Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Wake up… wake up… wake up… wake up…
The words echo through darkness like a broken recording, looping over and over again, distorted and distant, yet impossibly loud. Each repetition scrapes against Emerald’s skull, dragging her upward through layers of black, through memories she doesn’t want to see, through pain she can’t quite remember earning.
Wake up… wake up…
Something pulses behind her eyes. Her head feels stuffed with static, thoughts cutting in and out like a bad holo-feed. She tries to move, but her body refuses, heavy as concrete. Somewhere, faint and far away, machines hum. A monitor beeps in slow, steady rhythm.
Wake up…
A flash—Jackie laughing in the Afterlife booth, arm slung around her shoulders, telling her they’re finally gonna hit the big leagues.
Another flash—Konpeki Plaza lights glittering through the window as they descended in the Delamain.
Another—blood. So much blood.
Wake up…
The gunshot cracks again inside her mind, sharper this time. The smell of gunpowder. Jackie’s breathing getting weaker. His voice trying to stay strong even while it shook.
“See you in the major leagues, chica…”
Wake up… WAKE THE FUCK UP.
Emerald’s eyes snap open.
Pain slams into her skull as if someone jammed a live wire straight into her brain. She gasps, jerking upright, lungs burning as air rushes in too fast. Her stomach churns, vision swimming. The world tilts sideways, and for a second she thinks she’s still dying.
White light overhead. Sterile smell. Metal tray clattering as her arm knocks against it.
She blinks, trying to focus.
Familiar walls.
Viktor Vektor’s clinic.
“what the hell…” Emerald mutters, her voice raw, throat dry like sandpaper. Her hands shake as she pushes herself upright on the chair, boots scraping against the floor.
Across the room, Viktor turns from his workstation, chrome optics focusing on her. Relief softens his expression, though his brow remains creased with worry.
“Woah, easy there, kid,” he says, walking over, one mechanical hand raised in a calming gesture. “Don’t try sprintin’ before you remember how to walk. You remember what happened?”
The question hits like a punch.
Images surge back all at once.
Konpeki Plaza.
Saburo Arasaka collapsing.
Yorinobu’s panic.
Security lockdown.
The escape.
Jackie bleeding out in the backseat.
Delamain’s polite voice while her world fell apart.
Dexter DeShawn’s smug grin.
Then—
The bathroom.
Dex’s bodyguard holding her down.
A gun pressed against her head.
Flash.
Blackness.
Emerald swallows hard. Her stomach twists violently.
“Y-yeah…” she manages, voice cracking. “Jackie’s gone… Dex shot me…”
Her hand flies to her head, fingers brushing bandaged skin. She remembers the cold tile floor. Blood pooling beneath her cheek.
She shouldn’t be here.
She shouldn’t be alive.
“…how am I alive?” she asks, confusion bleeding into fear as she looks at Vik.
Viktor exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Well,” he says, tone careful, “believe it or not… it’s the bio-chip you slotted. That relic thing.”
Emerald frowns, memory catching up.
The shard.
The whole damn job had been about stealing it.
Jackie shoving it into her head when the containment unit broke.
The chip meant for immortality.
“…it saved me?” she asks, disbelief thick in her voice.
Vik nods, but his expression darkens.
“Yeah. Saved you.” He pauses.
Then adds, “But…”
Her heart sinks.
“But?” Emerald presses, dread creeping up her spine.
Viktor leans against his desk, folding his arms.
“That chip? It’s experimental tech. Designed to overwrite a brain with an engram. Digital personality construct.” He hesitates, choosing his words. “Problem is… when Dex ventilated your skull, the chip kicked into emergency mode. Started repairing damage.”
Emerald waits, unease turning into cold fear.
“And?” she asks.
“And now,” Vik continues grimly, “it thinks your brain is the damaged part.”
Silence fills the clinic.
“…what?” she whispers.
“It’s rewriting you,” he says plainly. “Slowly. Cell by cell. Replacing neural pathways to fit whoever—or whatever—is stored on that chip.”
The words take a second to sink in.
Then panic crashes through her.
“Well then just take it out!” Emerald snaps, heart pounding. “Rip the thing out!”
Vik shakes his head immediately.
“Can’t.”
“Why the hell not?!”
“Because now it’s the only reason you’re alive.”
The finality in his tone hits harder than the gunshot memory.
“If I pull it,” Viktor continues, softer now, “all the repairs it made collapse. Brain damage catches up. You die. Fast.”
Emerald stares at him.
Her mind refuses to process it.
“So what,” she mutters, numb. “I’m just… on a timer now?”
Viktor looks away.
“…Yeah.”
The room feels suddenly smaller. Air heavier.
Jackie’s dead.
Dex betrayed her.
And now her own head’s a ticking bomb.
She laughs weakly, the sound hollow even to her own ears.
“Preem,” she mutters. “Just… preem.”
Vik steps closer, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“We’ll find something,” he says quietly. “You ain’t alone in this.”
But even he doesn’t sound convinced.
—
Hours later.
Night City glows beneath her apartment window, neon bleeding through smog, holo-ads flickering across towering megabuildings. Traffic hums endlessly far below, a constant reminder that the city never stops chewing people up.
Emerald sits on the edge of her bed in Corpo Plaza, jacket tossed aside, boots still on. Her revolver rests loosely in her hand, unloaded, the cold metal grounding her.
The apartment feels emptier than usual.
Jackie should be here, talking about how close they’d gotten to the big leagues. Ordering greasy takeout. Laughing too loud.
Instead, there’s only silence.
