Cyberpunk: Angel of Chrome

21:00 PM – Dogtown, Club Mirage

Club Mirage pulsed like a heartbeat behind blackout glass—equal parts synthwave temple and ex-military dive. Inside, chrome-streaked spotlights danced through smoke, haze, and the occasional muzzle flash echoing in the distance. No one flinched.

V didn't bother with the main entrance. Warlock parked two blocks away, silent and watching. He entered through a side alley, gliding past a slumped dealer and a netrunner bleeding out in VR. The bouncer nodded without question. V's rep reached before he did.

Inside, he spotted him. Solomon Reed.

Sitting alone. Back to the wall. Drink untouched. Posture like a coiled gun.

V's Kiroshi lens blinked to life. This wasn't standard software. This was god-tier ware—designed to pull data from anything with an IP address, active or archived.

Scan Result:

Subject: Solomon Reed

Status: Civilian – Freelance Security

Former Affiliation: NUSA Intelligence Division

Separation Reason: Suspected Arasaka Defection (Unconfirmed)

Clearance Level: Revoked

Digital Trail: Sanitized

Record Presence: None found in global archives, blacknet, or ghostchain

Flag: Watchlocked – Authority Level: EAGLE_1

V squinted. "No online footprint at all? Even my Kiroshi can't find him. That's not an error. That's intentional silence."

He smirked. "Guess even godlike gear can be misled. Interesting."

One conclusion rose above the rest: Only two people knew the real story—President Mayer and Reed himself.

V smirked again, impressed by the deliberate void.

"Reed," he said, voice steady. "Name's V. Fukui recommended you. I'm building out a real crew—Chrome Angels. You might've heard of us."

Reed looked up slowly, measuring him.

"Yeah," he said. "Strong new outfit. Morals still intact. That's rare in Night City. Even rarer in Dogtown."

V smiled. "We're not saints. But we don't shoot kids or civilians. That makes us damn near legends in this neighborhood."

Reed didn't smile—but something in his posture relaxed. Not much. Just enough.

Useful, he thought. Dangerous. Controlled. And better to have close than across a line one day.

"You want to talk? Let's talk," Reed said. "But I don't do blind contracts."

V nodded. "Good. I don't do lies."

He glanced around the room—too many eyes, too many ears.

"Let's find a room without ears," he said, voice even.

Reed studied him for a beat, then gave a short nod and rose. "Sure."

They moved to a VIP chamber upstairs—soundproofed, low-lit, built for whispers and deals. The room smelled faintly of ozone and filtered smoke. A whisper of deep bass leaked through the walls—heartbeat of Dogtown never stopped. But here? Everything felt still. V locked the door himself.

Only then did he speak.

He held Reed's gaze for a beat longer than usual. Then:

"I know what you are. A sleeper agent. Deep one. And honestly? I don't care."

Reed's eyes flicked, just once. Surprise well-hidden, but not fast enough.

"Your file said you defected. Everything I dug up says you vanished. But I know what that really means. There's no online record because it doesn't exist—except in two places: the President's head and yours."

V stepped closer.

"I'm not here to expose it. I'm here because I want people who matter. People who were trusted to protect something big—even if the world forgot."

Then he leaned in, tone shifting—not colder, but deeper. Measured. Real. Reed's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a flicker of guarded interest betraying the soldier's shell.

"This isn't just about morals, Reed. Not just about not killing civvies or blowing up orphanages. I want to change the city. Not just survive it—change it. Make Night City something that doesn't chew up everyone who steps in wrong. A place worth fighting for."

Reed's brow creased slightly. Not disbelief. Something closer to... interest.

"You took an oath once—for President Mayer. Because you believed in something. In her, maybe. I'm asking you to believe in something again. Not blindly. Watch me. Judge me. Be my moral compass if you have to. I don't want blind followers. I want people who believe it's possible to do something that actually matters."

He paused. "And if you're going to aim that weapon of yours at anything—I want you to believe it's the right direction."

The room seemed quieter. Not from silence. From focus.

Then Reed did something V hadn't expected—he laughed. Not mockingly. Truthfully. Something in the weight of it said: this was the man behind the curtain, not the soldier in front of it.

