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Johnny and V aren’t friends. That’s a fact. You don’t become friends with the parasite that tried to kill you the second he managed to manifest, yelling in your head, telling you you’re dying, slowly overwriting you until your soul’s gone and only his is left.
They’re like an old married couple that never stops fighting — always snapping at each other, always throwing insults, disagreeing on everything. Johnny thinks she’s an idiot, and V thinks he’s an asshole.
But they share her body, and just like he feels what she feels, hears what she hears, knows what she thinks and what she does every day, she can feel him too — not the same way, not completely. Just his thoughts, his urges, the pull of what he wants, because Johnny only gets control if she lets him.
And Johnny’s been stuck as a pile of data for fifty years, drifting somewhere past the edge of the digital world, and only now he’s close enough to reality again to almost touch it. But he can’t interact, can’t interfere. He sees what V sees, feels what V feels, even tastes what she eats and drinks — even though, in the end, it all comes from her.
And she can feel how badly he wants to take control.
God, he wants it. He’s desperate to run loose through Night City, desperate to feel alive again, to feel real, to feel like he exists outside her head.
But he’s trying not to take over.
And that surprises V. He says he doesn’t want to hurt her anymore, says they need to be on the same page, same goals, same plan, all that crap.
He’s still an asshole, still loves reminding her how screwed she is, but he hasn’t tried to force control again.
And that’s why she wants to return the favor.
(And what favor exactly? It’s the bare minimum he should be doing, considering he’s killing her. But V’s always been kind of stupid when it comes to things like that. Things about what’s actually good for her.)
So she starts doing small things. Little things that might make it easier for him, might take the edge off that constant need he has to feel real. Let him do his thing once in a while.
Doesn’t mean she’s giving him control yet. That’s something she keeps locked behind tall, thick walls in her head so Johnny won’t hear it.
She knows that eventually she’ll let him take over. She knows it.
She’s just… still thinking about it. Still waiting for him to screw something up so she can drop the idea and pretend she never had it.
But he hasn’t.
He’s been acting normal.
Hasn’t tried to pull anything.
So yeah, V’s gonna try to help Johnny feel alive. Or whatever.
Problem is, she has no idea how to say that out loud without him turning it into a fight, because Jesus Christ, Johnny’s an asshole and he hates anything that even smells like pity.
Talking to him is hard, because he twists everything, finds a way to turn every word into an argument.
Like right now. Johnny likes rock, right?
So she switches the radio to Morro Rock and lets the music fill the car. Samurai starts playing too. She doesn’t even like rock, but she cranks the volume up anyway and keeps driving through the streets, heading toward Pacifica to check out a reported cyberpsycho sighting.
The songs pour through the speakers with rough, scratchy chords, screaming guitar solos, heavy drums pounding loud enough to rattle her skull. She shuts off the part of her brain that hates the noise and keeps driving until a faint blue static flickers in the corner of her vision.
Johnny’s sitting in the passenger seat, aviators on, but his eyes are locked on her.
And V does her best to pretend she didn’t put the music on for him.
“You don’t like rock.”
“When did I say I don’t like rock?”
Johnny raises an eyebrow and lets out a mocking scoff, while V just tries to look relaxed and keeps driving.
“I’m pretty damn sure I heard you say you hated it, V.”
And yeah, she did say that. A few days ago, when he wouldn’t shut up about the damn radio.
“Changed my mind. Now shut up.”
“You’re weird as hell.”
He turns toward the window, and his ghostly body seems to glow under the sunlight — or at least that’s how it looks to her. His black hair almost looks dark blue in the light, his skin looks more tanned, and Johnny looks warm, like a real body sitting there, alive and heated by the sun.
She keeps her eyes on the road, dodging the lunatics in traffic, but she keeps sneaking glances at him. She has to hold herself back from sighing, from letting her thoughts slip, because Johnny’s relaxed.
He leans back in the seat, his organic hand resting against the car door while the sunlight washes over him. His head tilts back, and he hums quietly along with the song — so quiet she can barely hear it — while his metal hand taps against his leg in rhythm.
He’s… calm.
The music he loves seems to settle something inside him, and Johnny gives off this heavy, quiet feeling of pure satisfaction, his love for music obvious in every sense she shares with him, in the way he just sits there, completely comfortable with the moment.
V stops sneaking glances at him and tries to give him space, let him have a moment to himself with his music, his thoughts, whatever else is going on in that head of his. But she can’t hide the satisfaction she feels from being able to give him that.
She tries. She really does.
But a smile curls on her lips anyway — and she likes to pretend Johnny didn’t notice.
— * —
V ended up making a list of things to help Johnny Silverhand feel human — and isn’t that hilarious?
But she did it. In the privacy of her own mind. And little by little, she started going through every item on it.
After that first time in the car, she began leaving Morro Rock on more often, until Johnny stopped giving her those long, suspicious looks, like he was trying to figure out why the hell she was listening to that station. Eventually he dropped it and just adapted to the fact that V was apparently a rock fan now.
What a joke. But whatever — the joke was on her anyway.
He seemed more comfortable lately during their drives, humming louder, throwing out opinions about melodies and riffs from other bands. One time he even sat in the back seat, completely sprawled out, with a guitar he pulled out of nowhere, playing a few chords like he was on stage again.
That day had been good. For both of them.
Johnny was in a great mood, and V liked seeing that side of him — liked it even more when he started playing. Even if she got distracted way too many times and almost crashed the car because she was watching him instead of the road.
V pushes the memory away and focuses on the next item on her list: food.
And yeah, it might be weird, but like Johnny said before, everything V feels, he feels too. If V gets hurt, drinks, eats — he feels it as well. Just delayed, like he’s some delivery guy waiting to get paid and only getting his cut after the customer’s already finished the meal.
V never really got what the hell he meant with that comparison, but whatever.
Sometimes Johnny talked so much just to sound like the smartest guy in the room that all V could think was that he was an idiot.
They were parked downtown, north of Memorial Plaza, watching the movement around the Empathy club. V was watching because she was on a stakeout. Johnny was there because he was bored.
Dino had given her the job — slip a virus into their system. And he made it very clear he wanted it quiet. No noise, no mess. So V watched people coming and going, trying to get a feel for the place before going in.
