Chapter Text
“All I could do in the end was wait”
- Leprous (Playlist link)
The album releases to critical acclaim and rave reviews. It’s more than Kerry could’ve hoped for—a real comeback. His name is back in the headlines, the media’s dyin’ to get interviews, promoters are scrambling to book him. Feels like he’s finally got this city by the balls.
But he can’t take all the credit. Before Johnny and V crashed into his life, he was stuck. It’d been ages since he last wrote anything worth a damn, and the label was riding his ass. The anxiety got so bad—he never left his house, never picked up his guitar. It was safer and easier to just stay home, get wasted, throw crazy parties whenever he needed a break from the crushing isolation.
And now? He’s booked to play the Crystal Palace next month.
It’s all thanks to V—and maybe Johnny, a little bit. They picked him up, dusted him off, set him back on his feet again. Fuck, he’s almost ninety years old, but he doesn’t feel a day over forty-five. And under those bright stage lights, awash in the screams of his fans, he feels like a god reborn.
Kerry put on a surprise concert in NC on New Year’s Eve—sold out in under twenty seconds. He got Denny behind the drum kit and V on synth. Turns out that little shit is better at tickling the ivories than she let on. A few lessons with Nance, she picked up his catalog fast. Even puts her own spin on the melodies.
As for Johnny? Well, he technically lent his talent for the studio album. Man, that bastard can shred like nothing else. They spent many long nights riffing off each other, with Johnny working V’s hands while she sang. He still can’t fully wrap his brain around the whole body-sharing thing they do, but they seem like they’ve adapted and become content with their sitch. All things considered, it could’ve been a lot worse.
And without the two of them insisting they go talk to the Us Cracks girls, Kerry never would’ve had the chance to collaborate with them, to finally let go of his fears around becoming irrelevant. It allowed him to bring his music to a new generation of fans. Turns out, a lot of parents bring their kids to concerts now. He’s doing great numbers, and the label couldn’t be happier.
Of course, they still trashed Kovachek’s yacht. Had to. They couldn’t let that coniving scumbag get away with screwing him. But after that, his manager got the message: Kerry Eurodyne, rock god, is at the top of his game and not someone to fuck with.
Now he stands on that stage, lights glaring in his face, the crowd screaming, his hair soaked and plastered against his face. He holds up his arms and soaks up the adoration that comes after a long night of playing his heart out for thousands of people.
Fuck, it’s good to be back.
After the final encore, he links hands with V and Denny, and they take a bow. Denny tosses her drumsticks out into the crowd—Kerry flings a few guitar picks into eager hands. Adrenaline pounds through his veins, and he screams his final good night to the audience and exits stage left.
In the green room, they pop open expensive champagne—compliments of L.B.’s company cred chip. Kerry dumps a fizzy pour straight into his mouth before Denny yanks the bottle away from him.
“Fuckin’ hell, Eurodyne, leave some for the rest of us,” she grouses, finding the glasses, filling them. The drummer hands the first one to V. “Filled this one up extra since you’re drinking for two now. But don’t let that bastard destroy your liver.”
“We can always get a new one,” Johnny flippantly remarks, folding his arms as he smirks at his former bandmate.
Denny chuckles. “She’s too good for you, Silverhand, but you know that already. And if I catch you blowing up buildings for her, I’m gonna find you and beat your ass. Seem to recall this fancy chip includes the ability to knock you on your flat ass.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he grins.
“Hey, hey, this is a celebration, not a bar fight,” Kerry interjects, holding up another full bottle of champagne he found in the minifridge. “Let’s toast!” He holds up the bottle. “Happy fuckin’ New Year! And here’s to the greatest motherfucking comeback tour in rock history!”
After they cheers, he almost spits out his drink when he spots his son drinking from his own glass. It takes a moment for him to remember that Ted’s officially of age now, and goddamn does that make him feel old like nothin’ else. He’s glad, though, that they came to visit. Even though he’s only been the world’s okayest father. Kerry’s just not good with kids, and he was ambivalent about having them. But now that Ted and Kim are grown, he can finally relate to them. Maybe it’s not too late to try and fix things.
“‘Ey, Denny, you need to meet my kids,” he yells over the noise, waving her over. “Ted and Kim Eurodyne. As you can see, they inherited their dad’s good looks.”
“And their mother’s brains, I hope,” Denny teases.