"You know," Reed said between chuckles, "I like you, V. Honestly. You butcher Hansen's men, leave him with no limbs, stroll out like it's nothing—and then walk in here talking about morals. Talking about fixing Night City not from the outside, but from the inside."

He leaned back, arms crossed. The laughter faded, but the spark in his eye didn't.

"It's crazy. It's probably doomed. But for the first time in a long time, it doesn't sound hollow. So yeah. I'll join."

He held up a finger. "But I'll be straight with you. If something comes from Mayer's desk—you'll hear it from me first. I may even ask you to help."

V nodded. "You know my rules. If it's morally right—we finish it together."

Reed exhaled slowly. Some part of him relaxed for real this time. Not posture. Not calculation. Something human.

V said, "You need time to think it over?"

Reed shook his head. "No. I'm ready."

V grinned. "Good. Let's go."

Reed chuckled again, standing with him. "This crew of yours—Chrome Angels. Let's see if they've got room for one more ghost."

 V nodded, filing the info away. "Back to Night City it is."

Reed chuckled. "Lead the way."

V smirked, settling into Warlock's seat. "Strap in, ghost. Let's go teach Night City some manners."

Warlock hummed beneath them, gliding through Dogtown's shattered streets. Neon streaked across the armored windows while distant gunfire and garbled radio chatter echoed like the city's pulse.

V rested back as they cleared a checkpoint. "So... what kept you in this hellhole all these years?"

Reed stared out the window for a long beat before answering. "Two reasons. One—they marked me dead. Officially. No point leaving when there's nowhere to go."

He glanced over. "And two... one of my agents disappeared here. Mission went sideways. Never came back. I believe she's dead—but something never sat right."

"Songbird?" V asked quietly.

Reed turned his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "You know that too?"

V shrugged. "Fukui-san added a note to your file. Said if you played hardball, I was cleared to tell you Songbird was alive. I didn't want to use that card—but now that you're one of us, figured you should know."

Reed didn't answer immediately. His jaw tensed. Then he spoke, low and heavy.

"You know what the worst part is, V?"

He didn't wait for a reply.

"It ain't the silence. Not the nights spent sleepin' on cold concrete, or eating canned shit in rat-infested basements. Not even the fact that they burned me. That part? I expected. Comes with the job.

No... it's that they didn't even have the courtesy to tell me she was alive.

They knew. Myers, the whole damn agency—they knew So Mi made it out. That she was still breathin'. And they left me down here... chasin' shadows. Lookin' for a ghost.

Six years. Six years I stayed buried in this hellhole, waitin' on a sign. Held onto hope like it was all I had left—because it was all I had left. Every dead-end lead, every whisper in the dark... I followed. Thought maybe, just maybe, she'd reach out. That she'd remember I was still out here.

But she never came. And they never said a word.

Left me to rot in Dogtown. No mission. No backup. No orders. Just... silence.

Like I was some broken tool tossed in a drawer. Not even worth a goddamn phone call."

He finally turned to V, voice low but sharp.

"That's what loyalty buys you, V. That's the sum total of a lifetime in service. A bullet, or a lie. If you're lucky—both."

V held his gaze. "Well, you're not alone now. Whatever comes—NUSA, Arasaka, hell itself—Chrome Angels got your back."

22:30 PM – Chrome Angels Garage, Charter Hill, Westbrook

Warlock slowed as they neared the edge of Charter Hill, rolling silently toward a reinforced gate. As warlock came closer the gate split open with hydraulic hiss. The garage loft began to rise from the sunken elevator bay—walls plated in smart-metal and kinetic shielding.

"Welcome back, boss," Warlock said calmly. "Engineering systems nominal. Clinic temperature stabilized. All guests logged."

"Thanks, partner," V replied, stepping out. "Come on, Reed. You gotta see this."

They passed through a narrow corridor as the ground sealed shut behind them. Industrial lights blinked on—overhead gantries, suspended tools, hums of charging stations. V pulled a chrome-black lockbox from Warlock's rear hatch and carried it toward a side door marked ENGINEERING.

He left it inside without a word. Reed followed, eyes scanning.

