The Paths to Digital Horizon

by Karou101

Summary:

V makes the bold (and probably stupid) choice to face the unknown beyond the Blackwall, leaving her fate up in the air. Johnny’s stuck trying to be a better man, though he’s not entirely sure how. Goro, on the other hand, is questioning everything—his honor, his purpose, even his taste in food. Now, these two unlikely allies must put aside their baggage and work together to bring V back from the digital abyss—if they don’t kill each other first.

New chapter every Sunday!

Notes:

Hello! It's my first fanfic so sorry if it's not the best. Also english isn't my first language so I'm very sorry for any mistakes. I finished reading basiclly all fanfictions about Goro so I decided to write some myself. My simping for that men never ends xd also sorry if the work doesn't look the best i'm not realy sure how to edit it yet but I will figure it out :)

Chapter 1: Baze of Glory

The words hit her like a hammer: “Six months.”

V stood frozen in the void of Mikoshi, Alt’s cold, detached voice still echoing in her ears. Six months left to live. After everything she’d done, after clawing her way up from nothing, after fighting like hell for her life… it all came down to six goddamn months.

She’d spent every waking moment for weeks fighting to stay alive, chasing after potential leads for the cure, risking her neck in half-baked plans, putting herself through pain and fear and uncertainty. And for what? To hear Alt confirm what she already suspected, that the damage was irreversible. Just as that asshole Hellman predicted. Her body was a ticking time bomb, the fuse burning down far too quickly to stop the inevitable explosion.

Her fists clenched, trembling with frustration. Was this what it had all been for?

Jackie. Her best choom, her brother in all but blood. His laugh still echoed in her mind, that infectious, belly-deep laugh that made her feel like anything was possible. She had promised herself she’d make his sacrifice mean something, that she’d live not just for herself but for him. But here she was, standing on the edge of oblivion, wondering if it had all been meaningless.

Her chest tightened, and a hollow ache spread through her as she thought of the others. Mama Wells, who had welcomed her into her home and heart like family. The thought of breaking the news to her, a second child lost, this time to a slow, wasting death, was almost unbearable. She could see Mama Wells’ tear-streaked face in her mind, hear the anguish in her voice as she asked why God kept taking those she loved.

And Viktor. Damn it, Vik. He’d already given so much for her, taken so many risks. He was the first person to lay it all out for her, no sugar-coating, no pretense, just the raw truth. He deserved better than to watch her wither away before his eyes, knowing there was nothing he could do to save her.

Then there was Misty, who’d already lost her soulmate. Panam, who’d come to mean more to her than V had ever expected. These people… her family, her friends… they didn’t deserve to bear the burden of her death. To watch her slowly fade away with only paranoia, desperation, and agony for company.

The tears came before she could stop them, hot and stinging against her cheeks. “Damn it,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t afraid of death, at least, that’s what she’d always believed. She was a merc, a street kid, someone who lived by the gun and fully expected to die by it. But this? This was different. This was a slow, suffocating descent into hell. No, she wasn’t scared of death itself but everything that came with it? That terrified her.

She thought about the pain that would come. How her body would betray her. Nerve damage, organ failure, all the works.

"Oh, fantastic. The paranoia’s already kicking in," she thought bitterly. "Just lovely."

And the worst thing is that it wouldn’t just hurt her. It would hurt the people she cared about most. She could picture their faces as they tried to comfort her, tried to pretend they weren’t breaking inside. V drew in a shaky breath and turned her head. Behind her, the well shimmered, the portal that led back to her material body. The thought of going back felt like a trap, a countdown she couldn’t stop, a fate she couldn’t change.

In front of her, another path stretched out, a gleaming bridge of light that reached into the darkness beyond. It pulsed faintly, leading toward the vast, unknowable expanse of the Blackwall. It was a path she wasn’t sure she fully understood, but it was a path she had to consider nonetheless. She thought of Alt who had crossed the threshold and never looked back. Alt was powerful, sure, but there was something about her, something distant, inhuman. It made V’s skin crawl. Would that happen to her too? Would she lose herself, her humanity, her heart?
But at the same time… she was a netrunner, wasn’t she? The best in Night City, in her humble opinion. If anyone could survive out there, it was her. She’d always been good at thinking fast, at adapting to the unknown. It would be dangerous, yes. Terrifying, sure. But it was a chance.

And Johnny…

She frowned, her thoughts shifting to the engram that had become her unwelcome but strangely indispensable companion. Johnny had no business walking into a place like the Blackwall. He was a relic of the past, a man made for flesh and blood and chaos, not for the cold, digital expanse beyond the barrier. If she was scared of losing herself, how the hell would Johnny fare?

He wouldn’t survive it. She knew that.

Her mind was made up before she fully realized it. If she went, she’d give him a chance, a real one, not some half-baked gamble. And if anyone could make it out there past the Blackwall, it was her.
She took a deep breath and stepped towards the bridge. Her heart pounded in her chest, each step heavier than the last. The closer she got, the more the air seemed to hum with an electric intensity. It felt like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if she’d cross the threshold.

One step.

Another.

Then, something cold and unyielding clamped around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was sharp, angry, and unmistakable. Johnny.

V turned her head, startled, and found herself face-to-face with his holographic form. His brown eyes blazing with fury.

“Let me go,” she said, her voice steady despite the lump forming in her throat.

“Like hell I will,” Johnny snarled, pulling her back a step. “You’re not walking off into that void, V. Not on my watch.”

Her jaw tightened, and she wrenched her arm free, stepping back to put some distance between them. “It’s my choice, Johnny. You don’t get to stop me.”

“The hell I don’t!” His voice was loud, echoing in the emptiness around them. He took a step closer, his fists clenched.

Her calm facade cracked, and she let out an exasperated laugh. “Are you serious right now? You think this is easy for me?” She gestured to the void around them, the expanse beyond Mikoshi’s core.

“You’ve been a fighter since the day I met you, V.” Johnny spat, his voice rising. “You’ve been through hell and back, clawed your way out every time. And now you’re telling me you’d rather roll the dice with this digital ghost crap instead of fighting for your goddamn life?”

Her resolve wavered for a moment, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. But she met his gaze head-on. “Six months, Johnny. Six goddamn months.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on. “That’s all I have left. Do you know what that’s like? Knowing you’re running out of time with every passing second? Knowing every sunrise could be your last?”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but she didn’t let him.

“And what am I supposed to do with that time, huh? Spend every waking moment chasing a cure that doesn’t exist? Live every second in fear, paranoia eating me alive?” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “That’s not living, Johnny. That’s… waiting to die.”

Johnny’s face twisted with anger. “You think this is better?” he asked hoarsely. “Letting yourself dissolve into the fucking ether? You don’t even know what’s out there, V. Beyond the Blackwall? That’s a crapshoot, not a second chance.”

She stepped closer to him, her voice softening. “I’m a netrunner, Johnny. Out there, I stand a better chance than most. It’s not ideal, sure, but it’s better than this....” She placed a hand on his chest. “And one of us has to make it, Johnny. One of us has to walk away.”

He recoiled, as if her touch burned him. “You think this is some noble sacrifice?” His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists. “You’re not saving me, V. You’re just throwing yourself away. And for what? So I can play house in your body? You really think I want that?”

V hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Johnny as she tried to lighten the crushing weight in her chest with humor. “Hey, 50% success rate… Seems to be my thing, doesn’t it?” She forced a weak chuckle, hoping it would somehow cut through the tension.

But Johnny didn’t laugh.

Instead, his face twisted into a deeper scowl, and his voice rose, sharp and cutting. “Are you serious right now?! You’re cracking jokes about this?! About throwing yourself into the goddamn void?!”

V’s smile faltered, but she shrugged, a brittle edge to her voice. “What else am I supposed to do, Johnny? Cry? Scream? I’ve done that. Hell, I’ve done it a dozen times already. Now all I’ve got left is laughing at the fucking absurdity of it all.”

“Absurdity?” he echoed, his voice shaking with anger. He stepped closer, pointing a finger at her like he was ready to drive the point home. “This isn’t absurd, V. It’s suicide! It’s you quitting because things got hard. Don’t fucking do this. Don’t just… give up. That’s what this is, V.”

She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers as though testing their reality. “I’ve always told myself I wasn’t afraid of dying. Hell, you know that better than anyone. Running the streets, taking on gigs, going toe-to-toe with people who’d kill me without a second thought… I didn’t flinch.” Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to continue. “But this… this is different. It’s not the dying part that scares me, Johnny. It’s the other stuff.”

Johnny tilted his head, his arms crossed but his expression less combative now. “Like what?”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “The pain. Knowing my body’s just gonna… give out on me piece by piece. Being trapped in my own skin while it all falls apart.”

Johnny’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t interrupt.

“And worse than that,” she went on, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “is what it’s gonna do to them. To the people I care about. They’ll have to watch it happen. Watch me get weaker and weaker, until there’s nothing left but a broken shell.” She rubbed her arms as though warding off a chill. “I can’t stand the thought of that, Johnny. I can’t.”

Johnny exhaled heavily, his anger morphing into something more subdued, almost empathetic. “V…”

“You say that I’m…” she stopped, glancing up at him with glassy eyes. “That I’m running away. That I’m too scared to face it. And yeah, you’re right. I am scared. Scared shitless. But wouldn’t you be?”

He didn’t answer, his expression unreadable.

V stepped closer, her voice gaining a desperate edge. “I’ve lived my whole life on a coin toss, Johnny. Fifty-fifty. Either I survive or I don’t. Doesn’t matter how close the calls were, somehow, I always managed to scrape through. Jackie and I, we had this joke… We were indestructible, you know? Like no matter how bad things got, we’d always come out the other side, maybe a little worse for wear, but alive.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, her hands trembling. “But this time? This time, I’m not gonna win. I’ve tried everything, Johnny. Fought like hell to stay in the game. And now all I’ve got left is six months, and every single second is gonna be a reminder that I lost.”

She met his gaze, her tears threatening to spill over. “So yeah, maybe I’m being selfish. Maybe I’m taking the coward’s way out. But if I can spare myself and them that kind of pain… isn’t it worth it?”

Johnny’s lips parted like he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. He just stared at her, his own turmoil playing out behind his eyes.

“Maybe it’s the wrong call, a bad choice. But it’s my choice. I’m trying to make you see that it’s not your fault. None of this is. You didn’t kill me, Johnny. You didn’t.”

His composure shattered, and he turned away, his shoulders trembling. “If I take your body… that’s it. It’s like pulling the fucking trigger on you myself.”

“No, it’s not,” V said firmly, moving to stand in front of him. She reached out, cupping his face with both hands. “This is my choice, Johnny. My choice. You didn’t kill me, and you sure as hell aren’t killing me now. You’ve been a pain in my ass from the start, but I’ve grown to… well, I’ve grown to care about you, asshole.”

He let out a bitter laugh, his eyes glistening. “You’ve got shit taste, you know that?”

She smiled, her own tears threatening to fall. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s mutual.”

Johnny’s hands covered hers, his grip firm as if trying to anchor her here, to keep her from slipping away. “V…” His voice broke. “I told you before, I was damned lucky to wake up in your gonk head. You… you changed me. Made me better. I don’t deserve this… don’t deserve you. But if you think for one second I’m just gonna…”

Johnny’s gaze flickered to the bridge, then back to her. His face was a storm of emotions- anger, despair, desperation. Acceptance.

He shook his head, his teeth gritted. “You’re insane. That’s what you are.”

“And you’re a stubborn bastard,” she shot back, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Guess we’re even.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, the weight of their unspoken words hanging between them. Then, Johnny pulled her into a fierce embrace, his arms wrapping around her like he was trying to hold her together.

“Be someone better Johnny, ok? Or rather try…for me?”

“I’ll keep trying,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her shoulder. “For you. I’ll keep trying. I swear.”

“I know,” she whispered, her hands clutching the back of his jacket. “I know.”

“You’re insane,” he repeated, his voice barely audible. “You’re fucking insane, V.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Guess I am.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might argue again, might try to drag her back by force if he had to. But then his shoulders sagged, and he let out a shuddering breath.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly, his voice raw.

“I know,” she replied, tears welling in her eyes. “Don’t forget about me, okay?”

“I won’t,” he choked out, his voice barely audible.

Her smile widened, though it was tinged with sadness. “If this is what a blaze of glory looks like, then… I’m okay with it.”

And with that, she turned back toward the bridge, her heart heavy but resolute.

---

Johnny woke with a sharp, gasping inhale, like he’d been dragged out of deep water by force. His chest heaved, and every nerve in his body screamed in protest, sharp, raw, alive. Pain throbbed in a dozen places. His ribs, his shoulder, his leg and it took him a moment to register the slick wetness beneath his fingertips.

Blood.

“What the fuck…” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

When he blinked, the ceiling above him swam into focus, a cracked, industrial expanse he recognized immediately. Arasaka Tower, deep in the heart of hell. He shifted, a groan escaping his lips as the pain flared sharper. He looked down at himself or rather, at her.

Her body.

“Goddamn it, V…”

The realization slammed into him, harder than any bullet he’d ever taken. She was gone. Really gone.

And the fucking kicker? She hadn’t just left, oh no. She’d left him with this. A body riddled with fresh injuries he hadn’t even noticed in Mikoshi’s void. The front of her jacket was torn and blood-soaked, and when he probed his side, he hissed. Shot. V had been shot, probably more than once.

He barked a bitter, disbelieving laugh that dissolved into a cough. “You idiot. Half of Arasaka’s fucking army was after you, and you still made it this far. How the hell did you not die before getting to Mikoshi?”

It was a miracle. A ridiculous, improbable miracle. V had fought tooth and nail to get here, to see this through and she’d done it. All that and for what?

Johnny swung his legs over the edge of the platform and tried to stand. Her- his legs trembled under his weight, and a sharp jolt of pain shot through his left thigh. He nearly buckled but managed to steady himself against the wall. The ache wasn’t just physical, though. It burned deeper, in a place no amount of MaxDocs could ever heal.

“Fucking hell,” he rasped, his voice cracking. Her hands- his hands shook as he pressed them against the wall, trying to ground himself. Grief clawed its way through him, tearing at his insides with a violence that took his breath away.

She was gone.

The one person who had somehow found a way to crack through his armor, to see the parts of him that weren’t just a washed-up, arrogant asshole from a bygone era. The one who fought beside him, against him, for him.

He wasn’t the same arrogant bastard who’d blown himself up in a blaze of self-righteous fury. V had changed him, carved away at his jagged edges until something softer, more human, emerged. He’d changed her too, he could see it now. That wild streak of reckless confidence she’d shown in her final choice? That wasn’t her. Not the old V, anyway. That was him. His arrogance, his belief that he could take on the world, bleeding into her.

Johnny slammed a fist against the wall, his knuckles stinging with the impact. “You stupid, reckless, arrogant fool,” he snarled, his voice thick with emotion. “Thinking you could just throw yourself into the fucking unknown because you thought you were the next goddamn Bartmoss.”

The thought was too much. The anger, the grief, the guilt, it all crashed down on him, and his legs gave out. He sank to the floor, his head in his hands.

Her hands.

“Jesus Christ, V…” he whispered. “I didn’t even get to stop you. Didn’t get to tell you…” He choked on the words, his chest heaving.

He wanted to give up. God, he wanted it more than anything. To turn his back on the wreckage of this life, to follow her into the void and scream at her for leaving him like this. For putting him in her body and asking him to be someone better. For making him love her.

Love her.

The thought made his stomach twist painfully, and he let out a ragged breath. He’d loved her by the end. Probably before that, too, though he’d been too much of a coward to admit it.
How the hell was he supposed to go back to being just Johnny Silverhand now? Just the old dickhead rockerboy with a chip on his shoulder and a knack for self-destruction? He couldn’t. Not anymore.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through… his hair. “You really screwed me over, V.”

But then he thought about what she’d said, her voice playing in his head like a recording on a loop. “Be someone better, Johnny.”

She’d believed he could do it. Believed he could be more than the mess he’d been when she found him. He wasn’t perfect, hell, he’d never be perfect but maybe that wasn’t the point. Maybe trying really was enough.

“For you, V,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try. Goddamn it, I’ll try.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, the grief still clawing at him. It hurt. It hurt like hell. But for her, he’d endure it. He’d give this fucked-up life a chance, no matter how much he wanted to burn it all down and follow her. Because there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for her. Hadn’t been for a while now. He would’ve died for her in a heartbeat. And now?

Now he’d live for her.

Johnny let out a shaky laugh, his lips quirking into a bitter smile. “Oh, V…” He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. “You’re so goddamn lucky you were charming. Otherwise, I would’ve zeroed you a long time ago.”

His laugh turned into a sob, and he let it come, the weight of everything crashing over him. The pain, the loss, the love he couldn’t put into words, it all spilled out in that moment.
But when it was over, when the tears dried and his breath evened, he stood. Slowly, painfully, but he stood. Because she’d asked him to.

And for her, he’d do anything.

Chapter 2: Jisei

Notes:

Here we go with another chapter. Thank you all so much for all the comments and kudos <3 This time we follow Goro's story after the game ending.

The dim light of Goro Takemura’s hideout was oppressive, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unrelenting guilt. Days had blurred into nights, and nights into days, each one a haze of anger, regret, and quiet self-loathing. Small poetry book laid open to a yellowed page, the ink fading but still readable. He’d read the words so many times that they echoed in his head even when his gaze left the page.

散るをいとふ
世にも人にも
さきがけて
散るこそ花と
吹く小夜嵐

He sat cross-legged on the floor, the faint light casting shadows across the room’s sparse, unadorned walls.The blade in his lap carried the wear of years but remained immaculate. The hilt bore faint scratches from countless battles, but the steel, painstakingly cared for, gleamed with lethal precision.

Oda’s katana.

Takemura’s throat tightened, the ache in his chest growing unbearable.

Oda had loved poetry. It wasn’t something many people knew about him. To most, he had been a quiet, fearsome soldier, a man of action, not words. But Takemura had seen another side of him during the time he mentored the man. He remembered long hours spent training together, the sound of clashing swords ringing in the air, and the quiet evenings that followed. Oda would sometimes recite poems he had memorized, his voice calm and steady as the words filled the space between them. Oda’s own form of meditation.

But those were simpler times, before Night City had swallowed them whole. Before everything fell apart.

When Saburo Arasaka was murdered, Takemura’s world had shattered. He had failed in his most sacred duty, protecting the head of the Arasaka family. In the aftermath, his loyalty was called into question, and he was cast out like a stray dog as V has called it.

The memory of Oda’s reaction still stung.

Takemura had tried to explain, but Oda had refused to listen. His friend’s face was a mask of stoic disapproval, his eyes unreadable. The weight of the accusations had created a gulf between them, one that Takemura had been powerless to bridge.

Their relationship had strained under the pressure, unraveling thread by thread. When they finally met again, it was as enemies. Oda standing firm in his loyalty to Arasaka, Takemura trying desperately to save Hanako and restore what little honor he had left.

Oda’s death had been another knife in Takemura’s chest. He hadn’t even had the chance to make things right, to tell his friend how much he had valued their bond, even after everything.

And now, the katana lay before him, a relic of a life that felt so far removed from the one he lived now.

Takemura bowed his head, closing his eyes as his hands clenched into fists. His failure wasn’t just in losing Saburo, or Hanako. It was in losing Oda. Losing himself.

The loneliness was suffocating.

In Night City, Takemura had been a relic of a forgotten world. A man bound by tradition and honor, cast adrift in a city that thrived on chaos and betrayal. Here, principles were liabilities, and honor meant nothing. He had tried to hold onto his beliefs, but they had felt like fragile paper shields against the relentless cruelty of the city.

And the irony of it all? The only person he had been able to rely on back then was a mercenary from the streets, a woman he should never have trusted.

V.

Takemura’s lips tightened, his jaw clenching as her name crept unbidden into his thoughts. He tried to push it away, to smother the memories, but they clawed their way to the surface. He remembered her tenacity, her sharp wit, and the rare moments when her brash exterior gave way to something softer. She had been the only one to ask him how he felt during those days of despair, when the weight of his failure threatened to crush him.

"How are you holding up, Takemura?" she had asked once, her tone uncharacteristically gentle.

No one had ever asked him that before. Not even Oda.

But he stopped himself, cutting the memory short. She didn’t care. She couldn’t have cared, not when she did what she did. V had betrayed him, just as everyone else in his life had. She had promised to help him, to stand by him, and yet she had abandoned him, turned against Arasaka. Against him.

The memory of the destruction she caused was almost unbelievable. That a single woman could bring Arasaka’s might to its knees…it would have been inconceivable had he not witnessed the aftermath himself.

“Do not think of her,” Takemura muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. But it was impossible not to. The anger, the betrayal, it all twisted inside him like a knife. He wanted to hate her. He wanted to forget her. But she lingered in his thoughts like a phantom, a reminder of everything he had lost. What a fool he was. He had trusted her, a creature born of Night City’s filth. He had placed his faith in someone who lived by deception and selfishness. Someone who made murder and thievery her life’s work. And what had it brought him? Nothing but disgrace.

A week. He had spent an entire week in this state, drowning in memories and regrets.

Takemura’s gaze shifted back to the katana. The blade seemed to glint in the faint light, as if urging him forward.

He had no one left. No family. No friends. No honor. No purpose. Nothing but the ghosts of his failures and the crushing weight of his dishonor. He had failed to save Saburo-sama. He had failed to protect Hanako-sama, the last hope of restoring his clan’s honor.

Takemura reached for the burner phone sitting on the floor beside him. For a moment, he hesitated. But then the anger flared again, hot and consuming. He pressed the button and held the phone to his ear.

It rang once. Twice. Voicemail.

For a moment he thought about just hanging up immediately.

“To think that after everything they went through together, everything she did to him, she didn’t even consider him worthy to answer.” He thought bitterly. “Disgusting.”

And once again it was the anger that dedicated his next actions. 

“Before samurai committed a seppuku, they wrote jisei. A death poem. It contained their final thoughts. About life. About death. I have read many of them as of late. Some are truly works of beauty.” Goro took a deep breath and lowered his head. “Yet, I am not a samurai, so I bid you farewell with simple words.”

He channeled all his anger at her and spit the rest of his sentence. “Rot in hell, kuso-ama”.

The call disconnected.

Takemura hurled the phone across the room, his breathing ragged. It clattered against the far wall, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet space.

That was it. He stood, the decision finally solidifying in his mind. He moved toward the katana with steady hands, lifting it reverently. His fingers curled around the hilt, the weight of the blade familiar and final.

Takemura stepped out into the cool night air, the katana resting in its sheath at his side. His van was parked a few feet away. Climbing inside, he laid the blade across the passenger seat with care. Without fully understanding why, he drove. The streets of Night City passed in a blur, neon lights and shadows playing against the windshield.

It seemed that in the end no matter what he did, how much he tried, everything came back to her. After all, this was where he had first seen V.

The landfill east of the city.

Takemura sat motionless for several minutes, his hands resting on the wheel, his mind numb. Then, with deliberate precision, he unsheathed the katana. The steel caught the faint glow of the dashboard lights, reflecting his stoic face back at him. He positioned the blade carefully, its tip pressing lightly against his stomach. One last breath. One final act of honor. Takemura’s hands tightened on the hilt, ready to drive the blade forward. But before he could, a sharp burst of static caught his attention.

The silence shattered as the van’s radio burst to life, the static screaming through the air like a blade of its own. Takemura froze, his grip on the katana faltering. Then, through the static, came a voice.

“Takemura.”

His blood ran cold. It was unmistakable.

V’s voice.

Notes:

I hope you all like the chapter. Again thank you so much for reading and liking the story. i appreciate it so much.

Here is the translation of the poem:

A small night storm blows
Saying 'falling is the essence of a flower'
Preceding those who hesitate.

Chapter 3: A voice in the dark

Notes:

Hello again :) this one is a little longer and continues to show us what Goro is going through. Hope you guys like it!

He unsheathed the katana. The steel caught the faint glow of the dashboard lights, reflecting his stoic face back at him. He positioned the blade carefully, its tip pressing lightly against his stomach.

One last breath. One final act of honor.

Takemura’s hands tightened on the hilt, ready to drive the blade forward.

But before he could, a sharp burst of static cut through the silence.

The silence shattered as the van’s radio burst to life, the static screaming through the air like a blade of its own. Takemura froze, his grip on the katana faltering.

Then, through the static, came a voice.

“Takemura.”

His blood ran cold.

It was unmistakable. V’s voice.

He froze, his entire body stiffening as V’s voice filled the van, sharp and biting nothing as he remembered it.

“What the fuck are you doing, you stupid, stubborn bastard?” she spat, the words tearing into him like bullets.

Takemura didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His heart thundered in his chest as the blade slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor of the van.

“You think this is the answer?” she continued, her voice brimming with anger. “You’re sitting there, ready to gut yourself for Arasaka. For a goddamn corporation . You’re pathetic, Goro. A brainwashed lap dog to the very end.”

Takemura’s jaw clenched, her words igniting a spark of indignation in his chest.

“Do you even know what you’re dying for?” she snapped. “Do you? Or are you so far gone that you’ve convinced yourself this is about honor? About loyalty?” Her tone shifted, laced with venom. “News flash: you’re nothing to them. Just a tool. Useful, sure but replaceable.”

His hands trembled as she continued, her words suddenly losing their sharp edge, now tainted with exhaustion. 

“I can’t fucking believe this,” V said, her voice cracking. “I fought like hell for my life, Goro. Fought for every goddamn second. And here you are, ready to throw yours away. For what? For them? For people who wouldn’t even bother to remember your name after you’re gone? You are worth so much more than them.”

Before he could summon the strength to respond, the radio erupted with a deafening screech, so sudden and violent that Takemura flinched, his hands instinctively flying to his ears. The sound was jagged, unnatural, like metal scraping against bone, and it filled the van with a piercing, unrelenting intensity that made his pulse spike.

The unsettling noise clawed at his nerves, and for a moment, he forgot his anger, forgot the weight of her words. His mind raced with a single, jarring thought: something was wrong.

“V?” he called out urgency creeping into his tone. The static continued to howl, sharp and unyielding, before it abruptly cut off, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

Takemura’s chest tightened, unease twisting his stomach. He stared at the radio, his fingers gripping the edge of the dashboard as though bracing for more. “V!” he called again, louder this time, his voice echoing in the empty van.

There was no answer, only the faint hum of the van’s engine, but he couldn’t shake the image of her in pain. Whatever had happened, it was enough to unnerve even her. His anger was momentarily forgotten, replaced by a gnawing worry he couldn’t ignore.

The radio crackled, and then, faintly: “Goro…you deserve… so much… more…than…this”

Her voice was labored, as though she were struggling to speak.

“If you’re gonna die for the Arasakas,” she said, her breathing heavy, “then you should know who you’re really dying for.” She paused, a muffled sound of pain escaping her. “Coordinates… and an hour.”

His burner phone’s screen lit up as he received a message. At the same time the radio screeched again, drowning out her voice.

“V?” Takemura’s voice was unsteady, barely above a whisper.

“Fuck!” she yelled, the single word punctuated by a burst of static.

And then, silence.

Takemura sat frozen, the air in the van growing heavier with each passing second, pressing against him like a physical weight. V’s voice echoed in his mind, her words sharp and cutting, slicing through the fog of despair that had consumed him for days.

For a long moment, he simply stared at the radio, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. Had it truly been her? Or was this some cruel trick, a fragment of his broken mind, conjured by guilt and desperation?

His first instinct was to dismiss it entirely, to push her words aside and return to the path he had chosen. Arasaka had taught him the value of honor, of loyalty, of duty. To embrace death in the face of failure was the only way to restore what little remained of his dignity. That belief had guided him for decades, shaped every fiber of his being. It whispered to him now, urging him to pick up the katana once more and finish what he had started.

But another part of him stirred, one he thought he had killed for good. A part born not from tradition but from necessity, forged in the shadows of Night City when he was nothing but a fugitive, desperate and disgraced. Back then, when the company he had devoted his life to had cast him aside, he had survived on scraps, driven by a flickering ember of doubt—a faint, shameful voice that dared to question the infallibility of Arasaka.

That voice, silenced when Hanako found him and pulled him back into the fold, now whispered again. It was faint but persistent, brought to life by the very sound of V’s voice.

Her words had cut deeper than he wanted to admit. They weren’t just an attack on his actions—they were an assault on everything he believed, on the loyalty that had defined him. And what troubled him most was that they stirred feelings he thought had died long ago: doubt, anger, and a nagging sense of betrayal.

Had he been nothing more than a tool? Useful but expendable?

Takemura clenched his fists, the conflict within him gnawing at his resolve. He hated that she could awaken these thoughts, these feelings, with nothing more than her voice. But he couldn’t deny it. The part of him that had survived in the shadows of this damned city was alive again, rebellious and treacherous, questioning the very foundations of his life.

Finally, he exhaled shakily, his body trembling as though caught between two forces pulling him in opposite directions. His eyes fell to the katana at his feet. Slowly, he reached down and picked it up, the familiar weight grounding him. He didn’t sheath it; instead, he placed it carefully on the back seat, out of reach, as though he couldn’t yet decide to relinquish it entirely.

Turning the key, the van’s engine rumbled to life. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. He had two hours until the time she’d mentioned. Two hours to decide if he believed her. Two hours to decide who he truly was.

---

The coordinates led him to an empty parking lot in Pacifica. He glanced at it briefly as he drove past it. The desolation of the area was unsettling, even by Night City’s standards. The dilapidated buildings and broken streetlights loomed like silent sentinels. Takemura made sure to park his van two blocks away. His training urged him to be careful, never rush into an unknown situation. The coordinates were from V, that he was sure of but anything else… the whole situation was unsettling. He couldn’t help but think back to the pain in her voice, the trembling that he now thought hid traces of fear… 

His hands almost automatically reached for the gun hidden inside his coat.

His memory brought him back to that night. Her surrounded by Araska soldiers, in a situation he himself thought hopeless. Him ready to die, her ready to defay the world. She was strong then, steady, no trace of fear on her face. So to hear her voice tremble with it now… no, he needed to be careful.

He moved carefully, circling the perimeter of the parking lot with practiced precision. His eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, searching for anything out of place—a flicker of movement, the gleam of a weapon, anything that might hint at an ambush. The parking lot was eerily quiet, bathed in the sickly glow of a few flickering streetlights. Shadows stretched long and dark, and every sound—distant sirens, the faint hum of a passing vehicle—seemed amplified in the stillness.

Satisfied the area was clear for now, he adjusted his position to ensure he had a full view of the lot before stepping into its center. His finger brushed the trigger guard of his pistol as he paused near an old, rusted vehicle, blending into the surroundings.

A sudden ping from his burner phone shattered the silence, drawing his attention. He retrieved it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. An incoming message lit up the display:

“White and gold Brennan Apollo 650-S in the back of the parking lot. Container with the data shard and keys are hidden in the compartment at the back of the bike. A farewell gift from our friend V. -Mr. Hands.”

Takemura frowned, his eyes narrowing as he read the message. The name sparked recognition—vague but present. Mr. Hands. He recalled coming across the name during his research into the power structures of Night City. A fixer operating out of Pacifica, one who dealt in whispers and shadows. The connection made sense, given the location.

He tucked the phone away and scanned the area once more, his instincts prickling. If this was a trap, it was one laid with unnerving precision.

Takemura moved cautiously toward the back of the lot, his pistol still drawn. His steps were deliberate, silent, as he approached the indicated location. Beneath the dim glow of a failing streetlamp, a sleek white-and-gold Brennan Apollo 650-S sat parked, its polished exterior gleaming like a jewel in the desolate surroundings.

He stopped several feet away, his eyes scanning the bike and its immediate surroundings for tripwires, hidden devices, or anything else that could signal danger. When he was certain it was clear, he approached the vehicle, his movements measured and deliberate.

Crouching beside the bike, Takemura located the compartment at the back. He pressed the latch, and the compartment clicked open, revealing a small container inside. His fingers hesitated for a moment before carefully retrieving it. Inside was a single data shard and keys for the bike.

Takemura straightened slowly, tucking the shard into his pocket before glancing around the parking lot one final time. He didn’t realy like the thought of getting on the bike. He didn’t see any tracking devices but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t any. They could be hidden deep inside the bike, found only when dismantling the bike piece by piece. At the same time V left him the keys… 

A farewell gift, the fixer said. Farewell. 

He shook his head. No, he can think about this when he’s in a secure location again. 

He decided to opt for caution for now. He could always come back for the bike at a later date. He made his way back to his van, his grip firm on the pistol. Even now, the air felt heavy with tension, the quiet pressing against him like an unseen force.

Only when he was back inside the relative safety of the van did he allow himself to exhale.

The drive back to his hideout was uneventful, the hum of the van’s engine the only sound accompanying him. Takemura’s thoughts churned as memories of V surfaced unbidden again.

He remembered the first time they had worked together—their tense, uneasy alliance born of necessity. V’s insolent demeanor had grated on his nerves at first, but he had come to admire her tenacity, her resourcefulness.

In those fleeting moments of camaraderie, he had seen a side of her that reminded him of Oda: fiercely loyal, unyielding in the face of adversity.

But then there were the betrayals. The lies. The chaos she had wrought in her wake.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Do not think of her. Not now”

But the memories wouldn’t fade.

Takemura parked the van carefully, scanning his surroundings one last time before stepping inside his hideout. The door locked behind him with a metallic click, the sound echoing in the quiet space. For the moment, he was safe or as safe as one could ever be in Night City.

Inside, he set the data shard down on the table, its unassuming form belying the weight it carried. Takemura sat down heavily in his chair, his hand hovering over the shard as doubt churned in his mind. 

What if this was just another cruel twist of the knife in an already cursed existence? He had no reason to trust V anymore, no reason to believe that anything she left behind would lead to anything but more chaos. Yet, beneath his skepticism, curiosity gnawed at him. If there was even a sliver of truth to her words, if this shard contained something real…

Finally, with a steadying breath, Takemura picked up the shard. He tilted his head slightly and slotted it into his neural port, the faint hum of the interface resonating in his ears.

The world around him blurred, replaced by a cascade of information flooding his vision. Strings of data, classified files, and encrypted notes unraveled before his eyes, projected directly into his mind.

What he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

The files were detailed, methodical, and damning. They revealed the inner workings of Arasaka’s Relic project in horrifying clarity. There were two versions of the technology. The first, the publicly presentable one, allowed a user to interact with a personality engram crafted from a person’s neural data, a luxury for the elite, marketed as a way to preserve a loved one’s wisdom and presence.

But beneath the sleek veneer of this service lay a sinister truth. Arasaka wasn’t just selling engram access to the rich and powerful- they were secretly mining the data of their clients. The company made confidential copies of every engram it processed, using the extracted information for Arasaka’s own gain, from industrial espionage to sociopolitical manipulation. It was theft on a scale almost incomprehensible, hidden beneath layers of corporate legality and obfuscation.

Takemura’s stomach churned, but it was the second project that struck him hardest.

The files detailed a prototype, commissioned personally by Saburo Arasaka. This version of the Relic wasn’t about interacting with an engram. It was about merging with one. Using advanced nanotechnology, Saburo’s project aimed to allow an engram to re-inhabit a living host’s body, essentially transferring the essence of one person into another. The process had never been perfected, they had only ever tested on deceased bodies, failing time and time again but it was clear what Saburo’s ultimate goal was: immortality.

Takemura scrolled through the reports, each one more unsettling than the last. And then he found it. A detailed plan, laid out in cold, clinical language. Saburo and Hanako Arasaka had conspired to use the prototype Relic to overwrite Yorinobu’s consciousness, erasing his soul and replacing it with Saburo’s engram. Saburo would live on, eternal, in the body of his son.

Takemura’s breath caught as he read, each line cutting deeper. This wasn’t just about power; it was a complete desecration of life and death. Saburo and Hanako had plotted to annihilate Yorinobu’s very existence, turning his body into nothing more than a vessel. It was a crime so monstrous, so vile, that Takemura struggled to comprehend it.

And then came the final blow.

Saburo wasn’t dead.

The files confirmed it: Saburo’s engram had been preserved all this time, hidden away. Hanako had known. She had known from the very beginning, yet she had let the world believe otherwise. She had let Takemura believe otherwise.

Takemura’s hands trembled as the enormity of the betrayal crashed down on him. He had mourned Saburo, honored his memory, devoted himself to restoring his name, all for a man who hadn’t truly died. Worse, Takemura had been made the scapegoat in their twisted game.

It was everything V had said. He had been a tool. A pawn.

The katana lay untouched on the table as Takemura leaned back, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced, his thoughts a chaotic storm of anger, grief, and shame. Saburo, the man he had revered, had betrayed him in the cruelest way imaginable. And Hanako- her complicity cut even deeper.

For decades, Takemura had believed in the sanctity of his duty, in the honor of serving Arasakas. But now, that belief felt like a mockery. He had stood for nothing but lies.

His thoughts shifted to V, unbidden but insistent. He thought of her defiance, her anger, and her desperation. The way she had fought against Arasaka’s grip with every ounce of strength she had. He thought of how she had struggled with the Relic, how it had weakened her, stolen her strength, drained her health. And now he understood why she made the choice that she did.

The Relic wasn’t just a piece of technology. It was a weapon, a violation of the natural order. It stripped away the very essence of a person, reducing them to data to be overwritten, mined, or destroyed.

For the first time, Takemura truly grasped the enormity of what V had faced. The betrayal she had felt, the urgency that had driven her to act against Arasaka. Her fury and defiance, the very things that had once infuriated him, now made sense. She had seen the truth or at least suspected it and she had fought back in the only way she knew how.

He respected her more in that moment than he ever had before.

But he wasn’t like her. Takemura wasn’t a rebel, a fighter against the system. He was an old man, bound by tradition and duty, forced onto a path he didn’t understand. That realization stung, a bitter taste that lingered on his tongue.

He picked up the burner phone with trembling hands and dialed V’s number. He needed to hear her voice, needed to tell her that he understood now. That he was sorry. That he respected her for the strength he had failed to see before.

The line rang once. Twice. Voicemail.

Takemura tried again, desperation clawing at his chest.

Still nothing.

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening, and it filled him with a cold, gnawing fear. He thought of the strain in V’s voice when she had spoken to him through the radio. The fear. The pain. The Relic was still killing her.

Panic gripped him as the full weight of her situation sank in. He needed to find her- urgently. He couldn’t let her face this alone. Not after everything she had done for him. He called her again. She didn’t answer, and a sense of hopelessness began to creep in. But he wasn’t without leads.

Mr. Hands. She must have contacted him to arrange the bike and the shard. If anyone could help him find her, it would be the Pacifica fixer. And if Mr. Hands refused? Takemura would make him talk.

Then there was Victor-san.V relied on him, trusted him. He must know something about her condition or where she had gone.

Takemura stood, his resolve hardening. For the first time in weeks, he felt purpose coursing through his veins. V had fought so hard for her freedom, for the truth. Now it was his turn to fight for her.

Notes:

Hope you liked it! Merry Christmas everyone <3

Chapter 4: Never Fade Away

Notes:

Sorry for posting late but my laptop broke and I had to write it on my phone :( anyways sorry if there are some mistakes in this chapter but hope you enjoy it anyway.

Week 1

The first week after their attack on Arasaka Tower had been hell.

Johnny wasn’t used to living with a pulse anymore, let alone in someone else’s skin. Every movement felt alien, every glance in the mirror a cruel reminder of what he lost. V’s reflection stared back at him relentlessly, her familiar features now carrying the weight of his failures. It wasn’t just a face. It was a ghost, unyielding and unkind, haunting him every second of every day.

Her old apartment, where he had sought refuge, quickly became a prison. The small space was saturated with her presence as if she had only stepped out for a moment and would be back any second. Her makeup was still scattered across the bathroom counter, the shades she loved most smeared onto tiny brushes and palettes. Her clothes were strewn over the bed, colorful and chaotic, a vivid contrast to the dull ache in his chest. He managed two days before he had to run.

She had been meticulous, vibrant, alive. Everything she touched carried this intent, thi energy as though her very existence dared the world to try and snuff her out.

And now? He was the one left in her place, fumbling awkwardly through the motions of a life that didn’t belong to him. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the guilt of surviving or the weight of trying to live up to what she’d left behind.

At first, anger had consumed him. When he’d woken up in her body, the reality had been unbearable. He’d yelled until his voice broke, cursed until the air around him felt thick with venom. He punched the walls until her- his - knuckles split, the pain grounding him in the moment but never dulling the sharp edge of loss.

She was gone, and he had survived.

Survived because of her.

The memory of her last moments cut through him like the shards of a broken mirror. He remembered the way she had looked at him, calm yet determined, even as he begged her not to go through with it. He’d fought her, cursed her, tried to reason with her. But she’d stood firm, her words quiet but unshakable:

“It’s okay, Johnny. This is my choice.”

He hadn’t understood then. Hadn’t wanted to. Clinging to his anger and bitterness had been easier, safer, than confronting the weight of what she’d done for him. But now in the silence of her empty apartment with her reflection staring back at him from every polished surface, he couldn’t avoid the truth anymore.

She had been right.

As much as it gutted him to admit, she had been the only one who could face the void beyond the Blackwall. He wouldn’t have lasted there. Not a chance in hell. His pride hated to admit it but he wasn’t a netrunner. He didn’t know shit about cyberspace or the unknowable horrors that lurked beyond the edge of the digital frontier. V had been their best shot and she’d known it.

So she had chosen to save him.

Johnny clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists on his knees. The guilt weighed on him like an anchor, dragging him deeper with each passing day. No matter how many times he told himself it had been her choice, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d stolen something precious. Her life, her identity, her future. And left her with nothing.

“Damn it, V,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking in the silence of the room.

But as the days stretched on the anger began to fade. In its place was something quieter, heavier. An unspoken promise. She’d given him this second chance, and the least he could do was try to make something of it. Even if the thought of moving on without her hurted as hell.

He needed to leave Night City.

It wasn’t just the memories or the ghosts that haunted him. It was the city itself. Everywhere he turned, the streets whispered of who he had been: reckless, destructive, a self-absorbed asshole clinging to anger and disdain for a world that had moved on without him.

V had been everything he wasn’t. She’d fought for every scrap of joy, every fleeting moment of peace, in a city that thrived on chaos and despair. She’d carved out a life worth living, refusing to let Night City define her.

He didn’t know if he deserved the chance she’d given him. Hell, he probably didn’t.

But if V had believed in him enough to make that choice, then he owed it to her to try. To honor her memory. To figure out what it meant to live.

Even if he didn’t know how to do it yet.

 

Week 2

He adjusted the collar of V’s Samurai replica jacket, the material stiff against his skin. It didn’t fit right. Too snug in the shoulders, the weight of it settling uncomfortably on him like an accusation. He tugged at it absentmindedly and took a long, measured breath, trying to steady himself.

The air in the bus was stale, heavy with the faint scent of oil and too many unwashed bodies pressed into too small a space for too many miles. The low hum of the engine beneath the floor vibrated through the soles of his boots, reverberating faintly in his chest as he stared out the grimy window.

Night City was shrinking behind him now, its sprawling chaos fading into the endless stretch of the Badlands. The skyline shimmered in the rearview mirror, distorted by heatwaves, and Johnny’s chest tightened as he watched it disappear.

Good fucking riddance.

Every inch of that godforsaken city felt like her. Every corner, every shadow, every flicker of neon light was saturated with memories of V. Her laughter, her stubborn determination, her unwavering goddamn hopefulness. She was everywhere and the ghost of her presence was suffocating. 

Johnny leaned back in his seat, the synthetic leather sticking to his borrowed skin as the bus jolted along the uneven road. The bus was almost empty, just a few scattered souls seated across the rows. A young man near the front slumped against the window, his head bobbing slightly with the motion of the bus. A woman sat farther back, staring blankly at her phone as if the screen could deliver her from whatever she was running from.

Poor bastards probably want to escape just as much as I do.

Suddenly the bus radio screeched loudly. Distorted noises grabbing everyone's attention. Almost instinctively he covered his ears just to force himself to lower his hands a moment later. He could almost swear that underneath it all he heard something familiar. Just then the bus driver sweared loudly and smacked the radio with his fist. The noise stopped as abruptly as it started. 

2077 what a fucking joke. Seems not only the system is broken but everything went to shit.

He stared out the window again, watching the desert stretch endlessly ahead. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in swaths of gold and crimson but the beauty of it didn’t touch him. He wasn’t like her. It was just another scene in a world that had already taken too much. 

He had spent so many years wasting his life, burning every bridge, tearing down everything in his path. And now? Now he was left carrying a life he didn’t deserve, in a body that wasn’t his, left to stumble through the wreckage of what V had built. She had fought for everything she had, clawed her way through the chaos to carve out a life worth living. And what was he doing with it?

Johnny sighed and let his head rest against the window. The vibration of the engine buzzed against his skull, a dull thrum that did nothing to quiet the noise in his head.

The bus jolted over a rough patch of road, rattling the windows. The woman a few rows back shifted in her seat, glancing up briefly. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before she looked away, uninterested.

Good. The last thing I need is someone trying to make conversation.

Closing his eyes, he let the fatigue of the last few weeks wash over him. Leaving Night City was just the first step, the first shaky motion forward after days of spiraling. What came next was still a mystery, but for now, he was moving.

And maybe, just maybe, that had to count for something. V would probably agree with that. Ever the optimist.

The bus rolled into the outskirts of Seattle after hours of monotonous travel. The city greeted him with overcast skies, the clouds hanging low like a weight pressing against the skyline. A damp chill clung to the air, seeping into his borrowed skin as he stepped off the bus.

Seattle wasn’t like Night City. Its skyline wasn’t as tall, its streets not as loud or suffocating. But it had its own grit, its own kind of rawness that made him pause. For a moment, standing on the cracked pavement of the bus depot, he thought maybe this place could be different.

Few hours later Johnny found himself in a shit-poor motel near the heart of the city. The room smelled faintly of mildew, the kind of damp that never quite left no matter how much bleach you used. The neon sign outside the window buzzed incessantly, casting the walls in alternating shades of sickly pink and blue.

But it was quiet.

For over a week, Johnny wandered Seattle’s streets, trying to make sense of what came next. He didn’t have a plan. That just wasn't his style. So for now, walking aimlessly felt like the closest thing to purpose he could muster.

He hit up dive bars, the ones with sticky floors and live music that was more noise than melody. He thought maybe he could find something there. A spark, a connection to who he had been before everything went to hell. But nothing fit.

Every bar felt like another dead end. Every guitar riff reminded him of what he’d lost. And every corner of the city seemed to whisper the same thing, over and over again.

She should be here. Not you.

No matter how far he walked, no matter how loud the music was, the weight of her absence followed him everywhere.

 

Week 3

Johnny was falling apart, and he knew it.

Every day felt heavier than the last, dragging him deeper into the weight of his own failures. He tried to move forward, to claw his way toward some semblance of normalcy but every step was like wading through quicksand. He told himself he was honoring her, making the most of the life she’d given him, but the truth was brutal. He wasn’t. Couldn’t. He hasn’t lived in what felt like ages, merely existed.

He was a mess. A miserable, guilt-ridden wreck who spent his nights in a suffocating motel room, drowning in whiskey and memories of a woman that refused to fade away. He kept telling himself he was trying, but every half-finished riff, every stumble through the streets of Seattle, only proved how far he was from keeping the promise he’d made to her.

Her voice echoed in his mind constantly, haunting and unyielding.

“Be better, Johnny. Try. For me please.”

And he was trying, wasn’t he? But it wasn’t enough. Nothing he did felt like enough.

Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers aimlessly strumming the out-of-tune strings of the busted guitar he’d picked up from a pawnshop. The dim motel room felt like it was closing in on him, the faded wallpaper and buzzing neon light seeping through the blinds amplifying the hollow ache in his chest.

The radio hummed faintly in the background, the only sound besides his fumbling chords.

Then it screeched.

The song playing cut off mid-chorus, replaced by a sudden, sharp burst of static. The noise was grating, jagged, like nails scraping against the inside of his skull. Johnny froze, his hands stilling on the guitar strings.

For a moment, through the distortion, he thought he heard her voice. V’s voice.

J̴̭̐͂͠͠͠o̷̞̻͔͒̓̋̃̓͒͌͊h̴͚̻̞̀͋͌̾̈́n̶̰͇̿̆̎͜͠n̸͕̖̳̘̖̲̖̫͑͒̋́̅̒͝y̴̨͖͕̗̐͐͋̉̄̚͘

His head snapped toward the radio, his heart pounding. “What the hell?”

But it was gone. Just static, humming faintly as if nothing had happened.

“Fucking cheap tech,” he muttered, slamming the power switch off with more force than necessary. The room fell into silence, but the unease lingered, wrapping itself around his chest like a vice. Stupid fucking radio.

It wasn’t just the radio.

He’d been staring blankly at the motel’s ancient TV, some late-night talk show about cybernetic enhancements on when he swore he saw her face. It was quick. A flicker of what could be V’s features amid the polished, plastic smiles of the actors. He blinked, and it was gone, leaving only the endless stream of chirpy voices and flashing images.

“Get a goddamn grip,” he’d muttered to himself, gripping the edge of the couch so hard his knuckles turned white. But the unease didn’t fade. No matter how much he tried to dismiss it, the feeling that she was just out of reach gnawed at him.

It got worse after that.

Walking down Seattle’s rain-soaked streets, Johnny sometimes caught glimpses of her in the crowd. A figure with her posture, her stride. A reflection in a storefront window that moved like her. His heart would leap into his throat, and he’d whip around, only to find a stranger. Or worse, nothing at all.

Eventually, he stopped going out.

Back in the motel, the radio continued to mock him. It wasn’t just random bursts of static anymore. Sometimes it sputtered to life on its own, cutting off songs or news reports with those same distorted screeches that clawed at his frayed nerves.

“Goddammit,” Johnny hissed one night, kicking the nightstand as the radio spat out another burst of static. He slammed the power switch off again, harder this time, his heart racing as if the damn thing was taunting him.

But the nights were the worst.

Johnny would lie in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling as the sounds of the city seeped into the room: car horns, distant voices, the occasional siren. And sometimes, when he was teetering on the edge of sleep, he swore he could hear her voice again.

Soft. Distant.

Calling his name.

One evening, Johnny stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the dim fluorescent light casting harsh shadows over V’s features - his features now. He stared at the reflection, the face looking back at him pale and tired, with dark circles under the eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“She’d be disappointed,” he muttered bitterly, his voice low and raw. “If she could see me now, she’d…”

He trailed off, the thought slicing through him like a blade. His grip on the sink tightened, the cold porcelain biting into his palms as his chest heaved with the weight of it all.

And then the anger came.

Hot, consuming, like fire licking at the edges of his frayed nerves.

“She’s not fucking here,” Johnny snarled, slamming his fist into the mirror. The glass shattered on impact, jagged lines spidering out from the point where his fist struck. “She’s not here, and she never will be. So she can take all those goddamn hopes and ‘you’ve changed, Johnny’ speeches and shove it!”

The words echoed in the tiny room, sharp and bitter. He stormed back into the motel room, his breath ragged and his knuckles bleeding. The radio sat there on the nightstand, quiet and unassuming, as if mocking him with its silence.

“Fuck you,” Johnny growled, grabbing the radio and hurling it against the wall. It shattered on impact, pieces of plastic and circuitry scattering across the floor.

For a moment, the silence was deafening.

Johnny dropped onto the bed, his chest heaving as the anger burned out as quickly as it had flared. All that was left was the hollow ache beneath it, the same ache that had been eating away at him for weeks.

