Chapter Text
The devil has a contract with her at long last. Contract for her body, her consciousness, her soul.
All written on a tiny plastic box, a box glaring angrily at her – abandoned in chair. She sits in a puny room somewhere in orbit, in chamber that only a couple of hours ago a hurricane of her tantrum tore through. Doctors dare not to try to enter out of fear as she hurled a chair at one of them. Perhaps she succeeded to injure them as panel close to the door spewed glass after the land.
Eyes scan each and every line, each and every paragraph. Man seated there has already withdrawn, leaving her to contemplate the deal he has presented to her. Leaving her alone with her own thoughts, to wonder her next step – one that can very well be her last.
The bastard was right. She's not who she used to be. She's not the V she used to be after coming off crazy roller coaster named Johnny Silverhand.
His words keep running in infinitive loop – claw at her very core.
"They're cuttin' a piece of us out, a part you'll always miss. A part that'll leave a hole. You're not getting rid of me, kid. I'll stay with you, forever."
Johnny knows how to cause fear, how to arouse a crowd full of people, and how to fuck with their minds. He's charismatic, yes, but he's also a self-centred blowhard. Rogue once called him a boy with a box of matches and a can of CHOOH2. Said he'd set half the city on fire to prove he's right and other half just for fun. And she was right.
He's an obnoxious, arrogant, cocky little shit. Always just me, me, me. Hell, the first night of their merge he tried to kill her – so far, his plan didn't seem to be working, but he tries other ways to ruffle her feathers. They had their upsides downsides, all right, fine, more downsides. Omega blockers didn't help. That idiot must have found a way to go around them and then buzzed in her ear for the rest of the day.
"Can you feel it? Trapped in your own fucking body. Powerless!"
"Knock it off!"
When did he quit?
Since when did he stop doing something?
Since when did Johnny fucking Silverhand ever quit anything?
He takes a step, tests her limits, demonstrates his abilities – what he is capable of. Proving that he doesn't need her anymore, doesn't need her permission to take her body. Proves he can very easily sit her pert little ass in the backseat and grabs the wheel.
"I swear to God, imma gonna. . ." Lungs are heavy, foggy, hot tears sting her eyes, a cough rocks her body, knees buckle, the ground beneath her feet fades, and she finds herself on a frigid elevator floor.
She regrets her words at point as he breaks into a throaty laugh. He cackles, but his eyes are cold. The faintest chill goes through her, just the lightest prickling of hairs on her arms and neck.
"What you gonna do, kid? Kill me?!"
Before she can do as much as blink, silhouette of her not so favourite stalker lowers himself to her level, invading her space, looking her up and down in a calculating way. If he were still alive, she'd feel his tresses tickle her cheeks, if he were here his warm breath would fane her face. But she doesn't.
"Newsflash, I'm dead and so are you."
She swallows against the lump in her throat, arches her spine, balls her fists in frustration. "The hell you want from me?!"
Why is she arguing with hallucination? He's just a figment of the imagination, a little glitch that devours her. . . what Hellman call it? Oh yeah, her little meat brain. So why the fuck is she arguing with him?
Rockerboy clicks his tongue, disapproval dripping from his timbre. The rocker who had settled in as uninvited guest and refuses to leave. Spoiled child who would lash out whenever he didn't get his way.
"That 'Saka cunt seriously fried your circuits or perhaps it's a result of that Netwatch agent, you're welcome by the way. But lemme tell ya." Rocker puts his arm right next to her head, leans in, he's close, too close.
Hallucination, she reminds herself. He's not really here.
Johnny's next words are heavy and hot like a brand, she feels a trickle of sweat slide down at the nape of her neck. "Once she bites into ya, and she will, you ain't gonna be able to pry yourself out. And I won't be there to help you. Rogue and I will take care of this, just like old times."
And that's the problem, she doesn't trust him. He used her, he lied to her. She's not naive to be fooled by him again. Not this time.
"We're almost at the head of a snake, kid, just. . ."
"Time!. . . I need time!" She zips, pain shoots through her shoulder like Oda's hot blade back at parade. She's had enough!
Enough of his obsession with Rogue!
Enough of his brand bullshit!
SHE'S HAD ENOUGH TONIGHT!
"Don't you get it?!" Engram rises to his height, towering her, watching her pathetic efforts to get away from him. "Time is something we are fresh out of, V!"
