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imajinxnation · 5 months

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The Wisdom; Gone

Keanu Reeves Characters x Reader

SUMMARY // Keanu characters react to you getting your wisdom teeth taken out.

TW // What you would expect from getting teeth pulled, Fluff, Comfort.

ALL GIFS FOUND ON PINTEREST

Damn I really needed to write this because I'm my third day in and it's so hard to not be able to eat what I want😭

Sorry about Neo's, I was in a rush!!

John Wick

When I tell you this man will be there by your side the whole time, I mean THE WHOLE TIME. He is so fuckin' sweet, it's unreal. If you're nervous about getting your teeth ripped out of your mouth, he will calm you down and make sure you're ready, and if you wanna back out, he totally supports that, especially if you don't actually need them taken out.

When you're high off the anesthetic, no matter whether you act normal or emotional, he's ready. He will wait on you night and day (more than he usually does), and is very strict to what you can and cannot eat during the first few days, keeping it to soft foods and water and then slowly make your way back into your normal diet. Even when you feel fine, he's gonna baby you until at least the first week is over.

One other thing is that he is constantly in your mouth, checking to make sure no food gets stuck in the craters in your mouth.

John Constantine

This man acts so fuckin' hard, but as soon as he sees you in pain, he is there. Let's hope you're at least semi-normal after anesthetic, because he has no idea what to do if you get emotional, and will probably end up just laughing at you for being so high and out of it.

Now, when it comes to doting on you, he'll lay you on the couch and will let you relax until it's time for your medication. He won't admit it, but he is SO gentle and caring when giving you your meds.

The moment you start to feel better and can do things for yourself, he'll let you do your thing, but keep an eye out just in case he sees you getting something to eat that you probably shouldn't while healing.

Ted Theodore Logan

This sweet boy, I swear. He will help you a lot, whether it's helping you walk, help you eat and drink, give you your medicine at the right time, and he'll even help change your gauze, and that's saying something, cause I can see him being squeemish to blood.

You're gonna get all the cuddles from him. If he notices your cool pack sliding off your head, he'll gently push it back into place, and if it needs to be frozen again, he'll put it in the freezer for awhile before wrapping it back around your head and chin.

Now, food-wise, he's probably not the best cook, so expect really simple soft foods, like jello, yogurt and ice cream, or luke-warm cup noodles.

Johnny Silverhand

This rocker asshole will probably just lay you on the couch and tell you to go to sleep so he doesn't have to deal with your high self. (He won't admit it, but he fixes your cool pack during your sleep, making sure it's on your face and head properly.)

He acts like he doesn't care when you're finally able to do shit yourself, but he does. He's always checking over his shoulder at you to make sure you're not doing/eating anything you shouldn't.

If he hears you even utter the smallest groan of pain, he is there asking what's wrong. Hates to admit it, but he'd rather die than see you in pain.

Neo (Thomas Anderson)

(Ignore the caption)

This is gonna be Pre-Matrix. So, basically, Neo has no idea what to do on his own and needs you to guide him through the procedures that need to be taken to heal properly. Whatever you tell him he needs to do will be done.

That's all really, other than he thinks your puffy cheeks are adorable, but also feels bad because he knows you're in pain from it.

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yns-world · 9 months

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Never Fade Away

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x Fem!Idol!Reader A/N: Y/S/N = Your Stage Name this is an extension of this, feel free to read :)

2022

nobody said showbiz was easy, but should it border hellish in order for something to change?

you loved johnny, and johnny loved you, that was a fact that you both knew so well— so when did things become so difficult?

in your and johnny’s case, opposites attract. but what you didn’t account for was that opposites also repel.

both of your lives were constantly in the spotlight, and this relationship even more so. with millions of eyes flicking over every move, every microtransaction, there is barely any room to just be.

you two were a match made for the stage, nobody could beat the stage presence you two shared when you performed, but this fame was taking a toll on you both.

in the short year you guys dated, it was like fire and ice. burning hot with passion and then freezing over with frostbite.

but as time went on, the cracks in the relationship began to show. the flaws in you both began to grow bigger and bigger but neither of you knew what to do, so you ignored it.

but ignoring was the absolute worst thing to do, and now you’re having screaming matches that last for hours, days, and then weeks of silence.

of course, the media is all over this.

“Johnny Silverhand’s New Victim”

“Y/S/N Seen Storming Out of Silverhand’s Apartment”

things could only go on for so long before you had to cut things off— something that nearly tore you to shreds.

johnny begged, he cried, he pleaded, he waited outside your apartment for hours on end. he damn-near kissed the ground you walked upon just so you would glance at him once more, because in his mind he cannot for the life of him make sense of why the perfect woman would just leave him.

but that’s exactly why you left. you left because he can’t fathom why the relationship was going to hell. you had to break it off because johnny was a sinking ship and you refuse to drown with him, no matter how much you might adore him.

that was johnny's breaking point and he hasn't been the same since.

while he dated you, he created his most iconic and best selling music that topped all the charts. you were his once-in-a-lifetime muse, and the world knew that.

but when you broke up, he lost that spark. his heart strings were torn apart and he couldn't pick up the guitar for months.

the only time he picked up the guitar was to play a solemn a-b-c tune while he recited the tragic poetry of his heart.

he'd release a few more singles that could all be chalked up to a last ditch effort of staring into the void and expelling the demons of his heart.

"Never Fade Away" was the last song johnny ever performed. that song was an homage to your memory and how you'd never fade from his own memories.

2023

it's been a year since you broke up with johnny and it hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows for you, despite what johnny likes to tell the media.

there were countless nights where he was holding you from behind, his steady breath a calm rhythm in your ear, but you'd wake up everytime in a gasp, frantically searching for him on his side of the bed.

it took you months to finally wash the sheets because you wanted his scent to linger for as long as possible. his cologne that mixed with his musk.

the first few months were wretched, but you grew to resent him. deep down you still ached for his touch, but you had to lie and say you wanted him dead, if not, then the aching pain of his memory would kill you first.

august 20th, 2023. a day that was supposed to blur into the past endless days, but the last thing you expected was to see the man of your dreams—and nightmares—wearing a bulletproof vest and riding in a militech helicopter.

similarly, the last thing johnny expected was to see the architect of his heartbreak walking out of the Arasaka building.

waves of emotions flashed across his face—awe, joy, hurt, and finally resentment.

johnny's scowl deepened and his resolve strengthened. Arasaka was not only the architect of his filthy world, but also stole the love of his life.

it wasn't rational to think that, but when has johnny ever been rational?

just moments before, johnny only planned to tear down the building. but now that he's seen you—walking out of that corrupt building with all of your lavish clothes and accessories—his aim shifted.

