaka is going after someone who might need help getting away from them?”

Rogue smirks and Rooney finally feels like they’re catching on. “Maybe,” she shrugs, playing a slightly disinterested tone, “But you don’t want-.”

“I’ll take it.” Rooney has a terribly bad feeling about this job, and they’re playing right into her hands, but they won’t let someone suffer at the hands of Arasaka. What if this person could help V, saving them from the parasite in their head? Or what if it was V? Arasaka had already sent exterminators after V. Rooney wouldn’t put it past them to send someone after V, and who better to help V evade capture than a friend? This job might be a trap, but they’ve walked willingly into traps before and come out alive. Unscathed was a different matter.

“Good,” She flicks her wrist, sending them a text, their holo beeping a moment later. “You’ll find the details for your meeting with them in an hour and a half.” They frown, opening the message as they notice the meeting location set for the Ebunike with very little information on the client. “You’ll hear the exact details from the client. Wanted to keep some of the mystery.”

Dismissed. They get up, sighing. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, one way or another.”

“I’m sure you will, Shepard.” As they leave, all Rooney can think is: What have they gotten themself into?

—

As soon as they leave the Afterlife, Rooney heads towards the docks on their black motorcycle, hoping they’ll have some time for surveillance. They do, but their preliminary surveillance leaves them with more questions than answers. Maelstrom guard the dock, providing little useful information. They hear the name “Grayson” a few times, who seems to be in charge of the operation. Rooney would need to investigate him more, but it wasn’t a good sign that he was working with the Maelstrom or Arasaka. Whoever Arasaka was looking for was in deep, deep trouble.

Deactivating their optical camo, Rooney emerges from the shadows, hands by their side as they approach the two Maelstrom guarding the entrance. They are hyper-vigilant, keeping an eye out with their electrified monowires at the ready. “Oh fuck!” One of the Maelstrom exclaims while they both jump at the sight of Rooney approaching. Rooney…wasn’t on good terms with the Maelstrom. While they preferred to use non-violent methods to resolve conflict, the Maelstrom weren’t always willing to listen. And Rooney was willing to use violence if necessary. “Shepard, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m not here for you two,” the two Maelstrom glance at each other, seemingly unconvinced by their words, “I’m here for a meeting with your boss on the Ebunike about a missing person’s case.”

Scratching his head, one asks, “Why should we fucking believe you?”

“Yeah,” the other crosses her arms, “What if this is a trap?”

If it was a trap, these two would have never seen it coming. “Call your boss and tell him Rogue Amendiares sent me. If he does not vouch for me, I’ll leave. Peacefully. You have my word.”

The Maelstrom sighs, his eyes alighting as he makes the call. “Grayson, we have someone for you. Says Rogue fucking sent them. Want us to send them home in a body bag?” He’s silent for a moment before his eyes flick back over to them. “It’s Shepard.” Silent again before sighing, “I’ll fucking bring them over”.

 The call ends, and he turns to Rooney. “Grayson vouches for ya. Says I’m supposed to fucking bring you to him like I’m a goddamn messenger boy.”

“Lead the way,” Rooney motions, “We both have a vested interest in having this end as soon as possible.”

The Maelstrom motions for Rooney to follow as his compatriot stays behind to guard the gate. Rooney follows him silently, making more mental notes as they weave their way through the docks. Lots of containers, stacked high, which meant lots of hiding places, a good and bad thing. Good as it meant plenty of places for Rooney to disappear to give them an edge. Bad as it meant their enemy also had the same opportunity to surprise them. They also noticed a few good vantage points, which would have been excellent for sniping if they brought their sniper rifle, Black Widow, with them. They had the sniper rifle with them during their whole military career, even during the Unification War. Eventually, they reach the Ebunike with the Maelstrom guide, climbing the stairs behind him. As they ascend, Rooney wonders who at Arasaka would need such a large, moored ship. It did not seem like a typical Arasaka meeting place. If anything, Arasaka liked to hold meetings in their buildings or businesses with which they had deep ties. Corps liked to be in control, and Arasaka was no exception.

Dread grows within them, like the blade of a guillotine hanging over a soon-to-be executed man. Reaching the center of the deck, Rooney finds Grayson with a few Maelstrom beside him. He looks relaxed, too relaxed for their liking. “Shepard, thank you for coming. I hope the Maelstrom weren’t too rude to you,” Grayson greets them with an unearned air of friendliness.

“They were fine.” No, the Maelstrom weren’t, but Rooney was not about to tip their hand. They glance around the dock, taking stock of their situation. Some more containers, but nothing that would be too useful. Too open for their liking. Keeping a professional tone, Rooney states, “As I said to your friend, Rogue Amendiares sent me. Told me you had a missing person’s case for me.”

“We do, Shepard.” The world drops out from under them as the door to a container opens behind them. Rooney’s eyes widen briefly at the sound of a familiar borg voice, their anxiety spiking. Instinct kicks in a second later, and Rooney spins around, activating their electrified monowire. The wire gleams brightly in the dim lighting of the ship’s deck, an audible hum of electricity in the air. Rooney tastes the electricity in their mouth, a side effect of their monowires. In the dark of the container, two red glowing eyes stare at them. A second later, they heard the sound of loud machinery, Adam Smasher, Yorinobu Arasaka’s personal bodyguard, stomping towards them. He laughs, sending a shiver down Rooney’s spine as he comes out into the light. “Put the fucking wire away, Shepard. I’m not here to kill you. Yet.”

He’s trying to get a rise out of them, and it’s fucking working. Rooney never liked Adam Smasher, too machine-like for their taste. Too cruel; too callous. They don’t put the wire down, wondering why Smasher would be on the Ebunike of all places. And then, the awful thought hits them like a rocket a second later. Oh no. Oh no. Smasher has to be here for V. Or he’s looking for Takemura, who will undoubtedly lead him straight to V. They cannot let that happen. V won’t stand a chance against Smasher. At least, not without some serious chrome, firepower, and allies. Rooney won’t fail V, not like how they failed to protect-. “What do you want?” Their tone is sharp as steel.

“Put the wire-.”

“I’m only going to ask you once,” Rooney cuts Smasher off, the Maelstrom and Grayson audibly gasping at their audacity, “What. Do. You. Want.”

The tension is thick in the air with Rooney ready to snap at any moment. They know they might not win against Smasher in a straight-up fight, but if they get clever, Rooney can-. “He’ll want to tell you himself. The brat will have a fucking tantrum if I don’t let him tell you.”

They holster their monowires, fairly certain that Smasher doesn’t mean them harm. Curious eyes burn into Rooney, everyone wondering why they would cause such a stir with Smasher’s boss. “I doubt he wants to see me. I think it would be better if you and I talked-.”

“No one ever rejected him the way you did, Shepard. Was licking his fucking wounds for weeks.” Dread morphs into guilt, and Rooney looks away. They hadn’t wanted to hurt Yorinobu, but they needed to return to the Military. It was their home, or at least, it had been at one point. “’Sides, even if I told you, you don’t fucking think he would come to find you himself?”

He would come looking for them, which would place V in even more danger. Vik, Misty, and Mamá Welles too. “You don’t have to tell him. You could always withhold my identity.”

“Pays me too much for that, Shepard. You want the fucking gig or not?”

No, they don’t; they really don’t. But this might have something to do with V, and they can’t fail V. Rooney won’t fail V. It also sounds like Yorinobu might be in trouble too. He was the whole reason Rooney got through their time with Arasaka, after being reanimated and jacked with experimental mods. Yorinobu was the first one to make them feel like a person, not so alone. They wanted, no, needed to help Yorinobu if he was in trouble.  “I’ll do it. When would he like to meet?”

Something akin to a smile appears on Smasher’s face. “Now.”

—

The ride up to the Arasaka CEO’s office is a silent one as Rooney watches the numbers tick on as the elevator climbs upward. Their last interaction with Yorinobu plays over in their head, the memory as clear as day.

Yorinobu is panic-stricken, holding onto their arm tightly. “Rooney, you cannot go back to them. They threw you away, leaving you to the whims of Arasaka. What happens if you die again?”

Three more floors…

They frown, confused by his behavior. “Yorinobu, you can’t stop me from returning. We both knew I wasn’t going to stay here forever. What did you think would happen?”

Two more floors…

His grip on their arm loosens, face softening. “I thought you might want to stay with me. Help me destroy Arasaka from the inside.”

One more floor…

Rooney pulls their arm from Yorinobu. “In another life, I would have,” He looks heartbroken as they continue softly, “But I made a promise to serve, and I intend to keep my promise.”

The elevator door opens, releasing Rooney from their memories of heartbreak. They walk beside Smasher, gaze focused on the office in front of them. Rooney swallows nervously, rolling their left shoulder, out of habit. They never expected to see Yorinobu again, especially under these circumstances.

Rooney enters Yorinobu’s office with Smasher, Yorinobu standing in front of his desk, his back towards the two. In front of him is a large screen, detailing Arasaka’s stock value, and other information. “Do you have them?” Yorinobu asks, sounding vaguely annoyed.

“Course I have them,” Smasher motions to Shepard, “Do I ever come up fucking empty handed?”

Yorinobu shakes his head, placing the holopad down. He turns, facing Rooney and Smasher as the pair stop a few feet away from him. Trying to stay collected, Rooney feels like they’ve had the wind knocked out of them. He’s in front of them; Yorinobu is really in front of them. Yorinobu must be feeling the same way.  His eyes widen behind his glasses, shock clear on his face. “Rooney?”

He says their name, and they want to run to him so badly. To hold him in their arms and tell Yorinobu that they wish they had reached out sooner. Instead, they clasp their hands behind their back, aiming to treat him as they would any other client. “Good evening Yorinobu,” Rooney feels fairly confident in using his first name while staying professional, “I understand that you need help finding a missing person. I’m happy to work with your team, or I can recommend-.”

“That’s it?” Frustration colors his voice as he shakes his head. “This is the first time we have seen each other since that day, and this is how you react? Like I am stranger? Like nothing happened?”

Yorinobu is so much more to Rooney than a stranger. He’s the one that they let go, the one person who still holds the still-beating pieces of Rooney Shepard’s perpetually broken heart. “You are a client,” Their tone is firm as they continue to dig their grave, ever obstinate, “You are hiring me to find someone. Unless you would prefer someone else to take this case.” Someone who has less emotional baggage.

He looks hurt at their declaration, mumbling something under his breath about how stubborn they are, a badge that they wear with pride. To Smasher, he dismisses the man with a wave of his hand. “Leave.”

“Gladly,” Smasher replies, likely relieved to not be part of their argument. He stomps out of the room, leaving the two alone.

Silence permeates the room as Rooney searches for the right words. Yorinobu huffs, “What about us? Did any of that mean anything to you?”

They flinch a little, hurt a little by the insinuation that Yorinobu thought that Rooney didn’t care about their relationship, that it didn’t matter. But, they were treating him like a client. Sighing, Rooney unclapses their hands from behind their back. They join him at his desk and lean against it as they cross their arms over their chest. “What we had meant a lot to me, Yorinobu,” He perks up a little, some of that signature cockiness returning, “but you made it pretty clear when I left to return to the military that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I did not mean-.”

“It doesn’t matter that you didn’t mean it,” Rooney looks up at him, “I wanted to respect your boundaries, and you made it pretty clear about where we stood.” Yorinobu looks down at his desk, avoiding their gaze. Damnit, they were screwing this up. “Yorinobu,” they gently call his name, and he looks up at them, “I’m here now. Tell me about this case.”

He comes closer to them, the scent of his familiar cologne invading their nose. Woodsy with bits of Cedar and Nutmeg. “Saburo Arasaka is dead,” He admits quietly, meeting their gaze.       

“I would give my condolences, but I feel it would be more appropriate to say, may Saburo Arasaka rot in hell.”

Yorinobu smirks, a small laugh escaping him. “May he rot somewhere worse than hell,” He looks away from them, “He was poisoned by his bodyguard.” Not the story I was told, Rooney thinks. They trust that V’s version is more accurate, knowing how much Yorinobu hated his father. But, why was he continuing to give them the same tale he was giving everyone else? Probably because they were an ex he hadn’t seen in a few years. Yorinobu couldn’t know where their loyalties lie. Besides, he wasn’t the only one who was going to keep secrets.

“There were also two thieves that day,” They raise an eyebrow knowing full well that he is referring to V and Jackie, “They stole something from me. Something important.”

“Important how?”

Deftly avoiding the question, he picks up a black flash drive from his desk and comes to stand in front of them. Holding it up, he asks, “I have footage of the crime if you want to see it. Would you like me to insert it for you?”

Rooney nods, tilting their head slightly as brush away their dark red hair, offering him better access to slot the drive in. His right hand gently wraps around their throat, holding them still in place, fingers slightly interlaced with their hair. His brown eyes meet their ocean blue ones for a second, and Rooney’s breath hitches in their throat, a small flame of yearning they thought long buried flickering within them. He slots the drive in, the footage begins to play a second later. Two thieves pop out of the wall, clearly shaken: V and Jackie Welles. Formerly Night City’s dynamic duo. Close friends of Rooney’s. While Jackie and V’s faces are blurred, Rooney can still tell them from a mile away. The two mercs rush over to Saburo’s corpse, panicking over the dead man. The audio is distorted, perhaps on purpose to keep any mention of Yorinobu’s deeds hidden.

“Notice anything?” He asks, leaning in closer, his breath warm on their ear. Yorinobu’s thumb lazily strokes along the edge of their jaw. Rooney swallows, reminding themself to focus on the matter at hand: the footage.

“No.” Jackie and V freak out. Jackie paces back and forth in place, awkwardly holding the stolen goods. V is running back and forth, looking terrified as they search for a way out. A few moments later, Jackie and V are gone, the footage ending. The drive pops out, Yorinobu taking it as he releases their throat. Rooney tries not to miss the touch of his skin against theirs, but it’s hard to shake. “I don’t recognize the perpetrators,” a bold-faced lie, “I can reach out to some of my contacts underground to see if they’ve heard anything. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“You will need to find only one of the thieves. The man holding what they stole is dead.”

“Anything more?” Yorinobu looks away, placing the drive down, and Rooney senses some hesitancy. But they need to know. If Rooney can find a way to help him and V, they want to. There has to be a path forward; Rooney just can’t see it yet. “Yorinobu,” They say his name softly, uncrossing their arms. Gently, they place their hand on his shoulder, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze, “I know this must be difficult for you, but any detail helps. I want to help you.” Please let me help you.

He grabs a holopad from his desk, swiping it a few times before passing it to Rooney. Taking the pad, their brows furrow as they begin to read the details. Shit, that is the thing that is killing V. “What is this?”

“Do you remember how I told you that my Father did worse things? Things worse than experimenting on you?” They remember the conversation very clearly, the one where Yorinobu swore that he would destroy Arasaka from the inside out. “This is one of them: the Relic.”

“And what does the Relic do?” They already know what it does. It turns idiot mercs with delusions of grandeur into long-dead rockstars.

“My father wanted to live forever,” Yorinobu’s voice is grave, “The Relic was his answer to that.”

Horror washes over them like a wave capsizing a boat in a stormy sea. Their heart skips a beat, the awful insinuation not lost on them. That’s…that’s…There are not enough words in the human language for Rooney to express how awful it is. Shakily, they place the holopad down, facing him with horror clear on their face. Instinctively, Rooney cups his face, searching his eyes. He’s still Yorinobu, the man they knew. But that still doesn’t make them any less worried for him. “Yori..,” their nickname for him slips out in a breathy tone as he uses the opportunity to pull them closer, hands on their hips, “Saburo…he didn’t try to… he didn’t…?” Even after all the terrible things they’ve seen, Rooney can’t bring themself to finish the sentence.

“No, he never got the chance.”

Rooney breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“Worried for me?”

“Always.” From the moment they left the Arasaka labs, Rooney worried about him, afraid that he might do something rash.

“When did you come to Night City?”

They’re surprised at his question. “I thought we were talking about the case, not about me.”

“You know you need to find the thief and the relic, and I would prefer this was kept between you, Smasher, and I. You will also be compensated generously for your work. But, I am curious as to how you came to live in Night City.”

“I arrived a year and a half ago. Something about being with the military didn’t feel right anymore. I ended up here in Night City, a place where the Free States and the NUS would leave me alone.”

“Did you know I was here?”

They sigh, knowing this would go in circles. “Yes, but I thought-.”

“I know what you thought,” Yorinobu cuts them off, “But did you ever think about contacting me?”

More than he knows. Rooney remembers the first time that they thought about contacting him. It was a rainy day, and they were limping to Vik’s after a nasty run-in with Scavs. As they walk down the rainy street, they catch sight of Yorinobu’s face on a screen. He stops them in their tracks, the world seemingly stopping. They watch, mesmerized, no longer caring that the rain was drenching them as the news report continued. Without thinking, they pull up their contact list, scrolling down to Yorinobu. Rooney hovers over his name, wanting so desperately to call him, to hear his voice. Instead, they close the phone, knowing that some things are better left in the past. The second time was when V was in critical condition. Things were going to shit, and he was one of the first people Rooney wanted to contact. Actually, he was the first, but they decided against it. “I did,” They admit quietly.

“Did you miss me?” A loaded question if Rooney’s ever heard one. And one they refuse to answer. They should keep things professional, already having crossed several lines. “I missed you; I missed you terribly.” He leans down toward them, longing battling within Rooney. God, they want him badly, so badly that it threatens to consume them. He’s so close and Rooney leans up to meet him, wanting Yorinobu so much more than they realize. 

“Arasaka-sama,” A voice speaks over the intercom on his desk, “Hanako-Sama is here to see you.” Rooney is jolted back to reality, realizing what they were about to do and how monumentally of a bad idea this was. They release him, gently pulling themself out of his arms. Yorinobu looks pained at their rejection, and a sharp spike of guilt rises in their chest. It’s better for them both this way.

“I should go,” They have to do this, someone has to stop this, and Rooney will take on that responsibility, “I should start working on the case.”

“Rooney, please do not-.”

“Stop.” The wounded look on his face sends another stake of pain in their chest. “Hanako, your sister, needs you right now.”

“And you do not?” They open their mouth, and he cuts them off. “Do not give me some self-serving bullshit about being fine.”

Rooney is fine. Or at least, maybe they’ll convince everyone they are fine if they repeat it enough times. “Doesn’t matter what I need,” They say sharply, giving him a pointed look, “Right now, we need to find the thief and the Relic.” Or at least, buy enough time that they can figure out what to do with this shitstorm of a situation. “I’ll leave my number with Smasher and pass anything I find on to him.” Smasher was one of the last people that Rooney wanted to have their number, but this would be better for everyone.  

“No,” They raise an eyebrow before Yorinobu’s eyes alight and they’re receiving a call from him, “Since I still have your number and you have mine, please contact me with all updates. I plan to be very involved in this.”

The door to this office opens, and both turn towards the door, the sound of heels clicking drawing their attention.  Hanako Arasaka steps into the office, Sandayu Oda hot on her heels. “Shepard,” Hanako looks surprised, all while staying very prim and proper, “I did not know you were in Night City.”

