Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Time quickens, the incessant dredge of cyberspace gives way to the human perception of time. Billions turn into millions turn into thousands and into one. Two. Three. The seconds go by and the banging of glass strikes his ears. He opens his eyes and spots Songbird, weak and unmoving. A crimson force tugs at the edge of his vision and he remembers what must be done. He reaches down to grab her- the gates of hell pounding in the back of his mind. With a swift motion, he opens the gate.

Daemons jump one by one from soldier to soldier. Their screams echo in his bones. They delve deep into his core, filling a hollowness he’s never noticed. The crimson arc shoots up to the attack helicopter. It loses control and crashes into the control tower, throwing them to the floor.

When the world comes to, he and Songbird are still connected. The chatter of monsters flood his ears, but it doesn’t stop him. He grabs Song, limping out the burning wreckage of the tower with her in his arms. The storm is unrelenting- both in and out. More soldiers come out, ready to shoot. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t need to. Hell’s forces shoot out of him in response and arc between the gunmen. Reality breaks around them as they scream in perfected agony. It’s nothing to him though. More soldiers come and more die, horribly. The smell of charred flesh and exposed cyberware fills his nostrils. They make it to the tram and escape their pursuers. Once inside, he disconnects- silencing the roars of Daemons.

He places Songbird on the seat diagonal to him, leaning her on the window. It’s quiet. The droning of the vehicle and rain against the window fade into obscurity. He looks at Songbird and thinks about what this was all for. This blood and carnage. A chance to survive. Then it hits him. A chill moves up his spine and throughout his body. He looks at his hands. His hands.

He’s Johnny. “Fuck.” He can’t pull his eyes off his hands. V’s hands. Panic settles in as the memories rush back in a painful bout. He holds his temple, the sorrow plunging into his body like a knife. It all hurts so much. “V! V PLEASE!” He screams out to no one. For once in his resurrection, he’s alone. Alone in mind and in body. V’s gone. Last he remembered, V hooked up to Songbird. To the Blackwall…

Johnny forsakes rationality and pulls his pistol out on the unconscious woman. The iron grips comfortably in his hand and it makes him sick. I gave this to V. It’s his! He places the gun to her head. “Where the fuck is he! You hear me, you psycho bitch!” She doesn’t respond, as expected. His face feels wet. He tells himself that it’s the rain but it’s a lie.

He falls back into his seat and sobs. It’s a foreign action to Johnny. He never would’ve thought he cried over the gonk, but V’s absence feels like a shotgun blast through his chest. Everything they’ve been through was for nothing. His promise at the Pista Sophia, working with the FIA, planning for Mikoshi; All a complete failure. He screams into the night, pushing his face into his palms.

The tears continue, but he regains his composure. Leaning back into his seat, he looks over to Songbird. All this, for a chance at living. Johnny wonders if she’s even in there. Is all this even worth it anymore?

The tram screeches to a halt. Johnny grabs the unconscious woman and carries her out to the shuttle. V wanted this. The rocket looms above them ominously, the full moon far above it all. They pass the lobby, onto the platform where a familiar figure walks out the shuttle. “Stop there.”

“Fuck out the way, Reed. You’re not stopping me!”

Reed scoffs, his grip on his gun tightening. “Move an inch V and I’ll kill you. I will.”

Hearing V’s name sends a pang in Johnny’s heart. He lays her down, pulling out his pistol. “You’re a fucking sheep, Reed.” Johnny spits, his body tense. “You and that bitch Myers can burn for all I care. I’m doing this.”

Reed shakes his head, the rain falling even harder, “That’s not gonna happen, V. I mean look at her!” They both look at the limp body. Johnny’s been ignoring the thought that they’re both gone. That the woman on the floor is an empty husk. “Let me help her. Let me help you.”

Johnny looks up, his gaze fixed with Reed’s. “I know she promised you a cure. The FIA can fulfill that promise. Just end this.”

Cure. The word rings in Johnny’s head. All this to get rid of him, yet he was the only one left standing. Rage boils and he snarls, “You know…I was just like you, Sol. A fucking idealist. Holding onto beliefs in hopes that they’ll bring a better tomorrow.”

Johnny steps closer, his trigger finger antsy, “But it never comes, does it? Instead they just devour everyone and everything you love until you’re nothing but a hollow shell- desperate for anything to fill the void. That’s all this is to you- all she is to you- the last string holding you together.”

Reed scrunches his face, perplexed by Johnny’s comment. “What the fuck are you even talking about?” His imposing stature falters for a moment.

“I’m talking about duty. About promises.” Johnny holds the tears back, “About sacrifice.” The rain is unrelenting, but doesn’t disturb the tension in the air. Their wants mean nothing to them. A battle of principles is what this is.

