Chapter 64

Angie straightened up on the couch and slowly slid off her short, golden bolero jacket. Without it, her black top seemed even more daring, barely covering the sides of her breasts. I could see waves of goosebumps rippling across her skin—proof of heightened sensitivity from the drug she'd just taken.

"Happiness..." Angie purred, brushing her neck with one hand. "If we simplify science's take on it, it comes down to four substances: serotonin, endorphins, oxytocin, and dopamine. There's more to it, sure, but these four are the heavy hitters. And let's face it, we care about practicality, not theory. The entire biochemistry of happiness revolves around them."

Right. Like the lyrics from that track inspired by Breaking Bad:

"All of these changes that you see

Maybe it's all just chemistry

You've made a monster out of me

Baby, it's all just chemistry."

It's just chemistry, babe. Still, I'd spent years without a body, yet I felt emotions—motivations, even. Reducing it all to hormones and neurotransmitters seemed reductive. But there was no denying that, in the Net, I missed the physical chemistry that made life feel whole.

Meanwhile, Angie continued her semi-bare lecture.

"Serotonin's the simplest, easiest one to understand."

She snapped her fingers, and a small, harmless drone zipped out of the adjoining room, carrying a metal tray in its magnetic grips. The centerpiece? A charming little chocolate fountain, flanked by fresh strawberries and banana slices.

"All real?" I smirked. "Or synthesized?"

"Real, of course. Not that synthetic crap—top-quality GMO," she assured me.

In my old world, that'd sound like a joke. But here, most crops had gone through countless cycles of modification—an effort to save them from climate change and biological warfare. Case in point: the U.S. government once released a virus to wipe out Latin America's coca crops, only for it to wreck plenty of non-drug agriculture, too.

Angie plucked a strawberry with her fingertips, then slowly licked off a layer of chocolate from one side. There was a skill to the motion—an unhidden desire that started to infect me like a virus. My focus wavered, shifting to the curves of her body, though I still tried to listen.

"Serotonin's tied to food, vitamins, sunlight. Its pleasure is steady, reliable. It helps you handle stress—a simple, pleasant little substance. Barely any issues, really. Serotonin syndrome exists, but it's no big deal if your biomods are solid."

I grabbed a strawberry myself. I wasn't hungry, but hey—this was a lecture and a demo. The chocolate tasted legit, surprisingly rich. Fresh strawberry sealed the deal.

"Next up's endorphins?" I asked.

"Yep. You've heard of opium, right? The natural narcotic? Had all of China hooked back in the day."

"Yeah, I've heard."

"Well, endorphins are our body's homemade opioids."

"Technically, opioids are artificial endorphin substitutes," I noted, watching the sunset rays play across Angie's tanned skin.

Then again, in this world, the line between artificial and natural had blurred long ago.

"Endorphins block pain and bring euphoria. Athletes know them well."

Angie stood up and began peeling off her tight leggings. The demonstration was getting real interesting. She stood sideways, showing off the toned musculature of her legs.

"Muscles ache, but it feels good," she said with a smile, stretching her leg in front of me. "Runner's high, and all that. A newbie struggles to hit the gym; once they're hooked, you can't get them to leave. It's not just endorphins, of course, but they play a big part. Let's move on to the good stuff."

She stepped out of her leggings, shooed the drone away, then crouched in front of me. Her hands, adorned with extravagant bracelets, rested on my thighs. She tossed her cap aside and laid her head on my knee, nuzzling like a contented cat.

"Oxytocin..." she breathed. "Some call it the love hormone. Trust, affection, tenderness—the urge to lose yourself in someone else. All of that's oxytocin. A beautiful little chemical, don't you think?"

Angie stood again, straddling my knee, her lower back grinding against it in short, deliberate movements.

"But it's got a dangerous side," she whispered in my ear. "Can you guess what?"

"Trust isn't always a good thing."

"Exactly. But that's just part of it. Oxytocin boosts loyalty—not just to the person next to you, but to groups, to leaders you've never even met. Patriotism, fanatical devotion, gang wars—that's oxytocin too. The love hormone... indispensable in warfare. And now, for the last one."

She loosened my shirt collar and planted a hot kiss on my neck before continuing:

"Dopamine. Movement, setting goals, achieving results in any form. A netrunner cracking a code, an A+ on a test, or the severed head of your enemy—it's all dopamine. It's the carrot we dangle in front of ourselves, the light that lures us forward. You, V, reek of dopamine. Your brilliant little brain..." Her hand ran over the back of my head. "It's practically swimming in the stuff."

"And is that a bad thing?"

Angie smirked.

"Dopamine's dark side is excess. Work for the sake of work. If there's too much, it's like a void—always needing to be filled. That's what drives careerists and greedy psychos. Look around; you'll see them on campaign posters, in corporate boardrooms. People who'll never have enough. Want to be one of them?"

I thought of Susan, her thoughts I'd absorbed and processed.

