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whumblr · 1 year ago

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Promise

Custody masterpost - Previous chapter

“No... don’t—"

Jeff shot upright at the sound of Nat’s voice breaking through his light, restless sleep. Ready to rip Eric away from them, to pull their arm out of his clutches.

But before he’d even half made it up to one knee, and he wasn’t greeted by a sneering voice or crooned little words to Nat, he realized that Eric had other means to slither in quietly in the dead of night.

Sure enough, they were alone in the darkened room that served as their cell. Just him and Nat. And whoever visited Nat in their sleep. Not like he’d have to guess who.

“No… no please,” Nat whimpered, tossing and turning on the floor, shaking their head. Their hands and arms twitched, as if they wanted to reach up, keep their invisible assailant at bay.

Jeff released an almost relieved puff of breath. He scooted a little closer to the twitching figure and rested the back of his fingers against their cheek.

Nat winced at first, but then leaned into the touch. Their breathing calmed, their body relaxed, and after a while they stilled, undisturbed.

“That’s right,” Jeff mumbled, brushing some black strands of hair from Nat’s face, palm of his hand cupping their cheek.

If only things were this easy in real life… Just a fond little touch, a little reminder that they didn’t have to fight alone, and their tormentors disappeared as if in a puff of smoke. If only…

And with Nat falling back into a deep sleep, only their torso moving up and down in deep breaths, his own body calmed as well. Until the adrenaline retreated and his shoulder reminded him that just earlier that day it had been ripped open.

“Shit…”

He grit his teeth against the pain, letting his head fall back and he hissed up at the ceiling. Jumping up like that hadn’t done him much good; the wound throbbed against his stitches as if the bullet was still inside and wanted nothing more than to burst out as violently as it had entered. With a groan, he settled back down, rough carpet the only thing protecting him from the cold floor. It wasn’t much to sleep on and he already missed the bed in the medic’s room.

But he hadn’t wanted to leave Nat alone. And by the looks of it, it had been a right call.

During the day, Nat wasn't much better. Every time the door opened Nat stopped breathing, completely froze up or slightly scooted back, curling in on themself with a soft whimper.

Jeff was pretty sure Eric was doing it on purpose. Kept changing the date of execution just to see Nat fear the worst every time he entered the room. He didn’t really do anything – on doctor’s orders probably – he uncharacteristically didn’t even say much; he just brought in some food or medicine, but always with a wicked cold smile on his face, eyes crinkling with badly hidden glee roaming over Nat. He’d linger for a bit, and would then leave without a word. Rinse, repeat.

He hadn’t forgotten Eric’s hissed words to him either.

I need him there to watch.

Just those words made him want to shudder. Even when, at first, he hadn’t known what was in store for them. He knew all too well it wasn’t good.

“Nat… Nat!” Jeff had desperately called earlier when they were alone again in the medic’s room. Nat was off somewhere very far away, staring straight ahead when the medic checked up on Jeff and they didn’t even notice that the doctor had left. Jeff pulled at Nat’s wrist to get their attention. “What is the punishment for lying?!”

Nat flinched, eyes slowly finding Jeff’s but they immediately looked away again. Their lips trembled. “It… he…” Unable to find the words, they stood and turned away from Jeff. And they lifted their shirt.

Jeff gaped. He’d seen the scars on Nat’s back before. He knew what had caused those long red stripes. But it still punched the air out of him. “No…”

Nat settled back down next to him, but kept their eyes down, fixed on the fidgeting hands in their lap.

“Okay…” Jeff started, “It’s okay, we can… we’ll think of something.”

“No. We won’t,” Nat said, voice strong and Jeff looked up, surprised, breaking away from his thoughts. “The only thing you’ll think of is something that will let you take it,” Nat continued. “Some kind of bargain. Or pissing him off. I won’t let you.”

“Nat, I—”

“Promise me.” But Nat’s voice broke and the next words were merely more than a whisper. “Promise me that…” they searched for some words of tact, “that you won’t let him do it to you. This is my fault. I should bear it. Not you.”

“It’s not your fault! He’s been waiting fo—” Jeff rushed out in one breath, but Nat remained unfazed and just looked at him, waiting for his answer.

