Chapter Text
Central London
This trip was already starting off on the wrong foot. Collecting his belongings proved significantly more troublesome than he initially expected.
The main issue was the guns. From all the armaments he had brought with him, only three were cleared. Those were Skippy, Comrade’s Hammer and Johnny’s Malorian. Skippy somehow passed as a ‘voice assistant device’, probably because the officer on duty did not believe anyone would be sane enough to have a talking gun. Comrade’s Hammer could not be classified into any specific category, so it got through as a ‘collector’s item’ after V paid a hefty import duty. The Malorian was the easiest one - it was stashed in the secret compartment of the Quadra so was never in question.
V made a mental note to ask for a refund, forcefully if need be, from the travel advisor who assured him that his guns were properly declared.
All heavy weapons, including Widowmaker, Psalm and the likes got confiscated on the account of lack of sufficient permits. So were the revolvers, due to their massive caliber ordinance. His two katanas were also taken away on the account of being four times the allowed length for a bladed weapon. Ironically, the spiked golden bat was totally fine.
These rules made no sense, but he had no choice but to follow.
“Thanks for nothing, Mr. Consultant,” V angrily mumbled to himself when he was told that most of his weapons were not legal in the UK. ‘Fucking bureaucrats…’
At least this made packing everything into the car much easier. Not willing to risk losing any more of his stuff, he left the Arch in long-term parking and opted for the Quadra Avenger. When picking which vehicle to take with him, he had considered bringing the Caliburn, to see its ancestral home and all that, but had settled on what the merc saw a less flashy option.
Well, that was a dumb move. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the aggressive muscle car. London was full of sleek, european-built cars. V could already spot people staring at him as he drove out of the station, many with disapproving looks.
‘Very subtle, V. Very fucking subtle.’ The merc scolded himself for lack of foresight. Well, at least he had his top-priority shopping list filled out already.
——
V’s first destination was his lodging for the foreseeable future - the Napoleon Hotel. The reason which made that particular place stand out specifically was very simple: it was a hotel with three bars and only one room. On his initial enquiry, it was booked for a few days here and there, but when the owner heard that the merc was willing to pay full price for a month upfront, it suddenly became fully available.
Of course, Arasaka-owned hotels were always an option, but he planned to keep his connection to the megacorp a secret for as long as possible, so they were out of the question.
V pulled into the side street, following the directions from the nav system. The area, marked ‘Shoreditch’ on the map, looked dilapidated at best, a ruin at worst.
‘What the fuck did you get yourself into, V?’
To his surprise, the building that housed his hotel looked much more intact than those around it. It was one in the minority that was fully powered on all floors.
The merc followed the sign upstairs to the cocktail bar, which apparently doubled as the reception.
A pleasantly-mannered bartender greeted him with a courteous ‘hello’ as he entered. The bar was surprisingly full of very decent-looking clientele, and not the seedy types V was expecting in such an area.
“Welcome, sir. How can I help you?” The man behind the bar looked to be in his late 20s, clean shaven and generally well-kept. His outfit and demeanour were better suited for an upmarket hotel in the city centre, not a place like this.
“Hey. Name’s V. I am… uh… meant to stay here for a while?” V wasn’t sure why he felt indecisive all of a sudden. Perhaps it was the shock of just how bad the area was, or how inexplicably nice this place was in contrast.
“Ah, of course,” the bartender tapped a few commands on the screen behind the bar, “Vincent Drake, great to have you with us, sir.”
V had to force himself not to wince at the mention of his full name. This kept happening in this country - everyone at the train station insisted on using it too.
“Just V, please.” His tone came out more annoyed than he hoped for.
“Of course, sir.” The barkeep didn’t show any reaction to the request. “The room is just upstairs. If you could transfer the deposit, the system will automatically authorise your bio-signature to gain access to the room.”
V transferred the full 4 weeks-worth of charges. He knew the price tag, but it still felt a little steep, given the location. He told himself that the place looked very well-maintained and the ambience was great, so there wasn’t much to complain about.
