Junkie, both literally and literally.
- Eddies
- 9,520
Tag: @Vex Kiranova
Vibe: LATE METAL - Thomas Roussel
Barely veiled predation.
A Gunner Morson special / Homage
Rows of cascading, narrow data poured into a massive screen that spanned over the front wall, overlapping a dynamic map of Kabuki's district. It displayed traffic routes, encrypted comms, and every vital piece of information that funneled into his domain, processed and categorised in real time. But despite the omnipresence of the data, it wasn't the most commanding feature of the room.
Stretching from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, an enormous tank dominated the opposite side of the office, casting a sickly acidic glow across the otherwise dim space. Three nurse sharks prowled within. Their grey bodies were distorted by the refracted yellow light, appearing almost jaundiced. Their long tail fins sliced lazily through the water with the sluggish confidence of creatures that had nothing to fear. Tiny ripples along the surface sent shifting patterns of light spilling onto the polished floor and creating a hypnotic effect. At the room's center, bathed in that eerie yellow hue, Gunner sat at his desk. Across from him stood Ronan as the two engaged in low conversation, their voices barely disturbing the quiet hum of the tank's filtration system.
"Shinobu wanted to place a new order of immunosupressants. On his private channels, don't forget that." Gunner was scrolling through a report. He flicked through a tab where he had a scan of Nyx's chip open. "There was a feud between the Tyger Claws and Hiroto's men. Parts from a smuggled shipment are being stored in those garages. Try and see what we can gain from that, chalk it down to scavengers."
Ronan sighed, putting away the subscreens of her HUD. The errands and tasks had been piling up. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "The twins nearly got caught searching for her, Gunner." She waited to see if he'd react. "You almost got recognised, too."
"We also need to stay on top of Militech's private channels." He ignored her, pressing on. "Any word of N.A.P.O.L.E.O.N. or this Carter Kiranova should be reported back to me. I want someone on the tipline at all times. And keep tabs on that doctor—Anders Whitard; maybe send the twins to check on him."
"She's putting us in jeopardy." Ronan tried to change the subject again.
Gunner turned around in his chair, eyes still skimming through the tipline report. "There are always mishaps in battle."
"It cannot have been a mishap. She always does this. I could have easily avoided that cyberpsycho fiasco. And then dragging the man along?" Ronan hesitated but spoke her mind. "She's a problem and we all know it."
"We?" Gunner lowered the tablet he was reading from, now focused on Ronan. "Who's we?"
Ronan eyed the floor and crossed her arms.
"It was your job to make sure things ran smoothly. You failed. Don't disappoint me again." He said fatally and returned to his report.
She clenched her jaw and reverted to her steely look. Her chair spun around after she stood up with a grunt and stormed out of Gunner's office.
Gunner finished his reading and set down the tablet with an exhausted sigh. "The world's growing smaller every day. And now, we're cut off, thanks to that outburst downtown. The corpos are leaving us further and further behind." He rubbed his face. "What happened?"
In the back, above the shark tank and near the rafters, Wilma lounged on a beam, hidden in the dark. "She already told you." Her voice croaked with a trace of guilt.
"I'm asking you," Gunner spoke calmly.
Wilma slid off the beam and walked the edges of the tank. She sat down where her shoes were and hugged her knees. Gunner climbed up the ladder and crouched beside her, admiring the sharks circling in the yellow vastness below.
"I wanted to take on more responsibility."
"Hmm…" Gunner growled low, in thought. "Responsibility is a blade you sharpen. It cuts through doubt, fear, and every excuse. And in the end, you either wield it, or it carves you apart. And it's not something that makes you independent overnight. You know that as well as I do."
"I know. I know." She dipped her feet in the water. The sharks paid no mind to her swaying legs. "Him turning out to be the prime star of New America's Most Wanted was not part of the plan. But it's a welcome bonus! Guess we can't chuck him back out now." Wilma chuckled, then huffed awkwardly.
"Yesterday's screw-up will put us on the radar for quite some time. You, specifically."
"I'm sorry," she said honestly.
"If you want to take on some responsibility, if you want to pull your weight, this is your chance to prove that. Start with giving Siren your bio monitor's vital data script. She'll be linking it up to that Carter kid. He will be your responsibility from now on." His tone was mild but firm.
"What?" She tried to argue.
"I need to know that I can rely on you." He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, the uninjured one. It wasn't a coersion. He was being honest. "I'm doing this for us, Wilma. All of us. The people of Night City deserve more than their runoff."
