Chapter Text

Chapter 1 - Fade In/Fade Out

“But I'm good now, V. Please, don't take that away.”

“Don't have much of a choice, do I?”

“Goodbye V. And I'm sorry.”

Those words couldn't have rung any louder in Valerie's mind. She remained leaning against the window sill of the clinic room where she had woken up.

A little trip back in time, two years lost. If it were just the years that were lost, it would be okay. But that wasn't the case. Not at all. Judy's call was just the beginning of the long descent into hell that lay ahead of her.

Valerie contacted her contacts one by one after seeing dozens of messages piling up from her “close friends.” Close friends, really? None of them tried to find you, or at least check on you? This isn't the Middle Ages, it's the late 2070s! I mean, checking in isn't that hard! Fixers with thousands of contacts, netrunners who eat the NET for breakfast every morning until the next morning!

But no one answered, or tried to see her again. Not Panam, not River, not Judy, not Rogue, no one. No one, damn it!

Valerie, alone in the white room, slightly warmed by the ambient sunlight, vociferated with anger and sent the laptop and supplies sitting on the small corner desk flying across the room.

What to do? She hesitated for a moment before contacting the last person on the list. Why hesitate? Simply because she was afraid of being rejected again, threatening to send her broken soul to the ground forever.

But she gathered her courage and made the call.

“Kerry? Hi... uh, it's V. Remember me?”

“Heeeyy! Hi V! Good to see you! Damn, it's been a long time, how are you? Where have you been all this time?”

“Um... Do you remember Johnny, who lived in my head and was slowly killing me? I was able to get rid of the biochip that was killing me, but the surgery went wrong... Two years in a coma. I just woke up...”

V's words slowly turned into sobs, which she tried to suppress with great difficulty. So hard, in fact, that she turned away from her holophone camera so as not to worry the charismatic Rockerboy.

“Oh... Shit, V. Are you sure you're okay? I mean... you look terrible.”

“Well, to tell you the truth... No one wants to see me again. I've already contacted some people and... well, you understand...”

“Damn... I don't know what to say, V. Uh, wait, do you need a place to stay? I just finished my tour two weeks ago, you can come stay at my place! You're welcome, after everything you've done for me.”

Valerie felt very embarrassed, already emotionally drained. “Seriously, Kerry? Are you sure? I don't want to bother you, just drop by for a visit.”

Kerry seemed excited to see her old friend again. “No, no, no. I can see you need a pick-me-up. Come on, it's my treat. Come over whenever you want, no rush.”

“Thanks... thanks, Kerry.”

Valerie hung up and sank back into the hospital bed, burying her head in the white pillow as the tears flowed freely. She hated the world at that moment. Everything.

She got up a few minutes later and checked her belongings. Nothing was missing. Her gear had once belonged to her friend Johnny. From the boots to the T-shirt with his Mexican War ID tags, to the replica of the magnificent Samurai jacket made of real leather.

Her bank account hadn't been touched. Three million eddies that she had carefully saved during her turbulent life as a merc in Night City. She had gained such notoriety on the streets that all the fixers fought over her for the most difficult jobs.

But that money was supposed to be used, in principle, to finance a life away from the NUSA with her beloved Leelou Bean.

“No. Stop thinking about that. She's not your Jude anymore. She abandoned you. Move on, like you always have. If you're alive today, it's because you're a fucking fighter. You are, aren't you? Come on, say it,” she said to herself.

She tried as best she could to extinguish the raging fire in her heart and mind. She was clinging to only one thing. Kerry Eurodyne.

“Damn it, how is it possible that he, knowing me so little, was the only one who wanted to find me?!” ”Fucking sense of civility. Go to hell, all of you, especially you, Judy. You destroyed all the love I could have given you in a lifetime. Go to hell with your wife.”

Valerie put all her things away after getting dressed and leaving her medical gown on the edge of the bed. She opened the sliding door and was greeted by a nurse.

“Miss V? Are you looking for the helipad? An ambulance is waiting for you outside. Follow me.”

Valerie staggered outside, still somewhat unsteady on her feet. It was so cool and bright. A Delamain Excelsior AV was waiting patiently. She got in and put her bag next to her.

“Miss V, hello. Good to see you again. Where would you like to go today?”

“Hi, Del. Um, we're going to Night City. North Oak district.”

“Coordinates transmitted. Estimated arrival time at the end of the day. Make yourself comfortable and enjoy the ride,” said the voice of Delamain's blue-lipped white silhouette as the doors closed.

In mid-flight, Valerie asked, ”Del? Could you open the doors a little? I want to see outside, please.”

“Interior reflection disabled. Any other requests?”

“No, thank you.”

And with that, the journey back to the City of Dreams began. What did Valerie hope to find in the city? She had no idea. She simply closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later...

The AV shuttle landed on a private helipad. Delamain's soft voice woke the tired young woman.

“Miss V, we've landed. North Oak neighborhood. Did you enjoy the ride?”

“Perfect, Del. Fucking nova.”

The doors reopened and Valerie jumped out. The view of Night City hadn't changed a bit. She looked at her phone and checked Kerry's address. It was late, and she hoped she wasn't disturbing him. A Delamain cab pulled up in front of her.

“A cab too? What's the occasion?”

“The package assigned to Miss... Valerie Halloway... gives you access to any Delamain vehicle for the next fifty years. Except in the event of corporate bankruptcy or other unforeseen circumstances. Thank you for your continued service to Delamain Corp.”

Valerie thought back to that strange period when she was tracking down Delamain's dissident vehicles and saving her integrity by penetrating the complex controlled by rogue AI. It was just another job to do, she hadn't imagined such a great gift in return. One thing bothered her, though: her full name. She had buried it under piles of cement for almost as long as she could remember. But what can a woman do against a global database?

She got into the cab and gave the driver her address. The cab drove quietly through the quiet neighborhood high above Night City. She watched the sun disappear over the horizon and the city come to life.

A little later, Valerie reached the luxurious residence and rang the intercom. Yeah, no reinforced tendons to get past the fence like in the good old days.

“Who's there? Fans? I don't have time for you—oh, V! It's you! Wait two minutes, I'll get you in.”

The large gate opened and Valerie entered the residence, letting the cab drive away. Kerry welcomed her with open arms. He could see the sad look on her face. She looked sad, apathetic, almost hollow.

“V! I'm so glad to see you! It's been a long time! Come on in, it's getting cold.”

“Hi, Kerry. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“No problem, and you know, it's big for just one person!”

The complex had been cleaned recently. There was almost no trash, no disgusting marks on the countertop, it was clean. He had probably tidied up for her arrival.

“Come on, sit down. Want anything? Beer? Whiskey?”

“Do you have any Centzon? Tequila?”

“Yeah, sure. Here.” He said, handing her a glass filled with a delicate, transparent brown liquid with an enticing aroma.

“So, tell me everything! You don't look well. What happened?”

Valerie was shaking with grief. “My whole life... It's gone up in smoke. I've lost everyone. They've all moved on. I don't exist for anyone anymore... Damn it, everything I did in my miserable life as a merc was to get out of this town with her... And she left me. No one even bothered to find out what happened to me.”

“Shit... You know, you don't have to tell me everything at once if it hurts that much. Come on, take it slowly, I'm not going anywhere.”

Valerie threw herself into Kerry's arms, letting herself be overcome by tears once again. “I hate everyone... This whole fucking world... I don't know what to do... I miss her so much, Kerry... Everything I did was for her, for us... I have no reason to live without her...”

Unfortunately, that was the harsh truth.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 - Fade Into You

Two days later...

Valerie wasn't quite sure what she was doing there. Kerry's large villa, nestled in the hills of North Oak, looked more like a rock museum than a real home. The walls were covered with posters of Samurai concerts and his own world tour, beautiful multicolored guitars that looked almost new hung on chrome hooks, and dozens of vinyl records stacked on rough wooden shelves. The place smelled very strongly of alcohol, reheated food of varying quality, joints, and... loneliness.

Yes, loneliness has a smell. It reeks of scents that our bodies can't get used to because they're so different from what we're accustomed to. For Valerie, what she missed, what reinforced her loneliness, was the cruel absence of Judy's perfume seeping into the pillows, the sensual scent that emanated from the two of them after a wild evening rich in love and promises.

For a while, she regretted showing herself to Kerry in such a pitiful state, asking her for so much support. She felt ashamed, but the kind and tender rocker didn't care. He too had gone through hard times, to the point of trying to end his life, which made his ability to empathize even greater.

She spent the beginning of her stay in the lovely villa shut away in the guest room that Kerry had offered her without hesitation. It was a simple but cozy room with a king-size bed with dark satin sheets and a large bay window that offered a breathtaking view of the neon lights of Night City. Valerie stayed there, curtains closed, ruminating on her past and the choices that had led her here.

During the day, she stayed there, in bed, in her underwear, clutching a bolster pillow as if it were the young technician who was an expert in braindances (and porn tuning, let's not forget!). This situation was ridiculous to her. She had convinced herself so firmly that she could fight her way through life without her, but her presence inside her had become a real torture. She felt like she could hear her calling her every minute, every hour...

Every night, the same ritual. She suffocated herself in her pillow, trying to stifle the sobs that caught in her throat, burning her from the inside and reverberating across every inch of her damp skin. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks as she repeated Judy's last words over and over again.

And those words, those fucking words, continued to haunt her. Judy's soft voice, full of feigned regret, broke in her mind like an unfinished melody.

The other memories, as happy as they were, only fueled her anger even more. Seeing herself in her megabuilding, or in her apartment at The Glen, her two favorite places, with Judy lying on the sofa, her head between Valerie's thighs, who was slowly and tenderly caressing her hair or her cheek.

"Oh yeah, sure, right! You've got a bounce in your step, huh? You didn't wait long to move on, did you? And what did you say? Focus on my loose ends and we'll get out of here? Bullshit! Nothing but bullshit!"

"Everything okay? Are you fucking her as passionately as we used to? Can you look at yourself in the mirror? Because I can't!"

Two weeks passed like this, in the shadows. Kerry, respectful, never forced the door. He would knock in the morning, sometimes leaving a tray with black coffee and SynthBread toast with margarine and bacon, then disappear into his studio to record or practice. They spoke little, just exchanging glances, sometimes a “Hi” dropped between two silences when Valerie went down to the bathroom or out to smoke on the porch.

But something changed after those two weeks. V finally emerged from her den, her eyes ringed with dark circles, but her soul a little lighter. She joined Kerry in the living room one morning as the first rays of daylight pierced the velvet curtains. Kerry greeted her with a sincere smile, one of those that can't be faked.

“Hi, V. How are you today?”

“Um... hi, Kerry. Sorry I haven't been around much these past two weeks. I feel like a squatter. I think I should leave.”

“What are you talking about?! You're not a problem at all! And a guest room has a very specific purpose, which it's currently fulfilling perfectly. Come on, sit down.”

“I feel really bad. I don't know what to do... I'm haunted day and night by her voice, I can't get it out of my head. I've never been so angry and sad as I am today.”

Kerry looked at her, trying to understand her state of mind.

“Yeah. I understand perfectly. I'll tell you something. You know my hobby, well, I think it would do you a world of good too. You know, people like me, like Johnny, or others, we write, we sing and we make music because we have emotional excesses. Pain, you know what I mean? Something that has enormous value or weight in your consciousness. And music is a way to get it all out on stage and share your problems. Because there are people out there who are going through the same thing, more or less, as you. And they'll feel less alone, and so will you, by sharing it. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I get it. You want me to become a singer or something?”

“If you want? At least try? You could even learn the guitar! Your memory of our first meeting still gives me chills just thinking about it.”

“Kerry... you know it wasn't me, it was Johnny? I don't have your talent for that.”

“No one said anything about talent. I'm talking about learning something and getting your head out of the water, gonk!”

Valerie sat cross-legged on the sofa for a moment, very hesitant, for a long time, and finally gave her answer in a broken, weak voice.

“If you want. Why not? It won't cost me anything to try, right?”

“Mhm-mhm. No, no. Not if I want you to. I'm not forcing you to do anything. If YOU want to. YOU. Only you.”

Kerry may have sounded convincing, but the mere fact that he had used the words “Only You” in his sentence made Valerie shudder and triggered an additional dose of hatred. She accepted wholeheartedly this time, determined to get rid of the ghosts of what now belonged to her past.

“Okay, Kerry. I'll try. I want to do it.”

“Great! That's what I wanted to hear! Come on, get ready, I'll take you out to dinner. It's on me. There's this great place, erm... in Japantown, but I can't remember the name. They have a DJ and everything, cool, really cool. You'll love the food.”

A few days later...

Valerie had perked up since her necessary discussion with Kerry. Sure, she rarely smiled, but it was a good start. It must have been around ten o'clock when Kerry suggested taking Valerie to Bakersfield. He knew a great store that sold thousands of albums from bands dating back to the 1930s. Over 140 years of music, everything was there. Kerry knew the manager because he was one of his most loyal customers, buying vinyl records from the 80s that he was fond of.

In the AV Excalibur, which Valerie had called to thank Kerry for all his kindness over the last few days, they talked a lot during the flight.

“You'll see, Franck is a great guy. I've known him for what, fifteen years? He's given me at least fifty vinyls and CDs by bands I thought were lost.”

“Do you know a lot of them? Old bands?”

Valerie asked curiously.

“Heh, I'm not going to spoil the discovery for you. You'll see, the best period, in my humble opinion, is between 1975 and 2020.”

“Why?”

“The greatest variety of modern music. Blues, Jazz, Electro, Pop, Funk, Dance, Swing, Acid, Underground, and so many more! Oh, and Rock and all its variations, of course.”

“I can't wait to hear it...”

The trip went by so peacefully. They talked about Samurai's early days, learning to play electric guitar, concerts, and other random topics. Valerie could temporarily forget her troubles as a damned soul and dive into nostalgia. The good kind, the real kind, the kind that doesn't stab you in the heart when you think about it.

When they landed, Valerie parked the AV and they both walked to the store. Kerry had taken care to hide himself under a light blue cap and a neo-kitsch jacket, which made him look like a simple passerby rather than a global superstar.

The store was very large, almost as imposing as an Arasaka warehouse. Neon signs read:

They entered, and the man at the counter, a man named Franck McAllister, immediately recognized his friend.

“Kerry! Long time no see! How's it going? Still into vinyl?”

“No, Franck. I'm here with a friend. Franck, this is V. She was a mercenary in Night City. She'd like to learn about the music culture of the Belle Époque.”

“The 2000s to the 2010s? That would be a good place to start, I think. Follow me, young lady.”

The man walked between long aisles lined with hundreds of dusty albums until he reached a shelf at the back. He handed her a portable player.

“Here, portable player. Put the CD in, and just listen. The vinyls are on that machine. You know what turntables are, right?”

He laughed and walked away, leaving Valerie alone to wander the aisles without any real guidance.

She wasn't sure where to look, so she wandered through the Funk and Rock sections, which were the easiest. She came across some intriguing album covers. Names she had never heard of.

She took a dozen new vinyl records and CDs with her, blessed by time, and returned to Kerry. He was surprised by all her choices.

“Ooh, very interesting, V! You have good taste, I see. Have you listened to them?”

“Two or three... There are a few tracks that caught my attention. Can we listen to them this evening?”

“Sure! I've got my selection for the month too!” he said, lifting a huge pile carefully boxed by the sales assistant.

Later that evening...

Kerry had ordered a meal tray and he and Valerie were enjoying its contents. Fleetwood Mac's music played in the background, the cheerful notes of “Go Your Own Way” pouring into the room like a stream of clear water in which one wanted to bathe completely naked.

Tonight, there was no question of sinking into dark thoughts, however numerous they might be. Kerry knew what to do, he invited Valerie to dance to the wild rhythms of the music, and she couldn't refuse. They danced like drunken idiots, but the world wasn't going to hold it against them for letting off a little steam.

As midnight approached, Valerie signaled to Kerry that she was tired and went to bed.

“G'night, Ker'. And thanks for the ride.”

That evening, that night, Valerie was given the gift of being able to close her eyes and not be disturbed by her greatest fears. It was a good night.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - The End of a Universe Leads to a New Beginning

The next day...

Valerie woke up to an eerie silence. She had gone to bed around midnight, and her alarm was gently ringing and vibrating on her nightstand. It was 10:30 a.m. Her bed faced the huge bay window, so she simply rearranged her pillow, rested her head, and admired the bustling city below. She yawned and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, her right hand resting casually on her chest.

After a few minutes, she felt a delicious steam seeping through the door cracks and into her nostrils. Delicious smells of orange and grilled meat. She got up quietly, slipped on one of the velvet bathrobes Kerry had given her from her endless collection, and headed for the large living room.

Kerry was preparing lunch, her stereo playing her favorite Queen songs. Valerie even recognized one, The Show Must Go On, which he had played for her the night before. He greeted her cheerfully as she came down the stairs.

“Ha! The groundhog finally decided to come out of her burrow? Good morning, V. Sleep well?”

“Hi, Ker. Yeah, I slept well last night. It's been a while. Wow, what a royal breakfast! What's the occasion?”

“Well, you see, I had a great evening yesterday. I hadn't shared my old musical tastes with anyone in a while. And it was really great yesterday. You seem to be feeling better. Come on, eat this marvel.”

Kerry handed her a plate filled with shiny (and very greasy) slices of SynthBacon, next to a pile of scrambled SynthEggs. It was a dish of choice, not readily available in town except through select contacts and suppliers. She sat down on one of the stools in the kitchenette opposite her friend and they ate while chatting about this and that.

Valerie spoke up about Kerry's proposal.

“I thought about your proposal last night, Kerry. I think I'd really like to learn the guitar. To be honest, I don't know much about it, either acoustic or electric. Do you know anyone who could teach me?”

Kerry was excited by her suggestion.

“Hah, that's great! Yeah, I know some people. Me and Henry. Remember Henry? You took him to the last Samurai concert and pissed Denny off!”

“Yeah, I remember. He filled their pool with cement, and she threatened to kill him with her golden bat. What a guy. A little unstable, huh?”

“That's the least you can say about her! That guy is completely brain-damaged, but he's an outstanding bass player. Oh, right, I have an important meeting with MSM early this afternoon, but I can bring him over if you wanna get started? Just to test the waters, you know?”

“Yeah, sure. I don't have much to do... Well, I have nothing to do, to be honest. So yeah, I'd like that. Oh, and your scrambled eggs are delicious.”

After lunch, Valerie went upstairs to take a nice shower in the oversized bathroom. She felt the heat and smoke envelop her like a delicate cocoon, so much so that she could have stayed there until she suffocated. She soaped herself and rubbed herself with a sensation that, at times, reminded her of the touch of another woman. But every time those fragments of feelings tried to flow through Valerie's nervous system, she found the strength to crush them under the weight of the happiness she was beginning to feel in her friendship with the guitarist.

“There's no way I'm going to get stuck in them. I'm fine, I have a chance to get out of this. You hold all the cards, you deserve to be happy,”

she told herself deep down, as the guardian of memories imprisoned those with any reference to the technophile in a cage, double, triple, quadruple locked. That same cage was locked in a safe and thrown into the sea, sinking into the innards of the limbo that her memory was able to keep warm.

Valerie came out of the bathroom, almost radiant. She had put on her old clothes from her life as a merc. Her black faux leather jeans, her burgundy tank top, and a pair of orange Converse sneakers she had bought for next to nothing at a clothing store that was going out of business. Kerry looked at her almost with admiration.

“You look really good, V. It's nice to see. All that's left is your hair. You must miss it, huh?”

“You have no idea. I hate feeling naked like this, it's horrible. You don't happen to know any plastic surgeons, do you? I was thinking about getting a hair transplant.”

“Yeah, sure, there's one in the city center, he calls himself the Michelangelo of hairdressing. He's got an ego, forget it, but he's good. Here, I'll send you his address,” he said, his eyes turning bright orange for two seconds.

Valerie approached the wall of guitars on display.

“Why do you have so many, Ker? Do you use them all?”

“Pfft... no. I only have two favorites, the rest are mostly for decoration. I have a lot of decorating ideas, so I either put up guitars or posters. But they're all nice. You can take one you like for your practice.”

One caught her eye. It was a magnificent electric guitar with rounded, elegant lines, a black and wood-colored body, and a long golden neck. She pointed it out to her friend, who gave her a slight bow in approval. She lifted it delicately from its stand before picking it up. It was surprisingly light, supple, and very pleasant to the touch.

“Nova. That's an excellent choice. An authentic 1989 Fender Telecaster. A friend gave it to me years ago. One of my finest pieces. It's all yours. So you're starting with electric? You can get an acoustic when you wanna.”

“It's so preem, Ker'! It's beautiful. I'll take good care of it.”

“You'd better, it's worth over 15 thousand eddies today!” he said, laughing heartily, because he didn't give a damn about its price.

Kerry stood up and looked at her watch, then quickly got busy. ”Oh damn, I'm going to be late for my appointment. I have to run, V. I'll leave you the keys. Oh, and I called Henry, he should be here in less than an hour. He's still coming down from his evening, the moron.”

Valerie snickered at the thought of her future teacher coming to Kerry's house completely wasted. Kerry sped off in his magnificent Rayfield Aerondight “Guinevere,”

leaving the young woman alone. She took the opportunity to turn on the home theater in the living room and inserted one of the CDs she had picked up the day before. It was an album by a singer named Jamiroquai, called “High Times 1992 - 2006.”

When the large speakers came to life, the entire room was filled with a flow of incredibly danceable acid jazz.

She let herself get carried away by the album, drifting away with the socially conscious lyrics. There was a time when ecology wasn't a laughing matter. She tidied up the mess in the living room to create the best learning environment for herself. A large part of her had ended up looking forward to this new adventure. She had nothing holding her back, and it was a good start to embracing this art.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. It was him. Valerie welcomed him and recognized him immediately, despite the disappearance of his most striking physical feature, his long red and black hair shaved on one side in a highly attractive sidecut.

“V! Hi!“ he said, taking off his sunglasses and giving his future student a quick hug.

“You still recognize me?”

“Of course! I could never forget the person who gave me a last-minute ticket to see my friends in Samurai!”

“Well, Kerry told me you wanted to learn guitar? Well, Henry is your man! I brought mine, we can practice together. You're starting with electric, right?”

“Yeah, that's right. I borrowed one from her. I'll try acoustic later if I'm not too bad.”

“Not too bad? Hey, I'll never forget what you did that evening at the Red Dirt!”

Valerie remembered that she had let Johnny take control of her body and play in front of everyone. She came up with a lame excuse to seem simple.

“It's been a long time now. Oh, and I had surgery, I lost a lot of my abilities. Even most of my knowledge of... well, music in general, poof, gone. I'm going to have to relearn everything the hard way.”

“Oh, shit! Anyway, I'm happy to help you with that. So, are we going in or are we just going to stand here like two gonks?”

“Come on in. I cleared the living room, we've got room.”

The duo settled comfortably, each with their guitar resting on their knees. Henry explained one by one the important or notable technical terms to know. To begin with, he showed her the correct hand position on the instrument.

“Place your fingers in a curved position, with your thumb at the back of the neck, not too tense. Keep your movements very flexible.”

“Like this?” she said, placing her fingers exactly as Henry had shown her.

“Yeah, perfect!”

Strangely enough, Valerie found it surprisingly easy to do exactly what her teacher asked her to do on her first try. It must be said that her self-confidence had taken a serious blow recently. Seeing his student's dexterity, Henry picked up the pace, moving on to teaching her basic chords, the best way to hold the pick so as not to hurt her fingers, the names of the strings, the first strumming patterns, and how to use a metronome.

“Here, remember this mnemonic device for the names of the strings.”

“Is that important?”

“Oh yes. The notation is based on the EADGBe pattern. It'll be really useful for your first chords. If it seems like a stupid pattern, think of this phrase: 'Every Acid Dealer Gets Busted Eventually'.”

Valerie laughed heartily. “Did you make that up?”

“Nah, the original phrase was Eddie Ate Dynamite Good Bye Eddie, but a friend of mine gave me this one to make fun of me and my addiction to hard drugs. He's a real asshole, but his phrase stuck.”

The hours passed quickly, and Valerie enjoyed Henry's very dynamic and fancy company. Their chemistry was almost perfect. Valerie quickly remembered the chords, scales, patterns...

It must have been around 7 PM by now, and Kerry finally returned from his appointment. He was quite surprised to see his friend still there, thinking he would have already left to go home.

“Yo Henry, you still here?”

“Hey Ker'. Yeah, we just finished our last lesson with V. And man, I gotta tell you, she's really good. She's very promising. I gave her some tips for practicing on her own and everything. I'm shooting, I'm completely exhausted. I'll be back in two or three days, just to let my migraines go away. I gotta slow down on the Glitter. Anyway, have a good evening, you two. Bye, V, that was really preem.”

“Bye, Henry!” they both said.

Valerie carefully placed the Telecaster back on its display stand and sat back down on the sofa. Kerry joined her with two glasses of their favorite drinks (and the bottles too).

“So? How did it go with him? Was he too... wasted?”

“No, no, he was really great. We quickly went over the bass parts, but I'm having a little trouble with some things. Anyway, for a first time, I really wanna keep going.”

“That's cool, V, really beyond nova.”

They ate quietly in the evening while a rerun of Bushidô 9 was on TV. Kerry recounted her boring date, the endless administrative procedures, and the possibility of starting a new tour in early 2080. The two went to bed at the end of the evening, both exhausted.

A week later...

It was a very beautiful afternoon. Valerie was lying on her bed listening to the various songs she had been compiling day after day in a playlist. She skillfully switched between the Strokes' danceable rock ballads, the Arctic Monkeys' melancholic electric guitar riffs, the raw power of Metallica and Foo Fighters, accompanied by the voices of singers from Tame Impala, The Killers, RHCP, Green Day, and The Black Keys.

