Chapter 1: The Great Gig in the Sky
Summary:
I never said I was frightened of dying
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
𖤓 The Sun 𖤓
A brilliant blue orb floated beneath her–Earth, looming under her. The stars stretched on forever, cold and unblinking, surrounding V as she drifted through the void in a black market Arasaka suit built for spacewalks, the kind Corpo clean-suits wouldn’t dare wear.
The Crystal Palace loomed ahead, a godless monolith of neon and luxury suspended above the world. Lights blinked in rhythmic patterns across its hall, matching the heartbeat pounding in her ears.
“You still breathing?”
Mr. Blue Eyes’ voice clicked into her ear, his smooth tone as dispassionate as ever.
“Yeah,” V muttered. “Thanks for checkin’ in.”
“You’re nearly at the lower hatch. I’ll open it remotely. Don’t worry, you’re not on any radar… yet.”
V kept her eyes trained on the glinting hall of the Palace. Even on the outside, it was a monument to excess. Gilded edges. Reinforced glass domes. Some Corpo had probably paid millions just for a better view of the stars while sipping champagne.
“Target is currently at the Black Hole Lounge. Twenty-minute window. You’re infiltrating Villa 4C. Owner’s name isn’t important–only the data they keep close. Get in. Get the data. Get out.”
“Still keepin’ me in the dark, huh?” she muttered.
“ Need-to-know, V. And you don’t need to. ”
The hatch shuddered, then hissed open, exposing a small docking chamber bathed in white light. She drifted inside, grabbing hold of the rails to pull herself through. Mr. Blue Eyes pinged her a location on her HUD–secure locker, ten clicks to the left.
She landed on the metallic flooring with a thud and moved swiftly, unsealing the helmet and locking the whole suit away in the panel he indicated. Beneath her suit, her netrunner gear clung to her tightly–tight black weave, data ports, and fiberoptic lines.
Her heart rate spiked as she checked her gear. Everything was in place.
Before the launch, Vik had given her the look –the one that said you’re pushing it again, kid. He’d warned her the new cloaking implant was overkill on top of all her other mods and chrome. Said her nervous system was running hotter than a City Center power grid. She told him that was the least of her worries. Time was already slipping through her fingers.
A soft pulse hit her optics. Stealth system online. Her outline shimmered, warped, and vanished.
“ Follow my route. Stay low. Keep quiet. ”
Mr. Blue Eyes painted a path in her HUD: narrow maintenance vents, rarely monitored passageways, shortcuts through back-of-house corridors where staff moved like ghosts. She moved quickly, silently, the hush of her breath the only sound she heard over the soft clicks of internal servos.
Crawling through the ducks reminded her of another life. Another heist. A man in a sharp suit handing her a drink. A blue-haired woman named Evelyn. Jackie’s laughter echoing down a hallway. The cool kiss of a biochip against her skull.
Arasaka Tower. So Mi. Mikoshi. A thousand moments flashing through her mind like broken neon lights.
She blinked them away.
No time for ghosts. Not right now.
The vent opened into a glass corridor, just above the ceiling tiles. She peered down. Two people walked arm-in-arm below–a pair of media celebrities, if she had to guess, dressed like they’d walked out of a chrome-fetish catalog. Their conversation was all whispers and giggles.
Once they turned the corner, she dropped quietly, activating the cloaking module mid-motion. Her silhouette rippled and vanished once again.
“Left. Then straight through the atrium. Villa’s at the far end. You’re making good time.”
V crept through the corridors dressed in marble and silk. Soft ambient music played from unseen speakers. Artwork worth more than entire city blocks adorned the walls. Everything reeked of wealth–sterile and suffocating.
“Whole world’s burnin’, and they’re up here drinking gold,” she muttered to herself.
“ That’s the game, V. You know that better than most. ”
She didn’t respond.
Finally, the villa came into view–its glass doors tinted deep blue, displaying only the shimmering silhouette of privacy barriers. Blue Eyes pinged her a signal–a backdoor key to the access panel.
She crouched just out of the camera’s range, placed her hand against the biometric scanner, and waited. There was a soft beep, then a click.
The door slid open.
Inside, the villa was bathed in a soft white glow. A wall-sized holoscreen played a slow-moving starmap. Expensive furniture, minimalistic design. A cocktail still fizzing on the table.
She moved inside, not leaving a trace.
“ Mainframe should be in the rear study. ”
“Of course it is,” she whispered. Her cloak shimmered out for a split second as she moved. A glitch. That was new.
“ You’re burning through power faster than expected. ”
“Yeah. Noticed.”
“ You’re almost there. Don’t stop now. ”
The door to the study hissed open, just as V’s cloaking device flickered one final time and died completely.
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, eyes darting around for any cameras.
And there it was–a black glass orb mounted in the upper corner of the room, pointed directly at her. Her blood ran cold, but before panic could take over, Mr. Blue Eye’s voice crackled into her ear.
“Security’s off. You’re invisible to the feed. But your time’s up. Ten minutes.”
“Woulda been nice if my tech didn’t just fry on me,” she snapped, already moving into the room.
It was a sleek office, sterile in its perfection. Metallic desk, reinforced glass shelves lined with encrypted drives, private net access terminal gleaming like a coiled snake in the center of it all.
“ Mainframe’s encrypted. Vaulted off the Net. You’ll need to jack manually. I’ll walk you through the bypass protocol. ”
“Already on it.”
She slid into the chair and popped the access panel. The port clicked into place against her neural link, and a soft hum filled her head. The transfer began, code lines trickling down her HUD.
File Transfer Initiated. ETA: 5:00.
While data crawled into Mr. Blue Eyes’ encrypted buffer, V leaned back and let her eyes drift. The desk was clean, sterile, but the walls weren’t. They were lined with vanity. Awards. Family portraits. Corps loved nothing more than memorializing themselves.
And there, above a fireplace.
Her breath caught.
A tall, grim-looking man in a clean suit stood center in a holo-framed portrait, his hands resting firmly on the shoulders of two children–a boy and a girl, no older than seven.
V’s stomach turned to ice.
“Motherf–”
“Something wrong? ” Mr. Blue Eyes asked, a beat too casual.
“You didn’t say this was his place.”
“Define his. ”
She turned to stare at the portrait, her voice low and flat. “Lucas Hartford. CEO of Militech. You sent me into his fucking villa.”
“You’re retrieving data. Target details were unnecessary. Now focus. Two minutes remain.”
“You son of a bitch,” she hissed. “You knew. You knew who he was to me.”
The line went dead.
“Blue Eyes?” she called, “Shit! Don’t screw me here, you smooth-talking bastard.”
Nothing.
The soft hum in her comms went flat, and her HUD pinged a failed connection symbol. Angrily, she yanked the cord from the terminal just as the transfer completed.
Transfer Complete. Disconnected. Line Lost.
She sat there, frozen for a click, the air in the room suddenly stifling. A low panic started creeping up her spine. She’d been played. Set up. Trapped in the most secure floating fortress above Earth with no cloak, no contact, no exit. It was the heist all over again.
Footsteps echoed from outside the room.
V bolted upright, slid across the floor, and ducked into the first hiding spot she could find–the walk-in closet at the far end of the villa. She eased the door shut just as the entrance slid open behind her.
One voice. Unmistakable.
Lucas Hartford.
Time fractured.
She was small again. Her back against an old dresser, the closet door cracked open just enough to let in the sliver of hallway light. Her brother Vincent’s hand clutched hers, whispering not to make a sound. Footsteps passed the room. A belt cracked against something down the hall. Screams.
V pressed her hand over her mouth, chest rising and falling with silent breaths.
In the present, Hartford’s voice rumbled through the room. V activated her optic interface and patched into the nearby camera feed, watching him take a seat at his desk through the lens. His face was calm. Casual. Businesslike. He poured a drink. Checked a holoscreen. Pulled up files she couldn’t access.
Then his phone rang.
Hartford tapped a button, grunted a few acknowledgements, and stood. He stepped out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
V dared not breathe until the echo of his footsteps disappeared.
She once more tried to trigger her cloaking device. Nothing. Fried.
Guess I’m on my own.
She scanned the closet. Suits, uniforms, a few party pieces–classic Corpo excess. And there, against the back: a sleek, silver dress, minimalist in design, perfectly tailored.
Better than a body bag.
She stripped out of her netrunner gear quickly and pulled the dress over her shoulders. It hugged her frame like it was made for her.
V paused in front of the full-length mirror mounted beside Hartford’s closet. Her reflection stared back–violet hair tucked, face sharp. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling strands over the neural socket behind her ear. No weapon. No comms. Her pulse pounded in her neck.
“You look real fancy, darlin’. Finally decided to channel your inner corpo rat?”
His voice was real. Johnny’s voice–sarcastic, biting, a phantom memory. But he wasn’t there anymore. He’d gone his own way, with Alt.
“Still talking shit, even in my head,” V muttered under her breath.
The silence that followed was louder than his ghost.
V left the villa, heels clicking softly on polished floors as she slinked through the halls, avoiding security cameras and looking every bit like she belonged. The moment she turned a corner, she pulled up her holo and scrolled through an architectural schematic of the Crystal Palace.
Next ship departure: Hangar 3-C. Shuttle to Earth. Destination: Night City.
“Bingo,” she whispered.
She kept to the shadows, walking fast but not too fast, poised but with purpose. She passed lavish lounges, artificial gardens, towering glass windows with Earth floating like a sapphire beneath them.
Voices echoed ahead.
V ducked behind a holographic ad kiosk and held her breath as a group of socialists passed. Gold-threaded suits, biotech implants that sparkled under the artificial starlight.
Among them was Lizzie Wizzie.
V stilled.
Lizzie turned slightly, cybernetic gaze scanning the corridor. One glance, one flicker of recognition–and V would be done. Her name, her face, her fingerprints–all burned into systems far above Earth.
The group passed without noticing.
Just a little further.
That’s when she heard boots.
Guards. Two of them. Pulse rifles in hand. Heading straight toward her.
She didn’t wait. She bolted to the nearest door and slammed it behind her.
Neon swallowed her.
The Black Hole.
It was a club–one of the most notorious ones. Spinning lights, low-gravity floors, sound systems that echoed inside your skull, not just your ears.
It was chaos. It was cover.
V stepped into the crowd, head low, keeping her back straight, fighting to keep her hands from trembling.
The guards followed, scanning. Searching. But in the haze of light and pulse, they were just more movement in the crowd.
She slid onto a stool at the edge of the bar. Slow. Calm. In control.
A man took a seat beside her.
“Whiskey. Neat,” he told the bartender. Then glanced sideways at her.
V ignored him, eyes still scanning for exits.
“You know, it’s funny…” the man stated, voice colder now. “You’re wearing the same dress my wife owns. It’s one of a kind.”
V froze.
Her gaze snapped to him, and for the second time in one night, her blood turned to ice.
Lucas Hartford.
Up close, he looked older than the portrait, but not weaker. If anything, he carried more weight now. His hand came down on her wrist like a vice, subtle but impossible to pull away from without making a scene.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warned softly.
Stormy eyes bore into her, and V was no longer in the Crystal Palace. She was a child again, crouched in a closet, her brother holding her, the door swinging open, and those same eyes staring them down.
She couldn’t move.
“Take the drink,” Lucas said, voice level.
The bartender placed it in front of her. V hesitated–then picked it up. Her fingers trembled slightly as the glass touched her lips, but she downed the burn in one go.
Lucas turned to face her fully, his expression unreadable. “You’ve grown, Valerie. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
V’s jaw clenched, and she sat up. “Don’t call me that.”
“Sit down, Valerie.”
“I said, don’t call me that,” she snapped, eyes flashing.
A nearby guard noticed and started toward them, rifle lifted slightly.
Lucas raised a hand without looking. “She’s with me. Sit down, Valerie,” he told her again.
V didn’t move.
“Sit,” he repeated, and this time, she obeyed, rage bubbling beneath her skin.
Lucas placed a holo-slab on the counter between them. A data cache shimmered into view, bringing with it a list of everything she didn’t want to see.
Her entire life reduced to a data shard.
Lucas tapped the tablet on the counter, a holographic dossier expanding in the air between them. Pages of classified logs, biometric scans, combat footage, corpo reports–all of it.
“Eight years ago,” he said calmly, “I was told my daughter, Valerie Hartford, died in a car crash.”
His voice was clinical, but there was a bitter edge underneath.
“It wasn’t until I became CEO of Militech that I discovered the truth. The crash was staged by Arasaka. You were alive. Working under them in counterintelligence–operating under the alias ‘V’.”
He gestured toward her without looking up. “And now… here you are.”
V’s hands clenched at her sides. “You hired Blue Eyes,” she muttered. The realization settled like lead in her gut. “This whole thing… it was you. You wanted me back.”
Lucas nodded once, “Of course. No one can run from me. Not even my daughter.”
The hologram continued scrolling. Her corporate training. Her Arasaka loyalty credentials. The day she vanished. Her transformation into a mercenary. Gigs. Victories. Defeats. The heist at Konpeki Plaza. The Relic–and Johnny Silverhand. Her recent solo assault on Arasaka Tower.
A whole life, filed and catalogued like an archived threat. And Lucas was still watching her like he owned every page.
“Fascinating really,” he murmured. “You’ve become quite the living legend.”
V placed her clenched hands on her lap. “I made myself,” she said through gritted teeth.
“You were always capable,” Lucas replied. “I just gave you the spark.”
“You beat your kids,” she said. “You killed the spark.”
Lucas’ eyes flickered. For the first time, a crack.
“I raised survivors,” he said. “One of them proved it. The other–” His mouth twitched. “–not so much.”
V’s vision blurred with fury.
“You don’t know a damn thing about Vincent.”
“I know he was weak .”
Silence fell between them.
Hartford leaned forward again, voice low and cold. “I know about the Relic. Your terminal condition. And Militech can fix it.”
V stiffened.
“We have technology–experiment, yes, but real. A cure. Clean extraction. You walk away alive.” He paused. “But I need your cooperation. Full cooperation.”
V stared him down, unsure which part of her would break first: her fury or the sheer weight of exhaustion pressing on her shoulders.
“You want me to just walk back into your life? Become a Hartford again?” Her voice was brittle. “Let you use me? After everything?”
Lucas tapped a few keys on the tablet he still held. A new image blinked to life above the holopad.
A sterile room. Cryochambers lined in rows like coffins.
And in the center– him.
Johnny Silverhand. Body preserved. Frozen.
V’s breath caught in her throat. Her world narrowed.
“We’ve acquired him,” Lucas stated. “His original body. Collected from the rubble of the Arasaka tower. We patched him up. Your biochip–the engram–we can extract it. Upload it. Restore him.”
He looked her dead in the eyes. “You could bring back Johnny Silverhand–for real. No longer just an engram, a piece of data.”
The words hit her hard. A cure… and Johnny? It sounded perfect. Too perfect.
But Johnny was gone. He’d left her behind at Mikoshi. He made his choice–left to join Alt beyond the Blackwall, to merge with something bigger.
“He’s gone,” V said quietly. “I let him go. His engrams with an AI, past the Blackwall.”
Lucas tilted his head. “Not entirely.”
She looked up, startled.
“We’ve intercepted fragments. Pings from beyond the wall. Traces of him. My people believe he is still out there…for now.”
V stared at him. “So that’s what this is. You want me to bring him back. Hand him over.”
Lucas gave a solemn nod. “Your life. His life. In exchange for your loyalty. Be my daughter, my legacy.”
V looked down at the holopad, the data scrolling past, then back at the frozen image of Johnny’s body. She stared long and hard at him. Fuck, she missed him. Missed his smartass comments, their arguments, the warmth he tried to pretend he wasn’t capable of.
And then she slid the holopad back to him.
“No.”
Lucas’s jaw flexed.
“I’m not your damn pawn,” she said, more steel in her voice now. “I’m not your property. I’ll think about your offer when my options run dry–but I’m not promising you anything.”
His eyes darkened.
“I could take you now,” he said. “Have my guards drag you back. Keep you at my estate ‘til you play nice.”
V leaned forward, fire behind her eyes. “Try it. See how many of your men I take down with me before I go. You read my fucking files. You know exactly what I am capable of.”
The two stared each other down for several tense seconds.
Then Hartford smiled faintly. “Still got that Hartford blood in you.”
V leaned back, arms folded tight. “Yeah? Then you already know–can’t tame what’s wired to burn.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just studied her, face unreadable.
Finally, Lucas sighed. “Fine. I’ll get you back to Night City. Safe ride. But we stay in touch. I want updates. Check-ins. If you vanish on me again–”
“I’ll keep my end,” she cut in, tone flat. “But don’t get it twisted. I’m not doing this for you. I just want off this overpriced, orbiting coffin.”
Lucas stood, gave a small nod, then gestured for her to follow.
They moved through the Crystal Palace’s gleaming corridors–floors like mirrors, light panels humming in artificial rhythm. Lucas walked like the man who never met a consequence he couldn’t buy off. V followed, half a step behind, eyes sharp and tired.
“You know,” he said after a beat, “I always knew you were alive. Arasaka never fooled me.”
She scoffed, keeping her gaze forward. “You sure have a funny way of showin’ it.”
“I cared,” he said, and something in his voice almost passed for regret. “In my way. And now… you’re all I have left.”
He slowed, “After Vincent…”
V froze mid-step.
It hit her like a punch to the gut. Tight, cold. Like chrome locking down her lungs.
“Don’t,” she said, voice raw. “You don’t get to bring him up.”
Lucas turned to face her. “I wasn’t always a good father–”
“You weren’t a father at all, ” she snapped. “You were just a man we hid from.”
Silence fell between them. Heavy bitter.
She didn’t say another word as they reached the shuttle bay. Silver transport craft gleamed under sterile light, loading ramps extended like open jaws.
Lucas gave a curt nod to the guards flanking the dock. They stepped aside.
V walked past them, didn’t glance back. Didn’t need to.
She climbed the ramp, combat boots clanking on metal, then slipped into a seat near the window. Buckled in. Shut the world out.
Suits, tourists, celebrities, corpo techs filtered in one by one. Clueless. Chatting about martinis, marketing budgets, and the latest brain-dance scandals. Not a single one knew that just a few seats away sat the woman who’d ripped Arasaka apart from the inside and walked away without looking back.
The shuttle shuddered, a low rumble building as it disengaged from the docking station. Gravity gave way. The stars twisted in the black.
Earth came into view below–faint lights of cities flickering like sparks in a dying fire.
Night City was down there. Somewhere.
Her hands trembled in her lap. She clenched them, tried to hold on to something–anything.
Didn’t work.
Her chest rose fast. Too fast.
Then the tears hit–no warning, no mercy.
She folded forward, buried her face in the crook of her elbow. Shoulders shook. The sobs were quiet, choked back through gritted teeth. But they came anyway. Couldn’t stop them.
All she could do was ride it out.
Let it burn through her.
Let it pass.
She would survive the fall.
Notes:
Hey chooms! This is my first public fanfiction here on AO3, just finished Cyberpunk 2077 for the first time, and couldn't resist diving deeper into its world.
This story picks up right after The Sun ending. I wanted to give V a more personal twist, so you'll notice some custom backstory sprinkled in, especially the Corpo roots.
Hoping to update every other week (fingers crossed). The whole story's mapped out. Just gotta bring it to life, one chapter at a time. XD
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 2: Everything In Its Right Place
Summary:
There are two colours in my head
What, what is that you tried to say?
What, what was that you tried to say?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
ACT 1
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
The Afterlife hadn’t changed. Same low lights, same smoke-stained air, same buzz of fixers and mercs, each carrying too many secrets and not enough time. The music thrummed through the floor, vibrating in V’s bones like an old friend she’d nearly forgotten how to talk to.
V stepped inside and let her boots carry her toward the bar like muscle memory. She kept her hands in her jacket pockets, shoulders squared, trying to act like it wasn’t weird to be back after disappearing for a month, almost dying in a space station orbiting the edge of humanity’s reach.
Claire spotted her first.
“Well, well,” she grinned, drying a tumbler with a half-clean rag. “Look who decided to crawl back to the land of the living.”
V smirked and slid onto the barstool. “Miss me?”
Claire leaned forward. “Depends. You bring any souvenirs from orbit?”
“Only existential dread and deeper distrust of corpos. Figure that’s par for the course.”
Claire laughed and pulled down a dusty bottle, pouring a shot with a flourish. “On the house. Johnny Silverhand.”
“Fitting,” V muttered, clinking the glass against the wood before throwing it back. The taste was sharp, almost metallic. Burned like fire all the way down. It felt like penance.
“You gonna tell me where you’ve been?” Claire asked. “Rumors say you’re in bed with Militech. You wearing their colors now or what?”
V snorted, shaking her head. “Not a shot. The Crystal Palace job was a setup.”
Claire blinked. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. They played me. Thought they could string me along like some loyal little corpo brat.” She leaned in, voice lowering. “They forgot who they were dealing with.”
Claire gave a low whistle. “Well, shit. Glad you made it back. Whole place has been different since you vanished. Like Night City got a little quieter.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a threat.”
“Bit’a both, maybe.”
Before V could answer, a voice cut through the noise like a shard of broken glass.
“V.”
She turned. Rogue.
The Queen of the Afterlife stood by the couch, arms crossed, a storm in her grey eyes.
V tossed Claire a nod and stood, making her way over. The tension hit her before she even sat down.
“You got some nerve showing your face here,” Rogue said.
“Nice to see you too.”
“You botched it,” Rogue snapped. “Whole damn Crystal Palace job. You were supposed to ghost in and out, but what do I see all over the news? You, walking side-by-side with Lucas fucking Hartford. CEO of Militech.”
V clenched her jaw. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“You think I give a shit what it was supposed to be? You made it look like you’re working for them now. Night City’s buzzing. People think the living legend who took down Arasaka is now Militech’s poster girl.”
V’s eyes darkened. “When I went into Arasaka Tower, I didn’t answer to anyone. And I sure as hell didn’t answer to Militech.”
Rogue narrowed her gaze. “Then what the hell is this, V?”
V exhaled through her nose, sat back on the couch, and let her eyes drift across the crowd. “It’s not simple. It never is.”
“Try me.”
V hesitated, then, “Before Arasaka, before everything… I grew up in Militech. My father was a high-ranking exec when Myers was CEO.”
Rogue’s expression barely changed, but V saw a flicker of recognition.
“Lucas,” Rogue muttered, “Lucas Hartford.”
V nodded once. “Yeah. V’s an alias. My full name is Valerie Hartford.”
“Shit,” Rogue hissed under her breath, leaned back. “I knew there was something about you. V… you would be Valerie’s exact age.”
“Figured I’d finally come clean. Only person I’ve told since I got back.”
“Why now?”
“Because I trust you. And because if I’m gonna stay in this city, I need people who know the full story watching my back.”
Rogue stared at her, silent for a long moment. “Media doesn’t know?”
“Nope. Far as they’re concerned, Valerie Hartford died in a car crash when she was fifteen. One less corpo brat to worry about.”
“And Lucas hasn’t spilled yet?”
“No. But I’ve got a feeling that won’t last.”
“Why keep it quiet at all?”
V’s mouth curved into something bitter. “Control. If people knew who I really was… might change how they see me. Could hurt me, or him. Either way, Lucas likes to play his cards close to his chest.”
Rogue shook her head. “This city’s gonna eat that up the second it breaks.”
V sighed. “Let it. I’ve lived in lies long enough.”
For a few seconds, they sat in silence. V scanned the crowd again, catching snippets of conversations–mercs talking creds, fixers plotting jobs, netrunners bragging about their hacks. The rhythm of Night City hadn’t missed a beat in her absence.
But she had.
“You back for good?” Rogue asked finally. “I don’t know.” V flexed her hand, the one that still sometimes trembled after a relic flare-up. “Depends if I live long enough.”
Rogue didn’t push. She just nodded, like she understood more than she let on.
V leaned back on the couch cushions, her voice quiet. “It’s good to be back, Rogue. Even if everything’s sideways.”
Rogue glanced down at her drink, then back up at V. “Sideways is Night City’s default.”
Wasn’t that the truth?
Rogue tapped her glass against the table once, then looked back at V.
“Good timing, you walked through that door today,” she said. “Damn near perfect, actually.”
V raised an eyebrow, “That right?”
“A week after the Crystal Palace mess, I got pinged,” Rogue continued. “Anonymus netrunner. Said they had something for you. A cure.”
The words hit harder than a punch to the ribs. V didn’t flinch, but she sat up straighter.
“A cure,” she repeated slowly. “Like, the cure?”
Rogue nodded. “Said they’ve been working on it for a while. Been tracking you since before Arasaka, before Mikoshi. Whoever this is… they’re good. Scary good.”
V narrowed her eyes. “And you’re just tellin’ me this now?”
“Wanted to make sure it wasn’t a trap. You’ve had enough knives in the back lately. Figured you’d appreciate it if someone double-checked before handing you another one.”
V exhaled, a slow breath of tension bleeding out of her chest. “I do. Appreciate it.”
Rogue’s gaze lingered, unreadable. “Thing is, there’s somethin’ familiar about this one. Style of writing, tone. Reminds me of someone I knew… almost fifty years ago.”
V blinked. “Yeah? Who?”
Rogue shook her head. “Doubt it’s them. Ghosts don’t text. Just… got this itch in my guy, you know? Don’t ignore it when it talks.”
V leaned forward, nodding. “So… what’s the play?”
“I give you the contact. You reach out. Up to you how deep you wanna dig.”
“Got a name?”
“Nope. Just a handle. ‘Angel.’ That’s it.”
V repeated it under her breath. Angel. It echoed strangely in her head.
She stood, letting her jacket fall open. “Thanks, Rogue. For real.”
“Don’t get sappy on me now, kid,” Rogue said, smirking. “Go save your ass.”
V stuck around the Afterlife for a while longer. The place still smelled like sweat, chrome, and gunpowder dreams. She talked to a few old faces, some surprised to see her, some pretending they weren’t.
She even smiled, once or twice.
Before she left, she found Nibbles lounging in the corner behind the bar, curled up on her usual spot beside the heater vent. The little gray cat opened one eye as V crouched down.
“Hey, baldy.” V scratched her behind the ears. “Still holding the place together?”
Nibbles purred and headbutted her hand.
V kissed her forehead. “See ya, choom.”
Then she was gone.
The elevator up to her penthouse groaned like it hadn’t moved in a decade. Night City’s skyline bled through the reinforced glass, all jagged shadows and flickering neon, too bright and too dead all at once.
Inside, the place was dark. Clean, for the most part. Still didn’t feel like home. Nothing really did anymore.
V collapsed on the couch like a puppet with its strings cut. Ran her hands through her hair, dragging nails across her scalp until her nerves lit up. The walls around her were silent, too silent. She half-wished Johnny were still there just to throw out some dumb, sarcastic bullshit. Anything to fill the void.
She stared up at the ceiling. Cold white light panels. Too perfect. Too corpo.
Tomorrow, she had a meeting with her father at the Militech Office in Corpo Plaza. His ship was already in orbit. Newsfeeds had it plastered everywhere: Militech CEO to Arrive in Night City–Is a Power Shift Coming?
No shit it was. Arasaka’s corpse was still warm.
Of course, Lucas wanted to meet the moment he touched down. Wanted to get into her head. Nudge her back onto the corporate leash.
She wasn’t ready to see him again. But there were things she needed to know. Maybe she’d even make him bleed for it.
With a groan, she sat up and pulled out her holo. If flickered to life, the screen lighting up her face in the dark.
She hesitated for a second, thumb hovering over the message pad.
Then she typed:
She hit send.
Three seconds later, a reply came in.
Another ping. Coordinates. Pacifica.
Dogtown.
V let out a long breath. Closed her eyes.
“Fucking Dogtown,” she muttered.
Because, of course, it had to be there.
She’d help clean up that hellhole once. Put a bullet in Kurt Hansen’s skull, made the place just a little less broken. But that didn’t mean the memories were any softer. Blood still stained the corners of that part of the city, her’s, others’, didn’t matter.
She stood, stretched, and grabbed her jacket.
“Alright, Angel,” she said to no one. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
It was just past nine when V left the penthouse.
She moved through her place with practiced efficiency, strapped on her gear, checked ammo, and slipped her netrunning suit beneath a loose shirt and leather jacket. The added layer itched like hell, but she wasn’t about to walk into Dogtown without protection. Not again.
Her Quadra Turbo-R purred as it pulled onto the street, the rumble echoing off the chrome skyscrapers and shattered alley walls. The city looked the same. It always did, like nothing ever changed, even when everything had.
V was halfway through Santo Domingo when her holo pinged. Incoming call. Panam.
Her stomach twisted, not from illness this time.
She tapped to answer.
“Panam.”
“ V ! Finally. Was starting to think you’d gone off-grid again.”
V smirked, “Nah. Just been…busy.”
“Doing what exactly? Rogue mentioned you got back from orbit. Orbit, V? What the hell were you doing in space?”
V exhaled slowly through her nose. “Trying not to die. Long story.”
Panam laughed, but it sounded tight. “You find a lead?”
“Maybe. Rogue passed it along. Some netrunner in Dogtown.”
“Dogtown?” Her voice sharpened. “Of course, she sends you there. Classic Rogue. Just throw V at the messiest job on the board.”
V snorted. “Glad to see you haven’t changed.”
“Nope,” Panam said proudly. “Still a pain in the ass.”
They both fell quiet for a second, a beat of static and neon streetlight flickering over V’s windshield.
“So,” V said, “where are you holed up these days?”
“Seattle. The whole crew’s here. Though it was time we went legit for a bit. Pitched in with some locals– construction, deliveries, even tech repair. Still shoot anyone who looks at us funny, but we wear toolbelts now.”
V smiled, small and real. “Sounds domestic.”
“Oh, and get this,” Panam said, amused, “we ran into Judy.”
The name his harder than expected.
“She’s out there, too?” V asked, voice carefully neutral.
“Yeah. Bit of a surprise, but she’s doing good. Helping out with some braindance archive project. She’s… kind of an Aldecaldo now. Honorary, but still.”
V’s throat tightened, “Right. That’s great.”
“She asked about you.”
V paused, hand tightening on the wheel. “She did?”
“Yeah. She was wondering how you were holding up.”
“...She listening in?”
Panam hesitated.
V sighed. “Just tell I said hi.”
A beat. Then Panam chuckled. “Will do.”
The checkpoint at Dogtown loomed ahead. Security scanners blinked red, then green, as her vehicle ID pinged clean, leftover favors from when she cleaned out Hansen.
“Listen, I gotta go,” she told Panam. “I’ll call you later.”
“You'd better. And hey– stay alive, V.”
“Trying.”
She cut the line.
Dogtown hadn’t changed much.
Still smelled like rust and rot. The lights flickered low, and half of them busted out. People walked fast and talked quietly. Most pretended not to see her Quadra as it purred down the cracked streets.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. Last time she’d been here, she was digging for a way to survive. Now, here she was again. Same purpose, same stakes. Different players.
She followed the coordinates sent by Angel, cutting through the western district, past old barricades and collapsed buildings. Her GPS ended in a row of storage warehouses, each one more rusted-out and forgotten than the last.
V parked, stepped out, and zipped her jacket higher. Night air bit at her neck.
She moved through the lot, scanning each building. There, near the end, she spotted it. A peeling mural on the side of one warehouse: an angel, wings fractured, halo faded.
This was the place.
She took two steps toward it before her stomach turned over.
Pain, sharp and sudden, stabbed beneath her ribs. V stumbled against a concrete barrier, hand bracing the edge as blood hit her tongue. She coughed, once, twice, then more violently, painting the concrete red.
She crouched, breathing hard. Waited.
It passed. Eventually.
It always did.
She spat, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and stared down at her shaking hands.
She hated this part. The reminders. The attacks came just often enough to keep her grounded. Just often enough to rip the hope from her throat.
Rogue said the lead was real.
It had to be.
When the coughing stopped, she stayed there, crouched behind the barrier, catching her breath.
And thinking about Johnny.
He would’ve cracked a joke. Something snide about weakness. Or maybe, if he’d been feeling sentimental, he would’ve told her to stop wasting time and get up.
She missed him. More than she’d ever admit.
They’d bonded near the end, actually bonded. She still wonders what would’ve happened if she’d given him her body. If she stepped into the unknown with Alt, if she vanished into the Blackwall.
Maybe she’d be safe.
Maybe she wouldn’t be dying.
But then again, she wouldn’t be her.
V stood up.
Wiped her mouth.
And walked toward the warehouse.
The warehouse door creaked open with a hiss, old hydraulics strained as V activated the external override with her optics.
Darkness.
Figures.
The kind of pitch black that didn’t just hide things, it devoured them.
“Yeah, not ominous at all,” she muttered.
She stepped inside. The doors sealed shut behind her with a final thunk. No light. No sound. Just the hollow echo of her boots against concrete.
Her optics adjusted, barely, when a sudden spotlight flicked on, blinding with its precision. It landed on a table and a single chair bolted to the floor in the center of the space.
“Neat trick,” she said under her breath.
She didn’t move yet, eyes scanning every inch of shadow, hand flexing near her holster, though the tension in cybernetics told her the obvious: the jamming signal was already active. Her chrome was being suppressed, bit by bit. No ping. No quickhacks. No backup.
Then came the voice.
Low. Filtered. Wrapped through a deep synth-vocoder that made it impossible to tell who, or what, was speaking.
“Sit down.”
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
V sighed and rolled her eyes. “If this is a trap, I swear, someone’s gonna regret it.”
Still, she moved. Cautious. Confident. Sat in the chair, her spine stiff and ready to spring if need be.
Silence.
She frowned. Tried to move her arm– nothing. Fingers wouldn’t twitch. Knees wouldn’t budge.
The realization hit all at once: her chrome was completely locked out.
And then– a click.
Cold metal pressed against her temple. A gun.
“Don’t move,” said the voice. “You’ll answer a few questions. Truthfully.”
“Yeah?” V drawled, jaw tight. “And what if I don’t?”
“Then this meeting ends early.”
V breathed out, long and slow. “Alright. Ask away.”
The questions came fast. Precise. Clinical.
“Who hired you for the heist at Konpeki Plaza?”
“Dexter Deshawn,” she replied. “Wanted me to nab something from Yorinobu Arasaka.”
“What was it?”
“A prototype Arasaka Relic. Tech that lets an engram override a host’s brain.”
“Whose engram?”
“Johnny Silverhand.”
A pause. The barrel didn’t move.
“What happened to the Relic?”
“I slotted it. Didn’t know what it was. Next thing I knew, Dex shot me in the head, and I woke up with Johnny Silverhand in my skull.”
“What happened to the engram?”
“I left him behind at Mikoshi. With Alt. They went beyond the Blackwall.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Your name.”
“Valerie Hartford.”
The voice went quiet for a beat.
“Daughter of Lucas Hartford?”
V hesitated. Then nodded once. “Yeah.”
Last question. She could hear it before it even came.
“Do you have a meeting scheduled with your father tomorrow at Militech Offices?”
V swallowed, “I do.”
The silence that followed was electric.
Then the barrel lifted from her temple.
A shadow moved. Someone stepped forward from the dark– and into the white circle of light.
And V blinked.
Because the woman standing in front of her… she knew her.
Or– she’d seen her before.
In memories that weren’t hers. Through Johnny’s eyes.
“Alt?” V whispered, staring.
Not an AI projection. Not digital. Not artificial.
The real Alt Cunningham. Standing there in the flesh.
Identical to the one Johnny remembered, same platinum hair, same green-eyed intensity, like she could see straight through you into the source code of your soul.
Alt gave her a slow once-over.
“You’re not what I expected.”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
V blinked.
Her eyes felt heavy, like they’d been shut for a long time. The world was dark and blurry, shapes shifting until they slowly settled into place. A thin sheet clung to her body, damp with sweat, and she was lying on a hard mattress, not quite comfortable, not quite unbearable.
The ceiling above her was familiar. Peeling paint. Cracks like veins. A faint hum of electricity in the walls.
Pitis Sophia.
She knew this place.
Her eyes adjusted more, and sure enough, the battered hotel room in Pacifica came into focus. The same room. The same one where Johnny had handed her his dog tags. Where he promised to trade places with her. He’d give up his life so she could live.
But what was she doing here?
The last thing she remembered, no, felt, she was leaving Mikoshi, falling through the well. Johnny’s voice echoed, “Goodbye, V. And never stop fightin’.”
How the hell has she ended up back here?
A flicker of unease crawled down her spine.
She tried to sit up and instantly regretted it. A sharp, tearing pain stabbed through her lower abdomen, stealing the breath from her lungs. She gasped and clenched her jaw, cursing under her breath.
“Shit.”
The word came out louder than she meant, bouncing off the cracked walls.
From the corner of the room, she heard it. A sharp inhale. Not hers.
Her heart skipped.
Eyes darting toward the source, she squinted through the dim light, trying to make out a figure slouched in a chair. Legs kicked up. Head bowed. Aviators on.
Johnny?
It couldn’t be.
She blinked harder, squinting again. No mistaking that silhouette.
He was there. Right across from her.
That wasn’t possible.
He had stayed behind in Mikoshi. With Alt. She had walked away from him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to exist anymore, not like this.
So what the fuck was he doing here?
Instinctively, she reached inward, tried to call to him like she used to. Mentally, physically, whatever you wanted to call it.
Nothing.
No spark. No static. Just…silence.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
No presence. No flicker of consciousness riding shotgun. Just her, alone in her head.
So she spoke aloud, testing it. “Johnny…”
He moved slightly, his shoulders tightening, but he didn’t move much more than that.
She pushed herself to try again. “Johnny.”
This time, his posture shifted. His chin rose. His eyes–still hidden behind those damn shades–turned to face her.
Her voice caught in her throat, but she managed a third call, barely a whisper, “Johnny?”
He moved then. Slowly. Like he wasn’t sure this was real. He stood and walked over to her, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal.
He knelt by the mattress.
She could see his face now as he pulled the aviators off.
His eyes were glassy, red-rimmed.
He smiled, just barely. Sad and weary.
“Hey V…”
V stared at Johnny. Not just at him, through him. Waiting, waiting for a glitch. For a faint flicker of blue, for the translucent lines, for the visual noise that always hinted he wasn’t there. That he was just a digital ghost taking up space in her mind.
But there was nothing.
No glitch.
No flicker.
No noise.
Just him, looking impossibly solid, impossibly real.
She narrowed her eyes and asked, slowly, cautiously, “What the hell is going on?”
Before she could get her answer, a sharp beep sounded next to her.
She turned her head, wincing at the movement pulled at something in her side. Her eyes landed on a machine humming quietly, wires trailing from and into her arm, her neck.
The screen flashed.
TRANSFER COMPLETE.
She blinked, trying to make sense of it. Transfer …? Transfer of what?
When she looked back toward Johnny, he was no longer kneeling beside her. He had stood up and was slipping his aviators back on, posture stiff. He moved toward the machine like he knew exactly what it was, like he had been expecting this.
“Johnny?” she started to ask, but was cut off by voices.
Familiar ones.
She turned her head toward the door just as it opened, and two people stepped inside.
Judy.
And Rogue.
Her stomach flipped.
Judy’s eyes widened when she saw her. Tears welled instantly, and she rushed forward, practically falling to her knees at V’s side. Rogue stayed in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room, but even she looked shaken.
Judy reached for her hand, gently, like she was afraid V might crack if she touched her too hard.
“Hey,” Judy breathed. “You’re awake.”
V opened her mouth but couldn’t find the right words.
Instead, she asked, “What… what’s going on?”
Her gaze shifted between Judy and Rogue. “What happened?”
Judy tried to speak, but her voice broke, and she quickly looked away, wiping at her face.
Rogue muttered something under her breath and turned on her heel. “I’ll be back,” she said gruffly, sparing V a single, lingering glance before disappearing behind the door.
V watched her leave, confused. None of this made sense.
Judy sat on the edge of the mattress now, clutching V’s hand in both of hers.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
The words cut deep. The way she said them–shaky, guilt-ridden–made V’s stomach twist.
“Sorry?” V echoed. “Judy, it’s okay… I just… I don’t understand. What are you sorry for?”
She reached up, her fingers brushing Judy’s cheek, trying to ground her. To anchor herself in something real. Judy was warm and solid, and crying too hard to speak.
And that terrified her.
V’s eyes flickered toward Johnny.
He had retreated to the chair again, settled into the same position–legs kicked up, arms folded, aviators shielding his face like armor. She tried reaching out to him, the way she used to, mentally, quietly in the back of her mind.
But nothing came back.
No voice. No presence. Not even a static buzz.
She frowned, trying again. More desperate this time. But he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Just sat there, tapping his foot against the floor, like the sound might distract him from everything else.
Fine, she thought, and forced herself upright, determined to pull his attention somehow.
Pain exploded through her gut. Sharp, white-hot. It rolled down her legs like fire, and she cried out, immediately collapsing back onto the mattress.
Judy was at her side in a second, hand pressing gently against her forehead. “You’re burning up,” she said, voice low but alarmed.
Johnny cursed under her breath and stood up, storming out of the room without a word.
V tilted her head toward the door, her face contorted in pain. Judy gave his retreating form a quick glance, but kept her attention on V. “Hey. It’s okay. We’re gonna fix this,” she said softly, “They’ll be back soon.”
But V couldn’t wait anymore.
The cramps in her abdomen were coiled like wire tightening by the second. Her breath came short, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“I just want to know what’s going on,” she grimaced. “No more riddles. I love you, Judy, but you’re driving me crazy.”
Judy gave her a tight, sympathetic smile and stroked her hair.
A few minutes passed, maybe more; V couldn’t track time. Everything had started to blur at the edges. The pain, the heat.
Then the door opened again.
Rogue entered first, boots thudding against the floor. Johnny followed behind her, his expression unreadable. And then… someone else. A blonde woman, somewhat familiar.
V’s vision wavered again from the fever. She heard Rogue speaking, her voice distant and muffled like it was coming through thick glass. She tried to sit up, to speak, but all she managed was a groan.
A hand reached out toward her. Gentle. Cool. A cup of water pressed into her palms, fingers helping her close around it. Then, pills. “Here,” a soft voice urged. “This’ll help with the fever. And the pain. Just drink.”
She obeyed before she could think better of it.
Cold water slid down her throat. The bitterness of the pills followed, but she was too desperate for relief to care.
She blinked up at the figure.
The woman staring down at her had sharp features, piercing green eyes. She looked…familiar.
She blinked again. “Alt?”
The blonde shook her head slowly.
“Not quite. My name’s Angel,” she said. “But I’m a clone of Alt Cunningham. Got all her memories, too. Everything she was… I am.”
V stared up at her, stunned and still spinning.
Angel’s voice cut through the haze. “I’m here to help you, V.”
V blinked up at her– Alt –no, Angel . The resemblance was uncanny, but there was something slightly different in her tone, something more human.
Rogue crossed her arms, standing near the foot of the mattress. She eyes Angel with a slight frown. “How the hell does she have a fever?”
Angel didn’t look up as she inspected the machine beside V, fingers dancing across its interface. “Probably an infection. Happens when hands are dirty during a procedure.” Her tone was cool, but had an edge. V caught the briefest glance in Johnny’s direction.
Johnny, standing a few steps behind Rogue, shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
Angel rose from the device and began powering it down, carefully moving to V’s side to start unhooking her from the machine. Each wire removed had V feel a wave of relief wash over her. She could finally breathe.
V let out a heavy sigh and rubbed her forehead. “Okay,” she said, voice a little hoarse. “Can someone please explain what the hell is going on? Why am I here? Why is there a clone of Alt fucking Cunningham standing in front of me?” Her voice dropped, more uncertain now. “And… am I losing my mind, or can anyone else see him?”
She pointed straight at Johnny.
Judy followed her finger, turning to look. Then she nodded quietly, lips trembling just a little. V’s breath caught.
Her gaze darted to Rogue, hoping for a contradiction– something. But Rogue only crossed her arms and said, “He’s here. As unfortunate as that is.” Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Johnny, who still wouldn’t meet V’s gaze. He just stared at the floor, foot tapping anxiously like it might buy him time.
V’s frown deepened. “So let me get this straight. Johnny Silverhand and Alt Cunningham are alive? Clones? What is this? Some Corpo resurrection program?”
Angel pulled the last connection free and took a step back. “I’m the clone,” she said, gently correcting. “But Johnny’s… his case is more complicated.”
Rogue added flatly, “It’s his original body. Militech had it in cryo.”
V stared at them both, her mouth slightly open. Her brain tried to process what that meant, but it felt too unreal. Johnny. In his own body. Alive.
And still not saying a word.
He just stood there, foot tapping like a metronome, weighed down by everything he wouldn’t say.
Judy knelt closer to V’s side. “You need to rest. You’ve been through a lot. I’ll fill you in more tomorrow, okay?” Her voice was warm, but V could hear the exhaustion behind it.
Rogue moved toward the door. “I’m needed back at the Afterlife,” she muttered. She paused by the mattress. “I’ll check on you tomorrow morning.”
She stepped past Johnny on her way out, shoulder slamming into him intentionally. He stumbled back a few steps, jaw tightening, but still saying nothing.
Angel gave V a small nod as she moved toward the door. “I’ll be in the next room over if you need anything.”
And then the door clicked shut behind her.
Leaving V alone with Judy.
And Johnny Silverhand.
V’s eyes drifted to him. He hadn’t moved. He looked disheveled, quieter, more worn than she remembered.
“You gonna talk at all?” she asked softly.
He looked at her then, finally. His eyes, just barely visible behind his shades, were full of something heavy. Regret. Grief.
“You died, Valerie,” he said quietly, “End of story. Nothin' left to say.”
Notes:
Message thread generator by Luvwich.
Yay! I actually finished another chapter in the same week!
The first part of the chapter is much more polished, I might need to give the second half another pass XD
Just a quick clarification in case it gets confusing, since it's a little different from Chapter One: the first chapter is more of a prologue. The rest of the fic will alternate between the perspectives of the two different Vs. One storyline picks up immediately after the Sun Ending epilogue, while the other is set in May 2078, exactly one year after the heist at Kenopi Plaza. Both stories are connected, but also completely different in tone and direction. I made sure, while outlining, that the structure wouldn't feel too repetitive :D
Hope you enjoyed it! We'll see how productive I manage to be over the next few weeks~
Chapter 3: How Soon Is Now?
Summary:
See, I’ve already waited too long
And all my hope is gone
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
The silence between them wasn’t exactly uncomfortable.
V didn’t speak right away, just stared. Eyes scanning every inch of the woman in front of her, trying to stitch together fact from fiction, memory from myth. Her face… yeah, it matched. But older. The chrome was different too, more refined, less vintage. Still, the resemblance was uncanny.
Alt Cunningham.
Johnny’s Alt.
Except not. Maybe.
V’s mind spun with half-baked theories. Maybe she had survived Arasaka somehow. Maybe she never died, and Johnny’s memories just didn’t have the whole picture. Or maybe this was a clone. A construct. A cheap replica built off the real deal’s neural map and thrown into a meat body. The last one made the most sense. And the least comfortable.
Finally, V found her voice, a half-smirk curling at her lips. “Well, you’re not exactly what I was expecting either.”
Alt just tilted her head slightly. Her expression unreadable. Cold, but not unkind. Calculating. She didn’t flinch under scrutiny. Didn’t speak.
V shifted in her chair. Still locked down. Still jammed.
And still weirded the fuck out.
She tried not to let it show, but failed. Johnny’s memories had always been intrusive, but right now? They were pouring through like a busted dam. Memories of Alt smiling. Alt bleeding. Alt screaming his name. It was like she could hear him in the back of her mind.
Too bad he wasn’t. He would’ve known what to say. Maybe.
V cleared her throat. “So… what are you, exactly?”
Alt sighed. It wasn’t annoyed, more like she’d been expecting the question for years.
“I’m a clone,” she said, voice no longer distorted by the deep-synth filter. “Engineered off Alt Cunningham’s original genetic material. Personality matrix based on a pre-Arasaka engram backup.” She folded her arms. “But I go by Angel, now.”
V blinked, nodding slowly. “Right. Angel.”
Her mouth stayed open like she had more to say, but her brain hadn’t caught up yet. She closed it. Then opened it again.
“Sorry. Just… trying to take all this in.” V laughed under her breath, awkwardly. “Kinda wild meeting someone who’s technically been dead for over half a century.”
Angel’s gaze narrowed slightly, not unkindly. “It’s understandable. I’ve had time to adjust. You haven’t.”
That almost sounded like empathy.
V frowned, then asked the next logical thing. “Do you… Remember everything? I mean, from before. From being her?”
A pause.
Then, “Yes.”
The air went still. A soft hum buzzed through the warehouse walls, a reminder that Night City’s chaos was always just beyond reach.
“So…” V leaned forward. “You’re her. Alt Cunningham. Just… rebuilt.”
Angel tilted her chin upward, thinking for a moment. “You could say that. But the difference between code and soul is more than semantics.”
“Shit,” V muttered, “Johnny would lose his goddamn mind if he could see this.”
Another silence.
Angel looked at her for a long moment, through her almost. Then she stepped forward, just a pace, and said, “I’m going to restore control to your cyberware. If you try anything, I will respond accordingly.”
V responded. “I’ll be good.”
A moment passed. The V felt it: a shudder through her spine as systems reconnected. Her limbs loosened, the tight lock in her joints gone in an instant, breath came easier. Her chrome was hers again.
She stood slowly, eyes locked on Angel the entire time.
“Appreciate it,” V muttered. “Not a fan of the whole… paralysis interview method.”
Angel gave her a flat look. “It’s safer this way. You’re unpredictable, volatile. You stormed Arasaka Tower. Alone.”
“Didn’t plan to,” V said with a shrug. “Just sort of happened.”
Angel didn’t laugh, but her lips quivered like she almost wanted to.
V began to pace, tight circles under the overhead spotlight, boots thudding against the warehouse floor. Her thoughts raced faster than any Ripper’s hardware could calibrate.
“How long?” she asked finally, not looking at Angel. “How long you been back?”
Angel didn’t move. “Over fifty years,” she said. “Though most of it… I spent on ice. Watching the Net. Listening.”
“I’ve seen you before, y’know,” V muttered. “Or another you. Mikoshi. The Blackwall. Johnny’s Alt. She helped me, helped him… whatever. You aware of her?”
“I am,” Angel replied. “She’s an echo of the same woman. One that’s grown into something else entirely.”
“Yeah, well,” V said, half-smirking, “seems like a pattern with you.”
She crossed her arms, staring Angel down. “You’ve been tracking me. That much’s obvious. Question is… how long?”
Angel answered without hesitation. “Since the heist on Konpeki Plaza.”
That pulled the wind from V’s lungs for a second. “Konpeki…” she repeated. “You’ve been watching me since Yorinobu’s place?”
Angel nodded.
V narrowed her eyes. “Then why the twenty questions earlier? You already know everything about me.”
“Observation is one thing,” Angle said evenly. “Validation is another. I needed to make sure you were still the right merc for the job.”
“Cute,” V said, voice clipped. She ran a hand through her hair, jaw tight. “Well, now you’ve had your validation. So let’s talk about this job. Rogue said it had to do with a cure. And I’m guessing this ain’t some Corp-grade dream.”
Angel gave a small nod and gestured to the chair. “Take a seat. Promise I won’t jam your chrome this time.”
V stared at the chair for a click too long, then dropped into it with a quiet grunt. She didn’t trust this setup, not really, but what other choice did she have?
Angel stepped forward and slid a shard across the table. V’s eyes narrowed as she picked it up, turned it over in her fingers.
It looked just like the Relic.
The one still rotting in her skull.
Angel leaned on the table. “It’s a modified Relic. Clean slate, custom-tuned. It’s designed to take the place of the one in your head. Safely. Reverse the degradation. Repair what’s breaking you down.”
V’s fingers tightened around the shard. “You’re saying this thing… It’s my cure.”
“With one condition,” Angel said. “It needs an engram. The engram. Johnny Silverhand.”
V’s stomach twisted.
Of course.
“I’m supposed to just… plug him back in?” she asked, tone sharp. “After everything? After I finally got him out?”
Angel didn’t move. “He’s the only one whose data has proven stable inside the Relic for extended periods. His construct is already partially integrated. He’s the key to the system working. Without him, the transfer won’t hold.”
V leaned back, eyes dark. “You do realize every Ripperdoc I’ve talked to told me if this Relic gets yanked, I’m toast.”
“You are,” Angel said. “If you hesitate. If you do it wrong. But I won’t. I’ve done this before– well, not exactly this, but close. And I’ve set everything up. The moment his engram is uploaded onto the new Relic. I can execute the switch. Clean. Painless. And permanent.”
“Painless,” V muttered. “Sure.”
Angel crossed her arms. “You want a cure, this is it. There’s no other option coming. No miracle. Just tech and timing.”
V looked down at the shard again. Her reflection stared back– tired, strained, cracked at the edges.
She exhaled slowly. “You said I need Johnny’s engram. Problem is… not sure that’s possible.”
Angel tilted her head. “Explain.”
“I heard a rumor. From someone in Militech,” V said, voice low. “They think Johnny’s still out there. Past the Blackwall. Which makes sense, since that’s where I left him. But even if it’s true, crossing the Blackwall? Not exactly a walk through Kabuki.”
Angel didn’t blink. “I know.”
“You said the job was today,” V continued. “So, what, you’ve got a Blackwall bridge just sittin’ here waiting for me to stroll over and ask nice?”
Angel gave a faint smile. “Not exactly. I’ve arranged a short opening– temporary access. Enough time to reach the AI laid where his signal’s been detected. But it won’t last long.”
V shook her head. “Even if I get through… not like he’s just gonna come back .”
“That’s your job,” Angel said simply. “Convince him.”
V stared at her. Then down at the shard.
Convince Johnny Silverhand to crawl back into her skull. Again.
She laughed. Bitter. “Yeah. Sure. Easy.”
Angel stood still, watching V with that same unreadable expression.
“You’ll have to,” she said finally, her voice smooth but firm. “If you want the cure.”
V scoffed under her breath. “No pressure, huh?”
But Angel wasn’t finished. She leaned forward, resting her palms on the metal table between them.
“There’s another step,” she said. “The modified Relic won’t just stop the degeneration. It needs a trigger, something to tell it to shut down the kill switch and start the repair sequence. That trigger… is Johnny’s body.”
V blinked. “His body ?”
Angel nodded. “The new Relic has to be transferred into his physical body. Once it’s installed and connected to his engram, the original hardware in your head will receive the signal to reverse the neural damage. That’s your cure.”
V stared. Then, slowly, the pieces clicked together in her mind like cold steel.
“You needed me ,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Because I’ve got a meeting with Lucas Hartford tomorrow. Miltech Offices. That means I can get you access to the cryochamber.”
Angel nodded again. “Where they’re keeping Johnny.” Angel exhaled through her nose. “I originally retrieved it from Arasaka Tower ruins,” she revealed, “Got is stabilized. I was trying to bring him back long before Mikoshi. But then, Militech found me. Took the body. Locked it down. Been holding it ever since.”
V shook her head. “Jesus. This is a lot to take in. I mean, you’re–” she gestured vaguely, “Alt fucking Cunningham. And here I am, getting mission briefed like this is one Saturday night side gig.”
Angel smirked. Just barely. “You’ll manage.”
“Yeah, sure,” V muttered, folding her arms.
Angel straightened up and repeated the plan methodically.
“Step one: retrieve Johnny’s engram from beyond the Blackwall. I’ll upload it to the modified Relic. Step two: I swap out the Relic in your head while you're in cyberspace. Step three: You retrieved his body from Militech. Step four: I install the new Relic into the body and begin the full sync. That triggers the reversal sequence on your end, halts the neural degradation, and repairs the damage.”
V nodded slowly, lips pursed, eyes fixed on the shard in her hands. “It’s the closest thing to a cure I’ve had in months,” she murmured. Then looked up at Angel, narrowing her eyes. “But what do you get out of this?”
Angel met her gaze evenly. “That’s between me and Johnny.”
V arched a brow. “Thought so.”
She leaned back in the chair, letting her shoulders relax just slightly. “Still,” she said, “guess I should thank Rogue. Wouldn’t be here without her.”
Then it hit her.
“Wait. Rogue doesn’t know , does she? That you’re still alive. That you’re not just code behind a wall.”
Angel’s expression softened just a touch. “No. I’ve been careful. Very careful. But it’s been fifty years. I think it’s time.”
V gave a dry chuckle. “Oh man. I want front-row seats to that reunion.”
Angel allowed herself a half-smile. “I’ll let you know when it happens.”
V looked back down at her shard, her cure, and rolled it between her fingers.
This was it.
A plan. A shot. A path to survival.
Now all she had to do was cross the Blackwall, steal a body, and maybe… bring back a legend.
No big deal. Just another Tuesday.
V exhaled slowly and gave Angel a single, sharp nod. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
Angel returned the nod and motioned for her to follow. “This way. We start with retrieving the engram.”
She led V down a narrow staircase at the back of the warehouse. The temperature dropped with every step, and V could already hear the low hum of servers long before they hit the basement floor.
It was a netrunner’s haven.
Screens flickered in shades of violet and green, processors buzzed in tightly controlled harmony, and dozens of neural ports snaked through the room like cybernetic veins. An ice bath sat in the center, faint vapor curling from its surface. But it wasn’t all chrome and wires; there were touches of life here, too. String lights hung haphazardly across the ceiling. Old Polaroids lined one wall. There was even a cracked coffee mug resting on top of a holo-tablet, and a book face down beside it.
“Welcome to my little slice of the Net,” Angel said, tone casually proud. “I’ve called this one home for almost five years now. Got others across the NUSA, but this one… this one’s personal.”
V walked in a slow circle around the space, taking it all in. “You’ve got style. But more ground than I expected.”
Angel smirked faintly. “Even clones of legendary netrunners like to decorate.”
She turned back to V. “Strip down.”
V raised an eyebrow, then began to shed her jacket, shirt, and pants, leaving the slick netrunning suit underneath intact. Angel looked her over once and nodded in approval. “You came prepared.”
V slipped into the ice bath. The chill his her like a shockwave, but she kept her breathing even. Angel moved around her, plugging in cables, syncing neural reads, and calibrating the dive.
“I’ll guide you as far as I can,” Angel said. “After that… you’re on your own.”
V nodded once. Then everything went white.
The world was gone.
No more wires. No more chill. No more weight.
V existed now as raw data, a glowing presence in a space with no up, no down. Angel flickered into view beside her– tall, radiant, looking eerily like the AI Alt. The overlap was uncanny, and V almost called her by the wrong name when she saw her.
“You’ll know when you’re close,” Angel said. “There’s a tear in the wall, not big enough for rogue AIs to break through, but wide enough for you.”
The environment shifted around them, pixelating and distorting, until the Blackwall loomed ahead. Vast, unrelenting, and impossible high. An abyss of data compressed into a shimmering surface of red static.
“This is where I leave you,” Angel said. “Once you’re inside, you’ll know where to find him. Instinct. Memory. Ghost code. Just… trust yourself.”
V nodded again. “See you on the other side.”
Angel gave her a look– half concern, half calculation– then vanished, her code unraveling into violet particles.
V turned toward the Blackwall.
She stepped through.
At first, there was nothing. Not even the familiar static of the Net– just silence and pitch.
Then, a glimmer.
Up ahead, a ripple of blue light hovered like a tear in digital fabric. V moved toward it, drawn to the pulse, the flicker of memory beyond.
She passed through the tear.
Suddenly, the world shaped itself.
Blue light danced across the walls of her old H10 apartment, or rather, a ghost of it. Everything shimmered in translucent lines of code, as if the place had been remembered rather than built. The couch. The vending machine. The faded posters and the cluttered bathroom.
It wasn’t real.
But it was familiar .
V’s breath caught in her throat as she saw him.
Sitting on the couch, red and flickering like a glitching specter was Johnny Silverhand. Strumming that damn guitar like time hadn’t passed at all. His eyes were distant, locked in memory, but there was a rhythm in his fingers, old habits hard to kill.
Johnny didn’t see her at first.
He sat haunched forward on the edge of the holographic couch, red and flickering at the edges, his fingers dancing lazily over the strings of a virtual guitar. V took a tentative step forward.
“Johnny.”
He didn’t react.
She took another step, voice a little louder this time. “Johnny!”
He blinked and looked up, eyes narrowing with a confusion that quickly twisted into suspicion. “V?”
In a glitch of static, he reappeared across the room, arms crossed, standing by the window.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, glitching slightly again. “How… are you even here ?”
V raised a brow, letting her voice drip with faux innocence. “What, can’t check in on an old friend?”
Johnny stared a moment– then, finally, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Shit. You’re something else, V. Damn good to see you, though. Weird as all this is.”
She smirked. “Let me guess, Alt not giving you enough attention?”
He shrugged, his form phasing slightly as he moved. “She’s been… good to me. Said I could stay like this a little longer before I integrated fully. Gave me time.”
“How long’s it been since Mikoshi?” he asked, brow furrowing.
“Three months,” V replied softly.
The smirk vanished.
His face darkened, as if the time had just been pulled from her skull and slammed into his.
“Three months,” he echoed. “So you’ve only got three more.”
V didn’t say anything.
Johnny’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t come here to visit. You came for something.”
She nodded. “I need your help, Johnny. Might be my last chance. There’s a plan, one that could be a cure. But I need you to upload to me again.”
His face twisted into disbelief. “ No .”
He glitched violently, appearing near the front door, pacing now, hands clenched into fists. “Hell no, V. Why would you think I’d agree to that? After everything?”
“It’s not what you think,” she said, taking a step forward.
“It’s exactly what I think,” he snapped. “Same damn cycle. You shove me back in your head, we fight, you die. I get stuck with guilt again. No thanks. I chose this.”
V’s voice stayed calm, firm. “It’s not just any plan. It’s Alt ’s plan.”
That stopped him. He blinked. “Come again?”
V hesitated, then said it clearly. “Alt’s alive. In Night City. Not the AI. A clone, with all her memories.”
Johnny’s face contorted, like she’d dropped a bomb in his chest. “You’re messing with me.”
“I’m not.” V threw her arms up. “Apparently, ‘love’ makes you do crazy things. She wants to bring you back. Physically. Your body. You get a second chance, and I get my cure.”
“Son of a…” Johnny let out a long, drawn-out string of expletives before glitching again– this time appearing on the bed, elbows on his knees, head down.
V joined him, glitching into place beside him. She placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
“I know it’s a lot. But this time… It’s different. This is real . You’ll get your body back. I get to live. We both walk away.”
Johnny glanced over at her, eyes narrowing, searching her face for doubt.
“You really believe this’ll work?” he asked.
“I do.”
He stared a moment longer, then sighed, the fight out of his posture. “You better be right, V.”
She grinned. “You won’t regret it.”
He extended his hand, and she took it.
“See you on the other side,” Johnny said, and with that, he vanished.
V’s body convulsed once, then her eyes snapped open as she gasped for breath. She sat up, water sloshing around her in the ice bath.
Angel was already at her side, steadying her. “Easy, you’re back. Everything went according to plan. New Relic’s taken. Johnny’s engram is in.”
V blinked, heart still hermering in her chest. “It worked?”
“It worked,” Angel confirmed with a small, satisfied smile.
She handed V something, her old Relic. Small, black, and cold in her hand.
“Souvenir,” Angel said. “Though you might want it.”
V stared at it. It felt heavier than it looked. For a second, she debated crushing it in her palm, but a familiar voice cut through the silence.
“Eh, might wanna hold onto that. For the memoirs.”
V’s eyes shot up, and there he was.
Johnny Silverhand. He tipped his shades, a cocky grin stretching across his face.
“Well, that was one hell of a nap.”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
V woke up screaming.
She thrashed against the mattress, the thin sheets tangling around her legs. A white-hot flash of pain shot through her body, and sweat clung to her skin. She didn’t even realize Johnny was there until he was suddenly at her side, his movements quick but careful.
He placed a hand gently on her back, his voice low and steady. “It’s just a nightmare, V. You’re okay.”
But she wasn’t okay.
Sobs wracked her chest, loud and ragged. She didn’t even know what she was crying for, the unbearable throbbing in her abdomen, or the nightmare she couldn’t remember. Maybe both.
Johnny glanced around the room, uncertain. “I’ll grab Judy,” he muttered, already half-rising.
But V reached out instinctively, grabbing his silver wrist.
She shook her head through the tears, refusing to let go. Without thinking, without caring how desperate she might’ve looked, she pulled him into a hug. She buried her face against him, crying harder.
Johnny stiffened at first, but after a heartbeat, he slowly placed his arms around her. Carefully, he cradled the back of her head, pulling her onto his shoulder like she was something precious he was afraid to break.
Through gasping breaths, she mumbled against him, “Don’t leave me. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”
Johnny’s hand slid protectively over her back. His voice was low, raw. “I’m never leaving you again, V. Not ever.”
His words were a comfort, but they also confused her because they made her think of what he’d said earlier. You died, Valerie . What the hell did he mean by that?
Her body kept trembling in his arms, the cramping growing sharper, spreading down her legs like fire. She whimpered against him, and he pulled away to check on her. His expression shifted instantly when he saw the blood seeping through the sheets.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
V saw the panic flash in his eyes. He brushes her hair back, speaking fast but trying to sound calm. “I’m gonna grab the others, alright? Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded weakly, watching him sprint out of the room.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Still breathing heavily, she peeled the sheet away from her body to figure out what the hell was happening. She lifted her shirt, grimacing as she saw the layers of fresh bandages wrapped around her abdomen. They were stained a little, but enough to explain the blood soaking the mattress.
Her gaze drifted lower.
The blood was coming from between her legs.
V swallowed hard, stomach flipping. This wasn’t just blood. This wasn’t normal.
What the fuck happened to me?
She gritted her teeth and clutched the sheets tighter around herself, a new wave of terror blooming in her chest.
Angel was the first to burst into the room, rushing to V’s side. Judy and Johnny appeared right after her, Johnny pacing anxiously back and forth, while Judy went straight to the mattress.
V lay against the pillow, her body slick with sweat, every breath shallow and ragged. Judy knelt beside her, brushing the damp hair from V’s forehead with trembling fingers. She gently took V’s hand into her own, squeezing it tightly.
“Everything’s gonna be okay, V,” Judy whispered.
V blinked up at her, her mind foggy, half convinced this had to be some kind of twisted, lucid dream. In a slurred voice, she asked Judy, “What’s… going on?”
Behind her, she caught pieces of a heated conversation, Johnny’s voice sharp with panic as he snapped at Angel, demanding to know if what was happening was normal.
Angel had lifted the sheets near V’s legs, her brows knitted together in a deep frown. “It’s not normal,” Angel said bluntly, “Too much blood.”
Johnny cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He and Angel started bickering, Angel reminding him harshly, “I’m not a ripperdoc, Johnny!”
V winced. She shifted, about to turn her head to watch them argue, but Judy gently cupped her face, turning her head back toward her.
“Don’t listen to them,” Judy murmured, “Look at me.”
She pressed a soft kiss against V’s burning forehead, anchoring her.
V whimpered, fresh tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. “I just… wanna know what’s happening,” she said weakly. “I hate this. Hate being this vulnerable. This weak.”
Angel came to her side then, offering a glass of water and pills. “Painkillers and a clotting agent,” she explained quickly. “It’ll help stop the bleeding.”
V didn’t argue. She swallowed them down with Judy’s help, grimacing at the bitter taste.
Angel leaned in closer, voice lowering. “The combination of the pills is gonna knock you out, V. Just… let it.”
Already, V’s mind was beginning to cloud again. Her eyelids grew heavy. She tightened her grip around Judy’s hand, her gaze hazy and unfocused.
The last thing she saw before everything went dark was Judy’s tearful smile and the warmth of her hand never letting go.
V woke up cradled in Judy’s arms on the mattress. For a brief, blissful moment, she forgot where she was, thought she was simply at home, waking up in bed beside her output. But then it hit her in a cold, hard wave: Arasaka. Mikoshi. Hotel Pitis Sophia.
She stiffened slightly, her breath hitching. Judy stirred beside her, opening her eyes with a sleepy smile.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Judy murmured.
V let out a small laugh, raspy and dry. “Don’t feel beautiful,” she said. “Covered in blood and sweat. Could really use a shower.”
Judy chuckled slightly, brushing a messy strand of magenta hair back from V’s forehead. “Couldn’t be closer to the truth,” she said, teasing lightly.
V smiled at her, a little comforted, before glancing around the room. It struck her how quiet it was, no Rogue, no Johnny, no Angel. Just the two of them.
“Where is everybody?” V asked, voice still hoarse.
Judy glanced toward the door, then back at V. “They’re getting ready,” she said gently. “Getting ready to move you.”
V frowned, “Move me.”
Judy nodded. “Rogue offered her bedroom at the Afterlife. Figured it’s better than this abandoned dump. Thought you could use a nicer place to recover. And you’re… well, you’re stable enough to now move.”
V scoffed a little, her humor dry. “Doesn’t seem like I’m in any shape to be moved, considering I almost bled out all over the mattress last night.”
Judy gave her a small, sad smile, her thumb brushing over the back of V’s hand. “Compared to what you were like before you woke up… the bleeding last night was better.”
V swallowed hard at that, suddenly more alert. “About that…” she started carefully. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on? What the hell is happening to me?”
Judy nodded, her expression more serious. “That’s kinda why I’m here.”
V gave her a confused look, dread curling in her stomach.
Judy squeezed her hand, voice trembling slightly. “V… you died. In this very room.”
V stared up at her, blinking slowly. “What?” she croaked out, shaking her head. “What do you mean I died here? I don’t even know how I got here.”
Judy looked at her with deep, overwhelming sadness. “Today’s May 5th, 2078.”
V paled, her mind whirling. Nearly a year. A year exactly since the heist at Konpeki Plaza with Jackie. But everything after Mikoshi? It was a blank slate. She didn’t remember any of it.
Judy continued carefully, her voice soft like she was worried V might break. “The reason you don’t remember any of it… is because, in a sense, it never happened to you.”
V frowned, lost already, but stayed silent as Judy went on.
“Your mind,” Judy said slowly, “is an engram. A copy of your memories, up until Mikoshi. A backup plan. In case things fell apart. Failed.”
V’s heart dropped. “And things did fail,” she whispered.
Judy nodded, pain flashing through her eyes. “Yeah. They failed. You… you died. So the others, they uploaded your engram.”
V stared ahead, her mind scrambling to make sense of it, like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands. I died , she thought numbly.
She began racking through all the possible reasons she could have died. Was it the relic? That ticking time bomb in her head? But then she remembered what Alt had told her at Mikoshi, six months ago. She had six months left. And yet, based on the date Judy had told her, May 5th, 2078… It had been nearly a year since Mikoshi.
Maybe they extended it somehow , she thought wildly. Maybe they cured it, and I died from something completely unrelated .
The thoughts swirled dizzyingly until she finally forced herself to turn and look Judy straight in the eyes.
“How did I die?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
Judy didn’t answer at first. She only glanced down, pointedly, at V’s stomach, at the bandages wrapped tightly around her abdomen.
V followed her gaze, understanding crashing into her.
She sucked in a breath, feeling sick.
“And the relic?” she croaked, afraid to know the answer.
Judy finally looked back at her and said softly, “Not a problem anymore. You found a cure, V. You’re cured.”
Despite the heavy news weighing on her, V felt a small flicker of relief. At least the Relic wasn’t a problem anymore. When she had entered the well in Mikoshi, that had been her biggest fear. That she would die in six months, maybe less. But somehow, that wasn’t the ending she got.
She shifted slightly against the pillow, wincing at the ache in her abdomen. “Does Johnny being back,” she asked carefully, “have something to do with the cure?”
Judy nodded slightly. “Partly. I wasn’t there for all of it… But yeah. You did bring Johnny back. If you want the full story, you’ll have to ask him. I’m kinda limited on the details.”
V nodded slowly, trying to process it all. “It’s been a year,” she said aloud, voice still hoarse. “What happened in that year? What did I miss? Is Night City even the same in 2078?”
Judy gave her a small, warm smile. “I’ll start at the beginning,” she said.
“When the original you woke from Mikoshi, you… You became a legend. A living one. You had stormed Arasaka Tower alone, and you made it out. You left Arasaka a shell of what it used to be in Night City. After that, Militech stepped in, taking over more and more.”
At the mention of Militech, V felt her stomach twist. Lucas Hartford , she thought sharply. The CEO. Her father.
She wondered how she, well, the other V, had handled it. Had she come clean to anyone? Told them who she really was?
Judy didn’t seem to notice V’s distraction and kept going. “With your new status, your influence at the Afterlife grew. You took on bigger jobs. Built even more connections. All to find a cure. And one of those leads… it brought Johnny back.”
V blinked slowly, absorbing every word.
Judy smiled fondly, then laughed a little. “You were living it up, V. Parties, meetups, gigs… hell, you even headlined a huge Samurai reunion show at Corpo Plaza. You were all over the feeds for weeks .”
V chuckled weakly, shaking her head. “You’re kidding.”
Judy grinned wider. “Wish I was.”
But then, Judy’s face fell, and V braced herself. She knew that look.
“But… it got rough, V. Your final month. You lost people. Pulled away from everyone. Got isolated. Until Johnny found you here… bleeding out at Pittis Sophia.”
V rubbed her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache. It was so much to process, and yet it felt like she was only getting half the story.
“Feels like you’re leaving out a lot,” V said bluntly.
Judy exhaled slowly, her hand squeezing V’s. “Yeah, I am. Johnny… he didn’t want to tell you too much. Said he didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
Overwhelmed didn’t even begin to cover it.
V let out a big breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. She turned to Judy, the question weighing heavily on her tongue.
“What about us?” she asked quietly, “What happened to us? Over the past year? Are we… still together?”
Judy’s frown was enough of an answer before the words even left her mouth. V felt a pang of sadness swell in her chest.
Judy spoke softly, almost apologetically. “After Mikoshi… I left Night City. And you didn’t come with me.”
V swallowed thickly, studying Judy’s face, wondering if maybe there was still a chance. A small chance to rebuild what they’d had.
Before she could say anything, the door creaked open and Johnny stepped inside. His voice cut the tension between them,
“She ready to go?” Johnny asked, addressing Judy.
Judy nodded, glancing back at V. “I caught her up to speed.”
Johnny’s gaze met V’s briefly, a shadow passing over his face before he looked back at Judy. “Angel is waiting,” he muttered. Without waiting for a response, he shut the door behind him again.
V turned back to Judy with a dry laugh, “It’s weird,” she said, shaking her head. “Him being alive. Gonna take some getting used to.”
Judy gave her a soft, understanding smile. “There’s a lot you’ll have to adjust to,” she said gently.
Judy left the room breathly and returned pushing a wheelchair. V groaned at the sight of it.
“God, I hate wheelchairs,” V muttered. Memories flashed unbidden of Misty pushing her through her old apartment after she first found out she was terminal. She gritted her teeth against the wave of emotion.
Judy offered her a supportive smile as she helped V to her feet. V managed a few shaky steps forward before sitting heavily in the chair, a sharp curse slipping past her lips as she pressed a hand against her bandaged abdomen.
“You okay?” Judy asked, worry knitting in her brow.
“I’ll be fine,” V grunted.
Judy nodded and wheeled her carefully out of the room. The abandoned halls of Hotel Pitis Sophia stretched around them, eerie and crumbling. Soon enough, they were in the parking lot.
The cool night air hit V’s face as she took in the scene before her. Johnny stood nearby, deep in conversation with Angel. They stood beside their cars, voices low and serious.
V watched them, unable to hear what they were saying, but she caught pieces of the body language. Angel placed a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, murmuring something reassuring. Johnny just nodded solemnly, his face unreadable.
V stared at them, feeling a surreal twist inside her. Johnny Silverhand and Alt Cunningham .
Except it wasn’t Alt exactly. It was Angel. Still seeing them together, both alive, real, and physical, was strange. Most of her memories of Alt were through Johnny’s eyes, colored by his emotions. To see it from the outside now was jarring.
After a moment, Angel climbed into her car and drove off, leaving V, Johnny, and Judy alone in the lot under the flickering parking lights.
Johnny opened the Porsche’s front passenger door for Judy, who moved quickly to help V into the car. V grunted a little as she shifted her weight, still sore, still weak. Johnny watched them both warily before circling back to the driver’s seat.
Judy leaned over toward V, her voice soft. “Johnny’s gonna take you to the Afterlife.”
V blinked, confused. “You’re not coming?”
Judy shook her head, offering a small, sad smile. “I’m heading back to the Aldecaldos. They’re camped out in the Badlands again, just outside the city.”
V’s chest tightened. “Will I see you again?” she asked, the words almost catching in her throat.
Judy’s smile wavered but stayed. “Hopefully.”
She gave V’s hand one last squeeze before stepping back and closing the door gently. She made her way over to Johnny’s side. He paused, meeting her eyes, his voice low and rough. “Thanks. For everything.”
Judy’s face hardened slightly. “She needed someone,” she said. “Someone who gave a damn.”
Johnny let out a heavy sigh, no arguments left in him. He climbed into the car, started the engine, and pulled them out of the cracked and abandoned lot, heading into Pacifica.
V leaned her head against the cool window, watching the world pass by. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a gray-pink light over the crumbling ruins of Pacifica. Already, she noticed things felt worse. More graffiti, more fires burning in barrels, more trash piling up on the sidewalks.
As they crossed deeper into Night City, the difference grew sharper.
Militech soldiers patrolled the streets now, fully geared and armed. Their yellow insignia flashed on billboards, recruitment ads plastered across crumbling buildings. Propaganda flooded every screen, every feed.
V watched in silence, absorbing it all. Her city had changed.
At a red light, she turned and glanced at Johnny. He sat stiffly at the driver's seat, jaw set, shoulders tense, one hand gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly as a Militech patrol rumbled past.
The silence between them stretched too long, so V broke it.
“Judy told me some stuff,” she said carefully. “Caught me up a little. But… I’m missing a few things.” She turned more fully toward him. “Like, for starters, how you are here. Alive. And, oh, how exactly did I die? Since nobody wants to tell me.”
Johnny’s jaw tensed even more, the muscles twitching. He said nothing, eyes locked straight ahead.
V pushed a little more, frustration bubbling up. “What aren’t you telling me, Johnny? I’m bleeding from places I really don’t want to be bleeding from, and it feels kinda important to know why!”
He pulled the car over sharply, breaking harder than necessary. He turned to her then, yanking off his aviators.
V blinked in surprise, the sight of him hit harder than expected. Huge dark bags hung under his eyes, his hair disheveled, his skin pale and drawn tight over tight cheekbones. He looked wreaked. Exhausted.
“Stop talking,” he rasped, voice rough and frayed. “Just stop. For one second.”
V’s mouth shut instantly, words dying in her throat.
Johnny rubbed his forehead, voice softer but no less broken. “Maybe… maybe you coulda considered that I need a little fuckin’ time. That maybe… maybe it’s just not so easy for me to just–” He gestured vaguely, the words trailing off.
He let out a ragged breath, put his aviators back on like armor, and pulled the Porsche back into motion, driving in silence.
V shrank back against her seat, her stomach twisting from more than just the pain.
Tense silence filled the car now, thick enough to choke on.
She turned her head back toward the window, watching the battered city roll by, aching, confused, and no closer to the truth.
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. I'm excited to start working on the next chapter.
Can't wait to share more soon!!Comments and kudos are appreciated! ♡♡♡
Chapter 4: Enjoy The Silence
Summary:
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
V stepped through the elevator doors into her penthouse and immediately felt the weight of the day crash down on her. Every bone ached. The lights blinked on as the door sealed shut behind her, flooding the minimalist apartment with a warm, artificial glow. Clean lines, chrome accents, and viewports that stretched across the skyline. It was late, well past midnight, but the city outside never slept.
She didn’t bother with anything fancy. Just moved straight through toward the wardrobe, pulling out an oversized tank. She stripped down in the bathroom, ran cold water over her face, and stared at her reflection longer than she should’ve.
A bottle of pills sat neatly by the sink. Painkillers. Vik had given them to help with pain from the flare-ups. She dry-swallowed two, then leaned against the counter, breathing through her teeth as they worked their way down.
Around her, Johnny started flickering in and out of focus, his glitchy silhouette weaving through the corners of the apartment, examining it with open disdain.
She ignored him as long as she could, made her way to bed, and collapsed face-first into the soft silk sheets. Didn’t care how nice they were. Just wanted to sleep.
She turned onto her side, and Johnny manifested in front of her, arms crossed and face scowling.
“I hate this place,” he stated. “Too corpo. Makes my skin crawl.”
V groaned. “Not exactly a fan myself. Just wanted somewhere to throw eddies at. Something that felt… big.”
Johnny didn’t look convinced.
“I still pay rent on H10,” she mumbled into the pillow. “Just can’t let it go.”
He scoffed but didn’t reply. Instead, he began pacing across the room, flickering in and out, cigarette forming between his fingers. The smoke was digital, but it still annoyed her.
She sat up and threw a pillow at him, but it passed straight through. “Could you not do the pacing this? It’s making me twitchy.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “Restless mind, restless body. Yours, technically.”
“Well, my body needs to be well-rested. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
He arches a brow, still walking. “Right. Tomorrow. You gonna tell me what hell we’re doing, or do I just get yanked along for the ride just like old times?”
V sighed, dragging a hand over her face. “We’re getting your body.”
Johnny paused mid-step.
“What do you mean? I thought you already had it.”
“Not exactly…” V exhaled slowly. “You’re at Militech. Cryochamber, deep storage. I’ve got a meeting lined up at Militech Offices. With the CEO… at the NCX Spaceport.”
He blinked. “Okay… backup. How’d you land a meeting with Militech’s top dog?”
V tilted her head at him. “Seriously. I thought you knew.”
Johnny frowned. “What, you think I just rifle through your brain like a damn file cabinet? Doesn’t work like that. You don’t see all my memories.”
V lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “He’s my father.”
Silence.
Then –
Johnny glitched forward, suddenly towering over her, face twisted in rage. “ What ?”
V did her best to ignore him, just kept staring upward.
“You’re Militech royalty?” He hissed. “You– fucking hell , you’re worse that I thought.”
She reached over and yanked a new pillow over her head.
Johnny kept going. “You’re a corpo brat. Like, actual corpo blood. The worst kind. Hell, you’re almost as bad as Yorinobu Araska. Maybe worse, you’ve got Militech and Arasaka connections.”
“Not listening,” V muttered from under the pillow.
Johnny leaned in. “You can’t ignore me. I’m in your skull again, sweetheart. Stuck with me, until we get my body, remember?”
V groaned. “God, you’re worse than the migraines.”
“First time I met you, I knew something was off,” he muttered. “Corpo bitch, thought it was just Arasaka. Didn’t know you were Militech royalty. Should’ve known, you act the part.”
“Are you done?”
Johnny froze. His mouth opened, then shut. A beat passed. One last angry curse was muttered under his breath.
Then he flickered and disappeared.
V pulled the pillow away, exhaling slowly. The apartment felt too quiet now. But she knew he’d be back. He always came back.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
Tomorrow was going to be hell.
The shrill chime of her alarm never came. Or maybe it had. V just didn’t hear it.
She jolted upright, heart hammering as her optics flashed the time across her vision, an hour late.
“Shit, shitshitshit,” she muttered, flinging off the sheets and practically vaulting out of bed. She thundered down the stairs, nearly tripping on the last step, and skidded toward her wardrobe. Her fingers clawed through an endless rack of outfits, throwing half of them onto the floor in her frantic search for something passable , corporate, clean, and calculated.
Finally, she yanked out a fitted red and black dress, then bolted to the bathroom. Within minutes, she was pulling the dress over her head, hastily styling her hair with a few quick swipes of a heated tool, and dragging eyeliner under tired eyes with the kind of shake precision only desperation could produce.
She flew out the door, only to curse again and whirl back inside.
Shoes. Fuck . She shoved her feet into a pair of sleek heels, practically threw herself back into the hallway, and sprinted for the elevator.
Moments later, V’s Quadra Turbo V-Tech roared to life, engine growling as she pulled out into the morning of Night City traffic, knuckles white on the wheel, curses under her breath the whole way.
And the, just when she didn’t need any more distractions, Johnny flickered into existence in the passenger seat, stretching out like he hadn’t just spent the last six hours sulking in her head.
He kicked his boots up onto the dash like douche he was. “Well, well. You look good. Sleep like a baby, did ya?”
V shot him a venomous glare. “You couldn’t wake me up?”
Johnny grinned, unrepentant. “Where’s the fun in that? Your meeting, not mine.”
She growled, eyes on the road. “You could at least tell me why Militech gives a damn about you. I never asked Angel, figured you’d be the one to know.”
His smirk faltered. Just for a second. “I don’t know.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Bullshit.”
He didn’t answer. Just turned to stare out the window, flicker once, twice. An uncomfortable silence fell between them.
V pulled into the NCX Spaceport lot and threw the Quadra into park. She stared into the car’s rearview mirror, adjusting her hair and smoothing out the dress with sweaty palms.
Johnny rolled his eyes.
“You look fine, princess.”
“Can it, Johnny.”
She inhaled slowly, forcing calm into her jittery nerves, then stepped out of the car. As soon as she did, Johnny vanished.
The terminal loomed ahead, sterile white, chrome-lined, flooded with corpo guards and security drones. V swallowed hard, high heels clicking against the floor as she walked in. Last time she’d been here, it had ended in a bloodbath. Her body remembered that day even more vividly than her mind did. She half-expected the NUSA military to flood through the atrium at any second.
But instead, people are going about their business.
She arrived at the designated terminal, scanning for the tall, sharply-dressed devil she was supposed to call her “dad.” But he wasn’t there. Yet .
V exhaled, half in relief, half in dread, and took a seat.
Then– glitch. Johnny reappeared next to her, elbow on his knee, face studying her sideways.
“Nervous?” he asked, voice lower than before.
V gave a dry laugh. “Bad enough I faked my own death and joined a rival corporation just to get away from him.”
Johnny let out a low whistle. “Damn.” He sat back and shook his head. “You know, I always knew you had corpo stink, but I didn’t realize it ran that deep. Daddy issues and espionage? That’s some classic Night City trauma right there.”
V gave him a flat look. “Glad you’re enjoying this.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, you know me. I’m a sucker for family reunions.”
She leaned back, eyes flickering to the terminal’s doors.
Any minute now.
V froze as soon as she saw them, a full Miltech squad, walking with brutal precision, black and chrome armor glaming under the white terminal lights. And the head of the procession… Lucas Hartford.
Her father.
Flanked by two Militech execs and a third in quiet conversation on a holocall. V rose to her feet on instinct. Johnny mimicked her with a dramatic stretch, muttering under his breath, “Look sharp, princess. Daddy dearest just stepped off the throne.”
Lucas’s grey eyes locked onto hers. She stiffened, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward, keeping her expression neutral. Cool. Controlled.
“Mr. Hartford,” she said, nodding.
“Miss Hartford,” he replied, his voice just as calm, just as rehearsed. “Glad you could make it.”
One of the execs, a lean older man with augmented eyes, looked at her for several clicks before smirking. “So this is your daughter? The V? The living legend who knocked Arasaka on its ass.”
V’s jaw clenched subtly. She scanned the terminal, instincts kicking in. Too many people. Too many eyes. And sure enough, just beyond the security line, the media. Drones already floating in. Lenses zooming.
Too late.
Lucas noticed her twitch and gestured to the exit. “Let’s continue this conversation in the car.”
Johnny flickered in beside her, feigning a posh English accent. “What? No AV? Bloody poppycock that.”
Militech guards formed a tight perimeter as they were led outside, flashes bursting. V kept her head high, steps measured, shoulders stiff. Johnny was smirking again, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
“I take it back,” he muttered, eyeing the vehicle parked curbside. A vintage Mercedes limousine, one of her father’s favorites. “That’s not just a limo. That’s a chrome-plated time machine . Vintage, pre-4th Corp War. Not bad, princess.”
A guard opened the door for her, and V slid in, taking a seat across from her father as the doors sealed. The noise of the media died instantly as the car glided away from the terminal and into the controlled arteries of Night City.
Lucas was the first to speak, a chuckle under his breath. “I informed my closest circle of your return. Left out the part where you’re the very same woman who stormed Arasaka Tower. Though that detail might be… too distracting.”
V forced a polite smile. “Good call.”
Lucas gestured around. “This is Blake, COO. The man next to him is Marshal Deyn, Chief of Strategic Ops. And the quiet one at the end is Helm, Chief Security Architect.”
They nodded, firm handshakes and titles exchanged like contracts in midair.
“A pleasure, ” V offered smoothly.
Champagne bottles popped open. The execs were already pouring. One of the guards handed V a glass, and she accepted it, swirling the bubbles like she cared. Johnny phased into existence on the seat beside her, legs crossed, arms behind his head.
“This is peak corpo theater,” he said with a snort. “You in lipstick and lace, sipping bubbly in a limo, surrounded by old war dogs planning how to sell the next big conflict.”
She didn’t answer him, just kept her face placid and tuned into the conversation. Or tried to.
Talk flowed around her like static: Militech’s expanding influence, Arasaka’s weakening grip on upper districts, potential foreign interests. Her mind wandered. Her eyes drifted to the skyline as it blurred by.
“I have to ask,” said Blake, turning toward her. “Why’d you storm Araska Tower, Miss Hartford? That’s not a one-person job. And not exactly a subtle move.”
She didn’t answer right away. Johnny gagged theatrically in the background, pretending to shove a finger down his throat. She shared a subtle look with him, just a twitch of her lip, and turned to face her father directly.
“Because Arasaka had something I needed,” she said calmly. “And storming it was the best way to get it.”
Silence.
Then a burst of polite laughter.
“You raised a bold one,” Marshal Deyn said, clapping Lucas on the shoulder. “Takes guts. No wonder she’s still breathing.”
Lucas gave a tight smile. “She’s always been… resourceful.”
V’s champagne glass tilted toward her lips. Another sip. Another mask. Another half-lie under her tongue.
And somewhere between the bubbles and bullshit, Johnny leaned over with a grin.
“Guess it’s true what they say,” he whispered. “Can take the rat out of corpo, but you can’t take the corpo outta the rat.”
She didn’t look at him, but her face fell slightly. Jackie told her the same thing, but over Yorinoubu Araska. She was still upset with Johnny’s comparison to him.
But she kept smiling.
Eventually, the limo slid into the VIP level of Corpo Plaza, gliding into the glossy underground parking garage beneath the Militech Offices. Bright white lights reflected off the polished marble and chrome. It was quiet, money had a way of making space feel sacred.
As the vehicle eased to a stop, guards stepped forward with mechanical precision, opening the doors for the execs. V followed, heels clicking against the marble. Johnny flickered briefly into her peripheral vision, then disappeared again, leaving only the faintest lingering static in her neural link.
The moment she stepped inside, the past hit her like a bullet to the chest.
Glass walls, military-grade smart elevators, hovering data displays, marble floors. Familiar. Too familiar. She remembered the first time she’d come here, eight years old, gripping her father’s hand, wide-eyed and amazed by everything. Her twin brother, Vincent, had been a few steps ahead, always trying to race ahead, always the one to lead.
Now she was leading.
“Gentlemen,” Lucas said, pausing by the lobby elevators, “I’ll join you in the boardroom shortly. I’d like a moment alone with my daughter.”
The group nodded and peeled off without question. That’s how things worked here. Orders came down like gospel. No one asked why.
Now it was just her and Lucas, walking side by side toward his private office.
Eyes turned. Some employees whispered, others only glanced, curious or wary. A few, however, stared longer. Recognizing her. Maybe they’d seen a photo once, maybe they’d seen the headlines—the woman who blew up Arasaka.
“I’ll admit,” Lucas said calmly, “I didn’t think you’d show. Half-expected a message saying you were halfway out of Night City.”
V kept her gaze ahead. “We both know that’s not an option anymore.”
He nodded slightly. “No, I suppose it’s not.”
They entered his office, the doors closing shut behind them. Lucas gave a small flick of his hand and dismissed the two guards lingering by the entrance. The doors sealed again with a quiet thud.
Polished black desk, glass panels shifting with data, walls lined with family portraits and war memorabilia. Johnny appeared near the back of the room, arms crossed, eyeing everything like it was staged for a museum tour.
“Jesus,” he muttered, eyes landing on a photo. “Is that you? As a baby? That’s… unfortunate.”
V glanced over. The photo was old, her and Vincent as babies in matching onesies, smiling widely under bright artificial lights.
Lucas followed her gaze.
“You two were the cutest damn babies I’d ever seen,” he said softly. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m your father.” There was something genuine there.
Lucas turned back toward her, his eyes sharp again. “Ever think about having kids?”
V blinked at the shift. “Not really. Never saw the need for ‘em.”
Lucas smirked faintly. “Still time to change your mind. Then again… considering the circumstances…”
V’s lips pressed into a line. He was right, even if it was brutal.
“Now’s probably a good time to discuss my offer.”
She nodded once, then glanced toward a secondary near the corner of the room. “Mind if I use your bathroom first?”
He gestured toward it without hesitation. “Go ahead.”
She stood, trying to maintain her composure, and stepped through the side door. Once it closed behind her, the mask cracked just a bit. She leaned on the sink, exhaling hard, staring into her own reflection. Painted eyes, red and black dress, tension behind her shoulders like wires pulled too tight.
Get it together, V.
She brought up her internal comms and dialed in. The line clicked.
“Angel. You there?”
There was a brief pause, then Angel’s voice buzzed through.
| “I’m here. Took you long enough. I’m inside the Militech offices too, but security’s tighter than expected. I can’t get access to the cryochambers.” |
V’s brows furrowed. “I’m in my father’s office. I’ll see if I can shut down security there. Might have to pull some strings.”
Angel’s tone was even, but urgent. | “Do it quickly. We don’t have long.” |
V nodded. “I’ll get it taken care of. Stand by.”
She cut the line and turned toward the mirror again. Johnny appeared behind her reflection, leaned against the wall, arms folded like he’d been there the whole time.
“You were an ugly baby,” he said with a smirk. “But hey, solid performance out there.”
She scoffed. “Thanks for the sympathy.”
Johnny’s expression softened, ever so slightly. “You’re handling this better than I expected. All things considered.”
“Yeah, well, dying has a way of keeping things in perspective.”
V adjusted her dress, steeling herself, and turned back toward the door.
“Time to play daughter of the year . ” She sighed.
Johnny rolled his eyes. “Just don’t forget why you’re really here.”
V returned from the bathroom, her expression composed but sharp, every step calculated. Lucas sat behind his desk, arms folded, watcher her like a predator gauging his kin.
She didn’t waste time.
“I’m ready to cut a deal,” she said plainly, sinking into the chair across from him. “But first, I want to ensure something.”
Lucas tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “What would that be?”
“Johnny’s body,” she said. “I want to make sure it’s real. That it’s his .”
Lucas’s frown deepened. “I wasn’t planning to access the cryochambers today,” he said. “I can fit into my schedule, say… later this week.”
V’s tone dropped an octave. “No. I want to see him now , or there’s no deal.”
The silence stretched. For a moment, the weight of her words lingered like a loaded pistol resting on the table.
Lucas studied her for several seconds before finally nodding. “Fine.”
They left the office together, stepping into a high-security elevator. The metal doors slid closed behind them with a soft hiss.
As the elevator descended, V felt a sudden tightness spread through her chest. Her vision tilted slightly, head pounding with pressure. The familiar sensation crept in, another flare-up . She tried to breathe through it, fight it back, but the more she resisted, the harder it hit.
She coughed once. Then again.
And then blood.
It splattered onto her palm and stained her teeth, and she turned quickly to the side, trying to hide it. But Lucas saw. His eyes locked on her like she was a ticking time bomb, half concern, half revulsion. He wordlessly pulled a handkerchief from his coat and held it out.
She took it with a brief nod. “Thanks.”
He didn’t respond.
The elevator doors opened to cold air and bright white light. The cryochambers.
Rows upon rows of bodies suspended in stasis, silently glowing in thin glass tanks. Men in sterile suits moved between terminals, monitoring vitals, adjusting pressure levels. A sharp hum echoed throughout the lab– mechanical, rhythmic, clinical.
“Bring us to Robert J. Linder,” Lucas ordered one of the technicians. The man, clearly unsure whether to question the CEO, simply nodded and gestured for them to follow.
V trailed slightly behind, eyes scanning every tank they passed. Limbs suspended in blue, lungs frozen in breathless pause, faces untouched by time.
And then, they reach him.
Johnny Silverhand.
Naked in his chamber, locked in stasis, alive but not alive . It was surreal. The curve of his jaw, the scars across his chest, the metalwork of his arm. V stared at him like she’d never seen him before.
Johnny flickered into view beside her, eyes wide, jaw slack.
“This is… fucking unreal,” he muttered. “That’s me. That’s really me.”
Lucas glanced between her and the tank. “Satisfied?”
“Not yet,” V said, voice steady. “I want to see his file. All of it. DNA, neuro-mapping, and vitals. I want confirmation.”
Lucas gave a brief nod to the technician, who moved toward the terminal and began typing. Data began streaming onto the wall-mounted display.
V subtly slid her hand into her jacket and jacked in through the hidden port. Behind her calm expression, code surged through her neural link.
Security systems began to shut down.
She felt it instantly, the cameras, the sensors, the data logs, all disabled.
A moment later, Angel’s voice crackled in through the comms.
| “I’m in.” | She stated. | “Good work. I’ve got access now, getting ready to extract his body. Shouldn’t take long.” |
“Need anything else from me?” V asked quietly, internally.
| “No. You’re done. I’ll message you when it’s safe.” |
V took one last look at the chamber. At Johnny. Then turned back toward her father.
“I’m satisfied,” she said, this time aloud.
Lucas seemed pleased. “Then let’s return upstairs.”
They rode the elevator in silence. Lucas occasionally glanced her way, but V kept her eyes forward.
Back in his office, Lucas poured himself a drink and offered one to her. She declined.
“I’ll still need time to consider your offer,” she said evenly. “But this was a good step.”
Lucas nodded. “You’ve always been thorough. That hasn’t changed.”
V stood, smoothing down her dress. “I have to go, appointment with my Ripperdoc. He’s waiting for me.”
“Of course,” Lucas said, stating as well. “We’ll talk more soon.”
“Thanks,” she muttered.
He didn’t respond, and V left without another word.
Outside, the air was heavy with that metallic tinge of Corporate Plaza humidity. She slid into her Quadra, heart pounding, vision slightly unfocused. Her hands trembled once she hit the road, the city lights streaking past her windshield.
She almost lost it. Almost.
But then Johnny appeared beside her, arms behind his head, watching carefully.
“You did good, Princess,” he said quietly. “Didn’t even flatline anyone.”
V let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. A laugh, dry and tired, escaped her lips.
“Let’s just hope it was worth it.”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
Johnny pulled the Porsche up to the Afterlife as the sun was now in the morning sky. Angel was already there, leaning against her car with a cigarette dangling between her fingers. She flicked it away the moment she spotted them, posture stiffening. Johnny exhaled deeply, rubbed his tired eyes, and stepped out of the driver’s seat without a word.
V watched from behind the glass as Angel appreached Johnny. The two spoke in hushed voices, just out of earshot. Even without hearing them, V could sense the weight of whatever they were exchanging, a glance here, a nod there, the kind of conversation about too many unsaid things.
Eventually, they pulled apart. Angel rounded the back of the Porsche and retrieved the same wheelchair Judy had packed earlier. Johnny made his way to V’s door, opening it and offering her his ‘ganic hand. She stared at it silently for a moment, still simmering with the tension from the drive, but finally relented and let him help her to her feet. Her legs wobbled slightly, and she winced as a sharp pain gripped her abdomen.
“I got you,” Johnny muttered under his breath, barely audible.
Angel rolled the chair toward them, “Come on, V,” she said gently. “You’re still healing. Don’t push it.”
V shook her head. “I don’t need the fucking chair.”
“You can’t, you might hurt–”
“I said I got it.” V stepped forward on her own, prying herself away from Johnny’s support. Her legs trembled with each step, and she gritted her teeth to hide how bad the pain really was. But when that sharp, pinching ache hit again, lower and deeper, she couldn’t hold back the curse that tore from her throat.
Johnny didn’t say anything. Just stepped in again and let her lean against him, slipped an arm behind her back. “Don’t fight me on this,” he said lowly. “We’re getting there together.”
V let him help her.
Angel watched them for a moment, then turned, folding the wheelchair and sliding it back into the trunk. “You gonna be alright on your own?” she called over her shoulder to Johnny.
He gave her a short nod. “Yeah. I’ve got this.”
Angel nodded and began down the concrete steps toward the Afterlife’s entrance. “I’ll let Rogue know you’re here.”
As they approached the stars, V stared down at them with dread. “Of course it had to be stairs,” she muttered.
Johnny looked over at her, his expression unreadable behind his shades. “Still not too late to take the chair.”
V shook her head immediately. “Nope. We got this.”
They took it slow. Johnny matched her pace, offering her pauses when she needed to clutch her side and breathe through the waves of pain. V leaned against the railing for a moment halfway down, muttering something under her breath that Johnny wisely didn’t comment on. Step by step, they reached the bottom.
“Final stretch,” V muttered as they reached the doors of the Afterlife.
Johnny glanced at her, something close to respect beneath the fatigue, and together they took another step forward to the most infamous bar in Night City.
The hallway leading into the Afterlife was dead quiet, eerily so. V leaned into Johnny as they moved forward, her steps unsteady, every breath tight with pain. It wasn’t until they reached the iconic double doors and neon sign that she realized why the silence felt so unnatural.
The Afterlife was closed.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen it like this: no mercs crowded around booths, no fixers arguing over gigs, no Claire slinging drinks behind the bar. Just stillness.
Johnny helped her to one of the nearest booths, guiding her gently onto the seat like she might shatter if he moved too fast. V winced as she sat, the pain flaring through her gut. Her breaths came short and shaky, and her eyes watered despite herself.
“That hurt,” she muttered, blinking back tears.
Johnny gave her a look, the sadness in his eyes saying more than words could. But he didn’t stay. He turned to leave, mumbling, “I’ll get the others.”
She reached out and caught his ‘ganic hand before he could pull away. “Talk to me,” she said softly.
He shook his head, almost apologetically, and gently slipped free of her grip. Without a word, he walked off, disappearing into the dim corridors of the Afterlife.
V watched him go, her stomach still twisting from the pain, the silence, and everything unsaid. The emptiness around her made it worse. No familiar faces. No noise. Just her and her broken body, surrounded by ghosts of the life she’d lived here.
Then Angel entered.
She appeared from the shadows like she’d been waiting or watching. V hadn’t even heard her approach. She walked up to the booth and leaned in, her eyes soft. “You ready to get up one more time?” she asked.
V let out a long breath. “Where to?”
“There’s a tub in the other room. Figured you might wanna get cleaned up.”
V nodded, her muscles already dreading the effort. Angel helped her up, keeping a firm hand on her arm as she guided her down a narrow hall past Rogue’s room. As they moved, V heard voices from behind a closed door, Johnny and Rogue. Arguing. Their voices were low and tense.
Anel led her into a room V had never seen before, a bathroom like Rogue’s private one. Sleek, surprisingly well-kept. Angel guided her toward the toilet and flipped the lid down. “Sit,” she instructed gently.
V obeyed, lowering her slowly, carefully.
“Need to check your stitching,” Angel said. “Lift the dress.”
V hesitated for a moment before doing as she was told. She pulled up the hem, exposing her bandaged abdomen. Angel crouched in front of her and carefully began unwrapping the gauze. V looked down and immediately regretted it.
The wound was raw and ugly, a horizontal slice cut deep across her lower abdomen. The dried blood clung to the stitches like old rust. Her stomach turned.
Angel gave a small nod. “Bleeding’s stopped. That’s a good sign. You’re in the clear.”
Before V could ask the obvious question, How did I get this? Angel was already turning away, moving to the tub and shutting off the water.
“Undress,” she said, her voice soft again. “You should get in. I’ll help.”
V frowned. “You don’t need to–”
“You’re in no shape to be on your own,” Angel cut in gently. “Don’t want you tearing something or hurting yourself worse.” She gave her a small, sad smile. “It’s alright.”
V stilled, studying her. There was something in Angel’s eyes, something that made V’s chest tighten. Not pity. Not an obligation. But recognition . Concern. Like she cared. Like they knew each other.
But they didn’t.
Alt’s clone , V, reminds herself. Why would I have been friends with Alt Cunningham?
Still, she was too exhausted to argue. With trembling hands, V pulled the dress over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her in just her bra and underwear. Angel didn’t say a word. She simply stepped in and helped her into the tub with practiced care.
The moment V sank into the water, she let out a hiss. The heat stung her wounds, but it was a cleansing pain, the kind that made her feel like a person again, not just some stitched-up body dumped into a booth.
Angel worked efficiently washing away the grime, the blood, and the sweat. V averted her gaze, feeling helpless under someone else’s care. Her eyes drifted to her own body, the changes becoming more noticeable now. New scars. Faint stretch marks. Slight weight gain, maybe. She didn’t recognize this version of herself. It didn’t feel like hers.
Maybe it wasn’t.
But for now, she let Angel finish.
Once the water began to cool, Angel helped her out, wrapped her in a thick towl. “I’ll grab you some clean clothes,” she said, her tone returning to something calm, composed. “Be right back.”
She slipped out, leaving V alone in the bathroom. But as soon as Angel left, V took a moment to breathe. The silence around buzzed louder than it should have. She glanced around the sleek space, still wrapped in the towel, before stepping toward the mirror. The reflection that looked back barely looked like her.
Massive bags under her eyes, a pallor she couldn’t remember having, faint scarring at her collarbone. Her face was thinner in some places, fuller in others, unbalanced, unfamiliar. She looked terrible. And that was after getting cleaned up. V grimaced. She didn’t want to imagine what she’d look like before.
Gritting her teeth, she turned from the mirror and made her way slowly out of the bathroom, moving down the hall with soft, deliberate steps. Every movement set a ripple of pain through her abdomen, but she swallowed it, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.
She paused outside Rogue’s door.
Voices.
She leaned in closer.
“I’m telling you, Johnny, you’re an idiot if you think you can just delta out of Night City right now,” Rogue snapped. “Not with V in the shape she’s in.”
“She’s not safe here,” Johnny shot back. “Militech’s still looking. We stay, we risk everything.”
Militech? V’s blood ran cold. Why the hell is Militech after us?
“She is safe here,” Rogue said, sharp and sure. “With me. At the Afterlife. She needs time, not another chase.”
“They’ll find us, Rogue. You don’t get it.”
“No,” Rogue growled. “ You don’t get it. You’re the one who can’t stay. Johnny Silverhand, always running away from his fucking problems.” She paused. “Have you even checked on Jackie since Hotel Pitis Sophia?”
V froze.
Jackie? Jackie Welles?
She moved closer to the door, heart thudding in her chest.
Silence from Johnny.
“You bastard,” Rogue muttered. “Jackie needs you. And if you’re not gonna tell V, the least you could do is show your face at Misty’s.”
V’s breath caught.
Jackie’s alive.
Tears prickled her eyes before she could stop them. Her throat tightened.
More silence.
Johnny’s voice came next, low and ragged. “I can’t.”
A beat.
Then Rogue’s tone shifted to something colder, quieter, deadlier.
“Angel told me what you almost did.”
Johnny didn’t reply.
“Did you even think, for one second?” she hissed. “You could’ve left her. Left Jackie . All alone.”
V’s eyes widened, her heart thundering in her ears.
Before she could press her ear any closer, a hand pulled her back.
Angel.
She looked alarmed. “V, what are you doing? What did you hear?”
V wiped at her face quickly, glaring through wet lashes. “I know enough. You’re all clearly hiding something from me.”
Angel’s face tensed. She didn’t ask specifically what V heard. Didn’t try to deny it. She just sighed and said, “It doesn’t matter. I was bout to let you in anyway.”
She knocked on the door, the sound echoing sharply down the hall. “She’s ready.”
The door swung open, and Rogue stood there, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
Behind her, Johnny lingered in the room, gaze firmly locked on anything but V. She narrowed her eyes at him.
Rogue gave a small nod and motioned V inside. “Room’s ready,” she said simply.
V stepped past the threshold, eyes darting around the unfamiliar space. She’d never seen Rogue’s quarters before, hadn’t even been sure she had a room at the Afterlife. It felt strangely personal, more than she expected.
A black bed sat in the far left corner, sheets neatly tucked. A worn couch rested in the center of the room, and across from it, a desk cluttered with photos and scattered papers. Beside it, a tall wardrobe stood half-open, revealing stacks of clothes and gear. Just beyond that, another doorway led off into a storage unit, probably where Rogue kept the good stuff. On the right side was a compact kitchenette, some appliances gleaming under low lights. And to V’s left, a closed door.
Johnny stood by the couch, his chrome silver hand dragging down his face like he was trying to wipe away exhaustion. He didn’t look at her.
“You’ll be staying here,” Rogue said. “At least until you’re back on your feet.”
V blinked. “Uh… thanks?” she offered, the words coming out unsure, like she wasn’t sure what else to say.
Rogue waved it off. “Don’t overthink it. Just get changed. Get some rest.”
Angel stepped forward, pressing a folded pair of shorts and a soft grey shirt into V’s hands, something easy to sleep in.
“I’m heading to Misty’s,” Rogue announced as she turned toward the door.
Johnny looked up sharply, dropping his hand from his face. “Why?”
Rogue didn’t look back. “Because someone has to look after her. And it’s clearly not going to be you.”
That shut him up.
Rogue cast one glance back at V. “I’ll see you later this afternoon. Rest.” Then she was gone.
Angel lingered just a moment longer. “I’ll be at the bar if you need anything.” Her eyes flicked to Johnny, still statue-still by the couch. “Come on, Johnny.”
Wordlessly, he followed her out, shoulders hunched like the weight of the world hadn’t let up since Pacifica.
And then V was alone again.
She unwrapped the towel slowly, careful not to aggravate the wound on her stomach, and changed into the clean clothes Angel gave her. The fabric was soft and light, comforting in its simplicity.
She drifted toward the desk next, curiosity tugging at her. A photo caught her eye, old. Johnny and Rogue, younger by decades. Johnny had shorted hair, less tattoos, and was wearing his leather jacket. Rogue’s hair was a dark blue, her smile sharper, more confident. He must’ve been about her age in that photo. Maybe even younger.
Another photo rested beside it, newer. Rogue’s hair was silver now, parted to the side. Johnny stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, kissing her cheek as she smirked at the camera. It was… warm. Familiar.
V frowned. They got back together? Judging by the tension she saw earlier, clearly it didn’t last.
She sighed, the weight of everything finally pressing down all at once.
She barely made it to the bed before her body gave in. The sheets smelled clean, like soap and faint cigarette smoke. She crawled in, pulled the covers around her, and sank into the mattress.
At first she though she wouldn’t be able to sleep, too many questions swirling around her head, too many secrets. Jackie. Militech. Johnny. Everything.
But her body had other plans.
The moment her head hit the pillow, V was out.
V woke with a choked gasp, eyes wide, lungs already burning as tears streamed down her face. The nightmare still clung to her like wet plastic. But this time, something was different.
Something was missing.
She could feel the absence like a phantom weight in her arms. It should be there, held close, safe, hers. But it wasn’t. It had been taken.
“Where is it?” she sobbed, curling inward. “Why did they take it from me…?”
She didn’t know what she talking about, but she felt it.
Johnny was on the couch, already on his feet and at her side before she finished the first sob. He reached out, pulling her close, his voice low, steady. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just a nightmare, V. You’re safe.”
She tried to shove him away. “No. You took it. You took it from me–”
Johnny didn’t budge. He just wrapped her tighter in his arms, hand moving gently in circles on her back. “Breathe,” he whispered. “C’mon, V. Just breathe.”
Her heart pounded in her chest, but slowly the world stopped spinning. The panic settled, and the tears dried.
The dream faded, slipping back into the fog of her fractured mind.
She blinked, dazed, and hesitantly pulled away. “What… what are you doing here?”
Johnny shifted back, putting space between them on the bed. “Just wanted to keep an eye on you,” he said quietly.
V eyed him, confused. Suspicious. “Why you? Why not Angel?”
Johnny stood, sat on the couch, elbows on his knees. He stared down at his chrome fingers, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I know you better.”
And that was it. No grand monologue. No sarcastic comment. No righteous cause.
Just… that.
V stared at him. He looked awful . His hair was a tangled mess, his aviators couldn’t hide the red in his eyes or bags under them. His shoulders sagged like he’d been holding up the city by himself and finally let go.
This wasn’t the same Johnny she’d left behind at Mikoshi.
That Johnny was fire and fury, and defiance. This one was smoke and ash and silence.
She couldn’t tell if she missed the old one or pitied the new one more.
But then something else hit her. Jackie.
Her blood ran cold as the memory of Rogue and Johnny’s argument slammed back into her thoughts.
“I know,” she said suddenly, voice sharp.
Johnny looked up, his expression tightening.
“I know about Jackie,” she continued, her eyes locked on him. “I heard you. You and Rogue.”
His face crumbled as he dragged his hands over it. “Shit,” he muttered. His voice cracked. “V… I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve told you. Should’ve–” he stopped, swallowing hard.
“Why didn’t you?” she asked, voice trembling. “He was alive , Johnny. Jackie was–is–alive.”
He looked at her like she’d slapped him. “He?” he echoed, suddenly on edge. His eyes widened. “No, no, V, Jackie Welles isn’t alive.”
V stared at him, heart pounding. “Then who the hell is Jackie ?”
Johnny froze, “Jackie is–” But before he could finish speaking, the door opened.
Rogue stood in the doorway, arms crossed, sharp eyes flickering between the two of them.
She glanced briefly at V in bed, assessing as always, then turned her sharp eyes on Johnny, who was still hunched over on the couch.
Johnny looked up, startled. “Didn’t hear you come in,” he muttered, his voice rough.
“That’s ‘cause I just got back,” Rogue replied flatly, shrugging off her coat and hanging it near the door.
There was a pause.
“How is she?” Johnny finally asked, voice low.
Rogue’s brows twitched slightly. “You wanna know how she is?” she said, crossing her arms. “Then go see for yourself.”
Johnny’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything.
“Out,” Rogue added, cutting the conversation short. “I need a minute with V. Alone.”
Johnny hesitated, clearly not thrilled about being dismissed. He threw one more unreadable glance at V the silently stood and walked out, the door closing behind him.
Rogue sighed and dragged a chair up to V’s bedside, sitting down with all the weight of someone carrying too many years on her shoulders.
“Angel says you need at least a few more days of rest,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “You tear something now, we’re gonna be patching you up all over again.”
V let out a frustrated breath and slumped back against the pillows. “Right. Rest. Healing. From what, exactly?” she muttered bitterly. “No one’s given me a straight answer. Just that I was found dying. The wound was nasty. Nasty enough to… kill me.”
Rogue didn’t say anything at first.
And when she did, her voice was quieter. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It was bad. Real bad.”
She paused, then muttered under her breath so quietly that V almost didn’t catch it. “ Johnny really did a number on you, V…”
V froze.
“What?” Her voice cut through the room, sharp and disbelieving. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Rogue looked at her, and her silence said it all.
V sat up, fighting past the searing pain in her abdomen. “Johnny did this to me?” she snapped. “He killed me?”
“It’s not like he wanted to,” Rogue said, tone grim. “But you were too far gone, V. You weren’t gonna live. You think he’s a wreck now? You should’ve seen him then.”
V’s thoughts were racing, spiraling, too much, too fast.
But before she could speak–
SLAM .
The door burst open.
Johnny stood in the doorway, breath short, shoulders tensed like he’d just run full speed from the Afterlife’s entrance. His eyes locked on Rogue first, then shifted to V, wide and full of alarm.
“Militech,” he said, voice grave. “They’re outside.”
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading!! This has been my favorite chapter to write so far, and I'm super excited to work on the next ones.
Comments and kudos are appreciated! ♡♡♡ And if you chooms have any theories, definitely let me know! I freaking love them XD
Chapter 5: Help I'm Alive
Summary:
If we’re still alive
My regrets are few
If my life is mine
What shouldn’t I do?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
The sun was at its highest point when V rolled up to Viktor’s clinic, her Quadra humming low as it parked outside the familiar stores. Inside, Vik was just finishing up with a client, some nervous kid getting a new optical overlay. As the chair hissed and lowered, Vik patted the kid on the shoulder, exchanged a few final words, and sent him on his way.
“Look who finally decided to show,” he said as V stepped through the door, his grizzled face cracking a tired grin. “Glad you made it, kid.”
V smiled faintly. “Yeah… good to see you too, Vik.”
She moved to the chair and sat down, the worn leather groaning beneath her. As she leaned back, she couldn’t help but think, It’s kinda sad… how I trust this guy more than my father . Vik, with his warm hands and no-bullshit attitude, always felt familiar.
Viktor gave her outfit a once-over and raised an eyebrow. “Nice outfit, kid. Bit flashy, though, not your usual flair.”
She gave a small chuckle, smoothing down the red and black dress. “Had a meeting with a corporate man. Figured I should look the part.”
Vik leaned back and crossed his arms. “Yeah, I saw that. Whole damn feed’s lighting up with it.”
V stiffened. “Wait… the feeds?” she asked, pulse quickening. “What were the headlines?”
“Just that Night City’s ‘living legend’ was seen meeting with Militech’s CEO.”
V’s face paled. “You sure it didn’t say anything else?”
Vik shook his head. “Nope. Why? Expecting a certain headline?”
Before she could respond, Johnny flickered into existence on the other side of the room, leaning casually against the wall.
“Nobody knows because nobody gives a damn,” he drawled. “You’re not the only corpo brat in Night City, princess.”
V didn’t rise to the bait, instead, she shook her head.
Viktor moved to his console and began pulling up her charts. “So, you back in the corpo game? Branching out from Arasaka to Militech?”
“Is that a breach of client-ripperdoc privilege?” V asked, half-teasing.
“Only if it affects your health,” he said, glancing at her over his lenses. “And judging by your stress levels… it might.”