"It won't happen again…" She pulled away before the conversation turned into another one of Gunner's lectures.
"I know," he said reassuringly. He placed his hands on his knees and stood up. "Ronan will take care of yesterday's mess."
"Ronan?!" Wilma snapped and raised her voice, turning back to look at Gunner. "That ogre can barely walk without tripping over herself!"
"She'll suffice." He kept an even tone and turned to descend the ladder. "You should focus on your gadgetry."
"Ugh." Wilma rolled her eyes, thudding back onto the raised platform behind her and sending ripples through the tank's surface. She huffed in annoyance.
"Take some time." He walked back to his desk.
"I— I don't need time," she stammered.
Gunner hung back, unsure of what to say. "Take it anyhow."
…
First, it was the sweet smell of fruity perfume. Then, a porcelain face with doe eyes looked back at Vex. She was fair-skinned and wore her platinum hair in a ponytail. She had just put away her scrub, beneath which she wore simple garments in pastel colours. It seemed this was the med kit's rightful owner.
One quick glance around the small room would tell him he was at a ripperdoc's quarters. It wasn't a Corpo clinic nor some dingy back-alley chop shop. It was a repurposed space with homey furniture, despite the high-end medical stations. The operating chair beneath Vex was old and covered in dark leather instead of the usual cold synthetic padding. A woven blanket that was slightly frayed at the edges had been draped over him at some point. Someone cared enough to keep him warm while he was out.
A jar labelled "Jackal's" collected various cybereyes, all different from one another. Above it, a large, backlit X-ray screen displayed a skeletal overlay of cybernetic enhancements. It belonged to someone called "Big Mike", according to the text beneath. His massive frame was a mess of overlapping reinforcements, redundant wiring, and unconventional grafts. A handwritten note scrawled at the bottom read: "IF HE FLATLINES, CHECK FOR SPARES FIRST." Someone had added in a loopy script, "He's not a machine, you know…"
And then there was the framed photo of Gunner's crew, caught mid-laugh. Jackal who had his arms slung around a scowling Ronan, had longer hair and looked less like a rat and more like… a human. He was also limited to two cyber eyes at the time, making him hard to recognise. A lady with a colourful afro, a man so massive and tall his head was almost cut out of frame, an old man with an impressive beard, and a few more faces with their own quirks and mannerisms, all unfamiliar to Vex. In the middle was a young Wilma, somewhere in her early teens, hugging Gunner. Her hair was in pigtails and her cyber forearm was pink and kid-sized. She also had none of the light tattoos. Gunner rested an arm on her shoulder. He had his usual unreadable stare, though his posture was relaxed in a way it rarely was these days. The frame was worn and the glass was slightly smudged where it had been handled too many times. Among the group of about thirteen people was the same ripperdoc who was treating Vex.
She studied his features as he came to, smiling kindly. She gently laid an arm over his and asked in a soft, feathery voice, "How are you feeling, Carter?" Her question was genuine, with no malintent.
"Oh, sorry." She pulled her arm away, not meaning to intrude. She glanced at the screens and bio monitors above him that were tracking his vitals.
One of them showed a scan of a spine and brain stem—Vex's—that analysed all his present modifications and cyberware. Most notably, Nyx's chip, a small part of which had been decyphered. However, it had remained untouched. Another screen was dedicated to the status of Vex's new implant.
//Device ID: RX-09 "Marionette" Contingency Implant
//Installation Date: [REDACTED]
//Authorized By: [REDACTED]
//GPS Tracking – Online | Real-time location transmission [ENCRYPTED]
//Linked Biomonitor – Connected to Subject: W.F.D. | Signal: STABLE
//Position: Cervical Spine (C1-C2)
//Microfilament tendrils woven into spinal pathways.
//Latency: 0.02s neural response time.
//Failsafe Protocols:
└ Lethal Response – [ENGAGED] | Condition: Wilma Vital Signs = NULL
└ Neuromuscular Override – [STANDBY] | Taser Function: 50,000V Discharge
The last part seemed to cross-reference Nyx's offense protocols and digital fingerprint. It borrowed script from Nyx that would alert the implant of intrusion and enact a failsafe protocol, thus preventing it from being hacked by her directly. Someone very intelligent had written that code.
"I was told to show you this." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She bore a concerned look. Her very expressive eyebrows seemed to deepen and betray any emotion she felt. Then she glanced down the room where Nyx's skull lay motionless between the two fingers of a vibrating laser beam.
❉
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