It felt… strange. Tingly. Like my whole body was suspended in an electrically-charged cloud. Like all the hairs have regrown and stood up on their ends. Like I could reach out and touch a solid wall and it would ebb like water.

  The world was… breathing. As I looked around, dense layers of something I’m hesitant to label as visual represented the world. It’s like… my eyes were closed, and the subtle patterns of cells and blood vessels that I saw… They formed complex shapes. People. Things. It was like the world was made up of a sea of deep blue, connected by electrical points of data. I had never known even a dream to be so surreal…

  “Where am I…?” I spoke in a tone that did not sound like my own. It sounded… digitized. Glitchy. My words echoed and reverberated in the abstract train station, lighting up each point as the sound waves intersected. It was so chaotic, yet so structured at once… it was beautiful…

  A solitary red figure stood in my way… Maman Brigitte’s engram. She traveled with me. It’s no wonder people remained here for so long. This feeling was inescapably euphoric. My body was free from its usual aches and pains. My arms felt lighter without the implants. My bones were feathers. I could swallow air in gulps. It was intoxicating.

  “Dis is our BBS… datafortress,” Maman Brigitte replied, her body glitching and jumping about temporarily as everything synced. She was clearly an insertion into this world. Her movements were inorganic and jarring, whereas the space around us felt like a superfluid. “Bridge to de Deep Net.”

  “I… I had never seen anything like this,” I admitted to her, “It feels so… alive. If I was a poet, I might have the words, but…”

  “Cyberspace moves… Breathes at all times,” she told me with a smile, “De interface will adjust de ebb and flow of data to de capabilities of your brain and deck. But you… you are an exceptional case.”

  “Really?” I raised an eyebrow, “What do you see?”

  “Something different… de cyberspace… it is always… twò bèl [too beautiful].”

  “I see,” I observed my hand… if I was alone, I would have danced the most graceful display the world had ever seen… “So what now?”

  “We can begin. All is ready,” she told me– what the fuck?!

  She suddenly appeared directly in front of me, holding my head with her hands… they felt warm, but also oppressively electrical… “We have to strengthen your bond with Silverhand to gain access,” she explained, “We must find data on Alt. Alt alone. Dis should only take–”

  “Brigitte…?” I shouted as everything suddenly froze in place… I felt… weightless… empty…

  The world seemed to fall away from my body. Everything around me moved at such incredible speed, yet I stood still. It bent and lengthened like it was made of rubber, accelerating me forward… Yet I felt nothing but bliss and a light hint of air…

  I can’t… can’t feel anything at all anymore…

  A stage… Music…

  I see a stage…

  I can feel it. Pounding in my ears…

  My body felt… wrong… Johnny…

  It was a stage… not the stage I expected… Who are these people… their voices…

  Johnny…?

  I can feel him…

  I looked down to see my Malorian once again resting in my left hand… Johnny. Welcome back. A quick glance to the concert poster revealed the year… 2013. August 1, 2013…

  I… I don’t know what I’m doing… What I’m thinking…

  I’m thinking…

  I’m thinking…

  I’m thinking… I have to shut these motherfuckers up before their incoherent bashing drives off all the fans. Fuckin’ insulting. What would this fuckin’ band be without me except a bunch of spineless, driveling morons who write a bunch of bullshit ‘thout knowin’ what the fuck they’re talkin’ about. Least they’re cool to hang around, ‘specially Nance. She’s been on a hot streak lately–

  –Got up to the microphone. Needed to scream–

  –Fuckin’ scop-ass motherfuckin’–

  –A fuckin’ hangover from this shit–

  –”…Will never fade away!!”–

  “Johnny!” Kerry lashed out at me. Again. “The fuck, holmes! Outta line, way out!!” Dozens of fans poured in from behind the loading bay doors, begging to have their tits n’ asses autographed. Just a look sent their worlds ablaze.

  And all Kerry did was drag me through the fuckin’ muck. Embarrassin’ me and makin’ us look like a bunch of fuckin’ assholes. After all these years, I figured he’d finally get the point to just let me do my own fuckin’ thing, it’s what got us this far. But no, everyone’s a fuckin’ critic. Fuck it. Let him ramble, I’ll just stand here and look pretty.

  “Gonna drag a corporat on the stage, make ‘em kneel, drown ‘em in gas, then light ‘im up?!”

  I had nothin’ to say. For now. Just let him keep ramblin’ on, like he always does on weekends like this. “It’s not YOUR band, you’re no solo act!” he said with a snide tone that I really wasn’t in the mood for today. Saw Alt in the crowd earlier, wanna just get him the fuck outta my way so I can get down to business.