“Just moved within the last year, Ma’am. Your brother didn’t know either.” Rooney knew what Hanako was fishing for. She had been aware of their relationship with Yorinobu the last time, even if she did not always approve of it. “Oda,” They nod a greeting towards him.

“Shepard,” He returns with a nod of his own.

“Please excuse me. I was just leaving, Ma’am.” They start, making their way to the door.

“Have a pleasant night, Shepard.”

“You as well.” Rooney quickly excuses themself, throwing one last glance over their shoulder at Yorinobu. He catches their gaze, winking at them. They shake their head, fully leaving the office.

As soon as they reach the elevator, Rooney leans against the back wall, letting out a sigh as the elevator door closes. Their holo pings a second later, a familiar name appearing. The text read: We should get a drink sometime. An offer that sounded far more tempting than it should. Rooney closes the message, leaving him on read. This was going to be a long case. 

[merge-conflict]

persistence

Once an attacker manages to gain access to the network, via exploit or other method of compromise, they will seek to gain some measure of persistence, i.e. a way of maintaining their access. That access can then be leveraged to allow them to further explore the network, exfiltrate data, and escalate privileges.

water wears away stone

3.6k - explicit - cw: dysphoria, suicidal ideation

Post-ending. Valentine is back working for Arasaka, but she still secretly makes time for Johnny, who is body-hopping in dolls with Alt's help (and the doll's permission). Things go a little different from usual.

written for @silverv-week :3 (prompt: no-tell motel)

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It’s a rainy day in Night City– a rainy day in a string of rainy days that’s turned streets into spent fuel pools, stripping all the grime off the buildings to collect in the gutter. The whole city smells like a sewer, and inside the bar where Johnny sits waiting he can also smell the moldy bloom of rot. Things are busier than usual, full of gonks looking to drown their sorrows in alcohol instead of floodwater. The space he’s carved out for himself has grown smaller and smaller, his neighbors crowding in around his stool, some of them just looking to get the bartender’s attention and some of them buzzing like flies on meat.

He tries to wave down the bartender for another drink, but another body slides in front of him– some two-bit corpo with a cheap suit just starting his night. There are times when Johnny misses his body more than others, and this is one of them– just the sleazy smile on the other man’s face makes him wish he could rearrange it. But dolls are built for flash, not fire, and his arm is perfectly polished Realskinn, not heavy metal.

“You look too good to be here alone,” the corpo says, “Who’re you waiting for?”

“Waiting for a goddamn drink,” Johnny snaps, setting his empty glass down onto the bar with a heavy thunk.

The man laughs, but it’s a mean superior little laugh. “I can help with that.”

“Fuck off,” Johnny says. “Got a better chance of getting your dick sucked by bending over.”

“Hey, bitch–“ All of the corpo’s charm dissolves into an arrogant sneer. “–you’d better watch how you speak to me.

“Or what?” Johnny asks, leaning in. “You gonna cry to daddy?”

The corpo grabs his arm, and on instinct Johnny throws a quick jab up into his jaw. His head snaps back, but his grip stays strong as he drags Johnny closer and the first set of alarm bells start ringing as he realizes he’s not strong enough to just pull free. “You’re gonna pay for that you cheap fucking whore–“

The asshole is cut off by someone suddenly grabbing his shoulder and punching him in the back of the head so hard he collapses like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the floor with a crash that causes a silence to settle in the bar save for the blare of the television. V stands over his body, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her face, and a slight sneer on her lips. Her chrome left hand is still curled into a tight fist. She rolls the body over with her foot, eyes sparking for a moment before she loses interest and steps over him to join Johnny at the bar.

He always wonders if she’ll recognize him, but she always does. This time is no exception. She smiles at him, in the way that gets his blood pumping even higher, and more importantly, even lower. The corpo she laid out had been drinking something brown– she tosses it back and sets the glass down with a thunk and a contented sigh. Johnny grabs her by the collar to pull her down for a kiss and tastes some kind of sickly sweet brandy on her tongue, hears the drunken laughter of their neighbors at the bar. She pulls away first, letting out a deep breath but keeping her head bowed so their foreheads touch.

“Was starting to think you weren’t coming,” he tells her.

“Had to wait to make my entrance,” she says, darkly amused.

“My own personal knight in shining armor.” He pulls her closer by her belt buckle and hears the smile in her sharp exhale. “You hoof it all the way here from downtown?”

“Got busy–“

They’re interrupted by the groan of the idiot still entangled in between the bar stool legs and V’s feet. She watches impassively as he struggles to pull himself free and then staggers to his feet, holding the back of his head with one hand. His eyes flick to Johnny first, full of rage, but then he meets V’s eyes and decides to cut his losses. A few of the other patrons jeer and laugh as he leaves, entertained by a little run of the mill humiliation. V leans back against the bar and preens, still wearing her corpo arrogance like a second skin as she slides in close enough to touch him.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, you only sucker punched the gonk.” He finally has a chance to wave the bartender down for another drink, more eddies sliding away from his borrowed account. “My grandma could have done it.”

“Your grandma was a mean old drunk with a meaner left hook.” V’s back is still to the bar, her eyes scanning the rest of the crowd, restless with adrenaline. “Family trait.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Johnny asks, suddenly feeling the full force of the alcohol hitting him like a fist to his own skull. “Been sitting on my ass here for hours.”

“Where the hell have I been?” she repeats, mockingly. “I’ve been working at my fucking job. Unlike you I have responsibilities.”

She finally meets his eye, and it’s one of those disorienting moments where he can feel what’s going on underneath the surface just by looking at her– nerves clanging, teeth grinding, skin itching. She’s stuffed to the gills with stims, primed to pick a fight with anyone who rubs her the wrong way, himself included. He hooks his fingers around her belt buckle again, pulling her in close for another kiss. This time she doesn’t try to pull away, but growls into his mouth, fingers digging into his hips.

“Trying to charm me?” she accuses, when they finally break, breathing hard. She pauses. “You look good.”

“I always look good.”

V exhales sharply through her teeth. “Fuck you.”

“Something really got your tighty whities in a twist, huh?” He kisses her cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

Her grip on his hips tightens, her left hand painfully tight. “Don’t try to fucking manage me.”

“Stop being such an uptight corpo bitch.” He tries to kiss her again but she pulls away and he settles for grabbing her by the tie. “Now you want to fight or you want to do something more fun?”

She’s about to argue some more, but before she can think of anything cutting her eyes land on his chest and linger there. He grins and cups his hands under his borrowed set of overflowing tits, and she sighs in irritation. “Don’t know why the hell I put up with you”

They set out into the rain, which has turned into more of a drizzle. He has another reason to hate the shoes he’s strapped into, open toes letting in cold, filthy water. Rosie had offered to give him a quick lesson on heels, and he wishes he’d taken her offer instead of laughing at her. Maybe then she would have agreed to change into something he could actually walk in instead of laughing right back.

He slips and nearly eats shit, V catching his arm and holding him upright. She stifles her laughter, but he knows she’s suppressing a grin. “Where the hell are we going?”

“Close,” he says, righting himself and gestures with his chin to where the bright sign of the No-Tell gleams brightly in the gray mist.

“Fuck, I hate that place.”

“You got a better idea?”

The corner of her mouth creases into a deep frown along with her furrowed brow. It’s charming, although he’d never be stupid enough to tell her, at least not while she’s got a whole foot on him.

“You always take me to the shittiest places,” she says, in such a sweetly saccharine tone that he nearly falls over laughing again before she yanks him back into motion.

The inside of the motel is more crowded than usual, humid smoke saturating the lobby, separated into two groups of people: those avoiding eye contact and those trying to catch attention to sell a little comfort. A few of the latter give Johnny a professional sneer– he’s the wrong class of whore for this neighborhood. V heads straight for the kiosk, not even pausing before she’s pulled out her knife and starts prying off a side panel. It doesn’t take her long to pull it free, and there’s a warp to the metal that suggests she’s far from the first to do so.

“You’ve got the eddies, just pay for it,” he says, freeing his left foot and putting his bare foot down on the floor with a sigh of relief. Prosthetics have gotten much better than he remembers. He can feel every detail of thin, crusty carpet covering concrete underfoot, but at least he doesn’t have to worry about tetanus. And it’s better than being hobbled.

“I am not paying for a room in the motel where I got shot in the head,” V mutters, already recalling her personal link into her wrist with a snap.

He grunts, prying off the right heel and throwing it down next to the other one. “Should qualify you for some sort of discount, at least.”

She turns to look at him and wrinkles her nose. “This floor is filthy.”

“You sound like that old ronin.”

The look she gives him in response is fit to kill. She bends to snatch up his discarded shoes with one step and scoops him up in the next, grunting as she adjusts him in her arms.

“Alright, princess. Your tower awaits.”

“Easy there, tiger, you’re going to throw out your back,” he says. It’s not so bad, getting carried around. Closest he usually got to this kind of thing was crowd surfing, but with this, there’s only one set of hands feeling him up. He leans into V’s neck and kisses her over her pulse point, provoking a sound that is halfway between a laugh and a growl.

“Next time you do all the lifting,” she grumbles, shifting him in her grip as she waves her hand over the lock and then shoulders the door open.

Johnny’s been thrown around plenty of times, but there’s something different about it when his back is on the mattress and he’s looking up at someone he couldn’t wrestle his way out from under. He doesn’t always miss his arm, but he misses it now, feels naked without it. V isn’t even looking at him, eyes scanning the room with a frown, annoyed by the mess, or the memory of the place, or maybe both.

“Hey,” he says, interrupting her train of thought. “Eyes on the prize. I can’t tell, are you supposed to be Prince Charming or the dragon?”

She grins, pleased as a cat with the cream on both comparisons. “Which do you prefer?”

He moves to the edge of the bed, annoyed by the way his dress restricts his movement, but equally gratified by the way it draws her attention. When he’s in some chump with nice hands she wants to fight. When he’s in some chick who can barely see over the counter she wants him to tell her what to do. If he points that out she’ll probably try and strangle him.

“C’mere,” he says, tugging her closer by the belt.

He’s been on the other side too many times to count, so he knows what it means when she moves in close, suddenly quiet with concentration. As eager as any gonk to get her rocks off. She takes one look at his face and exhales sharply, turning away in embarrassment.

“Found your weakness,” he says, undoing her buckle and her pants, lifting up the only dry part of her shirt. She inhales as he kisses the soft part of her stomach. “Is it the tits, or the fact you can finally throw me around?”

V scoffs, hands making short work of the buttons of her shirt. “It’s definitely not your sterling personality.”

“Ouch,” he pretends to be wounded, slipping his hands around her hips and squeezing her ass. “Personality is all I’ve got left.”

“Fake it til you make it.”

She finishes unbuttoning her shirt and he helps her peel it off her skin, grinning as she tenses her stomach. After she’s ditched her shoes and pants she slides in behind him on the mattress, pulling him back into her lap and rucking up the skirt of his dress until she can spread his knees on the outside of her own. A small part of him wants to protest, but he can hardly think over the chaotic struggle of shame and lust he feels at being exposed, at being feminine and weak, and at feeling V solid behind him, knowing that there’s no part of him she could ever look at in disgust. It’s been lurking around here and there, but now it’s got him by the throat, and everything is wrong.

“Okay?” V asks, one reassuring hand on his thigh and the other– her chrome hand, tracing gentle circles around his collarbones. Her breathing is steady, and he matches himself to that. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“Fine,” he snaps, reaching back to grip the back of her neck in one hand. She shivers at the contact and for some reason makes the tension in his stomach dissolve. He doesn’t have to explain anything to her. “Fine.”

V hums, leaning back so she can loosen the zipper to the dress. “You know this gives me an opportunity to teach you a thing or two?”

“Oh yeah? About what?”

Her damp skin sticks to his as she pulls him close to her chest again, the fabric of the dress suddenly pushing away from his tits, the slack enough to give a well positioned observer something extra, or to let a hand slip in. V finds a nipple and pinches, and Johnny goes from observer to specimen, the brief moment of pain mixed with pleasure, branching out from his core. He wants her hands all over him, to let her devour him whole.

“Fuck,” he says, and doesn’t even care that it doesn’t sound like his voice. “Get this thing off me. See what other things your mouth can do besides talking big.”

She’s happy to oblige, stripping him down with practiced ease. The best thing about V is she never asks any unnecessary questions, shows not the barest interest in why he’s in this body and yet seems to have a preternatural sense for the brief moments of discomfort that bubble up while she’s mapping him from toe to tip with her palms. The exercise is as much for her as it is for him, but he relaxes anyway, the sensation of her gently squeezing his tits going from strange to good in a way that still feels fragile.

He’s not prepared for how easily she lifts him so his legs are hooked over her shoulders, how vulnerable it feels to have her breath warm in sensitive places, how different it is from how it was with Kerry, when he was inside her in a different way. Then she puts her mouth on him and his only concern is chasing the high, abandoning all concerns about self to focus on her tongue and the bruising grip of her hands.

The alcohol works against him but still, he comes spectacularly, bucking and writhing. No sooner does she gently lower him down then she’s right back at it, the shock of her fingers sliding into him offset by the gentle kisses she feathers around his sensitive clit. He can’t think of anything except the way she alternates between rhythmic thrusting and the fluttering of her fingers, until she’s got him again– this time the pleasure not constrained to a single peak but a long wave, crashing over him until she deposits him back again into the sweaty nest of sheets that have somehow wrapped around his arms.

While he’s still enjoying the afterglow, she curls up against him with her face in his chest, and is almost immediately out like a light. She doesn’t stir. Not when he rests his hand on the back of her neck, or when he makes one feeble attempt to reach his cigarettes– almost a whole foot out of reach and taunting him where the pack sits in a pile of discarded clothing at the edge of the bed.

He holds out for another five or ten minutes, and then has to wriggle out from under her to take a piss. When he returns he finds her sprawled in the space he’s left behind, breathing slow and even, but not quite yet unconscious.

“How’s the crash?” he asks, and receives a grunt in response. “Didn’t even give me a chance to return the favor.”

“I don’t care.” She cracks open one eye and then closes it. “Rather sleep on your tits.”

He snags his cigs and lighter before laying down next to her, and she drags him closer and makes herself comfortable without ever opening her eyes. She even lets out a little sigh, like a dog settling in for a nap, grumbling when his laughter makes for an unsteady pillow.

“If you were so tired you could have said so,” he tells her, running fingers through her hair with one hand while he pulls out a cigarette with his teeth.

“Why?”

He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, fiddling with it a bit. “I mean you could have canceled.”

Her head shoots up at the sound of his lighter, and before he can defend himself she’s snatched the cigarette from his lips. “No smoking in bed.”

“The hell do you mean, no smoking in bed?”

“It’s disgusting.”

“I guarantee a lot more disgusting things have been done on this bed.” He gestures to the cig with his chin. “C’mon, this ain’t exactly the Konpeki.”

V frowns at him so deeply he thinks she’s going to toss the cigarette to the side, but eventually she places it back in his mouth. There’s a certain amount of huffiness in the way she nuzzles back against him that means he’s going to be hearing about this again. She searches blindly for his free hand, and laces her fingers into his.

“I didn’t want to cancel,” she mumbles.

Johnny realizes too late there’s no ash tray. He flicks ash onto the comforter and watches the fibers melt into each other, and then stubs it out entirely. “Miss me, huh?”

She really must be exhausted, because for once V doesn’t deflect. “Yeah.”

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, and Johnny traces circles along V’s neck and spine, his craving for nicotine replaced by a feeling akin the way he used to lay awake at night and try to imagine metal and plastic was really flesh and bone. This body is as good as any other body because it isn’t his. This body is as worse as any other body because it isn’t V. Just another interchangeable part.

“Who knew we’d miss the good old days?” he asks.

V props herself up on her elbow so she can look in his direction, although her eyes are fixated somewhere over his shoulder. “I still talk to you. It’s not you, obviously, I don’t see you or hear you or anything.”

“You never let me win an argument,” he says, and it feels good to see her real smile, and not the one she uses to cover up something else.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she says. “One of these days I’m going to get sloppy. I feel like I’m falling apart, Johnny. I wish you’d just let me die.”

“Jesus, V–“ He sits up, but she doesn’t move a muscle, staring blindly forward with her teeth gritted. She’s trying not to cry. “What is it?”

Her mouth thins into a flat smile, and she wipes at her cheek. “Nothing. I’m just tired. Haven’t slept in…” Her expression goes blank, silently calculating. “I don’t know. Since Wednesday.”

In another few hours it will be Saturday. She does look exhausted, awake only through sheer iron will, the circles under her eyes darker than usual. She looks miserable too, in a way he hasn’t seen since he was inside her head. It’s her fault, walking right back into that fucking snake nest, too chickenshit to accept actual freedom.

“Go to sleep,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her. She sighs, leaning her forehead against his. “Got these huge cans, might as well put them to use.”

She chuckles, then clears her throat. “They are pretty great.” Her metal fingers are cool against his skin, light and tender before she pulls away. She bows her head, shifting so she can press a kiss where her hand was. “Going to keep them in the rotation?”

“Nah.” He threads his fingers through hers again as she settles back down to use him as a pillow. “Think you got the right idea about them. Besides, I miss the old bait and tackle.”

“You and your goddamn dick,” she grumbles.

“Jealous, huh?” He pets her hair, tracing the shell of her ear with his fingers. “Don’t have to keep doing this, you know. Could leave all that shit behind and live your life without some jackass telling you what to wear and what to eat and when to sleep.”

She sighs, but there’s not even a grumble of argument. No stubborn noises about her job being a part of her, what she’s good at, what she wants. He idly rubs his thumb over the small fine hairs at the base of her neck. He knows her inside and out better than anyone, and a lack of an answer is as good as confession. Between one minute and the next he feels her go slack, while he lays looking up at the slowly growing stain in the ceiling. Another day of rain like this and it’ll split open.

[ivpapaemeritusiv]

Chapter 4: Wanna Bewitch You In The Moonlight

Summary: In this chapter the former Cardinal finally meets someone he thinks he can spend the rest of his days with. Of course, she doesn't know the entirety of his intentions with her, but she is all too happy to accompany him on the rest of his tour.

Word Count 7k

There is smut in this chapter between Papa Emeritus IV and the female character. There are light sub/dom undertones in the scene.

Translations:

Il tuo corpo si sente così bene contro di me = Your body feels so good against me

With just seven shows left, Papa IV hadn’t yet found anyone that he could have a child with much less spend the rest of his days and after life with. He was growing frustrated. He would be letting down the Clergy and Sister Imperator if he returned with nobody, not to mention he’d be expendable. And even if he did find somebody, in the back of his mind he would ask himself questions like, “What if they don’t want to enter into this agreement?” It was a huge sacrifice after all, to leave behind a life to create a new one with somebody one didn’t know—somebody with a very unconventional lifestyle at that. It wasn’t ideal to have one’s sole purpose in a relationship be to have a child. “What if they only wanted to sleep with him?” He was, as sister had said, a famous rock star. Finding even one person was proving to be complicated but if he found somebody that didn’t want to share his responsibilities and only wanted cheap thrills, he would have to do it all over again.

The band was to play in Tampa Florida at the Credit Union Amphitheatre for this particular show. He kept telling himself this had to be the night; that he could not continue on like this. He had to find somebody even if he did not like them. He could not go home empty handed.

