Chapter 3: The Rescue
The engine of V’s car—an Archer Hella EC-D 1360—rumbled steadily beneath his hands as Jackie lounged in the passenger seat. On the dashboard, a bobblehead cyberpup nodded with the idle vibrations of the engine—a pit bull with one glowing eye and an open mouth, always grinning, always watching.
The car wasn’t flashy, wasn’t fast—but it was cheap, reliable, and easy to repair. The first thing he’d bought when he started merc work. He drove it all the way to Atlanta and back, and when he’d had nothing, it had been his home. He’d spent more than a few nights stretched out across the worn leather seats, engine humming to keep the cold at bay. Would’ve still been living in it, too, if Jackie hadn’t offered him a place to crash half a year ago.
They stopped at an underground parking lot. The building above them held their next gig, though the details were more than a little fuzzy.
V hated going into gigs blind. Jackie, though? He was always looking ahead, thinking about the payday or what came next instead of what was right in front of them. Sometimes that was good—kept V from drowning in all the what-ifs he ran through before a job. But other times? It was the kind of mindset that got people killed.
“Run it by me again—what’s the gig?”
Jackie shifted, adjusting the pistol at his side. “Chick we’re lookin’ for is somewhere in this building. Probably crawlin’ with the pendejos that kidnapped her. Eyes and ears open, all right?”
“Wakako give you any tips and tricks for the job?” V asked, hoping for something— anything —useful.
Jackie straightened, pitching his voice higher. “‘ I’m not your mother. Just do what I pay you for. It’s easy work.’ ”
V huffed a laugh despite himself, tension in his chest loosening—just a little. “Sh’yeah… easy work. ” he scoffed, shaking his head.
Of course Wakako didn’t bother giving Jackie more details. The blockhead never pressed for extra intel—bad habit from his Valentino days. Don’t ask questions, just do the job . V wasn’t wired that way. Fixers didn’t give a damn about mercs' lives—if a job went sideways, they’d just find someone else to do it.
The only real comfort was having T-Bug in their corner for this gig. A netrunner , and a damn good one. The kind of operator who could slip into high-security networks like a ghost, rip through layers of encryption, and kill an entire security system with the press of a key.
She’d run point for V and Jackie before, but she was picky as hell about the gigs she took. If she was on board, it meant the job wasn’t complete suicide.
Probably .
V did a final check on his pistol. Satisfied, he exhaled and popped the door open.
“Let’s do this.”
The underground parking lot stank of oil, piss, and something rotting in the far corners. Crushed cans, stained fast-food wrappers, and used needles forming a collage of neglect. Broken-down cars sat in rusted silence, their frames stripped for parts long ago. Graffiti covered nearly every surface, layers of tags and messages overlapping like the city’s own versions of its history.
The flickering fluorescent lights overhead barely did their job, casting sickly white patches of illumination that weren’t enough to chase away the thick, creeping shadows. In the darkest corners, stacks of old boxes slumped under their own weight, some half-dissolved from water damage. A few moldy mattresses were strewn about—makeshift beds for the desperate or the strung out.
V’s sneakers crunched over broken glass as he and Jackie moved deeper in, the silence thick but never really quiet. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped steadily. The hum of the city above vibrated through the cracked ceiling.
Jackie took the lead, nodding toward the far end of the lot. “Elevator’s this way.”
The thing was small—way smaller than the ones in the megabuildings—and old as hell. A dim, yellowing light flickered overhead, buzzing faintly like it was on its last legs.
T-Bug’s voice crackled to life over comms. “Target’s Sandra Dorsett. Biomonitor went mute a couple hours back. Suspected abduction.
V’s gaze flicked to the elevator panel, scratched to hell, some tagger having carved deep into the metal like they wanted to make it permanent.
Before either of them could touch a button, the doors groaned shut on their own – T-Bug’s doing.
The lights flickered once as the elevator lurched upward.
“ Target could’ve possibly flatlined already.” T-Bug continued. “Not sure you’re in time.”
Jackie scoffed. “We’re in time, Bug— we ,” he said, emphasizing the word. “Sure, you’re on phones, but… that don’t make you any less a part of this squad.”
A short pause. Then, dry as ever, T-Bug replied, “‘Squad.’ Charming.”
V smirked slightly. Same old routine. Jackie always tried to rope T-Bug into their little team, get her to buy into the idea that they were something more than just hired guns sharing a gig. She never bit. Didn’t matter how much Jackie pushed—she kept herself at arm’s length, always just outside the circle. V figured she had her reasons. Probably got burned before. Left holding the bag when a job went bad, trust misplaced, paid the price. Couldn’t blame her. In this city, trust could get you killed faster than a bullet.
But still, it left something unspoken between them, a weird tension that never quite faded. And right now? The last thing they needed was more tension.
V exhaled. “Bug, ya could at least try to be… nice .”
“You want nice, supportive ?” she shot back, voice sharp with amusement. “Call a damn helpline.”
V glanced at Jackie, who just shrugged with a grin.
The elevator jolted to a stop, rattling like it was barely holding itself together. With a groan, the doors slid open, revealing a hallway that looked just as bad as the elevator had promised.
A real shithole. Not the worst V had seen, but damn close.
Jackie barreled forward, gold-plated pistols in hand, moving like a man who had done this a hundred times before. V followed, but with more caution, his eyes sweeping the corridor, lingering on the apartment doors they passed. Each one was a potential threat. Could be empty. Could have some gonk inside with a shotgun, high off his ass. Or worse.