  “But you are?!” I yelled over the roar of my fans, “You know exactly why I do it.”

  “No, nuh-uh,” he rudely interrupted me again, “To piss Arasaka off enough so they’ll give you a case of deep-muscle lead poisoning?!”

  “You’re the only one with a problem with me!”

  “Cause everyone else has had it up to here,” Kerry shook his head, “They’re done thinkin’ they can get through to you. You’re fuckin’ whacked!”

  “But I’m the only one with a vision!” I growled at Kerry, shoving him aside and bursting the dressing room door open, grabbing my guitar while I’m at it. Fuckin’ asshole, man. “So unless you got a better one, go. Fuck. YourSELF!” I violently slammed the door in his face. Migraine’s on fuckin’ fire today.

  Alt was waiting inside, sittin’ and lookin’ hot n’ spicy as ever. I threw my guitar on the desk as she walked over to me like a vixen, though I couldn’t help but eyeball that nice, shiny bottle of uppers. “Fuck,” I grunted, throwin’ its contents down the hatch as I turned and found myself face-to-face with my greatest mistake.

  “Is it the concert, or Kerry?” she asked me with a hint of concern, placing her hand on the back of my neck.

  “Hm?” I turned around to face her, and she was as gorgeous as ever. Best flower in the garden, and it was all mine. “Said you weren’t comin’ tonight. 'Not if I can help it'.”

  “Changed my mind, lover,” she grinned, slowly removing my sunglasses and looking at me dead in the eyes. “Look at you, all hot and bothered…” I let her hand drift downstairs. Had a tendency to end up there time after time, but fuck me, was it the best thing that ever happened to me.

  She grabbed me by the hair and pulled me straight into her. Ended up doin’ the nasty right there on the guitar, covering it in peachy scents from yours truly. Got a good look of us gettin’ steamy in the mirror, but she dragged my face back down to her level. Everything focused on her.

  She scratched the itch in my loins four fuckin’ times. Just when I thought it’s all over, she just dragged me right back to it. Pourin’ shots on her chest. Givin’ me a ride like no other. On top, back and forth, side to side, nothin’ was safe from her wrath. Least of all me.

  Two hours went by before we were finally done, sittin’ our hot and sweaty asses on the couch with some smokes n’ booze. Fuckin’ preem way to end the gig. “Fucking hell…” she sighed, lookin’ straight into my eyes and cradling my hand in hers, “Damn shame that’s that…”

  “What, smoking after sex not Zen enough for you? We gotta rewrite the Art of War, too?”

  “We’re done, Johnny, with it all,” she said definitively, “I just… couldn’t ghost without saying… something.”

  “You don’t gotta ghost,” I told her in my softest post-sex voice, “I’ll always–”

  “–Gladly fuck you when there’s no one around who wants to?” she interrupted. Fuckin’ ouch.

  “Isn’t that exactly why you’re here?” I hissed at her and she quickly turned away.

  “You can be such a bastard sometimes, Johnny.” Thanks for statin’ the obvious.

  “Man, are you on my ass today…”

  “Not just today,” she quickly replied, “How is it subtlety goes so far over your head? Weird for an artist.”

  “Things were swimmin’, though. What, change your mind? Eats at my gut. Cause you knew what you were signin’ up for–”

  “Look,” she stopped me, “If you were just another charismatic, narcissistic douchecanoe running around after his dream and his head up his ass, I couldn’t care less.”

  “But?” I asked her, hopin’ she’d get to the point already.

  “It’s all a lie. That concert, Samurai, all of it. A ginormous fiction.” She stopped mid-thought and got right up to me, staring holes into my head. I could feel her breath on my nose, she was so close. “You’re not a rockerboy, Johnny, face it. Oughta join the weird whackos on the corners, frothing at the mouth and screaming ‘Death to Arasaka’.”

  “I see,” I grabbed her chin and moved it away from my face, “Think you seen through me, do ya?”

  She got up and picked up her pants, lookin’ back at me with that trademark cruel, insensitive look she gives every time we have one of these little spats. Then the next concert rolls along and, boom, right back where we started. “You know exactly what I mean. Look at you – faking it even to yourself. Heh, probably what you’re best at – faking it.” She stormed off into the bathroom, taking all of her shit with her.

  “You’re confused,” I lashed out at her as she walked away, “We came here to fuck each other’s brains out. Not analyze mine.” No reply, not a peep. Fuckin’ typical of her. “Mh, you’re afraid! You and Kerry – both cowards. I alone have the balls to stand up to Arasaka. And boy, that terrifies you – all of you!”

