Cyberpunk 2077: V

Chapter 65: No Turning Back

"Can you tilt your head back a little, sug?" Jeanie asked.

V blinked, startled a little out of her thoughts, and complied. Jeanie finished up the corpo hairstyle with a few more pins, a copious amount of hairspray, and a final flick of a brush. A French twist, she'd called it—severe and sleek, perfect for a corpo arms dealer.

She continued on with her tasks, buffing just enough color onto V's cheeks, a hint of eyeliner, a touch of mascara. As Jeanie worked, she talked a mile a minute as per usual, chattering about her latest designs, about how her ex-boyfriend (the one who'd followed her back to her place and hit her) had been found beaten black and blue and lying in the gutter, how he hadn't been around her since, how Barry had let her stay in his apartment while her door got fixed, how he was pretty okay for a badge— all sorts of stuff.

V half-listened, feeling bad for her one-word answers and grunts instead of trying to engage when Jeanie would let her get a word in edgewise. But right then, she couldn't. All brain power was devoted to trying to keep herself calm and not think about her weird dream the night before; or, about what she was going to be doing in just a few hours.

Because, at four p.m., she would be on her way to The Afterlife, after which she'd find herself conducting the heist of the century—the gig that would throw her and Jackie into infamy.

"All right, aaannndddd, done!" Jeanie suddenly said brightly, stepping back from her chair. "Well, sug, if I do say so myself, you look every bit as corpo as those suits walkin' down Scott Blvd. Not my usual go, but... anythin' for you."

She whirled towards the bright pink mirror she kept, wheeling it over so V could see herself. V blinked a couple of times, stunned at her transformation in Jeanie's hands once again. She almost didn't recognize the clean-cut, poised, almost severely elegant woman staring back at her. The French twist accentuated the angles of her cheekbones and jaw, giving an angular feel to everything. It felt weird. Like she was seeing an alternate version of herself.

"Thanks, Jeanie," V said sincerely, rising from the chair. J

eanie shrugged. "Like I said, sug, anythin' for you. I'm just glad that this is for a gig and you aren't goin' corpo. You wouldn't last a minute in a lil'ole office job, no offense."

"None taken," V chuckled. "There's a reason I'm a merc and not some secretary."

"You'd make a pretty one, though," Jeanie grinned. She patted V on the shoulder, then began whisking her off towards the door, rattling instructions.

"Now, you should be all set. I used the good stuff and gave you the industrial-strength setting spray. Should be guaranteed to hold for at least sixteen hours, but if you need your hair back, just pull the third pin from the top, and voilà—no more corpo V!"

"Thanks," V said quickly, suddenly finding herself out on Jeanie's front step. She turned to face her, already knowing what was coming next.

"Now, sug, thanks for lettin' me work on you again! You're the perfect canvas! Aaaannnddd now I got more ideas for another corporatocracy line, 'Gilded Cage' will be the theme, I think; somethin' strong, but brittle. Somethin' that says, 'It's all a sham,' ya dig?"

V smiled. She didn't dig.

"I dig," she said still. "Good luck on your new designs, and thanks again."

"Anytime, sug!" Jeanie said with a glint in her eye. "And again, you jus' lemme know when you wanna do some REAL fashion. I've got a whole buncha getups with your name on 'em—you'd be PERFECT in 'em."

"I'll let ya know."

V left Jeanie then, wandering back to her own apartment to wait until it was time to head to The Afterlife. Two hours. Two hours until she needed to hop into a cab.