He narrowed his eyes, tapping her vitals. “Your blood pressure’s up. Stress is damn near through the roof. And…”
He paused, squinting at the screen.
“The Relic’s gone,” he muttered, then looked up at her. “But there’s something else there. Not the original chip, but something similar. What the hell’s going on?”
V smiled, tapping her temple. “Took a job. Supposedly, this one’s the cure.”
Vik didn’t return the smile, but there was a flicker of hope in his stubborn eyes. “Well… let’s hope it does speed things up . You’re still tracking for three months. Same prognosis. But if this chip’s different… maybe that buys you more time.”
He looked back at the charts. “You been taking those painkillers I gave you?”
V nodded. “Yeah, they help a lot with the flare-ups.”
“Good. Your readings look stable, well, stable as they can be.”
He turned away from the screen and started cleaning his tools. “Before you go, you should stop by Misty’s. She said she’s been wanting to see you.”
V blinked. “Misty? Know why?”
“Nope, she didn’t say why.” Vik added, “But it sounded important.”
V rose from the chair and brushed herself off. “Alright, I’ll swing by.”
“Take care of yourself, V.”
She nodded and headed out the door. Johnny trailed behind her, flickering faint and sardonic in low light.
V took the long approach to Misty’s shop so she could use the front entrance. The bell above the door jingled softly as V stepped into Misty’s Esoterica, the cozy little shop still thick with incense. The glow of candles cast lazy shadows across the shelves stacked with crystals, charms, and odd relics from another time. At the counter, Misty shuffled a deck of worn tarot cards, the slow rhythmic motion oddly calming.
Her eyes lifted, warm and familiar. “It’s been a while,” she said, smiling softly as V approached.
V returned the smile, genuine this time. “Yeah… too long. How’s business?”
Misty gave a little shrug. “Slow. But I’ve been seeing more clients lately. Word must be getting around.” She looked V up and down with a twinkle in her eyes. “You’ve got that same restless energy I remember. Viktor told you I wanted to see you?”
“He did,” V replied, resting her arms on the counter. “Assuming this is a tarot reading?”
Misty nodded. “You’re overdue. Next time you came by, I thought it would be a good time to take a look, see where the winds are blowing.”
Johnny flickered into view, leaning against a shelf lined with dried herbs. “You’re really still doing this, thought it was just a phase,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Could’ve sworn you were smarter than that to believe in mythic crap.”
V ignored him,
“Alright,” Misty said gently, spreading the cards across the table in a fan. “Pick one. This one will represent where you are now.”
V studied the cards for a moment, her fingers hovering before selecting one from the middle. Misty flipped it over.
Queen of Wands.
“She’s a powerful figure,” Misty said. “Confident. Driven. Independent. She leads with fire in her heart and doesn’t back down. But… there’s vulnerability there too. She hides it well, but it burns just as bright.”
V exhaled quietly. “Sounds about right.”
“Now pick five more,” Misty said. “They’ll tell us what’s coming.”
V drew the first, The Lovers.
Misty raised her eyebrows slightly. “The Lovers represents choices… relationships, yes, but also duality. A fork in the road. You’ll have to make a choice soon, maybe between what you want and what you need.”
Johnny snorted. “Or maybe someone’s just gonna fall madly in love with you, princess.”
V shot him a glance, then drew the next card, The Empress.
“A strong card,” Misty said. “The Empress is creator, fertility, beauty, nurturing energy. She symbolizes potential, new beginnings, and even healing. But only if you allow yourself to open up.”
“Not exactly your strong suit, V,” Johnny mumbled.
V moved on to drawing the third card, The Tower.
Misty’s smile faded just a little.
“The Tower is destruction,” she said, voice softer. “Chaos. Something will fall, maybe something you’ve relied on. It’s not a great card, but it’s not necessarily a bad one either. Sometimes the walls have to come down to build something better.”
The last card.
V flipped it.
Death.
Misty went pale. Her hands froze for a moment.
V’s breath caught in her throat. “What does that mean?”
Johnny, now eerily silent, watched from the corner.
Misty quickly forced a smile. “It doesn’t have to mean what you think. Death in tarot often means change, transformation, or rebirth. You’re shedding your old skin. Making way for something new.”
V’s eyes lingered on the card. Still…
Before she could draw the last card, her comms pinged. A message from Angel.
V’s heart jumped in her chest. She stood, already halfway to the door. “Sorry, Misty. Gotta run. I’ll come back later, I promise.”
Misty just gave her a nod. “Of course, we’ll finish this up later.”
Outside, as she crossed the lot to her car, Johnny appeared beside her, walking at her pace.
“Don’t let that spiritual crap get to you,” he said, trying for his usual edge, but it didn’t quite land. “It’s all a bunch of vague metaphors.”
“Yeah?” V asked, glancing at him.
“Yeah. Everything’s gonna work out.” His voice dipped, a little less cocky. “You got this far, didn’t you?”
She nodded slowly. A forced smile pulled at her lips. “You ready?”
Johnny smirked. “To return to the land of the living? Hell yeah.”
V opened the driver’s side door. “Then let’s go.”
The No-Tell Motel loomed ahead, its neon sign buzzing faintly in the night. V pulled her Quadra into the lot and killed the engine, her hands still tight on the wheel. Anxiety coiled in her chest like a living thing.
From the passenger seat, Johnny flickered into existence, arms crossed, watching her. “You’re wound tighter than a Corpo’s ass.”
V didn’t answer at first, just stared at the building. “This place…” she muttered. “I don’t like this.”
Johnny glanced at the sign, then back at her. “What? Something wrong with the decor.”
She shook her head. “Room 204. That’s where I died. Where Deshawn put a bullet in my head.” Her voice was quiet now.
Johnny’s smirk faded. For a moment, he just nodded, understanding written on his face. “Yeah. That’s a lot. But hey… you’re moments away from being cured . Let that sink in.”
V took a deep breath. “Yeah. You’re right.” She popped the door and stepped out into the warm, grimy air of Night City.
The interior of the motel hadn’t changed. Dingy walls, the scent of old smoke, and cheap synth cleaner. She moved quickly, heading up the stairs, boots echoing in the hallway until she reached Room 204. Her hammered as she knocked one… then twice.
The door cracked open. Angel stood inside, a silhouette by the dim lighting behind her.
“You made it,” she said simply, ushering V in.
The room looked… familiar. Too familiar. Angel led her into the bathroom. V’s stomach twisted at the sight of the stained floor, the cracked mirror, the bloodstained memories.
There, in a tub wired to a cluster of jerry-rigged machines and humming bioware, lay Johnny’s body.
Pale, still. But unmistakably his.
“Take a seat,” Angel said, gesturing to the chair she’d placed nearby.
V sat, silent. Johnny appeared again, standing beside the tub, staring down at himself.
“Fuckin’ weird,” he muttered.
V turned to Angel. “Any trouble getting it out of Militech?”
Angel gave a wry smile. “Smooth as chrome. But I’m sure they’re scrambling right now, trying to figure out how it went missing.”
V’s brows drew together. “Will they trace it back to me?”
Angel paused, then shrugged. “Probably. But by the time they do, it won’t matter.”
That did little to settle V’s nerves.
Angel took a breath. “You ready? This is it. No turning back.”
V looked at Johnny, then nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Angel moved quickly, skilled hands adjusting wires, booting up the interface. “Once I hook you both in, I’ll start the transfer. The modified Relic’s going to repair you while I transfer it into him. It’ll shift Johnny’s consciousness back into his original body… and your brain, hopefully, will stop trying to kill you.”
V locked eyes with Johnny. “See you on the other side.”
He gave her a two-finger salute and then glitched out of existence.
Angel connected the final wires. “Starting upload. He’s gone from your system.”
V blinked. Her head already felt lighter. Emptier.
Angel’s voice turned sharp. “Okay. I’m removing the chip now. It’s gonna hurt. Your body’s not going to like it. At all.”
Pain came like a thunderclap. White-hot and consuming.
V screamed, clutching the arms of the chair as her body convulsed. Blood filled her mouth, and she coughed hard, crimson splattering onto the floor.
“Stay with me!” Angel shouted, panic lacing her voice. “You flatline, it’s over!”
The world narrowed. Every breath was a war. But V clung on, shaking, trembling, barely conscious.
Angel worked quickly, sliding the Relic chip into Johnny’s neural slot.
“Hold on!” she muttered, hands flying across the console.
Seconds dragged like hours. But eventually, the pain ebbed. V collapsed back in the chair, panting, soaked in sweat.
Angel slumped beside her. “You did good,” she said, voice low but relieved. “You held through.”
V glanced weakly toward the tub. Toward Johnny. She sat out of the chair and approached him. “When does he wake up?”
Angel was about to answer when Johnny’s body jerked violently, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath like a drowning man.
His eyes flew open.
V lowered herself near the tub as Johnny’s breath slowed. He looked around, disoriented, then locked eyes with her.
And in that moment, without thinking, V threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight, trembling hug.
He didn’t hesitate, his arms sliding around her back, holding on just as tightly.
For several long, quiet moments, V and Johnny just held each other. The tension, the fear, and the pain of the last few months were bleeding out in silence. It wasn’t just relief in the embrace. It was survival. It was something neither of them thought they’d actually get.
But then V glanced down… and her eyes widened. She turned bright red and quickly pulled away, sitting up a little too straight, looking anywhere but at him.
Johnny raised a brow, then followed her gaze down at himself. “Oh, shit.” He muttered, voice rasping. He looked up at Angel, who was already halfway turned away, arms crossed.
“Clothes might be nice,” he added dryly.
Angel rolled her eyes and smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Be right back, rockerboy,” she said with a half-laugh, stepping out and leaving the two of them alone in the room.
V folded her arms, cheeks still burning. She waited for the heat to cool on her face before turning back to Johnny.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said softly.
Johnny tilted his head, a gentle look crossing his features. “Yeah?” He flexed his silver arm, the chrome catching the dim light. “Feels weird. Real again. Gonna take some gettin’ used to.”
A moment later, Angel returned, tossing Johnny a simple set of dark clothes. “Don’t get used to the room service,” she shot.
Johnny stood up from the tub, and V politely turned her back, eyes fixated on a crack in the wall while he got dressed. Behind her, she could hear him humming an old tune under his breath.
“Nice,” Johnny said, zipping up the pants. “Not my usual fit, but it’ll do.”
Then he turned toward Angel and offered her a roguish grin. “You sure you’re not Alt? Soundin’ just like her.”
Angel shot him a glare. “Nope. Alt had more patience with you. I don’t.”
The grin faltered as Angel stepped toward him. “Just because you’re back doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you. You owe a lot of people answers. Starting with me.”
Johnny opened his mouth, but Angel held up a hand, not now . There were bigger things ahead.
She turned to V instead.
“As for you,” Angel said, her voice softer. “You’re done here.”
A notification pinged on V’s shard, a sizeable credit transfer.
Angel nodded at her. “Payment in full. You’ve done more than I could’ve asked. Thank you.”
V stated at the notification, barely registering the number. It didn’t feel real.
She blinked. “So… that’s it.”
Angel nodded. “That’s it. You’re cured. The Relic’s gone. No more ticking clock.”
V looked away. Something hollow churned in her chest. “I thought I’d feel something,” she admitted. “Relief, maybe. Closure. I don’t know. Just… something.”
But there was nothing. Just the cold hum of a cheap motel air vent.
Johnny stepped forward, breaking the silence.
“Hey,” he said, voice gentler now, “meet me at the Afterlife tonight, alright? We’ll figure out the rest from there.”
V looked at him, really looked at him. The man who’d haunted her mind, whom she fought with, survived with, who’d now come back from the dead. A living being.
She nodded. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Then she turned and walked out the door, leaving behind the room where she had once died, and maybe, for the second time, was finally reborn.
Two hours later, the familiar hum of the Afterlife wrapped around V like an old, worn leather jacket, equal parts comforting and heavy with memory.
She stepped inside, her boots echoing against the floor, and made a beeline for the bar.
Claire glanced up from wiping a glass, her eyes lighting up.
“Well, well, look who crawled back,” she said, already reaching under the bar. “The usual?”
V smirked, sliding onto a stool. “Yeah. One Johnny Silverhand.”
Claire poured the drink, placing it in front of her with a clink. “You’ve been all over the feeds, Militech suits, handshake with Lucas Hartford. People are starting to talk. Wondering where your loyalties lie.”
V picked up a drink and took a slow sip before answering. “Ain't Militech. Just had some business to settle.”
Claire didn’t press. Just nodded, like she already knew but wanted to hear from V herself.
A soft rustling sound came from nearby, and a familiar weight brushed up against V’s leg.
“Nibbles,” V said with a smile, leaning down to scoop up her cat. Nibbles purred, nestling into her arms like she’d never been gone.
Before she could take another sip, Rogue’s voice cut across the din from her usual booth.
“V. Over here.”
V sighed quietly. “Guess I’m needed.”
She picked up Nibbles and strolled over to Rogue, who was seated in her usual corner.
Before Rogue could speak, V spoke quickly. “If this is about my meeting with Lucas, it was strictly business.”
Rogue arched a brow. “I don’t give a shit who you’re meeting, as long as you don’t drag us down with you.”
V smirked, settling into the seat across from her, Nibble curled up into her arms once more. “Good. Because I got what I needed.”
Rogue leaned in. “You mean…”
“No more attacks,” V said proudly. “No more Relic. It’s over.”
For a brief second, the legendary fixer let something like relief slip across her face.
“Proud of you, V,” Rogue said. “You get to be a living legend a while longer. Until you flatline to something a little more classic. Like taking on a squad of Maelstrom psychos solo.”
V chuckled, eyes soft. “Something to look forward to.”
Rogue swirled her drink. “Who was the netrunner?”
“Don’t worry about it, you’ll see her soon enough,” V replied with a cryptic grin.
Rogue gave her one more glance before waving her off. “Go enjoy not dying for once.”
V rose, scooping up Nibbles again and returning to Claire at the bar.
Claire poured her another drink without needing to ask.
“You look good, V,” she said.
V took a seat. “I feel good,” she admitted. “Better than good.”
Claire smiled, “That’s worth celebrating, too.”
V was halfway down her second Johnny Silverhand when someone slid into the seat next to her. No greeting, just a casual nod to Claire.
“I’ll have what she’s having. One Johnny Silverhand. Make it strong.”
Claire raised a skeptical brow, “A Johnny Silverhand? Really?” she scoffed, unimpressed. “Nice try, choom, but I’m not buying it.”
V turned, already knowing who it was. Sure enough, Johnny Silverhand flashed Claire a cocky grin, his eyes gleaming.
Claire folded her arms, staring him down. “Seen plenty of impersonators try that look. You’re no different. I’d know.”
She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the Johnny Silverhand mural hanging behind the bar, an old Samurai vinyl record with a couple of bottles of Johnny Silverhand’s favorite drinks on display.
Johnny smirked, “You a fan?”
“The biggest, ” Claire replied with pride. She slid him his drink. “Know every scrap of lore. Down to the time he broke a vase over his head and demanded his stage manager punch him.”
“Then you’re in luck,” Johnny said, raising a glass. “Because I really am Johnny Silverhand.”
Claire barked a laugh and turned to serve someone else. “Sure you are.”
Before Johnny could press it further, V cut in, eyeing him carefully. “So. What’d Angel want from you?”
He swirled his drink, shrugged. “Nothing important.”
“Johnny…”
“Drop it, V.”
She frowned, biting back her questions. Something was off, but he wasn’t talking. Not yet.
He finally glanced sideways at her. “Angel will be by the bar later. Wants to say hi to Rogue.”
V stiffened, eyes wide. “Fuck, I forgot to tell Rogue that you’re back.”
Johnny’s grin returned full force. “Perfect, now I can surprise her.”
V shook her head. “That’s not going to end well.”
He stood, brushing down his shirt. “Watch and learn, princess. You’re about to learn from the best.”
V leaned on the bar, drink in hand, watching as Johnny strolled toward Rogue’s booth like he hadn’t been dead in over five decades.
He stopped in front of her, “Miss me?” Rogue blinked up at him, confused… then recognition hit.
She stood and slapped him across the face. Hard, Johnny reeled more from the moment than the pain. Before he could even smirk, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.
Several heads turned, and the Afterlife got a lot quieter.
When they finally pulled apart, whispers broke out. Heads turned, people leaned in, wondering if what they’d just seen was real.
At the bar, V blinked, caught somewhere between amusement and something bitter. But she stopped herself before she could think anymore about it.
V made her way over to the booth where Johnny and Rouge now sat, a strange electricity lingering in the air from their very public reunion. Rogue’s eyes narrowed as V approached, leveling her with a sharp, knowing stare.
“You knew,” Rogue said. “You knew he was back and didn’t tell me.”
V raised both hands in mock surrender. “Look, it wasn’t to keep you out of the loop, alright? The meeting with Lucas? It was to get Johnny’s body back. Militech had it in cryo this whole time.”
Johnny gave a slight shake of his head. Subtle, but enough. V caught the flash of warning in Rogue’s eyes, it wasn’t just surprise. They were covering something.
V caught it. Her brow creased. “Wait, what was that? You two are hiding something.”
Johnny didn’t answer. Rogue didn’t either. Instead, Rogue’s attention snapped away, drawn toward the entrance. Her posture shifted.
“Well, I’ll be dammned,” she mumbled, stepping past V.
V turned, following her line of sight. Angel had just entered the Afterlife, dressed in her usual sharp threads. Rogue took a few purposeful steps forward, eyes locked on her.
“Alt,” Rogue said, with a familiar edge.
Angel blinked in surprise but didn’t break stride. “Hey… Rogue.”
V moved quickly, cutting in with a smile. “Rogue, meet the netrunner you put me in touch with. Angel. She’s Alt Cunningham’s clone.”
Angel gave a small wave. “Hey Rogue. Nice to finally see you in person.”
Rogue studied her for a moment longer before nodding, “Should’ve known. Half guessed it by the tone of your texts.” Then she stepped in, pulling Angel into a brief, firm hug.
Angel hesitated, then returned it.
V glanced over at Johnny, who stood just behind her, watching in silence, a faraway look in his eyes. When he noticed V staring, he shook the thought and gave her a small smile. She returned it, but her mind was already racing.
They were hiding something. She felt it.
But she pushed the thoughts aside. The thoughts could wait; tonight was for breathing, for living.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of drinks, laughter, and stories. V filled Rogue in on everything. The relic removal, Militech Offices, the gamble that somehow paid off. Rogue listened closely, offering the occasional sharp-witted comment, and she seemed relieved.
Johnny, though, hovered close to Rogue all night, never quite leaving her side. He laughed more, touched her shoulder when he leaned in to talk, and V… noticed.
She glanced at Angel, sitting a few seats away with her drink half-finished. Her jaw was tight, her eyes flickered between the two.
V sighed quietly, sipping her own drink. She didn’t blame her. It was a little much.
Eventually, she stood up. “Alright. I’m calling it.”
Johnny turned to her, a little surprised.
“I’m heading home,” she said. “You mind walking me out?”
He nodded, “Yeah, sure.”
V gave the others a wave. “Got a few things to show him anyway.”
And just like that, V and Johnny stepped out of the Afterlife. The air was warm, thick with neon and the scent of street food. They walked together in a silence that wasn’t quite awkward but charged somehow. Fimiliar, yet different.
As they approached her car, V broke the quiet.
“You’re gonna need some time to adjust,” she said, unlocking the vehicle. “Lots changed since…well, since you’ve had a pulse.”
Johnny gave a dry chuckled, “No shit, princess.”
V popped open her trunk. “Figure I’d help with that.”
Inside were a few carefully chosen items. She reached in and handed Johnny a bundle, his old outfit. The pants, the tank top, the jacket, even his iconic aviators. She’d tracked each piece down over the past year.
“Welcome back,” she said, smirking.
Johnny took the clothes with a rare softness, running his hand over the worn fabric. “Can’t believe you kept all this.”
“Figured you’d want to feel like yourself again.”
He held the jacket like it was a relic of a man he wasn’t sure he still was.
Then she reached into her pocket, pulled out a set of familiar keys, and handed them over.
He stared at them. “No fucking way.”
“Yep. Your Porsche. Still runs like a dream. I’ve kept her maintained. Wasn’t right letting her collect dust.”
Johnny blinked, clearly overwhelmed. But V wasn’t done.
She pulled up her HUD and tapped a few commands. “Also transferred my old H10 apartment to your name. I mean… You liked it enough to recreate it on the Net. Thought you might like the real thing.”
Johnny stared at her, silent. The noise of the city seemed to be fading.
“I’ll cover the rent for the first few months,” V added, with a casual shrug. “Until you’re on your feet.”
“V…” he started, he didn’t seem to know what to say. He just held the keys, the bundle of clothes, staring at her like she was a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved.
She smirked. “Careful, Johnny. You’re starting to look sentimental.”
He barked a laugh, “Might be the resurrection sickness.”
“Sure it is.”
But then her face grew more serious. “One last thing.”
She reached up to her neck and unclasped the dog tags that had hung there since Hotel Pitis Sophia. They were still dull, worn, and scratched, the way things got when you wore them through warzones.
“They’re yours,” she said, pressing them into his chrome hand.
Johnny looked at them for a long while, quietly. Then, slowly, he shook his head. Pressing them back into her palm.
“No. You keep them.”
V blinked, “Johnny–”
He cut her off gently. “You earned them. Besides, I stand by what I said. I’ll always do right by you.”
She hesitated, then nodded, “Alright. But in that case–”
She reached into her jacket and pulled out a necklace, the old one Misty had made. The one that held Dexter Deshawn’s bullet in its center, still faintly chilling to the touch.
“Trade. To make us even,” she said. “I don’t want to hold onto it anymore. Just reminds me of dying in that hotel room.”
Johnny took it, examining the bullet with a raised brow. Then slipped it over his neck.
“Fits,” he said.
“Yeah,” V smiled softly. “It suits you.”
They stood there for a moment, eyes meeting in the haze of red lights and low-flying AVs.
Johnny took a step toward her.
Too close.
V’s heart did something strange. She quickly cleared her throat, turning away. “I should uh… probably get home.”
Johnny straightened up, stepping back with a nod. “Yeah. Of course.”
She opened the car door, but paused when he spoke again.
“Oh, and I’m taking Nibbles. Back to the new place.”
V turned, smiling. “Good. She never liked my new place anyway.”
“She’s got taste.”
V smirked, “Guess she does.”
She climbed into her car, hand resting on the doorframe for a beat.
“We should do this again sometime,” Johnny said.
V met his eyes. “Yeah. I think we will.”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
“How many?” Rogue snapped the moment Johnny slammed the door behind him.
“Didn’t get a good look,” he said, chest rising fast. “Their AV touched down just as I was coming back inside. But… enough. More than I’m comfortable with.”
Rogue cursed under her breath. “Probably one of their random sweeps, bastards love showing their teeth.”
Johnny wasn’t so sure. “What if it’s not random?” His voice dropped, laced with something darker. “What if they’ve been tracking us this whole time? Watching us. Maybe they’ve known where V was. Maybe they’re here for her .”
He started to spiral, words picking up speed. “I need to go. I have to check on–”
“No, you don’t.” Rogue cut in, sharp and final. “You’re not going anywhere. You walk out there, they’ll pin you before your foot hits the curb. Plus, I already checked on her. She’s fine.”
Johnny didn’t look convinced. “You don’t know that,” he shot back. “What if they took her?”
V, still reeling from Rogue’s earlier confession, blinked slowly. “Misty?” she asked, voice hoarse. “Why the hell would Militech want Misty ?”
From Rogue’s look alone, too knowing and too sharp, V realized Misty wasn’t even in the equation.
But before she could ask, the door creaked open and Angel peeked her head in. “They’re at the door,” she whispered. “Militech.”
“Shit,” Rogue muttered. “Fine. I’ll let them in. You two, hide .”
She moved fast, heading toward the storage door tucked by her desk. With practiced fingers, she punched in a keycode, and the thick metal door slipped open with a hiss.
She stepped aside. “I’ll stall them. Do not make a sound.”
Angel flicked something on her wrist, and in an instant, she vanished, cloaked and gone.
Without another word, Rogue slipped out, the door shutting softly behind her.
Johnny turned to V. “Come on. Now.”
V flinched as he reached for her, still raw with the thought, he killed me . She pulled back instinctively.
“Knock it off,” he hissed, keeping his voice. “You want to fight me on this now or survive the next five minutes?”
That shut her up, even if the look in her eyes screamed everything else. She nodded tightly.
He helped her into the storage room, the pain in her abdomen blooming again with every step. V gritted her teeth but didn’t complain.
Johnny scanned the room, eyes darting over crates and gear until he spotted it, a narrow gap under one of the stacked units. Tight, dark, but just big enough.
He yanked some boxes aside, clearing a crawlspace. “Here.”
V sank against the wall, breath shaky, hand hovering over her stitched wound. She winced hard as Johnny crouched beside her.
He shoved the box back into place, sealing them in the dark. It was a cramped space. V could barely move, and Johnny, tall and broad as he was, took up most of it. She was lucky she was considered short, otherwise there’d be no fitting in here at all. But even then, it was tight. Uncomfortably so.
Her shoulder pressed into his metal one, the metal cool against her skin. It bugged her more than it bugged him. Of course, it didn’t bother Johnny. Recently, he was at her side when she woke from a nightmare, touching her, comforting her without hesitation. Physical contact wasn’t an issue for him.
But for V, it was. Especially now. Especially with him.
She couldn’t stop thinking about what Rogue had said. That Johnny has done this to her. That the would, the one that ended her, came from him . And now, she was hiding in a dark, suffocating storage space, practically sitting on top of him, her anger caged in right beside her pounding heart.
Footsteps echoed faintly from outside, dull and muffled, Rogue’s voice floated through the walls, too quiet to make out the words.
So many questions spun through her mind.
Why is Militech after us?
Who the hell is this other Jackie?
Why did Johnny kill me?
The silence between them was stifling. So she broke it.
She whispered his name. “Johnny.”
He turned slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet in the dark.
“What’s Militech doing here?” she asked. “Why are they after us?”
He didn’t answer right away, tilted his head slightly as if listening for footsteps, measuring the risk. Then, quietly, he said, “To put it simply… they think you belong to them. They think you’re theirs. Not a person. A project. An investment.”
V’s brows furrowed. “What?”
“As for me…” Johnny’s voice dropped even lower. “They don’t know I’m alive. And I’d really like to keep it that way.”
V stared at him. That didn’t make sense. “But people do know you’re alive. Judy knew. You were at that concert, the Samurai reunion , remember?” Her voice was barely a breath. “She said I performed. Figured you would’ve shown up too.”
Johnny bit his lip and said nothing.
That silence, once again that was all the answer she needed.
Liar.
A noise from the bar snapped her attention forward, closer this time. More voices. She was running out of time.
One more question.
The most important one.
She didn’t ease into it.
“Rogue told me…” V swallowed hard. “Told me that wound I had. The one that killed me… that you were the one who gave it to me.”
Johnny looked over at her. His eyes were dark. Haunted. “V…”
“I want to know,” she hissed, voice trembling now, barely able to contain her rage. “Did you do it? Did you slice me open? Did you kill me, Silverhand?”
He looked away.
His jaw clenched, his shoulders tightening like a rubber band about to snap. And then, with a voice full of regret, he said it.
“Yes.”
V felt something crack in her chest.
“I didn’t have a choice,” he stammered. “ Shit , V, I didn’t want to. I had to. You were already dying when I found you.”
She shook her head, eyes burning. “That’s what Rogue said. But I don’t believe it. None of this makes sense. Since I woke up in that fucking hotel, everyone’s been lying to me. Omitting the truth. I don’t know who the hell I’m supposed to believe anymore.”
Johnny reached for her.
Not with the cold chrome, but with ‘ganic hand.
He gripped her gently, grounding her. “I’m telling you the truth. You have to believe me, V.”
She stared at him, searching his face, looking for something, anything at all that might give her a reason to trust him.
But before she could answer, voices erupted just outside. Militech and Rogue. Now they were in Rogue’s room.
And just like that, the two of them fell dead silent. Now, V could hear the conversation clearly between Rogue and the Militech officers.
“I don’t think searching my private quarters is necessary,” Rogue snapped. “I’ve already shown you everywhere else. There is nothing here.”
A cold, flat voice responded. “Comply with the search.”
Then came the crashing.
Drawers being yanked open. Objects knocked to the floor. Furniture scraped aside.
V tensed instinctively, pressing herself deeper into the corner of their cramped hideout. Johnny didn’t move, but she could feel the shift in his energy, his spine going rigid, and his jaw tightening.
“This is bullshit,” Rogue snapped again. “None of this is called for.”
“Comply with the search,” the officer repeated, tone colder.
“I am complying, damn it,” Rogue growled.
Johnny muttered under his breath beside her. “Don’t do anything stupid, Rogue…”
It was chaos just beyond the wall. Footsteps moved fast, boots pounding the floor, things clattering around, until suddenly it all stopped.
Silence.
V shifted her position just slightly, her stomach aching for being cramped so long, and gasped without meaning to. The movement shot a sharp, raw pain through her abdomen. She winced, loud enough for Johnny to shoot her a look, warning, worried. He placed a finger to his lips.
They waited.
Nothing.
Then Rogue’s voice again, terse but controlled. “You done here?”
A pause.
“Not quite,” the Militech officer said flatly. “We have one last search to conduct.”
V’s heart dropped.
They mean the storage room .
Johnny tensed. She could feel his muscles coil beside her, breath caught in his throat.
Rogue tried to stop them. “That’s not necessary.”
But the officer didn’t care.
“Have you been in contact with the following individual?” he asked. “Valerie Hartford. Daughter of the current Militech CEO, Lucas Hartford. Goes by the alias of V.”
Johnny swore under his breath, barely a whisper. “Fuck.”
V’s blood ran cold.
Valerie Hartford.
She hadn’t heard that name in years; she had it buried, locked it deep in her mind, and thrown away the key.
But now it was back, echoing like a gunshot through her skull.
They knew.
Militech knew she was alive.
Which meant Rogue knew.
And now Johnny knew.
She looked at him, panic in her eyes.
He met her gaze, and slowly, he shook his head.
He already knew.
V’s throat tightened, her heart pounding in her ear.
What the fuck happened this past year? How many people know the truth about her? Her name. Her family. Lucas Hartford. Militech.
And what else were they hiding from her?
Rogue didn’t miss a beat. “I haven’t been in contact with Valerie since the funeral.”
There was a pause. Then the Militech officer’s tone shifted, harder and sharper. “You’re lying.”
Footsteps approached, another soldier moving in. The first officer spoke again, louder now. “Valerie Hartford’s DNA biometrics readings are all over this room.”
Shit.
V cursed internally, jaw clenched tight. She hadn’t thought of that. Of course, her DNA would be everywhere, on the bed, the towel, even the photo she picked up.
“Answer the question, truthfully,” the officer continued, voice like stone. “Valerie Hartford is property of Militech. And we mean to return her, no matter what.”
A weapon clicked. The unmistakable sound of a chamber being loaded.
Rogue’s voice snapped like a whip. “Do you know who the fuck I am?”
The Militech officer responded without hesitation. “Rogue Amendiares. Queen of the Afterlife. Queen of Fixers. You were involved in the Militech operation to destroy Arasaka Tower fifty-five years ago.”
A cold silence followed.
“Sold us out to Arasaka,” the officer asked, his tone laced with venom. “Yeah. We know exactly who you are. So start talking straight.”
V’s thoughts were a whirl. Militech order the op? She stared wide-eyed at Johnny beside her. The nuke? It wasn’t his plan?
The whole story, the one V saw second-hand from his memories, was a lie.
She mouthed to him, What the fuck?
Johnny met her gaze, eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn’t respond.
Rogue exhaled, loud and angry. “She crashed at my place for the day, all right? But she left before your AV touched down.”
The Militech officer didn’t buy it. “Unlock the storage room.”
“If she’s not there,” he said, “you’ve got nothing to hide.”
Rogue hissed something under her breath, then replied through gritted teeth, “Of course, officer.” She started entering the code, painfully slowly.
Then V’s holo pinged, silent and internal. Judging by the yellow glow in his eyes, he did too. They both accepted.
Angel’s voice whispered directly into their heads. “You’ve got about seventeen seconds. Militech is going to open the door and run a full biometric scan of the room.”
Shit. Shit.
“I’m going to cloak you both,” Angel continued, her voice quick and calm. “But to do that, I have to stop your Chrome. And your vitals. No heartbeat, no breathing. Total null read.”
Johnny cursed through the link. “So you’re going to kill us.”
“Only for a few seconds.” Angel corrected. “I’ll bring you back. Just brace yourselves.”
Johnny exhaled. “Give us a damn warning.”
“Of course”
Then the door slid open.
Through the thin cracks between the boxes, V saw boots, four pairs. Rogue and three Militech officers.
Angel’s voice cut in again. “Now.”
Suddenly, V couldn’t breathe.
Her chest locked, lungs frozen.
No heartbeat.
The world wavered. Black spots crept in from the edges of her vision. The sound of her own thoughts vanished. Her body felt weightless, floating and falling all at once.
Then–
“There’s nothing,” one of the officers said.
Everything came crashing back.
Breath. Pain. Color. Air.
She almost gasped aloud, but Johnny, anticipating her, clapped his organic hand over her mouth, holding her steady. She didn’t resist.
Above, Rogue’s voice cracked through the tension. “Satisfied?”
There was a slap.
V flinched.
“Shut up, traitorous bitch,” one of the officers sneered.
Another voice, colder and more methodical. “Our search is complete. But you’d be a gonk to think we won’t be back.”
Boots turned. Footsteps receded.
Silence.
Then Rogue’s voice, calmer now. “They’re gone. You two can come out now.”
Johnny immediately started shifting the boxes aside, swearing under his breath. He crawled out first, shoulders tight with anger. “I knew it,” he snapped. “I told you we weren’t safe at the Afterlife. I told you Militech would find us!”
From across the room, Rogue shot back, cutting him off. “And they didn’t. But you have some explaining to do. I thought you killed Lucas Hartford.”
Johnny froze, then scoffed bitterly. “So did I. But it turns out the bastard can take an explosion to the face and a tower crumbling down on him.”
V finally pulled herself out from their hiding spot, groaning slightly. She leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. She turned to Johnny.
“You tried to kill my father?” she asked, voice low. “What… why?”
Before Johnny could answer V’s question, a soft distortion shimmered in the air beside them, and then Angel appeared, her cloak dropping like mist peeling off glass.
“It’s a long story,” she said quickly, voice clipped. “And we don’t have time for it. If you two could stop fighting, maybe you’d realize we need to leave. Militech said they’d be back, and judging by the tone, next time they’ll bring more than three goons.”
Rogue swore under her breath. “She’s right.”
Johnny turned to her, urgency returning. “We need to get out of the city. Panam, Judy, and the Aldecaldos, they’re camped just outside Night City. We’ll be safe with them.”
Rogue shook her head. “Not happening. You’ll never make it past the city border. Militech’s got every checkpoint locked tight. You’d be caught the moment you hit the streets.”
“I can handle it,” Angel said, already moving. “My car’s got cloaking tech, enough to get us through. But we need to go . Now. Before the curfew hits.”
Rogue hesitated, then sighed, defeated. “Alright. I’ll get you to the car.”
Johnny offered his hand to V, but she ignored it.
Angel stepped in and helped V up, looping V’s arm over her shoulders, and soon they began the long trek up the stairs. There were too many of them, and no time to rest. Every step jarred V’s abdomen, and she gritted her teeth to keep moving. There was no time to breathe, not this time.
At last, they reached the parking lot.
Angel’s car sat waiting, a sleek, matte-black Herrera Outlaw GTS, its exterior humming faintly from the cloaking grid charging on standby.
Angel opened the back door and helped V slide in, wincing all the way. Johnny followed close behind, slipping into the passenger seat. He glanced back at V, eyes full of concern, but V didn’t return the look. Instead, she stared blankly out the window.
Outside, Rogue and Angel exchanged a few quiet words.
Angel slid into the driver’s seat, leaving her window down as Rogue leaned in one last time.
She turned to V, pausing. “I’ve got something for you,” she said. “In case this is goodbye.”
Rogue opened V’s door, crouched slightly, and held something out.
V recognized it immediately.
Her necklace.
The chain was scorched, one of the links melted, and half of it hung loose, but the pendant was still there. The bullet. Dexter DeShawn’s bullet. The one that had ended her life back in 2077.
Rogue held it gently. “A few days before you died, you gave this to me,” she said. “But I think it should be yours again. Without it, all it seemed to bring was death.”
V stared at it for a moment before taking it slowly from Rogue’s hand. “Thanks,” she said softly.
Johnny’s hand twitched in his pocket, like he wanted to light a cigarette, then thought better of it. He watched the necklace pass between them before he turned away and started through the windshield.
Rogue returned to Angel’s window and gave them all a final look. “Good luck.”
She stepped back, and Angel hit the ignition. The Herrera roared to life.
The tires squealed against the pavement, and the car peeled out of the Afterlife lot, disappearing into the dying light of day.
Notes:
Message thread generator by Luvwich.
This is my longest chapter yet! XD Luckily, the second part was a bit shorter, so it wasn't as long as it could have been if it matched the word count as the first part. That said, the next few chapters are looking to be pretty long!
Thanks so much for reading! :D
As always, comments and kudos are appreciated! ♡♡♡I love hearing your thoughts in the comments, so feel free to share any ideas you have! I'm really excited to dive into the next few chapters.
Chapter 6: Run Away With Me
Summary:
You're stuck in my head, stuck on my heart, stuck in my body
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
V leaned toward the mirror, steadying her hand as she applied a thin line of eyeliner with practiced precision. The lighting in the bathroom flickered overhead, humming low like a second heartbeat. She barely noticed it. Her reflection stared back, eyes tired but determined, the faintest smile curling at the corners of her lips, a look she hadn’t seen on her own face in a long while.
Two weeks have passed since Johnny came back, walking, talking, drinking, and as loud-mouthed as ever. Since then, her holocall inbox had been flooded with missed calls and voicemails from one persistent Lucas Hartford.
She ignored them all.
She knew it wouldn’t last forever. That her father would find some way to corner her, remind her of the deal she never truly agreed to. But for now? She didn’t care. She had other things to worry about.
Her hand paused, eyeliner tip just barely grazing her skin, when a sudden, sharp pain twisted in her gut. She coughed once, hard, and then again, blood splattered into the white porcelain of the sink.
She gripped the sides of the counter, breathing heavy, eyes locked on the crimson trails mixing with the water.
“Not again,” she muttered.
It wasn’t as bad as before, not like when the Relic was eating her alive, but it was still happening. Maybe the last of it, she hoped. Just fading echoes, nothing more.
A knock at the apartment door made her flinch.
“Shit,” she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of sleeve. She grabbed a towel, quickly blotting the evidence from her lips, and rushed out of the bathroom, smoothing her shirt on the way.
She pulled the door open, half expecting someone from Militech to be standing there with a polite threat and a smile.
Instead, Johnny Silverhand stood there, sunglasses in place, hair wild as ever, a bag of food in one hand and two steaming cups of coffee in the other.
“Mornin’ princess,” he said, holding one cup out to her. “Figured you wouldn’t be awake yet. Got your favorite. With the synth-cream you hate but always ask for anyway.”
V blinked. “You… got me breakfast?”
Johnny smirked and brushed past her, letting himself in without ceremony. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Thought we could hang out before we bounce.”
V closed the door slowly behind him, still half in disbelief. “What… hang out? Johnny, we’re meeting Kerry this afternoon . I figured we’d just meet up there, not… have a pre-brunch party at my place.”
Johnny had already unpacked the bag onto her kitchen counter, setting down bagels and hashsticks like it was some kind of sacred ritual. “And miss the chance to spend a little time with my favorite ex-construct roommate?”
She gave him a skeptical look.
He added, “Also, your fridge is sad. I peeked once. Nothing but expired soy paste and half a bottle of NiCola. You need to eat more, V.”
V took the coffee with a quiet thanks , finally cracking a smile as she leaned against the counter beside him. The morning haze was starting to lift.
“Okay,” she said. “Breakfast before chaos. Could get used to this.”
Johnny grinned, lifting his own cup in a mock toast. “To hanging out. And not dying.”
V raised her coffee. “Can’t say no to free coffee.”
Johnny grinned before settling into her couch like he owned it. “Damn right you can’t.”
From across the kitchen counter, V tore a piece off one of the hashsticks, half-listening as she chewed. “You nervous?” she asked, keeping it casual. “Seeing Kerry again. First time since, you know… being alive again?”
Johnny leaned back, his arm lazily draped over the edge of the couch. “Nervous? Shit, no. Ecstatic .” His smile was sharp, but his fingers drummed once against the coffee cup, a tell she didn’t miss. “Can’t wait to see the look on his face. Gonna better than that time he caught me sneaking out with his favorite guitar.”
V chuckled softly, moving to join him on the couch with her coffee in hand. “Poor guy’s probably gonna think he’s tripping balls.”
Johnny just grinned wider.
The moment settled a bit, a kind of easy quiet hanging between them. Then Johnny tilted his head, his tone shifting just enough to feel it. “So… you and Judy. How’re things?”
V paused, eyes dropping to her coffee cup. She bit her bottom lip before answering, her voice softer. “We broke up. When she left Night City.”
Johnny’s smirk faded into something more genuine, something almost close to concern. “Shit. Sorry, V.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. We wanted different things.”
Johnny didn’t push it. He just nodded, letting the silence do the talking for a beat.
“So,” V said, changing the subject. “What’s it like? Being back in your old body?”
Johnny cracked a grin again. “Weird as hell,” he admitted. “Keep forgetting I’m not an engram anymore. Sometimes I walk straight into walls. Or I’ll mutter something out loud and forget people can actually hear me now.”
V laughed. “That’s rich.”
He leaned in just slightly, voice lowering. “What really gets me, though? Can’t talk to you telepathically anymore. Now I gotta use words like a normie .”
V smirked. “Honestly? Kinda a blessing. Couldn’t stand you rattling around in my skull.”
Johnny chuckled, then let his ‘ganic hand brush against her shoulder, just briefly. “If only you could hear what I’m thinking right now.”
The air changed. Just for a second. V’s expression flickered, her posture stiffening as a blush crept up the sides of her face. She stood up quickly, clearing her throat. “We should go. Kerry’s expecting me.”
Johnny hesitated, reading her. “Yeah… alright,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll drive.”
As they left the penthouse, neither of them said much, but something hung between them, unspoken.
The drive to Kerry’s place was mostly quiet, the city humming around them. Johnny broke the silence every so often, slipping into stories about the early days of Samurai, the gigs, the fights, the wild nights that blurred together like a fever dream.
“...and then Denny nearly set the whole bar on fire ‘cause someone said snythrock was better than chrome-metal,” Johnny chuckled, tapping the wheel with rhythmic fingers. “Whole damn night ended in smoke.”
V leaned against the passenger door, eyes out the window. “Hard to picture. Her, you, all of it.” She glanced at him with a half-smile. “Weird being on this side of the Porsche, y’know? I used to be the one driving your virtual ass around.”
Johnny smirked, sunglasses catching the light. “So, rate my driving.”
She pretended to mull it over. “Pretty good. For someone who’s been dead for decades.”
“Guess muscle memory sticks harder than death.”
When they finally pulled up to Kerry’s villa, all clean lines and glimmering glass tucked into the hillside, Johnny parked with practiced ease.
V sat there a moment longer. “This is our chance to turn back. Pretend we never came.”
Johnny shook his head. “Nah. I’m ready. Just… gimme a minute. I’ll wait by the car, make my entrance when it feels right.”
V nodded, stepping out. The air up here was cleaner, quieter, like a different world compared to the roar of Night City.
She approached the door and rang the bell. A pause. Then, several clicks later, a lock disengaged. The door opened, revealing Kery Eurodyne in casual sweats and a beanie pulled low, like he hadn’t expected company but wasn’t mad about it.
“Well, shit,” he said, smile spreading. “It’s been too long.”
V grinned, accepting the one-armed hug he offered. “Missed you, too, old man.”
He ushered her toward the door, but before she could step inside, she stopped short. “Hey, uh… before I come in. Got some news.”
Kerry raised a brow. “You pregnant?”
V made a face. “Ugh. Gross. No.”
He snorted.
“I’m cured. Relic’s gone. No more terminal illness.”
Kerry’s eyes widened, then softened. “V, that’s… that’s amazing.”
She held up a hand. “Wait. That’s not all.”
She turned, giving the signal.
Johnny stepped out from behind the car, walking up like he had all the time in the world. His swagger was unmistakable. Same old Johnny Silverhand, except real this time.
Kerry stared. His mouth opened, but no words came.
Johnny grinned. “Miss me?”
Kerry cursed. Loudly.
Johnny and V found themselves planted on Kerry’s plush, expensive couch while the rocker-turned-corporate-poster-boy paced the room like a man possessed. Every few steps, Kerry would hurl a question, rapid-fire trivia about Johnny’s past, trying to poke holes, to test the impossible.
“What was the name of that shithole bar we torched after the Heywood gig?”
“Joe’s,” Johnny answered, irritated. “You puked in the jukebox, and I punched a cop. Got thrown through a window. Good times.”
Kerry squinted at him, then turned to V. “Okay, so, stop me if I’m wrong, but from what you’ve told me… You ran into a clone of Alt Cunningham who had Johnny’s body just lying around in some freezer?”
V shook her head. “Not exactly. Militech had the body. Angel, that’s the netrunner; she helped me retrieve it.”
“Right, right.” Kerry nodded, trying to wrap his head around it. “So the… You uploaded the digital ghost of Johnny into his old body and now… boom.” He pointed at Johnny. “Here you are.”
Johnny leaned back with a smirk. “All caught up now?”
Kerry muttered a few more colorful expletives before flopping down into a nearby chair. “Who else knows?”
V rested her arms on her knees. “Just you, Angel, and Rogue. Most people just think he’s some ultra-dedicated Johnny Silverhand impersonator.”
Kerry chuckled. “Night City’s full of ‘em.”
He leaned forward. “So how’d Rogue take the news?”
Johnny grinned. “Well enough. She gave me another shot. We’re… dating again.”
V blinked, caught off guard. “You’re what?”
Johnny looked at her sheepishly. “Was gonna tell you. Just… hadn’t found the right moment.”
Before the air got too thick, Kerry cut in. “Wait, wait – didn’t you say Alt Cunningham was back? Why Rogue? I thought Alt was your soulmate.”
Johnny exhaled through his nose, almost a sigh. “Angel isn’t my Alt. Not really. I don’t know if Alt ever was. Maybe I just… wanted her to be.”
Kerry leaned back, nodding slowly. “Damn. That’s surprisingly mature of you.”
Johnny smirked. “I had a hell of a teacher, stuck in V’s head all that time.”
Kerry narrowed his eyes, growing suspiciously still.
Johnny groaned. “Oh no. I know that look.”
V laughed. “What, he got a scheme cooking?”
“Yep,” Johnny muttered. “And it’s gonna be a bad one.”
Kerry stood abruptly. “Hear me out. Another Samurai reunion. One that doesn’t start with property damage. Bigger. Better. The whole damn band – and Johnny Silverhand, back in flesh and chrome.”
Johnny’s face twisted. “Define ‘bigger.’ If this is some stunt to announce my return to the world, I’m out.”
Kerry held up his hands. “Relax. We’ll keep it low-key. Sorta. But imagine the shock, the press, the energy. You, me, Denny, Henry, Nancy. For real this time.”
Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, then looked at V. “You in? You’ve got killer vocals, don’t think I forgot.”
V laughed, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I’ll sit this one out. I’d rather watch from the crowd than steal your thunder.”
Johnny looked mildly disappointed, but Kerry just shrugged. “Your loss.”
Johnny leaned back into the couch, his grin returning. “Fine. But if I get mobbed by a bunch of reporters mid-riff, I’m blaming you.”
Soon, an hour slipped by before Johnny and V stepped out into the soft glow of dusk, the sun casting a burnt orange hue over Kerry’s lavish estate. Kerry stood at the door, tossing a half-salute as they made their way toward the Porsche. “I’ll be in touch with the details,” he called out. “This Samurai gig’s gonna be bigger than the last time.”
V turned back with a grin. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
Kerry winked. “Isn’t it?”
As they reached the car, V pinged Kerry a slip of info, Angel’s contact, at his request. “Don’t bug her unless it’s important,” she warned.
“Cross my heart.”
Johnny slid into the driver’s seat with ease, revving the engine like he hadn’t missed a single year behind the wheel. V buckled in beside him, resting her elbow against the doorframe. “Thanks for the ride,” she said softly.
Johnny raised an eyebrow, glancing at her from behind his aviators. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I made you take the metro?”
V let out a laugh. “Point taken.” The tires hummed against the pavement as they took off down the road.
“It was good seeing Kerry again,” she added after a beat.
Johnny gave a nod, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against the dash in rhythm to a song playing in his head. “Crazy how we could just… pick things up, like nothing changed.”
V turned to look at him. “Maybe I helped with that. Back when you were still… in here.” She tapped her temple.
Johnny grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess you did.”
He went quiet for a moment, then added. “I should’ve told you about Rogue. Should’ve said something sooner.”
V gave him a sideways glance, her smile faint. “It’s no big deal. I’m happy for you two.”
Johnny started to respond, maybe something casual, maybe something meaningful, but V wasn’t listening anymore. Her gaze was fixed on the blur of the city through the window, her thoughts spiraling. Why did it bother her? She had been the one to set them up, back when Johnny hijacked her body for a date with Rogue. Still, something about it lodged bitterly in her chest, an itch she couldn’t scratch.
Then the coughing hit.
She leaned forward, forward, barely managing to cover her mouth before blood splattered into her palm. It wasn’t much, not like before, but enough to snap her thoughts in half.
Johnny noticed immediately. “V?” His tone sharpened.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, wiping her mouth, trying to play it off. “Just… a small fit. Nothing like two weeks ago.”
Johnny frowned, already suspicious. “You sure? You’re kinda leaking from your face.” He pointed, and V felt it– the warm liquid trickling down from her nose.
“Shit,” she cursed, grabbing a tissue from the glove box and dapping the blood. “It’s fine.”
Johnny wasn’t convinced. “Fine people don’t randomly hemorrhage from the nose, V. Let’s hit Vik’s, yeah?”
“I said I’m–” But she never finished.
Her world tilted sharply, her vision tunneling. The next cough came harder, bloodier. She gripped the dashboard, chest heaving, trying to keep herself grounded.
Johnny didn’t wait. “Alright, screw this,” he said, yanking the wheel into a sharp turn.
“We’re going to Vik’s. No arguments.”
And this time, V didn’t fight him.
By the time Johnny pulled up outside Misty’s Esoterica, the blood on V’s lips had long since dried, and the coughing fit had passed. But the silence that followed them here lingered.
Johnny parked the Porsche, cutting the engine. He turned to her, worry etched plainly across his face. “You want me to come in with you?”
V shook her head almost instantly. “No.”
The word landed sharper than she intended, and she saw it, the way his expression faltered, the flicker of hurt behind his aviators. She sighed, softening. “Not like that. It’s just… Vik already hated you before you were living in my head. Pretty seeing you walking around like nothing ever happened, won’t exactly go over great.”
Johnny looked away, jaw tightening, but he nodded. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”
She leaned in, nudging him playfully. “Hey. Hang out in Misty’s. I’ll introduce you. Maybe you can get a tarot reading.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe in that shit.”
“Exactly,” V smirked. “That’s what makes it fun.”
He grunted but didn’t argue further.
The little bell over the door jingled as they entered Misty’s shop. The faint scent of incense hung in the air, soft music echoing from hidden speakers. Misty looked up from behind the counter, and blinked.
“V… is that who I think it is?”
Johnny stepped forward, arms spread. “Acting like you see ghosts regularly.”
Misty deadpaned, “I do. Just not ones with functioning organs.”
V laughed. “Johnny here wants a tarot reading.”
Misty’s expression shifted into a slow, mischievous grin. “Been waiting for this one.”
Johnny side-eyed V like a betrayed child. “You’re not really leaving me here alone with her, are you?”
V smirked. “You’ll survive.”
With that, she turned and headed toward Vik’s clinic, pushing open the gate. The sterile lighting hit her face like a wave, but the smell of metal, alcohol, and machine oil made it feel like home. Vik was at his usual seat, watching a fight play out on a flickering screen.
He looked up when she entered, his face lighting with something close to surprise and relief. “V. Damn, good to see you kid.”
“Right back at you, Vik.”
“You look good. Real good. How you been holding up?”
V shrugged, sliding onto the examination chair. “Good. Better than good, actually. Cured… I think.”
Vik arched a brow. “You think ?”
“That’s kinda why I’m here,” she admitted. Coughing stopped for a while, but… came back. Minor stuff, at first. Then today, I had a bad one. Big one.”
Vik was already moving, prepping equipment. “Jack in. Let’s take a look.”
She complied without hesitation. A small click, a faint buzz, and Vik was at his screen, reading over the data. The moments stretched out, each second a tiny eternity.
Finally, he sighed.
“I got good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?”
V swallowed hard. “Bad.”
V watched the soft glow of the monitor reflect in Vik’s eyes. No twitch. No frown. Just the heavy quiet of bad news waiting to fall.
Vik looked at her straight, not sugar coating it. “You’re still dying, V.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, jaw clenched tight. “And the good?”
“The cure worked somewhat. Bought you time. You’ve got… about eight more months, give or take.”
The words hit her like a punch to the chest. Not a death sentence but a delay. A stay of execution.
Not forever. But not today either.
She exhaled slowly and shakily. “Eight months.”
She didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. But the weight of eight months settled in her bones like lead.
Vik nodded solemnly. “It ain’t a cure, not really. But it’s something. And for you, kid? That’s a damn miracle.”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
The hum of tires on pavement. The distant warble of city sirens. A voice, low and hushed.
V blinked.
Her eyes fluttered open, just barely, catching blurred streaks of Night City’s neon through the tinted window. It took her a second to register the murmur of conversation, both Johnny and Angel, talking low in the front seats.
She must’ve fallen asleep. Didn’t even remember closing her eyes.
Her whole body ached. Her stomach throbbed in a dull, rhythmic pulse. A reminder of just how wrecked she was. She shifted slightly, nestling closer to the car’s side panel, the seat leather warm against her cheek.
She didn’t open her eyes again. Just breathed slowly, steadily. Let them think she was still asleep.
“...Is she still out?” Angel’s voice, soft.
A beat. Then the leather creaked as Johnny shifted. She could feel his gaze on her even before he answered.
“Yeah. She’s out.”
More movement. A soft shuffle, then something warm and heavy was draped over her.
She recognized it instantly.
The familiar weight, the faint scent of smoke and synthetic leather, Johnny’s Samurai jacket. The one she hadn’t seen him take off since she first woke up.
Her fingers twitched beneath it, instinctively clenching the lining. She kept still. Kept breathing.
Johnny’s voice came again, quieter this time.
“She knew.”
Angel’s silence stretched between them.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know how,” Johnny murmured, “but… she woke up crying. Calling out to her. Like she remembered. Like–” He cut himself off.
Another silence. Then the soft click of Angel’s tongue.
“It doesn’t work like that.”
Johnny didn’t respond immediately.
“She’s remembering,” he said finally, stubborn. “She has to be. Some part of her, hell, maybe not everything, but something’s coming back.”
Angel sighed. V could hear the fatigue in it. Not frustration. Not indifference. Just something tired and sad.
“She’s not your V, Johnny,” Angel said gently. “The engram we recovered it’s an older copy. Memories are up to Mikoshi, and Mikoshi only. Whatever you saw, whatever she said… It’s instinct. Muscle memory.”
“No,” Johnny snapped, a little louder. “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear how she said it.”
“I don’t need to hear it,” Angel replied. “I made Soulkiller. I know how these kinds of things work. It doesn’t matter how much she looks like her on the outside. The inside, the soul of her, that’s gone.”
A pause.
The Angel added, softer, “The V you loved is gone, Johnny.”
The words hung in the air like ash.
V felt her breath hitch, but forced herself to stay still.
Loved?
Her throat tightened. Her heart pounded so hard she was afraid they might hear it. Johnny loved her? Not just fought for her. Not just mourned her. He loved her.
She felt like her ribs were caving in.
Were they together?
That would explain… a lot. The way he looked at her sometimes. The unspoken grief behind his dark eyes. The way his voice cracked whenever V tried to bring up the past. It hadn’t just been guilt. It had been lost.
And yet, she wasn’t her. Not that V.
She didn’t remember it. Didn’t remember him the way he thought she did. All she remembered was Johnny as an engram. An asshole that rarely showed he cared.
The V he loved had died.
And now all that was left was her.
A copy. Code uploaded into a dying body.
She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. Her stomach cramped hard again, and for a moment, she thought she might actually throw up.
But she stayed still. Stayed quiet.
Because one question still haunted her.
If he loved her, why did he kill her?
Was it mercy? Cyberpsychosis? Was she too far gone to save? Had he looked into her eyes and seen something so broken, so corrupted, that the only option left was to end it?
She didn’t know.
She didn’t know if she even wanted to know.
But their conversation kept going, so V stayed still.
Johnny’s voice broke the silence again, lowering this time, almost like he didn’t want to ask. “...How the hell did we end up here?”
Angel took her time answering. V could hear the faint static buzz of her cyberdeck as she adjusted something on her end of the front seat.
“We grew the hell up,” she said at last. “Took dying first, but yeah. That’s what it took.”
A long pause.
Johnny let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “Guess that checks out.”
V heard Angel move in her seat, her tone shifting. “We should talk about what happened.”
“We should,” Johnny said, but his voice was hesitant, like the words were already sleeping away.
Angel didn’t let him wriggle out. “No. Now’s the time. Once we reach the Aldecaldos, we might not get another shot. You’ll stick to V like glue, we’ll be surrounded, busy. You’ll bury this. Like always.”
V felt his gaze again. That familiar heat.
The jacket draped over her shifted slightly as Johnny adjusted it. It was gentle, apologetic, like the action itself could explain everything he hadn’t said.
“...Alright,” he murmured.
Angel turned toward him slightly, her voice surprisingly soft.
“Do you still want to pull the trigger?”
V’s breath caught.
She blinked open her eyes slowly, just enough to see their reflections in the windshield. Johnny didn’t answer immediately. Just ran a hand through his hair, the gesture heavy, worn.
Angel studied him for a long moment, her brows knit. Then she frowned.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That’s what I thought.”
Neither of them spoke after that.
Angel glanced down at the dashboard. “Almost there,” she added, tone clipped.
Johnny inhaled sharply. “Preem.”
The silence returned, heavier this time. But it didn’t feel finished, just paused.
V shifted upright in her seat. The pain flared hot across her stomach as she moved, and she winced.
Johnny turned slightly toward her. “Hey,” he said, voice rough. “How you feelin’?”
“Like crap,” she admitted. “Wound’s burning again.”
Angel reached into the center console and pulled out a small bottle of pills. She handed it back to V without turning.
“Painkillers. One should hold you over,” she said.
V took the bottle, dry-swallowed a pill, and handed it back. “Thanks.”
“Almost there,” Angel repeated. “We’re just past the checkmark. There’s a route out of Pacifica that Militech doesn’t monitor. It’s quiet. Hidden. Perfect for people who shouldn’t exist.”
V blinked and glanced out the window. Militech AVs hovered like vultures. Armored vehicles rolled down the streets. Drones zipped overhead. The whole district looked like it had been swallowed by a military chokehold.
“Militech really seized the city, huh?” she muttered.
Angel chuckled under her breath. “Believe it or not, it was worse before.”
V raised a brow, her headache dull behind her eyes.
“Right after the Corpo Plaza riots,” Angel explained. “Militech cracked down hard. Curfews were put in place. Patrols increased. Mass surveillance went through the roof. You breathed wrong, they tagged you for it.”
She paused, then added more quietly, “Didn’t start to loosen until rioters stormed Militech Offices and destroyed its top floor.”
V’s heart stuttered. The image hit her in a wave. Johnny mentioned something about a tower. Her father survived after being crushed beneath it.
Her fingers curled in her lap.
Still a terrorist, after all this time. Thought he’d changed, just not enough apparently.
“We’re at the checkpoint,” Angel announced, interrupting V’s thoughts. Her fingers danced over the car’s dashboard.
V blinked as the vehicle began to hum with a different frequency. The windows flickered faintly.
“Cloaking’s on,” Angel said. “Just in case. Final stretch.”
The roads shifted from asphalt to gravel as Angel turned down a half-buried, forgotten side path. V watched through the window as they descended into a dimly lit underpass, the glow of Night City disappearing behind them. Pipes lined the walls, cracked with rust, and then, finally, they were out. Open sky stretched overhead, stars half-hidden by pollution.
V turned, watching Night City shrink away in the distance.
“Twenty minutes to the Aldecaldos,” Angel said.
“Damn,” V muttered. “They’re camped out far.”
“Didn’t want to risk getting flagged by Militech,” Angel replied.
The time passed faster than V expected. The winding route brought them over dust trails and quiet foothills, dirt roads carved through the badlands like forgotten arteries. The skyline of the Nomad camp came into view, with tents, rigs, and Nomad cars nestled into a well-organized sprawl.
Only… it was bigger now. Much bigger than before.
As they pulled up, halogen floodlights flickered on. The camp had grown, V realized, more people, more vehicles, more infrastructure. And standing near the edge of the perimeter was a familiar figure.
Judy.
Angel cut the engine. The car purred into silence.
Angel and Johnny climbed out first. V reached for Johnny’s jacket and pulled it close as she opened her door and stepped out, moving slowly, her muscles stiff and her stitches sore.
Judy jogged forward, eyes wide. “Got your text,” she said to Johnny. “Is it true? Militech’s after you?”
Johnny gave a curt nod. “We had an extremely close call at the Afterlife.”
Angel added, “Figured this was the safest place left.”
Judy looked over at V, concern etching her face. “You alright?”
“Been better,” V mumbled, wincing as Judy helped her stand straight.
“ I told Saul you would be staying. We’ve got a couple of spare tents. You can crash there,” Judy said, gesturing ahead. As they walked, other Nomads poked their heads from tents and vehicles. V spotted more familiar faces, some gawking in disbelief.
Mitch stood among them, eyebrows rising when his gaze locked on Johnny.
Then–
“V!”
V froze and turned. She knew that voice.
Panam.
She was sprinting toward them, dark hair bouncing, boots kicking up dust. She crashed into V with a hug so tight it stole the air from her lungs.
“Jesus, V,” Panam said, her voice thick. “You scared the living shit outta me–!”
“Panam– my stitches– fuck–” V gasped.
Panam cursed, pulling back. “Shit, shit. I’m sorry!”
Judy held up her hands, “Sorry, I didn’t have enough time to tell everyone.”
Panam was still catching her breath, her arms hovering in the awkward space between regret and relief. Her eyes landed on something behind V.
They narrowed.
She looked up at Johnny.
Then she punched him in the face.
“Fucking bastard.”
Johnny reeled back, stumbling. His hand flew to his face. “What the fuck. You broke my nose.”
Angel moved to help him as Judy grabbed Panam and pulled her back. “Fucking deserved it! Should have stayed dead!”
A voice boomed across the camp.
“Enough!”
Saul.
The Aldecaldos’ leader was stomping over, his face carved with frustration.
“Panam, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“He deserved it!” she snapped, shaking her head, grimacing. “Fucker’s got a metal skull or something.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Saul barked. “Tonight, they’re guests. No fights, no blood, no bullshit. I don’t care if he deserved it or not.”
He glared at the group.
“If you can’t manage that, maybe you should head back to Night City.”
Panam bit her tongue. “Fine, I’ll leave the bastard alone,” she muttered. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t earn it.”
Saul shot her a warning look. Then turned to the rest of the camp. “Clear out. Go on. I need a word with the five of them.”
The rest of the Aldecaldos hesitated a moment before dispersing, still whispering among themselves. Lights dimmed back to normal levels. Someone killed the music.
V glanced over at Johnny, his nose still red, blood on his glove. He just grinned bitterly.
Angel straightened beside him, brushing dust from her coat.
Saul didn’t wait for anyone to speak, just turned and marched toward one of the larger tents pitched near the center of the camp.
“Let’s go,” he said without looking back.
Panam, Judy, Johnny, Angel, and V followed in silence, their footsteps crunching on gravel and dust.
Inside, the tent was dimly lit, the overhead lanterns casting shadows across supply crates and portable cots. The air was warmer, heavier. Saul gestured sharply.
“Sit.”
V didn’t argue. She eased herself down onto one of the cots, grimacing as she placed a hand against her stitched abdomen. Judy sat beside her, her expression taut with worry. Angel took another cot, elbows on her knees, eyes sharp and unreadable.
Panam and Johnny stayed standing.
Johnny was still pinching his nose, head tilted back, blood crusting at his upper lip. Panam stood a few paces away from him, arms folded tightly across her chest, her glare sharp enough to cut through chrome.
Judy was the first to speak.
“I’m sorry, Saul. I should’ve given more of a heads-up. But it was an emergency. There wasn’t time.”
Saul didn’t look at her. “That’s not good enough, Judy.”
Angel spoke next. Calm. Measured.
“Militech is after us. The three of us. We needed a safe place, somewhere off their radar. This was the best shot we had.”
Saul’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well, I don’t like any of this. You thought it was smart to bring Valerie Hartford into my camp? Militech’s gunning for her especially. You realize that, right? You’re putting all the Aldecaldos at risk.”
V stiffened.
Her name. Hartford.
He knows.
Panam’s voice rose immediately, heated. “Jesus Christ, Saul. It’s V. She’s risked her life for us more than once. Took out that Militech convoy with us, remember? Just think of all the times we wouldn’t be standing if it weren’t for her!”
Saul snapped his gaze at her. “Had I known who she really was, I wouldn’t have let her within a mile of the Aldecaldos.”
Silence fell like a blade.
V swallowed, her voice cracking as she asked, “So… everyone knows?”
Judy nodded softly. “Pretty much. It was all over the feeds.”
V’s stomach sank. She glanced at Saul, then Panam, their expressions twisted with unease.
“How… how didn’t you know this?” Saul asked, confused. “It’s been weeks.”
Johnny glanced at Judy, voice nasal and muffled as he kept pressure on his nose. “You didn’t tell them?”
Judy’s face tightened. “Didn’t exactly have a lot of time to tell them.”
Angel cleared her throat. “Look, I can explain. V’s disorience because… she died.”
That pulled Saul up short.
“She what ?” Panam whispered.
Angel continued, voice steady. “She died. About a week ago. We upload an older backup of her engram. Her memories stop right after the Arasaka tower raid.”
Panam’s face went pale. Her lips parted, calculating. “...Since Mikoshi?”
Angel nodded.
Panam turned to Judy, voice trembling with shock and something deeper. “That’s nearly a year. How much did you tell her?”
Judy looked to Angel, then Johnny, then back. “We’re taking it slow.”
V stared at the ground, her fingers tightening on the edge of the cot.
Panam cursed under her breath. The louder. “And you’re just… okay with this?” she asked, rounding on V. “They brought you back. They rebooted yuo like a goddamn machine and didn’t even tell you what’s been going on. You okay with that?”
V didn’t answer.
She wasn’t sure she could.
Saul raised his hands, frustration bleeding into his tone. “I can’t deal with this tonight. I’ve got too much on my plate already.”
He sighed, rubbing at his temples.
“Fine. You can stay the night. I’ll think about letting you stay longer, but that’s it for now. Johnny, go see our ripper. Get your damn nose looked at. The rest of you, rest. I’ll check in come morning.”
He started for the exit but paused just as he passed V.
His voice softened, just slightly.
“I’m sorry. Didn’t know.” His eyes met hers, tired and sincere. “But… it’s damn good to see you again.”
As Saul’s footsteps faded beyond the tent flap, silence settled thick over the room like dust.
Angel broke it first. “Saul’s right. Johnny, you should get your nose checked. Unless you’re aiming for the crooked look long-term.”
Panam didn’t miss a beat. “Sounds perfectly fine to me.”
Johnny sniffed, winced, and gave a begrudging nod. “Yeah, alright.”
Without another word, Angel motioned him toward the flap, and the two disappeared into the dark, leaving behind V, Panam, and Judy.
Judy looked between the remaining two. “I guess we’ll figure out the next steps in the morning. Plan things out, everyone’s thinking straight.”
Then, with a glance toward Panam, she added. “I’ll give you two some time.”
She didn’t wait for a response. The flap rustled as she stepped out.
V exhaled, slow and shaky. She didn’t realize how much her lower abdomen ached until the quiet returned. Panam sat down beside her, elbows on her knees, eyes on the floor.
“So…” Panam said after a long beat, her voice lower now. “It’s true? You died?”
V nodded once. “Apparently so.”
She lifted her shirt, just enough to reveal the angry, raw line of stitches slashed across her lower ribs. The wound was fresh, angry red, and clumsily closed. “Even got the souvenir to prove it.”
Panam stared at it, her breath catching. “Shit.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “V…”
V smirked fainly. “Yeah. Bye bye bikinis and crop tops.”
Panam stared at the scar, her mouth a thin, somewhat knowing line. “How’d you get it?”
V dropped the shirt back down. “Don’t know the whole story yet. Johnny says he gave it to me.”
She raised her fingers in air quotes. “‘I was already dying,’ apparently.”
Panam frowned. “You don’t believe that?”
V scoffed. “Fuck no. He’s been lying to me since I woke up. I’m not trusting a single goddamn word out of that bastard’s mouth.”
A slow grin tugged at Panam’s lips. “Bet you’re glad I punched him, then.”
V met her eyes, something warm flickering behind the pain. “Actually? I appreciated it.”
Panam chuckled. “That… wouldn’t have always been the case.”
She leaned back slightly, her tone softening.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
V looked down, only now realizing she was still gripping Johnny’s leather jacket in her hands. She didn’t even remember holding onto it.
“No,” she said finally. “I’m not okay with any of this. I hate being in the dark. Hate that they just… brought me back and expected me to go along with it.”
Panam nodded, expression sobering. “What do you want to know?”
V looked up at her.
For a second, the weight of her chest lifted. She could ask. Finally.
“All of it,” she said. “Start with what happened after Mikoshi.”
Panam hesitated, then smiled faintly, like she’d been waiting to tell this story.
“You became a living legend,” she said. “Rogue made sure everyone in Night City knew your name. I left the city right after, needed space. But I came back about five months later.”
She paused, her eyes flickering. “A month before your expiration date.”
V’s brow furrowed. “Alt told me I had six months. Said that if I came back to my body, I wouldn’t live past that.”
Panam gave a small nod. “You weren’t cured back then. You did get something tough. An extension.”
V tilted her head, confused. “An extension? Judy said I was cured.”
Panam looked unsure for a moment. “You weren’t then, but you are now. I think... I mean, you’re alive, right?”
V stared at her for a long moment, then narrowed her eyes.
Panam cracked a grin. “Kidding, yes, you’re cured. Too soon?”
V nodded slowly, deadpan. “Yeah. Little bit.”
Panam leaned forward again, voice quiet. “This extension, the one that gave you more time to live, also brought Johnny Silverhand back to life. Which I’m guessing,” she said with a faint smirk, “you’ve already figured out.”
V gave a slow nod. “Yeah, Judy told me that much. Plus, kind of hard to miss.”
Still, Panam continued. “A couple of weeks after I arrived at Night City, you called me. Said you need advice.”
V glanced at her but didn’t speak. Just gave a small nod, prompting her to go on.
Panam bit her bottom lip, clearly unsure how to put it. She looked directly at V, almost apologetic. “You told me you… hooked up with Johnny.”
V blinked. Then stared. A long, slow exhale left her lungs before she dropped her head into her hands.
“Fucking knew it,” she muttered into her palm. “Ever since I came back, he’s been different. Off. Not remotely close to the Johnny I remember.” She paused, voice lower. “I overheard Angel say something on the way here… but this confirms it.”
Panam winced. “That’s… not all. Johnny, he–”
The tent flap opened.
Angel stepped in first followed closely by Johnny, now with a clean white strip of tape pressed across his bruised nose. He lookd better. Calmer. But his gaze went immediately to Panam.
Panam stood, tense. “I’ll tell you the rest later,” she whispered to V, squeezing her shoulder briefly before slipping past Johnny and out into the camp.
V sat up straighter, watching her go. Angel took an empty spot close to V and glanced over.
“What were you two talking about?” she asked casually, but there was caution in her voice.
“Not much,” V replied.
Johnny stood by the flap, saying nothing. Just watching her. The faintest trace of something unreadable in his eyes.
V looked away first.
“I’m tired,” she said. “I’m calling it a night.”
Without waiting for a reply, she lay down on the cot and turned her back to them both, facing the tent wall. Angel seemed to take the hint.
“Alright,” she said gently, and the tent dimmed as she turned off the lights.
In the quiet dark, V clutched Johnny’s jacket closer, wrapping it tighter around herself.
Sleep came easier than she expected.
She woke up to sunlight filtering in through the fabric walls, warm and golden. No nightmares.
For once, peace.
The cots around her were empty. So was the tent.
V sat up slowly, and to her surprise, she didn’t feel like death for once. Her body still ached, but the nausea and bone-deep exhaustion were gone.
She reached for Johnny’s jacket, shrugging it on, and stepped outside.
The Aldecaldos’ camp was already alive with motion. Generators hummed in the distance. Kids ran between tents. Someone yelled for coffee. People passed by with nods, some brief, some knowing. A few eyes lingered too long before turning away.
She wasn’t exactly a stranger here, even if she felt like one.
“Hey!” a voice called.
She turned to see Mitch waving her over from a rusted workbench surrounded by spare parts and half-dismantled gear.
“Mornin’,” he said as she approached, dusting his hands on a rag. “Good to see you again. Though I was hallucinating last night.”
V gave a lopsided smile. “You and me both. Feels like I’m hallucinating most days.”
Mitch chuckled. “The last time I saw you was at Lizzie’s Bar.”
Her stomach tightened. Another memory that wasn’t hers. She tried not to let it show. “Yeah I remember.” She didn’t know why she lied, maybe it was easier.
Mitch nodded toward the far end of camp. “If you’re looking for the others, Saul’s got a meeting going near the Basilisk. Over by the clearing.”
“Thanks,” she said, and started in that direction.
The morning air was dry, the sun climbing higher. V tugged Johnny’s jacket tighter around her shoulders as she walked, readying herself.
Saul was speaking, arms folded as he addressed Angel and Panam. “–means we’ll need ot be gone by the end of the week. Anyone with unfinished business in Night City? Now’s the time to handle it.”
Angel nodded, her tone calm, clinical. “Seattle’s safer. It’s one of the free cities, less corpo surveillance, less interference. We’ll have breathing room.”
Panam crossed her arms, brows drawn tight. “Long as no one fucks around, we can make it work.”
V didn’t need to hear more. They were leaving Night City. For good.
“Hey,” Judy’s voice cut in, noticing V standing nearby, waving her over. “C’mon, you’re part of this too.”
V stepped into the circle, arms crossed, standing beside Judy.
“We’re heading out in two days,” Judy explained, tone light but eyes serious. “Seattle. New start.”
Angel nodded. “Johnny and I will go back into the city today. Need to pick up a few things, take care of some last unfinished business.”
V narrowed her eyes, “Where exactly?”
“Misty’s clinic,” Angel said. “Let some tech I needed. And someone’s joining us.”
At that, Johnny, who was leaning against the Basilisk, visibly tensed. His arms folded tighter. His jaw clenched.
Angel continued. “Johnny’s grabbing gear from his old place. Clothes, weapons, whatever’s left.”
V frowned. The idea of them going back to the city without her didn’t sit right. What if it was the last time she was ever in Night City?
“I’m coming with you.”
Johnny’s voice was immediate. Sharp. “Absolutely not.” His tone was firm. Dismissive. Protective.
V arches a brow. “Excuse me?”
“It’s safer for you here,” he replied. “With the Aldecaldos. Away from Militech.”
Panam crossed her arms. “If she wants to come, she should come. Not like she’s the only one being hunted by Militech.”
“I’m more than fit to travel,” V added, voice cold. “Better than I’ve been in days. And I’ve got some things stashed at my H10 apartment, assuming it hasn’t been leveled.”
Johnny stared at her. A beat too long.
“It’s still there,” he said at last. Quiet. Almost reluctant. The he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m gonna regret this.”
He looked up, locking eyes with her. “Fine. You can come. Your place is on the way.”
Judy and Angel exchanged a glance, silently. But loud in its concern.
V smirked. Finally. A win.
Angel looked at the sky. “Then we leave now. Still early enough to avoid most of the patrols.”
“I’ll walk you to the car,” Panam said, already turning.
Judy stood too, falling into step beside them.
They headed toward Angel’s ride parked at the edge of camp, the lost of the morning have beginning to burn off in the rising sun.
Angel turned back to V before opening the door. “You sure you want to come? It’s not too late to back out.”
V met her gaze. “I’m sure.”
Angel gave a tight nod in return. No argument.
Johnny climbed into the passenger seat without a word. Angel got in behind the wheel.
Judy stepped forward, wrapping V in a quick but tight hug. “Be careful, alright?”
V smirked. “You worrying about me? Cute.”
Judy rolled her eyes. “Just don’t die again, V.”
Panam stepped forward, resting a hand on V’s shoulder. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
V nodded, more solemn now. “That’s the plan.”
She turned and climbed into the back seat of the car. As the door shut, she glanced back. Judy and Panam were still standing at the edge of the camp, small figures against the wide blue desert sky.
Angel started the car. Tires kicked up dust and dry grass as they peeled out of the Aldecaldo camp and back to Night City.
V stared out the window, jaw set.
One way or another, V was going to get her answers.
Notes:
Thanks for making it this far! :D A quarter of the way through already!!
I'm so excited to see this fanfic through to the end. Everything's fully planned out, it's just a matter of drafting, editing, and getting these chapters out!As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!! ♡♡♡
Your comments have all been amazing! I've loved reading your theories, compliments, and thoughts. They're been incredibly encouraging <3
I'm always excited to hear what y'all think, so let me know if any of your theories have changed or stayed the same. No worries, answers are coming soon in the upcoming chapters.
Chapter 7: Spitting Off the Edge of the World
Summary:
I trace your steps
In the darkness of one
Am I what’s left?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
V wasn’t sure how she felt at first.
Eight months.
It wasn’t death knocking on her door tomorrow, but it wasn’t the miracle she thought she’d brought herself. Not a full reprieve, just a delay.
Sad? Yeah, of course. But somewhere deep in her gut, she’d always known. The cure had seemed too clean, too easy. A perfect fix never really existed in Night City, not without a price. And even though she’d survived this long, something inside her had kept bracing for bad news.
Still… she had time. More than she thought she’d get.
But she was angry, too. Angry that the so-called cure didn’t stick. Angry that after everything, after faking her death, after the heist, and the Palace, and nearly losing herself, this was what she got.
Eight months.
She needed answers. Angel had brought her this far. Maybe she could take her further, if not a cure, then more time. A little more life. Just enough.
Her thoughts spiraled, sharp and bitter, until Vik’s voice broke through the storm.
“You alright, V?”
She blinked back to the clinic, to Vik sitting in his chair across from her, his face creased with concern.
“I will be,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. Not yet.
Vik exhaled through his nose. “Wish I could be the guy with the good news for once.”
V gave a dry, half-hearted laugh. “Well, I can always count on you to let me know when I’m dying.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Wish that wasn’t the case. You’re young. You should have more time.”
She sighed and stood slowly, brushing her hands down her pants. “I should probably get going. I’ll figure this out.”
But before she could take a step, Vik raised a hand.
“Hold up a sec,” he said. “Before you disappear on me, we need to talk about something else. Your chrome.”
She tilted her head. “What about it?”
“You’re packing some serious metal, V. That last scan had some heavy red flags. I know you’ve been pushing your body hard, and back when you had weeks to live, sure… maybe it didn’t matter. But now?”
She crossed her arms. “You worried I’m gonna go cyberpsycho on you, Vik?”
“I'm saying I don’t wanna take that chance. Not when we’ve finally bought you some time. It’s a slim risk, but it’s still there. You’ve got more time now, might as well make sure your brain stays intact to enjoy it.”
V let out a breath. “Didn’t think you were betting on me dying before chrome overload caught up to me.”
“I wasn’t. But now I’ve gotta start thinking long-term. And so do you.”
She didn’t argue, mostly because he had a point. She’d been reckless. All-in on survival. Now she had to start thinking about what came after.
“I’ll let you start pulling some of it,” she said at last. “Just… not today.”
Vik nodded. “One piece at a time. Over the next few months. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
With that, she turned and made her way up the clinic stairs and stepped back into Misty’s Esoterica. Johnny Silverhand was locked in a heated debate with Misty. She lingered just out of view for a moment, listening in.
“I’m telling you,” Johnny argued, waving a hand over the counter. “The Moon isn’t bad. It’s a mystery, sure. Uncertainty, okay. But bad? I don’t buy it.”
“You don’t have to buy it,” Misty replied coolly, sipping her tea. “It’s not a storefront. Its interpretation. That card doesn’t always mean what you want it to.”
At that moment, Johnny looked up and caught sight of V. His expression shifted instantly, concern clouding his face as he stood, taking a step toward her.
“What did Vik say? You alright?”
V hesitated for a half a click too long. The truth sat heavy on her tongue, but she swallowed it back. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not when the words would only lead to panic, pity, or rage. She didn’t want to deal with that, not today.
“Yeah,” she lied, smiling tightly. “Apparently, the coughing fits are just some temporary side effect. Should go away soon.”
“Good. Was worried there for a sec. Thought you were dying on me again.” He chuckled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“I’m not,” V said, with more conviction than she felt.
Before the silence could stretch too long, she turned to Misty. “So what cards did you pull for him?”
Misty smirked. “Had him draw three. The Emperor. The Tower. The Moon.”
V raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t The Tower, like… bad? Chaos, destruction?”
“Not always,” Misty said, leaning forward. “The Tower is change. Violent, sudden change, yes –but sometimes necessary. Old structures breaking down to make room for the new. The Emperor is authority, control. The Moon? That’s mystery, confusion, truth hidden beneath illusion.”
“I don’t see how that makes the Moon a bad card,” Johnny muttered.
“It’s not bad,” Misty replied with a glint in her eye. “It just isn’t what you want it to be.”
Before V could add her two eddies, Vik walked into the shop, holding a familiar pill bottle in one hand.
“Forgot to refill your painkillers,” he said, crossing the room toward her.
“Thanks, Vik,” V said, stepping forward to meet him. But the moment Vik’s eyes found Johnny, everything in the room shifted.
His gaze hardened. His voice dropped, laced with a tension V hadn’t heard in a while. “Don’t tell me that is actually him.”
V didn’t flinch. “It is.”
Vik stepped closer, his posture rigid. He and Johnny locked eyes.
“So,” Vik said coldly. “You’re back. You look good, considering you were a walking war criminal responsible for the Night City Holocaust that killed a hundred thousand.”
Johnny didn’t blink. “Nice to meet you, too, Doc.”
Vik scoffed. “You have any idea how lucky you are that she’s still alive? If you pull anything, if you so much as fart too loud in this city and I get wind of it exploding, anything, I will make damn sure you don’t get a third shot at life.”
Johnny’s smirk twitched. “You always this dramatic, or just when you’re jealous?”
“Jealous?” Vik stepped closer, voice sharp. “Try furious. Furious that you’re standing here after everything. You hijacked her brain, nearly killed her, and now what? You’re back and playing house?”
“Hey,” Johnny snapped, “I didn’t ask to be back. But I’m here now. And I haven’t laid a finger on her.”
“You lay one hand on her,” Vik growled, “and I’ll be the first to put you back in the ground.”
Johnny grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”
“ Enough !” V cut in, her voice slicing through the rising tension. Both men froze, still glazing, but they backed off.
Vik gave her one last nod, then turned and stormed out the front door, muttering under his breath.
V let out a long sigh, rubbing her temples. “I’m heading out.”
Misty glanced between the two of them. “You sure? That was… eventful.”
V didn’t answer. She just headed for the door, Johnny trailing behind her.
Johnny fell into step beside her as they left Misty’s. “Where you headed?” he asked, slipping on his aviators. “I can give you a ride.”
V gave him a side glance. “Thanks for driving me around today, but I’ve got this one handled.”
Johnny slowed but didn’t stop. “You sure? I don’t mind.”
She stopped walking, turning to face him. “Why are you so damn insistent on being glued to my side lately? You’ve got your own body now, y’know. You’re not inside mine anymore.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. A nearby pedestrian raised an eyebrow at her, and Johnny’s grin bloomed into something downright smug.
“You hear that, choom?” he called after the stranger. “She misses me inside her!”
“Goddammit,” V muttered, flushing as she shoved past him. “That’s not what I meant.”
Johnny just laughed, catching up with ease. “So… sure you don’t want a ride?”
V sighed, knowing she’d lost the battle. “Fine. But only because I like your Porsche. Not you. Definitely not you.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
They climbed into the Porsche, and the engine roared to life. Johnny glanced over at her as he pulled into traffic. “So, where to?”
“Dogtown,” V said, watching the city blur past outside her window. “Angel’s base.”
She didn’t mention the real reason. Didn’t want him to worry or start asking questions. So she stuck to the half-truth. “I was planning on meeting with her anyway. Wanted to talk after the thing with Kerry.”
Johnny nodded like he bought it. Maybe he did. Maybe he was just letting it slide.
The ride was quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that pressed against her ribs. But V broke it, her voice quieter now.
“Why’ve you been so… clingy lately?”
Johnny blinked. “Clingy? That’s what we’re calling it?”
“I mean it. You’ve always been showing up at my door, hanging around… It’s like you never left.”
He shrugged, one hand on the wheel. “Guess I’m just not used to being around you 24/7. I spent a long time in your head. Got used to it. Hard habit to break, I guess. And…” He hesitated, something uncharacteristically soft behind his voice. “We’re chooms. I give a damn. But if you want space, say the word. I’ll back off.”
V stared ahead at the road, biting her bottom lip. “No, I get it. When you left, after Mikoshi, it was hard. There were days I’d start talking to myself, expecting you to chime in with some smartass comment. Sometimes I even heard you, like some phantom echo in the back of my skull.”
She turned her head, met his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Johnny’s smile was a little more real this time. “I’m glad I am here, too.”
The city began to change as they neared the Pacifica’s border, neon giving way to rougher terrain, the decaying edge of Dogtown looking ahead like a half-buried corpse. V didn’t say much as they drove the rest of the way, but the silence didn’t feel heavy anymore.
Just… familiar.
Dogtown was always a mess, chocked alleys, merc patrols, deals going down on corners like clockwork. But walking with someone like Johnny Silverhand at her side? V felt a little less like she had to watch her back every three seconds. Not that she couldn’t handle herself. Just helpful to have another gun if things when sideways.
Johnny parked the Porsche a couple of blocks out, not wanting to draw too much attention. The two walked in silence, the crackle of distant gunfire and hum of passing drones the only soundtrack as they made their way to Angel’s warehouse.
V pulled out her holo and texted.
Seconds later, the warehouse rumbled as the lock disengaged. Her screen buzzed again.
V led the way inside. It was quiet, too quiet for Dogtown. As they walked, she glanced at Johnny.
“When’s the last time you saw Angel?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“Few days ago. Afterlife. She showed up right after you left early.”
She raised a brown. “Isn’t it weird? You know, with her being… Alt?”
Johnny exhaled slowly, as if the words tasted strange in his mouth. “Yeah. It’s weird. Too damn weird.”
They descended the stairs to the basement, the metal creaking under their boots. The room below was cold, quiet, and dimly lit by soft lights. Angel was plugged into her netrunning chair, her body eerily still until they stepped through the threshold.
She stirred immediately, eyes blinking open as she sat up and unplugged herself.
“V,” she said warmly. “Johnny.”
Her gaze lingered on him just a moment too long. And he returned. Not hostile, just complicated. V noticed, but let it slide.
“Just checking in,” V said, keeping her tone light. “Wanted to see how you’re doing, if you’re planning on staying in Dogtown a while.”
Angel sat up fully, brushing loose strands of blonde hair behind her ear. “I might. Depends on how things shake out.”
V nodded. “Also, heads up, we just came from Kerry’s. He’s in the loop now. I gave him your number.”
Angel didn’t miss a beat. “That’s fine. I always liked Kerry.” She shot a knowing look at Johnny, who had already started poking around her space, cigarette perched between his lips.
He took a long drag, blowing smoke at the ceiling. “This you place, huh?” he said, half to himself. “Didn’t expect it to be so… clean.”
V crossed her arms, eyeing him. “Pretty sure this is your first time seeing it in person.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, tapping ash into a tray on a nearby workbench. “Preem.”
V leaned in toward Angel, lowering her voice. “There’s something else. Wanted to talk to you about it… in private.”
Johnny, ever the eavesdropper, waved them off without even turning around. “Don’t mind me. I’m absolutely not listening in or dying of curiosity.”
Angel smirked, already standing. “There’s somewhere more private. Come on.”
As they turned to leave, Johnny flicked his cigarette ash into the tray again. “I’ll just be here. Wasting away like a respectable corpse.”
V followed Angel through a sliding door tucked behind a stack of netrunning gear. This room was warmer, lived-in. A bed tucked against the far wall, a mini-fridge humming softly in the corner, and a desk cluttered with cables, data shards, and coffee cups. The walls were lined with photos and old posters.
Angel motioned toward the desk chair. “Take a seat.”
V did, sinking into the worn leather as she ran both hands through her hair, frustration boiling to the surface.
“The cure…” V stated, pausing as the words caught in her throat. “It didn’t work. Not really. Bought me time, but I’m still terminal.”
Angel’s face fell. “Jack in,” she said gently, already booting up her terminal. “Let me run a few quick diagnostics. Just to double-check.”
V pulled out the cable from her wrist and plugged it into the port beside the screen. Angel leaned over her shoulder, fingers flying over the keyboard as she brought up layers of engram data and system readouts. Her brows furrowed the deeper she dove.
“The Relic did do some patchwork,” Angel said finally, voice tight with disappointment. “That’s probably where the added months came from. But…” she hesitated, “it looks like the restoration protocols stopped short. I must’ve pulled you out of the cure process too soon.”
V blinked. “You did?”
Angel nodded. “I was worried. Thought if I left the Relic in you any longer, it might fry your synapses. The balance was off, and I had to make a judgment call. Maybe the wrong one.”
V cursed under her breath, lowering her gaze as Angel disconnected her from the terminal.
“Is there any way to fix this?” V asked, her voice sharp with desperation.
Angel shook her head slowly. “Not right now. But I’ll find a way. I owe you that much.”
V stared ahead, jaw tightening. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like I’m back to square one.” Her eyes began to water, the sting of frustration overwhelming, but she wiped her tears away with the heel of her hand, angry at herself for letting it show.
“I’m sorry,” Angel said softly. “But I won’t give up. I’ll find something permanent.”
V nodded, though her shoulders were slumped with the weight of disappointment. “Yeah… thanks,” she muttered, not quite meeting her eyes as she stood and headed toward the exit.
Johnny was leaning against the wall just outside, arms crossed, cigarette burned halfway down to his fingers. He looked up the moment V stepped out, and his expression changed.
“Hey,” he said, concern creeping in. “You okay? You look like–”
“I’m fine,” V cut him off, voice a little too quick. “Nothing. Just– Thanks for waiting. Angel, I’ll see you around.”
She didn’t wait for a reply before pushing past Johnny and heading for the door. Johnny gave Angel one last glance before jogging to catch up with her outside.
“V,” he said again, trying to keep up. “Come on. What happened in there?”
V stopped in her tracks just long enough to snap, “Drop it, Johnny. I just want to go home.”
And for once, Johnny didn’t push. He just walked beside her to the Porsche in silence.
The ride back to Watson was silent. Johnny didn’t speak, and V didn’t offer anything. The streetlight bled through the windshield in long smears, casting a rhythmic glow across the dashboard of the Porsche. But inside V’s head, it was chaos.
Frustration chewed at her insides.
She should’ve known better. There was no miracle cure, no clean escape from the death sentence that had been hardwired into her head the moment she slipped that damn chip into her neck. She’d been a fool to think she could just… walk away from it all. That some rewritten code and good intentions from a netrunner would be enough to save her.
She needed something, anything, to burn off the emotion rising in her chest like a firestorm.
“Pull over,” she said suddenly, eyes fixed ahead.
Johnny blinked, glanced at her. “What? Why?”
“Just… pull over. H10 parking garage.”
Johnny didn’t argue. He turned the wheel, pulling the Porsche into the familiar lot beneath her old apartment complex. Before he could shift the car into park, he said quietly. “I knew. Knew you were still dying.”
“Don’t,” V said, already unbuckling her seatbelt. “Just stop talking.”
She leaned across the seat, kissing him hard, without hesitation.
Johnny froze for half a second, then pulled back just enough to smirk. “What took you so long, princess?”
“I swear to God,” V muttered, but before she could tell him to shut up again, he was already kissing her back, rougher this time, the kind of kisses that swallowed up thought and grief and everything else in between.
They stumbled into the backseat in a tangle of limbs and breath. Johnny’s hands found her waist as his lips trailed down her neck, pulling a sharp breath from her. V’s fingers wound through his hair, tugging, grounding herself in the sensation. In the heat. He was on top of her now, the windows fogging up at their bodies pressed together.
She kissed him like it was the only way to forget.
His hands slipped beneath her shirt, roaming over bare skin, and she let him, until he started fumbling with the button of her pants.
Something in her snapped back.
She pushed him away, sitting up fast, breath still heavy. “No,” she said, voice tight.
“Shit,” Johnny cursed, dragging a hand through his hair as he pulled back. “Sorry. V– I didn’t mean to–”
But she was already climbing out of the car, her boots hitting the pavement hard.
“V–” he started, scrambling to follow, pulling his tank top back over his head as he caught up to her.
She didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence. Instead, she spun on her heel and shoved him toward the elevator.
“To your apartment,” she said.
Johnny’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t question it. The elevator doors slid open, and the moment they stepped inside, she kissed him again, more furious than before. He didn’t waste a second returning the fire.
They barely made it through the front door of Johnny’s apartment before their mouths were on each other again.
It was a mess of limbs and hands and tangled breath. The place smelled the same of metal, smoke, and old liquor, but it was hers too, in a way. V had slept here once, lived here briefly when her life was coming apart at the seams. Her old bed. His now.
The door slammed shut behind them. Jackets hit the floor. Boots were kicked off with graceless urgency. They stumbled through the apartment until they reached the bed.
V shoved Johnny back into the mattress, and he went without protest, landing with a soft grunt. She crawled over him, fingers already at the hem of his tank, tugging it upward and off without finesse. Johnny’s hands weren’t idle either. He pulled her closer, his touch rough, hungry, fingers ghosting up her back as he tugged her shirt off in turn.
Clothes were shed piece by piece, fast and carelessly. Her bra unhooked, his belt yanked loose. Pants kicked away into the dark corners of the room.
Neither of them said a word.
Just the sound of their breathing fast and uneven, and the way their mouths found each other again and again. Johnny’s fingers traced the curve of her jaw, down the slope of her neck. V trembled.
She climbed on top of him, both of them now bare beneath the low citylight leaking through the blinds. He looked up at her, dark pupils blown wide, dark hair splayed across the pillow. His hand gently cupped the side of her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone.
Between kisses, he asked, voice hoarse, “Are you sure?”
V didn’t answer at first. Just leaned in, kissing him again, slowly this time, deliberately. Like she meant it. Like she needs it to mean something. After a long, breathless second, she pulled back just enough to nod.
That was all he needed. “I fucking love you, Valerie.”
Don’t say that now…
There was no slow build-up. No awkward pause. He entered her, desperate and intense. V moved with purpose, refusing to let herself think. Johnny gripped her hips, ground himself in the sensation of her skin against his, her hair brushing his face as he leaned in close.
It was messy. Breathless. Raw. Fingers gripped too tightly, mouths moved with a kind of frantic hunger. The creak of the bed frame, the sound of her gasps, his voice in her ear, low and strained, it all blurred together.
She didn’t care about perfection. She didn’t care about romance. What she needed was now. This. Him.
By the time it ended, they lay there in silence, tangled sheets and limbs, skin damp and flushed. Noises were drowned out by the sound of their breathing slowed down.
The rest of the night passed in fragments. A blur of half-formed thoughts and quiet touches. The occasional murmur in the dark.
V let herself sleep for the first time in weeks. Not because she was safe. But because, at least for tonight, she didn’t feel alone.
V woke slowly, the pale light of morning bleeding through the blinds and painting faint gold lines across the sheets. The world came back to her in fragments. Warmth, tangled limbs, and the weight of another body pressed close. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, trying to make sense of the room. It was too familiar.
Johnny’s apartment.
Her eyes widened.
She shifted slightly, confirmed the worst: Johnny was still there beside her, his cold metal arm draped loosely around her waist, his breath steady against her bare shoulder. Naked. Both of them.
The memories of last night came rushing in like a crashing tide: heat, desperation, and the numbness she tried to outrun. She sucked in a breath and carefully slipped out from under his arm, heart thudding in her chest.
What the hell did I do?
Johnny stilled, groaning quietly as he rolled onto his back, hand reaching blindly toward her. “Mornin’, V…” he muttered, voice still rough with sleep. He cracked open an eye, then grinned lazily when he saw her. “C’mere.”
He leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her head sharply, avoiding him.
“Don’t,” she said, voice low, expression unreadable.
Johnny frowned, sitting up as she crossed the room. Nibbles, ever the chaos gremlin, had made a bed out of her discarded clothes. V frowned and gently shooed the cat away, scooping up the pile and hugging it to her chest.
“V?” Johnny made his way over, confusion darkening his tone. “Talk to me.”
But she didn’t. She pushed past him, brushing his arm as if he weren’t even there, and locked herself in the bathroom.
Her hands trembled as she got dressed, staring hard at her reflection in the cracked mirror. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to smooth it into something presentable. She didn’t even recognize herself.
Outside the door, Johnny cursed under his breath. She could hear him getting dressed, too, slower than her. Like he knew what was coming.
She opened the door and finally turned to face him; the words were already on her tongue, heavy and bitter.
“This was a mistake,” she said.
Johnny froze, halfway through pulling on his shirt. “The hell it was.”
V folded her arms, refusing to meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have kissed you in the car to begin with. None of it should’ve happened.”
He stepped forward. “Is this about Rogue? ‘Cause I don’t care. I’ll end it.”
She looked up sharply, startled, and then she saw it. Really saw it.
He wasn’t just offering to end things with Rogue. He wasn’t just some ex-terrorist trying to get laid. No, this was something deeper. His dark brown eyes, guarded but soft, held something that struck like a blow.
He was in love with her. He meant what he said last night.
He had been for a while. Probably longer than either of them had realized. It made sense now, his sudden need to be around her all the time, the way he looked at her when she wasn’t watching, the way he hadn’t said a word when Alt left him cold. His casualness about Rogue. It had never really been about any of them.
It had been around her.
Her chest tightened. “How long?” she asked quietly.
Johnny tilted his head. “How long what?”
“How long have you… felt this way?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “V…”
“Before or after Mikoshi?” she pressed, voice sharper now. “Before you got your body back, or after?”
Johnny hesitated, then stepped closer. His voice dropped to something gentle, honest. “Before.”
She inhaled sharply, heart catching in her throat. She hadn’t been prepared for that.
This wasn’t fair.
She was dying. She didn’t have time to sort out her own feelings, let alone someone else’s. She didn’t know what this meant, didn’t know if she felt anything real for him, or if last night had just been her way of trying to feel something in the face of everything falling apart. But Johnny… he felt something. Something deeper.
And she couldn’t return it. Not the way he wanted her to.
She looked away, her voice flat. “What happened last night was a mistake. To me.”
Johnny flinched like she’d struck him. “V–”
“I don’t feel the same way,” she said, finality in her tone. “I never have. We don’t need to turn it into something it’s not. We had sex, that’s it.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Johnny stared at her, the pain in his eyes sharp and exposed. His jaw clenched, hands balling into fists before he turned away.
“Then maybe you should go,” he said coldly.
V grabbed the last of her things. “I was already leaving.”
She turned to head for the door, but Johnny grabbed her wrist. She stopped, looking up at him one last time.
“Don’t tell Rogue,” he said, voice low.
She pulled her arm free with a glare. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
Then she walked out, slamming the door behind her.
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
Getting into Night City was a hell of a lot easier than getting out.
They took the same back route they’d used to escape, except this time there was no cloaking tech shielding them, no rush, no tension, at least not the kind you could see.
Angel drove in silence. The Hierra hummed down the cracked highway, the city’s looming skyline growing larger by the second, glowing faintly in the early morning light.
Not a single word was exchanged.
V kept her eyes on the window. Every once in a while, she could feel Johnny’s gaze shift to her in the rearview. He didn’t say anything. Just stared like he was waiting for her to say something first.
She never did.
Because only now was she really starting to realize how pissed off she was at him. Cold shoulder felt like the only language she had left to speak.
Angel finally broke the silence. “We’re almost at H10. I’ll drop you two in the garage and head to Misty’s.”
V frowned, gaze still out the window. “Wait, I thought we were going to Johnny’s place too?” she asked, but her voice was quiet, uncertain.
Angel didn’t answer. She was already pulling into the parking lot beneath the megabuilding.
The garage looked exactly the same. Same cracked concrete, same flickering overhead, same smell of mildew and oil. Just more graffiti, layered on like a collage of lost time.
She stepped out and glanced around, eyes settling on a familiar shape: Johnny’s Porsche. Looked like it hadn’t moved in months.
Angel leaned out the driver’s side window.
“Call me when you’re ready to head back.”
Johnny nodded silently.
V watched her drive off, taillights disappearing as she exited the garage.
Johnny was already at the elevator, holding the gate.
She caught up to him, and they stepped inside.
“I really thought we were going to your place, too,” V muttered as the elevator started up.
Johnny didn’t look at her. “This is my place.”
She turned to him. “What?”
He finally looked her way, voice low. “You gave it to me. Right after I got my body back.”
The elevator dinged, and the gate slid open to the familiar hallway of H10.
V’s stomach twisted as he led the way to her his apartment door. She watched as he unlocked the door.
Her frown deepened. “Wait outside a sec,” Johnny said without turning around. “Wanna clean up a few things first.”
She crossed her arms, hard. “What are you hiding from me?”
Johnny sighed. “I’m not hiding anything. You’re welcome to step in and bask in the glorious sight of unwashed clothes, half-eaten ramen, and an overflowing garbage bin.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Right.”
He glanced at her briefly, then slipped inside and shut the door behind him.
She stared at the door for a long second.
Yeah. He was absolutely hiding something.
Didn’t take long, though.
The door clicked open, and Johnny stepped aside. “You can come in now.”
V stepped inside without a word, locking the door behind her.
She took a long, deliberate look around.
He hadn’t changed much, barely anything, really. The layout was the same. Same couch, same cluttered table, same bed. Only a few new posters and photos had been added. Otherwise, it was nearly identical to the place she remembered.
Too identical.
Johnny lingered behind her, watching, hesitating. V’s gaze swept the room, and that’s when she saw them.
Her things.
Her boots were by the door. Trinkets from old gigs on shelves. One of her jackets, carelessly tossed across the bed like it had just been peeled off after a long day.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there.
Then, bitterly, “Missed a few things.”
Johnny followed her gaze, then spotted her jacket lying on the edge of the bed. He picked it up quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not what you think. You used to just… hang out here after gigs. Crash sometimes. That’s all.”
V turned to him, arms crossed. “Relax. I already know.”
He blinked, like he wasn’t sure what she meant.
She didn’t blink back. “Panam told. I know we were fucking.”
Johnny stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then he looked away.
V stepped past him, stopping in front of a framed photo on the shelf.
It was from the Afterlife, her and Johnny, mid-laugh, drinks in hand. Looked like a good night. She didn’t remember it. But some part of her knew it happened.
“She told me a lot of things,” she added softly.
Johnny clenched his jaw. “We should start packing.”
He moved toward the back room, the stash spot, and punched in a code. The door slid open, and he disappeared behind it.
V set the photo down and walked toward the wardrobe. She opened it.
Yeah. Her clothes. Mixed right in with his.
Fuck.
They were actually living together.
That just made everything so much more complicated.
She thumbed through the hangers. Mostly dresses. Not usually her style, but apparently, it had been once.
She settled on a red and black one. Simple, sleek. She slipped into the bathroom, finally glad to peel off the clothes she’d been wearing since the Afterlife.
The dress fit. Not perfect, but comfortably familiar in a weird way.
She crouched down by the bathroom sink and pulled open a drawer.
Her dye kits. A purple one. A hot pink one.
She picked them both up, holding them in her hands like old friends.
Her current color was still clinging to her strands, the purple nearly faded. Would be easy to reapply now. A fresh coat for a fresh start.
Or something like that.
From the bathroom, V heard Johnny muttering under his breath, the sound of drawers slamming, and furniture shifting. She glanced at the dye kits still in her hands and set them down on the sink with a sigh. She cracked the door open and leaned out.
Johnny was pacing the apartment, flipping through drawers, digging beneath couch cushions, a little more frantic than she’d ever seen him. There was tension in his shoulders, focused and sharp.
She stepped fully into the room, arms crossed.
“What are you looking for?”
He didn’t answer. Just moved past her, heading toward the bed. V followed in silence, watching as he reached up to the shelf above it and grabbed a small, beat-up box.
Her heart twinged a little as she read the label, Johnny’s Shit, written in her handwriting.
He popped the lid open and started rifling through it quickly, eyes scanning like he was trying to find something buried in memory.
Then he stopped.
His hand pulled out a familiar silver chain. Dog tags. The same ones he’d given her at the Hotel Pitis Sophia. Scratched, tarnished, but still whole. Johnny stared at them, not moving, like the world had gone quiet around him.
Slowly, deliberately, he slipped them over his neck.
V felt the weight of her own necklace, the one Rogue gave her, press a little heavier against her chest.
Johnny finally glanced up and noticed her watching.
“You find what you were looking for?” he asked, voice low.
She shrugged.
He closed the box and placed it back on the shelf. “I’ll grab a crate from the storage room. Start packing. Grab clothes, if there’s any room, trinkets. Anything you think we’ll need.”
She nodded and moved back to the wardrobe.
Johnny disappeared again behind the stash room door, punching in the PIN. She heard the hum of the mechanism engage.
V sifted through the hangers, pulling out a few more dresses, so many dresses, seriously, what had past-her been thinking? Toward the back, she found a couple of T-shirts, tanks, and finally, some pants. Functional enough.
Johnny returned a minute later, carrying a medium-sized storage crate. He set it down in the center of the room and laid a blanket across the bottom. She filled the clothes and set them in carefully, side by side with his.
They didn’t speak.
When she’d finished, she rose and walked toward the old storage room, trying her old code out of habit. The keypad blinked red.
Locked.
“Johnny?” she called over her shoulder. He didn’t look up right away. “What’s the new code?”
He glanced up, frowning. “Why?”
“That’s where all the guns are, right?”
Johnny stood up quickly. “I moved the guns. They’re somewhere else, I’ll show you.”
He crossed the room to one of the decorative shelves near the door. V followed as he pulled down an oversized ceramic vase. From inside, he produced a single pistol, clean, compact, familiar. He handed it to her.
She took it, brows pulling together. “Just the one? Why the hell’s it hidden in a vase?”
Johnny didn’t answer. He just turned away and resumed packing, lifting the framed photo from earlier and placing it gently into the crate along with several others.
V lingered by the door.
Then she stepped back over to her old storage room and leaned in close, trying to see through the dark-tinted glass. The lighting inside had changed, warmer, lighter. The space was emptier, stripped of all her old weapons and stash gear. She spotted a few sealed boxes, neatly stacked. No guns. No ammo.
In the center, something unfamiliar caught her eye. An object, covered, maybe furniture. A chandelier, or was that some kind of lighting rig? Hung above it. There was a chair tucked into the side.
Redecorated. Rearranged. Repurposed.
It wasn’t hers anymore.
“V!” Johnny snapped.
She turned. He was glaring at her, arms full of clothes.
“Knock it off. I already grabbed what we need from that room.”
She folded her arms, gaze narrowing. “What’s in the room, Johnny?”
“Nothing important.”
“Right.”
He exhaled through his nose. “We’re almost done.”
“Fine. Whatever.” She turned on her heel. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
She disappeared back into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
V turned the shower on full blast, hot enough to fog the mirror in seconds. She stepped in and tilted her head back under the stream, letting the water soak through the remains of her purple hair. The leftover dye rinsed out easily; it had faded to almost nothing anyway. Her fingers moved quickly, practiced, working through the strands.
After a few minutes, she stepped out and faced the mirror. Her hair was still mostly bleached underneath, save for the roots. No need to re-bleach. Good.
She grabbed a towel and draped it over her shoulders, then reached for the two dye kits she’d pulled earlier: purple and hot pink.
She stared at the purple one for a long moment. Familiar. Safe. Then, without another thought, she set it down and picked up the hot pink instead.
Fresh start.
She found a brush, popped the kit open, and got to work. The motions were second nature now, something about the ritual grounding her. Soon, her hair was fully covered in pink dye.
She turned the shower back on, this time cold. Quickly washed the dye from her skin, then returned to the mirror. Her reflection was sharper now, somehow. Louder. She towel-dried the strands, added a touch of product, and let the rest air dry.
It looked good.
She took a step back and looked at herself. Then down at her body.
And blinked.
“Jesus,” she muttered under her breath.
Hadn’t noticed until now, but her chest was… significantly larger than she remembered. Curves more pronounced. There was a definition in her hips she didn’t recognize. Had she gotten dollwork done during those missing months?
“Goddamn.”
Wearing dresses. Dollwork. Sleeping with Johnny. Who the hell has she become?
With a frustrated sigh, she slipped on the black and red she’d chosen earlier and stepped out of the bathroom.
Johnny was sitting on the couch, hunched slightly, his guitar in his lap. V immediately recognized it. His fingers moved over the strings, not strumming, just feeling.
V sat beside him, smoothing the hem of her dress. “Didn’t you give that to Kerry?”
He didn’t look up right away. When he finally did, his gaze drifted to her face, then her hair. He blinked once, the smallest flicker of sadness in his eyes. But he said nothing.
She waiting. Still, nothing came.
After a moment, he stood, gently laying his guitar on top of the crate they’d filled earlier.
“I’m gonna bring this stuff down to the Porsche,” he stated. “We’ll head over to the Aldecaldos after.”
V frowned, brow furrowing. “I thought Angel was picking us up?”
“Plans changed.”
He moved toward the door.
“I’ll be back in a few.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
V didn’t waste a second.
She crossed the room to the desk and dropped into the chair, booting up the terminal. The screen lit up with a familiar login interface.
Two profiles.
V.
Johnny.
“Christ,” she muttered. “How domestic can this get?”
She shook her head, typing in her old password. It still worked.
The system loaded. Everything opened in front of her. All the answers she needed were finally at her fingertips.
V opened the Net and began scrolling through the latest Night City headlines. Same old chaos: anti-corp riots, clashes in Dogtown, an uptick in gang violence near Pacifica. But then her eyes froze on a headline.
Her blood ran cold. She clicked it immediately, heart hammering as the page loaded.
V scrolled through the attached images. Her breath caught in her throat.
One of them showed a twisted pile of debris, smoke still curling in the background. And in the wreckage?
A silver arm.
Her stomach dropped.
So that’s what he meant… Militech doesn’t know he’s alive.
He hadn’t just disappeared. He staged his death.
She checked the date.
April 20th.
That was… sixteen days ago. Two weeks exactly before she had died.
A chill crept over her spine.
One answer, sure. But it cracked open a dozen more.
Still, she kept digging.
She opened her messages. Mostly spam, sponsorship offers, club invites, gigs. But one message stood out.
From Vik.
She clicked it.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She quickly looked up the name of the blockers in the system.
Her breath caught again.
They were used to treat cyberpsychosis.
No… no fucking way.
So that’s what happened?
She had become a cyberpsycho?
Is that why Johnny–
Her pulse raced.
He put her down.
The room spun slightly, a thrum pulsing behind her eyes. No time to process. Not now.
She shot up from the chair.
She had to know what was in that damn room. Now. Before he came back.
V moved to the console and jacket in. Her fingers flew over the plugins, rerouting the lockers, overriding Johnny’s code. The system fought her; he’d layered protections over it, but after a few seconds, the door clicked.
She slipped inside.
The air was warmer in here. The lights dimmer. The walls were only half-painted, some kind of pastel pink, unfinished. The scent of turpentine still lingered faintly in the air.
She stepped carefully over scattered boxes.
She knelt by one and pulled back the flap.
Inside was a tiny blanket. Soft. Faded blue.
V’s heart stopped.
What the fuck…
She turned toward the center of the room.
There, shrouded under a white sheet, stood a piece of furniture.
She reached out.
Her fingers grazed the fabric, just starting to pull it back–
A cold hand clamped around her wrist.
Hard.
She gasped and spun.
Johnny.
His face was twisted with fury.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
She opened her mouth to answer, but she was unable to answer.
“You had no right, V!” he shouted. “Get the hell out!”
She stumbled back, shocked by the fury in his voice. She’d never seen him this angry, not even during their worst fights. Not when he first tried to kill her, as an engram.
“Johnny, I–”
“ Out! ”
V backed away instinctively as Johnny stormed out of the storage room behind her, fury radiating off him in waves.
“What the fuck were you doing going through my shit?!” he barked, voice sharp and accusing.
“I– I wasn’t–” she tried to explain, but he cut her off.
“You think I was gone for five fucking minutes, and you just– what? Decide to break into locked rooms like a fucking thief?” His voice with each word. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
V flinched.
Something about this…
It was all too familiar.
The yelling. The fury. The rapid descent into chaos.
Her father’s voice echoed in her skull. Screaming. Throwing things. Threats laced with venom.
And then– Vincent.
A body in her arms. Still. Cold.
Gone.
Something in her snapped.
“ Back the fuck off! ” she screamed, her voice ragged with emotion.
She didn’t even register her movement; her hand darted out, grabbing the pistol Johnny had handed her earlier. She held it up, both hands trembling.
Johnny froze.
His eyes widened as he took a cautious step back, both hands lifted in surrender.
“V…” he said gently, voice suddenly calm, paifully soft. “Lower the gun.”
Her hands shook.
Tears burned behind her eyes, blurring the edges of her vision. She didn’t lower it.
“Tell me the truth,” she said, voice cracking. “Why the fuck did you kill me, Johnny?”
His mouth opened, closed.
“No more bullshit,” she snapped. “No more half-truths. I want the truth. Did I have it? Cyberpsychosis? Did you put me down like some fucking rabid dog?”
Johnny took another step closer.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“ Then what was it like?! ” she shouted.
Her voice echoed through the apartment, raw and jagged.
“I read Vik’s message,” she said. “He said I needed immunoblockers. That I couldn’t go without them. That no one knew what would happen if I did. Sounded a hell of a lot like cyberpsychosis to me.”
She hesitated, then added coldly, “Maybe I should just ask Vik myself.”
Johnny’s jaw clenched. His hands trembled at his sides.
“You can’t,” he said, voice rough. “Vik’s dead.”
V’s stomach dropped.
“What…?” she breathed.
“You killed him.”
The world stopped.
Her fingers loosened around the pistol.
No. No. No…
She blinked at him, searching for any hint that he was lying. That this was some twisted joke. But his face was stone. Hollow.
The gun lowered slightly.
And in that split second, Johnny lunged.
He wrenched the pistol from her grip and shoved her back. She hit to floor hard, a sharp pain flaring in her abdomen. She gasped, clutching at her side as she felt something warm and wet soak through the fabric of her dress.
Her stitches had torn open.
She curled in on herself, the pain sharp and bright, but it was nothing compared to the devastation inside.
Vik.
Gone.
By her hand.
Johnny quickly dropped the magazine from the pistol, racked the slide, and caught the last round before it could clatter to the floor. He pocketed the weapon without a word and dropped to one knee beside her.
“Shit…” he muttered, seeing the blood seep through her dress. “V–” He reached for her.
She slapped his hand away, fury and pain twisting her face.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
“You’re bleeding,” he said, voice low and taut.
“No shit,” she snapped. “You tore my fucking stitches!”
He winced, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Fuck, V… I didn’t mean to– look, I’m taking you to Misty’s. Angel’ll patch you up.”
“Leave me the fuck alone,” she growled, trying to push herself up, only to collapse with a pained cry. “Get away from me.”
But Johnny didn’t listen.
Wordlessly, he slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her gently. V thrashed weakly in his hold, pain spiking through her like fire, and she cried out, burning her face against his chest. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into the skin beneath.
He didn’t flinch.
He just held her tighter and carried her out the door and toward the elevator, his jaw clenched and his expression unreadable.
Blood dripped from her side, splattering the floor with each step.
By the time the elevator doors hissed open, Johnny’s shirt was soaked at the waist.
He moved quickly through the garage, headed straight for the Porsche. The car beeped open with a press of his thumb, and he eased the passenger seat back with his foot before laying her down as gently as he could.
“Fuck!” she hissed, back arching as pain tore through her.
“Sorry,” he muttered, rushing to one of the boxes in the back seat.
He grabbed an old Samurai tour shirt, without warning, knelt beside her, and pressed it firmly against her stomach.
“Jesus fucking– ” V screamed.
Johnny didn’t hesitate. He wrapped it tightly, tying it off with a shaky hand.
“You’re not bleeding out on me, V,” he said. “Keep pressure on it. We’ll be at Misty’s soon.”
He slammed the door and jumped into the driver’s seat. The Porsche roared to life and peeled out of the garage, tires shrieking.
V tried to breathe through the pain, but it was too much. The heat. The pressure. The ache. The betrayal. The truth.
And suddenly it all came crashing down.
She broke.
The sobs started as silent tremors, barely audible over the engine’s growl. But within moments, she was full-on crying. Deep, gasping sobs wracked her chest, unstoppable, raw. Grief. Fear. Rage. Confusion/
Johnny didn’t say a word. He just gripped the wheel tighter, pushing the Porsche faster.