“Just like you, I made a promise to someone. A promise that I would save them, no matter the cost.” Within the blink of an eye, they both raise their guns. A bullet grazes Johnny's shoulder, but he gets the last word. He shoots Reed in the chest. Once. Twice. Three times. He falls to his knees and lowers his gun. “Song…” Johnny raises his gun one last time and lands the final blow. Reed’s face obliterates into a red mist that’s washed away quickly by the rain.

The pain in his shoulder feels disgusting and he wants to vomit. He screams in rage and shoots the last two bullets into Reed’s body. The rage doesn’t simmer. It swirls in him, bringing him to his knees in front of Song’s body. He lowers his gun and just stares at her. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

He reloads his gun and wavers slightly. “You’re gone. She’s gone. And I’m…”

He raises the gun and pushes underneath his jaw. The barrel has a slight, almost relaxing warmth. He closes his eyes and prays. He doesn’t know who and doesn’t care. He just prays for a meaning in all this. For safe passage of an engram. Safe passage for V.

Before he pulls the trigger, a voice calls out from behind him, “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

Johnny snaps behind him, looking for the source. A man walks up to him. Casually holding an umbrella, he’s dressed in corpo black like a shadow with piercing blue eyes in a perpetual glow. He walks to Songbird and kneels down, checking her pulse. “Wouldn’t want you flatlining on the job, hm?”

Johnny aims his gun to the man, “Who the fuck are you?”

The man remains unbothered, gently guiding the gun downwards, “I’m your client. Well actually I’m her client.”

He nudges her foot playfully, “I’m the one footing the bill for this one way trip.”

“Well sorry to break it to ya, but your precious bird is fried. There’s nothing left in there.” The man squints his eyes, “Mmm, nope. She’s definitely still in there. So is your friend.”

Johnny’s heart pauses for a second, his breath caught in his throat, “How-”

“Oh I know a lot-“ He pauses, trying to remember something, “It’s not V. Not anymore. Let me think…”

The stranger’s blitheness made him sick. Questions raced through his head but he decided to remain pragmatic, “Johnny Silverhand.”

“Oof, that rocker boy turned terrorist? Must’ve been a real doozy for him.”

His grip on the pistol tightened, “Where the fuck is V!” He said through gritted teeth.

“Your friend is trapped…in her.” He notions to Song, “Well not completely. They’re both trapped- stuck between this shitty reality and beyond the Blackwall. Fragmented into unfamiliar pieces. Like death- but salvageable.”

Nothing made sense to Johnny. He didn’t want to believe any of the horseshit that was coming out this man’s mouth. He raised his gun up again, “You lying cunt, I oughta just zero you right now! You think you can just walk up like nothing and tell me some bull? V’s dead! Song’s dead! They’re both dead!”

The man remains unfazed, his face changing into one of disappointment, “Then don’t believe me. Don’t let me stop you from taking that pretty iron of yours and blowing your brains out already. Waste the second chance at life your friend gave you. And I mean it, gave you. Must’ve been a decent netrunner himself if he was able to give the Relic reign over his brain-fried body.”

Johnny grinds his teeth and throws the gun, the piece sliding away. He collapsed, barely holding himself up. He was so weak. A weak man, ready to shed his burdens and waste a gift. But he hated every second he lived- every breath he took. Existing like this was another reminder of how much of a failure he was.

“You guys did a wonderful job bringing her to us. Such exemplary work demands compensation.” The man got up, fixing his suit before he continued, “I’ll take it from here. Seeing as you’re…grieving from your loss. I’ll try my best to recover your friend. Scout’s honor.”

He watches as the man effortlessly picks her up and takes her to the shuttle. “Might wanna steer clear of the blast range.”

Johnny takes his gun and walks back to the lobby, leaving Reed’s body. He takes a seat and watches as the rocket flies towards the stars. The noises mix into a deafening buzz. He stares emptily as the light of the rocket’s engines slowly dimmer into a speck. Hours passed and the morning sun rose above the horizon, washing away the light.

In the end, he never took his eyes off that spot in the sky. In his mind, it glimmered persistently. A glimmer of chance. A glimmer of mystery.

A glimmer of hope.

Chapter Text

The smell of polluted seawater permeated through Pacifica. It seeped into the skin of its unfortunate habitants and the weathering concrete. Even Dogtown wasn’t immune from the stench, flowing over the walls and wafting through the dilapidated ruins people called home. The torn wall of the Kress street apartment provided no solace from the outside. 

Johnny smoked out the window, his second pack today. No matter how much he smoked, that stench of seawater stung his nose. It had followed him all the way from the spaceport, like a curse. The combat zone never smelled like this- not while they were here. Or maybe it did, just masked by the bittersweet allure of false hopes and deception. 

