Cyberpunk: STRAY

Watson was a graveyard of ambition. The streets of Kabuki smelled like cheap soy-stew, spilled oil, and desperation. Neon lights flickered against puddles of murky water, painting illusions of something clean, something better—but everyone knew better. Beneath the glitz, Watson was a pit, a place where the unwanted, the undocumented, and the unlucky all sank together.

Vincent and Aurore pulled up near the bar, parking between a rusted-out van and a row of bikes that probably belonged to people who weren't coming back for them. The bar wasn't exactly a well-kept secret, but it was the kind of place where business got done under the right conditions—so long as you didn't mind drowning in the stench of sweat, pheromones, and overpriced liquor.

Aurore leaned back in the passenger seat, exhaling slowly through her nose. "I still don't see why we have to go through all this. Your client, He's a Barghest treasurer, not some back-alley fixer. He should be the one waiting for us, not the other way around. And for fuck sake I thought I said I'm done with them Dogtown scums... Vincent... Now what??"

"That's not how it works," Vincent muttered, stepping out of the car and straightening his jacket. "People like Jago don't wait. They make you wait. It's a power thing. Gets under your skin, makes you easier to control."

Aurore's jaw tightened. She was already pissed off. The last thing she needed was some corporate-wannabe gangster pulling power moves on them.

As they approached the entrance, Vincent was already prepping himself. He'd made connections in the net—whispers, rumors, and favors that got exchanged in the quiet, invisible corners of cyberspace. And one of those connections was standing at the door right now.

Rita Wheeler.

Pink-haired, blazing hot, RealSkinn implants, two guns on her side, bat on the shoulder, Chromed out arms, truly a woman who had torn through her fair share of idiots before. A Mox through and through. Vincent had always known her as a reliable name in the Cyberspace, but in person? She was gorgeous yet someone not to be mess with, and her eyes screamed that she'd seen enough shit to know exactly how people like him operated.

She sized him up immediately. Then frowned.

"...No fucking way." Rita's voice was flat, unimpressed. "Vinne?"

Vincent grinned, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "In the flesh."

She stared at him, expression unreadable. Then let out a sharp, dry laugh. "You're shitting me. I thought you were some tech-head runner when we chatted in the Net. Not—" She gestured vaguely at him. "—a small-ass midget."

Vincent shrugged. "I get that a lot."

"Yeah, I bet you do." She crossed her arms, still blocking the entrance. "No offense, but you don't exactly look like someone who's got business in here."

Aurore rolled her eyes. "Can you just let us in?"

Rita leaned in slightly, glancing at Aurore, then back at Vincent. "Can't let you in kid, house rules.."

"I'm vouching for both of us," Vincent said smoothly pointing a finger at Aurore waiting behind him. "We got a meet. come on we got biz here."

Rita exhaled through her nose, then finally, reluctantly, stepped aside. "Fine. But don't cause trouble, and one thing... if you see something you like you don't grab em.. no touching, no groping...Not unless you want your ass thrown out in a bucket. Got it chico?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, flashing a quick grin before stepping past her.

Inside, the bar was a kaleidoscope of red neon and flashing holo-ads, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the artificial scent of body sprays meant to drown out the stink of humanity.

They found a booth near the back, away from the noise but still close enough to keep an eye on things. Aurore wasted no time ordering a drink—something strong, something to keep her from breaking something.

She didn't like this. Didn't like the place. Didn't like that Jago's security had told them to wait. She knew who Barghest was—who they really were. Not just some corp-wannabe mercs but something worse. A machine built to devour people like her and her brother.

And now they were being made to wait like obedient little dogs.

Aurore downed her drink and let the glass hit the table a little harder than necessary. "This is bullshit. J'emmerde tout ça...merde...." she hissed...

 Vincent leaned back, exhaling. "Cheer up...It's business."

"It's disrespect." She tapped her fingers against the table, jaw tight. "They want to remind us who's in control. But I'm not some back-alley runner they can pull this shit with."

Vincent studied her for a moment. The anger in her eyes wasn't just about Jago. It was about everything. Her ego, Her brother, The job, The way the city worked, and how it chewed people up and spat them out.

Still, anger wasn't going to change anything.

"You storm in there now, you lose," he said simply. "You wait, you play the game, you win."

Aurore scoffed. "You really believe that?"

"I believe in surviving long enough to get what I need."

She didn't respond, just looked away, biting back the fury simmering inside her.

The minutes dragged. Then an hour. The security guy who had told them to wait hadn't even looked in their direction since. Just another game, another way of making them feel small.