T-Bug’s voice crackled in his ear. “Lookin’ for twelve-thirty-seven . Target should be inside, but I got zero eyes on her biomon.”
As they moved, a door slid open a few feet ahead. V tensed, hand tightening on his pistol. A woman peeked out, wrapped in a faded bathrobe, her tired eyes blinking into the hallway’s dim light.
“Honey, is that you?” she called softly, voice wavering.
Her gaze landed on Jackie and V—both armed, both moving with purpose. She inhaled sharply, a hand flying to her chest.
V lifted a hand, giving her a small, firm wave. Get back inside.
She nodded quickly, the door sliding shut without another word.
T-Bug clicked her tongue over the comms. “Ugh, hate this life-or-death shit. Fingers crossed it’s not too late.” A pause. Then, sharp: “Hurry.”
V’s grip tightened on his pistol. Yeah. No pressure.
They reached the door— twelve-thirty-seven —its metal surface scuffed and stained, the numbers faded, painted in black. Jackie slowed his pace, lowering his pistols as V approached.
T-Bug’s voice crackled in his ear. “Try hackin’ the door. Think you can trip it on your own, V?”
V exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t a netrunner. Didn’t want to be one. Night City didn’t just reward brute force, it rewarded resourcefulness too. He and Jackie didn’t have the luxury of a full-time netrunner watching their backs, so someone had to pick up the slack and it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be Jackie. Tech wasn’t his thing—his idea of hacking was putting a bullet through a screen until it stopped working.
So the first chance he got, V slotted a cyberdeck into his operating system—a compact, custom chipset, wired straight to his synapses. A second brain, one that could manipulate tech on the fly.
Quickhacking.
It wasn’t like deep-diving into the Net, cracking Black ICE, or slicing through corp firewalls like a real netrunner could, but it got the job done. He could open doors, disable cameras, force old and simple tech to glitch out—basic functions that made jobs easier and were lifesavers in the right moment.
V engaged his optics, his vision sharpening as the scan overlay flickered to life. He focused on the door’s panel, a thin digital outline tracing its frame. Security was minimal—old tech, nothing fancy.
Good.
With a mental command, he initiated the breach. His cyberdeck handled the heavy lifting, running a quick script that tricked the lock into thinking it had the right keycode. The panel gave a soft beep, and the locking mechanism released with a muted click, the door sliding open.
V and Jackie stepped inside, moving slowly, guns at the ready. The air inside was thick—stale with the scent of sweat, cheap food, and something metallic lurking beneath it all.
“Low profile,” Jackie whispered, as if V didn’t already know. Maybe he was saying it more for himself than anyone else.
The first room was a cramped, cluttered mess, trying to be too many things at once. Metal shelves lined the walls, stacked haphazardly with boxes, random junk, and old tech parts—storage space. But a stained counter and a dingy sink in the corner made it a kitchen, too.
Crumpled newspapers and discarded wrappers stuck to the peeling linoleum floor. The table in the center was covered in half-eaten meals—prepackaged junk, nothing homemade. The acrid scent of stale grease and rotting takeout clung to the air.
V’s eyes flicked upward. Above them, a ceiling fan spun lazily, blades caked with dust, barely stirring the stagnant air. The ceiling itself was falling apart—rotting panels hanging loose, water stains blooming like open wounds.
Maybe fifty years ago, this place could’ve been decent…
They moved through the filth deeper into the apartment, reaching the next door.
The moment V stepped inside, his stomach tightened.
The fluorescent lights in this room were bright—too bright, clinical and unyielding, washing everything in a sterile white glow. The contrast to the previous room was jarring. The automated metal blinds were shut tight, locking out whatever scrap of daylight might have filtered in. Cables snaked across the floor, looping around med-tech chairs and surgical equipment. One chair sat empty, its leather seat torn and stained. The other didn’t.
Even before he stepped fully into the room, V could see it—a body. Arms dangling lifelessly, blood splattered around it like someone had been in a rush or just didn’t give a damn.
V clenched his jaw, as he followed Jackie further in.
“ Fuck… ” Jackie muttered, his voice low but tight with urgency. Then louder, almost frantic, “Are we fuckin’ late?! Is that her? Is that our target, V?!”
He stepped closer, hovering over the body, forcing himself to focus, to assess, not react .
The sight wasn’t pretty. The woman’s chest was ripped open, raw flesh and exposed ribs where cyberware had been violently torn free. Her eyes—gone. Not removed carefully, not by a ripperdoc with a steady hand, but gouged out, ripped from their sockets like she was nothing more than a rag doll stripped for parts.
V took a slow breath, steadying himself. Jackie was spiraling, and at least one of them needed to keep a level head.
“Sandra Dorsett’s protected under Echelon II corpo immunity . Our girl’s top shelf…” His voice came out even, controlled. Facts. Stay with the facts . “This one’s packin’ black market Zetotech repros. Typical back alley fix-ups.”
Not Sandra.
V exhaled and glanced one last time at the corpse, the hollow gaps where her eyes should’ve been staring back at him. Just another body. Just another piece of meat the city chewed up and spat out.
“Not our lucky gal,” he murmured, stepping back.
Jackie nodded stiffly as they pushed forward, heading for the next door.
V reached for the door, his palm pressing against the grimy surface. It was sticky, coated in something that made his skin crawl, but he ignored it as the panel hissed softly, sliding open. He barely got it an inch before Jackie tapped his arm with the barrel of his pistol.
