FOURTH_TIMER: 16%

[IMAGE OF A HAND REACHING OUT TO THE SUN DISPLAYED]

CURRENT_STATUS: "Hopes Will Crash On The Ice"

ENTRY_DATA:

A safehouse, that's what you'd like to call it. More like a glorified crash pad. But for now, it's home—at least for her.

The Matrix? A ghost. No trail, no leads, just a lot of smoke and the promise that Militech's got their claws deep in it. They've buried every scrap of data they could, wiped it clean like it never existed. But you already know how this city works. No secret stays buried forever.

You've got hope and conviction raging in your chest-and the best damn netrunner in all of Night City.

So really, how hard can it be?

Judy took a slow sip from her beer, letting the cool bitterness linger on her tongue as she tapped away at her custom-built tablet.

The camp was filled with the sounds of the Aldecaldos going about their usual business—laughing, working, sharing drinks. She barely paid any mind to the world around her, too wrapped up in tweaking a script for an underwater BD edit, when a sharp notification beep suddenly pulled her focus.

Her eyes darted to the screen, and as soon as she registered the message, her brows shot up.

"Holy shit…" she muttered under her breath. Her fingers flew across the interface, double-checking the amount transferred into her account. No mistake. It was real.

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head in disbelief just as the sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. Carol sidled up beside her, wiping a bit of grease off her hands with an old rag.

"V and his chooms already gone?" Carol asked, nodding toward the horizon.

Judy looked up and gave a small nod. "Yeah. Hit the road not long ago."

Carol hummed, but as she properly faced Judy, her sharp gaze zeroed in on the unusually bright smile still tugging at the younger woman's lips. One brow arched. "Something good happen?"

Judy hesitated for a beat, then exhaled a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, uh...just got paid for last night's gig." She tilted the tablet slightly to show Carol the confirmation screen—though, conveniently, she made sure the exact amount was not in full view.

Carol glanced at the screen before looking back at Judy's expression, a knowing smirk forming on her lips. "Big payout?

Judy tried to be coy. Instead of answering outright, she simply raised a hand and let out a long, slow whistle.

Carol let out a short laugh. "Damn, that much?"

The gruff nomad leaned against a nearby workbench, arms crossed, watching Judy with a knowing smirk. "So…you can just up and take that trip now, right? Scratch like that, nothing's stopping you."

Judy's smile dimmed slightly, her fingers idly tracing patterns against the back of her tablet. A quiet moment passed before she glanced back up at the older woman.

Carol's eyes narrowed slightly, then understanding flickered across her face. "Oh…you're staying in Night City."

Judy sighed, then gave a small nod, her lips forming a lopsided smile. "Yeah. Made my choice. Figured it out last night."

"Mm." Carol hummed, giving a slow nod of her own. "That why you're still hanging around here?"

"Part of it." Judy admitted, tapping her tablet. "Had to work on getting my old place back. Spoke to the landlord…gotta have somewhere to crash when I head back." She glanced up, sheepish. "Sorry for sticking around in your camp..."

Carol waved a dismissive hand. "Ain't a problem. You know Panam—she's co-leader of the family now. Any friend of hers is welcome."

Judy hesitated, then chuckled. "Friend? Uh, no, no…we literally just met."

Carol raised an eyebrow. "...that so?"

"Yeah." Judy confirmed, shifting her grip on the tablet. "But...I dunno. Got a good feeling about her."

"Oh?" Carol prompted, intrigued.

Judy leaned back, eyes drifting toward the sunny sky. "She was the one who talked to me last night. Helped me sort my shit out—decide what I really wanted. She's kinda brash, says what's on her mind no matter what, but…" She exhaled, shaking her head with a small laugh. "She's…solid, y'know? Strong. Confident. Knows exactly what she wants—isn't afraid to just go for it."

Carol studied her for a moment before letting out a chuckle. "Lemme guess, that's the kinda gal you wanna be."