Aurore clenched her fists. If they didn't call them in soon, she was going to start breaking things.

The wait dragged on, stretching the tension between them like a wire about to snap. The bar's neon glow cast jagged shadows over their table, the low hum of bass vibrating through the floor. Aurore's foot tapped impatiently against the metal plating, her fingers curled into a fist against the tabletop.

Vincent, arms crossed, watched her. Studied her. He'd been patient, let her simmer, let her emotions bleed through in subtle cracks. But now? Now he was done letting her stew in her own self-righteous fury.

"You gonna keep sitting there, scowling like a little girl who got her toy taken away?" Vincent's voice was calm, razor-sharp. "Or are we actually gonna talk about the bullshit you keep throwing at me?"

Aurore's eyes snapped to him, the fire in them burning hotter. "The fuck are you talking about?"

Vincent leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about." His voice was low, cutting through the noise around them. "You've been looking at me like I put a bullet in your brother myself. Like I made the call. Like I dragged his ass into whatever deal he got himself killed in."

Aurore's jaw clenched. "You—"

"Nah, shut the fuck up for a second." Vincent's voice was still calm, but there was weight behind it. "Let's actually think for a goddamn minute instead of you just reacting."

Aurore looked like she was about to punch him, but Vincent kept going.

"You blame me? Fine. Let's go with that. Let's pretend I was the reason your brother's dead. But you—" He pointed at her, eyes locked onto hers. "—you're the one who plays the same damn game. You're the one taking jobs, working for people who wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet in your skull if it made them an extra eddie."

Her fingers twitched, curling tighter.

"You run around, acting like you're any different from the rest of the city's vultures," Vincent continued. "Like you got some moral high ground. But newsflash, Aurore—you don't. You're in the same gutter as the rest of us. You just don't like admitting it."

Aurore exhaled sharply, biting down whatever words were about to spill out. She wasn't used to being called out. Especially not by some street kid who wasn't even old enough to legally drink.

Vincent leaned back, shaking his head. "I get it, y'know? It's easier to blame me than to admit that your brother got himself killed. Easier to pin it on someone else than to accept that this city doesn't give a fuck about people like us. But don't stand there and act like I'm the villain when you're doing the exact same shit, just convincing yourself you're different."

Aurore's nostrils flared, and for a second, he swore she was going to flip the table. But she didn't. Because deep down, she knew he wasn't wrong.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Finally, Aurore leaned back, grabbing her drink and taking a slow sip. When she set it down, she exhaled, voice quieter but still laced with anger.

"You think you got me figured out, huh? you fucking piece of shit.."

Vincent shrugged. "I know enough."

She let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. "You got some nerve, kid, fuck all of this, really.."

"Yeah, well," Vincent smirked. "You're still sitting here, so I guess I'm not completely full of shit, am I?"

 Aurore didn't respond, just stared at him for a long moment before finally looking away.

Vincent let a moment pass before delivering the final blow.

"You ever read Nietzsche?" he asked casually, swirling his drink.

Aurore shot him a glare. "You think now's the time for philosophy, fucking genius?"

He smirked. "Yeah, welllll, because this is exactly when philosophy matters. When shit gets real."

She rolled her eyes, but he didn't stop.

He looked straight into her soul... "You know? ....'Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster himself.'" Vincent let the words linger. "And 'if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.'"

Aurore scoffed. "And what? That's supposed to mean something?"

"It means you're so caught up in revenge, so caught up in hating me and yourself... that you're letting yourself become the very thing you're pissed at." Vincent leaned in, voice low. "Your brother played the game. He lost, YOU LOST! And you can blame me all you want, it ain't gon bring him back but at the end of the day, we both know it's not that simple. You think I'm a jinx, a villain? Fine. But keep staring at me like that, and one day, you're gonna wake up and realize you've turned into the same fucking pathetic thing."

Aurore's lips parted slightly, her hand tightening around her glass. The muscles in her jaw flexed.

And then, in a split second, she moved—hand raising, fingers curling— she was so pissed, she's already 3 drinks in...

Before she could slap him, before she could let the anger explode, a voice cut through the tension.

"Boss'll see you now."

One of Jago's security goons loomed over them, cybernetics gleaming under the dim light.

Vincent barely spared the goon a glance, smirking at Aurore one last time before standing up.

"Guess we'll have to finish this later," he said smoothly.

Aurore didn't say a word. Just stood up, exhaling sharply, and followed him toward the private booth...