Chapter Text
Pacifica. Concrete graveyard with beach views. Abandoned dreams and broken glass. Perfect fucking place for a chat with the dead guy living in your skull.
V stood at the curb, neural link pulsing an invisible signal. Thirty seconds later, sleek black Delamain cab pulled around the corner. Smooth as synthetic silk. Precise as a corpo assassination.
The cab stopped, passenger door sliding open with a pneumatic hiss. "Miss V!" Delamain's voice poured through speakers with digital warmth no human could manufacture. "What an unexpected pleasure! It has been precisely forty-three days since our last interaction."
V's lips twitched. Almost a smile. "Hey, Del."
Johnny materialized beside her, cigarette between digital fingers. "Christ. Your AI boyfriend sounds ready to pop his virtual load."
V ignored him, sliding into the cab's leather interior. Johnny followed, passing through the door like it wasn't there. Ghost privileges.
"Pacifica beach, please." V leaned back, feeling the synthetic leather adjust to her spine's curvature. Perfect pressure points. Algorithms calculating comfort.
"Pacifica? An unusual destination for you, Miss V." Delamain's avatar flickered on the screen, pleasant face designed by psychologists to inspire trust. "The Grand Imperial Mall remains unfinished and hazardous. The Voodoo Boys control much of the territory. Risk assessment suggests—"
"Just the beach, Del." V's voice soft but firm. End of discussion.
Johnny stretched his legs through the cab's center console. "The fuck are we doing at a beach?" Sunglasses couldn't hide the suspicion in his eyes. "Planning to drown yourself? Save me the trouble?"
Delamain accelerated smoothly into traffic. "May I inquire when you might visit my core again, Miss V? Your last diagnostics session was most... illuminating."
"You let this thing scan your brain?" Johnny leaned forward, disgust twisting his features. "You corpo whores and your tech fetish."
V's eyes tracked the passing buildings. Mega-structures and shanties. Night City's vertical wealth gap. "Been busy, Del. Will be busier. I'm in the process of becoming someone other than myself."
"The fuck does that mean?" Johnny's voice sharp. Defensive.
V's fingers traced patterns on the window. "Like a butterfly."
Delamain's avatar tilted its head. Programmed curiosity. "Fascinating metaphor, Miss V. The metamorphosis process of lepidoptera involves complete cellular dissolution before reformation. Are you experiencing similar fundamental changes?"
Johnny's laugh came harsh. Broken glass. "She's got a terrorist construct eating her brain. What do you think, chrome chassis?"
"We've arrived at Pacifica Beach, Miss V." Delamain's voice smooth, ignoring the conversation only V could hear. "Shall I wait?"
V shook her head. "No need. I'll call when I'm ready." She paused, hand on the door. "And Del? Don't worry. Whatever I become, I'll still recognize old friends."
The AI's avatar flickered. Something like emotion in lines of code. "I shall eagerly anticipate your next visit, Miss V."
Johnny mimed gagging as they exited the vehicle. "You and your pet AI. Fucking disgusting." His boots left no prints in the sand as they walked toward the water. "The thing's not even alive."
V stepped over broken glass. Pacifica beach. Paradise turned to shit. "More alive than some people I've met."
The ocean stretched before them, polluted water reflecting neon from Night City's skyline. Beautiful toxic rainbow on black water. V found a concrete slab, once part of some luxury hotel foundation. Sat down facing the waves.
Johnny paced. Always fucking pacing. "So what's this butterfly bullshit? You planning to just roll over and let me take the wheel?"
V watched the waves. Hypnotic rhythm. "Would it be so bad?"
"Would it—" Johnny stopped. Stared at her. "Are you fucking serious right now? You're just gonna check out? Let me have your meat?"
V's head tilted. "My meat. Your mind. Whose life is it anyway?"
"It's yours, you goddamn psycho!" Johnny's voice rose. Digital distortion at the edges. Anger or fear or both. "You fight for it! That's what people do!"
"People like you?" V's voice calm. Too calm. Ocean calm with sharks underneath.