  “Course, Johnny S. Misunderstood by all of Night City – that’s it, that’s the problem,” she sardonically fired back at me.

  Man, fuck this shit. “Think we’re done for the day, fuck off,” I shouted as I grabbed my pill bottle and zipped my fly back up.

  “See, I thought…” she paused, all dressed up and ready to delta the fuck out.

  “Not another goddamn word, okay?!” I threw the empty bottle on the floor, “Just shut up. For once.”

  “Pff, you’re fucking hopeless,” she said with a slight shake in her voice.

  “You don’t know fuck all about me. This is all we have, all we are.” My words hit a nerve, apparently. She stormed straight outta the building. Fuck it… Fine.

  I caught up to Alt in an alley not far from the bar, runnin’ up and grabbing her by the right arm. “Where you goin’?” I demanded. Course, no reply. Just more walkin’ away. Grabbed her again and she looked back at me… Nah. Shit. Can’t do that… Dammit, Johnny. Crossin’ the fuckin’ line again…

  I backed away from her arm, ready to let ‘er go right there. “Silverhand, hey!” a couple roadies shouted behind her. Now’s not a good time for this fuckin’ crap.

  “Got somewhere to be,” she hissed, lightin’ up another smoke.

  “Alt…”

  “Hey! Silverhand, nice noise, choom…” same fuckin’ roadies. Not tonight.

  “Save it, I dunno for who…” she rolled her eyes at me as the three approached us.

  “Playin’ again tomorrow.”

  “Uh-huh,” she nodded indifferently before looking over at these people comin’ up in our faces, “Let’s… get outta here?”

  “Join usssh for a drop, Ssshilver rocker…” they sounded loaded outta their minds. I put myself between them and Alt, palmin’ my Malorian nestled in the small of my back.

  “Fuck off,” I shouted at ‘em as two more came outta the shadows… Fuck… This ain’t no roadie crew… Got a bad feeling ‘bout these gonks…

  “Oooh, short fuse on this one, huh?” the leader replied, tossin’ his beer can over his right shoulder. Wasn’t loaded at all. But he was definitely packin’ heat. So am I.

  “Alt, RUN!” I screamed, rippin’ my Malorian out and gettin’ shot after shot off at this fuckin’ assholes.

  “AHGH! Let go of me!!” Alt cried out, drawing my attention – gotta line up a shot to take this one out ‘fore he–

  “GGHK!” I looked down to see a pair of Mantis blades sticking out of my torso… Fuck… Fuck it… God, fuck… Alt…

  “Johnny!!” I could hear distant screams as this fuckin’ clown stood over me… Dammit… They got her… I… I fucked up…

  No… Alt…

  “Fuck off!” I heard her, “Leave me alone!!”

  “Alt…” I groaned, forcing myself to my knees… Fuck me… Where’s my gun…

  “Let go of me!!” Dammit… I can’t find it…

  A van pulled up and they threw her in the back, still screaming… Fuck… No, no no no… Alt…

  I can’t… make it…

  Shit… Alt… I’m sorry…

  I collapsed in a pile of trash, seein’ a cat beside me… Fuck is a… cat doin’ here…

  “…Really did you, didn’t they?” I heard a voice… Fuck… that… who the fuck…?

  –

  I opened my eyes to a blurry, distorted picture… surgical lights overhead… lyin’ on a ripperdoc table… Fuck… “Mrgh…” I groaned as I tried my best to sit up…

  “Come on, rise and shine…” a voice told me from my left… Fuck… that Milt Nauman? “Been a while, Johnny boy. How long, d’you say? Two weeks since I last cobbled you up?”

  “Man, did I miss you…” I said weakly, managing to pull myself up onto my elbows. “Gaagh…”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “Bullshit, you gonk son of a bitch,” he fired back at me, “Didn’t even bother to call. Were supposed to be back for your follow-up.” He turned around to look at this other dude who pulled me outta the fire, sittin’ in a chair and apparently waitin’ for me to do somethin’. “Kid’s like a son to me.”

  “So I see,” the guy replied from across the room.

  “How’s… it look down there?” I said through clenched teeth, overcome with the searing hot pain.

  “Welp,” he shrugged, “Shoved so many tubes up your ass that you’re about two mods off from pissin’ espresso and milk froth. Also tossed in a synthetic liver. Old one was lookin’ like a paper bag full of shit.” What are friends for, right?

  “Great, now I can live forever…” I groaned.

  “Just as well,” Thompson interjected.

  “Where’s Alt?” I demanded, finally sitting up.

  “Where’s who?” said Milt.

  “Woman who was with me.”

  “He brought you, and you alone,” Milt motioned back to this guy.

