死人に口なし

The front of the braindance studio was filled with police officers, the normal sets of admirers or protesters cleared away. Last year it was something about an execution. This year it was real-life gladiatorial contests, with a million eurodollars on the line for a win.

Goro watched as the police cordon parted to allow his armoured limousine to pass, wondering why such a studio would not employ more sophisticated security measures. They had cutting edge technology that could be stolen easily, given that the police presence was normally far less. It was only his presence that had brought out the riot control division and even a pair of MaxTac officers to defend the location, but there were no automated defences.

Dismissing the line of thought as they drew near to their destination, he finished his a small cup of sake with a final sip and returned it to the proper place. The vehicle rode over speed-bumps in the concrete as he did so, making the job a little harder. He scowled forwards at the driver through the one-way glass. The man should've known better.

There was no time for a rebuke however, as the vehicle stopped and the driver popped out, quickly moving to open the door for him. Goro waited, checking that his suit was not stained with any remains of his drink on account of the imperfect driving, but this was as much a punishment as he could levy on the driver now.

Seeing nothing wrong with his shirt or jacket, he took his sword in its scabbard in one hand and climbed out into the sunlight. There, he found a half-dozen film execs in a line in front of him. Most of them bowed in greeting, poorly. The exception was a woman with large gold rimmed glasses and red hair styled upwards. She stood to the side, smoking and regarding the whole affair with interest.

Goro returned the bow, though the Americans' effort had been so poor that they should not have bothered, and waited for them to address him.

"Takemura-san, welcome to Fourth Wall Studios," the leader said in a deferential tone, "I am Mr. Quentin, head of operations for Night City."

"A pleasure to meet you," Goro replied, "Please show me what I have come to see." He had no desire for a tour.

"Certainly," Mr. Quentin said, "This way." He held out a hand to the right, and fell in beside Goro as he moved.

They brought him inside one of the studio stages... the location in question. It was a typical movie studio as far as he could tell; warmer than it should be, soundproofed from the world outside, lots of chairs and the like around. In the centre of the main room was a wooden cross laying horizontal on supports, with a few consoles standing around it. The air smelled of chlorine, but from the disarray of items and trash, there was no impression at all that the room was clean.

"You did not re-use this building for other BDs?" Goro asked, turning to Mr. Quentin.

The man's brow raised at the question. "This is our smallest lot," the exec replied, "We've mostly been focusing on larger, more epic works since then." This was a transparent lie, though the reason behind it remained hidden.

Goro did not respond... instead walking over to the control to raise the cross up.

He initiated the the mechanism, and with a small whine, the cross rose. It came to a halt smoothly, revealing the three holes in the wood that had once held large nails, surrounded by dried blood. He frowned, disgusted that they had not bothered to clean it off, when they had obviously cleaned the floor below.

"I am surprised you kept the items in place," Goro said, "Even if you did not plan to use the space."

A snort erupted from the young woman with the large gold-rimmed glasses. "Are you kidding?" she said, "This place would be burned to the ground if we touched it."

"Casich!" Mr. Quentin shouted, "Be quiet!" He turned to Goro, holding his hand up in a Japanese gesture of apology.

"I regret that outburst," he said, "This is Rachel Casich, she was the lead on the BD in question. She has a regrettable reputation for directness."

Annoyed that the man was trying to avoid the point his subordinate and sensing there was more to the story, Goro turned back towards the pair. He began holding his sword across his thighs, one hand on the hilt, as if ready to draw. Mr. Quentin's face paled, his eyes glancing downwards at the sheathed blade.

"To what is Miss Casich referring?" Goro asked, calmly, "Why would the studio be burned to the ground?"

"An exaggeration," Mr. Quentin replied, "The BD caused some uproar, more than we expected. It was extremely profitable of course, but it continues to cause controversy."

Exactly what BD studios aimed for, as far as Goro knew; profit and controversy. Yet that didn't usually result in a threat to burn down anything. The man had failed a basic test of honesty, for reasons of avoiding embarrassment with a potential investor. Time to cut through the bullshit, as Rogue would've said.

"Mr. Quentin, I thank you for your assistance," Goro stated, "Please leave Miss Casich and I alone, and I will speak to you when we have concluded matters."

The exec opened his mouth to speak.

"I will report your cooperation to Arasaka-sama personally," Goro interrupted, "My time is limited, so if you would..." He gestured to the door. Without hesitation, Mr. Quentin shut his mouth and bowed, lower this time, and walked away with the other execs in tow. The man had what he wanted, or so he believed.

