PRIVATE New Blood

[Remy LeBlanc]

Theme

@Vex Kiranova, @Wilma F. Darcy

The music blared over the speakers, reverberating throughout the whole of Nexus as Remy descended from his office staircase. Years ago he would have been worried about tinnitus, but thankfully the chrome in his inner ear took care of any potential damage. It was a pretty average night for the club. Plenty of mercs, gangers, and fixers could be found throughout the two levels of the establishment. Business had been picking up, as of late, though his goal of reaching the levels of prestige held by The Afterlife were still far off. Nevertheless, Remy was rather pleased with how far he had come, even if there was much further to climb.

He had always taken note of those that entered through the doors of Nexus. Any good owner would, after all. One had to be aware of the day to day in any business, should they want it to grow. The benefit of lacking the Afterlife's prestige was the greater potential for new blood. Remy had a keen eye for potential, and was of a mind that it was better to be a trend setter, than to rely on those already established within the confines of Night City.

There was a particularly large amount of new blood on this night, and Remy would quietly study them all. Eventually, his eyes would catch a glimpse of a pair of new faces. He wasn't perfect at remembering names, but Remy never forgot a face... and these faces looked like they might have something useful to offer...

He calmly tapped a bartender on the shoulder, pointing to the pair as he spoke.

"Those two... send them to my office."

With those words, he would turn away, ascending up the stairs as he awaited the meeting with these newcomers to the club.​

 

[Vex Kiranova]

"Why don't we ever go anywhere nice?" Nyx's voice, still fresh and a little crackly after her week-long nap, was most welcome as it trilled through Vex's mind and the vox link they shared with Wilma. "Just once, I'd like to go to a nice jazz bar. Somewhere that we can wear something fancy - suit and dress sorta thing."

Vex's nose scrunched up in amusement. "You don't wear clothes." He muttered out loud.

"Yeah, but you do. Just wanna know what it's like."

"I'm not putting on a dress."

"You sure? I saw this beautiful blue sundress that I think would really complement your fig-"

"Nope." Vex rolled his eyes as they crossed the makeshift dance floor of the Nexus. He made a point to tune down the audio setting on his neuroport, dulling the music from an auditory assault into a steady background thrum. Freshly laundered, he'd donned his usual get-up: a black and red striped hoodie, a long leather coat drawn over it that trailed at his calves, cargo pants and brown steel-toed laborer's boots. Nyx was in her usual - a drone fashoned to look like a silver-skull about the size of his clenched fist. Two bright lights of greenish-blue poked out of the eye sockets, and the skull bounced on tiny microjets that flowed and ebbed at seemingly random differentials to keep her upright.

The trio had been looking for work and found little aside from the most mundane or morose. Eddies were starting to get tight, and Vex's standards for jobs slackened with each passing hour. Wilma'd mentioned this place a little while ago but Vex had been putting it off. From what he heard of the Nexus, it was a place where has-beens and would-bes came to larp a night at the Afterlife. The runner had written it off as another novelty trap - a place for tourists to wander into to get the Afterlife experience without the required street cred.

How wrong he'd been.

He wandered through the tables and throngs of people, cutting through the mass like a blade until he came to a halt at the bar. A few gangoons sprouting colors he didn't quite understand eyed him from one side, a mox girl that might as well be naked for how covered she was on the other. Vex shouldered on in, Nyx's drone sputtering above him, and waved his arm to make sure Wilma found some room alongside him.

"Three shots of rum." His shouted over the cacophony as one of the bartenders wandered by. The lady gave him an annoyed look, "What kind?"

"Uh, I dunno, cheap?" He scratched the back of his head.

"Cheap," he could hear her eyes rolling even if he couldn't see them in the din. "You wanna go ahead and get a tab started, mister moneybags?"

"Nah, just three and," he paused, glancing at Wilma. "And a juicebox if you've got one."

The bar tender cocked her head to the side. "... Apple or grape?"

"Apple!" Nyx's drone dropped like a stone, then halted immediately as its jets fired beneath it just at Vex's ear-level. "Ask for some choo."

Vex nodded, knocked his knuckles on the bar, and yelled again. "Got any choo?"

She was approaching with three hazy shot glasses filled to the brim. "Don't got any choo man, this is a bar not a truck stop."

