Cyberpunk: Angel of Chrome

10:02 AM – V's Loft

The apartment buzzed with quiet energy. Jackie was still riding the high from the fight, animatedly telling Sasha he felt like a tank powered by thunder. Kiwi lounged on the couch, smoke curling lazily from her lips. Rebecca playfully teased Lucy, trying to pull her from her fog. Lucy smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

V stepped away from the table and moved toward the window. The morning sun filtered through the dusty glass as he thumbed open his agent and selected a contact:

IRINA DOVICHENKO

The call rang once. Twice. A hit of static.

Then—click.

"V?"

"Yeah... Irina."

Silence lingered, heavy.

Then a voice, gentler, layered in memory.

"Vincent? Is that you?"

He blinked slowly. No one calls me that anymore.

"Hey, Irina."

The voice on the other end softened even more. "Damn... it's been a long time."

Memories stirred. She wasn't just a name on a screen anymore. Irina Dovichenko. They'd studied together at the Militech Academy. Both from modest roots—she from a middle-salary family, he from the streets—but the academy had leveled them. He used to joke: Middle class or homeless, you're still cannon fodder to Militech. His stepdad had a few shady connections—probably how he even got in. Irina always suspected, but never asked.

Irina sighed. "You were the prodigy. Everyone knew it. After what happened with your father... nobody blamed you for walking away."

V lowered his voice. "And you? What happened with you?"

"Let's not waste it over the phone," she said with a sudden lilt. "Let's get coffee. It's still early. Meet me?"

"Alright. Where?"

"Lizzie's. It's closed in the morning, so we can talk in peace. I can show you what I need help with... the chrome work."

He smiled faintly. "Alright. I'll be there in about an hour."

"Eleven it is," she replied.

V nodded and ended the call.

He turned back to the table. The scent of fresh breakfast hung in the air— Kibble hash and faux-eggs. Synthetic, but surprisingly decent.. Kiwi handed out plates. Lucy and Rebecca sat side-by-side, chatting more naturally now. The warmth of the loft began to settle.

"Misty's coming in an hour," Jackie said.

"But I gotta dip in thirty," V replied.

"Enjoy your time with the girls," V said, eyeing them with mock sternness. "And don't go too hard on Jackie, alright? He might look like he's made of muscle, but he's sensitive as hell."

The girls giggled. Jackie clutched his chest dramatically. "You wound me, choom!"

Time passed quickly in the buzz of morning laughter and warm food. Eventually, V rose, grabbed his coat and gear, and walked toward the garage.

He slid into Warlock—his AI car already humming to life as if it had anticipated him.

"Morning, sir," Warlock said, smooth and dry.

"Lizzie's. Take the long route."

"You got it."

The garage door lifted, and Warlock rolled out into the day, neon ghosting across its mirrors as it glided toward the calm before the chrome.

11:01 AM – Streets of Watson

The city streaked past, neon slicing through chrome and grime like an open wound, as Warlock glided along quieter routes. As they passed a narrow alley, V's optics caught a Maelstrom gonk pulling a blade on a terrified young woman.

Without even pausing, V sent a quickhack.

[Suicide – Engaged]

A red flash.

The gonk's eyes widened as his own hand turned the pistol on himself. "Oh no—who hacked me?! No—no—!"

BANG.

He dropped before he even hit the ground, his scream echoing off the walls and dying in an instant.

V smirked faintly. "Good deed for the day."

Warlock snorted. "Efficient philanthropy."

The girl, stunned, stared at the fallen gonk for a second. Then her eyes darted around the alley—confused, afraid. When no one revealed themselves, she ran, still shaking, but safe. She never knew who saved her.

Moments later, Lizzie's Bar came into view. The neon sign flickered sleepily—closed for public hours, but not for him. Outside, a small crowd of women gathered, chatting and laughing in loose groups as they headed toward Afterglow's campus across the street.

V watched them for a second, letting the moment settle. Maybe this whole company thing's worth it, he thought.

Inside the entrance, the familiar face of the bouncer nodded and let him pass. The hostess at the door—one of the older dolls—winked at him playfully.

"VIP Room 24," Mateo said from the bar, his feet kicked up. "It's her clinic now, apparently."

V nodded in thanks and made his way through the hall.

11:08 AM – Lizzie's, VIP Room 24

He reached the frosted door just as a A chrome-plated doll stormed past him, muttering sharp curses under her breath.

