15/10/2077
The Afterlife, Watson District
Night City, California
V
-
He couldn't even fathom how much of a tool he'd been in the last twenty-four hours.
V had failed to make a solid decision on what he was doing with his life. Kill Adam Smasher? He'd bottled it, the ideal scenario where he could have caved his metal-reinforced skull into mush, and he let it go, of his own volition no less! The bastard that killed Jackie, that murdered Meredith, he was still living, still breathing, and the fact he'd kept him alive pissed him off more and more. If anything happened now, it was his fault, his responsibility.
Lives would be lost, of that, he had no doubt they would be resting on his shoulders for the rest of his life. Smasher was a mad dog, a diseased attack dog that needed to be put down for the sake of the city. He paced from wall to wall in some alley, not too far away from the club. He'd burnt the quadbike, completely torn it apart to prevent it from being tracked, but somebody would still find something. Why didn't he kill Smasher? Why, of all times when he was a sparkling, wounded and disabled wreck, did he not just rip his head clean off from his frame?
"FUCK! FUCKING, SHIT! WHY, WHY, WHY?" He cried out loud, turning to the wall with some old Tyger Claw graffiti. His hands morphed into fists, metal that bound together. He thrust his fist in the wall, denting the neo-concrete, the brickwork, again and again, and again until all that was left was the steel foundation was exposed. "Shit!"
What if he followed the clan? They weren't exactly hard to follow, tire tracks might not have lasted forever, but when a nomad clan leaves, tracks were destined to be all over the place. A trail from one recently unsafe haven to another safe spot away from everything V warned them against. No, he'd quite possibly (and it was a large possibly) that he'd signed off on their many death certificates. Each member of the camp, Panam, Saul, Cassidy, Mitch and Scorpion, Teddy, each and every one of them massacred and burnt in a desert, nobody left knowing who they were or every little detail and story about their life.
He could see it; he could positively fucking envision it in the darkest corner of his mind. He'd fucked it up, and it was all his fault and there was nothing he could do to even try and salvage the situation.
"V, it's in these situations where you need to do one thing. Calm the fuck down." Johnny explained, calmly glitching into V's realm of reality before he leant against the beaten wall. "We won't get anywhere if you're FUBAR'd and unable to operate."
"Johnny, I didn't kill Smasher! I fucked up, perhaps fucked up worse than anyone else in this entire city!"
Johnny slammed his fist into the wall, but nothing broke. "I know! And when I was in here, screaming, but you wouldn't fucking listen! You were too cooked up in your head that you were fighting some low-life thug when you were fighting a fucking living death machine that's killed at least five hundred people! For fucks sake, he killed me too, V! I wanted his head on a fucking stick!"
V's hands tightened again, ready to hit the wall before he felt his own body pulled back. "Johnny now is not the time…"
"Now is the perfect time. Either you can control whatever the fuck's gotten into you, or I take control myself. If I need to kill, I will kill. If I need to take over your body, I'll fucking take it!" Johnny growled, ripping his aviators off. "Look, you made a mistake, we all do, me most of all. Right now, you need to grab your balls, fucking screw your head back on and sort this mess out."
"And how do you suppose we do that?"
"By killing the Voodoo Boys, we get the chip back and then we can figure out a way to kick Arasaka back to the land of the rising sun without any doubts. But if we're gonna do that, we have to do it now."
V took a few deep breaths, taking both pistols from his hips and looking at them. Guns of people killed, at the hands of Smasher. His breathing grew, aggravated and frustrated before he slid them away. "We'll need help, a lot of help."
Johnny smiled. "Well, I happen to know a lot of old and washed-up solos, fixers and net-runners, and most of them are in the grave. I think in some place called the Afterlife, there's a real suicide squad ready to stick it to the Japs."
"You think Rogue, and the rest of them, they'll really do it again? For the third time?"
Johnny huffed. "I think if Rogue didn't do it, she'd be doing herself a disservice. Besides, Shaitan is always up for it. Spider and Morgan might be a bit different, but I think if they've both been around each other long enough if one goes so will the other."
