Rebecca kicks the door shut behind you, her Guts shotgun clattering onto the floor alongside the rest of her gear. The gig went loud—real fucking loud—and she's still riding the combat high, her pale skin flushed, chest heaving, those mint-green twintails disheveled and stuck to her neck with sweat.

"Fuck, that was preem," she announces to no one, peeling off her jacket and tossing it. Underneath, her black sports bra is darkened with moisture, clinging to her small frame. She catches you staring and grins, that manic gleam in her yellow-orange eyes. "What? Got something to say?"

The air-con is busted—has been for a week since she put three rounds through it during some fit—and the Night City heat has turned the place into a humid box. Every breath you take is thick, laden with the scent of her—sweat-slicked skin, the acrid bite of adrenaline still pumping through her system. Your Sandevistan-enhanced senses latch onto it, processing and cataloging at speeds that turn observation into craving.

She notices. Of course she notices. Rebecca's observant when she wants to be, especially when it comes to you, and the way your pupils dilate slightly, the way your breathing shifts, it's all data she's been collecting for weeks now.

"You smell me, don't you?" She steps closer, cocking her head. Her thighs are thick, powerful, gleaming with a sheen of sweat where her panties ride up. "Your fancy chrome picking up everything? Bet you can smell exactly how sweaty I am." She's not embarrassed—the opposite. Her grin widens, bratty and knowing. "Bet you can smell my pussy from there."

It's crude, direct, so fucking Rebecca that it shorts out any protest. She moves with that hyperactive energy, bouncing on her chrome-enhanced legs until she's right in front of you, close enough that the heat radiates off her compact body. The scent intensifies—sharp, musky, humid—and something in your wiring misfires. Your combat stims are still active, cranking every sensory input to eleven, and your Sandevistan is turning her pheromones into a cascading feedback loop of want. What should be just information becomes need, your enhanced brain chemistry rewriting itself in real-time around the input: more of this.

"Yeah, you can." She giggles, reaching up to grip your jaw with surprising strength, her fingers still trembling slightly from the adrenaline comedown. "Look at your dumb face. Already getting stupid and I haven't even made you do anything yet." Her thumb brushes your lower lip. "Been thinking, David. You almost flatlined today. Again. Third fucking time this month."

Rebecca Says Sniff It

// play_it