Inside, Irina stood, backlit by a surgical lamp, packing away a dermal injector. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and synthetic fruit.

She turned to him.

And for a moment, time skipped.

Tall. About 1.80m, even without heels. Her red hair was tied back in a practical braid, but it still caught the light like fire. Her face—cut from angles and cold steel: sharp cheekbones, cool blue eyes, a jawline built for command. Classic Russian beauty, yet softened by something more human now. Tattoos—dozens—twisted and bloomed across her pale arms, climbing like vines.

Aside from the ink, she looked the same.

V felt it in his gut. Some things never change.

V leaned against the wall.

"Hey."

Irina turned and grinned. "Long time no see, V."

They exchanged a brief hug—familiar, but careful.

"What was that about?" V asked, nodding toward the door.

Irina sighed. "Behavioral chip feedback loop. Again. She didn't like hearing that the repairs would cost more than the chrome did. Welcome to my life."

"You always liked a challenge."

"Yeah, well—this city keeps offering them. Sorry I didn't call sooner. Life's been... busy."

V nodded. "After the academy, where did you end up?"

Irina shrugged as she poured two cups of synthetic espresso. "Stayed with Militech for another couple of years. Then some corpo cleaned house—fired everyone to install his own people. Had a few friends in legal, so I avoided the purge. Left not long after anyway—clean slate, no black marks."

"Corpo life sucks."

"Yeah." She pulled back her sleeve, revealing a cascade of sharp, elegant tattoos across her arm. "I got tired of being called 'the corpo girl.' So I... changed the branding."

V raised an eyebrow. "Nice ink. Suits you."

She grinned. V had already summarized his path—enough for Irina to connect the dots without him needing to dig into the wounds again.

"You went from street rat to corporate prodigy... and now you're back leading mercs in the dirt. I guess some of us can't stay clean."

He smirked. "Clean never lasts."

She passed him the espresso. "So—let's talk chrome. I heard you've got the tech to customize by DNA."

V smirked. "Something like that. Let me tell you what I'm thinking..."

Simultaneous ~11:15 AM – Kabuki Café

Bugbear sat at a corner table of a dusty café tucked deep in Kabuki, amber lenses scanning over Pilar and David as steam curled from the chipped mugs between them. Her jacket was half-zipped, revealing layers of modified dermal armor, and her nose ring sparkled under the flickering neon sign outside.

A drunk Nomad snored in a cracked booth nearby. The waitress hadn't refilled their mugs in twenty minutes—too busy arguing with a joytoy at the counter.

Pilar scratched his chin. "You said you got connections with a ripper, right? 'Cause I found one—Charles Bucks."

Bugbear deadpanned. "You're trusting Bucks?"

Pilar smirked. "Very glowing reviews in the database. Took some of my improved skills to dig 'em up."

She shook her head. "You mean Charles Bucks, the ripper with scav ties? You okay wearing chrome yanked fresh off dead civilians?"

"Huh? Really?" Pilar blinked.

David scoffed, still scrolling a flashy chrome ad on the table terminal. "They're called ads, Pilar. Not truth sermons."

Pilar shrugged. "Still looks dope."

Bugbear raised her cup, took a long sip, then winced. "Tastes like recycled coolant." She gave Pilar a once-over. "Why do you even need new chrome? Yours already makes you look like a walking tank."

"True," Pilar admitted, flexing. "And feels amazing. But… this setup's borrowed, technically. I wanna make my own mark. My own chrome."

David muttered, "Last time you tried, you nearly flatlined."

Pilar snapped back, "Says the guy who installed a Sandie in a back alley without anesthesia!"

"Yeah, well... I didn't brag about it."

Bugbear rolled her eyes. "Your setup's decent, Pilar—even if it's medical-grade." She raised an eyebrow. "Not that I believe you."

Pilar pouted. "Hey, I'm just saying—looks solid, right? Even if I don't know what half of it does."

Bugbear snorted. "Then pray it's not a self-destruct button."

David chuckled. "That actually tracks."

Bugbear turned to David. "And you. One Sandie, but it's well-integrated. Not top-tier, but solid."

David smirked. She doesn't know it's custom from V. But part of him wished someone noticed anyway. "It's not that good."

"Right."

Pilar cut in. "So who's your ripper? Wakako's guy?"

Bugbear narrowed her eyes. "Wakako? I don't trust her ripper. Her guy's good, but he reports everything to her—even the stuff he doesn't install."