“V, mira ,” Jackie whispered, voice low and tense. “Eyes up. Pendejos ahead.”
V nodded, inhaling quietly through his nose as he eased the door open just enough to get a look inside.
The room ahead was more of the same—garbage strewn across the floor, broken-down boxes stacked haphazardly on rusted shelves, a gutted couch missing half its stuffing. Unlike the rest of the apartment, this room wasn’t even dimly lit. The only real light came from the window, its metal blinds left open—a rare thing in a place like this, where people preferred to shut the world out. The daylight cutting through the filth cast long, sharp shadows against the walls, distorting shapes and making the place feel even more unsettling.
V’s gaze flicked to the corner, where hanging plastic sheets swayed slightly from the draft. Behind them, more medical equipment, the kind meant for ripping out chrome rather than putting it in. There was a body—strung up like some grotesque scarecrow, limp, dangling from a mechanical arm.
It was a man. Not their target. Not Sandra.
V ignored it.
His focus locked on the only other living person in the room—a man hunched over a workstation, his back turned. He was fiddling with something, shoulders rising and falling to the heavy electronic bass pumping through the room. The music was loud—too loud—covering the sound of V’s careful approach.
He moved in, smooth and silent. One step. Another.
Before the man could register what was happening, V snaked an arm around his throat and wrenched him back. A startled gasp cut short as V’s grip tightened. The man clawed at his arms, legs kicking weakly. Seconds stretched. His struggles slowed. Then—dead weight.
V let the body drop, the guy hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Jackie smirked, stepping up beside him. “Nice.” He whispered. “I couldn’t have done that better myself.”
V exhaled. One down. More to go.
They moved forward, each step deliberate, quiet.
The room ahead opened into a bathroom—if it could even be called that. The place was a filthy wreck, the kind of scene that told you no one here gave a shit about hygiene. The tub was coated in grime, dark stains pooling at the bottom like something had been left to rot there. The toilet? Probably never been cleaned, its bowl streaked with horrors best left unexamined.
What was left of the dividing wall had been torn down in the sloppiest way possible, leaving the entire space exposed—open, vulnerable. No cover. Bad fucking design for anyone looking to stay alive.
T-Bug’s voice crackled in V’s ear. “On your toes. More bodies incoming, they’re almost on you.”
“Fistfuck these reapers,” Jackie hissed through clenched teeth, barely audible over the distant bass of whatever trash music was still blaring from the other room. He moved forward, steps tight, controlled.
V’s eyes darted toward the next room, ears straining past the static of T-Bug’s comms - movement. He could hear voices. More than two. He couldn’t tell exactly how many, but enough that this could go south fast if they weren’t careful.
Jackie was already across the doorway, crouched low, beckoning urgently. “ Oye, V! They’re comin’!”
V moved fast, keeping low as he crossed, adrenaline kicking in. He dropped beside Jackie, their shoulders touching, breathing slow and steady.
Through the dim, flickering light, shadows shifted against the walls—the blur of approaching movement. Two figures walked past the doorway, heading for the bathroom area.
“ Cabrones … thick as locusts,” Jackie whispered, his voice barely more than breath.
V stayed still, heart hammering in his chest as the two men walked past, completely oblivious to the two mercs crouched in the shadows.
“…then there’s the corpocunt,” one of them muttered, picking up in the middle of a conversation V hadn’t caught the start of.
“Need to find a single buyer for her,” the other chuckled, voice low, casual—like they weren’t talking about selling off a human being. “Score big on that preem-ass chrome she’s got.”
Sandra . She was here… but was she still alive?
The two scavs stopped in the open-air bathroom—one unzipping and pissing straight into the bathtub, the other dropping onto the filthy, stained toilet like he was settling in for a break.
Fucking animals.
He tapped Jackie with his elbow, eyes locking in silent communication. A nod. A glance. A decision. No words needed.
V moved first—quick, precise, silent. His arm snapped tight around his target’s throat, cutting off air before the man could even gasp. Jackie handled his own with just as much efficiency—a brutal twist, a sharp crack. Both bodies hit the floor without a sound.
“Limp meat,” Jackie muttered, still catching his breath. “Probably not the last of ‘em.”
V wiped a hand down his face, inhaling slow through his nose before peeking through the doorway. The room ahead was darker, shadows stretching long against the walls, shapes blending into the clutter. He could hear voices—low, murmured—but spotting them in the dim lighting was another thing entirely.
He activated his optics, a faint flicker across his vision as his scanner adjusted. There— a silhouette partially obscured behind a pillar, and another, lower to the ground, crouched near a box on the far side of the room.
“Nope,” V whispered. “Should we leave them—”
“Why?” Jackie cut in with a hiss. “So they can shoot us in the back?”
V sighed. He preferred clean jobs, no bodies. They weren’t here to wipe out a gang—they were here for Sandra… But maybe Jackie was right. It would be one less thing to worry about when they had to get Sandra out alive.
“Grab the one closest,” V whispered reluctantly. “ Quietly .” his voice sharper this time, insistent. He knew Jackie preferred to go in loud, but they couldn’t risk Sandra getting killed.
Jackie gave a small nod, slipping his gold-plated pistol back into its holster. He crept up behind the first scavenger with surprising stealth for a guy his size. One hand clamped over the guy’s mouth, the other wrenching his head to the side. A sickening crack, then dead weight.
V turned away before the body hit the floor. No time to think about it. Just work.
