You claw your way to consciousness as if breaking through the surface of a frigid lake. The black speech of that unknowable thing is oil through the sieve of your mind.
Just darkness now. No whispers, no screams.
No Songbird.
In her place, the must of the garage, and rhythmic thrumming of a nearby generator, pulsing beyond the threshold of the room.
Aurore doesn't stir.
She sleeps deep, her breaths steady, lost somewhere far from whatever just pulled you under. Your skin is slick with sweat, and the nightmare clings to you – static in the back of your skull.
You push yourself up from beside her cot, head swimming. The air in here is too thick.
RELIC MALFUNCTION DETECTED
Your hands tremble, a spike of pain replacing the static in your mind.
You move slowly. Your breaths shallow, uneven.
You press a hand to your chest, trying to slow your pulse, trying to quell the Relic's unrelenting malignancy.
The garage door creaks as you step outside, into the now rain slick pavement, a chemically infused petrichor hangs in the air.
The morning snuffed by rain, and the cold, monolithic megabuildings of the city, ever indifferent.
You cough, flecks of blood coming away with your hand.
"Fuck…" You wipe your hand against your pants, as if the gesture alone could erase the rot inside. You need to get a move on. The sooner you can get back into Dogtown, the better.
You go to call Panam when static crawls across your vision.
A flicker – then Songbird appears.
Not as a voice, not as a whisper in your comms, but standing before you, her construct shimmering against the rain-slick pavement.
And she looks like hell.
Her magenta hair is tousled, strands flickering in and out of resolution, barely holding form. Her jacket – normally crisp – now glitches at the edges, fractured lines running through it like a broken mirror.
She waves off your reaction before you can even speak.
"I know. I look like shit."
"What the hell happened?" you ask, taking a step forward.
Songbird shakes her head, crossing her arms. "Nothing I can't handle." She exhales, glitching slightly, before fixing you with a sharp look. "I didn't reach out to chat, V. The FIA's already moved in on Night City."
You feel your stomach drop. Not unexpected, but still a terrible sign.
"How bad?"
"Bad." Her expression hardens. "They've got agents crawling through Watson and Heywood, at least."
Your stomach knots.
"And you and Reed?"
Songbird hesitates. Just for a second, but you catch it.
"I don't think he suspects me. Not yet. But he didn't explain the plan, either." Her voice dips slightly, just a hint of uncertainty. "Which means I'm either out of the loop… or he's keeping me in the dark on purpose."
A moment passes between you.
She's worried. She won't say it, but it's there, lingering at the edges of her voice, flickering in the static of her projection.
And beneath that – something else.
A tension that neither of you name.
Her eyes linger on yours just a fraction too long, searching for something she won't ask for.
The moment passes.
And just like that, you both move on.
"I have to go," she murmurs. "I don't know what they're planning, but the more time you give them, the more likely you'll lose." She looks at you again. "Be careful, V."
The construct flickers – then she's gone. You clench your jaw, the brief connection severed too abruptly, leaving only dread and rain-soaked silence.
The rain falls harder.
You let out a slow breath, then call Panam.
The line rings twice.
No answer.
You frown. She never ignores a call. Even if she was pissed, even if she had better things to do, she'd at least pick up, tell you to fuck off, something.
The unease in your gut twists, but you don't let it settle.
You dial River instead.
He picks up after one ring. "V. Got an option. Come by?"
"Got a meet point?"
"Sending you secure coords. Keep a low profile on your way there."
He doesn't say where. Doesn't say why.
You both know better than to spell things out over an open line.
The call ends, and a new ping appears on your HUD – encrypted, eastern Badlands, gonna be a bit of a ways to get there.
That's for later.
For now, you need a moment to breathe.
The bar is quiet, early morning settling into the bones of the building. The lights hum, the smell of coffee and last night's whiskey still clinging to the air.
Mama Welles is there, behind the bar.
She looks up as you step inside, offering you a small, knowing smile. "Ah, mi hijo. You look like a man who needs coffee."
You let out a tired chuckle. "That obvious?"
She pours you a cup without asking, sliding it across the counter. "Only to those who pay attention."
