Bullets zipped overhead, and the air was engulfed by the roar of explosions. Vincent marched down a corridor teeming with Arasaka forces, each combatant heavily armored in bulletproof vests. Their bodies were almost entirely encased in chrome, making every move and gesture a of metallic screeches. The passage walls, comprised of dark alloy surfaces, transformed into a bloody vista of gunfire exchanged in a relentless back and forth. With composed precision, V sought refuge behind a makeshift barricade, carefully aimed his firearm at the source of the onslaught, and squeezed the trigger. The forceful recoil of his Malaria handgun jolted through him. A second later, a scream, 'Man down!' resonated as the fire on the other side gave a leeway for a breath's duration. More reigned from his flank. He found himself encircled, armed men pressing in from both directions. His objective, the security checkpoint, lay several hundred meters ahead, beyond the advancing wave of Arasaka's formidable security team.
"V, haul your ass outta here! You plant yourself here, and they're going to squeeze us from both ends." Johnny's voice thundered, his holographic form flickering as he crouched beside him. Vincent acknowledged with a nod, then sprang from his cover, his silhouette reflexively dodging incoming fire with inhuman accuracy, leaving the Arasaka soldiers disoriented and bewildered, as the flurry that was V dashed toward them with both handguns moving in his hands with a demonic fluidity. Every placed shot landed almost perfectly. Two nearby men in the vicinity went limp immediately. Following three flatlined seconds after the former.
"Almost there, V. Keep hammerin' away. You're leagues beyond 'em," Johnny's gravelly voice echoed in his mind, his holographic form shimmering in the distance, eyes locked on the security checkpoint. Vincent was acutely aware that his continued existence in this world, rather than being an entry in Night City's overcrowded morgue, hinged solely on his Kereznikov implant. This piece of tech gave him the edge, allowing him to dodge threats and avoid becoming a lead-filled casualty. So pushed he did. He fought for every inch of space. Sustaining wounds and grazes on his skin, as the resistance grew gradually, bullets wheezed past him.
In the last stretch of his race, he breached the threshold of the door, only to be greeted by the sight of a server room bathed in ominous red light. A dozen men loomed on the rafters above, others skulked behind the server racks on the main floor, and undoubtedly, a whole army's worth was hot on his heels, closing in from the corridor. 'Fuck' Vincent muttered. He quickly leaned against one of the server's racks in response to more bullets being shot at him. Taking a deep breath, he geared himself to peek out of his cover, only for a blade to pierce through it, puncturing his shoulder.
"Of course, you have a fucking–" Vincent groaned, pulled back, and dashed to the side, passing numerous aisles of server racks, all while a samurai blade-carrying arasaka combatant trailed him. This man was dangerous and likely outfitted with every possible militech implant Arasaka could have imagined and had access to. In the heat of their exchange, Johnny dubbed him with a title – "The king of chromes." Vincent winced in pain as the blade-wielding man lunged from between one of the aisles grazing his metal-plated chest. He took the opportunity to tackle the man and then inserted his handgun against his dome and released the bullet.
In the same breath, some of the other Arasaka men had taken the opportunity to close and opened fire. Vincent rolled on the side, as some bullets made contact with skin, some bounced off the plating while others found a way through it. Vincent groaned once more, and moved on despite the unbearable pain, returning fire and pushing onward through the aisle of server racks. Bullet wheezed past him from the neighboring aisles, while a dozen of Arasaka's men marched onward, in his aisle.
Bound to collide in the middle, Vincent scoffed to himself, "Major leagues, my ass," as he holstered his handguns, then squared off against the advancing security. His arms morphed, taking the form of massive barrels, bristling with an arsenal of rocket projectiles ready to unleash hell. A rain of explosions shook the ground. With calculated calm, Vincent pressed forward, mercilessly crushing the skull of a downed Arasaka goon, still feebly crawling on the ground, under his boot. Making it to the opposite side, Vincent sprinted towards the door, slid through, and swiftly plugged a stick into the port on the expansive panel. Bullets pinged off the glass, failing to reach him as scores of Arasaka soldiers narrowed in, their massive mechanical contraptions thundering in pursuit.
