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latenightcinephile · 11 days ago

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Film #920: 'The Unknown', dir. Tod Browning, 1927.

Keeping track of the films on the list is often a complicated task, especially when you're trying to find films years in advance of any opportunities to watch them. The master spreadsheet I keep has about two dozen films that are still marked 'UNKNOWN' in orange, and ironically Tod Browning's The Unknown was among them for over a decade. Fortunately, a restoration was undertaken in 2022, and you can now find the Criterion version easily accessible.

Silent film is a fascinating subject after a century of sound pictures. It operated with a very limited palette of techniques, and as such needed to make the most of what it had available. People often complain that silent films are too 'theatrical', but the lack of synchronised sound meant that a silent film in fact had fewer tools at its disposal than the theatre did. While modern films can use realistic sound (or its lack thereof) to punctuate, draw attention to or minimise particular moments of a film, in silent films these tasks had to be shifted onto an actor's performance or onto the film's musical score. Even the use of a score was not foolproof, as theatre musicians would have to compare the requested music with what they had available. A larger toolbox available in contemporary cinema has evened out the workload, and it's less common to see a modern film rely so heavily on, say, performance. Tod Browning's film, though, is a stellar example of how films from before the advent of talking pictures honed these elements - to the point where you almost forget that you're watching something with no audible dialogue.

The star attraction of a circus in Spain, Alonzo the Armless (Lon Chaney)'s main act is to use his feet to throw knives. He is smitten with his partner in this act, Nanon (Joan Crawford), who is also the daughter of the circus ringmaster, Zanzi. Nanon has a fear of being touched or held by men, which means that she easily finds solace in her friendship with Alonzo, and spurns the advances of the strongman, Malabar (Norman Kerry). Eager to further draw Nanon into his clutches, Alonzo encourages Malabar to display his strength to Nanon more and more. The situation is complicated when it is revealed that Alonzo actually still has his arms - he hides them in a corset to make his act more sensational. Alonzo's friendship with Nanon infuriates Zanzi and, after an altercation, Zanzi discovers that Alonzo still has his arms. Out of rage and fear, Alonzo strangles Zanzi to death. Nanon sees the strangling (and in particular, that the culprit has two thumbs on one hand) - but doesn't recognise Alonzo - and her fear is exacerbated. A cursory police investigation doesn't find the culprit, and when the circus moves on, Alonzo and Nanon stay in town, with Alonzo hoping that he might be able to draw Nanon's affections more.

Before long, Nanon embraces Alonzo - an act that alarms Alonzo's friend and servant, Cojo, who worries that Nanon will see through the deception. Realising that he is so accustomed to hiding his arms that he can get by without them, Alonzo hatches a plan to have both arms amputated, which will conveniently hide any evidence that it was he who killed Zanzi. He blackmails a doctor into performing the surgery, and hides from Nanon for the period of his recovery. During this time, ironically, Nanon overcomes her fear of "men and their hands", and kindles a romance with Malabar. Together, they plan a new theatrical show, built around Malabar's strongman skills.

When Alonzo has recovered, he visits Nanon and Malabar at the theatre (hilariously, Nanon notices that his torso is a lot thinner than it was before). They reveal their engagement to Alonzo, and describe the centrepiece of their new act, in which Malabar uses ropes to tether two horses running on treadmills in opposite directions. Alonzo is driven to hysterics by the news, especially because it was delivered in a way that got his hopes up tremendously, and plans to disrupt the performance so that Malabar is maimed in the process (as Malabar cheerfully admits, if a treadmill stops suddenly, "the horses would tear my arms from my body"). During the show, Alonzo locks away the technician who controls the treadmills, and abruptly slows the treadmills, panicking the horses. Nanon tries to calm the horses down to prevent them killing Malabar; Alonzo then pushes her to safety before he is fatally trampled by one of the horses. With Alonzo out of the picture, Malabar and Nanon can finally spend their lives together in security.

