Chapter 2: Practice Makes Perfect
V woke up to the ever-present hum of Night City—distant sirens, the low rumble of engines, and murmured voices. His head pounded in sync with his pulse, each throb sending fresh waves of pain through his skull, like a bassline reverberating too deep in his bones.
He blinked his eyes open with difficulty, squinting against the harsh daylight. The towering skyscrapers above him came into focus, their glass facades catching the morning sun, stabbing bright reflections into his already aching head. Shit… Morning. The night had passed, and somehow, he was still breathing.
He groaned softly, shifting against the cold, hard ground as he pushed himself into a sitting position, his body screaming at him to stay down.
“Honestly,” a voice beside him cut through the haze, low and edged with amusement. “For a sec there, things looked iffy.”
V turned his head. His bleary gaze settled on Jackie, who was sitting slumped on the ground a few feet away, dried blood streaking his temple.
“Wasn’t sure we’d worm outta that alive,” V rasped, his throat dry and raw. His nose throbbed—a sharp, persistent ache that demanded attention. He reached up, prodding around it gingerly, confirming what he already knew—it was crooked. Again .
With a sigh, he braced himself and snapped it back into place. The sharp pop made his eyes water, pain flaring white-hot. He muttered a curse under his breath, rubbing at the fresh wave of soreness. Maybe it was finally time to hit up a rip-doc before his nose fell off.
“Nah,” Jackie said, shaking his head slightly before wincing at the motion. “Stints wouldn’t do us like that.” His voice was firm, despite the exhaustion weighing it down. A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
V scoffed, shifting his weight until his back hit the cool concrete wall behind him. It did little to ease the pounding in his skull. “You sure about that?”
“Mhm,” Jackie nodded again, more carefully this time. “He’s Heywood-born, bred, and grown—like us. Hates suits just as much as you do. Did what he had to do. That’s it.”
Jackie sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk . “If I hadn’t come along, you’d be cruisin’ Night City in some sexy wheels right now.”
“Nah,” V groaned, shifting against the rough concrete. His whole body ached, but the sting of failure cut deeper. “Job was toxic from the start.”
Jackie went quiet for a beat, studying V before something clicked. “Wait a second… I know you.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “You hang at the Coyote.”
V exhaled a short laugh, or maybe just a breath laced with exhaustion. “Got the job to steal those wheels at the Coyote. From Kirk.”
At the mention of the name, Jackie’s expression twisted. Recognition flared in his eyes, followed quickly by disgust. “Kirk?” he repeated, his tone sharp. “You workin’ with that sewer slug?”
“Pepe’s neck was on the line, you know?” V sighed, glancing at Jackie.
“Pepe?” Jackie echoed, the edge in his voice dulling. “This was for him ?”
V nodded, gaze dropping slightly. “Kirk’s got him by the balls. I was just tryin’ to get him outta the mess. Figured it’d be a quick job—no big deal.”
Jackie shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “Man… Pepe . Gotta wonder about him, lettin’ slimy Kirk boss him around like that.”
V leaned back against the wall, wincing as another sharp throb shot through his nose. “Heard what they say—Kirk’s backed by cartels.”
Jackie’s face twisted in disbelief. “Cartels?” he repeated, then let out a sharp laugh, waving the idea away. “No, no, listen. I know those cartel types, and I guarantee you—none of ’em have even heard of Kirk.”
He scoffed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the very thought. “ El cabrón’s gotta learn… he don’t do people in Heywood dirty.” His tone hardened, a spark of hometerf pride lacing his words.
Jackie shifted then, turning to properly face V, his expression clearing as he extended a hand. “So, maybe now, as God ordained—Jackie Welles.”
“V.”
V grasped his hand firmly but briefly. They both leaned back against the wall, the tension between them settling into something easier, something unspoken but understood.
“Wait,” V said after a beat, glancing at Jackie. “ Welles… like Mama Welles?” a smile tugged at his lips. “ Heh , thought I recognized the name.”
Jackie chuckled, a touch of pride warming his voice. “She’s my blood, all right. Coyote’s her dive.”
“Strange you and I never met before.”
Jackie scratched the back of his neck, smirking slightly. “Yeah… guess it’s a big neighborhood.” He exhaled, glancing off toward the street. “But a small world, huh?”
Jackie pushed himself up with a grunt, dusting off his pants as he stood. “C’mon, let’s go grab some lunch.”
