Cyber Hanami

An explosion rocks the building just as they stagger to their feet, sending them into the doorframe. In the hallway a plume of dust and plaster sweeps over them, sending them into a coughing fit that protects them from the worst effects of the flashbang that follows. With clear eyes and deaf ears they press on. Today is a good day to die. Today is a good day to kill.

They meet the first person stepping through the cloud, but only then do they know that they are unarmed. One armed, a part of them thinks, through clenched teeth meant to muffle laughter. Nullhand. Adrenaline spikes all the way through them, hot like sparks, but the hand that catches their remaining fist is cool and uncompromising. The ringing is beginning to fade. Someone yells for Johnny.

Recognition besets them, startled and grieving. Rogue is calling for Johnny.

Now, the man holding them is no longer obscured, and his face is beautiful and his face is terrible, and everything is wrong. Panic, slamming through the same floodgates as anger, sends them lunging away in animal instinct. Dream they think, loud, as though they can drown everything else out with it, just a dream. But the dream holds tight– the dream is starting to grind away the bones in their wrist, and the man– he–

In the dream a man opens his mouth, and says with perfect chilly rage: “Silverhand.”

“Dead.” The word comes out a curse, lungs heaving in smoke and dust. In agony. “He’s dead.”

Everything is screaming: the building, the AV, the guns, all the warm bodies and their red threaded souls. Hell on earth. And him. Takemura. Saburo’s righteous right hand. That fucking bitter old guard dog. Goro–

His face changes with just the barest hint of relief. The wave of self-revulsion that follows rips them apart. In the midst of it they are unraveled, parceled out, found wanting. There’s not enough left to divide equally, and there never was. To let it continue will kill them all again.

Do I Wanna Know? Meet With Client

Sunset Motel The Badlands, 2078

Mitch: (Is that...?)

V: (This meeting should have been an email.)

Mitch: V! Thought that was you!

V: Mitch! Good to see you, choom! Been awhile.

Mitch: How the hell are ya? Buy you a beer?

V: Sorry, can't. Was just meeting a client to get detes for a gig.

Mitch: Why's anyone out here calling you and not Dakota?

V: Already did. Dakota referred 'em to me. Need the best.

Mitch: Now, hold on. You're going after those Raffen, aren't you? By yourself?

V: Yeah?

Mitch: Got a plan? Even know where to find 'em?

V: Not tryna tell me how to do my job...?

Mitch: Aw hell, I'm sorry, V. Just think you're gonna need backup. And... Just can't let a friend go off alone like that. Not again. Not if I can help it.

V: (Wouldn't have even been there 'cept for me... Fuck...) Guess I better cut you in on the pay.

Mitch: Not a chance. Taking out Raffen's payment enough.

V: At least lemme buy you that beer after.

Mitch: Heh, it's a deal.

V: Actually... got 'nother idea. Let's go.

Mitch: What's this about, V?

V: Ah, here we go. 'Bout righting a wrong. Time I return Overwatch to her owner.

Mitch: What! Absolutely not. I gave that to—

V: Gave it to Panam, not me.

Mitch: Not the point—

V: Gonna watch my ass or what? 'Sides, I'm a lousy shot with it.

Mitch: (Did she...?) You're sure? Alright. Made some upgrades to her. Didn't know you liked to tinker.

V: Heh, yeah. Little bit.

Mitch: Listen, V... Thanks.

V: You're welcome, Mitch. Now, ready to go kick some Raffen ass? Or are you rusty and gotta warm up on some scavs first?

Mitch: Gimme a break, kid. Like riding a bike.

V & Mitch Will Return