Cyberpunk: Angel of Chrome

POV: Faraday

"That bastard changed his spine without even telling me..." Faraday muttered, leaning against the window of his penthouse office. The lights of Night City stretched out like a corrupted motherboard. "Good thing the Hawks of Arasaka retrieved the data before it turned into a pile of melted chrome."

His holoring blinked. A sharp tone. Incoming: Hasagawa.

Faraday straightened up instantly.

"Hasagawa-sama. It's an honor. Long time no talk—happy to receive your call."

Hasagawa's face formed in the holoprojection, calm as ever, eyes like ice chips. A man slowly embedding himself into Arasaka's core—only to sell its spine to Militech.

"Faraday," he said coolly. "Is this about the prototype spine?"

"Ah—yes, I assumed—"

"I don't care about a broken prototype. Research Division already logged it. That boy, David, removed it himself after the Maine incident. Probably damaged during the attack. Whether he's even still alive is unclear — not that I care. Your name was not mentioned. Don't worry."

"Thank you, Hasagawa-sama. Truly. What can I do for you?"

"There's a small matter I need handled. You've heard of the new mercenary—V?"

Faraday's posture stiffened. "Yes. Militech's already sniffed him. High Command issued strict orders: hands off. They want to lure him slowly into the fold without spooking him. Eccentric type. But very effective."

"We've received...interesting footage," Hasagawa continued, voice like silk cut with steel. "Afterlife security cams. BD rip from a third-party merc. Shows V decapitating Nash—even with Sandy active—without anyone noticing."

"So he's that strong..."

"Strength is relative. What I need is for you to arrange a gig. Have a few mercs ambush him on a specific route. Not to kill—just to distract. I'll send the route data."

"I could scrounge up four, maybe five mercs—netrunners, maybe a stealth solo or two. People who won't blink at lifting chrome and burning the rest."

"Good. I want his lab hit. Take what you can, destroy what you can't. I'll send the route and entry data."

Faraday blinked. "And what about intercepting V himself? If he gets involved, that could turn ugly."

"We've arranged cannon fodder from the Tiger Claws. Disposable muscle. They'll keep him distracted long enough."

"Understood."

"Also... your fixer rep still carries weight. I want you to prepare a prime-tier gig—tailored for V. Use the route I'm sending to arrange it accordingly. We'll use it as bait."

"Yes, Hasagawa-sama. Send the specs and transfer the funds. I'll make sure the hook looks shiny."

Hasagawa gave a curt nod and cut the line.

POV: V

🕖 19:00

The burger stand reeked of burnt soy and sodium regrets.

V took a bite. Chewed. Frowned.

"Synmeat," he muttered, already dissecting the flavor profile. The tissue density was too uniform, flavor mapping subpar, fat content simulated with flavored gels. It could be improved. Easily.

His bioengineering instinct kicked in like a reflex. He visualized the cellular structure, the injection points for natural fat gradients, the seasoning matrix—all wrong.

"Medium at best," he mumbled. "Could do better in my sleep."

A quick glance at the time.

"Shit. Emilia's gonna kill me."

He tossed the rest of the burger in the bin and strode to the Warlock.

"Warlock—run a self-diagnostic. Prioritize traction system and stealth grid."

"Diagnostics initiated," the smooth voice replied. "Efficiency at 99.7%. New firmware routines stabilized."

V nodded to himself. Even with half the city trying to kill him, the Warlock ran smoother than Corpo PR lies.

He activated voice controls again. "Delamain."

A moment of silence. "Yes, how can I assist, sir?"

"Connect me to Prime."

"May I ask for a reason?"

"Override code 5875."

"At once, sir."

Prime's voice came online—more refined, stately. "Mr. V. What may I do for you today?"

"The code's fixed. I'll come later tonight to walk you through the solution for that ten-year glitch in your root directive."

"I... am happy to hear that."

V smiled faintly as the car hummed forward. "Maybe I should update my Flathead bot with this AI firmware too. Could serve as a secondary defense system at home. Autonomous is fine, but reliable AI is better."

His HUD blinked. 📦 Your package has been delivered to your garage: Jinguji Clothing Order. Satisfaction Guaranteed.

"Nice. Custom outfit for gigs. Gonna look like a real legend."

His smile widened as he thought about the armor sets in his lab. Not that he needed them — but having a prototype template never hurt. "When a tank's not enough, just stack more armor. What could possibly go wrong."

"Sir," Warlock cut in. "We have arrived, but there is no parking available for the next 2 kilometers."

"No worries. Make some loops. Get a feel for the streets. You're good at observing, right?"

"Sir, I possess more knowledge about Night City than most data pools. A single ride won't change much."

"Fair enough. Cancel the order. Just cruise around. Park if you find a spot. I'll call you."

"Understood. Have a nice day. Destination: Afterglow."

The moment V stepped out, he spotted Judy in front of the crumbling neon shell of the Afterglow site, arguing with a pair of techs over turret angles.

"Hey Judy."

"Hey V. How's the chrome cowboy?"

He approached, pulling a vial from his coat and pricking her arm.

"Ow! V—WTF?"

"Sorry, needed blood for your surgery tomorrow."

Emilia laughed nearby. "Bold as ever. Soft where it counts, hard where it matters. A perfect man."

