Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - The Trail Of The Broken Merc
Fly away down the lonely roads of yesterday
Close our eyes to see the light of brighter days
And all alone we'll be where time can never heal
With the trail of broken hearts flying free
She wakes up in a white room.
Not the sterile white of a hospital, but something colder, clinical in a way that makes her skin crawl. The walls hum with embedded tech, the air reeks of disinfectant and some artificial citrus trying to mask it. A soft pulse of light blinked from the corner—biometric monitor, quietly blinking her back to life. A window on the left is open. She can feel the light sensation of the wind touching her skin, but not as usual. This time, the wind is different, but how ?
V blinks, muscles aching from disuse. Her body feels light in the wrong kind of way—like someone removed the weight, not the pain. The only thing she sees is distant trees, clouds, and the whiteness of the room. And then she realizes, but not completely. Her hand shakes as she brings it up, fingers trailing along her temple. No tactical HUD flickers to life, no MedTech overlay blooms across her vision as she used to see every morning. She slowly turns her right arm and doesn't see the port of her Kendachi Monowire. A simple arm. Just flesh.
The door hisses open. A man with an imposing neckline steps in, Solomon Reed dressed like he always is—pressed suit, unreadable expression. The kind of man who carries his ghosts like an extra layer of armor.
“V? Can you hear me?” he says.
“I guess... I can hear... and... talk...” she struggled to express.
“Good. Doc told me that you would wake up today. And that you sure would need to see a familiar face, so here I am.”
“Given I'm here, I guess things worked all right, huh?”
His voice is softer than she expects, not the usual Reed tone; she only heard him like that a few times—like the day he was at Farida's clinic when V had to install her new face implant. Reed was worried and in prey of the doubt about everything. About Songbird. But as always, his words are measured.
I – The Shock
“Never that simple. Docs saved you, you are alive. Unfortunately, there is a big ass BUT. The work done to cut the engram safely... was very deep and invasive. Now your body can no longer manage implants, the chrome you used to wear all day. It can handle your personal link and basic co-processors and optics, but only the simplest. Every combat implant would kill you. And there's another thing you have to know.”
V doesn't interrupt Reed, kind of afraid of the bad news that was already worse than expected.
“It’s been 2 years, V. We’re now in 2079, the 23rd of July exactly, if you wanna know. The surgery was way more complicated than expected, the wreck the Relic did to you... They had to put you in an artificial coma.”
V swallows, throat dry. She tries to sit up, but the world tilts, body sluggish, unresponsive. Feels like she’s been asleep a long, long time.
“No. You shitting me. Don't trust you. If that's some sick joke, it's not funny at all. Please tell me you're joking, Reed. Shit...'m suffocating, I need some air...”
Her stomach churns, nausea rolling through her. She grips the sheets, breath quickening. She was supposed to be out a month. Back in Night City before anyone even noticed she was gone. Instead—She shoves the blanket off. Tries to swing her legs off the bed. Knees buckle the second her feet touch the ground. Reed catches her, firm grip under her arms, but she jerks away. She doesn’t want his help. Doesn’t want any of this.
“You should rest,” Reed says, voice even.
She stares at him. Wants to scream. Wants to hit something. Instead, she forces her breathing steady, jaw clenched tight. “So... I guess the future's now, huh?”
She exhales. No relief. Just the hollow echo of breath. Her fingers twitch. There should be more. The weight of her monowire resting against her wrist. A neural connection to her cyberdeck buzzing at the edge of her mind, the light weight of her reinforced tendons, the quiet sound of her central blood pump linked to her chrome heart. But there’s nothing. Absolute void. Reed watches her, shoulders heavy like he already knows where this is going. No cyberware. No enhancements. No reflex boosters, no smartlink, no reinforced skeleton. Two years gone and now—now she’s just another meat puppet who was going to walk the streets of Night City, like all the ones she used to briefly see when driving full speed in her Quadra Turbo-R V-Tech. She breathes in. Out. Fights the rising panic. She swallows, throat raw. Pull yourself together.
A beat of silence. Then, “I need to make some calls.”
Reed says nothing, just watches as she reaches for the slim phone on the bedside table.