Jeff’s turn to fumble; his eyes darted around the room, anywhere to avoid Nat’s determined gaze, anywhere to see if an alternative would lay around discarded on some desk. He stuttered out half syllables as his brain raced to come up with another solution. But he came up with nothing. He closed his eyes briefly in defeat and let out a breath.

“I promise…”

The day of the promise announced itself before Eric even said a word; his cheerful demeanor as he burst into the room made it all too clear.

“A very good morning to you both,” he beamed, eyes instantly finding Nat. “And especially to you, Nat.”

If Nat could get any more tense, their clamped up jaw would probably break some teeth. But they knew the gig. So without a word and without any prompting they got up and moved towards him.

“Very good,” Eric crooned. His hand moved away from behind his back. Handcuffs looped around his two smallest fingers as he kept a firm grasp on a long, folded leather string. He caressed the leather loop over Nat’s cheek – handcuffs jingling under their ear – and brushed the whip down to their chin to make them look up. “Hold out your hands, please.”

“Wait…” Jeff couldn’t hold it in. He took a step forward, but with caution instead of his usual collision course to try and fight the man off. “Please… don’t do this.”

The meek tone may have raised an eyebrow, but besides that Eric remained unsurprised. He’d probably been waiting for something like this and, of course, he added somewhat predictably, “How about I do it to you instead, with double the lashes.”

Pent up anger swirled up and Jeff was about to snarl an ‘okay!’, but then he caught Nat’s desperate glance and thought of the last time he’d ignored their wishes. Their wish this time however was mortifying; they caught his eyes, reminding him of his promise, and slowly shook their head.

And Jeff just shattered.

“What’s your answer, detective?”

“I…”

“Look at me.”

Jeff tore his gaze from Nat, hoping that the snarl on his face would cover for the emotions plain to read in his eyes.

“You accept?” Eric continued.

“No,” Jeff whispered.

“No?” Eric repeated in mock surprise. “And here I thought you wanted to protect your friend. Someone is going to take this. Who is it going to be, detective?”

Torn, Jeff shot an almost pleading glance to Nat, who merely responded with a glare of full determination. “…don’t do it to me.”

“More specific.”

“Do it to Nat.”

“What an awful thing to ask for,” Eric sneered. “But very well, if that’s what you want…”

“What I want is for you to fucking leave them alone! Please, I’m begging okay, it’s what you want, right?! Me begging in return for some fucking mercy!”

“I’ve never heard such aggressive begging…” Eric sighed, but relented. “Beg me to let you watch, then.”

“Wha—?!”

“I mean, someone’s going to have to keep a right count making sure I don’t go over twenty…” Eric drawled. He leaned over to Jeff, relishing the disgusted jerk as the man wanted to recoil but stayed firm instead, and he rested the whip under Jeff’s chin. “Beg well enough and I might even lower it to fifteen.”

Okay, so he wasn’t allowed to take the pain, but he could at least hurt his pride to strike a bargain.

“Please,” Jeff said again and this time accompanied his words with action as he sank to his knees. He just about caught the flicker in Eric’s eyes before he cast his gaze down and stared at Eric’s shoes instead. He wasn’t sure what would please Eric more – looking down or up – was actually disgusted to even think about what would fucking please Eric more… Maybe both? “Please, sir,” he pointedly glanced up but tried to keep the murder in his eyes at bay, “let me watch.”

Even with the man trying to hide it, Eric was visibly delighted. But of course, he always had a way to turn it up a notch. “Let you watch what?”

Jeff crunched his teeth together, tightened his fingers into fists. “Let me watch you… use the whip on Nat.” And he was sure something inside just cracked.

“Aw, I can’t let such behavior go unrewarded… Very well, fifteen.”

He pulled Nat in by the wrists and swirled the handcuffs around on his index finger. “Now Nat, with just fifteen, maybe we won’t need these, hm? You can do this without collapsing into a heap, I’m sure.”

Nat’s lips trembled, fear sparking at the hinted outcome of all this, memories of the last time lashing though their brain. “I—I’m not—” They glanced at the whip.