The door shut hard with a metallic clunk.

"Just us two now, huh?" the young woman said, "You can call me Rachel." She switched her cigarette to her left hand and offered the right to him.

Amused rather than insulted, Goro knew this was much more like how business was conducted in Night City when people were serious, and he took the hand gratefully. He had learned a lot in his time as an Afterlife mercenary.

"You may call me Goro," he said, shaking the offered hand, "Your boss is a strange man."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "A genius at spotting BD opportunities," she said, "But not great anything else. He's the one who greenlit the whole crucifixion idea in the first place."

Goro shook his head. "So it's true?" he asked, "V really did nail a man to a wooden cross?"

Rachel took a drag on her cigarette. "The man did ask for it, in more ways that one," she replied, matter-of-factly, "To be clear, this was a legal execution, and the man wanted to be punished for his crimes. And the only people that know for sure it was V are myself, the execs and whoever your people told. The rest of the crew still don't know who it was."

That was hardly surprising. V had a facial recognition jamming system in his Kiroshi-manufactured eyes, and he had often wore a mask over his face during his last stay in Night City.

"I do not believe anyone knew who he was," Goro mused, "Not even himself. But that is another matter. I wish to know why the studio is in danger if these items are removed, but I suspect it will only make sense if you tell me the whole story."

"Probably right," Rachel sighed, throwing her mostly-finished cigarette to the ground and crushing it under her sneakers, "It started with some guy whose wife Joshua had murdered..."


The sequence of events was barely believable.

V had run into Joshua Stephenson entirely at random, seemingly a job from Wakako Okada to kill the murderer had gone wrong. V had agreed to help the man die, for reasons that were known only to him. Was it vengeance for the victims? Sympathy for the reformed, guilt-ridden criminal? The paycheck?

Goro could imagine V's cynicism about the whole situation... but the whole event supported his own theory of what had happened to the mercenary. V would've done the original job and killed Joshua, if it had just been his decision. But he had not been alone, he had Johnny Silverhand to contend with in his mind, and Silverhand's whimsical psychology was a matter of public record.

"This BD is popular enough that even I have heard of it," Goro said, when Rachel stopped speaking and began lighting up another cigarette, "But it was divisive. Those I have met who had experienced it are of two minds."

Rachel nodded, blowing smoke out of a grin as she did so. "That was the concept behind it," she said happily, "I wanted something people would talk about forever, disagree about forever."

What narcissism.

"It appears you have succeeded," Goro replied, "Very few such things come to my attention. In fact, I struggle to recall any except your work." He had only tried a braindance once, to see a battle from the LatAm Wars. He had not been impressed.

"Why thank you," Rachel drawled, "But you didn't come here to praise me, did you?" With that, she pulled out her phone and tapped on it a few times. A whirring sound began, one strange enough that it sent Goro searching for the source, but he failed before it was revealed.

Light sparked around the cross, as glowing red holographic figures materialised. The murderer himself first, his head slumped down over his collarbone, dark patches on his skin around the wounds of the nails on his hands and feet, a prison jumpsuit wrapped around his lower region as a loincloth.

Goro was not a Christian, but the imagery was still offensive to his eyes; how could anyone find this entertaining or enlightening?

Below, standing with his hands one on top of the other in front of him, was V.

His face was a jumbled digital mess, his recognition jammers doing their work even on the holo-recording equipment, but Goro recognised the clothing the figure was wearing immediately. Motorcycle boots, blue jeans, a black padded jacket used by military pilots, this was what the man had been wearing the first time they reunited after his brush with death, and many times after that.

"Thought you would want to see it for yourself," Rachel said, pointing two fingers with the cigarette in between them at the holographic V, "I can tell by your face you recognise that it's him."

"Indeed," Goro replied, "This provides telemetry to support identification. Biometrics and the like."

"Well, I'm glad I could help," Rachel sighed, "Frankly, when they told me you were coming, I was scared out of my wits. But it helped seeing only one person get out of that limo and not a platoon."

Amused, Goro glanced at her from the side. She recoiled slightly. "Not that you're not scary on your own," she added, a hand up, "I'm sure you could turn me into sliced bacon with that sword in seconds."

"Do not worry," he said, "You have done nothing to offend me to such an extent."