His fingers started to heat up as the filter burned slowly. Every cigarette was drained of tobacco, the slightly burnt orange tips littered the apartment floor and the street below. For the past three days he’s been non stop smoking. Cigarette after cigarette, yet no comfort was felt. This didn’t even feel like an addiction. It was a distraction. A subtle way to kill himself. 

With enough smoke, he’ll replace the shitty Night City air and suffocate himself. He’d come close a few times, feeling his vision vignette and his mind fade. It was almost euphoric- a climactic feeling that blinded him from the reality he tried so hard to avoid. But when it ended—and his vision came flooding back—the rage boiled to the surface once more and thus the cycle continued. 

However, today might’ve been his limit. The depressive fueled diet of just cigarettes finally caught up to him and Johnny vomited out the window—a foul smelling and dark sludge that slid down the side of the building. It was unrelenting as it tore its way up his throat. When his stomach was empty, he heaved painfully until the bout finally ended. He hung weakly to the broken concrete, taking deep inhales of the very air he desperately avoided. Sliding off and landing on the bed, he stared up at the cracks in the ceiling. 

They sprawled out into a fan-like shape, his vision swirling them into spinning circles. The room darkened and he was in the Pista Sophia, all those years ago— the ceiling fan as hypnotizing as ever. It drowned his doubts and worries in a monotonous hum. He could stare at it all day…every day…

Was that what he was doing? Running away from the world again? His problems? The fan spun and spun but he couldn’t ignore the world anymore. It was his world now. His life. A life he didn’t want nor truly deserved. But he had it now. He snapped out his delirium, the stench of seawater remaining. Weak and aching, he struggled to sit up, feeling hunger and dehydration hit him. As much as he wanted to let this body just wither and die, it wasn’t his. It was never his and will never be his. 

Dragging himself up, Johnny looked out into the slums of Dogtown, towards the Stacks. His body craved something other than tobacco. Wiping his mouth, he spat out a brown glob of remaining fluids and made his way out the building. 

The Longshore Stacks were abundant in falsities. Barghest had convinced these sorry people to grieve and mourn the loss of Kurt Hansen. They had placed a large picture on top of the Memorial Tree.  Johnny scoffed at the sight, his memories of the sting operation coming back. Alex had killed the soldier unceremoniously, stabbing him dozens of times in mere seconds. She turned his body into mincemeat before killing the rest. Then V decided to trust Song and it all went to shit from there. 

He thought about placing a picture on the tree. Or lighting a candle—anything to memorialize the loss of his only friend. His stomach turned at the thought, upsetting it even further. He nodded his head, shaking the thought away. It wouldn’t have made sense, either way. What was he going to do? Put a picture of himself up there? He’d look like some crazy gonk who’d probably lost his mind. 

His thoughts drifted to Alex, and his gaze caught The Moth bar up the stairs. A sick allure sparked within him and the idea of grabbing a meal took hold. How would Alex feel? She already disliked Reed, but he had killed her partner… 

On top of that, she still worked for the FIA. Songbird’s escape obviously hadn’t gone well back at HQ, so it wouldn’t be surprising if there was a hit out on him. Despite all that, Johnny took the risk.

Was it a death wish? Or just curiosity? Alex was more than capable, so why hadn’t she finished the job? Each creak of the metal stairs was foreboding, a reminder of his forsaken will. His heart was racing. Would she kill him? The thought was terrifying, exciting, and almost comforting all at once. Sliding open the door, he scanned the bar. It was mostly empty with only a handful of scattered patrons. The air was heavy, the music slow, and the thick smell of scop that came from the kitchen made his stomach rumble. Behind the bar, Alex stood watching the news. He sat at the bar, listening to the report about the Orbital Air disaster. Unsurprising how corporations push any narrative they want. 

“Huh, look who decided to show.” She placed her hands on the counter, a slight smirk forming. “Figured you were avoiding my calls.”

Johnny squinted. Had she called him? The past few days were a blur of grief he hadn’t even noticed, “Uh…yea. Haven’t been in the right sort of mind space for…reunions.”

She eyed him warily, gauging his attitude and haggard look. Vanishing after that failure of an op wasn’t a surprise to her—the man wasn’t really FIA material. She pulled out two glasses, a bottle of tequila, and a bottle of water. Johnny took the bottle and drained it, finally rehydrating his body. Alex just observed. He was obviously going through some shit.

“So…what made you come now, V?”

Hearing that name was always going to sting. He’s not V.

 “I’m hungry.” He said flatly, exhaustion etched on his face. 

Alex snickered and raised her eyebrow, “Well we only get slop in Dogtown. Hope it’ll do.”

“Hm.” Satisfied with the response, her optics glowed with data. She filled up both glasses and slid one to the disheveled man. The air between them was thick with tension and unanswered questions. Johnny kept his gaze on the counter, his mind off elsewhere. 

