[Demons of NC] Chapter 92

“From the dusty mesa

 Her looming shadow grows

 Hidden in the branches of the poison creosote

 She twines her spines up slowly

 Towards the boiling sun

 And when I touched her skin

 My fingers ran with blood.”

I hummed the tune in my head, watching the scorching California sun finally start to sink below the dusty wasteland. All day it had been busy as hell—handing out skin cancer, melting parked cars, and peeling paint across every corner of Night City. But now it could rest. For folks like me, though, sunset was the start of the real work. Time for the dark shit to begin.

I stood on the porch of an abandoned farmhouse, finishing a cigarette.

“We’re in position, V,” came Panam’s voice over comms. “We can be at your location in three minutes, give or take twenty seconds.”

“Got it,” I replied. “I doubt it’ll be necessary, but good to have backup. Might want to prep your liver while you wait. We’ll be done around one, then club time.”

“Hold you to that. Gotta wash off the K. clusterfuck with something strong. I mean, I already blew off some steam right after, but that kinda shit calls for an epic bender.”

“Agreed.”

Once she cut the line, I stepped back inside. The place looked like a sci-fi horror film set now. In the middle of the large room, a pale body lay strapped to a medical gurney, hooked up to a dozen devices. The gear came courtesy of a ripperdoc from Watson named Charles Bucks. He’s the one who checked over the body yesterday and prepped it for the transplant. Naturally, he didn’t know my name or what exactly I was planning. But Bucks didn’t give a shit—as long as you paid well, he’d work with scavs.

Becca had even gotten secondhand implants from him back in the day. Not like we needed to cheap out on chrome anymore.

Bucks had done more than just run diagnostics and fix some minor stuff. He’d dropped our “patient” into a deep coma—total vegetable mode. Personality, memory—scrubbed clean. Just a blank slate. He also performed some cosmetic work. I didn’t bother making the guy look like Silverhand. Let Johnny do that himself if he feels like it. For now, the face was wiped and reshaped into a generic look: young, average, unremarkable.

Vitals were steady. Everything was in place for some good ol’ cyber-necromancy. All that was left was the client.

Overhead, a few camera lights blinked—Lucy was watching the room remotely. Becca was posted just behind the wall. We even dragged in an auto-turret, tucked behind a fake panel. And Panam and Falco were waiting a few seconds away in case things went sideways.

So yeah, I looked alone—but that was an illusion.

“Incoming,” came the ping over an encrypted channel.

Perfect.

A minute later, Lucy chimed in:

“They’re here. Unmarked car. Two people.”

So Kerry Eurodyne did decide to bring backup. Good. I was half-worried he’d roll up alone in a sports car and get jacked by some fucking Scavs on the way. Couldn’t have them walking off with my million.

I switched to the external cam. A gray SUV barreled toward the house, kicking up a cloud of dust. The driver was familiar—big Black dude, solid frame, implants well-hidden but I knew the chrome ran deep. Name was Els. I’d hired him and Miriam Levy once, back in the day.

The SUV stopped about ten meters from the house. Els stepped out first, scanning the area like he expected a ghost to pop out. Sorry, choom—not yet. The only ghost here is still sitting quietly in the chip.

The ex-cop was dressed in light gray slacks, a white shirt, and a shoulder harness holding two chunky revolvers. All he needed was a brown trench coat to complete the ‘90s detective look. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Kerry stumbled out of the car with a bit of a wobble. Drunk? Maybe. Don’t care. What mattered was the case in his right hand—probably stuffed with eddies and credchips. The budget for our cyber-horror show.

“Come in,” I said through the rooftop speaker, voice disguised with metallic filters. I also turned on the radio in the main room to drown out Becca shifting and swearing at her muted game console in the next room.

The rockstar and his bodyguard stepped into the main room, sunlight slanting behind them, stirring up swirls of dust.

“Cozy place you got here,” Els muttered, subtly keeping himself between Kerry and any potential threats.