She wanted to suggest something to Johnny — or rather, ask him — what he’d want to eat.
But that would probably earn her a big fat go-fuck-yourself to the face, because God forbid anyone tries to help the great Silverhand feel human and alive.
With Johnny, everything felt like walking on glass or pulling teeth. He was terrible with kindness. Even worse when someone tried to be nice to him.
(And V wasn’t nice to him — not really. But she was decent when he was decent to her. And she wanted to help him, damn it.)
So she kept thinking about how to bring up the food thing without turning it into some stupid, pointless argument.
They’d been getting along lately.
And she didn’t want to go ten steps back.
V spent a few more minutes watching the entrance of the Empathy club, pretending she was completely focused on the job.
In reality, she was thinking about food.
Not food for her. For him.
Which was ridiculous for several reasons, starting with the fact Johnny didn’t need to eat and ending with the fact that if he figured out what she was trying to do, he’d probably give her a whole speech about how she was being condescending.
She rubbed her thumb against the steering wheel, thoughtful.
Johnny was leaning against the car door, looking outside like he was watching a particularly boring show. People walked past on the sidewalk, laughing too loud, others arguing near the club entrance, the bouncers’ implants glowing under the streetlights.
He looked… distant. Not ghost-distant — he was always a ghost.
But distant like someone stuck watching life happen from the other side of the glass.
V sighed through her nose.
“Hey.”
Johnny turned his head slowly.
“What.”
“If you could eat anything right now… what would it be?”
Silence.
He stared at her for a full second. Then two. Then his eyes narrowed behind the aviators.
“What the hell kinda question is that?”
V shrugged, keeping her eyes on the street.
“Curiosity.”
“Curiosity my ass.”
She ignored that. “Just answer.”
Johnny tilted his head a little, clearly suspicious.
“Since when do you care what I’d eat?”
“I don’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“Just answer, Silverhand.”
He let out a small hum, like he was sizing the whole thing up.
Then he crossed his arms.
“Cheeseburger.”
V blinked.
“Seriously?”
“What.”
“Out of everything you could say…”
Johnny turned a little in the seat, looking at her like she’d just offended him. “You asked.”
“I thought you were gonna say something like… I dunno… expensive whiskey, caviar, some anti-corp revolutionary crap.”
“It’s a cheeseburger, V. Not a life philosophy.”
She let out a short laugh through her nose.
Johnny watched her for a moment, then spoke quieter.
“It’s been fifty years.”
She frowned. “What?”
He gestured vaguely at the world outside.
“Since the last time I ate anything real.”
V went silent.
Traffic kept moving, neon lights sliding across the windshield.
Outside, the line in front of Empathy started getting longer.
Johnny turned back to the window. “So yeah,” he muttered. “A cheeseburger.”
V nodded slowly, like she was processing that. Then she started the car.
Johnny turned his head immediately.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“The gig?”
“Still gonna be there in five minutes.”
“Where the hell are you going?”
V hit the turn signal and pulled into the street.
“Relax.”
Johnny narrowed his eyes. “V.”
She finally looked at him, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.
“Got a craving for a cheeseburger.”
For a full second, Johnny didn’t say a word — and for Johnny Silverhand, that was basically a miracle.
— * —
V knows that, logically, everyone living in Night City is a smoker. Even the people who don’t smoke end up being passive smokers anyway. V figures she can count on one hand the number of places she’s been where no one was lighting up.
And Johnny smoked digitally all the damn time. Hell, she’d seen enough of his memories to know he could probably open a bar with the amount of cigarette packs he used to go through. But unlucky for him, V didn’t smoke and tried as hard as possible to stay away from smoke — which was basically impossible, but she tried.
And she did smoke that one time on Judy’s balcony because he asked, didn’t she?
And she ended up regretting it afterward, with the way Johnny talked and behaved while she stared at Evelyn’s small, broken body — how she looked like she was trying to melt into the mattress and there was Johnny, being an asshole.
And how furious she’d gotten with him after that, ignoring him for the rest of the day.
But weeks had passed since then.
Evelyn was dead. V was still dying. And Johnny kept smoking his digital cigarettes, even though in his mind he just wanted to feel the taste of nicotine one last time and the smoke filling his lungs.
She let out a long sigh.
She must’ve looked pathetic standing in front of the kiosk, staring way too long at the rows of cigarette packs — and she definitely felt pathetic.
But here she was again.
Trying to make Johnny’s life a little better.
And she wasn’t even resentful about it. She genuinely wanted him to be as comfortable as possible, but Jesus, she hated cigarettes.
Which was funny, considering she was a merc. You’d think mercs were supposed to love alcohol, nicotine, all that stuff.
And she was a joke, because she didn’t smoke and only drank socially.
“You gonna buy something, miss?”
The guy asked, staring at her with boredom after she’d spent several more minutes just standing there, looking at the kiosk.
What brand did Johnny smoke again?
She remembered it was strong. No menthol like the ones Evelyn used to smoke.
“Uh… what’s your strongest one?”
The man looked at her like he was probably thinking something dumb, like this girl’s never smoked before?
V just waited while he grabbed a dark pack, covered in those warning labels about how cigarettes kill, and said, “This one. You buying it?”
“Yeah.”
She transferred the eddies and took the pack. And she was glad Johnny hadn’t shown up yet.
She wanted to smoke away from him and just let the nicotine run through both of them — then call it quits for the day.
V was planning to smoke one cigarette a day, see if that helped take the edge off his cravings.
She walked away, sat down on a bench in the plaza, and lit a cigarette using Evelyn’s old lighter.
She had to fight the urge to cough after the first drag.
Because holy shit. That thing was strong.
She held the smoke in for a second, trying to remember how people did that without looking like they were choking. The taste was awful. Bitter, heavy, scraping down her throat like it had decided to sandpaper every inch of the way to her lungs.
V let the smoke slip slowly out through her nose, eyes half-closed.
“This is fucking disgusting.”
She took another drag, smaller this time, trying not to choke on it.
The effect hit a few seconds later — a light dizziness, a strange pressure behind her eyes, that metallic taste spreading through her mouth.
Then the blue static flickered at the edge of her vision.
Of course it did.