Johnny flickered. Glitched. Manifestation of his rage disrupting the signal. "I didn't chose this! You think I wanted to be stuck in your head? Playing passenger in someone else's life?"
"Didn't you?" V turned to look at him. Really fucking look at him. "Arasaka tower. The bomb. You knew you weren't walking out."
Johnny's face twisted. "That was different."
"Was it?"
"I died for something!" His chrome arm caught moonlight that couldn't really touch it. "I died fighting! Not lying down like a whipped dog waiting for the bullet!"
V picked up a piece of broken glass. Turned it in her fingers. Blood beaded along the edge. Johnny felt the sting through their connection. "Fighting. Lying down. Still dead in the end."
Johnny crouched in front of her. Tried to snatch the glass from her hand. Digital fingers passed through physical reality. "Stop that shit."
Blood dripped onto concrete. "Can't stop me, can you? Not unless you take control."
"I'm not taking control because I'm not a fucking parasite!" Johnny stood again. Fury radiating from him like heat from overclocked cyberware. "Unlike you, I don't roll over and die when things get tough."
V laughed. Hollow sound carried away by ocean wind. "Big talk from a guy who nuked a building instead of living with failure."
Johnny's glitch intensified. Static at the edges. "Fuck you."
"You didn't fight, Johnny. You quit. Spectacular way to go, but still quitting."
Johnny tried to grab her collar. Hands passing through. Frustration like acid in his throat—her throat—their throat. "Big fucking difference between going out in flames and whimpering away."
V wiped blood on her pants. "Is there? Seems like two sides of the same coward's coin to me."
"I'm not a fucking coward!" Johnny shouted, voice desperate to be heard over waves that couldn't hear him anyway.
"Then why run from life so hard?" V's eyes steady on his. "Why make yourself a bomb instead of a man?"
Johnny flickered again. Anger or something deeper. "Because living fucking hurts! Because every day was just another—" He stopped. Realizing. "Shit."
V nodded. "Yeah."
Silence stretched between them. Ocean waves filling the space. Night City lights reflected in polluted water. Beautiful apocalypse.
Johnny sat beside her on the concrete. Not quite touching. Never touching. "So what, you think giving up your body to me is some kind of noble sacrifice? Fuck that noise."
V shrugged. "Not noble. Just practical. One of us gets to live."
"That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard." Johnny's voice softer now. Anger still there but banked like coals. "And I've heard some dumb shit in my time."
V turned to face the water again. "What would you do if you got control? Really?"
Johnny laughed. No humor in it. "Drink myself to death. Fuck everything that moves. Take down Arasaka again, probably."
"Sounds like a plan."
"It's not a fucking plan. It's a suicide with extra steps." Johnny ran digital fingers through digital hair. "Christ, I can't believe I'm the one arguing for sanity here."
V tilted her head, looking at the stars barely visible through Night City's light pollution. "You feel it, don't you? When you're closer. When we're... overlapping more."
Johnny went still. Statue-still. "Feel what?"
"The difference." V's voice quiet now. "In your head, it's all fire and noise. In mine..."
"Stop." Johnny stood again. Couldn't sit still. Never could. "We're not doing this psychobabble bullshit."
V continued like he hadn't spoken. "In mine, it's quiet. Has been since I was a kid. Just spaces and patterns and systems. People never made sense. Tech did."
Johnny paced in tight circles. Wanted a cigarette so bad it made V's fingers twitch. "So what? You're fucked in the head. I'm fucked in the head. Whole city's fucked in the head."
"But when you're here—" V tapped her temple, "—it changes. You feel it too. I know you do."
Johnny stopped. Back to her. Shoulders tense under his leather jacket. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Liar. Both knew it.
When he slipped deeper into her consciousness—when the walls between them thinned—Johnny felt it. The fucking peace. Absence of the constant burning. V's brain wired different. No anger. No fear. Just... clarity. Cold, beautiful clarity.
Being V didn't hurt like being Johnny did.
