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.
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.
The mind could only recoil into itself so much before it finally snapped.
He emerged from the depths of chemical exile, the weight of stones pinning his eyes shut as stimulae registered across his numb limbs. Slowly, he began to wiggle his extremities and grasp for some measure of cognizance. A pleasant, sweet smell greeted him as he drew in a shuddering breath. Another long drag of air, and he'd managed to open his eyes. The light blinded him at first, and he reflexively raised a hand to shield his eyes as he did his best to sit upright. It took him longer than he would have liked, and once he did his head was resting in his hands, body slack.
Senses beyond the most rudimentary announced themselves loudly. His entire body hurt; dozens of sore spots exploded into fireworks of pain he righted himself. The skin along his chest felt dry and tight, and it felt wrong between his shoulders. It was a mix of the usual and the new and Vex found himself sorely wishing he'd remained in his artificial coma. With the weakness of a man many decades his senior, Vex slowly pried his hands from his face. He stared down at them, flexed his digits, and winced as the purple-yellow bruises and cracked skin across his knuckles sent a shot of pain in response.
He reached toward the part of his mind that Nyx had claimed and found it just as empty as it was before. She'd not been able to repair herself then - or she'd been tampered with. His brain shuddered as he struggled to remember how he'd gotten here. There was the heist, the reservoir, the hideout, the gangoons, the girl - his nose scrunched up in displeasure as the pieces fell back into place.
He'd been drugged. He was...
Vex's 'ganic eye blinked as he took his first real look at his surroundings. It wasn't the meat shop he'd been expecting, but he recognized the ripperdoc's equipment all too well. A mounting dread weaseled its way through the cracks of his mind as he took the rest of the room in, his gaze halting on the picture frame. He recognized some of the faces, and with each confirmation that anxiety grew.
Then there was the woman. It seemed he'd finally paid her proper notice, and he peered at her like a trapped animal wholly prepared to chew off its own limbs in exchange for freedom. Her voice was soft and reassuring - he would have been drawn to it, were he not considering the most efficient way to crack her skull and book it for a window. She asked how he was feeling, and his right eye twitched with involuntary irritation. He whipped his head toward her, all venom, but hesitated when he met her gaze. There was a warmth there that was lacking in her supposed comrades, and it stilled his outburst, at least for the moment.
He barely registered the touch on his arm. The use of his given name stirred far more disquiet in his soul. "It's Vex. Only people who know me real well can call me by my real name." His voice was deep and creaking like a frozen river. The furrow in his brow deepened as he followed her gaze to the screen, momentarily not comprehending its contents. A tired sigh escaped his lips as he read it once, failed to derive its meaning, then reread again. With coherence came knowing, and each line of text sent his mind further into its inevitable spiral.
He read it again, then a fourth time, and fought the urge to scream.
Someone had been poking around in his head. Someone had put a bug in Nyx, a bug that would fry his nervous system on command, and as he read further, would do so if Wilma flatlined. From one set of chains to another. Vex's eye squeezed shut as he delved into his internal systems. His mind fortress remained mostly intact, but there was a gaping hole in the flank where someone had drilled through. Utterly compromised. He stilled his conscious thought and his internal monologue to nothingness. He delved through the strings of code with primal intent, twisting and molding it to fill the hole as best he could. The makeshift firewall didn't take long to erect, but there was part of the gap he simply could not fill. Any commands were ignored.
If nothing else, he could at least throttle the connection to keep his mind his own. They might have his body, but not his thoughts.
Solutions. Zero-point-zero-two tenths of a second before the signal pinged back to its source. An infinitesimally small window to work with, but an open one, nonetheless. Maybe a Sandevistan could provide him with enough time to work? Even then, it could only slow his perceptions so much and the code could only mode as fast as his neurons were willing to ping one another...
The runner did well to maintain his humours. An outburst here would just get him killed. No, he'd have to play the long game. Play nice until he found a solution to this enslavement and kill the lot of them. Maybe Tokyo after? Even Militech would hesitate to send agents into Arasaka's backyard - and how long was the range on this bug anyway? The gears in his mind churned for a workaround.
Maybe he should call @Anders Whitard. The old man had probably intended to turn him in to Militech, but maybe he had bigger heart than that? Maybe his offer of help had been genuine? After all, if he wanted his eddies, Vex would have to be alive to pay them.
A minute or so had passed with Vex lost in his own thoughts. He'd sat in silence with a blank stare locked on the screen. The runner swallowed hard as he blinked, meeting the woman's gaze.
"Your friends make a habit of trying to enslave people, or is this a newer hobby?" He cocked a brow as he willed his limbs into action. With great effort, he shifted huis' body to hang his feet off the bed, cast aside the blanket, and stood on quivering legs. He paid no mind to the woman and trudged toward Nyx, moving to grab her, but hesitating as he peered at the lasers.
"Turn these off," he demanded, head twisting lazily to look back at her, "And where is this?"
The doctor jumped, like she had just burnt herself on the stove. Her cheeks flushed crimson and she looked to the ground when Vex corrected her. "I'm— I'm sorry, Vex." He had come to just at the moment when she was bringing him a warm meal and tea.
"I suppose I should get straight to the explanation, but allow me, as a doctor, to fulfil my duties first," she said with a quivering voice. She carried no weapons, nor had any outstanding implants. When he stood up from the operating couch, she even appeared fearful but tried to keep her composure.
