#good luck duct-taping the canon together
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I'm in the process of putting together a FC5 lore document (that is very geared towards the specific existence of my deputy so I'm duct taping the canon together very crudely), and I've been reading up on your blog (not in chronological order, i dont get how tumblr works anymore) because your thoughts are very helpful ! Thank you for being such a wonderful person and FC5 fan, you've really made my experience with enjoying this game so much better, so bless your whole existence
I wanted to share with you something I found in my research that I remembered as I was reading your ages post from all the way back in 2018: Pre-2002, it's possible that America had no real enlistment criteria based on age, meaning child conscription was possible due to the (takes deep breath) Optional Protocol on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict (OPAC). In 2000, they had only signed the treaty but were still pushing for to send 17y.o.'s to war; today, America still recruits as young as 17y.o., they just don't send them to war just yet. I'm thinking that if we go by the dates we've been given, Jacob could have been recruited when he was as young as 16, because the first Gulf War is dated to the beginning of 1991. What are your thoughts?
Oh wow, thank you so much!! And Iâm glad my blog has been helpful :D
I didnât know about the OPAC, but if we want Jacob to be born in 1974 as the Playasia Blog says, that would make sense!
@anna-elizabeth-jason had another interesting theory that could also explain why his dog tags say âJAKOB SEEDâ: if he was born in 1974 and too young to join the army, he might have lied about his age, and if he did, I think he may have received some help.
In The Book of Joseph, we learn that he went to juvie and joined the military âonce he served out his sentenceâ because it was either âthe army or a life of crimeâ for him, but the book also says âthe teachers believed in himâ and âsome reports praised his sense of honor and leadership skillsâ, so if he wasnât 17 yet when he was released, I believe itâs possible those teachers made sure he could enlist anyway. They probably didnât want him to end up on the street (ironically, he eventually did) and I doubt Jacob liked the idea of going back to the orphanage or being adopted again, so the army sounded like the best option to them. In any case, if some documents were hastily falsified to allow him to enlist despite being too young, that may be the reason his name was apparently incorrectly spelled âJakobâ during his military career.
To be honest, the spelling mistake on his dog tags is most likely an oversight that doesnât mean anything, but if we want to find a logical explanation for everything, I like this theory!
In the end, we donât know his canonical age since the game never reveals it, but we can imagine heâs simply over 44 and thatâs why he fought in the first Gulf War. After all, Absolution (even though itâs only semi-canon to me) implies Joseph is already in his fifties so that would mean Jacob is ever older. The OPAC and/or the possibility of him lying about his age are interesting hypotheses if we want 1974 to seem less absurd as his year of birth, though :)
#good luck duct-taping the canon together#the deeper you dive into the lore the more holes and cracks you find :â)#but as sharky says: 'duct tape fixes everything. except marriages. and a broken home.'#so itâs fine haha#far cry 5#the book of joseph#jacob seed#I remember googling how old you had to be to go to juvie in georgia but apparently thereâs no minimum age so that didnât help#...does ubi even know how old their characters are anyway?
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Greetings, everyone!
{SPOILERS!! This is a roleplay blog. Anything out of character will use curly braces â {like this}, and/or be tagged as âoocâ}
The nameâs Cedric! Iâm the Glenâs premier Pilot, chemist, and all-around tinkerer/inventor. I spend most of my days fixing up my flying machine, or running one experiment or another! Expect plenty of explosions and shenanigans.
I also try to spend time with my family: Proto, Rue, and The World Machine. Iâm trying to be a good sibling and not cause too many problems for them!
{
Some general info about this blog:
Itâs a OneShot roleplay blog
As such, there will be spoilers for OneShot
As seen above, Iâll use colored text when referring to specific characters:
Prototype, who will be colored blue
Cedric/myself, who will be colored green
Rue, who will be colored red
The World Machine, who will be colored purple
Anything referencing The Author will also be purple
I also color âexplosionâ orange, but thatâs just to make it pop out a bit more
The goal of this blog is just to have fun. It may occasionally have more serious moments, but will for the most part be lighthearted.
Setting/Character:
This blog takes place Post-Solstice, though not by any specific amount of time
Cedric mostly hangs around the Glen, but heâll pop around from place to place frequently
He wants to get closer to his siblings, but isnât quite sure how to do so
Though he wonât admit it, Cedric also misses The Author a lot
Half of his lab is destroyed, and the other half is held together by duct tape and luck. This is how he likes it
Just⊠so many explosions
ïżŒïżŒ
Asks:
Will respond to:
In-character questions
Out of character questions
Random stuff!
Wonât respond to:
Anything NSFW
Anything insulting
Tag information (not finalized):
an aviatorâs thoughts: random thoughts, often when flying
science and explosions: silly ramblings
out of fuel: for more serious posts
cedricâs mailbox: ask tag
Other tags you may see me use:
reblog: self-explanatory
ooc: the post is Out of Character
rp canon: the post is canon to my rp
cedric pilot: thatâs just me!
Iâm still fairly new to Tumblr, so bare with me if some things are formatted weird or whatnot!
I hope you enjoy!
}
#ooc#out of fuel#cedric pilot#{I should have made this post a while ago}#{not sure if I left anything outâ}#oneshot game
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So I just read that post about what the Riddlers smell like (and I'm glad we can all agree that Arkham!Eddie needs to be thrown into the shower!đ) Any headcanons on what scents they might like on their partner? đ€
The Riddler's favoured scents on their S/O headcanons
Edward Nygma X Reader
I love the way you think, Mun đ
It is now once again time to run around the house to sniff perfumes đ€§
All I can say is the fact that they have on thing in common-- is the fact that your perfume shouldn't be too overwhelming.
đ Gotham
No, omg 'coz I just remembered that this dude canonically sniffs people by the back of their necks like a creep. But anyways, I bet he tries to guess what fragrance do you wear, by watching you and sniffing your neck when you walk awayâ which is yes, bordering on creepy stalker guy status and I can't blame you if you think that's fucken creepy. Because it is, regardless of his intentions. Once he's figured what you use, depending on his current budget, he'd buy and gift it to you.
But that didn't answer your question đ
He happens to be fond of cooking, baking to be precise. Perhaps some vanilla, oh! Shea butter. He likes Shea butter. Cleopatra apparently loved shea butter. There is a mention of caravans of clay jars filled with shea butter for her use. Itâs also said that this luxurious ingredient was beloved by the Queen of Sheba and Nefertiti. But yeah, Shea butter.
đ Young Justice
Of course, nothing too overwhelming but let's be honest, he wouldn't care about himself if you happen to spritz yourself 37 times from head to toe. Nausea? No, it's just him getting drunk of your presence. But if you choose something subtle, something that won't kill him, he finds something citrus or fruity scents in general soothing. But he doesn't mind about which scent you use either way.
Like when you'd hug him after a long day, he'll bury himself in your hold and breathe you in, before clinging closer. Maybe stop the pricking tears from the corner of his eyes when that particular day was extra rough on him.
đ Arkhamverse
As Riddler simps, we really need to bond together. How about we abduct the Riddleman and lock him in the shower? You know, for team building? Great! I'll get the duct tape, you guys hold him down. I neglected to mention that this guy probably uses 3in1 bath products. So let's make sure to give him proper shampoo, conditioner and soap. Maybe throw in some skin care.
But jokes aside, let me tell you, this man is addicted to your scent. When you're gone (let's not kid ourselves here, when he's gone), he looks for your warmth, your touch, your fragrance. He'd grow extra fucking hissy when he misses you and in his frustration of getting constantly side tracked due to his longing, tantrums will be thrown in the workshop until you go there to undo whatever damage he's done to his environment, and himself.
And the instant you got near, he is latching himself on you. Good luck prying him off.
He likes musky scents, maybe throw in some floral scent to it. Something calming, perhaps lavender or Arabian jasmines (Sampaguita, to my fellow countrymen). He never knew he liked floral scented things, it was an accidental find.
đ Batman the animated series
BERRIES! The scent of berries and cinnamon. Not necessarily mixed together, but perhaps separately. Oh, and caramel and coffee.
Perhaps it was something he's fond of when he was still downing the berry flavoured energy drinks and caffeine to substitute his need to sleep during tumultuous hours in college, but he really does love the scent.
He is also inhaling the scent of his significant others when hugging them and it really makes him think about how lucky he is that he finally has someone who loves him. In a way that he doesn't question their every actions, whether they have hidden intentions behind kind gestures, that something sinister his behind your sweet smile... But no, you genuinely just love him, with no personal agenda at all.
đ Batman Unburied
Yeah, every iterations of Riddlers have not given a kind touch in their life. He attained some sort of trauma from a scent, an expensive musk worn by one of the guards in Arkham that regularly would regularly degrade him so whenever he smells this certain scent, he'd have an anxiety attack.
But anyways, favourite fragrance on his significant other... Well, the scent of chai doesn't fail to soothe him and I think there are some perfume with hints of ginger flower and almond cream, I think he'd be really into that.
Developing his acute sense of smell towards a person wearing a particular scent he hates, he also can smell when you're near if you're wearing the chai perfume and he will be instantly running in your arms. Like the other Riddler's, he will fucking cry if you just embrace him in your arms, he will cling tightly and just grip your flesh, you'd feel his nails dig in your skin. Damn... Let's all gather the Riddlers and just hug them.
#edward nygma#riddler x reader#edward nygma x reader#dc x reader#dc x you#edward nigma#request#btas riddler x reader#btas riddler#arkham riddler#arkham riddler x reader#young justice riddler x reader#young justice riddler#gotham edward nygma#gotham riddler x reader#batman unburied riddler x reader#batman unburied riddler#enigmacorps
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Hey! Itâs Fox again! How are you doing? I just started school back up today, so Iâve been busy Xp.
Think you would be cool with writing some Pico with an s/o who is a writer, and tends to ask him about things like âhey, how long does it take someone to bleed outâ or other things like that?
I understand if you donât feel like it, and I hope youâre having fun đ
đŠ
Hello again Fox, I'm doing quite well rn. I'm cool with your prompt, especially since I need more writing material anyways.
Took me a while, because I didn't want to do a hc, but rather come up with a oneshot with a little twist to the style. Well, hope it works well.
Good luck with school, mate!
TW: Mentions of violence, swearing, slight sexual reference, and crime.
Pico with a writer S/O who asks him strange questions
Prologue:
On a chilly autumn morning, you were sitting out on your patio with a laptop and a mug of your favourite beverage next to you. Whenever you looked up, you could see the warm coloured leaves fall as the breeze accompanied you. The whole scene was an aesthetic.
When your boyfriend, Pico, came outside to see this, he knew that the nice environment you surrounded yourself with meant one thing. "You're back in your writing space already. Heh, with that bestseller you published, I thought you were comfy taking a break." You simply smiled and said, "can't waste the inspiration rush I got right now."
Pico had a good point though, with your rising popularity as an author, you were near set to retire before turning fourty. But you wish you weren't given all of the credit, since your boyfriend's stories of his dodgy job has occasionally sparked some ideas for your stories. However the books you wrote in the past were usually meant for the young adult and had few mature themes. This time, you thought maybe it's time to garner extra inspiration from those stories.
You were met with some disappointment when you realised that your mug was empty, only a drop entering your mouth. "Here, babe, I'll ya some more," Pico said, taking your mug and walking inside. "Quick question," you stopped him. "Yeah?"
"What would be the best place for a murder cemetery?"
"... What?"
Chapter 1:
"So you're doing some story about the police hunting down a mass murderer?"
"Pretty much."
"And to think you were gonna write Pixar's next script. Aight' I respect that." Pico takes a seat next to you with a refill of your drink placed next to your favourite writing laptop. "Thanks, Pico. But yeah, I want to branch out to something edgier, and I think you can help too."
"Let me show you what I've got so far." You showed him some of your notes in a little notepad document, detailing the story thus far and your current plans for this chapter. "Oh, that's it? Just looks like boring police preparation mainly," Pico commented. "Yeah, it's not much right now. But it'll get juicy later." "And bloody?" "And bloody."
"Welp, I'm gonna head back in," Pico got up, "let me know if you need anything." He head back inside, closing the door, but then opened it almost immediately afterwards. Pico stuck his head out, "by the way, the guy should use some strong alcohol or something to throw off those sniffer dogs."
Chapter 2:
"And then, because they used a silencer, the police don't immediately notice the--"
"Nope! I'm calling bullshit (Y/N)!" Pico had suddenly interrupted your explanation of the scene you were currently working on. "Silencers can help prevent some hearing loss, sure, but they're not magic."
"Alright," you reply, "no silencer, but the killer still has to kill in a way to not get blood on them, so I thought shooting and killing them from a distance would work." "Well, they're alone. Instead, have the guy get shanked in the neck or something, and have the killer use a plastic bag as a glove. It saved my ass one time."
"Woah!" you exclaimed with a giggle, "you used a knife once? What happened to my trigger happy boyfriend, huh? That's pretty sus."
"I forgot to reload the Uzis, alright?"
"What an impostor would say."
Chapter 3:
"What would be the best way to muffle the scream of someone you kidnapped?"
You two were sitting on the couch together watching a show. You didn't have your laptop on you, so Pico didn't expect you to still be thinking about that book. "I can't say from experience, really," he said as he paused the show. "However, shove a rag in their mouth and duct tape it in, and you should be good."
"Thanks Pico, also one more thing." "Yeah?" "What if our killer also wanted to..." God, this one was gonna be awkward, but you had to say it or else no help. "You know, cut off this victim's willy. How would you do that?"
"Wai-wha-uh-ga," Pico started fumbling his words like never before. He stopped, then took a deep breath. "YO, WHAT THE FUCK?!" "It'll make sense in the story later, I promise!" You watch Pico begin to lose it, breaking into laughter. "Ladies, gentlemen, and others," Pico dramatically stood up, pulling a little Showcaster impression and directing his arms towards you, "my famous 'young' adult novelist partner!"
