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There’s a flash, an explosion of white light behind his eyes, so bright it staggers him backwards. The gun he’d picked up hits the floor, clang , but V doesn’t register anything but the pain, the fucking pain . It’s like needles in his skull, stabbing their way to the core of him, and he’s helpless to claw them out.
Strong hands grab his shoulders, righting him. Gotta be Jackie , he thinks, though he can’t see his friend for the light still flooding his vision. Another wave of the electric pulse rips through him then, and if not for Jackie behind him he’d go crashing to the ground.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the pain begins to fade. Enough that he can hear shouting, and see shadows moving as the thugs take to their heels. Jackie is still firing at them, his pistol hammering away until the chamber is empty and there’s nothing but useless clicks when he pulls the trigger. But it’s enough. They’re safe, at least for now.
V feels himself being dragged from the sidewalk and into shadow. Endless neon lights flicker on the edge of his vision and out on the street behind the quiet alley. Here, he can breathe easier, and as he takes in hard, labored breaths, Jackie’s face comes into view, full of panic and concern.
“Hey. Hey, V, snap out of it. C’mon man, don’t do this to me.”
“I…m okay…Jack. ‘M here.”
”Oh, mierda, you lucky sonovabitch!” Jackie yanks him off the wall, pulling him into a hug so tight V thinks his skull might split with the pressure. “What the hell happened back there? You were all lit up like a Christmas holotree.”
“Don’t know. Fuck, my head’s killin’ me. Feels like static in my brain.” V reaches up, rubbing at his tingling scalp, but stops short when his right hand lands numbly against his forehead. He lowers his arm, tries again, but the results are the same. Frowning, he stretches it out, commanding his fingers to flex—only to find that his entire hand from the wrist down is as good as deadweight. “Shiiit….”
“Yo, is that normal? I think you’ve got some fried wires, holmes.”
“No shit, Jackie.”
“Hey, man, don’t worry. I got a guy, he’ll fix you up, right as rain.”
The traffic on the street is dying down, the constant background of city noise slowly fading beyond the ringing in V’s ears. He shakes his head. “I’m not interested in seeing some back-alley ripperdoc, okay? I’ll figure this out myself.”
Jackie laughs as he throws an arm around V’s shoulders. “My guy? He may be a ripperdoc in a back alley, but he ain’t no back-alley ripperdoc, comprende? C’mon, I’ll take you there. The chick that runs the shop out front is a real sweetheart, too. You’ll like her, I promise.”
Against his better judgement, V allows Jackie to walk him back to the car, still parked where they left it outside the Buck-A-Slice. And, thanks to Jackie’s questionably legal driving, the ride back to Watson is relatively quick. By the time V manages to shake the last of his headache, they’re already pulling up in front of a Little China market. Exactly the shady, grimey kind of place he's been afraid of.
Jackie leads him through one of the few doors still open at this hour, a quaint, one-room shop filled with far too much incense smoke for the space. There are posters on the walls featuring symbols and colors and writing in languages V doesn’t recognize, along with statues from various Old Religions decorating nearly every surface. He’s got a queasy feeling about this place, and is just about to say so when a young woman appears at the counter to greet them.
“Hi, welcome to Misty’s Esoterica. What can I help you find this evening? Oh!” She pauses, heavily kohled eyes going round, and quickly swipes her fingers through her hair to smooth it down. “Jackie! You shoulda called, hon, I’ve been wondering when you’d come back to see me. And who’s this good-lookin’ friend of yours?”
The woman—V guesses she must be the Misty the shop's named for—reaches out to shake his hand, but he can only offer an apologetic smile. He’s glad when Jackie quickly sweeps up her attention again. “This is my best bud in the whole world, right, V? He’s new in town, we’ve been doing some odd jobs together. But, uh, we ran into some trouble tonight, y’know? Show her, V.”
He drops his right hand onto the counter, and again Misty’s eyes widen in either surprise or distaste. “Yikes. That doesn’t look too good. Guess you’ll be wanting to take him to see Vik?”
“Mm-hmm. The good doc around tonight?”
“Should be. He’s always down there tinkering with something or other. Go on back, V,” she says, smiling, and gestures to a door behind the counter. “He’s just down the stairs past the stoop. Think you’ll be alright?”
“Yeah. You coming too, Jackie?”
Beside him, his friend shuffles in a telling way on his feet. “Uh, you go ahead, man. I’d better hang back, make sure the shop’s secure. Misty’s got a lot of valuable stuff in here, y’know?”
V rolls his eyes. Misty is already buying it, of course, her smile curling flirtatiously as she lays her palm over Jackie’s on the counter. ”How sweet. Maybe I should hire someone like you around here full time, to help me feel safe….”
Way past the point of losing interest, V slips behind the counter and makes his way out through the back door. It opens to an alley, one with an even more pungent odor than the main street. A stray cat hisses at him from behind a pile of trash. He makes a mental note to grab some syn-milk from the vending machine he saw out front, maybe feed the little guy so he’ll warm up a bit. But for now, the flickering LED above a stairwell beckons him instead.
Ripperdocs are notorious even outside the city limits. Rumors say most of them aren’t even real doctors, just butchers with a fetish for chrome and blood. V’s never met one in the city before, had hoped he never would, and he can only imagine the garish sights that await him inside this “clinic.” If he manages to walk out of here in one whole piece, he thinks, he’ll make sure Jackie never hears the end of it.
“Uh, hello?” V’s voice echoes in the hallway. He can see a light on up ahead, beyond a sliding door of iron bars and stacks of unlabled crates. “I’m here to see the doctor? I’m a friend of Jackie Welles. Misty sent me back here.”
“She did, huh? Might as well come on in, then.”