He moved toward his own target, keeping low. The second scav was still crouched near the box, distracted by something on his wrist-mounted holo. V slid behind him, wrapping an arm tight around his throat and dragging him back. The man thrashed, boots scraping against the grimy floor, but V held on. One second. Two. Then nothing.
He exhaled through his nose as he let the body drop, flexing his fingers. His arms already ached, shaking slightly from the force he’d had to use.
Jackie shot him a look. You good?
V gave a quick nod, trying to ignore the growing weight of his limitations. Flesh and bone didn’t fare well against chrome. He told himself he’d never been keen on implants, that he didn’t need them, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t about choice. The truth was, he just couldn’t afford them—or the upkeep and maintenance that came with them…
They moved through the room in silence, keeping low. Toward the back, the wall had been crudely busted open, exposing a jagged gap just wide enough for them to squeeze through. The edges were lined with rusted metal and cracked plaster, as if someone had torn it apart with bare hands.
V slipped through first, stepping lightly into the adjacent room—
Movement.
“Shit,” he muttered, quickly ducking behind a rusted medical cabinet. He motioned for Jackie to stay back, pressing his back against the cold metal.
A scav lingered in the next room, pacing slowly. Hadn’t spotted them yet, but he was standing in the worst possible spot—blocking the doorway, able to see the whole damn space. If they tried to move now, they’d be seen for sure.
V’s mind raced for options. His optics flickered to life, scanning the room for anything useful. Come on, come on— There! A flickering monitor beside the scav. It was old tech—cheap, glitchy. If V could force it to short out, maybe…
He sent the command. There was a dull ache in his head as he did it.
The monitor flashed violently, pixels scrambling into static. The scav cursed, turning to look at it, muttering about the shitty wiring.
V took his chance. He crept forward, fast and low to wrap his arms around the man’s throat before he could react. The scav struggled—more than the last one—grunting as he tried to pry V off, but V held firm, squeezing harder. His arms burned, hands shaking from exertion.
Finally, the body slumped. V let go, breathing hard, his muscles aching.
T-Bug’s voice crackled in his ear. “Don’t see any movement on the sensors. Looks like you got ‘im. You’re clear to go.”
Jackie pushed his way through the hole in the wall, brushing dust off his shoulders. “ Guau, ese. Flat-out doubted we could be that sneaky.” He smirked, shaking his head. “Not my favorite way to roll, but… nova anyway.”
V barely heard him. His body was still stiff from the takedown, but there was no time to shake it off. He scanned the room, a creeping unease settling in his gut.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Where the hell’s our target?!”
The room was empty. No bodies, no signs of struggle—just unsettling stillness.
T-Bug’s voice crackled in his ear. “Look around. Gotta be there somewhere.”
V exhaled through his nose, steadying himself as they moved forward.
The next room was different. Cleaner. It stood in stark contrast to the filth and rot they’d been walking through. Bright sunlight flooded in from a wide-open balcony door. Dust danced in the harsh daylight. A set of monitors and computer equipment sat mounted on a desk in the corner, screens still glowing.
V’s eyes locked onto the only other door in the room—closed.
He and Jackie exchanged a look, both gripping their weapons tighter as they approached. Jackie took point, fingers twitching over the panel before pressing it open. The door slid aside with a quiet hiss.
It was a bathroom, similar to the one before, except its walls were still intact. The bathtub was filled to the brim with murky water and half-melted ice. And inside—
Bodies.
Two, stacked on top of each other, limp and pale, submerged in the filth.
V’s stomach twisted. His grip on his gun tightened.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ…”
V stepped closer, breath caught in his throat. The stench of stagnant water and blood thickened the air, making his stomach turn.
At the top, a naked man’s lay motionless, skin scratched, bruised, and waxy. Even before V got a good look, he could tell this guy wasn’t breathing. Beneath him was a naked woman. Bruised, bloody, but her chrome—slick, high-end—was unmistakable. Corpo-grade.
Sandra. Had to be.
V exhaled sharply and shoved the man’s body aside. The corpse rolled off her, hitting the water with a sickening splash, face-first.
“Think I got her. Got our target,” he said, lowering himself to the edge of the tub. The water was freezing, filthy, filled with half-melted ice and God-knew-what-else, but he reached in anyway, hands slipping under Sandra’s neck as he pulled her up. Her head lolled against his leg, her body still mostly submerged. Her skin was icy to the touch. Too pale.
“Ooh, this does not look good…” Jackie muttered, still hovering by the door, guns at the ready.
T-Bug’s voice crackled in his ear, sharp with urgency. “We make it? She alive?”
V didn’t answer right away. His pulse hammered in his ears as he watched her chest rise—shallow, erratic. Her eyes had rolled back, body convulsing slightly, muscles seizing up before going limp again.
“She was still breathing,” he confirmed. “But she’s in a tub of ice…” he swallowed, his own skin crawling. “Crammed in with another. Fuck . Like slabs of meat.”
T-Bug’s voice cut through, steady, clinical. “Keep it together, V. If she survives, she won’t remember a thing. Tiny scar on the subconscious, that’s all.”
Cold comfort.
V exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching. He glanced down at Sandra’s motionless face, her skin clammy and pale, and wondered what kind of scars this would leave. If she even made it out… “Heard people who live through shit like this get panic attacks,” he muttered. “Without ever knowin’ why… You’ll be sippin’ a glass of ice-cold water and suddenly your hand’s shakin’.”
T-Bug’s voice crackled in his ear. “V, jack into her biomon—we need to know what we’re dealin’ with.”
V took an unsteady breath. Keep it together. This was the part Jackie couldn’t do.
