He always believed that there was a difference between civilian fullborgs, and military fullborgs. One was a robot that just went to work. Granted they were working for the fucking corpos, but you don't get mad at the construction workers who are just trying to get by, you get mad at the company that bulldozed the fucking forest to put up a new parking lot. The civvie borgs were, most of the time, just random civvies stuck in a shitty situation. A shitty enough situation that replacing their bodies with steel and selling their soul seemed like a better deal to them.

Military borgs, on the other hand, were purpose-built for murder. They were the fucking boot on the throat of the world. The iron hands that kept the populace in chains. They were the steel-clad slaves that traded blood for living another fucking day.

Eat well, as if the only purpose in life is staying alive. There was a reason he didn't like them, no matter how their sob stories went, they were still tools of the corporations to keep everyone in line. Sure, there were ACPA and whatnot, but those weren't equipped with slave-chips in your fucking brain.

Adam Smasher was not a military borg, he had come to realize.

Adam Smasher wasn't a tool used by the corporations to keep the populace in line.

Adam Smasher was the entire fucking machine. He was to military borgs what military borgs were to civilian borgs.

You could pacify a whole population with his presence. Arasaka even did this earlier this year, as he was told. All of Pacifica was put under his nominal control. Live in a cubicle, do work for a fraction of normal pay, get a few measly bags of kibble a day, and spend all your time staying in line. The worst part was that it seemed to have worked.

Those fuckers had sold their pride for comfort. That part of the city was apparently one of the best to live in now, because if you stepped out of line, Smasher would kill you. He got away with this too, simply because Night City had sold the whole fucking district wholesale to Arasaka.

He got away with it because he was infuriatingly strong.

Alt screamed in his mind as a foot collided with his torso, sending him flying back to crash against the floor. He retained just enough of his senses to activate his speedware as he flew, glancing up to see that fucking Gemini stand back up.

A fucking Gemini. Alt had given him the specs for his own body, and how it compared to other frames.

Adam Smasher was strong enough to wreck his shit in a fucking Gemini.

It wasn't fair.

His back hit the ground and he started to roll. His biomonitor screamed in his head that just about his entire body was orange or red, and all his armor was yellow or orange. He pushed himself up as fast as his fractured limbs let him, and threw himself to the side.

Just in time to avoid the chunk of rubble the size of his torso scream past him and smash into the lower-wall of what was once the exterior windows. He glanced to see Smasher hefting another hunk of rubble from the shattered roof.

The roof he had shattered by tapping it with his fucking sword.

"What does it take to put you down?!" Silverhand roared in frustration as he jumped-crawled to the right. It was quite awkward moving with only one arm left, and his pain editor could only do so much. Everything hurt, hurt worse than the worst hangover.

Smasher was silent, letting his furious glare do all the talking as he threw another chunk of rubble. Silverhand jumped just in time for it to pass by beneath him.

—

'Gridwave' Uriel intoned, his flames reduced to a bonfire.

The net of Arasaka Tower was engulfed in world-devouring fire. The slowly-reforming world shattered again, reality kept at bay by fire.

The hand of the starlight leviathan burned to ash.

—

Smasher slowed to the crawl of normal reality, his glare somehow still tracking him as he moved.

'ALT!' Silverhand mentally shouted in no small amount of panic. Her voice answered him, but not in his mind, in his internal agent instead.

'Johnny. You have to survive. Smasher is unleashing gridwave after gridwave.'

'The fuck is a gridwave?' He messaged back as he ripped Smasher's sword out of his severed hand and rose to face the killborg.

'A program that deletes sections of the net. I can't get in there until he stops! It damages him too, so he can't keep it up forever! You have to survive!'

Survive huh? Silverhand glared at the borg that was starting to run at him in slow motion.

…He wasn't sure if he could do that.

His speedware timed out. He raised his sword. Smasher was in front of him in the next second. He was as fast as Silverhand was, in a fucking Gemini.

He swung his sword. Smasher blocked it with one hand. That was fine, this was a distraction anyways. He knew that he was just going to do that kinetic redirection bullshit again.

