"Jack, my man, tell me you've found someone good?"
Leo's eyes swept the bar. Disappointingly, no one stood out—no unforgettable faces, no legendary aura.
Jack leaned in from behind the counter. "This is Night City, hermano. Trustworthy people you can turn your back on? Rare as hen's teeth. Besides—" He gestured at the clock. "It's noon. Most mercs are night owls."
"If I come at night, I'll be the gig they're hunting."
"Hah! Truer words. Robbing you'd pay better than guarding you."
Jack's gaze drifted to the Valentino-heavy crowd. The familiar faces now felt distant.
Gang logic 101: leech off the civvies. And Leo? Textbook civilian.
How many of his old compadres would still have his back? Hard to say.
"Ah, fuck it. Let's do this proper."
Before Leo could react, Jack slapped two shot glasses on the bar.
"House rules. First one's on me."
Clear liquid splashed into the glasses.
"What is it?"
"Bolshevik Vodka. Straight from the SovOil territories."
Russian vodka. Leo's liver already wept.
But the glass held barely a sip. How bad could it—
"To new friends." He raised his drink.
"Classic. Desde luego!" Jack clinked and downed his in one go.
Leo followed suit—
—and instantly regretted it.
"FUCK—"
Molten lava seared his throat. His eyes watered. His soul briefly left his body.
This wasn't vodka. This was industrial solvent brewed by cybernetic Satan.
Across the bar, Jack grimaced, rubbing his sternum. "Maybe… not the best call. My stitches are screaming. And your chrome's still settling in."
They shared a pained laugh as Jack stashed the bottle.
"Next time, I'll mix you a Rattlesnake—double tequila, pomegranate, and… shit, forgot the third thing—"
"Jack!"
A silver-haired woman waved from across the room.
"Mamá," Jack muttered. "Be right back. Valentino buddies 'checking in' again." He rolled his eyes. "Pepe, cover me!"
A hulking bartender with a cyborg arm slid into place. "Name's Pepe. You good?"
"Leo. And no more drinks, thanks."
Pepe… Leo's mind raced. This guy knows Streetkid V. How to ask without sounding like a creep?
His fingers drummed the counter—
—then froze.
Someone sat right beside him.
Not just any seat. The seat. The one by the pillar with the flickering holo-mirror.
The spot where V first appears.
Leo's head swiveled.
"HOLY SHIT—"
IT'S V!!
Did the mirror summon her? Was this fucking canon?!
She faced away, adjusting her hair in the reflection.
Leo's heart hammered. He inched closer, stealing glances through the mirror.
Undercut fade. Dark red tips. Sharp features—equal parts rebel and rogue.
No doubt: Streetkid V. No—Streetkidette V.
His soul short-circuited.
THE V. The future legend. The perfect bodyguard.
How to approach her?
Subtle smile? Full corpo grin?
Would saying her name freak her out?
His thoughts spiraled. His fingers tapped Morse-code panic.
Then—
V tilted her head. Their eyes met in the mirror.
A back off glare.
She stood. Walked away.
NO. NO NO NO—
Leo's survival instincts warred with fanboy desperation.
Fact: Good people in Night City could be counted on one hand. Capable ones? Even fewer.
But V?
With her by his side, even MaxTac and Adam Smasher would think twice.
"Leo… oye, Leo!"
Pepe's voice yanked him back to reality.
"You zoning out? Soda water?"
"Nah, I—"
Leo whipped around. The door swung shut.
Gone.
"FUCK!"
He vaulted off the stool.
"Saw a friend—gotta go!"
"¿Qué? Hey—DON'T RUN OUT ALONE—"
Pepe's shout faded as Leo bolted into the street.
What kind of lunatic sprints through Valentino turf dressed like a walking eddie stack?!
"Mierda… JACK! YOUR LOCO AMIGO'S GONNA DIE!"
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