Chapter 4:
It was in the dead of night, but you awoke to Pico on his phone. His vpn was on and Tor was up. As per usual, he was checking up on his little hitman service, where others could request for a certain someone's guts to fly if they paid him a hefty sum first. Though tired, you ound this to be the best time to ask him some more questions.
"Pico, how do those sites work?"
"Oh, you're awake," Pico blankly stated, sleepy too. But he still answered you. "Basically, some anonymous rich guys in the area give me money and a target, then I just do the thing and send a mission accomplished email." "Do they pay you in person?" "Nah, we use always use Bitcoin. It's a lot harder to trace than real money."
"Thanks Pico. Goodnight," you wish him, yawning and going back to sleep. "You too... So this guy is a hit man too?" "Hush. Tomorrow." "Okay." Pico puts his phone away, leaving it on a nightstand. You then spoon the night away, peacefully thinking of murder as you drifted off.
Chapter 5:
On a morning similar to before, you two sat on the patio with your drinks and laptop at the ready. Pico watched rather awkwardly as you typed away, wondering why you haven't entertained him with another question yet.
"You gonna ask anything else?" "What? Oh, nah," you plainly state. Inevitable, sure, but he was kind of saddened. He liked being able to share his messed up wisdom. "So, you're done?" "Almost." You turn to look at him, "want the spoilers?" Pico smiled, "sure thing."
In the novella you and Pico crafted together, the main character is a cop who hunts down a killer. They eventually notice that there would be two murders at a time for unknown reasons. Well, it was unknown until one victim had left up a dark web hit man for hire site. They that the hit man not only kills the target, but the client as a hidden price for the service.
And any request will be fulfilled, according to the hit man's site.
"Do they catch 'em?" Pico asked. "Well, ANY request is granted. So, if our hero were to... hire him to kill himself..."
"No way!"
"He did. They find both of their bodies in his bedroom."
Pico was a bit impressed with the ending you came up with, but then he remembered something. "Why did that guy get his thing cut off?" "Lol, I forgot," you giggled. "He sent a message to the hit man, saying he wishes the target would choke on his dick."
"That's my favourite part."
Epilogue:
After everything was finished up, you sent the book off to your editor. After the initial joy of knowing how the story ended, you saw that Pico was still in thought. "What's up with you?" "Oh nothing, well it's just... I'm probably just biased, being that I'm a bit of a hitman myself, but it's kind of sad to see the guy go."
"Then I should spoil the epilogue I came up with." Rather than being excited, Pico nervously asked, "what's an epilogue?" He didn't get an answer, only you staring at him. "Sorry, school held too many bad memories for me to pay attention."
"Anyways," you continue, "the rest of the police gang did some background checks, and find that our killer was a normal guy with no criminal history."
"Penilian?"
"No. But I did decide to take a more supernatural approach here. Somewhere across the country, another string of double homicides occur and that site is active once more. And the story kind of repeats itself."
"Penilian."
"You joker," you give him a playful little kiss on the cheek, one that definitely caught him off guard. "So is it canon?" Pico smirked. "Nah, just thanking you for being my cute little co-author." "Oh," Pico started, "so we're flirtin' now, huh. Come here babe!" He tackled you onto the ground, giving you several kisses in exchange.
"Actually, I think we call that 'making out'," you chuckle out, flustered. "But that doesn't mean I said stop'!" You pull him in for more, accidentally bonking your heads together rather painfully. "Nice double kill there, (Y/N)."
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you ever thought abt writing about if Dimitri's feral side didn't go away? or maybe one where the only way he stops being feral around others is if he, ahem, takes his frustrations out on Y/N
I might have talked about this before but I can't remember for the life of me so, sorry if I'm being repetitive.
I don't have any plans in particular for writing this but I like thinking about Dimitri never fully recovering and just becoming somewhat more functional and all of the many disastrous ways it could change the way he has relationships.
~Like, if Dimitri realizes that the best way to get revenge on Edelgard is to engage in the war strategically. Not because he sees the error of his ways, just the error of his methods.
~This would be a Dimitri who becomes aware that his delusions aren't real, who realizes he can't go on as he is, but isn't able to reconcile with his issues or the dead. His campaign is no longer about those he has lost but those impulses, that madness that drove him to such extremes in the name of the dead, remains. He's sane enough to fight against that side of himself, just not very successfully.
~To that end, he takes the feral, primal rage and misery that compelled him for so long and refocuses it.
~Dimitri's Crest is tied to the Major Arcana Justice and that becomes his driving motivation.
~His army retakes Fhirdiad, the first step in canon!Dimitri's recovery, but instead of remaining calm and using it as a moment of character growth, he brutally tears Cornelia apart on sight. The men come to admit to their treason and he orders their deaths. There is not any cruelty he will spare those who are opposite what he sees as just, this Savior King Dimitri.
~And, yes, Dimitri takes on the mantle of King, he vows to fight for his people rather than the dead, but it's more so because he needs some way to alleviate the pressure of his aggressive urges, because that is the burden of madness he feels he must now pursue. But that's the way of war, isn't it? That is what's necessary.
~Whatever pain it causes, whatever cost it asks of him, he willingly accepts as retribution. This is not a man who is asking for forgiveness or is attempting to better himself, he still views himself in the incredibly negative way he does through the first few chapters of the timeskip, he just deals with it differently.
~When he kills Edelgard and finally gets the revenge he was pursuing, Dimitri realizes that it does nothing for him. His mania, his rage, his insanity still haunts him.
~And, okay, even though he's horribly unapproachable and snaps at people, spends an uncomfortable amount of time training (brutalizing the poor training dummies), and is held together by duct tape and a prayer, Dimitri is somebody who so horribly desperately wants love and validation.
~You give it to him because of course you do, you fool.
~But, at even the faintest whiff of this affection, he taints it with his unresolved mess of emotions after realizing that revenge couldn't fix him and ends up hyper fixating on you as an object to fill the vacuum left by his fixation on Edelgard because he is a messy man with messy feelings.
~So he's not "feral" exactly, but he never actually recovered or figured out a way to deal with his emotions in a healthy way. This is exacerbated by his lack of a support system. I don't doubt that his friends would support him given that he's a competent ruler and I think it would still be in their best interest to help him but his constantly shifting moods and single-mindedness towards some not-so-savory endeavors would make him quite uncomfortable even without being feral. Felix would probably give up his title and run away similar to his non-AM endings.
~So, basically, Dimitri clings to you even tighter because at least you're not going to leave him.... Right?
~I suppose this entire (far too complicated) scenario is just laid out to highlight issues I already see him having.
~Dimitri would have a white-knuckle grip on you because of his terror of losing someone precious to him.
~His anger would bubble up given even the slightest hint of losing the few things he feels keep him stable, or at having his justice challenged.
~Unlike canon!Dimitri, you wouldn't get very much in the way of emotional vulnerability. Not expressed through words, at least. He'd make his devoted desperation clear in other ways.
~He'd be so paranoid, which is another big deviation from canon!Dimitri because I don't think he would trust you very much at all and would be a lot less likely to give you the benefit of the doubt if he began to think something was going on.
~While it's not like I think he'd go full boar on you physically, he wouldn't be that great about controlling his strength. You think you're going to leave him? Hah, good luck when you can't even walk the next morning.
~Everything about this version of Dimitri would be so much more intense than what could be considered even slightly rational. In general, he's already an intense person, but his driving, unrelenting need would become suffocating and excessive, constantly flip-flopping from aggressively possessive to fanatical devotion.
~I've never thought that Dimitri would be a particularly sexually driven person (more that he'd care about his partner's needs over his own needs), but I do think that his need for physical intimacy would be persistent and ravenous enough to make a case for it in this instance.
~He would rely on you a lot more to help manage his moods and emotions and ground him when he needed it, so it'd be insanely emotionally unbalanced. You'd basically be Dimitri's emotional keeper. Not in the cute emotional support way, but in the scary "it is your responsibility to ensure that the King doesn't have a mental breakdown" sort of way.
#fire emblem three houses#fe3h#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd#fe dimitri#headcanons#this is a mess i just start thinking about dimitri as his worst self abusing me and lose my mind a little#also i'm going to be traveling the next few days so i should be packing but you know what#exploiting a mans mental illness for my personal gain is essentially the brand now
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Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter One): I'll let you in if you say it's okay
Notes: So, Iâm taking inspiration from more than one lifepath start for my V and overall, Iâm not sure how I feel about this first chapter. Iâm not as confident in it as I have been in some of my other works and itâs undergone some heavy rewrites. But Iâm officially sick of looking at it, so lets go. Still getting a feel for writing the cyberpunk characters too, tbh.
Word Count:Â 13083
Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Internal Feels and struggles, (Aidan/V is very conflicted and struggling), Morning after sex
If you havenât yet, please read the prologue: link here
Four years, a million miles, and a new alias later, not Aidan but V is standing in a motel bathroom, fresh from the shower. Thereâs a bruise forming on her chin from what she canât remember. She touches up the two shaved slits in her left eyebrow, a pointless aesthetic choice given she wears a mask, she knows. But, she likes it and thatâs what matters most. She pulls her bleached blonde hair back into a little ponytail, before brushing her teeth and changing.Â
She fastens her mask, a repurposed scav mask that she uses, not only to hide from her former family but to help her function in this world. No longer the green with red and pink faces the scavs use, itâs now black with white x-d out eyes and a wicked toothy grin. Vaguely cartoony and ominous, not her choice, but sheâs far too nostalgic to ever change it.Â
Data and logistics flash across her vision, optic tech coming to life now that the mask is on. Finally, she puts in her hearing aids, the noise of the world coming back to her, the hum of a broken AC, the beat of a song coming from the radio, and a womanâs snoring drifting through the paper-thin walls. V pulls up her hood before she leaves the bathroom, ready to begin, her throat tight as she thinks of what the day holds.Â
Iâ
saw in youâ
what life was missing
You lit aâ
flame that consumed my hate
I'm not one for reminiscing but
I'd trade it all for your sweet embrace
The radio plays an old song from Avaâs favorite band, V knows the heavy drone of them anywhere, though she never can quite recall their name or song titles, only reminded of the days she pretended to give a shit about them in hopes itâd earn her at least a pity kiss. Why the hell the radio still plays music that old is beyond her. She turns her hearing aids volume down a little lower.Â
Music brought down to a hum, Vâs attention turns to the bed, a woman whoâs name she canât remember is tangled in the sheets. Sun streaming through the window to shine on a bare freckled shoulder, the woman is around Vâs age, maybe a year or two older with a pixie cut of dyed lilac hair. She fits in well with Vâs track record of bedmates; unable or unwilling to give even half of what she got, leaving the nomad to take care of herself. But, as much as sheâd appreciate an orgasm from something other than her own hand, she gets what she wants from them in the end; a glorified body pillow that helps her sleep.Â
âMmm, you up?â The woman asks, stirring from under the blankets, she pushes a hand into her hair. She blinks her eyes a few times, before taking in Vâs outfit, âyouâre leaving already?â
Vâs mask optics quickly reads lips, giving the world subtitles, essential when she wants to forgo hearing aids. The tech is far more advanced than the human eye when it comes to lip reading. The only downside is the mask requires someone to be facing her as they speak. So, the hearing aids are still necessary unless people are kind enough to accommodate her; which they never are.Â
âGotta get back on the road,â V signs, a modulator translator in her mask speaks it in a monotone AI voice.Â
âYou donât wanna get breakfast orâŠ?âÂ
âNo time,â V crouches down beside the bed, so she can properly meet the womanâs eyes and, âyou remember what I told you, donât you?âÂ
âAbout not telling anyone what you look like or whateverâŠ?âÂ
âNo whateverâs to it, if anyone comes around asking about me, you keep your mouth shut. Got it?âÂ
âYeah yeah, crystal clear, asshole.â The woman groans, not liking the aggressive tone Vâs picked up, but itâs a serious matter. Most people get it, everyone nowadays seems to have enemies, but apparently not everyone understands. More flies with honey as they say.Â
âIâm sorry,â she signs, âitâs just important to me, life or death. Iâll order some room service for you before I go, sound good?âÂ
