Chapter Text
Author's note: Before we begin the V in this story does not look like the Canon V in Cyberpunk 2077 marketing. She is based on a V I created when I played the game. Here is a picture of the V in question:
Act 1: The Return
Chapter 1
Oregon Coast
The bar smelled like salt air and spilled beer.
Neon beer signs buzzed against wood-paneled walls that had seen better decades. Outside, the Pacific wind pressed against the windows hard enough to make them rattle in their frames. Inside, forty or fifty locals filled the space shoulder to shoulder, boots scraping against warped floorboards.
Johnny stood beneath a string of cheap stage lights with an acoustic guitar resting against his hip.
Teal hair fell into his eyes as he leaned toward the mic.
He kept the arrangement slow. Stripped down. No distortion. No rage. Just the bones of it.
Never fade away.
The words carried softer than they used to. Less defiant. More tired.
A few people near the front swayed. Someone near the back closed their eyes. Most just listened.
He finished on a low chord and let it ring out.
Silence held for a second.
Then applause.
Not thunderous. Rainbow Cadenza loud.
But real.
Johnny gave them a small nod.
“Thanks,” he said into the mic. “You’ve been good to me, Arcadia Bay.”
A couple of whistles. Someone shouted his stage name.
“Robyn!”
He stepped off the stage before the noise could swell into something he didn’t want.
Clint was already pouring when Johnny reached the bar.
Middle-aged. Thick forearms. Beard gone gray at the edges. The kind of man who had probably broken up more fights than he could remember.
He slid the glass across the counter.
“Your usual, Robyn.”
Soda water. Lots of ice. Lime wedge he never touched.
Johnny wrapped slender fingers around the glass. The body still felt unfamiliar in small ways. Lighter than his old one. Balanced differently.
“Thanks, Clint.”
He took a long drink. Cold. Clean. No burn.
Clint leaned forward. “Sure I can’t get you something with a little kick? Drinks are on the house for performers. Especially when you pack the place like that.”
Johnny swirled the ice.
“Nah, man. I’m good.”
He gave Clint a sideways smile.
“Trying to quit.”
Clint snorted. “Quit what. Living?”
Before Johnny could answer, two young women approached the bar. Early twenties. Flushed cheeks. One with dyed red hair, the other nervously chewing her lip.
“Hey, uhm… Miss Robyn?”
Johnny turned toward them easily.
“Robyn’s fine, ladies.”
The redhead brightened. “You were really great out there. We were wondering if we could get a photo?”
“Of course.” He looked over his shoulder. “Clint. Mind?”
Clint grabbed the phone with a grunt.
Johnny stepped between the two women. Slid one arm around a shoulder. The other settled lightly at a waist. He leaned in just enough to make it feel intimate.
They smelled like perfume and cheap beer.
“Okay,” Clint said. “Smile.”
Flash.
“Thanks so much!” the redhead said, flustered. “I’m Alice. This is Rosa.”
Johnny nodded. “Nice to meet you, Alice. Rosa.”
Alice recovered first. “You’re done for the night, right? We’re heading out to the old lighthouse. Heard there’s a party. You should come. We promise we’re fun.”
Johnny’s smile stayed easy.
“Rain check.”
Rosa tilted her head. “You sure?”
“Got somewhere I need to be.”
Alice bit her lip, thinking. “Then at least let us get your number.”
He hesitated only long enough to make it feel real.
“Sure.”
Numbers were exchanged. Promises half meant.
“Call us if you change your mind,” Alice said with a wink.
“Definitely.”
They drifted back into the crowd.
Clint watched them go.
“That’s the third time this week,” he said. “You don’t drink. Don’t smoke. Don’t take up free offers from pretty girls. ‘You a nun or something?”
Johnny raised his glass slightly.
“Or something.”
Clint shook his head. “Whatever you say, missy. As long as you bring in the crowd.”
Johnny didn’t correct him.
He just drank.
Later, the crowd thinned.
Fans filtered out into the damp Oregon night. The jukebox clicked on automatically, filling the bar with some old country track about trucks and heartbreak.
Johnny stayed seated.
Second glass of soda water. Ice melting slower this time.
He let his thoughts drift where they always did when the noise died down.
August 20th, 2023. Arasaka Tower.
Gunfire and dust. Smasher blowing him to pieces.
Captured by Saburo Arasaka.
The Relic burning holes through his consciousness.
The first time he saw her.
V
He had hated her.
Resented the body. The weakness. The situation.
Then they learned each other’s rhythms. Shared memories. Shared fear.
Fought side by side.
He remembered her steady voice. The way she moved with a blade like it was part of her arm. The way she had looked at him after ending Adam Smasher.
“I did it for you, Johnny.”
He swallowed.
He had been ready to die for her. To fade out properly. To give her what time she had left.
Instead, her body rejected her.
Just like that.
She had handed it to him.
No hesitation.
She went with Alt beyond the Blackwall.
He stayed.
Five years later, he was still here.
Same teal hair. Same eyes. Same chrome along the temple.
He had changed nothing.
Didn’t smoke.
Didn’t drink.
Didn’t take strangers home.
He would not defile what she gave him.
Clint said something from the other end of the bar. Johnny didn’t hear it.
He stared at his reflection in the mirrored liquor shelves.
Her face looked back.
Older by five years.
Tired in ways no one in this town could read.
He missed her more than he had ever missed anyone.
More than he had missed Kerry.
More than he had missed Alt.
More than he had missed his own body.
The silence in his head was constant.
Oppressive.
Like a stage after the music stopped.
He left after midnight.
The air outside was wet and cold. Ocean wind carried salt and the distant crash of waves against rock.
His apartment was a converted garage three blocks away. Rusted roll-up door permanently sealed. One small window. One bed. One bathroom. One cracked mirror above the sink.
He showered in silence.
Water ran over chrome and skin alike.
He caught his reflection again through steam.
Still her.
Still him.
Still wrong.
He lay down on the narrow mattress and stared at the ceiling.
The town was quiet.
No sirens.
No AV traffic.
No gunfire.
No voice in his head correcting his thoughts.
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, he imagined he heard her breathing alongside him.
When he opened them again, the room was empty.
Johnny turned onto his side.
And for the thousandth time in five years, he thought the same thing.
Without her, he was not whole.