Chapter 3. High octane
Leather scented the air as the streets and neon lights blurred past. John's grip on the steering wheel tightened with the Turbo-R V-Tech engine's howl. Glass shattered, bullets thundered through the windshield, and screams rang in his ears with Night City's hooligans hot on their trail.
"Tu puta madre! This was supposed to be discreet!" the man in a luxurious blue suit cussed.
"Cool your balls. Just ran into a bit of a rough patch, that's all," John replied, arm out the window, aimed at the chasing vehicle. His first shots bounced off, but the third struck, a pursuer in the neck.
"Damn, I've been itching for this," Silverhand grinned.
'Man, fuck you. My hermano got played by that bitch. Forty-five thousand eddies down the drain and now—' another window shattered. A second vehicle had closed in, its passenger firing at them. John returned fire, glancing at his companion who now winced from a shoulder wound. He shifted his focus to a sports car alongside them, aiming directly at the driver's head.
A single pull of the trigger sent the driver's head into the wheel, the car swerving and crashing into a building. The van swerved to avoid the wreckage, resuming its relentless pursuit. Noticing his companion's blood-stained suit, Silverhand without a delay, administered a MaxDoc.
"Breathe in. Now."
The man inhaled as instructed. John activated his cybernetics as they approached an intersection, feeling time slow. He maneuvered into a sharp turn, the wheel in his hands jerking against his motion. The pursuing van quickly spun out, unable to match the sudden change. Explosions and screams echoed.
Then everything calmed for a moment. No vehicles in pursuit, no bullets flying, John continued to periodically check his side mirrors to make sure no one was tailing and them.
When he slid the vehicle into the park, John put the radio on for a moment while he observed the man's wounds. It seemed worse than it was. The gonk had a proper plating underneath the skin that protected his bones from getting turned into dust, meaning his client should be fine. But as a veteran soldier, he knew better than to underestimate the situation. pulled out the holo, and called Rogue. In a short moment, the fixer's grey hair and yellow jacket materialized on the display.
He checked his client's wounds, more bark than bite thanks to under-skin plating. Still, experience on the frontlines of war had taught him to be cautious. He pulled out his holo, dialing Rogue."
Obediently, the man inhaled as instructed. John, kept one eye on the rearview mirror to track the approaching van, and the road ahead. They were fast approaching an intersection that, though requiring a diversion, promised a better chance at evasion than facing the gangsters' gunfire head-on. Activating his cybernetics, John felt time dilate around him, the world slowing to a crawl. Approaching the intersection, he deftly decelerated and maneuvered the vehicle into a sharp turn. The pursuing van, burdened by its significant weight, struggled to match this sudden change in direction and spun to its side.
Everything calmed for a moment. No vehicles in pursuit, no bullets flying. For a moment everything seemed to calm down. Confirming that no vehicles chased them, John navigated into a nearby parking tower. These were designed for public use and cost a small amount of eddies to use. Although no sane man paid for anything like that in Night City. The NCPD did not have the resources to have officers write parking tickets illegally. Especially now.
John slid the vehicle into the park, put the radio on, and observed the man's wounds. It seemed worse than it was. The gonk had a proper plating underneath the skin that protected his bones from getting turned into dust. VIP should be more than okay until they reach the rendezvous point. Despite feeling confident about their odds, as a veteran soldier, John knew better than to underestimate the situation. He pulled out the holo and called Rogue. In a short moment, the fixer's grey hair and yellow jacket materialized on the display.
"Rogue, a pack of gang goons lit us up. Had our moves down like they were reading our playbook. The moment we blew past the south checkpoint and hit the final leg of the highway, they sprung their damn trap." John explained, a tone of annoyance in his voice.
"Shit. Is our VIP stable?" Rogue asked, her voice tinged with a mild surprise. Undoubtedly because they were thrown a curveball neither of them expected. The veteran fixer hated to be outplayed.
"Nicked in the shoulder. Good thing he shelled eddies out for some armor," John cast a glance at the man beside him, who was muttering unintelligibly. Despite his steady breathing and firm grip on his shoulder, the distress was unmistakable in his demeanor. "Seems like the brain's throwing a real fit about it."
"Give me a minute to think." The line went silent for a moment, with only the pained groans of the blue-suit man resonating within the vehicle. John reached to slide the passenger compartment open. Inside, there was another MaxDoc device and an adrenaline spike, both of which were enough to buy time, but not a permanent fix for the wound.
