v-the-nomad

[v-the-nomad]

Mi querida,

Holy moly, this gig just keeps getting wilder! So, I met the BD wizard behind Lizzie's little operation - Judy. Chica's maxed her cuteness, that's for sure and she got brains to match. If Jackie was here? Gonk would've short-circuited faster than reprocessed zetaware.

Now, about that BD of Yorinobu's pad? Fucking shit, Persia. It's like they're inviting us in. I had T-Bug on the holo while we checked the security and it's softer than a corpo's hands. Sure, there are some speedbumps, but nothing our new toy - the Flathead - can't handle. If we can neutralize the local netrunners, we might just pull this off without breaking a sweat.

But here's the real mind-fuck - I saw Adam fucking Smasher in that BD. Up close and personal, hermana. It was like staring death in its chrome-plated face. That 'borg makes a standard issue cyberpsycho look like a declawed kitten. But you know what? As terrifying as it was, there was something… I don't know, special about it. Like seeing Weyland Boa Boa or Morgan Blackhand in the flesh. A living, breathing legend of Night City. Thank fuck it was just in a virtue though. If that mountain of chrome and murder was actually in the room? I'd have pissed myself for sure.

Now, onto Evelyn. Chica's been doing the horizontal tango with Yorinobu himself. Talk about going straight to the source, eh? She's got that boy wrapped around her little finger tighter than a corpo's grip on their eddies. You know how it goes - a little action between the sheets, and suddenly Mr. Big Shot Arasaka is spilling secrets like a busted fire hydrant. It's that post-nut clarity, I guess. Men and their loose lips after getting their rocks off - tale as old as time.

I can't shake this feeling, Persia. It's like… for once, the stars are aligning. We've got solid intel, a crack team, and a plan that might actually work. This really could be it. Dex believes in the plan and he knows his shit, right?

Fuck! Listen to me getting all starry-eyed. Maybe I'm just high on the Cenzón I've been inhaling or something. But damn, it feels good to have a shot at something real for once.

Wish you could see us right now. Three gorgeous outputs (four if you count T-Bug) scheming to klep from an Arasaka dick. There is poetry in there.

V

[v-the-nomad]

Persia my dear,

Mierda, the stakes just got sky-high! This Evelyn Parker? She's a walking, talking honey trap - all high-class chrome and killer curves, with a smile that could make a monk break his vows and a cleavage deeper than the Grand Canyon. The kind of woman who could sweet-talk a corpo into giving up their firstborn. Good thing Jackie wasn't here - he'd have forgotten his own name, let alone Misty's.

Now, get this - we're not just lifting some random tech. We're talking about "the relic." Yeah, that same gizmo Ziggy Q's been yapping about on "Night After Night." It's some poor gonk's engram, apparently. And wait for it: we're swiping it from none other than Yorinobu fucking Arasaka. You heard me right. The prodigal son himself, heir to the Arasaka empire.

I mean, Jesus H. Christ on a chromed-out unicycle, Persia. This isn't just playing with fire; it's diving headfirst into a fusion reactor. Evelyn's talking about NetWatch and Dex did hint at the Voodoo Boys being involved as well - all the heaviest hitters in Night City are circling this thing like a corpo waiting for his payday.

She's got some BD of Yorinobu's pad, says we can scope out the security. But something smells fishier than a Pacifica dumpster in August. Why would Dex greenlight this suicide run? The payout must be astronomical, but still… stealing from the Arasakas? That's how you end up in a landfill, not as a legend.

I can't shake this feeling that we're pawns in some game way above our pay grade. But fuck, Persia, if we pull this off… we'd be set for life. No more scraping by, no more bottom-feeding gigs. We'd be the talk of Night City. Blaze of glory, baby.

What would you do, hermana? Take the shot and risk it all, or walk away and wonder 'what if' for the rest of your days?

Shit, I need another drink. This city's gonna be the death of me, I swear.