âHmmâŠI like pancakes.âÂ
âAlright, Iâll put the order in then head out.âÂ
âOkayâŠI wonât tell anyone, about you, promise.âÂ
âI appreciate that,â V signs, putting in the room service order on the tablet provided.Â
Thankfully, pancakes are enough to earn the womanâs silence on the matter. The less people who have a bone to pick with her, the better. Though, she still hopes The Herd canât follow her where sheâs going anyway. Dufflebag thrown over her shoulder, V leaves the motel, stepping out into the dry heat of California. Even in the early months of 2077, the desert is burning hot, though it will be freezing by nightfall. The joys of the Badlands.Â
Yucca is a little nothing town south of Night City, surrounded by long agonizing stretches of desert. Not a place sheâd give another thought to if not for her vehicle breaking down. The cargo in the trunk, locked up so the mechanic canât get nosy, is meant for a client in Night City. The job came with forms and docs thatâll get her past the border.Â
She rolls up the metal garage door to the shop, seeing the older man in a trucker hat and flannel working over her car. The old Thorton Galena âRattlerâ, bought off a Bakker nomad, who thankfully had no idea who her birth family is. Itâs put together with rust, duct tape, and luck, bought for fifty eddies because itâs a walking tetanus trap; but itâs hers. Â
âHeyâŠdrifterâŠâ He greets her with a weary expression.Â
Thereâs two kinds of folks in these small towns that are scattered across the country like stars. Those who are weary of outsiders, know the dangers that lurk across the Badlands and have their guard up the moment someone they donât know shows up. And for them, her refusal to show her face or speak with her own voice only adds to the suspicion.Â
And then thereâs the other ones, the ones like that lilac haired girl still curled up in dusty sheets, eating shitty motel pancakes. The ones who see her, the people like her, the nomads, the drifters who travel the country and they see someone who can bring a moment of excitement to their dull little lives. The ones bored to tears with watching tumbleweeds all day and will climb in bed with V and their own preconceived notions of who she is just to have a night of excitement.Â
Each sees danger when they look at her, chaos in human form, someone who may just disrupt the status quo of their piss-pot of a town. An idea that terrifies or excites them. Then the realization hits that sheâs just breezing through, a ghost without a trace. And for a moment theyâll be relieved or disappointed, then theyâll forget she was ever there.Â
âYou got my car fixed?â she signs before she rolls the garage door down a foot or two shy of the ground.Â
âNot quite, electric coupling module is shot to shit.âÂ
âYou said it was an easy fix.âÂ
âGuess I was wrong,â he turns to face her, arm crossed over his chest, âyou could always find a new shop, find someone else who wonât question some scav lookinâ nomad why sheâs hugging the border.âÂ
âIâm not a fuckinâ scav, move,â she signs before shoving him away from her car engine, if he canât get this thing up and running, sheâll do it her god damn self. She needs to get to Night City, yesterday, sheâs already frustrated and him acting like heâs doing her a favor by staring at her engine for an hour isnât helping.Â
âGot any idea what youâre doing?â Condescension drips from the mechanicâs words.Â
âGonna, rig a hotwire, bypass the coupling.â She switches out some plugs, trying to find something, anything that will save her heap.Â
âCompressor will run on and on, could seize up.âÂ
âBetter than standing around scratching my head.âÂ
She walks around her Rattler, pulling open the driver side door and climbing in. Please, any god listening right now, donât fuck this up for her. V presses down the ignition and tries to rev the engine; sputters but doesnât start.Â
âItâs like I was telling you,â the mechanic grumbles, so she tries again and another sputter.Â
âFuck off,â she signs, wishing the tone of the AI voice would better convey her frustration as she begs her car, her baby, to start.Â
Come on baby, she thinks and her hands twitch to sign, her voice catching. Her desperation nearly making her verbal. Her rattler, her baby, her beautiful heap of rust and luck has carried her through three years in the Badlands. Just a little further, into the city, and V will find her a decent mechanic to give her vehicular child the treatment she deserves. She presses the ignition and revs the gas.Â
And that engine roars to life and itâs the sweetest sound sheâs ever heard, her baby lives, she fucking lives! V canât contain her smile, thankfully hidden behind the cover of her mask, she could scream. Sheâs starting the next chapter of her life with her baby by her side.Â
âNot too shabby, question is how long will it last you,â the mechanic rains on her parade as he shuts the hood.Â
âBetter than whatever you were trying.âÂ
V rolls her eyes and gets her walkie talkie radio out, hooking it to a jack in her car to try to boost a signal; she needs to let her client know sheâs coming into the city, so they can prepare to pick up the cargo.Â
âAntennae on this heap donât look like it packs much of a punch, doubt youâll hear much.âÂ
There was a broadcasting comms tower outside of the town, she saw it as she made her way in, sheâll get in and boost her signal with it. Should be fairly easy. She just wants to make it into the city, her chance at a new life. Seventeen years with The Herd, under her fatherâs thumb. Three years running, never able to settle down, never knowing when her family would find her when sheâd be put down. Years wasted, sheâs ready to live, to really live on her own fucking terms.Â
A flash of khaki fabric, visible through the opened gap in the garage door catches her eye and a chill runs down her spine. Trouble. Black cybernetic hands catch the bottom of the metal door and roll it up; an older man in a sheriffâs uniform with a cowboy hat comes strolling in.Â
âHey, Mike, didnât know you had a customerâŠâ He draws out, looking over V as if she was carrying the plague.Â
âJust rolled in a few hours ago, I, uh, thought she would have told you.â
âNow, donât you worry, weâre gonna hash this out,â the sheriff says, strolling over to her, he puts an arm up on her car roof, leaning against her open car door and looming over her, âDon'tcha know you owe the sheriff a word when you pay his town a visit? To tell him what brought you here, maybe even over a cup of coffee.â
âYou that hard up for dates?â She signs in return, catching a muscle twitch of annoyance, and she smirks behind her mask. Five seconds in and sheâs getting under his skin.Â
âNames Andrew Jones, you probably heard of me.âÂ
âCanât say that I have.âÂ
âServed in special ops in the last war, silver shoguns, ring any bells?âÂ
âCanât say that it does.âÂ
âHmm,â he grumbles, âdonât like to get along, do you?âÂ
âCanât say that I do.âÂ
He scowls at her as he shifts his weight off her door and moves to walk in front of her vehicle, looking it over. His foot raises up, dirty boot now on the grill of her car and she wishes nothing more than to just drive forward and run his dumbass over. She doesnât have fucking time for this; her client is waiting. She doesnât even want to be in his dumbass little town; she already fucked the only good thing here and found nothing but disappointment.Â
âThat a nomad vehicle? I might have figured. Scav mask, nomad car; what that make you?âÂ
âYou got a problem?â
âIâll tell you what my problem is, nothing boils my blood like a fuckinâ stray. Where your clan pitch camp?âÂ
âNo camp, no clan, just little ole me, arenât you lucky?âÂ
 âDonât buy it, nomads always stick with their pack.âÂ
âGot no pack, they donât suit me much.â
âMakes you an outcast among outcasts.â He sneers at her, looking down his nose at her, like heâs something special and sheâs gum stuck on his shoe.Â
âLet me guess, youâre the type of guy who believes every line of shit the corps feed you, that nomads are the worldâs greatest evil.âÂ
âNo, Iâm a man who respects order, corps brought us that order-â
âThe corps pay you and have you on a leash like a dog, you know that?âÂ
âAnd you donât wanna see me bare my fangs.âÂ
âTry and Iâll put you down,â Vâs fingers move before she can give another though, no interest in making peace with this asshole.Â
âYou threatening me, girl?âÂ
âNo more than you are me, stay out of my way and Iâll get out of yours.âÂ
âBig talk coming from a misfit.â
She lets out a short laugh, the sound layered with her modulator, making it louder and doubled. Â
âLook, Iâm not scared of some shithole townâs sheriff who thinks a badge is a crown,â she signs, hands moving so quick and hurried that the sound of skin hitting skin rings out, âI want to leave your town, you want me gone, move your ass and Iâll make us both happy.âÂ
âGet going,â he moves out from in front of her car, âI got no mind to see you drifting around these parts.âÂ
âWhat part of this conversation made you think I want to?â She finishes signing before slamming her car door shut.Â
âWhat was that drifter?â His voice fades away as she guns it out of the repair shop, rolling her eyes behind her mask.Â
Though, maybe breaking into the communications tower is technically drifting, but she needs to radio her client. Sinclaire will need to know sheâs coming into the city, so they can meet up, exchange eddies for cargo, and she can figure life out from there. She takes a road that goes north and cuts through the desert, her Rattler practically born for off roading as she takes the heavy bumps of the sand dunes and drives through cacti, pulling up to graffiti covered bumpers just outside the fenced in tower.Â
It's an amalgamation of latticed rusted metal with satellites on top, graffiti decorating the buildings and chunks of the tower itself. It clearly hasnât been used or maintained in years, but it should still boost her signal. V climbs out of her vehicle, trying to open the door to the fencing. It doesnât budge at all and she pouts, then kicks it as hard as she can. Her steel toed boot works as well as a key, making it swing open.Â
Itâs a quick little journey, two little flights of stairs she jogs up with ease. Then itâs a ladder, the peeling yellow paint sticking to her palms. And then sheâs as high as she can reach, transmitter box in view. But with the view around her, wind whipping through, she takes a moment to peel off her mask and breathe. Sun beating down and warming her face, the breeze cools her skin under itâs rays, wicking away sweat that sticks to her brow.Â
A deep inhale of air before she forces herself to move again, the rusted front of the transmitter box breaks at the hinges when she opens it, she pays no mind and throws it aside then jacks in her walkie-talkie radio. V leans against the tower railing, radio in hand, but not ready to let go of the quiet.Â
The smell of rust and paint surrounds her as she takes everything in. Sheâll miss this, she realizes, the open road and the Badlands have always been her home. But itâs not safe, not really. The Herd has shown no signs of letting this go. For four years, sheâs dodged her sister and Ava; the two tasked with being her trackers, repeated close calls over all this time. Theyâve interrogated and demanded answers from the folks in these sleepy little towns she breezes through. The mask has helped, but every day the feeling of them nipping at her heels gets worse. Her stomach churns at the lengths theyâve gone to. Vâs father wasted no time in turning her sister against her, turning Eira into a weapon to do his bidding, to put down the defected child who never should have made it past nine.Â
Heâll kill her for not falling in that same line, for refusing to be his soldier. Forced to choose between death or conformity, practically one in the same, she tries to seek a third option.
Night City has its own rules, laws, restrictions; a city completely controlled by corps. Itâs disgusting in its own right. But The Herd isnât allowed in the city, border control of Night City has strict orders to keep all known or identifiable members of the Raffen Shiv clan out. Corps hate Nomads, as a general rule, but they really hate The Herd. A Nomad family with no respect for anyone elseâs laws, a strong anti-consumerism, anti-cyberware, and anti-corp attitude; The Herd might as well send a personal fuck you to Night City. Its not perfect, not even good, a crime infested corp run cesspool, but itâs the safest option. More security, more boundaries, more faces so V can blend in.  Even if Eira and Ava make it into Night City, which sheâs not naĂŻve enough to believe impossible, theyâll have six million folks to work their way through. Nomads stay in pack because groups provide safety; a sea of city faces is just an extension of that.Â
But that safety comes at a cost. It means no more open spaces, no more serenity, no more campfires with burnt marshmallows, or driving down dirt roads as fast as she can with her windows down, and screaming out in excitement as she takes on every bump and turn with reckless abandon.Â
Thereâs no perfect choice, every decision carries a sacrifice, but if the cost of staying in the Badlands could mean her life, her freedom, her identity⊠the city is the better option⊠she thinksâŠ
A pessimistic or perhaps realistic part of her canât help but feel like heâll get his way, her father will have her head on a pike, will slaughter his own daughter like cattle. And his power over The Herd will only grow. After all, if heâd go this far to put down his own child for an act of betrayal, how could anyone else ever think to be spared his wrath. The already loyal army of followers will be further forced into submission by fear.Â
Maybe this is all a waste of time, she wonders, often does. Maybe itâs just dragging out the inevitable. Hell, a part of her wonders if sheâd be better off begging for mercy, if heâd offer it just to maintain control. Would she be safer if she just gave in? Is she really the kind of person who needs to be half of a whole to function, to feel safe?
But, is it wrong to want something more? To be able to look back at her life, no matter how long or short it may be, and know she lived, that she gave it all she had. That she stayed true to herself, whoever that is. To prove that she doesnât need them, that she isnât a burden depending on others to carry her weight. She can make something of herself in Night City, can live on her own terms, even if only until the inevitable comes knocking at her door. It will be a bit of breathing room, a chance to just be, instead of constantly looking over her shoulder.