Johnny appeared sitting on the backrest of the bench, one leg propped on the seat like he’d been there the whole time. The aviators hid his eyes, but his chin was tilted up, curious.
He looked at the cigarette between her fingers.
Then at her face.
Then back at the cigarette.
“…What the fuck is this?”
V blew out another cloud of smoke, pretending not to care.
“Nothing.”
Johnny tilted his head.
“You don’t smoke.”
“I do now.”
“Bullshit.”
She shrugged, looking out at the plaza like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“People change.”
Johnny stayed quiet for a moment.
She could feel his attention, that heavy kind of silence he got into when he was putting pieces together in his head.
Then he reached out the metal hand — and moved it through the smoke still fading in the air.
His fingers passed through the gray haze without touching anything, but he kept staring at it anyway.
“…Same taste,” he murmured.
V didn’t answer.
“Half burnt. Half chemical.”
She took another drag, trying to ignore the sandpaper feeling in her throat.
“Strong as hell too.”
Johnny let out a small laugh through his nose.
“Always was.”
He leaned back against the pole behind the bench, arms crossed.
“Lemme get this straight.” Yeah… here we go.
“You — the same V who used to complain about smoke in every closed room…”
He pointed at the cigarette.
“You’re smoking.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Alone.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Middle of the street.”
“Uh-huh.”
Johnny went quiet again. Another one of those dangerous silences.
Then he spoke slowly.“You doing this for me?”
V almost choked on the smoke. “No.”
Johnny laughed. Not loud. That low laugh of someone who just confirmed exactly what he suspected.
Shit. Thought that too loud, V.
“Holy shit, V.”
She crushed half the cigarette into the metal ashtray on the bench harder than she needed to.
“Shut up.”
Johnny was smiling now.
“You’re weird as hell.”
She kept staring forward, jaw tight.“Heard that before.”
He watched the ember still glowing at the tip of the cigarette.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
V took another drag, and this time she didn’t cough. Johnny kept watching the smoke rise into the air like he was seeing something only he could see.
Then he muttered, almost distracted: “…Still. Thanks.”
The blue static appeared slowly in the corner of the room, like it always did when Johnny decided to show himself. No dramatic entrance this time. Quieter than usual. He just… was there, sitting at the edge of the bed.
V was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling of her apartment in NC, arms thrown at her sides, the weight of exhaustion deep in her bones after another job done. The shower had washed off the blood and dust from the gig, but not the lingering taste of nicotine stuck in the back of her mouth. She’d brushed her teeth twice and it didn’t help at all. The taste was still there.
Johnny wasn’t wearing the aviators this time.
Which, for some reason, made everything feel stranger. More… intimate.
He was staring ahead at nothing in particular, elbow resting on his knee. His organic hand was raised in the air, two fingers curled like he was holding an invisible cigarette, but there was no smoke.
He hadn’t lit one of his digital ones.
“…Johnny?” V called, turning her head a little on the pillow. “What’s wrong?”
Silence.
He didn’t answer right away.
She looked closer then. The gesture of his hand hanging in the air, the way his fingers moved every now and then, like they remembered the weight of something that wasn’t there. He looked… distant. More than usual.
“Johnny?”
This time he turned his head.
And V had to hold her breath for a second.
Without the aviators, it was impossible to ignore his eyes. There was a softness there she almost never saw — the constant tension that usually hardened his face was gone.
He looked almost… tired.
But there was something else too. Concern.
His eyes moved slowly over her face, like he was checking every detail. Like he was making sure she was still there.
V felt something tight in her chest.
“V,” he said finally. His voice lower than usual. “Do me a favor?”
“Depends on the favor.”
He let out a small breath through his nose. “Fair.”
Johnny stayed quiet for a second, like he was putting his thoughts in order — which, coming from him, was suspicious enough already.
“I know you hate cigarettes.”
V raised an eyebrow. “Very observant.”
“And I know what you did today… that was for me.”
She opened her mouth immediately.
“It wasn’t—”
“It was.”
He lifted the metal hand a little, cutting her off. “Relax. I’m not complaining.” Johnny looked at his own fingers, still curled like he was holding something invisible.
“Actually…” he murmured. “That was fucking good.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Been fifty years since the last time I felt real nicotine.”
His fingers moved again in the air. Old reflex.
“And for a few minutes today… felt real.”
V didn’t say anything.
Johnny looked up again. “But don’t do that.”
She frowned. “Do what?”
“That.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Forcing yourself to do shit you hate just because of me.”
“I’m not—”
“V.” He said her name differently this time. Firmer. She closed her mouth.
Johnny rested his forearms on his knees, leaning forward a little. “You’re already carrying a parasite rewriting your brain.” He tapped two fingers against his own temple.“Me.”
A crooked half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t gotta start picking up my bad habits too.”
V let out a small huff.
“I only smoked one cigarette.”
“One cigarette you almost coughed your lungs out after the first drag.”
She looked back at the ceiling.
“You saw that, huh?”
“I’m literally inside your head.”
“Unfortunately.”
Johnny ignored that. “Just…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Don’t push yourself like that.”
He looked away for a moment before finishing. “Be yourself. With that disgusted face you make every time someone lights a cigarette near you.”
His mouth curved slightly. “Gotta admit, that was kinda annoying at first.”
“Kinda?”
“Alright. Very.”
V let out a tired little laugh.
Johnny shrugged. “That’s my problem.” He made a short gesture toward himself. “My habits. My dumb choices.”
His eyes went back to her. “Not yours.”
The room went quiet. Neon lights from some building nearby flickered through the window, painting the ceiling in faint shades of pink and blue.
After a few seconds, V spoke. “So you liked it.”
Johnny narrowed his eyes. “Liked what?”
“The cigarette.”
He let out a short laugh. “Hell yeah.”
“Mm.” Silence again. V turned her head a little on the pillow to look at him.
“I’m gonna keep smoking one a day.”
Johnny blinked. “V—”
“Just one.”
She lazily raised a finger in the air. “Not because you asked.”
“I literally asked the opposite.”
“I know.”
She gave a small, tired smile. “But it’s my decision.”
Johnny stared at her for a few seconds. He sighed, disbelief clear in his eyes, and V couldn’t help feeling a little satisfied at the thought of leaving the great Johnny Silverhand speechless.