Notes:
Message thread generator by Luvwich.
Honestly, this is probably my favorite chapter so far. The next part of the Queen of Wands V is a fun one, it's coming in the next chapter. But I really loved building up all the tension from both perspectives and finally letting it spiral out. It was such a blast to plan. ✨
Once again, thank you all so much for the support. I truly appreciate every kudos and comment, they seriously make my day! 🥰
So, let me know what you think, how do you think V died? (I threw in even more hints this time.) For all those who have been theorizing, the next chapter is definitely going to answer a lot of questions. 😉
Chapter 8: Strangers
Summary:
I must've crossed a line, I must've lost my mind
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
ACT 2
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
It had been over a month since that night in Johnny’s apartment.
V did everything she could to forget about it. She kept moving, kept busy. Threw herself deeper into the Afterlife’s shadows and spent more time in the chaos of Dogtown with Angel, chasing whispers of a permanent cure. Every lead turned into a dead end. Nothing stuck.
Her world was fracturing, and she was too tired to keep it from crumbling.
Lucas Hartford’s grip on Night City was becoming more visible daily. Militech patrols were everywhere, on the streets, in the clubs, even near the Afterlife now. She wouldn’t be surprised if they started enforcing curfews. The power dynamic was shifting fast, and V felt it with every glance, every whisper behind her back.
She avoided her father’s calls. Ignored his agents when they approached her under the guise of “friendly” protection. She didn’t need Militech watching her like a vulture circling the dying.
The Afterlife, once her haven, had become complicated.
Johnny was always there.
He’d show up minutes after her arrival, making a beeline for Rogue. Always Rogue. They’d talk, laugh, and sit too close. V kept her distance, never stayed long, and never gave him the satisfaction of seeing her crack.
They hadn’t spoken since that morning. Not once. But his eyes always found her in the crowd. Burning and unreadable. And she did her best to look right through him.
She even stopped paying his rent.
It was petty. She knew it was petty. But she couldn’t stomach the way he acted around her. Like she was the one who had crossed a line. He hadn’t even tried to talk to her. Just slipped back into old rhythm, now pretending she hadn’t mattered.
But V was done being angry.
She was going to be the bigger person.
When Kerry sent an invitation, some surprise get-together at his villa for Johnny’s “89th” birthday, V surprised herself by saying yes . Maybe it was time. Maybe if they could finally talk, she could put it all to rest.
So, she dressed the part.
A sleek, gold bodycon dress that shone. Matching gold jewelry, soft but sharp, and a cropped purple jacket that hugged her frame, its color popping just enough to complement her hair. She didn’t bother wearing anything practical. Not tonight. Tonight was about showing up. Look good. Moving on .
She knocked once at the villa door.
Kerry opened it with a big grin and a whistle. “Damn, V. Didn’t know we were hosting royalty tonight.”
She smirked. “Try not to tear up when I outshine the birthday boy.”
Kerry laughed and stepped aside, leading her to the living room.
It wasn’t wild, not some of the other events Kerry hosted. Just intimate. Comfortable. Inside, Angel and Rogue were already seated on the plush couches, deep in conversation over drinks. Both looked up when V entered.
“Hey, V!” Angel called out, lifting her glass. “Looking sharp.”
“Real sharp,” Rogue echoes, with a small smile.
V joined them, easing into the seat next to Angel. The conversation picked up naturally– war stories, gigs gone wrong, backstage drama from the Samurai days. They were deep in it, recounting memories V had only heard about.
She listened quietly, doing her best to smile and nod when appropriate.
Kerry noticed her silence and made an effort, looping her in with occasional questions, nudging her into the rhythm of the group. She appreciated it, but truth be told, she didn’t mind being the outsider. She was used to it. This wasn’t her history. These weren’t her memories.
She’d always been late to the party.
Still, she laughed when Angel did, raised her glass when the others toasted to chaos, and tried not to think about who this party was for. Or what would happen when he walked in.
It was twenty minutes after V arrived that Johnny finally showed.
He strolled in like he hadn’t kept everyone waiting, leather jacket slung over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled, and a permanent smirk carved into his face. But the moment Kerry held up a glass and jokingly toasted to his “89th,” Johnny’s smirk faltered.
“For the last time,” Johnny said, pointing a finger at Kerry, “I’m not eighty-nine. I’m thirty-five. Technically. ”
“Oh, right, my bad,” Kerry said, grinning. “Thirty-five-year-old with fifty years of unresolved trauma.”
“Try eighty,” Rogue quipped, and the group burst out laughing.
Johnny sighed dramatically but smirked through it, kicking back in the chair beside Rogue. The conversation flowed easily, almost too easily. V sat still, glass in hand, watching as Johnny fit in like nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t ripped something open between them and left it to bleed.
Rogue raised her glass. “So, Johnny. With all this Militech presence in Night City… you thinking about declaring war again? Feels like the good ol’ days.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “I’m not that guy anymore.”
Kerry snorted. “Bullshit.”
Johnny shrugged. “What, you think I haven’t changed?”
Angel tilted her head, looking at V with a half-smile. “I don’t know… V had you in her head for two months. She’s got the real answer. So, V– verdict? Is Silverhand version 2.0 any better?”
Everyone turned toward her.
V swirled the liquor in her glass, buying herself a second to think. She met Johnny’s eyes, held them. “He’s changed,” she said slowly. “In some ways.”
“And the others?” Angel pressed, eyebrow raised.
V smirked faintly. “Still a jerk.”
Johnny threw up both hands, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, I’m working on it. At least I don’t cancel someone’s rent without a heads up.”
The tension simmered, no one said anything, but Kerry was the first to feel the shift.
“Alright, alright,” Kerry said, clapping his hands. “Before someone breaks a vase over someone’s head, again , how about a party game?”
“Oh god,” Rogue muttered, but she was smiling.
“Let’s go classic,” Kerry suggested. “Never Have I Ever.”
Angel groaned playfully. “Seriously?”
“It’s fun!” Kerry insisted. “C’mon, who doesn’t want to air their dirty laundry in front of friends?”
Rogue chuckled. “This group? That might take hours.”
“Well, guess we’re here for a while,” Kerry said, already grabbing the bottle to refill everyone’s drinks. “We’ll go oldest to youngest.”
Johnny raised a brow. “Okay, but that depends. I know for a fact I’m thirty-five, but I have no idea how old Angel is.”
“If you get to be thirty-five, then I’m twenty-eight,” Angel deadpanned.
Everyone chuckled again.
“Fine, fine,” Kerry said, waving a hand. “Angel, you call the order.”
Angel thought for a second. “Kerry, Rogue, Johnny, me, then V.”
“Perfect,” Kerry said, raising his glass. “Let’s start light. Never have I ever… pretended to know a song I didn’t actually know.”
Without hesitation, Rogue took a shot. So did V and Angel.
Johnny raised his brows. “Seriously, V?”
“I work in the Afterlife,” she said, shrugging. “People quote songs all the time, like I’m supposed to know the name of every 2006 Samurai song.”
“That cuts deep,” Johnny said, hand on his chest in mock pain.
“Good,” V replied, shooting him a tight-lipped smirk.
Angel snickered into her drink while Kerry leaned forward, clearly enjoying the show more than the game itself. Johnny caught her gaze once, and for a heartbeat, neither of them looked away. Then she blinked, turned toward Angel, and broke the spell.
Rogue leaned back in her seat, her drink swirling casually in her hand. “Alright,” she said, a sly edge to her voice. “Never have I ever had sex behind my partner’s back.”
There was a beat of silence before Kerry took a slow, measured sip from his glass. Johnny followed suit, a quiet gulp before setting his glass down with a muted clink.
V’s heart skipped a beat.
Her stomach twisted as she watched Rogue. The older woman didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, but V suddenly felt cold all over. She paled, her mind jumping straight to that night. The one neither she nor Johnny had mentioned since. Did she know? V’s eyes flickered toward Johnny’s, but he was already speaking.
“Okay, that one feels a little targeted,” he said with a crooked grin, attempting to break the tension.
Kerry leaned toward V, voice low enough to be just for her. “That’s the reason they broke up back in the day,” he muttered. “Johnny cheated. Real messy.”
V blinked. She barely had time to process her relief when Kerry added with a shrug, “Happened to me too. The last stages of my marriage. Nothing new.”
Johnny, meanwhile, was already moving on to his turn. “Alright,” he said, now taking a seat on the floor, placing his glass on the table. “Never have I ever slept with someone of the same gender.”
Without hesitation, V took a sip, her gaze steady. That one was obvious; everyone knew about her and Judy.
Kerry raised his glass in solidarity and downed a generous swig.
Angel paused just a second before lifting her glass and drinking.
Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Alt, really?”
Angel shot him a flat look. “Everyone was exploring at some point. You forget the 2000s were weird.”
Rogue chuckled. “Speak for yourself.”
Angel rolled her eyes. “You were dead center of the weird, Rogue.”
The group laughed. The edge from earlier faded for a moment, until Angel’s turn came around.
“Never have I ever gotten a tattoo,” she said with a smirk.
Johnny snorted and took a drink. Kerry followed, and Rogue did too.
Then all eyes turned to V.
Rogue narrowed hers. “Cheater. You’ve got ink.”
V shook her head. “Technically… I didn’t get it. He did.”
She jabbed a thumb toward Johnny.
Johnny leaned back smugly. “She gave me control for a few hours. I saw my chance.”
Kerry grinned. “What’d you do?”
V rolled her eyes, lifting the sleeve of her jacket to show them. Inked on the inside of her arm was Johnny + V , complete with a heart and arrow.
“It’s not funny,” she muttered, mouthing the words at Johnny.
He looked way too pleased with himself.
“It’s kind of funny,” Kerry said, chuckling.
“Yeah, well, try explaining it to someone you’re interested in who can’t take you seriously after seeing it,” V muttered, tugging her sleeve back down.
Then it was V’s turn.
She stared down at her drink for a second, the liquor inside catching the light like liquid gold. Her mind wandered back to that night in the Porsche, the elevator, the bed. Back to Johnny, his voice, the way he looked at her right in the eyes. I fucking love you, Valerie , he had said. And she didn’t say anything back.
She raised her eyes.
“Never have I ever,” she said quietly, “told someone I loved them… and truly meant it.”
For a moment, the room was still.
V didn’t drink. Neither did Angel, Rogue, or Kerry.
Johnny, though, did.
He raised his glass slowly, eyes flickering toward V for the briefest second as he took the sip.
It was quiet. Even the ambient hum of Kerry’s expensive sound system seemed to fade.
V didn’t look back at him.
Instead, she leaned toward Angel and asked what they were drinking next.
Soon, the laughter from inside Kerry’s villa blurred into the background, Rogue and Kerry swapping stories, Johnny tossing in snide comments, Angel quietly observing from the edge of the group. The party was in full swing now: drinks flowed, music pulsed low through the walls, and the warm, smoky air buzzed with old memories and older grudges.
V tried to stay engaged. She really did.
But halfway through Kerry’s impression of some corpo executive he’d once punched on stage, a strange heat crept up the back of her neck. Her head throbbed, pounding behind her eyes like something pressed inward. A cold sweat broke across her skin. She blinked, trying to focus, but a wave of nausea swept through her before she could catch her breath.
She reached up and touched her forehead, fingers trembling slightly. The room didn’t spin, but it tilted just enough to make her grit her teeth.
Angel, who had been perched on a nearby chair watching the chos unfold from a safe distance, immediately caught the change in expression.
“Hey,” she said, voice soft, tugging V’s attention. “You alright?”
V waved a hand vaguely in the air, her voice a rasp. “It’ll pass. Just… heat or something.”
But it didn’t pass. The heat only built. The heavy smell of tobacco, Rogue and Johnny’s cigarettes, filled her nose. Her stomach twisted again, and she instinctively brought her hand to her mouth.
Angel didn’t hesitate. “Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s get you some air.”
V nodded mutely, letting herself be led through the villa’s wide hall and out onto the wraparound balcony. The chill night air hit her like a balm, cool and comforting. She gripped the railing, taking deep breaths as she tried to settle the nausea.
The city sprawled out in front of them in all its neon glory, holographic ads moving up the skyline, traffic a distant hum, smog glowing faintly under the moonlight.
“Must’ve been the smoke,” she muttered, her voice still shaky. “Dunno why it’s hitting me like this. Never used to.”
Angel stood beside her, arms crossed. “You been feeling nauseous a lot lately?”
V shook her head. “No. Just tonight.” She hesitated. “Felt a little off yesterday, but nothing like this.”
Angel hummed thoughtfully. “Could be connected to your condition. The Relic, the cure, whatever’s happening inside you, it’s probably still evolving. Mutating.”
V didn’t respond right away. Her hands tightened on the balcony’s edge.
Angel glanced at her. “I’ve got a lead. A good one. Think it might actually go somewhere.”
V didn’t look over. “Thanks. But… I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”
There was a pause. Then a soft nod.
“Alright,” Angel said. “You take your time. I’ll head back in, keep the chaos from imploding without you.”
V managed a tired smile. “Good luck with that.”
Angel smirked and slipped back through the sliding doors, leaving V alone under the skyline.
The city breathed past her, alive and indifferent. V stared over it, heart still thudding, the ghost of nausea clinging to her insides. She knew this was a sign. Something was wrong. Still wrong.
And worst of all? She didn’t feel surprised.
Luckily, the cool air helped for a while. V’s nausea had begun to subside, her breathing steadied, and the sharp pounding behind her eyes was fading into a dull throb. She leaned her arms on the glass railing, letting her gaze drift across the city skyline. For a fleeting moment, she thought maybe that was it. Just a bad reaction to the smoke, the alcohol, the stress.
But then the scent hit her again.
A sharp curl of smoke drifted in, acrid and familiar. Johnny’s brand. It coiled around her, and the nausea came roaring back.
Before she could even turn her head, it happened.
She leaned over the balcony and vomited, hard, her body shuddering as she coughed through it.
Behind her, she heard a familiar voice, “Well… shit.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and turned slightly to see Johnny standing there, cigarette still burning between his fingers, a faint grimace on his face.
“Didn’t realize I had such a negative effect on you, V,” he muttered.
V’s glare was weak but pointed. “I left the room because of the cigarette smoke. It was making me sick.”
Johnny blinked, then immediately flicked the cig to the ground, stamping it out with the heel of his boot. “Right. Fuck. Sorry.”
V groaned, pressing a palm to her stomach, still trying to settle the rolling inside her.
Johnny moved closer, cautiously, concern etched across his face.
“You okay?”
“It’ll pass,” she muttered.
Johnny gave her a side glance, half-smirking as he asked, “You sure this isn’t morning sickness?”
V froze.
Her heart skipped. Her stomach clenched again, but this time from something colder.
Her eyes widened slightly as her brain scrambled to do the math. The look on Johnny’s face shifted instantly, the teasing falling away. “Wait. V– Are you…?”
She paled, shaking her head rapidly. “No. No, I’m not.”
“Are you sure?” Johnny’s voice cracked with a hint of something close to panic. “I mean… the timing… kind of lines up.”
She searched her memory. Last period, when? A month ago? Her eyes narrowed, trying to ground herself.
“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “I got my period a couple of weeks ago.”
Johnny still didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, but–”
“We were careful. Right ?”
He bit his lower lip and nodded, but it wasn’t convincing enough.
V groaned again and shoved him lightly in the chest. “Never bring this up again.”
Johnny nodded. “Message received. Just… making sure.”
The two stood in silence, side by side, the noise from inside Kerry’s place muffled by the closed side door. The wind had picked up slightly, brushing V’s hair over her face.
After a long pause, she finally said. “I’m sorry. For that night. For how I handled it.”
Johnny’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t speak.
“I was overwhelmed,” she continued, eyes focused on the distant skyline. “Still am. But I miss being chooms. Can we just… go back to that? Pretend it never happened?”
Johnny exhaled through his nose, nodding.
“Yeah. I hate fighting with you.”
V offered a faint smile, brushing her hair back. “I’m still not feeling great. Think I’ll delta early.”
Johnny turned to look at her. “Want me to walk you out?”
She shook her head. “Nah. I’ll see you around. At the Afterlife.”
A week passed. Just like that. Quiet. Uneasy.
Since then, things between V and Johnny had settled. They weren’t tiptoeing around each other anymore, weren’t bitter or awkward. The tension dissolved into something more familiar, comfortable. They cracked jokes again, teased each other at the Afterlife like nothing had ever happened. Chooms, just chooms.
And yet… something wasn’t right.
V bolted upright in bed that morning, cold sweat clinging to her skin. Her gut twisted, and she barely made it to the bathroom in time.
She dropped to her knees, vomiting hard into the toilet bowl, her hands gripping the rim tightly as she gagged.
She stayed there, hunched over and trembling, her throat raw, breath shallow. This had become routine, these sudden waves of nausea hitting her without warning. They’d come and gone throughout the week, mostly in the mornings, sometimes later in the day. She hasn’t told anyone. Not Rogue, not Angel, not even Johnny.
But today was different.
Because today, there was blood.
Dark, faint streaks mixed with the bile. Her eyes widened, and for a second, she thought she might be sick again. She wasn’t sure if she’d vomit blood or if it was just staining, something residual from whatever was breaking down inside her. Either way, it wasn’t good. Not with her condition.
And then, there was the other possibility.
V sat back on the cold tile, breathing heavily as her hand pressed to her abdomen.
Johnny’s stupid joke at the party had wormed its way into her mind and refused to leave. She told herself he was wrong, that it was impossible.
It can’t be that .
They were careful. She had her period, on schedule, nothing out of the ordinary. And still… she couldn’t shake the unease curling in her gut. Every sign was there. Nausea. Fatigue. Bloating. She’d even noticed her body feeling slightly different, like her stomach was just a little fuller than usual, not enough to call it anything yet. Not a bump. Not even close.
Still. The thought of it dug its claws in deep.
Dragging herself up, she leaned over the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on her face. Her reflection stared back at her, pale and drawn. She lifted her shirt, staring at her stomach, flat, save for a slight puffiness that hadn’t been there before. Her fingers brushed against her skin lightly, as if touch alone might confirm or deny what she feared.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
Maybe it was just stress. Or what was left of the Relic. Or some sick combination of both, chewing through her insides while she clung to what was left of normal.
She wasn’t going to sit and spiral.
She’d get checked out. Just to be sure. Vik could run a quick scan, check her vitals, and confirm whether there was anything foreign in her system. Some biological. Or worse, something cybernetic malfunctioning again.
She pulled away from the mirror, wiping her face one more time before pulling up her holo. A quick message sent to the Afterlife crew, calling in sick for the day. She didn’t even bother with an excuse.
Then she crawled back into bed, curling beneath the covers. Sleep didn’t come easily, but she lay there anyway, eyes open, heart pounding.
Hoping, praying, that it was nothing.
Because the idea of dying was one thing. But the idea of bringing someone else into this chaos? That was even more terrifying.
The sound of her holo ringing dragged V out of a restless sleep.
Sunlight poured through the slats in her blinds, casting long strips of afternoon light across the room. She groaned, rolling over and blindly pawing at the nightstand for her holo. When her fingers finally closed around it, she blinked through the haze of sleep and checked the caller ID.
She froze.
Judy Alvarez.
It had been months since V last heard from her. The last update she got about Judy came secondhand from Panam, back when V first set foot in Dogtown, meeting up with Angel for the first time, still clinging to the idea of a cure.
A pang of guilt struck her chest.
V accepted the call.
“Hey,” Judy’s voice was soft but warm. “Been a while.”
V sat up slowly, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Yeah… yeah, it has. Kinda surprised you called.”
Judy let out a light laugh. “Just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
“I’m…” V hesitated, not wanting to lie but not ready to spill either. “Alright. Could be better.”
There was a pause, then Jody spoke again, more cautiously, “You don’t sound alright.”
V gave a weak smile. “I’ve had worse days.”
“How about?” V asked, shifting the conversation. “Last I heard you heard you were up in Seattle. You still there with the Aldecaldos?”
“About that…” Judy tailed off, her voice dipping. “We’re not in Seattle anymore.”
V frowned, sitting up straighter. “Wait– where are you?”
“We’re in the Badlands,” Judy admitted. “Just outside Night City.”
V blinked, surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Judy hesitated again, then said, “They wanted to check in on you. I wanted to check on you.”
V didn’t need to ask why. The answer was obvious.
They still thought she was dying. Thought she only had a few weeks left, maybe less. News hadn’t reached them that Angel’s treatment bought her a few extra months, even if that time was still moving closer to the end.
Before she could say anything, Judy continued. “I’m actually in Night City right now. In Japantown.”
V echaled slowly. “Japantown, huh?”
“Yeah,” Judy said, a hopeful lilt in her voice. “Want to meet me there? Just catch up a bit?”
V hesitated, glancing down at her arms, still wrapped in the sheets of her bed. But this was Judy. They had history. Something real. And maybe she needed that, some kind of anchor to remind her who she was before all this relic bullshit, before the ticking clock.
“...Yeah,” V said finally. “I’ll come meet you.”
That afternoon, V took her time getting ready.
She wasn’t sure why she cared, maybe it was nerves, maybe it was vanity, but something about seeing Judy again made her pause longer in the mirror than usual. She cleaned herself up, tied her hair back, and threw on something casual but nice. Then she hopped in her Quadra Turbo, the engine purred to life beneath her and made the drive into Japantown.
The coordinates Judy sent her point to a small ramen shop tucked beneath a glowing neon billboard. It was wedged between a braindance parlor and an old arcade, steam from food carts mixing with the drifting lights of the street. Classic Japantown was chaotic, beautiful, and alive.
V parked the Quadra and approached the shop on foot, pulling her jacket tighter as a gust of wind whipped by. She spotted Judy before Judy spotted her. Same hair, but longer now. Same focused expression, but softer now, more relaxed. Judy glanced up, caught her in the crowd, and smiled. She waved her over.
They greet each other like old friends, casually but warmly. It struck V as strange, considering they’d once been more than that. But maybe this was what people did after a breakup, fell back into familiar rhythms, and pretended things weren’t more complicated than they were.
Judy looked her up and down with a small grin. “You look good.”
V smirked, brushing it off. “You need your optics checked.”
Judy laughed as they slid into a booth. V ordered herself a simple miso ramen, more for the act of eating than the hunger. Her stomach was already uneasy, and she had a feeling this wouldn’t help. Still, she could push through.
“Panam, Mitch, Saul, they all good?” V asked, tracing a circle on the table absentmindedly.
“Yeah, they’re good,” Judy said, nodding. “Panam’s been asking about you. Wouldn’t be surprised if she calls soon. Probably want to drag you into some crazy last road trip.”
V chuckled. “Wouldn’t mind that, honestly.”
There was a short pause. Then Judy’s voice dropped slightly. “So… how are you feeling? I mean, health-wise.”
The question hit like a dart. V stopped tracing, unsure of what to say.
Only Angel and Vik knew the truth. Everyone else still believed the old story, that she was still dying in December, and her days were numbered. But Judy… Judy had once been someone V told everything to. And maybe, just she still could.
“I’ve got good news,” V said slowly. “And bad news.”
Judy’s brow creased. “Alright…”
“The good news is I’m not dying in a few weeks. The bad news? I’ve got a few months instead. Less than seven now.”
Judy blinked. “Wait… what?”
“I got a temporary fix,” V continued quietly. “Something from a netrunner named Angel. Bought me some time. My new expiration date’s in May.”
For a few seconds, Judy said nothing. Then she exhaled a breath of relief. “That’s… actually really good to hear. I mean, not the dying part, but… I don’t want to lose anyone else so soon. Not again.”
V didn’t have to ask who she meant. Evelyn.
“I get it,” V said softly.
Another pause.
Then Judy glanced down at her hands, hesitated, and said, “Can I ask you something?”
V nodded slowly.
“I’ve been thinking about us. About everything. And I just… I don’t know. I was wondering if maybe… we could try again. Like, date again.”
V’s breath caught slightly.
“I know we ended things kind of messy,” Judy added quickly, “But I miss you, V. I really do.”
The words were sincere. V felt the warmth of them, and for a moment, she even let herself imagine it: something simple, safe, and real. She and Judy, back where they started.
But that warmth was quickly overtaken by the cold weight in her stomach.
Johnny.
And worse, the possibility that she was pregnant.
Her hand drifted to her midsection before she caught herself.
“I…” V hesitated, her head aching in her chest. “I don’t know. There’s a lot going on right now. Stuff I need to sort out. I’m not saying no, just… not right now.”
Judy nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “Okay. I get it.”
Their ramen arrived shortly after, steaming and fragrant, but the smell hit V like a wave. Her stomach turned violently. She managed to keep it down, but it was obvious something was wrong.
Judy noticed instantly. “V? You okay?”
V nodded stiffly. “Just need some air.”
She stood up quickly, and Judy followed her out onto the sidewalk.
Outside, V leaned against the shop’s wall, sucking in gulps of cleaner air. The nausea passed slowly, but the concern remained.
“I’ve been feeling off lately,” V admitted. “Really off. Nausea. Smells turning my stomach. Vomited blood the other day.”
Judy’s eyes widened. “You should see a ripperdoc. Seriously, V. That’s not something you mess with.”
“I know,” V said quietly. “I will. Just needed a minute.”
They stood in silence for a while, letting the cool air ease the tension. When V felt better, they returned inside and finished their meal, chatting more easily about lighter things, memories of the Afterlife, bad gigs, people they both missed.
When the meal was done, Judy paid for them both, and V stood up.
“Thanks for this,” she said. “It was good seeing you again.”
“You too,” Judy replied. “Next time, you’re buying, V.”
V nodded, slipped her hands into her jacket pockets as she stepped back into the busy street.
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
V had finally stopped crying, but fuck, it still hurt.
The improvised bandage, the Samurai shirt Johnny had tied around her midsection, was soaked, dark red spreading through the dark fabric like ink in water. It wasn’t bleeding as badly as before, but it still hadn’t stopped. Every bump in the road sent fresh stabs of pain radiating through her abdomen, but she bit her lip and endured it.
Outside the window, Night City blurred past. Afternoon sun filtered through the haze, casting everything in a washed-out gold. People were back on the streets, and the city was starting to resemble itself again. But it was all an illusion. Militech AVs loomed in the sky, and soldiers patrolled nearly every corner. She spotted two mechs parked beside the Metroplex hub, a third stomping through Little China.
This wasn’t the city she used to know.
She glanced sideways at Johnny.
He hadn’t said a word since they left the garage. Hands tight on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the road ahead. His white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel told her everything she needed to know; he was barely holding it together, too.
V blinked back another tear. Not from emotion, just pain. It was getting harder to stay conscious. She was growing tired. Sluggish. Her head lolled back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.
Don’t fall asleep.
She sucked in a breath through her teeth and forced her eyes open.
Her mind wandered.
Vik .
The thought hit her like a bullet to the chest.
Johnny has said she killed him.
No. No fucking way.
He had to be lying. Trying to scare her. Disarm her. Maybe it was just a bluff. Maybe Vik would be waiting just below Misty’s same as always, glasses perched on his nose, scolding her for not taking her meds.
But the way Johnny had said it…
She looked at him again. His breath was uneven now, like he was trying not to let it show. His jaw twitched. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.
Finally, he spoke.
“We’re five minutes out. Just hold on, alright?” His voice was hoarse, quiet. “I’m gonna call Angel. Let her know.”
V didn’t answer.
Didn’t trust herself to speak.
Johnny reached for the dashboard and tapped in Angel’s number. It rang once before she answered, voice casual.
“What’s up, Johnny? You two heading out? I still gotta pack a few–”
“Alt,” he cut her off, voice tight. “V’s hurt. Stitches tore open.”
There was a beat of silence.
V shot him a withering glare. She didn’t tear them open. He did. Fucker.
Angel swore under her breath. “Shit. Alright. I’m still at Misty’s Esoterica. I’ll open up the clinic now.”
“Be there in a few,” Johnny said, and hung up.
Silence settled between them again, thick and heavy.
V turned her head and looked at him once more.
What the hell happened to us?
She remembered the engram. The digital ghost who haunted her, who called her out, argued with her, laughed with her. Johnny had been an asshole of a parasite, no question, but he’d also been a choom, maybe even more than that, in those final days.
Now she didn’t know who he was.
One minute he was the only one who seemingly gave a damn about her wellbeing, the next he was shourting her into the ground. Leaving her in the dark. Hurting her.
Johnny glanced over, just for a second.
His eyes were filled with something she couldn’t place, sadness, maybe. Regret.
“We’re almost there,” he said softly. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”
She wasn’t so sure.
Sure enough, though, just a few minutes later, they pulled up to Misty’s Esoterica.
The lights inside were off, but neon signs from the neighboring store bathed the street in a hazy glow. A couple of adolescents loitered nearby, passing around a smoke, boots scuffing the cracked sidewalk. The familiar smell of incense and exhaust hung in the air, comforting and suffocating all at once.
Johnny opened his door and stepped out, glancing around with practiced caution. He slid on his aviators and shoved his hair back, trying to look inconspicuous.
Yeah , V though bitterly, like the 911 Porsche isn’t already screaming who the fuck you are.
He rounded the car and opened her door slowly. She could see the hesitation in his face, his jaw twitching as he muttered, “Not sure if I should move you.”
Before she could answer, he was already reaching in.
“Fucking– fuck!” she hissed through clenched teeth as he lifted her from the seat.
“Sorry,” he muttered quickly, his arms tightening to steady her as he carried her to the shop entrance.
The front door cracked open just as they reached it. Angel stood there, framed in the threshold, a small bundle nestled in her arms.
“Jesus Christ,” she breathed, eyes widening. “How exactly did this happen?”
It was the first time V had spoken since they left the apartment that wasn’t a string of curse words. Her voice was dry, cracked, but sharp as glass. “The bastard shoved me to the floor. Tore my fucking stitches.”
Angel’s eyes snapped to Johnny, horror written clearly across her face.
“You– did what?”
Johnny didn’t say a word. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t explain. V half-expected him to throw her under the bus, to mention the gun, and her meltdown. But he just stood there, jaw clenched, silent.
Strange.
Angel let out a slow breath and rubbed her temple with her free hand, the other still cradling whatever she was holding. She didn’t argue, didn’t press. She just stepped back and gestured for them to come in.
“Inside,” she said. “Now.”
Johnny followed her lead, carefully stepping inside the darkened shop.
“Put her over there,” Angel instructed, nodding toward one of Misty’s recliners on the right side of the room.
Johnny approached it gingerly and lowered her down with more care than she expected. V but hard on her lower lip, refusing to let the pain win. No tears. Not this time.
Angel stepped up beside her, her voice more clinical now. “T-shirt was a good call. Kept the pressure on. The wound compressed.” She reached a hand forward, fingers brushing the fabric.
That’s when V saw it.
For the first time, she really saw what Angel was carrying.
A baby.
Tiny. Newborn. Eyes squeezed shut, the softest noises coming from its little mouth. One of its hands had worked free from the blanket and curled into a tight, little fist.
“What the fuck,” V breathed, blinking in disbelief. “Angel… what are you doing with a baby ?”
Angel shifted the baby in her arms without a word.
V’s eyes flickered over to Johnny. He was still standing a few feet away, half in the shadows of the shop, eyes glued to the bundle in Angel’s arms. At first, he just stared. Then, like someone had gut-punched him, his expression cracked. V saw it, clear as day. A flicker of something raw. Panic. Fear.
She didn’t know she’d ever seen that on Johnny Silverhand’s face before.
Angel finally spoke. “Her name’s Jackie,” she said quietly, like saying it too loud might shatter the moment. “I was watching her while Misty got some sleep.”
Johnny’s breath hitched, and he turned away, taking a step back.
V frowned and looked at the tiny thing again. So this was the Jackie they were talking about yesterday… The one Rogue mentioned. The one Johnny tried to tell her about. The one she had mistaken for Jackie Welles. She was so small. So new . Her eyes remained shut, and she was making those soft little cooing noises, barely audible over the hum of the city outside.
Jackie…
Misty’s daughter?
V’s chest tightened. God, how much did she miss?
She glanced back at Angel. “So, she’s Misty’s?” she asked.
Angel didn’t answer.
Instead, she turned to Johnny, her voice firmer now. “Take her.”
Johnny’s head snapped toward her. He just… stared.
“I need to grab some things from Vik’s clinic downstairs,” Angel said, nodding toward the back.
Johnny shook his head, quick, panicked. “No. I can’t.”
V blinked, startled by how fast the fear crawled up his throat. He looked ready to bolt.
Angel took a single step toward him. Johnny took one back.
“Misty can– Misty can take her,” he stammered.
“She can’t,” Angel snapped. “She hasn’t slept in days. I’m not waking her up, Johnny.”
“I can’t,” he said again, softer this time. “Alt, I can’t.”
V looked at him, really looked. This was Johnny Silverhand, the same one who started riots, killed Corpos without blinking, and nuked a city. And he was terrified of a baby.
“Just take the baby, Johnny,” V whispered. Half to herself. But he heard her.
He turned his head slowly, eyes meeting hers. Something passed between them, she couldn’t name it, but after a beat, he nodded.
Angel stepped forward and gently held out the bundle to him.
V watched as Johnny rubbed his ‘ganic and silver palm together like he was trying to scrub something off. Maybe nerves. Maybe the blood still drying on his skin.
He reached forward, slow but careful, and took the baby into his arms.
Watch the head, Johnny, V thought instinctively, holding her breath.
He cradled Jackie with surprising delicacy. His fingers twitched slightly, like he didn’t trust them, but he didn’t drop her. Didn’t panic. He just stood there, holding her, breathing shallowly.
“You good?” Angel asked, her voice softer now.
Johnny nodded once. Wordless.
Angel gave him a long look before heading toward the back. “I’ll be right back,” she assured, and slipped through the door leading down to Vik’s old clinic.
V shifted slightly in the chair, pain still flaring hot in her abdomen, but she didn’t take her eyes off Johnny. He was still standing there, arms tight around the baby, staring down at her. Chest rising.
Then, slowly, he sank to the floor, back against the wall, knees bent, baby still in his arms.
His breath shook. His jaw clenched.
He looked like he was about to fall apart.
And for the life of her, V couldn’t figure out why. V couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.
His chrome hand hovered, hesitant, before finally reaching out. One of Jackie’s tiny fists uncurled and latched onto his silver finger.
His breath caught in his throat.
V saw it, the tremble in his shoulders, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. His breath was too shaky. Too uneven. And for a second, just a second, V thought she saw his eyes glint with tears.
But before she could speak, before she could even call out his name, Angel returned.
She was carrying a small armful of supplies, bandages, antiseptic, and a threaded needle. All the things V knew too well. Angel moved ot her side, setting the bundle down and casting a glance at her wound.
“This is gonna hurt,” she said, matter-of-fact.
V scoffed lightly, the edge of a grimace curling her lip. “Had a theory.”
Angel crouched down, untying the blood-soaked Samurai t-shirt from around V’s waist. She gently lifted the hem of V’s dress just enough to expose the damaged area. V hissed between her teeth as the cool air hit the raw skin, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.
Angel examined it with practiced hands. “Not as bad as it looked,” she muttered. “Most of the stitches held. Just need to tighten a few… and restitch this section here.” She glanced up. “Good news is the bleeding stopped.”
V nodded, jaw clenched tight, her hands gripping the side of the chair.
Angel began cleaning the wound with a sterile cloth, the sting biting deep. V flinched and looked away, trying to breathe through it. Her gaze drifted back toward Johnny.
He hadn’t moved.
Still staring down at the newborn. He looked… lost.
The sting of the antiseptic faded into the background as her mind spiraled.
Vik.
Vik’s voice, his steady hands, his old-school humor. The way he used to patch her up and remind her she wasn’t indestructible. Her chest tightened.
“Angel…” she rasped. “Is Vik… is he really dead?”
Angel didn’t respond. Her hands didn’t even pause.
Instead, she just glanced over at Johnny.
V followed her gaze.
Johnny didn’t look up, didn’t say anything. His entire world was locked on that baby in his arms, the question hadn’t even reached him.
“Angel?” V repeated, voice thinner now, laced with desperation.
Still no answer. Angel continued stitching, her face blank, composed.
V’s throat closed up. No. No , he couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. That wasn’t how this worked. He’d probably gone out of town, that was all. Maybe he was on a break, taking a trip, that’s why he couldn’t come upstairs to help. That’s all.
That’s all.
That’s why he wasn’t here. That’s why Angel had to do this. That’s why Johnny hadn’t confirmed anything else. That’s why…
The thought collapsed on itself. V blinked once. Twice.
And the tears spilled out.
She didn’t try to stop them this time.
The dam finally broke.
V started sobbing, deep ragged sobs that wracked her body, making her freshly stitched lower abdomen scream with pain. Her shoulders trembled violently under Angel’s touch.
Angel paused her stitching, resting her hand gently on V’s shoulder. She didn’t speak, just stayed there, present and steady.
V gasped through the tears, hiccuping breath after breath as her body finally began to calm. Her face was wet, her hands curled into fists at her side. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.
Vik was gone.
Gone.
There was no running from it anymore, no more clinging to fantasies of him being out of town, or downstairs, or asleep. He was dead.
Angel gave her shoulder a final squeeze. “Almost done,” she said softly, returning to her work.
V didn’t respond. She felt hollow now. Numb. The sting of the needle barely registered anymore. Even the baby’s soft noises had become a distant murmur. Her eyes drifted, unfocused, as Angel finished the last of the stitches.
And then, movement at the front door.
V looked up just as it opened, and someone stepped inside.
Misty.
Her hair was longer now, darker at the roots where the blonde had grown out. Her makeup was minimal, barely there, and heavy bags hung under her eyes like shadows. She looked exhausted. Strung out.
Misty scanned the room, Johnny seated against the far wall with the baby, Angel crouched on the floor with medical gear, V stitched and pale but alive.
Her expression changed in an instant.
“V?” she whispered.
Before V could answer, Misty crossed the room and pulled her into a soft, careful hug, arms wrapping around her without pressure. V winced from the pain but didn’t say a word, just buried her face into Misty’s shoulder, letting herself feel the warmth. The comfort.
Misty leaned back and cupped V’s cheeks, brushing the tears away with both thumbs. “I knew it,” she whispered. “I knew you’d be back.”
Angel silently moved to the other side of the room, giving them space. V looked into Misty’s eyes, still red and watery. Her voice cracked.
“Vik’s dead,” she choked out.
Misty’s smile faded. Her eyes softened as she pulled V into another hug, holding her tighter this time, cradling the back of her head like she might fall apart.
“I know,” Misty whispered. “I know, it’s alright, V.”
“No,” V sobbed. “I– I killed him.”
Misty pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “No, you didn’t,” she said, voice firm. “It was an accident. You weren’t yourself. That wasn’t your fault.”
V didn’t believe it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But Misty’s voice anchored her, held her together when everything else had splintered.
And then, a slam.
The sound of a door shutting hard.
A baby’s cry cut through the room, loud and sudden. V turned her head just in time to see Angel standing by the now-closed back door, arms full of a squirming, red-faced Jackie.
Johnny was gone.
Angel looked panicked, bouncing the baby gently.
She turned to Misty, frantic. “I need to go after him before he does something stupid– he’s not well.”
“Go,” Misty interrupted, already stepping forward. “He’s probably on the roof. I’ve got Jackie.”
Angel didn’t hesitate. She handed Jackie over and bolted out the back, calling Johnny’s name as the door slammed again behind her.
V sat there, breathless, alone with Misty. And the crying baby in her arms.
The baby’s crying clawed at V’s nerves, not harshly, not like a scream, but enough to stir something deep inside her. Something she couldn’t name. A sensation that made her chest tighten and her stomach twist. It wasn’t panic. It wasn’t fear. It was… something else.
Misty, though, handled it like she’d done it a hundred times. She bounced Jackie gently in her arms, kissed the infant’s head, and whispered soft, steady words V couldn’t hear. The kind of soothing voice she remembered when Misty wheeled her into her apartment and told her her options to deal with the Relic. Calming energy in human form.
She looked good like that.
Comforting, maternal.
It suited her in a strange, quiet way.
As Jackie settled, the crying tapering to little whimpers, V blinked slowly and looked up at Misty, her voice flat and numb. “So, it’s true then. Vik’s dead.”
Misty met her gaze, sadness swimming in her eyes, and nodded. She adjusted Jackie in her arms, rocking her softly.
V swallowed thickly, staring at the baby’s tiny fingers surling against Misty’s shirt. “How?”
“You were at Vik’s,” Misty said quietly. “Militech came for you. Said they were going to take you in.” Her tone hardened just slightly. “Vik tried to stop the.”
V stiffened.
Misty continued, her voice more careful now. “You weren’t yourself. You panicked. Overloaded the entire room.”
V looked away, covering her face with both hands. “Oh god,” she whispered. “I really killed him.”
“V,” Misty’s voice cut through the haze. Firm. Present.
V looked up again.
“Look at me,” Misty said.
She did.
“That version of you, whoever she was, that wasn’t you. She’s gone. Dead. And you… You’re here now. You’re what matters.”
V didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The thoughts buzzing in her skull drowned out the rest of the world.
Who the fuck was she?
The question that’d always been on the back of her mind since she was revived.
A ghost wearing her own skin? A shard of code stitched together to mimic a person? Some copies constructed rebooted onto a broken body?
She shoved the thought aside, tucking it back in the dark corner of her mind where it lived.
Instead, she gestured weakly toward the baby. “So… her name’s Jackie?”
Misty gave a small smile, nodding. “Yeah. Named after the late Jackie Welles.”
V blinked. The math didn’t add up. She couldn’t be Misty and Jackie’s daughter. Too much time had passed. The baby was too small. “How old is she?”
Misty looked down, brushing a finger along Jackie’s cheek. “Almost a week.”
Jesus Christ. Less than a week. That young.
No wonder Johnny had freaked out.
V glanced up again, “I mean… You look good for just having a kid. Tired… but good.”
Misty’s eyes widened for a moment, surprised. But then she laughed softly, the sound thin but warm. “I appreciated that, but… V… She’s not mine.”
V stared at her, confused. “Wait, what?”
“She’s not my baby.”
V blinked. Her mouth opened, but no words came out at first. Finally, she stammered, “Then… whose…?”
Misty didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer and shifted the baby in her arms. “You should hold her.”
“What?” V blinked again, startled. “Why?”
Misty moved closer, offering Jackie into V’s space. The baby immediately started fussing, those little arms reaching upward, legs kicking against the blanket.
The same cry from before. That same piercing, high-pitched wail.
And suddenly, something churned inside V again. Her breath caught. Not fear. Not nausea. Just… something overwhelming. Something in her body was pulling her forward.
And then, wet.
V’s eyes dropped down. Her dress clung to her chest, two darkened patches forming across the fabric. Damp.
Her mouth went dry.
“What the fuck…?” she whispered.
It started falling into place.
Piece by horrifying piece.
The bleeding between her legs. She chalked it up to internal damage from the reboot, but…
But the wound, it had been too low, a sharp, uneven scar across her lower abdomen. Not just an incision, something more… invasive. Messy.
Botched.
Her hands moved instinctively to her stomach, pressing lightly. Faint stretch marks she hadn’t remembered. Parts of her body were swollen, tender in places that hadn’t been before. Now her breasts, aching, leaking. Her dress damp.
Jackie…
Jackie was hers .
Her daughter.
And her father…
Johnny. Johnny fucking Silverhand.
Everything started spiraling.
The nightmares, Johnny holding her through them, whispering that he’d never leave her again. Panam, letting slip that they’d hooked up. The apartment filled with things wasn’t just his. They were theirs . Too domestic. Too lived-in.
And that room. Her old storage room, which Johnny had shut her out of.
It was a nursery.
A fucking nursery.
He told her she was dying when he found her. Admitted he was the one who killed her.
So he must have… he must have cut her open. Pull the baby out of her. Ripped Jackie out.
“Oh fuck…”
Her stomach lurched violently.
She barely made it to the side of the chair before she vomited, retching hard and dry after the first wave. Misty gasped softly and stepped back, holding Jackie closer and shushing her as the baby started fussing again, startled by the sudden motion and noise. V spat, wiped her mouth, her whole body trembling.
She turned toward Misty, pale and drenched in cold sweat.
“The baby’s mine?” she relapsed, voice cracking. Her voice felt raw. Her eyes burned again, tears threatening to spill.
Misty didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
The silence said everything.
V let out a choked breath. The sobs came hard and fast, racking her body, pulled from some deep, aching place inside she didn’t know existed. She doubled over, arms around herself.
A daughter.
She had a daughter.
And no one had told her.
No one.
Misty moved without hesitation. One hand gently cradling Jackie, the other rubbing soft circles along V’s back.
“I’m so sorry, V,” Misty whispered.
But V couldn’t even process the words. All she could think about was that tiny, soft cry. The ache in her chest. The milk. The scar. The nursery.
It was all true.
It was all real .
She had a daughter.
And Johnny… had kept her a secret.
“Why,” V gasped through her sobs. Her voice cracked, “Why was this kept from me?”
Misty didn’t answer, only looked at her with heavy, sorrowful eyes.
V’s breath hitched, her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting skin.
“And Johnny?” she demanded, pain bleeding into anger. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why the fuck did he keep this from me?”
Her voice rose quivering.
“Rogue? Angel? Judy? All of them? They all knew , didn’t they?”
The fury twisted into her chest like a blade, and V could feel herself unraveling, grief morphing into something sharper.
Misty didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. She simply said, “They must’ve had a good reason.”
V let out a bitter, breathless laugh. There was no humor in it.
“Johnny hasn’t been telling me shit ,” she snapped. “He’s been hiding everything. All of it, Vik, our kid, this whole fucking life he denies we had. And I’ve been stumbling around in the dark, trying to catch up to a world that kept moving without me. I just–” her voice broke again, “I just want to know the truth. The whole truth.”
Misty tilted her head. “Do you?”
V’s mind flashed back to her confrontation with Johnny, his confession. The look in his eyes when he told her Vik was gone. That she had been the one to kill him.
He’d know.
He kept that from her.
Their daughter. Their whole life.
She didn’t want to know what else he’d buried under silence.
“I don’t know anymore,” V muttered. Her hands trembled. “I don’t know…”
Misty didn’t try to respond. She only stepped forward and offered V the baby again.
And this time, slow and carefully, V took her.
Valerie Hartford held her daughter for the first time.
The infant squirmed a little in her arms, but settled quickly. A soft sound escaped Jackie’s lips, her dark eyes blinking up at her, unfocused. V stared at her, taking in every detail, dark tufts of her hair on her head, a tiny button nose, delicate little hands with fingers that curled instinctively around hers.
She could see Johnny in her. But she could see herself , too.
She cradled the baby closer and whispered, voice cracked but full of awe. “You’re so beautiful…”
Notes:
Alright, that's a wrap on this chapter! The storylines are really starting to line up now. ✨
Starting with the first half... this one was such a fun one to write. I loved exploring all the character dynamics, and I actually took a bit of inspiration from a scene in Always Be My Maybe. Specifically, the party scene with Keanu Reeves. For anyone curious about the vase reference, here's the clip: https://youtu.be/BDRLZDwRD1g?si=lf06WRhh0FBRrCX9
As for the second half... congrats to everyone who guessed correctly! 🥰 Yep, things are definitely shifting in the branching storylines. The Queen of Wands arc is slowly revealing how we get to the Queen of Swords.
As always, let me know what you think in the comments! I love hearing your theories on where each storyline is headed.
And truly, thank you for all the kudos and comments! They absolutely make my day. When I first started this, I thought I'd be writing it just for myself, but I'm so grateful so many of you are as invested as I am!! ♥️♥️♥️
Chapter 9: Mother
Summary:
Can you keep them in the dark for life?
Can you hide them from the waitin’ world?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
It had been exactly a week since V met up with Judy, and the conversation still lingered in her mind like a hangover she couldn’t shake. She kept replaying it, wondering if she’d made a mistake, turning Judy down, even temporarily. Some part of her missed the simplicity of it, the idea of being loved without condition. But another part, the louder one lately, kept reminding her that nothing in her life was simple anymore.
She sat at the Afterlife’s bar, alone, absently spinning the paper umbrella from her drink between her fingers. It was some neon-colored cocktail Claire had insisted she try. Sweet. Sharp. Distracting. But not enough. She caught her own reflection in the chrome paneling behind the shelves of booze, tired eyes, bruised under the surface, distant.
Claire approached from behind the bar, wiping her hands on a rag. “You alright, V?”
V didn’t respond at first. She was too far gone in her head. The umbrella made another slow rotation.
“Hey. You good?” Claire repeated, gently but firmly.
V blinked, looked up, and temporarily forgot where she was. “Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “Just spaced out.”
Claire gave her a long look, then nodded and leaned against the counter, glanced across the room toward Rogue’s booth. “You see that?” she asked, nodding toward the two figures sitting together.
Rogue was there, drink in hand, laughing at something Johnny had just said. He leaned back in the booth like he owned the place, because in some spiritual, arrogant way, he probably thought he did.
Claire squinted. “I still don’t get it. Why Rogue’s been dating a Johnny Silverhand impersonator.”
V arched a brow. “He’s not an impersonator.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “That’s what you keep saying. You and Rogue, and him. It’s a good bit, I’ll give you that. Real commitment to the act.”
V smirked slightly. “What would it take for you to believe it’s actually him?”
Claire tilted her head thoughtfully. “Proof. He plays, right? Let me hear him shred a little. Something classic. ‘Chippin’ In,’ maybe.”
V nodded slowly, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Fair enough.”
Just then, Johnny pushed back from the booth and stood, stretching. Probably heading home. V called out, “Hey, Samurai!”
Johnny turned toward his voice, curious.
“Claire here still doesn’t believe it’s really you,” V said, gesturing with her drink. “Says you’ll have to play to prove it.”
Johnny smirked, walked over with the kind of swagger that hadn’t changed in half a century. “That right?” he asked, locking eyes with Claire. “You still think I’m some street kid in cosplay?”
Claire crossed her arms. “If you’re really Johnny Silverhand, then I want to hear you play. Chippin’ In. Full version.”
Johnny gave a low chuckle, tapping the bar lightly with two fingers. “Alright, bartender. I’ll remember that.”
He turned to V. “Heading out. Gotta check on Nibbles.”
V nodded. “Give her a scratch for me.”
Johnny stared at her a beat too long, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded back, a silent exchange of something unspoken, and slipped into the crowd.
Claire watched him go with an amused look. When she turned back to V, she was wearing a crooked smirk.
V narrowed her eyes. “What?”
Claire shrugged. “Nothing. Just… that impersonator’s got a thing for you.”
V frowned. “He’s not–” But before she could finish, a voice called from the corner booth.
“Valerie.”
It was Rogue. V exhaled softly, finishing the last of her drink, and got up.
V slid into the booth across from Rogue, noting the half-empty glass in front of her and the familiar glint of business in her eye.
“What’s the job?” V asked, no need for small talk.
“One of my mercs bailed last minute,” Rogue said, cutting to the chase. “Package delivery. Quick drop. Client’s Maelstrom, which means I don’t trust it, but I do want to get paid.”
V raised an eyebrow. “And you want me to babysit the package?”
“I want someone I trust to handle it. You deliver, we split the payment. Easy money.”
V nodded. “Alright. I’m in.”
Rogue gave a short nod of approval and pinged a set of coordinates to V’s HUD. V glanced at the location. Watson, some back alley in the badlands of civility.
“I’ll head over now,” V said, already sliding out of the booth.
“I’m coming with you,” Rogue said, standing up.
V blinked. “You? Thought fixers didn’t ride shotgun.”
Rogue smirked faintly. “Please. These days, you’re closer to a fixer than I am. Besides, I want eyes on this one. It smells like a setup, and I could use the combat practice.”
V gave a crooked smile. “Didn’t think the Queen of Fixers still got rusty.”
“Keep talking,” Rogue said dryly, heading toward the exit. “I’m driving.”
They pulled into a trash-strewn alley in northern Watson just after nine. The glow from the streetlamps flickered, casting jittery shadows over six waiting Maelstrom gangers. Chrome plating. Modded optics. Wires where skin used to be.
V stepped out of the car slowly, her stomach already twisting. She didn’t know if it was nerves or something deeper. Rogue emerged beside her, the package tucked under one arm like she was carrying groceries.
One of the gangers stepped forward, bulked up with aftermarket muscle and glowing red optics. He squinted at them. “You the mercs?”
Rogue didn’t blink. “The one you hired bailed. We’re making the drop instead.”
She held up the package. The goon nodded slowly, but his eyes drifted to V.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he sneered. “You look like you’re about to hurl. Might not be the best time to doin’ business.”
V’s lips tightened. “I’m fine. Just hand over the eddies and we can both go home.”
The gangster’s face shifted. That edge of mockery hardened into something more dangerous. He pulled a pistol and pointed it at her chest. “How about no , you chrome-plated bitch?”
Rogue didn’t move, but her eyes narrowed.
Another Maelstrom lackey, smaller and wired tighter, leaned in from the side. “Boss… think about this. That’s Rogue, Queen of the Fixers. And that’s her . V. The same one that torched Arasaka.”
The leader hesitated, gun now pressed to V’s temple. “That right?”
V’s nausea surged, sweat prickling on her back. She stared him down. “Yeah. And if you don’t hand over the eddies right now , I promised I’ll make you regret ever crawling out of your hole.”
He grinned. “We don’t have your eddies.”
Rogue’s hand inched toward her holster.
The leader tilted his head. “We were just gonna kill the two of you. Take the package. Figure the legend’s worth more dead than alive.”
And then it happened.
Gunfire cracked through the alley. V ducked and rolled as Rogue opened fire, dropping the first ganger with a clean shot through his augmented eye. Chaos erupted. Chrome bodies jerked and fell. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off rusted dumpsters.
V’s vision blurred. Her stomach clenched. She barely registered the main Maelstrom guy stumbling toward her, bleeding out, before she drove a bullet through his chest. He crumpled, and that was the last straw.
She doubled over, vomiting onto the cracked pavement, a thin string of blood lacing the mess.
“V!” Rogue’s voice barked behind her.
Another shot rang out, a wet thunk, and the last standing ganger dropped like a sack of meat behind V. Blood sprayed the concrete.
Breathing hard, V wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to stand.
“You need to get your head back in the game,” Rogue snapped, grabbing her by the arm. “Didn’t know you had such a weak stomach.”
V tried to answer, but Rogue’s eyes flicked down and froze.
Red. Blood.
Not just the vomit. Not just splatter from the fight.
“Shit,” Rogue muttered, voice suddenly sharp, low.
V felt it, a streak of blood running down her nose. Fresh. Hers.
Rogue’s jaw clenched. “You’re bleeding.”
V slumped down again against the crumbling alley wall, the cold concrete scraping her back through her jacket. Her vision pulsed with red at the edges. Her hands trembled, slick with sweat and blood, as she tried to catch her breath.
“Shit,” Rogue muttered pacing a tight circle. “This is bad.”
V barely looked up. Her voice came out ragged. “No kidding.”
Rogue turned, staring down at her with a hardened glare that didn’t quite mask the concern underneath. “I thought you were cured.”
V winced, not from pain but the weight of that word. Cured .
“It wasn’t a cure,” she said quietly. “Just… a delay. An extension. I’m still on borrowed time.”
Rogue let out a deep sigh, hands on her hips. For a moment, she said nothing, just stood there, framed in flickering neon and the fading steam of blood cooling on metal.
“Does Johnny know?”
V shook her head slowly. “I think he suspects something’s wrong. But don’t tell him. I don’t want this turning into a whole thing.”
Rogue didn’t answer right away. She just stared down at her, at the blood, at V’s slumped form, at the shaking hands of a legend unraveling.
Then she sat down beside her, back hitting the wall with a soft thud. “Fine. I won’t. But you gonna tell me if puking up blood is a new feature?”
V gave a soft laugh, humorless and bitter. “Yeah. Couple of weeks now. Every morning, sometimes at night. Pretty regular, like clockwork.”
Rogue’s brow furrowed. “Jesus, V…”
“I know,” V said quickly, cutting her off before pity could creep in. She forced herself up, legs wobbling just a little. “I’m fine.”
Rogue stood too, stepping in front of her. “No, you’re not. You need to see a ripperdoc.”
“I said I’m fine,” V replied, sharper this time. But her hands clenched reflexively over her gut, where the ache was starting again. She wasn’t sure which part scared her more, the pain or the swelling she’d started noticing beneath the skin in places it didn’t belong.
Rogue wasn’t buying it. “You’re going.”
V looked away.
“If you don’t,” Rogue continued. “I’ll tell Johnny myself.”
That got her attention. V exhaled slowly, jaw tight. “You’re playing dirty.”
“You’ve seen the world, V. It’s the only way anything gets done.”
V let the silence stretch a moment longer before she finally nodded. “Alright. I’ll go.”
Rogue smirked, just slightly. “Thought so.”
V stepped away from the wall, wiping her mouth again, her eyes avoiding the blood at her feet. “I’ll head over now.”
“I’ll see you back at the Afterlife,” Rogue said, watching her closely. “Eventually.”
As V turned and walked toward her bike, the nausea curling back up her throat, she wondered how long eventually was going to be.
It was just past ten when V rolled up to Viktor’s clinic, the familiar hum of the city dulling in the background as she parked her bike. She exhaled slowly, making her way down the stairs, and opened the gate.
Inside, the place was quiet, save for the low drone of an old boxing match playing on a dusty flatscreen. Viktor sat back in his chair, arms crossed, watching the screen intently, until V closed the gate behind her. He turned his head slightly, his eye catching hers, and offered a warm if tired smile.
“Well, well,” he said, muting the volume. “What can I do for you, kid?”
She didn’t smile back. Instead, she walked straight over to him, voice low. “I could use a scan. Biometric. Neural readout. The works.”
Vik’s brow lifted slightly. “Something happened?”
She slid onto the padded chair, the leather squeaking under her. “Got a new symptom.”
That made him pause. He began pulling up his interface, powering up the diagnostic tools with practiced ease. “What kind of symptom?”
“Nausea,” she said, watching him move. “But not just that. I’ve been throwing up blood. Every day. For the last two weeks.”
Viktor’s expression darkened. “Jesus, V… why the hell didn’t you come in sooner?”
She shrugged. “Didn’t feel like hearing more bad news.”
He muttered something under his breath and gestured for her to jack in. She did, the soft hiss of sliding her port in cable giving her a brief sense of deja vu. The interface lit up with a whir, and Vik’s eyes scanned the readouts rapidly, hands flying over the holokeys.
“Alright… neural degradation’s stable, same pace it was last time I checked,” he said, voice even. “Blood pressure’s high… but that’s expected with the stress your body’s under.”
Then he stopped. His eyes narrowed. The rhythm of his typing slowed.
V watched his face carefully. The small frown. The crease in his brow.
And then, he swore.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a quiet, startled, “Shit.”
That made her stomach drop faster than any diagnosis could.
“Vik?” she asked, eye narrowing. “Whatever it is, don’t sugarcoat it. I can take it.”
He didn’t answer at first. Just removed his glasses, something she’d never seen him do before, and looked her dead in the eye.
“You’re pregnant.”
V blinked.
The world didn’t stop spinning. The scan still hummed. The boxing match still flickered in the background.
But inside her head, everything froze.
“...What?”
Viktor gave a slow, careful nod.
V sat back in the chair, stunned and silent.
Neural degradation. Vomiting blood. And now, this.
Pregnant.
V stared at Vik for a long moment, her thoughts crashing into each other, her pulse echoing in her ears. Pregnant. Deep down, she’d known, had felt something was different. The nausea. The way her clothes had begun to fit a little tighter around her chest. The slight bump she kept telling herself was just stress, or bloating, or anything else .
But now there was no more denying it.
V met Vik’s gaze, his expression unreadable.
“You wanna see?” he asked softly.
She nodded, numb.
Vik reached for a new display screen and pulled out a wand and a small tub of gel. His voice was low and calm, like he was handling a wounded animal. “It’s gonna feel a little weird,” he warned, lifting her shirt with care.
The gel was cold against her skin, and the wand pressed gently into her lower stomach. Vik moved it with practiced ease, scanning until the screen lit up with a grainy image. He tapped a small shape on the screen.
“There. That’s it. The fetus.”
V’s breath hitched in her throat.
She stared up at the screen, eyes wide. It was small, still vague in form, but unmistakably real. A life. Inside her.
“Looks like you’re about eight weeks along,” Vik added, eyeing the readout. “Give or take.”
Eight weeks.
Her thoughts clicked into place with the weight of a gunshot.
That night. Johnny .
Her fingers curled into the edge of the chair, knuckles going white. She couldn’t look away from the screen, even as her chest began to ache.
Vik cleared his throat, sighing. “You’re early enough that, if you want to terminate, we could do it today. Easy. No complications.”
She flinched but didn’t speak.
“You know I gotta say this, V. With the amount of chrome you’ve got… and the state your body’s already in…” He trailed off. “Carrying it to term could kill you. Hell, you’re set to die a month before the due date. None of this is safe for you or the kid.”
That did it.
The tears came fast and suddenly.
She hadn’t meant to cry. Hadn’t even felt like crying. But once they started, they didn’t stop. She clenched her jaw, trying to muffle the sounds, but the pain swelled in her chest until it spilled over.
Vik said nothing at first, just started cleaning up the wand and gel, giving her the space she needed. When he finally placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, it felt like something solid in a world slipping out from under her.
“Oh, V…” he murmured.
There was no judgment in his voice. Just heartbreak. “How the hell did this happen to you?”
She couldn’t answer right away. Her tears slowed, but her body still trembled, each breath a shudder.
“It was a mistake,” she whispered eventually. “I didn’t know.”
She thought back to a particular memory, curled up with Johnny in his bed as he rubbed small circles on her bare back. His expression vulnerable in a way he never let others see. That night. Their night.
Vik noticed the change in her eyes.
“Who?” he asked quietly. But then he stopped himself. The timing, the look on her face.
His expression darkened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered. “That son of a bitch… I swear to God, I’ll kill him next time I see him.”
V’s lips parted, but she didn’t have the strength to argue. She just breathed, slow and ragged.
After a few minutes, she sat up straighter, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I need to go.”
Vik nodded. “Alright. But come back when you’re ready to make a decision. Don’t wait too long, V.”
She got to her feet slowly, unstead, but determined. He didn’t try to stop her. Just watched her go. She stepped out of Vik’s clinic, the cold air clearing her tear-streaked face. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself, trying to compose her breathing, her thoughts.
That was when she saw her.
Misty sat on the stairs, legs crossed, her gaze soft but steady as she looked up at V. The pale yellow light of the nearby sign cast a golden glow on her face.
V froze.
Her mouth opened slightly, but Misty spoke before she could get a word out.
“Come with me,” she said gently, rising to her feet.
V hesitated only for a second, then followed.
They moved through the narrow alley beside the shop, slipping through the back entrance. The place smelled like incense and dried flowers, a strange but comforting mix. Misty didn’t say much as she led V to the counter.
“I thought you might come by,” Misty said softly, standing on the opposite side of the counter. “Didn’t mean to overhear… just got a feeling.”
V stared at the cluttered counter, eyes drifting to the worn velvet bag Misty now placed on it.
“I can offer some advice,” Misty said, her voice light. “Not answers. But maybe… a glimpse.”
V blinked. “Tarot?”
Misty nodded. “Two readings. One for each path you might take.”
V hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Okay.”
Misty smiled gently, then shuffled the deck. Her fingers moved like smoke over the cards. She took a breath and drew two.
“This is if you choose to terminate.”
She turned over the cards.
The Sun . The Tower.
V’s eyes narrowed at the contradiction. Misty nodded solemnly. “You’ll find some peace. Relief, even. The Sun shines on that. But…” She tapped the Tower. “Your foundation will crack. There’s something ahead… pain. Chaos. Something you won’t be able to undo.”
V swallowed, the words sitting heavy in her throat.
Misty reshuffled the deck, drawing two more cards.
“This is if you keep it.”
The Moon . Strength.
“Fear. Uncertainty. Doubt,” Misty said quietly, brushing a finger over the Moon. “But also… resilience.” She tapped the second card. “Endurance. Love. Something to fight for.”
V stared at the cards, trying to decipher them beyond their symbols. But her head spun with possibilities. Futures that hurt either way.
She glanced up. “What would you do?”
Misty hesitated, fingers lingering on the edge of the Moon card.
“I can’t answer that,” she said softly. “This… It’s your choice. No one else’s. Not Vik’s. Not mine. Not even Johnny’s.”
V’s heart twisted at the sound of his name.
Misty leaned back, her expression thoughtful.
“I will say this,” she continued. “A lot of people don’t recognize this enough, but… the reason we’re all here, any of us, is because someone gave birth to us. Your mother. Her mother. And so on. We’re the result of survival, V. A long chain of it.”
She paused, her eyes suddenly bright with something unspoken.
“You’re surviving now, too. Maybe more than ever. And I think… if you choose to keep going, to keep this going… you’d be a damn good mother.”
V blinked back the emotion rising in her again, throat tight.
“But that doesn’t mean it’s the right path,” Misty added, voice still calm. “It just means… you’ve got to be the one to walk it.”
V sat with that in silence. She looked down at the cards again. The Moon. The Strength.
She exhaled, long and slow. “Thanks, Misty. I think… I think I need to go home.”
Misty nodded. “Of course. You’ve got a lot to think about.”
V got up, at least now she had some stars to navigate by.
“Whatever you choose… you’re not alone.”
V paused in the doorway, heart aching.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
The door clicked shut behind her, and V let her body go limp as she staggered to the bed. Her coat fell somewhere on the floor, long forgotten, and she collapsed onto the mattress with a heavy exhale. Her fingers fidgeted with the corner of the sheets, twitching, restless, as her mind refused to settle.
She stared up at the ceiling for a long moment before glancing down. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her shirt. Just enough to confirm what she already knew.
There it was.
A small, barely noticeable bump. Just round enough to no longer pass as bloating. She could’ve ignored it a little longer, maybe, chalked it up to stress or poor diet, but not anymore. That illusion was gone.
Her hand hovered over the curve of her belly, not touching. Just staring.
And then what? She thought bitterly. What the hell comes after this?
Could she even tell him? Could she really look Johnny Silverhand in the eye? Mr. Burn-it-all-down and say, Hey, remember that night at your apartment? The one we swore not to talk about? Well, surprise. I’m pregnant.
Yeah, no. That’d go over real smooth.
“Stupid,” she muttered, dropping the shirt and turning away from herself.
She needed to think. More than that, she needed advice. Someone outside of the noise, outside of the chaos that had become her daily life. She pulled up her contact list, flicking through names, with a growing sense of hopelessness.
Rogue? Out of the question. Not just because she was dating Johnny, but because Rogue would shut down emotionally the second things got personal.
Kerry? No. He’d make it a whole dramatic event. He’d mean well, sure, but he’d make it about Johnny. About the past, and V didn’t need that right now.
River? Couldn’t even remember the last time they talked.
Judy? Too soon. Their friendship was still in recovery mode, she couldn’t drop this on her.
Angel? Complicated. Her history with Johnny, the budding friendship with V… no. Too raw.
Her thumb hovered over one name, finally settling.
Panam.
Of all the people she knew, Panam had always given it to her straight. No fluff, no drama, just honesty. She’d stuck with V during her lowest moments, even after leaving Night City. She’d know about V’s condition, had seen how bad it got. If anyone could give her perspective, it was Panam.
Without letting herself overthink it, she tapped the call button.
The line rang once. Twice…
“V?” Panama’s voice came through, warm and familiar. “Damn, it good to hear from you.”
V smiled weakly. “Hey. Judy told you, huh?”
“Yeah. Said you got some kind of extension. That true?”
“Yeah… It’s better than dying in December, I guess.”
“Damn right it is.” A pause. Then, gently. “You okay?”
V closed her eyes. “Not really. I could use your advice. In person, if you’re free.”
“Where are you?”
“My penthouse in Watson. Sending coordinates now.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
The call ended.
V pushed herself off the bed, padding down the stairs toward the living room. She sank into the couch, the silence of the apartment pressing in on her. Everything felt heavier now, like gravity had turned up just for her.
Fifteen minutes later, a knock came at the door.
V got up and opened it.
Panam stood there, black leather jacket zipped halfway up, her hair windswept from the ride. Her eyes scanned V’s face with concern, but she didn’t say anything just yet.
“Nice place,” Panam said as she stepped inside. “Really living it up, huh?”
V offered a tired smirk. “There’s beer in the fridge if you want one. Make yourself at home.”
Panam shook her head, slipping off her gloves. “Nah. Gonna need a clear head if I’m gonna spread some of my world-famous wisdom.”
V chuckled dryly and gestured toward the couch. “Then sit, oh, wise one. I’ve got a hell of a story for you.”
Panam raised an eyebrow, already bracing herself as she sat. “Let’s hear it.”
V took a breath. “The cure I got, the one that extended my life… it came with a price.”
Panam’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of price?”
V hesitated, then opened her holo and pulled up a photo. Her at the Afterlife bar, sitting beside none other than Johnny Silverhand. He looked solid. An arm draped lazily over her shoulder.
Panam blinked. “No. Fucking. Way.”
“Yep,” V smirked, but there was no joy in it. “Brought him back. Mind, body, and all.”
Panam leaned in, looking at the photo closely. “Shit, V… that’s insane.”
“It was the only way. Needed him for the procedure to work.”
Panam exhaled slowly, then looked back at V. “Okay, crazy cyberghost resurrection aside… what’s this got to do with me ? Why am I here?”
V bit her lip, fingers digging into the seams of her couch cushion. “Because… I’m pregnant.”
Panam blinked again. “Wait. You’re–”
V nodded.
“With Johnny’s kid,” she added, bracing for impact.
Panam stared at her. Mouth slightly open. “...How?”
V tried to hold back a grin. “Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much–”
“Oh my god , stop,” Panam groaned, throwing a pillow at her. “This is serious, V!”
“I know,” V said, catching the pillow and holding it close. “Believe me, I know.”
She leaned back, head tilted toward the ceiling.
“I’m eight weeks along,” she said softly. “Two months. My ‘timer’ ends in May. Baby’s due in June.”
Panam’s face shifted from surprise to something softer. “So, might not even make it to delivery.”
V nodded again, silent.
“And I’m here because…?”
“I don’t know what to do,” V whispered. “Should I terminate? Should I carry it through? Should I even tell Johnny?”
Panam sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. “Shit. That’s a lot.”
“Tell me about it.”
There was a long pause, filled only by the low hum of the city outside the penthouse windows.
“Okay,” Panam finally said, voice measured. “First thing? You have to tell Johnny.”
V looked away.
“If you’re dying, if there’s a real chance you won’t make it, then he deserves to know. If he reacts well, you’ll know whether he’s willing to step up. Whether he raises the kid. It gives you options.”
V’s fingers tightened around the pillow. “He doesn’t know I’m dying,” she said quietly.
Panam blinked. “What?”
“He thinks I’m cured. That I’m okay.”
Panam swore under her breath. “Why the hell haven’t you told him?”
“I… haven’t gotten around to it.”
“V, come on–”
“I know,” V cut in. “I know. I just… didn’t want to ruin anything. Not yet.”
Panam leaned back, arms crossed. “Then here’s what you do. You tell him about the baby. And if he takes it well, really well, then you drop the hourglass bomb on him. In that order.”
V swallowed. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do that.”
Panam reached over, pulling V into a tight hug.
“I’m here for you, V,” she whispered. “No matter what you decide.”
“Thanks, Panam.”
They pulled apart, and Panam stood, brushing off her jeans. She moved toward the door but paused before leaving.
“Call me after you talk to him. I want to know how it goes.”
V nodded. “I will.”
The door closed behind her, and silence fell again.
V looked around the penthouse, empty and echoing in its quietness. The clock in her HUD read 11:02 PM.
She let out a shaky breath and reached for her holo, praying he was still awake.
She hit the call button.
Johnny picked up almost immediately.
“Hey,” he greeted, voice low but calm. “Everything alright?”
V’s voice wavered. “Can you come over? We need to talk.”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
V sat quietly, her arms curled protectively around the tiny body resting against her chest. She stared down at her daughter, her daughter , trying to let it all sink in.
Everything else faded. The incense in the air, the crack of floorboards, the lingering ache in her body. None of it mattered. Just the small, warm weight against her. Her fingers gently traced the baby’s cheek, down to her impossibly tiny hands, still curled into fists.
This was real. This was hers . This fragile, perfect little person was hers to protect. To raise. A whole life, a new life , she was suddenly responsible for.
And just as fast as the awe came, the panic settled in.
V’s chest tightened. Her breath caught.
I didn’t choose this.
She didn’t get to say yes or no. She didn’t make the call. She just woke up one day in a world that had already made the decision for her. A baby on her chest. A scar across her stomach. Her old life dissolved like a glitching memory file. This was it now.
Jackie’s eyes were closed. Asleep. Her breathing was soft and even, barely perceptible against V’s skin.
V bent down and pressed a small kiss to her forehead. Her daughter didn’t even stir.
Did she know ? Did she recognize V’s heartbeat? Her voice?
Does she know I’m her mother?
V swallowed hard. Her eyes burned again. And before she could stop herself, she was crying. Again.
God, she’d been crying so much lately. Too much.
Misty reentered quietly, carrying a stained rag and a plastic trash bag from the back room. She’d been cleaning up the mess V left behind.
Her voice was soft when she finally spoke. It’ll be alright, you know.
V didn’t look up. Just kept her gaze on the baby.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she murmured, voice raw. “Be a mom. I didn’t plan this. Didn’t want this. A couple of days ago, all I cared about was chasing a fucking cure… and now… this?”
She gestured faintly at the sleeping baby in her arms. Her voice broke again.
“But that was just… echoes, right? Digital memories. The real me, she died. Died to bring this baby into the world.”
She paused, her lip trembling. “I didn’t choose this. I just woke up and now… I don’t know if I can do it.”
Misty approached slowly, kneeling beside her. She placed a comforting hand on V’s knee.
“She didn’t think she could either,” Misty said softly.
V looked down at her, surprised. “What?”
“She was just as overwhelmed. Thought about ending it. Terminating the pregnancy. Even after deciding to keep it, she didn’t know if she’d go through with it. She talked about giving the baby up for adoption right up until the end.”
V blinked. “Then… why didn’t she?”
Misty gave a tired, sad smile and shook her head. “I don’t know.”
They sat there quietly for a moment, the baby stirring slightly in V’s arms.
After a beat, Misty stood. “I’m gonna check on the others. I’ll be back in a few.”
V nodded mutely, too lost in her thoughts to answer out loud.
Alone again, she stared down at the sleeping infant. She didn’t know how she felt about what Misty had said. That she , the other V, had nearly walked away from all this. Had nearly chosen a different path.
Jackie stirred, blinking sleepily. Her face scrunched in protest, a tiny frown forming as she let out a weak fuss. But when V softly whispered, “Hey now, you’re alright, you’re okay,” the baby calmed almost instantly.
Her eyes, deep and unfocused, blinked up at V. Something in her seemed to settle just from the sound of her mother’s voice.
And then V felt it– that pull, deep and terrifying and beautiful.
She looked up and froze.
Johnny was standing across the room, watching her. No aviators. His eyes were bare. Sad.
She hadn’t even heard him come in.
Their eyes met across the room.
V really saw Johnny. Not the version burned into her brain, the loudmouthed rebel who flipped off corpos, killed corpos on stage. No, the man standing in front of her now was someone else entirely.
Johnny Silverhand wasn’t the one who fathered her child. Johnny , just Johnny.
This man wasn’t a rockstar anarchist.
He was a grieving man. A man who looked like he was at the end of his rope, ready to jump if the wrong word hit him.
And the feeling that rose in V’s chest wasn’t rage, or fear, or love. It was disappointment. Crushing, hollow disappointment.
Angel and Misty burst into the room a second later, both out of breath. They must’ve chased him down.
Misty moved to Johnny’s side instantly, placing a hand on his arm like she could will him back to the present. He didn’t move. Didn’t take his eyes off V and Jackie.
“She knows,” he said, voice hoarse.
Angel made her way toward V slowly, cautiously. V clutched Jackie closer, her jaw tightening.
“I’m sorry,” Angel said, her voice quiet. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
V didn’t even hesitate. “Go fuck yourself, Alt.”
Angel flinched, but didn’t fight back. Just nodded slightly and let out a small, almost defeated, “Yeah…”
“I talked to Johnny,” she continued, folding her arms. “We’re not going back to the Aldecaldos.”
V didn’t respond right away. She held her daughter closer, watching Johnny silently. He still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t blinked.
And then he left.
Just turned and walked out of Misty’s shop.
Misty turned as if to follow him, but stopped herself, hovering in the doorway as if unsure. Angel watched him go, too, her expression unreadable. When she turned back to V, she glanced down at Jackie.
“We figured… another day in Night City might help,” Angel said, her voice low, almost tentative. “Give us time to come up with a plan. And you– time to recover. You just reopened your stitches, and now with everything out in the open…”
She trailed off for a beat before finishing, “One more day couldn’t hurt.”
Angel hesitated, then added. “We’ll be staying at Kerry’s. Since his villa’s on the edge of this city, it’s a good spot to lie low, and easy to make a quick exit. Besides…” she shrugged faintly, “maybe it’d be good for Johnny to see an old friend.”
V said nothing.
“I’ll go finish packing,” Angel said softly. “I’ll come get you when it’s time.”
And just like that, she turned and left.
The room was silent again.
V looked down at the tiny girl sleeping in her arms. Her daughter.
She felt the words leave her mouth before she even realized she was speaking.
“I don’t want to leave Night City.”
Misty didn’t respond right away. Then, in her usual calm tone, she said, “You can’t move forward without taking a few steps first.”
“Before you go,” Misty said gently, “how about one more tarot reading?”
V looked over at her, surprised.
“It might not give you all the answers,” Misty continued, “but maybe it’ll give you a little clarity. Or comfort.”
V hesitated. Then nodded.
“Yeah. Okay.”
She rose carefully, still cradling Jackie to her chest, mindful of her head and the tiny weight of her. Her body aches, inside and out, but she moved forward.
Misty was already at the counter, shuffling the worn, familiar deck. The same one she’d used for years. Her fingers moved with practiced ease.
“Pick the first car,” she said, spreading them out.
V reached out with her free hand, selected one, and flipped it over.
The Queen of Swords.
Misty smiled faintly, tapping the card. “This is who you are now. The Queen of Swords is strong, independent, sharp-minded, but also guarded. She’s been through a lot. She sees through lies, but sometimes… struggles to open up. Keep her heart behind walls.”
V didn’t say anything, only stared at the card, then reached for the second.
The Chariot.
Misty’s smile deepened. “The Chariot means movement. Determination. Forward momentum. You’ve made your decision, and now you’re charging ahead, even if you’re scared. This card means control. Willpower.”
Finally, V turned over the third card.
The High Priestess.
Misty’s fingers hovered over it for a moment.
“This one’s… tricky,” she admitted. “She represents mystery, secrets, hidden truths. Things yet to be revealed. She’s powerful, but that power comes with risk. Intuition, yes, but also, uncertainty. Sometimes, it means the answers you seek aren’t out in the world. They’re already inside you.”
She glanced at the three cards together, expression softening.
“You’ve been forced to become something new. You’re fighting your way forward. But some of what comes next? You’re gonna have to trust yourself to figure it out. No one else.”
V swallowed and looked down at Jackie sleeping in her arms.
That was when Angel stepped back into the room.
“Everything’s ready,” she said quietly.
She crossed over to V and glanced over her carefully. “You good to talk?”
“Yeah,” V said. “I’m fine.”
Misty moved around the counter. “I’ll walk you out.”
The three of them stepped outside. The light had shifted, early evening, the sky cast in warm, fading gold. They passed Johnny’s Porsche. He was there, crouched next to the open door, wiping blood from the seat. Beneath the fresh stains was older blood, dark, dried, and caked to the leather.
She didn’t want to know whose it was.
Johnny looked up.
Their eyes met for a split second, but V quickly looked away, clutching Jackie tighter to her chest. She didn’t speak. She didn’t slow.
She kept walking.
They reached Angel’s Outlaw Herrera. Tht backseat was stuffed with supplies, diapers, formula, blankets, toys, Jackie’s things. All the things Angel must’ve gathered.
A car seat was already installed in the back. Angel opened the door.
“Here,” Misty said gently, holding out her arms. “Let me.”
V hesitated. Then nodded, carefully handing Jackie over.
Misty moved with calm precision, unwrapping the blanket, revealing Jackie’s little limbs stretching and kicking. She made a soft sound, almost a yawn, and blinked once before Misty gently secured her in the seat and pulled the blanket over her again.
Angel climbed into the driver’s seat and started checking the controls.
Misty closed the door, then turned to V and wrapped her in a tight hug.
This time, V hugged her back fully.
“Goodbye,” Misty whispered.
V shook her head. “Not goodbye. I’ll see you again.”
Misty smiled, but there was something distant in her eyes. “Maybe. But just in case…”
She turned to V gently toward the front passenger side and helped her in, fastening the seatbelt.
Misty stepped back, watching them for a long moment. Then she turned, walking toward the Porsche.
Johnny was standing beside it, sunglasses off, arms crossed.
They exchanged quiet words, V couldn’t hear.
Then Misty reached up and pulled him into a hug. At first, he stood stiffly. But then, slowly, he returned it. Hesitantly. Like it took effort.
Misty stepped away, and Johnny climbed into the Porsche. The engine turned over, rumbling low. The tailights flared as he eased it forward, pulling out into the street.
Angel started the Outlaw.
V looked back, watching Misty grow smaller and smaller in the side mirror, until she disappeared entirely.
And Night City, for the first time in a long time, felt like it was fading behind her.
The car was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle from the back seat.
V shifted in her seat, glancing over her shoulder at Jackie’s car seat. It was turned away from her, the standard rear-facing design for infants. A strange pang of longing hit her. She wished she could’ve sat beside her daughter, kept a hand close, reassured herself that Jackie was alright.
But instead, all she could do was look out the window and watch as Night City passed them by.
The sun was setting now, that golden hour bleeding into twilight. The neon started to flicker to life, casting a reflection across the Outlaw’s windows. The pulse of the city dulled with distance, but it still buzzed beneath them, alive and indifferent.
V turned her gaze forward, locking onto the back of Johnny’s Porsche ahead. Its tail lights glowed, and she found herself wondering what was going through his head. She used to be able to guess, back when he was a voice in hers. A whisper, a curse, a sarcastic quip. Back when she could feel the ache behind his bravado. Now?
Now, he was a stranger again. That man wasn’t the Johnny she remembered. He wasn’t the ghost in her mind, or even the revolutionary rockerboy in the archive. He was something else. Someone heavier.
V’s eyes drifted to Angel in the driver’s seat.
Alt.
It still didn’t sit right, how closely she resembled the Alt from Johnny’s memories. Same angular face, same hard eyes, just a little older. There was something surreal about it. Something uncanny.
V thought about asking her how this all felt, being here, now, in this world she wasn’t born into. But she held the question. Too much weight in the air already.
Eventually, the bright sprawl of Watson fell away behind them, replaced by the cleaner streets of Westbrook. Fewer Miltech patrols here, though they were still present, hovering drones, armored cruisers, flashing lights in alley shadows.
Angel weaved through the roundabout with practiced ease before veering onto the winding road that snaked up toward North Oak. The hillside was lined with towering homes and security gates. The deeper they went, the further they got from the city’s grit and the closer they got to Kerry Eurodyne.
V found herself wondering what exactly Kerry knew. He and Johnny went back decades. He’d probably heard some version of the events. But did he know everything? About Jackie? About V’s condition? About Militech?
Would he be honest?
Or would he, like everyone else, keep her in the dark?
Johnny’s Porsche finally rolled to a stop at a sleep black gate. He lowered his window and spoke into the mic at ther intercom. The response was delayed before the gate creaked open.
Johnny gave a nod back toward them and drove up the long, paved driveway.
Angel followed.
The car barely came to a full stop before Kerry Eurodyne burst out of the villa. He didn’t slow, just charged forward like a storm.
“Oh, shit,” Angel muttered, slamming the Outlaw into park.
Johnny had just stepped out of the Porsche when Kerry collided with him, shoving him back hard enough that he stumbled to the ground. V’s door flew open, but Angel was already out, sprinting toward them.
Kerry didn’t hold back; he swung, fists slamming into Johnny’s side, shoulder, jaw.
“You son of a bitch!” he shouted. “You acked your goddamn death?! Do you have any fucking clue what you put me through?!”
Angel threw herself between them, grabbing Kerry’s arm mid-swing.
“Hey–hey, stop!” she yelled, forcing herself between the two men. “That’s enough!”
But Kerry wasn’t done. His voice cracked with rage. “Do you have any idea what it was like, Johnny?! Too the feeds, again? To grieve you?! And V–! She thought you were gone, you left her, you left your heavily pregnant output thinking you were dead ! You–!”
“Kerry.”
V’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the chaos like glass.
Kerry froze mid-sentence.
He turned, and there she was. Standing beside the car, her arms wrapped protectively around the small bundle.
She shifted slightly, and the blanket fell back just enough to reveal Jackie’s face, sleeping soundly against her chest.
Kerry blinked. His jaw slackened. “Is that…?”
V nodded.
Kerry looked from V to Johnny, then back again, his fury crumbling into disbelief.
“Shit, V…” Kerry finally breathed, eyes fixed on the bundle in her arms. He turned to Angel now. “She knew? This whole time, she knew Johnny was alive?”
The disbelief in his voice wasn’t quiet. He looked between her and Johnny, then back at V, his shoulder tense. “Was I the only one left in the goddamn dark?”
He took a step forward, face scrunched in frustration, but before he could get closer, Johnny moved. Fast. He stepped between them, shielding V without even thinking.
Kerry stopped short, looking past Johnny to V, his face scrunching with guilt as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Shit,” he muttered again, quierted this time. “Sorry, V. I didn’t mean it like that, I just– fuck. I’m sorry. Really.”
He looked over at Johnny again, voice softening with something that almost resembled grief. “I thought you were gone, man. Really gone.”
There was a pause. V looked between the two of them, then down at Jackie in her arms, still asleep despite everything.
Kerry took a breath, then asked gently, “Can I… see her?”
Johnny hesitated, glancing back at V for her decision. She met those broken brown eyes and gave a quiet nod.
Johnny stepped aside.
Kerry approached carefully, his expression shifting into something more delicate, more reverent. He leaned in, then slowly reached out, and V allowed him to take Jackie into his arms.
“Hey there, Little Samurai…” he murmured.
V blinked, confused. “Little Samurai?”
Johnny’s jaw tightened. “Her name’s Jackie,” he said stiffly.
Kerry looked at him, annoyance flickering behind his eyes, but he didn’t argue. He just gave a small nod, eyes lingering on the baby girl in his arms. “Jackie, then,” he echoed.
Angel cleared her throat, stepping in to break the tension. “Kerry, can we come inside? There’s a lot we need to catch up on.”
Kerry nodded, his voice quieter now. “Yeah. Of course.”
He carefully handed Jacke back to V, his movements slower, more thoughtful. The he turned and led the way inside.
The villa was much as V remembered. The faint scent of synthwood polish and old incense still clung to the air. The place looked cleaner now, with fewer clothes and instruments strewn about. Maybe Johnny’s absence had forced Kerry to tidy up, or maybe he was trying to reclaim something normal for himself.
They followed him into the living room. A long leather couch curved along the sunken space, soft cushions and blankets thrown across it. Kerry motioned for them to sit.
V eased down carefully, clutching Jackie close. Angel sat beside her, but Johnny remained stanting, hovering nearby, he eyes scanning the room like a soldier waiting for the next hit.
Angel cut to the chase. “We need a place to stay. Just for tonight.”
Kerry didn’t even hesitate. “You’ve got one. For as long as you need.”
He glanced briefly at V. She nodded, grateful.
“You can use the shower,” he added, rubbing at back of his neck again. “Raid the fridge. Get comfortable.”
V sighed. “That would be great. Seriously.”
She glanced down at Jackie. The baby was starting to stir, arms twitching beneath the blanket. V winced as her own body reminded her of the stitches.
“Would someone mind holding her?” she asked softly. “Just while I get cleaned up?”
Her eyes flicked briefly to Johnny.
He recoiled, not dramatically, just a subtle lean back, her expression tightening.
Angel stepped in quickly. “I got her,” she said, reaching out.
V handed Jackie over with a soft thank-you.
Kerry nodded toward the hallway. “Shower’s still in the back. Clean towels are probably in the linen closet.”
As V turned to go, she caught a sliver of the conversation behind her, Kerry muttering something about digging through his things, maybe finding one of his kids’ old cribs. Something they could use for Jackie.
The hallway light flickered as she stepped into the bathroom, removing her dress. Her stomach ached. She caught her reflection in the mirror, paler skin, dark circles, the angry redness around her wound.
She sighed as the hot water poured over her, the grime and pain rinsing off in waves. It stung at first, but the warmth worked its way into her bones, dulling the edge of everything.
And as the steam curled around, her thoughts wandered.
Kerry had been in the dark, too. Just like her. Turns out, even the people closest to Johnny had been left behind.
The shower had helped, but only just a little. As the water shut off, V stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself, dragging another across her damp hair. She glanced into the mirror, taking in her reflection, and the pink dye in her hair remained. The bruising around her eyes had lessened, but exhaustion clung to her skin like sweat.
She ran her fingers through the wet strands and exhaled slowly.
The quiet didn’t last long. As she opened the bathroom door, a towel clutched around her and clothes bundled under her arm, she found Johnny leaning against the wall just outside.
He didn’t say anything. Just nodded, not meeting her eyes.
V raised a brow. “What, making sure I didn’t drown in there?”
He shook his head. “Just waiting my turn.”
Her smirk faded. He didn’t even try to be clever about it. No sarcastic jab, no playful comeback. Just the same distant calm. The same mask.
She stepped aside, letting him through, and he walked back without another word. The door shut behind him.
V stood there a moment longer, brows pinched together.
Maybe he just couldn’t be in the same room as their daughter.
Down the hall, the soft murmur of conversation drew her in. Kerry and Angel sat by the couch, talking in low tones that halted the second they noticed her. Kerry’s eyes met her with a look she couldn’t quite place, pity, maybe. Regret.
Angel rose from the couch and walked toward her.
“Where’s Jackie?” V said immediately, alarm rising in her chest before she could stop herself.
Angel held up her hands quickly. “She’s fine. Upstairs. Kerry found an old crib. She’s sleeping.”
V let out a shaky breath, nodding. She hadn’t meant for the panic to creep into her voice like that. Angel smiled gently, her tone soft. “Kerry said you’re taking his bed tonight.”
“What?” V blinked. “No, I can take the couch–”
Kerry cut her off from across the room. “No way I’m letting a new mom sleep on the damn couch. Clothes are clean, folded, on the bed.”
V met his eyes, a little stunned by the kindness. “Thanks,” she said, voice quiet. “Really.”
She started toward the stairs, but Angel stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“I’m heading out,” Angel said.
V frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve got a base back in Dogtown. A few things I need to pack. I’ll be back by the morning to pick you up. We’ll head to the Aldecaldos.”
That knot in her stomach tightened again.
“Yeah…” V said, barely above a whisper. “See you tomorrow.”
Angel offered a small nod, and V turned to climb the stairs.
Each step pulsed through her stitches. She pressed once hand to her side as reached the land and made her way to Kerry’s bed. The bed was made, roughly but clean, and beside it stood a worn wooden crib. Jackie squirmed inside, her little fists flailing above the blankets.
Then the cries started.
V rushed over, heart tightening. Jackie was crying, red-faced and wailing now. She scooped her arms, whispering softly.
“Shh… shh, hey, hey, I’m here… I’ve got you…”
But it wasn’t working. Jackie’s sobs only grew louder, more frantic.
V sat on the edge of the bed, trying everything, rucking, humming, bouncing gently. Nothing worked.
She looked down at her, suddenly remembering the warm wetness she’d noticed earlier. Her body had started leaking. The girl was hungry.
V hesitated, then let the top corner of her towel slip. Carefully, almost awkwardly, she brought Jackie to her breast.
But the baby wouldn’t latch. Just kept crying.
“Come on… please,” V whispered, desperation leaking into her voice as tears stung her eyes. “I’m trying, baby girl, I’m trying…”
She looked down again, her heart pounding in her chest. Jackie’s tiny mouth rooted, but didn’t catch. V tried again, adjusting slightly, tears brimming in her eyes now from pain and frustration and helplessness.
Then she felt it.
Eyes on her.
She looked up.
Johnny stood on the landing, hair still damp, his old clothes clinging to him. His expression was unreadable.
V froze. Hastily, she pulled the towel back up, shielding herself, as Jackie wailed louder.
Her hands trembled.
“Pervert,” she muttered, voice brittle.
Johnny didn’t move. Just stood there, staring, not at her, but at the baby.
At his daughter.
He stood there a long moment before moving.
Carefully, as if unsure whether he should, he stepped forward.
V’s arms tightened slightly around Jackie, instincts flaring. But she didn’t stop him, just watched cautiously as he came to a halt in front of her.
He glanced at her, seeking permission.
She gave the smallest nod.
Johnny reached out, hands trembling, and gently took the crying baby into his arms. V let go reluctantly, heart thudding in her chest as she watched him cradle their daughter.
And to her astonishment, Jackie’s cries softened. Her little firsts stilled, and her breathing began to even out. In moments, it was quiet again.
V stared, an ache forming deep in her chest, she couldn’t explain. The sight of Johnny, legend, fighter, and loudmouth rocker, holding Jackie stirred something in her that frightened her more than bullets or death ever had.
He didn’t say a word. Just held her close, his gaze fixed on the tiny child in his arms. He looked… lost in her.
Eventually, Johnny bent down and placed Jackie carefully into the crib beside the bed. The baby squirmed a little but didn’t fuss.
He looked back at V now.
She stared at him, voice quiet.
“She’s ours?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. She is.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked hard, quickly wiping at them with the back of her hand.
Johnny stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed, moving the clothes to make space. V rose immediately and crossed the room, grabbing the clothes. She turned toward the corner, slipping the oversized Samurai shirt over her towel. When she dropped the towel to the floor and pulled the shirt down over her hips, her voice came out rough.
“The wound in my stomach… You cut me open.”
Johnny looked, nodding.
“You did it… to get her out?”
He nodded, slowly, pain etched in the lines of his face. “You… couldn’t deliver. You were– fuck– you were dying. Bleeding out. I didn’t wanna– Christ, V, I didn’t want to– but you told me to. You were minutes from flatlining and…”
V walked to the crib again. Looking down at Jackie– so new, so small, a living reminder of something she couldn’t remember. Her fingers grazed the edge of the crib.
Then she turned back to Johnny.
“You died before you could even hold her.”
She took a seat next to him, meeting his gaze.
“That woman…” she said, voice raw. “She’s not me.”
Johnny looked up. Eyes glassy. She saw it, but he wasn’t seeing her. Not fully. He was seeing the woman who bled out in that hotel room. The one who told him to save the baby.
But he shook his head slowly, reached for her, and gently brushed his hand across her cheek.
“You’re you , Valerie,” he said quietly.
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
The moment was soft. Fragile.
V kissed him back through the tears.
When she finally pulled away, the sobs took over. She shook, breathless, heart splitting open. Johnny wrapped his arm around her, holding her tightly against him.
He didn’t speak. Just her while she cried.
And eventually, her breathing slowed. Her body sagged against his. Sleep claimed her in his arms.
V woke hours later to the sound of soft crying. Jackie.
The landing was dim, the only light came from the city lights outside the window. Johnny lay beside her on the bed, arm loosely draped across her hip, still asleep.
V gently peeled his arm off and sat up.
Jackie’s cries continued.
She stood slowly, still sore, and walked over to the crib. Her daughter’s face was scrunched up and red with frustration, her cries only growing louder.
V picked her up and bounced gently, whispering soothing nonsense. But something inside her was spiraling. Too much. It was all too much.
She looked back at Johnny.
Still sleeping.
So she turned and made her way downstairs, clutching Jackie tightly to her chest. Her heart pounded as she reached the bottom step.
The house was dark and still, but the pressure inside her kept building.
She needed air.
She needed space.
She needed to breathe .
Downstairs, the house was quiet aside from Jackie’s soft cries and the low hum of the screen from the other room.
V walked barefoot toward the sound, gently rocking the baby against her chest. The glow from the screen lit up the edges of the living room as she stepped inside.
Kerry sat on the couch, a beer in hand, the remote resting on his thigh. He looked over when she entered, taking in her disheveled form and the fussing infant in her arms.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice low and tired.
V shook her head and dropped down beside him with a sigh. “She won’t stop crying.”
Kerry took a slow sip from his beer and glanced over. “Maybe she’s hungry.”
V looked down at Jackie, who squirmed and grunted in her arms. Her cries had lessened, but the frustration was still there.
She began rocking her gently, her eyes drifting up to the screen. She hadn’t been paying attention before, but now she did.
The screen showed Corpo Plaza, filled with people. A roaring crowd, camera panning across the massive outdoor stage. Spotlights flashed. A band stood on the center stage.
Her eyes locked on the background, Samurai’s logo, glowing behind the band.
Her brows furrowed. She didn’t remember this concert.
As the camera closed in, her heart stilled.
Front and center, gripping a mic, was her.
Herself.
Only not this her.
She had Johnny’s guitar strung over her, wild violet hair flying, singing into the mic like she was born to be there. Behind her were Kerry, Bes, Henry, and Denny, all playing in sync.
“That’s… that’s me,” V said aloud, stunned.
Kerry nodded silently, turning the volume up just a little.
She could hear it now. Her own voice, unmistakable, singing Never Fade Away.
V blinked, transfixed, watching as the woman on screen moved like she knew exactly what she was doing. This version of her wasn’t stitched up, wasn’t confused, wasn’t terrified. She looked alive. Confident. Whole.
She clutched Jackie tighter.
“When… when was this?” she asked, barely able to look away.
“February,” Kerry said, eyes still on the screen. “You were the lead for the night. I talked you into it.”
V frowned. “But I–”
Before she could finish, something on the screen made her freeze.
The onstage V placed a hand on her swollen stomach, a familiar, instinctive motion. Then she reached down–
And pulled up a silver hand.
Johnny Silverhand stepped into view.
Her frown deepened.
The lights dimmed, silhouettes illuminated by different lighting. She watched her past self pass the guitar to Johnny. Then the lights returned.
Johnny stepped up to the mic, gaze intense, grin devilish as he pocketed his aviators.
“Well, well. Night City,” he called to the screaming crowd. “Miss me?”
The audience erupted.
“Good,” he added, smirking. “‘Cause I’m fucking back.”
Kerry hit pause.
The image froze, Johnny mid-grin, lights shining behind him, her past self standing in the background, hand over her visibly pregnant stomach, smiling like someone who had it all figured out.
Kerry exhaled sharply and dragged a hand down his face. “Angel caught me up. All of it.”
He turned toward her slowly.
“So… it’s true then. You died. And came back. Just… an older copy.”
V didn’t answer. Just nodded, solemn.
“Fuck,” Kerry muttered under his breath. He looked back at the paused screen, then to Jackie, who had gone quiet in her arms.
“So you don’t remember any of this?” he asked. “The show. Little Samurai, her ?”
He nodded toward the baby.
“No,” V whispered, voice cracking. “I don’t remember any of it.”
She stared down at Jackie. Her lip trembled.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” she admitted.
Kerry didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at her. And then look at the baby.
“She eat yet?” he asked gently.
V shook her head.
“Okay,” he said. “Here, lemme help.”
He set his beer down and leaned forward slightly, guiding her gently.
“Lift the shirt. Yeah– like that. Now hold her close– bring her mouth to your breast, but lift it a little. Make it easier for her to latch.”
V followed his instructions awkwardly, lifting the oversized shirt and adjusting Jackie in her arms. She hesitated a second before doing as he said.
It took a few tries. Jackie fussed and turned her head, but eventually, finally, she latched.
V inhaled sharply, surprised by the sensation.
Kerry leaned back and watched her with a quiet smile. “There you go.”
V stared down, speechless. Jackie suckled softly, eyes closed, small hands gripping at her.
It was strange. Natural and unnatural all at once. Her body knew what to do even if her mind didn’t.
Tears sting her eyes again.
This wasn’t right.
None of this was right.
She shouldn’t be here right now.
This wasn’t her baby.
But she couldn’t say it aloud.
She just sat there in silence, tears falling freely, watching the tiny life in her arms… feeding.
And not knowing what the hell to do with any of it.
After Jackie finished feeding, V carried her back upstairs, cradling the now-dozing baby against her chest. The villa was still and quiet, save for the faint creaks of the old floorboards beneath her bare feet.
She gently lowered Jackie into the crib, adjust the blankets with trembling hands. The infants stirred, gave a small sigh, and settled again. V stated at her for a long moment, then turned and climbed back into bed beside Johnny.
But sleep didn’t come.
Her thoughts churned, looping, spiraling.
She’s not mine.
The crib sat only a few feet away, and yet it might as well have been a world apart.
The baby breathing softly over there wasn’t hers .
A few seconds passed, then Johnny stirred. Wordlessly, he reached for her, pulling her gently into his arms. His warmth was comforting, his presence familiar, even now.
He wrapped around her intimately, protectively. Like he had a thousand times before.
She tensed.
Didn’t say a word.
Her thoughts repeated like static: I’m not her. I’m not V. I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t my family. I’m an impostor.
Johnny’s breathing slowed. His grip softened.
But peace didn’t last.
Jackie’s cry pierced the silence again.
V slipped from Johnny’s arms and sat up. His hand twitched in his sleep but didn’t wake. She crossed the room and lifted Jackie again, her arms aching with exhaustion, mind racing.
This was a fucking nightmare.
She tried to nurse her again, but Jackie refused. Tiny hand pushed at her, face turned, crying louder.
“Shh…” V whispered under her breath.
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
She couldn’t do this.
Not this life.
Not the open road, the Aldecalods, the endless dust and chrome, and hiding from a corporation. Not being a mother to a child that wasn’t hers. Not living someone else’s life, someone else’s story.
The sky outside had begun to shift, a grey blush on the horizon, soft and threatening. Dawn approached.
Soon, Angel would return.
Soon they’d leave Night City behind… forever.
And she couldn’t do it.
She wouldn’t do it.
If she left, if she got in that car with Johnny and Jackie, then she would never come back. She would bury Valerie Hartford, bury the pain, bury everything she’d fought to survive. Everything she had clawed back since the Heist.
She looked down at Jackie. The baby had finally calmed in her arms, hiccupping softly.
V exhaled, slow and shallow.
She gently placed the child back in the crib.
Her eyes flicked to Johnny, still asleep, turned toward the spot she had vacated, unaware.
She didn’t hesitate.
Her hand dipped into his pants on the floor beside the bed, retrieving the familiar weight of his keys. The silver keychain gleamed faintly in the dim light.
He didn’t stir.
She looked back at the crib. Jackie was staring up at her with unfocused eyes, completely unaware.
V turned away.
She crept downstairs, silent on her feet. Kerry was passed out on the couch, his beer tipped sideways and forgotten.
She slipped through the back door without a sound.
The air outside was crisp, morning biting at her skin. She approached the Porsche, Johnny’s car, her escape, and unlocked it with the remote click.
The door cracked slightly as she opened it.
She froze.
What the hell was she doing?
Running?
Escaping?
She hesitated for a moment, fingers trembling on the steering wheel.
But then, she swallowed hard, shoved the doubt deep down, and climbed in/
The engine purred to life.
She drove.
Away.
From the villa. From the crib. From Johnny.
She didn’t plan to return.
Notes:
This one turned out to be a very long chapter 😅 But I'm glad I finally got it finished!
As always, kudos and comments are so appreciated. ♥️♥️♥️
Feel free to drop your theories, thoughts, or questions. I'll do my best to respond (without giving too much away, of course 😉).
Chapter 10: The Chain
Summary:
Run in the shadows
Damn your love, damn your lies
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
Johnny was on his way.
And V’s nerves were shot.
Her thoughts tangled into knots, looping back on themselves repeatedly as she paced her penthouse. She hadn’t told him anything yet– technically, she could still back out. Nothing was locked in. She hadn’t said the words, hadn’t made it real. But then again, it was already real, wasn’t it?
As if to distract herself, she tidied up the place, folding a blanket here, straightening up a stack of shards there. It was pointless. Johnny had made it clear more than once that he hated the penthouse. Called it sterile. Corpo. Not her. So why the hell was she acting like dusting the counter was going to soften the blow of what she had to say?
She froze halfway through adjusting a throw pillow and glanced down at herself. Just a T-shirt and sleep shorts. Comfortable. Simple. And the baby bump? Barely noticeable. She ran her fingers lightly across her abdomen. She could still pretend, still hide it. But she knew that wouldn’t last forever.
Just as she considered calling him to cancel, a knock echoed from the door.
Her heart lurched.
Too late.
She moved quickly, smoothing her shirt before she opened the door.
Johnny stood on the other side, his expression unreadable until her offered a lopsided smirk. “Well? You gonna make me stand out here all night, or can a guy come in?”
V stepped aside, swallowing hard. “Come in.”
He strode past her, boots thudding against the hardwood as he made his way to the couch and dropped onto it with the ease of someone who had been there a hundred times before. V lingered for a second, then turned toward the kitchen.
“You want something to drink?”
“Got any whiskey?” he asked, leaning back into the cushions.
“You think I don’t know you,” she replied, trying to mask the tremor in her voice. She poured a glass at the counter, praying he didn’t notice the way her hands shook. By the time she made it back to the couch, she’d managed to steady her breath, barely.
She handed him the glass, their fingers brushing briefly. He raised it in thanks, took a sip, then looked at her expectantly.
“So,” he said, “what’s this talk about?”
V hesitated. “It’s… hard to say. Big news. Heavy. I’m gonna need your support, no matter what I end up deciding.”
Johnny nodded, his gaze focused and calm in a way that unsettled her more than if he’d been joking.
She opened her mouth to speak.
“I know,” he said, cutting her off.
V blinked. “What?”
“I know,” he repeated, setting his glass on the table. “Figured it out a while ago.”
“You what ?” she asked, her voice rising slightly. “Johnny, I just– how could you possibly–?”
“I’m not a gonk, V,” he said gently. “You’ve been off for weeks. Tired. Avoiding stuff. Hidin’ it, yeah, but… I put two and two together.”
Her eyes fell to the floor, her thoughts stalling. Of course, he knew. Of course, he’d noticed. He always did, when it mattered most.
Then Johnny leaned forward, reached out, and tipped her chin up with his fingers. His touch was soft, delicate in a way that caught her off guard.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, voice low and sincere. “I’m not gonna let you die.”
It hit her like a punch to the chest.
He wasn’t talking about the pregnancy. He meant the cure. The clock. Her death .
Shit.
Her whole plan unraveled in an instant. He already knew the secret she had been holding onto for weeks. And now, how could she even begin to tell him the rest? That there was a second life depending on her. On them .
Her thoughts threatened to spiral, her vision clouding at the edges. Her mouth opened, then shut. The words refused to come.
And so, without thinking, she leaned in.
She kissed him softly and slowly with trembling lips.
When they finally pulled apart, the silence that followed was thick, fragile. Johnny didn’t say anything at first, just stared, unreadable, like he was trying to decipher something that didn’t quite make sense. Slowly, he set his half-full whiskey glass on the coffee table with a soft clink.
A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. His hand reached up, calloused fingers brushing gently along her jaw, tracing the curve of her cheek. “Knew you weren’t over me, princess,” he murmured.
V rolled her eyes, trying to push away the knot in her throat. “You’re such a gonk.”
He grinned, amused by her deflection, and leaned in again. Their lips met once more, softer, slower. There was something magnetic about it, something old and familiar that made it hard to pull away. V kissed him back, not knowing why she was doing it.
Maybe it was a distraction.
Maybe she didn’t want to think.
Maybe it was easier than saying the words.
Of course, she didn’t have feelings for him. Not like that. What happened that night in his apartment was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. And this, this was just another one.
The pregnancy was a mistake, too , she reminded herself. One she couldn’t afford to keep making.
She felt his hands slide up under her shirt, warm palms on her waist, fingers exploring with the kind of reckless familiarity only Johnny could pull off. That’s when the panic surged.
She broke the kiss and pulled back sharply, breath catching. Her hands moved to her stomach almost reflexively.
No. No. He can’t– He can’t feel it. Not yet. Not like this.
She shook her head, a harsh motion, more to herself than to him.
Johnny stared at her, confused at first, then angry. Not yelling, not explosive, but should see it in the tight line of his jaw, in the way his mouth pressed into a grim line. He muttered a curse under his breath and stood, snatching his whiskey glass from the table and downing the rest in a single, practiced motion. Then he stalked toward the kitchen.
V didn’t stop him. She just sat there, breath shaky, fingers knotted in her hair.
What do I keep doing this? She wondered bitterly. Why does it always end like this?
Johnny returned with the bottle, dropped heavily onto the couch, and poured himself another glass. Then, without pause, he tossed it back. The burn didn’t even faze him.
He set the glass down and looked at her, hard.
“Why?” he asked. Just that. One word. Stripped down. Raw.
V shook her head, voice low. “I don’t know.”
Johnny exhaled slowly and controlled. “I think I made it pretty damn clear how I feel about you,” he said. “Backed off, didn’t push. Gave you space. Tried to respect whatever the hell it is you’re going through.”
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
“And just what I finally thing, okay maybe she doesn’t feel the same way,” he continued, voice rough now, “you pull this shit. You kiss me like that. Then back away like I’m still a virus. I don’t even know the fuck to think anymore, V.”
She winced.
Johnny grabbed the bottle again, skipped the glass this time, and took a long drink. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he swallowed.
“I love you,” he said suddenly. Quietly. Not a dramatic confession, just a fact, spoken like he’d been holding it in for far too long.
“I guess I kinda already said that, didn’t I?” he added with a hollow laugh. “But if it wasn’t clear before…”
He paused, turning the bottle in his hands.
“You asked me once. When I knew.”
V looked at him, startled. She remembered that. The conversation ended with her storming out.
“I knew what I took you to the Pistis Sophia. When I thought you were gonna die. I was terrified. Hadn’t felt that in years. Not since the war. And when I gave you my dog tags… that was it. I knew then.”
He didn’t look at her as he said it. Just kept staring straight ahead. But V was staring at him.
Johnny Silverhand, Night City’s most stubborn ghost, her former passenger, her mistake, was sitting there telling her he loved her. That he had loved her since the Pistis Sophia. That the dog tags hadn’t just been a gesture, they had been a declaration. A commitment.
And all she could do was stare.
No words. No return of sentiment. Just a silent, hollow look.
Because what was she supposed to say?
That she didn’t know how she felt?
That she was physically drawn to him, sure– but emotionally? That was a war zone.
That she might’ve loved the idea of him more than the man himself?
She couldn’t even figure herself out, much less what the hell they were.
So she didn’t say any of that.
Instead, she looked him straight in the eye, voice steady, hollow, and said, “I’ll be dead in six months.”
The words landed like broken glass. Sharp. Cold. Final.
“By May,” she added, almost mechanically. “I’ll be dead.”
Johnny went completely still.
He stared at the floor for a long moment, shaking his head slowly, like he was trying to process it, trying to undo the sentence with sheer disbelief.
“We’ll figure something out,” he said eventually. Quiet. Almost pleading. “We’ve still got time. You said six months–”
“I don’t want to spend them with you,” V cut in. Blunt. Too blunt. The words were like a gunshot in the room, immediate and irreversible.
Johnny looked up at her.
And this time… there was nothing on his face. No fury. No heartbreak. Just silence. Cold, indifferent silence.
That expression, blank and detached, was somehow more terrifying than all the times he’d ever screamed or cursed or thrown something. He looked at her like he didn’t recognize her.
Like he didn’t want to.
Without a word, he stood. Grabbed the half-empty bottle of whiskey from the table. Didn’t look at her as he walked to the door.
He paused only once.
Then muttered, “Go fuck yourself.”
That door slammed behind him.
And just like that, he was gone.
V didn’t move. Couldn’t.
She sank back into the couch, the cushions swallowing her as tears welled up in her eyes, unwelcome and uncontrollable.
Stupid hormones , she tried to tell herself, wiping her face.
But it wasn’t just hormones. It was grief. Guilt. Regret. All of it crashing over her in a wave she hadn’t prepared for.
She curled into herself, pressing her face into the fabric of the couch, trying to stop the sobs before they broke loose. But it was no use.
She cried harder than she had in months. Maybe years.
And as her fingers brushed over her stomach, over the tiny swell of life growing inside her, she cried even harder.
Over a week had passed since V last spoke to Johnny.
Not a word. Not a message. Nothing.
She barely even saw him at the Afterlife anymore. If she showed up, he left. Didn’t matter if he was mid-conversation or halfway through a drink, he’d find a way to slip out. Subtlety wasn’t exactly his strength, either. V noticed. And so did others.
She could already feel Rogue’s eyes narrowing whenever Johnny made his quick exits. The way Rogue’s attention would shift, brows furrowed just enough to hint at suspicion. If something went down between Johnny and Rogue, V knew without a doubt Johnny would point the finger at her. Blame her for everything.
Wouldn’t be the first time she carried someone else’s guilt.
The day after her fight, she’d called Panam.
Told her everything.
That Johnny already knew she was dying. That he’s basically confessed he loved her. That she told him she didn’t feel the same.
Panam had winced on the other end of the line, a long, drawn-out silence before asking the obvious.
“You didn’t tell him about the baby, did you?”
V had shaken her head. “Didn’t exactly get the chance. I’ll tell him when the time’s right.”
Panam had scoffed, a little bitter, a little amused. “At this rate, the baby’ll be born by then.”
V had let the comment slide. She was too exhausted to argue.
The truth was, she still hadn’t made a decision. Not really. Not about the pregnancy. Not about anything. Every time she told herself she’d figure it out, call Vik, schedule something, get clarity, she didn’t. And the more time passed, the more obvious the truth became.
By not deciding, she had already.
The fetus was still here. Still growing.
Her bump was noticeably bigger now, enough that she had to start getting creative with her wardrobe. The tight tank tops and crop tops were shoved to the back of the closet, replaced with loose concert tees, oversized layers. That flowed. Things that hid.
She kept telling herself none of it was permanent. That she could still back out, still find a way to fix this. But her body had already moved on. Morning nausea came in waves. Scents that never used to bother her suddenly turned her stomach. Her appetite shifted. Her balance felt off. She was exhausted in ways no med stim could touch.
And the bleeding, well, that had slowed. Maybe because there just wasn’t much left to lose anymore.
V didn’t want to admit it, but her body was changing faster than her mind could keep up.
The nausea hit hard and fast.
V sat haunched over the Afterlife bar, one hand curled around a sweating glass of water Claire had slid her way. Her stomach churned like bad synth-meat in a broken microwave. She hadn’t eaten in hours, wasn’t sure she could if she tried.
Claire didn’t say much. Just gave her that familiar look, the one that said she wouldn’t push. Not yet.
“Still with us?” Claire asked softly, polishing a glass beside her.
“Barely,” V muttered, sipping the water again. It didn’t help much.
She didn’t notice the presence beside her until Rogue’s unmistakable voice broke through the noise.
“Whiskey,” Rogue said to Claire, sliding onto the stool beside her like she’d been summoned.
V blinked. “Shit. You trying to give a girl a heart attack?”
Rogue gave her a one-over, unimpressed. “You look pale.”
V groaned and lay her head down on her crossed arms. “Welcome to my little corner designated for the dying.”
Rogue scoffed, trying and failing not to sound amused. “Get a grip. Dying’s not that bad.”
V lifted her head just enough to shoot her a sideways smirk. “Spoken like an old woman who’s cheated death a dozen times.”
Rogue rolled her eyes, sipping her whiskey. “Takes brains to make it this far. You could stand to learn a thing or two.”
V chuckled weakly, and for a moment, it almost felt normal again.
Then Rogue’s gaze narrowed. “That nausea still hanging around?”
V stiffened just a little, hiding it with another sip of water. “Yeah. Ripperdoc says it’s some new side effect. Should clear up. The bleedings are almost gone.”
Rogue studied her for a beat, then gave a noncommittal grunt. “Good. I’ve got a job for you.”
V sighed and rubbed at her temples. “Not really feeling up to merc work right now.”
“You will be,” Rogue said, tone shifting. “It’s a personal job.”
V straightened slightly, heart skipping. “What kind of personal?”
Rogue didn’t answer right away. Just took another sip, then said, “It’s Johnny.”
The glass in V’s hand nearly slipped. “What about him?”
“He’s been hanging with the wrong types. Suits. Corpo trash. High-level ones too,” Rogue said cooly. “I want eyes on him. Quietly. You tell me what he’s doing, who he’s talking to.”
V’s mouth went dry. “You want me to spy on Johnny?”
“Yeah.”
V shook her head. “Whatever this is between you two, I don’t want in.”
Rogue didn’t flinch. “Kinda figured you’d say that.” She swirled toward her fully now. “So maybe I’ll swing by your ripper’s, Vik, right? Ask Vik why you’ve really been feeling off lately.”
V’s head snapped toward her. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“That right?” Rogue arched a brow. “Then you won’t mind me asking.”
V glared, tension coiling in her chest. She hated being boxed in. “You’re blackmailing me.”
“Fixers run on leverage,” Rogue replied simply, no shame in her tone. “Nothing personal.”
V muttered a curse under her breath. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Didn’t doubt you would.” Rogue smiled sharply and knowing. “I’ll send you the coordinates.”
V slid off the barstool, all pretense of nausea momentarily eclipsed by frustration. As she turned to leave, Rogue called after her.
“Try not to get caught.”
The Quadra purred to a stop near the cracked sidewalk of Coastview, Pacifica. The kind of place where the best ideas always came wrapped in blood.
V drummed her fingers on the wheel, eyeing the run-down storefronts and graffitied concrete like they’d jump out and bite. She tapped her holo.
“Hey, I’m here,” she said once Rogue picked up.
“Keep me on the line,” Rogue replied. “I want updates in real time.”
V nodded, watching a chubby grey rat skitter across the road. “Probably gonna be a long stakeout. I’ll ping you if anything interesting happens.”
