Viktor Vektor x Reader

Eleven

What did it mean to be alive?

To breathe and sleep every day?

To be able to do whatever one pleased to?

No. It wasn't any of this.

Even though it was incredibly full of yourself to say so, but you believed to know the answer now.

To be alive meant to choose whatever one desired and then suffer with the consequences.

Consequences.

Most of the time people pretended those were minor things. Like a burned tongue if the tea didn't cool down enough before having a sip.

Parents often taught their kids that consequences only came with wrongdoings.

But what had you done wrong other than fight?

A boxer was supposed to win. Otherwise they weren't considered real fighters. It had been your duty to beat her.

So why did you have to deal with the consequences now even though you did everything right?

A low groan escaped your chipped lips as the soft sound of an aircon reached your ears. It made you frown, made it feel like your brain was about to liquify and pour out of your ears.

The taste of vomit scratched in your throat. But as a gag reflex made you want to throw up, your stomach just clenched.

It was empty.

"Sober stomach. Best requirements to start cutting.", there was this voice, low and rough.

It was so deep that it almost felt like every word vibrated on the surface of your skin. Like the touch of a hand but it reached all the way down to your core.

Something inside you tingled.

You felt at ease, light, as if your body had no weight.

No, that wasn't exactly right. You didn't feel your body at all. The only weight you had to carry was the one of your own mind. Slow thoughts made your brain feel tough like honey dripping from a spoon.

Light flashed your vision. It was like a bright lightning, faded into red and then settled in a darker tone of flesh. Your eyes were closed. The lids felt heavy as you tried to force them open.

You thought you could feel a tear run down your cheek.

But there was no pain.

Again, you groaned and sucked in a sharp breath.

There was pressure on your body. Somewhere. Yet you weren't sure where exactly. Maybe it was just your legs, numb from fighting.

Or it was the pressure that pressed down on your temples.

Or it was your body entirely.

Tired, you moved your head. It fell onto your shoulder in a heavy manner.

"Easy, sweetheart.", there was the voice again, so claiming and friendly. "I'll fix you. Don't worry."

Even though you didn't know what was going on or where you were there was no panic that made you want to jump up and run.

You felt at ease. Relaxed enough even to be in the mood for a nap.

Out of reflex, you tried to move your fingers. They flinched, but only for a moment before something thin pierced your flesh.

It was only for a brief second and you only realised what it was after it was already gone again.

"Anaesthesia. I need you to not move.", he said, because it was definitely the voice of a man who tried to soothe your nerves. "I'd offer you a beer with it, but... uh, maybe now isn't a good time for that."

How considerate he sounded.

Your first guess would have been a ripper doc.

But what ripper picked up a beaten street punk to patch them up again?

You didn't have any impressive cyberware anyways. Only a couple of bucks had been invested into your body. It would have been a lost cause to steal that from you anyways.

Your eyes became heavy again. The anaesthesia started to kick in. It made your entire body tired and weary.

But you didn't want to fall asleep.

He had said it was necessary for you to not move. But if you were awake, unable to control your body, it would have been fine.

Wouldn't it?

You felt the need to look at him. You wanted to meet his gaze and say thank you. Or at least ask him why he felt the need to help you.

No, this wasn't help. Night City didn't give handouts and neither did the people that lived in it. This was a bargain. He would patch you up, maybe even get you back on your feet.

This was a matter of the price. Surely, he wanted something in return for saving your life.

Yes, that was probably it. It had to be.

The pressure roamed your body, maybe it was his hands or some tools he used.

A groan slipped off your lips once more. This time it was heavier, a clear indicator that you were struggling.

He must have been a good ripper, because he stopped. Wheels of a chair chased across a bare stone floor. All of a sudden something hovered over you. But it was hard to tell what it was. Your eyes were still sealed shut.

"Are you feeling nauseous?", the voice asked.

Unable to form words, you just sighed and managed to nodded slowly.

"Taste of blood in your mouth?"

Again, you nodded and swallowed to moisten your throat that was as dry as the badlands outside the city borders.

"Any pain?", pressure appeared on your head as he asked.

It wasn't an unpleasant kind of pressure. Just a hand that caressed your forehead to check for the temperature.

The sound of wheels reached your ears again, then the sound of fingers that tapped on a screen.

"Your temperature is fine but a little higher than I'd like it to be.", it was strange how he felt the need to tell you what he thought of the situation. "I'll give you some thermo regulators."

Something chased through your body. A feeling made your heart beat faster.

Pills jiggled inside a plastic container. A lid screwed open.

He hovered over you. Next thing you knew there was something that he tried to push between your lips. A pill.

You refused it.

He stopped.

"What's wrong?", he asked. "Don't want it?"

You shook your head.

"I... I- can... t...", the words died down. "Ex... pensive..."

"Hm...", how his voice vibrated when he made this sound. "Don't you worry, sweetheart. Good ol' Vik won't charge you."