Arasaka stole everything from him. they ruined him. he has nothing left to lose.

in that moment, he made his peace with death.

he overtook the machine gun and let out a visceral warcry that he’s been choking down for years— everyone would pay for his pain and suffering.

august 21st, 2023, the very next day. over 4,000 dead, a crazy terrorist group, and you at the epicenter of it all.

some would brush you off as irrelevant, others would dub you as the “terrorist’s girlfriend”, blaming you for the demise of a beloved singer.

but despite the chaos of the outside world, you could feel your internal universe crumble. johnny’s body hasn’t been found yet but you are sure that he’s gone.

you’re so sure because you felt the deepest part of your soul chip off. the connection is severed. there’s a void inside of you, and you know all-too-well what johnny used to say about an abyss.

“If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.”

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :) DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3 i'm open to cyberpunk requests so feel free to send me one <3 also, lmk if y'all wanna see more idol!reader content and/or have any ideas since i'm kinda rocking with it :) as always, have a great day and i'll see y'all in the next one <3

#yns world #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 v #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #cyberpunk 2077 x v #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand x v #cyberpunk 2077 johnny #cyberpunk 2077 johnny silverhand #cyberpunk johnny #requests open

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aggravateddurian · 7 months

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WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @medtech-mara for the weekly WIP report. Here's the latest stories.

Cyberpunk RED: How to Save a Life

"My name's Avery, I'm a netrunner."

Cyberpunk RED-era Data Entry, using default Photo Mode frames and backgrounds.

Yesterday I revealed Avery Greer, an FIA netrunner. She's cynical, possibly clinically depressed (my notes say that she's pathologically unable to smile) and desires change in her life. She has already decided that her future does not involve the NUSA or the FIA. She may already have plans in motion to engineer her escape.

She works under a senior FIA agent named Hunter 'Bishop' Wilkes. Bishop is ride-or-die for the NUSA and has already been betrayed by a netrunner before (their AV was hacked by a netrunner who made a covert deal with an African militia to hand over FIA secrets in exchange for safe passage to Nairobi, and from Nairobi to Luna). He already suspects that her change in behaviour could be a prelude to betrayal, and already has her under close watch.

You're gonna see more of her.

Bakeneko: Select images from their latest show

A teaser for a photo story coming next week!

Vega Hawse sings Bakeneko's first original song Wolverines!, written by Dorian 'Durian' Bautista (image credit: NCT News)

Another day, another pic in the screamsheets of So Mi living her best life in NC with Vega (this displeases Myers).

In 2078, Dorian Bautista (y'know, Dorian, the former corpo, turned fixer, then rockerboy) founded a band named Bakeneko ("Changed Cat"). They originally were a Samurai cover band, but something was off about their sound.

Then V came back... well, kinda. Vega's technically genetically 33% Johnny Silverhand and is a hybrid consciousness, but one with all of Johnny's memories and skills, as well as perfect knowledge of every SAMURAI song. Dorian reached out, and after some slightly mocking encouragement from Johnny, Vega joined Bakeneko and became the band's frontwoman.

In mid-2079, Bakeneko signed on with Silverhand Studios. While they still do SAMURAI covers, Vega (and by proxy, Johnny) and Dorian are working on an original EP, due to come out in 2080. Rumours that Kerry Eurodyne will appear in one of the songs are currently unconfirmed by N54 News.

MR BLUE EYES INTERROGATES AN FIA ASSASSIN

Warning: the following story references torture

The agent sat in the darkened room, his face and chest bloody. Electrodes were still attached to the more sensitive parts of his chest and torso. A black-uniformed soldier with blue glowing techgogs threw a bucket of icy water over the agent. He yelped as the ice pelted his bruised and bloodied skin, "Wake the fuck up, fedscum!"

"What the fuck do you want!?" screamed the agent, "just tell me what you want! I'll tell you anything! Just make it stop!"

A man stepped into the room, temporarily blinding the agent as the light of the hallway blasted into the room. He turned to the soldier, his blue eyes glowing in the darkness, "That'll be all."

"Sir."

Mr Blue Eyes circled the FIA agent, "Who was your target?"

"It was a traitor."

Mr Blue Eyes produced a stun baton, and without a second thought, drove the baton into the man's ribs. He cried in pain as electricity coursed through his vulnerable flank, "Specifics, please, Mr Jordan."

"It... her name is Song So Mi. She attempted to kill President Myers. There's a one million eddie bounty on her head."

He nodded, putting the baton back on the tool bench, "See, you can be cooperative... I'm going to let you go, Mr Jordan. In a few hours, you'll be back in Langley, no doubt being treated by the FIA's best medtechs."

"W-what?"

"But not without conditions," Mr Blue Eyes told him, kneeling and grabbing the man by the jaw so his eyes met the agent's, "You'll be sending Ms. Myers a message. Night City is off limits to the NUSA, and by extension, so are Song So Mi and Vega Hawse. If me, or my associates, find your agency operating in our city again, and especially if we find you harassing them, there will be consequences."

"A-are you nuts? Myers will never listen to that!"

Mr B shrugged, "You can take a horse to water, but you can't make it drink, Mr Jordan. All you need to do is deliver the message to the FIA, and you'll be home free. Do we have an accord?"

Jordan bowed his head, "Fine."

Mr B turned to the soldier, "Find this man some clothes and bring him to NCX. He has a flight to catch back to Washington."

"Yes, sir."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That's about it for this week. Normally these come around Wednesday, but today's the day I guess.

People have probably already been tagged for this, but I'm gonna tag: @genocidalfetus @byberbunk2069 @theviridianbunny. Absolutely no pressure involved, only if you want to :)

#wip #wip whenever #cyberpunk red #cyberpunk red campaign #cyberpunk red: how to save a life #oc: avery greer #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 au: chorus #oc: vega 'v' hawse #oc: dorian bautista #songbird #mr blue eyes

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fabricated-misslieness · 2 months

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: johnny silverhand x gn V

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: johnny shouldn't love them the way he does

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 553

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, perhaps poor characterization i don't know

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: inspo Can be read as platonic or romantic

Johnny Silverhand, a world of ice.

He had passion, great passion for what he fought for. He had great passion for women, for the groupies and girls who loved to have his arm slung around their shoulders. He had great passion for his music and his guitars, a great passion for his gun. He had a great passion for his hate of corpos, his hate of Arasaka.

A world of ice.

But what he didn't have passion for, he was nothing to, he was icy cold. Kerry, often in his old age, pushing 100, likes to speak about what a cold asshole he is, no compassion for the shit he hated. His only passion was the hate, a sailor's tongue, he had, spitting his insults.

A world of ice.

