When the Bodies Hit the Floor

Some Fixers like QUIET solutions to problems. Others prefer PERMANENT solutions. I guess I'm about to find out the hard way what someone thinks my life is worth, which is kinda terrifying, and arousing. Don't ask, it's complicated.

"...I'll try but I'm not promising anything." He says before disconnecting the call and looking at me with a groan before reaching out to help me to my feet.

"So there's clearly more to you than meets the eye," I comment.

"I could say the same Miss Dzang," he replies.

"Call me Ruth," I answer quickly, "I think between trying to rub each other off in the bathroom and you saving my ass we're basically chooms for life."

" Well CHOOM," he chuckles, "I just had Regina Jones, who loves Info-Flash by the way, tell me in no uncertain terms I have to GENTLY persuade you to forget about what happened here tonight."

"Regina Jones? There's a name I haven't heard in a fair few years." I say, "I heard she's a Fixer now, are you working for her... as an Edgerunner?"

"Most of the Runners in Watson and Kabuki do -- at least the ones who like moral clarity and a low body count."

"And here's me thinking you were a submissive sissy femboy." I replied.

"I am," he replies, sounding genuinely hurt.

"A subby bottom who fights cyber-psychos?" I counter with a wry smirk.

"Yeah sorry about that, you kinda caught me off the clock." He sighs. "I got the call earlier tonight, I was going to ignore it but then I saw you headed outside and had to move."

"How did you know I wasn't going outside for some fun, maybe even fun I'd want you to watch like a good boy?"

"Ironically enough I was looking forward to taking a break from my recently crazy life and just getting absolutely power-fucked," he laughed, "...but you were going outside with guys Patricia plays with."

V visibly shuddered, "There's not enough Pain Editors in Night City to make that scene enjoyable -- Johnny Silverhand is right -- this city is a despotic shithole." He finished.

I'm mildly curious why he's got the wit and wisdom of a fifty years dead rockerboy on his mind but judging from the jacket he's a Samurai fanboy just like a lot of people. That's when it comes to my adrenaline flooded brain. A secret Samurai reunion concert held at a tiny little bar. Kerry Eurodyne, Bes Isis, Denny and this guy filling in for Johnny Silverhand on lead guitar and playing with eerie levels of familiar skill.

"I know you," I gasped with sudden realization, " the Samurai reunion gig at the Red Dirt; someone made a bootleg BD."

"Really," he asks, "Was I any good?"

"It's apparently The Gift for the Samurai fanboy in your life." I told him,

"...Or your head," he said half-grumbling, half-whispering.

"What?"

He grimaced, "on second thought,...don't tell me." He sighed, "Next thing I know he'll want me to buy him a copy."

"Who?"

"Don't worry just thinking out loud," I replied dryly, "so I guess my reputation precedes me?"

For someone in a business that lives and dies on one's level of street cred, he seems uncomfortable with the obvious benefits of his fame, though perhaps infamy is more accurate.

"So playing lead guitar with a reunited Samurai is what?" I comment dryly, "how you unwind from catching serial kidnappers and saving random civilians from cyberpsycho attacks in high end clothing stores?"

He grimaced in seeming embarrassment. "Trust me, I was not happy to get locked inside a store with the fucker and I was very thankful that MaxTac showed up even if he was already unconscious."

Unconscious, but not dead. I'm sensing a pattern of behavior.

"So you're running around as a top flight mercenary, so what's with the whole crossdressing femboy thing?" I ask, "Is it a gimmick? --- technically you're a legitimate superhero."

"I heard heroes don't exist in Night City," he comments with a humorous smirk.

I blush and not just from wanting to fuck his brains out on the alleyway floor.

"You saw that episode," I replied with a grimace.

"I saw every bit of THAT episode," he answers, "Short answer is I used to do this to relax from my not-very-nice day job -- then I almost got killed DOING my day job so with the not-so subtle encouragement from a friend -- my weekend hobby became my NEW day and night job."

"You're excorpo right?" I asked, "couldn't you get a severance package?"

"Let's just say my former employer's idea of a severance package was a little too permanent for my liking."

"And you just fell into being a crossdressing femboy edgerunner?"

"Ironically my first few jobs were for The Moxx," he replies.

"Why Ironically?"

"I used to party there to unwind, or meet clients," he replies, "they actually knew THIS version of me better than the corpo rat."

"I knew it!"