Not that he was unused to or afraid of seedy neighbourhoods. Night City had those in droves.
‘Don’t judge the book by the library, V.’
“Great, thank you.” V figured that he was going to see this guy quite frequently, so decided on adopting a friendlier approach. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Henry, at your service.” The bartender had clearly appreciated the more personal approach.
“Nice to meet you, Henry. When does the bar close?”
“Technically, midnight,” the other man had clearly appreciated the question, “but I stick around later so if you want a drink made, just let me know.”
“Fan-tastic.” V nodded contently. “One last question - is it safe to leave the car out?”
“Oh, absolutely not, sir.” Henry allowed himself an amused smirk. “You now also have access to the garage, it’s just further down the street.”
“Great, thanks Henry!”
It took him ten-ish minutes to park the car and drop off what he needed back at the room, which was surprisingly spacious. There was a mini-kitchen and an actual dining table; the bathroom had a full-size bath as well. This was miles better than V’s apartment back in NC.
A shower and a change of clothes later, the merc was back down at the bar, chatting with Henry, who turned out to be a fountain of knowledge about the city. In a short while, V learned about the general layout of the city with its rich and poor boroughs, and the gangs that operated across them. The solo got a crash-course into the extremely hierarchical class system, where being born into the right family could determine your entire life, both for the better and worse.
“You are a freelancer, aren’t you?” Henry finally asked a question of his own.
“A who?” V had never been referred to in that way, and never heard of anybody else either.
“Gun for hire kind. Apologies if I misjudged,” the bartender raised one open palm in apology.
“Oh, yeah. For sure, that I am,” the merc laughed, “in Night City, where I am from, they usually call us mercs or solos.”
“Yes, of course. Makes sense.”
“Why do you ask?” V raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“You just look the type,” Henry shrugged, suggesting there was no ulterior motive to the question, “I usually ask ‘what do you do?’ but it felt pretty obvious with you, so I ventured a guess.”
“Fair,” V shrugged back. He knew he looked like one, there was no reason to get offended at a correct assumption. “Anything in particular that gave me away?”
“Only a freelancer rents a room for a month outright in one of the worst areas of London without knowing anything about the city…” Henry paused for a moment considering if he should say what he had on his mind, “that and you drive the flashiest car I’ve seen in a very long time. American?”
“Car and me both,” the merc nodded, “area that bad, huh?”
“This side isn’t too bad , but a bit more east from here is the stabby centrale. I wouldn’t show up with your ride over there if I were you.”
“Why is this still here, then?” V was genuinely interested and a bit perplexed why, and how, such a decent-looking establishment remained in such an unsavoury area.
“We’ve been here for over fifty years. From what I’ve heard, this used to be an up-and-coming area, but then the civil war steamrolled everything and it got plunged back into shit.” He courteously covered his mouth with his hand. “Pardon my French.”
‘Regardless of location,” the bartender added, gesturing towards the many guests sitting in the bar, “the clients still keep coming.”
V had to turn around, very unsubtly, to eye the other patrons of the bar. ‘Seedy’ was certainly not the way to describe them. They looked like your everyday people, corpos most likely. Except in Night City, all corpos seemed obsessed with Neomilitarism style - blacked-out suits, bodycon dresses, slicked-back hair, all that. Here, it was more about pastel colours, loose trousers and checkered patterns. These people would look odd to him if they didn’t all look alike. If anything, it was him who was the odd one out here, with his leather jacket and skinny jeans.
‘Dammit, will I have to buy new clothes too? How different can a city get, for fuck’s sake?’
“Who are these people anyway?”
“Artists, musicians, BD editors - creative types.” Henry leant in a bit and lowered his voice. “They are always attracted to broken places.”
V realised that he’d spent a good half-hour talking to the bartender without ordering as much as a soda. That was borderline rude at that point. He eyed the card that listed the signature cocktails, immediately spotting what he wanted.
“Can I have a Martini, please?”
“Great choice,” Henry smiled in approval, “gin or vodka?”