*

Addeline set her mic down on the stool in front of her and took a graceful bow as the audience erupted into applause. She quickly dashed off the stage towards the bar, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. Reaching the bar, she banged her hand down twice to grab the bartender's attention.

"What will it be, Addy?"

"I think I need a shot of Jose Cuervo for this night, John. Thanks!" she replied, her voice tinged with excitement.

As she waited for her drink, Addy felt a hand gently grab her from behind. She spun around to see who it was, her heart racing.

"That was beautiful, Addy."

"Thanks, Ellie," she murmured, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"I wish I had some hidden talent. I think your singing is going to take you somewhere someday."

Addeline covered her face to hide her bashful smile. Her friend Ellenore had always been her biggest fan. For years, Addeline had been making ends meet singing at special occasions: weddings, bah mitzvahs, parties and bars. It was enough to survive on, but she was tired of the monotony.

A small glass landed on the bar with a soft clink, a few drops of the amber liquid spilling over as John pushed the shot glass her way.

"Here you go, Darlin'. One Jose Cuervo!"

"What are you doing? Drinking? Before the show?" Ellenore asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

Addeline breathed in the sharp tang of the tequila before gulping it down, her face souring at its strong taste. She placed the shot glass upside down onto the bar and yelled out, "John, we're out! We've got that concert to catch!"

Addeline was a 28-year-old woman who lived in the bustling heart of the city. With a bachelor's degree in Theatre Arts, she split her time between working part-time at a lively bar and immersing herself in her true passions: acting and singing. The city lights once mirrored her dreams of making it big, but over time, those dreams had dimmed. Now, she found solace in the simple satisfaction of paying her bills each month.

Yet, a yearning for more simmered beneath the surface. Ellenore, her ever-enthusiastic friend, constantly urged her to step out of her comfort zone, to try something new, to seize the spotlight she so deserved. Ellenore saw the brilliance in Addy's talent and couldn't bear to see her settle for anything less than extraordinary.

"You have the tickets, right?"

"Calm down, Ellie, they're in my..."

"They're in your what? In your what, Addy?"

"Ellenore, Jesus, they're in my phone. I'm just trying to..."

Addeline struggled to get the pages on her phone to load due to poor signal. Her fingers danced over the screen, frustration evident in her furrowed brow. After what felt like an eternity, the tickets finally appeared on the screen. "There! There they are!" she exclaimed, thrusting the phone towards Ellenore. Ellenore's tense shoulders relaxed, and she breathed a sigh of relief, her anxiety attack beginning to subside.

"I can't believe we're going to see Ghost!" Ellie exclaimed in a shrill voice, practically bouncing in her seat.

"No," Addy corrected with a mischievous grin, "We're going to meet Ghost. I've got us VIP meet and greet tickets."

"SHIT! You didn't tell me that, Adds! Please don't be kidding me right now! You're kidding, right?" Ellie’s eyes widened in disbelief as she gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Addeline laughed at her spastic friend, the sound light and teasing. "Keep your eyes on the road, Ellie. No, I'm not kidding. We're going to meet Papa Emeritus after the show."

Ellenore continued driving, her excitement bubbling over as she ranted on about how thrilled she was for the tour. The car was filled with her animated chatter, and Addy couldn't help but join in. Both girls were die-hard Ghost fans, and this would be their first ritual, making the anticipation even sweeter.

"You've got the other tickets too, right?" Ellie asked, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Ellie, have some faith in me. Of course I have them," Addy replied, her tone reassuring. "They aren't all VIP, but I had to go all out for this first show. Our bags are packed, the car is gassed up, and the hotels are booked. We're all set for this road trip!"

Ellie glanced over at Addy, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "This is going to be the best trip ever. I can't believe we're finally doing this."

Addy smiled, feeling the same rush of excitement. "I know, right? It's going to be unforgettable."

The girls pulled up at the Credit Union Amphitheatre, the parking lot teeming with cars and buzzing with excitement. "God, I hope we get a good spot in the pit," Ellie breathed, her voice laced with anticipation and a hint of worry. She wished they had arrived earlier to secure a prime spot.

"I mean... what did you want from me? I had to work. I got off as soon as I could.”

"I know, I know," Ellie said, her anxiousness giving way to urgency. "Let's just hurry up and get in there!"

With adrenaline fueling their steps, the girls sprinted toward the venue, their faces lit up with eager smiles. They navigated through the throngs of concert-goers and finally entered the amphitheater, making a beeline for the pit.

"This isn't so bad," Addy stated, surveying the area with relief. "This is like, literally the third row. You panicked for nothing."

Ellie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. They were over the moon as they waited for Impera to play, the anticipation electrifying the air and signaling the start of an unforgettable show.

*

The show kicked off just like any other night. He dashed out onto the stage, belted out three songs, and then delved into his heartfelt Papa speech. And that's when it happened. In the midst of the crowd, three rows deep, stood a young woman in her late twenties. The way she looked was truly captivating. Her long, black hair paired with the dark mesh dress she wore, all seemed to complement her deep, cavernous eyes. Those eyes were so dark that he could barely make out her pupils. He found her mesmerizing, with a unique and ethereal beauty, delicate features, fair skin, and eyes that held him spellbound. He couldn't help but think that she would give him beautiful babies.

He saw her fully immerse herself in the music, singing, dancing, and truly feeling the essence of his songs. Witnessing her emotional response, reaching out to him, shedding tears of excitement as the music touched her deeply, he couldn't help but be drawn to her. Their connection seemed to transcend the stage, as he locked eyes with her, communicating through the power of his songs. She ciriced him.

As the show came to a close with the customary three encores and the final exit, he couldn't shake off the sadness at the thought of never seeing the woman again. His ghoul, Swiss, picked up on his emotions and inquired, "What's wrong with you, Cardinal?"

Dismissing the concern, he replied, "It's nothing," choosing not to delve into his inner thoughts with anyone.

“Well, shake it off, pops!” Swiss addressed his leader informally, “We’ve got to do this meet and greet and your smile sucks right now.”

Papa Emeritus was ushered to a place at the venue specifically set up to meet and greet his fans. It was a chance for them to meet their favorite artist up close and personal or as sister would say, “A chance to win over minions for their ultimate domination.”

Everybody stood in line for a brief one-on-one interaction with Papa, all excited to chat, take photos, get autographs, and share a quick hug or handshake.

He found himself unable to concentrate. The young lady he had spotted in the audience occupied his thoughts entirely. Maybe she is still here, he pondered, perhaps I can find her.

The anticipation grew quickly as he hurried to get through his autographs and pictures. He always enjoyed meeting his fans and he did not want to rush things but tonight he didn’t want to let fate slip through his fingers. Then, as fate would have it, out of the corner of his eye he saw the familiar face in line. He couldn't help but feel a jolt of excitement as he noticed her, the girl who had been on his mind, appearing unexpectedly in his line of sight.

As she drew nearer to him, his nerves intensified, unsure of what words to say to her. After bidding farewell to a fan, it was finally her turn. Standing face to face with her, all he could manage was a timid, "Hello."

She blushed a deep shade of red, exclaiming, "Oh my God," as if she were choking on invisible words. With one hand covering her mouth and the other extended for a handshake, she stammered, "Hello! I'm so sorry, I'm just—I can't believe I'm actually here, meeting you."

“No need to apologize,” Papa Emeritus said. “Thank you for coming out tonight. Did you enjoy the show?”

“Are you kidding me?” she chuckled, “It was the best night of my life. I have tickets to the next two shows in Texas too.”

If it weren’t for Papa’s white painted face, he too would be showing an unnatural shade of red, “Three shows?” He repeated, elated at the revelation, “Well, I’ll be very happy to see you return.”

“Can I hug you?” she asked.

In that moment, he almost felt like he should be seeking her permission before making any move to touch her. He was so taken aback by her presence that he momentarily forgot his status as a rock star.

“Absolutely, my dear,” he responded, giving the young lady a tight embrace. She felt so good, so warm and soft. He could feel her breasts on his chest, and he had to calm himself before it became noticeable to the rest of the crowd how excited he’d become.

"Look at the camera, my dear," he gently directed her gaze towards the photographer. She moved closer to him, putting her arm around him. Following suit, he mimicked her actions, and with a flash, the moment was captured in a photograph. “What is your name young lady?”

“I’m Addeline.”

Addeline. Beautiful he thought.

“Addy, actually. People call me Addy. I guess Addeline is too hard to say.”

Papa stared into her eyes awkwardly, “I love Addeline,” he said stoically.

“Really?” the woman asked, “I didn’t pick it, you know? It wouldn’t have been my first choice.”

He laughed at her attempted joke.

“Listen, Addeline, I need to meet the other fans.”

“Of course,” she stated, embarrassed that perhaps she had overstayed her welcome, “This has been amazing, and it has been the greatest pleasure of my life to meet you.”

“Well, now don’t rush off,” he picked up on her anxiety and quickly tried to put her at ease once more, “Who did you come here with?”

The question caught the woman by surprise, “I came here with my friend. She’s behind me in line,” Addeline pointed to a companion.

“I see,” the Cardinal was amused, “How do you feel about staying after the meet and greet?”

“Stay?” she repeated, “Yes, I can stay…” she trailed off in her thoughts, “Stay for what?”

Copia laughed, “For me, of course,” he chuckled.

She had to pinch herself to believe it. Did Papa Emeritus really just invite her to hang out?

“Yes,” she quickly said, still very unsure of what just happened.

“Very well,” Papa continued, “You can mingle with my ghouls until I’m ready for you then.”

He signaled for Swiss to approach, and he whispered something in the musician’s ear, “Escort her to the tour bus once everyone is gone,” he instructed.

This received a nod from the multi-ghoul. With those words Addy was swept away by the man in costume and Papa was left to finish meeting his other fans.

*

Papa was waiting inside of the tour bus. The meet and greet had ended nearly 20 minutes ago. He became worried, thinking that Addeline might have changed her mind. No, he thought, remember what Sister said. You’re a rock star. You have charisma. A knock on the door interrupted his pep talk.

“Come in,” he announced with confidence but also excitement.

Swiss’s hand pushed Addy through the bus’s door. She seemed very nervous—a bit more timid than when he met her the first time.

“Come in, come in,” said Papa.

She smiled and slowly walked further inside. He walked up to her, extending out his hand. She went in for a hug, but when the Cardinal tried to reciprocate, she switched to a handshake. He ended up awkwardly patting her on the head instead.

“I’m glad you came,” he disclosed.

“I’m just… really a big fan,” she said, “I’m so happy to be here. Honored really. There’s no way in hell I wouldn’t have come.”

“Honored?” Copia repeated, “Yes, well… well thank you. It’s always nice to see our work well received,” he wanted to get to the point, but he didn’t want to scare her away. He gazed up, searching for a conservative way to present the Clergy’s idea, “Addeline?”

“Yes?” she responded.

“The reason I wanted to see you tonight is because I’m hoping you’ll do something for me—a sacrifice if you will?” The dominance he projected on stage quickly began to dissipate and the awkwardness of his everyday personality began to surface.

“Sacrifice?” she repeated, “Are you going to kill me or something,” She laughed.

The hysterical way in which she laughed at her own jokes reminded him so much of Papa Nihil. But it was endearing coming from the girl, much more so than when Nihil did it.

He adjusted his wording to better suit the mood, “I have a task for you?”

“Ok…” the girl responded, unsure of what the man was speaking of.

“It’s a ‘big’ task,” he emphasized the word, hoping she would catch on.

Still quite confused, Addeline asked, “What kind of task?” Maintaining unbroken eye contact, he unfastened his belt, leaving it slightly loose so that the strap gracefully draped over his pant leg.

Addy’s eyes widened in astonishment as she found herself taken aback by how forward he had suddenly become. It was a surprising turn of events that caught her off guard.

Copia waited for another response, but the girl just stood there staring at his undone belt buckle. He began to wonder if he had made the right decision.

After some time had passed, she asked, “How big is the task?”

Understanding what she was asking, Papa pulled his pants down over his thighs to present a very sizable appendage. Addy couldn’t help but cover her gaping mouth with her hand, trying to contain her surprise.

Seeing the girl startle so easily, he asked with some hesitation, “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

"I… I was in a relationship a couple of years ago,” she revealed. “He was the only one I've ever...” she shook her head, becoming quite embarrassed at her own lack of experience. "I'm afraid I'm out of practice."

He took a step towards her, “Don’t be ashamed, dear. There is nothing wrong with needing to be taught.”

He continued his steady strides towards her, embracing her loosely, "Is this, okay?” he asked, holding her tightly against his body.

She continued to nod nervously, understanding that he must have been collecting a woman from each city he toured. She just happened to be the one for tonight and she was fine with that. She stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Just try not to hurt me.”

Papa found the request odd, “Hurt you?” he repeated. He then noticed that Addy was 5’1 and no more than 100 pounds, while he stood at 6 feet tall, towering over the petite woman.

“Ah,” he thought out loud, “I see. Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

“Traffic light system?” She shook her head, having never heard of such a thing.

“They’re safe words. Green is go, yellow means to slow down a bit and then red is a full stop.”

She pursed her lips, “Are you going to do some fifty shades of gray type of shit to me?”

It was the Cardinal’s turn to laugh although he had a feeling that she was being quite serious, “Don’t fret. If you say red, I will stop whatever I’m doing,” he promised, “What are your limits, my dear? What don’t you like?”

Addy couldn’t believe the situation she found herself in. As a fangirl she had always fantasized about sleeping with Papa Emeritus, but she never dreamed it would ever be a reality. Now, he was standing in front of her, telling her that she needed special words to stay safe during sex. She found herself a bit frightened at the thought. "I… I don’t know,” She admitted.

She began to think so hard that the Cardinal finally had to intervene, “Why don’t we just get started and then if you don’t like something, you tell me.”

She stared at him, unable to answer his question. Papa began to kiss the young woman which she reciprocated, feeling a heat rising inside of her that was almost too hot to control. She couldn’t believe that she was about ready to sleep with the frontman of Ghost.

“You might get face paint on that pretty face,” he joked.

She laughed awkwardly, not knowing how to respond.

She held her arms up over her head and allowed him to slip her dress off. She felt the soft fabric glide over her skin before she heard it make a soft thump on the floor. He slid her underwear down her legs, causing her to shiver from the drafty air of the tour bus.

A bit embarrassed at being naked in front of a stranger, she covered her bare breasts. He found her bashfulness so endearing.

“If you need to yell out my name, you will call me, ‘Papa’,” he said to her, “to you, I will always be Papa.”

He wanted to establish this immediately. He thought about how Sister refused to call him ‘Papa’ because it was the name that she called her former lover. But to Addy, he would forever be Papa.

"Why would I need to yell your name?" she naively asked.

"Trust me," he growled with arrogance, "You will be screaming my name, dear."

The Cardinal took a firm grip on Addeline’s waist and walked forward with the woman until the back of her legs hit the edge of a small bed at the far end of the bus. Not having anywhere else to go, she fell backwards onto the mattress. Copia crawled onto the bed forcing her to use her elbows to scoot back—like an inverted army crawl. Her legs fell open as he settled between them. She winced as he slid two fingers inside of her, “You’re very sensitive,” he said. “Let’s see if you’re ready for me.”

He began to twirl his fingers around, dragging out quiet moans from her throat, “I…” she tried to speak.

“You’re already sopping wet,” he purred, “You’re definitely ready for me.”

She jumped as she felt the tip of him touching her and he could sense her nervousness, “Wait!” She whispered.

“I’ll go in halfway at first,” he knew that she was worried about him being too big so he wanted to reassure her that he would not hurt her—much.

She agreed, biting her bottom lip in anticipation. He slid into her, causing her to moan a bit louder, “Not so bad, eh?” he whispered in her ear. She writhed beneath him. One of her hands rested on his back and the other on her own ribcage. She innocently dug into both simultaneously.

The Cardinal felt her tunnel into his spinal cord, and he noticed a small amount of blood under her fingernails when he looked at her chest. Wanting to prevent her from hurting herself further, he took her hand—the one she was using to unknowingly mutilate her body—and he placed it upon his back.

“Color?” he asked.

“Green,” she responded.

Copia smiled as he began to rock back and forth, slowly at first. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. He placed his hands underneath her neck and harshly grabbed a handful of her hair to pin her head down on the bed, “You don’t get to cum until I say so, understand?”

She nodded the best she could, “Yes, Papa.”

His words alone were enough to bring her to a climax. It was going to be difficult to obey this request.

As he moved, his lips brushed against the delicate skin around her neck, leaving a tantalizing trail of black and white paint in their wake. Each kiss ignited a tingling sensation that danced along her spine, the contrast of the face paint against her pale skin creating a mesmerizing pattern. She felt the warmth of his breath, the gentle pressure of his painted lips, and the coolness of the air where his kisses had been. Her heartbeat quickened with each touch; her senses heightened by the intimate connection.

He observed the girl closely, fearing she might finish too soon, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Ignoring his words, she closed her eyes and let herself drift off. She felt as though she was in a fog. She must have been in it for a long time because she could faintly hear the man calling her name. Even though he was right there, he sounded so far away—his voice seemed to transcend the physical space.

“Addy? Darling? Look at me.” His hands were gentle on her face making it easy for her to pry her eyes open and sweetly gaze back at him.

Copia stopped his movements and pulled out of her.

“NO!” Addy yelled, leaping up from the bed.

She was quickly met with the oppressive force of the Cardinal’s grasp around her neck. He hurled her back down, holding her there in his grip like a prisoner in chains. It would have scared her had she not been so turned on. He brought his face close to hers and sinisterly repeated her own words back to her, “No?”

Unable to move, she cried out, “Please don’t stop! Please! Keep going, Papa!”

“Who knew you could beg so sweetly,” he breathed down the nape of her neck. “No, it’s too soon. You haven’t even had all of me yet.”

In her bliss she forgot that Papa had only gone halfway into her. She shuddered at the thought.

“Addy?”

“Yes?” she answered.

“I’m going to push myself deep inside of you now. What’s your color?”

“Green,” she did not hesitate, “Definitely green.”

He gave her a wicked grin before plunging himself into her until no more of him could be seen. He gave her a moment to adapt before he started rocking his hips again. Slow and lazy at first and then gradually faster and harder. She began to feel a sharp pain as he swiftly and continuously hit against her insides, “Yellow!” she screamed, curling her toes inward, digging deeply into the Cardinal’s back again.

Immediately, Copia slowed his pace. Had she not said anything, the stings he felt on his back would have told him her colors were changing.

“Good girl,” he said, “Using your words so well.”

With his free hand he reached down to tickle her sensitive spots. She relaxed once more and began to tumble towards the edge at the touch of his fingertips. She felt herself about to explode and she couldn’t hold it in anymore, “Papa!” she shouted.

“Sì, Tesoro?”

“I need to cum. Can I please cum?”

He didn’t say anything at first. He wanted to see her beg some more.

“Papa, please!” She pleaded so fervently, her desperation reaching such a height that tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

He looked down upon her. He could see she was trying her best to hold off. The way she obeyed him was a real turn on and almost sent him to his pinnacle as well, “What are you about to do?”

