07/10/2077
Blackhand's Ranch, Outside Night City
The Badlands, Northern California
Shaitan
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It was of no surprise, to Shaitan and probably Morgan himself, that even after decades of not seeing each other Morgan would still be the one that could kick his ass harder than Smasher had done.

Yeah, no surprise there. The guy must have had something done to him since I last saw him, Blackhand's hitting harder than he did in twenty-twenty…

His back was itchy, covered in sand and dust and whatever else he'd been dragged through. His entire body felt weighted and heavy, a side-effect of having to reset himself from being forced into unconsciousness by the most acclaimed Solo that Night City had ever seen. He still couldn't believe it himself, all anyone knew was that he'd disappeared after the attack on the Arasaka Tower.

All that time, decade after decade, he'd been living in some rotting old ranch house outside the city. Ain't that a bitch, the one man who could have saved it, decided to watch it burn to ash instead. Hard to blame him for that…

As soon as his vision had stopped blurring, and his Heads-Up Display had finally reactivated, Shaitan managed to get a quick look around. He'd woken up in the house, a living room he had to guess, shackled and chained up at his hands and feet. There was something on his neck, something cold and metallic that stopped him, limited him from breaking free. Some sort of electro-static diadem that had been slapped on the back of his neck. He'd tried to grasp and reach but found no solace or success when his arms refused to go over his head.

Morgan, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Blackhand! Blackhand, let me out of these chains, you son of a bitch!" Shaitan called out. "Morgan, get in here before I break these chains and kick your ass myself!"

Slow footsteps echoed through the house, old rotting wood creaking and giving way to the weight of Morgan as he came through the kitchen door and into the living room. For all of his skill and grace and combat, the man had not aged well at all. Unlike Rogue, who had undertaken age-reversal treatments and covered herself in neuro-patches where necessary, Morgan was the opposite.

He didn't hide his wrinkles, he held on to the myriad of scars that burdened his face, neck and wherever else they were. From what Shaitan could remember, he had never been picky about cyberware or augmentation, but he could tell from his own experience that Morgan must have had some work done. His right leg was clunky, and larger than his left. His ripped duster didn't hide the fact that from his left elbow down his arm had been replaced with a rusting, black prosthesis. His hair had remained short, but his hair had turned wispy and grey, his left eye was an obvious replacement that didn't hide how unnatural it was.

His right arm had a bio-netting over it, covering a horrible acid burn that coated his entire arm. Morgan pressed a small button on his shoulder, and the netting lit up in a bright swirl of teal. The old mercenary slowly took a knee as he dropped to Shaitan's level. "Like you kicked my ass on my front yard?"

"Fuck you, Blackhand."

"That's cute," Morgan smirked. "Look, Shaitan, I didn't mean to shoot down your AV, but I got a feeling you came in half-cocked, which ain't like you at all. Am I right, or am I right?"

Shaitan shook his head, giving a whispered chuckle. "You have to be kidding? You want to gloat, right now? After fifty years, that's all you got to say?"

The old man shook his head, and Shaitan could just about hear the slight whirring that was coming from Morgan's ageing cybernetic enhancements. Every other small footstep that the solo took landed with a heavy clunk, followed by the small padding of his following step. Morgan took off his duster and revealed everything else. An old, weathered Militech ballistic vest, torn from stabs and bullet wounds that hadn't done enough to keep the Solo's Solo down for the count. Shaitan knew that Morgan was a tough guy, a real soldier, but the fact he was still alive alongside Spider meant that he had to come back into the fold too.

Morgan rubbed his head, wiping away the dust and sweat as he pulled away his mask and goggles. In a way, Shaitan definitely felt for the guy. Living out in the wild must have been rough, as well as watching the one corporation that he despised slowly but surely take over the diamond in the rough that was Night City. Like most, Shaitan couldn't stand the city as a whole. It smelt like shit when he wasn't in Watson or Corpo Plaza, the number of gangs that murdered, trafficked, dealt in 'dorph and took advantage of people was too much to bear at times, even for him. After all, there was a reason why it had been labelled as the worst city in America.

