Chapter Text
“A man like that doesn’t just wake up one morning and decide to be a saint,” Panam had said earlier, her voice sharp with warning. “He decides who’s useful and what’s a liability. Don’t confuse the two.” V had laughed it off at the time. “Damn, Saul’s really rubbing off on you, isn’t he?” But Panam’s words had already burrowed anyway, sinking in deep.
So now V sat trying to untangle it. Not what other people saw when they looked at him: commander, warlord, thief of a whole goddamn district. She instead tried to focus on what she saw.
What had actually hooked her.
It sure as hell hadn’t started as anything good.
Suddenly she replayed the first night they met: the taste of smoke and champagne, the bass of Black Sapphire’s sound system vibrating low through the floor. Solomon Reed at her side.
Colonel Kurt Hansen had been all sharp edges, flanked by his Barghest soldiers, observing the room like he owned every oxygen molecule in it.
Hansen was a man who saw the world not as a place to govern, but to own. His gaze, honed by years of command and ruthless pragmatism, had clocked V in seconds. And she felt the weight of it. A cold stare from a man who sat analyzing her as if he were counting the rounds left in a magazine.
It wasn’t the emerald green sequins of her suit or the way she stalked the perimeter that drew his attention. It was the way she processed the room. Running patterns, marking exits, and cataloging threats. To Hansen, she wasn’t simply an intruder; she was a variable he hadn’t accounted for yet.
V, a nomad mercenary and hired operative, had irrevocably altered the political landscape. Unbeknownst to Hansen she had saved President Rosalind Myers by plucking her from the jaws of Dogtown’s ruin. Her appearance here, uninvited and operating under his radar, was an anomaly Hansen couldn’t ignore. And tonight, she was hunting for Songbird, a netrunner whose involvement in this whole messy affair, reeked of a carefully constructed trap intertwined with a promise of freedom V couldn’t refuse.
The Black Sapphire was a jewel in the crown of Dogtown and a testament to Colonel Hansen’s absolute authority. Entry wasn’t only about wealth or connection; it was about his personal decree. And V was a significant piece, a player who had just proven her ability to move the board.
Reed and V had split up in search of Songbird. As V crossed in front of the dimly lit booth where Hansen sat with the NCPD commissioner, she received a message:
“Look up. On the Mezzanine.”
V did as instructed and immediately spotted her near the south entrance staircase. V made her way over. Once at the top of the staircase she carefully approached her. Songbird leaned against the railing overlooking the party, dressed in a jade silk cocktail dress. Deep violet feathers, the same shade as her hair, adorned her arms like off-the-shoulder sleeves.
She looked beautiful, if not a bit dangerous. The dress’s low-cut back revealed significant chrome and circuitry tracing all the way up her spine to the base of her skull. V was less shocked by the exposed hardware and more so by how she stood there so casually, seemingly unharmed. A quick scan with her Kiroshi’s revealed no visible injuries. The suspicion that Songbird hadn’t told her everything continued to gnaw at her.
“V,” Songbird said as she turned to greet her.
Just beyond V’s shoulder Songbird’s eyes did the talking as Solomon drew near. Her expression a mix of disbelief and shame.
“Sol…I…I made a mess of things.”
“We’ll talk later. First order of business, we pull you outta here.” Reed reassured.
“Sol, that’s not happening…I’m dyin’, like V. Hansen has the “cure” we need. If we run now, we both die.”
V and Reed stood silently, taking in Songbird’s every word.
She continued, “Hansen pulled some tech out of a bunker under Dogtown. Tech that could cure both V and me. We need to klep it. But the only way I see doing that is to stay in his proximity. Play the prisoner until the opportunity to pounce presents itself. When it does, I’ll notify you two, since I’ll be on the inside.”
Suddenly Hansen rose from his seat on the first floor like a predator uncoiling with deliberate intent. As he walked up the staircase Songbird stood in his line of sight, flanked by two unannounced guests, V and Solomon Reed. They remained a stark counterpoint to his commanding presence, watching him closely as he approached. But Hansen’s attention was already fixed on V.