Following the sound of the voice, V finds himself in a space that’s more warehouse than outpatient waiting room . The walls are old, weathered, lined with shelves and workbenches that contain more tech than he can identify. Monitors flicker with various readouts on each screen, and there’s sound, low and distant, playing from a television somewhere. In the center, drawing V’s attention immediately, is an operating chair, complete with straps and arm locks and already he’s thinking about just turning around and walking right the fuck out of this place before—
“Huh. Haven’t seen you around. You said you’re a friend of Jackie’s?” A man stands up from a desk near the door—honestly, V can’t understand how he missed him before—and folds his surprisingly large arms over his chest. Despite the scrubs he wears, this guy looks nothing like a doctor. He’s too broad, with biceps and shoulders made for fighting, not patching up scrapes, and his eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, even though it’s night and they’re also inside, underground. Then there’s his tattoo, a colorful, flashy piece covering all of what V can make out of his right arm.
The man clears his throat, expectantly, and that’s when V realizes he’s been staring. “Oh, um. Yeah. Jackie recommended you. I…think it’s you? Are you the ripperdoc?”
“That I am, kid. Name’s Viktor. Viktor Vektor.”
“Seriously?” He smiles despite himself. “That’s your real name?”
“What, you’ve never heard of me? I’m the best ripperdoc in all of Night City, and that’s not an exaggeration. I’ve met the other ones.” The doc, Viktor, holds out his hand for V to shake it, but pauses when he sees the lifeless fingers hanging down at his side. “Let me guess, that’s what you’re here about? Alright, come have a seat, ‘Jackie’s friend.’ I’ll take a look at the damage.”
The chair is daunting, a real piece of work that’s clearly seen its fair share of operations in the past. The faux leather creaks as V pushes himself back into it, but for now he avoids putting his hands anywhere near the clamps on either side of the arm rests. From this position, he can watch the doctor preparing (he’s got a case of tools, something in a clear bottle, gauze, and latex gloves tucked into his shirt pocket) before he rolls over casually on his desk stool to get to work.
Up close, V can almost see the blue in his eyes behind dark lenses when he smiles. “So, run me through what happened. Don’t leave anything out, yeah? I’m a doctor, not a cop. When did this start?”
“Tonight. A couple hours ago,,” V answers, as his right arm is gently straightened out, his hand laid palm-up in Viktor’s lap. The doctor listens while he pokes around at the exposed metal paneling and surrounding flesh there. “Jackie and I were out on a…a job. Taking down some Tygers that messed with the wrong client, if you catch my drift. It was going fine, we had them pinned, and then…I picked up this gun one of them dropped. It looked normal from the outside, but as soon as I had it in my hands the thing started going nuts, like it was some kinda bomb.”
“Uh huh. Frequency activated EMP device, would be my guess. Rigged to go off when it detected an unknown biosignal. Did you have any pain? Disabled vision?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve still got a little ringing."
“That should fade in another few hours, but just in case, I can give you some blockers. As for your arm,” he continues, and spins a tiny screwdriver between fingers before gently prying open V’s palm. “Looks like a few of the wires shorted, nothing major. I can replace those, throw in some copper coating, and you should be good to go.”
V peers with fascination into the open circuits and criss-cross of wires inside his hand. “And…how much is all of that gonna cost, doc?”
With a tired sigh, Viktor leans back in his chair, rubbing at his forehead as if the act of adding it all up is his least favorite part of the job. “Wires are cheap, the coating’ll run it up, though. Two thou, maybe two and a half? But, hey. You’re a friend of Jackie, and Jackie’s a friend of Misty, and Misty is practically family…. So let’s say, pay what you can now, and we’ll put the rest on a tab, yeah?”
“Wait, really? You’d do that, for a stranger?”
“What’s your name, kid?”
“V.”
“Is that short for something?”
He hesitates, chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment. “…Vincent.”
“Alright, Vincent. Now you’re not a stranger, and this isn’t charity. I’m too old to worry about things like that.” This time when he smiles, V is surprised to realize he means it. “Just make sure you come see me when you need patching up, not one of those quacks running around the city unlicensed, got it? I’ll take care of you.”
Unsure how to respond, V merely nods until, satisfied, Viktor turns his attention back on his work. A few quick snips, some delicate work with pliers, then the old, electro-fried wires are coming out. Vik sets them on a small tray next to the chair. “Mind if I ask where you got these enhancements done? I haven’t seen plating like this used in Night City in years. Some retro lab?”
“Badlands, actually. Spent my whole life out there, running jobs on the outskirts. Didn’t see too much in the way of new tech, y’know? We worked with the scraps we could find.”
“You’re a Nomad?”
“ Was .” V lifts his left hand up, turning it to show Viktor the Bakkers tattoo fading there above the knuckles. “I gave it up, put everything I had into coming to the city. Meeting Jackie was the best luck I could’ve had.”
“And now you’re working for fixers, fighting street thugs for a tiny part of the cut. Forgive me,” Viktor sighs at the hard look V shoots him. “It’s not my business. But I worry about you young punks out there, always gettin’ in over your heads in the name of the hustle. Look at Jackie, huh? He could find decent, stable work with his experience, but he always goes back to the streets, chasing bigger fish. That life doesn’t have much in the way of a future, kid.”
“What good’s a future when you’re flat broke and nameless?”
A chuckle under Viktor’s breath, devoid of humor. “Guess you got me there. I hope you figure it out someday, though. What else life has to offer, I mean.”
V swallows back an unusual tightness in his throat, and taps his fingers against the top of his thigh. Viktor’s just set into braiding the new wires in his wrist, meaning he won’t be getting out of the chair anytime soon. “Yeah? Well, what about you? Why do you stick around, playing ripperdoc in a grimey clinic to street punks, if there’s so much else out there?”
Lips curving in a smile, Viktor glances up at him over the frame of his sunglasses. “Someone’s got to look after you.”
Despite the cool, metallic air, V feels his face growing warm. It doesn't make much sense to him. Viktor seems like a nice guy, but this is Night City, where everyone always has an ulterior motive and their own best interests at heart. He can't figure out this doctor's angle, and it bothers him more than it probably should. So he keeps quiet while Viktor works to finish his rewiring, instead letting his gaze and attention wander around the room. On the desk where Vik had been sitting when he entered, V finally notices the TV playing on low volume. There's a fight on the screen, a boxing match from the looks of it, and ah, that explains the memorabilia on the walls, the desk, the shelves. He makes a mental note to ask about it someday, if he's ever back here and needs a distraction from the chair.
