Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shadow the Hedgehog had not been having a good day.

He frowned as more GUN agents barrelled down the hall towards him and Tails, firearms raised against them, primed to shoot. How many men did this base have defending it? No matter. As he had with the others, Shadow channeled his chaos energy in his core, using it to teleport around the agents and send them to the ground or hard against the walls with well-placed kicks and jabs. It was almost too easy.

One agent, however, seemed better prepared for him than the others. Likely their commander. He stood at the far end of the hall, several yards away. The man raised his gun at Shadow, barrel glowing a sickly red-orange, before firing. Shadow dodged around the shot with a teleport, moving expertly to its side. He reached the agent a few strides later, ripping the laser gun from his hands before the soldier could react. It skidded across the concrete floor with a harsh grating of metal against stone. Twisting around, Shadow grabbed the soldier’s arm and threw the man towards the opposite wall. He hit it with a muffled thud , then crumpled to the ground, too dazed to be an obstacle any longer. 

While Shadow moved the guards into a pile against the wall to clear the way, Tails flew up and around him, darting the last few feet to their destination: the collider control room. The fox removed a device from his backpack and began furiously tapping away on its keypad.

“Don’t worry, Shadow. I’ll have the door hacked in no time!” Tails informed him cheerfully, “We’re right on schedule. Sonic and Knuckles should be at the other control room soon.”

Shadow gave him a nod. He started for the door to join Tails, but stopped. Stooping down, Shadow noticed with a sickening dread that the guns these soldiers were wielding were more advanced than the ones they’d raised against him a year ago, when he’d escaped. Dots connected in his mind, and Shadow realized that the red-orange glow of the commander’s laser gun had likely been from their latest experiment, the one he’d asked Sonic and his friends to help him stop:

GUN was trying to artificially create their own chaos energy.

Stone had been the one to inform Shadow of GUN’s plans. Just one month ago, the former henchman had approached him at the Wachowski’s residence in Green Hills.

“I know you probably never wanted to see me again, but I discovered something you’re gonna want to see.” Despite all that had happened, Stone still wore a nice black button-down and black slacks. Even his dress shoes were immaculate. Whether he dressed in black because it was his personal taste, or out of grief, Shadow didn’t feel the need to ask.

“And what’s that?”

The man rolled his wrist, pressing a button on his glove. A tiny egg drone rose from a metal band at the base of his palm and began projecting a hologram. The red image flickered before clearly displaying a map of the United States, as well as an array depicting seismic activity. A timelapse played, showing the recorded activity across the past few months. Shadow noticed a disturbing amount in California, outside Los Angeles.

“What is this?” he demanded.

Stone didn’t flinch, despite the sharpness in Shadow’s tone. He rolled his eyes. “Seismic activity in California’s been on the rise. While that’s not completely out of the ordinary, look at where it is.”

The ex-agent hit another button on his glove, and the map zoomed in on LA county and the surrounding area. “All of the activity,” Stone continued, “is coming from the same place. What’s more-”

A new set of graphs appeared on the hologram, labeled “Chaos Energy.” The readings were incredibly high, almost on-par with what Shadow remembered seeing on his charts during his time with the government fifty years ago.

“-is that it looks like they’re harvesting chaos energy.”

Shadow’s ear flicked impatiently. “Who? How?”

Stone waved his other hand. The entire image flickered before a new window opened, playing drone footage, dated a week back. Shadow watched as the drone approached what looked like a perfectly normal grassy area, with scattered trees and shrubs. His eyes widened when the drone passed through a hidden barrier, revealing a massive concrete complex, complete with armed guards and dozens of personnel milling about.

A truck pulled out of what looked like a loading area. The logo on the side read “GUN.”

Shadow had tried to go alone to conduct more reconnaissance, but he hadn’t snuck out of the house as quickly as he’d hoped. Soon after he arrived outside the GUN facility, Sonic had appeared beside him in a flash of blue light. Naturally. Shadow was tempted to brush the other hedgehog off, to tell Sonic he wasn’t needed, that this was something he needed to do alone, but the events of the past year had soured the Wachowskis– especially Sonic– to GUN, too. And, as much as Shadow hated to admit it, taking down an operation this big on his own would be difficult.

So yes, he’d relented, and asked Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles for help. Because it was practical. Because it would be more efficient. Definitely not because he had grown to consider them his friends. 

And they’d agreed. Because they hated GUN as much as he did. Because the uncontrolled synthesis of chaos energy could threaten the safety of millions. Definitely not because they’d grown to consider him a friend, too.

Of course, the four of them hadn’t told Tom or Maddie about their plans, but they didn’t need to know. They’d only want to get involved, which would put them in danger. After what Shadow had already put Tom through himself– guilt resurfacing in his chest at the memory– he didn’t want the man to get hurt again.

Shadow kicked away the chaos energy gun in disgust. Back when the government had found him, they’d told Shadow that his innate chaos energy would lead to breakthroughs in their planet’s technology. The world would be better protected, they’d said. He’d be saving people by submitting to their tests, they’d said.

Shadow knew too well how that had turned out.

Before long, Tails’ device beeped, and the glass door leading to the control room slid open. Shadow appeared by his side a moment later, and gently nudged the fox out of the way so he could step inside first. Despite the information about this facility that they’d gleaned from both Stone’s and Tails’ investigation, it was better to be safe than sorry. Shadow had gotten to know Tails well in their time together, and knew he was capable in a fight, but Shadow also knew he far outclassed the kid in strength and speed. If a turret popped out of the ceiling, or the control room exploded upon entry, Shadow would be fine. Tails, not so much.

When Shadow slunk inside though, nothing happened. The room was dark, but he could make out rows of computers and terminals, but no defense systems sprang to life to greet them. Desks were strewn with clipboards, papers, and pens, and the room smelled of coffee and cheap pastries. In short, it looked lived-in, like it had been used often.

At the end of the room was a large glass wall. The other side of the panel was completely dark, save for a faint light from the other side of the collider. It reminded Shadow of an endless void, or maybe a single star in an otherwise empty sky.

The information they’d collected indicated that beneath the concrete GUN facility lay a large, empty chamber housing a kind of atomic collider. Shadow didn’t understand all of the science involved, but Tails had said that in order to obtain stable chaos energy, GUN had to have been hitting increasingly heavy atoms together with enough force to cause ripples in reality. The empty void before them was the collider then, just powered down.

Good. It being on would only complicate things. 

“Hmm. No sign of any defensive measures,” Tails whispered as they passed by a row of computers. “I don’t think they were expecting anyone to find this place.”

“Much less us ,” Shadow agreed, “Question is, why isn’t anyone here?”

The halls had been swarming with guards, but strangely, none had sounded any alarms. Worry began to swirl in Shadow’s stomach. Had they been allowed to get here?

Tails jumped up, hovering over two rows of desks before landing on a chair in front of what looked like the main console. He spun himself around once– he was still a kid, after all– before putting on a serious face and refocusing on the keyboard and monitor in front of him. The console quickly sprang to life, filling the screen with readings taken from the collider tests, likely the cause of the seismic activity Stone had recorded. As Tails reviewed the data– copying it to the hard drive he’d brought– Shadow stood to the side, acting as lookout. He couldn’t help but glance over to the other control room and search in the darkness for the familiar silhouettes of Sonic and Knuckles. The latter filled almost the entirety of any doorway he entered; it wouldn’t be hard to see him, even from this distance.

A few minutes passed, then a few more. Still, no sign of the others.

“Surely they didn’t get lost,” Shadow muttered, arms crossed. He tapped a foot against the carpeted floor. It didn’t do much to combat the growing nausea he felt.

The fox’s tails twitched with a similar nervousness, and he glanced back at Shadow. “You think they got captured?”

Movement from across the collider grabbed both of their attention.

“Oh great! That’s them!” Tails said. He tapped on the screen of a gadget he’d connected to the terminal. “All they have to do is flip the corresponding switch, and the collider will deactivate!”

Shadow kept his gaze on the other control room, and the figures inside. He couldn’t quite pin why, but something was off. “I thought we were going to destroy it?” he asked.

“We can’t blow it up without threatening the nearby towns. By injecting the system with a virus instead, we’re preventing it from being turned on in the first place–”

The quills along Shadow’s spine raised involuntarily. “Tails.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think that’s them.”

All at once, the lights in both control rooms and the collider itself turned on, blinding both Shadow and Tails temporarily. When he could see again, Shadow whipped back towards the opposite side of the chamber. Sure enough, the figures they’d seen weren’t an echidna and hedgehog. Instead, a small group of GUN soldiers stood in the control room, weapons drawn. If he squinted, Shadow could just make out Sonic and Knuckles in the back, bound by odd, glowing yellow cords.

He almost teleported to them, but remembered that Tails was still here with him. Capable or not, Shadow couldn’t leave his friend behind. It was a good thing he didn’t, because a heartbeat later more GUN soldiers appeared in the doorway behind them, chaos energy rifles trained on Shadow. His claws curled into fists, chaos energy sparking. They’d been made.

The soldiers parted, allowing another uniformed figure to enter the room. Shadow recognized her immediately. Tall, pale skin, dark hair pulled into a neat, professional bun. Expressionless face.

Not, not expressionless. Smug.

“You should have accepted my offer, Shadow,” Director Rockwell mused, voice clear and low. “We would have avoided all,” she gestured vaguely with a hand, “...this.”

Shadow’s fists closed tighter, and he took a step forward. “Never. I refuse to be trapped again,” he said with a growl. He let chaos energy build in his chest in anticipation of a fight.

Rockwell had the audacity to laugh. “Ha! Trapped? What does freedom matter when the safety of the world is at stake?” she sneered. “You and the others had your chance to come willingly. Now, the decision is being made for you.”

The director snapped her fingers, and an agent beside her raised a weapon and fired, aiming at Tails. A beam of yellow light shot from the device, wrapping itself around the fox, rendering him unable to move. The force knocked him from the chair to the ground, where he fell with a pained shriek.

Another soldier fired on Shadow with an identical weapon, only Shadow was faster. He dodged, sidestepping the shot. The soldier shot again, and again, Shadow dodged it, skating across the room. Shadow knew he could keep avoiding the tethers, but he was running out of space. The room was too crowded for him to go far, and the only areas he could teleport to were behind him, inside the collider. Not a good idea, especially if he didn’t want to leave Tails. It didn’t escape him that as the soldiers took turns shooting the strange bindings at him, more entered the room, limiting the battlefield, as it were.

It was up to him, now. The others were restrained, and it appeared that whatever the tethers were made of dampened their innate chaos energy. However, Shadow knew from experience that GUN wouldn’t kill them. It’d be too big a waste. All he had to do was avoid getting caught long enough to free even just one of the others, and they could figure it out from there.

Damn it.

“I already told you,” he said, quills sparking, “I refuse to be trapped again.”

Rockwell only gave him a neutral look. “You forget that the GUN hierarchy has changed since you were with us last, alien .” She spat the word like it tasted bitter on her tongue. “The brass in charge now don’t like repeating failed experiments .”

Suddenly, Shadow understood.

GUN wouldn’t kill Knuckles, Tails, or even Sonic. They’d proven in the past that the trio could be overpowered with enough soldiers and guns. In time, GUN might be able to get what they wanted out of them, especially if the Wachowskis were threatened along the way.

Shadow, on the other hand?

He’d proven himself that he couldn’t be controlled that easily.

He was also out of room to maneuver, out of allies, and running out of ideas. His stomach dropped.

The world moved in slow motion. All at once, over a dozen of the gathered soldiers fired, this time with their chaos energy weapons, the same kind he’d seen on the soldier in the hallway. Except, they weren’t all aiming for Shadow. Their rifles were trained on both him and the area around him. There was nowhere to run.

The control room exploded in a shower of plastic, metal, and glass. Shadow found himself launched backwards into the shattering window as one of the chaos energy bolts struck him square in the chest. Mimicry chaos energy, unfamiliar and aggressive, coursed through him as he fell into the collider. It was like he had been simultaneously struck by lightning and dumped into a vat of ice water. Shadow couldn’t even scream. He couldn’t do anything but fall down, down, down. 

From the control room above him, he thought he heard Tails scream his name.

After what felt like an eternity, Shadow hit the metal base of the collider, hard. The force of the impact caused his body to roll a few times before finally stopping, the sound echoing around the massive chamber. He tried to open his eyes, to get up, but the not -chaos energy felt like a thousand tiny shards of glass invading his system. Breaths came in and out in short gasps.

He heard footsteps approach the edge of the control room he’d fallen from. Rockwell, no doubt.

Shakily, Shadow attempted movement, putting an arm under him to try and push himself up. The pain caused him to wince. Inhaling sharply through his teeth against the pain, he managed to rise to his knees. His vision wasn’t quite clear yet, but Rockwell’s figure above him was unmistakable.

And neither were the next words out of her mouth.

“Turn it on.”

Machine whirring filled Shadow’s ears. He glanced between either far side of the room, where large circular arrays began to spin faster and faster, lighting up in menacing shades of red, orange, and yellow. Sparks flew around the chamber until finally a massive, thick laser shot between the two sides of the collider, the same sickly red-orange as the agents’ weapons. The impact was like thunder.

And Shadow had fallen directly in the middle.

The point where the collider beams met was about forty feet above him, but the electricity still made Shadow’s fur stand on end, staticky. He pushed himself to stand, though his body had different ideas. Shadow figured he’d have to settle for crouching on one knee.

“Are you insane ?” he shouted, not totally sure his voice would carry over the roar of the collider. Another shock of not-chaos energy surged through him at the effort, threatening to send him back down. “You’ll kill us all!”

To his surprise, Rockwell heard him, or at least understood his meaning. “Sacrifices must be made in the name of progress,” she shouted back down to him, as if it justified anything.

Shadow could hardly believe what he was hearing. Sonic probably would have quipped that the red glow of the collider even looked evil.

“If we don’t shut this down, it could threaten millions of lives! Is that a risk you’re willing to make?”

Rockwell’s expression remained stony. “It’s one I’m authorized to.”

She stepped back, then turned towards the door leading out of the control room. The director then gave orders to the agents around her, but Shadow couldn’t make out what they were. He watched as a GUN soldier hefted Tails over their shoulder like a bag of potatoes and followed after her. He had to get to him, he had to–

The place where the collider beams met grew in intensity, causing a wind to pick up in the massive space.

No, not a wind. A vortex.

Shadow barely had time to react as his body was lifted off the ground and sent towards the center of the collider. He activated his air shoes to escape its gravity, trying to steer himself towards the other control room. If he could get close enough, maybe he could teleport inside. The pain from the not-chaos energy had waned enough that crossing the distance would be difficult, but possible. Right now, all Shadow needed was possible .

The window was only about fifteen feet away now, but it might as well have been on the other side of the universe. When Shadow had gotten close enough to it to see through the tinted glass, he caught a familiar blue blur bouncing around the room and into the GUN agents Rockwell had stationed there. If he weren’t in danger of dying, he might have even smiled.

Ten feet to go now. Five or so more, and he’d be close enough to try teleporting.

GUN’s men taken care of, Sonic sped to the glass, pressing both gloved hands against it. Shadow released a small gasp of relief when he realized the blue hedgehog was not going to try shattering the window. That would only endanger Sonic and Knuckles– who appeared to be unconscious– more.

“Shadow, come on! You gotta get out of there!” Sonic shouted, voice muffled by the glass.

“What do you think I’m doing?!”

Seven feet.

Six feet.

Five–

The vortex exploded.

Red, orange, and yellow light filled the room, and the last thing Shadow saw before his atoms were torn apart was a look of abject horror on his friend’s face.

—

Shadow didn’t know what he’d been expecting heaven to look like, but it wasn’t this. He found himself floating through a void, everything pitch-black, aside from far-away pinpricks of red light in the distance. Stars , Shadow realized. Was this where they went when they died, too?

Pain from the artificial chaos energy still lingered in his chest, and he was aware of bruises forming on his body where he’d hit the bottom of the collider. Once, while with Maria, the two of them had found a dead bird outside their facility. It was the first dead thing Shadow had ever seen. He remembered feeling confused and sad for the poor creature.

“Don’t worry, Shadow. It’s in heaven now.”

“Heaven?”

“Where we all go when we die. My mom said it’s beautiful, and we won’t ever hurt anymore.”

Maybe when he found her, they’d be able to figure out why he still did.

And where exactly he was.

Out of nowhere, a strange tugging sensation pulled at Shadow’s… well, his everything, and suddenly he was falling, hurtling towards one of the red stars in the distance, passing countless others. Shadow noticed that each star, which had seemed identical from a distance, was slightly different up close. Some were more orange than red, others pinkish; some brighter, duller. One constant between the stars, however, was the thin, reddish threads connecting each star to those around it, like flies caught in a web. Shadow looked down at himself, finding a similar thread connecting him to a star far, far away. He could barely see it anymore.

Chaos energy surged once more within him the farther and faster he fell, coming off Shadow’s body in sparks, and he scrunched his eyes closed against the pain. His claws flew up to grab at the fur and quills on his head to find something, anything to ground himself. 

High-pitched ringing filled his ears as images began flashing before his closed eyes, all tinted the same angry red that surrounded him.

First, he saw what looked like a perfectly normal human teenager, in a garage. The kid was tall, had a mop of dark hair, and was enthusiastically jamming on a guitar with a friend. Shadow had learned enough about guitars from Maria to know that this kid had no idea what he was doing. The clothes the teen wore and the decorations in the garage suggested that it was sometime before 2024, but Shadow didn’t recognize any of it from his time in the seventies either. Perhaps the eighties? Nineties? He couldn’t tell.

The next flashes showed Shadow a place he was sure he’d never seen before: a massive, futuristic city, lit with neon and large, holographic signs. The focus of this vision was a man standing outside what Shadow assumed was a kind of dive bar, with steps leading down to the main entrance. He looked similar to the other human; he was also tall and had dark hair that just reached his shoulders, though he was clearly much older. Shadow had never been a good judge of human age, but the man’s tattoos and beard led him to guess mid-thirties. He was leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette when a pink-haired woman approached him from behind. As the man moved to greet her, Shadow noticed that his left hand was made completely of metal. 

He was also sure he’d seen this man before, but couldn’t place where.

Before he could analyze the scene any further, Shadow was thrown someplace else. It looked like a more normal American city, but he couldn’t tell where, exactly. Rain poured down on wherever it was, and he watched a lone man step out of a nondescript black car, headed for some fancy-looking building. He was dressed far nicer than anyone Shadow had ever met– other than Stone– in a fine black suit. When he finally caught a glimpse of the man’s face, Shadow realized that he looked identical to the smoking man he’d just seen, only much better groomed, and his left hand wasn’t metallic.

Wait.

The visions all came back, cycling through each other at increasing speed. The teen and his friend continued playing music, the man with the metal hand joked with his companion, and his doppelganger in the suit entered the building, pulling out a sleek-looking handgun. The teen struggled to play a chord, the man laughed at something the pink-haired woman said, the now armed man in the suit aimed and fired at someone. The teen. The man with the metal hand. The assassin. The images kept flashing, disorienting and confusing, until finally something changed, and Shadow felt his skin crawl.

Although the images continued to flash before his eyes, they were all looking at him now.

It was at this moment that Shadow had an epiphany, one so weird that it managed to briefly distract him from both the excruciating pain still racking him and the terrifying realization that the individuals he was being shown had noticed him, wherever and whoever they were .

He did know this man.

Sonic rarely stopped talking about the guy.

Now if he could only remember his name…

Shadow didn’t have a chance to think about it more before he collided with the star, and the universe exploded again.

Chapter Text

John had not been having a good day.

For one, he was regretting accepting a job in San Francisco. Since he’d landed in the city the night before, all it had done was rain. And rain. And rain some more. He didn’t mind the rain, but damn, would it kill this place to do anything else?

At the very least, the job was simple: A rich heiress in New York City had been receiving death threats from her ex-boyfriend, a man by the name of Luca Sutton. She had until the end of the week to agree to marry him, or he’d kill her. Naturally, neither option sounded appealing to her, and she had sought a third option. Now, that “third option” was in San Francisco and on his way to prevent a no doubt short and unhappy marriage.

The only complication was that this greedy ex was currently the reigning kingpin of San Francisco’s drug operation and had a lot of men backing him, both in business and as part of his hustle. Fortunately, the client had an ace up her gold-trimmed sleeve: Sutton had an extra apartment in downtown San Francisco, one that only his current girlfriend (and the client) knew about.

It was cliché as hell, but John wasn’t emotionally invested enough in this hit to judge. Frankly, the job was beneath him anyway. A man of his talents and repertoire working a job this simple would have been laughable to anyone in John’s world even five years ago. Now, though? After everything that had happened? This was the most free he’d felt since he’d left it all behind.

Fuck, that felt like a lifetime ago.

The rain was still pounding against the roof of the car by the time Wick pulled up to Sutton’s apartment complex. His hit– average height, light haired, identified by a large thistle tattoo that wrapped around his neck and shoulders, extending upwards to his jawline– had arrived fifteen minutes prior, followed a short while later by his girlfriend, who had been dressed in a thick fur coat. The building itself looked gaudy and overpriced, with its brick painted black and windows adorned by bronze accents, so Wick could only imagine how much worse the interior was going to be.

He didn’t bother with an umbrella as he stepped out of his rental car– an all-black, uninteresting sedan with tinted windows which did nothing but make him miss his Mustang– because it would just end up being something else to carry.

Huh?

John whipped around, slamming the car door shut behind him with much more force than necessary, the sound echoing down the street. This late at night, there were few people outside, but still the feeling lingered, making the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. He felt his heart rate rise slightly.

Someone was watching him, but from where?

More importantly, who?

A scan of the street proved unfruitful. As far as John could tell, the only people who had even noticed him were those who had heard him shut the car’s door: a couple walking a dog and an older gentleman in the act of calling a cab. None of the buildings on the street had the right views to be sniper nests, either. The other parked cars showed no signs of anyone hiding in them, most of the stores and restaurants within line of sight were closed for the night…

John flipped through a mental contact list. Nobody he was keeping tabs on was working in this area right now, as far as he knew. Of course, that didn’t rule anybody out. Sides could be flipped and alliances trampled at the drop of a literal coin. Even still… He hadn’t told anybody about this job. The client had wanted to keep it quiet, even by their standards. That opened the door for it to be an unknown entity. 

Another hit on him was the last thing John needed.

It had been a few years since the world was out to kill him and he’d won back his freedom. Revenge had been both dealt and received, losses taken on every side, but it finally seemed as though the scales were even, or something close to it. He worked when he wanted to, and few were brave– or foolish– enough to bother him.

And so it was that John Wick was content. Not happy, but content.

And that was good enough for now.

He pulled back on the sleeve of his suit jacket to check the time. If he finished this quickly enough, maybe this mystery watcher would still be around, and Wick could catch them with enough spare time to actually sleep before his flight home.

One could only hope.

The atrium of the apartment complex somehow surpassed the building’s exterior. It was all the same bronze and black color scheme, but more . Bronze chandeliers, stylized like Celtic knots, hung from the ceiling, illuminating the whole room in a warm yellow glow. All of the furniture, as well as the front desks, were the same matte black as the brick outside. Potted ferns sat in every corner of the room and throughout the hallways, offering the only color other than bronze or black. The green didn’t do much to break up the monotony of the decor, but it was better than nothing.

As John walked through the building, memorizing the layout and potential exits as he went, something else nagged at him. Why hadn’t the person spying on him attacked? He was sure that whoever it was wasn’t involved in this current hit– Sutton did not have a reputation of being that forward-thinking– but that only begged the question of who was involved. An old enemy? Someone entirely new?

Wick shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind. Better to focus on the here and now, then investigate when this was off his plate.

Much to Wick’s disappointment, he didn’t spot any guards in disguise or otherwise in any of the halls, stairwells, or nooks of the complex. The logical side of him argued that this was a positive, that a fight would only make this take longer, and attract unwanted attention. The rest of him disagreed. That part, he swallowed.

Sutton’s apartment was on the fourth floor, in the middle of the hallway. Should this turn into a gunfight, as the illogical part of him not-so-silently hoped, he’d have to be mindful about his shots. It didn’t appear that the interior walls were also made of brick, and a bullet could easily tear through drywall and hit one of the neighbors. The quieter the better, then.

Finding the door, Wick quickly paced over, crouched down, and pulled out a lockpick from an inside pocket of his suit jacket. The thin, slick metal slid easily into the lock. He maneuvered the pick for a millisecond before click , and he was in. One hand gently resting on the handle, Wick leaned against the door, listening. His other was on the holster at his side.

The only noise in the hall came from Sutton’s neighbors: muffled laughing from one; the sound of a tv playing an action movie from another; from a third, the clinking of glasses.

Quiet. As good a time as any, he supposed.

The door opened without so much as a creak, letting Wick into the dimly-lit apartment. He slipped his handgun from its holster, as well as the silencer he had specially fitted for this model. It wouldn’t completely dull the sound of a gunshot; no silencer could. For this, though? It’d get the job done. He flicked the safety.

Unlike the rest of the immaculate building, Sutton’s split-level apartment was filthy. Wick did a visual sweep of the room before proceeding slowly, taking note of the floor plan as he had with the building as a whole. The front door opened into a short hallway, which expanded into a massive living room. It then led back to a dining area and attached kitchen. A set of stairs to the second level sat on the right, with a balcony overlooking it all. Dirty clothes, take out containers, and cigarette butts littered both the floor and furniture. Wick glanced up at the central light fixture just in time to see one of the bulbs flicker, then die. Icing on the cake, the entire room reeked of tobacco and cheap cologne. Classy.

Thick silence hung over the apartment like a blanket, seemingly magnifying every noise. Wick became painfully aware of the sound his shoes made on the hardwood floor, and adjusted his gait to compensate, heading up the stairs at an angle. At the top, he could see a door at the back of the second level slightly ajar. Voices came from within.

“I still don’t like this, Luca,” a feminine voice whined, “Do you have to marry that bitch?”

A deeper one replied, a tease in his tone. “You know I gotta, baby. But don’t worry, it’ll only be for a little while. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

There was his quarry, then.

Wick entered the room, gun in hand, though his finger was off the trigger. He found the bedroom just as much of a disaster as the rest of the apartment, with linens on the floor and discarded clothes lying about. He also found Luca Sutton, in the flesh, lying shirtless in the middle of the bed. His lover crouched over him, wearing a silk dress that left little to the imagination. 

At the sound of Wick’s intrusion, the young woman scrambled off Sutton, startling back onto the floor, eyes wide. She was a pretty little thing, with tan skin and blonde hair that fell in loose curls around her shoulders. Wick glanced back at Sutton– gun trained on him– and figured the girl could do better.

“Get out of here,” he said to her, nodding back towards the door behind him.

She didn’t move. “But-”

“Not here for you. Go home.”

The young woman looked between him and Sutton a few times before making the wise decision to rise shakily to her feet and flee the room. Wick waited until he heard the apartment door shut behind her to advance, stopping when he reached the foot of the bed. He moved his finger to ghost over the trigger.

Luca sputtered a few times, starting and stopping, unable to get a sentence out. Probably some plea deal, an attempt to bargain for his life. Wick had heard it all before. He–

High-pitched ringing filled John’s ears. All at once, his chest seized and vision blurred, everything taking on a reddish tint. At first, he thought he’d been shot, but this felt different; there’d been no impact, no blood. It felt wrong. He blinked, trying to clear his sight, but when his eyes opened, he wasn’t in Sutton’s apartment anymore.

He wasn’t anywhere.

John took an involuntary step back as suddenly he was standing in a void, engulfed by a black sky filled with angry red stars.

No, this can’t be real, he thought.

John froze himself in place, in case this was all a hallucination, finger still on the trigger, gun still pointed. Though, now he was aiming at an empty spot in space.

Okay, he could think this through. John took a breath to stabilize himself, relieved that he still even could.

Sutton was a known dealer, the head of San Francisco’s drug world. Was something in the air? Had Sutton smoked something before he’d arrived? No, that couldn’t be it; the apartment didn’t smell like smoke, or like any substance with which John was familiar. A poison, then? Maybe something medical-grade, like anesthesia?

That couldn’t be it either. While he was seeing… something , and his ears were being assaulted by tinnitus, his mind itself was clear, like this whatever-the-fuck-it-was was really happening and not a figment of his imagination. He let his gaze drift down, and noticed a long, red thread attached to the center of his chest, connecting to the closest of the red stars, which hung directly in front of him a ways off. More red threads sprouted from nearby stars, connecting to each other like a web. 

John found himself stuck, endlessly staring into the nightmare around him, until movement at his side attracted his gaze.

How long had that shooting star been there?

A black and red comet, trailing sparks and three other red threads, careened through the void until it crashed into the star in front of him, sending a massive wave of energy rippling through space. John wanted to run, duck, flinch, move, but his body wasn’t listening. The energy wave, red-orange and angry, struck him.

John blinked, and he was somewhere else.

He couldn’t feel his body, but what he saw looked straight out of a science fiction novel: a massive, oblong space coated in matte, off-white tiles. At least, John thought they were off-white; everything had that same aggressive red coloring to it that the void had. He watched as a black and red creature was thrown through a window high up at the midpoint in the chamber, sending sparkling shards of glass everywhere. It hit the ground hard, red energy of some kind coming off its body in sparks as it rolled to a stop.

The creature– John didn’t know how else to consider it– looked vaguely mammalian, only anthropomorphized. Thanks to the bright white light in the chamber, he could see it clearly: it was mostly black, with red stripes and markings on the fur of its head, arms, and on its back. Its back was also lined with what looked like quills. Confusingly, it wore red, black, and white shoes with what appeared to be jet engines or something in the soles. John also noticed that around the thing’s wrists and ankles, it wore thick, gold bands. 

So… a magic anthropomorphized porcupine with a strange fashion sense?

The fuck?

A voice echoed down to the porcupine-thing from the shattered window, commanding an unseen figure to “turn it on.” Immediately, large, circular devices on the far ends of the room began to spin, faster and faster. A massive beam of light erupted from either end, meeting in the middle with the sound of an avalanche. The creature, now on its knees, called up to the figures– humans, as far as John could tell- in the observation room above.

“Are you insane? You’ll kill us all!”

And it… it sounded like him.

The rest of the scene passed by in a blur. The creature continued pleading with the humans. They didn’t listen, and left it– him, John corrected himself – to die. He, the creature, tried to escape using his rocket shoes, but a wind created by the beam of light in the center of the room sucked him in. Then, it exploded.

And then, John was somewhere else.

Not the void with the red stars again, but on the driveway of a single-level house in a suburb. The home’s garage door was wide open, revealing a thoroughly decorated space filled with posters, random knick knacks, and music equipment from… either the late eighties or early nineties…? Inside, John saw two teenagers attempting to play music on electric guitars. They weren’t very good, but their energy was captivating. One of the teens had his back to the street, where John was viewing them, but he turned around when his friend called his name and–

The creature from before may have sounded like John, but this kid looked like him. Just as he had as a young adult, only with longer hair. And fuck, this kid looked happy . Ecstatic, even. 

John felt his chest tighten with something like regret before the scene changed again, and he was thrown into a dingy back alley. The only light came from bright neon signs and flickering street lamps, but it was enough that he recognized the typical vibes of a bar’s exterior, what with the drunks and bums lining the edges of the area. A set of double doors were propped open, revealing a staircase down into what John assumed must have been the bar. One of the men standing against the wall, however, seemed different from the rest. He stood confidently, smoking a cigarette, looking like–

God fucking dammit.

He looked exactly like him.

John kept staring, dumbfounded, as the man– as he? – threw his cigarette to the ground to greet someone coming up the stairs from the bar. The woman was about average height, with tan skin and pinkish-red hair which was shaved on one side, the other reaching down to her shoulders. As the not-him reached out to her, John saw that the man’s left hand was metallic, like some kind of futuristic prosthetic.

As quickly as the episode had come, it went, leaving John standing in Sutton’s room again, though now his chest was heaving and his skin was clammy, like he’d just woken up from a nightmare. 

He was also still pointing a gun at a man half-dressed and panicking.

“Dude, the- the fuck’s wrong with your eyes?!” Sutton stuttered, “They went all red ‘n shit! Holy fuck, the stories are true! You’re some kinda demon –”

Wick squeezed the trigger.

—

The car turned off with a click, but John left the keys in the ignition, leaning back against the headrest of his seat. He let out a heavy sigh and brought a hand up to scrub at his face.

What the actual hell was that? Did it have anything to do with the feeling he’d had earlier that someone was following him?

It wasn’t drugs, of that John was certain. Nor did it match any kind of poison or hallucinogen that he’d heard of. That left only one answer, one that had formed a pit in his stomach that wouldn’t go away: what he’d seen was real .

The creature, the teen, and his metal-handed duplicate were real .

He flipped down the mirror in front of him, searching for something in his eyes. Sutton had said they’d “gone red,” though John couldn’t see anything out of the usual. His eyes were, frustratingly, the same deep brown they’d always been.

John found himself lamenting that he hadn’t made more time for movies or science fiction books in his free time. Maybe if he had a greater sense of imagination, he’d be able to come up with an answer. For now, though? All John wanted to do was get a drink, go home, and see his dog. Preferably in that order.

Taking the key from the ignition, John stepped out of the rental car once again. The San Francisco Continental had an underground parking garage, meaning he wouldn’t have to walk in the rain again. At least there was that, he supposed. He locked the car and began through the dimly lit garage for the elevator up to the hotel, where he’d gladly take a cold shower and try to put all of this behind him.

Footsteps. Boots clicked against the concrete, only a few yards behind him, then halted.

Wick stopped dead in his tracks, between two rows of luxury cars. The strange feeling from earlier came back, prickling his skin. The watcher, whoever they were– the creature, the man with the metal hand, the teen, or someone entirely different– was here, he knew it. The moment of truth had arrived. Wick brought his right hand up from his side to rest on the pistol in his holster. Technically, he wasn’t in the Continental yet. Anything that happened here was fair game.

Wick turned his head back about ninety degrees to his left, glancing down and to the side.

“You sure you want to do this here?” he asked simply.

A pause.

“Don’t 'xactly see any other place to do it.”

John would recognize that voice anywhere. After all, it was his own.

He turned around all the way to face the man behind him, who looked exactly as he had in the vision John had seen in Sutton’s apartment. 

It was like looking in a funhouse mirror. 

This other John had his hands tucked in the pockets of an oversized leather jacket on top of what looked like a t-shirt for a band John didn’t recognize. The whole look screamed cool , like this was a man who was used to being the center of attention, and perhaps even sought after it. His hair was kept loose, and he brought his metal hand up to brush it out of his eyes, where it had fallen.

John could empathize. His hair did the same thing.

The other man pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. After lighting one, and taking a long drag, the stranger addressed John again, nodding towards him.

“You got a name, friend?” he asked, breathing out smoke.

“John Wick.”

The man gave him a humored look before glancing down at the ground with a chuckle.

“Well fuck me sideways,” he sighed, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief. He took a few steps forward, until he and John were only breaths away from each other, and held out his right hand. Unlike his metallic left, this one was flesh, and had a tattoo of a snake coiled around it.

“Johnny Silverhand,” he said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Wick slowly released his grip on his handgun, and returned the gesture, hesitantly shaking the man’s hand. He shouldn’t trust him. Everything in him– the logical side of him especially– was telling John to be wary of the stranger before him. John, however, wanted answers .

“I saw you, outside the bar,” John said.

Silverhand nodded, and took a step back to  resume nursing his cigarette. “And I saw you flatline a guy in his own damn apartment,” he breathed out more smoke. “Guessin’ you saw the other two as well? The kid and the… hedgehog thing?”

“I thought it looked more like a porcupine, personally,” John replied with a shrug.

“Take that as a yes. Guess we’re on a similar page, then.” Silverhand turned, addressing a figure John only now noticed crouched behind a Lexus. “Hey, Ted? Come on out, kiddo.”

The teen that John had seen earlier popped up, practically bouncing over to where he and Silverhand stood. He also appeared exactly as he had been earlier, with a grey t-shirt, a red jacket tied lazily around his waist, and baggy jeans. 

“Dudes, that was sick ! And check it out! You guys are like twins!” The kid spread his arms out to gesture to the two of them before spinning around on a heel, looking around the garage. “Is that dog guy here, too?”

Silverhand pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding John of an exhausted parent. It didn’t seem like the first time he’d done this tonight. “Been over this. It’s not a fuckin’ dog .”

When Silverhand opened his eyes again, they were no longer the brown that John had seen in the mirror all his life. Instead, the other man’s irises were an electrifying red. Apparently, his own were, too.

Silverhand raised an eyebrow, then leaned in closer to him. “Fuck’s up with your eyes?”

“Whatever’s wrong with yours, I bet.”

The both of them turned over to look at the teen– Ted, Silverhand had said– whose eyes also glowed red. They also looked scared .

And then the three of them seized.

John’s hand shot up to clench at his chest as a sharp pain surged through him. Invisible needles pressed into his skin from all sides, and high-pitched ringing returned to his ears. Black spots obscured his vision, and he fell to his knees, trying to keep himself upright with his other hand.

“Fuck.”

John wasn’t sure who had said it, him or Silverhand, but either way, yeah. Fuck. He heard, as though through water, the other two join him on the cold concrete. Involuntary muscle spasms threatened to send John all the way down, but he resisted. He rode the episode out, taking in and letting out shaky, gasping breaths that echoed in his ears.

After what felt like an eternity, the pain finally began to subside, though it lingered in his chest. John slowly opened his eyes to check on his companions. Ted lay on the ground beside him, curled into a ball, hands grabbing at his hair. Silverhand, meanwhile, had stumbled back into a bright red Ferrari, and was now sitting on the ground with his back against one of the tires. He held his metal hand against his chest, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt. Both of them were out of breath, like they’d just run a marathon.

Silverhand gently hit his head against the Ferrari behind him, staring up at the ceiling. His irises still had a bit of residual red in them. “Not this shit again,” he exhaled.

“The fuck do you mean again?” John demanded, crawling the short distance over to Ted sat in a ball. He placed a hand softly on the poor kid’s shoulder.

The other man shrugged. “Had somethin’ like this happen to my girl ‘n me a few years back,” he explained vaguely, between deep breaths, “Somethin’ like a seizure, but not? Yeah, seen this shit before.” He glanced over at where Ted was, expression falling when he saw the kid’s sorry state. “Try to get him flat on his back. It helps.”

John eyed Silverhand skeptically, but did as he said, coaxing the teen into a less bent position. Sure enough, Ted relaxed more, and started breathing better.

“Are you going to give me any more than that?” John asked, not looking up from the kid beside him.

“Maybe.”

A moment passed between the two of them, like an echo of a trust agreement. Like it or not, they were going to need to work together to figure this out. Might as well start on good terms, John thought. It seemed that Silverhand agreed. 

Before long, Ted stirred back into more full consciousness. “Ow,” he groaned, propping himself up on his elbows, “How’s about we don’t do that again?”

John gave the kid a lopsided, but reassuring smile. “If we can help it, sure.”

The three of them started a little– Ted more than Silverhand or John– when a sudden fizzling sound appeared a ways down in the garage, like what someone would hear if they stood too close to a high-electricity power line. And then, reality broke. A hole tore vertically in the air, exposing a space that shouldn’t have been there.

A space that was dark, covered with what looked like red stars.

About a second later, a figure shot through the tear, trailing red-orange sparks and dark grey smoke. It hit the ground, rolling once, then skidded to a stop only a few feet from where John knelt with Ted, sizzling as the sparking slowly subsided.