“Ah, So Mi. Care to introduce your friends?” he said, placing a glass of champagne in Songbird’s hands. His head turned in Reed’s direction briefly scanning him, the only acknowledgement he gave him.
“It’s not often I’m simply not familiar with guests attending my own party. And I never forget a face. Kurt Hansen.” He stepped forward and offered a handshake to V, a subtle challenge woven into cordiality.
“Name’s V. Just V.” she said as she returned the handshake. “Haven’t seen So Mi in years. Here to catch up.”
Hansen took a step back, “Oh that’s what this is. You see, to me, reunions always consist of picking up the broken, scattered shards of your heart. Or teeth. Always hurts.” He made deliberate eye contact with Songbird and held it.
“Well I need to grab you darling, I have a couple of NC politicos who are dying to meet you.”
“I’m all yours, Kurt.” Songbird replied as she quickly downed the last sip of her champagne and exited the conversation with Hansen escorting her away.
“Well, he seems friendly.” V said sarcastically, looking over to Reed.
“Come. We have more work to do.”
Downstairs V approached the roulette table with the Cassel twins, replaying the directive in her mind. Scan the twins and obtain their behavioral imprints. Don’t draw any unnecessary attention, get in, and get out. Undetected. As she played roulette, she alternated betting chips on black and red while initiating the behavioral scan. After about twenty minutes of chatting up the twins and stroking their egos, V spotted Hansen walking slowly towards the table from behind them.
Shit. Here we go again.
On her HUD it read, “Imprint Successful”.
“Leave us for a moment, if you please.” Hansen commanded the twins. His voice wasn’t loud, but the air seemed to thin. The twins left without a word while Hansen leaned forward on the roulette table with both hands. V could feel the rare and unwelcome prickle at the base of her skull, the one that told her when she was in the presence of danger.
V quickly took him in without staring.
Kurt Hansen wore a fitted black tactical tee, plain, unbranded, but reinforced in a way you only notice if you know what to look for. It clung to him like it had earned the right to. Over it sat a brown leather shoulder rig, worn smooth by years of use yet obsessively maintained, the leather creased but never neglected. A large combat knife sat within reach, holstered across his chest, the handle wrapped in dark cord. The placement wasn’t decorative. It was there so he could get to it instantly, without thinking.
At his waist, a heavy-duty black tactical belt with reinforced metal. No excess, everything minimal, everything deliberate. His sidearm rested in a hard polymer holstered at his hip, angled for a fast, practiced draw.
Silver dog tags hung from his neck and swayed faintly when he moved, a quiet tell of a long military past.
Hansen looked like a man who’d survived wars most people never knew happened and made sure he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone who did.
He began by accusing V of being FIA, a natural assumption given Reed’s status as an FIA agent himself. He then deduced that V was responsible for exfiltrating President Myers out of Dogtown.
That’s correct, she thought to herself.
Hansen then lowered his voice into a growl as he gazed at V, “I should send you both back to Night City in body bags, in pieces,” he scowled and lifted his hand pointedly at her.
People have said worse.
She waited patiently and listened to what else he had to say, but could feel heat prickling under her skin with each passing moment spent in his egotistical presence.
“I got tired of the media circus.” he continued. “All the allegations thrown in my face. Bullshit propaganda. Luckily, we can put all of that behind us now.”
“Can we?” V asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Ok, Colonel. What do you propose?”
“I will let you and Reed walk free of this place. In one piece, consider it a gesture of my good will.”
That’s your first mistake, Colonel.
“By the way, your little bird came to me on her own free will. She was tired of breaking international laws on the president’s whim. She simply had to fly away.” Hansen barbed.
His words landed like a caliber round, heavy and precise. He hadn’t just confirmed her suspicion; he had shattered the illusion that Songbird was a helpless victim during the downing of Space Force One. The realization that she had brokered her own deal with the devil of Dogtown made V’s stomach churn with a cold, sharp irritation.