And the faint ache behind her eyes that won’t go away.
“Fuuck…” she mutters, dragging a hand down her face.
Her thoughts loop endlessly.
Dex.
The job.
The chip.
Dying.
Again.
She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to push the memories away.
That’s when the glitch hits.
Static crawls across her vision, like interference on an old screen. Her head throbs sharply, pain spiking behind her temples. Emerald winces, grabbing her skull.
“What now…” she groans.
Then—
Someone’s standing in her apartment.
Emerald’s eyes snap open.
A woman leans casually against the far wall, arms crossed, boots propped against it like she owns the place. Short dark hair. Worn tank top. Combat pants. Chrome glinting subtly beneath skin. Confidence radiating off her in waves.
She looks real.
Too real.
Emerald jerks upright, revolver instantly in hand, pointed straight at the stranger’s head.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” she shouts, heart hammering.
The woman doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t even blink.
Instead, she smirks.
“Easy there,” she says coolly. “Safety’s still on.”
Emerald glances down instinctively.
The safety is on.
She definitely turned it off earlier.
Her stomach drops.
She flicks it off again, aiming properly this time.
“Answer the question.”
The woman shrugs lazily.
“Name’s V,” she says. “Just V.”
The name hits like déjà vu.
Emerald freezes.
V.
Engram.
Bio-chip.
Her mind connects the dots in a rush.
She lowers the gun slowly.
“…Wait,” she murmurs. “You’re…”
The woman grins wider.
“Yeah,” V says. “The ghost in your head.”
Emerald stares at her.
“…oh my God,” she breathes. “You’re the one on the bio-chip.”
V gives a mock bow.
“Bingo.”
Emerald drags a hand through her hair, exhausted disbelief washing over her.
“Ugh…”
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Her brain’s being overwritten by some dead merc’s personality.
Why wouldn’t her life get worse?
V pushes off the wall, strolling around the room, inspecting things. Except…
Her footsteps make no sound.
She doesn’t disturb anything.
And when she walks through the coffee table without reacting, Emerald’s stomach twists again.
“You’re… not actually here,” Emerald mutters.
“Nope.”
V gestures around.
“All this? Your brain’s rendering me. Chip’s projecting my engram into your perception. I’m basically a hallucination with attitude.”
Emerald sinks back onto the bed.
“Fantastic.”
V studies her.
“You look like hell.”
“Got shot in the head yesterday,” Emerald mutters. “Kinda puts a damper on the whole beauty routine.”
V snorts.
“Fair.”
Silence lingers for a moment.
Then V’s tone shifts, more serious.
“So,” she says, arms crossing. “We gonna sit around feelin’ sorry for ourselves, or get to work saving our asses?”
Emerald looks up sharply.
“Saving—”
She stops.
Our.
Right.
They’re both screwed.
“If the chip finishes,” V continues, tapping her own temple, “I overwrite you. You’re gone. I walk away in your body.”
Emerald’s jaw tightens.
“And I’m not exactly thrilled about dying again,” V adds. “So yeah. Mutual problem.”
Emerald studies her.
V looks… real. Not some glitching hologram. Not distorted. Just… there. Solid presence, confident stance, eyes sharp with survival instinct.
Merc through and through.
“So what,” Emerald mutters. “You just pop in whenever now?”
“Pretty much,” V says. “Chip’s syncing us up. Neural overlap and all that fun tech talk.”
Emerald groans.
“Great. Roommate in my head.”
“Trust me,” V replies, smirking, “I don’t wanna be here either.”
Emerald leans back, staring at the ceiling.
Jackie’s gone.
Her life’s falling apart.
And now she’s sharing brain space with a dead mercenary.
Night City humor at its finest.
“…So,” Emerald says after a moment, voice quieter. “What now?”
V shrugs.
“Now? We figure out how to yank this thing without killing you. Find whoever built it. Fix it. Or die trying.”
Emerald exhales slowly.
Die trying.
Story of her life.
She glances toward the window, neon lights painting the room in shifting color.
Night City stretches endlessly outside, full of opportunity, violence, and people willing to sell your organs for pocket change.
Somewhere out there is the solution.
Somewhere out there is the reason Jackie died.
Dex is still breathing, too.
That thought sparks something sharp in her chest.
Anger.
Good.
Anger means she’s still alive.
Emerald grips the revolver tighter, then sets it on the nightstand.
“…Fine,” she mutters. “We fix this.”
V grins.
“That’s the spirit.”
Emerald closes her eyes, exhaustion finally catching up.
Her head still hurts.
Everything still sucks.
But at least now she knows what she’s fighting.
Not just Night City.
Not just corpos.
But time itself.
And the ghost living in her head.
As sleep drags her under again, she hears V’s voice faintly, almost amused.
“Welcome back to life, Emerald.”
And somewhere deep down, the chip pulses.
————————————————————
Morning in Night City doesn’t come with sunlight.
It comes with sirens, distant gunfire, traffic screaming through concrete canyons, and holo-ads flickering to life as if the city itself refuses to sleep. Neon bleeds through curtains, smog hanging heavy enough to turn dawn into another shade of night.
Emerald wakes to a pounding headache and the taste of stale whiskey still lingering in her mouth.
For a few seconds, she forgets everything.
Then memory crashes back in.
Jackie.
Dex.
The bullet.
The relic.
And the woman living rent-free in her skull.
Emerald groans and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her apartment feels colder than usual. Empty in a way it never did before.
Jackie should be sprawled on the couch, snoring loud enough to shake the walls.
Instead, silence.
