Chapter Text
“Sit down and eat up, they’re the best noodles in Night City, I guarantee it.”
His tight-lipped company had stopped a few steps into the mercenary’s quarters, carrying a box of Japanese takeaway in one hand and a wavering empty grip in the other. In the oversized blue hoodie that he had put over his normal shirt attire, the journalist looked just as out of place as a nomad in a corpo suit.
“Take a seat, Max,” V said more firmly. Even so, he had decided to abandon his own dessert on the coffee table after just a few bites. His stomach felt tense, but it wasn’t from the lack of aliment.
Max finally complied, perching himself on the furthest edge of the sectional underneath V’s circular ceiling projector and looking just a tiny bit more relaxed than during the rest of the evening, judging by the soft downward curve of his shoulders. His thin lips were set in a monotonous line, however.
For the first time since their unexpected reunion, V felt a surge of insecurity at what he was about to do. It wasn’t unlike admitting to the possibility that the lead he was pursuing on Hanako Arasaka was a dead end – that the worst-case scenario was a plausible outcome for how this was going to go down. “You gotta throw me a little incentive here, I haven’t really given an interview like this before,” he pushed for a distraction to take his mind off that train of thought.
“Well, it’s nothing completely uncommon. Plenty of people who have released astonishing statements on their deathbed. You don’t want to carry around the burden of whatever it is that plagues you, before going on to the afterlife. It makes sense, is what I’m saying. At least you’ll know you’re leaving behind something meaningful, a story for the next generation to hopefully learn from.”
V folded his hands together, nodding. He didn’t correct Max when he assumed that V was about to sign his certain death testament, afraid that the wary journalist would bail out before he could get to his story.
“So, you may want to choose your words carefully, but in my experience, sticking to the truth is going to do just well. You said something about stealing a biochip from Arasaka, and that it infected your brain with the conscience of Johnny Silverhand, the rockerboy who vanished during the Arasaka Towers bombing.” Max paused in case of a rebuttal, which there was none. “I suggest, you explain from the beginning. Your personal angle to this story would be a good start.”
V had to admit, his interviewer knew what he was doing. He immediately felt like he was sitting in an interrogation room, with all the focus set on V and whatever his next words would be. It didn’t even matter who was asking the questions, only that right at this moment, the world seemed to be listening. The stage was his, as Johnny would have phrased it.
Memories of Jackie flooded his brain; at first they were images of them smiling together, dancing, partying and hitting on girls … Then, Jackie and Misty, the Afterlife and memories of the heist flashed before his eyes. In a somber, distant tone, he began to retell the events leading up to the present.
“It all started, as with many things, with the promise of a job. I had just settled in, rented my own place here in Night City, was finally coming to terms with my new life away from my roots, the Nomad clan. It all felt like it was coming together, like I had it in my own hands. Not only, how to survive in this city, but also how to control it, at least my part in it. Took me a long time to shake off the feeling of being a fish on land, a stranded fugitive. If it weren’t for Jackie, it would have been much harder to get things moving. With his help, I managed surprisingly well. So, we wanted more. Working our way up in the streets into the network of fixers, you know, was an accomplishment. Jackie, he thought it was time we went after the real deal. A big job. Something, that would have made us … into legends.”
He dropped his head, shaking it slightly. “It could have gone all according to plan, you know. We could’ve made it …” His voice became rough as he bit out the next few words. “He could have made it.”
He looked up to stare at Max, whose face had become an impenetrable mask of stone, and who gave him a light nod to continue talking.
“But of course … We were just the pawns behind the scenes. There were bigger, more important roles preceding us that day. Bigger names, such as Yorinobu and Saburo Arasaka. We could only stand by and watch from behind a hidden wall as they came up with a different plan for all of us.”
The next morning
He came to with a throbbing head, and not because of a hangover. It felt worse, like his brain was shutting itself off bit by bit, literally dying. He couldn’t remember getting off the bed and walking up to the panoramic window in his apartment room, and he definitely couldn’t explain the taste of tobacco on his tongue, or the cigarette stub between his fingers. Whether it had been his own hands lighting the cigarette and lifting it to his lips or Johnny’s, he couldn’t tell.
His fingers started to tremble as his breath sped up. The floor in front of him kept coming in and out of focus. For a while, he strenuously tried to orient himself in space and time. Then, he noticed the small splatter of blood next to the bed.