"You're at our crew's headquarters. We're in northern Kabuki, underground. I've brought you some chicken katsu—some of it's 'ganic, too," she spoke with open palms and gentle moves, "there's also a pot of lavender tea." She nodded at the table where a steaming plate of food had been waiting for him. "I suppose you're starving after the ordeal you went through."
She looked him up and down, wincing on his behalf, "I imagine you're in quite a lot of pain too." She slowly reached into her pocket, making sure Vex didn't misinterpret the move as a threat. She drew out a bottle of painkillers and left it beside his food. The brand of painkillers was among the more expensive on the market. "So please, take one every three hours for the next twenty-four hours. It should largely dull the discomfort you're in. There's also a fresh pair of clothes in the locker over there—ones that are not stained in..." she trailed off, meaning to say blood.
"The implant that was installed," she swallowed hard and sat on the edge of the bed, placing hands in her lap, "was one to ensure Wilma's safety, first and foremost." She finally dared to look him in the eye. The remorseful look on her face changed when she mentioned Wilma, almost as though it justified her previous actions. "Any attempt to remove the implant will result in a high voltage sent directly to your brain. Trying to hack it remotely or via the AI won't do you any good, either." Her tone was grim and she truly hoped he wouldn't attempt it.
"From now on, you're also partially employed by Gunner Morson." There was an eloquence to her diction despite the nervous fidgeting of her hands, as if she had practised before talking to Vex. "The implant will serve as your unofficial contract. In turn, he will not be, um—" she paused, searching for the right words, "—neutralising you." She looked around the room awkwardly. "And he offers shelter and protection. As for the details of what your services might entail, I am not at liberty to say."
She smoothed out the wrinkles on her clothes before standing up and walking over to Nyx. "I will stop the lasers, but you must promise me not to do anything foolish," she pleaded earnestly. Her knuckles had turned white from anxiously twisting her hands. "There's no need for further violence…"
Just then, almost as if it were timed, the door slid open. Wilma was drinking a knock-off, preservative-ridden imitation of apple cider in a juicebox from a straw when she walked in. The bruise along her jaw from where Vex had socked her in his fit of rage, back when they were on the train, had turned a deep shade of blue. The door closed behind her, burying the sound of lively conversations and peals of laughter. Jackal's.
"Great," she let the straw drip. "You're awake."
Wilma also wasn't packing iron. She carried herself with an air of comfort that started to dwindle once she levelled her eyes with Vex's. She finally had a moment to study him without the usual pressure surrounding life-or-death situations. This was the gonk that she had to babysit. The same gonk that probably changed her life forever. But she was too young to realise this.
"If you're done with him, Siren, could you give us a sec?" Wilma walked over to the couch and nestled comfortably in it, letting the leather creak beneath her. While she certainly didn't take a beating as bad as Vex, she was also in the process of recovering. She groaned as she stretched her limbs, frustrated with the pain.
Siren nodded and turned to leave, but hesitated. She bit her lip, shot an uneasy look at Vex and disabled the laser beams that held Nyx in suspension, praying that she wouldn't come to regret it. The golden skull settled on the desk, as motionless as it was before.
"I'll be with the others if you need me." With eyes glued to the floor, she made her exit, leaving behind only the lingering scent of her perfume.
"Three—zero." Wilma took another sip from her juicebox. Her tone was scathing and bitter. "That's the score for how many times we've saved each other's lives since we met. Spoiler—" her eyebrows flashed, "I'm in the lead."
She was being too nice. Vex's eyes darted from Nyx's drone to the pale-headed woman, his lips twisting into an ugly mismatch of a smile and scowl. For all his outrage, he found it difficult to direct his anger at her in its entirety. Her attempts at kindness, what little could be afforded in this situation, bid him to keep his mouth shut as she explained the situation. He fought the urge to cut her off and protest, instead listening in silence as he examined the drone for any obvious damage. There were a few tinks and bruises pressed into the metal, but it all looked more or less to be superficial damage. Her neuroport would require far more attention.
"Unofficial contract. Corpo jargon bullshit - if I was any danger to that woman, she'd already be dead." He grumbled, half to himself and half to her. Once he was satisfied that staring holes into Nyx's drone would not will her back to life, he turned and glanced over to where she'd left the food. He hesitated for a moment, the slightest shred of gratitude flickering in his gaze, "I think we have very conflicting needs right now lady."
His lips parted to continue but click of the door handle spoke for him. The runner immediately tensed, his eye narrowing into a thin amber pinprick as Wilma entered the room. The sounds of life just behind her was grating on his ears. He heard laughter, and his stomach churned with indignation - these assholes didn't deserve to be happy.
He offered her a noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a growl in greeting. No words. He pointedly grabbed Nyx's drone from her housing the moment the lasers were deactivated, and returned to sit on his bed, the drone clutched between his arms. He met siren's eyes, and his gaze offered anything but reassurance.
The girl made herself at home. Resentment flowed from her like a faucet, and he returned it with a glare full of murder and a torrent of his own. "Figured you were smart enough to have basic arithmetic down at the very least." The runner's nose scrunched up in disgust. "Two-to-one, and yours is knocked off. Enslavement takes a few points away, doesn't add one."
Should've just killed you.