David glanced up. "Still better than dying on a table."

Bugbear leaned in. "I know someone in Rancho Coronado. Octavio. Runs Octavio's Clinic."

David's brow lifted. "You work with El Capitán?"

"I work with whoever pays. I'm a deep-runner, not a nun."

Pilar grinned. "Thought you were solo 'cause your chrome's that clean."

Bugbear shrugged. "I thought you two had more to offer. You're flashy, sure—but where are your fixers now? Wakako told you off, didn't she?"

Pilar grumbled, "She said I had no brains."

David nudged him. "She's not wrong."

Bugbear sighed. "Alright. Let's test-run. Fifty-fifty."

"That's twenty-five each," Pilar said, counting on his fingers.

"You get nothing unless you bring something to the table," she replied flatly.

They clinked coffee mugs instead of bottles—bitter synthbrew, half-cold from too much talk.

"To new chrome," David said.

"To not dying on the table," Pilar added.

Bugbear raised her mug. "And to not owing your ripper interest rates worse than Arasaka's."

13:00 PM – Lizzie's Room 24

Irina leaned back on the counter, arms crossed, the light catching the faded scars just beneath her tattoos.

"You know," she said, "I still remember that old combat sim class. You made that poor instructor cry."

V smirked. "He shouldn't have said I couldn't beat the sim in under five minutes."

"He said five teams, not five minutes."

"Well. He should've been clearer."

Irina chuckled, then her tone softened. "You still push yourself like that , huh?"

V took a long sip of the synthetic espresso. "More than ever. Only now it's not a sim—it's the real thing. Every damn day."

She nodded, her smile faltering just a bit. "Yeah... I figured. You've always had that look—like you're five seconds ahead of everyone, even yourself."

He glanced around the clinic. "You've changed too. Tattoos, new gear, this place…"

"Not the plan, you know?" Irina said. "I was married once. Thought I'd stay in corporate till we bought out a quiet street in Heywood. But he died... in a traffic hack crash. Just some poor gonk with a grudge and a plug-in script."

V lowered his gaze. "Shit… I didn't know."

"Was a long time ago." She exhaled, setting down her cup. "It's just—this city doesn't give second chances. So I made myself harder to kill."

V met her eyes. "You succeeded."

She smiled again, something tired behind it. "You too."

They stood there in a moment of quiet understanding. Two survivors of a system that ate most people alive.

Then Irina broke the silence. "Alright, I'll send the DNA samples over. Once you reply with what you want, I'll prep the profiles and put everything on your Afterglow tab."

"I'll cover it. It's my op too, remember?"

"One-third owner, yeah." She winked. "You think you're not on the hook for full price?"

They both laughed.

Irina stepped forward and pulled him into a proper hug this time. "Happy to see you alive, V. For real."

"You too."

He turned toward the door as her voice called out once more behind him.

"Don't be a stranger."

V stepped out of Room 24, the door sliding shut behind him with a quiet hiss. The antiseptic scent of chrome and synthfruit gave way to the perfume of warm neon and Lizzie's low thrum.

Just outside, lounging near the hallway bar with a lollipop in her mouth, was Emilia.

"About time," she said, voice playful. She twirled the lollipop between her fingers, then leaned in and planted a kiss on V's lips—cherry-sweet with a faint crackle of gum.

He blinked. "Still chewing gum while kissing people, huh?"

"One of my many charms," she said with a wink.

Judy stood nearby, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You two done swapping spit or should I come back later?"

V raised his hands in mock surrender. "It was one time."

"Two," Emilia corrected, licking the lollipop with a smug grin.

Judy rolled her eyes. "You're incorrigible."

Emilia blew a bubble, then let it pop. "Please. That was premium content."

They shared a short laugh, the tension melting into something familiar and warm.

Judy nudged V's shoulder. "Try not to crash Warlock on the way back."

"Tell her I'm booked with chaos today."

Emilia tilted her head. "You heading back to Afterglow, or chasing another mystery chrome job?"

V checked his agent. "Not sure yet. Might have a detour coming."

"Let me guess—another gig or a call from someone mysterious," Judy said.

"Something like that," V replied, already turning for the side exit.

They parted ways with a nod, and V slipped out the side entrance, Warlock already waiting at the curb.

🕒 13:15 Warlock interior

The door opened smoothly.

"Destination, sir?" the car asked, polite as ever.