Vex raised his hands in mock surrender, the amber of his cybernetic eye flashing a bright cerulean as he sent thirty eddies the bartender's way. Tip and payment included. "My friend's thirsty too, figured I'd ask." He nodded toward the drone.

The bartender visibly, though not audibly, groaned, before returning with a small juicebox labeled "APPLE" in bright red.

The mox girl was leaning in toward him now. Vex caught her out of the corner of his eye, cocked a brow at her. "How ya doin' gorgeous."

"Better now." She was a blonde, bright pink eyes, all chest and no brains far as he could tell. "Buy a lady a drink?"

Vex snickered. "Ain't got no money for no ladies honey."

He felt something soft and warm brush against his hand, glanced down, and scowled to find hers lingering over his. "C'mon big guy. I'm a lot more fun than some kid." She pointedly looked past Vex and grinned at Wilma hawkishly. "Even cut you a deal since you're so handsome."

Vex paused to consider. He did not withdraw his hand but instead turn to down two of the shots with his free one, taking about five seconds between each dose of liquid courage. It was warm and sharp as it spilled down into his gut, and he was grinning from ear to ear when he turned back to the mox girl. "What size pussy you wear?"

"What?!" She almost jumped away from him, her brows knit in outrage. "Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

"Tell us the size." Nyx's tinny voice demanded from the speakers of her drone.

"You look like a twelve." Vex added as he downed his last shot. This was met with a resoundingly loud slap that somehow managed to echo above the music. Vex's whole face stung as he turned to look at the woman, but she'd already gotten up and stormed out toward the door.

"If you run out my customers then you're getting run out too." The bartender glared at him.

Vex shrugged. "Didn't wanna buy what she was selling, and she was persistent. I'm a victim." He leaned forward, placed one hand on the bar, and pitched his voice high. "And this victim needs a beer."

"Then open a fucking tab!"

@Wilma F. Darcy, @Remy LeBlanc

 

[Wilma F. Darcy]

Tag: @Vex Kiranova @Remy LeBlanc
Vibe: Sirene

Wilma's mind had tangled into knots impossible to undo.

Over the past week she contemplated strangling Vex too many times to keep tally. Fixing Armstrong and Winston was her only salvation, although it came with more hurdles than she remembered. What she was really looking forward to was adding the new gyro stabiliser to B.R.I.C.K., though that would have to wait for now. Eddies were running short and her patience, too.

"Did you really have to bring her along too?" She spoke into the internal agent and eyed the skull-faced drone trailing after Vex. "Might as well carry a sign that says 'I have a 10k bounty on my head.'" She was not used to being the voice of reason.

She climbed a stool and laid her arms on the bar, resting her head on them. The bartender slid the juicebox her way. Why is it always apple? She hated apple flavour. Nevertheless, she unstuck the straw from the box's side, pulled it through the cellophane and stabbed it in the box.

She sipped, barely lifting her chin from the bar as she followed the interaction between Vex and the Moxie out of the corner of her eye. She nearly choked at the profanity that came out of his mouth, then winced with second-hand embarrassment as the lady left an outline of her hand imprinted on his face. A sharp bark of laughter shot past Wilma's lips before she could stop it.

"That's an impressive record. Barely minutes since we made it to the bar and someone already wants your guts for garters." She blew at the straw idly, watching it spin around its axis. She looked down along the bar, browsing through the myriad of grungy faces in hopes of landing on a particular 'open-for-business' type. Curiously, finding drugs and laying low didn't mix, to Wilma's great disdain. She had half a mind to climb the bar and yell at the top of her lungs —I'M GONNA BOMBVEST MYSELF IF I DON'T GET SOME SYNAPSE BURN RIGHT NOW— but decided against it. The feeling gnawed at her stomach, twisting and pulling on her insides like a puppeteer. She wanted to bang her head against the bar's surface until it stopped.

"Maybe try a guy next time— less slaps, more mutual interest." Teasing distracted her from the dark cloud of temptation that was conspiring with her thoughts.

The Moxie had barely made it back to her table before she started whispering furiously to her friends, shooting daggers at Wilma and Vex from across the room. Wilma returned a wink and saluted the lady with two fingers. One of the other girls with enough glitter on her face to be considered a walking hazard leaned in close, murmuring into the ear of a man built like a truck. The bodyguard just cracked his neck and pushed off the wall he'd been posted against.