Eric shushed them and held the whip out again. “It’s okay, look, this is a different whip than last time. I know this is just a repeat lesson, you’ve already learned, this is just a reminder of everything, right? So a lighter whip should do, shh, relax, this shouldn’t leave your back a red mess.”

What else could they do but simply nod and Eric pointed to the floor. “Get on your knees then and take off your shirt.”

Eric retreated a few steps and Nat pulled their shirt off. They took a deep breath and stood over the still kneeling Jeff. They exchanged a terse nod and Nat left their shirt in his lap. Then they followed suit, retreating a few steps with their eyes still on Jeff, and turned around to sink to their knees.

Their exposed back told the full story of the previous lashings; Eric couldn’t help a smile as he let his gaze roam over the scars. “No new ones to add this time, I think,” he mused and he twirled the thin leather around a finger before he let the tip drop to the floor, “Like I said, can’t render you out this early. Now, what’s this for, Nat?”

“For lying to you, sir,” Nat droned emotionlessly.

The first lash hit without warning. And sure, maybe it was a lighter whip but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. The sudden pain forced them forward on their knees with a scream and they had to catch themself, hands flat against the carpet. They were sure they felt their skin split; maybe not as bone deep as last time, probably just a shallow scratch, but they still felt drops of blood cooling against their skin. The long cut spread out the bruising force over the length of their back, pain searing all the way down.

They heard Eric hum behind them. Did he notice the blood? Did he go too hard? Please… Nat prayed silently. Please… hold back. Just a little. A little less strength so at least they’d only have to cope with the bruises and not their skin exploding open every hit.

“Sit up straight, Nat,” his cold words followed instead. “And you, detective. You might want to count along. Out loud. Make sure we don’t go over fifteen.”

He didn’t hold back.

The pain of the second hit caught them less by surprise. It crossed right over the first, squeezing out even more pain.

They fell into a rhythm, a flow of sounds; the lash of the whip, immediately followed by a scream, closing with Jeff’s tight, hesitant count. Repeat.

By ten they had to force themself to remain upright. Their entire body trembled, muscles screaming to relax as they presented the wider target of their back. But by twelve, Eric didn’t seem to mind aiming the last three over their hunched back as they screamed directly into the rough carpet, all bowed over, resting on their elbows. Tears dripped down their nose, falling in-between their clenched fists.

“Fifteen,” Jeff’s desperate voice rang out. “That’s fifteen, stop!”

Nat drooped down, all strength leaving their muscles. They hoped for hurried footsteps making their way over, desperate to help, to comfort, but they mewled when they instead heard the determined but slow heavy footfall nearing.

Fingers tangled roughly through their hair and snagged them up. Nat couldn’t help a soft cry.

“Next time I catch you in a lie, I will flay the skin off your back, do you understand me?” Eric hissed in their face.

“Y-yes… sir,” they managed in a whisper before Eric shoved them down again.

“Tend to them,” he snarled to Jeff, and pressed a first-aid kit into his hands before he left them alone.

Trembling fingers touched over Nat’s shoulders. Hissed curses followed by soft words of reassurance. The pain wasn’t, unfortunately, enough to make them pass out and Nat whimpered and hissed as they tried to turn their body.

Jeff just shushed them and pressed them down. “Shh, just lie down, it’s okay.”

And Nat allowed themself to relax at the words: “I got you.”

Continued here

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @hurtmebeautifully @im-just-here-for-the-whump @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @queenofthenoobs @gala1981 @whumpifi @whatwhump

#hm this got long #whump #forced to watch #whump whipping #protective caretaker #angst #caretaker #custody series #my writing

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wraithsoutlaws · 9 months ago

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TITLE: Perfect Drug CHAPTER ONE: Jawbreaker WORD COUNT: 4,309 PAIRING: Dagger/Dum Dum CW: Light violence, gore mention The story of how two fucked up guys become one fucked up couple.

The sky changed colors in the city. The endless scroll of neon gave it an artificial glow, and from the first moment he crossed the desert line, Dagger had resented it. Nothing looked real. Nothing was–not the food, the music. Certainly not the people. He found himself looking up as he drove further into it’s clutches, searching for a sliver of sky that felt familiar, but the only thing he found was a thinly veiled layer of bullshit. Northside was different, though no less oppressive. The smokestacks kept the air murky, and no matter how many times he blinked or re-calibrated his optics, he couldn’t quite clear his vision of the red haze that defined it. But unlike Night City, it took pride in it’s own ugly. And he liked that.

