"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
Joanne Koch stormed back into her apartment, furious.
She kicked the door open, ripped off her jacket, and marched straight to the fridge. She grabbed a bottle of top-shelf liquor, yanked the cork out, and chugged like a dying man in a desert.
The burn hit her throat and lungs at once, and suddenly her face flushed. She gagged violently, vomiting alcohol and bile all over the counter as she collapsed forward, coughing her lungs out.
"Cough—cough—fuck! I swear, when shit hits the fan even cold water will choke you!"
She hurled the bottle into the wall. Smash.
A bottle of liquor most people couldn't afford in their entire lives had just turned into trash.
Okay. Breathe.
Calm down.
Joanne lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and let the smoke swirl as she tried to think.
V was confirmed "assassinated" and "dead."
The Arasaka–Biotechnica partnership was now in jeopardy.
Her boss had just called her into a meeting: Arasaka's Special Operations Director, Abernathy, was aggressively lobbying to take over V's position. If Arasaka approved, Biotechnica would have to replace their liaison as well.
Fuck this corpo bullshit.
Joanne had clawed her way up to her current rank. Now they wanted to toss her aside like used tissue?
And that idiot V—why couldn't she quietly make money? Why stir shit every day? Why make enemies?
A sting of heat burned her fingertips; she crushed the cigarette in the ashtray.
Whatever. No point spiraling.
Think of countermeasures.
And if all else fails—defect.
She had real technical talent. Someone would hire her.
Kang-Tao? They were known for the best benefits among the corps.
No—Abernathy had people inside Kang-Tao. That'd be suicide.
Militech?
Joanne paused, seriously considering it.
Thanks to V forging the Arasaka–Biotechnica alliance, Zetatech and Kang-Tao had joined too. Militech was the only Night City megacorp left out. Being the lone outsider made Militech both vulnerable and hungry. Snow during winter was always more appreciated than sunshine on a good day.
Her skills, her network, her role as one of the original facilitators of the alliance—Militech would absolutely offer a high price.
But being isolated also meant Militech was the likeliest next target for a joint corporate beatdown. Joanne did NOT want to escape one wolf den only to fall into another tiger's mouth.
A perfect little fence-sitter like her would be the ideal "friendly gesture" sacrifice in corpo diplomacy.
So… where the hell was she supposed to go?
Joanne wasn't decisive. Her talent lay in research, not strategy.
That was why she'd always been overshadowed by V in their partnership.
"Screw it. One step at a time. Push me too far and I'm leaving Night City altogether."
Muttering, she stripped and headed to the bathroom.
Puking on herself, reeking of alcohol—she needed a shower desperately.
After washing up, she "rewarded herself" thoroughly in the bathroom before emerging refreshed—
—only to see a blood-soaked monster sitting on her couch.
She nearly pissed herself.
"Relax. It's me."
V removed her Reaper Mask.
Which only terrified Joanne even more.
"HOLY SHIT—weren't you fucking dead?!"
"Turns out I wasn't." V said weakly. "Patch me up. Otherwise I will die."
Only then did Joanne notice how badly V was hurt. She sprinted for her medkit.
She extracted bullets, injected coagulant gel, filled a pneumatic injector with MaxDoc Mk.4, and slammed it into V's chest.
Hiss.
V couldn't help moaning.
"Ohhh… yes."
"That's MaxDoc Mk.4—36.7% stronger than the Mk.3 crap civilians buy." Joanne said proudly—then glared at her bloodied couch. "Do you not have a ripperdoc you trust?!"
"I do."
"Then WHY COME TO ME? This is a NEW SOFA!"
V shrugged. "I thought you'd be happy to see me."
She was.
At least now she didn't have to choose Kang-Tao or Militech.
But pride demanded she deny it.
"Who the fuck is happy?! Coming uninvited—do you not understand manners?"
V smirked. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have waited for you to finish in the bathroom. I would've walked in when you were moaning the loudest."
"You—!" Joanne's ears flushed red. "I'm under a LOT of stress, okay?!"
"I get it, totally normal." V eyed her slim waist and whistled. "Nice body, by the way—but maybe put on some clothes."
Joanne finally realized she was still naked.
Which, after a bath at home, wasn't exactly unusual.
She shot V a glare and opened her wardrobe.
V happily watched the entire transformation from "nothing on" to "perfectly dressed."
Joanne handed her a glass of tequila.
"Talk. What happened?"
"As you heard—someone tried to assassinate me. Only difference is I didn't die."
"But Arasaka says they extracted the attacker's visual logs. They saw you get headshotted."
"Just a bit of netrunning trickery. Lieutenant Norris did see it—because I made him."
"Lieutenant Norris?"
"The guy sent to kill me."
"A soldier from the New United States?"
"Yep."
"Fuck—why is NUSA involved again? Those politicians are worse than corpo assholes." Joanne rubbed her forehead. "What's your plan?"
"Simple." V set down the glass. "Retaliation."
"You know who ordered the hit?"
"Abernathy. Ninety percent sure."
"Evidence?"
"None."
"Then what the fuck are you telling me for?" Joanne rolled her eyes. "You expect Michiko-sama to believe your word like gospel?"
"Obviously not. That's why I'm staying hidden—for now. To gather evidence."
"And even if you find it? Abernathy is riding high right now. She's trying to claim your old position. If she gets it, all the shit we pulled will come out. Arasaka and Biotechnica will crucify both of us." Joanne was losing it. "Maybe we should just bail—split the profits and go our separate ways."