V arched an eyebrow, still sitting on the ground. “Just like that?”
Jackie shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “You help my homies, you’re OK in my book. No harm, no foul.”
“None at all,” V said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Jackie tapped his chest with a finger, then pointed at V. “Gettin’ one of my good feelings.”
V chuckled. “’Bout what?”
Jackie’s grin widened. “’Bout us ,” he said, like it was obvious. “Sense a kinda chemistry, y’know? C’mon. I’m fuckin’ starved.”
V exhaled, smile widening, as he shook his head. “OK, food it is.” He braced his hands on the ground, pushing himself up with a low groan. “Let’s go.”
As they stepped out, Night City swallowed them whole—loud, unapologetic, always moving. The streets pulsed with life, neon spilling across sidewalks packed with hustlers, dreamers, and poor bastards chasing a future they’d never catch. A hundred new arrivals today, half of ’em dead by next year if the city had its way.
Jackie cracked jokes at the expense of the gangers they passed—kids mostly, barely grown, all attitude, no sense. They wanted respect, wanted to be feared—but none of it meant shit if you were too dumb to survive. V egged him on, his words sharp enough to make a few of them glare, but none of them had the spine to do more than that.
People came to Night City chasing legends—Morgan Blackhand, Weyland Boa Boa, the greats. Chasin’ that dream, that big score , tellin’ themselves they’d be different. That they’d make it big before the city chewed ’em up and spit ’em out. The greater the risk, the bigger the reward… or so they said.
Truth was, you either burned out fast or wound up six feet under. The real legends? You could find most of ’em in the graveyard.
V and Jackie continued down the street.
They doubled over laughing when Jackie mimicked the clipped, robotic accent of a nearby NCPD officer. V clutched his side, wheezing as a low grunt of disapproval cut through their laughter. The cop—stocky, middle-aged, and looking like he was one bad day away from pulling his piece on some poor bastard—shot them a glare from under his cap. His cyberoptics whirred as they adjusted, locking onto them like targeting reticles.
V met his stare, his smirk still lingering but more out of principle than anything else. He knew better than to take NCPD lightly—every badge in this city was either a glorified corp security guard or dirty as hell. But he also knew cops didn’t waste time on punks cracking jokes unless they had something real to pin on them.
The officer lingered a second longer, jaw tight, then let out a huff and turned back to whatever mundane corruption he was about to partake in.
V shook his head, chuckling under his breath as they kept walking.
The city moved around them, indifferent to their amusement. Neon signs flickered overhead, a street vendor hawked preem-smelling synth-tacos from a steaming grill, and a couple of joytoys leaned lazily against a holo-lit doorway, eyeing potential customers. Further ahead, a drunk was arguing with a vending machine, slamming his fist against its unyielding steel while a pre-recorded voice chirped, "Please insert exact change."
Jackie stopped in front of a small apartment complex, its façade as weathered as the city itself.
“Alright, we’re here,” Jackie said, cracking a grin. “Don’t freak out— mama’s gonna love you.”
V smirked faintly. “Yeah? And what if she doesn’t?”
Jackie snorted. “Then you better run fast, mano .”
They stepped inside, and immediately, the scent of sizzling onions and peppers hit them like a warm embrace. A petite woman stood over the stove, stirring something in a pan. Her sharp eyes flicked toward them before her face lit up.
“Mama, look who I brought home!” Jackie announced, arms wide like he was introducing royalty.
His mother turned, wiping her hands on a towel before placing them on her hips. “ Ay, mijo! And who’s this?”
“This is V,” Jackie said, nudging him forward. “Choom of mine. Saved my ass tonight.”
V managed a small, awkward smile. “Pleasure to meet you, señora.”
She eyed him for a second, then broke into a warm smile. “Oh, manners too! You must be a good influence on my boy.” Before V could react, she pulled him into a quick, firm hug, patting his back like he was already family. “Sit, sit. You boys look like you’ve been through hell.”
Jackie, however, had a different priority. He drifted toward the stove, his eyes locked onto the food with a laser focus. Without hesitation, he reached out to swipe a piece of sizzling meat straight from the pan.
Smack!
His mother spun around in a flash, spoon in hand, landing a swift strike across his knuckles.
“¡No toques eso! ” she scolded. “You can wait like everyone else.”
Jackie yanked his hand back, rubbing the offended spot, but not looking the least bit guilty. “What can I say? Smells too good.”
