Cyberpunk: STRAY

Dogtown, Kress Street

V barely had time to process what had happened—one second, She was striking a deal posing as Aurore, the next, everything had gone to hell. The FIA agent that came with her getting her head blasted off, explosions, an endless descent into chaos. She'd tried to get to the president Myers, but the whole situation was a fucking mess. Barghest forces were everywhere, and her once-steady hand was now shaking from the adrenaline.

She could barely breathe as the pressure in her head mounted. Being on the run had been terrifying and violent. Everything she'd been through in Night City felt like child's play compared to this. The fucked up she had in Dogtown, everyone on the comms to come get her and everything spiraling out of control—it was like a damn nightmare. She didn't get paid enough for this shit.

V had agreed to help Songbird and now, it felt like she was knee-deep in a fucking warzone. Myers was still alive, but V knew that wouldn't last long. In Dogtown, survival wasn't about fighting. It was about waiting for the next fuck-up, and then doing whatever you could to outsmart the chaos. But the mess around her made her sick. Everything smelled terrible, the urine streamed the streets, omnipresent cockroaches the size of a mice everywhere. The streets were filled with trashes, not that she had time to worry about it.

The moment she hit the streets and cleared her way out from the chase she had with Hansen's soldiders, she knew things were going to get worse. So Mi had given her coordinates, but V didn't need them. She could smell the blood in the air, feel the tension. Everyone knew that the Barghest soldiers had a fucking hard-on for anybody associated with the NUSA, and they weren't about to let V, or anyone else, walk away from this unscathed.

She'd barely made it out of the crash with her skin still intact. Running across the streets of Dogtown, she heard the hum of drones above her, their spotlight cutting through the smoke and chaos.

"Fuck," V muttered under her breath, pulling up her smartgun. "This is bad."

Her HUD lit up with incoming enemy signatures—Barghest goons coming in hot. They were closing in fast.

How the hell did it all get this bad?

She had no time for nostalgia. She had to think, and think fast.

The mission wasn't supposed to be complicated. Get in, save the president, help Songbird and Get out.

But the moment her feet hit the pavement, everything fell apart. Not that she'd expected anything less from the shitshow that was Night City. She'd walked into this knowing that nothing ever goes as planned.

V snapped her hand toward the corner of a building and shot out the light, plunging the street into darkness. As Barghest soldiers came charging in from the other side, V ducked low, listening to the sound of their boots stomping on the concrete.

She grinned to herself, setting up a few distractions: grenades at her feet, Her Sandevistan flickering a light, after images of her fled from her as she moves away, If there was one thing she knew, it was how to make things EXPLODES in style. The blast knocked a few of them off their feet, leaving their bodies sprawled across the cracked pavement.

Another group approached, weapons raised. V didn't wait for them to make the first move. She rolled to her right, let her mantis blades do the talkin... The trio of Barghest soldiers froze, then guts flying everywhere, the remaining soldiers clutching at their eyes as their vision scrambled by their heads separated from their bodies. V was already on top of them, slicing through their bones, flesh and muscles with the precision of a scalpel. She didn't even bother with small talk. There was no point. Not when she was the one pulling the strings.

V came to a halt in front of the wreckage and the mess she made, out of breath but not broken. The building was still standing, still burning, and time was running out. Reeds was here, somewhere in this street. The noise from the gunshots had already attracted every scavenger and very hostile mercs in a ten-block radius, and she had to get to Reeds. No time to waste.

She made it to a building's front across that narrow streets. The bodies around her were evidence of just how fucked this mission had become.

V had once been a street rat—a nobody—but the fuck up here reminded her of something darker. A place where everything was disposable, including her. Her life in Night City had always been a game of survival, but right now? This felt personal.

"V," Reed's voice crackled through her earpiece. "I need you to pull me out of here. Now."

V's knuckles went white as she gripped the gun tighter, the only thing keeping her alive in this hellscape.

Pulling you out of this? I'm not your fucking babysitter. "she thought to herself"

"On my way," she growled, voice grating, not giving a damn about the words. Just actions.

She advanced through the street, her pistol raised, mantis blades out, her movements precise. Her mind never stopped, calculating every move, every death, and how to spin them to her advantage. If she had to burn Dogtown to the ground to get what she wanted, then so be it.

Kabuki, Watson, Rita Wheeler's Apartment.