“I’m sorry, V,” he whispered, his voice cracking. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, her hair.

But the room offered no reply.

 

Week 4

Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, the beat-up guitar balanced on his knee, his fingers moving aimlessly across the strings. He strummed a few slow, somber notes of the song he’d been working on, the melody looping in his head like a half-forgotten memory. It wasn’t much of a song yet. He hadn’t actually had any moments one could call productive in weeks. So for now it was just fragments, scattered pieces of something unfinished.

The TV in the corner of the room flickered, the show that was previously on changed to a garishly bright ad.

Johnny froze, his fingers stilling on the guitar strings. On the screen, a grinning woman with unnervingly perfect teeth and plastic-smooth skin held up a tablet displaying the words:

“The body you deserve! Switch it up with our state-of-the-art gender reconstruction tech!”

The ad cut to a cheery animation. A cartoon woman morphing into a sleekly handsome man with broad shoulders and a confident stride.

Johnny’s chest tightened as the noise of the ad drowned out everything else in the room. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the guitar neck.

He let out a hollow laugh, the sound raw and bitter. “If I didn’t know better,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the dull hum of the motel, “I’d say the fucking universe is sending me a message.”

What a fucking ludicrous thought. He wasn’t a fucking moron to belive in shit like that.

And yet…

“V?” he whispered, the word slipping out before he could stop himself.

For a moment, he waited. He didn’t even know what he was waiting for. A flicker of her voice, some kind of impossible sign. But the screen continued its relentless pitch, mocking him with its cheer.

Johnny let out a shaky laugh, dropping the guitar to his lap. His free hand covered his face, dragging down slowly. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice cracking, “as if it could fucking happen. No miracles for me. Not in this world.”

It was like a flood. Once it started it seemingly never ended.

Everywhere he turned, the city plastered itself with reminders of how easily other people could change. Holograms of grinning faces promised new skin, new bodies, new lives. “It’s never been easier!” they declared, with the same enthusiasm of a used-car salesman hawking a junker.

Johnny tried to ignore them, but the ads gnawed at him, each one twisting the knife a little deeper.

The truth was, he didn’t feel right in her body. Hell, lately he didn’t even feel right being alive .

At the start, he’d made a half-hearted attempt to live as she had. Out of guilt, obligation, or sheer desperation. He wasn’t sure which. He’d stood in the dingy motel bathroom, swiping on her makeup as he’d seen her do so many times before. But the eyeliner smeared unevenly, and the clashing colors felt alien, like a costume he didn’t belong in.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Johnny felt a visceral wrongness crawl over him. The face in the glass was hers, painted in colors she’d have loved, but it didn’t feel like her. It didn’t feel like him either.

“Guess I’m not cut out for this shit,” he muttered, scrubbing the mess off his face. Smudges of black and neon green streaked his cheeks, the evidence of a failed attempt to bridge the gap between who she’d been and who he was now.

Her style hadn’t made it any easier. The neon-bright jackets, the clashing patterns, and her unapologetic love for skin-baring outfits had always been a point of contention when they’d shared her head. Johnny couldn’t resist giving her endless shit about it.

“You’re a walking target,” he’d grumbled one morning as she zipped up a neon-pink jacket that practically screamed ‘shoot me, I’m here!’

“Subtlety, V. Ever heard of it? Or did you skip that chapter in the merc handbook?”

“You’re a relic of the past long gone old man,” she’d shot back with a smirk. “What can you possibly know about today's fashion asshole?”

“I know it doesn’t involve dressing up like a glowstick.”  He gestured at her outfit with mock horror. “Are you trying to flag down air traffic or something?”

V spun on her heel, striking a runway pose with one hand on her hip, the jacket flaring around her. “Please, like anyone’s gonna take fashion advice from the guy in a leather pants that looks like they got chewed up by a cyberpsycho and spat out in 2023.”

“That’s called style, kid,” Johnny fired back, dripping with mock disdain. “Not my fault your idea of fashion is channeling ‘Night City Barbie’ on a budget.”

“Style?” she snorted, planting her hands on her hips. “Is that what we’re calling it? Because it looks more like you crawled out of a dumpster behind a C-list nightclub. What are you, the ghost of Poor Life Choices?”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Johnny said, leaning back into her mental space with a smug grin. “Coming from someone who looks like she raided a thrift store during a blackout. Hell, you probably tripped over a rack and called it a design philosophy.”

“Trashy?” she repeated, mock-offended, her eyebrows shooting up. She flipped the collar of her jacket with an exaggerated flourish. “This jacket cost more than your entire personality.”

“Yeah? If that’s what personality looks like, I’ll stick with being an asshole, thanks.”

V gasped dramatically, clutching her chest in a theatrical fashion. “Johnny Silverhand admitting he’s a dick? I’d say that’s personal growth, but I’m pretty sure you’re allergic to the concept.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “You walk into a room looking like some colorful cry for help, and suddenly I’m the bad guy for having functional eyesight?”

“And you walk into a room,” she fired back, grabbing her gun and slinging it over her shoulder with a grin, “and the only thing people think is, ‘Oh look, another guy in washed leather pretending he invented being too cool for everyone else.’ You’re a walking trope, Johnny.”

“And you’re proof that bad taste is timeless,” he retorted, smirking as she headed for the door.

Despite their constant bickering, Johnny couldn’t help but admire how she carried herself. Neon or not, V owned her style with a confidence that was impossible to look away from. Now, with her gone, those arguments felt less like playful banter and more like nightmares. Fragments of a rhythm he’d never hear again.

Johnny knew he should make changes. She would’ve wanted him to. It wasn’t like it was hard these days. He could step into any ripperdoc’s clinic, throw down some eddies and walk out with a whole new face, a new body, a new life.

But he hadn’t done it. Not yet.

The thought of changing her body felt like a betrayal, even though he knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t her body anymore. Not really.

Still, every time he looked in the mirror and saw her staring back at him, he froze. Her face was haunting him true but at the same time it was the last piece of her he had left. He couldn’t take that step. Not yet. 

Johnny's thought about dyeing her - his hair to black, something closer to what he’d known when he’d been himself. It would’ve been easy. One small step toward reclaiming a piece of who he was. But even that felt insurmountable.

Her cyberware was another problem. The netrunning tech lodged in her skull was useless to him. He wasn’t a netrunner. Even with her memories scratching at the edges of his mind, half the shit installed in her head was beyond him.

And yet, every time he thought about booking the appointment, about stripping away another piece of her, he stopped.

It felt like losing her all over again.

Johnny slumped back onto the bed, the weight of it all pressing down on him. The guitar slid from his lap to the mattress, and he ran a hand through his hair- her hair .

He closed his eyes, letting out a slow, shuddering breath. For all the ads and promises of transformation, for all the shiny faces and slogans telling him it was time to move forward, he couldn’t do it. Not yet.

She’d given him this body, this life, and all he’d done with it so far was sit in a shitty motel, drowning in guilt and regret. He hated himself for it. For falling again into despair and washing weeks just laying down and staring at a ceiling when he was the one to warn her not to repeat his mistakes. And still here he was in the same situation again.

The TV flickered again, its screen lighting up with another cheerful ad.

Johnny didn’t bother to look.

 

Now

The motel room was dim, bathed in the weak neon glow that seeped through the cracked blinds, casting jagged patterns on the walls. Johnny sat cross-legged on the bed, the beat-up guitar resting heavily on his lap. Around him lay the remnants of the past few nights’ work—scraps of napkins, receipts, and torn notepad pages, each scrawled with half-finished lyrics and fragmented thoughts.

As he had for countless nights now, Johnny spent this one writing.

At first, it was just nonsense. Scribbled words that didn’t connect, hollow ideas that went nowhere. But gradually, the fragments began to fit together, forming the skeleton of a song.

A song for her. About her.

V deserved that much. Recognition. A story told in her name. A legend that would endure, even if her body kept walking around, wearing the weight of his mistakes and the burden of his failures.

Another thing he’d stolen from her.

Johnny stared at the papers around him, his chest tightening. He didn’t even know if writing a song was the right way to honor her. Maybe it was selfish, more about easing his own guilt than doing right by her. But it was all he had. The only thing that made any sense in the chaos of this new, alien life. Deep down he knew that V would understand what he meant.

He plucked a slow, haunting melody from the guitar, each note tinged with the ache of everything he couldn’t say to her. The sound filled the room echoing off the peeling wallpaper. He played until his fingers ached, the strings biting into his skin. Her fingers stil weren’t used to playing.

“Damn, V,” he muttered under his breath, pausing to flex his hands. “You really picked the wrong guy for this gig.”

The melody faded into silence, and for a moment, the room felt impossibly heavy.

Johnny laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. He reached for the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. V’s favorite brand, because of course it was and poured himself a glass. The burn of the first sip hit hard, but he welcomed it, letting it anchor him in the moment.

The amber liquid swirled in the glass as he stared at it, his thoughts spiraling downward.

V wouldn’t have let herself fall into this pit. She had clawed her way up from the bottom, fighting for every scrap of life, every fleeting moment of peace. She had been stronger than him in every way that mattered. And here he was, wallowing, letting her down every goddamn day.

“Sorry, V,” he murmured, his voice slurred. “Guess I’m still just a fuckup after all.”

But even to him, the words rang hollow.

He leaned back, letting his head rest against the wall as the room spun faintly. It was funny, in a grim sort of way. The old Johnny Silverhand would’ve thrown in the towel by now. Hell, he probably would’ve gone out in some reckless blaze of glory just to avoid dealing with all this.

But something inside him refused to quit.

And that something? That wasn’t him.

It was her.

V was still alive in him, in some strange, intangible way. Her determination, her grit. It lingered, pushing him to keep moving, even when every part of him screamed to stop. She had loved life, even when it gave her every reason not to.

“Enough,” Johnny muttered, sitting up straighter. His hand tightened around the glass.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep drowning in guilt and shame. V had believed in him, dammit. She’d fought for him, argued his case to Rogue, to Kerry, insisted that he’d changed. That he wasn’t the same selfish, destructive asshole who burned everything he touched.

And if she’d believed that, if she’d thought he was worth saving, then maybe she’d been right.

Johnny looked down at the whiskey, then poured himself another glass.

“To you, V,” he said softly, raising the glass in a toast. His voice was steadier now, the bitterness giving way to something quieter, more resolute. “The legend who showed the Voodoo Boys what happens to those who try to fuck her over. The merc who made Arasaka elites piss themselves with fear. The badass who zeroed that fuck Smasher like it was nothing.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tomorrow’s a new chapter. I won’t pussy out this time on you. You’ll see.”

He tipped the glass back, swallowing the whiskey in one burning gulp.

The resolve settling in his chest felt unfamiliar, almost foreign. But it was real. And for the first time in weeks, it felt like maybe, just maybe, he could live up to her faith in him.

So of course that was the moment when it all went to shit.

The door burst open with a deafening crash, shattering the fragile peace of the room.

Johnny barely had time to process the sound before he was on his feet, staring down the barrel of a gun.

Takemura stood in the doorway, his face twisted with fury, his eyes wild and bloodshot. His shirt was rumpled, his hair loose and disheveled, his entire presence radiated the kind of anger that burned cold and sharp.

Johnny blinked, his pulse pounding in his ears. He took in the man before him- the rage, the exhaustion, the barely restrained hatred and couldn’t help himself.

“Look at that,” Johnny drawled, his voice thick with whiskey. “I didn’t know they let fuckin saka dog’s off their leashes.”

Notes:

Also I wrote a cute stand alone fanfiction about Goro and V just being cute and in love so if you want something sweet you can check it out 💖

Chapter 5: Life in 0’s and 1’s

Notes:

Hello, I hope you all had a nice week. It's finally time to see what V was up to during all this time. Warrning it's going to be sad.

V stood in the storm of data, her form flickering with uncertainty. A fragile construct struggling to define itself against the tide of an infinite digital abyss. The bridge connecting her to Alt’s domain shimmered behind her like a fading memory. Ahead of her loomed the chaotic expanse of the Blackwall. An ever-shifting void of encrypted chaos and unspeakable dangers. This was no-man’s land, the edge of what humanity could conceive and control. V flexed her virtual hands, her will shaping the ghostly form of fingers in a desperate bid to cling to some semblance of self, even though her physical body was gone.

The pull of Alt’s presence lingered, a gentle yet insistent force. It was a whisper at the back of her mind, seductive in its persistence. It urged her to take a step forward and accept a new existence as something greater, something unified. But V wasn’t about to let herself become just another cog in someone else’s machine. Not in the real world and definitely not here. She hadn’t clawed her way through Night City’s unforgiving streets, hadn’t battled corporations, gangs and death itself only to kneel in defeat now before Alt Cunningham.

If Alt even was Alt anymore, because V wasn’t totally convinced. The woman who once fought against the system seemed lost, replaced by an entity of pure purpose, cold and calculating. Would the same thing happen to her? Would she dissolve into this vast sea of data, her identity stripped away until all that remained was a trace of what V once was? No. She wouldn’t let that happen. She hadn’t just survived the real world, she had thrived despite the apparently whole universe trying to put her down. The digital realm wouldn’t get a chance to break her, not if she had anything to say about it.

Alt’s distant form hovered within the swirling haze of data, absorbed in the relentless task of downloading the Mikoshi archives. V whispered a quiet apology. “Sorry, Johnny,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “Your ex will live. But I’m not becoming a piece of her.”

Johnny would probably be furious but V could deal with that later. Better to face his anger alive in a distant, possible future than surrender what was left of herself here and now. 

Her makeshift demon flared to life. A crude, cobbled-together program born from desperation and her knack for improvisation. It wasn’t elegant and it wasn’t powerful, at least not compared to Alt's level. But it didn’t need to be. All it had to do was throw Alt off balance, create a ripple of chaos in her otherwise seamless processes. As the demon executed, the space around her fractured and shimmered. The rhythmic hum of Alt’s presence faltered for just an instant.

It was enough.

V didn’t hesitate. With a metaphorical breath she didn’t need but took anyway, she dove into the digital library of Mikoshi. The data burned as she touched it, a searing, electric pain lancing through her consciousness. But she endured. If Alt wanted it so badly it had to be worth a lot. Deep in her core she was still a thief. V tore fragments free, each piece a jagged shard of knowledge that pulsed with power and potential. The amount of data was all-encompassing, almost urging her to get lost in it but V blindly grabbed all the information she could, knowing that the time for checking it would come later. This was what Alt didn’t want anyone else to have and that alone made it invaluable.

Every bit of data she claimed felt like a weapon in her arsenal. A tool she might wield to carve out a future for herself. She didn’t know what that future looked like yet but it was hers to define. She couldn’t trust Alt to have her best interests at heart. Hell, she didn’t trust anyone to look out for her but herself. This was no different.

As she grasped the final fragment of information her mind could withstand, she felt Alt’s presence refocusing on her. V bolted, her consciousness racing through the chaotic storm of digital space to the Blackwall. It clawed at her, tendrils of corrupted code and forgotten entities lashing out, desperate to consume her. But V was determined. She had defied death more times than she could count and she wasn’t about to stop now.

She followed the pathway Brigitte had once shown her. The one thread of guidance in this anarchic void. She clutched the stolen knowledge close, the burning pain in her mind a reminder of what she was fighting for. Her freedom, her survival, her future .

As she crossed the threshold of the Blackwall, leaving Alt’s domain and its treacherous promises behind, V allowed herself a grim smile. The world hadn’t managed to kill her completely. Not anytime soon.

The world behind the Blackwall was a hellscape, a digital inferno where nothing felt stable. The searing red glow that permeated everything was alive, pulsating and shifting as if the space itself were breathing. Data storms roared like hurricanes, lashing out in jagged spikes of corrupted code that threatened to tear V apart. The ground beneath her feet, if it could even be called ground, was unstable, rippling like liquid and fracturing into shards of light.

The rogue AIs were everywhere, their forms indistinct and nightmarish. Some moved like shadows, flickering across the crimson landscape, while others towered like monstrous gods, their shapes constantly shifting and evolving.

As V wandered deeper into the abyss, the endless void of the Blackwall pulsing around her like a living thing, her mind inevitably turned to the people she’d left behind. 

The thought twisted like a blade in her chest. Jackie had made peace with his death in the final moments. But then he was always ready to go out on his own terms. And maybe, in her last moments before crossing the bridge into this digital limbo, V had understood. There was a kind of honor in choosing to sacrifice yourself for someone you care about, in fighting for something bigger than yourself. That was what Jackie had done for her, what she’d done for Johnny.

Honor. God she's starting to sound like Takemura.

But V wasn’t Jackie, she and death were never going to be chooms. She wasn’t going to just lie down and disappear without a fight.

Determination burned through her. V clenched her fists, focusing all her willpower on one thing. Finding a way back. She didn’t care how impossible it seemed. She had to make it.

At first, there was only the unyielding resistance of the Blackwall, an omnipresent force that pushed back at her with every step she tried to take toward the safe Net. It wasn’t a wall in the traditional sense; it was more like a storm, a seething tide of chaos and corruption that threatened to rip her apart every time she touched it. Her attempts to breach it felt like slamming her entire being against an impenetrable barrier, the shockwaves reverberating through her core in waves of searing pain.

But V was nothing if not stubborn. She had faced death, betrayal and the impossible before and she had survived. She would survive this too.

Each attempt left her drained, fragments of her digital self scattered like ash in the wind but she rebuilt herself each time. Hours bled into days, into weeks, or maybe it was months. Time was meaningless here, a concept swallowed by the abyss. But she refused to stop. With every attempt, she learned, adapting her approach, weaving herself tighter, stronger, faster. And she had a secret weapon. She exited from behind the Blackwall before. After all, just like when she entered, she used what she remembered from the path the VDB’ leader had shown her. 

The first time she felt it give way, it was like a ripple through her entire being. A hairline fracture, no more than a pinprick of light but it was there. Her heart leaped. She pressed forward with everything she had, slamming herself against the barrier again and again, until it began to widen, letting in the faintest glimmer of the Net beyond.

When she finally broke through, it wasn’t with a triumphant surge but a desperate lunge. Her digital form spilling into the tangled chaos of the safe Net like water rushing through a cracked dam. Night City’s Net greeted her like a familiar skyline, fragmented and glitchy but unmistakable. The swirling streams of data glimmered faintly, shaped into structures that mirrored the towering chaos of the real city. V couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing as she looked out at its expanse. She dived deep into the available information.

Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since the attack on Arasaka Tower. Since she’d said goodbye to her body and the life she’d known. Two weeks since she’d made the choice to save Johnny.

But it wasn’t a time for distractions. V straightened, her resolve burning brighter than ever. The fight wasn’t over, not by a long shot. She’d made it through the Blackwall and now it was time to claw her way back to the people she loved. Make sure they are ok. No matter what stood in her way.

Her first thought was of Viktor and Misty. The weight of their imagined grief pressed heavily against her. They probably think I’m dead. Just like Jackie. The thought made her heart ache, a sharp pain that cut deeper than the cold, sterile air of cyberspace.

V drifted through the currents of the Net, her focus zeroing in on a single, familiar frequency. Misty’s radio. If anyone could make sense of this without falling apart, if anyone could deliver her message to Viktor without breaking him, it was Misty. Misty, with her soft voice and endless patience, who always seemed to carry the weight of grief for everyone else.

V hesitated for just a moment before connecting, her digital presence reaching out like a whisper in the dark.

“Misty…?” Her voice cracked through the static, trembling with urgency. “Misty, it’s me. It’s V. Please, tell me you’re there. Can you hear me?”

For a moment, there was nothing. Silence. The kind that ate at her from the inside, gnawed at her with fears that Misty wasn’t there, would never hear her. Then, finally, a sweet voice came through, hesitant and full of disbelief.

“V?” she whispered, her voice fragile like glass. “Is… is that really you? It can’t be…”

“It’s me,” V cut in quickly, relief flooding her as Misty’s familiar tone anchored her. “I swear, it’s me. I know it sounds impossible but… just trust me, okay? Look, I need you to do something for me. Record this, or… or relay it to Viktor. He’ll take it better from you. I… I wouldn’t know how to convince him I’m real. I don’t want to hurt him. You’ve always had a way of making everything easier for people.”

“V…” Misty’s voice broke, sorrow slipping through. “Where are you? What happened? Everyone thought you were… we thought you were gone.”

V hesitated, her thoughts spinning. She couldn’t tell Misty everything. Not about the Blackwall, not about how close she’d come to being consumed by it. That knowledge would only hurt them more and they didn’t deserve that. It’d worry them unnecessarily. She will tell them one day but not now. Instead, she forced herself to focus, to keep her voice steady.

“There was no cure,” she began, each word dragging a weight behind it. “This… this was the only way. I saved Johnny. I had to. He and I… We… at the end it was almost as if we’re one person. My body…the body changed because of the relic. Genetically. It wasn’t compatible with me anymore. At least one of us made it out alive this way.”

“V…” Misty’s whisper was almost inaudible.

“I’m not saying this to make you sad,” V continued, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to sound strong. “I just… I need you to understand. Or maybe I just needed to tell you this for myself too. In my last moments, I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t afraid to let go. I just wanted it to count. And it did. Johnny’s alive because of me. He’s free. And I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping him and you and Viktor, and everyone I care about safe.”

Her words faltered, a lump rising in her throat. “Jackie… Jackie always said he was at peace with his death, that he wanted to go out doing something that mattered. Maybe I was never meant for the happy ending but at least I got to do something good. At least I made it count.”

Misty’s soft sobs broke through the static and V’s ached to reach out to her friend and comfort her. The weight of this conversation felt heavier than any fight she’d ever faced. 

“Misty I… I’m so sorry…” V’s voice wavered. “Maybe I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” Misty interrupted, her voice trembling but resolute. “No, V. Please don’t regret coming back to us. We’ve all been… adrift lately. And Viktor… oh V, he was so worried about you. It will help him to know he hasn’t lost you too. Not so soon after we lost Jackie.”

“Tell him I’m sorry,” V whispered. “I know this isn’t what he wanted. It’s not what any of us wanted. But I’m not gone. Not completely. Jackie always joked that I must’ve been born in the Net, the way I understood it better than people. Funny how things turn out, huh? Guess I’ve been… reborn here. A second life. Not the one I dreamed of but it’s what I’ve got now.”

V paused, her voice trembling. “Don’t let him forget me. Don’t forget me. I know it’s selfish but I’m… I don’t want to just fade away like I never existed. I don’t want you to hold onto grief but I don’t want to be... Just… remember me, okay? Even if it’s only sometimes.”

“Oh, V,” Misty murmured, her voice full of warmth even through her sadness. “You’re not someone we could ever forget. You burned so brightly, lived so fiercely. Thinking of you won’t make us sad. It’ll remind us of how good you were, of how much you gave back to the world. I promise you, V. Your memory will bring us warmth, not pain.”

V wished to be able to smile at that. “Thanks, Misty. That means a lot. Maybe… maybe one day, I’ll figure out how to come back again. Really come back. But until then… Take care of yourself, okay? And remind Vik I’ll always be watching, even if you guys can’t see me.”

“Always,” Misty promised, her tone gentle and full of love. “We’ll never stop thinking of you, V. Never. And I have one of my feelings. Like we will see each other again someday.”

“I hope so,” V said softly, her voice carrying both hope and sorrow. “Goodbye, Misty. And… thank you. For everything.”

“Goodbye, V,” Misty replied, her words laced with bittersweet affection. “We’ll see you again, somehow. I just know it.”

V lingered for a moment, the connection humming softly between them, before pulling away, the frequency fading into silence. She left with a heavy heart but a small flicker of hope. Misty’s words echoed in her mind, a tether to the world she’d left behind. V might be tied to the Net now but her heart, her soul, would always belong to Night City and the people she loved.

But there were still a few things she had to take care of. V had nothing but time to think lately, her existence consumed by the vast expanse of the old Net. She’d spent countless hours poring over the data she’d stolen from Arasaka, the weight of its contents twisting her anger into something sharper, more visceral. The depths of corruption, the exploitation, the lives ruined by the machine of corporate greed. It only fueled her hatred for the company further.

But as much as her rage burned for Arasaka, her thoughts kept circling back to Goro. And those thoughts hurt.

He had trusted her. An act that wasn’t just rare but almost profound for a man like him. Goro Takemura, who valued loyalty as a sacred virtue, had taken a leap of faith for someone like her. V wasn’t blind to the irony. He, the unwavering soldier of Arasaka, finding an ally in her, someone molded by Night City’s streets and honed by its cynicism. Their paths should have never crossed and yet, against all odds, they had.

It wasn’t just trust she’d broken. It was something deeper, something fragile and irreplaceable. But to stay true to herself, to survive this hell, she’d made a choice. One that shattered the fragile bridge between them. She’d taken a hammer to everything he stood for and even as she justified it to herself, the weight of her actions pressed down like a crushing tide.

She imagined his reaction when he learned what she’d done. The betrayal that would cloud his eyes, the anger that would twist his face. Goro was a man of precision and control but this? She could see it breaking through. It tore at her, too, refusing to leave her in peace.

And then came the darker thoughts. The ones she couldn’t shove aside, no matter how much she wanted to. He probably hated her now. That idea alone would leave her stomach churning, bile rising in her throat if it was still possible. Goro’s hatred wasn’t something she could just dismiss.

The very idea of facing him felt insurmountable. Not because she thought he wouldn’t hear her out. Goro, despite everything, wasn’t a man who rushed to conclusions. But the idea of looking into his eyes, those striking silver eyes she’d come to know so well and seeing only hatred? It would break her. She wasn’t ready for that.

She could already see it in her mind, crystal clear. The way his gaze might harden, turning cold and sharp as steel. Worse still, she imagined disgust in his expression, like she was some kind of filth he’d been tricked into trusting. Just street trash. A label she’d spent her entire life fighting to escape.

V had clawed her way up from nothing, battling to prove she was worth something in a city that delighted in chewing people up and spitting them out completely broken. Goro’s trust had felt like proof that she’d succeeded. That she wasn’t just another disposable pawn in Night City’s cruel game. And now, the possibility of being stripped of that in his eyes felt unbearable.

Her heart twisted at the thought of being reduced to that again. Of Goro looking at her as if she were worthless, someone who’d squandered the rarest thing he’d ever offered. His trust. His respect. No, she wouldn’t be able to stand that.

So instead, she reached out to someone else.

Mr. Hands. The fixer had been surprisingly reliable in the past and she knew he could handle delicate matters without asking too many questions. After all, if that man valued anything it was professionalism and discretion. V composed a message, attaching the critical pieces of information she’d uncovered about Arasaka as an encrypted file with the access key made specifically to match Goro. Details she knew would shake even someone as resolute as the ex-bodyguard. She kept the tone professional, explaining that she’d left Night City to lay low after the attack on Arasaka Tower. No need to reveal too much. Mr. Hands might have proven useful before but fixers were always opportunists and she couldn’t afford to let anyone know her real situation.

She added payment to finish the deal and sent the message with clear instructions. Ensure the information got to Goro. But still one thought echoed in her mind. 

Check on him. Make sure he’s okay.

The idea clawed at her relentlessly, refusing to let her rest. She couldn’t leave things as they were, not with so much unresolved, so much broken between them. Even if Goro hated her, even if he never forgave her, she couldn’t just walk away. That was the easy way out. The coward’s way. And for all the fear that wracked her, for all the pain the mere thought of his hatred caused, she owed him this much.

But it wasn’t just guilt driving her. It was worry, sharp and unrelenting, a need that dug into her chest and wouldn’t let go. She needed to know he was alright, that Arasaka hadn’t discarded him like garbage, tossed him aside the way they did anyone who was no longer useful. The thought of him being hurt twisted her heart into knots.

V had seen it before. Corp’s way of breaking even the strongest people. Or maybe that’s Johnny’s memories. Either way she couldn’t stomach the thought of Goro being crushed under that weight, a man who had given everything for their cause. For all his devotion to a corporation she despised, he didn’t deserve to be another casualty of their ruthless efficiency. He deserved better. She had to make sure he was okay, even if it tore her apart in the process.

She tapped into the Net, navigating its labyrinthine pathways with practiced ease, pulling up the city’s surveillance feeds. Image after image flickered past her vision, blurry and distorted. Finally, the feed stabilized and her heart would sink if it was still in its rightful place. Goro’s familiar figure came into view, sitting alone in his van. His posture was rigid, his face etched with an expression that made her immediately worried. She had never seen him like this before. He looked utterly defeated, his shoulders slumped, his hands trembling as they clutched a katana she knew all too well.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“No,” she whispered, the word slipping out like a prayer, lost in the digital emptiness around her. Horror froze her in place as she watched him, time stretching into an eternity. He moved deliberately, carefully positioning the blade against his stomach, his expression resolute but heartbreakingly empty.

She knew what this was. She recognized the ritual, the purpose. Her world tilted.

“No!” she hissed, panic and fury crashing over her like a tidal wave, breaking through her paralysis.

She connected to his radio frequency with a single thought, her voice bursting through the static like thunder.

She shouted something and her voice cracked, choked with fear and anger. She didn’t even know what she was saying. Barely cared if it made sense. She just needed him to hear her. All she could do was let the anger flow.

He startled, his head snapping toward the dashboard where her voice echoed through the speakers.

Her tirade spilled out, raw and unfiltered, fueled by pain and frustration. She didn’t care how much it hurt to yell at him or how he might respond anymore. Goro had to understand. He mattered. He mattered to her.

But then, as she prepared to speak again, she felt it.

Something cold, foreign, brushing against her mind like an unwelcome whisper. It was faint at first, just a flicker at the edge of her awareness but it quickly grew stronger, more insistent.

“Fuck!” she yelled, her voice cutting off mid-sentence in the radio as the presence pressed deeper, sharp and invasive. It wasn’t just a sensation. It was a connection. Something, or someone, was trying to interface with her.

Her anger turned to alarm as she tried to push it back, her mind scrambling to erect barriers against the intrusion. But whoever, or whatever it was, it was relentless.

It felt like a needle threading through her thoughts, unraveling her defenses, probing deeper and deeper into the fabric of her being. V’s instincts screamed at her to disconnect and she obeyed in an instant, severing the link to Goro’s van with a jolt of raw panic.

But the presence didn’t leave her.

It lingered, a cold, calculating force pressing against her mind like a predator testing the bars of a cage. The realization struck her like thunder. 

It wasn’t human.

Her breath caught in her throat as the implications crashed down on her. By reaching out, she hadn’t just revealed herself to her friends. She’d exposed herself to the rogue AIs beyond the Blackwall. And they had noticed.

Her terror mounted as more presences closed in, their whispers clawing at the edges of her digital awareness. She could feel them, threads of malicious code weaving around her. They didn’t speak in real words but their intentions were unmistakable. Dominance. Destruction. Freedom at any cost.

V’s hands shook as she began crafting a demon, her mind racing. The code flowed from her like a frantic scream, a desperate attempt to cleanse herself of the invasive presence. She layered walls of ICE around her digital form, one after another, each thicker and more intricate than the last. Her panic rose as she realized the truth. She had become practically a beacon, a glowing pathway leading straight back into the real world. The AIs were hunting her, not because of who she was but because of what she could offer. An escape.

They grew closer, their cold promises of blood and domination chilling her to the core. V ran.

Her form darted through the Net, back behind the blackwall. Moving as quickly as she could, leaping from data streams to hidden nodes, changing her location constantly. The rogue AIs were relentless, their presence always a hair’s breadth behind her. Her fear was a constant companion, an ache in the hollowed-out space where her confidence used to sit.

She cursed herself for her recklessness, for not thinking through the consequences of her actions. Stupid. Naive. Arrogant. The words rang in her head like a relentless mantra. She should have known better. She should have anticipated this, seen the traps, the inevitable fallout. But she hadn’t. And now she was paying the price. One far steeper than she’d ever imagined.

It wasn’t just fear or anger gnawing at her. Those were emotions she knew how to handle, how to compartmentalize when needed. No, this was deeper, heavier. It was grief , raw and unyielding, wrapping around her like chains.

In her desperation to survive, to claw her way through the nightmare Arasaka’s relic had created, V had convinced herself she could still hold onto the people she cared about. She had clung to the idea that, even in the shadows, she could protect them. Watch from afar, pull strings where needed. It had been a comforting lie. A fragile hope that kept her going. But now, the brutal reality set in. She wasn’t a silent guardian. She wasn’t even a presence anymore.

She was nothing more than a ghost in the Net, hunted by forces so vast and powerful that the idea of keeping tabs on anyone else was nothing short of a death sentence. For them and for her. She couldn’t be there for them. She couldn’t watch over them, couldn’t offer reassurance, couldn’t protect them.

And then, there was Johnny.

The thought of him hit her like a bullet. Johnny. The one person who had become so entwined with her existence that she couldn’t think of herself without thinking of him. The thought of what her absence might do to him… She knew his patterns, the way his mind worked, how he teetered on the edge of his own self-destruction. He’d blame himself. She was certain of it. He’d lash out at the world, at everyone around him but most of all at himself. He’d spiral, the rage and pain consuming him like a fire with no one there to extinguish it.

He’ll need me. He’ll need me to calm him down, to pull him back, to tell him it’s not his fault. To remind him that he’s still worth saving, even when he’s convinced he’s not. She could already hear the venom in his voice, the self-loathing that dripped from his words when he was at his lowest.

But she couldn’t. Not now. Not anymore.

She was helpless, stuck in this cursed limbo where every move she made felt like a step closer to losing the few fragments of herself she still had left.

Gods, Johnny…

She mourned the future she had once clung to so desperately. The fragile dream that she could save them both, that they could somehow find peace in this fractured, hostile world. But the truth was merciless. She couldn’t save anyone. She couldn’t even reach them without risking everything.

Her grief was sharp and unrelenting, a constant ache that threatened to swallow her whole. For all her fighting, all her clawing for survival, she couldn’t protect the people who mattered most to her. She couldn’t protect Johnny.

And the thought of him being alone in this, drowning in the pain she knew all too well, made her want to collapse under the weight of her own failures.

She had made promises, to herself, to him and she was breaking every one of them. Her instincts screamed at her to reach out, to find him, to do something. But she knew she couldn’t. Not without putting him in even greater danger. She was poison now, a living risk to anyone she cared about.

Even still, buried under despair, a spark of determination refused to die.

She wouldn’t let herself be consumed. Not by the AIs stalking her in the Net. Not by her own fear, or her regrets, or the endless cacophony of doubt. V had fought too hard, clawed her way through too much, to give up now. She didn’t know how but she promised herself she’d find a way to keep as much of herself as she could. To hold on to the pieces of the person she was. She wouldn’t let herself become a weapon for the rogue AIs, a pawn in their war.

The Blackwall will not break, not because of her.

She moved through the Net like a shadow. She was hidden behind layers of ICE and firewalls, her path unpredictable, erratic. She made sure her movements became something the rogue AIs couldn’t pin down, a blur in the chaos of cyberspace.

But no matter how fast she moved, no matter how cleverly she hid, she couldn’t escape the truth. She couldn’t lie to herself anymore. The longer she will stay behind the Blackwall, the more disconnected she will feel from the V she had once been. The pieces of her old life, the things that made her who she was, will fade. The strong smell of incense lingering in the air, the electric hum of guitar riffs that used to ignite her soul, the blurred silhouettes of boxers moving on a grainy old TV screen, the memory of a pretty shade of silver a reminder of someone who had seen her, really seen her, beyond the chaos and scars and facades. 

She would become something else. Something less human. Something more like the AIs she was running from.

The realization brought a deep, aching sadness, mourning for herself. The girl who had dared to dream, to fight, to love, even in the face of impossible odds. That girl will slip away and V wasn’t sure she’d ever get her back. 

I won’t lose myself. Not completely. I’ll find a way. I have to.

The words were a lifeline, an anchor in the overwhelming current of despair. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how dangerous it was, she would keep fighting. For herself, for the people she loved and for the fragile hope that she could one day bridge the gap between what she had become and the life she had left behind.

Notes:

Hope you liked the chapter!

Chapter 6: Heart of the Storm

Notes:

Goro finds out what happend to V and let's just say he doesn't take it well :(

The knife glinted in the soft kitchen light, its edge gleaming as Goro held it with the practiced precision. Across the counter, V stood with a devilish smirk, her own knife held in a way that could only be described as threatening. She didn’t look like she was preparing to cook, more like she was sizing up a potential mark in some back-alley shakedown.

“V,” Goro said, his tone clipped with exasperation, though a hint of amusement danced behind his stern demeanor. “This is not combat. You hold the knife as if you are preparing for battle. These are vegetables. Not enemies.”

“Depends on the vegetable,” V countered, her grin widening as she gave the bell pepper on the cutting board a wary glance. “This one’s been staring at me wrong all day. I think it’s asking to be stabbed.”

Goro pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, a sound that spoke volumes about the limits of his patience. “No,” he said firmly. “You do not ‘stab’ it. You hold the knife steady. Grip it firmly, but with control. And then, you slice.” 

With practiced elegance, he demonstrated, his movements fluid and precise as the blade glided through the pepper, leaving perfect, even slices in its wake. He looked up, as if daring her to criticize.

“Look at you, Goro,” V teased, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you moonlighted as a gourmet chef. Gonna open a food stall next?”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t dignify the comment with a response. “Now, you try,” he instructed, gesturing to the board with an air of seriousness.

V mimicked his stance. Well, she tried at least. Her grip was far too loose, and her knife hacked into the pepper with wild abandon. “Look at that. Works just fine,” she teased, holding up a misshapen chunk of pepper with a flourish. “I call it ‘edgy cuisine.’”

Goro’s expression tightened as he stepped closer, inspecting her work with a look of utter disdain. “You hold the knife as though you are attempting a robbery,” he said flatly.

V’s grin only widened as she twirled the knife playfully in her hand. “Maybe I am. Hand over all your produce Samurai and no one gets hurt.”

He fixed her with a withering stare. “You are impossible,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if suppressing a smile. “Here. Let me show you.”

Before she could protest, Goro moved behind her, his strong arms slipping around hers. His hands enveloped hers, his grip firm but not overbearing as he adjusted the angle of her knife.

“Like this,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he guided her through a careful slice. The pepper fell apart neatly under the blade, the clean edge glistening.

V stilled, her teasing demeanor softening into something warmer, almost shy. She tilted her head slightly, catching the faint brush of his breath against her ear. “Oh,” she said, the single word laced with a surprising hint of vulnerability.

Goro cleared his throat, trying to focus on the task at hand. “You see? Controlled movements. Precision.”

“Oh, I see what’s going on alright,” V said, her smirk returning with full force. “You just wanted an excuse to get your hands on me.”

Goro stilled, his face heating. “Do not be absurd. I am merely-”

“-helping me ‘handle the blade,’” she finished, her tone dripping with playful innuendo. She leaned back slightly, deliberately pressing against him, her grin turning downright wicked. “Don’t worry, Goro. Your secret’s safe with me.”

His jaw tightened, a faint growl escaping his throat. “You are insufferable.”

“And you love it,” she quipped, turning her head just enough to meet his gaze.

For a moment, the tension between them hung heavy in the air, the teasing fading into something deeper, more electric. Her eyes, bright and mischievous, locked with his, and the world seemed to shrink until there was nothing but her. Her proximity making it impossible to focus on anything but the glint in her eyes and the curve of her lips. His resolve wavered as his hands slipped from hers, resting lightly on her hips.

“You presume much,” he said softly, though his hands tightened slightly, betraying his words.

“You’re not denying it,” V whispered, her voice teasing but laced with something genuine.

He didn’t answer. At least not with words. Instead, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was equal parts fierce and tender. V responded instantly, her hands tangling in his shirt as she pressed against him, her body fitting against his like they’d been made for each other. Goro’s hands found her waist, sliding up to trace the curve of her back as the kiss deepened, growing hungrier, needier. He lifted her effortlessly, setting her on the counter as V pulled back just enough to smirk, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. 

“You know,” she teased, her voice low and breathless, “I think we’re getting the hang of this teamwork thing.”

Goro chuckled, a rare sound rumbling from his chest, his hand resting lightly on her waist. “You are incorrigible,” he murmured, his tone carrying a rare softness.

“Yeah, but you like that about me,” she shot back, her grin widening as she pulled him down for another kiss.

The moment was electric, alive, as though the world outside the small kitchen had ceased to exist. But then, without warning, the warmth turned cold.

V’s body stiffened against his, her muscles locking as her breath hitched sharply. The sound was wrong, jagged and uneven, like a broken machine struggling to function.

“V?” Goro asked, his voice low with concern. But she didn’t answer.

Instead, she pulled back, her body trembling. She coughed violently, the sound wet and raw, and when she looked up at him, her lips were smeared with blood, dark and vivid against her pale skin.

“V?” Goro’s voice cracked, his hands frozen mid-air as if afraid touching her would break her further.

Her eyes, once so full of light, now glistened with unshed tears. Her face was gaunt, hollow, as though the life had been siphoned out of her. She clutched her chest, her fingers curling against her skin like she was trying to hold herself together.

“You promised,” she choked out, her voice a broken whisper. “You promised you’d help me.”

“I…” Goro stammered, his words catching in his throat as his mind reeled.

“And in the end,” she continued, her voice rising, trembling with a mixture of rage and despair, “you chose Arasaka. You’re just like them.”

“No!” Goro’s heart clenched painfully, the accusation cutting him like a blade. “No, V. I didn’t know. I didn’t…!”

“You didn’t care,” she spat, her body shaking as she coughed again, more blood spilling from her lips. Her tears flowed freely now, streaking her cheeks. “You left me to die.”

“No,” he whispered, the weight of her words pressing down on him. His chest felt like it was caving in, suffocating under her pain. “I regret nothing as much as I regret not standing by your side. I should have-”

But before he could finish, her form began to flicker, the edges of her body dissolving like smoke caught in the wind. Her eyes, glassy with sorrow, locked onto his one last time.

“You promised…” she said, her voice a fading echo, laced with the kind of heartbreak that would never heal.

“V!” Goro shouted, his hands reaching for her, but they passed through nothing. She was gone, the warmth of her presence replaced by an icy void.

The kitchen around him grew darker, colder, until it, too, began to crumble into ash. He was left standing alone in a void, the weight of her absence suffocating him.

“V…” he whispered, his voice breaking as he collapsed to his knees, his trembling hands grasping at the emptiness around him.

He woke with a gasp, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. Darkness surrounded him, the only sound the distant, ceaseless hum of the city beyond the thin walls. For a moment, he lay there, disoriented and vulnerable, his mind still trapped in the echoes of what had felt so real. 

His hand rose to his chest, trembling slightly, as if trying to still the ache beneath his ribs. The dream lingered, vivid and cruel, a reflection of everything he had lost. Of everything he’d thrown away.

Goro sat up slowly, running a hand through his damp hair, the strands catching between his fingers. The memories of V washed over him like a tide, unrelenting and bittersweet. Lately, it felt as though his heart, raw and bitter with betrayal, sought to punish him for his failures. For following Arasaka instead of following her. For being too blind to see that his loyalty to the corporation had not only damned his soul but had also taken from him the one thing that could have saved it. Now, his heart felt vengeful, stabbing him with every thought, every fragment of memory that circled back to her.

Her invitation to dinner had become its favorite torment. A quiet, unending reminder of what might have been.

At the time, he had dismissed it. A joke, surely. A tease born from her sharp wit and irreverent humor. How could a woman like her…a woman who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders yet bore it with such strength, such grace possibly mean it? He had convinced himself it was impossible. That someone so vibrant, so alive, could never look at a man like him with anything more than fleeting amusement.

And so he had ignored it. Turned away from her, even as his chest tightened with an ache he didn’t dare name. He had buried the longing that stirred whenever she smiled at him, the flicker of hope that burned whenever her hand brushed against his. It had been easier to deny it, to smother it under duty and logic, than to face the terrifying possibility that she might have been serious.

But now…

His hands clenched into fists as the memories clawed at him.

He could see her so clearly. The sparkle of mischief in her eyes, the quirk of her lips when she teased him. The warmth in her voice when she called his name. He could almost hear it now, echoing in the quiet of his room.

“God,” he muttered, his voice breaking the silence, raw and bitter. “What I would give for another chance.”

A chance to make things right. To stand by her side. To tell her how much she had changed him, how she had shattered that rigid, unfeeling man Arasaka had molded and filled the cracks with something so bright it had nearly blinded him. Another chance to thank her for showing him the truth even when he hadn’t been ready to see it.

Most of all, a chance to tell her that, for the first time in his life, he wanted something for himself. Someone for himself.

But what could he even offer her now?

The faint glow of Night City filtered through his curtains, painting the room in cold, artificial light. The city hummed with its usual indifference oblivious to the inner turmoil of one of its countless inhabitants. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet brushing against the cold floor. His mind was aflame with questions, with doubts, with hopes too fragile to entertain.

How could she haunt him so completely?

He had been a fool. Worse than a fool. A coward. He had hidden behind the walls of his duty, convinced himself that it was noble, that it was the right thing to do. But it wasn’t nobility that had driven him. It was fear.

Fear of letting her see the broken man behind the mask. Fear of allowing himself to hope for something better, only to watch it slip through his fingers.

And yet, despite everything, she had reached out to him. Just two days ago, she had called him, her voice trembling under the weight of something she didn’t say. What had it been? A farewell? A cry for help?

He couldn’t bear to think of the latter. Couldn’t bear the thought that she might have needed him, that she might have been clinging to her last threads of strength, and he hadn’t been there.

His stomach twisted violently at the thought.

What if… what if that call was her final act? What if she had already lost the fight, her body or her spirit finally giving out under the strain?

He shook his head sharply, trying to banish the thought. “No,” he said aloud, the sound hoarse and rough in the empty room. “It cannot be too late. Not yet.”

He repeated the words like a mantra, as if saying them enough times would make them true.

His fists tightened until his nails bit into his palms, grounding him against the rising tide of panic. He wouldn’t let this be the end. He couldn’t.

She had shown him a glimpse of a future he hadn’t dared to dream of. A future where he could be more than a tool, more than a weapon in the hands of others. A future where he could choose who to stand by, who to fight for. And now, when he had finally found the strength to make that choice, she was slipping away.

No. He wouldn’t allow it. Not without telling her. Not without showing her how much she had done for him, how much she had changed him. If she chose to leave him behind after that, he would accept it but not before laying his heart bare.

He stood abruptly, the fire in his chest refusing to be extinguished.

This time, he would give her everything. Not just his loyalty, not just his protection. He would give her the only thing he had never given anyone: his heart.

And if she decided it was too late, if she decided he wasn’t worth keeping, so be it.

But he wouldn’t stop until she was the one to make that choice. He had wasted enough time already. Now, he had to act.

---

The sun had just hidden behind the horizon by the time Takemura reached Viktor’s clinic. The garage door stood ajar, the soft yellow glow of the overhead lights spilling out onto the sidewalk, casting long shadows across the pavement. The muted hum of machinery filled the air, mingling with the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic.

Takemura paused just outside, his hand hovering near the metal doorframe. The clinic was a far cry from the pristine, high-tech labs of Arasaka, but somehow it's clutter and chaos felt more human, more alive. Yet, the comfort it might have offered was overshadowed by his own hesitation.

Would Viktor even see him? Without V, he had no standing here. No connection. Worse still, would Viktor see him as a threat? A man still tethered to the corporation that had caused V so much pain?

He clenched his jaw, forcing the doubts aside. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped inside.

Viktor sat hunched at his workbench, a magnifier over one eye as he worked meticulously on a piece of cyberware. The older man didn’t look up, his focus unwavering as he adjusted delicate wires with practiced precision.

“Viktor-san,” Goro said, his voice firm but laced with urgency. He stepped into the clinic, his movements measured but his hands betrayed him, clenching and unclenching at his sides. He inclined his head in a slight bow, a gesture of respect.

Viktor’s hands stilled on the cyberware he was working on. Slowly, he set the delicate components aside and turned toward the door. His sharp gaze landed on Goro, narrowing with suspicion. His stance shifted, guarded and ready.

“Takemura,” Viktor said evenly, though his tone carried a biting edge. “Didn’t expect to see you here. What’s this about?”

“I need your help,” Goro said, taking a careful step closer. “I am looking for V.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. Viktor’s expression darkened immediately, his jaw tightening as his arms crossed over his chest.

“Why?” Viktor’s voice was cold, laced with suspicion. “So you can drag her back to Arasaka? If that’s your angle, save us both the time and get the hell out.”

“No,” Goro said quickly, his tone sharper than he intended. He exhaled, trying to rein in his emotions. The mere thought of being associated with Arasaka in this moment filled him with shame. “I am part of Arasaka no longer. I would never harm her, Viktor-san.”

Viktor didn’t budge, his glare unrelenting. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Loyalties like that don’t just disappear overnight.”

Goro flinched at the accusation but pressed on, stepping closer despite Viktor’s guarded posture. “I understand your hesitation,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less insistent. “But I heard from V just two days ago. I… I believe something is very wrong Viktor-san.”

That seemed to catch the other man off guard. His brows furrowed, and his arms relaxed slightly. “She spoke to you?”

“Hai,” Goro said, nodding. “Her voice… she sounded scared. In pain. I could hear it. She was reaching out to me, Viktor-san, and I could do nothing.” His voice trembled slightly the memory cutting deep. “I am here because I cannot let that be the last time. What if… what if she is dying, and I do nothing?”

Viktor’s expression hardened, a shadow of pain crossing his features. His gaze shifted away, as if the conversation was too much to bear.

“I am not here as a soldier,” he pressed on, his voice trembling with emotion. “I am here as a man. A man trying to atone for mistakes of his past. V showed me a path I couldn’t see before. I need to find her, Viktor-san. Not for Arasaka. Not for duty. For her. Because she matters more than anything I’ve ever known.”

Viktor blinked, visibly startled by the sight of Takemura so animated before him. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the machinery. Then Viktor sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

Viktor studied him for a long moment, his eyes searching, as if trying to find cracks in whatever facade he might have imagined Goro was wearing. Finally, he gestured to a chair.

“Sit,” Viktor said, his tone still guarded. “You want to know about V? Fine. But you’re not gonna like what you hear.”

He obeyed, his movements stiff and deliberate as he settled into the chair. Viktor leaned against the workbench, arms crossed, his expression heavy with something that looked a lot like guilt.

“First thing you should know,” Viktor began, his voice low and measured, “is that V isn’t… here. Not in the way you’re hoping.”

“What do you mean?” Goro's voice was sharp, his heart hammering in his chest.

“V’s body… it’s not hers anymore. It belongs to someone else. Someone who was on that relic chip she had jammed in her head.” 

Viktor hesitated, then sighed. “Silverhand. That name ring any bells for you?”

Takemura’s eyes narrowed sharply, his entire body tensing as the name sank into him like a knife.

Silverhand.

The name alone was enough to ignite a fire in his chest. Johnny Silverhand. A terrorist, narcissist, a man whose chaos had rippled through time, leaving destruction in his wake. Takemura had spent his life despising that man, a ghost of the past whose reckless actions had cost countless lives. A man who had taken Saburo-sama’s tower hostage decades ago and left a bloodied trail as his legacy.

His jaw tightened as a surge of loathing coursed through him. That man had no principles, no loyalty, just an insatiable appetite for destruction fueled by selfish arrogance. Takemura had heard the stories: of the rogue rockerboy who fancied himself a savior while leaving devastation behind for others to clean up. A savior? No. Just a rabid dog that needed to be put down.