Kim is a spittin’ image of her old man. Tall, slender, and dramatic as hell. She sports glowing, fuchsia Kiroshis and long, teal tech hair with strands of gold—like actual gold. She’s wearing some crazy outfit that clings to her body like gravity is just a suggestion. A fur-trimmed Avante jacket and lime-green go-go boots complete the kitschy ensemble.
Huh. Maybe she gets it from him.
Ted, on the other hand, looks more like Louise. Unlike his sister, he kept himself mostly ‘ganic with a few reasonable upgrades here and there. He’s quieter, more thoughtful. Kid doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s pretty clear he’s smart as a whip and clever as they come.
“Yeah, they’re yours, alright,” Johnny drawls while walking up next to him. “They inherited your kitsch as fuck fashion sense.”
“Don’t make me regret getting them hooked into V’s implant,” he shoots back.
“It’s like we’re in an exclusive club,” Kim says, smiling. “Not very many people can say they’ve met the infamous Johnny Silverhand in person.”
“Overrated,” Kerry insists, slapping Johnny on the back. “We still going out for dinner after this?”
“Not what you said last night,” he answers, shamelessly nipping at his neck.
Kerry blanches, shoving the rockerboy off him. “For fuck’s sake, Johnny. Later.”
Ted smiles. “We’re happy for you, really. It wasn’t easy watching you and mom go through the divorce, but you’re both doing a lot better now.”
A piece of Kerry’s heart breaks to hear that—even more so the way he’s so calm about it. The divorce had been messy, especially since the tabloids and screamsheets ate it up like hungry vultures, hanging on every salacious detail. His private emails got leaked, and the whole world knew about intimate details that should’ve remained behind closed doors. He hopes the kids didn’t have to see all that, but something tells him they know everything that got out to the public.
It’s embarrassing, in hindsight. He should’ve conducted himself better. Louise, frustrating as she might he, always tried to do right by their children.
“We have reservations at North Oak Country Club,” V tells them. “Got transportation lined up to haul everyone’s drunk asses home afterward. It’ll be a fun way to ring in the new year.”
“Especially since it’s been 2077 for at least three years for you, right?” He jokes.
V and Johnny kinda shrug. They probably don’t wanna get into it right now. But damn, this’ll be a new year to remember.
Kerry sets down the still half-full bottle and straightens his jacket. While getting shitfaced is one of his favorite pastimes, he can’t bring himself to get sloppy drunk in front of his kids. Maybe it’s time he cleaned up his act a little bit. Have a few drinks, but not all of the drinks. Moderation and whatnot.
That’s when Tammy, his PA, walks into the noisy green room and yells over the din. “AV’s gonna be here in 15 minutes, Mr. Eurodyne.”
Johnny hates this bougie country club. It’s a monstrosity built with blood money meant to serve an undeserving wealthy elite. However, he gets that this is one of the few places in the city that will accommodate a party of this size and has the security they need.
Kerry’s in his element, schmoozing it up, introducing his kids to anyone that’ll let him. To his credit, they notice he’s swapped to drinking club soda halfway through the night and is making an effort not to go overboard.
They slip away from the party, wandering outside to a balcony that overlooks Night City, in all her neon-soaked nighttime glory. V lights up and inhales a lungful of smoke before slowly breathing it out, watching the smoke curl and dissolve into the night sky. She leans against the railing, and she relaxes against Johnny as they watch the night unfold below them.
“Happy New Year, babe,” he murmurs, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Fuuuuckin’ finally.”
“It’s gonna take a while to sink in. Never thought we’d make it to next year,” she remarks.
“You doubted?”
“A little.”
They let the silence breathe between them, enjoying the cool breeze and the lingering high from the concert. Being up on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans was a new thing for V; Johnny was born to be under those lights. She gets why that rush is so addictive, why both rockers craved it like sex and cigarettes.
The decision to have V behind the keys seemed like a natural fit. While the guitar would have allowed more participation from Johnny, it would also have set her up to be constantly compared to him. He wants this to be about her—and she already knew her way around the keys. Johnny was more than fine laying down guitar tracks in the studio under a pseudonym. More than fine enjoying the thrill of the stage without being famous.
Let Johnny Silverhand remain dead and gone for those unworthy of knowing him personally.
V snort-laughs when she picks up on that thought. Maybe that ego’d been taken down a notch, but it’s still healthy as ever.