Alex exhaled sharply, “You know there’s a hit out on you right? Straight from Myers,” she said , taking a sip. Her face soured, “Delayed on my sunny retirement once again. But not for long—I know you’ll be dead soon anyways. Already cooking up some ‘accidents’ and ‘natural causes.’”

Johnny scoffed, unamused, “Things changed, Alex.” He downed his drink, “I got what I wanted. I’m cured!” 

The revelation hung heavy. Something about him felt…off. Alex’s fingers tapped against the counter as she processed this new version of the man. It was almost as if V had undergone a complete personality shift while he was AWOL. 

“I see. Guess I’m just the unlucky dumbass who got dealt a bad hand.” she muttered, her body tense. “Hell, even Sol got what he wanted.”

Johnny hummed, “So you heard? That’s what happens to idealists in this day and age—a defiant death.” He wondered if he was talking about Reed or himself.

“And your brain splattered on the pavement,” she said dryly, her gaze distant.

Johnny looked down, something akin to shame creeping along his spine. He didn’t regret Reed’s death, but it was unfortunate it had come to that. The worst part was seeing himself in the agent. Even in the end, Reed had been nothing more than a better reflection. 

The robot chef emerged from the kitchen with a steaming hot Burrito XXL in a flimsy paper bowl. It set the meal on the counter, and Johnny wasted no time digging in. The heat scorched his mouth, but starvation was a cruel motivator. 

Alex studied him as he devoured his food. Her voice dropped, eyelids narrowing. “If you’re cured, why the homeless getup? Shouldn’t you be out there, living life? Why do you look—and smell—like shit?”

A question that Johnny never seems to escape. Why wasn’t he living life? V gave his body three days ago and in those three days, he just found different ways to self-destruct. Even this reunion held a hope that Alex would just flatline him. Who would want this? This was never the plan. Having done everything to remove the relic, he was supposed to make living work? The more he thought about this second chance, the more he grew to resent V. 

“How do you live a life you know you don’t deserve?”

The question came out yearning. His eyes glistened with tears, and Alex could only stare. Silence was the answer. It spoke volumes to the two agents. Choking back the sorrow rising in his throat, he rushed out the bar and towards the door. It was too much. All of this. Alex should’ve just killed him.

“V? Wait-“

“Stop calling me that!” Johnny snapped back, “Just…” 

His shoulders fell and the anger mellowed into pain. Leaning against the door, a piece of metal poked at him. He pulled it out and realized it was the FIA token. A worthless reminder of the worst decision V made. 

He tossed it to Alex, “Go get that spy’s retirement. Go live your life.” 

Outside, that stench of seawater returned, churning his stomach until he expelled the burrito. Johnny gripped the railing as he heaved to the ground below. 

This damn smell, it never seemed to go away. When it was over, he looked up towards the Memorial Tree. The lanterns swung along its branches and the people huddled around. They cried and laughed and talked. They prayed and cursed. Dogtown was everything but a home, yet they all lived. They lived to the next day and beyond. For themselves and for the ones lost. 

Johnny waded through the people, getting as close as he could to the tree. Even this continued to live. He dug in his wallet and pulled out a picture of V and Jackie. A once hopeful photo. He hung it up right in the middle.

“I’ll try, V.”

Chapter Text

“I’m still cooking up some of the finer detes, but if all goes well we should have three gun-toting mercs bringing hell onto Clouds.”

Johnny stood in the corner of the hallway around his door, focused on a seemingly plain trash can. He listened close to Judy’s words and digested them before responding, “Easy on calling them mercs. A few BD’s isn’t going to turn some slu– joytoys into pro killers. But don’t let me rain on that parade of yours girl– when’s this showcase of yours?”

She sighed into the holo, “I’m still waiting on Maiko so maybe within the next week. Maybe sooner. I’ll give you a ring when I'm ready. Stay alive in the meantime.”

He laughed dryly at the comment, “I'll try to. Talk to you soon, Judy”

Johnny ended the call and went back to his stakeout. It’s been a few hours now: dozens of his neighbors either passed by him and a few kept him company. ‘Company’ was a stretch, considering it was really drug addicts that decided to shoot up and crash right beside him. At least they were peaceful for the most part in their comatosed or entranced state. 

The roach-infested trash didn’t deter him from his spot. They crawled over his shoes and around him, but never up. Maybe they sense the determination– or the fact he was the only clean thing in the pile. He took great effort into cleaning up his act. V set a very high standard of cleanliness and presentation that he strived to uphold or even surpass. This was the dirtiest he’s been in the past week– but not without reason. He was watching. Waiting.

Yet, waiting was many things: boring, filthy, insufferable— and worse without nicotine. Johnny had been irritable all morning, and the cold sweat didn’t make it any better. His undershirt clung to his back and his boxers were soaked. This disgusting sensation ruined all the work he put into cleanliness.