You take a sip, letting the warmth settle in your chest.
She watches you, thoughtful, before finally speaking. "Jackie used to sit right there, you know. Late nights, early mornings. Always had something big on his mind. Always chasing something bigger than himself."
Your throat tightens.
"The city does not make grieving easy." She gestures vaguely, as if encompassing all of Night City in one slow motion. "It feeds on dreams, chews up lives, spits them out for eddies. People become products. They tell you names become legends or are forgotten entirely."
She exhales, folding her hands in front of her.
"But the truth – the thing they don't tell you – is that the city does not own everything. Genuine bonds, real memories… family. Those persist. Beyond death. Beyond the city."
You meet her gaze. There's no hesitation in her voice, no doubt. Just a quiet certainty.
"That's what gives life meaning, V. Not eddies. Not power. Not even survival." She taps her chest. "It's who we fight for. Who we remember. Who remembers us."
Her voice is soft, but there's a weight behind it.
You stare into your coffee, watching the steam rise.
Something about what she says sticks. Lingers.
About what survives, even when everything else is lost.
Mama Welles pats your hand, her touch warm, grounding.
"Whatever path you're walking, V – make sure it's one worth remembering."
By the time you push open the garage door, the rain has slowed to a light drizzle, mist curling over the cracked pavement.
Inside, Aurore is just waking.
She shifts under the blankets, blinking slowly like someone still pulling herself out of a dream. For a brief second, there's confusion in her expression, the fog of sleep keeping reality at bay.
Then it hits.
The way her body tenses. The way her eyes darken as memories rush back in, slotting into place like jagged puzzle pieces.
She sits up, running a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply.
When she looks at you, she seems surprised.
You don't say anything at first. Just lean against the doorway, arms crossed.
"Morning."
Aurore doesn't reply right away. She studies you for a beat, as if trying to figure out what to do with you.
"Morning."
The tension between you persists, you feel as if the wound – which last night seemed to be healing to a scar – has now dehisced.
You push off the doorframe, nodding toward her. "I'm heading out. Meeting with River. Figure out our next move."
She nods, running a hand through her hair. "Try not to get yourself killed."
No heat behind it. Just a quiet acknowledgment of the world you both live in.
You grab your jacket, stepping out onto the street, slipping into the crowd, the city swallowing you whole.
The desert air is sharp, dry despite the rain earlier, the tang of wet asphalt and dust lingering under the morning sun. The Badlands stretch out beyond the rows of rusted shipping containers, endless and empty.
River stands near one of the containers, arms crossed, shoulders tense. He's been thinking about this. Probably overthinking it, the way he does.
He doesn't waste time with pleasantries. "Might have found a way in."
You nod. "Good, haven't heard from Panam. Let's hear it."
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Got a couple NCPD officers – contacts of contacts. They do side work for Barghest. Small stuff, mostly. But it could be enough to get us inside."
"And by 'side work,' you mean…?"
He grimaces. "They move contraband, keep certain channels open. Smuggling, hush money. They've slipped deeper in than they planned."
He hesitates, and you can see in his eyes how much he hates saying any of this.
"One of em's got a kid – medical bills through the nose. Just… no good way out."
You shift your stance, gaze flicking out over the endless Badlands.
You speak the unsaid. "So we lean on 'em."
River exhales, tension carved into his posture. "We'd be shoving them into a corner. If they get found out… their kid's… Barghest owns them, one way or another."
The words hang there, and your stomach turns. Just how far can you push people before you start losing your own sense of right and wrong?
You force a breath. "We've had uglier plans. Got something cleaner in mind?"
He looks away, jaw flexing. "Wouldn't be mentioning this if I did."
For a moment, neither of you speak. The sun beats down, the desert silent but for a low wind skimming across the sand. You remember simpler times, when life wasn't just about securing the next week of survival.
River's tone is tight when he finally speaks again. "We do this, V, and we've got to live with it."
You pull your jacket around you, staving off the chilling thought. "Yeah. I know."
Another bout of silence settles over both of you, weighed down by implications that neither of you wants to voice. Then River rubs the back of his neck, gaze falling to the sand.