"C'mon, let's head in," Judy said, rolling her eyes but smirking.

They stepped inside the bones of the new Mox outpost.

"You were right," V muttered, scanning the layout. "Close to Lizzie's. Fortified. Could be beautiful."

"Still waiting on prime bodyguards," Emilia added. "I've got a ripper—ex-Militech, sharp girl. I'll send her number. Anything you want, you're part of Afterglow now."

"Much appreciated. Be good to have a safe place... for once. Afterlife ain't what it used to be. Someone's head literally fell off last time I was there."

Emilia cackled. "Can't wait to see Rogue's face. Who's dumb enough to try that?"

"No idea. But let's check the main setup."

Emilia waved them forward. "I gotta run errands—Judy takes over. And V? Break her ice and I might give you a little bonus. Wink wink."

Then she jumped out the fifth-floor window, landing clean where a repair scaffold was missing.

V blinked. "What is she talking about?"

"Couples stuff," Judy deadpanned.

They reached the central network hub. V rolled up his sleeves. "Let's get to work."

In thirty minutes, he rewired the system from glorified toy to prime-tier defense grid. Judy watched, stunned.

"Firmware updated. Entry scans adjusted. Dangerous chrome triggers hardlock. No more weapon scanning only—we neutralize on entry."

"Safety first," V said. Judy nodded slowly.

"You're... honestly kind of amazing."

"Hey—eyes on the code. It's important."

"Yes, sir," she smiled.

He ruffled her hair. Judy blushed.

"Say hi to Emilia for me," he said, walking off.

"No. She already got in your pants once. I'm not risking it."

V laughed all the way back to the Warlock.

"Let's go. Next stop—Delamain."

The Warlock's engine purred. "Understood, sir."

🕦 23:30

V's HUD pinged. A message from Rebecca — a photo of her and Kiwi, arm in arm.

📸 "We called a truce. Also, we put the clothes from your Jinguji order in your wardrobe. The gear in the special box? Left that outside — it's for your solo gigs. Looks badass."

He smiled. Nice to have people who had your back.

📸 Another photo — Rebecca flashing a peace sign next to Sasha, asleep in the ripper room, connected to an intravenous solution.

"Pretty sure she'll love this one when she wakes up," Rebecca added.

"Sure she will," V muttered aloud.

Ping. Unknown number. Auto-traced.

"Hello, Mr. Faraday," V said flatly. "What can I do for you?"

Faraday's filtered voice oozed in: "I heard you're the merc with the heart. I've got a gig for you."

"Funny. I've also heard you withhold info and lead your teams into early retirement. So tell me — why would I ever take your job?"

"Because this one's different. And... personal. A man with your past might appreciate it."

"My past, huh? Enlighten me."

"Tomorrow, a heavily armored convoy of nomads will be transported to Biotechnica for 'experimentation.' My client opposes Biotechnica and wants the convoy intercepted. They went through hell collecting those nomads. They want them alive — as witnesses."

"Price?"

"200,000."

V frowned, instantly scanning the intel. "A million-dollar convoy, and you're throwing chump change? Don't insult me. Don't call again."

"Wait, sir—! The full reward is 1,000,000. Paid upfront."

V blinked. That number echoed in his neural cache. "Say that again."

"You heard me."

Faraday grumbled, wired the funds, and terminated the call. Moments later, detailed mission files arrived via secure message.

V chuckled to himself. "He's desperate."

Without wasting time, he pinged Rogue.

"You just love dropping trouble in my lap, don't you?" she said, amused.

"Faraday's back. Offered me a gig that smells... moral. But I don't trust that slime."

"You trust your HUD more than you trust people, V. And honestly? Can't blame you."

V grinned. "I trust you, Rogue. That counts."

"Careful, you're making me sentimental."

"Sentimental enough to give me a discount?"

She snorted. "Nice try, chrome cowboy. It'll still cost you 100K to dig deeper."

"Done." He wired it. "Let me know what you find."

There was a pause. Then: "By the way, word around the fixernet is that chrome values spiked after Hansen at Holden Chrome ran his mouth. People say you've been handling exotic mods — even some traced back to Dogdawn Labs. No one's sure how, but rumors are you cracked one of their old vaults. That's raised a few eyebrows — including mine.""

"Didn't realize you were in the market."

"I'm not. But if what I've heard is true—nano-threaded, DNI-optimized, exotic core plating—I could be convinced to invest. Might know some buyers too."

V chuckled. "Tell you what. Once this gig shakes out, I'll show you a prototype. On the house."

"You sure know how to keep a girl interested. Send me a tease of that golden chrome — you know I hate surprises."

"You haven't seen anything yet."

"Hmph. Cocky and gifted. Just don't get yourself killed, V. Militech or Arasaka—doesn't matter who's watching. Everyone's curious. That usually means someone's loading a bullet."

"Story of my life."

"Stay sharp. I'll call you once I've dug up the dirt."

Next stop — Delamain."

As the Warlock glided into the glowing district, neon danced across the windshield like digital spirits. V sat back, letting the soft hum of the engine and his thoughts mingle. Delamain HQ loomed ahead, its polished facade reflecting a thousand sins of the city.

No bullets waiting here. Just questions, upgrades… and maybe a few answers.