Wilma had just finished the rest of her apple juice when a tight grip snatched the collar of her shirt. "The fuck—?"

Her feet barely scraped the ground before she was yanked clean off the stool. A thick arm wrapped around her middle like a belt, hoisting her like she was nothing, and before she could throw an elbow, she saw Vex getting the same treatment.

"Oi, OI!" She thrashed, clawing at the bodyguard's arm. "I didn't do anything! This one—" her voice cracked in protest as she nodded at Vex, who was presumably making his own poor life choices in response, "—is the problem child!"

The bodyguard didn't flinch and Wilma should have known better than to try and reason with him.

"Let me GO—" She hooked her boot behind his knee, trying to make him stumble, but the man was all muscle and barely slowed.

By the time she managed to twist enough to throw a punch, the three of them were already moving through the crowd, dragging a trail of attention behind them. The music thumped on unaware, but she caught sight of the Moxie and her friends grinning, one of them waving smugly in her direction.

Wilma scowled, still struggling in futility. She scrutinised their plastic faces and mumbled, more to herself, "Factory defects."

The bodyguard didn't stop until they reached a door marked 'PRIVATE' then shoved it open. Without ceremony, he hauled Wilma and Vex inside and threw them into the office.

❉

​

 

[Remy LeBlanc]

Theme

@Vex Kiranova, @Wilma F. Darcy

Remy's calculating gaze lingered on the monitor, his lips already sipping on his usual favorite cocktail as he watched the events downstairs unfold. It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to keep an ever-watchful eye on the club, but when there was a new face, he might as well be chromed with top of the line Kiroshis. The man watched the pair like a hawk, studying their every move in an attempt to size the pair up. They certainly had the excruciatingly arrogant behavior of a merc, though in NC that got one killed as often as it got them paid. Not exactly the foundation to build one's business on. Yet, there was also something rather intriguing about the duo, as well as the small drone that seemed to follow them around...

His brain filed through recent news trickling through the proverbial grapevine, eventually forcing a small smirk to produce itself on the Marquis' face.

Ah yes... the missing tech...

That would be a matter to handle another day, though it certainly made Remy cautious of his new guests. Well... more cautious than usual, at least. There was no reward worth having without risk, however, and a bit of leverage was always nice to have in one's back pocket.

Remy remained in his chair as the pair were tossed into the office, the ice of the beverage in his hand softly clanking as he pulled it from his lips. Once his guests had a moment to acclimate to their swift and sudden relocation, Remy cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Gregor. You may wait outside."

The second comment was met with a look of disagreement, causing Remy's eyes to narrow. It was the look of a silent threat, rather than your average variety of frustration. With a shake of his head, Gregor turned back, closing the door behind him. Once he was sure they had the room to themselves, Remy stared at the pair, his finger tapping rhythmically against the glass in his hand.

"Do you always make friends so easily when you are ordering drinks, or is my club just that special?"

Before they could answer, his hand would slam to the table. It wasn't enough to break the glass. Hell, barely a drop was wasted in the motion... but it would be just enough to ensure that he had their undivided attention.

"The Mox and I have a rather extensive history, you know. It would be wise to practice a bit more tact around them while in my establishment..."

He let that last bit hang in the air for a moment, a lingering, subtle promise that such behavior would not be tolerated. After a rather uncomfortable silence and an entirely too long glare from his side of the desk, Remy's demeanor quickly melted as he leaned back into his chair, a sly grin shooting across his face as he let out a chuckle.

"Don't worry, mercs come in all the time not knowing what they're gonna get here. Sometimes it's good, sometimes... not so much. C'est la vie. I did not bring you here to scold you, but rather to discuss biz."

His head tilted to the side ever so slightly, an inquisitive gleam shining in his eye.

"Or am I assuming wrong when I say that you have the look of those that may be in need of some eddies?"​

 

[Vex Kiranova]

Note: Italalicized text is mental conversation between Vex, Nyx, and Wilma. Non-audible


"She's not a dog, can't just kennel her." Vex had grunted as he'd taken a long rip off his vape, bits of starstuff glittering in the cloud that puffed through his clenched teeth. His free hand poked an index finger into his temple. "And I can't exactly take her out either."

"It's so nice to feel wanted." Nyx purred into both their minds, all binaric sarcasm.