Judy grinned, scratching the back of her head. "Guess so. I know it's weird to find a role model in a stranger, but…"

Carol smirked, shaking her head. "Nah, not weird at all. 'Least not if it's Panam…girl's the best of us."

Judy let out a short laugh, though her expression softened when Carol's gaze turned a little more scrutinizing.

"Well, glad to see you've made up your mind." the older techie said. "...but is he really worth all the hassle?" She shrugged. "Still don't know much about the guy myself. Just that he's got half the camp tripping over themselves to help him out. Panam included. No idea what's gotten her so attached."

"He's just…a good guy." Judy hesitantly explained. "He listens. Actually listens. He understands." She scoffed a little at herself, looking down at her beer bottle. "And he's the kinda guy who'll put his own damn neck on the line, no hesitation, just to help someone else. Did it for me."

Carol stayed quiet, watching her.

Judy swallowed. "Stayed by my side through some…really rough shit. Risked his life helping me pull off a whole coup d'état, just 'cause I asked. And the whole time—he was…well, dealing with his own problem." She let out a humorless chuckle. "And even with all that…he still gave a damn. Still helped."

She looked up then, eyes clear. "Not a lot of people like him in Night City."

Judy stood, setting her beer down and squaring her shoulders.

"So yeah. Any help he needs? He's getting it from me." She picked up her tablet again, tapping the screen. "He's gonna get through this."

Carol studied her for a beat, then huffed a small laugh.

"Well, shit. With conviction like that…maybe he actually will."

The glow of Night City's skyline loomed ahead, neon lights cutting through the dusty remnants of the Badlands. Inside the Porsche, the call had already connected. A familiar, polished voice hummed through the speakers.

"Hello again, V." Mr. Blue Eyes' tone was smooth and beautifully deep. "I take it the gig went off without a hitch."

V tightened his grip on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road. "Yeah? And how would you know that?"

A low chuckle. "If you'd failed, she wouldn't be close enough to you that my call automatically linked to her as well."

V grumbled under his breath, shooting a quick glance at Songbird. She exhaled through her nose, then leaned forward slightly.

"Yeah, yeah." she admitted. "V got me out. We're heading back towards Night City now."

There was a pause—one that was not empty, but loaded with silent approval.

"Good." Mr. Blue Eyes finally said. "Very good."

His tone did not shift much, but it was clear he was pleased. That subtle, ever-present control remained, but there was a certain satisfaction underneath.

"I trust you've already taken a closer look at our friend's…unique condition?"

Songbird nodded. "Sure have." She adjusted her posture, organising her thoughts.

"It's worse than I expected." she admitted. "The engram is fusing deeper than it should be. The chip's interface with V's neural system is beyond what we thought possible—it's integrating at a level that will—"

"Stop."

The single word was firm.

Songbird blinked, startled by the sudden interruption. Mr. Blue Eyes sighed, though it was not frustration—it was something colder. Something resembling…indifference.

"They say that patience is a virtue…" he said, voice still level, "...but sadly, it's something that I still lack. I don't want to know the details of V's condition. I just want to know how you'll be fixing it."

"I just think—"

"Are we talking about option A, B…or…C?" the corporate man questioned further.

"…C." the netrunner admitted.

V frowned, glancing at her. "The hell are you talking about?"

Songbird rubbed her temple. "I already told him what I've told you—back when we first spoke in the holo." She explained. "I proposed three possible ways to fix you. Three options. But option C… that was the worst-case scenario. A last resort, if your condition was beyond what I'd imagined."

"Ah…option C." Mr. Blue Eyes mused. "The…Neural Matrix, then."

Songbird gave a slow nod. "Yeah. V and I already went over it."

"And do you have a lead?"

"Militech." Songbird's tone turned matter-of-fact. "They might've already found it. Either way, there'll be records—somewhere in their regional headquarters. We'll need to get inside, comb through their systems, and track down the device's last known location."

