Chapter Text
November 2019
Night City was freezing.
Johnny couldn’t tell if it was because New Mexico had been so hot or if California had somehow decided to become part of Canada while he was gone. Either way, he was freezing his ass off in his car with nowhere to go. Even the cheapest motel was out of his price range right now. His eddies could currently stretch to breakfast and half a tank of gas.
Okay, he did have a few options. After his rescue, Kerry had offered him a place if he needed, then there was the option of going back to the Aldecaldos, and there was always Rogue.
But…
But things between him and Santiago had been tense. But he’d told Kerry that he was fine. But he hadn’t told Rogue he was back in Night City (she knew, of course she knew). He was Johnny Silverhand, he had friends, he had allies, he had fans. Finding somewhere to crash for the night should have been easy. If only it hadn’t meant asking for help.
For the past week, he’d managed by finding a new hook up each night. It should have kept working except this one had decided that needing to work in the morning meant he had to leave. Fucking ungrateful. It was only 2am though. Maybe he could try again? Or he could fill up the car and sleep with the radiator running, this parking lot wasn’t the safest place but surely anyone trying to break in would wake him up first? Always options.
That was when his phone rang. He squinted down at the screen. Unlisted number. Could be some crazy stalker had gotten his cell again. Hey, maybe he could get a night’s sleep out of it.
“Evening,” he said, answering the call. Before he could get another word out, a gravelly voice on the other end began.
“Silverhand, it’s Morgan Blackhand. Met a few weeks ago, when-”
“Kerry, yeah, I remember.” Not a stalker then, there went his chances of a warm bed and sex. “How’d you get my number?”
“Rogue.”
Of course.
“I need your help,” Morgan continued and there came the sounds of scraping in the background. “Got a job and I could use a Rockerboy’s input.”
“What sort of job?” Help meant eddies and eddies meant a hotel, maybe even a warm breakfast.
“Not over the phone,” Morgan said. “Come by my place, I’ll send you the address. And, Silverhand?”
“What?”
“Thanks in advance.”
*
Morgan’s space was exactly how Johnny had imagined it would be. Somewhat sparse, wholly and entirely practical in all of its design. Also full of a fuck ton of weapons. Before he could sit down, Morgan had to shift an ammo crate from the coach.
“Don’t get a lot of guests?” Johnny smirked, lounging with his feet up on the coffee table.
Instead of answering, Morgan shoved Johnny’s feet off of the table and rolled out a map. Morgan was a big man, bigger than Johnny; easily 6’5” with broad shoulders and a thick trunk of a torso. His hair was an unkempt black mass atop his head with a streak of brilliant but premature white going through it. The eponymous ‘black hand’ was in fact an entire cyberarm of anodised chrome. It glinted, dully in the light, quietly dangerous.
“Got a job to hit a Sycust facility,” Morgan began, gesturing to the map of a facility, the entire thing covered in cramped handwriting. “Client wants intel on some of their new tech. Plan is to go in as a rep from Dakai.”
“Because they work with Cyphire,” Johnny continued. “Which is part of Sycust. Makes sense.”
“Yes, but to be a rep from Dakai Soundsystems, I need to know about sound systems.”
Johnny laughed. Then stopped. There wasn’t a hint of humour in Morgan’s intense grey eyes.
“You serious?”
“Deadly.”
Rolling his eyes, Johnny scoffed. “Just say a bunch of buzzwords, that’s what all reps do. ‘Sides isn’t it just a front?”
“And what happens if I get caught in conversation with someone who knows what they’re talking about. Unlike some Solos, I want to be covered for every eventuality. If my cover gets blown, then it could lead back to my client.” Oh so serious. Johnny wondered what this guy was like after a drink or two. Maybe then he’d chill the fuck out.
“Why’d you need me? Can’t go on the net?”
“Net doesn’t have the colloquialisms, the- the jargon. I need to sound like I’ve lived this life longer than an afternoon of research.” Morgan moved another box to sit beside Johnny. “Don’t forget I literally wrote the book on being a Solo.”
“How could anyone forget?” Johnny muttered.
“When you have a cover, it needs to be rock solid or you may as well not have one at all.” The man had an intensity to him that was difficult to say no to. “Don’t worry, you’ll get paid. Advisors fee or whatever you want to call it.”
Well that was impossible to say no to. But there was just one little thing left.
“Why not call Kerry? He owes you his life, right? Could’ve gotten the info for free.”
Morgan frowned. “He’s not used to the merc style. You are. ‘Sides, figured seeing me again might freak him out, bad memories.”
“He’s also probably drunk,” Johnny said. “Fine, alright, let me dazzle you with my knowledge of sound tech. Is that a notepad?”
“For notes, get to it.” Morgan clicked a pen at him impatiently.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
*
Johnny didn’t remember falling asleep. Only that it must have happened at some point during the night because he woke up on Morgan’s coach the next day, noon day sun streaming through the window. Someone had thrown a blanket over him. It was old, faded, but had once had abstract patterns on it that might have been flowers.
Squinting through the light, Johnny found the apartment empty. No sign of Morgan anywhere. On the coffee table though, there was a plate of sandwiches, a glass of water, and a note.
Had to run. Take this as an apology for keeping you all night. – M
Probably thought he had somewhere better to be. Idiot. Johnny took the sandwiches to go.