The panel in his hand slots back into place. Vik adds an extra twist of the screw for good measure, then he's rolling his stool back to give V space to stand. "Alright, kid, let's give it a test run. Everything feel normal in there?"
Experimentally, he flexs his wrist in his lap, then his fingers, each one at a time. They curl for him smoothly, seamlessly, as good as the day his enhancements were first installed. Maybe even better. He gives Viktor a look of surprise. "Damn, Doc. You really are the real deal."
"You telling me you still had your doubts?" Vik laughs, his entire face lighting up at the praise anyway. He gestures for V's hand again, and takes it into his palm when it's offered. "Last step, just some analog diagnostics. Can you feel this?" Using his left hand, which is rigged up in some kind of lo-tech contraption, Vik gently pinches the tip of each of V’s fingers in turn. When he's satisfied there's no nerve damage, he stands from his stool and spreads out his arms. "That's that, then. We're all done here, kid."
"I owe you one, doc. I mean it. Here, uh, I think I've got about four hundred on me right now—"
"Nah. Keep your money." Smiling, Vik pats him on the shoulder, letting his hand rest there for a fleeting moment. "I know you're good for it. Just take care out there, yeah? Not everything's as easy to fix as some zapped wiring."
"I, um. Yeah. Thanks, doc."
"Vik'll do."
"Thanks, Vik."
He finds himself walking out of the clinic, perhaps more dazed than when he first went in, though not for any fault of his circuits. On the ride back home, Viktor is all he can talk about—his shop, his generosity, his tattoos. So much so, in fact, that Jackie can't even get a word in edgeways about Misty, but he smiles as he listens all the same.
Time passes fast in Night City. One sleepless night bleeds into the next, one job into another, and before V realizes it he's been in the city for two months.
Jackie's hooked him up with a swag apartment uptown in Watson, a unit with more space and cleaner floors than he's really used to. Money, too, starts rolling in like never before, as they work their way deeper into the fixers' circles. Life's become a party, and for the first time, V's been invited to it.
But the problem, he quickly finds, is that being part of the in crowd means keeping up with the in crowd. New clothes to match the vogue, makeup and hair dyes and even shinier chrome parts. It's a lot, and it's expensive. V can't follow the trends as they change day to day, sometimes hour to hour. Trying is draining both his wallet and his energy. He needs an edge, and he thinks he knows just the guy.
While the city outside moves at the speed of net-light, Viktor’s clinic remains the same as ever. Something about that is refreshing, V thinks as he walks through the front door to the sound of the latest fight playing on the TV. Vik is sitting there, reclined on his desk, head down and eyes closed behind his sunglasses. Asleep.
V grins. "Evening, Doc."
"Hu…wha-?"
"You seem busy. Should I come back later?"
"Ah, hell, V. You gotta starting calling before you show up."
"Huh. Didn't take your for the generation to use a holo." He smiles wider, enjoying the groggy glare Vik is giving him, and walks towards the operating chair in the center of the room. "I was hoping to get some upgrades. Mods," he clarified. "You do that, right?"
"Maybe. Depends. What kind of mods are we talking?"
Now Vik is standing, taking the opportunity to stretch his arms, his back, and V can't help but notice the way the shirt he's wearing gets stretched to its limits as well. There's no doubt Viktor is the best at what he does; the fact that V happens to find him attractive is just a bonus to each visit.
"I was thinking something…flashy. Talk on the street is there's new cyberware to alter your skin color. Blue, gold, whatever you can think of and more. It's from a new brand called Chameleon , named after some extinct old lizard I think."
The tone of Vik's voice is less than impressed. "And you would want this because…?"
"Because it's cool? Because everyone who's everyone either has it or is tryin' to get their hands on it." It surprises him that a ripperdoc, of all people, wouldn't be jumping at the chance to play with the most recent tech fads. He's certain Viktor is either bluffing, or playing hard to get. "I haven't managed to find one yet, either, but I was hoping maybe my favorite doc could, uh, hook me up? That's you, by the way. You're my favorite, in case that was unclear."
"Flattery isn't your strong suit, V. And anyway, I don't have access to that kind of tech even if I wanted it. You're outta luck."
"Come on, Viktor. I can always count on you."
"Not this time."
He can't exactly explain what it is about Viktor’s response that annoys him. Maybe it's the way he waves his hand, dismissive, or the tone in his voice that seems to say not my problem . Maybe it's just that he hoped Vik would be a little more excited about this new idea of his. Whatever the case, V takes it as a challenge, and he's ready to call the bluff. "Fine. Whatever. This city's full of ripperdocs. One on every corner over in Santa Domingo. I'll go have a chat with someone who can get me what I need."
Taking the bait, Viktor crosses his arms. "It's not that I can't , V. I just don't understand why you need something like that. You come in here with a busted arm or split channels, I'll fix you up. You need upgrades on obsolete tech, I've got you covered. But purely aesthetic body mods? Cyberware for fashion ? That's not who you are."
"How the hell would you know who I am?"
"I know you're not from Night City. You're different from these people."
"What, 'cause I'm a Nomad? An outsider?"
"V, I—"
"You don't think I'm reminded every day that I don't belong here? You think I don't know that?" He's overreacting and he knows it. Sees it in Viktor’s expression, strained with hurt and regret. But this is exactly the reason he wants the mods, why he came all the way out here in the first place. He trusted at least Viktor might show him some sympathy. "Every day, I live with the reality that I'm something less in this city. But I guess maybe you can't understand that."
"You're not less. I never said that. Sit down for a second, would you? Hear me out. Cyberware mods can be dangerous. You ever wonder why most ripperdocs stay away from the stuff?"
Still angry, V just stares at him until he answers his own question.
