Chapter Text
Valerie
The rain in Seattle didn’t wash things clean; it just made everything heavy.
In Night City, the rain tasted like copper and acid. It sizzled when it hit the pavement, a violent, chemical purge that matched the city's frantic heartbeat. But here? Here, the rain was a relentless, suffocating gray sheet that had been falling since Valerie stepped off the mag-lev train two months ago. It seeped into your bones. It seeped into your tech.
And right now, it was fucking up her arm.
Valerie Johnson sat in the overcrowded waiting room of Meredith Grey Hospital, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. She was soaking wet. Her leather jacket—one of the few things she’d brought from her old life—smelled like wet dog and ozone.
Twitch.
A sharp, electric jolt shot up from her right wrist to her shoulder, bypassing the neural dampeners and hitting her nervous system like a hammer. Valerie hissed, gripping her right forearm with her flesh-and-blood left hand.
"Motherfucker," she whispered, squeezing the metal plating.
The arm was a masterpiece. A custom job, red and gold, gifted to her by Jackie Welles after… well, after everything went to shit. It was stronger than steel, faster than thought, and currently, it was malfunctioning because of the goddamn humidity. The servos were whining, a high-pitched keen that only she and the local dogs could probably hear.
She looked up at the digital display on the wall. Estimated Wait Time: 4 Hours 15 Minutes.
"Bullshit," V muttered, shifting in the hard plastic chair. She was too big for this space. Not just physically—though at 5’9” with a build honed by street fighting and survival, she took up room—but atmospherically.
The people around her were soft. That was the only word for it. Seattleites. They wore muted colors, waterproof synthetics, and polite expressions. They looked at their datapads, scrolling through news about sustainable energy and micro-housing. Nobody looked at her. Or rather, they looked, and then looked away the second she caught them.
Living with Jackie and Misty was supposed to help. And it did, in a way. They were family. But seeing them together, seeing how soft Misty looked when she touched Jackie’s face… it just made the hole in V’s chest feel wider. She felt like a ghost haunting their new life.
She reached up and touched the cross necklace resting against her collarbone. The metal was cold against her skin.
“Promise me, V. Find happiness. Get out of the smoke.”
Vicky’s voice echoed in her head, clear as a bell, cutting through the hospital chatter.
"I'm trying, Vic," V whispered to the floor tiles. "But this place is wet, expensive, and boring as fuck."
Another spasm. This one made her gasp audibly. The red plating on her forearm felt hot to the touch. The moisture in the air was messing with the heat sinks. If she didn't get it calibrated soon, the neural feedback loop was going to knock her unconscious.
She stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Every head in the waiting room turned.
"I need some air," she announced to no one, her voice raspy. She turned and stalked toward the side corridor, looking for a vending machine, a bathroom, or just a wall she could punch without getting arrested.
Judy
Pedro Alvarez was a good doctor, but he was a terrible eater.
Judy balanced the tupperware container from home on her hip as she navigated the labyrinth of the hospital. It was her day off. No editing, no screaming directors, no scrolling through hours of raw BD footage trying to sync audio levels to a porn star’s fake moan.
Just rain, a little weed before she left the house, and lunch with her dad.
"Excuse me, coming through," Judy murmured, sliding past a nurse pushing a med-cart.
Judy liked the hospital. It was clean. It was organized. It was a place where things were broken, and then they were fixed. It made sense to her. People were messy, relationships were messy, but biology and tech? Those had rules.
She checked her reflection in the glass of the nursery ward as she passed. Her purple and green braids were tied back, but a few strands had escaped, framing her face. She adjusted the strap of her overalls. She looked… distinct. In a sea of hospital scrubs and gray raincoats, Judy was a splash of neon graffiti. But she walked with a quiet confidence here. This was her dad’s turf.
She turned the corner toward the vending machines near the East Wing waiting area, intending to grab a soda before heading up to Pedro’s office.
That’s when she felt the static.
Judy was sensitive to tech. It was part of why she was such a good editor; she could feel the hum of a server or the buzz of a bad connection before she even saw the data. And right now, something was screaming.
It wasn't a sound. It was a pressure in the air. A dirty, jagged frequency.
She stopped.
At the end of the hallway, near the emergency exit, a woman was leaning against the wall.