Shaitan was surprised it wasn't the worst place in the world.

Yet, it was all that he knew, all that he could remember. That was the one side-effect of living in a straight line, focused on one sole objective that was doing everything to make sure a global conglomerate was utterly eradicated. He could scarcely remember anything from before his mother had gone, but maybe Rogue, Spider and Morgan might have had a different view on it. They were always the calmer and collected guys, he was a sledgehammer they threw at problems.

The old soldier took a seat in some dusty old rocking chair. Shaitan laughed, the chains and shackles shaking with every minor movement. "Something funny, Clanker?"

"Never took you for the guy to be sitting in some old shithole, with a couple of old guns thinking nobody would find you." Shaitan spat. "Why are you here, where's Spider?"

"In the net, like she always was and has been," Morgan grunted, taking out an old revolver from his hip holster and cleaning it. "What, you think she was stupid enough to sit outside the city without anyone looking out for her ass in the real world? Her and Bartmoss, they were on another wave-length compared to us."

Shaitan laughed again. "Ain't that the fuckin' truth."

"Ain't it just."

Blackhand slid the revolver away, taking a key from his pocket before he started undoing the chains around Shaitan, each one falling with a heavy thud against the old wood. He felt the small diadem ripped from the back of his neck, and his weight soon returned to normal as Shaitan stood up. The cyborg stood head and shoulders over Morgan, and he realised how age really looked like it had done a number on the merc.

He felt the small cluttering against his chest, as Morgan gave him his belongings back. V's Sovereign had been a healthy addition to his arsenal, but it needed work. There was a reason it had become Shaitan's Hydra, the triple-barrelled sawn-off that held a nasty surprise with the acid rounds in the third (and upper) barrel. He clipped his belts and holsters back to their places before he followed Morgan into the kitchen.

"How long you been out here?"

"Five years, been moving around a couple of safe houses. Spider got a message from Bartmoss, some big data-packets about the Net Crash, source code for real nasty Daemons and hacks. That, and a lot of paranoid, conspiracy-tier shit that Spider wanted to follow up on." Morgan replied. "Fifty years, watching Arasaka wrap it's tentacles around everything, and I couldn't do anything."

Shaitan grinned at that and was noticed by Morgan. "Speaking of which, I have an offer."

"No, I can't leave Spider here while I go on a two-man war against Arasaka with you, as much as I would like to zero Smasher for what he did. I owe it to Boa, Santiago and Alt for what they did."

"You didn't let me finish, Morgan," Shaitan argued. "It's not a one-man war or a two-man war. I'm not alone."

Blackhand squinted. "What are you talkin' about, Silver?"

"I got a crew, and if you join us, you and Spider, we have a chance to really strike back. Me, Rogue, you and Spider, we got three gangs ready to get some cred, Squama, who I think might be one of Boa's kids, a lady Nomad with a mouth and an ex-Militech corpo with a real big bone to pick with Smasher and Arasaka?"

Morgan shook his head, almost aggressively trying to deny the fact that everything might just have been lining up for him and Spider to make that executive decision to join the fold and ride once more into the abyss that was Night City. It looked like a stupid idea, hell, it was a stupid idea if Shaitan really had to think about it. Waging war against a corporation that was basically the government of Japan and had a steel grip on Night City, was basically a suicide mission. Shaitan noticed Morgan looking at the somewhat new wheelchair in the corner, lingering close to a small door that looked as if it led to the basement.

"Shaitan, I can't. I can't risk Spider falling into anyone's hands, whether it's Arasaka, Militech or Night Corp. It's too dangerous."

The silver borg had to laugh at that. "It wouldn't matter. Where we are, our hideout is so deep into gang territory that they wouldn't even try to come near us anyway. It's probably safer than being in some old fuckin' house with one geriatric."