V

[v-the-nomad]

Hey chica,

Wouldn't you believe it, but I'm actually having a good time in this neon-soaked cesspool! Check out the pic - your girl's living it up at Lizzie's Bar, and let me tell you, it's a far cry from our nomad bonfires.

Got about an hour before I meet this mysterious client, one Evelyn Parker, for the big J-O-B, but right now? I'm riding high on Cenzón and synth beats. Even caught myself dancing to Us Cracks - don't you dare judge, Persia. After the clusterfuck at All Foods, I needed this.

Jackie's out with Misty. Poor girl's still shaken up about our Maelstrom tango. But don't sweat it, T-Bug's on call tonight, she got my six if shit goes sideways. Not that I'm expecting any lead to fly tonight. Lizzie's is Mox territory - joytoys who said "fuck this shit" and made their own gang. Gotta admire that hustle.

Speaking of hustle, you wouldn't believe the BDs they're slinging here. Word is, they've got some techno-wizard tuning the sensories. Makes sense - when you run your own joint, you make sure the merchandise is top-shelf.

Tonight's all about Ms. Parker getting a read on yours truly. Intel, job deets, the whole nine yards. After dodging Militech's chrome army, this should be a cakewalk. Only real danger is I might be too zoomed to catch all the specifics. But hey, that's future V's problem, right?

Gonna soak up this vibe while I can. In Night City, you learn to savor the quiet moments - they don't come often. So here's to chrome dreams and neon nightmares, chica. May our roads cross again someday.

Bottoms up, hermana

V

[v-the-nomad]

Hola chica,

Fucking corpos, I swear. Should've known that Militech puta Stout was playing us from the start. The cred chip had a virus - because of course it did. Moment Royce tried to transfer the eddies, Militech went full-on war mode. Cyberattack, guns blazing, the whole nine yards.

It all went to shit faster than a street kid's first score. One second we're talking biz, the next Jackie's put Dum Dum's chrome ass on the ground, and I'm putting him down for good. Royce? Pendejo vanished like a fart in the wind, but we could hear the gunfire. Place turned into a goddamn war zone, Persia.

We grabbed that Flathead bot and delta'ed our asses outta there. Pure fucking chaos. Bullets whizzing by, 'borgs dropping left and right. But we made it out breathing. Jackie and me? We're synced tighter than mirrored corpo databases, chica. Even when the whole system's crashing, we're still in perfect lockstep.

Outside, we ran into that Militech bitch again. Stout had the balls to show her face after that stunt. Gave her a piece of my mind, told her where she could shove her corpo schemes. Perra loca.

But you know what, Persia? We fucking won. That chrome spider's ours now, and Dex is setting up the meet with our mystery client. And get this - it's at Lizzie's Bar. Our go-to joint for when we need to blow off steam. Neon-soaked den of sin and synth-pop, run by the Mox. Talk about mixing biz with pleasure, right? Can't exactly let loose at El Coyote Cojo with Mama Welles eyeballing our every move, but Lizzie's? That's where the real Night City magic happens.

Dios mío, Persia. This city's a chrome-plated hellhole, but right now? I feel like I'm on top of the whole damn thing. Queen of the underworld, baby. Jackie keeps saying we're bulletproof, and after today? I'm starting to believe it.

Night City might be trying to eat us alive, but we're biting back harder. Watch out, choombas - V and Jackie are coming for the major leagues.

V

P.S. Next time I see a corpo, I might just shoot first and ask questions never. Lesson learned, eh?

[v-the-nomad]

We're in deep shit now, Persia. Just stepped into All Foods, the base Maelstrom is camping out in, and I swear, it's like walking into a chrome-plated nightmare. This place is a goddamn fortress - military-grade everything. Turrets, mines, enough firepower to start a small war. And the 'borgs? Christ on a chip, they're something else.

Had to deal with this gonk called Dum Dum. Fitting name - guy's about as stable as a one-legged barstool. Offered me some Black Lace, can you believe it? Like I'd be dumb enough to get zoomed during a gig. Though, not gonna lie, a hit might've helped with these jitters. My nerves are singing like a live wire.