Judy blinked. The woman was… intense. That was the first word that came to mind. Tall, muscular, with hair the color of dried blood, shaved on one side to reveal a neural port. She was wearing a leather jacket that looked like it had survived a war, and she was clutching her right arm as if it were burning her.
Judy’s hazel eyes drifted down to the arm.
Her breath hitched. It was a Militech "Berserker" model, but customized. The casing was red and gold, the plating articulated like medieval armor. It was beautiful. Violent, excessive, and absolutely beautiful.
But it was sick.
Judy could see the micro-tremors rippling through the artificial muscle fibers. The heat sinks on the elbow were glowing a faint, angry orange.
She’s in a feedback loop, Judy realized. The humidity is bridging the contacts on her haptic sensors.
The polite Seattle thing to do would be to walk away. The woman looked dangerous. She had a scar cutting through her eyebrow and a posture that screamed “I will bite you if you get too close.”
But Judy Alvarez had a fatal flaw: she couldn't leave things broken. Especially not beautiful things.
She shifted the tupperware container—her mom’s homemade adobo—to her other hand and took a step forward.
"Hey," Judy said. Her voice was soft, barely carrying over the hum of the ventilation system.
The woman’s head snapped up. Her eyes were a startling, electric blue, wide with pain and sudden aggression.
"What?" the woman snapped. It was a growl, defensive and sharp.
Judy didn't flinch. She’d grown up with a therapist mom; she knew what pain looked like when it was wearing a mask of anger.
"Your arm," Judy said, nodding toward the limb. "The heat sinks are clogged. It’s the moisture. If you don't vent it, you’re going to fry your neural interface."
The woman—V, Judy would learn later—narrowed her eyes. She looked Judy up and down, taking in the tattoos, the small stature, the general lack of threat.
"You a doc?" V asked, her voice tight.
"No," Judy said. She took another step closer, entering the woman's personal space. It felt like stepping into a magnetic field. "I’m an editor. But I know tech. And I can hear that thing screaming from down the hall."
Valerie
V wanted to tell this girl to fuck off.
She was in pain, she was embarrassed, and she didn't need some random rainbow-haired girl with soft eyes telling her what was wrong with her own body.
But the pain was blinding. A spike of white-hot agony shot up her shoulder, and V groaned, her knees buckling slightly. She slid down the wall, ending up in a crouch.
"Fuck," V hissed through her teeth. "It feels like it's eating my shoulder."
The girl didn't run away. Instead, she crouched down in front of V. She moved with an easy, athletic grace, balancing on the balls of her sneakers. She smelled like vanilla and… slightly like cannabis. It was a grounding scent in the sterile hallway.
"It's phantom feedback," the girl said. Her voice was calm. It was annoying how calm she was. "Your brain thinks the arm is burning because the sensors are confused. Can I touch it?"
V looked at her. Really looked at her.
The girl was pretty. Ridiculously pretty. Large, expressive hazel eyes, full lips, and a spiderweb tattoo on her shoulder that disappeared under her tank top. She looked soft, but her eyes were sharp. Intelligent.
"If you break it," V warned, her voice trembling, "I’ll break you with the other one."
The girl smiled. It was a small, fleeting thing. "Deal. Hold still."
V didn't know why she trusted her. Maybe it was the desperation. Maybe it was the fact that the girl didn't look at the arm with fear, but with reverence.
The girl reached out. Her hands were small, her fingernails painted black and chipped. She didn't grab the arm; she hovered her fingers over the wrist joint.
"I'm Judy," she said, almost absently, as she squinted at the plating.
"V," Valerie grunted.
"Okay, V. This is going to feel weird. I’m going to manually trip the emergency vent. It’s usually software locked, but there’s a hardware override if you know where to press."
"Wait, you're gonna—"
Judy’s fingers moved fast. She pressed her thumb hard into a seemingly solid piece of gold plating near the inside of V's elbow, while simultaneously twisting the ring finger of the cybernetic hand.
Hissssss.
A jet of hot steam erupted from the vents along the forearm.
V gasped, her head falling back against the wall. The relief was instantaneous. The searing heat vanished, replaced by a cool, dull ache. The twitching stopped. The angry orange glow of the heat sinks faded into a steady, rhythmic pulse.
"Oh, god," V breathed out, her eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Holy shit."
"Better?" Judy asked.
V opened her eyes. Judy was still crouched there, watching her face. There was a smudge of grease on Judy’s thumb now.
