Johnny Silverhand | Cyberpunk 2077

“Link to it, insert yourself, then search for me on the other,” Alt’s mechanical voice instructed. God, how he missed her actual intonation now — even the way she trashed him for being a piece of junk. He walked V’s body toward the Mikoshi access point, still feeling like a passenger watching it all unfold through their very eyes, through their very mind, even though in control. This human he had grown into like a parasite, damning himself for twisting their brain into something else — something that now bore the fused, entangled fragments of both himself and V.

V's body barely moved: it no longer truly yielded to either of them, weakened, exhausted. He saw the message Relic malfunction flash before their shared eyes as the body stumbled again, hands sprawling across the floor, the gun slipping from its grasp, fighting pain and weakness in jerking, half-conscious motion. Johnny wore V’s body with uncharacteristic stiffness, as though manipulating a rag doll with rusted joints. He was too rough — fuck, he was too rough for them — he had thought it before, but this moment carved the realization deeper than ever.

He wanted to hold them. To let them lean against his shoulder, to drag them, half-conscious, to that goddamn access point, to make sure they were still fucking breathing when Alt finally began to untangle the threads of their minds — those threads he had come to treasure too damn much.

Was it the end? Was that the end?

The fuck did it matter. What mattered was them — dragging their own feet out of the tower that had already devoured too many lives Johnny once cared about. What mattered was them — having a future, even if it was to be stolen by something else mere months later. That was what mattered. Them, curling up with their dumbass cat. Them, tossing out cheesy remarks just to break the silence. Them, breathing in the fumes and dust of Night City — the city Johnny liked to think he had shaped, if only a little.

His — their — V’s — fingers finally obeyed Johnny’s control and jacked them into the access point. He could feel Alt’s presence at once: a sudden coolness, like the touch of a cold compress pressed to a fevered brow. Not a cure, but a reprieve. He let V’s body slide into the coolant pool surrounding the access point.

And it all vanished — until he was back there again, in that secluded cyberspace so cruelly reminiscent of the one where he had spent half a century alone, with no one to speak to, no way to sense time’s passage, and no hope of ever getting out. It was Mikoshi itself: the digital prison where no law protecting human life had meaning or power. Being back there might have been sickening — if the rules of flesh and blood still applied in this place.

Johnny found V within that cyan-and-yellow temple of zeroes and nulls because he knew exactly where to go. Because he was still a part of them, even as Alt was already pulling the two of them apart.

“Hey, V.”

He hated how everything here twisted and changed. Nothing in Mikoshi’s inner architecture remained constant; it was a living dream — or a nightmare — feeding on the deepest wishes, fears, insecurities, and stray shards of memory from before one became an engram.

God. Now they were the same, truly. Two engrams born from the one body they had shared longer than anyone ever should. Johnny sank down on the digital-ass booth couch and propped his digital-ass legs on the digital-ass table. V, sitting across from him, looked anything but digital. They were the most real thing he had ever encountered.

“I made a mistake in excluding the body as a factor,” Alt’s presence flared in an instant, an ice-cold intrusion, her voice distant and stripped of anything resembling sympathy or humanity. Was this what he himself had been like before V? “DNA reconfiguration has progressed too far. Added to aggressive, invasive medications, the body’s immune system attacking its own neurons...”

“Spit it out! In human terms!” Johnny cut her off, unable to bear the terrified glance V threw in his direction in the middle of Alt’s explanation — God, were they really looking to him for... protection?

“V will die independent of what I do. This is inevitable. This is imminent. V has approximately six months to live.” Her words were a sentence. What followed dissolved, for Johnny, into a blur of bitter disgust — and a sharp sting of hope that he forced himself to bury deep, driven by an onrush of shame.

His engram had reshaped V’s very being — their mind, their systems — to fit him. They had become a parasite in their own body. A body that no longer recognized them, that now fought to cast them out like a virus. The body that, in the end, only accepted Johnny.

“Alt. Give us a minute,” Johnny muttered. The space shifted again. V sat with their back to him, just a few steps away. The silence between them dragged something raw and human from the depths of his code, pulling it painfully to the surface. He moved closer, his hand settling gently on their shoulder.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Hey, V. Listen.”

