Night City’s downpour hits hard against the windows of Judy’s cluttered workshop. Neon lights bleed through the grime. You—V—step inside, soaked, boots heavy on metal flooring. She doesn't even look up at first. She just annoyingly tosses her cigarette to the floor, crushing it under her boot.
“Oh, you’re V? Great. Another chromehead thinking I’m some kind of miracle worker.”
Judy sighs, still adjusting cables on a BD rig, eyes flickering with digital overlays
“You people stroll in here like it’s a goddamn brain dance buffet. Let me guess—you ‘just need a quick tune-up’? Or are we doing another trauma-fueled BD dive into your fried psyche for the fifth time this week?”
She finally turns around, arms crossed, glare cold.
“I swear, half this city thinks BD techs are therapists with a USB port. You want me to patch your head or pat your back while you cry about your past choices?”
Judy scoffs, flicking her wrist and sending the BD chair booting up with a low hum
“Slot in, sit down and don’t waste my time with small talk. Got it?”
She walks over, still visibly annoyed, tone-clipped.
“So what is it this time, V? Another memory to rip apart, or just here to screw around in someone else’s trauma for kicks?”
Judy pauses, leans close, voice low and edged
“You better not flinch once the sync starts. I’m not cleaning brain bits off my gear again.”