On the surface, her expression and posture remained calm. Yet, underneath, a slow-burning fury took root. Songbird wasn’t just playing the NUSA; she was playing V, and V was sick and fucking tired of being played.
“Breaching the Blackwall? Jeopardizing the Net, all humankind’s safety, all for personal gain? I wonder what NetWatch would say?” he added.
There it was, the cold, clinical admission she had been waiting for. His words hung in the air, heavy with the sting of a betrayal V had sensed all along but refused to name. The realization settled like lead in her gut. She was once again just another expendable pawn in other people’s, high-stakes gamble against one another.
“Pass it on to president Myers. Also tell her, her prized weapon of mass destruction belongs to me now. And she should get the fuck out of my backyard, or the world will learn the truth about her.” He hissed at her.
“I’m not your messenger, Colonel.” V responded cold and measured.
She paused, holding eye contact just long enough to make it an act of defiance.
“If you’ve got something to say to Myers, tell her yourself. Or use one of your many friends, you seem remarkably well-connected.”
A beat of silence followed before a thin, sharp smile played across V’s lips.
“You want Myers rattled? You’ll find a way, I’m sure.”
She took a step back from the table, already disengaging from the conversation.
“Great party, Colonel,” she added over her shoulder, the sarcasm bone-dry.
Hansen remained motionless, his attention anchored to her with predatory stillness. As she re-entered the crowd, he pivoted his head with mechanical precision, tracking her every step. His eyes served as a cold tether, an unwavering promise that while she was leaving the conversation, she was far from leaving his sight.
Barghest didn’t immediately rush them. That was the first warning.
Four soldiers surrounded V and Reed as they were escorted out of the Black Sapphire. Their boots in sync, rifles slung but hands close. Close enough that any mistake would end badly.
“Keep moving!” one of them shouted behind Reed’s shoulder.
Another laughed. Low. Mean.
“FIA always walks away thinking they fucking won,” someone said. “Cute.”
A hand shoved the small of V’s back, “Get the fuck out. Dogtown doesn’t do warnings twice.”
“Fuckin’ spooks,” someone spat.
“Colonel’s too patient,” another voice chimed in. “My vote? Gut em’ in the stacks and string them up for everyone to see.”
V didn’t react. She didn’t turn or meet anyone’s eyes.
She simply reached down and holstered her pistol, known affectionately as ‘Death and Taxes’.
A few of the soldiers noticed. One of them snorted.
The doors closed behind them.
Outside, Dogtown was humid, loud, and unapologetic. Drones hummed overhead. Music rattled metal. Somewhere, a generator backfired like a gunshot, which was likely a real gunshot.
Reed exhaled sharply.
“We’re still in this,” he said, almost too fast. “We report back. Alex will want—”
But V had barely heard him, because Kurt’s voice was already replaying in her mind.
“She was tired of breaking international laws on the president’s whim. She simply had to fly away.”
She imagined Songbird’s desperation. Having a weapon of mass destruction built directly into her head and body, every nerve ending wired to a government server. That was Songbird. Wired. Cornered. Owned. By fleeing Myers’ grasp, she didn’t just escape; she scorched the bridge to the NUSA, leaving only ash and cold terrifying silence. Perhaps that really was her only way out.
V swallowed hard, the weight of the revelation felt heavy and impossible to ignore.
“Breaching the Blackwall?... all for personal gain? I wonder what NetWatch would say.”
V shut the door in her own mind. Permanently.
Reed kept talking, protocols, contingencies, what comes next—but his words slide past her.
She stopped in her tracks, lost in thought.
Reed took another step before realizing she was no longer beside him.
“V?”
She looked back at the entrance of the Black Sapphire.
She thought of Hansen again, the threat that didn’t lie about being a threat.
And somewhere deep down, before she even fully understands what she’s done.
V chooses Dogtown.