“We kept your belongings in the bag, and your phone as well,”
Reed says slowly. Makes sense. She thumbs through the interface, pulls up the contacts list. Fingers hover over the names. Panam. Rogue. Claire. Viktor. Misty. Judy. She presses the first one. Line clicks. Rings. Rings. Then a voice, pre-recorded.
“This number is no longer in service.”
And then she sees. 37 messages unread, 45 unanswered calls:
- “V, for fuck sake answer me! We are worried at the camp. Please answer, where are you?”
- “You know what, if you don't care about your family, Go. FUCK. YOURSELF.”
- “V, I'm sorry... Just a message, is that too much?”
Her stomach clenches. She tries Rogue next. Same result. One by one, she dials every name on the list. Everyone she used to know, every friend.
“You are on the number of Misty Olszewski, I don't live in NC anymore, so don't bother to keep calling.”
Every call goes nowhere. V grips the phone tighter. Hands trembling now. Then—Judy. The last name she has. The one person who wouldn’t just disappear on her. The line connects, and strangely, the avatar changed completely. Not the lil' ghost in the shell, but a serious profile pic of her, with different hair.
“No fuckin' way... V, is that you? But how... It's been so long.”
“Hey Jude, guess you didn't expect me to call you? I was in a NUS clinic, far from NC, in Europe, if I'm not wrong. I finally got my ticket for the long life, excised the Biochip. No more Johnny, even if I'm gonna miss that bastard, I'm here now. A hundred percent V. So, I woke up just ten minutes ago. Thought of you in my long sleep. Coming back to the city today, you still at your apartment?”
“I was sure you were gonna say somethin' like that. V, it's been 2 years, I don't live in NC. I'm in Pittsburgh now, and... not alone, she's named Bianca, not like you at all, simpler, not as adventurous as you, but she's a kind girl. I was alone, you understand? First Ev, and then you, couldn't take it, thought about a million things, what happened to you? I'm sorry V, but I know you'll manage, as always... Erm... I gotta leave you. And please, don't call again, don't make that even harder. Bye.”
Click. Line goes dead. V stares at the screen. Empty now. The only one with whom she could build something nice, was gone. And to be honest, Judy had her reasons. But why was she that cold? V couldn't believe it. Everything she built, everything she went through, and this was her gift. A new life, as a nobody, without anyone to support her.
II – The Denial
“No. No. That can't be true. I'm in a nightmare, it's a joke? Huh, Reed, tell me, everything's a big joke... No. No...” she said in a low voice, the tears starting to well up in her eyes, but trying to hold them back as best she could.
She dialed again Judy’s number, but this time, no answer. She sets the phone down. Doesn’t realize how hard she’s gripping it until her fingers ache.
“You should... take some time before heading back,” Reed says. “Adjust. Get your bearings.”
V lets out a sharp breath. A bitter laugh. Adjust. To what? There’s nothing left for her here. She pushes off the bed. Unsteady, but standing. Feels like learning how to walk all over again. Like a newborn, dumped into a world that’s already decided it doesn’t need her anymore.
Her voice is steady when she finally speaks. “Book me a flight to Night City.” “You sure? V, with all your actions for the NUS, you can have work here. A stable situation. You don’t even know what awaits you in NC. You won't survive there more than a week.” “Reed, for once, please, shut the fuck up. Don't you think I lost enough? Gotta go to the only place I belong. No debate.”
Reed doesn’t argue. Doesn’t ask if she’s sure. They both know there’s only one place left for her to go. Home. Or whatever’s left of it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The flight was quiet. No turbulence. No chatter. No Johnny in her head throwing snide comments about corporate air travel, though she could almost imagine him there.
Oh come on, V. Now you got plenty of money and went on top of the world, you think you can jump into an AV and see the world as if everyone was a pile of shit, and you not? That's a half-true reality.
But nothing. Just the low hum of the engines and the weight of silence pressing against her chest. She barely touched the food. Just stared out the window as the Earth curved below, lights of distant cities flickering like dying stars. Somewhere down there was Night City. Home. She clutched the small duffel bag Reed made for her, on her lap, fingers pressing against the worn leather. Everything she had left. Johnny’s aviators. His old, worn bomber jacket with that glowing red Oni face on the back. The Malorian Arms 3516 pistol, heavier than it should be. And two photos, only two. The first was the Laguna Bend church, swallowed by murky water—the one Judy reworked to obtain a clear quality. V had stuck it beside her bed in her H10 megabuilding apartment. One for her and one for Judy. And the other was a selfie of them, caught in a moment that felt like another life: they were sitting on the bungalow docks, arms wrapped around each other, laughing about that stupid joke V had told.