  “Fuck, they grabbed her…”

  “Ask your savior,” Milt told me. “Said his name was Thompson.” Thompson… alright.

  “Arasaka, wasn’t it?” I sneered through a broken voice as I grabbed each of my legs and pulled ‘em off the bed.

  “Uuugh, it’s always Arasaka with you,” Milt criticized.

  “Cause it always is Arasaka,” I told him plainly.

  “We gotta talk,” Thompson interrupted.

  “Aaalright. It’s spit n’ glue, but she’s holdin’ tight,” Milt said to me, given’ me the green light to get up now. “Get some rest. Even a few hours. Let the stitches set, at least.”

  “Uh-huh.” Can’t do that, not with Alt still out there.

  “Johnny…” he turned around for a second before walking out, “Aggh, fuck it. You won’t listen to me anyway.” Least he fuckin’ gets it.

  “So talk,” I demanded from what’s-his-face, Thompson.

  “They wanted her,” he told me, leaning forward in his chair, “You – you was just home.”

  “And you… just stood there, dick in-hand. Gawking and dreaming of tomorrow,” I shot. Thompson stood up and crossed his arms, glaring at me from behind his sunglasses.

  “Woulda shredded us both if I’d jumped in. You see the guy’s reflexes? Course not – he was that fast.” He casually walked around the room, still staring me down. “Tech like that, you don’t find in a dumpster.” Looked like a fuckin’ media. Typical.

  “So, what’re you after? Chasin’ down a story? Fresh for the screamsheets? That why you scrape me off the pavement?”

  “Nah, had my story,” he shook his head at me, “But then some cats tossed her in the back of a van and sped off.” Fuck would he want Alt for? “You, uh, aim to do somethin’ about it? She was your output, wa’n’t she?”

  “Not your fuckin’ business,” I growled.

  “Mmh, not sure, huh? Yeah. Heard there was tension. Assorted goings on. Honestly could not care less about your fluttering hearts and loins. I wanna know why Arasaka bagged her.”

  I’m gonna tell you right the fuck now, then. “It’s collateral shit. They swiped her to get at me.”

  “You even know what she does for a living?” he asked me rhetorically, “Girl’s one of the best runners around.”

  “So? One of how many?” I retaliated, “No. Only link to Arasaka’s the fact that Johnny Silverhand’s bonin’ her.”

  “She’s been workin’ for ITS lately. Wrote some real smooth black ICE for them. Not to be duped in either sense of the term.”

  I shook myself off and got outta bed, falling to my knees at first ‘fore I slowly picked myself up, getting used to all the missin’ pieces inside of me pretty fuckin’ quick. Thompson lent a hand out to me and I brushed it off. No fuckin’ respect for someone who ain’t doin’ shit for Alt when he had the chance. Went for a drink instead.

  “Arasaka wants her. Abduction was a standard intercorp extraction. Nothin’ more.”

  “Hang on,” I stopped him, “Alt was gonna meet you tonight.”

  “Mhm, said she could use my help,” he said, casually resting his pompous fuckin’ ass on the desk behind him, “Wasn’t kidding. ‘Saka tried this before, you know. ‘Cept Alt got lucky, slipped through their Mantis Blades.”

  “Tellin’ me she was afraid. And she went to you?”

  “Yep,” he stated bluntly, “And frankly, I’m startin’ to see why.” Yeah, just fuckin’ great.

  “Okay, so what’re they after?” Clearly it’s not me. Apparently. The one person who’s been a thorn in ‘Saka’s side for years, but I guess they don’t give a fuck cause some media said so.

  “Soulkiller. An AI – sound familiar at all?”

  “Course, urban legend,” I scoffed, “With the shittiest name ever.”

  “It’s no legend. Soulkiller’s real. And your choombas at Arasaka just ‘hired’ the runner who wrote it.” Wait, hang on a sec… “Take that in. ‘Saka with Soulkiller to do with as it pleases. Grim, my man. You even imagine that rocker? Arasaka’ll be unstoppable. Soulkiller’ll flatline any runner who come close to tryin’ to scratch its ICE. Seen it happen. Not an iota of physical damage – nervous system or anywhere else. No sound, no fury, no stench. Just all of a sudden, brain waves cut out, as if someone pulled the plug… or ripped the soul from the body in question–”

  “What a steamin’ load of shit,” I rolled my head at him, “Let’s go.”

  “M’kay, what’s your take, then? I’m all ears.”

  “Oldest, tritest tale in the world. Arasaka was out to provoke me… and it worked.” I walked over to the door and held it open for his yappin’ ass. “So what’ll it be, comin’ with?” I side-eyed him.