"Turns out not every Moxx is just a joytoy-- and some of them just dress like joy-toys and do OTHER STUFF."

My little crossdressing femboy doesn't know it but I already know his story. Ok maybe not HIS story specifically but I've heard a hundred variations, Hell, I lived my own version a lifetime and a half ago.

Sex and fetish play probably started out as yet another tool in his toolkit. A weapon to be used against his foes. A fat juicy carrot to be gifted to his few allies and even fewer friends. Eventually it became his escape not just from what he did, but how terribly GOOD he was at doing it.

Probably found out playing a submissive bottom bitch lowered people's guard, made them underestimate him until it was too late.

Then one day whoever was so dependent on his professional ruthlessness they eventually got scared of what would happen to THEM on the day he started using his formidable skills ON them instead of FOR them, decided to cut him loose.

He'd tumbled down through the cracks and crevices into the sewers of Night City. His bosses probably assumed he'd zero himself rather than live without his credit line and Trauma Team membership.

Instead, finding himself as far away from his corporate ivory tower as could be, his survival instincts kicked in and he grabbed the first piece of iron he could get his hands on and started climbing a different kind of ladder.

The Moxx girls must have jizzed in their panties when they recognized the high-quality weapon fate left on their doorstep.

Maybe the pay was lower but how different was playing enforcer during an outcall or debt collecting from a lazy fanboy on their behalf to anything he'd done before.

And he clearly had a knack for the work. I've heard rumors of a joytoy who basically walked into the sadist Jotaro Shobo's sex club and walked OUT with Jotaro Shobo's still breathing body leaving behind a mess not even the normally stoic Tyger Claws could pretend wasn't a humiliation.

Especially with half the city watching the underground BD showing Jotaro Shobo's feminization and anal punishment at the vindictive hands of The Moxx Dominatrixes. If getting power-pegged does not seem like an especially harsh punishment, remember that Tyger Claws live and die by their masculine identity. Trust me, you spend a 18 hours live-streaming someone getting fucked up the ass who starts out obviously not LIKING getting fucked and ends up as a cock-craving toilet slut begging to be defiled,...it's a punishment.

And of course the rumor mill had a field day buzzing about the one-man wrecking crew that destroyed Shobo's entire kidnapping and torture pipeline in a single night of brutally efficient violence that's changed the power dynamic of Watson for a long time to come.

I thought the stories were bullshit, Afterlife mercs trying to big themselves up to get street cred and free drinks.

Then again I just watched the guy take out a cyberpsycho in front of me and make it look about as easy as arresting a credit chip snatcher so maybe there's something to the stories.

I'm just wrapping my head around who I was trying to have a disposable one-night stand with when we get interrupted,...again this time by Brick leading a small army of thugs including that bitch, Patricia.

"Shit, if it ain't V the number one pain in my ass," Brick growled.

"He killed our guys Brick," Patricia growls, "what are you gonna do about it?"

"What are you talking about, ain't no dead bodies here just me and your boys rough housing a little bit." V's grin is a little bit scary, it's kinda hot.

"And running around with a Media," Brick sighs, looking at me, "how far the mighty have fallen."

"I was getting eye-fucked by Ruth Dzang," V replies casually as he shrugged, "of course I was hoping to get bent over in the alleyway when I followed her out here, how was I supposed to know your boys were playing feed the cyberpsycho."

"Ain't no cyber-psychos here," Patricia said with an insincere snicker. "we're just good hearted cyber enhancement enthusiasts."

"Look, Regina Jones asked me to come down here, normally I'd tell her to let you guys clean up whatever bed you shit in on your own but Regina is better than me,...better than both of us if I'm being honest." He says deliberately looking at Brick, who he's talking to and thus who he acknowledges as in charge is clear.

"Yeah I heard about that little clusterfuck with the Valentino kid and whatever the fuck was going on with that ritualistic Voodoo-like shit over in Northside."

"Three potential cyberpsycho attacks all within walking distance from this place, even the morally flexible boys and girls of the NCPD won't ignore that." V sighs

"Why aint I heard about this before?"

"Because Regina is muffling reporting while snatching up any she finds before MaxTac gets a call."

"She captured any of ours?"

"You could ask her very nicely," V replies, "she might let you visit him since he's one of yours."

"What do you mean?"

"His name is Elias and he got this way because he didn't fall in line with Royce and his little regime change."