“It's like that joke, you know?”
“Hmm... which one you talkin' about?”
“What do lesbians bring on their second date? Moving vans, both.”
“Oooh, that one? Vintage as groaners go...”
She traced the edge of the second photo, eyes lingering on their faces. The way they laughed, easy and unguarded. She could almost hear it—the way Judy had snorted at her dumb joke, how V had thrown her arms up in mock offense before they both collapsed into each other. Her throat tightened. Two years gone. Two in a coma. And Judy had moved on. Everyone had moved on—the nomads, the ones who might’ve been her family, and who left unanswered messages. Now, she sat in a pressurized metal canister hurtling toward the city that had already forgotten her. She swallowed hard. Stay strong. Don't dare losing your nerves.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Night City, 2079
The spaceship entered the air area and landed silently. V stepped out of the spaceport, the air thick with smog and something acrid that burned her lungs. Night City stretched before her, sprawling and neon-lit—but something was wrong. She flagged a Delamain cab, the familiar logo still etched into its sleek, self-driving frame. At least that hadn’t changed. She slid into the backseat, tossing her bag onto the seat beside her.
“Where would you like to go today?”
The AI’s smooth, emotionless voice filled the cabin. V hesitated. For the first time in years, she had nowhere to be.
“Watson. Viktor Vector’s clinic. In front of 'Misty's Esoterica,' but I'm not so sure anymore...”
“The address doesn’t exist anymore, but I can drive you to the nearest place.”
V agreed with a simple yes. The cab pulled away from the curb, merging onto the highway. V stared out the window, and that’s when she saw it. Arasaka Tower was gone. Not bombed, not shattered like after the nuke in ‘23. Just… gone. In its place, Militech banners fluttered in the wind, red and black, stark against the city skyline. The whole district looked different—less neon, more steel and fortifications. Armed patrols roamed the streets in tight formations, mechs towering over civilians who walked fast, heads down, avoiding eye contact. The city felt quieter. Not dead, just controlled.
“Delamain,” V said slowly, eyes tracking a convoy of armored transports rolling through downtown. “What the fuck happened here? Don't see NCPD or Arasaka patrols. Has there been a war?”
A brief pause. Then, the AI responded, “Arasaka’s influence in Night City diminished following the High Court ruling of 2077. A subsequent corporate war with Militech resulted in a decisive victory for the latter. Night City is now under full Militech administration.”
She let out a slow breath. Militech won. The thought sent a chill down her spine.
“So, what? No more NCPD?”
“Correct. Law enforcement has been replaced by Militech security divisions. Crime rates have decreased by 76%. But still, poverty increased by 32% and tensions are at their peak.”
Yeah, she’d bet. Hard to commit a crime when everyone’s a prisoner. Her stomach twisted as the cab wound through the streets. This wasn’t Night City. At least, not the one she left behind. The cab finally pulled up in Watson, the familiar alleyway leading to Vik’s clinic. At least some things don’t change. But the emblematic sign from Misty's shop was replaced by an abandoned facade, with a simple alley leading to the back. She stepped out, slinging the duffel over her shoulder, and approached the steel door. Pressed the buzzer. Waited. Nothing. She frowned. Tried again. Still nothing. The old garage-style door was shut tight, rust creeping along the edges. The sign above flickered weakly, half the letters dead. Her gut twisted. Vik never closed shop. But there was no one in the basement.
She pounded on the door. “Vik! You in there?”
Silence. Then, a voice behind her—low, wary.
“You seek Mr. Vektor? He’s gone. Please stop shaking that grid.”
V turned. An old ripper, some guy she barely recognized, leaned against a dumpster, watching her with tired eyes. His face was lined with cyberware, but it looked outdated—black-market stuff, barely functioning. White and grey beard, scars on his face.
“What do you mean, gone?”
The ripper spat onto the pavement. “Took him a year ago. Militech’s got their own rippers now. Independent clinics? They don’t last long. Now there are Militech-approved clinics, and most are in the city center.”
He paused. “They… killed him?”