"This your workbench?" he asked.

V nodded. "Ours now. That's the flatbot—sliced Arasaka-grade. Over there's the railgun project. EMP shields are custom. And yeah... the armory speaks for itself."

Reed whistled under his breath. "You weren't kidding."

Then he spotted the med-bay through a glass wall. A chrome-lined ripperdoc station with neural sync chairs and trauma rigs.

"That's not just a clinic," he muttered, eyeing the setup. "That's a damn surgical strike center."

V chuckled. "Vic keeps it razor-sharp. Old-school, through and through — you'll like him."

They climbed the stairs to the loft proper. As the sliding door opened, the crew inside froze mid-conversation.

All eyes turned to V—and to the stranger at his side.

22:40 PM – V's Loft, Night City

As Reed turned to face the rest of the group, a thought flickered in his mind—brief but heavy. Maybe, just maybe, this was his shot at something more than survival. Not redemption. Not orders. Just... purpose.

V turned back to the group. "Everyone—this is Solomon Reed. Ex-NUSA. He'll be working with us—tactical support, infiltration planning, op design."

Rebecca was the first to move. She barreled across the lounge and wrapped V in a quick hug before turning to Reed.

"This is Rebecca. Solo. Specializes in loud entries and louder exits," V said.

Rebecca grinned. "Welcome to the noise."

V pointed to the corner. "That one brooding over a drink? Lucy. Netrunner. Quiet, but deadly."

Lucy gave a small bow, eyes studying Reed.

"And that's Jackie—solo, tank, wrecking ball of the team. His girl Misty—our support, and part-time bruja."

"Witch is a strong word," Misty said with a warm smile. "Welcome, Mr. Reed."

"Over there—Kiwi and Sasha. Twin nightmares for any corp firewall. Kiwi handles stealth. Sasha? Our secretary—and stealth backup. Runs logistics too."

Sasha gave Reed a nod. "Nice to have someone else who speaks tact ops. I could use the help."

"Happy to," Reed said.

"Falco's out," V added. "Probably driving something illegally fast in the Badlands. Normally we use Delamain, but out there... only I can override the blocks."

Kiwi chuckled. "Used him earlier. Let him stretch his wheels."

"Good," V said. "He gets twitchy without traction."

V turned to the last face in the room. "And this here is Panam. Nomad, ex-Aldecaldo, our sniper, and our second-most recent recruit. Also our mechanic—if you're okay with things being held together by rage and duct tape."

Panam raised her drink with a smirk.

"Finally," she said, stepping forward. "Not the newbie anymore. And don't listen to V—calls me the mechanic, but he once tried to reboot a busted hydraulic leg like it was a laptop—real IT wizard, this one."

She clinked her glass against Reed's. "To ghosts finding their way home."

Reed nodded. "To second chances."

Kiwi extended a hand. "Nice to meet you. Hope you brought your own comms encryption. Ours gets... spicy."

Reed shook it without hesitation.

Misty added with a tilt of her head, "Just don't ask me to explain the tarot readings. We let the cards speak for themselves."

Reed gave a soft smile. "Fair enough."

V grinned. "You're fitting in already."

The group laughed lightly, tension dissolving. For the first time in a long time, the Chrome Angels felt whole—or maybe just one step closer to it.

00:00 – V's Loft, Night City

As the hour struck midnight, the energy in V's loft shifted. One by one, the crew filtered out—Lucy vanished like smoke, Jackie and Misty took the elevator, Rebecca offered V a wink before heading off into the dark. Even Kiwi had slipped away without a word.

Only three remained: Sasha, quiet and alert near the corner terminal; Panam, lounging with crossed arms, had nowhere else to go—her Aldecaldo clan camped out beyond the city limits, and she wasn't about to crash on anyone else's couch; and Reed.

Reed? He simply stayed. There was a lot of work to be done.

V gave him a glance, then nodded toward the clinic door off the loft. "Let's check your chrome."

Reed followed without hesitation. Cool, sterile air met them as the clinic's frosted door slid open. V watched him settle into the reinforced chair with a kind of deliberate calm—spine straight, jaw set, posture ready for anything.