Valerie had developed a keen sense and taste for all these songs that few people remembered. Maybe the older ones, and even then. It was very pleasant to admire the sun, unobscured by the usual clouds. To leave the window ajar and let the warm breeze blow through.

Since her first guitar lesson, Valerie had kept a notebook in which she recorded her notes, writings, and even little drawings every day. She had never been the type to express her feelings, whatever they were or however they were felt. But this slow and gentle rebirth had freed her sensitive, expressionistic side. She tried to write neatly and only when she felt like it, so that it wouldn't become a daily chore.

Her notebook was now full, ranging from an orderly list of regrets to a sketch of Arroyo's H4 mega-building pierced by the smoke and immense vapors of the city, to a text recounting her latest dream and the musical progress she had made the day before.

And at the same time as she wrote, she couldn't help feeling that strange sensation that made learning the guitar so much easier than she had expected. And faster, too. At first she thought it was beginner's luck, hype that would quickly fade. But she couldn't help thinking about her surgery, which had been much more difficult than expected. And what the doctors and Reed said...

Remnants of Silverhand lingered in her head, infinitesimal pieces of his existence. Perhaps her innate talent for music had reverberated within her. In the end, it was all speculation. She was simply glad to have found a way out of the depressive abyss that lurked nearby and that she took great care to avoid. Because she knew that letting herself be overwhelmed by her past would mean the end of her.

Since her first guitar lesson, Valerie had kept a notebook, which she filled every day with notes, writings, and even little drawings. In her life, she had never been the type to express her feelings, whatever they were. But this slow and gentle rebirth had unlocked her sensitive, expressionistic side. She tried to keep her handwriting neat and only write when she felt like it, so that it didn't feel like a daily chore.

Her notebook was now well filled, ranging from an orderly list of regrets, to a sketch of Arroyo's H4 megabuilding, to a text recounting her latest dream, to the musical progress she had made the day before.

Kerry knocked on the bedroom door and asked her if she wanted to practice with him in his studio. She accepted, of course, without the slightest hesitation. She closed her notebook and took with her the splendid Telecaster with which she had already formed a bond, so to speak. A bond...

Valerie bounded down the stairs and joined Kerry, who was setting up and tuning his equipment. He closed the door to maintain perfect acoustics. Valerie sat down opposite him and positioned her guitar just right.

“So... Do you wanna work on a particular song? We can stick to something simple if you want, or whatever.”

“Hmmm... I listened to this one last Tuesday, and I can't get it out of my head. The guitar rhythm is pretty calm, you like it?” she said, showing him the song Hurt by Johnny Cash.

“Let's go, wait, I'll plug it in... perfect, it's getting the lyrics, they're displayed in real time as soon as I start the song. Are you ready? You start.”

Valerie took a deep breath, placed her pick between her fingers, facing her, and began the first chords. She started slowly, then picked up the pace to match Cash's original rhythm.

The notes were perfect. So accurate that it seemed suspicious. Kerry watched intently, almost in admiration. Valerie said nothing, breathing very slowly. The chords followed one after the other in a unique melancholic rhythm. She stopped.

“Would you like me to try singing at the same time? I don't have a great voice, but I want to see if... I can keep a slow rhythm and sing.”

“Come on, champ, here's the boom with the microphone. The lyrics are right in front of you,” he said, patting her on the shoulder, curious to hear the result.

The recording started again. Valerie picked up the opening chords with the same precision and, after a deep breath, began to sing.

Her voice was... breathtaking. A natural mix of brokenness and a softness close to the smoothest silk. As soon as the tone rose, her voice went slightly high-pitched and formed a fabulous contrast with the original voice. She stopped anyway.

“Nah. It's no good.”

Kerry looked at her in astonishment.

“What do you mean? It's no good? Do you really think so, V?”

“Why, did you like it?”

“V... V, girl, have some confidence in yourself! I loved it, and it only lasted what, thirty seconds? I want more!”

He put his hands on her shoulders and shook her a little. “Come on, damn it, you intrigue me! I bet you've got it in you.”

Valerie nodded and started again. First the slow riff, and she moved closer to the microphone.

She caught her breath and put her guitar down on her knees. She wasn't sure what to think. Kerry, on the other hand, was literally staring at her in amazement. Stunned, speechless, blown away, dumbfounded, and many other adjectives that couldn't begin to express what he was feeling.

“Sweet Jesus... V, that was truly beautiful.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – Rising Star, But How Far Will We Go?

The vibrations of the last note lingered in the air, resonating with a melancholic echo that seemed to linger far longer than the strings could sustain. Kerry hadn't moved. His gaze remained fixed on V, a mixture of wonder and amazement visible in his eyes. It was clear that his friend's performance was fascinating, to say the least.

She, on the other hand, didn't dare look up, staring at her trembling fingers on the neck of the Telecaster. They were slightly clammy, as if exposing herself so intensely weighed heavily on her conscience. The first steps are always the hardest.

“Sweet Jesus... V, that was truly beautiful.”

The silence stretched out, heavy and so soothing at the same time. Kerry finally straightened up, a smile evident on his lips. “You know, V, the first time we met, I knew you had something special. Apart from Johnny, of course. But now... what you just played me, that was SOOOOOO PREEEM, holy shit! You've confirmed what I said, one hundred percent.”

Valerie looked up, surprised by her friend's sincerity. “That's nice, Kerry. But, um... I don't know, I didn't think it was that great. It just came out naturally, like I needed to say it.”

Kerry burst out laughing. ”And you don't see what the problem is? You lack conviction! Not in the music, but in yourself! But you've got it, that's what music is all about. Just being natural. It's not about talent, even though it's obvious you've got a gift. To do something like that so quickly, I'm almost lost for words. You never cease to amaze me, V.”

Valerie felt a strange warmth spread through her chest, a feeling she hadn't felt in... far too long. Kerry jumped up, grabbed a bottle of tequila he had brought with him and placed it on a stool, and poured two glasses.

“Here's to you, V. To your rebirth. You're going to go far, I'm telling you.”

They clinked glasses, and the afternoon continued with laughter, heartfelt conversations, and a succession of riffs, each more playful than the last. Kerry urged her to play the song again, this time with more conviction, and she did, feeling more confident. The notes became more precise, the chords more straightforward, her voice more assured. Valerie could feel the vibrations of each string spreading along her fingers, an electric thrill running through her hands and up her arms. Each sound resonated with a new clarity, filling the space with an almost palpable intensity, as if the walls themselves were absorbing and replaying the melody.

Her voice, now more open, allowed her to reach very low notes without even having taken lessons or vocal training. Anyone who approached her would tremble with amazement as the vibrations penetrated their ears, enveloping them in an aura of powerful emotions that finally had a chance to be revealed. Because V is human. And keeping your pain locked away inside only brings suffering to a human being.

She played “Hurt” again, then Robbie Williams' “Feel” and Radiohead's “Street Spirit”, all repeated a few times. Each note seemed to be engraved in space, like an indelible imprint that resonated far beyond the walls of Kerry's villa.

The next day...

The afternoon got off to a wonderful start after a good meal on the terrace, where the two could enjoy the delicious radiance of the late summer sun. Valerie was sitting on a deckchair by the pool, wearing her black aviator sunglasses, preoccupied with sketching the Aerondight belonging to the owner of the place. It must have been 3 PM when Henry arrived at Kerry's house.

“Yo V! How's it going?“ he said, giving his Padawan a high five.

“Great Henry, Kerry's inside. Did he want to see you about something?” Valerie replied curiously, not knowing he was coming.

“Well, to be honest, I have no idea, he said it was urgent. Are you coming?”

“Yeah, sure. My skin is burning from hanging around here.”

The two went into the living room to see Kerry. He insisted that they join him. He looked at Valerie with a silly, very suggestive smile.

“Okay, let's not beat around the bush, V. I want you to show me what you gave me yesterday.”

“So that was the urgent call, huh? How subtle, Ker',” she said, making big quotation marks with her hands, exaggerating her tone.

“Oh, come on, don't tell me you don't wanna do that again? Come on, what should I put on the screen?”

“Pffff... Okay, fine, erm... put Love is A Laserquest. It's by Arctic Monkeys.”

“Perfect. Go ahead, send it, champ,” he said, handing the guitar to Valerie.

Henry sat down as a spectator two meters away from Valerie and watched in silence. His expression changed radically when she played in front of him, the Telecaster in her hands. The chords danced rhythmically with a unique elegance, neither too rushed, nor too slow or haphazard. As she brought her mouth closer to the microphone at the end of the mechanical boom, her deep, husky voice filled the room. A wave as powerful as an Animal's uppercut to the jaw hit both men. Everything was felt. Sadness, disgust, fragile hope, and memories were the main emotions.

When Valerie finished her last chord, she raised her head and opened her eyes, waiting for the guest's verdict. Henry was pleasantly surprised. No, wait, he was BLOWN AWAY! STUNNED!

“Wait, Kerry, are you kidding me?! How is that possible? You've only been practicing for what, a week? No one could get that good that fast!”

V smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes, but also a little embarrassed. “Heh... I can only give credit to my two great teachers. And then, I practiced a lot. I really wanted to do it,” she replied, glancing at Kerry.

Henry moved closer, examining her fingers on the neck. “It's not just your fingers, it's your voice, V. That's what shocks me the most. You want me to tell you, you really remind me of Silverhand. In the sense that back then, when you heard him, you felt like his heart was broken by everything that was possible, and that he was singing to expel his burdens into the open air. Well, I feel the same way about you. I don't know what's weighing so heavily on you, but it must be worth a lot. Gold. All the eddies in the world.”

Valerie blushed. She wasn't used to so many compliments, and it was refreshing. Except for her internal system, which was starting to overheat. She suggested they try some other songs she had discovered during the week. There was a bit of everything, but Henry was hooked on the dynamic riffs. Valerie calmed him down by playing Dragonforce's “Fury Of The Storm”, and he was stunned by the song's violence and devastating rhythm. After a good laugh, they started drinking for each song they listened to, becoming more and more uninhibited as the sun began to set and give way to its nighttime partner. They ended up singing together, at a disastrous pace, trying to play their instruments in tandem, but coming closer to decadent amateurism than true synchronicity.

Valerie felt alive. Terribly alive. She felt she could go far if she could clear the fog that was clouding her self-confidence, which had once given her access to worlds and wonders.

Over the next few days, V practiced relentlessly. Henry came back regularly, helping her perfect her technique, string together chords smoothly, and use bends and slides without hesitation. Kerry became a real source of psychological support, assisting her as often as possible and helping her when she was feeling down. They ended up going out almost every evening, even inviting the other former members of Samurai. Nancy, Denny, and other friends of theirs would join the parties. Her old life may have been a series of bad twists, but without that, she probably would never have discovered this whole new world. Sharing what she loved with other people who were just as passionate and animated by this art. She laughed, she smiled. She was happy.

Two months later...

She was getting better and better at her instrument, playing covers with newfound confidence. The sessions at Kerry's became routine: in the morning, a strong black coffee with a king's breakfast (and far too expensive for what it was), then hours spent playing Arctic Monkeys, Metallica, ACDC, and even Foo Fighters, just for variety, and all the other bands that made their innards vibrate like pure epileptics in the throes of a seizure. She sometimes played alone on the roof of the villa, the chords echoing through the sleepy city, the neon lights of Night City flashing in time with her notes. Thoughts crossed her mind at times, she saw herself playing with her own band, even giving concerts and sharing her infinite emotions with the rest of the world.

October 12, 2079.

Early in the day, Valerie was chatting with Kerry at the counter, telling her that she was finally going to take the time to get her hair cut. She hated the short, black growth on her head. Kerry had given her the address a long time ago, and she really needed it. They both knew what this day meant, but neither mentioned it for silly reasons. She grabbed her bag and called a Delamain cab, which arrived in less than five minutes. The car took her to the center of Night City, which had changed a lot since 2077. Dozens of Militech patrols and the almost total disappearance of Arasaka made the city even darker than it already was. She reached the beautiful, almost clinical shop of the famous Michelangelo. The man had a very... unique style. Long, twisted hair, bright orange like flames. Two arms chrome-plated down to the fingernails, riddled with small removable hardware that he used for his work. He greeted her with class.

“Good day, miss! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” he said, performing a beautiful bow.

“I'm here for a hair transplant. I really need one.”

“Yes! That's obvious! I know exactly what you need!”

“Surprise me.” she said dryly, curious to see if he was going to screw up royally.

“Finally, miss! You need a sidecut! Very long and shaved close to the side. I can see it in red. But not entirely. Let the black base of your hair flow down in a magnificent cascade of red as serious and evocative as your gaze!”

Wow... He had hit the nail on the head. But not like shooting a dart at the center of a target, he had taken a bazooka and pulverized the target, that one and the hundred behind it. Valerie didn't waste any time and sat down in the chair, now at the artist's mercy. He gave her a general sedative and she let herself sink into his work.

Three hours later...

Valerie woke up with a very uncanny feeling on her head. The man led her to a large mirror and let her look at herself. A spectacularly beautiful crest of flaming red hair ran down the right side of her face. It was long, reaching down to the bottom of her neck. The hair was very smooth and soft to the touch.

“How wonderful! It's a great success, one of my finest works, to tell the truth! What do you think?”

“I love it. I finally feel complete. One hundred percent V. For real this time. Thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“Five thousand eddies.”

“Of course.” she said, passing him the contact on her wristband.

Valerie stepped out and took a deep breath. She had other places she wanted to go. She drove to the nearest universal dealership.

The store was huge, and a young lady showed her the different makes and models from Herrera, Mahir, and Thorton. But she was interested in a specific model.

“I'm looking for a special car. A Quadra. Model V-Tech Turbo-R. Black and gold.”

“Yes, of course, but we only have a few of that model. It's very rare—”

“I know. How much?”

“One hundred and fifty thousand. Prices have gone up a lot since the inflation of 2078, you understand—”

“I'll take it. Today. Full payment.” she said in a very direct and confident tone, cutting the lady off a second time to spare her the spiel.

After the administrative and legal paperwork and verification of her license, she was able to get into the beast. As she started the engine, she could feel the roar of the injection, the deep growl of the engine, the feeling of being queen of the world aboard this marvel. She cruised through the streets, picking up speed, effortlessly passing sedans and station wagons. She also stopped by Cassius Ryder, the famous tattoo artist in Northside. He recognized her immediately and spent the afternoon giving her a magnificent full-arm tattoo of flowers surrounded by vines, large leaves, and spikes. Piece by piece, she was reforming the new V. Around 6 PM, she returned to Kerry's villa with a sense of accomplishment. Valerie was not a superficial woman, and having a new car and long hair did not make her feel better. But she had a deep sense of being able to accomplish anything.

The villa was strangely quiet. Even from a distance, the atmosphere was uncanny. No lights, no music. As she approached, the gate opened automatically and she parked her car next to Kerry's Aerondight. She closed it and walked towards the entrance. Not a sound. The large living room was dead, completely engulfed in the darkness brought on by the closed blinds. She couldn't see two meters in front of her.

“Kerry? Is anyone there?” she called, but there was no answer.

She turned on the main light switch and was suddenly surrounded by a dozen people.

Valerie suddenly discovered banners, garlands, and decorations of all kinds throughout the room. A beautiful poster with “Happy 26th Birthday, V!” proudly adorned the large table. Kerry, accompanied by the entire Samurai crew, as well as other unexpected figures, welcomed her with joy. Even Vik and Señora Welles had come. She hugged everyone, one after the other.

“Damn, Vik, what are you doing here?”

“Well, your friend contacted me yesterday to see if I could take a day off for your little party. I said yes, it's been a while since we've seen each other, champ.”

“Zetatech isn't mad?”

“Nah, I do enough dirty work for their best clients. I saved up a few days off.”

She turned to Mama Welles, who hugged her tenderly.

“V, mi niña, I'm so happy to see you again. Jacquito estaría muy feliz de verte tan bien.”

“Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it.”

Valerie thanked everyone for coming, and they sat down around the large decorated table. Kerry brought out the main dishes, medleys of RealFruits and RealVeggies, meat specially imported from Japan, and an assortment of appetizers. Everyone chatted about this and that, life in Heywood and Watson, Kerry's tour, Nancy's journalism projects, and, of course, Valerie's rapidly improving guitar skills.

After the meal, as some were finishing their dessert, Kerry got up, disappeared for a few minutes, then returned with a mysterious gift package, a large box wrapped in fine orange paper.

“Happy birthday, V.” he said with a sincere smile.

Valerie carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a beautiful acoustic guitar. It was a rare model, a brand new Gibson J-45. The wood gleamed in the dim light, every curve reflecting the raw elegance of the instrument.

Valerie stood speechless. “This is... damn, Kerry, this is too much!”

“No, not for you. I've never seen anyone throw themselves into music like you have. It deserves a reward,” he said, hugging her.

They all partied together, and the evening continued like a waking dream. It was Valerie's first real birthday. Having lived on the streets of Heywood, her family was too poor to even think about celebrating her birthday. Only her childhood friends remembered. And today, she was thinking about another wound. She even gave public performances for the guests on the small stage in the living room. She had learned Samurai's song Chippin'In and played her favorite songs like “I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor” and “When The Sun Goes Down” by Arctic Monkeys, who had definitely become her favorite band.

But just as she was giving a stunning performance on stage, the evening was interrupted by the vibration of her holophone. She apologized for having to stop, to the boos of her guests, and looked at the screen. The title threatened to make her stagger and collapse to the floor.

When I say that ghosts from the past tend to hurt even more when you try to bury them deep inside yourself, I mean it. Valerie could have simply not answered or even cut the call short, but curiosity got the better of her. She put her Telecaster on the table and left the living room, hanging up as she sat down by the pool. She hesitated for a long moment, staring blankly ahead, before finally taking a deep, almost painful breath and picking up the phone. Judy's voice rang out, soft but hesitant.

“Hey, V. Hi... Um, I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Valerie's heart tightened, but her tone remained cold. “I'm fine. Everything's going great. Is that all? I'm pretty busy.”

A heavy silence. "I... I'm happy for you."

Valerie felt her jaw tighten. "Is that all?"

Judy hesitated. ”I... I just wanted to know. I know it's your birthday today.”

V took a deep breath, holding back her anger. “Well, now you know. And yes, I'm spending it with some very good friends. You know, people I can count on no matter what...”

Valerie took care to emphasize those last words. She didn't wanted to sound nice to her own ears.

“Look, Valerie, I was surprised by your call. You understand? It was hard to take in and—”

Valerie cut her off. “Judy, I woke up to a world that had completely changed. I no longer have cyberware, I've ended my life as a merc, and I've had to cling to people who hadn't heard from me in as long as you have. And yet, you know what? They welcomed me with open arms. They didn't push me away like a piece of old shit. Listen, I'm having a very good day and I don't wanna ruin it now. If you don't have anything else to say to me, bye. Good luck. And please don't call me back.”

“Wait! Why don't you wanna—”

“Call each other? I'm going to say this in very simple terms. I loved you. More than anything in the world. And it took me two months of intense pain to get over you and focus entirely on the good things in my life. And now you come back after almost three months, acting like nothing happened, and everything I worked so hard to get rid of comes flooding back. So I'm going to say the same words I've had to endure in my head for a long time. 'I'm good now, Judy. Please, don't take that away.' That's all. Do you understand?”

Judy was stabbed by these words, which were nothing more than the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The bloody, poignant truth of Valerie's new life.

“O-okay... I understand, Valerie. I'll leave you alone. If y-you ever want to talk again, don't hesitate. Have a good day, Valerie.”

Valerie replied curtly. “Bye, Judy.” And she hung up.

She headed back to the living room, and this time, the uninhibited, radiant smile she had been wearing had been wiped away. When she rejoined everyone else, they were surprised by her expression. Mama Welles approached her.

“V, ¿Qué ha pasado? ¿Quién era ese?”

“No one. Just... an old acquaintance. It's nothing really,” she said as her eyes began to fill with cold tears.

“V, I can see when something's wrong. But I won't push you. Come on, come and enjoy yourself. It's your day, your day alone.”

“Thank you, Mama Welles. Thank you very much.”

The evening continued, but something inside her had broken again, like a fragile glass cracked under pressure, Judy's words still echoing in her mind, amplifying the pain with each echo. Judy's shadow had resurfaced, and all the work she had done over the past two months seemed to be teetering on its fragile foundations.

And that night, the tears came back to knock on the door of her memories, drowning her hard-won progress in a flood of repressed emotions. Her breath became short and jerky, her heart beating wildly. Her throat tightened, and she couldn't breathe for a moment, as if the oxygen was being burst through her with every memory that came to the surface.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 - Holding On to the Edge

She'd kept her at a distance. Understandable, no? So much time spent stirring up the past, the same past that clings so tightly to you that it turns into a steel chain and its massive cast-iron ball. She felt like one of those jailbirds imprisoned by their past, trapped in an abyss so deep that it's a veritable struggle to catch a glimpse of daylight at the top.

She had held out all this time. Three months of consistent hardship, of asking for support and help from people who never ceased to believe in her. In her infinite potential, in whatever field she might enter. She had found a passion, a hobby so unsuspected and unique, that it had become her anchor. A possible escape route to becoming someone again.

But that evening, Valerie's spirit, embalmed with the joy of perfect companionship and a revival desired by all, had been reduced to ashes. All over again.

Why does fate have this fucking tendency to fuck with you right up to the end when you've had enough in your face? It was too much.

Valerie had spent the rest of the evening suppressing with all her mental strength what brought her back to Judy. To her Leelou- No! It's not her nickname anymore. She smiled at the jokes and stories told by Viktor and the Zetatech customers with the strangest requests, the anecdotes of Mama Welles and Pepe's misadventures, or the evening disasters at Henry's that became intense tornadoes of sex, drugs and alcohol.

But even the exquisite meal organized by Kerry and his contacts, bursting with the finest aromas and the most powerful and inebriating flavors, couldn't stifle the bitter cloying taste that clung to her from within, to everything that had once in a lifetime, made her feel alive.

Mama Welles, sitting next to Valerie, sensed that she had been deeply shaken in her already fragile heart. As the evening drew to a close, everyone returned to their cars and left Kerry's villa still reeking of the festive meal and the best drinks Night City had to offer. Mama Welles was the last to leave, turning to Valerie before climbing into the cabin of her Herrera.

"V, whatever happened earlier, just focus on what makes you happy. If you ever need a chat, the bar's always open." she said, placing her hands on Valerie's rigid shoulders.

It was very difficult for her to contain the earthquake damage in her mind. "Thank you, Guadalupe... Thank you so much for being here tonight. It touches me profoundly." she stammered, hugging her tightly enough to surprise the tough woman.

She left the villa with a big, warm smile, the same one she'd worn when Jackie had moved her into his family estate and she'd met his mother. Valerie turned and walked back into the villa, where Kerry was already tidying up the dirty dishes in the kitchen and turning on her home cinema with 80s pop songs, Duran Duran it seemed. Valerie helped him in silence, while her friend kept smiling, the result of a unique evening.

A few minutes later, she sat down on the circular sofa and picked up her new Gibson by the neck, before positioning it on edge, pressed against her chest. It was magnificent, delicate with the richest, most natural finishes, the sign of a handcrafted product reserved for the most selective customers. She took her pick from her pocket and began to play. But she stopped the split second before the pick touched a single string.

Memories and new thoughts flashed through her mind. She saw herself in her apartment at The Glen after selling the one in the H10 Megabuilding, as the new one offered more space for her and Judy. She thought of all the things she wanted to do and give to the woman who shared her bed, and her chaotic life. One of her plans was to marry her and give her a unique guitar performance.

There was only one old band she knew, and that was The Strokes. One fine day, as she was driving through the Badlands in Johnny's Porshe 911 Turbo, the hologram of her former owner in the passenger seat, the 88.9 Pacific Dreams radio station played one of their most beautiful songs, Selfless.

Under very simple melodic tunes, it told of a person's unconditional love for his one and only love. Ironically, the song drew an interesting parallel with the countdown and more-than-ephemeral nature of her life, and the total devotion to her.

She'd found the song and played it so often on her commute that she knew the words by heart, while Johnny railed and scoffed at her wimpy ways. She loved that song, loved everything about it.

Back in real life, she tried to string together a few lyrics from this sublime song, giving light taps on the taut, stiff strings of her instrument.

The tears could not be stopped, and flowed with disconcerting ease, destroying the mascara and thick black eyeliner she had reapplied only a short time ago. Each stroke of the strings sent heavy pulsations through her stomach and skull like hurricanes sweeping away every last human edifice with ruthless ease. Signs and images reflected what they could have built, lifting each other up to the highest peaks and accomplishing more and more miracles.

But it was not to be. Only pain and sorrow broke the molecular chains of her body like the power of radiance exterminating all human matter without the slightest mercy.

Every word spoken was like taking a Mantis Blade blow to the chest, feeling impaled so violently that the principle of breathing becomes a veritable unknowledgeable thing. Her voice shattered like the mirror she'd punched that evening at the No-Tell, the evening that had destroyed her the first time.

She couldn't go on, the pain was too great. Kerry, silently watching her, sat on the other side of the round table surrounded by arched velvet sofas.

Valerie opened her eyes, wet and flushed, tear-stained and reflecting no emotion even remotely reminiscent of joy. She looked at Kerry, who knew as well as any of the evening's guests that the Valerie celebrating her birthday with gusto was not the one he was looking into the whites of his eyes.

"V... Put that guitar down. Don't hurt yourself any more if you're not feeling well." he said in a deep, hesitant voice. "You should go and get some rest, it's already two in the morning."

Valerie stood up and nodded gently, smiling a gaping false smile. She went upstairs with Kerry, her guitar in her hands, before everyone went to their respective rooms, after a warm and tender hug from the Rockerboy.

