Viktor Vektor x Reader

Two

Soaked in rain, you sat in the limo, your legs pressed tightly together and your sports bag on your lap. It was warm, pleasantly warm and you could feel your limbs slowly getting used to moving again.

But that didn't change the fact that you soaked the entire seats and left a puddle on the floor.

Across from you sat a man, quite short for a day and age in which everyone could choose how tall, thin or even what colour skin they wanted.

The smoke of a cigar rose from his lips and turned the narrow interior into an oven.

Your gaze wandered out the window to avoid having to breathe directly in his direction. You smoked, but cigars were a little too much even for you. The smoke made your lungs heavy, something you couldn't use in a boxing match. You had to be fast and persistent and as long as your lungs were still organic it would be better not to strain them. That lowered the efficiency.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

The man took another breath. You could hear the cigar growing a ring of ash at the end. Your gaze returned to him.

"You look like shit.", he remarked dryly, adjusting the gold-plated sunglasses that sat on his broad nose.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, you hummed.

"No shit. I had nothing else to wear.", you said.

He let out a snort.

"Shit, you're walking around like a bum.", it hissed as he opened the window to get rid of the used cigar. "Didn't I pay you enough for decent clothes? You're way too expensive for me, walking around like that."

A shadow crossed your face.

Yes, he paid, but usually it was only a small fraction of the actual prize money. Prize money for fights you had won with your own fists. It would have been enough if you only had to support yourself. But that was simply not the case.

Though he didn't need to know that. And you didn't want to tell him either. He would probably use it against you and only make your situation worse.

You took a deep breath.

"My situation is just not the best, Dex...", you mumbled and closed your eyes. "Shit, you could at least pay me half."

He laughed. It was a strong laugh, so strong that his fat belly moved. His voice was also rough and deep, but he didn't use it most of the time.

Dexter DeShawn was too well established as a fixer in Night City to need to yell at people. He had people for that.

"You think you worth half that?", he asked, looking at you sceptically over the top of his glasses.

Actually, you were going to say yes. But everyone else knew that wasn't the right answer. Not for him, at least.

Exhaling heavily, you rub the tiredness out of your eyes.

"How many fights do I have to win so that we can negotiate about it?"

Your feet moved and water dripped from your soles into the puddle you had left in his car. He would demand that you pay for the settlement. So another month with less than nothing in your pockets.

"Fights?", he asked back and gestured, the screws of his golden prosthetic arm jingling. "Nah, we're not talking about fights here. If you want more money you have to move up. I'm not paying for the lowest league."

Your heart skipped a beat. Everything in you tensed up. Anger boiled up inside you, crawled up your throat and made you think about punching him in the face.

Dex was fat and obviously not very athletic. It would certainly be possible to give him a few good blows before you ended up with a bullet in your skull. Your nails dug into the scuffed fabric of your bag.

No, you needed this bastard. Without him you would never have got into this league, he had sponsored you from day one and paid for your new equipment until you returned the money. He even paid the entry fees. You could never have paid them, not just like that.

Whether you wanted to or not, you were dependent on Dexter and his whims. So it was better to just keep your mouth shut and swallow that pill.

"I beat almost everyone who competed in the lowest division. I haven't lost a fight yet."

"You have.", he interrupted you.

Irritated, you frowned.

"Three, maybe four fights.", you growled. "But I've never been knocked out."

"Four fights are four too many. That means you can still improve."

"I'm listed as a middleweight. They were all heavyweights. And then immediately moved up to the fourth division. With less wins than me."

Tired, or just bored with your justifications, Dex let out a grumble and threw his head back.

"Listen, kiddo, if you want to make it big, you're going to have to sacrifice big.", his eyes roamed over your body, you could feel it. "If you put on a little weight we could sign you up for the heavyweight class too."

Your hands clenched into fists. Most of your body was muscle mass, with visible features such as a six pack and defined arms. However, that was because you were undernourished and did a lot of sport.

To put on weight and build muscle, you needed food and protein. Or a good ripper doc. You couldn't really afford either. The only chrome you had were knuckles reinforced with metal plates. That had been necessary to give your punches at least a minimal punch.

Flesh against cyberware was not a fair fight. So you had to play by the rules.

Even though you couldn't really afford it.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you forced yourself to be calm and buried your face in the damp fabric of your bag.

"Fine.", you sighed into it. "So I need to move up."

"Sure.", he gifted you a smirk that was both disgusting and hateful. "But let's be honest, that'll be a loooong time being."

Of course it would be. As long as you were stuck in the lowest division he didn't have to pay you for shit and could pocket everything else.

But as soon as you'd make it to the fourth, he'd have to invest in you. And that was what he didn't want. He wanted to earn money with you not put it in.

That was why he didn't want you to climb the ranks anyways.

You were stuck with him.