“I’m gonna cum,” she whined.

“Then cum, darling,” he granted her permission that brought her immense relief.

Copia sped up his pace once again, tipping her over that edge into a powerful orgasm. "Il tuo corpo si sente così bene contro di me," he yelled, as he fucked her through it, sending her back into that fog she had found herself out of once already. Her body tensed up and she yelled out his name.

Over and over again she yelled for him, riding the wave of pleasure until it settled. Feeling the effects of her walls constricting around his member, Copia too followed shortly after, spilling every last drop of himself into her. When it was over he let himself fall on the mattress next to her. They laid there in silence trying their best to catch their breath.

He looked upon the girl, now adorned with the paint that once graced his own face, "Così bella."

After a few minutes, once they both had time to compose themselves, the Cardinal stood up and began to get dressed.

“How do you feel?” he asked, as he put his pants on.

Addy sighed, “Tired.”

“Tired, eh? Did I bore you?”

She laughed, “I think what I’m trying to say is you wore me out.”

This revelation left him with a smile. A passing idea ran through his mind, and he wanted to share it with the young lady before she left for the night, “Listen… Addeline. I uh, I would like to see you again.”

“Really?” she said, jumping from the bed.

“Mm hm,” Papa responded, very sure of himself.

She was confused. In her mind this was a one-night thing. She knew he would be leaving for another show, and she assumed that the next night he would be whispering into somebody else’s ear, holding somebody else down, fucking somebody else the way that he had just fucked her.

“Well, aren’t you still in the middle of a tour?”

“I am, yes. Don’t you have tickets to the next few shows?”

Addy turned red and let out a playful giggle, “Yea, my girlfriend and I are going to make a road trip out of it.”

She had no objections of course to seeing him again. She was already head over heels for him, even before they met—or at least infatuated.

“Come find me at the next show,” he said with a smug grin, “You can tell my crew you’re with the band.”

She laughed, “But, why?” her laughs dissipated into a more sincere chuckle, “Why do you want to see me again?”

“Because it’s lonely on the road.”

“But you can just find a woman at the next stop.”

“I could, yes. That is true. But what fun is that? Do you know how many people I meet every time I go on tour?”

Addy listened carefully. It almost felt as though Papa was venting now instead of answering her question.

“I meet thousands. I can’t connect with somebody new every time. It’s exhausting.”

She nodded, letting him know that she was not only listening but also understood completely.

“Besides,” he joked, “I already know how to get you off.”

She laughed hysterically, feeling a mix of amusement and slight embarrassment.

“Maybe after your road trip you could accompany me for the rest of the tour?”

Addy was speechless. The Cardinal went from asking if he could see her again to now asking her to join him for the remainder of his tour.

“You really want me to come with you?”

“I do. I would very much like that, yes. Do you have any responsibilities you need to tend to? Any arrangements you need to make?”

The woman thought, but not for too long, “I have a one-bedroom apartment in the city and a dead-end job that I would be happy to get fired from if it meant going to more Ghost concerts!”

He laughed quietly, “It is settled then. So, why don’t you go home and pack your things.”

“How will I find you in The Woodlands?” She couldn’t believe her luck and wanted to ensure his sincerity. Before leaving the bus, she needed a clear and solid plan in place.

“That ghoul that brought you to me,” he referenced Swiss, “the multi-ghoul” everyone called him, known for his ability to play the guitar, sing backing vocals and play the tambourine—like a Swiss army knife he could do it all. “Go find him outside. He will give you a crew badge which will get you on our tour bus no questions asked.”

The Cardinal spoke as though he were from another time—the Renaissance perhaps? Addy almost wondered if he was the reincarnation of an older Papa.

“Wow,” she exclaimed, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say, okay,” Copia urged her.

“Okay! Great!” She quickly dressed and stumbled backwards out of the bus still talking, “I’ll see you in Texas!” She was as giddy as a balloon filled with helium, floating and bobbing with pure delight.

The Cardinal steered her to the door, ensuring she didn’t trip over herself and playfully nudged her outside.

Addeline tiptoed off the bus, her steps light and purposeful as she made her way to Swiss. His eyes lit up with amusement the moment he saw her, and he couldn't help but laugh softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"What?" she asked, her own laughter bubbling up in response to his.

"Nothing," Swiss replied, his voice tinged with humor. They walked side by side, the night air cool around them. "You uh... doing some cosplay tonight or...?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Addeline felt her cheeks flush, realizing he was referring to the face paint that Papa had transferred onto her.

"Tell me," The ghoul continued, his tone playful, "Is the old man any good?"

Addeline turned sharply to look at him, her initial embarrassment melting away as she saw his wide grin. She couldn't help but smile back. "None of your business," she retorted, grabbing his hand with a playful defiance. She flipped his large hand over and began to write her number into his palm, the ink standing out starkly against his skin. "Make sure Papa Emeritus gets this, please."

Swiss nodded, a smirk playing on his lips as he recoiled his hand into his abdomen. "Will do, Miss Addy. Stay safe now." His voice was warm, a hint of affection beneath the teasing.

"Oh, I'm supposed to get a crew badge from you."

"Take mine," he said, pulling a small card out of his pocket and handing it to her. "Be careful with it."

She accepted the badge from the man and began to walk away, a smile spreading across her face as she reflected on how the night's events had unfolded.

Swiss turned to walk back toward the bus, his footsteps echoing softly in the night. He glanced back once, just in time to see Addeline disappearing from his sight, her figure blending into the shadows. A small smile lingered on his lips as he thought about their playful exchange.

He entered the tour bus and sat down at a small table where Papa Emeritus was sitting. The table was cluttered with papers and empty soda bottles. Copia looked up, his eyes curious, "Did you get it?"

Swiss nodded, a smirk on his face as he opened his palm to reveal the number. "Mission accomplished," he said with a wink. "Maybe I'll call her."

Papa grabbed the ghoul's hand so forcefully that it faltered. "Give me that," he bit out, his tone sharp as he began to copy the number onto a piece of paper.

The ghoul winced slightly but couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. "Easy there, Papa. It's just a number," he teased, watching as Papa meticulously wrote down each digit.

Copia pinched the bridge of his nose as though he had a headache. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and he let out a deep sigh, “She’ll be meeting us at the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion. Be on the look out for her when we arrive there.”

He was hopeful about the future but apprehensive at the same time. Is she the one? He wondered to himself. Only time would reveal the answer.

*

Addy stumbled out of view to find her friend Ellie waiting for her inside the venue, sipping on a drink. "Well, there you are," she said with some annoyance. "So, are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to guess?"

Like a drunken bar goer, Addy sloppily sat down next to her friend, giggling so hard that she couldn't breathe.

"Addy, what is it?" Ellie began to chuckle at her friend's silly behavior. "Oh my God. I know that look. You got laid, didn't you? He fucked you!"

Addy sucked in both of her lips and let a contorted smile creep up her face as her eyes looked to the ceiling.

Ellie pushed her friend, sending her out of the chair and onto the floor. "You did! You fucked him! Oh my God!"

Addy was laughing hysterically, trying to pick herself up from off the ground. "Ellie, you won't believe this."

"Tell me!"

"We, you and me, are going to meet them at the next concert."

Ellie spit out her drink and slammed it onto the table. "Addeline, don't fuck with me. It's not nice. Are you fucking with me?"

Addy continued to laugh as Ellie struggled to process the information. "WE'RE MEETING THEM AT THE NEXT SHOW?" She was yelling now.

"Yes, Ellie! Stop yelling, my God."

Ellie collected herself and her belongings and placed a hand around her friend. "You might be getting that big break, Adds."

"I think he just wants to play around. He said touring made him lonely."

"So you're his temporary fuck buddy."

"Ellie, you are so crude."

"That's why you love me, Adds. Admit it."

"I do love you," the woman admitted, helping her tipsy friend back to their car. The show was over for the night, but the adventure was only beginning.

*

Papa could hardly wait to call sister that night, his fingers fumbling over the numbers on his phone, "Good evening, Sister,” he greeted her, “I hope it isn’t too late.”

"Hello, my little Cardi. How is everything? Just a few more shows now!"

"Yes, yes and it will be time to come home,” the man responded, relieved to hear the words.

“Will you be coming home alone?"

He was excited to tell Sister he finally found somebody he thought he could bring back home with him, “Ah, yes, I did meet a young lady.”

"Oh? Do tell me more."

"Yes, well... I haven't told her everything. But she's willing to accompany me for the rest of the tour."

"Cardi," there was some hesitation in Sister’s voice, "Cardi you must give her all the details. How do you know you haven't found some groupie that just wants to tag along? We need prime mover material."

"She does not seem like a groupie, Sister," Copia reassured, "She seems very genuine, and I just don't want to scare her off. I'm going to tell her at the end of the tour."

"That just won't do!" the woman disapproved, "Listen. What if you wait until the end of the tour and you tell her, and she says no? You have six more shows. You need to use that time wisely to find somebody else if she won't agree to our stipulations—I mean, if she doesn’t agree to give you children."

The Cardinal had not thought about it that way. He was so tired of searching for someone he figured if she said no, he would just give up the hunt.

“Do I need to remind you of what’s at stake here?” Sister hissed.

"Yes, alright. Of course you are right, Sister. I will tell her.”

Even though the Cardinal agreed to explain the whole ordeal to his new companion he wasn’t quite sure if it was the best approach. He couldn't shake the feeling that asking her to be his prime mover would come off as anything but romantic. The notion felt almost cult-like, with an intensity that was sure to send her running. The thought alone made him shudder, imagining her wide-eyed fear and the inevitable retreat. “No,” he thought. Sister might be angry should things fall apart but he needed more time with the woman. He needed to know her longer than one night before asking her to sacrifice her life, her children, and her body for his livelihood. He would do this his way.

[quaddmgd]

Yes it can! Got something cool to show ya.

So on a Tuesday night I was kinda stuck in the workroom, running rendering tasks, so I figured I can at least pop in a CP77 disc into the One S I have lying around. I had to make some preparations for my future Corpo AU shots and I've never played the last gen version before, so I was already excited to try it out.

I did all I wanted in about 15 minutes and decided to quickly shoot some pictures to see how they stack up against Series X (apart from lower resolution of course). Halcyon suggested that I start Nocturne Op55N1 to get some pics with Hanako. I decided to ship Corpo!Crystal with her after all (now you know). What the hell, I'm stuck here anyway, right?

So let's see what we can achieve with the most vanilla photo mode experience possible and the right mindset - in Cyberpunk 2077 v1.61 on Xbox One S.

I was wondering if I can get any shippy saturday material with such a limited set of tools. I got Crystal as close to Hanako as possible, then tried out (mostly unfitting) poses that I'd deviously cut to make them look convincing enough, similarly to my previous vanilla photo mode ventures (I have yet to post some of my favorites).

It worked well enough, even with the barrier around Hanako stopping me from getting them really close together. I created tension between them, simply by having Crystal "Eavesdrop (Left)", "Distracted Girlfriend" or "C'mere, Gonkbrain" towards Hanako.

But come on.... they had to kiss somehow.

I focused on poses that: a) have Crystal lean in any direction b) have an up/down slider to compensate for the height loss from leaning

Leaning poses made it possible to bring them even closer to each other, but it wasn't enough. No matter which one I chose, her barrier was impossible to break... or so I thought.

See, the counter is seemingly inaccessible, but jumping on any stool makes it easy to get on. Collision system tries really hard to push you off of it but, with some luck, switching photo mode on and off can stop it from happening*, let you stay on top and move freely. Now I was back using poses with up/down sliders and I quickly settled on "Off to the Races" as the one most likely to make them kiss. Luckily, the minimum slider value was IDEAL to get Crystal's lips on the same level as Hanako's. The only issue was with moving C left/right/close/far, as her collision remained in the same place she spawned - on the bar top. At this point sliders were useless, so I had to go back to gameplay to correct her position. After some trial and error I set her perfectly. Now a quick rotation towards Hanako and voila! Now they kiss! * - if your V spawns with the default starting pose - "Tabula Rasa", "What Can I Get Ya?" or "Night City Strut" - then it's a good sign

And how does it look from the outside perspective?

Yes, that's a lot of steps and time spent on a small photo shoot. The lighting is what it is, their eyes are open, Johnny The Parasite stands exactly where I'd want to place the camera, but it's still cute and it proves that creativity can get you places with vanilla photo mode. And final results can look really good, even on a base Xbox One.

Of course, photo editing software like GIMP can get you even better results. I use it to change aspect ratio of my pics, patch up any lighting/texture bugs, and sometimes for basic color correction. For the sake of clarity, I didn't use it for shots in this post. Just know it's there and it's easy to learn.

I couldn't decide whether it should be a blog post or a tutorial, so it's a blog post that goes step by step through my thought process, I guess. I might do some vanilla VP tutorials in the future, if the demand is there, but right now my job doesn't even let me finish my Legacy of Kain: Defiance playthrough, so I can't promise anything!

[the-archangel]

WIP Wednesday - Blackout

This has been knocking around for months, I keep fiddling with it but can't seem to move it on. I'll find a way in the end, but until then it is what it is!

Difficult though it was to believe, Kerry sometimes did ill-advised things when he was drunk. The amount of times he’d been drunk in his life meant that it took a lot for him to be that out of it, but it was a party, so he was putting his shiny new, top-of-the-range liver through its paces.

It hadn’t started out as a party. Earlier in the evening Kerry had wrapped up the production of Red Menace’s new album, her first since leaving Us Cracks a few months ago, and buoyed up by champagne and freedom they had decided to surprise V at work. It had worked, V was indeed very surprised.

 It wasn’t that Kerry had shown up unannounced, he did that a lot and V was always pleased to see him, it wasn’t even that he’d brought Red with him, she and V were friends, it was all good. It was more the entourage of 30+ assorted musos, record company corpo types, security and general hangers on that they brought with them.

Afterlife was not usually the sort of place to encourage this type of clientele, they only made it as far as the door because of Kerry and even then Emmerick checked with V before he let them in. In fact, if V hadn’t been so distracted with a particularly knotty extraction plan he was putting together he would probably have told him just to let Kerry and Red inside, but hindsight is a wonderful thing that V did not have the benefit of at the time.

 He came out of his office shortly after to find the club unusually busy for a Monday night and Kerry sat at the bar telling what must have been the most hilarious and interesting story ever told judging by the reactions of the enraptured sycophants surrounding him. V debated just leaving him to it, now Kerry was here V knew he’d stay until V took him home so he could just go back to work, but they’d both been working so hard lately, he figured they deserved some time together.

V thought he’d have some fun first; he went around the back of the bar, winking to Clair on his way past, and leant on the counter directly behind Kerry, “Hey choom, if you and your friends aren’t buying a drink, fuck off outta the bar.”

‘Oh this is gonna be fun,’ thinks Kerry, but before he can speak one of the corpo-rats chimes in angrily,

“Don’t you know who you’re speaking to? Fetch your manager, I bet he’ll kick you out on your ass.”

“Don’t give a shit who your friend is, he buys a drink or he fucks off.”

Kerry turns on his stool and looks the over-familiar barman straight in the eye,

“We’ll take a couple of bottles of champagne, make sure they’re ice cold and a bottle of bourbon, vintage, oak barrelled.”

The corpo looks at V with an infuriatingly smug smile; he’ll be dealt with later.

“And how will you be paying for that big-shot?”

Kerry raises an eyebrow at that, but remains otherwise composed,

“How about...”

With agility belying his years, Kerry bounces off the stool and onto the bar until he’s kneeling on the counter, grabbing the collar of V’s jacket he pulls the handsome ex-merc towards himself and fastens their lips together. V has to cling onto his Rockerboy’s knees to stop them both going over, but steadies himself into a long, lingering and very messy kiss.

The record label guy begins to think that he may have made a horrible mistake, especially when a (possibly) well-meaning colleague points out the framed print behind the bar of his boss sat on the barman’s knee hugging and kissing for the camera .

Kerry stays sitting on the bar for a while with V stood between his dangling legs, snatching kisses, drinking and chatting about their day, the drinks are doing the rounds, the club is buzzing. V says he’s got a couple of calls to make and leaves Kerry to hold court for a little while, Kerry doesn’t mind, V’s not far away and he’s enjoying being out of the studio, out of the house.

He was a bottle of champagne in before he’d even arrived; he and V had made light work of most of another one, now Red was coming towards him with what looked like his favourite tequila, though it was hard to tell with everything as nicely blurry at the edges as it was. They did a few shots and talked about the future of rock, it turned out she was quite an interesting and knowledgeable conversationalist now she’s dropped the cutesy kawaii act, she pecked him on the cheek as she left with her bass player boyfriend, Patrice a little while later.

Kerry wanders off to find V in his office and catches him as he’s just finishing a call and the last of a glass of something amber, whiskey he guesses. V looks up smiling as he sees his gorgeous mainline framed in the doorway, despite, or maybe because of him being flushed with drink and vaguely dishevelled, he looks amazing and V still can’t believe that he’s the one who gets to come home to him every day.

“Comin’ back in V baby?”

Shit that voice does something to him, especially right now, husky with drink and an edge of lasciviousness.

“...Or you could come over here.” V suggests, pouring two glasses of the amber liquid and offering one to Kerry.

With a raised eyebrow and a hungry smile Kerry shuts the door and, with a glow of emerald in his eyes, V locks it. Kerry makes his way – only slightly unsteadily – to V, who teasingly moves the drink out of the other man’s reach, forcing him to stand chest-to-chest, that’s OK, Kerry hadn’t come over for the drink anyway.

V slips one hand into Kerry’s back pocket pulling him in closer still and downs the drink from the other before nipping his lover’s lower lip and looking him in his sapphire eyes. Kerry sighs and licks the whiskey from V’s lips, then slips his tongue in and explores the warmth of his mouth. They stay like this for some moments, unhurried, enjoying the closeness and intimacy, V tastes of whiskey and mint, Kerry of tequila and cigarettes.

Kerry’s fingers gently skim down V’s shirt, hooking themselves into his belt and flicking it undone with accomplished ease before popping the buttons and slipping inside.

-

Kerry makes his way back to the bar pulling V behind like he’d won a top-shelf prize at the fair, Clair passes the pair a couple of beers on their way past and they settle in Rogue’s old booth. Most of the entourage disappeared whilst they were absent, not feeling welcome without Kerry to back them up, so they observe the usual clientele as deals are made and as lives are bought and sold.

The table’s starting to fill up with bottles; Kerry is still managing to animatedly tell V a story about his day despite the tiny amount of blood cells left in his alcohol stream whilst V smiles indulgently at his mainline, never taking his eyes away from his face or his hand from his leg, memorising every detail only to forget it seconds later cuz he’s really pretty drunk.

Nature calls, V stumbles to the bathroom, it takes longer than he would’ve thought possible to empty his bladder and by the time he returns the booth is empty of world famous rock star boyfriends, V correctly guesses that he’d got bored and gone to look for him in his office and looks on fondly at the sight that greets him there, Kerry is sat on his office chair, legs dangling over the arm hugging V’s laptop and gently snoring.

After a fierce but mostly one sided internal debate, V saves the image to his optics, gently removes the computer from Kerry’s grasp and calls a cab, sneaking out the back way with his lover in his arms.