‘Well, fucking hell, Gibson never asked me that back at Straylight…’
“What would you recommend?”
“Personally, I love a Vesper.” Tracing a hint of confusion on the merc’s face, the bartender clarified, “that’s mostly gin with a hint of vodka. Best of both worlds, I say.”
“Sold!”
“Fantastic, coming right up.”
Unlike Straylight, there was a time delay between ordering and getting a drink because a human had to do it. V absolutely did not mind. He had the front seat to see the master at work - pouring, shaking and straining the drink in perfect motions that could only come from years of experience.
“Holy fuck, that is good!” V couldn’t contain his appreciation for the drink. He still had a key question to ask this knowledgeable guy, though. “So, Henry. What else can you tell me about London?”
“Hmm,” the other man paused for a second, “it really depends on what you are looking for.”
“Well, for starters, I am looking for the Finn.”
Henry was visibly taken aback by V’s words. His eyes narrowed as he watched the merc closely. “You aren’t just some freelancer, are you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Most don’t even know who, or rather what the Finn is. And here you are, just arrived and already asking after him.”
V couldn’t really claim he knew who the Finn was. All info he had was that the mysterious and hard to find character was an info broker, and a damn good one at that.
“Can you help though?” The merc pressed further.
“As it happens, yes I can.” The bartender’s mouth curled down in a knowing frown. V expected him to elaborate further, but the other man stayed quiet. An odd silence hung above the bar.
“Do you need a… compensation for this kind of info?” V ventured carefully.
‘Oh no, no no no,” Henry waved his request off with an awkward chuckle, “nothing like that. It’s just… the Finn rarely welcomes people he doesn’t know.”
“I am sure I can make him warm up to me.” The merc leant back in the bar stool with a self-confident smirk.
“You don’t quite understand,” the other man’s smile faded quickly, “unannounced guests do not exactly… survive.”
“Oh.” V’s own grin was wiped off too. “Well, I am up for trying. Really, really need to have a chat with this guy. Who do I need to talk to to get to him?”
“I am still not sure it’s a good idea,” Henry insisted.
“Hey, I already paid for the full stay. If I get zeroed, my car keys are in the top drawer - you can have it as compensation for your troubles.”
“Fine,” the bartender nodded. His eyes flashed blue as he initiated a data exchange request with V’s own cyberdeck. “This is the address I have that should supposedly lead you to the Finn.”
V quickly double-checked the location to find it was all the way across London before standing up to leave.
“Thanks Henry, you were beyond helpful.” The merc transferred 2000 eddies to the bartender as a tip before bidding his goodbye. ‘At least the bloody currency is the same’
Landing in the soft bed, the completely exhausted man decided to send Panam a quick voice message to update on his status. Before sleep enveloped him completely, V made a mental note to find out where he could get more guns in the morning.
After getting a crash course on the city, he had a feeling he would need to be well-equipped.
——
Meanwhile, somewhere in the Arizona desert
“What are you grinning at?” Mitch tilted his head with an inquisitive impression, studying Panam’s face.
They had just finished unloading the trucks, which was grueling and exhausting work. Little reason for joy could have come from that, so he was naturally curious.
“Got an update from V.” At her response, her friend’s expression changed immediately to that of complete understanding. It was a well-known fact to just about anyone how even a mention of her partner could cheer the Aldecaldo chieftess up no matter her original mood.
“How’s our globe-trotting merc doing?”
“Well… as I told him, it turned out taking a chrome muscle car wasn’t the best of ideas to stay on the down-low.” She chuckled at the mental image of V sitting in his flashy car, stared at by everybody, having that hilarious ‘I regret everything’ face he always pulled when he realised he fucked up.
“At least he didn’t take one of his hypercars,” Mitch offered with a laugh.
“Says he is planning to buy a more sensible car tomorrow.”
“What would be his definition of sensible then?” The mechanic raised an eyebrow. It was clearly a trick question - everyone also knew the merc wasn’t one for subtle vehicles. Even the MaiMai he owned for no explicable reason was coloured bright red, like some sort of giant bowling ball.