"Militech's regional headquarters…that towering fortress, resting right under the shadow of Arasaka Tower…" Mr. Blue Eyes remarked, clearly amused. "Hm…you'll need assistance."

"We'll have it, I think." Songbird responded to him. "V's friends will look into the building's security, maybe even help with the infiltration, if needed. I'll take care of everything that they can't."

For a brief moment, silence filled the line, save for the low hum of the car's engine.

"That reminds me…we've just wired another sum to your associates—a sum I'm sure they'll be very happy with." Mr. Blue Eyes continued smoothly. "A token of appreciation for a job well done."

Johnny leaned forward from the backseat, his glitching form flickering in the corner of V's eye. "Hold the fuck up." he said, voice sharp with suspicion. "If he already sent out the eddies, then he already knew we pulled it off. How the fuck—"

Neither V nor Songbird answered him. Both kept their eyes on the road ahead.

V already knew not to bother—maybe because he had asked that same question before. Gotten no real answer. Just the usual smug, cryptic nonsense the corporate man liked to peddle. The kind of talk that made you feel like you were always three steps behind some invisible game board.

Songbird did not speak either, but the irritated expression on her face said enough. She noticed the discrepancy too. And just like V, she seemed to have resigned herself to just accepting the elusive man's impossible knowledge.

He knew.

He just knew.

"Anything else?" V finally asked, voice dry, steering the conversation back on track.

Mr. Blue Eyes' smile remained steadfast. "Nothing else." he said smoothly, "Aside from the small matter of finding your way into those headquarters."

The man's gaze lingered on V and Songbird through the holo, the faintest glimmer of ecstatic excitement dancing in his eyes. "Two unstoppable edgerunners…against the heart of Militech." A low, velvety chuckle followed. "...I'm sure you'll do just fine."

V rubbed a hand down his face, already exhausted by the thought. "Yeah—can't fucking wait."

"I'll call again when I can…make sure everything's going well on your end." Mr. Blue Eyes added, his tone dripping with mock politeness.

Songbird, arms crossed and brow slightly raised, cut in. "Why not meet now? I've got the payload of data you wanted—the whole reason you got yourself involved in all this in the first place."

For just a second, the man's smile shifted—became something colder, with less corporate charm. "Ah, that." he said dryly. "Let's call it a…timing issue. Got my hands tied up with a few pressing affairs that need to be sorted. But don't worry—we'll see each other very soon."

"Uh, sure…" V hesitantly muttered under his breath. "Talk later, Mr. B."

The holo flickered once, then vanished, leaving only the road to Night City ahead and the soft crackle of static lingering in V's ears.

The elevator doors slid open with a creak, revealing the familiar layout of V's apartment. Sunlight poured in through the massive windows, painting long streaks of gold across the floor and catching on every scuff, scratch, and stain the place had earned over the years.

Songbird stepped out first, arms crossed, her eyes scanning the room. She did not say anything right away—just took it all in. The open-plan living room, the cluttered shelf, the couch that had seen better days, and the faint lingering smell of whatever the hell V had last cooked. Probably noodles. Definitely not fresh.

V followed a step behind, slower, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. Sharing his place—his—with someone else was not something he had ever imagined before. It felt surreal. The entire thing, even if it was only for a short time, was beyond weird.

But he kept his mouth shut. No point making it weirder.

The silence hung between them for a beat, until Songbird finally broke it. "It's nice." she said, her voice soft.

V snorted, shaking his head. "You don't gotta lie. Bet your ol' fancy suite in Arasaka Tower makes this place look like a fucking shoebox."

Songbird just laughed, the sound light and unguarded. "Don't worry about it. I've seen worse."

Before V could think of a response, Johnny flickered into view, leaning lazily against one of the metal pillars. His hand gestured out wide, like he was some kind of fucked-up tour guide.

"Living room." Johnny said, pointing dramatically at the couch. "That's the couch, TV's over there, coffee machine—it's all ours. Hands off."

V groaned, already regretting letting Johnny open his mouth. "Ours?" he hissed. "Don't see you paying rent…choom."