Vex had just been getting ready to demand that beer again when he felt something hard at the back of his neck. His eye went wide as he was hoisted up, a hand going straight for the iron in his coat. A series of data packets surged from Nyx's hovel in his neuroport to the meat of his brain - a conversation, fully simulated, and played out in the fraction of the second it took Vex to blink.

"Non-violent intent. Low cortisol in his odor, eyes relaxed, heart rate steady - guy's just doing his job. Gonna throw us out. Don't cause a scene." Vex did not so much hear it as he understood it instinctively. He glanced up at the big man, decided to hang limp and enjoy the ride, and waved at the Mox girls with a big stupid grin as they strode past them.

"How you pick up on his heart?" Vex asked absentmindedly.

"There are veins in the hand he's holding you with, and I can count." She sounded tired.

Nyx's drone hovered over the strange trio as they trudged through the club. She was fairly confident she could zero the big man if she had to, though the trouble that would follow would be far from worth it. No, better to play along, get out safe, and find some other unfortunate establishment to terrorize.

She hovered through the door nonchalantly as Vex and Wilma were dropped unceremoniously at the feet of @Remy LeBlanc's desk. The skull just hovered in silence, her microengines humming occasionally as they compensated for one another to keep her at a 90-degree angle.

"You have very soft hands Gregor." Vex grumbled as he stumbled up to his feet. He glanced back to offer the big man a cheeky grin, but the door was already shut. Curious now, Vex laced his fingers together at his belly and cocked his head to the side at the seeming proprietor of the Nexus.

His lips parted to respond to the stranger's question, and he made a choked-grunting noise when the hand was slammed on the table. His body responded in kind - hands breaking apart to place on either of his hips in quiet defiance.

"Someone's in trouble." Nyx's voice slithered through the duo's minds.

"Yeah, you if you don't shut up." Vex's annoyance was palpable.

He was debating on apologizing for his behavior or telling the owner to go fuck himself when Remy put on a new face. One far more amenable to the quirks of Vex's personality.

"I'd hope not. You're not bald, fat, or old enough to be my dad. Might be hers though," he wiggled a shoulder at @Wilma F. Darcy. "Sorry about the Mox girl, but I don't like it when strangers touch me. 'Specially not joytoys." He glanced away, "Яны з'яўляюцца хадзячымі пераносчыкамі хвароб. \\ Walking disease vectors that they are." He'd meant to mutter it to himself, but the translator tech made sure Remy caught the translation. Vex's cheeks reddened the moment his own 'soft read the translation back to him.

"Biz," he coughed into his fist, "Yeah, we can talk that. Heard the guy that owned this place was a decent fixer, kinda why we're here." He cocked his head to the side at Remy. "And given the fancy desk and the bodyguard, I'm assuming that's you. I'm Vex." He stepped forward and offered his 'ganic hand to the proprietor. "And that's Wilma. We're the best in the city - handle anything ya got, 'cept for whatever your joytoys get up to."

"The best?" Nyx's laughter always sounded strange when it bounced off the walls of his cerebrum. "Slightly above average on a really good day, maybe."

 

[Wilma F. Darcy]

Tag: @Remy LeBlanc @Vex Kiranova

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Now we really are screwed. If I knew I was gonna die today, I would've put my favourite shirt on. Wilma pulled up her shoulder strap and smoothed over the wrinkles on her clothes. Now she was in trouble because Vex lacked common courtesy. The thing that put miles between him and her was knowing when to keep her mouth shut. In her eyes, Vex had painted himself as nothing more than a smartass—always seeking the verbal upper hand. And yet she snickered at the remark he made on Gregor's hands.

Her body twitched in alert when the man slammed the glass on the table. Okay, they definitely saw that. Cool. Real smooth, Wilma.

"I did not bring you here to scold you." He says, scolding us. She suppressed an eyeroll. When his expression eased, so did her shoulders. That was... good? Still, tension remained the silent third party in the room. Then, with a theatrical sigh, she placed a hand over her chest, batting her lashes in mock relief.

"Oh, thank God. For a second there, I thought you were about to offer us a customer satisfaction survey."

Wilma was not a patient person and it showed with her every action. Going through withdrawal didn't help her case. She disliked men who drawled and took time to assert themselves. It was the one thing she hated in Gunner which he claimed served him so well.