Gotta admit, that bot we about the snatch, called The Flathead, is a sweet piece of tech. Almost makes this clusterfuck worth it. Almost. Things were going smooth with Dum Dum, thought we might actually pull this off without bloodshed.

Then Royce showed up.

Persia, this guy… he's not just crazy, he's full-tilt psycho. Pulled iron the second he laid eyes on us, barking threats like a junkyard dog on Synth-Coke. Took the cred chip though, so there's that. He's running the transfer now, which is why I've got a sec to jot this down.

Jackie's wound tighter than a corpo's asshole, and it's got me on edge too. When he's not cool, I'm not cool. These 'borg freaks have us surrounded, and I can't shake the feeling we're sitting on a powder keg with a lit fuse.

If we make it out of this gig alive, I'll be having nightmares for a month. Chrome faces, dead eyes, the stench of oil and blood… Fuck, Persia, what have we gotten ourselves into?

At least the eddies are flowing. Small comfort when you're staring down the barrel of a psycho's gun, but hey, that's Night City for you. Pray for us, chica. We're gonna need all the luck we can get.

Hasta la vista… I hope, V

[v-the-nomad]

Persia,

Holy shit, chica. Just minutes ago I was ready to flatline that Militech bitch. Well, turns out all I needed was a dose of Jackie Welles to bring me back from the edge. I swear, that big lug's got a talent for turning my rage into something useful.

You should've seen him, Persia. One minute I'm still shaking from my Militech encounter, the next I'm actually thinking straight. Jackie's got this way of looking at you, like you're the only person in Night City worth a damn. His smile could probably power half the city if we hooked it up to the grid.

And chica, I can't help but wonder sometimes, you know? There's this… spark between us. When Jackie looks at me with those warm eyes, it's like the rest of Night City just fades away. For a split second, I can almost imagine us as something more than partners in crime.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not planning to come between him and Misty. They're good together, and Misty's solid people. But in moments like these, when the adrenaline's still pumping and Jackie's right there, being my rock… it's hard not to let my mind wander.

But that's all pie-in-the-sky bullshit, isn't it? We're friends, best friends. Partners. And in Night City, that's worth more than all the eddies in Arasaka's vault. Jackie and I, we've got each other's backs when the shit hits the fan. We trust each other with our lives. And in this cesspool of a city, that kind of bond is rarer than a honest corpo.

Anyway, enough of that sappy shit. Jackie did some serious legwork on the Maelstrom base. Turns out, things are even more FUBAR than we thought. Dex had a deal with their leader, Brick, but seems like there's been a coup. Some psycho named Royce decided to play king of the hill and now Brick's probably fertilizing their hydroponic setup.

So now we're walking into a hornets' nest of 'borg freaks with a deal that might be worth less than week-old synth-meat. But hey, at least we've got that Militech eddie to smooth things over. Last thing I want is to start a shootout with those chrome-loving psychos.

But you know what? With Jackie by my side, I feel like we could take on a whole army of Maelstrom goons. We're not just good, Persia, we're fucking unstoppable. Never botched a job, and we're sure as hell not starting now. When Jackie and I sync up, it's like… I don't know, like we're operating on some higher level. Kinda makes me believe all that "major leagues" talk might not be just talk after all.

Wish me luck, chica. We're about to dive into the lion's den, but with Jackie watching my back, I've got a feeling we'll come out on top.

Hasta luego, V

[v-the-nomad]

Persia,

Fucking fuck. I just had the displeasure of meeting that Militech agent in the flesh. Meredith Stout. Even her name sounds like it was engineered in some corpo lab.

I went in thinking we could have a civil conversation, maybe even strike a mutually beneficial deal. Silly nomad me, right? Should've known better than to treat a suit like a actual human being. Before I could even open my mouth, she had her goons ambush me like I was some common criminal. Can you believe it? They treated me like I was the one who jacked their precious convoy!