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head before turning back to the stove. Then she glanced at V. “You hungry, mi niño ?”
V nodded. “Starving.”
“Good,” she said, satisfied. “We’ll feed you right.” Then she turned a sharp glare back at Jackie. “And you—go get the plates. Ahora .”
Jackie snapped a mock salute, grumbling as he disappeared into the kitchen, still chuckling.
V leaned back slightly in his chair, watching the easy dynamic between them. The warmth, the familiarity—it was different from the cold hustle of Night City, from the cutthroat games and shifting alliances.
Jackie returned a moment later, stacking plates onto the table with a loud thunk . “Man, this is what I needed after the shit night we had.” He flopped into a chair, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied groan. “Nothin’ like real food, right, V?”
“Yeah,” V said, running a hand through his short hair. “Been a while since I had a home-cooked meal.”
Jackie shot him a curious look. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
V hesitated for half a second, debating whether to brush it off. “Nowhere to cook, I guess,” he muttered, reaching for his beer.
Jackie snorted. “Your place too messy or somethin’?”
V didn’t answer right away, taking a sip instead. Jackie watched him, and after a beat, his grin faded. “Wait… you got a place, right?”
V exhaled through his nose, setting the beer down. “Kinda,” he said, but even he didn’t believe it. “Just got back in town. Haven’t really—” He gestured vaguely, trying to find the words.
Jackie blinked. “You’re homeless?”
V huffed. “Wouldn’t put it like that .”
Jackie let out a laugh, shaking his head. “ Choom , you coulda just said somethin’ instead of actin’ like some nómada sleepin’ in his car.”
V shrugged, a little embarrassed. “It’s no big deal.”
Jackie leaned back, crossing his arms. “No big deal? Mano, I got a couch. Hell, I got a whole extra bed. You crash at my place till you get somethin’ sorted.”
V tilted his head, giving him a look. “You sure?”
Jackie scoffed. “Man, if I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t offer. Mi casa, su casa , choom. You ain’t sleepin’ in some back alley like a gonk .”
V was hesitant to accept the offer or even believe Jackie meant it for real. Things fell through, people changed their mind, said things in a heat of the moment. They barely knew each other—
V opened his mouth, about to protest, but a voice called from the kitchen, where the sound of sizzling oil had barely covered their conversation. “ V , if you don’t have something better lined up, you listen to Jackie.” She gestured toward her son. “He’s got the room, and you’d be doing me a favor, keeping an eye on him.”
V exhaled, glancing around the room—the warmth, the smell of food, the easy way Jackie and his mother moved around each other, like a real home.
“…Guess it beats crashin’ at a motel,” he muttered.
“Shit, beats a lot of things.” Jackie clapped him on the back. “Look at that. You come back to NC, and first thing you get’s a home-cooked meal and a roof over your head. Pretty good deal if you ask me.”
V huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He wasn’t stupid. Trust was a dangerous thing in this city, and getting his hopes up felt even riskier. He’d done that once—thought he could outrun the cycle, carve out something better for himself in Atlanta… Stints’ words still lingered at the back of his mind, gnawing at him. Born here, live here, die here. Just another piece of trash in Heywood, forgotten like all the rest.
But right now, sitting at this table, bruised but not alone, he let that certainty waver—just a little. Jackie wasn’t looking at him like trash. He wasn’t sizing him up like he was competition, or trying to con him out of something. He was just there … offering a place, a laugh, a moment that felt… real.
Maybe this wasn’t the worst place to land.
+
Jackie leaned against the doorframe of his apartment, arms crossed, a wide grin plastered across his face. “Well, what do you think, choom? Pretty swanky , huh?”
V stepped inside, giving the place a once-over. The couch was draped in a mismatched set of throw pillows, the coffee table bore the scars of burn marks and scratches, and the walls were cluttered with lucha libre posters and faded prints of old Heywood landmarks. It wasn’t swanky, not by a long shot, but it felt... warm. Lived in.
A stark contrast to the soulless steel high-rises and sterile corporate housing he’d seen in Atlanta. This place? It had history, personality. Like someone had put down roots instead of just waiting for the next job to come knocking.
“ Swanky’s one word for it,” V said, smirking as he dropped his duffel bag by the couch. “You sure about this, though? Don’t wanna cramp your style or nothin’.”
Jackie waved him off. “ Pfft . Nah, man, you’re gonna fit right in. Hell, I already cleared you a shelf in the fridge—ain’t that thoughtful of me?”