"If that fixer is worth any salt," she spoke into the vox, "he already knows who we are. 'Specially with Nyx's drone hovering about. Maybe you should keep her in a kennel. He'll probably do to us what Gunner did to you, minus the microchipping, plus some extra beating, and none of the eddies." She ended with fatality and quit the call. Listening to their voices only agitated her further. And right now she really wanted to hurt Vex.

She stood with her arms crossed, still disheveled, when he aggrandised their reputation and offered a hand. She groaned, audibly, and again when he used their real names.

"Get to the point, toots." She tapped her foot and said, with all the late teenage angst she could muster, "If you're gonna screw us over, do it now and quickly. I have shit to do."

❉

​

 

[Remy LeBlanc]

Theme

@Vex Kiranova, @Wilma F. Darcy

Well, they weren't entirely stupid... thankfully, though each had a glaringly large chip on their shoulder. Idiocy was something that required more teaching than Remy liked to provide, and ego would often get one killed. But a healthy dose of snark? That he could work with.

A subtle scoff slipped from him at the comment about the joytoys. His Russian was rather rusty, but his translator told him all he needed to know.

"Does this look like Jig Jig Street to you? We don't deal in street level thrills in this establishment. Nevertheless... I can't discredit a man for prioritizing his personal space."

His eyes darted over to Wilma as her cheeky comment shot across the desk like a dart, his hands folding together as he leaned forward onto his desk.

"I don't do customer feedback. If someone isn't doing their job, then they will no longer be employed here."

The subtext of the statement was clear; that rule clearly applied to any biz attached to Remy's name. Subtlety... perhaps not the strongest suit among his new guests. Something he would certainly take note of. Thankfully, there was no need for subtlety with the gig that currently weighed on the Marquis' mind.

His folded hands shifted, moving his face back to Vex as the discussion of biz finally began.

"You are correct. Remy Leblanc, at your service."

A service that was currently being served with a cold, calculating smile.

"Well then... aren't I lucky to find the best in all of Night City?"

Each word was dripping with sarcasm, trailing off into an equally sarcastic chuckle.

"It's alright, you don't have to sell yourselves. If I didn't believe that you could handle the gig, I would have just told Gregor to throw you into the street. And as for screwing you over..."

His didn't bother looking back to Wilma. He already knew he would only be met with a cheeky look and snarky posture.

"If I were going to do that, you wouldn't have even seen my face."

His hand reached for his glass, sliding it to hips lips as he took another long drink from it.

"So, let's make it simple, then. I assume you are familiar with Maelstrom."

Remy knew damn well that they were, but there were never eddies to be earned by showing one's hand too soon.

"They have recently come into possession of a certain datashard that a client of mine considers to be rather precious. I was originally planning to purchase it from them, but, well... you know how those psychosis-ridden gonks can be."

A long sigh escaped his lips, letting out a sort of lingering frustration as he spoke. The situation had clearly become a headache for the Marquis.

"On top of their usually... charming personalities getting in the way, it appears that their leadership doesn't even possess the shard anymore."

His eyes lit up a cold blue hue as he flicked the dossier of a rather exceptionally nasty looking Maelstrom ganger to the pair.

"This individual goes by the name Hatchet. It's a classic tale. Ganger become the new popular kid on the playground... starts getting too big for his britches... begins to think he can do things better. Well... that didn't work out so well for him. His attempted coup backfired, and all he has to show for it is the shard he klepped from his boss. He and his splinter group are posted up in HeavenMed, along with the shard."

A pause followed as he calmly awaited any potential questions from his new pair of mercs.​

 

[Vex Kiranova]

@Wilma F. Darcy, @Remy LeBlanc

WIlma's disembodied voice, still somehow as venomous in their shared mind's eye as it was in meatspace, hissed into Vex's neurons. He took half a second to put together a suitably unpleasant response, and by then she'd cut the link. Nyx's laugh echoed from somewhere in the right side of his skull as he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Mister Soul Patch would've thought the gesture was meant for him and that wouldn't do.

"Never been. I just assume the worst of everywhere I go in Night City -- it's worked out for me pretty well thus far." The proprietor didn't return the handshake. Vex paid it little mind, his arms folding over his chest as Mister LeBlanc introduced himself properly.

All business. Vex adapted.