I swear, Persia, my blood was boiling hotter than a overclocked cyberdeck. Every instinct screamed at me to introduce her smug face to my fist. But I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper. Had to remind myself that starting a firefight with Militech would be like bringing a knife to a nuke fight - quick way to end up as street pizza. So I played it cool, even tossed her some advice on beefing up convoy security. You should've seen her face - like I'd offered to wipe her chrome-plated ass. These corps, I swear. They'd rather flatline than admit a "street rat" might know something they don't.

But here's the kicker - despite all that corpo bullshit, we actually managed to cut a deal. She forked over a cred chip with 10 grand to pay off Maelstrom for the bot. In return, I pointed her towards their base. Part of me feels dirty for dealing with her, but hey, a girl's gotta eat, right?

Still, this whole clusterfuck's got my nerves singing like a poorly tuned guitar. Dealing with Militech left me feeling dirtier than a week-old burrito wrapper. Fuck 'em and their chrome-plated superiority complex. But you know what, Persia? I played their game and came out on top. Got the cred chip, didn't I? Ten grand of corpo cash burning a hole in my pocket.

Part of me wants to take this win and run, tell Dex and his fancy bot to go fuck themselves. But that ain't me. I made a deal, and I'm gonna see it through. Besides, imagine the look on Dex's face when we stroll into his office with that bot, no muss, no fuss.

Wish you were here to see it, chica. You'd probably tell me I'm being a hothead, taking unnecessary risks. And maybe you'd be right. But in this city, you gotta take your wins where you can get 'em. Maelstrom's next on the chopping block, and they won't know what hit 'em.

Stay sharp, V

[v-the-nomad]

Holy fucking chrome, chica!

I just had a face-to-face with the one and only Dexter DeShawn. Can you believe it? My head's still spinning like a malfunctioning cyberware. It was nice. Surreal, but nice. Right now, I'm riding a high that makes Black Lace feel like kiddie candy.

Dex is… well, he's Dex. Smooth as synth-silk and cooler than a Militech cryo-unit. Just being in his ride felt like my street cred doubled. But don't worry, chica, I ain't lost my edge. Dex might be offering us the world, but he's still putting us through our paces.

First up, we've gotta deal with Maelstrom. You know, those chrome-crazy gonks who look like they're auditioning for "Adam Smasher: The Early Years." We're supposed to snag some military hardware from them - a bot, to be specific. Sounds simple enough, right? But here's the kicker - if we pull this off, Dex wants me to meet the client. Me, Persia. And not some random middleman, but the actual, flesh and bones, client.

You getting what I'm laying down here? This isn't just some run-of-the-mill gig. This is our ticket to the big leagues. One small step for V, one giant leap for nomad-kind, or some shit like that.

Jackie's already out there, sniffing around Maelstrom territory like a bloodhound on a scent. Me? I've got a date with a Militech agent. And chica, this might just be our golden ticket. This agent? She's pure corpo, Persia. All clean-cut suit and sharp edges. Haven't met her in person yet, but even from the brief pic I've seen, you can practically smell the ambition and corpo stink. But here's the real juice - she's been chasing a ghost for weeks. A whole Militech convoy, poof, gone without a trace. And guess who's got the missing goods? Our chrome-dome amigos in Maelstrom.

Now, Militech's still in the dark about their missing toys, and this agent? She's getting desperate. Weeks of searching with not even an enny to show for it. And you know me, Persia. I can smell an opportunity like a scav can smell fresh chrome. I'm thinking we can cut a deal - we feed her some intel on her precious convoy, and in return, she greases the wheels for us to snag that military-grade bot Dex is after. Two birds, one stone, and a whole lotta eddies.

It's a delicate dance, sure. Corpo types always are. But if we play this right, this buttoned-up Militech suit will be putty in our hands. We could come out of this smelling like roses and swimming in cred.

I can feel it, almost taste it, Persia. The eddies, the respect, the power. Night City's about to learn that us nomads aren't just dust and tumbleweeds. We're the fucking storm. Hear me roar.

delta and out, V

[v-the-nomad]

Hey Persia,

Just wrapped up with Vik, my go-to chrome wrangler and the best damn ripperdoc in Watson. Sure, there might be fancier clinics in corpo plaza, but Vik's got the skills and the heart to match. Plus, he doesn't give two shits about my 21k eddies debt. He knows I'm solid - a nomad always comes through with the creds, right?