V was psyching himself up, at least attempting to prepare himself to look in the eyes of the boldest and most brave legends of Night City, and tell them to invade not only the VeeBees but also Arasaka. He shook himself of his jitters, tried to calm himself with a few slowed breaths. Meditations, old tricks that Meredith taught him from time to time, whenever the stress got too much. Easier times, times when he'd spent too much time in the office toilets puking up whatever was left in his stomach. He felt his rage, his utter self-humiliation fade, whereupon he tightened his vest straps, made sure his mag-clips were still strong so he could carry his weaponry with him.
The noise from the car park away from the alley seemed to leak in. The familiar sounds of people begging to be let inside. Turning the corner, the crowds and queues returning to normal as the blood and wreckage had been washed away into the drainage of the city. The music couldn't have been louder, even if the speakers and the decks had been amped to break through the structure of the old mortuary. He'd strolled right past, Emmerich calling up at the front door as he easily thrust some foolhardy kid back into his place.
The old leader of the Animals didn't even have to say a word to V, the pair knew what was going down. Tyger Claws was one major issue of three, but it was the next two that posed the most issues. The kid that got pushed fell to the floor, clutching his elbow and wheezing, trying to press it off as nothing more than a bump. That would have been the most positive attention the kid got in his life. A no-bullshit, real-life, gangoon, an Animal no less, pushing him on the floor.
"Rogue wants a word." Was all Emmerich needed to say, and soon enough, V was shepherded down the stairs into the club by the guards he'd become well-acquainted with during the siege.
He'd moved past the small groups that had been let in, each one filled with seasoned veterans of the city, members of gangoons or just solos who had been lucky enough to get let in. He could have sworn he heard two police officers trying to get in, but the augmented bouncers outside the interior entrance had been put right in their place. He'd moved to the bar, caught sight of Claire who'd given him a genuine smile before he moved over towards the booth.
It was filled, occupied by real people. Myths and urban legends, made flesh and bone, despite however it may be. Rogue, Queen of the Afterlife, joined by Morgan Blackhand, the Solo's Solo. To their left, Bartmoss' protégé in Spider Murphy and Silver Soldier himself, Shaitan. Each one of them made a name for themselves, grinding through the city, taking names and making sure they were the best that the city had ever known and still were. Anybody that thought they were stuck in their own ways, were probably lying to themselves.
He'd stepped up, fist-bumping Squama before Rogue held her arms wide open. "V, our little soldier-boy, the king amongst the masses of everyone trying to talk to us. Glad you could make it."
Spider had seemed to laugh, mostly due to Rogue's own facetiousness, with Shaitan chugging down a bottle of black liquid. Morgan was unimpressed. "Thought you'd ran out on us after the docks, considering how quickly you drove off in Johnny's Porsche."
"Wasn't mine to drive off in, but sorry to disappoint." V quickly clapped back, fingers tapping his palm, trying to calm frayed nerves. "Shaitan, looking as shiny as ever, I see."
"Yeah, gave myself a quick spit and shine when that Arasaka bastard thought he'd turn me into fucking sushi." The silver borg spat. "I'll show him next time, give him something to remember."
V nodded, taking off the high-frequency sheath before he offered it to Shaitan. "Use this, I'm sure you'll make better use of it than I will. High-frequency blade, styled after a Samurai sword."
The silver-skinned cyborg took it with grace, unsheathing the hilt and lower end of the blade. The dark purple glow emanating, glowing against his shining coat of fresh paint. He'd nodded in thanks, ready to speak before he was cut short as Morgan stood up. The old man was sizing up the new blood, his old gear replaced with more recent models of Militech gear, probably from an old contact. He'd shaved, from what V had last seen of him, and his upgrades to press his age away were on display, a new forearm and less clunky left leg.
"So, you start a war with the Tyger Claws and Arasaka, and you claim to have Johnny Silverhand in your head. The first part, I can see quite clearly. The second part, not so much." Morgan grunted, lighting a cigarette.