Splitting luggage?
V actually laughed.
"It's not that serious."
"Not serious?!"
"At least Abernathy isn't the alliance chair—yet." V leaned forward. "Know what worried me the most?"
"What?"
"That her assassination attempt was actually Michiko Arasaka's order. But since Abernathy is fighting for the chair position, it means Michiko wasn't involved. The hit was purely personal."
"And that helps how? If she gets rid of you, she becomes Michiko-sama's only confidant. The chair position will fall into her lap sooner or later. And you think Michiko-sama will avenge you? Don't be stupid. Michiko-sama looks cute, sure, but she's no different from the other immortal fossils at the top. We'll always be corpo dogs."
"True. We are dogs. But I'm a dog Michiko raised herself."
Joanne blinked.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying Abernathy overstepped. She can eliminate anyone—but not me. I was Michiko's chosen opponent for her. If I'd lost in a fair corporate fight, Michiko wouldn't care. But I 'died' to dirty tricks. Michiko will NOT be happy."
"Does that mean she'll back you?"
"Of course not."
"Then what's the point of—"
"Joanne." V shook her head. "Nothing I say changes the fact we're dogs."
Humans no longer existed in 2076.
Only dogs—and things even lower.
Joanne clenched her fists.
Released them.
Clenched again.
Wounds hurt most the moment you realize they never healed.
Thousands of words spun in her mind.
But only one emerged.
"…What do you need from me?"
V smiled.
"Stay in touch. Send me intel whenever you can."
"And you?"
"I'm going to find dirt on Abernathy—and hand it to Michiko. She'll love the knife I bring her."
"How long?"
"Three days."
"Enough?"
"If I delay, things change."
"And if you find nothing?"
"Then I assassinate Abernathy. She taught me how."
"I thought you said Michiko doesn't like that?"
"She doesn't. But is Michiko stopping Abernathy?
No.
If I kill Abernathy, I become Michiko's only asset. Until she finds a replacement, she won't touch me."
V's voice sharpened.
"She plays clean, I play clean.
She plays dirty, I play dirty.
She fails to kill me—then I kill her."
One word at a time:
"This is how a corpo dog plays."
Morning.
V walked among the crowds, blending in. Her eyes glowed faint blue as she scrubbed herself from the Net and skimmed new intel from Joanne.
"Lieutenant James Norris went cyberpsycho in Corporate Plaza—32 NCPD dead, 104 injured, terminated on sight by MaxTac. Body recovered by… REO Meatwagon?"
"Giving a fully chrome military soldier to a civilian medical outfit?
Yeah, that screams 'cover-up.'"
V reviewed the data, mind sharpening.
No wonder Joanne was baffled—REO Meatwagon was poor.
Pathetically poor.
Originally a public hospital brand, pushed into irrelevance as Trauma Team rose and cyberware became commonplace. Only the poor still used REO. Their medtechs wore yellow reflective jackets and drove battered ambulances—once respected, now relics.
In an automated society the average person wasn't even worth exploiting. Their lives cost less than the methanol fuel burned by ambulances.
By 2076, REO Meatwagon was barely hanging on.
How poor?
Their jackets had built-in biomonitors and trackers—but REO was so broke they couldn't afford the network fees. They had to wait until staff hung the jackets back in the lockers after shift to extract data using wired connections like thieves.
And yet they were tasked with handling Norris's corpse.
The chrome in that body alone was worth more than REO Meatwagon's entire yearly budget.
Obviously for convenience—easy to hide, easy to destroy.
REO Meatwagon's facility sat in north Watson, just shy of the industrial strip—its last shred of dignity.
V took the metro, slipped inside unnoticed, and reached the morgue on B3.
She found Norris's body.
Half the skull gone, brain matter vaporized.
Black, needle-like fragments around the wound—killed by a Rostović DB-2 Satara tech shotgun.
Of course.
The Satara didn't fire buckshot—it fired razor-sharp flechettes.
Critics said it was bulky and unwieldy.
Supporters said its firepower solved all problems.
MaxTac clearly belonged to group #2.
They often bragged that the Satara could bring down even the most heavily chromed cyberpsycho. Everyone thought they were paid shills for Rostović.
Apparently, they weren't lying.
V's own review of the Satara?
God-tier. Nothing else compares.
Cheap, simple, everywhere.
If she could handle the recoil without cyberware, she'd absolutely carry one.
But yesterday was gone.
Everything had changed.
V sighed softly and jacked her personal link into Norris's neural socket.
As expected—wiped clean.
Like he was just an ordinary NUSA grunt.
Fine. She hadn't expected intel from his chip anyway.
She hid in the shadows.
If someone went through the trouble of sending the body to REO Meatwagon, they'd send someone to destroy evidence.
All she had to do was wait.
After two hours—around 7 PM—
A figure slipped into the morgue.
Showtime.
V stayed perfectly still.
A young woman.
Short.
Brown hair in a single ponytail.
Clean, pretty face.
Wearing REO's yellow jacket.
She flipped Norris's body, exposed the spine, and began dismantling him with frightening proficiency even in the dim morgue light.
This wasn't her first time.
In less than thirty minutes she extracted a military-grade implant—
The Sandevistan.
She grinned, sealed it in a sterile bag, straightened her clothes, and left casually.
V followed silently.
Long game, big reward.
Let's see who she handed the Sandevistan to.
The girl walked all the way to—
A school.
A very familiar school.
Arasaka Academy.
V felt something twist inside her.
She had graduated from here.