"I wouldn't be here if I saw a real alternative," he says quietly, as if waiting for you to judge him. "But I don't. Not unless Rogue comes through."
He hesitates, like he's wrestling with the last of his pride. "I keep thinking… what if this was Joss? My niece and nephews? That's a line I swore I'd never cross – using family as leverage."
You can't look him in the eye.
Your mouth feels dry. You know he's right, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow.
"So why bring it to me if it kills you this much?" you ask.
He gives a half–shrug, the motion tight, shoulders still knotted with tension. "Because if we don't do something…. You said this netrunner was your only option, right? We don't get her, it's over for you?"
Your voice croaks. "Yeah."
"So then yeah." He takes a deep breath. "I don't claim to understand what's going on, V, and I won't pry. I'm putting the option on the table, but I damn sure don't like it."
The weight of it presses down on you both. Neither of you relishes forcing a family into your fight – risking a kid's well–being – for a shot at Dogtown.
A long silence stretches, just the hush of desert wind scraping sand against steel.
Then River drags a weary hand down his face, voice raw. "I'm tired of this. Tired of seeing good folks twisted until they don't even recognize themselves."
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Part of you wonders if he's talking about the corrupt cops, or about you.
He breathes in, slow and unsteady, then glances toward the row of rusted containers again. "I'd do almost anything to help you, V, after what you've done for me. Just… if you think this is our only shot… you better be damn sure."
His words hang in the dusty air.
Neither of you can claim certainty. Not now. But one thing's clear: you're running out of time – and running out of lines you can afford to keep unbroken.
"I'll chase up Panam, see if we can get Rogue on board. Any alternative." You walk to him, place a hand on his broad shoulder. "And any word on the FIA movements?"
River exhales sharply, his stance still rigid beneath your hand.
"Nothing." he admits. "No official movement, no whispers that any of my channels have heard. Feels too clean, to me. But if they're here, they're keeping it quiet."
You click your tongue. "Songbird said Reed didn't let her in on the plan," you say it more to yourself than to River.
He picks up on your unease, frowning. "You trust her?"
A faint tightness settles in your chest, not enough to be obvious, but enough to be felt.
"I don't know if that matters," you admit.
River doesn't look satisfied with that answer, but he doesn't push. Instead, he shifts his weight, arms crossed tight. "If FIA's got enough reach to keep something under wraps to this extent, I don't know if we've got much going for us. Could be a few eyes at the Afterlife. Could be a few dozen on the street."
You shake your head. "Then we assume we're being watched."
River nods slowly. "Rogue's still our best shot." Rubs the back of his neck, looks off toward the horizon, voice quieter now. "Let me know what she says. I'll keep my ear to the ground, but if we're really out of options…" He trails off, unwilling to say the words again.
You nod.
"I'll be in touch."
And with that, you step away, the weight of the conversation lingering like a stone in your gut.
The line barely rings once before Panam picks up.
Her holo–image flickers into your vision – grainy at first, then stabilising. Eyes sharp, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
And she sounds… excited.
"V. Took you long enough!"
"Took me– ?" You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Panam, I've been trying to reach you for hours."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Busy. But I've got something – something big. You're gonna wanna hear this."
"Then start talking."
"Not over the phone."
Of course not.
You rub your temple. "Panam– "
"You know where," she cuts in, and you can hear the smirk in her voice.
The Aldecaldo camp.
You groan, letting your head tilt back toward the sky. "You know, all this cloak-and-dagger bullshit is gonna be the death of me."
"Spare me the drama. You'll want to hear this."
She adds, almost as an afterthought. "Oh, also, bring your… friend."
She hangs up.
She's excited. That's… good, right?
Or it means you're about to walk into something absolutely insane.
Time to see what the hell Panam's cooked up this time.
Getting to the Aldecado camp was normally a straight shot.
Not now. Not with the FIA breathing down your neck.
So you drive like you're being hunted. Because you are.
You loop through Heywood, cut across Pacifica's outskirts. Your fingers tighten around the wheel as your eyes circuit the mirrors again, the repetition almost automatic, a rhythm set by unease.
