Never Fade Away: Don't Kill the Messenger (ch. 34) (Patreon)

"Hoowee, been a helluva week, huh? Y'all might have heard - an eight year old girl by the name of Vivian Calavera got crushed by some rubble in Watson, after a chunk of Konpeki Plaza got thrown into the building she was in. Happy to report - she lived. Which wasn't the likely outcome, given her family aren't Corpo's, so no Trauma Team for her. The kid surviving seems to be a genuine miracle. Especially considering how most Corpo's getting pulled out of the aftermath of Konpeki Plaza aren't so lucky, even with Trauma Team. I wonder if that's luck, or karma? Either way, good for her - it takes either the Devil's own luck or a special kind of grit to survive when a pair of titans start having it out on top of you, and if Vivi C had any luck she wouldn't have been there when it happened.

Before I give y'all the sweet country tunes you've been hankering for, I'll say something I've been saying since the news about Konpeki Plaza broke - don't be calling L a 'Legend'. He's more than that.

No lily-livered 'Legend' could kill the Legend-Killer and make his Corp master absquatulate if they died trying, and the really good ones usually did. L ain't the new Blackhand or the new Silverhand, he's built different - bigger and better.

He's L - the one and only Living Legend, and don't you forget it.

Here's Sing Me Back Home by Don Williams.

~

Music never really meant anything to me. No, perhaps that wasn't true -- music was a source of relief, but not because of the music itself but rather, because it meant that it would be a light work day. It meant I wouldn't have to take another step closer to death, my body flooded with experimental drugs and compounds, with countless implants gettingt taken in and out of me to the point I never knew how much of me was actually me. So, when we woke up in that room in the Orphanage and we were greeted by headphones and screens… it was a welcomed sight.

It meant that I wouldn't have to watch anyone die that day.

There were certain kinds of music that I found more appealing than others, but I would be hard pressed to think of a single song that I genuinely liked. Jack would be able to. She had entire playlists, some of them dedicated to inspiring a feeling like getting pumped up or to help her find her 'zen.' Perhaps, out of everything, that's what made this so weird.

I stood up on a stage before a roaring crowd, a guitar hanging from my shoulders while a mic was leveled at my mouth. Dark and ugly feelings welled up in my chest -- rage. So much rage. It felt like I was drowning in it and the only lifeline I had was music. To unleash it all into the mic in the hopes that enough of it would be let out that I could breathe again. It was something completely foreign to me. I never had this kind of release and I had never thought to turn to music of all things.

"JOHNNY! JOHNNY! JOHNNY!" The crowd changed, screaming at the top of their lungs as my fingers strummed at the cords with a song I didn't know. Emotion swelled in my chest -- pride… and arrogance. I loved the adoration, but I hated those that it was coming from. Idiots that claimed to love the music but refused to hear the deeper message, and those that heard it but didn't follow through. They didn't understand. No one did. And that was just another reason to be angry.

So I let it all out into the mic. Screaming until my throat felt like it was on fire, forcing the others to pick up their pace to match mine.

And when the song was done… I didn't feel any better.

The scene changed -- gone was the roaring crowd whose faces I could barely see in the darkness and the thumping music. I was backstage, I think. A room that seemed vaguely familiar, not because I had seen it before but because it looked so similar to the countless others I had seen. A couch in a corner, mirrors, clothes thrown all about and, most importantly, a mountain of pills.

Drugs were another outlet. Alcohol too. When the music failed to do the job, drugs dulled my mind enough that I could breathe. To lift the rage and despair that was sitting on my chest. They went best together -- a handful of pills washed down with a few shots of tequila. Do one or the other and it might not be enough and I would dwell on the rage instead. No. It was better in excess. To drink and get so high that I couldn't think at all. A few blissful moments of peace before reality dragged me back down.

Escapism. I was more familiar with it than the music, but not like this. Not with drugs and alcohol. I grew up with lies as a form of escapism. Imagining what the world would look like beyond the doors of the Orphanage. Imagining that we would one day escape and no one had to die.