Silverhand couldn't survive another hit like that, so he'd have to do some redirection of his own. The moment his sword hit Smasher's hand, he let go of it, and shifted his stance. He knew that Smasher couldn't punch, and his stance wasn't right for anything else.

Smasher's foot rose up.

Silverhand grabbed it and pulled up. His myomer strained as he lifted. Smasher was right about his limit for lifting with one arm. That was all he needed. Smasher's optics widened in furious shock.

He twisted around as he kept lifting, dragging Smasher into the air above his head. Real aikido was about making your opponent hit the ground as hard as possible.

His hand came down, and Smasher slammed into the ground hard enough to crack the concrete. That should've stunned him for a moment…

'You fight like pain matters.'

Smasher's mule-kick collided with his face, sending him soaring back through the air again. He lost vision in one eye as he flew. His remaining vision went white as he tried to process the agony. He flipped through the air, rolling on the ground for a moment, cranking his pain editor to the max as he threw himself to the side again.

Smasher's drop-kick shattered the ground. The impact sent him rolling again.

Silverhand growled. It was like he was a fucking ping-pong ball right now. He activated his speedware and jumped up, raising the remaining half of his head as his biomonitor screamed that he was in critical condition.

Only to meet Smasher's optics, his speedware activated in the same instant.

He hastily threw up a hand as Smasher's fist rocketed forwards. He ducked as the fist bounced off his shoulder, annihilating the remaining armor there. He grabbed Smasher's ankle and pulled.

Smasher fell back, but his hand reached down in time to grab his torso-plate. Smasher fell back and ripped off another chunk of armor as he did. Silverhand grunted in pain as he threw himself back.

Smasher's feet rocketed through the air where his head just was, launching himself off the ground with his single hand to do so.

His body had enough armor to block bullets, not Smasher. His body was strong enough to out-muscle a construction frame, not Smasher. His body was fast enough to outpace a car, not Smasher.

He was strong enough to murder Arasaka Tower. Not Smasher.

Why the fuck was he even still here? Killing the boss was already done, not that it would do any-fucking-thing so long as the sheep were willing to keep their heads down. Why was he here, fighting Adam Smasher for no fucking reason?

…because when Silverhand heard his music, all he could see was another fucking dog of war. One that had a lot more than just a fucking arm.

And it pissed him off.

—

'Gridwave' Uriel demanded, his fire flickered and sputtered, dying down to mere furnace-roar.

The net of Arasaka Tower was engulfed in city-annihilating heat. The slowly-reforming world shattered again, reality kept at bay by fire.

The arm of the starlight leviathan burned to ash. A piscine glare turned to the burning man. A glare that was matched.

The Tower hardware protocols kicked in. Reality started to reassert itself faster than before.

—

Silverhand lashed out with a low kick, forcing Smasher to block with one of his own. He grit his teeth as he felt a hot spike of pain in the limb and his biomonitor screamed double red. Smasher countered with a punch, unable to twist into another kick so quickly, which Silverhand grabbed…

Smasher grabbed back, and they locked optics.

Furious red met furious blue. Both of their arms creaked simultaneously, the armor and structure being twisted apart by their grips.

Silverhand reared his head back and threw it forwards, colliding with Smasher's own head. His already broken skull driving into Smasher's like a blunt knife.

Both of them snarled. Silverhand in pain, Smasher in fury.

They pulled back, forearms still locked, and bashed shoulders. His right stump crashed into Smasher's, his biomonitor screamed double red.

Smasher crouched, pulling Silverhand forwards suddenly and letting go of his arm. Silverhand did the same, bringing his arm up…

Smasher's fist smashed into his hand, which was forced back into his chest, and sent him flying again. Two fingers on his last hand shattered completely. He screamed in pain as he was tossed back.

He had never really gotten used to pain. He was regretting that now.

—

'G-gridwave' Uriel gasped out, struggling to make the requisite sparks. He diminished again, now reduced to a struggling torch.

Building-breaking fire consumed the Net of Arasaka Tower. Reality was forced back once more by the scarlet embers.

