Chapter Text
Becca’s eyes cracked open with crust threatening to drip through. Her arms felt unreasonably heavy, nor could she feel her toes. A numbness enveloped her body like a soft, waxy cocoon.
The grayed out fluorescent light above her stung her eyes. She tried to sit up, but the only progress was a small puff of air and a twitch in her left arm. Her head turned to the side to see a window with plain white curtains with a sliver of light slipping past.
Her mind felt foggy and her throat felt unbearably dry as she tried to swallow, pondering on what she saw last.
Arasaka tower. She had a gun in her hands, firing toward the sky at some metal monster that dropped like a bomb. There was screaming, but that was before impact. After, it was silent like someone had unplugged her from the net. David was there and so was Lucy and Falco, but it all felt like a distant dream.
Where am I? Becca’s immediate reaction to jolt upward didn’t make the way from her brain synapses to her limbs. Instead, only a low, whimpering puff of air escaped her chapped lips. Did I blow all my circs?
Becca’s eyes lazily trawled across the lifeless walls. No art or pictures, nor even a tv. Only a digital clock embedded in the upper corner of the room above the sole steel door. Managing to crank her neck to the side, she noticed an IV with several cords hooked up to her with three different bags hanging.
I’m not flatlined at least… and nobody is here. Must’ve been quite the hit.
There was a jingling of metal outside the door and panic rose in Becca’s chest. Normally, she’d have a weapon by her side. To be without your iron was essentially to be naked. Actually being naked wasn’t that bad once you got the right mods installed.
A middle aged woman in a set of red scrubs entered the room with a face mask and a tablet. The orderly looked up, met Becca’s eyes and froze for a moment. Neither reacted as Becca held her breath. Finally, the orderly rapidly tapped something on their tablet and stepped into the room, closing the door behind them.
“Can you hear me?” The orderly’s voice was soft and kind, like someone regarding an old friend. “Just try to nod if you can.”
Becca nodded, albeit with a skeptical glare. Her tongue felt cumbersome and couldn’t quite form the words ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’. She begrudgingly settled for pouting.
“Good, good,” another round of taps on the tablet ensued, “now, I’m going to enable your prosthetics. This may take a moment.”
The woman stepped to the side of the bed, lifting up the covers for a moment. Becca felt a small blush grace her cheeks as she couldn’t even turn her head to inspect the woman. A wave of numbness crashed and all the feeling of her extremities slowly began to come back all at once. The woman in red tapped more things on her tablet, humming to herself as she did so.
“Looks like you’ll have full functionality in about half an hour, so please let your body adjust to the prosthetics without pushing yourself…” the woman paused, squinting at the screen, “Ms. Diana Walker. Looks like your premium insurance here at R.E.O. Meatwagon has been paid by a beneficiary by the name of Pilar Walker. Very lucky indeed.”
Becca rolled her eyes. Even in death, that creep still figured out a way to make sure I was taken care of, with a fake name to boot. Damn gonk. Still, she doesn’t appear to be a threat… yet.
“C-can you help me sit up?” Becca’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the orderly smiled and obliged by gently positioning her hands behind Becca’s back and neck. Once in a seated position, Becca noticed she wore a matching red scrub to the nurse, albeit quite a bit smaller. Becca continued to watch with rapt attention as the IV tubing and other devices were unhooked; she winced a bit as the colostomy bag was unhooked, silently thankful that her bodily sensation hadn’t returned completely.
“Better?”
“...yes.”
“That’s good, now, uh, there is some other business to attend to.” The woman earned herself a worried glance from Becca. She placed a hand on Becca’s thigh and smiled. That bright, pity laden smile filled Becca with dread.
Here it comes. Everyone is fucking dead and I’m in a ‘Saka simulation.
“You’ve been asleep for quite some time… but it’s good you woke up when you did. The insurance plan you were registered under only covered five years. You see-” the orderly paused. “It’s currently October 15th, 2079. You’ve been here with us for the past three.”
Becca looked into the deep blue of the woman talking, her voice now a low drone as her mind swirled. It was an endless blue, easy to pick out among most designer models. Most likely Kiroshi or Humanatech considering the quality. She swallowed hard as she felt the woman gently squeeze her thigh, bringing her back to the world.
“Should I repeat that?”
Becca shook her head. “N-no need. I… need to leave. Y’all have my shit?”
“You didn’t have belongings, miss, and I’ve already messaged your emergency contacts listed, so they should hopefully reply within the hour.” The woman removed herself from Becca’s bedside and made her way to the door. She turned around and flashed that sad smile once more that bombarded Becca with a heavy dose of worthlessness. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes to check your prosthetics. In the meantime, try to wriggle your toes and practice micro muscle movements. If you’re thirsty, there is a cup and water dispenser on the bedside table.”
Without another word, the door closed with a satisfactory click and Becca was alone again. The distant whir of traffic could be heard in the distance. Through the gap in the curtains, Becca could see the towering metro buildings of Night City in the distance.