Halfway through Santo Domingo, you slam on the brakes at a random intersection.
"Merde!" Aurore snaps from the passenger seat, plump lips pressed to as thin a line as they could manage, staring you down.
No strange behaviour from the cars around you. You continue on.
Once you're past the limits of the city, you kill the headlights, drive dark for half a mile, and pull behind an abandoned fuel station. You stop the engine. Sit. Listen.
Nothing but the wind, the distant growl of engines, a group of nomads carving their way through the lands beyond the border.
While you watch the roads, you think, letting the intermittent turbo-whine fill your mind with images of clustered bikes and weathered caravans, stories traded over cups of something strong. Of radios crackling with voices that never drift too far apart. Of family.
"Think we lost our hypothetical ghosts?" Aurore brings your conscious mind back to the car. Her arms crossed, expression unmoving, radiating all the patience of a ticking time bomb.
You don't answer her right away. Just keep watching the road, ears tuned to the distant sounds of the Badlands.
Engines, wind, the hush of sand shifting in the dark.
It's quiet. But quiet doesn't mean safe.
Aurore, however, is not the waiting type.
Her arms are crossed, legs pulled up slightly like she's restraining herself from shifting, adjusting, punching you in the face.
You can feel the tension rolling off her, like a wire pulled just short of snapping. A stark contrast from the woman you saw last night.
You could be driving already. You know that. But waiting is the right move, even if your unusually attractive French passenger thinks otherwise.
Another few minutes. Just to be sure.
The silence stretches. And then –
"You know," Aurore starts, voice low, "the more time I spend with you, the more I realise something."
You glance at her. "Yeah? And what's that?"
Her gaze flicks toward you, eyes sharp, gold catching the dim light.
"I am very, very fucking angry with you."
You sigh, rubbing at your temple. "Should've guessed."
She shifts, turning fully to face you now, jaw tight.
"You took us. You delivered us. And now you sit here, waiting – like you didn't throw my entire fucking world into a blender and hit max speed."
You exhale slowly, gripping the wheel tighter. A twisting feeling coils in your gut – like a dull knife lodged under your ribs. You can't meet her eyes. The memory of Jackie's final moments scrapes against the back of your skull, uninvited. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to speak.
"I didn't know they were gonna zero you, Aurore. I thought– "
"You thought?" she snaps. "Thought what? That two spec ops agents were just gonna slap us on the wrist? Send us home with a fucking warning?"
You don't answer. Because what can you say?
She laughs, but it's sharp, bitter. "I watched my brother bleed out in the dirt. And for what? A fucking code? A piece of data that some corpos buried and forgot about? What the fuck is in that thing V, that he needed to die?"
The words hit. More than you could let show.
She leans in slightly, voice lower now, but no less sharp.
"You think I don't know what's happening here? You, trying to make amends? Playing the reluctant hero?" She shakes her head. "You don't get to be the good guy just because you suddenly give a shit, V."
She's so close now, gold eyes burning in the dim glow of the dashboard, frustration radiating from her like heat off asphalt.
And you feel it – not just her anger, but everything else woven into it. The grief. The exhaustion. The sheer, unrelenting weight of it all.
"You drag me out of Dogtown, my brother's blood still on your hands – " she snarls. "And now I'm stuck in this dingy garage with the asshole who practically pulled the trigger on him? This is all kinds of fucked, V."
You don't interrupt. You just let her go.
Because she needs this.
And.
Because she's right.
She throws up her hands, gesturing wildly out at the Badlands, the abandoned fuel station, the way you're sitting here like you've got all the time in the world.
"I have no fucking clue why anyone around me is doing what they're doing. No idea why we're running back into Dogtown to save this putain de netrunner – why we're even risking our lives for her. No idea why Aymeric and I were targeted in the first place. Some old tech? Or was it just fucking convenient?"
She laughs, but it's hollow.
"No one tells me shit – but I'm just supposed to keep moving, keep playing along, keep trusting you?"
She gestures out at the Badlands again, at the waiting.