Her chest tightens. She swallows it down.
No time to dwell.
Because today, she’s got business.
Personal business.
She sits up slowly, head throbbing as the chip pulses behind her temple. For a second, static fuzzes the edges of her vision.
And then—
V is sprawled in her desk chair, boots up, arms behind her head like she’s been there all night.
“Morning, sunshine,” V says lazily.
Emerald scowls. “You ever sleep?”
“Don’t need to. Digital construct, remember?”
“Lucky you.”
V smirks. “You look like hell.”
She stands, stretching carefully. Everything still aches, like her body remembers dying even if the chip stitched her back together.
“So,” V says, watching her, “what’s the plan?”
Emerald walks to the sink, splashing cold water onto her face.
Her reflection looks… off. Pale. Exhausted. Eyes sharper, harder.
Alive when she shouldn’t be.
“First thing I’m doing?” Emerald says, drying her face. “Giving Dexter DeShawn the worst morning of his life.”
V’s grin widens.
“Oh, I like this already.”
—
The Afterlife never changes.
Same heavy bass vibrating through the floor. Same smell of booze, sweat, and desperation. Same mercs posturing, laughing too loud, celebrating jobs that didn’t kill them.
But today, when Emerald walks through the doors, conversation dies.
Heads turn.
People stare.
Because Emerald Martinez is supposed to be dead.
Word spreads fast in Night City. Faster than bullets.
And everyone heard how the Konpeki Plaza job went.
Jackie Wells dead.
V missing.
Emerald executed.
Except now the walking corpse strolls in like nothing happened.
Whispers ripple through the room.
“Holy shit…”
“That her?”
“No way…”
“She got flatlined…”
Emerald ignores all of it, boots thudding calmly against the floor as she moves through the crowd.
Behind her eyes, V whistles.
“Well damn,” she mutters. “You’re a celebrity.”
“Not the kind I wanted,” Emerald replies under her breath.
She knows exactly where Dex will be.
Private booth. Back corner. Surrounded by muscle and overpriced confidence.
Sure enough, Dexter DeShawn sits there, big frame relaxed, laughing with someone across the table.
He looks comfortable.
Secure.
Alive.
Something ugly twists in Emerald’s chest.
She stops at the entrance to the booth and leans casually against the doorway.
“Hey there, Dexter,” she calls out. “Old buddy.”
Dex’s laughter dies instantly.
His eyes lift.
And the color drains from his face.
The booth goes silent.
Dex stares at her like he’s looking at a ghost.
Which, in a way, he is.
“How the hell—”
Emerald’s revolver appears in her hand in one smooth motion, barrel aimed straight at his chest.
The booth erupts in tension. Dex’s bodyguard shifts, hands twitching toward his weapon.
Every merc in earshot watches, waiting for gunfire.
But Emerald’s finger stays off the trigger.
Her smile is cold.
“See,” she says conversationally, “it’s kinda funny how I died… and you got to live.”
Dex swallows, sweat already forming along his hairline.
“Now hold on—”
She cuts him off with a slight tilt of the gun.
“Sadly for you, the relic saved me. So now… you’re the one with a problem.”
Silence stretches.
Dex tries to recover his composure, but fear leaks through the cracks. He knows how this works.
Dead mercs don’t come back unless something’s gone very wrong.
Emerald leans closer, voice dropping low enough that only the booth hears.
“Now, I’m not gonna shoot you here and now. That’d be suicide with all these people around. And I kinda like my second chance.”
She straightens.
“But you better keep one eye open at night.”
The message lands.
Dex knows threats. Knows when someone means them.
And Emerald absolutely does.
She lowers the gun, holstering it smoothly, then turns and walks away without another word.
Behind her, conversation slowly starts again.
But Dex isn’t laughing anymore.
V chuckles in her head.
“Oh, he’s gonna need therapy after that.”
Emerald doesn’t answer.
Because honestly?
That felt good.
Not closure.
Not even revenge.
But a start.
—
She moves through the Afterlife toward the bar.
And toward Rogue Amendiares.
Queen of fixers.
Legend.
And, for Emerald, something closer to family.
Rogue stands behind the bar, cool and composed as always, eyes tracking Emerald’s approach without surprise.
Like she already knew.
Like she always knows.
Emerald leans against the counter and transfers a couple thousand eddies across the holo-display.
Rogue arches a brow.
“Well,” Rogue says dryly, “if it isn’t the corpse herself.”
Emerald smirks faintly.
“Miss me?”
Rogue snorts.
“Hard to miss someone who gets themselves zeroed on the biggest job in years.”
Their eyes meet.
And beneath Rogue’s sarcasm is real relief.
Emerald catches it.
They’ve been close a long time. Rogue’s watched her climb, screw up, survive things she shouldn’t have.
Sisters, in all the ways that count.
“What’s up?” Rogue asks, tone shifting.
Emerald exhales slowly.
“Need help,” she says. “Relic I slotted? It’s killing me.”
Rogue’s expression sharpens immediately.
“That Arasaka chip?”
“Yeah.”
Emerald rubs her temple.
“Thing’s rewriting my brain. Got some dead merc living in my head now.”
Above Rogue, V suddenly appears, perched on a hanging light fixture like a smug gargoyle.
She looks around the Afterlife, impressed.
“Well damn,” V mutters. “The old bitch is still alive? She was around back in 2023.”
Emerald fights the urge to react physically.
Instead, she just rolls her eyes slightly.
Rogue notices.
“Problem?” Rogue asks.
“Headache,” Emerald mutters.
Not entirely a lie.