This is a relatively brisk summary of the plot, but it's put in greater context when you realise that the film is only about fifty minutes long. There's a small pile of things in the plot that make no sense - why does Alonzo, who is certain Nanon would come to forgive him for having arms, elect to have them both amputated, and not just remove his extra thumb? Why doesn't Alonzo come up with any explanation for his absence while recovering? - but the film moves along at such a breakneck pace that there's no time to properly question any of them before the next complication arises. Characters are also very fond in this film of saying the most on-the-nose things imaginable, partly as a way of dispensing with any long and realistic exposition. It doesn't take Alonzo long to realise his plan at the end of the film, mostly because Malabar outright says the plan aloud for him. Nanon unintentionally rubs salt into Alonzo's (literal) wounds when she says "I used to be afraid of Malabar's hands, but I love them now."

This excessiveness is one of my favourite elements of The Unknown. It operates in both directions - the excess of comedy becoming farce, and the excess of violence. When the performance with the horses at the end of the film goes awry, Browning cuts rapidly and close, drawing attention to the strain on Malabar's shoulders through close-up shots (and the version of the soundtrack used in the Criterion release piles on the kettledrums at this moment to underscore the tension. It feels like we're moments away from witnessing some terrific gore effects, even though those would be decades away when the film was produced. There are moments, though, where the emotional effect is deflated through farce. The moment Zanzi discovers that Alonzo still has his arms, Alonzo deals with this by... immediately hiding his arms behind his back. These moments sell the horror even more by contrasting them against the absurd.

Lon Chaney's acting is the heart of this film. It's the thing that lets us look past the absurdities of the plot, and buy into the emotional veracity of the film. Although many of the scenes of more fine motion were done with a stunt double, Chaney learned to manipulate things with his feet for wider shots, and it's deeply believable. Audiences at the time would have known that Chaney was not a double-amputee, but the opening scenes of the film sell this so well that the audience I was with murmured in shock when his arms were revealed. Chaney throws the whole of himself into the more emotional scenes, too, so that the intertitles are often superfluous to understanding the direction of a conversation. The performance has to carry a lot of weight throughout the film, too: Alonzo is a murderer and a con artist, driven to extremes by unrequited love, who then descends into hysterics when it is revealed that his extreme measures were unnecessary. In two minutes, he needs to go from hope that Nanon might intend to marry him, to shock that she has fallen for Malabar, to frenzied laughter when he realises he has had his arms chopped off for nothing. Are the emotions overplayed? Sure. But they're in proportion to the scope of the film, and Chaney has an ability to move between these emotions lightning-quick without being abrupt.

Browning does something really interesting with this film, though: he uses the cinematic tools to play into his themes. The best example of this is in the scene where Alonzo realises his plan to have his arms removed. Lost in thought over the idea that Nanon might reject him when she discovers he murdered her father, he absent-mindedly lights a cigarette with his feet. Cojo laughs at him, commenting that he's forgotten he has arms. Alonzo recoils at this, but in Chaney's performance, you can see the plan form (a slight widening of the eyes, a twitch at the mouth). A shift happens here: we move from a dialogue-heavy sequence to one where there are no intertitles at all. Alonzo continues to speak, giddy with realisation, but what he is saying is too horrifying for the intertitles. Cojo's expression turns to shock, and we do get an intertitle when he says "No, no, Alonzo! Not that! Never do that!", but the act itself cannot be spoken, or even written. In the very next scene, Alonzo and Cojo visit the surgeon, and once again there are no intertitles to describe the actual plan - the closest we get is a single ambiguous gesture Chaney makes at his left shoulder. You can sort of make out the words in the movement of his lips, but the audience never receives the confirmation of what has happened.