The night was a nightmare. Closing her eyes was impossible, despite the fatigue that weighed heavily on her. She tossed and turned every five minutes in bed, alternating her gaze between the tower-chipped horizon and holograms of the city that never slept, her two guitars hanging on the wall, and false representations of her and Judy embraced in a warm cocoon unreachable by evil, the only elusive interpretation of her ravaged mind.

"What's the point..." she whispered to anyone who could hear and understand her distress.

"What's the point of me bothering to build a new life if my old roots refuse to disappear?"

"What's the point of envisioning the future if the past is my present?"

"I can't go on indefinitely like this..." she expressed last, before grabbing a second pillow and plastering it over her face to see nothing more than nothingness. It was her only way of getting through the night without going mad.

The days that followed were nothing but aggravation, one after the other. A real dread in a mental obsession crawling as best it could towards an ever more rapidly receding exit. A fleeing mind lost in the abyss of memories impossible to burst through. She wanted to scream, to vigorously vociferate, to expel all the rage and anger she felt towards her past.

Every morning, after a quiet breakfast with Kerry, Valerie would drive out to a private gymnasium to which she had exclusive access. She would cross-glove the leather punching bag hanging from the ceiling and give it the beating of the century every time. The new leathers of the equipment, adorned with a magnificent 'Everlast' insignia, grew duller and duller with each training session.

The hammer-like blows of the reinforced concrete block against the malleable surface of the bag produced shockwaves with the same domination as a shotgun glued to its target's torso. These were no longer blows, but a wish to kill. She was no longer herself.

Uppercut, left hook, right hook, chained jabs followed by devastatingly vigorous crosses. The bag couldn't breathe if it had a heart.

When she'd had enough of exterminating the bag, she'd pounce on the rest of the equipment, starting a fight against the robotic opponent, the same one she'd beaten on an outing when meeting Coach Fred in Megabuilding H10. This one was equipped with an enhanced combat chip and was no ordinary opponent. Yet Valerie threw herself at him with elegance, speed and agility, which she over-trained to compensate for her lack of chrome. The robot didn't even know where to throw his blows, while his human adversary was sticking him with strikes that would wake the dead.

She howled with every kick, every movement, every impulse in her legs and arms. There was nothing but hatred.

What was the message? Externalising wasn't even useful enough anymore, she was always asking for more. Blood, chaos. She overworked her body and her heart beyond limits she could never sustain in the long term.

In the afternoons and evenings, she would repeat over and over again the various songs from her favorite albums. She'd start with the gentle warm-up tunes like The Night We Met, 'Shallow', Riptide, playing the Gibson, and end up in an uncontrollable torrent, her Telecaster in her hands. A song was running through her head, DragonForce's Heart Demolition.

It spoke of her refusal to give in to the despair of love, of a certain hatred of love in general, and of her hatred of her previous partner.

The rhythm was so frenzied that her fingers ended up bleeding from overexertion and vibration. When she approached the microphone, her words couldn't have sounded more right. Broken, shattered through, weak and wobbly, caught up in an endless torment, a infernal vortex.

She kept repeating, over and over, until her breath was too sharp and her lungs beat so fast they could have exploded and ravaged the country like an atomic bomb. She collapsed to her knees on the carpeted studio floor, exhausted.

It wasn't enough. She loved to sing, loved to enter into a symbiotic relationship with her instrument, pouring out wave after wave of emotion in a mess so immense it was poetic. Every evening, she would go back to bed, drained to the marrow, unable to move a single limb of her body, patiently waiting for the next day and repeating the same pattern over and over again.

Saturday, November 2 2079

She lasted three weeks.

Three weeks of becoming the same enraged automaton, the same musical dominatrix, the same empress fighting body and soul against her feelings.

But she wasn't strong enough.

One evening, she picked up her guitar and Johnny's spirit, one propped up against the passenger seat and the other safely tucked away in a holster on her belt. She drove a few miles north of Kerry's villa, smashing through the boudaries of the Quadra's speed limit, and sat down quietly on one of North Oak's grassy hills.

She picked up her guitar and laid it against her, and began to talk to herself.

"Today, I'm going away. A proper, polite farewell to you, no matter who hears me, that I'm already glad I've stuck it out this far. But this is getting me nowhere. One last solo for the road, and my last breath of life."

She stood up and played Heart Demolition one last time. Her hands clung to the strings like those of a surgeon on a terminally ill patient. No mistakes, no missed chords, everything followed one another in a melody so ferocious and frenetic that her mind grew and grew until it could no longer confine itself to its cage of organic matter.

She was sweating, every drop accumulated on her forehead beading and falling on the guitar becoming as wet as she was. Breathing was no longer useful; she was no longer human. She transcended time and space. Her screams were true, unique, genuine.

Her body twisted and bucked second after second, lifting her guitar in all directions and never losing control of her own movements. She was possessed by the recrudescence of her being. She'd end up with a bang.

When the last chords were finished, she stopped net. Nothing more. Her throat clenched, she looked into the whites of her eyes and dropped the guitar, which fell to her feet.

For a brief moment, there was only silence—the kind of silence that devours all echoes, the city’s neon just a faint glow in the distance. Valerie’s mind hovered in that void, not quite alive, not quite dead. Then she spoke. "Thank you, whoever heard and listened to me tonight. I can go now."

She opened her Samurai jacket and skimmed the leather holster, before taking the Malorian by the handle. She twirled it around, before bringing it close to her head.

She closed her eyes slowly and brought the polished barrel of the pistol to her temple. Her breathing was ragged and jerky, just like her outstretched arm as she approached the breath of death. But just as she pulled the trigger, she was violently knocked to the ground, the powerful shot echoing like a cannon and passing less than two inches from her skull.

"V ! Stop it! Fuck you're going to do something fucking stupid! Drop that shit right now!" bellowed an unfamiliar male voice.

"Let go of me! Fuck I want to go, leave me in peace, dammit!" she shouted as she struggled and managed to free herself from the figure's grip.

It was Kerry. He was wearing his studded leather jacket and Saul Bright-like dreadlocks. He looked at Valerie with dumbfounded shock, deep sorrow and sadness.

"V, calm down, please. This isn't the right thing to do! Listen to me, please. You think this is the right thing to do, huh? Screwing up like most of the lost souls in this city, in this country, in this world? Just because you've been through too much? You're better than that! You've got the strength to show this fucking world what you're worth, don't waste it. Show that you exist, that you're an incredible person."

"I can't Kerry, it's not possible. I do what I can but nothing is strong enough. Nothing, do you understand?! Nothing can erase my fucking past." she sobbed into his arms, having dropped the gun to the ground.

"There, go inside. We should discuss this quietly. Don't fuck yourself up, that's all I'm asking. You can get through this, I know it." he said as he stood up and took Valerie arm in arm, holding the broken woman exhausted by her performance.

Valerie and Kerry hopped back into their respective cars and drove quietly back to the villa. The night was in full swing, so loud that you could hear the screams and noises emanating from the city for miles around. This time she drove much more slowly, her gaze almost never leaving the gun that would have killed her if her suicidal impulses hadn't been curbed by her best friend.

Kerry had rarely had good, lasting relationships with anyone, and even with the other members of Samurai it remained rather complex and messy. After all, what isn't in this world? But Valerie was an exception to his own rule of not getting too attached. She reminded him of something, someone, whatever it was, she was obviously worth supporting and fighting for.

They reached the villa calmly and sat down in the living room, after Kerry had reheated some SynthBeef tacos and served two glasses filled with a delightful Tequila Sunrise cocktail. Valerie stood there in silence, alternating between savoring the dish and wiping her exhausted eyes at simply watching, whatever loomed ahead.

Kerry broke the silence. "V, I can't imagine your sorrow, only get an idea of it. It wouldn't do any good to tell the same garbage from a therapist about letting it go, and all that crap. I'm sincerely thinking about something else.”

He paused, meeting Valerie's gaze to make sure she was listening attentively. She was.

"I've been listening to you for well over three months now, and it goes without saying that you have a gift. Whether it's thanks to Johnny's leftovers or not, I just couldn't give a fuck. You've got a thing, and you're bringing it to life with your grief. But don't let it take over. Control it, and master it to unleash your gift on a real stage. Unleash your breath on the world. You'll turn heads, I know. Thousands, millions maybe even.”

Valerie was confused, but Kerry's words were full of meaning, as usual. It was strange that these two had saved each other, each time under dramatic and strange circumstances. But it worked.

"D-do you want me to go up on stage?" she wavered and crookedly swallowed her sip of her cocktail.

He crossed his legs and arms, sure of his assertion. “Hell yeah.” His tone was very supportive and strong. “Singing alone is great enough, V. But having people in front and behind you who share and love what you do and who you are. What you give off!”

“You're talking about forming a band? Isn't that a bit much?”

"Hey, I'm not asking you to jump on stage tomorrow! I'm just asking you to give it some serious thought, and forget the easy way out. I've had enough heartache in my life to know that it almost never goes away. So build something even more powerful on this toxic foundation. And with more than one, you'll see what a game changer it is.”

Both stood up after they'd finished their meal and Valerie hugged Kerry tightly, tears of hatred turning to tears of consideration and hope.

“Thank you, Kerry. Thank you for not losing hope in me, thank you for being my friend.”

“Baahh, you're welcome, really, don't worry! All right champ, come on, get some rest you need it so bad."

Perhaps this evening, this night, when the virulent whip of the past beat the young woman to the last breath of life, was also a symbol of true and complete renewal.

Thursday, December 5 2079

Several weeks passed, each day filled with intensive preparations, relentless rehearsals, and Valerie's fierce, unyielding dedication. The idea Kerry had planted in her mind had germinated slowly but steadily, pushing her beyond mere survival toward something tangible, extraordinary, and fucking genuine. Valerie's grief, previously a destructive force, gradually transformed into a well of creativity and resilience. Every morning she awoke with a singular focus—to surpass herself, to channel her pain into something brilliant, to create music that Night City had never heard before. Kerry, strongly supportive, watched her progress with awe, increasingly convinced that something monumental was forming right before his eyes.

The anticipated day of auditions finally dawned, bringing a tension-filled excitement to the air. Kerry had discretely spread widely the word among his vast network, attracting a diverse crowd of musicians from every corner of Night City and beyond. They poured into Kerry's expansive villa, some seasoned professionals looking for their next big break, others young and hungry for the slightest chance to be noticed. Around forty hopefuls crowded the luxurious yet oddly comforting space, instruments clutched tightly, nervous glances exchanged as they tuned their instruments, preparing themselves mentally for the audition ahead.

Valerie sat quietly next to Kerry in the large hall, her beloved Telecaster resting on her lap, her gaze sharp, critical, and dark. Kerry had publicly set up the drum kit and classical and synthetic keyboards to satisfy everyone.

The candidates presented themselves one by one, showing what they could do in a wide variety of musical pieces, chosen to be as difficult as possible in order to impress. Valerie, who was very demanding, first asked questions about general knowledge of contemporary music from the previous century and the early 2000s.

At the slightest sign of arrogance or overly relaxed behavior, she would dismiss the candidate curtly. Some were quite disturbed, stunned, even indignant, but Valerie explained the obvious reasons for her demand for excellence.

“Hi, what's your name?”

“Vincenzo, I'm a bass player. So, shall I get started right away?” said one candidate who was a little too excited to play.

Valerie immediately cooled him down. “Not so fast, basic questions first. What do you know about acid jazz and garage rock? Just a random culture question.”

The young man fell silent, unable to answer. Valerie tried to help him. “Rougher sounds, White Stripes, and club jazz, no, nothing? Okay, there, play something.”

The bassist had been shaken up inside and started playing a song by Tainted Overlord, just like the previous fifteen. The chords were confused, and Valerie stopped him net.

“Okay. Thanks for participating. Next. If anyone else plays Tainted, they're out. We want originality here, thank you!”

Her criticism was fair but merciless, creating an intense atmosphere that sometimes caused tension between the candidates.

“Who does she think she is? Hey, bitch, you think you're better than us, huh?” moaned several disgruntled guitarists, clearly frustrated that Valerie had abruptly interrupted their songs, which did not meet her expectations.

Valerie didn't respond with words, but with actions. Calmly, silently, she stood up, plugged her Telecaster into the nearest amplifier, and launched into a breathtaking rendition of the solo from “Razorblade Meltdown”.

Her fingers slid across the neck with astonishing precision and speed, each note cutting through the room like a sharp blade slicing through their egos. Silence immediately fell, mouths remained open and murmurs ceased. This dazzling display effectively silenced any dissent, asserting her unquestionable authority. She sat back down next to Kerry, giving him a satisfied look, he too having faced the dullest of her fans.

“Well, anyone else want to challenge me or show me what she's got in her fucking guts? We want the best, versatility, uniqueness. If you don't like it, go home to your mothers with your tails between your legs.”

After exhaustive auditions, only three outstanding musicians emerged, each with unique and impressive talent.

Michael, a tall, imposing man with a shaved head and impeccable punk style with prominent tattoos, dominated his bass guitar with finesse and power. His confidence radiated calm and serenity, providing a solid rhythmic foundation that Valerie knew instinctively she could rely on. What's more, he had learned the art of the most underrated musical styles such as Bluegrass and Shoegaze as a teenager, and knew some of the leading bands of the 1980s, such as Guns N' Roses.

Nikola, a drummer, was a powerful man with silver hair and a carefully braided goatee. His ability to flow seamlessly from soft, complex rhythms to thunderous, intense beats was mesmerizing. Valerie appreciated the raw yet precise energy he brought to the band, seeing him as the rhythmic heart of their music. Valerie asked him to play some fast tempos, and, being a power metal fan like Valerie, he played the drum solo from Midnight Madness, which she immediately fell in love with.

Marina, a keyboardist, had a deceptively corpo appearance, behaving with refined elegance and sophisticated grace. Her whimsical attitude translated effortlessly into her musical talent, creating atmospheric layers with a delicate yet commanding presence on the keys. Her style added the perfect harmonic balance and complexity that Valerie was looking for. To stand out, she would play the danceable rhythms of Take On Me and Jump by Van Halen. Classical training was enough to separate the mere amateurs from the truly passionate artists.

The end of the day was already approaching, and after a very long audition of Night City's best hidden talents, Valerie took the floor and thanked everyone for coming.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming today. The winners have been selected, so I encourage each of you to keep practicing, refine your passion for this art, and share it with those around you. I am sure that each of you will find your voice.”

She turned to the three audition winners, all standing proudly next to each other. Kerry gave her an approving smile, apparently confident of their potential.

“That's it. They're the ones.” she whispered quietly to him.

Michael, Nikola and Marina exchanged relieved but energetic glances, instinctively feeling the stress on their nerves, but nonetheless tinged with the joy of having won a chance to make a name for themselves with a great like Kerry Eurodyne, and a strange friend with the power of speech and surreal musical flare.

“Right, tomorrow we start. Be there at 9 AM." she declared confidently, in a firm, inspiring voice. "I wanna see what you're worth, what we can be worth together."

Kerry smiled warmly, his pride evident as he reached out to pat Valerie's shoulder affectionately. A few hours after the members had left, during their dinner, Valerie couldn't help rehashing certain thoughts.

“You know, Kerry, I didn't think anyone would know some of these songs. I thought with the NET crash, it'd become unobtainable. That everyone would just eat the same current crap without understanding the past, in its tangible form.”

Kerry smiled with a shrug. “Completely. Almost everything was erased in 2022. But people have very quickly forgotten the existence of CDs, vinyls and all the media containing music from before. That's because of modern supports and excessive consumerism. Take my new tour, for example, which has quickly gone flat because people move on too quickly. You could change that.”

“Do you regret those days?”

“Totally. The glory days of Samurai in the early 2000s, the exchanges with other well-known groups, all that. It was great to meet some of the biggest names of the day. I still have Bruce Springsteen's and Eric Clapton's autographs on one of my oldest guitars. I'm so glad guys like Franck make it possible for young people like you, or even them, to preserve and pass on in turn.”

As Valerie left to shower, Kerry felt an exhilarating anticipation rising inside him, knowing deep down that Night City was about to witness something extraordinary and transformative.

The stage was set, and Valerie's music would soon leave an indelible mark.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 - Rise Above The Fire

11:14 PM

Valerie lay comfortably stretched out and snuggled under the warm blankets of her bed, bathed in the soft orange glow of the wall sconce opposite her. Her gaze traced the horizon pierced by sprawling holograms depicting the megatowers of Night City, leaving only a partial opening for the natural light of the stars. The eclectic melodies and rhythms that many people had brought and presented still resonated loudly within her. She looked at her Telecaster and her Gibson with respect, as if giving them a soul of their own, ready to unleash their power in higher spheres.

Her heart was racing, not from adrenaline, no. But rather from a disorderly mess of dread, doubt, and hope. Three musicians recruited for a trial run. Three people who strangely shared the same passion for the music of yesteryear, lost beneath layers of present-day mediocrity. She thought of each of them and their very atypical styles.

Nikola and his playful confidence on the drums, seemingly capable of switching from slow songs to furious sequences. Michael and his fast and frenetic precision, imposing his dominance on the strings of his bass. Marina, and her refined elegance, as captivating as it was disconcerting, sliding her hands over the keys like a waltzer spinning on her toes.

She allowed herself a slight smile, recalling the proud smiles on their faces when she had said earlier, “This is them.” But the old knot tightened in her stomach, the memory of pain and exhaustion threatening to engulf her ambition. “Can I really lead them?” she wondered.

The minutes stretched into hours. She thought back to Kerry's words: “You've got a thing. Control it, and master it to unleash your gift on a real stage. Unleash your breath on the world.” Once again, the memory frayed and undermined her determination. Alone in the dark, she whispered to the ceiling. “Where is this leading me? What do they expect of me? What if I disappoint them all?”

Unable to sleep, she sat up and adjusted her pillow. She took out her diary, filled with notes, drawings, and everything else that filled her mind. She thought about the low value of simply reviving the talent of singers past, and began reworking the scribbled lyrics of two songs she had written a few days earlier. Rise Above The Fire and Fuel My Heart. Her pen hovered over the page. There was something about those phrases that demanded belief.

Her eyes ended up getting heavy, and in the middle of the night, she drifted off to sleep, pushed by her nighttime focus and her musical exhaustion from the day.

Friday, December 6, 2080

The next morning, the sun's rays fought through the steel slatted shutters in the guest bedroom as Valerie mentally prepared herself for her first day of training with her potential band. She was apprehensive, tapping her feet nervously on the edge of her bed, her Telecaster in her hands, repeating the same basic chords over and over again.

Controlled breathing exercises, vocal and joint warm-ups, a quick workout, and a few pull-ups on her bar. She felt ready. Kerry knocked on her door, and she opened it.

“Hey V, you look great! It's only 8 AM, already on track?”

"Damn, Kerry, I'm a little stressed... Did I go too hard yesterday? What if they don't like me?“ sighed Valerie, strumming her guitar even more nervously.

”Calm down...“ he said, placing both hands on her shoulders and giving her a crooked smile. ”You were perfect yesterday. Here, take this. You deserve the perfect setting."

He handed her a set of keys with a badge.

“What's that?”

“The keys to Samurai's recording studio. It still belongs to me, and all the band's equipment is there for you to use. I'll send you the address.”

Before Valerie could say a word, the address appeared on her glasses: 13 Martin Luther King Avenue, Corpo Plaza.

“Seriously, Kerry? I mean, thank you, but I could have found one myself.”

“Cut the bullshit, V! It's a gift, and I'm happy to give it to you. I'll come visit you this afternoon. I have an appointment with MSM this morning.”

Valerie smiled warmly at her before getting her things ready. She sent the address of the meeting place to her future stage companions and got ready.

She packed her things into her Quadra for the first rehearsal, and all the way from the villa to the city center, the adrenaline was pumping. She had prepared a list of songs in various styles to test the winners' level and versatility.

The hangar was huge. Discreet, but elegant. She waited patiently outside for them to arrive. And everyone was there fifteen minutes before 9.

“Hi, V!” they all said in unison, smiling and carrying their equipment in shoulder bags.

Valerie gave them a quick check and they entered the magnificent space, a remnant of Samurai's past and present greatness, which now welcomed the future bearers of a new breath of fresh air in music.

It had everything. A complete stage raised by an imposing red and white steel drum kit, two long keyboards on a solid X-shaped stand, set up for classic synth symbiosis, a row of guitars hanging on the walls decorated with all the band's tour posters from the 2000s, and of course, a super retro 80s-style microphone stand. The room was filled with vinyl records, CDs, players, and all the hardware needed for audio mixing and vocal tuning.

“Alright, let's get started. Are you all ready?”

Everyone nodded silently, setting up their stuff in their places and warming up quickly.

Valerie stood in front of them, straight as a soldier at attention, slinging the leather strap of her guitar around her shoulders and adjusting the level.

“Before we start, I wanted to thank you all for your performance yesterday and for being here today. I hope we'll get along well.”

“What shall we start with?” asked Nikola, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves so they wouldn't get in the way of his drumsticks.

Valerie began, her voice still a little hoarse but determined. “Today, we'll start with something simple. The rhythm section first.” She nodded approvingly to Nikola. “Nik, play a steady rhythm at 120 BPM. Michael, accompany him with a sustained riff, but not too fast. Marina, fill in the space with a pad, something soft for support.”

Nikola's drumsticks punched the skins with measured precision: thump... thump... thump... Michael followed, his bass notes anchoring the rhythm in a deep, resonant groove, similar to King Crimson's dominant bass lines. Marina's fingers danced lightly across the keyboard, creating a soft, ambient layer that caressed the duo's foundation. Valerie's Telecaster was now silent; it was time to listen.

After a few very interesting minutes, she raised her pick. “Cool. Now let's try something more dynamic: we'll start at 60 BPM and then 200 BPM. Think Iron Maiden or Slayer. Ready?” Marina adjusted her sync settings. Nikola's metronome flashed: 60... 60... Then Michael gave the tempo: “Let's go!” Nikola transitioned seamlessly into a fast double-time rhythm, Michael's bass following like a train at full speed. Marina launched into a fast, fluid, and confident arpeggio.

Valerie exhaled: “That's it, that's it, yeah...”

As the trio played their climb to around 180 BPM with regularity and confidence, Valerie stopped them net. “Great job, really. You three have very good coordination. Have you played together before?”

Marina sat down on her small stool. “I played with Michael two years ago at Riot, but never with Nikola.” She turned to him, showing her appreciation for his confident and dynamic playing.

Valerie climbed onto the stage and quickly tuned the headstocks. “Okay, let's do a group test. Do you all know Journey?”

Michael looked up enthusiastically and excitedly. “Yeah, totally! My dad introduced me to this band when I was very young.” Marina and Nikola agreed wholeheartedly.

Valerie picked up her Telecaster and plugged it into the amp. "We're going to play Separate Ways. There's not much piano, so Marina, you follow my rhythm and play along to give it some body. Nikola, you keep the basic flow and speed up a little more in the solos. Michael, deepen the low tones in the middle of the sequence. There we go. One, two..."

Marina turned on her synthesizer and struck the first chords, her fingers dancing fluidly across the keys, then joined in tandem by the deep, high riff of the bass and the sequenced hammering of the drums.

Valerie grabbed the microphone and sang in the smoothest, sweetest voice, covered with a deliberate husky, gravelly layer.

The four members exchanged lively glances, carried away by the growing melody of this powerful and tragic song. Valerie let herself be carried away by the lyrics that mirrored her life, and instead of letting herself be overwhelmed by anger, she grabbed it and channeled it violently during the chorus, surrounded by the energetic waves of the instruments in perfect harmony.

The tempo gradually accelerated, each member perfectly in tune with the power of her instrument. Valerie let her pain burst forth from her innermost being, metabolized into a draconic breath, Nikola pounded the cymbals and drums, subjugating the melody in an admirable roller coaster, Michael and Marina harmonized their parts in a united double tornado that set the stage ablaze.

All were bearers of an art lost in the past.

As the notes stretched out into a gradual slowdown, the flames of the instruments returned to embers, and the last guitar note was played, the band faded into silence. You could still smell the dedication, power, and raw passion in the air. Valerie, Nikola, Marina, and Michael reopened their eyes and looked at each other. Smiles quickly appeared, but it took Valerie's tongue to break the overwhelming tension.

“That was... interesting,” she said with a simplicity that was terribly disconcerting.

The three musicians didn't know where to look at that moment, and Michael broke the awkward silence. “Um... interesting as in ‘yeah, that was interesting!’ or interesting as in you mean it sucked?”

Valerie chuckled and sat down across from them, the sweat-covered guitar resting on her lap. “The first answer, if it makes you feel any better.”

They all sighed in relief. Valerie looked at them with affection and high esteem.

"You're good. Very good, even. I didn't expect it to work so well so quickly. But... maybe it's just luck and the excitement of the beginning. You have amazing artistic chemistry, I didn't feel like anyone was holding back. Marina, your rhythm was excellent, and you stayed in the background, tying everything together. It gave it a really unique dimension compared to the original."

Marina smiled proudly, happy to have performed to Valerie's expectations. The latter turned to Michael and Nikola.

“Nik, Michael, you were magnificent as well. Just be careful not to get too carried away in the solos or fall back too much in the slow parts. We'll correct that as we go along, but it's really minor. We should continue with some quieter songs. As I told you yesterday, the style we're aiming for is above all versatility. I want us to be able to go from quiet, melancholic ballads to battles against the beyond at 200 BPM. And what you've shown me so far is seriously impressive."

The band high-fived each other in recognition of their efforts and got back to work without delay.

Between rehearsals, the quartet would take a break in the open-plan living room and talk about their past, their passion for music, and, of course, what had led to the creation of this band.

Nikola sipped a Calavera Feliz and asked Valerie, “I think I've heard your name somewhere before. Sorry to ask now, but your name was everywhere earlier, wasn't it?”

Valerie leaned over the corner sofa and sighed, the difficult memories coming back to her like a foul smell. “Yes, that's normal. I was a merc over two years ago. But I had a serious illness that took two years to heal. And I can't wear combat chrome anymore, so no more merc life. I knew Kerry well, and he saved me multiple times and passed on his passion for music to me. And that's where we are now."