"John, ask if our VIP has premium medical cybernetics installed. Since his ass is loaded to the heavens it should stand to reason that he also has insurance," Rogue replied finally. Silverhand turned to the groaning man, and gestured to the holo device.
"Of course I do! What, do I look like some third-rate peasant?" the man groaned, prompting John to arch his eyebrows in response.
"Hear that?" he reported.
"Check his wound again," Rogue exhaled in disbelief.
To John's surprise, the wound had already begun closing up. At worst, it would leave a scar, but the man would survive. He wasn't sure whether to be amused or perplexed by the fact that this man seemed more squeamish than a Night City corporate executive. One might assume that someone of his stature would be hardened by exposure to violence given they traveled from Mexico's border to Night City. Yet this man appeared to be on the far end of the spectrum. Be that as it may, Silverhand could safely assume his gig and pat the man on the back when they arrived at the extraction location.
"Rogue, the wound has closed up." Johnny exhaled."Remind me again why I'm playin' chauffeur instead of letting this guy jet off with some Militech or Lazarus' muscle watching his back?"
"He set the game, Johnny. That's all we get to know," The veteran fixer shot back, quick and sharp.
Silverhand scoffed, "Fine, I'm taking the dame home then," The dig at their high-maintenance passenger coaxed a rare, brief snort from Rogue before she killed the call.
According to the navigator on his holo-device, they were still a good distance from the city center. Knowing Night City like the back of his hand, he knew that they would not be able to make it there without a few sorry goons trying to fuck with them. With a firm nod, he stepped out of the vehicle, brushing off the inquiries from the man in the blue suit. He walked around to the back and popped the trunk open. Heavy and light weapons lined the sides, with an assortment of smaller firearms neatly arranged below. John had to give it to Vincent— choom had an exquisite taste in lead-spitters. Even a seasoned military vet like him could admire the collection.
He surveyed his options carefully, his gaze eventually landing on a standout piece in the arsenal—a Militech-branded assault rifle equipped with a large drum magazine. John recognized it instantly as the Militech Hercules 3AX, a prototype not just rare but near mythical, available only to those who knew exactly where to dig. What distinguished this rifle from others was its integrated smart link, which eliminated the need for a separate cybernetic implant. Sleek, lightweight, and supremely efficient—it was the perfect tool for what John had in mind next.
With a satisfied grunt, he slammed the trunk shut and strode to the driver's seat, the firearm securely in his grip. The man in the blue suit shot Silverhand a bewildered look. "Oi, puta! What the fuck are you doing? We don't need to draw more attention to ourselves, damn it!"
"Contrary to that, we're about to crank up the spotlight in just a sec."
"W-What? I thought we got rid of heat!"
"You really think that was all? Toss a few scouts out there and wrap it up with a night at the strip joint?"John shook his head. "They will send more of them, trust me I know how the biz works around here."
"They didn't send anyone after us. Un-fucking-believable," John griped and downed a shot.
"Quit your griping. You pulled the job off without a hitch."Rogue nodded her head and then tapped her holo screen a few times.
"They were on our tails like rabid dogs straight out of some nightmare flick, then poof, gone just like that? Nah, something is way off here." Silverhand explained.
The pair found themselves bathed in the green neon glow of Afterlife, surrounded by dancers fluidly moving in liquid-filled tanks. Around them, mercenaries of all calibers huddled at tables, hashing out details of their next gigs or linking up with fixers, from the fresh-faced to the notorious veterans. John had to admit the place in comparison to the rest of the night city had retained its soul. Hanging around the bar made him feel as if he was home and not somewhere alien where everything was unknown.
"So, are we talking big corp, or you gonna cram more Drek gigs down my throat?" John sneered.
"You've been gone for decades and suddenly want to jump into the deep end without proving your mettle? I have to be sure you are up to the standards," Rogue shot back.
"Seriously? I'm chromed up to the fucking moon and back, with enough military chops to make your lapdogs look like babies. Not to toot my own horn or anything." John grinned and leaned forward to pour more liquid into his glass, but stopped in the middle and placed it back on the table. He kept his fingers wrapped around the bottle tightly for a moment, as his eyes seemed to lose focus. As fast as he had gone into a trance, he shook it off and loosened her fingers a little before finally releasing them. "I get it, you're guarding your turf, but I gotta crank up the bets, and fast."
The veteran fixed observed Silverhand, her eyes widening up slightly in response. "Fine, you made your point. I have something big in the oven that could net enough capital to fund your little op," she affirmed.