I find this fascinating. Usually, silent films don't have the luxury of holding anything back - they have to be repetitive and clear to the point of redundancy. Here, Browning has taken something shocking but admittedly rather mundane, and turned it into a taboo strong enough to abolish one of the tools normally at his disposal. The performances in these scenes, from Chaney, John George as Cojo and John St. Polis as the surgeon, are all so strong that it's easy to misremember the film as more explicit than it actually is. As a result, the film is far more subtle than a lot of Tod Browning's other collaborations with Chaney (ten in total), and probably the most restrained of all of Browning's horrors.

The Unknown is a genuine work of art, a film that moves from merely using its elements to portray a story to using its elements to enhance the story. I don't think it's quite like anything else from the silent era. Is it stagey and melodramatic? Yes, but those aren't bad things, and I'd argue they're necessary to make the film's more subtle elements work. This is a film that's well worth seeing; a little Halloween treat that I'm really glad has been rediscovered.

#1001 movies #genuinely good films #tod browning #the unknown #absolutely wild

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elvenbeard · 2 years ago

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Olives

Summary: V somehow survived a gig some deemed unsurviveable. Now all he needs to do is find his way back home - easy, right? (Post-Sun-Ending, Chapter 1/?, 4778 words, Kerry Eurodyne/V)

V pulled himself through the open hatch with all his might, groaning in pain, greeted by the blazing South California sun and a cloud of dust and sand stirred by the impact. He managed to only just find enough purchase on the hot, smooth metal to wriggle himself out of the escape pod and sat down at the rim of the hatch to catch his breath. His legs dangling into the capsule still, he once again made sure he had everything on him that he needed. An old-fashioned but hard to trace GPS tracking device in his pocket, the key to a car he still had to find, his sunglasses, his phone, his gun… Yes, that was it. Everything else would stay. His hand found the side of his chest, pressing down on his hurting ribs. Not everything had gone to plan. But things rarely did. In the grand scheme of things though… he’d pulled off the impossible. He laughed, almost desperately, closed his eyes and let his head fall back, feeling the suddenly so intense weight of his own body, gravity pulling him back down from the most insane high he’d felt in a long time.

Slowly and carefully, he pulled his legs up and swung around, slid down the side of the spacecraft, and landed more harshly than he would have liked on the rocky desert ground. He hissed, stumbling forwards, but managed to catch his balance only just. An annoying but familiar scratch made itself noticeable in his throat, maybe intensified by the sand surrounding him, and V pulled together all his willpower to suppress the urge to cough. He breathed slowly, deeply, and that alone hurt his ribs more than enough. He swallowed, even though his mouth was dry, then turned to walk around to the pod’s other side. He opened the cover of a small control panel and entered the code he had memorized to set up the self-destruct protocol. His fingers lingered on the “start” button for a moment longer as he once again went through all steps in his mind, making sure he’d thought of everything. He nodded to himself, then started the timer. Seven minutes. Enough to get himself into some distance from this thing, but hopefully not long enough for the SoCal military to find it. He was certain they were on high alert already. V put on his sunglasses, took out and turned on the GPS tracker, then started marching north.

The GPS signal showed that the car was a little over three miles away. Not too bad. Since he was not quite dressed in anything resembling hiking gear, he would still raise eyebrows if he ran into anyone, so he stayed away from the roads. The shuttle was already out of sight, had disappeared behind a hill, when the explosion tore through the silence of the desert. V was drenched in sweat, the sand he stirred up with each step sticking to his face and clothes, his head and eyes hurt, and his chest was sore. What he should have been thinking about was the next steps of the plan: how he’d get across the border, what to do if things went wrong, getting the data to Mr. B, getting rid of the car… but instead his thoughts revolved around how much he hated it that for safety reasons he couldn’t call Kerry yet. Tell him he was fine, all things considered. He hadn’t dared to promise it, but he’d come back in one piece. The thought to be finally able to tell him the whole story, explain why he’d been so distant lately, was the only thing that kept V going now.