-

The next afternoon V drags himself back to the Afterlife for a meeting with a couple of new clients about what seemed like an unmissable opportunity at the time the meeting was booked, but now V couldn’t give a rat’s ass. His head hurts, his stomach aches, even the dim lights of the club are making his eyes hurt – he hasn’t taken his aviators off since he woke up, he’s turned the settings to low on his Kiroshis, so why does it still hurt so bad? At least he’s better off than Kerry, he had V call off his appointments for the day cuz barfing on people’s shoes isn’t very professional.

V makes it through the meeting, barely, but the clients must’ve thought it was their lucky day, the fixer agreed to pretty much everything they requested just to make them delta.

Usually he likes to work as the club buzzes around him, but tonight he needs some quiet to stop the spike driving any further into his skull so he grabs his laptop and makes his way home.

Kerry is lying on the couch, with his shades and sweatshirt hood covering his eyes, the bottle of water V left him with a couple of hours ago now empty at his side. The usually welcome sound of V’s Apollo as it pulls up the drive is fraying his nerves.

“Why the fuck’s your stupid bike so fucking loud?” he grumbles as V comes through the door.

“Glad you’re feeling better, you couldn’t string three words together when I left,” says V, only half teasing.

V sits opposite Kerry in the darkened room and sighs, knowing that as soon as he opens the laptop there’ll be dozens of unavoidable messages, complaints, begging letters, threats... shit, might as well get it over with.

The laptop springs into life making V squint and grumble against the glare of the screen, he studies what’s on there for a moment in confusion, then looks up at his mainline,

”Kerry, what did you do?”

Kerry lets his head loll in V’s general direction, “Be more specific, I’ve done a million things, at least.”

“Last night, you were holding my laptop when I found you, what did you do?”

V flips it around to let Kerry see the screen,

‘Congratulations, your booking has been accepted!’

Kerry stares over his shades looking confused, “What booking?”

V moves over to sit on the floor nearer to Kerry so that he can see the screen better and cautiously looks at his messages, scrolling down through the usual work shit, one message stands out – ‘Booking confirmed, open for travel details...’

-

“You spent a million fucking eddies on WHAT!??”

Kerry squirms uncomfortably, “They said it was the chance of a lifetime, never to be repeated, figured we could use the break.” Kerry murmurs as if this explained everything. “Besides, y’know it’s the one place I’ve never been.”

“Shit Ker, I have been and it ain’t all that. A million fucking eddies!”

Kerry knew he’d fucked up, but V’s shitty attitude was giving him another headache so he’d be damned if he was going to back down now.

“It’ll be fun, we’ve hardly seen each other for the last few weeks, it’ll give us a chance to spend some quality time together.”

V has to begrudgingly admit that Kerry has a point, but still, a million eddies to go to some shitty floating casino, it had better be worth it.

[chosenjuanwrites]

Zeroes and Ones

He feels her before he ever sees her. The delicate incision in his mind, the scalpel of a practiced surgeon. He can sense her in his head, how the programs delve deep into the dark corners, attempting to take anything not nailed to the ground. He can see his bank account information pulled to the forefront and he begins to grin. Firewall after firewall, security verification after security verification, it all comes tumbling down. Until all those zeros in his bank account are brought to bear under the eyes of tonight’s stranger.

Her disappointment is almost tangible. All those zeros are alone. They lack the valuing grace of someone different from themselves. He can see her now. She has amber eyes that twinkle with secret mischief, but even the smug aura that she emanated could not hide her second hand embarrassment. He walks away from the bar, drink in hand, equipped with a knowing smile. She returns it. They share a secret together now, valued in the zeros and ones of their lives.

“If you wanted a drink,” said the man as the ice in his cup bounced. “You could have just asked.”

The woman moves her dark red hair aside, her head slowly shaking. “You don’t have a single cent to your name. I’m surprised you even have a drink in your hand.”

The man’s grin grows wider. It's boyish, reserved for teachers and sheriffs alike. “I have good credit.”

“Really? I doubt that.”

He points to his head. “You’ve already been in here. Check for yourself.”

Her amber eyes begin a subtle glow. The pathways have been made now. No more tangling with cheap security parameters as passwords fit like puzzle pieces into the man’s accounts. She sees a section titled Barney’s Bar and sees a humble ten dollar debt within his account. Intrigue begins to set in her. This man is a bum, that’s what the numbers say and numbers are far more truthful than anyone she’s ever met. Yet the man walked with a certain kind of confidence that spoke of some inner richness. There was wealth in him, somewhere.

She gave him her award winning smile, reserved for politicians who had just the right amount of alcohol in them. “Buy me a drink then.”

“Aw come on. I deserve a please at least. Don’t you think so?”

“Please,” she said, the word powdered with sugar.

They sat on wooden stools, a terrible fashion choice amongst the peeling chrome that seemed to cover the entire bar. The woman ordered a rum and coke; the man continued to sip on his scotch. As the ashy taste settled on his tongue and slow rock music reached its crescendo, he looked at her and said, “Is this your usual line of work?”

“I see it as more of a hobby.”

“Hmm. A bit strange though isn’t it?”

“Not as strange as being broke.”

The man chuckled. “Being poor ain’t a crime. Some people even see it as saintly. Can’t say the same about your hobby.”

‘Mmm.” She shrugged as she played with the umbrella in her drink. “This city has stolen more from me than I’ll get in a thousand lifetimes. It owes me more than just a drink.”

“What’s your name?”

She looks into his dull gray eyes. “You really think I’ll tell you that? Next you’ll ask for my birthday.”

“How old are you?”

“You’re not very smart,” she said as she sipped her coke. “I guess I should have figured that part out. But if you must know, I’m a 90 year old Russian witch and my name is Alina. Praise the red army and nice to meet you.”

Her words dripped sarcasm.

“Huh. You don’t look a day past 40.”

She almost chokes on her drink. “A charmer! With skills like that, you should be some corpo in a sky tower.”

“Not a life for old Jeffery, thank you very much. I knew a pencil pusher once. Jumped off the forty fourth floor on main one day when his software got punctured like paper and he got black listed by Yamato. Don’t blame him. He wasn’t cut out for a job outside boring office meetings that could be emails.”

“And you are?”

Jeff smiled at her and for the first time Alina saw in him a different man. The kind that played between the black and red of chance. Who in any moment would find himself eaten by the gods of probability. She looked at his worn down hoodie. Maybe Lady Luck had denounced him already. But he didn’t care, that was obvious now. As she saw him drink the scotch, she saw a man who lost it all and was willing to pick up the pieces again. It scared her. How could anyone survive the annihilation of those magic numbers, sanctified by the steel churches that ruled the world with fists of green and gold?

“I suppose I am,” he said as if saying the sky was blue.

It continued like that for months. Each and every day they met at the same time. They talked about it all together, the horrendous bar music becoming the anthem of childhood dreams and missed opportunities. He learned about how she was supposed to be a dancer, the classy kind with a tutu and a cultured audience. She learned how he was a construction grunt working on high rise buildings that would outlive him ten times over. On an especially drunk night they talked about the insecurities that crept like shadows in the crevices of their mind.

He learned about how her dancing dream was shattered with the gavel of motherly expectations. How when she said she didn’t want to dance anymore, her mother had gone berserk with an ax. The whole experience cost her an arm and it took months working as a waitress at a sketchy bar to buy the robotic one that held her drink.

She learned construction was as harrowing on the mind as it was on the body. When Jeff helped construct those steel towers, he was reminded of a stability he would never have. His foundation was not metal and concrete, it was ramen dinners and freezing showers. But he was lucky. When he couldn’t pay his landlord, the old man died of a stroke. When his electric bill was due, a corporate takeover postponed bills for two months. There was even a time when a ceiling collapsed on him, killing his friend Pedro, but leaving him intact and caked with sawdust.

They grew together, the way two trees tend to intertwine their roots over time. The highlights of their days became the two hours where they spoke to each other over shit music and even shittier drinks. Alina at any time could have searched him up, her artificial eyes were more than just for show after all, but she couldn’t do it. The mystery around this man, peeled back one story at a time, was more human than any police or government report could ever be. At times she would check his bank account, wondering if the zeros had finally gained a friend. Mostly out of curiosity than malice.

They never seemed to. Until a cold Friday evening.

The zeros were introduced to a single digit. A single 1.

Alina had never seen so much money in her life. She could take it all away of course. A couple clicks, not even. A single one could do it if she activated her automated worm program. She paced back and forth in her apartment, eyeing the clock get closer and closer to her bar time with Jeff. And she realized something that confused her, sending her spiraling into self reflection. 

She was happy for him.

Alina sat on the stool that might as well have her name on it. She arrived five minutes earlier than usual. She was running over the things she would say in her mind from the congratulations to the what nows. Time continued onward and with it doubt began to seep into the cracks of her psyche, drumming up expensive airplane trips and beaches far away from her. Ten minutes became twenty and twenty became forty. The rum and coke had never tasted worse.

The answer was obvious. He had run away with the money. It was the reasonable thing to do. But somewhere, past the calculations that had guided her through countless successful heists, she felt that could not be true. It was not right. It was not him. She could take the money now if she really wanted to, but as she looked at those zeros and ones, she realized something. Money like that comes with dangerous zeroes, the kind in gun barrels wielded by those who want the money more than you. She got up from her chair and knew what she had to do.

Alina went to Jeff's apartment complex, something only known to her in myth. It was the background of many of his stories, usually where through ingenuity he got free cable or managed to hack into a VR headset he found in the trash. Here in the rain that dripped down her small nose, it felt less like a home and more a dreary temple. She walked inside, through the hallways and through the sounds of people arguing or having sex behind the walls. She knew the number in her mind. It was 287 and that number was far more important in that moment than all the money in the world.

She found it, the magic number plastered on the door. She heard noises behind it. At first she thought Jeff must have invited friends over, celebration with bros and too much alcohol. She began to feel jealous and stupid, the wet clothes sticking to her skin a reminder of her foolishness. Until the noise behind the door got louder and became a scream. The sound was new and unique to her, but unmistakably Jeff.

Adrenaline began to course through her, agitating her prosthetic arm with phantom pains. There was no time for what was real or wasn’t. She knew that now and with that realization, she kicked down the door in one swift movement. The door revealed a bloodied Jeff surrounded by eight men in yokai masks that smiled at her with plastic grins. Adrenaline mixed with anger into an explosive cocktail that spurred her into motion.

Like a gunslinger of old she pulled out her pistol and shot two of the men through the heart, courtesy of her spite and onboard aiming system. She barrel rolled under a metal table and knocked it down as the remaining goons retaliated with sub machine gun fire. The bullets missed her and ricocheted into knock off china cups and plates, the pieces falling onto her red hair. With a single blink of her eyes, she activated her pistol’s camera sequence.

She gained a third eye, no meditation on a mountain required. Suddenly she could see where the men were through the laser sight on her pistol and aimed accordingly. Three men died, fatal shots to the brain from the barely see able pistol behind the table. The remaining three concentrated their fire and shot the pistol out of her hand. It slid to Jefferey's left side, where he could only hopelessly watch the thread of this battle begin to unravel.

Alina cursed under her breath.

“I had to cook so many shitty pancakes for this.”

She touched her prosthetic arm and activated her unlock protocol. The arm became lifeless and with a hard tug that made stars appear in her eyes, she ripped it off. A mess of blood and wires fell onto the ground beside her. She then pressed the secret button on the lower arm and three numbers appeared on its UI. Zero. Zero. Five. She threw it over the table, all the way to the remaining three men. They began to laugh.

“The woman threw her arm!” one said with a giggle.

The other picked it up. “Hahaha! Maybe I’ll use it to jack-”

Their lives ended with the explosion, turning them into a fine red pile of guts and bone. The blast sent Jeffery and his chair to the side, spurring a scream from his mouth as glass scraped his cheek. Alina sprinted towards him, purse thrown to the wayside and tears streaming down her honey colored eyes. She immediately began to untie him from the chair and Jefferey gladly embraced the safety of her bosom.

“What happened?” she asked. “You didn’t show up to the bar and I got worried and I thought you left and-”

Jeff grinned, the act letting out a concoction of blood and drool out of his mouth. “I won big. Too big. Too many times. They thought I was cheating. I wasn’t. Never do.” He shrugged and winced in pain. “I won fair and square. I left while I was still ahead and they didn’t like that. They kept pestering me to play one more time, to see how far my luck could go. I said no. They sent those guys after me. I was going to go to the bar and tell you I finally had some good zeros. I was thinking we could go to Mexico. Eat that Tex Mex stuff you’re always on about. Maybe a pina colada on the beach. Something fruity for sure. Then this happened.”

She held him tighter.

“Whoa there!” he said. “A lot of things hurt right now. Let’s not waste it all on medical bills.”

“Shut up. Just, shut up.”

Mexico had never seen an uglier year. Constant rain and dreary clouds.

But as they held each other in bed, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

[jesuiscalmedammit]

Bakeneko || [Goro Takemura x reader/fem!V]

note: i posted the sneak peek before, here’s the whole thing. // corpo!v

As you leaned against the railing at the market in Japantown, you wondered why Goro wanted to meet you all of sudden. When you asked him about your little private project, he said he was still waiting for something so it couldn’t be about that. Then what? In the past few days, he had managed to get under your skin, digging himself deeper and deeper with every call and stupid text he sent, and now there was a part of you that didn’t care what this meeting would be about.

You would meet again in person, that was enough. It had been so long since you last felt like that, like some stupid schoolgirl waiting for their crush. Wait, a crush? A crush? Were you really thinking about him this way? Wow, you came a long way since he wanted you dead. But he changed a lot, you had to admit that. Sometimes it seemed like he really care–

Out of nowhere, you had a necklace hanging right in front of your face. When you followed the necklace’s lead to the hand that held it, you found out it was Goro’s doing who was now standing by your side with a barely visible smile.  With raised eyebrows, you took the pendant to take a closer look at the cat on it. “What’s this?”

“A bakeneko,” he replied as he rested his elbows on the railing and took a quick look around.

“Aren’t they bad luck?”

“Maybe not for you.” Finally, he turned to look back at you and you saw no trace of the small smile anymore. Instead, it was now replaced by a worried look in his eyes you didn’t really understand yet. But then he spoke up and it became clear as day. “Since they can restore the dead back to life...”

Goro’s voice faded as he stopped before finishing the sentence. “I could use that, huh?” When he nodded, you let out a sigh. So it was hard for him to think about your possibly inevitable death? Good to know. “Thank you.” Now you couldn’t help but feel like you owed him one for this. It wasn’t really the necklace that mattered, more like the gesture itself. And then you suddenly figured out what you could give him in return. “I got an idea. More like a surprise for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. You're so picky when it comes to food that I did a little digging in my memory and remembered a place you might actually like.”

He laughed at this and shook his head, but in the end, he seemed to be ready to play along. “I doubt it, but please, go on.”

With a bright smile on your face, you linked your arm with his and yanked him towards the stairs that led to the street. “I’ll explain when we get there,” you told him happily.

“Why the secrecy?”

“Because it's a surprise.”

Back when you had been working for Arasaka, you heard stories about a restaurant that local employees like to visit when they had to somehow get close to their co-workers from Japan. Authentic Japanese food often seemed to be part of the solution and you hoped it would work out this time as well. This man who was so surprisingly okay with you dragging him through different parts of Japantown was probably the biggest foodie you’ve ever met.

When you came to a halt so you could take a quick look around to see where you were supposed to go, Goro cleared his throat to get your attention. “Will you finally tell me the details?”

“Yes. There’s a great sushi restaurant and the owner moved here from Japan. Back there he also had his own restaurant so he has experience with original Japanese cuisine.”

“Why would he move here?”

“He fell in love with someone in Japan, but it didn't work out so he packed up his life and came here.”

“But why Night City from all places?” he asked with a hint of disgust in his voice.

“I don't know the details.” When you reached your destination, you asked him to stop at the entrance and quickly went in to take care of something first. Once you talked to the owner, you returned for him. “All right, I warned him about your habit of informing people if you have a problem with their food, and he said you wouldn't complain this time.”

“We’ll see.”

After you got your food, you pushed away your plate and rested your elbow on the table as you watched Goro eat. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the owner do the same. One bite followed another, and you didn’t see any signs of disgust on his face. Could it be that he finally tasted something he really liked? Carefully, you glanced over at the older man and the two of you quickly shared a hopeful smile.

After taking a deep breath, you cautiously asked, “So, what’s the verdict?”

He didn’t respond right away and his facial expression was unusually neutral. With his eyes on you, he swallowed the last bite then reached out for the glass of water in front of him. Was he trying to destroy your nerves with that? But you waited patiently, no matter how hard it was, and hoped for the best.

“It’s nice to finally eat some proper Japanese food,” he finally said.

“Yes, I knew it!” You stated happily as you pulled your plate closer and took a bite. Oh, it was nice. Very nice! “Excellent job,” you told the owner. “It’s delicious.”

The man nodded with a humble smile on his lips. “Thank you,” he said proudly then returned to pay attention to the other customers.

“What?” you asked Goro when you turned back and found him looking at you.

“Thank you, V. I don't know why you went through the trouble of finding this place but I'm grateful you did.”

“I hoped it would cheer you up. Did it work then?” He nodded. “Good.”

You hopped off the bar stool but before you could walk away, Goro put a hand on your arm to stop you. There was something about the way he was looking at you that made you uneasy. Wait, uneasy? Was that the right word to describe it? No, probably not. There were words unspoken. Then there were other words that were safely tucked away in the back of your mind so they would remain hidden, well-kept secrets.

For a short moment, you wondered if you were right. Could it be that he was thinking about the same thing? Could he be feeling the same way about you? Because right now the skin on your arm was burning where he touched it, and your heart was planning to escape your ribcage from the looks of it. You couldn’t recall the last time you wanted someone this badly and it truly scared you.

You couldn’t bear this silence anymore. “Why–”

And that was the moment when he interrupted you, although not with words. No, he chose a more effective method, something that made your knees go weak in less than a second: a kiss. A much-anticipated kiss that made you feel delirious and you wanted to drown in this feeling. By only one glance you had already figured he would be a really good kisser, but reality was a huge slap on the face.

It was better. Much, much better. When he firmly wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck, you instinctively leaned closer and steadied yourself by putting your palms on his chest. You didn’t care about how many people were watching you, he was too good at this game.

But then he stopped and your brain couldn’t believe that was it. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you kiss me?” you asked hesitantly.

“Isn’t it obvious? I believe this has been a long time coming anyway,” he explained. “Before we go, do you want me to help to put on the necklace I gave you?”

Nodding, you pulled it out from your pocket and placed it in his open palm. Goro took his time and moved quite slowly as he stood behind you and carefully finished this simple task. Then you couldn’t help yourself and reached up for his hand, although he ignored it and ran a finger down from the back of your neck to the small of your back.

Once you managed to pull yourself together, you asked, “Would you like to come over to my place for a drink and some dessert?”

This was probably the first time you asked someone something this lame but it didn’t matter. You needed him, preferably in your bed. But he let out a short laugh and leaned closer to your ear.

“I have to take care of a few things now. Also, I’d rather make you wait a little longer,” he whispered.