"You seem awfully trusting for a spy," V muttered, smirking.

Reed exhaled a slow breath. "Not my fault you're an open book, V."

That hit harder than expected. V's eye twitched. A flicker of memory stirred—old life, old habits. He'd always been like that. Especially to those who knew how to read him.

V shook it off and smirked. "Guess your spy training worked in your favor."

"Or," Reed said, "you're just that bad at lying."

He gave V a long look. "You know, V… you'd make a terrible spy."

V chuckled, but something about the jab stuck. Maybe he was an open book—but it hadn't killed him yet.

V raised an eyebrow. "That so?"

"Yeah. You'd walk into a high-clearance bunker and everyone would just play along—too afraid to call you out."

V turned toward the console, fingers moving with practiced precision as he activated his surgical interface. The soft glow of diagnostics painted his face. The scan ran deep—deeper than most systems dared. His brows rose.

"Damn. This is top-shelf stuff. Better than Emilia's by a long shot. You're running full military-grade gear. But it's undervolted. Seems like you've done some maintenance tweaks—stable, long-term loadouts. Not bad."

Reed gave a short nod. "Keeps it steady. No spikes. Less wear."

"Smart. Compatibility's solid, too. Honestly? You're just a notch behind what my crew's running—and I built their setups from scratch. That should tell you something."

Reed raised an eyebrow. "Your crew?"

V grinned. "Yeah. Chrome Angels isn't just a flashy name. We're running custom-linked ICE, hybrid combat rigs, and high-end optics—every build tuned for the person behind it. Lucy? Her neural response is fast as a ghost, though her hardware's still mid-range—mostly running custom firmware until I swap it out. Sasha and Kiwi, though? Even a Saka ninja would think twice. If they manage to keep up, it's luck. Panam's sniper skills? Unreal. She could probably tag a target in the Badlands from here, no scope required. Jackie's our tank—think a Basilisk can soak damage? Jackie makes it look soft. Pair him with Rebecca's firepower and you've got a walking warzone. I had another solo once—killer Sandy, real sharp. But he bailed. Fame called, I guess."

Reed gave a look. "You listed your crew's specs like a pro. What about yours?"

"Oh, that…" V said with a smirk. "Let's just say… my gear is special. And leave it at that."

Reed huffed. "Keep your secrets."

V paused, analyzing further.

"Firmware's got a few quirks. Minor stuff. Easy to patch. But your optics—they're limited by outdated hardware. Opti-camo's installed but disabled?"

"Yeah. Got left to rot in Night City. Tried re-enabling it. No dice."

"Right. Also found a GPS tracker—pings monthly. Just a heartbeat signal to say you're still breathing."

Reed raised an eyebrow. "Paid a ripper in Dogtown to kill it."

V nodded. "He only made it invisible—to you. Not actually off."

Reed sighed. "Figures."

"Well," V said, cracking his knuckles, "you already know you're undervolted. Running at reduced speeds, probably to avoid burnout. You do that on purpose?"

"I did."

"Good. That saves me time. So… what do you want added?"

Reed shrugged. "My Sandy's old. 30% dilation."

V scratched his chin. "I've got a hybrid Sandy-Berserk. Same model I installed for Jackie—customized over time. I can dial it to favor Sandy—get you to 60% dilation, Berserk stays functional at 30%. Want it?"

"You have that tech here?"

V grinned. "We're called Chrome Angels for a reason."

V glanced down at Reed's legs, then back up with a smirk. "Lynx paws, huh? Silent's nice, but you're running half a rig."He circled slowly, arms folded. "The custom loadout I built for my crew? Reinforced Tendons for burst movement, Lynx chrome for silent ops, Fortified Ankles for hard landings, and Jenkins' Tendons to absorb recoil and stabilize — all synced up."He gave a sharp nod. "We call it Phantom Stride. Quiet, fast, grounded — like ghosts with purpose. And when you need it? Ain't a rooftop or skybridge you can't reach."

V tapped his boot. "Standard issue for the Chrome Angels. Every op, every mission."

Reed gave a low whistle. "You serious?"

V tapped his boot. "Standard issue for the Chrome Angels. Every op, every mission."