Ted shifted his weight to one side so he could point at the newcomer with his other hand. “Hey, it’s the dog!”

And he was right. Not about the dog part. John quickly recognized the red and black markings on the creature. This must have been the same one, then. He glanced back to Silverhand, meeting his eyes, and knew they were thinking the same thing. Whatever the hell was going on had something to do with the thing in front of them.

“ Not a fucking– whatever,” Silverhand sighed, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt.

He carefully approached the creature, then crouched beside him. With his metal hand, he reached out, grabbing him by a furry, black shoulder. The creature winced at the touch, but Silverhand didn’t withdraw.

“Hey, you alive?”

The creature– John still swore it looked more like a porcupine than a hedgehog– weakly opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, staring up at Silverhand with big, red irises. Something like confusion was written on his face, and he mumbled incoherently.

Silverhand ran his hand down the creature’s arm, trying to stir it awake. “What was that?”

The creature took a deep breath. “Said… I said I’m tired of blowing up,” he managed, then passed out.

Silverhand hung his head down between his shoulders, sighed, and stooped farther down so he could pick the creature up, cradling him in his arms. John didn’t know how heavy he actually was, but he assumed that having a bionic arm helped. 

The man glanced down at his burden, then back up at John and Ted. “Got anywhere we can lie low for a while? Not sure he’s gonna wake up any time soon.”

John let out a sigh. This was not how he had envisioned his night going. He should have stayed in New York with his dog. Then maybe he’d be home sipping on a glass of bourbon instead of here, sitting between two lookalikes and a magic porcupine.

Though, this was the most interesting thing to happen to him in a while.

“Yeah,” he relented, after a pause, “I know a place.”

Chapter Text

The San Francisco Continental was easily the fanciest place Johnny had ever been. From how Wick described it, it sounded like some kind of exclusive, merc-only club, which Johnny supposed made sense, given what he saw. The building itself was inconspicuous, drawing little attention from anyone except those for whom it had been built. It was ornately, yet simply decorated, as if the owner knew that at any moment a fight could break out and destroy something. A ripperdoc– or, maybe just a doctor?– was on staff at all times too, just in case a merc stumbled in halfway shot to death and bleeding out. 

The room that Wick had gotten was no different in its simplicity. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle of one of the walls, a sitting chair in the corner, and a small desk opposite the bed. Everything was either cream-colored or natural wood.

For being a hotel frequented by mercs, they sure didn’t seem to care about the inevitability of bloodstains.

Johnny sat in the room’s corner chair, elbows resting on his knees, bouncing a leg. His gaze remained, as it had been for fifteen minutes, on the red and black hedgehog on the bed, watching his chest steadily rise and fall. Ted, meanwhile, was passed out at the desk, head resting on folded arms. Johnny had been assigned to watch the two while Wick went to see someone downstairs. Something about the man Johnny had watched him flatline during that weird as fuck, reality-warping acid trip. The other man hadn’t used the word “fixer,” but Johnny knew this type of work well enough to read between the lines.

Wick was some kind of merc, likely an assassin, and that hit he’d seen had just been a gig. Nothing personal. Given his demeanor, he seemed more experienced than many of the mercs Johnny knew. He was certainly more professional, anyway. Concern lingered in the back of Johnny’s mind that Wick would betray them, that the man couldn’t be trusted, but Johnny knew that Wick probably felt the same thing about him. He’d have to wait and see, then.

As he continued staring at the creature on the bed, thoughts bounced around Johnny’s mind like agitated bees in a hive. Where the fuck even was he? How did he get here? Was he stuck? Would he ever get back to Night City? Why did Wick look like him?

And what was this thing’s name?

Perhaps the weirdest part of this ordeal was that Johnny recognized the hedgehog on the bed from a game he’d played as a kid. When he was… fuck, twelve or thirteen, a kid he’d been friends with had gotten a video game for his birthday, and had invited him over to play it. It’d been twenty years since then, give or take, so Johnny didn’t remember a lot, but he did remember there being a black and red hedgehog with shoes and gold bands on his wrists and ankles.

So, he was sitting in a hotel room at nearly two in the morning with a kid who looked like he had when he’d stumbled into Night City for the first time, waiting for the return of a man who looked exactly like him today but if he dressed like a corpo, watching a goddamn video game character passed out on the bed.

Considering everything that had happened today, Johnny thought he was handling it all surprisingly well. Though, he itched for an open-air spot to pace and smoke to clear his mind. The last time he’d suddenly woken up in an unfamiliar place with a random person, he’d tried to kill her. He hadn’t made any such attempts on the lives of his current companions, yet. If V were here, she’d probably crack a joke about character growth.

Oh, V.

He’d only been gone for about eight hours and he already missed her like hell. At least when V was off on a time-intensive gig, or he was out with Kerry for most of a day, they could message each other. Since getting here, Johnny’s holo had been bricked. It’d turn on, but he couldn’t access the net or get any messages out. 

He pulled it from his pocket and turned the screen on, sighing pathetically when he was met by his lockscreen picture. Panam had caught him and V standing next to each other at some Aldecaldo party, off in the back, and had snapped a candid of them two. Johnny couldn’t remember for the life of him who said what, but they were both mid-laugh. V hated the photo, and said as much every time she had to use his holo for something, but Johnny thought it was the cutest fuckin’ pic he’d ever seen of her. Not that he’d ever tell Panam that, or thank her for quietly sending it to him later that night.

His favorite part about the photo was that you could clearly see V’s bullet necklace around his neck, and his tags dangling from hers.

Johnny and V had been at the Afterlife when it happened. After a long day, he’d decided to go pick her up so she didn’t have to drive home on her own. She’d taken to fixer life well, but it was still a lot, especially when she’d only been running small-time gigs two years ago, and was still recovering from the damage the Relic had done to her body. Right as they were about to leave, V realized she’d forgotten her holo inside, and had gone back for it. Johnny’d stayed outside. There hadn’t been anyone around other than the usual bums and old vets, but he suddenly doubled over in the worst pain he’d felt since being stuck in V’s head. One second, he was standing on the corner waiting for V, then he was on the ground in front of the Afterlife feeling like he was dying, and the next he was seein’ shit: what he now realized was the hedgehog, Ted, and Wick. 

Then, he’d blinked, and had painfully woken up in an alley across from Ted. Why the two of them had been together, and not with Wick, was still a mystery.

Fuck it, everything about this was still a mystery.

Johnny moved his hands up to run them through his hair, still slouched over, as a new question inserted itself at the front of his mind. A pit formed in his stomach, and his mouth became uncomfortably dry.

Would V think he’d just… left?

She wouldn’t, right? He’d never do that to her, not after everything they’d gone through together, and what she’d done to bring him back from beyond the Blackwall. There was no way she’d believe that he would even consider leaving her, disappearing like his old self would, right? He loved her. She knew that.

Right?

His metal left hand grabbed the necklace that hung around his neck, and he ran his thumb across the bullet suspended in twine. The bullet that had inadvertently introduced him to the woman that saved his life, and continued to do so every day.

Johnny was still lost in thought by the time Wick returned. He glanced up to face the merc, watching the other man gently close the door upon noticing Ted asleep at the desk.

“Got your shit sorted?” Johnny asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” Wick replied. He gestured with his head to the hedgehog on the bed, shrugging off his suit jacket. “I take it our little friend hasn’t woken up yet?”

“Nope.” Johnny shook his head. “An’ it’s a hedgehog.”

Wick gave him a look. “How do you know?”

Johnny stood, walking the few steps over to the bed where the thing slept, and crossed his arms. The hedgehog twitched once, but didn’t wake up. “Call me crazy, but I recognize him from a game I played as a kid. Can’t tell you his name, though.”

The merc hummed in response, like he didn’t know what to say to that. He then turned to a cabinet next to the room’s small closet, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. “You drink?”

“After today? I’d fuckin’ better,” Johnny muttered, crossing the room to join Wick. He accepted a glass, and found himself pleasantly surprised when he took his first taste. Bourbon. V could learn a thing or two from this merc and his taste in alcohol.

They stood there for some time, both leaning against the wall and sipping at their drinks. Johnny took this moment to inspect his companion more fully. Wick looked… just like him, minus the cyberware and plus the fashion sense of a corpo hire. He also seemed much more reserved than Johnny was, like he’d be content to sit unnoticed in the back of a room. Interesting combination of traits for an assassin merc.

Wick broke the silence first, setting his glass down on the small table between them with a soft clink .

“Think it’s safe to say that if we’re gonna figure this out, we need to become better acquainted, and start piecing this all together,” he said, glancing between Johnny, Ted, and the hedgehog. “So… What’s your story?”

Johnny adjusted his stance, moving so his metal shoulder was against the wall, and he stood at an angle. He set down his drink as well.

Where to even begin?

He didn’t have many objections to introducing himself further to Wick. In fact, the merc had beat Johnny to suggesting it. He was right, they did need to know each other better if they were going to figure out what was going on. The only problem was that Johnny had lived a weird ass life up to now. How could he explain that to someone who seemed to have no idea of who he was?

Clearing his throat, Johnny looked up from the space between himself and Wick, meeting the other man’s eyes. Fuck, this reminded him of when he was stuck in V’s head. Staring at himself through someone else’s eyes. Only this time, it was him looking at some kinda weird, long-lost twin. Was this how V felt?

“Well, for starters,” Johnny began, “Gotta ask ya a couple clarifying questions. Gotta know how similar home is to here.”

Wick shrugged. “Shoot.”

“What year’s it?”

“2024.”

“Huh. See, back home it’s 2078,” Johnny said, bringing his ‘ganic hand up to scratch at his face. He sighed. “You wanted to know my story, so here it is. I ain’t sugarcoatin’ it.”

Wick eyed him intensely, listening, so Johnny kept going.

“Came here from a place called Night City, California. Heard of it?”

Wick shook his head. “We’re in San Francisco now. That near here at all?”

“It’s in what was Morro Bay, so about three, four hours south of here. “Back in the 2000’s, when I was a kid, I went to Night City to start over. Ended up startin’ a band, makin’ it big.” He gestured to the Samurai insignia on his shirt, and over to where his leather jacket sat on the back of the sitting chair. “Couldn’t stand what I saw corps doin’ to people. Tried to fight against it. In ‘23, it cost me my life.”

Johnny knew he was leaving out important pieces of information, like his time in the military, his interpersonal drama, how much of a bastard he’d been, why he’d even died, etcetera. But honestly, if Wick expected him to narrate a damn autobiography, they’d be here all–

Wick held a hand out in front of him, stopping Johnny’s train of thought dead in its tracks.

“You… died? In 2023?” Wick shook his head, brow furrowed. “Thought you said it was 2078 where you’re from.”

“It is. See, didn’t actually die. Got my consciousness– my psyche, whatever– sucked into a piece of data.”

“Uh huh…”

“That data got put on a chip, and that chip got stolen in 2077 by a merc hired to klep it. She put the chip in her head–”

Wick motioned for another time out. “How, exactly?”

“Fuck, right. Ain’t chipped,” Johnny backpedaled, taking a breath to help him refocus his thoughts. “Back home, near everyone’s a cyborg. Got ports n’ wires n’ shit. Now, there’s this slot at the back of your head for readin’ data chips. She put my chip in her slot, then got shot in the brain. Flatlined. Only problem was that the thing was experimental as fuck, n’ it brought her back from the dead. The chip brought me back, too, in a manner of speakin’. Was stuck in her head like a fuckin’ ghost.”

Johnny waited for the other man to give him any sign that he was understanding before resuming. After a few seconds, Wick gave him a slow nod, though he did pour himself another drink.

“One long-ass story short, we had to get my chip out of her head, or she’d die. Took a couple months, but we found a way to remove my psyche from hers. Then, I was gone, off in the Net as data again.” Johnny’s chest tightened at the memory. His last few moments with V in Mikoshi weren’t ones he liked to dwell on often.

Another pause, and another nod from the merc.

“Only, that wasn’t good enough for V,” he continued, finding a small smile forming on his face. His tone softened in a way only V knew him well enough to notice. “As soon as she sorted herself out and found a real cure, she managed to track down my sorry ass, both in realspace and the Net, and brought me back, for good this time.”

Johnny let himself reminisce for a brief second while waiting for Wick to confirm whether he got any of that.

“I’m not gonna pretend to understand all of that,” came the merc’s answer.

He shrugged. “Never expected you to.”

Another moment of quiet passed, Johnny leaving the floor open for Wick to ask any questions he might’ve had. He didn’t blame the guy for looking confused; it’d taken him and V a couple weeks to figure it all out themselves.

Wick glanced down at the carpet in thought, then looked back up at Johnny. “V… She the woman you were with at the bar?”

Johnny gave him a nod. “Yeah. Fuck, that feels like a lifetime ago. She prolly thinks I’m dead or somethin’.”

He almost hoped she thought he was dead. It sure as hell beat the alternative.

“I understand,” Wick said simply. The response begged a thousand questions they didn’t have time for. 

“You’d like her, I think. She works with mercs as a middleman, connectin’ them with clients.” Johnny let out a quiet chuckle. “Most dangerous person I’ve ever met.”

Fucking hell, he missed her.

“How about yourself?” he asked, mostly to distract himself, “Seem to have a pretty colorful resume.”

Wick sighed, taking another drink. “Long story. Nowhere near as… adventurous as yours.”

Johnny motioned with his ‘ganic arm in a sweeping motion. “Come on, just got done readin’ you my autobiography. At least give me something.”

The man breathed out a sigh. It didn’t seem like he’d had this conversation often. Matter of fact, it didn’t seem like he even talked all that often. “You’ve probably guessed this by now, but I’m what I think you’d call a mercenary, or an assassin.”

“No shit,” Johnny deadpanned.

Wick gave him a flat look, then stared out across the room. “Been doing this most of my life. Got out for a while, but…” he trailed off.

“It pulled you back in?” Johnny finished.

Wick nodded slowly. “Has its perks, I guess.”

The man didn’t continue, but Johnny didn’t see the need to press him for anything else. Wick had agreed to help them without much opposition; he wanted to see how this played out just as much as Johnny did. Johnny had done a lot of thinking about trust these past couple years, and he felt those lessons in full force now.

“Seems like you’re pretty well known around here,” he observed. “Got us this room and a way in through the back by just askin’ nicely.”

“You could say that,” the merc replied, smiling wryly. “I have a bit of a reputation.”

Now that Johnny understood. He topped off his glass, holding it out to Wick. “I can drink to that,” he said. The merc tapped his glass against his, and they both took a drink.

Hopefully, the hedgehog would wake up by morning, and they could finally get the answers that really mattered.

Come hell or high water, Johnny was getting home.

—

Ted could do this.

He’d watched his younger brother before. This was totally the same. Totally the same, except this time he was watching a weird space alien thing . The Silverhand guy had said it was a hedgehog, but Ted didn’t see the resemblance. Maybe hedgehogs looked different where he was from? Bigger, and able to talk, and… edgy.

It hadn’t moved since last night, when they’d snuck into the hotel, but Ted felt uneasy regardless. Though, the red and black hedgehog on the bed was just another of the strange things that’d happened to him yesterday.

He’d been having such a good day, too! He and Bill were in Bill’s garage, having the time of their lives, when his friend’s stepmom came in to ask him something. Prolly got a report card in the mail, or a letter from a teacher. Didn’t matter, because while he’d been in the garage waiting for Bill, he’d gone back to practicing the chord that had been giving him trouble all afternoon. And he did it . He fucking did it . And then, he did it again.

Ted had jumped up to go show Bill, but when he got up from the stool he’d been sitting on, he wasn’t in his friend’s garage anymore. He wasn’t anywhere.

In the morning, the three of them discussed what they’d seen. As far as they could tell, their visions– or whatever they were– were basically the same, seeing each other in their respective homes, watching what they’d been doing before getting pulled into Wick’s San Francisco. Silverhand suggested that time travel could be involved, like in “Back to the Future,” but Ted knew better.

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand, “Time travel’s different. Bill and me needed a phone booth to go back in time.”

The two men both gave Ted a confused expression. One would think that because they looked identical, their expressions would be the same. Ted didn’t think so. It looked more like two people with similar handwriting scribing the same sentence. The same on first glance, but you noticed more differences the longer you looked at the paper.

Silverhand blinked at him. “Like in Doctor Who?”

“I dunno who that is, but I think doctors still need phone booths to time travel.”

But if it wasn’t time travel, what was it? They hoped the hedgehog passed out on the bed could tell them. According to Silverhand, he was from a game he’d played as a kid, though he couldn’t remember what the hedgehog’s name was.

After their conversation, Wick had grabbed Silverhand and taken him to go grab them all some food. While they were gone, Ted was supposed to watch the hedgehog. Wick had stressed that if anything happened, Ted was supposed to call him with the room phone immediately. He’d even written down his phone number, and Ted had noticed that while he was left-handed, Wick was a rightie. 

Anyway, watch the hedgehog. Sure, cool. Ted could totally do that.

So long as it didn’t wake up and stayed perfectly still.

He sat on top of the hotel room desk, idly kicking his feet under him and wishing he had his guitar in his hands again.

Ted sat there, staring at the floor, for a while, memorizing the carpet patterns, when he heard shuffling on the bed. He slowly moved his gaze up along the bed frame, then the duvet, up to where the hedgehog– Ted still thought it looked more like a dog– was now sitting upright, protectively holding onto its left arm. Ted was stuck by how brilliantly red its eyes were, matching the red streaks on its body. They were the same red that Wick’s and Silverhand’s eyes had turned the night before.

The not-a-dog eyed him for about a minute before breaking the silence.

“Who are you?” it asked, voice low and gravelly, like its throat was dry.

Ted placed a hand on his chest, and tried to remember what he’d seen in that alien movie he and Bill had watched last week. “My name is Ted “Theodore” Logan,” he said, carefully enunciating each word, “And… and I come in peace.”

Perfect. Excellent, even.

The hedgehog tilted its head to the side at a 45° angle. “Okay… and where are we?”

“San Francisco, California. In case it’s important, it’s also 2024.”

“San Francisco…” the thing repeated, nodding slowly. Its gaze moved down, though its pupils darted from side to side, like it was deep in thought. It looked back up at Ted. “But… but you don’t look like you’re from 2024.”

Ted started kicking his feet a little faster. “That’d probably be ‘cause I’m not. Back in San Dimas, it’s only 1989. Gotta say, I thought the future would be cooler. The cars here don’t even fly.”

The not-a-dog nodded, understanding dawning on its expression. “It’s like that movie…”

Ted sighed. They’d been over this already. “Back to the Future?”

It shook its head. “No, a different one. In it, a giant machine explodes and sends different versions of this superhero to the same dimension,” it paused, like this was more talking than it was used to, “Are the other two here? The man in the suit and the guy with the metal hand?”

“Yeah, they just went out to get breakfast.”

A silence passed between them, and Ted honestly didn’t know what to say. He should make friends with this thing, right? That’s what they did in the movies, after all.

“Hey, uh… what’s your name? You have one, right?” he asked, somewhat shyly.

The hedgehog inspected him for a minute before answering. “Shadow.”

Ted pushed himself off of the desk, and moved to stand in next to where Shadow sat on the bed. He held out a hand.

“On behalf of the human race, I welcome you to earth, Shadow the Hedgehog Guy.”

Shadow, to Ted’s surprise, finally cracked a smile, chuckling to himself before accepting his outstretched hand and shaking it firmly.

“On behalf of hedgehog guys, thank you.”

Chapter Text

John hung up, unceremoniously tossing his phone on the dashboard.

“Our friend’s finally up, huh?” Silverhand asked, eyes locked on the view out the passenger window. He’d been intently watching the sights since they’d left the Continental, looking wholly like a fish out of water.

They’d talked more about home while looking for something to eat. From what his lookalike had said, Silverhand’s home of Night City was a city like any other, only bigger, more politically corrupt, and with a hell of a lot more chrome and neon. It sounded like what most people said about New York; that you could go there and reinvent yourself in the “big city.” When John said as much, Silverhand had gotten a far-away look in his eyes before giving a small nod.

“Somethin’ like that.”

There was a story there, but John wasn’t going to push for it.

“Yeah. Ted just called. Apparently, the hedgehog’s been up for almost twenty minutes,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was spreading. Or maybe Ted just did that to people. 

Silverhand chuckled, shaking his head. “Reminds me of another kid I know back in NC. Not the brightest bulb on stage, but a good egg.” He turned to look at John. “Kid say what the thing’s name was?”

“Shadow.’”

The other man stewed on that, continuing to tap his metal fingers against his thigh in time with the music playing on the radio, the classic rock station. Combined with the red-tinted aviators and leather jacket, John was starting to believe he had actually been in a rock band.

“Sounds about right,” he said finally. “Someone with that color scheme and fashion sense’d better have a sick-ass name like Shadow . Kind of upset I didn’t remember it, I liked his part of the game best.”

“You said before he was in a video game,” John recalled, glancing Silverhand’s way, “Do you remember anything about him?”

“Other than that he was cool as hell to a thirteen year-old? Not much,” he brought his right hand, the real one, up to his face. “Scratch that. Think he was some kind of super-hedgehog? ‘Ultimate lifeform’ or some shit.”

John sighed again. “Wonderful.”

Since John had first seen Shadow, there’d been something in the back of his mind telling him he also recognized the hedgehog thing passed out at the Continental. Echoes of a memory with Helen, from the last of the good days. It was on the tip of his proverbial tongue, but he couldn’t quite recall it. That alone was frustrating, but the fact that he knew the memory involved her somehow? It made John sick.

Silverhand reached to push his aviators up and into his hair, like an inefficient headband. “So, we got a plan? Rather know what we’re gonna ask this guy beforehand.”

John shrugged. He’d kind of figured they’d play it by ear. “Where he came from, why he’s here, how to get you all home…”

“Right.”

Silverhand turned to look back out the window as an unspoken question began to hang in the air. They were nearly at the restaurant John had picked out when neither could bear to keep in there any longer.

“An’ what if he doesn’t have answers?” Silverhand asked, voice just above a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

—

By the time the other two humans returned, Shadow was starving. The last time he felt this hungry was back when the Eclipse Cannon had exploded, he’d crash landed on Earth, and he’d wandered aimlessly for a couple weeks. Without Maria, and free from the government, what was there for him to do?

And so, he’d walked, and walked, and walked some more, until finally Shadow looked up from the ground and saw that he was in front of a very normal-looking house inhabited by two not-so-normal humans and closest thing Shadow had to a friend.

And Knuckles and Tails. Shadow hadn’t realized they all lived together at the time, though in retrospect he should have guessed so. The six of them had barely been apart since, save for the semi-frequent instances where Shadow would go off on his own for a day or two. But he always came back. He’d never promised it vocally, but they knew. Shadow might leave for a little bit, but he always returned.

He hoped to be able to do so again.

A twisting in Shadow’s chest formed at the memory, one he knew well, but which surprised him anyway. He missed them. This was the longest he’d gone without Sonic’s lame jokes or Tails excitedly showing him something he’d been tinkering with since meeting them. Shadow blinked, and the memory of his friend’s look of horror as the collider exploded painted itself in his mind’s eye. He repressed a shudder.

Shadow was still sitting on the bed as the two adult humans– one dressed in a nice button-down and slacks, the other in a t-shirt, leather jacket, and black pants– walked into the hotel room. The one with the metal hand carried an unlabelled brown paper bag which Shadow couldn’t help but notice smelled amazing. Or maybe he was just really hungry.

Ted– who had not stopped talking since Shadow had woken up except to breathe– jumped up off the bed to greet them. Honestly, it was all a blur. The paper bag was set on the desk, where it was immediately attacked by Ted, who hurriedly grabbed out two foil-covered somethings , while one of the adult humans, the one with two real hands, tried to explain what they were and what was in them. Shadow only caught the word “biscuit” before one of the warm, foil-wrapped packs was thrust into his ungloved hands; he’d woken up to find holes in them– likely from the explosion– and decided to go without until Maddie could fix them when he got home.

When he got home.

Thankfully, his inhibitor rings had gone undamaged.

Shadow pulled back the foil and cheerful yellow paper to reveal a fluffy, fresh biscuit with what looked like an egg patty and white cheese inside. It was still hot enough to steam, but Shadow didn’t care. He was too hungry and it smelled too good, like butter and pepper. He took a bite, then another, and before he knew it he was left with just an empty ball of foil-lined paper.

“Holy shit.”

Shadow turned his head, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, to see the metal-handed man– he really needed to ask them their names– holding his own breakfast sandwich. He was leaning forward in the desk chair, elbows on his knees, and looked like he was on the verge of tears.

The finely-dressed man eyed him quizzically. Up until now, he’d been keenly watching Shadow out of the corner of his vision. “What?”

“It’s real."

“What is?”

“The food,” the metal-handed man said breathlessly, “It’s fuckin’ real ."

“D’you only eat holograms in the future or something? Saw that on tv once,” Ted asked around a mouthful of food.

He shook his head. “Back home, just ‘bout everything died in the early 2000’s. Haven’t had a real meal since I was a kid.”

Huh. It seemed their homes differed in more than just aesthetics. Shadow looked down, toying with the crumpled wrapper between his fingers. He needed to talk to these people, to gain their trust so they could work out what was going on. Shadow frowned. How did Sonic do it? It seemed like everywhere he went, he could make friends. He’d even endeared himself to the whole of Green Hills! 

Well, for starters, he’d probably talk to them. Tell a joke, or share something about himself. Shadow could do that.

“I can empathize,” he began slowly, “The scientists who found me weren’t sure what sort of food my kind ate, so they didn’t give me actual food for a while.” All three sets of eyes were on him now, but he kept going. “Think I cried a little when I had my first real human food.”

The metal-handed man swallowed another bite of his sandwich. “What was it?”

A small smile grew on Shadow’s face despite himself. “Chocolate cake. The head scientist’s granddaughter snuck me some one night.”

Oh, Maria. She’d gotten in so much trouble for it, too. Not that she cared. She did it again the next night. And the one after that.

“Sounds like you have one hell of a story,” the man said, wadding up his now empty wrapper.

Ted, who was perched on the edge of the room’s sitting chair, immediately perked up. “Oh, right! We never introduced you guys.” He pointed at each of them in sequence, starting with Shadow. “This is Shadow the Hedgehog Guy. He’s from this totally cool place called Montana. I dunno where that is, but he says it’s like, full of little dudes like him.”

Shadow blinked a few times at him. “You don’t know where–”

Ted then pointed at the man with the metal hand. “That’s Johnny Silverhand. He’s from the future, and has a kickass robot arm.”

Silverhand let out a sigh. “It’s not a–”

“And last, but not least, that’s John Wick. He’s like… a businessman or something.” Ted turned back to look at Shadow. “He wouldn’t say what he does, but I’m sure it’s most exciting.”

“Close enough,” Wick said with a shrug.

He then crossed his arms, shifting so his body was completely facing Shadow. The other two followed suit, expressions turning serious. “Seems that we’re all here because of you, kid. Wanna tell us what happened? Why… you’re all here?” he prompted, gaze darting between Shadow and the other two.

Shadow swallowed. Where to begin?

“Yesterday, my… friends and I broke into a government facility to shut down a kind of super collider,” he inspected a hand, which still tingled slightly from the sheer amount of chaos energy he’d been hit with the day before. “They were trying to create something called ‘chaos energy.’ Are you familiar with it?”

All three of them shook their heads.

“It’s a rare form of energy which my body generates naturally,” he explained, “I came to Earth from… somewhere else. When the government found me, they started using me to harvest chaos energy to use in weaponry. After a while, they…”

He trailed off. No, they didn’t need to know that.

Shadow took a shaky breath before continuing. “I escaped, and refused to go back. Without me for the chaos energy, they started trying to create it themselves. Their experiments would have killed most of southern California if we let them.

“We… I failed. My friends got captured, and the collider turned on. I got sucked in and… ended up here. After seeing all of you.”

Silverhand ran a hand through his hair. “So the fuck what? Doesn’t explain why we’re here.”

“I think I have an idea,” Shadow began, though he had no clue how exactly to phrase it. He suddenly wished he’d paid more attention to the movies Sonic and the others showed him. “When the collider exploded, it did something. I think it mixed up our realities, and that’s why we’re here.”

“Why us specifically?” Wick asked.

And now for the hard part. More accurately, the weird part.

Shadow grimaced, inhaling sharply through his teeth. “You might’ve noticed a weird resemblance between us. Back in Green Hills, I got told all the time that I sounded like this actor my friend liked. I may sound like the guy, but you… you all look like him.”

Wick and Silverhand exchanged a glance, both wearing confused looks.

“I think that’s why it’s us,” Shadow continued, “We must be similar enough that when our realities got crossed, we ended up together, in a different reality. ”

That sat in the air between the four of them for a good minute, each processing what had been said. Ted pulled at a loose thread on the chair. Wick narrowed his eyes and inspected the patterns in the carpet. Silverhand bounced a leg and cursed under his breath. Of the three, he looked most like he was actively holding himself back from freaking out. 

Silverhand abruptly stood, the wooden desk chair clattering to the floor behind him.

“So what, we’re fucking stuck here? Unless you have another goddamn magic space machine stuck up your ass–”

Shadow teleported, instantly putting himself on his feet too, though he stayed on the bed. The added height that gave him put them about at eye-level with each other. Unlike most humans Shadow had met, Silverhand didn’t so much as flinch.

Wick didn’t startle where he stood, but it was if a rubber band had been stretched, waiting for a moment to be released. Shadow made note of it.

“You think I wanted this?” Shadow all but growled the words, his ears going flat against his head, “I was trying to stop half of California from becoming a radioactive crater!”

Silverhand’s expression faltered a bit, like he didn’t know whether to find that funny or get more upset.

“Fuck,” he swore, running his metal hand down his face. He turned away, placing both hands on the desk and slouching down. 

Shadow had to fight to release some of the tension in his posture. They couldn’t risk a fight. “I think… if I can get enough chaos energy, I should be able to recreate what the collider explosion did,” he said quietly. 

“Oh yeah? And how the fuck do we do that?” Silverhand replied from the desk, tone acidic.

Shadow looked down at an ungloved hand, feeling the chaos energy dancing through the nerves in the pads of skin. He closed his eyes, letting the energy flow through him.

“Chaos energy exists on its own in nature, and I can sense that some came with each of us here. If we can find a place with enough, it’s possible that I can use it to open a path back to my reality. With the chaos energy there, I should–”

Shadow’s fur suddenly stood on end, and he was cut off by an electrifying pain surging through his body, like the pain he’d felt when the GUN agent shot him. A hand shot to grab at the fur on his chest, and Shadow crumpled to the bed, twitching.

He heard Silverhand turn back to him and take a hurried step towards the bed, anger evaporated from his voice. Two other pairs of footsteps followed close behind. “Hey, kid, you alr–”

Chaos energy, wild and uncontrolled, spiked in the four of them, and Shadow could only faintly hear the sounds of the three humans struggling against the wave. His blood was pumping too loudly in his ears to get much else. The episode only lasted about fifteen seconds at its most intense, but that was more than enough to send all of them to their feet.

By the time Shadow could open his eyes– a minute or so later– Wick had already recovered, and was trying to sit Ted up against the chair. Silverhand wasn’t far behind, and glared down at his metal hand when he had moved himself back upright. It seemed to be stubbornly refusing to open out of a trembling fist. Shadow watched as he pried it open with his other hand, hissing through his teeth when the servos finally gave.

Shadow had just maneuvered himself to a sitting position on the bed when Wick addressed him.

“You were saying?” he prompted though deep, steadying breaths.

“If I can find us enough chaos energy,” Shadow managed, “I might be able to get us back to my home, and use the excess energy there to get you all back home, too.” Each word was a struggle to get out, exhaled sharply.

Wick and Shadow both glanced down at Ted, who was wiping an involuntary tear from his cheek.

“You think that’ll fix this, too?” Ted asked, looking up at Shadow with wide eyes.

Shadow didn’t want to lie to him. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. After a beat, he perked up. He didn’t know, but he knew someone else who might .

“But that doesn’t mean this is hopeless,” he added, “I know a kid back home. Smartest person I know. He’ll know more.”

“You mean that fox guy? With the robots?” Silverhand asked from the floor.

Shadow whipped around in disbelief, nearly stumbling backwards on the plush bed. “You know Tails?”

The man shrugged. “Not personally, but,” he tilted his head from one side to the other, as if contemplating whether or not to offer any other clarification. “Ah fuck it. When I was a kid, I played this video game with a friend, n’ you were in it. You, the fox, the blue guy…”

“Sonic?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Wick stood, and held a hand out to pause the conversation. He looked as if he’d finally connected two polaroids with red thread on a corkboard. “Wait. Sonic the Hedgehog?"

Silverhand’s gaze moved between Shadow and Wick a few times. “How– You didn’t..?”

“Got dragged to my niece’s Sonic-themed birthday party a long time ago. It crossed my mind once that he,” he gestured to Shadow, “looked familiar, but…”

“And you didn’t connect the damn dots ‘til now? ” Silverhand asked, completely dumbfounded, at the same time Shadow stammered,

“Sonic-themed birthday party?"

Oh, Shadow was never telling Sonic about this. He, Tails, Knuckles, and the Wachowskis would never, ever hear the end of it. He’d take this to the grave.

“Uhh… Who’s this Sonic dude?” Ted then asked, raising a hand like he was in a school classroom.

Shadow dropped his face into his hands with a groan. “I’m not doing this today,” he mumbled into them.

A silence passed between the four of them for a moment before it was broken by a breathy laugh. Shadow looked up from his hands, seeing Silverhand covering his eyes with his metal hand.

“What the fuck,” he laughed, more a statement than a question. “This is so fucked up, but man, if it ain’t the weirdest thing to happen to me.” He met Shadow’s eyes. “‘Grats, kiddo. You’ve dethroned my own goddamn death.”

Shadow didn’t really know what he was talking about, but couldn’t help but agree.

—

The next two hours or so were spent catching each other up on missed introductions, as well as explaining those parts of their stories that were exhausting to discuss more than once.

Johnny noticed Wick staying silent about who and what he really was, but honestly didn’t blame the guy. He himself had refrained from commenting on 2023 outside of the fact that he’d died. In addition, enough about Shadow’s backstory was floating around Johnny’s memory to recognize that some parts were either completely different from what he remembered or kept out of the kid’s retelling of the past few years of his life.

Looking around the room, Johnny saw one of the most interesting groups of people he’d ever met in his life:

First, himself. Johnny Silverhand, the rockerboy who never gave up. No introduction needed there.

Then, an assassin who’d left the trade for a woman only to find himself back in it– arguably deeper– less than a decade later. Wick was quiet, perceptive, and deceptively still, like a predator waiting for a chance, or maybe the freedom, to pounce. Johnny didn’t think the two of them could be more different, though Wick was definitely the type of choom you could share a drink with.

Next, a teenager who’d fuckin’ traveled through time to finish a history report so he and his friend could– and Johnny could not emphasize enough how batshit this was– start a band and write the song that brought world peace . Ted looked near exactly how Johnny had back when he and Kerry had started Samurai, save for the metal arm and a couple dozen angry shrapnel scars. Looking at the kid brought up a sharp sensation in his core. It was like staring at an alternate future, one without the war and with a family. Like a reverse “It’s a Wonderful Life,” where reality was sadder than fiction.

And finally, the gonk who had brought them all together. Shadow, the magic space hedgehog who could teleport, fly, and throw cars with ease. One Johnny and Wick knew from a video game series. Shadow was like a strange combination of them all. He had Wick’s predatory air, Johnny’s shared experience of being stuck in half-consciousness for fifty-odd years (which they both felt was an incredibly specific thing to share with someone else), he was about Ted’s age… 

Shadow had mentioned that their similarities were what had gotten them all stuck together, and Johnny could see that now more than ever.

The nervous energy that had gripped him since arriving in San Francisco wasn’t gone, but had receded some. They had a plan: find some of this “chaos energy” shit, let Shadow do whatever-the-fuck with it, and get home. He found himself clinging to their meager outline of a plan to ground himself. No, to hope. The old Silverhand would have laughed at him, but what did that bastard know?

Hope had ultimately been what saved V. Not the guns, or knives, or connections either of them had to fixers or corporats. Hope.

Johnny found himself holding onto it like a life preserver.

“What now, Shads?” he asked once the conversation lulled.

“We find some chaos energy,” the hedgehog replied, infectious determination written on his features.

Wick crossed his arms, drumming his fingers. “Any idea where we can find some?”

Shadow’s ears twitched, and an unseen electricity buzzed through the hotel room. 

“East. We need to go east.”

Chapter Text

Ted hated road trips. Really, truly, genuinely hated road trips.

He didn’t even have a good reason to. They were just so boring . Cramped in the back seat of a car, forced to do nothing but stare out the window at the freeway as it passed by, counting cars and cows. Every summer without fail, his dad insisted on taking him and Deacon to the woods upstate to camp and go fishing. It built character , his dad would say. It taught essential life skills .

Since his and Bill’s history report last year though, all it did was take him away from working on something that could save the world.

Bill didn’t think about it nearly as much as Ted did. How, he had no idea. It was on his mind constantly . Homework, chores, even his dad and brother felt more like distractions than anything else. Fun things had started being less fun recently. Over the past several months, even music – something that had defined him as a person since the day he’d been gifted a radio as a kid– had become something he needed to do versus something he wanted to do.

But… He had to get better, he had to do this right . It was why he’d started staying up until after midnight practicing until his fingers bled and skipping out on meals with his family.

And then, this.

Ted was trying so hard to not freak the hell out about this. He’d put on the same mask he’d given everyone else in his life since last year. Yet, fear still gnawed at his insides and made his hands feel twitchy. 

He closed his eyes, resting his head against the window of the car, grateful for the coolness of the glass against his skin. Afternoon sunlight shone through his eyelids, coloring his remaining vision vaguely reddish. The car ride up to now had been suffocatingly silent. No radio, no real conversation, just the occasional directions from the thing Wick swore was a phone. Shadow sat across from him in the back of Wick’s sedan, keenly watching the passing scenery out the window and fiddling with the gold bands on his wrists. The adults sat in the front, quiet. It reminded Ted of his high school’s library, only the library had one thing this car ride didn’t: the freedom to leave, and go do something more interesting.

Like practicing guitar so he could write the song that saved the world.

They’d tried something else first, before deciding to pile into Wick’s car and “drive east.” Shadow had this…. well, he called it a ring , but Ted thought it looked more like a weird keychain. He’d been so confident that something would happen when he threw it in the parking garage, but instead it hung in the air for a second before shooting off red sparks and clattering uselessly to the concrete. The hedgehog had stared at it, disappointment hanging all his features down, then picked it up and tucked it back between some of his quills.

That was about three hours ago.

Ted had been stuck. In a car. With nothing to do. For three hours. He could only play with the zipper of his jacket for so long.

From the passenger seat, he heard Silverhand let out a deep sigh. Ted cracked open an eye.

“Would ya please let me turn on the radio? Silence is fuckin’ killing me,” he practically begged.

Wick glanced over at him. Ted couldn’t see what kind of look he gave the self-proclaimed rockstar, but it was clearly positive enough for Silverhand to flick the car’s radio to life. The radio automatically set itself to what Ted assumed was like the “American Top 40” station he and Bill would listen to on the weekends. Pop… sounds… began pouring through the speakers of the car. Ted leaned over to look at the radio, seeing that the center console of the car had a little tv in it, showing not only the station to which it had been set, but also the name and artist of the song. Huh. Rad.