  “Where to?”

  “Arasaka Tower. To grab Alt right back.”

  “Just you ‘n me?” he got up and walked over to me, “Are you outta your fuckin’ mind?”

  “Uh-huh. Come along. Let you watch from the sidelines. Seems you like doin’ that.” Fuck… Gotta get Rogue in on this. Soon as I drop ‘Saka’s name, she’ll be on-board, hundred percent…

  –

  “I’ll wait in the car,” Thompson said as I pulled up to the Atlantic club where Rogue’s got her plump ass sat up, “Can’t be too long, though.”

  “You’ll wait as long as you need to,” I growled back at him as I threw open the Porsche’s door and grabbed my drink from the dashboard.

  Headed straight up, knew she was here. Place reeked of her and her conceited-ass stink. Drum and bass tunes blasted out my eardrums with the scop-filled trash as the elevator opened and I immediately asked the first warm body where the hell she was.

  Nope. Nothin’. How fuckin’ predictable. Maybe he’ll know once I laid him the fuck out.

  “Upstairs,” the bastard whimpered beneath me as I held my fist in his face.

  “Sit, stay,” I commanded him as I got back to my feet, leaving him quivering in his pussy-ass little boots.

  Man, why the fuck’s she always gotta hide out in shit-piles like this. Music was all wrong for her. She may be a fixer, but she’s a rockergirl at heart. Should never have cheated on her, but what’s in the past’s in the past. Least I hoped so. Got bigger problems on my mind. Like gettin’ a refill.

  “Silverhand!” the bartender called me over, “Got an IOU here with your name on it.”

  “Hey, Ringo,” I nodded, walkin’ over to him, “You seen Rogue?”

  “She’s upstairs,” he confirmed what the other asshole said, “But I heard you two weren’t, uh–”

  “Well ya heard wrong,” I stopped him, “As for that IOU, today’s your lucky day.” Handed him a nice fat wad of cash, should be enough to cover shit.

  “Ah, much appreciated,” he smiled, “Want a drink?”

  “The usual,” I tilted my head and leaned up on the bar, “Please.”

  He poured me a full glass of whiskey and I downed it in all of two seconds. Would’ve asked for the bottle but I gotta get this shit done first. Celebrate with Alt when she’s home safe.

  “Fucking fuck…” a familiar voice spoke to me. Yishen, the bitch. “Johnny, gimme a hand here?” she asked, pointin’ to a busted vending machine.

  “Heard you weren’t talkin’ to me.”

  “Dunno. Seem to be talkin’ to you,” she shrugged.

  I gave the machine a little haymaker and it whirred back into life, shitting out some candy for her. “How ‘bout now?”

  “Now you can go fuck yourself.” Hmph, that’s more like her.

  The stairs into the VIP area were still the same dull shade of green, fuckin’ hell. Place was built outta some old warehouse, best thing about it. Gotta admit that the lightshow was pretty tasteful, too. And I appreciated the second bar up top. Lets me get double the drinks for half the effort.

  “Johnny,” the bouncer outside the door greeted me as I walked up to him.

  “How’s things, Engels?”

  “Got a private meetin’ goin’ on in there.” Yeah, sure, whatever.

  “Rogue back there, too?”

  “Yeah… it’s just–”

  “Yeah, yeah, private meet, so you said,” I glared at him as I opened the door, “Promise to be super unobtrusive.”

  Headed back through the kitchen area, runnin’ my finger along a grease-filled table as I walked past. Could hear Rogue talkin’ with someone in the room on the far end. “God, I hate this fuckin’ town… Hate these slimy fuckin’ fixers… Hate this fucking bar.” Yeah, told you so, Rogue. Shoulda listened to Johnny, but fuck him, right?

  “Hmph,” the other guy spoke to her, “Where’d you rather be now?” That fuckin’ Santiago?! Her new output? Can’t believe she scored it with the leader of the Aldecaldos. Movin’ on down in the world. “I could take you away. Out to the lands where my clan roams. There aren’t too many jobs out there, but… we’ll find some other useful ways to kill time.” Easy there, Romeo.

  “Gettin’ the weirdest deja vu now. Answer’s still no.” As it always was.

  “No, today. Tomorrow, who knows?” he teased her. Fucking amateur.

  “Johnny,” Rogue turned to look at me as I walked into their private little circlejerk.

  “Don’t know you,” I glared at the fuckin’ monkey sittin’ across from her. Heard some things about Santiago. None of ‘em worth mentioning in the same breath as me.

  “Just as long as everyone knows Johnny Silverhand,” he rolled his eyes behind his mirrored glasses.