“Jackin’ in,” he muttered, shifting Sandra’s head to the side.
At the base of her skull, just beneath her damp buzzcut, a small port gleamed under the dim light. A standard biomonitor interface—the kind most corpos had slotted in from birth.
V reached for his personal link, a thin cybernetic cable extending from his wrist socket. It uncoiled with a smooth, mechanical whir, chromed connectors flickering with dim orange light as it synced with his neural interface. With steady fingers, he plugged the jack into her port, feeling the faint click as the connection was established.
His vision flickered—then flooded with red.
A MedTech biomonitor panel loaded at the center of his optics, the familiar holographic interface overlaying his field of view. The display hesitated, processing, before the panel expanded, scrolling medical data in rapid succession.
“Sandra Dorsett. NC570442.” V read the information aloud as the screen glitched, flickering, error messages rippling through the feed. The data stuttered, looping, trying to recover. “Trauma Team Platinum.”
Jackie let out a low whistle. “Platinum? Shiiit . Trauma shoulda swooped in if she sneezed.”
V’s brow furrowed as the biomon struggled to push out coherent data.
His vision flickered–then flooded with red.
The familiar holographic interface overlaid his field of view. But there were only red error messages with cryptic codes where there should have been a summary of Sandra’s medical data.
“Sandra Dorsett. NC570442.” V read the information aloud. The screen glitched and flickered, making it impossible to concentrate. Long, garbled messes of texts kept looping in and out, in and out. “Trauma Team Platinum,” V sounded out hesitantly. It was the only other piece of information he could make out.
T-Bug’s voice crackled in his ear. “Guessin’ they jammed the transmitter sig.”
Before V could respond, Sandra’s body twitched in his arms. A weak, involuntary spasm.
T-Bug continued, tone clipped. “Lookin’ at a hacked biomon—firmware reconfig or a neurovirus…”
Jackie let out a sharp breath. “ Carajo , T-Bug! You ain’t seein’ this place. This is tubs, ice, hooks, and cleavers. Ain't no way these scavs can recofig or neuro or whatever.”
“Hmm… Scopmuncher’s hack, huh,” she mused.
Jackie shook his head, glancing at the bloodied water still sloshing around the tub. “I mean, I got a stomach o’ steel, but… this? Wao , this.” His voice was strained, real disgust bleeding through. “I wasn’t made for this shit, you know? Chop shops? What they do to people? Fuckin’ scav psychos…”
T-Bug cut back in, ignoring the sentiment. “Got an idea. Check her neuroport.”
V exhaled and gently turned Sandra’s head to the side again.
“Find a shard?” T-Bug prompted.
There it was—slotted in just above her biomonitor port. A flat, slim data shard, half-buried in the back of her skull. It looked like cheap black-market crap, its metal casing worn and unmarked—definitely not corp-issue.
T-Bug’s voice sharpened. “Yeah, pull it. That’ll be what’s muting the biomon.”
V hesitated, pulse ticking up. “Is that even safe…?” Fucking around with a neuroport was always risky—ripping out a shard without knowing what was on it? Even worse. “Can’t we just get her outta here?”
T-Bug didn’t miss a beat. “We found her still breathin’. Can’t lose her. We need that biomon working—checking for hemorrhages, neural spikes— whatever ! Yank the damn shard out!”
“Removing now,” V muttered, exhaling slowly. His stomach twisted, unease prickling at the back of his neck. He pressed his thumb against the cool metal of the shard, feeling the slight resistance before it clicked loose from the neuroport. As soon as it disengaged, Sandra’s body twitched again, her breathing hitching. V barely hesitated before yanking the shard free, the slick surface still damp from the ice bath, tossing it onto the filthy floor.
T-Bug’s voice came through, sharp. “Check the biomon. Anything change?”
V’s vision flashed red, the HUD in his optics snapping into focus. The looping error messages disappeared as the data stabilized. Then, a mechanical, clinical-sounding voice spoke.
【 Greetings, Sandra. If you are conscious, assume recovery position now. An emergency evacuation unit has been dispatched and is due to arrive at your location in 180 seconds. 】
V exhaled, his fingers flexing instinctively against Sandra’s damp skin. Fucking finally.
“Biomon claims Trauma’ll be here in three minutes,” he said, shaking off the lingering discomfort of the AI voice rattling inside his skull.
【 Your premium plan will cover 90% of the projected costs of your rescue and treatment. 】
Jackie sighed, shaking his head. “Ay, pobrecita . Let’s get her off that ice.”
V reached for his personal link, disconnecting it from Sandra’s biomonitor port with a sharp click. The second the connection severed, a warning flashed across his vision in glaring red text.
⚠ SYSTEM MALFUNCTION ⚠
Great. That was a problem for later.
He shoved it out of his mind, refocusing as he reached into the freezing, slush-filled tub, arms numb up to his elbows as he gripped Sandra’s lifeless body. He barely had time to pull her halfway out before—
“ Aw, fuck !” V hissed. “She’s flatlinin’!”
He lowered her onto the floor as gently as he could, but his hands were shaking. Too much ice, too much time. Her skin was ashen, lips tinged blue, body still twitching weakly like some dying wire sparking out.
T-Bug’s voice cut in, sharp and urgent. “V, need to know what’s goin’ on!”
V ignored her, mind running a mile a minute.
“Jackie! Airhypo!” V barked, barely keeping the panic out of his voice. “ Fuck, this is bad! ”
“¡Ey, catch, vato!” Jackie called, yanking an airhypo from his belt and tossing it over.