I was in different gear than last time we met, and there are enough creepy mask-wearing assholes in this city that I doubt he recognized me.

“I…” Kerry started to say something but trailed off.

His eyes locked on the body. Judging by how wide they got, he was seeing a ghost after all.

“Gimme two minutes to clear the house, then you do whatever the fuck you want,” Els said.

“Not happening,” I cut in. “There’s security posted inside. You don’t need to meet them.”

“Nah, nah, brother,” Els shook his head. “That’s my client. I’m responsible for his safety. So—”

“Wait in the car,” Kerry cut him off, eyes still glued to the body.

“Yes, Mister Eurodyne. Sure thing. I won’t check the house. I’m leaving you alone with this completely not-suspicious masked guy and his probable army of armed psychos…”

“Fuck off already!” Kerry waved him off.

Els sighed and stepped back outside. Kerry still hadn’t moved closer.

“So… is he already, y’know… in there?” Kerry asked, nervous as hell.

Looked like he’d been drinking, but too on edge to actually be drunk.

“Not yet,” I replied. “Step closer, Mr. Eurodyne. I’d like to see my payment and get started. I’ve got a full night ahead.”

“Gonna raise Elvis next?” Kerry joked weakly, placing the case on a nearby table. “Had to sign one dumbass contract, but I pulled the cash together quick.”

Dumbass contract? Boo-fucking-hoo. I had to drop bodies by the dozen for that kind of money.

I popped the case, gave it a quick once-over, grabbed a stack of bills. All good. And honestly, I didn’t think Kerry was dumb or greedy enough to risk screwing me on this.

“Excellent. Pleasure doing business. We can begin.”

“You need anything from me?” he asked, voice shaky.

“Only a sacrificial goat.”

“A goat? Wait, what—oh. Joke. Fuck. Haven’t been this nervous since my first gig.”

“Relax, Mr. Eurodyne.”

I began calibrating the gear. Mostly just checking vitals on the donor body while letting the tension marinate a little. Gotta keep the act going. No fun if resurrection's too easy.

Sent a tiny jolt into the muscles. The body twitched.

“Fuck! Is that supposed to happen?!” Kerry jumped.

“All within parameters.”

Alright. Enough theater.

Time for the implant. I grabbed the chip case.

My brain had finally adjusted to the new response time, motor control was back. Good. I’d need it.

The container clicked open, releasing a puff of cold mist into the warm evening air. Fast but careful, I grabbed the chip with gloved fingers of my cyberlimb and slotted it into the specialized port on the body. This particular implant had boosted data transfer speeds.

One second, two, ten, twenty… Nothing seemed to be happening.

“He’s… not moving,” Kerry said, a bit indignant.

“Correct. The chip’s uploading an entire lifetime into the brain. Even with tech where it is now, it takes time. But check this out. These are the brainwaves. A minute ago this was a flatline. Now the readings are changing every second and... see that?”

I pointed at the body, and Kerry looked again, now visibly anxious.

“His eyelids are twitching,” he said. “Like he’s dreaming.”

“Maybe he is. Maybe he’s seeing one dream. Or all of them.”

“Mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead.”

Kerry pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a gold-plated lighter.

“You know... when someone important dies, it’s hard to really believe it. You keep trying to convince yourself it’s over. That you’re never gonna see them again. But with Johnny... it never worked. Deep down I always felt like one day, he’d come back. In some insane, fucked-up way. And here we are. Jesus.”

He went quiet while the radio blasted some trendy track:

We like to watch

We like to taste

We like to fuck

And we like pain

Pain, pain, pain, pain!

Something people liked to flail to at that club I owned. Kerry clearly wasn’t a fan.

“Can we put something else on? Don’t want him waking up to this shit.”

“What then? Latest Kerry Eurodyne album?” I asked, voice still filtered and metallic.

“No. Something old. Something he’ll recognize.”

“No prob. You’re the one footing the bill.”