"This is my body; I call the shots!" She inhales, exhales, pushes up on her hands and knees. Head swims in a mist she can't get out of. Optics glitch, can't see ahead, stomach tightens and feels she's about to throw up. She can't stay here, she has to move, she has to delta, she needs to keep pushing though her body isn't on speaking terms with her mind so she stays on the floor, on her hands and knees. Eyes are foggy but it's better now. Merc braces herself, against the elevator wall, fingertips tap on the touchscreen.
She won't listen to him anymore, doesn't want listen to him!
Johnny half turns to her, fingers snap at lighter. "Not this time, kid."
Exhaustion dulls her mind, dulls her consciousness. She can't fall asleep, can't pass out! That would mean an open invitation for Johnny and she's gone a long way to make sure that this didn't happen because she wouldn't be waking again. Not herself. Yet every minute of this is a fucking struggle to remain sentient.
"You need me – look at yourself. You won't make it an hour without my help."
Woman slams her eyes shut tight, draws in a breath to collect her wits. Elevator chimes and the doors swing open, night crisp, flurry of rain stings at her face as another wave of pain sets in. Her feet knit together, the floor comes closer, faster and faster. Rain rides down glass panels of Embers, streets gleam, raindrops rattles on the roof of Delamain junior. Darkness closes in and down she goes. . .
Cornfield
Time – who knows?
Year – who gives a darn as long as she can revel in her own small paradise. Though she'd pick a far different venue than this, but she's not complaining.
Tall grass, bright blinding sun.
V shifts her body, feels blotches sweat blooming across the front of her top down, down between her breast while more seeps down the small of her back. Breeze rocks her net swing, baby hair on her forehead frizzes, eyes shut, savouring this day. She pops her hand out of the net and hums a loud breath, overhears a combine cutting its path in the distance, birds chirps in a treetop. All she's missing is a fine cool glass to hold.
"Vitals?"
"All normal."
Eyes shot wide open, but no one within range. Only herself and the cornfield. No soul. Overhead, bright ball burns white, heat rises over the baked earth, dusts everywhere – blows on the wind, leaves its scent.
"Hello?" She says and waits. Waits for an answer. Waits for someone to pop in from the mouth of field. To hear buzz of people yet is only met with broad silence. She sits up, looks to the right, to the left.
"Motor functions?"
". . .Still non-functional. Chip is not fully merged with the body. Shard of host content is still being downloaded from the server."
"Ah yes, frontal lobe shows to be still not fully linked to her motor cortex as we expected – this shows her deceleration. . .Now, how is it with the optic lobe?"
Before long, sharp white light burns straight into her eyes. She squeezes them shut, covers them with her hands, swearing loudly, and when she opens them again, she tenses in startle. Gone is the field, gone is the heat, gone is her own little paradise.
"Both pupils respond correctly."
All sorts of pipes and tubes are shoved into her body making her look like an octopus. All is so loud. Huge white lamp glares down into her face, outlines of people running through more tests, types stuff into little plastic boxes. She's surrounded with frigid machines, all beeps, all whirls – devices she's never seen before in her life, and all control her body.
"Where does her memory stand? Any indication of a previous shell corruption?" New voice comes beyond silhouettes looming over her like she's some sort of pet zoo chimes into their chatter. V wants to find out who this person is however she can't wade through the plethora of tubes stuck and riddled with her body.
"No trace. Tests show zero defect. . ." Blond man plucks tablet out from her hands before coming clean to light. Glasses perch on the bridge of his nose, lenses reflecting myriad of pages of text scrolling beneath his fingertips, light sandy hair slicked back, beard groomed. A plain white cloak hugs his frame. For a fleeting moment, their eyes lock, and they are right back on the screen.
". . .Hmm. . ." His face scrunches up, he's not quite at peace with something, but then. . .
"Final measurements are complete. Do you mind letting him know we're done?" The two Doctors bow respectively – abiding his request as the chief pivots on the balls of his feet. "At last, three years of badgering comes to an end."
Three years? What does that mean? Who is he referring to? What is going on? Two physicians commence chatter. Somewhere, in the back of her mind the words register, but she's too far gone to make sense of them – feels like she's missing a significant part of the conversation. Tubes and wires are off and she's with difficulty hoisted to her feet. Head hurst, lungs ache with every single breath, knees buckling – in sum, she shakes like a leaf.
"Where?" She asks, voice creaky as if she needs a drink of water, throat closes and grounds her teeth. This voice – it sounds foreign to her ears, "What is this place?"
"Please follow me."