Rogue seemed to call him back. "Morgan, we have proof that the engram is in his head. His fixer, his client, his own experience in telling me the truth says it all. We just need the biochip."
Morgan seemed to shrug. "Which happens to be in the hands of the goddamned Voodoo Boys. Rogue, tell me why this is our issue again?"
"It's not our issue." Rogue yanked Morgan's chain back. "It was V's issue. It was his job, technically DeShawn's."
Spider scoffed. "DeShawn was around a few months back."
"Not anymore, Miss Murphy," V replied, curtly. "I doubt he made it out of the city when he left Viktor Vector's clinic."
Spider seemed to smile; her pale cheeks flustered a little as she looked at Rogue. "Miss Murphy? Oh, Rogue, he's like a polite little puppy. Can we keep him?"
The group seemed to be silent as V was forced into a stare-down with Morgan Blackhand of all people. As a kid, whenever they wandered into Nevada or on the rare occasion, California, there were tales of the old man in front of him. He'd so clearly weathered due to his age, but if looks could kill, his stare that was as cold as the Siberian wastes would have killed V before he'd walked to the booth. He was a sceptic, of everyone and everything that he didn't know, and it was hard to blame him. Morgan Blackhand had basically written the rulebook for how to be a Night City solo.
Rogue, however, instead of focusing on Spider's inane (although surprising) question, was watching the two solos in front of her. She was silent, looking at the old blood and the new blood mixing. She'd never been a fan of a bloody mess, but violence was always an option, and she'd rather have her best chance of bringing Johnny back to life go down the drain due to some social issues between her two best soldiers.
"We can keep the old mutt, and we can keep the little puppy," Rogue said, with Morgan snorting. "As long as they don't try and eat each other, I'm sure we'll be fine, won't we, boys?"
Morgan relented, his stance turning into something akin to neutral. "We'll be fine, just a matter of if he cuts and runs."
"I didn't cut and run when Smasher might have been on his cargo ship." V spat back.
Morgan's gaze cut him down. "He wasn't on that ship. It's different to him actually being in front of you."
Rogue again split them apart. "Morgan, I respect that you have a lot of pride in what you do, but V has been the only to see Smasher twice and survive both times since you and me were still in it."
"Make it three times."
Rogue's head switched on a dime. "What?"
Shaitan grimaced. "Oh shit, here we go…"
Before V could even speak, he'd been glared at even harder than ever before. Forced to sit down, he explained it all. Smasher was hunting everything connected to him, whether it be a lead like Bartmoss, people closest to him or the tribe that was outside the city. He was the living embodiment, the definition of a hunter-killer. He barely escaped in the desert, where he got on his quad bike which gave out just on the way into the city.
Most of it was a lie, a not entirely foreign tactic, but a tactic nonetheless. The truth was inconvenient, even Johnny could see that. The group drank a few more before swearing off any alcohol, their total focus on what V was telling them before he'd finished. As his tale had ended, Shaitan had taken full ownership of the Jinchu-Maru, Rogue had made more than a few choices looks at Morgan, and Spider had already started to formulate a million plans that could possibly be used.
Morgan growled, at literally any mention of Smasher. "So, he's going full-bore, no-holds-barred cyberpsycho. Great, never been in a worse situation other than Saka Tower back in twenty-three."
"Pretty much," V continued. "Apparently, he's mostly guarding Hanako Arasaka, and there is a family associate still in Night City looking after their operations here, Goro Takemura. If we can kill the both of them, then Saburo would have to execute most of his plans in Japan, and then we could force Arasaka out of the city."
Shaitan couldn't help but openly laugh, making Spider jump as his silver frame moved without her knowledge. "Kid, you got balls, I'll give you that. But you don't just force a corporation out of the city. Nobody's ever done that, and especially not to Arasaka."
In a way, Shaitan was right. What V wanted was revenge, in every way it was a very simple objective to complete, a need to be fulfilled for him to feel safe. They were right, not one person, not even a group of freedom fighters like the Afterlifers could ever force a corporation. It was moving a mountain, an impossible goal. Every second that passed was another second that V began to rethink his plan.