"Because that shit's addictive. You start with the small stuff, implants, enhancements. Soon it's not enough anymore, so you go bigger. Replacements. Surgeries. You start to take apart what you are and graft machinery together instead. You can lose yourself quick in that mess. End up looking like a Maelstrom horrorshow fresh from a chopshop." He pauses, pushing his sunglasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. It's a habit V's come to learn means I'd rather not be having this conversation, but, well, here we are. "Listen, kid. What I'm trying to say is that some things aren't meant to be improved. 'Don't fix what isn't broken,' scan?"
Actually, V does 'scan,' even though no one under fifty uses that outdated slang anymore. And while frustrating, it's also kind of sweet at the same time. No one's ever told him before it's okay to just keep being himself.
So, after a few more moments of tempered silence, he sighs. "Okay. Yeah, fine, you've made your point. Sorry if I…hit a nerve bringing it up."
Viktor waves his apology off. His shades are back in place now, expression unreadable behind them. "S'alright. This city gets to all of us."
"Yeah. Guess it does."
"Look, uh. Tell you what. You came all the way down here, I can't let you leave empty handed. Let me polish up your chrome, bring out the shine even if it's not new. It's the least I can do to make up for being a grumpy old-timer."
V catches himself smiling at that, and surprisingly finds he doesn't mind at all. "You're fine, Vik, really. But, um, sure. If you insist."
"I do." They assume the usual patient-doctor positions, V reclined in the faded blue operating chair, and Viktor hovering over him from his own favorite stool. Somehow in the course of the last few months, this has become routine, even comfortable for him. A safe space in the caring hands of one of the few people in Night City worth a damn. Now, he thinks, watching the good doctor buff out the scraps on the paneling in his right hand, it's becoming something even more.
Jackie would probably laugh himself stupid to hear him admit that. Misty would call him a hopeless romantic at best. Honestly, he doesn't even know that much about Viktor besides that he's reliable, charming, genuine, and, if tonight's been any indication, good for a cold slap of reality once in a while. Gotta respect a guy like that. V certainly does. Likes him, even, though he's pretty sure they're both too old for silly things like crushes.
He realizes with a start that he's been staring again, and catches a curious glance from over the frames of Vik's shades before he can sweep his gaze away. Now his face is warm, obviously so, and he almost thinks, out of the corner of his eye, that the doctor is smirking at him.
"What? What is it?" he asks, already defensive as his cheeks flare with more heat. Viktor shakes his head.
"Nothin', kid. Just wondering if I still make the cut, that's all."
"Cut?"
"You called me your favorite ripperdoc. That really true?"
V laughs, mostly air now because his throat feels weirdly tight. "Yeah. You know you'll always be my favorite. Even when you're being a dick."
The last part has Viktor beaming with mirth. His lips curl, his teeth flash, and V can almost imagine for a moment this is a younger version of Vik, the boxer not the healer, grinning madly before walking into the ring to a fight. It does…new, unexpected things to V's mind and his circuitry.
"Huh. Funny." The palm of his left hand, the one in the old-tech rig, grips the edge of the chair as Viktor leans in. Hovering now, and it's impossible for V too look anywhere else but right at him. The cloth he's been using comes up to the chrome plating at the base of V's throat, and with sure, unhurried strokes begins to polish the metal there, as well. "'Cause you're kinda my favorite, too, kid."
One thing V has quickly come to learn living in Night City is that a job’s a job, but no two jobs are ever the same. Some go smooth, in-and-out, a cake walk. Others…well, others can really fuck up a perfectly good day.
The car swerves, and V’s next shot goes whizzing past its target to hit a billboard instead. Dammit! He tries again, lining up his sight quickly, but that one misses, too, ricocheting off the bullet-proof windshield of the vehicle chasing them. He lets out a groan of frustration, and ducks back inside the car long enough to glare daggers at Jackie. “Would you fuckin’ hold it steady?! I look like an amateur up here!”
“Gee, V, I’d love to help out. But in case you haven’t noticed, they have a fucking rocket launcher! ”
“Not my problem! You drive, I shoot. Can we please stick to the routine?”
Jackie growls something in Spanish that V doesn’t need a translator chip to interpret. Next moment, they’re pulling a hard left onto a new street, one with less traffic, as a low-tech RPG barely misses them to go crashing into the offramp wall. Sparks fly in the explosion, and horns begin to blare on the highway above. V looks to Jackie, who gives him a look like told ya so , before climbing back out the window to return fire.
A well-aimed shot to the front tire of the closest pursuit car sends it fishtailing off the road into a cement pillar. One down, one to go. V squares his shoulders, lines up for a headshot of the gunner hanging, like him, from the other vehicle's passenger window. Patient now, waiting for Jackie to downshift so as not to waste any more ammo. Almost, almost….
That’s when he sees it. Glaringly pink out of the corner of his eye, unexpected and exciting, and he can’t yell back through the window quickly enough over the roar of the engine: “Jackie, pull over!! Pull over now!”
Not understanding, Jackie brakes hard anyway. The car comes to a screeching halt in the middle of the street, taking their pursuers completely by surprise. Their driver, too, hits the brakes, but he’s a millisecond too late. So close that V can see the shock in the whites of the gunner’s eyes, he aims for their engine— BOOM —and the goonmobile rolls harmlessly onto the opposite sidewalk, a flame ball on wheels.
Ecstatic, Jackie emerges from the car with an adrenaline-fueled cheer. “You crazy sonovabitch! How the hell’d you know that’d work, V? V…?”
V is already hopping the guardrail. Job and the gangsters out for their blood already forgotten, he jogs across an empty parking lot next to the road, where a row of vending machines shines brighter than streetlights. Among them, the hot-pink brand he’s been so eager to reach.
“Hey!” A little breathless, Jackie comes trotting after him. “Where you goin’? Don’t tell me all this excitement’s got you thirsty, holmes ? We got booze back at the bar.”
“No, no, no. It’s not for me. Look, you ever seen one of these things in operation before?” he asks, grinning like a corpo kid on Christmas.