"Fuck you, Shaitan, you're an asshole."

Shaitan's laugh was annoying, so mechanical. "Somebody's gotta take up Johnny's place of being the group asshole. Speaking of which, Johnny's alive."

"Bullshit."

"That, is where you're wrong, old man." Shaitan smiled, his silver teeth reflecting the dingy light from above. "He's on some experimental bio-chip that the Voodoo Boys have, and we need to get him back. So, we need you and Spider's help."

Morgan shook his head in disbelief, striding (as much as a man of his wizened stature could) to his fridge before he pulled out a can of soda. Shaitan poked his head behind him, stealing a bottle of unmarked liquor that he necked within record time. That was one gift of being a brain in a tin can body, alcoholism was effectively irrelevant when he had a liver that was made out of titanium carbide. With a hiss, Morgan cracked open his can and took some heavy chugs before he threw the can into the fridge.

As soon as he finished his soda, he'd opened a couple of cupboards and drawers, with an empty duffel bag splayed out on his stained and weathered kitchen top. He threw boxes of old ammo inside, old-time weapons and a couple of eddie stacks before he zipped it up. He threw the bag over his shoulder before he opened the door to the basement, slouching as he made his way down with Shaitan squeezing his way into the expansive basement. Much like he had expected, it was dark and dingy and damp, generally unpleasant for Shaitan as soon as he witnessed a large patch of mould in the corner.

Turning the corner of the stairs, Shaitan was almost blinded by the number of holo-projectors and presenters, computer screens wired up to one main control centre that looked like it was about to meltdown into liquid. At the edges of the room were numerous server stacks, surrounded by smaller cryogenic projections next to the stacks to keep them (and the building) from burning to ashes.

In the centre of it, was the familiar surgical chair that had been retro-fitted to become a net-running set. In the chair sat a much smaller, aged form of the one person that Shaitan had been searching for since they found Bartmoss' frozen corpse.

The pair approached, as Morgan tapped in a few commands before the chair inclined as the wires disconnected from Spider's arms and head. The small visor that had been set in front of her eyes retracted into the black lenses that replaced her eyebrows. She wasn't as old as Morgan, but she wasn't as refined or age-fixed as Rogue had been. Her long and jet-black hair had a few streaks of white in it, and her skin was almost as pale as Bartmoss' when Shaitan had found him lodged in a freezer. She'd been coated up in her leather jacket and pants, arms coated in ageing tattoos with cybernetic prosthetics that replaced both her legs.

She picked herself up from the chair, slowly approaching the shadowy figure that was Shaitan. As soon as she had realised, the cyborg was already wrapped up in one of the tightest hugs he'd ever felt. "Silver Surfer! You look, you look like you haven't even aged a day unlike Old Blackhand over there!"

"I would hope so." Shaitan smiled, staying still before he patted Spider on the shoulder gently. "Been a while, Murphy. Lookin' good for somebody stuck in a basement, Morgan been treating you right?"

Spider cackled. "As well as he can, it is Blackhand after all."

"I heard that, Murphy. Don't forget who pulled your ass out of the fire every time you tried to hack Night Corp, even with Dorsett's help." The old man hollered as he started pulling info from the server stacks. "Come on, we don't have much time. If we stay here any longer, Arasaka are gonna come crashing in at any minute."

"Fuck 'em!" Spider called out.

Shaitan couldn't help but chuckle before he turned serious. "He's right, we have to go. We're in Night City with Rogue and some new guys, and we found a way to save Johnny."

"No fuckin' way! He was meant to be dead!" Spider hollered. She immediately spun around, pushing Blackhand out of the way of the server stacks before she managed to extract every drop of intel to her wrist-computer. "Shit, where is he? Is he behind the Blackwall? Is he like, comatose on a private or dead network or something?"

"I can tell you everything when we get to The Afterlife," Shaitan replied. Shit, everything is coming together, like in twenty-three. "Morgan, you ready?"