“What the fuck …”
“You alright, V?” A familiar voice reappeared in his head, slightly worried.
“I’m … yeah, I’m alright.” He supposed it was kind of a lie, but at least it didn’t feel like he was about to collapse to the floor. So, it could have been worse. “I don’t remember much of what happened though. Probably not a good sign.” It didn’t help that his voice was an uncomfortable rasp in the back of his throat. With sluggish movements, he dragged himself into the bathroom and opened the faucet, letting a stream of cool water run between his fingers before collecting it in a cup formed by his hand. As he greedily gulped down the chlorinated tap water, the pain behind his temples seemed to ebb away.
“You had another episode, a bit past midnight. Coughed up some blood, fell unconscious a short while after,” Johnny offered helpfully.
“I don’t remember. Wait, what about Max Jones? Wasn’t I talking to him in my apartment, or was that a dream?”
“Nah, man, you just vomited out your whole life story and then some to him, with a bit of blood mixed in, like I said. After that, he got worried you might faint on him, but you convinced him you were fine and promptly passed out on your bed. He watched over you though, like a guardian angel. Makes two of us.”
V didn’t think Johnny had a reason to lie about that, still it was odd and mildly embarrassing to know that the journalist had stayed with him in this condition while he wasn’t aware. “Well, he’s gone now,” he observed dryly.
“Check the table under your window.”
Next to some collectable figurines, V found a lonely sticky note attached to said table. He snorted to himself as he picked it up. “Could’ve just left a text message.”
“I’ll take care of the story. Now, we’re even.
You know, risking your life can be worth it when it’s for smth other than money”
Chances were they wouldn't run into each other again anytime soon. Their paths were too different, and Night City with its endless hidden alleyways and places to get lost in, was like a maze. Too many stories untold, too many faces forgotten in the blink of an eye.
V stuck the note back to the table and turned around to the convenient vending machine placed inside his apartment to grab a quick breakfast and a coffee and get his synapses firing again. Just then, his phone notified him of a new text message. He gave it a short glance.
It was from Mitch.
The blond-haired paused for a moment, then opened up the message. The recent history showed a conversation about V’s latest tune-up job of a Quadra Type-66 race car. A lot of technical gibberish with occasional enthusiastic replies from the former panzerboy. The newest, unread message encompassed an image, followed by a short string of text.
“She’s ready. Check out this beauty ;)”
A grin appeared on V’s face, mirroring the smiley. The nomads, that is, mostly Mitch and Panam, had finished patching up the gigantic combat AV, a Basilisk they’d stolen from a Militech transport with a little help from the merc. Just as he was about to type a reply, a new message came in – this time from Panam.
“Wanna go for a ride? It’s a dual seater, so …”
“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” V muttered while typing out his response. The smile didn’t vanish from his face as he quickly gulped down the watery coffee and whatever synthetic food he had purchased.
Panam had inaugurated him on the plan she had more or less secretly devised to deal with the Raffen Shiv. With his combat experience, it was a logical conclusion that she’d counted on him to be a part of this operation, since he wasn’t particularly unacquainted with the friendly group of rogue nomads from past history either. He headed into his weapon stash room in order to make the preparations.
The rockerboy flickered into existence behind him as he was swapping out the mods on his Power pistol, arms crossed and with a sour expression behind the shades.
“Another distraction, V? I thought we were finally done with that chapter.”
The merc at first ignored the comment, but felt a sudden urge to defend himself flare up. “They need my help, or the prior favor I did them is going to be for nothing.”
Johnny, as expected, shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Just admit it,” he raised his voice, “you’re growing attached and looking for an excuse to dodge your own problems. What do you see in this dysfunctional group? Allies? A community? A family?” He paused. “Well, guess what, it won’t matter if you don’t get a move on. Time is ticking up here.” Johnny pointed a metallic finger at his own brain.
Behind smiling lips, V clenched his teeth. Johnny had made a point. There was a reason why he couldn’t say no to the group of Aldecaldos, not when he had already gotten involved this far with them. Allies – he had regarded them as such when they’d first met and realized they needed his help. Since then, V had come back a couple of times, without much persuasion required. It was obvious that there was something more motivating him. He promised himself that this would be the last time.
After all, there was a job he had to finish in Night City.