V caught it, fingers gripping the cylindrical injector—sleek, metallic blue, with a glowing ampoule of synthetic adrenaline housed in its center. A standard piece of Trauma Team-grade medtech, designed for instant resuscitation.
V jammed the injector against Sandra’s sternum and pressed the release. A pressurized hiss filled the air as the needle shot through skin and bone, delivering a concentrated cocktail of stimulants and cardiac boosters directly to her heart.
For a second—nothing.
Then—
Sandra’s body jerked violently as she gasped, sucking in a ragged, shuddering breath.
V’s own chest heaved. “I think… Holy shit, it worked!”
V’s breath came shallow and uneven, his heartbeat a dull thud in his ears as he shifted Sandra’s weight in his arms. She wasn’t heavy, but his muscles burned, fatigue clawing at his limbs after the relentless strain of the job so far. He ignored it, pushing through, adjusting his grip to hold her more securely. She was ice-cold, her skin clammy against his own, like death was already settling in.
Jackie’s voice snapped through the haze. “ Fuera, cabrón. Get her outside!”
V adjusted his grip, cradling Sandra’s limp body as he carried her through the bloodstained bathroom and into the next room. The harsh daylight spilling in from the open balcony door nearly blinded him after so much time in flickering fluorescents and dim corners.
Jackie moved first, gun still drawn, his stance tight, alert. His gaze swept the area, searching for movement, an ambush—anything. Then he jerked his head toward the doorway. “ Fuera ! Get ‘er out! Terrace.” He motioned with his pistol, stepping forward.
V followed, boots heavy against the grimy tile as they stepped into the open air.
Above them, the sky roared.
A Trauma Team AV tore through the skyline, its black, armored frame gleaming in the sun. The thrusters howled, kicking up a violent gust of hot wind that rattled the loose metal grates lining the terrace.
The loudspeaker crackled to life, voice clipped and mechanical.
“LANDING. STAND CLEAR. INITIATING SECURITY PROTOCOL. FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS.”
A glowing red landing pad indicator flickered to life on the ground—a virtual perimeter marking exactly where V wasn’t supposed to be. V took a careful step back, muscles coiled tight as the AV’s side doors slammed open. A squad of four heavily armed paramedics poured out, their movements crisp, mechanical. Guns first. They swept the area, visors glowing red as they scanned for hostiles.
Then their focus locked onto Sandra.
One of them moved fast, reaching for a folded stretcher clipped to his back. He deployed it with a single motion—mechanical limbs unfolding with rapid precision, expanding into a sleek, high-tech medbed.
V barely had time to process before one of the soldiers barked an order, his voice filtered through the sleek, black helmet obscuring his face. “PLACE THE PATIENT ON THE BED.”
V lowered Sandra as carefully as he could onto the automated stretcher, his hands numb from the lingering cold of the ice bath. The second her body made contact, built-in restraints activated, snapping into place with a series of precise, mechanical clicks.
“FIVE STEPS BACK. NOW.” A gloved hand shoved him hard in the chest, forcing him to stumble backward. Guns didn’t waver. Red visor lights stayed locked onto him, scanning every twitch of his muscles, every breath.
V clenched his jaw but didn’t argue. No one argued with Trauma Team. Not unless they had a death wish.
The medics worked in perfect, rehearsed synchronization. One waved a handheld scanner over Sandra’s body, its blue interface flickering through layers of biometric data, cross-referencing vitals with whatever high-end medical algorithms they were running. Another jabbed a pressurized injector against her neck, a quick hiss of compressed air releasing a cocktail of stabilizers and neuroregulators directly into her bloodstream. The needle retracted automatically. A voice rattled off medical data—dopamine, norepinephrine, fibrinogen—precise doses, calculated down to the milligram.
“TT-133 to Control. Patient NC570442 secured.”
Two of the medics lifted Sandra’s stretcher. They carried her toward the waiting AV. The other two soldiers kept their rifles trained on V, fingers resting just a little too comfortably on their triggers.
V barely heard the words over the roar of the engines.
The AV doors slammed shut with an echoing clang. The red perimeter marking the landing zone flickered out. Then, with a burst of power, the AV lifted off—a black streak against the skyline, lights flashing once before vanishing into the city.
When the dust finally settled, V exhaled slowly, shoulders still tight, pulse still drumming against his ribs. He turned back toward the doorway where Jackie stood, grip white-knuckled around his gold-plated pistol.
“Let’s get outta here.” Jackie let out a long breath, finally lowering his weapon. His voice was quieter now. He nodded toward the far end of the room. “Elevator gets us to the garage direct.” he turned, walking slowly through the wreckage of the apartment, boots stepping over the bodies they’d dropped just minutes ago.
V lingered for half a second, glancing back toward the balcony.
That was it. Job done.
T-Bug’s voice crackled in his ear. “Good work. Shitshow’s over. Bye.”
The line went dead.
V sighed and followed Jackie, stepping over the bodies. The place felt emptier now. The tension that had been keeping him sharp, keeping him moving—gone. And in its place, the slow creep of exhaustion.
Jackie’s voice broke the silence. “Listen, mano , I got this thing. Mind if I borrow your wheels?”
“Hmmm…” V smirked, but didn’t answer right away. He knew Jackie well enough to make him sweat a little.
Jackie scoffed, shifting on his feet. “I got a date with Misty, but… heh , I can’t take the metro! How’s that gonna look for me?”