"You're a wreck," I heard a familiar voice tell me. Lowering a half empty bottle of tequila from my lips, I looked over to see a woman that I knew but didn't recognize. Blond hair, blue eyes, a white undershirt with a black half jacket over it. She was beautiful. All natural too. A name sprung to mind despite the haze of my thoughts and my not knowing her. Alt. Alt Cunningham.

"Your wreck," I heard myself reply in a voice that wasn't my own. To that, Alt simply smiled, striding across the room and taking the bottle of tequila from my hands…

Sex. Pleasure, really. Another outlet. Another escape. Meaningless sex was fine -- an orgasm was an orgasm, but it meant more with others. With Alt. A connection formed from understanding, yet it was that very same connection that led to fear. Fear, and more anger. This world took the things that you loved and ground them to dust.

The solution?

Don't care at all. Luckily the drugs, booze, and music made that easy.

…

"Hnngh…" I groaned, feeling my head pounding between my temples as I grasped at the wisps of the dream I had been having. Opening my eyes, I felt the light stabbing knives into my brain, so I turned on the dazzler shield to help me deal with the brightness. I was on an operating chair, I realized. More than that, I was at Vik's.

"Easy there," I heard Vik say when I made to sit up, but my stomach tried to rebel for the action. If I had anything in my stomach, I'm sure I would have vomited it up. Instead, burning stomach acid leapt up my throat before I swallowed it down. "Kid, I gotta say, you really have to stop coming in here unconscious. It's a bad look for me, you know?" He was trying to keep his voice light, but there was an edge of concern there.

I peered at the room through squinted eyes, "What happened to me?" I asked, recalling my last memories easily enough. The fight with Smasher. The conversation with Saburo. Then there was a splitting pain in my head that felt like someone had pushed my brain through a grinder.

"That chip you plugged in is what happened," Vik told me, and I looked at him, seeing that his lips were pressed into a thin line. I reached up to the Relic to see that it was still in the slot. "I'd say to let this be a lesson abouti shoving shit in your head, but…" he trailed off before a sigh heaved out of him.

"But?" I prompted, curious as to why he wasn't ripping me a new one.

In response, Vik pulled the monitor over to let me see what was on it. I recognized my brain scan easily enough -- it had seen a pretty big change, however. There were forty one tumors scattered about in my head now. Some grew in clusters, with one with as many as six in a small area. There wasn't a single part of my brain that didn't have them now. "The Relic is filled with nanites that flooded your brain and, as far as I can tell, they're attacking the tumors. It's kind of similar to a high end cancer treatment I've heard of, and it's having mostly the same effect. Your vitals are improving. After I pulled all of the damaged organs out of you."

I was silent for a moment, mulling that over. It certainly explained the headache. "You don't sound particularly enthused," I pointed out, making Vik grimace.

"Because fighting tumors isn't the only thing it's doing. It's what it's doing for the most part, sure, but… I'm seeing changes in your neural make up. It's a theory right now, but knowing what we know about the Relic…" he trailed off, glancing over at his desk. Where… there was a half burned burned through Relic that was almost unrecognizable with the burnt metal. "I think it's trying to put whoever is inside of that chip into you. It's trying to turn your brain into-"

"Johnny," I interjected, realizing that it hadn't been a dream before. It had been a memory. "Johnny Silverhand."

Vik blinked, "Oh." It sounded like there was a lot going unsaid with that 'oh.' he swallowed it down and inclined his head to me, "It's trying to make you Johnny Silverhand. It might not be trying to kill your body, but… it's going to kill you, L." Another death sentence, huh? It felt like I was getting a lot of those lately.

"How long?" I asked Vik for the second time, clenching my jaw.

"If it holds up as it has? I'd give it a little more than a year. Maybe two, if you're lucky. But, it'll get ugly long before then." Vik answered me, a sigh escaping him when I just nodded.