"Yeah," V said, her voice dropping an octave, losing its defensive edge. "Yeah. Much better. How the hell did you know how to do that? That’s custom Arasaka tech mixed with street mods."
Judy shrugged, wiping her thumb on her overalls. "Tech is tech. It all speaks the same language eventually. You’re running it too hot for this climate, though. You need to get the seals redone. Silicone coating, not latex. The latex rots in the Seattle damp."
V stared at her. The pain was gone, leaving behind a sudden, acute awareness of how close they were. Judy was inside her guard. Nobody got inside her guard.
V shifted, the leather of her jacket creaking. She felt the need to reassert some dominance, some distance. "You do this for everyone you find in a hallway? Fix their shit?"
"Only the interesting ones," Judy said. She stood up, picking up her tupperware container.
V blinked. Interesting.
She stood up too, towering over Judy by a good five inches. The dynamic shifted. V was used to people taking a step back when she stood to her full height. Judy didn't move. She just tilted her head back to look V in the eyes.
"Thanks," V said. It came out gruff, awkward. "I… uh. Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Judy said. She shifted her weight. "My dad’s office is on the fourth floor. Dr. Alvarez. If you need a referral for those seals, tell him I sent you. He knows a guy in the ID district who won't rip you off."
"Dr. Alvarez," V repeated, filing the name away.
"That's the one." Judy hesitated. For a second, it looked like she wanted to say something else. Her eyes flickered to the cross around V’s neck, then back to her face. "Welcome to Seattle, V. Try to stay dry."
"Impossible," V muttered.
Judy offered one last, half-smile—a little shy, a little knowing—and then turned on her heel. V watched her walk away. She watched the way the purple braids swayed against her back. She watched the confident, easy stride.
V looked down at her arm. It was silent. Functional.
She touched the spot on her elbow where Judy had pressed her thumb. It still felt warm.
"Judy," V whispered, testing the name on her tongue. It sounded… soft.
She didn't believe in fate. Fate was for people who could afford to hope. But as she watched the girl disappear around the corner, V felt a strange sensation in her chest. It wasn't the phantom pain of the arm, and it wasn't the grief for Vicky.
It was curiosity.
She pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket, realized she couldn't smoke in here, and shoved them back in.
The wait time on the screen dropped to 3 Hours.
V sat back down in the plastic chair. She stretched her right arm out, flexing the fingers. Perfect response time.
She pulled out her datapad. She wasn't going to wait three hours. She was going to find this "ID district" Judy mentioned.
But first, she opened a blank memo file. She didn't journal. Journaling was for therapists and teenagers. But she had a habit of writing down things she needed to remember. Debts. Enemies.
She typed one word: Judy.
Then she deleted it. That felt creepy.
Instead, she typed: Get seals fixed. Silicone only.
She stared at the screen for a moment, the cursor blinking.
Dr. Alvarez. 4th Floor.
V closed the pad. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, listening to the rain hammer against the hospital windows. For the first time in two months, the noise didn't make her want to scream.
It just sounded like static.
Judy
"You're late, mija."
Pedro Alvarez looked up from his desk, smiling as Judy walked in. His office was cluttered with medical journals and framed photos of the family. A holographic skeleton spun slowly in the corner.
"Got held up," Judy said, setting the food down on the desk. "Traffic in the hall."
"Traffic?" Pedro raised an eyebrow. "In the hallway?"
"Yeah," Judy said, pulling up a chair. She opened the container. The smell of Samantha’s chicken adobo filled the small room—garlic, vinegar, and soy sauce. It smelled like home. "Ran into a… technical issue."
"Did you fix it?"
"Yeah, Papi. I fixed it."
Judy took a bite, but her mind wasn't on the food. She was thinking about blue eyes that looked like shattered ice. She was thinking about the raw, defensive energy radiating off that girl. V.
She had looked so lonely.
Judy had seen a lot of lonely people in her line of work. People who lived in BDs to escape their reality. People who modified their bodies to forget who they were. But V wore her history on her skin. That arm wasn't just a tool; it was a story. And Judy had the distinct feeling it was a sad one.
"You okay, Jude?" Pedro asked, watching her. "You went somewhere else for a second."
Judy snapped back to the present. She looked at her dad—kind, stable, safe.
"I'm good," Judy said. "Just… saw someone who looked like they were a long way from home."