The vibrant sunlight hits the air in the cramped room where Vincent sat on the cracked leather sofa in Rita's cluttered living room, the faint hum of neon outside blending with the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. His mind was already working overtime, spinning the strings of his latest move into something profitable. The deal with Jago had gone surprisingly well, but Vincent wasn't one to let opportunities slip by. If there was one thing he'd learned in Night City, it was that the only thing more dangerous than a deal gone wrong was a deal that had too much potential for someone to not take advantage of it. And Vincent? He barely had any sleep but he had his eyes set on more than just a paycheck. He had a plan. 

Aurore sat stiffly on the armchair opposite him, eyes glazed with exhaustion but burning with a simmering anger she hadn't been able to shake. He could practically feel the weight of her unresolved rage lingering in the air. She hadn't let go of the guilt or her misplaced blame on him, and that made her volatile—dangerous in her own right. But he knew how to handle her, how to keep her close enough that her emotions wouldn't cloud his objectives.

"You'll get your cut," Vincent said, his tone steady, devoid of emotion. His eyes remained on the blueprint he had pulled up on his terminal, calculating numbers, figuring the angles. There was always an angle.

Aurore shifted uncomfortably, still caught up in her own thoughts. "You're not doing this out of the kindness of your heart, are you?" she asked bitterly, her voice like ice. "Don't tell me you've suddenly developed a conscience."

Vincent smirked without looking up. "Conscience isn't really my style, Aurore. But profit, now that's something I understand."

He scrolled through the details on the screen, mapping out the next steps. The deal with Jago Szabó had gone smoother than expected, too smooth even. Vincent had lowballed him, played the numbers, and walked away with far more than he'd anticipated. But Jago wasn't a fool. That was the problem. Vincent knew the Barghest treasurer wouldn't let this slide forever. The Barghest were ruthless, and with their sights set on Aurore, Vincent had to make sure their business remained strictly transactional. No loose ends. No emotion.

"I'm not giving you anything out of charity," he continued, his voice cool and calculating. "But if I'm making a move, it'll be worth your while. I've got a few things lined up, something that'll pay back what you lost—and more."

Aurore's gaze hardened. She crossed her arms, eyeing him with suspicion, but she knew there was no real alternative. She wasn't in a position to negotiate, and Vincent was the one person she could trust to see things through, even if it made her skin crawl.

Vincent stood, pushing his terminal aside as he moved across the room, pacing slowly, his mind still working through the maze of possibilities. "I know how this works, Aurore. You think you're just here as collateral, right? But here's the truth—they don't want you dead. Not yet. You're valuable. It's the same reason Jago wants to keep you close."

She snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Don't try to make me feel better about the mess you got me into."

Vincent's lips twitched, the smallest trace of a smile curling on the edges of his mouth. " First OF ALL!! I didn't get you into this mess, YOU DID! and I got us both out of it. Big difference."

His fingers drummed against the back of the chair as he circled back to his seat. "The deal with Jago? That's just the first step. I'm looking further down the road. See, I know how Barghest operates—how they move, how they think. They're like a fucking machine, but machines can break. And I'm planning to do just that. My cut's coming from their failure, not from us begging for scraps. We'll move the chess pieces in a way that they can't predict."

Aurore leaned forward, her expression softening for the briefest of moments, but the flicker of doubt still danced in her eyes. "And you're sure it'll work? You're betting everything on this?"

Vincent locked eyes with her, his gaze unwavering. "It's not betting if you're sure of the outcome. I've already figured it out."

The tension between them crackled as Vincent's words lingered in the air. He could almost see the wheels turning in Aurore's head, her skepticism slowly giving way to cautious trust. She didn't like it—hell, she barely tolerated the idea of having to rely on someone like him—but she had no choice. This wasn't about moral high grounds. This was about survival. And Vincent always played to win.

He stood up and walked toward the window, gazing out over the dimly lit streets of Dogtown, a city that never slept, that never forgave.

"Aurore," he said without turning around, his voice low, "if you want to get out of this, you'll have to let go of the past. I'm not here to make you feel good, but I'll get you what you need. We'll hit Barghest where it hurts, and you'll get everything they took from you—more."

She didn't answer right away. But Vincent didn't need her to. She wasn't ready to admit it, but he knew she was already seeing the path ahead—a road with him at the helm, cold and calculated, offering the only way out.

"Fine," Aurore finally said, her voice tight with reluctant acceptance. "Just don't screw me over."

Vincent smiled, turning toward her. "If I screw you over, you won't even see it coming."

He glanced at the digital clock on the wall, his fingers already working out the next steps, the next play. The deal with Jago had been a stepping stone, but the real game was just beginning.

And Vincent was always three steps ahead.