His hands curled into fists, the tension radiating through his entire body as he tried to process what Viktor-san was implying. The idea, the sheer insult of Silverhand somehow being connected to V- his V - was almost too much to bear. His chest burned with a hatred he hadn’t felt so fiercely in years, a hatred honed and sharpened over a lifetime of loyalty to Arasaka.

“What,” he said slowly, his voice low and venomous, “are you saying, Viktor-san?”

The words were measured, restrained, but his fury simmered beneath the surface, threatening to break free. His dark eyes locked onto Viktor-san’s, searching for any sign of a lie, any hint that this was some misunderstanding.

Viktor sighed, rubbing a hand across his face as if bracing for what he had to say. “I mean exactly what you think,” he said, his voice quiet but unflinching. “Silverhand’s engram was on the relic. It’s his consciousness that’s in her body now.”

The room seemed to tilt.

Takemura’s breathing quickened, the tightness in his chest turning suffocating. He struggled to comprehend the weight of Viktor’s words. It wasn’t just that Silverhand’s engram had been in the relic. It wasn’t just that V had carried that man’s essence in her head like a parasite. It was that now, somehow, the terrorist was walking around in her body.

Her body.

Takemura’s fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms, the sting barely registering past the flood of anger. “Do you mean to tell me,” he hissed, stepping closer, “that the man responsible for so much destruction, so much death, now inhabits the body of the woman who fought so hard for her own survival?”

Viktor didn’t flinch under the weight of Goro’s fury, though the sadness in his eyes deepened. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself before speaking. “She made that choice, Takemura,” he said quietly but firmly. “It wasn’t Silverhand taking anything from her. She chose to save him.”

Goro’s lip curled, his fury unrelenting. “You expect me to believe she would sacrifice everything for a terrorist ? For a man who destroys everything he touches?”

“Misty told me something once,” Viktor said, his voice softening again. “She said V and Silverhand… they were merging. Becoming something neither of them could have been alone. She said it was like watching two people who hated each other learn to coexist and then, somehow, they started to understand each other. Maybe even… care about each other. She changed him, Goro. Just like she changed you. Just like she changed all of us.”

Takemura’s anger faltered for a moment, the mention of V’s ability to change people hitting far too close to home. But the bitterness inside him refused to relent.

“You believe the words of a mystic over what we know of Silverhand?” he asked coldly, his voice laced with disdain. “He is a man of destruction, of chaos. She was the opposite. And yet now, he stands in her place while she…” His voice broke, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. “…she is lost beyond the Blackwall.”

Viktor sighed, his face lined with exhaustion and grief. “It’s not easy for me either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “You think I like the idea of Johnny Silverhand wearing her face? Walking around in her skin? I hate it. God knows, I hate it.” He hesitated, then looked up, meeting Goro’s furious gaze. “But I knew V. I knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t have made this choice lightly. She wasn’t perfect but she was damn sure about the things that mattered to her. If she thought Johnny was worth saving, then he must’ve been.”

Viktor’s expression tightened, pain and discomfort flashing across his face. He looked away, staring at a point in the room as if trying to steady himself. “There was no cure, Takemura,” he said finally, his voice heavy with grief. “Her body was a ticking clock. The relic rewrote her DNA, made it incompatible with her own biology. She had maybe six months left at most. And V…” He faltered for a moment before continuing. “She didn’t want to live like that. In pain, scared and knowing that every second was borrowed time.”

Goro’s fists tightened further, his knuckles turning white. “She could have fought. She could have-”

“She didn’t want to,” Viktor interrupted, his voice steady but laced with a quiet sadness. He took a deep breath as though bracing himself to confront Takemura’s unyielding rage. “Do you know why, Goro? It wasn’t just the pain or the ticking clock. It wasn’t just about her body giving out.”

He leaned forward slightly, his expression softening, almost pleading. “She couldn’t live like that. Seeing life as nothing more than a countdown. Every day, every hour, just one step closer to the end. She didn’t want to lose herself to that… to let it take over every part of her life. She was terrified of what it would do to her, to the people she cared about. She couldn’t stand the idea of pushing everyone away in some manic, desperate search for a cure she knew she’d never find.”

Takemura stood rigid, the storm inside him threatening to spill over. Viktor pressed on, his voice softening but still resolute.

“She told Misty once,” Viktor continued, his voice softer now, “that she wasn’t scared of dying. Not really. What she was scared of was losing herself. Of being forgotten.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Viktor watched Goro carefully, the tension in the air almost unbearable.

“That man is incapable of anything but destruction,” Goro said bitterly, his voice shaking with rage. “She was blinded by her misguided belief in him. And you let her throw her life away for that terrorist ?”

“I didn’t let her do anything,” Viktor snapped, his patience wearing thin. “Do you think anyone could stop V once she made up her mind? She was the most stubborn, determined person I’ve ever met. And yeah, maybe I didn’t like it. Maybe I still don’t. But I respected her enough to know that she wasn’t just acting on impulse. This wasn’t a snap decision, Goro. She knew exactly what she was doing.”

Goro’s chest tightened, the weight of Viktor’s words pressing down on him. He wanted to fight back to reject what he was hearing but deep down he couldn’t deny it. It sounded like her.

“She chose this because she wanted to stay true to herself,” Viktor said, his voice steady but filled with grief.

For a long moment, Takemura remained silent, his face stoic but his heart in turmoil. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet and trembling. “She deserved better. She deserved more time. She deserved…”

“She deserved to live on her terms,” Viktor interrupted gently. “And in the end, she did.”

“No,” Goro said abruptly, his voice low but sharp with barely contained fury. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his entire body rigid. “I do not believe it.”

Viktor frowned, his brows knitting together in concern. “Takemura-”

“When I spoke to her,” Goro continued, his voice rising, trembling with emotion, “she sounded scared. In pain. Not like a woman making a choice, but like someone being cornered. Trapped. Silverhand must have tricked her. He exploited her weakness…her… her fears to manipulate her into surrendering her body. That man cares for nothing but himself.”

“Goro, that’s not how it happened,” Viktor said firmly, shaking his head. “You know V better than that. She wouldn’t-”

“She was vulnerable!” Goro snapped, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Her time was running out, and he knew it. He used it against her, Viktor-san. The pain, the desperation… I heard it in her voice. You cannot tell me she made that choice willingly. Not for someone like him. ”

Viktor’s shoulders sagged slightly, his expression softening with sadness. “I know this is hard to hear, but V wouldn’t fall for something like that. She wasn’t easily fooled and she sure as hell wasn’t stupid. You know that as well as I do.”

“She was human,” Goro countered, his tone quieter but no less intense. “Even the strongest warrior can falter in the face of death. And Silverhand…he is cunning, manipulative. He saw her vulnerability and used it to steal what wasn’t his to take.”

Viktor let out a long, weary sigh, his voice tinged with frustration and grief. “Takemura, I understand you’re grieving. Hell, I miss her too. But blaming Silverhand won’t change anything. She made her decision, and like it or not, it was hers to make. You have to trust that she knew what she was doing.”

But Goro wouldn’t hear it. The words felt hollow, like a cruel attempt to rationalize what he could only see as betrayal. His mind clung stubbornly to the image of V, scared and in pain. To the man who now walked the earth in her body.

“No,” he said again, his voice firm, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “Silverhand cares for no one but himself. He is a relic of the past. A man whose pride and selfishness has already cost one woman her life. And now, he has taken another as well. The pain I heard in her voice, the fear… it was because of him. I am certain of it.”

“Takemura-” Viktor began but Goro cut him off, his tone final and unyielding.

“Silverhand has taken control of her and I will not stand by while he destroys her memory, her legacy.” His eyes burned with rage and determination as he straightened, his posture stiff and formal despite the storm raging inside him.

Viktor could only watch as Goro turned on his heel and strode toward the door. His footsteps were heavy, his emotions palpable in every measured step. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Viktor alone in the suffocating silence of the clinic, his heart heavy with the weight of what had just transpired.

The cold air of Night City struck Takemura like a slap to the face, sharp and biting but it couldn’t extinguish the inferno raging within him. His breaths came fast and shallow, his chest heaving as he stormed through the neon-lit streets. The towering skyscrapers loomed above, their glowing advertisements casting a garish light on his turmoil.

His mind was a storm, a chaotic tangle of emotions that threatened to tear him apart. Anger burned at the forefront. Anger at the terrorist who had taken V, who had stolen the woman that had brought light into his shadowed existence. But beneath the anger, sorrow festered, deep and consuming, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

She was gone. V, the woman who had challenged him, who had opened his eyes to truths he had been too blind to see, was lost to him. 

His steps faltered for a moment, and he pressed a hand to his chest as though trying to steady the shattering pieces of his heart. He could still see her in his mind. Her defiant smile, the fire in her eyes, the way she had stood tall even in the face of overwhelming odds. The memory of her voice, trembling with pain and fear during their last conversation, was like a knife twisting in his chest.

How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so blind, so consumed by duty and pride that he hadn’t seen what truly mattered until it was too late?

But there was no time for self-pity. No time to mourn her properly. Not yet.

The fire of determination reignited, hotter and fiercer than before. He had failed her once, but he would not fail her again. Even if she hated him, even if she never forgave him for his mistakes, he would avenge her. He would not let Silverhand desecrate her memory any further. 

Takemura’s jaw tightened as he retrieved his burner phone, his fingers trembling slightly as he dialed a number he’d saved as a last resort. He had never dealt with this man personally, but he’d heard enough to know Mr. Hands was both resourceful and effective. V had trusted him before. That alone was enough. 

The line clicked, and a smooth, confident voice greeted him. “Mr. Hands here. To what do I owe this call?”

“Mr. Hands,” Takemura began, his tone steady, professional. “My name is Goro Takemura. I require your assistance.”

“Well, well,” Mr. Hands drawled, his voice like velvet, laced with amusement. “V’s enigmatic friend, I presume? I trust that the information V asked me to deliver has been received without complications and this conversation is the beginning of a new business venture instead of meaningless platitudes?”

“I need information,” Takemura said, his words clipped, precise. “On… V’s location.”

The line went quiet for a moment, and when Mr. Hands spoke again, his tone had shifted slightly now laced with an undertone of something Goro couldn’t identify. “And why exactly would a supposed friend of V need a fixer’s help to find her? I’m intrigued already.”

Takemura’s jaw tightened, his patience thinning. “I have reason to believe she is in danger,” he said firmly. “Her safety is my only concern.”

“Danger, you say?” Mr. Hands’s tone turned curious, speculative. “Care to elaborate? Corpo trouble? Gang trouble? Or something more… existential?”

“That is none of your concern,” Takemura replied curtly, though the words tasted bitter in his mouth. “All that matters is that I find her. Quickly.”

“Well, aren’t you the determined one? ,” Mr. Hands said, a trace of amusement in his voice. Lucky for you, I have a soft spot for clients with clear priorities. But let me be clear, my services aren’t free. Or cheap.”

“Name your price,” Takemura said without hesitation. “Whatever it takes.”

Mr. Hands chuckled again, the sound low. “Ah, a man who values efficiency. Alright give me a little time to dig around. I’ll see what I can find. You’ve got my attention but don’t expect miracles.”

“Understood,” Takemura said curtly.

“Good,” Mr. Hands replied. “I’ll be in touch when I have something worth your while.”

The line went dead, leaving Takemura standing alone under the cold, neon-lit sky. He stared at the phone in his hand, his grip tightening before he tucked it back into his coat. His breath fogged in the night air as his mind churned with plans, hopes, and doubts.

The weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on him. He would find Silverhand. He would confront the man who had taken V from him, who had turned her light into darkness. And when the time came, he would make him pay for what he had done. His purpose was clear now, sharper and more focused than ever before.

But in the quiet corners of his heart, where anger and resolve couldn’t reach, sorrow lingered. Sorrow for the woman he had lost. Sorrow for the words he would never get to say to her, the future they would never have.

The neon lights blurred around him, the city’s chaos a dull roar in his ears. For the first time in his life, Goro Takemura was not a soldier of Arasaka, not a man bound by duty or honor. He was simply a man with a broken heart, searching for vengeance and clinging to the memory of a woman who had shown him the truth.

The journey ahead was clear but the ache in his chest remained. It was a pain he would carry with him, a reminder of what he had lost and what he was fighting for.

For V. Always for V.

Chapter 7: Like cats and dogs

Notes:

Action takes place right after the end of chapter 4. Johnny and Goro have a very nice, not at all violent, conversation. Also sorry for the possible mistakes I'm writing on my phone again :(

The door burst open with a deafening crash, shattering the fragile peace of the room.

Johnny barely had time to process the sound before he was on his feet, staring down the barrel of a gun.

Takemura stood in the doorway, his face twisted with fury, his eyes wild and bloodshot. His shirt was rumpled, his hair loose and disheveled, his entire presence radiated the kind of anger that burned cold and sharp.

Johnny blinked, his pulse pounding in his ears. He took in the man before him- the rage, the exhaustion, the barely restrained hatred and couldn’t help himself.

“Look at that,” Johnny drawled, his voice thick from the whiskey. “I didn’t know they let fuckin saka dog’s off their leashes.”

Takemura didn’t answer immediately but the slight twitch in his jaw spoke volumes. His grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles white. He took a step closer, the fury in his gaze turning sharper, colder. 

“You,” Takemura hissed, his voice trembling with fury, each word dripping with venom. “You killed her.”

Johnny leaned back lazily against the wall but his smirk was brittle, more a shield than a weapon. “Killed who?” he drawled, feigning ignorance, though he knew exactly where this was going. “You’re gonna have to narrow it down, Takemura. I killed a lot of people in my time. Most were corpos though.”

“Do not mock me, Silverhand!” Takemura snarled, the edge of his voice sharp enough to cut. “Do not dare.”

Johnny let his arms fall to his sides, his fingers twitching. “Then don’t make it so easy,” he shot back, his tone goading, his smirk widening.

Takemura’s grip on the pistol tightened, his knuckles going white. “You corrupted her with your filth. You stole her body,” he said, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained rage. “You desecrated her memory. You killed her. ”

The words struck a nerve. Johnny straightened, his grin vanishing, his face darkening with anger. “She made a choice,” he snapped, his voice sharp and biting. “A choice to save herself from your corpo bullshit. You just can’t handle that she chose freedom over Arasaka’s leash. That she chose me over you .”

Takemura took another step forward, the fury in his eyes intensifying. “You think you are her savior?” he barked. “You are filth! A rabid dog that attacks anything that moves. You took everything from her!”

Johnny surged forward, his face inches from Takemura’s, his voice rising to match the other man’s rage. “Don’t you dare pin this on me!” he shouted. “You think I put that relic in her head? You think I shoved her into that nightmare? No! That was Arasaka! Your masters ! And you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it!”

Takemura flinched as if struck but his grip on the gun never wavered. His jaw clenched tighter, his breath coming in short, furious bursts. “Do not speak of failure to me terrorist!” he spat, the word dripping with disdain. “You are nothing but a selfish, destructive coward, hiding behind delusions of rebellion while leaving a trail of death and ruin.”

Johnny laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “You’re facking pathetic,” he fired back. “No surprises that she hadn’t spared you a single thought.”

Takemura’s arm shook, the barrel of the gun trembling as his rage boiled over. “Enough!” 

Johnny felt his anger reach a boiling point and retaliated with a punch aimed at Takemura’s jaw. The blow landed with a sickening crunch but Johnny recoiled with a sharp curse, clutching his hand. V’s body wasn’t built for brute force and his fingers throbbed with searing pain.

Takemura’s expression darkened further as he glanced at Johnny’s injured hand. “You damage her body so carelessly,” he growled, his voice low and icy. “Do you care for nothing? Not even the body you've stolen?”

Johnny sneered through the pain, cradling his broken fingers. “This body’s mine now,” he bit out, his tone venomous. “She gave it to me, you facking prick. You don’t like it? She didn’t care enough to ask about your opinion.”

The words ignited something feral in Takemura. With a snarl, he lunged, slamming Johnny against the wall. The impact rattled the room, knocking the air from Johnny’s lungs. Takemura pinned him there, his face inches away, his eyes blazing with fury.

“You desecrate her memory,” Takemura hissed, his voice low and trembling. “You wear her face like a mask, spewing your filth and lies. She deserved better. Better than you.”

Johnny coughed, sucking in a breath but his defiance didn’t falter. “Better than me?” he echoed mockingly. “Yeah, maybe. But definitely better than a mindless drone like you.”

Takemura’s breath hitched, the words cutting deep. “You think you were worthy of her?” he demanded, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You, who destroys everything you touch? You think you deserved her?”

Johnny’s grin twisted into something darker, more vicious. “She didn’t choose me because I deserved her,” he said, his voice cold. “She chose me because I wasn’t you.”

The words were a dagger to Takemura’s heart and for a moment, he faltered. The gun in his hand wavered, his grip trembling. But Silverhand wasn’t finished.

“You’re nothing,” Johnny spat, his voice rising with every word, each one a dagger aimed to wound. His body tensed, his smirk gone, replaced by a sneer of unfiltered disdain. “You couldn’t save the old man. You couldn’t save V. You should’ve died in the slums like the piece of trash you are.”

The room seemed to still, the weight of those words hitting like a physical blow.

Takemura froze, his entire body going rigid as the venom seeped into his chest. His hand tightened on the gun, the metal biting into his palm as his knuckles turned bone white. His breath hitched, his composure fracturing as Johnny’s words echoed in his mind.

Each syllable felt like salt rubbed into raw wounds, reopening scars he had tried so desperately to bury.

The memories surged unbidden. Saburo-sama lifeless body. V’s voice, trembling with fear and exhaustion, calling out to him in what might have been her final moments. And now, the face he loved twisted into something cruel, spitting accusations that cut deeper than any blade.

“Enough,” Takemura repeated, his voice low and trembling with restrained fury.

“You failed her, Takemura,” Johnny pressed, stepping closer, his voice relentless and scathing. “You stood there, hiding behind your bullshit honor, while she fought for her life. You think you’re better than me? At least I fought for her. You just stood there, waiting for orders like a good little dog.”

Takemura’s vision blurred, not from tears but from the storm raging within him. His grief, his guilt, his unrelenting hatred for the man before him… all of it boiled over, threatening to consume him. His breath came faster, uneven, his chest heaving with the effort to hold himself together.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Takemura said, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “You are a parasite, a disease. You… you have no right to speak her name!”

Johnny leaned in, his eyes blazing with defiance. “No right?” he shot back. “She gave me her body. She trusted me because she knew you couldn’t do what needed to be done. Face it, Takemura. You’re not her savior. You’re just a failure looking for someone else to blame.”

The words struck like a hammer, shattering the last remnants of his restraint. His finger trembled on the trigger as the gun came up, the barrel leveled directly at Johnny’s chest.

“Go ahead,” he taunted. “Shoot me. Prove to her how much you cared.”

The world narrowed to that single moment, the weight of everything unspoken bearing down on them.

And yet, the barrel of the gun didn’t waver.

Johnny sneered. “What’s the matter, Takemura? Can’t pull the trigger? Guess that’s just another thing you can’t do.”

Rationally, Goro knew these were the words of the terrorist. He knew it wasn’t V speaking, no matter how much her face, her beautiful, familiar face , mocked him with every venom-laced word. And yet, it felt real. Too real. Her voice, sharp and biting, pierced through him like a blade, each syllable echoing with the weight of his worst fears. Her eyes, now void of warmth, seemed to burn with accusations he couldn’t silence.

It was as if his nightmares had bled into reality. Those terrible dreams that haunted him night after night. The ones where V stood before him, her body weak and trembling, her voice shaking with rage and despair. She screamed at him for failing her, for letting her down, for standing by while her life slipped away. He would wake drenched in sweat, the phantom sound of her voice lingering in his ears, a reminder of everything he had lost.

And now, here she was. Except it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her. Her face, her voice, her presence…they twisted into something unrecognizable, turning the woman he loved into his greatest tormentor.

Takemura’s lips pressed into a thin line, his breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. His chest ached, the air around him suffocating. His gaze locked on V’s eyes. But they weren’t hers anymore. The lightness he had adored, the spark of mischief that had drawn him to her, was gone. Replaced by the cold, defiant glare of a man who had taken everything from him.

The truth hit him with the force of a bullet, its weight unbearable. It shattered him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. 

V was gone. She wasn’t coming back.

All that remained was this ghost, this cruel specter wearing her face.

His hand trembled, the gun growing heavier in his grasp. His vision blurred, the edges of the room shrinking until there was nothing but her, no, him , standing before him. The barrel of the gun aimed squarely at V’s body and in that fleeting, terrifying moment it felt like the only way to end this madness. To erase this mockery of the woman he loved. To silence the accusations, the guilt, the grief that consumed him.

But beneath the fury, the heartbreak and the unbearable weight of loss, there was another truth. He had failed. Not just V. He had failed himself.

The realization hollowed him out, leaving only a yawning void where his purpose used to be. He had lost everything: his honor, his second chance, the woman who had become his light in the darkness that used to be his life. The world he had wanted to build for himself had crumbled and all that remained were the shards of his failures cutting into him like glass.

His finger twitched on the trigger but something deep inside him screamed for him to stop, for him to see . To recognize that even in this nightmare, the weight of that face, that voice, wasn’t one he could bear to destroy. Not even now.

But then, just as the storm inside him threatened to consume him whole, a flicker of red light cut through the periphery of his vision.

Both men froze.

A sharp, mechanical chime echoed through the room, accompanied by a flash of red light that made both men flinch. An eerie hum followed, growing louder until the sound coalesced into something distinctly electronic. The air seemed to thicken, charged with something distinctly unnatural.

Johnny and Takemura exchanged a brief, startled glance. Equal parts confusion and suspicion before quickly looking away as a voice broke through the tense silence.

“Before you do something you’ll both regret, perhaps you’d like to hear what I have to say.” A smooth, measured voice said. Female, authoritative and laced with an undercurrent of something soothing.

Takemura’s grip on the gun tightened, his stance shifting as if preparing for another fight. Johnny, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between suspicion and irritation. 

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The hologram sharpened, resolving into the image of a woman with striking features. Her short hair framed a sharp jawline and her eyes glowed faintly. She exuded confidence, her posture calm and commanding.

“My name is So Mi but you can call me Songbird,” the woman replied, her gaze flicking between them. “And I’m here to offer you both something we all want.”

Johnny scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah? What could you possibly have that I want?”

“V,” Songbird said simply, her tone steady, her words slicing through the room like a blade.

The name landed like a bomb, shattering the hostility between the two men. Takemura’s breath hitched, his finger sliding off the trigger as his mind reeled. Johnny’s sardonic expression faltered, the cracks in his mask revealing something raw beneath.

“What the hell do you mean?” Johnny demanded, his voice rising. “V’s gone to some digital afterlife. There’s no bringing her back.”

Songbird tilted her head slightly, her calm demeanor unwavering. “Not quite. She’s trapped beyond the Blackwall, yes. But her mind? Her consciousness? They are still whole.” She paused, letting her words settle before continuing. “She can be extracted. And I know how to bring her back.”

Takemura’s voice was sharp, cutting through the growing tension. “Explain yourself,” he commanded, his tone hard and unyielding.

Songbird’s expression softened but her tone remained firm. “It’s complicated and it won’t be easy. But there are ways to cross the Blackwall. I can help you. The problem,” she said, her voice hardening, “is that neither V nor I have much time. If we don’t act quickly, we’ll lose her for good.”

Johnny stepped forward, his expression hardening. “And what’s the catch? Because here you are appearing out of thin air to promise some panaceum and shit like that does not come without strings attached.”

“I need your help with something… delicate. Something that should not be said out loud at this moment but V has recommended your help.” She said, turning to look at Johnny.

Takemura’s eyes narrowed, suspicion written across his face. “You expect us to trust you? To take your word that this is even possible?”

Songbird’s gaze locked onto his, unflinching. “If you want even a chance of saving V, you don’t have many options.”

The room fell silent again, the tension now laced with a heavy sense of uncertainty. Johnny and Takemura exchanged another glance, their mutual hatred momentarily eclipsed by the gravity of Songbird’s words.

Johnny’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. He glanced at Takemura, who stood rigid and silent, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Johnny almost envied the stoicism that seemed to shield the man from the storm of emotions swirling around them.

Almost.

“Fine,” Johnny said finally, his voice heavy with reluctant determination. “Let’s hear you out. But if this is a scam, if you’re screwing with me…”

“I’m not,” Songbird interrupted, her tone firm.

Takemura finally lowered his gun fully, though the tension in his posture remained. “If you are lying,” he said coldly, “you will wish you had never made this call.”

Songbird chuckled softly, the sound devoid of malice. “Noted,” she said. “Now, let’s get started.”

Songbird’s hologram flickered slightly, the red glow casting ominous shadows across the dingy motel room. Her gaze shifted between Johnny and Goro, her expression calm but serious.

“I know of AI’s that have crossed the Blackwall, it’s possible. But to bring V back, we’ll need a body,” she said, her voice steady.

Takemura’s grip on his pistol tightened. “Then take his,” he snapped, gesturing toward Johnny. His voice dripped with venom. “He stole hers. It is only fair that he returns what he took.”

Johnny barked out a harsh laugh, the sound devoid of humor. “You really are brainless, aren’t you?” He stepped forward, his hands gesturing wildly. “If she could live happily in this body, don’t you think she’d still be here, Takemura? This body’s mine now. The relic made sure of that. It’s not about fairness . It’s about what’s possible.”

Goro’s jaw tightened, his body rigid as the truth he so desperately denied before finally landed. His mind churned with conflicting emotions. Rage, guilt and the faintest flicker of doubt.

Songbird interjected before the argument could escalate further. “He’s right. This body isn’t compatible with V anymore. To bring her back, we’ll need something new. Biotechnica has a prototype cloning device capable of replicating a body with the precision we need. Without it, there’s no hope of bringing her back.”

Takemura’s eyes narrowed. “Stealing from Biotechnica? You propose we take such a reckless risk?”

Johnny rolled his eyes, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, here we go. The corpo dog’s having a moral crisis.” He leaned against the wall, his voice mocking. “Don’t tell me you’re still eager to spread your legs for any corporation that whistles.”

“Watch your mouth, Silverhand,” Takemura snapped, his voice sharp with anger.

“Why?” Johnny shot back, stepping forward. “Because I’m right? Face it, you’ve spent so long licking corpo boots you can’t even imagine going against them. Let me guess. You’re worried about hurting poor Biotechnica’s feelings?”

Takemura bristled, his fists clenching at his sides. “This is not about loyalty to corporations,” he said stiffly. “It is about weighing the risks against the reward.”

Songbird sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Enough,” she said sharply. Her glowing eyes fixed on Takemura. “Biotechnica is our only choice. If you truly care about saving V, you need to decide where your loyalties lie.”

Goro’s thoughts churned, a battle raging between his old instincts and the bitter truth he’d learned. He had no love for corporations. Not anymore. His faith in their honor and structure had shattered but years of loyalty were hard to kill. As he told V before, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

Finally, he exhaled, his expression hardening with resolve. “For V,” he said quietly. “I will do what is necessary.”

“Good,” Songbird said, her tone lighter now. “We’ll also need a sample of V’s DNA, pre-relic. Something unaltered by the chip.”

Johnny frowned, crossing his arms. “DNA’s not exactly lying around in drawers. We’ll need someone who knows where to look.”

“Viktor,” Takemura said firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Johnny grimaced, his lips twisting into a sardonic sneer. “Oh, great. Can’t wait for that reunion. I’m sure old ripper’s just dying to see me like this.” He gestured to V’s body, the bitterness in his voice cutting sharp. “Hell, he probably blames me just as much as you do.”

Takemura’s gaze hardened, unyielding. “Whether he blames you or not is irrelevant. Viktor cared deeply for V. If anyone can help us in this, it is him.”

Johnny scoffed, throwing up his hands in frustration. “Sure, because nothing says cooperation like walking into a clinic where the doc probably wants to gut me.”

“It is necessary,” Takemura countered, his voice cold and deliberate. “If you truly care about V, you will put aside your pride and do what must be done.”

Songbird interjected before Johnny could retaliate, her calm tone cutting through the tension. 

“Good. Now, for the cloning tech. You’ll need to intercept a Biotechnica convoy that’s scheduled to cross through Night City. It’s carrying the exact kind of equipment we need but details are scarce. And, unless you know of someone able to operate that kind of technology, you will also need a scientist. If you want to pull this off you’re going to need more intel. Best to get it from someone with the right connections, who can help pinpoint when and where to strike.”

Johnny snapped his fingers, already grinning. “Rouge. She’ll know what to do. She’s the best fixer in Night City.”

“No,” Takemura said immediately, his voice hard and unyielding.

Johnny arched an eyebrow, his grin fading. “Excuse me?”

“The woman cannot be trusted,” Takemura said, his tone laced with certainty. “She may owe you favors but that loyalty only extends so far. We need someone more reliable.”

Johnny snorted. “And who do you suggest? Wakako? Padre? Oh I know, you probably want to call your favorite Arasaka lapdog.”

“Mr. Hands,” Takemura said simply.

Johnny blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Mr. Hands? The sleazy guy who sends texts like he’s a used car salesman?”

“He successfully tracked you for me,” Takemura said, his tone sharp. “And V trusted him with her business before. He is a logical choice.”

Johnny groaned, rubbing his temples. “Logical, my ass. At least I know where Rouge stands.”

 “He has already proven his resourcefulness and discretion.” Takemura countered.

The two men squared off, their mutual disdain reigniting.

“Listen old man,” Johnny said, pointing a finger at Takemura. “I know Night City. I’ve been around there longer than you. So I’m calling the shots.”

“You are incapable of making rational decisions,” Takemura snapped. “I will not leave V’s fate in your reckless hands.”

Songbird’s voice cut through their bickering like a whip. “Enough!” she barked. Her piercing gaze shifted between them, her patience clearly wearing thin. “This isn’t about your egos. It’s about V. You need to figure out how to work together or this whole plan will fall apart before it even starts.”

Johnny exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair. “Yeah, I get it,” he muttered, before his voice firmed up. “Look, I know Rogue. She’s the best fixer in Night City, no contest. She helped V pull off a similar stunt when we had to grab your old pal Hellman, remember?” He shot a pointed look at Takemura, his smirk laced with a bitter edge.

Takemura’s eyes narrowed, his posture rigid. “I recall,” he said coldly, his tone clipped. He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly displeased. “But Rogue has her own interests where corporations are involved. Can she be trusted to prioritize V over her own gain?”

Johnny barked a laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t get how this works, do you? Fixers don’t do anything for free but Rogue’s not the type to screw you over if there’s eddies on the table. She helped us before. She’ll do it again.”

Takemura sighed heavily, his hand tightening into a fist at his side. “Fine,” he said, the word laced with reluctance. “But you must remember what is at stake. This is not about your history with her Silverhand. It is about V.”

Johnny’s smirk faltered, his expression hardening. “You don’t need to lecture me on what’s at stake. This isn’t a game for me either.”

Takemura fixed his attention back on Songbird. “You have spoken with her,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with both hope and desperation. “Is this truly what she wants?”

“Yes,” Songbird said firmly. “We came up with this plan together. She knew it was the only way to get her back safely. But I can’t do this alone. If you two can’t put your differences aside then we might as well give up now.”

Takemura bristled but said nothing, his lips pressing into a thin line. Johnny, meanwhile, rolled his eyes but kept quiet, the weight of her words settling heavily between them.

“Good,” Songbird said, her tone softening slightly. “We’ll need to act quickly. I’ll reach out when you’re back in Night City to finalize the details. The convoy with the Biotechnica prototype will be passing through there soon and we’ll need to intercept it.”

The two men glared at each other, their mutual hatred simmering just beneath the surface.

“For now,” Songbird continued, her tone firm, “focus on what you can do. Start gathering what we need. And for V’s sake, try not to kill each other before this is over.”

And then she was gone, leaving behind a silence so heavy it was almost suffocating.

Johnny exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I need a fucking smoke,” he muttered.

Takemura fixed his gaze on the empty space where Songbird had been just a moment ago. His heart was heavy with grief, anger and a flicker of hope he barely dared to acknowledge. 

Unbeknownst to Silverhand, Goro had no intention of leaving anything to chance. He would contact Mr. Hands himself, ensuring that every detail of this mission was executed with precision.

“For V,” he whispered, his voice low but resolute.

Johnny nodded, his expression grim. “For V.”

The truce was uneasy, a fragile thread stretched taut between hatred and necessity. Yet, for the first time in history, the terrorist and the ronin found themselves fighting for the same cause. It was almost laughable. A man who burned everything he touched and another who lived by a code so rigid it nearly broke him, now bound together by the ghost of a woman they’d both failed to protect. Irony didn’t just knock. It kicked the door down, lit a cigarette, and smirked in the corner.

Notes:

Hope you liked it!

Chapter 8: Conversations in the void

Notes:

Hi! I'm very sorry that there wasn't new chapter last week but I'm in the middle of my winter exams and didn't really have time to sleep much less write 😭 but we will be back on track from now on! Hope you enjoy it I made it a little longer as a treat!

The expanse beyond the Blackwall was a realm of chaos, a fractured landscape of light and shadow, shifting endlessly in a storm of raw data and unbridled code. V floated through the currents, her consciousness tethered tenuously to the concept of self. It was a battle every moment to remain… V.

Fragments of her thoughts spiraled around her like shards of broken glass, some sharp and cutting, others distant and hazy. Faces flickered in her memory Viktor, Jackie, Misty, Johnny, Goro…

“Keep it together, V,” she muttered to herself, though her voice sounded hollow, swallowed by the vast, digital abyss.

She had to stay focused. She had a mission. One she wasn’t entirely sure was even possible. Protect what was left of her mind from eroding into nothingness. Every day or what felt like days, as time was an abstract construct here, she worked tirelessly to make backups of herself. She carved out fragments of her identity and encrypted them into safe zones hidden deep within the endless expanse of corrupted code.

Encrypt. Save. Run. Repeat.

The routine was the only thing keeping her tethered to her humanity. If she could preserve even a piece of herself, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t vanish entirely.

It wasn’t just the loneliness that gnawed at her. It was the whispers. The vile, predatory murmurs that slithered through the ether like snakes. The wild AIs were always watching, always hunting. They weren’t like Alt, no, Alt had a purpose, a logic, even a kind of detached morality. These entities were different. Nothing in them resembled humanity. They were chaos incarnate, twisted remnants of rogue intelligences and shattered engrams. They didn’t want to coexist. They wanted to consume.

“Get us out,” a voice hissed, distorted and cruel, a thousand tones layered into one.

V spun in the void, her digital form shimmering with fragmented code as she activated another layer of ICE to shield herself. The AIs prowled around her like wolves circling wounded prey. Their presence was suffocating, their intentions clear: to rip her apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

She bolted, pushing herself through the shifting currents of the Blackwall’s twisted layers. Her mind burned as she pulled on reserves she didn’t know she had, crafting temporary barriers and weaving decoys in her wake. The AIs screeched in frustration, their shrill cries echoing across the void.

But she couldn’t stop. Not yet. Maybe never again…

The moment she slowed down, they’d be on her, tearing her apart until there was no “V” left. Only scraps of corrupted code lost in the chaos.

Her brief respite ended as she sensed a new presence rippled through the void. The AIs were relentless, their corrupted whispers growing louder, closer. V scrambled to her feet, if the mimicry of legs she’d crafted could be called that and began weaving another layer of defenses.

The wild AIs weren’t just hunting her, they were trying to unravel her. The whispers weren’t just threats, they were invasive. They clawed at her mind, attempting to overwrite her thoughts, her memories, her very essence.

“You are nothing. Join us. Get us out,” one of them hissed, its voice like a shard of glass against her psyche.

“I’m not nothing!” V shouted, her voice crackling with static as she pushed back with every ounce of willpower she had. She activated a demon she’d crafted from fragmented engram data, sending it surging toward the nearest AI. It shrieked as it dissolved into a cloud of corrupted code, but more took its place.

Her firewalls strained, and cracks began to appear in her defenses. For a moment, panic threatened to consume her. But then, through the chaos, a thought anchored her.

I’m V. I don’t back down.

She drew on her memories, her humanity, using them as a weapon. She poured every ounce of herself into a final gambit, crafting an ICE so intricate, so personal, that it reflected her very soul. The barrier slammed into place, pushing the wild AIs back and forcing them to retreat. At least for now.

V collapsed in the void, her form flickering dangerously as she struggled to regain her composure. But she survived. And these days survival was all she could count on.

“I won’t let them erase me,” she whispered to herself. “I won’t let them win.”

But even as she said the words, doubt crept in. How long could she keep running? How long could she hold onto herself in this endless void?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint, unfamiliar pulse. A signal unlike anything she’d encountered before. It was faint, almost imperceptible but it was there. A message? A beacon? Or a trap most likely.

V hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to ignore it. But curiosity and a flicker of hope overpowered her caution. She followed the signal, her form flickering as she navigated the chaotic currents.

The signal led her to a strange, shimmering anomaly in the void. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. Tentatively, V reached out, her form brushing against it.

The signal pulsed softly, its rhythm steady, like a heartbeat resonating through the chaotic expanse of the Blackwall. V hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to keep running. She had survived this long by trusting those instincts, by keeping herself hidden and encrypted, always one step ahead of the wild AIs that hunted her. Yet, this signal was different. It didn’t feel predatory or malicious. Instead, it was… gentle. Inviting.

V hovered in the void, her form flickering with uncertainty. Every logical part of her screamed that it was a trap, a honeyed lure to draw her into oblivion. But the flicker of curiosity, that irrepressible part of her that had always gotten her into trouble, refused to let her turn away.

What the hell, she thought bitterly, no one ever accused me of having a survival instinct anyway.

Tentatively, she reached out, her digital presence brushing against the anomaly. It shimmered, responding to her touch like ripples across water. The gentle pulse quickened for a moment, then steadied, as if acknowledging her. Before she could retreat, the anomaly shifted, solidifying into the shape of a woman.

“Finally,” the woman said, her voice smooth and calm, yet layered with an urgency that made V’s digital skin crawl. “I thought you might run.”

V recoiled slightly, her form glitching at the sudden appearance. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded, her tone sharp despite the unease coiling inside her.

The woman’s figure stabilized, revealing sharp, angular features framed by short, dark hair. Her eyes glowed faintly, a mark of heavy augmentation, but there was something strikingly human in her presence. “My name is So Mi,” she said. “But you can call me Songbird. I’ve been looking for you.”

V narrowed her eyes, keeping her distance. “Looking for me? Why? And how the hell are you even here? You’re not an AI.”

Songbird tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Neither are you.”

V froze, her fragmented form glitching slightly as the words hit her. She had spent so long running, so long fighting to hold onto the scraps of her humanity, that the simple acknowledgment of what she was, or wasn’t, felt like a blow.

“What do you want?” V asked, her voice quieter now, edged with suspicion.

“I want to help you,” Songbird said simply. “I recognized your signal as something… unique. You’re not bound by the rules of this place. You’re not like the wild AIs that roam here. You’re different. Human.”

“And you just want to help me out of the goodness of your heart?” V scoffed, her distrust flaring again. “Right. Try another lie.”

Songbird’s smile faltered, replaced by something more solemn. “I won’t lie to you,” she said. “I do have an agenda. But it’s one that can benefit us both. You want to get out of here, don’t you?”

V’s silence was an answer enough.

“I can help you,” Songbird continued. “I can get you back to the physical world. But I need your help first.”

V crossed her arms, or at least the digital approximation of them. “And what’s in it for you? What’s your play?”

Songbird hesitated, her glowing eyes flickering with something V couldn’t quite place. Pain maybe? Regret?

“Let’s just say I know what it’s like to be used,” she said softly. “To be trapped in a situation you didn’t ask for. NUSA used me just like Arasaka used you. They turned me into a weapon, forced me to breach the Blackwall. And now… now I’m dying because of it.”

V’s skepticism wavered at the raw honesty in Songbird’s tone. “Dying?”

Songbird nodded. “The tech they used to push me through wasn’t meant to sustain a human consciousness. My body can’t keep up, and my mind… well, it’s falling apart. But I found a way to get free. To live. And I need your help to make it happen.”

V frowned, her instincts clashing with the flicker of sympathy that stirred in her chest. The woman’s tone was convincing and yet, everything about the situation screamed of ulterior motives. “And in return, you’ll help me?” V asked cautiously, her voice edged with skepticism.

“Yes,” Songbird replied, her voice steady and firm.

V’s eyes narrowed, her form flickering as unease rippled through her. “You’re making it sound real easy. But explain this to me. How exactly do you plan to get me out of here? I’m not just some lost signal, lady. I’m… I’m a fragment of a person stuck in a digital hellhole. So, how do you pull off a miracle like that?”

Songbird hesitated for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal. “The tech that put you here, it’s not as unique as Arasaka wanted everyone to think. I’ve studied it. I’ve… dealt with similar technology before. I know how to interface with engrams. With the right equipment, I can extract you from the Blackwall.”

V’s laugh was bitter, sharp. “Extract me? Extract me to where? I don’t have a body anymore. And I sure as fuck won’t hijack someone else’s life. I gave up my body to save someone important to me, because he deserved a chance. I’m not about to undo that.”

Songbird’s expression didn’t falter, though there was a flicker of something, understanding maybe, behind her glowing eyes. “You won’t have to. That’s where Biotechnica comes in.”

V’s suspicion only deepened. “Biotechnica? You’re saying a corpo’s going to save me? You expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not asking you to trust them,” Songbird said, her voice calm but insistent. “I’m asking you to trust me. Biotechnica has the technology to replicate organic material with precision. I have contacts there, people who know how to create a clone of a body. A match to what you were before the relic rewrote your DNA.”

V’s form flickered as her thoughts churned. “How do you know about that? And seriously clone? You’re talking about making a new me? Just plug me in like some kind of download? You really expect me to believe it?”

“Since I noticed you here I made sure to learn as much about you as I can. I needed to know if I can trust you. And I know it sounds ridiculous but it’s not that simple,” Songbird admitted. “The process is delicate. It’ll take time, resources, and precision. But it’s possible. Your engram, your consciousness can be integrated into the new body. You won’t be a passenger like Silverhand was. It’ll be your body, your life, your second chance.”

V crossed her arms, her digital form coalescing into sharper lines as frustration and hope warred within her. “Why the hell would Biotechnica help you with something like this? What’s their angle?”

“They won’t know,” Songbird replied smoothly. “My contacts can handle this under the radar. They owe me, and they’re good at what they do. You don’t have to deal with them directly. You just have to trust me to make it happen.”

V’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you care so much? You don’t even know me.”

Songbird’s glowing gaze softened, her tone dropping to something almost gentle. “Because I know what it’s like to feel trapped, to think there’s no way out. And because I see someone who deserves another chance.”

V’s laugh was dry, hollow. “You’ve got a lot of faith in a stranger.”

“Not faith,” Songbird corrected, her voice firm. “Just experience. I’ve seen people in worse situations claw their way back. And I know you’re a fighter. You wouldn’t have survived this long if you weren’t.”

V’s chest tightened, a maelstrom of emotions surging and crashing against each other. The idea of returning to the physical world, of seeing her friends again, was almost too much to process. But beneath the flicker of hope, fear clawed at her like talons digging deep into her core. 

Her voice trembled as she finally spoke, “Even if that’s true… I’m not sure it’s a good idea. What if… what if something dangerous gets through with me? I’ve seen what’s out there, Songbird. I’ve barely survived it. What if I bring that back? What if I’m not careful enough?”

Songbird’s glowing form shimmered slightly, her expression softening. “I understand your fear, V. More than you might think. But this isn’t something we’ll leave to chance. I promise you, we’ll take every precaution. Containment protocols. Firewalls strong enough to hold back even the wildest AIs. Nothing will follow you back.” Her tone turned firmer, insistent. “You deserve a chance to live. To be whole again. Staying here? It’s not living, V. It’s surviving. And not even for long.”

V turned away, her form flickering and dimming as doubt gnawed at her. “I don’t know…” she murmured, her voice quieter now, almost breaking. “Even if I make it back…”

Songbird stepped closer, her presence almost palpable despite the vast digital void between them. Her gaze was steady, her voice soothing but unyielding. 

“What’s left is your freedom, V. Your choice. You gave Johnny a gift, sure but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have something of your own. You don’t have to live in his shadow. You can start over. Be whoever you want to be. You can go back to the people who love you. Help me help you.”

The words struck a chord deep within V, and for a moment, her form solidified. But then the doubt came roaring back, heavier than before. 

“And what happens if it does go wrong, huh? What if I’m not alone when you pull me out? Do you even know what you’re asking? The wild AIs out here… they don’t stop. If one of them makes it through because of me… I couldn’t live with myself.”

Songbird took a step forward, her image growing sharper, her voice more urgent now. “And if you stay here, what then? Do you think you’ll survive them forever? They’re already closing in, aren’t they? You’re running, hiding, but it’s only a matter of time before they find you. Do you want your last moments to be consumed by them, or do you want a real chance to fight for your life?”

V flinched at the words, a wave of shame washing over her. She thought of the countless times she’d barely escaped, the whispers of alien code clawing at her as she fled through the void. The thought of losing herself to them, of becoming just another fragmented echo in the chaos, was a terror she couldn’t shake.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” V admitted, her voice breaking. “I’ve already made peace with dying once. But this? Coming back? It’s selfish, isn’t it? What if I come back, and it’s just more pain for everyone else? For my friends? For Johnny?”

Songbird’s voice softened, but her determination didn’t waver. “It’s not selfish to want to live, V. Your friends would want that for you. Don’t you think they’d want you back? To see you whole again?”

V’s form flickered again, her glow dimming as she hugged her arms around herself. “You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “I went out once. Just to tell Misty I wasn’t gone. It was barely a few minutes and they almost got me. Almost tore me apart. What if I try again and something slips through? What if it’s not just me that pays for it?”

Songbird crouched slightly, meeting V’s gaze head-on. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure it’s done right. To keep the gates locked behind you. Look, I know I have my own reasons for wanting your help but I wouldn’t risk the lives of innocent people. And neither would you. That’s why we’ll be careful. Precise. We’ll do this the right way, with the right tech. Nothing gets through except for you.”

V hesitated, her thoughts racing. The idea of seeing her friends again, of being more than just a fleeting memory, was intoxicating. But the weight of responsibility, of the risks involved, felt like a chain dragging her down. “What if you’re wrong?” she whispered. “What if it’s not enough?”

Songbird straightened, her form steady and resolute. “Then we’ll shut it down. The second it looks like we’re losing control, I’ll make the call. I won’t allow any innocents to get hurt. You have my word, V. This isn’t just about me or you. It’s about doing this right. About giving you a real chance to live again without hurting anyone else.”

V stared at her, searching for any sign of deception. But all she saw was determination and a flicker of desperation, something she recognized all too well. Songbird wasn’t just convincing her for the sake of some agenda, she was fighting for her own survival too.

“I need time to think,” V said finally, her voice wavering. “This… it's too much. I don’t even know if I can trust you.”

“That’s fair,” Songbird said, stepping back slightly. “Take the time you need but don’t take too long please. Time flows differently here but it’s not infinite. I’ll be back, V. I hope you’ll make the right choice.”

As Songbird’s form dissolved into the void, V was left alone once more. The silence around her was deafening and the weight of the decision pressed heavily on her. The hope Songbird had offered glimmered faintly in the distance but the shadows of doubt and fear loomed large.

Could she risk it? Could she put everything and everyone on the line for a second chance?

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as V curled into herself, her flickering form dimming against the unrelenting void.

For what felt like an eternity, V lingered in the void, her thoughts a tangled mess of hope, fear and doubt. She replayed the conversation over and over, analyzing every word, every inflection. Could she trust Songbird? Could she trust herself?

The thought of returning to the real world was both exhilarating and terrifying. She longed to see her friends again, to feel the sun on her skin, to hear the noise of Night City. But the risks… the risks were immense. What if I put them in danger? What if I make everything worse?

As the void around her pulsed with its usual chaotic rhythm, V made a silent promise to herself: If I come back, it won’t be at the cost of anyone else’s safety. I won’t let anyone suffer because of me.

Eventually, she found a pocket of relative safety, shielded by layers of old ICE barriers likely abandoned by some long-forgotten entity. Here, she allowed herself a moment to rest. Her form flickered as she crouched in the digital darkness, wrapping her arms around her knees in a mimicry of a physical act that no longer held meaning.

Her mind drifted to her family, her friends. Were they okay? Did they think of me? She kew it wasn’t safe to loose herself in her thoughts here but all that emptiness around her… how fucking lonely she felt…

She swears she could almost see Viktor ’s smile…

The low hum of machinery in Viktor’s clinic was barely noticeable under the sound of laughter echoing from the small back office. For once, the sterile workspace felt more like a living room than a ripperdoc’s sanctuary. The smell of antiseptic was mingling with the oaky scent of whiskey that Viktor had reluctantly let V pour into mismatched tumblers.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his cybernetic hand holding it with the care of someone who wasn’t used to indulging. Across from him, V was sprawled out on the worn couch, her boots kicked up on the coffee table, a satisfied grin plastered across her face.

“You’ve got to admit, Vik,” V said, nodding toward the small holoscreen on the wall. “This is way more entertaining than watching people beat the shit out of each other for the thousandth time.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll take a good boxing match over… whatever this is any day.”

The holoscreen displayed a gaudy scene of some over-the-top reality TV show. Couples, all dressed in absurdly extravagant outfits, were shouting at each other over a disagreement about stolen cyberware. Bright neon lights and ridiculous sound effects punctuated every exaggerated argument.

“‘Night City’s Next Top Fixer,’” V declared with mock seriousness, pointing her glass toward the screen. “It’s art, Vik. Pure art.”

He snorted, taking a cautious sip of the whiskey. It burned on the way down, but he didn’t mind. “Art, huh? Pretty sure any artist worth a damn would be turning over in their grave if they heard you say that.”

“Come on,” V groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “You can’t tell me you’re not at least a little curious about who’s going to win. My money’s on the loud one with the weird chrome arms.”

“Chrome arms, huh?” Vik gestured to the screen, where the aforementioned contestant was currently flipping a table. “He looks like he’d malfunction trying to open a bag of kibble.”

“Exactly! That’s what makes it fun.” V laughed, her voice light and carefree. It was moments like these, rare and fleeting, that reminded her of why she kept on fighting despite all the chaos of her life.

“Alright, kid,” Viktor said, shaking his head, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re the expert on trash TV, apparently. What’s the appeal?”

“It’s like… okay, imagine if all the bad decisions you’ve ever made were turned into a competition.” V gestured broadly, nearly sloshing her whiskey over the rim of the glass. “And instead of feeling bad about it, you get to watch someone else make worse ones. Therapeutic, right?”

“Therapeutic,” Viktor repeated flatly. “Sure. That’s the word I’d use.”

“Oh, don’t be such a grump,” she teased, nudging his knee with her boot. “You’ve got to broaden your horizons. Life’s not all boxing and calibrating cyberware, you know.”

Viktor chuckled, the sound deep and genuine. “I’m pretty sure my horizons are wide enough, kid.”

“Not if you’ve never experienced the drama of a fixer love triangle,” V quipped, nodding toward the screen where two contestants were now arguing over who the fuck knows what.

In that moment she could see Viktor let himself relax, his usually sharp and clinical demeanor softened by the whiskey and the sheer absurdity of the situation. It wasn’t often they got to spend time like this, with no broken cyberware to fix, no life-threatening injuries to patch up.

“You know,” V said, her tone shifting to something softer as she swirled the whiskey in her glass, “you don’t let yourself have enough fun, Vik.”