"Well," Pedro said, taking a scoop of rice. "This is a port city. Everyone is from somewhere else. They usually find their way eventually."
Judy nodded. She hoped V found her way. She hoped the arm held up.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her lighter, turning it over in her fingers. She realized her heart was beating a little faster than normal.
Interesting, she thought again.
"So," Judy said, changing the subject. "Tell me about this new administration at the hospital. Mom says you're stressed."
As Pedro launched into a complaint about hospital bureaucracy, Judy listened, but a part of her was still down in the waiting room, surrounded by the smell of wet leather and ozone.
She had a feeling she was going to see V again. Seattle was a big city, but the world of people who didn't fit in was small.
And Judy had always been drawn to the things that didn't fit.
Valerie
The smell of huevos rancheros was usually enough to wake the dead, but Valerie didn’t feel like rising. She felt like sinking.
She lay in the spare room of Jackie and Misty’s apartment in West Seattle, staring at the ceiling. The plaster had a water stain that looked like a skull if you squinted. It was quiet. Too quiet. In Night City, the mornings sounded like gunfire and sirens. Here, it was just the hum of the mag-lev train in the distance and the chirp of a synthetic bird outside the window.
"V! I know you’re awake! I can hear your gears spinning!"
Jackie’s voice boomed through the thin drywall.
V groaned, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow. She loved Jackie. The big lug had saved her life more times than she could count. He was the brother she never had. But living in his domestic bliss was slowly driving her insane.
She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her right arm—the red and gold chrome—caught the morning light. It wasn’t twitching today, thanks to the emergency vent Judy had done at the hospital three days ago. But it felt stiff. The seals were definitely shot.
Judy.
The name popped into her head unbidden. V scowled. She’d thought about the girl with the purple hair way too much in the last seventy-two hours. It was just the tech. Judy was a useful contact. That was it.
V grabbed a clean tank top, pulling it over her head. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—scars, muscle, the hard line of her jaw. She looked like a weapon left on a kitchen table.
She walked out into the living room. It was nauseatingly cozy. Misty had filled the place with candles, crystals, and hanging plants that thrived in the Seattle damp.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Misty said, smiling from the small dining table. She was shuffling tarot cards.
"Mornin', Misty," V grunted, heading straight for the coffee pot.
Jackie was at the stove, flipping tortillas. He turned, grinning, a spatula in hand. "There she is! My favorite mercenary. Eat up, chika. You look like a skeleton."
"I’m fine, Jack," V said, leaning against the counter. "Just need caffeine."
"You need protein," Jackie countered, sliding a plate loaded with eggs and beans toward her. "And you need to get out of the house. You’re haunting the place, V. You’re pacing like a caged tiger."
V took a sip of the coffee. It was good. Real beans. "Not haunting. Just… calibrating."
"Calibrating my ass," Jackie laughed. "You go see that doc yet? The one at Meredith Grey?"
"Went to the hospital," V said, dodging the specifics. "Ran into his daughter. She did a temp fix. Said I need to go to the ID District for new seals."
Misty looked up from her cards. "The Fool," she murmured, tapping a card. "New beginnings. A journey into the unknown."
V rolled her eyes, but affectionately. "It’s just a repair shop, Mist. Not a spiritual journey."
"In this city, everything is spiritual," Misty said softly. "The ID is intense, V. Energy flows different there. Be careful."
"I can handle myself," V said, flexing her metal fingers.
"I know you can," Jackie said, his voice dropping the joking tone. He put a massive hand on her shoulder. "But you don't always have to fight the world, V. Sometimes you just gotta live in it."
V looked at his hand, then up at his face. He looked happy. He had this life figured out. He had Misty. He had a job security gig at a local club. V had… a dead girlfriend and a promise she didn't know how to keep.
"I'm gonna go get those seals," V said, pulling away. "Before the rain starts again."
Judy
The International District was Judy’s favorite place in Seattle.
It was a sensory overload in the best way possible. While the rest of Seattle was sleek, silver, and eco-friendly, the ID was a riot of neon pinks, blues, and golds. Holographic dragons curled around the mag-lev tracks, and the air always smelled like frying oil, ginger, and ozone.
It was also the best place to find tech that wasn’t strictly… legal.
Judy adjusted her messenger bag, weaving through the crowded street market. She was looking for a specific cooling fan for her editing rig—an old model that they stopped manufacturing five years ago because it was "too loud." Judy liked the noise. It let her know the machine was working.