Rogue folds her arms, thinking.
“Relic’s cutting-edge Arasaka tech. Nobody outside their labs should even know how it works.”
“Which is why I’m asking you,” Emerald says. “If anyone’s got info, it’s you.”
Rogue studies her for a moment longer.
Then nods.
“Yeah. I’ll poke around. See what I can dig up.”
Emerald relaxes slightly.
“How long?”
“Give me an hour.”
Emerald nods.
“Thanks.”
Rogue shrugs. “Don’t thank me yet.”
V drops down beside Emerald, invisible to everyone else, leaning on the bar.
“You trust her?”
“Yeah,” Emerald murmurs quietly.
V watches Rogue for a moment.
“Huh. Guess some people actually survive this city.”
Emerald smirks faintly.
“Barely.”
—
With nothing to do but wait, Emerald grabs a drink and takes a booth.
And that’s when exhaustion hits her again.
Everything feels heavier now.
Like surviving cost her something she hasn’t fully realized yet.
The relic pulses faintly.
V slides into the seat across from her.
“So,” V says. “You really gonna go after Dex later?”
Emerald sips her drink.
“Eventually.”
“Guy sold you out.”
“I know.”
“Shot you in the head.”
“I know.”
V leans forward.
“So why not do it now?”
Emerald stares into her glass.
Because killing Dex won’t bring Jackie back.
Because revenge doesn’t fix the chip.
Because survival comes first.
“Because,” Emerald finally says, “I got bigger problems.”
V studies her.
Then nods.
“Fair.”
For a while, they sit in silence.
Music thumps. Mercs celebrate. Deals get made.
Night City life rolls on.
And Emerald sits there, caught between death and whatever comes next.
An hour later, her holo pings.
Rogue.
Emerald stands immediately, weaving through the crowd back to the bar.
Rogue looks serious.
“I got something,” she says.
Emerald’s heart picks up.
“What?”
Rogue lowers her voice.
“An old Aldecaldo girl, she left her family for a while to get some fresh air, she'll help you get someone named Hellman off a Kang tao av… She owes me”
Rogue slides a shard across the counter.
“Meet info’s on there.”
Emerald pockets it.
“Thanks, Rogue.”
Rogue watches her for a second longer.
“…Good to see you breathing, kid.”
Emerald hesitates.
Then nods once.
“Yeah.”
Me too.
—
As Emerald steps back into the chaos of Night City, V walks alongside her, hands in her pockets.
“So,” V says, “we got a lead.”
“Yeah.”
“Think it’ll work?”
Emerald shrugs.
“Doesn’t matter.”
She steps onto the street, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement.
Traffic screams overhead.
People rush past, chasing dreams or running from nightmares.
“Only thing that matters,” Emerald says quietly, “is I’m still alive.”
V glances at her.
“And?”
Emerald smirks slightly.
“And I plan to stay that way.”
The relic pulses.
Night City roars around them.
And somewhere in the chaos, their fight to survive has officially begun.
—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—––
Emerald drums her fingers against the steering wheel as the holo-call rings out through the car’s speakers, the soft connection tone repeating over and over, each pulse dragging her patience thinner.
Outside, Night City crawls with late-morning traffic, neon signs still glowing even though the sun has technically risen somewhere behind the smog. Vendors shout from sidewalks. Sirens wail in the distance. A police AV screams overhead, probably chasing someone dumb or unlucky enough to get caught.
None of it matters.
All Emerald cares about right now is the ringing.
And the fact Evelyn Parker still isn’t answering.
The call clicks.
Voicemail again.
Emerald exhales sharply through her nose, jaw tightening. Her Hoon’s engine idles beneath her, low and rumbling, like the car itself shares her irritation.
“Come on, Ev…” she mutters, rubbing her temple as another dull throb pulses behind her eye.
Relic acting up again.
Fantastic timing.
She waits for the beep, then leans back in her seat, running a hand through her hair before speaking.
“Hey, Ev. It’s Emerald.”
She pauses, trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like she’s hunting Evelyn down.
Because honestly?
She’s not.
Not anymore.
“I know you probably think I’m out for revenge,” she continues, voice tired, frustration bleeding through. “I’m not. Dex is the one I’m pissed at. Not you.”
Traffic inches forward. Emerald barely notices.
“I just… I need to talk. You might know something, someone, anything about getting this damn relic out of my head without flatlining me in the process.”
She swallows, suddenly aware of how desperate she sounds.
“Please call back soon.”
Click.
The line dies.
Emerald lets her head fall back against the seat.
“Shit…”
Silence settles inside the car for all of three seconds.
Then static crawls across her vision.
V appears in the passenger seat, boots on the dash like she owns the place.
“Lemme guess,” V says. “Straight to voicemail?”
Emerald doesn’t even look at her.
“Yeah.”
V whistles softly. “Cold.”
Emerald grips the steering wheel tighter.
“I don’t blame her,” she mutters. “Job went to hell. People died. I got shot. Last thing she probably wants is the walking reminder calling her up.”
V glances sideways at her.
“You’re not mad at her?”
Emerald scoffs.
“Mad? Why?”
“She set up the job.”
“She wanted out,” Emerald replies. “Out of whatever Arasaka mess she got tangled in. Dex is the one who sold me out.”
She flexes her jaw.
“Evelyn? She was just trying to survive.”
V studies her quietly for a moment.
Then shrugs.
“Fair.”
Emerald sighs and pulls her holo-interface back up.
“Gonna call Judy,” she says. “If anyone knows where Ev is, it’s her.”