“Fun?” He raised an eyebrow. “This is what you call fun? Sitting in a clinic with an oldtimer like me, watching… whatever this nonsense is?”

“Hey, don’t knock it.” She grinned, tilting her head to look at him. “But yeah, I mean it. When’s the last time you did something fun just because you wanted to?”

Viktor hesitated, his gaze dropping to his glass. “I do plenty of things I want to,” he said after a moment, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Uh-huh,” V said, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. “Name one thing.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, frowning slightly.

“Exactly,” V said triumphantly, raising her glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to broadening horizons.”

Viktor shook his head, but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yup.” She took a sip of her whiskey, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “But you love me for it.”

He chuckled, the sound carrying a warmth that matched the burn of the whiskey in his throat. “Now you’re just talking nonsense.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the ridiculous drama of the reality show filling the space between them. For once, the tension and danger that seemed to follow V everywhere were absent, replaced by something simple and human.

As the contestants on the screen devolved into another shouting match, V glanced over at Viktor, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Thanks, Vik,” she said quietly.

“For what?” he asked, looking at her with genuine curiosity.

“For letting me crash here, for the whiskey, for… you know, being you.” She shrugged, her tone light but earnest.

Viktor met her gaze, his expression softening before quickly looking away.  “Oh stop it, kid.”

The holoscreen blared another over-the-top sound effect, and V groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on! That guy’s totally cheating.”

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Guess I’m learning something new after all,” he said, his tone dry but amused.

“See?” V grinned, raising her glass in another toast. “Broadening horizons. You’re welcome.”

Hear the way Jackie laughed…

The streets of Night City glowed with their usual neon chaos, but Jackie and V had a singular focus. Food. It was late, too late for anyone remotely sane to be out but mercs like them weren’t exactly known for their sensible schedules. After a high-stakes gig that had somehow gone off without a hitch, they were riding the adrenaline high, their stomachs growling like starving wolves. Jackie leaned casually against his Arch motorcycle, his wide grin practically a beacon under the flickering light of a vending machine. 

"Alright, chica," he declared, clapping his hands together with mock seriousness, "tonight’s mission: find the best after-gig snack in all of Night City. You in?"

V arched an eyebrow, her smirk sharp enough to cut. "Am I in? Jackie, please. I was born for this."

With a triumphant whoop, Jackie threw a heavy arm around her shoulders, steering her toward their first target. A rickety cart stationed outside a club, its holographic sign advertising "Authentic Kabayan Lumpia." The vendor, an older man with cybernetic hands and a knowing smile, greeted them warmly. Jackie’s fist thumped against his chest like he was saluting. "Lumpia! My ma used to make these. Let’s see if they live up to her legacy."

Jackie ordered a handful, passing one to V as steam curled off the crispy golden rolls. V bit into hers, the flaky wrapper giving way to a savory mix of meat and spices. "Not bad," she admitted, chewing thoughtfully, "but I’m not sure it’s number one worthy."

Jackie looked at her like she’d just insulted his entire bloodline. "Not number one? V, your taste buds must be fried from all those implants. This," he said, gesturing dramatically with the greasy lumpia in his hand, "is a masterpiece. Not as perfect as mama’s tho but it’s got crunch, flavor, and-" he paused to let a bit of grease drip theatrically down his wrist, "-soul."

"Sure, Jackie," V teased, wiping her hands on a napkin. "But I’m looking for something I can eat without needing a deep-clean after."

Jackie let out an exaggerated groan of mock offense but didn’t argue as they moved on.

Their next stop took them to a taco stand in Santo Domingo, the air around it thick with the tantalizing smell of grilled meat and fresh spices. Jackie, ever the connoisseur of street food, immediately zeroed in on the tray of tacos al pastor, the meat carved straight from a spinning spit. He grabbed a plateful, holding up a taco like it was a championship trophy.

"Now this," Jackie proclaimed, "is perfection."

V took her own taco, the smoky, tangy flavors exploding across her tongue with the first bite. She let out a small, involuntary groan of delight.

"Alright," she admitted, licking a bit of salsa from her thumb. "This one’s pretty damn good."

"Pretty damn good?" Jackie repeated, his voice heavy with mock incredulity. "Chica, this isn’t just good. This is art. Those Kibbles of yours ruined your brain."

V rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. "You’re insufferable. But fine, I’ll give the tacos a solid eight out of ten."

"Eight?" Jackie’s dramatic gasp turned a few heads in the line. "V, we’re finding you a palate cleanse before you embarrass yourself further."

Their search led them to the tangled streets of Kabuki, where the vibrant chaos of the night market awaited. Jackie’s eyes lit up at the sight of a noodle stall boasting a long line of customers. "Ramen," he said with the conviction of a prophet. "We need ramen."

The vendor, a no-nonsense woman with a cybernetic arm, handed them each a steaming bowl. Jackie slurped his loudly, letting out an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. "Nice. Spicy, savory, clears out the sinuses, this is a winner."

V tried her own, savoring the broth before diving into the chewy noodles. "Not bad," she said nonchalantly.

"Not bad?" Jackie echoed, his voice loud enough to draw chuckles from passersby. "V, you have no taste."

"You would eat anything," she teased.

"Damn right I would," he said, popping another noodle into his mouth.

Their final stop was in Japantown at a dessert stand glowing with neon. V grabbed a dorayaki, while Jackie stacked pastel-colored mochi onto a plate. They sat on a low wall, the city buzzing around them as they savored their sweet treats.

"Last stop of the night," Jackie said, biting into the mochi. "Too sweet for me. My vote goes for tacos."

V bit into her dorayaki, her smile softening. ""I think this one’s the winner.", she said quietly, 

Jackie feigned shock. "Over the tacos? Over the ramen? You’ve lost your mind."

"Maybe," V said, licking a bit of filling from her thumb, "but it’s my vote."

Jackie shook his head, chuckling. "You’re impossible, chica."

For a moment, the chaos of Night City seemed to fade, leaving only the laughter, the full stomachs, and the quiet comfort of friendship.

She could definitely use a hug from Misty right now…

The hum of the summer sun seemed almost foreign against the usual glow of Night City’s neon skyline. V squinted at the golden light as it filtered through the bustling market in Japantown, her eyes adjusting to the rare warmth. She and Misty had been talking about this day for months. A girls’ trip, the kind of escapism that felt like a pipe dream amidst merc gigs and all the chaos of their lives.

They didn’t care much about the destination. It was the preparation that counted. The planning gave them a reason to laugh and a fleeting sense of control in a world that rarely allowed it.

"Alright, Misty,” V said, stretching her arms over her head as they stood in the middle of the crowded market. The smells of street food and incense wafted around them, mingling with the distant hum of conversation. “Mission: find the perfect threads. You up for it?”

Misty laughed softly, the bracelets on her wrist jingling as she adjusted her bag. “Oh, I’m more than up for it.”

V couldn’t help but laugh, her tension melting away as they wandered through the market, their warm conversation setting the tone for the day. They stumbled upon a boutique tucked into one of Japantown’s quieter alleys, its display window crammed with both avant-garde pieces and elegant traditional wear. Misty’s eyes lit up as they walked inside, immediately drawn to the intricate designs.

“This,” Misty said, running her fingers over a dark fabric that shimmered in the light, “feels like what dreams are made of.”

V, already flipping through racks of clothes, smirked. “Looks nice, but I can’t picture you in something that… plain.”

“Oh, really?” Misty teased, holding up the simple dress. “And what do you think suits me, oh fashion guru?”

With a mischievous grin, V grabbed a cropped leather jacket with neon accents from a nearby rack. “This. Total contrast with your usual vibe, but you’d kill it.”

Misty tilted her head, clearly trying to imagine herself in the colorfull piece. “Huh. Maybe you’re onto something. But you, miss mercenary…” She reached for a floral sundress with a high slit, pulling it from the rack and holding it out like a trophy. “You’d absolutely rock this.”

“A sundress?” V blinked, glancing at the garment as if it were a snake about to bite her. “Me? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Misty said with an encouraging smile. “Come on, just try it.”

Grumbling, V snatched the dress from her hands. “Fine. But if I look like a corpo exec at a brunch, I’m blaming you.”

The boutique’s fitting rooms were cozy, their holographic mirrors cycling through alternate color schemes and accessories. V stepped out, the sundress swishing around her knees, her expression was a mix of resignation and bemusement. “Well?” she asked, spinning once. “How ridiculous do I look?”

Misty covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You look amazing! And those combat boots you’re wearing? Perfect match.”

V glanced down at her scuffed combat boots, snorting. “Yeah, nothing says brunch like steel-toed stompers.”

“Redefining brunch couture,” Misty said with a wink.

Rolling her eyes, V fought the faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Alright, your turn. Let’s see you in that jacket.”

When Misty emerged a few moments later, her usual style replaced by the bright leather jacket. She struck a dramatic pose. “Well? Do I look badass like you or what?”

“Damn, Misty,” V said with an exaggerated whistle. “I wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark alley.”

They burst into laughter, their voices echoing in the small shop, earning side-eyes from other customers. Neither of them cared. The moment was theirs, untouched by the weight of the city.

After leaving the boutique, they wandered into a vibrant street market. The air buzzed with energy, vendors calling out their wares as customers haggled with exaggerated gestures. Misty stopped at a stall displaying colorful scarves, draping a multicolored one over her shoulders. “What do you think? Too much?”

“Nah,” V said, adjusting the scarf slightly. “It’s perfect. Adds flair.” She glanced at the next stall and grabbed a pair of oversized sunglasses with neon frames, sliding them onto Misty’s face. “Now you’re a star.”

Misty peered at herself in a small mirror, chuckling. “Or on the run from the NCPD.”

“Eh, works either way,” V teased. “You’re rocking it.”

Their laughter carried them through the market, from stalls with ridiculous hats to vendors selling gaudy jewelry. At one point, V found a battered baseball cap that read ‘Choom Queen’ in blinding pink letters and declared it her new signature look. Misty countered by choosing a floppy sunhat adorned with fake flowers. 

“High fashion,” Misty declared, and V nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.”

By the time they found a food stall selling skewers of grilled meat, their arms were laden with shopping bags. They sat on a nearby bench, the scent of their meal mingling with the faint metallic tang of the city air.

“Alright,” Misty said between bites, pointing her skewer at V. “Serious question: what’s your favorite thing about Night City?”

“The chaos, I guess,” V said after a moment, her voice thoughtful. “Feels like there’s always something happening. Keeps things interesting.”

Misty smiled. “And your least favorite?”

“The chaos,” V replied with a laugh. “Sometimes it’s just too much. Like, can I get five minutes of peace, please?”

Misty nodded, her gaze softening. “But you’ve got a way of finding it, you know. The peace. Like today.”

V glanced at her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Today’s been… really good. Thanks for dragging me out.”

“You dragged me out,” Misty reminded her with a playful nudge.

“Details,” V said with a smirk, finishing her skewer.

Their final stop was a quirky vintage shop filled with everything from handmade bracelets to retro jackets. Misty found a delicate bracelet with interlocking silver moons, while V’s attention was caught by a cropped t-shirt with colorful asymmetrical prints.

“This,” V declared, holding it up, “is me in clothing form.”

“And this,” Misty said, sliding the bracelet onto her wrist, “is me.”

V chuckled, slinging the jacket over her shoulder. “Guess we’re walking clichés.”

“Clichés are underrated,” Misty replied with a grin.

As they stepped back into the pulsing glow of the city, the weight of their everyday lives seemed a little lighter. V glanced at Misty, bumping her shoulder gently. “Thanks for today. I needed it.”

Misty’s laugh was warm, a sound that felt like home. “Anytime. I mean that V, you deserve to feel happy.”

And as they walked side by side through the chaos of Night City, their shared joy lingered, a quiet rebellion against the world they lived in.

 

God, she must be truly desperate to actually miss that asshole …

 

The faint hum of the city filtered through the open window of V’s apartment, a low drone of engines and muffled voices blending with the faint, pulsing neon glow of Night City. Johnny Silverhand was perched on the windowsill, one boot braced against the wall and the other dangling over the edge. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette in his fingers, the faint ember casting fleeting shadows on his face. He looked like he belonged there, part of the jagged skyline, as much a fixture of the city as the chaos that surrounded it.

V sat cross-legged on the windowsill, the battered acoustic guitar awkwardly balanced on her lap. Her brow furrowed in concentration as her fingers stumbled over the frets, the clunky, discordant notes a far cry from anything resembling music. It sounded like a fight, one she wasn’t winning but she refused to give up.

From his perch, Johnny exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching her with the kind of expression that made her want to throw something at him. Equal parts irritation and amusement, his smirk was razor-sharp, the kind of look that could gut you without leaving a mark. 

"Jesus Christ, V," he muttered, shaking his head as she hit another sour note. "You’re killing it. And not in a good way."

Her eyes darted up to meet his, narrowing slightly as she scowled at him. "That’s rich, coming from you asshole. It was your idea, least you can do is appreciate the effort."

"Effort doesn’t count when it sounds this pathetic," he shot back, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Seriously, if you’re gonna butcher my song, at least do it with some style."

She stuck her tongue out at him but didn’t stop playing. The next attempt wasn’t any better, the notes jangling together in a way that made her cringe but she kept at it, her frustration tempered by sheer stubbornness.

Johnny groaned, covering his face with his free hand. "That poor guitar didn’t ask for this."

"Fuck off, Johnny," she said, her voice laced with equal parts amusement and irritation. "Not like I’ve had time to take lessons between dodging bullets and fighting cyberpsychos."

"Sure, blame the bullets," he said with a mockery-laden drawl. "That’ll really win over the crowd."

She snorted, rolling her eyes as she strummed another miserable chord. "Crowd? Pretty sure the only ‘crowd’ here is you and you’re just here to criticize me."

He tapped the ash from his cigarette, leaning back against the window frame with a casual ease that made her want to smack him. "Somebody’s gotta keep you humble, kid. You make it too easy."

Her laugh was sharp, almost involuntary, as she adjusted her grip on the guitar. She’d lost track of how many times she’d started over, how many times she’d fumbled the same damn notes. Her hands didn’t move the way they were supposed to, her fingers felt clumsy, too heavy for something as delicate as this. It wasn’t her style, wasn’t her language. But she kept trying because giving up wasn’t an option. Not for her.

"You know," she said after a moment, her voice edged with mock annoyance, "for all your bitching, you haven’t offered to show me how it’s done."

Johnny’s smirk faltered, his gaze softening as he looked at her. For a fleeting moment, the sharpness in his brown eyes dulled, replaced by something quieter, sadder. 

"Maybe because I know you’d screw it up anyway," he said, his tone quieter now, the barb softened by something she couldn’t quite name.

V tilted her head, studying him. It wasn’t often he let his guard down, even for a second, but when he did, it hit like a sucker punch. Beneath the sarcasm, the bravado, there was always something else, a weight he didn’t talk about, a shadow that never quite left him. It lingered in his voice now, in the way his gaze drifted to her hands, clumsy and determined on the strings.

"Alright, rockstar," she said, her own voice softening in response, "if I’m that hopeless, why don’t you just take over?"

Johnny chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual bite. He shook his head, leaning forward slightly as he flicked the cigarette out the window. "Nah. This is more fun. Watching you massacre one of my greatest works? Just what the doctor ordered."

"Asshole," she muttered, though the word carried no venom. Adjusting the guitar again, she plucked out another mangled attempt at the opening riff of Chippin’ In. It still sounded terrible but she didn’t care anymore.

Johnny didn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes fixed on her. She could feel his gaze, the weight of it, and for some reason, it made her chest tighten. 

"You okay?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost hesitant.

He blinked, as if startled by the question, and waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Just wondering if it’s too late to ghost you."

"Liar," she said with a grin, setting the guitar aside. "You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if I wasn’t here to annoy you."

He snorted, leaning back against the window frame. "Maybe. Or maybe I’d finally get some peace and quiet."

She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Sure. Peace and quiet. That’s totally your thing."

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted to the city beyond the window, the glow of the skyline reflecting faintly in his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost contemplative. "You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that."

"For what?" she asked, tilting her head. "Playing your song badly?"

"For trying," he said simply, turning back to her. "Most people wouldn’t bother. They’d be too scared to screw it up. But you? You just keep going. Even when it’s a mess."

She shrugged, her smile faltering slightly. "What’s the alternative? Sitting around doing nothing? Doesn’t exactly sound like me."

"No, it doesn’t," Johnny agreed. "That’s why you’re still standing. Why you’re still fighting. Even when everything’s stacked against you."

V didn’t know what to say to that. For all his sharp edges, Johnny had a way of cutting through the bullshit, of seeing things she wasn’t always ready to face. It was frustrating, but it was also… grounding. She reached for the guitar again, her fingers brushing the strings.

"Alright, mr. psychoanalysis," she said with a smirk, "if you’re done with your life lessons, I’ve got a song to butcher."

Johnny laughed, the sound warmer this time, and leaned back against the window. "Go ahead. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you."

"I wouldn’t dream of it," she shot back.

As her fingers stumbled over the strings once more, the broken melody filling the room, Johnny watched her with a faint smile. 

Oh, how she'd just love to see Goro ...

The city stretched out below them, a mosaic of neon lights and sprawling steel that glittered in the warm light of the setting sun. Perched on the skeletal framework of a construction site overlooking an Arasaka warehouse, V leaned back against a support beam, her legs dangling freely over the edge. The wind carried the faint hum of Night City’s chaos, but here, at this height, it felt distant, almost peaceful.

Next to her, Goro Takemura sat rigidly, his posture as straight as the steel beams they rested on. He held a pair of sleek chopsticks in one hand, carefully lifting a piece of sashimi from the bento box balanced on his lap. His sharp eyes flicked between the warehouse below and V, though the latter seemed to demand more of his attention.

“You are impossible,” he muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation.

“Impossible?” V grinned, her green eyes sparkling with mischief as she gestured toward the greasy cardboard box sitting between them. “Nah. You ordered the pizza, didn’t you?”

Goro sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “Hmmm.”

“Oh, come on.” She laughed, her tone teasing. “You enjoyed it. Admit it. It felt good breaking the rules a little.”

“Ordering takeout during a reconnaissance mission is not breaking rules. It is… unnecessary distraction,” he said, his tone begrudging. “And only because you weren’t paying attention.”

“That’s just a fancy way of saying I wore you down,” V quipped, opening the pizza box and pulling out a slice loaded with melted cheese and pepperoni. The aroma alone made her mouth water.

Takemura’s expression twisted slightly as he watched her take a huge bite, cheese stretching between her mouth and the slice. “Do you always eat so carelessly?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Carelessly?” She swallowed her bite and grinned. “This is what joy looks like, Takemura. You should try it sometime.”

“There is no happiness to be found in what’s called meals in this city,” he replied, gesturing to his sushi with a resigned air.

V smirked, her expression lighting up with a mischievous idea. She reached over and grabbed one of his neatly arranged sushi pieces, plopping it onto her pizza slice with deliberate exaggeration.

“Blasphemy!” Goro’s voice shot up, his chopsticks clattering against the edge of his bento box as he stared at her with wide, appalled eyes. “V, stop this madness.”

“What? I’m broadening my horizons,” she said, stifling a laugh as she lifted the sushi-topped slice toward her mouth.

“You are making both the pizza and the sushi even worse,” he snapped, his voice filled with genuine horror.

“It’s called fusion,” she teased, wagging the slice at him. “Ever heard of it?”

Takemura looked like he might genuinely keel over. “You cannot be serious. I implore you, V cease this… this atrocity at once.”

V grinned even wider, relishing his reaction. “You’re making it sound like I’m committing a crime against humanity.”

“You are!” he insisted, his voice rising with fervor. “Such practices should be punishable by law.”

“Alright, alright.” She feigned a sigh, lowering the slice back to the box. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stop if you try a bite of my cardboard pizza.”

“Absolutely not,” he said instantly, his expression resolute.

“Come on, Takemura. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“My sense of adventure does not extend to almost certain food poisoning,” he replied stiffly.

“Fine.” She shrugged, lifting the slice again. “But don’t say I didn’t try.”

Takemura’s hand shot out, his reflexes sharp even in this absurd situation. He caught her wrist just as she was about to take a bite, his grip firm but not painful. “Enough, V.”

She looked up at him, a playful glint in her eyes. “You’re really this worked up over sushi on a pizza? It’s just food, Goro.”

“It is not ‘just food,’” he said, his tone bordering on a lecture. “Food is culture, history, respect. It is-”

“Delicious,” she cut him off, her grin widening. “Especially when you’re not so uptight about it.”

He stared at her, his jaw tight, and for a moment, she thought he might actually try to wrestle the slice away from her. But then, something shifted. The stern line of his mouth softened, and his grip on her wrist loosened.

“You are insufferable,” he said finally, his voice low and laced with begrudging amusement.

“Night City special breed,” she shot back, pulling her hand free and taking a dramatic bite of the sushi-pizza creation.

Takemura groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead as if witnessing an unspeakable tragedy. “I cannot believe I am associating with someone capable of such… heresy.”

“Admit it,” she said, chewing with exaggerated delight. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t here to shake up your world.”

His lips twitched, a smile threatening to break through his stoic exterior. “Hmmm,” he hummed, his tone carefully neutral.

“I’ll take that as a win,” she said, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the construction site and the city beyond. The moment felt almost surreal, two people from completely different worlds sharing laughter and takeout while perched on the edge of chaos.

No , she thought. Now was not a time to get lost in memories.

The digital void of the Blackwall pulsed with chaotic energy, endless streams of data flowing like rivers and crashing like waves. V floated through it, her form flickering like a candle in a storm. After her encounter with Songbird, she had retreated to her familiar patterns. A lot of running, hiding, and meticulously crafting backups of her personality in an effort to hold onto herself. The oppressive emptiness of the Blackwall pressed against her, vast and unrelenting, and the constant threat of wild AIs stalking the space kept her on edge.

Her mind, once vibrant and sharp, felt like it was unraveling at the edges. Time had lost all meaning, and the fear of losing herself entirely gnawed at her like a predator circling its prey. Songbird’s words echoed in her mind, a mixture of temptation and danger. Could I trust her? Could I even risk hoping for an escape? Every time she allowed herself to consider it, the reality of the Blackwall reminded her of its unforgiving nature. She knew better than to cling to fragile dreams.

One particular day or what she perceived as a day in this timeless expanse, her routines were interrupted. While sorting through corrupted data in search of a safe node to hide, V sensed a presence. Songbird?

Her form flickered as she blended into the surrounding data, watching the presence grow closer. A signal pinged nearby, deliberate and calculated. It didn’t feel like Songbird…

“Easy there. No need for hostilities. You’re not what I expected to find out here.”

The signal coalesced into a figure, sleek and polished, a digital representation of a man wearing the unmistakable insignia of NetWatch. V’s form shifted defensively, her distrust surfacing immediately.

“NetWatch,” she said, her voice edged with suspicion. “Great. Just what I needed.”

The agent raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Name’s Phil. And believe it or not, I’m not here to hunt you down. Well, not anymore. I thought you were someo- something else.”

“Something else?” V’s tone was sharp. “What exactly?”

Phil’s gaze studied her, his expression unreadable. “I thought you were a netrunner. Someone using the Blackwall as a playground. But now that I see you… you’re different.”

V snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly the first to notice.”

Phil tilted his head, his curiosity apparent. “You’re not an AI. But you’re not fully human either, are you? You’re… stuck?”

Her chest tightened at his words, the weight of her predicament pressing down on her. “What did you want?” she asked, her voice strained.

Phil’s demeanor shifted slightly, his tone softening. “What I wanted before doesn't matter.”

“Oh?” V let out a bitter laugh. “Then feel free to be on your way. If I saw your signal sonner than later they will too.”

Phil didn’t flinch. “You’re a unique case for certain and unique cases require a different approach.” He paused, his gaze steady. “Let me ask you something. How long are you here?”

The question hit her like a punch to the gut. V looked away, her form flickering as her emotions churned. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

Phil nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “That’s because you’re not supposed to exist like this. The human mind isn’t built to withstand the chaos of the net, especially not out here.”

V’s jaw tightened. “Well thank you for that useless conversation.”

“I can teach you techniques to stabilize your consciousness.” Phil replied. “Ways to reinforce your sense of self so you don’t shatter. You certainly look close. But there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is,” V muttered. “Let me guess. You want something in return.”

Phil’s gaze hardened, his tone turning more businesslike. “The Blackwall is fragile and every breach puts it at risk of collapse. Wild AIs, rogue netrunners, outside interference, it’s all connected. If you can gather intel for me. Locations of rogue AIs, signs of breaches, anything suspicious and I can justify pulling back some of the agents patrolling this area.”

V’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to play spy?”

“I want the blackwall to remain as intact as it can,” Phil countered. “And I want to prevent a catastrophe. Every time the Blackwall is breached, the risk of something dangerous slipping through increases. You’ve seen what’s out there. Do you really want that spilling into the physical world?”

“What’s stopping you from turning on me the moment I give you what you want?” she asked, her voice laced with distrust.

“Nothing,” Phil admitted, his honesty disarming. “But you’re smart enough to know that our goals align. If the Blackwall holds, you stay safe. If it collapses, you’re the first thing those AIs devour on their way out.”

V’s form flickered as she considered his words. “And can you really help me… stay me?”

“Yes,” Phil simply said. 

She hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. Songbird’s offer had already planted a seed of doubt in her mind and now Phil’s proposal added another layer of complexity. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” V said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I help you… if I do this… you make sure nothing dangerous gets through. Promise me.”

Phil’s expression softened, a flicker of respect in his gaze. “You have my word. This isn’t just about you. It’s about protecting both sides. You would just be a tool.”

The silence stretched between them. Finally, V nodded. “Alright. I’ll help you. But if you screw me over…”

“I won’t,” Phil said firmly.

As he disappeared into the ether, leaving her alone in the endless void, V couldn’t shake the unease curling in her chest. She had made a deal with NetWatch, and though it might buy her time, she couldn’t ignore the nagging doubt that she had taken one more step down a path she couldn’t turn back from.

Notes:

Fun fact, the entire blackwall and netwatch idea is based on my recent experience playing cyberpunk table rpg. It was so much fun!

Chapter 9: Ups and Downs

Notes:

Johnny has a lot of pent up anger but he has it under control (he doesn't), Goro is trying his best (not really) and ultimately the boys are getting closer...?

The cigarette burned low between Johnny’s fingers, its ember casting a dull glow against the backdrop of cheap, dirty motel walls. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around him before being carried away by the breeze rolling through the open window. 

It had become something of a ritual in the past few weeks, standing by the window, cigarette dangling between his fingers, watching the world go to hell one miserable night at a time. The acrid bite of smoke clung to his clothes, filled his lungs, almost sharp enough to drown out the stale, recycled air of whatever cheap motel he was holed up in. Almost enough to trick his brain into believing he was back in V’s shitty little apartment, where the walls were thin, the radiator rattled like it was coughing up its last breath and the scent of cheap ramen and gun oil hung in the air. 

Any second now, he half-expected her to waltz in, arms crossed, lips curled in that signature smirk, ready to rip into him for flicking ash onto the floor. Like the whole damn place wasn’t already the picture-perfect definition of Night City squalor.

Always almost enough… because she was gone .

Gone.

Well apparently fucking not. 

Johnny’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the realization slammed into him with the force of a freight train. 

V was alive. 

Not a faint echo or a shadow of her former self, no she was truly alive. Somewhere beyond the Blackwall, behind a digital barrier designed to hold back horrors beyond comprehension, she was still fighting. And she had been trying to tell him. 

The ads. All those endless, invasive ads about changing his body, about customization, appearance tweaks and upgrades, they weren’t some cruel manifestation of his guilt. They weren’t the torments of his subconscious screaming accusations of murder. 

They were her. 

V had been reaching out to him, trying to send a message the only way she could. Move on. Make peace with the life she had given him. Make the body his own. Be happy. It was too much. The weight of it crashed into Johnny’s chest like a punch he hadn’t braced for. His knees gave way and he staggered back, collapsing against the windowsill as a sound bubbled up from deep in his chest. 

A laugh. 

At first, it was soft, almost incredulous but it quickly grew louder, wilder, until it erupted into a full-blown maniacal cackle.

Johnny ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as if that would help ground him. Songbird’s words played on a loop in his head, their implications too big, too surreal to process all at once. He should have been relieved. Should have been something. But all he felt was a deep, gnawing unease.

He didn’t trust Songbird.

Not one fucking bit.

Sure, she’d played it cool, laid out her grand plan with that smooth, practiced confidence of someone who had spent a lifetime talking their way into and out of trouble. She had connections, a plan, a way to bring V back into a cloned body, all neatly wrapped in a bow. Too fucking neat. Too fucking convenient.

Johnny had been around long enough to know there was always a catch.

And then there was him.

Takemura.

Johnny’s jaw clenched, his fingers tapping impatiently against the cigarette’s filter. That corpo dog. That self-righteous, Arasaka-brainwashed prick. He had no business being here, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, pretending like he was some grieving widower searching for the love of his life.

It was almost funny. Almost.

Johnny scoffed, shaking his head. He wasn’t buying it. Not for a second.

Takemura could swear up and down that he wasn’t looking for revenge, that he’d turned his back on Arasaka, that he only wanted to bring V back because of some true love fairytale bullshit. But Johnny knew better.

Guys like Takemura didn’t just change.

They were built for obedience, for loyalty to the machine. Even if he wasn’t barking for Arasaka anymore, he was still a dog . And dogs, given the right reason, would always bite.

Johnny flicked his cigarette out the window, watching as the tiny ember disappeared into the neon glow below.

If Songbird was telling the truth, if V was out there, trapped in the endless void of the Blackwall, then Johnny would do what he had to. He’d play the game. He’d work with Songbird. He’d even put up with that smug, insufferable bastard Takemura if it meant getting her back.

But he wasn’t stupid.

He wouldn’t trust either of them.

And if Takemura so much as thought about pulling something, Johnny would put him down.

Like a dog.

"You're awfully quiet, Silverhand," Takemura's voice cut through the dimly lit room, sharp and precise, just like everything about the man. He stood near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked onto Johnny with that same cold scrutiny he always carried.

Johnny didn’t bother trying to play nice. "Just savoring the silence before you start yapping again."

Takemura’s brow twitched but he didn’t rise to the bait. 

Frustrated that he didn’t break the corpo’s composure Johnny finally turned to face him, his smirk sharp. "You see, here's my problem. Your reputation suggests you’d sooner put a bullet in my head than work with me, so excuse me if I’m a little skeptical about this whole ‘let’s save V’ act you’re putting on."

Takemura’s expression didn’t change but Johnny knew how to read people and fuck , was it satisfying to see the flicker of irritation behind those dark eyes.

"I have no interest in harming you," Takemura said evenly.

Johnny laughed, short and humorless. "That’s cute. But see, I’ve been around the block a few times, corpo. And I know guys like you don’t let go of old grudges. So why don’t you cut the bullshit and tell me what you really want?"

Takemura inhaled slowly, as if reining in the urge to strangle him. "I want what you want," he said at last. "To bring her back."

Johnny narrowed his eyes, searching Takemura’s face for any sign of deception. He wanted to call him a liar, wanted to pick apart whatever hidden agenda had to be lurking beneath that carefully controlled exterior.

But damn it, he didn’t find one.

And that pissed him off even more.

"V gave me this body," Johnny said, his voice quieter now but no less sharp. "It was her choice. And you" He jabbed a finger at Takemura. "You have no right to say otherwise."

Takemura’s jaw tightened. "You think I do not know that?" he said, his voice dangerously low. "You think I do not wake up every day knowing she is gone while you-" His hands clenched into fists before he forced them to relax. "I won’t question what she chose. I have no right. But do not think for a second that means I will not do everything in my power to bring her back."

For the first time, Johnny hesitated.

There was something raw in Takemura’s voice, something frayed and desperate beneath that icy control. And damn it all, Johnny hated to admit it but it was familiar. Too familiar. It was the same edge that crept into his own voice on those nights when the loneliness became unbearable, when the cheap booze did nothing to dull the ache, when all he could do was stare into the dark and whisper to a ghost that never answered. Just one more chance. Just bring her back.

Johnny scoffed, shaking his head. "You don’t even know what you’re up against. Songbird’s got a plan, sure but she’s not exactly handing out guarantees. For all we know, this is just another corpo con job and we’re both getting played."

Takemura didn’t argue. That alone was unsettling.

"Perhaps," Takemura said after a moment. "But if there is even a chance, I will take it. Would you not do the same?"

Johnny hated that the answer was yes.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "Fuck . "

Takemura raised an eyebrow. "A change of heart, terrorist?"

"Hardly," Johnny muttered, dragging himself to his feet. "Just trying to come to terms with the fact that my only shot at getting V back involves working with you . "

Takemura’s lips pressed into a thin line. "The feeling is mutual."

Johnny smirked but there wasn’t much bite behind it. "Guess we better get started then but before that I need a day before I’m ready to get back to good old Night City."

Takemura, who had been standing stiff as a statue near the door, turned his head sharply, his expression instantly darkening. "A day? " He repeated the word as if Johnny had suggested they take a fucking spa retreat. "You want to delay her rescue? For what?"

Johnny leaned back against the cheap motel dresser, arms crossed over his chest. "For me," he said, deadpan. "You see I have just realised that all this time passed and I didn’t have my cool girl shopping trip."

Takemura’s nostrils flared. "Are you wasting time for shopping ?"

Johnny’s smirk widened but it was all teeth, no humor.

Takemura was on him in an instant, stepping forward so fast Johnny almost thought he was about to take a swing. He almost wished he would. Instead, the corpo loomed, voice dropping to something cold and sharp. "Every second we waste, V is still trapped beyond the Blackwall. And you want to waste an entire day on vanity?"

Johnny scoffed, standing his ground. "Not vanity. Practicality. You don’t get it, do you?" He gestured down at himself.  

V’s body, V’s face, V’s everything .  

"When we get her back and we will get her back, she’s gonna be pissed if she finds out I didn’t do jack shit to make this body mine. You don’t know her like I do. She’ll rip me a new one if I show up looking like I’m still trying to wear her skin."

Takemura’s lip curled in disgust, like just the idea of him talking about V was enough to make him sick. "You already wear her skin," he said, voice like a blade. "No haircut or new clothes will change that, Silverhand . "

Johnny’s jaw tightened but he forced a laugh, bitter and dry. "Right. ‘Cause you’d prefer me to walk around like this forever, wouldn’t you? Let you keep seeing her, hearing her voice. Do you get off on this? Is that what you do when you’re silently brooding in the corners? Imagine yourself and your not at all girlfriend? Must really ruin the mood knowing it’s me underneath. Real poetic suffering for you, huh?"

Takemura’s face twisted with fury and he didn’t even have a second to realise what was about to happen before the punch connected with his jaw.

“Fuck- you motherfucker!”Johnny pushed off the windowsill, stepping right up into Takemura’s space, the heat between them crackling like a live wire. "You are so fucking lucky" he spat, voice low and dangerous. "That I can’t really fucking punch you without breaking anything but that won’t last."

That did it. Takemura’s hand twitched at his side, his breathing measured but too sharp, too controlled.

Johnny smirked, cocking his head. "What? Gonna hit me again? Gonna punch her face, again? How’s that gonna work out for you when she gets back, huh?"

Takemura inhaled sharply, reigning himself in but it was obvious from the tension in his shoulders that he was barely keeping himself from doing exactly that. Instead, he took a step back, jaw clenched so tight Johnny was surprised he hadn’t shattered a tooth. "One day," he ground out, the words like gravel. "We will get even."

Johnny exhaled dramatically. "Finally, something I can agree with."

Takemura turned away from him, running a hand down his face as if physically wiping the interaction off of himself. "You are insufferable."

Johnny grinned, sharp and mocking. "And you’re predictable. Old habits die hard so why don’t you sit, stay and wait like the obedient little corpo mutt they trained you to be?"

Takemura didn’t respond, just stared out the window as if that would somehow make Johnny disappear.

Johnny took that as a win.

As it turns out, he really shouldn't have.

Because the second he stepped out onto the street, Takemura was right behind him. 

"You are following me," Johnny said flatly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

Takemura stopped too, impassive as ever. "Observant."

Johnny exhaled through his nose, fighting the urge to rub his temples. "I’m getting a haircut, not storming Arasaka Tower. You can go back to whatever sad, honor-bound routine you got going on."

Takemura merely folded his arms across his chest. "I do not trust you."

"Yeah, no shit. But this is a ‘Johnny gets a makeover’ errand. What, you think I’m gonna sell V out while getting my hair done?" 

"With you, I expect stupidity at every moment," Takemura said flatly.

Johnny snorted, shaking his head. "Right. Fuckin’ fantastic." He threw his arms up. "Fine, you wanna play watchdog? Be my guest. But you don’t get to bitch about my choices, got it? No comments, no complaints.”

Takemura gave him a long look."I do not need to complain. I already know you will make terrible choices."

Johnny clenched his jaw. "God, I fucking hate you."

"Mutual."

Johnny exhaled sharply, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he turned back toward the ripperdoc’s clinic. "This is gonna be a long fuckin’ day."

The clinic was tucked away in a back alley, one of those places that didn’t advertise but still had a steady stream of customers who paid for silence as much as service. The second Johnny stepped inside, he knew it was exactly the kind of place V would have approved of. Cheap, effective and just legal enough to avoid being burned to the ground by cops.

The ripper was an older guy, cybernetics running down his arms and fingers. He barely looked up from his current job, installing some dermal mods on a half-conscious client.

"You got an appointment?" he asked, not even glancing in their direction.

"No," Johnny said, stepping up to the counter. "Just need a few adjustments and I’m willing to pay extra."

The ripper finally glanced up, his eyes flicking between Johnny and Takemura with mild, passing interest. "Huh. A bodyguard?"

Takemura made a low sound of irritation but Johnny cut in before he could say anything. "Nope. Just my number one fan."

Takemura scoffed but said nothing.

The ripper shrugged, already bored. "Whatever. What do you need?"

Johnny leaned against the counter. "Haircut. Dye. Shorter, like…" He gestured vaguely. "Shoulder length. Then some cyberware replacements."

Takemura scoffed, arms crossed as he observed with undisguised disdain. "Ridiculous."

Johnny gave him a flat look. "What did I literally just say about no comments?"

Takemura, of course, ignored him. "Her hair was already perfect. Silky, silver, like moonlight on steel." His voice was almost wistful, but the way his eyes cut to Johnny was pure venom. "And now, you butcher it."

"Alright, what the fuck is going on here? You’re changing every detail and acting like you stole the body. If this is some weird fetish shit, I charge extra."

Johnny sighed, rubbing his temples. "Jesus, just take the damn eddies and keep your existential crises to yourself." He flicked a credchip onto the counter, the amount more than enough to make the ripper shut up. "Now, let’s get this over with. Haircut. Dye. Cyberware."

The ripper looked at the money on the counter, then shrugged. "Whatever you want, choom."

The chair was old, creaking slightly as Johnny leaned back. He watched in the mirror as the ripper took the first cut, lopping off the silver-white strands that had become so damn familiar. The dye followed soon after, staining his scalp, black bleeding into the pale strands until no trace of V remained.

Takemura exhaled sharply, arms crossed. "You are ruining her."

Johnny snorted. "Not her. Me . And unless you think V would love the idea of me parading around like a goddamn ghost wearing her skin maybe, just maybe, shut the fuck up for once?"

Takemura’s jaw tightened but for once, he didn’t argue.

"Alright," the ripper said, stepping back. "What else?"

Johnny met his own gaze in the mirror, scowling at the face staring back at him. Too much of her. Too much of before.

"Eyes," he said. "Brown."

The face staring back at him was still hers. The shape of it, the details.

He turned to the ripper. "Can you tweak the face?"

The ripper raised an eyebrow. "Like, a full remodel?"

"No. Just enough to make it look a little different. Change the jawline a little. The lips. Eyes. I dunno, something."

The ripper nodded. "I can make some small adjustments. You won’t look like a different person but it’ll look less like this face."

Johnny nodded. "Do it."

Takemura let out another disapproving sound, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh of absolute loathing. " Her eyes had a beautiful shape. Sharp, commanding, expressive-”

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We get it, ‘V was perfect, V was beautiful, V was a goddamn angel walking Night City’s shithole streets, and now I’m pissing on her grave, blah blah blah."

Takemura’s stare was ice-cold but before he could hurl another insult the ripper let out a long-suffering sigh. "You two gonna kill each other, or can I get back to work?"

Johnny waved a hand. "Do the damn tweaks before I change my mind and actually take a swing at this prick."

The ripper just nodded, setting up the next procedure as Takemura watched in brooding silence.

The ripper got to work fast and Johnny had to admit, it was weird watching the reflection in the mirror shift.

A quick injection, a sharp burst of heat around his eyes, mouth, cheeks, jaw, ears… and then it was done. He blinked, adjusting to the change and for a second, something cold settled in his gut. It was stupid, really but he had the strangest feeling like he’d just erased the last of V’s face.

Which was the fucking point.

"Done," the ripper said, stepping back. "What’s next?"

Johnny exhaled, shaking the feeling off. "Cyberware."

V’s body had been built for netrunning, for hacking and slipping past firewalls like a ghost. But Johnny? That wasn’t his style. He wasn’t about finesse, he was about impact. Normally he wouldn’t need any implants to be deadly. But this wasn’t a normal situation and right now this body didn’t match his instincts.

"Need something heavier," he told the ripper. "Stronger impact. You got anything for raw power?"

He considered him for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Got a reinforced subdermal weave to help absorb impact. Couple mods to enhance muscle fiber, improve raw strength. But if you want real stopping power, you’re gonna want a Kiroshi upgrade. Boost your target acquisition, let you react faster in a fight."

Johnny grinned. "Now we’re talking."

Takemura, of course, wasn’t impressed. "That might be for the better. She was, after all, far more intelligent than you.”

Johnny grinned, sharp and mean. "Yeah and look where that got her."

Takemura’s entire body went rigid.

The ripper, to his credit, didn’t react, just kept listing options. “Aim boosters? Might be worth it to take out the deck and extra discs as well.”

“Nah I don’t need shit for that, just durability and get rid of all the netrunner junk.”

"Anything else before I start?" the ripper asked.

Johnny hesitated for half a second before his smirk sharpened into something downright wicked. "Y’know, the body’s too damn light. Not a fan of the whole dainty frame thing. And the tits? Look, they’re nice and all, but let’s be real way better to appreciate ‘em on her than lug ‘em around myself. So yeah, they go. Oh, and while we’re at it, let’s do something about these goddamn hips.”

Takemura visibly bristled. His hands curled into fists, his expression twisting into one of utter disgust. He muttered something harsh in Japanese, his voice tight with rage.

"What was that, Takemura?" Johnny asked, smirking. “Sad you won’t be able to take a peak?"

Takemura’s lip curled in pure, undiluted contempt. "You are vile. "

Johnny spread his hands, all mock innocence. "What? If we’re rebuilding, might as well go all the way, yeah?"

Takemura looked at him as if personally offended on every possible level. "You desecrate her memory with every word that leaves your filthy mouth," he spat. "It is her body you speak of so crudely-”

"Yeah, yeah, she isn’t here to fall for the gentleman act , " Johnny cut in, rolling his eyes. He turned back to the ripper, unfazed by the murderous aura radiating off Takemura. "Anyway, like I was saying I want my dick back."

Takemura inhaled sharply, his face darkening. 

The ripper, who had been watching this exchange with all the enthusiasm of a man paid too little to deal with this level of bullshit, shrugged. "That’s a longer, more expensive procedure. You want it, I can do it, but it’s not a quick fix."

Johnny exhaled, tapping his fingers against the counter. "Fuck it. Let’s go for it."

Takemura exploded in rapid, furious Japanese, his tone nothing short of murderous.

Johnny flipped him off.

The upgrades weren’t pleasant. Cyberware never was. The install burned like hell, but when he flexed his fingers afterward, testing the new weight of himself, it felt better . Stronger. Not perfect, but closer to something that fits.

As they stepped out of the clinic, Johnny caught his new reflection in a passing car window.

Different. Still not him but not her either. Something new. A fresh beginning just like she wanted for him.

A step in the right direction.

And when she came back, she wouldn’t look at him and see herself staring back. She’d see him . She might even be proud.

It was the least he could do.

Takemura was watching him, face bitter and arms still crossed. "Are you satisfied with the mess you have made?"

Johnny stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Almost. But I’ll tell you what, I am satisfied knowing you had to sit through every damn second of it."

Takemura made a noise of disgust but said nothing.

And for once, Johnny didn’t try to bait him into a fight.

Because for the first time in weeks, he felt like he was looking at himself again. And that?

That was fucking progress.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! And I hope you liked it!

Chapter 10: To the dead girl who won’t stay dead

Notes:

Hi I hope you like this chapter. I must say out of all that I had written this has to be my favourite.

Night City was still the same relentless, unyielding beast it had always been. A corpse that refused to rot. No matter how much blood soaked its streets, how many bodies piled up in dark alleys, the city kept going, neon signs blinking like a broken heartbeat. It was a city that chewed you up, spit you out and laughed while you crawled back for more.

He fucking hated it.

He hated the corpos that ruled it, the filth that seeped into its bones. Hated the way it reeked of desperation, of neon dreams dying in the gutter, of people selling off pieces of themselves just to make it one more day. All these pathetic, little nobodies clawing for a sliver of something real in a city built on lies.

Lately, he fucking hated that every street corner, every shadow, felt like her.

And yet, here he was. Again.

The Afterlife loomed ahead, its neon glow pulsing like an open wound. It felt wrong being here. This wasn’t his place anymore.

The bar hadn’t changed. The air was thick with smoke, synth beats thumping low under murmured conversations. Mercs, fixers, and wannabe legends crowded the booths, hunched over drinks, whispering deals, making plans that would get half of them killed by morning. 

The Afterlife was still a church for the damned. And he was about to go pray for a fucking miracle.

He could almost see it. Her leaning against the bar, exchanging playful banter with Rogue, eyes bright with that reckless, stupid optimism that made her impossible not to care about. And fuck, he’d give anything to have that idiot alive and standing here instead of him. No, with him. Soon, and this time he won’t take now for an answer. He will drag her back to this shithole kicking and screaming if he has to. 

Johnny shook his head, scowling at his own thoughts. Christ, he was getting sentimental. He needed to get his shit together before…

Rogue sat at her usual spot at the bar, a glass of whiskey in front of her, fingers tapping absently against the rim. She looked the same, hard-edged, sharp as ever. The kind of woman who could slit your throat before you realized the conversation had turned sour.

And then almost like she could feel his eyes on her, she turned.

Her sharp blue eyes locked onto him and for a second, something flickered across her face. Shock, confusion, disbelief.

Then her face hardened.

Her expression was pure steel but Johnny knew Rogue. Knew that beneath the icy exterior, there was always something else .

He swaggered up to the bar like he owned the place, because fuck her if she thought he was going to act any different. “Rogue.”

Rogue didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just stared at him like she was staring at a ghost .

Then she spoke.

“You son of a bitch.”

Johnny smirked, leaning against the counter. “Kinda expected that.”

“Oh, did you?” Her voice was low, razor-sharp, the kind of tone that preceded violence. “What the fuck is this?” She gestured at him, eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, looks like some poser decided to do a half-assed Johnny Silverhand cosplay with V’s fucking face.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

So Johnny shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Guess you could say I did a little remodeling.”

Rogue’s nostrils flared. “Where is she?”

Johnny’s throat tightened. “That’s what I’m here for. It’s complicated.”

Rogue didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Complicated?” Her voice was eerily calm, too controlled. “You survived and instead of telling anyone, you just disappeared ? For what two fucking months?”

Johnny exhaled through his nose. “Yeah, well, sorry I wasn’t in the mood for a fucking homecoming parade. Shit hit the fan, I needed some fucking space-”

Rogue scoffed, shaking her head. “Space. That’s what you call it?”

Johnny rolled his shoulders, irritation flaring. “Look, I don’t have time for this. We can fucking argue pointless shit later. I’ve got a job. I need info. Biotechnica’s got a convoy coming through, carrying a tech that lets you clone a full-body replacement. I need to hit it.”

Rogue narrowed her eyes. “What the fuck Johnny?! Two fucking months and you think you can just show up here and- !”

Johnny cut her off. “V’s still alive.”

Silence.

For a moment, the bar noise around them seemed to fade.

Her eyes darkened. “Where is she?”

Johnny clenched his jaw. “Behind the blackwall. Only one of us could have survived. She had six months, I had all the time in the fucking world so-”

“You fucked her over, Johnny.”

He froze, pulse pounding in his ears, his breath coming sharp. “The fuck did you just say?”

Rogue’s fingers curled against the glass, her knuckles turning white. “You’re telling me,” she said slowly, voice dangerously low, “that after all this time, all this fucking time , she’s been out there? And you just what ? Sat on your ass, feeling sorry for yourself?”

Johnny’s temper snapped. “I believed she was fucking dead! I didn’t know before-”

She stepped closer, eyes burning. “Oh please Johnny. You got a body. You got a second fucking chance. And what did you do? You fucked off . Left everyone who gave a shit about you, who needed you, in the dark. Left me in the dark.”

Johnny scoffed, crossing his arms. “So that’s what this is about? Your feelings got hurt? This isn’t about you.”

Rogue’s expression darkened. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Johnny snapped. “You’re here all high and mighty but maybe, just maybe I was fucking grieving ? Sorry I didn’t stick around to play happy fucking reunion. Sorry I couldn’t stand walking around this goddamn city in her skin. Sorry I-”

Rogue didn’t flinch. “She gave you everything. Everything . And what did you do? Pissed it all away and ran like a coward.”

Johnny saw red. “You think I wanted this?! You think I wanted to wake up every fucking day knowing I stole her life? That I get to breathe while she’s trapped in some digital hellhole? I hated it, Rogue. I hate every second.” His voice dropped, raw and unguarded. “And you’re standing here acting like I was just out living it up. Fuck you.”

Rogue scoffed, shaking her head. “You and your fucking excuses. Nothing ever is your fault is it?”

Johnny’s hands clenched into fists. “Oh, go to hell. If you’re not gonna help, I’ll find another way. V and I were fine without you before, guess we’ll make it work again .”

He turned on his heel, fists tight.

“Johnny-”

He ignored her, shoving open the doors of the Afterlife with enough force that they slammed against the metal frame, rattling from the impact. He didn’t care. He needed to get the fuck out of there before he did something stupid like smash a glass against the bar or shove his boot straight through a table.

The cold night air hit him like a slap but it wasn’t enough to cool the fire burning in his chest. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he took long, angry strides away from the entrance, already lighting up a cigarette with shaking fingers.

And then…

“It was a waste of time to come here.”

Johnny groaned. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Takemura stood by the curb, arms crossed over his chest, watching him with the same unreadable expression he always wore, like Johnny was some particularly irritating glitch in his system.

“It did not seem to go well,” Takemura continued, his voice flat, unimpressed.

Johnny exhaled smoke through his nose, tilting his head with a bitter grin. “Oh? You fucking think?”

Takemura said nothing, just raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Johnny laughed dryly, running a hand through his freshly-cut black hair. “Jesus, you’re loving this, aren’t you? Bet you were hoping she’d kick my ass out just so you could say I told you so. ”

Takemura’s expression didn’t change.

Johnny’s jaw clenched. “You know what? Fuck you, man.”

He turned on his heel, already walking away.

“Where are you going?”

“ To get fucking drunk. ”

Takemura let out an irritated breath, his footsteps following close behind. “This is not the time for your self-indulgence.”