"Fresh noodles! Synth-pork or real!" a vendor shouted as she passed.
Judy sidestepped a puddle that reflected the hologram of a geisha selling energy drinks. She loved the anonymity here. Nobody cared who your dad was. Nobody cared if you were a Mox or a corpo. If you had eddies, you had business.
She checked her datapad. Tech-No-Logic was just around the corner. It was a chaotic little shop run by a guy named Wu, who claimed he used to run with Spider Murphy. Judy doubted it, but he had the best parts in the city.
She turned the corner and stopped dead.
Standing in front of Wu’s shop, looking like a confused and angry giant, was V.
Judy’s stomach did a little flip. She told herself it was just surprise.
V was wearing the same leather jacket, but she had a hoodie underneath it today. Her red hair was messy, damp from the mist. She was arguing with the door.
"Open up, you piece of shit," V muttered, banging her metal fist against the shutter.
Judy couldn't help herself. She smiled.
She walked up behind V, keeping her footsteps light. "He takes a lunch break from two to three. You’re early."
V spun around, her hand dropping to her hip instinctively, like she was reaching for a piece. When she saw Judy, the tension didn't leave her shoulders, but her eyes widened.
"Jesus," V breathed out. "Do you have a bell or something? You sneak up on people like a cat."
"It's not my fault you walk loud," Judy teased. She stepped up beside V, leaning against the shuttered storefront. "How’s the arm?"
V looked at her arm, then back at Judy. "Did the trick. Stopped the twitching. But Jackie—my… roommate—said I needed to get the seals done before it rots."
"Jackie’s right," Judy said. She looked V over. The daylight—what little there was of it through the clouds—hit V’s face differently than the hospital fluorescents. She had freckles. A dusting of them across her nose and cheeks, stark against the pale skin and the dark scars.
V shifted her weight, looking uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "So. You stalking me? Or do you just hang out in alleyways?"
"I’m shopping," Judy said, patting her bag. "Need a fan for my rig. And I figured you’d show up here eventually. Dad said you didn't come up to the office."
"I don't like doctors," V said flatly. "No offense."
"None taken. He’s annoying anyway."
They stood in silence for a moment. It wasn't exactly awkward, but it was charged. The rain started to pick up, transitioning from a mist to a steady drizzle.
V looked up at the sky and sighed. "I hate this city."
Judy laughed. "You get used to it. Come on."
"Come on where?"
"Wu won't open for another twenty minutes. And I’m not standing in the rain. There’s a takoyaki stand around the corner. My treat."
V hesitated. She looked at the closed shop, then at Judy. Her guard was up, high and thick. Judy could practically see the calculations running behind those blue eyes. Is she a threat? Is this a trap? Do I want to be alone?
"I’m not a charity case," V said finally.
"I know," Judy said. She started walking, not looking back to see if V was following. "But I hate eating alone. And you owe me for the emergency vent."
She took five steps before she heard the heavy crunch of V’s boots on the pavement behind her.
Valerie
V didn't know why she was following this girl.
Actually, that was a lie. She followed her because Judy had a sway to her walk that was mesmerizing. And because Judy didn't look at her like she was a tragedy.
They ended up at a small stand tucked under a massive holographic billboard advertising Arasaka Secure. The irony wasn't lost on V.
"Two trays, extra bonito flakes," Judy ordered, tapping her wrist against the payment pad.
She handed one of the steaming paper boats to V. " careful, the inside is like lava."
V took it. The balls of batter and octopus smelled incredible. She popped one in her mouth immediately, ignoring the warning. It burned, but the flavor was explosive.
"Fuck, that's good," V mumbled, chewing with her mouth open.
Judy leaned against the counter, watching her. "You eat like you’ve been starving."
"Foster homes," V said, the words slipping out before she could check them. "You learn to eat fast before the big kids steal your shit."
Judy’s expression softened, just a fraction. "Rough."
"Life’s rough," V said, leaning back against the billboard support. She watched the rain fall in sheets just inches from the awning. "So, you’re an editor. Brain dances?"
"Yeah," Judy said. " mostly commercial stuff right now. Ads, music videos. But I’m working on some indie stuff on the side. Real raw emotions. Not the corporate gloss."