The All Foods factory sat like an icon at the center of it all, more mythical to the locals than even the crumbs of Arasaka littering the district. Dagger stood outside with a cigarette, gazing into it’s shuttered maw.

A week had passed since he found his way to the building for the first time, toting a severed head in one hand, and a duffel of recovered Militech cargo in the other. He had taken both from a smoldering warzone in Sierra Sonorra where two behemoths fought their last battle; a cadre of Maelstrom gangoons and a unit of corpo dogs. He could have taken the wreckage back for the Wraiths. The gear would have fetched a pretty enny, and the head of a Milietech sergeant would make a lovely hood ornamented for his Quadra–but Dagger never cared for money, and he had plenty of heads already.

He brought the cargo home to Northside instead, head in hand like a peace offering, still bleeding fresh after decapitation. He wanted a deal, not a payday. Something worth more than a shiny new car, or a pair of genuine leather boots, and after one long blurry fucking night, he got one.

The Wraiths would protect Maelstrom’s interests in the Badlands and the ‘borgs would give them leverage in the city, pushing to wipe Sixth Street from Santo Domingo. Dagger would move between them, lending his skills to one while extending his power in the other.

In the end, he'd puppet them both.

His mama always said to dream big.

He pressed at a dwindling bruise over his ribcage as he double checked for his smokes in his jacket pocket. Each breath came with a dull ache that hadn’t quite quelled from that night, even a week later. He’d paid his price for admission. He could still feel the wreckage in his bones as he stood at the entrance of the garage, cigarette half smoked already, waiting for an answer at the door. The security camera at the edge of the roof peered down at him, it’s blinking red light a mimic of the trademark optics that were watching him from inside. And they were watching him. Making him wait, though they were the very ones who had set the meet. When he glared up at the lens, he could feel them on the other side.

Another minute passed. He threw his cigarette down, banging a fist to the rusted metal with impatience. After a moment of waiting he considered going around to the intercom, but it felt too much like defeat. He knocked again instead, kicking with a steel tipped boot for good measure and flicking another glare up to the camera.

The noise must have worked. The door swung open with a growl, sudden enough it nearly took an inch off his nose. Before he could blink, the front end of a revolver shoved itself against the scar on his cheek, forcing his back to the wall with its presence. Seven eyes peered over the muzzle, a shiny chrome scowl beneath them. Dagger’s fist moved on instinct, nestled now against the underside of Dum Dum’s chin where the skin still felt human. The steel claws in the chassis of his hand inched in the sheaths between his knuckles, hungry for a drop of blood. They stood still, entwined in each other’s violence, neither one ready to budge.

“Keep that gun in my face any longer and I’ll get real acquainted with your fleshy bits.” He wasn’t sure which lens he should look at, or which ones were looking at him. His icy gaze settled on the ones that looked most like eyes, though he couldn’t read them. The tip of his claws met skin, just slightly. Enough bite to prove he wasn’t lying.

Dum Dum didn’t sweat it.

“You think your trigger is quicker than mine?”

“Might be fun to find out.”

The sound that came from his throat could have been a laugh. A moment later, Dum Dum drew the gun back and slid it into the waistband of his pants. Slowly, Dagger followed suit, letting his hand fall away with a tinge of disappointment. A click of his tongue.

“Scared?”

“My bullet would rip through your meatpan before your chrome even touched me,” Dum Dum said. He sounded sure, the weight of his optics nearly prying Dagger apart, scanning his hardware in bemusement. He wouldn’t find much, except maybe that his assessment was correct. Which begged the question: why not pull the trigger?

Dagger grinned.

“You gonna invite me inside?”

Dum Dum didn’t answer, turning a corner toward the street without looking back at him. “Nothing in there for you.”

“Is that right?” Dagger pulled his cigarettes from his jacket and lit one as he followed. A busted up Chevillon was parked on the corner, garish Maelstrom colors splattered across the rusted paint like a badge of honor. Ugly, like everything else around it. He smiled. “Taking me out to pasture then?”