Cold white corridors close in on her, stomach knots. No one wants to give her a clue to the questions. Everybody goes on in their own bubble of roles. She knows no one, no face is familiar.
ABSOLUTELY zero thing feels familiar.
The doctor slows down and someone gets to their feet but she is more interested in the city plug into darkness that tells her nothing yet intrigues her greatly. High-rise buildings lit up with vibrant banners promoting their accessories, all is alive and buzzing with life. Sky is made up of sparkling stars. V pauses, her own reflection stares back at her though she senses it's not her. Feels odd, like this isn't even HER FACE, HER BODY. She touches her face, her hair, examines her hands, her fingers, tugs at her sweatshirt. . .
"V?"
Head snaps to a voice somehow ringing familiar yet that face. . . this face, she can't place. There, in back of her mind, it tells her to be wary of him, to keep him away. She shakes her head reflexively and yield from the unknown, eyes darts down the hallway seeking something anything to use in defence, a hole to crawl into should she prove no match him. Silver rings gazes down unnerving, brow crooks and man peers over his shoulder – here V spies something like a machinery circles his neck and extends up to his jaw. Dark hair tied in a high bun reveals sides subtly sprinkled with a hint of grey. He asks this doctor something.
Why the devil can't she understand them?!
For a moment, fear and adrenaline all fuses together in the pit of her gut, a tight, hot curl of emotion feels too big to handle. Her feet stop retreating, heart races in her throat once they both glances back at her, still mulling something slurred. However, he seems. . .conflicted? Doesn't know whether to come towards her or keep his distance. Woman in white robe doles herself out though, salvage clearly an agitated discussion. Off she hands him to sign something and this is her chance to slip away. The second she turns bumps her face into a solid chest, fingers automatically hook at white coat sleeves and spins them both like in a dance. Foreign words spew out from medic but she ignores them when silver rings fixes on her, perfectly polished shoe picks up a step front and then another; steps filled with deadly purpose, hers go into reverse – hitting and knocking everything off, silver instruments like scalpel and scissors and curette and needles and salver clatters to the floor as he stalks forward, her fingers paw at objects for a weapon.
"Easy." He says, low and steady, holds her with his eyes. Foot by foot he draws near, both hands raised in sight. "Careful."
"Stay back!" V stands rooted to the spot, anxious to move, even though every instinct in her body is screaming for her to turn tail and run. Who's to say that he won't snap her neck, won't kill her, just like snap of fingers. No hesitation, no remorse – that cyberware sure isn't just for decoration. "Stay back." She breathes, holding forceps nicked from nurse spread-eagled on the floor protectively in front of her, the pointy tip squared up towards guy ready to wield.
He pauses, one never taking eyes from the other – he extends a hand to aid the nurse on her feet while exchanging hushed sentences, and off she scurries into safety. V keeps breath in lungs a prisoner before a man indicates to the roller desk, sole object standing in-between the two. Stuff of all kinds litters the ground yet she follows him with eyes as he slowly rolls the table away.
"I mean you no harm." He says, places a hand against his chest, each of his fingers laced with strips of chrome."Takemura Goro – that is my name."
His voice is calm, movements deliberate, but V can hear her pulse picks up, blood rush through her veins. She's aware of all the eyes in the lobby, aware they're all glued to them like some sort of a TV show.
"Please."
He extends his hand like an olive branch and waits, waits for her to surrender her weapon, waits calmly and levelly for her to plant said object in his hand. She ponders, wonders whether to turn him down or accept him. This man – she doesn't know him.
What if's hangs over her head.
What if she's not fast enough? What if she won't gather up her strength for a real fight? What if he's just toying her and the pliers clamped securely in hand pose no threat to him?
Or perhaps she's being exaggerated and irrational. The palpable sincerity in Takemura's eyes and pacify words, says this man is anything but what her subconsciousness twists.
"Every step of the way, V – my promise to you."
She weighs her options – not only he seems to be patient with her also has the wisdom not to push her. For a moment, just a moment, she thinks he will disarm her, but he doesn't, doesn't make a move towards her either. He stands still, hand doesn't waver just hold it out in the expectation. For uncountable seconds V simply gazes from his hand and back at his eyes and then breathes in through nose and tentatively plants the forceps into his hand.
From hospital to downtown luxury condo complex, high-rise where you can't see the very top – that's what upgrade looks like, baby.