In the distance, at first not recognizable as such in the heat haze, a gas station appeared. The GPS seemed to be leading him directly towards it. V was overcome with a sudden sense of dread. Again, for safety reasons (or so Mr. B had said) it had been better for him not to know where the getaway car would wait for him. V had expected it somewhere out there, maybe covered with a tarp, parked under an overhanging rock… not at a gas station, where not only the car would be hidden from view, but all kinds of undesirable people too. He slowed down just slightly, turned off the GPS tracker and slid it back into the pocket on his cargo pants. As he got closer, he saw that the windows of the shop were broken or boarded up, the road sign pointing to the station itself so scratched up by sand it was barely legible. There were no visible vehicles, but the walls of the building were, as he’d expected, covered in Raffen tags and symbols. The wind howled through the abandoned carcass, and V unholstered his Kenshin, just in case. He scanned the area for movement or other signs of life. There was a security camera above the entrance to the shop and another at the corner of the adjacent garage, but neither had power. The gas station seemed positively abandoned. Just in case he ducked as best as he managed to with his bruised ribs, peering around the backside of the building. If the Raffen Shiv used this as a hideout or meeting place, they weren’t here currently. Or ideally, Mr. B’s people on this side of the border had taken care of them before placing the car.

Still careful, but slightly more at ease, V made his way to the back entrance of the garage. The door was unlocked, the interior dark. His optics adjusted to the low light conditions quickly, but he still took off his sunglasses to look around. Dust and more dust covered the old tools and rusty machines this former repair shop still stored. At the heart of the room waited his ticket back home. A light blue Archer Quartz, old, but kept in good shape. V couldn’t help but chuckle. It looked a lot like his first car that he’d parted with not long after accepting the job at Arasaka. It wasn’t exactly the same, a newer model than his, but still. His heart sunk though when he remembered who had picked and placed the car here, who’d been playing mind games just like this with him for the past three months. V walked around the car, scanned it for any unwanted modifications, hard- or software that shouldn’t be there. Trackers, traps, anything… but it appeared clean. Before getting into the car, he carefully and slowly opened the garage gate, the area out front still quiet and abandoned. Only then he dared to unlock the driver’s side door and got behind the steering wheel. He didn’t need to adjust much, and he was thankful for a sixpack of water bottles waiting for him on the passenger seat. Without losing any more time he turned on the engine and set out.

The dusty desert highway had seen better days. The first road sign V came across was so covered in graffiti it was barely legible. He only just could make out “Night City – 29 miles”. At least he vaguely knew where he was now. Not long after the sign a couple of armored Militech SUVs breezed past him, heading south. He was sure to know where they were going and surprised it had taken them so long – but sometimes even V was granted some luck it seemed.

This little convoy remained the only other vehicles he encountered all the way up to the border station. His heartbeat sped up at the sight of Night City’s neon lights in the distance, gleaming bright even in the daytime. The line at the crossing was short, and V joined the queue like anyone else just passing through would, winding the window down as it was his turn.

“Good day,” the border patrol officer said, “Got anything to declare?”

“No, sir,” V said as friendly as he managed.

“What’s the purpose of your visit?”

“Comin’ home, visited family in L.A.,” he lied through his smile.

The soldier looked over his car briefly, but V knew this was routine. He had nothing to worry about yet.

“How long were you gone?”

“Two weeks,” V said, having memorized all important dates of his fake family trip to a T.

The officer looked something up on the data pad he was holding, taking a little too long for V’s taste, but he was good at not showing his growing nervousness. That was probably the most valuable skill his time with Counterintel had taught him. After a solid minute the soldier finally looked up from his datapad, turned it around and held it out to V.

“Please scan your SID-chip, sir, then we can proceed,” he said. V did as he was told, placing his thumb on the screen until a blip and green popup said the scan had completed.

“Thank you… Mr. McFarley?” the soldier said as he looked at the datapad, “Like the senator?”

“You wouldn’t believe how often I hear that,” V played his part, “Not related by blood or marriage.”