That was fine. Honestly, I felt a little bad -- Johnny Silverhand could get a second lease on life and it was in a meat suit that was already nearing its expiration date. If something wasn't done then he'd get my body just in time to die in it. I shoved those thoughts to the side to focus on the issue at hand. "How long have I been out of it?" I asked, sliding off of the table to find that I was a little weak at the knees. After waving off a hand for help, Vik sat back and looked at me.

He didn't answer for a moment, looking like he was chewing on something he wanted to say. "About five days, seeing as it's two thirty in the morning," Vik answered and I winced. That was too much time- "Jack and Becca were here every hour of the day, hovering by your bed, waiting for you to wake up. Only managed to get them gone yesterday on the promise to give them a ring the moment you woke up. Those girls care about you, L. And you're wasting that."

My gaze snapped to him, a frown tugging at my lips. He met it evenly, "Kid -- I just told you that that Relic is going to steal your body and you barely batted an eyelash. And I know you didn't tell those girls or Kaiden about your diagnosis." He spoke calmly, but there was a hard and unyielding edge to his words. "I know a little about your upbringing. What you went through. You faced death a thousand times and you aren't scared of it anymore… but… L, that's not a good thing. When you die, to you, that's it. You're just dead. It's everyone else around you that has to deal with your death. You should know that."

I looked away. I shouldn't have, but I did. "I do know that," I replied in a low voice, my fingers digging into the side of the operating table- ah. I think I dented the metal.

"I'm not your father or your caretaker, even if I am the one putting you back together after you manage to rip yourself apart. I can't tell you what to do. Or even what you should do -- L, your entire life is completely out of my wheelhouse from start to finish. I'm just saying that people value your life so maybe you ought to start valuing it too."

I really didn't know what I should say to that, even if I wish I really did. I did value my life. I didn't want to die. I just… valued other people more. I had come to terms with death a long time ago and fear of it didn't have a hold on my actions. Still, I couldn't bring myself to argue with what Vik said, and I knew deep down that was because he had a point. He seemed to know it too, because he didn't keep hammering it home. Instead, he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger, seemingly exhausted.

"I don't suppose you'd listen to my recommendation for bed rest?" He asked me drily, already knowing the answer.

"There's too much that needs doing and I've already lost enough time," I told him in the same tone as someone else would say 'I'm sorry.' I don't think he suspected anything else, though.

"Thought not," Vik sighed. I offered him a small nod before finding my legs as I headed to the door. A thought prickling at the back of my mind -- a consideration that I was forced to think about now that Vik had shoved it in my face.

I had no control over my power. I had no control over what my charges were spent on. As far as I could tell, it was half guided by what I wanted and half what I needed. When I needed to make something smaller? I got PYM Particles. When I needed an energy source, I got the GN Drive. When I wanted to upgrade my prosthetic and fit guns in there? I got lasers, plasma, electricity, and a rocket arm. Without fail, generally whenever I felt like I was hitting a roadblock in a task, I would feel a charge being spent to clear the roadblock away.

I was dying. Slowly but surely. Now my body was getting overwritten by a construct on a Relic.

Yet, there was nothing. The charges I had in the back of my mind, waiting to be used, went unspent. A revolutionary medical breakthrough didn't manifest that would save my life.

Was that because I was so certain that I would survive that my need wasn't enough to trigger my power? Or was I so desensitized to the thought of dying that I couldn't trigger it?

I reached the door before Vik spoke up, "During that showdown with Smasher. You saved someone -- Jackie. He's a good kid. Good boxer too. He's here because of you, L. Would have died if you didn't get him out of that mess. So, thanks. And I'm sure Misty will want to thank you too." He added, making me pause. I recalled Jackie, but I'm not really sure you could say that I had saved him. I just wanted him and Yorinobu out of the battlefield.

