So, SR2. Let's take a tiny stab at that. Right at the start, or close to it.
This was her. This was her and yet not her.
When V looked down at her hands she knew they were hers, but the arms and body they were connected to were different. Different enough to make it wrong. Her face had harder lines to it, her auburn hair was cut short and kept brushing against her chin, and she felt like a stranger.
A stranger who was one and yet was not, if it made any sense. She desperately wanted it to make sense.
The brief glimpse she got of herself in the prison made her flinch, and later when she was changing into actual clothes at Sloppy Seconds she had to take a minute to study herself.
This was her. This was who she was now, and as she sped out to the courtroom to get Gat, it was all she needed to know. For now, at least.
The only thing that had registered from the clip at Tee'N'Ay was that Gat was minutes away from heading to Death Row, and as she stomped into the courthouse she was hellbent on preventing that. He was her friend and her link. One of the only she had left, if the disconnected phone numbers of the others were any indication, and she wasn't going to lose it.
"Don't fucking move!" she snarled when she broke into the actual chamber. The judge cowered from her position behind the bench, and the cop dropped their weapon to the floor as V yanked the keys away from them. The pistol-whipping afterwards was probably a bit overboard, but right now that didn't matter.
She chucked the keys towards Johnny, her gun still on the officer and judge, and barely noticed the way he was looking at her. "Shit. You know how to make an entrance. Enjoy the nap?"
"Fuck no. This place was ugly before, and now it's just godawful."
He took the cuffs off and grabbed the extra gun she offered him. While he checked to see if it was loaded, V checked him over and found herself dealing with the same strange disconnect all over again. He was Johnny, but not Johnny. Older, with a sharper edge to him. Not even his bleached hair stood up to the test of time, and for a second she actually missed it.
"You ready?" he asked, his voice low.
She tried to smile, but couldn't. "Now I am."
They tore the rest of the place apart getting to the exit. The violence simmering under Johnny's so-called calm burst loose, and she could almost feel how satisfied he was in taking the police down. Hers wasn't as unchecked, but it was there, confused and dying for an outlet. They stole the first car they could get their hands on in the parking lot, and she launched it onto the road, keeping an eye out for any sign of the police.
Sure enough, flashing lights appeared and she threw the car down one of her old side roads. Johnny used this to their advantage as he aimed back at the Five-O determined to hunt them down, and scored a lucky hit on the driver. He cheered as V laughed, and the two sped off until everything seemed to relax back into the unsteady state she'd been left with before.
Johnny loosened the tie around his neck and sat back in the passenger seat. "Oh, that was fucking nice. Almost like a holiday."
"I'm never going on vacation with you then, because that was a fucking nightmare. Death Row? What the hell happened?" V asked, tense all over.
He gave her a look. "Are you for real?"
"Yeah, I am," she snapped. "I literally just woke up and ran over here to save your ass. Saw something on TV about you getting convicted, and I'm still wondering how the fuck you managed to get caught."
"Trying to kill the chief does that."
"Chief? Holy hell, man. What did the new one do to you?"
He went silent and she wasn't sure if he was going to answer her. "You watched the report on the TV, but you don't know who the chief is?"
"No, I cut out the minute it mentioned you were on your way to being fried. Why?"
"Well you missed the big surprise then. Troy's been busy."
The connection didn't register. "...What?"
"Troy. He's a cop. Was one the whole time. Motherfucker had some brass balls going for chief like he did, but...whoa! Whoa!" He jerked the wheel to the side as the car slid into the other lane, and they barely dodged a large SUV. "Fuck! The hell, V!"
The slow dawning horror on her face left the minute Johnny broke the spell, and she pulled the car back in line. But her hands couldn't stop shaking. "Slipped. ...Just a damn slip."
"Slip. Right." He watched her closely now, and she felt sick. Sick and tired. "We don't need to pull over now, do we?"
"Shut up. We aren't doing shit," V shot, feeling anger cut through the shock. She pushed the unpleasant curl of emotions down and focused on the now. "Where's Dex?"
