Cyberpunk: STRAY

Dogtown, Kress Street

Dogtown was in flames—figuratively and literally. Hansen was dead. But it wasn't V who pulled the trigger.

Mr. Hands' voice came through the comms, static-ridden but unmistakably smug.

"Well, well. Looks like someone did us a favor, V. Hansen's down—courtesy of some outside players. Real professionals, left no prints."

V narrowed her eyes as she crouched behind a rusted-out barricade, adjusting her grip on her pistol. She'd expected a brawl, an all-out war to take down the warlord of Dogtown, but someone had beaten her to the punch. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned.

"Who?" she went and asked, wiping blood from her cheek.

"Good question. Can't say for sure, but let's just say our new Colonel Jago seems mighty pleased with himself. He's moving in quick, consolidating power."

That was enough to set off alarms in V's head. Jago—Hansen's former treasurer—wasn't the type to get his hands dirty. If he was making a move now, it meant this was planned. He hadn't just won Dogtown—he'd taken it.

But V had no time to worry about that.

Songbird was still out there. The netrunner, the one whose mind was breaking apart, had escaped in the chaos. She had to get to her before Reed did.

"Reed.."

V scowled. The old dog of the FIA was still playing the government stooge, but she had already made her choice—she wasn't going to hand Songbird over. The woman had been a pawn for too long. The way V saw it, she had one shot to get her out of here before the entire world came crashing down on them.

Shoving down her thoughts, V adjusted her jacket, checked her ammo, and moved. Hansen was history, Jago was tightening his grip, but her mission was still the same.

She had a promise to keep.

And if that meant betraying Reed? So be it.

Dogtown had always been a mess, but now? It was a warzone waiting to happen.

V moved through the backstreets, her boots kicking up dust and broken glass as she tried to process what the hell just went down. Hansen was dead, and not by her hand. She didn't like that.

Not because she gave a damn about making the kill herself—no, Hansen could rot in whatever hell Dogtown sent its dead—but because it meant there were players in this game she wasn't accounting for.

And that never sat right with her.

The comms buzzed in her ear. Mr. Hands, ever the reliable fixer, was back.

"V, you still breathing?"

She snorted. "For now."

"Good. Because things are about to move fast. Jago's locking this place down like a corpo VP after an assassination attempt. Power's shifting. Hansen's dogs either fall in line, or they get put down."

V ducked under a broken catwalk, her mind racing. "And Jago? What's his play?"

"Business as usual, but bigger. Dogtown ain't changing, it's just under new management. Some people are happy about that. Some… not so much."

That figured. Power vacuums never stayed empty long in this city. But something wasn't adding up.

"Who took out Hansen?" she asked.

There was a pause.

"That's the million-eddie question, V. Some say it was a hired crew, others think Hansen got too paranoid and offed himself. But between you and me? Feels orchestrated. Like a move on a chessboard no one saw coming."

V clenched her jaw. Someone was playing the long game. And if Jago was smiling, it meant he either was the player… or someone's pawn.

Either way, she had bigger problems.

Songbird.

V cut across an alleyway, moving toward her next rendezvous point. She didn't have much time—Reed was still out there, and she knew the bastard wasn't giving up. He was tenacious. Almost admirable if he weren't so damn stubborn.

She had already made her choice. She wasn't handing Songbird over.

Not to the FIA.

Not to the corpos.

Not to anyone who'd just use her as another tool, another weapon.

And if that meant burning bridges? She'd burn every last one.

Dogtown could keep its wars. V had her own battle to fight.

And she wasn't losing.

V leaned against a rusted-out car, watching the city lights flicker through the thick smog. She needed a second to breathe, to think. Hansen was dead. Jago was in charge now. The game had changed.

And somewhere in the chaos, there was a missing piece.

"You ever get tired of this shit?"

Johnny Silverhand flickered into view beside her, arms crossed, that usual scowl painted on his face.

V sighed. "Yeah, but what choice do I got?"

"Plenty. Just not the ones you like."

