disrupts | NOCTIUM IC INBOX

[Oh, Johnny hasn't forgotten. He's more than aware of those fists, those fucking arms. He used to ride shotgun in the body that wielded them, after all, even had a chance to swing them himself more than once to crack a few skulls. He's not dumb enough to think V isn't going to use them, either; in fact, he's banking on it. Knows exactly how he'll react even without residing in his head anymore, and the rockerboy ducks down real close, to the point where he's basically pressed flat against the curve of V's shoulder. It whiffs past, where Johnny's temple was just moments before.

This would be a real comical sight any other day, clumped together on the stairs like this like a pair of feuding siblings, were it not for the fact that it isn't funny at all. That Johnny's heart wasn't pounding against his ribcage, or the palm enclosed around the chip wasn't already feeling too hyperaware, too clammy with sweat. He's gotta move, take action, because V's not just going to let him get away with this without throwing another close-quarters punch. He can't dodge them all, his luck isn't that kind to him.

Raising himself up with a grimace, teeth a line of clenched white, his fingers are finding purchase on the chip, trying to situate it into position to slot it into the nape of the merc's neck. All the while he pushes down hard with his chrome arm, and while the position might have been the best chance he's had at it so far-

The stairs have had enough. They creak, bow, and eventually something snaps like a spine. The next moment is all dust and splinters and upended pieces of railing as the two men are deposited to the first floor via gravity, spat out like unwanted food.]

[ The heat of the tussle is what gets to him most acutely, and V has no idea if it's Johnny kicking it off like a very palpable byproduct of his frustration or if they really have been fighting that hard. Everything is starting to lose context again outside of the one thing that matters; stay alive.

Every single shred of that pings like a rubber band out of his conscious mind as gravity seems like it doesn't exist for the microsecond between V feeling constant pressure at his back and suddenly... not. The way they fall has his back cushioning their landing, and they're probably both equally as lucky that neither of them gets staked by any of that wood. Considering the shape it's in, it'd probably crumble before making any kind of mark at all. So, instead of that, V's got the hard, unforgiving floor instead to soften his own blow. It pushes all the air out of his lungs in one wheezing, compressed gasp.

Quick reaction times desert him. Feels like his brain got rattled around all the same, and there's a terrifying few seconds where he feels like his body doesn't want to do anything at all. He's slow and sluggish, barely able to move between the floor beneath him and Johnny on top of him, but he's trying to reach out all the same, hand trying to find any part of Johnny that he can shove away. ]

[Suddenly, the ground becomes nothing but empty air, dragged down in a dizzying moment that makes his stomach drop, until that momentum comes to a crashing halt as they slam into the floor. Landing on top of V makes for a sorry fall-breaker, knocking the wind out of him. A heavy piece of wood strikes the back of Johnny’s shoulder, blooming the site with pain, and he’s sure a bruise will form sooner rather than later.

But none of that matters. The chip, his brain supplies uselessly, still got the chip, and he can tell it’s still there pinched between his fingers like his life depended on it. The jostle of the fall is something he pushes aside like it were a physical distraction, and Johnny—his motions a bit slower, too, given the jarring change of scenery—sounds nothing short of frustrated.]

V… Vincent, you gonk-for-brains idiot— just fucking…

[A tangled mess of limbs, Johnny still somehow manages to press his weight atop him out of pure luck wrought from the fall.]

—stay still—

[The knuckles of his hand holding onto the Relic are oozing crimson, scenting the heat between them like copper. He doesn’t remember injuring it; must have scraped the skin off against the concrete flooring when they landed.

Doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t care if it’s a clumsy effort. Doesn’t care if the gesture is harried and hurried and almost desperate. All he cares about is sliding the chip back into V’s chipslot, and he moves to do just that, knowing exactly where it is — guided by memory, as though it was his own body.]

—for two seconds!

[ Staying still has never been at the top of V's favorite things to do, and right now isn't time for a change of heart. What small well of energy he's still got left he dips into, drains dry in a last ditch attempt to throw Johnny off him.

