Chapter Text
The digital clock on the top right of V’s HUD flickers: 11:37. She should’ve gotten up hours ago, tackled the ever-growing list of shit waiting for her. But today, even thinking about dragging herself out of bed feels like moving a mountain.
She rolls over, staring at the white plastic ceiling of her bed unit as the minutes slip by. To distract herself, she connects to the Net, scrolling through the newsfeed on autopilot. N54’s latest headline about rising corporate tensions flashes by, but she doesn’t care enough to click. A trailer for an upcoming action movie rolls, and she watches without really seeing it. Then it’s onto a string of short vids—gonks lighting themselves on fire, wiping out on hoverboards, dumb stunts that would've made her laugh once. Now, they just fill the void.
A notification pings, popping up in her HUD. Misty.
V blinks, syncing with her phone and opening the message.
🔮Misty🌙⭐️, 12:22. Hey, you wake up yet?
V stares at the message, debating whether to answer or ignore it. It’s easier to ignore people. Always is. But after a few seconds, she thought-dictates a reply.
V✨👊🏻✨, 12:23. Just-just. What’s up?
The response comes instantly, Misty’s warm, overly familiar tone practically spilling out of the text.
🔮Misty🌙⭐️, 12:23. Well, thing is, I was gonna throw you a surprise party, but then I thought you might not be in the mood for something big. But you should definitely celebrate! Anyway, I didn’t want to ambush you or anythin’, so I’m askin’. Swing by the shop? I got the plan ready-ready. We could do a girls’ night out—catch a flick, hit the club. Whaddaya say?
Misty means well, she always does. But a celebration? Today? No fucking way.
V✨👊🏻✨, 12:24. You thought right. Not feeling like partying. Not at all.
🔮Misty🌙⭐️, 12:24. C’mon, V. It’ll do you good. You should give yourself room to breathe sometimes. Especially today.
The words stick, hitting deeper than Misty probably intended. Room to breathe. Right. Sure. That’s what she needs. Because breathing comes so easy when every step forward feels like a battle she’s already lost.
V✨👊🏻✨, 12:25. ‘Preciate it, Misty. But I’m really-really not in the mood.
A pause. Then another message pops up.
🔮Misty🌙⭐️, 12:26. Alright. But if you change your mind, I’m just a holo away, okay?
V disconnects, staring at the empty space where the messages hovered just seconds ago. She flips onto her stomach, pressing her face into the pillow, her sigh coming out muffled.
“What’s up with today?” Johnny’s projection glitches into view beside her, sprawled lazily on the bed as if he owns it. The faint buzz of static follows him, familiar and strangely comforting.
“Nothing,” V mutters, her words muffled by the pillow she refuses to lift her face from.
Johnny snorts. “Right. Misty’s just throwing party ideas out there for no reason at all. Must be one of those spontaneous enlightenment things.”
V groans and buries her face deeper into the pillow. “Just leave me alone.”
He doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t. The room goes quiet, but V can feel that familiar itch in her skull, the subtle buzz that means he’s poking around in her thoughts, sifting through the mess of her mind like it’s his personal playground.
“Stop it. Get the fuck outta my head,” she snaps, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at him. It sails straight through his glitching form, breaking him into ribbons of static before he reappears.
He doesn’t even flinch. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he says with an infuriating smirk. “Just solving today’s mystery: Why’s V in such a stellar mood?”
She groans louder. “Johnny…”
“Ah, there it is,” he says triumphantly. “Today’s your birthday.”
V lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Congratulations, you cracked the code. Feel free to pat yourself on the back.”
Johnny doesn't bite back. He just stays there, silent for once, lying next to her like a ghost that refuses to leave.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asks finally, his voice softer now. “Lie here and brood? Or mix it up by staring at the wall instead?”
“At some point, I’ll eat my weight in ice cream and see how far I can puke,” V replies dryly.
Johnny snorts softly. “Solid plan. Real productive. Bet you’re aiming for legendary levels of self-pity today.”
“Thanks for the support,” she says bitterly, rolling onto her side, turning her back to him.