“I see…”

He tapped around on his screen a bit more, looking over the edge of the pad at V occasionally, who always just smiled and nodded back at him.

“Are you alright, sir?” the soldier then suddenly asked, taking V off guard.

“I am, yes?” he said after a moment of hesitation, his throbbing ribs and head saying otherwise.

“Just making sure. No offense, but you look a bit pale,” the soldier said.

“Just tired from the long drive,” V said, adjusting his sunglasses. Then, finally, the soldier stepped to the side.

“Everything in order,” he announced, lowering his datapad, “Welcome home.”

“Thanks, have a good day,” V nodded and sighed in relief as he left the shadow of the checkpoint, no obstacles between him and Night City anymore now.

He breezed past the Biotechnica protein farms on the left, the solar power station on the right. So many memories flooded his mind it made him dizzy briefly. It felt like all this had happened in a different lifetime – and well, in a way it had.

V pulled his phone out of his pocket, keeping his eyes on the road as best as he could as he finally turned it back on. Immediately he was flooded with missed calls and messages. It took less than ten seconds before he received a new incoming call, caller ID obscured, voice garbled as he picked up almost automatically.

“If someone could’ve done this, it was you,” Mr. B said, V recognizing his voice even through the distortion by now.

V had all manners of replies ready at the tip of his tongue as he finally crossed over the city limits and entered Santo Domingo. How one of their first conversations had been about V being a disappointment to him for example. He swallowed down his anger and took a right turn, first heading to the drop-off point for the car.

“I guess you don’t want me to send you the data right now, right?” he then asked.

“Yes, too insecure,” Mr. B said, “When can we meet in person?”

V wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

“What about right after I dropped the car off?” he suggested, suppressing a cough, “I can be at The Afterlife in 30 minutes.”

“No, not there,” was the reply, and V’s palms grew sweaty, “Too many curious eyes. And I don’t want to crash the ‘welcome back’ party they’ll surely throw you?”

V scoffed. As if.

“Alright, have it your way then,” V said, adding ‘as always’ in his head, “Where and when?”

He pulled into the parking lot of an old auto repair shop, parked his car in a row of others that waited for “repairs”, and turned the engine off. He put the key behind the sun visor, grabbed his stuff and the two last remaining water bottles, then exited the car.

“Your penthouse, in an hour?” Mr. B then suggested.

“Absolutely not,” V snapped, not hiding his anger this time, “You can keep doin’ that kinda shit with the Peralezes and the likes, but I swear - …”

“I was joking,” Mr. B said calmly, “Besides… what would you do to stop us?”

V slammed the door of the car shut and started walking, leaving the premises of the repair shop without looking back.

“Where. And when,” V repeated.

A brief pause of crackling static on the other end of the line.

“The North Oak Columbarium, in 30 minutes?”

V sighed. He would rather not. But it was not like he had a choice.

“Meet you there,” he said before hanging up.

His own car was parked in an alley a few blocks away. As he marched on, he pulled up his contacts. He checked the time, 5.32 p.m. – could be that he was busy, at the studio or another appointment, a few had been lined up this week… but V decided to try and give Kerry a call anyway. It rang a couple of times, and his heart skipped a beat at the sound of Kerry’s voice, but it was just the mailbox after all.

“Hey, seems like ya missed me. Leave a message, I’ll call ya back later.”

“Hey, um…” V started out slowly, “Just wanted to let you know, I’m back. Got a few more errands to run, but I’ll be home in an hour or two, so…”

He scratched his head, grasping for words that could get across what he was trying to say, without making it sound too dramatic or causing Kerry to worry.

“There’s a bunch of stuff I gotta tell you that… I couldn’t really talk about ‘til now. Not ‘over-the-holo’ stuff so, I’ll see ya later. I hope you’re havin’ a good day!”