His temper's dulled by fear, and that fear is harder and harder to react to the longer he has to fight. Fatigue is setting in and if he wasn't otherwise distracted, he might actually be impressed by how much Johnny's given him a run for his money.

Except now he doesn't want to fight for the sake of purging ghosts or remnants of feelings that are free floating in his mind, sharp and prickly, vast and suffocating. He's in pure survival mode, fighting tooth and nail to not lose and end up deader than he means to be.

That last flash of energy materializes in both hands reaching up, fingers aching but outstretched to snag in Johnny's collar. The weight on top of him is substantial enough to make it hard to fight against, but all he needs is one surge, one last stand...

When he tugs at Johnny's clothes to yank him forward, he's already using the opposing weight to try leverage himself up at the same time. He's intending on headbutting the other man hard enough they'll probably both see stars. He just hasn't considered that when his head, shoulders and upper back leave the floor, he's leaving the duo of chipslots in his head wide open. ]

[Fingers seeking and grasping at an opportunity to slip the Relic back into its rightful place, Johnny finds that exact opportunity presenting itself in a way unexpected: with fingers hooking into the fabric of his collar and yanking him forward, in a move that he would only call—in retrospect—a cheap shot.

His forehead collides with the merc’s, and though V is flagging in swiftness and strength, there’s still something to be said about the force behind it. It’s enough to blur his vision for a moment, enough to send too sharp a pain snaking through his sinuses, enough to make the room feel like it’s jittering and shifting. Johnny does what any man would do in this situation: lets a curse fly out from his lips, calling V something very colorful and unique; despite his bond with the man, he deserves it after a stunt like that.

And yet despite the pain, Johnny’s focus has barely been jostled. His hand seeking the almost-underside of V’s head had never stopped seeking; fingers holding onto the chip still prying about for that empty chipslot. The space that V’s created between himself and the ground trying to pound their skulls together was more than enough leeway to finally feel the edges of his goal, and with a lingering burst of determination, Johnny finally inserts the troublesome piece of tech where it belongs.

It clicks into place with almost no fanfare for how much effort it had required of him. Johnny’s breath catches in his throat, head still pounding. This better fucking work. This better fucking work or he’s going to be so goddamn pissed.]

Edited 2021-06-15 04:25 (UTC)

[ Muscles full of what feels like volcanic rock - lava cooled and slowed by fatigue, solidifying until he feels stiff - V barely feels the pain. He barely reacts to the shockwaves reverberating through his head, conscious mind fuzzy and distant, almost. Johnny's still trying to fight him, is what it feels like, but V's tank's empty. There's no fumes left to run on. His hands move, slow and haltingly, vision swimming and he's not exactly got a grasp on whether he's fighting hard enough anymore.

Everything changes the moment the chip clicks into place, and V's consciousness abruptly shuts down. His vision is nothing but a blank, black screen as he slumps backwards again, every muscle, ligament, and tendon in his body going lax, useless. He's passed out, temporarily powered down and lost. Drifting in nothingness, maybe this was supposed to be his freedom.

Those few seconds of complete shutdown are punctuated by a cursor; it blinks rapidly, urgently, from behind closed eyes, and then the startup routine kicks in. System checks, feedback on the state of his hardware, the state of him. Processes start, networks are reinstated, repaired, made whole again. Code rapidly runs across his horizon. System check, new line. Vital signs, new line. The synaptic accelerator he's got on board fires, adrenaline floods his system. The microprocessor embedded in his body pulses out electricity, a jumpstart for his heart, and eventually he gasps, desperate for air.

The pressure still at the back of his head is momentarily an unknown, and instinct kicks in abruptly, fingers blindly gripping whatever's there. They close around Johnny's wrist, firm but not crushing, and the moment he touches skin he knows who it is without having to open his eyes. He can feel it right down to his core, exactly where he always imagines his soul to be. The simple touch explodes with what he's gotten used to understanding as Synchrony; unhindered, unapologetic, unbroken.

Johnny. ]

[Watching V go dark, that blackout void overtaking him, chills Jounny with trepidation. The rockerboy isn’t exactly known for his patience, and nothing’s changed here, still holding onto V as though an anchoring point might make the chip work. It’s moments like these he hates not being in V’s head anymore; unable to see that blinking cursor and scrolling HUD, not knowing his whole system is taking the time to repair itself, or if he’s just holding onto a body that isn’t keen on waking up.]