Smoke slithered from his lips as they walked.

“You wanna play with the big dogs you’re gonna have to work like a bitch.” Dum Dum stopped at the car, and spared him an indecipherable look. “That means you do what I say, when I say it, how I say it. If I tell you to lick the shit off my boots you better fucking get on your knees and do it, yeah? Piss me off and it’s bye bye with a bullet. We’ll sell your meat to the Scavs without a second thought.”

Dagger raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took another drag from his smoke. “My god, I think I can see Royce’s hand up your ass using your mouth like a little puppet. Don’t you wanna be a real boy?”

Dum Dum looked tough, but Dagger had seen enough already to know that he folded for the big man as easy as paper. He half expected the gun again, but to his surprise, he only saw a smile on the other man’s face–teeth that looked too human to belong to him. The tension in his shoulders seemed to drop.

“You are one stupid motherfucker.”

He almost sounded impressed.

Dagger stared him down with the same grin, head tilting. Anyone else, he might skin them alive for the assertion but Dum Dum could be useful. No doubt more than any of the other rusted lugnuts lurking in the gang who’d still be more than happy to kill him. If he wanted this to work out, he’d need someone watching his back, and he’d already proved he wouldn’t pull the trigger.

Dum Dum slid into the driver’s seat and gestured for Dagger to go around. He wasn’t thrilled about playing passenger, his own car parked down the block, but he decided not to push it. He didn’t know his way around the city yet, let alone wherever the fuck they were headed. Or why.

He climbed into the Chevillon, choosing to play nice, a decision quickly waning as he waited for an explanation that never came. He blew smoke toward Dum Dum, a juvenile attempt to get his attention as the engine turned over.

“Got a problem, princess?” Dum Dum asked without looking. At least his head didn’t move.

Dagger leaned back in his seat. “Just wondering what the fuck I’m doing here.”

“You’re the one who knocked.”

“Funny.”

The car pulled onto the street.

“Got a pick-up.” The flat drone of his voice gave away his own annoyance in the silence. “And I wasn’t bullshitting before. Do as you’re told and we won’t have a problem.”

Dagger rolled down his window to vent the smoke from his cigarette. “Pick-up? And here I was hoping for a little fun. Ain’t you lot known for your violence? No offense but thats a waste of my talent and I’m keen to believe it’s a waste of yours too.”

“Royce wants to know you can follow orders. You might be hot shit to those desert dogs but you’re a long way from the top out here.”

Something in the gravel of his tone indicated a warning, but Dagger flicked it off with the ash from his cig. He glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, watching the city blur past the tinted glass. Northside was less colorful than the rest of Night City, all smoke and concrete. In a way, it reminded him of home–the badlands, an endless sprawl of sun bleached dirt, harsh and rigid. Vibrant in its decay. They bore their similarities alright. He could smell fire in the air. A laugh lodged itself in his throat as he finally looked over.

“So that’d make you what, then? The babysitter?”

A grunt. There might have been humor in it. Or a threat.

“You should count yourself lucky. Anyone else prolly woulda shot you by now.”

Dagger didn’t doubt it for a second. Dum Dum was different from the rest, and somehow just the same. He followed orders, and crumbled like soggy paper for the top dog. Out of fear or loyalty, he couldn’t tell yet, but he lacked the self-respect to see that Royce would throw him out as soon as he wasn’t useful. He wondered what might happen if those strings pulled taut. If something sharp happened by to whittle them down.

Dum Dum’s voice caught him by surprise.

“I’m actually impressed you’re still walking. Didn’t think you’d show up after that beating last week.”

“That right?” Dagger said, casually flipping down the visor ahead of him and examining his face in the two inch mirror. The bruise beneath his eye had faded from plum to a brown rot and for a moment he could feel the impact of the metal punch that knocked him on his ass again. It wasn’t the only one. His body was littered, like the canvas of an old painter–splashes of color hemorrhaging against his skin. He knew there was a cracked rib, probably a concussion, too. A few busted teeth, and more. Welcoming gifts from Maelstrom. It was his own suggestion, a last ditch effort to get close to the gang without having chrome shoved up his ass. An initiation plucked from his smuggling days. Each member got a single hit. If he was still alive by the end of it, he’d get in.