He must’ve heard that thought, because he let out an amused huff, lips curling up as he stood from the bed.
“Night, V.”
She closed her eyes. “Night, Johnny.”
— * —
Things between them had been good — in a way that left V almost disbelieving, but in a good way.
She and Johnny understood each other in this weird, twisted way. Sometimes they even started finishing each other’s sentences, which was weird as hell if she stopped to think about it for too long. He showed up almost every time she was driving, and even though they still threw insults at each other, still snapped and provoked just for the hell of it, it felt more like playing around than any real resentment.
Like… they even called each other “dick” and “cunt” in that almost affectionate way you only get when two people are being idiots together.
It all felt so natural now, after everything.
She talked to him about anything and nothing. They spent the whole day running from one side of NC to the other, and the sync between them was ridiculous.
V even switched the strong cigarettes from that first day for a weaker menthol brand — at his suggestion, of course. Because obviously Johnny was some kind of cigarette expert. Now she smoked one every morning, right at the start of the day: menthol, with a light fruity taste that kept V satisfied and helped Johnny deal with the craving.
They had even adopted a cat together.
And V still had trouble believing that sometimes.
Nibbles had become part of their strange little dynamic, and she was… okay with that. She liked the hairless little thing, liked being able to pet her or hold her while sitting on the couch, watching Johnny absentmindedly picking at his guitar, playing some random riff for his tiny feline audience.
It felt… stable. Weirdly stable.
And then…
Johnny fucked it up.
Because of course he did.
V trusted him. No doubt about it. After that whole disaster with Takemura at that nightmare of an event — Johnny saving her life, that conversation where she laid everything on the table. Trust, truth, loyalty.
She’d told him she’d take a bullet for him.
And she’d agreed to give him control so he could talk to Rogue. But nothing was ever simple with that asshole. He had to turn it into a party.
Had to get wasted in a body that wasn’t used to drinking like he did. Had to get high like a junkie. Had to screw that joytoy. And, fuck, he even managed to wreck the damn car.
V was furious. The hangover she dragged herself through that awful day didn’t even come close to how bitter and hurt she felt about the way he treated her body. Her trust.
Fuck, the devotion she felt for that bastard.
She spent days ignoring him.
With a constant urge to shove one of those blockers down her throat and lock him in the farthest corner of her mind.
But she couldn’t do it.
Because she was an idiot who’d gotten attached to him. Because she understood exactly how horrible it was to be forced into submission, to sink into the darkness of the human mind, to be trapped like an animal inside your own head.
She didn’t want to put him through that again.
So she didn’t take them.
But she ignored him like he was a damn plague.
She didn’t look at him. Pretended not to hear when he talked. Every time he showed up, V found some way to push him out of her line of sight.
And she thought she could keep that up for at least another week.
Because the bastard Silverhand seemed more interested in pissing her off or calling her childish than just saying sorry for the whole shitshow.
V even started thinking that was it for their friendship. And it really felt like it was. Until one day, Johnny showed up again.
And he looked almost… like he’d been kicked. And that pissed her off even more.
He was the one who screwed everything up, and still showed up there with those stupidly pretty eyes, looking all sad and rejected. Son of a bitch.
“V.”
She ignored him and kept cleaning her pistol, maybe pressing the cloth a little harder than necessary.
“V.”
She ground her teeth and started taking the gun apart piece by piece.
“Valerie.”
The name made her stop for a second. V pulled the slide back harder than needed and set it on the metal table with a sharp clack.
“Don’t call me that.”
Johnny was leaning against the apartment wall, arms crossed, the same relaxed posture as always… but something was off. The way his weight leaned more to one side, the look in his eyes not as sharp.
He sighed.
“Fine,” he said. “V, then.”
She grabbed the mag and started checking the rounds one by one.
Johnny worked his jaw, irritated.
“Seriously? You really gonna keep this shit up?”
“I’m not talking to you.” she shot back immediately.
“Oh yeah?” he let out a short, bitter laugh. “Sure sounds like you are.”
V snapped the spring back into place with a dry click.
“I’m talking to my gun.”
“Right.” Johnny nodded slowly. “Way more reasonable than talking to me.”
She ignored him, and the silence stretched across the apartment. Nibbles trotted through the room, the little hairless creature crossing the floor and jumping onto the couch like nothing in that place felt tense enough to cut the air in half.
Johnny followed the cat with his eyes.
“Even Nibbles talks to me more than you do.”
V started putting the gun back together, piece by piece, as slow as she possibly could.
Johnny uncrossed his arms and pushed himself off the wall.
“Alright. Enough.” He walked to the table. “You made your point.”
Click. The gun was assembled.
“I know. I know I fucked everything up.”
V finally raised her eyes — and looked at the wall above him.
“Good to know.”
Johnny’s jaw tightened.
“Then stop acting like I killed your dog.”
“Don’t have a dog. Just a cat.”
“You know what I meant.”
She lifted the pistol, checked the weight in her hand, then set it back on the table with a precise motion.
Only then her eyes finally focused on him. And she hoped they were as cold as that ice bath in Pacifica.
“You used my body.” she said.
Johnny opened his mouth—
“You drank until you blacked out,” V went on. “Got high. Slept with some joytoy I don’t even know.”
He closed his mouth again.
“And you still managed to get us into a fucking car crash… So no,” she finished. “You didn’t kill my dog or my cat, whatever. But you wrecked my trust, and that’s not something I can just shrug off.”
Johnny stood there, no comeback ready, no loud rant, no insult sharp enough to hurt her more. His metal hand flexed slowly, and the lowest his voice could go, he said: “I know.”
V laughed, the sound empty, nothing but bitterness.
“No, Johnny. You know now. After pulling that shit.”
“I wasn’t planning any of that.”
“Funny,” V said, flatly. “Sure looked planned when I woke up.”
Johnny stared at her.
“I lost control.”
She shook her head.
“What control? I gave you control, Johnny.”
She turned away and started repeating the same process she’d done with the pistol, now with her shotgun, ignoring his eyes on her back.
“What do you want me to say, V?”
“I don’t know, Johnny. You tell me.”