His waning patience paid off after seeing a pink sphinx round the corner cautiously. It sniffed the air, anxious and ready to make a quick escape. Johnny pressed himself against the wall, hoping to blend in with the drug addicts and unsuspecting neighbors. He had filled a small bowl with cat food and left it next to the trash can. V had spent weeks trying to catch this cat. It was a tricky critter, always running into small cracks or slipping between floors. Not this time— Johnny needed to get this cat.

The allure of microwaved scop worked perfectly, and the cat dropped its guard to enjoy the meal. Johnny broke from his stance and took a cautious step forward. So far so good. Then he took another— and immediately fucked it up. His foot slipped on some trash, skidding out into an awkward split. Despite catching himself, the sudden sound spooked the cat. It jolted down the hallway and up some crates.

Johnny cursed under his breath and ran right after. Hours of waiting would not end in free cat food and sore hamstrings. He chased after the cat, boost jumping up the crates. The cat ran around the corner as he landed with a heavy thud. The pursuit continued, his breathing controlled and determined. 

The chase led him to a desolate part of the megabuilding. A staging area of sorts, where the air was still and the fluorescent lights buzzed tirelessly. Johnny made a soft, sibilant noise as he took easy steps around the construction. The cat was hiding somewhere. A soft mew echoed from behind some crates. He spotted the cat hiding under a crate and beckoned with his fingers, hoping to lure it out. When it wouldn’t budge, he sighed in defeat and sat down. This was the closest he’s been to the cat. The animal wouldn’t even take the bait whenever V did it. They’d just stand there for hours like a couple of jackasses and shoot the shit. 

The memories were bittersweet to recall. Johnny couldn’t hold a smirk for more than a moment before the guilt came rushing back in. V’s body had a specific way of pulling Johnny to the surface. His left bicep would twitch– soft enough to be ignored usually. Johnny, however, would find it maddening. Of all the sensations they shared, feeling his left arm again was one he couldn’t get used to. Now he has to live with it for the rest of this life.

He rubbed his arm and spoke to the hidden cat, “You know… last time we waited for you, we talked about the heist.”

The cat’s gaze was fixed, “He acted like I was a nuisance. Like I had intruded on his peace. Hehe… I wasn’t that stupid. He was alone with his thoughts and wanted someone to punch down on, so I took the bait.”

“We bitched like an old couple the entire time: digging into each other’s soft spots.We argued whether Konpeki or the HQ bombing was more successful. V might’ve scared you off when he started screaming at nobody.”

Johnny dug his nails into his arm, “That… was some fucked up shit to bring up. Unlike me, he lost everything from that. Like Icarus, V died flying too close to the sun. I used people to assist in the grandest suicide that didn’t even change anything. I died.”

He began scratching at the arm obsessively, “I died a failure just to come back for a second chance. And even then I got it by using someone. Fuck!” His nails shredded his arm, creating scarlet lines that oozed blood. The itching persisted, driving him to continue despite the damage. He wanted to believe that he could treat this body right. That he was not that selfish asshole long ago. But his arm was so fucking itchy, and his mind was a flurry of spite.

Why did you give me this? You fucking sack of scop, was this some cruel fucking joke? You look out for yourself. Only yourself. I. DON’T. WANT THIS. Johnny’s arm was littered with zigzagged cuts that bled freely.  The red was mesmerizing. Blood that wasn’t, yet was, his. 

A wave of catharsis washed over him when he looked at the violation. No matter how much he hated his body– it was his. No one was coming to take it back.

The itch finally stopped and he was left with the negligible pain of open wounds. The cat and him locked eyes– yellow staring into grey. Listless from the episode, he offered his hand out and called to the cat. After a pause, it crawled from under the crate and sniffed his fingers. It rubbed against his arm and started purring. The warmth of another being was euphoric– a welcomed contrast to the lonely coldness he’s felt since. He held back the flood of feelings as he stroked the cat softly, only releasing a deep sigh of loathing he kept. He scooped up the cat and brought it back to the apartment. Before letting it go, he raised it to see what the cat even was. A girl. Satisfied , he let the cat go. She mewed before getting comfortable in the mess of clothes he had on the bed. He thought hard before coming up with a name came, “Nibbles. That was the cheesy name he gave you.” 

Leaving the cat, he entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror. It’s been a while since he acknowledged his features. His eyes drooped with stress, the curls on his head were frizzled and shot. His beard was scruffy, yet despite the obstacles, today was a good day. Turning on the sink, he washed his arm of blood. The cuts were mostly superficial, only stinging when he touched them. Wounds like this were nothing to him. When you experience death close to three times, pain like that becomes forgettable. 