And Dagger always got in, smiling and spitting blood. He’d do it again just to prove that he could.

“Hell, I thought that left hook from Lars might kill you.” Dum Dum laughed.

Dagger flipped the visor closed. “You kiddin’? My Daddy hit me harder for stealing a cigarette when I was eight years old.”

“You were prolly just a pussy back then.”

A grin cut across his lips as naturally as the sun cresting over the cityscape. “Well, he had a harder swing than you, at least.”

“Makes sense.” The car turned a tight corner and Dum Dum’s head tilted toward him for the first time. “Considerin’ I pulled my punch.”

Dagger met those empty red lenses with a raised brow. “The fuck you did.”

The crack of his own teeth rang out in his ears again, as if that chrome fist was crashing into his face all over. He could still remember his seven eyes watching him as he stumbled back, spitting blood and enamel in his face. He tongued the empty space on his bottom gum where the molar used to sit. Dum Dum had extracted it more seamlessly than the world’s best dentist ever could.

Pulled his punch.

Dagger scoffed.

Dum Dum didn’t show any sign of humor. His silence said it all.

“And why the fuck would you do that?”

A pause. And then finally a smile.

“‘Cause the harder we hit you, the louder you laughed. Didn't wanna give you the satisfaction.”

Dagger’s face fell, as expressionless as the red lenses in front of him, which seemed now to burn holes through his chest in the silence. He should cut them from his skull, but the feeling passed at the sight of a smile on Dum Dum’s lips.

“Fuckin’ lunatic,” he said, somewhere between affection and dismay.

Dagger took it for a compliment. He grinned, and a bruise sang triumph beneath his skin.

The car pulled off the street beside a painted wall that looked nearly identical to every other street corner in Northside. Dagger could find his way through every small vein of dusty road across the Badlands with his eyes closed but ask him to distinguish between one block or the next within the industrial sprawl of the district and he’d be lost. He pressed his forehead against the window and looked up. Not even the sky could help him. The shadow of the city all but smothered it.

Dum Dum cut the engine.

Wrecked cars littered the crowded alleyway where they sat now, nothing but skeletal remains, picked clean by the vultures. But there was one ahead of them, a black van that stuck out among the rest. The pick-up, if he had to wager.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked, his cigarette almost nothing but ash. He finally flicked it out the window.

Dum Dum didn’t answer. He studied the van ahead of him in the quiet, and after a moment Dagger pushed his optics to scan it too. Standard. No heat signature inside, though there was something stored in the back, a chemical signature he couldn’t get a specific read on. Drugs, more than likely. Of course it was. He had heard the ‘strommers had their own brand of shit. The kind with enough kick to push past the thirty pounds of chrome in their head.

“Something the matter with it?” On instinct, Dagger looked in the rearview, scanned the surrounding area. A flash of light flickered somewhere behind them and disappeared. He waited for it to happen again, but he saw nothing.

“Gadge ain’t here,” Dum Dum said, tone flat. Once more unreadable.

“Taking a leak?”

A grunt. He leaned back in the seat, hand dropping down to the revolver wedged between his seat and the middle console. He flicked his head forward, toward the van. “Well, go on, bitch boy. Check it out.”

Dagger’s eyes narrowed, but he pushed back the urge to tell him to fuck off. He lit another cigarette on the way out. The street was quiet, though somewhere a few blocks down a siren echoed off the smokestacks. He paused when he reached the back of the van, head turning over his shoulder. There was nothing here. Nobody in sight beside those seven glowing eyes behind the glass, and still the hair rose on the back of his neck.

No Gadge. No blood. No struggle. So why did he have a bad feeling? He focused his attention back to the van as Dum Dum waved a hand at him impatiently. Another quick scan told him the same information before he finally reached for the handle and pulled the bed open. A creak of metal cracked through his ears.

It almost deafened the gunshot.