“Nah. They took him. Him and a bunch of others. Requisitioned for military contracts. If he’s lucky, he’s stitching up corpo grunts somewhere in a secure facility. If he’s not… And don’t even try to find him, you look like shit. You would never enter their clinics.”
He shrugged. V’s hands curled into fists. Not Vik. Not the man who patched her up after every firefight, who never judged, never asked questions, always believed in her. She forced herself to swallow the rage rising in her throat.
“Where?”
The ripper scoffed. “You think they tell people shit like that? Told ya, live your life and don't bother them. Stupid idea, I see it in your eyes. But it's not worthwhile.”
V stared at the rusted door. The clinic—Vik’s clinic—was just an empty husk now, like everything else she used to know. She exhaled through her nose.
“Thanks,” she muttered, turning away. The city felt wrong. Militech banners loomed over every street, patrols marched in perfect formations, drones buzzed overhead, scanning everyone who passed. The neon grime of Night City was still there—but now, it had a leash. She had nothing left, just a bag of painful memories and a clear head, already feeling the panic of “What to do now?” She clutched her jacket, but her pistol stayed in the bag she left in the Delamain's cab. She knew how quickly one could become prey in a place where mercy existed only in old books. She’d better get back to the car. Keep her head down, no trouble. And she wasn’t sure where the hell to go next.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Night City never changes. At least, that’s what she used to believe. V staggered down the alley, boots scraping against wet pavement. Blood dripped from her split lip, her ribs ached like hell, and the world spun just enough to make walking feel like a fight. The two junked-out gangoons had caught her just as she was heading back to the Delamain cab. Seen how she moved—slow, unsteady, weak—and decided she was easy prey. And they were right.
“Hey, where are you goin' girl? Look awful, ain't got no chrome, ain't got no iron, ain't got shit.”
One of them had grinned, cracked teeth flashing in the streetlight. “Bet she ain't even got eddies. Just some washed-up—”
“Hey chooms... just passing through, don’t want any trouble, I'm not worth it. Go try to harass a corpo rat or whatever—”
She barely got a hit in before they beat her down. They didn’t even rob her. Didn’t take the jacket or anything in her pockets. That part stung more than the bruises. When she finally reached the waiting Delamain cab, its doors slid open with a smooth, polite chime.
“Destination?” the AI inquired, its tone unchanged despite the blood dripping down her chin.
V collapsed into the backseat, head lolling against the window. She stared at the city outside—the streets that used to be hers, the skyline that used to pulse with promise. Now it was just… foreign. Controlled. She swallowed the taste of copper.
“Hmpf... H10 Megabuilding. Apartment complex. Watson.”
The cab pulled away, and V let her eyes close.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
H10 Megabuilding
The lights in the lobby buzzed, flickering against the stained walls. The old elevator still smelled like piss. Some things, at least, didn’t change. But when she reached her apartment door, number 0711—her number—was gone. In its place, a different plaque, a different name: Sebastian Stodge. She knocked. Silence. Then, shuffling footsteps. A man’s voice, muffled through the metal.
“Who the fuck—?”
The door cracked open, a security chain still latched. A tired-looking guy in his 40s squinted at her, taking in the blood and bruises.
“Yeah?”
V stared past him, into her apartment. The furniture was different. Decorations she didn’t recognize. Her gun stash was replaced by a small closet—no cluttered mess of ammo boxes and maintenance tools. This wasn’t her place anymore. Her mouth felt dry.
“I— I used to live here.”
The guy snorted. “Hmmm. And what the fuck do I care?”
She swallowed hard. “I left the city for a while, just came back. I don’t— I don’t need much, just… five minutes inside? This place was important for me before.”
His expression darkened. “You homeless or somethin’? We don’t do charity.”
She didn’t answer. “Fuck off. Get out of my sight, you weirdo.”
Door slammed. Locks clicked. She stood there for a long time, just staring at the metal door frame. No home. No nothing. The pain in her chest tightened, suffocating. She barely made it back to the street before her legs gave out, collapsing onto the curb. Her fingers dug into her scalp, blood still drying on her skin.
You’re alive. You’re still here. You just need a plan.
…But what plan? She had no crew. No ripper. No fixer. No name. A ghost.
“Maybe Rogue still runs the Afterlife? And if no one remembers me? I'm looking like shit... Know what, still gotta try.”