V let out a small, amused exhale. “Won’t leave you hangin’, Jack.” Then, after a beat, he added, tone mock-serious, “But don’t get used to it.”
Jackie grinned, exhaling in relief as they reached the elevator doors. “Aah, savin’ my ass, V. Thank you. ” They stepped inside. The metal doors slid shut as the elevator lurched downward. Jackie leaned back against the wall, stretching his arms. “How about I drive you home, eh?”
V rolled his shoulders, as the elevator hummed, carrying them down—away from the blood, the bodies, the job. “She’s all yours,” he muttered. “I’m beat as it is.”
Jackie snapped his fingers like he’d just remembered something. “Oh, almost forgot. Should get Wakako on the holo—tell her the job’s done.”
V sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck before pulling up his interface. He scrolled to Wakako Okada’s contact and tapped the call. The line barely rang before a familiar voice, smooth yet sharp as a blade, filled his ear.
“Ahem! V? ” A brief pause, then the warmth of practiced politeness. “How did it go? Our client is alive and well?”
V leaned against the elevator wall, keeping his tone casual. “’Course she’s alive and well. That’s what we agreed, isn’t it?”
It had been a close call. Too close. Another minute in that ice bath, and Sandra would’ve been a corpse. But what was the point in telling Wakako that? All that would do was plant doubt in her mind about him and Jackie’s reliability. What mattered was that Sandra was breathing.
Wakako hummed, satisfied. “ Splendid . Your payment awaits—ready to collect whenever you like, even right away. But I imagine,” she continued, a hint of amusement in her voice, “home is the only place you wish to be now.”
V pushed off the wall, already anticipating the ‘but’ in her tone.
“The NCPD has surrounded Watson. The district is closed. If you are to make it past the cordon, you must move fast.”
V clicked his tongue. Fucking hell.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” he muttered. “Swing by to see you later.”
The call disconnected.
By the time they reached the underground garage, the faint hum of the city above felt distant, almost unreal. Jackie’s boots scuffed against the floor as they made their way back to the car.
V ran a hand down his face. “Word’s out the NCPD’s gonna put Watson on lockdown.” He sighed. “If I’m gonna sleep in my own bed tonight, we better put it in fifth.”
Jackie grinned as V tossed him the keys. “Leave it to me, mano. I’m drivin’.”
They climbed into the Hella. The familiar creak of the old interior was strangely comforting. Jackie started the engine, the low growl of the car rumbling through the garage. Then, with a smooth shift of gears, they moved out of the lot. V sank into the passenger seat and let his head rest back against the seat. With a flick of his fingers, he turned up the radio. Heavy bassline pulsed through the speakers. The beat settled into his bones, a low thrumming that matched the distant hum of the city outside.
Night City stretched out before them—it had started raining as the sun went down. Dark, and gray, neon cut through the gloom like electric veins. The glow of advertisements and street signs smeared across the windshield, distorted by the rain.
Jackie let out a slow breath, eyes on the skyline like he was seeing it for the first time. “Can’t stop diggin’ this city,” he muttered, almost in reverence.
V smirked but didn’t lift his head. “City like any other,” he said, voice low, tired. “Just bigger.”
Jackie scoffed. “Nah, mano . Not just any city.” His grip on the wheel tightened slightly as he nodded toward the towering skyline. “Morgan Blackhand, Andrew Weyland, Adam Smasher. Legends are born here.”
V didn’t argue.
Jackie grinned, stretching one arm over the wheel. “Man, I’m starvin’. Let’s grab a tight-bite. Whaddaya say?”
V blinked at him, then out at the city. “Jackie—” he exhaled. “They’re lockin’ down Watson, ’member ?”
The streets weren’t theirs tonight. The city had other plans.
They headed for the bridge leading into Watson. Blinding red lights pulsed overhead, casting a harsh glow over the wet asphalt. Up ahead, NCPD cruisers formed an unbreakable wall across the road, barriers stretching from curb to curb. Police drones hovered lazily in place. There were no other cars on the road.
Jackie let out a low whistle as he eased the car to a stop. “Damn,” he muttered. “They’re pullin’ out all the stops.”
An officer approached the driver’s side, her posture rigid, hands to her belt as she leaned in slightly. Her face was unreadable behind dark sunglasses— at night, no less . Her voice was smooth, practiced. “Watson’s on lockdown till further notice. Necessary security measure.”
V could already feel Jackie shifting beside him, gears turning in his head, and sure enough—his whole demeanor changed.
“Officer— ma’am !” Jackie’s voice dropped into something warm and charming, as if he were greeting an old friend. “Damn, are we ever lucky we ran into you .”
V bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
The officer arched a brow, taken aback but clearly intrigued. “ Really? ” her tone was skeptical. “And what exactly makes me so special?”
Jackie leaned slightly toward the window like he was about to lay down the performance of a lifetime. “Ah… a heart of gold? ‘Course, only somebody with a heart of gold could understand just how much I need to get back to my girl.”
The officer tilted her head. “Your… girl ?”
“Uh-huh,” Jackie nodded earnestly. “Gonna be worried sick if I don’t show. I mean, I’m tryin’ to be a stand-up guy here, y’know? She’s givin’ me a chance, waitin’ on me.”
V couldn’t help it this time—he grinned. The bastard sold ‘earnest’ like a pro. Might as well play along.
V leaned forward slightly, patting his massive shoulder. “Look at ‘im,” he said, his voice thick with exaggerated sincerity, like he was vouching for a lifelong friend in court. “No model citizen, maybe, but he’s a good kid.”