She breathed out loudly in relief, and then breathed in through her cigarette for another hit of nicotine. "Anyway, we can transfer the holovid file to you no problem," she said, "It's a real pity he seems to be on your shitlist though. V has great potential as a BD actor, but he had to go choose that indy girl Alvarez as an editor... doesn't he know he could make millions working with us instead?"

Goro almost told her that it was unlikely he had really returned to work on BDs, if only because she seemed to know V and may have had more information. But her discretion could not be counted upon, and he wasn't done exploiting that himself.

"Now to the thing which made me want to talk to you alone," Goro said, turning fully to face Rachel once more, "The studio has made both fans and critics due to this production. Which is it that would burn this place to the ground if you should touch the contents of this building?"

"The fans," Rachel said, "The superfans."

"I did not think people addicted to braindances were capable of such violence," Goro said, "Not before security would stop them, even the substandard security that this studio seems to possess."

Rachel raised both hands. "Don't look at me, I've been warning them about security for a year now," she said, "But we're not talking about your run of the mill brain-potatoes here, stewing their cerebral matter while sitting on their couch. They're organised."

"Organised?" Goro asked, "For what purpose?"

Rachel bit her lip and glanced at the ceiling for a moment. "How do I put this?" she thought aloud, "When we were looking to create a religious experience for this BD, it would be correct to say we succeeded a little too much."

She brought out tapped her phone again, ending the holographic projection, before sending a series of images to Goro's own device. His optical interface brought them into his view immediately. It was a collection of photographs from the streets of Night City.

One was of a crowd of people in front of a group of robed individuals.

Another had a similar crowd in front of the studio holding placards that said 'Joshua the Redeemer' or 'the Messiah cometh again'.

The third was a scene of a melee, somewhere in Rancho Coronado, with the 6th Street Gang intervening to restore order rather than the NCPD.

The fourth was a spray-painted image of Joshua Stephenson's face flanked by two crosses, which protected him against barely human cyborgs, all with the subtitle 'He died to reveal their sins'.

Goro did not like the implications of these images one bit. "Do you mean to tell me that your braindance has created a religious movement?" he asked, "With Joshua Stephenson at the heart of it?"

"More like a god damned cult, unfortunately," Rachel said flatly, "They think Joshua was literally the second coming. A herald of the God-damned apocalypse. You can imagine my surprise when they showed up in front of the studio, the man was nuts. Someone keeps passing them information, because they seemed to know whenever we were planning on cleaning this up properly and showed up in force."

Goro rubbed his chin for a moment. "How has this not been reported by the media?" he asked, "It was not part of our reports either."

Rachel grinned, like somehow the studio had won a victory over Arasaka. "Media know their place when reporting about us," she said, before shrugging, "And no one important believes this shit, so it isn't big news anyway."

Yet it was still a danger. "What exactly is their ideology?" Goro asked, "Are they anti-corporate?"

"Of course they are," Rachel confirmed, "Their leader is the woman who converted Joshua in the first place, Zuleikha El-Ahmar. He murdered her brother and she saved his soul, blah blah blah. Though many who follow her call her Mother Zea now. I guess the Arabic name is too hard for their little fried brains to handle or something."

Another drag on the cigarette.

"Anyway, she's not from money and has no reason to be merciful to we corpo-rats," Rachel concluded, "V was there when Joshua met her for the last time too. He was kind to her."

That little piece of information was the key. "You said only yourself and the executives know for sure that V carried out the execution," Goro said, "What about 'Mother Zea', could she know it was him?"

The young woman went quiet for a moment. "She might, now that I think about it," she said, "Hadn't made the connection until you just said it. It fits."

Goro moved a step closer "Why is that?" he said quietly.

Rachel blanched, not having expected his movement. "Her followers are big fans of V's work, the attack on Arasaka Tower in particular," she explained, "They say it's the first sign that the apocalypse is beginning. A new sack of Rome. You wouldn't believe the amount of shit like that I've been forced to see since Quentin put me on watching this."

She sent another set of images, this time of graffiti depicting the faces Joshua and V looking outwards with a burning Arasaka Tower in the middle, or V with a large cross hanging on a chain from his neck plunging a sword into an Arasaka cyborg. The exception was a picture of V himself sitting with Joshua at a table, next to another young woman who Goro recognised as one of the robed figures from the images of the crowds before.

"You can see a clear theme here," Rachel stated, "They think Arasaka and the other corps are Satan's beasts, including the studio. V was wearing the same clothes when they met as he was at the execution. Maybe Zea made the connection and has been subtly pointing it out ever since."

