There was a very old post on your blog concerning a banana rotating faster and faster that makes me chuckle every time I think of it, but I can’t find it. I remember things like “banan A!”, “rotato faster banana!” “B! A! N! A!” “YES! FEEL THE SPED!” but none of those search terms are pulling it up. Would you reblog it if you can find it, please?
That one IS very old, here’s a reblog and some tags to make it easier to find.
birds that bob their head back and forth and peep really fast when they fly away 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌th 👌 ere👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my selｆ 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠＯOOＯOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit
This fic was previously published under the title "Before the Event Horizon."
Summary: Six months ago, V's boss at Arasaka ordered her to assassinate his rival. Instead, with the reluctant but invaluable help of her old friend Jackie Welles, she pushed them both off their thrones and claimed one for herself. Now the new Director of Arasaka Counter Intel has a problem. She's uncovered information that indicates that Yorinobu Arasaka, the heir apparent to the Arasaka dynasty, is a traitor. But without solid proof, she's forced to take matters into her own hands.
An AU in which Corpo!V never leaves Arasaka.
CHAPTER ONE: BALLAD OF A POLITICIAN
[read on ao3]
V’s eyes were glued to her leftmost monitor, incessantly rereading the international regulations on lunar base licenses. Her right monitor displayed the bios of every member of the European Space Council; her center refreshed every two minutes with the latest reports from Frankfurt. Assuming the lead she needed existed, it was buried in one of these places. A regulatory loophole, a bribe or blackmail opportunity of a key council member—if there was some potential solution, she would find it.
Without thinking, she opened her drawer and inhaled a cognitive booster. An hour had passed since her meeting time with Jenkins; she wouldn’t be able to put it off much longer. But if she couldn’t present an alternative idea to save the lunar base licenses, she knew he’d go through with his deep clean of the entire Space Council. V was unlikely to shed any tears over a bunch of useless bureaucrats, but Jenkins’ plan was a stopgap at best. They’d gain about a week, and lose more eddies in the cover up than that week was worth.
V used to admire Jenkins’ ruthless efficiency, but ever since Abernathy had fucked him over, he’d gotten careless. A stupid emotional reaction.
V’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, willing herself to come up with some new angle to try, when her stomach gave a sudden lurch. She brought up her biometrics panel on her optics display. Heart rate: elevated. Cortisol level: elevated. Daily intake report: 865 calories below optimal. It occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and she’d just taken… she counted the empty containers… four cognitive boosters in the last hour? When had that happened?
She didn’t have time to consider it any further because another lurch forced her to run to the bathroom and vomit all over the fancy black marble sink.
—
She received a call just as she was ridding herself of the last bits of her breakfast. She hadn't intended to answer it right then, but the rocking motion she made as she was throwing up caused her optics to register her eye motions as an Accept Call signal. Which meant one of her confidential informants got an earful of vomit noises.
"V," said Jackie Welles. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," V gasped. "Just needed a breather."
"Sounded like you just blew your guts airlock."
V wiped the leftover vomit off her mouth and frowned at her reflection. "Yeah," she admitted. "I barfed."
"Job's gonna kill you.” The translator in her brain had shifted the conversation to English, but it alerted her that Jackie was using Spanish. She'd have guessed so anyway. He tended to do so when he wanted to make a point. A fairly ironic point coming from a street merc.
"Yeah," V said. "Maybe I should've gotten a safe one. Like you did."
"Hey, at least I always know who's shooting at me. Sometimes even why."
V was about to respond, when one of her coworkers walked into the bathroom. She didn't recognize him, but that was no surprise considering the size of Arasaka's employee count. When he noticed her situation, he paused at the door and stared as if unsure whether he still wanted to come in.
V felt the urge to yell at him, but that was absurd. Defensiveness in a moment like this would only make her come off as even weaker. She forced herself to smile in an imitation of graceful humility.
"Sorry about the mess," she told him. "By the way, if you go to the café on level B2, don't order the burrito."
The man nodded politely before walking into a stall.
"Bad burrito, huh?" Jackie continued.
"Look, Jack, is there a particular reason you called me?"