The trio of musicians were amazed by such a story. Marina wondered, ”And why did you want to form a band? And how did you get so good so quickly? I mean, it's quite something...”

Valerie tried to smile, but it was fake, trying to cover up her grief in vain. “Kerry pushed me to do it because it would help me channel my mastery and my heartache, which—well... It's complicated, I can assure you. But know that I really enjoy working with you.”

“We'll have to find a band name then, right?” Michael laughed, twirling his bass around his arms.

“We'll have time to find a good one. Let's not get ahead of ourselves,“ Valerie chuckled, getting up and grabbing her precious guitar by the neck. "Okay, there, break's over. Does anyone have a song suggestion to try?"

”How about 'Do I Wanna Know' by Arctic Monkeys?” Nikola suggested.

“Yeah, not bad! Very good suggestion. Does everyone know it?” The trio nodded. ”But the piano is still a bit quiet in this song. So, Marina, like earlier, I want you to match your tempo to the bass. And increase the range in the chorus to match my guitar, okay?”

“Sure!” exclaimed the keyboardist.

Valerie plugged her guitar back into the amp, and the band started as soon as she set the tempo with her sharp foot taps. The bass kicked in as soon as Valerie played the first chords. The tempo was maintained throughout, the amplitude gradually rising in a raw melody, and as if covered with a thin layer of sugar poured from Marina's notes in a very rock style.

The work on this song was another success among the many reworked covers of classics from bands of the early 2000s. No one got carried away, neglecting the collective work and the importance of each instrument. Everything took place in an exemplary, professional, but not unpleasant atmosphere. The harmony was a treat for everyone's ears, pushing them to surpass themselves in quality.

Kerry had stopped by as planned in the early afternoon, after Valerie had invited her new acolytes to Chubby Buffalo's in The Glen. He had watched as a spectator of choice, enjoying several varied performances by the group in a range of tempos and musical styles. Go Your Own Way, Runaway Train, Dance Macabre and a livelier rendition of Separate Ways were presented to her with humble and dazzling authenticity.

He loved it. Period. At the end of the day, everyone went home and met up again the next day at the same time. For weeks, the quartet shared their general knowledge of lost trends, their childhood idols, and past recordings of their early performances.

Every morning, Valerie woke up with her heart a little lighter than the night before. She forgot about Judy, who was the source of all her heartache. She focused on the things and people that really mattered to her. Hands were extended when all hope was lost, not a life raft, but a real cruise ship sailing toward her future.

They spent their days in the warehouse loft, working on their songs, creating their unique sound, ranging from melancholic ballads to wild anthems. The band's synergy quickly grew stronger, reaching a near telepathy on stage, where the members understood each other without needing to speak.

A little less than three weeks later, Valerie sent a knockoff of the lyrics to two songs she had written on her own, asking for feedback on the melody and how each instrument could contribute. Michael, Nikola, and Marina had secretly concocted complete scores that synergized their areas of expertise.

Valerie had worked on her chords on her own and found the group's work very clean and original. She made a demo recording of Fuel My Heart and Rise Above The Fire and sent both to Kerry. He was stunned that Valerie showed him this with such casualness and humility. Kerry decided to invite her musical wizard friends to his house for Christmas Eve.

Tuesday, December 24, 2080

Valerie was cruising the snowy streets of Arroyo in her gleaming Quadra. She was running errands to help Kerry prepare dinner and was currently looking for her local SynthChicken and RealVeggies vendor. After a successful transaction with the vendor, a heartfelt handshake, and wishes for a Merry Christmas, Valerie set off for her friend's house. But as she turned on the radio, searching for something better than the crap that had been playing on repeat for years, she stumbled upon it again.

Why, of all the thousands, millions of songs lost in the past and re-released, did it have to be this particular one?

And yet, before she even had time to switch tracks as the presenter announced the song, the acoustic guitar chords were already playing. The only gaping hole left in her heart reopened and tears destroyed the beauty of her face. Now it was covered in black smudges along her eyes and dry, dirty marks.

She cursed her past. How could she be so weak against this? She had to end it once and for all. She deleted Judy from her contacts. Strange that she hadn't done it sooner. She also turned off and unplugged the radio, and simply inserted a Johnny Cash CD, The Man Comes Around. It was this album that had introduced her to the beauty of acoustic guitar. And it had also been the cornerstone that awakened her inner fire.

She returned to the villa a little early. Fortunately, no one was there to see her affected by her own stupid problems. Kerry was still busy with a contact in Japantown, a supplier of exceptional products. And the trio wasn't there either, which gave her time to get ready. She went up to her room and took out her best clothes. She went back down to the bathroom and came out changed.

A beautiful, simple black lace dress, her red hair now much longer, combed in harmony with a sublime softness and smoothness. Her makeup had covered the marks and scars as hard as knife cuts, reaffirming her elegance and daring to turn heads.

She turned on the amplifier in the living room with a random mix of the best jazz singers, from Billie Holiday to Chet Baker to Nat King Cole. It was the perfect atmosphere for Christmas evening. And this time, she wouldn't let anything spoil it. Not with the best friends around her and a bright future ahead of her.

Valerie began preparing dinner while Kerry returned from his appointment, carrying a crate filled to the brim with sweet and savory treats to accompany the meal. The afternoon stretched on as the dishes took shape, heaping up in the huge refrigerator, and the large rectangular table was decorated with very original neo-kitsch decorations. All of this was, of course, enhanced by a large, overwhelmingly realistic artificial Christmas tree, decorated with just about everything that had been found in the boxes in the garage.

The guests arrived one after the other. Vik was the first to arrive, wearing a black shirt straight out of Saturday Night Fever and carrying a nice bottle of Centzon tequila for Valerie.

Nancy, Henry, and Denny arrived together, in a style closer to entropy than fashion. Their taste for flashy colors had so marked their iconic appearance.

Mama Welles, followed by Nikola, Michael, and Marina, arrived last, all dressed as elegantly as their taste in music. Everyone had come laden with sealed packages.

The dinner was exquisite. Nothing to add, nothing to take away. Everyone felt at home, in the right place at the right time. Of course, the future adventures of Valerie's band were the main focus of attention. Henry kept asking what their signature tune was, their band name, while Mama Welles and Vik were eager to see their first public performance, whatever the name. The others got to know the chosen members, shared their life stories...

In the middle of the evening, Kerry stood up and made a big announcement, tapping her fork against her glass.

“Hey, hey, hey! Listen up, everyone! I have some big news to announce.“

Everyone fell silent and turned around, eager to hear the big reveal.

”Five months ago, V, here with us today, blessed us all with her new passion for singing and guitar, and the abandoned remnants of everyone else. And three weeks ago, V, accompanied by three virtuosos, founded their own band. Only the biggest morons in the world would say that there's nothing extraordinary about them. All of you know the infinite potential of these four people. Three days ago, I contacted HighTimes Records, told them about you, and they agreed to see you in three days.”

Everyone was speechless.

“HighTimes? What is that, who are they? And what do they want from us? Why only two days?” Valerie quickly asked, overcome with panic. Kerry didn't miss a beat and snickered, pleased with the reaction he had clearly anticipated.

“It's a record label that competes with MSM. They have a good reputation, and their headquarters are here in Night City. I told them about all your work, the different styles, and they'd like to see you perform two or three songs. If they like it, there's apparently a slot for a concert on New Year's Eve at the Red Dirt. So? Are you up for it?”

Everyone was ecstatic with joy and anticipation, hype, and a little stress. Valerie, initially a little scared that such an opportunity had come so quickly, let herself be swept away by the simple fact of jumping into this cascade with her eyes closed.

As the feast came to a close, midnight sounded, and the city was already abuzz with fireworks and thunderous gunfire. To each his celebration in Night City. Everyone got up and hugged each other, happy to be right there. Happy to still be able to share a meal in peace with people who matter. Happy to see that smiling and laughing is still possible. Happy to believe, to believe in something concrete.

Numerous gifts were presented to everyone. Symbols of boundless affection. A reminder that everyone exists, and that others are more important than they might have thought.

Thursday, December 26 2080

The group hadn't let Christmas morning slow them down. They were already in the studio loft, rehearsing their best work over and over again. Rehearsing over and over again Valerie's original songs, which had obviously won over everyone around her in the know.

“Nikola, I want you to raise your tempo to a crescendo for the two pre-choruses. And you'll only intervene on the third chorus to intensify its liveliness and power. You'll come back down for the second verse, and it'll be up to you Marina to press the dramatic melody. Michael, you'll be in support, with a slower tempo.”

Each of them took multiple notes on their scores, and tensions grew each time. Valerie took it in her stride, aware of the importance of such a presentation. She invited everyone to test their solo tempo, giving the others the opportunity to analyze in precise details the rises, falls and bridge hold between two refrains.

In the end, everyone found their feet, managing to synchronize with each other's tempo, and each rehearsed song was performed with majestic grace. They had their three ready.

It was time to prove to a record company who they were.

Friday, December 26 2080

Kerry had taken out his Aerodyne, and he and Valerie, in her Quadra, had sped off to the huge HighTimes Records studio in the early afternoon.

The trio was already in place, dressed in their finest. Everyone felt their nerves stretch and relax like rubber bands, tapping their feet or wiggling their sweaty fingers against their legs. Valerie checked them one by one.

Michael was tuning and retuning the keys of his bass to perfection, Nikola was anxiously waving his authentic sequoia drumsticks, while Marina was repeating tempos in a low voice and waving her hands as if a keyboard were standing in front of her.

Valerie broke their internal thoughts with an interjection of delight. "'Come on! Don't stress guys, let's just show who we are and what we've got. You're not going to let that throw you off, are you?”

The trio rose to their feet, pride coursing through their veins, pulverizing their anxiety. They entered the huge tower, accompanied by Kerry, having groomed her silver dreadlocks and rockerboy denim jacket as never before.

They entered the elevator and reached the 27th floor, where a small committee was eagerly awaiting them. They recognized Kerry and greeted him kindly.

“Ker' my friend! So these are your hidden talents? Nice to meet you. Andrew Traoz.” said the main figure, a very burly man with mid-sized white hair, shaking hands with everyone.

"Kerry tells me you carry within you the will to bring the classics of bygone days up to date? And do you have anything else in your mysterious potential?”

Valerie stepped forward, confident. Her nervous tick had subsided. “Of course, our group's main vocation is to gather all lost souls. Lost in their loneliness, in their despair. To ensure that everyone rebuilds solid ties on fragile pasts. And, as you've asked, we're also bringing original productions. We hope they will touch you.”

“Excellent! Well, if Kerry trusts you, we're all ears to listen. Take your seats!”

The quartet advanced into the recording studio, where magnificent, solid and refined instruments were set up. Much more so than Samurai's loft, to be sure. Valerie turned discreetly to them.

“There, I trust you all. We'll start with Runaway Train, Heart Demolition, and Fuel My Heart.”

A good, solid general handshake, settling in and a good breathing exercise later, the band started.

Preliminary chords from Valerie's drums and Gibson sounded softly, carried by the delicate, melancholy keys of Marina's piano. Valerie's broken voice slipped naturally into the melody, gentle but with a quiet strength. Michael and Nikola continued with precision, gradually building a dramatic intensity that thrilled every listener. The label's initially stoic reviewers leaned forward slightly, intrigued by the palpable sincerity emanating from each musician.

The transition to Heart Demolition was brutal and electrifying. Nikola launched the rhythm with an almost savage power, his face focused but ignited by the energy of the track. Michael attacked his bass with vigor, synchronizing perfectly with Valerie's cutting riffs. Valerie's voice, now roaring, was completely free, immediately captivating the label members. Marina supported each vocal flight with a subtle but indispensable virtuosity, her fingers dancing over the keys with impressive speed. The studio seemed to vibrate with them, Mr Traoz exchanging surprised and admiring glances with his colleagues.

Without pause, Valerie signaled to slow down gently, announcing Fuel My Heart, her original song. Her voice took on a poignant depth, each word charged with raw emotion and authenticity. Marina accompanied with an enveloping melody, while Michael and Nikola instinctively adjusted their intensity to underline each verse with delicacy and radiant dynamism. The group achieved perfect harmony, a true musical osmosis. Kerry nodded, impressed, and the reviewers remained silent, captive until the last note.

When they finished, an almost ceremonial silence filled the room. Then, slowly, Mr Traoz and his assistant, Eithan Emerson stood up, clapping sincerely.

“Impressive, really impressive.” They smiled broadly. “I think HighTimes just found something unique. And may we ask how shall you be called ?”

Valerie exhaled deeply, exchanging relieved and proud glances with her group. The first big step had just been taken.

Mr Traoz and Emerson nodded deeply and genuinely towards the other members and Kerry, who was standing aside Valerie, proud like ever for her.

"Well, I think this is settled ! We grant you the opportunity to play the 31th evening for New Year's Day at the Red Dirt. Do you all agree ?" claimed Mr Traoz.

Everyone did. They were up to set the first foot into the road of fame.

Tuesday, December 31, 2079

The setting sun bathed the streets of Night City in a copper glow when they arrived at the Red Dirt. There was already a small crowd waiting outside and gathered around the bar inside. Nikola, Michael, and Marina, their faces marked by nervous excitement, immediately began checking their equipment, speaking little, absorbed by the importance of the moment. Valerie stood slightly apart, contemplating the scene, her stomach knotted with growing anxiety.

Shortly after, their friends arrived. Kerry was reassuring as always, accompanied by Henry, Denny, and Nancy, then Viktor, Mama Welles, and even Pepe with his wife Cynthia and their son Diego. Even César had come in the same car from 2077, the one he had risked in his duel with Valerie. His wife Micaela and his son Valeriano had accompanied him. Valerie welcomed them all warmly, so happy and grateful that so many had come. But her gestures were mechanical, her mind elsewhere.

Suddenly, a subtle commotion took hold of the bar when the representatives of HighTimes Records entered, accompanied by two journalists from N54 News.

“And here is the new rising star of music, the phenomenon of the moment, supported by our beloved global star, Kerry Eurodyne!” exclaimed one of the publicists, setting up cameras and microphones for interviews. Valerie felt her heart race. The pressure was overwhelming.

As she desperately tried to compose herself, her phone vibrated. Instinctively, she looked at the screen.

She opened her messages and dropped to her knees at the disturbing vision.

For a second, Valerie wondered if the excitement was making her delirious. She rubbed her eyes again and again, blinked almost a thousand times, but the message was real. She felt compelled to respond to such an affront.

There was no reply. Valerie felt anger take hold of her thoughts and joy. The panic she had felt when she arrived only grew, blazed by an uncontrollable wave of memories of her and her past love.

The room suddenly seemed to sway around her. Her breathing became erratic, her mind clouded by a deafening, oppressive terror. “No... no, no, no... Not now, damn it. Pull yourself together, for fuck's sake!”

She spotted Henry near the bar and rushed towards him, her hands shaking.

“Henry, I need help...“ she whispered with difficulty.

Henry stared at her, worried. “What are you talking about, V? What's wrong?”

“I don't feel well... I can't give up now. Do you have anything to help me relax? Anything...” Her voice was broken, almost aggressive under the pressure.

Henry frowned, shaking his head. “Are you serious? No, no, no, V. You don't need that shit. Not you.”

She grabbed his arm with an almost desperate intensity. “FUCK, HENRY! I'm not okay, I'm having a panic attack! If you don't give me something, I'm going to break down in front of everyone! You don't want that on your fucking conscience, do you? Just a little, quick!”

He hesitated for a moment, visibly struggling with his own inner demons, then sighed deeply, resigned. From an inside pocket, he discreetly took out a black inhaler with red purple contours. “Black Lace. It's very powerful. Just one puff. One, okay? Don't get yourself into this, you're not worth it, V.”

She nodded, taking the inhaler and using it immediately. The effect was instantaneous. A warm, euphoric sensation quickly spread through her body, dispelling her tremors and anxiety. An artificial but powerful calm settled over her.

“F-fuck, thank you Henry. I feel better,” she whispered with a strangely confident smile, handing the inhaler back to Henry.

“The show starts in five minutes!” announced Mr. Traoz from backstage. The band quickly gathered in the dressing room, exchanging horny but nervous glances. Valerie joined them, looking transformed, calmer and more determined than ever. No one noticed the slight dilation of her pupils or the unusual brightness of her amber eyes.

They took the stage to a light ovation and a few playful whistles, the room half full but already buzzing with palpable energy. Valerie stepped up to her microphone, taking a deep breath as the cameras turned toward her. She looked out at all the people who had come to see them. They were smiling, eagerly anticipating what was to come.

“Tonight,” she said in a loud, clear, emotional voice, ”we are here for all those who carry wounds in their hearts, grief, loss. To all those who today feel lost, alone, on the edge of the cliff. We are here to remind you of one thing. You are not alone. Not tonight. You may not find meaning in your life, but you will find people whose sole purpose is to take away your trauma and pain for one evening."

Valerie straddled her Gibson, the Telecaster resting gently against the amp at her feet, ready for use. She exchanged a confident glance with her band. Nikola held his drumsticks tightly, his face marked by intense focus. Michael clutched his bass, determined like a warrior with his precious weapon ready for battle. Marina let her fingers hover elegantly over the keys of her synthesizer, ready to unleash haunting melodies.

Valerie slowly approached the microphone, feeling the reassuring weight of the Gibson in her hands, the soft lighting enveloping the stage in an almost unreal softness. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly to find her inner calm. “Our first song is called Stay With Me.”

Nikola's drums began with a slow, deep beat, followed almost immediately by the delicate, airy notes of Marina's piano, forming a subtle and stirring harmony. Valerie's voice rose softly, filling the space with a poignant sincerity, each word imbued with genuine, deeply felt emotion.

Her rich, slightly broken voice vibrated with poignant intensity, touching the hearts of everyone in the room. Michael added a discreet but powerful bass line, reinforcing each note with precision. The band's backing vocals joined in delicately, their voices intertwining harmoniously with Valerie's, creating an intimate and warm atmosphere. The song thus transformed into a true anthem to reconciliation, lost love, and the hopes of reunion that everyone secretly carries within them.

Following the last notes of the piano and Valerie's vibrations, the band launched into Runaway Train, a song dedicated to all lost souls, moving forward despite themselves in uncertainty and sadness. Valerie caressed the strings of her Gibson, making them rumble under her fingertips, laying down a melancholic line as magical as it was haunting, accompanied by the deep groove of Michael's bass. Valerie's voice was deliberately made more fragile and husky to emphasize the authenticity of her delivery, naturally reinforcing the poignant sense of drifting.

This time, Nikola bounced his drumsticks on the snare drum, hammering out the rhythm with the regularity of a possessed metronome, sweeping the cymbals with a precise gesture, each strike sounding like a desperate call for help.

The tempo slowed slightly as Arctic Monkeys' Love Is A Laserquest began softly, carried by the melancholic drums pulsing like a heartbeat and the sorrowful notes of the synthesizer. The bass, dark and enveloping, rumbling like lava beneath the earth's crust, punctuated every word sung by Valerie.

Her voice, now imbued with an almost tangible pain, painted a poignant declaration to the lingering memories of a past love, a love whose painful echoes would never completely disappear.

The band gradually increased the intensity with a transition to Arctic Monkeys' Do I Wanna Know. The audience was now vibrating to the rhythm of the music, captivated by the raw, magnetic energy emanating from Valerie, who had finally picked up her sublime Telecaster, and her companions galvanizing the crowd with their instrumental mastery. Michael and Nikola took it up a notch, delivering irresistible rhythmic power.

The group sing-alongs and increasingly powerful pre-chorus accompaniments whipped the audience into a frenzy. They wanted more. The walls were almost invisible as the crowd filled the ground floor and the interior balcony to overflowing.

Without letting the energy drop, they launched into Separate Ways by Journey, one of their most reworked and refined songs, further energizing the growing crowd. Voices rose, the room literally lit up, and the band played to the cheers of the exuberant crowd. Valerie paused briefly to announce the start of the song Fuel My Heart. The audience fell silent.

“I see you're all enjoying the evening!” A wave of whistles and shouts spread throughout the hall. “Before the intermission, we're going to play a song written by the band. It's called 'Fuel My Heart'. Please enjoy.”

Nikola waved his sticks and engaged, accompanied by loud piano notes and electrifying blasts from Valerie's Telecaster. She stepped up to the microphone and began to sing.

The bass picked up Marina's notes, while Nikola let himself be taken over by Valerie's breathtaking voice, gradually picking up the tempo like a car shifting gears on a free highway.

The stage burst into flames under the thunderous pulses of the bewildering symphony, hurling lashes by the hundreds and fanning the cries of the audience so abundant they echoed even outside. Everyone wanted to see who this band was, coming out of nowhere and pouring out thousands of cosmic ripples to them, shattering the aches and pains of their souls one by one.

Valerie grabbed the microphone by the hook and ripped it through its sturdy base. Her Telecaster rocked up and down around her chest, silver flashes reflecting off every metallic angle like laser beams. The microphone focused all the power of the vibrations in her trachea. The whole thing was expelled by the multiple amps like a veritable tidal wave.

Her hands picked up the guitar as if she wanted to pay it back to it. Every stroke was a will. Every cry a promise. Marina, Nikola and Michael closed their eyes so tightly that their souls were absorbed by their instrument. They no longer reacted to the rest of the world. They were in perfect symbiosis with each other.

It was time to destroy all the bonds of evil that were seizing every spirit at this moment. Guitar and bass became flame throwers. The drums a pack of dynamite. The synth a battalion.

The rhythm dulled slowly, as the crowd quietened in agreement with the charming singer.

A standing ovation. Complete, universal, absolute. Extraordinary.

Valerie and her band couldn't believe it. Everyone looked at them with flames in their eyes. And it wasn't even over yet. The rising star was finally giving herself a place to shine in the sky. She was no longer V the crumbling merc. But Valerie, the proud bearer of a steadfast, unyielding steel spirit.

The quartet stood up and lined up, greeting the entire room, their friends and loved ones. All smiling, shouting and exclaiming with a joy like no other.

“Thank you, everyone! You can now take a short break, we'll see you soon! You guys are the best!"

However, as the applause erupted and the audience's enthusiasm peaked, as Valerie thanked the audience, her smile became distorted. She then rushed off stage to the bathroom, nausea rising sharply. Leaning over the sink, she vomited, her mind again invaded by the sharp words of Bianca's message, bringing back painful memories she'd thought buried. She leaned against the cold wall, trying to catch her breath, knowing that the grand finale still awaited her, up there on the stage.

“Damn, you rocked it out there. Don't let her get to you. You're stronger than that. You've got it in your heart. You're the best. You're with the best.”

Valerie came out of the bathroom after a refreshing splash of water, still slightly shaken, but determined to finish the evening on a high note. She quickly made her way to the bar at the entrance, where Kerry immediately handed her a fresh Broseph beer, a more than admiring smile on her lips. Valerie drained it in one draught, quickly followed by a second, to the warm cheers of Mama Welles and Vik, both visibly blown away by the band's epic performance.

“You're amazing, mi hija. Jaquito would be proud to see you this way." breathed Mama Welles, her eyes shining with emotion.

"It's been a long time since I was so quickly swept away by a concert!" added Vik, gently poking her shoulder.

Valerie nodded firmly, invigorated by their heartfelt support. “Thanks for being here. Tonight, we're rocking Night City.”

She returned to the stage to rapturous cheers from the audience. No sooner had she grabbed her Telecaster than the crowd seemed to gather instantly in front of the stage, answering a silent, powerful call. Valerie exchanged knowing glances with her bandmates, each ready to go the extra mile for their finale.

Nikola twirled his drumsticks around his forefingers and immediately launched Heart Demolition with a ferocious drumbeat, a frenetic rhythm that took over the whole room in one fell swoop. Valerie immediately joined in with a searing Telecaster riff, Michael providing deep, vibrant bass support, while Marina enveloped everything in a magical atmosphere with her synthesizer, creating an electrifying synthwave ambience.

Then came the calming moment preceding the full blast. Valerie began to sing in a clear, emotional voice, accompanied only by Marina's delicate piano and the gentle chords of her guitar. The emotion was palpable, the audience hanging on her every word, eagerly awaiting what was to come.

Suddenly, the drums resumed a frenzied rhythm, reviving the energy to its peak. Valerie amplified her voice, pushing it to bold heights, while the unleashed instruments synchronized perfectly in explosive momentum.

The band's backing vocals quickly joined in, their voices merging in perfect unison, creating an irresistible wave of sound.

Each vocal solo was followed by an electrifying instrumental crescendo, each musician giving their all in a passionate performance. The energy was palpable, every note vibrating with intensity, as if each band member were engaged in an epic battle against their own inner demons.

The galvanized crowd reacted with unprecedented fervor. Shouts and applause filled the space, drawing the attention of N54 News' press communicators, who immediately decided to call in reinforcements. Within minutes, additional crews were in place, projecting the scene onto outdoor screens for the huge crowd now stretching more than thirty meters around the bar. The concert literally overflowed its walls, capturing all of Night City in its fiery musical wave.

The tension mounted with every second. And when the rhythm subsided, the crowd knew that the calm before the storm was preparing for a devastating tremor. Like the heart of a dying star bursting into flame, swelling again and again until it unleashed its devastating breath on the world.

Valerie whirled around the stage, her guitar heating up to thousands of degrees under the insane pressure her limbs sent her, pulsing ever harder into spatial infinity. She waltzed across the polished floor, her body vibrating with every cubic centimeter, as if a supernova had lodged itself in her heart and the devil in her soul, possessed by distress and rage that could have taken her six feet under. No. She was sending them back into the garbage dump, in total osmosis with the crowd. It was time to release everything.

Valerie took a deep inhalation, her breath still ragged from the previous explosion. She gently raised her hand, inviting silence into the seething room. A wave of stillness spread instantly, everyone holding their breath as they waited for her words.