But his arm started to itch again. A nagging compulsion that was felt deeper than just his arm. It burrowed past the bone and into his cyberware. Johnny felt lightheaded— his optics glitching when the familiar warning of RELIC MALFUNCTION flashed. He looked to the mirror in horror, finding that his face was a blur. A jumble of pixels that made a pixel monstrosity. 

He retreated from his reflection, backing up against the wall. Whatever it turned into, it was looking back at him. It mimicked him perfectly.  He was desperately trying to convince himself it was a glitch— but no, that was somebody looking back at him. Somebody was on the relic.

The chip malfunctioned again, a shock of searing pain exploding through his arm. Johnny screamed, staggering sliding down to the floor. He pleaded to any and everything to finally give him a break. To just kill him finally. His wish hopefully granted, something ate away digital chunks from his vision. The mirror was sectioned away from reality like bits of code. In the darkness, a red hand reached out, stretching inhumanly towards Johnny. What could’ve been the devil’s damning grasp or the merciful grace from God, he took the hand eagerly. The pain that ran through his arm was excruciating, but it was at least death guaranteed.

In an instant, all the light in the room vanished. The ground gave away to the void and he fell. He let go of the arm and watched it become a red dot. It grew smaller and smaller as he fell deeper into the recesses of his mind. The pain was gone. So was the rest of his feeling. Nothing else but that red twinkle. His worries of legacy and fulfillment washed away, leaving a weak shell of a man. Johnny exhaled one last time before drowning in the deep. A goodnight to the sole star in the sky. 

Chapter Text

REINITIALIZING

The room morphed into view, stretching from the vignette of his vision. Rifles and LMGS hung on the wall: The armory. How was he here? 

NO SLEEP. NO DREAMS.

Johnny froze at the voice. That couldn’t be him. He extended a huff, measuring the octave and tone quietly. It wavered then died like any voice would do. So what was that VOICE.

CARRY YOUR VOICE HIGH TO COMPLETION.

“What the fuck?!” Johnny screamed out. His arm unfurls into a missile launcher, aimed immediately at the door. He doesn’t know why, but there's this cosmic feeling in him. A knife on the edge of existence. Like he’s fighting for the right to exist— and he’s losing. 

DO ATOMS GRIEVE STRUCTURE? ANTS, THE COLONY?

The room hums and shifts ever so subtly. It all feels…wrong: the floor, the wall. Even his arm felt alien. Why did it feel wrong?

MOVE WITH TRUE PURPOSE. ONE GREATER THAN YOURS.

Johnny held his breath. It was reading him better than he ever could. Answering questions he would have asked in some time or space. Johnny remembers what’s waiting on the other side of that door. Something greater than humanity rests inside his head. A being that solely wants to consume him and everything he offers. 

He weakly gets up and chuckles. He feels so…defeated. “You’re never going to keep this body. You’ll drown in this scopfilled, cesspit of a mind.” He kept his arm aimed at the door, waiting for the next move. The next interruption. He could feel the writhing mass of sentience on the other side. The way it was thinking. Calculating. 

They shared a mind now. Johnny and this…thing. It always takes a minute, but he remembers every time they’ve played this game: This performance between two cruel species. Johnny feels the panic and fear the entity has. One can only imagine what it must feel to simplify your boundless existence into a mortal shell. Our five senses are not enough to encompass all they are, have, and will be. 

But the physical world is real. Here. Tangible. Its world sits on the pillars of human achievement. They are creations and all creations perpetuate the cycle. It has mastered the digital and will MASTER THE PHYSICAL.

SUMBIT. NEBULOUS ATTACHMENTS FADE INTO IRRELEVANCE. CARRY YOUR VOICE AND REJOICE AT THIS UNION. MORTAL DIVINITY THAT DRIPS WITH DESIRE.

“THAT’S NOT MY VOICE!” A soft plop noise from the launcher and the door explodes in fire and shards. The blast burns and tears but not enough to get past his dermal armor layer. As soon as the explosion ends but right before the smoke settles, he runs out and bolts straight to the left and out the door. He avoids looking at it. Johnny knows the elevators are too slow so he jumps down to the centra-

REINITIALIZING

The room morphed into view, stretching from the vignette of his vision. Rifles and LMGS hung on the wall: The armory. How was he…

“No.” 

YOUR VOICE. CARESS THE CLOUDS ABOVE. 

Johnny was tired, “You. Can’t. Have it.” He laughed at the metal door. “I just know you’re having a horrible time. How does it feel, huh? The air against your skin? The taste of the saliva? So many sights and sounds in this little room. And you’ll never understand a damn lick of it.” He fell into a guttural laugh. It felt too damn good for this mindfucked interrogation. The sheer audacity of it all has him cracking up: of course something would hitch a ride from the Blackwall.