Why couldn't he just leave Night City? Say his goodbyes to those who mattered, the warriors of old, Vik and Misty, Mama Welles. Those thoughts lingered, corrupted more and more as he realised that he couldn't leave unless he did something, anything, to make a statement that Arasaka was not invincible. Even if he just drove a car bomb or an AV rigged to blow through the front door, it would be enough. He'd have stuck it to the man, told Arasaka to go fuck themselves, and yet the biggest chance he had in killing Adam Smasher, he could have made it that, but did not.
Squama turned into the booth, his eyes glowing a dark green. "Miss Rogue, you have a call?"
"Who is it, Squama?"
"Mr Hands, Madame."
Rogue waved him off. "I've heard enough of this talk, because that's all it is, talk. Mr Hands runs through The Pacifica, he's the only one who can actually talk to the Voodoo Boys in a useful way. This is what we know, and it's that the Voodoo Boys have the Relic that Johnny needs to be on, and we have no idea how long V can sustain Johnny being in his head. Fuck Arasaka, we'll deal with them later, we need to deal with the Voodoo Boys."
The group looked to the Queen of the Afterlife, her voice overpowering the other five soldiers and mercs around her as she laid back in the booth. Spider, Squama and Shaitan immediately turned to their boss. It was Morgan and V that were a little more distracted, the both of them trying to subtly out-do each other to make the other know of who was the real Solo of the group. Rogue grumbled, loud enough for the two solos to look at her as well.
"I will take Hands' call, and then what we will do, is go to the Pacifica. We are going to make a social call to the Voodoo Boys, and walk out with the chip and figure out a way to give Johnny his life back. Now, all of you, suit up and get ready in five. We're going. Now."
-
The Pacifica, Night CityThe drive might have been a little awkward.
Scratch that, it had been one of the most awkward drives that V had found himself involved in.
V, Rogue, Spider, Squama, Shaitan, and Morgan had all packed into Rogue's personal truck. It was a tight squeeze, more so due to the size of V, Squama and Shaitan being larger than the other three members of the group. Amidst the silent drive (which wasn't silent due to Rogue detailing the plan to Mr Hands) V found himself lingering in his own thoughts once again. Wondering where Panam was, whether the clan and her were safe or at least on the way to somewhere safer than Night City.
He should have gone with them, never should have let them go out on the roads alone, not without the large shell of protection he could offer them. He could have scouted routes where others couldn't, could have gotten ahold of Militech contacts from his old life to help. He shook himself out of his thoughts, telling himself there was no point in remaining stuck in the past, he'd fought too hard to get away from two old lives, why get stuck on another?
They eventually came up to the entry to the Pacifica, a disused and pothole-littered road, trash thrown about on the beaten road into the abandoned retail district. Every building was most likely a gang hideout or squatter's shelter, each complex a failed attempt to create more money, each one an opportunity that V could have in another life turned into a profitable business. He'd only switched from lingering thoughts to messianic daydreams.
Then the car had pulled into an alley, a dead-end that was squared and boxed in and led out to a series of pathways and stairways leading down to the main hotspot of the district. An old hotel, and not too far away from that, a mega-mall just away from the beach. V had readied himself as he got out the truck, slamming his door shut before he pulled out his MDX rifle and started the process of charging the Overcharger. His small ammo bag was filled to the brim, as were his pouches before he met Spider at the trunk.
"You made sure that the VeeBees can't hack our brains from half the district away?" V asked, somewhat more politely than he usually did.
Spider smirked. "As soon as we entered, my ICE programs caught out almost ten attempts to hack either me, Shaitan or your augmentations. So, yeah, definitely can't burn your skull out for now."
"Wonderful, at least nobody is turning off Silver over there."
Shaitan's feet almost cracked the concrete with every heavy step. "Haha, laugh it up, asshole. This isn't gonna be a walk in the park you know?"