The two minds bound in his skull bounced their observations across one another's psyche. Nyx liked the Maquis. She thought he was possessed of an easy confidence that would make him a (relatively speaking) transparent business partner. She noted he was quick to his wits and tied to such a public property as he was, likely not keen on fucking them over and harming his reputation in the process. There was also the matter of what Remy knew and did not know; Wilma might be confident he knew their nature; Nyx was not so sure.

And Vex? He liked Remy. He liked that the Fixer was funny, and moreover, that Remy was bound to his club. In Remy, he saw a man with a steady income and chains to social standards that could not be broken if he wished to retain it - a very tempting target for exploitation. Vex just needed to stick his neck out a little, earn some trust.

"I'd like to not deal with Maelstrom again if we can help it."

"Sure, just go ahead and wire me some eddies and-"

"Shuddafuckup."

His borg eye flashed cerulean as the dossier was flicked his way. Their last run in with Maelstrom had left him shot, though fortunately not seriously. They were an unpredictable bunch absolutely rife with scrap code - the kind of people Nyx had trouble 'turning off' or beginning to understand and thus a great source of anxiety for her. Far as Vex was concerned, they were very durable free-range organically-grown meat targets.

"Trying to dig that guy out of Heavenmed's gonna be like pulling a tick from between your toes." His brow furrowed. "We'd have to play things smart. Quiet, sneak in, ambush. Grab the shit and get out. Fry some circuits through the surveillance system, maybe..." His fingers drummed slowly across his forearm. "Or another less confrontational angle."

He paused, gaze dropping toward Remy, "Any particular way you want this to play out - and moreover, what's the pay?"

 

[Wilma F. Darcy]

Tag: @Vex Kiranova @Remy LeBlanc

Wilma's forte did not lay in the making of deals. And it frustrated her that other fixers never really accommodated her talents. Nice and quiet never appealed to her and yet it was the most favoured approach. It lacked flair, artistry, and she was particularly fond of the former. For Maelstrom, however, she'd make an exception any day.

She skimmed through their dossiers. Wilma had never encountered Maelstrom first hand, but had heard plenty of stories to make up for it. What little she had seen of them sent chills down her spine. Amalgamated faces, contorted into permanent scowls of pain and insanity in varying degrees. There was more chrome in them than flesh.

Wilma struggled to point out exactly what bothered her about Vex. If words came as easily to her, she would have told him not to act like such a moneybag. Instead, she scoffed and it came across as odd and out of place.

But despite his undeniable hubris, Wilma appreciated that he stayed on topic. She preferred that he do the talking while she was busy keeping up appearances; or looking particularly disinterested. Her silence was a loud statement.

❉

 

[Remy LeBlanc]

Theme

@Vex Kiranova, @Wilma F. Darcy

His eyes darted back and forth, but never losing their eternal luster.

"You're in luck, though...

More schematics would pour over the comms of the pair of solos that Remy had so graciously entertained.

"Discretion would be preferable, but if you can ensure that Maelstrom sees this as a bad apple getting what is theirs, well..."

His eyes would shoot back and forth, eyeing the pair almost as is his very life depended on it.

"Make it all make sense, and you will get what you are owed."

His body instinctually shifted, inadvertently revealing his caution.

"If you can't deliver, well..."

The door swung open with a vicious WHOOSH, and Gregor found himself present once again. The behemoth of a man through another would-be patron at Remy's feet. His unknowing, and entirely poor perception of biz, caused Remy to almost cringe. But, at the end of it all, Remy did not cringe.

His arm lashed out, slashing the throat of the absolute newbie that had tried to grace his presence.

As he held the man's cut throat, he would simply look to the pair....

"I would prefer for this to be a mutually beneficial relationship. Please do us both a favor, and don't pull any gonk moves."​

 

[Vex Kiranova]

@Wilma F. Darcy, @Remy LeBlanc


God, it was nice to get proper intel for once.

The schema of HeavenMed appeared as a thin veneer over his 'ganic vision. He was scrolling through the entrances and making note of any structural weaknesses that might serve to be exploited. A click of his tongue, and the view darted toward the air conditioning units arrayed atop the building's roof. The thin lines that served as air ducts ran throughout most of the hospital, and were just large enough for the drones, and perhaps Wilma, to snake through. The runner couldn't help but smile as his mind coiled around a dozen half-formed plans, each bolder and stupider than the last.