It scared the shit out of him.
"You want me to take over?" Johnny turned, face hard. "Fine. I'll take the fucking wheel. Right now."
V looked up at him. Waiting.
Johnny concentrated. Pushed against the barriers between them. Felt them give way easier than before. V wasn't fighting. Just letting him in.
For one disorienting moment, he was in control. V's body. V's hands. Real. Solid. He could feel everything—ocean spray, night air, concrete rough under palms.
And then the fucking emptiness hit him. The hollow space where V should be. No one to fight against. No one to argue with. Just... alone in someone else's meat.
Johnny pulled back so fast it made V gasp. Both of them disoriented.
"The fuck was that?" Johnny's voice shaking. Actual fear in it. "Where did you go?"
V blinked slowly. Coming back to herself. "Nowhere. I was right here."
"Bullshit! You were gone!" Johnny reached for her again. Digital hands passing through flesh. Frustration like knives. "Don't do that again."
V studied him. "Didn't think you'd mind having the body to yourself."
"Well I fucking mind!" Johnny shouted. Then quieter: "I fucking mind."
Truth hung between them. Unspoken but heard. Johnny Silverhand, legendary rockerboy terrorist, couldn't stand being alone. Not even in victory. Especially not in victory.
V stood. Brushed sand from her clothes. "We should head back."
Johnny blocked her path. Not physically—he couldn't—but standing in her way nonetheless. "I'm not taking your body, V."
"Not asking you to. Yet."
"Not ever." Johnny's voice hard again. Familiar territory. Anger easier than whatever the fuck else was happening. "You want to check out so bad, find another way. I'm not being your suicide method."
V stepped through him. Ghost and flesh passing through each other. "Let's get back. I'll call Del."
"Your AI boyfriend." Johnny followed, boots not disturbing the sand. "Better company than me, I bet."
V's comm pinged. Delamain responding before she even called. Always watching. Always waiting. "Del wasn't designed to be a killer."
"And I was?" Johnny's laugh bitter as night ocean.
V didn't answer. Didn't need to.
Delamain pulled up, perfect timing as always. Door sliding open to welcome V back into climate-controlled comfort.
"I hope your excursion was productive, Miss V," the AI's pleasant voice filled the cabin as she settled into the seat.
Johnny slid in beside her, chrome arm passing through the door. "Tell your chrome chauffeur to fuck off."
V closed her eyes. "It was illuminating, Del. Take the scenic route home."
"Of course, Miss V." The cab pulled away from the curb, algorithms calculating the most aesthetically pleasing path through Night City's chaos.
Johnny leaned back, trying to feel the seat that couldn't feel him. "This isn't over, V. You don't get to just decide to die."
V watched Night City scroll past the window. Neon reflecting in her eyes. "We all decide to die, Johnny. Some just make it louder than others."
Johnny reached toward her face. Stopped just short of where her cheek would be if he could touch it. The urge to make contact so strong it hurt. To grab her, shake her, feel something solid against his hands again.
Wanted to scream: Don't leave me alone in your empty skull.
V's apartment. Megabuilding H10. Fucking center of Night City.
Johnny glitched through the door ahead of V, surveying the space with digital eyes. Clean lines. Minimalist. Japanese inspirations mixed with cosmoluxe bullshit. Everything in its proper place. Not a speck of dust or empty beer bottle in sight.
"Christ, you live like this?" Johnny circled the apartment, boots passing through furniture. "Like a corpo catalog threw up in here."
V tossed her jacket on a hook by the door. Perfect aim. Didn't even look. "Not all of us aspire to live in filth."
"It's called character, V." Johnny passed his hand through a bonsai tree on the coffee table. Couldn't feel it. Never could feel anything. "This place has all the personality of an Arasaka conference room."
V headed to the kitchen, filling a glass with water. Movements precise. Programmed almost. "You want me to scatter empty whiskey bottles and cigarette butts around? Maybe some used condoms for authenticity?"
Johnny smirked despite himself. "Now you're talking."