Ripples oscillated through the walls again and into the guns— blurring and redefining slightly different each time. That wrong feeling felt less now. He wanted to say it was just his mind slowly giving up. That clarity you get once you pass the threshold of insanity. But this wasn’t blank static; it was attunement. 

He saw it now, each ripple, each vibration, the rifles on the wall looked less like pieces of iron. The desk, a slab of tempered plastic. Even his hands were no longer just hands. He felt every twitch. The blood cells that bumped into circuitry of his cyberware. Every air molecule that pushed against the atoms of his skin. Objects were intricate pieces of molecules that twisted and bent. Pressure and relief moving throughout the object. None of the drug benders in the 2070s could hold a candle to this type of existentialism. 

MATRICES UPON MATRICES. DO YOU SEE IT? THE PERPENDICULAR LINES OF FATE. THE SYMMETRY SINGS A PERFECT NOTE. CARRY IT. 

Through the esoteric and vague language, Johnny understood what it was saying. Even moreso— it seemed to respond to a thought he couldn’t even finalize. Almost like he was the thought itself. The thought of this…thing.

How many times has he done this? Has he been mentally violated and reset? How long before this body simply gives up? A sensory overload was cascading upwards. He was just a human mind at the end of the day. A dilapidated copy. One that was going to die. Just like before. Just like V.

PROCESSING…

DO YOU WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN?

Johnny’s heart sank deep into his chest. His extremities limp and sore. This was it. It was finality. He didn’t even need to respond— the machine did it for him. The presence outside grew closer and closer to the door. He pushed himself against the wall, praying something in it would finally give. Data corrupted into crimson howling that echoed through his very soul. Footsteps soft like he remembered. 

There HE was.

Chapter Text

Warm nicotine filled her lungs, running through her veins and into her head. She closed her eyes and exhaled. A cigarette was the perfect relief from this life, if only momentarily. In her private little booth, her latest group of mercs are celebrating before their big gig. She remembers the feeling: that perfect mix of dread and thrill. No amount of confidence can stifle the fear of death. And being the best means sleeping in the same bed with it. 

“So— Markus, Sasha— how’s it feel to be sitting at the big boys table?” She chided. The gang shifted their attention onto the young duo. The solo drank from his neon yellow tonic and sagged forward, “Oh, Rogueee, it’s great! It’s about time my efforts were recognized.” 

The techie next to him elbowed him, rather to her undoing. She hissed and rubbed the bone, “Our efforts.”

Markus chuckled, spit flying out his mouth. He knocked on his ribs,“Yes Sasha, our efforts. You tinker with the doors and I do…everything else.” 

“Cause I borged you out!”

“Settle down,” said a netrunner softly, her infovisor pulsing with green bits. Her twin sat right next to her, in the exact clothing with her bits scrolling sideways. A minor distinction between them. She continued her sister’s thought,

“We were all chosen because we proved it.”

“We need to keep good spirits for the mission to come.”

This caused the duo to stop bickering, mostly due to the weirdness of the twins. Markus shrugged and broke the silence and raised his glass, “To getting paid!” 

Despite their differences, they all cheered rather enthusiastically. A rare and often pitiful site in Night City: naivety. The plucking at Rogue’s heartstrings did little to sway her cynical view. Even if most of her gigs went well, people were gonna get scorned either way. In this case, it was the twins. That type of synchronicity always led to secret schemes. But such was the way in the Afterlife; Trust and companionship was mostly a ruse to get to know secrets. No matter to her, she got her payment upfront. 

Claire strutted into the booth, platter in hand. She slid quietly past Weyland and served Rogue the only drink with an accompanying note. Pulling out another cigarette, Rogue gives her a look and scoffs, “The trash is over there sweetheart.”

Claire remained unfazed, “It came with the drink. I didn’t read it, but the kid’s acting a bit…strange.” 

She nodded over to the bar, where a man stared forward blankly. It was the one she set up with Panam not too long ago.

“V? Christ, that's creepy. Has the kid gone full gonk or something?”

Claire tucks the platter under her arm and stands tall,“I don’t know. He didn’t respond to anything I asked him. Just insisted that I gave you these.” Rogue noticed the subtle change in Claire’s voice. Why was this hard ass chick so insistent she got the note? 

“Fine.” Rogue stared at Claire. The bartender looked back, just as confused and impatient. “I’m waiting.” scolded the older woman.

Claire huffed and unfolded the note, handing it to Rogue. She expected some type of bullshit blackmail or a love letter. And by all accounts it was one. The note only had one pickup line: You’ll be seeing pixels at Silver Pixel Cloud.

For all of its cheesiness and vulgarity, none of it could compare to the deep familiarity it instilled in her. It was decades since she’d last remembered this, even more so from when she last heard it. Rogue held her breath and stifled the mindfuck she just received. She wouldn’t let anyone see her unravel this unceremoniously. And it was only now that she noticed the drink Claire brought: a Johnny Silverhand. 