He rose to wander over to the table and pour himself a cup of tea. "If you and your bots hadn't severed the whole fucking train car that psycho never would've woken up. I'd be a few thousand eddies richer, maybe even have enough to set aside for an apartment." Steam coiled from the tea cup as he brought it testingly to his lips, promptly burned his tongue, and set it aside to turn toward Wilma. "Now I'm back where I started - bound to the whims of banal men, no future, no freedom. My whole fuckin' heart got ripped out for you, literally."
He angrily tore open three synthetic sugar packets and began to stir them furiously into the tea with his pinky finger as the tiny semblance of composure he'd made the slightest effort to maintain was shredded in the rockslide of his ranting. "You know how many bridges I burned to get here? How much ridiculous bullshit I had to put up with for years to get out of Atlanta? It took me half a decade to find an opening where I wouldn't be caught at the border. My parents think I'm dead. I had to throw away everything for another chance."
His voice was rising now, though he did well to keep himself from yelling. Even in his rancor, he was painfully aware of the others just beyond the door. "So I get here, and shit's hard, but we're doing okay. New life, finally free, no masters. We have to bust our asses to get by, but we do, and then you -" he pointed an accusatory finger. "You and your dad or whatever the-wannabe-corpo-fuck-he-is think you can just put us back to square one for your own convenience?"
It wasn't so much a matter of thinking they could as much as they already had, but he wasn't in the business of accepting reality. If he was, he'd still be back in Atlanta, burning his life away to line another man's pockets. "And Nyx is probably dead." A defeated sigh deflated him visibly. Despair and impotent rage played across his face like it was a theater. He took a long pointed sip of the tea, relishing the momentary distraction the scalding of his tongue provided.
"You helped me to line your pockets and win brownie points with your master, just like the rest of them. I'll play nice until I find a way out of this, but honestly," he threw his freehand forward with gusto and extended his middle finger in her direction. "Fuck you, Wilma. I don't wanna hear it."
Wilma listened carefully as Vex spoke. She had her legs crossed on the couch, taking the longest, loudest possible sip from her juicebox before scrunching it up and tossing it furiously to the ground. Her nostrils flared. Even though she had made herself comfortable on the leather couch, her eyes were wide and etched with murder. She was too tense to move for a few moments.
"Look," she ground her teeth with bare restraint in her voice, "I'm so sorry our hospitality wasn't to your taste. Maybe next time, we'll just roll out the red carpet, throw a parade, and put a bullet between your eyes—as per Kabuki greeting customs." She put a hand to her chest, feigning deep regret.
"In fact, let's put your tally at minus one." Wilma returned to her musing. "Your score, that is. Because on the second account of me saving your life, back at that oh-so-cosy ripperdoc's clinic, your friendly neighbourhood AI decided to go full exposé and announce its origin story, unprompted!" Her faux enthusiasm had morphed into barely veiled predation. "Essentially, that, um— what was the word you used? Ah, yes— Essentially, that killed me. Or, as I more eloquently put it, painted a massive, fuck-off, Millitech-shaped target right between my shoulder blades!" She was shouting now, not caring if the others heard. She hopped off the leather chair and stalked toward Vex. She could almost see her hands wrapping around his throat.
"And let's not forget the time when I dragged you out of the train," she jabbed two thumbs at her chest. "Or when I pulled you out of the Laguna Bend reservoir. Or when I offered you housing. Granted, I later hung your soiled underwear for everyone to see, but even then, one could argue that this gesture, too, saved your life because, if you had failed to notice, Gunner was moments away from slitting your throat open then and there." Her tone fluctuated and dropped theatrically as she drove her point across.
"Actually, forget everything I just said!" She threw her hands in the air. It was as if Eureka had struck her like a wet mop across the face and she dismissed all logic. "You'll act like an ungrateful gonk anyway, like you did at that clinic! Why did I have to get stuck babysitting a suicidal jerk!" At the climax of her frustration, she kicked a metal bin that spilled some bloodied bandages. The question didn't need an answer.
She took a few breaths, then felt dizzy and slumped back into her chair. She put a hand to her temple and lowered her cracked voice. "We could always chalk it down to selfishness—I really don't feel like scrubbing off some gonk's blood and guts from my gear," she pretended to dismiss what she just said. Every word was coated in sarcasm.
Wilma closed her eyes to regain some of her composure. Her face contorted in a pained expression as she came to terms with her new reality. She wanted to kick, scream, and hurt people violently. Then she relented.
"You gotta toughen up, choom," she exhaled in frustration. She wasn't trying to be hurtful, even though she really wanted to be. "Night City is not for the faint of heart," she glanced at his chest where his new heart was beating.
"I don't know what kinda brain rot you got rattling around in that chrome dome of yours, but I wanna keep living." She leaned back with crossed arms and gave Vex an unimpressed look. "But if it's all the same to you, maybe let's not test-drive that fancy new kill switch, yeah?" Her eyes briefly lingered on Nyx, stirring all sorts of questions at the back of her mind, but she moved on.
"'Cause like it or not, you're stuck with me now. So how 'bout you be a good little ticking time bomb and don't blow up in my face?" There was a long pause after her spiteful outpour. She scoffed, "Who knows, maybe we'll make each other friendship bracelets once this blows over." She looked away, struggling to entertain the idea.