But holy shit, hermana, you won't believe what he just slapped into my skull. Kiroshi optics! Yeah, you heard that right. Kiroshi. Only Mk 1, but still. I feel like I should be sipping some overpriced champagne in a Corpo penthouse right now. Call me V-san and kowtow. Ha!

Anyway… I'm chillin' in Vik's clinic right now, which is right below "Misty's Esoterica." Yes, that Misty. Jackie's output. And guess what, they are upstairs "talking". Yeah, "talking". I've already walked in on enough of their "conversations" to last me a lifetime, if you catch my drift. So, I'm giving them some space. And me some peace of mind.

But I'm in no hurry. I have a few hours before I'm meeting the man himself - Dexter DeShawn. Dex to his friends, which apparently includes yours truly now. Can you believe it? This morning I was just another merc, and now I'm rubbing elbows with Night City's elite fixers.

You don't need to wish me luck this time, Persia. I won't need it. Wish me fun instead. I've got the skills, I've got new Kiroshi's, and I've got that Bakkers grit. This city won't know what hit it. Sure, I'm sitting in a dingy basement right now, but my head's already in the clouds. Watch this space, hermana. Your girl's about to blow up bigger than a Bartmoss DataKrash.

Hasta luego, and keep an eye out for my name in the screamsheets!

V

[v-the-nomad]

Persia, mi hermana, you're not gonna believe this nova shit. Didn't I just say how we were gonna climb? Well, strap in, 'cause we just got a rocket strapped to our asses.

Dexter DeShawn, the "Black Jesus of the Afterlife" himself just dangled a job in front of us like a chrome-plated carrot. Now, you probably haven't heard his name yet, so let me paint you a picture:

This guy's a fixer, but not your run-of-the-mill street corner variety. We're talking top-tier, cream of the crop. The kind of guy who can make miracles happen with a phone call. Word is, he's been off the grid for a couple years after some clusterfuck in Pacifica, but now he's looking to make a comeback. And guess who he wants for his grand re-entry? This chica right here.

Jackie dropped this bomb while we were scarfing down breakfast. Well, he was slurping noodles like a man possessed, and I was injecting coffee straight into my veins. Nearly choked when he told me. Apparently, T-Bug (our nova runner, 'member?) was the one who made the connection. Girl's got more strings to pull than a puppet master on black lace.

Now, don't get me wrong. Dex ain't no Morgan Blackhand or Rogue Amendiares. But in Night City's underworld, he's a big fucking deal. He is two hundred and seventy pounds of partly gold-plated cool. And he wants to meet me. Me. In person. No bullshit on the holo. Eye to eye, face to face, mano a mana. That's gotta mean something, right?

I can feel it in my implants, Persia. This could be our golden ticket. Our shot at the big leagues. We've never botched a job, and looks like that clean record's caught some very important eyes. If we nail this gig, if we show Dex what we're made of, our names are gonna spread faster than a virus in a scav den.

I'm buzzing, Persia. As if I've just jacked into a black ICE mainframe. This city's about to see what I am made of. And when it does, it better watch the fuck out.

Hasta la próxima, hermana. The next time I write, it'll be from the top.

Always, V

P.S. If this goes south, promise you'll pour out some Cenzón for me. But it won't. I've got this. I can feel it.

[v-the-nomad]

Fuck me, I'm still shaking. Just when I thought this gig couldn't get any more gonked, Trauma Team shows up like a pack of rabid dogs. You should've seen these chrome-plated assholes, chica. There I am, hauling Sandra's half-dead ass out to the terrace, and these joytoys come screaming in, guns barred like we're the ones who carved her up.

Not even a "gracias" or a nod. Just barrels in our faces and barked orders. We pulled their precious little corpo out of that meat grinder, and they treat us like we're the scavs. T-Bug says Sandra's bio signal's holding steady, but barely. Good thing too, 'cause if she flatlined, bet your ass Trauma would've put that bill on us.