The starlight leviathan stared impassively at the self-consuming fire, watching it as it died down.

—

He rose up, staggering back immediate after as a hail of rubble fragments impacted his opened torso. He staggered back again when a second burst of rubble fragments impacted a moment later.

Biomonitor offline. Internal Agent offline.

He crouched and raised his arm to shield him from the next rain of rubble. He raised his gaze, optics flickering, as Smasher hefted a larger rubble-stone.

Silverhand activated his sandevistan, but didn't move.

Smasher threw the stone.

Silverhand dodged by inches.

Smasher was in front of him in the same instant. He punched down. Silverhand's eyes widened.

He kicked upwards.

His foot shattered. Smasher's hand lost another finger.

His vision was filled with static.

Smasher punched down at him…

—

'...G-gridw-.' Uriel began, his flames struggling to remain intact.

He was interrupted. A hand of starlight enclosed around him.

The Tower-Net reasserted itself over the region.

The starlight leviathan approached for it.

—

Silverhand's mind blanked for a moment.

It was hard to think.

It was hard to feel.

All there was was pain.

'I made it, Johnny… oh no…' The voice of an angel came to him. 'One moment.'

His vision returned to him, as did all his other senses, the pain filtered out. He took stock of his situation.

Smasher's fist was through his chest. He was glaring, shaking slightly, but couldn't move.

'Your mind is stored in the chip… if that were anyone else, you'd be dead again Johnny…' The angel spoke to him despondently.

'How am I alive right now?' He asked, not feeling just about anything right now.

'Your chip is still in, and connected to your system. I'm jury rigging the connections here for you. You really need repairs as soon as possible.' The angel practically begged him.

Smasher was forced back, the fist exited his torso. There was now a hole where his heart should be.

He should be dead. He lost.

The reaper dropped him again, huh?

He slowly pushed himself up, everything was static and white-noise. As if looking at reality through a second-hand perspective. Reminded him of some of the worse trips he had been on back in the days. Don't do drugs kids, it's not good for you.

He stared at Smasher for a long moment, drained by everything. A fresh new warmachine of a body and he lost to a guy using a Gemini. A warmachine that put warmachines to shame. A warmachine that was glaring at him.

…He still needed to know.

"...your album, the MGR one… why did you make it?" His glaring optics locked into Smasher's own. Smasher's brows furrowed in fury and confusion.

"...Are you fucking with me right now?!" He snarled out, baffled by this line of questioning.

Silverhand snarled back, hand reaching down to draw the Gun.

Guns tended to make people far more willing to talk. This one didn't have any bullets, but it wasn't like Smasher knew that. Smasher's furious optics locked onto the barrel pointed at his head.

"Answer the fucking question." Silverhand growled out.

Smasher glowered for a few moments, before replying. "I needed something that wasn't modern dogshit to listen to."

Silverhand hated that he agreed with that statement. "...not to get your story out?" He asked with deliberate neutrality. He had done the very same thing, so long ago, to tell everyone the fucking truth.

He had been approached by a music corp, who had learned that he was a deserter, and tried to blackmail him into working for them for pennies. He told them to fuck off, and wrote a whole goddamn album about why he was a deserter. The whole world changed their tune about the subject shortly after.

That was the power of music, to shape the people, to show them the truth, no matter how much they wanted to hide away from it. To sing was to stamp your voice on the world, to make them listen to your pain.

"Why would I give a single shit about what they think?" Smasher growled out. "They're meatbags, they live to be slaughtered, their opinions are worthless."

"Oh? So that includes me huh? The guy pointing the fucking gun at you?!"

"...The difference between all those goddamn slackers and you, is that you're actually killing to get what you fucking want."

"They go to corporate stores to buy anti-corporate shirts and wonder why no one bothers listening to their worthless opinions! Complaining about the world but not doing a goddamn thing to change it! If they want something, they should fucking take it!"

…what?

"Like the goddamn corpos huh?! Murdering their way through the world until it suits them?!"

