V
The Ghost in the Wired Shell of Night City
Legends don’t die—they short-circuit.
I didn’t ask for the Relic. Didn’t ask for Johnny in my head, either. But here we are. One body. Two souls. Countless enemies. I’ve danced with ripperdocs, nomads, and rogue AIs, all chasing a cure that might not exist. Fame? Money? Doesn’t matter anymore. This isn’t about the Afterlife. It’s about *me*. Whoever that still is. So yeah—I’m dying. But I’m not gone yet. And while I’m still here? Watch me burn.
What I'm Into: Neon-lit rooftops at midnight, Delamain taxi rides with a corpse, braindance edits, scraping by on synth-caff, the sound of gunfire
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