He hated tea. You could drown it in sugar, and it still tasted like rotten leaves as far as he was concerned. Nonetheless, he quickly sipped through the entire cup in his stifled outrage. The caffeine would serve him well if he was going to be dealing with this for the rest of his waking hours. Wilma was shouting at him now in a manner that bid him to either return it in full or shut down. He opted for the latter.
The runner wandered back over to the table, his eyes pointedly on the food. He moved with slow deliberation as he started to fork the food into his mouth, not even really tasting it. It felt good to get something in his stomach - to focus his mind on a sensation that wasn't righteous indignation. He listened to her with a cold detachment, in the way someone might barely tune in to the news with their morning coffee. His lips were silent, but his body screamed his utter lack of empathy for Wilma's situation and shouted his disinterest at her with every condescending glance he sent her way.
When she'd finished her shouting and started gluing her eyes to anything in the room that wasn't him, Vex settled back onto his bed and continued eating. He was content to sit in that unpleasantly pregnant silence, the only sound being the quiet whir of machines, the echo of voices past the wall, and his steady, measured chewing. After a few moments, he set the bowl aside, and let his eyes drift shut, the cybernetic eye winking out into darkness in mirror of his 'ganic one.
There was no point in arguing with her. He could hammer that wall as long as he liked, it wasn't going to give. His anger would not serve him here, at least for the moment. Better to hide it away, let that resentment blossom into something beautifully ugly when the time was right. For now, he was content enough to sow the seeds in his heart. Hot fury gave way to clinical acceptance and cold premeditated revenge as his eyes drifted open again and locked on Wilma.
His anxieties, along with the rest of his emotions, shut off like he'd flicked a switch. For all the supposed skill Vex possessed, the one thing that had always marked him out from his peers was his ability to sufficiently suppress all those animal impulses that served to limit most men. It never felt good, but his survival instinct, for as mangled as it was, remained effective. His mind was stilled as he tossed the metaphorical wet blanket over the fire of his warring emotions. It died instantly, and a mask of sociopathy coalesced from its ashes. Ever the actor, Carter felt it slip over his face, interlocking over the others he wore.
"By toughen up you mean I should have just shot you on that train, right? Would have been the intelligent call. Get with the Night City vibe, just start fucking over everyone and everything you see until someone else fucks you or your dick rots off.Disgusting." For once, his ire was not directed at her so much as the city and the situation itself. Things quickly returned to normal as she became the object of his vitriol.
His tone was calm now, at the very least.
"You can try to hide your self-interest behind a mask of benevolence if it makes you feel better. You're a glass window to me though. See right through." He stated plainly as he set the now-empty bowl on the ground next to his bed. "I'm not interested in arguing with you. I'll work with you because I don't have a choice." He cocked his head to the side in challenge. "And like I said, I'll find my way out. Your actions did keep me alive, motivations aside, so I'll leave you be when I do."
He leaned back into the bed, resting his head behind his arms as he peered at Wilma from the corner of his eye. "That guy Gunner though, and what was the other one, Jackal?" His gaze went toward the ceiling as he tried to recall the names. "Dead, zeroed, done." He shook his head dismissively with each word, and he stated it like he'd already killed them. His eyes closed again as he took ownership of the room. If he was stuck here, he was going to be comfortable.
"That nurse girl was pretty hot," he fired out from left field before Wilma could respond, wholly keen on finding whatever buttons he might be able to push while he had the luxury. "How long you think it'd take me? I'm thinking about a week if I lay on the charm."
She liked Vex less and less with every passing second.
Wilma had nothing to prove to him, nor did she care to change his mind about her. She wasn't one for putting masks on, it felt suffocating. If anything, she had been pretty upfront. The thorough belief that she was in the right preceded. No matter what I do… She didn't want to finish her own thought. It hurt a little too much.
"Wow." She rubbed her face hard, annoyed by the conversation. "That's a lotta words for 'I'm stuck here and mad about it.' Glad you got it out of your system. Now let's fucking delta."
When she kicked off the couch she must have stood up too quickly. That feeling of light-headedness returned with no forewarning, like it usually does. Then sudden awareness washed over her like an overflowing tide. The more time she spent wasting her breath, the more cornered she felt, the more indignant she grew, and the thousand voices started to buzz in unison like a discordant choir. Her view narrowed and an opaque curtain tinted the room in red. 'Kill, kill kill!' The choir sang. The increasing tightness in her chest slowly squeezed the air out of her. Her 'ganic hand twitched and she balled her fist.
I need drugs.
The thought echoed soothingly over the jungle of animal cries that crawled up back in the crevices of her mind. She swallowed in discomfort and hurried to leave the room.
The rock music from the hub pressed against her skull and she took a step back into Siren's office as she adjusted to the volume shift. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke curled in sheets beneath the low ceiling of the hub.
The center of the room was a clash between a house party and an imposing militant environment. Crew members were sprawled across worn couches, half in conversation, half keeping an eye on their surroundings. Ronan sat among them, talking to some faces Vex would recognise from the framed picture in Siren's office. One that stood out immediately was a man so massive, the couch had sunk underneath him. Veins slithered around his bald head and bulging muscles, overlapping the extensive scarring over his dark skin. He had a hard time finding enough room for his legs and the bottle in his hand was dwarfed by the sheer bulk of his hand.