Come on, come on—

[Just like after Dex, he supplies himself, reaching for some fragment of reassurance based in experience. Gonna be just the same.

It still feels like too long before V’s body goes from limp to taut in a half-second, his lungs gasping for air. And Johnny feels like his heart’s remembering to beat again now that it’s been given some ray of hope. He sucks in breath, brow furrowed, waiting for some other signs of life, any sign that V is the V he knows, when he gets exactly what he was hoping for.

And it’s utterly overwhelming.

The Synchrony happens like it was hungry, descending upon him not like a tide but like a flood coming to engulf anything it touches. Logically, if Johnny had been given the headspace in this moment to think logically, it could be those severed pieces of his mind overcompensating for having been so neglected for so long. Like someone stretching out a muscle that had been dormant for days. Except every aspect of their connection is slamming into him all at once, a dizzying spell that might as well have disconnected him from reality for a few precious seconds— Somewhere in there, he feels that increasingly sublime sensation of being whole, or having found a piece of himself that ran off, or tethering up again with the rest of his mind and spirit that V has come to represent. The Ruby beneath his shirt radiates a vibrant red. And Johnny lowers himself until his forehead is pressed into the merc’s chest, as though prostrating himself before an invisible altar.

His chest heaves. Some stubborn part of him is still trying to root him back into reality, and it seems to have some small success when the initial burst of sync, blessedly, slowly recedes.]

Holy shit.

[That seems to sum it up. Christ.]

Guessin’… that means you’re back.

[It takes some effort to lift his head to look at the other man, but Johnny manages through sheer force of will.]

V?

[ Synchrony like this is an interesting way to regain consciousness, one that's formidable and fills every single fiber with electric life. It's been some time since he's been genuinely unsure about Johnny's motivations, about the lengths he's willing to go to for V's gonk ass. Regardless, the Synchrony's like having that knowledge reconfirmed deep down. A sense of complete rightness slid back into the space it's supposed to live.

Hearing Johnny's voice feels weird, like he's spent too long underwater and is only now hearing it again without interference. Or maybe what's closer to the truth is he's been hearing Johnny but not listening. Even now it's hard to fully grasp everything that's happened over the past couple of weeks, and right now V doesn't have the energy to try.

All he's got to show for himself is the way the rise and fall of his chest slowly starts to even out, and his eyes only blink open when he feels the pressure of Johnny's head lift off him. ]

I-- ...yeah. I... think so.

[ His mind is yet to take a step back and look at the damage he's wrought outside of these crumbling walls. Whatever damage he's done to the man on top of him who wouldn't fuck off when he was told to. He's yet to loosen his grip around Johnny's wrist, too. He really doesn't want to. ]

I-- you--

[ Give him a moment, he's still trying to get his head back in some semblance of order... ]

[V doesn’t have to let go of his wrist—he can cling like a barnacle for as long as he likes—but Johnny’s finally allowing relief to settle in his gut after days upon days of trying to get this whole mess sorted. Now that the other man’s opening his eyes, it’s like he can finally allow himself to unwind—and he does so by shifting off of V and sitting in an unceremonious stretch of limbs beside him. Palms leveling his weight as he leans back, one leg kicked out and the other bent at the knee.]

Finally.

[He’s tired. He’s injured, bleeding from the knuckles, smarting with unformed bruises, his lip bleeding a little from the fall, his forehead starting to welt red from the headbutt. And that doesn’t account for the paradoxical sensation of reeling from a buzzing, powerful sync.]

Had me worried, asshole. You’re a real fuckin’ pain, you know that, V?

[Every word might be gruff, but the hard edges are gone. None of it is a real reprimand.]

Don’t know if you remember anything that went down, but you didn’t even have the common courtesy to make it easy for me.

[ The thing about clinging on is that when Johnny moves, V's arm automatically goes with him. Maybe there's some element of not wanting to let go because he's only just come back to himself. The Synchrony between them is the most himself he feels, and he's not quite ready to let it drain away.