V chuckled, shaking his head. “Real saint you are.”
“Damn right,” Jackie said, clapping a hand on V’s shoulder. “And hey, don’t think of this as just crashin’. Think of it like your home.”
V hesitated, the word home catching in his mind. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had one, not really. A few places he’d laid his head, a few people he’d run with, but nothing that lasted.
V raised an eyebrow. “Home, huh?”
“Yeah! Two mercs, ridin’ high after takin’ on the city. Late-night drinks, bad TV, and maybe a couple fistfights to keep things spicy.” Jackie’s grin widened. “It’s gonna be a blast, mano.”
V couldn’t help but laugh. For the first time since stepping back into Night City’s chaos, the weight pressing down on him didn’t feel so heavy.
“Alright, you win,” he said, shaking his head. “Guess I’m movin’ in.”
Jackie whooped and tossed a bag of chips from the kitchen counter onto the couch. “Hell yeah, mi casa es tu casa! Now, ground rules—first one to finish the preem stuff in the fridge gets dibs on the rest. Second, don’t touch my tequila unless you’re ready to buy the next bottle. And third, uh…” He scratched the back of his head, searching for more. “Ah, who cares? We’ll figure it out.”
V let himself drop onto the couch, letting the cushions absorb him. For the first time in what felt like forever, the tension in his shoulders eased. The place smelled faintly of fried onions and cigars, and Jackie’s laughter filled the silence.
“You know,” he said after a pause, staring at the ceiling, “this ain’t half bad.”
Jackie grabbed two beers from the fridge, popped them open, and handed one to V. “Better than ‘half bad,’ choom. It’s the start of somethin’ real. Just wait—you and me? Gonna run this city someday. ”
V took a swig, the cold bite of beer settling deep as he gazed out the window. Beyond the glass, Night City pulsed—neon veins stretching endlessly into the horizon, alive, relentless. Here, it didn’t matter where you came from or how you started. What mattered was the walk you walked.
+
V hadn’t been sure what to expect, but Jackie turned out to be a solid roomate. He was easy to be around, didn’t poke where he shouldn’t, and wasn’t a slob, which was more than V could say for most of the people he’d ever shared a space with.
The first few jobs they did together went smoothly—small-time gigs, nothing too complicated. Chasing down some gonk who stole from the wrong guy, shaking loose a loudmouth who didn’t know when to keep his trap shut. Straightforward, fast, and profitable enough.
But tonight? Tonight was different. This one needed a little more than brute force—it needed planning , patience, and good teamwork. And that’s what had V on edge.
Jackie was a hell of a scrapper, no doubt, but patience? Not exactly his strong suit. V preferred a more subtle approach when possible—quick, clean, no unnecessary bodies—but Jackie? If left to his own devices, he’d bust down the front door just to save time.
This job was going to tell V if they could move like a real squad—reading each other, knowing when to step back and let the other take the lead—then maybe they weren’t just getting lucky with these small gigs. Maybe they were onto something bigger.
V had done the recon. He knew the who, where, when, and most importantly, the how . This could be clean, easy—over before anyone knew what hit ‘em.
Or… it could go sideways real fast.
The BD club was a sensory overload, even by Night City standards. Neon strobes pulsed across the walls in dizzying waves of pink, blue, and green, turning the space into a living hallucination. The heavy bass of industrial synth music rattled V’s chest, mixing with the low murmur of voices and the occasional sharp burst of laughter.
Booths lined the edges of the club, each fitted with padded chairs and BrainDance headsets, catering to patrons eager to ditch reality for something better—or worse. Most sat slack-jawed, already lost in their chosen dream or nightmare, their eyes vacant, fingers twitching against the seats as their minds wandered through recorded sensations.
“Man, these places always creep me out,” Jackie muttered, leaning on the second-floor railing as he scanned the club below. “Pluggin’ in and zonin’ out. No clue what’s happenin’ around ‘em.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Easy marks, though.”
V followed his gaze, searching the crowd until his eyes landed on their target—a corpo slumped alone in a booth in the back corner, sleek gray suit barely wrinkled, fingers already fumbling with a BD headset.
“There,” V said, nodding toward the booth. “Looks like he’s already started.”
Jackie smirked. “Told ya this’d be a cakewalk. You distract, I swoop. In and out, easy payday.”
V adjusted his jacket, rolling his shoulders as they moved toward the stairs. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s not celebrate just yet.”