With that he hung up, half-regretting it immediately. I hope you’re havin’ a good day… how fucking lame. He had wanted to say how much he’d missed him, that he thought of him constantly, that he couldn’t wait to see him, hold him again, just how much he loved him. But the words just wouldn’t come out, and he didn’t know why.

“Fuckin’ hell…” V cursed under his breath, and this time he couldn’t prevent another onset of coughing from shaking his body. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable, for a moment he thought he would collapse right then and there on the sidewalk. There were certainly more pathetic ways people had died in Night City, but maybe he would make the top ten on the list.

“Breathe, breathe…” he repeated over and over in his head, maybe he even said it out loud. Sometimes he couldn’t quite tell the difference anymore. Living with Johnny in his head for over two months had left its mark in many ways. He’d been without his annoyingly charming remarks and unwanted but entertaining commentary for longer again now than he’d ever been with him. Yet it still felt like he’d left something behind that would remain a part of V for the rest of his life… however much of it was left. One thing was clear though, and Johnny would agree: he hadn’t come this far to go down without putting up one hell of a fight, at the very least.

He caught his breath again, bracing himself against a dirty brick wall, his other hand at his side, holding his ribs. He slowly stood up straight, took another few deep breaths, then continued his walk, a little slower than before but just as determined.

His V-Tech still parked where he had left it two days ago, as instructed. The driver’s side door swung open as V approached, and he got in carefully, putting what he had been carrying on the passenger seat.

“Let’s get this over with…” he said to himself as the engine sprung on and he turned to drive to North Oak.

On the way to the Columbarium V went through his mailbox, listening to all the voice and holo messages in chronological order. Incredible how much could accumulate over the course of less than 48 hours. He made a mental note of who to call back and when, who he needed to pay a visit sooner or later, too. Admittedly, he was surprised at how random some of the messages were, people checking in to make sure he was okay… as if they’d sensed what he had set out to do.

Then he got to Kerry’s missed calls, and his chest grew tight… they hadn’t been that long ago, from this morning, left probably before he headed out to the studio. V’s heart broke at how sad he looked, even if just briefly. He’d always been good at glossing over it. Sad about how little time they spent with each other, just the two of them… somewhere between the lines V could even read blame for being forgetful about things he’d promised to do and didn’t stick to. That one hurt the most.

“Don’t take this the wrong way…” Kerry said, but it was hard not to… even more so because he was right. V had been so swept up in preparations for this gig for the last weeks, and even before… The last time it had been just the two of them doing something together, nothing else coming up all day, had been almost a month ago, V realized.

The Columbarium came into sight, but almost automatically V’s eyes wandered to Kerry’s villa visible on the rolling hills beyond. He most likely wasn’t there, but briefly V was tempted to stand Mr. B up and drive home right away instead. It wouldn’t make any sense, obviously, and achieve nothing. So, he pulled over, eyes on his goal, and got out of the car.

He was early, but Mr. B usually was, too. Yet, when he took a quick look around the tall rows of niches, enjoying the cool shade and quiet, trying his best to be respectful about the people here to mourn their loved ones, he could not see him yet. V stopped at the center of the premises, turning back to the entrance, assuming he’d get a call directing him where to go and what to do, as usual. As long as that hadn’t happened yet though, he decided to pay an old friend a visit.

“Hey, Jackie,” he said quietly as he stopped in front of his niche. He hesitated, feeling silly to be talking to a pile of ashes that could neither hear him nor reply. But maybe that wasn’t the point.

“I know I don’t come by often. I’m tryin’ though. Maybe that counts for somethin’ in the grand scheme of things,” V said, then paused.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

He really didn’t. He took a deep breath, through his teeth, one hand at his side again.

“I still often think about our conversation back then. Before our big heist,” he said, “How you wished to die a legend, and how I kinda hoped it wouldn’t ever come to that, at least not yet… but I guess you got your wish granted, even if too soon. I didn’t know then if that’s what I would have wanted for myself, and honestly… I still don’t know if it’s what I want right now. Not for lack of trying.”