"We've got all the fucking time in the world, right? So why not talk now?"
The last words come out quieter, but they hit harder.
Her breath is ragged now, her face twisted in something between grief and fury, and you realise –
This isn't just anger.
This is loss.
And this is her last thread snapping.
She turns back to you, dead centre, voice shaking now, but steady.
"If you're really trying, and this isn't some fucking act – " she leans in, gold eyes catching the dim light like fire in the dark –
"The least you can do after killing my family is tell me the fucking truth, V."
Your jaw tightens as Aurore's words slam into you, sharp as any blade.
"I didn't plan this." The defence comes instinctively, quick, almost reflexive. "I'm just trying to protect you – "
Aurore laughs, a sound so sharp and bitter it could cut through chrome.
"Protect me?" she echoes, voice thick with disbelief. "Are you actually hearing yourself right now? Sale pute!"
You open your mouth – stop.
Because –
She's right.
She's completely, undeniably right.
And you're sitting here arguing with her, like she hasn't earned every ounce of this fury, this grief, this righteous anger.
Aurore steps out of the car, arms still tight around herself, but she plants her feet, refusing to move.
You exhale sharply, looking away, fingers curling against the wheel.
She's not letting this go.
You glance at the horizon, where the city bleeds into the Badlands, where your clock is still ticking down. You think about how much this could push her further away – but then, she's already at arm's length.
If you want her trust, or even her uneasy cooperation, this is the only way forward.
You step out of the car. Your voice is quieter when you finally speak.
"Fine. You want the truth?"
You take a breath.
"Here's the short version."
"The Relic is killing me."
Aurore's eyes narrow. You press on before she can cut in.
"It's a classified piece of Arasaka tech. A personality construct, shoved in my head without my say. And if I don't get it out, it'll overwrite me. I'll flatline. Cease to exist."
You meet her stare.
"And you can't just… take it out?"
"It's also…" You sigh, hearing the insanity in your words before they leave your lips, "It's also keeping me alive. I was shot." You pull out the necklace that Misty gave you. Tap your head. "Right here."
She gazes into your eyes, as if they might reveal some other sign of madness.
"Without it, I die. With it, I die. Dunno how long I've got left – a week, maybe? I'm running out of time, way too fast. Song…"
You pause, but only for a beat, you've laid it out bare this far – in for an enny, as they say.
"Songbird is my only shot at stopping that."
A flicker of recognition crosses her face.
"The netrunner. The one you're trying to break out of Dogtown."
"Yeah."
She nods, some of the tension shifting – not gone, but now mixed with something else. Calculation.
"We got you out because – " you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face – "because without you, we can't get a program out of Cynosure. And that program is what's going to save us."
Aurore's eyes narrow, "Us?"
"Songbird, she's… got something similar going on."
Now it's just plain disbelief on her face. "How convenient."
"Look, she's dyin', I'm dyin', and the only thing that can fix us is this Neural Matrix in that Militech research centre."
You see the gears turning in her head, but you push through.
"I never intended for Aymeric to die." Your voice tightens, but you force yourself to hold her gaze. "That was never part of the plan."
The words hang heavy.
And this time, Aurore doesn't immediately snap back.
She just watches you.
Silent.
Tension lingers – thick, unrelenting – but you push through it, leveling your voice.
"Look, I know you have zero reason to believe me."
You take a breath.
"But this is the truth. I swear."
The words are out there now. You laid it all down, no more dodging, no more half–truths. And now you wait – because there's nothing else to do but let her sit with it.
A tense silence floods the space. For a heartbeat, you wonder if she might lunge at you, or break down crying. Your pulse thrums in your ears, the waiting almost worse than her fury.
She doesn't move – just stares, knuckles whitening.
Then –
Aurore exhales, slow, sharp, her gold eyes searching yours, like she's trying to decide if she believes you.
Or if she even wants to.
She shifts her weight, glances out into the dark. A muscle in her jaw flexes; you can practically see the escape routes and worst-case scenarios flicker through her mind. But she's pinned by circumstances as surely as by a locked door.
"That's the most fucked-up thing I've ever heard."