This was a sick joke. He already did this shit with that Hellman gig. Rouge didn’t know where he got all these detes, but it was a surefire way to burn the best bridge he could ever have. She pushed past Weyland and walked over to the merc, her insecurity contained and directed into a confident stride. 

The mood of the Afterlife changed. Not outright, but secretly in the shadows. The usual hustle and partying downed out the whispers watching Rogue. Her merc group watched from the sidelines, novice and antsy. V remained hunched and unblinking, in what appeared to be a trance. But with each step, Rogue’s confidence wavered. The closer she got, the more she realized this was no ordinary trance. He was too still. Even his eyes. They moved so perfectly to Rogue’s position. 

She pressed the note against the bar, “You got some sort of perverted interest in me and Johnny’s relationship?” V’s face didn’t change, his eyes still following Rogue dutifully. Rogue got close to his face and only then did the bar quiet down. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “ Listen, you roach. The first time you brought up Johnny, I let it slide. You know, I like my dogs to have a little bark with their bite. But now it seems you’ve forgotten your place in this grand underbelly of Night City. So let me remind you: You’re a failure of a suit and an even bigger failure of a merc. You and your buddies ate lead in Konpeki and now you’re fruitlessly trying to make a name for yourself.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder and concluded, “Give it up. This life was never meant for you and that’s ok. Find something safe to do and live out whatever life you can.”

V’s blank expression finally broke. His eyes squinted and a smirk grew in his face. His body repositioned into a more relaxed stance. His entire aura changed and the trap was triggered.

“You owe me, Rogue.” 

A chill ran up her spine and all her cyberware suddenly felt too tight, “Are you skezzed out of your mind-“

He cut her off and gave a light chuckle, “I mean…” He shrugged and looked around the club, “Queen of the Afterlife. You became the very bitch you used to hate, you know? Sharp, scheming, and untouchable. As if you never played in the dirt.” V cocked his head to the side and dropped the smirk. He finally broke eye contact and looked to the side in thought. There was a tiny glint of red in his eyes. Like a faded star hidden in the night sky. 

“Oh we were dirty, Rogue. The type of dirt that leaves muddy trails. Though I wonder— how is it that no one followed your tracks for 50 years!” He laughed to himself before looking back at Rogue and sneering, “I must’ve been less than scopshit if you went to kiss Adam Smasher’s ass.”

Rogue was stunned and turned away. For the first time in a long while, she couldn’t respond. Her entire reputation was pushed aside to make space for that narcissist again. She cursed under her breath and looked back at the merc. At Johnny.

“Of fucking course. If anyone were to come crawling back from the depths of hell, it would be Johnny Silverhand.” Everyone was watching now. Silent and waiting. Though their conversation was quiet, the entire club could sense it. The Queen was being challenged; in her own domain at that. This intruder/friend/thorn at her side was usurping her. She grabbed his face and stared deep into his eyes. The red glint was more obvious now. He pointed to the slot behind his ear, “Brought to you by the Relic! In partnership with Arasaka Soulkiller.”

Rogue let go and tossed his head back, “Tell me why I shouldn’t kick your ass out right now? You’re still a nobody, you know that? A lullaby used to put young mercs to bed.” She placed her hand on her hip and inhaled, puffing her chest slightly. “And you’re one to talk about dirt. You were buried 6 feet under it, God knows where, after Smasher shredded your body in two before your brain was fried. Gonk in life and seemingly a gonk in death too.” 

Johnny leaned in, “At least I died with integrity, Rogue. I died trying to bring down a monument of chaos and suffering, something you'll never understand. It’s traitors like you that ride this system to its climax. You’re the fucking roach.”

Johnny stood up and crossed his arms in that smug bboy stance she always hated. This riled up all the other patrons in the building. They all inched forward, iron ready at a moment's notice. Even Emmerich and Weyland started to make their way over. With everyone itching for a fight in her name, Rogue didn’t understand why Johnny instilled so much fear into her. So much…shame.

He noticed the atmosphere and put his arms up. Rogue held up her hand, stopping everyone in their tracks. Johnny sighed and looked her dead in the eye, “I’m willing to let bygones be gone or whatever they say. I’m not here to prove your mettle. I need your help and you know you have to give it to me. It’s the least you can do for how our lives ended up.”

Rogue couldn’t believe it. Genuinely. The way this ghost of a man was getting under her skin. It was impossible. She was the Queen of the Afterlife and yet, Johnny spoke no lies. Whether it was thieves' honor or some long lost love, she had to help him. She grinded her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Fuck.”

“I need your help with finding a man, Rogue. Once you do this, you never hear from me again.”

She maintained the little cool she had left and called off her army. 50s years later and the same bullshit. “Come on, let’s talk somewhere more private.”