They split up, Jackie lingering near the bar while V strolled casually toward the booth. The corpo was already gone—mind deep in whatever pre-packaged fantasy the BD was feeding him. Headset locked in place, body slack, his breathing slow and even. The faint glow of the diodes streamed someone else’s life straight into his brain, leaving his own on autopilot.
“Alright,” V muttered under his breath as he slid into the seat across from the man. His gaze flicked around the club—no eyes on them, just a sea of people lost in their own vices. Perfect .
Slowly, carefully, V reached across the table. His fingers brushed the briefcase nestled in the corpo’s lap. No reaction. He tightened his grip around the handle, easing it free inch by inch. Almost there—
A twitch. A sudden shift.
The corpo’s eyes snapped open, hazy but locking onto V in an instant. “What the—?”
Shit.
Before V could react, Jackie was already moving. He cut through the flashing neon like a force of nature. His fist connected with the corpo’s face— crack —the sound barely registering over the pounding synth music. The man slumped back, the BD headset slipping awkwardly up his forehead, blood trickling from his nose.
V exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he stood, the briefcase now securely in hand. “ Smooth .”
“Hey, I got the job done, didn’t I?” Jackie grinned, flexing his knuckles, unfazed. “C’mon, let’s get outta here before anyone notices.”
V smirked and didn’t argue.
They wove through the crowd, sticking to the darker corners of the club. The air outside hit like a shock—cool, damp, and thick with the city’s usual cocktail of oil, piss, and rain-slicked asphalt.
“Easy payday.” V said, smirking as they walked.
“Could get used to it.” Jackie replied with a wide grin on his face.
V huffed a quiet chuckle, glancing at the briefcase in his hand. It hadn’t gone exactly how he’d planned—but in some ways, it had gone better . Jackie knew how to let V take the lead when it counted, but he also knew when to act, when to push things forward when V missed a step.
+
V had a bad habit of putting himself last—always had. Came from a mix of things: growing up with nothing, learning to push through when there wasn’t another option, knowing that in Night City, showing weakness was just asking to get torn apart. Pain? That was just part of the job. Hunger? Something to ignore. Sleep? A luxury, not a need.
But Jackie? Jackie had more sense than him. Didn’t matter how tough V thought he was, Jackie made sure he took care of himself—dragging his ass to a ripper-doc when he put it off too long was just one of those things.
The clinic smelled of antiseptic and faintly of motor oil, with the rhythmic hum of machinery filling the air. The place wasn’t fancy, but it was clean, the kind of spot where you could trust the hands working on you. Jackie led V through the door, ducking slightly to avoid hitting his head on the low frame.
“Yo, Vic! Got someone you gotta meet!” Jackie’s voice boomed as he strode in, his usual swagger on full display.
Victor Vector looked up from the chair where he was tinkering with a mechanical hand, a set of small, precise tools in one gloved hand. His gaze shifted to V, sharp and appraising, before he stood and wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag.
“So, you’re the new friend Jackie keeps yammerin’ about,” Victor said, extending a firm hand.
“Name’s V,” he replied, shaking it.
“Good grip. You’ll need that in this line of work,” Victor said, his tone dry but not unkind. “Jackie says you’re lookin’ to make a name for yourself. That right?”
V nodded. “Somethin’ like that. He says you’re the best in the city.”
“Damn straight,” Victor said with a faint smirk, crossing his arms. “If you’re rollin’ with Jackie, you’re gonna need work done sooner or later. Chrome, patches, maybe even a quick tune-up. Whatever it is, I’ve got you covered. Just make sure you pay your tab, unlike some people I know.”
Jackie raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I pay... eventually .”
Victor rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about “walking credit risks.” V couldn’t help but grin.
+
After a string of jobs and barely any sleep, V knew they’d earned a night off. Jackie didn’t need much convincing—one mention of drinks and good music, and they were already on their way to the club.
The bass hit so hard it rattled V’s teeth as the two of them wove their way onto the packed dance floor. The club was alive with pulsing lights and writhing bodies, a kaleidoscope of color and sound that blurred into something primal and electric.
Jackie, predictably, was in his element. He threw his arms up, hollering something unintelligible as the music swallowed his words. Without hesitation, he started moving, his massive frame surprisingly light on his feet.
“C’mon, V!” Jackie shouted over the music, grabbing his arm and dragging him deeper into the crowd.