Her voice is flat, but there's something raw beneath it.
She exhales sharply, rubbing her temples. "A Relic? A magic neurosurgical netrunner? You're telling me my brother and I got dragged into this whole mess because the two of you needed some ancient piece of tech to fix your respective brain rots?"
Her gold eyes flick to yours, searching, daring you to lie to her now.
You don't.
"Yeah."
Her lips press into a thin line. You see it – her processing, turning things over in her head, looking for the angle.
A gust of wind rattles a warped metal sign, a hollow thrum against the desert night. It feels like the old station is holding its breath, waiting to see which of you cracks first.
Then, she laughs – short, bitter. "So, what? You're just hoping I'll help because we're in this together now?"
You inhale, steady.
"I'm hoping you'll help because I told you the truth. And because I'm not the only one running out of options."
Aurore's nostrils flare slightly at that.
She hates it – hates that you're right.
She can't just walk away.
She can't go anywhere.
Barghest and FIA both want the code in her head. And if neither of them get to her, Night City itself will eat her alive.
She lets out a sharp breath, tilting her head back against the seat. "I–… You…."
…
…
…
"Fine."
The word is clipped, rides on the back of an resigned sigh.
She turns back to you, expression hard, voice low.
"But don't think for a second I trust you. Or that I forgive you."
The words sting, but you can't deny you deserve them.
You nod. "Didn't expect you to."
She shakes her head, then leans back, staring out at the dark stretch of Badlands ahead.
A grudging alliance. Nothing more.
The tires crunch against the dirt as you pull into the Aldecaldo camp.
The place hums with quiet life: a couple of Nomads welding a Thorton chassis, smoke curling from a food tent, radio chatter crackling through old speakers.
You step out of the car, the desert air dry and sharp in your lungs.
Aurore lingers by the passenger door, arms crossed, gaze already flicking through the camp with practiced caution. You catch a flicker of tension in her shoulders – being here, out in the open, has her on edge.
You turn to her before you head in.
"Keep quiet about what I told you. For now."
She raises an eyebrow. "They don't know?"
You shake your head.
"Not all of it. Just the broad strokes – what I said at the El Coyote. That we're trying to get into Dogtown, that Songbird's our ticket to saving both of us. That's it."
Her expression shifts – surprise, maybe even a little disbelief.
"They signed on without knowing the whole story?"
You shrug. "Panam, River… they trust me. Doesn't mean I don't owe them more."
She doesn't respond, but she nods in silent affirmation.
You look toward the far side of camp. "Come on. Time to see what our next disaster looks like."
Saul, Mitch, and Panam are gathered around a portable map table, the digital overlay flickering with terrain data, flight paths, and Dogtown's defensive zones.
Panam looks up first as you approach. Shoulders squared, jacket zipped, fire in her eyes.
"Took you long enough."
You arch a brow. "That's starting to be your catchphrase. How'd it go with Rogue?"
She smirks. "Rogue's in, for part of it. But we've got a more... hands-on option."
Saul sighs like he's aged ten years in the last ten minutes. "Panam wants to hijack a cargo drop."
You blink. "A... cargo drop? Like from the sky?"
"Exactly," Panam says, pulling up the route. "Massive AV shipments that bring high-end goods into Dogtown – stuff they can't move legally through city streets. Security's tight, but the upside? Nobody expects the cargo to be tampered with before the drop."
You glance at Saul, who crosses his arms. "She plans to drop you three into Dogtown from the sky. Like some kind of chrome–plated commando op."
You frown, staring at Panam. "You're coming?"
Saul tosses his hands up. "That's what I said." He looks at the young nomad again, "You're a leader here now, Panam, your duties-"
Panam waves both of you off. "I'm not sitting this out. You need me."
"Un-fuckin'-believable." Saul starts.
"Who's going to be the cargo aside," Mitch cuts in, holding a datapad. "Getting into the cargo containers is the hard part. These shipments leave by train from Night City, get transferred to an AV at a remote point, then flown in over Dogtown. It's inefficient, yeah – but it's how the corps dodge legal fallout from supplying a false-state hellhole in the middle of the city."