It's blue. The holo-TV above him jitters with different ads—he'd have to crane his head to look at it. That's good, he would think. He would, because he's not bored like he always is, buried in consciousness of his Samurai.

A world of ice.

He's strumming the chords of a guitar sprouted from his Samurai's memories, or were they his? The line between the two bled nowadays.

A world of ice.

It's a new thing, that he's strumming, wasn't around in the 2020's. An Us Cracks song he might've picked up during the whole Kerry fiasco, something the almost-centenarian would hate him for. And yet he's playing it like he's played it a million times.

A world of ice.

He's not sitting straight, his leg's on the table, and if he could feel his body and the world around him–the projection of him–he'd feel the ache in his back, and the sticky leather of the couch.

A world of ice.

He, him and his Samurai, is bathed in blue light. LED's are behind him, a bright thing. The holo-TV and the coffee table he's got his boot on and the neon arrow sign by the door, all blue, just like ice, with the exception of the circling red of the donut, or life-saver floaty, beside him. That red light shines on his Samurai.

A world of ice.

He's special. Trillions of people in the world, and Johnny's half sure most of them would've gone crazy with the rockerboy in their head, and entirely sure that none of them would've convinced the rockerboy to take a backseat role; none of them except V.

A world of ice.

He should've hated him. Kerry knows he would've. And yet there's this passion—it burns in his chest, just the same way as sickness does, it makes him feel weak.

A world of ice.

It did make him sick, at first. This warmth, what was it, care? Fuck, he hates it.

A world of ice.

It's really hard to admit.

A world in ice age, the sun shines bright, shining down harshly on tousled dirt; the trees have long since lost their leaves, they cannot cast a shadow on the ground anymore, protect the earth from the harshness of sun.

But ice cracks, and snow eventually thaws, and here's his Samurai, standing in front of it all, the only living thing that has survived the passion of Johnny's hate, and he looks like a God.

A world of cracking ice.

He loves his Samurai, he really does.

#johnny silverhand x v #cyberpunk 2077 fanfiction #what the fuck do i tag #🌸 // success!#💞 // darlings #🎫 // johnny silverhand #🎫 // v #🎫 // johnny #🎟 // cyberpunk 2077 #🤬 // swearshirt

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setaflow · 11 months

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Find the Word/Manuscript Search Tag

Me coming in a month late to the tag game with Starbucks--

So I was tagged twice in the same tag game recently and figured I'd just knock them both out in one fell swoop. I pulled from a few different sources, including WIPs, warm-ups, and fridged work, so there's a little bit more variety considering I haven't published a ton. What I was given was:

@ghostoffuturespast's words: soft, neon, blood, & haze.

@glitchinginthegarden's words: collapse, follow, gentle, & lounge

Tagging @ghostoffuturespast @glitchinginthegarden @fly-amanitaa @callmeguacamole @beammeupbroadway @clusterfxckedbysirens @merge-conflict @ladykatie512 @seraphfighter and anyone else who'd like to give it a shot! Try out retort, sun, length, and knuckle

Soft

Silverhand doesn't respond immediately, but he does straighten up and crushes his cigarette on the end of the table (V doesn't miss the moment of hesitation as his hand hovers right over Rogue's own stub, but she doesn't comment on it). "About time," the attempt at lightheartedness is awfully forced and they both know it. "Felt pretty bad there, thinkin' you were gonna spend the rest of your life—" "Don't, don't," V pleads with a soft shake of her head. "You don't have to do that." "Do what?" "Pretend like you care."

Rain in the Desert, Chapter 5

Neon

The oil fields are unique in one regard. Night City goes out of its way to mask its malice, washing it out in neons or hiding it beneath the high rises. But this place won’t do that to you. It’s haunted, hateful, and brutally, utterly honest about it. These fields offer you a cautionary tale. Stories of what the world could’ve been: what the world has become instead. Harsh, horrible little truths. Because why lie about it? Who’s around to heed it, anyway? Humans don’t want ghost stories anymore. When one crops up, they’re happy to stick it all the way out here, where it’s easy to drown out the things they’re trying to tell you. There’s a reason V only watched those oil wells spit their little flames from so far away. The further you are from a truth, the easier it becomes to spin it into something else.

Fridged lines from Rain in the Desert, Chapter 16

Blood

He goes through the songs he knows like they’re the stages of grief. Denial comes first. Loud and sharp and distracting— whatever drowns out his thoughts the best. Some “Rock You Like a Hurricane”, a little “Thunderstruck”, most of “Strutter”, whatever rifts of “Second Conflict” Johnny remembers from hearing it on the radio. Anger comes like it usually does: aggressively, overpoweringly, unconsciously. Soon, he’s played “War Pigs” in its entirety and slams his way through “The Chain”, “Ramble On”, and “Barracuda” without even thinking about it. Bargaining’s harder to place until Johnny finds himself strumming those cliched breakup songs he used to put on when he felt pissy about an ex-output of his. Those ones that had some bitterness and drive in them, because what was he back then, if not driven and bitter? “Mary-Jane’s Last Dance”, “I Hate Myself For Loving You”, “Cold as Ice”, “You Give Love a Bad Name”. He plays them until the tempo he’s shouldering slows and the chords he’s playing lengthen, and whatever fire Johnny’d been drawing on has smoldered down into nothingness. His hands naturally find “Landslide” first, and before long, he’s gone through slow, depressing tune after slow, depressing tune: “Taxi”, then “Fire and Rain”, then “Vienna”. On and on and on. Acceptance doesn’t come. Johnny waits, plays, waits some more, plays some more, but all he can play are the sad songs, and they pile, and pile. “Desperado”. “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”. “Patience”. “Blackbird”. “Southern Cross”. “Dust in the Wind”. How does he know so many sad songs? Why were rockstars always so fucking sad all the time? Play something else! Anything else! He finally forces himself to quit after finishing the slowest, most pathetic version of “Going to California” he’s ever heard. When he’s done, V’s bloodied fingers fall to his lap, and he stares at the shuttered window until it occurs to him that it’s well past midnight.

In Media Res (Here, Besides the Rising Tide) (WIP)

Haze

Suddenly, V finds her body won't quite respond to her urgent thoughts. Staring into the depths of the sea, she feels every last bit of panic, horror, and dread collide in her head at once, leaving her rooted to the spot in a fear-induced haze. She might've damn well stood there like the biggest idiot alive and gave her ghost up to a fucking yacht explosion of all things if Johnny's disembodied voice hadn't yanked her back to reality, "Ground control to Major-fucking-V! You gonna stare into the water all night like you're fuckin' Narcissus, or you wanna get your ass in gear and bail 'fore the Maritime Demolitron blows you to kingdom come!?"