Jackie blinks. “About a million times a day, every day? It’s a drink machine, what’s the big deal?”
“It’s a Spunky Monkey machine. The original one,” V adds, when the look he’s being given shifts from confused to flat-out concerned. “And it’s even still got some of the old flavors, too. Check it out. ‘High-Fructose Blast ,’ ‘ Banana-maniac. ” Hah. Who thinks this shit up?”
“Uh, V? You…alright? Sure you didn’t get your brains scrambled again back at that plant?”
“Hand me your bag. Chill, I’ll give it back later. Just gotta grab as many of these as we can while we’re here.” He spends what he has on him (just a few eurodollars, doesn’t matter, they’ll get paid soon) to buy two of each can in the machine. They weigh down the bag, a heavier prize even than the Militech briefcase they’d nabbed for this latest client, but it’s well worth the slog back to the car. As V secures the drinks carefully in the backseat, he hopes they can get the contract settled quick so he can focus on more important things.
“So…. What was that all about?” Jackie’s already running the engine, turning the car back towards the main road to Watson as soon as V shuts the passenger door. “Since when are you a big drinker?”
“Like I said, not for me. Personally, I can’t stand the taste. But you know how much Vik loves ‘em.” Smiling, he waves his hand out the window to catch the fresh wind blowing past.
“Vik…. As in, Vektor? The ripperdoc?”
“Yeah?”
“V, are you outta your mind? You almost got us killed to buy soda pop for your doctor ? You know how insane that sounds, right?”
“Come on, Vik’s a friend. Friends do nice stuff for each other.”
“ No mames. How come you never buy me drinks, then?”
Huh . The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He takes a quick glance at the bag in the back, then at Jackie’s hard expression as he drives. “Oh. Uh, do you…want one? ‘Cause, I mean, these are all for Vik, but we can go back and get more if you…?”
“ No .”
“Oh? Okay, suit yourself. Hey, can you drop me off in Chinatown after Wakako’s? Gotta make a delivery.”
More steady streams of less-than-polite Spanish. This time, V’s chip interprets one part of the message—the only part it can catch—as ‘ you brainless, hopeless, whipped pendejo.’
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23:49 [unread] - Hey Vik, dropped by the clinic but Misty said you had a patient. Left some stuff for you at her shop, nothing big, just saw something and thought of you. Anyway hope you like em, see ya around doc
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1:13 - V, got the package. Generous of you, really. Where’d you manage to find these bad boys? Been looking for Bananamaniac for years. Owe you one. :) Get home safe.
1:16 [read] - Great! Glad you like em. Spotted an old machine off Republic, by the old power plant. Had a job out there tonight, lucky find I guess.
1:16 [read] - And I’m already home
1:16 [read] - :)
1:17 - Huh, don’t make it out that way too often. I’ll have to give it a look sometime.
1:17 - Did the job go well?
1:17 [read] - Mostly. Had to shake some goons on the way back
1:18 [read] - Nothing a couple of badasses couldn’t handle
1:20 - As long as you take care out there. You know I worry about you young punks. My hair goes greyer every time I hear you and Jackie are on another gig.
1:21 [read] - Grey hair? Where? You’re not THAT old
1:21 [read] - Speaking of… isn’t it past your bedtime? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
1:23 - Ha Ha. Funny guy. I’ll pretend you didn’t just ask me that, but only on account of the colas. Next time, I won’t let you off easy. Besides, I missed the matches earlier, staying up to catch the replays.
1:23 - What’s that thing mean?
1:23 [read] - Bring it on old man
1:24 [read] - What thing?
1:24 - The face thing.
1:24 [read] - This? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
1:25 - Yeah.
1:25 [read] - ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
1:26 - ?????
1:26 - Kids these days….
1:26 [read] - You’re watching the match? All alone?
1:28 - Me and all my Spunky Monkeys.
1:29 [read] - OK ummm maybe don’t say it like that lmfao
1:30 [read] - Wanna come over?
1:36 [unread] - To watch the replays I mean. There’s a nice TV in this place but I never have a chance to use it by myself
1:37 [unread] - No pressure doc just thought I’d ask
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1:36 [read] - To watch the replays I mean. There’s a nice TV in this place but I never have a chance to use it by myself
1:37 [read] - No pressure doc just thought I’d ask
1:41 - Sure. Yeah OK.
1:41 [read] - Yeah? Cool I’ll ping you the geo.
1:42 [read] - Geolocator coordinates for HOME sent to contact: VIKTOR VEKTOR [recieved]
1:43 - MH10? I know it.
1:44 [read] - I’m unit 0716 just beep me when you’re upstairs
1:44 [read] - Cool?
1:47 - Cool.
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2:35 - Hey V. I’m here.
2:36 [unread] - One sec
He finds him just outside the elevator, standing there with his powerful arms folded over his chest and his sunglasses reflecting the hallway lights. The usual scrubs, though, are missing, replaced by a black dress shirt buttoned almost up to the collar. He's in jeans, too. Dark blue denim, still stiff at the hems. New.
V tries to say something witty, something like 'scuse me but I'm looking for a greasy ripperdoc, you haven't seen him around have you? , but it comes out instead as, "Wow, you clean up nice."
"Oh," Viktor says. The corners of his mouth twitch in a smile, and he tugs awkwardly at the front of the shirt he's wearing. "These old threads? I should probably throw it out, I never wear the darn thing. But Misty suggested it…. I don't know."
"Yeah, no. Totally." It's noncommittal, neutral, safe, V thinks. What he actually wants to say is, Daaamn. "How about we head inside. Goons're always creepin' around here this time of night."
"Lead the way."
The first thought V has when Viktor steps into his apartment is how messy it suddenly looks. He's picked up a little bit—tossed empty bottles and old pizza boxes, the standard fare—but now he wishes he'd spent more time sprucing the place up. A few throw pillows on the sofa, maybe a candle or two like the ones at Misty's shop. Anything that might make his apartment look and feel more lived-in, instead of just slept-in-on-the-go.