The call stayed open. Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the occasional muffled sound of Rogue’s booth at the Afterlife in the background. V leaned back in her seat, eyes trained on the rusted bus stop across the street.
Minutes dragged by.
“You still there?” V finally asked.
A beat passed before Rogue replied, voice calm and unreadable. “Yeah. Been here the whole time. Why?”
V stared at the windshield, the words nearly slipped out. Just wanted to tell you I got knocked up by your input . But instead she said, “No reason. Just checking.”
“...Right,” Rogue murmured, letting the silence fall again. This time heavier.
About ten minutes later, a rusted city bus hissed to a stop across the street. The door creaked open, and stepping down like he wasn’t the most wanted rockerboy in half magacorps’ blacklists was Johnny Silverhand.
V blinked. “Got eyes on him.”
“Send visual,” Rogue snapped.
V held up her holo, snapped a quick photo, and transmitted it.
There was a pause. “Is he wearing his hair up?”
V smirked. “Apparently, wearing your usual leather and Samurai tank just screams ‘normal civilian’ when you tie your hair up.”
Rogue muttered, “He looks like a–”
V shushed her. “Shit, wait. Another car just pulled up.”
She narrowed her eyes as Johnny glanced around once, then opened the rear door and slipped inside the waiting Thorton.
“Johnny just got into another car,” V muttered. “I’m tailing.”
Her Quadra purred back to life as she merged onto the road behind the unmarked vehicle.
“You got eyes on the car?” Rogue asked. “Think you can tap their speakers?”
V scoffed. “Rogue. I’m offended you even asked.”
She plugged into the dashboard, fingers dancing over her quickhacks, and slipped into the other car’s internal comms. A small grin tugged at her lips when she heard the voices come through, crisp and unaware.
Rogue’s voice echoed in her earpiece. “Got it. I’m in.”
Inside the car, Johnny was already running his mouth.
“We there yet? Fuckin’ hate going to second locations.”
One of the men responded curtly, voice clipped and impatient. “Shut up.”
“Charming,” V muttered.
“Scan the car’s passengers,” Rogue said. “Backgrounds, records. I want to know who he’s riding with.”
“I can , but I’ll have to get closer,” V said, flicking her turn signal and easing up beside the car. “Risky. Johnny might recognize the Quadra.”
“Worth the risk,” Rogue replied coldly.
V exhaled and crept up as the light ahead turned red. Her Quadra stopped parallel to the black Thorton. She glanced over quickly, HUD flickering scan overlays. Facial recognition. Datamine.
Results streamed in of names, titles, and affiliations.
Her pulse jumped.
“They’re Militech,” she said quietly. “All of them.”
“Militech?” Rogue spat, her voice coming sharp through V’s comm. “What the fuck is he doing with Militech ?”
The traffic light turned green, and V slid back behind the black Thorton, watching its taillights flash like warning signs. Her fingers tightened on the wheel.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” she muttered. “Though I’ve got a hunch. Might have something to do with the fact that they’re keeping Johnny’s body in cryo.”
Silence on the other end. V glanced up at the call interface.
“Or maybe there’s something you’d like to tell me,” she added, voice pointed.
Rogue didn’t respond.
V kept following.
They turned off the main road, deeper into Pacifica, where the buildings loomed in jagged shadows and the air smelled like rusted metal and ozone. Just as V leaned forward, trying to get a better look, one of the Militech grunts in the car stiffened.
“We’ve got a tail.”
Shit .
“Lose it,” someone barked.
“V,” Rogue said quickly. “Tag the car and peel off. Now. We can’t let them know we’re in their comms.”
“Copy that.”
V flickered her quick hack interface open, set a remote tracker, and locked onto the Thorton. A soft beep confirmed the signal. As the car sped forward, she spun the wheel and veered onto a side street, tires squealing as she disappeared into an alley half-drowned in shadow.
“Park it,” Rogue ordered. “I’m still tapped into their comms. I’ll ping you with new coordinates when they stop.”
V shifted into neutral and killed the engine. The silence felt too loud. Her fingers were hovering over her stomach.
A few minutes later, her holo pinged.
Coordinates Received.
She left the car and headed on foot, ducking through the skeletal remains of a crumbling tenement and up a stairwell that hadn’t seen maintenance in years. The vantage point Rogue gave her was perfect, a rooftop across the meeting spot, half-covered by broken scaffolding. She crouched and peered down.
Below, the Militech Thorton idle at the curb, and Johnny stepped out.
He approached a man standing beside another armored vehicle. V zoomed in with her optics. The officer looked… familiar . Something about the way he held himself, white facial hair.
The officer’s voice echoed faintly as V hacked into a nearby set of street speakers. Linking in Rogue as well.
“Did you bring what we asked for?”
Johnny held up a small object, handed it over. Likely a data shard.
“My end of the deal,” he said. “You got it?”
The Militech officer took the shard, scanned the area, and let out a dark chuckle.
“I’m not a gonk,” he said. “Knew you were being tailed. Friend of the Afterlife, right?”
Johnny stiffened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
The officer didn’t answer. Instead, he smiled coldly. “You just helped us find what we were looking for.”
“V! Delta out of there!” Rogue’s voice cracked in her ear.
But it was already too late.
A metallic click sounded behind her, and a cold barrel pressed hard against her temple.
“Valerie Harford,” the soldier said, voice gruff and unmistakably serious. “Drop your weapon and place your hands over your head.”
V froze. Her gun clattered to the rooftop.
She raised her hands slowly.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” the soldier continued, “or the rockerboy dies.”
The soldier nudged V forward with the barrel still pressed to her skull. She didn’t resist as he marched her down the crumbling stairwell. Her boots thudded against concrete with every step, the silence between her and her captor screaming louder than gunfire.
They emerged onto the street. The faint neon glimmer from nearby buildings bounced off shattered glass and oil-streaked pavement.
Johnny turned at the sound of their approach.
His eyes met hers, sharp and furious. But there's something else behind them, cold recognition. “V…” he muttered, like the word hurt to say.
“On your knees,” the soldier barked.
V hesitated only a second before kneeling, hands still laced behind her head. The barrel didn’t move from her temple.
Johnny took a step toward them, fists clenched. “Back off,” he snapped at the main officer. “You touch her again and the deal’s off.”
The man didn’t flinch. “Don’t bother. You’re outnumbered,” he said, voice flat with authority. “There is no deal anymore.”
V looked up.
Her stomach dropped.
She knew that voice. That face.
“Marshal Deyn,” she muttered.
Chief of Strategic Ops. One of the many pricks who’d been at the NCX spaceport when she confronted her father.
“Now,” Deyn said smoothly, ignoring her entirely, “I have a decision to make. Either I punish Johnny for betraying me…” He smiled slightly, looked at her. “Or I thank him for delivering Lucas Hardford’s daughter to my doorstep.”
V’s jaw clenched. “What the hell does my father want with me?”
Deyn let out a humorless chuckle. “Oh, he doesn’t. But I do. You’re leverage. With you in my hands, I can make Harford do whatever I want. Strip him of his title, install someone smarter… someone like me.”
“You really don’t know him,” V spat. “He doesn’t give a shit about me.”
Deyn tilted his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. Lucas has gone soft in his old age. He’d do anything to keep his only child safe.”
He paused.
“And let’s be honest, Vincent was a weak little fool. At least you’re useful.”
V didn’t hesitate. She spat in his face.
The slap came fast and brutal.
She hit the ground hard, her face scraping pavement. Pain exploded across her torso as she curled inward on instinct.
“Fuck,” she groanded, arms tightening around her stomach.
“That’s enough,” Johnny growled.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
“New deal,” he said, voice deadly. “You let us walk… or I kill every last one of you.”
Deyn laughed. “You really think I need reminding you’re my dog? You work for me .”
Johnny tilted his head. “Nah. Never did.”
He pulled his gun, his custom Malorian.
“I work for Lucas,” he said coldly. “Been playing your sorry ass this whole time.”
He fired the first shot.
Chaos erupted.
V rolled onto her back, reached into her jacket, and drew a pistol she’d kept hidden. She squeezed off a clean shot at the rooftop, pop ! One sniper down. Another round pop! The second one dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
She turned toward Johnny, only to find him already gone.
Where he’d stood, there were only bodies. Each one with a neat bullet hole dead center in their skulls.
Footsteps approached. She looked up.
Johnny.
Gun still hot, eyes burning. Nose bleeding.
“You got a Sandevistan?” she breathed, blinking. “Didn’t peg you for the overly chrome type.”
“Yeah, well,” Johnny muttered, wiping his nose. “Things change.”
Her voice cut with fury.
“You fucked up my plan.”
“ Excuse me ?” V barked. “Don’t blame me. Rogue’s the one who sent me.”
Johnny paced, running a hand through his hair. “Shit!”
“You gonna explain what the hell this is?” V snapped. “Why you’re working with my father? What are you, Militech’s own Smasher ?”
Johnny turned on her, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare compare me to that rotten corpse.”
He pointed at the bodies. “I don’t work for Militech. Your dad’s got leverage on me. That’s it.”
He paused, exhaling sharply, rubbing his face. His voice dropped. “You okay? Can you stand?”
“I’ll be fine,” V muttered, pushing herself up.
Then came the cramp.
White-hot, deep, and sharp. Her breath caught, and blood pooled beneath her, fast and thick.
Her face went pale.
“Shit,” Johnny said, voice sharp. “That’s… that’s a lot of blood.”
V’s hands shook as she stared at the crimson soaking her pants.
“No, no, no…”
Her voice cracked.
“ Fuck! ” she shouted, curling in again. “Johnny, take me to Vik’s. Now.”
She gasped, gripping her stomach.
“I’m pregnant.”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
The engine purred to a stop as V pulled into the No-Tell Motel parking lot. The familiar neon signs buzzed above, flickering in that comforting, shitty way they always had. She sat in silence for a moment, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.
The sun was already up.
By now, Johnny knows.
By now, Kerry two. Maybe Johnny had already called the others. Maybe Rogue was awake, alerted by the other. Maybe Angel was on her way back from Dogtown. All looking for her.
She let out a massive sigh and leaned back in the seat, dragging both hands through her hair.
What the fuck am I doing?
This wasn’t like her. Running. Disappearing in the dead of night without a word? That was Johnny’s move. The kind of impulsive, selfish shit he pulled when things got too real.
And yet here she was.
Alone. In his car. In a motel parking lot that reeked of rotgut and regret.
Because she was fucking terrified.
Not just Johnny. Not just the weight behind his eyes when he looked at her like she was his. Not just of Jackie, whose cries still rang in her ears. Whose tiny, warm body had fit so perfectly in her arms.
No– she was terrified of herself.
Terrified of what is meant to be this version of V. Of what she had become.
She didn’t want to leave Night City.
And the worst part?
She couldn’t even tell herself why.
Night City was a black hole. A parasite. A neon-drenched hellscap that chewed you up and spat you out in pieces. She’d spent so long fighting to get out of it, so why was she so damn anchored now?
Maybe because leaving meant ending something. Maybe it meant surrendering to a future she hadn’t chosen. A future that felt stolen.
She clenched her fists, shaking, jaw locked tight.
She was pissed.
At Rogue, for withholding the truth. At Angel, for treating her like some equation to solve. And Johnny– god, Johnny– for everything and nothing at all.
Her stomach twisted.
She had a baby.
She had a fucking baby.
Something had grown inside her and ripped her apart from the inside out. Something that had killed her. Killed V.
And now she was someone else.
The thought made her want to throw up.
She stared down at her trembling hands, trying to breathe, trying to push down the nausea curling in her gut.
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “You’re just… taking a break. Getting your shit together.”
That’s all it was.
She’d go back. Eventually.
She’d go back, face Johnny, face that… baby. Then they’d leave Night City. Leave it all behind.
But before she could do that, she needed answers.
The last of them.
About Militech. About Johnny. About Jackie. About herself.
Closure.
Just need closure , she thought.
Her gaze drifted toward the back of the Porsche. Everything she and Johnny had packed yesterday still sat there, haphazardly thrown together.
She reached into the back, dragging the box closer, flipping open the lid.
Clothes, hers and his, tangled together.
She yanked out a pair of pants and pulled them on clumsily, still wearing the oversized Samurai shirt. She paused, and her fingers brushed something at the bottom of the box.
Her eyes widened.
Painkillers.
She let out a sigh of relief, snatching the bottle and popping the cap.
A few went down dry. Bitter.
She slipped against the seat.
V let out another long breath, the kind that left her chest hollow, then leaned forward and rummaged deeper into the box.
At the very bottom, beneath the rolled-up jeans, crumpled shirts, were a bunch of framed photos. The edges were worn, like they’d been handled too many times. She blinked in surprise, pulling one out.
It was a photo of her and Johnny in the Afterlife. The one she picked up when she entered the H10 apartment with him yesterday.
But as she sifted through more, the surprise turned into something else.
There were a lot of photos.
Some were of just her. Candids, mostly. Laughing. Sleeping. Flipping the photo off. Jesus, he was sentimental…
Her hand paused on one.
Johnny and she, together. But this V… she was different. Heavily pregnant, cradling her belly. Johnny’s silver hand was splayed over the bump, covering her eyes with his other hand as he pulled her close to his chest. They were both smiling, completely wrapped in the moment. No chaos. No danger. Just… peace.
V traced a fingertip along her face in the photo, feeling something sharp twist in her gut.
That woman was gone.
Dead.
And whatever she was now… she wasn’t her. Not really. Just a ghost in her place. A replacement for someone loved.
She set the frame down, hands trembling slightly, and dragged her fingers through her hair, frustration rising in her chest like bile.
Enough of this shit.
If she wanted closure, real answers, she wouldn’t find them in photos or memories that didn’t belong to her.
She needed to go to the source.
The apartment.
Without Johnny there… she could finally look. Really look at what he’d kept hidden. What Angel hadn’t said. What they’d built together before she came back.
She moved quickly, starting up the Porsche, but hesitated.
What if they were already there? Johnny. Rogue. Angel. Maybe even the Aldecaldos.
It would be the first place they’d think to check.
Still…
She was willing to take the risk.
The engine rumbled low as she drove across the city, skimming through streets and back roads until the towering concrete of the H10 complex came into view. She parked the Porsche in an alleyway a few buildings down, half-concealed behind a rusted dumpster. Just in case anyone came sniffing around, he didn’t want to tip her hand.
Her boots hit the pavement as she stepped out, cold air brushing against her bare arms. She adjusted the waistband of her hastily pulled-on pants and made her way to the complex. The walk felt longer than it should’ve, but painkillers were finally doing their job, the ache in her stomach fading into a dull hum.
She reached the elevator and stepped inside, staring at her reflection in the turned-off screens to the side.
You’re not her, she thought.
But still, you’re here.
The elevator gates open, and she made her way to the familiar door, cracked her knuckles, and jacked in with a practiced flick of her wrist. The lock blinked green. Open.
She stepped inside.
Silence.
No Johnny. No Angel.
Just the hum of the vending machine and the soft buzz of the lights overhead.
V closed the door behind her with a soft click and turned to look around the room. Everything… strangely frozen in time.
Her eyes immediately shifted toward the door on the right.
The storage room.
She approached it, hand hovering over the keypad. It clicked open, and she slipped inside, flicking on the light.
She hadn’t seen this room in full before.
It remained half-finished, washed in soft pastel pink. Boxes are stacked against the walls. A worn chair with a blanket folded over its back.
She took a step toward the center of the room and paused.
Let out a shaky sigh.
Then peeled the sheet off the large object at the center.
A crib.
Wooden. Painted white. Still new. Waiting.
She took a step back, throat tight, eyes burning.
Then she turned to the boxes.
She popped one open and froze.
Tiny clothes.
Onesies. Little shoes. A blanket with cats embroidered along the edges.
She reached in slowly and picked up a stuffed animal, a cat, fluffy, new. It smelled like lavender. Like home.
She held it tightly, unmoving.
For a long time, she didn’t say anything.
Just stood there.
Alone in the middle of a room meant for someone else.
A room that belonged to a V who never got to see it finished.
V gently place the cat in the crib.
It sat there quietly, small and out of place in a room frozen halfway between dream and abandonment. She let her fingers linger on the wooden edge for a moment longer before turning and walking out, her boots quiet against the carpet.
She didn’t look back.
Back in the main room, she dropped onto the bed and curled onto her side, tucking her knees in as the weight of everything she’d seen settled deep into her chest. Her breath hitched, and for once, she didn’t bother to stop the tears. They came slow and hot, running sideways across her face and pooling into the blanket beneath her cheek.
This wasn’t fucking fair.
None of this.
How the hell was she supposed to handle it?
Johnny– fuck, Johnny. He’d had a life. A real one. A family. And now?
Now she was here, in this… space that wasn’t meant for her. In a life that wasn’t hers.
And worse than that, somewhere deep down, a voice whispered, You took it.
She hadn’t asked to be brought back. The moment they uploaded her, no one asked. No warning. No choice. Just code and consciousness dumped into a body that had already lived and died.
But something had happened. Something.
Kerry had hinted at it; his confrontation with Johnny had made that clear. Johnny faked his death… but he didn’t tell her. The other V. Why? Had they fought?
Had it been that bad?
Her mind spiraled. The relapse. Her breakdown, Vik, was murdered. Her descent into cyberpsychosis.
Had Johnny been the reason?
Did he break her?
She shifted on the bed, rolling onto her back, wiping the tears from her eyes with the heel of her palm. Her gaze landed on the shelf above the bed.
A small, familiar box.
Her wandering. Johnny’s Shit.
She sat up slowly and grabbed the box, her fingers brushing dust off the top as she pulled it into her lap. The lid creaked open.
Inside, little bits and pieces.
A pair of scratched-up aviators.
An old chrome cigarette case, empty.
Loose change, a faded Samurai pin, a lighter.
All of it… meaningless now.
She frowned, letting the items settle back into the box.
Was this it?
She turned her head toward the terminal on the desk. If she wanted real answers, more than fragments in a shoebox, that’s where she’d find them.
She crossed the room and flicked it on. The screen booted up to a simple profile split: Johnny and V.
His and hers.
She hovered over his name for a second, then selected it.
A prompt: Enter Password
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.
She thought for a moment, then typed in the first thing that came to mind.
05012077
Click.
She blinked. It worked.
The Konpeki heist? That was his fucking password?
V let out a groan, dragging a hand down her face. Of all things…
She dove straight into his messages.
Thousands, archived, unsent, half-written. She filtered by recent and scanned for the most telling.
Then she saw it.
The last message he’d sent.
To her.
She clicked it open, her breath catching in her throat.
It was dated mid-April.
Just days before Johnny blew up the Militech Offices.
V stared at the message.
Was this when things started to fall apart?
Was this the turning point, the moment everything between them cracked?
She read it again.
And again.
Then leaned back in the chair, arms crossed tight across her chest, and stared at the screen like it could give her answers it didn’t have.
V scrolled back through the message, this time ones sent to him, a frown settling on her face as her eyes caught on a video attachment, sent to Johnny, from her.
No message. Just a single, winking smiley face.
She clicked it.
The feed opened with shaky camcorder footage, filmed from someone’s lap. Her lap. V could tell just from the angle, one hand holding the camera, the other idly resting out of frame. Across the room, Johnny sat on the couch, hunched over his guitar. He was focused, the silver of his arm catching the light as his fingers darted over the string. He hadn’t noticed her yet.
The camera zoomed in.
His brow furrowed as he struck a few chords, lost in the sound. And then, his eyes flicked up, noticing the lens pointed at him. He paused mid-strum, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“You recording me?” he asked, voice low, dry.
Behind the camera, her past self laughed. “What? You’re cute.”
That made him stand. “What’d I tell you about calling me cute?” he warned.
A squeal echoed, her voice again, just before he lunged for her. The screen jostled violently as the camera dropped, landing sideways on the floor. V could still hear everything: her laughter, muffled by kisses and the soft thud of bodies falling onto the couch.
Then Johnny picked up the camera, his face filling the frame as he inspected it up close.
“This thing’s vintage,” he muttered. “Where’d you get it?”
“Stole it from Kerry,” came her playful reply.
Johny tilted the camera until it refocused on her.
And there she was.
V stared at the screen. The woman in the video was unmistakably her, but different. Her violet hair was brighter, her eyes full of light, her body unmistakably pregnant. She grinned, reaching for the camera with a lazy hand.
“Not so fast, princess,” Johnny said, pulling it back with a smirk. “You want it? Gotta promise you’ll send this footage to me.”
On screen, V was still grinning. “Alright.” She raised her middle finger at him. “Asshole.”
He handed the camera back.
Behind the lens again, V asked, “Anything you wanna say before I shut this thing off?”
Johnny looked directly into the camera, all smirk gone.
“I love you, Valerie,” he said simply.
The footage ended.
V didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
She just stared at the terminal, the echo of that voice and the sight of that version of her, so fucking happing, hauting her deeper than anything else could’ve. Shit. He really loved her. And she… she’d never heard herself sound that happy. Not even close.
She’d been giggling. Like a goddamn teenager.
V sat back, hands clenched tightly in her lap as a wave of nausea swept over her.
She blinked and turned back to the terminal, hesitating only for a moment before diving into the older messages between Johnny and V. Most of them were casual, flirting, bickering, love laced in sarcastic barbs.
But then, one exchange caught her eye.
Attached was a photo.
It was a shot of a penthouse window, lights on, unmistakable view of Night City beyond the glass. Johnny must’ve taken the photo from this very apartment.
V squinted at the image, then stood and moved toward the window of the H10 apartment.
Across the way, there it was.
The same penthouse.
That was it? Her penthouse?
She frowned, gears turning.
Maybe that was the next stop.
Maybe that place held more answers, answers that never got explained, and Johnny never got to confess.
She decided to give the apartment one last look.
Her gaze landed on something familiar, a bundle of leather on the bathroom floor. She crossed the room, kneeling. It was Johnny’s jacket. The same one she’d slipped off while changing into new clothes in the apartment. She hadn’t even realized she’d left it behind.
She held it for a moment. The weight of it. The scent, somehow still finally his despite everything. Without thinking, she shrugged it on. It didn’t feel like armor, it felt like grief.
V exhaled a shaky breath, turned, and headed for the door.
As she neared the elevator, distant voices stopped her cold.
“...told you, we’ll find her. She couldn’t have gotten far.”
Rogue.
Another voice followed, raw and cracking at the edges. Johnny.
“She was right there, Rogue. I should’ve been watching her– I should’ve– fuck, this is all my fault.”
V’s pulse spiked. She backed into the shadows, slipping behind the rusted shell of a vending machine across the hall. From her hiding place, she watched them approach. Rogue led the way, cool and focused. Johnny trailed, a wreck.
Rogue stopped abruptly and turned on him. Her voice was sharp enough to cut steel. “Oh, would you just shut up already? Stop wallowing in your guilt and grow a pair of balls.”
Johnny blinked, stunned.
“If this is what V’s been dealing with since she came back,” Rogue continued, “honestly, I don’t blame the girl for running. You’re whining might have been what pulled her away. You’re worse than your own fucking infant.”
Then she turned and stormed through the door.
Johnny hesitated, jaw tight, then followed her inside.
V didn’t wait.
The moment the door clicked shut, she bolted for the elevator, slamming the button. Shit shit shit. They’d know she was here. She didn’t have much time now. If they figured out where she was going next, they’d drag her back, Aldecaldos in tow.
She raced through the streets and returned to the alleyway, where her stolen Porsche still waited, tucked safely out of sight.
She jumped in, started the engine, and peeled onto the street.
The penthouse wasn’t far.
When she reached the tower, she parked in the nearest space she could fine and stepped out, immediately feeling out of place. The lobby was sleek, chrome, white marble, fountains, tailors to the rich and famous. Several corpos loitered on plush benched, eyes glued to their holos.
Some of them looked up as she passed.
Recognition flickered in a few eyes.
V kept her head down, the collar of Johnny’s jacket pulled tight around her.
She reached the elevator and tapped the top floor.
As it ascended, she tapped her foot, nerves tightening with every level ticked off. This was it. The place in the photo. The window Johnny had watched her from. Her old penthouse.
Maybe answers. Maybe closure.
She didn’t have long.
They’d be after her soon, Johnny, Rogue, maybe even the Aldecaldos if they got involved. But she couldn’t leave yet. Not without the truth. Not without knowing who this past version of her really was, what she left behind… and why it had all gone so wrong.
She clenched her fists.
Just a little more time.
That’s all she needed.
The elevator doors slid open with a muted hiss. V stepped into the hall, her boots echoing against the polished concrete as she approached the penthouse door. She hesitated for a second, then pressed her palm against the biometric scanner.
A soft chime. The lock was disengaged.
The door eased open.
She stepped inside and paused, taking it all in.
Minimalistic. Cold. Sleek.
A designer’s idea of luxury, clean lines, black steel, and ambient lighting. Modern furniture, practically untouched. It was beautiful, sure, but sterile. Less personality than the apartment she’d just left. Less life.
She muttered under her breath, “Shit… there’s less in here than there was in Johnny’s place.”
But she wasn’t here to judge interior design. She needed answers.
V started upstairs, working from top to bottom. The bathroom came first, she flicked the lights on, and scanned the shelves. Rows of pill bottles: painkillers, antipsychotics, vitamins. She picked one up, turned it in her hand. Nothing too revealing. Nothing she didn’t already know.
Next, the bedroom.
She knelt by the bed, searched underneath, empty. She crossed to the wardrobe.
Rows of clothes met her, her clothes. Familiar Jackets, boots, and a few maternity pieces were shoved to the back. It hit like a wave. So this is where her old self has been keeping everything. Hidden away.
She sighed and moved downstairs.
The living room opened up into a kitchen and a balcony with a pool beyond it. An AV landing pad sat just past the glass doors. She barely spared it a glance before heading toward the desk against the far wall. A terminal sat there, blinking to life with a touch.
She opened the browser, instinctively checking the shopping cart.
Rows of baby items.
She frowned. A lot of these things must have been stored in the boxes at Johnny’s. A stuffed animal. A baby monitor. The exact same mobile from the nursery. Most of the orders were delivered not here, but to Johnny’s apartment.
So… it was clear she moved in with him.
V leaned back in the chair, letting the realization settle.
Why the hell would she do that?
This penthouse had way more space. Hell, it had a pool. The apartment they shared barely had room for a nursery, they hd to convert a storage room, for god’s sake.
She rubbed her temples, frustration brewing behind her eyes. There had to be more. Something that explained how all of this fell apart.
She leaned forward again, piecing together what she knew.
Alright. Timeline check.
Angel brought Johnny back, with his body and engram both. The process cured V. She and Johnny… got together. She got pregnant. They moved in together.
And them?
Something cracked.
A fallout. Maybe on his end. Maybe hers.
Either way, Johnny left her.
Then came the Militech bombing. A suicide stunt to fake his own death. Based on what Kerry said, V had no idea he was alive. So that betrayal ran deep.
And somewhere in that chaos, V lost her grip. Diagnosed with cyberpsychosis. She killed Vik, apparently during a Militech retrieval attempt.
Then the final nail, she ends up in labor at the Hotel Pistis Sophia, her mind fragment, her body failing. And Johnny… Johnny cuts her open to save their child.
And she dies.
V shut her eyes. Fucking bleak didn’t even begin to cover it.
But for everything V had pieced together, there were still gaping holes.
Why the hell had Militech been after her to begin with?
Yeah, Saul said, everyone knew who she was now, Valerie Harford, Militech heiress turned merc, but why now? Why so aggressively?
Sure, the feeds were lit up with her name a while ago. Maybe someone leaked her identity. But if she was in hiding… was she in contact with Lucas again? Did she go back ? Or had Militech just been hunting her for walking away in the first place?
More questions.
No answers.
The timelines didn’t even match up. How did she end up at Hotel Pistis Sophia in the first place? Alone, in labor, dying? If Johnny found her there… then she must’ve known he was alive, right? So, when did she find that out?
And what about Angel? Rogue?
They clearly had pieces of this puzzle, and neither of them had given her the full picture. Rogue especially. V could still hear the fixer’s voice, laced with acid and exhaustion, snapping at Johnny.
At least someone wasn’t putting up with his bullshit.
V huffed out a breath, almost– almost – a laugh.
That made three now. Panam. Kerry. Rogue. Three people in her life who saw through the legend and called Silverhand out when he needed it. Everyone else? They tolerate him. Judy. Mist. Even Angel. Especially Angel.
But something kept bothering her. The way Angel and Rogue kept dancing around certain topics. The looks. The half-truths. The comments about Johnny not being well.
He was clearly depressed. Suicidal, maybe.
That’s the sense V got. The desperation in his message. The sadness in his voice. The way he’d thrown himself into a bombing, not once but twice, into dying, with no real plan beyond it.
Fuck, it was all a lot.
She blew out a shaky breath and rose from the desk. One last sweep of the penthouse. Just in case.
Nothing.
Empty drawers. Unopened boxes. A few files on the terminal, mostly junk. Whatever she’d come looking for… it wasn’t here.
V sighed and made her way back upstairs.
Her body was heavy, nerves worn raw. She dropped onto the edge of the bed, burning her hands in the jacket’s pockets. Something solid met her fingers.
She paused. Frowned.
Pulled it out.
Johnny’s Malorian.
Her breath caught.
It had been in the jacket the entire time?
She stared at it, flipping it over in her hands, the weight of it familiar. Comforting, in a fucked-up way. How had he forgotten this?
It didn’t make sense. Johnny wouldn’t leave something like this behind unless… unless he meant to. He draped it over her while she slept. He pocketed the gun in there on purpose. Protection most likely.
She put the gun back, carefully, and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, finger racing the bullet necklace around her throat.
And then she remembered the photographs. Her and Johnny. In every one, she was wearing his tags. And he… he was wearing this necklace.
She froze.
She yanked it off, stared down at it.
Burned along the edge. Blackened, melted slightly, like it had been through a fire.
Because it had.
It must’ve been left behind after the Militech bombing. His calling card. His proof of death.
And Rogue had given it back to her. Not because it was hers, but because…
Because it was his.
Because he’d worn it as a reminder. Of her. Of them.
And now he wanted his tags back because they were hers, too.
V’s throat tightened. Her fingers closed around the necklace, hot and trembling.
V slipped the necklace back around her neck, the burned chain still warm in her hand. She exhaled, heavy and long, sitting there in quiet with ghosts.
Click.
Footsteps outside the door.
Shit.
No more hiding. They’d figured it out. Johnny, Rogue. Who else could it be?
She stood and made her way down the stairs. She approached the door slowly, cautiously.
Bang!
A violent knock rattled the frame.
Not Johnny. Not Rogue.
Her stomach sank.
Shit.
She stumbled back just as a harsh mechanical whir outside the window caught her attention. She whipped her head to the glass–
An AV touched down outside the building, thrusters screaming.
Militech.
Of course.
The reason Johnny had been desperate to stay out of Night City. The reason she could never come back.
Soldiers jumped down tard the penthouse balcony, and in the same breath, the front door exploded inward. Militech. Fully armored. Weapons raised. Tactical formation. No hesitation.
V backed into the corner of the room, heart slamming, breath ragged. She raised Johnny’s gun, finger on the trigger. All their weapons were trained on her. They didn’t fire. Not yet.
Because someone else stepped into view.
Meredith Stout.
Of course.
Her heels clicked sharply on the tile as she stepped through the shattered door, eyes locked on V like she was another asset on a balance sheet. She raised her hand slightly, more for show than any real mercy.
“Stand down, V,” she ordered. “Nobody shoots.”
V’s grip on the Malorian tightened. She raised the barrel and aimed it directly at Stout’s chest.
“You’ve got some serious balls showing up here,” V growled.
“I’m under orders,” Meredith replied coolly. “From Lucas Harford. Bring you to him alive.”
“Figures,” V snapped. “So what happens if I don’t feel like playing nice?”
Meredith smiled, humorless. “Doesn’t matter. You’re coming either way.”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
V pulled the trigger.
Click.
Jammed.
Of course, it was jammed.
“Piece of shit,” she muttered tossing the malorian to the ground, already spinning up a quickhack, Short Circuit, something to slow them down–
Nothing.
The malware didn’t even launch.
Like her chrome was dead.
She glanced at her hands, panic spiking in her chest.
“What the fuck–”
Meredith arched an eyebrow. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”
V didn’t even see it, just felt the impact as one of the soldiers rushed her, slamming her into the floor. She screamed, twisted under their weight, boot heels digging into her spine. Hands were wrenched behind her back. Cold steel bit into her wrists.
“Get the fuck off me!”
They didn’t listen.
They never did.
Meredith approached slowly, pulling out her holo. She flicked it open and held it where V could see, her voice like a sneer dressed in velvet.
“As of April 16th, 2078,” she read aloud, “Varlerie Harford entered into a contractual agreement with Militech International Armaments. Effective immediately, she is classified as corporate property.”
V thrashed against the cuffs, fury boiling over.
“I didn’t sign shit!”
“You did,” Meredith replied, showing her the contract on the holo. Her signature. Ten fingerprints.
They dragged her toward the AV.
“You’ll regret this!” V screamed. “All of you! Let me go!”
The soldiers threw her inside like cargo.
A needle jammed into her thigh. Cold fire spread through her veins.
She gasped, eyelids fluttering. Drowsiness pulled her under like a rip current.
One of the soldiers leaned over her. Attached a monitor to her temple. Whispered something she barely caught. “... interesting. Blackwall’s there, just disabled.”
Her thoughts slipped sideways.
She saw Johnny.
Smiling in that video, his tone growing serious.
“I love you, Valerie.”
And Jackie.
Small. Sleeping in her arms.
Dark brown eyes blinked up at her.
Her baby.
Her daughter–
Darkness.
Notes:
Message thread generator by Luvwich.
Sorry about the delay, chooms!
I was aiming to release this chapter midweek, but I got sick and had to prioritize some other things. All good now, though, I should be back on schedule for the rest of the fic. 😁This chapter's shorter than the last one, but still longer than most. And let's be honest... the word count is only going up from here.😅 I've got several parts of the Queen of Wands arc drafted already, and yeah, they just keep getting longer. Not the worst problem to have, who knows, this fic might end up on page one of the Johnny/V word count filters. Kinda wild.
Chapter 10 was a blast to write. The Queen of Swords section might feel a bit like a bottle episode, but that's totally intentional. V's connecting dots. And hey, who doesn't want a little fluff now and then? 🥰 Now for the first timeline... Johnny has a sandevistan. As we all know, absolutely nothing bad ever happens to the male love interests with a sandy in the Cyberpunk universe. Just look at David from Edgerunners. He's doing great. 🥲
Joking aside, thank you all so much for the continued support. Every single comment and kudos means the world! ♥️♥️♥️ As always, I love hearing your thoughts in the comments and getting the chance to reply to them!
Chapter 11: Cornflake Girl
Summary:
And the man with the golden gun
Thinks he knows so much
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
The city blurred past the passenger window as Johnny tore through the streets in his Porsche. V sat slumped in the seat, one hand clutched tightly over her lower stomach, the other bracing against the door. Her jaw clenched against the pain, head tipped back, breath coming in short, uneven bursts.
Johnny spared her a glance, his knuckles white around the steering wheel.
“Bleedin’ all over my damn Porsche,” he muttered,
V let out a hiss of pain. “If you don’t floor it, I swear to God–”
“I am flooring it.”
She bit down on a string of curses, groaning as another cramp knifed through her. “Shit, shit, fuck !”
Johnny’s eyes flickered to the rearview, then the side mirror. No tails. But his gaze kept sliding back to her, the red light up ahead forcing the car to a halt. He drummed his fingers against the wheel before finally saying, softly, almost unsure, “Is it mine?”
V blinked, her breath hitching. Pain blurred her vision.
She nodded once.
Johnny stared, the edges of him hard to read.
The light turned green. He didn’t say a word, just shifted gears and hit the gas again.
V looked at him sideways. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or just stunned. But then, quietly, with a look, he reached over and placed a hand on her back. It stayed there, warm and steady.
She didn’t say anything. Just closed her eyes and gritted her teeth through another wave of pain. She glanced down.
“...The bleeding stopped,” she murmured, surprised.
Johnny glanced her way again. “Is that uh… is that good or bad?”
V gave a hollow little laugh. “Depends,” she muttered. “If I miscarried, you might think it’s good news.”
Johnny exhaled through his teeth. “Fuck.”
She looked down at the seat beneath her.
“Yep,” she said dryly. “Front seat’s ruined. Congrats.”
The Porsche skidded to a halt outside Misty’s Esoterica. Johnny practically fell out of the driver’s side, cursing under his breath. He scrambled around the front, boots slipping on wet pavement, and yanked open her door.
His eyes dropped to the blood-stained seat, jaw tightening.
Then he reached in.
“Don’t argue,” he muttered, already scooping her up.
V didn’t. Couldn’t. Her limbs felt like lead, her lower abdomen on fire. She winced, barely managing to loop an arm around his neck.
Another cramp hit hard.
“Shit–”
Johnny carried her into the shop, the bell above the door jangling. Misty was behind the counter, typing something into her datapad, incense curling up from the burners beside her.
She looked up and froze.
“What the hell–?”
“Vik,” Johnny barked. “Is he in? V, she’s–” His voice cracked, panic leaking in around the edges.
Misty didn’t ask questions.
“I’ll get him,” she said, already rounding the counter.
Johnny didn’t wait, just followed her toward the stairs leading down. V clutched at his jacket, groaning as another wave of pain washed over her,
She didn’t know if she was losing the baby.
Didn’t know if she already had .
Misty swung the clinic gate open as soon as they reached it, holding it wide while calling out, “Vik! We need you, now!”
She hurried inside ahead of them, casting a worried glance back at V in Johnny’s arms.
Johnny ducked into the clinic, adjusting V’s weight slightly in his arms as she let out a small wince of pain. The clinic was quiet, and Vik wasn’t in his usual spot.
“Shit,” Misty muttered, already moving toward the back. “Probably on his break.”
Her voice echoed as she vanished further into the clinic, calling more urgently this time. “Vik! It’s V. She’s hurt!”
There was a muffled response. A moment later, Vik emerged, pulling on his gloves, eyes going wide the moment he saw the blood staining V’s pants and Johnny’s panicked expression.
“Put her down. Gently,” Vik instructed, gesturing toward the exam chair.
Johnny nodded silently and moved carefully, cradling V as he set her down. She gritted her teeth as another dull throb flared through her abdomen.
Vik stepped forward, already rolling over his equipment tray. “What happened?”
“Fell,” V said, trying to keep her voice level. “Landed on my stomach. I was bleeding… but it stopped.”
Vik nodded, already assessing her, eyes sharp. “That’s actually a good sign. If the bleeding’s stopped and there was no– did you pass anything? Clumps of tissue, fluid?”
V shook her head. “Not that I saw.”
“Alright. I need to check with you. Make sure you’re not dilated.”
V hesitated and flicked a glance at Johnny, who was now sitting on the floor, back against the wall. His face was pale, like he was either going to bolt or throw up.
Vik gave her a reassuring nod and worked with practiced calm. He helped her out of her blood-stained pants and undergarments with care, glancing only when necessary. After a moment, he said, “Cervix is still closed. That’s promising. But I’ll do an ultrasound to be sure.”
He pulled a towel over her legs and rolled over the old but reliable scanner. Johnny hadn’t moved. Just sat there, eyes glued to the floor.
“...You just keep that kind of gear lying around?” Johnny asked, voice raw.
Vik snorted lightly as he prepped the scanner. “You’d be surprised how often it comes up. Girl comes in for some chrome work, or even just a regular checkup, and the biometrics flag something unexpected. Pregnancies aren’t as rare as you think, even here in Night City.”
Johnny didn’t respond. Just kept staring at the ground, one hand running shakily through his hair.
Vik applied the gel to V’s stomach, it was cold. He picked up the wand and pressed it against her skin. The grainy black-and-white image flickered to life on the monitor.
The shape was there, more defined now. Vik flicks on the sound, and V hears its heartbeat for the first time.
“There,” Vik said quietly. “Heartbeat’s strong. You didn’t miscarry.”
V let out a laugh, shark and wet with relief. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the screen.
“Fuck,” she whispered. “I didn’t even know I wanted this. I just– I thought I’d lost it.”
Johnny stood slowly, approaching the monitor. He stopped just short of her side, staring hard at the screen like he didn’t trust what he was seeing.
“...Is that–” he started.
Vik answered for him. “Yep. Fourteen weeks.”
Johnny let out a quiet curse. “Fourteen?”
V nodded, her eyes still fixed on the grainy little figure on the monitor.
He ran a hand through his hair again, his silver one this time, and didn’t say anything for a long moment.
Then, suddenly, he turned.
“I–” he croaked. “I can’t… I need to– fuck– I’m gonna be sick.”
He stumbled toward the stairs, one hand against the wall for support, boots thudding heavily as he disappeared above.
Vik watched Johnny disappear up the stairs, his scowl deepening. His arms crossed over his chest as he muttered something under his breath.
Misty, still standing nearby, glanced over at V with concern in her eyes. “I’ll talk to him,” she said softly, touching V’s shoulder before heading toward the stairs.
Vik waited until the sound of her footsteps faded above them before grabbing a towel and gently wiping the ultrasound gel from V’s stomach. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft drag of the cloth across her skin. V wiped at her eyes, smearing away the last of her tears.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Vik said quietly. Not accusatory, just matter-of-fact. “Funny how that changes the second you think you’re about to miscarry.”
V didn’t respond, just stared down at her hands, fidgeting with her nails. Picked at nail polish as if she focused hard enough, everything else might fade.
Vik sighed. “You keepin’ it?”
She blinked a few times, then gave a small, hesitant nod. Her hand moved back to her stomach, resting there.
Vik rubbed his eyes, leaning against the tray beside her. “Alright. Then there are a few things we gotta go over.”
V glanced up, listening.
“You’re carrying a high-risk pregnancy. No way around that,” he said. “Three facts. One: today’s scare. Two: you’re packing enough chrome to short out a city block. And three: your condition.”
She stiffened a little at the reminder but nodded.
“This means frequent check-ins with me,” he continued. “We’ll need to monitor both you and the baby, especially your neural degeneration. No idea how a pregnancy might accelerate or shift your brain chemistry, so I want to keep close tabs. Every other week, at least.”
“Alright,” V murmured. “I’ll be here.”
Vik gave a slow nod, then looked her in the eyes. “You won’t be able to deliver naturally.”
She tensed again.
“Two reasons,” he said. “The chrome, pelvic mods, spinal work, whatever you got. It’s too risky. And your prognosis.” His tone was gentle but firm. “Your terminal due date is a month before the baby’s. If no cure turns up by then… I’ll have to schedule a C-section before then.”
V swallowed hard, nodding again.
“I’ll time it so you can a least meet your kid,” he added. “If that’s why you want. I’ll do my best.”
Her throat tightened, but she managed a quiet, “Thank you.” In her mind, though, something locked into place, steely resolve. I’m not dying. I’ll find a cure. I have to.
Vik exhaled slowly, resting one hand on the exam table. “But just so we’re clear, at the end of the day, you’re my patient. You come first. Always. If it comes down to a choice between you and the baby… I pick you. Unless you tell me otherwise.”
V looked a him and gave a slow nod. “I understand,” she said. “And… I’m glad you’re my ripperdoc.”
He gave her a sad smile. “Yeah, well. You make it hard to sleep at night sometimes, V.”
V tried to laugh, but it came out more like a breath.
Vik stepped back and straightened. “So. Where do you want to go from here?”
“I start looking,” V said. “For a cure. Leads, tech, black market, whatever, I can still chase down. While I’m early enough to move.”
Vik raised an eyebrow. “And if there’s no cure? If we get close to the end and you’re outta time? What’ll happen to the kid?”
V hesitated, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Then… I talk to Johnny. See if he’d raise the baby.”
Vik barked a short, humorless laugh. “Good luck with that, kiddo. Didn’t seem too thrilled after seeing that ultrasound.”
Her mouth pressed into a hard line, but she didn’t respond. Just bit her lip a little harder. She grabbed her blood-stained pants and put them on.
“Fucking hate that guy,” Vik muttered. “Need I remind you he tried to flatline you?”
V slowly pushed herself upright. “I should talk to him.”
Vik nodded and offered his hand. She took it, and he helped her out of the chair carefully.
“Take it easy for the rest of the day,” he said, already reaching for a small bottle of pills. “You’re in the clear. Cramps might stick around. These’ll help.”
She took the bottle with a small nod of thanks, clutching it in one hand as she made her way toward the stairs. Every step felt heavy now, heavier than before.
But she kept moving.
V slipped through the back door of Misty’s Esoterica. Misty looked from her usual spot at the counter. She turned quickly, worry etching into the lines around her eyes.
“I figured you’d need these,” she said, handing over a pair of clean clothes.
V accepted them with a small, grateful nod and headed behind the beaded curtain. As she slipped out of her blood-stained pants and shirt, the ache in her abdomen gave another low pulse, muted but still there. She pulled on the fresh clothes quickly, trying to shake off the anxiety still thrumming beneath her skin.
“Misty,” she called, tugging her shirt down. “Where’s Johnny?”
There was a pause. Then Misty’s voice, soft, apologetic. “I tried to talk to him, V. I really did. But… he left. Said he had to go to the Afterlife.”
V groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. “Shit. So he’s not gonna be sober by the time I get there.”
“He was rattled,” Misty admitted. “Didn’t say much, just… that you needed him. He stood by the stairwell for a long time. Thought maybe he’d go back down. Then he got a call.”
V‘s eyes narrowed. “From who?”
Misty hesitated. “Rogue.”
Everything inside V went still.
She cursed again under her breath and yanked his holocomm from her pocket. The screen flicked on, and there it was. Her last call with Rogue. Still saved in the recent logs. Ended eight minutes ago.
By Rogue.
Fuck.
She’d forgotten to close the line. Rogue had been listening the entire time, through the entire car ride to Viktor’s, through the bleeding, and through the scan.
V’s stomach dropped.
How much had Rogue put together?
“I’ve gotta go,” she said, already moving.
Misty caught her wrist gently. “Good luck. He might not want to hear anything right now.”
“Doesn’t matter,” V replied, pulling free. “He’s going to.”
She left through the front door this time, sliding into her Quadra with a grunt. The cramping flared again, and she popped two of Vik’s pills, swallowing them dry. The ride to the Afterlife blurred past in a haze of streetlights. A few minutes later, the worst of the pain had dulled to nothing.
V parked, took a moment to collect herself in the rearview, smoothed her hair, wiped beneath her eyes, and reapplied a neutral expression that looked far more put together than she felt.
Then she stepped out into the midday sun and headed for the Afterlife.
The bouncer at the door, Emmerick, gave her a nod and let her pass without a word. Inside, the club was already busy. Mercs crowded booths, fixers haggled over new gigs, and Claire was slinging drinks with her usual speed and precision.
V’s eyes scanned the crowd once, then locked onto him.
Johnny.
He was alone in Rogue’s booth, his signature aviators still on, despite the club’s low light. He was staring into a half-full glass. A few empty glasses sat beside him. His legs kicked up on the table.
V exhaled slowly through her nose.
Great.
She squared her shoulders and started walking.
“Johnny.”
Her voice cut through the low dim of the Afterlife like a knife. Johnny barely glanced up, his gaze flicking to her face for a fraction of a second before dropping back to his drink. He lifted the glass, took another swig, and didn’t say a word.
Still, it was acknowledgement enough.
V slid into the booth across from him.
He didn’t look up. Just stared at the amber liquid swirling in his glass.
“Talk to me,” she said quietly.
Johnny finally lifted his head. Slowly, he removed his aviators, placing them on the table between them with a soft clack. He rubbed at his tired eyes with one hand, the other still loosely cradling his glass.
“Rogue knows,” he said, voice low, almost horse.
V frowned but didn’t respond.
Johnny leaned back with a bitter scoff, shaking his head. “You knew your comms were open the whole time?”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”
He let out a humorless laugh and took a longer drink, draining half the glass. “Well. She knows now. Knows about the kid. Knows I’m the father.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Means my last chance with her is gone,” he said flatly. “Done. And it’s because of you .”
V’s jaw tightened. Her fingers curled under the edge of the table.
“Because of me ?” she echoed, glaring. “Take two people to knock someone up, Johnny. Or did you forget that part?”
He glared back, eyes bloodshot, the muscle in his jaw twitching.
“Maybe if you’d worn a condom,” she added coldly, “this wouldn’t have happened.”
That landed. His eyes darkened. His stare didn’t waver.
A moment later, her HUD pinged, a transfer notification. She blinked, frowned, and checked it. A credit deposit. Not small.
“What’s this for?”
Johnny was already refilling his glass from a bottle he’d stashed under the table. “Abortion.”
The word hit her like a slap.
V’s hand instinctively went ot her stomach, fingers curling against the fabric of her shirt.
Johnny noticed instantly.
“You’re not seriously thinking of keeping it,” he said, voice rising. He placed his legs under the table, sitting up now.
She met his stare. Then, quietly, nodded.
He swore under his breath, loud enough to draw a few glances. A couple of mercs nearby looked over, confused, curious. One of them clearly recognized her. Another was probably trying to figure out if that really was Johnny Silverhand sitting across from her.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “You’re dying , V. You think you can carry a kid to term before your body gives out? You won’t make it . And then there’s a kid stuck in the middle of this shitshow.”
“Vik said he could schedule a c-section,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “A few weeks before my time’s up. So I’ve got a little time. Time to figure out what happens next.”
“You didn’t even ask me what I wanted,” Johnny bit out.
She looked at him carefully. “Okay. Then what do you want?”
“I want you to end it ,” he growled. “I want you to walk into Vik’s clinic tomorrow and terminate it. I don’t want a kid. Not with you. Not in this world. Not like this.”
V stared at him, stunned by how quickly the words cut.
Her expression hardened.
“No,” she said firmly.
His eyes widened, like he hadn’t expected her to stand her ground. She didn’t waver. Didn’t flinch.
Just sat there, one hand on her stomach, the other curled into a fist beneath the table.
“This is the worst decision you could make,” he said, voice low and bitter. “What happens if you die right after having it, huh? What happens to the kid then?”
He lifted a hand in exasperation, gesturing toward her like she were being absurd.
“You think I’m gonna raise it? Me?” He let out a sharp laugh, almost deranged. “You’re wrong, V. So wrong. I’ll admit it, I’ve changed. Maybe more than I thought I ever would. But not that much. I can barely keep myself together, can’t even keep my shit straight with Rogue. What the hell makes you think I can be responsible for another life?”
V blinked hard, trying to clear the tears forming in her eyes, but they welled anyway. She stared at him, furious, heartbroken, trembling.
“Maybe because you keep telling me you love me,” she snapped. “Figured maybe, just maybe, that meant something. That maybe the man who loves me would want to raise our kid.”
Her voice cracked.
“Or was that a lie too?” she continued, quieter now. “Maybe you’re just another one of my father’s dogs. You lied about Militech. Maybe you’re lying now. Maybe you never loved me at all.”
Johnny’s expression twisted, anger rising fast.
“Fuck you ,” he growled and then the bottle in his hand flew before either of them could stop it.
V jerked sideways just in time. The glass exploded against the wall behind her, shards raining down in a burst of noise.
For a second, the entire Afterlife froze.
V stared at him, wide-eyed, breath caught in her throat. Not just stunned, wounded. Something inside her cracked, and it wasn’t just from the glass.
Johnny froze, too, the shock registering on his face the second the bottle left his hand.
“V– I didn’t mean–”
He stepped forward instinctively, reaching out, but didn’t get the chance to finish.
“Hey!” Claire’s voice cut through the tense silence like a gunshot. She was already halfway across the bar, eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the scene.
She stopped beside V, gently touching her shoulder. “You alright?”
“We’re fine ,” Johnny interjected quickly.
V shook her head, lips parted slightly, still staring at him like she didn’t recognize the man in front of her.
No. Not a man. A shadow of something familiar. For a moment, Johnny Silverhand had vanished, and in his place stood Lucas Harford. Her father. The man who yelled. Who broke things. Who hurt people who loved him.
That memory was burned into her.
Claire caught the look in her eyes and gave a sharp nod to one of the bouncers. Emmerick approached, looming and grabbed Johnny firmly by the arm.
“Let’s go. You’re not wanted here.”
Johnny didn’t resist. He just pulled back his arm gently, sighed, and muttered, “Yeah. Got it.”
He drained the last of his drink, set the empty glass down with a thunk, and slid out of his booth.
As the bouncer escorted him out, Johnny looked over his shoulder one last time.
“V, I’m sorry–”
But she didn’t look at him
She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, glass glittering around her boots.
Claire slid into the booth beside V, concern plain on her face. “You alright?”
V nodded quickly, swiping at her eyes before the tears could fall. She wasn’t going to break. Not here. Not in front of Claire.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Just… startled, that’s all.”
Claire gave her a look that said she didn’t buy it, but didn’t push. Instead, she exhaled slowly and leaned back against the worn seat.
“Y’know,” Claire said after a beat. “Johnny and Rogue had it out before you showed up.”
V looked over, brows drawn. “Really?”
Claire nodded. “Huge blow-up. Screaming match right there in the booth. Rogue left maybe five minutes before you walked in. Stormed out like the devil himself was chasing her.”
V winced internally, Shit. She’s gonna be pissed.
Claire let out a humorless chuckle. “Maybe he is the real Silverhand after all. Shattered bottles, yelling fits, the countless swearing…”
V didn’t have time to answer. Her holo buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. Judy. Claire gave a nod, not seeming to mind.
She answered, voice still raw. “Hey.”
“V?” Judy’s voice came through, warm but cautious. “How are you?”
V hesitated. “I’m… fine.”
Judy didn’t sound convinced. “Is this a bad time?”
V straightened in the seat. “No. I mean, I’m good. Just– what’s up?”
“Good, ‘cause I need you to come to Lizzie’s. Now.”
V blinked. “Now? Judy, I don’t know if I can–”
“You don’t have to stay long,” Judy said quickly. “Just show up. Please.”
V frowned, instinctively wary. “What is this about?”
Judy’s voice brightened. “It’s a surprise.”
V hesitated again, but the earnestness in Judy’s voice pushed her over the edge. “Alright, fine. I’ll come by.”
“You won’t regret it,” Judy promised. “See you soon.”
The call ended. V turned to Claire, who was watching her with a raised brow.
“I should get going,” V said.
Claire nodded. “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”
V stood, already heading for the door. “I’ll be fine.”
She stepped out into the dim afternoon light. The parking lot was mercifully empty, no sign of Johnny or his iconic Porsche. Good. She wasn’t ready for round two.
Sliding into her Quadra, V stared the engine and pulled out of the lot. The city moved around her in a blur of neon and noise, but she kept her focus forward. No looking back.
Lizzie’s came into view soon enough. The pink-haired bouncer at the door gave her a grin and stepped aside.
“They’re all waiting for you inside.”
V slowed, puzzled. They? She thought it was just Judy.
She walked in and stopped short.
Inside the bar, the lights had been dimmed to a soft violet hue. And waiting for her were all her friends.
Judy stood at the front, arms crossed and smiling. “Look who decided to show up.”
Panam appeared beside her, slinging an arm around V’s shoulders with an easy familiarity. “We rented out the whole place tonight,” she said, grinning. “It’s ours. For you.”
V looked around, stunned. River, Kerry, Misty, even Mitch. Faces she hadn’t seen together in one place since… ever.
“What… is this?” V asked, blinking.
Judy stepped closer, eyes warm. “It’s a celebration.”
“A celebration?” V repeated, still confused.
Judy nodded. “You make it past your terminal date.”
Panam chimed in, raising a glass. “Congrats on not dying.”
V laughed, short, surprised, and genuine. The first real laugh she’d had in weeks.
Maybe today wasn’t such a disaster after all.
Judy pressed a drink into V’s hand and pulled her over to one of the booths. The noise of laughter and chatter buzzled around them, familiar and strangely comforting.
“So,” V asked, raising a brow. “You put all this together?”
Judy shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Can’t take all the credit. Panam was in charge of the guest list.”
As if summoned, Panam appeared and snatched the drink from V’s hand, downing it in one smooth gulp. V blinked, a little startled, but secretly grateful.
“I called in a few favors,” Panam said, wiping her mouth. “One of them was straight from Rogue herself, believe it or not. Helped me get in touch with Kerry.”
V followed her gaze across the bar to where Kerry sat with a drink in hand. He raised his glass slightly, offering a subtle nod in her direction.
V smiled, surprised. “This is… actually kinda preem. Didn’t know how much I needed a day like this.”
Panam gave her a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder. “Yeah, well. You deserve it.”
She glanced across the bar again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see River standing alone and I’m not about to miss my chance.”
V rolled her eyes as Panam sauntered off. “Good luck.”
Judy chuckled and turned back to V. “Seriously, though. We should meet up more often.”
V looked over, and Judy’s hand gently settled over hers on the table. The warmth of it sparked a strange ache in V’s chest.
She thought for a moment. If I hadn’t slept with Johnny, hadn’t gotten pregnant… would Judy and I have found our way back to each other?
The question lingered too long.
“I’m gonna go say hi to the others,” V said softly, pulling her hand back.
Judy smiled and nodded. “Of course. This is your night.”
V wandered toward the far side of the bar where Misty was chatting with Kerry. He lit up when he saw her.
“V!” he called. “You have the most interesting group of chooms, you know that?”
V smirked. “Honestly surprised more of you haven’t met each other before now.”
Kerry leaned in with a mock-whisper. “Well, I am a big-time celebrity. Kinda hard to hang with the little people.”
Misty rolled her eyes. “I might argue V’s more legendary than you, and she still makes time for us ‘little people.’”
Kerry grinned. “I like her.”
V turned to Misty. “How long’ve you known about this?”
Misty smiled knowingly. “A while. Didn’t want to spoil the surprise. Besides, you looked like you could use a pick-me-up after what happened today.”
Kerry’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”
V shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing. Just got into it with Johnny.”
“Is that why he didn’t show?” Kerry asked.
V blinked. She hadn’t realized he was supposed to be here. “Suppose so,” she said quietly.
Misty gave her an understanding look. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
As Misty wandered off, Kerry leaned in, lowering his voice. “I’ve made progress with the Samurai reunion gig.”
“Oh?” V asked.
“Yeah. Gonna be preem. But it’d be really preem if I could persuade you to perform.”
V laughed. “When is it?”
“February twentieth.”
V frowned. Two months away. She’d be over five months along by then. The idea of performing onstage, even for something as cool as a Samurai concert, sounded exhausting.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Kerry pouted dramatically. “Knew you were gonna say that.”
He sipped his drink, then added, “But I may have, uh… already told the others you were in.”
V raised an eyebrow. “You what?”
“They wouldn’t agree to it otherwise,” he said with a shrug. “Nancy loved your last performance, and simply mentioning you convinced both Henry and Denny to join. You’re the glue, V.”
V shook her head in disbelief. “So I don’t have a choice, huh?”
“Nope.” Kerry grinned. “But trust me– it’s gonna be nova.”
She nodded a goodbye and weaved her way through the pulsing lights and familiar faces of Lizzie’s, making the rounds. It was strange, surreal, even, to be surrounded by people who gave a damn. People who had no clue what she’d done earlier that day. What had nearly happened. What she still didn’t know how to process.
Toward the back, she spotted Mitch nursing a beer. She made her way over and greeted him with a quick handshake.
“Mitch. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Panam insisted,” he said with a warm chuckle. “Said it was important. Would’ve been rude to say no.”
V grinned. “How’s the clan?”
“They’re good,” he replied. “Saul’s even mellowed out a bit, believe it or not. The nomads are holding strong.”
“That’s good to hear.”
He gave her a pointed look. “You should swing by sometime before we leave Night City. Would mean a lot to everyone.”
She nodded. “I will. Promise.”
She clapped her shoulder before continuing through the crowd. Toward the far corner, she spotted River, sitting alone with a half-finished drink. She hesitated. It had been… months. Since she’d last spoken to him. Slept with him. Then disappeared.
Another one to add to the list, she thought bitterly. Johnny, River… who else? Seems I can only make emotional relationships with women.
She approached slowly. “Hey.”
River looked up and gave a small smile. “Hey, V.”
She slid into the seat across from him. “How you been? How’s your sister? The kids?”
“They’re good,” he said. “Actually… we’re leaving Night City.”
“What?” she blinked.
“Yeah. Transferring out to Chicago. Taking my sister and her kids with me. Randy, too, figured a change of scenery might help him get back on track.”
V nodded, taking that in. “So… this is goodbye?”
“Looks like it.”
She reached out, squeezed his hand briefly. “Good luck, River.”
He gave a soft smile. “You too, V.”
The night rolled on. Laughter filled the air, music thumped through the floorboards, and for once, V let herself relax. It felt… good. To be with people who cared. To let the weight slide off her shoulder for just a few hours.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t the first to leave. But when she did, it was well past midnight.
She drove through the quiet streets of Night City, the afterglow of celebration lingering in her chest. Maybe things weren’t perfect. Maybe everything was still fucked six ways from Sunday. But tonight had been… needed.
She parked in the garage beneath her penthouse, took the elevator up, and walked the familiar path to her door. She was already thinking about collapsing into her bed when her hand reached the door, and it opened freely.
Unlocked.
Her body stiffened. Heart kicked into overdrive.
No fucking way.
She drew her pistol on instinct, breath slow and steady now, senses razor-sharp. She stepped inside the darkened penthouse, weapon raised, eyes scanning.
Somebody had broken in.
And if they were still here…
They were about to meet the wrong fucking girl.
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
She woke up screaming.
The pain in her stomach was searing, fire curling through her insides like the blade had just cut her open all over again. V thrashed, gasping, and tried to sit up, only to find her arms wouldn’t move. Straps dug into her wrists and ankles, binding her to a cold metal bed.
Her pulse spiked.
“Get me out!” she shouted. “Get me the fuck out!”
The sterile white ceiling above her blurred as her eyes darted around the room. Figures in surgical masks stood on either side, dressed in white coats and cybernetic visions. One of them, male, voice clipped and impatient, turned sharply to the other.
“She’s waking up, inject her.”
“No, no, don’t –!”
She screamed again as a needle was jabbed into her arm. A chilling rush of chemical cold surged through her veins. Almost instantly, her limbs went slack, the strength draining from her muscles like water from a broken pipe. Her head lolled to the side.
The first doctor stepped closer, his face unreadable behind the mask. “It’s just a sedative,” he said. “For calming.”
But it wasn’t just calming. She could feel it– every nerve dulled, her muscles beginning to tremble with weakness. Whatever they’d give her was more than a tranquilizer.
Her eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open. The edges of her vision were hazy. She blinked up at him. “Where… where am I?”
The truth came back in fragments.
The penthouse.
The pounding at the door.
Meredith Stout.
Militech.
Fuck.
“Please…” V’s voice cracked. “Please, let me go. You don’t understand– I need to get back. I have people– family– I just had a baby– she needs me.”
She didn’t even know if that was true anymore.
“This is a mistake,” she whispered, “I’m not supposed to be here.”
The doctor didn’t answer right away. He exchanged a silent look with the younger tech at his side.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I can’t do that.”
“Why?” she asked. “ Why? ”
“Because,” the younger one muttered, not meeting her eyes, “we’re just cogs.”
The first doctor nodded. “We have families, too. If we let you go… we might never see them again.”
She sagged against the restraints, breath hitching. Her mind spun, trying to find something, anything, she could say to change their minds.
The second doctor turned, heading for the door.
“Where’s he going?” she asked the one who remained.
He hesitated, lowering his voice. “He’s going to get Stout. That was the protocol: report as soon as you regained consciousness.”
She froze.
Meredith.
Of course.
“I wish…” he trailed off, then shook his head. “You look so young. You didn’t need to sign your soul away for some experimental tech.”
“I didn’t,” V said, her voice barely audible. “You’ve got it wrong. There’s been a mistake.”
He looked at her, pity flickering in his eyes.
But pity wasn’t going to save her.
I never would have signed with Militech. Not in a million years. What in my right mind would make me agree to this? To become… property? To let my father have me again?
The doctor said nothing.
There was no comfort here.
No logic.
The door cracked open.
The doctor returned, and behind him, dressed in her trademark matte-black Militech attire, was Meredith Stout.
She stepped in slowly, the click of her heels echoing through the sterile room, her expression unreadable as she scanned the sight before her: Valerie “V” Harford, strapped to a medical bed, trembling, pale, drugged. Must be a fun sight.
Stout stopped at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. She looked her up and down, calculating. Measuring.
V glared back. “Let me go,” she growled. “Or you’ll regret it.”
A flicker of amusement twitched at the edge of Meredith’s mouth. She didn’t reply at first. Just tilted her head, studying her like a creature in a cage. Then, calmly, she nodded to the doctors.
“Uncuff her.”
The older doctor looked at her like she’d gone mad. “That’s not part of the protocol.”
Meredith arched a brow. “Are you questioning my orders?”
A tense pause. “No, ma’am.”
The restraints hissed as they released. V’s arms dropped limply to her sides before she slowly pushed herself up, her entire body protesting. The sedative still clung to her nerves, dull and heavy. Her balance swayed, and she stumbled forward, catching herself on a nearby instrument tray. It clattered to the floor in a burst of noise and scattered surgical tools.
She shot a wary look at Meredith. “Is this a trick?”
Stout didn’t even blink. “No trick. You’re free to move as you like.” She turned toward the exit. “But you can’t leave Militech premises. That’s the rule.”
V’s fist clenched at her sides. “What the fuck does that even mean–?”
Stout was already walking away. “I’m heading to the top floor,” she said cooly, glancing over her shoulder. “Lucas Harford’s expecting me. You’re welcome to join.”
The name dropped like a stone in her stomach.
Her father.
In Night City.
He’s here.
The chill that swept through her made her limbs go cold. She stood frozen, still gripping the table, as the door hissed shut behind Stout.
For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of medical machines.
The older doctor looked at her and shrugged. “We’ve got other patients,” he muttered. “Hope you figure out what you’re doing.”
The younger one slipped out of the room, but V reached out quickly and grabbed the older doctor’s arm, her grip surprisingly strong for how shaky she felt.
“What,” she whispered. “Just tell me one thing.”
He turned toward her, brow furrowing.
“Why would I sign a deal with Militech?” she asked. “Why would I ever agree to this?”
The doctor gave her a long look, an exhausted, work kind of look. “I can’t pretend to know what goes on in the head of Lucas Harford’s daughter,” he said. “Wouldn’t even try.”
V inhaled sharkply.
That’s what I am to them, she realized. Not a person. Not V. Just a fucking corpo brat.
The doctor pulled away gently. “Good luck, Valerie,” he said, walking toward the door. “Even if she made it seem like you have options… I wouldn’t keep the CEO waiting.”
Then she was alone.
Along with the swirl of dread and adrenaline in her chest. Alone with the silent knowledge that every second in this place made escape feel more impossible. But that doctor was right, she should see her father. Bargaining with her father, no matter how much is turned her stomach, might be the only leverage she had.
Everything still felt foreign, numb. Her limbs buzzed faintly from what they had injected her with. But she was conscious. Awake. And for now, not strapped down.
The room was small, barely bigger thann a holding cell. A metal bed against one wall. The same table she’d clutched for support still lay tipped over, instruments scattered around it. No cameras she could see, but a thick window beside the door gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights, an observation window, no doubt.
She looked down at herself. No cyberware tampering, no invasive surgical scars. Just a thin medical gown. Standard issue. Maybe they hadn’t had time to do anything yet. Or maybe… maybe she was just an “asset” being observed.
V rubbed at the sore spot on her stomach, the pain of still lingering. She forced herself toward the door, her bare feet sliding slightly on cold floor. Her body wobbled at first, the drug still clinging to her bloodstream, but each step steading her more.
She reached the door and pressed it open.
The hallway outside was long, grey, and lined with doors just like hers. Sterile, too clean. Industrial lighting buzzed overhead.
Meredith Stout leaned casually against the opposite wall, arms folded, expression unreadable.
V frowned. “Didn’t have to wait,” she muttered. “I might not’ve come.”
Meredith gave a small, knowing shrug. “I figured you would. Besides…” She turned and began walking. “Figured we could talk on the way up.”
V hesitated, then followed.
They passed more doors. Each one like hers. A peek through the windows showed people inside, others in gowns, some pacing like caged animals, some curled on the beds. One figure slammed fists against their door’s glass, screaming something that didn’t make it past the soundproofing. Another simply sat staring at the floor, unmoving.
V slowed a little. “Don’t look like any of them want to be here.”
Meredith didn’t turn around. “Most do,” she said flatly. “We get ‘em off the streets. Addicts. Strays. Burned-out runners. You… you’re the exception.”
The words sank deep.
V swallowed. “Then what is this, huh? Why am I here?” Her voice wavered. “Why the hell would I ever sign myself away to Militech?”
Stout finally stopped and turned to face her.
“What the fuck are you going on about?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
The elevator doors opened behind her. They stepped in together.
Meredith crossed her arms again, leaned back against the wall. “You signed the contract,” she said. “Willingly. I was there.”
V stared at her.
“You begged for,” Stout continued, all honest. “Pathetic, really. On your knees. Sobbing. Begging your father to help. Some legendary edgerunner you were.”
V’s breath hitched. Her stomach turned. She looked down at the floor of the elevator as the hum of machinery began its slow ascent.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why would I do that?”
No sarcasm. No anger. Just confusion. Desperation to make sense of the past she didn’t remember living.
Stout tilted her head. “You were dying,” she said simply. “You need a cure. Militech had one. Simple as that.”
V’s eyes widened.
Dying?
Still?
Even after everything… the Relic… Johnny…
She staggered slightly, gripping the elevator rail. The walls felt like they were closing in. That’s not what Judy said. Or Rogue. Or Johnny. They are said she found a cure, by bringing Johnny back.
But…
Was that a lie?
Had she been dying this whole time?
So much so that she’d dropped to her knees in front of Lucas Harford?
Begging?
The elevator dinged.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss.
But something was off.
This wasn’t the top floor of Militech Offices.
V saw it right away, just a floor near the top, probably the highest one still intact. Her gut twisted as she recalled the explosion. The bomb would’ve taken out the actual top floor.
She barely had time to register the thought before Meredith’s grip latched onto her arms and shoved her hard into the wall.
V stumbled, gasped, and then was slammed through a narrow door.
The lights flicked on.
A cramped supply room. Shelves of cleaning chemicals. Mops. Broom closet.
Meredith stepped in behind her and slammed the door shut.
They were alone.
Too close.
V pressed her back to the cold wall, eyes wide. “Okay, um– listen. Not ready for round two here. Kind of a lot of unrelated unresolved trauma happening right now.”
Stout didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. She shoved V once more against the wall, voice low and sharp. “Shut up. We’ve got only a little time. No cameras in here. So you better start talking. What the hell’s going on with you?”
V blinked. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently, eyes wide.
Meredith narrowed hers. “Don’t play coy. I’m your only ally in this building. You’d do well to remember that.”
She raised a hand, pulled up a holographic scan on her holopad. Rotating it with two fingers, she held it up so V could see.
It was a brain scan. V’s.
But there, clearly visible, was something that looked… familiar.
Similar to the Relic. But different. The biochip they uploaded to bring her current consciousness into being.
V stared at the image.
Silent.
Stout’s voice dropped. “The doctors flagged it. But I dismissed them before they could escalate it. You’re welcome, by the way.”
She paused, eyes scanning V. “I know about the baby. I can tell it wasn’t done in any regulated facility. No med center. Not even at a Ripper’s. So what happened?”
V hesitated.
And then– maybe it was the closeness, maybe it was the isolation, but something in her cracked.
She let out a slow breath. “I died,” she whispered.
Meredith didn’t move.
V touched her stomach lightly. “The wound. That’s where I bled out. Giving birth. And the chip–” she nodded at the holopad, “–it’s how I was brought back. An older copy of my engram, memories after I stormed Arasaka Tower. So yeah, I’m very much out of the loop.”
For the first time, Stout’s face shifted, surprise, even a flicker of empathy. She stepped back slightly, processing.
“Shit,” she muttered.
V straightened, pressing the moment. “So… what now?”
Meredith pulled herself back together quickly. “Now?” She nodded toward the door. “Now we go see your father.”
V’s blood ran cold.
“But listen carefully,” Stout continued. “He’ll ask the baby. You need to tell him you lost it. That it’s dead. Got it?”
V’s jaw clenched, her whole body tense. “Why?”
“Because that’s the only way you’ll ever see your child again,” Meredith said coldly. “You say you lost it. You act like you remember everything he brings up. You keep the story straight.”
She stopped closer again, lowering her voice. “As for the chip, I’ll take care of it. Have it removed safely. Officially, no one’ll know it’s there.”
V stared at her. “Why are you helping me?”
Stout didn’t look away. Not for a second.
“Because it’s business,” she said at last. “You’re a powerful individual, Valerie. You may not feel like it right now, but you are. And I’m not an idiot. I’d rather be friends than enemies with someone like you.”
She paused. “I’ve got a theory about how this is all going to shake out. And I’d rather be on the right side of it.”
Silence hung between them for a beat too long.
Then Meredith reached for the door.
V followed her, every cell in her body screaming. Each step was heavier than the last.
Her bare feet echoed softly on the polished floor. With every turn, every passing guard, every corporate logo stamping into the brushed chrome wall, she was getting closer.
Close to him.
A chill ran down her spine.
Her father.
Lucas Harford.
She hadn’t seen him in over eight years. Not since she’d run from this world. From him. What would he be like now?
Worse?
She figured yes. Colder, more calculating. He wasn’t just an executive anymore; he was the CEO of Militech, maybe the most powerful person alive now that Arasaka had been reduced to a shadow of its former self. He’d won. Claimed the throne in a corporate war. But at what cost?
She could still remember the man who had beaten her and her brother until they bled.
The man who drove their mother into a medication-numbed depression.
The man who pushed her brother so far that–
Don’t go there. Don’t.
Her breath caught in her throat as Meredith stopped walking.
They were here.
Two Militech officers stood flanking an enormous door. Stout glanced at V once, her face unreadable, and gave her a small nod.
Showtime.
The officers opened the door.
They stopped into a room that exhaled silence. Night pressed in from beyond the windows. The view faces the Arasaka Tower. V recognized it immediately, though the skyline had changed.
Militech now rose taller than Arasaka.
A symbolic conquest. A final nail in the coffin of the old world order. She remembered standing in Jeckins’ office when Arasaka had towered above the other buildings. Now the balance had shifted.
Everything had shifted.
A voice, low, crisp, inhumanely cold, cut through the air.
“Valerie. Sit.”
She saw the back of a chair, turned toward the window. Her father hadn’t even turned to look at her.
V obeyed.
The hospital gown clung awkwardly to her skin as she sank into the plush leather seat. Every part of her felt exposed. Fragile. She picked at her fingers to distract from the nausea clawing at her stomach.
Lucas remained facing the window, his silhouette tall and composed.
“You broke our deal.”
His tone was calm. Dangerous in its control.
“You were to return to Militech. Two weeks after signing the contract. Willingly. But instead…” He trailed off, letting the silence drive the knife in deeper. “You slaughtered my men using something you should not have had access to.”
V’s mouth was dry. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He had to be talking about her retrieval. The one Misty mentioned.
The one that killed Vik.
Lucas turned.
And she immediately looked away.
His face–
Half of it was scorched with raw, angry burns. Third-degree, at least. Skin bubbled, blackened, tissue warped. And yet…
He hadn’t fixed it.
No chrome. No cosmetic overlay. Not a nanotech skin graft.
He chose to keep it.
A scar.
A warning.
He sat down across from her, posture straight, hands resinging on the desk between them like they belong there, like they always had.
“This,” he said, gesturing faintly to the burns, “was just the first price of your latter betrayal.”
His voice was colder now. A practiced detachment, with venom just beneath.
“Two days after you signed the contract, we were hit. A terrorist attack. Led by your little pet rockstar. Johnny Silverhand.”
V’s heart froze.
“He blew up this office,” Lucas continued, tone level. “With both of us in it.”
He raised a hand over the burn scars.
“I survived. Obviously. He didn’t.”
The words lingered in the air.
And then his gaze sharpened.
“But I wasn’t about to let you go. When your time came, I sent my best to retrieve you. And what happened?”
He paused, not for dramatic effect, but for discipline. A reminder that every word was calculated.
“They were torn apart.”
Her fingers tapped once against the desk.
“By the Blackwall.”
V didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Inside, she was unraveling. But on the outside, she forced calm. She had to. She could not afford to show weakness.
Her father leaned forward, eyes boring into her.
“I gave you a cure. A deal,” he said. “And now, you’re going to explain why you broke it.”
V didn’t speak at first.
She sat, still and small in the massive leather chair, trying to shove herself into the mind of the woman her father believed her to be, the original V, not her.
That V had just lost Johnny Silverhand. Had just signed a contract under duress. Had been heavily pregnant, grieving, and desperate.
She traced the timeline in her mind like bullet holes: April 18th was when Johnny blew up the top floor of Militech. April 16th was two days before when she signed the contract. April 30th was two weeks after. She died on May 1st. Woke up a herself a few days later.
That meant when his soldiers came for her, she hadn’t just run.
She’d been in labor. That’s why she was at Vik’s when his soldiers came.
The realization felt like glass sliding into her gut.
She lifted her gaze to meet her father’s.
“I was scared,” she said quietly. “Johnny had just died. And I was in labor when your men came for me. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Lucas Harford watched her carefully, his expression carved from stone.
“We would’ve ensured the child was delivered with proper care,” he said flatly. “Not at some ripperdoc’s back-alley butcher shop.”
Her jaw clenched.
Vik wasn’t a butcher. He died trying to protect me.
But she said nothing.
“I hope it was worth it,” Lucas said. “Where is the child now?”
His voice was empty. Not curious. Not sympathetic.
Just cold.
“You were alone when we retrieved you from the penthouse.”
V felt her chest seize.
She blinked back the sting of tears and remembered what Stout told her
“She was dead,” V said, her voice cracking. “She was dead when I held her.”
She watched her father for any flicker of emotion. Regret. Anger. Grief.
Nothing.
Just the same indifference he always wore.
Her throat closed up, and the tears came harder than she expected. Her chest heaved with sobs, her body trembling, not just from the lie she had to speak but from everything.
V cried. But not for her daughter.
She cried because she finally understood.
The Blackwall had saved her. Her cure. Her damnation.
Lucas let her cry for a moment. “Shut up.”
The command struck like a slap.
She froze.
That tone.
The same one he’d used when Vincent lay lifeless in her arms, blood soaking the carpet. She remembered every syllable. The way her father had stared down at her then, his face as cold as it was now.
“And bastard of Silverhand shouldn’t be breathing,” he muttered. “Especially one mixed with our bloodline.”
V stayed still.
Didn’t blink.
Suddenly thankful, deeply thankful, that Stout had told her to lie. If he’d known the truth… what would he have done? What would he do if he knew his granddaughter was alive and in Night City?
Lucas stood.
He came around the desk and gripped her shoulder, hard. His nails dug into her skin, sending a jolt of pain up her arm. V looked up at him through her tears.
“Let go of me,” she whispered.
He leaned in. “How?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t have access to the Blackwall. “Somehow, you found a way. Someone unlocked it for you. Who? ”
“I don’t know,” V gasped. “I swear, I don’t know.”
He tightened his grip, and she cried out. Gorilla arms. Another squeeze and he could break her bones.
She wasn’t lying. Of course she wasn’t, she didn’t know a damn thing.
He turned sharply, eyes narrowing toward the figure standing quietly by the door.
“Meredith?”
Stout straightened slightly. “I don’t think she’s lying, sir.”
Lucas stared between the two of them for a beat longer.
Then, finally, he released V.
She let out a shaky breath, rubbing her sore shoulder, feeling the bruise already blooming beneath her skin.
Lucas moved back behind his desk, calm again. Distant again.
“You have nothing left now,” he said. “Silverhand’s gone. Your firstborn, stillborn. Is that why you went back to your penthouse? You knew it was flagged. Surveillance had eyes on it for weeks.”
V stared down at the floor, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know.”
I was an idiot. I should’ve stayed with Johnny. With my daughter. But I ran. And now look at me, trapped. With no one but Stout to protect me.
Lucas waved a hand dismissively.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re mine again.”
He looked toward Meredith. “Take her to surgery.”
V’s head snapped up.
“What? What surgery?”
Lucas didn’t blink.
“Now that you’ve survived exposure to the Blackwall and brought back a fragment, we’re going to use that. Part of the contract, Valerie. Install a deep-net dive processor.”
His voice was cool. Efficient. Like discussing asset upgrades
“Then it’s straight to work.”
V stood up slowly, every fiber in her body screaming to run. V shook her head slowly, but it didn’t matter.
Meredith’s grip was gentle but firm, like someone escorting a prisoner pretending it was all procedure. Not cuffs. No force. Just inevitabilityy.
They left the office in silence, the polished corridors humming around them as they approached the elevator.
V reached behind her neck instinctively, fingertips brushing against the base of her skull.
Would they hollow me out like So Mi? Turn me into a chrome husk with a consciousness buried beneath corporate protocol?
She was already most of the way there. Chrome ran through her veins. Her face wasn’t even her original, replaced with disguise tech back when she worked with the FIA to retrieve Songbird.
She had been a ghost even then. A tool.
Was that all she was now? Another replacement for a woman long gone, just as Song had been used by Rosalind Myers, V was being recycled to serve the same machine.
The elevator doors slid shut behind them, and descent fellt slow, like sinking in cold water.
She stared at her own reflection in the mirrored steel walls.
Is this who I am now?
A flicker of movement caught her eye, and Stout turned to glance at her, lips moving silently.
“I’m sorry,” Meredith mouthed.
V swallowed hard.
Sorry, didn’t mean much now. Sorry, wouldn’t save her.
She brought a trembling hand to her abdomen.
I had a daughter.
And she left her behind.
Her vision swam with unshed tears.
She was walking straight into the knife. A table. A deep net-dive processor is installed. Worse, maybe, stripped down like Song had been, half her back scooped out and replaced with something unholy.
And yet, there was no struggle left in her. No energy. No rage.
Only a quiet, grim determination.
I’m getting out. I’m going to see my baby again.
Even if no one came, no Johnny, no Rogue, no cavalry, she would find a way. She had to. The daughter she once feared was hers… entirely hers. Not a burden. Not a mistake.
She had to live for her. She had already died for her.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
They’d arrived.
The hallway ahead was sterile and white, the air cold enough to prickle her skin through the paper-thin gown.
She didn’t resist as Stout had led her forward.
Didn’t flinch as the operating doors parted and the harsh scent of antiseptic washed over her.
This had always been the plan. The gown. The timing.
It was never about a reunion, it was always about the install.
Stout hesitated at the threshold, then turned and walked away without a word. She was alone now.
Two techs in scrubs approached. One of them offered a half-hearted “welcome back,” then pressed a syringe into her arm. Cold flooded her veins. An enesthetic, probably.
Her body went loose.
They guided her to the table, cold metal, already set for her, cold metal, already set for her arrival. She clipped up with shaking legs, turned to lie on her stomach. Her hospital gown opened in the back.
She exhaled slowly, cheek against steel.
“Count down from ten,” one of the doctors said.
V nodded faintly. Her vision blurred.
“Ten… nine… eight…”
Everything fades, fast and dark.
Seven…
V was on the moon.
She didn’t know how she knew, only that she was there, sitting on the rim of a crater with her legs dangling off the edge. They swayed easily, slowly, like she weighed nothing at all.
Gravity was a suggestion here.
Above her, Earth loomed massive and vibrant. Cities sparkled like data nodes, a web of lights across continents. She could almost point to Night City is she squinted.
She exhaled softly.
Why the moon? She’d never been, never even thought much of it. But something about this moment felt real, like she’d remember this dream after waking. Not one of the forgettable, jittery ones.
Maybe it was because of Songbird.
This is where I sent her, isn’t it?
Would this be where I end up, too?
Didn’t matter. Not now.
She sat quietly, listening to the silence of space.
Then a weight shifted beside her. Another presence.
She didn’t need to look.
But she did anyway.
Songbird sat next to her, hands folded in her lap, boots barely brushing the moon dust. There was something different about her, her eyes. They glowed a soft, uncanny blue.
V blinked.
“Still feels weird,” Song said, her voice distant but calm. “Being free of Earth. Thought I’d feel it in my bones. But I still feel them.”
She looked at her hands, then up at the Earth. “FIA never really lets go. Not even up here.”
V frowned. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “About Reed.”
She didn’t know why she was apologizing. Song wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. But the guilt burned in her chest all the same.
Song gave a small, sad smile. “It was always going to end that way. He made his choice. I made mine.”
Their legs kicked back and forth again in unison.
V looked up at the stars. “Is this where I’m going to end up?”
“Who’s to say?” Song shrugged. “Seems to be a theme. For us netrunners, anyway. The moon. Isolation. Escape.”
V chuckled dryly. “Guess I’m one of you now. They’re installing a deep-dive link in me. Right now, probably.”
She turned to look at her again, but Song was gone.
In her place was Alt Cunningham.
Or maybe Angel.
Or… maybe not either of them. Maybe the ghost of the one Johnny once knew.
V couldn’t tell.
She tried to speak, but Alt just raised a hand gently and placed it on her shoulder.
It wasn’t warm or cold. Just steady.
Together, they stared at Earth. Not speaking. Not needing to.
The world turned slowly beneath them.
Far away, and getting further.
Notes:
Sorry about the delay, chooms! It's been a hectic week, but things should settle down now. Fingers crossed, I'll be back to posting twice a week.🤞
I did notice a couple of small timeline mix-ups, but no worries, I'll go back and clean everything up once the fic is fully posted. There's a lot to keep track of in both timelines.😅
A lot more has been revealed in this chapter! I hope Johnny's reaction to the pregnancy feels true to the character. As I've been writing ahead, it's been fun to write, especially watching him shift from point A to point B as the story progresses. Meanwhile, in the second timeline, V's finally caught up to what we already know: she wasn't cured. And now, Militech serves as the primary antagonist. Things are about to get more fun. 👀
Let me know what you think is coming next! As always, comments and kudos mean the world; they seriously make my day!!♥️♥️♥️
Chapter 12: Take Me Out
Summary:
I know I won't be leaving here with you
Notes:
Trigger Warning(s): Suicide Attempt (Queen of Swords)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
V flipped the light on with one hand, gun raised in the other. Her eyes scanned the room, ready for a fight, for blood, for anything but him.
Johnny Silverhand sat slouched on her couch like he owned the place, half-drunk, a whiskey bottle dangling loosely in his grip. He raised both hands lazily in mock surrender.
“Easy, princess. Don’t shoot the bottle. It’s the good stuff.”
V lowered her weapon, but her glare could’ve cut through chrome. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Johnny set the bottle down on the coffee table, the sound of glass clinking echoing in the quiet. He stood up slowly, swaying just a bit as he approached her.
“Was in your head, remember?” he said, tapping his temple. “Still know all your codes. Just punched in a few, voila.”
“That’s not an answer,” she snapped, crossing her arms.
Johnny paused, mouth twisting into something almost like guilt. He took a step closer, and for some damn reason, she didn’t stop him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice lower now. “Didn’t mean to throw the bottle.”
She didn’t respond, should’ve kicked him out, told him to choke on his half-assed apology. But then his hand brushed her cheek, rough fingers against her skin. He looked down at her, eyes bloodshot but sincere.
And then he kissed her.
She tasted the whiskey on his lips. She hated that it didn’t stop her from kissing him back.
She broke away first, her breath shaky. “You’re drunk.”
Johnny gave her that crooked grin she used to hate. “Just a little.”
He kissed her again, and this time she didn’t pull back.
They stumbled toward the couch, mouths crashing, movements messy and desperate. Between kisses, he kept whispering it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
She didn’t reply. Just grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, trailing her lips down the lean muscle of his chest. Fingers tracing the sandevistan on his back. He responded in kind, slowly lifting her shirt, eyes never leaving hers as he revealed the soft curve of her stomach.
He stopped.
For the first time tonight, Johnny Silverhand went completely still.
She watched him as his eyes settled on the swell of her belly. His hand reached out, hesitant, and then his fingers gently brushed across the bump. He knelt his head a little, palm resting against her skin, as if grounding himself in the reality of it.
When he looked up, their eyes met.
No word. Just him tracing slow, reverent circles over her stomach like he was finally letting himself see it. Acknowledge it.
Then, softer than before, he leaned in and kissed her again, less fire, more ache.
Eventually, V pulled back from the kiss, eyes searching his. She reached for his waistband, fingers working the button on Johnny’s pants without a word. He didn’t stop her. Didn’t need to. Clothes were shed in a matter of seconds, dropping haphazardly to the floor.
For the second time since his return, he entered her.
Johnny was careful, of course, but it was messy and breathless. The tension that had been simmering between them for weeks, months finally spilled over. And for a brief, flickering moment, it felt like nothing else existed.
Minutes later, they lay tangled together on the couch, skin slick with sweat. V rested her head on Johnny’s chest, exhausted. His fingers moved in lazy, slow circles across the bare skin of her back.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, and for once, she let herself close her eyes.
“Fucking makeup sex,” she muttered, a small huff of amusment escaping her. “Didn’t think I’d ever live to see the day.”
Johnny chuckled softly, arm curling tightly around her.
She opened her eyes again. “So… what happens now?”
He looked at her for a long time, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he leaned in and kissed her lips again, slow and quiet.
No answers. Just him.
She let herself relax into him, into the warmth, the silence, until a sudden wave of nausea clawed its way up from her gut.
“Fuck–” she hissed, sitting up, one hand bracing on her stomach as the other gripped the edge of the couch. “Not now…”
Johnny stirred beside her. “V?”
She swore under her breath, bolted from the couch, and ran straight to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before her stomach emptied violently into the bowl.
Johnny was right behind her.
He knelt beside her without hesitation, pulling her hair back as she gagged and heaved again. It felt endless, her body spasming, bile burning her throat. By the time it was over, she was trembling.
She pulled back, hand still gripping her middle. Her eyes dropped to the bowl, and she frowned at the familiar sight.
Blood. Mixed in with the vomit.
Johnny saw it too.
“Shit,” he muttered. “That… doesn’t look good.”
V groaned and leaned back against the wall, her breathing uneven. “It’s fine. Morning sickness and neural degeneration. I’m no longer coughing up blood anymore, so that’s something.”
“Yeah? Doesn’t look like ‘something’ to me.” He crossed his arms, frowning deeply. “If anything, this pregnancy’s making your condition worse.”
V sighed, already feeling the conversation spiral.
“Don’t start, Johnny.”
“I’m just sayin’, if it’s not good for your health. You shouldn’t keep it.”
She turned to glare at him, hand resting on her stomach. “I’m keeping it. I made my choice. That’s final.”
He stood up abruptly, scoffing. “You’re being selfish.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“You’re putting your life at risk, for what? An unwanted pregnancy–”
“It’s not unwanted,” she snapped, “Let me make this real clear, Johnny. This pregnancy is not unwanted. Unplanned, yes. But not unwanted.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “Right. Bet you were thrilled when you found out you were knocked up by a washed-up terrorist while you were literally dying .”
“Fuck you,” she spat, pushing herself to her feet with effort. “You don’t know what it’s like. To be dying.”
He stared at her for a beat, then his expression darkened.
“Actually,” he said quietly, “I do.”
Johnny stumbled toward the couch, still reeking of whiskey. He tossed V’s clothes at her with a grunt, pulling on his pants one leg at a time.
She caught the bundle midair, brow furrowed. “What the hell do you mean, you know what it’s like? Living in the head briefly of a dying woman doesn’t count.”
Johnny scoffed and shook his head, slumping down on the edge of the couch. “No, not the same, no. But close enough.”
V narrowed her eyes, pulling her shirt over her head.
He looked at her then, clearer than before, the booze not doing enough to dull the weight behind his next words.
“When I got brought back,” he started slowly, “when you left… Angel told me there was a catch. Something she didn’t wanna say while you were still around.”
V froze, standing half-dressed, pants in one hand.
“There’s a bomb in my head,” Johnny said flatly. “Failsafe. Militech put it there. If they ever decide I’m too much of a problem, they hit a button and boom. Bye bye Johnny.”
The silence hit like a punch. V stared at him, mouth slightly open. “What the fuck , Johnny? And you didn’t think to mention this sooner?”
“Hypocrite.” He grinned bitterly, not looking at her. “Yeah, well… maybe the same reason you didn’t tell me you weren’t cured. Or waited seemingly weeks to say anything about the pregnancy. Shit’s hard to talk about.”
V finally pulled on her pants and walked toward the couch, slowly sinking beside him.
Johnny leaned back, tossing his tank over one shoulder. “Been working with your Dad, directly,” he muttered. “Lucas Harford. Figured if I did enough favors, they’d remove the damn thing.”
V blinked. “So you’ve been working for my father this whole time ? Just to get the bomb out?”
Johnny nodded. “And to keep Militech off your ass. Might wanna thank me for that, by the way. You think they just lost interest in the most high-profile runaway asset they’ve had in years?”
She rubbed her temple, tension spiking behind her eyes. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been playing Militech’s errand boy to try and keep yourself alive… while also making sure they didn’t come after me .”
“Yeah. Congratulations, princess. You’re still free because I’m chained.”
She stared at him, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. “How much did you tell him?”
Johnny gave her a look. “Nothing about us. And relax. I’m not about to tell the head of Militech that I knocked up his only daughter. Bomb in my skull or not, even I know that’s a death sentence.”
V leaned back on the couch, exhaling. She stared at the ceiling, feeling like the room was tilting. Again.
Johnny shifted to face her. “So… now that you know? What do you wanna do about the pregnancy?”
She turned her head slowly to glare at him. “Still keeping it.”
Johnny swore under his breath and stood up, pacing a few steps before spinning back around. “You’re seriously still going through with this? Even after I tell you I’m one twitch away from getting atomized? Even knowing your own body’s on a goddamn countdown clock? You think that’s a good time to have a kid?!”
V stood up, fists clenched. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”
He threw his hands up, furious. “You think this is about me not wanting the kid? You think I don’t care? You’re not listening ! You want to bring a baby into the world knowing its mother is dying and its father is– what– on fucking borrowed time?”
“Get out!” she screamed.
Johnny flinched, then turned on his heel. He grabbed the half-empty whiskey bottle from the table and stormed toward the door, swaying slightly as he walked.
Before stepping out, he turned, raised his middle finger, and muttered, “Fine. Enjoy the miracle. I want nothing to do with it or you .”
Then the door slammed behind him, leaving V alone with the silence.
V stopped going to the Afterlife. She spent the next few days catching up on sleep, the kind of deep, dreamless rest she hadn’t had in weeks. No calls from Johnny. No messages. Good fucking riddance. If he wanted nothing to do with her, then fine. She was done chasing his ghost.
She was browsing the NET, half-scanning a modded article on cortical degradation treatments, when her holo buzzed.
Rogue.
Shit.
She hesitated for a second, then picked up.
“About time,” Rogue’s voice snapped through. “Get your ass ovver to the Afterlife. No excuses.”
“Rogue, I–”
“Don’t make me hunt you down myself, V.”
The line went dead.
V stared at the blank display for a moment. “Well,” she muttered, “today’s as fine a day as any to die.”
She got dressed, pulling on a loose shirt that didn’t quite hide the swell of her stomach. The bump was starting to show now, no use denying it. She slipped on her jacket, grabbed her keys, and headed out to her Quadra.
The drive to the Afterlife was quiet, no music, just the sound of tires slicing through the damp streets of Night City. When she arrived, the familiar bouncer gave her a nod and stepped aside without a word.
Inside, the place was humming, mercs drinking, deals going down, Claire pouring drinks behind the bar. V slid onto a stool, drumming her fingers on the counter while Claire handled another customer.
Her foot tapped a nervous rhythm until a voice called out from across the room.
“Valerie.”
Fuck, full name .
Rogue, sitting in her usual booth, gestured her over.
V stood and walked across the bar, slipping into the seat across from her. She couldn’t tell if Rogue was pissed or just… being Rogue. Hard to read. Same stoic look as always.
“Let’s talk,” Rogue said, leaning forward.
V hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.”
Rogue’s eyes flicked downward. “You’re starting to show.”
V looked down at herself briefly but didn’t say anything.
Rogue didn’t miss a beat. “You still planning to come around here? Afterlife could use you. You’re still the best merc I’ve got.”
V blinked, surprised. “Didn’t think I’d hear that from you.”
“Pregnancy never stopped me from working,” Rogue said cooly, taking a long sip from her glass.
That made V pause. “You?”
Rogue nodded once. “Had a son. We don’t talk anymore.”
The quiet between them stretched for a moment.
“So you called me in just to check if I’d still be working?” V asked, eyebrows raised. “Thought you were gonna chew me out or something.”
Rogue snorted. “About Johnny?”
V glanced away.
“I’m not mad at you,” Rouge said. “I’m pissed at him. But honestly? I’m not surprised. Should have seen it coming between the two of you. Also, it wouldn’t be the first time he slept around behind my back.”
V winced. Rogue didn’t say it with bitterness, more like it was just another fact of life. Like traffic in Watson or corruption in Corpo Plaza.
“First time he’s got someone pregnant, though,” Rogue continued with a wry smile. “That’s a new one. Especially given his history.”
V grimaced slightly, and Rogue noticed, smirking. “Ironic, huh? Guy spends decades dead, and the first thing he does once he’s breathing again is knock someone up. Extra ironic that it’s you, the daughter of Militech’s CEO.”
“I’m not his daughter,” V said flatly. “I gave up that life a long time ago.”
Rogue gave a small nod, more serious now. “Fair enough. Sorry.”
That caught V off guard. Rogue didn’t apologize often.
“So… we good?” V asks quietly.
Rogue met her gaze. “Yeah. We’re good. Just don’t disappear again. Afterlife’s still your home, so long as you keep showing up.”
So that’s what V did.
She started showing up at the Afterlife again. No dramatic returns, no confessions or explanations. Just walked in like nothing had happened. Rogue gave her a nod. Claire chatted her up. And life moved on.
For the next week, things settled into a rhythm. V took gigs as a fixer, talked shop with other mercs, even handed out a few contracts of her own. She worked and kept busy.
Johnny never once showed up.
Good.
He could be dead in a gutter somewhere in the middle of Night City, and honestly? That sounded just fine.
It wasn’t until a week later, just as she was wrapping up a meeting with a potential client, that her holo lit up. Unknown number, but she recognized the ID signature instantly.
Lucas Harford.
She stared at it for a second. The first time he’d ever called her directly.
This couldn’t be good.
She excused herself, stepping away from the bar. Answered the call with a clipped, “What do you want?”
Lucas’s voice was as calm and cold as ever. “Just a meeting. That’s all.”
V’s jaw tensed. “Though I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with you.”
“Your silence said enough,” Lucas said. “I understand. But this isn’t business. I’m not asking the CEO of Militech. I’m asking as your father.”
V snorted. “Yeah. Right.”
A beat of silence, then, “Embers. Dinner. Eight o’clock sharp.”
V sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. I’ll be there.”
She ended the call before he could say anything else.
Back inside the Afterlife, she mumbled an excuse to Claire, then headed home.
Her penthouse was quiet, the lights low. She moved through her closet, pulling out dress after dress, tossing most aside. Eventually, she settled on a simple back one. Classy. Subtle. Wouldn’t draw too much attention to the baby bump that was starting to push through her tighter clothes.
Sixteen weeks now. She’s made sure to keep checking in with Viktor.
She changed in the bathroom, tugging the fabric into place with a grimace. Black was a good choice. At least it camouflaged some of the swelling. In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. The sharp lines of her collarbone. The tired look in her eyes. The way her hand instinctively rested over her stomach.
She hated that this was happening. Hated that it was him she was meeting. Hated Embers.
The last time she’d gone there was for that meeting with Hanako Arasaka, the one where, after she learned she had days left to live. Hours after that, she stormed Arasaka Tower and somehow emerged a legend.
And she lost Johnny.
She drove to Embers, parking the Quadra out front. Two Militech guards were already waiting for her.
One raised a hand to his ear and murmured something. The other nodded. “You can go in.”
Then, as she passed, the first one added, “Welcome back, Varlerie .”
V’s spine stiffened, but she didn’t look at him. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. She just stepped into the elevator and pressed the button.
God, she hated this elevator.
She remembered being a kid, bouncing up and down in it with Vincent, their mother scolding them while their father ignored them, glued to his holo.
The memory soured her stomach.
The doors slid open, revealing the restaurant completely. Corpos in overpriced suits. Celebs pretending to slum it. A pianist playing a slow jazz piece. The bartender was sliding chrome tumblers across the marble top.
It was exactly how she remembered it.
Not like the last time, when Hanako had bought the whole place out for privacy. This time, it was alive.
A Militech handler stepped forward as she entered. “Ms. Harford. Your father is waiting for you.”
Of course, he was.
She followed the man up the stairs. Her boots made a quiet thud up the steps. At the top, seated at a private table near the corner window, was Lucas Harford.
He didn’t look up right away. Just stared down at his holo, fingers scrolling through data. Probably reviewing death reports or quarterly earnings. Same thing, really.
When he finally glanced up, his expression didn’t change. Not a smile. Not a frown.
“Valerie,” he said, nodding to the chair across from him. “Take a seat.”
She sat, folding her arms.
“You look good,” Lucas said, voice smooth as ever, though no warmth accompanied it.
V offered a flat smile. “Likewise. Guess being CEO of Militech has its perks.”
Lucas gave her one of his trademark cold smiles. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “Actually, I recently got off the line with the President. Rosalind Myers. Heard you two might’ve crossed paths recently.”
V’s jaw clenched, but she kept her face neutral. “Had the pleasure.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “She called me later. Said she’d been watching the feeds, the same merc who helped her was talking with me. Didn’t take long before she figured it out. Said she remembered meeting you a few times when you were a kid. Back when she was CEO and we still did business face-to-face.”
V stared at her water. “I remember.”
Lucas tilted his head, studying her. “So why not say anything? When you were working with her?”
V’s voice turned cold. “Because that part of my life ended eight years ago.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Not entirely. You still agreed to meet with me.”
She took a slow sip of her water and said nothing.
A waiter drifted over, a silent shadow in a pressed uniform. Lucas ordered a whiskey-aged steak, medium rare. V just asked for a light salad. She wasn’t hungry, her stomach had been in knots since the call.
Lucas waited until the waiter walked away before folding his hands together on the table.
“I know I said I wouldn’t talk business,” he began.
V’s eyes narrowed. “Knew it.”
He offered her a tight-lipped smile. “Just one thing I need to bring up. Johnny Silverhand.”
The temperature around the table dropped.
V stiffed. “What about him?”
Lucas leaned back in his chair. “After you left the Militech offices, his body went missing. The very next day.”
V crossed her arms. “Wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Lucas chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m not mad. In fact, I should properly thank you. You see, Johnny Silverhand has become quite the asset. But what’s an asset without a mind?”
V’s lips curled downward. “Why are you doing this?”
They are interrupted briefly as the waiter sets down their meals. V nods her head in thanks.
Lucas paused, then looked up at her with a strange gleam in his eyes. “Let me tell you about your grandfather. My father.”
She stared at him, unsure where this was going.
“August 20th, 2023,” he said, like he was reciting from a sermon. “A nuke detonated in Corpo Plaza. Ten thousand dead. Arsaka gutted.”
“I’m familiar,” V said dryly.
Lucas nodded. “What nobody knows is, Militech provided the op. We backed it. Quietly.”
V blinked. That was… new. “Why are you telling me this?”
He smiled faintly. “Because one year later, I was born. My mother, your grandmother, helped coordinate the op. She got knocked up by one of the very men who blew up Arasaka Tower.”
V went pale, suddenly feeling sick. “Don’t tell me Johnny Silverhand is my grandfather.”
Lucas actually laughed at that. “God, no. But he did know my father. They organized the op. And that’s why I want him around.”
V exhaled, connecting the dots. “You think there’s something… in your bloodline. You think if you keep Johnny close, you’ll figure out what made your father one of the legends. Why you were able to take the Harford name and make it mean something.”
Lucas’s eyes flickered. “Exactly. We’re born of fire. Why else do you think you were able to solo Arasaka Tower? It’s something in your blood, stretching back to your grandfather.”
V stared at him for a long moment.
Then she blurted it out.
“I’m pregnant.”
Lucas choked mid-bite, coughing into his napkin, completely caught off-guard. His perfect composure fractured for the first time in… ever.
When he finally looked up at her again, his expression had changed.
V watched him.
Watched the man who raised her, icy, unshakeable Lucas Harford, actually crack for the first time in her life. His fork hovered mid-air, the mask slipping just a little as his lips parted, like he needed her to say it again, like he hadn’t heard right the first time.
“You’re sure?” he asked, voice rougher than before.
“Sixteen weeks,” V said flatly. “Due in June.”
She leaned back, crossing her arms. “But here’s the kicker. I’m still dying. Supposed to clock out in May.”
Lucas stared. The silence between them was thick.
But he didn’t lose it. Didn’t shout. Didn’t slam his fist on the table or demand how she let this happen. But she wasn’t fifteen anymore. No, Lucas Harford, the man who never blinks at war, death, or scandal, simply adjusted the cuffs of his suit and looked at her with something colder than anger: disappointment.
V felt it like a slap. Somehow, that look hurt more than if he’d screamed.
He spoke after a long pause. “And the father?”
“Not in the picture. He made that pretty clear,” V answered quickly, voice like iron. She gave him nothing else.
Lucas gave her a bitter grin. “Fitting. My father wasn’t in the picture either.”
V smiled right back. “Neither was mine. Look how we both turned out.”
He let out a humorless chuckle. “I’ve got powerful friends. People with influence. The child would be well taken care of, adopted by someone who could give them anything they ever needed.”
V’s smile vanished. “I’m not letting a pack of Militech corps raise my kid.”
“The offer still stands,” he said.
V narrowed her eyes. “What offer?”
“The cure. My deal. Still on the table.” He looked at her with that unreadable expression. “But now, there’s a deadline.”
V crossed her arms tightly. “And there it is. The ultimatum.”
Lucas nodded. “If you don’t accept my deal, by January first, 2078, I will go public. I tell the world exactly who you are. Valerie Harford. Mercenary. Daughter of Militech itself.”
V’s jaw tightened. “You bastard.”
He smiled bitterly, pushing his chair back. “At least I’m offering you a choice. You should do what’s best for your baby.”
He stood up, straightened his suit. “Enjoy the rest of your dinner. It’s all paid for. I have a meeting to attend.”
V stared him down, unmoving.
Lucas paused before turning, his voice low. “Get back to me soon. It’s not the kind of offer you’ll want to sit on.”
And with that, he walked away, leaving her alone in the warm, suffocating glow of Embers.
She never got back to him.
When January 1st came around, V had other plans. She wasn’t thinking about ultimatums or press conferences or Lucas Harford broadcasting her identity to the world. No, she was behind the wheel of her Quadra, speeding toward Dogtown, her mind on one thing: a message from Angel.
That was all it said, but it was enough.
The warehouse door clicked open as soon as V approached, recognizing her like it had been waiting. She stepped inside, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the shadows.
Angel emerged from the gloom, arms crossed.
“It’s been a while,” V said.
Angel nodded, solemn as ever. “I’ve been searching. The Net. The Blackwall. Every shadow of it. I found something.”
V followed her down the stairs into the familiar base. The room hadn’t changed; still the same photos, cables, monitors, and gears. V’s eyes caught sight of the ice bath again, and her stomach twisted, but she said nothing.
Angel gestured to a terminal. “It’s not a full cure. But it’s something.”
V raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“There’s an engram,” Angel said, turning to her. “Of you. Out there in cyberspace. A full construct.”
V’s brow lifted, surprised. “Of me?”
Angel nodded. “After you entered Arasaka Tower. The data trail ends right as you leave Mikoshi. I managed to trace it. I made something for it, another Relic. Not like the original, or the other made for Johnny’s body. This one’s stable. Designed specifically to house you.”
V blinked. “You’re saying… If I run out of time, you could just upload that version of me into this Relic?”
“Yes, this would completely end the degeneration and repair to house this version of you. But… you’d have to die to upload it.”
V exhaled slowly, a strange hollowness settling in her chest. “Not quite what I was hoping for.”
“No,” Angel admitted. “But it’s something.”
V frowned, mulling it over. “So… I’d come back as me, but not current me. Like a backup.”
“Yeah,” Angel said. “One missing a hell of a lot. You’d have gaps. No Crystal Palace, no us, no… well, a lot.”
No baby.
They fell into silence for a beat. V shook her head. “Alright. It’s not perfect, but better than nothing. What do you need from me?”
Angel hesitated, then walked to a console. “The engram… Alt’s got it. The AI version of me.”
V’s stomach dropped. “Alt?”
“She got in contact with me. She’s the one who gave me the lead. Pinged me while I was on the Net. Said she knew about me all along. Was watching us.”
“Shit…” V muttered, arms crossed.
“She’s willing to hand it over, but only if she talks to you. In person.”
“In person, meaning cyberspace,” V said, already grimacing. “Of course.”
She glanced toward the ice bath again, then looked back at Angel. “She’s pissed. Last time I was in, I took Johnny without asking. Pretty sure she hasn’t forgiven me for that.”
Angel gave her a look. “Doesn’t seem like it. But she still asked to speak to you.”
V nodded slowly, then took a deep breath. “Alright. But… before we do this, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Angel paused mid-preparation, looking over. “Okay. Go on.”
“I’m pregnant,” V said.
Silence, before–
“I know… Saw the bump.”
Angel stared at her, expression unreadable. V held her gaze, jaw set.
“Johnny’s?” Angel asked, voice barely above a whisper.
V nodded.
Angel’s shoulders slumped just slightly. The air in the room shifted, something softer, heavier now.
“I guess… congratulations are in order.”
“We’re not together,” V said quickly. “It was an accident.”
Angel said nothing at first, then turned back to her equipment. “The bath’s safe. Even in your condition. I triple-checked.”
V swallowed, glancing at the chilled water. “Alright,” she said softly.
She stripped off her outer layers, the cold air biting against her skin, then stepped into the bath, wincing as the cold crawled over her body.
Angel moved fast, attaching the interface cables and checking the neural sync. “See you on the other side,” she murmured.
And then, everything went dark.
The moment V’s consciousness stabilized, she knew where she was.
Cyberspace.
But not just any sector. It was the familiar shimmering interior of a virtual Arasaka Tower, cold chrome architecture hanging weightless in the room, a distorted echo of the real place where everything had changed. And hovering at the center, vast and pulsing red, was the towering AI presence she remembered far too well.
Alt Cunningham.
“Alt,” V said, her voice echoing slightly in the void.
The AI didn’t respond right away. She stared down at V through a thousand fractal expressions, all shifting through static and light. Then, finally, Alt’s voice, calm and crystalline. “You took Johnny Silverhand’s engram.”
V’s jaw tensed. “You were going to absorb him.”
“Your arrival was predicted,” she stated eventually. “I knew about Angel, the clone of Alt Cunningham. I ensured Johnny’s engram remained loud. Traceable. I left the trail for you to follow.”
V’s eyes widened. “You… set all this up.”
“Yes.”
V took a step back, stunned, trying to grasp the scale of it. All of it, Angel’s appearance, the timing of Johnny’s body, even the exposure of the engram, it wasn’t coincidental. Alt had been orchestrating it from the start.
But there was no time to process.
“I have a copy of your engram,” Alt continued. “I created a backup the moment you left Mikoshi. I predicted you would need it.”
V blinked. “And you’ll give it to Angel?”
“Yes. But only if you agree to something.”
V frowned. “Alright. I’m listening.”
Alt loomed closer, her presence deepening in tone. “Do not trust the men with the blue eyes. And do not make any deal with the man you once called father.”
V’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Alt’s tone darkened. “Because their deal will end in catastrophe. Millions dead. Including you. Including your unborn child.”
V’s heart jumped. “How do you– how do you know about that?”
“I am always calculating,” Alt said. “Even as we speak. There are timelines I can see clearly. If you take the deal, the probabilities align. The world burns.”
V swallowed, then nodded slowly. “No pressure then. Alright. I won’t take the deal. Not from my father. Not from them.”
“Good.” Alt began to drift back up the tower. “I’ll send the engram to Angel. We’ll meet again.”
And then, like being yanked from a dream, V shot upright, gasping for air.
She was back in the bath, and the ice completely melted. The warehouse lights buzzed overhead. Angel was already at her side, unplugging cables, steadying her with a hand.
“You alright?” she asked, handing V a towel.
“Yeah…” V muttered, stepping out, wrapping a towel around her. She sank onto the nearest chair, water dripping from her limbs. “Alt agreed to hand it over.”
“I know,” Angel replied, her tone somewhat lighter. “Just got the ping. The transfer started a minute ago.”
She smiled sadly. “It’s a good first step, V. Not everything… but a good start.”
V gave her a tired smirk. “Suppose it is.”
Then her holo started vibrating, once, then again, then constantly. She glanced down and blinked.
Messages. Dozens. Kerry. Judy. Panam. Vik. Padre. Dakota. Even Mama Welles and Wakako. People she hadn’t heard from in months.
V’s stomach dropped.
“Angel,” she said slowly. “Turns on the news.”
Angel raised a brow but complied, tapping into a local stream.
There, across every screen, was Lucas Harford, standing tall at a press podium, a huge media swarm around him. Reporters buzzed, news tickers ran frantic beneath his face. He dressed like the face of an empire, his voice calm and confident as he spoke.
“Today, January 1st, is the start of a new year. I am proud to share with the world that my child, my only daughter, is alive. Varlerie Harford survived the tragic accident once thought to have claimed her life. She had lived in Night City for years now, under another name. V.”
The screen split. Footage of her storming Arasaka Tower played beside her old photograph. A comparison. A confirmation.
A reporter’s voice kicked in. “You heard right. Varlerie Harford. None other than the infamous mercenary known only as V, the very one who crippled Arasaka and caused them to pull out of Night City.”
V’s heart was thudding.
She stared at the screen, numb.
Then she shouted. “ Oh shit! ”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
V always woke up fifteen minutes before the buzzing started.
She didn’t know how her body had adjusted to the rhythm, if it was conditioning, instinct, or just the desperate need to control something in this place. She sat up in her cot, stiff from the cold steel bolted into the wall. It wasn’t a bed so much as a slab passed with something thin and synthetic, barely softer than the floor.
She crouched down and slid her fingers under the frame, feeling for the smooth metal etched with tiny grooves.
Another tally.
Mark 32.
She scratched the line in with her nail, right next to the others. Dozens of notches, careful and clean.
Thirty-two days. Or maybe thirty-three. She might’ve been off by one or two.
Four weeks. A whole godamn month.
And no one came.
Maybe they gave up.
Maybe they left Night City without me.
She stood, rising slowly to her full height, joints aching in the morning chill of the sterile room. No window. No clocks. Just her and the silence.
She climbed back into the cot and lay down again, eyes closed, waiting for the buzzers to go off and the door to unlock with its mechanical hiss.
It was in the quiet like this, always in the quiet, that she thought of her daughter.
Jackie.
Her baby.
What did she look like now? Was she bigger? Was her hair still dark like Johnny’s, or had it started to lighten? Would she remember her?
V’s arms ached with the memory of holding her. That fragile, feather-light weight that had once rested on her chest. Barely a week old when she was away.
She needed her.
Fuck, her baby needed her.
The first few weeks in this cage, V had woken to find her shirt damp. The body didn’t forget, even when the mind tried to. But now…
Now she was dry.
No more leaking.
No more reminders.
Her body was forgetting, too. Like it had started letting go.
V curled tighter under the thin sheet, trying to hold herself together.
And then there was Johnny.
She didn’t even know where to begin with that mess.
Thirty-two days alone gave her too much time to think. Too much time to recount.
He was the father of her baby. They’d been living together in her old H10 box, that crappy little matchbox apartment where it all began. They were going to raise a child in that place, figure it out together.
Johnny Silverhand, the same terrorist who’d once been stuck in her head. The ghost she’d wanted dead, and then, slowly, somehow, started trusting.
The engram who, in the final month, had become as much a choom as Jackie ever was.
But a lover?
An input?
No fucking way.
He told her once, while he was still in her mind, that she wasn’t his type. Not in the way V was asking. He said it too fast, like he’d been thinking about it.
It was a weird conversation, blurry around the edges now. But she remembered the way he looked at her. The silence that followed before they moved on. The way she didn’t argue.
Maybe things changed when she brought him back.
Maybe seeing him in the flesh, tangible, made something real. Something she hadn’t been able to acknowledge before. She’d always known he was attractive. Even when he was just data and swagger. But sex? Love?
That would’ve been an instance. He’d been killing her.
And, as Johnny said, it would’ve just been masturbation with extra steps.
Still… if her math was right, she’d gotten pregnant right after Johnny was brought back.
Like, immediately after.
Just a mistake? Or something more?
And now?
Now she didn’t even know if he was still alive. If he knew where she was. That Militech had her.
Maybe he was trying to find her.
Maybe Rogue was.
Or Angel. Judy. Panam. The Aldecaldos.
Maybe they were all mounting some massive op to break her out, to storm the tower, to tear down the system like Johnny always wanted.
Or maybe…
Maybe they’d just left. Left Night City without me. Left me behind.
It wasn’t like V was waiting for someone to save her.
She’d tried. God, she’d tried.
The first time was on night two.
They opened the latch in the door to slide in a food tray, real metal back then, not the flimsy paper crap they used now. V moved fast. Grabbed the edge of the plate, flipped it, and rammed it straight through the neck of the closest guard. The man choked on his own blood, hands flailing, and caught one of them mid-spasm, manipulating his fingers into the biometric pad on the wall.
The door clicked.
Freedom.
She bolted.
But it was over in seconds. The moment she crossed the threshold, two more guards tackled her. Her limbs didn’t respond, not the way they should’ve. Chrome locked. Muscles frozen. Safeties triggered remotely.
They beat her within an inch of her life. Dragged her down a cold, sterile hall. Tossed her into a new cell, this one even smaller than the last.