He didn’t recognize the title of the song or the artist, which he should have guessed. They were in the future , after all. Ted couldn’t read the tiny text from this far back, but the band name seemed to be Something-Something-Disco.

Silverhand listened to all of fifteen seconds of the song before shooting the radio a glare and changing the station. He fiddled with it for about a minute, filling the car with snippets of talk shows, sports news, mariachi, and classical music, until finally settling on one.

“ There we go,” he said proudly.

Ted had to squint to see it, but the tiny tv had labelled the station as “Classic Rock.” The current song was just finishing, but Ted recognized it immediately.

“–Sing it with me if it’s just for today,

Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away!”

“Hey, that’s Aerosmith, ain’t it?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat.

The rocker turned around in his own. “Yeah. Got good taste, kid. You a fan?”

Ted shrugged. “Sure. My friend Bill has that album on record.”

“Really?” Silverhand gave him a surprised look, “Tried findin’ it back home for years, but couldn’t. Most music stores in town only sold the recent stuff. If we wanted older tunes we had to get ‘em digital. Sound ain’t the same, though.”

“Yeah, CD’s don’t sound as good as vinyl does.”

“With ya on that.”

As “Dream On” faded into the background, a new song began playing in its place. A guitar melody Ted would recognize anywhere echoed in the car.

“All our times have come.

Here, but now they’re gone.”

“(Don’t Fear) the Reaper” by Blue Öyster Cult. Even Ted’s dad liked this one, which said a lot.

The guitar solo around the midway point of the song was Ted’s favorite part. He’d spent hours trying to recreate it, but his technical skills just weren’t up to snuff yet. He looked up at Silverhand, whose gaze was now locked on the radio. The man's eyes went wide, then his expression softened, like he’d run into an old friend. His metal hand subtly went from his lap to wrap around the cool bullet necklace he wore. Ted’d have to ask about it sometime.

It hadn’t gone over his head that the metal-handed man in the passenger seat claimed to have been a rockstar once upon a time. Ted had been so excited about it that he’d hastily blurted out his own connection to music at the guy.

“Must be pretty good then, huh?” Silverhand asked .

“Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m pretty good!” he replied, ignoring the way his heart raced.

And then his brain caught up with his mouth and told him he was an idiot. Sigh . Good thing they didn’t have a guitar around, so nobody’d have to see what a liar he was.

Shadow turned away from the window to join the conversation. “Back when I was with the military, there wasn’t much to do when they weren’t running tests. My friend, we’d… we’d listen to whatever records she could find.” He glanced towards the radio. “Missed out on a lot while I was out.”

“Oh yeah?” Silverhand turned as much as his chair would allow so Shadow could hear him better. “You got any favorites?”

Ted watched Shadow’s eyes dart from side to side in thought. “Think she liked… Paul Simon?”

“My mom was the most huge Paul Simon fan,” Ted said, sitting up straighter, “Took me to a concert a long time ago.”

The way Shadow looked at him then, eyes wide and genuine… Ted couldn’t help himself from launching into the story, including as many details as he remembered about the concert and what songs he played. The energy of the crowd, the way his mom’s face lit up when Simon played her favorite one. 

And for a moment, Ted let himself forget about the weight of the world on his shoulders.

—

John pulled into their motel a while after dark. They’d managed to get as far as Las Vegas today, though they weren’t staying the night in the city.

Silverhand absorbed the view for a moment before scoffing. “You tellin’ me we’re this close to fuckin’ Vegas and we’re staying here? Harsh downgrade from the last joint we holed up in.”

A sigh escaped John’s chest. “Pissed off the wrong people in Vegas a long time ago. Don’t wanna risk breaking the truce we have by stopping in town, even if it is just for one night,” he admitted sheepishly.

When he saw Silverhand’s expression flicker to concern, he added, “Don’t worry, I know the owner here,” he glanced to the back, where both Ted and Shadow had passed out, “Kids’ll be fine.”

“You packin’ just in case?” Silverhand asked, hand moving to the shoulder holster he wore under his leather jacket. 

“Always.”

“Preem."

John turned off the engine, and the high-pitched beep from the car as it shut off was enough to rouse both back seat passengers. After closing his door, he pulled out his phone to check which rooms they'd been given.

The Continental may have been the biggest and most official gathering place for those in the business, but that didn’t mean smaller places had popped up here and there over the years. The Oasis was no different. It was a family-owned place. The owner had been a small-time hitman some time ago, and started the motel for those who needed a place more discreet than the Continental. Naturally, it didn’t offer the same protections, but it was still considered a sacred space by enough people John knew that it was treated similarly.

During one of their brief stops for gas, John had shot the owner a message, asking for whatever was available this short notice. The owner, a decent enough guy named Louis, booked them two connected rooms, each with two full-sized beds. John tapped through his messages until he found the one with their room numbers.

“We’re in 34 and 35,” he said to the group. It was a ways down from where he’d parked, but safely nestled in the corner of the building. Only one of them would be sharing a wall with a stranger. That meant more privacy. Perfect.

As the four of them piled into 34, it hit John that he hadn’t heard of any aftermath or fallout from his job the day prior. Hits were typically followed by small groups of revenge seekers looking to get even, or even retaliatory hits. Sutton hadn’t been beloved by many, but he was an important enough figure in his locale that the four of them should expect something. John decided to discuss it with Silverhand later. 

The rooms were, like the motel’s exterior, much simpler than those at the Continental. False wood paneling, simple blue cotton bedspreads, short carpet. It did have a bed for everyone though, which John felt was an improvement.

Upon entering the room, Ted immediately threw himself face-down onto one of the beds, making the mattress bounce slightly from the force. Shadow watched him for a second before joining him, though he lay on his back facing the ceiling. It was the most relaxed Wick had seen either kid all day, and he let a small smile form on his lips.

Fuck, they’d only really met Shadow this morning . Why did it feel like he’d known him so much longer than that?

While Silverhand, now standing on the side of the bed next to Ted, bickered goodnaturedly with the teen over some band whose name John didn’t recognize, John decided to touch base with their guide. Shadow hadn’t offered any other directions since they’d left San Francisco than “east.” Given that Vegas connected to a bunch of major cities further this way, it couldn’t hurt to ask if the kid knew where they should head next.

“Any idea where we head from here?” he asked the hedgehog, stepping up to the side of the bed.

Shadow lifted himself up onto his arms, eyes narrowing, then looked up to meet Wick’s gaze. “Can I see the map on your phone?”

He pulled out his phone, opening it to Google maps and handing it to Shadow. The hedgehog zoomed the map out, displaying the edge of Nevada, Utah, and the western side of Colorado. His ears twitched, like a cat that had just heard something across the house.

“I think… I think we need to head into Colorado,” Shadow said, staring intently at the phone screen. He swiped further east into Colorado, then zoomed in on the mountains. Upon inspecting the names of the mountains further, the hedgehog’s quills tensed. John heard him draw in a sharp, shallow breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Looks like we gotta… The chaos energy, it’s…” Shadow trailed off, trying a couple more times to start the sentence without getting anywhere. John’s phone fell, forgotten, to the kid’s lap when Shadow moved to wrap his arms around himself.

John crouched down to meet him at eye level. Trembling, Shadow tried to meet his eyes, but abandoned the attempt halfway.

Shit . John recognized this. Shallow breathing, no eye contact, shaking…

He didn’t look away from Shadow. “Hey, Silverhand? Why don’t you and Ted go in the other room and figure out something to eat?” he asked, more statement than question.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Silverhand glance between him and Shadow, then nod. “Course,” he replied casually. The rocker called for the teen to follow him, and they slipped together into the other room. 

The motel room became silent, other than the low droning of the AC and the sharp ins and outs of Shadow’s breath. Taking a spot next to the kid on the bed, Wick reached out, placing a hand as gently as he could on his shoulder. When Shadow didn’t tense at the touch, John ran his hand up and down his forearm in a way he hoped was perceived as comforting. He tried to ignore it– this really wasn’t the time for this– but damn it, the kid was really soft. Like… fluffy-throw-blanket-type soft.

John repressed a sigh. He’d never been good at this, nor had he ever been on the giving end before. That had always been something Helen gave him that he couldn’t ever figure out how to give back. How could you? What do you give to the person who gave you everything?

“Been a long day, huh? Lots goin’ on,” he said, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “There something about where we need to go that I should know about?”

Shadow looked away, at a spot on the floor. He held himself tighter.

The kid had been triggered by a place he’d seen on the map… The eastern half of Colorado was known for some military bases here, John knew. And Shadow had admitted to being stuck with the US government– or some branch of it– before.

He bent down a little, trying to meet the Shadow’s eyes again. “You said you’d been with the government on some base earlier. Is that… where it was?”

Shadow nodded, almost imperceptibly. He took a deep, shaky breath, then released it slowly.

“I went back once,” he mumbled, “Had to. It was so… dead without her.”

Oh .

“Without who?”

Another shaky breath.

John could barely hear the kid’s reply. “My best friend.”

Shadow reached up to wipe away a stray tear with the heel of his hand, and John felt what he had left of his heart shatter. It was like he’d turned on a faucet that he couldn’t get to shut off, for both of them.

“They were after me , and– and they got her instead. She didn’t– I couldn’t even say goodbye ,” Shadow spoke quickly, with all his words coming out breathy and forced. “They blamed me for it. Put me away for…” he shook his head, his dark quills following the movement, “It was so dark. ”

John didn’t realize what he was doing until he did it, and pulled the kid– fuck, he was just a fucking kid – into an embrace, running a hand down his back. After a couple heartbeats of worrying that he’d overstepped a boundary, Shadow’s hold on himself loosened, and he felt the kid’s arms snake their way around him back, pulling on him tightly. For how long, John had no idea, he let the kid cry quietly into him. He understood. Fucking hell , he understood. Heat built up behind his eyes, prickling, but no tears fell.

This kid– this child– had been found by the government, taken in against his will, forced to undergo experimentation, then watched his only friend die ? And was blamed for it?

Who the fuck was writing kids’ video games these days?

“I know, kiddo. I know,” he whispered. “I lost someone too, a long time ago.”

Shadow drew in another trembling breath and broke the hug, pulling back so he could wipe his eyes on the back of a hand. “Sonic said the pain goes away after a while,” he began, grabbing at the patch of white fur on his chest, “But it’s been I don’t even know how long and… it feels the same as it always did.”

“It will. For a while. Can’t say it’s gone away for me either, Shadow,” John admitted, “But I do know that the people we’ve lost wouldn’t want us stuck in this rut forever.”

The hedgehog looked up at him, red eyes deep and piercing. “How do we get out?”

It was John’s turn to look away. “Still figuring that out myself. Got a dog back in New York. Started getting out of the house, talking to people. Taking time for things I like to do. Once, when I went to bed, I realized I hadn’t thought about her all day. And I was horrified . I was terrified I was going to forget her and who she was to me.

“I didn’t, though. I didn’t forget her, I just wasn’t wallowing in it anymore.”

When he turned back to Shadow, he was nodding. He glanced down to pick at his claws. “I had a day like that a few months ago. I’d spent all day with the others, doing something stupid. Can’t remember exactly what it was. But yeah, when I went to bed I realized I hadn’t thought about Maria all day either. It felt…”

“Weird? Like you felt guilty?”

“Yeah.”

Wick shrugged. “Part of moving past it, I guess. It won’t ever go away completely, I don’t think, but it gets easier,” he reached out to put his hand back on Shadow’s shoulder, “Especially when you have people you can talk to about it.”

“Do you have anyone? To talk to about it?”

Another shrug, though this one was less enthusiastic than the previous. “Not really. Dog’s a good listener, though.”

Shadow exhaled sharply through his nose, like the ghost of a laugh. “My… friends have a dog, too. He’s also a good listener.”

There it was again. John couldn’t help but notice that whenever Shadow referred to the people he knew back home, he always paused before calling them his friends. Like he wasn’t sure it was true. That couldn’t be the case, right? From what he’d said, it sounded like he lived with them at least part-time. It wasn’t John’s place to correct Shadow on that– he didn’t know all the specifics of the kid’s situation– but it was another jab at his heart.

Regardless, it seemed the worst of it was over. John reached over to the nightstand between the two full beds and grabbed the tissue box for Shadow, which he graciously accepted. He let the kid clean himself up for a second before talking.

“Wanna go see what they picked out for dinner?” John asked, rising from the bed.

With a nod, Shadow jumped down from the mattress himself. Before John could start for the door, he found himself caught in another hug. He put his arms around the kid again, and realized with a chuckle he had to suppress just how short this kid was. He only came up to John’s waist, barely, and the quills definitely padded that height.

He could barely make it out when Shadow mumbled a thanks into his shirt.

“It’s okay, kid. Just something someone else has done for me.”

Eventually, Shadow let go, and they stepped into the other motel room together.

Chapter Text

Johnny shut the door behind him and Ted carefully, and it closed with only a barely perceptible click . From the moment he’d seen the look in Shadow’s eyes, he’d known something was wrong. Johnny had seen it in his own enough times, after all. The thousand-yard stares, the loss of your grip on what was real and what wasn’t, seeing without actually seeing anything…

Poor fuckin’ kid. Johnny decided to ask Wick about it later.

Ted plopped himself onto one of the two beds in the room, tucking a leg under him. “Is Shadow okay?”

“Just needed a sec, is all,” Johnny replied with a nod, flipping the room’s desk chair around and sitting in it backwards, “He’ll be fine.”

Ted thought on that for a moment, then nodded too. His gaze snapped up to meet Johnny’s. “You got any ideas for dinner? ‘Cause I was thinkin’ pizza sounded good.”

Johnny hummed in response. “Wouldn’t mind that.”

The teen shifted his weight on the bed, then looked down to play with his shoelaces, which were frayed at the ends. “You guys got pizza where you’re from? Midnight City or whatever?”

“ Night City,” Johnny corrected, “And yeah, though I doubt it’s as good as what they got here. Don’t even got real cheese back home.”

Ted leaned forward. “So like… what’s it like?”

“Night City or the synthcheese? It don’t really taste like what it says on the box, but you get used to it–”

The kid shook his head, messy hair flopping around with the movement. “Nah, I mean…” he gestured vaguely towards Johnny with a hand, a flush coloring his cheeks, “Bein’ in a band. Playing concerts.”

Hoo boy. Million eddie question, right there.

Johnny ran a hand absentmindedly through his hair. “To be honest? Fun as hell. Never had as much fun in my life as when I was up on stage. Crowd cheerin’, music blastin’ the speakers…” he found himself smiling at the memories. Decades ago, yet to him it only seemed like a couple years. Even now it still felt weird. Like he was a living museum piece. 

“Gotta really know whatcha want, though. Always pulled a hundred different directions, others tryin’ to decide for you who you are and what you’re sayin’.”

Ted watched him with wide eyes, looking like he was one inspirational story away from pulling out a pen and paper to take notes. Johnny decided to flip it back on the kid.

“You play any gigs yet?” he asked.

Ted took a breath, as if he were about to say something, then reconsidered. His posture deflated. “Nope,” he admitted with a half-shrug, “Barely have any stuff written.”

Figures. Despite what Ted had claimed earlier, Johnny knew he was little more than an amateur with entirely too-big shoes to fill. He’d seen this before: the kid’d wanted to sound cooler than he was. He was insecure, felt like an impostor. Johnny’d known this look on dozens of wannabe rockers before now. But that pressure to be great on top of the knowledge that the fate of the world relied on you actually reaching that height? Sure, a much younger Johnny Silverhand had felt like the world relied on him and his chooms getting their message out, but for Ted, it actually fucking did . Who the fuck tells that to a kid?

At least the delusional, big-dreaming punks in Night City got to choose the quiet life or the blaze of glory. Ted had that decision made for him by a version of himself he’d never met.

“How come?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Another half-hearted shrug. “Honestly, don’t know what to write.”

“You two’re supposed to save the world or some shit, yeah? Write ‘bout that,” Johnny said, waving a hand towards Ted.

Somehow, the teen managed to slump over further. “Just don’t get how, though. How’m I supposed to save the world when I don’t know what we’re savin’ it from?”

Johnny drummed his metal fingers against the wood of the chair. “Ain’t just you, ya know.”

“Hm?” Ted looked up.

“Said you had a friend in the band too, right? Bob or somethin’? Ben..?”

“Bill.”

“Yeah, him. You talked to him about this?”

Ted gave him a small nod. “Tried to, a few months back. He doesn’t… he doesn’t take this as serious as I do.”

“You mean he don’t believe that you’re ‘posed to save the world?”

“Nah, more like… more like he doesn’t think we should worry about that now. Says we,” Ted held up air quotes, “‘got time.’”

Johnny’s head tilted to the side. “But you don’t believe that,” he said.

A guilty, discouraged glance down at the bed’s duvet told Johnny all he needed to know.

“Y’know, back when me n’ the band were first starting out, we didn’t know all that shit either. Knew we wanted to say something , but didn’t know how to say it. Wanna know what helped us find our footing?”

A nod.

“Tryin’ shit out and seein’ what worked. Throw lyrics at a wall, kid. See what sticks, what calls to you, then do that, ” Johnny softened his tone the same way he did with that kid Steve he played with on weekends. Kid had the same issues Ted seemed to: a desire to play, but no confidence. Hell, even Kerry had been that way at the start. “Can’t live in fear of doin’ something wrong, or you’ll never start.”

Johnny let that sit in the air for a minute or two, toying with the rings on his right hand. Eventually, Ted replied with another, slightly more enthusiastic inclination of his head.

“Don’t need to have everything figured out right now. God knows we didn’t,” he gave Ted a lopsided smile. “Tell ya what, if we come across an axe or two, I’ll show you some tricks. Kay?”

“You mean it?”

“I don’t say things that ain’t true.”

“Hell yeah!” Ted jumped off the bed to his feet and played a little air-guitar. The energy was so contagious that Johnny swore he almost heard the imaginary chord the kid mimed. He let out a soft chuckle. Yeah, Ted and Steve’d get along like a damn house on fire. It was a shame they’d never get to meet.

—

Johnny was right: Wick’s Las Vegas had infinitely better pizza than Night City did. The difference between ‘ganic food and the lab-grown scop he was used to was so stark you’d need a rocket to cross the gap. The egg and real cheese biscuit he’d had that morning had been real fuckin’ good, but the pizza was like manna from heaven. Maybe when they found a way to get them all home, Shadow would let him go pick something up to take back with him.

Wick made a show of checking his watch as soon as the pizza box had been disposed of. He stepped up beside Johnny, who was hopped up on the desk. “Getting late. We should get some sleep if we want an early start tomorrow. Roads will be clearer in the morning.”

Johnny nodded in the affirmative. “How we splittin’ this?” he asked, looking between Shadow and Ted, who were both perched on one of the beds talking about music, continuing their conversation from before. Ted was deep in a story about another concert he’d been to with Bill, some local group in the part of California he was from.

“One of us with each kid, I thought,” Wick said. He watched the teens for a second, then added, “You any good in a fight?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help himself. “Please. I’m no hired gun, but I’m not green.”

He recognized that he hadn’t told Wick about either of his major ops against ‘Saka, but come on. Did he really come off as that much of a newbie? Between the two Arasaka hits he’d been part of, the countless fights he started while on tour or after gigs, and the half-credit he gave himself for everything he and V had done– another ‘Saka hit, that shit with the parade, kidnapping Hellman, saving the goddamn president …? Yeah, Johnny hoped he was good in a fight.

“Though, let’s be honest here, Wick. You n’ I both know the little one could take the three of us out before we even knew what was happening,” he waved a hand toward Shadow, who was watching Ted tell his story with thinly-veiled amusement. “Laser rodent over there could take us both in an instant. You saw him fuckin’ teleport earlier.”

“Don’t doubt it,” Wick muttered. “Think they’re better off together for the night, then? Just in case?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow at him. “What’re you so worked up about?”

Wick crossed his arms and exhaled through clenched teeth. “Not sayin’ it’s a guarantee, but I’d be surprised if…” he searched for a word, “ work didn’t pay us a visit sometime before we get to Colorado.”

“You expectin’ a retaliatory hit?” Johnny asked in a lowered voice.

The other man let out a long sigh through his nose, then gestured to the outside door with his head. Johnny obediently followed, glancing back towards the kids. They’d be fine for just a minute.

They walked just past the porch, then settled down on the edge of the sidewalk. The night air was crisp, but not cold, and fresher than Johnny could remember breathing since his stint with the Aldecaldos way back when. Only, this wasn’t the type of situation that called for fresh air. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a lighter and pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a long drag. He offered the pack to Wick, who politely declined. Suit yourself.

“Remember when I said I had a reputation?” Wick asked, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

Johnny eyed him cautiously, exhaling smoke.

“It attracts two very different crowds. The first is my preferred: people who leave me the fuck alone. Second one’s the problem: low-rank punks who think that by killing me they’re proving something.”

“You worried that second crowd’s followin’ us from ‘Cisco?”

Wick nodded, hanging his head down. “I can handle it, I’d just hate for the kids to get involved,” he said. “They shouldn’t have to.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t worry. ‘Tween the two of us, think we’ll be fine. Dealt with worse shit than some chromeless gonks with guns.”

“Chromeless?”

“Wick, back home everyone’s packin’ computers in their heads, titanium bones, fuckin’ carbon fiber skin. ‘S called ‘chrome.’ People can run across a room in the blink of an eye, blow your brains out before you even know there’s anyone there. Shit, my girl’s got knives that pop outta her arms.”

The other man whistled under his breath. “Damn.”

Johnny held up his left hand. Light from the porch lamps caught on the metal, reflecting back at him. “This ain’t the only thing I got, either.”

“Mind if I ask what else you’re packing there?” Wick scanned him over, obviously searching for any other exposed metal.

Truthfully, Johnny had no idea. He’d been shot, stabbed, blown up, punched, Soulkilled… and even hit by a car once that he could remember. The better question was what he didn’t have implanted. He shrugged a shoulder, and started counting off on a hand. “Got run through once, had to replace a kidney. Lungs had to be replaced when V pulled my ass outta cryo. Eyes ain’t organic. Forget that one sometimes.”

Not like scanning anyone here would reveal anything about them– Johnny didn’t think NCPD databases stored information about people across realities.

Wick gave him that look again, the one that said, “Holy fuck, man,” without needing to say it out loud. A part of him hoped the novelty of Johnny’s past never wore off on the assassin. It had been funny every time so far, and Johnny knew the novelty of that would never wear thin.

He took another couple drags from his cig. “Hey, is Shads okay? Kid looked pretty shaken up.”

“Is now, I think. He thinks we have to go by where the base he lived at was, but in his dimension? His… reality? Fuck. Had a friend back there who died when the military was trying to get him. Isn’t too keen on going back,” Wick said, lips downturned in a frown.

“Well shit, I don’t blame him.” Johnny flicked the butt of his cigarette out into the parking lot, which was abandoned except for their car and two others. “‘Member something similar from his game, now that you mention it, though. Kid’s been through hell.”

A humored smile flashed across Wick’s face. “Seems all of us have.”

“Yep.”

“Except for Ted, though.”

“Y’know, I was about to say the same thing. Think the rest of us all got the short end of the stick.”

With a friendly shake of his head, Johnny got back up to his feet. He held his ‘ganic hand out for Wick to take, shifting his weight so he could pull the other man to his feet. Only, mid-way up, they both let go. That sharp pain from earlier returned in full force, surging through every single nerve like an ice-cold dagger, jagged edges scraping along his insides. It stole the breath right out of Johnny’s inorganic lungs, and his metal hand grabbed at his chest, as if it’d do anything. He fell roughly to his knees.

And then… shit got weird . Well, weird er .

His vision, which was already blurred from the shooting pain behind his eyes, became staticky, like V’s had when the Relic malfunctioned, only red. He brought up his ‘ganic hand, startling when he realized it too was glitching, in and out, as if he were a piece of broken code. The ambient sounds around them echoed and fragmented, distorted. His eyes trailed up. Wick, who had fallen back to the concrete, was also glitching, like he was a runner in Netspace being assaulted by daemons.

Or– as a part of him joked sardonically– like a broken engram on a chip.

When the episode subsided, and the sharp pain became a just dull ache in his bones once again, Johnny hefted himself back to his feet with a grunt.

“I am,” he struggled between shaky breaths, “ so fucking sick of that.”

He stepped forward to find Wick on his back, a resigned look on his face. “Ditto.”

Wick pushed himself up on his elbows, opening his mouth to say something more, when he was cut off by a loud bang , like something hitting something else, hard. And it sounded like it came from the room in which they’d left the kids.

“ Shit .”

Johnny didn’t bother waiting for Wick, and ran back into the room, throwing the door open with so much force he almost put a hole in the wall. His eyes darted around the room, looking for bullet holes, an attacker, a gun, anything.

“What the fuck happen– Oh, man .”

Shadow was standing over Ted, who was sitting on the carpet, both hands covering his nose. Blood was everywhere , soaking the front of Ted’s shirt and even getting on the carpet. Johnny noticed next that Shadow’s feet– paws? would “paws” be the right word?– were bare, and his shoes were… on Ted. The room smelled faintly of ozone and iron.

Shadow’s ears were backwards, near flat against his head. Some of his jet black fur stood on end, like when you get hair too close to a balloon. “What the fuck were you thinking, Ted? Why would you put them on?”

“Thought they… thought they looked rad– Ow !” Ted winced as one of his fingers slipped and hit his nose, “Didn’t mean to turn ‘em on!”

Johnny, who was still standing in the doorway, was too shocked to move, though he did notice a ring of red around Ted’s pupils. Clearly, the chaos energy whatever-the-fuck episode had not been limited to just the two of them outside. Wick joined him a second later, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“What happened– oh. Shit, is he okay?” Wick asked, pushing past Johnny into the room. He crouched down next to Ted, gently prying the kid’s blood-soaked hands away from his nose and coaxing him to turn his head so he could get a better look at it. Sure enough, it was already red and purple, and not just from all the blood. Probably the most obviously broken nose Johnny had seen in his life. Textbook, even.

Shadow skittered back and away from Ted and Wick, nearly bumping into Johnny in the process. The kid’s mannerisms, moving on his toes with his ears flat, reminded Johnny briefly of his cat back home. Only Nibbles was hairless and didn’t earn his name for nothing, and Shadow looked like an angry stuffed animal. He closed the door behind him, then stooped to Shadow’s level. 

“Why’d you take em off?” Johnny asked, keeping his voice quiet so only Shadow could hear. “Not your fault, kid, just curious,” he added.

Shadow just looked at him like he was the dumbest gonk he’d ever met. “Same reason you’d take yours off. You think I wear those to bed?”

Kid had him there, and Johnny said as much.

The hedgehog shook his head, and threw his arms out towards Ted. “Told him not to touch them. Listens about as well as Sonic does,” he said grimly. His hands fell back to his sides, tightening into fists.

“I left him alone in here for all of thirty seconds. He could have killed himself,” Shadow whispered, “We’re lucky it’s just a broken nose, and that they turned off when he hit the wall.”

Johnny looked back over at Ted. A splatter pattern of blood was on the wall beside him, dripping slowly down the beige paint job. His gaze moved down the wall to Wick, who was keeping a hand under Ted’s cheek, supporting the weight of his head. Kid looked thoroughly out of it.

If V were here, she might have laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“It’s broken pretty badly, and I think he has a mild concussion,” he said, turning back to face Johnny and Shadow, “Gonna take him to Louis, the owner. He keeps a doctor here most days.”

“Gonna tell him about the mess?” Johnny asked, drenching his tone in as much humor as possible to lighten the fuckin’ dismal mood in the room.

Wick scoffed, looking back at Ted so he could pry the rocket shoes off and get the kid up off the floor. “Silverhand, I think he expected a mess from the second I called.”

—

Shadow and Silverhand stayed behind in the motel room. They didn’t really bother cleaning up the blood. Silverhand had used one of the bathroom hand towels to wipe off the blood from the wall, then tossed it over the spot on the floor to soak up as much as possible. When he’d decided that it was good enough, he chucked it in the trash. Shadow, meanwhile, had quietly placed his air shoes in the corner of the room. Maddie would have joked that they were in time out, to “think about what they’d done.”

He shifted around in the uncomfortable wooden desk chair in the room, kicking his bare feet under him like a tense metronome. Colorado. Of course the chaos energy had consolidated in Colorado, right by where the US military base had been built to house him. The base that was now nothing more than an empty crater back home, with nothing to prove that she had ever been there. No proof that she’d even existed at all.

Why had he destroyed it? In what universe was that a good idea?

He let his face fall into his hands, and breathed a sigh through his nose. His universe, apparently.

Logically, Shadow knew that he couldn’t keep blaming himself for what had happened after the professor had freed him from GUN. He’d been manipulated in his grief and anger, and turned on the world as a weapon. Didn’t make him completely guiltless, it wasn’t an excuse – no matter how many times Tom assured him he was forgiven, Shadow could never be too sure– but it was an explanation , one that the people he’d let into his life had accepted.

Regardless, he had to go back and do something , he still didn’t know exactly what, with the chaos energy gathered there to take them back to Green Hills and fix their atomic structures before they got too damaged, and it was lights out for all four of them.

That last part, admittedly, was a guess. A guess based entirely on how eerily similar the last episode had looked to what Shadow had seen in that movie Sonic showed him a while back. For a piece of fiction, it sure had gotten a lot of things right.

Shadow hopped off the chair and onto the closer of the two beds. He and Silverhand had decided to snag this room for the night, and leave the one that smelled less like blood to the other two. A sick feeling swirled in Shadow’s stomach, and it wasn’t from the pizza. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he– his recklessness, his irresponsibility, whatever– had nearly gotten someone else hurt. 

The worst part was that he liked Ted. Shadow’s time with the military had hardened him to hurting people in suits and other uniforms, but seeing someone he had come to tentatively call a friend get hurt? It struck a chord.

Wick’s conversation with him echoed in his mind. On one hand, embarrassment sat heavy in Shadow’s chest that he’d broken down like that in front of a stranger. On the other… Was Wick really a stranger? Could any of them be called strangers?

Shadow was pulled out of his thoughts by a cold metal hand on his arm.

“Ain’t your fault, you know,” Silverhand said, squeezing Shadow’s shoulder lightly.

Shadow hung his head down. “I know,” he mumbled.

Even after Silverhand turned off the light and the room became pitch black dark, Shadow kept his eyes open, staring at the nonsensical stucco patterns in the ceiling. So long as he didn’t turn to his side towards the man in the other bed, he could pretend he was back home already.

Chapter Text

John drummed his fingers absentmindedly against the steering wheel. They’d been on the same highway in Utah for about three hours now. Save for a couple bends in the road, it was ruler-straight. John could take his hands completely off the wheel and they probably wouldn’t hit anything for several miles. In a strange way, it made him feel homesick. New England was the exact opposite. Maps looked like piles of spaghetti that had been dumped on a sheet of paper, with no roads that didn’t abruptly veer to one side at any point. The uniformity of this road and its lack of any major hills or turns was off-putting, to say the least.

He peeked into the rear-view mirror, checking on the teen and hedgehog in the back. So far, they’d been able to get away with quietly having Shadow in their company by either keeping him inside and away from prying eyes, or only letting him go out when they were sure nobody was watching. This morning though, John had asked Louis if he could raid the motel’s lost and found for a blanket or a jacket. Anything they could use to obscure the kid’s appearance, just in case. The plain, dark grey hoodie he found was a couple sizes too big, but it was clean and the hood went all the way over Shadow’s head. 

The hedgehog currently sat behind the passenger seat, piercing red eyes locked on the desert as it passed by. He had an elbow propped up on the edge of the door by the window, head held in his hand. One of his feet– which were both again clad in his metal rocket shoes– was bouncing slightly to the beat of the music playing on the radio. Classic rock again. John was positive the others would make an attempt on his life if he dared to change it.

Ted, meanwhile, was asleep. His face was still red with bruising blooming from around his nose, but the doctor at The Oasis had patched him up just fine, and given him some OTC painkillers. Apparently, they were the drowsy kind. The second they’d pulled back onto the highway, Ted was out like a light.

John was fine with the silence that had comfortably filled the car thus far. Shadow, who was visibly much more relaxed than he had been last night, seemed to be as well.

Silverhand was not, as it turned out.

He tapped the back of his head lightly against the seat behind him, watching the dull desert scenery out the window for a moment longer before attempting conversation again. He’d tried before, but John had never been any good at small talk, so his previous tries had all fizzled out into silence.

“You like cats?” Silverhand didn’t bother actually turning in his seat, and instead just rolled his head against the headrest to address him.

John’s brow furrowed a bit. “I guess,” he replied, slowly enunciating each word, “Think I’m more of a dog person, though. Have one back home in New York.”

That was more than he’d given the other man all morning, and it seemed Silverhand wasn’t keen on letting this conversation die. “What kind? Or is it a mutt?”

Good question. It wasn’t like John had had a chance to do a whole lot of research before rescuing him. Picturing the dog in his mind’s eye, he replied, “I think he’s a pit bull?”

A light chuckle sounded beside him. “That a question or a statement?”

John shrugged. “Little bit of both, I guess.”

“He got a name?”

“Nah. Never really saw a need to name him,” John said with a slight shake of his head.

John didn’t continue– there wasn’t much else to say, really– but yet again, Silverhand wasn’t content to let the talking end.

“V n’ me got a cat back home,” the rocker began, gesturing vaguely with his metal hand, “Name’s Nibbles.”

An involuntary laugh escaped John’s chest, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Nibbles? Seriously?”

Silverhand held up his left hand defensively. “Hey, the name was too damn fitting to not name him that. Second V took him inside her little shithole of an apartment, he bit the fuck outta her hand.” He chuckled at the memory. “Told her she had to name him “Nibbles” or I wouldn’t talk to her again.”

“So you named the cat,” John said, a smile finding its way onto his face. “Should’ve figured you’d be a cat person, though.”

A black-and-red figure moved up between them, leaning against the center console in the car. “What kind of cat is it?” Shadow asked.

“Sphynx. Least, that’s what my girl says.” Silverhand reached into his leather jacket and fiddled with one of the inside pockets. After a second, he pulled out what looked like a cellphone, if only a little more boxy. John wasn’t at all shocked that the screen was cracked to hell and back. “Wait, think I got a pic. Hang on.”

While he tapped away on the screen, scrolling through what seemed to be a very extensive text chain, John double checked his mirrors. The smile that he’d been wearing quickly reverted back into a frown. A black SUV had been following them since they’d passed through St. George a few hours back. That itself wasn’t unusual– they could just be other people on a road trip, driving up to Salt Lake or something.

Though… Wick couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had followed them from San Francisco. Had he seen that SUV before..? It looked pretty generic, but John hadn’t managed to live this long without being at least a little paranoid.

“Aha! Here we go,” Silverhand exclaimed, turning his phone screen so Shadow could see. “Nibs, in all his glory.”

As soon as the road straightened out a bit, John glimpsed at the picture. The pink-haired woman he’d seen with Silverhand before sat on a faux leather couch, wearing what looked like the same band t-shirt the rockstar now wore. A hairless cat perched on his hind legs, reaching up with his front paws towards a little feather toy that the woman– V, her name was?– was dangling above him. John hadn’t interacted with many cats, but this one seemed–

The three of them lurched forward as something collided with the back of their car, sending them crashing into the Toyota in front of them. Wick didn’t need to look behind them to know it was the black SUV. Shadow, who Wick now realized had taken off his seatbelt, had to fight to not fly directly into the dashboard.

A flash of red. Shadow disappeared, reappearing instantly on his seat. “What the–?”

“Kid, get down!”

Silverhand, who hadn’t even bothered with a seatbelt in the first place, snatched his gun from its holster under his jacket. The handgun was polished a light grey, with red detailing along the handle and barrel. He ejected the mag, checked it, and reinserted it. A practiced motion, a habit.

“Those the friends you were expecting?” he grumbled, turning around in his chair.

Wick hit the accelerator, darting around from behind the car in front of them and passing it on the shoulder. Better to get distance between them. “Yeah,” he sighed.

The SUV sped up to match their speed, nearly ramming into them again. Wick jerked on the steering wheel and swerved around a silver van to avoid the collision and get back on the road. Fuck. The last thing he wanted was a gun fight with the kids in the car. Maybe if he could get off the highway, turn off onto some side road, they could lose them.

Gunshots rang out, hitting the sides and back of the car with harsh metallic dings.

Silverhand rolled down the passenger side window, letting hot, late-morning air flood the cabin. He shouted over at Wick to be heard over the rushing wind. “Am I good to shoot back?”

For a brief moment, the thought flickered in Wick’s mind that this would either expose the four of them and what they were dealing with, or confuse the hell out of their pursuers.

Fuck it. They didn’t have time to deliberate.

Wick gave him a curt nod, and Silverhand spared no time in angling himself out the window and returning fire on the SUV. In the side mirror, Wick could plainly see a shooter hanging halfway out one of the SUV’s windows, firing on them with what looked on a glance like a customized submachine gun.

Wick pressed the accelerator hard into the floor, passing around a gaudy neon pink Tesla and nearly clipping its front bumper. 

The rocker swore. “Fuck, man! Careful!”

Silverhand continued to fire on the SUV’s gunman, either oblivious to or uncaring about the shots coming back at him. From the sound alone, his firearm was obviously a custom job; the blast of its shots was unique, unlike anything Wick had heard before. From the pitch, the recoil had to be insane.

Silverhand leaned back in to reload, doing so with an efficiency that... fuck, that John had only seen in himself. Wick noticed idly that the other man was shooting left-handed. “Tagged the shooter. He pulled back in. Windshield is reinforced somehow, too. Not even this could get through,” he said, gesturing to the gun.

“Shit.”

Wick dodged around a Range Rover, completely disregarding the big “No Passing” sign on the side of the road. The black SUV only followed suit, swerving wildly around the car to stay on their tail.

“Aim for the tires,” Wick instructed, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the wind and the noise of the car’s engine.

“That was my next plan, yeah,” Silverhand replied, voice dripping with impatience. His handgun clicked, cocked, and he returned to his position at the window. He only got two shots out before he ducked back in with a string of harsh curses. A barrage of gunshots followed, ripping apart the car’s chassis with more loud dings. Out of the corner of his eye, Wick saw Silverhand switch his hand cannon to his right hand, then shake out his left, like he’d been grazed.

They were then forced to awkwardly duck as bullets sprayed into the cabin. They lost the radio to the onslaught, and the windshield became riddled with holes and cracks. It looked about a sharp breath away from shattering altogether.

Wick’s eyes darted between his mirrors. A second black had SUV pulled out from behind the first, sporting its own gunman, the source of the most recent hailstorm of lead. Fucking perfect.

“You two okay, Shads?” Silverhand turned backwards as best he could to check on the kids. Shadow either didn’t respond, or didn’t do so verbally. Wick felt a sharp-clawed hand on his arm.

“I think I can get them off us,” the kid said, voice low but determined, “Give me your gun.”

They ducked again to avoid another round of lead pouring down on them.

John would never, in a million years, consider giving a child a gun. He’d been exposed to this life entirely too young, ever since he’d been unlucky enough to have been found by those willing to turn him into a living weapon. He knew how suffocating it could be, how much that first kill lingered in your soul, how the blood that stained your hands could never be scrubbed clean, no matter how abrasive the soap.

Not to mention, he had no clue if Shadow had even used a firearm before, or what the kid planned to do with it. 

Then again, he had been practically raised by the United States military…

“Wick!”

John reached into his suit jacket and removed the pistol he had holstered there, double-checked the safety, then pressed it firmly into Shadow’s outstretched palm.

