Vash gave her a faint smile, "Ms. Stout — have yourself a good night."
With the standoff defused, Vash gave a short whistle. Jackie didn't waste a second — snatched up the Flathead and beelined for the Militech Hellhound loaded with Cyberware Mod materials.
They rolled straight out of Militech's cordon like they belonged there, swaggering past the barrels and floodlights without so much as a glance back.
Jackie let out a shaky laugh, "Chingada… my palms are slick as hell!"
Vash shot him a look, "Does your Gorilla Arm even sweat?"
"Ahem — don't get hung up on details." Jackie cleared his throat, then leaned forward over the wheel, still riding the adrenaline, "But for real, when we stepped out and saw that Militech lady, I thought we were about to get flatlined. Then you walk up, say a couple words, and boom — whole thing's under control." He whistled, "And we even scored a free ride."
Hearing his choom lay it on thick, Vash felt a quiet satisfaction settle in his chest.
"Militech wheels aren't bad." He said, "Drives clean, looks the part. Keep it — use it."
"V, you serious?" Jackie's eyes nearly lit up through his optics, "Man, pulling up in this? I'll be swimming in attention. And when I take Misty out, I won't have to cram into the metro like some gonk, 'cause my wheels ain't date-approved."
"I gotta protect my brother's image, Jack." Vash's voice carried a lazy amusement, "Later, find a garage. Swap the panels, wipe the Militech look, tune the injector system… and this thing'll be perfect."
Jackie flashed a thumbs-up, grin wide, "V, I'm in total awe. How the hell you this sharp?"
"I've been preem for a long time." Vash said, deadpan.
They headed back toward Watson, laughing and talking the whole way, Night City's neon bleeding across the windshield like a living bruise.
When they passed Sunshine Estates, Vash hopped out and hauled the materials upstairs. Only after everything was safe inside did Jackie peel off — practically purring as he drove away in his new ride.
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Back in the penthouse, Vash had barely finished his shower when his comms chimed.
「Incoming call: Dexter DeShawn」
"Evenin', Mr. V. How'd it go?" Dexter's voice oozed through the speaker.
"Handled." Vash said, "Flathead's in my possession."
"As expected from a top-tier merc. Your work never disappoints." Dexter chuckled softly, "I'll push the eddies to you right away."
Vash cut him off, "Who the hell does transfers anymore? We'll do cash when we meet."
Funny thing about 2077 — tech everywhere, chrome in every skull, yet most serious deals still came down to hard cash. Simple reason: money shards could carry viruses. If that infection rode your neural interface straight into your head, you could lose your eddies — and your life — in the same breath.
So when it came to big payments, cash was still king in Night City.
Dexter didn't argue, "Fair. We do it your way. You comin' to the Afterlife now?"
"Tomorrow." Vash yawned, fatigue finally catching him, "Just finished a bloody scrap with Maelstrom. I'm not going anywhere tonight — I'm crashing."
Dexter's tone hit a brief snag, but he smoothed it over fast — too invested in the larger play to make noise.
"You're right. Get your rest, Mr. V."
When the call ended, Vash's lips curled into a small, private smile.
In the 2077 game, players lived as errand runners for "big shots", chewing through the nastiest gigs for pocket change — blood money that never matched the risk. The real profits always flowed upward, straight into the hands of fixers and clients. And the second a deal went sour, those same people would sell out a merc without hesitation.
Vash had no intention of playing that role.
Dexter DeShawn, Arasaka, Evelyn Parker, Militech — names, corps, legends… none of them were going to fleece him.
With the petty politics pushed aside, he turned his attention to the Cyberware Mod materials Meredith had handed over. For replicating 2077-grade Mods, all he needed were the components — Friday could handle the rest, mass-producing them without complaint.
"Friday." Vash said, voice low, "You're up."
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The night passed without incident. When morning came, Vash slept until he woke on his own.
In the weapons room, on the workbench, dozens of Cyberware Mods sat in neat rows — clean, precise, ready to slot.
Vash paused, genuinely caught off guard. He'd assumed Friday meant one Mod per night. Instead, the AI had burned through every usable component and assembled the lot in a single evening.
"Good work, Friday." He said.
「You're welcome, Mr. Vash.」
He stepped closer and picked one up, turning it between his fingers.
The build quality was ridiculous — fusion craftsmanship, power draw, long-run stability, output density… all of it pushed beyond what he'd expected. It was even better than the Lightning Core Sandra had given him a few days earlier — and that Mod hadn't even hit the Militech market.
As Vash rolled the Mod in his palm, his gaze drifted to Night City's skyline — jagged towers and neon haze cutting the horizon. Somewhere between those lights and shadows, a bold plan started taking shape.
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T/N: Comment, give me Power Stones, like and favorite, it all supports me and makes me go foward with this. Appreciate my other stories as well, I guarantee the good work!
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