Cyberpunk: STRAY

The rain dripped from the rusted rooftops, pattering against the pavement like a countdown. Vincent stood frozen, the reinforced case still clutched tight under his arm, while V's pistol was locked onto him. Her expression was unreadable—cold, calculating.

Vincent wasn't a corpo, wasn't a merc, wasn't some gonk looking to start shit. Another gonk caught in the wrong place at the worst possible time.

She took a step forward, gun pointed to his face, rage and anger behind her eyes. "What's in the case? What the fuck are you doing here? You following me?...A moment of slience, he froze. .. " FOR FUCK SAKE... Talk.. before I zero your ass"

Vincent's throat was dry, he felt like his heart going 200miles per hour "Just a delivery. Nothing to do with you."

She didn't lower the gun. "Yeah? Then why's an Saka suit bleeding out two feet from you?"

Vincent stole a glance at the man groaning on the ground. The exec's hands twitched toward his inner jacket, maybe for a weapon, maybe for a comm link—didn't matter. Another shot rang out. She didn't even blink as the guy's head snapped back, his body going limp.

Vincent forced himself to breathe. "Look, I don't know shit, I don't want to know shit. I'm just trying to get paid and do my job."

She tilted her head slightly, got close to him, shoved the gun barrel on his face like she was considering whether to pull the trigger. "Yeah? ...That sent a chill through his spine. "Like half the city hasn't." she stated.

She almost tried to straight up kill him, "so he thought" almost.... Then, without warning, she lunged at him.

Vincent barely had time to react before she yanked the case out of his grip and popped it open. Inside—just a neatly packed collection of datashards. No weapons, no contraband, nothing worth killing over.

She exhaled through her nose, tossing it back at him. "Wrong place, wrong time, kid."

Vincent caught it, his grip unsteady. "So we good?"

She stared at him for a long moment, then finally holstered her weapon. "For now.... but if I ever see you around here ever again, I'm gonna kill you."

She turned away, already focused on something else. But Vincent knew how people like her worked. If she saw his face again, in the wrong place, under the wrong circumstances… he wouldn't get a second warning.

Vincent swallowed hard and forced his legs to move, his hands tweaking, disappearing into the alleys before Night City decided to throw another bullet his way.

He needed a drink.

Vincent barely made it three blocks before his holo lit up. The caller ID flashed "T-Bone"—his fixer.

He sighed. Of course.

Vincent tapped his earpiece. "Yeah?"

T-Bone's voice came through like sandpaper on metal. "Yeah? Yeah?! The fuck you mean 'yeah'? You fucking idiot, You were supposed to drop that damm package twenty minutes ago, Vinnie. Instead, I hear there's a shootout in Jig-Jig Street, and guess whose ass was in the middle of it HUH? "

Vincent wiped the rain off his forehead, his body still running on post-adrenaline shakes. "Wasn't my fault. Ran into some heat. Merc got involved, shit got messy."

T-Bone scoffed. "Messy? Kid, messy is spilling your drink at a bar. This? This is you flirting with DEATH! You hear me???? You got any idea who you almost got in bed with? "

Vincent swallowed hard... " I'll get it fixed jeez, fucking calm down"

" You know it was the saka right??? Vincent, these people are the kind of people that wipe problems off the map before the ink's even dry on the report. You delay a job in this biz, and people start asking why. If I gotta answer for your screw-ups, guess who's catching a bullet? ME!! SO DON'T FUCK UP EVER AGAIN!"

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose. "I get it, alright? I'll drop the package now."

T-Bone wasn't done. "No, you'll drop it ten minutes ago. You're already late. You show up now, act like you were held up taking a dump, whatever. But I swear... if I hear so much as a whisper about you pissing off another client, you're done."

The line cut.

Vincent exhaled slowly, forcing his nerves to settle.

He had no choice but to move.

The drop point wasn't far, but he knew every extra second he took meant more risk. With his hood up, head down, he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the neon haze and the stink of sin around him.

He just had to get this job over with. Then maybe—just maybe—he'd make it through the night in one piece.

Vincent pushed through the crowd, keeping his head low. The delivery point was tucked in an alley just off Westbrook, a place you come to when you got the monety to spend, He walked behind a brothel with flickering pink neon signs. Typical spot—secluded, no cameras, perfect for a handoff.

He checked the package one last time. Small, unmarked, just data shards. Definitely something valuable inside them shards. ..Just drop it, get paid, and get out," he assured himself that it'll be all fine.

As he stepped into the alley, two figures were already waiting under the dim glow of a hanging lamp. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a Dark navy colored jacket, hands in his pockets but posture rigid. The other—Vincent's stomach twisted.

Aurore.

Dressed sharper than last time, a sleek, yellow coat, a cropped shirt with flashy necklace, and a pair of black designer style pants hugging her figure, looking less like the woman who once stumbled into his dingy apartment drunk and more like someone who belonged in a corpo boardroom. Her thick French accent cut through the silence before he could say anything.

"T'es sérieux?" she muttered, eyes widening. "This some kinda joke?"

Vincent kept his face neutral, but his mind raced. Why the hell is she here?

The man beside her—Aymeric, judging by the resemblance—tilted his head, studying Vincent like he was trying to place him. "You two know each other?"

Aurore didn't answer immediately. She just exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. "You could say that."

Vincent didn't flinch. "You're the client?"

Aurore crossed her arms, staring him down. "And you're the errand boy. Again."

Vincent ignored him, stepping forward. "Look, I don't care who you are. You're expecting a package, I've got it. That's all that matters."

Aurore clicked her tongue. "And here I thought you were done running deliveries."

Vincent shrugged. "Ain't got many options, do I?"

She stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, reaching into her jacket. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."

She pulled out a credchip, flicking it between her fingers before tossing it his way. Vincent caught it midair, checked the amount. Enough to cover rent.

He handed over the package.

As soon as it left his hands, Aymeric took it and tucked it into his jacket, not even bothering to check the contents. Aurore, however, kept her eyes on Vincent.

"You look like shit," she muttered.

Vincent smirked. "Appreciate the concern."

Aurore frowned, then turned away. "Come on, Aymeric. Let's go."

As they walked off to their car, Vincent exhaled, tension still coiled in his chest. He should've known. 

He's gonna get eaten alive by this City at some point... He rolled his shoulders, pocketing the credchip, and turned back toward the main street.

His stomach grumbled. Food first, then home.

Jig-Jig Street was alive as always—joytoys calling out to passing corpos, drunk mercs stumbling out of bars, and dealers whispering about new batches of braindances. He ignored it all, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease.

He stopped by a food stall, handing over a few eddies for a skewer of grilled meat. Probably not real, but it was hot and salty, and that was enough.

By the time he reached his apartment, exhaustion was settling in. He climbed the stairs to his cramped, one-room place, the door creaking as he pushed it open. No lights, just the soft hum of the city outside. He locked the door, tossed his jacket onto a chair, and slumped onto his mattress.

He stared at the ceiling, mind replaying the night. Running into Aurore again—it felt like a bad omen. He'd spent so much time keeping his head down, avoiding attention, and now? He's under her radar, he knew he'd be a tool that gonna get used by people with powers like her.

Vincent sighed, rubbing his face. Didn't matter. Money was money.

He closed his eyes. Morning would come fast, and with it, another job....