Viktor, however, doesn't seem to mind at all. "Nice place," he says with a low whistle, looking around at the main room. "All this is yours?"
"Bought and paid up front. Courtesy of the local fixer, a woman named Wakako Oda, as payment for a job Jackie and I helped her with. Guess it's not too shabby. Would've preferred the bike Jack got, though."
A laugh as Viktor kicks off his boots near the door. It's something V never worries about himself. He's usually too drunk or too tired when he gets in to bother with keeping the floor clean. But the gesture is nice all the same. Smiling, he snatches up two bottles from the makeshift kitchen shelf, and clinks them together temptingly. "Interest you in a drink with the tour?"
"Don't mind if I do."
The tour is short, since there's really only one room that isn't visible from the entrance, and that's just his messy storage. The real focus, where he leads Vik with promises of boxing and more booze, is the lounge area, its long, faux leather sofa the perfect place to settle in side by side. The TV's already on, muted, so V flips to the sports channel just in time to catch the opening bell.
If he's being honest, he's never watched a boxing match in his life. He's never been interested, really, not when there's real fighting going on out there in the streets. Sure, he practices from time to time with the gym rats downstairs in his building, and sparring with them is good training for his work. But watching two meatheads duke it out over a shiny belt has never really been his thing.
Viktor is into it right away, though. He knows both fighters, not personally but enough to catch V up on their profiles. One, he says, is a former corpo, a pencil pusher who had a mental breakdown before finding his soul again in the ring. The other, a lean, scrappy fighter, used to be with the Tyger Claws, until he lost his best friend in a heated shoot-out with a rival gang. Both boxers are totally focused, pouring their hearts into this fight as proof of how far they've come, and for the first time V realizes there's more to this sport than he'd ever realized.
The replay is about half an hour, covering only the highlights of the match. When it eventually ends (the ex-corpo wins, and the fighters exchange good-natured fist bumps), Viktor leans back in the sofa, arms stretching back behind his head. "Now that was a good fight. Really takes me back, y'know? Seeing these young guys let loose in the ring like that."
"How long's it been since you competed?"
"Let's see. My last championships were in '61, I did some local matches for a while after that. Eleven years? Twelve?" He chuckles, bringing his left hand around to flex his fingers stiffly. Without the rig he wears at the clinic, his hand looks…small. Soft. V decides to keep this particular opinion to himself. "Got hard to compete after the injury. The old left hook just never had the same punch to it, no matter how many bolts I put in."
"You've never talked about it before. What happened?"
"Final match, Watson Grand Prix." Though still smiling, Vik's voice took on a serious timber as he spoke. "My opponent was a big guy, even for a heavyweight, with an undefeated record. Didn't matter much to me at the time, of course. I always went into the ring with no expectations, not planning to win or fail, you know? But this guy…. There were some regulations on body mods, of course. You can imagine they give an unfair advantage. But they weren't clear, or easy to enforce. The second I threw my first punch, I knew it was game over."
He imitates a left hook in the air, leaves his fist suspended there for V to get a good look at the bolts and screws along his forearm. "Titanium plating, subdermal implants. I never saw it coming. He won the championships, I took second place with a shattered humurus, and my career was basically over."
"Shit, Vik. Guess you don't get to come back from something like that, huh?"
"Not in this city. Eh, it's alright, though. It was time to retire anyway, move on to something new. I spent enough time patching up myself and the other boys post-fight, I already knew what I wanted to do next."
Viktor lowers his arm onto the sofa between them both, close enough to graze V's thigh on the way down. Maybe it's unintentional, maybe not. Maybe that's just V's beer and wishful thinking talking. "If your dream was to sew up bullet wounds and fit tech onto street punks, then I'd say you've made the big leagues."
"Something like that," Vik says, chuckling. It's a nice sound, V realizes. Relaxed, natural. Without the scrubs, the rig, the stethoscope, he can almost imagine Viktor is just a regular guy, a charming man with simple dreams and a humble smile. But even that's not quite right. Behind the role of Night City's numero uno ripperdoc, Viktor is so much more.
Without really intending to, V shifts closer. Subtly at first, folding one leg under him in a half turn to face Vik, then sitting up fully on his knees on the cushions. Even he's not sure what he's doing until he's doing it, aware that Vik is following his movements carefully. "Do you mind…?"
His hands ask the rest where his words suddenly fail. Reaching up, he gently sets his fingers on either side of Viktor’s shades, and when there's no resistance, slides them up and off of his face. A pair of sharp, neon-blue eyes stare back at him, unreadable as they search for some kind of meaning, some explanation. V doesn't have one. All he has, he thinks, is impulse and this moment, this one right here, the one in which Viktor Vektor is sitting with bated breath on his sofa, looking confused and expectant and frightened all at the same time. It's cute, really. Heartwarming, literally, as V feels like maybe he left the thermostat on somewhere because suddenly his face is glowing with warmth.
"...Vincent?"
Usually, the sound of his full name is jarring. But somehow, on Viktor’s lips, it's a breath of fresh air. "Why do you cover them up?"
"Habit." Almost imperceptibly, Viktor's tongue streaks out to wet his lips. "Or maybe I'm just shy."
He hesitates. "You, shy? Since when?"
"Geez, kid." A laugh to release the breath he’s been holding, and suddenly Viktor is palming the back of V's neck, warm fingers settling right in the little hairs at the nape. "You gotta work on your timing. Always follow through when you see your opening, or you'll blow it."
Blow what? he thinks. But it doesn't matter now. Vik makes up his mind for both of them, pulling him forward even as he leans in to meet V's lips in a kiss, chaste but melting him from the inside out anyway. Circuits buzzing with neurotransmitters, his fingers twitch for something to grasp, until finally they land on the front of Viktor’s shirt. His eyelids flutter closed, too, but not before he sees—really sees —Vik up close, and commits the image to memory like a personal, private braindance.