The old man was scavenging something in the corner, pulling out some old blade, covered in some rusted and dirty scabbard which he threw away, unleashing the blade. It was an old kukri, larger than most that Shaitan had seen (but he hadn't seen many) but nevertheless, it seemed he was close to it. He looked like he was anyway, that was before there was the sound of numerous thudding that echoed from the living room and kitchen above. Shaitan readied his Hydra, loading an acid round amidst his home-made dragon's breath shells.

Morgan turned to Spider. "Ready the contained EMP generator, amplify it to outside the house but not the shed. We need the truck inside."

"Got it."

Shaitan's eyes widened. "EMP? Are you crazy, what about me?"

"Get to the shed before it goes off, simple."

The basement door that led down opened up and Morgan had already leapt into action. Ripping a six-shooter from his hip, he'd ducked out of the line of sight before unleashing three precise shots into a leaping cyber-ninja, who flew dead into the bottom of the stairwell. The next one had deflected two bullets, but was unlucky and got hit in the shoulder before his skull was used as a sheathe for Blackhand's blade. In an almost inhuman time, he'd reloaded his revolver and retrieved his blade, running up the steps with Spider and Shaitan in hot pursuit.

One more soldier had stood in the doorway, only to have his throat ripped apart by a bullet and kicked into the nearby table, causing it to collapse. Blackhand however had soon got himself caught out, thrown against the wall and then into the wreckage of the table. That was before Shaitan had blown a fiery hole in his chest, pushing his body to the side before he hauled Morgan from the floor.

The action was non-stop, however, as they were soon ambushed by three more soldiers. It almost seemed like they'd been blindsided, that was before Spider had hacked their central operating systems to melt their brains in their skulls. Then the bullets from outside ripped the wooden house apart, the wood splintering and shattering into bits and pieces, large and small forced the trio to drop to the floor. Two more ninjas had dropped in, one immediately was met with an acid round to the chest, dropping him into cries of woe and pain as Blackhand took care of the other. Morgan tripped him up, catching him in a heel hook that broke the foot before the kukri was jabbed right into the back of the ninja's head.

The gunfire erupted again, pushing the group out of the backdoor. The shed was far to the left, a short run to the building that looked like a slight gust of wind would blow it over, let alone absorb the effect of an electromagnetic pulse. As the shots were focused on the falling ranch house, the trio made the run before a small AV flew over them, shadowing them before the side door opened, and a solo operator leapt out.

Much to Morgan, Shaitan and Spider's chagrin (and their luck) it was not Adam Smasher. The man was Japanese, older and wizened, but also clad in some high-tech armour that was styled like some old-world samurai. It looked like metal, but the way he moved was lightning quick and fast, a blur of copper-coloured death. His menpo mask was similar, decorated with jagged, decorative teeth that were removed by the swordsman, revealing himself.

Shaitan knew him immediately. "You. You're the one that Saburo ordered to rape my mother, you left her in a fucking ditch to rot!"

The bladesman's bandana held back his black and grey hair. "I swore myself to Master Saburo's family in my youth. The Takemura family never breaks an oath."

Morgan flicked the blood off the kukri blade, the steel edge darkening as the edge turned black, sparking as vibrations began. He offered the blade to Shaitan, who ripped the blade from his grip.

"I don't care who you are, Takemura, Arasaka, I'll fucking kill you for what you did to me and my family. Blackhand, get Murphy out. Now!"

Before they could even respond, Shaitan had leapt into action. He had never been a fan of those who had a fetish for Japan, nor had he liked what he heard of Japan anyway. He swiped and slashed in a mad dash to keep the Japanese swordsman from being able to get on the front foot. He'd switch the kukri from left to right, trying to keep himself unpredictable so he always had an opening to attack that had to be dodged or barely deflected.