"You tune porn?" V asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Judy laughed, a bright, genuine sound that cut through the street noise. "Sometimes. Pays the bills. You’d be surprised how much editing goes into making people look like they’re enjoying themselves."
V chuckled. It felt rusty in her throat. She hadn't laughed in… months.
"And you?" Judy asked, blowing on a takoyaki ball. "What’s your gig? besides looking scary in hospital hallways?"
V’s smile faded. She looked down at her red hand. "I was… I’m a solo. Merc work. Security. Whatever pays."
"Was?" Judy caught the slip.
"Taking a break," V said sharply. "Retirement. Looking for something… quieter."
"Seattle is quieter," Judy said. "But trouble has a way of finding people who know how to handle it."
V looked at Judy. The girl was perceptive. Dangerously so.
"You got a lot of tattoos," V said, deflecting. She pointed to a rose on Judy’s neck. "What's that one for?"
"My grandmother," Judy said, touching the ink. "She grew the best roses in Oregon. What about the cross?"
V’s hand went to the necklace instantly. It was a defensive reflex. "Just a reminder."
"Of what?"
"That God is watching," V said, her voice hard. "And he’s got a sick sense of humor."
Judy didn't push. She just nodded, accepting the boundary. V appreciated that. Most people tried to dig. Judy just seemed content to stand near the hole and look down.
"Wu’s shop should be open," Judy said, checking the time.
"Right," V said. She finished the last octopus ball and crumpled the tray. "Thanks. For the food."
"Anytime."
They walked back to the shop in silence. The shutter was rolling up, revealing a cluttered space filled with wires, chips, and drone parts. A frantic-looking Asian man was yelling at a cleaning bot.
"Hey, Wu!" Judy called out.
"Judy! You bring me headache?" Wu shouted back, though he was smiling.
"Just a customer," Judy said. She turned to V. "He’ll fix you up. Tell him I said the 'family rate' or he’ll charge you double for the silicone."
V nodded. She felt awkward again. "So… I guess I’ll see you around?"
Judy pulled a small card out of her pocket—an old school physical business card. It had a neon ghost logo on it.
"My number," Judy said. "In case the arm acts up again. Or in case you want to burn your mouth on octopus balls again."
V took the card. Her metal fingers clamped onto it gently.
"I might," V said.
"Don't be a stranger, V," Judy said. She winked—actually winked—and then slipped past V into the shop to haggle with Wu about fans.
V stood outside for a moment, holding the card. The rain was soaking her hair, running down her neck. She looked at the card.
Judy Alvarez. Technical Editor / Virtu-Tuner.
V shoved the card into her pocket, right next to her ammo clip.
"Dammit," she whispered to herself.
She walked into the shop, the bell dinging above her head. She was in trouble. She knew it. The arm could be fixed, the seals could be replaced, but whatever was happening in her chest when that girl smiled at her?
There was no patch for that.
Judy
Judy watched V on the security monitor as Wu grumbled in the back room looking for the vintage fan.
V was sitting on a stool at the front counter, letting Wu’s assistant—a young kid with cyber-goggles—examine the arm. V looked uncomfortable, her eyes darting toward the door every few seconds.
She was so guarded. So prickly.
"Here! I find it!" Wu shouted, emerging from a pile of junk with a dusty fan. "For you, Judy, fifty eddies."
"Twenty," Judy said without looking away from the monitor. "It’s covered in dust, Wu."
"Thirty. Because I like your father."
"Deal."
Judy paid him and took the fan. She paused at the door of the back room, looking out at the main shop floor. V was laughing at something the kid said. It was a small, guarded laugh, but it changed her whole face. It made her look young.
Judy felt that pull again. The gravity.
She knew V was trouble. She knew V had baggage that probably weighed more than Judy’s entire car. But Judy had spent her whole life editing things—cutting out the bad parts, enhancing the good parts, making the story flow.
She wondered what kind of story V was trying to tell. And she wondered if maybe, just maybe, V needed someone to help her with the edits.
Judy slipped out the back exit into the alleyway. She didn't want to make it weird by walking past V again.
She pulled out her datapad and sent a text to her friend Evelyn.
Judy: Met someone.
Evelyn: Oh? Do tell.
Judy: A stray. Big, scary, beautiful tech. Sad eyes.
Evelyn: Your favorite type. Be careful, Jude.
Judy smiled at the screen. She closed the datapad and walked out into the rain.
Too late, she thought.