"They worry," Angie went on, "climbing higher and higher. Junkies, upping their dose every time. Once I understood that, the world made a lot more sense. Why corpos and politicians will sacrifice everything—other people, even themselves? Many of them are just addicts. And what'll a junkie do for their next hit? Anything."

She laughed softly, running her fingers through my hair. "You wanna control everything, but are you in control of your drive to control? Want to find out? Let me give you a shot."

"What's in it?"

"The first three—serotonin, a little endorphin, and a hefty dose of oxytocin. All calibrated to hit you straight in the brain. Nanomachines, baby."

"Convenient," I said dryly. "Dose someone with trust hormones, then offer a deal. How long've you been running that racket?"

"I took it too," she replied with a sly grin. "Call it my show of faith. Half the dose for me, half for you. Think it over—message your ripper, look it up. Just hurry, please..." She shifted on my leg, her tone turning needy. "I really want your attention."

Message a ripper? Actually, not a bad idea.

"Yeah, one sec," I said. "I'll write, not call."

Using my optics, I snapped a picture of the syringe. The label looked factory-made. Sent it to Vik with a quick question: "How dangerous is this?"

His reply didn't take long.

Vik answered quickly.

"If you trust the source, it's fine. But don't drive afterward or hang out in hostile company. This stuff was made to treat sociopathy, nervous breakdowns, and psychopathy. Honestly, it might even do you some good. Maybe you'll rethink sending teenagers into deathmatches."

"Alright," I sighed. "Go ahead, give me the shot."

"You won't regret it."

Angie slipped off my jacket, gave an approving nod at the armored vest underneath, and rolled up my shirt sleeve. There was a light prick, and then... the effect hit fast. Nanomachines, son. Angie's custom cocktail splashed into my dopamine-soaked brain like a wave of pure euphoria.

"Well?" she asked.

"Mmm..." I glanced at her and realized I wanted nothing more than to kiss her for a very long time. "It's working. Hits harder than regular chems. And... interesting. But seriously, can't we humans live without getting high?"

"That's just how it is," she said with a smirk. "Mother Nature made us all junkies. Our neglectful single mom... and Daddy God kicked us out of paradise into this massive ghetto called Earth. How can you not get hooked?"

As she spoke, I found myself groping her chest shamelessly, noticing how every touch drew soft moans from her.

"See? Feels good, doesn't it?" she teased.

"Yeah. It's like..."

"Like you're in love?"

Damn. I didn't want to admit it, but I did feel a strong rush of emotions for a girl I'd only met twice—and was now touching for the first time. Was that her plan all along?

"Don't worry," Angie murmured, unfastening my vest. "It'll pass. You'll just have some very... pleasant memories. Let's make those memories now."

From that moment, things escalated quickly. Talking stopped entirely. Our communication shifted to touch. Angie stripped off the rest of her clothes first, then I followed suit. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, and the sensations were incredible—not just being touched but doing the touching. Empathy overflowed, turning every moment into something raw and deeply intimate.

It was as intense as my first nights with Lucy, but this time, I was in a whole different physical league. Even compared to Angie, I wasn't lagging. Micro-rotors pumped blood, artificial lungs kept it oxygen-rich, and my brain stayed sharp and fueled by a steady drip of adrenaline. I didn't tire. Fatigue felt like a distant concept.

Position after position, hour after hour—it felt endless. Not that I minded. We moved through increasingly wild and acrobatic positions. Supporting her mid-air with one arm? Easy. I had top-notch cyberlimbs. Angie braced herself against the wall, lifting her right leg like a gymnast, holding it high and steady as I pushed forward.

It was surreal.

I could feel how far we'd pushed past human limits. Synthetic demigods. Instead of Olympus—a skyscraper. Instead of nectar and ambrosia—hormones and nanomachines.

Rebecca's cheeky suggestion to activate the Sandevistan at my peak crossed my mind. My body felt great, so why not give it a shot? I sped up, chasing that moment.

And I caught it.

The sensations that flooded my nerves were indescribable. It felt like I might either take flight or explode into radiant happiness, setting off a chain reaction that would have all of Night City hugging and throwing the biggest orgy in human history. Time seemed to freeze. It was as if Angie and I had left the physical world, fucking on some astral plane filled with 95% pure nirvana.

When it finally ended—somehow—I collapsed onto the bed, drenched in sweat and struggling to catch my breath.

"You accelerated, didn't you?" Angie asked, draping a leg over me.

"Was it that obvious?"

She laughed and kissed my cheek. "Yes, V. When someone's getting railed at near-supersonic speed, it's very noticeable."

"Mmm. Got it. Everything okay? I didn't, uh, mess you up or anything?"

"Everything's fucking perfect."

"Well..." I checked in with my own body, then smirked. "Shall we continue?"

"Of course. But slowly this time. Give the nerves a break."

And so we did.

By early morning, when exhaustion finally caught up to us, we lay entwined on the bed, her head resting lightly on my chest.