That was before he'd been caught in a lock with the man he knew as a Takemura. A sly and sneaky elbow to his temple threw him off, barely ducking to avoid his head getting sliced off. He'd seen Morgan and Murphy enter the shed before he barely managed to roll to the floor once more to avoid a deadly strike. Takemura leapt with his blade ready to plunge into Shaitan's chest, only for him to be rolled under as the silver soldier rolled away. With a quick kip-up, Shaitan managed to deliver a swift roundhouse strike to put Takemura on the defence, with the soldier managing to slice the swordsman's mask and cheek, blood pouring from the wound like a river.

He had never been closer to the blade as soon as Takemura took back control. He was just managing to block attacks, but he was always in a bad position as the kukri required him to be close to be useful. He managed to break through the distance that Takemura's nodachi gave him, delivering an elbow that must have broke something before he felt the nodachi jolting his arm upward, breaking his guard as the glimmer of the sword sliced from Shaitan's chin across his nose and forehead.

The borg was thrown to the ground, with what counted as bio-oil leaking from the scar that broke the silver skin that doubled as his armour. He felt hurt, wounded after what felt like a century of nothing. He rolled onto his back, his kukri nowhere to be seen as he patted down for his Hydra. The Arasaka samurai leered over him as if he were some cocky predator, knowing his prey was already dead before it had even happened. The sword dripped, droplets of oil had slicked against the cold, triple-layered and enhanced steel that was soon pressed against his throat.

"Last words, gweilo?"

"Yeah, how about you eat shit and die, fuckface?"

It was as Takemura reared his blade above his head that he had lost the moment to end it. Shaitan reached for his shotgun, and his trigger-finger was quicker than the Takemura's sword arm. A hot blast from the sawn-off threw the ninja to the floor, nodachi flying as the blade stuck itself blade-first into the sand. Shaitan picked himself up (just barely) and reloaded his shotgun, sliding it away as the Arasaka soldier kicked himself back to his feet. The two blades at his hip were drawn, sparkling copper blades of equal length that seemed to spark and shock at each touch.

The silver-coated soldier took the nodachi from the ground, readying himself for the battle as the silver-armoured samurai approached once again. His armour, as much as a novelty as it looked, must have been experimental. Nothing ever took an incendiary shell from a shotgun and walked off with a couple of scorch marks. That lust for the blood of the man who hurt his mother clouded his vision, as Shaitan let out a roar and charged.

It was blade against blades, the larger silver blade clattering away at the copper-coated swords that seemed to become quicker and quicker with every passing second. In one instance, Shaitan managed to land a straight jab that looked to have broken Takemura's nose. Mere moments later, however, Shaitan had his ballistic vest sliced to bits, with one of Takemura's blades shoved to the hilt in his gut as Shaitan helplessly attempted to bat away the intentionally-slow blows of his leering killer.

"Come on, asshole. You got a fuckin' hard-on for me or you gonna kill me?" Shaitan cursed, receiving a slice across his chest for his trouble. "What, that all you got, you piece of shit?"

Takemura grimaced. "Never have I met somebody, so disrespectful and crude as you. Such a lack of respect, especially for your betters. Much like your mother."

"Fuck. You."

With one final heave, Shaitan caught Takemura by surprise, full-on throwing the nodachi blade-first towards the samurai with as much might as a borg could put out. The blade thrust itself through Takemura's shoulder, launching him into the house and into the dirt before Shaitan fell to his knees. He ripped the smaller samurai sword from his gut, watching as bio-oil leaked from the wound as he felt his vision go fuzzy. A truck launched itself from the nearby shed, circling around the house and out of his vision.

He could have sworn he seen the AV go down, with the samurai desperately trying to claw the nodachi from his shoulder. The gunfire seemed to stop, and his vision fuzzed even more as he soon couldn't feel his body. He heard something, something rumbling behind him as he felt a pair of hands dragging him from the sandy backyard, into the warm interior of a truck.

Just as his sight began to fade from him, he could see Spider in the backseat with him, cradling his head in her lap as he felt her hand pressed against his open wounds.