John's eyebrows arched high and a sneer spread genuinely across his lips. Whenever Rogue mentioned big gigs, it almost guaranteed trouble. John felt confident he understood her well enough; this job would undoubtedly plunge him into the deep end. Regardless, he was ready to seize the opportunity. Time was of the essence, and if he wanted to start funding the operation to bring Vincent back effectively, this had to be the moment. The moment when he could finally take the first steps to amend his mistakes.
"Quit dancin' around and spill the beans, what's the gig?" Silverhand pressed.
The veteran fixer slipped her fingers into her jeans pockets and retrieved a small, chip-like device. She twirled it around her fingers before setting it on the table and nudging it toward John. He eyed it curiously, picked it up, and slotted the disk into the port at the back of his neck. His vision blurred momentarily– notifications and warnings flooded his field of view. Initially overwhelmed by the deluge of information, he soon found clarity. A blueprint of an office emerged, delineating various rooms and sections. A conspicuous white line traced a path from the entrance, weaving through the building before halting in front of a terminal.
"What am I looking at?" John questioned.
"Militech research facilities. Search and retrieve," Rogue uttered.
"What the hell? After all that's gone down, I figured you'd want to keep my ass miles away from any corpo crap, so why the sudden urge to throw me into this cesspool?" The ex-rocker boy felt stupefied. Outright stunned.
Rogue skimmed through her motives for hiring John to steal from one of the largest military conglomerates, potentially the biggest post-Arasaka fiasco. Her sole concern lay in keeping the business afloat. With that objective in mind, she delved into the job description. Simply put, the plan was to infiltrate the facility disguised as a researcher, locate the blueprints for a classified project, and swiftly exit. It sounded straightforward, but in reality, it was anything but. Even for someone as recklessly daring as Johnny Silverhand, this scheme bordered on insanity. Yet, thinking back to what he has gone through these past months and even before supposedly having his head chopped off, this seemed oddly tame in comparison.
"Aww, Rogue, you shouldn't be spoilin' little ol' me with a gig like this. I knew you loved me," Silverhand remarked with a sneer.
"Fuck off," Rogue fired back, though she couldn't help but crack a smile and curse herself for it internally.
John's holo device began ringing in the middle of the duo's banter. As he pulled out the device and glanced at the screen, he saw the familiar Name plastered onto the display. "Judy Alvarez." His demeanor shifted, and his eyebrows frowned slightly, as he accepted the call.
"Hey Judy, what's the sitch?"
"Get over here, now," Judy urged with a tense tone.
Judy sits at her cluttered desk, the low hum of her rig filling the room. Neon lights from the cityscape outside flicker against the walls, casting shadows over her intense expression. She inserts the shard Johnny gave her into her terminal.
"Let's see what you've got," Judy whispered to herself.
The screen lights up with a series of encrypted files and fragmented data. Judy's fingers dance over the keyboard, decrypting and piecing together the information. The screen displays remnants of addresses, most of them unfamiliar.
"What the... These servers don't exist on the main net, and what the hell is this router it's trying to reroute me into?"
Judy narrows her eyes, and leans closer to the screen, focusing on the data. Her screen starts showing connections and pathways that lead to nowhere. Most curiously all of her attempts at tracing the network path lead to the same address every time, and after that, the trace runs dry. Empty. As if the data just disappeared into thin air. One clue remained, and that was the last known connection that had gone dry. The address was connected to a network of unknown origins, its location Pacifica, Dog Town.
She pauses, biting her lower lip. Her fingers hover over the keyboard as she takes a deep breath. She would have to build a middleware server between her personal rig, and the device at the end of the address she just scooped up. Without the precautions, she could end up out of her presence in the network, and risk having her devices spiked.
With that in mind, Judy began working tirelessly, her eyes reflecting the code that scrolls rapidly on the screen. She connects cables to different pieces of her setup, ensuring everything is in place. Finally, she presses a key and leans back, watching as the server attempts to connect to Blackwall.
For a moment, her breathing begins to take pace. Judy tapped her foot onto the floor with a nervous sigh. She didn't know what she was getting herself into. Bringing V back? Trying to poke around a metaphorical beehive of hell, beyond the firewall that is blackwall. She must have lost her mind if a promise to get V back could make her go crazy enough to put her trust in Johnny fucking Silverhand. The man who by all accounts should have already delta'd the hell out of this city. There was nothing to keep him here, so why is he doing this then? Guilt? Ego? Judy wouldn't have long to wallow in her thoughts as something unexpected happened next.