She forced herself up, limbs screaming in protest, and hailed Delamain again.
“Where would you like to go?” the AI asked, still lifeless, as if seeing her face for the first time.
“Afterlife. Bar in south Watson.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It should have been familiar. The smell of old whiskey and gun oil. The neon haze reflecting off chrome limbs. The distant rumble of a hundred conversations overlapping in the shadows. That emblematic sign in light green neon. But the second she stepped inside, she knew. This wasn’t her Afterlife. The music was wrong. The people—wrong. No Rogue at the bar, no Aymeric at the door, no Claire serving drinks with that warm, knowing smile. Instead, the place was crawling with new blood, young faces she’d never seen. And none of them knew her.
She pushed through the crowd, her bruised ribs screaming with every step, and made it to the bar. Leaned against the counter, trying to catch the bartender’s attention. A woman turned toward her. Sharp eyes. Cold.
“You lost? Never saw you here.”
“Where’s Rogue? She used to run the bar...”
The woman’s expression didn’t change. “Of course I know Rogue—well, I should say (knew). She's dead.”
The word hit harder than it should’ve. V’s fingers curled against the bar. “…What??...When?”
“Few months after the takeover. Militech tried to seize the place. After the laws changed, those bastards tried to close as many ‘problematic’ spots as they could. Rogue called in mercs to defend the bar, and went down fighting till she got taken by two soldiers and was executed in front of everyone. Poof, like that, a bullet in the head. She’s in the Columbarium if you wanna know. Everyone pitched in so she’d have a place to rest. Aymeric left soon after. Claire too.” The bartender studied her. “Why you asking?”
V forced herself to straighten. “I... used to run with her.”
The woman looked her up and down. Took in the bruises, the lack of cyberware. The weakness. “You don’t look like a legend. Don’t trust ya. You look like any young shit who walks in every day.”
V let out a sharp breath—half a laugh, half something else. “Yeah. No shit. Thanks anyway.”
She turned and walked out, the weight in her chest growing heavier. No Past, No Future. She had nowhere. Every door she knocked on—locked. Every name she called—gone. Every fixer she used to know was out of the game. Padre? Lost Heywood about half a year ago. Muamar? Got himself killed by Arasaka agents. The calls kept echoing in her ears. She’d done so much for the NUSA, for the city, but all they gave her was 50,000 eddies as a “thank you.” Enough to rent a small place and buy a cheap car. Enough to start over. But how the hell was she supposed to?
Her old life was in the gutter. And no matter how much she tried to shut it all out, she couldn’t erase it. Everything she asked for was a good ending for everyone. “A good ending? For folks like us? Wrong city, wrong people.” Everyone she used to know either moved on or left this shitty world. Guess that was better than nothing. Johnny’s jacket. His pistol. The photos. They were all she had left. Memories of people who left her. The two closest ones she ever had. She left the Delamain cab and started to walk, in the busy streets of the city that never sleeps, her gun gripped tight.
“So, where to go now? Gotta get myself a decent car.”
She headed to a car dealer, and with 13k eddies, got a small Thorton Galena G240—rusty hull, but it worked.
“Hmpf... At least, it works. Can get me from point A to point B. First use of a car, no blinky doodads.”
As she was driving through the dark streets in her brand new—more a wreck than a car—she passed over bridges, under tunnels, to arrive in Rancho Coronado. The district didn’t change much, just more patrols. The 6th Street gang had been greatly reduced in numbers, had calmed down since the mass killings in the slums. She arrived at a small apartment complex, similar to the one she rented in Northside. Ground and first floor, single-storey apartments, no questions asked. She entered the small cabin at the entrance and asked the old lady, mid 50s, for the cheapest rent. 750 eddies a week. Simple room, bathroom, and kitchen. V didn't hesitate, got her keycard, and entered the small apartment. She collapsed on the bed, which was little more than a mattress on a wooden frame. She lit a cigarette, but didn’t really smoke—just let it burn low between her fingers. The cheap lamp buzzed overhead. The walls were bare. Empty.
Just like her.
She exhaled smoke, staring at the ceiling. What now? She had nothing. No cyberware, no name, no future. But maybe… just maybe… she could start again. Not as V, the merc. Not as the legend who cheated death. Just V.
(Whoever the hell that was now.)