Songbird paid no mind to the bickering pair, and just wandered further into the apartment, hands clasped behind her back, her boots making soft taps against the floor. Every now and then, she swung her foot forward, giving an imaginary pebble a playful kick, like this was just some leisurely walk through a park, not a temporary crash pad for survival.

"You know…didn't expect a full-time merc's place to be this clean." Her voice was light, a little teasing.

She dropped onto the black couch, leaning back and sinking into the cushions like she had just come home after a long day. V followed after her, slower, peeling off his Samurai jacket and chucking it toward the armrest.

"Yeah, well…" He forced out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. Truth was, if it were not for Misty swinging by to check in—and compulsively cleaning everything while she was at it—the place would be a certified health hazard. Pizza boxes stacked high enough to block the windows, used ammo casings rattling underfoot, and probably a biohazard warning taped to the bathroom door.

But he was not about to confess that.

"Uh…gotta keep up appearances, right?" he settled on, flashing her a grin.

Johnny rolled his eyes and reappeared, this time by the window, arms crossed and posture radiating pure irritation. "So, how long's she crashing here?" His finger jabbed vaguely in Songbird's direction.

V sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Cool it, Johnny. It's temporary. We just gotta snag that Neural Matrix thing."

That thought lingered for half a second before it hit V that he never actually asked what happens after. He glanced over at Songbird, who was now half-sunk into the couch. "Uh, what is your plan after all this? We find that device, get me fixed—then what? Arasaka, Kang Tao…they ain't just gonna forget you exist."

The question made her pause. Just for a second—so brief that V completely missed it. Her gaze flicked away, towards the window, fingers tapping absently on her knee. But when she answered, her voice was smooth, almost too smooth. "I…leave. Yeah. Get the hell outta Night City for good. Once I've paid my debt to you, there's nothing left for me here—nothing but old employers who either wanna lock me up or put a bullet in my skull."

V gave a slow nod, accepting the answer at face value. Johnny, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious but—for once—choosing not to push it further.

Songbird averted her gaze again, letting out a breath as she stretched her arms overhead.

"Alright!" She exclaimed, bringing her hands together into a loud clap. "That just leaves one thing—we gotta figure out who sleeps where."

V blinked, caught a little off guard. "Huh?"

Songbird gave him a pointed look, tilting her head toward the stairs leading up to the second floor. "Only one bed, right? Unless you've got some secret guest room hidden behind a wall panel or something."

"Ah…shit, yeah…" V rubbed the back of his neck, already thinking ahead. "You can take the bed. No problem."

Songbird raised a brow, lips curling into a playful smirk. "You sure? I'm already freeloading here."

"Yeah, yeah." V waved her off with a shrug, leaning back into the couch. "Bed fucking sucks anyway. Too soft. Messes with my back. Always crash down here in front of the TV—couch and me, we got history." He claimed. "You're actually getting the short end of the stick here—sorry about that."

It was a lie so transparent, it nearly made Johnny groan angrily out loud. Songbird saw through it just as easily, but instead of calling him out, her smile just softened.

"Thanks, V…" she said quietly.

Suddenly, she reached over, her hand gently landing on top of his.

V tensed for half a second, once again thrown off by the warmth that radiated from her palm. It did not make sense—chrome hands were never warm. At best, they were neutral, at worst, ice cold.

But hers…hers still felt alive, like flesh and blood, despite the synthetic plating. That warmth crawled up his arm, settling somewhere deep in his chest. When he pulled himself away and his gaze finally lifted, it met hers—greeted and oddly comforted by her deep, tired brown eyes.

"For everything."

V swallowed, not sure how to respond. His instinct was to brush it off, crack a joke, but for some reason, he could not.

"Uh…anytime." was all he could manage.

And just like that, the moment passed. Songbird pulled her hand back, standing up and heading toward the stairs to check out the second floor. V stayed where he was, exhaling long and slow, like he had been holding his breath the whole time.

