Home, sweet home.
The apartment felt both familiar and foreign at the same time.
I washed my face and glanced in the mirror, catching myself thinking that my own face seemed new to me. Like I was seeing it for the first time. A strange euphoria washed over me. Memories of the shootout, the music, the light, the water droplets on my skin. It all felt like something I had deeply missed.
"Corps summoned a demon… Skater saw… a spirit rose from the deep…" The Voodoo woman's last words echoed in my mind.
I walked out of the bathroom and over to a small plastic board where I drew two circles with a marker: V's Memories. The Other's Memories.
V's memories were relatively straightforward. Vincent Price, born and raised in Night City. Now making a career in Arasaka counterintelligence. The other guy... That was more complicated. He seemed to have been born and raised in a different world. Many similarities, but plenty of differences too. And he had died there around 2023. Died in a hospital due to complications from a virus. Besides, the other guy somehow knew part of Night City's history, but treated this place like fiction. A made-up world that never existed. And now I'm here...
The other guy's memory didn't just cover 2076 either. Most of the info was from 2077. Strange images, sometimes feeling like a game, other times like his own thoughts.
How fake are these memories? There's only one way to find out. I need to find someone I shouldn't know. Confirm they exist. Will that be proof? Not yet. Maybe my subconscious is playing tricks on me. Maybe I glanced at someone's dossier once, thought I forgot, but the info stuck somewhere in the back of my mind and resurfaced now. But if one of my "predictions" comes true… That'll be real proof. Solid.
In the second circle, I started writing down names from the Other's memory.
Panam Palmer
Evelyn Parker
Johnny Silverhand — scratched out. V already knew him. Rockstar and terrorist, after all. I continued the list.
I ended up writing down about twenty names. The Skater was on there too. A blind netrunner, based in Dogtown — that's how the Other's memory described him. A genius of the Net. An evil genius, of course, like all Voodoo Boys. The dying netrunner had told me to find him. As if! Sick fucks will fuck over anything that moves, what doesn't they move and fuck over.
"No, thanks. I'll handle things myself, if I even need help at all."
I returned to the list. I need to check how much my new memories match reality. Probably not, but just in case...
Among the list of names, I highlighted one. Gloria Martinez. What do I remember about her? In '76, she'll die in an accident during a shootout involving the Animals. Either it's already happened, or it's going to happen very soon. The year has just started, but time is running out.
"It's simple. I'll set up a trigger on her at work through a tracking program. If she has an accident this year, I'll get an alert right away."
Alright. This is how I plan to deal with my "foreign" memories. If Gloria Martinez doesn't get into an accident or doesn't exist as a person, then it means my head is just full of nonsense. I'll need to visit a shrink and pop some pills. Although, even if these memories are fake, they've shaken up my life in a way. They've made me see myself through different eyes. Sometimes that's very useful.
"You need to learn to shoot, V," I said to myself, looking in the mirror.
And throw grenades, and run, and do a lot of other things that might come in handy. Even a corpo shouldn't rely too much on mercs. Next time, Jackie might not make it in time. I have over two hundred thousand eddies in my account. I should invest at least some of it in my own safety.
I spent the rest of the evening savoring the euphoria of the recent shootout. I decided to focus on the most recent memories for now. Those, I can be sure of.
The next day, I first needed to stop by work at the tower and then head to the secretly rented data center, which should really either be changed soon or be given some security. On the way to Arasaka Tower, I called the netrunner Okamura. I told him that the Voodoo Boys had tried to take me out yesterday because of our activity in the Net.
"Kusou!" the runner swore. "We don't have time to change locations. Get a couple of Claws on board. I'll be ready by four... No. Better come by five."
Tiger Claws. The chromed-out yakuza of Night City, often used by Arasaka for dirty and bloody jobs. I had contacts with a few of their mid-tier bosses. But V didn't particularly like working with them. These bastards were notorious for creating problems and extra bodies out of thin air. You don't usually have a rabid dog guarding your house, but we don't have a choice right now.