Didn’t take long to queue up a mix of appropriate tracks. First one to play: Chippin’ In.

I glanced at one of the scanner monitors. Brain activity in the donor body was spiking. Did the music help? Probably just the chip hitting full speed. New neural links were firing like fireworks. Tech winning over death—happening right before our eyes. Fittingly ironic that Arasaka’s blasphemous little miracle would first be used by one of their biggest enemies.

I remembered from my first life how even just downloading a picture could take ages. Card modems, dial-up, constant disconnects… prehistoric bullshit. And now, in mere minutes, a whole human personality was being shoved into someone’s head.

Still had to wait, though.

Outside, it had gone fully dark, and Kerry had smoked half the damn pack. According to some academic estimates, the human brain holds about a million gigs of memory. This chip’s port could push up to 17 terabits per second. So if you did the dirty math, the transfer should take around eight minutes. Realistically, with all the variables, it clocked in at just over thirty.

Funny enough, that’s about the same amount of time I needed to absorb someone’s memories when I used to “feed.”

Finally, I got the signal: brain activity stabilized, port disengaged. Upload complete. I quickly and smoothly pulled out the chip, returned it to its cooling case.

The body stirred—not some twitchy reflex, but the slow return of someone waking up.

“He’s awake?” Kerry asked, voice shaking.

“Yeah,” I said, and followed it up with the line I had to say: “Wake the fuck up, Samurai. We have a city to burn.”

Johnny slowly opened his eyes, first looking at me, then at Kerry.

“Fuck me, time really beat the shit outta you,” he said, sitting up and pulling off the monitoring leads. “But props to your ripper. Not bad.”

“Asshole was an asshole then, still is now,” Kerry sighed.

Then the no-longer-dead rocker turned to me.

“You’re the dickhead from Cyberspace, huh?”

“I’m the dickhead who’s about to grab his eddies and bounce.”

“You paid him?!” Johnny shot Kerry a look full of disbelief and annoyance. “Kerry, you dumb fuck. You got scammed. He needed the chip anyway—even without me in it.”

“No scam,” I cut in. “Service was offered. Service delivered. Be grateful you woke up in a healthy body in a safe place.”

“How much did he take you for?”

“I don’t care,” Kerry waved him off. “You… This is insane.”

“Maybe ask me a question or two?” Johnny snorted, swiping Kerry’s smokes. “Might be I’m some fried-out junkie he dressed up for the gig. Or lemme shred on a guitar, I’ll prove it.”

“Different face, different voice, but I can see it’s you. Let’s get outta here.”

“Let me smoke first… fuck, I missed this.”

Yeah. Unlike me, Johnny didn’t get bored in cyber-afterlife. Shit was busy. Even managed to meet my future girl.

“There’s clothes your size over there,” I pointed. “On the house.”

At least I’m not that much of a corpo scumbag.

Then I got serious.

“Not sure what your next move is. Maybe you’re planning to blow up their new tower—”

“They built another tower?!”

“Back in ‘70,” Kerry replied. “You’ve missed a lot.”

“So just know,” I continued, “the longer they think you’re dead, the more breathing room you’ve got.”

“And the easier it’ll be to cover your tracks,” Johnny said.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive. Like Adam Smith said—rational self-interest leads to collective good.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Johnny laughed, pulling on a black shirt. “You hear that, Kerry? This guy’s got an education and a stick up his ass about it.”

“Two educations, actually,” I added, counting my past life. “But I just saw that quote online.”

“Can we just go already?” Kerry whined. “I haven’t seen you in… fuckin’ ages.”

“Fifty-four years,” Johnny muttered, fastening his belt. “Yeah. That’s a long-ass time. What’d it cost to bring me back?”

“Million,” I said.

“Well shit, either inflation’s gone nuclear or Kerry sold a kidney.”

“Nah,” Kerry grinned. “Turns out I’m commercially successful now. Long story. Let’s go.”