You glance down at the map. A route blinks in green, cutting through a rail yard near the city's industrial outskirts.
Mitch continues. "We intercept the train, swap in a sealed crate with our rig, then you, Aurore, and Panam ride it until it hits the AV pickup zone. From there, you're airlifted straight into Dogtown – inside the cargo."
Panam grins. "Like a trojan horse with guns."
You run a hand down your face. "Gods. You're all insane."
Saul exhales heavily. "That's what I said."
You turn to Aurore. She's standing a step back, watching everyone like a stray cat in a room full of pitbulls.
She catches your look and raises a brow.
"Okay. Let's say this actually works." She gestures at the map. "You jump out of a plane in a flying crate to save a netrunner you barely know. Fine."
She locks eyes with Panam.
"But…" She ventures. "How the hell do we get out again?"
Everyone glances at each other.
A beat.
Then Mitch clears his throat. "That part's, uh... not as well established yet."
Panam steps in smoothly, arms crossed and chin raised. "Rogue's handling that part."
You frown.
"And what exactly does that mean?"
Panam waves a hand. "Fuck if I know, you know how the old bitch is. It means she's setting something up on the other side."
Aurore takes a step back and looks at you, incredulous. "Is that supposed to be reassuring?"
Panam leans across the table, smirks conspiratorially. "You want to get out? Let me get you in first."
You glance back at Aurore, who mutters something under her breath in French that you suspect isn't a compliment.
The sun is beginning to rise now, casting long shadows across the edges of the camp. You're leaned up against the side of a cargo rig, staring out at the wide desert, letting the murmurs of welding torches and laughter drift behind you. A bottle of watered-down whiskey resting by your side, the last of the night's desert wind biting through your jacket.
Johnny appears.
He steps out from a flicker of static like he owns the world, leaning up against the rusted edge of the truck beside you, arms folded, smirk locked and loaded.
"So, lemme get this straight..." he drawls, half amused, half incredulous. "You're signing up for a one-way trip into Dogtown, packed in a shipping crate, all in the hopes that your AI-infested crush can flip a switch and save both your asses?"
"Sorry, Mr Nuked–Arasaka–Tower–For–My–Input–That–Turned–Into–An–AI, didn't realise your glass house had such strong walls."
You don't address his characterisation of your relationship to Songbird.
He doesn't look at you, just keeps staring out across the desert.
You sigh. "There's also River's angle. Backdoor into Dogtown through a couple of corrupted NCPD officers. Could mean burning people who don't deserve it. But at least there's a clear exit."
Johnny scoffs. "Oh, morality. That old friend." He gestures broadly. "Gotta say, V – you're not looking like a man who can hold the moral high ground right now. You talk about saving Songbird like she's some fucking messiah, how do you think this plays out?"
You turn to him, jaw tight.
"I get to the matrix, she fixes the Relic. We both get out. Alive."
Johnny barks a laugh. "Alive?" He jabs a thumb at your chest. "You're banking your life on some ancient corpo tech and a chick who's bleeding static from every pore. And what then? You both ride off into the sunset? NUSA forgets you two exist? Reed just shrugs and walks away?"
You say nothing.
You don't have a better answer.
Johnny pushes off the truck, eyes narrowing.
"I'm watching you chase your salvation all the way into hell, V. Don't be surprised when all you find there is just more fire."
He tilts his head. "All I see is you following So Mi down. So at least be honest with yourself – what're you chasing? Redemption? Love? Or just another goddamn lie you can hold onto a little longer?"
The wind kicks up.
The silence presses in.
You stare out at the desert.
"Time," you say, voice low, steady – more to yourself than to Johnny. "One more breath."
The words hang in the air, weightless and crushing all at once.
Johnny watches you, the smirk fading from his face. The wind plays with the edges of his faded jacket, dust curling around his boots.
He glances out at the desert, his expression unreadable. "Yeah."
Another breath. One more step. One more fix. One more person sacrificed to the cause of your survival.
For her.
For them.
For you.
For just… one more breath.
And in the near distance, sealed in shadows and secrets,
Dogtown waits.