"Oh, don't get me started on fucking Dex," he replied, his own anger flaring. "He's gone, Troy's turned, and Julius disappeared off of the damn planet. There's nothing left. Saints are dead and gone."
"Except for you."
He inclined his head towards her. "...And you. Still counts for something, right?"
"Enough," she said quietly.
Johnny went straight to Aisha's. After so long they deserved to see each other, and V wasn't going to keep him any longer than she needed. ...Even if seeing him had given her a sense of stability she'd lacked since she'd stepped off of the speedboat.
This left her alone with Stilwater, and as she stared out towards the skyline, it was strange and familiar all at once. The street where her place had been now had new housing, and the yuppies wandering around regarded her as if she had mange. The dirty looks she threw their way didn't help, but it disgusted her to see her home this sanitized.
The church hit her even harder. She got one look at the memorial from the front and didn't even bother to go inside.
Her car was starting to fall apart around the edges when she parked it in an alley by one of the local Brown Baggers. This was one that she used to hit regularly. Johnny had helped her drink herself into oblivion more than once, and Troy, well... He'd bought her a thing or two on occasion.
A memory of the two of them trading a bottle of something cheap back and forth while watching a movie at her place popped up. She let it play out all the way to the point where he was pulling her shirt up to press a kiss to her stomach, and the fond feeling lingering there stung.
None of it made sense. She didn't want it to make sense.
Dragging herself out of the car, she walked around to the front and pushed her way towards the cheap, but potent section. A bottle of tequila stood out, and she had to stop herself from taking two. The leftover money from her shopping spree at Sloppy Seconds barely covered it, and she made a mental note to thank Carlos later.
When she left, she came to a stop in front of a display filled with televisions. She'd skipped them on her way into the store, but now they held her attention. Half of them talked about the jailbreak, while the other half focused on the botched trial. V stepped close to one of them as it switched to Jane Valderamma - at least she appeared to have changed little - and Troy.
Troy the cop. The chief.
Her head swam as she tried to reconcile the Troy she knew with this one. Chief Bradshaw wore the uniform like it belonged on him, and the moustache he was sporting now only added to the image. His rigid posture made it seem like he was incapable of relaxing, and V numbly watched as the interview continued.
"...What does this mean after all of this time? Are the Saints on their way back?" Jane asked, holding her microphone out to him.
"I think it's a bit early to jump to any conclusions, Jane," Troy replied in a clipped tone. "We've got our best men looking into this, but right now it's a situation that can still be managed."
"Even if two of the Saints' top lieutenants are now on the loose?"
V recognized that expression, the way he'd purse his lips as if he were holding something back. She recognized it well, and it made her dig her nails into her palm. "It's not a problem. We won't let it become one."
Her legs carried her away from the rest of it, Jane's voice echoing as she asked the next question. She kept going back to Troy. How he was supposed to be the one to be there, to always tell her exactly how things would go down, to-
She kicked over a trash can and hated herself. Hated how naïve she had to be to give away so much.
Her eyes burned as she went into the alley where her car had been abandoned, and two people were there waiting for her. They wore matching yellow jackets with similar embellishments, and the swords hanging on their backs appeared nothing short of lethal.
"Good call, Chiaki," one of them said, leaning against his motorcycle. "She's not quite the same as in the photos, but it's tough to miss a Saint."
The woman, Chiaki, drew her sword and V bared her teeth at her. "You remove that, you better use it, because I've got no time to deal with either of you ninja school rejects. You feel me?"
She laughed. "No. We've got our own superiors to answer to, and I know they would be overjoyed to have your head presented to them. The formerly retired leader of the Saints dead, and so soon after making her comeback. That would be quite the prize."
V put two bullets into the woman and one into her partner before he was able to yell. They collapsed, and she moved towards the man, crouching low as he choked on the blood in his throat. "Shame about that, then. Think I might want to take your leader's head instead."
She stood up, regarding the two bodies at her feet. She dug through their pockets, removing money and ammo, and took one of their swords. Her reflection peered at her through the sheen of the blade, and she tried to accept the woman staring back at her.
It'd get easier. It had to.