Family was meant to be her security, her safety, but were they ever really? V shakes her head, if she goes down every thought pattern, every reason, every doubt, every feeling; sheâll be here forever.Â
She pulls her mask back down and radios her client after another moment of soaking in the breeze, it's odd they didnât go through a fixer, but frankly she doesnât care. A middleman who takes part of the cut isnât ideal for her either. Sheâs looking for the past possible new start and the more eddies in her pocket, the better thatâll be.Â
âV?â Sinclaire speaks her alias once she gets through.Â
âSpeaking,â she signs, as always thankful her mask spares her voice in moments like this.Â
âWhere the hell are you?âÂ
âHit a snag, but Iâm on my way into the city now.â
âThatâs what I like to hear, once youâre through the border radio me and weâll talk meet up.âÂ
âThe docs you sent,â she signs, thinking to the falsified passport docs he had sent out her way, âthey should get me through border check.âÂ
âAbsolutely, border control barely checks ID on customs, but that little pamphlet will breeze you through.âÂ
âOkay, just checking.âÂ
âDonât worry V, this is a piece of cake. Youâre gonna love Night City, Iâm telling you.âÂ
âYeah? That so?âÂ
âMmhmm, once we finish the trade off, Iâll show you around. Thereâs a place in Wellsprings with synth steak to die for, Iâll treat you.âÂ
âSounds like a plan, Iâm heading out now.â She agrees easily, itâll be better to have more connections in the city, people she gets along with well enough and know the place better than her.Â
âSee ya soon.âÂ
Her client doesnât know her exact clan, just knows she needs papers to get into the city. Thereâs more than one group of Raffen Shiv that arenât allowed in city limits; hell sheâs pretty sure Wraithâs arenât. Though, corps make special deals to let them in when they need work done. As shitty as they are, The Herd has yet to whore themselves out to that degree, one thing she can still respect about her father. She fiddles with the leather cuff bracelet around her wrist, that hides the small crown shaped brand that he placed on her skin as a child, his way of marking his blood family. Sheâs considered taking a knife to it, but some part of her isnât ready to. Â
Vâs steps are hurried as she leaves the comms tower, heavy boots stomping over metal as she makes the quick journey back to her Rattler, the red beast of a car waiting where she left it. She climbs into the vehicle and twists the vehicle around. She follows the dirt road back out to the highway, headed out to the city.Â
She races back through the little town, picking up as much speed as she can, wind whipping through the open windows. Yucca is a blink and its gone, V having cruises right through the nothing town and continuing down the highway. Empty stretches of desert decorated with cacti as she races down the expanse of roadway.Â
Then the signs warn her of border crossing, nearing the city, her heart rate picking up as she grows closer to changing her life. A border checkpoint, enclosures and offices with an overpass above the divided lanes of the highway. Each lane leads to a border control officer with holograms labeling what each lane is for based on why someone is coming into the city; whether or not they have cargo to check. She slows down, so she can pull off her mask, the less suspicious she looks the better. Border guards arenât going to stand for being questioned by The Herd, so its minimal risk.Â
She switches over to the lane for customs check, pulling up to the raised blockade, beyond it another car coming through is scanned. An armed border guard not far away and she waits as the vehicle is giving the go ahead to leave; blockade coming down and guard ushering her to drive forward. V drives that little bit forward; cement yellow blockades raise before and behind her vehicle. Locking her into place makes her uncomfortable, like she canât escape.Â
âStay in the security check area,â a guard tells her over the intercom, like she would have tried to drive through the blockade without his warning. A beat i silence, a minute or two passes as the scanners run along her car.Â
âWould the owner of the vehicle please report for further questioning.â
V grabs the falsified passport, manifest marked LOA, and the bribe chip for good measure. She keeps her head down as she gets out of the vehicle, makes her body language small as she walks into the office building. Maintaining a non-threatening demeanor in order to ease any friction that may come her way. The door automatically opens, a waiting room of people and a desk behind bulletproof glass where a worker stands. A map of the New United States across one of the walls.Â
âIf youâre armed, leave your weapon here.â The worker behind the desk calls out and V unholsters her revolver, allowing him to check it and put it in a drawer, âreport to room two.â
She nods, feeling naked without a weapon on her hip, but she knows this is the way of things. V turns the corner, finding the door with a two marked next to it. She opens the door and a lump forms in her throat. It's a small cramped little excuse of a room, a guard already at the rinky dink desk and a chair in front of it. She takes small timid steps to the chair, discolored with either dried blood or rust, she canât be certain. The man is dressed in a neon vest; some sort of either goggles or optic implants over his eyes that scan her over as she sits down. He wastes not a second in lighting a cigarette and her nose wrinkles as smoke billows to fill the small room. She can already feel the stench of it clinging to her clothes and wishes she could snatch it from his hand.Â
âPapers?â he asks.Â
She hands over the manifest, her falsified passport, and the credit chip without a word. Metallic implant augmented fingers put the cred chip aside to look over the little blue document, then he places the paper over the cred chip, hiding it from prying eyes that may peek into the office. Meanwhile, V tries to maintain her most innocent of expression, puppy dog eyes primed if any issue arrives. Small and adorable has few benefits in this world; but she plans to take advantage where she can. Being underestimated, assumed to be weak or docile, as much as it hurts does have perks.Â
âWhat are you transporting?âÂ
âItâs all in there,â she signs in response, because frankly she has no idea what sheâs transporting. Some corp crap.Â
âHmmm, tell me, who do you ride with?âÂ
âBakkers,â she lies through her teeth, her car was bought off one, so it seems like an easy enough excuse.Â
âThey stop installing personal links?â He asks, puffing out a plume of smoke, his gaze on her linkless palm.Â
âReligious reasons, most of the clan has them, but my mom raised us to stay âganic, god given, ya know?â She signs, a practiced excuse for when sheâs asked about her lack of implants. Same as the excuse laid out in the passport.Â
âIs that soâŠâ he takes a deep drag off his cigarette and V bites her lip not to say anything sheâs hit with another face full of smoke, âyou know, times like this Iâm so glad not to be on the other side of that table.âÂ
âFeelings mutual,â she signs before she can even consider stopping, aggravated by this manâs entire existence at this point. She gave him all the documents, this should be done with by now.Â
âGo on now.âÂ
She jumps at the chance to be excused, taking in a deep fresher breath of air when sheâs released from the smoke box of an interrogation room. V runs a hand through her hair as she turns the corner. Thereâs another armored guard standing beside the desk now, his eyes doing a lazy look down of Vâs frame.
âDonât forget to collect your personal items.â The worker behind the desk tells her and she stops there, giving him a raised eyebrow before he goes to collect her gun, âbe careful with that toy and welcome to Night City.â
As much as sheâd like to gripe about the toy comment; as if sheâs a child, she canât help but find herself smiling at the greeting. Sheâs finally here, finally getting into the city. A life on her terms; a little breathing room between her and the clan. V holsters her gun, grin playing on her lips.
âThose little shits all imagine Night City to be some sort of paradise,â the armored guard comments about her, but not to her, looking over her to the worker behind the desk.
âWhat are you gonna do theyâre all young, naĂŻve, which is just another word for ignorant.â The worker replies and Vâs grin has died, maybe thatâs the case for others, but Night City is exactly what she needs. Her situation isnât the same. She doubts those young ignorant kids theyâre talking about were running from their own death.
She shakes her head, not worth the effort itâd take to respond, V leaves the building. Her Rattler a short distance away, sheâs nearly bouncing as she rushes towards it, climbing into the driverâs seat. Even the overpass above her has words welcoming her to the city, sheâs sure she wonât find paradise, but there...sheâll make this life her own.
Thereâs barely a blip of distance between her and the border check when she sees them. Black corporate vans coming towards her, her heart jolts into her throat and sweat edges along her skin.Â
âFuck!â V curses out loud, border fucker tipped off the corp.
âStop the vehicle! You are transporting corporate property!â A voice rings out from the vans and V takes a sharp turn off the road, her baby is meant for off roading after all.Â
âI repeat, stop the vehicle!â The corporate voice yells out again.Â
âStop the vehicle,â she murmurs in a whiny voice to herself, mocking the corpo, âgive us back our stuff, stop committing crimes, wah, wah, wah.âÂ
 She rolls her eyes, amused by her own bullshit as she punches in the keypad of her Rattler, starting up the automated turret attached to the roof. Itâs not the most high tech system, but it has a lock on function and should get the job done. The sounds of bullets pinging off metal creates a cacophony around her as she careens through an abandoned rural area, taking sharp turns to try to shake them. V takes out her hearing aids to stop her forming headache and focus on what sheâs doing. The rumble of her turret shakes the car as it fires, letting her know its still working fine. Glass break out of the back of her car, a bullet piercing through, her back sprayed with the shards. Sheâll be digging a bullet out of her dashboard later, sheâs sure.Â
A bright flash of orange, flames enveloping a van as her turret hits a gas tank the right way. One down, two to go. She keeps the pedal to the floor, speed topping out as she races away from the approaching vans. Another sharp turn and she watches as a van crashes into a wall, one last stubborn fucker.Â
Thereâs a slight tense to the vibration of her turret overhead, bullets hitting the top of it, aiming to disarm it, as she goes through another turn. A shot bursts through her side mirror, assholes, do they have any idea how much itâs going to cost her to repair this heap. More than itâs probably worth. Â
The vibration that shakes her car settles down over her head, turret no longer firing, but the van is still chasing her. It fucking jammed, her turret fucking jammed again, of course it did. V hauls off and punches the roof of her Rattler, right beneath where the turret is, used to this issue at this point. As always, the hard punch manages to spur it back on and it fires up again, blasting at the last van at full speed.Â
A bullet hits the corpo vanâs front tire, knocking it off path; final one down.Â
âSuck my dick, Arasaka!â She screams out for no one else to hear.
Sheâs grinning as she finds a collection of abandoned trailers and garages, pulling into one, sheâll need to call her client, figure out a meeting place. They may want her to lay low for a bit until Arasaka calms their tits about this. But sheâs in Night City, finally, what could go wrong from here. Cut out a nice living for herself, solo work or maybe something else, who knows. Get herself a place and do whatever the fuck she wants from there. She slides on her mask, puts her hearing aids back in, and rings her client.Â
âSinclaire?âÂ
âV, you make it over the border yet?âÂ
âYep, out just south of Pacifica according to the GPS, little run in with the corps but I shook them. When and where you wanna meet?âÂ
âLittle China, you know where the old Club Atlantis is?âÂ
âNot remotely, but ping me the coordinates and Iâll find it.âÂ
âSending it to you now, think you can get there by three am?âÂ
âYeah, no problem, prefer to do this under cover of darkness?âÂ
âMuch prefer, see you soon, V.âÂ
V hangs up the call and punches in the coordinates he sent, GPS map firing up to tell her where to go. She pulls out of the abandoned garage and gets herself back out on the road, driving further into the city.Â
She doesnât like driving in the city. V determines about a minute into being into the actual bulk of the city. Thereâs neon signs and adverts everywhere she looks; most displaying someones ass or tits. She wouldnât consider herself a prude, far from it given just how many people sheâs spread her own legs for, but she does appreciate some decorum⊠These are sleazy, dirtyâŠÂ
And thereâs traffic. Even at the late hour, people are on the roads, and theyâre slow. So, fucking slow. Move, your asses. A motorcycle might be a good investment, sheâd be able to just ride between traffic or weave through the other cars.
She manages to reach the spot before three am, though she wants to scream by the time she arrives. The building blends in easily, just another large shuttered up structure with graffiti covering its outside; symbols for the Tyger Claws, because correct spelling is a bad look for a gang, apparently.Â
V lets out a huff of air as she gets out of her car to wait;Â examining the little bloody scratches on her shoulders and arms where the glass hit her. Nothing serious, a splash of rubbing alcohol to disinfect and sheâll be fine. But there is a slight sting to the injuries that make moving her arms and shoulders uncomfortable. Corpo fucks. V leans against her car, taking in her new city.Â
And she shouldnât be amazed, she knows that. The traffic drove her nuts and sheâs been in landfills that smelled nicer. But despite it all, she finds herself impressed at the buildings that stretch on into the heavens. The bright lights and neon against a dark sky is gorgeous; a high vantage point and sheâs sure itâd look like something out of a movie. She finds herself in awe as hope nestles its way into her chest.Â
Not perfect, nothing ever is, but she can work with it. She can build something here.Â
A sharp honk gets her attention, disrupting her moment of reverie. The street and road have been abandoned mostly; only her and the limousine coming to a stop next to her. She gives a slight wave to the driver, then forms a V with her fingers, as if they needed any more indication of who she is.Â
The driver is not her client, instead a big bulk of a man with gorilla arms implants, black metal for fingers, he gets out of the driverâs seat and a similarly sized man steps out of the back seat. Her clientâs got muscle around him it seems, maybe he just wants to make sure she doesnât get squirrely and try to pull something.Â
Both guards out, they open the backseat door close to the street and her client finally emerges. Heâs not a particularly tall man, though as with most adults, he is taller than her. Sandy slicked back hair and unnaturally bright green eyes; likely optics.Â
âV, darling, nice to see you in the flesh, you got the goods?âÂ
âRight here,â she signs before moving behind her car, opening the trunk so he can see the Arasaka cargo crate.
âFantastic, load it up, boys.âÂ
âWoah, woah,â V signs and sits on the crate before the two bodyguards can grab it, âeddies first, then you take the cargo.âÂ
âOh, V, honeyâŠâ His voice drips with condescension and a chill reverberates down her spine, âyou did good work, only a shame youâre so naive.âÂ
âThe fuck do-âÂ
Pain cracks through her skull, knocking V off the cargo crate and onto the ground. Another sharp thwack of pain across her head and back; something blunt striking her before she can get up. She groans out as she rolls over onto her back, looking up at the bodyguard whoâs holding a baseball bat, what looks like blood staining it. Her head and back hurt; her head spinning and sheâs unable to get her bearings.
âLoad the cargo into the car.âÂ
âWhat do you want us to do with her?â One of the guards asks Sinclaire and he looks down at her, like a cockroach.Â
âEh, no one will come looking for her. Might as well throw her away with the trash,â he kicks her side, sneering when she grunts in pain, âgive her another hit for good measure.âÂ
âGot it,â the guard nods and starts to raise the baseball again, high above his head for a hard swing and she instinctively twists to give him the back of her head again.Â
âWeâll scrap the car, ge-âÂ
And then the bat comes down on her, a rush of pain before consciousness slips from her grasp.Â
Time loses all meaning when the world is blacked out, but eventually the light filters back in and her senses return. She can feel her hearing aids still in and its reaffirmed by the sounds she hears, the faint murmur of people. The smell around her is awful, disgusting, and she can feel stuff around her. Plastic bags scratching at her skin, something wet touching her arm. Her mask shifted and she forces herself to move, she pulls it back in place, blinking.Â
Garbage bags, some intact and others shredded. He actually had her thrown into the trash, that son of a bitch. V pushes the trash bags off of her, city lights starting to glimmer through, neon against a black sky. She finds a metal edge of the dumpster and pulls herself up, body still aching in protest as she emerges from her would be grave. Cold air hits her bare arms, the city far colder in the early months than the Badlands. Sheâs in an alleyway dumpster and she hears gasps of shocks, turning to see civilians shocked to see someone climbing out of the trash. Sheâs be ashamed if she werenât so furious.
V punches the side of the dumper, feeling it reverberate with the force, this was supposed to be her shot at a new life and now sheâs in a god damn dumpster.Â
Sheâs going to kill Sinclaire, sheâs going to fucking kill him, son of a bitchfucked her over and heâs going to pay with blood. But how the hell does she even reach him? He never gave her details of where he spends his time or let alone where he lives. Hell, she doesnât even know where she is. She needs her car back and her luggage from it, she doesnât even have a change of fucking clothes as it stands right now.Â
âWhat time is it? Where am I?â she signs at the civilians, still straddling the edge of the dumpster, maybe they can be some help.Â
âUhhh, like 10pm? And HeywoodâŠ?â
So, he dragged her away quite a bit, so...maybe he frequents the area. Still doesnât tell her much, she needs to find him. And she needs to find her car, but how the fuck does she accomplish that?