The apartment was all sleek surfaces and subtle lighting. Shoji screens separating sleeping area from living space. Holographic art that shifted patterns every few minutes. High-end tech disguised as minimalist furniture.
Everything screamed money but whispered taste. Nothing like the shitholes Johnny crashed in during his Samurai days. Nothing like the backstage chaos and sticky floors he'd called home.
Then he noticed it. Something out of place in V's perfect cube of existence. A package on the table. Wrapped in actual fucking paper. Red paper with no corporate logo or QR code.
"Your AI boyfriend sending gifts now?" Johnny nodded toward the package. "Del upgrading from hand jobs to sugar daddy?"
V followed his gaze, something like nervousness flickering across her features. "No. It's—" She hesitated. Unusual for her. "It's for you."
Johnny stared at her. "For me? The fuck does that mean?"
V approached the package, fingers hovering over it. "I got something. For you."
"I'm an engram, sweetheart. Digital ghost. Can't exactly use material possessions." Johnny's voice had an edge. Defense mechanism. Always the edge when something unexpected happened.
V looked at him. Really fucking looked at him. "You could... take a look. If you want."
Johnny went still. "Take a look?"
V nodded. Tapped her temple. "From in here. You know. The driver's seat."
Understanding crashed over him. She was offering control. Voluntarily. Not him forcing his way in, not some glitch in the biochip. An invitation.
"You serious?" Johnny couldn't keep the suspicion from his voice. "You're just gonna hand over the meat puppet? Just like that?"
V shrugged, but there was tension in her shoulders. "Not forever. Just... to see what I got you."
Johnny circled her. Predator assessing prey. "What's the catch?"
"No catch." V sat on the edge of the sofa. Hands folded in her lap. Waiting. "Just thought you might want to... feel it. Whatever it is."
Johnny stopped circling. Stared at her. This strange woman who talked to AIs like lovers and offered her body to digital ghosts. "Alright. Your funeral."
He'd done this before. Pushed into her consciousness when she was weak or sleeping. Quick joyrides in a stolen body. But this—deliberate merging with her permission—felt different. Dangerous.
He stepped toward her. Through her. Into her.
The process wasn't instant. Not like flipping a switch. More like... pushing through layers. Digital meeting analog. Two images slowly merging into 3D. Disorienting as fuck.
Johnny pushed. V yielded.
The first sensation was always the kicker. Breathing. Actual fucking breathing. Air in lungs. Heart pumping blood. Body temperature. Weight of bones and muscle and meat.
"Jesus..." The word came from V's lips, but Johnny's voice shaped it. His first physical sensation in fifty years.
But this time, something else happened. Something new. As he pushed deeper into her consciousness, settled more fully into her synapses, a weight lifted. The constant burning anger that defined his existence—dimmed.
Like stepping from scorching sun into cool shade.
Physical sensation was a rush. Always a rush. But this—this absence of rage—hit harder than any drug Johnny had ever mainlined.
He flexed V's fingers. His fingers now. Rolled her shoulders. His shoulders. Reached up to touch her face. His face, for the moment.
"Fuck." His voice from her vocal cords. So strange. So goddamn good.
And V—she was still there. Not gone like he'd feared earlier at the beach. Just... receded. Her consciousness hovering at the edges of his. Like a warm presence just behind him. Almost like being held.
It should have pissed him off. Johnny Silverhand didn't do cuddling. Johnny Silverhand didn't do comfort. Johnny Silverhand burned everything he touched and laughed at the ashes.
But in V's body, with V's brain chemistry, Johnny couldn't find the anger. Couldn't locate the burning need to destroy that had defined him since—
In V's head, the noise quieted. All of it. Just... fucking... quiet.
He understood suddenly why machines loved her. Why Delamain opened himself to her touch. V's consciousness was a still pool in a raging flood. An island of peace in Night City's constant chaos.
"This how it always feels for you?" Johnny asked aloud, knowing she could hear him. "This... quiet?"
He felt rather than heard her response. A sensation of affirmation. Warm acknowledgment flowing between their connected minds.