"How long till Alt-" Vincent's question was cut short by an explosive burst of electricity, sending every man and machine tumbling to the ground around them.
"Do you even need to ask?" Silverhand replied, a smirk playing on his lips, observing the ensuing destruction, and screams. Every Arasaka security detail connected to the internal network had been spiked and flatlined in nanoseconds. After which the entire surrounding room got silent, only the hum of electricity and AC echoing in the background.
"Okay. Now where exactly is our motherload?" Vincent probed. In that very same instant, a light lit under them, seemingly showing a path.
"John, is that…?"
"Yeah. Come on let's move," Silverhand growled.
Their passage from the security checkpoint, weaving through Arasaka's corridors and halls, unfolded in haunting silence. Bodies and mechas were strewn everywhere, a graveyard of devastation wrought by a single potent spike from beyond the Blackwall. Vincent moved in silence, trying to keep his mind a blank slate, deliberately steering clear of any thoughts that might distract him. Thoughts of Ju and how she is probably all alone in his apartment right about now, probably cussing at his absence for the umpteenth time, or frantically calling anyone who might know his whereabouts.
The truth was, Vincent wasn't sure if survival was in the cards for him, or even if he desired it. Yet, standing on the brink of reaching the end, the possibility of living on — whatever form that might take — suddenly seemed within reach. Suddenly, the desire to see Ju again overwhelmed him. He longed to hear her stories of childhood, her dreams. The idea of leaving Night City behind with her by his side, journeying wherever the winds might lead, as long as it was far from here, seemed like the future he now had within his grasp.
Soon, they came upon an empty corridor, its floor gently sloping upwards toward a door at the distant end, where the corridor seemed to end. Vincent's heart thumped louder with each inching step. As they approached the entrance, a sudden electric shock coursed through Vincent's body, blurring his vision with searing pain. In his disorientation, he heard "V!"—it was Silverhand, frantically waving his arms in an attempt to catch Vincent's eye. It took a moment for the bizarre reality to dawn on both of them: despite Vincent's struggle, his arms remained limp, unresponsive to his attempts to control them. Instead, Johnny's arms moved, commandeering Vincent's body with a fluidity that Vincent himself couldn't muster. A stunned silence fell between them, broken only by Johnny's low curse, "Fuck," as the realization set in: Silverhand was in control of Vincent's movements.
"I'm handing the reins over to you."
"V... You sure about this? There's always the option of popping a pill."
"I am. It's our only play."
"Alright. I'll see us through to the end."
"Thanks... If things turn bad for me, do me a solid and holo her?"
"That's not going to happen, V. If anyone's taking the fall, it's going to be—"
"Johnny, please."
Vincent emitted a harsh groan as another electric shock coursed through him, forcing his body to slump against the chilly metal wall beside the entrance. He inhaled once and then offered his hand to Silverhand. For a brief moment, Johnny remained quiet, absorbing his partner's dire situation. Then, his holographic form flickered before he knelt beside the barely conscious man. He slid off his sunglasses and reached out his arm. "I promise, Vincent," he affirmed, firmly grasping V's extended hand with his own.
The background hum of the holo-TV filled the air as Judy paced back and forth, fidgeting holo device in hand, dialing Vincent's number yet again. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed firmly together, as the ringing of the device intertwined with the news broadcast. She knew it was a hopeless attempt at trying to get a hold of the gonk, but what else could she do? Entering Arasaka Tower would be suicide for someone like her, skilled only in crafting brain dances and bypassing low-level security systems. Judy felt powerless. Weak. Pitiful.