Yeah, this is definitely one for the core memory banks. V’s never kissed anyone like this before, so unhurried, despite the quickening of his heartbeat. They aren’t in a club, there’s no thrumming bassline or warbling vocalist to distract from the experience. There’s no rush to move to the next step, to free up a booth for someone else. There is only Viktor. Only his taste, and the surprising softness of his full lips, and the soothing, comforting warmth of dexterous fingers carding slowly through his hair.
When the kiss finally breaks, Vik is smiling, a shy, lopsided smile that says he’s probably as dazed as V feels. “Hey, kid. I…hope that was okay.”
“More than okay,” V answers. He sucks in a long breath, head still spinning every whichway. “I’ve, uh, been wantin’ to do that for a while.”
“Yeah? So have I.”
“W-with you, I mean.”
“Heh. I gotcha.” Viktor is still holding him, still rolling his fingertips in little circles around in the roots of his hair. V swallows back something that's been building before he speaks again.
“You’re not in a rush to leave or anything, right? ‘Cause, uh, if you’ve got time, you could stay a little while longer.”
“The clinic always beckons,” he shrugs. “But just this once, I suppose she can wait. Why? Got something in mind?”
Those clear, neon-blues follow V’s movements intensely, watching as he shifts his weight into Viktor’s lap to straddle either side of his thighs. This is the opening he was talking about, right? The invitation to take his chance, shoot his shot, go for gold? He knows now he’ll never forgive himself if he lets this moment slip away, if he lets Viktor go this night or ever again. “I’m thinkin’…I’d like to get those hands of yours on me. Then see where the night leads.”
"Just my hands?"
" Fuck, Vik." He can't help it, surging forward the way he does, dragging his own lips over Viktor's mouth with an urgency he didn't realize he's been holding back. Everything , he breathes into the kiss as Vik's mouth opens for him. Everything you've got. " Fuck, I need you," he groans instead, through it comes out more whine with the way Viktor's just grabbed him by the hips. V rocks forward in his lap, once, twice, just so there's no more confusion about just what it is he wants.
The kiss deepens, and as Viktor's tongue slips into his mouth, V wonders distantly if he's ever done this before. The swift way that tongue maps out his teeth, the roof of his mouth, makes him think Vik has plenty of experience indeed, though it's hard to imagine the kind of lovers he's had in the past, or how recently. Is this a side that only a select few in Night City have ever had the chance to see? The thought excites him, thrills him , almost as much as the heat of thick fingers sliding higher up his waist.
He leans back away from Viktor’s mouth, a temporary disconnect just long enough to get his t-shirt up and over his head. Chest and shoulders bare, he sinks back down as if for air, like Vik’s mouth is his lifeline in this otherwise stifling apartment, and moans out encouragement when those hands begin to explore new turf. Mapping out skin Vik’s touched half a dozen times before, but never like this. Never so greedily, so attentive to every twitch and shiver and pulse beneath. The subtle difference has already got V raging hard in his pants.
Those, too, are on the way off. Still straddling Vik’s lap, the rhythmic way he’s rolling his body keeps driving his pants further down over his hips. He’s hoping, not so secretly, that Viktor will notice, that he’ll go for the invitation there. But he’s not expecting it to happen so quickly as it does. Vik surprises him by going for his waist again, fingertips digging into soft flesh and slipping, without hesitation, in past the hem at the back. Both palms cup his ass, and Vik squeezes hard, tugging V further up into his lap at the same time.
Maybe he swears, or maybe it comes out as an unintelligible growl from the back of his throat. Desperate, carnal. He’s never been dragged around this way, lifted as if he weighs nothing to be arranged for someone else’s pleasure. He likes it, he realizes. More than likes it. If his dick gets any harder it might as well be made of titanium. V drops one hand from Viktor’s shoulder to his solid lap, right where his shirt buttons part over the bulge in his jeans, to find the feeling appears to be mutual. His eyes darken with a sudden need.
There’s a laugh, strained as Viktor shifts his hips under V’s laser-targeted grip. He starts to say something, then snaps his mouth shut again. V is already climbing out of his lap, gaze hungry, playful as he takes two steps backwards from the sofa. With Vik still watching him—exactly what he wants, of course—he strips out of his pants to the pair of neon-glo boxers he has on underneath. They’re tight enough to leave little to the imagination, and V doesn’t miss the subtle bob of Vik’s throat as he takes in the sight. But while the speechless staring is appreciated, this isn’t why V wants to be the center of the show.
He allows Viktor to touch him while he hovers again. Just a quick grope, fingertips swiping at the wetness he’s already leaked into the front of his boxers, and then he’s guiding Vik back against the cushions. Relax , he smiles, sliding down the length of his body until his knees hit the carpet. To his amusement, Viktor hasn't bothered wearing a belt. His jeans pop open easily, and there’s no resistance as V leans forward to meet heated skin with the flat of his tongue. He swirls it up to the very tip, slides back down with his lips wrapped tight around the shaft. Above him, he watches Viktor’s face tighten, soften, tighten again, blue eyes focused yet unreadable, mouth parted with each husky breath. And he looks damn good .
V moans again around the weight in his mouth. Viktor's juat grabbed his arm, fingers clenching around his elbow, and in one strong move pulls him up off his knees. "You don't have to do that," he says, voice all rough gravel, face flushed with heat. V is about to tell him it's fine, actually, that he likes sucking dick, especially when the size is big enough to be slightly uncomfortable, like his, but Viktor silences him with a kiss. "I like you just like this."
As V melts down into his lap once more, he can't help but be hyper aware of Vik's cock pressing into his thigh. Shifting, he frees it into the space between his legs where his own lust is still straining desperately, aching for attention, for relief, which comes a moment later in the form of Viktor's powerful fist wrapping around them both.
His pace isn't hurried, at least not compared to V's rapidfire heartbeat. But it's steady, and thorough, and their cocks are growing slick together where saliva mixes with his own eager need. The friction is so good that V finds it hard to focus even on Viktor's perfect mouth like this. Too much, too hot, he clings to Vik's shoulders, pants against his cheek, and still can't pull his mind away from the overwhelming pleasure, so unlike any he's ever felt before.