I'm done, Persia. Done with this small-time bullshit. Done being some corp's errand girl, cleaning up their messes for chump change. No more horror shows, no more petty jobs that leave me feeling like I need to defrag my soul with a combat knife.

You hear me, chica? This is V making a nova-grade promise. I'm gonna climb so high up the food chain, those Trauma Team pricks will be begging for my attention. Gonna hit the big leagues, mess with the corps where it really hurts. Night City thinks it can chew me up and spit me out? Watch me turn the tables.

From now on, we play by my rules. No more being a doormat for every badge and suit with a superiority complex. I'm gonna make this city my bitch, Persia. And when I do, I'll raise a glass of the finest tequila this town's got, and I'll drink to you, to us, to the Bakkers, and to every choom who ever got stepped on by this city.

Night City hasn't seen anything yet. Watch me rise, hermana. Watch me soar.

Hasta la victoria, V

P.S. Gotta delta. Jackie's already talking about our next move. Says he's got a plan to really put us on the map. I'll fill you in soon.

[v-the-nomad]

Persia,

I don't know how to start this. Well, remember how I said not all our gigs were bad? Well, this one started off looking like we'd be the white hats for once. Rescuing some corpo from scavs - should've been a clean in-and-out job. But reality's got a way of kicking you in the teeth when you least expect it.

We tracked the target to this… I don't even know what to call it. A butcher shop? A horror show? Imagine the worst garret you've ever seen, then multiply it by a thousand. These scav fuckers, they're not just stealing chrome - they're harvesting people like they're nothing but walking tech catalogues.

You should see this place, Persia. Actually, no. I wish I could unsee it myself. It's like something out of those old flat vids we used to watch - the ones that gave you nightmares for weeks. Except this is real, and the nightmares are walking and talking and carving people up while they're still breathing.

Our runner, T-Bug, she tracked down the target's bio signal. Part of me wishes she hadn't. Finding Sandra Dorsett… fuck. It's one thing to know this shit happens, it's another to see it up close. She was lying in this ice bath with other bodies, like a pieces of meat waiting to be processed. We got her out, pulled some demon chip from her head. Trauma Team's inbound, so maybe she'll make it.

But goddamn it, Persia! How the fuck is this happening? How are people just… okay with this? It makes me want to burn this whole fucking city to the ground! These scavs, these fucking vultures - they're not even human anymore. And for what? A few extra eddies? A shiny new piece of chrome?

I thought I was street-smart, you know? Thought I'd seen it all. But this… this is a whole new level of fucked up. Makes me wonder if we made the right choice coming here. At least out in the Badlands, people still had some shred of humanity left.

I don't know if I can do this, chica. Don't know if I've got the stomach for it. Maybe Jackie's right - maybe we should stick to stealing from the corpos. At least then we'd just be thieves, not… whatever the fuck this makes us.

Shit, I need a drink. Or ten. Anything to wash away the memory of what I saw today.

Stay safe out there, Persia. And pray for me. V

[v-the-nomad]

Hey Persia, you preem grease monkey!

Shit, time's been flying faster than a MaxTac chopper on a raid! Sorry for ghosting you, chica. Jackie and I've been busier doing gigs as a team. Even have a nova runner now as backup, though I never met her in realspace. Sometimes I doubt she is flesh and bones, you know. But anyway, our rep's growing like a tumor on Biotechnica lab rat - even snagged another fixer. Wakako, this ice-cold Japanese bitch. Makes the Padre look like a cuddly teddy bear, I swear.

But check this pic out! Your girl's finally got her own slice of Night City hell! Four walls, a roof, and a view of the smog. Living large in Watson, can you believe it? Yeah, that Watson. The one from "Watson Whore." No shit, I sometimes grab my synth-caf at the same joint where that iconic breakup scene took place. Life imitating art, or whatever that preem saying is.