"Did you really need my help that badly?" I asked. "Or were you just looking for a discount?"

"Maybe I just like you," she replied with a teasing grin.

"Come on, tell me the truth. I'm physically incapable of taking offense right now."

"First, I think it's better to have you as a friend. Call it instinct. Second, you're not bad—especially for a former corpo. And third... I think you needed this. Not just the sex. To relax. To see life differently for a bit. To step off your dopamine treadmill and enjoy some other parts of life."

Huh. Maybe she was right. Or maybe it was the trust drug talking. Then again, if I was even asking myself those questions, my critical thinking wasn't completely shot. 

The thing was good. Really good. But one dose wasn't going to rewrite my whole personality. Not here, anyway. That'd take a full course.

"Let's sleep," Angie murmured.

"Together?"

"Do you want to leave?"

"No."

When I woke up, she was still sound asleep, wrapped in a tangle of sheets, her curves unapologetically on display. She had no plans of getting up.

"Angie?" I whispered.

"Later," she mumbled, barely moving.

"You mentioned you needed something from me?" I teased, watching her stretch lazily.

"Yeah..." she said through a yawn. "The shard's in the right pocket of my jacket. Call me if you're on board..."

Her words trailed off as she yawned again.

I smirked, lightly slapping her thigh. "What if I need more convincing?"

"Later... You don't sleep enough. High cortisol. Relax more..." Another yawn swallowed her words.

Fine. No point tormenting the sleepy cat. I showered, dressed, and found the shard. Before leaving, I ran my fingers from her hip to her ankle. The touch was... oddly satisfying. The shot was still working. Warmth and calmness sloshed inside me—a strange but pleasant mix.

I fought the urge to crawl back into bed and stepped out into the hallway. My body felt great, alive, whole, but my mind was clear—no crashes or comedowns like the old days. It wasn't like the stimulants I used to pop like candy. Whatever this stuff was, it left me feeling... balanced. Not the best mindset for Night City, maybe, but once in a while? Yeah, it was good.

Walking toward the elevator, I chuckled at how paranoid I'd been last night, checking surveillance footage and wondering if Angie planned to kill me. Now, that thought seemed absurd. Still, curiosity tugged at me. I reached out to the cameras again, just to test something.

I found a janitor one floor up through a lens. Poor guy had basic ice, easy to bypass. I slipped in and synced with him, controlling his movements. It took longer than usual—more memory drain—but I managed. For five minutes, I saw through his eyes, even pretended to mop. But... no cold, no detachment. I felt... normal.

When I returned to my own body, I was stunned. No lingering chill. My hands were warm, and I still felt great. That shot of Angie's hadn't just dampened my abilities—it erased the usual side effects.

Huh.

Heading for the elevator, I replayed Angie's words. Serotonin and endorphins for stress relief, oxytocin for grounding the nervous system. That shot had anchored me to my body. Could it counter the strain of overusing my powers? Say, if I overexerted like with Abernathy, could this replace the usual post-shock meds? Worth experimenting.

These little shots will definitely come in handy if I ever need a real heart-to-heart with someone, and alcohol alone won't cut it.

"How was your stay?" asked the staff member walking me out.

"Perfect," I replied, and it wasn't a lie.

While waiting for Panam's car, I started scanning the info on the shard Angie had given me. The job the Animals were offering didn't surprise me. It was pretty much what I expected.

Lately, strange things had been happening during competitions in Night City and across California. Clear favorites—or at least strong contenders—were losing due to sudden health issues. Nothing life-threatening, just things like stomach cramps at the worst moment or random lapses in focus causing them to trip on flat ground. A split-second mistake, but it completely changed the outcome of the competition.

Angie worked in the fringe of the sports business: pharma, training courses, but most importantly… betting. The Animals used to rake in tons of eddies from wagers, while respected people in various corporations laundered their dirty money. They'd buy inside info on results, and their trusted people would place the "safe" bets. But now, that money-cleansing machine was glitching. The "respected" folks were pissed. Everyone was losing money.

When these "coincidences" started stacking up, it became clear that a highly skilled netrunner was tampering with implants. Problem was, a few hired runners hadn't found anything. Now, all their hopes were pinned on me.

As I mulled it over, a message from Misty popped up:

"Hi friends. The end of the year is near. Let's try to cross this threshold with mindfulness and clean hearts. Let's not just exchange gifts, but reflect on…"

And so on, in her usual style. New cycles, karma cleansing, transitions to higher states of being.

Still, I had to thank Misty. For me, '77 will be a real game-changer. But let's take a look on what I already accomplished: I'd knocked Abernathy off her Arasaka throne, settled the club situation, put Slider six feet under, neutralized the Jory blackmail, and now had this netrunner hunt for Angie lined up.

Next on the list? Preparing for the Konpeki Plaza op. And this time, under my lead, it's not going to be a suicide mission.