she/her 🇺🇦|VP|sci-fi

The world tilted back into focus as I recognized the hoarse hum of Viktor’s Mackinaw Larimore. Dorothy, that's how I named his truck, sounded like an old lady on her way to bingo night. The battery under her hood was weak, but nothing would stop her from going out. Not today, not tomorrow. Her new owner neglecting her needs wasn't helping the condition, but luckily he was friends with a wheel-whispering ex-nomad (me) who took her on trips to the desert from time to time to strengthen her tired heart.

The moment I opened my eyes I caught the obsidian-colored Thorton mid-U-turn, parking right in front of me. The passenger door got pushed open from the inside and Viktor gave me one of his unfamiliar looks, his eyes hiding behind his well-worn tinted glasses. A stranger might have missed the hint of a smile playing around his lips — he knew I’d notice. Once again I saw the confidence Viktor wore so easily, and felt the emptiness where mine should have been. It would be a lie to say I didn’t envy him, but the admiration outdid the bitter longing. He had already lived through what Night City had promised him. Held his ground in the world of who’s who, what’s what and how’s why for years. Fed the machine, let it feed him back, until his vital parts were starving and the hunger for another life had kept him awake at night. In one of those sleepless hours, radical as he was, he chose a smaller life and filled it with all of his presence ever since. A life he’d worked hard for. A confidence he’d earned. I greeted his hint of a smile with one of my own, as I thought about how different Viktor Vektor used to live his life now. The old punk operated within a magical triangle: his clinic, his apartment and a third variable option like the boxing gym or a bar — never both. Never a third place and a spontaneous fourth one. The rule of three was unbreakable. Amused by the observation, I noticed affection replacing that earlier envy, spreading warmth through my chest.

“Need help getting in?” His voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I shook my head and heaved myself up with the support of a heavy wheeze. The moment I wanted to step into the car, a honk so loud and painful it nearly blew me out of my socks, chimed from behind Viktor's car. Alerted, I looked to the left and realized that Dorothy was blocking the busy traffic lane, and a line of seemingly impatient residents had already formed behind her.

Still, no reason to give me a scare like that, I thought and threw an angry glance through the front window of the honking bastardo’s ride. All I saw was the driver’s hand lunging out and reflexively, to avoid another skull-wrecking hoot, my Kiroshis started scanning the humanoid figure and the built-in AI readied my quickhacks, waiting for my command to zap some cybernetic insides.

“Don't even think about it,” Viktor’s harsh dissent broke the process of silencing my chosen opponent. “Siddown.” Another painful hoot underlined his demand and I jumped, startled by his tone and the chorus of horns, right on the passenger seat.

Did he just pull my leash?

I slammed the door shut and held my thrumming temple, as he smoothly pushed the gear shift forward and hit the gas, completely relaxed and unfazed by the pile-up behind us.

“Do my quickhacks beep when I ready them or how the fuck did you know?” I asked, my voice tinged with puzzlement.

“Nah,” his voice rolling smooth again. “I just recognize your Kiroshi-squint by now.” “My Kiroshi-squint? Sure, as if. Should give’em a call, maybe they wanna use my squint for an ad or something similarly profitable.” I joked through clenched teeth to calm myself down. “Should holler at ‚em right now,” he played along. “Wouldn’t call me an artist, but their corporate design kinda compliments that hematoma on your face.” Ahaha. Fucker. I shot him a fiery glance and felt déjà vu creeping in. Apparently, my vanity offered a platform for being mocked repeatedly today. He answered with an apologizing smirk, putting out the blaze with his charm. It worked. “I just wanted to avoid a scene, Tosh. You’ve been through enough for one day.” He wasn’t wrong. Though, the thought of telling him the whole reason for my broken face felt like the worst was still ahead of me. “Yeah, fair…” I heard myself agree. “Whole thing was more reflexive than anything else.”

Silence stretched. “Anyway, why do I feel like a bad dog, Vik?” Or worse: a good one. “Did you just tell me to sit?” Viktor chuckled.

“Oh, ‘course. You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” “It worked is all I’m gonna say.” He said dryly. I watched him through my right eye and noticed a laugh line deepening in the shadow of his glasses as he tried to hide his amusement. With a snort I reclined the seat and leaned my head against the headrest.

“Bad dog saddown, still waiting for its treat.” I mumbled slightly offended and closed my eyes. A moment later I heard him rummaging around the lower tray of his center console and felt his hand leaving a small something in my lap. My sore fingers closed around the shape of an inhaler. “One dosage, nothing more,” he said. “Neural blocker?” “Ketamine.”