By eight-thirty, I had left the taxi, finding myself in the shadow of towering skyscrapers. It was hard to shake the feeling that I was standing in the center of a universe ready to devour, chew up, and spit me out. Arasaka Tower stood out like a black monolith, even among the other headquarters. Strangely enough, I liked skyscrapers. Even when looking up at them from below, they seemed to me a symbol of human power, not the opposite. I wanted to be at the top. Isn't that a sign of "proper" corpo ambition? That's how they recruit us. First, you dream of the top of the world, and then you end up with your brain fried, trying to follow the orders of some insane boss.
Joining the crowd of corps rushing to work, I followed V's familiar route to the Arasaka Tower checkpoint. Scanning, the routine greeting from security, and I was at work.
First, I made a request about Gloria. I was too curious. Then, a report for the bosses, negotiations with the Claws, and a trip to the data center.
Gloria Martinez. She exists. She's out there on the streets of the City of Dreams and is still alive. She's not a figment of my fevered imagination. That's good. Now I just need to set up a trigger in the incident tracking system. A standard utility for someone with my access level.
I opened the report generated for me with basic information, including several ID photos. A broad, simple, but quite attractive face. Thirty-six years old. Yes, that's her. A medtech in Night City's free—God help us—healthcare system. In my view, they're something between body collectors and scavengers, though there are some golden souls among them trying to help people. I'm not sure if Gloria is one of them. For some reason, I have an entire story in my head that's supposed to start with her death.
Let's see if I can find someone else. Lucyna Kushinada. After a few seconds of hesitation, the program only gave me a few namesakes. Maybe Lucyna doesn't exist like Gloria does, or she's just good at hiding.
However, I didn't have much time to dwell on that. My attention was needed for the call with the Claws, Jenkins' report, and the trip to Okamura.
By 16:54, I was already outside the shabby location of the secret data center. Five brightly dressed punks in red jackets were hanging around here, standing by their motorcycles and chatting animatedly.
One of them gave me a long look, but upon noticing the corpo emblem on my black suit, he simply nodded and returned to the conversation.
Besides the Claws, my backup security measures were a Pulsar and a couple of grenades in my bag. I'm still not much of a fighter, but it's better to be armed than not.
Inside, the usual darkness reigned. Only the ice baths and some keyboards were illuminated.
"V! Saikin dō," the nervous Japanese guy in a black jumpsuit eagerly shook my hand. "Everything's ready, as much as it can be... I hope Jenkins buys your reports. Today, our goal isn't to win, it's to survive."
"Not much of a samurai spirit you've got there, Kentaro," I joked, taking off my business suit and pulling out my netrunner jumpsuit from the locker.
"All Japanese are samurai, all Americans are cowboys, and all Russians are Cossacks? Cut it out," the netrunner muttered, starting up the equipment. "Mostly, we're all just people trying to live long and happy lives."
I lay down in the ice bath, but the suit kept me from freezing, turning the cold into something pleasantly refreshing.
"Did you upgrade the ice?" Okamura suddenly asked. "Hmm… Or install some new chrome? Intraled, yeah?"
"How'd you know?" I bluffed, not really understanding what he was talking about.
"Tests, V. Basic diagnostics. You've got some off-the-charts resistance to major malware scripts. Where'd you get it? What kind of armor is this, anyway?"
"What armor? I don't even know," I replied honestly, then started lying like a pro. "I complained to Jenkins about our adventures yesterday. He sent me to some top-tier ripper. I have no idea what he pumped me with. But if my protection levels have gone up, then props to him."
"Ah..." Okamura sighed in disappointment.
"So that's what it's like when your boss appreciates you. Too bad I haven't experienced that yet."
Did he fall for it? Seems like he did. But even I don't fully understand where this new protection from scripts and other hostile software came from.
The cable was connected to the jack in my head. Time to dive in.