Got myself some wheels too. Nothing fancy, just an Archer Hella. It ain't gonna win any races, but it's got four wheels and an engine that mostly works. 'Course, Jackie's always borrowing it. Says his arch ain't practical for some jobs. Practical my ass - he's just too cheap to shell out for his own cage.

Things are looking up, Persia. Got a steady flow of eddies and a place to crash. It ain't home. Not yet. But it's a start, you know?

Shit, I miss our late-night bullshit sessions. Remember when we'd stay up till dawn, tinkering with that ancient Thorton and dreaming about the big city? Well, here I am, living the dream. Sort of. It's dirtier, louder, and way more dangerous than we ever imagined. But damn if it ain't exciting.

Gotta delta - got this gig lined up, could get real spicy real quick. Lucky for us, our runner's got ice in her veins and chrome in her skull. Chica's so zen she drops Aristotle quotes while we're crawling through vents. Figure that means we're golden, right? I'll try to jack in more often, but no promises, Persia. This city's got a 24/7 heartbeat, and I'm dancing to its rhythm these days.

Stay nova, chica. V

P.S. I'm like 90% sure Jackie and Misty have been banging in my backseat. Can't prove it, but if I find one more pair of lacy panties under the seat, I'm gonna lose my shit.

[v-the-nomad]

Hey Persia, mi amiga!

¡Dios mío! You won't believe it - we're finally rollin' in eddies! Okay, maybe not rollin', but at least we ain't scraping the bottom of the barrel anymore. That scaly little meal ticket finally paid off, and Jackie and I are celebrating like there's no tomorrow at el Coyote Cojo.

Check out this pic I snapped - that's Misty, Jackie's output. She's a real trip, chica. All crystals and tarot cards and shit. At first, I thought she was just another glitchhead dipstick, but nah, she's got a heart of gold and a soul that could warm up even the coldest chrome. Still trips me out when she starts yapping about auras and whatnot, but hey, to each their own, right?

But back to biz - those gigs we've been running… The Padre - yeah, that creepy-ass fixer I mentioned before - he's been throwing work our way. Turns out, the old man's not half bad. Still wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley, but he pays on time, so who am I to judge? Most of the jobs are shadier than an Arasaka news broadcast though. Had a few close calls with the NCPD already. Those badge-wearing fascists are always itching to bust some heads. But hey, that's Night City for ya - if you ain't breaking the law, you ain't trying hard enough, right?

But fuck all that noise - tonight's about celebrating! The tequila's flowing, and I'm feeling… what's the word? Invincible? Nah, that's the booze talking. But damn good, that's for sure. Jackie's over there, all googly-eyed over Misty, spouting some real sappy shit. It's cute, I guess, but it's making me think… maybe I need to find myself a nice input too. You know, someone to watch my back (and maybe my front too, if you know what I mean).

Anyway, I gotta delta - Jackie's calling for another round, and who am I to say no? Wish you were here, Persia. We'd tear through Night City like a Trauma Team on a platinum call.

V

P.S. Tomorrow's V is gonna hate tonight's V, but that's a problem for Future V. Present V says '¡Salud!'

[v-the-nomad]

Hey Persia,

You wouldn't believe the turn my luck's taken. I'm crashing at Jackie's place, and let me tell you, his mom - "Mamá Welles" - is a real piece of work. In the best way possible, I mean. Finally, someone who speaks Spanish that doesn't sound like it's been through a wood chipper, you feel me? Jackie's not bad, but next to his mom, he sounds like he learned the language from a busted BD.

Mamá Welles is solid gold. She's letting me crash at her pad until we offload that scaly status symbol or I scrape together enough eddies from some gigs to get my own digs. Talk about hospitality, right? Makes me think of my own mom and how she would always have extra plates for outsiders. God, I miss her.

But, get this - Jackie's been yapping about some big shot fixer called "The Padre." Yeah, creepy as fuck name, I know. Sounds like someone you'd confess your sins to before they put a bullet in your skull. But apparently, he's the go-to guy for work in this part of Night City. Gonna have to put on my best face when I meet him. Here's hoping I can score some decent gigs. Might even tag team with Jackie on a few - the guy knows this concrete jungle like the back of his hand, and I'm starting to think I can actually trust him. Weird, right?