“Just don’t–”

Before Wick could finish, Shadow disappeared in a flash of light and static electricity.

“–shoot yourself,” he finished with a sigh.

Wick kept an eye on the road, continuing to swerve madly around the other cars, but spared a glance back at Shadow through the mirrors. The kid was a blur, teleporting around the two black SUV’s with a practiced ease. He heard gunshots– eight from his handgun, he recognized the sound– and then Shadow was back in the cabin of their sedan. From his heavy breathing, he sounded a little winded, but otherwise okay.

Squeals of rubber against concrete assaulted their ears, and John looked in the mirror just in time to watch the two SUV’s, whose tires had been blown out, lose control and run off the road into a ditch.

“Damn.”

“Holy shit, kid,” Silverhand stage whispered on an exhale, “Where’d you learn to do that?” He reached back to grab the handgun that John had given Shadow, then ejected the magazine to check it.

“Really need me to answer that?” Shadow asked, sarcasm drenching his tone.

“Suppose not.”

They continued down the highway for a time, ignoring the confused looks of the drivers they passed. It was difficult to see out of the cracked-as-hell windshield, but John had dealt with worse. He was quietly grateful that this wasn’t his car. His had seen enough action for its lifetime. 

Hopefully, if they were careful, they would be able to avoid any highway patrol officers. John would rather not have to explain why his car was shot to hell and why he was accompanied by his twin with a metal arm, an anthropomorphic space hedgehog, and a teenager–

Holy shit.

“Fuck, is Ted okay?” he asked, jerking back to look.

The three of them turned to inspect the kid, and John breathed a sigh of relief. The kid was fine, just… still asleep. Somehow. His head rested against the window, hair falling in front of his face and waving slightly as he breathed. Were it not for the bullet holes littering the interior and exterior of the car, he’d look like any other kid on a road trip.

“He… slept through it?” Shadow said, dumbfounded. “How?”

John turned back to the road with a wry chuckle. “No idea.”

—

Ted couldn’t believe he’d slept through the coolest thing to ever happen to him. Well, the coolest thing to ever happen around him. Ted knew his limits. There was no way he’d’ve been able to contribute anything to the car chase or the gun fight.

Still felt kinda unfair that Shadow had been given a whole ass gun, though.

The drive into Colorado had been uneventful since the morning’s events, fortunately. Just a whole lot of driving. They’d gotten some odd looks the two times they stopped for gas, but they’d gone largely ignored aside from that. The worst part, Ted thought, was the loss of their car radio. They’d managed to fill the silence okay with casual chatter, but Ted couldn’t help but think that some Queen or Aerosmith would have made the ride go down easier, like chasing medicine with sugar.

It was definitely less tense than the first leg of their trip, though, and for that Ted was grateful. The four of them had had another one of those weird episodes just before crossing into Colorado, nearly causing Wick to run them off the road, but they were fine. For now. 

The sun had just begun dipping below the horizon when they pulled into their destination. Shadow had been very specific about which back roads and dirt paths they took to get this far into the Colorado mountain wilderness, but to Ted it all looked the same. Just trees, grass, rocks, and the occasional squirrel. The darkness seeping in didn’t help, and just cast everything in a purple shadow, obscuring their visibility more. As luck would have it, the headlights hadn’t been damaged in the chase, and provided some light.

Eventually, the dirt path they’d been following ran out, turning back into thick grass and tangled undergrowth.

“We’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” Shadow said, unlocking his door and stepping out of the car before Wick had a chance to turn it off.

Ted followed suit, closing his bullet-riddled door with a slam. “How much farther, you think?”

The other kid’s ears twitched, and he sniffed the air, much like a dog would. “Not very.”

After the adults joined them outside, they continued deeper into the woods. The path Shadow had them following was steep enough already, but some parts were nearly vertical, requiring them to climb up rocky faces. In time, they reached a level, grassy clearing covered in white and yellow wildflowers. Combined with the pale orange light of the setting sun, it looked to Ted like something straight out of a movie. Like a place where two characters would talk right before something tragic happened.

Shadow stopped dead in his tracks in front of him, bright red eyes fixed on the darkening night sky above them. Ted tracked his gaze upwards, coming to stand beside him. Dozens of early evening stars were just starting to peek out from behind the cloudless sky, red, yellow, orange, and white. He lost track of just how long they stood like that, staring at the stars.

“Don’t get stars like this back home,” a gruff voice said next to him. Ted glanced down to see Silverhand watching the sky as well, hands deep in the pockets of his brown leather jacket. He’d taken the opportunity to light a cigarette, taking a deep drag and exhaling smoke. “Light pollution’s too bad for it.”

“We get stars in San Dimas, just… not like this,” Ted agreed. “Kinda wishing we did now, though.”

On his other side, Shadow mumbled something that Ted couldn’t quite make out.

“What’d you say?”

Shadow shook his head slowly. “A friend told me once that… because of how long it takes the light of a star to reach us, any of these stars could have died before now,” he said softly.

Woah. “That’s deep, man.”

Shaking his head again, Shadow let his gaze fall from the sky back down to the clearing. He took a few steps toward the center, then reached a hand out into it.

“As I thought. There’s a lot of chaos energy here,” he said.

Wick stepped up to join Ted and Silverhand. “Can you use it? Is there enough to get you all home?”

Shadow closed his eyes, and shut his fist around the energy toward which he was reaching. Static shot through the air, making Ted’s exposed skin tingle and the hair on his arms stand on end. And then, he saw it. Red-orange tendrils of light exploded from around Shadow’s clenched fist, swirling around the entire clearing. Thin red lines of energy sprouted from the middle of each of their chests, twirling around in the air before joining the knotted bundle Shadow held.

“I think so, though…” Shadow turned back toward the three of them, arm holding the light still outstretched, “I think you’ll have to come with us, Wick. From what I can see, your energy is tangled with ours. I had hoped that we could part ways here, but it seems that that’s not happening quite yet.”

Wick let out a sigh. “Figures.”

“Any idea what’ll happen when you do… whatever it is you gotta do?” Silverhand asked, glancing between each of them and inhaling from his cigarette again. “You sure you can get us back where you’re from?”

Shadow visibly deflated. “No. But… we gotta try, right?”

Weighing the options, yeah. Trying and failing did sound better than giving up. After all, Ted and Silverhand had their bands to get back to, Shadow had his friends, and Wick probably had work in the morning. 

“What’dya need us to do?” Ted asked, taking a careful step forward. The red light connected to him followed his movement, flowing in the air like seaweed underwater.

Shadow looked back at the chaos energy he held onto. “I think if I just…”

He trailed off, but bright electricity began sparking around Shadow. Powerful wind picked up in the clearing, blowing Ted’s hair wildly around his head. He had to raise a hand to protect his eyes from the light coming from the chaos energy in front of them. A tugging sensation pulled at his chest, strongest where the red thread connected, intensifying as the light did.

Ted called out to Shadow. “So what’s supposed to–”

And then they were gone.

Chapter Text

Sonic wanted to pace. He felt like pacing, he really did, but he’d done so much back and forth running the past few days that he was just… too tired to bother anymore. He’d already worn a small canyon into the Green Hills baseball field, connecting each base and forming a perfect diamond. And that was after he had run around the world several times searching. Instead, Sonic sat on the empty, cold metal bleachers with his head in his hands and a worry in his heart so profound he worried it’d beat out of his chest.

It went without saying that their infiltration of the GUN base three days ago hadn’t gone according to plan, at all . He’d been able to get Knuckles out, but they hadn’t been fast enough to save Tails before the GUN agents had exfiled, taking him only God knew where. Not to mention…

Shadow was dead.

The thought alone was enough to make Sonic’s stomach drop, but he hadn’t been able to get the look on his friend’s face out of his mind. The complete and utter dread written on every single one of Shadow’s features as the collider exploded had Sonic feeling more helpless than he ever had, save for when Tom had nearly died last year.

Sonic tightened his grip on the fur on his head until it hurt. His leg bounced, blood echoed in his ears, and his chest was so tight that he felt as though he were at the bottom of a deep-sea trench, trapped under millions of tons of water. He was a wind-up toy that had nowhere for its energy to go.

He flinched when a hand pressed itself firmly against his shoulder and upper back. Sonic didn’t need to look up to know who was there, even if he hadn’t noticed him approaching. His leg stopped bouncing, though breathing was still difficult.

“I thought I might find you here,” Knuckles said, in his typical slow, deep way. “Though I was sure you would be running deeper circles into the field.”

Sonic emptied his lungs with a sigh, then took a deep breath. “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.”

Sarcasm was good. If he could be funny, it meant he wouldn’t cry, no matter how badly he wanted to.

“Do not be too hard on yourself, Sonic,” the echidna reassured. “If I had been stronger, perhaps Tails and Shadow would still be with us.”

Now that was a load of bullshit. Lifting his head from his hands, Sonic turned to face Knuckles. It was after sunset, but given how bright his friend’s coloring was, Sonic was sure he’d stick out in a pitch-black room. “What are you even talking about? I’m the reason we got captured in the first place. With my track record, I’m probably the reason they got captured, too!”

He looked away, towards the opposite side of the bleachers. “Face it, Knux. It’s all my fault. No point sugarcoating it,” Sonic mumbled.

“Did we not go into that base as a team? If we failed, we did so together.”

That formed a lump in Sonic’s throat, making it hard to speak. “Stop it,” he said, as firmly as he could.

“Stop what?”

He turned back towards Knuckles, meeting his intense purple eyes for the first time since the echidna had arrived. “Stop trying to spare my feelings. Tails is gone and Shadow is dead and it’s all my fault, okay? Nothing you, or Tom, or Maddie can say is gonna change that! I know Tails better than anybody. He’s probably terrified, and we don’t even know where he is to go save him!”

Despite how sharp Sonic’s tone had grown, Knuckles didn’t budge, nor did he remove his gloved hand from his shoulder. “Then let us stop saying and start doing . Tails has to be out there somewhere. If we can find him, perhaps he can lead us to wherever Shadow has gone.”

Sonic shook his head slowly. Knuckles had expressed that belief before, right when the collider exploded. “You really don’t believe he’s dead, do you?”

Knuckles shrugged, and looked out over the ruined baseball field. “When the Eclipse Cannon exploded, I believed for sure he had perished. Yet… he returned. I see no reason he cannot return from this as well.”

“Maybe because he disintegrated ?”

“You do not know that.”

Sonic wanted to rip his quills out. He stood up in a blur of glowing blue fur and static. The spikes along his back stood straighter.

“Neither do you! What, you think that when the collider exploded he got sent to another dimension? This isn’t the damn Spider-verse, Knuckles!”

His friend shifted in his seat and sighed. “I am simply trying to have hope, Sonic,” Knuckles said, sounding every bit as tired as Sonic felt, “There is still much we do not know. I will not believe everything is hopeless until we have explored all possible solutions.”

He was right. Sonic knew Knuckles was right. Matter of fact, he often was; though the echidna was only a few years older than him, Knuckles carried with him a weirdly deep sense of emotional maturity. He sometimes resented him for it, for managing to remain so calm and rational during stressful situations.

Now was not one of those times.

Sonic let his quills relax, and his posture sagged. With it, the light in his body went out. Knuckles stood up to support him, pulling Sonic into an all-encompassing embrace. Knuckles’ hold was warm and comforting, despite the cold night air. After letting himself be held for a heartbeat or two, Sonic returned the gesture, wrapping his arms around his friend’s middle.

“I just… I miss them, Knux,” Sonic mumbled into a furry, red shoulder.

“As do I, Sonic. As do I.”

They stayed like that for a while. If some tears and sniffles escaped him, Knuckles was nice enough to not comment on it. When they finally broke the hug, the echidna kept a hand on Sonic’s shoulder.

“I am not sure if you have noticed, but it has grown late,” he said softly, with a small smile, “During hard times such as this, I have found that home is often the best place to be.”

Sonic nodded slowly. He wiped his nose on the back of his glove. “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.” He stepped down a row of bleachers. “We keep looking in the morning, right?”

Knuckles held a gloved fist to his chest in a salute. “On my honor as a warrior. We resume our search at dawn.”

Sonic followed Knuckles down off the bleachers and back to the road leading to their house, hoping that tomorrow would be better than today.

—

Fucking hell .

V hung up her holo using her cyberdeck, setting the device down on the coffee table, hard enough to shake one of the empty whiskey glasses resting on it. She ran a hand through her cropped hair, then let it fall back down to her lap. Her synth-leather couch had never felt so uncomfortable.

Behind her, the elevator to their penthouse ding-ed. She turned around in time to watch Kerry stumble in through the doors. The light coming from inside was the only source of it in the room, save for the neon glow coming from beyond the windows. He didn’t bother flicking on any of the fixtures; if V wanted the light, she could have turned them on herself.

“Any sign of him?” he asked, voice strained by exhaustion. Like her, Kerry was wearing dark circles under his eyes. His platinum blond hair, which he usually kept neatly tamed, was messy and falling into his eyes. He tiredly brushed some of it back with a hand.

V shook her head and rose from her seat. “Nope. Just got off the holo with my chooms with the Aldecaldos outside NC. They haven’t heard chatter of any leads. No trafficking vans, no unmarked AV’s, zilch.” She shook her head again, gaze trailing off to a random spot in the distance. “It’s like he fuckin’ disappeared. Completely .”

Kerry swore under his breath. “Rogue get back to you yet? She find anything?”

She choked out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Wanna know what the old bitch said to me? Said that Johnny probably got bored and left,” V said, holding up air quotes, “Or that he’s wasted in some back alley somewhere we haven’t checked.”

The words left a bitter taste on her tongue. Sure, 2023 Johnny Silverhand had been a jaded, mean bastard, but 2078 Johnny had beaten so many of his past demons, made so much progress, that the idea of him relapsing this badly threatened to break V’s heart in two.

“Nah, no he wouldn’t. Swear it on my nan’s grave, Johnny wouldn’t just up and fuckin’ leave like this,” the old rockerboy asserted, gesturing to V and the apartment around them, “Cares ‘bout all this too much.”

V walked around the couch, stopping by the little kitchenette where Kerry stood. She leaned back against the countertop and folded her arms tightly across her chest. “I don’t know who else to ask, Ker,” she managed, around the anxiety stuck in her throat, “Talked to you, Rogue, Panam, Judy, every fixer in my contacts… Hell, even hired out Nix to search the Net with me and came up dry.”

Dread sank heavier in her gut. “‘S as you said. It’s like he fuckin’ ghosted.”

“But that don’t make sense,” Kerry replied in a whisper, studying a spot on the floor.

V threw her hands up in the air. “No! It doesn’t! If Johnny was gonna leave, why wouldn’t he take his car? His clothes? His guitar, his holo charger, his…” she trailed off as hot, angry tears began to form in her eyes. Fuck it. V let them fall, let them get caught in the shallow cyberware indents on both of her cheeks.

“If he was gonna leave,” she continued, more quietly, “Why wouldn’t he take me ? I left him for all of two milisecs, and when I came back up, he was gone.”

Kerry hummed to himself. “Think he got nabbed? Even fifty-some-ought years later, choom has enemies who’d want him dead.”

V shrugged half-heartedly. “Could’ve been, but who? Arasaka’s a shell of its former self. Could blow on it and it’d fall over like a house of cards. And I doubt he has any angry exes left from way back when. Anyone he knew back then’s collecting social security now. No offense.”

“None taken.”

They stood in silence for a time, thinking. The most likely answer, logically speaking, was that he’d wandered off in the time V had taken to go back for her holo and gotten into something he shouldn’t have. But that still didn’t sit right with her. The first thing V had done when she realized Johnny wasn’t where she’d left him was ask the bystanders if they’d seen anything. One of the old vets had said that Johnny had “looked like he was havin’ a bad trip an’ fell over dead, then vanished, like poof .” V didn’t trust the word of any crazy old beggars at face value, but this one’s story had then been corroborated by the three other people in the alley. V didn’t believe in magic, but it sounded like more than what any quickhacks or chrome she’d ever seen could do. People were fast, but not that fast.

She brought up a hand to the metal dog tags that hung from around her neck, running her thumb back and forth across the inscription on them. Across Johnny’s name– his real name. She hadn’t taken them off since he’d given them to her at the Pistis Sophia after saving her life that night. Fuck, that felt like such a long time ago.

He’d promised then, while they’d been stuck together in the same mind, sharing a physical existence, that he wouldn’t hurt her. Wouldn’t do her any wrong. Since they’d renewed that promise at the oil fields, Johnny hadn’t broken it once, or even come close. When she’d brought him back from Netspace, they’d renewed it again, adding that she wouldn’t do him wrong. That they’d stick together, have each other’s backs. Afterwards, Johnny had joked that it sounded like wedding vows, sans “til death do us part.”

He’d then cupped her cheek in his hand and said that they didn’t need it anyway. Death hadn’t stopped either of them yet, after all.

V made up her mind.

“No reason to stop looking,” she said firmly, pushing off the counter. She padded towards the glorified closet that housed her guns, knives, and other toys. Her bag, still packed from her previous search attempt a few hours back, hung in its usual place. It slid easily over her shoulder. “I’m going back out,” she said, turning back to Kerry.

The rockerboy held out a hand. “V, doll, you haven’t slept in three days.”

“Did more than this while dying, Ker. I’ll be fine.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “At least let me come with ya,” he offered, “Two sets of eyes are better than one, and all that.”

She thought on that for a second, then nodded. A second later, they were in the elevator, heading back down into Night City.

V wasn’t religious, but she found herself wishing she was that night, praying to whatever god was still around that they’d find something.

Chapter Text

High-pitched ringing filled Ted’s ears, drowning out all other sounds. He let out a groan. What happened ?

Feeling came back slowly– his toes and fingers were all tingly– but he knew he was on his back, lying someplace hard and rough. The air was thickly saturated with the sweet and salty smells of gasoline and cheap food. He braved opening an eye. Just one, though. His head hurt too badly for both, from not only the weird reality warp but also the fact that his nose was still kinda broken. At least he hadn’t landed face-down.

“Oh hells yeah,” Ted coughed out, relief flooding his sore limbs.

Above him, though upside down, was a familiar lit-up logo. Ted had never been more happy to see it in all his life. As his hearing cleared up, he finally registered the sounds of passing cars, the beeps from the cash registers inside, the ding of the bell at the door. Familiar, safe sounds. He was home.

“Is that a– fuckin’ ouch – is that a goddamn Circle K ?”

Ted pushed himself up onto his elbows. The four of them had landed in the gas station’s parking lot, which was, as luck would have it, pretty much abandoned this late at night. Ted had no idea which of the two men spoke, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. A few feet in front of him, Wick was somehow already standing, brushing himself off with both hands. Between them, Silverhand crouched over Shadow, who wasn’t moving. Both of them had bright red irises.

Ted scrambled to his knees, and crossed the distance faster than his body would have liked. Gravel cut into his skin through his jeans.

“Is he dead?” he asked, kneeling on Shadow’s other side. The kid sure looked dead. He was positioned on his side, limbs curled into the fetal position. Ted flinched as residual energy sparked off Shadow’s fur and hit his skin, like he’d been shocked by static electricity.

Silverhand shook his head. He seemed to be just as out of breath as Ted was. “Nah. Just knocked out. Gettin’ us here must’ve taken more out of him than he thought.” 

He removed his aviators from an inside pocket in his leather jacket and held the lenses a hair away from Shadow’s mouth. It took a second, but they did fog up slightly. Shadow was breathing, but not very well.

“Speaking of here ,” Wick said, joining them on the ground. He got down on a knee. “Either of you recognize this place?” he asked, inspecting the unconscious not-a-dog between them.

“Yeah. This is the Circle K by my dad’s place,” Ted said. He pointed across the parking lot. “Lives a couple streets down.”

Silverhand sighed. “In San Dimas, right?”

“Yeah.”

“In… 1989?” Wick raised an eyebrow at him.

“Uh huh.”

The men shared a glance. Again, Ted was dumbfounded by how different two guys could look despite sharing a face. Silverhand hung his head down with another sigh. Wick tilted his up and inhaled deeply. Ted could sense that an entire conversation had passed between them nonverbally, but whatever it was was lost on him.

“We sure ain’t in Kansas anymore, but… definitely not where we need to be,” Silverhand said tiredly. “Looks like we’ll have to wait for Shadow to wake up before we can do anythin’ else.”

Ted and Wick nodded. Yet again, it appeared that all their hopes rested on the hedgehog– oh, forget it– on the dog in front of them. Ted had seen hedgehogs at the zoo, and Shadow was entirely too big to be one of those. The other three might be in denial, but he was a dog. Ted was sure of it.

With a grunt, the rocker picked Shadow up, cradling him in his arms like he had in the parking garage. With the hoodie on, Shadow seemed even smaller than he already was. “Alright, kiddo. Looks like we might have to crash with you n’ your folks for a bit. Where to?”

Ted reflexively took a step towards home. “Oh it’s super close, it’s–” He stopped. “Hm.”

Wick’s expression looked as if one more piece of bad news would completely break him. “What?”

“Oh, it’s just…” How to explain this? “My dad’s… real strict. He won’t like, get any of this. Might be better if we head somewhere else, at least for tonight.”

“Got a place in mind?” Silverhand asked.

Ted didn’t even need to think about it. A smile spread across his face. Just wait ‘til Bill heard about this .

“Oh yeah. Got the most perfect one in mind.”

—

San Dimas was about as idyllic as could be, reminding Johnny of what Santo Domingo had looked like in the neighborhood’s good old days: palm trees, grassy front lawns, pink plastic flamingos, picturesque family homes with front porch rocking chairs and cars parked out front. Even at night, it radiated domestic, suburban perfection.

And it was starting to weird him the fuck out.

Johnny had lived in Night City ever since he’d stumbled there after the war, not much younger than Ted was now. The drunks, dolls, gangers, discarded needles, and above average ambient radiation were little more than background noise anymore, but they were home , strange as it was. He’d been skeptical about going by foot, but so far…. nothing had happened. Walking this far in the open, on the street, at night, without an attempted mugging? Unnerving.

Ted had said that his friend’s place was only a couple streets farther than his own house. They must be getting pretty close now. Johnny could understand the kid not wanting to bring all this to his old man. Yet another way Ted was starting to remind him of Steve. Fuck, Johnny hoped he was okay.

The four of them turned another corner. They got about halfway down the street before Ted stopped them and pointed to a white, one-level home a few houses down from where they stood. Yellow light shining through the front windows told them there was someone home. Ted got on his toes and inspected the driveway. It was empty, though faint tire tracks led from it to the street.

“Okay, this is my best friend Bill’s place,” Ted said, lowering his voice. “It looks like his dad and stepmom aren’t home, which should make explaining this easier.” He moved his pointer finger in a circle when he said this , referring to the four of them.

Wick glanced back at Shadow, who was still in Johnny’s arms, breathing weakly. At some point during the walk here, the hedgehog had unconsciously nuzzled himself deeper into Johnny’s hold. “Think he’ll freak out when he sees our friend here?”

Ted shook his head, causing some of his messy hair to fall in front of his eyes. “Nah, he’s seen dogs before.”

Johnny blinked at the kid a few times. “Thought we already ‘stablished he’s not a–”

He was cut off by Wick resting a hand on his shoulder. “Just let it go, man.”

Sigh .

Together, they stepped up onto the porch. Johnny kept himself and Shadow at the back of the group; the last thing the poor thing needed was to get jumpscared awake by whatever inevitably loud reaction Ted’s choom was destined to have. And honestly, they really were a cacophonous, colorful bunch. Alien hedgehog thing in his arms aside, they were a wannabe teenage rocker from the late eighties, an actual rockerboy from a distant bleak future, and a sharply-dressed assassin in a suit. Who all happened to share a face. And had residual red rings around their eyes from their jump between realities. Not exactly a group you’d see wandering around on a typical Tuesday. 

Johnny couldn’t help but feel like a group of gonks at a science fiction convention.

He watched as Ted knocked on the door, then tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, swaying on his heels for a minute before the door finally opened. The short-haired, blond teen who greeted them was dressed much like Ted was, only he was wearing a shirt slightly too long to be a crop top with a fraying vest on top of it.

“Ted!”

“Bill!”

The two embraced, patting each other on the back.

When they parted, the other teen took a step back, just inside the doorway. His head tilted to the side. “Where’d you go, man? I went inside for two seconds and when I came back you’d like, totes vanished!” he said, gesturing widely with his arms. Bill leaned closer to Ted. “And like, what happened to your nose?”

Ted returned the strange, exaggerated body language as if they were partners in a dance only they knew. “Bein’ dead honest Bill, the past few days have been most peculiar,” he replied, glancing back at Wick and Johnny, “Got like, sent to another reality? Made some friends. They need a place to lie low until our other friend wakes up. He’s in a bad way.”

Bill looked over his shoulder into the house, nodding without looking at them. “Think that’ll be fine. My dad n’ Missy’re upstate for the weekend. Come on– oh .”

As he turned back to the four of them, his expression shifted into one of shock, then confusion, like he’d finally actually noticed who Ted had brought with him. “Hey uh, Ted?”

“Yeah, Bill?”

“Why do your friends look like you in thirty years? Did Rufus like, come back, or–”

Before Ted could answer, a loud scoff left Johnny’s chest, and all eyes turned to him on reflex. “The fuck you mean thirty ?”

Wick silently raised an eyebrow at him.

Johnny would have thrown up his hands defensively if he weren’t actively carrying a half-dead kid. “I’m only thirty-fuckin’-five!”

Crickets.

“Ugh, whatever.”

They went inside without more argument, and it felt like stepping directly into the past.

Well, Johnny knew they had gone to the past– they were in 1989 for god’s sake, but fuck, it was still weird. He wasn’t old enough to really remember what the aesthetics of his 1990’s were like, and he could already tell that his 1989 and Ted’s 1989 were quite different, yet this felt close enough that it had the same effect. Pleather couches, thick carpet, popcorn ceilings, exposed wood, granny square throw blankets…

He could tell that Wick felt similarly. The other man was crouched on the ground, inspecting a dusty bookshelf. In his pristine suit– seriously, how did it still look that damn nice– Wick looked entirely out of place. Like a corpo in a nomad camp.

Ted and Bill, meanwhile, had disappeared.

Soreness in his chrome shoulder joint suddenly reminded Johnny of the dead weight in his arms.

“Hey kid, got a place I can put him down?” he asked, turning around the room to find where the teens had gone.

Bill replied from what Johnny assumed must have been the kitchen, given the slight echo to his voice. “Oh yeah, just on the couch.”

Obediently, Johnny set Shadow down on the living room couch, taking extra care with the kid’s head and quills. The cushions dipped a bit under the weight and let out a springy squeak. Shadow had stirred a few times during their walk over here, but he was still a long way from waking up. Johnny put a hand on Shadow’s shoulder, running it gently up and down the kid’s arm. He wasn’t good at this , at being particularly comforting, but it’s something V would do. Plus, it was better than just petting the kid like he was the dog that Ted believed he was. Even if Johnny did kind of want to test those waters.

Bill returned with Ted in tow a minute later, both sporting arms full of cold, green and yellow soda cans and mandarin oranges. They set them down in a rough pile on the coffee table. Johnny had to catch one of the oranges when it rolled off the side, twisting awkwardly from where he’d been kneeling next to Shadow, to the side of the couch. He pushed himself to his feet, then took a seat on the pleather next to Shadow, by his head.

Wick took the sitting chair across from him, and the teens plopped down together onto a matching pleather loveseat.

“So, Ted,” Wick said, grabbing an orange and turning it around in his hands, “Mind introducing us?”

Ted popped open a soda can. He took a sip, then pointed to each of them in sequence, like he had when introducing them to Shadow at the Continental. His descriptions of Johnny and Wick were much the same, except this time he played up Johnny’s status as a “real rockstar.” 

Bill scanned him up and down with wide eyes. “Woah. So do you like… have a band?”

“Used to,” Johnny said with a shrug. He popped another slice of orange into his mouth. “Been a long time since we did much together, though.”

“You guys play any concerts? Do tours? Why’d you break up?” Bill asked, leaning farther forward with each question. Johnny worried for a second that the kid would fall off his seat and flat on his face.

Johnny held up his metal hand in a “stop” gesture. As much as he’d love to wax eloquent about his past with Samurai, it was nearly midnight, and they still had a lot of conversation to get through. “Woah, kiddo, lotta questions there. Think we can tackle those in the morning? Can show you some tricks then too, if you’d like,” he offered.

That was deemed acceptable by Bill, who sat back in his seat and let Ted continue with the final introduction to be made.

“Last, but not least,” Ted said, pointing towards Shadow with an almost empty soda can, “is Shadow the Hedgehog Guy.”

Bill followed where Ted was pointing with his eyes, then startled when he finally noticed that Shadow was, in fact, not human. Real observant, this one. His eyes went wide again.

“Hedgehog?” he began, thoroughly taking in Shadow with his eyes. Bill’s head flew to the side, and he locked eyes with Ted. 

“But… Ted, that’s a dog .”

You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

Johnny popped the tab and took a swig of his soda– lemon-lime and fizzy– suddenly wishing it were alcoholic.

—

John sat on the edge of the back porch. He held his face in a hand. The silence was nice, and it was just cool enough to be comfortable. Backyard itself wasn’t bad-looking either. The lawn was neatly trimmed, and the flowerbeds were clearly cared for by someone who knew what they were doing.

It didn’t look anything like John’s yard back in New Jersey. It really, really didn’t. All the same, a pang of homesickness shot through John’s chest. He knew he didn’t have any right to complain about being stuck here. He was simply in the same boat the others had been in since they’d met.

Knowing that didn’t make the situation any less strange or emotionally draining, though.

Everyone else was asleep, having passed out in the living room about an hour ago. It’s not that John wasn’t tired– god knew he was– but he didn’t think he was even capable of falling asleep right now. Dozens of thoughts swirled in his head, competing for his attention. Worries, mostly. He’d done too much, gone through too much, lost too much to have the peaceful life he’d carefully crafted for himself be stripped away by this shit.

The back door slid open then shut behind him, and a set of footsteps approached before stopping at his side. John lifted his head, and glanced over. The newcomer quietly settled down next to him.

“Take it… I didn’t get us back to Green Hills,” Shadow said, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle. The unabashed guilt evident in the kid’s tone made John feel sick.

He sat straighter. “Not your fault, friend. You said yourself that you didn’t know where that stuff would take us, and we chose to not back out.”

“I guess.” Shadow pulled his legs up and hugged them against his chest. “Still feels like I failed, though.”

“How so?”

“Cause we’re not any closer to fixing this,” he mumbled against his furry legs, “And I… I don’t know if I can do that again. Don’t think I’m strong enough to.”

“Yeah, it looked like it took a lot out of you,” John admitted. He extended an arm, wrapping it gingerly around the kid. “Scared me a little, actually.”

Shadow sniffed quietly and leaned into John’s hold. His posture relaxed as he did so. It was easy to forget that Shadow was just a kid like any other, especially when he had a gun in his hand or was shooting off sparks. “Yeah, you and me both,” he said, almost inaudibly.

They sat there for about a minute, enjoying each other’s company. For a brief moment, thoughts of something that could have been passed through John’s mind. He banished them quickly.

“So…” Shadow began, after the pause, “Where are we, anyway?”

“San Dimas, California. Ted’s hometown. We’re at his friend’s house right now,” John replied. “He’s exactly how you’d imagine one of Ted’s friends would be, by the way.”

Shadow leaned forward to meet John’s gaze, giving him a frown. “Chatty?”

“Yep. Got the same screws loose as Ted does, too,” John said, a fond smile on his face.

Shadow exhaled sharply through his nose, a smile finding its way onto his own face.  “Oh, perfect .”

They shared a chuckle, then let silence return. The hedgehog leaned back into John, then glanced down and toyed with one of the gold bands around his wrists. On first inspection, the bangles around his ankles and wrists appeared to be one solid piece, but up close one could see that they had a hinge and a way to snap open.

“Been meaning to ask,” John pointed to one of the bands with his free hand, “What are those, anyway?”

Shadow held up a wrist. “The scientists called them ‘inhibitor rings.’ They absorb some of the excess chaos energy my body produces, so it doesn’t get out of control.”

Huh. “Do they actually, or is that just what they told you?” he asked carefully, keeping his tone steady.

“No, they work,” Shadow shook his head. “These ones are new, actually. My… friend made them. After they let me stay with them.”

There it was, again. The pause before “friend.” Did he just not believe they were actually his friends? They must be, if they agreed to help him destroy the government collider that got them into this mess. John didn’t know nearly as much about Shadow’s video games as Silverhand did, but he did recall seeing Shadow and a bunch of other characters on promotional material sometimes. The kid had given him a glimpse into his difficult past the other night, the loss he’d already experienced at so young an age. Maybe he did think of them as friends, but he was too scared of losing anyone again to really let them in?

Fuck. It was like looking in a mirror.

“That Tails guy, right?” John asked, surprised he remembered the name. “Same guy you said could help us?”

A nod. “Yeah,” Shadow whispered. “I hope he’s okay. GUN captured him right before the collider exploded.”

“GUN?”

“The government agency that’s been after us,” the hedgehog explained, raising up some air quotes. “Guardian Units of Nations, or whatever. As if there’s anything they need to protect anyone from but us .”

John’s eyebrows knit together. “You mean to say your world put together a task force just because they’re scared of you?” Shadow was capable, sure, and John had to imagine that his friends were as well, but they were just kids .

Kids who could move incredibly quickly, knew how to shoot a gun, and maybe even teleport.

“Well, not everyone’s as… nice… as you three are.”

“I’m sorry."

John felt Shadow shrug. “Not your fault.”

Maybe not, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

They let silence envelop them once more. Before long, Shadow’s body became a dead weight against him. Soft snoring filled the air. It took a bit, but John maneuvered the hedgehog into his arms and took him inside, feeling lighter than he had before. Yeah, he be able to sleep better, now.

Chapter Text

Shadow did not feel great. Hadn’t for a while, really; ever since his first jump to Wick’s San Francisco, there’d been this… tiredness that had taken hold in him, mind and body. Physically though, he was fine. The worst “injury” Shadow was currently facing was just a couple bruises, nothing major.

His current hypothesis was that he’d been expending too much chaos energy, and that , combined with the strange episodes the four of them had been experiencing since meeting, was doing a number on him. For not the first time, Shadow found himself missing Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails. They were talkative, and loud, and extroverted to a fault, but damn it all… He could talk to them about this, and they’d understand. Something told Shadow that neither Wick nor Silverhand– and especially not Ted, who was still convinced Shadow was a dog – had ever dealt with a self-generated, internal power source with the potential to level cities that not even they fully understood.

It was becoming increasingly clear that they understood some parts of Shadow better than his friends back in Green Hills, but not this.

In any case, ignoring the exhaustion had been easy. It hadn’t even crossed his mind until now. Taking the four of them here had only exacerbated what he’d been feeling before. As a result, Shadow felt as if his senses were on a dial being controlled by a fidgety child. One moment, it’d be like he was completely and totally blind to chaos energy, and the next it’d be totally overwhelming. Back and forth, back and forth. Like a seesaw, or maybe a yo-yo.

A cold, metal finger poked Shadow in the center of his forehead.

“Shads? Kid? You in there?” Silverhand asked, an eyebrow raised. “Been staring into space for ‘bout five minutes.”

Shadow swatted his hand away, blinking a few times to refocus his vision. “Yeah, sorry. Just…”

“Lost in thought?”

“Yeah.”

The five of them– Shadow, his three soundalikes, and Ted’s friend Bill– had gathered around the table in their host’s kitchen. Simple breakfast fare sat in front of them: toast, milk, juice, fruit. So far, though, Shadow hadn’t touched any of it. His mind was elsewhere, which was funny considering that thinking kind of hurt.

He glanced around the kitchen, which reeked of cheap coffee. When he’d heard that there was coffee, Shadow had foolishly gotten his hopes up about the possibility of eating some coffee beans, only to have them dashed when Bill pulled a bag of powder out of a cupboard. Shadow recognized he was the only person he knew that enjoyed crunching on coffee beans, but come on. Sigh .

Speaking of Bill, he and Ted were currently emphatically chatting about something . Shadow had missed too much of the conversation to figure out what, but both teens were throwing around large words Shadow was positive they didn’t fully understand. Wick stood to the side, leaning against the wall, staring intensely out an opened window. He sipped on a mug of  black coffee.

Silverhand cleared his throat, attracting Shadow’s attention once again. His other hand– his tattooed, human one– was outstretched from the opposite side of the table, offering Shadow a brown-speckled banana. With a sigh, Shadow accepted it. He flipped it upside down and began peeling it open from the bottom, using a claw to pierce the skin.

“You always peel ‘em like that?” Silverhand said with a look.

Shadow took a bite of the banana and shrugged. It was sweeter than he would have preferred, but beggars can’t be choosers. “‘S how I was taught,” he mumbled around a mouthful of fruit.

“Huh. Weird.”

“Think we’re well past calling anything weird at this point,” Shadow pointed out, eyes darting to the others in the room.

Silverhand grabbed a banana of his own, flipping it around like Shadow had with his. “Suppose you’ve got a point there, kiddo.”

Just as Shadow moved to take another bite, Wick pushed himself from the wall and took a seat at the end of the table, between him and Silverhand. His movement went completely unnoticed by Ted and his friend, who were now talking about some rock band Shadow was unfamiliar with.

“Feeling any better this morning?” he asked.

Shadow raised a hand in a so-so gesture. “Been worse. Can’t figure out where the chaos energy here is yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Silverhand’s eyes widened. “So you mean there’s some here, too?” He glanced down at the table in thought. “Not that I’m an ungrateful guest or anythin’, but… think that means you can get us outta here?”

“Probably. Unless it kills me,” Shadow deadpanned.

Both men’s expressions turned downwards and filled with unmasked worry. Shadow had only seen concern that brazen on Tom and Maddie after he’d wandered onto their doorstep after the Eclipse Cannon explosion.

“I… I was being sarcastic.”

They relaxed. In a single, fluid motion, Wick drained the rest of his coffee mug.

The rocker let out a heavy breath. “Don’t tell jokes like that, kid.”

Sonic and the others would have laughed. “I’ll try not to,” he promised.

—

True to his word last night and at that motel, Johnny was sitting on an old camp chair in Bill’s garage a little over an hour later, guitar in hand. It wasn’t a fantastic instrument, but it was enough for a kid from suburbia with big dreams. The garage itself reminded Johnny of the first shithole he and Kerry rented out together in Night City. Walls covered in band posters, concrete floor strewn with cheap equipment and mismatched furniture… and the whole place smelled faintly of energy drinks to boot. Had it actually been Johnny’s old apartment, there would also be some party drugs in the medicine cabinet and tequila on the coffee table, but Ted and his choom seemed to be better eggs than he ever was.

Hell, Kerry had always been better than him, too.

Johnny strummed the guitar and adjusted its tuning. Kinda hard to play music when all the notes were wrong. He plucked a string and repressed a wince. Fuck, had this thing ever been tuned?

“Whatcha gonna play?” Bill asked, perching on the edge of a wooden stool. “Somethin’ from your band?”

Ted threw himself down on a bean bag chair next to his friend. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be a most incredible performance.”

The final string was tuned with a chuckle. Johnny knew that he didn’t exactly have the diction of an English professor, but he had never heard anyone talk quite like these kids. They’d probably call it most expressive. Heaven forbid they picked up Night City slang. Even the idea of hearing most preem made Johnny cringe.

He held the guitar up against him, tapping his fingers against its body. Something they’d all know, or something new…?