The screen began flickering, and for a moment, it looked like she had made a breakthrough. Her terminal displayed a connection, and a directory of dozens of folders.
"Yes!"
She did it. Somehow, Judy had found a way to connect to the last server in the list of connections. From here she could begin searching for more answers. With a small excitement, she began typing commands in, searching for anything she could uncover. Curiously enough, the server she had connected to, had a multitude of servers connected, and with some effort, she was able to find out, a piece of metadata embedded into some of the documents. "TechnoSynth Dynamics" and a repository that was named "Project: Icarus" she navigated into that path, hoping to find more.
Suddenly, the lights flicker and the hum of the electronics grows louder. The screen goes wild with static and sparks fly from the terminal. Judy's eyes widen in panic.
"Shit!"
She scrambles to unplug everything, but not before her rig shuts down completely. Judy breathes heavily, staring at the smoking remnants of her setup. She manages to pull out a piece of data at the last second. Her screen shows a term: "Protocol: Adam."
"What the hell is protocol Adam?"
Judy's hands tremble slightly as she saves the data and transfers it to a portable device. She slumps back in her chair, exhaling deeply, trying to calm her racing heart.
"Gotta holo Johnny…"
A blue light cast its glow onto the staircase, that John climbed urgently at that moment. John felt slightly worried. Him worried? Preposterous, he was Johny goddamn Silverhand. The man who blew a new rectal cavity at Arasaka's home soil. Survived a war, that was planted by a corrupt government. Lost a friend he trusted with his life, not once, but twice. Once in the second Central American war, and then Vincent. He was not afraid of anything anymore and had nothing to lose, but everything to gain.
Silverhand strode up to Judy's apartment door and rapped on it a couple of times. There was a brief silence, then the door slid open, revealing a shaken Judy peeking out. Her tense expression softened when she saw Johnny. "You're here, good. Come in," she quickly motioned and slipped back inside.
"Talk to me. What the hell went down?" Silverhand inquired, as he trailed behind.
"You mean, what didn't happen?" Judy collapsed onto the sofa, her head buried in her palms." My rig got spiked hard before I could snag anything," Judy blurted out, catching her breath.
John parted his lips to press for more information when a pungent scent of burning electronics caught his attention. He turned his head toward the door that led to Judy's rig and setup. As he stepped through the doorway, the sight that greeted him was grim. Every device was fried beyond recognition, some parts even beginning to melt through their casings, dripping onto the floor like some cybernetic nightmare. The air was thick with the acrid smell of scorched plastic and metal.
"Fuck," Silverhand rubbed his temple. "Is our lead toast now?"
"Worse, I found out your little stick had addresses embedded into metadata, that pointed to a server the software connected to." Judy rubbed her hands together. "And thats not all, i found some projects on the server, that we might want to look into."
Judy pulled out her holo device and began typing in it. A moment later John's device flared up. "There, that's the location,"
"Could use a partner for this ride," John offered. But the girl seemed too shell-shocked to answer. Realizing she might need time to gather herself, he decided to leave her in her thoughts. He made his way to the door but was stopped by the girl's hoarse voice calling him.
"Why are you doing this? No bullshit, give it to me straight," Judy called.
"What do you mean? I'm doing this for V," Johnny turned to face the girl, slightly taken aback.
"Really? Johnny Silverhand is capable of guilt? Color me fucking surprised."
"Is it so hard to believe people can change? What, you think I'm doing this for kicks?"
"I think you're doing it to satisfy your fucking ego, Johnny." Judy snapped, albeit still thoughtful. "Whatever the reason is, it is not some selfless on behalf of V. People in Night City don't get treated like people. So what in the ever living gonk shit are you after?`"
John remained silent for a moment, mulling in deep thought, then met Judy's gaze. For a moment she could have sworn to have seen something dreadfully familiar in his look. The very same look Vincent had after he told her he was going to die. A man already dead trying to grasp onto whatever was left, the very last strand of something real. Judy felt a jolt in her spine when the man uttered the next words.
"For once in my fucking miserable life, I'm trying to not be... this. Me." Johnny stretched out his arms, with a sneer. Yet his gaze was frowning. "Fuck Corpos, fuck Night City, fuck everyone else. None of them matter to me anymore. Why would they? There's not a single soul left to give a damn about some legend of yesterday. Hell, even I wouldn't bat an eye if I were them. Why? Because history ought to be left in the dust. Where it belongs. Where I belong." Johnny huffed.