âDonât suppose you have any idea where I could find Luke Sinclaire, do you?âÂ
âUh, no,â the stranger kind of raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the whole situation, âbut uh, you could always talk to Padre. Heâs the local fixer.âÂ
Of course, sheâd have to get a fixer involved, not using one is probably what got her in this mess in the first place. Sinclaire knew she had no ties to her Nomad family, new to the city, and no fixer involved. He basically had license to do whatever he wanted without fearing someone would come for him or come looking for her. V touches the back of her head, fingers coming back red, dried blood matting her hair. He meant for her to die, sheâs sure, but the blunt trauma wasnât enough to do her in.Â
âWhereâs Padre?â she signs, she doesnât have money to pay a fixer but maybe they can work something out. She doesnât want to lone wolf it and end up in a dumpster again.Â
âHe has his own parish, but heâs usually at the El Coyote Cojo right about now, might be able to catch him if you hurry.âÂ
âEl Coyote Cojo, which would beâŠwhere?âÂ
âBar a little north of here, you really arenât from around here, are you?âÂ
âThanks for your help and stunning observational skills; Iâm off.âÂ
She pulls her hood back up over her head, hiding her bloody matted hair as she leaves the alley way and goes vaguely north. New chapter of her life, sheâs injured, alone, broke, and smells like garbage.Â
Honestly, sounds about right for her luck. But, sheâs far from given up. She navigates the Night City streets, stopping to ask a stranger where the bar is again before she finally finds it. She keeps expecting to get weird looks, like the ones that were usually sent her way in the small towns sheâd visit on the road. But even with her mask, no one pays her much mind. And why would they?
V passes at least four more outrageous looking strangers along her way to the bar. Peopleâs whoâs entire body is made of gold cyberware, a woman with skin that looks like plastic, a cowboy with cybernetic arms and legs, and a girl with what looks like cat ear implants on top of her head. Things that make her stop and give a second glance, but no one here even minds. Night City has its own weirdness limit and her mask doesnât even come close to hitting it. There's an anonymity sheâs never known before and its kind of nice. Even bloody, mask on, trash covered; sheâs just one face in a sea of millions.Â
El Coyote Cujo is a lowlit bar with traditional Mexican decorations across it and as expected in the evening, it has a fair number of patrons bustling around. People shooting pool, downing tequila, and chatting amongst themselves. And for the first time, she finds eyes landing on her. Not necessarily weirded out by her masked appearance, but more so wary of a stranger. She pays them no mind, employees here should know where Padre frequents or if heâs still here. Thereâs two sheâs able to find right away; the bartender and a busboy. She starts with the bartender, walking herself over to a stool, heâs an older man with dark hair and a golden arm. He walks over to her once sheâs sat, a smile bringing out the crows feet at the corners of his eyes.Â
âA new face, what can I get for you?âÂ
âIâm actually trying to find someone,â she signs, âsomeone told me the local fixer, Padre, is a regular here.â
âAh, heâs probably at his usual table upstairs, not sure heâs interested in taking on any new clients though.âÂ
âIâll see if we can figure something out.â She steps away from the bar and heads upstairs, its mostly vacant, making her task just a little bit easier.Â
Her gaze is drawn to an older man with sparsely any hair and age spots along his skin, a gold cross around his neck. A few men in tacky gold jewelry around him.
âPadre?â The AI modulator voice calls out and she sees the older manâs eyes land on her. His guards around him seem to tense, prepared for if she sends up being a threat.Â
âIâm not sure, I know you,â Padre comments, looking over her disheveled appearance. Being beaten and thrown in a dumpster doesnât do much for your looks.Â
âYou donât, but Iâm looking for a fixer, need help if youâre interested in hearing me out.â
âCome, sit.âÂ
âThank you, sir,â she signs before sliding into the booth seat across the table from him.Â
âHow can I assist you, child?âÂ
âSo, a guy named Luke Sinclaire contracted me to smuggle corp cargo into the city, I go to meet up with him and he tricks me. Stole the cargo, sent my car to be scrapped, and had his gangoons drop me. I need help finding him so I can get the cargo, my car, and my dignity back. Maybe kill him too, depending on how I feel, but weâll see.âÂ
âYou didnât use a fixer, I take it?â He raises an eyebrow with the energy of a dad chiding a child for making a stupid mistake.Â
âNo, I was desperate and it bit me in the ass, so Iâm doing what I should have done in the first place.âÂ
âAnd Iâm to assume, you have no money with which to do this either?â He says, having read her like a book.Â
âIâm sorry to be asking favors the first time we meet and I donât expect you to do this for nothing, of course, but I was wondering if we could work out an arrangement instead.â
âAnd what sort of arrangement would that be?âÂ
âIâll do a merc job for you, your choosing, Iâll take no cut of the profit; a completely free job in exchange for you helping me with this.â
âAnd how can I trust you to do this job well, I do not know you or your work.âÂ
âWell, Iâd do the job for you first, so if its crap you could not help me. I fully expect to get back what I put in, if I do quality work, you do it in return, Iâm desperate here.â
âCome with me, Marcus, get the car,â he tells one of the bulky men who walks off.Â
Padre stands and follows behind Marcus, V follows suit as they leave down the stairs and out of the bar towards a dark little alleyway. Marcus pulls up a car and parks it for them. Once parked Marcus gets out and comes back to one of the backseat doors, Padre gets into the back on his own, Marcus opens the door for her. He silently beckons her in and she does what sheâs asked, sliding onto the leather seat. Marcus shuts her door before going back around to the driverâs seat,Â
âEmbers, pull up to the back where the ramp is,â Padre instructs Marcus of where to go.Â
And then the car pulls out onto the road. V fiddles with a curl of hair, fidgety and unsure of what to do, why theyâre driving out away from the bar. Padre has a far away look in his eye.Â
âYouâre new to Night City, arenât you?âÂ
âYeahâŠâÂ
âAnd what is your name, Iâm afraid I didnât catch it earlier.âÂ
âV.âÂ
âV, Iâve lived in Heywood all my life, itâs roots are strong and watered by blood. Family is what pulls us through, no one is purely independent. The city is ecosystem, each individual playing a vital role that impacts those around them. The relationship between fixers and our mercenaries is an important one, not only is it mutual beneficial, but we keep each other safe. A lesson youâve had to learn the hard way.âÂ
âCanât really argue with thatâŠâÂ
âPeople who-âÂ
Padre pauses in his words looking out of the window and through it, V can see a car coming up alongside them. The car begins honking furiously at them. Nerves alight and chills slinking up her spine; she has a bad feeling about this. It has to be someone with a bone to pick with Padre.Â
âShit!â Marcus curses, the first word sheâs heard him say.Â
âStop the car,â Padre says, with a calming hand on Marcusâs shoulder.Â
âWhatâs this?â V signs, worrying speeding up her hands.Â
âBusiness, you carrying?âÂ
âYeahâŠ.â V checks her waistband and her revolver is gone because why did she think Sinclaire wouldnât take her gun, âNo.âÂ
Padre blinks, surprised sheâs sure, because who the fuck would be unarmed in Night City. Marcus pulls to a stop, the car once beside them pulls around to park in front of them and a man comes out. Heâs dressed in what appear to be green fatigues with a bullet proof vest. As he comes close to Vâs window, she sees his gold implants catching the neon lights.Â
âSebastian Ibarra,â the man says in a low voice, as Vâs window is rolled down by Marcus, âlooks like itâs my lucky day.â
The stranger leans into the window, his left hand is carrying a gun and he casually puts it into the window. Both arms are metal in nature, but they look far from top shelf, at least from her glance.Â
âWhat do you want?â Padre asks him.Â
âTo settle our biz, once and for all. Got an offer for you, Paddy, so listen up. Get the fuck out of Vista, pull your boys off the street! Iâll give you the Glenn, done deal. No more restless nights, see how generous I can be?âÂ
A beat of silence and V gives a glance at Padre, he seems far from amused with the manâs bullshit.Â
âWell, Paddy?!âÂ
V lurches at his impatient yell, she doesnât need this wannabe soldier turned gangbanger fucking up her deal. Her right hand grabs the back of his neck, below the base of his skull and her left grabs the gun. She slams his head against the car roof, his forehead gushing blood at the impact, the shock and pain makes his grip loosen and allows her to steal his pistol before letting him go.Â
âFuck, fuck,â he curses as he stumbles back, seeing stars and touching at his forehead. She aimed for the soft flesh just before his golden mohawked implant began, blood now steadily streaming from the wound, âyouâll fucking pay for that.âÂ
She points his own pistol at him, cocking the gun, asking the silent question of if he intends to be shot today.Â
âIt seems our conversation has come to a close,â Padre speaks calmly, but when she turns she can see the hint of a smile on his lips.Â
âCareful Padre, never know whoâs got a barrel at your six,â he threatens with blood coating his face like paint, âyou neither shitbucket!âÂ
âNow, Iâm armed,â V signs to Padre, as she watches the man climb back into his car, defeated for the moemnt.Â
âMarcus, please.âÂ
The driver pulls out and away, getting them back on the road, as if the exchange had never happened. Thereâs a moment or two of silence, as V tucks her new gun into her waistband. If Padre takes her up on her offer, she may need it, plus you can generally never have enough firepower.Â
âMany people come through the city,â Padre speaks after a beat of silence, âlittle shits whoâs spines go soft the moment theyâre looking down the barrel of a gun. And sometimes you get the odd soul, one who can truly hold their own.âÂ
âWho was that?â She asks, unable to help but smirk behind her mask at the compliment. That sheâs one of the odd souls, different from those little shits, that she can hold her own. V is far from incompetent, even if some shitbird got the jump on her.Â
âNo one important, heâll be gone in a weekâs time. Another will take his place.â
âThe ecosystem will take him out?âÂ
âPeople who donât know their place, soon find themselves without one. Heâll pay for what heâs done. You⊠paid for your misdeeds, for your misstep, but youâre finding your place now and within it you may thrive.âÂ
âYou got my place in the ecosystem all figured out?âÂ
âHere,â he hands her a screamsheet, a magazine with an animated ad for a car, high-end The Legend of Aerondight, âonly four in Night City.âÂ
âThat so?â It looks slick, she guesses, though certainly not her aesthetic. Its that weird rich person sort of design where itâs oddly shaped and proportioned, perhaps to be aerodynamic. All sleek silver and black, no character to it. Sheâd take her Rattler over it any day.Â
âFirst belongs to the Rayfield regional direction, second belongs to mayor Rhyne, third to a rental service. And my client aims to be the fourth.âÂ
âKlep the car and youâll help me?âÂ
âYes, I have a contact who works inside the parking structure near Embers, a club the current owner likes to frequent. Heâs there tonight as well. My contact will cut the security camera feed and open the security gate for you.âÂ
âCurrent owner, anyone I need to worry about?âÂ
âAn Arasaka corpo,â Padre informs her, because apparently, she hasnât fucked with Arasaka enough in the past day or so.Â
âSo, just hotwire it or?â It wouldnât be the first time sheâs hotwired a car, but fancy ones like this usually have a more complicated security system. Usually takes more than a knife and luck, which is her usual method.Â
âNot quite,â Padre pulls a little gadget, a silver and black device that he hands to her, âthis should work like a key for the car, matches the ones used by Rayfield tech. Should open the lock and bypass identity authorization.âÂ
âThat sounds convenientâŠâ Too fucking convenient, she resists adding.Â
âKabuki has some excellent tech workers, but I wonât lie, it is a risk. I assume one youâre willing to take?âÂ
âGot it, Iâll get the car.âÂ
âMarcus, pull up here,â Padre tells the driver and they come to a stop, âyou can jump down below, and before you go, take this V.âÂ
He hands her a card, marked with his name and phone number, golden in color with a sword surrounded by roses. She rubs her thumb over the embossment, glad for her first contact within the city. Connections help.Â
âYour number?â She points out the obvious, not sure what else to say.Â
âBring the car back to El Coyote Cujo and call me when you arrive, if all goes well, Iâll have your intel by then. And, I may just call on you for work down the line.âÂ
âUnderstood, Iâm off then.âÂ
âGo with God, V.â Â
The guardrail drags along the side of the highway but thereâs a breakage where it allows her enough space to easily jump over. Peering over it leads to an alley way, a closed dumpster just below. She hops over, dropping down onto the dumpster, she intends on last night being her last trash nap, so sheâs more than a little thankful for it being closed. She hears a civilian let out a little exclamation but pays no mind as she jumps down onto the pavement. A quick walk down a graffitied alleway leads her to yellow road signs cutting across an open structure. Glowing vending machines beckon her to spend ennies she doesnât have on energy drinks and burritos, a turn past them brings her to an elevator.Â
Slick glinting silver encompasses her as she steps into the alleyway; impressively clean compared to the absolute grime of the city. Likely to impress any corpos who come this way to get their cars. A quick tap of a button and the doors shut, elevator rattling as it descends down to the garage.Â
A beat of silence and the elevator opens up to a hallway; black, gunmetal gray, and teal accents. The wall declares which sector sheâs in and an arrow on the far wall tells her where to turn, as if there were anywhere else to go. The turn around the corner puts her directly in front of two large black double doors; PARKING over them in clear bold lettering.Â
They slide open when she gets close and open up to the large parking garage, lights coming on as she sees all the slick fancy corpo cars. Sleek blacks and eye popping reds, none with any taste for design if you ask her. But nomads and corpos have...different aesthetics.Â
âEh, something I can help you with?â A male voice rings out, bringing her attention to the little station next to the blocked off exit for cars. The contact, she presumes. She comes over to his open window, the man dressed in uniform.Â
âPadre sent meâŠâ she signs, keeping things vague just in case this person has no idea why sheâs here.Â
âGotcha,â he hits a button, âcameras are blind, you got twenty minutes.âÂ
She nods and goes looking through the cars, itâs the glow of neon that brings her to it. A parking spot marked off in the vivid blue glowing lights, they frame the Rayfield, and spell VIP on the wall behind it.Â
Time to test the tech, she holds the device next to the door and presses its button, a blue light flashing. And then the Rayfieldâs door opens, sliding back and up in one fluid motion, exposing the deep burgundy leather seats. Shit may actually be going right for once.Â
She climbs into the driverâs seat, feeling wholly out of place in the plush designed car. The seat automatically adjusts to accommodate her, no doubt shorter than the owner, and the blacked-out windshield and window turn to crystalline clear glass. All thatâs left is bringing the baby back to the bar and then she can get her intel on Sinclaire.Â
A red caution symbol flashes in the windshield and her body tenses; a bad feeling creeping in. No, her luck canât be running out already.Â
Then the door opens and thereâs a gun in her face.Â
âGet the fuck out!â A Mexican accented voice yells out.Â
If there is a god, he personally hates her, there is no other explanation, and she will fist fight him for his shenanigans. She looks up at the man standing before her, barrel at her forehead. Heâs leaning down against the car, not unlike how the sheriff did to intimidate her back in Yucca. However, unlike the sheriff, this guy has the build to pull it off. Heâs easily over a foot taller than her and wider than most doorway, all pure muscle with dark hair in a top knot, gold cybernetics adoring his face. She puts her hands up in mock surrender for a moment.Â
âNothing personal, jaina, just biz.âÂ
V goes to gun it, to stomp her foot down on the gas, but before she can the man has the back of her hoodie and is unceremoniously ripping her out of the vehicle.Â
âYou fuckinâ deaf, chica, fuck out of the car, now!â Heâs able to manhandle and pack her around like itâs nothing, like carrying a housecat.Â
She grabs the hand on her hood and digs her fingernails in, swinging her foot out to kick him while her other hand goes for her gun.Â
Then thereâs a steady rev of engines, tires squealing and growing ever closer. Confusion coloring her assailantâs face and he drops her, looking around.Â
âThe fuckâŠâÂ
He starts to say and then thereâs two police cars rushing into the parking lot, skidding to stops in front of them. And its fucking overkill, if she rang 911 because she was shot, theyâd maybe send an officer out in three weeks. One fucking corpo has someone break into his car and itâs the end of the universe, need a full brigade.Â
The headlights of the cruises are blindingly bright and she struggles to adjust; putting her hands up as police officers come out with guns at the ready. Itâs a car for fucks sake.Â
âDonât move!âÂ
Her attacker carefully slides his gun across the cement, to show heâs not a threat and maybe sheâd consider doing the same if she cared; but she doesnât.Â
âYouâre under arrest!âÂ
âStay where you are!âÂ
The police continue barking orders, as if the two hadnât piece together what was happening or what was being asked of them. Theyâre not stupid.Â
âHands where I can see them, nice and slow!âÂ
He can already see them, why must they go through the rigamarole. She doesnât have time for this shit.Â
âOn the ground motherfuckers, right now!âÂ
V is able to watch for a second, as a female cop cuffs and pushes the big guy onto the ground. Then in the next second sheâs down there too, but they donât cuff her like they do him. The officer only holds her hands down to the pavement, maybe they think because sheâs smaller they donât need the cuffs, at least not yet.Â
âJackie Welles, my old pal from the hood,â a voice rings out, âSee you havenât grown an ounce wiser.âÂ
âHey,â big guy, apparently Jackie, responds and she shifts her head against the pavement to see him being held down in addition to the cuffs, âargh, Detective Stints, been a while, huh?â
âInspector Stints,â the man responds now stepping out where he can be seen in front of the bright lights, he picks up the gun Jackie put down.Â
âSame shit,â Jackie says with a laugh.Â
âBut you, youâre new,â Stints comments as he walks over and crouches down in front of her, looking over her face.