“Well well well! You thought we'd reached the pinnacle?" she threw out, a defiant sparkle in her eye, her voice vibrating with restrained emotion. “You think you've heard it all, felt it all?” A mischievous smile appeared on her lips as she continued, “We saved the best for last. Night City, prepare to rise above the flames!"

The crowd roared with anticipation as Valerie kicked off immediately, her Telecaster unleashing precise, energetic riffs. Nikola followed, pounding his drums with explosive power, Michael matching his low notes to Valerie's incisive, razor-sharp chords. Marina completed the line-up splendidly, her synthesizer weaving spellbinding sonic textures.

The intro was immediately captivating, combining intensity and refined melody. Valerie stepped up to the mic, beginning the first verse with a firm sweetness, the melody gradually becoming more complex, richer, drawing the audience into a powerful emotional crescendo.

A short guitar solo preceded the chorus, an audacious flight that prepared the crowd for the vocal explosion. Valerie then launched into the chorus, her voice rising like an engulfing firestorm, clear and bright, as the instruments came together in an epic musical whirlwind. The band's vocal harmonies accentuated the grandeur of the moment, resonating in every heart present.

The tempo slowed slightly, plunging the room into a poignant melancholy, before surging forward again to the chorus in a spectacular upturn.

Valerie let herself be carried away by the unleashed energy, proudly placing one foot on the amp in front of her, playing her guitar solo with fierce passion, looking straight into the eyes of an ecstatic and admiring crowd.

The bridge briefly calmed the aural whirlwind, offering a moment's respite before Valerie and her band launched their ultimate musical assault.

The final chorus was an absolute masterpiece, surpassing all imaginary expectations and limits. Valerie gave everything she had, her powerful yet vulnerable voice fusing perfectly with the instrumental power of her bandmates.

The song ended on a vibrant final chord, echoing long after the instruments had fallen silent. The crowd rose to its feet in a huge standing ovation, applause and cheers exploding like a deafening thunderstorm.

Valerie, overwhelmed by emotion, felt tears running freely down her cheeks. She exchanged emotional glances with Michael, Nikola and Marina, then turned to the crowd, her friends and the cameras focused on her. Hand in hand with her comrades, she bowed deeply, her heart overflowing with a pride she'd never felt before.

That evening at Red Dirt, Valerie wasn't just a survivor—she was on the path to become a living legend, carrying high the flame of music, resilience and rebirth.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 - Into The Hall Of Fame

The standing ovation was deafening. Here, tonight, at the Red Dirt bar, The Fallen Guardians Of The Past had made their first marks upon the halls of fame. There wasn't a single soul in the crowd who wasn't ecstatic, leaping into the air with their arms raised, screaming and shouting for more. Eight songs prepared and reworked day and night, poured out with the deepest love for this masterful art.

Valerie stepped forward, linking hands with her drummer, keyboardist, and bassist, all of whom were incomparably talented. Bowing to the crowd, they were immediately joined by Mr. Traoz, grandiloquent in his mismatched haute couture clothes.

Holding the microphone firmly, they joined the quartet. "Well, well! Let's give another round of applause to our rising stars of the end of 2079! We are now entering a new decade with the talent and hard work of our four artists!"

A new wave of whistling swept over them. It was mesmerizing, almost magical and spellbinding.

Kerry motioned to them, leaning against the brick wall next to the clusters of spectators, calling them all to join him. As she descended the steps from the stage, despite the euphoria and fire inside her, Valerie felt her heart racing violently in her chest and her legs suddenly lose control. Nikola caught her just in time.

"Yo, you okay, V?"

Valerie felt as if she had been momentarily disconnected from her own body. "Yeah... Phew, I'm just literally wiped out."

"Hah, we really lit it up tonight, I'll give you that! I need to sleep for at least a day too."

They made their way through the audience, the intensity of which was only slowly dying down. It was as if the musical spell had not yet lifted from their minds. Mr. Traoz pushed the most boisterous fans aside with the help of the laughing Kerry, who was so happy to witness such success. They were gradually guided towards the bar exit, where journalists from N54 News and DMS were waiting for them, eager to write their headline story of the week.

"Mr. Eurodyne! You supported the formation of this band. How do you feel about their sudden success?"

"Mrs. V, can you tell us a few words about your musical inspiration and the original exploration of your styles?" exclaimed a reporter, pointing a camera directly at Valerie.

The blinding lights and camera flashes hurt her eyes, amplifying the slight discomfort and nausea she was feeling and making her feel even more unsettled. She tried her best to respond calmly and cheerfully to the journalists who were pointing their microphone almost right in her face.

"Thank you very much for your excitement, but I didn't achieve this performance alone. My friends also contributed greatly to the development of our style. We mainly want to bring back the most outstanding hits of a bygone and unfortunately forgotten era. And we used them as inspiration for our original creative process."

"Do you have any more original creations in the pipeline? Are you going to branch out into other musical styles?"

Marina and Michael, who had reworked the scores for Stay With Me and Runaway Train, spoke alongside Valerie. "Of course! We have three bold new projects to rewrite and transform old classics! And V is busy writing the lyrics for two new songs of her own."

A new wave of questions washed over the quartet, who struggled to answer them effectively. Valerie felt a shock wave spread through her stomach, making her feel horribly sick. She staggered and signaled desperately to Kerry.

He was signing an autograph for one of his fans and, sensing the pressure building around them, hurried over to her.

"Okay, okay! I think that's enough for tonight! The ladies and gentlemen are very tired from their performance, so it's time for them to go. Give them a break, for the love of God!"

The press, having obtained their recordings and interviews, retreated to their vans and let the group leave for the parking lot. Mr. Traoz approached the four exhausted members, a huge smile on his face.

"Miss V, Nikola, Michael, and Marina, you rocked the house tonight! I was right to bet on you and Kerry's good intuition. I am obviously very pleased with your performance and would like to discuss it with you in detail in two days. Give yourselves time to rest. Especially you, Miss V, you look exhausted."

"I'm fine, I just gave it my all tonight..."

"Of course! And that's what will take you far, I can feel it! Anyway, Kerry and all of you, I'll see you at HighTimes on Friday afternoon. Let's say around 2 PM. Well, get home safely and enjoy the adrenaline rush from tonight. Have a good evening, everyone!"

Mr. Traoz left the Red Dirt in his private car, leaving the group to be joined by their friends. Mama Welles, Viktor, all of Valerie's friends from Heywood hugged her, admiring the evening and still feeling the chills that wouldn't leave them. "Dios mío, V, ¡estuviste increíble! I've never been much of a music fan, but I'm stunned by your talent and hard work. Jaquito would cry tears of joy, lo sé.

"Thank you so much, Mama Welles. I wish he could've been here today."

Valerie chatted with the rest of the guests for a few minutes before feeling her inner discomfort grow a little too much. She had talked to everyone except Henry, who avoided her gaze. She felt bad for acting so aggressive toward him, simply because of a single text message. Afraid of embarrassing herself, she re-expressed her fatigue before saying goodbye to her teammates. Kerry also excused himself, and the two left the Red Dirt in their respective cars.

On the road, under the dim streetlights along the border between Arroyo and North Oak, she was so happy. Her body had been pushed to its limits, even beyond. But it wanted more, like a child on the verge of an overdose after gobbling down a whole bag of candy. To see herself there, under the spotlight, alongside musicians as passionate and committed as she was to making a name for themselves. To hear the screams of joy from people who weren't expecting anything supernatural and to be knocked down by the devastating magic of power metal. Yet she couldn't forget Bianca's message. What the hell was going on? Valerie only knew Bianca from Judy's mention of her on the day she woke up in Langley. A woman much more conventional and simple than her. That was now obvious.

Valerie was having a terribly hard time coping with the hole in her life that Judy's absence had left. Not feeling her arms wrapped around her in the morning, the mischievous and passionate kisses, the peaks of pleasure during their rough lovemaking when they screamed each other's names so loudly because of how much they loved each other.

And what did she see now? A woman who couldn't even face her and express her feelings, and her wife shamelessly sending thoughtless words of hatred to defend her.

Valerie had nothing to blame herself for, she thought. Nothing, except not telling Judy enough in 2077 about the operation for her cure. For not giving her contact details to the FIA guys in case things got more complicated. But apart from that, her behavior was more than justified.

Having to go to bed every evening, crying under the covers, waiting for only one thing: to find her lover and prove her immeasurable love to her in a million and one ways.

But it was impossible, and Valerie had come to terms with it, choosing to focus on her new career in music rather than dwelling on the past and sinking deeper into it. So having the misfortune of always having reminders that felt like knife stabs at the worst possible moments, tornadoes of sadness turning into indescribable anger, was destroying her.

It was hard, impossible to comprehend. But she hated Judy. She hated with every fiber of her being the way they had met, and everything that connected them in even the slightest way.

Arriving at Kerry's villa, followed by the lucky owner of the place, Valerie hurriedly got out of her car. Kerry wished her a good night, and Valerie just smiled awkwardly and wished him the same. But her only desire was to get back to the bathroom and freshen up.

But the nausea caused by her first dose of Black Lace, mingled with the new torments resurfacing from the past, made her guts twists and turn. She held her holophone clutched tightly in her right hand, replaying Bianca's words of hatred and her own threats over and over again. She took three sickening retches before collapsing unconscious on the floor.

Kerry knocked on the door at that moment, asking to use the bathroom.

"V? Are you okay? I need to use the bathroom, please."

But the noise coming from the other side of the door surprised him, and he rushed to open it, only to find his friend slumped on the cold floor, her cell phone in her hand and her face covered in vomit.

"V?! Shit, you okay? What the fuck is goin' on?"

"I don't feel very well, Ker..."

Kerry leaned over her and lifted her up gently, handing her a wet towel so she could quickly clean herself up. He helped her walk upstairs, joking around. "Shit, wait, don't move, I'll take you back to your room. You must've had a bit too much to go around tonight... Anyway, you made a great impression. But don't overdo it, you don't have a whole new life ahead of you to ruin it so soon."

Valerie, lying on her bed, fell asleep almost instantly. Kerry smiled as he saw his friend at peace (on the surface) after her first moment of newly acquired success.

He went back to the bathroom to remove his makeup and take off his clothes when he saw Valerie's holophone on the floor. As he picked it up, a new notification appeared just as he was about to put it on the bedside table.

Kerry didn't want to be intrusive. But a strange coincidence revealed to him a very troubling sight. Worried about his friend, he unlocked the conversation, Valerie having had the unfortunate habit of using only 1234 as her unlock password, even after her phone had been hacked by some asshole in Japantown who bombarded her with sex ads.

The two previous messages made his blood run cold. They were sent just before the concert started. Kerry immediately understood why Valerie had seemed so distracted and more tired than expected. He even understood why singing certain songs left a bitter aftertaste of anger for those with sensitive ears.

He turned off the holophone and discreetly placed it back next to Valerie's bed without disturbing her. He wasn't going to mention it, having invaded his friend's complicated personal space without her permission.

Valerie had been transparent with him about her painful past with her beloved Judy. Their sudden breakup had been devastating for Valerie and had left her with terrible feelings that lingered for weeks, even months. A new layer of turmoil had just been laid bare, and it wasn't going to stop there…

Wednesday, January 1st, 2080

It had been a restless night. Neither sad nor happy, strictly speaking. Chaotic, as Valerie knew chaos to be. It had calmed down for a while, but old memories resurface when you least expect them, and no one can be prepared for that. You just have to accept it. Valerie got out of bed around 8:30 AM, preferring to spend her days off doing what she enjoyed rather than letting herself be overwhelmed by unpleasant feelings.

She opened her holophone and scrolled through her message lists to see if there was anything new. But her eyes couldn't ignore the obvious. A new message from Bianca, not at 8 PM but around 11 PM. The message was marked as read. At first, she thought that time had actually passed more quickly than she realized, but when she opened the thread, the message gave her the same feeling it had had on Kerry the day before.

"Fuck... What the fuck is this?"

Bianca's cut-and-dried message, vainly attempting to carry out her ridiculous threats against the most powerful ex-mercenary in Night City, was disconcertingly stupid.

"What the hell does that bitch think? That I'm going to go over there and beat her up? Fucking shit… So this is the woman you chose after me? This gotta be a dream…"

Her anger could be heard from the living room downstairs. Kerry was preparing breakfast when he heard Valerie's footsteps on the stairs. Not morning footsteps, but footsteps filled with hatred, footsteps of a dragon ready to breathe fire on an entire country.

"Hey! So, uh, sleep well, V?" he tried, unable to hide his awkwardness.

"Kerry..." Valerie sighed nervously as she sat down on one of the stools. "You don't have anythin' to tell me, do you?"

"Uh, something's on your mind?" Kerry replied, avoiding her sharp, piercing gaze.

"Don't bother, Ker. You looked at my phone yesterday, didn't you?" Don't worry, I'm not mad at you," she laughed ironically, picking up her plate full of pancakes.

Kerry's expression had changed from embarrassment to genuine concern. "V, you're worrying me... I'm sorry I eavesdropped on your conversation yesterday, but that woman... You know her?"

But Valerie tried to keep her cool. "About as well as you do. She's Judy's wife. She threatened me last night before the concert, and I threw her shit back in her face."

"I had some trouble recognizing you yesterday, V... You seemed so, um... unhinged, almost furious."

Valerie had nothing to hide from her friend and told him exactly what she thought, couldn't have been more authentic. "Kerry... If there's one thing I hate in my life, it's people who think they know everything about me, who think they can threaten me because they feel like it. I've been trying since I was born to show the best in myself."

"I hope I've never acted selfishly, God forgive me if I have. So to see this... These messages from this... this pathetic woman who thinks she knows me... She's wasted all these weeks forgetting about my relationship with Judy."

Valerie still felt tears welling up behind her eyes like water behind a weak dam. She was starting to lose herself in her past again.

"Damn it, will this ever leave me, Ker'?" I'm supposed to do what if I can't move on with them somewhere nearby? Find them and threaten them once and for all to never speak to me again in any way?"

But Kerry wasn't going to let Valerie fall back into the downward spiral so easily. "I don't think you should go that far. You know what, I'll tell you something. When Johnny was about to attack the Arasaka Tower in 2013 to get his output back, he wrote Chippin'In with what I think was the most anger and violence. He was also constantly drunk and hardly spoke to us... But anyway, I think Chippin'In is one of, if not the best song on Samurai. And I think you should do the same as him, since you spent so much time with him."

Kerry got up and went to get a box from his room. It was dusty, probably having spent years in a closet or under the bed.

"You should condense all the hatred you feel right now and put it down on paper. And don't give a fuck about limits or manners. Just pour it all out without asking yourself any questions. People loved "Rise Above The Fire"? They'll love your future songs. Here, this is everything Johnny wrote, his notes while he was working. It might help you. Use it instead of letting it gather dust."

"Okay. That's a better plan than beating her up, I'll give you that. I feel like inspiration won't be hard to come by. In fact, I think I already have some ideas."

"Hah, perfect! Maybe I should switch careers and become a therapy guy. I'd be a hit. So, you wanna go to the studio later?"

"Nah, I need to let off some steam without thinking. I'm going to the gym this morning. It's been a week since I kicked the training robot's ass. I'll be back by noon, 'kay?"

"Sounds good, see you later, big shot."

Valerie finished her lunch and got ready quickly, hastily stuffing her gym clothes into her travel bag and heading downtown on a Delamain. The news was the same as always. A new gang war in Watson, a bar closed after a massive armed attack, a corpo executive murdered... Then came some news that was more pleasant to her ears.

Wow. Valerie looked at her reflection in the glass door and felt proud. Proud to have laid the foundation for her new career. Proud to be surrounded by people who believed in her and with whom she would reach the highest peaks. This news overshadowed her morning tantrum, and she entered the gym with a bounce in her step.

That morning, she went from machine to machine, doing dynamic timed sequences and endurance runs. She hammered the poor robot, which even at maximum reflexes with the overload option had no chance against her. She had learned to use her lack of chrome to her advantage and was fast, agile, and as strong as a freaking cheetah.

She also found some ideas and verses for her next special song, which she quickly jotted down in her journal.

On her way out, she sent a message to Kerry telling him not to wait for her. She just wanted to be alone and quiet today, wandering around the city with no particular goal in mind.

The day flew by. And she didn't mind it one bit. Valerie had her whole life ahead of her, a bank account full of eddies for more than one lifetime, and a future career that she wanted nothing more than to blast through every stage and every boundary.

She dropped by Japantown to pick up a bag full of Yakitoris and Karaage, way too greasy but whose homemade taste reminded her so much of her first days in this incredible city. Her Delamain had taken her to Vik's, where she went for her health check-up and, of course, to talk about boxing and the good ol' days. Vik had even suggested taking her to see the next tournament in Pacifica the following week, to which she replied that she definitely wanted to go and watch the Animals' chrome-plated behemoths beat each other up rather than face them herself.

In the middle of the afternoon, she had gone to an old spot lost in the Badlands where no one ever went. Despite the winter cold and the snow preventing her from really enjoying the sunshine, she loved the almost total silence, impossible to find in Night City. The kind of silence that helps you think clearly, that lightens the weight on your shoulders. The kind that makes you forget, if only for a moment, your deepest pains and wounds...

That evening...

It was almost 10 PM, and Valerie hadn't left Kerry's studio for at least five hours. She was sitting at her desk, sifting through Johnny's old writings, dozens of sheets filled with lines, verses, and paragraphs of hatred and anger towards the whole world. All of his inspiration for his songs came from there, from his war trauma and the miserable life that surrounded him...

As she wrote her own lyrics with fluidity and ease, Valerie thought back to all the moments she had spent with Johnny. Their arguments, their jokes and banter, and the day they went their separate ways. So much had changed in her life that day. She had lost so much. It was time for her to get back on her feet, no matter what. To get back to where she wanted to be, where she wouldn't be a nobody.

"Hey, am I disturbing you?" Kerry called from behind, leaning against the doorframe.

"Hm? Oh, no, Ker. What time is it?"

"9:50 PM. You haven't eaten, so have some of these. Empanadas. Señora Welles stopped by earlier and left them for you. Sorry, I ate two, they smelled too good."

Valerie stretched her arms as she slumped back in her chair. "Thanks, Ker. Damn, I'm exhausted... I'll finish what I'm doing and then I'm going to kip."

"Did you make any progress on your new song?"

"Yeah, check this out."

"I'm gonna go all out on this one. I've already got the tempo in my head, I'll start working on the score tomorrow. I'm gonna go full power metal. It's gotta hit hard, y'know? Maybe even capture the vibe of A Like Supreme."

"Wow... I like the chorus. I wouldn't want to hear it if I was the target, V. But I can't wait to hear how it turns out. Well, I'll leave you to it. See ya tomorrow."

Valerie immediately immersed herself back into her creative process, fully focused in the dim light of the studio. She carefully reread the lyrics, unapologetically cutting and razor sharp. By one in the morning, she had finished her production and went to bed.

The Padawan had listened to the wise words of her master. Transform the hatred within oneself into a powerful personal work of art.

Friday, January 3rd, 2080

"I admit I'm a bit stressed, Ker. I've got cramps all over my stomach."

"It's just performance anxiety, don't worry. Andrew is truly one of the best collaborators you could have on your side. I've known him for so long, he'll always be understanding of your guidelines and projects. And don't let his bombast and grandstanding fool you. He's a very thoughtful and smart guy."

It was 2:00 PM. Valerie and Kerry waited patiently in the elevator, climbing dozens of floors in a matter of minutes. The trio waited for them with surely just as much stress and hype in the lobby at the entrance to the large office.

Opening the door, everyone gathered together, shaking hands and quickly catching up with each other. Five minutes later, Mr. Emerson welcomed them and showed them in. Mr. Traoz was waiting for them eagerly, looking out the bay window at the bustling city below.

"Aaahhh! Here comes the dream team of 2080! The Fallen Guardians Of The Past, please come in and take a seat! We have a lot to discuss today."

Mr. Traoz sat down in his big black upholstered chair, inviting the group to do the same in front of him and his assistant.

He poured himself an opaque cubic glass of Bourbon and placed his clenched hands on the desk. "Well, well, well... Let's get straight to the point. You were remarkable on Tuesday. You have set the bar extremely high, and people have inevitably noticed. There are already streams of recordings on certain channels and media outlets relating to your performance, and the comments are grandiose for the most part."

"For the most part?" asked Nikola, running his hand through his silver hair.

"If you exclude the brainless ones who misspell every word and are incapable of offering constructive criticism!" laughed Mr. Traoz, turning his screen and pointing to some ridiculous comments.

He then pointed to a second comment, which was far more interesting. "Most people are very intrigued by your style, and some even recognize you, Miss V. Yes, indeed! I thought I knew you from somewhere. The merc from 2077 who ruled the Afterlife, killed the legendary Adam Smasher, and became a legend in your own right."

All eyes turned to Valerie, who blushed with embarrassment and was somewhat taken aback. "Yes, but that's a thing of the past. I haven't been a merc for a long time, and my only goal today is to move forward with my band."

Mr. Traoz smiles warmly at the quartet, especially Valerie. "Of course, but just know that many people remember you fondly. A merc who cares more about ethics than eddies isn't exactly common in Night City. And then to see you resurface from the past with this and a powerful dream in your hands, it doesn't go unnoticed."

He slowly gets up and returns to the bay window, his hands clasped behind his back. "All this to say... People are impatiently awaiting your next showcase. How do you feel about playing at The Riot?"

The whole group jumps out of their chairs, stunned. An invigorating warmth of pride fills their veins in a fraction of a second.

"The Riot?! Damn, I've always dreamed of playing there!" Nikola rejoices, raising his arms.

Marina conceded Nikola's enthusiasm, despite some realistic doubts. "It's really magical there. The stage is huge and wide, with an extra floor so you can see the bands from above... But it's much more daunting than the Red Dirt."

Mr. Emerson, still sitting opposite the group, broke his relentless silence and began to speak. "Miss Gutierrez is absolutely right. You've set the bar very high, as Andrew said before me. We can get you a spot in a month, but you'll have to play the stage to your advantage. Make your performance as dynamic and lively as possible, ask for what you need, and the preparations will be made in time. Obviously, don't make yourselves sick in your... creative process. Just understand that you'll be much more exposed to criticism and ravenous audience members."

"We can handle it," Valerie asserted confidently. "Believe it or not, I spent my two days off writing a new song. And I've got another one in the making. That and three new songs that aren't very well known but are totally in line with our musical direction."

"That's excellent," Mr. Traoz rejoiced as he returned to his oversized chair. "Well, you have my contact information, so if you have any specific requests, we're here. In that case, I think we're all alright? You'll play on Saturday, February 4. We'll take care of the promotion, which will of course be subject to your approval."

The band was thrilled. They were simply over the moon. The contract had been signed with confidence and goodwill, Kerry had officially resumed his partnership with one of the best record labels in the NUSA, and Mr. Traoz had bet his chips on a rising star, shining brightly in the night sky of the city that never sleeps.

As they left the megatower, Valerie gave her teammates an individual shard.

"Here's the list of songs we'll be adding for the next concert. You can take a look at the sheet music for my special song too, and lemme know if you think any changes are needed. Nothing's final, it's just a draft."

Michael laughed as he inserted his neural port. "Sounds good to me, boss! I'll probably stop by the studio later."

"I'll come tomorrow, don't wait for me. I still have a terrible migraine from working last night, I hope you don't mind. Anyway, I'll leave you to it."

Valerie left with Kerry, while the musicians headed off together to the rehearsal studio to look over their coordinator's plans.

Friday, January 17, 2080

In the middle of the afternoon, inside the rehearsal studio, the quartet was busy planning the concert in minute detail.

Valerie scribbled on Nikola's score, adding some updated notes. "I reworked the script for Ashes Of My Eden last evening. Niko, during the bridge, I want you to double your tempo, and only you, while I sing. You'll go full blast on the double kick. Michael, you'll gradually come back in, and Marina, you'll drop out suddenly with our double synth/guitar solo at the end of the bridge."

Michael wondered about the long-term dynamics and the distribution of effort for each song. "Are we keeping the tempo at 160 BPM? I think we really need to save our energy for that one and Shadow Of The Other. As much as I'm completely used to the rhythm of DragonForce songs, your compositions are completely in a league of their own, V." he joked, admiring her composure in the face of such demanding requirements.

"I know, but as I told you, I wanna make a point of doing these two, in addition to the cover of Rise Above The Fire. Our presentation has to be as powerful as possible. I want us to give it a darker, more hardcore dimension than Red Dirt."

"And for the other covers, are we sticking with our list?" asked Marina, neatly rewriting the complete list of songs they had worked on, written and remastered.

Valerie crossed out some of the songs, which were too soft for the desired effect. "I think I'll leave aside the softer songs like Stay With Me and the others. Kill The Pain Away will replace Do I Wanna Know, Cry For Eternity will replace Runaway Train."

"Okay, so I think to build up momentum, we should do it like this: Street Spirit, Old Heart Falls, Kill The Pain Away, Rise Above The Fire, Wings Of Despair. Then we'll do the intermission and come back with Cry For Eternity, Fuel My Heart, Soul Society, Shadow Of The Other, and Ashes Of My Eden."

"That's about 45 minutes of songs," Nikola calculated with all his recording data. "If we do the intermission, let's say a little over an hour total. But it's not a quiet 45 minutes, it's 45 minutes where we give it our guts and our souls."

Marina stood up and held up her beer bottle in the center of the living room table. "Personally, I'm fuckin' excited that this is happening. Now that we're all okay with the plan, I'd like to propose a toast. To us, and to V. For bringin' us together and settin' us on a path to the impossible."

"I'll settle for 'to us'!" teased Valerie, nudging Marina with her shoulder and raising her glass of tequila. "That's the team spirit we need to remember. Not who does what."