The choice was easy. Might as well give them a show, huh?

“Me ‘n a friend wrote this one,” he began, “‘Bout near an eternity ago. Favorite one we ever wrote, I think.”

Ted and Bill watched him with wide eyes, like kids getting ready to hear a bedtime story. 

Playing “Never Fade Away” was like a reflex, as easy as breathing. Johnny knew the notes, the chords, as well as he knew his own name, both of them. The song didn’t sound quite right on an axe that wasn’t his, but it was close enough to tug at his heartstrings all the same. It was funny, really– in its own twisted sort of way– that the words he’d written so long ago about a woman he’d lost ended up also describing a woman he would find many years later.

Well, the woman who would find him .

Steal him, if you wanted to be technical about it.

Johnny hadn’t planned on singing, but this song always drew it out of him. He should have known better– did know better. Maybe a part of his subconscious believed this song would make him miss those back home less.

“There’s canvas with two faces

Of fallen angels who loved and lost.

It was a passion for the ages,

But in the end guess we paid the cost.”

It was a more subdued version of the song than Johnny would typically play during concerts, but no less complicated. Honestly, this was the version he’d always felt was the true one. A little softer, a little more intimate, a little less showmanship. A little less rockerboy legend Johnny Silverhand and a little more… just Johnny .

As the final notes faded, Johnny blinked and was back in Bill’s stuffy garage. Memories and nostalgia drained from him, leaving him more fully in the here and now. He looked up from the half-rate guitar at the teens sitting across from him. Both were staring at him like he was some kind of deity. Once upon a time, that would have happily fed his ego.

They stared like that, mouths agape, for about a minute before Johnny couldn’t take it any longer.

“Well damn. I’ve stunned crowds before, but never to silence–”

“That was sick , dude!”

Johnny startled backwards as Bill jumped up from his seat. He would have fallen out of his own chair if it didn’t have a backrest. Ted would have had the same reaction if he hadn’t been stuck in a half-filled bean bag. It took him a second longer, but soon he was on his feet as well.

“Where’d you learn to play like that, man?” Ted asked, awestruck. He reached for his guitar back, turning it around once it was back in his hands as if something fundamental about the instrument had changed.

Though… Considering its state before Johnny tuned it, it might as well have been a completely different guitar.

He shrugged. This was probably the thousandth time he’d heard this question in his lifetime, and giving the answer felt like reciting a memorized script.

“Self-taught. Learned by watching what others were doin’, and doin’ that,” he said. “That and a lotta practice.”

Bill looked sheepish. “Ted and me have been practicing for what feels like forever , and we are still most amateur.”

“Whaddya mean and me ?” Ted raised an accusatory eyebrow at Bill, and Johnny instantly knew he wasn’t witnessing the first time they’d had this conversation. “Last I checked Bill, I’m the only one in here most days.”

The other teen scoffed. “Ted, we’ve been over this. If all we did was practice, we’d get nothin’ else done. Gotta live sometimes , dude.”

“But Bill–”

This whole adventure so far had felt like Johnny was staring into three wildly different funhouse mirrors, but watching a kid version of himself argue with his bandmate about priorities, where his kid self was actually the responsible one? That took the cake. Fuck, maybe Kerry had always been right ‘bout things, even back then.

Johnny hoped he’d get to tell him.

“Chooms, hey–” he interjected, standing up and inserting himself between them. Johnny placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Chillax. You’re both right.”

“Huh?”

“No way.”

Johnny nodded. “Had this exact conversation with my best friend back in the day. One of us wanted to practice shreddin’ ‘til our fingers bled, the other wanted to party and work on the band image. Sound familiar?”

The teens nodded back at him.

“Thing is,” he began, taking a step backwards to put some space between the three of them, “You’re both right. Practice is important n’ all, but it don’t mean shit if you’re burnt out. What’s the point in bein’ good if you’re too sick of playing to actually play anything?”

Ted let out a sigh, and his expression grew serious. “But Mr. Silverhand, as I’m most positive we’ve discussed, Bill n’ me’re ‘posed to save the world . How can we do that if we ain’t good?”

“Kiddo, you’re what, fuckin’ seventeen?”

“Yeah, but–”

“You got time. Explore. Try new shit out. Figure out why the world needs saving. Practice is easier once you’ve got motivation,” Johnny continued. He sat back down in his camp chair. “Never told you why I got into music, right?”

The expressions on Ted’s and Bill’s faces said they weren’t totally convinced, but they sat back down as well, only in swapped seats.

Fuck, how to say this in a kid-friendly way?

Johnny took a deep breath in, then let it out. “When I was just a kid like you two, I enlisted in a corp army. Wanted to, I dunno, get away from home, do somethin’ different .” 

The words came out with acid. They always did.

“Didn’t take me long to see what a fuckin’ miserable mistake that was. Spare you the gorey details, but wasn’t born like this,” Johnny said, lifting his metal hand and flexing the artificial digits. The teens’ eyes went wide again, but with something like horror rather than awe this time.

He continued. “Ran away. Wandered into a place called Night City. Would only be a couple hours’ drive from here, I think. Met this other runaway named Kerry. Couldn’t stand the corruption I saw around me: corporations squeezing everythin’ out of people, wringin’ em out for all they’re worth. Every last damn enny.”

“Channelled that anger into the band, into our music. Wanted to get big not for the fame, or the money– though that helped– but so we could do something .” Johnny felt some of that fire return to his chest at his own words. It went out as quickly as it came. He still cared, he’d always care, but it just wasn’t his fight anymore. Hell, Arasaka was nearly dead, just a pile of smoldering embers now. “I’d like to think we accomplished something , by the end.”

Johnny cleared his throat. “What I’m tryin’ to say is that if you wanna do something big, become legends, you gotta know what you’re fightin’ for, then make that your reason for gettin’ up in the morning.” He held up a hand, “Not sayin’ you gotta know that now , but… Can’t figure that out if you’re stuck in here practicin’ all the time, right? Can’t see the world from the four walls of a garage.”

Johnny let that sit in the air. Ted and Bill eyed him intensely for a moment before sharing a look. They searched for something in each other’s eyes, then began to nod slowly. 

Johnny’s younger, otherworld self broke the silence first. “Yeah, that… that makes sense,” Ted half-whispered.

He leaned in. “Most important nugget o’ wisdom of mine? Can’t do this shit alone. Made that mistake myself, too many times.”

Johnny stood, looking down at Ted and his choom. “Gonna go check on the others, see where they’re at. When I get back, I want the two of you to’ve fixed your shit, kay?”

“Kay.”

“Yeah.”

As he walked out of the garage and back into the kitchen, Johnny heard the teens shuffling behind him. The garage door closed with a click . Where would he be today if someone had said any of that to him and Kerry when they were starting out? To any of them in the band? Thinking about it now, maybe they did.

Whatever they said, past-Johnny sure as hell hadn’t listened. Something told him Ted would, though.

—

Johnny found Wick and Shadow in the backyard, sitting on the porch. They’d clearly been talking for some time already.

“–can’t say I’ve ever been to the moon, no,”

“Should go sometime. The sunrise was the best I’ve ever seen.”

“...I’ll put it on my bucket list.”

Johnny stepped up next to them, settling down on the porch on the hedgehog’s other side. “You’ve been to the moon, Shads?” he asked, eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah,” Shadow replied with a nod. He looked up at where the moon still hung in the late-morning sky, a faraway expression on his face. “Didn’t go on purpose. Got thrown there by Sonic when he tried to kill me.”

The words weren’t said with any kind of malice or sadness, but matter-of-fact. Johnny and Wick shared a glance over Shadow’s head.

The mercenary’s gaze went back down to Shadow. “Mind if I ask why he tried to kill you?”

Shadow shrunk into himself, ears going flat against his head. “I might’ve almost killed his dad…?” he said, sheepishly. He quickly added, “I didn’t mean to, I… I thought he was someone else. I apologized afterwards.”

After a pause, Johnny let out an air-clearing laugh. “Been there, done that,” he chuckled and made a sweeping motion with his ‘ganic arm, “Mean, who hasn’t befriended someone they tried to flatline first?”

“Kind of an odd experience to share,” Wick pointed out. A smirk that reminded Johnny entirely too much of himself found a place on the other man’s face. “Most of my friends back home are either people who I tried to kill, or who tried to kill me first.”

Damn. Johnny leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Fuckin’ swear, it’s like you’re just me in a suit.”

Wick opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Shadow disappearing and reappearing on his feet in a flash of red light. His eyes were wide, and his ears twitched, reminding Johnny of a startled deer.

“Do you feel that?” he asked in a tense whisper. Shadow threw out an arm, pointing to a corner of the backyard. “Chaos energy, it’s…”

Johnny’s heart skipped a beat. “Here?”

Shadow shook his head. “No, it’s far. Northeast of here. Couple hundred miles away, I think.”

“What’s northeast of here?” Wick asked, glancing between Shadow and the direction the kid was pointing. “Another military base back home?”

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “No idea. I’ve never been there.”

Huh… The places they’d been so far hadn’t been random. Wick had been in San Francisco, Shadow had lived at a military base in the Colorado mountains, they’d wound up here at the gas station Ted and his best friend frequented… From what Ted had said– and what the place looked like– it sounded like San Dimas was in southern California, by Los Angeles. Gears turned in Johnny’s head. The only place he knew up that way was–

“Night City.”

Shadow broke his staring contest with the back corner of the yard. “What?”

Johnny cleared his throat. “Night City. Home. It’s at Morro Bay, a couple hours up the coast,” he clarified. “Think that’s our next–”

He was cut off by pain surging through his chest, like it had a couple times now. It wasn’t as strong as the last time, but Johnny doubled over all the same, clenching at his chest with a hand. His vision blurred and distorted until he had to close his eyes to keep from getting nauseous. A thud next to him told him Shadow had collapsed. Concerned shouting from inside told him Ted had as well.

It only took about thirty seconds for the episode to subside, but that was thirty seconds longer than Johnny would have preferred. Fuck. He’d ask how V did this for the three or so months they’d been stuck together, but he already knew the answer: grit, determination, and a damn funny copilot.

Tequila and an insane amount of painkillers had helped, too.

“Know I keep sayin’ it,” he managed through clenched teeth, “but I am so ready for this fuckin’ shit to be over.”

When he turned toward Wick, the man was breathing heavily. A faint red glow emanated from his eyes. “Yeah,” he said on exhale, “Same.”

With a groan, Shadow got to his knees, then pushed himself back into a shaky stand. “We should head out now, then,” Shadow said, turning toward the back door. 

“Before things get worse.”

Chapter Text

Finding a way to actually get to Morro Bay proved more difficult than John thought it would be. Bill’s parents were out with their car, so the only available car between the five of them belonged to Ted’s dad. Problem was, there was no way in hell they’d be able to get the car back here before the guy noticed it was gone. The drive to the bay was looking to be about four hours from San Dimas, making it an eight-hour round trip. Even considering that Ted’s dad reportedly worked long hours, that was pushing their time limit a bit, more than any of them wanted to risk.

“What’s the deal with your old man, kiddo?”

Silverhand leaned against the wall of the living room, arms folded and ankles crossed in front of him. Even through his dark aviators, John could make out some residual red in the other man’s eyes from where he sat on the loveseat. Ted gave the rocker an exaggerated shrug.

“I mean… My dad’s a cop, right?” Ted began, turning in his seat on the couch to see Silverhand better. He didn’t seem to catch the man roll his eyes at that.

The kid continued. “He’s a good one, I think, but he’s also the most intense stick in the mud. Doesn’t approve of the band, of Bill, of nothin’ but cop stuff. Thinks it’s all a buncha worthless– and I’m quoting him here– hogwash.”

“Five dollar word there,” Silverhand mumbled.

“Yeah,” Bill added, “He threatened to send Ted to military camp if we flunked outta school. Part of why that absolute dude Rufus helped us last year.”

John hummed in thought. “Think there’s any chance he’ll come back?”

“Dunno,” Ted replied with a shake of his head, “He’s visited once or twice, but we don’t got a way to contact him.”

Shadow walked into the living room from the kitchen, loudly popping open the tab on a soda can. Combined with the grey hoodie he still wore, he suddenly looked much more like a stereotypical teenager. “Sounds like we’re gonna have to take your dad’s car, then. We don’t have time to argue about it.” He paused to take a sip. “Do you have a key?”

Ted slouched. “Nah, it’s with my dad. How’re we gonna get it? We don’t got any way to get to his station.”

“And I do not believe we’ll be able to repeat the righteous key coup we pulled off last year,” Bill agreed with a nod.

The more that Ted and Bill mentioned their adventures of the last year, the more questions John wanted to ask, but the whole idea of time travel made his head hurt. What confused him more was just how anything that technical and complicated had ever involved these two. No offense, of course.

Silverhand pushed himself off the wall and stepped up right behind the couch, his hands moving into the pockets of his jacket. “Where’s the car now? With your old man?”

“No, he takes the squad car to work. Car’s parked in the garage.”

The rocker’s gaze moved to the corner of the room, eyes darting back and forth in thought. “Eh, I’ve jacked more secure cars for less,” he said after some clear internal deliberation.

John’s posture went straight. “Silverhand, we’re not stealing Ted’s car.”

Silverhand held his metal left hand up defensively. “Hey, it’s not stealing if it’s his car. Hotwirin’ a rustbucket this old’s gonna be easy as pie.”

“You’ve stolen a car before?” Shadow asked, a funny expression on his face. The kid looked as shocked at the revelation as John felt, which is to say he didn’t look surprised at all.

“Kid, I stole my own set of wheels when I wasn’t much older than these two,” he replied smoothly, pointing to the teens with a metal thumb.

An involuntary sigh left John’s chest. That seemed in character for this guy, yeah. “What do you drive?”

He almost didn’t want to know the answer, but his curiosity was piqued anyway. Corvette? Ferrari? Then again, this guy was from some weird dystopian future, so he would likely drive something John had never heard of. A flying car, maybe?

All eyes were on Silverhand now, and he flashed them all a smug, toothy grin. “Porsche 911 Turbo. Still sits in my garage, even after all these years.”

Huh.

Silverhand took a step back, gesturing toward Ted with his hand and refocusing on the matter before them. “Point is, if you can get us to your place, I can get it open for us. No promises the alarm won’t go off, but I should be able to get the car turned on.”

“But… How will we get it back in time?” Bill asked. He turned to face Ted again, worry written in the lines of his expression. “Your dad’ll kill me if I drive back with his car and not you. He’s already mad that you’ve–” he flashed some air quotes, “–been stayin’ here for ‘bout five days. And your dad kinda scares me, man. I dunno if I can do that.”

John laughed inwardly, in a cynical kind of way. How many times and in how many places had he had this exact conversation? New York, Tokyo, Paris… Though the stakes were nowhere near the same, the tension in the room was. He pushed the thoughts away. It was a personal crisis for another time.

Ted grabbed his friend by the shoulders, donning a dead serious look. “Bill. This very well may be the most substantial test of our friendship. Nay, test of our bond as bandmates, and brothers in arms.” The two of them locked eyes. “Will you escort me n’ these three dudes to Morro Bay, then bring my dad’s car back to San Dimas, potentially facing his wrath in the process?”

Bill thought long and hard about it for about thirty seconds, not responding.

The other teen sighed. “An’ I’ll pay for gas.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Yep. Definitely a conversation John had had before.

Though for him, more blood and lead tended to be involved.

–

They arrived in the late afternoon. Ted had never been to Morro Bay before, and he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. The surrounding city was on the small side, just a bunch of suburbs and some tourist attraction-type joints. It still had that California desert vibe that Ted had come to know and love, though there were a few more trees than in San Dimas. Silverhand– who had volunteered to drive because he “knew the area”– meandered the five of them around in the Ford Escort they’d stolen from Ted’s garage. Much like the drive to Colorado, the radio had been stuck on the rock station from the second they hit the road. Not that Ted or Bill minded.

“You gettin’ anything, Shads?” the rocker asked for about the fifth time since arriving.

Shadow sat in the middle of the back row, sandwiched between Ted and Bill, eyes closed. He was intently focused, ears twitching and brow furrowed, as he had been since they’d entered the city. “I’m not a radar, Silverhand,” he sighed, opening his red eyes and looking over at the rockstar, “but I think so. Think you can take us closer to the bay?”

“I’ll try.” Silverhand turned right down another residential road, which turned out to be a cul de sac. He flipped a turn. “Fuck, this’d be easier if my holo still worked. Thing got bricked on the jump here.”

Wick, who sat in the passenger seat, nodded. “My phone, too.”

Ted and Bill shared a look over Shadow’s head. He didn’t know how a mobile phone could possibly be helpful right now, but he nodded in agreement anyway. They could definitely use a map, though.

Their conversation with Silverhand that morning, and then the private discussion they’d had after, had shifted something. The tension that had built between Ted and his best friend over the past couple of months wasn’t completely gone– even Ted knew that that would take time– but he felt lighter than he had since last year. The future was uncertain, but he knew that no matter what happened, Bill would be there. And that was enough for him.

They just needed to figure this all out first.

“Is this what Night City looks like, Mr. Silverhand?” Ted asked, watching the houses as they passed by. Like in San Dimas, they were typical suburban homes: flat, one-level houses with green lawns and palms out front. “Y’know, cause we’re in the same place n’ all.”

The man laughed. “Oh hell no. NC proper is all skyscrapers and industrial complexes,” he gestured around them with his real hand, “Though, this looks kinda like Santo, the hood just south of town. If you added a couple dozen drug addicts and a metric ton of garbage n’ used needles, I’d feel right at home.”

“And you like living there?” Wick questioned, eyebrow raised.

Silverhand replied with a half-hearted shrug. “It’s home.”

They drove around for a bit longer, slowly but surely making their way closer to the bay.

Shadow suddenly perked up, startling both Ted and Bill, making them jump in their seats. “Got a question for you, Silverhand.”

“What’s that?”

“The other places we’ve been have been where large amounts of energy have collected in the past. Did something happen in your Night City? An explosion, or an earthquake, or something?”

Ted heard Silverhand breathe in sharply through clenched teeth. “...You could say that.”

Shadow was on the edge of his seat now. “Could you elaborate? This could be important, and tell us where exactly we need to go.”

Silverhand sighed deeply. “Fine, but you won’t like it.” He took in a breath. “Back in my ‘23, two thermonuclear charges went off in the center of town. Leveled a good chunk of City Center, from what I heard.”

Woah. 

“A nuke?” Bill asked, at the same time that Wick let out a “ Damn.”

Shadow, however, was undeterred. “From what you heard? Your tone worries me,” he said flatly.

A pause.

“Might’ve… been part of the op that did it..?” Silverhand said, eyes narrowing.

The dog sighed himself, sitting back in his seat. “That checks out. Guess it would have happened in the bay then, huh?”

“Yep. Makes sense that the chaotic energy or whatever-the-fuck would be concentrated there.”

Ted heard Wick turn in his seat. “Wouldn’t that mean Night City is radioactive? How the fuck do you live there? How the fuck does anyone live there?”

Silverhand shrugged again. “It’s home,” he repeated, as if it were a valid answer to a perfectly normal question.

Ted knew that this should make him worried about the very real possibility that they ended up in Night City after Shadow did whatever he’d been doing with the chaos energy, but even he was mature enough to recognize that trying anyway was their only option. And who knows, maybe he’d get irradiated and get super powers? That’d be sick as hell, Ted thought.

Eventually, Shadow signaled for them to stop the car at a lookout point, and the five of them climbed out of the car to inspect it. It had gotten late while they’d been driving around, and the sun was just starting to dip below the horizon now, casting a pinkish-orange glow over the ocean. If Ted squinted, he could see the air in front of them waving, like it did in summertime, only it wasn’t anywhere near hot enough for that to happen naturally.

Silverhand put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and joined Ted and Bill at the barrier along the edge of the lookout. “Think the sunset’s the only thing from home that’s the same,” he said, voice low. There was something in his tone that Ted couldn’t place. He was about to ask about it when Shadow stepped up on Ted’s other side. The red and black dog held a furry hand out over the edge and turned it over, back and forth, moving his fingers like he was strumming an instrument. The waving Ted saw in the air shifted somewhat from the movements, reminding him of ripples in a pond.

“The chaos energy is a ways out, over the water and up, but I think…” Shadow clenched his hand into a fist, “I think I can reach it.”

“You sure you’re up for this?” Silverhand asked, concern in his voice thinly veiled by a forced-sounding casual tone, “I know you were kiddin’ earlier, but…” He trailed off, and shook his head.

Shadow looked between Ted and the others in sequence. “Might pass out again, but I think I’m getting the hang of this now. I’ll be okay,” he said with a small, reassuring smile. “Besides, we don’t have much of a choice.”

At that, Bill pushed off the barrier and took a few steps backwards toward the Escort parked behind them. “This where we part ways?” he asked, looking right at Ted.

“I believe so, Bill.” Ted took a few quick steps, crossing the distance between the two of them. He held out a hand, which Bill clasped in his own with a clap, and they pulled each other into a tight embrace. When Bill began to pull away, Ted only squeezed his friend harder. Try as he might to ignore it, fear had settled in Ted’s chest and gut. There was a non-zero chance that he wouldn’t come back from this, whether Bill realized it or not. Not to mention that Ted would never get to pay him back for facing his dad alone, something almost as daunting as whatever Ted and his new friends had before them.

Ted was content to stand there for a few moments longer, but a strong wind picking up and a familiar staticky noise caught his attention. He and Bill parted to stare in its direction.

One of the others swore in surprise. Ted couldn’t tell which of the three it was, but regardless, he was in agreement. Lightning shot out of nowhere, unnaturally winding its way into a tall, boxy shape. He didn’t need to be able to see through the phonebooth’s windows to know who was inside. The door folded open and a tall man stepped out, dressed in a long, grey overcoat and dark, metal-rimmed sunglasses.

“Greetings, friends!” the newcomer said cheerily, slipping off his shades and tucking them into an inside pocket of his coat. “A little birdie told me you two got in a spot of trouble again,” he added, tone taking on the same faux sternness of a kind schoolteacher.

“Rufus!” Ted and Bill called in unison, running up to join him.

Ted clapped him on the shoulder. “How you been, dude? How’s the future?”

Rufus shrugged, hands deep in his pockets. “Oh, you know,” he replied modestly, “It’s perfect, excellent . No complaints.”

He lifted himself onto his toes, looking over Ted and Bill’s heads at the other three standing behind them. “Hello there, friends!”

Ted and Bill turned around. Silverhand had donned his aviators, Wick had his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and Shadow was trying to shrink as far as he could into the oversized hoodie that he’d acquired from the motel back in Wick’s Las Vegas. Even from deep within the hood, the dog’s piercing red eyes were still plainly visible.

Ted waved an arm toward the three of them. “Dudes, this is Rufus, our friend from the future! He like, totally helped us out last year.”

Rufus gave him and Bill a small smile. “Oh, please, dudes. I was just doing my job,” he looked up at the others, “But you three need no introduction.”

He took a few steps forward, until he was only a couple feet in front of where Shadow, Wick, and Silverhand had gathered.

“John Wick. The Mr. Wick,” he nodded at him, then at Silverhand. “And the legend himself, Johnny Silverhand, whose reputation precedes him.” Finally, Rufus stooped down to Shadow’s level, and extended a hand. 

“Shadow the Hedgehog,” he said slowly, enjoying each word. “Big hero of mine, personally.”

Ted watched as Shadow’s eyes flicked up to meet his, then tentatively accepted Rufus’s hand to shake it. The man bounced back into a standing position. Meanwhile, the two other adults just looked a combination of confused and mildly amused.

Huh?

Ted raised his hand. “Uh, Rufus?”

The man spun around on a heel. “Yes, Ted?”

“How do you like, know these guys?”

“Why, because they exist in your future, and my past!” he waved a hand at them, “Shadow’s the star of several successful video games and a movie spin-off, Mr. Wick here is from a film series of which I’m rather fond, and Silverhand hails from a video game! I suppose it was a tabletop game first, though.”

Before any of them could react to that– and Ted really did want to– Rufus loudly clapped his hands together and continued talking.

“Well boys, six of us are in a predicament. I need these two safe and secure at home,” he said, pointing at where Ted and Bill stood, “But you three gotta take one of ‘em with you.”

Shadow took a step forward. “We don’t have any other–”

Rufus silenced him with a raised hand. “Now, I know you don’t have any other options. My continued presence here tells us there’s at least a hope that Ted here comes back from this in one piece. Rules of time travel and all that. All I ask is that you take special care with my friend here.” His eyebrows raised. “World peace is riding on this.”

Wick glanced between Silverhand and Shadow before speaking. “We’ll get him home,” he promised.

“Perfect! Now that that’s settled,” Rufus said, rubbing his hands together, “Bill, I hear you need to get this tin can home before dark.”

Rufus guided Bill off to the side and toward the car with an arm thrown over his shoulder, leaving Ted alone with the others. Nervous energy filled his body, making him want to do nothing but fidget. This was their cue, right?

“We gonna do this, or what?” Ted asked.

Silverhand sighed. “As much as I wanna ask what the fuck he meant by even half of the shit he said… we don’t got time for that. Shads?”

“It shouldn’t take me long to grab the chaos energy,” the dog replied.

Sure enough, it didn’t. Like before, when Shadow reached out to the energy, it responded. The wind picked up around them. Red, orange, and yellow sparks shot out from Shadow and the surrounding area. Red tendrils of energy emerged from each of their chests and spiraled through the air before colliding at the ball of energy in Shadow’s hand.

“Hey, Ted!”

He turned, seeing Bill and Rufus together beside his dad’s car. Bill was barely audible over the howling wind.

“Yeah, Bill?”

Bill flashed him a wide smile. “Party on, dude!”

Ted returned his grin with one of his own. “And be excellent to each other!”

“Hells yeah!”

If this all went to shit, and Ted never got home, he’d be content with the last thing he saw of it being his best friend, he thought. 

And then everything went red.

—

Johnny woke to voices. Familiar ones, too. Had the others gotten back up before him? No… this wasn’t his voice he was hearing, past or present…

He groaned, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of the rocks poking him through his clothes, the heat of the ground beneath him, and just how shitty he felt. The air was heavy with the smells of engine smoke and burnt rubber, making it hard to get a breath of air that didn’t feel like fire in his lungs.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking gently, then another lifted his ‘ganic wrist, taking his pulse when he didn’t stir.

“Pulse is fuckin’ wacked,” the mystery person said, southern accent drenching the words. “But shit, at least he’s alive.”

Johnny heard a set of footsteps crunch through the dirt toward where he lay. He’d sit up and crack a joke if he had it in him, but right now he didn’t even think he could open his eyes.

“Hey, Mitch! I think I found him, but– holy fuck. Another one? Wait…”

Johnny would know that voice anywhere.

The dirt crunched harder, like the newcomer was crouching next to him. She lifted up his hand– the left one, the metal one– then dropped it back down on the ground unceremoniously.

“So what, is the other gonk his fuckin’... long-lost brother or some shit? And he never told–”

She was interrupted by a third voice. “Guys! I found two more! A kid, looks like the other two, and… a dog, I think? Never seen one like it before, though.”

Panam Palmer, queen of the Badlands, sighed in the same exhausted, sarcastic way she always did when she saw Johnny.

“I will call V. This is gonna be fun.”

Chapter Text

V woke to her holo going off. Shill ringing filled her head through her implant. The noise startled her enough that she nearly fell off her couch, but V managed to catch herself on the arm before she completely careened off the edge. An icon in the corner of her vision told her Panam was calling. The sun peeking above the skyscrapers through her window, meanwhile, told her she’d slept till late morning. 

When did she even fall asleep? She remembered stumbling in with Misty around two after a third round of unsuccessful visits to the local dives and bars, but everything after that was a blur. She must have collapsed on the couch upon getting home, then.

Another series of high-pitched sounds assaulted V’s ears, reminding her that her holo was, in fact, still ringing.

Oh great, she thought, bringing a hand up to scrub at her face, another burned lead? More bad news?

V answered the holo with her cyberdeck, cringing when she heard the sleep still clinging to her voice. 

“Hey Pan, what’s–”

“We found him.”

V shot up. “You what?”

“We found him,” the nomad repeated, more slowly this time, “Mitch and I were driving back from the City when we found him and a couple other others just… on the side of the road, unconscious.”

A relieved sigh heaved itself from V’s lungs. She held a hand firmly to her chest, over her heart. “Oh thank fuck.”

Panam hummed in agreement. “Johnny and the others we found are with our ripper now, but V…?”

V, who was now up and looking for wherever she had dumped her bag the night before, knew that tone. “Y-yeah?”

“Does Johnny… have a brother by chance?”

V froze, then after a second shook her head despite knowing Panam wouldn’t be able to see it. “No…? Far as he knows, he’s an only child.”

“Huh… You sure?”

She knew that tone, too. “Pan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing! It’s just,” V heard Panam take a long breath, then continue in a hushed tone, “We found three others with him, two guys and… some kind of strange dog? Except one of the guys looks exactly like him, V. It’s uncanny. The other one’s a kid, but he also looks like Johnny.”

V blinked a few times. “The fuck?”

“That’s what I said!”

V sighed through her nose. “Just,” the merc ran her fingers through her hair, “I’ll be there soon, kay? And let me call around, tell people Johnny’s okay. Think it’d be best coming from me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The Badlands were as they always were: hot, dry, and in desperate need of a roadwork crew. As much as V loved driving the Porsche, it handled like ice on hot metal offroad, so she’d settled for the Thorton instead. It wasn’t as flashy, but it would get her there in one piece. Right about now, that’s all she needed.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The first thing V needed was to get to the Aldecaldo camp as soon as physically possible. The second thing V needed was some answers. Johnny had both literally and metaphorically been in her head and her in his; she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he knew none of his relatives. Besides, Johnny had been born about a hundred years ago. Any family he might have had would either be old as dirt or long gone. So what, was this mystery doppelganger some crazed fan, like that gonk they klepped Kerry’s guitar from way back when?

A sudden family reunion was definitely a better explanation for Johnny’s sudden disappearance than what she or anyone else had been able to come up with. Regardless, he was safe, he was sober, and he wasn’t dead. Knowing Johnny, he’d probably also used up all his good luck for the next decade.

The nomad camp rose slowly into view: trucks, repurposed shipping containers, tents, and several dozen people milling about, working on engines and guns or carrying boxes back and forth. V spied the ripperdoc’s trailer in the back of camp, with Panam’s tall, imposing figure standing just outside, almost like a sentry. The Thorton slid easily into V’s usual parking place, and she almost forgot to turn the engine off in her haste to join Panam.

“Is he awake?” she asked, jogging over. Dirt and rocks crunched loudly beneath her boots with each hurried step.

Panam shook her head. “Not yet. Our ripper believes he will wake up soon.”

V didn’t wait for Panam to say anything else, pushing past her to climb the steps into the trailer. Whatever Panam said in response to that got lost in the thundering of blood in V’s ears and the way her chest and stomach clenched with something she couldn’t give a name to. Did such a word exist for the combination of relief, worry, anger, and fear coursing through her veins?

“Emotional” probably sufficed.

In addition to the usual ripper’s chair– where Johnny sat, she could tell from the arm– were three cots laid out in the trailer. V’s eyes scanned over each in sequence. It was as Panam had said: a kid no older than sixteen or seventeen, a man who looked exactly like Johnny but with a dress shirt, slacks, and two ‘ganic arms, and… well, it didn’t look like a dog at all, but V could understand why it had been labelled as such. Whatever it was, it was fluffy and kinda cute.

Something about the thing’s appearance tickled at the back of her mind, giving her a sense of deja vu. V had never seen anything like this outside of some braindances she’d watched as a kid; was this a leftover fragment of memory from the Relic, maybe?

V’s gaze trailed back across the crowded room to Johnny. Seeing him unconscious in the chair pulled at her heartstrings and threatened to snap them irreparably. It was too similar to when they’d brought him back from past the Blackwall, when he’d laid there lifelessly and without any promise of ever waking up. But this wasn’t that. Stepping softly, V approached his side and rested a hand gently on the side of his face, rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone.

“Fuckin’ scared me, know that?” she whispered, an echo of a conversation they’d had a little over a year ago, only in reversed roles. Back when he’d saved her life for the nth time and dragged her to Vik’s after collapsing. A lifetime ago, it felt like.

All at once, the rollercoaster of emotions she’d been riding for the last week or so caught up to her, and V had to stifle a sob. She wanted to be mad at him for this, especially after all they’d been through, but if V was being honest, she didn’t think she had it in her to–

Movement.

V drew her handgun, a custom Malorian reminiscent of Johnny’s, in a fluid motion, locking her aim on one of the figures that had– up until now– been still. The “dog” was sitting up, like a person would, bright red eyes glancing between V and her piece. Its piercing eyes narrowed for a split second before widening in something like understanding. Had it noticed that she hadn’t flicked the safety? She activated her scanner on instinct to check its cyberware, but the only electronics in the room her Kiroshis detected were in the ripper’s tools, V, and Johnny. So the kid and the other guy were chromeless? Huh.

The dog-thing raised its hands– Paws? Would they be paws?– innocently, then cleared its throat. “Are you V?” it asked, in–

Well fuck, in Johnny’s voice.

“What in the fuck?” she exclaimed, taking an involuntary step back. This thing could not only talk, but it sounded just like…

It sighed, like this was a reaction it had been anticipating and hoping V wouldn’t have. “I can explain everything, just please put the gun away. I’m not going to hurt you.”

V couldn’t help but snort at that. Like this child-sized thing could drop her before she could get a shot out on it. Fortunately for whatever it was, she wanted answers more than she wanted to compare sizes.

“What are you?” she asked, inspecting it more closely than she had on her initial, cursory glance. From what her Kiroshis said, it was about the height and weight of a kid, like a thirteen year-old. Black fur, accented with red streaks, covered its entire body save for the back of its head, which was instead coated in spikes, like a porcupine.

The deja vu came back. No, not like a porcupine. Like a hedgehog.

“My name is Shadow,” it said, “and we need your help.”

V scoffed. “Nuh uh. I’ve heard that one before, and it ended with me standing over a fuckton of bodies, none the better. What are–”

“V?”

It was as if the floor fell away underneath her. Her arms went lax, replacing her Malorian in its holster with a practiced motion she didn’t even need to register. There beside her, safe and alive, Johnny blinked up at her a few times. His eyes were a shade of red she’d never seen them before, like the hedgehog’s, but it didn’t matter. Her breath hitched as she watched him drink her in like it was that first time all over again. 

“Hey, princess,” Johnny said, pushing himself to sit up with some effort, “What’ve I–”

V didn’t let him finish, cutting him off by throwing herself around his neck. He returned the embrace a millisecond later, strong arms coming to wrap around her middle. The angle was odd, and they both clearly needed a shower and to sleep in their own bed, but it felt more like home than the penthouse had all week.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she half-whispered, half-sobbed.

She more felt than heard Johnny chuckle at that. He squeezed her tighter. “Missed you, too, Val.”

—

By the time John came to, the others seemed to have already been up for a while. According to Silverhand, some of his friends had stumbled across them after Shadow had transported them here. They were now in some kind of campsite in the middle of the desert, reminding John of a movie trailer he had seen a couple years ago. He hadn’t watched the movie, but the aesthetics matched perfectly: custom-job trucks, leather jackets, trailers, a shit ton of guns. Even the environment matched. The area around the bay in Ted’s “dimension,” as Shadow had started calling it, had been dry and barren, but not like this. There were barely even weeds, just dried-out joshua trees and decommissioned windmills in the distance. 

Silverhand’s girl “V” was an interesting young woman. She reminded John of several upstart assassins he knew, plucky attitude included. In the short time he’d spent around her, John had already counted at least two guns, a pair of throwing knives, and a grenade hidden somewhere on her, and that’s just what he had been able to catch so far.

Seeing the two of them together hollowed out a hole in John’s chest he had been desperately trying to fill for years. As with before, he shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind, back to that safe little box where he wouldn’t have to see or think about them. When he realized just how full that box was becoming, he shoved that thought in there, too.

“We ready to get outta here?” Silverhand asked, stepping up to where John, Ted, and Shadow sat back in the camp doctor’s rudimentary trailer-office. The doc hadn’t done much for them other than check their vitals and make sure nothing was broken, but John wasn’t sure the man would have been able to fix what was wrong with them anyway. 

“Not that I don’t enjoy sweatin’ like a pig out in the middle of nowhere,” the rocker added, “but I’d much rather be just ‘bout anywhere else.”

V followed close behind Silverhand, followed by another woman, the one who had actually found them all out in the middle of nowhere. Silverhand and V called her Panam. Their rescuer was tall, had a strong build, and looked completely capable of knocking anyone who told her “no” flat on their ass.

John decided immediately that he liked her.

“God, I hope so,” Panam said, waving toward John with a hand, “Kindly get you and your clones the hell out of my camp, Johnny. I don’t know what all’s going on here, but if it happens again I’m flatlining you myself.” She punctuated the threat by placing both hands on her hips and giving him a flat stare.

Silverhand rolled his eyes, putting his metal arm around V’s shoulders. “Message received, damn.”

The five of them piled into V’s sleek, futuristic-looking truck soon after, and headed out onto a broken-down freeway toward the massive skyscrapers and tall holograms looming in the distance. John hadn’t been awake for the initial conversation about who they were and why they were there, but V seemed surprisingly okay with whatever had been said. John didn’t know if that said more about how well that conversation had gone or how much she apparently trusted the man sitting beside her in shotgun.

“We must be really far out if the roads are this bad,” Shadow mumbled as the truck jostled over another bump.

V let out a sharp laugh through her nose. “Don’t got a clue which of you said that, but I’m more n’ happy to let you walk. And no,” she continued, “We aren’t that far out. Badlands just suck that much.”

“Hence the name,” John added.

Silverhand flashed him a smirk. “Now you’re gettin’ it.” He paused. “We’re comin’ up on the City, so I’m gonna get this out of the way now, ‘fore any questions get asked: Don’t talk to anyone. This place is dangerous as fuck as is. We don’t need any of you starting any fights you can’t win.”

John’s brow furrowed. Silverhand had said the other night that people here augmented their bodies with metal– no, chrome . Yet again, John wished he watched more movies. Maybe then he’d have the creativity to imagine things other than knife hands or gun arms. Though so far, even those generic ideas seemed to match the vibes of this place perfectly.

“Are we gonna die?” Ted asked, fear on his face incompletely hidden by disbelief.

V inhaled sharply through her teeth, like she was trying to filter whatever response had come to mind first. “Not if you do what we say, no. Shouldn’t, anyway.” When Ted’s expression didn’t change, she added, “Don’t worry kid, our place is safe.”

As they entered Night City proper, barren desert and ruins were replaced by little houses, then by larger buildings, then by massive, dark skyscrapers that blocked the sun. John had to suppress a gasp at the sights, though he didn’t feel awe or disgust, more like… he was suffocating. Neon lights and holographic signs supplied most of the illumination on the City’s ground level, which itself was packed with dozens, if not hundreds, of people walking and talking and going about their lives. It reminded him of New York City, if you tripled the population and made everyone dress like characters out of some kind of punk-rock sci-fi comic book. It also reminded him of why he and Helen had bought a house a ways out of town.

“Woah,” Ted said, watching out the window with wide eyes, fear from earlier forgotten for the moment, “This is the most excellent place I’ve ever seen in my life .”

“You sure you know what that word means, kiddo?” V shrugged, turning onto another street, “Just Night City. City like any other.”

“Whaddya mean? This place got flying cars.”