I didn't reply and just nodded, going up the steps. It was nighttime, thankfully, but there was still enough neon to illuminate the back alley. I tucked my hands into the pockets of David's jacket, considering heading down through the back alley to avoid Misty. But Vik would tell her and I didn't want to make her feel bad, even if I didn't do anything worthy of gratitude. It was two in the morning, though, so maybe she was asleep?

Heading through the back door, I wasn't all that surprised when I found Misty behind the counter, perking up when she heard me enter. She looked the same as she ever did -- blonde hair cut in a bob, wearing a long purple sweater and black fishnets, complete with black eyeshadow and lipstick. She had only basic cybernetics for the sake of quality of life -- something I noticed was a rare case in Night City. Her lips curled upwards into a smile when she saw me, "Trying to slip by?"

"I would have been invisible if I was trying," I deflected.

"I'm glad to see you on your feet again. You're the talk of the town. Have been for days now -- a rare enough thing considering how fast people move on from the news." Misty said as I rounded the corner and stood across from her on the other side of the counter. I saw that she had four tarot cards before her -- the Sun, the Star, the Chariot, and the Devil.

"Anyone saying anything good?" I asked, my gaze lingering on the cards for a moment. To that, Misty smiled ruefully.

"That the battle with Adam Smasher was nova, but they would have preferred it happening in another city," Misty admitted, her tone apologetic. I hadn't seen much of the damage to the city, but Smasher hadn't been conservative when it came to throwing rocks at me. "The people that admire you have another reason to and those that don't have another reason not to." I really didn't expect anything different there. Their opinions really didn't mean anything to me however. So long as they didn't get in my way.

Misty folded her cards back into the deck, "It was a reading for Jackie." She informed, knowing that I had looked. "He's alive because of you. You opened a way for him to escape." The reading I saw wasn't a great one, based on my limited knowledge.

"How is he doing?" I asked, and her expression fell ever so slightly.

"Questioning himself. He wanted to become a Legend in this city, you know? Like Silverhand. Like you. He thought he was ready for the big leagues, but then he saw you and Smasher," Misty answered, giving a small shrug. "His spirit will settle but he's at a fork in the road, and it's up to him to decide which path he follows."

A Legend. That's what people called me. The only value I saw in the title was because of Z -- he wanted to be remembered. He died before we could escape, but I could fulfill that dream for him. Beyond that, I couldn't help but think it was an empty title. A worthless thing to pursue just for the sake of pursuing it.

"Since he's too embarrassed to do it -- thank you, L. For bringing my Jackie back to me," Misty said, giving me a soft smile that only grew when she saw how uncomfortable I was with the gratitude. "Would you like a tarot reading? To give you a little insight on what comes next?"

I paused, scratching at my neck for a moment. "... No, thanks," I told her, giving a shake of my head. "I already know what comes next. If you see Jackie before I do, then thank him for getting Yorinobu out of there." I said, giving her a wave before I walked away from the counter while giving a wave over my shoulder. She didn't reply, simply watching me walk away as I stepped into the streets of Night City.

The neon was bright, but I could tone down the dazzler shield. I felt music thumping through my feet from various clubs that lined the way and I saw people were stumbling in and out of them. I never paid much mind before -- it was just a part of Night City that I didn't understand and couldn't be bothered to. Now, however, I understand. It was escapism. The worse things got, the more people indulged in sex and drugs to forget about how bad things were. Even as they destroyed themselves to do it.

It wasn't my understanding, though.

I tucked my hands into my pockets, ignoring the cheers and jeers I got from people that thought I was a member of my poser gang. My feet carried me to my destination as my head swam with information, plans, and possibilities. Eventually I arrived at a rundown building in Kabuki -- my room was a massive one thanks to the tenants before me knocking down every wall on one side of the building. It was my current base and, to my relief, I saw that it was empty.

