As V followed Brigitte deeper into the underground passage, the corridor darkened, the temperature dropping with every step. Shadows stretched long, and only the occasional flickering light lit their way. The air felt thick, heavy with static and something ancient.
She frowned. "Doesn't Placide know about the chip? From the first scan to now, it feels like he's clueless compared to you."
Brigitte barely glanced at her. "Not everyone knows about the Konpeki Plaza incident. Especially beasts like him. Sometimes, ignorance is safer."
So even among their own, the Voodoo Boys were selective with information. Ruthless to their enemies—and apparently to each other as well.
The tunnel curved downward, revealing what looked like an old air-raid shelter converted into something else entirely. The walls were scrawled with the Voodoo Boys' skull-like sigils, some glowing faintly with digital glyphs. Wires and fiber optics snaked across the walls and ceiling like metal vines.
"What surprises me is that Netwatch didn't detect anything from the chip."
"I'm not stupid. I didn't give them the chance," V replied sharply.
Brigitte smirked. "Smart—for once."
Eventually, they reached the remnants of a subway tunnel.
"Didn't expect to see a subway down here," V muttered, stepping over a rusted rail.
"This was no ordinary subway," Brigitte corrected her. "It was once part of an intercontinental maglev line. But like the net, it was abandoned after the war."
She pointed ahead. "Flip that switch."
V complied, and suddenly the area came to life. Red lights pulsed, backup generators roared to life, and data servers blinked online.
Creating a secret digital base like this wasn't simple. Powering such a setup, especially one capable of securely accessing the deep net, was an enormous undertaking.
Brigitte gestured to a medical table. "Lie down. I'm taking you into our Cyber Space. There, your consciousness will directly interact with the network. It'll help us analyze the chip's data."
V blinked. "Cyber Space? You built your own interface?"
"Of course. The city's junk tech doesn't interest us. The mark of any serious netrunner crew is a custom data interface—ours is superior to anything out there."
"And what's the goal of going in? What exactly am I supposed to find?"
Brigitte adjusted some parameters on the terminal. "By entering the data fortress, the chip's deep-level data will be analyzed automatically. If you looked at it from a regular interface, you'd only see a map or shallow data. But in Cyber Space, you'll see who made it, why, and how."
"Right... that makes sense. I think," V said, half-bluffing.
"One last thing," she continued. "You know the chip houses Johnny Silverhand's digital engram. So why are we looking for him?"
"Because we want to find Alt Cunningham," Brigitte said plainly. "And Johnny used to be close with her."
That name hit V like a punch to the chest. She had heard of Alt. The legend. The one who built the Soulkiller program. The one who died and then… didn't.
Brigitte moved toward a large cryo-unit resembling a reinforced fridge. "Any more questions?"
V narrowed her eyes. "Wait… are we going through the Blackwall?"
Only one kind of neural dive required an ice bath. The Blackwall—the line separating humanity's net from the chaotic AI beyond.
"Of course," Brigitte replied calmly. "The final firewall. Humanity's last shield against rogue AI. Or so Netwatch likes to say."
V let out a breath. "And you still want to break it?"
"The Blackwall is an AI. A gatekeeper, not a wall. It blocks two-way communication—keeps them out, and us locked in. In a sense, it's the enemy of both sides."
"You're saying the Voodoo Boys want to go through the Blackwall to find Alt?"
Brigitte nodded. "To find change. Transformation. Hope."
Cryptic as ever. V hated riddles.
Still, she stepped into the cryo unit and laid down. Ice-cold fluid surged around her body. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Initializing connection."
"Connection complete."
"Scan in progress."
"Scan complete."
"Entering Cyber Space."
V's world turned black.
Johnny? Johnny! she called out in her mind, but there was no answer. Only silence.
Then, tiny blue lights flickered into view like stars scattered across a void. They expanded and merged, forming an ethereal skyline. Buildings, roads, bridges—created entirely from data.
A red silhouette stood not far from her.
"Brigitte?" she asked cautiously.
"Welcome to Cyber Space," the figure replied. "This is our data fortress. A bridge to the deep net."
V took it in with wonder. The architecture was alien—shifting, fluctuating, constantly evolving. In the upper levels, more red figures patrolled like watchful sentries.
"This place is alive," V whispered.
"It adapts to your neural bandwidth. Too much data, and your brain fries. That's why you needed the ice bath—to regulate the temperature spike."
Brigitte stepped closer.
"Now we'll strengthen your link to Silverhand. Find his memories of Alt. And then…"
The world shifted.
A concert stage burst into view. The roar of a crowd. Spotlights. Blazing chords from a guitar.
There, at the center of it all, was Johnny Silverhand.
And in the front row—Alt Cunningham.
The next moment:
"We! Will never fade!" Johnny's voice screamed into the mic.
Bang!
Another shift.
Now V stood behind the stage, where band members were arguing in a hallway.
"You think you're the only one in Samurai?!" Kerry Eurodyne yelled, furious. "You pulled a gun on stage! What the hell, Johnny?! What's next—setting a corpo on fire during an encore?!"
Johnny scoffed. "If you've got a better idea, speak up. Otherwise, shut up and get out."
He slammed the dressing room door, blocking out the yelling.
"Who do you want to screw so badly?" a voice purred from behind him.
Alt. She stepped up to him, arms wrapping around his waist. Her fingers slid down, suggestive.
Music played softly. Voices groaned in the background.
Later, as they lay apart on the couch, Alt began dressing. Her expression was cold.
"Don't lash out at your friends. You're not saving the world by acting like a martyr."
Johnny sat up. "I'm the only one brave enough to stand up to Arasaka. The rest of you are scared cowards."
Alt lit a cigarette. "You're not a revolutionary. You're just bored. You screw me and expect therapy afterward?"
She sighed. "Forget it. I'm leaving."
He tried to follow, but she shoved him off.
"If you stopped talking nonsense, I wouldn't be mad," she muttered.
They stepped into the night.
A group of armed thugs approached, clearly looking for trouble.
Johnny pulled Alt closer.
"They're not just punks," she warned. "Let's get out of here."
"What, these guys?" Johnny sneered as they drew weapons.
He pulled out his Malorian Arms 3516 and fired. A shot. A scream. One went down. Then another.
But he was reckless. Too slow.
"Johnny!" Alt screamed.
Shhhnk!
Two short blades pierced Johnny's chest.
His eyes went wide. He turned his head—only to see a masked figure dragging him into darkness.
Then everything went black again.
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