Given the angle, I’m somewhere in Rancho Coronado.
With great effort, Becca freed her left arm from underneath the bed covers. It wasn’t the large mallet-like tech hands she’d paid a small fortune for. Instead, it was sleek, proportionate, and white. A basic cyber prosthetic that couldn’t probably take more than a bullet or two before crumpling. Becca flexed her fingers, trying to touch each one to her thumb. They shook mightily, but each subsequent round became easier as her mind linked with the hardware.
I forgot how basic normal cyberarms were. The tech is practically ancient compared to the other gear I’ve had. I doubt it even has a UI interface or even a pain editor.
Next, Becca began to investigate her body as a whole for what had been changed. Being dormant for three whole years meant a lot of people had probably changed her, augmented her, and bathed her. She brushed that thought aside as she peered down her shirt, only to be greeted with a similar white and sleek plating to her arm. Her entire torso had been chromed out, from her neck down to her navel.
“Fuck,” Becca wheezed.
She could feel some pain flare up at random points in her torso, but the cool numbness surrounding her told her a sobering story; she’d been nearly split open. Probably died even if it wasn’t for the competitor to Trauma Team swooping in when they did. Most likely to take whatever organs they could plunder her for until scanning her ID for insurance purposes. It was a strange feeling to be saved by the bureaucracy structure she’d tried so hard to tear down.
I can’t wait around. Gotta find out what happened. If anybody is alive. Becca threw the rest of the bed sheets off herself, revealing a loose set of matching shorts. Her legs were chromed out in the same manner, yet she could see a few streaks where her skin actually poked through. A sigh of relief escaped her lips knowing she hadn’t gone full ‘borg.
Now I just need a mirror to assess the real damage. I swear if they made me ugly, I’mma want a refund. Crack some skulls for good measure.
After a few minutes of tottering on the edge of the bed, Becca got her bearings and took her first few steps. Most coma patients would have to wait weeks before attempting, but the prosthetics did their job in expediting the process. Sure, it looked like a baby horse taking its first few steps, but it was progress.
Becca maneuvered her way to the window, focusing her eyes on the faint reflection.
Her face was silky smooth much like before and her hair was still blond about shoulder length, despite an awful trim job. She’d never opted to get techhair before, but the thought of it now was alluring.
What stuck out most to Becca was her eyes; they were painfully normal with black pupils and green irises. She grit her teeth and placed her hands on the window sill for stability. She’d been properly grifted by R.E.O. Meatwagon, seeing how they swapped all her advanced tech with bare minimum civilian basics. Granted, her cybereyes undamaged or not wouldn’t have gone to much use so she could get that. But still, the theft stung nonetheless.
“Well, at least I still look cute,” Becca tilted her face to show her side profile. She frowned. “And it almost looks like I’ve missed three years of meals too. Basic kibble feeding motherfuckers.”
Becca backed away from the window and began to search the room. There was no point in staying. Nobody would come for her after all this time. It was better to go get some answers for herself, and there were a few places she could start. First would be shoes and some decent clothes.
She went to the door and pulled on the handle, only for it to rattle and not budge.
Locked. Of Course! Becca bashed her forehead into the door frame, a small grunt slipping out as the cool metal rattled her skull. How foolish of me! What assholes lock up a sleeping girl like me?
Becca went back around the room, looking for any piece of metal that could act as a shim. She paused at the window, noticing they weren’t barred in anyway. The urge to facepalm violently surged forth, but she kept her cool. Barely.
“Right. Coma ward. Not prison. Not a lot of sleeping people trying to escape.”
Becca opened the window wide open, shivering as a chilly gust of autumn wind graced her metallic skin. Out of all the sensations to feel, the prosthetics truly did go for ‘realism’. Without another thought, Becca slipped through the window and onto the dusty streets of Rancho Coronado. Night City wasn’t a place to find peace, but answers? They had those in spades if one had the connections, eddies, and moxie.
And three years was a long time to wait to cash in any goodwill with people in Night City.
Johnny snuffed out his second cigarette of the night on the countertop. He’d ordered chicken fried steak, and half of it remained uneaten. The flavor was somewhere in the realm between tree bark and charred rat. He only knew because of a dare back in Samurai’s early days, it was stupid, plus it was fun to freak Kerry out a bit. Kept him on his toes and the others in line.
An older, portly waitress in a mock up 1950’s style blue uniform came around from behind the counter again. She glared at Johnny as he fumbled around in his pants pocket for another cigarette. He pulled one out and lit it up in front of her, blowing the smoke upward near the ramshackle TV set. Most garbage news media playing, the same monotonous tone and message no matter what channel you chose to tune into. That’s the way the suits wanted it, so that’s what you got.