Oh, this son of a bitch… He knew how to tease you.

[cybercornu]

L. Feit (V) /Goro Takemura

“A walking talking yin yang made of ex-arasaka gentleman and corporate bitch, both falling from the very top to bottom in matter of seconds, losing everything but not a thirst for revenge. At least that was the first reason that wired the connection between the two once the ex bodyguard Takemura tracked relentless killer mercenary shaped in a woman slim body accompanied by a long braid swinging like a decorative curtain from almost top of her head, revealing tattoos scattered around her neck - with thorns and roses, raising up the the sides, forming a knife on the right and golden diamond on left. 

Even if most people were calling her by merc work “V”, deep in her trusted social circle she was going by her real surname - Feit and only very few special ones knew her real name. After being pushed back by the corporation, down face to the cold, rough concrete streets she took it all in, even moving away from her old apartment to leave the past behind and breath deeply in her lungs the cheap perfume and booze stench of Jig-Jig street, her new home, beside the good old Wakako appreciated her talents and slightly evil nature to the point she got her new nest rent free and Tiger Claws “security assurance”, not like she was having any trouble finding the same language with them. As long as eddies and reputation behind the red curtain of blood was flowing all was good. The only weakness she had was her strong urge of following orders, having a boss to strike her out with a knife towards next target. Feit drew deep feeling of satisfaction from making her fixer proud, same like it was with Jenkins. Afraid of failing again, ending up alone and useless was still her biggest fear, especially now that she is alone, surrounded only by the Wakako’s gang from time to time.  

Booze was her most trusted companion after the hours, at the usual bar nearby strip club, barman already knew when she comes and where she sits, just bringing her usual without any questions as she patted the table with the palm of her hand. But that evening her routine got disrupted by the figure of a mature man with black hair greyed on edges pulled back into a bun, a pair of bright lenses shining from the shadows with curiosity, wearing a long black coat and white perfectly shaped shirt under, calling her name in a gentle manner and apologizing for disturbance. 

Takemura could hardly believe that someone like her was the “best bloodthirsty merc that cheated the death itself” barely making any difference from the colorful crowd of “local” girls but not like he had any other choice and tracking her down took him a good while since their phoneline was hanging long enough after first meeting. She wasn’t the brightest gal but noticing smallest details was automated in her routine, standing up abruptly from her chair once the corner of her amber eye tracked his neck cybernetics and blinking arasaka sign on it. Her mouth opened to almost deliver a solid “fuck you” but reminding herself how their last meeting went she calmed down. Being assured by his manners and explanation that he only means biz, very serious one this round also helped to not end up with a fist in his throat. He saved her from that stinky ass garbage, the sights of his gaze, looking down upon her when she was gathering her strength back. It was enough to stop her hand from pulling up a knife. Trust wasn’t something she allowed to slip easily in her line of work, neither life for this moment, losing too much already. She sighted deeply and bowed, offering him a sit. Even if her nature was impulsive and was throwing words on wind along with swears, with a figure like him her respect and manners still remained, at the very least on basic level. He deserved it, especially for all the mocking he had to endure as they sat next to each other on bar stools, eyes of the others leaning towards them.

She silenced him, raising the palm of her hand, reveling a tiger claws tattoo implant. Finishing her last shot and brushing away the very last remains of the golden sparkling lipstick as she ran her fingers through the lips to slip away a booze droplets. He looked away, couching softly. Talking back about Konpeki Plaza events and the fact the Takemura was a fairly wanted man right now didn’t make the bar a best place to continue this discussion. He nodded in agreement and followed her deep into one of streets where they could continue without additional pairs of ears trying to sneak on them. The golden coat of hers was reflecting the neons, almost blinding him as it sparkled occasionally. Some of her corpo class still reflected in her clothing, reveling a pair of office expensive black long pants and heeled wedges, black as well, supporting her feet onto the golden modern platforms and making them both even in terms of height. Something also pointed a bitch part about her, was it the way she strutted and leaned against the wall, bending her knee upwards, crossing her arms on the black ornamental bustier and giving him an inpatient look, wanting to skip a tiny details for this moment and just hit her with what he wants and expects from her. He brushed his hands and looked to the side, pausing but coming shortly back to her with his bright eyes and thirst screaming readiness.

“Revenge” - plain and simple.    

[tired0artist]

sing to me (part three)

<<part one>> <<part two>>

paring: female!V x Johnny Silverhand

summary: a street kid V falls in love with SAMURAI music and idolises Johnny Silverhand. years later she finally understands the saying “never meet your idols”

warnings: angst and fluff, Johnny being a dick as always, arguments, V plays the guitar, MORE JOHNNY AND V ACTION IN THIS ONE!!!, references to death, more/different warnings in the future parts

note: I’m describing my V, but you can imagine her however you want tho

•SAMURAI fan V (street kid)•

She was tugging on her hair, groaning in pain as she stumbled out of the elevator.

“Ughh..! Fuck!”

“The hell’s that?” Johnny questioned, looking both shocked and a bit panicked “No, no, dammit!”

V sat down on some box and focused on breathing, her chest and head feeling on fire. She saw him pace around and asked.

“Jesus.. the fuck do you want from me?”

Johnny’s head snapped to her and he stormed over, making her flinch in fear. But instead of attacking her, he grabbed a stool and sat down, saying.

“It’s all going too slow. Gonna decomish before we learn how to rip the chip out”

V glared at him “Wanted me dead. You don’t care if I die”

Johnny calmed down a bit, took off his glasses and looked at her. His nearly black eyes, soft and truthful.

“Made it pretty clear since, that I changed my mind. Want you to live now”

She was taken a bit back by the sincerity that she picked up from his tone.

“What do you want, Johnny?” she asked more calmly, calling him by his name for the first time.

He lit up a cigarette and said “I got a get-outta-jail-free card. I’d be a fucking fool not to take advantage. See me and Arasaka, we got a half-century-old score needs settling, and I plan to do it” he turned towards her adding “That’s. What I need you for, kid”

“So you just... want to use me? Great. Fucking fantastic, Silverhand. Listen I hate the corpos and Arasaka too. But I am still sane enough to know that it’s a lost fight”

He rolled his eyes “I didn’t ask for your opinion, kid. I just need you to take me from point A to point B”

“Fuck you. I’m not a Delamain!”

“Listen I know things. Where we can save your life, who can help us do that. You’ll get rid of the chip, I’ll smash Saka. It’s a win-win kid. Soul killer is what we need and Mikoshi’s how we grab it”

V sighed heavily and tugged on her hair in frustration “What’s this Mikoshi?”

“Okay, basics. If you’re jacked in, cruising the Net. Arasaka can use Soulkiller, an AI, to trap, fry and pack away your psyche, your mind and your soul. Following so far?”

“Yeah... that’s how you died. I saw it”

Johnny didn’t look pleased, as he said “Okay... seems we got a few more things to broach that I thought, but that will come later”

He continued on explaining the importance of Mikoshi and how it works. V nodded along, he had some points. Mikoshi definitely was a place that they needed to go to.

“—so you’re going to live and I’ll destroy Arasaka. As I said. Win-win, kid”

“No” she said, surprising him “We need to explore some options, find allies, find resources and then. And only, then we will attack Arasaka and get to Mikoshi. Not sooner or later”

With that she got up and stumbled away, subconsciously feeling Johnny follow her.

“Kid, we need to work fast! You don’t have time! You’re already falling apart!”

“I don’t have any other choice but to live through it. We need more time, we can’t go into all of this with a hot head”

Johnny sighed “You don’t get it—“

V spun around and pointed at him “No, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. You went into Arasaka, full of rage and devoid of reason. And see where it got you?”

He glared at her and clenched his fists. She nearly flinched in fear of him attacking her once again, but she stood her ground.

After glaring at each other for some time, V let out a cough, groaning in pain. Johnny sighed and grabbed her, leading her to a bench outside.

“Rest up, kid. You won’t do much, being dead”

V sat down, feeling a bit surprised to see Johnny sit down beside her. She coughed into her hand and saw a bit of blood there, V stared at her shaking hand. The proof was there.

She was really going to die.

“You’re not. I’m not letting you, kid. We’ll work something out” Johnny said from beside her, his arms crossed as he stared at the people passing by “Call, that braindance chick. You promised that you would”

V nodded and shook her head, trying to get rid of the blue glitches she saw. She then looked back at Johnny and noticed that he left. Bitting her lip she did as he said, called Judy.

After the call, she went back to her apartment for the night. Taking her guitar she played “Never fade away” singing softly.

Her take on the song was more heavy and calm. Each word consumed by the emotional state she was in.

“We’ll never fade away...” she whispered, ending the song, somewhat abruptly. Not because she forgot the lyrics.

But because her thoughts lingered on Johnny and what happened today.

He was still a dick and managed to annoy her to no end. But then again, he really seemed like he didn’t mean her any harm. Also as much as she didn’t want to admit it, he was being useful and had a lot of info on Arasaka.

V let out a deep sigh and started playing again, thinking.

Maybe I can try and trust him.

Few days later V was walking down the dirty corridor. The place was abandoned, but still she had her guard up. As she neared the door, Johnny appeared.

“Knock four times kid, or the dog will bite”

She sighed and did as he said.

After that things escalated quickly. One minute V was talking to Hanako and another she was falling through the floor.

V let out a groan, her body hurting as black spots danced in front of her vision.

“Get your ass up, samurai! We need to delta!”

She groaned and looked at Johnny, who was looking between her and the corridor where the soldiers were coming.

“—Takemura...” she whispered, worried for the man.

Johnny quickly grabbed her by the shoulders “He’s dead, but you’re not. So get up and get out of here”

V nodded and with his help got on her feet, reloading his gun she got to work.

Halfway through the complex she met and saved Takemura, thankfully Johnny didn’t comment on it. The rockerboy went into full soldier mode as he navigated her through the corridors and warning about possible dangers.

As she and Takemura exited the building, she fell on her knees. The relic and injuries catching up with her.

“V?!” yelled Johnny, kneeling next to her.

“We need to split up! I’ll contact you once it’s safe!” said Takemura, soon disappearing in the crowd.

It pissed Johnny off as he yelled on top of his lungs “FUCKING DOG! HELP HER!”

“Johnny... we need... need to go. I-I’ll be fine...” V said, getting on her feet and quickly stealing a car that was parked not far.

The rockerboy stayed visible all the time, his metal hand heavy on her thigh. He was talking to her the whole time, trying to distract her.

V soon hid inside of a old and nasty motel. There she sat on the bed with a gun pointed at the door as Johnny watched what was going on outside the window.

Not long after their arrival a proxy working for Hanako. V talked to her, agreeing to met her at Embers.

She waited for the proxy to drive away, to leave the room. Her whole world still swaying and glitching.

Johnny stayed visible, as he leaned against a pillar. His face showing that he disapproved.

“What Johnny...? Got some words about the... porcelain cunt?”

The rockerboy only shook his head just as V started coughing up blood.

“Fuck..! Not now!” she yelled, stumbling away trying to get into her stolen car.

“V wait! Shit! Get ready!” Johnny yelled after her.

She almost made it to the door when she completely fell on the ground. Johnny rolled her on her back and watched as she had something that looked like a seizure.

“—Johnny! I’m dying—ughhhh!!!“ she screamed, tears running down her cheeks.

Johnny grabbed her hands, looking at her with worry “No, no, no kid! You ain’t dying yet! I got you”

That’s when V’s whole world went black.

Next time she woke up on the ground, pills in her hand, her body weak and in pain.

“J-Johnny?” she asked, weakly trying to find him.

“That smell, is the sea breeze” he said looking down at her with a soft smile “Get up, Pacific’s beautiful this time of day”

V got up and leaned next to him, watching the sea.

“I almost flatlined yesterday...”

“Almost” Johnny quickly said, harshly as if to force the word on her.

V ignored it for now as she stared at the sea “It’s beautiful... I could wake up to such view everyday”

“Me too” said Johnny as he glanced at her from behind his glasses, unsure himself which view he was talking about.

V closed her eyes as the wind ruffled her already fucked up hairstyle. The air was clearer than in the city. Very... light and a bit colder too.

As she opened her green eyes she looked around asking “Pacifica? What’s this building?”

“Old hotel - the Pistis Sophia. We’re her sole guests right now. Wanted to show you something, come on” Johnny said, while slowly walking away.

V followed him, still feeling a bit disoriented.

“You took over” she stated, leaning against the wall while walking.

“What was I supposed to do? Leave you there? It’s not like I could carry you somewhere...” he said, his fists clenched as he looked annoyed at something.

Feeling a bit bad for calling him out, she simply nodded, saying “Thank you”

He looked at her and he visibly relaxed saying “What are imaginary friends for?”

V moved to follow him again, only to fall on the ground.

“Careful!” Johnny said, glitching to her side.

“I think that I’m going to die soon...” she said.

“Bullshit. We still have time” he denied, holding her elbow.

She smiled at him sadly and said “Okay... show me why we’re here”

Johnny led her to a room, watching as she weakly crawled over the broken window.

“There’s a hidey-hole where I’m standing. Open it. Empty it” he instructed as V got to her feet.

She did as he asked and took the dog tags that were there, sitting on the ground she turned to look at Johnny in question.

“Yours?” she asked him.

“They were. Belong to you now”

V was confused as she stared at her metal in her hand “Fifty years back... Mexican conflict?”

Johnny nodded slightly “When I was a young and stupid kid like you. I enlisted with a corp army. Was in Mexico when I realised that no matter the conflict, corps always win. Ordinary people always lose”

She nodded, seeing the truth in his words. All the corpo fucks got rich because of the wars, that they started. That got good people killed.

“Why are you giving them to me?”

Johnny shifted in his seat “Imagine we’re deployed together, fighting in a war side by side. Would you take a bullet for me?”

V’s eyes got wide, but with little hesitation she whispered “Yes. I would”

He smiled at her, shoulders relaxing as he said “Tags belonged to a man who sacrificed his life for mine in Mexico. Been thinking about our... predicament. Wanna be clear. I will do you no wrong. When the time comes, it’ll be my life for yours. I’ll agree to get wiped. Tags are proof of my promise”

She stared at him, the man that she was afraid of for a long time. Idolised once. And saw nothing but honesty.

V bit her lip and whispered “I would do the same for you Johnny. And... if it will be possible... I would like to try and save you too”

“That’s real cute kid, but impossible. Still, I appreciate the sentiment” he said with a smile “Now I got a request. Whatever happens to me. I want Smasher gone and for Rogue to be there when it happens”

“Okay. Done, but you sure Rogue will bother with it?” V asked getting up and walking over to the exit, along with Johnny.

“She will. I’ll ask her personally, besides you’ll need back up”

“Personally? What do you mean by that?” she asked.

Johnny crossed his arms “You’ll drop one of Misty’s pills and I’ll go talk to Rogue. Convince her to help us out. I promise”

V bit her lip, finally nodding “Alright. I trust you”

“Thanks, kid. Now let’s go home and in the evening we’ll go to the Afterlife” he said, disappearing.

She sighed heavily and got through the window, heading back to her apartment. The dog tags clutched in her hand.

•english isn’t my first language so sorry for any errors.

•you wanna be tagged in the next parts? leave a comment!

•thanks for reading! hope you like it. I will be going through some parts of the main story and beyond. I’m planning it to be a bit longer so if you want something longer than 5/6 parts, this is for you

•tag list: @signwriting @missweatherwax @axshadows

[fandom-necromancer]

Fond memories

This was prompted on the Cyberpunk discord by Inquisitive! Hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Cyberpunk 2077 | Ship: V/Johnny

When V arrived at the narrow street the client had specified to meet up at, they were a little over an hour early. They had planned in more time for scouting the place first as usual, but that had taken them less time than first anticipated. The street was almost deserted, the whole area around it filled with apartments that were inhabited by those who could afford the city – neither poor nor rich but also the part of the population with the lowest crime rate. The small market next to it made it the perfect place to have an undisturbed talk while still keeping a low profile to any onlookers.

All in all, it meant waiting for V. Not one of their favourite activities, but also not the worst that could have happened here. They found a crate on the ground that looked at least mostly clean and  sat down, leaning back and absent-mindedly keeping an eye out for any person approaching or looking their way. They were sitting there for about ten minutes, when suddenly a familiar feeling smell wafted over. They couldn’t quite pinpoint where it was coming from, but they felt their stomach grumble as it was definitely the smell of freshly cooked food. They had smelled it before, but couldn’t remember in what context, only that it must have been a happy occasion as the memory of it was fond and V smiled faintly.

As if to interrupt that momentary happiness, Johnny appeared out of nowhere. V had been ready to sink back in on themselves, sigh and wait for the cocky bastard to disappear again, but something threw them off. Johnny wasn’t looking at them for once but towards the market with a similarly fond smile. V shook their head and groaned. ‘Is that one of your memories again?’ ‘Could be’, the engram answered absent-mindedly. ‘You may not know it, but not far from here there was a snack stall once that smelled just like that. Best food in Night city.’ V took in the scent more intentionally and frowned. ‘No, actually I think I do. Used to crash there a few times as a kid’ ‘We should go see if it’s still the same’, Johnny suggested, and V could feel his excitement.

V thought about it but shrugged and stood up in the end. They still had time until the client would be here and for once Johnny didn’t curse left and right. So, V followed the construct to the little shop, really not more than a snack bar with a few small tables. It was far from cosy but promised a refuge if you stumbled through the city drunk at 3 AM. And the food smelled heavenly.

V sat down on one of the bar stools at the counter and Johnny joined them on the empty one besides them. Looking at the menu, V smiled as their eyes fell on the mid-prized ramen they used to eat as a teenager running the streets unknowing their dangers and feeling like the world belonged to them. As they still had dreams and completely confident, they would reach them. ‘Sounds like a good time.’ V looked at the ghost next to them disbelievingly. Something genuinely nice coming from him of all persons? ‘Yeah, I know. Shocking’, he huffed and pointed over the counter. ‘Someone wants to take your order, V.’

They looked up and threw the woman an apologetic smile, ordering their food and watching how it was freshly made. Well as fresh as it was possible with mass produced noodles of unclear origin and scop-paste mixed into the soup to give it at least some nutritional value. But it was far better than the kibble from their childhood and that might be mostly why they remembered the smell so intensely. ‘I used to come here too. When I was still alive.’ V didn’t really indulge him with an answer, but at the same time didn’t show him where to stick those words, so quiet listening was already better than most of their talks. ‘Back when Samurai was still just a small band begging to play in some shady bar. We only just started and used to crash here after a gig. Good times.’ V received their bowl and plucked some chopsticks to start eating. It wasn’t good by any means objective, but nostalgia and the memories it brought up from two lives did their part making it the best goddamn ramen they had ever eaten. ‘Hard to think you consider something “good times” when you didn’t get to blow up something’, V commented while hastily eating only pausing to chew. ‘Music is…’ Johnny shook his head and looked away to the street. ‘Ah, fuck, why am I even bothering explaining it to some braindead merc, literally a living corpse…’

V sighed. They knew Johnny was just a program, the remnants of a person invading their brain and killing them slowly but surely. But it was easy to forget when the Rockstar-slash-terrorist sat next to them, his memories sometimes as vivid to them as if they were their own. V felt the way Johnny thought of his music: A desperate attempt at venting what the corporations had done to him? Maybe, but also a means of rebellion in a world that didn’t care, that crushed a single person and their needs like an ant on their path to money, fame and power. Johnny was an asshole. Someone who – ironically similar to the corpos – put himself first, the rest of the world second. He was someone who was blinded by their rage and vengeance and narcistic worldview. But somewhere, on a deeper level, V understood him. ‘Must feel like I’m fucking with your head if you come to that conclusion.’ It was spoken drily, but his tone had changed to something a tidbit more friendly. Or tired? ‘Well, no one knows how this shit works’, V commented. ‘Could be you already overwrote my mind. Could be that even a bad person can have logical reasons for their actions.’ ‘Talking philosophy, V? Looks bad on you. People that do so usually have a brain and use it.’ ‘Shut up.’