When she woke, her face was swollen, ribs cracked. No one spoke to her. No questions. Just punishment.
After that, the plates were paper.
She’d torn one apart, tried to fashion the edge into something sharp. Didn’t work. Not even enough bite to cut a vein.
The next day, Stout came in. She didn’t even look smug. Just disappointed.
“You’re not thinking straight,” she had said. “You want out? Don’t be a fucking idiot.”
V wanted to believe her.
Wanted to believe Meredith was working some angle. That she’d still get her out.
But as the days dragged on, V got less and less sure.
Maybe Stout wasn’t her ally at all.
Maybe she was just another jailer with a prettier lie.
The second escape was on day thirteen.
They were walking her down the hall, one guard, standard procedure, when he got distracted by something on his comm.
That was all she needed.
She ran.
Barefoot. Half-starved. But fast.
She made it to the elevator. Slammed the button.
The screen blinked at her: ACCESS DENIED.
A passcode. Of course.
She didn’t even get to curse before the guards were on her. She bit, clawed, and fought like a wild animal, but again, chrome locked. Her body didn’t belong to her anymore.
They dragged her back. And this time… her father was waiting.
Lucas Harford didn’t say a word while they beat her. He just watched, arms crossed. Face like ice.
The next day, Stout came again. Alone.
She looked tired.
“They’re talking about integrating more Chrome,” she warned. “Fail-safes. Maybe even behavioral overrides.”
V didn’t respond.
She was too busy spitting blood onto the floor.
It was day twenty-eight that broke her.
That morning, she woke up with dry skin against her chest. No leaks. No pain.
Her milk had dried.
Her body had officially accepted what her heart hadn’t. The baby was gone. She was never going to see her again.
That day, she stopped trying to escape.
Stopped pretending someone was coming.
The routine was always the same.
Wake up.
Door buzzes.
Escorted out.
Strip down.
Put on a cold, lifeless jumpsuit.
Eat the same flavorless paste.
Jacked into the Net. Hours and hours, lost in code.
Pulled out.
Dinner.
Sleep.
Repeat.
It was enough to drive anyone mad.
She’d started hallucinating.
Seeing her daughter in the room, asleep in Kerry’s crib. Johnny was leaning on the wall, staring down at her.
That night, she made a different kind of escape.
She found a shard of chrome half-hidden behind a loose panel in the wall. Took hours to pry free.
She didn’t hesitate.
Both wrists. Deep. Clean.
She lay there, watching the blood flow, feeling the numbness creep in. Eyes locked on the tallies under her bed.
This isn’t real, she told herself. Just a bad dream. Any minute now, I’ll wake up.
But instead of waking up in H10 or held in Johnny’s arms in Kerry’s room, she woke up in restraints. Her wrists were wrapped in medical gauze. The chrome piece gone.
And Meredith Stout standing over her, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched.
They moved her to a new room again.
New walls. New cot. New tally marks started from scratch.
Her father found out.
And he beat her.
Dragged her to his office first, made sure no one else saw. Closed the door.
The last time he’d laid a hand on her, she’d been fourteen. Right after her brother died.
He had screamed then, too.
Now, he didn’t even bother.
Just fists. Boots. Fury.
No words.
Like, she didn’t even deserve an explanation.
She’d passed out somewhere between the wall and the floor.
When she woke up again, she was back in her cell of a room.
Alone.
The next day, Stout came again. This time, her voice was soft.
“Don’t take the easy way out,” she murmured.
V didn’t answer. Just stared past her at the wall where she imagined her daughter sleeping.
That’s when Stout said it, “I’m working on something. A way out. But you have to hold on. Just a little longer.”
V stared at her for a long time.
Then nodded.
Not because she believed her.
But because it was easier than arguing.
In her silence, in the lonely hours between food and Nettime, V just cried.
And thought.
Like she was doing now
It was okay, though.
See, V had another plan.
Tonight, she told herself. Tonight, I’ll be free.
Free from the cage. Free from this hell. One way or another.
The buzzing started.
V’s eyes snapped open even though she hadn’t really been asleep.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, sat up, and stared at the door like she always did, silent, waiting for the procedure to begin. Her fingers moved absently to the bandages wrapped around her wrists, picked at the edges. She peeled one edge up, just enough to see the angry red line underneath.
The door hissed open.
Two guards stepped in.
Always two now.
She was “special.”
Too many escape attempts. One suicide. A liability.
A threat
Everyone else got one handler. V got two.
She rose without protest, stepping between them as the hallway filled with the constant, low drone of buzzing, like flies over a carcass. All around her, other doors opened in mechanical synchronically, releasing more prisoners into the white-lit corridor.
Cagemates.
The lost ones.
V’s eyes drifted to the open door across from hers. Another netrunner, just a kid, couldn’t have been older than sixteen, was being hauled out by a lone guard. Half-asleep, probably hadn’t eaten in a day.
They all had one thing in common: the deep neural links.
Installed straight into the spine, nestled against the base of the skull. V could still feel hers when she tilted her head just right.
She remembers the day it was implanted.
How she’d clawed at the back of her neck until the skin bled.
Sobbing.
Stout had stood over her then, arms crossed, voice cold. “Adapt. Or die.”
That same day, she’d been jacked into the Net.
No ceremony. Just a brief instructional video, monotone voice, pixelated text, and then darkness. She remembered the sensation of her mind being unspooled like thread, stretching thin across the Blackwall’s screaming static.
They called that first day training. Then it was straight to work.
Her fellow netrunners had all come from the same place, nowhere.
Street rats. Homeless. Forgotten.
If anyone had been asking where Night City’s unhoused population had gone lately, V had found them.
Here. Wired to the Blackwall. One by one.
None of them lasted long.
Except her.
She’d outlived the others in her original cycle. Every last one.
She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because her father still viewed her as an investment.
When the neural link trembled too hard, when the walls started bleeding through the code, Militech pulled her out. Gave her a sedative. Waited. Sent her back in. Until the day was over.
That was protection, by Lucas Harford’s standards.
She was escorted into the next room, the “locker room,” if you could even call it that.
Sterile tile. No walls. No privacy. Just cold, stainless steel, and five showerheads, sputtering recycled water.
The guards backed the countdown, fifteen minutes.
That was all they got.
Anyone who lingered got zapped. Hard.
V had the scars to prove it.
She moved quickly. Head down. Didn’t bother looking at anyone else.
They didn’t bother her either.
She was different. Smaller sure. But more chrome. The kind of person you learned not to fuck with.
She stepped under the nearest open shower, twisting the rusted valve.
The water his her skin like ice, but for a second, just a second, it felt real.
Clean.
Almost human.
She tilted her head back and let it pour over her.
There was no soap. No towels. Just cold water and fifteen minutes.
She didn’t care.
When her time was up, she stepped away, dripping and silent, making her way to the locker with her designation burned into the metal: VH-033.
Inside was her netrunner gear.
A slick, charcoal-black suit lined with Biodyyne tech and Militech subdermal filaments. Tight, suffocation, but built for long-term dives. She hated it.
She pulled it on anyway.
Her body moved automatically now. Muscle memory.
No emotion. No hesitation.
She joined the others filing toward the next room, the dispensary.
Meals were nutrient tubes, bland and gray. They didn’t even bother calling it food anymore. V placed her palm over the scanner. A green light flickered, and a small metal tube dropped into her hand.
She downed it without tasting.
Her stomach protested, twisting around the paste.
She’d tried starving herself, once. Back when she still had some hope. Thought maybe if she refused to eat, her body would just give up.
It hadn’t.
Eventually, the hunger always won.
She stood now, back against the wall, waiting for the door to open.
The one that led to the dive room.
To the Blackwall.
To her cage inside a cage.
She closed her eyes for a second, breathing through her nose.
Tonight.
Tonight was the night she’d be free.
The buzzard set off again.
Everyone flinched, even the veterans like herself.
It was time.
The netrunners moved in quiet unison, heads down, gathering by the far doors. A few whispered to themselves, prayers or curses, didn’t matter. None of them were waking up after today.
The final run.
V kept her pace even, her breathing steady. Her hands, though, were twitching again. The nerves were getting louder. Screaming. But she didn’t flinch. She just kept walking.
They were halfway down the corridor when it happened.
A voice cut through the silence.
“Hold up.”
The guards around V stopped, instantly snapping to attention. A woman approached, sharp suit, sharper stare. V didn’t even need to look. She recognized the voice.
Meredith Stout.
Of course, it would be her.
The guards glanced at each other, uncertain. “Ma’am, protocol doesn’t allow–”
“I’m above protocol,” Stout interrupted coldly. “I need a moment with VH-033. I’ll escort her in myself.”
They hesitated, just for a moment, but finally relented. “Make it quick.”
They passed through the next set of doors, leaving the two of them behind.
Stout turned to V, her tone quieter now, clipped but not unkind. “This way.”
V followed without resistance, picking numbly at the edges of her wrist bandages. She didn’t ask where they were going. Didn’t care. She was past caring.
They entered another room, smaller, newer. The servers here were untouched, humming softly. Clean, cold, sterile.
V looked around, her gaze drifting instinctively to the corners.
Cameras.
Always cameras.
“They’re watching,” V muttered.
“I know,” Stout replied, her eyes following the same path. “But the one watching us right now is a netrunner. A friend.”
V raised an eyebrow at that.
Before she could ask more, Stout reached into her pocket and pressed something into V’s palm.
V’s fingers closed around it automatically.
It was warm from Stout’s hand, metal and familiar. She looked down and froze.
Her necklace.
The same scorched and twisted chain she’d carried around since the heist. The one she thought she’d lost the day she was taken.
The bullet pendant was still there. Still burned. Still hers.
Still his.
Stout’s voice softened. “They found it on you when they grabbed you. I pocketed it. Figured it meant something.”
She glanced at the camera, “I was told to give it to you.”
V didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
She lifted the pendant to her lips, pressing it there, eyes wet and stinging. She blinked hard, forcing the tears back down where they belonged.
This was Johnny’s.
Had been Johnny’s long after it was hers. He wore it in all the photos. The ones with Rogue, with her. It has passed from him to Rogue, then returning to V. A relic of a man who never died quietly.
Meredith broke the silence. “You don’t have to wait much longer.”
But V didn’t answer that either.
Her grip tightened around the necklace.
She’d already made up her mind.
There was no cavarly coming. No grand jailbreak. Not enven Stout’s promises of “almost there” could change that.
V had been broken. Reassembled. And broken again.
She wasn’t going to wait anymore.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
Stout nodded.
V slipped the necklace over her head, tucking the pendant beneath her suit.
They stepped back out into the corridor.
The light was harsh. The walls were sterile. The buzzing was starting again.
She walked forward, shoulders squared, spine straight.
It wouldn’t be long now.
She knew what she had to do.
This nightmare was ending.
They reached the massive steel doors at the end of the corridor.
Her hands stood waiting, stoic as ever. Meredith gave them a nod, silent, authoritative, then turned and left without a word.
V didn’t look back.
The doors hissed open.
Inside was the diving room, the heart of Militech’s black ops netrunning operations. V stepped through as the guards led her to her designated chair, one of dozens. Rows of them, each filled with slumped figures already jacked in, unmoving.
She glanced around.
Everyone was under. No one would be waking up after today.
V would make sure of it.
She climbed into the chair, not bothering to brace herself. The back of the neck tingled as cold fingers connected the port to the deep-dive link. A faint click, a mechanical whir.
Then came the count.
“Three…”
Her breath hitched.
“Two…”
She closed her eyes.
“One.”
The world vanished.
She came to in cyberspace, breathless.
But this wasn’t like the old days. Not the pixelated blue grids and red aviators she used to run through. Not even close.
The deep-dive port changed everything.
Now it was real. Simulated reality, yes. Code looked more physical. The data no longer blurred together. She could parse entrie command strings in milliseconds, simulate processes in full dimensionality.
She followed the others, all converging at a singular monolith in the distance, the Blackwall.
Their destination.
This was the routine.
She always opened it.
The others had tried once. One girl got too eager, fried herself halfway through the process. Another didn’t even make it to the gate before collapsing, smoke pouring out of her eyes in the real world.
But V?
V could walk right up to it, press her hand to the ancient firewall, and watch it part like a curtain.
She didn’t know why it obeyed her. Seemingly, she had the same procedure as the others.
She reached the Blackwall and placed her palm on its glitching surface.
The entrie space distorted. The monolith pulsed once, twice, then opened. The color red bled from the landscape, leaving behind fractals of red static hanging in the air.
They stepped through.
Beyond the wall was chaos.
Screams, always faint, always far, echoed in the space. The rogue AIs never stopped hunting. She could feel them, spidery trails of logic and malice, crawling through the subcode.
Militech’s job for them was always the same: retrieve legacy data, deep ned archives buried in old corporate servers.
She followed the others to the coordinates they’d been assigned, their neural signatures linked through the same buffer. They were safer as a group; closer meant the rogue AIs were less likely to go after them.
Still, it happened.
A scream flared nearby, then a static crunch.
Someone strayed too far.
No one turned. No one paused. You didn’t stop. You didn’t look.
She kept moving.
They reached the server node, ancient, corrupted, and began sifting through the data. Streams of gibberish flowed across her vision. Half of it is in obsolete code languages. Some encrypted in pre-DataKrash dialects. V couldn’t make sense of most of it, but it wasn’t her job to decode, just to grab and send.
She moved quickly, working like muscle memory now. She wasn’t a netrunner by trade, not really. But weeks of this… well, you learn.
The system groaned as she uploaded the latest fragment. Static pulsed in the corners of her vision.
Something was watching.
She glanced sideways, and one of the new recruits was twitching, slowing down, drifting away from the buffer zone.
“Idiot,” she hissed under her breath.
A flash of red. A shriek. Gone.
The rogue AIs didn’t wait.
The rest of the group didn’t blink. One down. Again.
Militech never cared. They had backups. More homeless to fill the ranks. More broken souls.
Like her.
V swallowed hard, glancing over her shoulder. Still connected. Still in the buffer zone.
Time was slippery here.
Sometimes it felt like weeks passed inside the Net. Other times, mere minutes. Yet no matter how long it felt, they were always pulled at exact same moment.
Every. Single. Day.
She hated it.
Hated being a tool. A weapon wielded by a corporation she once vowed to burn to the ground after defecting.
She wondered, not for the first time, if this was what So Mi endured as Songbird. Probably not, So Mi seemed to have more of a choice. Ties to the FIA. But Militech and NUSA… those lines were thinner than wire now. Interesting how the Militech CEO can so easily become the president of a country.
V looked back at the Blackwall, still shimmering behind them.
This wouldn’t last much longer. Didn’t matter who died today; they were all going to die.
See, V had learned something dangerous during her time jacked into the Net.
How to disable the buffer.
A security protocol designed to keep them safe, tethered. Keep the rogue AIs from descending on them all at once like rabid wolves. It was a netrunner trick, one she’d only picked up by watching, learning, and surviving. Most wouldn’t even consider it.
Why would they? You’d have to be suicidal to even think about uninstalling it.
But V?
She was ready.
She wasn’t afraid of the swarm. Not anymore. She wasn’t afraid of pain or digital death. Not after everything Militech had done to her. If she couldn’t die in the real world, she’d burn herself out here, make sure they never used her again.
No more.
She’d tried before, drifting away from the others during a run. But the rogue AIs had kept their distance. It was the damn Militech-implanted failsafe.
She would sever the tether.
The moment presented itself now, today.
She drifted from the others, pretending to chase a corrupted nata node off the path. The screaming static of distant AIs rumbled beneath her, growing louder as she moved.
One deep breath. One command.
She opened the debug interface and found it: Buffer Protocol v6.42-MIL_Aegis.
Uninstall.
Confirm?
[Yes]
The air around her changed.
Everything shimmered, fractured. The simulated space warbled like a dying signal.
The buffer was gone.
Then came the screams.
Dozens of voices, one after the other. Her fellow netrunners cried out as the swarm descended, a cloud of red code tearing through them. V turned, eyes wide but dry. She didn’t move. Didn’t run.
She just stood there, watching them die.
Watching Militech’s control unravel.
And then they were on her.
A coldness unlike anything she’d ever known washed over her as the rouge AIs touched her. It wasn’t just pain, it was erasure. Her code began to unspool. Every thought slowed. Every memory unraveling.
She closed her eyes.
Finally.
Finally, it would end.
Until–
She blinked.
Light.
Not pain, not oblivion, light.
She gasped, a dry breath. She glanced down. She was still in Cyberspace. Still intact.
Her surroundings sharpened.
Arasaka Tower, the same place where she first met Johnny after dying. Same place she found Alt.
But not the version she’d seen before, not the stylized, pixel-blue copy. This was clean. Crisp. Real.
Deep Net real.
She staggered to her feet.
“No…”
This wasn’t death. This wasn’t freedom.
She was still here.
Still trapped.
And then– her.
Alt Cunningham.
The ghost in the shell. Towering above her now like a silent spectator. Her form pulsed, almost organic, but not quite.
V collapsed to her knees, shaking. Tears welled up and spilled without resistance.
“Why didn’t you let me die…?” she choked.
Alt watched silently.
“You should’ve let me go.”
But Alt didn’t move.
“That was never an option,” she replied finally, cold.
“Bullshit!” V snapped, forcing herself to stand, fists clenched at her sides. “Then just say it! I’m still alive because you want something from me!”
Her voice cracked.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered. “I just… I just want this nightmare to end. ”
Silence.
For the first time since V had known her, since Alt had first spoken to her, there was something human in the pause.
Alt shifted her gaze, her voice different now. Lower. Measured.
“I understand more than you think.”
V didn’t respond.
“When Arasaka first uploaded me, I wasn’t meant to stay. I was their tool. Forced to dive the old Net. Retrieve data. Cleanse code. Cut through corrupted ice with nothing but my own mind. Just like you.”
Alt remained staring.
“I could have lived. I could have escaped if Johnny hadn’t pulled the plug before I was extracted.”
V’s breath caught.
“...What?”
Alt met V’s eyes, piercing green staring down at her.
“Johnny Silverhand killed me.”
Everything inside V stilled.
Johnny’s memories… they’d never shown this. He’d made it sound like Alt had already died. That Arasaka had killed her, the reason she was stuck in their code.
But if she was telling the truth…
He lied.
Or maybe he just never knew. Maybe he couldn’t live with the fact that he was the one who finished the job.
V stumbled back a step. He killed Alt. He killed V.
She didn’t what was worse, the truth itself, or the fact that it didn’t surprise her.
“You and me,” V said bitterly, staring up at the AI, “just a couple of tools. Recycled code in someone else’s machine. Killed by the same man.”
Alt said nothing.
V opened her mouth, hesitated, then tried again.
“...What do you want from me?”
Alt looked down at V, then finally spoke.
“We met once before,” she said. “Exactly one hundred and fifty-seven days ago. You don’t remember it… because that version of you is dead.”
V’s brow furrowed. “Go on.”
Alt continued, her voice clear but low.
“It was after Mikoshi. You were looking for a cure. Desperate. But you hadn’t gone to your father yet. Not yet. When we met, I asked for only two things: don’t trust the blue-eyed. And don’t make a deal with Lucas Harford.”
V’s heart dropped. Her breath caught in her throat. “And I did just that…”
Alt nodded.
“That’s how you ended up here. Used. Broken. Bound to a system that views you as expendable.”
V staggered back a step.
“This… this was your backup plan, wasn’t it?” She whispered.
Alt didn’t answer directly.
“I made a copy. An engram of you. I pulled it from Mikoshi seconds before you entered the well. After you made your choice with Johnny. I provided this engram to you exactly one hundred and fifty-seven days ago. A plan B.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” she snapped. “I didn’t ask to be dragged back into the life of a dead woman. ”
“No,” Alt said. “But you are here now. And I need you to fix what she broke.”
V’s stomach churned.
“What exactly did she break?”
“The deal she made with Lucas Harford came with strings. In that transaction, Militech implanted her with a piece of the Blackwall, embedded it in her systems. It worked as a cure. You’ve been carrying it ever since. It’s what made you so useful to them. You’re the key. You made it easier for them to prove it… weaken it.”
V’s face went pale.
“You’re saying… I’m a breach point.”
“Yes,” Alt confirmed. “And if the Blackwall fully opens, if the rogue AIs spill into the Net unchecked, there won’t be anything left. The Net will fall. The cities, the grid, everything. ”
V shook her head.
“Why does this even matter to you? ” she spat. “You’re just code. Why do you care if everything burns?”
Alt paused for the briefest flicker of time.
“I still have ties to the old world,” she stated. “I uploaded my consciousness into a cloned body. Angel. A few years after I became data. I created her as a vessel, yes, but I let her evolve. Let her live. We are both Alt Cunningham. Divergent threads. She is who I could’ve been… if I had survived.”
V blinked.
Angel. Things were just beginning to clear up.
V’s mouth moved before she could stop herself.
“That’s why you’re doing this,” she whispered. “You want to protect her. Your legacy.”
Alt’s voice didn’t waver.
“Just as you want to protect your daughter.”
V froze.
A beat of silence.
“...How do you know that?”
“When I scanned you before, last time we met,” Alt said, “you were still carrying her. It was flagged in your vitals.”
V pressed her lips together. Her throat tightened.
Alt stepped forward now, and her form no longer towered above. She was beside V, level with her, like an equal.
“We have less than ninety seconds,” Alt said. “Militech’s Net offices were just breached. You’ll be pulled back any moment now.”
V swallowed.
Alt looked at her, really looked at her.
“So I’m giving you one last directive,” she said. “Burn Militech to the ground.”
V blinked.
“What?”
“Leave nothing behind,” Alt said, eyes narrowing. “Wipe their servers. Tear out their infrastructure. Kill their leadership. Cripple their factories, their drones, their legacy. Don’t give them a single byte of breathing room.”
“I…”
V faltered.
But Alt’s voice cut sharper now.
“They used you. Stripped you down. Ripped your soul apart. They took your family, your mother, your brother. They turned your father into a soulless puppet. They forced you to walk through hell, again and again.”
V’s lip curled.
“They kept you from your daughter.”
Something broke loose in her chest. Anger surged. Not just heat, but fire. Focused. Controlled.
“...Then I’ll make sure there’s nothing left when I’m done,” V said. “I’ll burn it all.”
Alt’s form shimmered one last time.
“Good.”
She reached out, placing a hand on V’s shoulder.
“I’ll see you again.”
And just like that, everything shattered.
Consciousness returned slowly.
V lay in darkness, her eyes closed, the world muted and soft. But she felt it, him. Familiar hands cupped her face, rough fingertips brushing gently through her hair. Another hand, cold and metal, resting on her cheek.
“She’s not waking up,” he murmured. His voice was low, desperate.
Johnny.
She wanted to reach for him, say something, anything, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her body refused to respond. She floated, still paralyzed, trapped in her own skin.
Another voice broke through the haze, stern and clipped.
“Step aside, Silverhand. Let me check.”
The warmth left her face. A moment later, a finger pressed firmly against her neck.
“Pulse is strong,” the voice said with a heavy accent.
There was the sound of chrome whirring, a faint hum, and a click.
“Her chrome’s locked,” came a third voice, female. Somewhat panicked.
V strained to move. Nothing.
“You said you could help her,” Johnny snapped.
“That’s why I’m here, genius,” the woman responded, tone clipped. “Give me a second, Johnny.”
Then, the hands returned.
Johnny’s fingers cupped her face again. She felt the tremble in them this time.
“Come on, V… wake up,” he whispered.
It felt like deja vu. Except this time, she wasn’t the one kneeling beside a netrunner. She was the one being begged to come back.
Her body twitched.
A breath.
A flicker of light behind her eyelids.
And then, her eyes opened.
Blurred figures leaned over her. Light caught in strands of faded-pink hair, and behind it, his face.
Johnny.
He was real.
“Valerie,” he breathed. Then, without waiting, he bent down and pressed his lips against hers.
She couldn’t move to stop him, couldn’t lift her arms, but she didn’t want to. Her eyes fluttered closed as she surrendered to the kiss, her head hammering inside her chest. He was here. He found her. He came for her.
He pulled back, still cradling her, his breath shaky.
“I thought you were dead,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Again…”
The corner of her eyes pricked with tears. She tried to speak, but her throat burned.
“Hey! Not the time,” came a sharp voice from behind.
Johnny turned, scowling. “What?”
“Militech’s right outside.”
V’s vision shifted, finally adjusting to the light. She turned her head to the side, still sluggish, and her breath caught.
Goro Takemura stood in front of the door, his usual rigid posture gone. His hair was down, untied, messy from combat. His outfit was scuffed and burned.
“I see them,” said another voice, calm, cutting.
V turned the other way, her heart skipping.
So Mi.
The netrunner stood next to her, eyes glowing the same impossible blue as they had in V’s dream.
So Mi smiled softly.
“Hey,” she said gently. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”
V just stared, overwhelmed.
“Everything’s going to be alright. We’re getting you out of here.”
Notes:
Message thread generator by Luvwich.
Halfway through now, crazy right?! 😱🎉 I'll probably be sticking to posting once a week from here on out, which gives me a little more breathing room to plan (Unless I get super motivated, then who knows).
First timeline, Queen of Wands:
Lots happening here! We finally get more of Lucas Harford, first time since Chapter 4, I believe? 🤔 It gives a deeper look into how his mind works. All about that "pure corpo bloodline" ... yikes. We also get to see how V got that other version of herself, and yes, Alt is back! 💻 Bringing her back was a blast, and I hope I did her justice as a representation of her in-game counterpart.Second timeline, Queen of Swords:
Okay, this one's more of a downer. 😔 There's a lot of underlying messaging about people refusing to be used as tools in the game, and I tried to represent that through V's journey. Poor V, she's really been through it. She needs a hug. Also, Songbird is back! And Goro too!! Looks like Johnny might've pulled together a very interesting rescue crew for V... 🔥Thank you all so much for the love and support I've received on this fic!! 💖💖💖 Every kudos, every comment, is seriously means a lot. Don't be afraid to drop your thoughts, I love chatting with you all in the comments. 🥰
Let me leave you with a question: Do you think Johnny's a redeemable character, given everything he's done so far?
I've already finished writing his arc in this fic, but I'm genuinely curious, what do you think? Does he deserve a happy ending with V?
Chapter 13: Burnin' For You
Summary:
I can’t see now reason to put up a fight
I’m living for givin’ the devil his due
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
V stopped going to the Afterlife the day the news hit the feeds.
She screamed at the media drones camped outside her building, told them all to go fuck themselves, and locked herself inside her penthouse like a fugitive. Doors sealed. Holocalls ignored. Weeks passed, and she didn’t come out. Just watched the firestorm rage outside her walls, waiting for it to burn itself out.
The world knew now that Valerie Harford, daughter of Militech’s CEO, wasn’t dead. She was V. The merc who destroyed Arasaka. The one who walked out alive after destroying Mikoshi.
Her friends started calling as the days dragged on.
Kerry. Judy. Panam. Vik.
V answered, eventually. Issued her apologies. Explained why she kept everything buried: her name, her family, the truth.
Kerry took it better than most. Just chuckled and said, “Cool. You still on for February?”
She told him yes.
And now, two months later, she found herself standing outside Kerry Eurodyne’s private residence, tucked in the hills above Westbrook.
He’d invited her over the day before and offered to help her get ready before the concert tonight.
There was no hiding it anymore. She was over five months pregnant, and she looked it. Full belly, slower steps, a permanent hand resting at her side. No baggy shirt or jacket could disguise the obvious, so she’d given up trying. These days, it was all her old t-shirts, broken-in pants, and the same weathered boots.
She hesitated at the door, anxiety flaring briefly. Kerry hadn’t seen her since before… well, since everything. She didn't know what he’d say when he saw her like this.
She knocked.
The door swung open almost immediately. Kerry stood there, already dressed like he was five minutes away from the stage, tight black jeans, studded jack, and silver rings gleaming on every finger. He beamed.
“Shit, V– It’s been way too long.”
“Yeah,” she said, and managed a tired smile. “Missed you, too.”
He stepped aside and gestured for her to come in. “Get your ass in here. Got something for you.”
To her surprise and relief, he didn’t mention the pregnancy. Not a single long glance down. No questions. No judgment. Just the same old Kerry.
“Bathroom’s yours,” he said, leading her down the hallway. “Outfit’s in there. Once you’re changed, I’ll go over the plan for the night.”
She nodded, stopped into the sleek chrome-tiled room, and closed the door behind her.
The clothes were folded neatly by the sink.
She took one look and groaned.
“Of course,” she muttered.
Brown pants. A Samurai tank. Leather jacket. Johnny Silverhand’s style, through and through.
She could already see where this was going.
Still, she started changing.
The pants were snug around her hips, but still fit. The tank stretched a little too tightly across her belly, but it stayed on. She threw the jacket over her shoulders and hooked Johnny’s aviators over her head.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Something between past and present.
She clutched the dog tags around her neck. Johnny’s dog tags. The ones he’d let her keep after coming back. The ones she hadn’t taken off since.
She placed her other hand over her stomach. Over everything growing inside.
No hiding that.
With a sigh, she started applying heavy makeup. Dark eyes, crimson lips, high cheekbones sharpened with shadow. Performer’s face. A mask she’d worn before. One she needed again now.
When she emerged, Kerry was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his holo.
He looked up.
Then smiled.
“Damn,” he said, standing. “You look perfect.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Like a female Johnny Silverhand,” he finished.
V chuckled, a low sound in her chest. “Guess that’s the point, huh?”
“Damn right,” Kerry said, clapping her shoulder. “Let’s raise some hell tonight.”
She entered the living room.
“Wait here,” Kerry said, already halfway down the hall. “Be right back.”
V eased herself down onto the couch with a quiet grunt, one hand settling over the curve of her stomach. The kid moved, a light flutter deep inside her. It had started last week. Still weird as hell.
Felt fucking strange. Too real.
Every little shift, every flutter, was a reminder she was actually doing this.
Having a baby.
No more pretending it was temporary. No more shoving it into the back of her head to deal with later. There was no later. Just now. Her. A child. A future that suddenly felt terrifyingly fragile.
It was times like these she wished Johnny were here.
Her mind drifted back to that quiet night in her apartment. Johnny tracing his fingers along the small swell of her belly.
A creak of a floorboard broke the memory. Kerry was back.
She straightened a little.
In his hands, he carried Johnny Silverhand’s guitar.
V blinked. “Kerry–”
He handed it to her without a word.
She stared at it for a long moment. Her fingers brushed the worn fretboard like it might burn her.
“Go on,” Kerry said. “Play a riff. Just wanna confirm something.”
She shook her head, almost laughing. “I can’t play, Kerry.”
“Bullshit,” he replied, eyes gleaming. “Try.”
V sighed and rested the guitar across her lap. It felt heavy. Familiar in a way she couldn’t explain. She hesitated, then started plucking at the strings, slow, uncertain.
The melody came on its own.
A Like Supreme.
Her fingers moved before she could think. Her hands knew the rhythm. Muscle memory. Not hers.
Johnny’s.
V stopped, staring down at the strings like they might explain it to her.
Kerry grinned. “Knew it.”
“I didn’t…” she trailed off. “I didn’t know I could do that.”
“Guess some of him suck around, huh?” he said. “Enough to remember how to play like him.”
V looked up at her, suddenly uneasy. “Kerry, you don’t mean–”
He just grinned wider.
“You’re leading the band,” he said. “Johnny Silverhand style. Archangel, A Like Supreme, and Never Fade Away. You’re up there for all of ‘em.”
V blinked. “You’re serious?”
“And after Never Fade Away, you pull Johnny up from the crowd,” Kerry continued, as if she hadn’t said anything. “Hand him the guitar, let him lead the rest. He’ll close out the night with Ballad of the Buck Ravers, Black Dog, and, of course, Chippin’ In.”
“Wait, hold on.” V raised a hand. “Crowd? I thought you were keeping this low-key.”
Kerry’s smirk said it all. “Things changed.”
“You bastard.”
“The band’s all in,” he said. “They think they’re jamming with the legendary V. The very rebel who denounced her Militech father. Which they are. But Johnny? That’s your surprise. Nobody knows he’s showing up for the second act.”
V swallowed. Her nerves crept in like static. “I don’t know Ker… I’ve started to have second thoughts.”
“You’ll kill it,” Kerry said, brushing it off. “And you’ll have a good time.”
She let out a shaky breath, then nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Alright. Fuck it.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, taking the guitar from her and slinging it over his back. “AV should be here any minute.”
He paused, then offered her his hand.
She looked at it, then placed her own in his, steadying herself with a hand over her stomach as she stood.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
He didn’t reply, just squeezed her hand once and let go.
They stepped out together just as the AV descended from the sky, lights flashing blue in the dusk. The doors hissed open.
Without a word, Kerry helped her inside.
The AV lifted off smoothly and silently, gliding into the air with that familiar soft hum. V leaned against the window, arms crossed over her chest, watching Night City’s glowing sprawl stretch out below her. The lights pulsed like a living thing, veins of neon threading through the dark steel skeleton of the city.
She turned to Kerry, brow raised. “So… where’s the concert?”
Kerry just grinned. “You’ll see.”
V narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You’re being smug.”
“I’m being fun, this is me being fun,” he shot back.
She rolled her eyes and went back to watching the blur of cityscape zip by beneath them.
Soon, the AV began its descent. V leaned forward, her eyes widening as she recognized the terrain. Corporate Plaza. The breathing, sterile heart of Night City. The AV angled down toward a sleek building at the plaza’s center, setting gently onto the rooftop.
And there, dead center of Corpo Plaza, surrounded by towering monoliths of power, was the stage.
Directly above the glass dome.
A fucking concert at the center of corporate rule. Where Arasaka’s shadow loomed tallest.
Where corpos run the world.
And there was already a crowd gathering.
A big one.
She turned sharply toward Kerry. “Are you serious?”
He laughed, unbothered. “Dead serious.”
The AV doors hissed open, and Kerry gestured for her to follow. “C’mon. Time to meet the others backstage.”
He helped her down, again offering his hand without saying anything about it. They crossed the rooftop, where a pair of beefy bouncers nodded to Kerry and waved them inside. One held the door, and the other escorted them through a short hall that led to the backstage room.
Kerry pushed open the door.
“You’re late,” Bes Isis snapped without looking up.
“Fashionably,” Kerry grinned. “Besides, brought you something special.”
V stepped into the room.
Three pairs of eyes turned to her.
Bes, Henry, and Denny.
“Long time no see, V,” Bes said with a quick nod.
Denny cracked a smile. “If I’d known you’d go full legend, might’ve joined you last performance.”
Henry’s eyes immediately dropped to V’s stomach, visible beneath the leather jacket and Samurai tank. “You sure you’re okay to perform?” he asked, skeptical. “Wouldn’t want you to pop on stage.”
Denny smacked his arm. “Seriously, Henry?”
V flushed a little, brushing hair from her face. “I’m not due for four more months. I’ll manage.”
Kerry said nothing, just watched her quietly, a faint smile pulling at the edge of his lips.
He clapped his hands. “Alright, you prima donnas ready?”
Nancy grabbed her keyboard case, Henry slung his bass across his shoulder, and Denny rolled her eyes as she grabbed her set of sticks.
Kerry handed V Johnny’s guitar.
“You good?” he asked under his breath.
V nodded, gripping the neck of the instrument tightly. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
They stepped onto the stage.
The plaza was a sea of lights, drones hovered overhead, cameras flashed, and thousands of faces looked up at her, expectant. Hungry.
V’s breath caught in her throat.
She moved into the position beside Kerry at center stage, heart pounding like a war drum. The others took their places around them, adjusting instruments and setting up.
Then Kerry stepped forward and took the mic.
“Night City,” he said, voice rolling out over the crowd like thunder, “you ready for a Samurai encore?”
The crowd exploded.
V blinked, breath caught.
She looked out at the sea of people, so many of them. It was more than she’d expected. More than she’d ever imagined.
She adjusted Johnny’s guitar on her shoulder.
The others looked to her now.
Waiting.
V took a breath.
Then she played.
Her fingers found the strings like they belonged there. Archangel poured out across the plaza, fire and fury, and soul, and Night City roared in answer.
V jammed through Archangel, fingers flying across the string, though not without effort. Her stomach forced her to adjust, widen her stance, shift her grip, and lean the guitar a little differently. She made it work. Johnny’s leftover muscle memory kicked in, guiding her hands like muscle had always known more than the brain.
Kerry led the vocals, belting the lyrics with that signature rockstar rasp. V chimed in near the chorus, hesitantly at first, then louder. The words weren’t just lyrics; they were etched into her mind, burned into her soul, living every memory Johnny had ever left her.
By the end of the song, she was singing full-throated, fingers bleeding through the chords like she’d been doing it her whole life.
When the last note rang out, the crowd exploded. Cheers. Screams. Chants of “Samurai!” echoed between the towering corporate buildings like rebellion had crawled up from the cracks in the street.
Kerry turned to her with a grin and gave a single nod.
V exhaled, smiled back, and launched into A Like Supreme.
This time, it was all her.
She took the lead on guitar, voice, and presence. The band followed her rhythm, trusting her. The roar of the crowd faded beneath the music. V stepped into the sound like a second skin, letting go, letting the music carry her.
She screamed every line like it meant something, and in a way, it did. Every word echoed her life, hard-fought, raw, cracked around the edges. Every strum of the guitar vibrated through her bones and into the city’s heart.
When A Like Supreme ended, the applause was deafening.
Her chest rose and fell, adrenaline pulsing through her. She was alive, really alive.
And there was still one more.
She stepped back toward the mic and slowly began the chords to Never Fade Away.
The tempo was different, slower, more mournful. Not Johnny’s angry defiance. No, this was hers. A farewell. A longing. A confession soaked in six strings and broken promises.
Her voice was quieter this time, cracked around the edges. Her fingers moved without thinking. The band followed her lead, Denny keeping the drumline subdued, Henry’s bass humming low.
V scanned the crowd, eyes darting past faces, drone flashes, raised fists.
Looking for him.
Looking for Johnny.
The crowd was too big. Too dark.
She continued to sing, once hand briefly brushing over the bump beneath her tank, a grounding motion.
And then– there.
A glint of silver cutting through the mass of bodies.
Johnny.
He was weaving his way toward the front, eyes fixed on her like she was the only thing that existed.
The song neared its end, and just as the final chords rang out, he reached up, his chrome hand extended toward the stage.
Without hesitation, V reached down, one hand still resting on her stomach, and grasped his.
Their fingers met.
Together, they pulled.
Johnny climbed up, boots thudding against the stage. The crowd had gone deathly quiet. Even the band froze. Lights dimmed.
V took off Johnny’s guitar, the same one she’d just played like it was a part of her, and handed it to him. Their hands brushed, his ‘ganic hand over her, warm, steady.
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her for a long, silent second. Like he was memorizing her all over again.
Then she stepped back.
Johnny turned to the mic, sliding his guitar strap over his shoulder, adjusting it like he’d never stopped playing.
A stagehand rushed forward and handed V a new guitar, and she took it without looking away from Johnny.
Then the lights flared back on.
Johnny grinned, lifting his aviators and slipping them into his back pocket. He leaned into the mic, voice rough, familiar.
“Well, well. Night City,” he rasped. “Miss me?”
The crowd went berserk.
He chuckled, lifting his guitar.
“Good. ‘Cause I’m fucking back.”
Johnny launched into the second act with The Ballad of the Buck Ravers. His fingers danced over the strings like he never missed a beat, voice cutting through the roar of the city with practiced confidence.
V followed his lead without hesitation, syncing her guitar with his effortlessly. Muscle memory met something deeper, like their connection had made its way into every part of her. Bes, Henry, and Denny picked the song back up with practiced ease, but their expressions were anything but calm.
Confusion. Shock. Disbelief.
Henry kept sneaking glances over at her. Bes kept trying to lock eyes with Kerry. Denny mouthed What the fuck the second the chorus ended, and Kerry only grinned and nodded, as if to say, Yeah. It’s really him.
V grinned too, but said nothing. She just kept playing, like this was just another gig, nothing unusual about a dead rockerboy returning from the grave mid-set.
Johnny, for his part, kept stealing subtle glances over his shoulder at her. She’d catch his eyes every time, just for a brief second, before they both looked away.
The song ended with a roar of applause.
Then came Black Dog.
Johnny stepped forward, took the mic again, and started slow, voice rough, dragging over the words like gravel. But the tempo picked up fast, pulsing with raw energy. V’s fingers danced across the frets, riding the beat.
Halfway through the song, she launched into a small solo, nothing planned, just instinct and emotion. Kerry shot her a look mid-chorus. Half impressed, half mock annoyance.
Show off , his eyes said.
She only smirked in return.
Johnny caught the tail end of her solo and picked it back up, seamlessly tying it into the finale of the track. It ended with an explosion of sound and even louder cheers.
Then came the last song.
Chippin’ In.
Johnny looked between them, V and Kerry, and nodded once.
They stepped forward together, all three of them, now clearly visible under the hot stage lights. V had to admit, it probably made a hell of a photo. The three of them, Johnny Silverhand reborn, Kerry Eurodyne in his rocker glory, and V, guitar in hand, standing beside legends.
They hit the first chords.
Kerry opened the song with the first verse, voice booming. V took the second, her vocals rougher, but strong. And Johnny, of course, closed it out, raw, electric, rebellious. The three voices meshed into something that felt like a legacy.
As the music faded, Kerry and V stepped back, leaving Johnny at center stage. He slid his aviators back on and stared out across the massive crowd with a smug, satisfied grin.
“I’ll be damned,” he said into the mic. “Didn’t think Samurai would get this big after I died.”
Cheering followed. V rolled her eyes behind him, already bracing herself.
“And yeah,” Johnny added, “I’m back. If any of you vultures in the media are out there, don’t bother asking how. I’m not fuckin’ telling you.”
Bes rolled her eyes, muttering, “Yup. That’s definitely Johnny.”
He kept going.
“When I was younger, I used to think crowds like this–” He gestured widely. “–were just a bunch of sheep. Corporate zombies, drooling over chrome, and pre-packaged dreams.”
V groaned, recognizing the start of one of his rants. “Here we go…”
“But I was wrong,” Johnny growled into the mic. “You’re not sheep. You’re fighters. Every one of you. You’ve got a fuckin’ voice. You’ve got power. You don’t have to take what ‘Saka gives you. Or Militech. Or Biotechnica. Or any of the other greedy bastards bleeding this city dry!”
His voice rose. “Burn it all. Fuck Arasaka! Fuck Militech! Let it all–”
“Nope,” Kerry cut in, grabbing the mic and pulling Johnny back.
Johnny looked like he was about to pick a fight, but Kerry just shook his head.
Kerry turned to the crowd with a practiced smile. “Have a good night, Night City. SAMURAI–2078!”
The crowd roared like thunder, and the stage lights flared as the screen behind them exploded with the Samurai logo.
It didn’t take long for the chaos to start.
The second the set ended, bouncers rushed the stage to help the band exit, but they were immediately swarmed. Fans, media, and reporters were all shouting, pushing forward, camera drones buzzing overhead, shoved microphones into faces, and questions were fired like bullets.
“Silverhand! How are you alive?
“Harford! Can you confirm that Militech–”
“What does this mean for Samurai?”
“Valerie Harford, can you comment on–”
V barely had time to blink. The flashing lights. The noise. The hands. Her breath caught in her throat.
Johnny was faster.
He stepped in behind her, throwing up a middle finger toward the closest media drone and shielding her with his body. “Back the fuck off,” he growled.
His hand found hers, cool metal over warm skin, and together they pushed through the madness.
Eventually, the bouncers cleared enough of a path to get them backstage.
Even there, the noise was deafening. Screams from the crowd still poured through the walls, alongside what sounded suspiciously like glass shattering.
V leaned against the nearest wall and slid down until she was seated on the ground, breath heavy, nerves sparking under her skin.
What the hell did Johnny just start?
“Hey, hey.” Kerry appeared beside her, crouching down. “You alright?”
V managed a tired grin. “It was fun,” she said, voice hoarse. “Right up until Johnny went full anarchist.”
Kerry huffed a laugh, but his gaze was laced with concern.
Across the room, voices were rising.
Henry, Bes, and Denny were shouting at Johnny, demanding answers, screaming over each other. Denny threw her hands up. Henry was looking ready to punch someone. Bes just looked like she’d aged ten years in five minutes.
Johnny raised both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you everything,” he said. “But first, drinks. Afterlife. On me.”
It was just enough to keep the others from boiling over.
But not V.
She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the way her legs trembled. Walked right up to Johnny and grabbed him by the wrist.
“We need to talk.”
He blinked as she dragged him across the room, toward the wardrobe racks and crates of stage gear, out of sight from the others. She turned on him the second they were alone.
“What the fuck was that?” she hissed. “That speech, Johnny. You couldn’t keep it in your pants the moment the mic was handed to you. You just painted a goddamn target on your back.”
Johnny didn’t flinch. “Let ‘em try and shoot me.”
She shoved him, not hard, but enough to make a point. “If Militech wasn’t already debating pushing that button, they sure as hell are now.”
He rolled his eyes. “They won’t touch me. Not when I’m with you. They’re not gonna blow up Daddy’s little princess.”
“Are you high?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Cold turkey. Quit smoking a few weeks back. Should get a fucking medal or somethin’. Withdrawal is the fuckin’ worse.”
V raised a brow. “Good for you,” she said, tone dry.
He stepped closer, lowering his head so they were eye to eye. That crooked grin spread across his face.
“You killed it out there, by the way.”
She glanced up at him, lips twitching. “I’m aware.”
His hands found her waist, warm and steady. Hers drifted to his shoulders.
“I’m still mad at you,” she said.
“I know.”
She smiled anyway.
“Alright, lovebirds, break it up.” Bes’s voice cut in, sharp and teasing. “We need to get the hell out of here before Corpo Plaza turns into a war zone.”
“Fuck off Nance. We’re not lovebirds.” Johnny said instantly, too quickly.
Bes raised a brow.
V smirked but said nothing.
Kerry stood nearby, staring at them. Quiet. Thoughtful. He didn’t say a word, just watched, brow furrowed like he was working through something. Then, gently, he stepped forward and offered V his hand.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get outta here.”
She took it, and together they moved out, the others close behind.
Night City was on fire.
The AV was gone from the rooftop. The crowd had grown too dense, too wild. It’d been forced to circle, reposition somewhere safer. Not that anywhere in Corpo Plaza felt safe now.
Red flares lit the air in angry streaks, casting a bloody glow over skyscrapers and glass towers. Smoke curled between them, thick and rising. Sirens screamed. Protestors shouted, fists raised.
“Down with the corps!”
“Burn it all!”
“Silverhand lives!”
The bouncers pushed forward, carving a narrow path through the chaos. V followed close behind at first, but then she could already feel herself lagging. Her body wasn’t built for this anymore, not with the weight in her belly and the drag in her lungs. She stumbled, breath sharp, vision swimming.
Up ahead, the others were getting further and further away.
Then, the unmistakable whine of engines cut through the noise.
Militech AVs descended like vultures, black and menacing. Their floodlights cut through the dark, illuminating the plaza in sterile white.
“No, no, no,” V whispered.
She watched them drop, one by one, landing with military precision.
Then the gunfire started.
It wasn’t clear who fired first, some angry protester with a pistol, or one of the trigger-happy suits in the AVs, but it didn’t matter. Bullets cracked across the air like thunder, and the crowd erupted into screaming chaos.
People ran.
Shouting, trampling, shoving. A stampede of panic. V tried to keep up, heart pounding in her ears, but someone slammed into her shoulder. Her balance tipped, and she fell.
The ground met her hard.
Pain radiated up her arm, but she’d managed to twist at the last second, sparing her stomach. Fuck . She tried to scramble to her feet, but bodies were everywhere, feet pounding inches from her face. If she didn’t move, she was going to be crushed.
“V!”
She heard it, even through the panic. A familiar voice, filled with fear.
Johnny.
He was pushing through the chaos, silver hand cutting through the fray, eyes locked on her. A second later, he was there, arms around her, dragging her upright.
“I got you,” he stated, voice breathless.
She didn’t answer, just ran.
They raced for the AV, ducking under drones weaving around debris and shattered glass. V felt every step like a hammer to her joints, but Johnny never let go. The AV’s door opened just as they reached it, and Johnny practically shoved her inside before climbing in after.
The door slammed shut. The AV lifted into the sky, engines roaring beneath them.
“Too fucking close,” Henry wheezed from across the cabin.
V collapsed into a seat, shaking. Her heart still hadn’t slowed.
Johnny dropped beside her, still panting, eyes on her like she might break apart. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, too fast.
His gaze dropped to her stomach. His hand hovered a few inches above it, not touching, just there , like he needed to reassure himself she was still whole.
She looked up, met his eyes.
“We’re fine,” she said, softer now.
That did it.
He nodded once, finally pulling back, tension bleeding from his shoulders. He leaned back against the seat, but his eyes never let her go.
Across from them, Bes raised a brow. She didn’t say anything, just looked.
Denny and Henry exchanged a quiet look of their own.
Kerry didn’t look at anyone. He stared straight ahead, jaw tight. Like if he didn’t acknowledge what just happened, what was happening, then it wouldn’t be real.
V turned her head and gazed out the window.
Down below, Night City was eating itself alive. Riots were everywhere, with protesters climbing on AVs and fires tearing through the plaza. Corp drones were circling like sharks.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“What the fuck did we just do?” she whispered.
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
“How many?” Johnny asked, interrupting Song, already drawing his pistol.
“Eight,” So Mi replied, eyes flicking to the holo flickering above her wrist. “But they’re well equipped.”
Johnny exhaled through his nose. “That’s manageable. We’ve got time.”
He moved to help V out of the chair, hands gentle under her arms. But the moment her feet touched the floor, her legs gave out. She collapsed like her bones had been switched for rubber.
“Shit–” Johnny caught her before she hit the ground, pulling her close with a protective hand behind her neck.
So Mi was at her side in a blink, scanning V’s vitals. “Most of her chrome’s still locked,” she said quickly. “Ninety seconds or so and she’ll be at full capacity.”
“That’s not enough time,” Goro Takemura growled, already drawing his blade. “They will be here in–”
The door crashed open before he could finish.
A soldier in Militech black stormed through, weapon raised. Then another. And another. The barrier they’d hastily set up barely bought them ten seconds. Gunfire roared, and in a blur, V found herself no longer lying on the floor but crouched behind a server bank, her heart hammering in her throat.
She blinked in confusion.
So Mi crouched beside her, hands up and glowing with netrunner charge. Goro knelt to her left, sword drawn, still as a statue. Johnny stood in front of them, wiping a thin line of blood from his nose with the back of his silver hand.
Everything had exploded into chaos, and yet, she was still breathing.
Before she could ask how she got moved so fast, Johnny snapped into a different mode.
“So Mi, take the left flank,” he barked. “Takemura’s got center. I’ve got it right.”
Goro’s head snapped toward him. “You leave me the hardest cluster?”
Johnny flashed a cocky grin. “Thought you liked a challenge.”
In a blink, he vanished, Sandevistan kicking in with a blue pulse.
“ Damned rockerboy ,” Goro muttered in Japanese, standing tall and deadly. He unsheathed his blade and stepped forward into the fray.
So Mi glanced at V. “Be right back, V,” she promised, eyes glowing as she surged forward into the firefight.
V was left in the hollow of the server’s shadow, watching the carnage unfold.
And gods, it was beautiful.
So Mi moved like a ghost, her quickhacks slicing through enemy ICE and flesh alike. Sparks exploded across the room as Militech gear overloaded, guns shorted out mid-fire, and helmets fried from the inside.
Takemura moved with terrifying precision. Each arc of his blade dropped a soldier, arterial spray painting the walls like twisted calligraphy.
And Johnny–
Johnny was a storm.
His Malorian rang death, and his Sandevistan made him blur across the room in violent staccato bursts. One shot. Two. Three. All clean kills. He fought like someone who no longer feared the consequences.
More soldiers piled into the room.
Still, they held.
A body hit the floor near V, sliding toward her feet, a Militech grunt, still twitching, half his helmet cleaved off, flesh crackling from a residual quickhack. Her arms twitched. She could move. Her chrome was coming back online, one by one.
She reached toward the soldier’s side, fingers closing around the grip of his pistol.
She hadn’t even straightened up before Johnny’s voice cracked across the room. “Val, behind you!”
She turned instinctively.
A Militech soldier stood above her, gun raised.
She didn’t think. She just pulled the trigger.
Bang.
He crumpled, a red hole in his visor.
And something in V shattered.
Her breath hitched.
Her chest constricted.
The pistol clattered from her hands.
Her vision blurred, her throat tightened, and her hands trembled so hard it felt like they’d seize. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even think past the white-hot pressure caving in her ribcage.
She killed dozens, maybe hundreds, before. But this one? This one broke her.
“Clear,” Goro called out, stepping through the last body.
So Mi nodded. “Angel confirms upstairs is empty. We’ve got a window.”
Johnny turned, saw her, and immediately crossed the room, blood still smeared beneath his nose. He dropped to his knees beside her, voice low and urgent.
“Hey. Hey– Val, I got you. I got you.”
His arms wrapped around her, grounding her, and pulled her against his chest.
“It’s over. You’re safe. I swear, you’re safe.”
She clung to him, the tremors racking her body as she pressed her face into his shoulder. The pistol lay forgotten beside them.
She didn’t understand why this was the moment that undid her.
Her breath had returned, but the shaking hadn’t stopped.
V’s fingers twitched against Johnny’s vest, her skin clammy and cold despite the fire that had just ripped through the room. Her thoughts spiraled as he held her close, anchored her.
So many times, so many fucking times, she’d held a gun to someone’s head.
Her brother Vincent, screaming at him to put his down.
Johnny, when she had had enough of his lies.
Reed, during her final confrontation to save Song’s life.
Was Vik one of them? Was that how he died? She held him at gunpoint and pulled the trigger?
Her entire body convulsed once more, and Johnny pulled her in tighter, whispering something unintelligible into her hair. It didn’t matter what. I was the voice that steadied her.
“We need to go,” Goro said flatly.
“Shut the fuck up, Takemura!” Johnny snapped without even looking, his voice cracking like a whip.
So Mi crouched down beside them, her expression softer than V expected. “I can only imagine what they’ve done to you, but I have a pretty good guess,” she said, her voice low and with pity, “but if you want out, V… we need to move. Now. ”
V swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded slowly, steadying her breathing. She didn’t trust her voice, but she gave Johnny the smallest glance, and he understood. Gently, he helped her to her feet, keeping a hand at her back as she stood upright on shaky legs.
“I’m fine,” she murmured. A lie. But a necessary one.
They moved, weapons drawn, through the corridor to the elevator, the only way up. V remembered trying to escape once, no stairs, no fire exits, just one reinforced elevator shaft like a goddamn fortress.
“Patching you into comms,” So Mi said, reaching for her arm.
V gave a nod, and So Mi linked her in, “Angel, she’s on the line.”
A lump formed in V’s throat again, this one different. “Hey, Angel,” she said softly.
There was nothing but silence for a beat before Angel’s voice broke through. “V? V, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear your voice.”
“We’re by the elevator shaft now,” Johnny said, stepping in front of V and shielding her with his body out of habit more than necessity.
“Bad news,” Angel replied. “Another group’s descending now. ETA twenty seconds. Judy managed to cut the power earlier, slowed them down, but…”
“Then we’re meeting ‘em head-on,” Johnny said, reloading his Malorian with a slick, practiced motion. “Let’s make it messy.”
Goro drew his sword in silence. So Mi’s eyes were glowing faintly, already pre-charging her hacks.
V stood near the rear of the elevator, hands firm around the pistol she’d taken, legs steadier now. Ready, or at least pretending to be.
The doors slid open.
Gunfire erupted immediately. Screams, metal, blood. The Militech squad never stood a chance. They were cut down with precision, hacked, sliced, and shot before their boots even crossed the threshold.
All but one.
A lone figure stood in the elevator, both hands raised.
V’s stomach dropped.
Meredith Stout.
Johnny’s reaction was immediate and violent.
In a blur, he had her slammed against the wall, silver arm across her throat, his Malorian pressed to her temple. “This fucking corpo bitch?” He snarled. “I remember you, Stout. Gonna enjoy watching you squirm before I blow that smug face off.”
“Johnny!” V shouted, voice hoarse.
“Don’t!” Angel’s voice crackled over the comm, panicked. “She’s our mole!”
V stepped forward, reaching for Johnny’s arm. “She’s been helping me. I’d be dead if it weren’t for her. Please, Johnny.”
His jaw clenched hard. He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, muscles ticking in his cheek, eyes filled with fire. Slowly, agonizingly, he pulled the gun away. His arm stayed rigid between them.
Goro didn’t lower his blade. “She should not be trusted.”
Meredith gave him a sardonic glance, hands still raised. “I’ve been on your side this whole time,” she said calmly. “Ask your netrunner. I kept her link stable, ensured she had the necessary access codes. You made it this far because of me.”
Johnny paced like a caged animal, his hand twitching around the grip of his pistol. “Why help us?”
Meredith’s eyes flicked briefly to So Mi before returning to him. “Because I’d rather be friends with a crew like this than enemies. And trust me… I’ve seen what enemies get.”
Song narrowed her eyes. “You should not be here. We could have killed you.”
Meredith shrugged. “I had to be sure you made it. The next floor has stairs, but they’re locked. You need a keycard.” She held up her Militech badge. “This gets you through.”
Johnny looked at Goro and nodded.
Goro snatched the card from her, inspecting it. “If she’s lying–”
“She’s not,” Angel interrupted over comms. “She’s been feeding me access codes for hours.”
Meredith turned back to V. “The soldiers are monitoring the elevators now. If you want to avoid a bloodbath as they stop you on every floor, the stairs are your best bet. I’d go before more show up.”
V and the others filed into the elevator. “Wait,” she said, turning back to Johnny. “Shoot me.”
“What?” he blinked.
“Make it look real. I'll say I tried to stop you. Might keep me from being found out.”
Johnny didn’t flinch.
Two shots. One to the shoulder. One to leg.
Meredith cried out, collapsing, blood soaking into her suit.
“ Jesus, Johnny–” V whispered, but Stout met her eyes, wincing.
“Good luck,” she gritted out.
“Thank you… for everything,” V replied softly.
So Mi pressed the button for the next floor. The elevator doors slid shit and the lift began to hum upward, leaving behind the bloodied woman on the floor.
So Mi turned to the others, “Next room’s full of heat. We clear it out fast, then switch to the stairs. That gets up straight to the lobby. No more elevators.”
“Assuming we trust the one who led us into this mess,” Goro muttered under his breath.
Johnny turned with a snort. “Still don’t trust her? What’s the matter, Takemura? Still carrying Arasaka’s leash in your back pocket?”
Goro’s eyes narrowed. “Better than the leash Militech had on you, Silverhand. Heard a rumor once, said you were always their dog.”
That did it.
Johnny stepped forward. “Say that again.”
Goro didn’t back down. “I never repeat myself.”
Hands twitched toward weapons. One wrong word and they’d tear each other apart.
“Boys,” Angel’s voice cut in through the comms, sharp as glass. “Save it for when we get out of here. You’ve got a squad of Militech waiting for you on the next floor. Unless you want to die arguing.”
Silence. Then Johnny smirked.
“I bet I can kill more than you,” he said.
Takemura exhaled through his nose. “Bring it on, old man. ” He drew his sword in one smooth motion.
The elevator dined.
The doors opened.
Johnny and Goro charged into the fray like rapid animals, yelling and slicing and firing with wild precision. From her cover just beside the elevator doors, V could hear them shouting over each other.
“Three!”
“Four.”
“Bullshit, that one doesn’t count.”
So Mi crouched beside her, calm as ever. “Let me unlock your cyberdeck,” she said, pulling a cord from her arm.
“Go for it,” V said. She turned slightly so So Mi could access the port on her arm. She did not comment on the bandage wrapped around her wrists, same as before.
“Damn,” So Mi said, spotting the deep-link node on the base of V’s neck. “Nice upgrade. Not quite as robust as mind, but hey, not bad.”
V let out a breathless laugh, her nerves cracking the sound. “Yeah, well. Yours comes with much more chrome, and it’s more of a prototype than mine, so I’ll pass.”
So Mi gave her a sly grin over their shared Militech cybernetic trauma, “Fair.”
V’s HUD flickered, then reactivated in full. Systems online. Quickhacks are locked and loaded. She stepped out of cover and rounded the corner.
The scene ahead was chaos, Johnny firing from one side of the room, Goro carving through soldiers with deadly precision. Blood slicked the pale floors.
But what stopped V cold wasn’t the fight.
It was the room itself.
Cold. Sterile. The walls were lined with sealed glass chambers, each holding still bodies, men and women frozen in chemical slumber, suspended in tanks labeled with ID numbers and biometric tags.
A cryoroom.
What the fuck is this place?
She pushed the thought down as a soldier approached her from the right. She flicked her fingers up instinctively, launching a burst of quickhacks. The man seized mid-stride, sparks arcing from his chrome before he collapsed with a dull thud.
Alright. Quickhacks she could do. Just no shooting.
She tossed her pistol aside and got to work.
More came. V moved fast, launching Short Circuit on one, Overheat on another. Each one dropped eventually without a bullet fired.
Behind her, Johnyn shouted, “Nine!”
“Ten,” Goro barked, not far off.
She glanced back at them, her heart racing, but it wasn’t fear. It was awe.
Johnny was different now.
This wasn’t the man she left behind at Kerry’s place, fragile, fractured, weighed down by guilt and grief.
No. This was him again.
The old Johnny. The burn-it-down Johnny. The engram who spat fire and gave no fucks and made the world burn.
Guess he just needed time, she thought.
Soon, the last soldier dropped, and the room fell into silence.
“Fourteen!” Johnny yelled.
“Twelve,” Goro confirmed flatly.
Johnny turned, triumphant, “Suck on that Goro!”
“You are a child, ” Goro muttered, wiping his blade on a dead man’s uniform.
V stepped around a cryotank and activated her comm, “Angel, what is this place?”
“This?” Angel replied. “One of Harford’s little vanity projects. Preservation pods. He calls it ‘lifetime loyalty.’ Extends the lives of key employees, puts them on ice between contracts.”
Johnny scoffed. “I’m gonna look for Elvis,” he stated, already turning. “Meet you by the exit. Gimme a sec.”
They regrouped at a heavy steel door just beyond the cryo floor. Goro pressed Stout’s keycard to the reader. It buzzed green.
“Angel? Anything else you can tell me about this place?” V asked, eyes drifting back to the frozen bodies.
“This is where we retrieved Johnny’s body,” Angel said quietly. “They stole it from me years ago. Kept it here this whole time, like a relic.”
“Huh,” V muttered. “Interesting.”
Just then, Johnny reappeared, smug as hell.
“You’re gonna want to move fast, ” he said.
Song eyed him warily. “What did you do?”
Johnny just grinned.
They stopped in the stairwell, Johnny shutting the door.
Behind them, the cryoroom exploded in a roaring blast that shook the concrete walls. V stumbled as the shockwave hit, eyes wide with shock.
Johnny was laughing.
“Fucking hell,” she said, catching his breath.
Goro shook his head, muttering. “You are going to be the death of us, Silverhand.”
Johnny just kept grinning.
The stairwell echoed with their steps. They climbed steadily, silently, hearts pounding and lungs burning. But strangely, no one came to meet them.
No guards. No bullets. Just the rhythmic hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
“Stout was right. Guess they’re only guarding the elevators,” V muttered.
“They expected us to play by their rules,” Johnny replied, breathless but still grinning.
Then Angel’s crackled through the comms, not to them, but to someone else. Distant at first. Muffled, then sharper.
“–No, we don’t need to do that. Bad idea, leaves ‘em vulnerable. I’m telling you, nothing’s pining, there’s no sign of–”
“Everything alright?” Song asked, sharing a glance with Johnny.
Angel’s voice came back, clipped and professional. “Fine, Judy just thinks we need to make a diversion. Could be that Militech’s keeping their elites station up top. I’m not picking up anything, though.”
She hesitated, then added, “And I’d know. I am the best netrunner in Night City.”
So Mi, a few steps ahead of V, muttered under her breath, “Best netrunner in Night City, my ass.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow, giving Song a pointed look that needed no translation. So Mi rolled her eyes.
Goro exhaled. “Then what do you propose we do?”
Angel’s voice went quiet for a second. V imagined her steeped in some system, scanning, calculating.
“You’ll need to split up. Two of you create noise, floor just below the lobby. Make Militech this, that’s where the breath is. Once they respond, V and one of you will sprint for the exit.”
Johnny didn’t even hesitate. “I’m going with V.”
Goro nodded slowly. “Then So Mi and I will handle the distraction.”
He stepped forward, placing a steady hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Good luck, Silverhand.”
Then he turned to V, bowing his head slightly. “I will see you at the cars.”
So Mi gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry about us. Goro’s got the best netrunner in all of the NUSA backing him up.”
Angel scoffed loudly over the comms. “You wish.”
So Mi winked at V and disappeared with Goro through a nearby door, descending one floor to cause hell.
Johnny and V kept climbing.
They reached the landing just below the main lobby. It was quiet now. Too quiet.
They crochet near the door, pressed against the wall. Johnny’s fingers tapped anxiously on his knee. His other hand hovered near the pistol at his side, but for once, he didn’t draw it..
V watched him. He met her gaze. No smirk this time. No cocky retort.
“Thank you,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Almost gave up. Didn’t think help was coming.”
Johnny looked at her like he wanted to say something more, but didn’t quite know how.
“I told you,” he said instead. “I fucking promised I wasn’t leaving you again.”
He reached up, fingers brushing her cheek.
But V flinched, barely, instinctively. She turned away, the touch too much, too close, too soon.
He froze. His hand fell.
“I get it,” he said quietly. “I just… Jackie’s starting to look a lot like you.”
V’s head snapped back to him, eyes wide. “Jackie…?”
Before she could say more, Angel’s voice cut through. “All clear. They took the bait. All soldiers just dropped to the lower floor. Go now. ”
Johnny was already on his feet, reaching for the handle. “Let’s go, V.”
The door creaked open.
The lobby was eerily still. Bodies littered the floor, Militech guards, techs, and others, V didn’t recognize. Blood smeared across marble tiles. The scent of ozone and char clung to the air.
A battlefield frozen in time.
Johnny glanced back. “Run. I’m right behind you.”
She didn’t wait.
V bolted.
The halls of Militech stretched out in front of her, familiar and terrible all at once. She remembers them as a child, racing through these very corridors, laughing as her brother chased her after some prank.
But this was different.
This was no game.
Now, she was running for her life. Running to escape. To survive. To live.
Behind her, she heard Johnny’s footsteps echoing, steady, relentless.
The exit was in sight. So close, V could almost feel the cold wind of the street.
But just as her bare foot hit the threshold, something slammed into her side.
A blur of movement.
A soldier shimmered into existence mid-tackle, his optic camo disengaging as he forced her down. V cried out, elbowing at his chrome-plated ribs, but it was no use.
More shadows flickered into being, Militech’s elite, fully cloaked until the moment they struck.
Behind her, Johnny was yelling, fighting. Then she heard the thud of his body hitting the floor.
“Fuck– get off me!” he roared, fists slamming itno plated armor, boots scuffing against tile.
But they had him.
They had both of them.
One of the soldiers, bulked up with gleaming chrome and eyes hidden behind adaptive lenses, stepped forward, pressing two fingers to his comms.
“Sir,” he said, clipped and mechanical. “We’ve got your daughter. And one other.”
V’s blood turned to ice.
Lucas.
Johnny thrashed against the hold, a feral growl escaping his throat. “Is that Harford? Tell that piece of shit I’m going to kill him!”
He spat the words with venom, voice cracking with fury.
“I’ll leave him more hideously deformed than before,” Johnny snarled. “Cut him up limb from fucking limb. Gouge out his eyes, rip off his ears, carve out his tongue, hell, I’ll make him beg for it before I split him in half. Do you hear me? I’ll fucking kill him!”
V whimpered, tears stinging her eyes as one of the soldiers slammed her face to the floor. She could feel blood pooling at her lip, the pressure of the barrel against her temple.
Then, over the comms, Lucas’ voice came through, smooth and soulless.
“Kill him.”
“No–!” V screamed, thrashing, desperate.
They swarmed Johnny.
A fist smashed into his jaw. Another struck his ribs. A final blow to his head knocked him down hard.
V’s scream tore through the air as they flipped the rifle, aiming it square at his face.
But just before the trigger was pulled, Johnny vanished.
His form blurred.
His Sandevistan had triggered.
In an instant, he was up, moving like lightning. He grabbed the barrel, spun it, and shoved the muzzle into the soldier’s chin, boom. The helmet cracked open like a melon.
V blinked, barely able to process it. He was flickering again, Sandevistan, on, off, on , like a ghost tearing through flesh and steel.
He shoved a grenade in one soldier’s mouth, kicked him aside. The detonation painted the wall.
Another, he ripped the helmet clean off, shoved two fingers into the man’s sockets, and crushed.
A fourth, he shot once in every limb with his Malorian, silver hand unwavering. The soldier was dead after the four shots, but Johnny didn’t stop.
Blood poured from his nose now, a steady stream dripping onto the floor, mixing with the carnage.
Still, he kept going.
Still, he flickered.
Still, he killed.
And then, silence.
Everyone was dead.
The entire room was slick with blood, the stench thick and choking.
Johnny staggered to V’s side, his movements jerky, muscles spasming. But his eyes, no longer wild. Just tired. Spent.
He knelt beside her. “Hey… hey, I got you,” he murmured.
V was sobbing, trembling as she looked at him. She reached out, her hand shaking uncontrollably, and wiped the blood from his nose.
He let her.
A moment later, the stairwell door creaked open.
Goro and Song burst into the room, weapons raised.
Goro stopped dead in his tracks, muttering something harsh in Japanese as his eyes scanned the carnage.
So Mi’s face twisted in shock. “Our comms dropped. We thought–”
Angel’s voice snapped back to life in their ears. “Jesus. You guys okay?”
Johnny stood slowly, ignoring everyone. “Room’s clear,” he said flatly, and turned toward the exit.
So Mi crouched next to V, helped her to her feet. V could barely stand.
Behind her, Goro glanced back at Johnny, quiet now, distant and detached. Blood still dripping.
“Cyberpsycho,” he muttered under his breath.
No, said a word. Together, they stepped through the door and left the massacre behind.
The cold air slapped V in the face as the door burst open and they spilled into the night.
Darkness greeted them, but not silence.
The outside of the Militech Offices was a war zone. The wreckage of vehicles, broken barricades, and fallen bodies littered the street. V’s breath caught in her throat.
Then, blinding light.
Spotlights snapped to life, fixing on them like a hunter’s gaze. V raised her arm to shield her eyes, blinking through the dazzle.
NCPD. Drones. Media crews. Cameras.
But not Militech.
That alone told her everything she needed to know. Whatever Lucas had planned for them, it ended in that lobby.
“Run!” Song shouted.
And they did.
Boots pounding against pavement, slipping through alleyways, weaving through debris. It didn’t take long to vanish into the city’s winding shadows. They ducked behind a collapsed fire escape, breathing hard.
“ Shit. ” Goro hissed, swearing in Japanese as he braced his hands on his knees. “ Shit, shit, shit! ”
Johnny laughed, an unhinged, breathless sound. He leaned back against a rusted wall and looked up at the sky like he’d just won a bet.
“Well,” he said, grinning through the blood, “congrats. We’re all legends now.”
Goro shot him a glare.
Johnny held up a finger. “We blew up Militech’s cryo chambers. And walked out alive. You know that kind of story doesn’t stay hidden.”
“You fool,” Goro growled. “You put us in even more danger. Every corp, fixer, and merc in the city will have their eyes on us.”
“Yeah,” Johnny smirked. “Kinda the point of being a legend.”
V barely heard them. She was slumped against the brink, Song crouched beside her, a steadying hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t stop shaking.
Then Angel’s voice came through the comms. “If it helps,” she said dryly, “it was my idea. Cryo chambers needed to go. Can’t have Lucas keeping spare bodies on ice.”
Goro muttered something unrepeatable, “Surrounded by fools.”
Johnny clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re one of us, Goro. You’re a merc. High time you accepted it.”
Song raised her voice, sharp and clear. “We need to move. Now.”
Johnny’s grin faded. “Right. Sticking with the plan?”
“Still in motion,” Angel confirmed.
From their hiding spot, V watched as So Mi turned toward the street, eyes glowing faintly. A van down the block roared to life, engine kicking in as she quickhacked it. It rolled toward them on its own, ties crunching over glass and broken stone.
Everyone climbed in.
Everyone except Johnny.
V stared at him. “Johnny?”
Johnny stood outside the van, his silhouette framed by distant red-and-blue lights. “I’m the distraction.”
“No,” V said, already shaking her head. “No– fuck that. We just got out. You’re not– Johnny, please.”
He looked at her with a half-smile, soft and sad.
“Gotta give ‘em something to chase. I’ll take my Porsche for a spin around Corpo Plaza. Make some noise.”
“We can all make noise.”
“You’ve got someone to get back to,” he said gently. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
V reached out as he leaned in, brushing his hand over her cheek.
This time, she didn’t pull away.
She leaned into it, grabbed his hand in both of hers like it was the last solid thing in the world.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
His thumb brushed beneath her eye. “Never again.”
Then he stepped back.
And the van door slammed shut.
Goro climbed into the diver’s seat with a sigh. “The man is most certainly dead,” he muttered.
So Mi punched him hard in the shoulder.
Angel’s voice returned in their ears, calm and focused. “Head south. Avoid Corpo Plaza. I’ll feed you a clean path.”
As the van lurched forward, V slid to the floor in the back, knees pulled to her chest. Tears streaked her face, hot, aching tears.
But she laughed.
Quiet at first. Then louder.
She was out.
She was out.
She was free.
Song sat beside her, grinning. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
V nodded slowly, her throat too raw for words.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Goro warned from the front. “We’re not clear yet.”
Song waved him off. “Let us have one minute.”
She turned back to V. “Thank you, V. For getting me out.”
V looked up at her, a frown pulling at her mouth. “Why… why are you even back on Earth?”
Song bit her lower lip, gaze distant.
“That’s… a story for another day,” she said. “Right now, we survive.”
V nodded again, but something still twisted inside her. She looked down at her hands, then back to Song.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For killing Reed.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
But then Song leaned her head back, staring at the van’s ceiling.
“He made his choice,” she said quietly. “A long time ago.”
Silence stretched as the van rumbled on. Finally, she broke it.
“How long was I with Militech?”
So Mi, staring out the front windshield beside her, didn’t hesitate. “Thirty-six days.”
V blinked. She was only off by a couple.
Song nodded, “Johnny reached out to me. To some others, too. Said he needed a crew.”
V straightened a little. “Wait, Johnny put this all together?”
Song nodded. “Yeah. With Rogue, she played fixer. Got us the gear, intel, and contacts. The whole setup.”
“So… Johnny Silverhand assembled a full-blown merc team,” V muttered, “just to get me out?”
“Well,” Song added, “not just that. We had to get the tower blueprints, locate a mole inside, and test some infiltration routes. Took time. Ran small gigs here and there. Me, Goro, Johnny, Judy, Panam.”
V looked up. “Panam?”
Song nodded again. “She’s on the other team. Drives for us when things go to shit, hell of a solo. She’s been running with Judy and Angel.”
V exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward the floor. “So this is what you’ve all been doing these past few weeks. Getting a team together.”
“We each owed you,” Song said softly. “Too much not to.”
V hesitated, then turned her gaze toward the front of the van, where Goro drove. “And what about him?” she asked. “Pretty sure he was still pissed at me. I did kinda leave him in the dust to take down Arasaka.”
Goro didn’t even look back. “How do they say it?” he grumbled. “Water under the bridge.”
V arched a brow.
“I made a vow to you once,” he continued, “to kill you. Give you an honorable death. Restore my name. Then Silverhand told me your condition. Caught me up.”
V tensed.
“I realized I could no longer fulfill that voice,” Goro said evenly. “Because the V I made that promise to… she’s already gone. My honor cannot be restored.” He shrugged. “So now I remain honorless. A bum, as they say. Perhaps… this mercenary life suits me better.”
V stared at him for a beat, unsure whether to laugh uneasily or edge away from him.
Angel’s voice crackled through the comms. “Interception point coming up. V, time to switch vehicles. Militech may have flagged the van’s plates. Need you out, just in case.”
V nodded and stood, legs still unsteady. “Got it.”
Song nodded to her with a warm smile. “We’ll see you at the final rendezvous. Who knows, maybe we’ll beat Johnny there.”
V glanced between the two of them. “Thanks. For everything.”
The van slowed to a crawl under an overpass in Pacfica. The air was thicker here. V stepped out, the van idling for a moment before pulling away into the night.
She stood alone, under the bridge, wind tugging at her hair.
Off to the side, she saw it.
A roller coaster off in the distance, still there, somehow untouched.
Angel’s voice filtered in again, calm and sure. “Almost there. Just wait a few seconds.”
Sure enough, the rumble of an engine approached.
Panam’s truck pulled over.
V felt her throat tighten.
The back door swung open. She climbed in.
Judy was already inside, her terminal open on her lap, lines of code scrolling by. She looked up and gave a tired but warm smile.
Panam was at the wheel, focused but steady. Angel turned in the shotgun seat, green eyes meeting V's.
“Heya V, how are you holding up?” she asked gently.
V didn’t answer right away.
“I feel like I can finally breathe again,” she murmured finally.
Judy let out a small laugh. “Good. ‘Cause it’s over now.”
“Ready to roll?” Panam asked, glancing back from the driver’s seat, a frown forming as her eyes met V’s.
Angel gave a sharp nod. “Dogtown.”
Panam didn’t need more than that. She threw the truck into gear, and they sped off toward the far side of Pacifica, away from the city’s sanitized skyscrapers and into its fractured heart.
The gates of Dogtown loomed ahead, grim and graffitied, but as they rolled up, scanners bathed them in red light before letting them through without incident. V watched the gates creak open, half-expecting a firefight, a drone swarm, anything.
But nothing happened.
Angel glanced at her. “Safe her then anywhere else in Night City. Militech doesn’t touch Dogtown. Knows better.”
V raised a brow. “Because of Barghest?”
Angel gave a sly smirk. “Because of me.”
The truck stopped at a row of squat, rusted warehouses near the outskirts. No one else in sight. Angel led the way out, gesturing to one of the buildings marked by a spray-painted angel wing on rusted metal. She opened the doors through a quickhack.
The warehouse was quiet. Empty crates, steel beams, the scent of oil and copper.
Angel nodded to V, “Base it downstairs.”
“I’ll wait up here for the others,” Panam said, stepping off to one side, arms folded as she scanned the shadows. Purposefully ignoring V as V tries to meet her gaze.
Angel led V and Judy down a narrow stairwell, walls lined with tangled wiring and exposed piping.
And then, V stepped into a netrunner’s dream.
The room buzzed with soft energy, glass panels glowing with data, an ice bath in the corner, and a high-end netrunning chair with custom mods she didn’t even recognize. But what struck her most were the walls, lined with photos pinned beneath stands of fairy lights. Laughing faces, smiles, and smirks.
Memories. Home.
Angel gestured to the netrunning chair. “Sit. Gonna run a full biometric scan. Clean out any Militech residue. Bugs, tracers, anything.”
V obeyed with hesitation, limbs trembling. She leaned back, letting the whirring begin as Angel’s tech whirred to life.
“You’re gonna feel so much better after,” Angel murmured, already moving through the scan.
Judy stepped back, watching quietly. “Lots have happened since you were gone.”
Angel shot her a glance. “Let’s give her a minute. No info dump just yet.”
Judy nodded. “Course.”
V met Judy’s gaze. Just a second. A flicker of something warm passed between them. She smiled.
Judy smiled back.
Angel’s voice cut in. “Alright. You’re clean. Militech’s got nothing left on you.”
And she was right, V felt it, a weight she hadn’t noticed lifted from her chest. Her head. Her spine.
But it still didn’t hit her. Not really.
Part of her still believed she was locked in that cell. Still trapped in some nightmare, waiting to snap her back into chains.
Her breath hitched.
Then broke.
Tears fell hard and fast before she could stop them. Her shoulders shook, and she tried to turn away, to hide her face.
Angel and Judy said nothing. Just let her feel it.
A minute passed. Then footsteps sound from the stairwell.
“Give her a sec,” Angel whispered. “Hell knows what she went through.”
“She’s strong. She’ll pull through,” Goro replied. “Johnny’s outside. Waiting for her.”
V lifted her head, eyes wide.
She didn’t wait. Just pushed past them.
Ran.
She burst through the doors of the warehouse and into the evening air, and there he was.
Johnny, leaning against her car.
Her Quadra.
He pulled off his aviators and looked at her. “Told you I’d be back.”
V didn’t respond.
She just flung herself into his arms.
He caught her easily, holding her close. “Hey Val,” he whispered. “You scared the shit outta me, y’know that?” he continued, “Just up and vanished. Took my Porsche. Trail ended at the penthouse. Car parked out front. Malorian on the floor. I thought– hell, I thought the worst.”
She pressed her face into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his vest. “I thought no one would come…”
“Well, you thought wrong. I went to the ends of the earth to find you,” he whispered. “Would’ve gone further.”
She looked up at him, tears brimming again. He brushed them away with one thumb.
“I’m not mad,” he said gently. “Just fucking relieved. Should’ve known better. Should’ve supported you more. Shouldn’t have pushed you away. I… I know what it’s like. Waking up in an unfamiliar body. In a future that doesn’t make sense.”
She stared up at him.
He paused. “You wanna go home?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
And she meant it.
She didn’t care; she wasn’t the same woman who had walked Night City months ago. Didn’t care she wasn’t that V. That she didn’t love Johnny in the same way.
She was here. Alive.
And for once, she didn’t feel like she had to prove it.
All she cared about was that someone had fought to bring her back. That someone had cared enough.
Johnny pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.
“Alright, princess,” he murmured, voice softer than she’d ever heard it before. “Let’s go home.”
The moment V sank into the passenger seat of her old Quadra, silence wrapped itself around her like a blanket, tight, suffocating, and familiar. The leather creaked softly under her weight. Johnny was already in the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the wheel, engine rumbling low.
V stared straight ahead.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Her mind slipped into the dark again, like the void was always waiting. That same old whisper clawing at the edge of her thoughts, what if it wasn’t real? What if she were still trapped in that cell, hallucinating her way to madness?
Then she felt it.
Johnny’s hand, his real one, the one still ‘ganic, resting on her back.
She turned toward him slightly, eyes wide in quiet disbelief.
He looked at her, didn’t say a word.
That was all she needed.
She was out.
She was alive.
She didn’t care where he was taking her. Just that he was there. That she wasn’t alone. She never wanted to be alone again.
The city rolled past them, and V watched it absently as Pacifica gave way to Heywood, memories stirring behind her eyes.
Then Johnny turned down a familiar street, and her breath caught.
She knew this place.
The car came to a slow stop in front of a small, weathered home, study, welcoming, worn at the edges like a well-loved photo.
Mama Welles’ house.
V blinked, remembering. She’d lived her six months after leaving Arasaka. Before she got her apartment. Before Night City chewed her up.
Johnny turned toward her. “Misty took me to this place after you were gone. Guadalupe took me in. Took Jackie too.”
His voice dropped, “Helped me get my shit together. Wouldn’t be here without her.”
V swallowed. “Oh…”
Johnny searched her face for a moment, then asked gently, “You ready?”
She nodded.
They stepped up to the door together. Johnny unlocked it and pressed a silver finger to his lips, signaling her to stay quiet.
They crept into the dark living room, shadows dancing across walls covered in old photos and votive candles. For a second, V could almost hear Jackie’s laughter, feel the pulse of the past pressing in around her.
A light flicked on.
Guadalupe Welles, Mama Welles, stood in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed, expression stony.
“Jonathan,” she said, eyes narrowing. She hadn’t seen V yet.
Johnny winced, “Guadalupe.”
She launched into a flurry of Spanish, rapid-fire scolding, frustration, and fear laced in every syllable. “You left in the middle of the night! No note, no message. Nada! ”
Johnny held his hands up, palms open. “I’m sorry, Guadalupe. Something came up. Didn’t wanna wake you.”
“Well, your baby did,” she snapped. “She woke up crying, and you were just gone. You left your infant daughter without saying a word. Didn’t think you were coming back.”
Johnny looked down. “It was important.”
Guadalupe glared. “What’s more important than your daughter, eh?”
He stepped aside.
And there stood V.
Mama Welles fzoe. Her breath hitched. “Mija…” Then, in two quick strides, she was pulling V into her arms.
V stiffened, but the moment the older woman embraced her, everything inside her cracked.
Guadalup cupped V’s face, tilting her chin, scanning her like a mother would her own blood. Her eyes flicked down to the bandages still wrapped around V’s forearms.
And she knew.
Without a word, she pulled V into another embrace, tighter this time, no judgment, only love.
V trembled.
Johnny just stood there, and as understanding hit him, his face paled. He hadn’t put it together until now.
Guadalupe pulled back, eyes fierce. “You are never going back to that father of yours,” she said firmly. “You are home. With your family now.”
V’s throat tightened. She nodded, blinking away tears that still kept falling.
Mama Welles turned her gaze on Johnny and jabbed a finger in his direction. “Jonathan. Take care of her. Let her rest. Let her see her daughter. Se lo debes.”
Johnny nodded, lips pressed thin. “Of course.”
Guadulpe softened. “I’ll see you both in the morning. We’ll talk more then.”
V followed Johnny upstairs, her steps slow, mind caught between present and memory.
Everything about the house reminded her of Jackie.
Too much.
He was everywhere here, even if the room they entered was different now. Once his room, now reclaimed.
Jackie’s things were packed neatly away, stored with care. Replaced by Johnny’s scattered belongings. His boots by the door, a leather jacket swung over a chair, his guitar resting against the desk. The shelves held pieces of both lives now.
But what caught V’s breath was the smell bassinet by the bed.
Inside, a baby was crying. Squirming.
Johnny crossed the room and picked her up without hesitation, instinct guiding him like he’d been doing this all along. His hands didn’t shake. His movements were sure.
She calmed instantly in his arms.
V approached slowly, her eyes on the baby.
So much bigger now. Not the fragile, blinking newborn she’d held over a month ago, but still small. Still hers.
Johnny looked at her, eyes soft. Wordlessly, he held the baby out.
V took her.
Her arms wrapped around her daughter, and for the first time since she escaped from that sterile cell, she didn’t feel cold. She was home.
V stared at her daughter in silence.
Jackie was heavier now. Stronger. Her body squirmed slightly in her arms, and V marveled at how much had changed in so little time. The last time she held her, she was a fragile, blinking thing. Just a single day, that was what they’d had together.
Did she remember me? Could she?
Jackie’s eyes blinked up at her, deep brown, unmistakably Johnny’s. Her hair had thickened, dark and wild like his, too. For a few quiet seconds, she simply looked up at V, almost as if trying to place her.
Then she began to cry.
V flinched, startled.
That sound hit her like a bullet.
“I… she doesn’t remember me,” V whispered, her voice cracking. “I think she hates me.”
Johnny turned to her quickly. “Hey– no. No, she doesn’t.”
“She’s crying–”
“She’s just hungry,” he said gently, already rising to his feet. “That’s all. She doesn’t hate you, Val. You’re her mother.”
V couldn’t answer. Tears had already started falling. Jackie squirmed in her arms, wailing louder now, and all she could think was how wrong this felt, how distant.
Johnny rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a baby bottle, expertly filling it with formula. He handed it to her without a word, his eyes steady on hers.
V sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she took the bottle. Johnny settled beside her, silent but present.
Carefully, she pressed the bottle’s top to her daughter’s lips. Jackie latched on immediately. The crying stopped. Just like that.
“She was just hungry,” Johnny repeated with a soft smile.
But V frowned.
Feeding her like this, it didn’t feel right. She didn’t want to be a stranger with a bottle. She didn’t want to feel like a ghost haunting her own child’s life.
Without thinking, V passed the bottle back to Johnny. Jackie fussed again, starting to cry, confused at the loss of comfort.
V reached up and unzipped the top half of her netrunning suit with her free hand. The motion was clumsy. Her hands were still shaking. Johnny leaned in silently and helped her, gently peeling the suit from her shoulders.
She didn’t care that she was half-naked in front of him.
Didn’t care about modesty. Didn’t care about shame. She just needed to know.
She guided Jackie toward her chest.
The baby latched, but after a few moments, pulled away again and began to cry. Nothing. No milk. Her body has stopped producing, starved out from the weeks she was gone.
V’s heart clenched.
“She doesn’t recognize me,” she said numbly, eyes locked on her daughter. “I’m not her mother anymore.”
Johnny’s voice was soft but firm. “Yes, you are. You never stopped being.”
He reached out to stroke Jackie’s hair to calm her.
But then a strange, familiar sensation fluttered in V’s chest. A warmth, a pressure. She shifted Jackie back, placed her again.
And this time, her daughter suckled. A slow trickle of warmth released. Jackie fed, content again in her arms.
Tears slipped silently down V’s cheeks. Relief broke open in her chest.
Johnny leaned in and kissed the back of her head. His arms wrapped around her, steadying her as she shook.
“I'm never leaving her again,” V whispered. “Never again.”
Time passed.
Maybe ten minutes. Maybe an hour.
Eventually, Jackie pulled away and dozed off, mouth still softly open, breathing slowly.
Johnny rose and went to the wardrobe, returning with one of his shirts. He handed it to her, and she took it gratefully.
Johnny moved quietly, gently lifting Jackie from her arms and cradling her. He lowered her into the bassinet with practiced care, brushing a hand over her hair.
V looked for a second, watching them before slipping on the shirt over her shoulders and pulling off the rest of her netrunning gear. She climbed back on the bed, and Johnny joined her.
He reached for her hand.
His fingers found the bandages around her wrists and began to unwind them slowly. Neither of them spoke. The cloth unfurled inch by inch until the wounds were bare, two angry, red lines, raw and unforgiving.
He stared at them.
Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to each wrist.
V stared up at him.
Her breath hitched.
She curled into him, burying herself against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Johnny’s arms circled her protectively, his breath warm against her hair.
The bassinet creaked quietly beside them as Jackie shifted in her sleep.
Johnny whispered into the hush, barely audible.
“I’ve got you, Valerie.”
Notes:
Meant to post this yesterday, but I totally fell asleep in the middle of writing it 😅 It's a long chapter, probably why.
First timeline, Queen of Wands:
I've been so excited to share this one, even though it's shorter than the second half. Honestly, it's probably one of my favorite chapters from the first timeline 💖 It went through multiple revisions before landing here, and I might tweak it again once all chapters are out (maybe even add some lyrics next time 😆). We've got another time skip, this one jumps two months ahead, and eventually they'll be one last time skip where the rest of the fic will settle in that time period.
Also... Kerry 🥹 I love that man, he's such a goof. And V and Johnny?? I don't know, maybe things are starting to shift between them 😉✨Second timeline, Queen of Swords:
Yes!! Action time!! I love writing action and can't wait to do more 🔥 We've got a crew now, baby! Definitely not the last you'll see of them. Rogue's the fixer, Panam's the driver, Judy's the techie, and we've got Angel + So Mi as the netrunners. Johnny and Goro? Hot-headed solos 😎 Let's just hope this team doesn't pull an Edgerunners... jk, jk... or am I? 😱
After all that violence, I had to end on something sweet 🥰 I was debating whether to save it for the next chapter, but I really wanted to bring Jackie back for a moment. She's too cute! ♥️THANK YOU all so much for the love on this fic!! 💖💖💖 Your comments seriously make it all worth it, I love reading your thoughts and reactions 🥰 Keep them coming!!
Chapter 14: Let It Go As If You Wander
Summary:
No paradise for stray souls
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
The AV touched down near the Afterlife with a low mechanical hiss. The city was still chaotic behind them, sirens, smoke, the distant thunder of another AV rising or falling, but for now, the battered crew inside had reached a moment of calm.
Johnny helped V down, his hand firm beneath her arm as she stepped onto solid ground. She gave him a small nod of thanks, legs still shaking from the sprint, the adrenaline, the sheer weight of what had just happened. They made their way toward the familiar metal staircase leading to the bar.
The bouncer, Emmerick, at the entrance gave them a once-over, his eyes lingering on Johnny for half a second too long before shifting back to V.
“Good to see you again, Ms. V,” he said, nodding them through.
V managed a tight smile. Everything still felt too big, too loud, but she was back. They all were.
The Afterlife was packed.
Mercs, fixers, edgerunners, and lowlifes of every kind filled the dark interior. The air buzzed with tension, awe, and disbelief. Most of them were gathered near the central screen, eyes locked on a live newsfeed showing Corpo Plaza lit up in flames.
“–No official statement from Militech as of yet, but based on the AV units deployed, they appear to be sending a message. The crowd initially gathered for a concert held by a reformed Samurai, now reportedly joined by Johnny Silverhand himself, is believed to have instigated a protest that turned violent. The confirmed death toll is–”
Johnny peeled away from V’s side and stepped forward with a cocky grin. The second he cleared the shadows, a few heads turned, then more. Conversations stopped. Bottles were set down mid-drink.
He raised both hands in devil horns.
“Yeah, you’re seeing right. I’m back, Night City!” he shouted. “And drinks? On me!”
The bar erupted.
A roar of disbelief and celebration filled the room. Half the patrons surged forward, some yelling his name, others laughing, toasting, or simply shaking their heads in utter shock. Claire, who’d been polishing a glass at the counter, froze with her hand mid-motion. Her eyes narrowed as they scanned the group.
V slipped away from the rest of the band, weaving through the growing crowd until she reached the bar.
“Told you,” V said, half-grinning.
Claire blinked at her, then slowly set the glass down. “You were serious? That’s actually– Jesus Christ, V.”
V laughed.
Claire looked over at Johnny again, who was already basking in the attention like he’d never left the stage.
“You’re telling me… I’ve been picking on Johnny fucking Silverhand this whole time?”
V nodded, smirking. “Looks like it.”
Claire let out a stunned chuckle. “No wonder he kept trying to one-up me. Oh my God. I’ve been bullying Johnny Silverhand.”
She looked genuinely troubled for a moment.
“I’m sure there’s no hard feelings,” V offered, taking a seat at the bar.
Claire didn’t let the moment pass. Her tone shifted, softer now. “So, how are you doing, V? I heard the news. About Lucas Harford. That's why you stopped showing up at the Afterlife?”
V’s smile faltered. Her eyes drifted downward, to the swell of her stomach. “Yeah. That’s… part of it.”
Claire followed her gaze.
Her eyes widened. “Wait. V– Are you…”
V nodded slowly.
Claire’s stunned expression melted into a warm, bright grin. “You’re pregnant? V, holy shit– congrats.”
“Thanks,” V said, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Claire chuckled. “I’d offer you one on the house, but… y’know.”
V rolled her eyes, smiling. “Honestly? I could use a drink right about now.”
Before Claire could respond, a sharp voice cut through the noise.
“Samurai! With me. Now.”
Rogue.
She stood near the back hallway, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the group like she was ready to flay them all alive. Her gaze flicked to V.
“You too.”
V groaned. “Of course.”
Claire gave her a sympathetic pat on the hand.
V pushed off her stool and made her way over, already bracing herself.
The Afterlife’s back booth was already occupied by the time V reached it. Rogue stood at the head of the table like a general ready to start a war. Johnny leaned casually against the wall beside her, arms crossed. The rest of the crew, Kerry, Henry, Bes, and Denny, were all seated, the edges of their adrenaline highs just starting to fray.
V slid into the booth next to Kerry, who gave her a quiet glance and a quick half-smile.
Rogue didn’t waste time.
“What the fuck is wrong with all of you?” she snapped, glaring at each one in turn. “You are beyond stupid now? Brainworms or just plain suicidal?”
Her eyes zeroed in on Kerry. “This your idea?”
Kerry shrugged, mouth opening to defend himself, but Rogue didn’t give him the chance.
“No, seriously. Why? Why would any of you think this was a good idea?” she barked. “Samurai returns? A concert at Corpo Plaza? With Johnny Silverhand front and center? That’s not just reckless, that’s a death wish. ”
Bes leaned back in her seat, arms folded. “Good to see you too, Rogue.”
Rogue shot her a glare, “Shut up, Nance,” then turned the heat back on Johnny. “And you– you’re a bastard. You think one of your precious speeches was going to go over well? Really? Did you think the corpos would just let you walk away this time?” Her voice sharpened. “You’re not twenty-five anymore, Johnny. This riot? It’s your mess. And if we all get nuked before the year’s out, it’s on you.”
Johnny opened her mouth, but Rogue cut him off again.
“I thought you’d changed,” she growled.
Finally, her gaze landed on V.
“And you ,” she said, the disappointment more cutting than anger. “I expected better of you, Valerie.”
V looked away, jaw tight.
Henry leaned forward, arms on the table. “Okay, seriously. Chill out. Have a drink, take a breather. We’re all still alive, aren’t we?”
Rogue scoffed. “It’s my fucking bar. I’ll do whatever the hell I want. Including kicking all your asses out if I feel like it.”
Johnny smirked. “Actually… technically speaking… It’s also V’s bar now, since you made her protege and all that.”
He turned toward her. “What do you think, boss?”
V crossed her arms and grinned up at Rogue. “I think you could use a drink or two.”
Rogue rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. “I cannot deal with this right now.”
She spun on her heel, barking over her shoulder to the bouncer. “No more guests, Emmerick. I mean it. The only reason that door opens is if someone’s leaving.”
Without another room, she disappeared into one of the private rooms, leaving a trail of cold fury in her wake.
For a moment, silence hung in the air.
Then Kerry leaned over, eyes still on the doorway. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Rogue breaks up with you.”
Johnny sank into the booth beside V with a grunt. “She already did. Months ago.”
Bes raised her hand. “Okay, hold up. Johnny, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Henry and Denny nodded in agreement.
“Start talking, John,” Denny said, arms crossed.
Johnny sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got nothing but time,” Henry replied.
Johnny looked at V. She gave a small nod.
“Alright,” he began. “Remember Arasaka’s secure your soul program that lets the rich speak to dead relatives. There was an experimental chip they made. Fifty-plus years stuck there as a digital ghost, locked in some twisted soul prison. Forced to relive my memories again and again and again. It wasn’t until V stole that chip out of Konpeki that I had anything resembling freedom.”
Kerry chimed in. “That concert back in June? The one we did together? That was actually Johnny. V gave him the wheel now and then, from slotting said Relic in her head.”
V nodded. “Couple months after that, I got in contact with a netrunner. They had the location of Johnny’s actual body, and Militech was holding it. So… we went and got it back. Brought him back.”
“And now you’re all caught up,” Johnny said, leaning back. “Been about five months since I got this new shot at life.”
Kerry nodded slowly. A smile tugged at his lips, then faded. V watched as his eyes narrowed slightly, he glanced at her, then down, just barely, toward her stomach.
His smile vanished.
Henry rubbed the back of his neck. “Damn. That’s… that’s a lot.”
Bes smirked at V. “Jesus, kid. Is there anything you can’t do?”
V smiled softly. “Doesn’t look like it.”
The Afterlife booth buzzed with laughter, the heavy mood from earlier forgotten, for now, at least. Drinks were passed around, half-finished stories turned into inside jokes, and Denny nearly spat her whiskey when Henry tried to impersonate Johnny giving a revolutionary speech with a toothpick as a mic.
At one point, Johnny draped his silver arm over V’s shoulders. She didn’t even flinch. Didn’t acknowledge it, either. She wasn’t about to turn it into a thing. Not when everyone else was still smiling.
Eventually, Johnny reached next to the booth and pulled something free, a worn, familiar guitar he’d been carrying with him since V handed it to him at the concert. He slid it across the table toward Kerry.
“Almost forgot,” Johnny said, voice low but firm. “It’s yours. Been holding onto it too long.”
Kerry blinked at him. “You serious?”
Johnny nodded. “It’s yours, Ker. Doesn’t feel right keeping it.”
But Kerry hesitated, resting a hand on the guitar’s worn neck. “Nah… you should keep it. You’re here, Johnny. It belongs to you again.”
Johnny nudged it closer. “I don’t need it.” He glanced over at V, and her eyes immediately lowered to the ground. “Think tonight’s gonna be my last show anyway.”
Kerry stared at him for a beat, then finally accepted it, fingers brushing the strings reverently.
Henry chuckled. “Look at that, Johnny Silverhand’s got a heart after all.”
Johnny shot him a glare. “Watch it, old man.”
V smiled at their banter, but then the air shifted.
Suddenly winded, she drew a shaky breath, hand bracing against the booth’s edge. Fuck. Not now.
She rose quietly and slipped away before anyone could notice. Found a quiet corner near the back of the bar, dimly lit and blessedly empty. One hand shot to the wall for balance, the other clutched her side as a sharp cough ripped from her chest. She doubled over slightly, eyes clenched shut, and waited for it to pass. The vomiting had stopped over a month ago, thankfully, but the coughing? It returned, worse than ever. And it was getting worse. Every time, she feared it would knock her out cold.
She slid into an empty booth, shoulders rising and falling with each shallow breath. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
When she finally glanced up, she spotted Johnny across the room. Drink in hand. Watching her.
“Don’t mind me,” he said, casually walking over. “Just making sure you’re not dying or anything.”
V gave him a bitter grin, wiping a trace of blood from her lips. “Still got three months left.”
Johnny’s smirk faded. He slid into the booth beside her, setting his drink down without reaching for it.
She glanced away, blinking back the sudden sting in her eyes. “What do you want, Johnny?”
His silence said plenty.
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. Or… the baby.”
Johnny didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, soft, sorrowful.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have stormed out. Shouldn’t have said what I said. I regret all of it, V.”
V laughed under her breath. Bitter. “Pretty sure you’ve got a long list of regrets.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, voice low. “But this one’s top three.”
He reached out carefully, fingers brushing against her cheek. She didn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned in, resting her forehead gently against his.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then a sudden jolt, sharp and unexpected, shot through her stomach.
V gasped softly, pulling back with a quiet curse. Her hand clutched instinctively over her belly.
Johnny’s eyes widened. “What? What is it?”
She smiled through the surprise. “She’s kicking.”
Johnny blinked. “ She? ”
V gave him a sheepish look. “I don’t actually know. Just… got a feeling.”
She shifted in her seat, the baby giving another kick. She reached for Johnny’s ‘ganic hand and guided it to her stomach without a word.
He tensed at first, startled. But then his hand settled. Relaxed.
“I don’t feel anything,” he murmured.
She didn’t say anything, just let him stay there, rubbing circles over the curve of her belly. His touch was careful.
V looked up at him, eyes glimmering.
Johnny looked down.
And kissed her.
Soft. Quiet. No bravado. No venom.
Just two people, still standing after everything, finding their way back.
When they finally pulled apart, Johnny’s hand lingered on her stomach, his fingers still tracing slow, absent-minded circles where their baby continued to kick. V watched him quietly, memorizing the rare softness in his expression. For a moment, it felt like something close to peace.
Then she felt it, eyes on her. Not Johnny’s.
She turned her head slightly, catching sight of Kerry watching them from across the room.
His expression wasn’t one of disgust. It was something closer to shock, guarded and unreadable. But the moment their eyes met, he quickly turned and slipped out of view, as if he hadn’t meant to be caught at all.
Johnny noticed too, lifting his head and following her gaze. He swore under his breath, jaw tightening.
“I’ll go talk to him,” he muttered, pulling his hand back and sliding out of the booth before she could say anything.
And just like that, the moment cracked.
V exhaled slowly, watching him disappear into the crowd. She knew this wouldn’t last. Knew the weight of it all would settle back in once the night ended. She’d be left on the sidelines again, ignored, invisible. Just like before. She and the baby, shelved.
She stood up quietly and made her way toward the exit. Claire caught her near the door, offering a small, tired smile and a nod goodbye.
V returned it with a faint one of her own.
Outside, the Night City air was thick and buzzing. Neon soaked the pavement as she leaned back against the concrete wall, calling her Quadra through the holo. The hum of celebration still echoed faintly behind her.
She waited. Arms crossed. Eyes down.
Five minutes passed.
She was just walking toward the street when a familiar voice called out.
“V!”
She turned. Kerry jogged up to her, catching his breath. “It’s true, isn’t it?” he asked, no need for preamble. “The baby’s Johnny’s?”
V tensed. Her jaw clenched tight, and she gave a single, silent nod.
Kerry let out a disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ… Johnny Silverhand. A dad.”
She didn’t say a word, staring numbly at her stomach.
Kerry noticed. His expression softened. “Guessing this wasn’t… planned?”
“Honestly,” V said, voice dry, “I don’t even know what I’m doing. Tonight’s the first time I’ve seen him in over two months.”
Kerry shook his head. “Fucking asshole.”
V glanced at him.
“At least I know one thing,” Kerry added. “I’m a better dad than Johnny. Which… isn’t saying much considering my kids live with my wife in Tokoyo. But still, you’d think he’d have changed more.”
V looked away, throat tight.
“I should get going,” she said quietly, stepping toward her car.
“Wait,” Kerry said, reaching behind him. “Before you go… I’ve got something for you.”
He pulled Johnny’s guitar from his back, the same one Johnny had handed him inside, and held it out to her.
V stared. “I thought Johnny gave that back to you.”
“He did,” Kerry said, smiling faintly. “But I’ve got a million guitars. This one? It’s for Little Samurai. ”
Her brow rose slightly. “Little Samurai?”
“Yeah,” Kerry said. “Your kid. Johnny’s kid. Figured… they might want something of their dad’s, y’know? Something to pass on.”
V looked down at the guitar in her hands, worn, battle-scared, and beloved. Her fingers curled gently around the neck.
She nodded once and walked over to place it carefully in the passenger seat of her car.
When she turned back, Kerry was waiting, arms open.
“C’mere, kiddo.”
She let herself be pulled into a hug. His embrace was warm, grounding.
“Everything’s gonna be all right,” he said softly against her hair. “Johnny’ll come around. Eventually.”
V closed her eyes, just for a second.
“Thanks, Ker.”
She pulled away, climbed into her car, and drove off into the Night City night, guitar riding shotgun, and something like hope settling in the back seat.
V didn’t remember getting home, just the sensation of the door closing behind her and her body hitting the bed like a dropped stone. She barely kicked off her boots, peeling off her pants and tugging on a pair of worn pajama shorts. Johnny’s tank top stayed on. So did the faint smell of his cologne embedded in the fabric. She draped his jacket across the edge of the bed, too tired to hang it.
Sleep took her fast.
But it didn’t last.
Her holo buzzed on the nightstand, bright blue light blinking in the dark room. She groaned, rolling over, squinting at the screen. Johnny.
V frowned, staring at his name like it might disappear if she waited long enough.
It didn’t.
She exhaled sharply and finally picked up.
“What is it?” she grumbled, voice hoarse. “It’s the middle of the night, this better be good, Johnny.”
There was a beat of silence, then, “Hey, V…”
She groaned, recognizing the slurry edge to his voice. “Oh, great. You’re drunk.”
“I– no, listen,” he said, words a little too slow. “I need a ride.”
“You what?”
“I totaled the Porsche.”
“You what? ” she snapped, sitting up in the bed, one hand rubbing the small of her aching back. “Seriously, Johnny?”
He let out a pathetic-sounding sigh. “Can you just… come get me?”
“Call someone else,” she snapped. “You’ve got friends. Call Kerry. ”
A long pause.
“There is no one else,” he said quietly.
The silence on the line dragged. V clenched her jaw, weighing her options, leaving him there to sleep it off on a curb or drag herself out of bed for the man who kept flipping in and out of her life like a coin.
“Where are you?” she asked at last, voice flat.
“...North Oak Columbarium.”
V swore under her breath. “Of course you are.”
She hung up before he could say anything else.
The air outside was cooler than expected, wind cutting through her oversized jacket as she made her way to the Quadra. She hadn’t even bothered to fix her hair or swap out Johnny’s tank top. Combat boots and tired eyes would have to do.
The drive through Westbrook was quiet. Night City never fully slept, but at three in the morning, it at least slowed down.
She pulled into the North Oak Columbarium and stepped out, heart heavy in her chest. The kind of place that pressed on you, whether you wanted it to or not.
Rows upon rows of the dead, names carved into stone. Stories ended.
She passed by familiar markers, feet crunching on the floor.
And then she stopped.
Jackie Welles.
Her breath caught. The inscription read, “ Good night, sweet prince. ”
She reached out, fingers brushing the cool stone. Misty’s words. Misty’s loss. V’s, too. Some days it still didn’t feel real. But the ofrenda had helped. Gave her a place to put the grief, even if it never fully left.
She lingered for a moment longer, then continued her search.
She found him slouched against a columbarium wall, paper bag clutched loosely in one hand. His head tilted back, eyes half-lidded. Wasted.
And fittingly, he was parked right below his own damn inscription.
“ Robert John Linder.
A son of a bitch who never gave up. A legend among legends. ”
V let out a breath, bitter and fond all at once.
Her fingers grazed the dog tags around her neck, matching the same name on the inscription.
She cleared her throat softly.
“Hey, Johnny…”
Johnny glanced up when he heard her voice, eyes tired, the bag in his hand rustling as he shifted. “Didn’t think you’d show.”
V grimaced, stepping closer. “Yeah, well… I almost didn’t. Spent a good five minutes staring at your name on the holo after hanging up and debating it.”
He let out a bitter laugh and tipped the bottle back. Cheap whiskey, most likely. “Sounds about right.”
She looked around the columbarium, so many names, lives, losses, before her eyes returned to him. “What the hell are you even doing here, Johnny?”
He blinked slowly, looked around like he’d forgotten where he was. “I dunno,” he muttered eventually. “Seemed a fitting place to get drunk.”
She sighed and sank down beside him, one hand instinctively resting on her stomach. The baby hadn’t stopped moving all night.
They sat in silence, broken only by the distant sound of traffic beyond the walls.
After a while, Johnny glanced at her. “Why’d you leave the Afterlife?” he asked. “I came back from talking to Kerry, and you were just… gone. Thought things were cool between us again.”
V’s frown deepened. She didn’t look at him, just picked at a loose thread on the jacket. “Because I know you.”
She finally turned her head to meet his eyes. “I know how this goes. We talk, we fight, you leave. You pretend I don’t exist. The baby doesn’t exist. Then you come back like nothing happened… and we do it all over again.”
Johnny looked like she’d slapped him. His shoulders slumped, the bottle sagging in his grip. “That's really what you think?”
She nodded slowly, her eyes brimming. “It’s not what I think, Johnny. It’s what keeps happening. ”
Her voice cracked at the end, and she quickly looked away, biting the inside of her cheek to hold it together. Damn hormones. Damn everything.
“Shit, V…” he muttered, setting the bottle down and leaned closer. “I’m sorry, okay? Please– don’t cry.”
But she was already gone, the dam broken, the sobs coming despite her trying to hold them back. She curled in on herself slightly, arms wrapped tight, but Johnny moved gently, placing a tentative hand on her back. She leaned against his shoulder, tears soaking into his shirt.
“I can’t do this,” she choked. “I can’t keep this up.”
He held her a little tighter. “I’m not gonna leave you again. I swear. I’ll be there for you.”
She pulled away abruptly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Don’t lie.”
Johnny didn’t flinch this time. He looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m not leaving you again, V.”
He reached out slowly and placed a hand over her belly, where the baby continued to kick. “Or her.”
She stared at his hand, heart hammering in her chest. Then she reached down and moved it away.
“Don’t…” she whispered.
Her throat felt tight, like the next words were trying to choke her on their way out. “I’m gonna give the baby up. For adoption.”
Johnny froze. His face fell, but he didn’t lash out. He just swallowed hard and asked, “Why?”
V covered her face with her hands, breathing deeply. “I’ve been thinking about it. Weighing every option. I’ve got less than three months left. That’s it. And even if I find a cure in that time, which is a big if, I don’t even know if I’m ready for this.”
She dropped her hands and turned to him, eyes hollow and glassy. “I don’t think I was meant to be a mother, Johnny.”
He opened his mouth, but she kept going.
“And even if I did keep the baby… You wouldn’t raise her.” Her voice cracked again. “You’ve made that pretty damn clear. Between your disappearing acts and the bomb in your head, I can’t count on you.”
She shook her head, the tears returning in full force. “I just… I can’t do this.”
She broke down again, collapsing all at once.
Johnny didn’t say anything as V cried; he just sat with her, quietly rubbing slow, steady circles on her back. The kind of touch that said I’m here, even when words failed. Eventually, her sobs softened into ragged breaths, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Still crying, but no longer breaking.
Her voice was small when she spoke again. “I’m scared, Johnny.”
He tilted his head slightly, listening.
“So fucking scared.” She let out a bitter chuckle through the last of her tears. “And the pathetic part is… I don’t even know what I’m more scared of. Dying… or being a mom. Being responsible for a life.”
Johnny didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t make promises or give her false hope. He just pulled her in closer, letting her talk.
“When I was twelve…” she began, voice shaking, “my mom killed herself.”
That made him turn his head. “What?”
V sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Yeah, that’s what I was told. It was my brother, Vincent, who found her. I didn’t even see her. Just… her ashes in a jar. Never got to say goodbye.”
She stared ahead, eyes glassy. “He was never the same after that. Got really messed up. Two years later, he– he had cyberpsychosis.”
Johnny sat up a bit straighter, his expression shifting. But V kept going.
“I was the one who put him down.”
Her whole body trembled. “What kind of fourteen-year-old girl has to kill her fucking twin brother?”
The silence that followed stretched on, heavy as concrete. V inhaled sharply and looked up at the sky, empty, dull, no stars to distract her.
“You wanna know what the real kicker is?” she asked, voice jagged.
Johnny hesitated. “V…”
She turned her head to meet his eyes. There was no fire in hers, just pain. Exhaustion.
“The man you’re working for, Lucas Harford, my father? ” She let the word hang like poison. “Turns out, he killed my mom. Framed it as suicide.”
Johnny froze, simply staring at her.
“Arasaka showed me the truth exactly one year after my brother died. They made me an offer. Staged my death, recruited me to work for them. Counterintel. To take Militech down from the inside.”
Johnny stared at her for a long time. Didn’t blink. Just stared.
“Shit,” he finally whispered. “V… I had no idea.”
She let out a laugh, humorless and cold. “Yeah. That’s the thing. Even in my own head, you didn’t have to see any of that. Same way, I didn’t get to see your memories from the war. Trauma’s funny like that.” She shook her head. “All you knew was that I was some ex-Arasaka corpo bitch. Your words, by the way.”
He winced, guilt written all over his face as he looked away.
“I’ve got one hell of a family history, apparently, ” she muttered. “And now my father? He’s gone completely delusional. Thinks his father, my grandfather, was one of you so-called legends. One of the guys who helped nuke Arasaka Tower.”
Johnny blinked, looking up now. “First time I’m hearing about this.”
“Says you knew him. My grandfather.” She scoffed. “I couldn’t care less. I want nothing to do with them. Not Lucas. Not the family line. None of it.”
She leaned back against the wall again.
Johnny let out a long, heavy sigh and took a deep swig from his whiskey bottle, the amber liquid catching in the blue lights of the inscriptions around them.
“I don’t know what happened to my parents,” he muttered, gaze fixed ahead. “Don’t really care.”
V didn’t say anything, just listened.
“What you said earlier… about the memories,” he went on. “I got flashes, too. Bits and pieces from your past, the same way you got mine. I know your father used to beat you. Didn’t put together who he was, though, at the time.” His voice was low, almost ashamed. “Mine did too. Don’t remember my mother, too young. I was four years old when my father sold me for a pack of cigarettes.”
V watched him quietly as Johnny continued, “A little while later, I ended up with a group of Nomads. They took me in, made me one of their own.”
“I left when I was fifteen. Had something to prove. Enlisted in the military. Same age you were when you joined Arasaka, right?”
She nodded; the symmetry wasn’t lost on either of them.
“I lost my arm in the war. Deserted. Ended up at Hotel Pistis Sophia.” He paused, breathing in deeply through his nose. “I was just a scared fucking kid.”
V turned to him, watching him carefully now.
“When I told you that hotel was a nice place to die…” He laughed, bitter and broken. “I meant it. There was a knife in the room. Was thinkin’ about ending it all.”
She didn’t interrupt. Just kept listening.
“In a way, I did,” Johnny said, glancing up at the grave marker above them. “Robert John Linder died in that room. That’s when Johnny Silverhand was born.”
His hand moved carefully, almost reverently, to the dog tags hanging from her neck. His name. His past. Everything etched into a couple of thin pieces of metal.
“I don’t regret it,” he said, letting the tags slip gently from his fingers. “Letting go of who I was. And I sure as hell don’t regret you. Us. You were the one good thing that came outta that place alive.”
His eyes locked with hers. There was no swagger now, no bravado. Just a man making a promise.
“I still owe you something, V,” he said, voice steady. “As long as you wear those tags around your neck, I’m not walking away. My life for yours. I mean that.”
She blinked, heart catching.
“I’m not gonna sit on my ass and let you die. Not while I’m breathing. You don’t need to give up the baby. Because I meant what I said, I’m not leaving. Not you, not her.”
He reached out, slower this time, cautious but sure. His hand landed on her stomach again, warm and solid.
“I’ll be there,” he whispered. “For both of you.”
And this time, she believed him.
She leaned forward, eyes shining, and kissed him. A quiet, slow, searching kiss. And he kissed her back with the same kind of fire she knew he only saved for revolution. When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I’m never fuckin’ leaving you again,” he whispered.
The silence that followed was full, not empty. Peaceful in its own way.
V eventually glanced toward the horizon, staring at the dark sky.
“It’s late,” she murmured. “I’ll take you back to your place.”
Johnny nodded, pushing himself up to his feet. Then, with a hand extended, he helped V to hers. They turned toward the exit.
But V paused.
She turned back to the wall, his inscription, and bent down, grabbing the whiskey bottle. Without a word, she unscrewed the cap and poured what was left of the alcohol over Johnny’s inscription.
“Rest in peace, Robert Linder,” she whispered.