“I told you not to smoke. Twice. ”
Johnny looked to his left and right, keenly aware of nobody else at the rundown diner at the edge of Reno on a Thursday night. He was surprised they had enough to pay for the power bill, but it was a discreet location to lay low after getting into a spat with another local musician. He sported a bruised cheek and nice slash through his blue flannel jacket, but that was nothing compared to the other guy currently laying in a ditch.
Sometimes Johnny forgot how twitchy V’s old mantis arms could be. He’d only meant to scare the guy off, but he just had to try and take a swing at him.
“I’ll stop once you give me food that doesn’t give me cancer faster,” Johnny retorted, taking another drag. “Besides, what’s it matter to you? Don’t you want to play the part of the nice hostess and get a tip? Pissing off your sole customer isn’t a great idea, you know. Kinda fucking dumb, really.”
The waitress huffed and stomped away, disappearing back into the kitchen. Johnny watched with idle curiosity, nursing his cigarette all the while. He shrugged and looked back at his food, considering taking another bite or just simply shooting himself in the foot to distract himself from the creeping hunger. The foot injury was currently winning the race by a slim margin.
With nothing else to rest his tired eyes on, Johnny looked up to the TV set. The volume was low, but V had the intelligence to get an upgraded audio center before the big Arasaka run. The kid had spec’d himself out like very few other edgerunners before him, and now all that precious chrome was playing little kids across the countryside with an acoustic guitar for small crowds.
Better that way. No corporate bullshit. Just people.
The TV flashed back from the commercial, and Johnny let out a groan. It was an Arasaka press conference. Sure, he’d royally fucked them twice, but both ventures were just speed bumps to the corporate giant. The tower had been rebuilt, and Mikoshi still stood despite Smasher getting the axe.
Johnny smiled at that last thought. It was good knowing he’d beaten Smasher. Helped him sleep at night when other demons from his past would try to haunt him. It was a goal both he and V had converged on, before their inevitable split. Despite being a dipshit from Heywood, V got it in the end. Didn’t kid himself when the chips were down and the only options were bad and worse.
“Wonder how he and Alt are doing…” Johnny muttered under his breath. He glared at the TV as it switched to the current President of Arasaka, Yorinobu Arasaka. “And this dickless fuck keeps wanting to talk about making peace. What a load of shit.”
Johnny took out his cigarette and blew out another stream of smoke. He went to snuff it, but paused as he listened to the droning noise from the TV. He clicked his tongue as he took another glance at Yorinobu behind the bland pedestal. The way he moved and talked didn’t strike him as a young buck taking the reins over daddy dearest's company. Instead, he was composed, poised, and assertive. A bit more flare than your normal corpo, but enough to know the speech was thoroughly scripted.
“Wait a sec.” Johnny tapped his foot against the ground, mouth partially open. “I know how that bastard talks. I’ve heard that cadence. Like an old beat or rhythm. It’s…” Johnny took another heavy drag from his cigarette and then smothered it against the counter next to his other two. “That’s goddamn Saburo, I know it.”
In the blink of an eye, Johnny’s phone was out and comparing different articles of Saburo’s speeches with Yorinobu’s recent ones. The words were different, but much like in a game of poker, everyone had a tell. Even the old grandmaster of the Arasaka corporation wasn’t infallible in that regard, and the way he would pause after a few choice words, Johnny felt it click. This was the heart of Arasaka; an old tyrant who refused to die and kept his foot on the back of anyone who dared oppose him.
The old fuck did what I did. Motherfucker. Johnny rubbed his temples, letting out a low hiss. I shouldn’t care. I’m done with that shit. But…
There was a hesitation in Johnny to turn off the channel. He wanted to watch until the end of the broadcast. Let the commercialized words sear themselves into his brain and stoke the fires of rebellion that lay dormant in his heart. That part would never fade away, a piece of himself that remained relatively unscathed when taking over V’s body, now his body. His blood boiled and veered him toward an undeniable truth; Saburo would need to eat dirt. Forever.
Johnny pushed himself off the rickety stool and tossed a couple eddies on the counter. He rustled out his keys from his pocket, eyeing the large black embossed key to his Quadra Type-66, a sports car with a touch of grit and rebel flair. A donation from a generous fan out in Topeka about a year back, and much classier than the Mahir Supron economy van he’d been driving. Sure gas was more expensive, but it would run out like all things, so might as well go around in style.
“Night City… been awhile,” Johnny looked out the wide windows of the diner toward the west; vast swathes of endless desert spread out into the horizon. “One more ride.”
Johnny the few eddies on the counter; enough for a meager meal. He tossed a few extra out. It may have been downright awful food, but if he were anywhere else the inspiration may have not hit him. That kind of treat was priceless, but a three eddy tip would have to suffice. After all, gas was expensive and hired help even more so.
The doors to the diner swung and a faint bell rang out, and as the waitress emerged from the kitchen the rockerboy was nowhere to be seen. Only the roar of a car in the parking lot and the screeching of wheels before watching a pair of headlights peel out and onto the open road.