"Smooth." Johnny quipped, leaning against the far wall with arms crossed. "Real smooth, V. "

V rolled his eyes again, knowing that the rockerboy was getting the wrong idea.

"It ain't like that, Johnny." he grumbled quietly.

Night had swallowed the city whole, the kind of pitch-black night where all the neon lights burn a little brighter. V stepped out of his stash room, shoulders rolling loose, hands dusted with gun oil, the faint scent of metal clinging to his skin.

He had spent hours in there—sorting crates of ammo, double-checking mags, running diagnostics on every last piece in his arsenal. Maintenance for the sake of staying busy. His friends had not called yet, not about the Neural Matrix, not about Militech's fortress.

To be expected. It had not even been a full day. Patience was the game now, and for once, he did not mind playing.

That subtle hum in his veins, the calm clarity—that was NeuroGuard working its magic. His brain was not chewing itself apart, drowning in panic or paranoia. It was strange. Peaceful, even. Enough to put a smile on his face—an honest, no-bullshit smile. Not the usual twitchy smirk, but something easier. Lighter.

V wandered into the living room, the floor cold under his feet, a soothing tune from Pacific Dreams emanating from a small radio in the corner. As he dropped onto the couch, the TV flickered to life automatically, flashing brightly.

"Hey, you there! Yes, I'm talking to you!"

Ziggy Q's over-caffeinated voice filled the apartment, his larger-than-life grin stretched across the screen, bright enough to light up the Glen on its own. V leaned back into the couch, bottle of beer dangling loosely between his fingers.

"Are you getting what you want out of life? Let me guess—food from a tube? Rusty water from the tap? Another murder outside your bedroom window?"

V's eyes stayed fixed on the screen, but his mind drifted somewhere else. Somewhere quieter.

"But what if you could leave all that behind—far, far behind—when you begin your journey to the final frontier?"

He took a sip. The cold bitterness barely registered.

"Send the word 'SPACE' to 7299 for a chance to win a one-week getaway for two at the Crystal Palace! Ten casinos, five pools, top-end braindance equipment, and the best chefs in the universe!"

Ziggy's voice was practically vibrating with forced enthusiasm. V just stared, letting the advertisement wash over him like static.

"If you're looking for a taste of paradise, don't wait a microsecond longer! Send 'SPACE' to 7299 right now! The Crystal Palace—feel alive…in the dead of space!"

The screen cut to a glittering view of the Crystal Palace orbiting Earth—luxury wrapped in steel and glass, floating above the mess below.

Johnny's outline flickered into view as he leaned back on the couch beside the merc, one arm lazily draped along the backrest, the other bringing his cigarette to his lips. Smoke curled into nothing as he exhaled.

"The Crystal fucking Palace…" Johnny muttered, like the words themselves left a bad taste in his mouth.

V swirled the last few drops of beer in his bottle before knocking it back, the empty glass clinking softly as he set it down on the table. "For the one percent of the one percent." he replied, voice flat.

Johnny's lip curled into a sneer. "A shitstained penthouse out in the stars, for the pricks already bleeding the Earth dry. Swear to fuck—place looks even more gaudy than back in 2020."

V readjusted himself, arms stretching out along the top of the couch, watching the looping advert flicker across the screen again.

His voice took on a sarcastic, joking tone. "Maybe I should send that text. Treat myself to a little zero-G vacation after I finally evict you from my skull, huh? Sit in a hot tub, drink overpriced champagne, flip this city the double-bird from high up in the beyond…"

V expected a smartass comeback. Maybe something about how a corpo-owned orbital station would probably kick him out the second they saw his bank balance. But instead, Johnny flicked his cigarette away, and leveled V with a dead-serious look.

"We need to talk." Johnny said, voice lower than usual.

V groaned, leaning away from the rockerboy. "If this is about Songbird again, save it. I'm not—"

"It's not about her." Johnny cut in sharply. "It's about Mikoshi."