She rolled her eyes and checked her messages—nothing from Songbird yet, but the lines were getting tighter. She had to move fast.

"Something's bugging you."

V exhaled sharply. "Hansen didn't just drop dead, Johnny."

"No shit. And if it wasn't you, wasn't Reed, and wasn't the NUSA, then who?"

That was the question, wasn't it? She replayed the last few days in her head.

Jago's sudden rise. Hansen's execution. The way it was done—clean, precise, surgical.

Not some random Dogtown power struggle. This was planned.

Johnny's digital form shifted, standing in front of her now, watching her with that knowing smirk.

"You already got someone in mind. Ain't ya V?"

V clicked her tongue. "Not sure yet."

But she had an idea.

A name that didn't fit the usual suspects.

Saw Vincent...

He had barely been a blip when they met—a street kid, smooth talker, no implants, no rep. But something about him always felt off. The way he carried himself, the way he moved through Dogtown's chaos like he knew exactly where to step. Like he wasn't just another hustler trying to scrape by. She didn't care much about someone like him, thought her past encounters with him was just she buried deep in just gore, blood and violence but he was somehow memorable.

And now, she had to ask herself—how deep did that rabbit hole go?

"You remember that small asian kid? The one who's with that red head?"

Johnny grinned.

"Hah. Wild card's still in play."

V pushed herself off the car and started walking.

Maybe she was overthinking it.

Or maybe she just figured out who she needed to keep an eye on...

Little China, Watson, Night City

Vincent had been expecting the news, but it still felt like a shift in the tectonic plates of Night City when it came.

Hansen was dead.

Dogtown was on fire with rumors, and Jago? The bastard had won. Whatever play he had been setting up behind the scenes had finally come to fruition. Vincent's sources had confirmed it—hushed chatter on encrypted networks, whispers in the alleyways of Pacifica.

Jago was no longer just an accountant. He was the Colonel now.

And that meant things were about to get very interesting.

Vincent sat in the dim glow of a cracked neon sign outside a rundown café, watching the feeds scroll through his smart glasses. Data. Transactions. Movement patterns. He was hunting now, setting the bait.

Arasaka hadn't forgotten about him.

Months ago, he had slipped through their fingers, but he knew they weren't done with him. The corpos never let go of loose ends, and Vincent was a particularly annoying one. But he had something they wanted—something that could draw them in.

Jago was consolidating power, and that meant he was making deals. Vincent had a way to put him right in the crosshairs of something bigger.

He pulled out his burner phone and typed a message.

"Dogtown has a new king. Maybe you'd like to have a chat?"

He sent it to an anonymous drop point—one he knew would reach the right people.

Ito Sakamoto.

Arasaka's counter- intelligence operator. The same man who had once been on his tail. The same man who had nearly got him last time.

Vincent smirked, leaning back.

Jago thought he had won.

But the game was still being played.

Vincent had his own moves to make... as usual he took a stroll through the city. Vincent sat in the dimly lit corner of a rundown café in the old Corpo Plaza district, stirring a cup of overpriced synthetic coffee.

The place had seen better days—hell, the whole city had—but it still carried an air of former luxury. Glass windows were cracked, the neon signs outside flickered, and the chrome-plated furniture was scuffed from years of neglect.

It was quiet. That's why he picked it.

He checked his messages again. Nothing from Aurore.

Not surprising.

Ever since the mess in Dogtown escalated—since Jago got what he wanted, since Hansen's corpse hit the ground—Aurore had started pulling back. Not cutting ties completely, not yet, but she wasn't answering as fast, wasn't as eager to meet.

She was worried.

And she had every reason to be.

Vincent was making moves that weren't safe, weren't clean.

They were big.

And big meant dangerous.

He wasn't just some errand boy anymore. He wasn't scraping by. He had his hands on something that mattered.

Jago's sudden takeover of Dogtown had created a vacuum—power shifting, people scrambling. Arasaka was sniffing around, looking for a way to leverage the chaos. NUSA had its own agenda, but Reed was too busy dealing with V and Songbird to notice the smaller pieces moving in the background.