That's a deeply-rooted instinctual feeling, one that he doesn't really have to think about. Everything else is still fuzzy around the edges, like he just got a fresh pair of optics installed and they haven't settled yet. Johnny's words, no matter their content, are like a balm all the same. Soothing like he's singing a lullaby, not telling him he's a pain in the ass. ]

...fuck.

[ The foggy cloud lifts, the moments leading to this point sharpening up until he remembers-- ]

Tried to crack your skull with mine...

[ The hand finally does loosen, but rather than drop away it reaches up towards Johnny's face. Thing is, he's not exactly gotten spatial awareness quite right yet. A dusty hand ends up splayed clumsily against Johnny's cheek, almost poking an eye, and the sapphire gem at the top of V's spine tingles. Whether it actually imbues the other man's face with healing is another matter entirely - who knows what is and isn't working right now? ]

...sorry.

[Clumsy fingers splay against his face, almost comedic. Johnny tilts his head away, squinting the one eye just a half-centimeter from being jabbed. His gem ebbs and flows with its crimson glow, and he knows exactly just what the other man must be trying.]

Don’t be sorry.

[His own hand comes up to gracelessly swat V’s away. The synchrony halts with the connection severed.]

You weren’t yourself. [He looks down at the merc, face not only marred with burgeoning bruises and blood, but now the grime of a man that’s been squatting in an abandoned factory for god knows how long. Thanks for that.] But you are gonna be sorry if you try that again. You don’t got the manna to spare, and you’re tryin’ to heal? If I went through all this trouble just so you could turn into a rock, I really will kick your ass.

[ Lacking the energy to do much at all about his hand being shooed away like an annoying fly, V's arm flops uselessly somewhere above his head. He takes Johnny's point with relative understanding. Probably would deserve an ass-kicking if he turned into a rock now. There's something of a sluggish quality to his entire presentation, sprawled out still in the position he fell, pretty much. And his brain's working that way too, as though it's slowly checking, testing, launching different areas.

It's why, after a few minutes of just breathing and staring up at nothing in particular, V groans seemingly without any kind of provocation. That'd be his longer-term memory organizing itself better than it's been for months. Post-Mikoshi, his new apartment, Kerry, the Crystal Palace...

It's not done yet; the Ruby Underground - fear, the house - Kerry, a dark, dirty alley - Dorian, the sting in his knuckles - Vincent. Everything he said to Johnny, every tiny detail clear like it's being illuminated in neon and hung on the side of a building. ]

What the fuck've I done?

[ It's a rhetorical question; he knows what he's done and to who. Creeping in like dark tendrils is the guilt entwined with the memory of being held down in the first place so the chip could be removed from his head without it getting damaged. Being tossed like trash after... ]

Shit. What the fuck have I done?

[In those empty minutes where V’s mind is trying to gather up the pieces of lost memory, Johnny takes it as a much-needed reprieve. He shifts his weight, digs in a pants pocket for a pack of cigarettes — what he pulls out is a pack that looks squished and flattened to practically the point of being 2D. Figures.

Then comes V’s groan, as though mirroring his dissatisfaction, though the merc definitely has a lot more to be dissatisfied with.]

Hey.

[Frowning, Johnny tosses the pack aside with the rest of the surrounding detritus.]

Nothin’ that you can blame yourself for. [Here comes the guilt, come to swallow V up. He knows without a doubt it’s going to happen, no matter what he says. But he’s going to say it anyway.] When I said you weren’t yourself, I meant it. Missing part of your neural network meant parts of your personality were AWOL. You weren’t V. Just some incomplete version of you.

Anyone with half a shred of decency, who cares about the hell you’ve been through, will understand it. Will forgive you for it. Fuck ‘em if they don’t.

Edited 2021-06-19 02:37 (UTC)

[ Levering himself up to sit is an effort that shouldn't feel so difficult, but between his depleted energy and the weight of that guilt sitting heavy in his chest, it is. His head drops forward into both hands, fingers scrunching into his hair like he wants to rip it out. He doesn't, but his entire body is tense, so tense he's shaking.