“Most likely, it’s going to be whatever the European version of the Quadra they have over there. Bonus points if it’s in a crazy colour.”
“Fifty eddies say it’s gonna be red,” the Aldecaldo offered with a challenging tone.
“Nah, gonna be orange. And make it hundred.” Panam offered her friend a hand, which he took to seal the deal.
They started walking towards the bar truck, called by the unseen force of chilled Brosephs.
“We veered off-subject there,” Mitch broke the pause in their discussion of V’s escapades, “did he say anything else?”
The question only made Panam sigh loudly. The rest of the news wasn't exactly great, but not so bad that she had to worry. She had to admit it was quite amusing too, but she kept that to herself.
“Most of his guns got confiscated at customs. I bet V had already listed out all the things he is going to do to that snarky NYC consultant that did his paperwork.”
“That ain’t good.” Mitch shook his head as he offered her a bottle that he’d just cracked open.
“Well, he still has the talker and the Malorian, he’ll be fine for now.”
“Good thing he is minted then, eh?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Panam took a healthy swig from the bottle, “I am more surprised he didn’t get arrested for kicking up a fuss. You know how precious he is about his weapons.”
“Aw, c’mon Pan. That’s more of your line of work.” Her friend gave her a shameless wink, knowing full well how provocative his remark was.
“Screeww youu, Mitch.” Panam flipped a half-assed bird at the smug veteran, but didn’t object. He simply smirked, grabbed a six-pack of beers and waved her goodbye, leaving the exhausted woman to her own thoughts.
From her elevated position at the bar stool, the Aldecaldo chieftess looked over the temporary camp that the clan had set up for the night. One side of it came against a steep rock formation, creating a natural defence barrier from one side - Saul’s idea. Stubborn and all-too-happy to play it safe, the older leader knew his way around strategy and good positioning.
Their progress was slower than expected. By her initial estimations, they would have passed Phoenix by now, but instead the convoy was still to reach the city’s outskirts. There, ‘Caldos would have to set up a more long-term camp for a few days to restock and figure out why there were so many damn Raffens all over Arizona. The vile pricks were the main reason for their slower pace.
Panam had already asked Dakota to scout out work for them in the area. They were doing well so far, and even still had some of the ‘Saka gear to shift as well, but she had to be mindful of their finances in the long term. Tucson was a busy city in general, and even more so in terms of nomad activity. There was strong competition for contract work and Aldecaldos were away for far too long to be able to lay claim on any lucrative contracts from the get go.
‘Ah fuck, will I need to schmooze with the corpos and other clans now?’ Panam shuddered, hoping Saul would volunteer to do all that. She didn’t necessarily dislike other clans, save for some very specific exceptions, but dealing with them was all politics and you had to be patient for that, and sometimes had to bite your tongue, no matter how wrong the other party was. Panam wasn’t exactly great at either of these things.
Perhaps this was why she didn’t make a very good mercenary either - it had very similar requirements. You had to really mind what you said and how you said it around both fixers and clients, and she was certainly not doing that enough. In hindsight, the tone she adopted with Rogue on more than one occasion could be considered suicidal if the queen fixer chose to take offence. It was most likely a mix of Rogue not taking the nomad seriously and V’s intervention that saved her from being shot for how she chewed the older woman out after the shootout at Nash’s compound.
V - now that guy was good at the whole playing it cool and talking his way around people business. Panam vividly remembered how smoothly he handled Wakako back when they were trying to get Tyger Claws to leave Clouds alone. Or even how he handled conversation with Rogue when they suspected she may have played part in the assasination attempt on the merc… Hell, the guy could smooth-talk Panam into just about anything if he tried hard enough. Not that he was fully aware of that power of his, and probably wouldn’t use it often even if he was.
Panam’s thoughts drifted towards thinking about her far away lover again. Oh, how she missed his smoky, slightly husky voice that she got so used to hearing every day. Now, she had to make do with the daily voice messages that, thankfully, the merc had committed to send her.