Just moments earlier, the entire Arasaka Tower had plunged into darkness. Cameras and most of the lights inside were cut off, leaving no clues as to what was happening within its walls. A handful of NCPD officers had isolated the surrounding area of the building, barring entry and exit. They stood at the perimeter, immovable for the most part bar the occasional response to their radio devices. For a solid fifteen minutes, the scene remained unchanged until an aerial vehicle descended, making a precise landing in the vacant area. It deployed a MaxTac squad. Each operator donned what Judy had identified to resemble M2067 Defenders and heavy exosuits. Only these rifles looked like they were heavily modified, compared to their vanilla counterparts.
Vincent was fucked. Judy knew that, and yet all she could do at this moment was to place the ringing holo device on the table and curl up in a fetal position on the couch unable to peel her gaze from the display as dozens of NCPD's special operators entered the building. Her eyes slightly widened, and her pulse quickened as she dug her nails into her forearm. Her body trembled, caught between the vibrating circle of her device and the broadcast's relentless pull. Judy felt a wave of sickness revolting in her guts. She could not handle it and quickly turned the display off and stared out of the window, her gaze now blank.
Her holo device kept buzzing and ringing for hours, yet there was no response. At this juncture, she couldn't bring herself to turn the news broadcast back on, fearing it would only confirm her worst fears. She knew it was foolish, clinging to a sliver of hope that Vincent might have miraculously escaped. It was a 'gonk' thing to do, convincing herself everything was fine and imagining the man walking into the apartment with that ridiculous grin of his. Judy drew her knees closer to her chest, her gaze drifting aimlessly around the studio apartment. The room was surprisingly neat, aside from a scattering of trash across the table surfaces. With sleek lines and a minimalist style, V surely had personal flair.
The sound of a key entering the apartment door jolted Judy awake from a trance, snapping her attention to the entrance. The door creaked open, revealing Vincent with his unkempt brown hair featuring a side fade, clad in a samurai jacket, battered and bruised but unmistakably alive.
"Hey." V stumbled in, only to find a noodle cup hurled at him.
"You piece of shit– I- What the hell happened, V? Why did you bounce and shoot up arasaka tower?" Words just exploded forth, with no real rhyme or reason. It was merely an outpouring of pent-up sorrow. Judy had risen and dashed toward Vincent, ready to bring the man into an embrace, only to freeze a touch away in her tracks upon hearing the next words.
"Afraid, V is gone… Missed our shot."
"You mean, you're...? No, no– This is not– It can't be– FUCK!" Judy's outburst erupted instantly, tears smudging her makeup as she stumbled backward and collapsed onto the couch. Now inhabiting Vincent's body, John moved across the room and swiftly took a seat on the couch, deliberately putting a slight distance between himself and Judy. Almost instinctively, he reached for the golden cigarette case on the small table, then paused mid-motion, staring at his hand. A moment of hesitation elapsing before he forcefully slammed his hand down onto his knee.
"It wasn't supposed to end this way."
"Why the hell should you even care? You've got a second lease on life, don't ya? Probably even wrangled that gonk to get whatever the hell you wanted."
"First off, damn, that stings. Secondly, I was just trying to clean up this whole damn mess after sending a message to–"
"Luring him in to help with your damn agenda? Yeah, I know all about it. Heard him muttering to himself more times than I care to remember, and the worst part about it? He believed in you." Judy's stomach churned with disgust. Every fiber of her being wanted to unleash her fury on the man. But amidst her racing pulse and frantic emotions, she instead thought better of it. With a sluggish effort, she forced herself to rise and dragged herself wearily towards the exit.
"Where are you going? I have not finished–"
"I can't listen to your bullshit, not now. You took V away. From me. From people who would a give a leg and then some to cover his ass."
"V woulda died no matter what." This declaration from Silverhand, aroused Judy's attention as she stopped steps away from the door panel and rested her palm on the frame. Her back shook softly.
"Detes now." Judy snapped back.