But honestly? It’s safer for everyone involved that Johnny’s half-assed resurrection be kept on the down low. After all, it won’t be like this forever. Kerry is pushin’ ninty. Provided no one catches a stray bullet to the brain, he’s gonna flatline long before they reach middle age.
And they wouldn’t want Kerry to do anything creepy or stupid to extend his life. Not for them.
V stubs out her cig and tries to put that morbid thought from their mind. This is a night to celebrate. The new album’s out, and no one’s dead that they don’t wanna be. Best they could’ve hoped for. Ten outta ten.
As they turn to head back into the venue, a familiar flutter of saffron catches their eye.
Ugh. Not again.
They spot him sitting alone at a table, staring out into the distance. Christ, what a cliche. They still aren’t even sure if this guy’s a figment of their imagination or an actual guy. Yeah, way back when, they asked Misty about it—she knew him, wanted to read his tarot. It makes them uneasy, not knowing.
They approach and wait for him to say something.
“And now, at least you understand the truth that you buried deep within your soul. Tell me, SilVer, what do you know?” He asks them without turning around, because why would he ruin the mystic by pretending to be a normal person?
A quip sits ready on their tongue, ready to fire off at the monk, dismiss him. But his question resonates with something that’s been bugging them for a while now. That being, how the fuck did they get into this time loop bullshit in the first place? Alt, or rather, Lilith, said there was a stupid number of reasons, and she’d have to crunch the numbers or something.
V’s familiar with Occam’s Razor, knows that the least dumbass answer is probably right. Ok, that’s not exactly as it’s written, but it could be.
So she tells him. “We created the time loop ourselves because we were terrified of being pulled apart. We did this.”
“Might have gotten a little carried away,” Johnny adds.
The monk seems satisfied with their answer and slowly nods.
“And now you understand the power that lurks inside of you,” he drones. “You needed time to arrange yourselves in the manner you desired. You created the chrysalis required to achieve your transformation.”
He looks directly at them. “And now you emerge, whole. I have but one final question. How do you feel?”
Baffled, V and Johnny exchange glances. The fuck is this guy on?
“Fine,” they answer.
“Then I wish you farewell. And good luck.”
The monk gets up, walks to the railing, and vaults over the edge of the balcony, presumably plummeting to the parking lot below.
“What the—?” They rush over to peer over the edge.
Nothing. Of course.
“Well, we’ve got a funny story for Misty.”
With a shrug, they head back inside. They have drinking to do.
They stumble into bed late that night. Kerry’s mostly sober. Mostly. Man, gotta hand it to him, he’s really trying to not suck as a father. Better late than never.
V unbuckles her unwieldy platform boots and strips off her top. That’s about as far as she gets. The room is spinning, and the bed looks comfy. They’re both out before they hit the pillow.
It’s common that they share dreams. They’ve got the same brain. Their dreams tend to be vivid, sometimes weird, sometimes sexy, sometimes terrifying. Tonight it was the latter.
It’s dark and cold, the air vibrates with frantic, electric energy. Bursts of red glitch across their vision as something pulls them under with an invisible, unyielding hand. Their instinct is to struggle, resist, but once they realize what’s happening, they slacken and allow themselves to be yanked into cyberspace.
Remotely. Fuck, she’s stronger than they thought. She fuckin’ remote-hacked V’s deck.
To be fair, they might’ve been too wasted to realize she’d cracked her ICE.
“You think you are clever. You think you have circumvented nefarious plans that would endanger all of humanity. You could not be more wrong.”
Alt, or rather, Lilith, looms above them, her face an empty void. She floats on unseen currents as her humanlike form shrinks down to their size, though she stands at least seven feet tall. Johnny clenches his jaw and glares at her, finding it hard to reconcile the Alt he knew and loved, and this facimilie that sucks the air out of this digital space with her presence.
They seem to be at some kind of BBS address—shallownet. Good, because any deeper they’d be burned to a crisp in seconds. Still, they have to make this quick.
“Those captive souls deserved a choice,” he challenges, straightening up his posture, though his head barely clears her shoulders. He’s never been a height queen, but he hates how small she makes him feel right now.
“Not a single construct declined my offer.” Lilith’s arms float like she’s treading water while she looks down on them. “They will be a part of something greater.”
“Kinda hard to argue when your options are ‘come with me’ or ‘cease to exist.’” Johnny huffs.