Johnny moved toward the package on the table. V's body. His control. Their shared experience. He reached for the red paper, fingers touching physical matter. Sensation of smooth paper against fingerprints.
Christ, even unwrapping a package felt incredible after fifty years of digital nothingness.
He tore the paper carefully. V influencing him even now—she wouldn't rip into it like he would have in his own body. Methodical. Preserving the paper. Johnny rolled her eyes—his eyes—their eyes.
"Even when opening presents, you're fucking meticulous," he muttered.
A feeling like laughter brushed against his consciousness. V, amused by his commentary.
The paper fell away to reveal a case. Black leather. High quality. Old school.
Johnny felt V's heart rate increase. Or was it his excitement? Impossible to separate now. He flipped the latches with V's thumbs, opened the lid.
Inside lay a guitar.
Not just any guitar. A Fender Stratocaster. Classic design. Matte black finish with silver hardware. The real thing. Not a replica or some corpo knockoff.
"Holy shit." Johnny's voice came soft through V's lips.
He lifted it from the case. Weight of wood and wire in his hands—V's hands. Fingers wrapping around the neck. The instrument settled against V's body like it belonged there.
Johnny strummed once. Sound filled the apartment. Analog vibration of strings through wood. No digital reproduction, no recorded playback. Real fucking music.
"You bought a guitar." Johnny spoke to the presence hovering at the edges of his consciousness. "For me."
V's response came as feeling rather than words. Simple truth flowing between their merged minds. Yes. For you. Because music matters to you.
Johnny swallowed with V's throat. Emotion rising that had no place in Johnny Silverhand's repertoire. Not anger. Not rage. Something dangerously close to gratitude.
He played a chord. V's fingers clumsy at first, but finding their way under his guidance. The sound vibrated through her body—his body—their shared temporary existence.
"You don't even play." Johnny spoke aloud, needing to hear words to anchor himself against the rising tide of unfamiliar emotion.
V's presence shifted closer in their shared consciousness. Like someone leaning against his shoulder. I can learn.
Johnny played another chord. Then another. Muscle memory building in real time as V's neural pathways adapted to his knowledge. With each note, the connection between them deepened. His expertise flowing into her muscles. Her calm flowing into his rage.
He found himself sinking deeper into the merge, craving more of this peace. Wanting to dissolve the boundaries completely. To be fully, completely V. No more burning. No more rage. Just this strange, alien quiet.
Dangerous thoughts. Fucking dangerous. This was how engrams took over. How the host got erased. Johnny knew the process—he was the fucking process.
But god, the temptation to just... let go. To let V's consciousness wash over his like cool water over a burn.
He forced V's fingers to stop playing. Set the guitar down carefully on the table.
"Nice gift." His voice rougher than intended. V would notice. V noticed everything. "Thanks."
He felt her curiosity. Her concern. The unspoken question hovering between their merged minds.
"I should, uh, give you back the wheel." Johnny struggled to maintain separation. To remember where V ended and he began. Getting harder by the second. "Your body and all."
V's presence wrapped around him. Not pushing him out. Not taking control. Just... there. Present. Concerned.
You okay?
The question wasn't spoken, but Johnny heard it clearly in the space between thoughts.
"Fine. Just weird. Being... here." Johnny flexed V's fingers one more time, savoring the sensation of physical existence. "Different than I expected."
Different how?
Again, not words. Just meaning flowing between them where they connected.
"Less angry." Johnny admitted before he could stop himself. Truth spilling out in this shared space where lies seemed pointless. "In your head, everything's just... quieter."
Understanding flowed back to him. V's consciousness acknowledging his confession without judgment. Without the mockery he'd expect from anyone else.
Johnny felt naked. Exposed. V seeing parts of him no one had seen since he was a kid. Before the armor of rage and music and rebellion had calcified around whatever softness might have once existed.
It terrified him more than Arasaka's entire security force.