Tall columns line the entryway, foliage on every turn. Elegance and affluence walk hand in hand decked out in the grand reception foyer. Bystanders radiate opulence, success, fame, reflects in their outfits – men sporting tip-top blazers, button-downs, snazzy shoes where you could see your reflection; women primped to perfection, robes cut to flatter their bodies, picture-perfect smiles with pearly teeth and cherry on top jewellery of all kinds. It is only V who stands out from the gang, though, it's not just on the surface. Deep inside she feels like she doesn't belong in this world, like the world of corporation and the glamor isn't the world she used to live in, but more of a world out there, where is life, where are people going according their own style.
Out there, in the streets, there is her world.
Lift chimes, doors swing open into a HUGE space overlooking the city. V struggles to pull her jaw off the floor as her handler steers her to the different corners. Around her, lies invisible hand of corporation of which he is a part, and boy, is he on top?
Men wish to be in his shoes and ladies pine for him.
This all she's saying, my dudes.
V's first to set foot poking round the décor of the entire penthouse, feels like a complete spaceman transfixed as to where she's landed. Mr. Nice Suit, for now, pulls himself off to the kitchen area, setting for the tea. One eye remains trained steadily upon a girl cocooned in his blazer. Like in the Infirmary, the sight of the city yanks her over. Change of vantage point, different district, different high ground to watch from. By now she begins to vibe into James Stewart in Rear Window.
"What is this place?"
Of the questions posed en route, this should have been one of the first, though that wasn't her case. Basically, it all came down to one course – who the devil I am? Her memory consists of little moments but none makes a lick. If only she could piece them together and not leaving her into ball of one big ball of mixed-up crap.
"Osaka."
V pivots on the balls of her feet, not sure of what to do with the sleeves – they're awfully dang long for her short arms. Bracing herself, she flops down on a chair and observes him. Watches him intent on his work.
"I'm sorry." She says, head pillows her hand, rubs her temple. He stops in his labour and takes a look up, brows arching up, misunderstanding where she's aiming.
"Sorry, I'm not what you were hoping for. For taking you for. . . for not recognising," She bites off the words, doesn't finish the thought. Doesn't have to. Man shakes his head. A Man who has a name now, and is clearly more than Mr. Handsome or Mr. Strange or just Mr. Suit.
"You are not to blame. It is I who needs to apologize." He says, sets conviction between lines of all the things he can't explain and sets the teapot back on its place. His shoulders slump, face remains impossibly still. "I had not anticipated this."
Now, she is out of tune. Does he recount the incident earlier or THE matter at hand where he took extra heed of every word? Steam hits her face, herbs aroma rises up, warmth grips her tongue and hits the back of her throat. V struggles keep her face in check, doesn't want to come off as rude and swallows the contents of her teacup down, disregarding taste. Cradling it, she sets cup on the serving platter.
"Meaning?"
There's a long, long silence between them, he draws ragged sigh out of his chest loaded with a heavy load clamped on his core, on his soul. Eyes stay trained downward. Stillness seizes the reigns; voices of a city dully drone outdoors. She must have hit the nail on head. Something he's uncomfortable discussing. Something she'd find useful? Tea cup on his part goes untouched.
"This day turns out to be a long one already for you." He wraps all up. "You have to rest now." He gives a wide berth to her questions. The thing is Takemura doesn't think it's something they need to talk about. Sounds frickin' hell-bent on keeping things on side-lines, almost like he can't stand to be in the same room with V for even a minute longer than he has to. Let alone bear the idea of looking her in the eyes.
Not after the news had been delivered to his front door.
Goro appears to be individual possessed of many gifts and powers, from first glance he strikes a calm, composed, though this, this is not his domain.
Bedroom door slides open and V isn't fazed over the scale and lavishness of the furnishings. Grand floor-to-ceiling glass walls reveal arms to a blanketed city peppered with lights allowing nightfall to enter, rendering the heart-stopping view. Old man unloads plain shirt and sweatpants from the wardrobe and sets it on the bed for her.
"Shall you need anything I will be in next room."
She sees he's one foot out, he's holding back – she wasn't born yesterday. Truth be told, it was today. She's missing a part of her memories, true, very substantial ones but there is more to the story than he lets on. Before he can seal the door completely and leave her with bunch of question marks, questions and doubts that will come later, V calls his name.
Seconds tick by, one. . .two. . .three. . .heart drums in her throat. . .four. . .five. . .six. . .oblivious of what she's about to say, tongue balls up in a knot, no words come out, brain takes another long weekend, or more like a vacation.