The concert evening…
Saturday, February 3rd, 2080

Valerie, Nikola, Marina, and Michael were sitting comfortably in the Delamain private cab, winding through the crowded streets of the City Center, accompanied by Kerry driving just ahead in his Aerondight.

The tension was at its peak. So was the silence. No one spoke, closing their eyes and mentally preparing themselves for what was undoubtedly one of the most important turning points in their lives.

Nikola nervously tapped his drumsticks against his thighs, panting as he stared out the window. "Damn, my stomach is killin' me… I'ma throw up, fuck…"

Marina put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a confident wink. "Hey, it's gonna be okay, Niko. Admit it, you're excited, aren't you?"

"You bet I am! But I'm finally gonna get to play where I've always dreamed of performing... I don't wanna let our audience down," he sighed, running his hands over his hopeful face.

Valerie opened her eyes again and turned to her teammates. "That won't happen. Y'all are the best. That's why you're here tonight. Because you've worked like beasts, and you're worth way more than you think."

Michael laughed, pointing at her. "How can you be so calm, V?!"

Her Olympian calm was so unsettling. As flat as a Zen master. "I've waited patiently for this moment. I don't wanna be anywhere else but here and now."

"Tonight, I won't be alone, but in the company of hundreds of people like us."

The car stopped a few minutes later. As they opened the door, they were cheered by at least forty men, women, and children lined up at the entrance to the Riot. Kerry was waiting in front, accompanied by Mr. Andrew Traoz and his assistant Eithan. All three were dressed in extremely stylish suits, the finest couture available from one of Jinguji's European rivals.

The press was there, of course. Much more so. Four white vans from WNS, N54, DMS, and New Century lined the sidewalk with their publicists and reporters ready to brandish their microphones and cameras. It was all so oppressive, but so enjoyable, so rewarding. Tonight was magical.

Valerie and Michael retrieved their guitar cases from the trunk of the cab and walked hand in hand with Nikola and Marina toward the entrance of the Riot. They were all wearing new outfits, the signature of their rebirth.

Valerie was wearing the jeans and synthetic leather sneakers she had worn when she first arrived in the city, along with a T-shirt proudly displaying their band's name and a red bomber jacket with black trim and a series of pop culture patches sewn here and there. Her smoldering gaze was hidden behind refined metal aviator glasses with amber-colored lenses.

Michael and Nikola were dressed entirely in black, wearing leather jackets with shiny gray metal buttons, the same ones worn by bikers in the 90s and early 2000s. Marina was wearing a black dress with ruby red trim, matching her fiery red makeup and long hair, dyed for the dawn of this new adventure.

They all gathered together and walked towards the entrance of the complex. Once the invitations had been retrieved, the whole group entered the compound. The heat was rising, mixed with the sweat from the festivities and the total and immersive dancing mayhem. When they stood in front of the stage, which was waiting just for them, the band felt an immense sense of satisfaction. Their hearts, whether bruised or not, were floating on a cloud where nothing could touch them.

Nikola's drum kit stood proudly in the center, with their logo on the bass drum. A ghost drawn in blood-red neon, smoking and holding a gun while crying, surrounded by a large disc decorated with their name in a semicircle. Valerie had designed the logo with a subtle reference that only she knew about. The cute little ghost in her shell on Judy's left shoulder...

Marina had a gigantic double-keyboard synthesizer, started up with every parameter carefully and meticulously set by its owner.

A huge banner was also hung on the wall behind the stage with their icon so big it could have been seen from outer space, surrounded by neon spotlights and lasers, artificial smoke machines, amplifiers everywhere from floor to ceiling... Everything was there.

"I hope you like it all!" beamed Mr. Traoz, showing them the way to the stage.

"It's absolutely fantastic! they all shouted in unison.

It was now showtime. This time, no hate messages, no panic attacks came knocking at Valerie's door. Nothing but the universal euphoria of feeling like you're in the right place at the right time. There was stress, sure, but it was the best kind of stress you could feel deep down inside. The kind that tells you, Tonight, you send everything you've got. You have no choice.

Everyone took their places on stage, Nikola adjusted his pedals, drums, and cymbals. Marina tapped the keys of her synthesizer, so soft and yet so firm, and placed her score shard in front of her. Michael and Valerie stood proudly at the front of the stage, straddling their instruments with confidence. A Yamaha and a Telecaster were ready to blast their riffs into the crowd.

Andrew and Kerry took their places and the crowd went wild. The show hadn't even started yet and everyone was already pumped up. "Good evening, everyone! You've been asking for them! You've been waiting for them! And tonight, you'll behold them in rapture! The new musical phenomenon of this decade, the heirs of Samurai and Kerry Eurodyne! Here they are... The Fallen Guardians Of The Past!"

Mr. Traoz raised his microphone in the air and let the band take their bows. Everyone stood up and stepped forward to the front of the stage. Valerie took the microphone, and the room fell silent, as if on command.

"Good evening, everyone. We can only be extremely grateful for this opportunity we have been given at the end of 2079. Tonight, we won't hide it. Tonight is an ode to pain, suffering, anger, sadness, and despair. An ode to all those feelings we bury deep inside ourselves. Those feelings that eat away at us and slowly kill us. Tonight, learn to channel that evil into the most beautiful thing within you. Whatever it is, you are all worthy of going far. And tonight, we offer you a unique performance."

She concluded with a quieter sentence. "We have only one ambition. That you will enjoy listening to it as much as we enjoyed creating it."

Valerie's tone was simple. No emphasis, no overacting. Just her, just them. Humble and grateful to be there today. A wave of whistles and harmonious shouts emanated from the crowd, impatient to the highest degree. So they took their places again, the press cameras and spectators' holos focused on them from near and far.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then the lights came down on Valerie alone. Her hands, trembling for a second, moved gracefully against the Telecaster and strummed the opening chords of Street Spirit. They were simple, short, and repeated in a seemingly endless loop, sounding bitter and sad. Hundreds of pairs of eyes gazed at the melancholy written like an open book on the guitarist's face. Then her voice shattered the flow of thoughts like a hammer striking chains.

Raw, hoarse, and yet so sweet.

Michael's bass added a new chord every second, a single low note accompanied by the light tinkling of cymbals and snare drums. The whole arrangement was surprisingly sprinkled with a background stream of synth, as subtle as a single hair on top of a skull. The notes flowed, sometimes high-pitched, sometimes louder. Towards the end of the long melody, Valerie almost felt like she was rising like an angel, surrounded by the choirs of her teammates. The melody ended almost suddenly, leaving the crowd stunned.

A wave of applause, playful whistles, and a few shouts of delight.

"This is only the beginning, my friends," Valerie whispered into her microphone as the second song began.

Once again, it began in darkness, with simple guitar strums, then Valerie's fallen angelic vocals supported only by synth and bass notes of Old Heart Falls. Joined like a thunderclap by the breaking force of the drum kit. Valerie placed her foot on one of the amps, straddling the neck of her Telecaster, and tore into the crowd's body pulsations like an animal. Marina moved with fluidity and dexterity between the piano riffs, tempering them with amplified effects and dark, nocturnal sounds...

The tension grew, causing the walls to quiver and the audience to gasp in awe. The dark, melancholic grip pumped through the venue with precision in its silences and crescendos. In the final grandiose and harmonious chords, and Valerie's final words, the audience rose as one and shouted for more, begging to have their hunger sated.

But Valerie knew her audience only too well. "You wanna take it up a notch? Hang on tight!"

Valerie didn't wait and signaled to Nikola to join her in her riff. A religious backing vocal effect in post-production came crashing down on the stage, leaving Nikola to open with a much faster rhythm, which he brought out of every part of his drumset. But what surprised everyone was the separation of the vocals between Valerie, now alone but sharing the verses with Michael. The duality of a cracked female voice and a deep, amplified male tone created a powerful dynamic, supported by the unleashed forces of the orchestra.

During the choruses, Valerie pitched her voice into a range of deliberately exaggerated high notes, screaming into the microphone and stomping back and forth across the stage, twirling her Telecaster like a spinning top. The show became exponentially explosive, the lighting effects racing like never before with the first jets of flame at the corners of the stage. Now that the atmosphere was reaching an unstoppable crescendo, moving on to the more dynamic cover of the original production Rise Above The Fire sent the crowd wild.

Among the crowd were the previous Red Dirt spectators, hyped up by the bombast of Valerie's song, now joined by newcomers taking a real symphonic slap in the ears. The columns of flame thundered as the band unleashed all their energy in the climaxes and solos. Concluding the first part of the concert with the song Wings Of Despair gave a final blow with the sharp, jagged riffs on the guitar and drums, with Nikola bursting and pounding the bass like a mighty lion.

In the last line, the quartet stood up and brandished their instruments, lining up in front of the crowd, now completely pumped up, feeling nothing but the rush of adrenaline in their bloodstream and their hearts beating at full throttle.

"Thank you! Thank you all for being here tonight! That concludes the first set! But don't be bummed, the best is yet to come! Are y'all starving? You're gonna be satiated!"

The crowd quickly dispersed into smaller groups, giving the quartet time to join Kerry and Andrew, as well as their friends who had been at the Red Dirt and weren't about to miss such a spectacular show. Everyone was there. They all grabbed a beer together, laughed and joked about how excited they were to see the famous grand finale.

During the twenty-minute intermission, Valerie went outside alone and leaned against an iron railing at the entrance to the hall. She took a cig out of her case and thought back to the path that had led her here. She was happy with her work and her determination. But she still felt immense anger towards this woman she knew nothing about other than her hateful messages. Everything was about to reach breaking point in a few minutes, and she was grateful for every piece of advice her friends had given her to help her bear the weight of her past.

Marina then came to join her as the intermission was ending in five minutes. She readjusted her shoulder-length hair tied back in a ponytail and casually cracked her knuckles.

"Hey, whatcha doin' all alone, V? Are you okay?" she exclaimed as she left the building.

"Hm? Y-yeah. Everything's fine. I'm just having trouble hiding my stress. This is when we have to be on our game, right?" Valerie moaned, twirling the cigarette butt between her fingers.

"Totally. But have you seen the room? It's unbelievable, even the last time I played it was light years away from what we have tonight. Is something troubling you?"

"No, it's just me dwelling on the past like a total gonk. Believe me, I couldn't be happier to be there tonight. Do you think they'll like what I wrote?" Valerie inquired, taking the last drag on her cig.

"They're gonna love it," Marina insisted, placing her hand on Valerie's. "You're amazing, V. None of us would've wanted to be with anyone else but you. It's truly an honor to play alongside you. Now, get those dark clouds out of your head and belt out your thunderous roar."

Valerie squeezed Marina's hand and turned to face her, hugging her tightly. "Thank you, Marina, thank you so much."

The two young women returned to the Riot and rejoined their teammates. The crowd was quickly returning to the venue, surrounding the raised stage backed by the glass wall of the upper floor. Valerie stood in front of her microphone, readjusting the neck of her Telecaster and checking at least three times that her instrument was properly plugged into the amps. Nikola twirled his drumsticks and took a deep breath, as did Marina and Michael.

"Okay, I hope y'all are ready for the second act! Get ready for something that's gonna blast through you…"

The band didn't hesitate for a second and seamlessly kicked off Cry For Eternity. A jangling metallic rumble swept through the room, and each member brandished their instrument with spectacular grace. Valerie straddled her Telecaster and climbed onto one of the headlands on stage, accompanied by Michael, who was vigorously strumming his Yamaha, playing arpeggios at breakneck speed. Nikola hammered his drumsticks on the skins like meteorites in the desert, while the guitars intertwined and collided in a shredding duel, soaring with the dreamy, high-energy touch of Marina's keyboards, which elegantly underscored the solis.

The flow freezes for a split second and Valerie grabs the microphone as if she wants to knock it out of her hands. She starts screaming the lyrics like a war oracle, a high-pitched, powerful song, relentless from start to finish, for six minutes of colossal thunder. Her voice cuts through the air like an ancestral katana. She never spares her vocal cords, each word burning like the battle cry of an eternal warrior.

The final solos of the two guitars in total symbiosis, Marina's unstoppable keyboard arpeggios and the furious pounding of the drums race like a nuclear bombardment. The audience screams, hanging on every riff, every instrumental outburst. The intensity reaches its peak, in the heart of a tornado of fireworks, as if time itself were disintegrating under the pressure. Then... silence falls with as much force as at the beginning. The last seconds fade away. The crowd is in a trance.

The quartet had pumped every last ounce of energy out of themselves. Their bodies were drenched in sweat, the heat was so overwhelming. They pushed their limits a little further with every passing moment. But they weren't going to back down in the face of adversity. The less frenetic but no less powerful bass and drum riffs of Fuel My Heart got everyone's feet off the ground, whether they were familiar with the old performance or newcomers. This time, it was Marina's turn to shine at the front of the stage, her fingers running, flying, surfing across the octaves, unfolding like dragon wings.

Valerie rested her hands and her guitar, snatched the microphone from its stand and flew across the stage. Her guitar swung and bounced against her jacket, almost losing control and disappearing into infinity.

The last notes of the keyboards bowed out with the final percussion beats. None of them saw or looked around them. They felt. They sensed. They transcended souls and worlds. Their bodies trembled and quivered under the applause that would not end. There were surely cries of disappointment, of detractors, but these were lost in vain in the eclectic flow of hypnotized fans.

The band moved on to their last cover, a second classic by Kamelot, Soul Society. Once again, Valerie didn't use her Telecaster, leaving Michael and Nikola to let the low notes roar like engines on nitro. Valerie let her voice flow into more detailed and melancholic symphonic melodies, like the resignation of a kind soul whose dreams are being torn away. In a second total surprise, Marina pulled a violin out from behind her keyboard and began dancing alongside Valerie, both singing into the microphone like virtuosos.

As their beings reached apotheosis as quickly as exhaustion, Valerie stepped forward when every note fell silent and the crowd's tumult subsided.

"Our performance this evening is coming to an end," she revealed, bowing her head amid the cries and moans of the audience. "But don't get too upset just yet! We're about to reveal our last two songs. Written by myself and composed entirely by all of us." The first is called The Shadow Of The Other. I dedicate it to all those who feel betrayed after a breakup, who feel abandoned and replaced by the image of what you hate most. A sinister ode to jealousy, remorse for the past, and hatred towards your enemies. Let's not hide it!"

Valerie's words stunned everyone. The silence collapsed once again as if the sound had never existed. And the complete rhythm section kicked in again like a whip cracked and unleashed. Each instrument had readjusted themselves to the parameters of the two productions. The drums and the Telecaster sounded in perfect harmony, immediately allowing Valerie to release the breath of anger from her burning throat.

The walls and floor shook as if Satan himself were about to emerge from beneath streams of lava and flames.

This wasn't Valerie. This wasn't the joyful, passionate woman who used to sing. She was a woman filled with anger, rage, and a desire for destruction channeled through her windpipe and released like a hail of bullets from a machine gun.

She lit up. She glowed. The jets of lasers and flamethrowers displayed her like the archangel rising above the world. She was in communion with her guitar, now the beating heart of her wounded soul.

The sound amplified beyond the gauges, beyond the numbers, beyond the possible and beyond rational understanding. The band felt every emotion in the beats, the pounding, and the strumming, shifting from enchantment to pure and unadulterated control.

As the tempo reached its peak during the solo sequences, everyone rose as one and joined Valerie's battle cries, visions of a bloody gladiatorial battle against the unholy hordes.

It was time to let the last limits of existence be blown away. The quartet closed their eyes, letting themselves be carried away by the waves of Zeus, Poseidon, and Mother Gaia. She was the bearer of a message, of renewal and a huge middle finger to restraint and the burying of one's sorrows. The group was unanimously supported, each member recognizing themselves in the character of the others through their inhuman dedication.

The last notes, almost expelled in tears, brought the foundations of reality crashing down. A monumental standing ovation could be heard throughout the Little China district. From the Afterlife to the Militech Tower, everyone was transfixed by the dozens of screens broadcasting live footage of the fury of The Fallen Guardians Of The Past.

And yet, the highlight of the show was still to come. Exhaustion was no longer a concern. It was merely a limitation imposed by ridiculous physical boundaries, and consciousness transcended the material world.

"YOU WANT MORE?! YOU WANT TO REACH THE FIRMAMENT TONIGHT?!" the quartet shouted in unison, to which the crowd responded with sounds that human vocabulary was no longer capable of describing.

Everything blew up like the Big Bang created the universe. Valerie and Nikola thundered without further ado. The frenzied drum beats composed and roared the blackened soul of all the sins of the world, alongside the Telecaster at the end of its life but ready to give every last breathe. Valerie exploded into the microphone, her voice transforming into a bloodcurdling banshee scream.

The drums suddenly stopped, giving way for a moment to the delicate sounds of cymbals and friction on the percussions. Valerie's voice, hoarse and infernal, was carried by the encroaching darkness of Michael's bass, which continued to come alive on stage as if under the machiavellian control of his instrument.

Nikola had a flash of inspiration and felt his feet become filled with absolute frantic energy, tapping ecstatically on the pedals and striking the drums in perfect harmony. He punched again and again, again and again and again... He surpassed all his abilities, all his own limits, his dread of disappointing. That evening, he was no longer himself, like his companions.

Valerie felt her voice tighten and distort under the rush of bitterness and raging anger. The mere sight of the messages on her phone. Words and threats. A broken past and a woman who had inadvertently unleashed Cerberus from his chains. Marina and Valerie glared at each other with relish, their ardor satisfied on every level, blazing the last embers of their wrath. Marina's fingers caressed the keyboard like a magician on an amphetamine high, her fingers flying with the speed of a comet in the depths of space. Each arpeggio was a burst of divine light.

The spell lifted for a few seconds, allowing Valerie to take up her melancholic voice, like a child lost in the middle of a war. Michael cast a trance over her and swirled around her until Nikola brought his double pedal back in at full speed.

It was time for one last call. Valerie plugged back in her microphone and ran back on stage, throwing herself onto the railings, her guitar clutched tightly in her hands. Her fingers vibrated like an underground rave fueled by hard drugs and thrash metal. They spun and flew, waving their limbs like demons, their instruments more battered than strummed.

Broken, rebuilt, and charred by her inner anguish, Valerie's voice almost terrorized the crowd. She was authentic. She was more real than any other run-of-the-mill singer. This woman exuded sadness and the desire to rise where no one had ever risen before. She swore she could wage war against gods, demons, existence itself. And if she could do it again and again, anywhere in the world, then she would travel. She would preach her life and her ideologies across the entire world.

Whether it was the piano, the violin, the drums, the bass or the electric guitar, tonight in Night City, the fabric of space and time had been torn apart. It had succumbed to the most brutal human emotions. The most violent, and yet brought to the masses with delightful grace. A rare humility in a world where everyone cares only about themselves. And a scorching breeze of fresh air in the world of musical art.

If the end of the concert at Red Dirt was considered a total standing ovation, then what can be said about that instant at the Riot? Their bodies trembling on the verge of collapse, the quartet still held hands, facing not only a packed crowd, but also thousands of other spectators spread throughout Night City.

They were cheered, they were adored. They were worshipped as prophets, as saviors.

And they were all crying. It would have been futile to try to hold back the tears. But Valerie, Nikola, Marina, and Michael had put themselves where the whole world could hear them. Amateur wannabes with hearts full of intergalactic passion, music lovers, humans with a dream and the means to achieve it.

Mr. Traoz and Kerry then joined them, maneuvering and raising their fists to the sky.

"Applaud them until your last breath, ladies and gentlemen! Tonight, you have all witnessed an indisputable, unimaginable, and majestic performance! THE FALLEN GUARDIANS OF THE PAST!!!"

Somewhere on the outskirts of Pittsburgh...
Saturday, February 24, 2080

"Are you sure you don't want me to make you some tea? You really look terrible."

"I'm fine, Bee. I just need some rest, 'kay?"

"You haven't been to work in two weeks, Judy. I'm not sayin' we need eddies, but it's starting to get a bit long..."

"I know, I'm sorry. But I'd rather stay here than put up with Jordan's insults about how slow I am on my latest projects."

Bianca didn't reply this time. She had no arguments, that was clear. She knew perfectly well that Judy was in constant conflict with her employer, who hadn't stopped criticizing her since she started working there. And yet she so often had that unbearable air of someone who was insensitive to her wife's professional troubles.

"I promise I'll be better by the end of the week. If we need the money that badly, I'll make more of an effort," Judy replied coldly.

She headed for the living room, wrapped up in a thick, soft blue blanket to ward off the cold. Judy could barely feel her feet and walked almost like a zombie. She cared very little about her mental health until the day Valerie came back from the dead. Her thoughts were mostly focused on her beloved calabacita, much more than on her own wife.

Who could blame her? Judy was well above simply rejecting the person she once loved. She had been alone for so long, lost in a city that didn't care about her emotional state. She had only one goal in life: to live forever with Valerie once her seizures were finally cured. Their love, however volatile it may have been, was beyond reality, beyond understanding. It was magical and one-of-a-kind, and losing it was killing her.

Could she have waited indefinitely? Maybe. Maybe not. It wasn't an option; she had to move on. But how could she manage, how could she anticipate such a change? Judy had given up everything from her old life. New life, new identity. Long, black, impersonal hair. A black and purple jacket, impersonal. Ninety percent of her tattoos removed (thank you, modern science!), making her body so mundane. A job at a mass-market publishing company for braindances aimed at consumerism, impersonal.

And of course, an ordinary wife, without any wildness or adventurousness.

Everything that made Judy who she really was were gone.

But where had those afternoons gone when Valerie waited for Judy to come out of Lizzie's bar, leaning against her new motorcycle? Cruising the desert roads of the badlands, her hands clasped over her lover's lower abdomen? Laughing like never before with her best friend Panam while getting drunk and getting kicked out for disturbing the peace? Curling up in bed, their bodies pressed together under the covers, whispering that they would never leave each other? Those mornings when Valerie brought breakfast to bed, completely botched but made with undeniable love?

And that sappy smile... That gonkish grin Valerie wore shamelessly when her Leelou Bean was by her side. The merc who ruled Night City, with a heart of gold and a zest for life that few could hope to match. Perhaps she would've preferred to live only for a limited time, cherishing every moment for her goddess until her last breath...

Never take their love for granted...

"Is there any ibuprofen left, Bee?"

"Just one, you've swallowed the whole box this week..."

Judy settled herself as comfortably as possible on the living room sofa, joined a few moments later by Bianca, who handed her a glass of water with her medication. She turned on the TV, flipping through the news channels until she found something interesting.

Maybe this all happens for a good reason...

Valerie's gaze at the camera was grim. Piercing to the point of becoming oppressive. She looked so comfortable on the TV set alongside Kerry. She was beautiful, radiant, magnificent. But also frightening with her last words. To whom was she speaking? Judy saw Bianca's gaze freeze on the television for just a moment. As if she were facing an army of cyberpsychos, defenseless.

As the interview drew to a close, Judy got up from the sofa. She was staggering but seemed to be under a spell. She heard Valerie's last words.

"What's wrong, Judy?" Bianca asked incredulously.

"I have to go back to Night City."

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 - I Hate Myself For Loving You

She couldn't believe it. It took her a few seconds to realize the magnitude of this turnaround. Bianca was distraught, overwhelmed by Valerie's blunt and assertive words and Judy's new goal.

The words tumbled out of her mouth. Panic rose in her throat. "What?! Wait, whaddaya mean, go back to Night City? B-But why?"

Judy stood there, frozen in front of the living room screen. Her gaze was lost, trapped between a thousand thoughts. Night City, Pittsburgh, their separation... She thought back to the awkward and cold exchanges between her and Valerie since she woke up last July. So many months had passed since then, and Valerie had become so bitter towards Judy. It was understandable; Judy knew how much her calabacita had loved her since they first met.

What a shock it must've been for her to wake up in a world that was no longer hers. Judy found it hard to comprehend. She who had been so sad, so down in the dumps. Thinking firmly for months that her beloved would return to her, then having to resign herself to her supposed death. She had met Bianca during a dark period, and had changed so much since then. She had matured too. Too much, certainly.

Bianca's panicked words finally penetrated her ears. Judy turned to her wife, her arm dangling. "D-Did you see what I saw, Bee? That's Valerie."

Bianca pretended to be unmoved. "Of course I saw, Judy. What was that message on TV?" She tried to turn the threat back on Judy to try to dispel any doubts. "Was she talkin' about you?"

Judy felt her legs tremble with fear. She loved Valerie. It was simply impossible to forget the fire that burned between them. "How would I know? Why is she talkin' about threats? Did someone hurt her?" Judy had lost a lot of self-confidence over the months. It had affected her so much. She blamed herself for everything, all the time. "D-Do you think it's 'cause of me, Bee? I was so cold when she called me back... I only made things worse when I contacted her again..."

Bianca moved closer to her and tried to give her a hug. But it was so different from Valerie's hugs. No one stroked her hair like she did. "Hey, it'll be okay. It's not your fault. Maybe she was talking about someone else."

Judy didn't believe it at all. She didn't know what to think. She didn't even know how to think anymore. A complete emptiness, freezing and jagged, gnawed at her skin and her head. Bianca held Judy tight, trying to get her to look away from the TV. On N54, there was still a banner at the bottom announcing Valerie's band's next concert.

One week.

Judy pulled away from her wife, as if she couldn't find any comfort there. Which indeed was true. "I-I have to see her, Bee. Do you get it? I just want to understand. I want to make sure she's… She's okay?"

Bianca had no sympathy for Valerie. She didn't know her, only from photos and, more recently, an indirect interview. This woman had so much more charisma and confidence than she ever had. She was gorgeous, with a killer look in her eyes. A woman as beautiful as she was dangerous. So hearing Judy remain so attached to her, even after nearly three years of separation, made her heart ache bitterly.

She tried everything she could. "But we don't have much savings, Judy. You wanna go away for a week? And then what, we'll get kicked out of the apartment? You wanna get fired from your job?"