LeBlanc had a nice bar and good intel - the duo would need to make a good impression to stay in his good graces. In Remy, he was beginning to see something more than the peacocking lounge lizard he'd assumed the man to be when they'd walked into the office.

"Honestly, I love a boss that doesn't micromanage." He was grinning now, a bit of the light returning to his eyes as he looked past the plans to Remy. "We'll check things out, get some ears on the ground. I figure we'll need two or three days of prep time before we make a move. Expect that shard in a week's time. And about payment..."

"If you can't deliver, well..."

The door swung open with a vicious WHOOSH, and Gregor found himself present once again. The behemoth of a man through another would-be patron at Remy's feet. His unknowing, and entirely poor perception of biz, caused Remy to almost cringe. But, at the end of it all, Remy did not cringe.
​

For Vex's part, he cringed pretty hard. The runner whirled on the balls of his feet as the door thundered open, a hand falling to rest on the hilt of his power sword that hung from its leather housing within his coat, thumb resting just over the ignition switch. His 'ganic eye was wide as Nyx ran half a dozen simulations of what might happen next in the time it took him to blink.

He felt her reassurance, an unseen hand on his shoulder, and released his grip on the sword. Whoever this poor gonk was, he was no threat to the duo. Nyx's math was always right.

His shock shifted to confusion as his brow furrowed and his lips parted to pose a question. Whatever he'd intended to ask, it bled from him just as the blood poured from the dying man's opened throat. His mouth hung open for a moment as Nyx ran another set of simulations, the results of which were far less promising. He met the dying man's eyes, all terror and agony, and could not will himself to look away. Fading fingers clawed out at him, up toward Remy, then fell meekly as the slow gurgle of the blood-choked airways quieted.


Rage, hot and indignant, burst through Vex's synthetic heart like an exploding star.

"No." Nyx spoke to him and within him. She hijacked his neural pathways, pressed her will into his, and demanded placidity. She'd run her simulations, she knew how Vex would react; her math was never wrong. "Down boy."

Vex stood frozen, a prisoner in his own flesh, and watched helplessly as the stranger drowned in his own blood in Remy's grasp. Righteous indignation, that which was the sweetest of all human emotions, gripped him as firmly as Nyx's hooks in his brain.

Seconds passed. His heart rate steadied, and his knee-jerk reaction to draw his sword on Remy and demand answers for so casual a murder dulled when the man died, no doubt courtesy of the measured dose of downers Nyx had released into his system. Nonetheless, she could only puppeteer him for about half a minute before he reclaimed control over his body.

Just long enough to stifle the immediate reaction.

"What kind of gonk move did he pull to deserve that?" Vex asked as diplomatically as his heart would allow, which wasn't much. His outrage bubbled beneath the veneer of pragmatism, and his eyes kept darting to the dead man's body, his expression a mask of bipolarity that shifted from deep sympathy for the poor wretch and profound bitterness toward LeBlanc.

"DO. NOT. PRESS. IT." Nyx screamed into his skull. He stared hard down at Remy from the bridge of his nose as he ignored her.

@Remy LeBlanc was no lounge lizard. He was a viper dressed in the regalia of a man, and they'd wandered giddily into his nest.

 

[Wilma F. Darcy]

Tag: @Vex Kiranova @Remy LeBlanc

It never clicked to Wilma that she was disturbed for the wrong reasons. A man had died in cold blood, for someone else's vanity, and all she could think about was how she didn't want to be in his place. She could no longer hide the twitch of her lips, the anxious curve of her brows and the discomfort in her stance. The knuckles of her fidgeting fingers turned white and she picked up the unsubtle act of violence as their cue to leave.

"We're not getting paid to ask questions," her voice came out shaky. She grabbed a fistfull of Vex's coat and tried to pull him towards the exit, without tearing her eyes away from the once-breathing corpse.

She hoped Vex wouldn't make a big deal out of it, as he had the annoying habit of doing so. She found that his sense of justice was a hindrance more than an admirable trait. Especially for a merc in Night City.

At the doorway, Wilma nearly bumped into Gregor and swallowed hard, dwarfed by his imposing build. She looked down into the hallway, where the music called, and glanced over her shoulder. Blood dripped onto the office floor. And they had a job to do.

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