Reed gave a low whistle. "You serious?"

V's grin widened. "Every step."

Without missing a beat, he turned to the bench, pulled a small vial from a cooled compartment, and slid it into the DNA regulator. A soft hiss followed as the system accepted Reed's sample.

"Let's get you leveled up."

One by one, V prepped the gear — the hybrid Sandevistan/Berserk unit humming with restrained power, a fresh pair of Kiroshi V7 optics syncing with the database, and the reinforced cyberlegs—Phantom Stride standard, gleaming under the workbench light.

Last came the custom ICE module — adaptive, encrypted, tailored to each Chrome Angel's neural signature. Brutal against intrusions, built to bite back harder.

"This isn't just chrome," V muttered as he calibrated the links. "It's identity."

The DNA regulator processed Reed's sample as the system calibrated to the new components. V monitored the readings, then tapped a mild sedative into the chair's injector.

"Sleep time."

Reed's eyes fluttered shut. V got to work.

He removed the damaged optics, the aging Sandevistan, and the underperforming limbs. Cleaned each interface, re-coded firmware, layered compatibility bridges, and aligned the opti-camo to sync with all subdermal systems. Then came the upgrades—the new gear installed with surgical precision.

By 4:00 AM, V was making final adjustments. He synced the opti-camo to the hybrid Sandy, boosting stealth from 22 to 30 seconds. Cooldown dropped from 12 seconds to 4.

When all systems pinged green, he brought Reed back online.

The man blinked. Flexed a leg. Focused.

He didn't just feel better. He felt… reborn.

"If I had to rate it," Reed said, voice rasping, "I went from 100 to 220. And that's not even counting the new toys."

"You were already packing serious chrome," V said, wiping his hands. "All I did was patch, replace, and align," V said, sealing the last connection with a magnetic snap. "Just dropped the latest expansion on your chrome.". Your Sandevistan's got emergency overclock settings now—use 'em wisely. Cloak's stronger. Much smaller recovery time now. And your compatibility? Off the charts. Didn't have to mess with your organ systems at all. But push it too hard, and you'll feel it. Even chrome has its limits. You're built for this."

Reed nodded slowly, still taking it in.

"You're an artist."

"I do what I can."

05:00 AM – V's Loft, Night City

V headed back to the loft. The lights were dimmed now, casting a warm glow across the floor.

Panam was asleep—on the floor again. That girl could sleep anywhere.

Sasha was slumped over the terminal, passed out against the flickering screen. V sighed, gently scooped her up, and laid her on one of the spare beds.

He pulled out another for Reed, who just gave him a tired nod of thanks and settled in.

V rubbed his eyes, stifled a yawn. "Kinda miss Kiwi," he muttered.

He checked his balance. "Let's see… sixteen million, two hundred thirty-five thousand… huh."

Then he remembered—those extra buildings and companies he'd picked up recently. He forwarded the details to Rebecca. "Milk 'em for all they're worth—or sell 'em. Your call."

V smirked. Having that much eddie in the account felt good. He was just about to turn in when a ping lit up his screen.

Corporate Alert:

Asset ID CH-071 listed for liquidation via Clearhold Auction.

Auction Details:Starting Bid: ₵ 8,000,000Buyout Price: ₵ 20,000,000Timer: 30 days

V blinked. That apartment building—the one he was renting his current loft in. The same building he'd spent a small fortune customizing.

Auto-message pinged next:

Priority Notice: 30-minute buy window for current tenants before auction begins.

"Shit…"

He scrolled down to the expanded listing:

Estimated Market Value

The building had three types of units.

First, six Standard Apartments, each valued at ₵ 1,000,000, for a total of ₵ 6,000,000.

Next, five Full-Floor Luxury Lofts, going for ₵ 1,650,000 apiece, bringing their total to ₵ 8,250,000.

And finally, the crown jewel — a single Rooftop Villa, estimated at ₵ 3,000,000.

Total value of the entire building: ₵ 17,250,000.

V groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Frack... no sleep for the chrome-damned wicked."

He sat up, bare feet hitting the cold floor. "Alright, Night City... time to work."