For heaven's sake say something and don't just stand there like a totem pole!
". . .Thank you."
It comes authentic and genuine from heart. He's been the first person after her "comeback", the one person who told her the truth, fill her questions. And now she feels she could trust him, feels that before – the time she forgot – they were at the same energy.
Takemura offers bow, presses lips into thin line and shuts the door. Shedding the jacket, V lays it carefully on the bed, flicks the switch in bathroom on, dumps the tee shirt at double vanity with granite countertops.
Flooring is dark grey whilst walls are woody brown. Pearly white soaking bathtub is tucked out of sight, behind panel. In the centre, between sinks, perches a basket laden with knick-knacks – courtesy of the hotel? Mirror sits on the wall, base backlit subtle glow.
She looks at herself, intently at her own reflection, the glass draws her the way she appears, yet deep inside she feels this isn't really her. She shifts, twists, spins. No blemish, no imperfection, no flaw – all is perfect, perfectly to a T. Skin soft as a baby's skin, hips curved in the right place; chest. . . not bad at all.
Soul practically screams this isn't you, though reflection says otherwise.
With a huff, V pulls the top over her head, runs her fingers through hair, tugs at the scalps and knots and flicks the light switch – let's be dark.
Tomorrow is a day too.
"V."
She grunts back, mattress lowers the volume. Hears the shuffle of shoes around the bed, bright flash of light slides in, pecks at her hand idly planted on the pillow.
"V, it is time to be rising."
". . .Gimme five more minutes."
Takemura isn't having five minutes as the covers are going bye-bye.
So much for Mr. Nice Guy.
She picks her head from beneath loads of pillows that drops down from her head, hair draped across her eyes – seeing absolutely nothing. Puffing some of it off, her eyes start flutter, adjusting for a rude wake-up call. V sits up, and who doesn't she see? Takemura's all dressed, all tended, and all ready to. . . leave? Huh, is he going somewhere?
Rubbing sleepy eyes, her mouth flies open with long yawn, she really has to look like how she feels right now.
"And good morning to you, too."
"Breakfast is set, if we are to get on a plane you will need to be up." And he's off again. Good. She collapses against the soft cushions of the king size bed, shuts her eyes before snuggling in the right spot and obviously the duvet is back. Through the crack open door, she hears rustling in the kitchen, hiss of brewing pot, closing and opening counters. . .
"V?"
". . .Yeah?"
"Get ready."
"Dressing myself." She remains tucked in, warm and cocooned in the duvet. There's always going to be next flight. Hold on, hold that thought. Plane? Why do they need a plane? Where's he going to take her? Boy, it's too early to think.
"V-san, you are as yet out of bed." She's about to have a heart attack upon catching sight of him in her room again, upside down from her line of sight but still there. Fast as arrow she bolts from the bed, a cry leaps from her throat out of startle and ends up sprawled on floor. For a man his size, he moves with silent steps. Nevertheless, his stern countenance doesn't leave room for argument.
Door pushes wide open; indicates he'll wait till she rises. Drawing the bedcovers up, she pushes herself to her feet, walks past him, all the while holding eye contact. "All right, all right, I'm coming." A powerful aroma picks up on her and hauls into the kitchen. What seems to be her breakfast sits on the island counter with a cup of tea with many tiny bowls full of colour.
"This the breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Feels a lot like lunch to me."
She hops up at stool and plops down. Doesn't know where to look first, everything looks good and interesting. Hand stretches out for chopsticks, unfolds them but as she's about to eat she has no idea what to have first. Looks at each dish, studies what might be in it. Rice, the basics – she recognizes it, next is sort of soupy thing – seems that way anyway. Then the odd-looking beans up next. She prods it, takes the first mouthful but regrets she'd put it in her mouth. Her face breaks into grimace. Swiftly she scoops tea to flush the lingering aftertaste, phone lights with new message popping up on the screen. Setting mug back down, she goes on with her investigation, letting the phone switch off.
"What is it you doing?"
"Huh?" She flinches, twice in row today. He's doing this on purpose, she swears to God, just popping up like a ghost. Old timer mends his jacket, long steps take him round her, past the island further into the parlour.
Holo pings, notifications pop up but this time curiosity gets best of her and eyes peek at the screen. Naturally, the content is impossible for her to read, just a bunch of symbols for her, however, the sender's name is.
V flips screen to see the name of whoever is on fire today, eyes narrow to three letters.
"Who is Oda?"