Chapter 14: Hunting Shadows and Healing Wounds
V lay there in that clinic bed for what felt like forever, the days blurring into a haze of pain meds and quiet talks, her body mending slow but sure under Vik's watchful eye. The bandages itched like hell against her skin, wrapping her heavy tits tight, making every breath a reminder of how close she'd come to the end. Her neck throbbed dull from where that bullet had lodged, but the Relic hummed faint in her head, knitting things back together like some twisted guardian angel. God, it hurt—not just the physical stuff, but the emotional gut-punch of losing Jackie, that genuine ache that sat heavy in her chest, tears pricking unexpected when she thought of his big grin.
Therapy sessions dragged in the afternoons, some corpo shrink Vik called in, talking through the trauma in that soft, probing way. V opened up a bit—about the heist gone wrong, Smasher's crush echoing in her nightmares, Johanna's voice whispering constant in her mind like an uninvited roommate. "She's real in there," V admitted one session, voice cracking genuine, "manipulative as fuck, but... kinda gets me. Like she's been where I am." The doc nodded understanding, prescribing light walks and neural exercises to strengthen her control over the engram. By week's end, V felt whole again—bruises fading to yellow shadows on her pale skin, tits free from bindings, bouncing soft as she moved, pussy and ass no longer sore, that merc fire reigniting in her gut.
Judy never left her side through it all, that sweet Mox care shining genuine and deep. She'd crash on the clinic cot, her lithe body curled close, hand holding V's through the nights, fingers intertwined warm. "Can't lose you, V—not after everything," Judy whispered one evening, eyes misty with real emotion, her tank riding up to show that toned midriff, fat cock bulging soft in her shorts as she leaned in for a kiss, lips brushing tender. They'd talk for hours—Judy sharing bits of her BD work, the raw footage she edited, the emotions she captured. "It's like diving into someone's soul," she said, voice soft and passionate, hand tracing V's thigh under the sheet, getting close to her pussy, stirring that familiar heat. V felt so loved, that genuine bond pulling her through the dark days, Judy's presence a light in the mess.
But Evelyn? Radio silence. No pings, no holo-calls—gone like a ghost in the sprawl. V's worry gnawed real and deep, that knot in her gut twisting every time she checked her agent. "Where the hell are you?" she muttered, Johanna echoing in her head: "Find her, merc—use those charms of yours." No one knew—Rogue shook her head grim, "Doll's vanished, kid. Arasaka heat too high." Judy frowned worried, "She was shaky after the gig—hope she's okay."
Once V was cleared—perfect condition, body feeling strong and ready, tits heaving free, hips swaying confident—she headed to the club where Evelyn used to work, Clouds in Westbrook, that high-end dollhouse with its neon glow and hushed secrets. Judy tagged along, hand in V's genuine and supportive, her fat cock shifting in her pants as they walked. "We'll find something," Judy said, voice full of that caring fire.
The club pulsed with synth-beats, dolls lounging seductive, their curves on display, tits perky under skimpy outfits, asses round and inviting. V's dress from the heist was gone, replaced with tight jeans hugging her wide hips and firm ass, tank top straining over her heavy breasts, nipples poking faint in the cool air. She snooped around discreet—hacking terminals subtle, optics scanning for clues. No Evelyn, but whispers from staff: "Attacked—hacked bad, chip fried." V's heart sank genuine, that fear for her friend hitting hard.
Overhearing cops in a back room, V quickhacked a cam for audio: "Woman got jacked—brain fried like overcooked noodles. Manager Woodman? Sold her off to some dark BD makers, Maelstrom gonks. Porn BDs, twisted shit—recording her essence while they use her." V's blood boiled real, fists clenching, tits heaving with rage. "Woodman, that sleazy fuck," she growled low, Johanna whispering: "Get 'em, V—make 'em pay."
She dug deeper that night—calls to old contacts, favors pulled from shadows. "Maelstrom's got a den in Watson—old factory, underground levels for their sick BDs," one choom spilled, voice shaky. V pieced it together genuine, that determination burning hot, worry for Evelyn twisting her gut.
Gear-up came fierce—silenced Malorian holstered on her thigh, heated katana sheathed at her back, blade humming faint when activated, ready to slice chrome like butter. Black tactical outfit hugging her curves: tank straining over tits, jeans clinging to hips and ass, boots silent for stealth. "Be careful," Judy begged, kissing her deep, tongues tangling emotional, her fat cock pressing hard against V's thigh. "Bring her back—I care too much to lose you both."
The Maelstrom den loomed dark and rusted, graffiti scars on walls, red optics glowing from patrols. V hacked the outer cams quick, feeds popping in her optics—gonks milling, chrome bulging ugly. She slipped in shadows, disabling cams one by one with daemons, lights flickering out silent.
Stealth kills came smooth and vengeful—mantis blades shinking out, slicing a throat wet and quiet, blood spraying warm; silenced shot point-blank popping a head, brains misting. Bodies dropped soft, V's tits heaving with controlled breaths, ass flexing as she crouched, pussy tingling faint from adrenaline's rush.
Deeper levels got grim—screams echoing, BD rigs humming twisted. V's heart ached genuine for Evelyn, that friend who'd shared passions and gigs. Lowest floor: heavily chromed Maelstrom gonk pounding Evelyn's ass rough, her lithe body arched, fat cock spurting semen uncontrollable in ropes, moans escaping her lips pleasure-twisted but empty, eyes glazed—not her real self, hacked and broken.
V's rage boiled over—katana heating red-hot, she burst in, blade slicing his neck clean, head tumbling gorey, body slumping as blood pooled. "Evelyn—it's me," V whispered emotional, scooping her up gentle, Evelyn's tits heaving weak, cock limp now, ass leaking cum. "You're safe."
Back to the apartment, V laid her on the bed tender, calling Vik for emergency treatment—meds pumping, scans running. Evelyn woke hazy, mental trauma deep, eyes haunted. "They... broke me," she whispered, tears real, body trembling, tits rising with sobs, fat cock soft and vulnerable.
Judy dove in caring, her BD rig linking to Evelyn's neural—discovering fragmented memories, scrolling through together emotional. Flashes: Relic gig origins, shady meets in Pacifica, Voodoo Boys ties. "That's where it started," V said, voice genuine and determined, Johanna urging: "Infiltrate—use your charms, merc."
V nodded, that fire igniting—time to play the seductress, curves as weapons, preparing for Pacifica's dangers with real heart for her friends.