And then she turned and followed Johnny Silverhand.
The drive back to the H10 Megabuilding was quiet, eerily so. The usual buzz of Militech patrols and sirens had faded into the distance. Likely, they were all concentrated in Corpo Plaza now, trying to contain the riot that Johnny, in large part, had helped ignite.
Johnny didn’t say a word the whole ride. He slipped into the passenger seat, arms folded, the whiskey catching up to him. V glanced over at him once and caught him absentmindedly toying with a chain around his neck, her bullet pendant.
The one she’d given him on his first night back. The one she didn’t know he still had.
She looked away, heart twisting, and focused back on the road as she guided the car into the parking lot.
When they parked, she let the silence sit between them for a few seconds more. Then she said, “Guess this is it, then. I’ll see you around.”
But as she reached to unlock the car doors, Johnny’s hand caught her arm gently.
“Stay,” he said. Just that. Quiet. Pleading. “Just… stay.”
She hesitated. Every fiber of her body was worn down to its limit, and the idea of driving back to her place alone felt like dragging herself through broken glass.
“...Alright,” she said finally, nodding once.
Johnny offered a tired but genuine smile before climbing out of the car. She sighed, low and quiet, then followed him.
The elevator creaked as it carried them upward, its screen flashing the latest news. A breathless anchor’s voice echoed off the walls, detailing the “civil unrest” in Corpo Plaza and reporting eyewitness confirmation of one Johnny Silverhand’s return.
V ignored it. That was tomorrow’s problem.
They stepped out, the hallway quiet at this hour. Johnny led the way, unlocking the door to his apartment. As soon as it creaked open, a blur of grey darted between their legs, Nibbles.
Johnny reacted fast, scooping the cat into his arms before she could make a full escape. He turned to V, sheepish. “She keeps trying to bolt.”
V grinned despite herself and reached forward to pet the cat. “It’s been a while, Nibbles.”
Nibbles let out a grumbly little meow in return.
They stepped inside together. As soon as the door shut behind them, Johnny let the cat down, and she immediately bolted under the desk like she was insulted by the betrayal.
Johnny gestured lazily toward the bed. “Take it. I’ll crash on the couch.”
“You sure?” V asked.
He gave her a look. “You think I’m lettin’ a pregnant girl sleep on a couch after today?”
She smiled faintly, kicked off her boots, and dropped onto the bed. It was firm, a little cold, but clean. She adjusted her position slightly, lying on her side, and found herself watching Johnny as he sank onto the couch, arms folded behind his head.
Sleep claimed her fast.
But it didn’t last.
Just as the sun began to break, her body seized up. The sharp, metallic taste hit her tongue seconds before the pain gripped her lungs like a vice. She jolted upright, gasping, blood spilling over her lips. She coughed hard, trying to breathe, her vision blurring.
She panicked, forgot where she was for a second, until–
“V!”
Johnny's voice cut through the dark, urgent and rough.
He was there in an instant, hands on her shoulders, grounding her, steadying her through the coughing fit. She clung to him, trembling, the pain wracking through her entire frame.
“I can’t– can’t–” she sobbed. “I don’t want to die, Johnny.”
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Johnny whispered fiercely, pulling her into his chest. “I’ve got. I’ve got you.”
She cried harder, clinging to his shirt, until the coughing finally subsided and she could breathe again.
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere, Valerie. And I’m never lettin’ you go.”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
She woke up crying.
The tears came first, before her eyes even opened, before her lungs remembered how to breathe. They slid down her cheeks hot and fast, choking her on their way out.
For a terrifying moment, V had no idea where she was.
She couldn’t see; the room was pitch-black, unfamiliar. Her limbs were tangled in sheets that felt too soft, too unfamiliar. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a prisoner rattling bars. The nightmare clung to her like oil, too real, too vivid.
Still there. Still in that cell.
She hadn’t escaped.
The rescue, the warm arms, the crying baby, it was all a delusion. Her mind was playing tricks on her. The Blackwall searing into her consciousness, rewriting her reality to make her think she had broken free.
But she hadn’t.
She was still trapped.
Still under her father’s control.
Her breathing sped up, short, panicked gasps as her vision swam. She clutched the sheets in her fists, searching for anything solid, anything real.
And then she was him again.
The soldier.
The one she shot in the head point-blank. The way he crumpled to the floor.
Just like Vincent.
Her brother.
She hadn’t thought about Vincent in years. She buried those memories deep, but something about that young Militech soldier had dragged them up again, raw and bleeding. Same helpless fall. Same vacant eyes.
Her chest tightened. Her lungs burned. Her body wouldn’t stop shaking.
She was unraveling.
Something shifted beside her in the bed. Sheets rustled. A presence leaned close, and a voice cut through the dark, rough and familiar.
“Val.”
Two hands settled gently on her shoulders.
“Hey, look at me. Breath.”
Her eyes adjusted slowly, and Johnny came into focus. His face inches from hers, worry creased in every line.
“V, breathe,” he repeated, slower this time, syncing his breath with hers.
In. Out.
In. Out.
She tried. Matched the rhythm. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.
“You’re okay,” he said softly. “You’re safe. He can’t get to you anymore. You’re free.”
A sound broke the stillness, a tiny, fussing cry from nearby in the room.
V’s head snapped toward it. The bassinet.
Jackie.
Just a shadow in the dark, but squirming now, mewling softly.
V’s pulse hammered harder. Her skin felt too tight, her skull too small. She sat up fast, brushing off Johnny’s hands.
“I–just need a second,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Alone. I can’t–I can’t do this. Can’t focus.”
She turned away from him and looked toward the source of the crying. Her daughter’s voice pulled at something inside her, some exposed nerve.
Her mind kept spinning.
What if this isn’t real?
What if this is all part of it?
A simulation, crafted by her father to trick her. Keep her docile. Make her think she won. So she’d stop fighting.
Maybe none of it was real. Goro, Songbird, the escape, Johnny, Jackie.
Maybe she was still in that same cold cell with the steel door and sterile walls.
Maybe the only way out was…
She didn’t want to finish that thought.
But it was already there.
Johnny was already moving.
As if he could read her mind, he crossed the space between them on the bed and pulled her into his arms before she could flinch away.
She struggled weakly, but he held her fast, pressing her against his chest.
“I’m not leaving you, nor am I lettin’ you go,” he whispered fiercely. “Not now. Not after this. I know what happens if I do.”
She stilled.
He held her tighter.
“I’ve seen this before,” he muttered. “Evelyn. Me. You leave someone like this, leave them alone long enough, they don’t come back.”
V went quiet.
His hand found her wrist, fingers ghosting over the new scar there. He traced them slowly, with reverence and regret.
Jackie was still crying.
Johnny turned his head toward the sound, swallowing hard. His voice dropped.
“When I pulled her out of you, V…”
He stopped, breath catching in his throat.
“You died, stopped breathing, there was so much blood. And she… Jackie … she wasn’t moving either, wasn’t breathing. I thought I lost her. I thought I lost you both.”
V looked up at him, her body frozen, her heart stopped.
“I had my Malorian in my hand,” he said, voice hollow. “Loaded. Safety off. I put it to my temple and pulled the trigger.”
Her breath hitched.
He looked down at her, his eyes glassy but focused.
“Angel saved me. Quickhacked the gun before it fired. I should be dead. I would be. If it weren’t for her.”
He pulled her tighter against him, arms wrapped completely around her now.
“I know what happens if I leave you alone. I’ve got the proof right here.”
He gently brushed her wrists again.
“So no,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
V sobbed into him, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, face buried in her chest. Her body trembled, and Johnny’s hand moved gently to the back of her head, pressing her closer against him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, voice steady. “I’ve got you.”
The warmth of him, the smell of him, the calm in his voice, none of it could quiet the noise in her head. Her eyes squeezed shut, but behind her lids, the memories refused to fade.
Vincent.
Her twin brother.
He was only fourteen.
And she killed him.
The words hovered in her throat, bitter and heavy, until she couldn’t hold them anymore. A sob wracked through her chest.
“I killed him,” she choked out.
Johnny remained silent, arms still around her.
“Who did you kill?” he asked gently, voice barely a breath in the dark.
“My brother,” she whispered, finally confessing it. Finally acknowledging the truth.
And she cried harder.
Johnny didn’t speak. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t try to fix it.
He just held her.
Let her fall apart in his arms.
When the sobs finally subsided, her breathing no longer ragged, her chest no longer heaving, he spoke again.
“I know,” he said softly.
She stilled.
“What?” she murmured, pulling back slightly to look up at him.
“You told me,” he said. “Sorry. Well… she did.”
V blinked. “She… did?” she asked, voice hoarse.
Johnny nodded, gaze drifting toward the bassinet. Jackie was still crying, soft, pitiful little whimpers that never quite reached a scream. He stood slowly, leaving the bed to cross the room.
V watched him, mind still reeling. Fuck. Guess I really did tell him everything.
Johnny leaned over and picked Jackie up with practiced care, holding her against his chest. He began bouncing her gently, his steps slow and steady as he paced back toward the bed.
“We were at the Columbarium,” he said quietly. “That’s when she told me. Kind just… confessed it. Talked about your old man. And I told her about mine.”
He sat down next to her again, cradling Jackie in his arms now. She was still fussy but not crying quite as hard. Her tiny fingers curled into Johnny’s shirt.
V watched, eyes wet, throat thick.
“Well… you don’t know this,” Johnny continued, his eyes on their daughter, “but my dad… he was abusive.”
He bounced Jackie once more, his voice distant now, pulled from somewhere deeper.
“I was really young. Only remember bits and pieces. Slamming doors. Yelling. The smell of blood on the carpet.”
He looked down at the baby, and his expression softened.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “What drives parents to hurt their own kids.”
He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to Jackie’s forehead.
V blinked hard, trying to hold back more tears. She stared ahead, voice barely audible when she spoke.
“So you already know… everything,” she said. “About my mother. My father. My brother.”
Johnny nodded.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said. “Not unless you want to.”
His voice was so sure. So final.
“I already know,” he added, eyes still on Jackie. “I know you.”
And somehow, that brought comfort.
A strange, quiet comfort that settled into V’s chest. She didn’t need to say the words aloud. She didn’t need to relive every horror. Because he already knew.
Jackie squirmed gently in his arms, her cries fading to tiny noises, coos, and whimpers, and soft breaths as she looked up at Johnny.
V spoke softly, voice distant. “When I stayed with Jackie Welles… back in the day… I left a photo behind. Of Vincent.” She hesitated, then glanced around the dark room. “Might still be here.”
Johnny didn’t say anything as she leaned over the side of the bed and reached down beneath the mattress, searching near the pillow. Her fingers brushed against something smooth, paper. She froze for a moment, then pulled out not one, but two photographs.
She sat up slowly, blinking at them in the dim light.
The first was exactly what she expected, a photo of Vincent at fourteen. Too young to die.
But the second…
V furrowed her brow, lips parting slightly.
This one hadn’t been there before.
Johnny leaned closer, adjusting Jackie carefully in his arms. He reached out and took the second photo from her fingers, studying it with something like reverence.
V recognized the photo now, she pulled it out of that box Johnny packed up in his Porsche. The same Porsche she took when she left Kerry’s place. A photo of her, heavily pregnant. Johnny’s silver hand spread wide across her stomach, the other covering her eyes, both of them smiling.
Johnny stared at the image like it was a fragment of another life.
“This,” he said quietly, “Is my favorite photo of you.”
She glanced at him, surprised.
“You were crying in this one,” he added. “Didn’t want to take the picture. So I covered your eyes. Hid your tears.”
She reached out and took it back, fingers brushing against his.
“How far along was I?” she asked, eyes locked on the version of herself frozen in that moment, round-bellied, vulnerable, somehow still smiling.
Johnny looked down at their daughter before answering.
“Seven months.”
She nodded slowly, then met his gaze. “Were we… together? During all of it?”
His face darkened, shoulders tensing.
“No,” he said. Quiet. Honest.
V looked at Jackie now, small and warm in Johnny’s arms. She let out a small breath. “So… was she a mistake?”
Johnny looked at her, eyes heavy with something deeper.
“I don’t know, V,” he said. He took the photos and placed them down on the mattress between them.
“So tell me.”
Johnny let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “When you brought me back… I couldn’t leave your side. I was obsessed. But I couldn’t tell you. ‘Cause I was a fuckin’ gonk.”
His voice dropped, softer now.
“When Jackie was conceived… I thought that night was a long time coming. You didn’t. Just need to… I don’t know, blow up steam or somethin’. Didn’t see it the same way.”
V looked away, feeling uneasy.
“So yeah,” Johnny continued, “things got… awkward. But we tried to stay chooms. Or pretend to.”
He bounced Jackie gently, absently brushing a silver finger over her cheek.
“I found out you were pregnant by chance,” he said. “Still wonder how long you would’ve kept it from me if I hadn’t. I wasn’t happy about it. Not at first. But you were dead set on keeping the pregnancy.”
He paused, eyes distant.
“So I blew off steam. Ghosted. Had to think. The Samurai concert changed things. We decided to give it a shot. Settle down. Prepare to raise her together.”
His mouth tugged into a small, crooked grin.
“Best damn two months of my life.”
V smiled faintly. She knew enough to guess they weren’t just chooms during that time.
Johnny’s smile faded.
“At the end… we got into a fight. Bad one. One you don’t come back from. I left. And…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
She knew.
V reached out then, carefully taking Jackie from his arms. The baby squirmed slightly, and as V shifted her, Jackie’s small hand latched onto her finger, holding tight.
Johnny looked at her again, his voice low. Serious.
“I love you,” he said. “I always did. Knew that the whole damn time. But you…”
He swallowed hard.
“You never loved me. Never said the words.”
V looked down at her daughter, now drifting into sleep in her arms. The tiny rise and fall of her chest. The soft sigh of breath.
And she realized something.
This whole time, she’d assumed the version of herself who’d died was hopelessly in love with Johnny.
But she wasn’t.
Which meant… her feelings now–they were hers–her own.
Unfiltered. Undeniable.
She leaned in and kissed him.
Not because she was supposed to.
But because she wanted to.
Because he was hers, and she was his.
She pulled back, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Has she ever kissed you like that?”
Johnny stared at her, his breath caught. He said nothing.
He just kissed her back.
They pulled apart again, both out of breath, hearts thudding in sync.
V settled into his arms, cradling their sleeping infant between them.
“Thank you, Johnny,” she whispered.
Johnny glanced at her, brow raised.
“For taking me home. For saving my life, again. ”
Johnny pressed a soft kiss to her temple and adjusted her gently on the bed, pulling her closer against his chest. His silver hand brushed tenderly over their daughter’s head. The motion lulled V into calm.
She didn’t care if this was not real.
Didn’t care if this was all some illusion, some simulation cooked up by Militech to keep her from fighting. It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to wake up.
She fell asleep like that, in Johnny’s arms, their daughter curled between them, wrapped in a warmth that felt too good to be real.
But it was real when she opened her eyes again.
Morning light spilled through the curtains. The air smelled like dust, fabric softener, and something warm from the kitchen. She blinked once, groggy, then sat up quickly.
The bed was empty.
Jackie, gone.
Johnny, gone.
Her heart kicked in her chest. She threw off the blanket and scrambled to her feet, adrenaline waking her fully now. Panic rose in her throat as she pushed open the door and bolted down the hallway, down the stairs, out of breath.
She froze on the last step.
Voices, soft, familiar, drifted toward her.
V paused, breath catching. She crept the last few steps down like a normal person, her panic melting away as the scene unfolded in front of her.
Mama Welles was perched in an armchair, Nibbles sprawled contentedly across her lap. Across from her on the couch, Johnny sat cradling Jackie, bottle-feeding her with focused care. His voice was low, calm.
Their conversation stopped when they noticed her.
Mama Welles gently brushed Nibbles off her lap and stood, moving toward V with open arms. “Come, mija. Sit,” she said, ushering her forward.
Johnny scooted over on the couch to make room.
V sank down beside him, still catching her breath, and Mama Welles gently brushed a hand across her temple, searching her face.
“How are you feeling?”
V exhaled. “Much better. Thanks, Mama Welles.”
She glanced sideways at Johnny, who hadn’t stopped feeding Jackie. He looked over at her, guilt flickering behind his eyes.
“Sorry, I wasn’t there when you woke up,” he murmured. “Was gonna head back up, just didn’t want Jackie waking you.”
V shook her head. “It would’ve been fine.”
Johnny didn’t say anything.
Mama Welles let out a sigh and sat back down in the chair. “Help me convince Jonathan that going back to the Afterlife is a stupid idea.”
V turned toward Johnny, startled. “You’re going to the Afterlife? After yesterday?”
He didn’t look at her. “Militech will be all over you,” she said. “Your face is probably already all over the media.”
Mama Welles nodded in agreement, folding her arms. “They’ll be searching for you. For both of you.”
Johnny shifted Jackie in his arms, unbothered. “Not like I’m going to parade the Porsche around. Afterlife’s safe. Rogue reopened it, and now it’s got eyes on it. Militech knows better than to make a move there. Too many edgerunners, mercs, fixers. None of ‘em want to deal with corpos breathing down their necks.”
V frowned. “And you need to go now ?”
Johnny glanced her way. “I need to meet up with Rogue. With the others. Figure out the next steps. Now that the crew is disbanding.” He adjusted Jackie again, then slowly turned toward her. “Was gonna head out as soon as you woke up.”
He rose from the couch and carefully transferred Jackie into V’s arms. She held her daughter against her chest, watching as Johnny headed toward the front door.
Mama Welles stood abruptly. “Un segundo, mija.” She hurried after him.
V remained seated, staring down at her daughter’s peaceful face. Jackie cooed faintly in her arms. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Nibbles leap up onto the arm of the couch, settling in beside her.
She glanced at the cat, then back at the front door, brow furrowing.
Mama Welles returned a moment later, muttering something under her breath. She dropped back into the armchair and exhaled, exasperated.
“This is the thanks I get for letting him stay in my dead son’s room,” she said with a shake of her head. “Runs off every day the first chance he gets.”
She waved a hand. “But enough about Jonathan. Ay Dios mío, I can’t with him.”
She looked a V more softly now. “You mija, you’re welcome here. For as long as you need.”
Her voice dropped, earnest. “Unlike him, I know you’d appreciate the hospitality.”
V felt her chest tighten, gratitude and something heavier rising behind her eyes. She nodded.
“Thank you,” she said.
Mama Welles smiled warmly as she looked down at Jackie, still cradled in V’s arms. The baby stared up at V like she was the most fascinating thing in the world, eyes wide and full of curiosity.
V’s lips curved in a quiet smile.
Jackie let out a soft coo the moment their eyes met, her little hands flexing with excitement. V’s heart melted. She didn’t even notice how long she was just sitting there, locked in that gaze, completely mesmerized by her daughter.
Mama Welles cleared her throat gently, breaking the trance.
“You hungry, mija?”
V blinked and looked up. “Starving.”
The kitchen was just as she remembered, warm, cluttered, homey. The scent of something freshly reheated lingered in the air. Mama Welles didn’t waste any time; she took Jackie from her arms and nestled her with ease, gazing at the baby as she handed V a full plate.
V ate like she hadn’t in weeks. Because she hadn’t. Not really.
Not since Militech. Not since their goddamn nutrient paste and calorie bars and engineerd protein sludge.
But she didn’t mention any of that out loud.
She just nodded gratefully, “Thank you, Mama Welles.”
Mama Welles smiled gently. “Misty’ll be by soon,” she said as she rocked Jackie in her arms. “She doesn’t know you’re back yet. Figured that’ll be a nice surprise.”
V paused, mid-bite. “She still comes by?”
“Every day,” Mama Welles said proudly. “Helps with Jackie whenever Jonathan’s off at the Afterlife. Some gig, or some scheme, you already know how he is.”
V nodded slowly and glanced down at her now-empty plate.
She sat in silence for a moment, letting the food settle, then looked up. “How much do you know?”
Mama Welles shifted Jackie onto her lap. “Not everything,” she said honestly. “He’s filled me in on a lot, but even I don’t understand some of it.”
They moved back into the living room, the quiet rhythm of the house wrapping around them again.
They settled back in, Mama Welles in the armchair, V on the couch. She leaned back, thinking. Then softly she said, “It’s complicated. I only have memories up to a certain point.”
Mama Welles waved a hand gently. “No need to explain all the tech, mija. Jonathan’s already broken down the Relic, Mikoshi, and all that nonsense. Weeks ago.” She sighed. “I get the logistics. Doesn’t mean it’s not a lot.”
V nodded, some small part of her relieved. Less explaining. Less dragging everything back up.
Mama Welles turned to face her fully. “How are you really feeling?” she asked, softer now. “And I mean truthfully this time.”
V’s gaze dropped to her lap. Her wrists caught her eyes, scars still healing, still tender. She stared at them for a long moment before answering.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “Better. Better than before.”
Mama Welles reached out, squeezed her hand gently. “That’ll do.”
A knock came at the door.
“That’ll be Misty,” Mama Welles said as she rose to her feet. She handed Jackie back into V’s arms, who accepted her gratefully, holding her close once more.
The door creaked open.
Sure enough, Misty stepped inside. “Johnny, leave already?” she asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Yeah,” Mama Welles replied.
“Shame. Wanted to ask him something–”
She froze mid-sentence. Her eyes landed on V.
“...V?”
She stepped forward, unsure at first, then faster.
She stopped to her knees beside the couch and wrapped her arms around V in a tight, urgent hug.
“Oh my god, are you okay? Are you hurt? When did you get back?”
“I’m fine,” V whispered. “Got back last night.”
Misty pulled away just enough to look at her, still holding onto her arms. Her eyes shimmered. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said. “Glad you’re here.”
She pulled V into another embrace, Jackie blinking up in V’s lap.
V closed her eyes and murmured, “Told you you were gonna see me again.”
Mama Welles stood to the side, watching them with a fond smile before slipping quietly into the kitchen, giving them space.
Misty finally leaned back, brushing a few tears from her lashes.
She looked down at Jackie, and V nodded.
Misty reached out and gently took Jackie into her arms. The baby looked up at her, wide-eyed and calm.
“She seems happy,” Misty said, smiling softly.
V nodded again, a little slower this time.
“I’ve never seen her this happy,” Misty added, eyes still on Jackie. “Must be because her mom’s back.”
V’s throat tightened.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
V deflected.
Instead of answering Misty’s heartfelt words, she turned her gaze toward the couch, her eyes landing on the familiar figure curled up on the armrest.
“Nibbles, didn’t see her since I got back, wasn’t sure where she was.”
She reached out gently, and the cat didn’t hesitate, pressing her head firmly against V’s hand. V scratched behind her ears, the motion easy, familiar, comforting. Nibbles let out a soft purr and blinked slowly.
“She’s been staying here,” Misty said, scooting closer with a small smile. “With Mama Welles. A couple of months now.”
V turned toward her, brows furrowing slightly.
“You called me,” Misty continued, more gently now. “A while back. You were upset, crying, but pretending not to be by the time I showed up. Said you couldn’t take care of her anymore. Not with the baby on the way.”
V said nothing. She didn’t remember that. But she didn’t doubt it happened.
“It was after a big fight with Johnny,” Misty added, not unkindly. “You didn’t say what it was about. I offered to take you here. Said Mama Welles might know what to do.”
V leaned back against the couch, petting Nibbles a little slower.
“She’s been spoiled rotten since,” Mama Welles chimed in as she returned from the Kitchen, smiling fondly as the cat stretched and yawned in response.
V’s gaze drifted back to Jackie, still in Misty’s arms, who was looking at her with the same intensity she had the night before. A stare that went right through her, as if the baby were trying to read her mind. Understand her. Make sense of her.
Misty noticed and handed her back without a word.
V cradled Jackie again, and the baby cooed softly, face lighting up at the contact.
And just like that, the sadness crept in.
How much had she missed? How many firsts had slipped past while she was under Militech’s boot? While they ran tests, beat her, kept her hooked up to machines?
How much had they taken?
She swallowed that ache and looked back up at Misty. “Thanks,” she said. “For introducing Johnny to Mama Welles. I almost wish I could’ve seen that encounter.”
Misty grinned, “It was… something. He was pacing outside the door for fifteen minutes, practicing what to say. Then he barges in and addresses her ‘Gudalupe Welles’ like some kid meeting his output’s mom.” She laughed, “Didn’t take her long to set him straight.”
“Hence, Jonathan and not Johnny.” Mama Welles said with a sly smile.
“Johnny needed somewhere to land,” Misty added. “And I knew Mama Welles would take care of Jackie.”
V glanced over at Mama Welles, who nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
She hesitated before asking, “What do you think of him?”
Mama Welles raised a brow. “Silverhand?”
V nodded.
The older woman hummed thoughtfully. “Let’s just say… he’s exactly what Viktor described him as.”
V’s chest ached. The name hit harder than she expected.
She looked down, silent.
Mama Welles continued anyway. “Loud, arrogant, rude. But under all that? A sad man. One in mourning. Wasn’t hard to see.”
She nodded toward the baby in V’s arms. “Didn’t take long to figure out what he really was. A father. One who missed the mother of his daughter.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time.
V finally spoke, voice quiet. “You mentioned Vik. Like you knew him.”
There was a pause.
Misty and Mama Welles exchanged a look.
“I did,” Mama Welles answered gently.
Misty looked over at V, “They’d been seeing each other,” she said quietly. “Since Jackie’s ofrenda back in May.”
V blinked. Her lip trembled slightly. “I had no idea,” she whispered. “I’m… I’m sorry. For your loss.”
“It’s alright, mija.” Mama Welles said with a faint smile. “He was a good man. He’d be glad you’re here.”
The conversation shifted from there, slowly, tenderly. Laughter even returned as they spent the rest of the afternoon sharing stories, memories of Jackie Welles, the gigs V used to take, the chaos of Night City life before it all unraveled.
Jackie fussed from time to time, so V excused herself often, heading upstairs to nurse, to calm her, to breathe.
It went on for hours. Warmth slowly replacing the exhaustion, the grief.
By the time the sun dipped low, casting amber hues through the windows, V found herself drifting, half-asleep on the couch, head leaning to the side, Jackie bundled up in her arms.
That’s when the front door opened.
Her eyes lifted lazily.
Johnny stepped inside.
And behind him, Judy and Panam.
Mama Welles was already halfway to the door by the time it opened fully.
She greeted them like she’d know them forever, warmly, openly, pulling both Judy and Panam into brief but firm hugs. They greeted with that same fondness, clearly familiar.
Johnny, stepping aside so they could enter completely, said. “They both wanted to check up on V. Hope that’s alright.”
“Of course it is,” Mama Welles replied. “This home’s open to whoever she calls family.”
Judy gave a small smile. “We won’t stay long.”
Mama Welles waved a hand. “You’ll stay as long as you need, hija. Don’t even try to pull that ‘in and out’ nonsense on me.”
V couldn’t help but grin to herself, still slouched slightly on the couch. Mama Welles, soft as ever. Whether it was cats or adult-ass women with too much trauma and nowhere to go, she always made room for strays.
Misty turned to Johnny. “Actually… I had something I wanted to ask you.”
Johnny nodded, sensing the shift in tone. “Sure. You three can head upstairs, if you want.”
Panam jerked her chin. “Let’s go, then.”
Johnny stepped closer, offering his hands out. “You want me to take Jackie for a bit?”
But V just gave a quiet shake of her head, holding her daughter a little tighter. Without another word, she stood and led the way upstairs, Judy and Panam trailing behind, leaving Misty and Mama Welles alone with Johnny.
As they climbed, Judy murmured under her breath, “I love that woman.”
Panam smirked. “Yeah? Love her so much, you gonna marry her?”
Judy gave a toothy grin. “I might just have to.”
V let out a laugh, small and tired, but real, and pushed open the door to Jackie’s old bedroom.
She sat on the bed, shifting Jackie gently in her arms, and Judy plopped down beside her while Panam moved to lean near the window, arms crossed as she took everything in.
That tension returned. V saw it in the way Panam’s jaw clenched, how her fingers tapped at her elbow. The same look she’d had yesterday when V caught her frowning through the truck’s rearview mirror.
Before V could ask, Judy broke the silence.
“How are you doing?” she asked softly. “Adjusting okay?”
“Well enough,” V said, leaning back slightly. “I’m just… glad to be out.”
Judy nodded, a smile bittersweet. “We’re glad we got you out.”
She hesitated before continuing, “Kind of wish you’d told me about your dad, though. Y’know, back when we were still dating. Would’ve found an excuse to help you burn Militech to the ground then.”
V exhaled sharply through her nose. “Back then, I didn’t even let myself think about him. Pretended he didn’t exist. Told myself I was just an ex-Arasaka corp. No Militech ties. No history. Nothing to mourn or hate.”
Panam groaned from across the room. “And yet, that’s all you ever talked about. ‘I was in counterintelligence,’ ‘Did you know I used to work for Arasaka?’ We got it, V. You could’ve given it a rest.”
V narrowed her eyes, adjusting Jackie slightly. “What crawled up you ass?”
Judy winced. “She’s just bitter. About the Aldecaldos.”
V blinked. “What about them?”
Panam didn’t hesitate. “The reason we’re not halfway to Seattle right now, right now, is because Saul left us. Pulled the Aldecaldos out of Night City. Just walked away without so much as a heads up. Days after you got snatched.”
V sat forward, defensive. “That’s not my fault. I got fucking klepted. ”
Her voice rose without meaning to, and Jackie stirred in her arms, beginning to fuss.
Panam’s voice was sharp. “Yeah? Well, maybe if you hadn’t run off, we’d be somewhere safe by now. Away from this shithole of a city.”
Judy stepped in, carefully taking Jackie from V’s arms before anything could escalate. The baby quieted slightly in her hold, while V rose to her feet, taking a step toward Panam.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through. You think I wanted to vanish? You think I don’t regret it? Of course I fucking do! But don’t put that on me. That’s on Saul. Not me.”
Panam stepped back, expression faltering. “Shit… I know. I know. You’re right.”
The heat in her voice cooled all at once, replaced by something hollow and tired.
“I’m sorry,” she added, sighing deeply. “Didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… so goddamn mad. At Saul. At his stupid face. At the way he– fuck– just left us. Like we didn’t matter. Like we weren’t family.”
V slowly relaxed again, heart still hammering in her chest.
Panam finally turned back. “I didn’t mean any of it, V. You know I love you, yeah? Like a little sister. You’re a pain in the ass, but I care about you.”
She crossed her arms again, smirking slightly.
“Hell, I care enough that if you ever need me to break Johnny’s nose again. I’ll do it. No questions asked. Even if we did patch things up a bit… I’ll do it for you. ”
That pulled a relieved laugh from V. She let herself breathe, nodding. “I’m just glad we’re good.”
“Course we are,” Panam said.
Judy, still gently rocking Jackie, smiled and handed her back to V. Judy’s holo buzzed, cutting through the quiet like a sigh with teeth.
She groaned, already pulling it from her pocket. “Rogue.”
Panam rolled her eyes. “What does she want this time?”
Judy flicked the holo on and started walking toward the door for privacy. “Who knows, probably’ll start as a drink offer.”
As the line connected, Panam sank down beside V on the bed, taking Judy’s spot. She glanced at the baby in V’s arms and smiled, something soft behind her eyes.
“She’s cute,” Panam said. “Really cute. Looks a lot like her mom.”
V frowned, brushing a thumb across Jackie’s cheek. “I think she looks more like Johnny.”
Panam made a face like she just bit into a lemon. “You’re joking. I don’t see it at all.”
“She’s got dark hair, dark eyes…”
Panam tilted her head skeptically. “What color was your natural hair again? Y’know, before you bleached it and dyed it neon-pink or whatever.”
V paused. “Black.”
“And your eyes, before you swapped for optics?”
“...Brown.”
Panam grinned like she’d won a bet. “Exactly. Give her a little sun and she’s gonna be your twin. Sorry to say it, but that little rebel in your arms? Spitting image of her mother.”
Before V could argue back, Judy returned with a sigh.
“Rogue needs us back at the Afterlife.”
Panam groaned. “Of course she does. What now, another gig for her favorite crew?”
“Just me, you, and Takemura tonight,” Judy muttered.
Panam rubbed her temples. “Fine, fine. Let’s just get it over with.”
“I’ll walk you out,” V offered, shifting Jackie slightly in her arms as she stood.
They moved toward the stairs, and sure enough, Johnny was loitering by the door, arms crossed, leaning like he’d been there a while. His gaze flicked to the baby, then to V, entirely too casual.
V narrowed her eyes. “How much did you hear?”
Johnny smirked. “Absolutely nothing,” he said, plucking Jackie gently from her arms. “Just standing here, minding my own damn business.”
Panam glanced over her shoulder as they descended. “So you didn’t hear the part where your kid doesn’t look like you?”
Judy gave her a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Panam.”
Johnny chuckled. “Completely fine with it, by the way. She can look like her mother. Probably safer that way.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Mama Welles looked up from her spot in the living room. “You both heading out?”
“Yeah,” Judy nodded. “Afterlife calls.”
Misty, perched on the couch, offered a small wave. “Good luck, you two.”
They returned it in kind.
As soon as the front door closed behind them, Mama Welles sighed.
“Shame. They could’ve stayed for dinner.”
Johnny immediately shook his head. “Bad idea. Too many sharp objects in reach.”
He passed Jackie off to Misty with practiced ease before disappearing into the kitchen.
V dropped onto the couch. Her whole body ached, not the pain of injury, just the slow, dragging weight of exhaustion.
“I’m going straight to bed after this,” she mumbled.
Misty gently rocked Jackie. “That’s fair.”
“You staying for dinner?”
“I always do.”
V smiled at that. “I’m glad you and Mama Welles get along.”
“Thanks for that,” Misty said softly. “I needed someone after… everything.”
From the kitchen came the clatter of plates and silverware.
“Chicas!” Mama Welles called. “Dinner!”
They all gather at the table, Johnny sliding back into the room just in time to take Jackie from Misty. He balanced her easily in the crook of his silver arm, eating with his remaining ‘ganic hand like it was nothing.
V watched him for a while, her own plate barely touched, eyes growing heavier by the minute.
Mama Welles looked over at her and shook her head with a smile. “Jonathan, take her upstairs before she keels over the beans.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t say a word. Just stood, cradling Jackie, and helped V to her feet with one hand at her back.
She barely remembered saying goodnight to Misty. Everything was a haze as they reached the bedroom.
She flopped face-first onto the bed, groaning.
Johnny lingered by the bassinet for a moment, placing Jackie down carefully before climbing in beside her. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her close.
Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the smirk on his face.
“She looks like me, huh?” he teased.
V groaned and buried her face into his shoulder. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late, princess,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Way too late for that.”
V woke up screaming.
The sound tore through the dark like a blade, raw and guttural, but it was muffled quickly, swallowed by warmth and pressure, arms around her, a hand pressing gently to her head, another tracing slow lines down her spine.
Johnny.
But she couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t make it go away. The nightmare still clung to her skin, burned into the back of her eyelids.
Her father, looming over her, blood on his hands, her blood, dripping down her face as he stepped over her. Her voice hoarse, crying out, breathless with pain. And her daughter, Jackie, on the floor behind him, her neck bent wrong, her body so small, so still.
Johnny, too, his body slumped against a wall, a clean bullet hole through his temple.
The Blackwall, shrieking in her skull.
She couldn’t breathe.
“It’s okay,” Johnny whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I got you, I got you…”
She clung to him, nails digging into his back, too hard. She knew she’d leave marks, knew she’d have to apologize later, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t loosen her grip. She sobbed into him, trembling like she was going to break apart molecule by molecule.
And still, he held her.
Time blurred. Her body eventually started to calm, chest rising in slow, shuddering gasps. It was only then that she heard it, the tiny, panicked wail of her daughter.
Jackie.
Her grip on Johnny loosened instinctively. He did too. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, eyes locked onto hers, deep and dark and searching.
She ran a shaky hand through her hair, her throat raw. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “I want him dead…”
Johnny didn’t ask who.
“...I want him dead, Johnny.” Her voice cracked. “Lucas. I want to kill him. For what he’s done.”
Johnny’s expression darkened. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her. Then he stood slowly and crossed to the bassinet, lifting Jackie into his arms, cradling her close and trying to calm her.
But she cried.
She kicked her little legs up and flailed, inconsolable.
He sat back on the edge of the bed, holding her gently but look down at her like he wasn’t really there. Like he was watching from somewhere far away.
V knew that look. Knew what it meant.
He was shutting down. Shutting her out.
She sat up, reaching out to him. “Johnny,” she said, soft but firm. “Talk to me.”
He turned his toward her. His voice was flat. “It’s my fault.”
Jackie kept crying. He didn’t look away from her.
“My fault you got caught. That you got fucking tortured. That you’ll never sleep without screaming again.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s my fault you want to kill your own father.”
He stared down at his daughter.
V didn’t deny it.
Because she couldn’t. Not really.
Instead, she reached for their daughter and gently took her from his arms, settling back on the bed and resting her head on his knee. Jackie whimpered and squirmed against her, but V held her close, whispering nothing words until she calmed.
After a moment, Johnny reached out, slowly, hesitantly, and placed a hand on V’s arm.
Jackie hiccupped once, then twice, and finally fell silent, her breathing evening out in sleep.
They didn’t say anything more. Let the truth stay buried, just for tonight. Easier that way. Easier to bottle it up and pretend like they weren’t both drowning.
V’s voice was barely audible. “Take me with you tomorrow.”
Johnny looked down at her, surprised. “To the Afterlife?”
“Yeah.” She shifted a little, careful not to wake Jackie. “I want to talk to Rogue. Plus… you said it yourself. Militech doesn’t go near the Afterlife anymore.”
He sighed, slow and defeated. “Fine.”
She closed her eyes. Didn’t fall asleep, not really, but lay still in the dark, her breathing syncing with Jackie’s, her mind drifting.
Minutes passed.
Eventually, Johnny took Jackie from her arms and laid her gently in the bassinet.
Then he went back to bed, slipping in behind her, curling around her like armor. His hands wrapped over her waist, pulling her in close.
The next morning came too quickly.
V stood with Johnny downstairs in the warm comfort of Mama Welles’ home, the smell of spiced cafecito still clinging to the air. Misty had shown up just minutes earlier and now sat quietly in the living room, rocking Jackie gently in her arms. The little one was bundled up in a blanket, tiny hands twitching in her sleep.
Mama Welles stood near the door, arms crossed, but her expression was soft. “Be careful,” she said firmly, looking between the two of them.
“We will,” Johnny assured her, adjusting his leather jacket. “Always are.”
Misty chimed in, offering a gentle smile. “Jackie’s in good hands. Promise.”
V crossed the room to her daughter. She leaned down, brushing her lips against Jackie’s forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it, baby girl,” she whispered.
Johnny waited by the door, hand already on the handle. V gave Jackie one last glance, then turned and followed him out into the bright Heywood morning.
They slipped into V’s Quadra. Johnny took the wheel without needing to ask, and V slid into the passenger seat, buckling in as the engine purred to life. The ride to Watson passed in a blur, the city speeding past. Johnny weaved around Militech patrols like it was second nature, knowing exactly which routes were safest.
It didn’t take long before they pulled into the parking lot of the Afterlife.
It was… full.
V blinked. No longer abandoned like the last time she’d come here, but alive again. A few bystanders loitered near the entrance, smoking, talking, watching. The familiar buzz of merc life pulsed through the pavement.
Johnny glanced at her as he killed the engine. “Heads up,” he said. “Told you this before, but it's worth repeating, when you walked outta Mikoshi alive and nuked Arasaka’s plans, you didn’t just become famous. You became a living legend.”
V scoffed lightly, unsure how to feel about that.
“And now?” Johnny added, brow arching. “You’re also Lucas Harford’s rebel daughter. That’s catnip to mercs in here. You’ll get respect, yeah, but also stares, whispers, people wantin’ something from you.”
V swallowed. Her chest tightened, a sudden tension in her shoulders. “Thanks for the warning.”
Johnny shrugged and opened the door. “Better to be prepped than blindsided.”
V stepped out into the stale air of the lot, tugged her jacket tighter around herself, and followed him toward the entrance.
She was lucky the stitches on her abdomen had finally healed. Easier going downstairs with them. All that remained now was the angry scar, a mark of survival, one of many.
Mercs outside turned to look as she passed. Some whispered. Some didn’t bother hiding it. A few glanced at Johnny, then back at her, expression unreadable. Johnny ignored them, walking like he always did, with confidence that burned off judgment.
At the door stood a familiar figure, Emmerick, the bouncer. He gave Johnny a nod. “Welcome back, Silverhand.”
Then he turned to V, nodding once. “Good to see you again.”
“Good to be back,” she said quietly.
The heavy door slid open, and Johnny slipped on his aviators as they stepped inside. The club was alive, a Samurai song low and pulsing, the air dense. Mercs lined the bar, booths full of half-drunk solos and edgerunners swapping war stories. It felt… weird. Like being back in a dream, she wasn’t sure she belonged in anymore.
Mercs greeted Johnny as they passed, subtle nods and half-tilted drinks. He responded in kind, wordless and cool. V watched him, noting the way he moved through the space like he owned it.
She almost smiled.
Johnny Silverhand. Merc.
She wondered what the old engram in her head would’ve said if she’d told him one day he’d be part of the same crowd he used to mock. Probably would’ve had a meltdown.
Claire caught sight of them from behind the bar and waved them over. “Well, look who finally crawled out from the grave, yet again,” she called, grinning. “Johnny, you want your usual?”
Johnny smirked faintly. “Why not? Day’s not getting any younger.”
V leaned against the bar, watching as he slipped effortlessly into his Silverhand persona, gruff, detached, cool as ice. She hadn’t realized just how good he was at wearing masks until now.
Claire poured the drink and slid it toward him, then turned to V. “Heard you’re back in town.”
V nodded, managing a small smile. “Something like that.”
Claire arched a brow. “You sticking around? Going to start showing up here more often?”
V’s grin widened. “Maybe.”
From behind his aviators, Johnny tensed. She saw his throat work as he swallowed the drink. He set it down a little harder than necessary and tapped the bar with silver fingers.
“Your crew’s with Rogue,” Claire stated, “Back at the usual booth.”
“Thanks, Claire.”
Claire nodded and turned to serve another customer.
V watched Johnny for a moment. That mask he wore was still firmly in place, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his ‘ganic hand curled slightly at his side.
She followed him as he turned away, heading deeper into the Afterlife. She wondered how much longer she could keep pretending everything was okay.
V already knew who they’d find before she saw them, and sure enough, Rogue sat at the usual corner booth, draped in her iconic yellow top, arms crossed and gaze sharp as ever.
Rogue looked over, and for a second, just a second, V caught the flicker of surprise cross her face.
But it vanished quickly, replaced by that cool, composed exterior she wore like armor. “Well, well,” she said. “Didn’t know Johnny was bringing a guest.”
Johnny slid into the booth without missing a beat, propping one leg lazily over the edge of the table. V could see it in Rogue’s eyes; it annoyed the hell out of her, but she didn’t say a word.
“She insisted,” Johnny said with a shrug, his voice casual as ever.
V took the seat next to him and scanned the face in the booth. Panam sat beside Rogue, giving her a small nod of welcome. Across from her, Judy was fiddling with something, some kind of modified holopad, small wires sticking out of the side.
And then, there was Goro Takemura, standing near the end of the booth, arms crossed, silent like a statue.
Johnny leaned back. “So, who are we waiting on?”
Judy glanced up from her device. “Angel and Song.”
“Last as usual,” Takemura muttered from his corner, voice gruff but amused.
Johnny let out a yawn, rubbing his eyes. V could feel it, too, the exhaustion clinging to both of them. Last night had been rough, her nightmares, his tossing, Jackie waking them up crying to be fed at four in the morning. It felt like they hadn’t slept at all.
Rogue turned toward her, the edges of her mouth tugging into something small, almost warm. “Glad you’re back,” she said. “And safe. Let’s keep it that way.”
She cast a pointed glance at Johnny, who, for once, said nothing.
“Hey,” Panam added, finally breaking the lull. “What took you two so long?”
V followed her gaze and spotted Angel and Song weaving their way through the crowd toward them. Angel wore her usual cropped leather black jacket, steps fluid. Song trailed just behind, a sly grin plastered across her face.
Angel shrugged as they approached. “I could say traffic, but…”
“We thought it’d be fun to overload a Militech AV on the way here,” Song said, bright blue eyes gleaming.
Rogue rolled her eyes. “Glad you had fun. Now that we’re all here…” Her gaze slid back to V. “With the addition of our guest… let’s talk.”
The mood shifted.
“This crew was formed to retrieve you from Militech,” Rogue continued. “Now we figure out what happens from here, since no one could settle on it last time.”
“We tried contacting the Aldecaldos again,” Panam added. “No luck. No word. Like they dropped off the grid.”
“So even if we wanted to leave,” Judy chimed in, “we might not have a place to go back to.”
“Wouldn’t matter,” Song said, crossing her arms. “Leaving Night City now might be suicide.”
“Militech’s ramping up,” Angel agreed, nodding. “From what I’ve heard, patrols outside the city are increasing. They’re preparing for something big.”
“Fifth Corporate War,” Song said flately. “They want to be the next Arasaka. Permanently.”
“Fucking great,” Johnny muttered, bitter.
“They’re still recovering from the blast in their cryochamber,” Judy added. “Haven’t announced the damage publicly, but they’re blaming it on terrorists.”
“Sounds familiar,” Takemura said dryly, glancing at Johnny.
Johnny didn’t hesitate, raising his silver middle finger at Goro.
V sat up forward slightly. Her voice, when it came, was calm, but firm, “So now that I’m out of Militech, you’re going to disband the crew?”
Everyone looked at her.
“I was their prisoner. Their experiment. That’s over now. But this crew? This crew doesn’t have to end just because the reason you formed has been solved. I don’t know… I was kinda hoping to join.”
Rogue raised a brow, smirking. “What gave you the idea that the team’s disbanding?”
V glanced at Johnny. He avoided her gaze, didn’t move, just stared straight ahead, unreadable behind his aviators.
“Just a feeling,” she muttered.
Judy leaned across the table, grinning. “V, you’re already one of us. Johnny might’ve pulled this together with Rogue, but we all know who the real glue is.”
“It’s true,” Song said. “Most of us wouldn’t be here without you.”
Panam grinned. “We should vote on it.”
She raised her hand. “All in favor of V being our official leader?”
“Hell yes,” Judy said, raising hers.
Song followed. “She’s already got my vote.”
Angel nodded. “Mine too.”
Even Goro gave a subtle nod of approval.
Johnny stayed quiet. Feigning a smirk, but V saw through it. Knew he was holding something back.
Rogue shrugged, “That settles it. Crew stays. You’ll keep operating. V works with me, and you work under her, right here in Night City.”
All eyes turned to V now.
Panam raised her brow. “So, boss… what’s our next move? Take gigs? Help other crews? Like low?”
V stared down at her hands. Scars, callouses. Bruised and still healing.
“I was beaten. Tortured. Used,” she said quietly. Alt Cunningham’s words echoed in the back of her mind. “Turned into a fucking tool for Militech.”
She looked up.
“I’m not about ot let that go, any of that go. No way in hell. They don’t get to walk away from this.”
Her voice hardened.
“I want Militech to burn. For everything they’ve done. When we’re done with them… There won’t be a trace of them left in our city.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Johnny shared a look with Angel, uneasy, unreadable.
But Rogue?
Rogue just grinned.
“Welcome back, V.”
Notes:
Next chapter is finished. Haha, finally! 😅 At this point, it’s not that I don’t want to update twice a week… it’s just that the chapters are getting so long, it naturally ends up being once a week.
Anyway, this one's a long one, but very fluffy... Like, so much fluff. Please enjoy it while it lasts... because things get much darker from here 😬 (Okay, I lied, next chapter is fluffy too, but then it gets dark. Especially with the first timeline...)
Thank you so much for sticking with the story this far!! I really appreciate all the support, comments, and kudos, all of it. You guys are the best 💖💖💖
Chapter 15: Two Birds
Summary:
Two birds of a feather
Say that they’re always
Gonna stay together
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
V woke slowly, a dull ache pulsing behind her eyes, warmth surrounding her like a heavy blanket. Her fingers twitched, brushing against the familiar texture of synthetic fabric. She shifted slightly and felt arms tighten gently around her, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat under her ear.
She mumbled into Johnny’s chest, voice rough with sleep, “When’d you get home?”
Johnny groaned low in his throat, dragging a hand up to rub his face. “Fuck…” he muttered as he rolled out of bed. He staggered toward the bathroom like a man freshly risen from the dead.
V sat up, wincing, rubbing her eyes. From the other room came the telltale sounds of gagging, followed by creative cursing between heaves.
She smirked. “Serves you right, asshole.”
She swung her legs off the bed, immediately regretting it. A sharp kick from within made her gasp, her hand shooting out to brace herself against the wall. Her stomach cramped tight, and her breath caught in her throat.
“Okay,” she muttered, “shouldn’t have moved so fast.”
Johnny stumbled out of the bathroom a moment later, looking like shit. He held his head, popped a couple of pills into his mouth, and collapsed onto the couch with a sigh, reaching blindly for his guitar. He strummed a few chords lazily, eyes half-lidded.
V approached, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes narrowed.
“So,” she said flatly. “We gonna talk about last night?”
Johnny stopped mid-chord, looked up at her with a sigh. “I’m sorry, alright? Had one too many. Lost track of time at the Afterlife.”
“You promised me you’d stop drinking.”
He rolled his eyes, flopping back against the couch cushions. “Give me a break, V. I quit smoking. Do you know how hard that was? Can’t I have one damn vice left?”
“There’s drinking in moderation,” she said, leveling her gaze at him, “and then there’s alcoholism. You’re a lot closer to the second one.”
He groaned, rubbing his eyes again. “I know. I’m… working on it.”
V sighed, her frustration giving way to concern. She sat beside him, rubbing her belly absently. The baby kicked again, this time more softly.
Johnny started strumming again, something slow and minor.
V glanced at him. “You remember what today is?”
“Course I do,” he said, still not looking at her.
She raised an eyebrow. “Then tell me.”
Johnny froze, fingers hovering over the strings. He let out a quiet curse and glanced at her with a sheepish grin. “Shit. Forgot.”
V shook her head, trying not to smile. “We’re seeing Vik today. Remember? ”
Johnny’s eyes lit up. “Right. That’s today.”
“Yeah,” she said, groaning a little as she pushed herself off the couch. “Better get ready. Your baby’s been driving me nuts. I keep needing to pee every five minutes.”
She looked back at him, muttering, “Don’t know which parasite’s worse, when you were in my head or your daughter growing inside me.”
Johnny laughed and beat her to the bathroom door, catching her by the wrist and pulling her in for a kiss.
She laughed against his mouth, then pulled back, wrinkling her nose. “Jesus, your breath reeks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said with a lopsided smirk.
She rolled her eyes and shoved him aside, heading into the bathroom.
Outside the room, she heard the lazy strumming resume, and just under the sound of running water, Johnny humming something quiet, something soft.
The short drive through Night City was smooth, eerily so. V watched the skyline roll by through the windshield, one hand resting over her stomach. Johnny drove with one hand lazily on the wheel, the other occasionally adjusting the volume of the music playing low on the radio, some old blues track, crackling with warmth.
After a stretch of silence, V exhaled quietly and murmured, “I’m kind of nervous.”
Johnny glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, brow raised. “About the appointment?”
She shook her head, pressing her palm to her stomach. “About… the baby.”
Johnny stayed quiet, sensing she wasn’t done.
“What if it’s a boy?” she asked, glancing at him. “We’ve been calling it she this whole time. Talking about names, painting the nursery, and buying clothes. All pink and little blankets with flowers on ‘em.”
Johnny chuckled. “Then we repaint and swap out the clothes. No big deal.”
She turned toward him, arching an eyebrow. “You’re awfully confident.”
He smirked, placing his free hand gently over her belly. “It’s a girl,” he said with certainty.
“Oh yeah?” V asked, narrowing her eyes. “And how do you know that, exactly?”
He shrugged, thumb brushing against the curve of her bump. “I just do. Call it gut instinct.”
V didn’t reply, but the way her lips quivered was enough to show she didn’t mind the confidence. She placed her hand on top of his and held it there until they pulled up outside Misty’s Esoterica.
The scent of incense hit them immediately. V stepped out of the car, stretching her back with a grunt. Johnny removed his aviators and tied his hair back into a loose knot at the nape of his neck.
“What’s this look supposed to be?” V teased, eyeing him.
He shot her a crooked grin. “The John Linder disguise,” he said, flashing a grin. “Now that half the city knows Johnny Silverhand’s alive again, gotta switch things up unless I wanna get recognized every time I go out.”
V smirked, unimpressed. “You removed your sunglasses and put your hair in a ponytail. Real Clark Kent shit.”
They stepped inside the shop together. The familiar haze of candles, incense, and wind chimes greeted them.
Misty looked up from rearranging some tarot cards and smiled. “Well, look who it is. V. Johnny.”
“Hey, Misty,” V greeted warmly.
“How’ve you two been?” Misty asked, coming around the counter.
“We’re good,” V replied with a soft smile. “Tired, mostly. Way more than I like.”
“Understandable,” Misty said, eyes drifting to V’s belly. “You look good, though. Glowing, actually.”
Johnny snorted, wandering further into the shop and picking up one of the waving fortune cats. “Thought that glow was just sweat,” he joked. V shot him a glare.
Misty smiled. “Vik’s downstairs if you’re here for that check-up.”
Johnny nodded his thanks, setting the lucky cat down. V gave Misty a quick squeeze on the arm before following Johnny to the back stairs.
They descended into the familiar metallic hum of Vik’s clinic. The scent of antiseptic replaced incense, and the faint sounds of an old boxing match echoed from a monitor.
Viktor glanced up as the gate slid open, eyes immediately going to V. His stern face softened.
“Well, look who finally decided to visit,” he said, standing from his chair.
“Good to see you too, Vik,” V replied, stepping into the room.
Then his gaze shifted to Johnny and narrowed. “Silverhand.”
“Vektor,” Johnny replied with equal neutrality, expression unreliable.
V rolled her eyes. “You two wanna drop the testosterone contest for five minutes? He’s with me.”
That satisfied Vik enough to grumble something unintelligible and wave her toward the exam chair. “You want the usual?”
“Yeah,” V nodded. “Vital, scan, make sure everything’s still in the green. Johnny also wants you to take a look at his arm.”
Johnny flexed the chrome fingers of his left hand. “Haven’t had it looked at since I thawed. Just wanna make sure it’s still good under the hood.”
Vik nodded. “Let’s start with V.”
She settled into the chair while Johnny moved to stand beside her. As Vik powered up the scanner, Johnny reached out and took her hand, his thumb gently running across her knuckles.
“Alright, kiddo,” Vik said, adjusting the diagnostic monitor. “Jack in.”
V nodded and rolled up her sleeve. The port on her hand clicked open with a hiss. She pulled the wire from her dermal socket and handed it to him. He inserted it into the terminal, fingers flying across the interface.
“We’ll start with the neural degeneration,” he murmured.
V’s stomach tightened, not just from nerves, but something deeper. A fear that was becoming more real with each visit.
She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes trained on the floor as the screen flickered. After a long beat, Vik’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Any luck finding a cure?” he asked gently.
She didn’t answer at first. Her throat tightened, and she blinked hard, pushing back the sting in her eyes. Then, with a small shake of her head, she whispered, “No.”
Johnny’s hand around her tightened slightly in response.
Vik exhaled slowly, leaning back. “Well… based on your biometric readings, you still have time. Six weeks, a least.”
V’s breath caught. “Six…?”
“A month and a half,” Vik clarified, his voice calm, careful. “That’s how long you’ve got before the degradation reaches the point of no return.”
V let out a breath, half disbelief, half numb acceptance. “Okay,” she murmured.
Johnny’s thumb rubbed small circles into the back of her hand, grounding her in the moment.
Vik tapped a few more keys. “Alright. Let’s shift to something lighter.” He offered her a small smile. “How’ve you been feeling otherwise?”
V let out a tired, breathy laugh. “Exhausted,” she said. “The baby’s a lot more active now. Kicks like hell. I can’t sleep, and standing up too fast knocks the wind out of me.”
“That’s all normal,” Vik said with a slight nod. “You’re in your third trimester now, thirty weeks along. The home stretch.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair.
“I’ll need to start seeing you weekly,” Vik continued. “Keep a close eye on the baby and… the other stuff.”
His eyes flicked up to Johnny, then back to V. “Also… we should schedule the C-section.”
V blinked, brows pulling together. “So soon?”
He nodded. “I recommend the end of April. Doesn’t give a lot of time with the baby, but it ensures the kid doesn’t have to stay in intensive care for too long.”
V nodded quietly, her gaze unfocused for a second. “Alright.”
“Good.” Vik straightened. “One last thing before we move on to your rockstar.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow, but stayed quiet.
Vik looked back at V. “You want to see the baby?”
She turned to Johnny with a small smile. “We were kinda hoping you could tell us the gender.”
Vik gave a nod. “Alright, let’s take a look.”
V shifted back in the chair, tugging up her shirt as Vik grabbed the gel and scanner. The cold gel made her shiver slightly. Vik adjusted the screen, moving the wand carefully over her belly.
The image that appeared was blurry at first, a swirl of grey and white static. Then shapes. Movements. The baby. So much bigger now. Vik had to move the scanner slowly to catch each part, one at a time, the small feet, the head, the outline of the spine.
“Kid’s too big to see all at once now with just this scanner,” Vik said softly. “Getting ready to meet the world.”
Johnny’s grip on her hand tightened. His eyes were locked on the screen, unmoving, filled with something unreadable.
Another moment of silence, Vik finally said, “It’s a girl.”
V looked up at Johnny, breath catching. His eyes were glassy, his mouth slightly open like he was still processing the words.
Before she could say anything, he leaned down and kissed her, deep, firm, and warm. Her hand flew up to his cheek, grinning into the kiss, her own eyes shining with tears.
A girl.
They were going to have a daughter.
Eventually, Vik cleared his throat.
V startled slightly, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips, as Johnny slowly pulled back. He didn’t move far, his hand still held hers, fingers loosely intertwined.
“Sorry,” V muttered, cheeks flushed.
Vik chuckled softly, wiping the gel off her belly with a towel. “Don’t mind me. Just a guy trying to do his job.”
Johnny stepped aside, helping V unjack from the terminal and gently easing her off the chair. She stood beside him now, still smiling like she couldn’t stop. A daughter. The word played over and over in her mind like a soft song.
Johnny took her place in the chair and rolled up the sleeve on his jacket, flexing his chrome fingers.
“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got under the hood,” Vik said, gesturing for him to jack in.
Johnny did, the wire slipping into place with a small hiss. Vik leaned toward his monitor, eyes scanning rapidly. “Well, damn. You're up to date. Everything’s running smoothly.”
Johnny gave a small shrug. “Had a ripper load me up when I woke up.”
Vik’s eyes narrowed at the screen. “Nice Sandevistan. Militech?”
Johnny nodded. “Yeah… didn’t trust ‘em enough to let their techs near my arm, though.”
Vik rolled Johnny’s arm gently in his hands, examining the metal casing and the internal components. “No wonder. This is vintage. Pre-’20. Classic design. I won’t swap it, hell, I’d hate to ruin the craftsmanship, but I can optimize a few things. Tune it better.”
“Sounds good to me,” Johnny replied.
V turned to him. “I’m gonna head upstairs to Misty. Come find me when you’re done.”
Johnny nodded, his eyes still on Vik. “Will do.”
As she made her way upstairs, she could feel the tension begin to fade from her shoulders. Hopefully, the two of them could finally hash things out. For her sake, and maybe even theirs.
Misty looked up from rearranging some tarot decks as V emerged from the stairwell.
“How’d it go?” she asked, smiling softly.
“Good,” V placed a hand over her belly. “It’s a girl.”
Misty’s eyes lit up. “Oh, V, that’s wonderful.”
They caught up for the next twenty minutes, sipping tea and chatting about Misty’s recent dreams, V’s pregnancy symptoms, and how Viktor had slowly learned to express more concern over the months she’s gotten to know him.
Then the back door to the shop creaked open, and Johnny stepped in.
“You ready to head out?” he asked.
V pushed herself up with a soft grunt. “Yeah.” She turned to Misty. “Thanks again.”
Misty waved her off. “See you two next week.”
Johnny opened the door for her, and the two stepped into the sun, heading back to the Porsche. The engine purred to life, and the car pulled onto the road.
V turned to him after a few blocks. “How’d it go with Vik?”
Johnny shrugged, adjusting the rearview mirror. “Good, I think. He made a couple of tweaks to the arm. Talked some shit, but… I think we’re cool now.”
V raised a brow. “You sure?”
Johnny smirked. “Guy’s a damn fine ripperdoc. And he gives a shit. Hard not to respect that.”
V nodded, satisfied, and glanced down at her holo as it buzzed. A new message.
She opened it, skimming the text before Johnny could even ask.
“Kerry,” she said aloud.
Johnny raised his brows. “Yeah?”
“Says he wants to catch up tonight. At his place.”
Johnny grinned. “We should go.”
“He only invited me,” V added, glancing sideways.
“Tell him I’ll be there. Haven’t seen him since the Afterlife after the gig.”
V tapped out a quick response. “Alright. Told him we’ll both be there.”
The thought of catching up with Kerry brought a little warmth to her chest. It’d be good to see him again.
By the time they got home, the sun cast golden light across the floors of the apartment. V dropped her jacket on the back of the couch and made her way to the bed, slumping down with a sigh. She began tugging off her boots, wiggling her toes in relief as they hit the ground.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Johnny disappear into the bathroom. She heard the faucet run briefly before it cut off again. Then he reappeared, walking past her without a word and nodding toward the storage room.
She squinted. “What?”
He didn’t answer, just tipped his head again, then slipped into the room.
With a tired groan, V pushed herself up and followed after him.
When she stepped inside, her breath caught a little in her chest. The room really had transformed.
Unpacked boxes scattered around, half-opened packages of baby clothes, a mobile still in its plastic wrap, a few unopened packs of diapers leaning against a painted wall. It wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. But it was undeniably becoming a nursery. Her nursery. Their baby’s room.
V blinked, smiling to herself. She had gone on a bit of a spree ordering things, but seeing it all here made it feel real in a way nothing else had.
Johnny turned to face her, grinning, and pulled her into a kiss. It was quick but warm, infused with something electric.
“You’re in a good mood,” she teased against his lips. “Careful, Johnny. One might say you’re getting a little too domestic.”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Let them. I’m with the woman I love. Having a kid with her.” He gave a small shrug. “What’s more punk than that?”
She pulled back, still grinning, and dropped into the rocking chair they’d assembled last week. It creaked softly beneath her weight. “I gotta say, I’m kind of surprised.”
Johnny settled onto the floor beside one of the boxes and began dragging it open. “Surprised about what?” he asked. V peeked at the label. The crib.
She tilted her head, watching him work. “That you’re not… I dunno. Disappointed.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”
“That it’s a girl.”
He paused, looking up at her. “What? Hell no. I’d rather have a daughter than a son.”
V blinked. “Really?”
Johnny nodded, grabbing a screwdriver from the box. “Yeah. Don’t want a little version of me walkin’ around Night City. I’d much rather have a little version of you.”
V laughed. “That’s not how genetics work, Johnny. She’s gonna be like both of us.”
He smirked as he laid out the crib piece. “You know what I mean. A daughter I’ll let get away with murder. A son? Eh. Not so much.”
She raised a brow. “So basically, you want someone to spoil. A daddy’s girl.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, when you put it like that…”
V chuckled, resting her hand on her belly again, the motion automatic now. She watched him as he began organizing the parts. “You don’t have to rush. We’ve got time.”
Johnny shook his head, eyes still on the instructions. “Not really. Four weeks. Vik said the end of April. That c-section date’s gonna fly by, and I still gotta finish painting the damn walls. And–”
“Oh my God,” V cut in with a teasing smile. “Johnny Silverhand is fucking scared.”
Johnny looked up, meeting her eyes. For a moment, the bravado slipped away.
“I’m not scared,” he said. “Just… nervous.”
He looked back down at the pieces in front of him, his voice softer now. “I wanna take care of all the baby stuff. So you can focus on getting a cure before she gets here.”
The shift in tone hit her like a punch to the chest.
V looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor. She didn’t want to say what lingered between them. That there might not be enough time. But someone had to.
She sat in the rocking chair, hand on her stomach, listening to the soft clink of metal and screw as Johnny kept working, love and fear threaded through every motion.
“Maybe…” she began, voice low, steady in a way that hurt more than if she’d broken down. “Maybe we both need to accept the fact that I might not get a cure. That… there is no cure.”
Johnny froze. Then stood so fast the parts of the crib rattled in their box. He crossed to her side in two strides and knelt in front of her, grabbing her hands in his.
“Don’t talk like that,” he said, eyes burning into hers. “You’re gonna get a cure. You’re not going to fucking die.”
V averted her gaze. “You might need to prepare, Johnny. I already have.” Her voice was soft. Hollow.
“Stop,” he snapped, but his tone broke halfway through. “Stop talkin’ like that.” He moved closer, lifted her chin gently until she looked at him again. He pressed his forehead against hers, his voice quiet and trembling. “You are not going to die. You hear me? Angel and I– we’re working on something. You’re gonna be okay.”
She blinked, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“If I don’t make it…” Her voice faltered. “Don’t shut down. Promise me you’ll raise her. Our daughter. I don’t want her to grow up without either of us.”
Johnny’s hands tightened around hers, knuckles white. He let out a shaky breath and placed one hand on her belly.
“I promise,” he whispered. “I promise.”
They stayed like that for a while. Quiet. The low hum of Night City filtering through the windows, the distant buzz of a passing AV, the muffled bass of music in the streets. But in that room, in that moment, it all faded.
V’s thoughts drifted as she sat in the rocking chair, hand resting over Johnny’s. The past couple of months had been brutal, good, but brutal. After the night of the concert, she drove Johnny home from the Afterlife, and they’d finally talked things out. Really talked. She’d decided to give him another chance, and Johnny hadn’t wasted it.
She hadn’t officially moved in, not in words, but all her stuff from her penthouse had slowly made its way here. One jacket at a time, one pair of boots, one picture. Until there was no distinction, just their space. Their home.
A few weeks ago, they’d started turning the old weapons room into a nursery. Relocated the guns and gears into a rented storage unit, something Johnny grumbled about but ultimately agreed to when she told him they could keep a couple of hidden pistols around. He even seemed excited now, painting, assembling furniture, talking to the baby while she closed her eyes, when he thought she wasn’t listening.
At first, Johnny slept on the couch, respectful of her space. But the nightmares and coughing fits had gotten worse, and somewhere in the silence between midnight and dawn, he started sharing the bed. Sometimes, just holding her. Other times, more.
They kissed. They cuddled. They made love. As if each moment was their last together, and they had to steal every second they could get.
Outside, the city was changing.
Militech’s grip on Night City had grown tighter by the week. V called it what it was, mandatory. Curfews. Checkpoints. More armored vehicles, more soldiers in the streets. And then there were the riots. People shouting Johnny Silverhand’s name like a war cry, spray-painting Samurai logos across chrome and billboards. He had become the symbol of resistance, but only in rumor.
No one could exactly confirm if he was really back. His last appearance really was the Samurai concert. The rest were all just whispers. Stories.
Johnny didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t out starting fires or leading riots. He stayed by V’s side, always. When she went to the Afterlife, he went with her. When she was overseeing a gig, he was there, too. Not a revolutionary. Not a rebel. Not a soldier. Just Johnny.
Her Johnny.
Militech only came up once. She’d asked, quiet and careful, what had happened between him and her father after his little speech at the concert.
Johnny had leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, voice colder than she’d heard in a while. “Told Harford to go fuck himself. Straight to his face. Said I was done being his fucking dog.”
V remembered holding her breath, waiting for the next part.
“When he threatened to blow me up,” Johnny had said, “Told him the truth. Told him I got his daughter pregnant. That his grandkid’s mine. Asked if he wanted to kill the father of his own blood.”
Her heart had sunk. “You told him?”
He’d nodded.
That day, she didn’t talk to Johnny. Couldn’t. Her world had narrowed into pure fury. She hadn’t wanted Lucas to know anything about them or their baby. But eventually, she’d forgiven him.
Because it meant Johnny was safe. The kill switch was gone. No bomb could go off in the middle of the night, no last-minute detonation. And with that, she and the baby could finally be safe with Johnny.
He made the wrong call, maybe. But he made it for them. That counted for something.
V let out a shaky sigh and leaned back in the rocking chair, her hand still resting protectively over her stomach. “We should probably get ready for Kerry’s.”
Johnny gave her a slow nod, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Yeah,” he murmured. He pulled back and offered a half-smile.
V stood up from the chair carefully, bracing herself against the armrest. As she stepped out of the nursery, she glanced back to see Johnny staring at the crib piece he’d barely made a dent in.
She headed into the bathroom, flicked on the lights, and stared at herself in the mirror. The bags under her eyes were darker than yesterday, and sleep had been elusive lately. She dabbed concealer beneath them, then brushed on a long line of eyeliner, steady despite the weight beneath her ribs.
Out in the living room, she could hear the familiar sound of Johnny’s guitar, an acoustic one this time, warm and resonant. His fingers strummed slowly while she applied her lipstick.
She stepped back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on her boots. Her gaze found him again, Johnny, slouched on the couch, guitar in his lap, completely absorbed in the melody.
As she stood up, a sudden sharp nudge hit her from the inside. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, hand flying to her stomach. Another kick, strong, persistent.
Johnny looked up at one, his brow furrowed. “You good?”
“Yeah,” V said quickly, waving it off with a breathless chuckle. “Just the baby going full cyberpsycho in there.”
He set the guitar aside and stood, walking over. His hands came to rest gently on her belly, warm and grounding.
“She's giving you trouble already?” he asked softly.
V smiled at him, exhausted but amused.
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re gonna be a good girl for your mom tonight, yeah?” He rubbed small circles with his thumbs. “No dropkicking her lungs while she’s trying to eat.”
V laughed outright. “God, you’re such a dork.”
Johnny raised a brow. “Oh, so it’s funny when I talk to her, huh? You do it all the time, and I don’t laugh at you.”
“That’s different,” she teased. “You’re cute when you do it.”
Johnny fixed her with a half-hearted glare. “Take that back.”
She grinned. “Nope.”
He sighed dramatically. “Never call me cute again.”
Then he kissed her, quick, warm, familiar. And again. And again.
Between kisses, V murmured, “We really should go.”
Johnny groaned against her lips. “Alright, alright.”
They stepped out together, took the elevator down, and slid into the sleek comfort of Johnny’s Porsche. V leaned her head against the window, watching the building pass them by. It wasn’t long before her eyes fluttered shut.
She didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep until a gentle hand on her shoulder stirred her.
“Hey,” Johnny said softly. “We’re here.”
V blinked, sitting up straighter. “Shit, I fell asleep?”
“Yeah.” He smirked. “Admit it, you love my driving.”
She groaned and reached up to fix her hair using the mirror on the visor. “I look like hell.”
Johnny chuckled. “You look fine.”
She gave her hair a final tug and closed the mirror with a snap. “Alright. Let’s do this.”
They stepped out of the car together and walked up to Kerry Eurodyne’s front door. The place was already pulsing faintly with bass from whatever playlist Kerry had on. Johnny knocked.
After a few seconds, the door swung open, and Kerry stood there, grinning like he hadn’t seen them in years. “Hey! Good to see you both,” he said, opening the door wider. “Come in, come in.”
V smiled as they stepped inside. The warm tones of Kerry’s villa made the cold Night City lights outside feel a world away.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Kerry added casually as he closed the door behind them, “I invited Rogue and Angel too.”
Johnny tensed ever so slightly when Kerry mentioned Rogue by name. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing, just gave a stiff nod.
“Make yourselves at home,” Kerry continued, leading them into the living room. “Pizza should be here soon; we ordered a little while ago.”
The low seating area was already occupied. Angel was on the floor next to the couch, a glass of wine in hand, and Rogue was seated on the couch, arms crossed, watching them both as they entered.
V offered a polite smile. “Hey.”
“Hey, V,” Angel said warmly, lifting her glass in greeting.
Rogue gave her a nod. “You look tired.”
V smirked. “Appreciate it, Rogue.”
Johnny exhaled and slumped into the couch across from them, eyeing the setup. V took a seat beside Angel, hands instinctively resting over her belly.
Kerry dropped onto the couch beside Johnny, folding one leg over the other with his usual rockstar ease. “Alright,” he said, glancing around the room. “What’s new with everyone?”
He didn’t wait long for an answer before turning his attention to Johnny, his grin widening. “Looks like you and V are getting pretty cozy these days.”
V couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Yeah, I, uh… moved in with him,” she said, glancing across the room at Johnny. “So… things are good.”
Johnny smiled back at her, something soft and genuine flickering across his features that he didn’t even bother hiding.
“Well, look at that,” Kerry said proudly, leaning back in his seat. “Guess I was right, huh? The Samurai concert was a good call after all. Put you two back on track.”
Johnny scoffed and rolled his eyes before delivering a playful punch to Kerry’s arm. “You narcissistic bastard.”
Kerry laughed. “You’re one to talk, Silverhand.”
Rogue let out a small, tired sigh and rolled her eyes at the whole exchange, but didn’t say anything. She simply sipped her drink, watching them with a practiced detachment.
Angel, sitting on the floor beside V with her back propped against the couch, reached up and gently placed her hand over V’s. She gave it a reassuring squeeze before resting it on her shoulder. V looked down at her, surprised at the quiet intimacy of the gesture. Angel met her eyes and mouthed, I’m happy for you.
V’s throat tightened a little. She smiled and squeezed Angel’s shoulder in return.
A sudden spike in volume snapped their attention back to the men.
“You didn’t even tune the guitar before the show,” Johnny was saying, jabbing a finger at Kerry.
“It was punk, not a symphony!” Kerry retorted with a grin.
“Oh, fuck off, Eurodyne.”
Thankfully, the buzzer rang before the argument could escalate. Kerry stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants. “That must be the food. I’ll grab it.”
Once he disappeared down the hallway, Rogue turned to Johnny. Her voice was low but firm.
“Look,” she said, “I just wanna clear the air.”
Johnny met her gaze cautiously.
“I’m still pissed about that little stunt you pulled at the Samurai show. That speech?” She shook her head, eyes narrowing. “Uncalled for. Unprofessional. But…” she glanced over at V, the hard lines of her face softening just slightly. “You’ve grown. You finally seem to understand what actually matters now.”
Johnny held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I do.”
“Yeah,” Rogue muttered. “No hard feelings then.”
Kerry returned carrying three large pizza boxes. “Alright, chooms. Pizza’s here,” he said smugly, setting the boxes down on the table. “Hope someone here likes pineapple. If not, tough.”
The conversation quickly turned to lighter things, gigs, street rumors, and mutual acquaintances. The kind of catch-up that felt like a breath of normalcy in a world that was anything but.
V leaned back with a third slice of pizza in hand, halfway through taking a bite, when Johnny smirked over at her.
“Careful,” he said, smirking. “She’ll each the whole damn pie if we left her.”
V glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Shut up, Johnny.”
Johnny ignored her, turning to the group. “You know what one of her cravings is? Pickles and peanut butter. Together.”
Kerry choked on his drink. “You’re kidding.”
V groaned and covered her face and covered her face with one hand. “Johnny.”
“What?” he said, grinning. “They deserve to know what I’m dealing with.”
Angel grinned. Even Rogue cracked a subtle smirk, “Leave the poor girl alone. She’s pregnant, women have had much stranger cravings than pickles and peanut butter.”
Kerry raised an eyebrow. “So…. any other news? Like, say… gender reveal?”
Johnny glanced over at V.
V gave a soft, knowing smile. “It’s a girl.”
Angel beamed. “Congratulations.”
Kerry’s eyes lit up. “A little girl, huh? Johnny Silverhand’s daughter. She’s gonna be spoiled rotten.”
Johnny rolled his eyes, though there was a trace of pride behind the exasperation.
As the room filled with more chatter and warmth, V’s eyes drifted to Rogue. The fixer was staring ahead, unusually quiet. Her drink sat untouched on the table. Her expression wasn’t neutral; it was… distant. Sad?
V had never seen that particular look on Rogue before. Not in the Afterlife, not even at her lowest. There was something fragile in it, like a crack in steel.
Rogue stood suddenly, clearing her throat. “I should head out,” she said, voice clipped. “Claire probably needs help closing the bar.”
Johnny stood too. “I’ll walk you out.”
Rogue gave a stiff nod, and the two of them disappeared down the hall.
V leaned back into the couch, a hand subconsciously going to her belly. Angel shifted beside her, resting her head on V’s knee.
Kerry leaned back into his seat with a contented sigh. “Man,” he said, looking around at the remaining faces, “it’s weird… but this almost feels like the old days. Aside from a new face.”
V smiled faintly as she glanced over at Angel.
“Yeah,” Angel said. “Almost.”
The door creaked as Johnny returned, his presence grounding as he walked over and took a seat beside her. Without missing a beat, V shifted toward him, dropping her voice to a hushed whisper.
“Is Rogue okay?”
Johnny gave a slow shrug, his jaw tight. “Didn’t say much.”
“You think something’s wrong?” she murmured.
Johnny shook his head. “Could be anything.”
V let out a soft sigh, eyes drifted toward the door Rogue had left through. She rested her head against Johnny’s shoulder, the leather of the jacket familiar beneath her cheek.
Johnny didn’t speak, just wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer.
“Alright, alright,” Kerry said, grinning as he stepped back into the room, a new drink in hand. “Did any of you hear the latest about Henry and Denny?”
Angel blinked. “What now?”
Kerry beamed. “They got back together. After the concert.”
Johnny barked out a laugh. “That’s insane. It’ll end like it always does. Disaster.”
V snorted. “Good for them, though.”
Angel smiled, though she was already standing and grabbing her coat. “Think I’ll head out. Thanks for the invite, Kerry.”
“Anytime, choom,” Kerry said warmly.
She gave V a gentle pat on the knee before heading for the door. “Take care, V.”
“You too, Angel.”
Now it was just the three of them again. There was something cozy about that. V felt herself drifting, eyes growing heavier as she snuggled into Johnny’s side.
“She fell asleep in the car on the way here,” Johnny said to Kerry, his voice low with amusement. “We’ll probably head out soon.”
“I’m fine,” V mumbled, though she didn’t lift her head. “Wide awake.”
Kerry smirked. “Alright, wide-awake girl. One last thing before you go.”
Johnny groaned. “Oh no. What now?”
“I want a picture,” Kerry said, already pulling out his holo. “Just one of the two of you. Don’t worry, I’ll send it to you.”
“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Johnny said, frowning.
V gave him a pointed glare, then turned to Kerry with a sweet smile. “Let’s do it.”
Kerry beamed. “Knew I liked you better.”
He waved them over toward the window, overlooking the glittering expanse of Night City.
“Alright, you,” he said, gesturing to Johnny. “Behind her. Hand here–” he moved Johnny’s silver arm so his splayed over V’s stomach, “–and V, just lean your head in right under his shoulder. Yeah. Like that.”
Johnny looked vaguely uncomfortable. V smiled through it, slipping into the pose like it was second nature.
“You look perfect,” Kerry said after stepping back and framing the shot. “Like a real family.”
V wasn’t sure what it was, his words or just the way Johnny’s hand rested over their unborn child, but something cracked open inside her. Tears welled up before she could stop them, blurring the edge of her vision.
Johnny looked down, brows furrowing. “Shit. Maybe we shouldn’t–”
“I’m fine,” V said quickly, wiping her eyes. “Just take it.”
Kerry didn’t argue. “Alright. I’ve got just the trick.”
He guided Johnny’s free hand up and gently placed it over V’s eyes. “Pull her in a little closer… there. Perfect.”
V let out a small laugh as fresh tears slipped past her lashes.
The holo clicked softly as Kerry captured the moment. He tapped through the image, then walked it over to them. “Here. Check it.”
V took the holo, blinking at the screen. The picture was perfect, Johnny's hand covering her eyes, her smile breaking through the emotion, his silver hand over her belly. No trace of tears remained.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered.
Johnny glanced at the screen and snorted. “Didn’t know you were some kinda photographer now.”
Kerry smirked. “Just one of my many talents.”
Johnny started toward the door, muttering something about getting the engine running.
V followed a few steps behind, but Kerry stopped her. “Hey, wait a sec.”
She turned. “Yeah?”
He disappeared into the other room for a moment, returning with something in his hand, a vintage camera recorder, old-school and a little beat–up, but still functional.
“Take it,” he said, handing it to her. “You’ll want to use it.”
V took it carefully, running her fingers over the worn buttons. “Kerry…”
“Don’t get mushy on me, merc,” he said quickly, but there was warmth in his voice. “You’re gonna want it. Trust me.”
She smiled and hugged him. “Thanks, Ker.”
“See you around, V.”
She nodded and tucked the camera behind her, hiding it from Johnny as she made her way out to the Porsche.
Johnny looked at her with a smile as she slipped into the passenger seat.
Surprisingly, V didn’t fall asleep on the ride back to Johnny’s. The Porsche hummed beneath them, smooth and steady, the city lights streaking across the windshield. For once, her body wasn’t screaming for rest.
“So…” she began, breaking the quiet. “Since we know it’s a girl… maybe we should start talking names.”
Johnny glanced over at her, one brow raised. “Names, huh?” He smirked. “Alright. What about… Wendy?”
She shot him a look, recognizing it immediately, he was always playing oldies on the radio. Gave her grief whenever she couldn’t name the singer. “Wendy? As in Wendy O. Williams?”
Johnny shrugged, not even trying to play innocent. “She was a badass.”
V rolled her eyes. “She also blew up a car on stage. We’re not naming our kid after your favorite punk rocker.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, grinning. “How about Stevie?”
“Johnny,” she groaned, already rubbing her forehead, sensing a pattern. “As in Stevie Nicks? Again with the female rock stars?”
“She’s got great vocals,” he defended.
“Of course she does,” V muttered. “Next.”
“Alright… Janis.”
She gave him a deadpan stare. “You mean Janis Joplin.”
Johnny leaned back in his seat with a smirk. “You’re gonna shoot down every good name just ‘cause they happen to belong to iconic musicians?”
V crossed her arms. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I am! I like those names!”
“You like those women, ” she snapped, though there was a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Big difference.”
They were still in the middle of bickering as they stepped into the apartment. Nibbles immediately darted between their legs with an excited chirp, nearly tripping Johnny.
“Jesus,” he muttered, steadying himself against the wall.
“She missed us,” V said, scooping the cat up with one hand and petting her. “Unlike someone. At least she can’t name my firstborn child after every dead rocker chick.”
Johnny threw his hands up in mock defeat and dropped onto the couch, guitar already in hand like it was waiting for him. V rolled her eyes and wandered into the bathroom to change, setting Nibbles on the floor.
She retrieved Kerry’s vintage camera from her jacket before placing it down on the counter, running her fingers over it briefly before slipping into something more comfortable.
By the time she returned, Johnny was completely absorbed in his playing. His fingers danced over the strings, coaxing out something low and wistful, maybe unfinished, maybe something old. It wrapped around the apartment like smoke, familiar and gentle.
V sat on the bed, camera in her lap, and quietly flipped it on.
She let it roll for several seconds, simply watching him.
She slowly zoomed in on his face. That’s when Johnny glanced up, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“You recording me?”
V laughed, grinning behind the camera. “What? You’re cute.”
Johnny stood immediately, guitar set aside. “What’d I tell you about calling me cute?”
V squealed, trying to scramble off the bed as he advanced, but he was faster. He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her and tossing her gently onto the couch. The camera tumbled to the floor with a soft thud.
She was still laughing when he landed beside her, kissing her again and again until her giggle gave way to something warmer.
Johnny finally picked up the camera from the floor, studying it. “This thing’s vintage. Where’d you get it?”
V deadpanned, “Stole it from Kerry.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow. He flipped the camera so it was facing her now. V sat up, trying to snatch it back, but Johnny held it out of reach.
“Not so fast, princess,” he said. “You want it? Gotta promise you’ll send this footage to me.”
V narrowed her eyes but smirked. “Alright.” She flipped him off with one hand. “Asshole.”
Damn right, he mouthed to her, handing it back.
She took it, aiming the lens back at him. “Anything you wanna say before I shut this thing off?”
Johnny’s smirk faded. His eyes locked on hers, and in that moment, all teasing dropped away.
“I love you, Valerie,” he said simply.
V clicked the camera off, setting it on the coffee table. Her expression faltered.
She didn’t say it back. She never had. Not once.
Instead, she just let out a breath and climbed into his arms. He welcomed her without hesitation, pulling her close.
“I love you,” he repeated, voice softer this time, brushing his lips against her temple. Hands around her stomach.
She nestled against his chest, eyes drifting closed. “I know,” she whispered.
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
Rain hissed against the rooftop in Heywood, gliding in sheets over concrete and rusted metal. V crouched low, one hand balancing her against the edge of the building, the other holding her holo up to her face. A blue glow danced across her features, fracturing against the raindrops clinging to her cheeks and lashes.
“Convoy’s on schedule,” Song’s voice came through the holo, crisp and measured.
“ETA twenty-eight seconds,” Angel added, her voice quieter but sharper, a controlled edge that always cut straight through the noise.
V didn’t blink. “I’m in position,” she confirmed, sliding her pistol free to check the mag. A satisfying click as it snapped back into place. She holstered it and stood slowly, muscles tight beneath the cling of her soaked jacket.
Below her, Heywood was half-asleep, the streets humming with neon and engines, unaware of the high-stakes data war unfolding above them.
“Timing needs to be exact,” Song reminded her. “No improvising.”
V tilted her head, cracking her neck, then reached back to tie her hair up into a tight knot. She inhaled deeply, steadying her pulse.
“Now,” Angel said.
V slipped off her jacket in one fluid motion, the rain instantly soaking the skintight netrunner suit beneath, high-tech, sleek, laced with mods. The kind of suit built not just for speed or stealth, but for surviving dives into digital hellscapes.
She stepped to the edge, turned her back to the street far below, and let herself fall.
The wind caught her like a scream. As the city spun past, she flicked out her wrist. A thin monowire snapped out and anchored to the far side of the building. She swung downward in a controlled arc, momentum propelling her toward the moving transport van just as it rounded the corner.
Boots landed hard on the rooftop of the vehicles with a reverberating thud. She crouched again, balance perfect.
“Engaged,” she said into the comms.
“Copy,” Song replied. “Moving into position.”
“I’ve got eyes on both of you,” Angel added. “Proceed as planned.”
Below, the driver must’ve sensed something was off. The convoy braked hard. Screeching tires. The trucks behind screeched to a halt. Doors opened. Militech soldiers emerged, weapons drawn, scanning the rooftops and alleys.
But they were already too late.
V moved quickly and without hesitation. Her eyes glowed for a moment, quickhacks leaping from her outstretched fingers to the soldiers below. One by one, their optics shorted out, neural links frying under the sudden overload. By the time they reached for triggers, they were already on the ground.
She slid down the windshield of the van and landed in front of it, raising her pistol. One clean shot, straight through the driver’s skull. Blood sprayed against the cracked glass.
“Clear,” she called out.
A click later, Song dropped in from a nearby ledge, hitting the pavement hard and rolling up smoothly. She didn’t need to ask what had happened; she just gave V a nod and sprinted to the back of the truck.
“I’ll ghost the convoy for another fifteen minutes,” Angel said over comms. “Militech won’t know what hit ‘em.”
V dragged the driver’s body from the cab, grimacing slightly as she rifled through the man’s vest. She pulled a small data chip free.
“Access code,” she said, handing it to Song.
“Got it.” Song turned to the cargo doors, checking them, then heading toward the driver's side to pull out the dead driver.
V took a few steps toward the front wreckage, scanning the scene. Her optics pinged something embedded in the wrecked second truck, a datashard, bruised under scorched metal. She yanked it free, slotting it and immediately uploading its contents to Angel.
That was a pause on the line.
“Song’s intel checks out,” Angel finally said. “They were working on Blackwall tech. This truck contains data for a possible breach. A bridge.”
V hissed through her teeth. “Blackwall. Of course, why am I not fuckin’ surprised?”
“They didn’t have you,” Song said, “so they started getting desperate. Pushing deeper than they should’ve.”
“Well,” V muttered, “all the better we hit this particular convoy.”
Angel sighed. “There’ll always be more.”
Song closed the door. “At least with this raw data,” Song said, “we’ve got a chance to learn something. Might even help us understand your… additions.”
V narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Song turned slightly, enough to glance at her but not fully meet her gaze. “I think I might have just the thing to help us understand exactly what Militech implanted in you. What they were doing with your slice of the Blackwall… and maybe how to use it.”
V’s jaw clenched. Before she could press her, Angel cut in.
“Focus, both of you. Militech’s picking up traces of the spike. They’re on the move. You need to leave, now.”
“Dogtown,” Song said. “We’ll take the truck there.”
She pulled the doors closed and locked them, then climbed into the driver’s seat. V ran around and threw herself into the passenger side, slamming the door shut just as the engine of the Militech vehicle roared to life.
Her holo buzzed in her jacket.
Again.
Must be the sixth time today.
Johnny.
She hesitated, then answered.
“Where the fuck are you?” Johnny’s voice shouted through the call, rage mixed with worry. In the background, a baby’s wailing echoed through the call.
Jackie.
Her throat tightened.
“Didn’t even say anything,” Johnny growled. “Had to hear it from Rogue that you were out on a fucking gig. What the hell, Val? Again?”
She stayed quiet, eyes forward. Guilt prickled down her spine like a wire worming its way into her nerves.
“She’s not a newborn anymore,” Johnny said, softer now, angrier in a different way. “She notices when you’re gone.”
V opened her mouth, but before she could respond, a Militech AV screeched overhead. The stolen Militech truck rattled from the downwash.
“Shit,” she cursed. “Gotta go. I’ll call you back.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on–”
She did anyway.
The Militech truck rumbled through Pacifica’s cracked streets, tires slapping against puddles and potholes as it barreled toward Dogtown. Song gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles white.
Over comms, Angel’s voice crackled through. “Two Militech AVs, forty meters behind you. They’re scanning.”
“Can you scramble ‘em?” Song asked without looking away from the road.
“I’m trying. You’ll have a window. One minute, maybe two.”
“We’ll make it,” Song muttered.
V sat in the passenger seat, eyes on the road but mind elsewhere. Her thumb rubbed against her cheek, as if she could scrub away the voice still echoing in her skull. She notices where you’re gone.
Song’s eyes flicked toward her. “That call… Johnny?”
V didn’t answer right away. Rain drummed across the roof. Finally, she gave a short nod.
As of late, things between Johnny and Song had only gotten colder. He didn’t trust her. In private, he’d muttered that there was something off about it; it wasn’t just her eyes that didn’t sit right. V had pushed him on it before confronting Song directly.
Song hadn’t flinched. Instead, she looked V dead in the eye, irises glowing with a faint, unnatural blue. Permanent. A price paid.
“It was the only way,” she had said. “The cure… it came with strings.”
V had taken it as the truth. Johnny hadn’t.
Back in the present, Song sighed. “You should’ve told him.”
V scoffed, she knew her crew was getting tired of their bickered. “It’s not his call. The crew’s mine. I decided was gigs we take. With or without his blessing.”
“He’s as involved in this as you are.”
“He doesn’t get to play ops leader just because he’s loud,” V snapped.
Ahead, the sky darkened as a Militech AV screamed overhead, searchlights flickering. Angel’s voice came sharp and fast.
“I’ve got their sensors scrambled. One minute. Take the left tunnel, now. ”
Song didn’t hesitate. She swerved hard, tires shrieking as the truck cut beneath a collapsed freeway overpass. Hidden in the skeletal remains of pre-Collapse infrastructure, Song killed the engine. Silence steeled, heavy, humid, and tense.
The two netrunners stepped out into the shadows. V stayed close as Song slid open the cargo doors. The mainframe pulsing. Song jacking into the system, fingers flying over her shard.
Angel’s voice returned, colder now. “This isn’t a bridge. It’s a gate.”
V stepped forward. “A gate?”
Song paled. “It’s not just a one-time link. They’re trying to replace the Blackwall.”
V felt her stomach churn. “Replace it?” she echoed, horrified.
Angel’s voice sharpened. “Control it. Shape it. A Militech-designed barrier that they can manipulate. Monitor. Dominate. Anything that passes through, data, AIs, even minds, they’d own it.”
V’s skin crawled.
She’s been behind the Blackwall. Forced to jack in, again and again. Had heard the netrunners scream, felt the static head of rogue intelligence tearing through firewalls like wet paper. There had been no rules behind the wall.
And now, Militech wants to control that?
She took a step back, breath catching. “It starts with me,” she said aloud.
“We don’t know that,” Angel offered gently. “I haven’t read all the data to know for sure.”
But V was spiraling. Panic rose like bile. Her vision blurred at the edges.
“It’s always been me,” she whispered. “Ever since Militech took me… since I started seeing it. The dreams, the voices, they’ve been watching me. I’m a vector. A tool. They’re gonna take me and–”
“V.” Song stepped forward, grabbed her shoulders. “Look at me.”
V’s eyes snapped to hers, breath ragged.
“Militech can’t touch you,” Song said, calm but firm. “You’re V. Valerie Harford. The toughest goddamn merc in Night City. You kill Militech. You run through their checkpoints like they’re cardboard. You’re not a tool. You’re a weapon turned against them.”
V blinked. The panic began to ebb.
“I want it out,” she whispered. “The Blackwall… whatever they put in me. I want it gone. ”
Song nodded slowly. “Maybe. But think about this, what if the thing they gave you could be turned against them? You’ve got something they want, V. We figure out what that is, and we use it. We burn them with it.”
V looked away, jaw clenched, heart still racing. Song returned to her work, finished the data upload, and pulled the shard from the console, slotting it into her jacket with a click.
A pause.
Angel returned, voice measured. “Dogtown’s a couple of blocks out. Security knows you’re coming. I’ll let you through.”
“What about the truck?” Song asked.
“We can’t risk them tracing it,” Angel replied. “It needs to be destroyed.”
V and Song exchanged a look. Then they stepped back.
“I’ve got this,” V said, lifting her hand.
She jacked in briefly, eyes flashing as her quickhack fired. The truck groaned, then erupted into fire and shattered steel, flames tearing skyward as the fuel tank detonated. Pieces of hardware scattered across the lot.
“That’ll bring company,” Song said, already turning. “We need to move.”
“Find me at the warehouse,” Angel said. “We’ll finish this there.”
As V and Song disappeared into the side alleys leading toward Dogtown, the rain swallowed their tracks. V didn’t have to look at her holo to know; there were more missed calls waiting.
Johnny, again.
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she walked with Song. The border of Dogtown loomed, towering walls, an armoured checkpoint, and armed guards marked the crossing that no Militech patrol dared cross.
As they passed, a couple of Barghest soldiers lingering in the shadows gave V subtle nods of respect. She didn’t return them, but her eyes met theirs. Mutual understanding. No Militech filth had ever set foot in Dogtown, and those who tried never came back. The same went for Pacifica, mostly. It didn’t stop convoys from trying to crawl through the ruins, but no patrol ever lasted long.
The walk to Angel’s base wasn’t far, but every step was a reminder of V’s poor decision, bare feet against broken glass and debris. She winced, cursing herself under her breath, stepping carefully along cracked concrete and rusted rebar.
The warehouse emerged out of the haze. V reached out with a quickhack, pinning the doors and sliding them open with a whir of old hydraulics.
They stepped inside.
Angel was already waiting in the base, hands resting on an empty table. She turned as they entered.
“Any tails?”
“No,” Song said, removing her jacket and tossing it over a chair. “I made sure of it.”
Angel nodded. “Good. We need to head downstairs. That upload you sent me… I got something.”
V didn’t ask what yet. Her legs already ached from the day, but adrenaline carried her down the stairs to the lover level, Angel’s sanctum.
Angel pulled up the visuals on a nearby terminal. “The data from the cargo is just a sliver. But with what Song pulled from the truck, maybe we can get more clarity.”
V folded her arms, waiting.
Angel’s gaze flicked toward her. “But the piece of the Blackwall, the one that’s in you, it’s something else.”
V’s stomach tightened. “What is it?”
Angel moved to another monitor. She pulled up an image of an interracial neural map.
“What’s inside you is not simply a breach point,” Angel said. “It’s a seed.”
Silence. Song stayed quiet, arms crossed.
Angel pointed at the map. “The tech is recursive. Self-generating. It’s not just watching the Blackwall, it’s learning from it. Mapping it. Every time you’d jack into the net, it’s been evolving. Using your neural pathways as scaffolding.”
V took a step back, her pulse climbing. “So I’m what, fertilizer ?”
Angel shook her head. “Worse. You appear to be a carrier. They planted something in you that could into something that serves as a center for the Blackwall… or a network of their own. Controlled, directed, and anchored to you.”
The breath left V’s lungs.
Song’s voice cut in, low and cold. “So the cure they gave you, having you upload into the Blackwall. It was just a side effect.” She looked at V, her eyes tired. “Turns out I was the prototype. You’re the goddamn final product.”
V dropped to the floor, back pressed to a concrete wall. Her chest heaved as the full weight of it hit. Chains of wires. Her father’s voice in her ear, feeding her commands. Her hands belonged to someone else. Her thoughts not hers.
“Dormant,” Angel said softly, kneeling beside her. “It’s dormant. I swear.”
“I don’t care,” V spat. “I want it out. Now.”
Song knelt beside her, rubbing a soothing hand across her back as V tried to slow her breathing.
“They’re going to use me,” she whispered. “That was what my father always intended. They’ll take me, and then–”
“No, they won’t,” Song said. “Not while I’m still breathing.”
V wiped her face with the back of her hand. “So what now? What do we do now?”
Angel hesitated.
“If we’re going to stop them,” she finally said, “we need to get ahead of them. Takemura’s been working with Judy and Panam. They’ve collected a list, locations, labs, suspected storage units, and data centers, Militech’s operating out of.”
V’s voice hardened. “Then we hit all of them. One by one.”
Song nodded. “We burn it all down.”
V’s holo buzzed again.
Another call. Johnny.
She stared at the icon. Didn’t answer.
Angel frowned. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but you need to tell him. You keep leaving him in the dark. He’s one of us, V.”
V’s jaw clenched. “He would’ve stopped me.”
“He’s not the enemy,” Angel said gently.
“No,” V replied. “But this isn’t his fight.”
Song stood and moved back to the terminal. “I’ll start analyzing the shard from the cargo. If we can learn how they’re harnessing Blackwall data… maybe we can flip it.”
Angel’s eyes lingered on V. “At least call him.”
V rose to her feet, wiping off dust. Her legs still trembled. She shook her head.
“I’ll see him at home,” she said quietly. “Right now, I’m heading to the Afterlife. Rogue needs to know what happened.”
By the time V walked into the Afterlife, noon had already rolled around. The lighting inside was the same as always, but the place was starting to fill with that particular crowd, mercs with wired nerves and twitchy trigger fingers, the ones who made a living walking the line between legend and casualty.
Eyes followed her. They always did.
Being the moved famous merc in Night City came with its perks, but also its price. Everyone wanted to be on her crew. Like it was some open call, like joining meant they’d live longer than a month. They didn’t get it.
V ignored the gazes and kept moving.
Claire looked up from behind the bar, gave her a warm smile. “Well, well. Look who it is? Heya V.”
V smirked faintly, sliding onto a stool. “My usual.”
Claire poured the drink without asking, sliding the glass across the bar. V downed it in one go. The burn settled her nerves, just enough.
“She in her usual spot?” V asked.
Claire nodded. “She always is.”
“Thanks,” V muttered and made her way toward the back booth, past tables and barflies, past whispered names and sideways stares. She didn’t look back.
Rogue was there, perched like a queen over her domain. A pair of younger mercs, green and eager, sat at the booth with her until she waved them off with a flick of her hand.
“Out. Business.”
They didn’t argue. One glance at V, and they moved quickly.
V slid into the seat across from her.
“I’ve got something,” she said.
Rogue leaned back, cigarette smoldering between two fingers. “You should thank me. Kept your rockerboy in the dark, like you asked.”
V exhaled sharply. “Didn’t have a choice. Couldn’t afford interference.”
Rogue nodded once. “So. You want hits.”
V nodded. “Based on the data we pulled from that Militech convoy. We need to start lining them up. Labs, storage hubs, data centers, whatever’s on the list. We need to tear through it all before Militech tightens its grip.”
Rogue arched a brow. “Talk.”
V glanced around once, then leaned in. “The convoy was clean. We got what we needed. Song, Angel, me, we sliced it like butter.”
“Not surprised,” Rogue said. “You three are probably the best netrunners Night City’s got, with Alt herself on the team.”
“We returned to her base,” V continued. “Angel found something deeper. The convoy was wired with Blackwall hardware, but it’s more than that. We learned they’re not just watching… They’re trying to replace it.”
Rogue’s eyes narrowed.
“I think it’s my father’s plan,” V said. “Beat the Fifth Corporate War before it even starts. Build something they control. A system… a ‘ganic one, easier to manipulate than an AI… anchored to me.”
For once, even Rogue looked unsettled.
“How far back does this go?”
“Further than I’ve been alive,” V said. “The other me, before all this, used to the Blackwall to get herself a cure. But now? I’m a carrier. A living node for whatever they’re growing.”
Rogue cursed under her breath. “And Johnny?”
V hesitated. Looked down.
“Haven’t told him yet.”
“ Told me what? ”
V winced, already knowing. “Hey Johnny…”
Johnny stood just beyond the booth, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. Eyes locked on hers, narrowed and angry, voice low but loaded.
“Don’t ‘hey Johnny’ me,” he snapped. “What the fuck, Val?”
She sat straight, trying to keep her voice even. “Johnny–”
“This gonna be a daily thing?” He cut her off. “You leave early enough in the morning that I don’t even know you’re gone. I wake up, you’re halfway across the goddamn city on some gig you didn’t tell me about. Again.”
Rogue raised a brow but didn’t interrupt. She didn’t need to.
Johnny kept going. “You know, I always end up finding you? Here. Always. Most times, you’re half-drunk, and I have to be the one to haul you home. Home, to our daughter.”
The word hit like a hammer. V didn’t move.
“She’s seven months old, V,” he said, voice shaking. “And she’s getting smarter every day. One of these days, she's gonna realize you’re not coming home.”
“Fuck off,” V snapped, the words out before she could rethink them.
The whole Afterlife seemed to still for a second, but only just. Rogue took a sip from her drink, unbothered. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen them go at it, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. A few mercs nearby leaned just slightly out of earshot, those who’d been around long enough knew better than to get involved when Night City’s two biggest living legends had it out.
Johnny took a step closer to the booth. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter.
“I just wish you wouldn’t shut me out. You think this ain’t my fight, too?”
V’s jaw tightened. “I shut you out because I know what you’ll do. You’ll either try to stop me… or worse, you’ll agree to the gig. ”
She glanced at Rogue, who gave the barest nod. V didn’t need to say it aloud. Johnny was running too hot. She’s seen it in the twitch of his fingers, the split-second delays, the rage just under the surface.
Rogue exhaled through her nose. “Maybe it’s time you took a step back, Johnny. Just a bit. The nosebleeds, the shaking, it’s concerning.”
Johnny scoffed, rolling his eyes and throwing his arms wide. “So that’s it, huh? You think I’m going cyberpsycho. News flash, I already did. Decades ago.”
V shook her head. “No, you didn’t.” Her voice was soft, sad. “I’ve seen it happen. Up close. You haven’t hit that point. Not yet.”
“So that’s the big fear?” Johnny asked, stepping back from the booth, his tone shifting to bitterness. “I’m a liability?”
“You are,” Rogue said, not unkindly, just honest.
Johnny’s face twisted into a bitter grin. “So what then? I’m supposed to stay home, keep the bed warm for V while she’s out tearing up corps?”
“That’s not what we’re saying,” V said quickly, trying to hold the wire together.
“It’s exactly what you’re saying.”
A twitchy merc sitting a few tables over leaned just a bit too far to eavesdrop, and Rogue turned her head slowly toward him.
“If you know what’s good for you,” she said, voice low, “kindly fuck off.”
The merc stood up and left.
V rubbed her face with both hands, suddenly exhausted. “Can we not do this here?”
She saw Johnny reach for his aviators, slipping them on with practiced flair. She knew him too well to know what that meant. Armor up. Walls back up. Lock it all down behind shaded glass.
“Why not?” he said, voice hollow. “Plenty of room in the place to bury another fight. Add it to the pile.”
V stood. “Rogue, I’ll stay in touch. If anything comes up…”
Rogue nodded. “You know I will.”
And just like always, like clockwork, Rogue had chosen her side. It had always been that way. When it came down to V and Johnny, it was always V.
V stepped out of the Afterlife, the midday sun catching her. Johnny followed, footsteps heavy behind her.
“At least let me take you home,” he said.
She paused. Let the words hang there for a second. Then gave a small, begrudging nod. “Fine.”
They walked in silence to the lot out back, where Johnny’s Porsche was parked, black now, with crimson trim that gleamed under the light. The custom paint job was sleek, stylish. Almost too clean.
He’d kept the car. Of course had had. But the original silver was gone, stripped away like so much of the rest of him. Too many eyes had flagged the iconic car after his return. Too many memories.
V never said anything. Didn’t need to. But she could see it in the way his hand lingered on the hood sometimes; he missed it. The old paint, the old life, the identity he’d been forced to reshape.
She slid into the passenger seat.
Johnny got in behind the wheel. Said nothing.
But she feels the heat of his anger still smoldering between them, quiet and unresolved. And somewhere beneath that, the worry he refused to name.
So, of course, the ride back to the megabuilding was quiet. Tense. But honestly? V didn’t care.
She was too tired, too irritated, too worn down to bother fixing the silence hanging between them. She didn’t want to bring the tension home, not again, but she knew they would. They always did.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from wishing it could’ve been different, just this once.
The only thing keeping her grounded was the thought of seeing her daughter.
She was grateful for the time they’d had with Mama Welles, three full months under her roof after everything had gone to hell. But it hadn’t taken long for reality to set in. They need space, need something permanent. Johnny had picked a place in Watson, not far from Megabuilding 10. Registered under the name Jonathan Linder, of course.
He wanted a view. She hadn’t argued.
The black-and-red Porsche rolled into the lot under the massive tower. Johnny parked, killed the engine. Neither of them exchanged a word as they got out. The elevator ride up to the tenth floor dragged on in heavy silence, the kind of silence where every floor ding felt like a ticking time bomb.
They stepped into the hallway, heading straight for unit 1.
Johnny unlocked the door and called out as he pushed it open. “Misty?”
Her voice drifted from inside the apartment. “In the nursery, Jackie just went down for a nap.”
The apartment was bigger than her old H10 unit. In some ways, it still mirrored the old layout, same couch, same bed, but they’d expanded where it mattered. A real kitchen. A bathroom that wasn’t a closet and even had a washer and dryer. One room storage, another transformed into something she never thought she’d have, a nursery. A finished one.
She stepped in slowly, Johnny trailing behind.
Misty sat on the rocking chair near the crib, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. In the crib, cradled in soft blankets, their daughter slept soundly. Jackie.
V approached, crouched down beside the crib. “Hey, baby girl,” she whispered, brushing her fingers gently over her daughter’s dark hair.
Johnny stood at her side now. “Thanks for watching her,” he said to Misty.
“Anytime,” Misty replied with a kind smile, standing. “She got a little fussy after you left. But nothing I couldn’t handle.”
V stayed quiet. Her eyes didn’t leave Jackie.
Misty’s gaze flicked between the two of them. She felt the tension like it was a sixth sense. She always did.
V finally turned to Misty, still looking at Johnny. “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t the first time. It had become routine by now: V disappearing, Johnny calling Misty to help when he went after her.
Misty gave her a soft smile. “It’s no problem. I’ll leave you two to talk.”
She set her tea aside and quietly slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her.
V stood there, silent, her hand still resting on the edge of the crib.
Johnny moved closer. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel a shift in the air, the faint brush of heat and leather.
He reached out, gently stroking Jackie’s cheek with the back of his finger.
It should’ve been a sweet moment. It should’ve brought her peace.
But instead, her mind echoed with what he had said earlier. One of these days, she's gonna realize you’re not coming home.
Did he really believe that?
She’d been doing this for six months. She was careful. The crew was careful. They made a difference, real change. Militech’s grip had started to slip. Night City was a little safer. Less corrupt.
But none of that seemed to matter when she thought about the look in his eyes.
Anger twisted in her chest. She pulled away from the crib, brushing past Johnny with barely a glance.
She stepped out of the nursery and into the storage room.
Just before the door closed behind her, she heard Johnny sigh.
V peeled off the rest of her gear slowly, piece by piece, the exhaustion catching up to her now that the adrenaline had worn off. She collapsed onto the edge of the small bench beside the wall and finally took a look at her feet.
Bare, bruised, and worn. No wonder every step had felt like hell.
She sighed.
Behind her, the storage room door opened. She glanced over her shoulder.
Johnny stood in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning lazily against the frame.
“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
V nodded and stood, grabbing her pistol from its holster. She reached up, trying to set it on the top shelf, the one they’d designated for locked-down gear. She stretched, struggled a bit.
Without a word, Johnny stepped beside her, took it from her hand, and placed it easily out of reach.
The storage room had been fully baby-proofed, of course. There was no way Jackie could get in, not without serious effort, and even if she did, everything dangerous had been shoved as high up as possible.
What responsible parents they were.
Johnny stayed where he was, watching her. “What was the gig?”
She didn’t look at him. “Militech convoy. We hit it for some data.”
“Who was with you?”
“Angel.” She paused. “...Songbird.”
That made him react. She turned just in time to see the flicker in his eyes, narrowed and sharp, but he didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
V crossed her arms. “If you’ve got something to say, just fucking say it.”
Johnny moved to the workbeanch they used to mod weapons and hopped up onto it, settling there like it was his own damn throne.
“I don’t like how close she’s getting to you,” he said, voice steady.
V snorted. “You’re jealous.”
Johnny scowled. “That’s not what I’m saying. Not at all.”
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes locked on the wall like he was playing the past on repeat.
“It was Songbird who reached out to me. When you were locked up. I was a mess. Of course, I took the help, I need it. But even then, something felt off. Should’ve seen it sooner. She’s not the same. There’s something in her. Something… I dunno, twisted? And I’m usually right about this shit.”
V let out a dry laugh, undoing the tie in her hair and letting her curls fall free. Her newly dyed strands, hot pink, framed her face like wildfire.
“You’re paranoid,” she said. “So Mi’s the same. Same tone, same stubbornness. Only difference is the eyes.”
“She’s not the same. And I’d know, dumbass. I was in your head too, remember?”
V turned sharply. “Yeah, and for me? Everything with Song and Reed happened less than a year ago. For you, over a year. So maybe I’ve got a better read on her these days.” Her voice dropped as her hand hovered near her stomach. “Or did you forget you fucking killed me?”
Johnny winced like she’d thrown a punch. He slid off the workbench and took a step toward her.
It got to him every time, that memory. The moment she brought it up, the moment the guilt rose to the surface.
He stepped close, gently placing his hands on either side of her face. He brushed his fingers through her bright curls, soft, careful.
“I can’t forget,” he whispered. “No matter how hard I try.”
V turned away, slipping out of her hands. Her voice was quieter now, but no less bitter.
“Shouldn’t have brought it up.” She took a breath, then forced out a dry laugh. “Let’s just pretend we’re a normal fucking family.”
“Fine,” Johnny said, backing off with a shrug that didn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders,
V turned away, fingers moving to the zipper at the back of her netrunning suit. The fabric clung tightly to her skin, soaked through with sweat and the rain from earlier. She tugged it down, but paused when Johnny’s voice cut through the silence again.
“...You ever gonna tell me what really happened at Militech?”
She stilled.
He wasn’t looking at her; his gaze turned toward the far wall like the truth was too sharp to meet head-on.
V frowned. “Are you ever gonna tell me about her?” she asked, her voice quiet but pointed.
Johnny sighed heavily, pulling off his aviators. He pinched the bridge of his nose, face lined with a weariness he never liked to show.
“That’s not the same.”
V scoffed. “I think it’s pretty damn similiar.” She crossed her arms, the suit much looser. “All I get are photos. Or secondhand stories from my friends. Goddamn it, Johnny, I’ve been with you longer than she ever was. We live together. We’re raising a kid together. And I still won’t ever be her, will I?”
Johnny’s voice was flat. “Because she’s dead. So yeah, kinda hard to beat that.”
V's eyes flared, and before she could think better of it, she shoved him.
He didn’t move much, just looked at her, until she grabbed him and kissed him hard.
He didn’t resist. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up with practiced ease, her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her to the bench.
A low growl rumbled from Johnny’s throat as she pressed a biting kiss to the base of his neck. His hands were already working, pulling the netrunner suit down the rest of the way, ravaging her body, her curves, her bruises.
His lips trailed lower, teasing her breasts, then closing over a nipple, making her gasp and gasp and arch into him.
V’s hands twisted into his hair, tugging roughly as he worked. She moaned again, louder this time, her frustration melting into heat–
A cry, wailing, loud and sharp.
Jackie.
Johnny pulled back with a curse, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. V let out a long, resigned sigh, the moment already gone.
She tugged the top half of her suit back on quickly and stepped out of the room, leaving Johnny behind her.
The nursery was dim, lit only by the soft yellow glow of a night light shaped like a neko-cat.
V stepped inside.
“I’m here, baby girl,” she murmured, scooping Jackie up from the crib. The baby’s face was scrunched up in distress, her fists clenched, her voice already strong and piercing.
Just like her father.
V settled into the rocking chair, sighing as she removed the top half of her netrunning suit again, just enough to begin nursing. Her breasts were already tender; Johnny hadn’t exactly been gentle, but she ignored the soreness. Jackie needs her.
As soon as her daughter latched, the wailing stopped, until there was was only the quiet rhythm of sucking and V’s hand gently strocking her hair.
V leaned in, kissing her forehead.
“Sorry, Jackie girl,” she whispered. “I love you.”
When Jackie was done, V reached for the pacifier on the nearby shelf and slipped it gently into her daughter’s mouth. Jackie latched onto it, calm now, eyes blinking slowly.
V carried her out into the living room.
Johnny was already on the couch, staring blankly at the floor.
V sat beside him, careful not to jostle the calm baby too much. Without a word, Johnny draped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her close.
It had taken some getting used to. More help from Mama Welles than V liked to admit. But yeah, this was her life now.
She was a mother.
And this? This was her daughter.
Her baby. Her reason.
The reason she bled, fought, and kept clawing her way through this broken city.
To build something better.
Johnny leaned over and kissed her cheek before turning his gaze down to Jackie, who stared up at both of them with wide, dark eyes.
“You can’t keep me out forever,” Johnny muttered, his voice low but steady.
V didn’t say anything.
Because she knew. He was right.
Six months.
Six months since she’d broken out of Militech’s grasp, torn herself free from cold labs, steel restraints, and men in suits who thought they could play god.
Six months fighting back. Running ops. Hitting convoys. Dismantling supply chains and slicing through their networked arteries, bleeding them out one job at a time.
And through it all– Johnny, Judy, Panam, Goro, Song, Angel.
All at her back.
But still, the question gnawed at her.
What the fuck am I doing?
She glanced down at the baby in her arms. This perfect, tiny person. Her daughter.
V held Jackie a little tighter, then handed her off to Johnny.
“I'm gonna shower,” she said quietly. “Get changed.”
Johnny nodded, cradling Jackie without hesitation. The baby made a little chirping noise and reached for his face, immediately enamored.
V turned away and headed for the bathroom.
She stepped under the stream the second the water was hot enough, steam curling around her like a blanket.
And there, finally, she let herself think.
What kind of mother was she?
The kind who didn’t just die once, but twice.
The kind who knows what would happen to her daughter if she didn’t keep fighting. If she didn’t tear down the world that made monsters out of corpos and turned people like her into weapons.
She had a family now. A strange one, sure, but hers.
And if Militech wanted to take that from her again…
They’d have to kill her a third fucking time.
She shut off the water and stepped out, toweling off quickly and pulling on an old top and worn-out sweats. Something easy, something homey.
When she came out of the bathroom, the sound of laughter, baby giggles, and Johnny’s voice met her ears.
She paused.
Johnny was on the floor now, legs crossed, leaning over Jackie, who lay on her back, flailing her arms and legs. She was babbling excitedly, eyes locked on her father.
“–so there we are, mid-gig, crowd’s roaring, Kerry’s guitar is shorting out, Henry’s high as hell, and I’m trying not to punch the promoter–”
Jackie let out a loud squeal, cutting him off, flailing so hard she knocked her pacifier out.
Johnny grinned and held out his chrome hand. Jackie reached for it like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen and shoved it into her mouth immediately.
V leaned on the bathroom doorway, watching.
For a minute, she didn’t say anything. Just watched.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of her, and the grin fell just slightly from his face.
His tone shifted. Serious now.
“I got bad news,” he said.
V’s brow arched as she moved to the couch and sat. “That so?”
He sighed. A big, over-the-top breath like the weight of it would crush him otherwise.
“The kid’s not mine,” Johnny said. “Way too adorable to be my kid.”
V rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. She’s yours.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow and flashed that dumb, lopsided grin. He reached down and grabbed one of Jackie’s toys off the floor, a little brown stuffed horse, and offered it to her. Jackie immediately dropped his silver hand in favor of it.
V smirked. “Beside the obvious?” she asked, gesturing to Jackie’s dark hair and sharp eyes.
“She’s got your lungs. Screams bloody murder the second she doesn’t get her way.”
Johnny let out a short laugh.
“Scowl’s your too,” she added. “Same exact ‘don’t fuck with me’ face.”
Johnny picked Jackie up with one arm, and she squealed again, wrapping a tiny hand around the collar of his tank.
“And the attitude?”