"Break it down for you? V was on a one-way trip to oblivion, with or without me in the mix. Rip me out, and his flesh would've turned traitor anyway."
"You are kidding, right? There had to have been another way— Anything!"
"Afraid not." John rubbed his temple in, frowning.
"So, that's it? You just swing by to drop a bombshell and then bail, taking V's body off to who knows where?"
"I dropped by 'cause I need your tech genius to snatch V's sorry ass back from the digital grave. Before his mind got completely fried, Alt turned him into an engram and swooshed him into Blackwall," Johnny explained.
"But that means he's—" Judy's heart sank as she grasped the reality that the V she knew might not be forever lost, and whatever scheme Johnny was proposing sounded like a can of worms that was bound to backfire.
"Listen, you know your way around a net as well as I know how to play the system: damn well. Picture this: Alt shoved V into the Blackwall, right? If we can get something into that digital no man's land, I'll bet my guitar we can pull something out of it too," Johnny asserted.
"Only, you risk getting flatlined by billions of malware the moment you touch the net. You want me to turn into a net runner and extract V's engram from the blackwall?" Judy pieced together the plan with a mix of shock and realization.
"Exactly. V gets his body back, and I'll fade away like I was meant to," John confirmed, and in that moment something in him shifted— his lips curled down, gaze faded into stillness, the air of confidence replaced by something else. A pregnant moment passed as the man in the driver seat of Vincent's body rose to his feet and walked next to a closet of clothes, which had a keypad and what looked like a dark metal surfaced door. He tapped the keys all while Judy had attentively observed his actions and probed him a question "What is that?". As the door slid open, a room filled with handguns, smart targeting rifles, blades, you name it. Weaponry for mass destruction.
John laid out the grim picture next. With Alt unleashing that malware, it wasn't just a hit—it was an annihilation. The whole net, stretching from Night City to the beyond, has morphed into an uncharted desert, devoid of any rules or rulers. Through John's scornful lens, it's clear what the next play is for the high-and-mighty corpo suits. They're gearing up to patch this catastrophe with a quick fix, dust it with a layer of propaganda to keep the masses docile, and derail any maverick who dares to question the narrative.
Before the second incident within Arasaka's bounds there was a secure network that common people had access to that was entirely isolated and sanitized from the rest of the network that is dubbed the blackwall. The notorious purgatory from which no netrunner has ever returned with their circuits in one piece. Meaning any and every attempt had ended in netrunners overheating and frying within nanoseconds of touching the network. Ever since then. Only whispers and rumors of it remained. But now. Now things were different.
"One problem. We have no clue which server cluster V has been taken to, or if he can be traced through the public net," Judy crossed her arms. "Unless— You have something to track him with?"
"This relic of a stick," John slid his fingers into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, dark-colored chip out of his pocket. "Is the very same piece of tech that blitzed the Arasaka tower into oblivion. Do you reckon you got the chops to slice into its secrets? Find where its software was compiled?"
"You get that you're nudging a braindance scrollin' chick to crack open something that's probably wrapped tight in mil-grade encryption, right?"
"So you're in, hell yeah. I gotta swing by Rogue's, round up a pack of reliable choombas, and work some magic to get a rig set up. One that'll yank me out and slot V into the fray." John got up and made his way to the door, brushing past Judy to tap the chip against her shoulder. The moment Judy took the device, Silverhand hit the panel, sliding the door open before striding out.
Frustration. Pain. Judy found herself left behind to sift through the aftermath, trying to piece together the contours of a plan she and Johnny Silverhand had only started to sketch out. Reviving Vincent would be nothing short of a miracle, transforming an impossibility into something within reach. Yet, Judy couldn't shake off the doubt: would the man who returned be the original gonk who left her or merely a complex array of zeroes and ones mimicking what he once was? What he could have been.