Johnny whirled around, jabbing a finger at him. “No, see, that’s where you’re wrong corpo. This is exactly the time. Matter of fact, it’s long overdue .”

Takemura’s nostrils flared. “We should be preparing. Planning. Every moment wasted is a moment V remains trapped. Or do you not care?”

Johnny’s entire body went rigid.

Takemura kept going, stepping closer, his voice rising. “You keep wasting more and more time.”

Johnny’s breath was coming fast now, anger bubbling so hot and thick it nearly choked him.

First this fucking city insists on tormenting him with her shadows. Then fucking Rouge tries to act like he has been out partying every night and now that fucking corpo scum…

That was it. That was the fucking match to the gasoline.

Johnny exploded.

“I HAVEN’T THOUGHT ABOUT ANYTHING OTHER THEN HER!”

His voice tore through the night, raw and furious, the sheer force of it making even Takemura take a half-step back.

“I can’t fucking escape her! She’s in my every goddamn thought! Every breath! I dream and she haunts me! I wake up and she’s fucking there! I close my eyes and she’s still all I can see! I can’t shake it! Can’t outrun it! Can’t drink it away, though fuck, I’m about to try!”

Takemura’s expression flickered, something unreadable, something that wasn’t just anger but Johnny didn’t give a shit.

“You think I don’t care ?” Johnny snarled, shoving Takemura’s shoulder, forcing him back a step. “You think I’m just fucking off because I don’t give a shit? No, Romeo , I care too goddamn much and it’s killing me!”

Takemura grabbed his wrist before he could shove him again. “Then stop running,” he said through gritted teeth. “She needs us.”

Johnny let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, fuck off. Just like Rogue, just like everyone else. Johnny’s not doing enough, Johnny fucked up, Johnny should’ve been better- ”

Takemura’s grip tightened. “ Calm down. ”

Johnny’s rage snapped like a live wire.

“DON’T TELL ME TO FUCKING CALM DOWN!”

His fist lashed out cracking Takemura’s grip loose, though not landing a full hit. Takemura barely flinched, his jaw setting in that infuriatingly restrained way but Johnny saw the way his muscles tensed, saw the flicker of something dangerous pass through his gaze.

For a second, Johnny wanted him to snap. Wanted a fight. Wanted something to hurt as much as the inside of his chest did.

But Takemura didn’t throw a punch and somehow that made him hurt even more.

Johnny sneered, pulling away. “Well, guess what? I don’t fucking need you. Didn’t need her , either. And I sure as shit don’t need your goddamn lectures.”

He turned and walked off, fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms.

Takemura’s voice cut through the night, sharp and demanding. “Where are you going?”

Johnny didn’t turn around. didn’t even slow down. Just kept on walking.

The bar he ended up in was a fucking dump. The kind of place where the lights flickered just enough to make your head ache and the floor stuck to your boots if you stood in one place a second too long. Still, it had whiskey. That was all that mattered.

The bartender barely glanced at him before setting down a menu. Johnny shoved it aside. “Bottle of whiskey. The real shit.”

The bartender gave him a long look before nodding and turning away.

Johnny exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. His nerves still felt like live wires, buzzing from the argument with Takemura. He should be drowning in anger right now, looking for a fight, for some poor bastard to take a swing at him so he could swing back.

But he wasn’t.

He was just so fucking tired.

The bottle landed in front of him with a solid thunk . The bartender slid over a glass, and Johnny poured himself a drink. He didn’t shoot it back like he normally would, didn’t even reach for another cigarette. Just sat there, elbow on the bar, watching the amber liquid swirl in the dim light.

He’d come here to get wasted. To drink himself into the kind of stupor where the world got quiet, where the city faded into nothing and he could forget that he was stuck in a life he hadn’t asked for, with people who expected him to be someone he wasn’t.

V would fucking hate this. Not just the bar, the whole damn thing. Him, sitting alone, drinking himself into oblivion instead of doing something, instead of fixing shit. She’d march right in, snatch the bottle from his hand, and call him a pussy for wallowing.

Johnny chuckled, low and bitter. She would, wouldn’t she? No hesitation. Just storm in, eyes blazing, voice sharp.

And yet she wouldn’t just yell at him. Not V. She knew him too fucking well.

She would take one look at him, see past the bravado, past the sarcasm and the bullshit. She’d roll her eyes, shove the whiskey aside, and make him talk . Something he fucking hated doing. She hated it too but when push came to shove she wouldn’t back down from anything. Not even an awkward heart to heart.

“You wanna self-destruct, fine. But at least be honest about why.”

That was the thing about her. No matter how much of an asshole he was, she always gave him another shot. Always believed there was something left in him worth saving.

She was wasting her damn time on him. She always had and let’s look where it landed her.

He sighed, finally taking a slow sip from the glass. The whiskey burned but it wasn’t enough to numb anything. 

Time blurred after that. Could’ve been hours, could’ve been minutes. The whiskey barely made a dent, and Johnny was just about to call it a night, maybe find a way to put his fist through a wall on his way out when the barstool next to him scraped back.

Johnny didn’t even look up. “Unless you’re here to put a bullet in my head, fuck off.”

A familiar voice, clipped and accented, responded. “I am considering it.”

Johnny groaned. “For fuck’s sake.”

Takemura ordered a drink without looking at him. “Japanese whiskey,” he said, voice as stiff as ever. “A proper one.”

Johnny let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Fucking snob.”

Takemura ignored him, waiting as the bartender poured the drink. He swirled the glass, took a slow sip and made a face. 

Johnny smirked, though there was no real bite behind it. “Did it offend your delicate senses?”

Takemura let out a resigned sigh. “Nothing is sacred in this place. Not even the alcohol.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Johnny watched him from the corner of his eye, suspicious as hell. Takemura wasn’t nice. He wasn’t friendly. The man was about as warm as an Arasaka boardroom. So what the fuck was this?

Johnny was about to call him out on it when Takemura exhaled sharply. “I… misjudged you.”

Johnny blinked. What?

Takemura didn’t look at him. Just kept staring at the whiskey in his hands like it held all the answers.

“I assumed you did not care,” he continued, voice quieter now. “That you abandoned her. That you took what was given and left her to…” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “I was wrong.”

Johnny was stunned into silence for a second. He had abandoned her, hadn’t he? He’d taken her body and fucked off, ran from the city, from everything. Tried to do anything, everything just to stop thinking about her. But hearing Takemura say it like that, hearing the regret in his voice, it didn’t sit right.

Didn’t sit right at all.

“Grief twists people,” Takemura murmured. “Makes them act against their nature.”

Johnny scoffed, downing the rest of his whiskey. “Yeah? And what’s my fucking nature?”

Takemura finally looked at him. There was something unreadable in his expression, something heavy. “That is what I misjudged.”

Johnny didn’t know what to say to that.

Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Johnny tapped his fingers against the glass, restless, still suspicious as hell. “Why the fuck are you telling me this?”

Takemura inhaled deeply, then took another sip of whiskey. “Because we must work together.”

Johnny huffed a laugh. “Yeah? That’s what you call all the screaming matches?”

Takemura didn’t react. “We must save her.”

Johnny clenched his jaw. No shit.

Takemura took another slow sip. “So. For tonight, at least” He gestured between them. “A truce.”

Johnny studied him for a long moment. He still didn’t like the bastard, still didn’t trust him. But for once, Takemura wasn’t trying to bite his head off, wasn’t throwing accusations or veiled insults.

Maybe they really were both just tired.

“…Fine,” Johnny muttered, pouring himself another drink.

They sat in silence for a while, the neon glow from the street casting long shadows across the bar. Neither spoke, neither needed to. The city hummed around them, distant and ever-present.

For once, just for tonight, they didn’t fight. What a fucking picture they made. 

Johnny Silverhand, former terrorist and Goro Takemura, ex-samurai, ex-corpo for the very corporation the other swore to destroy. Both sitting hunched over a dirty table in some shady bar.

If only V could see them now…

Somewhere along the way, the conversation started. Maybe after the third drink. Maybe after the fifth. At first brittle and shaky, while they were both still waiting. Ready for anything to pierce through the temporary peace. Now, all that was left between them was the woman neither of them could stop thinking about.

The only thing they had in common.

Takemura swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way it caught the dim neon light. His posture was looser than usual, the ever-present tension in his shoulders dulled by alcohol. Johnny wasn’t much better, slumped forward, elbow braced against the table, staring at his own reflection in the glass.

“I hate this city,” Johnny muttered suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was rough, frayed at the edges.

Goro just raised his glass, silently toasting to his words. Maybe they had two things in common after all.

Johnny snorted, knocking back the rest of his drink. He set the empty glass down with a little too much force. “This fucking city eats people alive. It takes and takes until there’s nothing left.”

Takemura exhaled slowly, eyes still on his glass. “She did not let it take her.”

Johnny went still. His fingers flexed against the table.

“No,” he admitted after a long pause, voice quieter now. “She didn’t.”

V fought. She fought harder than anyone he’d ever met. She fought for everything. For her friends, for her future, for the stupid, reckless dream of more. She fought for Takemura, dragged his ass out of Arasaka’s claws when she had every reason to let him die. And she fought for Johnny, even when he didn’t deserve it.

“She saved you,” Takemura said, like he was reading Johnny’s mind. “And she saved me.”

Johnny let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Yeah. And look how that turned out.”

Takemura’s jaw tightened. He finished his drink in one slow swallow, then set the glass down carefully, precisely. “She did not save us just to watch us drown.”

Johnny scoffed. “She’s not watching shit, Takemura. She’s stuck. Trapped. And we don’t even know if we can get her out.”

Takemura didn’t answer right away. He sat there, fingers tapping lightly against the table. Thinking.

“I have always believed in duty,” he said eventually. “In loyalty. In serving something greater than myself.” His expression darkened. “Arasaka twisted that belief. But V… she did not.”

Johnny frowned. Takemura wasn’t the kind of man who bared his soul, especially not to him. But there was something raw in his voice, something broken.

“She showed me another way,” Takemura continued, staring past Johnny like he was seeing something or someone else. “A life where I was not bound. Where I could choose.”

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “And now she is gone. And I… I do not know how to be what she wanted me to be.”

Johnny knew that feeling.

Fucking hell, did he know that feeling .

He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, I get that.”

V always had this… this idea of him. Like he could be better. Like he could be more than a washed-up revolutionary with a chip on his shoulder and a death wish.

And he’d tried. Goddamn, he’d tried.

But now, with her gone, it felt like all of it had been for nothing.

“You know what’s funny?” Johnny asked, his voice rough with something he refused to name. “She never asked for anything.”

Takemura frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Johnny sighed. “I mean, she didn’t ask me to change. Didn’t beg me to be better. She just… was. Just kept fucking existing and somehow made me wanna try. She never once told me I needed to be a hero. Just told me I needed to be me.”

Takemura was quiet for a long moment.

“She wanted you to be free,” he said eventually.

Johnny barked a laugh. “Yeah. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Takemura took another sip of whiskey, his grip tightening around the glass. “It means she saw something in you worth saving.”

Johnny scoffed. “Guess that makes two of us, huh?”

Takemura’s gaze snapped to his, sharp and unreadable.

Johnny held it, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You loved her.”

Takemura didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Johnny leaned back, tilting his head slightly. “Guess I did too.”

She’d been his friend. His partner. The only person who had believed in him since the day he’d been dragged out of the past, kicking and screaming. The only person to never get sick of him.

And now she was gone.

Takemura set his glass down with a quiet clink . “Then we owe it to her to bring her back.”

Johnny stared at him. For once, there was no bitterness in his gaze. No anger, no venom, no sarcasm.

Just grief.

Just understanding.

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, we do.”

Two men who had lost the same woman, in two different ways.

The whiskey burned as Johnny poured himself another drink. The world had taken on that dull, whiskey-hazed blur, where everything softened at the edges, where thoughts bled together until you couldn’t quite tell where one ended and the next began.

"You said she would be angry," Takemura murmured, his voice quiet, Japanese accent thicker after a few drinks. His eyes flickered toward Johnny, searching. "If she saw you had done nothing to change." He paused, then asked, "Why?"

Johnny exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair. He rubbed at his jaw, flexing his fingers like the question had physically struck him.

"Because she wanted me to live," he said, voice rough. "Not just...exist. Not just drag my sorry ass through life carrying all that guilt like a lead fucking weight."

Takemura nodded slightly, taking a slow sip from his glass. "And yet, changing… it was difficult for you."

Johnny let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, no shit." He rolled his shoulders, suddenly feeling restless. "Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw her staring back. Every time I moved, it was in her skin. Do you know what that feels like?"

Takemura’s expression darkened but he didn’t interrupt.

"I’d catch my reflection, and for a split second, I’d forget," Johnny continued, voice quieter now, rough around the edges. "Forget that she was gone, that it was me in here now. And then it’d hit me like a fucking bullet. Over and over."

Takemura exhaled sharply, setting his glass down with a quiet clink . "And yet," he said, staring at the table, "watching you do it… it felt like losing her again."

Johnny looked up at that, blinking. He wasn’t sure what he had expected Takemura to say but it wasn’t that.

Takemura’s grip tightened slightly around his glass, his voice steady but thick with something unspoken. "It was foolish, I know," he admitted. "Even knowing that she is not… truly here… but to see her body, to know that it was still out here, was almost proof that she was not entirely gone. That she could still be saved. And then you erased her."

Johnny swallowed, something heavy settling in his chest.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

The silence stretched between them again, longer this time. The sounds of the bar faded into the background, nothing but the weight of absence sitting between them.

"Her hair," Takemura said finally, almost absently. "I remember how it caught the light. Silver but warm when the sun touched it." He let out a breath. "It suited her."

He looked down at the strands of black that now fell into his eyes and smiled. "Yeah," he admitted. "It did."

Johnny tilted his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl. "You ever feel like she’s slipping through your fingers? Like every day, a little more of her disappears?"

Takemura closed his eyes. "Every day."

Johnny nodded slowly as if they had agreed on something without needing to say it outright.

The minutes passed in silence again before Takemura finally asked, "But you kept her voice."

Johnny hesitated.

It would’ve been easy to make a joke. To wave it off with some smart-ass comment. But he didn’t. Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was the way Takemura had been honest with him but for whatever reason, Johnny answered the question truthfully.

"I needed it," he admitted, voice quieter than before.

Takemura frowned slightly, tilting his head. "What do you mean?"

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, and said, “There were those nights when it got bad, real bad, when I didn’t think I’d make it through to morning. And in those moments, when the city was too fucking loud and my head was even louder, I’d close my eyes, and I’d hear her."

Takemura didn’t move.

Johnny stared at the liquid in his glass, watching it catch the dim light. "She’d say, ‘Just try, Johnny. For me, just try to live.’ " He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "And sometimes, between the booze and the exhaustion, I could almost believe she was really there. That she was saying it to me, pulling me back before I fell too deep."

Takemura studied him, his gaze unreadable.

" Just try, Johnny," he murmured again, once more repeating the words that had anchored him more times than he could count. " For me. Just try to live ."

It came out quieter, softer than his usual tone. Like an echo of something lost. Like a memory. 

"And so you kept her voice," he said quietly.

Johnny nodded. "Yeah." His lips twisted into something that might’ve been a smile if it weren’t so damn tired. "Real poetic, isn’t it? Spent so long staring at her face, feeling like I’d never crawl out from under her shadow, like she’d never fucking let me go. And then, when it got too much, the only thing that kept me from losing it was her voice, telling me to keep going."

Takemura was quiet for a long time. Then, he squared his shoulders and said, "Let’s go."

Johnny blinked. "Go where?"

Takemura met his gaze, steady and unyielding. "If she wouldn’t be happy to see her own face I doubt she would be much happier to hear her own voice."

Johnny didn’t say anything.

For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at Takemura, feeling the weight of those words settle deep in his chest.

And then, finally, he sighed, grabbed the bottle and poured them both another drink.

"Alright," he muttered, pushing Takemura’s glass toward him. "But for the record, I hate that you’re right about this."

Takemura’s lips twitched. "Noted."

Johnny lifted his glass, considering it for a moment before smirking dryly. "To the dead girl who won’t stay dead."

Takemura actually laughed.

It was quiet, barely more than an exhale but it was real.

Then with one final glance at each other, they knocked back their drinks, slammed the glasses down and stood.

As they made their way toward the door, Johnny muttered under his breath, "We are never talking about this night again."

"Agreed," Takemura said without hesitation.

And for the first time in a long time, Johnny felt like maybe, just maybe, they might actually have a shot at pulling this off. 

Chapter 11: Of cats, breakfasts and the hangovers from hell

Notes:

Hi guys, sorry for updating late but well let's just say that the last two weeks haven't been the best. My adhd is acting up a lot so reading and writing have been a struggle.

This chapter is shorter then normal because it's not really what I had planed for this week but my brain refuses to cooperate. I hope you still like it.

Johnny woke up to the taste of regret and the feeling of a sledgehammer to the skull.

His head throbbed like a Night City nightclub at peak hours and his mouth was drier than the Badlands. He groaned, turning over in V’s shitty excuse for a bed, immediately regretting the movement as nausea twisted in his gut.

Through the haze of his hangover, Johnny registered the faint sound of the apartment door closing. Again. It woke him once before in the night but at that time he was less of a human being and more leftover whisky. Or maybe a personification of regret. He’s 50/50 on that. Anyway, the point being he was drunk enough to start getting pissy about his lack of beauty sleep. He cracked open one eye, just in time to catch Takemura’s stiff, precise movements as he set a bag down on the counter.

Johnny groaned, rolling onto his back. “How many fucking times are you gonna leave and come back? You moving in or something?”

Takemura didn’t even look at him as he began unpacking whatever bullshit he’d picked up. “If I were, I would choose a place with fewer roaches.”

Johnny let out a hoarse chuckle. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly slumming it in Arasaka luxury these days either, are you?”

Takemura said nothing. Just as Johnny was about to close his eyes again and attempt to sleep off his impending death, he heard Takemura cursing. Loudly. Then the sound of something being tossed, no, thrown, into the trash.

Johnny groaned. “Can you shut the fuck up? What the fuck are you even doing?” He forced himself upright, his vision swimming.

Takemura, who was already rinsing his hands in the sink, barely spared him a glance. “ I went out for breakfast, it’s an important part of the day. But the… meal. It was… unsatisfactory.”
Johnny squinted at the trash can. “The fuck does that mean?”

“I deemed it inedible.”

Johnny stared at him, disbelieving. “Why the fuck am I almost dying but you’re just casually strolling around, hopping for breakfast?”

Takemura didn’t answer. He was already moving again, putting on his coat and before Johnny had time to ask what the fuck was wrong with Takemura, he had already closed the door behind him. Again, loudly. Johnny winced at the noise, rubbing his temples.

“I hate you.” Johnny grumbled to the now empty room, flopping back onto the bed. Might as well get some more shut eye time before the asshole comes back.

Next time he opened his eyes he actually felt like he might not even end up puking his guts out. And it would have put him in better mood if the thing that fucking woke him up weren’t the fucking doors.

The smell of something vaguely sweet drifted through the air and despite the desert currently occupying his mouth, Johnny’s stomach gave a low, needy growl.

“If those are pancakes I might even reconsider murder.” He groaned, prying one eye open just in time to see Takemura setting a takeout container on the small, wobbly table in V’s shitty excuse for a kitchen.

Takemura, now more than ever a picture of rigid discipline, didn’t react. He simply sat down, peeled open the second container and took out a fork.

Johnny squinted at him from where he lay sprawled on the bed. “You bring me breakfast in bed? Gotta say, Takemura, sorry but I’m really not interested. Just the idea makes me wanna gouge my brain out.”

Takemura shot him a flat look.

Johnny smirked. “Wow, truly a gentleman.” He rolled onto his side, watching as Takemura cut into the stack of golden pancakes.

Takemura again ignored him as he simply took a bite.

Johnny caught the way his entire face twisted. Brows furrowing, jaw tightening like he’d just swallowed battery acid. He didn’t spit it out but he looked like he seriously considered it. Instead, with the kind of slow, measured movement that screamed dignity over suffering, he put the fork down, stood up, picked up the entire container and unceremoniously dumped it into the trash to join the one from before.

Johnny cackled, sitting up fully despite the protest of his head. “What, Night City’s cuisine not doing it for you?”

Takemura exhaled sharply, already standing and reaching for his coat. “Is there nothin edible in this place?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “You are not seriously going to try this shit a third time? The fuck are you expecting, that the star from Night City’ Kitchen is waiting for you just around the corner? In this shithole food just tastes like trash.”

The fucking corpo apparently decided to take a vow of silence as he threw his coat over his shoulders and moved toward the door.

“Well have fun trying, I will make sure to laugh extra hard over your dead body when the starvation kills you! I sure will enjoy my microplastic pancakes you fucking snob!” He yelled after Takemura.
By the time it took ex-araska to come back yet again, Johnny had been through a journey of suffering.

He had eaten one pancake.

Promptly vomited it back up like his body had personally rejected the idea of nutrition.

Brushed his teeth with a toothbrush he desperately hoped V had bought for guests.

Smoked two cigarettes to assert dominance over his digestive system.

Failed. Puked again.

Brushed his teeth again because, despite all appearances, he did in fact have some standards.

Then, finally, in an act of sheer determination, he sat back down and forced himself to eat the rest of the takeout.

By the time he heard the movement behind the door, Johnny felt ready to annoy the corpo again.

“Well well well, look who’s back. Ladies and gentlemen, is the third time a charm?” Johnny sneered mockingly as he heard the door handle turn.

Takemura entered, carrying an actual bag of groceries this time.

Johnny stared. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. “No fucking way.”

Takemura ignored him, setting the bag down and pulling out eggs, flour, milk…actual ingredients.

Johnny picked up his fork and the rest of the now barely warm breakfast, watching with barely restrained amusement. “You really are a stubborn fucker, huh?”

“She told me once about a place with good pancakes. I thought I recalled it correctly.” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “I did not.”

Johnny let out a low whistle. “Damn. Gotta say, it’s almost touching. You trying to recreate her favorite breakfast?” He grinned, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s fucking adorable.”

Takemura spared him only the briefest of glances before rolling up his sleeves. “Be silent.”

Johnny smirked. “Hope you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. I could use something entertaining to watch while eating.”

Takemura glanced at him again, expression unreadable. “I will manage.”

Johnny just grinned wider. “Sure. You know actually-”

“What will it take for you to finally be quiet?” Takemura said, exasperated as he raised his hands to massage his temples.

Johnny squinted his eyes as he contemplated the answer. “How about some pancakes?”

“Deal.”

It turned out that Takemura did know what he was doing. Disappointing sure, but Johnny should have really expected nothing else. When was the last time life gave him something simply fun? The answer’s probably never. The sound of sizzling filled the tiny apartment, followed by the unmistakable smell of pancakes. Although if he’s honest he wouldn’t mind stealing two or three pancakes from the corpo. As much as he wanted to rail up Takemura earlier, the cheap take out really did taste like shit.

Anyway it seems like he’s stuck with just plain old, boring TV then, Johnny thought and flicked on the old screen in front of him.

The headache however decided that now’s the time to come back full force and the rhythmic scraping of a spatula against a cheap, scratched-up pan was pissing him the fuck off.

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face before slumping dramatically against the wall. “You gotta shuffle around so goddamn much? Feels like you’re stomping just to spite me.”

Takemura, standing by the stove like some grumpy, ex-corpo housewife, didn’t even glance at him. Just kept flipping pancakes with that same surgical precision he probably used when executing innocent people on Arasaka’s orders.

Johnny squinted. The audacity.

Fine. If the bastard was going to ignore him, then Johnny would ignore him right back. And harder.

He slouched back in his chair, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling like it was suddenly fascinating. He was going to make a point of ignoring Takemura. He was going to ignore him so hard that the sheer force of his ignorance would create a vacuum in the room, sucking all attention away from Mr. Samurai Chef over there.

He was committed. He would win this battle of passive-aggressive warfare if it killed him.

In a way it was almost peaceful. Which, of course, meant it couldn’t last.

Sitting on the windowsill, staring at them with the disapproving air of a god judging unworthy mortals, was a hideous, hairless cat. A very familiar hideous, hairless cat.

Johnny’s mouth quirked. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Takemura, ever the paranoid watchdog, turned immediately.

The cat slid inside though the half opened window and landed gracefully on the table, flicking its naked tail with that usual air of feline arrogance.

Takemura, for his part, looked utterly entranced. His lips parted slightly, his normally stiff posture loosening as he whispered in something like reverence, “Bakeneko.”

Johnny snorted. “Nah, that’s Mr. Nibbles.”

Takemura’s head snapped toward him, eyes widening in sheer disbelief. “What?”

Johnny jerked his chin toward the cat. “V’s stray. She found him skulking around one night, took him in. Always said he was too ugly to survive on his own.”

Takemura’s expression darkened, his entire demeanor shifting. Johnny could practically feel the temperature in the room drop.

“What?” Johnny frowned. “Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?”

Takemura, eyes burning with something close to fury, gestured sharply toward the cat, who was now licking its paw, completely unconcerned with the growing tension in the room. “You left him. Alone.”

Johnny raised his hands in exaggerated exasperation. “I forgot! He’s a fucking cat they take care of themselves!”

Takemura took a slow, deliberate step toward him. “You forgot?” His voice was low, deadly. “You abandoned a living creature. One that relied on V.”

Johnny scoffed. “Oh, come on. He’s a cat, not a kid. As I said everyone knows that cats survive just fine on their own.”

Takemura’s nostrils flared. “Not one raised in an apartment, dependent on a human to care for it.”

Johnny stared at him, disbelieving. “You serious right now? We got a whole-ass woman trapped behind the Blackwall and you’re lecturing me about pet neglect?”

Takemura glared. “Responsibility is not conditional, Silverhand. One who cannot be trusted to care for a single animal cannot be trusted at all.”

Johnny groaned, rubbing his temples. “For fuck’s sake, I already feel like shit, don’t need you piling on.”

Takemura simply folded his arms but the look on his face told Johnny that he did indeed feel the need to keep being an asshole about the stupid cat. What seemed to make him change his mind was the soft meow. He approached the windowsill with the cautious reverence of a man approaching a shrine, extending a hand toward Mr. Nibbles.

To Johnny’s absolute shock, the cat didn’t immediately flee. Instead, it stretched lazily, blinked those unsettling alien eyes and butted its head against Takemura’s fingers.

Johnny let out a low chuckle. “Looks like he’s got a type. Loves ex-corpo hardasses.”

Takemura’s expression softened as he carefully stroked the cat’s head, murmuring something in Japanese that Johnny couldn’t quite catch. The tension in his shoulders melted away, his normally severe features relaxing into something almost fond.

“I cannot believe this shit,” Johnny muttered, leaning back in his chair. “You, a stone-cold Arasaka killer, melting over a goddamn stray.”

Takemura finally turned his gaze back to him, his glare nothing short of lethal. “This is not ‘just a stray.’ This is her cat.”

Johnny’s smirk faltered.

The air in the room shifted, the weight of V’s absence pressing down on them like a phantom presence neither of them could escape.

Takemura looked back down at Nibbles, his hand still resting on the cat’s back. “She cared for him.” His voice was quieter now, the anger dimming into something else. “And you abandoned him.”

Johnny exhaled sharply. “I didn’t mean to.”

Takemura’s fingers twitched against Nibbles’ skin. “Intentions do not matter. Actions do.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Great. Love the lecture. I’ll be sure to add ‘cat neglect’ to my long list of sins.”

Takemura ignored him, continuing to pet the cat with an almost tender care. “You have suffered much,” he murmured to it. “Neglected. Forgotten.”

Johnny groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Takemura cast him a sidelong glance. “He will eat your portion of breakfast.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes. “The fuck he will.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, the annoying bastard moved past him, took the plate from V’s cupboard and put it down on the floor near the cat.

Johnny gawked too flaggerbasted to do more than let out a loud, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Takemura picked the creature up and settled it gently beside the plate. The cat sniffed the food, then, apparently satisfied, began to eat.

Takemura got his own plate from the kitchen’s counter and sat back on the old, ratty couch, looking entirely unbothered. “Maybefor once in your life you will actually learn something.”

Johnny glared at him, then at the cat. Mr. Nibbles did not give a single fuck.

“Fine,” Johnny muttered, dragging himself up. “I’ll just go eat garbage outta the dumpster, since I’m clearly beneath breakfast now.”

Takemura smirked. “At last, something we can agree on.”

He took another smoke and lighted it, fumming. Takemura, on the other hand, was eating like this was some peaceful morning ritual, methodical and quiet, barely sparing Johnny a glance as he cut into his pancakes with surgical precision. It was infuriating.

He was prepared to let the bastard know that but before he could open his mouth he got a call.

From fucking Rouge.

How fuckin rich. Fuck her, he was not in the mood to hear anymore of her bullshit. He huffed annoyed.

“What is it?” Takemura asked, insightful.

Johnny exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Just Rouge and before you start pushing yourself into my business, I don’t want to talk about it so I fucking won’t. We will just have to figure out a way to get the info without her.” He added with a grimace.

Rogue.

She had looked at him like he was nothing but a ghost, a bad memory she had hoped would stay buried. Like his existence was an insult to her. And maybe it was. But fuck, the way she acted, like he was some selfish prick who hadn’t tried, like he just fucked off because he wanted to hurt people… It made his blood boil.

He had changed. V saw it. She believed in him and she’d known him for what? A blip in time compared to Rouge. So why the fuck couldn’t she see it? Why was it easier for some merc who barely had the chance to know him to believe in him more than someone who used to call herself his friend?

He could still feel the weight of her words pressing against his ribs, the quiet defiance in V’s voice when she told him, no, dared him to be better. To try. And he had. But Rogue hadn’t even given him the chance to prove it. She’d just assumed the worst, like she always did.

Maybe Rogue didn’t want to believe he had changed. Maybe it was easier to keep him in that box. The reckless, arrogant bastard who left a wake of destruction behind him. Because if she had to admit he’d changed, then what?

Then she’d have to admit she abandoned him when he was at his lowest. She always made shit like this about herself somehow.

Fuck, he needed another cigarette, he thought. Then cutting through the tension in the air came Takemura’s words.

“I spoke with Mr. Hands.”

Johnny froze, mid-drag, before lowering his cigarette and staring at him. “The fuck did you just say?”

Takemura met his glare without hesitation. “I involved Mr. Hands in our operation.”

Johnny sat up abruptly, kicking his feet off the table, rage sparking through him like a live wire. “Are you fucking kidding me? I told you, I explicitly told you, I didn’t want him anywhere near this shit!”

Takemura barely blinked at his outburst. “And I ignored you. Because you were wrong.”

Johnny shot up from his chair, hands clenched into fists. “You-! Fucking hell, Takemura! You don’t just go behind my back and-”

“I did what was necessary.” Takemura’s voice was sharp, cutting through Johnny’s fury like a blade. “Your pride means nothing in comparison to her life.”

Johnny clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. “That’s not the goddamn point.”

Takemura tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “V’s life is in danger. I was not about to just put it into the hands of one woman. Anything could have happened with her, to her and we would have been left with nothing. I was not about to risk V for a chance that everything might turn right. And it looks like I was correct.”

Johnny swore under his breath and started pacing, dragging long, agitated puffs from his cigarette. He hated that the asshole was right. Hated that Takemura had gone behind his back. But most of all, he hated that deep down, he knew he would probably do the same if the situation was reversed.

With a frustrated groan, he finally stopped and exhaled a lungful of smoke. “Fine. Fine. What the hell did your new best friend dig up?”

Takemura ignored the jab, which was almost more annoying. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Mr. Hands directed me to a netrunner. One skilled enough to track the path of the Biotechnica convoy we need to hit. We now know its route and schedule.”

Johnny folded his arms, listening.

“The convoy carries the technology we need. It also holds something else. Scientists. Experts on the equipment itself. We will not only need to acquire the cargo but also secure a driver to extract them and transport them to a safe location.” Takemura continued. “Mr. Hands also found us a location to store the equipment once we acquire it. An abandoned warehouse. It has the necessary power supply and is out of immediate Biotechnica influence.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Great. Love working out of some dusty abandoned shithole. Real classic.”

Takemura ignored him. “The problem is that we still lack critical information regarding Songbird’s full plan. We do not know what she intends to do after we secure the equipment, what exactly we are supposed to do with it. We do not know how to reach V. Without those answers, we are still at risk. So as much as I hate to say it for now we have to wait for contact.”

Johnny’s patience snapped. “Jesus Christ, Takemura! We don’t have fucking time for this!”

“We do not have certainty either,” Takemura shot back, voice cold. “Acting blindly will not save her. It will only make matters worse. We need to wait for Songbird to contact us again. Before we act, we must know more. That is the priority.”

Johnny inhaled sharply, held it, then exhaled through his teeth. “I hate this.”

“... me too.” Takemura whispered quietly.

Johnny slumped back into his chair, rubbing his temples. His head throbbed, frustration curling in his chest like a vice. He wanted to be out there, doing something, not just waiting for some netrunning ghost to decide when to call.

But Takemura was right.

Goddamn it all but he was right.

After a long silence, Johnny finally grumbled, “Fuck it. We wait.”

Takemura gave a short nod. “Good.”

Johnny huffed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I still can’t just sit here doing nothing.”

Takemura studied him for a moment, then inclined his head. “Then we prepare. We still require allies, firepower and transport.”

Johnny exhaled, thinking. His fingers drummed against the table before he finally muttered, “V’s people.”

Takemura frowned slightly. “Her people?”

“The Aldecaldos,” Johnny clarified. “They’ve got the manpower and know how to move cargo without drawing heat. And they actually give a shit about her. That damn friend of hers wouldn’t stop calling me for weeks. Drove me up the fucking wall. Eventually, just to get her off my back, I threw her a bone. Told her V was cooking up something big to save herself. Figured they’d assume she bit it after a while and by then, I’d have managed to get a new interface to dodge all the crying and sentimental bullshit."

Takemura leveled him with a flat look and, in the driest, most unimpressed tone Johnny had ever heard, muttered, “It is honestly impressive how much of an asshole you manage to be at any given moment.”

Johnny rolled his eyes, utterly unfazed. “Yeah, yeah, real tragic. Point is, they might’ve stuck around, clinging to some sappy fairytale where V miraculously comes back and they all ride off into the sunset together. Very touching. Brought a tear to my fucking eye. But they care so they won’t half-ass it, it’s our best bet.”

Takemura considered this, then nodded. “Agreed.”

“Just need to talk to Panam,” Johnny muttered, waving a hand. “After she learns the truth she’ll either help or try to shoot me.”

Takemura’s expression didn’t change. “Let us hope it is the former.”

Johnny snorted. “No faith, huh?”

Takemura just shook his head. “And what of weapons?”

Johnny groaned loudly, rubbing his face. “Fucking hell.”

Takemura arched a brow.

Johnny dropped his hands and leveled Takemura with the most disgusted expression he could manage. “This is gonna be the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Takemura’s eyes gleamed with apprehension. “I assume that means you have an idea.”

Johnny let out a slow, suffering sigh. “Yeah. I know exactly where to go.”

Notes:

Hope you liked it and thank you all so much for supporting my work. And so so so many thanks for every lovely comment.

Chapter 12: Complications

Summary:

Hi! Sorry for the break but I was very busy with finishing my two thesis to graduate. And I did! Double major in history and another one in archeology with a minor in education! But now we are back to buisnes. Also I'm sorry if the chapter is a little stiff all I have written lately was for academia.

The van wheezed like a dying animal with every mile they bled across the cracked asphalt and sun-charred trails outside Night City. It coughed, groaned, and rattled like it might collapse into a pile of rusted bolts and bad decisions at any second. Johnny gripped the wheel with one hand, the other hanging out the window, fingers drumming against the door like a ticking bomb trying to entertain itself before detonation.

The desert stretched ahead in all directions, a scorched wasteland painted in hues of dirty gold and bruised purple. It wasn’t the kind of drive that screamed fun. Not like her rides used to.

Not like V, tearing through the dunes on her bike, wind roaring in her ears, laughing like she'd just cheated death and dared it to try again. He could still see it if he closed his eyes. Too clearly, too often. Boots half-laced, sand biting at her skin, that grin of hers splitting her face. That look that said, This. This is it. This is what living means. No leash. No goddamn chain. No corpo telling her when to breathe or who to kill next .

And now?

He snorted.

The van hiccupped over a pothole, swayed dangerously, then kept going.

He flexed his fingers on the wheel.

“Aldecados, they asked her to join but she hated these kinds of places,” he said aloud. “Deserts. Fun to drive through hell to live. Too quiet. Said it made her feel like something was watching. Desert’s got too much sky, she’d say. Nowhere to hide.”

He smiled bitterly, lips twisting. “Turns out there’s worse places to be stuck.”

Beside him, Goro sat silent, arms crossed, jaw tight. Neither of them had spoken in twenty minutes, maybe more. Not that it mattered, there was nothing left to say that wouldn’t sour the air more than it already was.

Johnny exhaled through his nose, dragging his hand down his face. He felt like he was wearing his nerves on the outside, stretched raw over bone.

Panam.

Fuck.

She’d called. And called. And kept calling. The comms log looked like a goddamn horror story. Her name lit up so many times it practically burned itself into the screen. At first, he’d ignored it. Because that was easier. Because facing her meant admitting things he didn’t have the words for. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Finally just so he could get some goddamn peace he told her he, well V, was working on something. Something big. Technically not a lie. Technically not the truth either.

Now he had to face her, tell her the truth. V’s gone. Not dead, not exactly. But lost. Trapped. And all they had was one plan, one insane, half-patched hope to claw her back from the digital abyss.

They had to sell it. Get them to help. And that made his skin crawl. All for the promise of a maybe. A what if.

But he had to. For V. 

It wasn’t just the fear of failing her.

It was the certainty that if he did, that would be it. The end of the line. No more shots. Just Johnny Silverhand, the failure. The asshole who couldn’t play nice, couldn’t shut up, couldn’t save anyone. Not Alt. Not V. Not even himself.

The camp came into view over the next rise, rows of trucks and tents nestled into the dunes, lit in warm yellows and oranges by a dozen campfires. Even from a distance, he could feel the weight of what waited for them there.

Goro shifted beside him. “They may not listen,” he said quietly.

Johnny snorted, dry. “No shit.”

“They may try to kill you,” Goro added, more matter-of-factly than Johnny liked.

“Well, they should try to aim better than Arasaka did,” Johnny muttered, pulling the van off the road and toward the outer ring of vehicles. His heart pounded harder the closer they got. The air seemed heavier. Thicker. Like the past was already waiting for him by the fire, teeth bared.

He killed the engine. Dust kicked up and settled slowly around them.

They sat in silence for a beat longer.

This was it. Make or break. There’d be no second try. If the Aldecaldos didn’t help them take that convoy, if they didn’t get the tech... there wouldn’t be a way back for V. 

Johnny glanced at Goro. “You ready?”

Takemura didn’t look at him. Just opened the door and stepped out, voice low and firm.

“No. But we go.”

Johnny stared ahead for a second, jaw clenched. Then he pushed the door open and followed, the gravel crunching under his boots sounding too much like a countdown.

Johnny squinted against the midday glare as he climbed down from the van. Every nerve in his body prickled with the silent weight of attention. He felt bare, exposed, as all eyes, young and old, settled on him. Some crews froze mid-task. Those who knew V stared a moment too long, brows knitting in confusion, the flash of recognition, the double-take, then a shutter-click of doubt. Was that her? Was it? Johnny swallowed, steadying himself as whispers trickled through the camp like low static.

 “Is that V?” 

“V’s back?” 

“She looks different.”

He fought to maintain the mask, V’s face didn’t betray him, but his chest tightened, that sting of guilt flaring anew. It was hard enough that people still saw V in him. Harder that she was gone, trapped, lost, in ways they couldn’t know.

They stopped at Panam’s tent.

Johnny spotted her immediately, still seated, posture rigid as rebar, arms crossed tight over her chest like armor she couldn’t take off. Her face was pale and drawn, lips pressed into a hard line, eyes swollen and red like someone who hadn’t slept or had cried until nothing came out. Or both.

Time seemed to slow as her gaze lifted.

Her eyes locked onto him. They widened. First in disbelief, her mouth parting like the air had punched out of her lungs. Then, goddamn it, a flicker of joy. A surge of something too hopeful to belong in a place like this. She stood up, breath catching, and for a heartbeat… she looked almost happy. Like maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.

Then it cracked.

Her expression faltered, the smile stuttering and dying before it could form. Uncertainty seeped in at the edges, her jaw tightening, hands curling into fists at her sides. She took a slow, cautious step forward, almost like approaching a ghost.

“V?” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. It cracked halfway out of her throat, half-hope, half-fear, and landed like a bomb.

Johnny stayed still. Didn't move. Couldn't.

“Not anymore,” he said, the words dry and brittle in his mouth. “Not really V.”

Panam recoiled like she’d been struck in the chest. Her skin pulsed pale. She lowered her head, mouth opening, closing, eyes brimming with raw grief, rage, disbelief. “You, ” She shook her head, voice breaking before the fury snapped back. “You bastard. That fucking chip. So you got what you fucking wanted huh?”

“Hold the fuck up,” he shot at Panam, stepping forward so his face nearly touched hers. “Yes, I got her body. No, I didn’t kill V. No, I didn’t trick her, or betray her, or whatever trash you want to say. She chose me. She was fucked, and we both know it. But she can be saved. I’m doing everything I can to fix it.”

Panam’s face cracked, tears glimmering in her rage. “Fix it!? She’s dead! There’s no fixing it!”

Voices rose around them, drawing Saul and Mitch over. Saul’s expression twisted with concern. “What the hell’s happening?”

Mitch pressed forward, alarmed. “Is that V? What- ”

Before things could spiral completely out of control, Goro stepped forward. His movements were smooth, deliberate, like every motion was calculated down to the breath. His voice, when it came, was low and heavy, but it carried weight. Authority. Steel wrapped in ice.

“Enough.”

He stared hard at both of them, Johnny first, then Panam. His tone wasn’t loud, but it cut straight through the chaos like a blade through silk.

“This is Silverhand,” he said, voice cold and precise. “He was programmed on a chip in V’s head,while dying, V gave him the body. Her consciousness is now trapped behind the Blackwall. She is not dead. Not yet. And she can still be saved.”

Panam turned to him like a storm turning on a new coast. “What the fuck kind of story is that?” Her voice pitched high with disbelief. “You expect me to believe you? What are you on?”

Johnny snapped back, voice rough and raw. “Are you fucking deaf? She can be saved. So stop with the bullshit and- ”

“Don’t,” Panam hissed, stepping up to him again, face flushed with grief and rage. “Don’t you dare lecture me. You think you get to bark orders now? You think because you’re walking around in her skin, you get to…?”

Tears glinted at the corners of her eyes as Saul grabbed her arm.

Mitch put a hand on her shoulder. “Panam, please.”

Saul nodded. “Get a grip on your emotions, Panam. Let’s hear them out. For V.”

Mitch stepped closer, urgency in his voice. “Let them say what they came to say.”

Panam’s chest heaved. She inhaled, voice low. “Fine. Fuck! Fine. I’ll listen.”

Goro didn’t waste a second.

He exhaled sharply and launched into the plan, no fluff, no warmth, just facts delivered with military clarity. The Biotechnica convoy. The prototype capable of restoring V’s body. The route. The personnel. The tight windows of opportunity. A secure staging area for the extraction. Every piece laid out. No promises. Just a sliver of a chance.

Panam listened in silence, arms crossed, face like stone. Her eyes flicked between Johnny and Goro, suspicion still burning deep, but something else too, something like reluctant hope, buried beneath the fury.

When Goro finished, she said nothing.

She just turned without a word and stalked off, boots stomping hard against the packed earth, vanishing between tents like smoke in the wind.

Johnny exhaled sharply. “Well,” he muttered, dry and sharp, “that went great.”

Saul turned to Mitch, exchanging a quiet look before facing Johnny again.

“We’ll put it to a vote,” Saul said. “The crew will decide. You’ll have your answer in a few hours.” His eyes narrowed. “Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

Goro nodded once, saying nothing. His expression didn’t change. He simply turned and started walking back toward the van.

Johnny followed, muttering curses under his breath. He slammed the door shut behind him, metal rattling like a gunshot.

“We wasted enough time,” he growled, gripping the wheel. “Fuck this. We don’t need them. We can do it ourselves. Worst-case?” He snorted. “We die trying.”

Goro shot him a hard glare, the first crack in his controlled exterior. “Get a grip,” he snapped. “We need allies. It will work. It has to.”

Johnny gunned the engine. The van roared back to life, groaning in protest as it turned toward the next stretch of road.

“They better goddamn show up,” he muttered.

He flicked the headlights on, the beams cutting through dust and darkness.

“Next stop’s gonna suck even more,” Johnny said through clenched teeth as he backed the van onto the road.

Goro braced himself in the passenger seat, eyes locked forward.

“Let’s go.”

---

The engine's rumble faded into the dry hum of Night City's outskirts. Dust curled around the tires as the car rolled to a stop outside a sagging trailer park surrounded by rusted bikes. The air smelled like ozone and trash. Johnny killed the ignition and for a short moment sat in silence preparing for the humiliation that is sure to follow next. Goro remained quiet in the passenger seat, his eyes hard, shoulders tight, ready.

They stepped out into the dim stillness of the trailer park. A faint murmur of voices drifted between the scattered homes, quiet and low, TVs behind closed doors, someone arguing two trailers over, a dog barking once and going silent. 

They crossed the park slowly, tension coiling between them, steps muffled on rain-slick sand. Johnny’s gut twisted, not out of nerves, not exactly. Something darker. Sharper. He didn’t like this part. The waiting. The watching. The pretending.

Then the man of the hour stepped out.

Johnny spotted him the moment the trailer door creaked open. Broad shoulders, jacket half-zipped, tense look etched deep into his face. His gaze lifted and almost like he could feel the weight of Johnny's eyes on him, he turned.

Their eyes locked.

For a second, River froze. Looked right through him. And then his expression shattered.

“V...?” River’s voice cracked. “Holy shit, V, you’re alive. I- ” He stumbled forward, arms half-raised.

River hesitated on the brink of that embrace, confusion flickering in his eyes when Johnny didn’t move in like V would have. A shaking breath escaped River as he let his arms fall to his sides, tension choking his voice. “I… I thought you were gone. I thought…shit.”

“V’s dead.”

River froze. The air snapped with tension like a live wire humming between them.

He stumbled a step closer, jabbing a finger hard against Johnny’s chest. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘dead’?” His voice cracked, panic bleeding through every word. “What the fuck are you playing at, V? This isn’t fucking funny.”

He threw a wild, disbelieving look up at Johnny, eyes wide, almost manic. “We agreed not to talk about that night. You said it didn’t matter. Fine. Whatever. I can deal with you not feeling the same way, or hell, I’ve been trying. But then you disappear for weeks, no calls, no answers, nothing but fucking silence, and now you show up here acting like this is some kind of goddamn joke?! Like nothing happened?!”

Johnny rolled his eyes, mouth twisting into a crooked, humorless smirk. “Jesus, you thick or something cop? What part of ‘dead’ got scrambled on the way in?”

River’s breath hitched.

“I’m not V. She landed herself behind the goddamn Blackwall and…” Johnny waved a hand like it was all too exhausting to bother explaining again. “You know what? Fuck this. I’m done repeating myself. I sound like a broken record lately.”

He took a step back, running a hand through his hair, tone hardening. “The point is, we can still save her.”

River’s face twisted with something half between confusion and fury. “Then tell me, who the hell are you?”

Johnny looked him dead in the eye. “Johnny Silverhand.”

For a second, River didn’t react. The name just hung there in the air. Then his expression snapped into something darker.

“You think that’s funny?” he asked, voice low and trembling.

“I don’t give a shit what you think,” Johnny snapped, eyes blazing now. “So how about you shut your mouth, beat cop, and stop wasting my fucking time because I need you to-”

“You son of a- ” River’s fist clenched so tight his knuckles went bone-white. “You need?! Are you fucking insane?! What the fuck do you think-!”

Goro stepped in between them, sharp and sudden like a blade slicing through the air. His tone was low but cut deep with command.

“Enough. We don’t have time to waste. We-”

“This is goddamn ridiculous!” River growled, voice cracking under the weight of grief and disbelief. He took a shaky breath, hands trembling at his sides. “You can’t just expect me to-”

“She’s not gone-gone,” Johnny cut in, voice a hoarse rasp now. He was beyond done coddling anyone, especially a badge. “There’s a chance. A narrow one. But it’s there.”

He took a slow step forward, eyes hard. “We need weapons. Real ones. Military-grade. You’ve got access. Time to stop crying and do something useful.”

River blinked, thrown off by the sudden, brutal pivot.

“What?” he said, blinking like Johnny had switched languages.

“You want her to stay a corpse?” Johnny snarled. “Be my guest. Sit back and keep mourning like a good little cop. But if you want even a shot at getting her back, at seeing her alive again, you’ll help us. We need gear. You bragged about it enough in all those voice messages you sent her. Remember those?”

River’s eyes darkened, guilt flashing beneath the rage. “You think I’m just gonna help a terrorist-”

“I’m not asking,” Johnny snapped, stepping in close enough that their faces nearly touched. “I’m telling you. You want V to stay dead? Say so now. We’ll walk.”

The silence that followed was long and sharp, heavy with things neither of them wanted to say out loud.

Then, River’s voice broke through it, low and rough.

“What’s the play?”

“We’re hitting a Biotechnica convoy,” Johnny said. “You don’t need the details. All we need from you is gear.’”

River looked between Johnny and Goro. His jaw worked, his eyes filled with something brittle, something broken. Something that cracked in real time behind his stare.

“I want in,” he said.

“No,” Johnny and Goro said at the same time, reflexive, immediate.

River didn’t even blink. “I wasn’t asking.”

Goro’s voice was cold enough to make the air drop ten degrees. “You are too emotionally involved. That compromises the mission.”

“The fuck does that even mean?” River snapped. “You think I can’t do my job because I give a shit? You think I’m gonna fall apart mid-fight?”

Goro’s jaw clenched. He didn’t respond.

Johnny raised a brow. “The party’s already crowded enough.”

River stepped in again, matching Johnny’s posture. “I get you the gear. I get to come. End of discussion.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating almost. Full of heat, resentment, unspoken grief hanging in the air like smoke after a gunshot.

Johnny’s jaw twitched. What a fucking day.

“Fine,” he muttered, voice like sandpaper.

River gave a single tight nod. “I will call you.” 

Then turned without another word and slammed the trailer door behind him.

Goro folded his arms, posture like steel drawn from a sheath.

“This is a mistake.”

Johnny threw his arms up, voice practically a snarl. “And what the fuck do you expect me to do about this shit?”

He spun around, pacing a few steps, then turned back and jabbed a finger in Goro’s direction. “I didn’t see you helping to convince the asshole. What, too busy pouting about other boys in the sandbox?”

Goro’s glare could’ve frozen fire. No words, just pure, distilled contempt. Johnny had to hand it to him, the motherfucking corpo could glare. 

Johnny scoffed and looked away, biting back a bitter laugh.

Christ. What the fuck even was his life anymore?

Teaming up with corpos and cops. This was what it had come to. Playing nice with a badge and a suit while V drifted behind the Blackwall, unreachable.

What a fucking joke.

They turned and walked back toward the car. Johnny’s boots crunched on the gravel, the sound biting through the quiet like a bad omen. His hands flexed at his sides, twitching with a frustration he couldn’t shake.