“So not a kidney—just your soul. Whatever. I’m sober and that needs fixing. And you—” Johnny turned to me as he reached the door. “I’d say thanks, but you can cry yourself to sleep on that million.”

“Trust me. I will. Take care, try not to die too soon—either of you.”

I killed the music. A few moments later, I heard a car engine fade into the night. Job’s done. Chip’s freed. Kerry’s bank account emptied. Nobody died, except for one dumb mugger who was probably already on death’s door.

“So? What do you think?” I asked Lucy.

“You did it! Holy shit. Hope we can brag about this someday. A lotta people kill in Night City. But bringing someone back after half a century? Not even this insane place’s seen that.”

“Alright. Time to celebrate.”

“I like the attitude, but I dug something up while you were busy reviving a legend. Might need to check it out tomorrow.”

“What is it?”

“Remember the signals from that data center? I found the apartment they came from. Rented place in Heywood.”

“Perfect. I’ll swing by on my way.”

“Dammit, I should’ve waited to tell you. It’s already hard enough dragging your ass out to relax. Ease up, V.”

“Ten-minute stop, tops. Just copying the drive. Then I’m all yours. Assuming Arasaka hasn’t blown the place up or sealed it off. Don’t worry. I’ll be quick. Panam still needs time to pack the gear here.”

I wasn’t worried about running into anyone. The chip was going to Panam for safekeeping. And I had my little badge from Michiko. Basically, I was carrying out her orders.

Hard to ask for a better safety net than that.

After picking up Becca, I headed out toward T-Bug’s last resting place. On the way, we made a quick stop at a hardware store and picked up some hazmat masks.

“There might be a corpse in the apartment we’re going to,” I explained. “And it might’ve been there a while.”

“Dead bodies don’t scare me. It’s all good—but the masks are a smart call. So who bit it?”

“An old friend of Jackie’s. One of those people who ran straight toward their death. Even my meddling couldn’t stop it. She got taken out by a net attack.”

“Ah... Fuck. That sucks. Poor big guy. And hey, don’t beat yourself up, choom,” Becca said, slapping my leg. “You tried—that already makes you better than most. Usually in this shithole, nobody gives a damn. Falco’s always bitching about it. But this time I agree with him. Friends matter.”

“Yeah. They do.”

We reached a drab high-rise. I scoped out the area for any signs of surveillance—looked clean. We made our way up to the third floor. The door was locked tight, but I didn’t spot any alarms or trackers—not even with my special toolkit.

“All clear, no active systems,” Lucy pinged in. “Weird. Maybe the corps got here first?”

“Doubt it,” I whispered as Becca worked the lock. “If they had, they’d’ve left surveillance. Always do.”

The moment the door creaked open, we slipped on the masks. Yeah, the body was definitely still inside—and had been for a while. I pulled my pistol just in case, but my Kiroshi Oracle wasn’t picking up any threats. Just a couple of dead cameras.

“Alright,” I said through the mask. “I’ll copy everything off her rig, wipe the data, and we’re out.”

“Fuck yeah!” Becca nodded. “I want tequila, not eau de corpse.”

I stepped into the main room and flipped the lights on. I expected to find a decomposing body slumped in a netrunner chair, but... nothing. Chair was empty. Huh.

Above it hung a big poster of a seaside villa. In the lower left corner, someone had written the word “Dream” in marker. Yeah. That didn’t pan out.

Weird. Maybe Bug had another setup—like a bath or immersion tank in the place. And if the body’s in the tub? Yeah, that’s exactly what I didn’t wanna see right now. Knew too well how fast they turned into sludge in that kind of heat.

“Yo, choom?” Becca called from the kitchen. “Get over here.”

I followed her voice.

Bug’s body was there—sprawled on the floor in a dried-up pool of... yeah, didn’t want to look too close. But one thing hit me right away. Becca said it out loud.

“Uh, V? I ain’t no cop, but that don’t look like a netrunner hit. Pretty sure someone cut her fucking head off.”