These memories he's got are the antithesis of who he tries to be, of who he wants to be. They're cold, doused with fear and loathing, and though he's got the context now to understand all the rage and terror he was feeling was a result of getting jumped in the way he did, just because it makes sense doesn't mean he can make peace with it. ]

No, I fuckin'...

[ Confessed more than he thought he meant to, peppered it with some displaced anger at his situation. He struck where his brain'd told him would hurt the worst. ]

Johnny, I don't fuckin' blame ya for any of what happened at home.

[ It'd be like blaming a knife for stabbing him, or a gun for shooting him. Dropping a hand from his head, his optics flick to Johnny next to him so fast it almost makes him feel dizzy. Fingers grip around Johnny's wrist again, the Synchrony kicks in immediately, and though it's overwhelming as fuck all over again, V's aching so much over this he forces himself to speak. ]

Tell me you know that's not how I feel 'bout it, or you.

[V’s touch is akin to a vice, he’s so tense. It conflicts with the dizzying, complete kind of pleasure from the Synchrony, but Johnny can practically taste the kernel of guilt wheeling around in there, too. His look at the other man is steadier, countenance tired and darkening with a serious consideration.]

‘Course I know that’s not how you really felt. It wasn’t how you really felt when I was still a part of you, and I didn’t believe you could have a change of heart just like that.

[This doesn’t feel like the time or the place for this conversation, but V seems desperate to drive this point home, and Johnny can only deny his revelation so much. The grasp on him is still shaking.]

Won’t say that what you claimed was technically wrong, though — bein’ the reason you were dying. Why you still are. And I know it isn’t my fault, either, but if you tell me I’m not allowed to feel anything about it, I’m about to call you a hypocrite, so don’t waste your breath.

[His free hand reaches out, resting its weight on V’s shoulder.]

You gotta rest. Somewhere that isn’t a shithole of a factory. You can sort through everything else later.

[ Maybe Johnny has a point; it'd be almost funny if the man was able to level an accusation of hypocrisy considering all things. The hand at his shoulder is steadying, an anchor to stop his thoughts completely taking off, and slowly V exhales.

Rest sounds like what he needs, but it doesn't sound like what's going to make things right. Exhaustion rolls off him like thick clouds, everything feels heavy even sitting down, and it's hardly like Johnny got off light with what just happened either. ]

You don't know everythin' I did.

[ It's a guilty, quiet statement. One that's saturated with shame. The idea that he'll get any rest at all despite how bone tired he is doesn't seem realistic. How can he just go home and sleep when he knows there's other people he hurt still out there probably hurting. Truthfully, even if he tried to explain what happened it likely won't make any sense, not when he's languishing in a weariness that's addling at best.

Seeming to at least see Johnny's point and extending the man the basic fucking courtesy of not ruining all the effort he went to in order to get to this point, eventually he sighs. ]

Okay.

[Johnny huffs a little at that admission, the kind of noise with the humor wrung out of it. He gives V’s shoulder a squeeze, barely-there.]

I can use my imagination. [He just has to apply the way V was acting to an encounter with his friends or acquaintances; probably were just as surprised and concerned as Johnny, except the rockerboy has seemingly thicker skin than most.] But if it’s any consolation, your worst day probably still didn’t compare to some of my worst days, decades past. And your chooms are probably fine with forgivin’ you. So.

[Here, with a grand effort, Johnny pushes himself to his feet, stranding up straight in a display of dark leather and grime, strands of hair displaced and hanging in his face.]

Ain’t so bad, V. I’m just glad you’re all right now.

[He extends a chrome hand to help him to his feet.]

C’mon.

[ V almost counters with the deeply held belief that none of them are just his chooms. They're his family, the ones he chose. That applies to Johnny too. Neither of them chose to be catapulted into each other's lives like they were, but here V is trusting Johnny more deeply than anybody else.

He looks up at the proffered hand and only hesitates briefly before reaching up to clasp, fingers wrapping around Johnny's forearm to at least make that connection a solid one. At least, as stable as either of them have strength for. ]

Gonna at least give you a couple days 'fore I complain 'bout you bein' stubborn.