  “Rogue,” I slipped in next to my woman, “Lovely surprise to see you here.” She curled up in a ball on the far side of the couch. Always playin’ hard to get, that one.

  “We’re waitin’ for a client,” she said, breaking the uneasy silence, “One who values discretion.”

  One quick glance to the table filled with empty bottles told another story. “Mhm. So much so, he himself didn’t show.”

  “No point in sittin’ here, then,” Rogue argued.

  “I got a job for you, too,” I interrupted, “Urgent. But pay’s right.”

  “How much?” Santiago asked me.

  “Butt out, this isn’t your biz,” Rogue fired back, splittin’ the room in two.

  Santiago leaned forward on his chair. “Is now, rocker just pulled out his wallet.”

  “Don’t you get it? He isn’t here about any damn job, he’s fucking with me. Last time he–”

  “So this time,” Santiago stopped her, “You’ll be smarter. Take your eddies up-front. So – how much, rocker?”

  “It’s Arasaka,” I told Rogue, “I’ll understand if you’d rather not.” She and Santiago stared at one another for a few seconds, prolly thinkin’ about the implications of that shit after last time.

  “If you wanted my attention, you just earned it,” Santiago finally said to me, “But if you’re aimin’ for a friends n’ family discount, I’m not your man.”

  “Corpos – ridin’ in on ‘em hard. You two do that for fun,” I argued.

  “For fun, but not for free. We leave that to rockerboys.”

  Fuck it… “It’s important. Name your price.”

  “Ah… So you’re either made of money,” Santiago shrugged and sat back, “Or you think we won’t live to collect. Either way, rocker, you’re comin’ with us.”

  “Deal,” I said with a smile, not that I liked it. But Alt was more important right now.

  “That it is,” Santiago said, finalizing it, “Urgent, indeed–” And just that suddenly, two fuckin’ goons walked in on us with a pair of rifles. Fuckin’ preem.

  “Shit, Johnny!” Rogue shouted, “Didn’t notice you had a fuckin’ tail?!”

  “Mr. Silverhand,” one of them said to me, “You’re comin’ with us.”

  “Sure,” I smiled in return, reaching for the bottle of whiskey layin’ on the table, “Lemme just finish this…”

  –

  Johnny grabbed the bottle and smashed the guy’s face in with it, ripping out his Malorian and dashing into the hall outside with Santiago and Rogue in-tow. “Well aren’t you Mr. Popular!” Rogue shouted as she and Santiago backed Johnny up, blasting their way out into the VIP lounge where a half-dozen more of ‘Saka’s finest were waiting behind the bar and booths. Johnny’s Nitro Express-caliber Malorian made quick work of each of them, blasting their heads into bite-sized chunks one after another as the infamous rockerboy made his way downstairs.

  August 4, 2013. Sunday night at midnight, usually this place was packed. But today, the only people left were those with Johnny, and those against him. And the latter were about to reap one hell of a reckoning for taking Alt.

  He blasted his way through wave after wave of goons, Santiago and Rogue alike both impressed by his brazenness and precision. He made this shit look easy, turning people’s insides into pulp with remarkable skill. One could almost forget that he was a lying, cheating drunkard for a living when his spare time was spent blowing holes into corporats’ faces.

  “Elevator, quick!” Rogue shouted to Johnny as he finished mopping up the remnants from his superior position up in the DJ booth. Goon after goon rushed in, only to meet their end before Johnny’s heinously-powerful anti-tank pistol, only able to be handled by someone with a cyberarm like his. To him, money was no object for a weapon this powerful. And the enemy trembled and fell to their knees before it.

  “This gonna take much longer?” Thompson asked as the crew boarded the elevator and hit the button.

  “Got trouble in heaps,” Johnny said as he reloaded the Malorian.

  “Gonna be more at the bottom, maybe a thou,” Rogue grunted through clenched teeth, palming her Liberty and restlessly pacing back and forth. The team were ready for anything ‘Saka could throw at ‘em, Johnny knew it. Three of the most legendary faces in the United States, they stood no fuckin’ chance, he thought.

  “We’re parked outside, you coming?” Santiago said as he checked his handgun to be sure it’s loaded.

  “Thompson’s waitin’ for me in the car,” Johnny told him, running out the door as soon as it opened.

  “Who?” Rogue asked with confusion.

  “Media, wouldn’t know ‘im.” Johnny raced outside, Malorian firmly in-hand, firing all four rounds into the first two unfortunate souls who crossed his path, turning them into nothing but mist. His signature flourishes as he reloaded did nothing to detract from his lethality, dropping mag after mag as he assaulted the enemy head-on. Scores of ‘Saka’s best only served to slow him down a little, peppering his armored vest with pistol rounds that felt more like mosquito bites.