Rita sat in the dimly lit kitchen, cigarette smoldering in the ashtray, her ears sharp despite the dull throb of exhaustion behind her eyes. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Not really. But in Dogtown, you learned quick—when two people talked in hushed tones about business, survival, and revenge, it paid to listen. And what Vincent and Aurore were discussing? That was something worth knowing.

She heard everything.

The careful way Vincent laid out his plan. The tension thick between them, like steel wires pulled taut. Aurore's anger, her resistance—until she caved. Not because she trusted him, but because she knew there was no one else.

And now she was gone. Out the door, heading back to her safe house in Corpo Plaza, far away from the grime and rot of Dogtown.

The second the door clicked shut, Rita let out a slow breath and snuffed out her cigarette.

She stepped into the living room, arms crossed, her gaze landing on Vincent, who was still standing by the window, watching the city like it was a puzzle only he could solve.

"You know," she said, her voice smooth but edged with something unreadable, "I always figured you were a smart kid, but I didn't take you for a gambler."

Vincent didn't turn around. "It's not gambling if you know the outcome."

Rita let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah? That what you told her?" She moved closer, stopping a few feet behind him, her eyes narrowing. "You ever think about what happens if you're wrong?"

Vincent finally turned to face her, expression unreadable. "I won't...well this time, I can't afford to get things wrong... "

That made Rita scoff. She walked over to the cracked leather sofa and dropped onto it, her boots propped up on the coffee table. "Cocky little shit," she muttered. "That's not what I asked."

Vincent crossed his arms, studying her. He could tell Rita wasn't here to scold him. She wasn't the type. But she was concerned—about him, about what he was doing, maybe even about what kind of trouble he was inviting into her home.

"You wanna know if I'm in over my head?" he asked.

Rita exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. "No, Vincent. I wanna know if you actually give a damn about what you're doing, or if this is just another fucking game to you."

That made him pause.

She leaned forward, eyes sharp, picking him apart like she had a sixth sense for bullshit. "You think I don't see it? That I don't hear the way you talk about people like they're pieces on a board? You keep everything close to your chest. Never let anyone see the real stakes. So tell me, Vincent—what's the endgame here?"

Vincent let the question hang in the air for a second. He wasn't used to being read like this. People usually saw what he wanted them to see, and Rita? She was cutting through the façade like it was nothing.

"The endgame?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly. "You think I have some grand vision? Some big plan to take over the city?"

"Don't patronize me," Rita snapped. "I'm not that bougie French girlfriend you got. I know you kid, you don't make moves unless there's something more to it. So what is it?"

Vincent studied her, then sighed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. He moved to the armchair Aurore had occupied minutes ago, sinking into it, suddenly looking just a little more tired than before.

"It's not about power," he said finally. "Not the way you think."

Rita arched a brow, waiting.

Vincent glanced toward the window again. "It's about leverage. Positioning myself in a way where no one can touch me. Where I don't have to play by their shitty rules. Barghest, Jago, Aurore—they're all bound by something. Aurore's bound by her ego, Jago by his greed, Barghest by their structure. But me?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I got none, but me. I want out.."

That caught Rita off guard. "Out?"

Vincent gave a small, humorless smile. "Out of the game. Out of Night City's cycle. No blaze and glory, no debt to some fixer, no leash. Just me, free and clear."

Rita was quiet for a moment, watching him. She wanted to believe him. Hell, maybe she even did believe him. But something about it…

"You really think that's possible?" she asked quietly.

Vincent's smile faded. He looked away.

"I have to."

Rita sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You've got that woman tangled up in this mess. She's playing your game now, whether she likes it or not."

"She knew what she was getting into," Vincent replied.

"Bullshit," Rita snapped. "You knew she'd have no choice."

Vincent didn't deny it.

Rita shook her head, leaning back. "You're walking a thin line, Vincent. And one day, you're gonna push too far. One wrong move, and all those pieces you've lined up so neatly? They're gonna come crashing down."

Vincent met her gaze, unflinching. "That's why I won't make wrong moves."

Rita let out a low chuckle, but there wasn't any humor in it.

"Kid," she muttered, shaking her head, "I really hope, for your sake, that's true."

The room fell into silence after that. The city hummed outside, neon flickering through the dirty glass.

Rita grabbed another cigarette, lighting it with a slow inhale. Vincent just sat there, thinking, and planning on what to do next, trying his best not to overstay her welcome.

And somewhere out there, in the dark streets of Night City, the pieces of his game were already shifting...