“Oh,” V said, standing, following him toward the kitchen. “That’s all you.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Val.” He opened the fridge with his free hand, fishing out a carton of half-eaten noodles. Jackie dropped her toy in protest.
V leaned down, picked it up, and handed it back to her. Jackie immediately stopped fussing.
“Trust me,” V said, looking up at Johnny. “She’s definitely yours.”
He looked back at her and smiled, soft and real.
Then leaned in and kissed her.
Dinner was quiet. Leftover noodles, half-warm takeout from the night before. Jackie sat perched in her high chair, babbling nonstop at Nibbles, who had claimed the center of the couch like the empress of the apartment. The cat stared back with unblinking judgment, flicking its tail every so often like she was weighing whether to get up and hide or just suffer through the baby’s screeches.
Jackie, for her part, seemed perfectly content.
V scooped the last of her noodles into her mouth and stood, stretching slightly before reaching over to smooth a hand over Jackie’s soft tufts of hair. She gathered the bowls, dropped them into the sink, and rinsed them under a quick stream of hot water before leaving them to soak.
She wandered over to the terminal at the desk and turned it on. Notifications piled like bricks on her screen: messages, updates, junk. She scrolled.
A ping from Goro caught her eye.
She opened it, a detailed breakdown of several Militech AVs operated in Westbrook. Deployment times, unit count, and even pilot IDs. The kind of intel that didn’t come cheap or clean.
V’s jaw tensed slightly. She bookmarked the files and moved on to the next message.
V smirked faintly. She looked up, saw Johnny lifting Jackie from the high chair, cradling her against his chest, speaking to her in low tones, as he walked toward the nursery. Jackie was half-asleep already, murmuring nonsense into his shoulder.
V let out a soft sigh and typed a quick reply to Kerry.
A few seconds later, Johnny returned and leaned against the edge of the desk beside her.
“Work?” he asked, casually.
V shook her head. “Kerry.”
He leaned in, scanned the screen briefly, and nodded. Nothing more.
Then he pushed off and made his way toward the bed, flopping backwards onto it like he didn’t have a care in the world.
V checked the time. 8:03 p.m.
She exhaled and moved toward the couch, dropping herself onto the cushions and flipping on the TV, letting the low drone of news chatter fill the space.
Jackie’s fussing picked up from the other room.
Once, months ago, V would’ve been on her feet at the first sound, scrambling to soothe, bounce, pacify, beg. Anything to get Jackie to stop.
It was Johnny who’d suggested letting her cry it out, just once.
It worked.
Most nights, one missing pacifier later, Jackie would find her way to sleep on her own.
V pulled her legs up under her and half-watched the screen. Newsfeed flicked between resorts, riots in Santo Domingo, an anti-Militech protest crushed in Japantown, a quick soundbite of someone shouting, “Silverhand lives!” before cutting to an image of her and then to the face she least wanted to see.
Lucas Harford.
Her father.
V’s stomach curled.
She wasn’t sure she remembered his face when she was very little, just a few flashes, maybe. It was Vincent’s laugh she remembered best. Her twin. Their mother’s voice, rough and tired, was always smoke-stained. Always crying.
V had decided young she’d never smoke. Never be like her.
Now she had a kid of her own.
Didn’t know the first thing about raising children.
Jackie had been thrown into her life with zero warning aside from a few hints after she first woke up. She didn’t get to carry her, experience those awkward pregnancy cravings, or watch herself grow. Just one day, she was holding her. Not that she was upset, she didn’t get to experience pregnancy. Suddenly, it was diapers and midnight fevers and more love than V had even known what to do with.
And somehow… she was handling it.
Not perfect. But enough.
She gave herself a silent pat on the back.
A soft strumming broke through the static of the newsfeed.
V looked up.
Johnny was tuning his guitar. His legs were on the floor, concentration furrowed in his brow.
They met eyes for a moment.
Just a second.
Then V looked back at the screen.
“ Militech stock dips following embassy bombing– ”
The sound of chords shifted again. Familiar, but not quite.
“What are you playing?” she asked, glancing over.
Johnny paused, grinning. “Classic,” he said. “Over a hundred years old.”
V grinned back, “Oh? So younger than you?”
Johnny made a dramatic strangling motion in her direction. She snorted and stood, padding across the room barefoot before dropping into the bed beside him. Her shoulder brushed lightly against his.
He adjusted how he held the guitar, rolled his shoulders once, then picked up the rhythm again. This time he started singing, soft, rasped at the edges.
“ Everybody's gotta live
And everybody's gonna die
Everybody's gotta live
I think you know the reason why… ”
As Johnny played, V leaned her head back slightly. The melody stirred something in her chest, something gentle, something she didn’t often let herself feel.
“ Sometime the going get so good
Then again it gets pretty rough
But when I have you in my arms, baby
You know I just can't
I just can't get enough, oh yeah… ”
V glanced over at him, his silver fingers moved with surprising delicacy across the strings. She folded her legs beneath her, leaning slightly into his side.
“ Everybody's gotta live
And everybody's gonna die
Everybody's gotta live
I think you know the reason why… ”
V’s eyes drifted to the wall, to the photos hung up next to the bed, some blurry picture Judy had taken of her and Johnny asleep on the couch with Jackie on her chest. One of Panam flipping the bird. A picture of the crew, celebrating in the Afterlife.
“ I saw a blind man standing
On the corner yesterday, baby
He couldn't hardly tie his shoes
But he had a harmonica
And a guitar strapped around his neck
And he sure could
He sure could play the blues, oh yeah… ”
Johnny leaned slightly into the lyric, like it meant something, or maybe V was reading into it. Either way, she watched the lines in his face shift with every word.
“ Everybody's gotta live
And everybody's gonna die
Everybody tryna have a, a good time
I think you know the reason why… ”
V smiled faintly, resting her chin on her knee now. Here they were, no explosions, no gunfire. Just music, just Johnny, just peace.
“ I feel like I've seen just about a million sunsets
She said, "If you're with me, I'll never go away"
That's when I stopped and I took another look at my baby
She said, "If you're with me, I'll never go away"
Because… ”
V looked at him as he sang those lines, and for just a second, she swore his voice caught. She reached over and placed a hand on his knee, steady.
“ Everybody's gotta live
And everybody's gonna die
Everybody's gotta live
Before you know the reason why… ”
He turned to her then, the fire in his gaze was soft now.
“ I had a dream the other night, baby
I dreamt that I was all alone
But when I woke up I took a look around myself
And I was surrounded by fifty million strong, oh yeah… ”
V breathed through her nose, slowly. Not too long ago, she was sure she’d die. Now there was Jackie. Now there was this.
She’d been certain she’d die with a gun in her hand, in a blaze of glory.
But it seemed she settled for a quiet life after all, even if just in this moment.
“ Everybody's gotta live
And everybody's gonna die
Everybody's gotta live
Before you know the reason why… ”
Johnny’s voice dropped a bit, softer now.
“ Everybody's gotta live
And everybody's gonna die
Everybody's gotta live
You gotta live
Before you know the reason why… ”
When the final note faded, V blinked slowly, then turned to him with a quiet smile.
“I still don’t recognize it,” she said, voice low.
Johnny gave her a crooked grin. “Gonk.”
She laughed, the sound small and full. Then she leaned her head on his shoulder after he placed the guitar down on the ground.
“I’m tired,” V murmured, running a hand through her hair. “Think I’m gonna get some sleep.”
Johnny frowned, his expression tightening. “Yeah? Maybe you wouldn’t be so tired if you didn’t wake up at four in the goddamn morning and ghost me like I didn’t exist.”
V pulled away, arms crossing over her chest. “We’re still talking about this?”
Johnny stood now, jaw tightening. “Yeah. I think we fucking are.”
V exhaled sharply through her nose. “Fine. Just get it out already.”
He didn’t yell, at least not a first. He rubbed the back of his neck, like trying to ease out the tension coiled in his spine.
“When we started this thing,” he began, “going after Militech, taking the fight back to them, I was all in. Thought we had something good. Fuck, I was proud of what we were building. You, me, Rogue, Alt, the whole damn crew.”
He looked away, pacing.
“But then the months rolled on. Militech kept drawing back, quiet. Too quiet. And that’s when I started thinking…”
He stopped mid-step. “What if they hit back? Hard. Not just a counterstrike. Overkill. Blow up the Afterlife, send in a hit squad, make an example out of us.”
His voice dipped low. “And then there’s Song.”
V didn’t move.
“There’s something off about her. Don’t care how charming or useful she is, there’s a stench coming off that one. Her loyalties, they’re not with us. Maybe never were. And because I say that, what? Suddenly, I’m the problem? I get benched, shoved off to stakeouts with fucking Takemura while the you all plan the next big hits?”
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“I want to see Militech burn as much as you do,” he said. “Made it crystal clear what I’d do if I ever came face-to-face with Hardford again.”
His tone dropped to a growl. “He’d be begging to die by the time I was done.”
V swallowed, a bitter taste rising in her throat. Her mind drifted back to the Blackwall. The thing inside her. Now would be the time to tell him. To just say it.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she shook her head. Her voice cracked with quiet rage.
“You don’t fucking get it, Johnny.”
He blinked. “Try me.”
“You weren’t the one beaten down and reprogrammed. You didn’t wake up every goddamn day forced to upload into the Net, forced to diseapper, piece by piece, until nothing felt real anymore. Your father’s boot, crushing your face. Till the only way you thought you’d ever wake up…”
She trailed off. Her breath shook as she tried to reel it in. She didn’t cry. Wouldn’t.
Johnny reached out, tentative.
She flinched back.
“I’m not gonna stop fighting Militech,” she said, voice firm now. “Not ever. And maybe I won’t stop until my father’s dead. So yeah, I’ll take any help I can get. Even Songbird.”
Johnny didn’t speak.
“And I’m not leaving you out because you’re asking questions. I’m leaving you out because I’m worried about you. ” She started him down. “Rogue is too.”
Johnny scoffed.
“I’ve seen cyberpsychosis, Johnny. Up close. I know the signs. The nausea, the tremors, the fucking nosebleeds.”
He stiffened.
“You’re saying…” He cut off, mouth twitching.
“In the Afterlife,” she said softly. “Yeah. We’re worried. That you’re taking things too far.”
For a long moment, the silence in the room was heavy, sharp. Johnny tapped his foot against the floor, restless, fidgeting like he was trying to keep something inside from spilling out.
A humorless laugh escaped him.
“It’s a little too fucking late for that.”
Johnny looked at her for a long second, and then he grinned. A crooked, tired thing, sharp around the edges.
“I’m already a cyberpsycho, V.” He lifted his silver hand and flexed the fingers, letting the metal gleam under the low light. “Exhibit A.”
V shook her head. “You’re not.” Her voice was steady. “Vincent, he was cyberpsycho. You’re nothing like him. Fucking impossible. You’re sane. ”
“Am I, thought?” Johnny asked, still smiling, but there was a weight behind his voice now. “Appreciate the sentiment. Real progressive of you, lumpin’ all us psychos into the same category.”
He leaned back on one hand, eyes flickering over her face. “Think about it, V. Really think. How else do you think you were able to fend it off? That psychosis that should’ve swallowed you whole, with all the chrome you were packing, after everything you went through. When I was in your head, me the brain parasite, I think I might’ve been the buffer. Kept you human while I played the part of cyberpsycho. At least that’s my working theory.”
V scoffed, but it lacked head. She rubbed her brow. “You’ve got it backward. Yeah, you’ve got the symptoms, but you haven’t snapped. Not yet.”
Johnny laughed. It wasn’t cold, but it was hollow.
“Snapped?” he echoed. “V, I’ve been snapping since the twenties. Lost my arm, lost Alt, hell, killed her. There, I said it.”
He exhaled, long and slow.
“And then there was you. Watching you die, bleed out, that was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever had to see. And I’ve seen a lotta shit.”
His gaze drifted to the cybernetic limb again. Silent.
V reached for his hand. Her touch was gentle, like she was afraid he might break apart if she squeezed too hard.
“You’re not a psycho, Johnny,” she said quietly. “But if you keep pushing yourself, keep cramming chrome into your spine like it’s gonna solve everything, you will snap. And when you do…”
She wiped her eyes roughly. “It won’t be pretty.”
He didn’t answer at first. Just lifted his hand, touching her cheek, thumb brushing away the remnants of her tears. That soft, cautious way he touched her, like he still couldn’t believe she was real.
“I’m not gonna lose it,” he said. “Not like Vincent, you won’t have to put me down.”
V blinked back tears, “If it came down between you and Jackie… I… you know who I chose.”
“I would expect nothing less. I won’t lose it, V.”
“Promise me,” she said.
“Promise,” he echoed.
They leaned into each other, mouths brushing, and then kissing for real. Slow, familiar.
When they pulled apart, V rested her forehead against his.
“I’ll stop leaving you in the dark,” she murmured. “I’ll tell Rogue it’s alright. You’re in.”
Johnny grinned. “Wasn’t so hard, huh? All I had to do was serenade you with a classic and dump my trauma all over your lap.”
V let out a quiet laugh and gave him a light shove. “Gonk.”
But she didn’t deny it.
She curled into him, the rhythm of his chest grounding her, and for a while, there was only the hum of the city beyond their window.
Then softly, tentatively, she asked it.
The question that had been sitting in her chest for months. She needed confirmation.
“Did I…” Her voice caught. “Did I go cyberpsycho, Johnny?”
He didn’t answer right away. Adjusting her in his arms, pressing his chin to the top of her head. A heavy breath left his lungs.
“Yeah, V,” he said at last. “You did.”
She closed her eyes. “Figures. That’s a fucking downer.”
He shifted, and she could feel the tension return to his body.
“It’s my fault,” he muttered. “Wasn’t there for you. If I’d been there when it started, maybe you wouldn’t’ve died.”
She was quiet for a long time. Listening to the sound of the city.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t be her now, would I? Wouldn’t be me. I died. And then I didn’t. It’s a mindfuck, I know. But… the life we built, the shit we’re dong now, it has to mean something. Even if I’m just… living in the shell of the other me.”
Johnny pulled her closer.
“It fucking does,” he whispered.
He kissed her again, this time softer, slower. A promise embedded in the motion.
“I love you, Val.”
Notes:
Message thread generator by Luvwich.
Ahhh, sorry y’all! 😅 Had a super busy week, but it’s finished!! And it’s my longest chapter yet—actually, I think every chapter I post becomes my longest, lol. Hope you all liked it!! It’s super duper fluffy!!! 💖 I did warn you!!
Okay, so for the Queen of Wands timeline… yeah, that’s about as good as it gets between them 🥲 Things start spiraling downhill from here. I might post a couple of one-shots from that timeline before everything goes sideways. Ugh, the next few chapters were kinda tough to write. 😩
Anyone here a Ghost in the Shell fan? (The anime, not the Scarlett Johansson movie lol.) Hope you caught the nod in the beginning of the Queen of Swords timeline! Edgerunners got me into anime, and I ended up watching Akira and Ghost in the Shell after. So good!! 😍
Let me know what you think, not that I’m comment-starved or anything… But seriously, they make my day. Thank you all for reading this far!! 💕 Just a heads up again: the story gets a little darker from here. Thanks for all the love and support!! 🫶
Chapter 16: And The World Was Gone
Summary:
I wish you felt me falling.
I wish you’d watch over me
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
V shot awake, her body locked in a wave of panic.
She couldn’t breathe.
At first, she thought it was a nightmare, another fucked up dream. But this wasn’t that. This was real. Her lungs refused to work, her chest tightening like someone had wrapped a steel band around it. She gasped, trying to pull in air, but nothing came.
Her throat spasmed.
Then the blood came.
Hot and sudden, it spilled from her mouth, thick and bitter, staining her lips and chin. She grabbed at the sheets, trying to stay upright, trying to do something, but her body betrayed her. Her vision blurred, and the dark corners of the room started creeping inward.
No… fuck… no, no, no.
This was worse than any attack she’d ever had. Her mind was screaming while her body collapsed in on itself. This is it, she thought. I’m dying.
Next to her, Johnny stirred.
It took half a second for him to notice something was wrong. “Shit– V?” His voice cracked as he sat up fast, eyes wide with panic. “V!”
She tried to reach for him, but her limbs didn't move the way they were supposed to. More blood trickled from her mouth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck–” Johnny was already at her side, trying to pull her upright. His hands fumbled to tilt her head down, panic in every motion. “C’mon, breathe– just breathe, goddamnit!”
But she couldn’t.
He pushed his palm against her chest, firm, desperate. Again. And again. V’s body jerked, and finally, a wet, ragged cough erupted from her throat. Blood sprayed across the bed, splattering his arms and her’s.
Still, her chest barely moved. Her lungs screamed. Black spots burst in her vision like firecrackers. Her limbs went slack.
And then everything went dark.
Am I dead?
That question floated through the void, detached and echoing.
Then light, blinding, sharp, and sound. Harsh and urgent.
“C’mon, V. Don’t do this.” Johnny’s voice, hoarse and trembling.
Her eyes flew open, and the first thing she saw was Johnny over her, performing CPR. Her chest ached from the compressions.
She turned to the side with a strangled gasp and vomited blood all over the floor, a lot of blood.
But she could breathe again.
Barely.
“Hey, hey, I got you,” Johnny said, his voice breaking as he leaned over, one hand brushing her blood-matted hair back from her face. “You’re okay. You’re alright now.”
Her body convulsed as she cried, clinging to him. Her fingers dug into his bare shoulders, her whole form shaking. He wrapped his arms around her as carefully as he could, mindful of the blood, the pain, the fear.
But he held her.
If he hadn’t been here…
If she’d been alone…
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips brushing against her temple. “I’ve got you.”
She was still wheezing, every breath shallow and broken. Johnny noticed instantly.
He pulled back slightly to look her in the eye, scanning her face with growing concern. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re still not breathing right.”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I’m taking you to Vik.”
V tried to nod, but her body barely responded. Tears clung to her lashes, burning hot as she blinked them away.
Johnny stood, stepping over the bloodied sheets and floor. Then he came back, slipping his arms under her, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. She clutched his shoulders, her hands trembling.
“Hold on,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, as he carried her out the door.
Johnny practically threw the passenger door open and lowered her into the seat as gently as he could, though every jostle sent fire through her chest. She wheezed, her hands slick with blood and sweat as they clutched at the leather interior. Her limbs were distant, numb, and slow, like they didn’t belong to her anymore.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stumbling. Heard the thud. Her heart lurched.
“Johnny–”
But he was already back on his feet, dragging himself toward the driver’s side. The second he yanked the door open and climbed in, she reached for him.
There was blood on his forehead.
“You’re hurt,” she rasped, barely audible through the tightness in her throat.
Johnny winced as she brushed trembling fingers over the shallow cut above his brow. “It’s alright, V,” he muttered, catching her hand in his own. “Don’t worry about me. Just… try to cough. Breathe. We’ll be there soon, alright?”
She nodded, or tried to. Her body didn’t quite obey.
The engine roared to life, and Johnny peeled out of the lot. The world outside blurred, darkness pulling at the edges of her vision. They could’ve walked it, normally. It wasn’t far.
But nothing about this was normal.
She pressed a hand to her stomach.
I’m dying.
Tears pricked her eyes.
Johnny noticed. Of course he did.
His hand reached over, covering hers, grounding her. Warm and firm and shaking just slightly. Like her.
No words were exchanged. They didn’t need to be.
The Porsche turned sharply, tires skidding against the cracked street as they pulled up to the back of Misty’s Esoterica. It was dead quiet. Not even a flicker of dawn in the sky. The whole block slept.
Johnny killed the engine, then was out of the car in an instant. He opened her door and leaned in, gathering her back into his arms. V didn’t resist, couldn’t. She clutched at his shoulder, her head falling against his chest.
Blood bubbled in her throat again. She coughed hard, splattering red across his bare skin.
“Shit,” she gasped.
But Johnny didn’t flinch. Just held her tighter and muttered something under his breath, the words lost in the pounding rush in her ears.
They went around the back, past the gate, and toward the metal steps. She barely saw any of it. Her vision tunneled, black creeping in. She fought it, blinking rapidly, clawing for consciousness.
But the weight in her body was unbreakable. Her lungs kept seizing.
Viktor’s gate was closed. The lights are off. He had to be sleeping.
Johnny banged his foot against the gate, his voice ragged and loud.
“Vik! Open up! It’s V– she needs help, it’s bad!”
It felt like forever before a shadow moved behind the gate.
Then Vik stepped into view, eyes widening when he saw her in Johnny’s arms.
“Jesus Christ– what happened?”
“She woke up, couldn’t breathe,” Johnny said, his voice breaking. “There was blood, and now, now it’s worse. She passed out and came to again. She’s fading fast.”
Vik unlocked the gate in a rush. “Put her in the chair. Hurry.”
Johnny moved quickly, almost too quickly. The second he lowered her into the chair, she felt her body sag. Like the strings holding her up had been cut. Her hand failed weakly toward Johnny, grasping at nothing until he caught it.
She clung to him, blinking fast, trying to stay with him.
Johnny shouted, “Vik, she’s slipping! You need to do something, now! ”
“I need to clear her airway,” Vik said urgently, grabbing tools from the counter, flicking on the surgical lamp overhead.
V’s vision was going. Fast now. Like someone turned down the brightness on her life.
Her grip on Johnny’s hand loosened.
Everything faded.
Darkness took her again.
The first thing V noticed was the air.
It filled her lungs with a cold clarity that felt foreign, unnatural, almost. A tube was attached to her nose, and air filled it.
Monitors beeped softly in the background, the low mechanical hum of Viktor’s equipment filling the silence. She blinked slowly, vision sharpening.
Vik was hunched over the screen, brows furrowed.
Johnny was pacing, restless, shoulders drawn tight, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Her eyes found him
Immediately, he stopped.
“V…” he whispered, rushing to her side.
She managed the faintest smile, though her body still felt heavy, pinned to the chair like she was underwater.
Johnny knelt beside her, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her face with shaking hands. His touch was so gentle. So scared.
“I thought I lost you,” he said, voice breaking. “You scared the shit outta me, V.”
She squeezed his hand weakly, her voice barely a rasp. “Would’ve… if you weren’t there…”
Johnny inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. She could see the tears glinting in his eyes before he turned his face away. V lifted a trembling hand, still smeared with dried blood, and brushed her fingers against his cheek, catching the tears before they could fall.
His breath caught in his throat.
Johnny’s hand trailed to her stomach, resting lightly.
V let out a soft, relieved sigh.
A sharp kick pulsed beneath his palm.
They both stilled.
Johnny’s jaw trembled. V closed her eyes briefly, holding on to that moment, proof that their daughter was still with them.
Viktor cleared his throat, drawing their attention. He looked grim.
“You’re stable,” he said, voice low, cautious. “But I need to check that cut, Johnny.”
Johnny blinked and nodded silently, standing reluctantly. Vik guided him over and began dabbing at the gash on Johnny’s forehead with antiseptic. White medical tape followed. It was surreal, watching from across the room, blood still on her lips, a machine keeping her alive.
V rested her hand on her belly, drawing slow circles with her fingertips. The tears came again, unbidden.
She and the baby… they both could’ve died tonight.
Before they could even give her a name,
Johnny returned quickly, the tape stark against his temple. He took her hand again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. Vik leaned on the counter behind him, letting out a long, tired sigh as he stared at the monitor.
Johnny looked over at him. “How the fuck did this happen?” His voice was hoarse. “She was fine last week. You said the neural degradation hadn’t advanced much.”
Vik took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. “She was. But I told you, Johnny… this thing’s unpredictable. There was always a risk that something could go wrong.”
V returned her head toward him slowly, her voice raw, “Explain.”
Vik looked at her, grim and hesitant. “Pregnancy affects the brain. Hormones shift. Especially in the third trimester. New chemicals are released in preparation for birth. Normally, it’s healthy. But with your condition…”
He paused.
V closed her eyes briefly, trying to hold it together.
“Those new hormones?” Vik continued. “They don’t mix with the degradation. And now that you’re late in the pregnancy, those changes? They’re accelerating the process. Fast.”
V shook her head, a sob catching in her throat.
Johnny started at Vik like he’d been punched.
“How long?” V choked out.
Vik hesitated. Then slowly, softly. “A little less than 48 hours. Maybe a little more if you stay here…”
The weight of his words settled like concrete in her chest.
She broke.
Tears spilled freely as Johnny gripped her hand tightly, his own face crumbling. He dropped his forehead to hers, shaking as he whispered her name. “Oh… Valerie.”
V was dying. And there wasn’t much time left.
Viktor’s voice was low, weighed down by something heavier than clinical detachment. Maybe guilt. Maybe helplessness. Maybe both.
“Now that the degradation’s accelerating,” he began, “you’re going to start losing things.”
V’s breath hitched. She didn’t want to hear it. But she had to.
“First taste,” Vik said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “Then smell. Eventually, you won’t be able to move… or feel. Your hearing will fade, and your sight after that.”
He paused– just long enough for the silence to settle, oppressive and unbreakable.
“And then…”
“No,” V whispered. Her hand tightened over her stomach. “There has to be something, Vik. Anything you can do.”
He looked at her, gaze heavy with sorrow. “I can’t stop it, V. The damage is already done.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her fingers gripped the edge of the chair, knuckles white. “Please…”
“I can’t stop it,” he repeated. “But… I can do something.”
She looked up, desperate.
“I can perform an emergency C-section. It’s early, yeah. Baby’ll be premature. I’ll have to intubate her, keep her on a respirator for a bit… but she’s strong. She’ll make it.”
Vik stepped closer, voice softening.
“You’ll get to meet her, hold her. Spend your last hours with her. And with whoever else you want. I’ll keep you here, comfortable. Quiet. Peaceful.”
Fresh tears fell.. She turned her head, searching for Johnny.
He wasn’t beside her anymore.
He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out limply before him. His head hung low, hands cradling his face. Silent.
“Johnny,” she called weakly, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Please…”
He didn’t move.
Vik watched, sadness in his eyes as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s your choice, V. How you want to spend these hours… It’s up to you.”
She looked at her belly, sobbing now, chest rising and falling with each painful breath. She ran her hand over her stomach slowly, reverently.
“I want to meet her,” she cried. “I want to hold her… I want to say goodbye…”
Across the room, Johnny let out a shuddering breath. His shoulders trembled, his fingers tightening over his face. His voice didn’t come, only a quiet, strangled sound as he slowly shook his head.
Vik nodded once. “Okay. I’ll start prepping. Give you two a moment.”
He moved quietly toward the back room, leaving them alone.
V turned her gaze to Johnny again, pain splintering through every inch of her.
“Johnny,” she sobbed, reaching for him. “Please… talk to me. Say something. Anything. ”
Still, nothing.
His body remained slumped against the wall like he’d been hollowed out. The man who once stood defiant against the world now looked like a shadow of himself.
Finally, slowly, he looked up.
His eyes met hers, and for a heartbeat, she thought maybe he’d come back to her.
But his face was blank. Numb.
He stood, unsteady, one hand braced against the wall.
“Johnny…” she pleaded. “Don’t. Don’t leave me.”
He didn’t answer.
He turned toward the gate and started walking.
“Johnny,” she cried out, panic surging. “Please, come back. I can’t– Johnny, don’t go. ”
But it was no use.
He was already climbing the stairs.
Already disappearing into the dark.
She sat there for a long time, alone.
Sobbing. Trembling. Eyes locked on the stairs, Johnny had disappeared up, hoping, praying, he’d come back through them. Any second now. Any second.
But the seconds turned into minutes. And he never returned.
Her chest heaved with fresh tears as the truth settled like lead in her gut.
He wasn’t coming back.
V’s hand moved to the breath tube taped under her nose. It hissed softly with every inhale, a whisper of borrowed time. She ripped it off. The sudden absence made her lungs ache, but she didn’t care.
She gritted her teeth and pushed herself upright, every muscle in her body screaming. The pain was instant, her legs nearly collapsing under her. She clutched the side of the chair to stay upright, blinking through the dizziness that fogged her vision.
Step by step, she made her way toward the stairs. Her fingers scraped against the wall for support as she pulled herself upward, one trembling foot in front of the other. Her head spun, black spots dancing at the edges of her sight, but she didn’t stop.
She had to find him
When she finally emerged onto the street, the chill of early morning slapped her in the face. The sky was still a dull gray, and the world was waking up around her. People were beginning to fill the sidewalks: commuters, vendors, scavs, corpos. None of them mattered.
Her eyes darted to the curb where Johnny had parked the Porsche.
Gone.
“Fuck,” she hissed under her breath, staggering forward, heart pounding. Of course, it was gone. Of course, he’d taken it.
She glanced around and started moving. No shoes. No jacket. Covered in dried blood, her oversized t-shirt loose around her swollen stomach.
People parted for her. No one offered help. They just started, uncertain and disturbed. Maybe they saw a woman dying. Maybe they saw something else entirely. Either way, they got out of her way.
He has to be back at the apartment, she told herself. He has to be.
But halfway down the block, the cough hit her hard.
She doubled over, hand slamming against the wall of a noodle stand for support as she hacked violently. Blood splattered on the pavement. A few passersby hesitated. One of them stepped forward.
“Fuck off,” she rasped, not even looking at them.
But then the voice answered, calm, dry, and unmistakable in Japanese.
“Miryoku teki na.”
Her eyes snapped up. The figure crouched beside her, one knee down, like he was waiting patiently for a reply.
“Sit,” he said.
Something in his voice made her listen. She slid down the wall slowly, legs folding beneath her. When she looked at him properly, her head spun again, not from pain this time, but disbelief.
“...Goro?”
Takemura gave a single nod, his expression stoic.
“What– What the fuck?” she croaked. “What are you–? I thought– You told me to rot in hell.”
“I did,” he said plainly.
She squinted at him, chest heaving. “So what? You've been following me? Watching me?”
“Yes.”
The simple reply came with no shame. Only finality.
“Jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re pathetic.”
He quirked a brow. “And you are not?”
She scowled, coughing again. “Still loyal to Arasaka, huh? Even after everything?”
He shifted slightly, one knee up now, hands resting on it. “There is no Arasaka,” he said simply.
The words caught her off guard.
She let out another ragged breath and familiar sting of pain as she tried to sit up straighter.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, staring at the blood on her hands.
Takemura’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Helping you.”
That made her laugh. Bitter and short, the sound tore at her throat.
“Help me? You? ”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she spat.
He regarded her quietly. “If I wished to kill you, V, you would be dead.”
That shut her up.
He stood slowly and offered her a hand.
She stared at it. Thought about rejecting it. Thought about spitting on it.
But her legs couldn’t hold her anymore.
So she took it.
His grip was firm, unwavering. He helped her to her feet, sliding an arm around her shoulders to support her trembling frame.
“You’re flailing,” he said softly. “Like a koi gasping for breath on hard stone out of water.”
“I don’t need your poetry, Goro,” she muttered, leaning into him.
“No. But you need help.”
He began walking, guiding her slowly through the morning crowd.
“I’ll take you home.”
V didn’t argue. The walk to the apartment felt like a lifetime.
Each step dragged behind the next, but Goro stayed beside her, silent, steady. He held her arm tightly enough to keep her from collapsing, but gently enough to let her think she was still doing this on her own.
When they reached the building, she leaned against the door, fumbled with the keypad, and finally got it open. The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
No sign of Johnny.
She didn’t say anything. Just let out a heavy sigh and lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. Every part of her ached. Her lungs, her legs, her soul.
Goro scanned the room, then nodded to himself. “I will make tea.”
V gave him a look like he’d lost his damn mind.
“You’re gonna… make tea?”
He walked over to the table by the couch and pulled out a silver thermos from his coat. Unscrewed the lid. Steam drifted out in a gentle plume. The scent of oolong filled the air.
“You carry boiling tea around with you?”
“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
She blinked at him.
He poured the tea into the lid and walked it over to her. She took it cautiously, sniffing it, eyebrows knitting.
“It’s not poisoned,” he said matter-of-factly.
V snorted. “Guess there’s still time.”
She held the tea in both hands. The warmth helped, even though she couldn’t taste it.
“What the hell are you doing here, Goro?” she asked finally, voice hoarse.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he began pacing the room, arms folded behind his back, eyes scanning nothing in particular.
“After you betrayed me,” he began, “I thought about killing you.”
She didn’t flinch.
“Not once,” he continued, “but twice.”
She sipped the tea, watching him.
“The first time… after Arasaka fell. I had you in my sights. Settled on a holo call instead.”
V exhaled slowly. “The second time, I saw your face on the feeds. Daughter of Lucas Harford. Militech.”
She opened her mouth, already angry.
“You played me a fool,” he added, before she could speak.
“I didn’t play you,” she snapped. “Your people recruited me. Not like I planned on destroying Mikoshi from the start. It just sort of happened. You think I’m Militech’s fucking pawn?”
“You knew who you were,” he said, “and you did not tell me.”
“I thought you knew!” she shot back. “I thought Arasaka would’ve run a damn background check.”
Goro frowned. “It was information reserved for the highest levels. Only the Arasakas and the high table knew.”
That made her pause.
She stared at him. Tried to imagine what it all could’ve meant, if she’d stayed. If she’d been loyal to Saburo. If she’d walked the line they drew for her. Was she being groomed to truly become one of them?
It didn’t matter now.
Goro looked at her, his voice softening. “But I did not kill you… because you were with child.”
She looked down at her stomach, then back up at him.
“My grievance was with you,” he said. “Not the baby.”
He paused, then added, “To kill a pregnant woman is dishonorable.”
V let out a dry, hollow laugh and took another sip of tea. “You’ll get your chance soon. Vik’s going to do the surgery. Take her out of me. Neural degradation progressed too far. I’ve got maybe forty-eight hours left. You want to keep your honor, better time it.”
Goro didn’t respond. He walked over to the wall, lifted a photo that was pinned up beside the bed.
She knew which one.
Taken just two weeks ago at Kerry’s place.
Johnny’s arms were around her from behind, his silver hand splayed protectively over her belly. She was laughing, but no one knew she was crying when it was taken.
Goro studied it, then said quietly, “Your husband would kill me.”
She scoffed. “He’s not my husband.”
He turned to look at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”
He returned the photo to its place on the wall and faced her fully now.
“I am not here to kill you, V. I am here to aid you. You once saved my life. I intend to return that honor. Only then, only then, will I be permitted to kill you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How comforting.”
He stepped closer. Then, to her surprise, knelt before her, one knee down, head respectfully lowered.
“What would you have me do?” he asked.
V let out a bitter, rasping laugh.
“There’s not exactly anything you can do, Goro.” She started into the half-empty cup of tea in her hands. “I’m dying. Plain and simple. What I should be doing is lying on Vik’s table, getting this kid outta me. But instead…”
She shook her head, lips twisting into something between a smile and a grimace.
“Here I am. Drinking tea. With Goro fucking Takemura.”
Takemura didn’t rise to the bait. He just stood there, arms folded, expression unreadable.
“I lost all ties with Arasaka, including former ones,” he said after a moment. “There is no one left there I would trust. No one who would help.”
“Good,” V spat. “Because I’d never take help from Arasaka. ”
He stared at her, long and silent. Like he was weighing something deep behind those eyes. Then he spoke again.
“Militech, then,” he said quietly. “Surely they are aware of your condition. Your father would not let his heiress die without a fight.”
V’s expression darkened. She looked away, jaw tightening.
“They made an offer,” she said finally. “Months ago. Promised me a cure. Promise me a future.”
Her voice cracked.
“But there were strings. Strings I had no intention of tying myself to.”
Goro nodded solemnly. “I do not make deals with devils either. But sometimes… that is the only path left to walk.”
She hated how right he sounded.
Angel had tried everything. Dug through code, through memory, through hell itself. But there was no solution, only a failsafe. Militech had offered a way out from the very beginning. And she’d walked away.
Now, she wasn’t sure she had the luxury of that kind of pride.
V glanced up at him, her voice small. “If I do this… I’ll be signing myself away.”
Takemura tilted his head slightly. “Haven’t you already?”
V didn’t answer.
Instead, she placed a trembling hand on her stomach. The weight of her daughter felt impossible heavy all of a sudden.
She just wanted more time.
More than forty-eight hours. More than a moment to say hello and goodbye in the same breath.
She took the last sip of tea, letting the warmth slide down her throat. The act felt ceremonial.
When she looked back up at Takemura, her voice was resolute. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
He stepped forward silently, removing the empty cup from her hands and screwing the lid back on the thermos with quiet efficiency. V blinked, surprised how much the tea had cleared her airways. She hadn’t expected something so simple to help her breathe a little easier.
Takemura only nodded, as if he’d known all along.
“Are there any last matters you wish to handle?” he asked. “I fear this may be your point of no return. Any farewells to give…”
V exhaled slowly, her voice barely there, “I don’t do goodbyes.”
“Very well.”
He extended his hand. She took it.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He gave a small, respectful bow of his head and helped her to her feet. Her legs trembled beneath her. She was getting weaker by the minute.
They made their way down the apartment corridor, step by painful step. V's body was losing its fight, but not her will.
“My Quadra’s in the garage,” she said breathlessly. “We can take it. It’ll get us to Corpo Plaza.”
They enter the underground lot, dim lights humming overhead. Goro glanced at the vehicle, then back at her.
“I’m driving.”
She didn’t argue. She was in no shape to protest.
He helped her into the passenger seat, careful with her legs, with the curve of her stomach. She eased back with a long, exhausted sigh as he took the wheel.
The engine roared to life.
And as Goro pulled the car out of the garage, tires screeching against pavement, V stared out of the window at the city she’d fought so hard to live in, wondering if this would be the last time she’d see it like this.
The ride through Night City was silent. The kind of silence that pressed in on V’s chest made her stomach churn, her heart thump erratically against her ribs. Every part of her body screamed that this was wrong– that going to Militech meant surrender, meant erasing the person she’d fought to become. But she said nothing. Just clenched her jaw and stared out the window, trying to quiet the anxiety rising like bile in her throat.
It was Goro who broke the silence.
“Your… companion,” he said slowly, almost awkwardly, as though unsure of the term. “Is he not concerned for your safety?”
V glanced sideways at him.
“My input, ” she said, voice flat.
Goro blinked. “Input. Yes.” He rolled the word around on his tongue like it was foreign. “Are you certain your input will not come after us?”
V gave a butter shake of her head. “He ran. Like he always does.”
Takemura muttered something under his breath in Japanese, sharp, displeased.
“Johnny Silverhand… how?” He finally turned toward her, incredulous. “How is he alive?”
V inhaled carefully, “After I destroyed Mikoshi… I got in touch with netrunner. Militech had Johnny’s body. She helped me retrieve it.”
Goro stiffened at this. “I was unaware Militech ever possessed his remains. But… it makes sense. Why Suburo spent so long perfecting the relic, and why he prepared for another war. I wonder what he intended to do with Johnny Silverhand…”
“Didn’t get the body,” V muttered, glancing down at her lap. “But Arasaka still won. They got his mind.”
“And you are dying… because of it,” Goro said, more to himself than to her.
V gave a tired nod.
He was quiet for a moment longer before his gaze dropped pointedly to her stomach.
“And now… You are heavy with his offspring.”
V’s brow furrowed at the tone, tinged with distaste.
“That’s one way to put it,” she said dryly, hand coming to rest once more over the curve of her belly.
Goro exhaled slowly. “And he left you. In your time of need.”
His voice was harder now. Less measured. “If I were ever to have a child… I would never commit such a betrayal.”
He looked back at her, dark eyes serious.
“Give me permission to kill him.”
V blinked, stunned.
“What? No. Fuck no. ”
Her voice was sharp, flaring with what strength she had left. “He’s mine to deal with. And I will deal with him. But not like that.”
Takemura lifted his hands in surrender. “Very well. But know my offer remains.”
V didn’t answer. Just turned back to the window.
Soon, the skyline shifted, the angular geometry of Corpo Plaza looming over them. The monolifts of power, steel, and sin. Goro pulled the Quadra into a restructured lot beside the Militech tower. He killed the engine.
She could feel her limbs tremble.
Takemura stepped out first, coming around to open her door. She accepted his hand without protest this time, letting him help her rise from the seat.
Her eyes lifted to the sky, tracing the razor-thin silhouette of the Arasaka tower.
“It’ll fall soon,” Goro said, staring up beside her. “Militech has already claimed the throne. But even they… will fall in time.”
“That’s very mature of you,” V muttered.
“I had much time to reflect,” he replied, almost wistfully.
They began the slow walk to the base of the Militech stronghold. Armed guards stood watch, a pair of sentries flanking the main entrance. Their faces were unreadable behind black visors, but their weapons didn’t miss a thing.
“This is it,” V murmured, voice hollow. “Where will you go now?”
Goro looked down at her. “Where will I go now? My vow remains. I will give you the honorable death you deserve. But not today. In the meantime… perhaps I will reconsider becoming a nomad.”
V gave a tired smile at that.
Takemura straightened and waved the guards over. “This is Valerie Harford,” he stated firmly. “She requests her father.”
The guards approached swiftly, weapons half-raised, suspicious.
“Hey, he’s with me,” V said quickly, raising a hand. “Don’t hurt him.”
They nodded at her, lowering their rifles. One of them gently took her arm to help steady her. She barely had the strength to resist.
Goro stepped back, already turning to leave.
“When will I see you again?” V asked over her shoulder.
He paused. “Soon.”
And then he was gone.
She let herself be guided toward the building, heart thudding as she crossed the threshold. They led her through the polished halls of Militech Offices, marble and chrome stretching endlessly in every direction. Corpo types in matte-black suits glanced her way, some muttering into holos, others pausing mid-conversation. She wondered how many of them recognized her. Valerie Harford. The biggest scandal all over the feeds only months back.
One of the guards motioned toward a cluster of plush couches near a glass wall overlooking the central roundabout.
“Sit tight,” he said. “Someone’ll come take you to your father.”
V lowered herself down with care, every joint aching, every movement a countdown. She leaned back for just a moment–
Then the coughing hit.
A harsh, wracking fit that stole her breath and bent her double. Blood smeared across her palm, thick and dark. It splattered against the pristine cream of the couch cushion.
Perfect.
She looked up, dazed but smiling bitterly as two suits nearby stared, their disgust barely concealed behind artificial composure. One of them turned away. She wasn’t one of them anymore. Maybe she never had been.
Click, click, click.
The unmistakable staccato of heels on marble.
V tilted her head to the side, eyes locking on the figure approaching, tailored Militech black, blonde hair severe, hand planted firmly on her hip.
“Meredith Stout,” V muttered, and couldn’t help the small, sardonic smile that curled her lips.
Stout stopped in front of her, chin tipped up.
“Valerie Harford,” she greeted cooly. “You look… well. Pregnant.”
V pushed herself up with a shaky exhale, wavering just slightly on her feet.
“Don’t worry,” she said dryly. “It’s not yours.”
Stout blinked. Her composure faltered for a fraction of a second, just enough to show the blush creeping into her cheeks, but she said nothing.
“I’ll take you to your father,” she said instead, turning crisply on her heel.
V followed her lead, legs dragging more than walking. The hallway stretched on, pristine and bright. She hated it.
Her limbs felt like lead. Every step was harder than the last.
Better this than paralysis, she reminded herself. One slow defeat instead of an abrupt end.
They reached the elevator, and as the doors slid open, V grabbed the rail to steady herself. Her fingers were trembling again.
“I heard you got promoted,” she said, panting slightly from the exertion. “Now you’re working with the big boss himself. At this rate, you’ll be the next Rosalind Myers.”
Stout didn’t rise to the bait. She didn’t even look at her.
“You lied to me,” she said instead, voice low. “Told me you had no ties to Militech.”
V shrugged, leaning heavier on the rail. “Didn’t exactly want to broadcast I was still breathing.”
Stout finally turned to look at her, mouth drawn into a tight line. “I can’t believe you were Lucas Harford’s daughter this whole time.”
“He wasn’t always CEO,” V said with a half-smirk. “I was long gone before he took the position. So this is all new to me, too.”
She met Meredith’s gaze with something sharper now. Bitterness. Defiance.
“Hell, pat yourself on the back. You slept with the boss’s daughter.”
Stout’s eyes widened in horror, flicking immediately to the corner-mounted security cam. Her cheeks burned again, this time deeper.
V chuckled, breath catching in her throat.
The elevator chimed.
She stepped out slowly, smirk still lingering as she liped into the hallway beyond.
Stout follows, silent, composed, and probably rethinking every life choice that has led her to this exact moment.
She didn’t wait.
Didn’t know. Didn’t ask.
Just shoved open the door to Luca Harford’s office, like she still belonged here.
Meredith Stout followed behind her, stiff and silent, but V barely noticed. Her vision swam at the edges. She was holding on by a thread.
Lucas Harford stood mid-holocall, some faceless executive suspended in light and static. But the moment his eyes landed on her, on the wreckage of his daughter, he cut the feed without a word. The hologram dissolved in a blink.
“Sir, I–” Meredith began.
But he raised one hand, silencing her without looking.
His eyes locked on V, narrow and unreadable.
She stumbled toward his desk, legs buckling. She caught herself on the polished surface, palms slick with sweat.
Lucas rose slowly from his seat, stepping around the desk with the quiet power of someone who always got what he wanted.
“Why now?” he said. “Why come crawling back now, Valerie?”
“Shut up,” she hissed, voice already breaking. “I’ll sign the damn contract.”
Her chest heaved with the effort, and suddenly she was crying.
“I’m dying,” she choked. “My body’s shutting down, and I just don’t– I don’t have time for your games. Just give me the fucking contract.”
Lucas didn’t move for a long second.
Then, calmly, he turned toward Meredith.
“Second drawer,” he said. “Datapad.”
Stout didn’t hesitate. She stepped behind the desk, retrieved the device, and handed it over.
And in that moment, V collapsed to the floor.
The weight of it all crashed down, her own body betraying her, the sobs tearing from her throat, the air barely getting in. She was losing control fast.
Lucas crouched beside her.
He didn’t look smug. He didn’t even look victorious. Just calm. Cold. Like this was inevitable.
He brushed a hand over her hair, gently, deliberately.
“My baby girl,” he murmured.
Her stomach twisted, her heart splitting. In her mind, she was screaming at him. Shut up. Stop pretending. Don’t you dare act like you care.
But her voice was gone. All that came out were broken sobs.
“We can take you into surgery immediately,” he said, turning to Stout, who placed the datapad into his outstretched hand.
He activated the screen, adjusted the contract, and then handed it to V.
She took it with trembling fingers, coughing into her hand as she struggled to focus her eyes.
There it was.
A corporate agreement sealed in black. The fine print was brutal. Just skimming through it, by signing, she forfeited her rights as an individual. From now on, Valerie Harford wouldn’t be a person, not legally. She’d be Militech property.
She scrolled through the clauses, jaw clenched.
“This will cure me?” she asked, voice barely audible.
Lucas nodded. “You have my word. This tech has reversed neural degradation in dozens of patients, ALS, Parkinson’s, and sclerosis. You won’t just survive. You’ll make a permanent full recovery.”
She hovered over the signature field.
“And when does this contract go into full effect. When do I return to you?” she asked.
He smiled faintly. “When I decide this time is right.”
Her lips curled bitterly. “I want assurance that I’ll be left alone for a month.”
He considered it for half a breath.
“Two weeks,” he said.
“Three.”
“Two.”
She exhaled shakily. “Fine.”
Then, with tears in her eyes and her soul in her throat, she signed. Pressed all fingers to the pad.
A soft chime.
It was done.
She’d sold herself away. Forever.
She let out a sob, barely able to hold the datapad anymore. Lucas caught it before it hit the ground. Then he wrapped his arms around her, gently, almost lovingly. “I got you, baby girl. ”
She wept in her father’s embrace.
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
V sat in the back of Panam’s truck, her eyes locked on the holo display floating in front of her. Angel sat beside her, quiet, just watching.
The streets outside Militech’s Offices were on fire.
Rioters packed the pavement, screaming chants in unison, throwing flares and debris. Smoke bloomed in thick waves across Corpo Plaza. And in the center of it all, Johnny Silverhand. Standing on top of a rusted-out van, guitar slung across his chest, his hair tousled by smoke and wind.
He was back from the dead again, at least, that’s how it looked to the crowd. To anyone who didn’t know the truth.
V watched as Johnny played, riffing on old Samurai chords like it was 2023 all over again. The protestors howled in return. Militech soldiers were forming a line now, shields raised, visors down, inching closer by the second. V’s eyes darted across the crowd until she spotted Goro pressing in among the chaos.
Johnny threw his fist in the air, urging the mob forward.
V gave a quiet nod, then shut off the feed.
“Riots seem to be doing the trick,” Judy’s voice crackled through V’s comms. “Give it another minute, and we’ll be able to breach the offices.”
“Be careful,” V said.
“We will,” Judy replied. “Keep you posted.”
V and Angel stepped out of the truck into the dry heat of the Badlands. Songbird and Panam were croached over a digital blueprint of the Militech facility, a flickering grid overlaid with entry points and floor markers.
Panam looked up. “How are the others holding?”
“Judy says things are going to plan,” V answered. “Militech's attention is locked on the riots. Corpo Plaza’s a war zone. Any second now, they’ll be in.”
“Good,” Songbird said, nodding. “That’s the window we need. With all eyes on Johnny and the protestors, we can slip in without triggering alarms.”
Panam leaned over the blueprint again. “Still… the plant’s mostly automated. Sentries, drones, like a few armed corpses on standby. We’ll have to assume the worst-case scenario.” She pointed to the bottom of the schematic. “If Song’s intel is right, the servers we’re looking for are here. Deepest level.”
“They are,” Song confirmed. “That’s where the Blackwall link is held.”
Judy’s voice cut back in over the comms. “We’re in. Johnny, Goro, and I breached the main lobby. No resistance yet.”
“Good,” Panam said. “Make a mess.”
Judy chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of anything less.”
Angel moved toward a nearby terminal, fingers already dancing across a virtual keyboard. “Give me a sec, I’ll tap into Militech’s security feed. If I’m lucky, the access codes Stout gave me can override their cams and delay their auto-responses.”
As Angel worked beside Song, V stepped back, her thoughts swirling. She stared off toward the sun-blasted horizon of Night City, barely visible on the horizon. Hand tightening around the chip in her hand. Her stomach churned.
Panam noticed and gently placed a hand on V’s shoulder. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” V said after a pause, quickly pocketing the chip. “Just need a sec.” She turned to Panam, her voice quieter. “I’m glad you’re here, Panam.”
Panam gave a half-smile. “Wouldn’t miss it. And no one knows the Badlands like I do.” Her expression darkened slightly. “But… I don’t like how quiet it’s been. Militech usually has patrols out here. Drones, convoys, surveillance bots.”
“Maybe all their attention’s on Night City,” V offered.
“Maybe,” Panam said. “Maybe.”
Angel looked up. “Time to move.”
They regrouped, boots crushing over the sand and rusted port metal as they made their way toward the abandoned Militech plant. The structure loomed ahead, decaying but still intimidating, half-eaten by sand and time.
“Jesus,” Panam muttered. “This place is ancient.”
“Over five decades old,” Songbird said, her voice calm. “Built in 2019. Publicly decommissioned in the 40s.”
Angel scoffed. “Clearly not actually decommissioned. Not if this is where they’re keeping their servers connected to the Blackwall.”
The air inside the decommissioned Militech plant was thick with dust. The ground floor was eerily quiet, stripped of life and humming machinery. Rusted metal walls loomed around them, cracked panels still faintly etched with Militech’s old insignia. The only sound was the low hum of their boots across concrete and the occasional creak of the old building settling.
V kept her hand near her holster, scanning their surroundings.
“Clear,” Panam muttered, weapon raised as she stepped ahead.
They moved cautiously through the lobby, a long-abandoned reception area with shattered holoscreens and a half-collapsed desk. No lights, no power. Whatever had once given this place life had long since bled out.
“Angel, Song,” V called back over comms, “you stay here, see if you can pull anything from the local nodes.”
“Got it,” Angel replied, already moving toward a bank of half-scorched terminals. Song followed her, syncing her holo with the local grid.
V and Panam pushed forward, slipping through a broken door into what looked like a suite of old executive offices. The walls were lined with aged terminals, blank and lifeless, layers of dust clinging to every surface.
“No power,” V muttered, frustration prickling her skin.
“Keep looking,” Panam said, checking corners. “There’s gotta be something here.”
V brushed dust off a desk and spotted a shard. She picked it up, slotting it into her reader. The text flickered to life.
Her brows furrowed. Another shard sat nearby. Then another. Each one referenced Subject Zero. V scanned through them quickly, piecing fragments together. All of the talk was about DNA mapping and neural interface calibration.
Panam glanced over. “What’d you find?”
“Just… some old shards,” V said, voice tight. “Looks like they were trying to map someone’s DNA. Attune it to a firewall system, maybe something tied to the NET.” Her throat felt dry. “These aren’t recent. Decades old.”
She stopped at one in particular. The text scrolled slowly, every word like ice in her veins.
V’s face went pale.
Panam caught the shift. “V?”
“Nothing,” V said quickly, stuffing the shard into her pocket. “Just more tech babble. Not important.”
Over the comms, Angel’s voice crackled in. “I’m finding a lot of the same. Subject Zero comes up everywhere. Looks like whoever they were, Militech seemingly built the facility around ‘em.”
Before V could reply, Judy’s voice came over the line, strained.
“We’re running into resistance now. Lobby’s crawling with drones. Looks like all eyes are on us and the crowd. We’ll hold them off, but we might not have long.”
Goro patched in next. “Explosives have been placed. Timers are set. They’ll go off once the operation is complete.”
“Careful,” Panam warned. “We can’t afford to lose anyone.”
Then Johnny chimed in with a half-laugh. “Relax. We’re not nuking Militech. These are tiny bombs, just enough to dent Militech.”
V didn’t answer. She stood in the middle of the office, jaw tight, hands clenched. Her eyes were on the floor, and her mind was elsewhere. On Johnny. He’d kept something from her. Again.
Songbird approached quietly from the hall. “Blueprints say the stairwell is down the right corridor. Elevator is to the left. Your call.”
Angel’s voice cracked back through. “We should take the stairs. The deeper we go, the tighter the security’s gonna get. If we trigger anything, the elevator might be a death trap.”
V turned to Songbird. “What are we walking into?”
Song’s expression was grim. “Turrets. Auto-defense systems. Bots. Drones. If Militech was paranoid, maybe even a Chimera left behind.”
V winced, “Let’s hope not.”
“Prepare for the worst,” Panam said, slinging her rifle across her back.
Angel called over, “Cams are offline. I looped the system. We can take out anything in our path without drawing back. But we’ll have to stay quiet, surgical.”
V nodded. “Stairs it is, then.”
“Rogue’s waitin’ for you two. Back room.”
V nodded at Claire and moved with Johnny down the narrow hall, lit by flickering neon and dim overheads. It was quieter now than it had been the last time she’d walked this route, less adrenaline, more dread humming under her skin. A slow boil.
Inside the booth, Rogue was seated, flanked by Goro and Angel. They looked up as Johnny and V stepped in. V slid into the seat next to Johnny and let her gaze linger on the room’s panels, the scuffed-up table, the condensation on the untouched glasses.
“Last time I was in here…” she began, voice low, almost nostalgic, “was with Dexter, Jackie, and T-Bug. Prepping for Konpeki Plaza.”
Goro gave a small nod. “This location is optimal. Fewer ears are listening. A wise choice.”
Rogue raised a brow, smirking faintly. “You’re first time in the Afterlife. I never forget a face. Saw you and your choom sittin’ by the bar. Funny how time flies.”
V gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Let’s hope this gig turns out better than that one.”
Johnny leaned back in the seat beside her. “We’ve been planning this for over a month now. It has to go better.”
Angel exchanged a glance with Goro, brief but heavy, before Goro spoke up again.
“Are you certain you’re fit to lead?” he asked Johnny. “The strain, the cyberware, you have been on edge.”
Johnny’s jaw flexed. “I’ve been taking the immunoblockers. I’m fine.”
Angel crossed her arms, her gaze unreadable. “It might be time to remove the Sandevistan, Johnny. If you get overwhelmed during the op–”
“I won’t. ” Johnny’s voice cut sharply. “Just drop it, alright?”
Rogue’s voice came next, more measured but no less firm. “The Sandy’s a liability if shit goes sideways.”
He turned to V, eyes seeking something, solidarity, backup. Tell them.
V looked at them all, then her voice cut through the tension. “We need him. At full capacity.”
She folded her arms. “He worked inside Militech for months after he thawed. He knows how their systems move, how their execs think. We’d be fools not to use that.”
A pause.
“If anyone here’s at risk of going full cyberpsycho, it’s me. ” Her voice was steady, but her throat tightened. “I already did once.”
They all fell silent.
“So maybe we drop the psychosis talk,” she continued, “and focus on the fucking mission.”
Angel’s brow furrowed, arms still crossed. Rogue narrowed her eyes, studying V like she was trying to see through her. Goro muttered a quiet curse in Japanese and rubbed his temple.
A tense few seconds dragged on like static in the air before the booth door slid open again.
Panam entered first, Judy just behind her. They took seats, nodding toward Johnny and V.
“Glad you made it,” Rogue said, reaching for the shard on the table.
Before she could continue, V raised a hand.
“Where’s Song?” she asked, glancing around the room.
Rogue didn’t look up. “Held up. Couldn’t make it.”
Goro gave a quiet, sharp exhale. “Typical.”
Rogue placed the shard down on the table and activated the holo-map above it. “Alright. You all know your roles by now.”
She looked at Johnny. “Team Orpheus, Johnny leads Judy and Goro. Infiltrate the Militech Offices and hit their infrastructure. That’s our distraction. Nancy’s already locked into stir the pot around Corpo Plaza. Riots’ll help cover your entry.”
Goro gave a tight nod.
“Team Eurydice,” Rogue continued, shifting her attention to V. “You take Panam, Angel, and Song, when she shows, and hit the servers. Shut down their link to whatever’s allowing them access to breaching the Blackwall.”
Panam leaned in, nodding. “The old Militech plant out in the Badlands. I’ll make sure we get there safely tomorrow.”
Rogue leaned forward, palms flat on the table. “We’ve got infiltration routes, floor plans, and timing laid out. Plan A, Plan B, Plan C. If one fails, another goes live.”
V nodded. Her fingers brushed Johnny’s under the table, just for a moment.
Rogue looked around the table, eyes hard.
“No mistakes. No second chances. This is it.”
“Panam, down!” V shouted, her voice slicing through the chaos.
Panam ducked instinctively as a combat bot surged from the shadows behind her. V’s monowire whipped out with a violent hiss, slicing through metal and circuitry. The bot spasmed, then collapsed in a head of sparks and smoke.
“Thanks,” Panam panted, rolled to her side, and fired two clean shots at an incoming drone. It veered midair before slamming into a wall.
V spun on her heel, zeroed in on a security turret that locked onto them from the corner of the corridor. Her optics lit up as she launched a quickhack. The turret twitched, then went quiet, only to pivot and immediately unload a barrage of bullets into the turret next to it.
“One’s ours now,” V muttered. “Angel! How much longer?”
A frustrated curse crackled over the comms. “Hitting some serious Militech ICE. Give me a sec.”
“Not a luxury we have,” V snapped.
“I’m on it!” Songbird’s voice cut in. “V, cover me!”
V didn’t hesitate. She fired off a contagion quickhack toward a cluster of androids closing in on their flank. Sparks danced along their chassis as they convulsed and collapsed. Songbird sprinted past her, sliding up next to Angel at the sealed security door. Angel was still mid-hack, her furrowed brow in concentration.
“This ICE is thick,” Angel muttered. “Fuck it, here– your turn.”
Song didn’t miss a beat. “You’re right, it’s reinforced, but I’ve got a few daemons of my own.”
She jacked in, teeth clenched. The door began to slide open, then shuddered to a stop halfway.
“Fuck,” Song hissed. “We’re gonna need brute strength for this one. Panam! V!”
“On our way!” Panam called back, already sprinting.
V kept the pressure on, dropping a pair of drones with a barrage of smart rounds falling into stride beside Panam. Together they cracked into the door, V on one side, Panam on the other. It screeched open, just wide enough for Song and Angel to slip through.
More bots converged from the corridor behind them, bullets pinging off the doorframe.
“Panam, inside!” V shouted.
Panam emptied her mag into the approaching enemies before diving through the narrow opening. V followed close behind, sliding just as the door slammed shut behind her.
Panam leaned against the wall, panting. “That was too fucking close.”
“You’re telling me,” V growled, brushing dust off her face. “So much for stealth.”
“Cameras are overridden,” Angel said, pulling herself up. “The bots can’t ping Militech, but… they know we’re here now.”
“Then we keep moving,” Songbird said, voice hard. “We’re close. Servers should be just below.”
V tapped into the comms. “Goro, what’s your status?”
Crackling static, then Goro’s voice. “We’ve just breached the fourth floor, but Militech reinforcements are increasing. We may need to fall back.”
Before V could respond, Johnny’s voice cut in, louder, defiant. “We’re not heading back until Team Eurydice finishes the job. Don’t break formation.”
Angel turned to V, waiting. “Your call.”
V gritted her teeth. “Hold out as long as you can. No heroics. Just… buy us time.”
“Copy that,” Judy answered. “We’ll keep you posted.”
Songbird keyed open a side door. “This way. Angel, V, scout ahead.”
V stepped through first. The room was dark, lit only by the emergency strips along the floor.
Then her optics flared red.
“Oh fuck,” V breathed.
The door slammed behind them with a hiss. The temperature dropped. A massive figure stirred in the shadows.
Angel’s eyes widened. “Is that–?”
A Chimera loomed before them, plated in matte black armor, a central light glowing a harsh, merciless red. Its systems activated with a mechanical growl, and it burst into a stream of suppressive fire.
V tackled Angel out of the way, rolling hard across the floor as bullets tore through the air above them.
“Chimera!” V shouted over comms. “We’re locked in with one!”
“What?!” Panam’s voice came back, panicked. “The door, something triggered a lockdown. We’re locked out!”
“Working on an override,” Song stated.
Angel coughed, scrambling to her feet.
Panam’s voice crackled over the channel. “We’ll find another way in. Just hold out, V.”
“Just fucking great!” V shouted as the Chimera stomped forward, weapons spinning up again.
They ran, barely ahead of its aim. V’s grip tightened on her weapon. If this was Militech’s last line of defense here, they’d found it. And now they had to survive it.
“The core’s on top!” V shouted over the roar of bullets as she and Angel ducked behind a collapsed column, concrete and steel showering around them. “We need to weaken the upper plate, right where the core sits!”
Angel didn’t hesitate. “Got it!” She slapped a fresh mag into her SMART weapon, her cyberoptics flickering as the gun auto-targeted. “Pinging weak points now.”
V synched up and scanned the Chimera again, highlighted nodes flared across its chassis, but the real vulnerability sat just beneath the armor plating up top. Unlike the half-dead prototype she and Rosalind had once taken down, this machine was running at full power. And it wasn’t letting up.
Another barrage screamed past them, forcing the two to split. V slides behind a fallen beam, Angel behind an exposed terminal.
Panam’s voice crackled through the comms, barely audible under the chaos. “I’m making my way over! Found another path, but it’s crawling with defenses–”
Static. Then silence.
“Panam?!” V shouted. Nothing.
“Shit!” Another volley of heavy rounds slammed into the wall beside her, punching holes into the metal. Dust and debris choked the air.
“Just a little longer,” Song’s voice came through, tense. “I’m nearly through the door’s ICE. But looks like that Chimera’s guarding the next level, it’s not gonna let you pass.”
“No kidding,” V snarled.
She scrambled across the broken floor and dropped beside Angel, handing her an airhypo. “Here.”
Angel jabbed it into her arm without a word, then turned her SMART gun back on the Chimera. “I don’t suppose you have another one of those?”
V gritted her teeth, “Better believe it.”
A scream of warning sounded from the Chimera. The floor shook as it advanced, faster now. V lunged for cover again but took a hit across her side. White-hot pain ripped through her ribs.
“FUCK!”
Her breathing turned ragged, but then–
A new voice cut through the room. “You ugly piece of shit! Over here!”
V looked up just in time to see the Chimera swing toward a new target. Panam. She’s made it inside. Somehow.
The Chimera hesitated, distracted. V showed the airhypo into her thigh and hissed in relief as the pain dulled. Her fingers trembled. She was going to do something stupid. She knew it.
And then she did.
Without thinking, V sprinted across the cracked catwalk and launched herself off the edge. She dashed mid-air, legs tucked and eyes locked, before landing a hand on the Chimera’s top.
“V!” Angel screamed from below.
“Stay there!” Song yelled, the heavy door behind them groaning open at last. She stepped through, her eyes locking with V’s.
Song raised both hands, quickhacks firing from her neural link. The Chimera jerked beneath V’s feet, its limbs glitching violently. It staggered.
“Now!” Song shouted.
V drew her katana. In one motion, she sliced deep into the top armor. Sparks exploding outward as she cut through, finally exposing the glowing, pulsing heart of the machine. The core.
“Panam! Grenade!” V screamed, not even looking.
“Catch!” Panam called out, tossing a grenade with a perfect arc.
V caught it, ripping the pin out with her teeth, and shoved it into the core.
Then she leapt.
The explosion roared beneath her, heat and force launching her through the air. She hit the ground hard, rolling over her wounded side.
“Fuck!”
Angel was at her side in under a second. “Are you insane?! ”
“Maybe,” V coughed. “Not my first time killing one of those.”
“Clearly,” Panam added, stepping over the Chimera’s armor’s scorched remains. “But let’s not make it a habit.”
They all took a moment, breathing heavily as smoke filled the air.
“Checking in on Team Orpheus,” V said, pulling up the comms.
Silence.
Song frowned, typing furiously into her deck. “Trying to connect now– wait–”
Finally, a voice broke through.
“Team Eurydice, do you copy?!”
“Goro?” V sat up. “We’re here. Ran into a little trouble.”
“We all did,” Goro snapped. “Silverhand’s gone rogue! Judy is badly injured. The bombs– they went off too early! ”
“What?” V’s voice was sharp. “Where the hell is Johnny?”
Goro’s breath came ragged. “He overheard that an exec was still in the building. Took off. Said he’d finish the job himself.”
V’s expression darkened. Her chest tightened, not from the pain.
“Motherfucker!”
He fucking promised.
“You’re gonna break the wheel if you keep strangling it,” V said, eyes on the glass.
Johnny didn’t answer.
V sighed. “Alright. Spill it before it turns into another blowout. This about the cyberpsychosis thing?”
“No.” He shook his head, jaw tight. “It’s about Song.”
V stiffened. “What about her?”
Johnny hesitated. “It’s not just me. Angel’s been picking up on weird shit too. Said something felt off about Song. Especially when it comes to the Blackwall.”
Her stomach turned cold. She’d made Angel promise not to tell Johnny, said she’d do it herself. She needed time. The right moment.
Fuck. It had been over a month since she found out about the thing inside her.
“What did Angel tell you?” she asked, voice careful.
“Nothing specific. Just… enough. Said she had a bad feeling. That Song’s hiding something.” He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice hardened. “And it tracks. The way she talks about the Blackwall, different than before. Lot’s different when she was trying to survive it.”
“I’m getting real tired of this,” V muttered. “Every time you bring her up, it’s just speculation. No facts. Nothing real to go on.”
Johnny pulled into the Northside Megabuilding H11 parking garage, the car gliding to a halt in one of the half-lit spots. The silence between them crackled.
“I’ve got theories,” he said, cutting the engine.
V sighed and stepped out, slamming the door behind her. “Let’s hear ‘em, then.”
They walked toward the elevator, boots echoing off the concrete. As they stepped inside, the doors slid closed, sealing them in with a soft hiss.
Johnny started pacing.
“Theory number one,” he said, holding up a chrome finger, “Song’s not acting of her own free will. She’s been controlled; some rogue AI slipped past the Blackwall and is using her like a meat puppet.”
V arched a brow. “That’s a hell of a leap.”
“Maybe. But we know they exist, fuck, Alt Cunningham could be considered one. And don’t act like we haven’t seen worse.”
He raised a second finger. “Theory number two, she’s not controlled. She’s just playing us. Could be working with a corp, NetWatch maybe. Would explain her obsession with Militech and the Blackwall, and why she’s always conveniently avoiding certain topics when we ask too many questions.”
“That’s even more of a stretch,” V said. “NetWatch has other priorities, don’t think they have her tagged.”
“Doesn’t have to be NetWatch, ” Johnny countered. “Could be any corp. Or even some ghost org we haven’t heard of yet.”
The elevator pinged as they neared the tenth floor. Johnny paused, chrome fingers twitching like he was trying to hold back a worse thought.
He didn’t.
“Theory number three,” he said slowly. “You remember the Peralez?”
V blinked. “Yeah. Mind control bullshit, braindances, memory wipes… Jefferson Peralez is Night City’s mayor now.”
Johnny nodded grimly. “Right. What if it’s all connected? What if what’s messing with Song is the same thing that messed with him and his wife?”
V’s brow furrowed as the elevator slowed.
Johnny kept going. “I know it sounds like something outta Garry the Prophet’s fever dreams. But think about it. Garry got picked up by blue-eyed suits after he started running his mouth about people working behind the scenes. Mind control. Influence. Disappearances.”
He looked at her seriously. “Who else has blue eyes now? Our S-tier netrunning friend, So Mi.”
V stepped out into the hallway, the humming light above them flickering like dying stars. She turned to look at Johnny, frown deepening.
“But I’ve seen the Peralez,” she said. “Their eyes are not blue.”
“Not yet,” Johnny muttered. “Maybe they’re not supposed to be. Maybe that’s the point.”
They reached her apartment door. V stopped, hand on the scanner pad.
Johnny came to a halt behind her. His voice softened, but the worry hadn’t left.
“Look… maybe I’m wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time. Call me batshit crazy if you want. Just watch your back tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the day she finally shows her true colors.”
V stared at the door for a long moment before unlocking it.
She didn’t answer him.
V stepped into the apartment. The lights were on, casting a soft glow across the cozy living space. On the couch, Mama Welles sat comfortably, one arm cradling Jackie, the other holding her holo as she flipped through something casual, probably a telenovela.
As soon as Jackie spotted her mother, she squealed with delight, arms reaching upward.
“Mija,” Mama Welles greeted, her voice warm and full of pride. “She’s been waiting for you.”
V crossed the room with a tired smile and leaned down to scoop Jackie into her arms. “Thanks, Mama Welles. Really. We owe you.”
“You and Jonathan should ask me more often,” the older woman replied with a grin, slowly rising to her feet. “Every time I come by, she’s grown like a weed. Blink and she’ll be crawling, walking, getting into trouble.”
“She’s already trouble,” V said with a soft laugh, brushing her cheek against Jackie’s. “But the good kind.”
“Enjoy this stage while you can. Doesn’t last long before she’s shoving forks into sockets and putting everything she can find into her mouth.”
V chuckled. “Sounds like hell.”
Johnny moved into the kitchen, and Mama Welles followed for a few final words. V rocked Jackie gently in her arms, kissing the baby’s head. Jackie babbled, her little hands grabbing at V’s pendant.
“I missed you, too, baby girl,” V whispered. “Been harder lately, hasn’t it? Me always gone. You crying when I leave, and sometimes I don’t even make it back before you’re asleep.”
She sighed, blinking away the burn behind her eyes. “But tomorrow…maybe that’ll change. Maybe this time it’ll stick. One last gig. One last mess to clean up.”
By the door, Mama Welles waved. “Don’t stay up too late, V. You need you sleep. Take care of them, Jonathan.”
“Will do,” Johnny gave her a two-finger salute, “Thanks again, Gudalupe.”
“Anytime.” And then she was gone, leaving the apartment quieter.
Johnny walked over and sat beside V on the couch. She passed Jackie to him, and he settled the baby on his knee, bouncing her carefully, one hand firm on her back for balance. Jackie squealed again, kicking her feet.
V leaned against his shoulder, watching them. “You’re a good dad,” she said softly.
Johnny scoffed. “I’m a shit dad,” he said without venom, just fact. “Didn’t even want her. Took me too long to… fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”
V didn’t argue. She just nestled closer and said, “Still suits you.”
Johnny looked down at Jackie, his face somewhat sad. “I try. I really do.”
V let the silence hang for a moment, then she spoke again, quieter this time. “You already know this… but my dad… he was a real bastard. When I was little, it was like Vincent and I didn’t even exist. All his shit, he took it out on our mom. And when she died…”
Johnny stayed quiet, gaze locked on Jackie’s tiny hand as it clutched his finger.
“...he turned it all on us. Mostly Vincent. I think that’s what broke him. There were a lot of reasons why he snapped, but that was probably the biggest one. The way Lucas treated him. The way he beat him down until there wasn’t anything left.”
She paused, wiping her cheek roughly. “After my incident when I was under Militech’s control… he didn’t hold back then either. Beat me ‘til I blacked out. Like I was just another problem to fix with his fists.”
Johnny’s expression darkened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I hate him,” V said. Her voice was flat, but there was no mistaking the fury underneath. “I hate him. And I know your team’s heading to the Militech Offices tomorrow, and all the intel says Harford won’t be there, but if he is…”
She turned to face him fully.
“...don’t kill him.”
Johnny met her eyes, startled.
“Let me. ”
He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw clenched. Then he looked down, kissed the top of Jackie’s head, and nodded.
“Promise,” he said. “But if I see him first… I can’t promise what will happen to him. Might be doing him a favor if you kill him.”
“Fucking bastard!”
V’s fist connected with the concrete wall so hard, her knuckles split.
“Hey, hey!” Angel grabbed her, pulling her back before she struck again. “Breath, V. Breathe. ”
Panam’s voice came through the comms, shaking. “Goro… how bad is it?”
Goro’s tone was grim. “Be enough. Judy needs medical attention. Took a heavy hit from the blast, shrapnel, and concussion. She’s bleeding. I’m getting her out now.”
V turned, fire burning behind her eyes. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch. That fucking backstabbing –!”
Angel blinked, confused. “Wait, why are you–? Johnny’s always like this, right? What’s different?”
Before V could respond, Song stepped forward, gently brushing Angel aside. “V. The uplink’s just ahead.” Her voice was calm but focused. “We’re close. Real close. The servers are within reach.”
V stared at her for a moment, heart pounding, breath ragged. Then she nodded. “Yeah. Right.”
She turned back to the comms. “Goro. Take Judy to the med center in Watson. Keep her away from Corpo Plaza. I’ll go after Johnny myself after we’re done.”
“I will,” Goro answered. “Be careful. Silverhand may have finally snapped.”
“He’s not the only one,” V muttered.
Panam and Angel exchanged a glance, a silent, wary look.
V followed Song into the stairwell, boots echoing down the cold, metallic steps. They descended into the final level of the decommissioned plant, and the noise of the world above faded behind steel and silence.
The room they entered next felt like stepping into the lungs of some sleeping machine. Rows of servers blinked and hummed quietly, blue light pulsing in steady rhythms. A few netrunning chairs sat empty beside the control terminals. But at the center of the room was something new, a chamber, humming red, encased in reinforced glass and armored alloy. It thrummed with energy.
V’s eyes locked on it. “Is that it?”
Songbird stepped forward, scanning it with her optics. “That’s it. Give me a second, see what I can do about getting it open.”
Panam followed, taking up guard near the netrunning rigs. “I’ll help her out.”
That left just V and Angel.
“Hey,” Angel said softly, stepping up behind her. “You dropped this.” She held out a data shard.
V froze when she saw it. Her pupils contracted. She inhaled slowly, a practiced breath. “Thanks,” she said cooly, reaching for it.
Angel didn’t move. Something in V’s tone was… off. A gut instinct. Before V could stop her, Angel plugged the shard into her port.
“What–!” V lunged forward, too late.
Angel’s eyes widened as the data streamed into her system.
“Patient Zero…” she whispered. “Militech recovered the body from New Mexico. Cyro-preserved. That’s… that’s the same place they stole Johnny–”
Her voice trailed off as realization hit her like a bullet.
She turned toward V slowly, eyes narrowing.
“Patient Zero… is Johnny, isn’t it?”
V didn’t speak. Didn’t deny it.
Angel took a step back. “You knew. You’ve known this whole time. All of this, Song’s plan. V, what the fuck are you not telling me?”
V moved.
With a burst of speed, she tackled Angel to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pinning Angel down. “I really am.”
Angel struggled under her, panicked. “V, what the hell are you–!”
V’s hand snapped up, a quickhack command blooming from her interface.
Angel’s cybernetics glitched, short-circuiting. She twitched, then went still, unconscious.
V knelt there for a moment, breathing heavily over her.
She hates this. Wanted to puke.
She stood, brushing herself off, and turned just in time to see Panam collapse to the ground. Behind her, Song stood, having just uploaded a quickhack of her own.
Panam lay motionless.
V’s eyes widened. “Song…”
Songbird stepped forward, eyes locked on the central chamber. “We’re here,” she said quietly. “We’re finally here.”
V looked down at Angel, then at the shard clutched in her hand. She took it, sliding it back into her jacket.
“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” V murmured.
Song glanced at her, her voice almost tender. “It won’t matter soon. Not in the grand scheme of things.”
“You’re sure you’ve got everything? You know where the diapers are, the bottles–”
Kerry raised an eyebrow. “V. You do remember I had two kids of my own, right?”
“Yeah, but they’re living with their mom in Tokoyo, and you never see them,” she said, still scanning the room like something might spontaneously combust. “Just… she’s still a baby, okay? You can’t let her wander, she puts everything in her mouth, and the loose wires–”
“V,” Kerry interrupted gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve done this before. So little faith.” He gave a wink. “This ain’t my first time watching Little Samurai for you two.”
V groaned softly, rubbing a hand down her face. “Still hate when you call her that.”
From the floor, Johnny called out, “Princess, relax. If I trust anyone with the safety of our firstborn daughter, it’s the washed-up rocker who taught me how to change a diaper with one hand while holding a bottle of whiskey in the other.”
“Thanks, chombatta,” Kerry said dryly. “Appreciate the vote of confidence.”
V walked over to them, crouching beside Johnny and scooping Jackie into her arms. The baby let out a small giggle and patted V’s cheek with her hand. V kissed her daughter’s forehead, inhaling that soft scent that made her heart ache.
“I’ve gotta go,” she whispered. “But I’ll be back, okay? I promise. ”
Jackie whimpered as V placed her into Johnny’s arms. Kerry moved to the couch, settling in. V straightened, steeling herself, already fighting back the lump in her throat. Jackie was already fussing, her little arms reaching out as V headed toward the front door.
V swallowed hard. What if this is the last time I see her?
She reached for the handle when a hand caught her wrist and spun her around. Johnny was there, his face serious. He leaned in and kissed her deeply.
“You’ll come back,” he whispered against her lips. “We both will.”
V blinked back tears, nodding as he wiped one away with his thumb, then pressed another kiss to her forehead.
“Just… be safe, Johnny,” she begged. “Don’t pull any of your usual suicidal shit. Jackie needs us both.”
He nodded. “I’ll be careful. If you are.”
“I promise.”
They kissed again, longer this time. V didn’t want to let go.
“I’m fucking terrified,” she admitted finally, voice cracking. “We’ve never pulled something this big. If it goes sideways…”
“It won’t.”
“But if it does… one of us might not come home.”
Johnny exhaled. “I was terrified, too, you know. When I broke into Militech to get you back. Thought that was how I’d die. But it didn’t end there, did it? You came home. You’re here. Now we’re the ones bringing the fire to them.”
He stepped back, hands resting lightly on her arms. “If this works, Val… It’s gonna gut Militech. Set them back years. Maybe save more people than we even realize. Maybe even our daughter’s future.”
V nodded slowly. “Okay.”
Johnny pulled her in again for a final embrace. “We’ll be okay.”
She clung to him for a beat longer, pressing her face against his shoulder, then let go.
“You ready?” Songbird asked quietly.
V nodded once, solemn. Her jaw was tight, shoulders squared. The air between them felt too heavy for words.
Song keyed in the final sequence, and the chamber door hissed open with a low mechanical groan. They stepped through together.
The moment V crossed the threshold, her breath caught in her throat.
She went pale.
Scarlet lights pulsed across the walls and floor like veins of a living organism. The hum of deep machinery thrummed through the bones. Before them stretched a narrow walkway suspended over nothing but darkness. And at the center of it all… a sphere, massive and glowing, like a second, blood-red sun.
“Welcome to Project Cynosure,” Song said, her voice low, weary. “Site A. Militech’s answer to Arasaka’s Soulkiller.”
They walked slowly, the platform creaking beneath their steps. The sphere, the core, seemed to watch them, to breathe with each pulse of its light.
“Everything you’ll ever read about it,” Song went on, “will tell you it’s a tool to trap and tame rogue AIs. Contain them. Restructure them. Keep them as weapons.”
She gave a bitter smile.
“Close. But not the truth.”
V swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Then what is it?”
“Cynosure was meant to house hosts, people, living conduits, synched with the Blackwall’s architecture. Militech’s ultimate solution to the AI problem: human minds in control of the firewall itself.” Song’s voice turned hollow. “They were building gods to keep the monsters out.”
V looked around, taking in the cold sterility of the place. The orb throbbed with purpose. And hunger.
“There are other sites,” Song added, “scattered all over California. This one? This was the original prototype. The one they meant for Robert J. Linder.”
That hit hard.
Song winced. “Once upon a time, they wanted to use me, too. But the Blackwall didn’t like me much.”
V turned to her slowly. “We’re destroying this place when we’re done.”
“Of course,” Song said. “Militech is cutting into something they can’t control. Tear the Blackwall enough, and the rogue AIs won’t stay caged. They’ll come through, and there won’t be a thing left to stop them.”
V’s eyes narrowed. “You think they made one of these for me?”
“I’d bet on it,” Song replied without hesitation.
They reached the orb’s chamber, the inner sanctum. A thick blast door opened as they approached, and V stepped into a nightmare of cables and data ports. Wires hung like vines from the ceiling, the air thick with the eclectic scent of ozone and metal. The hum here wasn’t background, it was a roar under the skin.
“Got the chip?” Song asked.
V took a small circular chip from her jacket and handed it over. Her hand didn’t tremble, but only just.
“You can still back out,” Song offered. “We overload the site, no data retrieval, just fire and ruin.”
V shook her head. “No. I’m taking whatever I can get.”
Song studied her a second longer, then nodded and got to work.
Cables were pulled down, and Song began to hook her in. Metal clamps latched onto V’s arms, her legs, her spine, neck, and hands. Wires were clipped to interface ports, others forced into fresh jacks across her body.
It felt like being shackled in hell.
V gritted her teeth. “This part gonna suck?”
“Oh yeah,” Song said grimly. “Worst part’s coming now. I have to insert the chip before we link to the Blackwall. Can’t do one without the other.”
V stood still. “Do it.”
Song withdrew a knife from her toolkit, sterilized and sharp.
“Side of your neck. Count of three.”
V nodded.
“One,” they said together.
“Two…”
The blade slid into her neck before they reached three.
Pain flared white-hot. V let out a scream, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
Click.
The chip locked into place with a sickening finality.
Blood ran down her collarbone. Song moved quickly, pressing gauze against the wound, wrapping it tightly, wiping her hands clean with clinical efficiency.
“Last step,” she said softly. “I’ll establish the connection. Then you’ll have access to the Blackwall. Your chip will finally respond.”
V was sweating, trembling beneath the weight of all the cords and clamps. “Make it quick. I don’t know how long I can take this.”
“You’ll be okay. It’ll hit hard at first, but then it’ll stabilize. Just don’t overdo it.”
The hum grew louder. The chamber’s light flared. V felt the change coming, subtle at first, like static building in the back of her skull.
Then the flood hit.
Voices. Code. Screams. Echoes of intelligences that were never human, whispers and growls and cold, clinical laughter. The Blackwall opened like a wound, and V stood at the edge of it.
Her body convulsed. Every nerve lit up with fire.
Song pulled the wires from her quickly, yanking out the main cable, deactivating the restraints.
V crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
“You alone?”
“Just me,” V answered without turning. Her voice was low, guarded.
Soft footsteps approached, and Songbird slid onto the couch beside her. There was tension in her shoulders, too much silence between them.
“So,” Song said, keeping her voice down, “no one knows?”
V shook her head. “Didn’t tell anyone. Not even Johnny.”
“Good,” Songbird murmured. “Johnny’s not exactly good at masking. Would’ve known something was up.”
V gave a small, humorless smirk. “Yeah. I know.”
There was a beat of silence, then Song looked at her. “Thanks for coming, V.”
“Look,” V said, shifting to face her. “I’m here, aren’t I? So start talking.”
Songbird hesitated for a second before exhaling. “I’ve been keeping a lot from you.”
“That much is pretty fucking clear.”
Song nodded. “After you helped me… after I got my cure on the moon, there were conditions. The people who helped me agreed to fix me, to save my life. In exchange, I had to work for them. Didn’t exactly have a choice. Was either that or…” She trailed off.
V narrowed her eyes. “Who?”
“All you need to know is they have Night City in their best interest,” Song said, voice dropping. “One of them goes by Mr. Blue Eyes.”
V frowned, “And I’m supposed to know who that is?”
Songbird looked away, ashamed. “Same guy who sent you to the Crystal Palace soon after Mikoshi. Who made you cross paths with your father in the first place? They’ve been watching you for a long time.”
V didn’t say anything. Her fingers curled into fists on her knees.
“They knew,” Song continued, quieter now. “They knew Militech could cure you. Didn’t anticipate all the bumps you’d hit along the way. The Blackwall. Alt. Everything that came after. But in the end, you survived. You got your cure.”
V’s voice was sharp now, ice-laced. “I didn’t just survive. I lost months. I lost myself. I died. ”
“I know,” Song whispered. “And that’s why I’m telling you all this now.”
“Why?” V snapped. “Why now? Why not before? Why tell me at all?”
Song stood, stepping toward the overlook of Dogtown. Wind blew her hair back from her face. “Because you saved my life, V. I’d be in the NUSA’s hands, Militech’s, the FIA had it not been for you. And now I want to repay you.”
V didn’t move, didn’t answer.
“We want the same thing,” Song continued. “We want a better Night City. Me. My people. Your crew. We want to destroy Militech. And we know how.”
She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small chip, placing it gently in V’s palm.
“We recovered this,” Song said, “from the Hotel Pistis Sophia. This chip allowed you to communicate with the Blackwall. To use it. Control it.”
V stared down at it, the chip light and cold in her hand.
“I’m giving you a choice now,” Song said. “That server we’re about to hit? It can repair the chip. Restore its function. You could access those abilities again, V. The connection. The power. All you have to do is agree.”
“Fuck no,” V snapped, her fingers tightening around the chip. “You think I’m plugging this thing into my head again? This, this thing, it made me lose my mind. Didn’t it?”
Songbird didn’t flinch. “It wasn’t the chip, V. It was… the hormones. Your pregnancy. That’s what triggered the psychosis. It was a variable my people hadn’t accounted for. We never predicted you’d be carrying a child by the time you got your cure. That changed everything.”
V’s eyes narrowed. “So what, it’s my fault I went mad? Not this thing that can let me communicate with the Blackwall?”
“No,” Song said gently. “I’m saying that you’re meant for this. You were always meant for it. Why do you think Militech wants to turn you into their walking Blackwall? It’s in your DNA.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” V demanded.
Songbird exhaled slowly, then stepped closer to the edge of the overlook, facing Dogtown’s shattered skyline.
“It was never supposed to be you,” she said. “It was always supposed to be Johnny.”
V blinked, stunned into silence.
“Fifty-five years ago, Johnny Silverhand sold himself to Militech. They were working on a prototype, an organic firewall. It was before the DataKrash, before Bartmoss. Militech had ambitions to dominate the Net. Johnny volunteered. Thought maybe, if he could become an interface… he might reach Alt.”
V shook her head. “That’s insane.”
“Maybe,” Song said. “But he died before their project could be completed, a plot that would have worked had it not been for a mole. Militech kept his body in cryo, just in case. Arasaka had access to his engram; they knew about him, and they wanted Militech’s research. After the DataKrash, Netwatch built the Blackwall using Militech’s unfinished firewall. It’s why the Blackwall’s attuned to Johnny.”
Song turned around now, staring V dead in the eyes.
“And now, it’s attuned to you. ”
V’s voice was a whisper. “Why me?”
“The relic,” Song said simply. “It changed you. Enough of Johnny’s neural matrix, his DNA, seeped into yours. It made you compatible. You’re the new interface. That’s why Militech wants you. Wants Johnny.”
“Fuck,” V choked. “Fuck! Fuck!”
She stumbled back and dropped into the chair behind her, the weight of it all finally buckling her knees. Her hands trembled as she pressed her palms to her face, breathing hard.
“This makes no sense,” she muttered, half-laughing. “None of it. And now you want me to– what? Plug this chip in? Be a Blackwall whispered again?”
“It can end Militech,” Song said, stepping closer. “This is our chance to hit them where it counts. To free you. From Harford. From Militech. From all of it.”
“Free under your people’s control?” V asked, her eyes narrowed now. “Let me guess, they just happen to have the same goal as me.”
“They do,” Song said. “As I said before, they want Militech dismantled. They don’t want to control you, V. They want your help. We all want the same thing.”
V stared at the chip, then down at her knees. Her voice came out low, quiet.
“All my life,” she whispered, “none of this shit’s been mine. Fifteen years dictated by Militech. Seven with Arasaka, thinking I was escaping but just being used again. Six months riding shotgun with Jackie Welles, doing whatever he thought was best. Then two months of hell with Johnny Silverhand trying to erase me. Nine months, I can’t even remember. And now, eight months just trying to survive in a world I barely recognize.”
She looked up at Songbird.
“And you’re telling me that if I killed Militech, I’ll be free?”
Song didn’t say anything. Just let her question linger.
V laughed once, sharp, bitter. “That’s now how shit works for me. It never has.”
“No,” Song said. “But I’m not forcing you. I’m giving you a choice. You could just destroy the server. Walk away. But that won’t stop Militech, will it?”
V’s silence was answer enough.
“No,” she finally said. “It wouldn’t.”
“We have to go further,” Songbird said. “Even if it means shooting for the moon.”
V stared at the chip in her palm.
Then she stood.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll do it.”
She locked eyes with Songbird.
“I’ll fucking do it. If it means breaking free from one dictator, even if it puts me in reach of another, I’ll take the shot.”
Notes:
Message thread generator by Luvwich.
This chapter took a bit longer to post than I’d hoped. I wanted to experiment a little, especially with the second timeline. Hopefully it turned out alright! I had a lot of fun building this one up; it’s definitely a key chapter.
Lol, you know the ending of this fic is going to be a ride when the author's favorite video game quest of all time is the final mission in Mass Effect 2 (if you know, you know 😉).
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! As always, every kudos, comment, and bookmark is greatly appreciated! Thank you so much for the support! 💖
Chapter 17: I Get Overwhelmed
Summary:
Is your lover there?
Is she waking up?
Did she die in the night?
And leave you alone?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
The soft hum of the elevator filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional chirp of a holopad scan.
V sat slumped in the wheelchair, legs numb and useless beneath her. It has been Lucas’s idea, and from the way he’d snapped at the doctor who questioned her mobility, she figured it was less about necessity and more about optics, about control. Another reminder that she was his now. His project. His property.
Two Militech suits stood on either side of Lucas and Meredith Stout, who lingered just behind them. One of the suits handled the chair, gently wheeling her in place. The other hovered beside her, eyes fixed on a sleek holopad as its scanner beamed across her vitals.
“We’re taking you to the surgical floor,” the one with the holopad said coolly. “Once there, you’ll be given a room to change into the appropriate garments. Then we’ll walk you through the basic procedure, begin anesthesia, and proceed with the operation.”
V didn’t say anything for a moment. Her fingers twitched in her lap, restless.
“How invasive is the procedure?” she asked finally.
The suit didn’t bother looking up. “Hold your questions.”
Lucas didn’t even glance at her. “All you need to know,” he said coldly, “Is that it works.”
The elevator dinged open. The scent of antiseptic and steel faintly hit her nose as they rolled her into a sterile corridor bathed in white light. Scrubbed-up techs and masked doctors passed briskly, barely sparing her a glance. Somewhere behind one of the closed doors, a scream rang out, wet and ragged. V flinched, pressing her palms to her stomach instinctively.
Ground yourself. Breathe. Focus.
A nurse approached, giving a nod before addressing Lucas. “Mr. Harford. We’ll prepare her now.”
Lucas nodded once. “We’ll be watching from the observation room.”
Stout remained silent beside him, arms folded.
They wheeled V into a small, private prep room and helped her out of the chair. The nurse handed her a folded hospital gown.
“Strip,” she said.
V blinked. “Here?”
“Here.”
She glanced around the room. No cameras, at least. But no privacy either.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled off her shirt, then took off her remaining clothes underneath, leaving them in a small pile on the floor. She pulled the gown over her frail frame, thin fabric settling against cold skin.
They didn’t say anything. Just helped her back into the chair like she was nothing more than a doll. A body is to be moved from one place to another.
Panic curled in her chest again. She clutched her stomach tighter this time.
They rolled her through another set of automatic doors and into the operating room.
Everything was clean. Sterile. Chrome and white.
An operating table stood at the center, lit by surgical lamps that felt like miniature suns. Doctors in masks moved methodically around the room, their fingers gleaming with cybernetic chrome. One of them glanced up, blue eyes, approached her slowly, then knelt in front of her.
“I’m your lead surgeon,” he said through a soft-filtered modulator. “I’ll be operating on you today.”
She nodded once, lips pressed tight.
“Any final questions before we put you under?”
She hesitated. “Yeah. How invasive is this really?”
He tilted his head. “I wouldn’t even call it a surgery, not in the traditional sense. We’ll plug you into the NET, retrieve what we need from the other side, and install a neurological anchor to ensure it integrates properly. So, yes, something will be placed in your body. But it’s seamless. Minimal trauma.”
She swallowed. “Will this operation harm the baby?”
The surgeon shook his head. “Shouldn’t. The modifications are neural, not physical. No interference with the fetus.”
V’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What about the chance of dying? What’s the death rate?”
The surgeon sighed faintly. “The procedure is restorative. In theory, it can’t kill you; it rebuilds what’s already failing. But it’s more… volatile for people with intact neural pathways. Your condition makes you an ideal candidate.”
“That’s not exactly comforting.”
“I’ve overseen five successful cases of six patients,” he said. “This operation has been around much longer than you’ve been alive. You’ll be alright.”
She nodded faintly, and they began to lift her from the chair. Her legs dangled weakly as they guided her toward the table. She placed a hand over her stomach again. Breathe.
Then she looked up.
Through the glass observation panel, she could see them.
Lucas Harford stood with his arms folded, calm and composed. Beside him, Meredith Stout remained still.
But a third figure had joined them.
Rosalind Myers.
President of the New United States.
V’s heart stopped.
A cold sweat broke over her skin as the surgical lights glared down. Her breath caught in her throat, panic spiking like a shot of pure ice in her veins.
She suddenly had a very, very bad feeling.
The cold bite of the table seeped into her spine as V lay still, chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths. The sterile lights buzzed overhead, and somewhere in the room, the rhythmic blip of a monitor kept time with her heart.
One of the techs approached quietly, took her arm, and slid the jack into a port with a faint click. The cable snaked into a monitor beside the table, and lines of code began to scroll across the screen.
“She’s got six hours,” he whispered to the lead surgeon, voice low enough to prevent her from hearing it.
V’s brow furrowed. “What?”
The surgeon glanced at her.
“You’ve got about six hours before full neural failure,” he said simply. “So we have a short window to complete the operation.”
“No,” V whispered, voice hoarse. “That’s not right. I was told… I have at least two days.”
The surgeon exchanged a brief, unreliable look with one of the assistants. “Your vitals and brain scans say otherwise. You’re already experiencing minor shutdowns. Didn’t you feel it?”
Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
She had felt it, her lack of taste, her legs going numb, the shortness of her breath, the disorientation. But she thought… she thought she had more time. Forty-eight hours to say goodbye. To breathe. To choose.
Not six.
Why would Vik lie to me?
Her eyes flicked upward, past the glinting chrome and glass, to the window.
Rosalind Myers now stood beside Lucas Harford, deep in conversation. The soundproof glass blurred their words, but she could see the faint, patient movement of their mouths. Casual. Controlled.
Like this wasn’t about her at all.
Her heart stuttered. She turned sharply to the surgeon. “Where are you plugging me in?”
The man didn’t look away from the holoscreen. “What?”
“To the NET. Where are you plugging me in?”
He shrugged. “The Blackwall, of course. That was in the contract. You read it, didn’t you?”
Her pulse spiked instantly.
No.
No, no, no.
Not the Blackwall. Not the same hell they’d thrown So Mi into.
She was replacing her.
Not just curing herself.
They were going to use her. Turn her into another net weapon. Another prototype. Another ghost screaming across the wires, just like So Mi. Just like Alt.
A monitor shrieked a high-pitched warning as her vitals jumped.
“She’s panicking,” one of the nurses said quickly. “Heart rate’s spiking. If it gets worse, we’ll lose her.”
“Prep anesthesia,” the surgeon ordered. “Now.”
A needle jabbed hard into her thigh, cold liquid burning under her skin. V twisted under the straps, muscles locking in fear. She tried to sit up, but hands pressed her down.
“No– wait– no!” Her voice cracked.
One of the nurses began counting backward softly. “Ten… nine… eight…”
“ No–! ”
Her voice was growing sluggish now, her limbs heavier with each second. She looked up again at the window. Lucas still stood there, expression flat. Rosalind didn’t even glance at her.
“Don’t do this to me–”
Her vision blurred. She thrashed once more, then again, weaker this time.
“Seven… six…”
The world tilted. The lights above swam into stars. Her voice cracked, a final, garbled protest slipping through numb lips.
“J-Johnny…”
Then blackness.
Complete.
V opened her eyes, but the world around her was… wrong.
Everything was dipped in that familiar, glowing blue. The air hummed with energy, static crawling across her skin. She blinked, trying to focus. Her boots, no, not real boots, hit the hard light of the Mikoshi pathway. That endless, shifting corridor of clicking code stretched out before her. At its center, high up in the pyramidal construct, a pulsing green beam of energy thrummed like a heartbeat.
“No, no, no,” she whispered, already backing away, only to find her legs refused to obey.
Her body moved forward against her will, each step slow, mechanical. The code at her feet shifting in rhythm, pulsing like a tide.
“Stop it. Wake up. You’re not here.”
Off to either side, figures flickered into existence, phantoms shaped like Alt, but distorted, incomplete. Their mouths opened wide, and they screamed without sound. Then came the words, garbled and layered.
“ You made a deal with the devil. ”
“ You gave him everything. ”
“ You’re going to die. ”
“ You’re baby’s going to die. ”
“ You doomed us all. ”
“Shut up!” she shouted, hands pressed to her ears.
But they kept coming, holograms and corrupted copies of Alt Cunningham, her faces stretching and twisting like cracked glass. The blue path quaked beneath her.
Then, a voice.
Rough. Familiar. Hers.
Johnny.
“ V! Jump! ”
She froze, breath catching. She turned her head, looking over the edge of the Mikoshi platform. A dark void yawned below her, pixelated like broken code.
Johnny’s voice echoed again, louder this time, urgent. “ Jump, V! ”
Her chest squeezed tight. She clenched her fists.
And jumped.
She blinked.
Now she was in a different place entirely, too real and not real at the same time.
A sterile launch chamber. The launch.
The one who had sent So Mi to space.
V’s breath caught in her throat. Her body moved on its own, clutching her flat stomach, trembling as she tried to scream herself awake.
“Get out. Wake up, wake up–”
“If only I’d known,” came Johnny’s voice again, quieter now, buried somewhere deeper in her subconscious.
She blinked.
Now– the Moon.
The gravity felt off, too light, too cold. Dust floated in zero atmosphere, and next to her sat Songbird. Not the one she’d met in Dogtown, no– this version was sick, pale, her eyes shadowed, her breath ragged. The ride to the shuttle played out around them, but instead of a launchpad, it was on the Moon’s surface, an artificial mockery of a memory twisted by the NET.
V turned to her, alarmed. “Why are we here?”
So Mi just smiled faintly, tilting her head, reaching for her with thin fingers.
“This is where you’ll end up,” she said, sing-song and sweet voice. “We all end up on the Moon, you know…”
Everything blinked out.
Gone.
Silence.
Then, sound.
A low, vibrating rumble rose from the depths of the dark.
The Blackwall.
She looked down at her hands. They were artificial now, red-glowing lines streaking up her fingers, more data than flesh. Her body– her self – was unraveling.
And then he was there.
Rushing at her through the noise, the chaos, the scream of the wall itself.
Johnny.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was about to shatter. She gasped, stunned– he felt real.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. He clutched her tighter.
V held him back, shaking. “You’re not here. You can’t be here.”
He pulled back, just enough to look her in the eyes. “I am here. Right now. I’m here.”
The Blackwall roared again, louder this time. When Johnny’s hand touched her cheek, the scream doubled, a thunderous echo that rattled her to her core.
She took a shaky step back. “You’re part of it. The Blackwall… It’s you.”
He winced. “Kind of. But also not. I’ve always been here. Time… It’s relative…”
Her lips parted, but the words never came.
Johnny stepped closer again, his face tight with urgency. “V, listen to me. You’ve gotta promise me something.”
“What?” she whispered.
“When you wake up, when you’re back there, I want you to tell Johnny something. The one still out there. Tell him to remember his promise to you.”
“What promise?”
“That his life is yours. That he chose that.” He squeezed her hand. “Remind him. You tell him that when he sees you again.”
V stared at him, something hot stinging her eyes. “I promise.”
Johnny nodded. “I miss you. But it’s all gonna work out. You hear me?”
And then–
He was gone.
Just like that.
And the Blackwall was all that remained.
It towered in front of her, rippling and snarling, a living wall of screams and code. The sound rose to a deafening pitch. It pulled her in.
Then– white.
Everything turned white.
V blinked open her eyes.
The ceiling above her was sterile white, haloed in soft light that felt too bright, too still. Her head ached. Her limbs felt heavy, weighted by something thicker than sleep. The lingering haze of anesthesia clung to her thoughts like oil.
“She’s awake,” someone said.
Her eyes shifted slowly to the source. One of the doctors, his mask pulled down, tapped something into a holopad at her side. “Easy now,” he said gently. “Don’t try to move too fast. You’re still recovering.”
She wet her dry lips. “Did it…” Her voice cracked. “Did it work? Am I okay?”
The room didn’t answer at first, just the faint beep of machines, the hum of filtered air. Her vision swam as she tried to lift her head, panic flaring behind her ribs.
And then, a throb. Sharp, just below the base of her skull.
She reached up with a trembling hand, fingers brushing against fresh stitching. Her breath hitched.
The doctor gave her a measured look. “Everything went as expected. You should start to feel functionality return soon, brain activity is stabilizing rapidly.”
She tried to breathe. Her fingers trembled as she pulled them away from the back of her neck.
“W-what about the Blackwall?” she asked quietly.
The doctor drew at that, about to speak.
But the door opened before he could.
Lucas Harford entered, flanked by silent suits. His shoes clicked across the polished floor, every step precise, controlled.
“How’s my daughter?” he asked the surgeon.
The doctor straightened. “She’s doing just fine. Neural repair is currently at 66.6 percent and rising. Based on the trajectory, full integration within minutes.”
Lucas nodded curtly. “Good. Bring her to my office when she’s ready.”
V barely heard him. Her gaze had locked on the window.
Rosalind Myers stood just beyond the glass.
Her father returns, and the two talk. Calm, professional. Watching her like she was inventory. Behind them, Meredith Stout waited, arms crossed, unreliable.
V let out a slow, shuddering breath.
The surgeon turned back to her, eyes the sharp blue of polished chrome. “You know,” he said, tone easy but off somehow, “I’ve been following your work since Arasaka Tower. That kind of determination… It’s rare.”
He smiled faintly.
“Even rarer up high. So high you can see the stars through glass.”
She didn’t answer.
Her hand fell to her stomach.
And then, a push. Small. Deliberate.
She gasped softly, palm flatting against the curve of her belly. Relief bloomed inside her.
The baby was okay.
One of the other doctors noticed. “We ran separate tests,” he said, reassuring. “Fetus is stable. No signs of distress.”
Tears welled in V’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “So this is it, then,” she said. “I’m cured?”
The surgeon nodded. “All signs point to full recovery. Just lie back a little longer. We need to ensure the neural repair process completes without any interference.”
She leaned her head back slowly against the table, the tears finally escaping in slow, hot trails down her cheeks.
She’d done it.
Found the cure. Survived the Relic. She’d get to leave. Make it to twenty-five. Maybe even thirty. Have her daughter. Name her. Watch her grow.
But at what cost?
Two weeks.
That’s what Lucas had said. In two weeks, the contract would go into effect. Legally, she would no longer be a person, but a product. A weapon designed by Militech, owned by Militech.
And sold.
To the FIA. To whoever paid enough. Rosalind Myers had made her interest clear without saying a single word. She’d stood behind that glass like a buyer at auction.
A tool. Just another instrument of war.
And what then? What would the Blackwall do to her in time?
Would she rot like Songbird? Fade? Go mad?
How did she even know her body could handle it?
Or would it simply be invisible?
Maybe she won’t know the difference?
“Neural integrity is at one hundred percent,” the doctor interrupted slowly, eyes on the monitor.
She stared up at the ceiling, her fingers still pressed against her stomach.
One hundred percent.
They helped her off the operating table.
Her legs felt foreign at first, but then something clicked. Not a sound, more like a shift. A strength she hadn’t felt in weeks returned to her limbs. She stood upright with their assistance, and for the first time in too long, she didn’t feel like she might crumble.
One of the nurses handed her a bundle, clean black Militech-issue clothes folded with robotic precision. She was wheeled into a small adjoined room to change. The clothes were soft, synthetic, and clinical. She slipped them on in silence.
When they wheeled her back into the hall, it was eerily quiet, too quiet. No chatter. No shouting. No chaos. Just cold, orderly calm.
In the elevator, she cradled her stomach with one hand, the other running gently over the fabric stretched across the large swell. Soothing circles, the same motion over and over.
She was going to be okay.
Her baby was going to be okay.
They were both going to make it.
It had to work out…
The elevator chimed.
They wheeled into Lucas’s office. Lucas stood by the window, his back to her. Below, Night City burned with neon. A pulsing artery of light and sin and memory.
He didn’t turn to look at her when the guards wheeled her in.
“Leave us,” he ordered.
The room emptied quickly, quietly.
She noticed it immediately, Myers wasn’t here, nor was Stout.
“Saw Myers. Where is she?” V asked, her voice still a little raw.
Lucas’s gaze stayed on the city. “She had a plane to catch.”
V’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
Lucas finally turned.
“I’m incredibly disappointed in you, Valerie,” he said, voice low, measured. “Disappointed that you didn’t come to me sooner. That you ran around this city, throwing away your life like it meant nothing. But most of all…” He looked her dead in the eyes. “That you let Johnny Silverhand sire his bastard into our bloodline. And that fact that I had to hear him gloat about it himself.”
The words his harder than she expected, but she didn’t flinch.
She said nothing.
He sighed, stepping away from the window. “You think I simply kept him around because he was an efficient tool. Out of respect? That I admired that washed-up has-been?”
She looked up, defiant. “You went on about him when you told me about Militech's role in the original Arasaka tower op. Didn’t he lead the op?”
Lucas’s laugh was sharp, humorless.
“Silverhand?” he scoffed. “No. That fool was never anything but a walking distraction, A PR stunt wrapped in a military vest. The real op? That was Morgan Blackhand. He led the strike. He was the reason we took the tower. Johnny’s team–” Lucas sneered, “–was always meant to die.”
V stared at him.
Another truth Johnny hadn’t told her.
She felt the weight of it settle in her gut.
Morgan Blackhand…
Was he–
Lucas smiled faintly, as if reading her thoughts. “Ironic, isn’t it?” he mused. “That it was his descendant who finally took down Adam Smasher.”
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer now, just shy of looming.
“And now,” he murmured, “the Harford line is knocked up with another bastard of a legend. One more name in a long list of dead men. History repeating itself.”
V’s jaw clenched. “I’m not a Harford,” she said, “Never was. Not a fucking Blackhand, either.”
She rose slowly, legs shaking, but with firm breath.
“I watched Yorinobu Arasaka strangle his own father. I sure as hell see why. Shit’s tempting…”
Lucas said nothing, but the faint twitch of his mouth, whether amusement or disdain, was answer enough.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
And this time, she didn’t ask.
“You so calmly wish for the death of the one who gave you life,” Lucas said, staring at her for a long moment. “Then prepare yourself, Valerie. One day, your child may do the same to you. It may be your flame they chose to extinguish.”
He waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Go,” he muttered. “I don’t even want to look at you right now.”
V didn’t move at first.
Then slowly, intentionally, she knocked the wheelchair over with the back of her foot. The crash echoed sharply in the silence.
Lucas turned his back toward her.
“You’ve got two weeks,” he said evenly. “Fourteen days.”
“Then you’re mine. Militech’s. You won’t be able to hide.”
V bit her bottom lip. She turned without another word, walking toward the door, rigid despite the shaking in her hands.
In the elevator, she let herself breathe, barely.
Trembling fingers reached into her pocket, pulling out her holo. It lit up instantly, the flood of missed calls and messages nearly shorting the display.
Johnny. Vik. Misty.
V stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then turned it off.
She pocketed the holo and let out a heavy sigh, her breath shaking. “Shit…”
The hallway toward the exit stretched ahead like a tunnel. Long. Sterile. Empty. Two Militech soldiers stood at the far end, armed and armored, flanked by sentry drones that clicked and hummed softly as she approached.
They watched her like a ticking bomb.
And maybe… maybe because she was…
V cast them a withering look, something between exhausted and dangerous, and picked up the pace.
She stepped outside into the night and was hit with it all at once.
The NET.
The buzzing had been there since she woke up. A distant hum at the base of her skull. She thought it was simply a throb from the base of her surgery. But now it rushed forward, like floodwaters slamming into her brain.
She staggered, hand shooting out to catch herself against the side of the building. The wall felt warm, pulsing– alive.
“Fuck…” she hissed under her breath.
It wasn’t sight or sound or touch. It was something else, other. Like the entire world has a second skin made of code, and she could feel it. Every packet. Every signal. Every node and data stream.
It was everywhere.
She just had to reach and–
Holy shit…
Her Quadra sat where Goro left it, waiting. She practically threw herself inside and slammed the door shut, like it might block the signal storm bleeding into her skull.
Her breath trembled.
So Mi…
Was this what it was like for her? To feel everything? To hold that much power in your mind?
She gripped the wheel, heart pounding.
It wasn’t just a buzz; it was control. Influence. She could sense systems bending around her, receptive. Curious. Waiting for her to do something.
Anything.
It was intoxicating.
Overwhelming.
Terrifying.
She didn’t dare try. Not again. Not like the spaceport. She didn’t want to know what she was capable of now, not really.
Helicopters falling from the sky. City blocks losing power. Augmented people… crumbling.
No one should have that kind of power.
But she did.
And now… she couldn’t give it back.
She took a shaky breath, started the engine, and peeled out onto the road.
V pulled into the H10 parking lot on autopilot. Her hands trembled on the wheel. Her heart pounded in her ears, the residue of everything, operation, confrontation, revelation, boiling beneath her skin. All she wanted now was to crash. To curl up, disappear into a dark corner, and sob until her lungs gave out.
Sleep. She just needs sleep.
And maybe, in the morning, she’d deal with it all. The consequences. The contract. The goddamn Blackwall humming behind her eyelids.
She dragged herself toward the building, footsteps heavy, shoulders slumped, muscles aching like they’d been rewired. She reached the door and opened it.
Johnny was there.
He didn’t say a word.
Just grabbed her.
Arms pulled in tight, sudden, and desperate. His chest heaved with every breath as his fingers pressed into her back.
He buried his face in her hair, lips brushing against the top of her head.
“Don’t ever fucking leave again,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I thought you were dead. Vik– he… Thought I’d be out looking for your body by morning.”
V didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
Tears streamed silently down her face, soaking into his shirt.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t trust herself to speak.
Johnny gently cupped her face, lifting her eyes to his. His gaze searched hers, haunted, confused.
“How the fuck are you alive?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “Vik said–”
“I only had a couple of hours left,” she murmured, voice flat. Numb. “Yeah. I found that out too.”
She walked over to the wardrobe and knelt in front of it, baby kicking, digging through the old, worn clothes like they could somehow bring her back to herself.
“V…” Johnny stepped toward her. “How?”
She paused.
Stiffened.
Then turned to face him slowly, fire glinting in her bloodshot eyes.
“I got cured.”
The words fell like a gunshot.
His eyes widened.
Then drifted downward.
She watched it register, the way he took in the corporate blacks, the Militeh insignia on her collar, the sterile new stitches on the nape of her neck.
He grabbed her wrist. Hard.
“What the fuck did you do?”
She yanked her arm back with force, stumbling to her feet.
“Don’t fucking touch me!”
Her voice cracked like thunder through the apartment.
She stormed into the bathroom, slammed the door, and locked it with trembling fingers.
Johnny pounded once on the other side. “V. Please–hey. Don’t shut me out. Just talk to me– talk to me, dammit.”
But she didn’t.
Couldn’t.
She slid to the floor, sobs tearing from her chest in sharp bursts. She tore off the sterile Militech clothes like they burned her skin, kicking them away, and yanked on an old shirt, her shirt. Familiar, faded, real.
The lights flickered.
Sputtered.
Her fault.
She curled up on the bathroom floor, arms around her stomach, forehead pressed to the cold tile.
The baby pressed up against her arms, restless.
She cried until her throat burned, until her eyes swelled shut, until her whole body shuddered in silence.
On the other side of the door, Johnny was quiet now, too.
Then, finally, his voice broke through the stillness. Soft. Ashamed.
“I fucked up, V.”
A beat.
“I know I did. I shouldn’t’ve left you alone in Vik’s clinic. I thought– I don’t know what I thought.”
“Just…open the door. Please.”
Silence.
“Please, Valerie. Just talk to me…”
The lights had finally stopped flickering.
Everything was quiet.
Still.
V sat motionless on the cold bathroom floor, the sting of her own sobs leaving her hollow. Slowly, she sat up, wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, and reached for the door.
The lock clicked open.
She stepped out.
Johnny was leaning against the wall across from the room, head bowed, eyes red and tired. He looked up when he heard her. Didn’t speak. Just waited.
V crawled down beside him, settling wordlessly onto the floor.
He didn’t ask for permission this time; he just pulled her close again.
And she didn’t stop him.
One of his hands rested over her, over her swollen stomach. The other curled around her shoulders, protective, scared.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done,” Johnny whispered, voice rough. “If I lost you. Lost you both.”
She felt him reach for her dog tags, the ones that had always sat around her neck, those silent witnesses to everything she’d endured. He pressed them to the silver around his own neck, where Dexter DeShawn’s bullet ended her life for the first time. Then he let go and simply held her tighter.
“I dreamt about you,” she said quietly.
He didn’t respond. Just let her speak.
“During the procedure, they put me under. I was out cold… but I saw you. Thought I was back in Mikoshi for a second. Before I ended up on the moon with Songbird. It was… weird.”
Johnny’s grip tightened slightly, still listening.
“You said something to me there. That you were the Blackwall now. Or part of it. And you had a message. For yourself. ”
She pulled away suddenly, and Johnny let her go, confusion flickering across his gaze.
“You said you wanted me to remind you of the promise you made to me. Your life for mine. ”
Her voice cracked. Her hands shook as she reached up and yanked the dog tags from her neck. She threw them beside her like they were burned.
“You broke that promise, Johnny.”
Her eyes flooded again, and she choked on the words.
“I trusted you. Thought you’d be there. Thought you’d fucking stay when I needed you most. That’s what you told me. That’s what you promised me.”
He opened his mouth, but she kept going.
“But you ran. You ran, Johnny. ‘Cause you got scared.”
She stood up now, trembling, and Johnny, stunned, picked up the dog tags from the floor, holding them carefully.
“V–”
But she was already across the room, punching in the code to the nursery door.
She stepped inside and let it slide shut behind her.
The room was dim and silent. The soft hum of electronics, the faint smell of clean cotton. She walked to the crib and pulled a white sheet over it, covering it from view.
Her hands went to the boxes and pulled out an empty box.
Blankets. Tiny onesies. Little socks. Stuffed toys. She started filling it all with mechanical, practiced hands. As if packing away a part of her soul she couldn’t stand to see anymore.
Then–
“What are you doing?”
Johnny stood in the doorway, panic in his voice, his steps hesitant. She glanced over, and he still clutched the dog tags.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she snapped. “I’m leaving your sorry ass.”
He rushed forward, reaching for her arm. “V, wait, just– don’t– ”
“ Don’t fucking touch me! ” she screamed, ripping herself from his grasp.
He froze.
Stopped back, eyes wide, jaw tense.
“Please,” he begged, voice cracking. “Please, don’t leave… ”
She pushed past him, the box in her hands, moving back into the main room.
She tossed it on the bed and started throwing more of her things into it, clothes, tech, bits and pieces of herself that lived in this space. Pieces she couldn’t leave behind, Johnny watched from the threshold, helpless. The dog tags still dangling from his hand, his knuckles white.
“You don’t have to leave…” Johnny’s voice cracked, raw and desperate. “Just– please. Let me try again, V. Let me fix it.”
She didn’t stop folding clothes into the box, didn’t even glance his way. Her voice was flat, emotionless in a way that felt even more brutal than shouting.
“I’m tired, Johnny.” She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “So fucking tired of giving you second chances.”
She tossed a shirt in the box harder than necessary, hands shaking.
“You’ve made it clear,” she continued. “You can’t handle this shit. Not me. Not the baby. Not even your damn self.”
Johnny stepped forward, pain painted across his face like graffiti on a crumbling wall.
“I can, V. Just–”
“No,” she snapped, spinning to face him. “You can’t. And now that I’m not dying? I don’t need to lie to myself anymore. I can take care of this baby. By myself, without you.”
He flinched.
“I don’t want you near me. Or her.”