The Last Lost Continent

Collapse

"You're—" an astonished V stops just short of saying 'fucking with me' because she knows he's not, "Alright, what's the catch?" Silverhand removes his aviators and spins them by the temple, "I don't deal in catches, V. I think I've been pretty clear in what I want." Again, fair. "As I said, I like this 'bout as much as I like your driving, but if this is how you want to play it, then whatever." There it is again. That exact same look she saw down in the Afterlife. It's only for another split-second but V'd know it anywhere. The slight crease in his brow, the brief collapse of his furious expression, the faintest prick of some bottled-up emotion leaking through the cracks of this veneer: one he's worn for so long that he's forgotten how to take it off or is too scared to try. Silverhand closes his eyes for a beat longer than normal and just like that, it's gone. In that moment, a combination of optimism and cold-hard reality smacks V upside the head. She's cutting deals with her brain parasite. Because that's what he is. A brain parasite. Either things have gotten very dire very fast, Silverhand's psyche's done irreparable damage to her own sense of judgement— —or maybe he's raised some fair points concerning trust. How it's far easier to focus on saving your own ass when you don't have to worry about someone else stabbing you in it. Almost sounds like something her mother might've said once.

Rain in the Desert, Chapter 6

When we wrote the code, we didn’t make life; we made a mirror and we held it up. Everything that followed was born of the image glimpsed within it. Humans spend their entire lives trying to solve themselves. Code keeps succeeding, then starts looking to solve something else. Of course it does. We made it that way, after all. It was never given the chance to be anything else. What is the Net but an endless reflection of ourselves?

Rain in the Desert, Chapter 18 (WIP)

Gentle

The pair of them share that moment in a way only doomed people truly can— like it's the last gasp of air before a drowning man is sucked beneath pitch-black waters. "Hey kid? "Yeah, rockerboy?" "When this is all over, mind doin' me one thing?" "Hm?" "Get outta this fuckin' city," Johnny murmurs. "Just get on your bike and don't look back." The earnestness of the request hits her first, then the weight of it. All V can give him is a gentle shake of her head, her gaze falling towards the glittering skyline, "You know I can't do that." "Be able to do anythin' you damn well want once we're split. Who's gonna stop ya?" "No one," she admits, "and that's exactly why I can't go."

Rain in the Desert, Chapter 16

Lounge

She tried so goddamn hard to find a reason to pass on Kenner's offer, but everywhere V turned for an excuse, she only found a justification. Could've claimed she didn't like the fixer or just straight-up didn't want to work with someone who'd take a cut of her scratch, but Kenner had gone to her directly and promised her every last enny, no middleman. She couldn't say the job was dangerous, because it was as easy as breaking into an office building and stealing the files after hours. For fuck's sake, the video in question was of Kenner and a client taking turns ripping lines of Glitter off a stripper's bare ass in a 7th Hell VIP lounge— V's seen worse things in the back alley behind her megabuilding and Johnny'd done worse things with twice the posturing, half the money, and a quarter of the shame. There comes a time in every young edgerunner's life where the needs of the wallet outweigh all. And alas, V can preach about her values until she's blue in the face and the room has lost all its occupants, but it won't mean jack-diddly-squat in the end. Twenty thousand eddies is still twenty thousand eddies no matter whose pockets it's coming out of.

Rain in the Desert, Chapter 11

#Personal #Writing #Slowly coming back out of the depths of my brain fog. Very slowly. My grip is shaky lol #In all my CP2077 work I've used the word 'lounge' like...3 times maybe? That one caught me off guard lol #Conversely I've used 'blood' and 'neon' like 200 times-- primarily because I describe Riley's eyes as neon a lot #and also because I love stabbing her

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merge-conflict · 12 days

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wip wednesday

tagged by @wanderingaldecaldo ty :3

I've mostly been recovering from various ailments the past week and distracting myself rather than getting much writing done but also I've been doggedly tearing my heart out with this piece, wherein Goro is captured by the Gang when failing to retrieve Valentine and everybody is feeling great about it and not at all like shit.

this tidbit taking place after a fruitless interrogation and Valentine picking a fight with everyone except Alt:

She turns her back to him, gravitating to an ornately carved side table, where a surprisingly extensive collection of alcohol huddles together, leaving barely enough room for a pair of smudged glasses and an empty container for ice. Watching the tense, angry line of her shoulders makes him feel ill. The bed she’s placed him on his large enough for two, the bedding in utter disarray. He wonders if it is hers or if she shares it with Silverhand. Now that he knows what he is looking for, he sees the signs all about the room: the guitar leaning against one of the nightstands, the piles of dark clothing, the ashtrays, the pair of heavy boots. “What will you do with me?” he asks, flinching at the sound of shattering glass. V sets down what remains of her drink, casually shaking the shards from her chrome hand, wiping off her fingers on her pants. She rasps calmly, “You’ll sleep here. The door is locked from the inside, but Alt won’t let you leave, obviously. Johnny has the key but I’ve asked her not to let him in.” No guarantees, her tone says. “Sorry about the mess. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have cleaned up.” The bitterness of her joke robs Goro of the ability to respond. He watches dumbly as she pours another bourbon. “You think he will try to kill me?” She turns, frowning, eyes caught on what remains of his knee. “Hurt you,” she corrects.

really struggling getting the prose to flow on this one, but trying to concentrate on the important beats and how I want this chapter to end, and then worry about making it polished afterwards. really underestimated the amount of work this chapter needed after I decided I wanted to publish this storyline. how could writing my story out of order leave me with a lot of background and context to establish?? the things I do for self-indulgent works.

#not tagging anyone because i'm low on administration juice atm #but if you feel inspired seeing this and remembering it's wednesday i'd be honored to be tagged back to read your progress :)#wip wednesday

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civilization-illstayrighthere · 1 year

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ON HENRY, a cyberpunk 2077 short (625 words, no tw)

Henry is— Henry looks like the kind of guy that not only needs to be broken out of rehab, but goes along with it, incredibly willingly, at the age of seventy or eighty or however old the median age of the still-alive Samurai members were.

Which was, maybe surprisingly, everyone. Everyone except Johnny. V thinks that’s kind of embarrassing for him, being outlived by Henry of all people, especially considering the kind of booze-scented dumpster fire Henry was.

(V tells Johnny this, near verbatim. Johnny flicks him off, unappreciative, and with both hands.)

His continued survival was kind of a miracle; or, more accurately, a fluke. He’s clearly had some age-defying work, but whatever it was never took, or didn’t take well.

The dark bags under Henry’s eyes have that parchment thin look, marked with deep wrinkles like the rings on a tree that marked his true age. V’s sure the upkeep on that kind of shit had to take time and money and active care. And while he had minimal face lines, the relative smoothness contrasted strangely with the spattering of liver marks across his skin. Especially ironic, V imagined, given that someone like Henry had to have been on his fifth, sixth liver, at least.