A cheeky thought then occurred to her - she could sneak somewhere private and re-listen to his latest message. That would certainly cheer her up. It also helped that the content of the message was kinda hilarious, even if it did spell more difficulties for V. Losing most of his weapons… She imagined the solo’s face when he first found out. Must’ve looked like a baby with his toys taken away. Panam chuckled at the mental image.
‘Damn… why do you have to be so far away right now, you gonk!’
Panam braved it through their goodbyes, despite a constant nagging desire to cry her eyes out. She just pushed the emotions deep down at the time, stoically keeping up the appearance of a ‘strong chieftess’ in front of the other ‘Caldos. But once V was gone, she felt a distinctive gap in her life that was bigger and more noticeable than the nomad could ever expect.
It was not the case that she couldn’t function without V, not at all. She just didn’t enjoy herself as much when he wasn’t there. Even the most mundane tasks like helping around the camp or washing the Warhorse were just that bit more fun when her partner was around. A sly joke here, a cheeky splash from the hose there… Now, she was back to just pushing through the errands. Sleeping alone again absolutely sucked, too.
The other nomads had certainly noticed the change, she could tell. They weren’t exactly subtle about it either - even Saul started to ask Panam on how she was doing on an almost daily basis. The Aldecaldo chieftain’s emotional range ended at that question though, because he was clearly lost for words every time she actually responded with something that was more complex than ‘alright’ or ‘fine, thanks’.
Mitch, on the other hand, was an absolute treasure. He kept stealing her away from boring leadership jobs to do ‘very important’ technical jobs with him, which would still fall under what she was meant to help with so flew under Saul’s radar. Most of the time, these were actual jobs, like setting up the perimeter beacons or doing a sweep in the Basilisk. Majority of the errands could certainly be done by one person, but were far more enjoyable when the two of them could shoot the shit throughout. Once, the “critical Basilisk cargo hold repair”, as Mitch pitched it, turned out to be just the two of them sitting in said cargo hold, popping cold ones and trading stories away from everybody else. She cherished those moments with her best friend and was grateful to no end for him to look out for her in that way.
‘Damn, I need to get us settled in Tucson and go see V.’ Panam pulled herself from the momentary episode of deep inner retrospection, back into the present moment. Her feelings about the separation weren’t the only ones giving her grief. She genuinely worried for her lover, being all on his own out there. He might have been crowned a Night City legend, but even then the merc had barely spent a day in that city without at least someone watching his back if the need arose. First, he had Jackie, Vic, Misty and Mama Welles, all of whom played their important parts in as much as saving the man’s life in one way or the other. Then Panam herself, Judy, Bakkers and many others came into the picture. It was true that in most cases V was the one saving their collective butts, but if anything was to happen to him, they were always there to help as much as they could.
Panam recalled the first time the merc had collapsed in front of her due to a particularly nasty Relic malfunction, just as the nomads were prepping to move camp. She had him placed in the most stable truck and got their ripperdoc watch him for the entire length of the trip to the new location. When they arrived, still passed out V got his own tent and she didn’t leave his side until he woke up.
There was no one to do that if he glitched out now. Not even Johnny was there anymore to take the wheel if it came to it.
“Fuck, what have I done, letting him go on his own like that,” Panam mumbled to herself.
She spied the Warhorse from the corner of her eye. If she drove on her own, she could make it to Tucson by the morning. From there, a trip to NYC would take only a few hours on a cargo AV. She could be in London in two days, give or take.
But then the Aldecaldo looked over her people, still busy finishing setting up their temporary lodgings around the camp. All of these people relied on her leadership. Having Saul wasn’t an excuse to leave either - the position she had accepted came with commitment and expectations that she couldn’t bring herself to break, no matter where V was. No, her lover would have to manage without her for a bit longer.
Right on cue, Roger, one of the nomad kids, ran up to the truck. He had to crane his neck to address her from the ground. “Auntie Pan, uncle Saul is looking for you. He is in his trailer.”