He waits, anticipating her to say something, but she talks with her hands and theyâre currently pinned behind her back. And sure she possesses the technical ability to speak, her vocal chords do function. But she doesnât, unless sheâs alone or highly emotional. She used to talk to her mom, sister, and AvaâŠbut those days are gone.Â
âSpit it out? Cat got your tongue?â Stints taunts and she still remains silent.Â
âThink her voicebox might be broken, Stints,â Jackie comments, a smirk playing on his lips.
âPfft, probably just another piece of Heywood trash, another termite whoâll live and die here. Just like you Welles.âÂ
âFuck off, just tell us what you got planned,â Jackie grumbles.Â
âGonna be booked, gonna do a stint, heh, get it?â He says with a grin.Â
âCâmon Stints, cut us a break, huh? You lock us up, weâll just jerk off till trial and then what?â
She has no intention on jerking off anywhere, but alright.
 âWorst case,â Jackie continues, âwe get a few months, standing room only nowadays. In el bote. Hell, weâll probably be out early.âÂ
âThese the thieves? Ordinary street trash,â a heavily accented voice comments, a Japanese man in a shimmery golden colored vest comes walking over.Â
âShit, heâs here,â Inspector Stints groans before standing, âgot them in custody Mr. Fujioka. Weâll be taking them, now.âÂ
âItâs a waste of effort, I have no time to testify or play at an investigation.âÂ
âSuggesting we let âem go, sir?âÂ
âIâm suggesting you throw them in the sea; cuffed, legs broken, so this trash doesnât float.âÂ
And with that the man starts to walk away, making his way back to the club, sheâs sure, continuing his night of debauchery as if he hadnât ordered the murder of two strangers just because he could, because he didnât have time for a trial. And god, she knows she probably has no room to judge anyone elseâs morals, but just fuck corpos.Â
âYou heard him,â the inspector says, because corpo cash pays his salary, sheâs sure.Â
âFuuuuckâŠ.â Jackie curses as they start to drag him up on his feet by the cuffed hands and she her own arms are wrenched back and cuffed.Â
V gets her feet back under her, moving with the pull as they manhandle her off the ground, she kicks back at the officer behind her. Her foot connects with their calf, causing them grunt out in pain as theyâre knocked off balance loosing their grip on her wrists. She jumps as high as she can and brings her cuffed hands under her feet to her front.Â
Jackie follows suit, kicking the officer off of him, but with his size it knocks them flat on their ass. He shoulder checks another pig as V makes a dive for the Rayfield, itâs door still open amongst this chaos. She lands herself in the drivers seat and hits the ignition.Â
âStop resisting!â Officers yell, fingers on the trigger, and no, thatâs not happening.Â
âWait up, chica!â Jackie yells out and she hits the button to open the passenger side door; heâs an asshole, but sheâs not leaving him to be thrown in the fucking ocean.Â
He throws himself down in the passenger side and she guns it, doors shutting on each side as she takes the turn out the parking exit. She watches from the corner of her eye as Jackie, whoâs barely able to fit in the bougie car, brings his cuffed hands down as low as he can. He grunts and curses, not quite as flexible as she is. With effort and twisting, heâs able to get the chain of the cuffs under his foot and then he stomps down while yanking his hands up. The little chain doesnât stand a chance, breaking into pieces and pinging about the interior as it does so.Â
âMuch better,â Jackie comments, looking at his wrists which now just have the manacles of the cuffs.Â
She rolls her eyes, bringing her attention back on the road and she expects to see sirens chasing after them, but it never happens. Are the cops not chasing them? They should be chasing them? Is she not getting in her second high speed chase since coming here?
âHonestly,â Jackie starts to talk again, he talks a lot, âI was just gonna let Stints free us, but I like the way you think, this way we get the Rayfield too.âÂ
âWhat?â She takes a hand off the wheel to sign.Â
âOh shit, youâre actuallyâŠ.my badâŠâ He awkwardly apologizes for asking if she was deaf earlier because, yes, yes she is.Â
âWhat do you mean, free us?âÂ
âStints is a softie as far as pigs go, got Heywood in his blood, would never throw us in the fuckinâ ocean cause some corpo said. And, you can slow down, he wonât chase us, chica.â
âOhâŠokay,â she signs, pulling up to a curb, something else to take care of.Â
âWe stopping here?âÂ
âYou are,â she signs before pulling her gun out and pointing it at him, signing with her other hand, âget out of the car.âÂ
âReally, chica?â He rolls his eyes, like he didnât pull this shit on her five minutes ago.Â
âWouldnât have let you in if I knew Stints was a softie, I got a job to finish, get out.âÂ
âA fixer line this up for you?âÂ
âYeahâŠâÂ
âPadre?âÂ
âYeahâŠare you gonna get out of the car orâŠ?âÂ
âListen, I was gonna klep the car and then find a fixer to sell it for me, but if you already got Padre involved, weâll go halfsies.âÂ
âYou pointed a gun at me!âÂ
âYouâre pointing a gun at me, right now!âÂ
âYou did it first!âÂ
And he laughs and she does too, because they sound like children bickering over who pushed who on the playground. Its dumb and ridiculous and why does she like him? His smile is warm and kind, something about him, welcoming. She drops the gun, tucking it back in her waistband. She press her hand under her mask, trying to suppress her giggles. The tension thatâs been clinging to her has snapped. Her body feels lighter, like she can breathe a bit better. She closes the passenger side door, he may be chill, or sheâs just easily charmed. But, sheâs still going to fuck with him, just a little.Â
âOkay, fine, weâll go halfsies.âÂ
âSee, now youâre making sense,â he grins as they pull out back onto the road, âJackie Welles.â Â
âVâŠitâsâŠnice to meet you? I think?âÂ
âHeh, not from around here, right?âÂ
âNah, but, from the sounds of it youâre a local.âÂ
âHeywood in my veins, chica, where we meeting Padre?âÂ
âEl Coyote Cujo.âÂ
âOf course.âÂ
âYou know the place?âÂ
âIâve heard of it,â he says, grinning wide, a joke sheâs clearly not in on, âAh, I got a good feeling about this.âÂ
âAbout what?âÂ
âUs, you and me got chemistry.âÂ
âDo we now?âÂ
âOh, donât give me that, you feel it too, heard that laugh.âÂ
âSure, whatever you say,â she teases as she pulls into the El Coyote Cujo parking lot, pulling the slick corpo car into a spot, âgot a phone on you?âÂ
âYou donât?âÂ
âI literally have lost everything I own, alright? Call Padre and put it on speaker.âÂ
âFine, fine,â Jackie gets out his phone and calls Padre, phone in one hand and the other stretched across the back of the seats.Â
âJackie? To what do I owe the pleasure.âÂ
âHere with your newest find, V, we got the Rayfield.âÂ
âYou helped her out?âÂ
âWellâŠâÂ
âHe pointed a gun at me and nearly had me thrown in the ocean.âÂ
âSeems like I have a car and a story waiting on me, Iâll be there shortly.âÂ
A pain aches in Vâs head, migraine spreading across her temple as Jackie hangs up. She rolls the car window down, allowing the chill of the winter night seep in, hoping the fresh air will ease her pain. V wants a shower, thereâs still blood in her hair and sheâs sure she still smells like trash. Though, no oneâs been cruel enough to point it out. But, she has no idea where she could grab a shower. Why the fuck does her head hurt so much? The pain a steady throb across her entire head. She pinches the bridge of her nose, it didnât even ache this much when she first came too in the dumpster.Â
âYou alright V?âÂ
âHead hurts,â she signs, before turning off her hearing aids, hoping that shutting out the city sounds will help.Â
âWhenâs the last time you ate, chica?â Jackie says, making sure to stay in her eye line as he leans over the middle console, though his biceps nearly touch her even when he isnât. Her mask reading his lips to give him subtitles. .Â
When was the last time she ate? She didnât eat all day because she was in a dumpster passed out. The day before was the smuggle run and she didnât eat before she left Yucca.
âTwo days ago.âÂ
âFuckinâ for real, no wonder your headâs wonky, once we finish the deal weâll get some grub.âÂ
âWhat made you think that was why?âÂ
âAh, my mama gets those migraines when she stops eating from stress, Vik and me keep telling her to take care of herself, but sheâs too busy taking care of everyone else.âÂ
âYou and your mom close?â V canât help but ask, thinking about her own mother for a moment.Â
âOh yeah, familyâs important, gotta have people you can turn to out here.âÂ
âYeahâŠâÂ
âWhat-â
Headlights shine in through the back glass of the Rayfield, bring their attention to Padre pulling into the parking lot. His arrival ending whatever question Jackie was about to ask, which may be for the best. Sheâs not ready to answer questions about family. Not when her head is throbbing, sheâs filthy, and her stomach is empty. Padreâs driver comes to a stop and they see Padre gets out of the back. V turns her hearing aids back on, knowing it will make the conversation flow easier as her and Jackie get out of the Rayfield. Her arms collecting goosebumps from the air.Â
âJackie, itâs nice to see you again, how have you been?â He greets Jackie warmly
âEhhh, canât complain, same old same old, making new friends,â he says with a grin, nodding his head towards V.
âNever can have too many of those. Itâs always nice to chat once business is done.âÂ
One of Padreâs bodyguards has already climbed into the driverâs seat of the Rayfield. Enging revving up and then fading off into the night as he leaves. Officially finishing up their business.Â
âUh,â Jackie raises an eyebrow, âyou getting senile on me, Padre, this is usually the part where eddies change hands.âÂ
Vâs smirking and trying not to laugh behind her mask. Padre gives a look at Vâs direction and she looks down at the ground, pursing her lips so she doesnât laugh.Â
âIâm afraid Iâm not quite sure what you mean.âÂ
âAh,â Jackie nods, like he gets it, âno worries, V agreed to go halfsie with me on the Rayfield gig.âÂ
âHalfsies?â Padre raises an eyebrow, smiling at V, he seems to find her joke at least a little funny. V canât help the giggle that spills out.
âAm I missing the joke here?âÂ
âWell, Iâm afraid, this was an unpaid job for V here.âÂ
âWhat?â Jackie shoots her a sharp look, disbelief coloring his expression.Â
âDonât spend it all in one place,â she taunts.Â
âFuck you!âÂ
She bursts out laughing, holding her stomach as she cackles behind her mask, the sound echoing strangely through it. But, she canât stop.Â
âYou stole a million eddie car for free!? The fuck is wrong with you!?âÂ
âNo, no,â she furiously signs, âI needed info.âÂ
âSpeaking of which, I have your intel here,â Padre says, handing her a shard.
