Cyberpunk 2077: V

Chapter 55: Coffee

Neon red-pink eyes shone dully through the darkness. A fanged smile appeared out of the black—too wide and too sharp. 

"It's only a matter of time!"

V sat bolt upright in her bed, mouth open as if to scream. Instead, she gulped air, realizing she'd stopped breathing. After a few desperate breaths to get oxygen back in her lungs, V instinctively reached for her necklace, but was surprised to register that she was already holding it in her hand.

Slowly looking down, she saw her fingers were wrapped around the archangel pendant, gripping it so tightly she could feel the edges cutting into her skin.

V stared at it, trying to get her heart rate under control. An echo of memory flickered across her mind's eye—the face she saw in the swirling red datastreams, the voice that came from the psycho at the old railyard. The phrase "THERE YOU ARE!" being heard in both the real world and the dreamworld. And now this dream.

Was it all connected?

If so, how?

How could dreams leech into reality?

V jumped with a soft gasp when her alarm started to go off. She neutralized it and softly swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing from the nook. Outside her closed metal slat window, she could hear the city—the ever-present hum starting to rise in volume and octave as it too began to wake.

True to form, instead of trying to remember her dream, or think about the implications of what had happened the past two days, V worked hard to ignore it.

Stepping into the shower, V turned it on as hot as it could go. Steam curled around her, wrapping up her legs and torso. She lifted her face to the water and let it wash away the cold sweat and goosebumps leftover from the dream. When she was done, V stepped out of her shower and looked into the smart mirror directly across from her. She met her own eyes, tracking a droplet of water that slowly slid down her collarbone.

The bruises looked a bit better. Not completely gone yet, but better. They'd be easy to hide today, hopefully.

Yellow-purple splotches on her ribs and shoulders showed where she'd taken a few spare hits from the twins during the fight. The cut on her eyebrow was still there, but looked halfway healed already. She could easily explain that. The bruise on her jaw was gone, so that was good.

All in all, not bad.

V held up her hands to examine her knuckles. The scrapes and nicks were gone—healed up overnight—but there were still some red-blue bruises here and there. That wouldn't be too hard to justify though. V could just say she did a late-night workout, punching the old bag in Coach Fred's gym. The thing was ancient beyond belief, made of real leather and steel and sand, and the surface was so torn up that even if you gave it a couple of light punches, you'd walk away with scratches on your knuckles.

V's eyes continued from her hands to her forearms.

Those still looked fresh. A kaleidoscope of purple, black, blue, red, and yellow. Those would not be going anywhere for at least a couple of days. V flexed her hands and arms, wincing at the dull pain that felt strangely good in the way only bruises could.

After V dried off, she got dressed, pulling on her custom combat jeans, black boots, and an obnoxiously yellow Spunky Munkey t-shirt. She also made sure to grab the black flight jacket she'd gotten from Vik's hand-me-downs and set it by the door. It was part of her style at this point, so there was no reason for Jackie or Misty to suspect she was wearing it to hide something.

Once she was dressed, she moved back into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Using a dry towel to squeeze out as much of the remaining dampness as she could, V grabbed some sculpting oil and carefully smoothed her hair into her distinct side sweep. Reaching for her Bakker braid, she carefully worked some of the oil through the strands, finishing off the ends with a flick of her fingers. She watched it fall back against her shoulder.