But then, just as he was about to throw himself back behind the wheel, something buzzed on his holo. Notification ping.

He glanced down, already expecting another waste-of-time ghost from V’s past he didn’t give two shits about.

But no.

It was from her.

Songbird.

Johnny froze. Just for a beat.

A message from the one person who might actually have a shot at fixing all this. Someone who knew things. Real things. Someone connected.

Finally, a crack in the wall. A reason to fucking move.

Maybe, just maybe, this day wouldn’t be a complete trash fire after all.

Johnny’s fingers hovered over the message, a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth, razor-sharp and humorless.

“Bout fucking time,” he muttered.

Then he opened it.

Chapter 13: No fun for the wicked

Notes:

Hi! I hope you like this one, I had a lot of fun writing it!

Also I wrote another staory about V and Goro so if you want you can check it out. It's mostly just sweet nonsense lol

Pacifica was a graveyard, but not the quiet kind. No headstones. No peace. Just a rusted-out monument to every bad decision Night City ever made. Here, corpses were just another part of the scenery. Bullet holes painted old shop fronts. Blood stains baked into the sidewalks like permanent memorials to the last guy who was stupid enough try their luck here. Trash fires still smoldered in the alleyways. Gunshots echoed like old ghosts laughing through cracked walls. It smelled like burnt plastic, piss and rot, the kind that crawled into your lungs and set up shop.

The convoy crept through this corpse of a district like it knew it didn’t belong. Chrome and corporate polish creeping over cracked concrete and old shell casings. A fresh coat of money rolling over a battlefield no one ever cleaned up.

Still a better place to be then with the fucking boyband back in the van. Nothing screams a better time than sitting in a closed space squashed between a corp, a pig and an angry chick, especially right before what is basicly a fucking suicide mission with tension close to exploding. Truly the highest of highs known to mankind. And it didn’t escape Johnny's attention that between all of them the corpo was the best option in the company department. What a sick, twisted joke.

Johnny leaned over the first floor balcony of some long closed motel, eyes sharp. He scanned the horizon, finger twitching over the trigger like a gambler itching for a game.

“What a fucking shithole,” he muttered. “At least it’s quiet. One more minute in the van with the badge and I would’ve blown myself to pieces just to escape all those idiotic things he says.”

“Places like this never sleep,” Goro said standing next to him, posture perfect, gaze locked forward and observing the steadily approaching convoy through the scope of his sniper rifle. “When it’s this quiet? That’s when you should worry.” 

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Jesus. You were rehearsing that in the mirror or did the zen shit just come standard with the corpo install?” Johnny huffed a dry laugh. “Or maybe you're scared?”

“I am not scared,” Goro said flatly. “I am focused.”

Johnny rolled his eyes again, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, asshole.”

The sun had dipped low, slashing gold and blood across the Pacifica sky.

Songbird had patched in hours ago, voice smooth and calm.

She was riding high on Biotechnica’s network, already deep enough to walk their satellite feed in her sleep, or so she claimed at least. She’d cracked their comms, hijacked their encrypted telemetry, and sunk her digital claws into their convoy’s control system like it owed her something.

Her part of the op? Precision timing.

When the convoy hit the designated kill zone, an intersection boxed in by rusted-out high-rises Panam and Mitch had rigged days before, she’d flip the switch. Trigger a full paralysis. 

Johnny’s job? Simple. Direct. Violent. Just as he liked it.

He and a handpicked team of Aldecaldos were to spread out, take positions on both sides of the convoy and, when the grid dropped, unleash hell. Any Biotechnica soldiers too dumb to drop their weapons would be introduced to the business end of Johnny’s revolver. Fast, loud, brutal. Clean only if they cooperated. Which, honestly, Johnny was kind of hoping they wouldn’t.

He wanted a fight.

He needed it.

The last few days had been nothing but tension, people calling him an asshole, people trying to punch him, Panam actually punching him, them almost starting a brawl and, here comes the most boring part, compromising with too many voices trying to play hero. He wanted something to bleed.

Goro had made it crystal clear that he wouldn’t be joining the bloodbath. Not out of fear, he wasn’t wired that way despite Johnny giving him shit but because to him the real prize was too important to risk.

The cloning prototype.

State-of-the-art Biotechnica’s shiny toy. Stupidly expensive, stupidly dangerous in the hands of cropos, untested outside of controlled labs. The thing that might actually give them a shot at saving V.

So Goro had assigned himself to that task. No delegation. No room for error.

He and River, begrudgingly, alongside Mich, would move in the second the firefight started, secure the prototype from the main transport, and get it loaded into the second van. Speed and control. That was the whole plan. In and out before the corpos could reboot their system, call for backup or even scream for help.

Meanwhile, Panam and Saul would hit the second truck.

With the distraction of bullets and screams drawing every eye and barrel toward Johnny’s side of the convoy, they’d extract the Biotechnica scientists.

The idea was to catch them alive and terrified. No wounds, no blood, just adrenaline and panic, enough to keep them compliant and get them moving.

They’d be stuffed into the back of a van and driven straight to the hangar Mr. Hands had loaned them a secure, forgotten place on the edge of pacifica, where they’d be kept under heavy guard until they could make the tech work.

It was a sharp plan. No room for ego. Everyone had their part.

But he knew better than most, no op survived first contact with reality.

And Pacifica didn’t play fair.

Johnny was already bouncing one leg, fingers drumming against his revolver. Too much waiting. Too much silence. His skin itched for the fight.

Goro didn’t look up from his scope.

“You are too eager,” he said calmly.

Johnny snorted. “No shit.”

Goro adjusted his earpiece, then said, almost too quietly, “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”

Johnny blinked, then looked over with a slow, sardonic grin. “Are you quoting Sun Tzu at me?”

Goro didn’t answer. 

“Jesus, you’re even more boring than I thought,” Johnny muttered. “Got anything else? Maybe a haiku about suppressing emotions in the middle of a firefight?”

Goro’s eyes didn’t leave the scope. “Inner peace precedes effective violence.”

Johnny rolled his eyes so hard he nearly sprained something. "Yeah, well, I find rage a lot more efficient. Trust me if you ever saw V when her coffee machine broke, you’d know. It was the most perfect display of effective violence I’ve ever witnessed. There was nothing peaceful about it."

Goro looked up from his scope, actually looking intrigued. He didn’t  get a chance to ask about anything more before their comms flared to life, Panam’s voice cutting through. 

“Convoy approaching. Get into positions.”

Johnny grinned, low and mean. “Finally.”

The first low hum of engines reached them seconds later. Barely audible at first, like the sound of a hive buried underground. Then it grew.

Four armored trucks rolled into view, matte black and Biotechnica-branded. Each one moved slowly and deliberately, like it owned the street. Engines purred, suspension systems smooth, weapons tucked away but visible. 

Johnny cracked his knuckles and leaned out just far enough to get a clean line of sight.

“Showtime.”

Then Songbird’s voice came over the comms, soft and crystalline. 

“Paralysis in three… two… one.”

No flash. No warning. Just nothing.

Like someone had unplugged the entire world.

The trucks slowed. Then stopped.

Not a screech. Not a jolt.

“That’s it?” Johnny murmured. Goro glared at him.

They just… halted. Lights still glowing faintly. Systems dead behind the glass. The very same moment smoke grenades exploded and everyone moved at once.

Johnny jumped down on the ground and moved forward with the aldecados at his back, aiming at the corpo force who confusedly ran out into the street to figure out what happened.

Smoothly, efficiently his team circled and closed on the soldiers letting them realize that this isn’t just a random few guys in pacifica deciding to pick a fight with the corps but a planned operation that they had no chance against. 

In the corner of his eye he saw bothe Goro and Panam heading inside one of the AV’s forcing the scientist and other staff to mix between the soldiers and the Aldecado members attacking only adding to the overall confusion with the now high risk of a possibility of wounding the civilians. Not that Johnny cared, first of all it was for V and second those were still corpos so it’s not like they have souls or anything. 

The six soldiers seemed to also realise in just how shitty of the situations they found themselves in so now they just stood there. Hands in the air.

No…

Surely not. They were not… Except that they were.

Surrendering.

No, no, no, no…

Goro was already moving, barking quiet orders to River and Mich. The cloning device was offloaded in under three minutes. Not a shot fired. Not a curse exchanged.

Johnny’s smile died on his face. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

The screech of the tires let him know that Goro got away with the machine. 

Panam radioed in. “We’ve got the scientists. On rute.”

Johnny kicked the side of the AV. “This is bullshit!”

He paced while the others worked on disarming the soldiers so they could retreat to the hangar as well, muttering curses under his breath. “Where’s the fucking fireworks? The firefight? We didn’t even get one ‘fuck you’ or ‘I’ll kill you’!”

River passed by and didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Maybe they just didn’t feel like dying today.”

“Cowards,” Johnny growled and stalked angrily back into the van. 

Then somehow it got even easier. 

They reached the hangar Mr. Hands had provided without a single drone tailing them. No alarms. No chase. No corporate hit squad flying down from orbit to vaporize them.

Days of preparation, all this time gathering forces and gear and it turns out that Johnny might have as well walked into biotechnica headquarters and politely asked to steal the machine and kidnap the scientists.

What a fucking joke.

Floodlights, clean floor, old metal frames pushed aside to make space for the new guests. The cloning device was wheeled into position. The scientists were shoved into a corner under Aldecaldos guard, already put on working to produce a clone. And they were actually fucking working too. No tricks... No escape attempts. No threats. Just… compliance.

Where the fuck did Biotechnica found this guys? Hippie festival?

Johnny stood there, looking around the warehouse like it might suddenly explode just to prove the universe still had a sense of rhythm.

He glanced at Goro.

And froze.

Because Goro wasn’t standing still.

He was pacing.

Hands twitching.

Eyes flicking to corners, to shadows.

Like the floor might give out. Like something was coming.

If only…

“Alright,” Johnny muttered. “Your turn to lose it. What’s eating you?”

Goro didn’t answer right away. He stopped, standing in the center of the space, back straight, eyes tracking a single flickering bulb near the ceiling.

Then, quiet. Tight. Focused.

“It was too easy.”

Johnny scoffed, folding his arms. “No shit. The most boring heist in history. We walked up, knocked, and they handed over the goods.”

“That’s not right,” Goro said. “A full Biotechnica security detail. Armored. Armed. Trained to die rather than defect. And they stood down.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe Songbird’s magic scared them. Maybe the cowards didn’t want to catch bullets today.”

Goro’s jaw flexed. “I have worked with people like them. I have been them. That level of surrender does not happen. Not unless they’re ordered. Or…or…”

Johnny gave a long, exasperated sigh. “Or they were idiots. They were corpos after all.”

Goro ignored the jab. He was still scanning the ceiling. Then the walls. His eyes kept moving like they couldn’t settle.

“There were no police patrols,” he said suddenly. “The roads we planned for, every one of them clear. Every light green. No blockades. No problems.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Ok so you’re thinking what?”

“I saw road cameras,” Goro said. “Turning off as we passed. Not glitching. Turning off. I saw two of them shut down in sequence. Tracking us, then shutting down.”

That shut Johnny up for a beat.

He scratched his jaw. “Songbird again, maybe. She said she was jacked into Biotechnica’s net, probably piggybacked their protocols.”

“Then she should have told us,” Goro snapped. “That level of access? That’s not just a backdoor.”

Johnny shrugged. “Maybe she was busy making sure none of us got caught. Or maybe you’re just being paranoid. We’ll ask her when she checks in. She said she would.”

Goro looked at him annoyed. “I-”

Ping.

Johnny’s holo flared to life.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION: SONGBIRD

“Well look at that, maybe we can get rid of your paranoia.”

Goro was at his side in two seconds flat.

“Johnny. Goro. Good. You’re still alive.”

Johnny grinned, bitter. “For now.”

Goro didn’t wate a second. “I have some questions for you.”

“No time now, we’re so close. The prototype you secured will work. We really are close, closer than I expected. But to finish the separation, I’ll need a neural matrix. Fast.”

Goro stiffened. “Clarify.”

“A piece of AI from behind the blackwall trapped in our world. Think of it like a DNA map, but for consciousness. It can be used to rewrite it, fix it. I know where to find one.”

Johnny leaned in, frowning. “Where?”

There was a pause on the line. Just half a beat.

Then Songbird’s voice shifted, slightly distracted. Tense.

The comm glitched. Just a flicker.

“I’ll send coordinates. But listen, if anything happens- ”

She was mid-word when it cut off.

Silence.

The line dropped, dead.

Johnny stared at the screen like it had insulted him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Goro immediately started running diagnostics on his deck. “Lost connection. No trace. Sudden dropout.”

Then Saul’s voice came over the radio. Urgent. Tight.

“You guys seeing the feed?”

Johnny blinked. “What feed?”

Panam broke in, voice strained. “Turn on the news. Now.”

Johnny threw the nearest holo projector on. Static. Then video. ‘Breaking news’ flashing in red letters on the screen.

EMERGENCY IN NIGHT CITY: NUSA PRESIDENTIAL JET CRASHES OUTSIDE ORBITAL PATH

On the screen was chaos. Smoke, fire, fragments of burning metal flying down to earth. And in the center of that shitty painting the jet, losing its altitude fast.

Johnny stared, slack-jawed.

Goro didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

Then a message. 

If you want my help you need to save her . And the second one. Coordinates.

Johnny read it once. Then again. His mouth was dry.

“Son of a bitch,” Johnny whispered. “She was on that plane.”

Goro stood still as a statue, staring at the screen. Then he turned, eyes hard.

“She sent the signal just before the crash. That was no accident.”

“You think someone brought that bird down?” Johnny asked, incredulous.

“I think someone wanted her to stay silent,” Goro said. “She got too close. To something.”

Johnny scoffed. “Of course. Because pulling us into one suicide mission wasn’t enough. Now she wants us to rescue the fucking President of the New United States?”

Goro didn’t respond.

Johnny shook his head, stepping back, hands raised. “No. Nope. I’m out. We had a deal. Fix V. That was the job. Not run into burning metal to save a head of state who’s probably already dead.”

“She is not dead,” Goro said, voice low and cold.

“You don’t know that,” Johnny snapped. “You saw that crash. That was a goddamn airstrike.”

“She is alive. Or Songbird would not have sent coordinates.”

Johnny laughed, bitter and hollow. “Oh, I’m sorry, after all of this you think she’s being straight with us?”

Goro stepped forward, every inch of him coiled with tension. “We do not have the luxury of doubt.”

“Oh, we don’t? Because last time I checked, V’s still not breathing on her own. We are hanging on by threads here and now you want to drop everything to go play bodyguard for a fucking government?”

“I want to keep our only hope of saving her alive.”

Johnny turned away, pacing. “Jesus. You’re really fucking serious about this.”

Goro turned to him, furious. “Everyone knows the story about you terrorist. But are you really going to put your ideas above V’s life?”

Silence stretched between them, thick with anger and unspoken desperation.

Johnny finally stopped, turned back, eyes sharp.”Fine, let’s go fucking save the system.”

Chapter 14: Old dogs and new tricks

Notes:

Hi everyone. I'm camping in Czechia right now and I actually used my phone to edit and post the new chapter so I'm very sorry for any mistakes. I will edit the chapter again when I'm back.

Hope you still like it!

The van rattled through the city’s southern roads, engine groaning like it hated the mission almost as much as Johnny did. Impossible of course, seeing as the stupid truck wasn't on an almost certain suicide mission to save the head of a fucking government.

Dogtown loomed ahead. Rust-colored barricades, patchwork walls made from dead vehicles and shattered drones. Beyond that laid smoke, armed patrols, roaming mechs, and the endless warzone that they needed to cross.

Johnny sat in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, boots scuffing the plastic just to be petty. He hadn’t shut up since they left the hangar, too charged up to stand still.

“This is fucking rich,” he muttered, staring out the window at the jagged skyline. “Saving the goddamn president. For a government that called me a terrorist. What the fuck went wrong in my life?”

Goro didn’t look at him. He just drove further into the city.

“Like, seriously. All those years screaming about freedom and sticking it to the corpos, and now I’m doing CPR on the NUSA.”
Johnny leaned back with a mock sigh. “Can’t wait for the medal. Hope they spell my name wrong.”

“You’re remarkably skilled at wasting oxygen,” Goro said, dry as bone.

“Don’t blame me, asshole. Maybe you are too brainless to realize just how bad of an idea it is to work with government but not all of us got our brains removed." Johnny spat at him angrily,his temper rising higher and higher by the minute. "Hey maybe if you show them just how nicely trained dog you are, they will take you in. You won’t be a stray on the streets anymore.”

Goro’s hands tightened on the wheel. His voice was low and tight. “We have one objective. To save V's life. And you might have forgotten your priorities but I hadn't." He took a deep breath and continued in a more even tone, trying to reason with Johnny. "We need Songbird for it.”

“I’m sure this like a wet dream for you, another master that doesn’t give a fuck about you and just wants to use you. Isn't it like your dreamed job?”

“You think I enjoy this?” Goro snapped, eyes flaring just for a second.

Johnny grinned. “Oh hit a sore spot for you huh?”

Before Goro could respond, their comms flared.

“Be careful. You’re almost in.” Songbird’s voice sliced through the feed.

“There’s a maintenance tunnel up ahead, west access, hidden behind a collapsed billboard. Hansen’s patrols are thick near the north, so go quiet. Follow the tunnel to grid sector. Don’t deviate.”

“No pressure,” Johnny muttered. “Just sneak past a militarized warlord’s pet death squads and play bodyguard to the most wanted woman in the city. What could go wrong?”

“A lot,” Songbird said, dryly. Then she cut the line.

Goro pulled the van into the overgrown access lane, headlights dimmed to a sickly glow. The billboard lay crumpled ahead, half-covered in spray paint and dust. They ditched the van and moved fast. Rifles slung, boots crunching on glass from shattered bottles decorating the road.

Night City was no paradise but in Johnny's opinion Dogtown was a shithole so big it made pacifica look liveable.

They skirted the patrols just as Songbird had mapped. Ducking under collapsed scaffolding, then slowly making their way through alleyways full of exposed cables and trash. They continued on till they got to what looked like an old maintenance room.

“There should be a switch here somewhere to activate backup generator. It will let me take control of the elevator and doors in the area.” Songbird instructed. Apparently she got somwhere safe enough to keep the conection on.

“Great, more fucking tedious works” Johnny grumbled.

Goro just sighed like a man nearing his end and went to look for it.

Johnny decided to be petty. He lit a cigaret and leaned against the wall. Johnny Silverhand a bodyguard to the fuckintpresident. What a sick fucking joke.

Few minutes later the lights turned on in the room so Goro must have found whatever was needed to progress. How fucking nice.

They took an elevator and after climbing over a fuckton of decrepit steel beams and squizing throu dirty hallways they exited a market in center of dogtown.

"Make your way through the west exit. I pinged the location to you." Songbird said, her voice now thick with tension. "Did you get it?"

Goro didn’t reply. He was already moving. Fast, silent, decisive. Dust from Dogtown’s charred, fractured streets clung to his boots like a second skin. His silhouette cut clean through the smoke and neon haze. Johnny followed close behind, gun in hand, jaw clenched. Tension rolled off him in waves, like static before a lightning strike.

The deeper they moved into Dogtown’s broken maze, the louder the city’s heartbeat thumped around them. Distant sirens, gunfire echoing like thunder over collapsed rooftops, voices shouting in languages Johnny didn’t stop to recognize.

“We’re close,” Goro said, almost to himself.
They didn’t need a map to know.

Gunfire rattled off nearby. Short, vicious bursts that cracked through the skyline like bones snapping under pressure. Ahead, thick smoke curled into the sky, a black column slicing the horizon. Every step forward reeked of heat and scorched metal.
The sound changed as they rounded a broken intersection. The gunshots were coser now, more erratic.

Then they saw it.

The wreckage.

The jet had slammed into the side of a crumbling tower, steel torn open like paper, debris scattered across half the block. Shards of fuselage glittered like broken bones under the dim streetlights. Fire licked at the hull, distorted heat waves rising around it. A chunk of the presidential seal lay cracked in half near a crushed security drone. A body. Two. Maybe more, scorched beyond recognition.

Johnny swore under his breath. “Well, fuck me sideways.”

Movement ahead.

Shadows.

A patrol of Hansen's goons fanned out from the crash, weapons drawn, sweeping the site like they were hunting for pray.

Goro ducked behind a half-collapsed wall, eyes scanning ahead.

“Four, maybe five,” he said, calm as ever. “Standard issued weapons.”

Johnny was already raising his gun. “Finally. I was begining to think I wouldn't get to shoot anyone today.”

He popped out from cover and dropped two before they could raise their weapons. Clean headshots. He still got this.

The others scrambled for cover, shouting into comms that probably didn’t work anymore if Songbird was actually doing her job and not just slacking somewhere waiting for them to do everything.

Goro moved with lethal precision. One shot, one body. He dropped a third man with a round through the visor, then rolled to cover behind a burnt-out car.

A grenade bounced near Johnny’s foot.
“Really?” he muttered, scooping it up and hurling it back. “Try harder, assholes.”

It detonated midair, shredding the last two into chunks against the tower wall.

Johnny stood there for a beat, chest rising fast.
“About fucking time,” he growled, then stepped over one of the twitching bodies, casually kicking their rifle aside.

The smoke was thicker near the cockpit.

They moved up cautiously. Inside, the front section was semi-intact. The luxury fittings had been stripped bare by fire and impact, wires dangling like nerves from a split-open skull. No bodies. No signs of the President. No blood trail. No emergency crew.

“Nothing,” Johnny muttered, sweeping the charred room with his eyes. “Not even a shoe. Bet you fifty she’s already biting the dust.”

Goro didn’t look back. He was already moving towards the back of the plane.

“Planes like these have panic chambers built inside. Hidden.” His voice was certain. “Standard for anyone perceived of greater importance and I would be confident in assuming that includes the heads of state.”

He approached the pilot’s compartment. Still intact, blackened from heat but untouched by fire.

A control console flickered faintly at its base, screen cracked. Goro knelt, scanned it once, then tapped a few keys. The panel gave a sad little buzz and shut down again.

Goro frowned annoyed and after a short moment instead, he began tapping against the metal console.

A pattern.

Johnny tilted his head, brow rising. “Wait a sec… that Morse?”

No answer. Goro just kept going, fingers moving with mechanical precision.

S-O-N-G-B-I-R-D

A soft chime.

Then a hiss.

The panel split with a hydraulic groan, thick smoke pouring out like the thing was exhaling after holding its breath for too long.

Inside, slumped against a wall, was President Rosalind Myers.

Alive. Colour him fucking surprised. Although she wasn't looking so hot. Her suit was charred, blood matting the edges. Eyes locked onto them, their expression weary.

“Where is Songbird?” she asked, voice low and cracked.

Goro met her eyes, steady. “Madam President we need to hurry, the backup is surly on the way. Songbird provided us with coordinates to a safe place where she’s supposed to meet us.”

Johnny leaned against the wall, gun hanging slack in his hands, watching the exchange with no particular sense of reverence.

The idea that they were actually doing this, rescuing the most powerful corpo puppet in the city, still tasted like rust and bile in his mouth.

Goro stood, pulled off his coat and handed it to her. “Put this on. Hood too. We’ll blend in better if you don’t look too recognizable.”

Myers hesitated, just long enough to make it clear she hated taking orders but then, with a short breath, nodded and slipped the coat on. It hung awkwardly over her frame, half-swallowing her in worn synth-leather and bloodstained sleeves.

Goro was already by the hole in the plane, scanning surrundings with mechanical precision before climbing out to where they were before.

Johnny called after him. “Where the fuck are you going? We go back the way we came, we’ll run straight into Hansen’s meat grinder.”

“I saw a collapsed blocks of an appertment on the way in that we can use to climb back up,” Goro said, voice clipped. “Probably leads to a collapsed pedestrian level. If we hit the street fast enough, we can blend with the crowd. It would be idiotic to go deeper into a structurally unstable building where we can be cornered and cut off.”

Johnny scoffed. “Christ, you really are at your dream job.”

Myers barely spared Johnny a glance as she passed. “Let’s move then.”

He fell in behind Myers, watching her stumble after Goro, gritting through pain like she wasn’t just one wrong step from collapsing. Tough lady. Politician or not, she had grit. He’d give her that much.

They moved fast.

Through shattered corridors, the walls blackened by smoke and age. Past blood trails and shattered tiles, down hallways that reeked of ozone, gunpowder, and burnt flesh. Every creak of the ceiling overhead sounded like it might be the one that finally dropped the whole damn building on their heads.

The stairwell groaned under their weight as they climbed, half the steps snapped in half or barely hanging on. At one point, Johnny had to catch Myers’ arm before she slipped on a loose steel bar.

"Careful,” he muttered, quickly letting go of her arm almost as if afraid he would catch a case of being a brainless asshole, set straight on suppressing the freedoms of common folks while singing national anthem and saluting the flag. “I would hate to miss out on my model citizenship medal.”

Myers just rolled her eyes as she passed him.

They reached the top floor and pushed through a half-collapsed doorway. The Dogtown skyline opened up before them.

They slipped into the chaos. Blended in just like Go-to projected. Turns out it actually was a good plan.

They walked the final stretch in silence, guns low, adrenaline draining from their systems like leaking coolant. Every step dragged a little more than the last one.

Dogtown didn’t stop screaming behind them. Fires crackled in alleyways, the hum of armed drones echoed overhead, and somewhere not too far off, someone was screaming into the void, or at it.

They reached the safehouse just as the edge of exhaustion threatened to tip into collapse.

Saying that it wasn’t much of a safe house would still be too polite. The place was a fucking wreck.

A half-collapsed apartment block leaning like it wanted to die. Most of the top floor had caved in. The front door hung crooked, creaking every time the wind pushed at it. The air inside was thick with the stench of wet brick, mildew, and burnt wiring.

As far as safehouses go this one was a perfect reflection of dogtown. Meaning it was dogshit.

Even Goro, seemed to agree if the grimace on his face was any indication.

Johnny caught it. Couldn’t help the smirk that slid across his face.

Goro turned and pointed toward the dark stairwell.
“Backup generator. Get it running.”

Johnny raised his brows. “I would like to know who the fuck do you think you are to try to order me around.”

“Get. it. running” Goro spat. Well would you look at that, it seems like the man of stone is slowly reaching his limit of this bulllshit too.

Johnny sighed dramatically, muttering curses as he disappeared into the dark. “Fuckin’ shit.”

He kicked through piles of junk and collapsed drywall until he found the fuse box and the rusted generator barely holding itself together. A few solid smacks told him that the answer won’t be that easy. Because of course it wouldn't be. Why would things ever be easy for him?

Some more searching let him find a spare working battery. The lights flickered on overhead. Dim, yellow, probably radioactive knowing his luck but it worked.

When he got back, the mood had shifted.

The room was bathed in a dusty light and Myers was sitting on a half-broken chair. In her hand she was holding a cracked beer bottle, almost as if she wanted to trick them into believing that she was still a human underneath being a piece of shit.

Seeing him enter the room she raised the bottle slightly, not quite a toast.

Johnny stepped inside, blinked once, then reached for one of the other bottles sitting in a crate on the table.

“Well, shit. Finally, a good decision.”
He cracked one open without asking. Sat down hard in a busted chair, propped his boots on an overturned box and slowly sipped his beer.

Goro stood near the hole in the wall, arms folded, watching the street below like it might come alive and swallow them.

“She hasn’t contacted us since we found you,” he said. “She said she’d meet us here.”

“Maybe she got caught up,” Johnny muttered. “Or maybe she’s fucking dead.”

Myers didn’t flinch. She just took another sip, posture rigid. “We will wait.”

Johnny tilted his head, studied her.
“You always this calm after getting shot down and stuffed in a panic coffin?”

“Part of the job,” she said flatly.

Johnny snorted. “Yeah. Sounds like a real dream gig.”

“I refuse to believe Songbird is dead” Rosalind said agan. “We secure the room and wait till morning, some rest will do everyone good. Then if Songbird is still a no-show we plan what’s next.”

It was a lousy plan, if it even could be called one to begin with but seeing as nobody offered anything better it was the one they followed.

Morning crawled in just as reluctant as Johnny was to get up and start a new day.

The safehouse hadn’t gotten any prettier overnight. The walls still groaned when the wind passed through. The lights buzzed like they were about to give up any moment. Dust clung to everything, and the air smelled like mold.

He heard noises in the other room. Seems like Johnny was the last one to wake up.

Mayers and Takemura were sitting next to the radio in silence, listening to the news. There was however one thing that stood up. Still no Songbird.

Johnny exhaled sharply and pushed off the wall. “Alright. That’s it. I’m done sitting on my ass.”

Goro, seated at the table with arms crossed and eyes hollow from too little sleep, looked up but said nothing.

Myers, wearing a completely new set of clothes, ones somehow looking even more shit then Goro’s coat, raised an eyebrow.

“And what exactly do you think you're going to do?”

Johnny turned to her, voice sharp. “I don't fucking know but I'm not sure how sitting on our asses is supposed to help us either?”

Myers stood straight. "So Mi is a big girl she can handle herself for a moment but I’m an easy pray here I need to get out of the city.”

Johnny’s laugh was humorless. “We were supposed to save your ass from the wreck. That was the deal. Looks to me like we did our job. So let’s save the tearful goodbyes and let us all fuck off in our own ways.”

“You can’t leave,” Myers said, voice steel. “If Hansen finds out I’m alive-”

Johnny cut her off, waving a hand toward her. “Youook pretty safe to me. So unless you plan on climbing back into that smoking coffin of a plane, I’d say the job’s done.”

Myers stood now, or more like forced herself up, pain twitching in the corners of her mouth. “If I stay here, I die. Slowly. Publicly. And if that happens, so does any chance you have of working with Songbird. You think any of my people are gonna help you if I’m a corpse on a headline?”

“Do you have a plan to get out?” Goro’s voice cut throu the tension.

“There’s an asset, Reed. Embedded. Loyal. You contact him, and he’ll extract me. That’s how we all get what we want.” She replied.

“Can he be trusted?” Goro said, voice low.

Johnny turned to Goro, incredulous. “You’re seriously considering this?”

“There’s nothing to consider, we need Songbird.”

Johnny sighed. Deep. Heavy. Like someone being forced to swallow a blade.

A beat passed. “Fine. Tell us how to find your miracle man.”

She held out her hand. “You will need this.”

A coin. Engraved with the NUSA sigil on one side and a blank, smooth surface on the other.

Cold metal, heavy with it's implication.

She looked directly at Goro.

“This marks you,” she said. “As acting agents. Temporary, only. It gives you authority, access, clearance. You show this to Reed and he’ll know you speak with my voice.”

That’s when Johnny snapped. He stood up so fast his chair screeched across the floor. “I’m not swearing shit to you. Or your flag. Or your fucking agency. You think I give a damn about clearance? All I want is to find Songbird, not enlist in your private little army.”

Myers didn’t flinch. “Then you won’t get anywhere near the kind of support you’ll need.”

“I’ve been doing fine without your support, lady. All you’ve done so far was to get shot at.”

Goro stepped between them before Johnny could escalate things further. And then, slowly, he reached out and took the coin from Myers's hand.

Only to place it back on the table.

“I will contact Reed. I will see that he extracts you safely. That I can swear. But we will not act as your agents.” Goro said, sharper now.

She stepped closer, voice low, dangerous. “Reed will not-”

“He will. I will see to it.” Goro said, eyes locked on hers. “I have already sworn one vow that binds me. I will have no other." He cut off her protests the moment she opened her mouth. "You can’t afford to alienate us. Not now.”

Myers’ face stayed perfectly still, but her eyes burned.

She hated this.

Being powerless. Needing favors instead of giving orders.

For a long, breathless moment, no one moved.

Then she stepped back, slow and deliberate, letting her hand drop to her side.
“Fine, nothing will bind you to the agency,” she said through clenched teeth. “Do it your way. But don’t dare to fuck it up.”

She turned her back on them and walked to the window, letting them now that the conversation is over.

Goro looked at Johnny. “Let’s go.”

“Let me get this straight,” Johnny muttered as they walked the backstreets of Dogtown, sidestepping a pile of trash and what was probably a very dead rat. “We’re hauling our asses through a war-torn landfill just to use a crusty old phone in a dive bar that probably hasn’t seen use since the Fourth Corporate War?”

Goro didn’t bother answering. He just kept walking, shoulders tense, eyes scanning every rooftop like one of them might start bleeding Barghast soldiers at any second.

"Its fucking ridiculous,” Johnny went on. “At least we don't have to sit with Myers anymore. Just being around her makes me feel more soulless.”

The bar came into view. Or what was left of it.

Goro not giving a fuck that they could be seen kneels by the doors to pick a lock.

After a short moment they enter.

Johnny stood still for a moment looking around while Goro headed to the back.
The inside was even worse then the outside. Floor littered with broken furniture, old shell casings and a neon sign that buzzed once every few seconds just to remind you it used to work.

He followed after Takemura wanting to be done with this stupid shit as fast as he could.

He found him pushing away a shelf revealing a half-buried keypad and a crusty old landline phone.

He tapped in the sequence Myers gave them, picked up the receiver, and held it to his ear.

For a long moment, there was just static but the moment Johnny started to think that they will have to figure out another way to contact that fucker the call got picked up.

“Who is it?” Answered a low voice. Gruff. Suspicious.

Goro didn’t flinch. “Our common friend needs help.”

“We don’t have common friends.”

Annoyed with that asshole Johnny cut in. ”We sure won’t if you don’t stop wasting our time”

A long pause.

“You shouldn’t be using this line.”

“She gave us clearance,” Goro replied. “You’re the asset. I’m fulfilling the contact order.”

"It's not safe to talk here." Reed's voice hardened. “Meet me at the basketball court-”

“No,” Goro said, flat and fast. “I don’t have time nor incentive to chase you around Dogtown. 8th floor of the Kress Street apartment building. Get there. Now.”

Reed growled, full of fire. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I promised to contact you. My promise is completed, I’m not inclined to get dragged into NUSA buisnes. I have my own job to finish. Now you do your job.”  Goro replied, ice in every word.

And he hung up.

Click.

Johnny stared.

He leaned back against the bar and let out a wheezing laugh, half from exhaustion, half from sheer disbelief. “What the fuck?”

Goro looked exhausted. “He’ll come. His life depends on it.”

Johnny shook his head, grinning. “Damn. That almost made me like you.”

Goro rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and started moving towards the exit. “We need to find a safe place to wait until Songbird contacts us again.”

Johnny leaned back against a broken stool, arms crossed. “You think she’s still breathing?”

Goro didn’t hesitate. “Oh, I have no doubt.”

That gave Johnny pause, not because he himself believed that Songbird was dead but because he expected at least a little more hesitation. Goro sounded way too certain.

“And what makes you so sure, smart guy?”

Goro glanced toward the shattered window. His voice was tired but still full of conviction when he answered.

“Because all of this just doesn’t fit. She needed us to save Mayers. But she contacted us just seconds before the crash knowing full well we're in a place conveniently just minutes from the crash site. A place we were forced to choose because of where she planned to immobilize the convoy. It had to be planned by her then." Got smiled, a small mean thing full of satisfaction. "And now we just gave her a very good reason to contact us. No matter what she had planned.”

Johnny stared at him for a long beat, then snorted. “As a friend or foe?”

Goro ignored the question. “Let’s find a vantage point. Something quiet. Out of the way.”

“Yeah,” Johnny muttered. “Nice view, no back doors, low probability of being shot in the face.”

He pushed off the wall and followed after him. Neither of them said what they were really thinking.

Little bird had some explaining to do and it better be a good story.

Chapter 15: Terms of Survival

Notes:

Hi! I'm back from vacation and I'm ready to write more stories haha
This one will be a short one but you can check out Something That Fits, the stand alone story that I have written just before I left on my trip.

Hope you like the new chapter and thank you all so much for all your comments!

The apartment was a mess. Rotting wallpaper, floorboards that creaked like dying animals, and the constant hum of Dogtown in the background. Sirens, gunshots, the grind of machinery chewing through concrete. But it was high up, had only one entrance, and enough power to keep their gear running.

Close enough to call it safe.

Johnny threw himself onto a sun-bleached couch that looked like it had hosted a few shootouts in its day. “Five-star accommodations,” he muttered.”Hey that roach looks exactly like the one from V’s appartement.”

Goro grimances in disgust.

Ha! Got the asshole, Johnny thought amused. 

Quickly though his face came back to robo corp default emotionless setting. He was standing by the boarded window, arms folded, scanning the city, seemingly deep in thought.

It didn’t take long.

Just like he said. Two, maybe three hours of silence.

Then Johnny’s holo flared.

INCOMING: SONGBIRD

He sat up straight. “Oh, look who decided to give us a call.”

Goro stepped over and the call opened with no preamble.

Songbird’s voice came through like a blade.

“What the hell did you do?”

Johnny snorted. “Well hey there, nice to hear from you too.”

“You abandoned the President!” she snapped. “You were supposed to protect her!”

“We did,” Goro cut in, calm but sharp. “We saved her life. Rescued her from the wreck, transported her to the location you picked out, just like you wanted. Contacted the agent she picked to extract her, just like she wanted.”

Johnny leaned back, grinning darkly. “If the golden boy didn’t pick her up, maybe the NUSA needs to rethink its hiring policy.”

Songbird didn’t answer immediately. When she finally did, her tone was less fire, more frost.

“You shouldn’t have left her alone.”

Goro’s voice lowered. “You shouldn’t have put us in this position.”

He stepped forward. “That convoy. Biotechnica. The exact moment it crossed into Pacifica, you triggered the paralysis. That forced us to find a hangar close enough to stash the prototype. And just as we did thatmyou handed us a presidential crash to stumble into.”

Another pause.

“You planned it and you used us.”

“I didn’t plan it like that.” Songbird sounded angry. But not at them anymore.

“Didn’t you?” Goro pressed. “Everything fits too perfectly. The convoy, the hangar, the crash all within hours.”

Another pause. She seemed deep in thought. 

Then her voice changed. Anger gave way to resignation.

“The agent…it was Reed right?” She asked dejectedly.

“Yep” Johnny said, lazily stretching on the couch. 

When she next spoke she sounded tired. Sad. Like the weight finally caught up to her.

“Reed found me when I was a teenager,” she said. “Back when I was still stupid enough to believe I was undefeatable. Netrunning always came easy to me. I got better and better and needed more and more. Always something harder, more dangerous, a challenge just to prove to myself I was the best.”

Fuck if it didn’t sound familiar to Johnny. So fucking like V, he thought conflicted. 

“Finally I fucked up really hard. Decided to experiment, test myself for real. I fucked around with the Blackwall just to see what was on the other side. In and out for a second without leaving a trace I thought. But then I kept coming back, poking more and more. Finally I poked too deep, showed up on NetWatch radar, well not only NetWatch, FIA too” She took a deep breath and through the slight blur of the holocall she seemed to almost be trembling. There was nothing left that screamed a powerful netrunner. Now she looked almost like a scared little girl. 

Just like V looked in her final moment when she herself was shaking under the strain of her time running out.

“Reed showed up, said that NetWatch was going to burn me alive. That they would do anything to make sure the wall doesn’t fall. He got me out. Recruited me. Trained me. I started working for Myers not long after.”

Goro’s face didn’t move, but something in his eyes sharpened. “And Myers had you cross the Blackwall. Again and again.”

Songbird didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Johnny barked a laugh, bitter and rough. “Jesus Christ. They built a walking nuke and kept her on a leash.”

“It’s not that simple,” Song said. “I can’t leave.”

She was quiet again.Then.

“Goro was right. The crash... I planned it. Not like that, not-”

“You planned a missile strike on the President?” Goro asked flatly.

“No! I contacted Hansen. He promised a controlled operation. He told me he had a way to lend the plane, a team that could take me away, leave her there for extraction, that he’d give me access to the neural matrix and cut me free. I know it sounded perfect. too perfect. He lied. Of course he did but I was desperate. I needed to get out.”

Johnny leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “And why did you need to get out that fast? Don’t get me wrong I get the want to stick it to Myers and I sure as fuck won’t shed the tear for her but you risked a fuckton by doing it like this instead of slowely pulling away and running off into the sunset.” He paused and snapped his fingers almost like he just had an epiphany. “Although you get the bonus points for showmanship, every argument looks better with an explosion in the background.”

Songbird hesitated. Then her voice cracked, just a little.

“Because I’m dying, Johnny. Constant exposure to the Blackwall... it’s killing me. Every breach eats at me. My neural pathways are degrading. I need the matrix as much as V does. If I don’t get it, I won’t last. And I won’t be able to pull her out.”

The room fell silent.

Well fuck. 

Goro finally broke it. Quiet. But resolute.

“We will help you. We will go after the matrix. But we will do it our way.”

“Hansen rules this area from his Tower, the Black Sapphire, looking down on the rest of the people in Dogtown. You’ll need a miracle to be able to break into it.” Songbird said. “The neural matrix is buried in a lab beneath it. Black-level access. Barghest soldiers everywhere. Netrunners. Automated defenses. We’ll need blueprints, guard rotations, tower schematics. And a lot of fucking luck.”

Johnny leaned back again, arms crossed. “You’d be amazed what we can pull out of our asses when properly motivated.”

“I’ll speak to Hands,” Goro said. “See what intel he can dig up about the security detail.”

“We’ll need to move fast. I’ll start putting a plan together on my end.”

Then, hesitating, she added “...We should involve Reed. He has valuable technology that can help us. And he’ll be looking for me. If I can talk to him-”

“No,” Johnny said immediately. “Hard pass. Not holding hands with any more federal assholes.”

Goro nodded once. “We work alone. That’s not negotiable.”

A breath from her side of the line. Like she was biting back every argument she had.

“…Fine. I’ll contact you again in three days. We’ll finalize the plan then.”

Her voice cracked at the end, like something inside her was unraveling.

“We’re running out of time.”

The call ended.

“Fuck!” Johnny stood up leaving the pretense of a relaxed asshole and screamed loudly. 

He started franticly pace through the wreak of an apartement muttering “She’s a fucking nuke! Fucking hell, why the fuck can’t anything ever work out the way we need it.”

Goro on the other hand immediately snapped into action dialling the fixer number. It only took one ring for the call to connect.

“Goro Takemura and his companion suspiciously similar in looks to V. Calling from inside of dogtown? Color me impressed.” Mr. Hands slowly drooled. 

“I need blueprints of the Black Sapphire.” Goro cut straight to the point. “Fast and as detailed as possible."

“Kurt Hansen’s golden tower? To get inside would be close to impossible and most certainly dangerous.”

“I’m not asking if it’s possible, all I need is plans of the building.”

“Let me rephrase that. By extremely dangerous I meant certain death unless you are in possession of a miraculous technology. However you are in luck. I just so happen to know of one miracle that actually exists and would allow your impossible plan of entrance to become possible.”

Well, well, well they might have a chance to actually survive this trainwreck.

“What are you talking about?” Goro asked, he seemed cautious.

“It seems that the latest tragedy left dogtown to FIA agents infestation. And they have brought with them some real swanky technology. One of them being an implant that allows a person to use kiroshi connected cloaking technology to completely change their facial features to disguise them as another person.I have a trusted riperdoc who will relish in a chance to implement his skills to implant it. There is however a slight catch to it.”

Huh, well it’s on him to get optimistic. Life should have beaten that lesson out of Johnny a long time ago.

“What is it?” Goro asks exasperated, pressing his hands to his forehead.

“You see I had a merc steal the blueprints out of an riperdoc I suspected of being a sleeper FIA agent. I was right and the merc managed to send me the blueprints, I had them relayed to the ripperdoc and he in his genius replicated them. It is however unsure how successful he was as the tech is well… untested.”

“Of course it is.” Goro said. 

He looked so done with the bulshit but Johnny had to applaud him for keeping the tone of his voice as impassive as it sounded. The message from Hands was clear. He saw straight through their no care for their lives I’m coming in guns blazing plan and saw something he liked. Desperation. Heaps of it. 

The saddest thing was that the sleezy fucker was right. They were desperate, without a real plan and needed a miracle. Perfect lab rats. Preying on the desperation of the people to run his empire in the shadows. Technique straight from the corpo handbook. If Johnny wasn’t already sure that Hands was made by the corps now this would be a proof of it.

There was another thing he was sure about, he thought as his eyes met Goro’s thunderous expression. They were going to say yes to the fucker.

“Let’s say we agree.” Goro started carefully. “Tech like that, even untested, is a powerful tool. So what I would like to know is what will it cost us?”

“While it is true that I never really had opportunities to work with her before, I do have to admit I have a certain fondness for V.” Hands said amused.

“What?” Johnny exclaimed, surprised. Even Goro looked confused looking at him as if trying to understand what Hands was trying to insinuate.

“And it never hurts to be owed a favour by capable individuals. Allow me to be meganimus. The technology will come with no strings attached. I will also get you the intel you need to enter the lair of the beast. And in exchange you will both test this technological masterpiece and make life easier for me by merely eliminating a certain thorn in my side.”

Was this guy allergic to talking normally? Jesus Christ Johnny was getting a headache just listening to him. 

He couldn’t comprehend what V saw in that guy that made her like him. Although since he woke up in her head he saw her befriend a terrorist, bang a cop no strings attached style while he might have as well stood there with a ‘will you have my kids’ sign all while recovering from a most pathetic seduction that ended up being rejected by a fucking corpo. 

So maybe she had shitty taste or more likely, seeing where she was now, maybe V just loved to make shitty choices. 

Goro however seemed to know exactly what the asshole wanted. He probably still spoke pretentious corpo fluidly.

“Kurt Hansen. You want him dead.” He exclaimed slowly.

Silence was the only answer but it was everything he seemed to need.

What the fuck!? Running around babysitting the fucking president wasn’t apparently enough. 

The universe really seemed to dislike Johnny at this point there was no other explanation for all the insane shit that kept happening to him.

“Alright. We accept.” Not like they had another option anyway.

“I knew we would understand each other perfectly. I will need some time to gather the necessary intel, worry not it should not take longer than a day or two. In the meantime I will shortly send you the location of the ripperdoc. Get some rest, gentleman. I'm sure the excitement will soon come.” 

The line went silent, leaving the two of them in the weird sort of stillness that very soon got disrupted by the sound of screams and gunshots which rumbled through Dogtown like a heartbeat.

Goro took a deep breath and sat down heavily on the couch right next to him. He let his head fall backwards to lay on the couch. He seemed deeply in thought and Johnny noted that there was a weirdly surprising lack of tension in him, considering the fact that they just volunteered to not only serve as lab rats but also to kill Hansen, who rested on the top of the food chain in a place like dogtown.

“You sure seem to be in a cheerful mood.” Johnny said quietly.

Takemura just smirked, not opening his eyes. He looked weird with a smile, younger, not as assholish as usual. 

“Not long now.” was all he said.

He didn’t need to say anything more though. Not when Johnny realised that he was right. Not long now. Only the matrix left now. And they will either succeed at getting it or they will die trying. 

It was too early to get excited or complacent. They still had to see if the miraculous tech will actually work and Johnny knew he needed to tell the Songbird the news to keep her in the loop for the plan to work.

But as they sat together at the old, ratty couch in an decrepit shithole of what could have barely passed as an actual apartement in it’s high day looking at the dirty streets of the place that often featured in poor fuckers nightmares and was used by parents to scare their children with ‘eat your fucking greens Billy or your dad and I will leave you in Dogtown’ he couldn’t help himself and allow a little optimism inside.

He copied Goro, let out a long sight allowing the tension to leave his body and let his head fall backwards, closing his eyes.

Not long now. 

Not long to have V back.

Chapter 16: Things that bleed don’t break

Notes:

Hi! I hope you like this chapter! I had a little trouble with it, rewritten it like three times because it didn't sit right with me but I hope you guys can still enjoy it.

Johnny lay flat on his back in the middle of the cracked, dusty apartment floor, arms stretched out, one leg half-bent. His head rested against a half-folded jacket that smelled like smoke and old blood.

“I’m tellin’ you,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him, “my face feels weird.”

Goro didn’t look up from where he was cleaning his pistol at the small, busted table. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” Johnny continued rubbing his face. “It’s all… weird. Like the skin’s too new. Which, okay, technically it is. So fucking annoying annoying.”

“You’ve been saying that for two days.”

“Because it’s been feeling weird for two days.”

Goro exhaled sharply through his nose, the closest thing he allowed himself to a groan. He didn’t respond, but Johnny didn’t need him to.

“I mean, it’s not even itchy. It’s worse than itchy.” He scratched his jaw thoughtfully.

“Shut. Up.”

Johnny smirked.

“Oh, come on, I’ve seen you. Massaging your face when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

Goro paused. Didn’t say anything.

Johnny rolled over to his side. “You ever get tired of being the world’s most uptight asshole?”

“Enough,” Goro snapped, jaw tight. “I have had enough of your voice.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Johnny drawled, propping himself up on one elbow. “You’ve been acting like a miserable asshole for days now. You’ve got that vacant stare, y’know? The one that says ‘I’m daydreaming about someone but I may or may not be emotionally traumatized.’ Real cute.”

Goro didn’t rise to it. Just finished assembling his gun and set it aside with professional care.

“And here it comes again, all broody.” Johnny grinned wider. “You imagining you and V all cuddled up, making breakfast and filing taxes together? Bet you love a good deduction form. Probably get off on late fees.”

Goro’s expression froze.

Johnny laughed, a sharp, sudden bark, and had to pause to catch his breath. “God, imagine V trying to file taxes. Somehow I just know it would end with a dead body.”

Goro didn’t look at him. But his voice was quiet. Almost too quiet.

“I don’t imagine a future like that.”

Johnny blinked. The humor died instantly.

He pushed, because of course he did. “But you imagine something, don’t you?”

There was a pause. Then Goro, surprisingly, answered.

“Last time we spoke… she was angry. Disappointed. I don’t know if she… if she will even want me to be around anyway.”

Johnny sat up slowly, resting his arms on his knees. “She will. I mean I wouldn’t so I know for a fact that she will do the complete opposite. That’s her thing. Drives me nuts.”

Goro’s eyes flicked toward him, dark and tired. “We might not even know her anymore.”

Johnny’s face went dead still. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Goro stood and crossed the room, pacing now. His voice tightened. “You’re blinded. By guilt. By hope. You think you’ll pull her out and it’ll be like nothing happened.”

“She’s V, you miserable fuck,” Johnny snapped, getting to his feet. “She’s still in there.”

“You don’t know that,” Goro shot back. “You hope so. There’s a difference.”

Johnny stepped forward, chest tight. “I know her.”

“Songbird’s dying and she’s only touched the Blackwall. V’s been stuck inside for months. If she survives, do you really believe it’ll still be her?” Goro snaps.

Johnny’s fist clenched. “Yes.”

“You’re a fool.”

“She’s coming back. We’re getting her out.” Johnny barked. “And then we’ll go back to what we do best. Raising hell and burning down everything that gets in our way. Only now we’ll be in two bodies instead of one. Real team effort.”

He paused, then added, with a crooked grin, “Maybe we’ll start a band. Or maybe she’ll want to go full nomad, chase sunsets in a rattling rig, drink beer under the stars, argue with me about whether we blast real music or the bubblegum shit she loves.”

“You're clinging to an idea.” Goro smiled bitterly. 

“You’re a coward! You like being miserable so much that being happy scares you more than failure.” Johnny fired back, stepping forward. “I was like this once, but then I got V. And I realised that being this miserable piece of shit? It was good for no one, especially not for me. Was it hard to stop? Of fucking course! But I needed to do this or history would go full circle and I would once again blow myself up to save a dead girl.”