V smirks.
“The braindance tech?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
Emerald raises an eyebrow.
“Got a better one?”
V shrugs. “Nah.”
Emerald taps Judy Alvarez’s contact.
The line rings twice.
Three times.
Then—
Connection.
“What the hell do you want?”
Judy’s voice comes through sharp and guarded, not outright hostile, but wary. Defensive.
Emerald can practically picture her: arms crossed, brow furrowed, already expecting trouble.
“Hey, Judy,” Emerald says, keeping her tone calm. “Look, I’m not calling to start shit.”
A pause.
“…Then why are you calling?”
Emerald exhales slowly.
“I’m not out for revenge on Evelyn,” she says. “I trust her. Always did.”
Silence on the line.
Traffic creeps forward. Emerald barely taps the gas.
“I need to know if you know where she is,” Emerald continues. “I need help. Got this relic chip in my head, and it’s slowly killing me.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Judy sighs heavily.
“Christ…”
V leans closer, listening in even though she doesn’t need to.
Emerald waits, tension tightening in her chest.
Finally Judy speaks again.
“Fine,” she says. “Lizzie’s Bar. One hour.”
Emerald straightens slightly.
Relief hits her fast.
“Thank you.”
Judy cuts her off.
“If you’re not there,” she says, tone hard now, “consider my help void.”
Click.
Call ended.
Emerald stares at the dash for a second.
Then exhales slowly.
“Well,” V says, smirking. “That went better than expected.”
Emerald shifts gears.
“Yeah.”
The Hoon growls as she pulls into traffic.
“Now let’s hope she actually helps.”
—
The streets blur past as Emerald pushes the car faster than traffic laws technically allow.
Not that Night City law enforcement really cares unless you inconvenience someone important.
Neon reflections smear across the windshield. Vendors, gangs, corpos, street kids—all blend into one endless rush of movement.
Inside the car, silence stretches.
Until V speaks again.
“So,” she says casually, “you trust Evelyn?”
Emerald shrugs slightly.
“As much as you can trust anyone in this city.”
“That’s not saying much.”
“Exactly.”
V studies her.
“But you still went after Dex first.”
Emerald’s jaw tightens.
“He shot me.”
“Fair point.”
Silence returns.
Emerald’s thoughts drift despite herself.
Konpeki Plaza.
Jackie bleeding out beside her.
Dex smiling like everything was under control.
Then the bathroom.
Gunshot.
Darkness.
Her hands tighten on the wheel.
V notices.
“You gonna kill him?” V asks quietly.
Emerald doesn’t answer right away.
Traffic opens up ahead, and she accelerates, engine roaring as they shoot through an intersection just before the light changes.
“Yeah,” she says finally. “Eventually.”
V nods slowly.
“Good.”
Emerald glances sideways at her.
“You don’t hesitate much, do you?”
V smirks.
“Night City teaches you quick. Hesitation gets you killed.”
Emerald snorts softly.
“Yeah. Learned that lesson.”
She rubs her temple again as another spike of pain hits.
Static flickers at the edge of her vision.
“Chip acting up?” V asks.
“Always.”
“Means we’re on a clock.”
Emerald exhales.
“I know.”
—
Lizzie’s Bar glows pink and electric against the street, neon lights reflecting off chrome and puddles alike. Music thumps faintly even outside, bass vibrating through the sidewalk.
Emerald parks the Hoon across the street.
For a moment, she just sits there.
Hands on the wheel.
Thinking.
Jackie brought her here the first time.
Said Lizzie’s was different. Safer. Somewhere mercs and dolls could exist without constant violence breathing down their necks.
A place with history.
Now Jackie’s gone.
And Emerald’s walking in alone.
“You gonna sit here all day?” V asks.
Emerald rolls her eyes.
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby.”
She steps out of the car, boots hitting pavement as warm neon light washes over her.
The bouncer eyes her as she approaches.
Recognition flickers.
“So,” he says. “Dead merc walks.”
Emerald smirks faintly.
“Something like that.”
He steps aside.
Inside, Lizzie’s hums with activity. Dancers move across lit platforms. Patrons drink, laugh, flirt. Braindance equipment glows in booths along the walls.
Life goes on.
Even when yours almost stopped.
Emerald scans the room.
Judy’s already there, leaning against the bar, arms folded, expression cautious.
Emerald walks over.
Judy watches her approach, eyes flicking over her like she’s checking for damage.
“You look like shit,” Judy says.
Emerald huffs.
“Got shot in the head. Kinda ruins the vibe.”
Judy’s expression softens slightly despite herself.
“Yeah. Heard about that.”
Emerald leans against the bar beside her.
“Thanks for meeting.”
Judy shrugs.
“Didn’t do it for you.”
“Figured.”
Silence lingers a moment.
Then Judy sighs.
“So. Relic.”
Emerald nods.
“Yeah. Thing’s rewriting my brain. If I don’t get it out, I’m gone.”
Judy studies her, trying to gauge if this is exaggeration or reality.
“You serious?”
“Dead serious.”
V appears behind Judy, peering over her shoulder.
“She got good taste in hair dye,” V comments.
Emerald ignores her.
Judy rubs her temple.
“Evelyn didn’t tell me much. Just that the job went bad.”
“It did.”
“And now you’re hunting solutions.”
“Exactly.”
Judy hesitates.
Then says quietly, “Ev’s in trouble.”
Emerald’s stomach tightens.
“What kind of trouble?”
Judy glances around, lowering her voice.
“Bad people. People you don’t wanna mess with.”
Emerald scoffs lightly.