V hesitated for half a second, then joined in.
They weren’t good dancers, not by any stretch, but they made up for it with sheer enthusiasm. Jackie didn’t care who he was dancing with—man, woman, didn’t matter. He spun in a circle, nearly knocking over a group of dancers, while V mimicked some corpo executive’s awkward dance moves, drawing a bark of laughter from Jackie.
Jackie spun toward V, exaggeratedly swaying his hips and shaking his chest like some joytoy putting on a show.
V doubled over laughing, nearly spilling his drink before shoving Jackie back into the throng of dancers. “ Get the hell outta here! ”
Jackie just cackled, arms thrown up, when he accidentally bumped into someone behind him. The guy sneered, his chrome-plated knuckles glinting under the neon strobes as he shoved Jackie back harder. Then fist met jaw.
V didn’t even have time to think as he stepped up beside Jackie, his own grin sharp as one of the guy’s friends lunged at him, throwing a sloppy punch. V ducked fast, his counter a sharp elbow to the ribs that made the guy gasp. Jackie, meanwhile, was thriving—laughing as he sent another guy sprawling over a table, drinks crashing to the floor.
The brawl spilled into the dance floor, scattering people in every direction. The bass pounded, the lights strobed, and the crowd roared with a mix of excitement and fear as fists flew.
Then the security moved in.
Big guys in black suits, probably ex-mercs who’d found steady pay keeping drunk idiots from wrecking the place. But they weren’t looking to figure out who started it—they just saw bodies swinging and came down hard .
V barely had time to register the bouncer closing in before he was yanked backward, thick arms locking around his chest like a vice. He twisted, throwing an elbow, but it barely phased the guy.
Jackie was still swinging, still laughing, even as two bouncers wrestled him to the ground.
“Worth it!” Jackie yelled, laughing like a maniac.
“ Hell yeah! ” V cackled, spitting blood as they were dragged out of the club.
+
When Jackie wasn’t running gigs with V, he was off playing knight in shining chrome for his girl, Misty. V knew to give ‘em their space—last thing he wanted was to third-wheel his choom’s love story.
But one day, Jackie wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said it was important that V met her. And when Jackie got something in his head it was no use arguing.
The apartment smelled like garlic and spices, a far cry from its usual mix of cigar smoke and leftover takeout. V sat on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, a beer in his free hand. From the kitchen, he could hear the soft clatter of utensils, the occasional hiss of something frying, and Jackie’s voice—low, playful, wrapped in that easy confidence he carried everywhere.
Jackie was perched on one of the kitchen stools, half-facing the stove where Misty stood, a loose apron tied around her waist as she stirred something in a pan. He watched her with a goofy grin, the kind V had only seen in cheesy holovids—the look of a man completely smitten.
“So, what’s the occasion?” V asked, taking a sip of his beer.
“No occasion,” Jackie said, not taking his eyes off Misty. “Misty just wanted to cook for us. Ain’t that sweet?”
Misty glanced over her shoulder, rolling her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement. “More like you begged me to come over and make something decent for once. Said you were sick of burritos and instant ramen.”
Jackie threw up his hands in mock offense. “Hey, I can cook! V, back me up here.”
V smirked. “Sure, if you count microwaving noodles as cooking.”
Jackie clutched his chest in exaggerated betrayal. “ Et tu, V ?”
Misty laughed, a light sound that cut through the usual noise of Night City. She turned back to her pan, shaking her head. “You’ve got a nice place here,” she said, more to V than Jackie.
“It’s cozy,” V said, glancing around. “And Jackie’s great company, as you can tell.”
“Oh, I know,” Misty said, her voice warm. She placed a lid on the pan and turned to face them, wiping her hands on her apron. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
V raised an eyebrow. “How long’ve you two been... you know?”
“Dating?” Misty asked, quirking a brow. “Couple of months now.” She smirked at Jackie. “Though he’s been trying to impress me since we were ten.”
“Not true!” Jackie said quickly, though his grin gave him away. “Okay, maybe a little true.”
V chuckled, but he didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in Jackie’s grin. Like maybe there was more to this story. “Your mom still doesn’t approve, huh?”
Jackie groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “ Madre’s just… stubborn.”
V raised a brow. “She got somethin’ against Misty?”
Jackie exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Keeps sayin’ she thought me and Camila would work things out.”
Misty let out a quiet laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it.
“Camila?” V asked.