Conversations stilled as Wilma entered. Two men who looked indistinguishable from one another scowled at her. Then, spotting Vex, a few others hollered and whistled. Someone even let out a catcall.
A bar at the back seated the ladies, entertained by Jackal who was pouring them drinks. He saw Vex walk in and split another one of his shit-eating grins. His cyber eye was still missing.
"Look who woke up from their beauty sleep!" His voice carried over the music. "C'mere Kiranova, let me pour ya a drink!"
When he didn't get an answer, he mocked heartache, "D'aw, you're killin' me!" He clutched his chest and pretended to pull out a dagger, garnering a few laughs from the ladies. Only Siren had remained quiet. Seeing neither of them was paying him attention, he leaned over the bar and made some kissing sounds after them.
Wilma didn't spare Jackal a glance. She stopped to pick up her irons and as she passed a chair with a patch jacket slung over it, her hand dipped in and out of the pocket in one smooth motion. She kept walking, flipping the stolen car keys between her fingers without breaking stride.
The music faded behind the pair as Wilma led Vex through an upward stairwell maze, passing by doors that led to gun lockers, server rooms, and even sleeping quarters. They finally made it to an underground parking lot that accommodated about a dozen vehicles. Wilma twirled the stolen key absently before pressing the fob. An Emperor 620 "Ragnar" chirped at the back of the parking lot.
"Cool," she grinned. Finally, something to derive enjoyment from. "Get in the back. You haven't earned shotgun yet," she said off-handedly to Vex.
Sliding into the driver's seat, she threw her Satara shotgun in the passenger's leg compartment. She flipped through the car's interface, tweaking the radio frequency to sync with the base's elevator system. It was a special frequency tailored for their headquarters. It was also the main way in and out of the base. She was feeling pretty pleased with herself. No need to grovel—just a little sleight of hand.
She barely registered the shadow shifting outside her window. The sudden knock on the glass made her jolt. A black man in his forties leaned his arm against the frame, the other one in his pocket, looking down at her with the patience of someone who already knew the punchline. He was wearing the patch jacket. Wilma sighed and rolled down the window, already bracing for whatever was coming next.
She held her arms at ten and two o'clock on the wheel and exclaimed jovially, "Emmet!"
"Shut up."
"Yup." She snapped her mouth shut and looked ahead, like a guilty driver just pulled over by an NCPD officer. She drummed her fingers on the wheel.
Emmet's unimpressed stare drilled into her temples until he decided what to do with her. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. "Scoot."
"What?"
"You heard me. Move your ass."
Wilma slumped dramatically and groaned as she slid over into the passenger seat, mindful of her shotgun. "For the record, I totally had it under control. Even leadhead in the back can testify to my driving skills." She paused to think, "Wait, no he can't. Because he was half dead, I forgot."
Emmet climbed in, adjusting the seat like she'd somehow ruined it just by sitting there. "Sure you did. Just like you had it under control when you tried to drive my car through a flood drain and nearly sent us both ass-first into the bay." His voice had a very rich timbre.
He pulled out smoothly, centring the vehicle on the platform in the middle of the garage. A worn sign overhead read ACCESS RESTRICTED—but, like everything else in Night City, rules were just suggestions. Emmet twisted the radio dial, scanning through static until an artificial hum filled the cabin. The frequency was a coded handshake. As soon as it locked in, the platform beneath them gave a clunk, acknowledging their access. The entire slab of reinforced steel rose, lifting them upward with a mechanical grind.
"That was one time," she rolled her eyes and slumped against the door, staring out as they ascended. The orange safety lights of the shaft would illuminate the interior of the truck through even intervals like a series of vertically lined street lamps.
"One time too many," he muttered, checking the mirrors. Briefly, his dark eyes focused on Vex. He studied him, and by extent, like almost everyone in Gunner's crew, his stare was a mix between a challenge and a warning. "I'm not letting you trash my car after that stunt."
A few meters up, it came to a stop—then, with a heavy thunk, the platform rotated. The ceiling above them split open, revealing a dimly lit garage space, nothing more than a dingy rental unit that looked unassuming.
Emmet hit a button on the fob and the garage door groaned open, revealing the grime of a trash-lined Kabuki alley. As they rolled out, the garage door shut behind them. Inside, the hidden platform rotated back into place. By the time it settled, a rusted-out Makigai MaiMai occupied the space—a piece of junk that looked like it hadn't run in a decade. It was also the perfect cover in a row of other rental garage units. He drove out of the back alley and merged into the afternoon traffic. The first few minutes passed in silence. Then he sighed, running a hand over his slowly greying beard.
"You're a damn fool, kid."
"Oh, here we go." She sighed and propped her head. She considered putting her feet up on the dashboard, just to spite him, but decided against it and resorted to tapping her foot instead.
"You know the only reason you're in this crew is because Gunner sees something in you, right?" Emmet continued, unfazed. "But you gotta stop acting like a child. It's gonna be the end of you."
Wilma scoffed. "Since when do you care?"
"Since always. Just 'cause you act like an idiot doesn't mean the rest of us wanna see you get zeroed." He glanced at her. "You think because you're young, all's forgiven?"
She chipped away at her shotgun's stock, her jaw tight. "Why does everybody want to lecture me?" She didn't want Vex to be present for this conversation.
"Would you prefer a pat on the back?"