And there they were again. Shoved into a dead end of silence, left to their own thoughts that were automatically broadcasted to the other with only their unwillingness to speak about it as a fake façade of privacy. And worse, V felt bad about it for some reason. Neither of them were here on their own volition. Silverhand was dead, killed fifty years ago, soul pulled out of his body to waste an eternity in an endless incorporate cold. And V? V should have been just another body washed up in the see of mercenaries trying to make a name for themselves in a city that forgot them in a second. And maybe, just maybe, now it could be their chance to change something. If not in the world, then at least for the one of them that survived. V almost expected the construct to speak up at that thought, but Johnny stayed silent.

‘What did you eat when you were here?’, they tentatively asked, ready to regret the question immediately. ‘Thought I should shut up.’ ‘I have fifteen minutes until I have to meet up with the client. Either we talk or spend the time in silence.’ They lifted the bowl up and downed the water to get back to pick out the remnants of the noodles on the bottom. ‘The Pad Thai here is amazing. The way the shrimp taste you can almost forget they aren’t real.’ ‘Sounds good’, V mumbled, downing the rest of the soup and paying for their food.

‘I think I’ll try that next.’

[shinycorvidae]

How Vic and Hiro Ended Up Sharing a Brain Tapeworm

(cowritten with @smilepal)

Part 6 of 6: In Which We Piss Off Our Pseudo-Father Figures

"Please proceed to insert the jack below the ear, although not too deep"

"... auxiliary neurosockets..."

"If I hit a vein by mistake..."

"...end up like Deshawn...fucking try me..."

"I think I have it."

"V! We're at viks, just..."

"... cannot...need...rest"

"Misty!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(I got stuck writing this for two weeks and I want to get to the rest of the story SO HERE HAVE SOME BULLET POINTS ✌️)

Vik taking V from Hiro's arms. He moves right into surgery and leaves a blood soaked Hiro to pace and listen to Delamain tell Vik that she’s going to die. Misty tries to convince him to go wash off the blood he’s covered in. Like hell is he leaving till Vs stable. She instead sits him down within eyesight of V and wraps up his torn palm. It’s cyberware, the best she can do is stop the leaking.

Hiro uses his anti-anxiety medication for the first time since he was a teenager. He doesn’t have time for panic attacks, he needs to be sharp, he’s got multiple people to protect.

Vik finally manages to stabilize V. He forces Hiro out of the clinic, V will be fine tonight, he needs to go home.

Hiro goes home to an empty, silent apartment. Watches V’s blood wash down the shower drain.

He doesn't sleep that night.

Hiro returns the next morning with three coffees. He’s not optimistic enough to bring one for Takemura or V.

Not that he’d bring one for the corpo anyway.

Vik is tired. There are dark circles under his eyes and he's slumped over on his stool staring into the distance. Hiro’s gut sinks, and he reflexively checks that V’s still breathing.

That’s Vik’s bad news face.

Hiro hands Vik the coffee and they sit in silence for a while. Watching V breathe.

Vik puts down his coffee and sighs.

“Do you want the good or the bad first?”

“Just tell me Vik”

“She’s stable. I removed the bullet from her head and she’ll recover fully from the wound. She’ll have a nasty scar and nothing else.”

“...but?”

“It’s hard to explain kid.”

“Vik.”

“The item V and Jackie were sent to filch? It’s a biochip, a Relic. Arasakas “upload a dead person” magic trick. But this one’s different, a prototype. Somehow it got slotted into Vs head.”

“What? Why would she do that? That...that makes no sense. Vic’s an idiot sometimes but...she wouldn’t do that.”

“Might not have been a willing choice kid. Might have been a desperate action. Maybe she was just reckless. I don’t know. Doesn’t change the end result. There’s a biochip in her head and I can’t get it out without killing her.”

“What? You can’t just unslot it?”

“When Deshawn shot her, she was dead. Just for a minute, maybe less. Then the nanites in the chip booted up and brought her back. That Relic is the only reason she’s breathing on that bed right now.”

“Fuck. Fuck, she...never mind, keep going Vik. Tell me all of it.”

“There’s only bad news left Hiro.”

“Keep going. Please.”

“...alright. That reboot, the bullet to the head? It activated the construct on the biochip. The virtual psyche of the person written on that chip. Johnny Silverhand.”

“...the rocker?”

“The terrorist more like. He’s...he’s overwriting V. He’s-It’s going to scoop out everything that makes her V and replace it with Silverhand. She has a couple weeks before there's nothing of her left, maybe a month at best.”

“How do we fix it?”

“There’s...-kid there’s nothing I can fix. I can slow it down a little with some medication, keep her a little more comfortable. But I-I can't fix this.”

The floor drops out from under him. No. Not now. She lived, she survived a bullet to the fucking head. A little piece of tech isn’t going to-

Fuck. FUck. Not another one, please not both of them, he cant-

And V. V who hates any loss of control, who’s so sure of who she is. Getting erased...he can’t think of a worst fear for her. A worse torture.

He leans against the counter heavily, the only thing supporting his weight. He can’t even look at her. He failed her. HE failed them both.

Vik's hand falls on his back. He can barely feel it. Barely hear him talk.

“I tried kid. I worked through every possible solution. Nothing works. The closest I got was splitting the engram but its not going to-”

Hiro will take anything. Any deal, any bargain to keep her here.

“Split it. How would you split it.”

Vik just looks at him. Keeps his mouth shut for a beat.

“Hiro-”

“NO! Vik, I refuse to- we won't lose her. We can’t, I can’t-. You aren't going to hold anything back from me, I swear-”

“Fine! Fine. If you split the engram, you might, MIGHT alleviate the load on Vic’s brain enough that she can fight off the engram, partially. Enough so she keeps control. It's a slim chance. More likely it will just buy her time, a couple months, and doom the second host to the same fate. And it might just outright kill her and the second host. I'm not going to take someone off the street and subject them to that. And I don't know anyone who'd do it willingly.”

“...I will. Use me. I’ll be the second host.”

“No.”

Viktor’s no is immediate. He's both horrified and shocked that Hiro would even offer. He watched him fight to survive as a teenager. To see him gamble his life on the slight chance to save Vic...

He won’t. He practically raised the kid, he’s not going to kill him on his own operating table.

Hiro gets right in his face, desperate and angry.

“We have a chance Vik! You're just too scared to take it!”

“It’s a fool’s chance! At best you buy her a couple months-”

“You said there's a chance it’d cure her completely.”

“A tiny one! It'd be like betting on a five year old in a one-on-one with Razor Hughes. Its suicide.”

“If V’s that five year old I’m taking that god damned bet.”

Vik just stares at him. He’s completely serious. He knew Jackie's death was affecting him, but he hadn't realized he'd lost his mind.

“Hiro-”

“I am BEGGING you Vik. I will get on my knees if that makes a difference, PLEASE. If you have an ounce of respect for me you'll do this, its my body, my fucking choice”

Hiro ups the ante at the sliver of weakness of resignation in Vik's face. He’s terrified and it’s making him desperate, making him mad.

“If you don't I will never forgive you, I fucking swear. You will never see my face again. You can’t not give me this chance to save her,-”

Vik's face goes hard. Stony. If the kid is going to guilt him with that, fine. He's an adult and obviously he doesn't care anymore. Let him risk his own damn life.

And. Hiro’s desperate enough, Vik KNOWS, he just knows that Hiro won't give up. He’ll find a different ripperdoc, one willing to do it. And they’ll fuck it up. No one willing to do that would be good at their job. He has to do it. Or put Hiro at even greater risk.

A little part of Vik hates Hiro for it. For backing him into this awful corner. For forcing him to be complicit in Hiro's death. In V’s.

“Alright. Alright. Go change into one of the scrubs, the sooner we do this, the better. For you and for V”

“Thank you-”

“DO NOT thank me for this Hiro. Do not. I don’t want to do this. It’s wrong and I’m pretty sure V would-”

“V lost the right to an opinion when she slotted this thing in her fucking skull in the first place.”

Vik performs the surgery. They both live. He makes sure Hiro is comfortable and asleep before opening up the scans of their brains. Of the Relic, still nestled in Vs head untouched. His stomach drops.

His prediction was mostly right. V isn't cured. Hiro bought her a couple more months, maybe 2 or 3. He's only delayed her death. Stretched out how long it will take Silverhand to devour her. Hiro has connected himself to her and the Relic but in a stroke of luck not her death. The relic isn't trying to scoop him out, but it will put stress on his synapses. He’ll have migraines, nausea, even possible seizures at the end of V’s life but when her final thread of self snaps, the bridge between their brains will collapse. He may be left with some permanent effects but he’ll live. Thank god he’ll live. He mourns for V but selfishly, awfully he's so grateful Hiro lived and will live. He will never say it out loud but he'd sacrifice V, a good friend, if it meant Hiro could live.

Hiro wakes up the next day. He refuses to believe Vik's final diagnosis. He’s bought V time, they’ll find some way to fix this.

He spends the week at Vik's, recovering and waiting for her to wake up. He tries to help around the clinic, but his relationship with Vik has been severely strained. Any conversation is awkward and stilted.

V wakes occasionally, short periods of not full awareness. Murmuring words, clenching her fists, eyes barely opening.

The first time she does it, Hiro's sitting right next to her bed, fiddling with the dismantled pieces of a shotgun to keep busy. He happens to look to his left. He’s shocked by the sight of V’s yellow brown eyes, staring at him lazy and warm.

“Hiro...”

“Hey V. Go back to sleep. It's too soon for you to be waking up.”

“K. G’night.”

A surge of deep want goes through Hiro as he pushes Vs hair back. He wants her.

Ohhhhh fuuuuuck he wants her. Not just as a friend. Or a roommate. Or a want for her to be safe. Oh no. oh nooooooo.

Apparently he’s not gay??? At least not completely. MAybe it's just men AND V. like an exception? Fuck this is bad. This is bad AND weird.

But he definitely wants V in his bed. He wants to know what her nails feel like on his back, her teeth on his lip. The playful look in her warm eyes as she drags her hand down his chest-

NOPE. NO. He’s not doing this right now. V is sick, V is DYING, he’s not- nope we aren't thinking about that.

It takes a couple hours for his ears to stop being bright red.

V wakes up late on the 6th day, Vik is sitting right there. Waiting for her to wake up.

V takes the news quietly. She's tired and obviously weak but her voice only wavers a little. She only begs Vik for a solution once, when she learns she’ll lose everything she is. She doesn't tear up or panic but examines every option she has. Looking for a way out. She can break down when she’s alone. Vik looks like he’s struggling with this enough. He doesn’t need to see her pain and fear too.

Hiro watches the whole thing from across the clinic. In a dark enough corner that V wouldn't immediately notice him. He watches her push down her feelings. Comforting Vik about her own fate for fucks sake.

He shouldn’t be here. Now that she’s lucid she probably hates him for not coming with them. He shouldn't creepily watch her be vulnerable without her consent. But he can't manage to drag himself away either.

Vik shakily wipes his face and delivers the final blow

"Hiro bought you sometime so you have a couple months instead of weeks. But you’re still dying V-"

"Wait Hiro? What did he do? Where is he?"

Fuck. Well now he really can't just sulk in the corner anymore. He comes out, walking up to her bed silently. He has no clue what to say to her.

V doesn't leave him drowning for long. She gives him a small smile, tired and pained but happy to see him anyway.

"It only took me dying to get you to learn to be sneaky, huh?"

A small choked laugh, suspiciously wet, escapes him. Only she would pull a laugh out of him right now, the brat.

Misty helps Hiro move her to a wheel chair so he can bring her home. Vik explains the meds to him too. He can tell her later. When she's not fast asleep in a wheelchair.

She's snoring and her hair is stuck around the handle. She's an idiot. She’s adorable.

Fuck.

[stormfall1327]

Find Me Waiting - Chapter 3

Now on AO3! 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492086/chapters/69830382

V shifted uncomfortably in the front seat of Vik’s car. Her skin was too hot, the air thick and tense between them as he drove them across town to the Kiroshi Optics building. “Mind if I, uh, roll the window down?” she asked. “‘Course not. This suit is damn stuffy, anyway,” he replied, reaching up to tug at the collar of his dress shirt. ‘Why not just take it off then?’ her mind unhelpfully supplied. V gratefully hit the button and rolled her window down, leaning her face out to cool her reddened cheeks. Vik glanced over and watched as a tendril of her hair came loose, skittering across the top of her freckled shoulders.

“So, you, uh, never did tell me what this gig of yours is about,” he supplied, turning his gaze back to the road as he tried to bring back some semblance of normalcy to their interactions. V leaned back into the car, rolling up the window part way and turned to face him. “Eh, it’s nothing much for what I’m getting paid. Client’s concerned about a new Kiroshi rep and wants me to look into ‘em, is all. Chat ‘em up, snoop around their office. You know, the usual stuff. Invited me to this fancy party to give me a better window of opportunity. Top eddies plus free champagne? Couldn’t turn ‘im down.”

“Heh, never did care for the stuff, myself. Tastes like cardboard.” He wrinkled his nose at the memory.

V chuckled. “But it’s free! And besides, I’m sure you’ll find something there you like.” She risked glancing up at his face and her breath caught when she found him staring at her. He cleared his throat and looked back to the road. “Yeah, sure to find something,” he muttered. ‘But nothing compares to what I have here next to me,’ finishing the sentence in his head.

The rest of the ride was quiet, the silence only broken by the rumble of the engine and the quiet sounds of Night City Radio coming through the speakers. As they neared the Kiroshi building, Vik slowed down to make his way into the parking garage. V placed a hand on his arm and motioned to the front of the building where a valet was waiting. Vik’s brow raised in question and V just shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “What? Client paid for this, too.” Vik mumbled something about somebody else touching his car under his breath, but followed V’s direction and pulled up to the curb.

The valet came up to the driver’s side window as Vik rolled it down. Placing a hand on his thigh, V leaned across him to talk to the man and give him her information. Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, Vik’s body tensed and he struggled to look anywhere but down V’s dress as she leaned across his lap, the low cut giving him a tantalizing view of her tits. The pressure of her hand on his thigh was maddening and he could feel his cock twitch when she sat back down and gave his leg a squeeze before reaching down to grab her purse.

Letting the air out of his lungs in a -whoosh-, he pulled the keys from the ignition and opened his door, subtly adjusting his pants as he stood. He handed the keys off to the valet and gave him a nod before heading around to open V’s door. He held out his hand to her, hoping she’d take it. She grinned up at him through long lashes and placed her small hand in his, allowing him to help her up. The touch was electric. It wasn’t like they’d never had skin contact before. He was her ripper, after all. Hell, V had kissed his cheek just earlier this evening when he agreed to come. But this... this was different. She knew she hadn't imagined the heated glances they shared tonight or the way his muscles twitched under his clothes where she touched him. She let out a small whimper as she stood, the reality of the evening starting to sink in. The sound bounced around in Viktor’s skull as he gripped her hand tighter. They stood there for a moment, hand in hand, staring at each other, breaths slightly quickened and hearts pounding. V pulled away first, turning her head away with a blush before smiling up at him. “Well, then. Shall we?” she asked, voice more than a little breathless. Vik smiled back. “Lead the way.”

Pulling him by the hand, V lead them a little further down the sidewalk before ducking into the nearest alley. She opened her purse and pulled out her Overture, pulling back the slide to ensure it was loaded before tucking it away again. “Expecting trouble?” he rumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, worry seeping into his face. She just winked at him. “It’s me, Vik. I always expect trouble. But seriously, I’m just tryin’ to be prepared. I’ll be in and out before you know it, no one the wiser. Trust me. I’ll be fine.” She reached up to pat him on the cheek, then took his hand again with a quick squeeze and walked confidently to the front door.

By the time they passed through security and made their way to the reception hall, the gala was in full swing. V took a moment to scan the crowd, zeroing in on her client across the room. She nudged Vik’s arm to get his attention. “See the guy over there in the gold suit? That’s my client. Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand again as they walked to the other side of the room.

Vik didn’t miss the way heads turned as she passed, appreciative glances and nods sent her direction by the mingling crowd. A sudden burst of jealously bubbled up in his chest and he reflexively tightened his grip on V's hand. V glanced back at him, giving him a questioning look. He just shook his head and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he squeezed her hand before relaxing his grip. He couldn't deny the change in their dynamic tonight. Was it too much to hope that she might want him as much as he wanted her?

As they approached, V’s client turned to greet them. “V! You made it!” he exclaimed, opening his arms and shooting the pair a million-watt smile. “Ah! And I see you didn’t come alone after all! Who’s the lucky man?”

“This is my date, Dr. Viktor Vektor. Best ripper in NC. Vik, this is Devon Marks, Kiroshi Optics rep.” Vik’s heart clenched at her words. Did she just say date?

Vik reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet ya, Devon. Always appreciated Kiroshi’s ingenuity.”

“Well, what can I say? We’re the best at what we do!” Standard corpo bullshit. Vik fought back the strong desire to roll his eyes and offered the man a small smile. Devon turned to V and motioned to the corner of the room. “There’s your target, V. Just like we agreed. And here. This should get you into her office.” He pressed a security card into her palm. “Thanks, Devon. Be back in a flash. And make sure Vik stays out of trouble for me, will ya?”

Shooting him a wink, she stepped back over to Vik and, using his arm as leverage, leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Be back in 20. Don’t get too lonely without me.” Her hot breath sent a shiver down his spine and as she spun on her heel to leave, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, the unexpected force sending her careening into his chest. He smirked at her before leaning down to her ear. “Come back to me, V. Don’t make me wait too long.” His voice was low and rough and V could feel the moisture pool between her legs at his words, goose flesh prickling her skin. She stepped back with a wicked grin on her face. “Promise.”

———

V’s mission was a success. After chatting up the target, she made her way silently into the office suites, hacking a couple of cameras and easily bypassing the lock with the card from Devon. The suspicious data was saved to a drive and exactly 20 minutes later, V waltzed into the reception hall. After handing the data over to Devon and receiving her payment, she spotted Vik waiting for her at the bar, nursing a beer.