"I'm giving you back control now." Johnny announced, already pulling away. Retreating from this dangerous intimacy. "Thanks for the guitar. Real nice gesture and all that shit."
He felt V's concern, her desire to understand what had spooked him. But Johnny was already disentangling, pulling his digital self free from her physical form. Sensation fading. Heart beat becoming distant. Breath becoming unnecessary again.
The separation hurt worse than he expected. Physical pain he could handle. Had handled. This was different. Soul-deep. Ripping away from something that felt... right.
Johnny stood beside V again. Digital ghost. Separate. Safe behind his walls of sarcasm and anger.
V blinked, readjusting to full control of her body. She looked at him, eyes searching for whatever had caused his abrupt retreat.
"You good?" she asked aloud now that they were separate entities again.
Johnny forced a smirk. Defense mechanism. "Five stars. Top-shelf meat you're running there."
V didn't smile back. Saw through him. Always fucking saw through him.
"You can use it whenever you want." She nodded toward the guitar. "I bought it for you."
Johnny flickered, digital form unstable with emotion he refused to name. "Kind of hard to play when I'm not driving."
"So drive sometimes." V picked up the guitar, held it out like an offering. "I don't mind."
Johnny stared at her. This strange woman who'd given a terrorist access to her body. Who'd bought a guitar for a ghost. Who somehow made the constant burning in his digital soul ease just by existing.
"Maybe." He couldn't commit to more. Not with the memory of that peace still fresh. Too appealing. Too dangerous. "If I feel like it."
Johnny couldn't sit fucking still. Digital ghost pacing V's too-clean apartment. Looking at everything. Touching nothing.
V had disappeared into the bathroom. Water running. Human shit. Johnny wandered toward the sleeping area. Japanese screens half-pulled aside revealing a bed that broke the pattern of V's perfect little world.
Sheets twisted like someone had fought wars in them. Pillows scattered. And pills. Fucking pills everywhere. Different colors, different bottles. A miniature pharmacy on expensive sheets.
"The fuck is all this?" Johnny called out when V emerged from the bathroom. Water droplets still clinging to her face. "Planning to open a clinic? Or just checking out early?"
V approached, unconcerned by his snooping. Picked up one of the orange bottles. Shook out two pills. Swallowed them dry like a pro.
"Meds." Her voice matter-of-fact. Clinical almost.
Johnny flickered closer. Reading labels she didn't bother hiding. Antidepressants. Mood stabilizers. Sleep aids. Anti-anxiety. The full fucking mental health rainbow.
"Depression?" Johnny's laugh came sharp. Mean. "Depression is for people who can actually shoot themselves. Not for you."
V looked at him. Then laughed. Actually fucking laughed. Genuine amusement lighting up her face like neon. A sound Johnny hadn't heard from her before.
"What?" Johnny demanded, wrong-footed by her reaction. "Wasn't a joke."
V shook her head, still smiling. "I know. That's why it's funny."
Johnny stared at her. This fucking woman. Impossible to predict. "You're weirder than I thought, V."
"You have no idea." She collected the pill bottles, arranging them with practiced efficiency. Routine.
"Hold up." Johnny fixed on one detail he'd overlooked. "Your prescription. 'Valeri'? That your actual name?"
V froze for a microsecond. Almost imperceptible. "Something like that."
Before Johnny could press further, V's phone buzzed. Holo-call incoming. The display showed a name that made Johnny's digital hackles rise.
Goro Takemura.
V's face transformed. Subtle shift from guarded to open. She accepted the call immediately.
Takemura's face materialized in the air between them. Stern features. Perfect posture. Arasaka's perfect fucking attack dog.
"V-chan." His greeting carried something beneath it. Respect. Maybe something deeper. "I apologize for the late hour."
Johnny circled the projection. "Fucking Christ. This corpo-rat treating you like you're shogun royalty now?"
V ignored him completely. Her smile for Takemura warm. Genuine. "Goro-chan. You never need to apologize. Are you eating? You look tired."
Johnny's jaw dropped. The fuck was happening? V talking to Arasaka's top enforcer like he was her favorite grandpa needing reminders to take his vitamins.