V's brow furrowed slightly, the name hitting like a cold splash of water. "Mikoshi…?" he repeated, slower this time.

Johnny stare was ironclad and laser-focused. "All this shit we're wrapped up in—Blue Eyes, Militech, Neural Matrix—it doesn't mean you get to forget the deal."

V stared back at him, but Johnny was not done.

"We burn that place to the fucking ground." Johnny said, each word carrying a terrifying conviction. "Doesn't matter if we're taking Songbird's help instead of Alt's. Doesn't matter if it's you who makes it to the other side, or me. One of us has to join Alt in blowing that prison of souls sky high. No excuses. No detours. No forgetting."

The merc leaned back, thoughts churning.

Mikoshi...it never left a good taste in his mouth, but truth be told, he never hated it with the same burning fury Johnny did.

To V, it was always just a means to an end—a necessary evil that might hold the key to saving his life. Helping Johnny get his second shot at burning the place down? That was just convenient overlap, a two-for-one deal that happened to align their goals.

But now, with Songbird's plan dangling a whole new way out in front of him, a way that did not involve storming Arasaka's gates or carving through a veritable army…

The cold truth hit hard—there was not much personal reason left for V to risk his neck at Mikoshi anymore.

"Get my head fixed…get my life back…" V muttered under his breath, voice hollow with realisation. "Then what? Charge into Arasaka Tower anyway? Let 'em put me in the ground…just so you can settle your old score…"

Johnny's image flickered, genuine concern in his digital ghost's expression as he detected the doubt and hesitation on V's face.

"It shouldn't exist, V. That place—what it stands for, what they do to the souls trapped inside—it's all gotta go." His voice dropped low, almost pleading. "I thought you understood that."

The mercenary rubbed his face, fingers scraping against his stubble. "Shit, Johnny…I—"

Before V could get another word out, the world around him lurched—his vision smeared into a mess of flickering blue streaks, like someone was tearing apart reality right in front of his eyes. A high-pitched whine drilled into his skull, sharp enough to make him hiss through clenched teeth.

"Fuck…!" V's whole body tensed up as he clutched his head, barely managing to stay upright before the floor seemed to tilt beneath him.

His knees hit the ground hard, and he braced one hand against the short table to stop himself from collapsing completely. His breaths came quick and shallow, like his lungs could not get enough air.

Johnny flickered in and out of existence, his image jittering "V…?"

Error messages flooded V's HUD, scrolling faster than his eyes could track. System failures. NeuroGuard crashing over and over. An endless cascade of red warnings stacking on top of each other, fighting for space in his vision.

And then, like a final nail to the coffin, it appeared—the one message he hoped he would never have to see again.

RELIC MALFUNCTION DETECTED

V's throat tightened, his heart slamming against his ribs.

The flickering gradually settled, static bleeding back into solid shapes, until his apartment was just his apartment again. But before the last trace of distortion faded, V hunched over, a harsh cough tearing out of his chest.

He caught the blood in his palm. Dark red, smeared across the lines in his hand.

The merc wiped it off against his pants and moved slowly, crawling back onto the couch, sinking into the cushions like the weight of his own body was too much to handle. One arm slung over the backrest, the other bracing his ribs as he pulled in a ragged breath, trying to recover his balance—not just physically, but mentally too.

Johnny appeared a second later, standing just in front of him, arms folded tight.

"You alright?"

V did not answer right away. Just stared at the ceiling, but eventually, his voice scraped out, deep and grim.

"...Ain't either of us making it to Mikoshi if we don't do something about this damn chip, Johnny."

The rockerboy just nodded, slow and somber. "I know."

And with that, Johnny turned away, his image flickering at the edges before dissolving into a scatter of blue sparks.

V shifted, dragging himself further along the couch until he could lie down properly, the short-lived spring in his step now gone.