Highly probable that this Zuleikha had done just that, Goro decided, given that he himself had instantly. V had a recognisable style at the time, and given what he had later perpetrated, she likely would've recalled the events of their meeting.

"One more question," Goro asked, "Do you know how many people are followers of this 'Mother Zea'?"

Rachel frowned. "Not really," she said, "But from the pictures, I'd say thousands as a low-ball figure. Maybe the NCPD have more information, but I doubt it. Only people they've been making trouble for is us and some gangoons in Rancho."


Michiko-sama and Zaburo-san listened to the tale Goro brought back with a contemplative stare, taking it in with all due seriousness to his relief.

When Arasaka had put out feelers for any information on V's possible criminal links, it had been surprising that a BD studio had been the first to return the call for intel. They had not even been contacted directly, the studio head had simply been in a party with Arasaka managers from Counterintel one night and it had naturally come up in conversation given V's very public return to the city.

The managers had been punished appropriately, but given that their mistake in conversing about such a sensitive matter with an outsider had produced an inadvertent positive result, their sentence would likely be commuted.

"If River Ward's assessment about V is correct, this is a threat," Zaburo said, "If his intention truly is to do us harm, a cult is a tool he can use against us."

"I agree," Michiko said, "But is he aware that he has such a tool available?"

"Not so far," Goro replied, "We are setting up surveillance of the main locations the cult gathers at, and we are considering options for intervention."

Michiko's expression soured. "Intervention, Takemura-san?" she said, "Don't use euphemisms. You mean assassination, right?"

Goro bowed his head low, his cheeks warming with embarrassment. "My deepest apologies, Arasaka-sama," he said, "I do indeed mean assassination."

"A line of thinking that I support," Zaburo weighed in, "We must cut the head off this cult as a precautionary measure."

Michiko turned her ire upon her bodyguard. "I am not convinced it is a cult, and killing their leaders is how you create martyrs," she declared, "What is to stop the radicalised members left behind from falling into V's control, as he is the last surviving person they admire?"

Zaburo did not back down, to Goro's shock. "Then we must destroy the cult's membership too, Arasaka-sama," he pressed, "Or enough of them to discourage the others from thinking there is a movement left. A terroristic bombing would not be difficult to pin on disgruntled ex-affiliates."

Michiko shook her head. "Far too risky," she said, "Not to mention against the spirit of everything I mean to achieve in North America. I am not Yorinobu, nor am I Saburo. I am not above using necessary methods to achieve our goals, but this seems excessive, both as a solution and as a display of our influence."

"You must imagine our concern," Goro replied, "V is already associated with Militech and the Valentinos. His partner's nomads have hijacked weapons shipments before, and have a large amount of materiel from the defeat of the Raffen Shiv. This cult could be armed by V or Militech easily, with total deniability."

Michiko stood up from her seat, forcing the other two to do the same. "I will not consent to a bombing when the chances are that fallout will blowback onto this corporation," she declared, "That is final."

"Hai, Arasaka-sama!" Goro said loudly, at the same time as Zaburo.

"It is good you still understand who you are speaking to," she continued, before her voice softened, "I know you just want to protect me, and share my goal. Do you have alternatives to a bombing?"

Zaburo said nothing, his idea having been spectacularly shot down. Gritting his teeth, Goro decided his own one needed another shot.

"Michiko-sama, I would beg you to reconsider assassination," he said, "We can contract the matter out via a discrete mercenary to a fixer, who will hire another mercenary for the job. We can cultivate false information about possible enemies of the cult leader before the strike. A bombing would draw the attention of the NCPD, but the neutralisation of the leaders could be attributed to many other things before anyone would think of us."

Taking her seat again, Michiko-sama's cyber-eyes bore into Goro's own, as if she was trying to look into his soul. She must have seen honesty there, as she relaxed back into her seat.

"Have this Zuleikha El-Ahmar watched closely," she declared, "Prepare the ground to have the cult leaders eliminated. But do not carry out an assassination unless you are certain she has been in contact with V. Militech would love to create another scandal, and this would provide ample fuel for one. This is America, gentlemen. The last thing we need is a wave of religious zealots thinking we have declared war."

A situation which could spiral out of control very quickly. Michiko-sama's words were wise.

"Understood, Arasaka-sama," Goro said, bowing once more.