"Royce did this to Elias?"

"There's no way he could know that." Patricia screeched.

"I assure you that Reggie is shockingly well-informed." V sighs, "but feel free to check him yourself."

Brick goes to his knees and looks at the young man, lying in the alleyway's filth; he doesn't look nearly as scary as he did moments ago, driven mad by too much cyber-modification. Now he just looks like a badly abused kid.

"Since I did you a favor of not flatlining your guys," V snickered, "you could always ask them some POLITE questions."

Brick glared at the still unconscious thugs, I had little doubt they would shortly be very regretful V hadn't killed them. Remember what I said about rough trade. That's especially useful for when hurting people is entirely the point.

"How the fuck did it get like this," Brick growled, "all I wanted was a lot less crazy shit -- why couldn't Royce see we can't survive if everyone thinks we're practically Scavs."

V has a quiet authority. "Just make sure his sacrifice was worthwhile," he says, "that what he endured because of his loyalty to you was worth something."

"What's this joytoy doing with the whore anyway," Patricia growls dangerously.

"Getting bent over by a fan -- if Little Gang-girl wants, she can come along," I sneer, "maybe she'll learn how to actually fuck like a bitch instead of just posing as one."

Patricia doesn't like that idea one little bit. Some women take being out-fucked by another person, especially a celebrity as an embarrassing insult. Patricia strikes me as firmly in that category.

"Let's keep it classy ladies," Brick chuckled.

"Yes -- you're both very pretty," V sighs.

"I'm not scared of this whore." Patricia growls.

"I know whores -- the Watson Whore is a friend of mine and, according to her, a friend of Royce," I taunt her, "maybe Patty didn't like getting The Watson Whore's sloppy seconds...again."

There's raucous mocking laughter from the group, even Brick joins in.

"Please... me?... jealous of that walking dick-holster -- you've got to be kidding me." Patricia growls.

"Given the shitty street drugs Royce liked to take," Brick chuckled, "the fact she got him up with a blowie is a freaking miracle."

"No, that was skills -- some people have it, some people clearly don't," I answer while looking pointedly at Patricia who glares murder at me.

She looks like she wants to make a move but V, moves into her line of sight. His body language and cold challenging glare say more in the moment than a boatload of empty threats.

I admit having Night City's most dangerous mercenary at my back gives me confidence to be pretty mouthy. Besides, her anger and jealousy actually gets me hornier than I already was.

"Much as I'd love to see a catfight between these two," Brick laughs, "What about her?"

"What about her," V replies "I was hoping to get fucked tonight."

"Well there is a well-documented correlation between life and death situations and inappropriate sexual activity." I replied.

"Well there you go Brick," V snickered, "maybe if I fuck her good enough certain ďetails about what she was doing and who tried to cut her to pieces while she was doing it will go bye-bye."

"Alright, get her out of here and keep her quiet."

"Thank you," V replied

I'll pass a little something extra to Reggie for you as thanks."

"Why are we paying this joytoy for beating up our guys." Patricia snarled.

"Because I said so," Brick growled, suddenly sounding like the guy who pried the warehouse and manufacturing districts of Watson away from The Tyger Claws and even the corpos.

"And while we're asking stupid questions," he snapped at the cringing gang girl, "Why are our guys keeping a pet cyberpsycho... why is that pet cyberpsycho a friend of mine,...and why is that friend, the same one whose series of incredibly fucking stupid life choices include liking someone who, as I recall, was too busy sniffing Royce's farts to notice Elias' little friend-zoned ass?"

"I didn't do this to him." Patricia replied.

"...And I'm sure you would have stopped Royce if you knew, RIGHT?"

Patricia shuts up before she digs a bigger grave for herself.

V motions to me and we walk.

"How do you know Brick?" I whisper.

"Saved his life when Royce made his power-play," He answers.

"Wait, you killed Royce and his goon squad but you still party at Totentanz?"

"Trust me, that's light-years away from the most dangerous thing I've done lately." He snorts as he signals for a ride.

I'm not a gold digger, ok I am but not in the way most people think. I like money the same way some guys like big tits or blonde hair. If they're there, it's great but it's not a deal-breaker if they aren't.

Still that chubby I was hiding gets even bigger when the black Rayfield Caliburn slides out of the shadows. We get in and the car leaps forward.

I've been in a Caliburn before, not the most comfortable car to fuck in but it has its charms when it's being driven by someone who has balls.