They stayed quiet so long she thought he had left, thought that had been the last shovel of dirt over whatever they had. But Johnny wasn’t done. He let out a long breath, almost painful, and when he spoke his voice sounded raw. Open. Vulnerable.
It was enough to make her stop moving, even if she refused to look at him.
“I screwed everything up. I know I did, V. And you got every damn right to hate my guts… I’m not gonna pretend none of it happened, because it did. And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t care either.”
V finally looked at him, even if she didn’t want to. Johnny looked… smaller. Like some awkward, ashamed guy instead of the loudmouth legend he always pretended to be. It didn’t fit him. And yet there it was, painfully exposed.
His eyes were real — soft, sad, honestly sorry — without that usual arrogance he carried like armor.
“You… care?” was all she managed to say.
Johnny held her gaze, dark brown meeting anxious green.
“More than you think, Valerie.”
It wasn’t an apology. Not really.
But she nodded slowly. And Johnny left her alone after that.
And out in the Oil Fields, maybe she’d been too harsh on him while he talked, while they dug through his past together inside the same damn head. But even then she could tell he was trying. That he was sorry. That he wanted to fix things.
It wasn’t much.
But it was a start.
They were back at square one again. And Johnny was dead set on earning her trust one more time.
And V was willing to let him try.
— * —
Things between the two of them had gotten better after that day. There was still an invisible line Johnny avoided crossing, careful not to step over it, and V was grateful for that.
And it was exactly because of that that she now found herself standing in front of the wardrobe, wrapped in a towel, while the two of them — her and Johnny — picked an outfit for his date with Rogue.
Johnny reached for a hanger, and V lifted her hand too, mirroring the motion while pulling the clothes forward to see better.
She slid out a red strapped dress, the back crossed with shiny fabric and open on the side… and immediately shook her head.
“No.”
Johnny scoffed.
“Why the hell do you keep this crap if you never wear it?”
And honestly, that was the million-eddies question.
V was kind of a hoarder when it came to clothes and shoes. She liked the idea of having pieces for different occasions, different combos, outfit ideas she could put together… but never did, because day to day she always ended up grabbing something practical.
But she wasn’t about to explain that logic to him.
“Because it’s pretty and I wanna have it. Simple.”
“Nothing’s ever simple with you, V,” he shot back.
His hand moved to pull the next hanger, and V immediately shoved the clothes aside before he could see. Another dress. Even shorter. Completely bare back.
No fucking way she was showing up to a date with Rogue dressed like a joytoy, even if Johnny was the one in control.
Johnny rolled his eyes, and they kept that routine going for several minutes: he picked something, she shut it down instantly.
Until V pulled one of the last hangers, already letting out an automatic “no” —but Johnny whistled low, clearly approving.
Not in his fucking dreams.
It was a short latex dress, strapless.
The neckline was actually more modest, but the cut was tight as hell, and around the chest the fabric squeezed enough to push her breasts up, making them look even bigger.
She shoved the hanger hard to the back of the closet.
Johnny finally lost patience.
“Again: why the hell do you keep this shit if you’re not gonna wear it? Saving it for someone, fuck?”
She mocked him, turning toward the pile of shirts. “Maybe I’m saving it for someone special. So what?”
It wasn’t true. She just wanted to end that stupid argument already and pick anything.
But that was exactly the wrong thing to say.
Johnny stiffened. His posture straightened, rigid, taking up his full height, and even with the sunglasses she felt his stare weighing on her.
“For River?”
She blinked, confused. “Huh?”
He looked even more pissed at her reaction and pulled away abruptly.
“That ‘someone special’ the bastard River?”
“What the hell does River have to do with this?” she shot back, already feeling the irritation rising.
Jesus, things turned fast when it came to Johnny.
“Don’t know, V. You tell me. Saving these pretty outfits for that pig? Waiting for him to take you to some fancy dinner, pay the bill, then fuck you like a proper gentleman?”
“Jesus—”
“Going to his place every Sunday, playing house till he drops to one knee and asks you to marry him—”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Johnny?”
“Then you get married, become fucking Mrs. Ward, quit the merc life and turn into a housewife—”
“Johnny.”
“While he plays detective and you stay home cooking for him—”
“Johnny.”
“And then spread your legs and let him knock you up till there’s half a dozen little Rivers running around—”
“JOHNNY!”
The shout came out so loud it startled Nibbles. So loud Johnny finally shut up.
He’d been pacing back and forth like a maniac, gesturing nonstop while dumping that ridiculous rant, and V had yelled so hard her heart was now hammering in her chest.
She could feel every beat.
She took a deep breath, once, twice, trying to slow it down, but the irritation was still burning in her chest.
Johnny didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
He just stood there in the middle of the room, like he’d only now realized what the hell he’d just said.
“Done?” V said, her voice lower, but still shaking. “Or you got more bullshit to make up?”
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
That alone was weird.
Johnny Silverhand never ran out of answers.
“I…” he started, dragging a hand down his face, frustrated. “Fuck.”
She crossed her arms, still wrapped in the towel, shifting her weight onto one leg.
“What’s your problem with River, huh?” she asked. “Seriously. What the hell was that?”
He let out a short laugh, no humor in it. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
He looked away, staring at the open closet like the hangers were suddenly fascinating.
“Don’t like him.”
“Yeah, noticed.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“Johnny.”
“Straight-laced cop who thinks he can save the world.”
“Johnny.”
“And the way he looks at you like he—”
He stopped mid-sentence. Too late.
V narrowed her eyes. “Like he what?”
Johnny went still for a second, jaw tight, like he was deciding whether to keep going.
He decided not to.
His face twisted into that same annoying superior smirk as always, and V felt a very real urge to rip her own hair out.
“You know what? Whatever. Not like you’d get it… you’re dumb as a fucking post.”
Before she could answer, he just vanished from her line of sight and snapped back into existence on the couch, back turned.
The mind they shared got cut off hard when Johnny threw the wall up between them, blocking whatever the hell was going through his head.
Like he’d slammed a door in her face. Son of a bitch.
V stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds, staring at his back, feeling that sudden emptiness inside her own head.
She hated when he did that.
Hated it more than when he yelled.
More than when he pushed her buttons.
More than when he talked shit.
Because that meant there was something there.
