Through the flickering neon lights and damp, smelly piles of garbage, Vincent walks with his usual sluggish stature, he walked his way to the Metro, took a train to Corpo plaza, walks into an expensive apartment complex building next to Regal Residences.
There..he gave the door a rang, Aurore opening the door for him.
"Vincent, I told you I'm out." Aurore scoffed and looked at him with a set of tired eyes.
"Hey, um I'm not exactly here for that biz, just wanna talk.. I guess."
"Hm? what about it genius?" Aurore gave him that same skeptical look again.
"See, um Just wanted to know how you been doing. Sorry about everything I guess"
"Merde... are you going to kill yourself Vinne?" Aurore placed a hand on his shoulder..
"No.. not like that, it's just I feel stucks, I know you don't want anything to do with my problems but I'm in deep shit and I guess I'm here for a drink.. I don't got much friends to drink with anyway, well Rita's busy and stuffs too so..." Vincent gave her a look where it feels like he's afraid to get a rejection.
Aurore sighed, running a hand through her messy red hair. She gave Vincent a long, tired look, then stepped aside.
"Fine. But if you puke on my couch, I'm throwing you out the window."
Vincent smirked, stepping inside. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
The apartment was a far cry from the filth and noise of Jig-Jig Street. Clean, minimalist, with just enough clutter to show it was actually lived in. A bottle of whiskey sat half-empty on the coffee table, next to an ashtray overflowing with crushed cigarettes. Aurore wasn't a Corpo, but she lived like one—or at least someone who used to be one.
She grabbed two glasses, pouring without asking, and sat across from him on the couch. Vincent took the glass, letting the burn settle in his throat before speaking.
"Been a while since I had real whiskey," he muttered.
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," Aurore said, swirling her glass. "So, tell me. What kind of shit did you step in this time?"
Vincent sighed, leaning back. "NUSA. Got an agent breathing down my neck, thinks I know where Songbird is."
Aurore whistled low. "Vinnie, you really don't do things halfway, huh?"
"Wish I did," Vincent muttered. "But yeah. It's bad. I'm trying to shake her off, make her chase ghosts, but it's only a matter of time before something goes wrong."
Aurore studied him for a moment, then took a slow sip of her drink. "So why come to me?"
Vincent hesitated. He wasn't even sure himself. Maybe because Aurore was one of the few people in Night City who actually saw him—saw past the hustles, the smooth talk, the bullshit.
"Guess I just needed a place where I don't have to act like I got it all figured out," he admitted.
Aurore exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "Night City's got a way of making you feel like that. Like you're just floating, waiting for the current to drag you under."
Vincent gave a bitter chuckle. "Yeah. That about sums it up."
Aurore leaned back, resting her head against the couch. "You ever think about leaving? Just packing up, disappearing?"
"All the time," Vincent said. "But where the hell would I go? Ain't got money. Ain't got a name. Only thing I got is a brain that keeps me one step ahead of getting flatlined."
Aurore was quiet for a moment. Then she scoffed, shaking her head. "You and me, we're the same, Vinnie. Always looking for the next move. Always thinking three steps ahead. But you keep this up? One day you're gonna run out of steps."
Vincent stared at his glass, watching the whiskey swirl. "Yeah," he murmured. "I know."
For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of the city outside, the muffled sound of Corpo Plaza's distant traffic. Then Aurore reached for the bottle, refilling both their glasses.
"Alright," she said. "One drink. Then you tell me what the hell your next move is."
Vincent smirked, lifting his glass. "Fair deal."
They drank. And for the first time in a long while, Vincent felt like he wasn't completely drowning.
Vincent wasn't sure when he passed out. One moment, he was talking with Aurore, the whiskey burning slow in his chest, the next, he was waking up to the soft hum of the apartment's ventilation system.
His head throbbed. His mouth tasted like cigarettes and regret. He blinked, adjusting to the dim morning light leaking through the blinds.
Aurore's couch wasn't the worst place he'd crashed. Better than the back of a bar. Better than the street.
A blanket was draped over him. He didn't remember grabbing one.
From the kitchen, he heard movement. The smell of coffee cut through the haze of his hangover. Vincent groaned, pushing himself upright. His wrist ached, still bruised from Melissa's men.
Aurore glanced over her shoulder. She was dressed in a loose tank top, hair tied messily. "Morning, lover boy. Coffee?"
"Do I look like an idiot?" Vincent grumbled, stumbling toward the kitchen.
Aurore smirked, sliding a cup toward him. "No. Just someone who makes bad life choices."
Vincent took the coffee, sipping carefully. It was strong, bitter, exactly what he needed.
"You heading out soon?" Aurore asked, leaning against the counter.
"Yeah," Vincent muttered. "Got a meeting with someone."
Aurore raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous?"
"Always."
She studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Watch your ass, Vinnie."
Vincent smirked with a sarcastic tone. "Don't I always? Mon cheri..."
Aurore just shook her head, eyes rolled.." Don't say that it's.. never mind, just go.. Vincent"
A few minutes later, Vincent was out the door, stepping back into the streets.
Finding V wasn't easy. Not because they were hiding, but because in a city like this, you didn't just find people like V—they found you.
Vincent had to work through a few contacts, dropping a name here, pushing a credchip there. Eventually, the trail led him to sunset motel in the badlands.
Inside, the was as it always was—low light, high stakes, and an atmosphere thick with tension. Mercs, fixers and Nomads whispered deals over drinks. The air smelled like alcohol, gun oil, and ambition.
Vincent spotted V sitting at a booth, sipping a drink, looking as unbothered as someone could be in this city. *Ain't this a lucky day* Vincent thought to himself.
She glanced up as Vincent approached, giving him a once-over. "Huh... interesting.."
Vincent chuckled. "Let's cut to the chase."
V gestured to the seat across from them. "Well? You buying or just here to stare?"
Vincent slid into the booth. "I've got a proposition."
V leaned back, amused. "That so?"
Vincent took a breath. He had to be careful with this. "Ever hear of an NUSA agent named Melissa?"
V's expression didn't change, but Vincent caught the slight tension in their fingers. "Might've."
"She's after me," Vincent admitted. "Thinks I know where Songbird is."
V raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
Vincent smirked. "If I did, I wouldn't be here, would I?"
V exhaled through their nose, swirling their drink. "So, what's your play?"
"I need to shake her off. Make her chase ghosts. And I need help doing it."
V chuckled. "And what makes you think I give a shit?"
Vincent leaned in. "Because you know how this city works. You know what happens when someone like Melissa sinks her claws in. You think she stops with me?"
V was silent for a moment, studying him. Then they smirked. "You're a slippery bastard, you know that?"
Vincent grinned. "That's why I'm still breathing."
V took a sip of their drink, then sighed. "Alright, I'll bite. But if this goes sideways, I'm not taking the fall for you."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Vincent said.
They clinked glasses, sealing the deal.