The four of them who weren’t driving craned their necks to see that, sure enough, a white and red flying something was passing over a nearby skyscraper. It had some kind of siren on.

V didn’t appear convinced that it was anything out of the ordinary, but John watched Silverhand’s lips turn upward in a humored smile.

“Guess it is kinda cool,” he said, “I’ll give you that one.”

As they continued through the city, John turned his attention back to the view out his window. Upon closer inspection, the signs wallpapering the buildings weren’t decorative. They were advertisements , hundreds of them, many suggestive and lewd in nature.

What was it Silverhand had said? That the “corps”– which John assumed meant “corporations”– had been bleeding people dry?

Given just how many goddamn advertisements there were in this place, yeah. John was definitely starting to see it.

Eventually, V turned into a parking garage and pulled into a space next to a very customized silver Porsche. The back third was a greyish-green color bordered at the middle of the car by a red stripe. Red lettering across the back of the car proudly read “SAMURAI.”

“That your car?” John asked as he stepped out of the truck, though he already knew the answer.

Silverhand stepped out of the truck himself, inspecting the little car with his hands in his pockets, a proud look spreading across his face. “Yep. My ride, in all her glory.”

“Still can’t believe we found it, honestly,” V said, pressing her hand to a pad next to a set of closed elevator doors a ways down the garage. “Or that it still runs.”

Silverhand looked away from the car and started for V, wrapping an arm around her waist when he got close enough. “You n’ me both.”

Another unwanted, painful thought went into the box.

Shadow and Ted joined them in the elevator as soon as the doors opened. It was one of the dingier elevators John had been in, which was complemented by the clear gang graffiti decorating the back wall. Homey.

John couldn’t help but notice the wary glances Shadow was giving V every few seconds, and placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure how reassuring it was until Shadow pressed into it, though he kept a vigilant eye on the pink-haired woman. Had something happened...?

Evidently, V had noticed, too.

“Chillax, choom. Not gonna pull a gun on you. Not again, anyway.”

Silverhand looked down to blink at her a few times. “You pulled a gun on the kid?” he asked.

John’s hold on Shadow grew more firm.

V’s eyes widened. “That’s a kid?”

“‘Course he is, can’t you tell?”

Shadow looked up at John, eyes narrowing with clear confusion. His mouth pulled into a frown.

“Johnny, the two of you share a set of vocal chords. I thought he was an adult… whatever he is.” V waved a hand in a circular motion toward Shadow. “Wanna say… hedgehog?”

Holy shit.

Just as John was about to congratulate her for not calling the poor kid the wrong animal for the twentieth time, Ted cleared his throat. As if on reflex, John’s free hand came up to pinch at his nose.

Oh, god.

The teen shoved his hands shyly into the back pockets of his jeans. “That’s actually a common mistake, ma’am. See, Shadow’s really a dog .”

Shadow buried his face in his hands with a groan, mumbling into them, “I’m not a damn dog. I’m not. I’m really, really not,” like a mantra. If things were going to keep going like this, maybe it had to become one.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a rather nice penthouse apartment. It was an open-concept split-level, with metal stairs on their right leading up to a small second floor. A living area sat on the left, and a kitchen to the back. It was more modest than he’d been expecting for a self-proclaimed rock legend and his girlfriend, but John supposed he couldn’t talk. Even his home felt plain by comparison.

Silverhand and V stepped inside with a sigh, the latter turning to the right to enter some kind of storage closet, where she threw her leather gear bag onto a counter.

“Misty left some takeout in the fridge last night,” she called, “Help yourselves, I haven’t touched it.”

John, Ted, and Shadow filed in after them, each of them taking a moment to gawk at the decor. While the kids eventually followed Silverhand into his kitchen area, John found himself drawn to one of the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows. It was about noon now, or at least that’s what John’s cracked watch said. It must have gotten damaged on the jump here. Regardless, the penthouse was high enough in this building that they easily peeked over the neighboring ones, exposing a clutter of smaller residential buildings, roads, and more holographic advertising. He bet that at night, this place could actually look fairly pretty with all the colored lights.

John was shoving another thought into a box when he heard a utensil clatter to the floor behind him. He whipped around to see Ted sitting at a barstool, face scrunched into an expression John hadn’t seen on the kid before.

“Like, what is this?” he asked, inspecting the contents of the little paper– at least John assumed it was paper– container on the counter in front of him.

Silverhand’s lips pulled into a straight line before he nodded once and grabbed a container for himself.

“‘Member when I said everythin’ here was synthetic?”

“Yeah?”

He popped a potsticker into his mouth. “Welcome to Night City, kiddo.”

Chapter Text

Shadow sat on one of the barstools in the kitchen, legs kicking beneath him in a comforting rhythm. Left, right. Left, right. With his eyes closed, the ache in his body from the jump here receding some, and the relative quiet in Silverhand and V’s penthouse, he should have been able to figure out where to take their unusual band of look-and-sound-alikes next. He’d even managed to sleep a little during the afternoon, which only added to his confusion. Shadow thought he was getting the hang of this now: reaching out through space to feel for the electrostatic that accompanied chaos energy, the sensation making his quills and ears twitch restlessly.

So why did it feel so odd?

Perhaps the better question was why it felt like the chaos energy was moving?

The collection of chaos energy wasn’t difficult to locate, necessarily. It was out there– Shadow could feel it in his core, shivering out to his extremities– of that he was certain. But… when he’d first reached out to it roughly half an hour ago, the energy had felt distant, barely perceptible. Now, it felt closer, maybe only a couple hundred miles away.

Was it on a plane, or whatever airplane equivalent they had in a dystopian 2078? Had someone contained it for their own use? Shadow didn’t entertain that idea long– even the military had had it rough when it came to harvesting chaos energy, only discovering methods of doing so because of their access and proximity to Shadow back then. A train, maybe?

He sighed, exhaling the breath he’d been holding through his nose and letting the motion release the stress in his shoulders. His quills, which had tensed from his focus on the chaos energy, flattened back against him. Shadow could do this. He just needed to—

A series of beeps and whirls rang out, echoing in the open air of the penthouse.

“Do you have to keep playing that?” Shadow asked, exasperation edging into his tone. “I’m trying to focus, Ted.”

Ted looked back from the goddamn arcade machine set up under the stairs to the second floor. Why it was even there completely eluded Shadow, but it wasn’t its presence alone that bothered him. While he had quickly become a fan of the little arcade connected to Green Hills’ one and only bowling alley after he’d been dragged there by Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles, he was not as much a fan of the loud electronic chimes that accompanied them, much less those coming from this particular machine now.

“Shadow, come on,” Ted begged, “You don’t even need quarters for this one!”

Shadow cocked his head to one side. “Do they have quarters in the future?” 

The other teen took a step away from the machine, tilting his own head in thought to match Shadow. 

Shortly after arriving, V had very politely informed them all that they “smelled like the landfill where they’d tossed her corpse”– not that Shadow had any clue what that meant– and politely requested that they make use of the shower upstairs. As a result, Ted, whose hair was still a little damp, was now sporting a slightly-too-big band t-shirt of Silverhand’s. It sported the same angry red logo that the rockstar’s leather jacket did.

“Huh. I dunno,” Ted shrugged in a big, exaggerated way, “Good thing we don’t need ‘em for this one!”

Shadow ran his hands up over his face as Ted spun around to return to the game. “Ted, please. I’m trying to get us home,” he grumbled into them.

He opened his mouth to say something else when he was interrupted by a set of footsteps on the metal stairs, descending to join them on the main floor.

“I keep forgetting we even have that,” V said, padding into the kitchen. She pulled a colorful can out of the fridge and cracked it open, taking a sip. “It came with the place, though neither of us use it,” she shrugged. “Was honestly thinkin’ about getting rid of it.”

Both she and Shadow winced when the machine let out another series of eardrum-rupturing beeps and boops. His ears went flat against his head on instinct, though it didn’t do much to muffle the noise.

“Thinking ‘bout it now, that’s prolly why we don’t,” V mumbled, just loud enough for Shadow to catch it over the sounds of the game.

After deciding that trying to locate the chaos energy right now was a lost cause, Shadow took a deep breath, and turned his attention to V. Guilt flashed across her features when his eyes met hers. She considered something for a moment before jumping up to sit on the counter across from him.

V cleared her throat, then took another sip of her drink. Now that she was closer, Shadow picked up the scent of something sickly sweet, though he couldn’t pin down what exactly the flavor was meant to be. “I uh, I’m sorry for pullin’ a gun on you earlier,” she said, “Didn’t realize you were… I dunno…”

“Not a dog?” Shadow finished, tone flat.

V snorted. “I was gonna say not going to eat me , but sure, we can go with that.”

“It’s fine,” Shadow replied, shaking his head. “Been shot at before.”

The woman beside him whistled a low note before adjusting her position on the counter and tucking a leg up against her abdomen. “That’s rough. Can tell you myself that being shot at’s never fun. ‘Specially when you’re a kid.”

“I’m used to it,” Shadow shrugged half-heartedly, “I realize that I don’t exactly look like anything else on Earth. That reaction is… normal, I guess.”

V played with the tab on her drink for a second, like she didn’t know what else to say. Shadow understood the feeling.

Fortunately, the silence was cut short by the sounds of two more sets of feet coming down the metal steps. Silverhand descended first, dressed much the same as he had been, only not as wrinkled, with Wick trailing behind in borrowed dark jeans and a black t-shirt. Shadow wasn’t any good at telling jokes– and honestly, neither were his friends, though he’d never tell them that– but even he could see the obvious joke here about the four of them and their clear red-and-black dress code. Another thing tying them together, he supposed.

“You get anything, kiddo?” Silverhand asked, sliding up to the counter beside V. He wrapped his non-metal arm around her waist, then stole her drink with his other hand while she was distracted. He took a swig, face scrunching in something like disgust. “Forgot you liked the cotton candy shit. Don’t know how you stand it.”

Shadow ignored them, instead looking down to pick at his claws. “Maybe? It… it feels like the chaos energy is moving, somehow. Getting closer, I think?”

“Moving? How?” Wick asked, brow furrowed.

“Don’t know. It hasn’t moved before,” Shadow replied, still toying with his hands.

Silverhand hummed to himself in thought. “Could be that you’re still frazzled from the jump. Excess energy’s messin’ with your… senses, or whatever.”

Shadow’s gaze moved back up, and he glanced between the three of them, shaking his head slowly. “No, it’s something else. It’s different, I can tell.”

Before, his ability to detect the chaos energy had been dampened by exhaustion or pain. At the present moment, Shadow felt fine, save for the frustration that had built in his stomach. Or maybe Night City fare just had that effect on hedgehogs.

Wick looked over at Silverhand and V expectantly. “Any ideas?”

The rocker drummed his fingers against V’s side for a second. “Dunno. Don’t think the corps’ve seen enough radioactive hedgehogs to know what to do with chaos energy.”

“Could ask Rogue if she’s heard anything through the synth-grapevine,” V pointed out, tapping her fingers against the counter, a perfect mirror of Silverhand’s motions that neither of them seemed to notice.

“Who’s Rogue?” Shadow asked.

“Johnny’s ex,” V replied casually, at the same time that Silverhand said, “An old friend.”

They shared a glance. “Known Rogue for ages,” Silverhand continued, eyes moving between Shadow and Wick, “She’s got a lot of clout in the City. Can pick her brain, see if she’s heard anything weird.”

At that, Wick adjusted his posture, shifting his weight to his other foot. “How much about…” he gestured vaguely with a hand, “...are you planning on telling her?

“Enough,” the rocker replied dismissively, shrugging. “Though… bringin’ one of you might help it go over easier. Rogue’s skeptical by nature.”

“I dunno,” V said, giving Silverhand a flat look, “Believed our shit easily enough way back when. Hardly batted an eye.” Her eyes trailed down to where her fingers rested on the cold countertop. “Though, she does think you just… left.”

“Should’ve expected that, I guess,” Silverhand said with a sigh, “But somethin’ tells me this weird shit is gonna hit her different than our weird shit did.”

Shadow kicked his feet under him again. Left, right. Left, right. “Who are you taking with you?”

The four of them flinched as more awful, ear-stabbing sounds came from Ted and the arcade machine. Ted, meanwhile, appeared completely unaffected. For a brief second, Shadow wished he were human, or at least that his hearing was less sensitive.

Before Silverhand could answer, V did so for him. “That one.”

—

Ted had never been to a bar before. He’d seen them in movies, but they were always dim, dingy, and filled with old, bearded guys going after work to down glass boots of beer. From what Silverhand was saying, the joint his friend ran seemed of a separate caliber. By the time they pulled into the back alley parking lot– if the tiny space could even count as a parking lot– it was mid-afternoon, the sun casting everything in a honey-yellow glow.

“Like I said before, don’t talk to anybody, an’ don’t wander off,” the rocker said, tone low and commanding in a way that reminded Ted a little of his dad. “Should be quiet about now, but… can’t be too careful.”

Ted’s reply was quick, instinctual. “Yes, sir.”

If Silverhand flinched at that, Ted didn’t notice.

He followed Silverhand into the dark building, down a flight of stairs. Bright, blue-green neon signage served as the hallway’s only light source, but Ted’s guide didn’t seem to need any light to know where he was going. They stopped at the end of a hall, in front of a massive, bulky man. His hands were clasped in front of him, but the pose did little to hide or distract from how absolutely gigantic the dude was.

“Need to see Rogue,” Silverhand said smoothly, “She in?”

The bouncer’s expression and posture remained still, like a statue, but Ted took in an involuntary breath when the guy’s eyes lit up an electric blue. 

“Rogue? Your favorite rockerboy wants to talk to ya. Uh huh. Kay.” The man’s eyes returned to their normal color. “She’s in her office. Better be good,” he grumbled, stepping aside. The double doors behind him slid open with a soft mechanical whirr.

“‘Preciate it,” Silverhand replied flatly.

The two of them stepped into the bar, which was illuminated by the same green-blue neon as the hall and signs outside. Neon and cold steel lined the floors, walls, and other fixtures. Ted knew immediately that this was the place , even if it was empty aside from a couple stragglers and the pretty bartender.

“Woah,” Ted gasped, doing a spin so he could get a better look at everything, “This is the most sick place, man.”

Silverhand threw him a look over his shoulder, flashing him a grin that was all teeth. “Lots of memories, that’s for sure.”

Ted let himself be led to the back, and down a couple halls before they stopped in front of a door, cold steel like the rest of the bar. The door slid open on silent mechanisms, revealing an office space decorated similarly to the main area. A stern-looking woman sat behind a desk, flipping through a stack of paperwork. Her light hair was long, tossed haphazardly over one shoulder.

Bill would have called her a most bodacious babe.

Ted, on the other hand, didn’t disagree, but also thought she was spooky as hell. He took a subconscious step behind Silverhand.

The woman didn’t look up as Ted and Silverhand entered, though neither of them had made any attempt to do so quietly. They were being ignored on purpose, then. Ted’s brother did the same thing sometimes.

“Thought you’d hit the road,” she said icily, “Poor V was beside herself when you up and vanished.”

Silverhand visibly tensed. “Wasn’t on purpose, Rogue. You know I wouldn’t leave. Not like that. Not her.”

“That so? So it wasn’t your fault, like everything else in your life?”

“Rogue–”

The woman– Rogue– continued flipping through the papers, her posture stiff and calculated, reminding Ted somewhat of his school principal. Only, the atmosphere in this office was heavier. Much, much heavier. “What brought you back, Johnny? Guilt?”

Silverhand scoffed. “Don’t got time for this, Rogue. We need help. Information.”

Rogue hummed a non-committal, disinterested note in reply, and continued looking through the paperwork. Ted could swear she’d restarted the process over again just to have an excuse to not look up at them.

He took a small step out from behind Silverhand and cleared his throat as quietly as he could.

“Miss Rogue? It is most expedient that we acquire your assistance,” Ted said, as politely as he could, “The fate of the world depends on this.”

Rogue’s gaze shot up, and she leaned around a monitor on her desk to look Ted up and down. Her expression sat somewhere between confused and like she’d seen a ghost. Rising slowly from the desk, she stepped around it to get a better view of him. Ted felt like he was being x-rayed.

“Didn’t tell me you had a fucking kid , Johnny,” Rogue breathed, tone sharp as a dagger.

Silverhand scoffed, blinking a few times in disbelief. “Rogue, you serious? Look at him, he’s a teen. How the fuck would I have gotten laid while stuck in Mikoshi?”

“I don’t know, but with you anything’s possible anymore.”

The rocker pinched the bridge of his nose with metal fingers, then nudged Ted with his elbow. “Go on, kiddo. Introduce yourself.”

It took a few starts and stops, but Ted finally managed to get his name out. “I’m uh, I’m Ted Logan,” he began, extending his right hand. Rogue accepted it reluctantly, shaking once, but not letting go. Her grip was vise-like.

“And just where are you from, Ted?” she asked, slowly pronouncing each word.

The office suddenly felt even smaller than it was.

After glancing at Silverhand for a second and receiving a nod, Ted continued. “I’m from San Dimas, California in the year, uh, 1989,” he said, voice lowered.

Rogue finally let go of his hand, brow furrowed. She scanned Ted up and down again, never breaking the eye contact.

“So what, Johnny? You brought me damn a time traveler? That’s a lot, even for you,” she muttered, tone skeptical. Rogue took a step forward, right into Ted’s personal bubble, and gently rested a hand on the side of Ted’s face. Her expression softened, the icy armor she’d constructed faltering.

“Fuck, can’t deny he looks just like you did, way back when,” she whispered, searching for something in Ted’s eyes.

“It’s a long story, Rogue. Might wanna sit down for it.”

Rogue breathed another sigh, this one filled with tired resignation. “It always is with you.”

—

The view of Night City from Silverhand’s penthouse was something else, but John quickly decided it had nothing on the view from the building’s rooftop. Now much higher up, he could see what felt like the whole city, skyscrapers and industrial buildings and all. Golden sunlight reflected off the glass of tall buildings in a way that could only be described as “picturesque”. Flying vehicles of some kind– V called them “AV’s”– wove expertly between the scrapers, reminding John somewhat of insects navigating a hive. If one could ignore the constant advertisements that blanketed the city and the sounds of gunshots that rang even up here, it could be called beautiful.

They’d ascended to the rooftop after Shadow suggested it might help him locate the chaos energy they’d need to use to make it home. V didn’t see an issue with it, though she did step out of the elevator first to disable any cameras. The last thing they needed was anyone seeing them. As soon as the coast was clear, Shadow padded over to the center of the rooftop, hopped onto an AC unit, and assumed what appeared to be a meditative pose.

John, meanwhile, stood on the edge of the roof, posture straight and hands deep in the pockets of his borrowed jeans. Logically, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Silverhand’s clothing fit him this well, but it struck him as strange all the same. What was stranger was that their names were both fucking John , but he supposed it was a common enough one. V stood beside him, leaning against the railing on her elbows.

“You from a city like this, too?” the young woman asked, pink-red hair blowing slightly in the breeze.

“Yes and no,” John replied, “I’ve spent a lot of time in New York City, but it’s not…” he searched for a word, but came up empty-handed, “...like this. There’s no neon, or holograms, or... cyborgs.”

V laughed. “Sounds boring as hell.”

“After all this, I think I’d prefer it that way,” John said. He paused, then asked, “You think Silverhand will have any luck with that… old friend of his?”

“Think so,” V shrugged, “Thought about goin’ with him, but think this is a conversation he n’ Rogue gotta have, not me. She’s heard weirder shit from him before, trust me.”

John thought about that for a moment, remembering his first real conversation with Silverhand. “Like when you two were… stuck together?”

V looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. “Johnny told you about that?”

“Honestly, I only got about half of what he was saying,” John said.

“Made just about as much sense to us in the moment,” V snorted, turning so her back was to the railing, “Still can’t believe we both got out of it in one piece.”

They stood like that for a moment, enjoying the cool wind and the view.

“Think the kid will find anything?” V asked, gesturing to Shadow with her head.

John glanced back at the red and black hedgehog himself. Shadow was still, eyes closed. Save for the occasional flicking of an ear, he was like a statue.

“Hope so. Kids need to get home.”

V’s head cocked to the side, and she looked up at him with an unreadable expression. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you need to get home, too?”

Home.

John had tried– somewhat successfully– over the past several years to move on, move past everything that had happened, but… how could he? The aftershocks were still being felt, both by him and by everyone he’d dragged, willingly or not, into his mess. John’s reputation didn’t matter to him, not really, but it did to others, and that carried its own weight. His once-home– his real home–  had been destroyed, all physical reminders of Helen burned with it save for the few memories he’d been able to salvage from the wreck. He’d lost close friends and allies. Hell, John could probably count on one hand the amount of people who’d agree to see him anymore.

His current “home,” a small place not too far from where he and Helen used to live, was nice enough, but did it actually feel like a home? He’d only picked it because it had enough space for him and his dog, and was close to the places he and Helen would walk when it was quiet and the air was cool.

For someone who had spent so many years trying to get away from it all, he sure found himself glancing back at Sodom and Gomorrah often.

Or was he Orpheus, looking back to make sure he didn’t leave Eurydice behind?

Regardless, he could only deny himself the complicated emotions that ran through his mind and heart at the thoughts for so long. That box was full, it was grieving, and it needed to be emptied.

But how?

John took in a deep breath, both to stabilize himself and so he could give V some sort of response, when he heard Shadow moving behind him, panting heavily. Both he and V were on him in an instant, crossing the short distance in only a few long strides. The kid stood on top of the AC unit, quills stiff, eyes wide, gaze locked on the pale blue sky.

“You find it?” John asked.

Shadow’s response was nothing but an unintelligible mumble.

John frowned. “What?”

“It’s in space,” he repeated breathlessly.

“What’s in space?” V glanced up at the sky, then back down at Shadow. Realization dawned on her face. She took a step back, bringing a hand up to run it through her cropped hair. “Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me –”

The hedgehog tilted his head back down, harsh red eyes trained directly on John’s own.

“The chaos energy is in space.”

Chapter Text

Johnny couldn’t help but pace up and down the length of the penthouse, though it did little to ease the frustrated tension currently seizing his chest and nervous system. The six of them– V, Rogue, Johnny, and the others– had gathered in the main sitting area to discuss potential next steps. Despite only coming from a few feet from him at any given moment, their voices felt distant, far-away. Like they were talking through water. If anyone asked, Johnny wouldn’t be able to tell them what was being said.

The only bright side to the last few hours was that Rogue, to Johnny’s honest shock, had taken his batshit insane story fairly well. She only paused his and Ted’s narration to ask clarifying questions, but even those were sparse.

“And this… hedgehog… can teleport you all… between ‘dimensions’?”

“Appears so, yeah.”

“Huh. Those scifi BD’s weren’t spouting total horseshit. Continue.”

It made sense, Johnny supposed. Rogue hadn’t freaked out too badly back when he’d shown up on her doorstep in V’s borrowed meat suit, and she had definitely heard her fair share of other Night City bullshit over the years.

However, even that one bright side couldn’t eclipse their new reality: the next stop on the Weirdest Fucking Road Trip of All Time was the Earth’s goddamn orbit. Space travel wasn’t out of the ordinary for 2078. Hell, he and V– well, technically just V , but Johnny gave himself partial credit for riding shotgun in her head– had sent Songbird to the moon last year. Then, in V’s effort to both find herself a cure and save his sorry, undeserving ass, she had stolen away onto the casino hovering above the planet. Johnny had never asked for specifics of what happened that day, and V had never given him any. Not that it was any of his business what a desperate woman would do to survive.

Survive, and resurrect the undead rockerboy that had temporarily used her to hitch a ride back to the land of the living.

Regardless, space travel wasn’t out of the ordinary, or even difficult, necessarily.

It was just that Johnny fucking hated airports.

He spun on his heel again, starting his next lap down the penthouse, and shook his head.

It wasn’t baseless, wasn’t a random phobia assigned to him due to his star sign and the phase of the moon on the day of his birth. Matter of fact, Johnny remembered talking about his distaste for airports and NCX specifically that night with So Mi. He’d just- He’d just had enough of being stuck, helpless and unable to defend himself, in an enclosed space while being heavily monitored by others.

Johnny knew that was a pretty damn specific thing to be sick of, but it was true.

God knew Mikoshi had left its scars, but this was a mark that his stint in soul prison had just ripped open and let fester. Johnny knew that, like it or not, this was something they needed to do if they ever wanted a chance at fixing this, but that didn’t stop the dread creeping into his gut at the thought of what exactly their next steps entailed.

He brought his hands up to his face, pressing the heels of his palms– the left cool to the touch and the right warm– into his eyes until the pressure was uncomfortable.

Fuck.

All things considered, the episodes the four of them had been having weren’t that bad, were they? They hadn’t even had one since arriving here. Johnny had definitely felt worse—

A small object beaning him in the back of the head pulled him out of his thoughts, and Johnny spun to see V turned around backwards on the couch, arm still extended toward him post-throw. He stooped down to pick up the cat toy she’s chucked at him, a shiny, reflective fish, and tossed it back. V caught it effortlessly.

“Earth to Johnny. You in there?” she asked flatly, eyes narrowed in a mixture of confusion and impatience. “Called your name at least four times.”

Johnny forced himself to take a deep breath, and held back the sarcastic response that was already forming on his tongue. “Yes?”

“Rogue just got done sayin’ she thinks she can get us on board the Crystal Palace,” V replied with an tired eye roll. 

“I’m sorry- Crystal Palace?”

Wick gave Johnny a look from the barstool he’d dragged to the other side of the couch. Next to him on the floor, legs folded, sat Shadow. “How much did you miss?” Wick asked.

“You tell me. What’s that gaudy fuckin’ casino got to do with this?”

Rogue let out an exhausted-sounding sigh from her own barstool, where she perched with one leg primly crossed over the other. “Fuck’s sake, Johnny,” she chastised, pinching the bridge of her nose, “God forbid you pay attention to a conversation that directly involves you.”

“Based on what your little friend here said about the whatever-the-fuck he’s been tracking,” Rogue continued, crossing her arms as well, “it looks like it’s either on board the Palace somewhere, or hovering just outside it. Regardless, the two’s orbital trajectories appear to be the same. Worst case scenario, you lot lie low on the Palace until you get close enough.” 

Rogue put on a face Johnny knew well, the one that said she was acting more confident than she was. It didn’t give him the warm fuzzies, that was for sure. 

“We get you to the Palace, you find the whatever-the-fuck, you get to your next step to fixing… this .” She raised a hand, rotating her wrist in a circle, clearly gesturing to the others in the room.

Shadow looked from Rogue to Johnny. “Even if the chaos energy is outside the station, I should be able to reach it, like I did to get us here,” he said. “The real trick will be getting you all there without attracting notice.”

Ted, who was on the couch beside V, raised his hand like he was in a school classroom. “Shadow, whaddaya mean you all ? Are you not coming with?” He asked, head tilting at a 45 degree angle.

Shadow’s red eyes darted between them all for a second or two before he appeared to come to a decision. The hedgehog, who now had all attention on him, got up to his feet in a single fluid motion. With a little hop, his metal rocket shoes turned on, effortlessly raising him a good five feet into the air. He hovered there for a couple seconds before turning them off and landing back on the ground in a crouch.

“Neat trick,” Rogue muttered.

Shadow got back to his feet and began fiddling with one of the gold bands around his wrists, gaze resting somewhere on the floor. “Hate airplanes. Rather get myself there, and meet you guys on board, thanks,” he said, quiet but firm.

Johnny could definitely empathize. He himself hated– wait a damn second–

Ted’s hand shot back into the air before Johnny could ask the question now burning at the front of his mind. “Won’t you like, need a space suit?”

Johnny watched as all eyes went back to Shadow, like spectators following the ball in a tennis match. “No, why?”

“‘Cause there’s no air in space..?”

Shadow’s brow furrowed. “...And?”

V rejoined the conversation, leaning forward, elbows moving to rest on her knees. “So what, can you breathe underwater, too?”

“What? No,” Shadow replied, as if it were the dumbest question he’d ever been asked, “I can’t breathe underwater, that’d be ridiculous.”

“But space is okay?” Wick asked.

Shadow’s head tilted back in some cousin of frustration, and he breathed out a sigh through his nose.

Something the kid had said earlier came back to Johnny, connecting a couple dots in his mind with an imaginary red thread. The chaos energy had gathered in places they’d been before, right? The location of that military base Shadow had been stuck in, the gas station Ted and his friend often visited and which had been a pit stop during their time traveling shit, the approximate place Night City resided in a place where it was never built… All places they’d not only been , but where there’d been a lot of energy, once upon a time: Shadow’s chaos energy, the time machine, the nukes in ‘23. For the chaos energy to be there now, in orbit, meant that one of them had to have gone there with a fuckton of energy.

Ted had never mentioned traveling off the planet.

Wick had no reason to leave the surface, unless he’d been hired to kill an astronaut or some shit, which Johnny doubted.

And Johnny knew for a fact that he had never been to space.

In all, Shadow having been in orbit, plus the “lots of energy” theory…

“Kid,” Johnny began, drawing all eyes to him, “when you said you were sick of blowin’ up…” He trailed off, then shook his head to refocus himself. “Did you mean– Did you blow up in space?”

—

As it turned out, Shadow had blown up in space. That he had– as evidenced by the fact that he was very much alive– made it home in one piece didn’t make it any better. The kid had left out a lot of details, but John could fill in the blanks himself. It was just another dark spot in his past that made something in John’s heart break more than it already had.

He knew better than anyone what dark spots like that, violence and tragedy no one should ever have to experience, could do to a child.

The adults in the room had quickly shut down the kid’s proposal that he go alone and meet them on board the Crystal Palace. Splitting up now was a bad idea, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Besides, John wasn’t about to let Shadow add any more dark spots to his personal history, not if he could be there to protect him like the adults at that military base should have.

After Shadow’s vague recounting of his experience blowing up a chaos-energy-powered space laser– an entirely new, never-before spoken sentence, John thought– the group went back to discussing exactly how they’d even get to their destination. From the sound of it, V and Silverhand had broken into this particular airport before to help a friend, and then promptly shot the place to hell. While John’s logical side hoped that wouldn’t happen, the reality of the situation determined that something like that might just be necessary.

Even if the guards were physically enhanced with whatever science fiction shit this place offered, it seemed like a bullet to the back of the head still worked here, and that was enough for him. Even if he had no idea what half of the words being flung around the room meant, guns and knives appeared to work the same.

“The shuttles to the Crystal Palace have their own terminal,” Rogue explained, eyes lit up an unnatural blue around her irises, “It’s nice , so if you have to, please don’t shoot it up too badly. I’m talking to you here, V.”

The mercenary let out a humorless laugh. “I am in no hurry to repeat that night, believe me. ‘Specially not the latter half. I’ve been shot at by enough helicopters for a lifetime, thanks.”

John’s eyes widened a bit before he regained control of his expression and returned it to the neutral one he’d been fighting to maintain.

Just who the hell was this woman?

Silverhand had settled on the couch between V and Ted, an arm thrown around his girl’s shoulders.

“So, what’s the plan to actually get inside ?” the rocker asked, “Could barely get in with the NUS prez’s pet runner playing ‘guy in the chair.’”

If I took a shot for every word they’ve said that is meaningless to me , John thought, I’d be dead.

Folding her arms, Rogue tilted her head back to stare thoughtfully somewhere upwards.

From the second the older woman had sat down and taken command of their planning, John had decided that he liked this Rogue figure. V mentioned before that she was Silverhand’s ex from before he died back in 2023. John found himself wondering how his doppelganger had managed to fumble the relationship; from how quickly she’d accepted their story, she seemed long-suffering to a fault.

He supposed she could have just suffered long enough, though…

“Under normal circumstances, I’d suggest fake ID’s and going in like normal passengers,” Rogue continued after a pause, “But given the… nature of you and your companions, I’m not sure that’ll work this time. Especially since you’ve shown an impressive amount of restraint regarding your return to the land of the living, Johnny. Fuck, that’d make this easier. As it stands, Orbital Air will assume you’re a group of eccentric impersonators.”

Silverhand frowned, tension finding its way into his shoulders and making his posture visibly more rigid. “Yeah, well, things’re different now,” he said, voice low. The words came out strained, like this was a conversation– or perhaps argument– the three of them had already had before.

Now that was something John understood.

Regardless, breaking in it was, then.

“What do you suggest?” he asked.

Rogue’s gaze moved back down, and she briefly met John’s eyes from across the living area before addressing Silverhand and V. “If we can’t get you in the civilian way, the only other options are sneaking in through a back door, which would mean getting past security, or…”

“Or?” V prompted.

“Or, we get you all on a private flight, have you all marked as some billionaire’s hustle.”

V and Silverhand shared a look, a hint of confusion on their faces. For a millisecond, their expressions were identical. Something about it John found unsettling, like something more than a side effect of two people just spending a lot of time together.

Ted, who John had fully believed had checked out of the conversation some time ago, raised his hand again. “Uh, Miss Rogue?”

Despite the woman’s previous distant coldness toward Silverhand, her tone shifted into something vaguely resembling warm as she met Ted’s eyes. “Yes?”

“How’re we gonna find a billionaire willin’ to let us go with them to space?” he asked, hand still up in the air. “You got, like, a friend or something?”

Huh. So the kid had been listening.

Rogue chuckled, the sound still colored with slight warmth. “Oh, me? No, but I think our mutual friends here have one that could be persuaded to help.”

Silverhand exhaled a long sigh as the realization of who Rogue was referring to seemed to hit him. His head tilted all the way back until it rested completely against the couch cushion.

V opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by Silverhand, his tone firm. “I’m not involving Kerry in this.”

“ Johnny-"

He brought his head forward again, locking steely eyes with Rogue. “Told you, I’m not involving Kerry in this,” he insisted, hissing the words through clenched teeth. “Got him in enough shit as it is, I’m not digging him into this if I can help it.”

For a beat, Silverhand and Rogue stared at each other from across the room, dogs with their hackles raised. The tension in the room had been gradually heating up for a while– hell, since Rogue arrived – but now it was like the six of them were standing in a fiery furnace, though no divine intervention was going to appear to rescue them from it. A quick glance around the room told John that the younger two were suppressing the urge to leave the room; Shadow, who was still standing beside him, had taken a small step backward, and Ted was currently trying to meld with the dark, synthetic leather of the couch beneath him. John could tolerate uncomfortable conversations, but that was something he would not.

John shifted on his metal barstool in preparation to say something, he wasn’t sure what exactly, but something, but not before V scooched a little away from Silverhand, separating just enough to look him in the eyes. The arm that he’d had around her shoulder fell until his palm pressed firmly into her hip. Seemingly reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from Rogue’s piercing stare to look down at V, expression only softening a little around the edges.

“ V–” 

She was swift to cut him off. “Believe me,” she began, her already low, rough voice pulled even lower, “I’d rather Ker not get involved either. I know how he is. But if we want to fix this, we–”

V’s words faded into background noise as red tinged the edge of John’s vision and dark spots obscured what little was left unmarred. The erratic skipping of his heart became painfully obvious due to the thunderous rushing of blood in his ears.

Ah. He’d been wondering when the next one would be.

John had one final coherent thought as his balance gave out and he slipped off of the barstool and into unconsciousness:

Shit.

—

Dread was an old friend. V was familiar with its icy tendrils of fear and the way they would wrap themselves around her heart and squeeze. She’d felt it in the back of that Delamain with Jackie, in that parking lot in the Badlands when she thought the Relic was going to take her out for good, and she felt it in that goddamn airport as Songbird used her as a conduit for the Blackwall. Hell, she’d been dancing with dread for the past week while searching for wherever Johnny had disappeared off to.

But those times had nothing on this.

One second, Johnny was looking at her in that faux-intimidating way he always did when he was nervous, and the next he was crumbling into her, hyperventilating and grasping desperately at his chest with his ‘ganic hand. His chrome left spasmed uselessly at her side, metal digits twitching in a way she had only seen on netrunners’ victims.

She had to fight him a little as she pressed Johnny back into an upright position against the couch. As soon as he wasn’t in danger of capsizing again, she took stock. His widened eyes were colored a bright red around the iris, much brighter than they had been when he’d first come to at the Aldecaldo campsite. A cold sweat had already broken out across his skin. Combined with his frantic breathing and the way his chrome arm was freaking out, it– fuck– it reminded her of the episodes the two of them had experienced back when Johnny and the Relic were stuck in her skull.

V didn’t have time to process that before Rogue’s startled gasp turned her attention back to the present. Swallowing down the panic that was rising within her core and making her nauseous, V glanced around at the others. Like Johnny, Wick, Shadow, and Ted were all doubled over in various shades of clear pain. Wick had fallen from his barstool, but managed to drag himself to sit up against the other side of the couch before appearing to have passed out. Shadow lay curled up on the floor beside him, trembling. Ted, who had been on the couch across from V, had collapsed onto his side, left hand desperately grabbing at his borrowed shirt. The dim lighting of evening that filled the penthouse didn't do the awful scene any services.

And then, shit got weirder.

At first, V thought her Kiroshis were experiencing a malfunction, manifesting some glitch in her vision. But no, whatever the fuck this was was real. All at once, the four of them glitched, their forms taking on harsh, jagged edges and a red-orange tint, like Johnny’s engram self had when Songbird had fucked with it outside Dogtown. V had to lurch her hand back where it had been resting on Johnny’s arm as something like electricity began to travel up her arm in sharp, stabbing pain. It only lasted for a few seconds before it was over, but even that had been enough to render all four of them completely unconscious.

Johnny had mentioned this, mentioned these “episodes” the four of them had been having, and they’d sounded terrifying. On this side of it, though… V repressed the urge to begin hyperventilating herself.

She turned around when Rogue called her name. The older woman knelt beside Wick, fingers pressed to his neck checking his pulse. Her expression was grim, and she didn’t look up from the man in front of her when she spoke.

“Call your ripper. Now.”

Chapter Text

Viktor Vektor, as a general rule, didn’t do house calls. Ripperdocs, medical professionals specializing in cyberware and chrome installation, required so many monitors and devices that visiting a client at their home– or anywhere else outside the ripper’s practice– was uncommon, something saved for emergencies. V, out of respect for her good friend’s policy, made a point to obey it. On those rare occasions where her battle wounds were a little more than a bottle of hard liquor and her monster of a first aid kit could handle, she’d hobble over to Vik’s clinic in Watson so he could patch her up. All things considered, V found that she enjoyed those visits, even if they usually involved stitches and metal getting pulled out of her flesh. The two of them would exchange witty banter and reminisce about the good old days, often while Johnny loomed over where she sat in the ripper’s chair and pretended to be less worried than he was. Regardless, V knew that if she needed it, Vik would drop whatever he was doing to help her, wherever that may be.

Vik was a positive influence in her life, a stable presence that had grounded her during her couple-month stint with the Relic. He was kind, he was stubborn, he was reliable. He would do anything for her, and her for him.

Taken together, all of this should have served to make V feel better when Vik finally stepped through the elevator doors and into the penthouse, duffel bag of medical gear in hand.

Instead, Vik’s own worry, an emotion he rarely let slip through his rough ex-boxer exterior, was palpable, a physical sensation in the air.