Something he didn’t want her to see.
She tightened the towel around her body, took a deep breath, and turned back to the closet harder than she needed to, yanking hangers like they’d done something wrong.
“Great,” she muttered. “Yeah, disappear. Fucking manchild.”
Johnny didn’t answer.
She grabbed the first thing she saw without even looking and tossed it onto the bed.
“You wanna go out with Rogue? Then you’re going out in whatever crap this is.”
Silence.
She picked another piece, this time actually looking at it, and scoffed.
“And stop acting like I’m gonna marry River, for fuck’s sake.”
Nothing. No reaction.
She shoved her feet into her shoes in a hurry and opened the drawer where she kept the two vials Misty had given her.
She grabbed the pseudoendotrizine roughly, harder than necessary, and stuffed it into her pocket while shooting daggers at Johnny, who made a point of looking at the other side of the apartment.
“You’re a real piece of shit.”
He didn’t answer.
Of course he didn’t.
She turned her back and left, calling his ridiculous Porsche while heading down the megabuilding still boiling with anger, with a ridiculous urge to shake Johnny until he got solid enough for her to slap him across the face.
Fuckin’ idiot.
The car pulled up and she got in, slamming the door hard, and felt immediate satisfaction when, from the other side of the mental barrier Johnny had thrown up, a quick spike of irritation hit her.
Oh, so the bastard was still watching and listening.
Good.
She started the engine harder than needed and took off, driving like a maniac through the streets of Night City while pulling up her holo and typing a message to Rogue saying she was on her way.
She ended up with about twenty minutes to cool off.
She was still pissed as hell at him, and she knew later she’d want to sit down and figure out what the hell that had been, but now wasn’t the time.
She’d promised to help Johnny.
Whether that meant that stupid list of small good deeds or helping him deal with the messed-up relationships from his past.
So she took a deep breath before getting out of the car, resting her hands on the steering wheel for a moment.
“I know you’re in there listening, asshole… and I’m only saying this once.”
She let the air out slowly and focused, because she had to be the reasonable one now, whether she liked it or not.
“I’m pissed as hell at you, Johnny. For that whole meltdown you pulled out of nowhere. And I really wanna tell you to go screw yourself…” she paused, jaw tightening “…but I’m not gonna do that.”
She raised a hand, gesturing toward the entrance of the Afterlife, where the movement was already visible and, in the distance, Rogue’s unmistakable silhouette waiting.
“Because this…” she continued “…matters to you. And I said I’d help. So I’m helping.”
She opened the car door, but stopped before getting out.
“But when this date’s over, I really expect you to explain what the hell that was. And I expect even more that it never happens again, Johnny.”
She slammed the door and walked around the car, still talking, still irritated, still trying to keep control.
“And since we’re on the subject…” she went on, opening the driver’s door again to grab her bag “…you can take that one-sided rivalry you’ve got with River and shove it wherever you want, ’cause that’s not my problem.”
She turned sharply toward the passenger seat—
…right when Johnny materialized there with a static snap.
She didn’t even flinch.
“And more importantly…” she said, pointing a finger at him, “get it through that thick skull of yours that I have zero interest in River Ward. None. Zero.”
Her fingers tapped lightly against the seat.
She narrowed her eyes. “You hearing me?”
He exhaled through his nose, annoyed. “Unfortunately.”
They stared at each other for a few seconds, longer than it should’ve been for just another exchange of jabs.
V let out a long sigh in the end, like she was too tired to keep that fight going right now.
She closed the car door more carefully than before and started walking toward Rogue.
As bad as his answer had been, she felt Johnny understood the situation.
She also felt his mood had eased a little… and there was something else under it, a thick, quiet layer beneath the wall, something that felt dangerously close to gratitude for her not walking away.
She pretended not to notice.
It wasn’t her style to leave friends hanging.
Even when those friends were complete assholes.
V shoved all the irritation with Johnny to the back of her mind, like putting everything into a box, closing the lid, and throwing it somewhere far off where it wouldn’t get in the way right now.
Then she relaxed her shoulders, let the air out slowly, and put on the most casual expression she could manage.
When she got close, she gave Rogue a light smile, almost carefree.
Like she hadn’t just been yelling at a digital terrorist inside her own head.
Like she wasn’t about to hand over her own body for him to use on a date with his ex.
— * —
Johnny wanted to see his old bandmate, Kerry Eurodyne, and V once again agreed to make that historic meeting happen, which would definitely be… memorable for both of them.
But, as it turned out, Kerry was out of town playing some big show and wouldn’t be back until Friday, according to the info she got after hacking and digging through his secretary’s schedule.
Kerry would get back early Friday morning, and on Saturday, first thing, they’d head to North Oak so Johnny could talk to his old friend.
She still didn’t exactly understand the reason for that meeting, but sooner or later Johnny would explain.
Because, wow… Johnny Silverhand was getting better at communicating.
V didn’t want to brag, but she was pretty sure being the only person who could constantly see and hear him — and call him out on every piece of crap he said, plus yell at him when he was being an asshole and throw in a solid silent treatment when needed — seemed to do wonders for problematic, narcissistic rockstars.
Johnny had finally figured out that insulting, cursing, and yelling at her only worked up to a point, and that, unlike in his past life, V wasn’t even a little interested in putting up with tantrums forever.
He was trying to express himself better.
Trying to say what he thought without turning everything into a fight.
Which, considering Johnny felt everything too damn strongly but only knew how to show anger and contempt most of the time, was basically a miracle.
So yeah… he was changing.
And V could be wrong, because in past fights it always felt like the end of the world.
They’d yell at each other, call each other every name possible, ignore each other like plagues… and only managed to fix things after running out of insults.
But this time had been different.
She had forgiven him for that night of drinking.
Johnny had already apologized before… and after that fight before the date with Rogue, hours later, when they got back to her apartment — theirs, really — he apologized again.
Out loud.
Out loud.
Could you believe that?
Said he wouldn’t talk that kind of shit to her again.
She never pushed to find out exactly what had caused that outburst.
She wanted to know, honestly.
But Johnny got weird whenever the subject got close, nervous in a way that didn’t fit him… and she let it go.
Even though, quietly, she had a theory.
One she preferred not to look at too directly.