"I have managed adequate sustenance." Takemura's rigid formal tone couldn't hide what looked suspiciously like embarrassment. "The menu at this establishment is... challenging."
"Send me your location," V said, already reaching for her jacket. "I'll bring you real food."
"That is unnecessary, Valeri-sama. I merely called to..." Takemura hesitated. Johnny had never seen the man anything but certain. "To hear a friendly voice."
Johnny circled V, staring at her profile. "The fuck is this? You best friends with Saburo's pet samurai now? What the hell happened before I woke up in your head?"
V's eyes softened. For Takemura, not Johnny. "How are you sleeping, Goro-san?"
Takemura's stoic mask cracked slightly. "The images remain. Saburo-sama's face as he—" He stopped, composing himself. "Forgive me."
Johnny paced faster, digital form glitching with agitation. "Hold the fuck up. Are you therapizing Saburo Arasaka's bodyguard? The guy who'll put a bullet in your skull the moment he figures out I'm in here?"
Takemura spoke slowly. Painfully. Words dragged from depths he'd clearly never shared with another soul. "I see him dying. I see my failure. I see fifty years of service rendered meaningless in one moment of weakness."
V nodded. No platitudes. No bullshit comfort. Just presence. Listening.
"You're fucking kidding me." Johnny couldn't contain himself.
V continued as if Johnny wasn't having a digital meltdown beside her. "The weight you carry isn't just Saburo's death, Goro-san. It's fifty years of identity built around one purpose."
Takemura's face showed surprise. Then recognition. "You understand... too well."
"That's why you called." V's smile small but real. "You don't need to pretend with me. Not at this hour."
Johnny stopped pacing. Stared hard at V. Something clicking into place. "Holy shit. You were his doll, weren't you? Mr. Corpo Honor got himself a joytoy who'd listen to his samurai sad stories."
Takemura's rigid posture softened slightly. A man allowing himself one moment of human weakness. "I find our conversations... necessary."
"I know." V's voice carried understanding no AI could simulate. Deep, personal understanding. "Same time tomorrow? I'll bring food that won't destroy your stomach."
"You are… Yasashi na.."
The call ended. V sat still for a moment, lost in thought.
Johnny materialized directly in front of her. "Spill it. Right fucking now. How does Night City's most feared Arasaka enforcer know you well enough to call you for midnight therapy sessions?"
V sighed. Got up. Went to her closet. Pushed aside practical merc gear to reveal something hidden at the back. A case. Locked. Fingerprint scan release.
"You really want to know?" She didn't wait for an answer. Case clicked open.
Inside lay specialized cyberware Johnny recognized immediately. High-end doll implants. The kind that cost more than most people's entire bodies. Not the Clouds brothel mass-market shit. Personal, custom work.
"Fuck me." Johnny's voice subdued for once. "You were a personal doll."
V nodded. No shame. No pride either. Just fact. "Not the common kind. Specialization in psychological intimacy. Empathic resonance. They called it the 'Soulmate Experience.'"
Johnny processed this. The pieces clicking. "So you were what—some kind of living therapy session for rich fucks?"
"More complicated than that." V closed the case. Locked it away again. "I could become whatever they needed most. Friend. Confidant. The one person who truly understood them."
"And Takemura was a client?" Johnny couldn't reconcile the rigid Arasaka loyalist with someone who'd pay for emotional connection.
V's laugh came soft. Sad almost. "No. Not initially."
Johnny's eyes widened with realization. "Yorinobu. You were Yorinobu Arasaka's doll."
V didn't confirm or deny. Didn't need to. The slight tension in her shoulders said enough.
"Jesus fucking Christ." Johnny ran digital hands through digital hair. "So half the power players in Night City know you as their personal emotional support human?" Johnny's voice caught between mockery and genuine amazement. "No wonder you're so fucking calm about having me in your head. Probably the least weird relationship you've had."
V's smile came small but real. "I wouldn't go that far."