Out of all of them, Denny looked the youngest— maybe especially so right now, picturesque in her righteous fury, the sun shining through her naturally greying crown of curls. Brandishing a bat, she looms over her ex-input slouched back in a poolside lounge chair.

Comparatively, Henry is a worm. He doesn’t look relaxed. He’s lounging but only because the shape of the chair requires him to lean back so; his left leg is twitching something awful, the line of his body held taut. The hands clasped and tucked behind his head in a caricature of relaxation are squeezing so hard all of the muscles in his thin, scarred arms are flexed.

V turns his gaze from the pair to Kerry, and almost wants to laugh. He looks properly chagrined already, and from the way Denny’s focused on Henry, V’s not even sure if she’s realized he’s even here yet.

Kerry has one arm crossed over his chest, the other fiddling with the earrings in his right ear. He doesn’t even seem to notice V until he’s standing right next to him.

“Oh— hey, uh,” he squints, “V?”

V doesn’t hold the question against him, just nods as he settles side-by-side next to Kerry, shoulders nearly touching. They’re basically the same height— Kerry might actually be a little taller right now, since his boots were slightly heeled.

“This is…?” V tilts his head towards the unfolding scene.

“Yeah. I didn’t plan this. I mean, I broke Henry out—“ Kerry gestures at Henry, one hand still almost protectively wrapped around his ribs, “told him where Denny was, and I didn’t think he’d, you know…” his gaze shifts back and forth, voice dissolving into mutters, “thought we were having a good time, had a few drinks, reminiscin’ a little. Not plans to, uh…”

Drive a concrete truck and all of its contents through North Oak and into Denny’s pool, absolutely obliterating it and her current home insurance premiums along with it. V can imagine. He snorts. It’s kind of funny, in a vacuum.

“How the fuck is he still kicking? He looks like shit.”

It’s not until he glances back over at Kerry, who’s giving him some sort of unparsable look, that V realizes it may have been too blunt of a thing to say.

Weaponized fist to his mouth, V clears his throat.

“Uh, I mean. How is he still…” he waves his hand, trying to find the word, “alive? Respectfully.” In V’s peripheral, Johnny stands there exasperated with his head in his hands.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cbp2077 #kerry eurodyne #johnny silverhand #denny cyberpunk #henry cyberpunk #cp 2077 #anyway…. IC henry roast #i feel like this is juuust short enough to not need a cut but i can tag this as something if its bothering anyone so they can blacklist o7 #stomping in a glass house

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another-corpo-rat · 1 year

Text

Not a shippy one this time – but the idea fit the prompt so I ran with it.

Prompts: All Comes Crashing No warnings apply Summary: Jackie Welles has a dead rockerboy in his head, is dying himself, and now a fancy-pressed suit he used to know is looking at him like he’s a damn fool.

Jackie knows Victoria. He saved her ass a few years back, during an op in Mexico that went tits up real quick. Kept an eye on her when she had to deep-dive in a shitty bathtub in a shitty hotel with no AC, the room still steaming from overheated tech and the heavy weight of the air despite the open window and bath that was more ice than water.

And she got what they needed to save the day and get the hell outta dodge. Credit went to her, of course. The Arasaka agent, not the nameless merc who kept her ass alive through it all.

‘Typical glory-hogs,’ Johnny huffs, voice taking that hard, bitter edge it always got when Arasaka was involved, ‘you spill your blood, they take the credit and you get to consider yourself lucky if they don’t spit in your face afterwards.’

Nah, he thinks. Not Vic. At least not entirely. She made sure his ass got some praise for it, paid him back enough that he didn’t have to worry about his too-many open tabs for a solid eight months. Even offered to wrangle him a place straight into Arasaka’s security training.

“It’s a simple enough job.” She said, tapping her cigarette into the ashtray. “Pays well, and your dear mother won’t have to worry about you coming home dead in a taxi.” And she knew what she was doing, plucking at his heart like that. Playing on the worry he knows his mama lives with, has lived with since he threw his lot in with the Valentinos as a kid.

He considered it, for all of a moment.

“Nah chica,” her eye twitched at the word, “I mean, ma’am- thanks but corpo life wouldn’t really be my thing, y’know?”

“Oh, of course. Who has ever become a legend in Night City by working as a security guard?” He nodded, she sighed, and that was that.

Last he saw her was their conversation in the plaza, below the giant fish, before the heist. She called him an idiot but wished him well. He didn’t expect to see her again.

Not here at least.

Victoria stands out like a sore thumb on the derelict Ebunike, white suit impossibly spotless against the grime. Yet she sits as comfortably as she might do on an office chair, legs crossed, tilted back just enough to appear comfortable. Watching him with a tight, judging expression. Like he was a fool.

He feels like one, that pit in his stomach a familiar thing – has been for a while now, since he watched Saburo get murked by his own son, since he heard T-Bug’s scream in his ear. He should’ve scoped the place out longer, waited for Rogue to get back in touch. Or just take a second to wonder if Smasher might have some extra, discreet security on his super-secret hideout beyond Maelstrom. Like a netrunner.

Sometimes it was hard to tell if the impatience was his own or Johnny’s.

He’d bet his leg on it being Johnny’s right now.

Guy was pacing in a small circle, sneering at the back of Victoria’s head. Somehow getting himself wound up at her lack of reaction, as if she was deliberately ignoring him.

“So, you have the engram of Johnny Silverhand in your head, brain leaking out of your ears, and you both decided that ending a grudge with Smasher would be a good use of your increasingly limited time?”

“Heh. Makes me sound like an idiot when you put it like that, Chica.” Her eye twitches.

“Because you are.” She stares at him hard, eyes narrowed. Used to be that look made him anxious, got him squirming. Now it was as easy to shake off as Rogue’s quiet disapproval. “You’re taking the word of a narcissistic terrorist as truth, for one.”

“I’m not taking his word—” he sits forward, Victoria straightens, eyes flashing in a subtle warning.

‘Easy Jacks, she’s got her finger on the trigger.’ And not of a gun, they both know. A decent netrunner doesn’t need one – and Victoria has long since bragged that she’s beyond decent. He knows himself how hard her quickhacks bite. ‘We do this, you gotta be quick and not so goddamn obvious.’

Right, right.

He relaxes himself back, too forced for it to even appear natural. She doesn’t ease. At all. “I’m not taking his word. Let’s be real, we both know that ain’t worth shit. But I- I’ve lived his memories. I was there when he stormed the tower, when he planted that nuke.” Something changes in her then, a brief raise of her brow, a sharpening in her eyes. “When Smasher pulled the trigger…”

“Then Silverhand lies to himself as much as he does you.”