Because the same feeling he showed when she was with River…
was the same one she felt when Johnny took control and spent time with Rogue. Jealousy, obviously.
Two weirdos, both of them.
Getting jealous over each other’s relationships like that made any sense.
But honestly… if they locked up everyone in Night City for mental instability, there wouldn’t be anyone left on the streets.
“What are we doing today?”
She was sitting on one of the many benches scattered around the city.
The small park she had found was surprisingly quiet, with trees, flowers, and bright sunlight in the sky — rare enough in Night City to make her stop there for a while.
Part of her even thought about trying to find that monk again, the one she met downtown. She wanted to repeat that meditation, try that weird breathing technique again that, against all expectations, had actually helped calm her mind.
Johnny made fun of her for that, of course.
But what could she do?
She liked it.
“Hmm…” she muttered, taking the last drag of the cherry cigarette before flicking the butt away.
Not the brand she usually smoked, but it was what the vendor had that day.
“I was thinking we could… I dunno… just drive around.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow.
Now it was his turn to take a drag, watching her from the side with that look like he was already expecting bullshit.
“Just drive around? V, that’s literally one of the things you do the most. Drive around and cause accidents all over the city.”
She wrinkled her nose.
Fuck, Johnny. I don’t cause accidents.
“Most of the time it’s for work, Johnny…” she shot back. “Gig, show, contract… today I was thinking about just cruising.”
He let the smoke out slowly, still suspicious.
“Alright… and where exactly do you wanna go?”
She made a small face. Now came the annoying part.
“Not exactly where I wanna go…”
Johnny narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She scratched the back of her neck, looking to the side for a second before answering.
“When I said we should go driving… I wasn’t talking about me driving.”
Johnny stopped mid-drag. “…What?”
“I was thinking you should drive.”
His cigarette got tossed into the air and vanished in a blue flicker before it even hit the ground. “The hell you mean?” he said, turning fully toward her. “You gonna pop another pill?”
“No.”
“Then how exactly am I supposed to drive?” he went on. “You want me to be your GPS now? Sit there going ‘turn left, V’? That it?”
“What? No!” she protested. “Listen, I have a theory.”
He made an immediate face.
“No. No, no, no. Every time you say you have a theory, shit goes wrong.”
“I’m serious!”
Johnny laughed out loud, shaking his head, but he crossed his arms anyway and raised one hand like he was allowing it.
“Alright, genius. What’s the theory?”
She gave a small smile.
“I think… you can take over without the pseudoendotrizine.”
Johnny went silent.
One second. Two. Enough for her to keep going.
“Remember when we first met?” she said. “You managed to smash my face into the wall, remember?”
His face went stiff instantly. “Jesus Christ, V… I thought we were past that.”
“Listen,” she insisted. “I hadn’t taken any pills that day, and you still managed to take control of the body to do that. And there were other times too… when I got hurt. You took over long enough to save me.”
Johnny frowned. “Different situations,” he said. “When you get hurt, your consciousness gets shaken, disoriented… that gives me room to take over. Not the same thing as going for a nice little drive.”
He pointed a finger at her.
“And I definitely don’t feel like watching you wreck yourself just to test some crazy theory.”
“No, you don’t get it!” she said, already leaning forward on the bench. “That’s exactly the point. You can take over without the pills. You’ve done it before. So maybe… maybe you can do it naturally, if I let you.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“If you let me?”
“Yeah! Like… if I don’t fight it. If I… I dunno… give up control.”
Johnny just stared at her, clearly waiting for the insane part.
She made a small gesture with her hand, trying to explain. “Think of it like… possession.”
“Do you even know what possession means?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, asshole, I do.”
He kept staring, not convinced at all.
She scoffed. “But not like that! It’d be… consensual. Like… I’d let you take over naturally. No pill, no forcing it, nothing. Just… handing over control.”
“…Yeah.”
He kept looking at her for a second, waiting for her to laugh. She didn’t.
“Why don’t you just drive and I tag along like always?”
She made a face. “Because this dynamic’s getting boring.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“The fuck? Then let’s do something else.”
“Like what?” she shot back. “You’re just as bored as I am.”
Johnny shrugged, kicking a small rock on the ground. “Hell if I know. I’m sure you can line up some gig for us in five minutes. Shootout, contract, psycho… the usual.”
She shook her head.
“Today’s my day off.”
He turned to her immediately.
“You don’t take days off.”
“Now I do.”
“Since when?”
“Since I decided I’m not going crazy before the chip kills me.”
Johnny let out a short laugh through his nose. “Oh, sure. And your idea of relaxing is letting a dead terrorist possess your body in the middle of a park.”
She shrugged. “Everyone’s got their hobbies.”
He dragged a hand down his face, clearly losing patience. “V, seriously. This is stupid even for you.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re scared.”
He stopped. Turned slowly. “I’m not scared of anything.”
She crossed her arms, waiting. “Then prove it.”
Johnny stared at her for a few seconds, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. “…You know you’re unbearable, right?”
She smiled. “And yet here we are.”
He scoffed, looking up at the sky like he was asking some nonexistent entity for patience. “Explain that stupid idea again.”
Her smile widened.
She sat in the driver’s seat, and Johnny appeared in the passenger seat almost at the same instant. They stayed quiet for a few seconds, exchanging looks like they were both thinking the same thing at the same time: Well… now what?
Johnny was the first to break the stalemate.
“Well, it’s your plan. What the hell are you waiting for?”
“Well!” she shot back, louder than she meant to, almost a squeak. “I was waiting for you to give me some sign you were ready.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow. “I’m always ready, princess.”
He adjusted his sunglasses with two fingers just for emphasis and leaned back in the seat like he was waiting for his cue.
Problem was, V had no idea what came next. She was gonna give up control. Sure.
But… how?
Was she supposed to do something?
Think something?
Say something out loud?
Press some kind of mental button?
Johnny started tapping his fingers on the armrest, impatient. “Anytime now, V.”
“Hold on.” She closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.
“Jesus, V, just… I dunno… relax,” he said.
“I am relaxed.”
Johnny reached out and poked her arm with his chrome finger.
She pulled away immediately, annoyed. “Quit it, asshole.”