[ It's a pale, underdeveloped attempt at some fond banter. Though it's probably not that hard to see what's going on underneath. The way V's eyes widen unseeingly as though he's imagining what would've happened if Johnny hadn't been such a doggedly determined stubborn asshole. Who else could have pulled this off for him? He's not sure he knows that answer, but the part of him that realizes they need to leave this decrepit, incredibly unsafe safe house has an immediate concern. ]

What happened? Where'd you find it? The relic, I mean. Did you... you find the people who jumped me?

[The remark’s enough to twist Johnny’s expression into a cocksure grin, still rimmed at the edges with tiredness, but existing all the same. He sounds vaguely amused with his reply.]

Couple of days? That’s a joke. How many times have I saved you now, huh? Startin’ to lose count, so I think you can’t complain about shit for at least a month.

[Johnny hanging that over someone’s head sounds exactly like something he’d do, except he doesn’t mean a word of it. He didn’t go out of his way to stick the chip back into V’s chipslot just to place an obligation around his neck like a millstone.

With V on his feet, Johnny waits and offers him a shoulder before they start moving towards the exit. He doesn’t expect the man to be all that steady after what he’s just been through; Johnny isn’t exactly a pillar of strength right now, either, but he can manage it just fine. Just maybe not at a particularly blazingly fast speed.

Gives him time to consider an answer, though. His face drifts back into seriousness, a sort of mild agitation that is only a sliver of the anger he had felt towards the gangers who did this to V.]

Did a lot of pokin’ around, had to trace your steps back to that night after you and the other V’s were done partying. Managed to find security footage of you gettin’ jumped by those bastards — saw everything that happened to you.

[His jawline hardens a tick, but he continues.]

After that? Did some asking around. Apparently their types have made trouble before, lookin’ to line their pockets. Asked Cloud if he wanted in on the action of getting the relic back once I got wind of them spendin’ one of their evenings at a local club, tryin’ to make a deal to sell it off. The rest is history. Those fuckin’ idiots… think they’re somethin’ big and scary, but didn’t take much to show them otherwise. We’ve seen it all before.

[Between Johnny and Cloud, it really was a joke. Left an impression on them, for sure.]

They won’t be botherin’ you again. Though I’d like to know how they knew about the chip at all — you tellin’ tall tales when you’ve got too much drink in your system?

Here? 'bout as many times as I've saved yours.

[ Not that V's actually counting, but for the most part he allows himself to sink into the comfort of back and forth. A familiar thing to draw over himself like a blanket.

There's only a few times on their way to the exit that V uses Johnny's shoulder; the amount of debris lining the floor only added to with their antics. Trip hazards are all over the place and, with heavy legs, V seems to find all of those snag points no matter how hard he's trying to focus.

As Johnny starts explaining, V's half-smile evaporates, and by the time Johnny's asking what he said about the chip, his forehead's drawn down into a frown. ]

Don't think so? I don't 'zactly remember doin' it but... I was buzzed. Sobered up pretty quick when they uh--

[ Since Johnny's seen what happened, he doesn't feel the need to describe. Explanation isn't necessary. ]

Why'd I be talkin' 'bout the relic to anybody?

[ Except... ]

Maybe we talked about it, me 'n the others. Between ourselves. Makes sense, I guess. Three of us have things in common when it comes to the relic.

[ And maybe, since of the three of them he's unable to handle more than a couple of drinks before he's affected by it, he'd seemed like the easier target. But this was all guesswork. V doesn't have a sharp recollection of everything he talked about that night. ]

Did you zero 'em?

Might wanna be more careful regardin’ the when and where the three of you decide to talk about intrusive, experimental tech that overwrites the mind and spirit.

[He says it about as dry as the desert, vaguely unimpressed. And he doesn’t even think it makes him that big of a hypocrite (this time), either. The only time he’s ever mentioned the relic to anyone here was recently, wrought in the vaguest details during his exchange with Dorian. Before that, Nanba. Never for others to overhear just because he’s feeling chatty.