“Old flame,” Jackie muttered. “Nice girl, real sweet. But madre don’t get it—me and her, that was never gonna last.”
Misty kept her eyes on the stove, stirring a little too forcefully. “Camila’s traditional. Safe.”
Jackie frowned. “ You’re safe.”
Misty met his eyes, her expression softer now. “Not in the way your mom wants.”
Silence hung for a moment, the only sound the sizzle of onions frying in oil.
V took another sip of beer, deciding to cut the tension before it got heavier. “Well, if it helps, I think you two are disgusting.”
Misty snorted, shaking her head. Jackie let out a loud laugh, clapping V on the shoulder. “ Gracias, mano. Means a lot.”
Misty rolled her eyes again but smiled as she set a stack of plates on the counter. “Alright, food’s ready. You two hungry?”
“Starving,” Jackie said, hopping off the stool and grabbing the plates.
V stood up, stretching. “Smells amazing, Misty.”
She gave him a small smile. “Thanks, V. Hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
As they sat around the table, Jackie immediately dug in, earning a playful slap on the arm from Misty when he reached for seconds before she’d even finished her first bite. V watched them, their banter easy and affectionate, and found himself feeling at ease.
+
The gig had gone south—fast. Now, back at the apartment, bruised and bleeding, V was trying to decide whether to laugh or be pissed about the whole thing.
The place was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional drip from the faucet. V stood at the sink, leaning on the counter with one hand while the other dabbed at his busted lip with a damp cloth. His reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink stared back at him—split lip, bruised jaw, dried blood caking the side of his face.
Behind him, Jackie sat at the table, holding an ice pack to his swollen eye. His shirt was torn, and a nasty bruise was already forming on his collarbone, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Man,” Jackie muttered, shifting the ice pack slightly. “That guy had a helluva right hook. Felt like gettin’ hit by a fuckin’ truck.”
V let out a low chuckle, spitting another glob of blood into the sink. “Yeah, well, you didn’t see the size of the guy who threw me at that dumpster. Think he cracked one of my ribs.”
Jackie laughed, then immediately winced, clutching his side. “Shit, don’t make me laugh, choom . Hurts too much.”
V turned, leaning back against the sink, the damp cloth still pressed to his lip, holding back laughing himself.
Jackie grinned, his teeth slightly pink from blood. “Betcha those gonks’ll think twice before messin’ with us again.”
V shook his head, smirking. “Yeah, because we look real intimidating right now.”
Jackie raised his beer bottle in mock toast. “To gettin’ our asses kicked.”
V snorted, grabbing his own beer from the counter. “And to doin’ it all over again next time.”
They clinked bottles, the sound ringing hollow in the quiet room, and for a moment, the bruises and blood didn’t matter.
“Can’t let it slide, though.” V said a moment later, rolling the bottle between his fingers.
Jackie looked up, his grin shifting into something darker. “Damn right, we can’t.”
They had a rep to uphold. Letting some second-rate gangers jump them and walk away like nothing happened? That shit didn’t fly. Word spread fast in Night City, and the last thing they needed was people thinking they were an easy target.
“We find out where they’ve holed up,” V said, setting his beer down. “Hit ‘em back twice as hard.”
Jackie’s grin returned, wide and eager. “Now you’re talkin’. They wanted to make a scene? Let’s make one they won’t forget.”
V exhaled through his nose, the ache in his ribs a dull reminder of why this had to be done. Payback wasn’t just about pride—it was survival. If you let people think they could mess with you and get away with it, you wouldn’t last long in this city.
He took another swig of beer, eyes flicking to Jackie. “We go in smart, though. No runnin’ in blind.”
+
With gigs paying out better than ever, it was time to invest—no more scraping by with hand-me-down iron.
The gun shop was a treasure trove of firepower—rows of gleaming weapons locked behind reinforced glass, ammo stacked high in the corners, and the heavy scent of gun oil hanging in the air. Holo-ads flickered on the walls, pitching the latest in smart targeting systems and tactical upgrades to anyone with the eddies to spare.
Jackie strode in like he owned the place, eyes already scanning the shelves. “Alright, choom , we’ve earned this. Time to treat ourselves.”
V smirked, following him inside. “Didn’t realize we were celebrating getting our asses kicked.”
“Nah, man. We’re celebrating livin’ through it,” Jackie shot back, stepping up to the counter. “And makin’ sure it don’t happen again.”