Dagger ducked, dropping low without thought. His cigarette fell to the ground half burned, mocking him as another bullet riccochetted against the back of the van. His first thought was Dum Dum. Royce had changed his mind on the deal, ordered his execution. A quiet hit didn’t sound like his style, and Dagger was almost disappointed he wouldn’t get to see the ugly bastard one more time just to call him a fucking pussy to his face, but a moment later he could hear the ‘borg’s static voice yelling at him from the car to get the fuck up.

He stayed low, unable to pinpoint the direction of the gunshot, and made his way back to the passenger’s side of the Chevillon.

The engine sputtered to life at the same time as the van in front of him. He crawled inside just in time to witness the driverless van crash through a charred Mackinaw to the next street over.

“Fuck!” Dum Dum yelled, flooring the pedal before Dagger could get his foot pulled in all the way. “Shit’s hacked. Gonk’s don’t know who they’re messing with.”

He rammed through the same debris as the van but caught a harsh edge of metal, and the Chevillon stalled for a moment before struggling through. The ringing in Dagger’s ears hadn’t stopped, and he only realized his hand was bleeding when he reached for his third smoke.

“Hack means their close.”

Dagger rolled the window down and stuck his head out, catching the stale air of Northside in a suffocating wind. He could see the van ahead of them like a black smear, but it wasn’t the van he was interested in. Quickhack on a vehicle was useful, but it had drawbacks. One being proximity. Had to be close or you lost connection, even with boosted gear.

A small Hatchback swung suddenly out from a sidestreet, narrowly missing their car as it sped past. Dum Dum swerved and lost a foot of paint on a fire hydrant in attempt to keep steady. Dagger scanned it as it followed track with the van, spitting chooh2 to catch up. Two signatures inside. A runner.

He ripped the gun from Dum Dum’s seat and pulled himself halfway out the window to take aim. He shot quickly and near blind, bullet lost in the wind as the chase veered left.

“Fuckin’ shoot steady,” Dum Dum yelled over at him.

“Drive fuckin’ steady,” Dagger snapped, and this time he held his breath as he aimed for the speeding car. A shot came back at him in response and he ducked back into the window before firing again. The windshield spiderwebbed but the car stayed true, zipping through a line of traffic as they headed into a busier part of the district. A horn blared beside him. The hatchback disappeared between two trucks, and Dum Dum struggled on the wheel, crashing into the edge of a turning car and nearly throwing the gun from Dagger's slick, bloody grasp when he shot again.

He couldn’t track where the bullet hit, but he could tell that it missed.

With a growl, Dagger reached over for the wheel.

“Switch me places.” It was a command more than a question, but Dum Dum didn’t protest. He ripped the gun from Dagger’s hand as Dagger pushed his leg over to the gas pedal and shimmied across the seat in an awkward dance, climbing over him without slowing the vehicle until they both settled into their new positions.

Dum Dum took aim as naturally as Dagger did the wheel. He was no stranger to this, or to the electricity running through his chest as he gripped the wheel knuckle tight, grin spreading over his lips.

The tight streets were no match for an open road, but it got his blood pumping all the same.

He could barely make out the back of the car up ahead, but he could see the rear light explode as Dum Dum fired beside him, leaving red glass sparkling on the pavement like blood. Another shot bellowed, and the hatchback veered wildly, nearly toppling sideways as it made a sharp turn.

Dagger followed, cutting the same corner with the ease of sharpened steel. He couldn’t see the van further up, but he locked his optics onto the car. Blood splattered the window, and he knew that Dum Dum had hit one of them inside. The engine groaned as he pushed it further. The Chevillon didn’t have the same gumption as his Quadra. He could feel the waiver in her gait, but they were close now. Dum Dum felt it too. He braced his arm on the roof. One good shot is all they’d need.

Dagger seamlessly crossed over the center line, taking the opposite lane to blow past several cars that separated them from their goal. Traffic sped by, so close it rocked the car, but he didn’t flinch.

One. Good. Shot.

Dum Dum fired.

Blood sprayed the windshield.

The hatchback veered suddenly into a passing car, which came to a skidding stop, halting the traffic behind it and keeping Dagger from passing back over into the right lane. His mind raced, and on instinct he took a quick left to avoid collision, and then another.

Dum Dum screamed in his ear, but the words were deafened from wind, the ringing, the sirens. Neon lights burned together, flashing against his corneas.