He paused for a moment upon this realization. Sometimes his situation felt so hopeless, so grim, only looking death in the eye still made him feel alive. Talking, walking, corpse he was… At least one thing was certain. After today, there was no way he’d end up being forgotten.

“You’re long gone, and I’m still standing, somehow, despite it all,” V continued, “I hope you’d be proud of how far I’ve come, ‘cause I sure as hell know you would have fought just as hard to make it here, had you been in my place. You’d probably be waiting at The Afterlife right now, disappointed as I walk in ‘cause even this crazy-ass gig didn’t kill me like it should’ve…”

V sighed and lowered his head.

“Maybe… I’m not done yet.”

His holo rang, ripping him out of his thoughts.

“See ya, Jackie,” he said, brushing along the edge of the niche before answering the call.

“Front third, turn left, the middle section,” the voice on the other side ordered before ending the call abruptly. V walked to the instructed area, recognizing it as the row where he once saw one of those glitching graffities. He no longer did. And he no longer believed Mr. B chose this spot at random, either. He awaited V there already, dressed in an all-black suit, fitting for the location. V was still covered in dust from head to toe, wore his combat boots, worn-out cargo pants, and a tactical vest over a tactical shirt. The hierarchy here, and who was the one to do the dirty work, was never clearer than in this moment.

“On time, as always. Perfect,” Mr. B said, intensely glowing blue eyes looking him up and down, “You look not nearly as roughed-up as I’d expected either.”

“Things rarely go 100% according to plan,” V said calmly, and Mr. B smiled coldly, fake almost.

“What matters is, the job is done, without raising alarms, and everything extracted you wanted,” he added.

Exhausted, physically and mentally, V didn’t want to engage in more small talk than was absolutely necessary. Small talk with Mr. B usually felt either like an interrogation, manipulation, or a mix of both.

“We’ll see about that,” Mr. B said, “Send me the data.”

“First,” V said sternly, “you tell me what happens next. ‘Cause you’ve been pretty damn elusive about just how exactly you’re gonna help me if I do this for you.”

Mr. B’s smile turned just slightly colder, sending a shiver down V’s spine.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked.

“Trust gets you stabbed in the back quicker than you can say ‘Ceasar’,” V replied.

Mr. B chuckled.

“Fine,” he said, “Would an address suffice for now?”

“Of what?” V asked.

His question was answered by a notification blip and a map with coordinates showing up on his interface. An inconspicuous looking building appeared, not too far from here actually, in the south of Charter Hill by the looks of it.

“One of our many bases of operation,” Mr. B explained, “A small, brand-new lab we own, completely legal, up to the newest standards, not linked to any major corporations. You will find no better place to treat injuries of the brain, and we specialize in restoring damaged or even destroyed nervous systems.”

“How convenient…” V said slowly, the map minimizing and disappearing out of his vision again.

“We care for the people we invest in,” Mr. B said, “And if the data you have for us turns out to have been a good investment, we even more so have an interest to keep you around as long as possible.”

Or as long as I’m still profitable, V thought, but stayed silent.

“I am a man of my word, V,” Mr. B said after a short pause, “Are you one of yours?”

He wasn’t so sure of that himself anymore. But at least it used to be what V prided himself with, that he finished what he started, and that he kept his promises.

“Of course,” he said, feeling like he stepped right into the trap laid out for him, but tried not to let it show. He opened a secure communications channel to send the Crystal Palace client data to Mr. B.

“Much appreciated,” was the sly answer as the transfer was completed, “We will analyze the data and contact you in a few days about the next steps. Time, we tackle your little problem properly.”

“I’ll wait for your call,” V said briefly and with that Mr. B nodded, turned around, and disappeared around the corner. V lingered a moment longer, not even wanting to think about what they’d do with some of the world’s elite’s data, only glad that Kerry hadn’t been up there just yet. He still didn’t know if he wanted to tell him this part of the story, because he was so excited about the chance to play at the Crystal Palace one day, and V didn’t want to taint the idea to him.