Vincent knew he had a window.

A narrow one.

And he was going to use it.

Jago thought he had everything under control. Thought he was untouchable now that Hansen was dead. But Vincent had been watching, listening, reading between the lines.

Jago wasn't as secure as he thought.

He was new to this game. Still settling in, still making enemies. Still answering to people above him.

Vincent could use that.

The Arasaka execs who had been after him? He wasn't running anymore. He was baiting them. Letting whispers spread that he had intel, that he had something worth their time. That he was willing to make a deal.

He needed them to come to him.

It was a gamble. One wrong move, and he was a dead man.

But if he played it right?

He'd have a seat at the table.

He leaned back, rubbing his temples.

Aurore would hate this.

Hell, she already did.

She saw where this was going. The deeper he went, the harder it would be to get out. And she wasn't planning on getting dragged down with him.

Vincent took a slow sip of his coffee, savoring the bitterness.

He understood.

She was smart. Smarter than most.

And that's why she was putting distance between them.

But she wasn't gone. Not yet.

Not completely.

For now, that was enough...

A black SUV pulled up by the café, footsteps approach the door...

Vincent expected them to show up eventually. He just didn't expect them to be this bold.

Ito Sakamoto sat across from him, legs crossed, face impassive. Same crisp Arasaka suit, same calculated presence. His cybernetic eyes, cold and unreadable, scanned Vincent with quiet intensity. He hadn't changed.

Still relentless. Still patient.

The café had emptied out. Quiet threats tended to do that.

Two men stood by the entrance—Arasaka muscle, pretending to be casual. Vincent knew better.

"Well you got me... guilty as charged..?" Vincent stirred his coffee, unfazed.

Ito's expression didn't shift. "Persistence is a virtue boy... We came here not to harm you, but to offer you an opportunity, perhaps. "

Vincent smirked. "Depends on the context."

A brief silence.

Ito placed a small data pad on the table. A simple gesture, but heavy with meaning.

"You know why I'm here."

Vincent glanced at it. He didn't need to open it to know what it contained. Arasaka's offer.

The Shard.

They still wanted it.

Or rather, what they thought was on it.

Vincent had been playing them since the beginning, leading them along just enough to keep them interested. The Shard was valuable, yes, but its real worth wasn't in its data—it was in the leverage it gave him.

"Jago's moved up in the world," Vincent said, changing the subject. "And with Hansen gone, I'd say you suits are looking for a way back into Dogtown."

Ito didn't flinch. "Arasaka always finds a way."

"Yeah? Doesn't look like it."

A flicker of something—annoyance? Amusement? It was always hard to tell with Ito.

"You have something we want," Ito said evenly. "And we have something you need."

Vincent leaned back, feigning interest. "And what's that?"

Ito exhaled slowly, folding his hands. "Security. Power. A future."

Vincent laughed.

"Now that's funny. 'Cause last time I checked, people who work for Arasaka don't tend to have much of a future. Matter fact, your people tried to kill me, I'm but a kid, isn't that like unethical? and before you tells me that I'm taking my moral high- "

Ito cuts him off- " Listen here..."

Ito took another sip of his coffee, then leaned forward, lowering his voice.

" Yes.. We want the Shard, fine but if you give us what we want, no vague promises, no corpo double-talk. We will give you what you need Vincent.. "

Vincent looked at him still swirling the coffee "There is no Shard." he blatantly lied to Ito's face, but I can get you Intel as valuable as that shard, something about a stolen relic..but however... I have my terms"

Ito slightly got angry at the statement but then tilted his head. "Go on."

"I want Jago exposed. You've got the reach, the resources—dig into him. Find out what he's really up to." Vincent tapped the table. "And when the time comes, I want your help taking him down."

Ito studied him for a long moment.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing."

Vincent smirked. "What's life without a little risk?"

Another pause. Then, slowly, Ito nodded.

"We'll consider it."

Vincent leaned back, satisfied.

Good.

Now all he had to do was screw them over before they screwed him...