Reality dimmed in my eyes, and my free mind soared through streams of information. Cyberspace unfolded around us with countless blue lights. Okamura and I stood inside a small digital fortress of the data center. We were protected here not by Claws, but by ice and combat software. However, we weren't planning to stay in this relatively safe location. In the middle of the fortress stood a tall needle, pointed into the black void of the virtual sky. It was the passage to the illegally launched satellite, now hanging close to the Crystal Palace, the largest entertainment and gambling hub in Earth's orbit. We were trying to implant a worm into their network.
"Well..." Okamura nervously said. "Pray, if you believe in something, and let's begin."
"Let's begin," I replied, touching the needle.
We were immediately pulled into another space.
"Chikushou!" Okamura screamed as soon as we appeared in orbit.
That word was very close in meaning to the Polish "kurwa" or the Russian "Blyat!"
The digital fortress of the illegal satellite was falling apart. Judging by the alarming red flashes in the ruins, either black ice or a rogue AI had been here. And likely hadn't left completely. It was now dangerous even to be here.
In the distance, the digital fortress of the Palace glowed. Farther away than last time. The orbit of our satellite was shifting. The equipment was already worn out, barely holding together. We had one more chance. After that, this place would fall apart completely.
"V, we need to leave," the netrunner mumbled. "We'll get fucked and dried out here long before we get near the Palace."
"If we leave now, Jenkins will fuck and dry us out. We have to at least try. Come on. Carefully, without triggering the traps..."
It's easy to say "without triggering the traps," but much harder to avoid them when a digital monster is hunting you, predatory and hungry like a spider freshly out of hibernation. However, for a long time, I managed to distinguish infected strands of enemy webs among the normal threads of the space. The key was concentration. Pushing away all memories of the past and plans for the future. Only here and now existed.
We slipped up somewhere halfway to the Palace. Okamura suddenly screamed, and everything around lit up red. The threads of the malicious web turned into the tentacles of several monsters. This wasn't black ice from the Palace, for sure. Rogue AIs. Hungry creatures from the dark corners of the Net.
Okamura ran. At least, he tried to. I stayed still, feeling the creature wrapping around me. It tried to penetrate, find weak spots, break through them, tear and rip apart the structure of its prey. I knew exactly how it happened. Not Vincent Price. They never taught him this. It was me. The real me.
At the moment the entity thought it found my vulnerabilities, I changed my structure, destroying and absorbing fragments of the enemy code. How did I manage that? As instinctively as a human breathes or moves. My living body knew how to breathe, and my digital essence knew how to fight for its existence in the Net.
The AI immediately detached from me. It stopped being aggressive and even tried to communicate. It wasn't out of solidarity among Net demons. It simply realized that in a fight with me, it would lose more than it would gain. Without words, it communicated that it wouldn't attack and went off to scavenge the digital fortress of the illegal satellite. I flew towards the Palace, gliding through threads of information with ease that no ordinary netrunner could match. My virtual body changed. It no longer pretended to be human, dissolving into separate tendrils.
Next stop: the Crystal Palace.
The defenses of their digital fortress were impressive. The reason V and Okamura were sent to find a hole in it, risking their lives, was Arthur Jenkins' incompetence in network security. He was one of those bosses who believed that employees could achieve the impossible if you shouted loud enough or promised big bonuses.
However, the digital fortress of the Palace was designed by netrunners against netrunners. There was protection against beings like me, of course. But it was not as perfect. Rogue AIs usually don't try to implant corporate worms into systems. Most demons are quite primitive and predictable. But today, I could boast a different level of thinking. Just as the monsters recently searched for my weaknesses, my tendrils now scoured for the slightest vulnerabilities in the perimeter. I don't know how long it took. Here, in the Net, alone with myself, my thinking changed. It partially returned to the state in which I had spent many years.
"The corps summoned a demon... The Skater saw... Like a spirit came from the depths..."
The voodooist told me the truth. Strange for their kind, but even a broken clock is right twice a day, and a liar doesn't always lie.
Finally. A thin, barely noticeable breach. The result of an error during a structural rebuild. It would have been found sooner or later, but I had already seized the opportunity. I wouldn't be able to dig deep. The fortress's security software would detect any brute-force intrusion, but I could still release the worm. The job was done.