  He blasted his way around the corner, with another half-dozen or so henchmen rushing out to meet the three of them. Rogue and Santiago took care of the rear while Johnny annihilated everything in front of him with his overpowered handgun. The Malorian 3516 was custom-made to his specifications - no one else had the muscle to wield it, let alone stand up to its devastating firepower.

  Blood flowed down the stairs like a waterfall, providing Johnny with a lovely red carpet to ascend as he continued his massacre outside the Atlantic. The fluttering holographic sakura trees blew in the wind of his gun’s muzzle blast as he pasted two more at the top of the stairs, running to where the parking lot was.

  Thompson beat him to the punch, though. “Steady hand, whoever’s behind the wheel!” Rogue commented as Thompson plowed Johnny’s ‘77 Porsche 911 Turbo directly through the barricades before halting its momentum on a dime. He threw open the passenger-side door and ushered Johnny to get the fuck in the car before more reinforcements arrived. Johnny was already on his way, breaking out into a full-on sprint – something Rogue was certainly not used to seeing. Whatever this was, it was definitely not an ordinary job for him, she thought to herself as she and Santiago headed to their own wheels.

  “Let’s get the hell away!” Johnny shouted as he threw himself into the passenger seat. Thompson needed no further encouragement, putting the Porsche in reverse and gunning the throttle, handling the infamous “Widowmaker” like a bitch that owed him money.

  Scores of Arasaka’s goons followed them, beginning a hot and heavy pursuit through the streets of the old City Center as Rogue and Santiago backed them up on motorcycles. The air-cooled flat-six screamed violently as Thompson raced through the city streets like a pro, Johnny hanging out of the passenger seat and decimating anyone who dared come close. The .600 caliber rounds made quick work of the pursuers’ engine blocks, bursting their cars into flames.

  After Johnny dispatched each car in-turn, the trio pulled over into a dark alleyway to plan their next move.

  –

  “Alright, so who we gotta pull outta Arasaka?” Santiago asked as I rolled down the window, Rogue comin’ up behind him.

  “Alt Cunningham,” I told them both, “Netrunner for ITS.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” Rogue nodded sarcastically.

  “The Tower,” Santiago thought out loud, “Musta taken ‘er there.”

  “This gets better by the minute,” Rogue sighed, “How’d you wanna play this? Either of you gonks got a plan?” she eyeballed Thompson.

  “Yep, distract ‘em, make some noise,” Thompson replied, putting the Porsche in neutral and lettin’ off the clutch.

  “Set up right under Arasaka’s windows and crank it loud,” I said with a sinister grin, “Blast the panes out… It’ll be a gig to remember…”

  Our gig didn’t just blast the panes out. It blasted a whole-ass fuckin’ gap in the side of Kei Arasaka’s personal quarters. What a fuckin’ shame.

  The riot drew in a crowd of thousands, an impromptu gig that Nance set up on the sly. Word of mouth spread fast in this town, though. Got people from Upscale Brownstones, Little Asia, Little Europe, even the fuckin’ gonks from Studio City came down to film us, which only made everything so much better. Sometimes medias’re good for shit, turned out.

  More importantly, though, it’s our way in. With all of ‘Saka’s finest caught up in dealing with the riots, we slipped right in through the back door and rode up the elevator completely unopposed. Fuckin’ dumbasses. Wonder how many of those leadheads even knew what it is they were guarding.

  “You recordin’ this whole thing” I asked Thompson as he slipped on his camcorder on his head.

  “Uh-huh. Why, wanna say a few words to the folks at home?”

  “Do whatcha gotta do,” I grumbled, “Just stay outta my way.”

  “Thompson, know him well?” Rogue whispered to me while Thompson’s back was turned.

  “No, why’s it matter?”

  “Don’t like the guy, don’t trust ‘im,” she retorted, lookin’ back at him, “And medias’re bad luck.”

  “What?”

  “Bad luck. Say someone finds a tape later. A tape of us, breaking into Arasaka Tower.”

  “Worry about that if we make it out.”

  –

  “Mainframe, gotta find the mainframe,” Johnny told the crew as the door opened and they rushed out. This wouldn’t be a walk in the park, unlike the ride up here where they only encountered two guards, one of which sat slumped in the elevator.

  All four of them dove outta the elevator guns blazing, Johnny taking point as they rushed through the complex. Scores of black ops soldiers poured outta the wings of the facility, banking on flanking the crew but severely underestimating their firepower. Santiago, Rogue, and Thompson all easily took care of the sides and rear while Johnny headed up the front, blasting their way through hallway after hallway of seemingly endless bodies.