"No, of course not. Listen, I'll just go this week, and I'll take more time off during the year. I'll work like hell. I promise, Bee. Just tell my boss I'm still ill."

"Fuck, Judy…" Judy could hear the exasperation in her wife's voice. Bianca had never been as gentle and understanding as Judy needed her to be. "You know what, I might as well come with you. That way I can make sure you're safe. It's Night City."

Judy didn't feel protected. It was different. And very confusing. Was her wife hiding something from her? "No, Bianca." It was only in moments of tension that Judy called her by her full name. "I'd rather go alone. It's only my business, and I can handle it. I lived there for twenty-four years, Night City doesn't scare me."

"Damn it... What do you expect? You're sick, we don't have any money, and you want to go see her? She might not even recognize you, or you might not even get to see her! We're taking a big risk, but whatever... If you really want to go, then go."

Bianca was harsh. Cold. Distant and almost overprotective. Judy found her strange, but she wasn't focusing on her. She wanted to find a flight, a train, anything. She wanted to get to Night City as quickly as possible and find her calabacita. The woman who enchanted her dreams, the woman who never, ever put her down or belittled her. The one who would never have thought of raising a hand on her during an argument. The most beautiful woman in the world.

Judy didn't respond to Bianca's futile attempt at reverse psychology. She was determined.

She swallowed the last pills in her box, got ready, and started searching her computer for tickets, information, anything. There was a flight tomorrow afternoon, a direct flight to Night City. Judy also looked at some of the city's public pages and read what little information there was about Valerie's band. She looked very happy in the photos, alongside Kerry Eurodyne, the director of one of the biggest music labels in the NUSA, and the other members of her band.

That was it. She had made the reservation. Bianca grimaced and kept thinking about how stupid the whole situation was. Maybe Judy was fed up too. Fed up with hearing only negative things at home.

And you don't do the laundry properly, and that's not how you cook, and you messed up the coffee this morning, and you forgot that at the grocery store, and if the car breaks down, it's because you didn't get it serviced...

In a parallel world, if Judy and Valerie had lived happily together after leaving Night City, they would probably have argued in everyday life too. But never anything serious. At worst, just silly things that could easily be resolved with a kiss, a massage, and an apology said in a luscious, sensual voice...

Tomorrow at three o'clock she would leave. Going back to the city that never sleeps, two years later...

The same day, at the HighTimes Records offices...

Mr. Traoz greeted Valerie with his characteristic high spirits. "Miss Halloway! How are you doing? May I offer you a drink?"

Valerie proudly entered the large office and accepted the offer. Mr. Traoz took a clear glass bottle with stripes out of the cabinet next to his desk. A brown liquid, tequila no doubt, mingled in perfect harmony with the post-meridian rays of the sun. The director knew the rockergirl's taste in drinks and how to delight her taste buds during a time of important discussion.

Mr. Traoz had invited her, alone, to discuss the shocking interview that morning and things to come.

Valerie sipped her glass, filled with delicious Don Julio tequila. It was nothing like the classic Centzon she usually drank at the bar. It soothed her, allowing her to think clearly without getting worked up.

He adjusted the black lapel of his green jacket before running his hand through his slightly wavy white hair. "Right. I won't beat around the bush. The interview you did this morning at N54 was a complete success. The audience reached a large part of the Free States and the Unified Ones. There's already a wave of visits to the online booking platform; people want to learn more about your band. The comments are almost unanimous, rave reviews."

Mr. Traoz turned his screen and scrolled through the pages, smiling as excited as a child on Christmas Eve. Reservations for next week's concert at the Riot were full, and online streams and replays of their performance were popping up all over the net. "Damn, that's really beyond nova," Valerie sighed with satisfaction, rubbing her hands together. "To be frank, I was afraid I'd gone a little too far."

Mr. Traoz rose from his seat, almost jumping up. He began pacing the large room, waving his arms. "Too far? But come on, young lady! That's exactly what people want. They want a star who's gutsy. Who shows her weaknesses, who's not ashamed of anything. You were perfect."

"That's very kind of you. I'm glad you understand. It was very important, so to speak."

Sitting back down, he banged his fist on the polished antique wooden table. "Exactly. People can feel it. They know you're authentic. Remember that word, alright? Next week's performance is shaping up to be a big one! The Riot won't be big enough for you soon! There will be official live streams so everyone can enjoy it."

"Oh, uh, I almost forgot. Was my request to lower the prices as much as possible accepted? I want as many people as possible to be able to attend the upcoming performances. I've already got enough eddies for a lifetime. Only give the earnings to Marina, Michael, and Nikola."

"Yes, indeed! That is a very commendable proposal. The monetary reorganization should not take long; I will take care of it personally with Mr. Emerson. I say this very rarely, having already tried my luck with less promising groups. But I see a truly bright future for the four of you. Stay as you are. Stay yourselves."

During the rest of the meeting, Valerie asked the final questions, and everything went smoothly. Every specific point was noted, rephrased, and reshaped as requested. Valerie presented some of Nikola's decorative proposals and gave the pre-recordings of two other covers.

She left the tower shaking the director's hand firmly. She felt untouchable. Fucking alive. Happy.

Memories of Bianca's messages resurfaced, of course. But she hadn't responded to her threats over the phone. It was pointless. Bianca was no threat to her. No more than a mosquito to an electric fly swatter. And somewhere deep down, she hoped with all her heart that Bianca would see the N54 interview and shit herself when she realized she was the target.

The next day, 3 PM...

They had been in the studio since early morning. Rehearsals, breaks, stories, in short, everything was going wonderfully.

Nikola had gone back to the gym since their concert at the Riot. The relentless, almost inhuman performance of Cry For Eternity and Ashes Of My Eden had destroyed him. He wanted to redouble his efforts to keep his abilities afloat without exhausting himself. Valerie had invited him to do marathons together, and in a duel against the gym's auto-mecha. He practiced the solos, the double-pedal and drumstick rhythm patterns over and over again. Valerie gave him the most energetic songs, like The Game, Fallen World, and Astral Empire. He had fallen under the spell of DragonForce's drummer, analyzing every move and technique on old recordings.

Valerie and Michael worked tirelessly on their bass and electric guitar coordination, always striving to give more body to their solos and duets.

Marina enjoyed spending time laughing with Valerie. They often told each other stories and glimpses of their past lives. Which led them both to rock, and to music more generally. Marina was a very effective support during personal compositions and rewrites of old songs. Valerie often said that the keyboards were too far in the background and underrated, so she made sure that everyone was equally integrated.

While analyzing an old DragonForce album from 2017, Marina pointed out an instrument to Valerie that she had never seen before. Vadim Pruzhanov, the band's keyboardist, was overlapping a kind of black and white piano guitar.

Valerie leant over the holoscreen and carefully observed the keyboardist's movements. "Hah, yes! It's a keytar, Marina."

Marina turned to Valerie, puzzled. She raised her eyebrows as if Valerie had just invented the word. "A keytar? It looks like a handmade assembled device."

Valerie stood up and began miming how to play the strange instrument. "No, it's really some serious shit. To put it simply, you play the synthesizer with the mobility of a guitar."

Marina pretended to sulk, wanting to take her own performance further. "Okay. I definitely need one. I wanna have fun on stage like you and Michael!" she whines, pointing at Michael.

"Oh, and you're just gonna leave Nikola all alone in the back?" he replied, pointing at the now silent drummer.

"Hey, I can hear you!" he bellowed, waving his drumsticks in discontent. "With all the effort I put in, I deserve something as well!"

"Why not set his setup up on a raised platform?" Michael wondered, running his hand over his sweat-covered bald head.

"Yeah, love that idea! Thanks for your support, Mike!" Nikola enthused, already imagining himself playing up high with a perfect view of the audience.

Valerie stretched her legs out on the chair in front of her, giving the passionate drummer a friendly wink and raising her glass to him. "I'll call Mr. Traoz later and see if we can work something out."

At the same moment, Pittsburgh Airport…

Judy hadn't brought much with her. Just a simple luggage bag with a few outfits and personal belongings. She didn't plan on staying in Night City for long, just a few ideas and hopes... The drive to the airport was overwhelmingly silent. Bianca had stopped fussing over Judy's crazy idea, realizing there was nothing she could do about it. Judy stared out the car window. Snow continued to fall in waves, making the road almost invisible. According to weather forecasters, winter would last one more month, further disrupting the climate. This information was meaningless to her, her thoughts flitting and colliding in an intimidating chaos. She didn't really know what to expect. Had Night City changed? Was it more or less dangerous? Were her Mox girls from Lizzie's still around? Was her apartment on Charter Street occupied or abandoned? What would she say to Valerie if they ever saw each other? Would she even want to see her?

Bianca could see that her wife wasn't feeling well. But, being a very simple, very straightforward person, she was unaware of what was going on behind the scenes. She didn't know how unique and indescribable Judy's experience with Valerie had been. And how, deep down, Judy still felt a tremendous love for the former merc.

When they arrived at the airport, Judy felt a twinge of sadness. She realized that she was about to leave her wife to find the woman she loved, but whom she had coldly rejected when she needed her most. None of it made sense. She just wanted to know how she was doing. So why didn't she just call her? No, she wanted more than that. She wanted her calabacita, to smell her unique scent again, to run her hand through her red and black hair, to embrace the boundlessness of their kisses...

When she opened the door, the cold enveloped her like a threat. Like a demon whispering in your ear that you'd better not ruin everything. Otherwise, things will go badly.

She grabbed her luggage from the trunk and hugged her wife mechanically. But there was no affection. Or maybe it was one-sided. Or maybe it was just to pretend that everything was fine between them. How could she know?

Judy turned to Bianca, forcing a fake smile that was all too obvious. "Bye, Bee. I'll be back soon, don't worry."

"Take care, Judy."

No passionate kiss, no love making her heart race and preventing her from leaving her wife. Nothing.

She waited about an hour before she could finally board. At least the inside of the plane was a little warming. It was so cold outside that even her fleece jacket struggled to keep her comfortable. The flight was scheduled to last between five and six hours. That meant she would arrive in Night City in the middle of the night. That didn't suit her at all; even from a distance, the city remained a den of scoundrels, rapists, drug addicts, thugs, and so on.

At about 10 kilometers above the ground, Judy looked out the window.

Thick clouds, fog, the curve of the Earth slowly coming into view. And silence. The entire booth was rocked by the slight vibrations of the fuselage and the soft calls of the flight attendants.

She immediately looked at the tablet provided at her seat. It contained all the news of the month, divided into separate sections. But fate would have it that even here, far from the cities, a large banner advertised the musical group of the moment. The Fallen Guardians Of the Past it appeared. A link to the live broadcast of the concert in early February appeared, and Judy started the recording.

With her headphones on, she listened. She closed her eyes and imagined the rockergirl setting the room on fire. Melodic and magnificent covers of lost ballads. An energy and fury that skyrocketed. An orchestra in total harmony.

And a voice. My God, that voice. Judy could recognize it among a thousand if she didn't know what she was listening to. The sweetest, most bestial, wildest voice. Bewitching, magical. Then suddenly as sharp as razor blades. It was definitely Valerie. She watched how she leaped onto the stage, how her body so masterfully maneuvered through the space. The cameras zoomed in on her fiery face. Unmoved by adversity, she unleashed her inner self.

Judy listened to every song, reveling in the voice and the orchestra. But when she got to Valerie's last two compositions, she faltered. So fast, so dark, almost apocalyptic. It was as if a demon was coming out of her throat, ready to explode on stage.

She would've been stupid not to know for whom these songs were meant. Judy knew Valerie was talking about her and Bianca. As Valerie so aptly put it before her songs, a sinister ode to jealousy. Dedicated to heartbreak and abandon.

Judy began to sob as she listened, feeling Valerie's grief and anger pouring out that evening.

My God... What have I done? What am I doing? I hurt the woman I've always loved. Of course she doesn't want to see me. She must hate me. I can't even imagine that. It's too hard... Damn it, I'm the biggest gonk ever, what am I going to do?!"

She wanted to apologize, just talk to Valerie. Tell her the truth about her broken thoughts. Start over from scratch, not remain hostile. It was awful for her to feel like human trash. She wanted to talk to someone who would understand her, just one person.

So waiting would be torture. Long, painful torture. But it was either that or she would let herself be consumed from the inside until she cracked and did something unthinkable. No, that was out of the question.

Judy was tired of being constantly judged by her wife, who never really managed to understand her. And how could she feel better knowing that the woman she now desired loathed her? Had she lost all sense of direction? She needed to think. And the few days separating her from Valerie's concert would surely help her do that.

9:45 PM, Night City Spaceport

She was there. Finally back in Night City, the city that never sleeps, ever. And with a fire demon in its core, it wouldn't be ready to sleep anytime soon.

Judy thought back to something she had said to herself years ago. This city is like quicksand. The harder you try to get out, the more it pulls you in.

Judy didn't linger outside the lobby. She called a Delamain cab and headed straight for the Night City Hilton. It was a very old two-star hotel on Charter Street. It was very reasonable, and Judy wanted to use as few eddies as possible so as not to upset her wife when she got home. Still, she didn't want to sleep in a bed stained with cum in a filthy room at the Kabuki's No-Tell.

During the ride, Judy could once again see the iconic splendor of the city. The millions of neon signs on the walls, in the air, even on the ground. The streets of the City Center looking so clean, then getting more and more run-down as they reached the slums of the Watson district. The only noticeable changes were that Arasaka was gone. Militech patrolled the streets with a commanding presence, pushing aside the NCPD's almost useless efforts. This was surely due to the chaos Valerie had wreaked in her war against Arasaka, the Relic, and Johnny Silverhand.

Everywhere she looked, she saw memories of herself and the young merc with many lives.

She reached the hotel without incident. A good thing for a young woman alone and unarmed in this city. She paid quickly and hurried to her room. The hotel room was small. A few amenities, a shower, a mini work surface for ‘cooking,' and a double bed. This time, Judy was alone that evening. No girlfriend, just the stifling silence of the room.

She took a shower and went straight to bed. During her shower, she closed her eyes, reliving those evenings in Valerie's apartment in The Glen. Their showers together, rubbing and soaping each other. The heat radiating from their bodies in soft, rich whorls. The silent love Valerie gave her when they sometimes stayed in bed all day, playing with each other's hair, watching a B movie, or whatever.

It only made her sadder. She was even more apprehensive about how she approached things. A good night's sleep would do her a world of good...

Two days later... Tuesday, February 27, 2080

The next concert was in four days. Everyone was busy doing their thing. No rest for the brave, they all said. Excitement was welling up inside them as they imagined themselves setting the venue on fire once again. Higher and louder than ever before.

Nikola and Michael had been visiting Mr. Traoz the day before to discuss their stage plans and instrumental changes. The businessman was intrigued, in a positive way. Michael had designed a solid, collapsible structure. A raised platform wide enough to accommodate the complex drum kit and cymbals. High enough to be fully visible above the other, more mobile performers. The whole thing was, of course, designed to give everyone adequate visibility. To leave no one in the shadows. Mr. Traoz emphasized, as usual, the remarkable ethics of the band members. It may have seemed trivial to them, but the director of HighTimes had been around the block a few times and knew the mentality of Night City's residents and celebrities. One's own before anyone else's.

He gladly accepted, and work began on the additional set pieces, with a reliable technical team ensuring that everything would be ready for the big evening.

Valerie, meanwhile, had invited Marina to Time Machine, The Glen's big music store. Marina wanted to discover the famous strange instrument her friend had told her about. She wanted to feel closer to the audience, and also to be able to dance and let herself be possessed by her own instrument as quickly as she could get on it.

The shop was still the same. A magnificent black and neon orange entrance, and an interior so reflective that it could dazzle you if you weren't prepared. All the instruments, the strangest, the most expensive, the most famous, of all brands, were proudly displayed on their stands, shelves, and pedestals. Not to mention dozens of vinyl records and albums by renowned bands.

Maybe not as many as at Kerry's friend's place in Bakersfield, where Valerie had gone at the beginning of her musical odyssey, but there were more than enough for an aficionado of her stature.

"V! My friend, how you doin'?" Journey asked when she saw the two young women enter the premises.

Valerie waved to the manager, flashing her best smile. "Hi Journey, I've told you a thousand times. Call me Valerie, for god's sake. We really need your help for Marina."

"Tell me everything," she whispered, resting her elbows on the desk and listening intently. "What do you need for your next session? Anythin' in particular?"

"Marina wants to try the keytar."

"Hah! Now that's the kind of request I like! You really cheer me up when you come here. There, follow me into the back room," exclaimed Journey with a wink, motioning for them to join her.

Journey knew Valerie well, and more recently her fellow crew members. She always had the best stuff (and the most expensive, for that matter) in reserve for her most dedicated customers. And those who came in that day were not going to be disappointed.

The back room was, in very simple terms, heaven for a musician at heart. You entered a realm where the simple term ‘instruments' was laughable. These were true works of art. Handmade, by the best craftsmen in the state, if not the country. Journey pointed to the back of the room, where three absolutely gorgeous keytars were attached to the walls.

One small, one medium, and one large, so large that it was almost as tall as the keyboardist.

"These are my babies. Handle them with the utmost care and love. This is essential for perfect, synchronized symbiosis."

Marina marveled at such stunning pieces. They were a unique cross between a classic synthesizer and a neck adorned with various buttons and controls. A leather strap was firmly attached to the ends. Marina chose the middle one, medium-sized and completely dyed black. Journey took it out of the glowing display and handed it to her. She straddled it with ease, under the friendly and pleased gaze of her friend.

Marina had played guitar before and had no trouble handling the instrument. And being a professional keyboardist, her hands moved and flew over the keys as if she had been playing it for years. Closing her eyes, she could even hear the sounds it would make.

"It's great, I'll take it. How much?"

"Excellent choice. 8,000 eddies."

The price hurt. But it was to be expected.

"I know, it's extremely expensive. But it's a truly unique piece. A 2009 Roland AX-Synth that belonged to Henrik Klingenberg himself. The keyboardist from Sonata Arctica."

Marina knew the band well. They were a great inspiration and one of the pioneers of Scandinavian power metal. It was an antique, over seventy years old, but as alive as ever. Asleep, waiting to be awakened by a new knight. But before she could decide to buy it, the price still very high, Valerie straightened up from the wall and stepped forward.

"I'll take it, Journey. It's my gift to you, Marina. I'd love you to have it."

"What? Wait, you serious?"

"Yeah, what else would I do with all that money? Keep your cash, I insist." Valerie said with a huge heartwarming smirk.

Journey was not only pleased with the joy of the two young women, but also eager to see the tool being used on stage. She provided a pristine case for the instrument, and after being paid, she waved goodbye to the musicians as they left her shop.

Marina hugged Valerie tightly, grateful and touched by such support and kindness. For Valerie, it was normal. The quartet got together in the afternoon, after eating together at a restaurant. They rehearsed again and again over the next few days. Marina reveled in finally being able to play with total mobility. She tried out different positions on the keyboard, dangling it at her lower abdomen, straddling the neck and playing with one hand. She tried a dozen positions before finding her balance. It was perfect for making her fingers fly at breakneck speed, while being able to alternate synthetic effects with ease on the mini control panel on the neck. Everything was running like a well-oiled machine. What could possibly go wrong?

Only two kilometers away...

Judy had spent the previous night at the hotel. She had only gone out to smoke a few times, her impulses taking over as she became increasingly overstressed. She was crying out of fear, anger, self-pity, or even confusion. She didn't know which way to turn, because somewhere, not so far away, Valerie was living what was surely a very happy life.

Was she about to commit a terrible act? Would it be the right thing to do? The righteous thing? The sensible thing? The logical thing? The human thing?

The worst she could imagine was that Valerie would hate her even more than before.

She needed to get her bearings back. To have at least one anchor in this world, something tangible. The Lizzie's bar. Maybe Rita and Marlene were still working at the door? Seeing a familiar face, and one as friendly as theirs, might at least pull her out of her inner blizzard…

Judy needed some fresh air. She needed to clear her head instead of wallowing in depression in her little bedroom. It must've been around 5:30 PM. The Lizzie's was about to open, and the streets of Watson were still bathed in bright sunlight. She had changed her clothes, throwing on a classic dark purple and black jacket over her gray cotton shirt. She preferred to walk rather than take another cab. If it meant one less expense, it was worth it. Her bank account was on the brink, with this week's expenses border on going into the red. And the last thing she wanted was to talk about money problems with her wife when she got home.

The streets were strangely quiet. Sure, there were still gunshots in the distance, or whatever else sounded unsettling. But Militech's armored patrols were keeping watch. There were also many more drones patrolling the streets. Judy had nothing suspicious to hide, not even a weapon. So she walked without much fear. Few buildings had changed, or at worst, changed owners. It was therefore easy to find her way around the streets and neighborhoods. She avoided the shadiest and dirtiest areas. She also kept her head down, even putting on her hood to avoid attracting attention.

Judy reached the Lizzie's about twenty minutes later. She had probably seen about fifteen posters in the streets advertising Valerie's band, and there were even some on the front of the iconic bar. It was pretty quiet, with only about ten guys sitting on the pavement, leaning against the walls, and... Rita Wheeler. In the flesh (and chrome). The same yellow carbon baseball bat in her hands, the same clothes. Now there was a familiar face, bringing back so many memories for Judy. Those days working in the basement and being constantly screwed-up by Suzie Q, and Rita's attempts to get Judy to go out for 'just one drink.' Which always ended up badly and more or less in shame.

In a way, it was a good time. She had friends, a job she loved, and the most beautiful and incredible lover who often picked her up late at night on her motorcycle for an evening of passion and lovemaking. Judy considered herself not very good with words when it came to feelings, so she let her body do the talking for the young and fiery merc. Judy stepped forward and lifted her hood to assert herself a little more. Rita, standing in front of her, straightened up from the wall and frowned. Was she hallucinating? Judy no longer looked like the woman from 2077. She had a much more ordinary, impersonal appearance. But her unique gaze betrayed everything else.

"Judy?" she asked the shy young girl. "Is that you?"

Judy stepped forward timidly. "Hey, Rita. It's me."

"JUDY! DAMN IT, MY GIRL! IT'S BEEN SO LONG! LEMME HUG YOU!"

Rita rushed towards Judy and wrapped her arms around her with all her energy. The usual company surely had to be terribly boring to make her so excited to see her. Judy was almost shocked. She, who hadn't felt such warm and caring touches in weeks, maybe even months, almost felt like she was rediscovering this preem sensation.

Judy chuckled as she patted her friend's back, finally feeling a little joy wash over her. "It's been a long time, that's true. I'm glad to see you. How you been?"

Rita stepped back slightly, the excitement still lingering in her eyes. "Well, right now, it's like, really too nova. Damn, Judy, it must be what, more than two years?"

"Yeah, that's right. Can I come in?" Judy asked timidly, not wanting to impose.

"Of course! The bar's closed tonight anyway. We're doin' some renovations. Mateo's still here, he'll be happy to see you too! I wanna hear all about what's been happenin' to you!"

"Yeah, no problem," Judy whispered, feeling uneasy about what the evening might bring.

The bar Judy had known had changed a lot. There was still the dance floor with all its spotlights, lasers, and smoke machines. The same uninhibited music, similar to drill and neo-dubstep, was still playing. But the decor was being renovated in a much more modern style, less flashy but still retaining its iconic Mox charm. At the back of the bar, Mateo was chatting with friends. He had grown his hair much longer, giving him almost a 90s rocker look, still wearing his light blue palm tree shirt.

He greeted them as the two women approached the bar, Rita pulling Judy along by the hand.

"Look who I brought, Matt!" Rita shouted, raising her arm toward the bartender.

Mateo seemed less surprised, but still happy to see the former techie again. "Judy? Holy shit, it's been a while!" he smiled as he pulled three clean glasses and a bottle of whiskey from behind the counter.

The two women sat down on stools and began chatting in good spirits. Judy told them about her life in Pittsburgh, how boring her job was and how toxic her manager was, her financial difficulties and the conjugal tensions that resulted from them. She didn't paint a very colorful picture, that's for sure. But Rita, in her usual unrestrained manner (and after three glasses of tequila), started asking sensitive questions.

"Hey, tell me, Jude. I guess you and V still talk? It's really sad that you're not together anymore... I remember how you blushed every time she revved her motorcycle in the driveway at night. Ha, and do you remember that evening when she sang Samurai drunk topless? That was the evening that Mateo ended up without his pants, as drunk as her, you an' me."

"Um... Well, that's why I'm here," Judy replied, looking away slightly.

Mateo and Rita watched her silently, waiting for her to continue explaining.

"The day V called me back, it was two years after she disappeared. Everyone thought she was dead, and so did I. And when she contacted me, I was very cold and distant towards her. I didn't consider the trauma she must've gone through. I'm a married woman, and I reacted like a selfish bitch. And..."

Judy began to sob again as she thought about the pain that had surely become the rotten foundation of their distancing. She tried to hide her distress by rubbing her eyes, but only smeared her mascara across her cheeks.

"I-I'm afraid she'll hate me forever... I just wanna see her again, just talk to her. Do you think she'd want to see me again?"

Mateo handed her a fresh towel to wipe her eyes clean. "Hey, y'know what? We were supposed to go to her concert Saturday. You can come with us! It'll be better than goin' alone, right?"

"I really don't want to burden you with my problems. I already feel gonk enough coming to see you after all this time just to talk 'bout this."

"Bullshit," Rita cut her off. "Y'know, you're still a Mox. And Moxes stick together. Whether it's in a street fight or emotional support. You'll come with us and we'll all have a great time."

Judy, curious, asked questions about the last few months in Night City, and Valerie by the way. "And besides... Have you ever been to one of her concerts? Did you get to talk to her a little? Have you listened to her songs?"

Mateo pulled a record out of a closet with a title written on it in marker. "Yeah, totally. We went to her concert at the Riot in early February. I have to admit, she throws a curveball. Way more than this evening, which Rita had to bring up again…" he sighed, glaring at the tipsy bouncer.