It had been a few days since he slotted in the NeuroGuard program—and in that time, the Relic had stayed quiet. No glitches, no brain-splitting malfunctions—until now. But V was not necessarily surprised. He knew better. He understood the brief silence of the biochip did not signal a cure, just a pause. The chip was still killing him, just slower than before.

Still, this malfunction—it served as an abrupt, painful reminder of all of that.

As he settled in, his eyes drifted up to the second-floor balcony. Not a creak, not a breath, nothing. Songbird must have crashed hard, somehow sleeping right through his back-and-forth with Johnny, even through that nasty coughing fit.

For the best.

With a long exhale, V let himself sink into the cushions. One arm draped across his chest, the other dangled over the side. Exhaustion crept in like a slow tide, pulling him under before he could even think to fight it.

The neon lights of Night City bled in through the windows, casting long shadows across the walls. His eyelids grew heavier, and heavier still—until at last, they shut.

Sleep took him.

The netrunner lay on her back atop the unfamiliar bed, her eyes locked on the ceiling, but seeing nothing. Breathing came shallow, ragged—each inhale a battle, each exhale a surrender. Her synthetic fingers twitched against the sheets, nails scraping fabric, searching for something to hold onto.

"sØ…nßrd…"

The voice crackled in her skull. Broken. Distorted. Not one voice—but several, layered on top of each other, glitching and stuttering like corrupted data.

"sØnG…ß¡rd…sØnGß¡rd…"

Her chest seized, body curling in on itself like a dying animal. She twisted, first one way, then the other, her breath hitching with every movement. Fingers spasmed, cybernetics digging into the mattress until the fibers split under her grip.

The pain came next. Deep—radiating from beneath her synthetic skin like something clawing to get out. It wormed through her nervous system, scorching muscle and bone alike, until every inch of her body screamed in silent agony.

She convulsed again, the sudden violent motion sending her over the edge of the bed. Her body hit the floor hard—a heavy, metallic thud that echoed into the dark. The world tilted, her vision splitting into glitchy fragments before snapping back into place.

The netrunner bit down a scream, teeth gritting so hard her jaw clicked. Arms shook as she tried to push herself up, only for her legs to refuse her. Her cybernetic hands, trembling, scraped across the floor as she dragged herself forward, every movement punctuated by a hiss of pain.

She made it to the bathroom door and watched it automatically slide open. The pain flared up her spine, short-circuiting everything, making her limbs jolt violently like a malfunctioning doll. A sob caught in her throat—raw and ugly—but she swallowed it down. Kept quiet.

The door sealed shut behind her with a soft hiss, locking her away from the rest of the apartment. From V. From everything.

Songbird barely made it inside before her body gave out. The coughs came fast—brutal—until she was spitting dark, viscous blood across the cold floor. Each breath dragged blades down her throat, her lungs refusing to fill properly. Her fingers dug into the tiles, scraping uselessly for something, anything, to hold onto.

She could not scream even if she wanted to. Not anymore. All she could do was choke, wheeze, and cry silently as the burning beneath her skin flared hotter and hotter. The…thing gnawed at her nerves like a starving beast, digging deeper into her system with every pulse of her heart. Her hands twitched violently, her body fighting to maintain control.

It never stopped. Never left her alone. Even now, with the worst of the episode fading, she could still feel it—the thing inside her. A crawling, writhing parasite tangled up in her veins and synapses. It had no name, no face, but its presence was all-consuming.

A cruel ghost welded into her bones—one that haunted her ever since she made it back from beyond the Blackwall.

Somehow, she forced herself up, legs trembling under her weight. Each step felt like walking on shattered glass, but she kept moving until she reached the mirror. She braced herself against it, her palm leaving a smeared print of blood. Her head hung low, crimson tears dripping from her chin into the sink, her magenta-coloured hair covering half of her face.

She could not even bring herself to look up yet. Could not face her own reflection—not when she already knew what it would show.

She hated this—all of it. She hated everyone. She hated herself.

But this would all be over soon. The nightmare would finally…finally come to an end.

She just needed to find the Neural Matrix.