"Just drive for now. I'll let you know."

"As you wish."

The engine purred as they pulled away.

V rested his head back and stared out the window, the city bleeding past in electric streaks.

Another day, another chrome-fueled problem to solve.

V slid into the driver's seat of Warlock, the door closing with a soft hiss.

"Welcome back, sir," the AI intoned. "Destination?"

V leaned back. "Call Regina Jones."

"Connecting…"

After a few rings, Regina's face flickered to life on the holo. She looked calm as ever, half-reading a shard.

"You're early," she said without looking up.

V shrugged. "Got a moment?"

Regina looked up and smirked. "For you? Always. What's the occasion—did you actually stop a cyberpsycho without leaving a crater?"

"Not today. Thought it's time we talked. In person."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Color me intrigued. Swing by."

🕒 13:40 PM – Watson, Regina's Office

Warlock glided through the city and dropped V at Regina's office in Watson. It was exactly the kind of place he expected from her—clean lines, vintage tech, and a warm diffuser scent that didn't belong in Watson.

She met him at the door with her usual no-nonsense grace.

"V," she said, offering a nod. "Still chromed up and charming."

"Had to keep up appearances."

He followed her inside.

They sat across from each other—her behind her old desk, him lounging like he owned the place.

"Got a crew now," V said. "Running Afterglow and all that. Sasha handles the planning. She's my secretary."

Regina arched an eyebrow. "Sasha? That little thing with the sweet voice and kill count in the double digits?"

V chuckled. "Yeah, that one."

"I thought Sasha was dead."

"She was in a coma. Now she's alive and kicking—with a smirk."

Regina snorted. "I like her already."

V grinned. "She arranges everything. But this time I wanted to talk direct."

Regina leaned forward. "So talk."

"This gig—it's gotta be clean. No corps burning civvies. No wet work on street punks. You want me in, it's got to feel right."

Regina gave a slow nod. "Morality. How retro of you."

"I know. I'm getting soft."

Regina tapped her shard. "Most of my main jobs now? We bring cyberpsychos in alive. Research, therapy, trials. I've got a team working on solutions that don't involve bullets."

"Solutions…" V rubbed his chin. "I'm a ripper myself. Maybe there's something we can share. Your data, my tech."

Regina tilted her head. "You'd help distribute it?"

V nodded. "I can help with the technology and make it faster for sure. But distribution—your idea, your strength. Kudos to you for pushing minimal cost, you are my kind of girl. " Said with a smirk.

Regina grinned, eyes glinting. "You're too young for me, boy."

She barked a laugh. "Get out of here."

He stood.

"Forward the gig to Sasha. She'll handle the mess."

Regina nodded. "Already did. One condition: I want results. Not promises."

"You'll have them."

They shook hands. Still professional, but warmer now.

"Don't make me regret trusting you," Regina said.

"I never do."

Warlock was already purring at the curb as he walked out. Regina watched him go, then tapped her shard again.

"Let's see what you're really made of, V."

14:30 PM – Streets of Westbrook

V lounged in Warlock's passenger seat, one arm draped casually across the backrest. The city outside blurred into streaks of chrome and pastel as the AI car glided through traffic.

"Message incoming," Warlock announced.

A holocall blinked to life on V's HUD, projected just above his field of vision. Rebecca's face filled the display—grinning wide, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

"Hey, chrome boy. Done saving the world, or can I borrow you for ten minutes?"

V smirked. "You miss me that bad?"

Rebecca stuck out her tongue. "I'm at my place. Told you I wanted ten minutes of your undivided attention before we go back to the others."

V raised an eyebrow. "Didn't I invite you to the loft?"

"You did. And I'm still saying you come pick me up. Consider it a rescue mission—with perks."

Warlock interjected politely, "Miss Rebecca's location has been marked. Shall I reroute, sir?"

V sighed with mock defeat. "Yeah. Let's go."

14:42 PM – Rebecca's Apartment

The elevator dinged and V stepped out into the familiar hallway. The door to Rebecca's apartment cracked open before he even knocked.

She stood there—wearing a bunny suit.

Fluffy ears. Fishnet tights. Tiny tail.

V froze mid-step. "...You serious?"

His eyes flicked to the twitchy little tail. "That tail—how the hell did you make it stand like that?"

Rebecca grinned wickedly. "Mmm… it's a secret." She winked at him.

V blinked, face going faintly red. "You're dangerous."