He slowly walked back to the Columbarium’s entrance area, then got into his car. Despite craving nothing more right now than a long shower, V decided not to head back to Little China right away. Even if Kerry had already taken care of it, V was gonna go and get him his nasty olives. He’d shower him in them for the rest of his life if it meant it wasn’t too late yet to fix what he’d broken about their relationship recently. He turned the car around and drove back to Santo Domingo, stopping by Caliente’s to grab two cups of coffee to go. Then he headed to a nearby convenience store, picking up the biggest jar of olives they had on shelf, as well as some popcorn and a bottle of Bolshevik vodka.

Then finally it was time to drive home, the sun already setting. V sipped his coffee, hoping it would help soothe his still burning headache at least somewhat, but nothing seemed to help at this stage apart from trying to sleep it off. It wasn’t quite as bad as it had been with Johnny at times, but it still felt like the attacks were getting more frequent and worse the more time went on. It would have been the smarter choice probably to pull over and call Del for the rest of the trip, but V was all the way through Heywood already. Waiting for the cab to get here would take forever in the rush hour traffic. To distract himself from the pain he decided to try and give Kerry another call.

“Hey, seems like ya missed me. Leave a message, I’ll call ya back later.”

“Hey back at ya. Again,” V said, feeling a little more at ease now than during the last call, “Just wanted to say, I’m almost home now, just driving through Corpo Plaza. I’ve… been thinkin’ about you a lot, about us. I finally had a moment to listen to your messages from earlier today, too...”

He paused briefly, the endless ocean of neon lights breezing by not helping with his headache.

“I love you, Kerry, I hope you know that. ‘Cause I know I’ve been bad at showing it lately. So, I guess… I’ll see you soon!”

He hung up, then tried to call Rogue, but she was also busy, and he only reached her mailbox.

“Hey, I’m back. Guess you’ll have to deal with me a little while longer,” he said, “But I’ll give you a little break at least, take a bit of a breather. Depending on how things with the client progress, I might not be at my best for a while anyway. But we’ll see. Given how well things are running at the moment you probably won’t even notice I’m not there for a week or two. Just so you know… in case I don’t show up as regularly for a while.”

Not that Rogue would worry much if he went MIA for a couple of days, but he’d still rather tell her. Just as he hung up this call, he noticed a missed call from Kerry. Perfect timing.

V stopped his car at the last red stoplight before he would have reached the parking garage, pondering for a moment whether to call him back right away or to do it as soon as he was home. Maybe Kerry was there already anyway.

The decision was abruptly made for him as somewhere around the corner tires screeched, shots were fired, and police sirens began to blare. A blazing red sportscar covered in Tyger Claws imagery shot out of a side street, one ganger hanging out of the passenger side window firing a machine gun at the NCPD squad car giving chase. They were going way too fast to do anything about the sudden obstacle in the shape of V’s car appearing in front of them, still parked at the stoplight.

There were many pathetic ways to die in Night City. Being the victim of a car crash you didn’t even cause was surely among the top three on the list, especially right after pulling off the craziest heist a single merc had ever successfully completed. That was the last thought that went through V’s head as he braced himself for the impact.

(sorry for ending on such a cliffhanger... it's my specialty :D this is not a final version just yet probably, but I really wanted to share the angst... will put it up on ao3 when I'm 100% happy, maybe with some art or VP to go along with it)

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#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk fanfiction #cp2077 fanfic #cp2077 #cyberpunk v #male v cyberpunk #kerry eurodyne x v #kerry x v #kerry eurodyne #mr. blue eyes #vincent ezaki #otp: to bad decisions #my writing #sorry this got loooong #I've been writing all day and chapter 2 is almost done-ish too xD #love is stored in the olive jar

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