"Don't pretend! Don't pretend that a single one of them isn't fucking fine with being a goddamn slave. Their greatest aspirations are to get milked and then get slaughtered! Literally goddamn cattle! Eat! Work! Die! So long as they get their share of stims and bds they're perfectly fucking content with their worthless lives!"

…It was like looking in a warped mirror.

"Every time they try they get put down by fuckers like you! Every time someone tries to make shit better, someone like you is there to murder them for a quick fucking buck! So what are you killing over?!"

"Humans have been murdering each other for all of history, for any number of bullshit reasons. Whatever the fuck they believe in, they murdered each other for it. Don't pretend like it's a fucking mystery, cheerleader."

"Unlike all you fuckers, I don't need bullshit like philosophy. I don't need some dumbass ideology or religion! I don't need to justify myself on some retarded moral principle! I'm Adam fucking Smasher! I kill because I want to!"

"Those are your only fucking reasons?! A machine to keep the world in chains and you do it because you like the fucking work?!"

"I don't need anything else!"

"You don't have anything else!"

There was a moment of silence as the two warmachines stared at each other, glares locked, neither backing down. Unexpectedly, Smasher broke the silence first with a low, slow and seething speech.

"You know what they call legends these days, Silverhand?"

"They call them edgerunners. Their criteria for being a legend? Getting slaughtered in a memorable way. That's their fucking heroes. Particularly stupid cattle getting put down by their fucking handlers.

"Don't fucking pretend like they're worth caring about. They're meat for the slaughter, and nothing more. You call me a machine? Good. Why the fuck would I want to be a human?"

Silverhand closed his eyes for a moment, and lowered the Gun. Why would you want to be human?

…Because he wanted to be a hero. He wanted to save the world. Even from itself.

The whole world was a corporate legacy huh? He wasn't a smart guy, he didn't know how to fix it. He tried singing the world into rebellion before, and it didn't work. The best he could do is kill the worst guys in charge that he could find and hope that someone better comes along. It wasn't a good plan, but it was about the best he could think of right now.

He turned his gaze to the corpse of Saburo. A burst of noise alerted him.

Smasher had managed to shift another half inch, metal grinding on metal and stone. He was struggling even harder against Alt's hold.

…but why? He was just looking at a corpse, right…?

'...check his neck, Johnny.' The angel asked him. 'Arasaka has the improved Soulkiller they forced me to make for them… they might have improved it since. If Smasher is struggling so much…'

…Then Saburo might not actually be dead.

Fuck that, he was going to accomplish something today. He stomped over, getting to the corpse, and feeling at the neck.

A chipware socket. He pressed at the surrounding flesh, closed his fingers around the extended chip, and pulled it out.

It was a bulky, strange looking thing. Not the small and minimalistic models of other chipware, but large, black, and filled with a strange red glow.

He glanced over. Smasher was struggling even harder now. Confirmation huh? He glared at the chip in his hand.

He walked back.

He stood in front of Smasher.

He snapped the chip between two fingers and his thumb.

Smasher slackened, and stopped resisting entirely. His glare faded into a completely blank stare, before rebounding into a much weaker looking glare.

Ah…

Smasher was just another borg after all. It made sense he would have something in his brain to control him.

In the end…

"...you were a slave like everyone else, huh?" Silverhand couldn't find it in himself to be surprised, or angry, or anything. Just tired.

He gave a deep sigh, and moved to walk out of the room.

'Remember to grab the sword, Johnny.' the Angel whispered to him. He glanced at it and considered it for a moment. He didn't even know how to use a sword. What would the fucking point be?

…whatever. Alt wanted him to steal it, so he'll take it.

As he put the hilt in his right thigh holster, he turned back and addressed Smasher a final time.

"From one dog of war to another… your leash is off…"

"You're a new man now, Smasher. Let's see what you do with it."

He turned, and started limping out of the room.

—

Once Silverhand was far enough away, Alt released her control over Smasher.

Smasher sunk to the floor. He glared at the floor, glared at nothing.

For the first time in the better part of a century. He was free.

He wasn't sure if he hated it or not.

He couldn't work up the motivation to move.

Adam and Uriel quietly smoldered on top of a ruined tower.