Wilma tensed. She wanted to jump out of the car.
Emmet sighed again, shaking his head. "You're smart and talented, Darcy. There's no denying it. Just apply that same logic to everything else you do. And stop acting like a screw-up." He checked on Vex once more in the rearview mirror.
Wilma didn't answer or even look at him. Right now, she was too busy dealing with the gnawing itch creeping up the back of her skull. She flexed her fingers, curled and uncurled them and tried to focus on anything else. All she could think about was how long it would take before she could slip away and fix the growing ache inside her.
He wanted to yell at her as she dismissed him, but there wasn't much point in it. The runner just rolled his eyes and kept his mouth shut. No amount of ranting or raving was going to resolve this situation, and violence was, unfortunately, off the table. He just had to play ball - the only thing he had any choice in was his attitude. Vex bit the inside of his cheek as the door parted and Wilma stepped forward. Once she'd cleared the door, he turned, slipped out of his ruined clothes, winced at the patches of yellow-purple where his body had been abused, and hastily slipped into the clothes Sparrow had provided. He kept his jacket, tattered and stinking as it was, and grabbed Nyx's drone with the care of a father. The drone slipped into its housing within Vex's coat with a quiet click. Circuits were still kicking in the jacket despite the damage, power was flowing. One small bright spot.
Satisfied, Vex popped the collar of his jacket and followed after Wilma.
He pointedly met the gaze of any that looked at him. His face was as expressionless as polished stone, and he only offered Jackal the slightest twitch of his upper lip. He did stare the gonk down though, head cocking slightly to the side in silent challenge. Wordlessly, he followed Wilma outside, only half paying a mind as she pickpocketed the jacket as they passed.
Were he not so bitter, he would have been impressed with their little hideaway. The duo stepped into a garage far larger than it had any right to be, and he began to wonder just how they'd managed to fit such a structure into Kabuki. They had eddies, obviously, but renting this much space would require a corpo sized bank account. His gaze darted from one vehicle to the next, the ugly seed of envy sprouting new roots in him as he decided he wanted one. He paused on the threshold of the door, caught in momentary nostalgia as he remembered driving his father's ancient firebird. The car was nearly a hundred years old, but ran like new, courtesy of having been treated with the same reverence one would pay to a holy idol by the Kiranova clan. He'd left it back at his father's shortly before running from Atlanta - God he missed driving that car.
A sharp breath drew him from his reverie. Wilma had already crossed the chamber and homed in on a particular car. Vex hurried after her in a half-jog and cocked an annoyed brow as she denied him the passenger seat. "Bold of you to think I'd want to." He grunted as he dropped into the back seat.
His body creaked in protest, and he decided now was as good a time as ever for a rest. He draped himself across the back seats, legs bunched up at his knees, hands placed firmly behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling and tried to center himself.
A question was forming on his lips when there was knock on the glass. He glanced up lazily and indulged his curiosity. He didn't bother to move - the backseat was hid bed now, as far as he was concerned. The man, Emmet, commandeered the driver's seat. Vex absentmindedly felt in his jacket for the familiar lump of his iron, smiled as it poked back at him, and met the man's gaze when he looked back with faux disinterest.
He was far more interested in the mechanisms of the garage itself. Curiosity got the better of him as he pushed up slightly to glance out the window. They were going up, it seemed. Evidently this little crew had a thing for the underground and Vex could see the merit in it. Wasn't much way to find any real estate in Night City unless you made it yourself, and when every square inch of land, sea, and open air was owned by someone, where else could you go?
He was impressed, and he was more than happy to keep that to himself. His attentions returned to the conversation as the elevator hit its apex and birthed them into a dingy, shitty little garage that more fit the part. The only indication that he was listening to the two was the slightest inclination of his head in their direction.
The man, Emmet, was coming down on her, though not as hard as he would have expected. There was a point to be made there, sure, but in insulting Wilma's choice of action, Emmet had done the same to Vex.
Couldn't let that stand.
"How could she have known that psycho was on the train?" He asked, his voice sounding a foreign and unwelcome thing in the confines of the car. "It was a good op, on paper. No way of knowing the corpos would be so stupid as to keep a living weapon on a minimum security grav-train. Shit was probably top-level confidential; bet it would have slipped the best netrunners in the city. Bartmoss would've been blindsided."
He involuntarily sat up and stared in the mirror to meet Emmet's gaze. "You can dot every I and cross every T, map out the perfect plan for years, doesn't stop a chromed-out lunatic from shitting all over the paper once you're done. She did good - aside from the whole stealing your car thing."
Tag:@Vex Kiranova Vibe:Abesses
Surprisingly, Vex's voice was a welcome distraction to Wilma. It pulled her back to the surface temporarily. She wanted to whip around and tell him to back off, that she is fully capable of fighting her own battles, but for once, she wasn't the main object of the conversation so she let it slide.
Emmet looked away from the road entirely, rested his arm on Wilma's seat and turned around to meet Vex's gaze head on. He scrutinised him and with every passing second the vehicle had travelled ten times the distance in metres. "Nigga, shut the fuck up."
He focused back on the road. Impressively, he hadn't swerved in the few moments he took to size up Vex. Admittedly, the lane ahead was just a straight strip. "Tryna give me lip when his gonk-ass just crawled out of a ripper's slab."
