Author's note: I edited out the graphic sex scene in this. Forgot it was there since it was a very short one.

For those of you who wish to read the more explicit version of this story, check it out at Archive of Our Own under the same pen name. Link is on my Profile page.

Part One

Prologue

The danger was supposed to be behind them. Arasaka was in shambles. V and Johnny were legends. Only thing left was to wait for Alt to contact V, hopefully with good news.

V should have known better than anyone. In Night City, people didn't stay dead.

Few hours before sun up, V was taking a shower, washing off the grime and blood of his most recent job. Johnny went to party at Kerry's but V was too tired, adrenaline having drained away hours ago leaving him exhausted, head pounding. Then suddenly, a loud bang, like his front door got plowed in. V jumped.

"The fuck?!"

Smasher was supposed to be dead. V had blasted his head off days ago.

However, seconds after busting down V's door, the chrome beast was on him. V tried, but there was not enough time to go for the handgun by the sink. One strike to his temple, V reeled, slipped on the wet floor, sight had gone out for a second, ears ringing. Smasher had gone easy — he could pierce right through V's skull if he wanted.

"Look at this! Princess getting her meat all sparkly just to get torn apart! Time for payback!"

Before V could get his head straight, he was grabbed by the neck and lifted off the ground, pinned against the bathroom wall. Shower was still running, now spraying both him and Smasher as he choked out V — not enough to kill him, just enough to soften him up.

"Did you really think you can one up me, little boy?"

V unleashed his monowire, sliced Smasher's face. This barely did anything. This new Smasher was machine from head to toe. With an electric growl, he slammed V against the wall. He heard the tiles crack under his head; his skull felt like it split open. When V stopped struggling, grew faint, Smasher flung him around and threw him out of the bathroom.

Gasping desperately, V crawled away, overwhelmed by a torpidness he couldn't shake. He was still exhausted and his nanites haven't even finished repairing the scrapes and wounds from earlier. He acted on instincts now, afraid.

He turned to face Smasher, who was walking over to him, and noticed from his peripheral three other people in his apartment near the doorway. A woman in a netrunner suit and two armored guards. The woman looked familiar. He didn't have time to get a better look.

Quickly he scanned Smasher, uploaded a crippling daemon, but V only heard him groan. His own optics suddenly fried.

"Fuck!"

The netrunner was making sure V couldn't use any of his quickhacks. His cyberware went haywire, monowire malfunctioned, he couldn't move, fell flat on his back. He felt Smasher's feet crack the floor on either side of him.

His hand flailed, hit the back of his couch. Remembering there was a pistol on the armrest, V tried flinging himself up just enough to reach it. But Smasher grabbed his wrist and snapped it like a twig. The pain shocked V for a moment before he screamed.

"Oh, this is not gonna be quick and clean," said Smasher, laughing. Briefly, Evelyn's fear at the inhuman voice flashed in his memory. "Sit tight, merc. I'm only getting started."

Walking past Kerry, who pouted over V's absence at the foyer, Johnny beelined over to the bar, swallowed a glass of tequila in one go, then grabbed the nearest Joytoy. Wasn't a week into his rebirth, half of which he spent cooped up between Vik's and V's. No amount of weariness and blood splattered clothes was gonna stop him from living it up. V was young enough to be his grandson but acted like the old man between them.

He dragged the Joytoy to a corner. She giggled after him; gorgeous girl wearing a shiny hot pink thong, thigh-high stockings, her big, plump breasts bare. He never wanted anyone more.

When he had been in V's body there was that pesky ganic brain of the boy's messing with Johnny's heterosexuality. He'd still feel desire for tits and pussy but in the back of his mind, where V would flicker in and out of consciousness, he sensed the revulsion. Made Johnny feel guilty, even if he had V's permission.

Johnny Junior was all Johnny now.

Once they got behind a pillar, she turned him around, slammed him against it, before devouring his mouth in a drunken kiss, her sweet lip gloss filling his tongue. Her small hand dug into his pants.

Out of nowhere, like a bad, random joke, he got flashes of Saburo's contempt the day he was captured; of the woman netrunner with him and her words: "There are things worse than death." They had been filled with so much hatred for the man that killed her husband. He hadn't understood, at the time, what she had meant.

Soulkiller. All those trapped souls.

"Hey?"

Johnny looked down. The Joytoy's beautiful face was drawn in concern. "You okay? You zoned out."

"Yeah…fine. But you're gonna have to up your game. Vanilla ain't m style."

She grinned deviously, "Oh I think I can manage that!"

She went down hard on her knees, ripped his borrowed trousers open, button flying. Johnny banged his head against the pillar, moaning. "Fuck…"

Expensive Joytoys were the best!

A notification from an unknown number popped up but he ignored it. Whatever it was could wait. There was booze to drink and pussies to fuck, and the night was young.

He'd regret it.

He woke up over a stained carpet, on top of a Joytoy; different one. Another one was tangled against his side. He groaned, cock hard, but he removed it from inside the unconscious girl. The second one fell flat on her back, her breasts jiggling beautifully.

They were in Kerry's living room, bodies everywhere, some beginning to rouse. Must've been the afternoon. He wanted to wake the girls up for another round but first opened up his notifications. When he read the subject title of the text he got last night his stomach dropped.

"Just for you, Johnny boy."

…Johnny boy…

He opened the message with dread and went cold, choking on a scream. It was a picture: V, naked, limp, sitting on the ground, back against his bed, half of his jaw blown off, blood all over his chest and crotch, an arm torn off, one leg at an odd angle, carnage everywhere, his eyes wide open, unseeing. Smasher, more machine than ever, sat on the bed next to him, his grin like that of a chrome skull.