âGive me a moment, my lungs hurt.âÂ
âIâm glad you're entertained, that info better make you a billionaire.âÂ
âNah, personal shit,â she collects herself, âthanks, Padre, it means a lot.âÂ
âYouâre a good kid, make him pay, V.â
âOh, I will,â V confirms, slotting the shard into a little opening on her mask, info displaying across it.Â
The name of a chopshop that rumors say had a nomad vehicle come in, her Rattler no doubt. Sinclaireâs address and regular hang outs, exactly what she needs. Hopefully, he hasnât had time to sell the cargo yet. If so, sheâll axe him and klep all his shit.Â
âWhat happened?â Jackie asks.Â
âWell,â she signs, before taking the shard out, âSinclaire contracted me to transport some cargo, no fixer, so he fucked me over the second he got a chance. Bashed me over the head, threw me in a dumpster, scrapped all my shit, and took off with the cargo.âÂ
âSo, thatâs what that smell is?âÂ
âI will throw you,â she threatens, but sheâs rolling her eyes and smiling.Â
âIâd love to see you try, chica.âÂ
âThe chop shop wonât be open until morning and itâs late. Itâs up to you, but Iâd recommend resting for the night.âÂ
âYeahâŠâ She signs, but she canât help the slight pout. She has no money, no clothes, no food, no shelter. Sheâll be sleeping on a bench or something tonight, not much rest.Â
âYou did good work V,â Padre pats her shoulder as he leaves,â Iâm sure Iâll have more jobs for you in the future, paying ones, of course.âÂ
âThanks again, Padre.â Â
She rubs a hand down her face, migraine still thumping around in her head. Between not eating and having her hearing aids in all day, her head feels on the verge of exploding.Â
âSo, whatâs the plan, jaina?âÂ
âMy plan, why do you wanna know my plan?âÂ
âBecause, you and I both know youâre up shit creek without a paddle here, V. No home, no family, no one to turn to. Night City ainât a place that will let you get by on your own. Need people you can turn to, if you wanna survive.âÂ
âAnd what, you wanna be my friend?â She raises an eyebrow, taken aback by just how kind and friendly heâs really been.Â
âTold you already, we got chemistry,â he grins again and it makes her smile, âbe a crying shame to waste it.âÂ
âOkay, friend, what do we do now?âÂ
âYou like chili?
âAs a concept, sure.â Â
âSettled then, get you a hot meal, change of clothes, a shower âcause you fuckinâ need it, and crash with me tonight.â
âAnd tomorrow?âÂ
âAnd tomorrow, we teach that pendejo a lesson, sound good?â Â
âSounds good to me.â
Theyâre all grins and smiles as they leave the parking lot, knocking shoulders together as they go, walking side by side down the neon lit streets. And she can feel it returning, that little buzz of hope she had in her chest when she first came here, the one she thought was beaten out of her by Sinclaireâs goons, itâs back and brighter than ever. Though not half as bright as Jackieâs smile as they turn a corner towards his motherâs house.Â
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Helloo I read your rant about the current state of Nightwingâs relations with the rest of the batfam as well as some of the âRicâ situation... and Iâm scared. I havenât gotten that far into the comics as iâm only just getting into it (Iâm at robin: year one and planning to read more on dick from then) But I want to know if the events you talk about are part of the âmain continuityâ ?? is this somehow related to New52?? (sorry if im too uninformed im really a Noob) Thanksđđđ„
No prob! Happy to try to explain things. You donât have to apologize for being new lol. Sooo...DC comics loosely breaks up into about 4 different periods:Â
Pre-Crisis
Post-Crisis/Pre-52Â
New-52Â
Rebirth
When people talk about Pre-Crisis comics, they are referring to comics that were made from 1938 to 1985. The OGs. This original continuity was derailed by Crisis on Infinite Earths. This crisis acted as DCâs first hard reboot--and I call it a âhardâ reboot because it made everything before this comic in Pre-Crisis no longer canon. So, all the comics from 1986 to 2011 make up their own history/story. This period Post-Crisis is also sometimes referred to as the Pre-52. Especially once you get closer to the year 2011, people tend to use the term Pre-52 over Post-Crisis, but Iâd say the two terms are used pretty interchangeably.Â
Then comes the New 52. In 2011, DC cancelled all itâs pre-existing comics and came out with 52 new comic series. This is another one of DCâs hard reboots; none of Post-Crisis was considered canon any longer. This reboot was DCâs attempt to modernize their characters and make their stories more accessible. Less history means less for new readers to catch up on. Unfortunately, this approach backfired for a lot of long-time readers. In addition, DC did not take the time to organically rebuild their universe, and New-52 was kind of all over the place. There were lots of continuity errors. The reboot erased some characters, de-aged practically everyone else, and was basically a speed run of Pre-52 history. For example, just so itâs easier to contextualize this, Batman goes through all four Robins in about a nine year period or something in New-52?!? Pretty sure Jason was only Robin for two days and then he died (lol exaggerating but still). Batman was going through sidekicks like they are tissues or something, haha. It's ridiculous. Across the board, everything was really wonky and shortened like this. So, the New-52 had some redeemable aspects, but on the whole I think it is largely viewed negatively. If youâd like some different perspectives on New-52, here are a few articles [x] [x] [x].Â
So now, we are in DC Rebirth. This is kind of a âsoftâ reboot. It incorporates some of the Post-Crisis/Pre-52 comics, but it keeps the New-52 continuity. So, the New-52 continuity is still technically the one that counts, the âmain continuity,â but whenever DC needs to have things make sense or fit together better, they pick and choose elements of Pre-52 and use it like duct tape. Itâs kind of messy and inconsistent, but itâs still better than New-52 I suppose. If youâd like to read more about how Rebirth works and what the consensus is, check these out [x] [x] [x].Â
Anyway, unfortunately, all the stuff about Nightwingâs relationships in my previous post is currently canon in the main continuity. Boy do I wish this was just an alternate universe or something lmao! Robin: Year One was published in 2001, so you are technically in Pre-52 territory. If you like that, you might be best sticking to Pre-52 content starting out...? Please donât quit reading because I scared you off, thatâd be my worst nightmare! I love the Pre-52 comics, and though Iâm really critical of the direction Rebirth has taken, I am still sticking around because Iâm hopeful that DC will turn it around.Â
Hope everything makes a bit more sense now, feel free to hit me up if something still isnât adding up lol. Good luck!!Â
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HELLO YES I LOVE THESE ADORABLE PROMPTS PLZ GIMME FLUFF. 8 with Fred!!! I dunno who's first job it is but!! Whoever you think would fit!!!
[Send me numbers and make me write fluff!]
QUILL!! HELLO!! I would love to write some Fred fluff for you!
And guess what? This one is canon! And it echoes the first scene of the story! Weee!
(Now I wanna write a Mel and Fred one, because holy crap their interactions would be pure gold.)
(Oh no, this got long. Like, way longer than I expected. Gotta make room for all those feels, I guess.)
8. Itâs Aâs first day of work and theyâre nervous, but never to fear, B is here
A: Gemma | B: Fred
Itâs normal to be concerned about her, especially when sheâs the only kid in town who appreciates his blog. Thatâs the excuse he gave Mary, anyway. Otherwise she would have told him to stay home and not bother the poor girl until tomorrow. Gemma would be stressed enough as is, what with it being her first day on the job. And at fifteen, no less.
Fred assumed that being an apothecary was complicated. If he had a very complicated job like that, he would want someone to check in on him to make sure he was okay.
So he knocked on Gemmaâs door and hoped she wouldnât mind him stopping by.
The door swung open and there she stood, bright smile painted on her face and eyes strained with a little bit of fear.
Her whole expression slipped into mild confusion when she saw Fred standing there. âOh! Hi Mr. Coriander. I wasnât expecting you.â
Fred blinked. Wasnât she the doctor? If she was open, she should at least expect people to show up, right? Ah, well, must be the nerves. Sometimes they get the words all jumbled in your head.
âJust stopping by to check in on âya, Miss Gemma.â
âAw, you didnât have to do that,â she said, and shuffled back, gesturing for him to come in.
ââCourse I did. Got to make sure our doc is tip-top.â
Inside, the air was warm and smelled like peppermint. A fire crackled in the living room hearth. In the middle of the room, the couch was draped in long loose-knit blankets, all cozy autumn colors. A collection of bottles, jars, and test tubes covered the kitchen counter.
She was prepared, all right. Maybe a little too prepared.
âHah, right,â Gemma said, voice strained and thin. After shutting the door, she flit over to the counter and started adjusting the bottles and bits and bobs of her craft, moving this one an inch to the left, swapping that one with the one over there, turning labels to face outward and lining up pipettes to the tips were all even.
âYou okay there, kiddo?â
âMe? Oh, yeah, definitely. Very okay. Right as rain, you know.âÂ
âYou seem a but nervous.â
Gemma turned and made a face. Fred wasnât sure what kind, exactly, but it didnât look very comfortable.
âNervous? Nah. Not at all. Look how prepared I am! I canât be nervous when I have everything I need right here.â
Fred wasnât buying it. And that was saying something. He once gave his e-mail address to one of those clipboard people outside the grocery store. He was still getting spam years later. Maybe Gemma could help him set up one of those filter things later.
But back to the point.
Fred sighed and adjusted the collar on his polo shirt. Gemmaâs eyes went straight to his forearm.
âHold on, whatâs that?â She stepped closer and leaned in to examine the angry red flush of his skin.
âWhatâs what?â He turned his arm and scrunched his eyebrows. âOh. Just something I noticed this morning after my walk by the lake.â
Gemma looked up at him, none too amused.
âAnd you didnât think to tell me about this?â she asked, pointing at the rash.
âI was just coming by to wish you luck.â Fred rubbed the back of his neck and ogled his shoes. He always forgot about things like this, ones that might be important if only he could remember âem.
âHave a seat, Mr. Coriander.âÂ
âBut I-â
âNo buts,â she said. âSit.â
As Fred made himself comfortable on the couch, Gemma slipped on a pair of green non-latex gloves and rifled through her special pantry behind the kitchen. She came back out holding a small jar with a duct-tape and sharpie label.Â
She smiled and tapped the top. âWitch hazel,â she said with a smile. âExcellent for stuff like this itchy mess.â
âWhoâre you callinâ a mess?â Fred asked, his smile quirked with teasing.
Unscrewing the cap, Gemma sat down on the coffee table and playfully nudged his shin with her foot. âNo one, mess-ioeur.âÂ
She probably got that sass from Jill. Theyâd been spending more time together lately. It was good for them, but the detriment of everyone else in town. Trouble makers, the both of âem.
Gemma dabbed her fingers in the ointment and held Fredâs arm with her other hand. With careful sweeps, she began to rub the ointment onto the rash.
The itch started to fade as soon as she touched him.
âThis stuff works like magic, kiddo.â
âI know, right? Itâs one of momâs old recipes. Most of the basic stuff is. You should see what I can do with some foxglove extract. Itâd blow your mind.âÂ
Smiling seemed to come easier to her now. There was none of that strained business happening like before. She was in her element, doing what she loved best.
âNow where did you run into poison ivy? By the lake?â
Fred sighed. âI knew I shouldnât have gone off the path, but there was this cluster of mushrooms just a few yards off or so. I only wanted to take a peek at âem. Didnât notice the itchinâ until I got home.â
âYou couldâve called me, you know. Or told me when you got here.â
âNaw,â Fred said, flapping his free hand. âDidnât wanna bother you.â
âMr. Coriander, itâs literally my job to do this. And youâre never a bother.â
âThanks, kiddo.â
It doesnât take long for her to finish up. She wraps his arm in soft bandages and pats the end so it sticks to itself. âSo you donât scratch,â she said with a gentle smile.
Fred returns it and pats her shoulder. âThank you.â
Taking a deep breath, Gemma looks up at Fred, suddenly sheepish.
âI was sort of losing it earlier, huh?â
Fred takes her hand in his and pats it. âWe all do, sometimes. But youâve got this.â He looks pointedly at his wrapped arm. âThereâs your proof.â
She pulls her hand away and wraps him in a hug, mindful of his arm. âThank you, Mr. Coriander.â
Fred holds her tight for a moment, then lets go. âI wonât keep you any longer. Far be it from me to get in the way of a doctor and her patients.â
âIf you insist,â she said and walked him to the door.
Fred stopped at the edge of the porch and turned back to Gemma, who was still watching him go from the door. âNow do as Mary would say and make yourself some tea to calm those wayward jitters.â
She laughed and leaned against the door, brushing her curls out of her face. âWill do.â
They waved, and he turned down the road toward home.
Through the window, he saw Gemma take a deep breath and put the kettle on, lips pursed as though she were humming her favorite song.
Nothing to worry about with that one.
She was a good kid.Â
Oh no, itâs too cute. I canât with Fred. The hapless goof is too good-hearted.
Sometimes you need a reminder that you can do what youâre afraid of. That youâre strong enough to deal with what shakes you.
WIP Intro Post | H2H WIP Tag | Character Page | WIP Page | PowerPoint Intro
Character Tags: Gemma | Mel | The Ladies | Fred Coriander | Officer Oz
OC Intros: Harry | Mary | Oz | Jill | Treena | Fred | Gemma | Mel
H2H Tag List: @katekyo-bitch-reborn, @cawolters, @wasting-ink-not-youth, @quilloftheclouds, @snickertoodles, @mvcreates, @writeness, @half-explored, @dc-writes, @aslanwrites, @minusfractions, @purpleshadows1989, @royalbounties, @waterfallwritings, @the-clockwork-anything, @kriss-the-writing-nerd, @abalonetea, @timefirewrites, @tricksexual, @introspective-outreach
[Let me know if you want to be added or removed!]