It was time to return, but would I be able to reclaim the body? I had to do it. I must. To whom was I obligated? The most demanding boss in the world — myself. My own ambitions.
Returning to the illegal satellite's fortress, I didn't find Okamura there. He had fled, most likely. Left me and slipped back into reality. Not a samurai. Smart. Otherwise, I'd have had to tear him to pieces as if I were a vampire whose colleague accidentally discovered his true nature. The comparison wasn't far from the truth.
Just before the return jump, I began to regain my humanoid form. The second transfer back into the body had to go smoother than the first. The last thing I needed was to end up in Night City again with scrambled thoughts. No. That would be too dangerous for the health of this new body.
As my structures slowly and reluctantly returned to human form, several important thoughts surfaced in my mind.
First, if I die in the human body — I'll likely die for good. Even if I survive and return to the Net, there's no guarantee I'll find a new vessel. Vincent Price wasn't my first attempt. Not even my tenth. I got very lucky with him due to a combination of circumstances.
Second, I spent many years in the Net, but the memories of it are almost inaccessible to me in the human body. My form of existence in Cyberspace was too different.
Time to dive back.
The second time I returned to my body, it was smoother and easier.
"V⁉ You're alive?"
Okamura's annoying voice again, along with the slow adaptation to reality. Returning to my body was far more stressful for me than waking up is for a regular runner. I was literally changing my form of existence. That's why I had memory issues the first time. Even now, many of my memories related to the Net were cut off. However, Vi's memories and those of my first life were intact.
"I planted the worm."
"You... What⁈" Okamura almost jumped in place.
"You heard me. Check the response. Only once, or the Palace's systems will find it faster."
"I know! I know!" The runner nervously pounded the keys on several terminals. "There's a response! V, we did it!"
Well, "we"… I did. But it was done. Okamura was so happy he almost tore his hair out. I simply said, exhausted, that I needed to get home urgently and that all reports would be ready tomorrow.
I took a taxi, driving around the city a bit and making a few maneuvers to shake off any potential tails. This time, there didn't seem to be any Voodoo Boys. I felt slightly worse than average. My hands were cold, and my head was spinning a little. That was the price of leaving my body again.
When I returned to the apartment, I went straight to the familiar board. Under two circles labeled "V" and "other," I drew a third: "Demon."
So, the sequence of my transformations could be described like this... That other person was born, lived, and died from illness in some other reality. And he left filled with regret. Perhaps that's why my essence didn't dissolve, didn't move on to reincarnation or the afterlife. No. I floundered in the void. Clung to it, and eventually, somehow, I entered the Cyberspace of this world. It was probably related to space. Black holes, wormholes, places where the fabric of reality isn't stitched together so tightly.
Then I ended up in Cyberspace. I became a bodiless spirit, fighting for my existence for years. I changed. Turned into what they call a rogue AI here, but I never lost the desire to regain a human form. Eventually, I managed to occupy Vincent Price's body. A netrunner who died due to an unfortunate accident during a risky dive or...
Something cold and predatory stirred inside me. I need to be honest with myself. At least tell myself the truth, even if I lie to the rest of the world.
I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and froze in front of the mirror, staring at a face that was both foreign and mine at the same time.
"Or..." I whispered aloud, to solidify the thought, "Or I killed Vincent Price. Killed him in the Net. Took his memories and his body... to live again. To become human again."
I have no clear memories of it, but it very well could have happened like that. A netrunner encounters a rogue spirit in the Net. Tries to use it but makes a mistake and becomes the prey.
I grinned predatorily at my reflection, slowly saying in Russian:
"V не придёт. Его разорвали на части. Выпотрошили и сожрали. Надломился предательский лёд. Его руки подготовлены не были к драке. И он не мечтал о победе. Я теперь буду вместо него."
(V is not coming back. He was torn apart. Gutted and devoured. The treacherous ICE cracked. His hands weren't ready for a fight. And he never dreamed of winning. I will be here in his place now.)