I had my own form of escapism, I now knew. Where others turned to drugs, I turned to work. To my technology. Which is why, after everything, I found myself leaning over another iteration of the GN Drive, to focus instead of letting my thoughts wander. To distract myself from what I was really wanting to think about. My hands moved on their own, hooking in wires and snapping pieces into place. In no time at all, the half finished prototype was assembled and ready for testing.

Putting it into a vacuum chamber, I turned the GN Drive on and immediately orange particles began to spill out of it. After thirty seconds, those particles slowly started to turn more and more red. A step backward. The red particles were toxic, having similar effects as radiation.

Another failure.

The wrench I carried in my hand was thrown to the floor, bouncing off of it with a thunk before it flew away with a clatter. My hands clenched into tight fists and my teeth threatened to shatter under the pressure how tightly I clenched my jaw. Lashing out with a hand, I slammed down on my desk with enough force everything on it jostled. "Fuck," I hissed the curse out before I forced myself to take in a calming breath and fell into my chair.

"A controlled defeat," I muttered, leaning back in my chair as I finally gave in. I looked at the news to find that it was filled from top to bottom about Arasaka. Saburo really had privatized the company. They sold off property, patents, and excess materials at a fraction of the cost. The top brass was mostly cherry picked -- some directors of the board were found dead, and the rest were missing. V among them. As for everyone else?

Tens of thousands of employees suddenly found themselves without a job. There was no notice. Merely a termination letter in their email and a warning that their company supplied implants would be deactivated in twenty-four2 hours. Japan only narrowly avoided a collapse because Arasaka's materials, patents, and property were sold to the government. More importantly, the entire world was freaking out. Arasaka had been one of the single most powerful forces in the world -- a nation in itself.

And, suddenly, without any warning, it was gone. Like smoke in the wind.

There were a thousand and one reasons to panic as far as the world was concerned. An economic recession. The collapse of arms dealing in countless conflicts around the world. Chaos as all the other megacorporations would rush to fill the power vacuum that Arasaka had left behind. But above all else… me. I was the greatest reason to panic. A single man had bullied Arasaka to the point it crawled into a shell to protect itself from me. People had already been scared of me. Now, they were terrified.

It was frustrating to read, simply because they didn't get it. The victory tasted like ash in my mouth. "They're not gone," I snapped at the tabloids and the news reports. Saburo was still out there, lurking in the shadows. Arasaka had fled into the night, their tail tucked between their legs and their arms full of what they needed to survive but nothing more. A victory. Just not the one that I wanted, because they were still alive -- one day, when they felt like they had gained enough strength, they would return.

They were a diminished threat, but a threat all the same. I wanted them dead, not broken. I didn’t want them to ever come back.

I-

“What a fucking pity party,” I heard a familiar voice speak up, making my gaze snap to it's source. Blue static clung to his body, but standing near the failed GN Drive was a man, idly smoking a cigarette as he peered into the containment field. Black hair parted in the middle, rough beard with a pair of red sunglasses on -- he wore leather pants and a flak vest. Most notable of all, however, was the silver prosthetic arm. “This is some nova shit, you know? Looks like something out of a sci-fi flick. Can’t say I understand shit about it, though, even if I am in your head.”

He turned to look at me and our eyes met. I glanced through the security feed -- he didn’t show up on any cameras. No. He was in my head. My brain was processing his presence by projecting him through my senses?

“Silverhand,” I greeted him, my tone even. Guarded. I knew little of Johnny Silverhand -- having only heard vague references at best. However, I felt like I knew him now. I had had a glimpse into his memories, having them feel like they were my own…

“L,” Johnny returned, flicking the cigarette away as he strode towards me with a swagger that felt familiar. “Feels like we got a lot to talk about,” he said, taking a seat on a couch that was usually reserved for Becca and Jack, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and spreading his arms out wide. The picture of confidence. It should have been enough to make me believe it, but I felt the uncertainty. The questions. The fear. All of it lurking under the surface. I wonder what he felt from me?

“So… let's talk.”