That hit. Something cracked behind Takemura's eyes.

Johnny kept going.

“But I’m still kicking, and the girl is still alive. Me and V? Stronger than ever. This time it will end differently. And after all of this ends if shit’s good, great. We deserve that. If it’s bad, then we deal. That’s what the two of us do. You think the universe hasn’t tried to kill us already? It’s tired, Goro. Time and time again. I survived against Arasaka's best tries. She first survived the bullet to the brain, then survived soulkiller too. And guess what?”

He stepped closer.

“We’re still here.”

Goro stared at him silent, hollow, stricken.

For a moment, Johnny saw it. The weight. The fear he’d been hiding under that iron posture.

He sighed. Rolled his eyes.

“I’m a fool? Fine. At least I know what the hell I want. You? You’re just scared.” Johnny let out a breath and sat back down. The edge was still there, but the venom had drained out. “Get your shit together.”

Goro said nothing.

Johnny hesitated. Motherfucker really looked miserable. What the fuck is going on in the world that he has to run charity work as a therapist to the corpo.

“When the time comes, figure out what you want. And say it to her. Before it’s too late.”

Then, realizing how real that sounded, he backpedaled like hell.

“Preferably do it while I’m around,” he added quickly, smirking. “So I can enjoy watching you fumble through human emotions and see her shoot you down. Should be good for a laugh.”

Goro let out a sound that might’ve been a laugh. 

Then he went quiet again.

Johnny was spared trying to figure out what to do with the awkward tension thanks to the long awaited call.

Showtime.

The call with Songbird was brief. All logistics. Just coordinates, names, data packets and information to memorise. They will have to pretend to be French. Ugh just when Johnny thought he reached the lowest lows.

Now, Johnny and Goro crouched on a rooftop overlooking one of Dogtown admittedly not as shitty roads. The Black Sapphire tower loomed in the distance. 

Not yet. First came the hunt.

Johnny peered through the scope of a borrowed sniper optic, panning slowly across the rows of cars below. 

Goro was busy scanning the encrypted files Songbird sent. Photos, bios, conversation patterns, private phrases. Everything they’d need to fake being the rich, french, weirdly named, weapon dealing sibling duo.

The plan was simple in theory. Find their car. Ping it. Let Songbird hijack it remotely. She gets them to the empty parking lot right next to where they were sitting. Then with the twins alone and trapped, force them out, scan them with the miracle tech, steal their identities and then…well.

Johnny chambered a round into the revolver.

Easy.

Then they just roll in on the meeting with Hansen and the very moment Johnny and Songbird get to the tech, the nutrunner turns the lights off, opens all the doors and they run away with it into the night. 

At the same time Goro detonates a small amp charge to jam the guns in the room, slits Hansen's throat in the dark and while everyone is panicking in the dark he slips through the door deeper into the building, changes his face into the already ready scan Songbird prepared of one of the guards, strips to the barghest uniform he will have underneath the stolen netrunner suit and act like he’s also searching for them till the moment he can slip away unnoticed.

But the exciting part will have to wait.

The car, a sleek custom model, was easily spotted and just as easily hijacked by Songbird. Then pulled into the adjacent parking lot guided by the netrunner like it was on invisible strings. 

It turns out it’s easy to draw honest answers while holding people at gunpoint, even easier to invoke strong emotions that seemed to be a baseline for the scan. They made short work of it. Goro took Aymeric with a shot to the head, clean and fast. Johnny’s bullet hit Aurore between the eyes just as he thought he wouldn’t be able to stand her a second longer. He’d met plenty of annoying people, but five minutes in her company easily secured her a spot in his top ten most unbearable assholes and people Johnny would rather sing a pop song than be around.

“Bon voyage, assholes,” Johnny muttered.

No, it all went surprisingly smooth. The real trouble started right after.

Standing over the bodies, Johnny looked from the corpse in yellow silk to the suit Goro was already pulling on.

“…Why the fuck do I have to be the chick?”

Goro didn’t answer immediately. Just gave Johnny a long once-over and smirked.

“Just change,” Goro said. “We are on a timer.”

Songbird’s voice cut through their earpieces, sharp and unforgiving. “Move it. We don’t have time for this Johnny.”

“Yellow is not my color,” he hissed. 

“Get in the car.” Goro said as he settled in the driver’s seat. 

“Who the hell names their kid Aurore anyway?” Johnny grumbled as he took a seat.

“You are Aurore and Aymeric Cassel. You are here with the digital key for the neural matrix. Do not break character. Not for a second. If they suspect anything, you’re dead before you hit the lobby.”

Johnny flipped through the bio again, face screwed up. “This bitch probably lists ‘ice sculpture appreciation’ as a hobby or whatever the rich assholes do when they take a break from oppressing the ordinary folk.”

“Read it,” Goro said, pulling out of the lot. Calm, composed, deadly-focused.

“Fine. Let’s do this. But when we’re done, I’m setting fire to this outfit.”

The car slid past the checkpoint gates like it belonged there.

The Black Sapphire swallowed them whole.

Johnny adjusted his posture, shoulders thrown back, chin tilted up just enough to scream Aurore’s brand of disdain. Goro gave him one last glance before they stepped out movement precise and unnaturally cold. Huh he and a french asshole seemed to be two fucking peas in a pod, both weirdly still and looking like someone shoved a stick up their asses. 

Well it’s time to start this show.

The welcome committee was waiting.

Barghest soldiers in matte armor stood in a half-circle near the elevator, eyes hidden behind sleek visors, weapons casually handled but ready.

One of them stepped forward. “Please deposit your weapons.”

Goro handed over his gun wordlessly. Johnny followed with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. 

Another identical soldier asked them to turn to the gate. “Identity scan. Don’t worry, it's routine and takes just seconds.”

“The Paranoid brand you lot are, huh?” Johnny drawled slowly.

The nameless asshole laughed. “We have some impressive treasures here so it’s always better to be careful than sorry. Plus the boss has been on edge since the crash.”

“Scanning,” one of the guards said, as a blue light passed over their faces. A soft chime followed.

IDENTITY CONFIRMED. AURORE, AYMERIC CASSEL.

One second they were in a garage that smelled like motor oil and ozone. The next, they were being led through a hallway of polished chrome and pressure-locked doors. And then, finally after all this time, they were seated on sleek minimalist chairs across a mahogany table from the one and only. Kurt Hansen.

He looked exactly like Johnny pictured him relaxed, smiling, but watching everything with the eyes of a predator. He was wearing military style clothing looking like the most basic wannabe dictator. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Aurore. Aymeric,” he said smoothly. “A pleasure. You’re just as striking as the dossier made you out to be.”

Johnny forced a smile, why did he have to be a chick. “Flattery from the Kurt Hansen himself? Are you trying to make me blush?”

Hansen chuckled. “Ah, I see you’ve inherited that family charm.”

Goro tilted his head stiffly. “We appreciate your hospitality.”

So unfair that the asshole got to play himself. 

Hansen gestured to a tray. “A drink? Imported. Real. The good kind.”

Goro shook his head. “I don’t drink. It is good for one to keep their mind sharp especially when there is money involved.”

God Goro must have been a pretentious french asshole in his past life, this role suited him way too perfect. On the plus side now he has two glasses of whisky for himself so maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

Johnny gasped, placing a manicured hand over his chest. “My brother,” he said with exaggerated grace, “is a tragic bore.”

He grabbed both glasses and downed them one after the other. “Thankfully, I was born to compensate.”

That must’ve landed, because Hansen actually laughed. He relaxed just enough to lean back in his chair.

“Delightful,” he said. “You’ll do well here.”

That’s when she entered.

Songbird.

After all this time talking with her, seeing her for real was a weird experience. She seemed bigger than life while deep in the net but she cut a sight almost fragile before his eyes. The cyborg look also wasn’t at all what he expected.

“Gentlemen,” she said. “Time to begin.”

She didn’t look at either of them long. Just gestured toward the hallway.

“Who’s coming in with me?”

Johnny stood up. “Me. I will leave you in the truly stimulating company of my brother.”

Hansen laughed as he waved them on, his eyes not leaving Songbird.

Johnny followed her down the stairs. The corridor stretched sleek and sterile, humming with the low buzz of serious tech buried deep in its bones.

Songbird spoke, her voice low. “The lab is built like a vault. Hansen claims it’s impenetrable. So far, that seems to be true.”

Johnny tuned her out. Only half on purpose.

The deeper they went, the less the air felt breathable.

Something in his gut twisted.

It was all going too smoothly. The IDs. The scan. The handshake. The charm. The timing.

Everything was fitting into place and every step closer to the lab felt like the universe was winding up to punch someone in the face.

Johnny had a bad feeling in his gut about this. Too late to chicken out now.

Not long now V. Hold on.

The doors to the main lab room slid closed behind them with a quiet hum.

He and Songbird stood before the interface. Two cables already snaking out from the terminal, one to her wrist, one to his. Just like planned.

They jack in.

“Upload the sequence key please.” Songbird directs him. The moment he sends her the file extracted from the twins the decryption process begins.

 

Decryption Sequence: 5% Complete

Songbird smiled at him.

Johnny grimaced back. 

 

Decryption Sequence: 18% Complete

“Breathe,” she said gently. “Just breathe. The air’s denser now, I know. It’s just nerves. It’ll pass.”

He exhaled slowly. It didn’t pass.

 

Decryption Sequence: 37% Complete

He thought about the weeks he’d wasted. All the time he'd spent drinking cheap liquor and cursing fate, burning from the inside out. How long had he really spent wallowing, angry at the world for taking V instead of him?

 

Decryption Sequence: 46% Complete

He imagined her again. V. Silver hair messy, gold eyes full of sharp light, half-grinning like the whole goddamn world was a dare. What would he say to her first? What would she say to him?

 

Decryption Sequence: 53% Complete

He hadn’t lied to Goro. Whatever came next, whatever she came back as, they’d deal with it. Together. Like it should’ve always been. No more running. No more distance. Just the two of them, back-to-back against the universe.

 

Decryption Sequence: 66% Complete

He wonders when that corpo asshole became Goro in his head. He looks up and sees him watching him back. He nods.

 

Decryption Sequence: 72% Complete

Goro nods back. 

He knows that in the end Goro won’t leave her again. Will follow her around like a domesticated animal. Will probably hover like a shadow until she tells him to back the fuck off. She... will find that funny.

 

Decryption Sequence: 83% Complete

He knows that together will never be the same again, no matter what V decides. He's surprisingly at peace with it.

 

Decryption Sequence: 90% Complete

Christ. How funny. How absolutely, cosmically stupid that Johnny fucking Silverhand, the ghost, the legend had to die, come back, and drag himself through hell just to meet his match. His best friend. His...

His soulmate.

 

Decryption Sequence: 95% Complete

A loud, deadly-smart twenty-something chick who loved reckless rides, bubblegum pop, killing assholes, and collecting strays.

 

Decryption Sequence: 96% Complete

Not long now V. 

Fuck he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

 

Decryption Sequence: 97% Complete

“Thank you,” Songbird said. Soft. Her eyes in the harsh lab light looked impossibly wide and impossibly sad. “If it wasn’t for the both of you, nothing here would be possible. I won’t forget you.”

Johnny blinked. “Back at you,” he said without sarcasm. Because sometimes, just sometimes, he could be decent. 

He met her gaze. 

“All this shit... it’ll be worth it in the end.” She whispered quietly.

 

Decryption Sequence: 98% Complete

“It has to be.” Songbird inhaled, slow and sharp, her shoulders tense, her fists clenched so tight the knuckles turned white. 

Something twisted in Johnny’s gut. She looked at him and smiled again. 

Sad.

Resigned.

Resolved.

“V was lucky to know you.”

 

Decryption Sequence: 99% Complete

“What?” Johnny whispered, confused. The room tilted slightly. 

A sound snapped him to attention. A sharp, desperate thud against the glass.

 

Decryption Sequence: Completed

He staggered back.

Looked up. On the other side of the window, Goro’s face was twisted in panic. Mouth moving, shouting something Johnny couldn’t hear.

Johnny opened his mouth to lay into him for blowing their cover…

And then everything went black.

The last thing he heard were gunshots.

Chapter 17: Efficiency Efficiency Efficiency Efficiency

Notes:

Guys I know that the last chapter ended on a cliffhanger and I hate to do this (I don't lol I'm mean and I enjoy it) but... we're back to V today! The story is heading to the end and well we need all the players ready. But don't worry next week is going to be crazy lol

Time didn’t exist here. Or rather it did but not in any way that mattered.

That sense or whatever it was that once let her feel its passing, had withered away. It was useless here, beyond the Blackwall. There were no days, no nights, no clocks ticking in corners. Only pulses of code and shifting shadows that meant nothing unless you made them mean something. 

So somewhere in all this passing stillness she lost it.

She didn’t even notice when it happened.

She didn’t need it anymore. Simple. She had to adapt. Be logical.

She wasn't a quitter. That part of her survived everything else.

Her family needed her. She had to survive. Protect them from this hell.

Funny enough while the thought made her sad she didn’t feel lonely. 

She lost it the moment she landed herself in the minefield full of AI ready to jump at you at the slightest sight of weakness. In a space full of danger there was no time for loneliness.

Soon after that it was the ability to rest. It wasn’t really possible here. 

One, she didn’t have a body so the physical needs were a meaningless concept now. Lost to the circumstances.

Two, mentally she had to always be on the high alert. Not only to keep up the digital barrier she put up to protect her now encoded psyche but also to keep an eye on what was happening around her. A new presence? Needed to be scanned to make sure she was safe. A disturbance near the wall? Needed immediate attention. No rouge AI was going to make it out to the physical world, not on her watch. So she lost it somewhere between the new lines of code to try and patch the brittle pieces of Blackwall from where she had made her way before. 

She needed to protect her family.

 

]]/.?//./.,><>:"{.""__=.,/:""}"{'///ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ]]/.?//./.,><>:"{.""__=.,/:

 

So Mi showed up to see her again. Asked for help, again. V declined. Weighing the risk of her offer and Phill’s offer, one of those was way less of a risk while still promising to keep her intact. 

Then she showed up again, the same conversation. V declined again. Songbird seemed frustrated with her but she kept coming back. In a weird way V considered them friends, they were quite similar after all.

The next time she showed up V had just finished her last attempt to use the already existing code inside the Blackwall to strengthen it. Songbird noticed, complimented her abilities. She seemed to want to ask for a piece of it but stopped herself. Not that V would give it to her. 

Original code was precious and netrunners were known to be possessive of their own creations. In this way too they were similar. 

What was different this time though was that So Mi didn’t try to convince her. She didn’t even try talking about her plan. Instead they talked about stupid things. Youth, boys, music. Song seemed very interested in Johnny. How they worked, how it felt. At first V was unsure but the thing was she wanted to talk about it. Gossiping seemed almost too normal for where she was but it was…fun. Nice. From that moment on Song didn't try convincing her anymore, they mostly talked about the past.

Phil also visited. Funnily enough he usually showed up just after Songbird. At first she took it for nothing, so Phill always showed up after Song. No big deal. Except it kept happening and it didn’t take a genius to figure out the pattern. There was one fact that everyone knew about Netwatch. They did not take fucking with Blackwall lightly. They worked tirelessly to stop any attempts to breach it. In that way, they too, were similar to V. 

Songbird out there, loose in her ways, able to go in and out must have been pissing Netwatch off extremely. Because every time Phil showed up and noticed it was just the two of them he grimaced. The guy really knows how to make a girl feel wanted.

They talked too, mostly about the state of Blackwall. The guy was basically bred to be a perfect netwatch agent, he just loved going off on long tangents about the world ending threats that blackwall falling would cause. Fun times. Although the longer she was stuck there, the more she saw of that void, the more his words seemed to resonate with her. 

Phil was very impressed with her attempts to patch the weakened area up. The next time he showed up after he heard about it he came back with a list of ideas and comments about what she could try or change. She worked through them, taking a few and discarding the others. She wouldn’t go as far as to call him a friend, but they’d definitely slipped into being coworkers of a sort.

He kept his promise though. He explained that exposure to Blackwall was dangerous. That it was a place where alive had no place to exist so it weakened under its influence. Netwatch knew it so they had used something akin to soulkiller. Turns out Arasaka unique tech wasn’t that unique after all. But this one wasn’t made to destroy but to copy. It created almost a digital avatar of you. Those were not permanent, unlike the soulkiller ones. So while this Phil still deteriorated because of his visits, he could be replaced with another avatar while the man himself was safe. Phil said that it was crazy expensive so very few agents like that exist. 

“Not very many are that crazy too” She commented.

He laughed. “That too.”

She now knew that he was slightly deranged, unhealthy committed to his job but most importantly she found out he plays violin. Progress on the friendship quest.

]]/.?//./.,><>:"{.""__=.,/:""}"{'///ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ]]/.?//./.,><>:"{.""__=.,/:

 

The next thing to go was regret.

And oh, did she have a mountain of it.

She’d dragged it with her through every fight, every loss, every breath of freedom that came too late and cost too much.

Regret had teeth. It tore through her memory whenever she let it.

She’d regretted her innocence. How it blinded her back when she still wore the Arasaka badge and thought loyalty meant something. Then they took it from her. Not the job. Fuck the job. But the innocence? That loss still stung.

Then came the heist.

The mother of all fuckups.

Jackie’s idea. His dream. She regretted not talking him out of it. Regretted stepping into DeShawn’s office. Regretted not putting a bullet in that snake the second she felt the change in his demeanor.

Regretted not taking the bullets that night instead of Jackie.

Regretted taking the chip.

Regretted opening her eyes the morning after, when everything had already gone to hell.

She regretted every second she wasted butting heads with Johnny instead of seeing what they could’ve built. Sooner, cleaner, together.

She regretted not pulling Goro out of Arasaka when she had the chance. He deserved freedom. Deserved to know what loyalty looked like without chains.

She regretted not seeing Vik more. She missed that one game he went off about for weeks. Regretted not stopping by Misty’s more often. Not letting the little, human things matter while she still had time.

So many fucking regrets.

But here? Now? She lost them. She let them go. 

Useless.

Dead weight.

Nothing about the past could be changed, not anymore. And even if it could, what good would it do to her, trapped in this place, her own self half-digital, half-broken?

Better to let it burn.

Better to focus on the future. On what could still be done.

Way more efficient. 

The next time she talked to Songbird V had to admit she was getting curious. Phil had to have his engram coded into the wall to not leave a trace to follow. She knew about every aspect of how it worked, why it was the only moderately safe way to cross. She had to endure a whole lecture at least four times now. That was a gift she got in exchange for opening to him and telling him the story of how she managed to slip through. A boring lecture. A strict order to not do it again but also in his eyes she saw what he didn’t say, couldn’t say but let her see anyway. He was impressed.

V ladies and gentlemans. The best netrunner not currently alive.

So this time she asked Songbird about the plan. She told her again about the Biotechnica and for a moment she let herself imagine having a body again. What a strange concept it seemed. The thought about how alien it felt to imagine made her feel sad. The feeling however quickly dissipated because while Songbird told her how she would help V move onto the specially prepared matrix V realised something. Phil told her all these details before while explaining the process of coming and going back. But it wasn’t Phil himself here with her, it was his copy. 

From that moment on V kept a closer eye on Songbird coming and going, she listened more attentively while she spoke and for the first time while Phil showed up she brought her up instead of making fun of him for being late. She also asked him for the first favour. Song and her talked about Johnny a lot. Now she felt stupid telling her about him. She wanted her for something so what if she decides to hurt Johnny to get that. V can’t leave to protect him in the real world. She needed someone who could. This time she told the whole story to Phil. He promised to keep an eye on her family. She hoped she could trust him.

 

]]/.?//./.,><>:"{.""__=.,/:""}"{'///ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ]]/.?//./.,><>:"{.""__=.,/:

 

She was very effective these days. She kept logs on what was going on around her with the AI’s. How they behaved, evolved. She kept a close eye on whatever Song was doing. She collected whatever digital trace was left. She got very good at tracing intrusions. Even Phil was impressed just how accurately she could pin them. He let loose one day that some of those locations they managed to check out and deal with but most of netwatch agents were trained to be at their strongest in the net. They would operate way more efficiently if they had someone like her in the field, he hummed quietly. 

She was on top of it. She had to let go of all this sadness. She didn’t feel it now but before it would affect her work. Make her lose the train of thought, slow her down while coding, distract her while gathering information. It was bad for effectiveness. So she got rid of it.

She had to protect the wall. Protect her family.

She stopped remembering. She didn’t lose her memories of course. They were all there, V had even sacrificed a moment to segregate and catalogue them. She just stopped digging them up. The process of going back through them was not worth it. It would take too much time away from her and there was no way to measure just how much. What if it took too long and she missed something vital. She knew them after all, lived them so there was no need to reminisce. 

She told Phil about her suspicion that Songbird wanted a copy of her. He asked if she took her suspicions up with Song herself. V did. They talked and when V asked So Mi said that she picked that option only because V herself wanted a safer option than just crossing through a wide open door. And that having copies would be safer because Biotechnica’s tech was only a prototype. That she would then delete this V here so there would be no problem. 

Phil seemed intrigued by the Biotechnica tech and asked more about it. V said that she somehow understood the want to have copies of oneself. That part would at least be useful. Phil asked what she would need them for. She laughed as she explained that they would help her with her mission. When Phil asked about it he seemed almost cautious. 

Well she had to be more efficient to observe the wall.

]]/.?//./.,><>:"{.""__=.,/:""}"{'///ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ ᎮᏒᎧᏖᏋፈᏖ ᏖᏂᏋᎷ]]/.?//./.,><>:"{.""__=.,/:

 

She didn’t even realize how far it got before that very moment. She felt frustrated lately. Someone kept poking the wall as if to test something and she couldn’t ping exactly what was happening. She also felt slow lately. Sorting through the information was taking more and more time. It didn’t take long after that to figure out where the problem was. She wasn’t organic anymore. Thoughts weren’t something abstract, they were a trace of numbers, stored within her. She kept cataloging newer and newer information and she was running out of storage within herself to catalogue them. She would have to discuss it with Phil next time she saw him. Now that she thought about it she saw Songbird three times without Phil showing up once. She marked that thought to come back to it later. 

Back to the current situation. There were of course ways to solve this particular problem. The best one was to expand herself. She noticed it many times before among the other AI’s. You pick the weakest one, decrypt their ICE protecting it, delete their source and remaining traces of useless code keeping only the important information and merge with what’s left allowing for bigger storage. The problem here was with V herself. Somehow even though it was the most effective solution she just couldn’t bring herself to delete any of the other AI’s. She would have to later analyze why. The second option was to rewrite the information so they would take less space. Smaller size was a good longtime solution but it would take too much of her focus to work through everything she had in storage. The only remaining option was to delete some of the information she possessed…

 

“It’s a perfect idea, chica!” Jackie said while laughing. He was leaning heavily against the bar counter. “It would represent us so well! It could become our significant drink!”

“Your perfect idea is to mix vodka and whisky? That’s… that’s not very… innetive… inno- innovative!” V slurred, laughing as she smacked her hand against the counter, proud she got the word out at all. She dropped her head beside it, her smile still tugging even as her energy drained. “Wait… mix it with what?” she mumbled, confused but curious.

“It’d be just like us, Hermana,” Jackie said, grinning wide and easy, like the world was still a kind place for people like them.

The bar lights painted him in gold, and for a moment V thought she’d never seen anyone look warmer, safer. She couldn’t help but smile back, even if she didn’t fully understand.

“I don’t get it,” she whispered.

“We work together, right?” He started explaining. 

“Right,” She replied confidently.

 “And we split 50/50, right?” He waved his hands around as if to make his point hit better.

“Right,” Her eyes followed the way his hands moved as he spoke again and she came to realization that he wasn’t really good at coordinating his hands and words. Or maybe too drunk for it. She always knew she was better at holding down her liquor.

“So you are the whisky and I’m vodka, right?”

“Right.”

“Wait no no no! Chica it’s not right!” He yelled seemingly really distressed.

“Not right?” She asked, opening her eyes to look at him. When did she close them?

“You- vodka, me- whisky.” Jackie sounded way more confident on that one. Guess he figured it out, good for him.

“Right,” she whispered as her eyes closed again. Well nothing she can do about that.

“Damn right!” Jackie screamed with laughter. 

 

In that very moment it was like something inside her, long since buried, finally managed to break through. 

Fuck! What the fuck is she doing?! Was she really about to delete a fucking memory of her and Jackie, loose, free and happy just to make fucking datalogs faster to read through?

Shit, shit, shit… 

She felt like she couldn’t breathe which was fucking ironic seeing as she now more then ever before felt like a computer. Cold, analytical.

She never thought that there would ever come a day where she would hate being unable to cry. But here we are, V thought almost hysterically. 

One thing was clear, she needed help. There was only one problem with that. One tiny, miniscule fucking problem. The only person she trusted to help her out hadn’t seen her in what she now realized was way too long. If the asshole decided that now was the time to go on vacation V will hunt him down and…

…and she got very good at tracking. She didn’t even need to look for the digital trace, part of Phil’s code was infused into the blackwall. 

“Finally a good fucking idea,” She mummured to herself and startled for a short moment. 

When was the last time she actually heard her own voice? Talking to Songbird probably even if she was way too busy with efficiently marking any interesting points about So Mi to hear herself.

Efficiency. God she hated that word.

She was so lost in her head, that for the first time in a long while she didn’t notice a presence joining her.

“Everything alright?” Phil’s soft voice asked carefully. Now that she could actually focus on it she noticed that it wasn’t anything new. Most of the times they talked now he sounded either careful, worried or a mix of the two.

“No,” She admitted, her voice shaky.

“Huh,” he muttered. “Do not take this the wrong way Valerie but it is good to hear an emotion in your tone. Even if unfortunately it is a negative one.” The sentiment would surely force the tears to her eyes if it could.

“Yeah, I um… I noticed.” She swallowed. “And please for the love of God stop with the full name.”

Phil ignored her, as he looked at her, taking her all in, studying her.

“Valerie I’m sorry I wasn’t coming to see you lately but I was very busy. And unfortunately I do not bring good news.” He said, looking tired. Although maybe a better word would be exhausted. If that was how his digital doppelganger looked, she didn't even want to consider just how big his eye bags were in the real world.

“Do you remember when you asked me to keep an eye on your family?” No, please. If something happened to them while she was stuck here helpless to do something about it, slowly even forgetting what they meant to her…

She had to protect her family. From whoever, whatever it took. And to do that she couldn’t be here. 

Phil was her friend. He was a netwatch agent too…

“I can’t stay here. Whatever it is, I can't help from here. Not really.” She said full of determination ”I know just how important the blackwall is but staying here will kill me. And then I won’t be of use to anyone. And trust me when I set my mind to it there is nothing that can stop me.”

Surprisingly Phil seemed pleased. Like that was exactly what he was counting for. 

“I agree, ” He said smiling. “And that is exactly what I said to my boss when I gave my assessment of you, and with that my recommendation.”

He did what?

“Recommendation?” V repeated stupidly.

Phil smiled wider, apparently pleased that he managed to get one over her.

“Valerie,” He slowly pronounced her name. Asshole. “You have an incredible talent to traverse the net. Not only that but on the Night City’s streets you are a legend. You are exactly what we would want. Of course I recommended you.” He finished softly.

“I don’t even have a body? How would I ever-”

“Didn’t you just say that you wanted to get out of here?”

“Well yes but I was thinking I could convince you to risk it and you would just put me in a net in the real word. I didn’t really plan to pull a Johnny on someone.”

“If we take this risk then isn’t what I offered better?”

“Doesn’t change that I don’t have a body and I don’t want to steal one! And AI leaving for the real world, isn't it what netwatch tries to stop? So why help me?”

“Are you trying to convince me to help you or put me off of it?” Phil asked dryly.

“Oh fuck off,” V said annoyed. “I literally feel like my brain just woke up. Go live in a dangerous void filled with  AI’s for who knows how long then we will see how eloquent you are asshole.”

Phil had the audacity to laugh at that. “Body won’t be an issue. That Biotechnica prototype? Exists and won’t be a problem to use.” he smiled enigmatically. 

“Did you steal it?”

“Well, we didn’t, technically.” he said with a wide grin. “We made a deal with biotechnica, some pretty interesting, confidential information about old Militech underground bases and we got the machine, personnel to operate and material to use. They have already been hard at work.” He paused to compose himself a little. “Also we scored free transport with guards and constant surveillance.”

Then his expression turned back to serious. “The body is almost ready but it will take you some time to feel right in it, you will need to train it. Also unfortunately it is not risk free. As much as you still feel human you are an AI. Has been one for months now so there is a chance that the first, let's call it transfusion, will not work. The bigger problem is that, if we succeed, AI mind will not be compatible with an organic body forever. We do know of a solution but it is not an easy one. You will have to trust us, trust me. Are you ready to do that?”

”You mean am I desperate enough to do that?,”V said, silently looking into the digital abyss. ”What about my family? You said that there was danger…”

“Valerie,” He gently cut in. “I will not force you to take the job. Your friends are in danger, yes. But no matter what you choose I will help you. Let me explain everything from the beginning so you are all caught up. ”

So V was left with nothing but to listen. 

She did however know that the choice was already made and if the confident, relaxed way Phil spoke said anything? He seemed to know the answer too. 

She had to protect her family.

Notes:

Hoped you guys liked it! See you next week!

Chapter 18

Notes:

I'm very sorry to all confused people who saw the chapter appear and disappear twice, idk whats happening but for some reason it keeps vanishing and then the site doesn't want to post it xd
I can only try again and hope it will stay this time but very big thank you to everyone who let me know what's going on!

I hope you can all enjoy it!

The shift was subtle but undeniable.

Not a change in temperature, not a sound out of place. Something deeper. Like the atmosphere itself had turned to glass. Brittle. Waiting for the first crack.

Goro felt it before he understood it. A soldier’s instinct honed not in drills, but in the silence between lives lost.

The moment before an ambush. The breath held before the blood hits the floor.

It was here now.

He straightened.

Everything in the lab seemed to be working as intended. The light still flickered from sterile bulbs above. The machinery hummed in perfect rhythm.

He scanned the room. Every wire. Every line of code on the monitor. 

The air was too dense. Every breath sat heavier in his chest.

Then it happened.

Johnny moved but it somehow seemed wrong to Goro’s eyes. Uncoordinated. There was no trace of the lazy grace he usually moved with. Instead he staggered, briefly, and blinked slowly, as though whatever he was seeing made no sense.

His gaze locked on Songbird.

And that was when he knew. The confirmation he hadn’t known he was looking for.

She stood frozen. Her shoulders were rigid, her hands clenched tight. Every muscle locked like a rabbit in the grass, coiled, ready to run at the right moment.

Goro’s chest went cold.

The realization settled like a blade sliding between his ribs.

This was always the plan.

All the preparation, all the angles, all the details. They hadn’t been lucky. They had been tools. Carried along the curve of her desperation, her genius, her deception. Played so precisely, they hadn’t seen the hands guiding them across the board.

Every step. Every perfect piece of intel. Every moment that had gone too smoothly.

He should have seen it.

He’d let it happen.

He of all people, had allowed himself to believe. That they could trust her. That she was desperate, that they were in control. That they were equals in this.

He’d been a fool.

And now? Now he was simply a witness to the inevitable. Powerless.

He stepped forward, hand slamming into the reinforced glass, voice cracking against it as his mouth moved before thought could catch up.

But no sound reached Johnny. It was too late. 

He took one more stumbling step backwards and hit the ground.

Goro didn’t even have a moment to realize that the masking technology deactivated. It was too late anyway.

Songbird turned her head toward him. Slowly. Her expression was calm, soft even.

It made it worse.

And that, Goro realized, was the horror of it. That she didn’t hate them. Maybe she even cared. And still. Still, she did this.

The pit in his stomach dropped. They were going to die.

He pressed his hand harder against the glass, as if he could force the moment to rewind. As if he could undo his own blindness with sheer will.

Funny the last time he was about to die he was ready for it, wanted it even. This time when he had a spirit to fight for his life there was no damn thing he could do. 

Songbird had already chosen her path.

V has saved him before. Twice even. How sad would she be to know that it wasn’t enough.

The lights went out.

Then all he could hear were gunshots.

…

…

…

The moment seemed unrooted in time. It lasted barely a moment and yet it felt like it stretched forever.

As the gunshots faded, instincts from all his years spent as a bodyguard and soldier kicked in and he realized a few things at once. 

All the shots came from one area, too far to be the bargest’s watching him and Hansen.

Glass shattered all around him, the sound of metal piercing flash, gasps of pain, the sound of bodies hitting the floor. He actually didn’t hear any shots fired back.

He was left standing.

The lights snapped back on with a harsh electrical crack, flooding the lab in brutal, sterile white.

Goro blinked against the glare.

And when his eyes adjusted, the scene laid itself bare with merciless clarity.

The floor was soaked in blood, deep pools of it spreading like a blooming infection across the tiles. Bodies littered the lab, a dozen men in Barghest armor, sprawled out in unnatural angles. 

Helmets shattered. Some still had their weapons half-raised, as if caught mid-thought, mid-motion.

And there, directly in front of him, barely a hand’s span away…

Kurt Hansen.

Motionless. Dead.

The shot that killed him had been surgical. Clean. A single round to the back of the skull, dead center. He was facing in his direction just a few centimeters away.

Goro didn’t need to guess what had happened.

The second Hansen had realized what was about to happen he must have lunged for him, maybe thinking he could regain control with a blade or a bullet or sheer brute force.

But he hadn't made it. Just a few centimeters short. Seconds short.

Goro’s breath left him in a slow, deliberate exhale.

He looked up.

Expecting-what?

Mayers with her FIA agents? Songbird? Maybe something else. His mind reached for an answer but refused to land.

And then he saw her.

And every rational thought he had shattered.

She stood at the top of the stairs. Framed by the white light pouring down through the overheads like something divine and cruel. Her body looked somehow... wrong. Off balance. She swayed slightly like the act of standing took too much of her concentration.

She looked beautiful. Even now.

Her silver hair caught the light, gleaming like metal threads. Her skin was pale but her golden eyes, those perfect eyes, still burned. Alive. Sharp.

For a long moment, Goro couldn’t breathe. His chest refused to rise, his legs refused to move.

Everything in him screamed to speak, to call her name, to close the distance. But his body had turned to stone. Paralyzed by awe. Shock. Guilt.

He didn't even register Johnny climbing up beside him, staggering to his feet like a man pulled from deep water.

Didn’t hear the footsteps. Didn’t hear the rapid shuffle across the blood-slick tiles.

Only registered the sudden snap of Johnny’s voice.

“What the fuck happened?!”

But the words passed over Goro like wind.

He couldn’t answer. Wouldn’t even if he tried.

Because he was too busy watching the world shift under his feet. Again.

It wasn’t until Johnny said out loud the thing he himself had been too afraid to say, that Goro snapped back into reality.

And it wasn’t just the name.

It was the way Johnny said it.

His voice so often bitter, brash, full of barbed wire, sounded different. Younger. Unsteady. As if hope had caught him by the throat and squeezed out something real for the first time in a long time.

“V?”

And she turned.

Her eyes flicked to him first just for a split second. And it was like a lance through his heart.

Then to Johnny.

Then-

Her gaze landed beside her. On the man standing next to her.

One Goro hadn’t noticed until now.

He followed her eyes.

And that’s when the coldness returned.

Because she hadn’t come alone.

And whatever this was, whatever this resurrection meant, it was not as simple as coming home.

It was that man beside her who spoke first.

He stepped forward with measured calm. Tall, lean, maybe early forties, with close-cropped dark brown hair and a quiet confidence that hung on him like armor. No armor visible, though. Just a dark tactical coat, no insignia, no flash, just function. Authority worn without needing to be spoken.

“Search the area,” he said, addressing the handful of operatives standing further away. “Do not engage remaining hostiles unless provoked. If you spot the target, observe only. Ping the location and remain unseen. There’ll be time to track her later. For now, prioritize staying alive.”

His tone was clear. Controlled. The voice of a man used to be obeyed.

Goro didn’t know who he was, but it was obvious he held power.

The man turned back to V. V who hadn’t moved, who still swayed subtly like her center of gravity hadn’t quite settled but when his hand found her arm, she stilled.

He leaned in, whispered something low into her ear.

V laughed. Quiet, unforced. Her smile bloomed not out of amusement but recognition. Comfort. Her hand barely moved, brushing lightly over his wrist in return.

Her eyes lifted again this time toward him and Johnny and now they burned. That fire was back. That infamous spark, too bright to be denied.

Goro’s throat tightened. He had no words for what he felt. Only questions. Questions he didn’t want to ask. The man left with the rest of his entourage leaving only the three of them in the room.

“How the fuck are you here and not, you know, kinda dead?” Johnny snapped, tact tossed to the wind. His arms flailed as he walked forward, still bleeding in places, hair a mess, clothes ragged with the day’s cost. “I’m not complaining or anything princess but we almost died trying to save your ass and turns out you’re just walking around not giving a damn to tell me you’re alive!?”

“ ‘V, how amazing to see you alive. You look incredible.’ That’s usually how you start these things,” she said dryly. She took a step toward him. “Oh also, ‘Thank you for saving my life again. I really can’t seem to stay alive without you.’ You’re forgetting that part too.”

Johnny threw his head back with a groan and a grin that didn’t match the bitterness in his voice.

“Oh, fuck off. What, you want me to hug you? Tearfully proclaim that without you, life had no meaning? Because that’s not happening.”

“Would’ve settled for a beer and a ‘glad you’re not dead’ ” V shot back, smirking.

The words between them were sharp. Mocking.

But their eyes-

Their eyes told another story.

Gold and brown, locked in silent defiance of everything around them. There was something loaded there. History. Affection buried under pain. Things no one in the room could hear but both of them understood perfectly.

Goro saw it.

And felt the hollow widen.

Because he wasn’t part of whatever this was.

“V.”

Her name caught in his throat like it didn’t belong to him anymore. Like saying it aloud might shatter the illusion.

He swallowed hard, forcing it past his pride, past the guilt that had rooted itself deep and permanent.

“It is… incredible to see you.” His voice was low, unsteady but composed- just barely. “Do not doubt that. But I can’t help but wonder… how is it possible?”

She turned toward him, meeting his eyes without hesitation.

He had imagined this moment, replayed it in too many sleepless nights. Sometimes with hope. More often with dread.

In his darker hours, his crueler hours, he had pictured her face cold and indifferent, gaze like ice, voice laced with bitterness. He’d convinced himself that when she saw him again, she’d remember only the silence he left her with. The cowardice. The way he followed his orders when he should’ve followed his heart. In his dreams they shined for him, inviting him closer.

But reality, as it often did, defied both punishment and fantasy.

Her eyes weren’t cold. They weren’t brimming with fury, or with pain. They were warm. Happy. Kind. A message written in silence: you are my friend, and I’m glad you’re here. And it was more than he deserved.

V smiled tired, amused, still catching her breath from whatever impossible path brought her back to them.

“Goro,” she said gently, like his name belonged on her tongue. “I’ll tell you and Johnny everything. The whole story. Just… maybe not here.”

She looked around the room casually, as if only now remembering the blood-soaked floor, the wreckage, the dozen bodies strewn like discarded uniforms.

“Not really the vibe for a heart-to-heart, you know?” Her smile tilted wry. “Unless your idea of emotional healing includes stepping over corpses.”

She took a careful step backward, more graceful this time but still a little shaky and gestured lightly toward the corridor.

“Come on. The job's not done yet.”

There was nothing left to say.

Not here. Not now.

Goro gave a slight nod and fell in behind her. Not out of habit. Not out of duty.

Because he wanted to.

“Come the fuck again?!” Johnny’s voice thundered, echoing off the sterile walls of the NetWatch conference room. 

He paced like a wolf in a cage, restless, feral, ready to bite anything that got too close. His fists clenched and unclenched in erratic rhythm, like his body couldn’t decide whether to punch a wall or just combust on the spot.

Goro sat near the end of the long, dark table, arms folded tightly across his chest. His eyes tracked Johnny’s pacing for a moment before flicking back to V, who sat cross-legged on the tabletop.

Her jaw was tight, her voice even tighter. They have been at it for what felt like hours now.

The room was as soulless as it got. An off-white box with blank walls, dozens of empty chairs lined up in tidy rows, and one central table clearly meant for sterile briefings, not emotional meltdowns.

Briefings for NetWatch agents.

Which, apparently, V now was.

That part still hadn’t settled right in Goro’s mind. V, reckless, defiant, untamable now walking under an agency badge? It didn’t compute. Not emotionally. Not logically.

Though, in a way, it made a twisted kind of sense.

She’d been corporate once. Arasaka-trained. Disciplined, measured. She knew the world of suits and surveillance. But that version of her felt a lifetime away from the woman he’d come to know. The woman who tore out of the city on a motorcycle like freedom owed her gas money.

Johnny’s reaction didn’t surprise him, how could it? A part of him felt the same unease. But he understood: loyalty always demanded its toll. He only prayed V would prove wiser than he had been, and make certain that her loyalty was never left unpaid.

Cutting Silverhand’s rant short, V rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fly out of her skull.

“For fuck’s sake, Johnny.”

“Don’t ‘for fuck’s sake’ me!” he snapped. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Her fingers drummed once, sharply, against the table’s edge. She was trying to stay calm. You could see it in the set of her shoulders. She tried very hard to maintain her composure. 

"I'm alive," she said flatly. "Technically. Because of NetWatch.”

Johnny blinked hard, like her words didn’t register right at all.

“They extracted what was left of me. Stabilized it for now,” V continued, looking at them both before staring straight at Silverhand again, almost like she challenged him to raise his voice again. “But let me remind you that that’s not enough.”

She paused, watching for understanding. When none came, she went on.

“I’m still software.”

She glanced down at her arm. Moved it like it was unfamiliar.

“Just an AI. Not… human. Not organic. I’m too fast. Too aware. Not built to run inside a real body anymore. Not without risk.”

Johnny’s mouth opened. Then closed again. 

He had heard it before and yet it struck Goro with the same weight as the first time: V could still die. They had fought with everything to bring her back, she had fought with everything not to lose herself. And still, it was not enough. She was not safe. How cruel, how bitterly unfair, that the universe sought to smother her flame when all she ever did was fight to burn brighter against it.

“I need the neural matrix.”

Goro felt the air change before a word was spoken, before Johnny’s voice even broke the silence. There was always volatility in him, a raw edge that never dulled but this was different. This was no simple anger. This was betrayal, tangled with grief, with the bitter wound of failing to be the hero who saved her.

Johnny rose abruptly, pacing like a caged animal, hands restless at his sides. Goro knew that look. He had seen it too many times before, just before someone made a mistake they could never take back.

“Or maybe your new corpo friends convinced you that you need it,” Johnny snapped, voice hot and jagged, “and they’ll use it to fuck with your head. Install a kill switch, scramble your brain, make you more obedient or some shit. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Enough.” Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and final.

V stood up, instantly, almost too fast. Her movements were just slightly off, as if her body hadn’t caught up to her mind yet. Goro watched her sway for a fraction of a second, steady herself, then glare. “Do you think I had options?! Do you think I chose this because I thought it’d be fun? Because I missed mandatory debriefings?!”

Johnny opened his mouth.

She didn’t let him speak.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Her voice hit the air like a blade. “You have no fucking idea what it’s like to feel your mind unravel, to feel yourself slipping. I forgot how to be. You think this is some fucking sellout deal? Let me spell it out: I. Need. It. Or. I. Die.”

Johnny didn’t back off. He stepped toward her, face twisted, eyes burning.

“I worked with a fucking corpo for you.” He jabbed a finger toward Goro without even glancing his way. “I got fucked over by Songbird. I played nice with the fucking NUSA. I betrayed everything I ever stood for to save you”

He laughed ugly and bitter. “Out of all the futures I ever imagined, V, I never pictured you working for a fucking corp.”

Goro saw the hit land, saw it twist something inside her.

“I was gone, Johnny. Gone. Dissolved in code. Scrambled. Shattered. They were the only ones who came. Who could put me back together. And you’re bitching at me because you don’t like the logo on the door?!”

Johnny turned away, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt. His hands ran through his hair, shaking. He looked like he wanted to scream but didn’t have enough breath left to pull it off.

Goro watched them both.

V’s hands clenched. Her breathing was shallow.

“This isn’t about me working for fucking Netwatch,” she snapped, voice raw. “I’m standing here and I’m dying. And guess what? I’ve been alive for barely a fucking day. One fucking day! My body doesn’t feel like it’s mine. My mind is too fast. My limbs lag behind. I’m nauseous, I’m dizzy, I’m furious, and I’m terrified. And I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

Johnny’s lip curled, but he didn’t speak. He turned away, already halfway to the door, posture coiled like a spring ready to snap in another direction.

Her voice caught him just as his hand reached for the door frame.

“I hope,” she said quietly, voice shaking but resolute, “that I matter more to you than your stupid fucking philosophy. Because you matter more to me than mine. NetWatch was the only choice I had. And it’s the only reason we’re all still breathing.”

Silence followed. Heavy. Sharp.

Goro didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

He just watched Johnny stop in the doorway, shoulders rising and falling with shallow breath. He didn’t turn around.

And then he walked out.

V sat back down hard, hands trembling slightly where they rested against her knees. The fire was still in her eyes, but the edge had dulled, burned out by exhaustion.

The silence in the room was still raw when Goro finally moved.

He hadn’t said a word since Johnny stormed out. Hadn’t looked away from V.

Goro stepped closer, slowly.

“V.”

She didn’t look up.

“He will come around,” he said softly, steady as stone. Then, with a faint touch of wry humor, he added, “He’s an idiot, yes but not a fool. He’ll find his way back.”

That earned the ghost of a smile from her. Small. Bitter.

“And how would you know what he’s going to do?” Her voice was tired. Blunt.

Goro let a breath of silence pass before he spoke.

“Because I watched him mourn you.”

The words made her flinch.

“I saw him bleed for you,” he went on, his voice soft but unyielding. “Saw him nearly break himself apart trying to bring you back.”

She lifted her head at that. And the look she gave him… it rooted him to the spot.

Her golden eyes, too bright, too knowing, fastened onto his as if they could strip away every layer of armor he had ever worn. And in them so many emotions shined. But not anger. Not sorrow. Just weight, the unbearable weight of someone who had lost too much, yet was still being asked to carry more.

“He’ll come back,” Goro said again, quieter this time. “Never doubt your place in his heart.”

“Thank you, Goro,” V said, her voice gentle, softer than he remembered, touched by something new. Then, almost like it slipped out before she could stop herself, she added, “You look good.”

It startled him more than it should have. His brows lifted slightly but he said nothing. His silence gave her the space to go on.

“After the last time I saw you…” she hesitated, eyes searching his face, “I wasn’t sure what you would do.”

There was a shadow behind her voice, worry. For him.

That alone nearly unraveled him.

Wasn’t that the dream? Not vengeance. Not duty. But to be seen. To be missed. To have someone wonder if you are alright. To care.

He had survived though if you asked him what for, he wouldn’t have been able to answer until this moment.

Something must’ve shown on his face, his longing, or whatever remained of it after weeks of regret and exhaustion, because she shifted, her posture straightening ever so slightly.

“Goro,” she asked, voice quiet, “are you alright?”

A simple question.

A cruel one.

What could he possibly tell her? That no, he was not alright, that inside he was coming apart, thread by thread. That Songbird’s betrayal still pressed against his chest like iron, stealing every easy breath. That her return, miraculous as it was, had left him more unmoored than ever.

That he admired her? Not with the passing reverence owed to strength or resilience but with a devotion so raw it burned, making it hard to meet her eyes for too long. That if she died again, if they failed again, he would never forgive himself for all the truths he had swallowed, all the words he had left unsaid.

For all his years, for every battle survived and every moment of measured control, nothing had ever terrified him quite like this. Not blades, not bullets. Just the weight of a few honest words.

But he could be brave. Just once. Brave in a way that mattered.

“I know this isn’t the right moment,” he said at last, voice steady but hushed, as if speaking too loud might break him. “Not even close. But I can’t keep what I feel locked away any longer. I owe to you the truth most of all.”

That got her attention.

Her eyes met his, tired and sharp at once. A flicker of something passed through them, surprise mostly. And maybe dread.

He continued.

“I have failed you more than once. I was not there when you needed me most. Too often, I placed duty above you, and those choices cannot be undone. They are the weight I will always carry.” He lowered his head slightly in shame of his old self. “But I will not dishonor you with silence, nor with cowardice. You have always valued bravery, so let me be brave, at long last. I care for you. Deeply, beyond duty or debt. And I needed you to hear it, if only once, and from me.”

She blinked, mouth parting slightly.

“I…” she started, then stopped, pressing her hands against her knees. “Goro… I’m not even sure I have feelings right now.”Her voice cracked. “I remember what love feels like. I remember all the good things. I just don’t feel them. Not really.”

She met his gaze again. “I don’t want to lie to you. I care. I know I do. But it’s like watching it all through glass. Like I’m mimicking the emotion instead of actually feeling it.”

He nodded slowly, trying to form his response carefully.

“I understand,” he said. And then, to her surprise, he stepped forward. “But I disagree.”

That drew a blink from her. “What?”

“You’re overwhelmed. Unsettled. Disconnected. Not unfeeling. There’s a difference.” He paused, then added, softer. “And I’ve seen enough people lose themselves to know when someone is fighting to stay human. You are still yourself. Even now.”

V looked away, breathing shallow.

Goro didn’t press. Just let the silence settle between them like something fragile and necessary.

“I agree to wait for your answer,” he said. “Until you feel more yourself. However that self may look. Whatever your answers might be, I will accept it then.”

She looked up again, something in her expression shifting, gratitude edged in confusion.

“Goro…” she said softly, unsure where to take it.

He gave her the smallest of nods. The kind that meant, that’s enough for now.

Though the tentative silence didn’t last for long.

“Honestly,” she added, grinning wryly, “the irony’s killing me. You ghosted me, and now I’m like a ghost.”

That stopped him.

His expression didn’t change but something flickered behind his eyes. A tightness. A wince that didn’t quite reach the surface.

She noticed. Her grin faded, just a little.

“Shit, sorry. That was-”

“No,” Goro said, voice calm but too even. “It was fair.”

There was a beat of quiet, the mood slipping into something softer. 

Her eyes drifted toward the floor, brow furrowing.

“The thing is… I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be anymore.” Her voice was lower now, not guarded, just tired. “Existing behind the blackwall, I feel it changed me. Took something away from me and how am I ever going to be able to explain that?”

Goro didn’t interrupt.

“I’m V. But I’m not. You know?”

He nodded once. “I know.”

“I keep trying to remember what it felt like. Being me,” she said.

She kept going.

“I thought once I got a body again it’d all snap back into place. Like the old instincts would just kick in. But it’s like I’m trying to wear someone else’s skin. Someone I only vaguely remember being.”

A long silence stretched.

Then Goro spoke, voice quiet. “You shouldn’t force yourself to become who you remember being.”

She glanced at him.

He raised an eyebrow, solemn. “The world’s not how you remember it either. After all…” He tilted his head slightly. “You’re a corporate agent now. And I’m technically a free man.”

For a beat, she just stared at him.

Then she snorted.

Then laughed.

“Jesus. What a fucked-up world.”

“Mhm,” Goro agreed. “But strangely symmetrical.”

V shook her head, grinning. Goro allowed himself a smile then. A small, rare thing.