Oh, and Persia? If you ever find yourself near NC, there's one thing you absolutely gotta do. Head to Heywood and look for a dive called El Coyote Cojo. Ask for Pepe at the bar, tell him V sent you. Then order the Chilaquiles. I'm telling you, Mamá Welles' Chilaquiles are… fuck, they're something else. It's like… it's like tasting real food for the first time in your life. Spicy, savory, with this perfect crunch that'll make your taste buds do a happy dance. The sauce? Christ, it's so good it should be illegal. I swear, for a moment, it almost makes you forget you're in this corpo den of a city. Almost. Just don't drool on yourself when you're eating, yeah? Wouldn't want to ruin that nomad rep.

Things are looking up, chica.

savory yours, V

[v-the-nomad]

We cracked open that crate, and I swear on Selita's grave, it's straight outta Arasaka. No wonder those suits were on us faster than a joytoy on a fresh mark. But get this - it ain't some fancy tech or black ICE. Nah, it's a fuckin' iguana. Yeah, you read that right. One of those extinct lizards, a "lesser-antique-lillian" or some shit. Jackie's got a surprising soft spot for scalies, go figure.

Now, I know what you're thinking - all that heat for a overgrown gecko? But this ain't just any pet, Persia. This is high-class, extinct species we're talking about. Any half-decent fixer'll have some rich corpo chomping at the bit to get their hands on this living, breathing status symbol. And what's sweeter than selling stolen corpo shit to a suit?

But speaking of Jackie… turns out our boy had some plans of his own. Can you believe this pendejo was gonna ditch me after we crossed the border? Never even planned to pay up. But after our high-octane hellride, seems like we've reached an… understanding. We're going halfsies on the iguana now.

Gotta admit, I'm warming up to this city-slicker. He's got connections with a few fixers in Night City. Might be just the intro I need to get my foot in the door in this neon labyrinth. And half of an iguana? That's a sweet pile of eddies, chica.

We're still holed up in this dump, but the adrenaline's wearing off. I'm beat to hell, but there's this buzz, you know? Like we just pulled off the impossible. It's a rush, Persia. Dangerous as can get, but damn if it doesn't make you feel alive.

Gotta crash now. Tomorrow, we hit Night City proper. Time to see what this urban jungle's really made of.

Keep your wheels spinning, V

[v-the-nomad]

Holy fucking chrome, Persia. Remember when I said I had a bad feeling? Well, turns out my gut's got better intel than a Militech datashard. Those corpo pendejos showed up like a pack of rabid dogs, all snarling metal and blazing lead.

But let me tell you about Jackie, this city boy's got some serious gonads. The second those suits rolled up, he stomped on the gas like the devil himself was chasing us. And hell, maybe he was. Jackie was weaving through traffic like a netrunner through ICE, pulling moves that'd make a joytoy blush.

Meanwhile, yours truly was hanging out the window, trying to ventilate some corpo tires. Each bang of my revolver was like a beautiful "fuck you" to those suits. And each popping tire meant we might just live to see another day in this neon-drenched hellhole.

Those were some of the longest minutes of my life, chica. My heart was pounding harder than a ripper doc's saw on cheap chrome. But we did it. We fucking did it.

Now we're holed up in some abandoned dump, dark as a corpo's soul. Jackie's keeping watch while I'm trying to stop my hands from shaking long enough to write this. We're probably in the clear, but damned if I'm not jumping at every shadow.

I gotta say, for all the shit I gave Jackie earlier, he's earned his stripes tonight. City boy's got skills that'd make a nomad proud. After that wild ride, I'm starting to think I can actually trust this gonk to have my back in this neon-lit shark tank.

Looks like we're about to check out what all this fuss was about. Time to see what's in this mysterious cargo that nearly got us zeroed. Here's hoping it's worth almost eating a faceful of corpo lead.

Still breathing (barely), V