“Story of my life.”
Judy doesn’t smile.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Their eyes meet.
Judy studies her for a long moment.
Finally, she exhales.
“Alright. But if this goes sideways, I’m blaming you.”
Emerald smirks faintly.
“Fair.”
Judy nods toward a booth.
“Sit. I’ll tell you what I know.”
Emerald slides into the seat, heart already racing.
Because whatever comes next?
It’s not going to be simple.
Nothing ever is in Night City.
V drops into the seat across from her, invisible to everyone else, grin sharp with anticipation.
“Well,” V mutters. “Looks like the fun’s starting.”
Emerald exhales slowly.
Yeah.
It is.
And she has no idea how much worse things are about to get.
—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–
Judy doesn’t sugarcoat it.
She never does.
Lizzie’s Bar hums around them, neon pink lights sliding across chrome surfaces and sweaty bodies, dancers moving on raised platforms while patrons drown themselves in drinks and braindances. Music pounds through the walls, but inside the booth Emerald and Judy sit in, the world feels strangely muted.
Judy leans forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced tight.
“Evelyn left after the job,” she says. “Didn’t come back here. Said she needed to lay low.”
Emerald watches her carefully. Judy looks exhausted. Angry in that quiet, simmering way.
“Where’d she go?” Emerald asks.
Judy exhales slowly.
“Clouds.”
Emerald frowns.
“The dollhouse?”
Judy nods.
“Yeah. Said she had contacts there. Figured hiding in plain sight was safer than running.”
Emerald leans back slightly, processing that.
Clouds.
A place where people pay to forget themselves for a while. Dolls programmed to become whatever fantasy a client wants.
Not exactly the safest place to hide if people are hunting you.
“She contact you after?” Emerald asks.
Judy shakes her head.
“No.”
Silence stretches.
Something cold coils in Emerald’s gut.
“She didn’t just ghost you,” Judy says quietly. “Something happened.”
Emerald exhales slowly.
“Then we go find her.”
—
Clouds sits high above Japantown, neon signs glowing soft blues and pinks through rain-streaked windows. The elevator ride up is quiet, only the hum of machinery filling the space.
Emerald leans against the wall, arms crossed.
V stands beside her reflection in the mirrored panel, watching her.
“You sure about this?” V asks. “Places like this… people disappear.”
Emerald keeps her eyes forward.
“Already noticed.”
The elevator dings.
Doors slide open.
Soft music spills out. The scent of perfume and synthetic incense fills the air. The reception area glows in pastel lighting, dolls moving gracefully between rooms, voices soft and inviting.
Everything looks peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Emerald approaches the desk, exchanges quiet words with the attendant, then slips inside.
The search doesn’t take long.
Because Evelyn isn’t there.
At least not anymore.
And the trail she left behind is ugly.
Managers dodge questions. Workers hesitate. A few whisper reluctantly when Emerald presses hard enough.
Evelyn had a breakdown.
Got violent.
Management got rid of her.
Sold her contract.
Sold her.
To scavs.
Emerald feels something hot and vicious rise in her chest.
Scavengers.
Organ thieves. XBD producers. Human garbage who rip chrome and organs from living bodies and sell whatever’s left.
“Fuck…” she mutters under her breath as she leaves Clouds.
V appears beside her, expression grim.
“Yeah. That tracks.”
Emerald’s jaw clenches.
“We find her.”
—
The scav den smells like blood, mold, and cheap disinfectant trying—and failing—to mask rot.
Judy stays behind Emerald as they move through the abandoned building, pistols drawn. Flickering lights cast long shadows across graffiti-covered walls.
Bodies lie scattered in rooms they clear.
Some scavs still twitch.
Most don’t.
Emerald doesn’t remember pulling the trigger half the time.
She just moves.
Room to room.
Target to target.
Every scream, every pleading scav only fuels the rage burning in her chest.
They reach the back rooms.
Braindance rigs line the walls.
Recording equipment.
Restraints.
Blood-stained floors.
Emerald’s stomach twists.
Then she sees her.
Evelyn lies crumpled on the floor, barely covered, skin bruised and cut, breathing shallow.
For a second, Emerald freezes.
This isn’t the confident, calculating woman from Konpeki Plaza.
This is someone broken.
Used.
Thrown away.
“Jesus…” Judy whispers, rushing forward.
Emerald kneels beside Evelyn, checking her pulse.
Weak.
But there.
“She’s alive,” Emerald says quietly.
Judy’s already moving, scanning Evelyn with her gear.
“We gotta get her out of here. Now.”
Emerald nods, scooping Evelyn carefully into her arms.
Evelyn stirs faintly, lips parting, but no real awareness reaches her eyes.
Emerald carries her through the building, stepping over bodies without slowing.
Outside, rain falls softly, washing blood from her boots as they load Evelyn into the car.
—
Hours later, Emerald leans against Judy’s apartment wall while Judy works frantically on Evelyn inside the bedroom.
The city glows beyond the window.
Sirens scream somewhere far away.
Emerald stares at nothing, mind numb.
She’s seen death before.
Seen people hurt.
But this…
This hits different.
Judy emerges eventually, exhaustion written across her face.
“She’s stable,” Judy says quietly. “Physically, anyway.”
Emerald exhales.
“And mentally?”
Judy looks away.
“…I don’t know.”
Silence settles heavy.
Emerald rubs her temple.
Pain pulses again.
Right on cue.
V appears beside her.
“Chip reminding you we’re dying?”
Emerald mutters, “Yeah.”