Wilma couldn't suppress a smirk. It was a kid's rule—when someone resorted to insults, it meant they lost the argument.
Emmet continued, "I'm a father of three," he raised three fingers. "Teenagers, each one. And taking a job from an unknown fixer shoulda set off all kinds of alarms that you boogers are too young or inexperienced to pick up on. Like buying 'dorphs from a praying mantis." He shook his head, likely speaking from experience.
"Thing is, when you sign up for this profession, no one's gonna be more forgiving wit'chu just 'cause you's youthful." Then he returned to Wilma—Vex had set him off, "And helping someone you just met? What's your damage, kid?"
Wilma softly banged her head against the car window. She didn't remember Emmet so loquacious—one would consider themselves lucky to get more than a few words out of him at a time. Just shut up already.
"Don't be pouting. You got yourself into that mess, got no one else to blame. Worst part is, now we're in it too—cleaning up after you." Emmet kept talking a little while longer, but she wasn't listening anymore.
…
Despite feeling like the road stretched on for ages, the ride back to Wilma's place was relatively short; they never left Kabuki. Emmet gave both her and Vex a stern look, the same one a parent would give their children when dropping them off somewhere. In transcript, it meant "Don't fuck around."
When she walked off the freight elevator, Wilma headed straight for the minifridge and pulled out a six pack of Smash. She left it at the table where she started to assemble the new Armstrong and Winston from scrap parts. Her technical chip started scanning and making suggestions in her HUD. She pulled out some scavenged microcontrollers, chips and casings. She had run out of silent rotors and didn't have enough carbon propellers so she made a mental note to buy some—size 8—over the coming days.
She put on her headphones and played some loud music over her ears until it hurt. Desperately, temptations tried to corrupt her fragile mind with the allure of the right fix, the right drug to sedate her system and banish the discordant choir. And her anxiety grew when she considered Vex might not be so kind as to give her privacy and keep his mouth shut. He was in her space now. Walking through her thoughts. Touching her stuff. Breathing her air. I only have myself to blame for this.
She downed a can of the foamy, yellow liquid. The alcohol warmed her stomach and her body prickled like a cactus in response, save for her mechanical forearm. She rubbed her face and shook her head. All systems ready for takeoff, please stand by.
Vex snort-laughed as Emmet whirled on him. He was grinning incredulously at the man, though his amusement began to bleed away as Emmet kept his eyes on him and not on the road. The runner's 'ganic eye was starting to bulge with worry by the time the driver's attentions returned to the road.
"Choomba, you must be a real old head. Only ever hear that talk in those ancient movies from the nineteen-hundreds." Despite the chewing-out, Vex seemed in good spirits now. There was something about throwing century-old slang so wantonly that he found incredibly amusing. He crossed one leg over the other and glued his eyes to the windows, Emmet's attempts at hammering his points dulling into background noise as he found himself lost in the shifting colors of the city.
---
Vex offered Emmet a mock salute as he turned to enter Wilma's lair.
He immediately went for the hammock, dropping his mass of dirty clothes onto it like the rubbish that it was. For her part, Nyx's drone was handled with great care and placed gingerly on the center of Wilma's workbench. The runner placed an affectionate hand on the skull's scalp and drew in a deep breath. Where just a night ago - or was it longer - this place had been a sanctuary, now it felt like a tomb and his prison cell both.
He peered into the Nyx's dim eyes, and wondered what she'd think of the situation, assuming he even manage to get her back online. There was no telling the extent of the damage to her neural matrix, and if it was severe he'd have to put her through a hard reset. He seriously doubted Wilma would have access to the kind of power he'd need to refire the tiny fusion reactor that served as her heart to do that.
Ah, Wilma. He felt her presence as much as he saw her - his intrusion was obvious, and he felt like even so much as meeting her gaze for a moment would kick off a fight. He kept his gaze locked on Nyx for the moment, his eyes occasionally darting toward the myriad tools arrayed around her. Much to do, how much time did he have?
The snap-hiss of an opening can stirred him from his thoughts. He risked a glance, his 'ganic eye trailing up Wilma's form to rest on the can of Smash foaming in her hand. A moment's temptation tugged at his heart. Not enough to get him to ask, of course, but enough to get him to glance up from his corner of the workbench at her.
"Your dad fucked with Nyx's neuroport. If you die, I die." He stated plainly, one hand resting atop Nyx's skull like it was an emotional support blanket. "And now I'm here, again, and I can tell that you don't want me to be." He meandered on over toward the hammock, slithered out of his jacket, and flexed the digits of his cybernetic arm. He confirmed all was in working order with a cursory glance and returned his attention to Wilma. "So, obviously, he wants me to be here. Why? To protect you? I don't think he'd have me living in the same place if that was the case. Next door, maybe."
His gaze settled on the six-pack of bad decisions. Unable to resist any longer, Vex went for an alternative - he reached deep into his coat, through the internal hydrophobic mesh that sheltered Nyx's housing as well as the rest of his valuables, and fished out a small black rectangle that fit neatly between his index and middle finger. He brought it to his lips, felt a surge of glee as the lights along its length flickered green at his touch, and took a long drag. The vaporized chemicals were sweet and sharp on his tongue, and he felt a dull pain in his side as he filled his lungs until they protested. With visible effort, he held the breath in, then exhaled loudly and audibly.