But what’s done if done. V’s question colors his words a little darker, though so matter-of-fact that there’s no doubt he’d follow through if asked:]

Nah. Left them beaten and broken and bleedin’ out. They got as good as they gave and then some — made sure of it.

Need me to go back and finish it? I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t make me feel good to do it.

[Johnny is a lot of things, and putting a bullet in more fatal places of the trash who’d made the bad call to hurt someone he cares about? Yeah, he’s not beyond it.]

[ There's a certain kind of irritation that flares up despite everything. As soon as it does though it's neatly extinguished. V can't exactly be irritated at Johnny for saying it, not about this. It was a gonk thing to do, and given the fact he was drunk as fuck at the time, he has no idea if he had any kind of volume control at all.

He made a mistake, and now he has to live with it.

So the comment is just met with a sheepish kind of nod, eventually, and then a sharp shake of his head at the question. ]

No.

[ V's also a lot of things, and most of the time he tries his best to opt for the least damage if he can help it. Some things need a certain response, sure, and he's got no regret for putting iron in people who don't seem to have a lick of remorse in them for doing shit that V knows is evil. Woodman was an example of that.

His answer's not for the sake of those gangers, though. No, this is real personal. ]

Plan on payin' 'em a visit myself.

[Somehow, that’s not all that surprising to hear, and Johnny has no real problem with the concept as a whole. You reap what you sow, as the saying goes, and those gangers were about to reap a cyber-enhanced merc with a score to settle.

There is the issue, though, of V needing some time to recover. And the fact that he just barely managed to save him, and now the kid’s already talking about throwing himself into trouble face-first again?]

A visit yourself, by yourself?

[V never really worked alone back in Night City before Mikoshi; he had a rebel rockerboy living in his head, at his side through thick and thin. He doesn’t see why that needs to change now.]

You cut me outta the fun, I’m gonna be pissed. Personal for me, too, you know. [He stayed his hand last time out of respect for simply not knowing what V would want to do with them. Now? Now’s another story.]

Not gonna cut you outta anythin'.

[ The state he's in now isn't exactly the form he'd hope to be in, but as soon as he's gotten his energy back he's not going to delay things too long. Generally he's not terrible at rising above, at chalking things up to some kind of lesson to learn from. But this, like Johnny said, is personal. Not because he got his ass handed to him, or because he'd suffered, but because of all the collateral damage.

And that collateral damage is like a stacking multiplier. V'd have hunted the gangers down if just one person he cared about got hurt. The way things stand? He's hurt almost everybody he cares about. He won't know what exactly he's going to do to those gangers until he's in the moment, but whatever it is he's going to make it hurt. ]

Just uh... need a day or so.

[ Probably more. Thing is, as much as he wants to go after these thugs, he's got other things to work on first. Apologies to make. People to check in on. That's always going to come first.

The exit of the warehouse is exactly as somebody might expect; a boarded up frame where a couple of doors used to exist. But one of the boards has been angled just enough to allow a triangle entryway. Stopping down to duck through that's not going to feel fun, but neither would trying to get out from the upper level by scaling down a wall or just flat out jumping. ]

How'd ya get here? [ It pains him to say it, but: ] don't think I can drive.

[A day or so fits squarely into the rest regimen that Johnny’s taken it upon himself to prescribe V in his head. A day or so, and then he doesn’t mind if the merc goes out with a grudge, looking for the guys that did this to him — as long as he gets a piece of the action, too, of course.

So there’s no retort from the rockerboy as they duck beneath an arm of plywood through the door, and he doesn’t reply until they’ve met the outside air. This isn’t a great part of town, but it’s still a relief to inhale a nighttime that hasn’t gone stale from dust and years of a building’s neglect.]

Dropped off. City’s got its own cab system, even if I got stuck with the slowest driver on this whole damn planet.

[One might imagine how that went. Johnny impatient, yelling at the guy to drive well above the speed limit because he’s got important work to do. He isn’t exactly a paragon of patrons.]

Gonna have to invest in a real set of wheels soon so I don’t feel like a teenager havin’ to ask mom and dad for a ride. [He scoffs, looking at V.] Unless you wanna walk all the way there, I figure we’d go back the way I came.

You can nap on the way over.

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