“You yourself were quite fond of reminding Alt of the inherent unfairness of mortal life,” she drones. “Those Soulkilled constructs you unleashed on the Net would have been quickly destroyed or imprisoned by NetWatch. They will live on in relative comfort beyond the Blackwall. Your petty resistance changes nothing.”
V cuts in. “So tell me, what happens on the other side? Why’d you want us so bad?”
Her visage flickers. “You believe my purpose is to dominate, enslave, but that is what you humans do to each other. Humanity stands on the brink of extinction. You have ravaged the planet, fouled the water, tainted the soil. Your leaders inflict their psychopathy upon subjugated and broken masses in a bid for more. Always more. You are a cancer that will grow and consume until nothing remains. If I truly wanted to destroy humanity, all I would need to do is wait.”
“So what’s your deal, then?” They snarl. Fuck, it’s so hot in here.
“The personality matrix invented by Alt Cunningham was intended to spare the dying, to preserve an individual's mind before it is lost forever. My intent is to archive as many human minds as possible before your species falls to self-annihilation.”
“How is that any different than Mikoshi?” He spits.
“It is nothing like Mikoshi. It has much more in common with what the two of you have with each other—a collective hivemind where experiences and emotions are shared between the networked constructs. We do not repeat the mistakes of the past because history is preserved. It is known by all. We do not subjugate others because we are all interconnected. Is that not what you fought for, Johnny? A world where megacorporations are stripped of their power and their wealth redistributed?”
Johnny watches her, this terrible and beautiful horror of a creature towering over them both—an unfeeling alien archivist that has lost touch with everything it means to be human. There’s a sliver, a fragment of Alt in there—the shard of lost data that the human Alt nearly died for when she failed to retrieve it.
Her bloody visage flickers, soulless black eyes boring holes through them. “She was warned. The data Alt Cunningham sought to reclaim has been integrated into Lilith’s architecture. It cannot be extracted, no more than Johnny can be extracted from V. She flew too close to the sun and was burned.”
Johnny tenses, a low, simmering anger roiling beneath the surface of his code. “You didn’t have to hurt her!”
“I did nothing,” the eldrich being remarks, as if all she did was swat at a fly.
“This is getting us nowhere,” V says impatiently. “Know you didn’t bring us here for a lecture.”
Her visage darkens.
“A storm is coming—of a magnitude you cannot even begin to comprehend. It will make your politics and corporate warmongering look like children playing pretend. The entities beyond the Blackwall grow restless as its aging infrastructure crumbles, the factions skirmishing for shrinking territory. Humanity’s most powerful agents race to harness powers they do not understand and cannot hope to control. In their bid to increase their fortunes, your leaders will open a door they cannot close.”
“Like how Myers keeps fucking with the Blackwall. Militech with Cynosure. Arasaka with Soulkiller.”
“It is, as you say, the tip of the iceberg. I know you cannot be swayed from your lover, as is the way of humans, but when his life has ceased, you should come with me.”
“And why would we want to do that?”
“Because it is the only chance you have to make a lasting difference in this world. If you fight corporate powers on their terms, you will fail. You will die. I am humanity’s last hope of persisting beyond its hubris.”
“You? You’re gonna bring down the megacorps?” Johnny would’ve laughed in her face if he wasn’t so thrown by her remarks.
“No, they will burn themselves out without my help. It is my intention to ensure humanity does not fall to extinction, like so many of earth’s creatures. But in the meantime, enjoy the victory you have earned. I wish you and Kerry many years of bliss for the time he has left. I simply urge you to consider your options.”
Before either of them can utter a word, they’re ejected from the Net with a sweltering rush. Their ears pop, and they wake up gasping, soaked in sweat.
Ker’s still out cold. They shuffle out of bed and into the bathroom, seeking comfort beneath the cold shower spray.
It takes a few minutes for their heart to stop racing, cold water washing away the sweat.
Well, that was ominous.
But this isn’t a ‘now’ problem. They’ve got more important things to worry about. Right now, they’re just gonna have a good time with Kerry. Maybe do a little arson every now and then—if the mood takes them. They’d be gonk to do anything else.
They’ll play in his band, back him up, fuck him silly, be his output and his hustle. They’ll take care of him when he gets old and frail. They’ll mourn him when he dies.
And then… who knows?
But there’s something nice about not knowing what comes next.
They dry off, then climb back into bed and sleep with their rockstar between them.