  Thompson hacked his way through the mainframe access door while the other three held off buckets of reinforcements, spilling enough blood to coat the walls in fresh organic home-grown paintwork. They cleared offices and servers with near-reckless levels of speed and finesse, Johnny rapidly running out of ammunition for his Malorian by the time they made it to Server Room B.

  Server Room C fell just as quickly, and before they knew it, the four of them came face-to-face with two miniguns and multiple heavy-hitting gunners. Naturally, even these proved little challenge for the vengeful rockerboy.

  “This is it,” Rogue said as they looked on at the mainframe door, “Door’s thick enough to stop a tank. Ideas, anyone?”

  “Let me try,” Johnny grinned, putting his cyberarm into overdrive – but the door still didn’t budge. “Son of a bitch!” he grunted, putting all his muscle into it, but his attempts were futile. All that hard work, undone in an instant, he thought. And, just then – his savior once again came to the rescue. Thompson with some C4 and a timer. Thompson carefully placed the charge on the door, urging them all to get back.

  “Ah, now I see why we brought him along,” Santiago remarked as Johnny armed the explosive.

  “Three, two, one…”

  The blast punched a hole clean through the door and several inches of steel wall surrounding it. The team entered fast and hard, all four of their guns firing at full-tilt. The firefight was long and brutal, destroying most of the mainframe as more and more soldiers poured in, including Akira, personal bodyguard of the man who co-opted Soulkiller.

  The “Hulk from Hell” posed vanishingly little challenge between the four of them, easily dismantling his entire operation with the help of a little explosive ordnance and hundreds of bullets. In twenty long, violent seconds, the server room housed Armageddon itself, though Johnny’s team prevailed in the end with only light injuries sustained between all of them. It was a miracle none of them were killed, though there was no time for celebration. Alt was just on the other side of the bulletproof glass, along with Toshiro Harada himself.

  Akira held off Johnny’s crew for as long as he could, but even he fell within a matter of seconds and Johnny promptly executed him right then and there. Pity had long been tossed out the window at this point, and Arasaka had crossed the line with him. Toshiro looked on in horror as his best man was felled by the rockerboy, caressing Alt and wishing her well before Johnny burst in the room.

  –

  “We’re too late,” Santiago said as I peeled open the door and leveled my Malorian with this fuckin’ cocksucker’s head.

  “I would advise you not to touch her,” he warned me as I approached. Yeah, I bet you would, you fuck.

  “What’d you do to Alt?!” I held the gun in my off-hand straight at his big-ass fuckin’ head. Impossible to miss.

  “I put her to work on the project of a lifetime.” Nah, fuck you.

  I blasted him as good as the last few dozen of his fuckin’ cronies, showering the place with blood as his body fell lifelessly next to her. Fuck… What do I do… Gotta get this fuckin’ thing out of her, first of all…

  I disconnected the wire and desperately tried to resuscitate her… how, though… “Alt…” I sighed, slapping her on her cheek to try and wake her up… “Alt, come on, don’t do this…”

  What… what the fuck happened to her… Her body was fine, but she was so cold… lifeless…

  Dammit, Alt…

  I’ve been through too much shit for this… It’s not fair… Fuck. The one good thing to happen to me, and Arasaka… No… No, I can’t accept this. Gotta keep trying… She’s worth ten of me. Wish I woulda seen it sooner. FUCK!

  “Is she…?” Rogue came over beside her and– wait, was that a camera being turned on?! “Johnny…” Rogue tried to comfort me as I slammed my hand into the chair. But Thompson… what the fuck was he doing?!

  “The hell are you DOIN’?!” I yelled at him, “ARE YOU STILL ROLLING?!”

  “This is all we can do now, my man,” he muttered, “Show people the trut–GAAHK!”

  NO! No no nonononoNO!

  “Johnny!!” Rogue screamed as I sacked his ass to the ground, pummeling his FUCKING FACE!! into dust. Fuck!! FUCKFUCKFUCK!! FUCK IT!! BURN IT ALL DOWN!!

  “Stop that!!” Rogue threw me off of him, “You out to kill him?!”

  Maybe I FUCKING AM. FUCK!!

  Alt… Fuck… Fuck me… I’m sorry… “Johnny… she’s dead…–”

  ---

  Mislabeled by Johnny as the Atlantic Club, the reality is that the bar was an incredibly popular and influential venue for solos and fixers alike. Anyone who's anyone met there, utilizing its central location to bring together the disparate groups of mercenaries from across the city.