"Oh, come on! Relax a little, Matt. Admit it, we all had a great evening. But anyway, yeah, she sends fire! I didn't know a quarter of the artists she and her band covered. But one thing's for sure, I'm lookin' forward to hearing more from them. It's a nice change from the same ol' stuff we're always hearing."

"Here, if you ever want to listen to it at home." Mateo handed Judy the record in a small transparent plastic case. "V came by with her friends about two weeks ago. We asked her to come play a private set for the bar's reopening, and she felt heavily into it. She made knockoffs of the studio recordings to see what we liked best."

"Thanks, Mateo. Listen, I'm pretty tired," Judy replied, getting up and stuffing the record into her handbag. "I should get back to my motel. Let's keep in touch?"

Rita got up at the same time, waving to Mateo and putting her hand on Judy's back. "Sure! Wait, I'll walk you back."

As she left, Judy was feeling better. Not happy, but less devastated and wasted than the night before. As she was about to continue on her way alone, Rita put her hand on her shoulder, and she turned around.

"Get home safe, Punchin'Judy."

"Heh, it's been a long time since anyone called me that."

"You're still you. Maybe a little more corpo and less fiery than before, but you're still you. There, take care of yourself, the streets aren't safe at this time of night."

Rita could say a lot of silly things when she'd had enough to drink, but she was still a close friend to Judy. And the latter realized a lot that night. How much she had missed all those moments, not being judged for her every move. The passion, the madness, the will to give the finger to boring, uninteresting assholes. Judy had changed a lot. And Rita's jibes made to her realize how serious things were.

Where had her mid-length pink and neon green hair gone? Where had her dozens of nautical tattoos gone, the building blocks of her anarchist identity?

The answer was simple. Under the forced demands of an ordinary and insipid wife. Loving, perhaps, once upon a time. But where is the love when you don't accept the unique traits of your other half? To the point of wanting to make them disappear under normality, ordinariness, sameness? Judy Álvarez, the young techie with a fiery temperament, had become a lonely, bitter, lost woman. She now regretted the past. It was around 9 PM. The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon, and only snow and toxic smoke from the industrial districts fell from the sky. Lit only by dim streetlights, the streets were becoming less safe. Was a few extra eddies for a cab worth a dangerous ride? For her, yes.

She didn't hesitate and hurried back to the Hilton. However, she was frightened when she heard junkies whistling at her as she walked down Forbes Street. Reaching her room felt like a blessing. It was crazy how her view of the city had completely changed over time. A city that can offer everything, but also take everything away. And wipe out a life in the blink of an eye. Who knows what could have happened to her that evening. And what could she do without a gun in her pocket or a devilish merc as a girlfriend?

That evening in her bed, she took refuge once again in her memories of the past. Life in 2077, love in its most beautiful shape. Valerie's birthday in October and the party Judy organized at her house only together. That night on that cliff in the Badlands, where Valerie swore to Judy that she would fight to the last breath to live and get away from it all together.

That night in Laguna Bend, and the next day on the deck of the bungalow... A promise. That it would be the beginning of something good.

Damn it, where had things gone wrong? And how could they have gotten so bad? The madness and despair that had haunted the young merc for so long had turned away from her to infest her former soul mate. The reversal of roles was happening so fast, the future was impossible to predict…

Saturday, March 2, 2080

The big day was finally drawing in. Throughout the whole day, the quartet were going over the most difficult passages of their productions for the last time. The pressure was even more tangible than the previous month. The promise was big, and the stakes were high.

Following the resounding success of their first two concerts, and audiences that exceeded all expectations for a band that had come from nowhere, Mr. Traoz had opened up several avenues for the band's future.

A first public album and a tour on a larger scale than the bars of Night City if the figures exceeded expectations. What more could they dream of, what could be crazier? Night City, the city of dreams, promised them the stars, the universe. Provided, of course, that they didn't get too carried away and kept their feet on the ground. It shouldn't have been too difficult, given how grateful they all were to have finally made a name for themselves.

The studio was in chaos. Panic and anxiety were at their peak. But how excited they were. At around 2 PM, they were practicing the complex score of Cry For Eternity, one of their most difficult covers. Nikola had been fighting tooth and nail for weeks, and his body was running at full speed. Less wrist pain and soreness allowed him to perform long grooves and fills in high gear. Valerie had asked him to be able to hold 210 BPM for as long as possible, and his physical limitations were no longer as much of a barrier. For his part, Michael was working on his duel choreography with Valerie, henceforth including Marina and her keytar.

It was an explosive, melodious dance around the main tower where Nikola would be perched at the top. It had to be grandiose, and no one was short of ideas for a unique and crazy show. Marina had captured the very nature of her new instrument, and felt liberated from all constraints. At first, she was confused about the perfect posture to adopt, but her nimble fingers soon became one with the strange device. She couldn't wait to prove herself even more alongside her friends.

The sun was setting, and it was time to head to the dragon's lair.

Everyone got in their cars and arrived an hour before the kick-off. There were already about thirty people waiting at the entrance, held back by the bouncers as they approached discreetly. Entering through the main door, they were greeted once again by Kerry and his friend Andrew. They were apparently eager to present them an eagerly awaited very new surprise.

The sight of the central stage froze them in their tracks. Everything had changed since last month. It was bigger and deeper to allow for even more mobility. The mixing desk had been dismantled, and a huge structure covered in a gray veil stood silently in the center.

"In response to some requests made to me, our technical team has a little surprise for our drummer of the evening," Mr. Traoz proclaimed boastfully, regarding Nikola.

Nikola stepped forward and pulled the veil away. It was beyond words. Majestic. A large, black tower shaped like a thousand-year-old tree stump. A spiral staircase led up to his massive drum kit. Their band's red neon logo was carved into the structure, surrounded by spotlights and smoke machines. The drummer felt like he was losing his footing when he saw his dream before him. It was touchable. Fucking real.

Everything was in order, the instruments plugged in, their outfits clean and wild, their minds in focus and restrained for the real game.

Waiting for the fateful opening, Valerie sat backstage, gently stroking her Telecaster. She thought back to how far she had come since her awakening last July. She was now part of something bigger, something unique, strong, and destined for greatness. She could see a bright future ahead.

"Introspective phase?" Marina asked as she entered the room.

"Weren't you supposed to calm Niko down? He's gonna wind himself up so tight he'll end up exploding before we even start," Valerie snickered as she took a sip of fresh water.

Marina sat down on the chair next to her as Valerie handed her a glass. "Mike's on it. Everything's been checked and double-checked. We're good to go. Damn, I can't wait. I still can't believe everything we've done." She looked at Valerie, who seemed more focused and impassive than usual. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Well, y'know, just wondering if it's all happenin' a bit too fast. Of course I wanna release a debut album, or at least aim higher than Night City. But I don't want us to get carried away or anythin'... You get me?"

"Hey, we haven't done anything yet, Valerie," Marina interrupted, giving her friend a playful nudge. "Who knows, maybe they'll hate it tonight. And that'll be the end of the band. We don't know."

"Thanks a lot for the reassurance!" laughed Valerie as she stood up. "Miss Gutierrez is officially the worst therapist in the city. Nova, now I'm afraid we're going to screw up."

"Come on, stop acting like such a gonk," smiled Marina, putting her arm around Valerie's shoulder and leading her out of the room. "We're gonna show this city what The Fallen Guardians Of The Past are made of."

8:30 PM - Riot opens, 30 minutes before showtime.

Judy was in a complete freak-out. Alone in her room, she tried on and took off her clothes, looking for the most appropriate outfit. Rita's words from a few days earlier echoed in her mind. She didn't like feeling so helpless. Between short dresses, crop tops, jackets, sneakers, and ankle boots, the choice was as obvious as choosing between a Maelstömer or a 6th Street to govern the city.

Judy hadn't looked at her phone in two whole days, busy trying to get her head straight. In vain, of course.

But then she got a notification from her friend Rita, which cut short her stream of existential questions about her style for the evening.

Back out? Why would she ever think of doing something so stupid?

Was it really that stupid?

Damn, it was really hard to decide. Part of her already regretted coming, wanting to return to the debatable comfort of her life in Pittsburgh. But the other part, mightier, wanted to see Valerie. She wanted Valerie. And all the other thoughts that came with her. Crazy, fiery, daring, chaotic.

Because wasn't chaos the foundation of her passionate relationship with the merc? Down with normality and decency, hello madness, love, and sex in all their electric and intoxicating energy!

Judy quickly replied that she was leaving right away, not even taking the time to notice Bianca's twelve missed calls. What did she want to tell her? To hurry home after the concert? To find out if she would finally be able to get back to work without having to deal with her feelings buried deep in the dump?

Judy made up her mind. Simple clothes. And she left for the Riot right away. A cab? Oh, screw it, she wasn't going to be late for a few eddies.

She reached the Riot seven minutes later.

The place was so damn crowded. The line at the entrance was moving slowly, and Judy was starting to freeze on the spot. Her body was drenched in a sweat of both panic and excitement, a fuzzy mix that was also so resolute, so sure of what she was doing. She tried to picture the rockergirl in all her glory. To remember her delicate, unique scent, to see again the untamed lines of her makeup, her smile as sharp as lion's fangs or as soft as her warm breath... "Hey, Judy! We're here!"

The young woman recognized the shouts of her friends in the distance. Rita and Mateo were at the entrance, near the bouncer. They were waving to her. Judy, embarrassed, lowered her head and pushed past the few people in front of her in the line. She tried not to pay attention to the icy breath of the other guests.

"Damn, some people think they can do whatever they want!"

"Hey, there's a line, bitch!"

"Come on, stay there with your cute little ass!"

Night City in a nutshell. In all its splendor. Some aspects of the modern world never change, she thought. Three years ago, she wouldn't have let them get away with it. She would have stuck her gun to the guy's temple and threatened him. But not tonight. Anyway, she would probably be back home tomorrow.

"Ah, you finally came, Judy!" Rita gushed, pulling Judy inside. "We were gettin' impatient. We found some really preem spots. We'll have a great view from the upper balcony. It's gonna be rockin'!"

Mateo led them to their seats. The bar was already almost full. The atmosphere was already at its peak, the crowd growing more and more impatient, waiting at the bar, on the central esplanade, or leaning against the railings on the upper floor. Judy watched the scene intently, remaining silent but smiling so as not to appear awkward or boring.

"I'm curious to see what they've got tonight," Mateo wondered, with his usual calm seriousness.

"Hah, I hope she does that crazy solo again in that super long song... Damn, I can't remember the name. But you'll see, Judy, you won't be disappointed!" Rita said jubilantly, opening a cold beer from her satchel.

It didn't take long before the lights dimmed to red and dark gray, and the crowd went wild.

A metallic roar rumbled through the stage amplifiers as smoke machines spread a thick cloud over the main stage. Lasers focused on the opening on the right, from which the quartet slowly emerged.

A wave of cheers, as loud as a tidal wave, swept through the hall. They were there. They appeared one by one in the center of the stage, like undead warriors rising from the great beyond. A very tall man with a bald head shining under the spotlights, holding tightly to a bass guitar as black as his jacket; a slim, streamlined woman in a dark dress with long, dark blue hair flowing down to her forearms; a muscular, assertive man in a studded denim jacket matching her braided silver hair. And her. An angel. A demon. A supernatural entity. A unique, divine, intimidating, and sumptuous whole.

Valerie Halloway entered the stage, a modified electric guitar straddled and held like a proud steed. Red and black hair, like a wave of embers ready to explode like a volcano. A red bomber jacket, amber glasses, and the same rookie sneakers she wore in '77.

A look. An attitude. Pure style.

So pure. So wild. So gorgeous. She was radiant, stunning, breathtaking.

Judy felt her heart break into a million pieces as she looked at this young woman who, with her acolytes, was about to set the world ablaze with her fury for the third time. Everything shattered. How could she have lived all these years without someone like her by her side? Valerie hadn't changed, still extravagant in her uniqueness.

And Judy, her, had succumbed to perdition, then weakness, and finally acceptance of normality. It wasn't right.

"Good evening, everyone!" Valerie shouted, bursting through the microphone from her stand. "Are y'all ready to rise above the fire?!"

The crowd reacted instantly. A standing ovation before they even started gave the quartet a huge adrenaline rush.

"Tonight," she continued in a more solemn tone, "we're gonna go even further. Higher, stronger. Always to entertain you as you deserve! Were you still hungry last month? We're going to fill you up!"

With that, the quartet hurried to set up their rigs. Nikola, crazier with joy than ever, climbed the steps of his tower and sat down at the front of his drum kit, replaced by better versions of much higher quality for an even more delicious sound. Marina and Michael stood proudly beside Valerie, their hands brushing the cold surface of their instruments.

Valerie attached the gift Michael had given her during the week, an articulated arm attached to the front of her guitar, which would allow her to play the guitar while she danced.

"Good," she whispered to the crowd. "Now let yourselves be carried away by the thunder, the flames of the beyond, and your inner cry!"

The band's huge neon sign lit up like a supernova in the heart of the tower. A ghost crying in his shell, armed with a gun and a cig. An evocative name adorned it at the top. The meaning was more than obvious.

Judy felt her legs buckle at the sight of the icon. So many memories came flooding back. The day Valerie had come back from the tattoo shop and proudly shown Judy the little ghost sprawled in his shell, the perfect double of her girlfriend's. And the day Judy went to the Pittsburgh ripperdoc to have hers removed, along with the few tattoos that marked her as a member of the Mox...

Judy felt like she was being judged, even indirectly. Forced to face her past, the actions and decisions that had led her here, now. She watched Valerie with the utmost admiration. All her attention was focused on the young woman singing like a broken angel and swinging her electric riffs like a series of overheated arcs within the heart of a star.

Her grace, her motions, her dances. Her total harmony with the audience and her fellow musicians. Valerie was unleashed, with a liveliness that defied the primordial laws of the universe. She shot fiery glances at her admirers, especially the keyboardist by her side.

This did not escape Judy's piercing gaze. She saw, to her utter despair, how Valerie and Marina devoured each other with their eyes, spinning around each other without ever missing a note. It was as if her eyes had a life of their own, just like her hands and silver fingers, seized by an unstoppable cosmic impetuosity.

The melody was perfect. Even someone who loved completely different music had to acknowledge the remarkable ecstatic storm unleashed by the band. You could feel the passion, the talent, the hard work, the universal chemistry.

The solos were even more divine, and when Valerie led the crowd in a sing-along, Judy was overcome with waves of desire coursing through her body.

She was falling in love again. Madly, wildly.

And it was a total disaster to be in the throes of such enchantment. But she succumbed to it, cravenly, without the slightest resistance. She wanted to let herself be overwhelmed by everything that had been so lacking to her all these years. Valerie Halloway, the merc, the singer, the rocker, the lover, her one and only calabacita.

Over an hour. Over an hour of waves and almost uninterrupted, thrilling breakers. Judy, alongside Rita and Mateo, had let herself be overcome with emotion. She was crying, this time with joy. Knowing that Valerie had found her place in a healthy and loving world. She loved Valerie, and even though deep down she had lost all hope of ever living with her again, she was happy to see her like this.

It was like a stake through the heart. Being stuck and unhappy between marital monotony, total desire (one-sided?) and infidelity. Judy cried inside. For having messed everything up from the start. She blamed herself for everything. For not forcing Valerie to explain her work with the FIA agents to her. To let her explain where would she go during that famous month away from the city? For breaking her promise to always be by her side no matter what challenges and obstacles they would face...

The show was coming to an end. The best was yet to come.

Valerie stepped forward, almost touching the audience. "Well, well, well!" she beamed in her sensual voice. "I see y'all feelin' pretty hot! The evening is coming to an end, but we've saved the best for last! You obviously loved them, so here's Cry! For! Eternityyyyy!!!"

The steely chords crashed down on the audience for a second time. They had repeated it over and over until they had mastered it completely, the frenzied score straight out of the ninth circle of hell. Eight uninterrupted minutes of the war dirge of Cry For Eternity, rising in the blink of an eye at a breakneck speed.

Valerie sang like a battle oracle and strummed her strings through the most demonic shreddings, Nikola beat his drums and cymbals with the force of an apocalyptic earthquake, Michael and Marina synchronized their notes to the millisecond, giving a magical sugar coating to the verses, choruses, bridges, and solos.

The rockergirl launched into her solo in the middle of the song, her fiery gaze intensifying as she clutched her Telecaster tightly to her chest. Her pick was worn down to nothing, her fingers red as the ardent heart of a galaxy, her cheeks and forehead covered in sweat. She opened her eyes wide, brandishing her guitar in front of her, shredding faster and faster, to the adoring screams of the spellbound audience. She looked up, smiling at the crowd on the floor. She recognized Rita and Mateo, whom she had seen earlier that month, and—

No. It wasn't possible. She was hallucinating, wasn't she?

On the highway of light-speed fire, the universe fractured. A glance. Crossed. Cracking the space-time continuum and contracting every fiber of her being.

Judy Àlvarez was standing there. Perched high above, meeting her gaze, entangled like two dancers in a waltz.

Valerie's gaze, which throughout the evening had been tinged with immense joy of living, suddenly warped. Contracted and oppressed under the weight of a dam of emotions and memories. She no longer smiled. She turned her gaze into a black stream. Filled with anger, anger wrath, sadness, and total bewilderment. As if the rules of the game had turned against her and sent her to the mat.

It took Valerie a moment to realize what was really going on. She could thank her unshakeable muscle memory for saving her from this predicament. Her eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the young woman with jet-black hair standing high above her in the hall. She paid no attention to her guitar, the crowd, or even her friends. She was just glaring at this girl, consumed by anger. Why was she here tonight? To remind her of so many things she had worked so hard to bury once and for all so she could finally move on with her intimacy?

But she felt Michael and Marina approaching her as she heard the notes of the instruments through the muffled fog in her ears.

"Valerie, what's wrong?" Michael whispered in her ear as he subtly moved behind her and pretended to follow the planned choreography.

Valerie lowered her head and noticed that she was playing her solo well beyond the speed limits of their training. The trio tried their best to keep up with her disillusioned pace, but immediately realized that something was wrong. Her gaze was frightening to an outside observer.

The cameras were focused on her from all angles. Everyone was stunned by what was happening live on stage.

She suddenly came to her senses, easily slowing down the tempo and falling back into the agreed rhythm. "Sorry, I just lost my place..." she replied, turning her back to the audience and facing her perplexed bandmates.

"You sure you okay?" asked Marina, worried.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine... Let's go back to it," Valerie cut in, her tone cold and curt.

She started singing again, and the complex performance continued until their last breath. Valerie's heart turned to ice, as if all her humanity had been sucked out of her, leaving only a soulless automaton mindlessly completing its task. She tried to avoid looking at Judy. She let her words fall like a wave of meteorites until the final standing ovation.

All her movements were mechanical. She did them because her body had gotten used to them. Smiling, leaning over and holding her friends' hands, thanking everyone.

But she had something else to do. Once they got up, Valerie burst through her hand from Nikola and Marina and ran to the exit. She didn't even take the time to greet the rest of the audience, as her vision and hearing became clouded.

"Valerie! Where you goin'?" Nikola shouted.

She didn't answer. Her heart was beating faster and faster. So fast that she could hear it like a drum beating against her ear.

She stepped outside and was greeted by the bitter cold of the evening. Her gaze scanned the entire street, looking for Judy. She ran forward, and for a brief moment she thought it was all a bad joke caused by her stress. But no. She was there. In an alleyway nearby, her gaze never left her.

Time froze again. Time no longer existed. Just a wisp of smoke, trapped in the limbo of a chaotic universe on the verge of meltdown.

Judy spoke first, her voice little more than a timid whisper. "Hey, Valerie."

"Judy," the rocker replied coldly.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it? Y-You... You look very beautiful," Judy attempted, smiling honestly.

Valerie kept her distance, almost an abyss. "Mm-hmm."

"I watched you sing, it was really beautiful—"

Valerie interrupted her in a so icy tone. "What the fuck are you doin' here, Judy?"

Judy's confidence wavered and she began to lose her footing. "I-I... I, uh... I saw you on TV and... I wanted to see you. For real."

"Why, Judy? Huh?" The tone began to rise loud enough that distant glances began to turn. "Don't you have a great life with your fucking wife? Your wife who's so great, less troubled and restless than me, isn't she?"

Judy couldn't respond, understanding the justified anger in her words. "I, uh... No, I mean, yes. But I... I wanted to see you, to talk. It's been a long time and I... I missed you." Those last words were the first mistake.

And Valerie took those words as a joke in very bad taste. "Are you fuckin' kidding me, Judy? What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"W-What? What are you talkin' about?" replied Judy, even more distraught.

Valerie approached, her footsteps in the snow heavy as those of a goddamn titan. "You dare tell me you missed me?! What are you gonna say next? That you love me?"

"I think I'm falling in love with you again..." Those words were the second mistake.

Valerie exploded. Her evening had just been ruined, swept away like a farmer reaping the wheat. "NO! NO, IT'S NOT TRUE! YOU'RE NOT IN LOVE WITH ME, JUDY!" She started screaming, her voice echoing like a sonic shockwave. "You think a woman in love would ask her wife to send me such obscenities?!"

Judy began to cry, her cheeks trembling and her feet struggling to contain her. "W-Wait, Valerie, please, don't get angry... I'm confused, I don't get what you're talkin' about!"

Valerie looked up at her with complete disdain. It was a deliberately exaggerated condescension that crushed Judy like an uppercut. "Ooh? Really? Well, wait, lemme refresh your memory. There!"

She brandished her phone and slammed it against Judy's chest. Judy looked at the screen and lost the last pieces of her broken soul.

Judy read the sentences, the messages sent months earlier regarding Valerie. There was nothing but hatred, contempt, insults, and defiance. And the worst part? They were all from Bianca. Two messages on the last evening of 2079, followed by fourteen unanswered messages, each more vicious than the last. Bianca had been blocked by Valerie, but everything had still managed to reach her.

"Valerie, I don't understand... Why did she send that to you?"

Valerie was sharp, she had built a huge wall between them. She refused to accept any logical explanation. "Because you didn't ask her for it? How else would she have got my number?! Damn it, Judy, hearing you lie to me is the worst thing ever!"

"But I'm tellin' you I had nothing to do with it, Valerie!" Judy seized in tears. She tried to approach Valerie, but she pushed her away violently. "I love you and I would never accept such a thing! I'm beggin' you, I'm tellin' you the truth!"

"Bullshit! I hate you, Judy! I hate myself for still loving you! But you're married, Judy! You're a fuckin' married woman! And I'm a stupid gonk who loses everything I've built up as soon as you come back into my life! Get out of here! Get the fuck out of my life! I wanna be happy, Judy! Do you understand that, or are you too much dumb not to leave me that?! Go live with your bitch whore of a wife who thinks she knows me but knows nothing! NOTHING! DO YOU HEAR ME?! NOTHING! There, go to hell, both of you!"

She gave the woman in front of her no respite, even pointing out her radical change in appearance. "Look at yourself! How far did your wife go to erase you?! No more tattoos, no more dyed hair, no more unusual dress! Where is the Judy of 2077 that I loved so much?! All gone!"

Valerie was even more out of control at that moment than she had been at all three concerts combined. She was no longer human. In fact, we didn't even know what we were seeing anymore. And things got worse when Valerie was blinded by two paparazzi flashes capturing her thunderous tantrum.

"What the fuck are you doin', you motherfuckers?! Who told you to take pictures of us?! You better delete that or I'll kill you right now!"

The cameramen, terrified, dropped their equipment and ran away. The noise was so loud that a crowd had gathered around the two women. The trio, accompanied by Mr. Traoz and Kerry, rushed towards Valerie.

"Valerie! What's goin' on?"

Valerie didn't respond. Her body began to overheat abruptly. The sound in her ears was deafening. Sirens, screams, car engines, thousands of voices overlapping. Her vision narrowed and her heart began to beat even faster. She was on the verge of cardiac arrest from so much anger.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." Valerie writhed in panic.

Judy, mortified, tried to get closer, but Valerie pushed her away without restraint, sending her to the ground. She ran to her Quadra, screaming and pressing her hands to her charred temples.Valerie pressed the accelerator pedal to the floor and disappeared with a thunderous screech through the streets of Watson, leaving the crowd completely dumbfounded.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT! FUCK FUCK FUCK!" she shouted, pounding on the steering wheel, reaching 100 mph in a flash on the road.

"Fucking shit, I need something... Shit!" Valerie started coughing, losing control of her vehicle.

She punched and bumped into other cars, knocked down a dozen lampposts and road signs, until she reached a neighborhood in Westbrook. She stopped the car in front of a complex of dark alleys and lanes, where junkies, shady dealers, and sex workers hung out. Jig-Jig Street.

Valerie ran to a place she knew well, her heart still thumping loudly. A covered alleyway, where a dealer with a long gold jacket and black aviator sunglasses usually dawdled. Lenny Nero.

"Hey, I recognize you! You're Valerie the Darchangel! What can I do for you?"

"A pick-me-up... Quick... Hurry the fuck up..."

"Woah, you don't look good, I've got a lot of stuff. I've got Rambo 8, Juice, Happy Kill, Black Lace—"

"Black Lace, a full dose. Fuck, faster, I've got the eddies..."

"Okay! Business is business!" That's all, 4,500 eddies. Have a good trip, miss!"

Valerie looked like the living dead. She ran through the alleys, breathless, her eyes filled with tears. The posters that had been blown across the streets burst through the wind, the neon lights glistening like open wounds. Her fingers found the capsule, black and shiny, promising silence.

She swallowed it in one go. The fire calmed down. Her heart slowed. Everything became soft, almost beautiful.

Then the colors tore apart.

Valerie collapsed on the snow-covered asphalt, her eyes fixed on a black sky that no longer resembled anything.