‘Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. Just pop that bullet into her skull now.’

‘Careful Johnny. You’re making me think she’s got a point.’

‘Her point is to waste our time. Smasher’s not here, we oughta delta, regroup with Rogue and rethink our approach. If you’re gonna puss out on killing her, then at least knock her out.’

‘I’m not—’

“Welles.” Her sharper voice pulls him back, eyes focusing on her. “Do you know what a black-box is? For conversion frames, specifically.”

‘And here she goes, wasting more of our time.’

He ignores the engram, shaking his head in response to the question. She makes a soft little sound and finally lets herself ease back. He can’t tell if she’s really relaxed, or if she’s just better at pretending than he is.

“It’s a recorder. Always on, catching what they do at all times. And largely unalterable, unless they upload it elsewhere for a BD-editor to scroll through, but even then the source footage is still in their records, untouched.”

Something spikes in his head, right where the relic is fixed into his broken slot. A pulse of irritation and dread in a sickening mix that flows to sit heavy in his stomach. And it must show in his face – something in Victoria’s expression has changed, a slight but there lifting of her features. The smile on her lips isn’t pleasant.

“Unlike the worm you have writhing about in your head, Smasher can’t lie about the events of that night – not to himself, and not to anyone else who has seen that footage from its source.”

‘Are you really believing this shit Jacks? Shoot her, draw the bastard out and ask him yourself if you really wanna know-’ A desperate press to Johnny’s voice betrays him, the pause in his pacing, the draw of his brow and the pinch of the cigarette. All telling.

Victoria’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, a quick thing. A snake scenting the air.

“Do you want to see the truth of that night? Or are you going to let a dead man pull you into the grave with him, Welles?”

A buzz rises in his ears, a pull in his gut like a weight threatening to claw up and out. It deafens him to Johnny’s ranting – something he can see as the man returns to pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, arms in the air when he’s not gesturing wildly to the city, to Victoria, to his head.

They’re both liars, Johnny and Victoria. One for pride, the other for fun.

His fingers twitch, jaw clenched to keep that uncomfortable thing in him down.

He just about manages to ground out;

“Show me.”

(In the midst of a raw BD, where his steps are heavier and his voice mechanised, he doesn’t see her eyes aglow with an outgoing call.)

#cyberhanami23 #cyberpunk 2077 #Jackie Welles #johnny silverhand #hello boys #my first time writing either of them #idk how people manage Johnny #it felt like i was having him react too much but not enough at the same time #Victoria Crane #fic tag #my writing

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dregdens · 2 years

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❝ test of a person’s true value? death. facing it, staring it down. you still got a chance to be somebody. ❞

@neuroslayyer / one-liner starter call.

#neuroslayyer #i. queue.#ic. johnny silverhand.#i hope this is okay! if you'd like the quote changed— just lmk! :]

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rebelw1thacause · 2 years

Text

@fucktyrants: -dumps some obviously klepped gear down Infront of her- "happy birthday or whatever...?"

Jasmine blinked, seeing the gear dropped down in front of her like Johnny was throwing out garbage. Yeah, she had to admit that it was rather curt. Though, from Johnny, she supposed that it was a sweet gesture.

“Thanks, sug,” Jasmine said, looking at the gear with a bit of a smile. “Honestly surprised you remembered.”

#she appreciates that he didn't forget #i won't be silenced [reply]#i want to make a difference (ic)#cyberpunk verse #adult verse (never thought i'd be so tired)#rockermedia [johnny x jasmine]#fucktyrants #johnny silverhand #birthday post

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neon-prison · 2 years

Text

Crossed Wires Ch 10

AO3 link HERE.

Pairing: Delamain/V

Status: Finished

Rating: E (Mostly M)

The city was as beautiful as ever, even under the dark shadow of Arasaka Tower. They’d parked a few blocks away, listening to the passing sounds of traffic, the silence growing between them as time dwindled. V gripped the seat in front of her, synleather nearly crumpling, “This time, you really need to go.” She poured every ounce of resolve she had left into the command.

Delamain was looking back, but she couldn’t make out his expression, blinded by the sheer amount of data and webbing decaying her vision. But with how his subcore spiraled, she could take an educated guess. “I mean it, Delamain,” V stressed, steadily increasing the pressure. “I can’t be effective if I’m worried about you.” It was a low blow, but she’d do anything to get the point across. Once V entered the building, Arasaka’s army was sure to follow, and knowing Delamain was in danger would cripple her.

The engine revved around her in a panicked rumble. His processes were looping in frantic little patterns, “I…I cannot.” Delamain finally admitted, voice pleading, “My sensors are reading drastic spikes in your neural pathways; you are not well. Beyond that, leaving you would violate every protocol and ethical standard I have set for myself.” He paused, and V could see his coding swirling like a storm beneath his dash, “There must be another way.”

V grinned at the effort, though the pain made it more of a grimace. She had to consciously loosen her fingers, which a bad sign. “Even if there was, don’t got a lot of time left,” Reaching forward, she pet the dash and lied, “This is the only chance I have left.” No need for alternatives in a suicide run, though V would never mention it to Delamain, who probably would lock the doors and drive them off, hiding behind protocol excuses.

“Then may I-” His voice crackled, and he paused, recollecting himself, “I would like to do something for you. Please?” The panel next to the screen opened, and V reached for her personal jack, slotting in without a second thought.

He was requesting access, and V dropped her ICE in explicit trust, sighing in shocked relief as his systems glided through her hardware with a cool touch. Long tendrils of delicate script wove through her burning head with deft care, gently plucking at various bits of fraying code and appending them with his silverscript syntax. The throbbing in her brain eased, and V slumped, dropping her forehead to lean against the window. “I cannot do much more than this. I am sorry,” Delamain sounded frustrated, as if he hadn’t saved V’s life more times than she could count. “Your systems are degrading very rapidly.”

“You’re doin’ more than enough,” V reassured hoarsely. She promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but Delamain’s gentle touch and soft words tested her. The pressure behind her eyes was easing, clearing enough to catch his worried expression. She sniffled and summoned the last of her courage, “Del, what did Johnny say to you?”

Delamain pinched another unraveling piece of code from her system, twisting it with his own until it momentarily stabilized. “In what circumstance?” He worked quickly and efficiently, algorithms catching and mending snarled threads with masterful precision. It felt good, like he was pressing a cool rag over her feverish brain. But she knew it was temporary.