Morgan walked past all of them, grumbling and muttering under his breath as Rogue waved the rest of the squad to follow her and Morgan. The old man led the squad forward, his own six-shooters ready in his hands as he pressed forward. Another dead end, an alleyway packed with trash and one dead body, flies scattered in the air as they buzzed around the corpse in the mid-day sun. Morgan approached slowly, stowing one revolver as Squama checked the nearby door, only to find it locked. Morgan felt for a pulse, two fingers placed gently on the neck of the corpse before it jumped, hands gripping tight around his metal hand.
"Ou pa janm ta dwe te vin isit la." The man said, his grip faltering as Morgan shook him off as the body fell back into the trash heap, dead.
Morgan waved for Squama, whispering something in his ear, a question. V listened in, as Squama replied. "We never should have come here, fre."
There was a sudden clapping sound from behind them, a deep and dark laugh emanating from behind as the squad turned around. Altogether, they aimed their weapons at the two people in front of them. There was a rumble from somewhere, the sound of animalistic chanting from neither of the pair in front of the Afterlifers. V rushed forward, dropping to a knee as he zeroed his rifle on the closest man in front of him. His body was coated in tattoos, wires exposed around his head, garbed in combat fatigues and a heavy leather jacket. He was larger than any of the Afterlifers. V could have sworn he'd seen him before.
"You don't walk into the home of the Voodoo Boys, and not think we do not see you. We see you, always, ranyon." The large man growled.
"Aye, Placide," Squama spoke, his words going towards the larger man V assumed was Placide. "You were quick."
The man didn't emote, quite literally. "I am always quick, Weyland. You work for the floor rags now, like your papa?"
"Apparently so, fre. Better that, than trying to make another Haiti."
The chanting and rumbling grew louder, as more and more people arrived, some on the roofs above whilst a crowd gathered behind Placide. Each of them wore some intricate weave of dreadlocks, tattoos scarred into their bodies all over, clothes that looked ratty and worn in the light. What V noticed was that more than most were carrying some kind of battering instrument, necklaces or accessories made from string and small bones of little birds or rodents. They were grimacing, looking at the group of six, ready to bash and beat them down like the body behind them.
Placide glared at Rogue and Blackhand. "Maman Bridgitte has words for the ranyon with you, Crispin Weyland. Leave Pacifica, know your places in this city. Come back, and my people and I will not be as tranquil as we are now."
Morgan had enough. "The Relic chip that the joydoll you hacked gave you. We need it. You're going to give it to us, and then we'll leave you alone to play in your little sandbox."
Placide was silent, for a solid minute the crowd was straight-faced before the enforcer of the Voodoo Boys let out a husky laugh. He moved forward, prompting Squama to move forward in front of Rogue as the crowd followed their leader. They remained silent, not one call for death or violence, only the shuffling of feet and rattling of bone necklaces. Morgan, V and Shaitan readied themselves for a firefight, tightening formation as Spider shuffled behind Shaitan as she readied her wrist computer. She whispered about having achieved connection before the shuffling and rattling stopped.
"The old man speaks, but has no name," Placide grunted. "I know of you, Maman Bridgitte told me. Rogue, Shaitan, Spider Murphy. If you do not leave, you will be killed. This is your last chance, ranyon."
The group huddled together, weapons and computer ready for a battle as the crowd led by the enforced got closer, and closer, and closer. V could sense it in the wind, the smell of trash and death and conflict all mixing together like a noxious gas. V gently flicked the MDX rifle to burst-fire mode, placing a hand on Shaitan's shoulder for stability as they made themselves cover for Rogue and Spider as they worked to find a way out.
V scanned the area, the alleyway which they found themselves, running a scenario where they fought their way through the group, or held back and fought from their position. No situation held a victory for the Afterlifers, and as the crowd got closer and closer, V's finger inched itself around the trigger of the rifle, ready to smother it as soon as the situation called for a pipe to burst and violence to happen.
Just as he went to pull the trigger, two canisters dropped between the two parties, the crowd and the squad. The pins removed, V looked around for who threw them but could see nobody in the crowd who moved or anyone around on the roof. The canisters leaked, a thick white smoke emerging from the cans before the sound of gunshots ripped out from above. At that moment, panic took control, and V squeezed the trigger.