#writeblr#ender answers#ex#fluff prompts#quilloftheclouds#Gemma#Fred#Heart to Heart#my writing#bookenders original#bookenders shorts#I guess#since it turned into one#this ended up as like 1.1k words#wow#go me#I love writing Fred's voice#I get to write the first thing that comes to mind and it's *great*#didn't know he called her kiddo but I guess he does#Fred says what we all need to hear
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*cough cough* i made more
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Esme:Â You use emojiâs like a straight person. Teresa:Â Thatâs literally the worst thing anyone has ever said about me.
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Esme:Â *slams books down in front of Teresa* Esme:Â Boil up some Mountain Dew. Itâs gonna be a long night. Teresa:Â You could of said literally anything else. Esme:Â Cauldron boil and cauldron bubble, Baja Blast to fuel my trouble. Teresa:Â Iâm going to just stop challenging you when you say random shit. I wonât win. I realize this now.
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Teresa:Â Standing next to sunflowers always makes me feel weak like âlook at this fucking flower. This flower is taller than I am. This flower is winning and Iâm losing.â Esme:Â Wow, you are not ready to hear about trees.
- spoiler alert,,, Teresa is short as fuck
Teresa:Â Iâve never been in a snowball fight before. I donât know the rules. Esme:Â What? Teresa:Â Is there a point system, or is it to the death?
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Teresa:Â Hey Esme, can you give me the opposite of these words? Teresa:Â Always, Coming, From, Take, Me, Down. Esme:Â Never, Going, To, Give, You- Esme:Â The fucking satisfaction.
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Teresa:Â When I was your age- Esme, mocking Teresa:Â When I was your height. Teresa: Teresa:Â Listen here you little shit-
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Teresa:Â So I got this amazing plan! Esme:Â We fail almost every time you say that. Teresa:Â Well this is the same! But with a hamster involved.
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Esme, texting Teresa:Â Iâm a theif. Teresa:Â Thief. Esme:Â Theif. Teresa:Â I before E except after C. Esme:Â Thceif. Teresa:Â NO.
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Teresa:Â Oh, fiddlesticks! That really ruffles my feathers! Esme:Â Please, just say fuck.
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Teresa:Â You are a spineless twit! Esme:Â You cannot talk to me that way, I am your superior! Teresa:Â A six-year-old girl could talk to you that way! Esme:Â Yes, because that would be adorable. Teresa:Â No, it's because you are a five-year-old girl and there's a pecking order.
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Esme:Â Do you know a turtles only weakness? Teresa:Â No... well, their slowness. Esme:Â Their weaknesss is they can't roll over when they are on their backs. Esme:Â Now I have a plan. Esme:Â If I duct tape two turtles together, they'll be unstoppable.
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Esme:Â Iâm sad. Teresa:Â Donât be sad, because sad backwards is das. Teresa:Â And das not good.
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Teresa:Â May luck (and this picture of Esme eating shredded cheese at 3 in the morning) be with you.
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Teresa:Â Hey, arenât you Esme? Esme:Â You a cop? Teresa:Â No. Esme:Â Then yes, I am.
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Esme:Â My goal is not to be the best, but to inspire someone enough to one day surpass me. Teresa:Â YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT EVERY TIME YOU BEAT ME AT CONNECT FOUR!
Esme swearing is canon now
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AU Thursday: Tell Me Where To Find Shelter -- The Reboot
Okay, so -- this past Saturday, I brought back the Pentatonix/Lindsey Stirling cover of Imagine Dragonâs âRadioactive,â and commented that part of the reason the song was on my mind was because Iâve been really getting into Fallout 4, which Iâm playing with Victor as my Sole Survivor. This mean that, of course, I have a Valice AU for the game -- âTell Me Where To Find Shelter.â I originally came up with a rather simplistic version of the AU aaaalll the way back in 2016, based on what little I knew about the game (and the series in general) from getting into the Fallout Shelter mobile game and seeing a friendâs posts about her Sole Survivor. That original version could be summed up as basically âthe prologue sequence, only Victor and Victoria are secretly in a poly relationship with Emily, who dies too when their kid is stolen, and Victor discovers Alice alive in the Vault as the only other one who made it -- they go out into the Wasteland together to discover what happened to Victorâs kid.â Pretty simple, right?
Yeah, you can throw all that out. Now, I have actually played the game, spoiled myself on the main quest and a lot of the side quests because I donât give a damn, and have done a bit of research on the history of the Fallout verse as a whole. (Short version: It sucks. It sucks a lot.) So I have a lot of new ideas, meaning itâs time to reboot this verse! I wouldnât expect a full-fledged story to come out of this (youâve seen me panicking over the size of âLonderland Bloodlines,â right? Which is based off an action RPG that is reasonably linear and has a timeline of a month? Fallout 4 is open world and while the main quest is linear, the fact that Iâve been able to ignore it for MONTHS in-game because I canât say no to Preston Garvey is -- eeep), but I may at least do a few snippets and whatnot.
So! Let me share what Iâve got regarding Victorâs history as the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 -- Iâm gonna try to keep it to more general thoughts as Iâm not totally up on the history of the Fallout world, and things may have to be adjusted if I later discover that something in the canon strongly contradicts it:
-->I have got his birth date: June 9th, 2050. This makes him 27 at the start of Fallout 4, which I felt was reasonable based on the Fallout Wiki stating both Sole Survivors were likely born between the early 2040s and the mid 2050s.
-->I still want him to be born in England, and have his family move to America a little later in his life -- though when is complicated by the whole Euro-Middle Eastern War and the New Plague putting America under quarantine for a while. The latest I can imagine is them making it over in his early teens or so, having left the broken-down wreck of the U.K. to rebuild fortunes in America.
-->They do indeed rebuild fortunes in America -- Boston, Massachusetts, to be precise. William sets up an extremely lucrative fish-canning business and makes sure to support the military extensively. (The Four Leaf fishpacking plant is almost certainly one of his in this timeline.)
-->The Victor/Victoria/Emily poly thing still happens, kicked off by Victorâs parents pressuring him into dating Victoria (whom he likes), Victor making friends with Emily (whom he also likes) -- and Victor accidentally asking Emily to prom via trying to rehearse his lines to ask Victoria to prom. Feeling bad as Emily is coming off a really bad breakup with an ass named Barkis (who stole a lot of money from her in a long con), he clears it with both girls to take Emily, and later they help defend Victoria when Barkis returns during the party and try to rob her. This leads to a close friendship, which eventually becomes something more.
-->Victor ends up being pulled into the Sino-American war straight out of high school -- William attempts to buy his way out, but for once his money doesnât work, and Victor ends up fighting in Anchorage, Alaska.
-->This version of Victor, while still into butterflies and moths, is also a tinkerer, and quickly becomes known among his fellow soldiers in Fox Company (108th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Battalion) as âthat guy who can fix anything with duct tape and Wonderglue.â (I do enjoy my armor and gun mods -- everything must be deep pocketed!)
-->Iâm not sure what Victor does to earn his âdecorated war heroâ status yet (probably saved the lives of a lot of men with some quick repairs and shooting), but itâs enough to finally get him discharged around 2076. Victoria and Emily had gotten together while he was stuck fighting, but are only too happy to let him into their relationship. Victor officially marries Victoria to keep his parents happy, and they move into Sanctuary Hills with Emily pretending to be their âeventual live-in babysitterâ to avoid scrutiny from the parents.
-->And then, during a park escapade, Victoria ends up pregnant. Baby Shaun is welcomed to the world July 31st, 2077. Everyone is thrilled, and Victor picks up a Mr. Handy soon afterward to help with baby care.
-->And then, of course, the bombs drop on October 23rd, 2077. Victor, Victoria, Emily, and Shaun just barely make it into Vault 111, and end up in cryonic suspension -- Victoria is later shot when her and Victorâs pods are reactivated during the kidnapping, and Emily dies quietly when the life support is cut to all but Victorâs pod. Victor is absolutely devastated by their deaths, and takes Victoriaâs wedding ring and Emilyâs favorite butterfly hair clip as mementos to remember them by before leaving Vault 111.
-->As for the actual game stuff:
Victorâs starting SPECIAL stats were Strength 4, Perception 3, Endurance 7, Charisma 2, Intelligence 8, Agility 3, Luck 3. Iâve been mainly improving Strength for carry weight, though I recently started working seriously on bumping up Charisma because I have realized making it a dump stat was probably not the greatest idea.
I canât list all his current perks off the top of my head, but Armorer and Gun Nut are up there -- heâs very much a shooty-bang-bang kind of guy, and I believe I mentioned loving deep pockets?
Victor hasnât met all the factions yet, but -- heâs definitely a Minuteman. I am so easily distracted by those quests, itâs not even funny. ...Well, itâs a little funny. XD He was only too happy to help Preston Garveyâs group set up in Sanctuary Hills, and he and Preston are best friends now -- aka, Prestonâs the first companion who idolizes me and whose perk I got. Heâs a LITTLE awkward about the whole âGeneralâ thing (âPreston, youâre the one always telling ME what to doâ) but heâll grow into it.
As for the other factions -- heâs met Paladin Danse and helped him out at Arcjet, but refused the offer to join the Brotherhood. . .he might go back and do some missions with them, but I donât think heâs going to like Elder Maxsonâs views on synths and ghouls (Super Mutants -- okay, Super Mutants are assholes). He hasnât met the Railroad yet, but I think heâll like them and join up to help, even if he thinks some of their methods need tweaking. The Institute -- I think heâll be of the mind that their discoveries are good, but theyâre using them for such evil purposes, and -- ugh.
That being said, Iâd like to go for the Minutemen ending that does not require warring with the Brotherhood of Steel, simply because there are kids on that airship and Iâd feel bad shooting it down. If there was a way to just get rid of Maxson and maybe yank the Brotherhood closer to its Fallout 3 views. . .and if not blowing up the Institute was an option, Victor would be for it. Getting rid of the top brass who have completely written off the Commonwealth is one thing -- but the building, with all its advances? That could be useful.
Oh, and yes, he is adopting Synth Shaun -- but he is letting the kid know who and what he is, to help him forge his own path in life. (Synth Shaun also correctly guesses his new Dad feels awkward calling him by his predecessorâs name, and they decide on âChesterâ instead.)
As for companions heâs currently met -- mentioned already that Prestonâs his best friend, and heâs a solid supporter of the Minutemen. He adores Dogmeat and has made him a doghouse to live in at the Red Rocket near Sanctuary. He likes Piper Wright and her desire to spread the news quite a lot (and finds her attractive too). Danse he admires for his commitment to his men and his cause, but doesnât really know him beyond that due to not joining the BoS. He IS very thankful for the gun, though -- Righteous Authority is useful! Codsworth and he had some rough moments at the beginning (I gave Mama Murphy some Jet for a vision, and poor guy got in the way of some friendly fire on an early trip), but seeing Victor get his modding on has improved their relationship quite a bit (Codsworth sees it as Victor getting back to his old helpful self). Heâs encountered Ada and has grown quite fond of the little robot, wanting to help her avenge her slaughtered caravan family (WHY CAN I NOT HUG THE ROBOT). And heâs rescued Strong from Trinity Tower. . .and ended up getting sick of the Super Mutantâs constant negative comments toward humanity and inability to figure out stealth. He was helpful in taking back The Castle, but currently Victorâs got him living with a couple of settlers as a âguardâ of sorts, in the hopes itâll keep him busy and out of Victorâs hair.
And now you may notice thereâs a strange lack in this longer-than-I-anticipated write-up. . .namely, where the hell is Alice? Well, that question has three answers:
-->For the purposes of my playthrough, Iâm designating Piper as Alice -- sheâs going to be Victorâs romance option in this game. (Me turning my attention to boosting Charisma may have been inspired by being unable to flirt with her during an affinity conversation no matter how many times I reloaded.)
-->An idea I had recently to put Alice in the verse was have her as a native-born Wastelander/escapee from a Vault (latter would probably be best to keep her history -- oh cripes, maybe she was from a Vault where BUMBY was OVERSEER, imagine THAT horror) who discovers the history of the âOrder of Mysteriesâ (a group of women, lead by the old voice actress of the Mistress of Mysteries, who turned herself into a legit superhero post-Great War -- unfortunately betrayal led to the group dying out) and decides to take up the mantle, much like the Sole Survivor can become the Silver Shroud. Sheâd show up not long after Victor starts Shrouding around, asking to meet -- theyâd have a little spar, end up fighting another enemy together, and sheâd join up as a companion, leading to eventual romance.
-->But the first idea I had to get Alice into the story was. . .well. . .
Let me put it this way -- for quite a while, I was playing both Vampire: the Masquerade -- Bloodlines and Fallout 4 at the same time.
. . .yeah, I think this is going to need another post.
#tell me where to find shelter#fallout 4#victor van dort#in which I ramble on a lot about an AU that really only lives in my head#so what else is new XD#yeah I was originally going to have the Van Dorts come to America when Victor was 15#then I thought 'maybe that's too late'#looked at the timing of the Euro-Middle Eastern War#'okay maybe they leave when he's pretty young to get away from THAT mess'#and then I discovered the timing of the New Plague#'I'm not giving him up as English-born Fallout YOU CAN'T MAKE ME'#so yeah now that's happily vague#but he's in Boston and naturalized by the time he ends up in the Army#also can you tell what companion I like the least?#Strong I had high hopes for you#but then you WOULDN'T SHUT UP about Super Mutants killing everything#pathetically he admires me because I took him around killing lots of stuff while exploring the Commonwealth#also why is there no option to comfort Ada when she talks about her loss#I tried to and I got options like Disable Personality#no game fuck you#let me hug the robot#I have Feelings about this game now can you tell?#queued
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