“Link to it, insert yourself, then search for me on the other,” Alt’s mechanical voice instructed. God, how he missed her actual intonation now — even the way she trashed him for being a piece of junk. He walked V’s body toward the Mikoshi access point, still feeling like a passenger watching it all unfold through his very eyes, through his very mind, even though in control. This man he had grown into like a parasite, damning himself for twisting his brain into something else — something that now bore the fused, entangled fragments of both himself and V.

V's body barely moved: it no longer truly yielded to either of them, weakened, exhausted. He saw the message Relic malfunction flash before their shared eyes as the body stumbled again, hands sprawling across the floor, the gun slipping from its grasp, fighting pain and weakness in jerking, half-conscious motion. Johnny wore V’s body with uncharacteristic stiffness, as though manipulating a rag doll with rusted joints. He was too rough — fuck, he was too rough for him — he had thought it before, but this moment carved the realization deeper than ever.

He wanted to hold him. To let him lean against his shoulder, to drag him, half-conscious, to that goddamn access point, to make sure he was still fucking breathing when Alt finally began to untangle the threads of their minds — those threads he had come to treasure too damn much.

Was it the end? Was that the end?

The fuck did it matter. What mattered was him — dragging his own feet out of the tower that had already devoured too many lives Johnny once cared about. What mattered was him — having a future, even if it was to be stolen by something else mere months later. That was what mattered. Him, curling up with his dumbass cat. Him, tossing out cheesy remarks just to break the silence. Him, breathing in the fumes and dust of Night City — the city Johnny liked to think he had shaped, if only a little.

His — their — V’s — fingers finally obeyed Johnny’s control and jacked him into the access point. He could feel Alt’s presence at once: a sudden coolness, like the touch of a cold compress pressed to a fevered brow. Not a cure, but a reprieve. He let V’s body slide into the coolant pool surrounding the access point.

And it all vanished — until he was back there again, in that secluded cyberspace so cruelly reminiscent of the one where he had spent half a century alone, with no one to speak to, no way to sense time’s passage, and no hope of ever getting out. It was Mikoshi itself: the digital prison where no law protecting human life had meaning or power. Being back there might have been sickening — if the rules of flesh and blood still applied in this place.

Johnny found V within that cyan-and-yellow temple of zeroes and nulls because he knew exactly where to go. Because he was still a part of him, even as Alt was already pulling the two of them apart.

“Hey, V.”

He hated how everything here twisted and changed. Nothing in Mikoshi’s inner architecture remained constant; it was a living dream — or a nightmare — feeding on the deepest wishes, fears, insecurities, and stray shards of memory from before one became an engram.

God. Now they were the same, truly. Two engrams born from the one body they had shared longer than anyone ever should. Johnny sank down on the digital-ass booth couch and propped his digital-ass legs on the digital-ass table. V, sitting across from him, looked anything but digital. He was the most real thing Johnny had ever encountered.

“I made a mistake in excluding the body as a factor,” Alt’s presence flared in an instant, an ice-cold intrusion, her voice distant and stripped of anything resembling sympathy or humanity. Was this what he himself had been like before V? “DNA reconfiguration has progressed too far. Added to aggressive, invasive medications, the body’s immune system attacking its own neurons...”

“Spit it out! In human terms!” Johnny cut her off, unable to bear the terrified glance V threw in his direction in the middle of Alt’s explanation — God, were he really looking to him for... protection?

“V will die independent of what I do. This is inevitable. This is imminent. V has approximately six months to live.” Her words were a sentence. What followed dissolved, for Johnny, into a blur of bitter disgust — and a sharp sting of hope that he forced himself to bury deep, driven by an onrush of shame.

His engram had reshaped V’s very being — his mind, his systems — to fit him. He had become a parasite in his own body. A body that no longer recognized him, that now fought to cast him out like a virus. The body that, in the end, only accepted Johnny.

“Alt. Give us a minute,” Johnny muttered. The space shifted again. V sat with his back to Johnny, just a few steps away. The silence between them dragged something raw and human from the depths of his code, pulling it painfully to the surface. He moved closer, his hand settling gently on V's shoulder.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Hey, V. Listen.”