“So, come here often?” she teased as she took up the stool next to him and ordered herself a whisky on the rocks. Vik glanced at his watch and grinned. “Right on time. You get what you needed?” She took a large sip of her drink, eyes closing in pleasure as the smooth liquid slid down her throat and warmed her belly. She nodded. “Yup. Job’s done, eddies in hand.” She raised her glass in a toast, clinking it against Vik’s bottle. “To fancy parties, easy jobs, and handsome men in suits!” She quickly took another drink, causing a drop of condensation to roll down her throat. Vik watched the droplet with hungry eyes, following it as it disappeared down the front of her dress. “And to stunning women in red dresses,” he added before taking a drink of his own. V’s blush reached her chest. Leaning in closer, she rested her hand on his forearm, eyes searching his face. “What say we get outta here, huh?” He met her gaze and held it. Placing his hand over hers for a brief moment, he moved to stand, bending slightly at the hips, arm extended.

“After you, V.”

[fics-not-tragedies]

Fuckin’ February: Day 10

It’s time for more Italian lovin’… Today’s prompt was requested by @toomanystoriessolittletime​

PROMPT: “Don’t think you’re going out in… this.” ft. Santino D’Antonio; Words:  601; Warnings: smut;

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Santino was stood by the door, waiting impatiently, another cigarette trapped between his fingers and he took a long drag, holding his breath when you stepped out of the bathroom with your eyes shining brightly, the vision you were gripping hold of him instantly, his gaze flickering down your body.

“Don’t think you’re going out in… this.”

You took few steps closer to him, twirling around as you moved closer, “How you like it, Santi?”

He took another long drag from his cigarette then quickly stubbed it into the ashtray. He sucked in the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“This is my favorite, I got it just for tonight” you added, but the look in his eyes made you push your bottom lip forward as you kept his gaze.

“No.”

You furrowed your brows, swallowing. The appreciation in his face when he’d looked at you had been so apparent that you could not believe now that he had objections. You blinked back at him, confused, “Santino, did you just say no?”

His eye twitched slightly, his hand balling into a fist, “You heard me, bella. You’re not wearing this tonight. You’re not wearing this around anybody but me.”

“But this dress…”

“This isn’t a dress, this is a fucking underwear!” Santino raised his voice at you and you flinched backwards, your eyes growing wide. He saw the fear in your eyes and stepped closer, “Bella I’m sorry… it’s just…” his large hands cupped your face as his mouth left a trail of little kisses from your chin all the way up to your forehead.

“Santi…” you breathed out when he pulled you closer, his body pressed against your flush.

“I don’t want anyone to see you like this…”

“Let me change then” he placed one last kiss to your temple, before stepping aside.

You walked back to the bags stood by the door to your wardrobe, pulling the satin over your head and letting it fall over the back of one of the stools to your left, could feel Santino’s eyes glued to your back and you increased the gentle sway of your hips, bending down to pull the dress from its bag.

When you rose to stand straight again, you gasped, breathed in the blend of smoke and the spice of his cologne before you felt him, his chest pressed to your back, his hand reaching around to cup your throat, his lips at your ear, his breath tickling your skin. You shivered.

“I want you to  get down on your knees for me, bella” watching your curves bounce, seeing your smile of excitement, he’d compromised with himself. He stroked his fingertips over your throat, could feel your shaky breath, then stepped back to let you follow his command, “Now. We don’t have a lot of time.”

You hummed, “Mmmm, no, Santino” you whispered, reaching to unbuckle his belt, then zip down his suit trousers, immensely pleased by the soft sigh of relief that escaped him when you wrapped your fingers around him, started to stroke him slowly as you pulled him out, his cock hot and throbbing in the palm of your hand and you looked up to see him still watching your every movement with hooded lids.

“This is the reason you can’t wear that dress around people… I don’t want them to get hard by the view of your barely covered body, bella.”

“I will remember how this dress works on you, you can be sure of it, Santi.”

“It’s not just the dress… it’s you in it, il tuo corpo è come arte, bella.”

[bananabeauty-skincare]

Features and appearance of the salon [en-it-es-pl]

- the right place - a separate room for pedicure - relaxing environment: warm colors, candles and music - a separate room for body treatments (better with shower) - social facilities Workplace - adequate ventilation - the right temperature - smooth surfaces, easily washable, resistant to damage - resistant to disinfectants Treatments room - treatment chair - stool for the beautician - cabinet for tools and cosmetics - cabinet for towels and treatment garments - table on wheels - disinfectants - sink with running water - disinfection tank or ultrasonic cleaner - tiles above the sink (1.6 m) - basket for dirty garments - trash can - liquid soap Equipment necessary for work - a loupe magnifier - plating - radio waves - iontophoresis - cavitation - microdermabrasion - ultrasounds - darsonval - oxydermabrasion - ILP or laser - autoclave - steamer Social services - table and chairs - wardrobe - water

[it] Caratteristiche e aspetto del salone - il posto adatto - una stanza separata per la pedicure - ambiente rilassante: colori caldi, candele e musica - una stanza separata per trattamenti per il corpo (meglio se con la doccia) - strutture sociali Posto di lavoro - ventilazione adeguata - temperatura adeguata - superfici lisce, facilmente lavabili, resistenti ai danni - resistenti ai disinfettanti Sala trattamenti - poltrona per trattamenti - sgabello per l'estetista - armadietto per strumenti e cosmetici - armadio per asciugamani e indumenti per il trattamento - tavolino su ruote - disinfettanti - lavandino con acqua corrente - vasca di disinfezione o pulitore a ultrasuoni - cestino per indumenti sporchi - cestino - sapone liquido Attrezzatura necessaria per il lavoro - luce con lente - galvanizzatore - onde radio - ionoforesi - cavitazione - microdermoabrasione - ultrasuoni - darsonval - ossidermabrasione - ILP o laser - autoclave - piroscafo Servizi sociali - tavolo e sedie - guardaroba - acqua

[es] Características y aspecto del espectáculo. - lugar correcto - una sala de pedicura separada - ambiente relajante: colores cálidos, velas y música - una habitación separada para tratamientos para el cuerpo (preferiblemente con ducha) - estructuras sociales Lugar de trabajo - ventilación adecuada - temperatura adecuada - superficies lisas, fácilmente lavables, resistentes al daño - resistente a los desinfectantes Sala de tratamiento - silla de tratamiento - taburete para la esteticista - casillero para instrumentos y cosméticos - armario para toallas y ropa para el tratamiento - mesita sobre ruedas - desinfectantes - fregadero con agua corriente - tanque de desinfección o limpiador ultrasónico - cesta para ropa sucia - canasta - jabón líquido Equipo necesario para el trabajo - luz con lente - galvanizador - ondas de radio - iontoforesis - cavitación - microdermabrasión - ultrasonidos - darsonval - oxidermabrasión - ILP o laser - autoclave - vapor Servicios sociales - mesa y sillas - armario - agua

[pl] Cechy i wygląd gabinetu -odpowiedni lokal -osobne pomieszcznie na pedicure -warunki sprzyjające relaksowi: ciepła kolorystyka, świece i muzyka -osobne pomieszczenie do zabiegów na ciało (natrysk) -zaplecze socjalne Stanowisko pracy -odpowiednia wentylacja  -odpowiednia temperatura -powirzchnie gładkie, łatwo zmywalne, odporne na uszkodzenia -odporne na środki dezynfekcyjne Gabinet kosmetyczny -fotel zabiegowy -taboret dla kosmetyczki -szafka na narzędzia i kosmetyki -szafka na ręczniki i bieliznę zabiegową -stolik na kółkach -środki dezynfekcyjne -umywalka y bieżącą wodą -wanna dezynfekcyjna lub myjka ultradźwiękowa -kafelki nad umywalką (1,6m) -kosz na brudną bieliznę -kosz na śmieci -mydło w płynie  Sprzęt niezbędny do pracy -lampa lupa -galwanizacja -fale radiowe -jonoforeza -kawitacja -mokrodermabrazja -ultradzwięki -darsonval -oxydermabrazja -ILP lub laser -autoklaw -wapozon Pomoeszcznie socjalne -stół i krzesła -niejsce na ubranie -szafki na naczynia i jedzenie -kuchenka mikrofalowa -czajnik elektryczny -woda w baniakach

[alchemisland]

LAX

A little something I wrote this morning. I wanted to fuck around with stream of consciousness from a first-person POV in a future dialect, a bastard hybrid-tongue, with elements of the building blocks present in German. Just some messing really. Enjoy.

There’s a formula to getting on. At my best I’m seen to like things, heard to know things and available should anything arise. Like things ironically, they can’t be used against you then. Such is our way.  I have to go fast. I’m like the bankside chicken, crocs in the river, quicker than they look, out and about on the tides and on the silk, always run, always sideeyes on the look, I have to be, everyone who was ever anyone in the corpo kept sideeyes and notrust always. Some secrets are for sharing in bed maybe, just for the two of you, a little private project to protect, prescient pearls, but some of them are just for one, for me, I want to be in the corpo. I have some big ideas. See, that’s the thing. You can’t care, what are you some weird with mosttime - too much time - are you going very slow, fast is the way buddy, gotta go fast zip along that highway like a lit cracker like a bit knacker, go go go. But sametime you have to care, want to change, why else do the corpo exists if nobody is trying to change any things? I inwardly longchange, but outwardly contentmodel. When you get to the corpo you have your own office and its all private and you can work on what you secretly care about I guess a bit and nobody knows and they won’t hate you and fight out what an uglyinside you are beneath the skin.

Was it always like this? Yes. 

Let’s meet for a walk. Stuff myself on the tram. Sardines against the licked glass, fogging, I can’t see what stop we’re at. Nobody stands clear of the door. Too afraid they’ll get stuck at the back and miss their stop, even though that’s never happened in the history of trams. 

All bets are off. Even the nice are made brutes. Commute is the gauntlet through which we pass. A grinder for the weak, sieving out the chaff from the mid-morning warrior, wielding his laminated pass, standing in his designated spot where he knows the host is lightest, where the same portly gentleman alights each day, leaving in his wake a pocket wide enough for three normal sized people - what’s normal - skinny, skinny jeans palefaced phonejunkie - fat, fat and delighted, newfoundly powerful, exerting agency where before went powerless, bless your little porcine eyes 

Me included, can’t be nice. Lose your place. Am I a loser? Fuck no. Remember, it’s about perception. I can be seen to lose, sure. Everyone loses. Napoleon. Achilles. Wild Bill. I can’t be seen to be OK with losing generally, or to not always be striving to win. Elbow on, even if you know rightly there’s no room, and that another empty tram is up its arse; why wait, I’ve waited three minutes already; elbow on and make room, fog the glass, feel its cold kiss agin your cheek. 

At my stop, all manners, ask nicely while pushing, ask for money with the notes already in your pocket, sorry can I move you there love, asked more with an elbow and a shrug of the shoulder rugbylike than a real silver’d tongue. 

Step off, breathe deep, alighted at last. These laminated scanner cards, for important guys who need to travel to the office every single day, where else, you don’t even need to tag off. Just on. The company, see, they want to know where you’re going. Without statistics and percentages, averages and ratios, how can they improve their service? 

Capacity. That’s the political buzzword. Feeling hot under the collar when the camera flashes form a corona, ask your opponent about their plans to relieve capacity. 

Well, minister, a taskforce has been implemented, whose sole duty is commuter flow and congestive relief, LAX squad, black flak gunjack jacks belt bombs bullets and me and my laminated ticket they wouldn't dare. 

Ticketless scoundrels would be first. Dragged down laneways and kneecapped by the LAXers in their black flak jackets. Fat cunts next. I once watched a woman eat chips from her handbag out my bedroom window. Lifting greasy sausagefingers to and from the clashing rocks of her teeth, those golden potato lumps a less fortunate crew of argonauts than those Jason took from Thessaly. She was shiny with vinegar. 

There’d be a helpline too, for helpful people who like to help out, help the authorities help society help these people help themselves. Hello is this the helpline, I’d say. Yes it is, Mr Helpful they would say. Thank you for remembering, machine, I would say. I’m a woman, said the machine - tricky like. I’d like to report a fat disgusting on the lower road, by the Smiles Institution for the Mentally Wretched. 

Most of the mentals were gone. The government couldn’t afford to keep every wing open. The least wretched were transferred to the regular system, scumbag system, but even mangy bangers that bash grannies for their handbags don’t deserve to be with the Mentally Wretched, those too reptilian to be among us. You remind us too much of something we’d rather not remember, thanks. We shoo them away. Prison is not enough. Special institutions, powerful bespoke disarming elixirs, stronger elastics and fastenings. Rarely ingenuous cures. Lock them up. 

Houses. They’re going to build houses for the people to live in. Rich people, buy out the scum. Stove the roof of my crannog so the rain comes through, then brick by brick build your castle around and above it, until one day the light stops streaming in that hole you made, and the last wet concrete sets on my soul. 

C’mon you pricks. We need houses like a rat needs fleas. Here’s a solution. Form the lax squad for real. Not just for the trams; clean the streets. Fats, uggs, unpops, olds, differents, cunts. 

Who is gonna sign up for that job? Who can be trusted to always make the right decisions? This is the genius part. If I wasn’t a writer slash commuter slash junkie slash tryhard slash huge faker slash dreamer slash cynic what else, I would be a really smart guy in the smart business realm. I have some big ideas. Pour cement over the lower classes, cultural layer. 

How? 

Blimps. 

How does that solve the LAX dilemma? 

People a. Don’t probably want to hurt strangers and b. Don’t want to be associated with stool-softening-rapiding agents. 

Why not. 

Have you never really needed a huge shit? I did once, up the way with Steve and like billy-o I went for the briar and scuttered and likely muttered in the winter, steam coming off the pile, stench worse than dog, cans of cider, Druids cider, did a jig and killed inside me(r). 

Anyway, I know who’s going to join the LAX squad. This is the genius bit now. The mentals. Get the mentals out of the big house - I’ll detail my plans for that shortly - and get them back into society. Doing good is good for you. So, here we go. 

Mentals are out, black flak jackets and chainsaws. People won’t stand for it. Why would anyone take a train where the staff occasionally kill you? Giveaways. There’s really good giveaways and extremely reasonable rates. Timing too. We keep a random element, but within strict confines. If you really, really, really aren’t up for stuffing it, we’ll say ‘Don’t get the tram this Saturday between 5-8, when emergency depopulation maintenance will be underway’. 

If you can kill one of our LAX agents without a weapon, using only your bare hands, you will win 10K cash, free travel for life and immunity for your family, denoted by a yellow laminate card worn on a golden lanyard, sprayed sprayed sprayed c’mon people let’s be reasonable, I’m trying to make savings here. 

Bread and circus meets Mad Max meets Eddie Hobbes, who surname is a fictional tiger and whose occupation was declawing a metaphorical tiger. What will you do with the land freed up from the Mentally Wretched? 

Gorgeous houses. Modest, extremely affordable, allotments for vegetables, flowers and berries, green areas, nice paving and gravel drives, adequate parking. How will you afford this? LAX saves the day. If you’re killed by the LAX officers, they get everything - the corp. Corp work for me. I build the houses. Move all the lowers in. The bad ones. 

They hear hissing. I say just heating, pipes, old Victorian brass jobs with whistles, dials, bells and sheen shine Die Glocke. Are you sure, they say. Petition. 

Please check this hiss, we do most definitely certainly hear something a-hiss. 

Goose I said. I have a farm of geese for you lowers this Christ day. 

No they say, we have seen and heard no goose. 

Did you look, I know they haven’t and it’s a trick for time. They know it’s a trick and won’t let me escape, even after I discharge the smoke bombs I had in my pocket, which were actually stinkers and we talked in the smelly, green cloud about the hissing sound and I secretly dialed for the boys. Come get me, boys. Some of these lowers is closing in. They smell bad and can’t read, which makes them basically skunks with Nike shoes, and they like things where people do things. 

Watch the show about the hissing maybe, that would be a good idea for to make more money, make them pay a fee to watch their neighbors in the house trying to find the source of the hissing. 

What is this hissing, daughter, ist thou vibrator on? This is how lowers speak, underpeople. Not me, smart, right smart, commuter man and going to be part of the corp with some of my ideas. Perhaps fidder, says the underdaughter, is idst thou vibrator? All laugh, others laugh other house, nobody finds the hiss and I escape. 

I keep them busy arguing about all the things until the boys come. Hi boys, get them please. The unders would be forced back into their house, lower house but nice ones that I built and now the hissing is so bad you can hear it inside and out and that’s a really crazy feeling and sound, even I can hear it but I let them know?? You crazy, Joe. this is a corp game and I’m the man in the know who runs the slow got the special glow and today’s another day at the corpo. 

One of the boys, I think his name was Dermot. He’s a middler and can’t ride the trains and I see his laminate is brown which is the same colour as shit and it makes me not like him and then I realized maybe why nobody was rushing to join the LAX squad, I wouldn’t want to be associated with any of the ass processes. Maybe I’ll have the name changed; I have those powers, I’m in the corpo. 

He asks me what the hiss is. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about I said and we get in the car and then I don’t have to lie because the unders can’t hear, with the hissing. 

He has music on, quite uncorpo stuff but good. Pale Rapist is their name. They played Frunk, the latest hellvariant from genresmith and axemaster Obscene Pete. Turn this up I said to Dermot who is in the front now driving, so the lowers can’t hear.

I says this hissing you hear he says yes I do sir. Snakes. No way, yes way snakes, where, in the walls in the foundations in the long grasses and beneath the pools, in the pipes and rafters and hollows and sinks, coiled in shoes and cupboards and shelves, I have a snake button at the office. Once I push it, all the Lowers are gone and it’s time to make some money. 

Put all the snakes back, move more unders in, release the snakes. It goes on forever and it makes loads of money and sense. He’s wowed, under me, I’m from the corpo and Pale Rapist is blaring, blaring. Back to the office please and inputs the coordinates. Runes grow blue on the panel. A rift appears and the unders can hear the fabric of space tearing like wet paper even with the hissing that they think is pipes because I tricked them and they believed me, I have nice eyes and I ride the train and my lanyard glints while theirs has a little bit of string like a desiccated length of ancient sausage. 

Through the rift right to HQ, big H, the corpo HQ and my office is enormous, large enough for a rift and the whole car and the lot. I step out, clear of the rift or you’ll lose more than an inch trust me, if my dick wasn’t so big I’d be worried, I could stand to lose an inch or two and still feel swole. He drives back, closes it, leaves. 

Sit at the desk and the snake button is there where I asked for it, it’s pushed like an aging king from his battlements before you can say snakes coming out of every pore and eating all the lowers. 

Guess what, genius idea I had already and didn’t say. The lowers and unders and middlers living elsewhere paid their fee and guess what they’re watching on PPV? New hit show. Billion viewers. Undersnake. 

Which family will survive? I planted one shotgun in the under area. One underfamily will find it. If they survive it’s gonna be good news. Cash money enough to be a middler. They can watch the next season live, cousins maybe. Holy shit idea again, they can be judges, or helpers. One lifeline. You can call this vet fam and ask they sage advice in direst perils. Yeah, season two is gonna have a lot of new stuff. 

Show is over, good ratings. No rift home, take the train. What time is it? Oh the one thing I love about Saturday work. 

My own LAX are on the take today. 

Another forty minutes. I love a challenge, dare me and dare I and how dare they, let’s have a go they would never kill the boss for I was the one who invented the LAX and now the trams run basically on time.