He snorted. “Why don’t you use those meditation tricks from that monk? Might work.”
She turned her head instantly.
“Stop busting my balls. I’m trying to focus.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
She gritted her teeth, closing her eyes again and leaning her head back against the seat.
Out of all the engrams in the world.
Out of all the damn chips that could’ve ended up in her head… It had to be Johnny Silverhand.
She took a deep breath. Once. Twice.
Tried to remember the monk’s voice, the way he spoke slowly, telling her to pay attention to her breathing, to her body, to the moment.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Let go.
Don’t resist.
She loosened her grip on the wheel.
Relaxed her shoulders.
And muttered, almost without noticing:“Okay… just get inside me.”
She regretted it the second the words left her mouth, because she felt it even before she saw Johnny’s grin spread.
“Well damn, sweetheart, if you were that desperate to get into my pants you could’ve just asked nicely.”
Her cheeks felt like they were on fire, and she hated his smile because it made her stomach flip. “Go… fuck yourself,” she stammered, humiliatingly.
“Well, guess I gotta get inside you now, huh? Sounds like a good time.”
“Ah, you asshole…”
Johnny burst out laughing. “No, seriously, you can’t say ‘just get inside me’ and expect me not to make a joke.”
“Do you want to drive or no?”
He was still grinning.
“I want to. Just enjoying the moment.”
She rolled her eyes and looked forward again. “Then do it already before I change my mind.”
Johnny went quiet for a moment.
The smile faded slowly. “Alright…” he said, lower. “Don’t fight it.”
It felt like a rush of cold air over her skin, sending chills through her, her hands tingling, and Johnny actually slipped into her, his body fading as he pressed into hers. It was like something moved inside her head, slowly, searching for space, like two presences trying to occupy the same body without pushing each other out.
Her breathing hitched. Johnny felt it too.
“Fuck…” he muttered.
His hand — her hand — tightened around the wheel, testing.
Her feet moved. Her shoulder rolled.
He let out a low, disbelieving laugh.
“V… you seeing this?”
Yeah, she answered, inside his mind — inside their mind now.
What Johnny was seeing was exactly what she saw too, but unlike him, she couldn’t materialize in the passenger seat. She had no form, just a presence. A consciousness flowing through the same head they were truly sharing now, without the pill, without the pain, without that feeling of invasion.
Her body under his control shifted in the seat. Johnny moved everything like he was rediscovering the world. The fingers with long red nails adjusted the rearview mirror. Rolled the window down. Moved his legs, testing the position in the seat, trying to find the perfect fit.
He ran a hand over the steering wheel slowly, feeling the texture like it was the first time. “It worked…”
The voice came out rougher, deeper, like it had blended with hers, but still keeping his natural tone.
And he looked happy as hell.
More than the other times. Way more.
His presence inside her mind felt stronger, more alive, like it glowed in a warm gold, pulsing with excitement.
Johnny was… radiant.
God, he was happy. Really happy.
The fingers — temporarily his — held the wheel firmly, almost gently. His car, the first car he ever treated like it was a person.
Johnny Silverhand’s baby, back in the hands of its original owner.
Deep in the shared mind, V mentally crossed off another item from her invisible list.
Let Johnny drive. Done.
So, handsome…, she said inside their mind, watching him reach for the radio.
He turned the volume up, flipping through stations until, to her surprise, he stopped on Night FM.
What are you waiting for?
That was all he needed to hear.
Johnny grinned and hit the gas. The Porsche shot out of the parking spot in a burst of speed, like it had been waiting for this as much as he had.
The hands — her hands, but guided by him — shifted gears naturally, precise, experienced movements.
He pulled onto the avenue like it was a racetrack.
Night City’s lights turned into neon blurs of pink, green, blue, orange, yellow — rushing past the open windows. It really was like watching a pilot own the track.
Like speed was his favorite drug.
Like the car was part of his body.
Like that moment… was the most alive Johnny Silverhand had felt in decades.
And even from the back of their shared mind, V couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
Because, fuck… it had been a stupid idea, but it had been amazing.
She didn’t know how long Johnny drove.
Hours. Hours and hours.
At some point, Night City’s skyline disappeared behind them and they were already in the Badlands, running mile after mile down the empty road, like they were running from something neither of them wanted to name.
Her pink hair whipped in the night wind, and Johnny seemed to love the feeling, even if that wasn’t exactly the body he was used to.
He sang like he was on stage, voice loud, strong, filling the whole car.
Tapped his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the music, energized, alive.
He closed his left hand — their hand once, just to feel the strength in the fingers.
Knocked on the roof of the car, testing the contact with the metal. Rested his arm out the window, letting it stretch into the wind like a complete lunatic. Honked at any car that dared stay in his way.
He talked to V like she was sitting in the passenger seat, not inside his own head. Euphoric, like someone had pumped serotonin straight into his veins.
He looked so happy, so glorious, so full of life.
That her heart, deep inside that shared mind, under that warm golden glow that was his presence, melted a thousand times, reshaping itself and falling apart under the weight of that pure emotion.
She felt like she could overflow with affection for him just from seeing — from feeling how at peace he was.
Johnny was in such a light, free, so… alive… state of mind that V, with her heart pounding inside her chest, with butterflies in her stomach and a smile he probably couldn’t even feel, knew.
She knew in that moment, that was it.
Any doubt that still existed, hidden in the silence of her thoughts, about who should keep the body… was crushed.
Because she knew now what the right choice was.
Give him that chance. Let Johnny feel all of that whenever he wanted. Let him hear music, taste food, feel the warmth of a drink going down his throat, the taste of tobacco on his lips, the rumble of the engine in his hands.
Every day that body could still hold together.
Because her body… now belonged to him.
Happy with the idea that he could live a better life than the one he had, fix what was broken, do everything he never had time to do.
She was so hopelessly in love with him that she wanted to give him that.
That chance to live again — and maybe live for her too.
To live every good thing in that body, knowing she had helped him get there.
Johnny would stay, and he would walk this world in her body, free to live the most legendary life he could.
And she… she would be gone soon, taking with her the memories they had built together, as one last comfort while she walked toward the death that had been waiting for her from the start.
That was all she could think about… while the car drove back into the neon glow of Night City.