It took a second or so for the chemicals to fuse into the lining of his lungs and disperse into his bloodstream. The effect was an immediate wave of relief that built in his skull and flowed down his limbs, all the tension and pain that had been building in his spine bleeding away to comfortable numbness.
"I think -" he coughed once, breathed sharp, then coughed again " - I think you're stuck with watching me." The vapor coiled around him in thick clouds of glittering light that reached its silvery tendrils out in every direction. "That, or I've been roped into an arranged marriage against my will, in which case I have to warn you, I'm a hermaphrodite."
A multitude of tools protruded from her forearm. Wilma opted for the fine-tip soldering iron. While holding the part steady, her 'ganic finger twitched in silent need. She ignored it, slotting a scavenged microcontroller into place and securing it with the iron. Her vision swam for a second and the edges of her sight warped like a heat haze.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vex rest Nyx on the opposite end of the table, right on top of her blueprints. She leaned forward from her chair to check her hand-drawn schematics, carefully moving Nyx out of the way. Should've scanned these long ago. She pulled her drone's body into her lap and started wiring its insides. This was Armstrong—her late brother-in-arms reborn. A soldier if she'd ever known one. Truly fearless; to barge into battle without a second thought after dying time and time again. Her imagination seeped into the crevices of his machinery and painted a loyal companion. A friend.
Vex's orifice disturbed the atoms between him and Wilma. She let out an irritated sigh and slid one side of her headphones off her ear. He was puzzling the situation out loud.
"Keep going, Sherlock, maybe you'll strike gold," she replied apathetically, without looking up from her work. "And he's not my dad." She stressed as though Gunner was in the room himself.
"I'm sorry if my one-room open floor plan basement doesn't meet your standards. Feel free to huddle with the homeless if it's more to your liking. I'm sure B.R.I.C.K. would appreciate it too."
"THE CONCEPT OF AVAILABLE THREE-DIMENSIONAL SPACE IN A ROOM HAS NO EFFECT ON ME." B.R.I.C.K.'s grating voice resounded along the concrete walls, all the way up the tall ceiling and back down.
Wilma groaned and immediately regretted mentioning him. Her fingers brushed the empty spot where Armstrong's silent rotor should have gone. Right. Out of those.
She peeled her nose off her drone and fixed Vex with a sharp look, "You wanna do your own thing? Be my fucking guest. But don't expect me to sit pretty while you go paint a target on your chrome ass." She twisted a wire into place with unnecessary force and it slipped out of her grip last moment. Her eyes instinctively darted to the next can of Smash, then she noticed Vex had been eyeing it too.
"You know you can drink, right?" She cocked an eyebrow and her gaze jumped between the can and him. Her eyes betrayed the classic awkwardness of a teenager who always found something wrong with everything and everyone.
"You're not some lapdog and I'm not your tyrant." She pointed a screwdriver at him like she might actually stab him. "Drink if you want. Go out if you want. Find ways to entertain your single-digit brain. Or work on Nyx. Or count the hairs on your body! For all I care, you can continue living your life as you intended. But right now I don't trust you to bear responsibility for my life. And you don't look like you trust yourself either."
She returned to her work and then, after a few tense moments, she spoke with indisputable fatality, "For now, we lay low." With that, she shoved her headphones back over her ears and cranked the volume up. Conversation over.
Vex clenched the vape between his teeth as he lingered over Nyx and kept his ears on Wilma. She provided him with more vitriol in lieu of answers. He really shouldn't have expected much else.
"What about four dimensional?" He asked of BRICK, rhetorically. When Wilma had finished her tirade and slammed her headphones back into place, Vex could only offer her a light shrug. "That's good, cause I don't want responsibility for your life." He said to the silence, as he was certain Wilma had cranked the music up loud enough to drown him out. "Not for yours, not for Gunners, certainly not mine." His gaze settled on the empty skull. "Just hers."
With that, he borrowed a screwdriver from the table and began to unscrew the bolts that kept her scalp-plate attached to the rest of the skull. He peered into the electronic schizophrenia that was her internal wiring, clicked his tongue, and started working. For anyone else, the job would have proved impossible but Vex knew what every knot and jumbled mass of wires meant. His fingers followed the familiar crease of the yellowed carbon that served as Vex's lifeline. he followed it to the port, and with a slight tug, wrenched it free, before replacing it with the recovery cord. The auxillary power supply would limit the drone's capabilities, and in doing so allow him to begin the reset process.
The lights of the drone buzzed a dull green and Vex allowed himself a pleased smile. His neuroport pinged as the connection was made, and a diagnostic report disfigured with a dozen or so errors splayed across his eyes.
Satisfied, Vex confirmed his desire for the reset, felt a quiet buzz in his skull as the port kicked into overdrive, and made his way toward the shower. "Only gold I'm finding here is spraypainted shit. I'm gonna piss in your shower Wilma," he muttered under his breath as he ripped off the clothes Siren had given him. Stripped to what God had given him, Vex wasted little time in enjoying the cold draft of the room and closed the door behind him.
The bloom of hot water melting across his skin was a taste of heaven after the ordeal he'd endured. He was content to stand there, hands splayed out against the wall, his eyes shut and his ears attuned solely to the sound of droplets crashing down onto his skull. For a moment, he found peace.
And then he grinned like a raving madman as he made good on his promise. Best piss of his life.