Before she can say anything else, her holo suddenly glitches.
Static bursts across her vision.
Incoming call.
Unknown source.
She answers instinctively.
The image stabilizes into a woman’s face—sharp features, piercing eyes, tension barely contained.
“Emerald Martinez,” the woman says. “You don’t know me. My code name is Songbird.”
Emerald straightens.
“…Okay.”
Behind her, V narrows her eyes.
Songbird continues quickly.
“I’m contacting you because I need help. And because helping me might save your life.”
Emerald’s pulse quickens.
“How?”
“The President of the New United States of America is about to crash-land in Dogtown. And if she dies, a lot of people—including you—lose access to something very important.”
Emerald frowns.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Songbird leans closer to the camera.
“I know about the relic in your head.”
Emerald’s blood runs cold.
“And I know how to fix it.”
Silence.
V swears quietly.
Songbird continues, urgency rising.
“I need help extracting the President. Help me, and I help you.”
The call ends.
Emerald stares at the empty holo-display.
“Bad idea, Em,” V says immediately, appearing in her passenger seat as Emerald later sits in her car outside Judy’s building.
Emerald grips the steering wheel.
“I know.”
“This smells like corpo bullshit.”
“Yeah.”
“People die in situations like this.”
Emerald exhales slowly.
“I know.”
Silence hangs.
Then she mutters quietly:
“I gotta chase every chance we got to save us.”
V watches her.
Then sighs.
“…Fair.”
—
Dogtown is hell wearing tactical gear.
A quarantined zone carved out of Pacifica, ruled by Kurt Hansen and his private army. Concrete ruins, burning vehicles, black-market vendors, mercs, smugglers, and soldiers all crammed into one lawless nightmare.
Emerald slips inside during chaos.
The President’s transport crashes hard, debris raining across streets as Dogtown erupts in gunfire.
Emerald fights through soldiers, dodges drones, crawls through wreckage.
Bodies everywhere.
Smoke choking the air.
Eventually she finds President Rosalind Myers alive but cornered.
Gunfight follows.
Explosions.
Running through collapsing buildings.
Emerald drags the President through back alleys while Hansen’s forces hunt them relentlessly.
Songbird guides her remotely.
Promises.
Half-truths.
Lies layered with truth.
Emerald learns fast Dogtown chews people up even faster than Night City.
She fights through ambushes, rescues allies, survives betrayals.
Reed enters the picture—cold, professional, dangerous.
So Mi—Songbird’s real name—reveals more pieces of the puzzle.
And Emerald realizes everyone involved is manipulating someone else.
But one thing remains constant:
Hope.
The promise the relic can be removed.
That she can live.
Days blur into missions.
Sneaking through abandoned stadiums.
Battling mechs.
Making impossible calls.
Watching allies die.
Choosing who lives.
Choosing who gets betrayed.
Every step deeper into Dogtown costs something.
And V stays with her through all of it.
Sometimes arguing.
Sometimes agreeing.
Sometimes just watching silently.
Because both of them know:
Only one gets to survive in the end.
—
Eventually, Emerald stands on the edge of the next step.
The Tower.
The operation that might finally end this nightmare.
Gear prepped.
Contacts in place.
Danger inevitable.
Emerald checks her weapons in the quiet before the storm.
V leans against the wall, arms crossed.
“You ready?” she asks.
Emerald exhales slowly.
“No.”
Then smirks faintly.
“But I’m going anyway.”
Because she didn’t survive a bullet, betrayal, and Dogtown’s madness just to quit now.
And somewhere inside her skull, the relic pulses.
The countdown continues.
One way or another, the next move decides everything.
—–—–—–—–—–
The days after pulling Evelyn out of that scav den pass in a strange blur.
Emerald finds herself drifting between jobs, meetings, and quiet moments she doesn’t remember choosing, her mind constantly dragged back to Judy’s apartment in Megabuilding H8.
Because Evelyn never really wakes up.
Her body heals—cuts closing, bruises fading, implants stabilized—but the damage done inside her mind refuses to let go. She spends most of her time curled under blankets, staring at nothing. Sometimes she screams in her sleep. Sometimes she doesn’t sleep at all.
And Judy tries.
God, Judy tries.
Emerald shows up more often than she expected to. At first, just to check in. Then to help. Then because Judy stops asking and simply expects her there.
They sit on the couch together, braindance equipment scattered around as Judy runs therapy sessions, gently trying to piece Evelyn back together.
Sometimes Evelyn talks.
Mostly she doesn’t.
Sometimes she flinches when anyone moves too fast.
Sometimes she doesn’t seem to recognize where she is at all.
Emerald sits quietly through most of it, feeling useless but unwilling to leave Judy alone with it.
One night, after a particularly rough session, Judy slumps beside her on the couch, exhaustion written across every line of her face.
“I thought getting her out would fix it,” Judy murmurs. “Like… she’d be okay once she was safe.”
Emerald stares at the muted city lights beyond the window.
“Some things don’t just go away,” she says quietly.
Judy laughs bitterly.
“Yeah. Night City specialty.”
V sits cross-legged on the coffee table, invisible to everyone but Emerald.
“Not everyone makes it back,” V says quietly.
Emerald ignores her.
But the words stick.
—
The call comes late.
Too late.
Emerald arrives at Judy’s apartment to find chaos.
Police scanners blaring faintly in the hallway. Neighbors whispering. An ambulance drone hovering outside.
Judy sits on the floor inside her apartment, back against the couch, hands shaking.
Emerald’s stomach drops immediately.
“Jude?” Emerald says softly, kneeling beside her.