The clerk, a grizzled guy with a cybernetic arm and a permanent scowl, raised an eyebrow as Jackie tapped on the counter. “Special order ready? For Welles.”
With a grunt, the clerk disappeared into the back. A moment later, he returned, dropping a pristine case onto the counter with a dull thud . Jackie popped it open with a flourish, revealing a pair of gold-plated pistols. The intricate engravings caught the neon light, swirling patterns etched into the chrome, gleaming like they belonged to a Valentino boss.
V whistled low. “ Damn . Lookin’ to blind ‘em before you shoot ‘em?”
Jackie grinned, lifting one of the pistols and giving it a twirl. “Style’s just as important as firepower, V. You should know that by now.” He struck a dramatic pose, aiming the pistol at an imaginary target. “ Bang! Gonks won’t know what hit ‘em.”
V laughed, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but I look good doin’ it,” Jackie said, holstering the pistols with a practiced flourish. “What about you? Gonna pick somethin’, or just stand there admirin’ me all day?”
V turned his attention to the wall of shotguns, his gaze landing on a sleek, matte-black Carnage . He lifted it, feeling the weight settle perfectly in his grip. The kind of weapon that made a statement. He racked it once, the mechanical clack echoing through the shop. “Think this’ll do.”
Jackie glanced over, nodding in approval. “Now that’s a piece. Nice choice.”
V smirked, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder. “Alright, let’s pay up and go break these bad boys in.”
+
The alleyway erupted into chaos, gunfire echoing off the graffiti-covered walls as V and Jackie took cover behind a dumpster. The Carnage shotgun in V’s hands kicked like a mule, each blast sending shockwaves through his arms as he picked off their attackers one by one.
“Hell yeah, V!” Jackie shouted over the noise, his gold-plated pistols flashing as he fired back at the gangsters pinning them down.
V pumped another round into the chamber and leaned out from cover, blasting a thug who was trying to flank them. The guy went flying, landing hard against a pile of trash bags.
“Out of shells!” V yelled, cursing. Without thinking, he threw the shotgun, catching the nearest gonk square in the head. The guy crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the asphalt.
“ Holy shit! ” Jackie doubled over laughing, even as he fired off another shot.
V cackled, ducking as bullets sprayed overhead. “Adapt and survive, choom!”
Jackie’s laughter echoed through the alley as they pushed forward, clearing out the last of the gang in a blaze of gunfire.
The adrenaline buzz carried them all the way home, bruised, bloodied, and grinning like idiots.
When they stepped into the apartment, the last thing V expected to see was Mama Welles sitting at the table, her hands folded neatly in front of her. The warm smell of homemade pozole wafted through the air, making V’s stomach rumble.
“Mama? ” Jackie froze in the doorway, looking like a kid caught sneaking in past curfew.
“You boys look like you’ve been rolling in the dirt,” Mama Welles said, eyeing their scuffed clothes and tired faces. Her voice was stern, but there was a softness in her eyes when she turned to V. “Mijo, come here.”
V hesitated, then stepped forward, feeling oddly small under her gaze. She reached up and cupped his face, tilting his chin to inspect a faint bruise.
“You’re too skinny,” she said, shaking her head. “Are you eating enough?”
V chuckled awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, sure, Mama Welles.”
“Hmm,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “Sit. I made enough for everyone.”
As V settled into the chair, Mama Welles glanced at him again, this time with a different kind of look. “So,” she began, “Jackie tells me you’ve found a place of your own.”
V blinked, then felt a small grin tug at his lips. “Yeah. Megabuilding H10. Just signed the lease.”
Mama Welles nodded in approval. “That’s good, V . A man should have his own space.”
V glanced at Jackie. “Yeah, no offense, Jackie, but I’ve had about all I can take of your snorin’.”
Jackie gasped, hand over his chest like he’d been personally betrayed. “ My snorin’? Choom, you sound like a busted-out Thorton when you sleep.”
V just snorted. “All the more reason I’m movin’ out .”
Mama Welles chuckled. “Yes, yes. But tonight? You eat.” shaking her head she ladled soup into a bowl.
Jackie grinned, already moving to grab the bowl. “Thanks, Mama . You’re the best.”
Smack!
She swatted at his hand,without missing a beat.
Jackie pouted but backed off, muttering, “She loves you more than me, V.”
V tried not to laugh as Mama Welles placed the bowl in front of him.
“We’re family now,” she said simply, patting his shoulder before turning back to the stove.