“Damn, V. Just checking in on you. No need to get all annoyed about it.”
“I’m sorry. Just caught me at a bad time, that’s all.” V exhaled, her muscle memory leading her through the neuromotor relaxation exercises she'd learned from her life coach at Quantified Satori. “We had a leak. My boss called. Dragged me in because we had to intervene. Everyone at Night City HQ is on edge.”
“But no way you’re fucked, right? You’re the one who fixes other people’s shit.”
V nearly laughed. “If you work in Arasaka Counter Intel, you’re always fucked.”
She checked the clock on her optics. The Council would convene for the vote within the next fifteen minutes. Her time was up. “Listen, gotta go. Work won’t do itself.”
“Good luck,” he said in Spanish again, then hung up.
V took a second for one last round of the exercises, then headed out.
—
She pretended to ignore the fact that everyone in the hallways was talking about Frankfurt, but, in reality, she listened eagerly. It was as good an opportunity as any to keep her finger on the pulse of NCHQ's emerging consensus on the issue. Most of what she heard was speculation and complaints, but even those details had value. Most importantly, the general chatter confirmed that Jenkins’ reputation had tanked as much in everyone else’s eyes lately as it had in her own. Not for the first time in the last few days, she wished she’d attached her name to someone else, and she nearly cringed when she overheard someone refer to her as “Jenkins’ girl”.
About halfway to Jenkins’ office, a voice called out to her, “Hey, V. It’s been ages. It’s me, Frank. We met during Icefall. East coast, remember?”
He did look familiar. He’d grown a beard since she last saw him, and he’d installed some new cyberware, but you don’t easily forget an agent you used to do fieldwork with. Despite her tight schedule, V slowed down. Frank Nostra was Spec Ops, and there’d never been a better time to expand her circle of alliances.
“I didn’t know you were in Night City,” she said with a slight lilt. “How’ve you been?”
“Ah, you know how it is,” he continued texting as he spoke to her, but V knew better than to take that as a slight. More likely he was too busy to slow down. “A week ago I was still in Cape Town. I heard you’re in Counter Intel. Must have a shitshow on your hands right now after Frankfurt. Jenkins is your lead, right? Is he what everyone says he is?”
V decided to play it coy. “What does everyone say about Jenkins?”
“That he’s effective. Like any psychopath. Apparently, he’s gotten a little crazier lately.”
“Well,” V said. “He’s in an unfortunate position. He thought the director was planning to greenlight his promotion when the Japanese arrived, but she decided against it. I suppose he interpreted that as a betrayal. Even the best of us have been known to crack under that kind of pressure.”
Nostra stopped texting just long enough for her to tell that her insubordination had been noted. “I work for Director Abernathy, actually,” he said. “She’s really good. Came up with the whole Cape Town ploy on her own.”
“She is,” V agreed. “I’ve always thought she was an intelligent woman. You’re lucky to work under her.”
Nostra put his phone away for the moment. “You know, V, Spec Ops is always looking for new operatives. With our history, I could put in a good word for you, let Abernathy know if you’re open to a change in position.”
V smiled. “I’d appreciate that, Frank. I think it’s a good time to explore some new career opportunities.”
“Ah, you do, don’t you?” Nostra asked, his eyes narrowing. “Of course, Abernathy’s looking for the right candidate. Someone who knows how to appreciate being pulled screaming out of a raging dumpster fire.”
In a way, she envied him that lack of subtlety. He could only afford it because of his advantageous position over her. Still, even with a rotten hand, V always found this game exciting. “Of course. I think you’ll find working under Jenkins for two years has given me a lot of insight into his worldview. I’d happily share that with Abernathy.”
Nostra was already back on his phone. “Well, then I think we have an agreement. Nice seeing you, V.”
“Nice seeing you too, Frank.”
V walked away, now running later than she could excuse even in the most severe circumstances. Well, pretty soon it wouldn’t matter anymore. It’d be good to be back in the field again. The boardroom intrigue had its own appeal, but she’d been sitting in a desk chair so long that she felt eager at the thought of physical action.
She passed through the security scanners in front of Jenkins’ door, and stepped into his office.