Judy looks up.
Her eyes are hollow.
“She…” Judy’s voice cracks. “…she’s gone.”
Emerald doesn’t need to ask.
She already knows.
The bedroom door stands open.
Med supplies scattered.
Blood.
Too much blood.
Emerald feels her chest tighten painfully.
She’d seen death plenty of times. Shot people. Watched them die.
But this…
This feels heavier.
Evelyn didn’t die in a job.
Didn’t die in a firefight.
She chose it.
Judy’s shoulders shake as the reality crashes over her again.
“I should’ve done more,” Judy whispers.
Emerald wraps an arm around her, pulling her close as Judy breaks down fully.
“You did everything you could,” Emerald murmurs.
But the words feel thin.
V watches quietly from the corner of the room, expression somber.
Sometimes Night City doesn’t kill you.
Sometimes it just convinces you to do it yourself.
—
In the aftermath, Emerald learns something important.
Painful.
But important.
Evelyn, before everything fell apart, had tried reaching out to the Voodoo Boys.
A netrunner gang obsessed with the Blackwall and whatever lurks beyond it.
They’d known about the relic.
Maybe even knew how to deal with it.
A lead.
Another desperate thread of hope.
But first comes something else.
Closure.
—
Clouds becomes Judy’s battlefield.
Anger replaces grief quickly.
Emerald sees it in the way Judy moves now—sharper, more determined.
Clouds management sold Evelyn off like faulty merchandise.
They let her disappear.
Judy wants change.
Real change.
And Emerald helps make it happen.
The job is messy.
Negotiations fail quickly.
Gunfire follows.
Emerald moves through Clouds’ halls again, but this time with purpose.
Security drops fast.
Managers panic.
By the time the dust settles, Clouds is under new control—run by the dolls themselves, free from exploitative contracts.
Standing outside afterward, neon lights flickering overhead, Judy leans against the railing, breathing hard.
“We actually did it,” Judy mutters.
Emerald smirks faintly.
“Sometimes the good guys win.”
Judy laughs softly.
“Don’t say that too loud. City might hear you.”
Silence lingers.
Comfortable.
Different.
Judy glances at Emerald.
“You didn’t have to help, you know.”
Emerald shrugs.
“Wanted to.”
Their eyes meet.
Something shifts.
Not sudden.
Not dramatic.
Just… natural.
Judy steps closer.
And Emerald doesn’t step back.
Their first kiss is soft, uncertain, carrying grief and relief and exhaustion all at once.
When they pull apart, Judy rests her forehead against Emerald’s.
“Guess we’re doing this,” Judy murmurs.
Emerald smiles faintly.
“Guess we are.”
V watches from nearby, smirking.
“About damn time.”
—
Life doesn’t slow down.
The relic continues eating away at Emerald’s mind.
Jobs pile up.
And eventually, a new name enters her life.
Panam Palmer.
Their first meeting is… rough.
Panam’s angry, stubborn, and armed.
The job goes sideways almost immediately.
But something clicks between them.
Mutual respect forged in chaos.
One job becomes two.
Two become many.
Desert storms, stolen vehicles, ambushes under open skies far away from Night City’s suffocating towers.
Emerald grows closer to the Aldecaldos.
Nomads who live free, loyal to each other above all else.
Family, not business.
Something Night City forgot how to be.
Judy meets them too.
At first unsure.
Then slowly, she starts smiling more out here.
Sleeping better.
Breathing easier.
Eventually, Panam makes it official.
“You’re one of us now,” she tells Emerald after a long night around campfires and shared drinks.
And Judy joins too.
For the first time in a long while, Emerald feels like she belongs somewhere.
—
But the relic still ticks.
The Voodoo Boys eventually provide what Emerald needs.
Access.
Knowledge.
A path.
Through them, Emerald manages something impossible.
Contact beyond the Blackwall.
An AI.
A familiar one.
Jackie.
Or something that used to be Jackie.
The encounter leaves Emerald shaken.
Relieved.
Heartbroken all over again.
But Jackie helps.
Points them toward Mikoshi.
Arasaka’s digital prison.
The place where souls get stored like data.
Where the relic’s secrets truly lie.
—
The final assault on Arasaka is war.
Aldecaldos vehicles tearing through defenses.
Gunfire lighting up night skies.
Explosions rocking corporate towers.
Emerald fights through soldiers, mechs, security systems.
Every step closer to Mikoshi feels heavier.
Harder.
V stays beside her the whole way.
Quiet now.
Focused.
Because they both know.
This is it.
Inside Mikoshi, the procedure begins.
Data floods Emerald’s mind.
Pain explodes behind her eyes.
V’s form flickers beside her.
“You ready?” V asks.
Emerald nods.
“Yeah.”
Their last shared moment passes quickly.
Then V is separated.
Copied.
Transferred.
A new chip.
A new future.
Prepared body waiting.
V smiles faintly before disappearing.
“Try not to die again,” she says.
Then she’s gone.
Emerald collapses as systems shut down.
—
She wakes in the Tower hospital.
For only a moment.
Bright lights.
Doctors talking.
Then darkness takes her again.
—
She doesn’t know time passes.
Doesn’t feel the months.
The surgeries.
The complications.
The coma.
But outside her sleep, people wait.
Judy visits constantly, refusing to give up.
Panam and the Aldecaldos stop by whenever they can.
And somewhere out there, V lives again in a new body.
All of them waiting.
Hoping.
That Emerald wakes up.
Because some people are worth waiting for.
Even in Night City.
Especially in Night City.