Rebecca leaned on the doorframe with a grin. "What? Thought I'd try being seductive."

"You look like a glitchy arcade mascot."

She struck a pose. "Premium content, thank you very much."

V stepped inside, unable to stop a chuckle. "You're chaos, you know that?"

"Damn right." She leaned up and gave him a kiss—quick, sweet, with the lingering taste of strawberry ice cream.

He raised an eyebrow. "That was strawberry."

"One of my many cravings."

They settled on the couch. Rebecca perched cross-legged, still in full bunny regalia, while V sprawled beside her.

"You sure you don't wanna just stay here forever?" she asked, twirling a plastic carrot.

V raised a brow. "Trying to tempt me before I even sit down properly?"

Rebecca grinned. "I'm efficient like that."

He laughed. "You bring that outfit back to the loft, and the girls'll riot."

"Oh? Scared Lucy'll cry? Kiwi'll glare you to death?"

"Emilia might bite someone."

Rebecca snorted. "She already tasted you once."

"It was one time."

"A girl's gotta keep score."

V raised an eyebrow. "You keeping a list?"

She smirked. "Hobby of mine."

He raised a finger. "Lucy's just a friend, by the way. Don't go starting drama with that."

Rebecca winked. "Didn't say anything. Kiwi, though—that glare? Deadly. And Emilia? She's a one-night legend."

"But she's not even at the loft," V said.

"But she's in your heart," Rebecca added jokingly.

She leaned back on her palms, then gave him a sly look. "So how long's Sasha gonna stay your 'secretary friend' before she upgrades her title?"

V snorted. "She handles logistics. You know that."

Rebecca teased, "Sure, sure. Just saying—those long stares say more than you do."

The mood softened a bit, warmth slipping in beneath the banter.

Rebecca crawled over, grinning wickedly. "Let me show you some tricks, daddy."

Fade to black.

16:45 PM – Rebecca's Apartment, Exit

Steam curled out of the bathroom as V stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, drying his chrome arm.

Rebecca sat on the edge of the bed, tousled and smug, still wearing her bunny ears but now wrapped in one of V's shirts. "Not bad for a guy running on upgrades."

V smirked. "Not bad for a chaos gremlin in fishnets."

She threw a pillow at him. "You love it."

"I tolerate it... enthusiastically."

After two hours of lounging, bickering, laughing—and one very private intermission V would later describe as "working overtime to boost crew morale"—they finally stood up.

Rebecca sighed, stretching her arms overhead. "Guess it's time."

They walked to the door together.

"Last chance to change your mind," she teased.

Warlock, ever polite, added: "The testosterone level of Mr. V is low, Miss Rebecca. I would suggest not to 'drain him' any more, as you've mentioned several times in the past."

Rebecca burst out laughing. "Warlock, you beautiful bastard."

They stepped out together, the door sliding shut behind them, the afternoon stretching ahead like an open run.

16:52 PM – En Route, Westbrook Streets

As Warlock rolled smoothly toward V's loft in the City Center district, Corporate Center sub-district, a ping flashed across his HUD.

[Message from Fukui - Priority]

V opened it with a blink. A gig file unfurled—silent job, high security, location: Dogtown.

A second note was attached, forwarded from Sasha:

"She told me to pass it to you. Silent pull, big payout. Looks like your kind of mess."

V exhaled sharply, leaning back.

Rebecca noticed the shift in his posture. "What's up?"

"Fukui sent something. Sasha passed it on. Looks like a gig."

Rebecca crossed her arms with mock offense. "So what—you drop me off at the loft after using me like a broken toy, and go solo on a mystery gig?"

He gave her a look. "I'll be back. Promise."

"Oh sure. Just leave me alone with the girls and Jackie. What could possibly go wrong?"

V laughed. "I'm sure Kiwi'll keep things civil."

"Civil? That woman could kill a mood with one glare."

Warlock interjected, "Miss Rebecca will be delivered safely. ETA to Mr. V's residence: six minutes."

16:58 PM – V's Loft, Drop-off

They pulled up curbside. V turned to Rebecca.

"I'll check this out. Shouldn't take long."

She leaned over, kissed his cheek. "Just don't die, chrome boy."

He winked. "Never do."

She hopped out. The door slid shut.

"Drive close to Dogtown," V told Warlock, eyes scanning the gig file deeper.

"Understood."

Warlock purred into motion, cutting a path toward the badlands of the city once more.