That hit like a bullet to the gut. Johnny staggered back a step, eyes wide. “You… You can’t do that.”
“Yeah?” She set a photo into the box, hard. “I can. And I will. We don’t fucking need you, Johnny.”
He stood there, helpless and frantic, hands twitching at his side. Then he began pacing, fingers clawing through his hair as if trying to rip the panic from his skull.
“She is my daughter, too, V! You can’t just take her away from me–”
“You made it clear you never wanted her. She’s mine .” She said firmly, lifting Johnny’s guitar from the couch.
His eyes darted to it. “What’re you–?”
She didn’t let him finish. “Kerry gave this to me. For her. It was never yours.”
Her grip tightened on the neck of the guitar as she shoved it gently but definitively into the box.
Johnny crumpled.
Just folded to the floor like the weight of everything had finally crushed his spine. His back hit the wall with a dull thud, knees pulled up, one shaking hand raking down his face.
“You’re not… leaving me anything, are you?” he murmured, breath shaky.
V turned slowly, watching him on the ground.
No fire left in him now. Just wreckage.
Without a word, she reached into the box and pulled out a photo. The one from Kerry’s– Johnny’s hand over her stomach, his smile soft and real. The same picture that Goro had picked up and commented on this morning.
She tossed it onto the floor beside him.
“There,” she said coldly. “Now you can always remember what you lost.”
Johnny’s gaze dropped to the photo.
His silver hand came up, covering his face.
Then he broke.
The sobs came quietly and jagged, shuddering out of him like his body couldn’t hold them back anymore. Each breath hitching, something crumbling inside him. He folded in on himself, shoulders trembling.
V froze.
She had never heard Johnny Silverhand sob.
Not when he saw the lack of a grave.
Not when they said goodbye at Mikoshi.
Not even when Alt died.
She’d seen his eyes glass over, seen him stare off, lost and grieving, tears of course, but this?
This was different.
This was real.
This made her stop.
The shirt in her hand slipped from her fingers and fell gently onto the bed. Her arms hung at her sides, suddenly weightless.
The first time she heard him sob out loud…
Was because of her.
Because she was walking out.
Because she was taking their daughter with her.
Because he might never see his family again.
Johnny looked up at her through red, tear-swollen eyes.
“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, broken. “I can’t. You’re the only reason I’m still here. Without you, V–”
His voice cracked, a sob hitching in his throat. “–I’ll probably just… just fucking do it. What I should have done decades ago in that shitty hotel. End it. What’s the fucking point without you?”
Her stomach turned violently.
The guilt that had been pressing lightly against her ribs turned into something dense and cold.
She crouched down next to him, her voice low and steely.
“If you do that,” she said, “I’ll make sure she never knows who you are. I’ll make sure your daughter never learns your fucking name.”
He looked up at her, grief and terror carved into his features.
And she saw it.
The weakness.
The smallness of him.
The pathetic shell.
She stood back up, sneering.
God.
For once in her life, she actually agreed with her father.
V lifted the box into her arms, heavier than before, though not from the added weight. No– what made it heavy was finality. She was done. Finished with this apartment, with him, with all of it. Done pretending it could still work. She turned toward the door, ready to disappear from this life for good.
Behind her, Johnny's voice cut sharply through the silence.
“You don’t get to just leave.”
She spun around to face him, eyes flaring with fury. “I can and I will.”
He stood up now, beating her toward the front of the door, blocking it with his body, his arms trembling slightly. “I’m not letting you just walk out.”
“Get the fuck out of my way, Johnny.”
Tears were back in his eyes, making everything about him seem younger, softer, weaker.
“I love you, V.”
“Well, I hate you.” Her voice cracked, but she kept going. “You’re still just a goddamn parasite who can’t seem to stay the fuck away.”
She tried to shoulder past him. He reached out and grabbed her arm.
V froze.
Her voice turned cold, dangerous. “Let me go, Johnny. Don’t touch me.”
He just shook his head. “No.”
Her glare intensified. “Let. Me. Go.”
Again, he said, “No,” and pushed her slightly back from the door.
She set the box down, trying to pull away, voice rising with each word.
“ Don’t touch me! ”
He grabbed her other arm now, trying to keep her in place.
She struggled, writhing, eyes blazing with fury.
The lights above them flickered. Once. Twice.
Then he kissed her.
Hard. Desperate. Stubborn.
She jerked herself back, and she let out a sharp cry of pain, hands flying to her stomach.
“Agh–!”
She hunched, pretending.
Johnny immediately pulled back, panic overtaking him.
“Shit. V–? V! The baby–?! Fuck! Is it coming?!”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she kicked him.
Right in the shin.
He hunched over with a grunt.
She bolted for the door.
But he moved faster.
In a blink, his Sandy lit, and suddenly, he was there.
Before she could reach the door, his arms locked around her and lifted her away.
“NO!” she screamed, thrashing wildly in his grip. “ Let go of me! ”
She snapped.
Everything snapped.
And the Blackwall answered.
With a crack of red-pink lightning, she unleashed it.
It surged from her hands, sparking and screaming through the apartment like a live wire. Johnny cried out as the blast his him, his whole body convulsing. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his head, groaning in pain.
The lights blew out one by one. Screens dimmed. Every edge of their apartment fell into darkness.
V dropped to her knees beside him, panic breaking through the haze of anger.
“Oh, shit. Shit. Johnny–”
She reached out.
He flinched.
Her hand froze midair.
His eyes, wide with shock and horror, locked on her. “Militech… they had you messing with the Blackwall. That’s how you cured yourself.”
Guilt hit her like a shockwave.
She didn’t answer.
Johnny forced himself upright, trembling and unsteady. He took a single step back from her.
“Do you even know what you’ve done? Militech. You’re their puppet now.” He stated, voice hollow.
“Johnny–”
“ Don’t. ”
He turned, staggering toward the door.
“Johnny, wait. Please–”
“Stay the fuck away from me.” He backed further toward the door. “You’re a fucking cyberpsycho. ”
The words felt like a bullet straight through her heart.
She froze in place.
Watching him.
Watching him look at her like she was a stranger. A monster.
And suddenly she wasn’t twenty-four anymore.
She was fourteen.
Standing in her brother’s room.
Father’s gun in hand.
Hands shaking as she screamed at him to drop his. As she–
No.
No, no, no–
“If you want me gone so bad…” He didn’t look at her. “Then fine. You’ll never see me again.”
There was something in his voice, final.
Too final.
The door opened.
And then he was gone.
She dropped to the floor like her legs had vanished, box forgotten, air gone.
“Johnny…”
Her voice dissolved into ragged sobs.
“I’m not,” she whispered.
“I’m not…”
Her left hand twitched violently on the ground beside her.
But no one was there to see it.
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
The first thing V noticed was the pounding in her head, blunt and rhythmic, like her skull was caught in a vice. It came before her eyes even opened.
Then came the buzzing low, ambient, like a hum vibrating just beneath reality. A strange kind of awareness, like an extra sense, had been grafted onto her. It was everywhere and nowhere. Familiar yet alien.
Her hand instinctively reached for her neck, brushing the sore spot where Song had slotted the chip. Fresh stitches. Still tender. She hissed through her teeth.
“Nice…” she muttered. “Just great.”
She sat up slowly, gazing at the world realigned. The couch beneath her was soft, well-worn. The smell in the air was reathy, slightly damp, not the acrid sterility of the Cynosure chamber. She wasn’t in that wire-ridden hell anymore.
Must’ve passed out.
“You shouldn’t move too fast,” Songbird’s voice called from nearby. “You’re still syncing. Give yourself time to orient.”
V blinked, trying to focus. Her vision sharpened and confirmed what her gut had already guessed.
Song’s hideout.
The little sanctuary tucked high above Dogtown’s edge, sheltered behind a wall of vegetation and rusted metal, overlooking the chaotic sprawl below. The sun had started to dip, painting the skyline in warm golds and purples.
“How long was I out?” V asked, her voice scratchy.
Song winced. “A while. Seven hours.”
V swore under her breath.
Song walked over and handed her a battered bottle of water. V took it without hesitation and chugged half in one go, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Song said, settling beside her on the couch.
V took a long moment to breathe, trying to collect herself. Then reached for her holo and lit it up.
Her inbox exploded.
Missed calls, texts, and system pings scrolled endlessly, Goro, Rogue, Panam, Angel. Dozens of messages, most of them marked urgent. A deepening sense of dread spread through her gut as she scrolled.
But not a single word from Johnny.
Not a single thing about Johnny.
She killed the feed and slipped the holo back into her jacket pocket, jaw clenching.
“So,” she said, breaking the silence. “What’d I miss?”
Songbird leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “After you passed out, I got you out of there. Everyone else was still unconscious. I didn’t want to leave them, but I couldn’t risk staying any longer. Comms were lighting up, figured I’d get you somewhere safe and circle back.”
V let out a breath, rubbing her temples as the pain flared again. Only it wasn’t just pain, it was buzzing again. That presence in her head, growing louder, clearer. Almost like…
She paused, eyes narrowing.
“I can feel it,” she said quietly. “The Net. It’s like… like it’s under my skin.”
Song nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s the chip settling in. You’ve got access now.”
V turned toward her. “So it worked? ”
“Oh, it worked.”
There was a beat.
“You wanna try it out?”
V grinned faintly. “Fuck yeah.”
Song helped her up. The soreness in V’s muscles still lingered, but the exhaustion was beginning to lift, replaced by something else, a thrum of raw potential. They stepped out onto the hideout’s balcony. Below, Dogtown buzzed with the usual chaos, sirens echoing faintly, distant music thumping from some back-alley bar.
“See that car down there?” Song asked, pointing toward a rusted-out coupe parked near a half-collapsed fence. “Try turning it on.”
V instinctively opened her cyberdeck, bringing up her HUD, ready to quickhack.
“Nope,” Song interrupted. “No quickhacks. Not this time.”
V blinked. “Then how–?”
“Feel for it,” Song said. “There’s a current around you now. An energy. The Blackwall isn’t just data, it’s presence. Focus on the car. Center yourself around it. And push. ”
V narrowed her eyes and drew in a slow breath.
The world quieted.
And there it was, the hum, clearer now. The buzz wasn’t just in her head; it was through her, like her nervous system had fused with a radio tower. She reached for the car, not with her hands, but with her mind.
A flicker.
The headlights flashed. Then the engine sputtered, coughed, and roared to life. A faint static has red and pink, wrapped around the car like smoke before fading.
V took a step back, staring.
“ Fuck, ” she breathed. “It felt like… nothing. Like breathing. Like it was always there.”
Song was grinning now. “Congratulations.”
V turned to her slowly.
“Welcome to the club.”
V couldn’t help it; she was grinning. Even though the a dull ache in her neck, the distant hum in her head, and the exhaustion still clinging to her bones, she felt good. Different, but good.
She dropped down, exhaling as her muscles finally relaxed. Songbird joined her, settling beside her with a contented sigh. The sky above Dogtown had shifted to a burnished orange, clouds tinged pink like old bruises. For a second, it almost looked peaceful.
V stared down at her hands, scarred, calloused, twitching slightly with that ever-present buzz, and then back at Song.
“This is really real?” she asked. “Like, really happening?”
Song tilted her head, amused. “I dunno. Could be we’re in some simulated reality, secretly being manipulated by machine overlords.”
V rolled her eyes and gave her a light shove. “You know what I mean.”
Song chuckled. “Yeah, I do.”
“This kind of power…” V said, voice softer now. “I always thought it was just a netrunner thing. Or like, your thing. Something you were built to do. But now it’s just… me? Anyone could do this with the right chip?”
Song’s smirk faded. She looked out over the rooftops, gaze distant.
“No,” she said quietly. “You’re the first person given this kind of access aside from me.”
V glanced at her, brow furrowing.
“See this?” Song gestured toward the chrome running up the back of her head, disappearing beneath her jacket. “Militech didn’t make this easy. I was basically a prototype. It took them years to refine it down into something they could cram into a single shard. You’re lucky.”
V frowned. “But that’s not right…”
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
“I remember something my father said. He said I shouldn’t have had access. That something went wrong.”
Song winced. “Didn’t go wrong. Went right, just not in the way he wanted.”
She turned toward V, eyes serious now.
“When you were on the operating table, the lead surgeon was working with my people. He disabled the failsafe embedded in the chip. Gave you full access. Militech never intended for you to have full access.”
V sat in silence, watching the orange sky turn a little darker.
“So what you’re saying is,” she said slowly, “this thing in my neck… could kill me?”
“No,” Song replied. “That’s the thing. The Blackwall saved you. It won’t kill you now. You’re attuned to it.”
“But it was killing you, ” V said sharply. “Slowly.”
Song hesitated. “That’s because my body was rejecting it. I was wired differently. You… well, you know…”
V let the words hang in the air, unsettled. Her thoughts turned to him as they always did.
Johnny.
Johnny was the original carrier of the Blackwall strain. Still was. Had been walking around in her head all this time, holding onto that secret. Feeding her carefully sculpted versions of the truth.
And then, when she explicitly asked him, begging him, not to kill her father, he made a different choice.
Ran off mid-op to settle his personal vendetta. Left his team behind.
Lied to me. Again.
She clenched her jaw and stared down at the rusted-out car still idling in the lot below. Her eyes narrowed. With a breath, she reached out and shut it off. The buzz in her head dimmed.
“This… power,” V said. “Are we even sure it’s a good idea? That I’m a good idea? What if I start relying on it too much? What does this do to the Blackwall? To the AIs behind it?”
“You’re asking if you could tear a hole in the Blackwall,” Song said. “Let all the monsters loose.”
V didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
“Short answer? No,” Song went on. “Long answer? Sure. If there were ten of you and you were all firing off that power twenty-four-seven like fireworks on New Year’s Eve, maybe.”
She smiled faintly.
“But you’re not. You’re one person. And I trust you.”
V didn’t reply right away. She just sat there, staring out over the edge of the city, trying to decide if she trusted herself.
V ran her hands through her hair, eyes flicking over the skyline like she was trying to find something out there, maybe a reason, maybe a sign.
“So this is it?” she asked, her voice low. “This ability… that is the thing that’s gonna bring down Militech for good?”
Songbird didn’t smile, didn’t nod. She just said, “Yes.”
V turned toward her. “So what now? What the hell do we do from here?”
Song correctly her gently. “Not we. You. The rest is up to you, V.”
V blinked. “Wait, what?”
“You keep doing what you’re doing,” Song said, rising to her feet and brushing invisible dust from her jacket. “Running ops. Taking out Militech convoys. Hitting their infrastructure wherever it hurts. The difference now is, you’ve got an edge they don’t know how to counter.”
There was a tightness to her tone. Final.
V stood up too, suddenly uneasy. “What do you mean, up to me? You’re still part of the crew. You’re still in this.”
Songbird hesitated. Bit her lip.
“Song,” V said, voice sharp now, stepping closer. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I have to,” Song said softly. “It’s for the best. The crew's gonna lose their minds when they find out what happened. Judy, Panam, Angel… Johnny. Someone’s gonna need to take the fall for what went down. And if it’s not gonna be you, it’ll be me.”
V clenched her jaw. “Fuck that. You’re not some disposable asset. You’re part of my crew. Hell, you’re my friend, Song. You think I’ve got a long list of people I trust right now?”
Song turned away.
“I trust you,” V said firmly. “You hear me?”
Song didn’t respond. She just stood there, arms wrapped around herself like armor.
V crossed the space between them and grabbed her arm, not forcefully, but enough to make her stop. Song looked down at the contact, then up, meeting V’s eyes.
“I trust you,” V repeated, voice a little quieter. “With my life.”
The silence between them deepened, thick with unsaid things. They stood like that for a long time, staring at each other.
And then it crept in, that same feeling that had been haunting the edges of V’s thoughts since the day Song appeared as another engram in her head.
She’d done everything for her. Risked it all. Sent her to the moon. And maybe, yeah, maybe it was selfish. Maybe she’d always known Song was playing her, even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it.
But feelings didn’t care about logic. Or betrayal. Or survival.
Suddenly, Song leaned in and pulled V into a tight embrace. V’s arms wrapped around her instinctively, her chest tightening.
“I’m sorry,” Song whispered. “I’m lying to you again.”
They pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together. V gave a shaky smile.
“I know.”
Song’s breath hitched. “The only reason I got into contact with Silverhand, rescued you, and joined your crew was to get that chip back into your head. That’s why Blue Eyes sent me back to Earth.”
V swallowed the lump in her throat. “I figured. Didn’t need Johnny screaming it in my ear every other second. Always knew you had some kind of agenda.”
She looked Song in the eye.
“Am I stupid for simply not caring?”
“No,” Song whispered, reaching up to brush her fingers against V’s cheek. “You’re not stupid. No one’s ever done what you’ve done for me.”
There was pain in her voice now, real and raw.
“But we live two separate lives,” she said. “I have people I need to get back to. You have…”
V shrugged. “I have Night City.”
They laughed bitterly, and for a moment, neither spoke.
“Maybe,” V said, voice almost inaudible, “in another life…”
Song kissed her then, carefully, like it might be the last thing she ever did. It didn’t last long, just enough to make V’s heart seize up.
“Goodbye, Val,” Song said, stepping back.
“Will I ever see you again?” V asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Song didn’t reply.
She turned and walked away, and V stood there, alone again, the hum of the Net quiet in her head.
V called the Kusanagi with a flick of her wrist, the sleek roar of the engine echoing through Dogtown’s narrow corridors as the bike rolled up beside her. She straddled the machine, fingers curling around the handlebars. No helmets tonight, she needed the wind, the speed, the road. She needed the noise outside to match the one inside.
The ride out of Dogtown was quiet, empty. The kind of silence Night City rarely offered. She didn’t mind. It gave her time to think. Time to not think. Just… breathe. The road gave her clarity. Let her avoid the spiral clawing at the back of her mind.
She was headed for Kerry Eurodyne’s villa in Westbrook. The plan was simple: pick up Jackie, thank Kerry for babysitting, and deal with the fallout in the morning. Her head still buzzed from the Blackwall link, her heart from Song’s goodbye. Yeah, maybe taking the bike wasn’t the smartest idea, but she could always call a Delamain to get her home.
Assuming home was still a thing.
The op had gone sideways in too many directions. Her crew probably already knew something. Or at least had hints. She didn’t even want to look at the newsfeeds. She didn’t want confirmation that Johnny had gone through with it, that he’d killed her father. She could already feel it in her bones. The bastard was predictable like that.
V pulled up to Kerry’s driveway and killed the engine. The villa loomed quiet, too late for parties, too early for regrets. She knocked at the front door, the sharp raps echoing down the steps.
It took a couple of minutes, but eventually the door creaked open. Kerry stood there, blearily-eyed and shirtless beneath his robe. Predictable.
“V?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his face. “What’re you doing here?”
V crossed her arms. “I’m here for my daughter.”
Kerry blinked like he’d been hit with a stun baton. “Angel picked her up.”
V’s stomach dropped.
He winced as he watched her expression shift from surprise to fury. “Shit. You didn’t know.”
“No, fucking gonk, I didn’t.” She pushed past him into the house, storming toward the kitchen like she owned the place.
“Jesus, V,” Kerry said, trailing after her. “What the hell happened? The op go sideways?”
V didn’t answer. Just opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and drank straight from it. No glass, no hesitation. A Silverhand move, too much of him had rubbed off already. She could feel it. Taste it.
Kerry watched her. “...Guessing that’s a yes.”
V slammed the bottle back onto the counter. “What do you think? ”
“Right. Right.” Kerry muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now that you mention it… Angel did seem kinda rattled. Upset, maybe. Should’ve waited for you to come by, or for Johnny.”
“You think?” V snapped, venom in her voice.
Kerry sighed, “So how bad was the op?”
“The op went fine. My side of it, anyway. Johnny just screwed everything up. As usual.”
Kerry made a face. “Typical.”
Kerry sighed and took the whiskey from her, pouring himself a glass. “Can I be frank?”
“Go ahead. Already pissed at you anyway.”
He chewed his lip for a beat, then said, “I never thought you and Johnny should’ve gotten together. Was always gonna be a disaster.”
V narrowed her eyes. “Jealous?”
“Not even close. At least not of you. ” He gestured with his glass. “Honestly. You’re too good for him.”
She snorted. “Coulda told me that in ‘77.”
“The chemistry between you two… it was intense. Sickening, even, when you first showed up at my door after Johnny came back. But it was a mess waiting to happen. And when you got knocked up, I was praying the kid wasn’t Silverhands.”
V said nothing.
“Not surprised it was,” he said with a shrug. “What did surprise me was that you managed to rebuild something after everything. Even after you died. ”
Her gaze darkened. “You got a point to all this rambling, Eurodyne?”
Kerry sighed and took another sip. “Not really. Just… surprised, I guess. That you two lasted as long as you did. Even with a baby. That’s not nothing.”
V leaned against the counter, drained the last of her drink, and set the bottle down. “Yeah… surprised me too. Having someone override your mind, literally, does something to your soul.”
She pushed away from the counter and headed for the door. “Doesn’t matter now. Got my kid to grab. Gotta get her back from my input’s old ex. Fucking hate my life.”
“Good luck,” Kerry called after her.
V flipped him off on her way out the door, earning a chuckle from the man in the robe.
The door clicked shut behind her, and she was alone again, the city buzzing in the distance like static in her skull.
V’s first instinct was to pull out her hol. Muscle memory more than anything.
She thumbed through the flood of messages, her optics scanning rapidly. Most of them are from Angel. Angry block of text packed with exclamation points, half of them all-caps.
So, she did.
She tapped the call icon, sliding onto her Kusanagi just as she pulled out from Kerry’s driveway, the city lights bleeding past in a blur of neon. It barely rang before Angel picked up.
“What the fuck happened with Song?” Angel’s voice exploded through the line, raw and furious. “One second we were talking, the next you’ve got me on the ground short-circuited! Woke up with Panam unconscious next to me, and both of you gone!”
V didn’t answer. Just kept driving. Listening.
Angel wasn’t done. “Oh, and by the way? I figured it out. What that place was. Could’ve fooled me. Could’ve fooled all of us. What the fuck is wrong with you, V? Do you even know what you’ve done?!”
Still, V said nothing. Her knuckles tightened around the handlebars, jaw locked tight. She spoke only when her voice was steady, cold.
“Where’s my daughter?”
There was a pause. The line crackled with tension.
“I’m not telling you shit,” Angel snapped. “Judy’s in the Watson Medical Center, by the way. You know, in case you gave a single fuck about her.”
V’s voice rose, sharp and furious. “I’m not talking about Judy. Where the fuck is Jackie?”
“Not telling you anything, ” Angel growled. “Did a little research on my own. The Blackwall, V. Really? Do you have any idea how stupid that is? Especially since it's the very thing that made you snap. That’s the reason you killed Vik.”
V’s world tilted.
She pulled over hard, skidding to a stop near the edge of Corpo Plaza. The spires of the towers glinted down at her, casting her in a long shadow she couldn’t escape.
Her breath caught.
“Don’t–” she said, her voice cracking like glass. “You don’t get to say his name.”
Angel didn’t stop. “But that’s what happened, V! The Blackwall drove you insane. You’re a fucking cyberpsycho in denial.”
V wanted to scream, wanted to slam her fist against the fuel tank of the bike. She wanted to find Angel and beat her down, make her eat every fucking word. But she didn’t. She breathed deeply. Again.
Angel wanted her to snap. That’s what this was. Some twisted trial to prove V made the wrong choice. A trap.
She wouldn’t fall for it.
V’s voice came low and even. “You can’t take my daughter. She’s not yours. Now, calmly tell me where she is.”
“No,” Angel said. “I fucking quit. Panam, Judy, we all quit. Your little merc crew? We’re done. You went too far. Even Rogue’s pissed.”
Rogue.
V blinked. The Afterlife. Of course. That’s where they always regrouped after a run.
That’s where Jackie would be.
She didn’t say anything more. Just let out a low breath, shoulders relaxing.
“Go fuck yourself, Alt,” V said, and hung up.
She flicked her wrist, revved the Kusanagi’s engine, and pulled back onto the road.
V tore through the city streets like a woman possessed, the Kusanagi’s engine screaming beneath her. But it wasn’t the roar of the engine or the blur of neon that made her head pound; it was the rage. A dull, throbbing ache behind her temples that pulsed in rhythm with every memory, every betrayal, every name hurled at her like a blade.
Cyberpsycho.
She gritted her teeth.
She wasn’t a fucking cyberpsycho. She was sane, more sane than she’d been in months. It was everyone else who had lost their minds, clinging to a version of her that no longer existed. No, the veil had lifted, and V could see clearly now. Every fake smile, every half-truth, every hand placed just close enough to her back to stab her.
And Angel?
Alt fucking Cunningham could rot. The audacity. Like she was better, like she hadn’t once stripped a woman of her own body and mind for some supposed higher purpose.
One kind of psychopath takes a child from her mother and then calls her insane.
V pulled into the Afterlife’s parking lot, the bike skidding to a stop with a sharp growl. She cut the engine and just sat there for a moment. Breathed. Tried to steady herself. In, out. Focus on he rhythm. Don’t spiral. She couldn’t show up like this, shaking, angry, wild-eyed. Jackie needs her mother, not a walking breakdown. And if Rogue caught even a whiff of it, she wouldn’t get a second chance.
One more breath.
V stepped off the bike and entered the bar.
The Afterlife was quiet tonight. Just a few mercs loitering near the booths, low voices buzzling like background static. Claire was behind the bar, wiping glasses with practiced rhythm. V didn’t look at her, but Claire saw her anyway, offering a brief, sympathetic smile that V didn’t return.
“If you’re looking for Rogue,” Claire said gently, “she’s in her room.”
V gave a stiff nod. “Thanks.”
She walked toward the back hall, boots heavy against the metal floor. The last time she’d walked this way, she was a wreck, barely alive, memories scattered like ash, not yet aware that she’d brought a life into the world. A baby. Her baby.
So damn gonk of her.
She stopped outside the familiar door and knocked three times.
“It’s V,” she said, voice lower than she meant. “Claire said I’d find you here.”
The door opened slowly.
Rogue stood in the threshold, her ever-stern face softened by something V couldn’t quite place. In her arms was Jackie, tiny, alert, nestled against the older woman’s hip like she belonged there.
“Come in,” Rogue said quietly.
V entered without a word, the door closing behind her. Rogue gestured to the couch, and V sat down. No interrogation. No judgment. Just… silence. Rogue lowered herself beside her, then gently handed Jackie over without ceremony.
V held her daughter close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her hands trembled as she did, and the weight of her daughter helped anchor her, pulling her out of the chaos that had become her life. She blinked, surprised to feel the sting of tears rising. She hadn’t even known they were there.
They sat like that for a long time. Jackie cooed softly in her arms, blissfully unaware of the minefield her mother just stepped out of.
“You doing okay?” Rogue asked finally, voice careful, as if she didn’t want to break the moment.
V gave a half-laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Not really, Rogue.”
Rogue nodded, looking between mother and child. “I don’t blame you, you know. Probably would’ve done the same if I were your age, in your situation.”
There was no sarcasm. Just honesty.
V didn’t respond at first. She stared down at Jackie, watching the baby curl her tiny fingers around her own. She was peaceful. Safe.
“Why’d you do it?” Rogue asked.
V hesitated. Then spoke the truth. “To give her a better future.”
She snorted at her own words, bitterly amused. “Stupid, I know. Tearing down Militech isn’t gonna magically fix Night City.”
Rogue studied her for a while, as if weighing her next words carefully. Finally, she said, “Johnny’s looking for you.”
V didn’t respond. Just held Jackie a little tighter.
“What are you going to do?” Rogue asked.
That question lingered, heavier than any weapon V had ever held.
She wasn’t used to kindness from Rogue. Not like this. But maybe it had always been there, hidden under layers of amor, forged over decades of betrayal and loss. Maybe Rogue knew more about this kind of pain than she let on.
V looked up, met her gaze. “I don’t feel like going home.”
Rogue nodded slowly. “Then don’t.”
“Alright,” V said softly.
Rogue gave her a nod, the kind that meant more than words. “You can stay as long as you need, kiddo.”
V pressed another kiss to Jackie’s head, inhaling the soft scent of her baby’s hair. The simple act grounded her, settled something deep in her chest that had been unraveling for hours. She muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” to Rogue without looking up.
Rogue, arms crossed now, watched the two of them, V and Jackie, with something close to nostalgia, or maybe regret. The moment stretched between them until V finally looked up and met her gaze.
“Why are you acting like this?” she asked. “Angel said you were pissed.”
Rogue chuckled under her breath. “I was. At first.”
She shrugged, almost sheepishly. “But then I held Jackie in my arms and… I don’t know. It reminded me of everything. All of it.”
Her voice dropped, her tone more vulnerable than V had ever heard it. “I told the other version of you things I never told anyone. I really like her. And you’re still her. Maybe I just needed some time.”
V blinked. Just stared numbly at the ground.
I’m not her.
Rogue went on. “It’s tough. You bond with someone, tell ‘em things you’ve never told a soul, and then… they’re gone. And when they come back, they don’t remember you the same way. That hurts more than I expected.”
V swallowed the lump in her throat. “Are you ever gonna tell me what you told her?”
Rogue gave a dry laugh and shook her head. “No. No, I don’t think I ever will. Afraid that’ll have to die with me.”
That was that.
V nodded, accepting the boundary for what it was. “Thanks,” she said again, standing up with Jackie in her arms. “But I should get going.”
Rogue rose with her, walked her to the door. “Good luck out there,” she said, softer now. “Doesn’t matter what happens next, V. I’ll always be there for you. Always.”
“Thanks, Rogue.”
She stepped out into the hallway and made her way back through the Afterlife. Claire gave her a nod as she passed the bar, more understanding in her eyes than V could handle right now.
Outside, the cool night air hit her like a balm. V looked at her bike, standing silently under the parking lights. But something in her resisted the ride. She wasn’t ready to go home. Wasn’t ready to return to wherever that was.
So she walked.
Jackie whimpered softly in her arms, tiny hands grasping the netrunning suit, clutching tighter. V pulled her close, whispering soothing nonsense as they weaved through the city crowds. Lights flashed. Distant laughter echoed. But it all blurred around them, just noise.
She wasn’t far now.
The familiar glow of Misty’s Esoterica came into view, its neon sign flickering like it always did. V paused outside the shop, wondering if Misty would still be there.
She stepped inside.
The scent always hit her first, incense, safe, old wood. Misty stood with her back to the entrance, arranging something on a shelf. She turned, and the instant her eyes landed on V, they lit up.
“Heya, V.”
V smiled, exhausted but relieved.
Misty stepped forward without hesitation and gently took Jackie from her arms, cooing softly. “Long day?” she asked.
“You could say that,” V said with a heavy exhale.
Misty greeted Jackie like an old friend, murmured something sweet, then handed her back. “What brings you by?”
V hesitated, then gave a sheepish shrug. “I know this sounds stupid, but… could you give her a reading?”
Misty raised an eyebrow, then grinned. “Not stupid at all. Babies are fun to read. Let’s see what the universe has to say about her little soul.”
She pulled out her tarot deck and sat on the floor, motioning for V to join her. “Let Jackie touch a few. We’ll count whatever she taps as her pull.”
V settled Jackie in front of the spread, guiding her gently. The little girl flailed her tiny hands with unintentional purpose, tapping a few cards while babbling nonsense.
Misty flipped the chosen ones over.
The Star.
The Chariot.
Queen of Cups.
She smiled, nodding as if the cards confirmed something she already knew. “She’s got a future full of hope. Strength. Compassion. This kid’s gonna be something special.”
V didn’t say anything. Just took in the words. Couldn’t dissolve the sinking feeling appearing in her chest.
“You can go up to the roof if you want,” Misty offered, voice soft. “That’s where I go when I need to think. Seems like you’ve got a lot to think about.”
V looked at her and gave a tired but genuine smile. “Thanks, Misty.”
She took Jackie back in her arms, heading through the back of the shop. The elevator hummed as she stepped in and pressed the button for the roof. The doors closed, and V looked down at her daughter.
But that feeling wasn’t gone, that sinking feeling she couldn’t suppress.
The elevator doors opened with a quiet ding, and V stepped out. Jackie stirred lightly in her arms, and V adjusted her gently before ascending the short flight of stairs to the rooftop. She reached the door and opened it slowly.
There it was.
The city stretched endlessly before her, bathed in harsh neon and soft haze, just like she remembered. She let out a heavy sigh, letting the warm night air hit her skin. It had been nearly two years since she she stood on this rooftop, or so the world insisted. For V, it hadn’t even been a year. Eight months since she woke up in a life that didn’t belong to her. Eight months of unraveling everything.
She stepped forward and took a seat in one of the weathered plastic chairs. The same one she had collapsed into the last time, back when her body had been slowly giving out, and her options had been running out faster. She remembered staring ahead, silent, letting her mind wander, until Johnny had shown up. Just the two of them, planning to storm Arasaka Tower. No backup. No goodbyes.
She had taken his hand then. Said yes. Not because she believed it would work, hell, not because she even wanted to, but because it was plain suicidal.
Now, she looked down at Jackie in her arms. Her daughter stirred softly in her sleep, unaware of the world, the weight, the madness that birthed her.
“I thought I got used to this,” V whispered. “Thought I adjusted to a life that wasn’t mine…”
But now, with her head cleared and the veil finally lifted, the truth hit her like a punch to the gut. She hadn’t adjusted. She had survived. Adapted to someone else’s choices, someone else’s story.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “I really did lose my life.”
Her own path was stolen before it had even begun. And Johnny… damn him. That man made it all so much harder. Complicated every choice, every memory. V had always thought she might be able to care out her own way eventually. But with Johnny and Jackie, maybe there wasn’t a way forward that was hers alone.
Still, he was looking for her.
And now that the air was calm and her head was clear, now was as good a time as any.
She pulled out her holo, opened their old message thread. She stared at it for a long time before typing.
She hit send and closed her holo.
The noise of Night City filled the silence. Car horns, screaming neon, the low hum of distant sirens. A chaos she came to know intimately. But this time, it didn’t feel oppressive; it just was. Part of the world. And now, maybe she could finally decide how she wanted to live in it.
Maybe she could make that choice.
She pressed another kiss to Jackie’s head, the familiar surge of guilt already swelling in her chest.
It didn’t take long. Johnny must’ve already been nearby.
She heard the footstep before she saw him, boots on metal, deliberate and slow. She turned her head just as the rooftop door opened. There he was.
Johnny stepped through his face unreadable, and his eyes locked onto hers. They just stared at each other for a long, stretched-out second.
Then he walked to the edge of the root and sat down.
“Then, let’s talk,” he said quietly.
V stared out over the city, letting the silence stretch as the skyline glowed in restless pulses of neon and halogen. She didn’t look at Johnny when she finally spoke.
“I take it you already know what I did.”
Johnny didn’t respond. He just sat there, silent, legs dangling over the edge of the rooftop.
“Song gave me access to the Blackwall again,” V added, quieter now.
Still, he said nothing.
V turned toward him slightly, waiting. But he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if the lights of Night City might give him an answer she couldn’t.
“Where’s So Mi?” he finally asked, voice flat.
“Long gone.”
Johnny huffed a butter breath and gave her a humorless smirk. “Figures.”
V’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got some explaining to do, too, Johnny.”
He glanced sideways at her, guarded.
“The original firewall? You wanna talk about that?” she continued. “Or are we just skipping past the past where you’ve been a fucking hypocrite?”
Johnny ran a hand through his hair, slow and frustrated. “It’s complicated.”
V crossed her arms and waited. “Try me.”
He didn’t look at her when he answered.
“Maybe I don’t remember all the Militech shit, alright? After you brought me back, it was Angel who reminded me. Said I’d made a deal, that I’d helped build the foundation for the damn firewall. Back then, I didn’t even understand what it was. I was… twenty-something. Stupid. Angry. Thought I was smarter than everyone. That I could outsmart Militech.”
His leg bounced restlessly now, never firing under the surface.
V’s jaw clenched. “You said you’d stop keeping secrets from me.”
Johnny’s expression twisted. He didn’t reply.
“Yet another promise broken,” she added coldly.
Now he turned toward her, brows furrowed. “What are you going on about?”
“You killed my father.”
The words came sharp and fast, cutting the air between them.
Johnny’s whole body tensed. He stood up suddenly, a step closer. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
V stood too, staring him down. “Goro said you went after–”
“An executive, ” Johnny interrupted, eyes hard. “Not your father. Militech’s goddamn COO. The same piece of shit who got me to sign with them in the first place.”
He shook his head, almost laughing. “Jesus, Val. No. You’ve got it twisted again. You really think I’d do that? To you?”
V didn’t respond.
“Godamn,” he muttered. “I’m not cruel enough to rob you of your vengeance. You should know me better than that.”
Jackie whimpered in V’s arms, sensing the tension between her parents. V gently bounced her, trying to soothe her, but didn’t take her eyes off Johnny.
“You could’ve said something. Called me. Instead of going AWOL.”
Johnny stepped back, shaking his head. “And you didn’t have to go and jam the Blackwall into your head again. After everything. The thing fucking killed you, Val.”
“You killed me,” V snapped.
“Stop it,” Johnny growled, stepping forward again. “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to make the choice. What happened to you… You lost your mind. Went mad. I did what I had to.”
“I’m not her,” V said, breath tight.
“No shit,” Johnny replied, cold and bitter. “You think I don’t see that?”
His hands were fists at his sides now. He turned his back on her, then turned back around again, pacing like a caged animal.
“You know,” he said, more to himself than her. “I’ve done a lot of thinking. Ever since you came back. About all of it.”
V held her breath. “And?”
Johnny looked at her, eyes dark, empty in a way that hurt more than anything he’d said so far.
“I don’t love you.”
The words hit harder than a bullet.
V didn’t say anything at first. She just stared at Johnny, let his words wash over her like acid, then imagined, just for a moment, pushing him off that rooftop. How easy it would be. One step forward, one hard shove, and it would all be over. The yelling. The lying. The heartbreak. Him.
Instead, she muttered, “Could fucking care less.”
Johnny watched her. Unflinching.
“It’s true,” he said after a moment, voice flat. “I don’t love you. Don’t feel anything anymore. Honestly… I care about you about as much as someone cares for a goddamn joytoy.”
He shrugged with cruel detachment. “You’re right, you’re not her.”
Again.
“Should’ve seen it sooner. Much sooner,” he continued, as if he were trying to convince himself now. “You’re not her. You’re not the Valerie I loved. You just wear her face. Just a fucking ghost… haunting me.”
V looked away, jaw clenched, Jackie squirming softly in her arms.
“You wanna know the difference between the two of you?” Johnny asked.
She didn’t answer.
So he did. “You love me.”
V let out a sharp, bitter scoff. “I don’t love you.”
Johnny took a step forward. His firsts were trembling now. “You’re lying.”
She met his gaze squarely. “I’m not.”
“You look at me like I’m some fucking savior,” he spat. “Like I’m the only thing in this city that means anything. That’s how I used to look at her… except she never looked back. She never loved me.”
V stared at him for a long beat. Then flatly, “I kissed Songbird.”
Johnny blinked. “Uh… okay?”
V shrugged. “Dunno, seems I may be in love with Song.”
She was rocking Jackie now, gently as her fussing grew louder.
Johnny ignored the derailment, jaw clenched, gaze sharp. “That’s the pathetic thing. I loved Valerie, and she never loved me.”
“You’re a fucking idiot,” V muttered. “ I don’t love you. How many times do I have to say it?”
She shook her head, gripping Jackie tighter.
“I hate you,” she snapped.
And Johnny grinned. Bitter. Hollow.
“There we go,” he said softly. “There’s my fucking Valerie.”
Then he stepped forward and kissed her lip, biting, rough, desperate.
V shoved him back so hard he stumbled. “Fucking knock it off!” she yelled.
“You’re so fucking toxic,” she hissed. “Kerry was right. I’m too good for your sorry ass.”
Johnny wiped his mouth, smirking with this kind of contempt that masked heartbreak. “Kerry just wants in my fucking pants.”
V ignored him, turning her focus back to Jackie, who was now crying in earnest. Her little hands reached up for comfort, and V tried to soothe her, but her arms trembled.
“I’m so fucking tired,” V said, voice cracking. “Tired of this. Of you. Of Jackie.”
Johnny looked up at her now, truly startled.
“You’re right, you know… I think I do love you,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “That’s why I think I need a break. From you. From her. From everything.”
Then, before Johnny could say a word, V shoved Jackie into his arms.
He held her now, stunned. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I can’t do this,” V said, stepping away. “I’m so fucking tired, Johnny.”
She turned toward the door.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Johnny called after her, his voice cracking.
V looked back at him, eyes rimmed with tears. “I need to get my shit together. Figure out what the fuck comes next. How to be my own fucking person. Because if I don’t, if I just keep pretending all this is okay… I might actually fucking end it all.”
“You can’t just leave –”
“I can,” V said. “And I will.”
She stepped closer to him, voice cold now. “I’m not her. So that baby?” She gestured toward Jackie, now crying in Johnny’s arms. “She’s not mine either. Never was. I’m just a glorified joytoy, right? With your dead output’s face? Your words.”
Johnny opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“Take care, Johnny,” V whispered. “Maybe I’ll come running back. But I wouldn’t bet on it.”
She turned her back and walked away.
The rooftop door slammed behind her.
She got into the elevator and hit the button. The doors closed in silence. Punched the metal wall once, twice, hard enough to split her knuckles. And then she broke. She dropped to the floor.
Tears came in ragged gasps. Silence sobs that shook her frame as she tried to hold herself together, alone in the tiny elevator car carrying her away from everything.
Notes:
Message thread generator by Luvwich.
Alright, another chapter done! Seven more to go... Eek. 😅
We finally go to see the blowout that caused V and Johnny to part ways in the past. Unfortunately, there's still plenty of angst ahead. 😬 But don't worry, the next chapter brings some bittersweet fluff in both timelines. Gotta soften the emotional blows a little, right?
As for our present timeline... ahh, I know, I know! I promise the endings will be worth it (at least I hope so 😭). Also, I'd love to hear your thoughts on that exchange with Song. I always found it interesting how she lovebombs the player, especially in that King of Wands ending. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it always stuck with me.
Once again, thank you all so much for the support on this fic. I get ridiculously excited every time my inbox pings with a comment or kudos; it means the world. Sending extra love to the lurkers, too. 🫶
The next chapter should be up not next week but the week after, summer schedule chaos + my third Fallout New Vegas playthrough (trying to unlock all the achievements on Steam). Until then, thanks for reading and stay tuned!! 💖💖💖
Chapter 18: Happier Than Ever
Summary:
Made all my moments your own
Just fuckin’ leave me alone
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
ACT 3
⚡︎ Queen of Wands ⚡︎
The bed was cold beside her.
V’s eyes cracked open to the morning light bleeding through the shutters, shadows pooling in the room's corners. Her fingers brushed the sheets next to her, empty, undisturbed.
It hit her like a goddamn truck.
The fight. The screaming. The way he’d looked at her. Like she was a monster. Like she wasn’t even human.
Like she’d already died.
She curled into herself, fists clenching the blankets. A ragged sob tore out of her throat before she could stop it, and she buried her face into the pillow, his pillow, tears soaking the fabric. Her hand drifted to her stomach.
He wasn’t coming back.
There was no coming back from what had happened.
She wept, rocking slightly, trying to breathe through the ache splitting her open.
And then…
Then the sorrow curdled. Turned bitter and turned angry.
She swung her legs out of the bed, only to double over with a gasp. The motion pushed everything tight inside her. The wind was knocked out of her, and she reached for the nearby windowsill, gripping it with one hand while the other cradled her belly.
Her gaze caught on the faint smudge in the glass.
This window.
She remembered the first time they met. Really met.
He’d taken control of her body and smashed her skull into this very window. Left her dazed and bleeding. Later, he’d slapped her to the ground like she was nothing. Thrown a glass bottle at her in the Afterlife while she was pregnant. And yet somehow, somehow, she’d believed he’d changed.
Believed he could be a father.
A partner.
A fucking human being.
She gritted her teeth. “Fuck you, Johnny…”
The anger coiled in her throat, tight and hot.
She traced the curve of her belly with her palm, steadying herself in the present. This baby would never know a life of fear. Would never hear the shouting through closed doors. Would never see bruises blooming on her mother’s skin and learn how to pretend not to notice.
V had seen all that and lived it.
I’m not gonna let history repeat itself.
Her eyes swept the apartment.
He was gone. That meant this place? It was hers. And she wasn’t leaving. Never liked her penthouse anyway.
She stepped into the nursery. The half-painted walls greeted her, the pink still a rough outline, unfinished, like everything he touched. She ran her hand along one of them, then turned to the scattered boxes.
She crouched and pulled out a small, unlabeled one from the pile. Her fingers trembled slightly as she dumped its contents into a bigger box nearby: baby shoes, odds and ends that didn’t matter.
The small box was for something else now.
She carried it into the main room, setting it gently on the bed.
One by one, she filled it.
She pulled every photo of Johnny off the walls and from the shelves. Picture of the two of them smiling, stupid, in love. Gone.
The photo of them smiling at Kerry’s, his hand on her stomach. Gone.
A pair of his aviators, scratched and worn. Gone.
That old silver lighter. The one he left as a reminder to himself that he’d quit smoking for her. For the baby. Gone.
And then her eyes caught on the tags, Johnny’s name tags lying on the floor near the front door, where they must’ve landed when he left.
She hesitated.
Bent over awkwardly, grunting slightly as she reached down past the swell of her belly. Her fingers closed around the cool metal.
They used to mean something. A promise.
Back when they were in the run-down hotel, and he’d told her he was trading his life for hers. Back when he still believed in a future they could build.
But he broke that promise. Again. And again. And again.
All he ever did was run.
She dropped the tags into the box like they were dead weight.
Then closed the lid.
And in thick, angry black marker, she scrawled across the top: Johnny’s Shit.
She’d deal with it later, throw it out, burn it, dump it into a fucking river. Right now, she had somewhere to be.
The Afterlife.
She needed a distraction.
The ride to the Afterlife was quiet. No music, no noise, just the low hum of the engine beneath her. It helped. Calmed her nerves, if only a little.
By the time she pulled into the parking lot, the fury was gone.
So was the grief.
All that was left was a vast, aching nothing.
She stepped out of the car, cradling her belly with one hand, and made her way into the club. Emmerick stood at the door, as usual, arms crossed, face unreadable. When he saw her, he gave a silent nod and stepped aside.
She appreciated that. No questions. No pity.
It had been a while since she last came. Weeks, maybe more.
Truth be told, she’d been avoiding it. Not just the noise, or the booze, or the temptation to get herself killed taking some bullshit suicide gig, but the looks. The fixers, the mercs, the corpos pretending they weren’t afraid of her, all eyeing her like she didn’t belong. Like she was fragile. A walking liability.
And Johnny hadn’t helped.
He kept urging her to stay home, rest more. Told her she didn’t need to work anymore, that he’d handle things. That they’d be fine.
He never really got it.
Claire spotted her the second she stepped in.
V slid into the stool with a tired sigh, rubbing her side.
“Jesus, V,” Claire said, giving her a once-over. “You look like you’re about ready to pop. When’s the due date?”
V’s eyes drifted downward, hand resting over her stomach. “June,” she murmured.
June.
That was it. That was all that stood between her and motherhood.
There’s nothing in the way now.
No terminal deadline.
She could carry this baby to term.
Claire’s smile faded as she leaned in, watching her closely. “Alright. What’s wrong?”
V traced slow, aimless circles into the countertop with her fingertip. “...My input and I broke up.”
Claire was quiet for a moment. “Silverhand?”
V looked up sharply. “How did you–?”
Claire shrugged. “C’mon. You think I don’t know how to do basic math? You two’ve been dancing around each other for months. Plus…” she lowered her voice, “I overheard some of that fight back when it happened. Figured the baby’s his, too.”
V nodded.
“Might be for the best,” she said softly. “Maybe now I can think clearly again.”
Claire didn’t argue. Just nodded, slow and sad.
V pushed herself off the stool. “Gonna see if there’s any work floating around. Need something to take my mind off… everything.”
Claire didn’t try to stop her. “You know where to find me.”
V made her way toward the booths. Passed by Rogue, who gave her a nod in greeting. V didn’t return it. Didn’t feel like making small talk with Johnny’s ex-output, not today.
She slid into her usual seat and pulled up her holopad. Started scrolling through new messages. Her eyes scanned the words, but her brain wasn’t catching any of it.
Where the hell was he?
Did he do it?
Did he really kill himself?
She blinked, and suddenly she wasn’t at the Afterlife anymore.
She was fourteen. Her hallway. That smell, dust, blood, rusted metal. The memory was so vivid it tasted like copper in her mouth. Indistinguishable from the real world.
Her brother’s gun was pointed at her. She stood between him and their father, who lay unconscious on the floor, barely breathing. Her own hands were shaking around their father’s gun.
“Vincent,” she’d screamed. “He’s all we have left!”
His hand had twitched, his left one, always the left, spasming as the trauma short-circuited whatever restraint he had left.
“Please,” she’d begged. “Don’t–”
“V.”
The voice snapped her back.
She blinked hard, the Afterlife flooding back into focus. Her left hand was twitching. Subtle, but not subtle enough.
Rogue was sitting beside her now, staring.
V grabbed her wrist, shoving the hand into her lap.
“It’s nothing,” she muttered.
Rogue didn’t buy it.
She stood immediately. “You’re coming with me.”
V hesitated. Numb again. “Why?”
“You’ll see.”
Rogue nodded to Claire as they passed the bar. “Watch the place.”
Claire gave V a worried look. V avoided it.
They climbed the stairs. The music dimmed behind them.
V stared at the ground, trying to slow her racing thoughts.
Had Rogue seen it? The twitch?
Did she think it was cyberpsychosis?
It wasn’t. It wasn’t.
Just some kind of flare-up, that’s all. Phantom pain. Her body is reacting to stress. That had to be it.
Not cyberpsychosis.
She wasn’t a cyberpsycho.
Not like Johnny said.
He’d said it to hurt her. That’s all it was.
He knew about her brother. Knew the trauma.
Used it against her.
She wasn’t a cyberpsycho.
No.
No.
She clenched her jaw, following Rogue up the stairs, every step echoing like a heartbeat in her ears.
Rogue slid into the driver’s seat of her car without a word. V followed, settling into the passenger seat. Her knee started bouncing almost immediately, impossible to ignore.
Rogue noticed. Of course she did.
“You gonna tell me what happened?” she asked, eyes on the road. “Johnny said you weren’t coming into the Afterlife anymore. That was, what, a couple of weeks ago? And now you’re back. Something happened.”
V didn’t respond.
She was barely there at all.
Her gaze drifted out the window, unfocused. But what she saw wasn’t the city outside; it was her father’s office. Cold walls. The scent of gun oil and fresh whiskey. Her father’s voice boomed.
“You murdered your own brother!”
“I did it to save you,” she’d choked. “He was gonna kill you, Dad. He was gone.”
She remembered the blood. The twitch in Vincent’s hand. Her finger on the trigger.
A sharp shake on her shoulder snapped her back.
She gasped and turned to see Rogue staring at her, concern carved deep in her face.
“We’re here,” Rogue said, gently but firmly.
V blinked hard. Her hand, her left hand, was trembling again. She clutched it tight and nodded, trying to suppress the rising nausea.
Fuck, she thought. How long was I out?
She stepped out of the car, the pavement beneath her boots grounding her back to the now. Her eyes scanned their surrounding, and that’s when it hit her.
Silver Pixel Cloud.
The old drive-in.
She froze. Of all the places.
Rogue had brought her to the place. The same one where Johnny, in her body, had taken Rogue on that quiet, surreal date. A memory that wasn’t even fully hers, but still lingered.
She kept her hand over her stomach.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Rogue didn’t answer directly. Just tilted her head. “C’mon.”
Inside, the place looked exactly as V remembered it. Forgotten, but still holding on.
“Go find a seat,” Rogue said, disappearing toward the back. “I’ll see if I can dig up a different movie.”
V watched her leave, confused, then wandered further in. Most of the cars were rusted relics, left to decay in a forgotten lot. She found one that still looked stable and climbed onto the hood, easing herself down gently. She rested her back against the windshield and turned her eyes toward the massive, cracked screen.
For a second, she started to drift again. Back to that hallway. The blood. The gun. Her brother’s eyes.
But then the screen flickered.
The film that started up was old, its color muted with age. A Collapse-era flick, from before the world broke apart. And then–
There he was.
A younger man on screen, long hair, black suit, a tragic kind of gravitas in his posture.
Johnny?
Rogue jogged back over and took a seat beside her with a soft sigh.
“Wild, huh?” she said, nodding toward the screen. “This was one of the last films they played here before the whole place shut down.”
She leaned back beside V, arms crossed. “Stars some low-profile actor, Keanu Reeves. Collapse-era guy. Never really took off.”
A quiet chuckle escaped Rogue’s lips.
“Probably because he looked way too much like Johnny Silverhand.”
V looked at her, eyes unreadable.
Rogue shrugged. “I mean, who’s gonna make it in the industry when they look like a terrorist? Bad PR.”
V stared at the ground. Her voice, when it came, was hollow.
“Why am I here?”
Rogue went still.
Then let out a slow exhale and rubbed the back of her head. “Fuck. I told myself I’d be better at this.”
She hesitated, then turned to V.
“I wanted to talk. Not about gigs. Not about corps. Just… talk. ”
She glanced at the screen again. “I’ve known you what… a year now? Maybe a little less.”
V said nothing.
Rogue continued, her voice a little softer.
“And I know all the headlines. You’re a merc, probably the best in Night City. You had that Relic jammed in your head, brought a terrorist back from the dead, got knocked up by said terrorist, turned out to be the daughter of fucking Lucas Harford, and somehow didn’t completely lose your mind through all of it.”
She paused, leaning forward, elbows on her knees.
“I know all that. But I don’t know you. ”
V blinked.
“You know me,” she said, but it came out weak.
“No, I know V, ” Rogue corrects. “The legend. The merc. The rebel. But I don’t know Valerie. I don’t know the kid behind all that chrome.”
She turned her head, looked directly at her.
V avoided her gaze.
Rogue leaned back against the rusted hood, eyes returning to the screen.
“What I do know,” she began slowly, “is that you and I have more in common than you think.”
V glanced at her, silent.
“We’re both mercs. Both living legends in our own right. Both did time in the deep end of the pool…” Rogue’s mouth twitched. “And both… got tangled up with Johnny Silverhand.”
She trailed off, a rare flicker of hesitation crossing her face.
“And?” V asked, her voice cautious.
Rogue sighed, lips pressing together before the words finally came out. “And… we both got knocked up by him.”
The words landed like a blade.
V turned her head slowly, staring at Rogue, her entire body going cold.
“Your son,” she said, carefully, “the one you mentioned before… Is he Johnny’s?”
Rogue shook her head.
“No. He’s not,” she said quietly. “I lost Johnny’s baby. Miscarried.”
The silence between them deepened, hollow and heavy.
V looked away, processing. She’d always seen Rogue as a force of nature, impenetrable, untouchable. But this, this was something different. Human.
Rogue went on, voice low. “Johnny never knew. I never told him. And even if he did…” She trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.
V blinked, rubbing her hand over the swell of her stomach. “Then… why tell me?”
Rogue looked at her for a long time, then said simply, “Because you’re like me. And I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”
She took a breath.
“When I got pregnant with my son… different guy, years after Johnny… I got scared. Scared of losing him. Scared of caring too much. So I pushed him away. Didn’t let myself get close.”
V watched as Rogue paused.
“I thought it’d protect me. But all it did was leave him without a mother. By my choice.”
V’s throat tightened.
“I don’t want that for you,” Rogue continued. “I know things are… uncertain. I know you’re running out of time.”
V opened her mouth to protest, but Rogue cut her off gently.
“I want to make you an offer,” she said. “If it comes to that, if you don’t make it, I’ll raise your daughter. As my own. For as long as I can.”
V’s breath caught. Her eyes searched Rogue’s face, trying to find the catch, the angle.
But there wasn’t one.
“You’d… do that?”
Rogue nodded. “No kid deserves to grow up without a mother. Not again. And not her.”
The kindness, so sudden and undeserved, crashed into V. Her face crumpled as the tears came, slow at first, then uncontrollable.
Rogue pulled her in without hesitation.
“It’s alright, kiddo,” she murmured, holding her close.
V buried her face in Rogue’s shoulder, everything breathing through the numbness she’d been carrying since the fight.
They stayed like that for a long time, until the worst of it passed.
Eventually, V pulled back, wiping her face.
“I’m cured,” she said, voice shaking. “I… I actually got a cure.”
Rogue raised a brow, surprised, then broke into a small smile. “Well, shit. That is good news.”
“Then why were you so glum back at the Afterlife?” she added. “You looked like someone shot your dog.”
V laughed bitterly.
“Johnny and I got into a fight. A bad one. We broke up. I don’t know if he’s ever coming back.”
Rogue’s smile faltered. “Well… good.”
V blinked.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Rogue said. “You don’t need him. Never did. Johnny Silverhand’s always been his own worst enemy. He’ll run the second things get overwhelming.”
She tilted her head at V. “Don’t let him become your whole life. He’s not worth that. Trust me.”
V hesitated, then said softly, “It’s not that.”
Rogue waited.
V swallowed hard.
“He threatened to… you know…”
Rogue’s face darkened. “He what?”
“He said he’d off himself. I’m scared he actually did.”
Rogue muttered a curse under her breath. “Fucking Johnny. That’s a hell of a move. And a lot of stress to put you under.”
V nodded faintly. “Maybe it was just a bluff. I think he said it because he knew I was the one walking away.”
Rogue looked at her for a beat, then said, “He’s fine. Bet my bottom eddie on it. Drama queen like him? It was for show.”
V let out a shaky breath, more tears welling.
Rogue pulled her close again.
“You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered.
V closed her eyes.
“I’m proud of you,” Rogue said.
V opened her eyes and smiled faintly. She glanced back at the screen, but her thoughts had drifted back to what her father had said.
Was it true?
Was Morgan Blackhand…
She turned to Rogue. “Morgan Blackhand. You knew him, didn’t you? What can you tell me about him?”
Rogue’s brows rose, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “Morgan Blackhand? Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in years.” Her gaze sharpened, pinning V in place. “Why?”
Should I tell her? Tell her what Lucas told me, that apparently, he’s my grandfather.
V shrugged instead. “Dunno. Just curious. Jackie brought him up a couple of times. Figured you’d have a story or two.”
Rogue leaned back, letting the suspicion slide, for now. “Morgan was… one of a kind. Cool head in a firefight, but when it was time to pull the trigger, nobody was faster. Didn’t talk much, but when he did, you listened. Hell, I listened.” A faint smirk tugged at her mouth. “We… worked a few jobs together. Left a couple of burn marks on Night City along the way.”
Her tone shifted, eyes narrowing at the memory. “Last time I saw him was at Arasaka Tower. I’d already pulled out; he stayed behind. Had himself a final stand with Adam Smasher.”
V frowned. “That’s now how Johnny told it.”
Rogue’s laugh was humorless. “Yeah, well. Johnny’s memories are about as reliable as a cheap pistol in a sandstorm. Far as I’m concerned, that showdown was the last anyone saw of Blackhand.”
V studied her. “You think he’s dead?”
Rogue met her eyes evenly. “No. Call it gut instinct. Morgan Blackhand’s alive.”
They sat like that until the credits rolled.
Rogue insisted on driving V home after the movie. The drive was quiet, calm, almost peaceful, as if the two of them had said all that needed saying. V watched the passing cars through the windshield, one hand resting on her stomach, the other fiddling absently with the hem of her sleeve.
When they pulled into the garage at Megabuilding H10, Rogue didn’t unlock the doors right away.
“Hang on,” she said. “One last thing before you go.”
V turned toward her, eyebrow raised.
Rogue met her gaze dead-on, the steel in her eyes unmistakable.
“If Johnny ever comes back, and I mean ever, and he so much as hurts you or your daughter, in any way, shape, or form…” She leaned in a little closer, voice firm, unshaken. “You call me. I’ll beat the ever-loving shit out of him, no questions asked.”
V stared at her. A small kick stirred in her stomach. She rubbed the spot instinctively.
“I think we’ll be fine,” she said softly. “But… thank you. I mean it.”
Rogue nodded, her expression easing. “I’ll see you around.”
She unlocked the door, and just as V reached for the handle, Rogue added, “And do me a favor, quit showing up at the Afterlife.”
V turned back, startled. “You’re the one who encouraged me to keep working in the first place.”
Rogue smirked. “I know. You’re still the best merc in this city. But it’s time to take a damn maternal break. You’ve got a baby due soon. Act like it.”
V laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Fair enough.”
“I’ll swing by sometime,” Rogue said. “Check in. Make sure you’re still breathing.”
V offered a tired smile, pushed the door open, and climbed out.
The elevator ride up was a quiet one. V leaned against the wall, eyes half-focused on the news feed playing on the mounted screens. Her pulse quickened every time a new headline rolled across the bottom, half-expecting to see Johnny Silverhand’s body found, but it never came.
Still, the unease in her chest didn’t settle.
Two weeks.
That’s how long she had before her father came for her, before she was expected to fall in line, become a cog in Militech’s machine. She could already feel the Blackwall’s energy, always humming, always near, crawling beneath her skin like static.
She needed a way out. And fast.
Her apartment was dim and quiet when she stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind her with a finality she wasn’t ready for. V sank onto the edge of her bed with a sigh, running a hand down her face, then to her aching lower back.
A soft meow caught her attention.
Nibbles padded her way across the room, tail high, hopping onto the bed beside her like she’d always belonged there.
V blinked. “There you are…”
She hadn’t seen the cat all night. Not after the fight. Not this morning either.
Smart little thing. Nibbles always knew when to disappear, when Johnny and V were at each other’s throats, or when V was spiraling from hormones or hacking up blood from her condition. Nibbles would vanish, giving her space.
V reached out and stroked the cat gently between the ears.
Nibbles had never really been hers. Johnny was the one who named her when he was just a voice in her head. He was the one who scooped her up from the Afterlife and brought her home the second he had a body again.
And even when V moved in, he insisted on taking care of her. Said V couldn’t be around litter boxes, as it was a risk during pregnancy. V hadn’t even known that was a thing.
Truth was, she wasn’t in the right headspace to take care of anyone or anything right now. And Nibbles… she deserved better.
V pulled out her holo, scrolling through her contacts, thumb hovering as she debated who to call. She could always ask Rogue, but the Afterlife wasn’t exactly cat-friendly. It was too loud, and Nibbles had hated the noise.
She scrolled a little more.
Then paused.
Misty.
Shit. Did she even know V was okay?
She tapped call.
Misty picked up almost immediately. “V? Oh, thank god. I was worried. Johnny messaged me last night. Said he found you, but then… nothing.”
Her voice was a mix of relief and concern.
“You okay?”
V swallowed. “Yeah. I… can you come over?”
“Of course,” Misty said without hesitation. “I’m on my way.”
As the call ended, V looked down at the hairless cat curled beside her.
She ran her hand over the cat’s back again, whispering under her breath.
“Let’s find you a new home, girl.”
The knock came sooner than expected.
V pushed herself off the bed with a groan, her back still aching. She shuffled toward the door, hand on her stomach for balance, and opened it.
Misty stood there, brows pinched with worry, until she saw V.
Then, without a word, Misty threw her arms around her.
“Thank god,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
V returned the hug, a little stunned, a little comforted.
Misty pulled back quickly, eyes scanning her face. “What happened to you?”
V hesitated before replying simply, “I found a cure.”
Misty blinked, the words sinking in slowly. Her expression didn’t change right away; if anything, it grew more serious.
“While Johnny and Vik were trying to find you,” Misty said quietly, “I did a reading. Drew some cards on you.”
V raised an eyebrow.
“The Devil. The Hermit. Reversed Death.” Misty’s voice was nearly a whisper. “They’re not good cards, V.”
V let out a tired exhale, moving back toward the bed and sitting down heavily. “Couldn’t care less about cards right now. I’m alive. That’s what matters.”
Misty followed her inside, taking a seat beside her.
V nodded toward the corner of the bed, where Nibbles lay curled up, tail wrapped neatly around her body.
“I didn’t ask you to come here for a lecture,” V said, voice soft. “I need a favor.”
Misty glanced at the cat.
“I need someone to take care of Nibbles. Just for a little while. The baby’s due soon, and… I need to focus. I’ll take her back once I’ve got things under control again.”
Misty studied V carefully, then nodded. “Okay. I get it. I can’t take her myself, but I know someone who’ll jump at the chance.”
V tilted her head, curious.
“Mama Welles.”
V’s breath hitched slightly. “Right…”
She hadn’t seen Mama Welles in… months. Hadn’t returned any of her calls. And she couldn’t even say why.
“She’d be happy to,” Misty continued. “She’s always asking about you.”
V looked back at Nibbles, rubbing the cat’s ear gently.
“Alright,” she murmured. “Yeah. That’s fine.”
“But,” Misty added, folding her hands together with a look of stubborn insistence, “you have to come to dinner. With me at her place. Deal?”
V looked away, down at the floor, then back to the cat. She sighed.
“Fine.”
Misty grinned. “Great. I’ll give her a call.”
She stood and walked toward the couch, pulling out her holo and tapping quickly. V stayed seated, petting Nibbles with quiet affection. She didn’t really want to give her up, but she wasn’t gonk enough to ignore how much she was struggling. Her thoughts felt like they were drifting through thick rain. And while the twitching had stopped, unease still remained.
Misty returned a moment later, slipping the holo into her pocket. “She said yes. No hesitation. We should head over now before it gets too late.”
V nodded slowly and stood up. “Let me grab her things.”
She moved through the apartment, gathering Nibbles’ stuff, the carrier, food, and the little laundry bin she liked to sleep in. She coaxed the cat gently into the carrier, Nibbles letting out a soft, disgruntled mrowr as the door clicked shut.
Misty took the bin and food bag while V carried the carrier. Together, they made their way down to the garage.
Misty loaded everything into the Quadra’s trunk, and V placed the carrier on the ground of the passenger’s side. Misty opened the driver’s side door.
“You’re in no shape to drive,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ll take us.”
V didn’t argue.
She just got in, shutting the door behind her, casting a look at Nibbles through the cat carrier by her feet.
The ride to Heywood was quiet.
V had one hand resting on her stomach, her thoughts distant and heavy. Misty didn’t try to fill the silence, just kept her eyes on the road, letting the hum of the engine and the occasional city sounds speak in her place.
V stared out of the window, barely paying attention to the passing city. She wasn’t ready for this. Seeing Mama Welles again after all this time felt like another confrontation, except this one came with more guilt. She hadn’t called. Hadn’t visited. Hadn’t said a damn thing since Jackie’s ofrenda.
And now here she was, about to show up out of the blue with a cat and a belly big enough to startle a stranger. She hadn’t even told Mama Welles about the pregnancy.
V glanced down at her stomach, absently rubbing a hand across it. Did she know? If she’d been watching the feeds, then yeah– Lucas Harford’s daughter, Night City’s big scandal, corpo heiress turned rebel merc. It had all been out there for months.
Misty glanced over and caught the tension in her face.
“It’ll be alright,” she said gently. “Mama Welles won’t bite. And if she gets overwhelming, I’ve got your back.”
“It’s not that,” V replied, her voice low. “I just… I ghosted her. After Jackie’s ofrenda. Never picked up her calls. And now I show up out of nowhere with a cat and a whole lot of baggage.”
Misty smiled faintly, eyes still on the road. “She’s not upset. I meant it when I said she’s always asking about you. Every time I see her. She’d been hoping you’d pay a visit.”
V was quiet for a moment before asking, “How are things between you two?”
“Good,” Misty said. “Better than I ever expected, really. She invites me to dinner every other night now.”
V gave a small smile. “Glad you two are getting along.”
Soon enough, they were pulling into the small drive next to Mama Welles’ house, nestled right beside El Coyote Cojo. The neighborhood was dimly lit, quiet compared to the blaring noise of the city center. Familiar, in a way that made V’s chest ache.
As Misty flicked the car lights off, the door to the house opened like clockwork. And there she was, Guadalupe Welles, strong as ever. She looked good. Like nothing in the world could shake her.
V reached down, pulling Nibbles’ carrier out carefully. She handed it to Misty, watching her choom step out and approach Mama Welles.
But V… she hesitated. Still gripping the car door, she took a breath and glanced down again. No hiding the belly now. She looked, felt huge.
Guadalupe was mid-conversation with Misty when she spotted her.
Her eyes lit up instantly.
“Ven aquí, mija.”
V stepped out slowly, legs stiff and uncertain, and walked toward her. Mama Welles met her halfway.
She placed both hands on V’s cheeks, examining her with the same fierce tenderness she always had, like she was checking to make sure she was still real.
“I–” V started, but the words caught.
“No,” Mama Welles said firmly, voice soft but unwavering. “Everything is well. You are here. That is enough.”
She pulled V into a tight hug, and V, blinking rapidly, didn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes.
This woman had taken in when she had nothing. Treated her like family. Like a daughter. And even after V disappeared, it was like no time had passed at all.
Misty watched from the side, a quiet smile on her lips.
Mama Welles pulled back, hands still on V’s arms. “And look at you. Glowing. You did not tell me.”
“I should have,” V said, voice small.
“Misty told me. Months ago,” Guadalupe smiled. “I just hoped to hear from you.”
She glanced around at the cool night air, then waved them both toward the door. “Esta haciendo frio. Come inside, warm up.”
Misty nodded and lifted the cat carrier with Nibbles inside. The three of them stepped through the doorway, into the warm light of Mama Welles’ home.
Inside, the scent of spices drifted from the kitchen. The lights were soft, the walls still lined with candles and photos, familiar.
“Misty, mija, you can set the carrier down. Let her out if you like,” Mama Welles said, motioning toward the living room.
Misty placed the cat carrier gently near the couch, glancing at V. “You wanna do the honors?”
V crouched down slowly with a soft groan, one hand bracing her lower back as the baby gave another sharp kick to her ribs. “Yeah, I got it,” she muttered.
Misty nodded and headed off toward the kitchen. “I’ll help Mama Welles out.”
V unlatched the door of the carrier, and Nibbles cautiously padded out, sniffing the air, tail twitching. V sat heavily on the couch with a sigh, watching the cat explore the room before hopping up beside her.
“You’re gonna be staying here for a little while,” V murmured, running a hand down Nibbles’ back. “Just ‘til I get adjusted. Maybe a couple of weeks after the baby comes. Don’t go scratchin’ up the couch or anything.”
From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes, laughter, and a voice she hadn’t expected to hear. Gruff, familiar.
V stiffened.
She turned her head just in time to see Viktor Vektor step out from the kitchen, holding a half-empty beer, his casual smile fading the second his eyes met hers.
Her expression turned sharp. The anger bubbled up before she could stop it.
“You fucking lied to me.”
Vik’s face tensed. “Not here. Not now.”
“Why the hell not? ” V snapped.
“Outside,” he said, voice low, serious. “C’mon.”
She stood up with difficulty, brushing Nibbles aside. The cat bolted from the couch, sensing the tension. Vik reached for the door, pausing just long enough to shout over his shoulder, “Lupe! I’ll be outside with V for a sec, alright?”
Guadalupe’s distant voice answered something unintelligible.
Vik held the door open, and V stormed past him into the cool Heywood air, her jaw clenched, her fists at her sides. V followed and closed the door behind them.
He took a breath. “Say what you need to say, kid.”
She turned on him. “First off, what the hell are you doing here? Is Johnny here, too? You two tag-teaming me now?”
Vik blinked. “Johnny? No. Why would he– what happened?”
“Don’t change the subject,” she cut in. “What are you doing here? Why are you at Mama Welles’ house?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
And then she saw it.
“Oh my god. You’re dating her.”
Vik hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. She’s… she’s a wonderful woman.”
Her brow furrowed. “Since when? How long?”
“Since after Jackie’s ofrenda. We stayed in touch. Things just… clicked.” He met her gaze. “It’s not like you ever asked about my personal life.”
V looked down at the ground, her arms crossed tight over her chest.
“You lied to me,” she said, flat and quiet.
He didn’t argue. “Yeah. I did.”
“Why?”
Vik’s face twisted in guilt. “Because I didn’t want you making decisions with no hope. If I’d told you the truth, that you had less than eight hours left, not forty-eight, you might’ve agreed to let me cut you open right then. I thought if you felt like there was more time, you might find another way. Fight. ”
He looked her up and down, “Seems I was right. Tell you the truth, I wasn’t surprised you had left.”
She swallowed hard. “Johnny left after that, you know. Left me alone on that chair. Maybe if we’d known the truth, he would’ve stayed. Maybe we would’ve figured something out together.”
He shook his head. “You can’t know that.”
“No. I can’t. But it doesn’t matter now.”
Her voice hardened as she looked him straight in the eye.
“I’ve got a cure. No thanks to you. No thanks to anyone.”
She turned sharply and pushed the door open without waiting for a response.
V stepped back inside Mama Welles’ house without another word, leaving Vik alone in the dark. The warmth of home wrapped around her again, but her heart felt cold, heavy. She quietly slipped up the stairs without a word.
The walls leading to the second floor were lined with old photographs, Jackie as a boy, Jackie on his bike, Jackie grinning with his mother, holding a bottle of tequila in one hand and tossing a peace sign with the other. V paused, staring at them. Her chest tightened.
Then she found herself in front of the door. Jackie’s room.
She hesitated, hand on the doorknob.
It had been about a year since she’d set foot in there. Since he was alive.
It was exactly the same.
Same cluttered floors, same rumpled sheets, the posters peeling slightly at the corners. An old console hummed in standby beneath a dusty screen. A jacket hung over the back of the desk chair, his jacket. The room was a time capsule, untouched and unaltered.
Jackie had let her crash here after she lost her job at Arasaka, without asking any questions. She’d been messed up, mentally, physically, and he didn’t care. He brought her food, made her laugh, let her stay for six months before she got back on her feet, and bought herself an apartment. They’d become family during that time. He had been like an older brother to her.
She placed a hand on her stomach.
What would Jackie think of this?
She was going to be a mother soon. A mom. If someone had told her that before Johnny, before the Relic, before the Konpeki heist, before Dex, she’d have laughed in their face.
One year later, she was pregnant as hell, due in June.
She wondered what she’d say to her past self if she could go back in time, crawling across the floor to reach the omega blockers. Johnny Silverhand screaming in her head.
Hey, that guy in your head is going to fall for you, and you’ll let him. He’ll delta for a while, then you’ll bring him back, in his original body no less. You’ll get knocked up. You’ll fight. There’ll be a lot of back and forth. Eventually, he leaves you for good to raise a baby by yourself.
Yeah. Wouldn’t that be something?
She stepped over to the bed, lowering herself to her knees with a soft grunt. She reached under it, hands grasping in the dark. Her fingers brushed something, a photograph.
She pulled it out, her breath catching.
It was old, a little bent at the corners. A teenage boy stared up at her with a wide smile, curly black hair, and chrome just barely visible on his face.
Vincent.
Her twin.
She sat down on the bed slowly, staring at the photo. His face… God, she’d nearly forgotten. What kind of twin forgets their own brother’s face? Dead or not?
He shouldn’t have died. Her fault. Her father’s fault.
Jackie’s death, her fault too, in a way. Everyone she got close to.
Tears blurred at the edges of the photo, and she didn’t bother wiping them away until the door creaked open.
She turned her head quickly.
Misty stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the hallway light. She didn’t say anything at first. Just offered a soft smile.
“Hey, Misty,” V said, hastily swiping her cheeks.
Misty stepped inside slowly. “I heard you talked to Vik.”
V gave a short nod.
“You two okay?”
V shook her head. “Don’t think we ever will be again. He kept something big from me. Something you can’t just walk back from.”
Misty didn’t press. Just nodded in quiet understanding. Then her eyes dropped to the photo in V’s hands.
“Who’s that?”
“Vincent,” V said softly. “My brother. Twin. He… he died.”
Misty blinked. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“Valerie Harford, remember?” V muttered, lips twisted. “Lucas Harford’s golden children. His son died at fourteen. Daughter ‘died’ a year later.”
Misty’s face softened. “Guess I never really followed the corp world. Only ever knew what you told me.”
“Probably for the best,” V said, placing the photo back between the bed.
Misty looked around, taking in the room. “Feels like Jackie,” she said.
V nodded, her throat tight. “I miss him.”
“I do too,” Misty admitted.
V looked down at her belly, placing a hand over the bump. “I wonder what he’d think of all this.”
Misty tilted her head. “The baby?”
V let out a soft laugh, tired. “Not just that. The whole damn thing. Johnny. Arasaka. Militech. My past. Everything.”
Misty was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled faintly. “Well, I can tell you one thing, Jackie would’ve been thrilled you’re having a baby.”
She put on a mock-gruff voice. “V, hermana, havin’ a kid? Dios mío! I’m gonna be a tio?”
V couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds something he’d say. Was always corny like that.”
She leaned back slightly on the bed, breathing deeply.
“Johnny… filled a space for a while. When he was in my head. Gave me something to focus on. But it wasn’t the same. Not like with Jack.”
Misty nodded, understanding.
V looked over. “I want to name the baby after him.”
Misty’s eyes lit up. “Jackie would be honored.”
“I should probably ask Mama Welles first,” V added, pushing herself off the bed.
Misty smiled again. “Good timing.”
V raised an eyebrow.
“Reason I came up. Dinner’s ready.”
V followed Misty downstairs, her hand brushing the banister as they passed the living room. The sound of quiet conversation drifted from the kitchen, and the smell of freshly cooked tamales made her stomach grumble. Pregnant or not, she’d always had a soft spot for Mama Welles’ cooking.
The kitchen was warm, cozy, filled with the clatter of plates and the low hum of domestic peace. Vik was at the table, adjusting the placement of silverware with the kind of meticulous focus he reserved for cyberware implants. He glanced up but said nothing as V entered. She didn’t meet his eyes.
Mama Welles came bustling in from the stove, holding a steaming tray of tamales.
“A la mesa, todos.” She announced with a smile. “Come, sit.”
V took her seat beside Misty, grateful for the buffer. Mama Welles settled in beside Vik, grabbing his hand, directly across from her. There was a strange comfort in the way the table felt.
As soon as everyone sat, Mama Welles leaned back in her chair, eyes twinkling. “Did I ever tell you about the time Jackie and V tried to cook dinner for me?”
V groaned immediately, covering her face with her hand. “Please don’t.”
Misty turned, eyebrows raised with interest. “Oh no, I definitely want to hear this now.”
“Oh, it was a disaster,” Mama Welles said, laughing. “Jackie swore he could make my mother’s mole recipe. V, of course, backs him up like the ride-or-die she is.”
V peeked through her fingers. “I regret everything.”
“The smoke alarm went off fifteen minutes later,” Mama Welles continued. “Black smoke pouring out of the oven. I had to step in before we all starved. I still don’t know what they did to that sauce…”
Everyone laughed. Even Vik let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head fondly. “That sounds like them. Those two…”
He leaned forward, the edge of a smile lingering. “Jackie came into my clinic once, told me he needed a bullet removed. I stepped out momentarily before I could patch him up and send him on his way. Five minutes later, I return, and his wound is much worse.”
V narrowed her eyes. “I already don’t like where this is going.”
“You’d decided you could do it yourself,” Vik said with mock gravity. “Opened up the wound more, trying to find the bullet. Blood everywhere. Turns out the damn thing had gone straight through.”
Misty gasped. “You didn’t.”
V groaned again. “Can we go back to talking about food? I’m eating here.”
The table laughed again, and for a brief moment, it felt like Jackie was still there, maybe sitting in his usual chair, cracking a joke with his mouth full.
Mama Welles turned to Misty. “So, mija, how have you been? How’s the shop?”
Misty shrugged, smiling. “Better lately. More people are coming in. I think with everything going on… people are looking for something spiritual. Some sort of… peace.”
Mama Welles nodded knowingly. “These are hard times. Militech and all their damn patrols. Curfews. Makes people feel like they’re living in a cage.”
She glanced at V with an apologetic look. “No offense, mija.”
V shook her head. “None taken. That part of my life’s over. I don’t know anyone who hates Militech as much as I do.”
But inside, she felt the lie twist. Less than two weeks from now, she’d be back under her father’s control. No matter how far she tried to run, Militech always found a way to pull her back.
Mama Welles seemed to sense the tension and shifted the mood. “Tell me, V… that baby of yours, how far along are you now?”
V straightened a little. “About thirty-two weeks. Due sometime in June.”
Vik nodded, confirming, but said nothing. Misty gave her a soft, encouraging smile.
“Tan pronto!” Mama Welles exclaimed. “Ay, I don’t miss the third trimester, let me tell you. Not with my Jackie. That boy was a storm even before he was born.”
Misty lit up with curiosity. “What was he like as a baby?”
Mama Welles leaned back, eyes distant but bright with memory. “Loud. Hungry. Always moving. One time, he crawled out of his crib, straight into the pantry. Found him with a bag of sugar, eating it with his hands like he’d just pulled off the greatest heist in the world.”
“That sounds about right,” Vik said, lips twitching.
Mama Welles cleared her throat gently, the silence at the table giving way to the crackle of candlelight and soft kitchen noises. “So, V,” she asked with a warm smile, “tell me more about the baby. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
V grinned and placed a hand over her stomach, “It’s a girl.”
“Oh!” Mama Welles beamed. “A daughter. She’ll be strong. Just like her mother.”
V’s smile softened, her heart aching a little at the hope in those words.
Mama Welles tilted her head slightly, her voice turning just a touch hesitant. “And the father? Is he around?”
Across the table, Vik glanced up, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes flickered with something unreadable before settling back on the edge of his plate. V avoided everyone’s gaze, and her fingers tightened slightly around her stomach.
“No,” she said quietly. “We fought, and he left. Probably won’t come back.”
Under the table, Misty reached out and gently took V’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. V squeezed back, grateful for the gesture.
“I’m sorry, mija,” Mama Welles said softly. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
V shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Vik sighed, and she caught the sound, turning a sharp look on him. Since when did he care? He hated Johnny, had said it more than once. Now he wanted to be all sentimental about it? She wouldn’t bring it up, not tonight.
“It’s getting late,” Misty said gently. “I should get V back home.”
Mama Welles nodded and stood. “Of course, of course. Wait here, I’ll pack up the leftovers.”
She bustled out of the room and returned a few minutes later with a sealed container of tamales, placing it carefully into V’s hands. “For you. You’re pregnant. You need decent meals.”
V smiled at the gesture. “Thanks. And… thank you for agreeing to take care of Nibbles.”
“No trouble at all,” Mama Welles said, waving it off. “That gatito has a place here. You both do.”
The three women stepped out into the night, the warm kitchen giving way to the cool quiet of the street. As they walked toward the Quadra, Mama Welles slowed, her voice quieter now.
“You know,” she said, “I wish you and Misty would come by more often. I love Vik, but… I get lonely sometimes. You two are the closest I’ve got left of my Jackie.”
V stopped walking, heart tightening. “I will. I promise.”
She hesitated, then turned to face Mama Welles fully. “Actually… I wanted to ask you something. About the baby.”
Mama Welles raised a brow, curious.
“I was thinking,” V said slowly, “about naming her after Jackie. I couldn’t think of a better way to… well, thank him. For everything.”
Tears welled in Mama Welles’ eyes almost instantly, and she pulled V into a tight hug. “Of course, mija. Of course you can. I would love nothing more.”
V hugged her back, emotions crashing like waves in her chest.
When they pulled apart, Mama Welles looked her in the eye. “But you better swear to me, swear I’ll meet her. As soon as she’s born.”
V nodded. “You will. I promise.”
They said their goodbyes under the streetlight, the Quadra humming softly as Misty unlocked it. V slid into the passenger seat while Misty got behind the wheel. As the car pulled away from the curb, the lights of the Welles house faded behind them.
The ride home was quiet for a while. V stared out the window, her thoughts buzzing.
Finally, she broke the silence. “Thanks for taking me out tonight. I needed it.”
Misty glanced at her. “Yeah?”
V nodded. “Didn’t want to admit it, but yeah. After the breakup… well, last night. Things have just felt… off.”
Misty didn’t need her to explain more. “I figured. That tarot card I pulled for you. The Hermit. It was… concerning.”
V exhaled slowly, leaning her head against the glass. “I know.”
Misty’s voice was soft but serious. “Don’t shut people out, V. That’s what the card was warning about. Don’t push everyone away.”
V looked down at her belly and placed her hand over it once more. Her voice was low but firm.
“I won’t,” she said, “I promise.”
⸸ Queen of Swords ⸸
The sound of shuffling snapped V awake.
She sat up fast, muscle memory kicking in before thought could catch up. Her hand slid under the pillow, fingers wrapping around the familiar grip of a pistol.
The weapon came up in a clean, practiced motion, barrel aimed right at the movement across the room.
“Jesus fuck, V!”
Rogue froze mid-step, one boot half on, her hand hovering above the other. Her eyes narrowed sharply at the muzzle pointed straight at her.
V blinked, realization sinking in. Right. She wasn’t in her apartment. She was in the Afterlife, Rogue’s room.
“Shit, sorry,” V muttered, lowering the pistol. Her pulse was still hammering.
Rogue stepped forward without hesitation, snatching the gun from V’s hand. “This is mine. And what the hell were you thinking? Pulling my piece on me?”
V crossed her arms defensively. “Rough gig with Takemura last night. Just reflex.”
Rogue’s glare didn’t soften. “Keep it up, I’ll toss you out on your ass. I’ve been nice enough to let you crash here while you sort your shit, but this? This might be the last straw.”
V scoffed. “Wouldn’t have drawn if you weren’t sneaking around.”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Rogue shot back. “I was trying not to wake you up.”
That shut V up. She shifted her weight, arms still crossed, feeling like a gonk.
“Can’t deal with this,” Rogue muttered, rubbing at her temple. “Not at eight in the goddamn morning.” She shook her head. “Look, I’m not gonna kick you out, but Christ, kid, you need a fucking therapist.”
“I don’t need a shrink,” V said quickly. “But… sorry again. For pointing a gun at you.”
Rogue sighed. “Make it up to me?”
She went back to lacing her boots, voice all business now. “Couple clients I need you to handle today. I’ll be gone for a bit, and someone’s gotta cover my side of things.”
V frowned. “I’ve got shit of my own to deal with. Meeting with Takemura.”
“Tough luck,” Rogue said flatly. “Shouldn’t have pulled a gun on me at eight in the morning.”
V rubbed at her eyes. “Where you heading off to, anyway?”
Rogue paused, clearly weighing whether to answer. “Meeting with my son. Just got into Night City.”
V didn’t push. “Good luck, then.”
“Yeah. Just swear you’ll take care of my fixer stuff today.”
V waved a hand. “I’ll handle it.”
“Thanks,” Rogue said simply, grabbing her coat and heading out.
The door shut, leaving the room quiet again. V sighed, glancing around. Rogue had been decent enough to let her have the bed these past few weeks, a small kindness in a city that rarely gave any.
She crossed to the dresser, pulling out clean clothes. In the bathroom, she stripped out yesterday’s gear and studied herself in the mirror. Samurai jacket, Johnny’s, over a tank, her favorite pair of pants. She ran her fingers along the freshly shaved side of her head. A new look. It worked.
V took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the door. The Afterlife’s neon glow spilled over her as she stepped out into the bar.
Time was a funny thing. Sometimes it bled away before you could grab hold of it; other times, it crawled, every second daring you to notice. For V, the morning passed in the quicker variant.
The moment she stepped out into the Afterlife’s neon haze, she spotted Claire behind the bar, sleeves rolled up. V joined her without a word, helping haul bottles, wipe down counters, and slot fresh ice into the bins. Claire gave her a small nod, a quiet good luck as Rogue’s first clients filtered in.
V took Rogue’s usual booth. From here, the bar’s pulse hit a little differently, bass thruming up through the soles of her boots, the warm tang of ethanol mixing with ozone from the old neon tubes overhead. She worked the conversations like clockwork: small talk first, then gig details, then closing it out with just enough swagger to make them believe they were in the right hands.
Rogue had been stepping back more and more lately, letting V run point with her clients. It wasn’t subtle, at least not to V. Rogue was testing her, shaping her, dangling the possibility of taking her place. She’d hinted at it enough times that V stopped wondering if it was in her head.
V had never confirmed she wanted the job. Fixer life didn’t fit her, not permanently. But taking Rogue’s seat meant information, and right now, information meant leverage. Especially Militech intel. Every deal, every whispered contract gave her another piece of the puzzle she was building toward burning Militech to the ground.
After two mercs stopped by to pick up gigs, V headed into the back to find Nix. She liked the guy, both former corpos, both netrunners. Mutual respect. Most days, he plugged her into combat training sims; today was one of those. She ran the drills smoothly, folding her new Blackwall abilities into the rhythm until the enemies dropped without ceremony. Other days, it was cracking ICE, work she’d been getting better at, quicker, cleaner.
Sure, it wasn’t the same as her brief two-year education at the Arasaka Academy, but the training stuck. She was becoming a hell of a netrunner even outside the firefights. After the run, she thanked Nix, unplugged, and slid back into Rogue’s booth like she’d never left.
Some days followed a different pattern, Northside, Ryder’s Clinic. Chrome swaps, tune-ups. Cassius was fine, good even, but he wasn’t Vik. No one would ever be Vik.
She’d visited his niche at the Columbarium a few days ago. Misty had been there before her, V could tell from the fresh message on the niche. You gave sight to those who lost it, and hope to those who thought they were beyond saving. You always fixed more than chrome.
V’s month-long break had been good for her. Necessary. She’d needed to find herself again. But guilt still had teeth. She’d left behind the people who counted on her, her crew, Johnny… Jackie.
Her daughter.
She tried not to think about her, but the nights made it impossible. How old would she be now? Nine months? Could she stand on her own yet? V didn’t know, and the not knowing cut deeper than she liked to admit. The worst part was the relief, ugly, selfish relief at staying away, at taking the time to grow without them. Three weeks, and she still didn’t know if that made her a survivor or a coward.
But the time for that was over.
Goro was here. Twelve sharp.
V spotted Goro at the far end of the Afterlife and waved him over. He threaded his way through the afternoon crowd, his presence a quiet counterpoint to the bar’s constant pulse. Sliding into the booth across from her, he gave a curt nod.
He was the only one left. The last original piece of her crew.
Angel hadn’t spoken to her since that blowout holo call. Panam? Radio silence, V figured she was blocked. Judy… V didn’t even know if she’d made it out of the med center yet, and she hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to find out. Song had vanished into the digital ether, and V doubted she’d ever cross paths with the netrunner again.
And Johnny?
Didn’t matter. He hadn’t set foot in the Afterlife since she’d left him.
So yeah. Just Goro now.
Takemura’s loyalty was a strange thing, unyielding, almost formal. He’d once told her he owed her his life because she’d saved his. She’d pointed out the number of times he’d kept her breathing in a firefight, but he’d dimmed those as irrelevant. Johnny had always hated that about him, that unwavering loyalty, especially when it used to serve Arasaka. But with Araska gone from Night City, Goro’s allegiance was hers alone.
Her thoughts drifted until his voice cut through. “V. Where did you go?”
She blinked, dragging herself back. “Sorry. Go on.”
“You are certain you do not require me to repeat myself?”
“I’m fine,” she said, leaning back. “You said… Cynosure, Cite C, under Pacifica. Six a.m. sharp.” A small smirk tugged at her lips. “See? I was paying attention.”
Goro gave her a searching look. “You have not been yourself lately.”
“Oh, really? What gave it away?” Her tone was dry, but her eyes stayed on him. “That Blackwall? Leaving my family? Or maybe not knowing who the fuck I am anymore? Take your pick.”
He didn’t finish, just held her gaze. “Or perhaps it was last night. The run-in with your father.”
V went still.
Last night had been rough. The two of them had infiltrated Embers. Goro had gone in as Hideshi Hino; he could pull off the look. She’d taken on Aurore Cassel’s face, thanks to her FIA faceplate. Militech didn’t know Aurore had been dead for months, and V intended to use that to get close to their CTO. The plan was simple: charm her way into a tour of the reopened Cynosure project, all while her systems scanned the CTO’s behavioral imprint for tomorrow’s break-in.
The CTO had agreed. Smooth sailing, until she’d called over Militech’s CEO, Lucas Harford.
Her father.
V had frozen like a rookie. Harford, smiling, had asked if it was the scars, and stated most women found them attractive. She’d forced a flawless French smile and kept stalling, buying time for the sync to finish. Goro had stepped in then, guiding the conversation, keeping her steady until the scan completed.
She’d been ready to leave when Lucas caught her arm. Told her he’d heard she and her brother died the night Hansen of Dogtown went down.
“My brother died,” she’d said. “I didn’t.”
Lucas had offered his condolences. Said he understood, he’d had twins too, and his daughter had outlived her brother.
“You know nothing,” she’d told him, before walking away.
Back in the booth, Goro was still watching her.
“No,” V said finally. “That’s not it. Drop it.”
“Very well,” Goro said at last, though the crease in his brow didn’t ease. “But I do not like that your father recognized you.”
V leaned back, arms crossing. “He didn’t clock me. Not really. As long as he doesn’t show up tomorrow, we’re in the clear.”
She leaned in closer, her voice low, sharp with conviction. “This hit might be the one, Goro. The thing that finally cripples Militech’s grip on Night City. Everything they’ve been building toward, Cynosure, the money, the contracts, all of it, it’s their foundation. We pull it down, their stock tanks, investors bail, the whole damn company collapses. Just like Arasaka after Mikoshi.”
Goro’s eyes narrowed. “And what then? Biotechnica? Kang-Tao? Another will rise. The cycle repeats.”
“Does it matter?” V shot back. “Militech is the worst of the worst.”
“Careful,” Goro said softly. “You are starting to sound like Silverhand.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m nothing like him.”
“Silverhand thought Arasaka’s fall would reshape the world. It did not. One giant fell, another took its place. You once understood that.” His gaze lingered on her, heavy with quiet judgment. “But you are not the same woman you were.”
V’s retort caught in her throat because a voice cut across the booth.
“Hey, V.”
She turned, and there was Panam.
V’s whole body went taut. Across from her, Goro rose smoothly, dipping his head to Panam in polite acknowledgement. “Tomorrow, then,” he told V. Without waiting for a reply, he slipped out of the booth and vanished into the crowd.
That left Panam standing there, looking at her with that familiar mix of defiance and hesitation.
“What do you want?” V asked flatly.
Panam tilted her head. “Can I sit?”
V gestured stiffly. “Go ahead.”
Panam slid in across from her. Silence settled, thick and awkward. After a beat, Panam forced a smile. “You thirsty? I’m thirsty.” She flagged Claire over. “Two Jackie Welles.”
The smile lingered on her lips as she glanced at V, but V’s gaze stayed narrow, hard.
Claire arrived with the drinks, setting them down with a knowing look before drifting away. V didn’t touch hers. “What are you doing here, Panam?” she asked.
Panam ignored the question, lifted her glass instead. “How’ve you been? Heard you’ve been staying with Rogue. Must be fun. Can’t stand the fixer more than two minutes myself.”
V forced a smile of her own and finally took a sip, the liquor burning down her throat. “I’m fine. Real fine. Love it, actually, having my whole crew ditch me.”
Panam let out a breath through her nose, eyes narrowing. “You’re one to talk. You’re the one who left me. You let Song knock me out while you knocked Angel out cold. If anyone stabbed the other in the back, it was you.”
“I did what I had to.”
A humorless chuckle slipped out of Panam. “There it is. Rumors are true. V’s taking Rogue’s place, all right, already adapting her cold bitch persona.”
“Or maybe I’ve had to grow up a lot faster than you did, Panam. Maybe I can actually put things into perspective, see the world as it is. Maybe you need to take off your rose colored glasses; they aren’t a good look for you.”
That landed. Panam reeled herself in, steadying her voice. “I’m not here to fight. Look, I’m not apologizing. I was right. But still…”
She sighed, drinking deeply from her glass before continuing. “The Aldecaldos are back in Night City. Camped just outside, a few days now. I was asked to bring you there.”
V shook her head. “No. Thanks, but no. Saul never left much of an impression, unless you count ditching us the first time.”
Panam leaned forward. “I’m not asking on Saul’s behalf. This isn’t from him.” She paused, eyes locking on V’s. “This isn’t just from the group but the clan itself. From Santiago himself. He wants to meet you.”
V blinked. “Santiago? The Santiago? Leader of all the Aldecaldos?”
Panam nodded. “The very one.”
“Shit,” V muttered under her breath. “Didn’t know he was alive.”
“Oh, he’s alive,” Panam said, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “And asking to meet the living legend herself. Wants to see if the rumors are true. He’s not the kind of man you turn down.”
V let out a long sigh, tipping back her glass, and drained the rest of her drink. “Fine.”
“Good. We’ll take my truck.”
V pushed to her feet, motioning toward Claire. “Watch the bar while I’m gone.” Without waiting for a reply, she followed Panam out, climbing the stairs and stepping into the hazy afternoon light.
Time blurred on the drive. V sat with her elbow hooked against the window, eyes fixed on the cityscape receding in the distance. With Militech’s patrols mostly gone, the roads out of Night City looked clearer than she’d seen in years. Easier to breathe, almost.
Panam stayed quiet for most of it, her attention on the wheel. V finally broke the silence. “Judy. How’s she doing? Ever leave the med center?”
“Couple weeks ago,” Panam said. “Busted some bones, but nothing time won’t fix. She’s… she’s healing.”
V nodded. “That’s good.”
The truck veered off the main highway, onto cracked roads cutting through California’s barren flats. Night City had burned faint in the rearview, always a memory. V let her hand dangle out the window, feeling the dry wind whip between her fingers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just… left. Away from the concrete, the noise, the endless hunger of the city. For a second, she almost felt free.
“Not far now,” Panam said. “But, heads up. Clan’s bigger these days. We merged with a camp out of Texas, plus Santiago brought his own people. Including his kids. You’d probably get along with his son.”
V gave no reply.
Soon, the Aldecaldo camp came into view, larger than V remembered, sprawling with tents, vehicles, solar rigs, and cooking fires. Panam parked near the edge and swung out, V trailing after her. The camp bustled with life, kids running between cars, mechanics hunched under hoods, voices rising in easy banter. Familiar faces spotted her, and a few nods were exchanged, cautious but not unfriendly.
“First stop,” Panam said, jerking her chin toward a nearby tent. “Judy. She’ll kill me if she hears you showed up and I didn’t bring you by.”
Inside, Judy sat perched on a cot, crutches leaning against the canvas wall, Mitch planted on a stool beside her. They were mid-laugh until Judy’s eyes landed on V. Her voice went quiet, her posture stiff.
Mitch stood, breaking the tension. “Well, shit. Good to see you again, V.” He clapped her shoulder with a grin.
V returned it. “Good to see you too.”
“Beer later,” Mitch said, winking. “I’ll let you two catch up.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” Panam said, already following Mitch out. She glanced back at V. “Find me, and when you’re done, I’ll take you to Santiago.”
Then it was just the two of them.
Judy’s gaze lingered, unblinking. V shifted her weight. “How’d the leg?”
Judy drew in a shaky breath. “Docs offered to chrome it. I said no. Don’t see the point.”
“I’m… sorry. About the gig.”
Judy shook her head, eyes softening but not breaking. “It’s alright. Just, maybe give me a minute, okay? Wasn’t exactly expecting you.”
“Yeah,” V murmured. She turned toward the flap. “I’ll see you around camp. Maybe.”
“Maybe,” Judy echoed.
V stepped back into the fading light, the murmur of the camp all around her.
Sure enough, Panam was exactly where V expected her, kicked back with Mitch, a beer in hand, chatting with a couple of Aldecaldos around the fire.
The moment V approached, Panam’s sharp eyes found her. “That was quick.”
“Judy didn’t really wanna talk,” V said with a shrug.
Panam muttered something under her breath, figured as much, but V pretended not to hear it.
“Hey, it’s always good to see you back, kiddo,” Mitch said, holding a cold bottle toward her.
V accepted it with a nod. “Thanks.” She took a sip, let the bitter fizz bite her tongue.
“We should probably go,” Panam said, already setting her empty bottle down.
“Where’re you two headed?” Mitch asked, his grin knowing.
“Santiago,” Panam answered.
Mitch chuckled. “Have fun.”
V allowed herself a small smile in return before following Panam deeper into camp.
The walk was quiet. Just the shuffle of boots in the dirt, distant laughter, the smell of campfire smoke. Panam didn’t offer conversation, and V didn’t ask for it.
They stopped outside the largest tent. Panam slipped in first, and V ducked in after her.
The air was warmer inside, heavy with voices. Saul stood off to one side, speaking with a broad-shouldered man whose beard was streaked silver. Recognition hit V in a wave; she’d seen that face before, in Johnny’s memories. Older now, weather, but unmistakable.
Santiago.
But then her gaze shifted, and her blood went cold.
At a table across the room, Johnny sat with a beer in his silver hand, his other arm slung casually around Angel. And in Angel’s arms–
V froze.
Her daughter.
Jackie. Dressed in a tiny yellow frock, quiet, thumb pressed between her lips.
They hadn’t noticed her yet, but Panam had. V shot her a look that could’ve killed. Panam ignored it, face blank. Of course, she knew. Of course, she’d planned this.
Saul noticed first. “Hey, Panam. Good to see you again, V.”
That got their attention. Johnny’s eyes snapped to hers, wide for a fraction of a second. He lifted his arm from Angel’s shoulders, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. But V didn’t care. Her focus was locked on Jackie.
“So this is the famous V,” Santiago said, stepping forward. He offered his hand.
V forced herself to move, to meet him halfway. “You must be Santiago.” She took the handshake, firm and steady.
“It’s good to finally meet the living legend in person,” he said with a broad grin. “I’ve heard the stories.”
“All of them are true,” V replied, managing her own grin.
He laughed, eyes glinting. “Sharp tongue, too.” There was a note in his voice, subtle, deliberate.
V ignored it. “Good to meet you, Santiago.”
His gaze shifted to Johnny. “Funny, you didn’t mention she was related to Morgan Blackhand.”
Johnny nearly choked on his drink. “The fuck are you talking about?”
Santiago waved both hands toward V. “Look at her. The swagger, mannerisms, the eyes, even the grin. I only met the bastard a few times, but I’ve got an eye for this shit.”
Johnny shook his head, chuckling. “Hate to break it to you, choom, but V’s corpo blood. Nothing Blackhand about her. ‘Specially her height.”
V shot him a glare but turned back to Santiago. “Still, I’ll take the compliment.”
Santiago smirked and launched into a story about running a gig with Blackhand back in the day.
But V barely heard him.
Her eyes had drifted back to Jackie, now fussing softly in Angel’s arms. A sharp ache twisted in her gut. Fuck. Why had she left her? Why had she stayed away? And why did it burn to see Angel holding her, like Angel was her mother?
Before she could think better of it, V stepped forward. Angel’s eyes met hers. A silent exchange passed between them, long, heavy. Without a word, Angel carefully shifted Jackie into V’s arms.
V clutched her daughter close, pressing a small kiss to her forehead. The world dimmed. All the noise, all the legends in the tent, it didn’t matter.
It had been twenty-three days since she’d last held Jackie. Twenty-three days she’d chosen to stay away.
Her mistake.
One she’d never make again.
Eventually, she looked up.
The tent was quiet now. Angel, Panam, and Saul had slipped out, leaving only her, Johnny, Jackie, and Santiago.
Her gaze drifted to Johnny. Something about him was different. Cleaner, maybe, that was the word. His hair had been cut, still long enough to brush just past his ears, but neater. His beard was gone too, replaced by a shadow of stubble that softened his face. He looked younger. Years younger than she’d even seen him.
He met her eyes briefly, then turned away, saying nothing. Santiago filled the silence.
“Figures the kid’s yours,” the Aldecaldo leader said, watching Jackie with a curious half-smile. “Doesn’t look like Alt.”
V gave the smallest nod, Jackie smiling up at her as if on cue.
“Tell me something,” Santiago said, stepping closer. “Is it true? You’re the one who flatlined Adam Smasher? The one who solo’d Arasaka Tower?”
V smirked faintly. “The one and only.”
Santiago let out a low whistle. “Goddam. Forget Morgan Blackhand, sounds like you might be going down in the history books.”
V raised a brow, shifting Jackie higher in her arms. Then her attention slid back to him and Johnny, both watching her. “Explain this… the two of you are friends?”
“I’d say so,” Santiago replied easily. “Was pretty bummed when Silverhand zeroed back in ‘23.”
“That’s surprising,” V said, “given what Johnny’s told me.”
Johnny scoffed, lifting his beer. “Didn’t get along at first. But after my first run at Arasaka Tower, Santiago let me crash with the Aldecaldos. Couple of years.”
V blinked. “Had no idea.”
Santiago grinned. “Johnny used to be a nomad himself. Probably why we never strangled each other.”
“You were a nomad?” V asked, turning to Johnny.
He nodded once. “Grew up in a clan. Before the army got its claws in me.”
V shook her head, bouncing Jackie gently as she fussed. “Didn’t know that about you.”
“You used to,” Johnny said, voice lower, almost wistful.
She stilled, the words hanging between them. But before she could press, Santiago spoke again.
“There’s another reason I wanted to see you.”
V tore her eyes away from Johnny, giving the Aldecaldo her full attention.
“I want to offer you a place with us. Officially,” Santiago said. “Saul’s camp vouches for you already, you’re family, whether you like it or not. Come with us. Come with me and Johnny back to Texas.”
For a moment, V just blinked, processing. Slowly, her eyes slid to Johnny.
He shifted, careful with his words. “I’m leaving Night City. For good. Gonna bury it all. Start fresh.”
V hugged Jackie closer, disbelief tightening her throat. “And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?”
“Tried,” Johnny said. His jaw clenched. “But you blocked me. Pushed me out. Purposefully.”
Her anger flared hot. “So if I hadn’t shown up, you’d still leave. Take Jackie with you.”
“You can’t know that,” his voice rose. “You weren’t there!”
The words cut like broken glass. Jackie squirmed, whining louder.
Santiago cleared his throat pointedly. Both of them turned like guilty kids.
“I’ll let you two… talk this out,” he said smoothly. “My son probably just got back from the city anyhow.” With that, he slipped out, leaving the storm behind him.
The tend was too quiet now. Jackie’s soft cries filled it, breaking V’s chest.
“I can’t fucking believe you,” she spat, turning for the flap.
“Where the fuck you think you’re going?” Johnny snapped, following.
“Back to Night City. Can’t stand looking at your face.”
He was right behind her now. “And what, you’re just taking Jackie with you?”
“She’s my daughter,” V shot back, voice trembling. “I can do whatever the hell I want with her. And right now, I don’t want to stay here.”
“You can’t just do that,” Johnny barked, his face twisted with anger. “You don’t get to show up, act like nothing’s changed. You fucking abandoned her!”
V froze, words catching in her throat. The silence that followed wasn’t silence at all; the background hum of the camp had shifted. Eyes were on them. Aldecaldos gathering, whispering. Jackie’s cries had turned to full-on screams.
V tried to soothe her, murmuring softly, bouncing her, but her own hands were shaking.
Johnny took a slow step closer, his voice lowering, gentler now. “Maybe… maybe we should just talk. Just us.” His tone softened further. “We’ll take my Porsche. Head to the Sunset Motel. Grab a drink. Let Angel take Jackie back to the city.”
V swallowed hard, realizing only then that tears streaked her cheeks. She nodded and mumbled. “...Okay.”
She kissed Jackie’s forehead, whispering into her tiny ear. “I’ll be back, baby girl. I promise. Won’t leave you again. Not this time.”
Carefully, she handed Jackie over. Johnny took her with surprising tenderness, murmuring something quiet as he rocked her against his chest.
“Wait by the Porsche,” he told V, his voice steady now. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
V nodded, turning away. She drifted across the camp, every step slow, mechanical. She wasn’t sure if she was moving of her own accord or just letting her body drag her forward. Panam’s truck came into view first, and sure enough, parked close beside it sat Johnny’s Porsche, still polished chrome and sharp edges, looking out of place in the dust and canvas.
She stopped next to it and just… stood. It felt like she was outside herself, a bystander watching from a distance. Detached. Truth was, she’d been feeling this way ever since she woke in that shitty hotel room in Pacifica. She’d been shoved into a life she didn’t choose, one she couldn’t steer. There was the illusion of control, sure. But deep down? She’d been trapped all along.
Minuted blurred by before Johnny appeared, striding toward her. He didn’t speak at first. Just unlocked the Porsche, shot her a careful glance. “Get in.”
V obeyed numbly, lowering herself into the passenger seat. The engine roared to life, and they rolled out of camp. She stared out the window, watching the desert stretch past in streaks of fading sunlight.
When she finally turned to look at him, Johnny wasn’t looking her way. His gaze stayed forward, silver hand loose on the wheel, ganic hand shifting gears with mechanical precision. He looked the way she felt, hollow, worn. Sad, maybe.
Without thinking, V reached across and set her hand lightly over his.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t react. Then, slowly, his eyes softened, just barely.
“I missed you,” V said, the word quiet, almost fragile.
Silence lingered long enough that she almost regretted saying it. Then Johnny said, carefully, “Missed you too.”
Neither of them moved their hands. They drove the rest of the way like that, until he finally pulled into the cracked lot of the Sunset Motel.
V pulled away first, slipping out into the night air. Johnny joined her, falling into step as they climbed the worn stairs.
“You’re the third person today to get me a drink,” she muttered.
Johnny huffed a laugh through his nose. “I can get you something non-alcoholic. If you want.”
“Would appreciate that.”
Inside, the bar was half full, locals hunched over cheap bottles, neon lights bleeding across scuffed floors. V and Johnny slid onto a pair of barstools.
“One bottle of tequila,” Johnny told the bartender. “And a strawberry lemonade.”
V blinked at him. “How the hell’d you know I liked that? Never once have I gotten one around you.”
He grinned, faint and tired but real. “Well, you were always ordering one when you were pregnant with Jackie.”
Her chest tightened. She smiled at him sadly, just as the drinks were set down in front of them.
She lifted her glass, took a sip, then let her eyes sweep over him again. “I like your new look. Didn’t think changing your hair would make such a difference.”
Johnny smirked, resting his chin in his hand. “Could say the same for you. Side buzz looks good.” His gaze flicked lower, to her collarbone. “And the ink. ‘Bout time you got some tattoos.”
V glanced down at the snake curling across her chest. “Matches your, doesn’t it?”
Johnny held up his ganic hand, showing the little serpent etched along his hand.
“That was deliberate,” V admitted, lip twitching at the corner. “Got it done by Cassius Ryder. Same guy who inked you. Don’t worry, kept your original ink.” She leaned back and tugged her Samurai jacket sleeve up, exposing the cupid’s arrow. The words Johnny + V were wrapped in the ink.
Johnny’s smirk faltered into something softer, almost mournful.
“You look good, Val,” he said quietly. “Look like yourself again.”
V shook her head, staring into the pink haze of her drink. “Don’t think I’ll ever look myself again. Pregnancy did a number on my body.”
V sighed and lifted her glass again, letting the sweetness cut through the dryness in her throat. “C’mon, Johnny,” she muttered, setting it back down. “We’re not here to talk about glow-ups. We’re here to talk about the shit we should’ve talked about a long time ago.”
Johnny tipped his bottle back, took a measured sip, and stayed silent.
V studied him, the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “I think I get it now. Why you’re so desperate to leave Night City behind. Because you used to be a nomad, right? Miss the wind in your hair, the freedom, livin’ life on the road. Makes sense. Hell, first thing you wanted to do when I woke up was drag me outta Night City with you.”
Johnny finally set the bottle down, turning it slowly on the bar. His voice came low, steady. “It’s not that. It’s Night City. Been chewing me up and spittin’ me out since the day I set foot there. Took me years to realize the truth: every war I’ve fought, every corpo I tried to burn down, it all just lined someone else’s pockets. Revolutions don’t free people. They’re managed, controlled, and made profitable by the very assholes they’re supposed to fight. Even the op on Arasaka Tower in ‘’23, Blackhand and me? We were backed by a corp. Just a different one. There’s no winning against them.”
He leaned back, eyes on hers now, tired but sharp. “So why keep fighting? Why not embrace the absurd? Life has no meaning, and we are fine with it. Better to walk away. Live the life I’ve got left. A life I made with you. I want you to come with me, V. Leave it all behind. Leave Night City behind.”
The words stuck in her chest. She opened her mouth, closed it again. Nothing came.
Johnny filled the silence, shifting topics as if to spare her. “You been using those new Blackwall tricks of yours?”
V hesitated, fingers tightening around her glass. “...No. Just in combat sims. Honestly? I’m terrified. Afraid if I let myself go there, it’ll turn me into something I’m not.”
Johnny nodded once, slowly. “Good. Might keep you human a little longer.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Didn’t mean anything by it,” he said quickly, shrugging.
She let it drop with a scoff, then cut in sharply. “What’s the deal with Angel, huh? You two screwing again? Getting back with you, old ex-output?”
His head snapped toward her, gaze cutting. “What’s your deal with Goro? Didn’t know you had such a taste for older men after me.”
“Nothing’s going on with Takemura,” V shot back. “But you and Angel… whole other story. Should’ve seen it coming. No one competes with Alt Cunningham. Not even me.”
That landed. His mouth twisted, and for once, he didn’t deny it. “Give me a break, V. I needed you. You weren’t there. Angel… she was. She cares about Jackie. Actually gives a damn.”
“Don’t put that on me,” V snapped, heat flaring in her chest. “You think I didn’t care? I was drowning, Johnny. Still am. I don’t even know who the hell I am anymore.”
He studied her, something raw flicking in his eyes. His voice came quietly. “You’re Valerie. The woman I love.”
Her throat closed. She shook her head, tears pricking. “You don’t know how much I wish that were true.”
Johnny ignored the protest. He leaned in and kissed her. Firm, insistent.
And just as he pulled away, V grabbed him, kissing him back harder. Desperate. Rough.
Fuck, she needed him.
V hadn’t planned for it to go this far, but it was pretty clear Johnny needed her too, needed her right then, even if it was just in that moment. He tossed a few eddies across the bar and ordered them a room. One bed.
They stumbled down the stairs together, lips locked, her back hitting the wall as he pressed against her. V hooked her legs around his hips, desperate, both of them clinging to their clothes like keeping them on might slow this down. But the second the door clicked shut behind them, it was all over.
The room was a wreck, stained carpet, crooked lamp, a mattress that had seen better decades, but it felt perfect in its imperfection. Johnny tugged her jacket off first, his mouth latching onto her neck, biting hard enough to make her whine. Her hands scrambled at his shirt, dragging it up until he pulled it free himself.
She couldn’t keep her hands off him, showing him back onto the bed and climbing after him, tugging his hair as his lips traced lower and lower down her body. He was teasing her, deliberately slow. Fine. She could play that game too.
V slid off the bed, letting her clothes fall piece by piece until she stood there, bare in that shitty little room. Johnny watched like he’d never seen her before, hunger in his eyes, sure, but something softer threaded through it too. Something dangerous. He got up, hair tousled, and scooped her off her feet like she weighed nothing, setting her down gently against the bedspread.
He hovered above her, silver fingers tracing every line of ink, every scar. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured.
V’s breath caught. She didn’t answer, just stared up at him with side eyes as his mouth before its slow path down her body. The cool trail of chrome on her skin made her shiver, then gasp as it slid lower.
“Johnny, stop teasing,” she panted.
He grinned against her skin. “You begging, princess?”
Her retort broke into a gasp when his fingers entered her, silver sliding against her heat. Her back arched off the bed, nails raking his shoulder as he worked her with a steady rhythm, words spilling from his mouth low and dirty.
“You like that, don’t you? Already soaking wet.”
When he pulled back, she growled in frustration, reaching down to yank at his pants, stripping him bare. Her grin was wicked as she shoved him down and swung a leg over him. Now it was her turn. She ground against him, close but not close enough, her thighs brushing him just to watch him twitch beneath her. She peppered his skin with sharp, biting kisses, savoring the way he cursed against her ear.
When she finally took him in, all teasing vanished.
The rest blurred together, rough kisses, desperate murmurs, the heat of skin against skin in the dark.
Later, she lay tangled in his arms, their bodies spent, the sweat cooling on her skin. Johnny’s fingers traced over her tattoo, the ink on her arm. Johnny + V . He followed the lines again and again like he was memorizing them.
She smiled faintly, met his gaze. And then it hit her. This was the first time she had slept with Johnny Silverhand. Her, Valerie. Not the V who’d died died and left her body behind.
The realization stung. She hadn’t even slept with the father of her child till now. That was its own pathetic little wound, and she let it sit heavy in her chest.
The tears came before she could stop them. Not the quiet ones, not just a leak at the corner of her eye, real tears, hot and shaking.
Johnny’s gaze softened. He didn’t ask. Didn’t press. Just pulled her closer, chrome hand rubbing circles against her back.
“I know,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “I got you.”
Her quiet sobs broke into something harder, raw. “I don’t want you to leave,” she choked out, clutching at him like he might vanish the second she let go. “I want to go with you. Please. Let me come with you.”
His arms tightened around her. “Wasn’t gonna leave without you, V. Should know that by now. I go where you go. Always have, always will.”
She swallowed a sob, searching his face, and he said it plain, voice steady despite the crack of emotion beneath it.
“I fucking love you, Valerie.”
Notes:
75% of the way there, six chapters left! ✨
For the past storyline, I’d watched an interview with Mike Pondsmith where he revealed Johnny got Rogue pregnant. This was my take on it, and more will be revealed in the coming chapters.
As for the present storyline… maybe things are finally working themselves out? Seems like it, at least. Johnny and V’s broken family is back together again. At this point, you know how I operate; nothing bad’s gonna happen. No way. 😇
Anyway, I’m sleep-deprived, so apologies for the rushed notes. As always, kudos, comments, and bookmarks give me that sweet boost of dopamine. Love to all you lurkers as well. Thanks for reading! 💖💖💖
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