The scent of alcohol and urine wafted toward Johnny as he paused at the top of a staircase. The Afterlife—every mercenary's wet dream. This place was the epitome of opportunity and danger, where fortunes in eddies were made and reputations were forged. Here, you either seized your chance, immortalizing your name in the annals of The Afterlife, or you ended up just another unfortunate soul, silenced and discarded onto the vast heaps of shit. Reflecting on the journey that led him here, Johnny couldn't help but find the irony in its beginnings. With a thoughtful step, he descended the worn steps, turning right through a doorway. Suddenly, the grimy reality of Night City's streets gave way to a scene bathed in the glow of flickering green neon lights, where dancers hovered in fluid-filled tanks, and men, women, and everything in between enjoyed a good time.
"Hey V! Been a minute. What'll it be for you today?" a familiar gritty voice called. John recognized the voice, and as he turned, he saw the face it belonged to. It was Claire, her brown hair tinted with bold streaks of red and her deep brown eyes meeting his.
"I'm good, got some biz to handle, Claire," John replied, aiming for a quick departure. Yet, he found himself rooted in place as the next words reached him.
"Understood. And hey, you came through for me with that racing gig. If you ever want a drink on the house, just give me a shout," Claire said with a grin before she turned to welcome another customer, one eagerly requesting a second round of shots. Silverhand slowly peeled his gaze off her and then trekked forward with only but one word drilling his head repeatedly. 'Fuck'
He wasn't meant to be alive, far from it, wandering in Vincent's boots as though everything was perfectly alright. Each passing second, every ticking minute, served as a reminder of Vincent. He had every reason to loathe him, to curse his very existence to the moon and back—instead showed John what it meant to be human, and treated him as someone worth more than he ever considered himself to be. A brother in arms. A friend. And now, it was Vincent's place he was occupying, his role he had unwittingly taken over, and that fact was tearing him from the inside out.
Indeed, he was here to clean up the colossal mess he had created, and then, at last, find peace. Throwing another wrench into the corpo machine along the way? That was just a bonus for him. Despite his reluctance to acknowledge it, his priorities had shifted. He had changed. Now, he found himself navigating toward the VIP area of the Afterlife, where Rogue, in her formidable presence, casually sipped her wine. She was elegant and icy cold as ever, her keen eyes scouting for weaknesses in a man who sat opposite of her.
"Look, pulling off this job isn't a walk in the park. It needs careful planning and a solid team. So, you either cough up 45k eddies or walk," Rogue stated, her arms and legs crossed, fixing the man with a frosty, venomous gaze. A tense silence hung in the air between them, until the man finally relented, pulling out a device and briskly tapping a few keys.
"Fuck—! forty-five thousand eddies," the man muttered, his voice trailing off into incoherence, becoming unintelligible to John, who had arrived at a solitary sofa encircling a table. Only his path was blocked. A gigantic frame of a man stood in front of him. His skin is deep, mahogany and his head is cleanly shaven except for two meticulously braided waves sweeping across his scalp.
"What is de business?" the man grunted.
"Wait a sec, is that you? Boa Boa the goddamn Weyland, as I'm standing here?"
"Nah, that's the old man. How do you know him?"
"Fuck me, he popped one in the oven? Shit, I remember back when we–" John held his tongue as soon he realized the words he was about to utter and then slightly turned his gaze to see Rogue staring daggers through him.
"Hey, Rogue," Johnny said, offering a grin in an attempt to diffuse the tension. Rogue, the seasoned fixer, was unimpressed, maintaining her frosty gaze as she motioned towards the couch with a curt gesture.
"Sit your ass down. Now," Rogue commanded, her tone leaving no room for debate. Johnny knew better than to engage in a verbal sparring match at this moment. It wasn't that he lacked the mood for a bit of back-and-forth; rather, the situation was, to put it mildly, fucked.
John moved quietly past Weyland and positioned himself on the sofa, deliberately leaving a gap between him and Rogue. Their eyes met briefly, a momentary silence hanging between them. Rogue, breaking the connection, gestured to a man nearby, signaling for two glasses and a bottle. The bottle looked vaguely familiar to Silverhand, though he couldn't immediately place it. He watched as drinks were poured for both of them before Rogue offered a slight smile and raised her glass in a toast.