Jackie nodded along enthusiastically, eyes wide, throwing in a pair of downright tragic puppy-dog eyes for good measure. The picture of a man on thin ice just trying to get home to his girl.
The officer stared at them for a long second, then exhaled sharply—somewhere between a sigh and a reluctant chuckle. She turned to one of her colleagues. “Let them through. But they’re the last.” then, looking back at Jackie, she shook her head with a smile. “OK. On your way.”
Jackie flashed a wide grin, already shifting the car into gear. “You have a good evening now, officer… ma’am .”
As they rolled past the checkpoint, V let out a quiet chuckle. “She took a liking to ya.”
Jackie puffed up slightly, grinning like he’d just won a damn award. “The devotion I demonstrated grabbed her by the gut,” he said, voice full of self-satisfaction.
V snorted. “ Riiight… ”
“I’m loyal, stable in my affections…”
“Mhmmm.” V muttered, amused
Jackie nodded sagely, like he was imparting some kind of wisdom. “And unassuming. You get it. ”
V shook his head, still grinning as he turned to look out the window. The rain kept pouring, neon lights smeared across the wet streets like paint on glass.
Up ahead, the glow of red brake lights reflected off the rain-slick pavement as they rolled to a stop at an intersection. The rhythmic drumming of rain on the roof almost drowned out the distant shouting—almost. V’s gaze flicked toward the commotion in the middle of the street. A group of gangers had surrounded a car, weapons drawn, their silhouettes jagged in the flickering neon.
"Outta the car! Now! C’mon! Ain’t got all day!" one of them barked, yanking at the driver’s door.
Jackie clicked his tongue, nodding toward the scene. “...Check it out, V. Shit’s goin’ down.”
Before V could reply, the sky above them whined with the unmistakable sound of thrusters. A police AV swooped in, hovering just above the street, floodlights cutting through the rain. One of the gangers froze, craning his neck to look up.
“Ah, shit, they’re here!”
“Fuckin’ shoot!” another shouted, swinging his gun upward.
The AV doors slid open before the gunner could act. Two figures dropped down, boots hitting the pavement hard. Gunfire erupted in sharp, controlled bursts. The officers mowed down the gangers with machine-like precision. Their bodies crumpled to the ground in sprays of red against the cold concrete.
Too fast. Too efficient.
They weren’t checking the driver. Didn’t even glance at him. The poor bastard was still in the car, and they didn’t give a shit.
They were still firing. Still eliminating.
V’s hand squeezed into a fist, knuckles aching. “Fucking MaxTac ...” he muttered under his breath.
NCPD’s apex predators. They rolled in when things flew outta hand—when violence needed to be answered with something even worse. With Watson on lockdown, it was no surprise they were coming down hard on any crime done in the open.
One of the dead gangers’ weapons clattered against the pavement, sparking as it hit the ground. An officer raised their rifle and pumped another round into the corpse. The car at the center of it all burst into flames with the driver still inside. The explosion rocked the street, flames licking against the rain.
One of the officers turned slightly, visor glowing red in the dark, reflecting the fire. The light pulsed against the slick black of their armor, slow, steady—like a heartbeat.
V couldn’t look away.
There were no arrests. No rescues. No survivors.
A hand slammed against the wheel, snapping V out of it. Jackie let out a long breath, shaking his head as one of the officers waved for traffic to resume.
“Welp, show’s over.” Jackie shifted gears, easing the car forward. “Poor bastards… but they had it comin’.”
They drove deeper into Watson, the rain pounding against the windshield in heavy sheets. The district stretched out around them—a patchwork of old industry and corporate leftovers, stitched together with cheap housing and crumbling infrastructure.
Massive factory stacks loomed in the distance, steam and smoke billowing into the dark sky, barely visible against the haze of artificial lights. On the streets, people hurried beneath flickering holoads and rusted fire escapes, ducking into noodle stands and packed storefronts to escape the downpour.
The farther they went, the denser it got—the buildings closing in, the streets narrowing, the air thick with the scent of rain on hot pavement, street food, and ozone from overworked power grids.
Above them, the towering bulk of Megabuilding H10 finally came into view. Its brutalist concrete facade was covered in pulsing neon billboards and scrolling advertisements. A corporate logo flickered, half-burnt out, on the side of the massive structure, promising luxury accommodations that hadn't been true for decades.
Inside the car, the radio blasted some heavy bass-ridden trap and hip-hop track, the beat vibrating through the seats. Jackie tapped his fingers against the wheel in time with the music as he pulled into the underground parking lot, the transition from rain-soaked streets to dim, flickering fluorescents almost jarring.
“Made it. Almost at your place.” Jackie exhaled.
V glanced at him. “What about you? Not likely to make it back to Heywood now…”
Jackie waved a hand, dismissive. “Chill, V. They’ll let me through.”
V raised a brow. “Sure about that?”
Jackie smirked. “Oh yeah. I’ll play nice Jackie again.” He threw the car into park and turned toward V. “Sweet dreams, then.”
V reached for the door handle but paused. “Tell Misty I said hi.”
Jackie grinned. “I will.”
They clasped hands in their usual routine—a quick slap of the palms, then a firm fist bump.
As V stepped out, Jackie leaned back with a lazy wave. “ Ahí luego .”
With that, the engine growled to life again, and Jackie pulled away, disappearing into the neon-lit tunnel of the parking lot.
V rolled his shoulders, shaking off the last of the night’s tension.
Home. Finally.