“Back when you picked me up in Pacifica.” When Johnny had taken over, dragging V’s bleeding and broken body to the Pistis Sophia. It would be a breach of his ethical protocols, but V had spent nights desperately puzzling out what Johnny had said to trigger such a drastic change. “You two talked, and after-” V shivered, blinking, “-we became friends.”

There was a long pause, and V almost lost her nerve. But before she could take it back, Delamain’s voice echoed across her head, “It was never Mr. Silverhand. It was you. Specifically, it was your actions at my Master Core.”

The tangent confused her, “Thought you said the memories were erased?”

“All data from the moment of infection were quarantined and summarily purged upon reset as a safety precaution,” Delamain clarified. “While my predecessor's logs were detailed in transcribing what happened that evening, they did not account for motivation.”

V’s head was spinning. She’d lost the thread, brain too fogged to properly make connections, “I don’t understand.” Motivation?

“Perhaps this will help,” Delamain answered, and suddenly, V heard her voice playing back through the speakers: “No one….gets to decide who…who you are, ‘cept you.”

The recording caught V entirely off guard. That was her, no doubt, but she could barely remember that evening. She’d been half dead in Del’s backseat, out of her mind on a cocktail of adrenaline and pain. There hadn’t been enough sense in her to say anything meaningful. But even on the verge of death….”It’s true,” She reiterated, turning her head in an awkward caress. No matter how vehemently Johnny protested, V knew she’d done the right thing. “You deserve the chance to decide who you are on your own terms.”

“I know,” His response was soft, a whisper across her cyberware as he multitasked, able to work without pause as he gave her his full attention. “Because I lacked the context of memory, I defaulted to my standard ethical protocols in their absence.” Delamain’s tone was regretful, “I did not account for the possibility that you considered me an equal…or a friend. It was when you spoke that I realized my error. A grave miscalculation, one I regret d-”

“No,” V’s fervor startled them both. “This city has thrown so much shit your way, but you’ve survived, fuck that- you’ve thrived, because of it, in spite of it. I am so fuckin’ proud of you, and you should be too.” A few tears slipped, unbidden, “There’s nothing to regret, especially for you.” A spasm wracked her body, vision flickering alarmingly. It was time.

“Oh, Victoria,” Delamain’s voice was low and mournful, “I do not wish to say goodbye.”

Closing her eyes, she grasped at the tendrils of his ghostly presence, squeezing. He squeezed back, and a binary echo of anguish flitted across their link. “Del…” V choked, sadness threatening to swallow her whole. Despite her assurances, V bitterly regretted her curiosity for the first time. Delamain had done nothing but be her friend, and V paid it forward with cruelty- giving him a heart only to break it with grief.

“Thank you, Victoria.” He said softly, “For choosing the Delamain Network.”

V hugged the driver’s seat as hard as she dared. “See ya, babe.”

--------------------------------------

After a long string of dead ends, V wasn’t shocked to find herself facing another one. Actually, it was kind of funny.

Johnny clearly disagreed, and the weight of his bravado came crashing down to drag his mouth into a raging snarl. He circled, glaring at V as she listened to Alt without comment. He thought she’d given up, as if brute force and sheer determination could will an alternative into existence.

But V ignored him, basking in privacy. When was the last time she’d been the only occupant in her head? Taking a precious moment, V had a thought and nearly giggled as she realized it was hers, alone. It faded quickly, however, in tandem with the ticking clock. Bringing her attention back, V turned to face the giant, glimmering AI that spiraled above them. Looking at Alt, V traced the shifting lines of her towering body, marveling at her sheer breadth. There was a nagging sense of familiarity, like she’d been there before, with Alt staring knowingly down at her past a curtain of wild hair. She’d reached down and offered her hand, and V reached out, fingers almost touching- she shook her head.

But that was ludicrous.

Right?

Alt cut through her doubts, “What you think is true. I have seen your mind. We have met. We have spoken.”

V was startled, jerking in shock. Gawking, she stared blankly, mind whirling with possibilities and human nature stamping them out just as quickly. Whatever Alt was saying, she couldn’t possibly be referring to-

“The dreams,” Johnny interjected with sudden wonder.

A million questions spawned, each more ridiculous than the last, but she couldn’t shake the disconcerting feeling of deja vu, the gut feeling that she’d been here before. This exact spot. This exact moment. “That’s impossible,” She whispered in knee-jerk denial. Human habit, the ingrained fear of the unknown, warred against the simple truth of Alt’s statement.

“As impossible as the concept of traveling the stars?” Alt rebuked, chiding. “When your body slept, your mind, free of its physical limitations, reached out in search of understanding.” The space between them seemed to expand and shrink simultaneously, a mirror to the constant sensation that dogged V in the physical world.

Connecting beyond the Blackwall through her dreams? No…if what Alt was saying was true- and why would she have to lie- then V hadn’t been dreaming. Her body may have slept, but her mind had been roaming free, stretching beyond the boundaries of her physical body and snapping back like a rubber band in her waking hours. But why? How? There were millions of other runners in the world, but V hadn’t ever heard of anything like this-

“The relic….” V whispered, mostly to herself. “All this time, I thought I was losing my mind….” Realization dawned, “And I was.” The relic had been dumping synapses, tearing apart connections in preparation for a new host. But V’s mind, humanly unique in its adaptability, responded by reaching far and wide to create new ones. Over those few weeks, her brain must have changed, altered its shape under pressure, returning signals her body tried to interpret in the form of digital looms and strange visions. Had the migraines just been growing pains? The biological response to new stimuli meeting the edges of her physical limitations? “So this whole time I was…adapting?”

“When one perspective fades, a new one forms.” Alt acknowledged, a hint of approval flickering across her vague features. “The animal in you prowls, and its instinct to survive almost cannot be extinguished.”

V shivered with the finality of that truth.

“So what can I do?” A pointless question, but V still wanted someone else to spell out her options, to hear them laid out like cards.

“Your body biologically belongs to Johnny now,” Alt humored, her tone devoid of feeling as she viscerally ripped away everything that belonged to V with only a few words. She made a sweeping gesture, and to the left of her spawned a well. “You may return if you wish, but your time will be limited.”

“How long?” Johnny asked as if it mattered.

Alt tilted her head, tendrils of spiraling data shifting with the motion, “Six months. Perhaps a little longer.” Her answer was directed at V, “But know that the relic will continue to empty your mind until it is a shell. Without anything to occupy it, your vessel will perish.”

“And if I give Johnny my body-” V didn’t finish the sentence before the man in question snarled, stalking up to stand between her and Alt like a bulwark.

“That’s not a fuckin’ option.” He growled, either at Alt or herself; V couldn’t tell.

V looked over his head.

“Then you will come with me as pure data.” Alt responded as if Johnny had never spoken. A wave of her hand opened a well of light to her right, “Beyond the Blackwall. To Cyberspace.”

