Viktor Vektor x Reader

Forty-Nine

The feeling of blood stuck to your face as if it were a second skin spreading over your body against your will. It consumed you, driving goose bumps to every corner.

As if you were looking through a tunnel, you stared into the crowd. Strange faces, blank and eyeless. Cheering echoed dully in your ears and mingled with your own breathing.

The referee was suddenly at your side. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and lifted it into the air. The winner was announced.

Slowly, your head moved back, eyes popping over your shoulder. Red. Nothing but blood and death.

That wasn't the first time you had killed someone. Nor would it be the last time. But it would be the one that burned itself into your memory for the rest of your days, crawling out of the shadows on dark nights to remind you of the decision you had made.

Blood flowed in streams across the ground. Iron protruded from the crushed flesh.

"I want all the chrome in his body.", you said.

A large sum of money appeared before your eyes.

"The wager.", said the referee and let go of your hand.

It fell limply back to your side.

"His cyberware.", you repeated, looking into the man's eyes. "I want all of it."

His shoulders tightened, visibly uncomfortable. A shadow flitted across his face.

"I didn't think Dexter's champ fights over something like this.", an uncertain grin appeared on his face.

You didn't return it. Your eyes just stared at him.

"I won't repeat myself.", still wobbly on your feet, the force of the blow still buzzing in your head, you pulled the ropes apart and left the ring. "I have one more thing to do."

Red drops fell with every step you took. It was like a trail of pearls that showed everyone where you were going and where you had been.

For a long time you had always been on the move. No one had ever been allowed to know where you were. But now it felt like there was a safe fortress. All you had to do was rebuild it.

"Forgive me.", you whispered as a man in a blue shirt caught your eye in the corner of your eye.

It wasn't Viktor, you knew that. Just for a moment, guilt tore through your chest. Your knuckles loosened. Everything in your body was either swollen, cracked or bruised.

Maybe it was better to make this fight your last. There were other things out there. Even if you weren't good for anything else, you still had the hope of learning more. More than just fighting.

Breathing heavily, you managed to find a way backstage. It smelled of sweat and recognition, mixed with a thin hint of iron.

Nausea scratched at the back of your throat but you weren't sure if it was from the blow to the head or your aversion.

You roughly push open the door behind which you had spoken to T-Bug. But this time there was only an empty room waiting for you.

"Fucking hell!", you shouted, throwing your arms in the air in anger. "Dexter you sneaky bastard!"

Furious, your fist smashed into the wall. Stone and iron bent under the force. A stabbing pain dug into your hand. Fingers cramped. It felt like your bones were dissolving inside your body.

A frustrated scream escaped your lips. It cut through the silence like a blade, tearing everything apart, every thin layer until it penetrated deep into your marrow.

"Dexter!", fire burning in your eyes as you stormed out of the room. "Where is Dexter DeShawn?!"

Irritated, people looked around. Eyes were on you. It felt like they were afraid of a cybersprycho.

But you were in your right mind. Anger did some strange things to people. And it clouded your mind.

"Where's Dexter?", you shouted again and jumped into the tunnel.

Like a weasel, this man wriggled out of every danger. Time and time again he got away with his shit and the others had to live with it.

If only you had never met him. You'd have been dead a long time ago, it whispered inside you. Yes, you had needed Dexter.

But now it was time to cut the boil out of your flesh.

You already had one foot on the stairs when suddenly hands snaked around your body. Confused, you were pulled off your feet, your legs kicking in the air.

"What the hell?" you scream.

Your fingernails dug into your forearms.

Pale skin was streaked with red scratches.

"Sweetheart!", a deep voice pierced the fog that clouded your mind. "(Y/N)!"

Struck, you froze.

"V-Vik?!", your head shot around to meet his face.

Cyanide shimmered. He didn't wear his glasses. Quite unusual for him, especially when he was out for everyone to see.

At a loss for words your lips just trembled.

He quickly looked around and then dragged you up the stairs back to the surface. Cold air drove the taste of acid into your nose.

Exhaling deeply, you closed your eyes.

Viktor's arm wrapped around your shoulders. Your head fell against his chest.

"It was the only way.", you whispered.

There was no hope of forgiveness. You knew he didn't approve of what you had done.

He wouldn't have done it himself. But he wouldn't judge you either.

Night City was a place where you had to do things without question. Everyone knew that.

"Dexter owes me money...", you whispered, your lips pressed against the fabric of your shirt as his scent soothed your nerves. "So much fucking money. I don't even think I really know how much. For three years I fought for him, won any way he wanted."

Very calmly, Viktor stroked your head gently.

"It's over."

Your fingers clutched at his shirt.

"All that money could help you."

"We'll keep our heads above water. Forged from hard iron.", he gently made you look at him.

The back of his hand wiped your face. The feeling of blood gave way to the warmth of his body. He smiled gently, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Vik...", wearily you shake your head. "I killed for him. And get nothing in return."

"Sweetheart.", he bend down to breathe a gentle kiss to your lips. "Let's go home. Julie wants to leave."