V and Rogue had done their best to get Johnny, Ted, and Shadow into more comfortable positions, gently coaxing them out of the stiff, curled up postures into which their pain had forced them, and into more comfortable-looking positions. The three of them teetered back and forth on the cusp of awareness, occasionally letting out quiet gasps or soft sounds of pain. It broke her heart to see them– especially Johnny– like this. From what her Kiroshis could tell, they were exhausted and running on adrenaline fumes, but otherwise okay, with vitals within acceptable ranges. Shadow’s heart rate was faster than a human’s, but the ripper back at the Aldecaldo campsite had mentioned that before, so V guessed that he was going to pull through alright. At Rogue’s suggestion, the hedgehog had been gingerly placed on the couch with a blanket around him; Vik had seen some bullshit during his time in Night City, though a spacefaring rodent would likely still be a shock to him.

But it wasn’t those three that concerned them.

When the episode, the attack, the whatever-the-hell-it-was hit, Wick had been struck the hardest. Blood, warm and sticky, dripped from his nose and ears, pumped by a heart whose beat was barely perceptible, even with the top-shelf scanner her Kiroshi optics boasted. Similarly, air only wheezed in and out of his lungs, much less than what could be called a true breath. He was much less aware than the others, and that was really saying something. Other than the breathing and some occasional muscle twitches in his face and chest, the merc looked as if he had already flatlined.

Vik barely startled when he first saw the scene laid out before him. He simply did what he had been trained to do: assess the situation, and tend to the most wounded first.

“What happened?” he asked roughly, lowering himself to his knees with a grunt to rest beside Wick, who was still on the floor. Rogue hadn’t wanted to move him, so he remained propped upright by the side of the couch.

V carefully squeezed Johnny’s ‘ganic shoulder with a hand before joining Vik on the floor. Rogue checked on Ted once more before following suit, righting the fallen barstool and taking a seat.

“I- I don’t know how to describe it,” V began, gesturing vaguely with both hands. “One minute they were fine, and the next-” she made a snapping motion with her right hand, “-they were out. Like a group seizure, or heart attack. Johnny and the rest are stable, but…”

Vik ran his eyes up and down Wick’s semi-conscious form before leaning back to get a better look at Johnny, Ted, and Shadow. His eyebrows raised briefly, like he wanted to do a double take, before his expression settled back into something more controlled. It dawned on V after a moment that Vik had probably thought that the man in front of him was Johnny.

“Fuck, V,” he sighed, running a hand tiredly over his face, “Can’t call me for anything normal, can you?” V was certain Vik wanted to ask more questions– specifically why he was looking at a carbon copy of her undead rockerboy input– but he refrained. Saving that conversation for later, probably.

“You sure it wasn’t a daemon, or some other kind of virus?” Vik leaned back in, carefully taking Wick’s left wrist and turning it over. When doing so only revealed unmarred, too-pale skin, the ripperdoc frowned and rested it back down on the floor. Vik then reached up to where the ports and chip slot usually resided, behind a person’s right ear–

Oh, yeah.

V shook her head. Somehow, that vital detail had slipped her mind. “He don’t got any cyberware, Vik. He’s chromeless. Whatever happened to them, it wasn’t a runner’s doin’.”

“You don’t perfectly copy someone’s face without a body sculpt, V. What, you pick this gonk up at a fuckin’ convention–”

It was V’s turn to drag a clammy hand across her face. “Trust me when I say it’s a long story.”

Vik only grunted in response, continuing his examination as best he could without access to a biomonitor’s readings.

As she watched him work, the frown on V’s face only deepened. She knew from personal experience that being touched while this out of it was an uncomfortable experience. The human body, desperate to protect itself, puts up a fight, tries to defend against any perceived threat. Instincts triumph over reason. Based on the scars marking Wick’s exposed knuckles and forearms, he was clearly a man in whom those survival instincts ran strongly. The fact that he wasn’t putting up any kind of a fight now… V barely knew the guy, but concern fluttered like a caged bird in her chest anyway.

She knew that was likely partly because of Wick’s more than passing resemblance to Johnny. It wasn’t him, but that didn’t mean shit to the emotional side of her brain, which only saw someone who looked very much like someone she cared for in what appeared to be a lot of pain.

Vik swore under his breath, the sound pulling V out of her wandering thoughts.

“Haven’t seen anything like this since you two,” the ripper mumbled, nodding his head first at V, then at Johnny, who was still passed out on the couch where she’d left him. “But it don’t make any sense. He has no cyberware, so this would have to be completely organic, but it looks like his body’s rejecting… existing, like yours did about a year ago.”

The ripper leaned back, raising a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t frustration at the situation, or hopelessness– V was painfully familiar with that expression of his– but confusion, and a desire to help. “Just who is this guy, V?” he asked, glancing back at her, then at Rogue.

V exhaled deeply, emptying her chest before taking an equally deep breath in, hoping the motion would help her relax, help her focus. As much as she’d love to break down just who the hell was currently gathered in her living room, the idea of going through all of that while one of them was clearly in a bad way? Not at the top of her list.

Fortunately, Rogue answered for her. “A friend,” the fixer said, voice stern but soft around the edges, “We can leave it at that. Can you help?”

Vik nodded, slowly at first but growing in intensity, like he was trying to convince himself, too.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

–

Hot summer air blew into the open garage, making the papers of sheet music scattered around the makeshift music room flitter. Likewise, the breeze mussed up Ted’s hair, though it was already most unkempt. Today’s practice session had gone long, much longer than he or Bill had been anticipating. It wasn’t like they had school tomorrow– their whirlwind, most excellent adventure last month acting as the perfect capstone on their junior year of high school– but both teens still had curfews to keep and chores they’d neglected in favor of continuing their jam session, even if their only audience after sunset was the symphony of crickets hiding in the dry grass.

Ted flopped down onto a worn bean bag chair, styrofoam peanuts flying out of a small hole in the side. His guitar hung lazily from its strap around his neck. The teen considered it for a moment, running his fingers down its smooth exterior. “Hey, Bill?” he asked, tapping a calm rhythm against the wood of his instrument, “Do you really think we’ll make it? That our music will save the future?”

With a nod, Bill climbed onto a stack of cardboard boxes across from him, setting his own guitar down to rest upright against it. “Sure I do, Ted. I mean, I do not believe we’ll get Mr. Van Halen to join the band, but we’re getting better, right?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the ripped denim of his jeans. “Why do you ask?”

“I just…” the teen began, looking down to fuss with an unraveling thread on the bean bag chair, “I dunno, Bill. It kinda feels like a lot, y’know? I know we have time, but… I worry we won’t play well enough in time. We’re still most unpracticed.”

Bill made a thoughtful noise, and turned to look out beyond the garage at the dim suburb street. The streetlights had turned on about an hour ago, their yellow glow making everything appear dreamlike and hazy. He searched for something out there, eyes darting back and forth. Ted figured he must have found it because a minute or so later, his friend’s gaze fell back on him.

“‘Course we will, Ted. You know why?” he prompted, leaping off the stack of boxes with so much force he almost caused the whole thing to topple over. It was a miracle his guitar didn’t clatter to the ground. Bill extended a hand towards Ted.

Ted grabbed it, and was pulled up to stand directly in front of Bill. His guitar swung around and hit his back at the movement, though Ted barely registered it.

Bill continued, answering for them both.

“Because we’re Wyld Stallyns, Ted! An’ we don’t give up.”

Ted woke slowly. His head pounded, as if someone had been blasting a speaker right next to it, and every beat of the drums brought another dull thump that reverberated through his skull. Or maybe that was just his heartbeat and the roar of his own blood in his ears. Given how insane the past few days had been, Ted decided he would accept either explanation. He was currently in a real-life rockstar’s apartment, after all.

He felt as though cotton had been stuffed into his head. All thought was muffled, like trying to understand what someone else was saying with water in your ears. Even so, the penthouse was still easily recognizable, even if it was now cast in a much different light than it had been earlier. It was dark inside, but the blue-purple glow of evening and colorful neon shone through the windows, coming from skyscrapers both near and far. The holographic advertisements rising into the sky like pillars were much more visible now, showing off products equal parts violent and lewd. If Ted hadn’t felt so awful, that particular sight might have made him blush. The only lights coming from inside the penthouse were upstairs on the little balcony-bedroom that led to the bathroom.

Such light was enough for Ted to just make out the others in the room. Silverhand sat beside him, seemingly asleep, head lolled to the side, chest rising and falling steadily. His breathing hitched a couple times, with the tired lines on his face deepening in sync, as if he were wincing. Across from them both, Shadow lay curled into himself on his side, also asleep, covered by a gold and pink zebra-striped blanket.

Ted blearily blinked away the last remnants of sleep from his eyes before pulling away the blanket that had been carefully tucked around him– When had he even fallen asleep?– and rising to his feet.

Or at least, he tried to. 

With his head pounding as fiercely as it was, Ted shouldn’t have been surprised to find his limbs refusing to cooperate, their movements sluggish as though they weren’t as awake as his brain was yet. Attempting to move only worsened his headache and brought to his attention new sensations, such as the way it felt like there was a hundred-ton weight sitting on his chest and how the tips of his fingers and toes tingled.

A pained half-moan escaped his chest, and Ted let his head fall against the back of the couch.

What happened?

They’d… they’d been talking about space, and that super cool casino place, and the help they’d need to get there, then… Then they’d had another episode, hadn’t they?

It must have been bad if it had laid them all out like this. Silverhand and Shadow were both unconscious, and based on how low the sun had dipped below the horizon line, they’d been out for quite a while. Wick, meanwhile–

If Ted wasn’t already feeling slightly nauseous, the sight of the dead-looking man before him would have done the trick just fine. While the rest of them were still on the couch, Wick had been placed laying down on a thick foam pad, like some kind of heavy-duty yoga mat, on a spot of floor in front of the couch and coffee table. Blood, dried and reddish-brown, flaked off the skin of his face and neck; Ted could tell that someone had tried to clean it off, but hadn’t been able to get it all. 

The more Ted looked, the worse he felt.

The scene reignited a memory in the back of his mind, a memory from when he and his dad had watched some Christmas movie where a cruel old man had been forced to see his own grave. This wasn’t exactly the same– there wasn’t a tombstone in front of him– but its effect was similar.

Footsteps descending the metal stairs behind him were enough of a distraction for Ted, who managed to peel his eyes away from Wick to look at the newcomer. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see V, who rounded the couch and stopped directly in front of Ted. Blue light shone around her irises as she looked him up and down, then she did the same for the others.

V reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “How you feelin’?” she asked, her voice the softest tone he’d heard from her.

Ted let his eyes close for a moment, reopening them slowly only when he could form the words to respond on his tongue. “I’ve felt better,” he managed, “Wanna go back to sleep. Head feels like pudding.”

“Been there, done that,” V mumbled, a sad smile flashing across her lips. “You boys got hit pretty hard earlier.”

The teen glanced back over at the man laying on the floor. “Is… is Wick okay?”

V glanced back herself, looking over her shoulder at Wick with a clear frown before taking a seat beside Ted on the couch, between him and Silverhand, with a sigh. The blue light around her eyes faded.

“He was hurt by the attack, episode, the whatever more than you three,” she said, gaze falling to her hands in her lap. V toyed with her fingers for a minute or so. Ted recognized the nervous habit for what it was. He’d seen plenty of adults do it when trying to decide how much to tell him about something, even if they thought he hadn’t noticed. He always did.

“Called a friend to check you out, ‘specially him,” V continued finally, leaning carefully to the side so she could rest against Silverhand. He stirred a bit at her movement, but didn’t wake up, at least not completely. “An’ he didn’t have good things to say. Seemed to think that you four didn’t have a whole lot of time left to fix this.”

That wasn’t new information. Shadow had said something similar earlier.

It also wasn’t an answer to Ted’s question.

“Yeah, but… is he gonna be okay?” he asked again.

V nodded slightly. “Think so. Dealt with something similar when Johnny n’ I met. Sleep, caffeine, and painkillers kept me goin’. Figure they’ll help him, too.”

When Ted didn’t immediately reply, too caught up in his own spiral of worry to quickly form a response, V spoke again. “I managed to get a plan worked out while you guys’ve been out.”

A flicker of something warm caught in Ted’s chest. “Really?”

He couldn’t see it clearly due to the way the two of them were positioned on the couch, but he could tell that V– Was her name really just V?– had taken the rockerboy’s metal left hand in her organic right. “Yep. But Johnny’s… not gonna like it.”

“Why’s that?”

A smirk grew on her face, much like the sarcastic smile that Ted had seen Silverhand wear a few times. “He’s not gonna like it ‘cause I asked our friend to help. And he’ll be extra mad that Kerry said yes. Knew it was the only way we’d get to the Palace, though.”

Kerry. Ted had heard the name before, he knew he had. When had Silverhand mentioned him…? Thinking still kinda hurt, but he let his mental gears turn anyway.

Kerry, Kerry, Kerry…

Holy shit.

“That’s his best friend, right? The guy he formed that most righteous band with?” Ted asked. Even with his voice weak from exhaustion and pain, his excitement was unmistakable.

“Not sure if I’d call them righteous, but yeah. Johnny, Kerry, and their chooms. Can’t believe they’re all still around, to tell ya the truth.”

V said something else, probably more about Silverhand’s band, but it went in one ear and out the other for Ted. All he heard was that he was gonna get to meet another real-life rockstar. With that realization went the rest of the strength keeping him awake, and Ted quietly slipped back into unconsciousness as V spoke, her voice and the penthouse fading to black around him.

He wouldn’t remember it when he woke up, but that night Ted dreamed he and Bill were on stage, singing their hearts out, and nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

John had felt worse, all things considered.

Throughout his life– which had turned out to be much longer than he had once imagined– John Wick had been punched, stabbed, and shot, been hit by a car on a few occasions, fallen through floors, pushed down several flights of stairs, beaten within an inch of his life… Waking up in pain, with aches in the muscles of his chest making it difficult to breathe, wasn’t new. Hell, it wasn’t even unexpected . All those other times, though, John had also woken up with a new scar or a patch of gauze stuck to him somewhere important. This morning– or, he assumed it was morning– he had none. There were no physical wounds, no gaping holes in his flesh where a bullet or a blade had been. Instead, his attacker had been some kind of divine “fuck you” from the universe. Last he’d checked, you couldn’t exactly put lead between the eyes of the unforgiving cosmos.

Neither could you put a knife into your nightmares.

He wished he had the physical or mental energy to be more upset about that.

True consciousness came back slowly, as his brain woke up enough to process information beyond how much he hurt. As it did, the tactical side of him took control, searching for threats in what sensations Wick could put names to: the feel of a foam mat beneath him, the sound of hushed conversation on the other side of the room, the smell of something greasy and salty and its accompanying taste in the air.

Safe.

No threats beyond the aforementioned cosmic middle-fingers he and the others had been experiencing for the past several days. Tension, a residual from the nightmare he knew he’d had but could no longer fully remember, drained from him. The nightmare was only shattered glass now. Sharp bits and pieces that he knew would hurt him if he probed at them too much, and so he didn’t. John swept them back toward that little, overstuffed box he wasn’t planning on opening any time soon, and let out a shuddered breath.

Everything in him wanted to stay there for a few moments more and soak in an opportunity to just be , but that same tactical, logical side of him demanded that he get up, do something, act.

And Wick, damn it all, did what he was told.

He finally opened his eyes, relieved to discover that the lights inside the penthouse had been dimmed. Bright morning light still shone in through the penthouse’s massive, uncovered windows, but with the lights dimmed it wasn’t enough to make John’s head hurt worse than it already did. Sitting up came next. The movement pulled on all the wrong parts, turning the aches in his chest and abdomen into sharp pains as he slowly rose. It also revealed that his borrowed shirt had dried stiffly, something saturated deep in the synthetic material. Odd. Once he was upright, he investigated it further, letting out an exhausted huff when he realized that the fabric was black, so of course any stain would be difficult to–

John took in a sharp breath through his teeth. He’d recognize a blood stain anywhere.

Had he bled during the attack? From where?

His fingers came up to his face and– sure enough– came away marked with flakes of dried blood.

Fuck.

“Oh, you’re up. Took ya long enough.”

Wick turned toward the unfamiliar voice, one deep and warm, and was greeted by an older man. He had the deep lines of age written into his face, short, greying hair, and a physique that suggested a familiarity with combat. He knelt beside John on the ground with a soft grunt, resting a scarred hand carefully on John’s left shoulder. Once he was settled on the ground, he looked down at John through darkened glasses.

“Gave us all a bit of a scare, son,” the man said, “Names’s Vik. How you feeling?”

“You a doctor?” Wick asked, scanning the man up and down. His clothing– a loose button down and thick, worn pants– didn’t suggest anything in that vein, but John had been surprised before.

Vik both nodded and hummed in the affirmative. “V called me after you went unconscious last night. Did what I could, but figured you’d just have to sleep this off. Came back this morning to check up on ya,” he said. “Looks like I was right about the sleepin’ part. Can’t help ya more if you don’t tell me how you’re feelin’, though.”

That made sense. Like himself, V was some kind of mercenary. It was logical for her to have a medical professional on retainer.

Wick considered the question for a moment, then answered in the way that felt safest, least likely to hold them all up. “I’ve felt worse,” he replied with a one-shouldered shrug. “You guys still have asprin in the future?”

The look Vik gave him was once Wick couldn’t quite place. “I swear… Just ‘cause you’ve felt worse before don’t mean you should ignore how you feel now ,” the doctor shook his head, “You, V, an’ Silverhand oughta start a club. Three of you are some of the only people I’ve met who try to downplay shit to their doctor.”

“I–”

“I’ll put it this way,” Vik interrupted, “You nearly went into cardiac arrest last night, you lost a decent amount of blood out your nose an’ ears, and I’ve got a pretty good hunch that your body’s in the act of dying around you. Wanna tell me again how you’re feelin’?”

Well, damn. 

John huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. “No getting past you, is there?”

“Nope.”

Fine. “Honestly? Feels like I got hit by a car.”

Vik smiled. “See how much easier that was?”

Fortunately, the rest of Vik’s exam didn’t take long. He checked John’s pulse, blood oxygen level, his breathing, the works. At one point, the doctor mumbled something mostly incoherent about John’s lack of cyberware, but other than that he passed John off with a “won’t immediately keel over dead” bill of health and some kind of medicated inhaler. It wasn’t too different than the examinations that John had had at the hands of Continental and High Table-affiliated doctors in the past, but John couldn’t help but notice that Vik had something extra that the others lacked:

Vik approached John not like a patient or a customer, but as a friend. 

It had to be some kind of ploy, a trick to soften his resolve before asking John and his current allies for a favor. That’s how it always was. If John had learned anything, it was that the true currency of the world wasn’t money– though it never hurt– but favors . Gifts. IOU’s.

They’d just have to wait and see what this one requested, then: what this would cost Silverhand and V.

The doctor rocked back on his heels and stood, then extended a hand down to help John up, which he accepted. It was a good thing he did, because the second John was on his feet, his vision went dark. The lightheadedness that followed was familiar. He must have lost more blood than he’d thought. John felt Vik adjust his posture to support them both for a moment. Thankfully, as quickly as it left, John’s vision returned.

“You good?”

John nodded, taking a deep breath in to stabilize himself. “Yeah. Used to it by now,” he shrugged dismissively.

Vik released John’s hand, then brought his own back up to give John’s upper arm a friendly squeeze. John repressed the urge to sigh, roll his eyes, or give the doctor a flat stare. Here it was, the bill that wasn’t a bill. What would it be? A theft? A life?

Instead, the doctor exhaled what sounded like a sigh through his nose. When he spoke, it was with a low, gentle voice. “Can’t say I’ve seen many people as beat up and scarred as you, son. Your day job at least have perks to match?”

John blinked a few times. “No,” he replied, cringing a bit when he heard the unmasked shock in his own voice. “Not really.”

“Should probably find a new line of work then.”

He said it so easily, as if that were something John could actually do, as if the doctor were recommending that John should pack an umbrella on a cloudy day or something equally casual.

John let out another empty chuckle. “You make it sound simple.”

Vik gave him a smile, one that was colored on the edges by what felt like experience; if not that, then something like sadness. “Simple? No. Worth it, though? More n’ likely.”

—

John considered himself lucky that the blood had only gotten on his shirt and skin. After stealing another shirt from Silverhand– this one sporting his band’s logo– and scrubbing the dried blood off of him, he joined the rocker, V, Ted, and Shadow in the penthouse’s little kitchen. By the time he descended back down from the tiny second floor, Vik had already packed his things and left. John found himself wishing he’d thanked the man. Now that he thought about it, Rogue was gone too.

“‘Bout time you joined us,” Silverhand called to him, “Was startin’ to think you’d konked out on us again an’ I’d have to carry you to orbit.” The man had his back to one of the countertops on the far side of the kitchen, leaning against it with crossed arms.

John settled down onto one of the barstools, next to Ted. Shadow, who had taken off his borrowed grey hoodie at some point, was settled on the countertop, idly kicking his legs out beneath him.

“Nope. Still here,” he said.

V turned around from where she stood at what looked like an over-designed coffee machine, and handed a steaming mug to John. Based on what Silverhand had said about the food here– and what John had already experienced firsthand– he had expected it to smell off, but it smelled… like normal black coffee, if a little sharp.

“Good,” V began, tone all business. “Because the plan’s already in motion, and you two-” she gestured at John, then at Silverhand, whose amused gaze was locked on her, “-are the two most important pieces. The rest of us have already been over this, but I’ll give you the sweetened, condensed version.”

“Hit me.”

V leaned down against the counter, hands spread out. “Here’s the deal: Johnny’s best choom Kerry has been to the Palace before, has access to a private craft and everything. They know him, know his name, know his reputation. He’s your ticket in. Already arranged a ship that leaves in just under four hours.”

Wick raised an eyebrow. “ Your ? You’re not coming with us?”

The mercenary let out a disappointed sound, glancing briefly back at Silverhand. “Can’t. A while back I broke in, got flagged by their security. I can change my face, but the second their scanners catch a glimpse of my chrome, we’d be done. You’re all safer if I stay behind, run tactical.”

That… made sense. He took a sip of the coffee– hot, dark, and honestly not that bad– before responding. “Leaves us one gun down in case things go sideways,” John observed.

“Believe me, we know,” Silverhand said, waving his metal hand toward V, “But she’s right. Last thing we want is to put ourselves or the kiddos in any more danger than we have to.”

Shadow’s ear twitched. “I can protect myself,” he said.

“Believe me, I know. You’re not who we’re worried about, Shads,” Silverhand mumbled.

Ted, as if on cue, nodded sagely. “Yeah,” he said, “We can’t let Mr. Wick get hurt any more.”

Oh, Ted.

“Anyway,” V continued, “Johnny an’ Wick will be disguised as Ker’s bodyguards. He’s on his way over now with the disguises. Ted’s gonna play groupie, follow Kerry around the whole time. Figured he’d be safest that way.”

Ted pantomimed a guitar riff at the mention of his name. “Hells yeah!”

“And Shadow’s–” V began, but was cut off by the hedgehog himself.

“–And I’m gonna hide in a duffel bag,” he groused, crossing his arms and glaring up at V. The kid’s bright red eyes narrowed, glowing dangerously from within.

V, however, wasn’t intimidated by the display. “Yeah, you are. ‘Cause our only options are to stick a hat and hoodie on you and hope nobody gets a good look atcha, or hide you in a bag, which you definitely fit in ” She looked back over at John, whose confusion must have been clear on his face. “We checked. And it’s a perfectly clean duffel bag.”

“It smells like gunpowder.”

“Welcome to Night City.”

“And socks–”

“I had to put my shit in something when I moved here. And they were clean. Come on kid, there’s no better solution here. We’ve already workshopped this for over an hour. I rig the scanners to short out before they can detect you,” V said sternly. “You fit in the bag. You’re getting in the damn bag.”

“No!”

“Kid–”

Shadow let out a frustrated noise and curled in on himself, grabbing at the fur on his head with both hands. “I don’t… I can’t,” he whispered, the words only a shuddered exhale.

In an instant, John found himself transported back to the other night in that motel room, when the kid had nearly fallen apart in his arms. He knew better than anyone that it often didn’t take much to trigger bad memories; just the smell of hospital antiseptic was more than enough for him. John reached out across the small counter to rest a hand against Shadow’s furry back. The only response he got was the way the hedgehog subtly, so subtly, relaxed at the touch.

“It was so dark,” he’d said.

Maybe the issue wasn’t the plan itself, but…

John looked up from Shadow to V. “You got any glow sticks?” he asked.

The other mercenary’s brow furrowed for a second, before she appeared to have the same realization that John had.

“ Oh. I– I think so,” she replied thoughtfully, straightening up. V put a hand on her hip. “If not, I can go grab some. It shouldn’t be visible from the outside of the bag, the fabric’s pretty thick.”

John ran his hand up and down Shadow’s back– holy shit this kid was soft– and felt the corner of his mouth quirk up in something like a smile when the hedgehog’s grip on his fur loosened. “That sound okay?

Shadow took in a deep breath, then nodded. “Only if you carry the bag.”

“”Course. That work for you?” John asked, meeting V’s eyes again. 

“Sure. Don’t really matter who’s got it ‘s long as we get it past Palace security–”

She was interrupted by the penthouse elevator ding -ing and the metal doors sliding open, attracting everyone’s attention. Out stepped a man John could only describe as eccentric . Between his bleached blond hair, dark sunglasses, the tattoos that covered both arms, and his studded leather vest, the newcomer looked more like what John imagined a “rock legend” would than Silverhand did. He carried a shiny leather duffel bag in one hand, and two suits encased in protective plastic on his other arm. 

To John’s surprise, the suits looked like… well, like normal suits. Given the streetwear he’d seen during their drive through Night City, and the clothes he’d seen on the nomads out in the desert, he’d been expecting something trimmed in LED lights or lined with brightly colored, synthetic leather. Instead, these appeared to be simple, made of only dark, black fabric. Whether or not they were the sort of “evening wear” John was accustomed to remained to be seen.

The new arrival pulled up his sunglasses to rest on top of his head, in his hair. “Guessin’ I missed the debrief, huh? Nah, that’s fine, I get it. we don’t gotta tell Kerry nothin’–”

Silverhand pushed himself away from the counter and started for the other man– Kerry , John supposed. “Fuck off, Ker. V told you the plan when she called.”

“Still woulda been nice to’ve been included,” Kerry replied casually, setting the duffel bag on the floor and the suits over the back of the couch. “I’m not a merc, and I’m not fuckin’ one. Don’t often get the chance to do all…” he searched for a word, then gestured around the room, “ this .”

Though both men’s words had bite to them, John got the sense that this was normal for the two of them, a performance they had perfected after years of knowing one another. John had plenty of those himself, but they usually involved less friendly banter and more thinly-veiled threats of violence.

“That it?” V asked, pointedly ignoring Kerry’s words and nodding toward the bag and clothes on the couch. “Think that’ll be enough to convince Palace security that they’re legit?”

Kerry returned her question with a flat stare and a hand on his hip, mirroring her posture. “Nah, I just brought all this shit for the hell of it.”

“You know what I meant,” V shot back, rolling her eyes goodnaturedly.

He flashed her a smile that was all teeth. “I did, yeah,” Kerry said.

Let’s hope this works.

John ran his hand down Shadow’s back once more, then rose from the barstool. “Didn’t answer her question, though,” he pointed out, waving a hand toward the clothing, “Will this be enough? Sounds like you’re the expert here.”

The other man’s gaze snapped from V to John, like he had only just now noticed him. With his gaze now fixed on him, John could see now that Kerry’s wide eyes were an unnaturally light color, almost eerily so. Kerry appeared to drink John in, then leaned a bit to the side so he could peer past John at Ted. John spared a glance back at the kid himself, and found that Ted, like Kerry, was wide-eyed.

“Holy fuck,” the rockstar breathed out, sounding a thousand miles away.

V exhaled sharply through her nose, letting out the ghost of a laugh. “I know, right?”

“No, like… holy fuck. ”

Silverhand spun ninety degrees on his heel to meet John’s eye. “Uncanny, ain’t it?”

“That’s certainly a word for it,” John shrugged, “But I’d say we’re all used to it by now. Gets easier with time, I think.”

Kerry rubbed at his eyes, grinding the heels of his palms into them as if he was trying to banish the remnants of a bad dream.

“Can’t promise I’ll ever be used to this, but I’ll take your word for it,” he mumbled.

If he reacted like this to John and Ted… John was curious to see how the man would react when he finally noticed the child-sized, black and red hedgehog in rocket shoes sitting on the counter.

John heard Ted slide off his own barstool, and turned to see the kid step out from behind him. His dark eyes were still wide, full of something that reminded John of reverence, maybe. “Worship” might have been closer. Ted took another tentative step forward, dipping his head down a little.

“Woah. So you’re like… also a real-life rockstar, right?” the teen asked, the words coated in wonder.

Kerry pulled his hands down and away from his face to take in Ted again. He scanned the kid up and down, a lopsided smile forming on his face.

“Shit, Johnny. Kid looks just like you did, back when we met,” Kerry said. He blinked a few times, then corrected himself. “Well, you know, ‘cept for the–”

Silverhand sighed and cut him off. “Except for the arm, right?”

“I was gonna say the obvious hubris, but that works, too.”

V ended any further conversation before it began with a sharp clap of her hands. She then stepped into the middle of the area, standing between them all.

“Alright. Don’t got a lot of time before the shuttle takes off, and Rogue's waiting. Let’s get you boys dolled up for the ball.”

Chapter Text

Shadow wanted it to be known that he did not like the plan. He recognized that attempting to go up to the Crystal Palace on his own would be reckless; it was more than likely that the station had enough sensors to notice him, especially since he wasn’t running at his full strength. He also recognized the near impossibility of their unlikely group sneaking onto a heavily guarded space station-slash-casino with him– a black and red hedgehog from another plane of existence – openly in tow, but that did not mean he had to like their alternative. As he had said earlier, the duffel bag into which he was about to be unceremoniously shoved was cramped, and its thick scent of gun oil and smoke made his nose scrunch on reflex.

More importantly though, it was dark.

Wick’s offer to carry the duffel bag and his suggestion that Shadow carry a glow stick inside eased some of the nausea swirling around Shadow’s gut at the thought of being confined, stuck, trapped again, but he wasn’t sure that uneasy feeling would go away completely until the four of them had safely returned to the Earth’s surface, preferably in their own respective dimensions.

Shadow perked up where he sat on the edge of the couch, posture shooting perfectly straight, as a thought crossed his mind.

When I reach for the chaos energy on the Crystal Palace… I hope we end up somewhere with an atmosphere.

If they didn’t… Well, at least they’d made it this far. He quietly decided to keep that thought to himself.

Shadow planted his hands on either side of him, pushing them hard into the couch cushion under him to ease the way they trembled. All it did was cause the shaking to travel up into his arms. He wasn’t nervous about their plans falling apart, not really. Silverhand and V’s friends seemed more than capable of getting them where they needed to be, but all the preparedness in the world couldn’t erase the memories of harsh steel and the cold fluid of the stasis container in which he’d been trapped for fifty years.

The hedgehog exhaled a deep sigh. Sonic had mentioned being stuck in a duffel bag, once, back when he first met the Wachowskis. Tom had stuffed him in one to get him up an elevator in… San Francisco, if Shadow recalled the story correctly. Naturally, Sonic hadn’t made it even halfway up the elevator ride before talking, ruining the disguise. Recalling the story caused a small smile to make its way onto Shadow’s face, bringing with it a pang of homesickness.

No . He was getting home.

Shadow banished the thoughts when he heard footsteps coming down the metal stairs, and turned to see Wick stalking down, dressed in one of the two suits that Silverhand’s friend Kerry had brought. His hands were deep in the pockets of the suit jacket, which– like the rest of the outfit– was charcoal black. As Wick came closer, rounding the couch to sit across from Shadow, the hedgehog caught the faint glimmer of gold thread at the seams. Compared to the other outfits he’d seen in Night City, the expensive suit came across as subtle.

So far, Wick was the first to come downstairs. He, Ted, and Silverhand had been shoo-ed up to the small second level by Kerry about twenty minutes prior, while V had disappeared into a side room on the main floor to “see about some toys.” His ears twitched, catching the sounds of low conversation coming from above and the familiar clicking of mechanics from behind him. As much as he hoped they wouldn’t need any of the “toys” V had on hand, a part of Shadow was almost excited to see what sort of sci-fi firearms this dimension sported. Laser guns, maybe?

Wick sat down on the couch with a sigh, running his hand through his dark hair, which had been neatly styled, slicked back in a way that looked completely natural on him. Probably by Kerry , Shadow thought. He picked at a loose thread on the couch, then looked up at Wick.

“You ready?” Shadow asked, voice quieter than he’d intended. “Sounds like we only get one shot at this. If we’re caught, get split up…” he trailed off, shaking his head slowly. “I hope Silverhand’s friend can get us where we need to be. I don’t want this to turn into a fight.”

Wick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, then looked away, like he was thinking about what to say, or how to say it. Shadow was more than willing to allow him the time he needed, taking the opportunity to stretch his spine in preparation for his part in their plans. In their short time together, Shadow had come to appreciate Wick, as well as Silverhand and Ted. For how similar they all looked and sounded– and despite how eerily similar they seemed to be as people– their differences were Shadow’s favorite parts about them. Wick’s quiet thoughtfulness, for example. He just seemed to… get him, to understand what it was like to go through hell and have to keep going the next day, to see the faces of those he had lost in his nightmares. 

As much as Shadow had come to care for the Wachowskis, and even Agent Stone, the only one who had shared that kind of shared life experience with him had been Sonic, and the other hedgehog could be… difficult to talk to, at times.

After a moment, Wick turned back toward Shadow, a smirk on his face. It was a smug sort of expression, one that seemed to say that he was privy to a secret to which Shadow was not. It was also wholly unnatural to see it on Wick, when Shadow had come to only expect that look from–

No.

Silverhand’s smirk grew until it reached his eyes, and he let out a short chuckle. “Well, this won’t be confusing at all. Was tryin’ to think of what I’d say to imitate Wick, but… don’t think I could if I tried.”

Shadow blinked a few times, trying to reframe in his mind just who it was he was looking at. Damn, if Wick was dressed the same… Silverhand was right, this was going to be fun . “If it makes you feel better,” he began with a nod, “I don’t think he could impersonate you, either. You carry yourselves too differently.”

“Ironic, huh?”

“Something like that,” Shadow shrugged.

Another set of footsteps caught their attention. Ted practically bounced down the metal stairway, dressed in loose dark-red jeans and a black band t-shirt, the design on which was partially hidden by a studded, black leather vest.

“Dudes! Isn’t this like, most exciting?” Ted asked, spinning around excitedly on his heel. “I look like those guys on MTV!”

“Ain’t exactly a party, kiddo,” the rocker pointed out, an eyebrow raised Ted’s way in clear amusement. “Need to keep your head on straight.”

Ted shrugged, clearly undeterred, and flopped onto the couch between Shadow and Silverhand. “Yeah, but it’s still gonna be like, totally sick ! We’re goin’ to space, man!”

Shadow heard the door to the penthouse’s side room open with a mechanical whirr as he slouched further into himself.

“'Totally sick’ for you three, maybe,” he mumbled, ears going flat against his head. Even so, he could still make out the now-familiar clicking of V’s shoes against the hard floor. When they came to a stop in front of him, he looked up to see the mercenary with her free hand outstretched. Held toward him, openly offered, were a couple chunky, uncracked glow sticks.

The merc gave him a soft, knowing smile, then crouched down to meet his eyes, dropping the hard plastic case she held in her other hand onto the floor. Up close, with the hard expression she often wore slipped away, she looked kinder, younger. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” V asked, in a half whisper. At Shadow’s slight head tilt, she continued, “I don’t like the dark either. And neither does Johnny, though I think he’d rather die again than admit to it. These’re left over from a concert we went to a while back. Should last until you get to the Palace.”

V slightly shook the hand holding the glow sticks once in invitation. Only when Shadow finally took them– nervous knots in his stomach slowly loosening some– did she rise, stepping backward into the middle of the room. She glanced between Ted and Silverhand, inspecting them up and down with eyes glowing an electric blue.

“Alright, good news first. I asked Rogue’s ‘runner to whip us up some daemons, give you fake creds when the Palace’s scanners catch your faces. Since neither of you got chrome, it’ll fake some sigs for that, too.” She gave both of them a stern look. “Bad news is that the eye can’t be tricked as easy. If anyone asks, your cyberware’s internal only. Got it?”

Ted gave her an excited nod. Silverhand, meanwhile, had adopted that smug look again. Idly, Shadow wondered how his face hadn’t gotten stuck like that by now.

“Dunno. What do I tell them ‘bout this?” he raised his metal left hand from his suit jacket pocket, voice practically dripping with faux sincerity. “Don’t exactly look organic.”

V startled, blinking as her brain hurriedly went through the same mental gymnastics Shadow’s had just done to reconcile what she saw with who she now knew sat in front of her. When she spoke again, it was with exaggerated exasperation.

“Johnny, you ass.”

“What, couldn’t tell it was me? I’m hurt.”

V scoffed, though she wore a humored smile. “You realize that the two of you share a face, right?”

Silverhand shrugged. “Woulda thought that after all this time together, you’d be able to pick me out of a crowd of lookalikes,” he said flatly, “I see how it is.”

Rolling her eyes, V looked up at the half-floor above them, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Cinderella! Your fairy godmother done with you yet? Pumpkin’s about to leave.”

Kerry’s voice came back down as he and Wick– and Shadow was sure it was Wick this time, though he and Silverhand were dressed identically– finally started down the stairs themselves. “Fuck all the way off, V.”

V brushed him off with a sharp tsk hissed through her teeth, then picked up the hard case she’d set down by Shadow, lifting it up onto the coffee table. It opened with a click , revealing shiny, polished metal. The angle made it hard for Shadow to see what was inside, but he could connect the dots.

“Alright, Wick,” she called, nodding her head toward the case. “Was lookin’ at my gear. Wanted to see what kinda iron I could lend you. I know you got your own piece, but an extra or two couldn’t hurt.”

Wick stepped up behind V, stern expression and two real hands the only things differentiating him from Silverhand. “Never a bad idea,” he agreed quietly. He looked over V’s shoulder into the case, gaze following the contents as she lifted a handgun out of it. 

Most of the pistol’s body was a sleek black, but some parts were a bright, polished steel. It was a rather large pistol, made only more bulky by the silencer screwed onto the end. While Shadow knew that most silencers didn’t actually stop a firearm from making noise, this one seemed like it’d come pretty close.

“This,” V said, spinning the gun around in her hand, then ejecting and reinserting the mag with a flourish, “belonged to a friend of mine. Brought it with me on a job not much different than this one, minus the spacefaring. Served me well then, so I figure it’ll serve you just as well now.”

When she handed it over to Wick, he inspected it with an almost clinical kind of scrutiny, testing the weight of the trigger and how it felt in his hands.

V gestured toward the pistol’s silencer. “Plus, it’s silenced. I’ve used my fair share of silencers in my life, but none have come close to rivaling this one. Figure the quiet’ll do you good, should the four of you have to sneak somewhere you ain’t supposed to be. Think it’ll do?”

The assassin turned the pistol around once more in his hands, a small, pleased sort of smile appearing on his face. “You have a holster for it?”

With a satisfied nod, V started back for the side room. She returned a minute later, holster in one hand and a dark duffel bag dangling by one strap from the other. The sight made Shadow sigh into his hands. At least he didn’t actually have to get in until they got to the airport.

Sooner we do this, the sooner it’ll be over.

“Hey V?” Ted asked. Shadow heard him shift restlessly in his seat, the fake material of the couch squeaking under him. “Shouldn’t I get a gun, too? Just in case, y’know–”

Shadow eyes may have been covered, but he could perfectly see in his mind’s eye the look on every adult’s face as they answered, in near unison:

“ No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You fuckin’ kidding?”