“Wrong fuckin’ way!” He heard finally.

The streets grew narrower, and then he understood.

He could smell the ocean.

Northside’s warehouses were a shadow in the rearview as they headed toward the bay into Kabuki. Tyger territory. They had crossed the district line.

Dum Dum reached for the wheel in a last ditch effort to change course. The momentum of the turn threw them upward, tires leaving the ground. The car spun uncontrollably, flipped, crashing through the barricade on the side of the road in a explosion of crunching metal.

He could see the ocean.

A smear of open blue that could match the sky his heart yearned for. It was beautiful.

Almost.

And it hit like a fucking rock.

His vision blacked for a moment before the water caved in around them. Slowly, then all at once. He barely had time to take in a lungful of air. Kicking at the door wildly, he swam away from the wreckage as the sea pulled them under. His gaze shot upward, searching once more for the sky to lead him. He followed the light up and up, chest starting to ache, until finally he found it.

Dagger gasped as he breached, shaking water from his eyes. He didn’t recognize the city around him, but he spotted a dock nearby. He swam toward it, then stopped. Looked back. The only remains of the Chevillon were petering bubbles at his back, and smooth water beside that. There wasn’t any sign of Dum Dum. By the look of him, he’d sink as quick as the car.

He glanced between the dock and the bubbles and back again.

All that fucking chrome…

Walking back to All Foods without the drugs and their sergeant at arms might earn himself a spot in that industrial microwave that Maelstrom liked to boast. Dum Dum was the only one who didn’t want to kill him, after all.

“Fuck.”

He spit water then took another breath and dived.

The car left a trail like ink in the murky water. Dagger clawed toward it, dragging himself further down into the dark depths. Day turned to night. The city was different here, peaceful, and if not for the pounding in his ears, quiet.

The distant red glare of those eyes shined like a beacon further down. He followed them like the north star, pushing himself to go faster. Dum Dum kicked despite himself, maybe instinct, maybe panic, but his weight worked against him, pulling him down quicker. Dagger pushed harder, reached further. Dum Dum finally noticed him, lenses fixed and unwavering, a calm coming over him as he finally got close enough to grab. Dagger heaved upward, working against the ocean’s cold grasp and the anchor like weight dragging him down. His chest began to burn, and the sky still looked so dark above them.

He considered letting go, eyes squeezed tight, angry ‘ganic lungs ready to burst.

And then he could breathe again.

He reached blindly for the dock ladder, trying hard not to heave. Dum Dum climbed up beside him, still as a corpse.

“Fucking gonk shit,” he muttered.

Dagger almost didn’t catch it over the sound of his panting. He laid flat on his back, taking in the welcome blue above him. He could finally see a break in the cityscape, clouds sneaking in at the edge of his vision.

“Quite a fuckin’ thank you,” Dagger said without taking his eyes from above.

“Oxygen reserves. Could sit down there all day.”

He sat up slowly, running a hand through wet, matted hair. “All the good it’d do you. Be a pile of rust by the time they found you. If they found you.”

Dum Dum laughed. Short, quick static. Somehow it sounded genuine.

“And I’m sure you did that outta the kindness of your heart.”

“What fuckin’ heart?” He said flat, patting down his pockets for his cigarettes. He pulled the pack out, sopping wet. He didn’t bother trying to light one before he tossed them into the bay with a sigh. “Owe me some fucking smokes.”

Dum Dum opened his mouth to speak, but the words never made it. He lifted his head, and though he couldn’t see exactly, Dagger knew he was looking past him. A gun cocked at the back of his head. Cold barrel against his skull. He clenched his jaw, and turned to see a woman he didn’t recognize staring down at him behind glass eyes.

His automatic translator picked up her words better than his ears.

“Welcome to Kabuki, bitch.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #oc: dagger #dum dum #x: perfect drug #my fic tag #well i fussed over this too much so im just gonna say yolo and post it #that also means i have to start on the second chapter. hm.#anyways..........its been a long time coming dklsajfdlsa #linked the song i got the title from for soundtrack purposes if it suits you UwU #sad to tell you all that cockroach won't appear until ch.2 despite being in the above image v.v #false advertising im sorry

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