"V, somehow you've managed to jam a colossal wrench into Arasaka's ass twice and still walked away breathing. Nice work, kid," Rogue commented.
"Things didn't quite unfold as expected. There was a... 'switch,' you could say," John responded, his expression clouding over with a frown. A flicker of emotion passed through Rogue's eyes—a blend of anger and confusion that seemed almost like shock. Surprising Rogue was a known no-no in Night City, a silent decree among mercenaries. Yet this revelation was something else entirely. Standing abruptly, the seasoned fixer motioned for both Weyland and John to follow her.
The trio veered left from behind their table, making their way to a door that opened into a corridor, leading to a secluded room. At its center stood a single glass booth, featuring a sofa upholstered in red, accompanied by a modest table in the middle. Weyland moved in front, slid the door open, and waited for Rogue with John in tow to take their entrance and then shut it close. He stood in front of it, back firmly pointing at the door.
The two took their seats on the coaches, a moment of silence hushing over them as the sterile and metallic tang lingered in the air.
"I know this looks bad–"
"Save it, John, just tell me what the fuck happened? Why are you here?" Rogue's icy cold tone sends the message loudly and clearly to Silverhand. He could not afford to mess around and attempt to small-talk the veteran fixer like 2020 was yesterday. As much as he hated to admit it, he had to do whatever was necessary to get Rogue to help him– maybe even pull out some of the favors she still owed him to his day.
John's explanation was direct, devoid of any unnecessary embellishments. As he spoke, Rogue's expression gradually transformed from one of stoic detachment to a marked frown, her lips downturned even more than usual, if such a thing were possible. John could almost swear he saw the wrinkle on her otherwise cold stare. When he concluded the recounting of events, he transitioned to discussing his strategy.
At its core, the plan required specialized equipment to facilitate their venture into the uncharted territories of the Blackwall and beyond. They needed a net running station—a sophisticated apparatus that would enable them to connect Vincent's body, allowing for the upload of his memories and psyche. Once they had what they needed, Judy would locate where Vincent was being kept and then try to extract the data and simultaneously upload it into the body. This was similar to what a soul killer does when it rips the consciousness out of the body, but instead, now the intent is to delete Johnny's psyche and replace it with Vincent's.
Rogue's expression flickered briefly as she absorbed Silverhand's request. She leaned forward, her gaze still. "Nothing I owe you even comes close to covering the mountain of eddies it'll take to pull this off," she said, her voice a low murmur. John didn't hesitate, immediately probing for the sum of eurodollars required to assemble the necessary resources. At this moment, his sole purpose was to rectify– to fix his greatest error. Yet, even the former rockerboy couldn't mask his astonishment as Rogue's next words sank in.
"Half a million eddies and that's me being generous."
Unfortunately, Vincent's coffers were bone dry, every last eurodollar spent on the finest chrome available. He had acquired top-tier cybernetics, the kind that could only be sourced from the shadowy depths of Dogtown. These military-grade enhancements had transformed the body John now occupied into a weapon of destruction and chaos. Without them, surviving, let alone making an impact during the raid on Arasaka Tower, would have been impossible. If John intended to maintain any advantage, downgrading or selling any piece of his augmented arsenal was out of the question.
"Looks like I need to get back into the game," John announced, his voice heavy with determination and a tinge of somber resolve. "Throw the toughest, most brutally diabolical gigs you've got at me. I'll tackle them all in exchange for this one favor. One final mission for the last true friend I ever had"
"Damn, you're serious about this, aren't you? Where was this version of Silverhand all those years back, you jerk?" Rogue said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement that almost broke into a smile.
"Tucked away behind the colossal ego that couldn't see past a neon sign screaming 'Screw the Corpos'"