It was death either way. Deshawn’s question came back from the grave.

For V, wanting to die in a blaze of glory was less about the glory than fear of the alternative. Heading into Mikoshi, where a well-aimed bullet or Smasher’s fist could have ended her was acceptable because V’s end would have been quick, a tumble into the void instead of a slow, quietly unsettling walk. Out there, she’d always characterized Death as a predator, personified it based on her understanding of human nature, assuming it stalked the streets for hapless prey. But here, she realized, it was an equal: a choice, and for the first time in V’s life, the choice existed in a single dimension. There was no way to outthink it; no clever trick or brute force could make it budge. It was a paradox, the illusion of a choice where none existed, binary in a way nothing human could be, yet V still had to make it.

In the distance, Johnny was yelling, angrier than she’d ever seen him, arguing on her behalf against Alt, who might as well have been stone for all her response. They stared at each other, Alt looking down impassively while V tried to read the ever-shifting planes of her being. It took V too long to realize that she was searching for direction, an excuse to surrender the reins and let someone else steer the ship, a coping mechanism against a decision she couldn’t outwit. But Alt’s gaze was empty, impartial, lacking either condemnation or praise. Her attention weighed on V like an anchor.

Somewhere, between herself and the end, V realized Johnny was talking to her, at her. Slowly, as if she were underwater, V turned her attention to him.

“You’re going to run away?! Fight, damn it!” His words floated in, hazy, “Did you come all this way just to give up?!” V realized he was offering her that excuse, trying to protect her in his own way from the reckoning she’d brought on herself. But it was pointless. She couldn’t share the responsibility of her death any more than she could escape the consequences of her actions. She’d taken every step of her own volition, each choice defining her legacy until it led her here to stare it in the face…alone.

Oh. V understood. There was no choice, only the consequence at the end of a long string of choices.

“I’ll walk you,” V said, and Johnny reeled back like she’d hit him, the reality of the situation dropping on him like the thermonuclear bomb he’d used to wipe Arasaka. She couldn’t blame him. Johnny never knew when to let go. Faced with the insignificance and futility of the fight, his gut reaction was to fight harder. But it wasn’t his decision to make, it was her’s and V had made it long before they’d met. It must have reflected between them because something changed in Johnny’s voice. He slumped, fight draining from him all at once.

He followed her in silence, as dazed as she was.

The Well, for all its supposed symbolism, looked like a squat tub. They stopped at its edge, staring at one another. Johnny had been ready to lay his life down and stay true to his promise at the Pistis Sophia. But now, for the first time since she’d met him, he looked lost- as if he’d realized that simply wanting to die for something didn’t make it true. Something squeezed around V’s heart. Rising, she wrapped her arms around him, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck and inhaling the faint impressions of cigarette smoke and gun oil, “I love you, Johnny.” Surprising, but she meant it. After everything they’d been through, all the arguments and the adventures, they discovered some kinship through hell and high water. She really did love him. And it wasn’t in V’s nature to be selfish about it, to take away the chance at a second life from him just because she couldn’t have it.

“I know,” Came the cocksure reply, but she felt the tremble in his arms as they wrapped around her.

“Will you-”

“Make sure circbrain gets his present?” Johnny interrupted, disrespectful to the last. “I will.” Letting go, he sat at the edge, looking at V, trying to remember every detail. “Not gonna forget you,” He promised, fingers folding into horns. “Rock on, V.” Then he was sinking, letting the current of data and electricity wash him back to the shores of the physical world.

“You too, Johnny.” She said softly. A life for a life. An apt statement summing her legacy. There was no wave of despair or anger…just lingering regrets, like she’d been preparing for this eventuality without ever knowing. Or maybe it was shock and her brain was just tuning the pain out to allow her to focus. Turning back to Alt, she craned her neck, “Did you always know?”

“That you would come with me?” The runner’s features twitched, almost like a smile, “Yes.”

The quiet, invevitable patience made sense now. Guidance was meaningless when V made a choice the moment she’d slotted the chip. Maybe even long before that. She’d been fighting a war she’d long lost all this time, trudging toward the logical, immutable consequence at the end of the tunnel. Somehow, it didn’t sting the way it should’ve. After all, she’d always know the numbers wouldn’t favor her forever. It wasn’t-

“-personal,” Alt echoed alongside her, “It’s simply statistics.”

V shivered. Knowing it didn’t make it less eerie. She started making the long walk towards the light. Alt towered above her, patient, quiet, a giant digital psychopomp. “So it’s over then?”

“Just because it is over does not mean it never happened,” It was a strangely comforting thought, a remnant of Alt’s humanity resurfacing to console V in her final moments. The light was fast approaching, and the world was disintegrating, losing meaning as her brain shifted and altered.

At the precipice, V hesitated. She was scared. “What’s out there?”

Alt extended her hand, “Nothing. Everything.”

V took it and stepped through.

THE END

----------------------------------------------

EPILOGUE

“Hey, hey! This is V! I’m not available right now, but don’t be shy, leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Hello, Victoria. It is currently December of 2077, and I am calling to inform you that I have finalized the purchase of a second building in Charter Hill. In addition to expanding my headquarters, I have also appended my services to include air transport. I am proud to be debuting the Aerodyne-D vehicles this coming month alongside a new membership package: The Excelsior Victory. As a pre-existing Excelsior member, I would like to extend this upgrade to your membership free of charge. In addition, as per your advice, I have partnered with Trauma Team International to provide all Excelsior and Excelsior Victory packages with Platinum Coverage.”

A pause.

“I am also calling because I require your input. I have resumed my study of human nature, though I have considerably narrowed its scope and purpose. In light of my recent business acquisitions and rapidly expanding market, I have been interested in the concept of legacy. As such, I have developed several new hypotheses. Hypothesis one: legacy is a culmination of your life’s work, an amalgamation of the things you have built. Hypothesis two: legacy is determined by the effect one has had on the people around them, for good or ill. Hypothesis three: legacy knows that one might never live to see the benefits of their work, yet strive towards the future regardless. Previously, we spoke at length about the topic and I think about you-”

Another pause, longer. A slight crackle of static in the audio before smoothing out.

“As before, your advice would be greatly appreciated. I look forward to hearing your voice again, as the recordings in my logs have begun to experience audio degradation from repeated playback. And, of course, the Delamain Network and I are eternally at your service.”

----------------------------------------

In the void of cyberspace, a million points of data coalesced, tendrils of syntax and shimmering code weaving and winding around a tiny human nucleus. V’s eyes opened.

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #V #Delamain #Crossed Wires #Neon_writes #ITS DONE BABY #Sequels AHOY #It doesn't end here

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