“Over my dead body.”

Well, at least he tried.

—

The Afterlife was much the same as it had been the day before, just busier. Mercs dreaming of more lined the walls and filled the booths, talking shop and swapping stories of gigs gone by. For that reason, Johnny had suggested that he and V head inside alone to grab Rogue’s “help.” Knowing the sort of “help” his old friend had previously offered V, Johnny wasn’t very optimistic. He’d bet good money on it being a shard with just too little information about the Palace, or a series of passcodes. Helpful, but no miracle. Then again, Johnny was pretty sure he’d already expended his life’s supply of miracles. People don’t exactly come back from the dead twice.

The others waited outside in the Delamain cabs that V had asked the lipstick-wearing AI to lend them for the evening. Del, in his typical fashion, had been perfectly willing to help.

As he and V walked the short distance through the Afterlife to Rogue’s booth, Johnny couldn’t help but feel completely out of place. Suits had never been his style– he always felt too much like a corpo wannabe– and they were definitely not the style of any Afterlife regulars. Oh well. Rogue, as always, awaited them in her booth, sipping on a glass of whiskey. Beside her, Nix tapped away on a laptop. The soft clicking of his keyboard was barely audible above the rock music that filled the bar.

Rogue glanced between Johnny and V, steely eyes lingering on Johnny more than V. “Took you long enough,” she said coolly, before nodding toward Johnny. “Who’s this stranger you got with you? Don’t seem to recall you hanging around many suits, V.”

Johnny rolled his eyes before V could answer. “Fuck off, Rogue.”

Both Rogue’s expression and voice remained flat, deadpan. “Sorry Johnny, didn’t see you there,” she said, only a millisecond of amusement passing through her eyes. “Shards’re on the table. Had Nix compile some daemons to get you four past security on the Palace. Just slot that one into any computer, and you’re golden. The other’s a map of the casino and restricted areas. Guard routes were harder to get; you’ll only have them for the public areas.”

“Given your…” Rogue’s head tilted to the side as she searched for a word, “ crew , I’d imagine you’re more than capable of taking it from there.”

V thanked Rogue, then slid the shards off the table, inserting the map shard into her port. Once she’d downloaded the data, she passed it to Johnny. 

“Fuck, looks like they’ve done some reno since I was there,” she said, optics lit their familiar blue as she looked over the data. “Hope they didn’t also up their security detail.”

Johnny reached up to insert the chip himself. “How bad’s it look?”

As soon as the shard was inserted, a detailed, 3D blueprint of the Crystal Palace appeared before his eyes. It spun around, marking crucial areas and checkpoints for him to call back on later. Admittedly, Johnny was still new to 2078 tech like this, but he’d seen V use it enough times to fumble his way around it. Sure enough, he could see areas marked construction and renovations . What’s more, not only did the Palace seem to be much larger than he’d anticipated, but the whole place was structured like a labyrinth, with dead end corridors and hallways that turned in nonsensical ways.

“Whole damn place is like a maze,” he said, crossing his arms, “That new?”

Nix finally looked up from his computer, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “Palace is a casino, Silverhand. They’re built to keep ya in, trap you so you have no choice but to spend your hard-earned eddies on fleeting opportunities.”

“Only reason I didn’t get lost is because I had a map,” V added quietly. “Security woulda caught me otherwise.”

The urge was there to poke at that, to ask questions about her time on the Palace, but now wasn’t the time.

In any case, Johnny hoped the info they did have would be enough. The data downloaded, he pocketed both the map shard and the daemon shard, which Nix had helpfully color-coordinated: the map red, and the daemons blue.

“Thanks,” he muttered, just loud enough to be heard over the music. 

“You’re welcome. Just don’t let it go to waste,” Rogue replied sternly. She reached for her glass, using it to obscure her expression from Nix and V. Johnny knew her well enough to catch the hint of sincerity in it anyway. “Got too many people here that would miss you.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

—

NCX, Night City International and Translunar, had more or less recovered since V and Songbird’s little adventure the year before, it seemed. As Delamain pulled up to the drop-off zone, Johnny spotted a smattering of guards milling around, hands not-so-inconspicuously at the ready, hovering over their holstered weapons should a fight break out. Fortunately, Kerry’s VIP status granted them a separate entrance– which meant fewer civilian and staff eyes on them– but there would still be guards to be wary of.

“We have reached our destination,” Delamain informed them, helpfully popping the locks on the taxi’s doors, “I hope your ride has been to your satisfaction.”

V, who sat beside Johnny in the back, gave the AI a warm smile. “Told ya before, Del. Don’t gotta be so formal.”

“If you say so, V.”

And just like that, they’d reached time for goodbyes. Again. A sinking feeling ate away at Johnny’s insides, one he was all too familiar with. 

There… there was no guarantee he’d come back, was there?

In a blink, Johnny was transported back to that shitty little island in netspace, back to its pixelated recreation of the diner booth where he and V had had their first real conversation since he’d woken up in her head. Even in the moment, it had felt like such a long time ago. The two of them now, saying goodbye with no assurance that they’d ever–

“Johnny?”

V’s hand wrapped around his metal one, squeezing it lightly. “You okay?”

He squeezed her hand back, not yet ready to meet her eyes. “Just… fuck , V. There’s no tellin’ if I’m comin’ back or not,” he said, voice lower and softer than he usually let it get. “Don’t… don’t wanna do that to you again.”

V’s other hand came up to rest on the side of his face, callused fingers gently turning his head until he had no choice but to face her. Her eyes, although misty, were determined.

“Won’t claim to fully understand what’s goin’ on here, but I do know one thing,” she began, tone as soft as his own, “the universe, fate, whatever-the-fuck-you-wanna-call-it has put you an’ me through the ringer, but we’ve walked away every time. If you tell me you’re gonna do what you can to come back after that space rodent teleports you to another fucking dimension, I’ll believe you. And… and I’ll wait for you to get back.”

There were probably a hundred different replies Johnny could have given, but words had always best served him on a stage. Instead, he untangled his hand from V’s and rested it on her cheek, a mirror of her hold on him, and brought their lips together in a kiss he hoped would say everything he didn’t know how to voice: promises, gratitude, and sweet affection, the kind that he had hardly felt before his V had gotten herself involved in the single most doomed heist in human history.

When they finally parted, he stayed close enough to rest his forehead against hers.

“Too good for me, Valerie. You know that, right?”

V chuckled softly, managing to put a little humor into it in spite of the circumstances. “You’re just realizing that now?”

—

After nowhere near enough time, and nowhere near enough words, Johnny stepped out of the cab and joined the others by their designated entrance, cradling the hope in his chest that his last view of Night City wouldn’t be this goddamn, shitty ass airport.

Chapter Text

Ted had been to an airport before, once with his dad. When he was little, they’d gone on one of the only vacations Ted could remember. Ted didn’t recall much from the trip, only that to a seven year old, everything about the airport had seemed massive and intimidating. People running around, checking and double checking their boarding passes, calling out to friends and relatives so they wouldn’t get separated… Despite how different this airport was, Ted found himself feeling the same way. At least he wasn’t alone, he supposed.

Though NCX’s VIP entrance was much quieter than the main terminals appeared to be people-wise, the security cameras Ted spotted along the walls and in every corner of the area made him feel exactly as obvious as he would have been there. The armed and armored guards didn’t help much.

Once he got past that, though?

Holy hell, this place was most extravagant.

The floors were set with alternating patterns of clean, white tile and grey concrete, contrasting the dark wood paneling and gold trim lining the walls. Plants, real and holographic, sat against the walls and bisected walkways in their ornate wood and metal displays. Large, thick glass windows exposed launch pads and runways, showing off sleek, futuristic planes and tall, imposing rockets arranged in neat rows.

If Ted had been more observant, he would have noticed the security cameras flopping uselessly downward, optics shorting out, before he, Silverhand, Wick, or Kerry could be seen by them.

Ted must have stopped walking through the terminal without realizing it, because a hand came to rest on his upper back, gently nudging him along.

“Come on, kiddo. Not here to sight-see,” Kerry muttered, low enough that only Ted could hear. “You’ll see plenty from the rocket, trust me.”

Begrudgingly, Ted kept moving, but he couldn’t find the strength to peel his eyes away from the view beyond the window. That was until their group was led by a gold-skinned staff member down a hall that pulled them all in the other direction. With a sigh, Ted turned back toward the others, his eyes again finding the woman leading them through the airport. Her skin was a shiny, metallic gold, like she had been dipped in a pool of paint. At first, Ted thought she might have been a robot, but the way her skin and musculature moved as she walked suggested otherwise. Then, he wondered if maybe she had been pushed into a vat of gold paint. The click of metal against glass when the woman paused to tap on a touchscreen device quickly shot down that idea, too. No, the woman wasn’t a robot, but sometime in her life she had replaced all of her flesh– or at least the outermost layer of skin– with “chrome.”

Ted found himself unnerved at the idea, though he couldn’t really place why. 

Behind her, Silverhand led their group, the sharp black suit he wore giving him an intimidating silhouette, even in the well-lit terminal. Wick, meanwhile, strided behind them, dressed identically to Silverhand. His grip was tight around the straps of the duffel bag Shadow had squished himself into. So far, the space-dog hadn’t made any sort of noise, or even fidgeted. Ted didn’t envy the guy, but he was most grateful his part in their plan didn’t include him squeezing into a suitcase as luggage. In the middle, Ted walked beside Kerry. 

The blond rockstar had been quiet since they entered– they all had– but his occasional sideways glances at Ted hadn’t gone unnoticed, even with the dark shades the man wore.

Right as Ted was beginning to suspect that they had actually been walking through some nightmarish maze of screens, cameras, and hallways instead of an airport, their guide stopped them in an elegant waiting room. A large window let them see out onto a rocket launchpad.

“What’re we stoppin’ for?” Kerry asked, glancing past the attendant farther into the gate. Ted followed his gaze, and found a metal door frame– like a kind of metal detector, only with red lasers crisscrossing through it at even intervals– stood tall behind the guide. An armed security guard stood beside it, hands clasped in front of him. “Got a schedule to keep.”

The attendant gestured to the detector. When she answered, her voice dripped with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Before any passengers and their entourage can board the craft, all party members must pass a routine security inspection, Mr. Eurodyne.”

The tension in the room became thick, palpable, as Ted watched everyone’s posture stiffen.

“ Routine ? Since when ? Didn’t have any of this song and dance when I went to the Palace back in ‘75,” Kerry shot back, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair.

The attendant bowed apologetically, her echoey, robotic voice unwavering. It sent a chill up Ted’s spine. “Since the terrorist attack in 2077, Orbital Air and Night City International and Translunar have increased security measures. Orbital Air apologizes for any inconvenience.”

Ted caught the quick look the rockstar gave Silverhand, which the other man returned with a small, almost sheepish shrug. They both spared a glance toward Wick, who in turn nodded once, expression grim.

They couldn’t fight this if they didn’t want to expose Ted or Wick’s lack of any identification, or the spacefaring, red-and-black dog curled up in the duffel bag.

Ted’s attention flicked back to the thick baton strapped to the security guard at the checkpoint, and to the heavy firearm holstered at their side. He swallowed, the motion feeling thick and forced.

At that, Kerry exhaled roughly, a sound that was more frustrated groan than sigh, and gestured toward the security checkpoint. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

—

In the time since getting out of stasis, Shadow had done a lot of things: destroy a good portion of Tokyo, cause a blackout, erase the first place he ever called home, nearly kill Sonic’s adoptive father, power a space laser that fired at the moon, blow up said space laser, crash land on Earth… And that was just his first couple of days. Between then and now, he had also found a new home, new friends, a new purpose. It had all been daunting, overwhelming even, at times, but until getting sucked into another dimension last week, Shadow fully believed that his tolerance for new and uncomfortable experiences had improved.

He knew that he kept whining about it, but holy fuck did he not want to be in this fucking duffel bag. The soft yellow glow from the glow stick helped him tolerate being in the bag at all, but it wasn’t performing miracles.

Even with his enhanced senses, the sounds coming from outside the bag were muffled, and the smells covered over by the lingering scent of gunpowder and steel that had seeped into the bag’s fabric lining. That left what little sound he could hear and movement as his only indicators of where he and the rest were and what they were doing. 

Wick had stopped walking a minute or so ago. Had they made it to the rocket, or–

“...all… members… security inspection…”

It was a woman’s voice. Her words came out a little tinny, like a higher-pitched echo. An AI, maybe? Shadow had seen those before, when he was with Robotnik and Stone. Not to mention the weird taxi driver that had brought them all here.

Wait, had she said security inspection?

Shit.

Hot, sharp chaos energy built up in his chest in anticipation, but Shadow bit it back, caging it inside where it couldn’t get out. Though, anxiety remained a bitter taste on his tongue. Panicking wouldn’t do any of them any good here. Instead, Shadow focused on the yellow glow stick he clenched in his claws and took a deep breath– one both smelling and tasting of smoke– trusting that Wick, Silverhand, and Ted had each others’ backs here. Besides, wasn’t Silverhand like, a criminal? Even if this did turn into a fight, at least they wouldn’t be ruining the rockstar’s spotless record. If his friend Kerry was anything like him, then he wouldn’t be hurt too bad by that either, right?

Shadow felt the bag swing as Wick began walking again, crossing wherever they were in a few long strides before stopping and carefully setting the bag down on the ground. The added pressure against Shadow’s curled up form was unpleasant, and that was putting it mildly. He couldn’t say he hadn’t felt worse, at least. Exploding in space hurts like hell.

Vibrations against the ground– tile, probably– and the clicking of heels and dress shoes told Shadow there were probably three other people in the room in addition to their group. The heels likely belonged to the stewardess they’d been following. Through the bag, Shadow had been able to catch whiffs of coolant and the high-pitched buzzing of processors surrounding her, like V had. Likely a cyborg, given where they were. Similarly, the other two humans moved with whirrs and the clicking of mechanics.

A heavy feeling sank into his chest, homesickness and worry. Tails would probably have a field day looking into the cybernetic limbs and implants that these people had.

Fuck, he hoped Sonic and Knuckles had gotten the kid home.

Footsteps moved around Shadow’s duffel bag, and fragments of conversation caught his ears. It wasn’t enough to give him an exact play-by-play of what was going on, but it was enough for him to piece together the gist. The two other people were security guards of some sort, and they were inspecting the others. Shadow was used to the song and dance; he’d been patted down and looked over multiple times a day while stuck in the military base with Maria. As far as he knew, Ted, Wick, and Silverhand weren’t carrying anything incriminating, other than the latter two carrying firearms.

Which only left the duffel bag, and Shadow inside it.

As if on cue, Shadow felt himself lurched upwards, and the bag set down roughly on a hard countertop. It took everything in him to stay still, to not react. Even his quills couldn’t prickle out. This clearly wasn’t Wick.

“Mind opening… bag, sir?” a harsh voice asked. Hands came down onto the bag, one grasping at the duffel bag’s closed zipper.

Shadow held onto the glow stick tighter.

“Nah… don’t think so,” Kerry’s voice came next. The man’s natural volume was loud enough for Shadow to make out his words more clearly. “Nothin’ important to check.”

The hand on the zipper inched back slowly, each metal tooth releasing like a gunshot in his ears. “It’s protocol… Air has… bag checks… for all passengers, regardless… status.”

“Oh yeah?”

A pause. If Shadow knew humans– and he liked to think he did– there would be an unspoken showdown, some clashing of wills filling the silence. He just had to hope the rockstar had stubbornness that matched his eccentric fashion sense.

“How’s about now?”

“Our mistake, sir… nice flight."

Just like that, the duffel bag was picked back up, much more gently this time, and they were off toward the rocket. So far, so good. Security was none the wiser.

—

Fuck. Fucking fuck.

Wick chanced a glance down the hallway again, peering out from behind the wall they’d hunkered behind. The second he did, bullets flew toward him once again. He barely managed to avoid getting grazed, pulling himself back with reflexes honed by years of being in this exact situation.

More or less, anyway. He hadn’t ever been chased through a space station-casino by cyborg guards while trying to keep a teenager and a child-sized hedgehog out of harm’s way because someone had fucked up–

Wick ducked back into the fray, lucking out when a security guard poked their head and chest up at the same time. Wick fired off three shots, hitting the guard once in the shoulder, then once in the head, causing the guard to fall lifeless to the ground. The third shot landed in the opposite wall.

–because someone had fucked up his one job, inserting the goddamn USB stick that was supposed to shut off the security on this floor. Instead, Silverhand had alerted every guard outpost in this section of the Crystal Palace, and likely every guard on the entirety of the–

He turned back toward the others in time to catch Silverhand fire off two ear-ringing shots from his customized hand cannon down the other end of the hallway where they’d been stuck.

–station. At the very least, Silverhand had figured out how to upload the code, virus, whatever the fuck to the system, knocking out the cameras. Combined with the distance they’d already put between themselves and the office where they had been discovered, they weren’t in the worst position, but it wasn’t the smooth infiltration they’d been hoping for.  

At least Silverhand’s friend Kerry hadn’t gotten caught in this. John had no idea how much the rocker had needed to pay the guards to get them to overlook the duffel bag in which they’d smuggled in Shadow, but it clearly hadn’t been a small amount. With any luck, he’d be safely on the main casino floor, out of harm’s way. Silverhand had better thank him for this later.

“Shads! Any luck yet?” the rockstar called, reloading the red and silver hand cannon with a practiced finesse, “Not exactly doin’ great on time, here.”

The hedgehog reappeared between them, falling to his knees in a cluster of red-orange sparks. “Almost,” he huffed between deep breaths. Shadow threw an arm behind them, in the direction of where Wick had just been shooting. “Gotta head farther that way, I think.”

“You think?” Ted asked. The teen had thrown his hands over his ears.

Shadow shrugged. “I checked a floor above, and one below. It’s definitely closer to this one. We just,” the kid held up a claw and took in another deep, shaky breath, “We just need to get to the edge of the ship.”

Easier said than done, that. The four of them were already running on fumes, sore, breathless, and exhausted. Being tired meant a greater chance of one of them slipping, of making a mistake. They were already facing those consequences.

Silverhand glanced back at Wick. “Take point? I’ll follow from behind. They don’t know they can’t hack us, it’ll be a pure gunfight an’ chase,” Silverhand said.

Wick nodded, then caught Ted’s and Shadow’s eyes. The hedgehog had already grabbed Ted by the wrist, pulling the teen’s hand down and away from his ear. “You two gonna be okay? You’ll have to run like hell.”

The kids nodded in the affirmative, and the four of them were off. 

Wick pushed himself into the hall on the balls of his feet, raising his borrowed firearm and letting off three shots into the black-armored guard that rose to meet him, each one hitting their target with the all-too familiar sound of flesh ripping. Two to the chest, and one to the head. Fatal for any human, but this opponent wasn’t fully human. He stumbled to a knee, then looked back up at Wick, dark red blood pouring from the entrance wound at his forehead. His cybernetic eyes flickered blue, then orange. Wick didn’t bother to ask what he was doing, and let off another shot into the man’s head, directly through one of the unnatural-looking optics. He fell forward, then lay still.

The back hallways they ran through, like at the airport, were over-designed and sterile, reminding John of some of the Continentals he had stayed at in the past. Wood paneling, tile floors, white light, emotionless wall decor… Were it not for the occasional glimpses he got through a window into outer fucking space and the cyborgs they were fighting, this fight could’ve been happening anywhere. Apparently, security offices looked the same everywhere, even in the post-apocalyptic, dystopian future.

Shadow called for them to take a left down a hallway. Signage posted in English, Chinese, Russian, and Japanese indicated that the main security offices were down this way. Getting in would spell trouble, but they might be able to hold out if they barricaded themselves in a room somewhere deep inside if things got dicey, Wick thought. As he turned down the hall, he caught sight of two more guards running in their direction. He raised V’s black handgun again, letting off his last three shots, aiming for their chests: two in the first guard, one in the second. These must have been more heavily augmented than the others, because they barely reacted to the impacts. And then, one dropped their gun to let it sling around their chest, and whipped out a red-hot wire from their wrist with a sizzling hiss.

Shit.

At a shout of his name, Wick threw himself to the side, narrowly dodging the whip before it cracked directly in his face. Two shots, almost deafening at this close of a range, echoed in the confined space, hitting each approaching security guard squarely in the chest. They fell, then skidded to a stop only a few feet from them, blood pouring from where the bullets had both entered and exited their bodies.

Wick pulled out a spare magazine from his jacket pocket, then quickly reloaded the handgun as they continued down the hall. He didn’t bother thanking Silverhand for taking down the guards; there’d be time for thank-yous if they lived through this.

Shadow pointed out a couple more turns, and between Wick and Silverhand they managed to put down four more armored guards. Finally, Shadow let go of Ted’s hand, leading them into a security office at the end of a hall. The second they entered through the sliding metal door, heads turned in their direction. Wick raised the handgun in his grip on instinct, but these were no highly-trained security guards. Rather, it was clear that the five individuals staring slack-jawed and doe-eyed at them were little more than desk jockeys, the poor souls relegated to answering calls and responding to emails.

The office itself was simple, just an array of desks, computers, and filing cabinets. The most noteworthy thing about it was the long window along the entire back wall, reminding John that they were in fucking space. 

He wasn’t sure he’d get over that.

“Out,” Wick said, voice low and rough from exertion, “Not going to say it twice.”

One of the jockeys sank lower into his seat, eyes managing to widen even further as he stared directly at Wick. “Holy shit. Is that… Johnny Silverhand?”

The rockstar stepped up from behind John, lazily raising his hand cannon up to rest against his shoulder. “Nah, he ain’t. But I don’t wantcha here either. Now get.”

When none of them moved, John raised the sleek handgun he held, and let out a single shot into the ceiling. Even with the silencer, the pop of the gun was just loud enough to make the desk jockeys jump. They filed out soon after.

“Thought Rogue said people didn’t know you were back?” Ted asked, head tilting to the side at a slight angle.

Silverhand shut the sliding door to the office, then punched the control panel with his metal fist. The door sputtered, seemingly locked into place now that the controls had been busted. “They don’t. But wouldn’t you recognize, say, Freddie Mercury if he walked up to you, even though he died forever ago?”

Ted’s expression fell, becoming something dire and heartbroken. “He died?”

“Fuck, I forgot you were from ‘89–”

Shadow let out an exasperated noise. “Can we please get back on track?” he asked, stepping into the center of the room. “The chaos energy is collecting here. We need to go, before security gets here.”

The hedgehog extended a furry hand out in front of him, slowly turning it over so his palm was facing upwards. As he did, bright, red-orange lines rose out of the floor, swirling around them, coiling in Shadow’s outstretched palm. A red thread sprouted from John’s chest. It joined the spiral in the center of the room, which was collapsing into a singularity, a single super-dense point in space and time, though how John understood that was beyond him. 

It shrank, pulling in on itself until the room disappeared, and the four of them with it.

Chapter Text

Johnny cracked an eye open, expecting the worst. What would it be this time? Another planet? The 1920’s? A fuckin’... dimension made entirely of synth-cotton candy? Or, worst of all, would he find that they were back where they’d started, at that fuckin’ fancy as hell hotel in San Francisco? No closer to getting them all back where they belonged, with whom they belonged?

When his vision adjusted to the level of light–or lack thereof, as it looked to be just before dawn–he discovered that it was none of the above. Instead, Johnny found himself face-first in the middle of a baseball diamond, only about a foot from the pitching mound. The others were scattered close around him, in varying states of consciousness.

Johnny pushed himself up onto his elbows, then to an upright position, groaning as the motion pulled on sore, exhausted muscles and joints. He must have had another episode after getting here, if the tremors and shivering that accompanied the movement were any indication. The added height gave him a better view of the field, and suddenly he was grateful they’d landed so close together. Connecting each base, in a perfectly outlined diamond, someone had dug out a pit, probably three, maybe four feet deep. Even stranger, something like scorch marks lined the sides.

His gaze moved up and around. Tall, thick trees surrounded the field, vibrant and green. It was too dark to see far beyond that, but this was clearly nowhere near Night City or the NUS. The only places left with plants this vibrant were corporate-owned nature preserves, and Johnny didn’t think corpos were much for baseball. Not to mention the banners strung across the fences advertising local dentists, ice cream parlors, and used car dealerships. Were they back home, Johnny would have expected to see advertisements for chrome, or the latest soap opera. At the very least, the people in the ads would have less clothing on.

Speaking of clothing…

A quick glance downward revealed that his expensive–and borrowed–suit jacket had been thoroughly trashed, so Johnny shrugged out of it, rolling the sleeves of the button-down he wore beneath it up to his elbows. Fuck, he hated formalwear.

Buzzing somewhere above him caught Johnny’s attention, and he just barely caught sight of a drone, white and oblong, before it darted off into the woods. Huh.

“Oh, thank god.”

Johnny turned. Shadow, like him, was upright and looking around them. Unlike Johnny, Shadow’s expression wasn’t colored by confusion, but by pure relief, the kind that sagged down one’s shoulders and was exhaled as a deep sigh.

“You know this place?” Johnny asked, eyes following the diamond-shaped pit again.

The hedgehog nodded. “It’s not far from where Sonic and the others live,” he said. “We play games here, sometimes.”

When Johnny looked back up at Shadow, the hedgehog’s eyes were where Johnny’s had been, on the pit dug into the ballfield. The kid’s face had fallen into a deep, worried frown.

“You okay?”

Shadow pushed himself to his feet. He then carefully stepped around and over Ted’s stirring form to reach the edge of the dug-out diamond shape, peering down into it. “Sonic comes here to think, when he’s stressed. He runs around the bases, like a track,” he said quietly, gesturing vaguely with a hand to the field, “I… I think this means they haven’t found Tails yet.”

Behind them, Wick must have come to, because the sound of his voice started both Johnny and Shadow. When Johnny twisted to face him, the other man was already on his feet, inspecting their surroundings. Somehow, his suit hadn’t gotten totally trashed in the shootout or on the trip here. In fact, the way his clothing and hair were a little untidy looked completely intentional. Damn, I should dress up more often.

“Maybe. Could also be he was worried about you ,” the assassin pointed out, “You have been gone for over a week.”

Shadow shook his head, unconvinced. “Maybe,” he repeated in a mutter. The kid then shook the rest of him out with a shiver, a little like a dog shaking water out of its fur. When he stopped–pausing mid-motion–Shadow’s bright red eyes were wide, focusing on some unseen point in the distance.

“Wait…” Shadow spun around, taking in his surroundings again. “We’re here. We’re in Green Hills,” he said, sounding a thousand miles away. “We made it.”

Realization dawned on Johnny at the same moment, and a single glance told him it had on Wick as well. Johnny didn’t know which of them spoke next, but it didn’t really matter, did it? He suspected they all would have said the same thing, anyway.

“We can finally fix this.”

—

After jostling Ted awake, the four of them began down a worn, old road back into civilization, what little of it there was out in rural Montana. Ted seemed to have gotten hit the worst this time. He stumbled more than walked, holding tightly to Johnny’s ‘ganic arm to stop him from falling altogether. He hoped Shadow hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that his friends’ place was only a short walk away.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long until they came across a neighborhood. Like Ted’s street, it reminded Johnny of Santo Domingo, what with the picket fences, kids’ toys, yellow streetlights, and lawn chairs on porches. Just add some used needles, toss in an assortment of shell casings, kill or uproot half the trees, let the grass all die off, and add in a couple junkies, and it’d–

Y’know what? Maybe it didn’t look like Santo that much.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a nice, two-story suburban home. It had that “recently remodeled” look to it; there were even still some cans of paint on the porch. In the growing morning light, Johnny could also make out a neatly-trimmed yard, complete with a lawn and some picturesque, colorful flowers. A couple multi-colored bikes–one blue, one red, and one yellow–had been dumped on the driveway, next to a silver truck. As they walked up the drive, the bold lettering on the side of the truck became more legible, spelling out–

Johnny stopped dead in his tracks, locking his gaze on the back of Shadow’s head. The hedgehog had gone in front of them. 

“You live with a fuckin’ cop?”

Shadow’s attention flicked over to the side of the truck, which proudly read, “GREEN HILLS SHERIFF.” He then spun back so he was facing Johnny. 

He inhaled through his teeth. “I mean… he’s technically a sheriff,” Shadow shrugged, “If that makes it better?”

“Still a fuckin’ cop. You really think a badge is gonna want to help us?” Johnny crossed his arms, nodding toward Wick and at Ted, who still lingered close at his side. “Said it yourself the other day: three of us are known quantities here.”

He let the implications linger in the air. Shadow was smart enough to catch on, Johnny knew. With Ted, it’d be fine, but… Would his “friends”–Johnny knew the relationship was deeper, more complex than that–want an assassin in their living room, around their other kids? How about an anarchist rockerboy, with all the baggage that came with him?

The kid’s piercing red eyes were trained directly on Johnny’s own, determined. “They’re different. Trust me.”

Wick passed Johnny, sidling up next to Shadow. “Silverhand. Come on,” he said, glancing back at Ted himself. The kid was standing on his own now, but… “We don’t have time for this.”

The assassin, like usual, was right. Johnny let out a frustrated hiss, gesturing for them all to continue up to the front porch. He followed at a distance. Johnny didn’t know too many cops very well, and that was a personal choice. The one he knew best was that ex-badge V liked to hang around sometimes. Even Johnny had to admit that River Ward wasn’t the worst cop he’d ever met, but one friendly face wasn’t going to reverse decades of learned mistrust.

The porch wasn’t large enough to hold them all, so Johnny remained in the back of their group, and set himself up against the railing. He leaned into it, arms crossed, as Shadow knocked on the door. It struck him as odd that the kid didn’t just go in if he knew these folks as well as he appeared to, but maybe things were different here.

A minute passed without an answer. Then two. A dog barked inside, but that didn’t seem to be enough of an invitation for Shadow to just go in.

Ted slouched. “You sure they’re awake, man? It’s like–” he checked his watch, “–nine at night!”

The three others, Johnny included, turned Ted’s direction.

“Ted, the sun’s coming up. It’s… it’s gotten brighter out since we left the baseball field,” Shadow said, blinking a few times.

Ted perked right back up. “Oh! We talked about this in science class. In Alaska, sometimes the sun’s up, like, all day.”

“Do… do you know where we are?”

“Montana, like you said! That’s by Alaska, right? The sun could totally still be up at nine!”

Wick looked like he was about to ask something, then decided against it, though confusion was still plain on his face.

Shadow was insistent. “Ted, we’ve… We’re in another dimension. There’s no way your watch is accurate.”

“Sure it is! I wound it up and everything!” Ted replied happily, raising his wrist to show off the watch that was somehow still there. Sure enough, it read 9:04 PM.

This appeared to be what finally defeated the hedgehog. After all they’d been through, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Shadow buried his face in his hands with a sigh that said a thousand things at once. Mostly various flavors of disappointment. Johnny was about to see what other totally inaccurate science facts he could get out of the kid when a red minivan pulled into the driveway, parking just behind the truck. The bright LED headlights nearly blinded him, but Johnny could just make out three figures climbing out of the car. They stopped, seemingly staring at their little group on the porch.

Behind him, Johnny heard Shadow take in a sharp breath.

“Shadow? ” called a feminine voice. The figure rounded the front of the minivan, stopping a few yards away from the porch. Now that she was blocking one of the headlights, Johnny could make out a woman, likely in her late thirties, with neatly braided hair pulled back into a half-do. The only descriptive word that came to mind was cute . “Is that you, honey?”

Shadow politely pushed his way past Wick and Johnny, smoothly hopping to the bottom of the porch steps, expression caught somewhere between relief and exhaustion. All at once, it was as if reality had stopped for everyone and everything but Shadow and this mystery woman. Simultaneously, she fell to her knees with a sob and Shadow surged forward to embrace her. They held onto each other tightly, like letting go would mean losing the other forever.

A sharp, little somethin’ poked near Johnny’s heart. A memory came with it, one of a medical miracle and reunion he’d never forget.

Time sped back up, and the other two figures stepped forward, revealing a tall man in a grey henley and… honestly, Johnny had no idea what the red-furred, purple-eyed, white-gloved something was, but it looked vaguely enough like Shadow that Johnny figured it was totally normal for it to be standing there as menacingly as it was. Its name sat on the tip of Johnny’s tongue, vague memories from his childhood trying their best to be recalled.

The something– if it was also a hedgehog, it was the single most beefed up hedgehog Johnny had ever seen–excitedly bounced on the balls of its feet, approaching the man from behind. It tapped on his arm, and the man obediently bent down enough for it to whisper something in his ear. After receiving a confirmatory nod, the furry, red maybe-hedgehog strode forward until it was next to where the woman and Shadow knelt on the ground. The two broke their embrace, and Shadow helped the woman to her feet before getting caught in a rib-crushing hug from the potentially-a-hedgehog, who was so tall compared to Shadow that the hug lifted him off his feet.

When it spoke, it did so in a loud, clear, impossibly deep voice. “It is good to see you, Shadow the Hedgehog!” he boomed, “We feared we may never see you again!”

Whatever it was that Shadow said in reply, Johnny didn’t hear it. He was too focused on the hedgehog-thing across the lawn from him, and the fact that it sounded like an exact goddamn replica of Solomon motherfuckin’ Reed, the NUS special agent through whose skull V had put a bullet about a year ago. 

Wait a minute… If Johnny and the others shared a likeness with some actor in this reality, could it be that somewhere out there, there existed a reality in which Reed and this hedgehog-thing shared one, too? By extension, that would mean that his lookalike and Reed’s would have been in at least two separate movies-video-games-whatever together.

The whole thing was threatening to give Johnny a headache.

The woman looked away from Shadow, abandoning him to the clutches of his friend–Johnny sure hoped they were friends, anyway–to greet Johnny, Wick, and Ted. The look she wore began relieved, but as her eyes trailed from Ted, to Wick, to Johnny, it morphed, traveling through all five stages of grief before she could reign it back into something neutral and polite.

Johnny glanced over at the other two. Did this chick just not like their movies, or…?

While Shadow continued to fight for his life in the not-a-bear-but-possibly-a-hedgehog hug in the background, the sweet-looking woman approached them. She was clearly still confused, but the smile she gave them was genuine.

“I don’t have a clue what’s going on,” she said, sounding a bit choked up, “but… thank you. For getting him back. We were scared he might’ve–”

“SHADOW? ”

A bright, blue blur shot from the sidewalk toward Shadow and his red friend. The latter was knocked down like a bowling pin, but Shadow had teleported out of the way just in time to remain standing. The blur seemed to notice this, because it doubled back and sped toward him again, this time stopping just in time to wrap Shadow in yet another warm embrace. The black and red hedgehog was stiff for only a second before letting himself melt comfortably into the hold.

Sonic the Hedgehog was taller than Johnny had thought he would be. Go figure.

Johnny looked over at Wick to find the other man wearing a satisfied sort of smile. “Told him they’d miss him,” the assassin whispered. “Can’t believe he doesn’t think they care about him.”

“Y’know, was just thinkin’ the same thing.”

Just then, Sonic’s ear twitched, and he let Shadow go just enough to look over his shoulder at Ted, Johnny, and Wick. Ted gave the kid a wave.

Sonic’s jaw dropped so fast, Johnny was a little surprised it didn’t come clean off.

“HOLY SHIT, IS THAT–”

—

Maddie thought she was keeping it together pretty well, all things considered.

Just an hour ago, they had arrived home to find Shadow on the doorstep, safe and sound, with three new friends. And oh , she and Tom were more than grateful that Shadow had made some friends, especially considering how scary the short version of their story had sounded, what with the car chases and gun fights and all. If Shadow needed anything in the world, he needed friends, ones that could understand and accept him as he was. Maddie wasn’t particularly religious, but she had come close to praying that the kid could branch out and meet new people.

And then the monkey’s paw curled…

She took in a deep breath, rapping her head lightly back against the wall of the closet in which she was currently hiding. She and Tom were children of the eighties, of course they’d seen Bill and Ted’s. Hell, they’d shown it to their kids! And it definitely hadn’t been Maddie’s idea to go see John Wick opening night. Nope, she hadn’t needed to drag Tom to go with her after a double shift because she thought the titular character would be nice eye candy. She had been right, as usual.

The third guy–who was also named John, apparently–she wasn’t familiar with. Which was why she’d disappeared into the hallway storage closet three minutes ago, phone in hand.

She was gonna google this bitch.

Shadow seemed comfortable around these people. Friendly. Open. Even so, curiosity and concern tangled in Maddie’s chest. Shadow may not see himself as a Wachowski, but the rest of the family did, and Wachowskis looked out for each other. Here, that meant googling the names of the fictional characters that Shadow had brought into their living room. Just in case.

First, Ted “Theodore” Logan. Maddie knew this one already: wannabe teenage rockstar. A little blond maybe, but a good egg. Quotable as hell.

Likewise, she and Tom had seen all of the John Wick movies. The man may be an assassin who had killed someone with a ballpoint pen, but he was shockingly polite. His dog–and Ozzie–seemed to like him well enough. Maddie knew firsthand how important an animal’s seal of approval could be, and decided to take that as a good omen.

Maddie opened another tab on her internet browser, and typed in the third guy’s name: Johnny Silverhand. Based on his, uhm, silver hand, the name made sense. There was no way that was his real name, right? Either he’d picked it himself or fate had played him a cynical, well, hand and–

The search page finally loaded, and Maddie began scrolling through the results, skimming their descriptions until she found what looked like a wiki. It was for a video game, one that had come out a couple years prior. Right, she recognized this one. Sonic had asked about buying it the second he saw an ad for it on the internet. Maddie had taken one look at the rating and said no way, but hadn’t done any more research than that.

Okay… she thought, breezing through the wiki entry as quickly as she could, looking for highlights. Post-apocalyptic America… Cyborgs… A punk rock band? That’s cool… Oh, oh god. Wow. Okay.

Well… at least the guy sitting on her couch seemed nice enough now. Maddie clung to that.

The closet door opened, and for a second Maddie was terrified she’d been caught by Sonic. She relaxed when she realized it was just Tom, who must have found his own excuse to hide.

“Figured you’d be in here. It’s your favorite getaway spot,” he whispered, flattening himself against the wall opposite Maddie and quietly closing the door. It was a tight fit, but she didn’t particularly mind being close to him like this. “Thoughts?”

Maddie sighed as softly as she could, then held her free hand up in front of her in a pause gesture. “First thing’s first: go us, right? We’re handling this so well. ”

They shared a silent high-five.

“Yeah,” Tom agreed, “Three fake people are sitting in our living room, and we haven’t even panicked once!”

Maddie nodded, then gave Tom a sly look, which he returned with a curious one.

“I mean. It’s not like they’re hard to look at. At least the older two of ‘em,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“God, I know. That’s half the reason we watch the guy’s movies,” he nodded wistfully, then snapped back into reality. “What’d you find on the third guy? John #2?”

Maddie unlocked her phone, flipping the screen around so Tom could see it. She watched his eyes as they darted back and forth across the display.

“Okay… punk rock band? That’s cool.”

“That’s what I said. Keep going.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh.”

“Yep.”

Tom sucked in a breath through his teeth. “At least Shadow made friends…?”

“That’s your bright side here?” Maddie fought to keep her voice a whisper.

“Mads, you and I both know that if they wanted to, any of our kids could beat all of these guys up,” Tom insisted. “Besides, it looks like they want to help, and we need all the help we can get.”

Well, he had her there.

Here goes nothing.