"Vik, fu- fuck , I'm gonna…."
In answer, warm lips press to the corner of his mouth, then move upwards to kiss a trail of encouragement up to his temple. V shudders. He can't hold back anymore, he knows it, and with a stuttering roll of his hips forward, he gives over to the magic of Viktor's hand.
Clarity breaks slowly through the fog filling his head. As his breath returns to a semblance of normal, he opens his eyes again to find Viktor watching him, smiling. There’s patience in that smile, and victory, too. And while his hand is still wrapped around them both, it’s not moving anymore, paused to give V a chance to come back down from his pleasure high. Vik would probably stop there if V asked him to, but of course that isn’t what he wants at all. His body is still electrified with anticipation, every nerve buzzing with the excitement of having Viktor even closer. He gently unwraps one arm from around broad shoulders to bring his hand to Vik’s face, cupping his cheek in reverence for a brief moment, then traces his fingers over the ridge of those lips until they part to let him in.
V could watch this part all night, honestly. His own fingers, the elegant lines of metal a sharp contrast to Viktor’s fleshy lips, disappearing into wet heat, entangling with his tongue to be expertly licked, suckled, stroked. Vik’s eyes lidded now, bright, neon-blue swallowed up in shadow, heatedly watching him in return. Fuck, V just came and he’s already getting hard again, his overly eager cock twitching in the warmth of Vik’s palm where it still holds him steady.
Forget ripperdoc, Vik mouth alone deserves a license to serve.
But as much as he appreciates the performance, the show can’t go on forever, not if he wants to explore the next stage. So he draws his fingers back, replacing them instead with his own lips in another kiss to distract from the initial discomfort of them entering his body from behind.
Viktor must be able to feel what he’s doing. The way his hips roll forward again, sharply at first and then falling into a familiar rhythm. The way his breath hitches in the kiss, then melts into a low, pleading moan as a second finger pushes in next to the first. V doesn’t have the patience to be gentle, but he is thorough, efficient, opening himself up with often-practiced motions. He hears a question, muffled into his own mouth, and Viktor reaches both hands around to palm his ass, ever so helpfully spreading his cheeks apart beneath the tight layer of his underwear.
Again V moans, and again Vik answers by pressing his thumbs down into the cleft of his ass. Fuck it, good enough! he thinks, and abruptly pushes himself up from Viktor’s lap to stand, mostly naked, before him in the lounge. A smirk, heated, unfocused, and he steps out of his briefs to toss those, too, somewhere in the dark room. Vik’s eyes drink him in, but only for a moment, because V is moving again, leaning in to hook one finger around the gold chain around Viktor’s neck, and using it to guide him across the apartment to his bed. He’s almost too drunk on lust to care how they do this now. All he knows is he needs Viktor, inside and out, surrounding him and holding him and for the love of chrome kissing him again, which he does, deeply as they fall together down onto the mattress.
Desperately, he helps Vik out of his shirt while they kiss, all tongues and groans and sharp breaths. There will be time, he thinks, in the tiny part of his brain still capable of thinking, to properly appreciate this later, to run his hands over Viktor’s firm arms, his back, admire his tattoos, scars, everything. But now isn’t that time. Now, he’s too preoccupied letting strong hands manhandle his hips, turn him over on all fours to face the slatted window behind the pillows. Too focused on the heat of Vik’s mouth trailing over his cheek down to his neck, biting there just enough to distract from the pinch of his thumb ( fuck it’s thick) pushing into him for good measure. V hums, shudders, rocks down in appreciation, and is rewarded with a pefectly tender kiss to the side of his mouth. “Kid, you got any—?“
“Side table. Top drawer.”
Viktor’s weight is gone for only a moment. There’s some shuffling, the sound of the drawer sliding shut again, then he’s back, chuckling into V’s ear. “Well prepared, aren’t you?”
“Don’t ask,” V quips back, laughing despite the desperate emptiness inside him he needs Vik to hurry up and fill. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long. A silver wrapper goes flying past, Vik grunts, and then the satisfying, breath-taking weight of his cock being guided into tight heat.
Without waiting, V throws one hand to the wall for leverage, and pushes back to meet Viktor’s hips. They both groan at the contact, so much so fast , but it’s worth the initial discomfort. Vik gradually begins to move, to find V’s rhythm and work with it, though never too fast or too rough. He’s so gentle, every touch of his hands or press of lips to V’s neck, shoulders, back is filled with tenderness, and he keeps asking if it’s okay, if it hurts, if he can take more.
The gesture is touching, really. Each time, V answers with an encouraging moan, or by dropping forward into the pillows, arching his hips up and chest to the mattress to give Viktor all the access he can possibly handle. It’s this last one that does the trick. Behind him, Viktor tenses. His breath tightens, fingers clench around the soft edges of V’s waist. And as he slams home once, twice, he stutters to a powerful stop.
In the silence, the matress creaks. Vik’s weight shifts, his body coming to rest back on his calves, and V slowly releases the pillows he’s been hugging for support. He turns, letting his knees come off the bed and fall to the side, his own cock still heavy against his belly, but he can’t keep from smiling even as he grabs for it. While Viktor watches through heavy eyes, V brings himself off for a second time, then allows his tired limbs to collapse onto the bed, utterly spent.
He’s thrilled when Viktor moves to join him. They lay there together for some time, looking up at the ceiling as their breathing slowly falls into sync. It’s comfortable, safe. After a while, V’s eyes being to droop. He turns his face in the pillows to look at Viktor beside him, hand curling on instinct around his between them. “You awake?”
“Mmh.” Strong fingers squeeze back.
“Stay tonight?”
A smile spreads slowly across Vik’s face. He opens one eye to meet V’s gaze, holds it for a long, quiet moment, and nods. “Thanks. I was hoping you’d ask. I’m wiped .”
With a grin, V settles down into the arms Vik opens for him, and finally lets sleep rise up to claim them both.