He catches me looking at him.

"What?"

"My grandmother drives more aggressively," I joke.

He snorts derisively and pumps the acceleration. The car glides through the night as crap about traffic patterns, NCPD cordons and a MaxTac deployment slide across the internal dash screen.

"I prefer motorcycles anyway," He grumbles.

He says this as if transportation is a multiple choice option for him, I casually wonder how many cars this guy has but RIGHT now, I'm curious about an entirely different question.

"Where are we going?"

"I told you," V sighs, "I gotta call inside, I noticed you in trouble and stepped in -- now I'm going to go deal with that other thing."

"Another cyberpsycho?"

Despite his cautious attitude at the wheel, we'd somehow crossed the city at seeming lightspeed. We glide through the night before turning sharply and pulling to a stop.

"That's not an everyday thing you know."

"Then what?"

"It's a meet and greet with some Nomad friends I was asked to look in on." V chuckles, "Oh look, we're there."

He climbs out of the car and takes my arm like he's escorting me to a film premiere. He walked us up to a guy in nomad dress and chatted amicably before gesturing for me to follow. We walked into an industrial park where subdued lighting bathed two groups as they confronted each other.

More nomads like the kid by the gate and a group of scavengers, their thick accents and blurred faces a dead giveaway, were meeting in a tense atmosphere.

V SEEMS indifferent as we approach the group. It's presumptuous to assume that I know his body language after only a few hours; but he's a little too tense to sell the look of boredom on his face.

The Scavs are upset about late delivery, of what I could not begin to guess.

I assume it was contraband. Probably drugs given the presence of The Scavs. Ironically harvesting purloined organs and blackmarket cyber-modifications made Scavs a shockingly popular source for Ripperdocs unconcerned about WHERE their modifications came from.

The Nomads offered a discount on their delivery charge, compensation for said late delivery.

The Scav leader freaked out as V and I approached and started cursing that we were trying to screw HIM over.

"And who's the dyke?" he screams, looking at me.

"She looks like that Info-Flash bitch," One of them says.

"Looks like, is right," V snickered, "she got me to pay a ripperdoc a lot of eddies for the face-plate."

"Which one?"

"He treats the working boys and girls over on JigJig Street."

"I know him," One of the Scavs chuckles, "I'd take her to a real professional -- make sure he didn't screw your woman up."

V reaches over and gropes my ass, squeezing it like he owns it and sinking his fingers in.

"She's worth every eddie." V laughs, "there's not a bar or restaurant in Night City 'Ruth Dzang' and her boytoy slash bodyguard can't get into."

The scav peered at me, "Yeah I see it now, this one is shorter and has nicer tits than the bitch on TV."

I should be offended by V's territorial pawing but his little move automatically makes me invisible to some decidedly dangerous guys. I've immediately become irrelevant to them; irrelevant means forgettable.

V's entire demeanor is cool as a spring breeze, talking friendly and all. Then the Scav Leader recognises him, apparently V and some partner of his cleared out a Scav base a while ago.

The leader started posing saying he'd fuck up V, his partner wherever HE might be, and maybe burn down some Heywood bar the partner's mother owned.

"We're done," the man boasted, "tell that Bitch, Mama Welles, that we'll be paying her a visit real soon."

That's when it happened. I saw the other guy, the one from the alleyway again, suddenly the air of lethal danger was back.

"Excuse me?" V asks with cold intensity.

"I told you we'll burn that fucking piece of shit bar to the ground." The Scav leader growls.

The man clearly doesn't recognise murder when it's staring him in the face.

V held out his arms and started walking slowly towards the group.

"Listen and understand," V whispered harshly, "you'd be smart to think long and hard about the next move you make,"

"You think you and your wannabe can roll in here lookin like you got lost on the way to JigJig Street and threaten to kill us?"

"If I wanted you dead," V snickered, "I have at least six ways to do it that would have flatlined you from the street."

"Big talk, Pretty Boy," their leader snarled.

"Dude, have you noticed the stars and stripes tags everywhere?"

V's casual gesture had me finally noticing the neighborhood we were in was indeed covered by graffiti depicting the NUSA flag though the Sixth Street Gang insisted on putting in all fifty-plus stars, Sixth Street as a general rule rarely ever acknowledged the changing country or the bleak and violent times that had irrevocably changed them. It was one of several things that made them so dangerous and reactionary.