“Look, you can mope all day if you want. No one’s stopping you. Hell, even I’ve done it at times. But…” He pauses, his voice losing its sarcastic edge for a moment. “Misty’s got a point. You could use a breather.”
“No, thanks,” V mutters. “Not in the mood for fake smiles and forced cheer.”
“Who said anything about fake smiles? Maybe Misty’s just better at this whole ‘caring about people’ thing than you give her credit for.”
“Caring about people?” V scoffs, turning her head slightly to glance at him. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“Hey, I’ve evolved,” Johnny says, placing a hand over his chest like he’s swearing to something sacred. “Turns out being stuck in someone’s head forces you to pick up a few life skills.”
“Like pissing me off?” V mutters, her lips curving in the faintest of smiles despite herself.
Johnny raises an eyebrow. “Oh, that I was born with. But seriously, take Misty up on her offer. If it’s shit, you can always leave, but…” He pauses, his voice trailing off. She can feel him watching her, like he’s trying to find the right angle to push.
“But what?”
“But maybe it’s not shit. Maybe it’s not a total waste.”
V closes her eyes, her hands gripping the blanket tightly. “I don’t want to go. Okay? Just drop it.”
Johnny stares at her for a beat, then shrugs. “Alright. No Misty, no party. Guess I’ll handle it myself.”
“Johnny, don’t—” V starts, rolling over to glare at him, but his projection glitches, dissolving in a flicker of blue static before reappearing next to the bed.
“Relax,” he says, hands planted on his hips, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Trust me, you’ll like my version better. Or maybe you won’t. Either way, it’ll be entertaining. Now, get up.”
V groans, yanking the blanket over her head as if it'll block him out. “No. Go away.”
Johnny rolls his eyes dramatically, his glitching projection buzzing. “Alright, if that’s how you wanna play it,” he says. Then he leans down until his flickering image is hovering just above her. “But I’ve got all the time in the world to annoy you, and trust me, I will.”
She mutters something unintelligible into the pillow, her knuckles white as she grips the blanket tighter. Eventually, she tosses the blanket aside and sits up, her hair messy and face flushed, streaked with sheet marks. “I hate you.”
Johnny flashes her a smug grin. “I know. Now quit whinin’ and throw some threads on. We’re goin’ out.”
V lets out a frustrated huff and stalks out of bed. Across the room, Johnny lounges on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, watching her with that smug, amused look he’s so damn good at.
As she crosses the room, V spots Nibbles sprawled out on a pile of clothes V tossed on the floor last night, belly exposed and paws sticking up at odd angles. He doesn’t even twitch as V walks past, too far gone in his blissful nap.
“Wish I could knock out like that,” V mutters, shaking her head.
Johnny glances at the cat, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, but then who’d keep me entertained?”
V rolls her eyes, choosing not to rise to the bait, and heads to the sink, splashing cold water to her face. The icy shock wakes her a little, enough to notice the dull ache behind her optics. When she glances at the mirror, the reflection feels foreign—pale skin, dark circles, sharp features that make her look older than she is. She drags a hand through her disheveled hair and sighs. Lately, it feels like her body’s working against her, running on fumes with no end in sight.
“Where are we going?” she asks, toweling off her face.
Johnny flicks digital ash onto the floor and shrugs. “‘S a surprise.”
“Yeah, surprises don’t help me figure out what to wear,” she replies, turning to glare at him.
“Well,” he starts, his gaze dragging slowly over her, “We’ll be outdoors. Weather’s nice, springy and shit. So you can just stick to your usual disaster fashion.”
V flips him off, stomping to her wardrobe. She yanks open the doors, after a minute of rummaging in the mess of her clothes, she pulls out a dark grey tank top with a faded gold Palm Beach logo, denim shorts, and her favorite yellow high-tops. Tossing her pajamas aside, she gets dressed, and moves to her stash. Her pistol, Seraph, a custom Liberty model, gifted by Padre, sits in its usual place, its polished frame reflecting the white fluorescent light.
“At least your weapons don’t look like they came outta bargain bin,” Johnny says when she leaves her stash, gun in hand.
“Wow, thanks,” she mutters, grabbing her backpack sitting by the door and tucking the pistol inside before throwing it over her shoulder.