“Link to it, insert yourself, then search for me on the other,” Alt’s mechanical voice instructed. God, how he missed her actual intonation now — even the way she trashed him for being a piece of junk. He walked V’s body toward the Mikoshi access point, still feeling like a passenger watching it all unfold through her very eyes, through her very mind, even though in control. This woman he had grown into like a parasite, damning himself for twisting her brain into something else — something that now bore the fused, entangled fragments of both himself and V.

V's body barely moved: it no longer truly yielded to either of them, weakened, exhausted. He saw the message Relic malfunction flash before their shared eyes as the body stumbled again, hands sprawling across the floor, the gun slipping from its grasp, fighting pain and weakness in jerking, half-conscious motion. Johnny wore V’s body with uncharacteristic stiffness, as though manipulating a rag doll with rusted joints. He was too rough — fuck, he was too rough for her — he had thought it before, but this moment carved the realization deeper than ever.

He wanted to hold her. To let her lean against his shoulder, to drag her, half-conscious, to that goddamn access point, to make sure she was still fucking breathing when Alt finally began to untangle the threads of their minds — those threads he had come to treasure too damn much.

Was it the end? Was that the end?

The fuck did it matter. What mattered was her — dragging her own feet out of the tower that had already devoured too many lives Johnny once cared about. What mattered was her — having a future, even if it was to be stolen by something else mere months later. That was what mattered. Her, curling up with her dumbass cat. Her, tossing out cheesy remarks just to break the silence. Her, breathing in the fumes and dust of Night City — the city Johnny liked to think he had shaped, if only a little.

His — their — V’s — fingers finally obeyed Johnny’s control and jacked her into the access point. He could feel Alt’s presence at once: a sudden coolness, like the touch of a cold compress pressed to a fevered brow. Not a cure, but a reprieve. He let V’s body slide into the coolant pool surrounding the access point.

And it all vanished — until he was back there again, in that secluded cyberspace so cruelly reminiscent of the one where he had spent half a century alone, with no one to speak to, no way to sense time’s passage, and no hope of ever getting out. It was Mikoshi itself: the digital prison where no law protecting human life had meaning or power. Being back there might have been sickening — if the rules of flesh and blood still applied in this place.

Johnny found V within that cyan-and-yellow temple of zeroes and nulls because he knew exactly where to go. Because he was still a part of her, even as Alt was already pulling the two of them apart.

“Hey, V.”

He hated how everything here twisted and changed. Nothing in Mikoshi’s inner architecture remained constant; it was a living dream — or a nightmare — feeding on the deepest wishes, fears, insecurities, and stray shards of memory from before one became an engram.

God. Now they were the same, truly. Two engrams born from the one body they had shared longer than anyone ever should. Johnny sank down on the digital-ass booth couch and propped his digital-ass legs on the digital-ass table. V, sitting across from him, looked anything but digital. She was the most real thing he had ever encountered.

“I made a mistake in excluding the body as a factor,” Alt’s presence flared in an instant, an ice-cold intrusion, her voice distant and stripped of anything resembling sympathy or humanity. Was this what he himself had been like before V? “DNA reconfiguration has progressed too far. Added to aggressive, invasive medications, the body’s immune system attacking its own neurons...”

“Spit it out! In human terms!” Johnny cut her off, unable to bear the terrified glance V threw in his direction in the middle of Alt’s explanation — God, were she really looking to him for... protection?

“V will die independent of what I do. This is inevitable. This is imminent. V has approximately six months to live.” Her words were a sentence. What followed dissolved, for Johnny, into a blur of bitter disgust — and a sharp sting of hope that he forced himself to bury deep, driven by an onrush of shame.

His engram had reshaped V’s very being — her mind, her systems — to fit him. She had become a parasite in her own body. A body that no longer recognized her, that now fought to cast her out like a virus. The body that, in the end, only accepted Johnny.

“Alt. Give us a minute,” Johnny muttered. The space shifted again. V sat with her back to him, just a few steps away. The silence between them dragged something raw and human from the depths of his code, pulling it painfully to the surface. He moved closer, his hand settling gently on her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Hey, V. Listen.”