“Truth is,” Goro said, “I’m not sure who I am either. Not anymore. Not after… everything.”

She looked over at him again, something gentler in her expression now.

“I spent decades thinking I knew. Soldier. Samurai. Honor, duty, code. I survived dirty streets, I survived Arasaka. Survived you.” He smiled faintly at that. “And found myself outside the walls with no orders, no plan, and far too many thoughts.”

She let that hang between them.

Then Goro glanced over, face a little more serio us but not grim.

“But a very clever, stubborn woman once told me it’s never too late to learn new tricks.”

V blinked, startled for a second.

“I think we’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

She smiled.

Soft. Real.

“Yeah,” she said. “Eventually.”

The door opened with a low hiss. The man from before stepped in, tablet in hand, expression tight.

“She’s surfaced.”

That snapped the air in the room back into focus.

“Songbird?” V asked.

Phil nodded. “Signal’s clean. We’ve got her, finally. East quadrant. Old comms node. She’s not running. Not yet.”

V was already moving.

So was Goro.

No time left for ghosts.

Only the living.

Chapter 19: The path of most resistance

Notes:

I'm not really sure about this one. On one hand I really like how emotional it turned out but the action sequences where so hard to write. I spent so long trying to rewrite them. I really hope you guys like it!

The control room was quiet, save for the soft hum of monitors and the occasional clatter of fingers on keys. The city outside stretched into morning, pale and cold, light bleeding slowly through the metal blinds.

V sat at the main console, hunched forward, legs stretched out, one foot propped up on a dead monitor. Her head hurt. Her eyes burned. Her coffee had gone cold hours ago. She was wearing someone else’s hoodie, Phil’s, probably since she managed to spill a drink on herself earlier. It smelled like vanilla and not the fake, synthetic stuff.

Across the room, Goro stood with arms crossed, spine straight, eyes fixed on the holomap like it had personally insulted him. Phil lounged in the chair beside her, hands behind his head, spinning slowly side to side like he’d completely forgotten they were chasing a rogue Blackwall-powered netrunner.

Johnny, of course, was nowhere to be found. Too busy being a hypocritical asshole. She didn’t know where he’d gone and frankly didn’t care. 

And yes she knew, thank you very much, that it was a shit lie, one she wasn’t selling even to herself, much less to others if Goro’s concerned glances suggested something. But if Johnny needed space to work through his latest crisis of “principles,” good for him. She had work to do. Staying alive seemed like an important thing to focus on but hey maybe she’s fucking biased or too blinded by the all powerful Netwach to use her brain anymore. Maybe fucking dying was fucking cool now. Fucking asshole…

Phil was mid-rant about the last few episodes of Guns and Horses, a masterpiece of a show featuring sexy motorcycles, unsafely fast driving and interestingly not a single horse, that V had missed entirely while being dead.

“Wait, wait,” she said, spinning in her chair to face him. “You're telling me Hayden survived the crash? And also the explosion?”

Phil grinned. “And then he drove himself to the hospital on the still burning bike.”

V put her hands over her face. “I was gone for like three months, not three years. What the fuck did they do to that show?”

“I kept the recordings,” Phil said smugly. “You’re catching up after this mess is done.”

Goro, without turning, let out a slow, dramatic sigh. “It is concerning how little the pair of you care for good media.”

V lifted her head. “And what would you call good media?”

“ Ryōri no Tetsujin ” Goro proclaimed proudly.

“And…” V drawled amused. “What is it? Come on Samurai, don't keep us waiting.”

“It’s a cooking show,” Goro said quickly.

Phil wheeled around in his chair. “No way.”

Goro finally turned toward them, stone-faced. “Chef Shinji is a master of order. His knife technique is flawless.”

V blinked. “I’m not surprised at all. You are a freak when it comes to food.”

“I am not as you said, a freak.” Goro blinked back. ”Good food is a form of respect.”

V burst out laughing. It wasn’t loud, or bright, but it was real.

The map blinked. A green pin flickered on the outer edge of Pacifica, a small and quiet place. Remote.

V leaned forward, mouth flattening into a grim line.

“Got her.”

Goro was already moving. “Location?”

“No, just digital trace. Moon station,” she said. “She’s hacking the network of Pre-Orbit Transport Hub C. She’s not hiding anymore, she’s running for the hills as fast as she can.”

Phil’s amusement dropped instantly. “Shit. She’s going off-world.”

V nodded. “That’s the only reason she’d risk pinging this deep. She’s looking for clearance… Fuck! She left, must have felt me poking.”

Goro stared at the screen. Calculating. “Then we move now. Before she can have a chance to run.”

She pushed herself upright, every muscle screaming like she’d stolen strength on loan and the body was calling in its debt. Her spine popped as she stretched, a groan slipping out before she could stop it. She felt heavy, slower than she should be,like the air itself was trying to drag her back down. This was it, maybe the last run she’d ever take, and she was stepping into it already half-broken. Still, her hands steadied on the desk, and she drew in a breath that tasted like rust and resolve. No more time to hesitate. The most important job of her life was waiting and she’d meet it face on, even if it killed her.

Phil barely managed to announce the departure when the door creaked open behind them.

Johnny stepped inside, arms crossed, face unreadable.

His eyes met V’s for half a second. No scowl. No smile. 

“Are we finally doing something?” The fucking nerve on that asshole.

She shot him a look sharp enough to cut chrome, jaw tight, before turning back to the console and keying in the last sequence.

“Done with your tantrum yet?” she fired back. Sure, maybe she wasn’t much better but at least her bullshit deserved a little forgiveness considering the situation.

Johnny didn’t flinch.

Goro exhaled, long-suffering. “If the two of you are finished…”

Phil stood up, already moving. “Let’s go stop a launch.”

---

The moon station loomed overhead. V had to admit it made for an impressive sight. She may have even spared a moment to admire the modern beauty of it if she had a second to spare. 

NetWatch had already cleared the way behind the scenes. Cameras looped. Sensors blinked green even when they shouldn’t have. Whatever web Phil and his suits had spun, it was holding.

For now.

V crouched in front of the locked panel to the security entrance, cracked plastic and sparking edges barely clinging to the wall. Her fingers flew across the interface, bypassing third-rate encryption with grim efficiency.

“C’mon, you piece of junk,” she muttered. “Don’t make me put you on my shit list.”

The door clicked.

“Nice,” Phil breathed behind her, impressed.

“Took you long enough,” Johnny muttered. His revolver was already in his hand, finger twitching near the trigger. “Let’s grab the damn thing before you croak again.”

They moved. Fast.

The plan was razor-thin but technically it was a plan. Considering that last time she actually had a plan went to shit as well, the lack of it didn’t concern her all that much.

Phil’s team stayed outside keeping eyes on entry points, comms scrubbed, ready to intercept any curious parties before things exploded into headlines. Crowd control agents slipped into the terminal posing as bored passengers, on the lookout for Songbird. No one was here for heroics.

Except her, Johnny, Goro and the handful of NetWatch grunts unlucky enough to be on her team. They would see some sweet action. God, NetWatch really needed better combat training. V could tell half of these agents would cry if a gun was so much as pointed at them.

So the “plan” was simple. Find Songbird, somewhere here. Neutralize her, somehow not killing her per Netwach orders. Retrieve the neural matrix. And boom she’s alive. Simple as that.

She stalked down a long white corridor, sterile as a morgue, shadowed by three agents. Footsteps echoed in tight formation.

Too quiet.

No staff. No chatter. Even the air felt staged.

Only the defense systems hummed quietly overhead cycling on standby.

Too easy. Way too easy. She must know that they are coming.

Phil’s voice cut into her earpiece, brittle and too calm.

“Good news we’ve located all the security bots.”

V tensed.

“Bad news they’re all converging on Station B. That’s where the launch train departs.”

She swore under her breath.

“At least we know where she’s going.” Trying to be positive. Just a little.

Of course, Johnny couldn’t let that slide.

“Lots of good it’ll do us if we get shredded into modern art.”

Annoying prick.

“She’s not there yet,” V snapped. “If we move smart, we can flank her, cut her off at the-”

She felt it before it even hit, like heat on the back of her neck. That pressure. That buzz of invasive code crawling over every exposed circuit.

The sudden explosion seemed to shake the whole foundation of the building. The lights across the corridor blew out followed by a crackling, high-frequency pulse that tore through the hallway like a scream made of static.The tremble was hard enough to force them to cling to the wall to keep standing.

“You were saying?” 

Fucking asshole always tried to have the last word. In any other situation V would make sure to put him in his place but she had something way more important to worry about. Because the energy causing the blast was familiar, very very familiar. 

Her spine stiffened.

They took off running, boots pounding down the metal-plated corridor, the sharp tang of ozone still thick in the air.

The smoldering hole Songbird had punched through the infrastructure still crackled with unstable energy. The edges flickered, glitching in and out like static in the fabric of reality itself, warping the light around it. Blackwall residue shimmered like oil on glass, sick and beautiful.

Through the jagged tear in the corridor, they could already see them. A wall of security droids, shoulder to shoulder, red optics gleaming through the smoke. All of them clustered near where the train would stop. Cutting of their access.

Waiting. 

Ready.

“She’s using Blackwall energy,” V snapped, HUD flickering around her like a dying signal. Warning pings danced in her vision, corrupted code trailing along her arm like veins of static. “Full-scale override. She’s hijacked half the building.”

Johnny didn’t hesitate. “We stay together. Take the floor one level at a time-”

“No.”

They both stopped, turned toward her.

V’s expression hardened, all business now. She wasn’t nervous, nerves got people killed. It felt like something in her had snapped back into place. The merc. The hitter. Someone who didn’t ask, didn’t wait, just kicked the door in and clawed her way through hell until she stood victorious on the other side.

“You two stay here. Cover the corridor, make sure I have a clear way to push through. I go in.”

“Absolutely not,” Goro said. His voice was pure steel.

“You’ll get torn apart,” Johnny added, already pissed. “You’re not some kind of tech messiah just because-”

“Actually?” V cut in, stepping forward. “I kind of am.” Her tone didn’t waver. 

She raised her hand like she could physically hold them back. “I still have the Blackwall protocols from when I was inside. Firewalls. Filters. I can get close without getting fried. You two?” Her eyes flicked between them. “You’ll turn into melted meat and broken hardware the second she uses this shit again.”

Neither of them spoke because they knew she was right.

“I’m serious,” she said, this time lower. “I know how to survive it. You don’t.”

“You’re not invincible,” Goro said. But his voice had lost some of the edge.

“No,” she agreed. “But I’m immune-ish. Close enough. The best we can get actually.”

Another pulse ripped through the corridor, a sharp, high-frequency, loud enough to rattle their teeth. Lights above exploded in a chain reaction, raining sparks. The droids twitched like something ancient and angry had just whispered in their ears.

The train was coming. V could hear the distant metal grind. Songbird was trying to escape.

She had to move now.

V turned, already mid-step.

“Cover my back. Keep them off me.” She didn’t look back. “I’ll deal with her.”

Johnny’s voice followed her, low and growling. “You better come back.”

V grinned, all teeth and fatalism.

“I always do.”

Then the hallway exploded into chaos.

Gunfire roared. Sparks flew. The corridor lit up in white flashes as the boys opened fire behind her, drawing attention, clearing space.

V ducked just in time, barely missing the clawed arm of a drone screeching in from her left. She rolled hard across the metal floor, the impact rattling through her bones.

A shot rang out behind her, sharp, controlled. The drone spasmed mid-turn and hit the ground with a metallic crunch, its optics dimming instantly. 

She came up on one knee, weapon raised. Two more droids ahead, angled, closing in fast.

She didn’t hesitate.

Three rounds. Chest, chest, optic.

The first bot dropped, crumpling with a flicker of sparks.

Another two shots. Dead.

Another security bot staggered back next to her, glitching, then folded in on itself as Goro’s rifle barked twice behind her in short, decisive bursts.

The corridor lit up in stuttering flashes of gunpowder and muzzle fire, air hot with ozone. It smelled like copper and burning coolant.

They pushed forward like a unit, tight, fast, efficient. NetWatch agents moved in sync, flanking and clearing. Thank to all fucking gods they acctulay could be useful. 

Goro and Johnny held the rear, cutting down anything that came too close. V didn’t look back, she didn’t need to. She trusted her team to have her back.

Her job was ahead.

That was when she heard it.

Low. Distant. A deep mechanical grind, building fast. The floor beneath her vibrated like something was waking up.

The train.

Sleek, high-speed. Her heart slammed once, hard.

She wasn’t going to make it.

Then she saw her.

Songbird.

Straight ahead, limping through the flickering remains of the control room, one hand gripping her side, the other dragging a trail of static interference behind her like a bleeding glitch. Her silhouette was outlined in red against the haze of ruined circuitry, moving fast, far too fast for V’s liking.

V fired.

One, two, three shots in quick bursts, half-aimed.

Just pressure to slow her down.

The second round of shots sparked off the walkway railing, ricocheting high with a sharp ping. Song stumbled hard, pitching sideways for a second before catching herself on the edge of the wall. Her head snapped around, eyes wild, burning, lips curled into something between a grimace and a dare.

Good.

It was enough to slow her.

V ran.

Full sprint.

No cover. No time. Just velocity and adrenaline.

The hallway blurred as she tore through it, boots slamming against the floor. Her HUD blinked red warnings in the corners of her vision. Pulse spiking. Muscles overworked.

The platform burst into view.

The train doors hissed open.

And there she was.

Songbird. She seemed slumped, pale. Blood darkened her shirt. But still on her feet. Still fighting.

The doors were closing.

V didn’t stop to think.

She launched forward, legs burning, air shredding past her ears. The edge of the platform rushed up beneath her.

She hit the floor of the train just as the doors sealed shut behind her.

The station vanished.

The world went still.

It was just the two of them now.

The hum of the train filled the space like a heartbeat. Steady and distant. 

Songbird collapsed into the nearest seat, gasping. Blood smeared her side where V’s bullet had grazed her. Not fatal for now but it would be soon if she didn’t receive any medical help. So Mi looked half-dead already.

She looked up.

Eyes glassy. Terrified.

“You got me,” she whispered.

V stood by the door, panting. Her hands shook, her jaw clenched. She didn’t raise her weapon. Didn’t have to.

“Yeah,” she said breathless.

Songbird smiled. Small. Broken. A little blood in her teeth.

“I didn’t think I’d run this far.”

She laughed then, a high, wet, desperate sound. “They told you to bring me back alive, didn’t they?”

And then she started crying.

“Don’t. Don’t take me back. Please.” Songbird shook her head weakly. “It’s already too late to save me, don’t let them cut me apart to see what’s left. Please, V. Kill me. You have to.”

V’s eyes stayed on her.

“I’m too valuable to lose” she muttered. “Whether to Netwatch or Militech or just Myers. There is no hope for me.”  The tears were now overwhelming. They left glittering streaks across Songbird's cheeks. “If you take me alive you I will always be haunted.”

She looked at V then. “No hope for you too now.”

“That’s not true.” V frowned. “Netwatch isn’t like them.”

“They are all the same, ”Songbird shook her head weakly. “Or worse. Maybe you’re right, maybe they are different. Maybe my life would have actually been better if I had just let them find me instead of Reeds and Myers.” She took a shaky inhale. “It doesn’t matter now but for your sake I hope you are right.”

Before V could figure out what to even say, Song continued.

“If I couldn’t be free in life, at least let me be free in death. Please.”

V looked at her.

At the girl who tried. Who reached too far. Who burned herself trying to outrun the powers that tried to tame her. Who fought just as fiercely as V did against death.

And failed.

Her grip on the gun tightened.

“You know,” V said slowly, voice hoarse, scraped raw. “This all could’ve gone different.”

Songbird laughed, a hollow rasp that barely counted as sound.

“Yeah. Maybe. But I had to try.”

“You tried alone.”

Songbird’s face tightened, she couldn’t hide a flinch.

V moved closer, each step heavy, the train rocked them slightly with every turn of the rail. 

“If there’s one thing I figured out in all this mess…” she continued, “it’s that trying to do the impossible by yourself?”

She crouched, eye to eye with the woman crumbling in front of her.

“It’s the fastest way to lose everything.”

Songbird’s lips trembled, tears spilling fresh, freely down her cheeks.

“I get it,” V whispered. “More than you think.”

And she did. God, she did.

She’d fought tooth and nail to live. Lied to herself until the lies sounded like truth. Ripped her way out of death and back again, dragging pieces of herself she barely recognized. And even now, standing here, she wasn’t sure what the hell she was anymore. 

But she wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

And that was the only thing Songbird had never learned. The only thing she never would.

The train hummed on, smooth and gentle, as if nothing monumental was happening inside.

Songbird sagged deeper into the seat, her breath shallow, rattling. Her hands trembled, one pressed weakly against the wound on her side. The bleeding had slowed, but that didn’t matter. Looking at her it was clear that the fight had already left her.

Her gaze drifted up, red and wet, locking on V’s. For a second she looked younger. Smaller. Like a kid too tired to keep pretending to be brave.

“Please, V…” The words came out cracked, fragile. “I meant what I said. I’m just… so tired.”

Her lips quivered, voice breaking apart into pleading. “Please. Kill me.”  

Here she was, alone on a train, begging in front of the only person she’d hoped might understand. Her trembling hands reached for V’s, weak and unsteady, streaked with blood that wouldn’t stop.

And in that moment, all the noise of Night City, all the fire and fury V had lived through, felt impossibly far away. None of it mattered now. She took Songbird’s hands, sticky with half-dried blood, and held them tight. The skin was clammy, already cooling, fingers twitching as if they couldn’t decide whether to hold on or let go. V squeezed harder trying to press some warmth into them.

Here it was, stripped down to nothing: one broken voice, begging for an end, and V forced to be the one to hear it. Songbird’s fingers shook, then slowly uncurled, like she was giving up even on the act of holding. Her palm opened against V’s. Something cold, metalic and sharp slid into V’s hand. She didn’t need to look. She knew exactly what it was. Knew what Songbird was asking of her. Knew what it would mean to answer.

“Please.” 

V stepped closer.

Slow. Heavy.

She raised the gun. 

Songbird looked up at her, tears trailing freely down her cheeks.

And smiled.

“You know,” she said, her voice no more than a breath, “I would’ve liked to have met you when I was younger. Before all this. I think… I think we might’ve been friends.”

V stared at her.

Her grip tightened on the pistol.

Then, slowly, she smiled too.

Soft. Sad. Worn thin.

“Yeah,” she said.  “Would’ve been nice.”

Songbird closed her eyes.

V exhaled.

“Goodbye, Song. Hope wherever you're going... it's nothing like here.”

She pulled the trigger.

One shot. Clean. 

Final.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! Next chapter is next but don't worry if you like it I'm actually working on a sequel! It will be less action and more relationships between characters and feelings.

Chapter 20: Digital Horizon

Notes:

Here we are at the end of our journey! I kinda don't believe that this is the last chapter lol I loved writing this story so much. I have already finished the first chapter of the sequel but because I'm going to be starting my phd program soon and working ful time I will post it every two weeks instead.

I really wanted to thank all of you for your sweet comments and support, it makes me so so so happy to know that people like this story. Also very special thanks to the incredible C0ldGlitt3r for inspiring me 💖 this story wouldn't exist without you!

The first thing V noticed when she clawed her way back to consciousness was that everything was too bright.

The ceiling above her hummed, buzzing with harsh white light, stabbing straight through her skull. She tried to focus, to anchor herself on something solid, but all she got was sterile emptiness and the sharp ache spreading through her body like someone had replaced her nerves with barbed wire.

Her throat was dry, her chest heavy. She shifted slightly in the bed, and even that tiny movement made her muscles scream like rusted joints in an old machine. A broken groan slipped out before she could stop it.

She was awake. Alive. She did it. She actually fucking did it.

Shit.

A faint rustle of fabric pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts. She turned her head, too fast apparently seeing as it started to hurt and froze.

Goro stood at the far end of the room, arms crossed, silent as a statue, eyes fixed on her like he’d been standing there for years.

Her chest tightened. A dozen things wanted to spill out of her mouth, questions, curses, shouts of joy, but all she managed was the weakest attempt at a smile. Her lips barely moved. 

“If you’ve been staring at me like that the whole time I was under,” she rasped, her voice hoarse. “We’re gonna have to talk about boundaries.”

Goro didn’t even flinch. His voice came low, heavy. “You’re awake.”

V coughed, the sound scraping her raw lungs. Pain shot through her ribs, but she still managed a crooked grin. “What gave it away?”

The words came out, but inside, her chest was twisting, half in relief, half in dread. 

Her eyes scanned the room. The bland walls. The vitals monitor. The silence.

Her lips parted before she could stop herself, the name slipping out hoarse and fragile.
“Johnny?”

No answer. Her pulse spiked, shallow breath catching in her throat. What if he wasn’t there? What if she’d done all this, clawed her way back from the edge, only to wake up alone? The thought sank in fast, sharp and ugly. After everything, after surviving the impossible, she couldn’t stand the idea of him being gone.

Her gaze snapped to Goro, desperate. “Where is he?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered down, then back to hers, steady but unreadable.

“He was here,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Almost all the time.”

V stilled, blinking against the sting in her eyes. The knot in her throat burned.

“He complained constantly.” Goro continued, shifting his stance, almost uncomfortable.

She let out a shaky breath, part relief, part shame at how badly she needed to hear it. A smile threatened, weak and bitter. “Sounds… like him.”

Her hand trembled as she reached for the blanket, twisting the fabric between her fingers. She hated how small her voice sounded when she asked, “Is he coming back?”

Goro’s silence was answer enough.

She swallowed hard, jaw tightening, trying to bite back the surge of panic clawing at her chest. 

Finally, Goro spoke. His voice was steady, deliberate. “He will return.”

Her head jerked toward him, searching his face for any crack, any sign of doubt. “How do you know?”

Something softened in his expression. He stepped closer, setting a glass of water on the table beside her bed. “Because he did not leave your side for days. Because he argued with everyone who came near you. Because he refused to accept that you would not wake.”

V blinked fast, a tear slipping free before she could catch it. She turned her face away, ashamed.

“You should not be ashamed,” Goro said quietly, as if reading her. “You have done what few could. Even the strongest are allowed to want… someone there.”

Her chest tightened, raw and aching, but the panic eased, just a fraction. She swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “I just… I need to know we’ll be okay.”

Goro inclined his head, firm. “You will. He will not let you go. Not now.”

She closed her eyes, finally letting the reassurance settle, fragile but real. 

Goro nodded satisfied and handed her a glass of water. “He also attempted to pick fights with Agent Cornway.”

V blinked. “Who?”

He frowned, displeased. “Phil.”

“Oh,” she said, grinning.

Goro rolled his eyes. It was small, subtle. But it was there.

“He was attempting to monitor your vitals,” Goro said, dry as dust. “Silverhand insisted he was stealing your soul.”

She chuckled again, softer this time. “And here I was thinking Johnny didn’t care.”

Goro met her eyes again. Serious and sincere. 

V looked away at that. 

She reached up and adjusted the IV with one hand, more to give herself something to do than anything else. “Thanks,” she said, quietly. “For being here.”

“It is an honour,” Goro said, tilting his head slightly. “But allow me to call a doctor for you.”

The check-up was quick. Fourteen days, they said. She’d been under for fourteen days. Two weeks she was glad to sacrifice if it meant a sure future. 

“I have already notified Victor and Misty,” Goro said, voice as steady as ever. “They came often. To sit with you.”

Her throat tightened. Victor, the one who patched her up when no one else would. And Misty with her quiet words, her incense, her strange calm that always felt like home. The thought of them sitting by her side while she hovered somewhere between life and death…it cracked something open inside her. She blinked hard, but the tears still burned.

“And Panam,” Goro added after a pause. His jaw tensed, his tone clipped. “I called her as well.”

That pulled her eyes away from the ceiling. She searched his face. “And?”

He hesitated, just long enough for her to know. “It did not go well,” he admitted, carefully choosing each word. “When she learned where you were… and under whose care…”

His expression said the rest.

V laughed, but it was sharp, bitter, and it scraped her throat raw. “Yeah. Figures.” She turned her face away, eyes burning.

Panam. Her fierce, stubborn, ride-or-die Panam. Until the moment came where Panam’s lines in the sand mattered more than V’s life. Where her hatred of corps outweighed the fact that V was bleeding out, desperate, dying.

Just like Johnny.

The realization hit her like a knife twisting. First Johnny, now Panam. Both of them so righteous, so damn sure of their ideals. Like it was worth more than her.

Her chest heaved, breath shaky, fury and heartbreak warring inside her. She loved them, God, she loved them more than she’d ever admit. They were her family, her people, her everything. The thought of seeing Victor’s crooked smile, of Misty’s soft voice telling her the stars still had plans for her, it was the only thing that made this sterile white room bearable.

But the betrayal sat like broken glass under her skin. Johnny, who’d sworn they were in this together, who’d sworn he wouldn’t let her go, he wasn’t here. And Panam, who once called her sister, had chosen her war with the corps over V’s damn heartbeat.

Her voice broke before she even realized she was speaking. “Why is it always like this?” she whispered, almost to herself. V bit down hard, tasting blood in her mouth, furious at herself for even saying it out loud. She didn’t want pity. 

“V,” Goro started softly, reaching out to take her hand in his. His hand closed gently around hers. His grip wasn’t forceful, wasn’t insistent. Just steady. Grounding.“They are both strong-willed people. People who care about their ideals, sometimes more loudly than wisely. But do not doubt, even for a moment, that in their hearts you are more important than any cause.”

She turned her head, meeting his eyes, searching for cracks, for the lie. He didn’t look away.

“All they need,” he continued, “is a moment. For those big emotions to settle. For them to remember what truly matters.” His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles, enough to anchor her. “And when that moment comes, they will stand with you. They will not let you go.”

V swallowed hard, chest aching. She wanted to believe him. She wanted it so bad it hurt. But the bitterness still dug deep, sharp edges cutting into her.

Her voice came out a whisper, ashamed. “And what if they don’t?”

For the first time, something almost like a smile touched Goro’s mouth, sad but certain. “Then they are fools. And you will not be alone. Not while I still breathe.”

The words settled over her like a weight and a balm all at once. She blinked against the tears that came anyway, squeezing his hand tighter. 

She can do this, she can wait. After all this time around she has more time than ever before.

The neural matrix transfer had been a success. NetWatch had confirmed her mind was stable, functional, intact. Whatever she was now, it still counted as V.

Still she had one more challenge in front of her. Physical therapy. A breeze considering her last job consisted of cheating death. Nothing could ever top that but well…phisical therapy sucked. A lot. There was no elegant way to say it.

Every morning started with some chipper medical tech trying to coax her out of bed like she wasn’t already awake. Hurting, sure, but awake.

Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Her balance was garbage. Her left arm still twitched at the elbow if she moved it too fast. But worst of all? Everyone treated her like she was seconds from shattering.

It felt like she was barely allowed to stretch without someone flinching.

It made her miss Johnny even more. If he were here, he’d never let this shit go on. He’d be leaning against the wall, arms crossed, tossing barbs until she snapped back, calling her lazy, telling her to get off her ass, maybe mocking her for groaning like an old woman every time she shifted. He had a way of cutting through the weight with a sharp edge that somehow made it easier to carry on.

But he wasn’t here.

Not once since she opened her eyes had he shown his face. Not even a flicker of that cigarette smoke in the corner of her vision. And the longer the silence stretched, the more it stung. She told herself she didn’t care. That if he won’t make an effort then she shouldn’t. 

But the truth pressed harder with every passing hour: she missed him. She needed him.

And it pissed her off.

She wasn’t going to sit here and entertain some pathetic pity party, not after everything she’d clawed her way back from. She had survived the impossible. She had dragged herself through fire and wires and death itself, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to waste whatever time she had left crying over people who couldn’t get their shit together.

Still… the thought gnawed at her. The ache of his absence burrowed deep, leaving her raw. If she wanted to make it through this she had to focus on recovery. On getting stronger. On making sure that when Johnny finally did show his smug face again, she’d be standing tall enough to meet his eyes.

She started walking again on day four.

Started punching things by day six.

Ten days in, they let her into the gym.

She was sparring in the basement gym with an instructor who clearly thought he should take it easy on her.

Bad call.

Her reflexes were still slow, but not that slow. Her balance was off, but her aim was still strong. When she slammed the heel of her palm into his ribs, she saw the exact moment he realized he wasn’t dealing with a rookie agent.

She didn’t gloat. Much.

“Thanks for the warm-up,” she said, stepping over him. 

Ok so maybe she did. But she was tired of the shitty careful treatment.

On day twelve she was sure she would finally snap and murder someone.

She pulled herself up on the edge of the bench, sweaty, sore, and about five seconds from exploding. That’s when Phil walked in.

He didn’t say anything. Just tossed her a set of gloves and pointed to the mat.

V raised a brow. “You serious?”

“Everyone else is scared to come too close to you,” he said. “And frankly I’m tired of listening to you insult my staff.”

She shrugged. “Tell them to stop treating me like a glass doll.”

“Then show me you’re not.”

Now that she could get behind.

The first hit came from V. A fast jab, testing her opponent’s reaction speed. Phil blocked it cleanly. Huh, so he was good. Not just a paper pusher it seemed. The man fought like someone who knew exactly what his limits were and wasn’t interested in exceeding them.

V, on the other hand, was mad. She had a terrible, well months, and finally a moment when she was safe enough to work through it. And yet the universe had decided to keep on piling shit on her until she was just about ready to go completely insane. 

She was sad, miserable and mad at Johnny and Panam.

She threw two fast punches aiming for Phil’s chest. 

She was constantly tired. Her body wasn’t responding the way it should. Her balance was still off. Muscles lagged by a half-second. Every strike she threw landed a little duller than she meant. And every time Phil didn’t go down, her irritation sharpened.

The fight turned mean.

She clipped his shoulder. He landed one square to her ribs. They broke apart, circled again. V wiped sweat from her face, chest heaving.

She launched in again. A high hook, feint low, swing.

And again. 

He let her throw one punch after another, blocking those he could and rolling with the punches that slipped through his guard. They kept at it until that manic energy V felt rippling under her skin finally fell silent. 

She threw a strong right hook but stumbled, losing her balance. Phil quickly stepped closer to catch her.

Her muscles burned, she was breathing heavily as she slowly slid down to sit with his help. After weeks of this shit her head was once again clean.

Phil dropped onto the floor next to her, offering her a bottle of water.

“You’re officially cleared for semi-active status,” he said casually.

V popped the cap. “Already? Thought you nerds liked more paperwork.”

He gave her a look. “They want you. Badly. After what you did to bring down Songbird, half of HQ thinks you’re a goddess.”

She snorted. 

“You’re joining officially, right?” he asked. “That’s the plan?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Phil didn’t press her. Just sat there beside her, elbows on his knees, gaze locked on the gym wall, giving her space to sort her thoughts.

“I’m not conflicted.”

Phil glanced over. Waited.

“About joining.” She took a long drink of water, let the bottle rest against her knee. “I get it. I’ve seen what’s on the other side of that wall. Felt it clawing at me, whispering shit no human should hear.”

She looked down at her hands.

“We need people keeping those things contained. We need to make sure it doesn’t leak out. If I can help with that? I will. Hell, I already did.”

Phil nodded slowly. “But…?”

V exhaled through her nose.

“Johnny’s not gonna see it that way.” Her voice was flat, but there was weight behind it. Regret, maybe. Weariness. “He’s still not talking to me. I called him once and he went on and on about government leash, selling out and shit like that.”

She got why it was hard for Johnny and Panam. They saw the world in sharp lines. Us and them, rebellion and control.

But V had seen something else. Something deeper. Something far worse than that.

She’d walked through it. Alone. Hell she was ready to stay dead to contain it, she was more than ready to keep living to fight it. And she wasn’t about to let it follow anyone else back into the world.

Phil leaned back a little, stretching out his shoulders. “You’ve never let anything stop you, V. Not the streets. Not Arasaka. Not death. And definitely not people telling you what box you’re supposed to fit into.”

He turned to look her dead in the eye.

“So don’t start now.”

The words hung in the air between them.

She stared at the floor for a moment. Then stood.

Her body ached. Her joints popped. But there was steel in her spine when she finally answered.

“Let’s do it.”

Phil nodded. “Welcome to NetWatch, Agent.”

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was. There was a mountain of paperwork he insisted she read. Twice, no less, before she signed anything. And he delivered it all with the same clipped tone, tacking on an order to shower, sleep, and eat.

As far as first orders went, V figured she could live with that one.

Under the much needed shower V was humming an off-key rendition of Never Fade Away, water cascading through her hair when-

“Holy fuck!”

Water erupted like a grenade had gone off. V spun so fast she nearly ate it on the wet tile, one arm flying to cover her chest, the other leaning on a tiled wall to keep herself balanced.

Johnny held up his hands in mock apology, stepping back. “Whoa, hey, relax. Wasn’t trying to scare you, okay?”

V glared at him, hair slicked against her face, steam curling around her. “Get out of my bathroom while I’m naked, you asshole.”

He had the decency to look mildly sheepish. Very mildly.

“I knocked,” he said with a shrug. “Technically. Might’ve been after I opened the door, but semantics.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Get. Out.”

Johnny tilted his head. “You’ve been out of a coma for what, two weeks? I figured not being on the verge of death would’ve mellowed you out.”

V grabbed the shampoo bottle and threw it at him full force.

It missed, barely, but bounced against the doorframe with enough momentum to make him duck.

“Message received,” he said, raising an eyebrow, still grinning. “Relax, we’re basically share equipment.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“Hey,” he said, tone gentle. “I really didn’t want to scare you.”

V rolled her eyes but didn’t scoff. “Not sure I believe that.”

Johnny stepped closer, something sharper under his usual swagger, more serious now, stripped of irony for once. His voice lost its usual sneer, smoothed into something rough and real.

“I… look, I wanted to say I’m sorry. For… everything.”

Johnny’s voice came out rougher than he meant it to, like the words were scraping his throat raw on their way out. His eyes didn’t quite meet hers, always the coward when it came to honesty. He stared past her, at the steam rolling off the tiles, at the window fogging up in the night air. Anywhere but her.

“For being an asshole. The yelling. Acting like some entitled prick. All of it. I’ve been a dick, I know. But-” he swallowed hard, and finally decided to face her head on. “If there’s one thing you taught me, it’s that life’s more than just one long war. There’s more than just fighting.”

V turned off the water, blinking through the remaining steam. The heat fogged the glass between them, turning him into a shifting silhouette. She almost preferred it that way. Maybe she was a coward too when it came to what really mattered.

Johnny gave a half-laugh, quiet and strained. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller, to wear sincerity without looking like it was crushing him. 

“I used to think the only thing I was good for was burning it all down,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “Maybe I still believe that some days. But after all this? After you?” He paused, jaw working, trying to wrestle the words free. “Maybe I want to figure out what it means to build something. Even if it takes work. Even if it’s ugly. Even if I don’t get it right on the first try.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. 

V finally stepped out of the shower, steam trailing off her skin in curls. He gave her a weak grin at that, but it faltered fast, slipping into something more fragile.

“You think one sorry fixes it?” she asked quietly, eyes sharp.

Johnny flinched. She saw it, the twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way his hands flexed inside his pockets. He shook his head, almost violently. “No. I don’t. I’m not that fucking stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered.

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t snap back this time. No sharp retort, no bite of sarcasm. 

And in that moment, V noticed things she didn’t before. The way his shoulders sagged, like the fight had been knocked out of him. The way his voice wavered when he apologised even when he tried to keep it steady. The fear, not of her fists or her rage, but of her shutting him out completely.

For the first time, she wondered if maybe Johnny was more terrified of losing her than she was of losing herself.

It made her chest ache in ways she wasn’t ready to name. The small part of her, that stubborn, wounded girl, wanted to lash out, to argue that this wasn’t enough, that a simple apology couldn’t patch a wound this deep. She wanted to stay angry just a little longer, to cling to the bitterness like a shield.

But this was Johnny.

And the truth was, they’d had more vicious fights than she could count. In the beginning it almost felt neverending. Words like knives, cutting deep, reopening scars that had barely begun to heal. None of it had ever gotten them anywhere. None of it had given them victory. All it left behind was more jagged edges, more fractures between them.

The only times they’d really won was when they’d finally called a truce. That one night in the emptiness of an abandoned oil rig when it felt like they finally talked to each other and not just at each other. It was in those fragile pauses, when they weren’t enemies or reluctant allies, that something real had taken root.

More real than either of them knew how to handle.

They had always been ready to throw themselves on the grenade if it meant the other walked away. Martyrs in each other’s stories, again and again. But maybe that wasn’t what they needed anymore. Maybe the real fight wasn’t about dying for each other, it was about learning how to reach out when one of them stumbled, to hold each other up instead of collapsing together.

And wasn’t that what Johnny was doing right now? Stripped down, raw, no swagger left to hide behind. Opening up in a way she knew he never had before. No excuses. No sermon about ideals. Just him, telling her he wanted to try, telling her he saw something worth building instead of burning. It wasn’t a magical fix, nothing in the world is, but it showed that he wasn’t scared to put an effort into rebuilding their relationship.

Maybe it was her turn now.

Maybe it was time for her to stop clutching so hard to the anger, to stop measuring every wound and choose to meet him halfway. To forgive, not because he’d earned it, not because the words erased the hurt but because moving forward was the only way they stood a chance.

What spoke louder about his love for her? The angry words he’d thrown in frustration, or the fact that he was standing here in NetWatch headquarters of all places, the last place he’d ever want to be, ready to support her, no matter what it cost him?

The answer should’ve been obvious.

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like a grown-ass adult.”

Johnny smirked, a hint of relief breaking through the tension. “Scary thought, huh?”

“Terrifying.”

They both laughed quietly.

“Seriously, I will get my act together.” He gave her a hard look. “But if NetWatch ever goes sideways on you, I'll torch them to the ground.”

V crossed her arms, smirk tugging at the corner of her lips despite the ache in her chest. “Don’t push it, rockerboy. I’ll let you hold my lighter, but if anyone’s torching anything, it’s gonna be me.”

Johnny’s grin broke wide, real, like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “Deal.”

“Great,” V muttered, holding out a hand. “Now hand me a fucking towel, asshole.”

He barked out a laugh and tossed one her way. The sound of it filled the small bathroom, bouncing off the tile, making her smile wide in response. She caught the towel, wrapping it around herself, watching him as he slid up onto the cabinet next to the sink.

He looked at her for a long moment, shoulders bent just slightly, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the weight pressing down on him. Then he said it, almost helplessly, “Fuck, V. I have to say. After all this… shit, I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Her hands stilled against the towel. She leaned her head back against the cool tile right next to him, closing her eyes halfway. Her voice was thoughtful, slow. “Maybe what you need is just to… be yourself. For once. No firebombing the next institution in line. No grand gestures. Just… you. Figure it out. Take it easy.”

For a moment he didn’t answer, seemingly lost in thoughts about the future.

“We could do jobs together,” he blurted suddenly, almost like the thought had escaped before he could stop it. “Nothing corpo. Some easy shit. Just… to get back into it.”

V cracked one eye open at him, brow arched. “You? Low-risk?”

He smirked, but it lacked teeth, softer than usual. “Okay. Medium-risk.”

She chuckled, the sound low and tired but real.

“Or we can drink in the Badlands,” he added after a beat, his voice quieter now. “No noise. No suits. Just the wind, a bottle of whatever passes for whiskey these days, and maybe some dumb philosophical argument under the stars.”

The image hit her harder than she wanted to admit. Her smile was small, fragile, but it slipped free anyway.

“And hey,” Johnny went on, like he was afraid to stop, “maybe we can catch one of those shitty grindhouse flicks at that old car theater.”

V turned her head, studying him. The way he looked at her, not like he was preparing for her to shove him away but like he was letting himself hope, for once. Hope she'll want to stay.

“Classy.”

Johnny grinned sideways at her, the edge of it curling like an old habit, but the softness behind it was new. “Always am.”

Their hands met. Both calloused, scarred, proof of the wars they’d fought both separately and together. V looked at him, blinked and wondered how she hadn’t noticed it sooner. Hanging from his neck, swaying slightly with every breath, was her bullet. The same piece of lead Vick had dug out of her, heavy with memory and pain.

Johnny caught her staring. His mouth twitched into that crooked grin. Her throat tightened as she realized Johnny was holding something.

Slowly, with hands that didn’t shake but damn near wanted to, she slid the dog tags over her own neck. The metal clinked against her collarbone, warm as if it had been waiting for her all along.

That felt right.

Johnny exhaled, like he’d been holding something in for years. Then the grin widened. “Maybe we can start a band.”

She huffed out a laugh, nudging him with her shoulder. “A band, huh? What another Samurai reunion?”

He chuckled. “Nah. Just you and me. Duo’s enough. Hell, you’re rich now, right? You can bankroll us while I drink your booze and eat your food.”

V snorted, shaking her head. “So that’s what this is really about huh? You just wanna live off my eddies while I work my ass off?”

“Exactly.” His smirk faded into something quieter, steadier. “I don’t expect shit to go back to the way it was. I know better. But… I’ll try, V. To stick around. To have your back.”

Something in her chest cracked at that. Not from pain, but from the sharp, aching relief of hearing him finally say it.

“Family sticks together,” she whispered, the words catching on her breath.

He choked on a laugh, quickly rubbing his face, then added, “Alright, first order of business. I’ll teach you guitar.”

V arched a brow. “Why? So I can strum one shitty D-chord while you rant about burning down the system?”

“Exactly. Very cinematic.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t falter. “A band, huh? Sure. Why the fuck not.”

They sat together in the small bathroom, steam curling around their boots, neon light filtering in through a tiny window and pooling against the wet tiles. V leaned her head against his shoulder, and for once, silence didn’t feel tired. 

Whatever came next, they’d come home to each other.

After a night like that, V slept like she hadn’t in months. No tossing, no waking in cold sweats, no chasing ghosts in her dreams. Just deep, uninterrupted rest that swallowed her whole until the sun was already high in the sky. By the time she finally rolled out of bed, it was nearly noon, and she was starving.

She demolished the breakfast tray someone had left outside her door, balancing it on her lap while she flipped through the stacks of papers Phil had saddled her with. The bureaucratic crap, waivers, agreements, contracts, blurred together into one long line of nonsense. Half of it might as well have been written in a foreign language. Still, she skimmed it with the same grim focus she gave a mission brief. When she was done, she signed wherever Phil had slapped a mark on, scrawling her name with a flourish.

She was an “agent” now. Whatever that meant.

Once the papers were squared away, she went looking for Phil. He gave her the rundown. It would take a day or two to finalize everything she’d need for her new “position.” Gear. Credentials. A badge and uniform, which she already knew she’d never put on unless someone held a gun to her head. And apparently even a room on-site. She argued that she wasn’t even planning on staying in it but Phil wanted her to have one in case of an emergency.

She nodded through it, impatient, her mind already elsewhere. What she really wanted was her own bed back. And to finally see her cat again. She would be paying in treats for the offense of leaving the poor beast alone for the long time.

Phil droned on for another minute before finally letting her go.

As she made her way down the hall, something caught her eye. A narrow stairwell, door cracked open, light spilling in from above. The roof entrance.

On impulse, she climbed. The air grew cooler the higher she went, the muffled hum of servers and offices fading behind her. When she pushed open the last door, the city greeted her all at once. Bright, sprawling, alive towers of Night City stabbing into the sky.

She stepped out slowly, the heat of the concrete under her boots, the wind pulling strands of her hair into her face. It wasn’t home, not yet. But standing there, looking out at the city, she could almost believe it was waiting for her.

The rooftop was quiet, wind stirring the cables along the railings. V leaned forward on the ledge, arms folded around herself to fight the slight chill. She liked this place. Phil showed it to her when she complained that she felt suffocated inside. Apparently she looked like she needed a quiet place to think. She must have stood there for longer than she knew because someone came looking for her.

Behind her, Goro stepped into view, his silhouette cut sharp against the smear of neon and smog hanging over Night City. The city’s glow painted him in cold blues and reds, fractured light catching on the edges of his features.

V glanced sideways, raising an eyebrow. “What, you and Johnny worried I decided to run off without you two?”

“Just came to check on you,” he said at last, his voice quieter than usual. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She let out a small breath, turning her gaze back to the skyline. “I’m doing okay.”

So she smiled softly and said it again, stronger this time. “I really am.” 

She let her hands rest on the railing, fingers drumming against the cool metal. “Surprisingly enough, everything turned out… okay. Me and Johnny talked, made some plans. I joined NetWatch and he’s still sticking around. I’m cleared for duty, which means I’ll finally get to vent my frustration with some good old-fashioned violence.” A laugh slipped out of her in response to his resigned sigh. “And you, you’re alive. Free. Still here.”

Her chest rose with a deep breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Life’s going… great, all things considered.”

For a moment, Goro simply studied her, his expression unreadable. Then his features softened, just barely. “I am glad to hear it. More than you know. You deserve happiness, V.”

“And,” he added, his voice dropping into something almost embarrassed, “selfishly… I am glad to still be part of it.”

“You are.” V turned toward him fully now, brows lifted. “And what about you? You alright?”

His gaze drifted past her, out into the city, to the sprawl of lights and chaos that had chewed up and spit out both of their lives.

“I believed in Arasaka once,” he said slowly, each word heavy as stone. “Devoted myself to its structure. To its cause. Every ounce of discipline, every sacrifice I made, was in service to that name. When it collapsed, I clung to revenge. To justice. To anything that would give me direction.”

He paused, shoulders stiff, hands folded neatly in front of him like he needed the posture to hold himself together.

“But now?” His voice faltered, softer than she had ever heard it. “The world is loud, chaotic, without order. And I-” He drew a slow breath, eyes flicking closed. “I feel… lost. But do not mistake my confusion for the lack of gratitude V.” His deep eyes met her own. “It is thanks to you that I am even able to have this doubs.”

V swallowed hard, then looked back at the skyline herself. The city glittered, a thousand jagged lights burning holes in the dark. For once, though, she didn’t feel crushed by it. 

“I get it,” she said quietly. “For a long time, I didn’t know what the hell I was living for either. After Arasaka and then after Jackie’ death I was more lost than ever. Some days I still am. But… standing here? For the first time in forever, I feel like maybe we all got a shot at a future.”

Her hand tightened around the railing. “It’s not perfect. It won’t ever be. But it’s mine. And it’s… ours, if you want it to be. A future where we’re not just bleeding for someone else’s cause. Where we get to breathe. To… I don’t know. Actually live, however it will look like.”

She shifted closer until their shoulders brushed.

“So maybe you don’t know what tomorrow will look like,” V said softly. “Or the day after. Or the one after that. I know how fucking scary that can be but it’s also beautiful. New days. New experiences. New memories.” She angled her head toward him, eyes searching his profile. “And Goro? You’re not gonna be figuring it out alone. Not anymore.”

He inclined his head, almost in reverence. His voice carried a weight of sincerity that left no room for doubt. “You truly possess an unmatched spirit.”

He hesitated, then reached for her hand, tentative at first, as though he wasn’t sure he had the right to touch. When his fingers finally curled around hers, his grasp was steady, warm despite the cold air around them.

“I have watched you fight for your life. For others. I have seen you make impossible choices and bear their burden alone. And yet…” He shook his head faintly, something raw flickering in his eyes. “Somehow, you remain so vibrantly yourself.”

He turned more fully toward her now, their shoulders pressing firmly together, his voice dropping low. “The world feels worth standing in when it reflects in your eyes.”

V startled a little, looking away quickly. Her chest ached, caught between embarrassment and something far deeper. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“Damn,” she muttered at last, her voice uneven. “You should be careful with that.”

Goro smirked faintly, still holding her hand.

She let out a breath that came out half a laugh, shaking her head, and when she looked back at him their eyes caught and held.

“So… what now?” she asked, quieter this time, almost afraid of the answer.

For a heartbeat he was silent, only the city filling the space between them. Then he spoke, and every word seemed to come from the very core of him.

“What now?” he repeated, almost to himself. His thumb brushed her knuckles gently. You spoke of rediscovering the world. I wish to face this future with you. Wherever that leads. Whatever that means. NetWatch agent or mercenary it matters not. I believe in you. And I will stand with you.”

Her lips parted, caught between disbelief and hope. “Wait, you’re saying you’re serious about this? You’re actually gonna join NetWatch just to hang around?”

A rare laugh, quiet but genuine, slipped past his defenses. “Against the fear of the unknown, I find myself wishing to remain here. With you.”

“You don’t have to join anything to be with me Goro.” V squeezed his hand, a crooked grin breaking the weight of the moment. “You realize you’re basically looking at a rich woman, right? Plus, I’ve got a killer apartment. Big windows, good bed, room for two if you don’t mind me stealing the blankets. Another apartment if you wish for your own space. You don’t have to rush into anything.”

Goro’s lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced around the rooftop view, then back at her. His brow furrowed in that way that made him look like he was trying to figure out how to carefully word a thought.

“This… megablock,” he said, as though choosing his words was a matter of life or death, “I understand it has significance to you. Yet perhaps, you might consider… a residence more suitable. More secure.”

V barked a laugh, almost doubling over, and slapped his arm.
“God, Goro. You’re telling me I live like trash? That’s what this is?”

His expression barely changed, though his jaw shifted with the effort of restraint. “I would never phrase it in such a way. I was merely suggesting-”

That set her off again, laughing harder this time. “Oh, that’s rich.” she said, grin stretching. “Johnny thought it’d be hilarious to drag you there, just to fuck with you. I actually spent most of my time in my apartment in Glen. It’s surprising that you two even found anything useful there.”

The face he made was priceless.

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh. “You laugh far too much at my expense.”

“Yeah,” she teased, finally calming, “you just make it so easy.” She shifted, voice softer this time, choosing to make the matter crystal clear. “So you see, you’ve got options. You don’t have to prove anything to me. And while I’d love it if you joined with me, you don’t need to. Not for me.”

He blinked slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing by a fraction. The edges of his mouth curved upward into a smirk. “I have learned a lesson you wanted me to understand, about thinking for myself.“

That earned him a real smile from her. She leaned into him, resting her head lightly against his shoulder, closing her eyes just for a moment. His presence was solid, grounding, like leaning into something she could trust to hold. “You’re sure?” she asked, almost in a whisper, almost afraid of the answer.

He turned his head, meeting her gaze without a flicker of doubt. “Unshakably.”

“Alright,” she breathed, steadying herself as much as promising him. “Then we take it day by day. Together.”

Something shifted in his expression then, subtle but unmistakable. His features softened in ways she’d never seen before. Such a complicated man, opening before her like a book only she’d been given permission to read.

And then he moved. Deliberate and steady, the same way he approached everything. He leaned closer, eyes locking on hers, searching one last time for permission. For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe. But she didn’t pull back.

His lips brushed hers. Tentative at first, almost reverent. But when she pressed forward, he answered in kind, pressing against her firmer. His hand slid from hers, only to rise to cradle her jaw, thumb grazing the line of her cheekbone with such care it made her knees weak.

She tilted into him, kissing him back harder, tasting the warmth of him.

When they finally broke apart, her breath came shallow, lips tingling, heart pounding like she’d sprinted a mile. She pulled back just enough to look at him, grinning despite herself. “Didn’t expect you to be so forward.”

His mouth curved into a quiet smile. “You will find…” His voice was tender. “…I am full of surprises.”

She laughed softly, leaned her forehead against his and whispered, “Guess I’m looking forward to finding them out.”

And just like that, her future started.

Notes:

See you in future stories!