Leo burst out of El Coyote Cojo, ignoring the gawking pedestrians.
His eyes darted left, right—where did she go?!
No way in hell he'd lose her now.
Then—a flicker of movement. Eastbound. A shadow slipping into an alley.
Thank fuck.
GOGOGO!!
Leo sprinted like his life depended on it (and honestly, it kinda did).
V—glorious, god-tier V!
A hundred meters vanished in under 11 seconds. His high-school P.E. teacher would've wept proud tears—if the man weren't still alive.
But who cared? V was the prize. Sweet, deadly, soft-looking—
—Wait.
Where the fuck was she?
The alley yawned empty. Trash bags piled like grotesque snowbanks. A makeshift homeless camp, abandoned for the day.
No footsteps. No rustling.
Did she live nearby? Or was she hiding?
Leo crept deeper, pivoting on his heel. Only potential cover: a dumpster.
His brain fizzed—a warning ping from his biomonitor:
[Alert: Neurochemical spikes detected—]
Ignored.
The obsession swelled. Find V. Find V. FIND V—
He lifted the dumpster lid. "…V?"
Rotting takeout boxes stared back.
Okay, maybe not there.
His gaze dropped to a sewer grate.
Knock knock. "V?"
Click.
The response came—not from below, but behind him. The unmistakable chk-chk of a pistol slide.
"Freeze. Turn around slow. Hands where I can see 'em."
A voice like whiskey and switchblades.
"Make one wrong move, and I'll ventilate that fucked-up brain of yours."
V.
Leo's spine straightened. That voice—he'd know it anywhere.
Old instincts flared (raise hands, beg for mercy), but—no. He was a fixer now. Fixers didn't cower.
Gamble time. If V heard him earlier, she wouldn't shoot a fan.
He turned, hands loose at his sides.
V didn't fire.
She perched on a fire escape, gun steady. Sunlight gilded her undercut, the red tips like embers.
God, she's pretty.
His optics blazed to life, zooming in—6x magnification—on her scowling face.
"The hell you scanning me for?!" V's finger tightened on the trigger. "You think your shitty hack can outrun a bullet?!"
Oh fuck.
Real murder vibes now.
SAY SOMETHING—
"YOU MUST BE THE FAMOUS V!"
Magic words.
V's glare stuttered. "You know me. Who the fuck are you?"
"Leonardo DiCaprio. Call me Leo." He killed the scan, grinning like an idiot. "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. V!"
"Uh-huh." Her optics stayed lit, dissecting him. "No combat 'ware. No visible iron. Brains clearly scrambled… but rich." A smirk. "Don't recall you, choom. But the way you're lookin' at me? Weird as shit."
She vaulted down, landing light as a cat.
Leo's arms twitched—catch her? Hug her?—
—CRACK.
Her elbow smashed his ribs, pinning him to the wall. Gun jammed into his gut.
"Stay still. Let me look at you."
Her gaze burned into his. Then—confusion.
"You know me. Not just know… recognize me." Her nose wrinkled. "Like I'm some… old flame? The fuck you on, kid?"
The barrel eased back—now aimed at his thigh.
"Three sentences. Convince me you're worth not robbing blind."
Well then.
Time to work miracles.
1. "I'm a new fixer."
2. "Need a bodyguard."
3. "Got eddies. Lots."
V's eyebrow arched.
Got her.
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