Johnny Silverhand was, without question, one of the most magnetic souls ever to walk Night City.
As the frontman of Samurai, his voice had once set an entire generation on fire.
Half a century ago, when corporate power had already swollen into an unstoppable tide, the world had changed. Nations meant nothing. Borders were illusions.
You weren't born into a country anymore—you were born into a company.
You were either a corporate employee, branded with an ID of letters and numbers, or a "failed citizen," cast out into the gutters of megacities. If you weren't of the corporation, you were beneath it.
Street scum. Illegal squatters. The faceless masses clogging the underbelly of chrome and steel.
Humanity had been traded for productivity. Souls were currency, and rebellion was a crime.
And in the middle of all that—there was Samurai.
Johnny Silverhand and his band didn't just play music; they screamed "fuck you" at the whole world. To the powerless, Johnny was a symbol of everything the corps tried to bury.
Sure, he was reckless. Flawed. A bastard when he wanted to be. But no one cared. Because when he raised that chrome hand and screamed into the mic, people believed.
...
Neo respected that.
He respected Johnny's rage, his ideals, his refusal to kneel.
But that was where the line ended.
Because under all the myth and chaos, Johnny Silverhand was still just that—human. Loud, brilliant, and messy.
To Neo, Johnny wasn't a prophet or a hero.
He was just a loudmouthed, half-glitched friend with a silver tongue and a penchant for blowing things up.
"Johnny Silverhand?" Neo muttered with a smirk. "Let's be real. You're a funny guy with a loud mouth. But you're also the guy who got turned into scrap by Adam Smasher."
He leaned back in his chair, smirking. "So tell me—who's really the clown here?"
Johnny froze mid-step, blinking. "...What did you just say to me?"
Neo smiled faintly. "You heard me."
Johnny's jaw clenched. "You saying I'm dead? That I'm just some digital knockoff floating around in this tin can?"
He started pacing, voice rising. "No. No, that's not right! I can't be dead! This is just… a copy, a backup, yeah? The real me's out there somewhere, breathing, fighting—"
Neo didn't interrupt. He just watched. Calm, unbothered. Letting Johnny wrestle with the truth.
Johnny's pacing grew frantic, then slowed… then stopped entirely. His expression cracked for just a moment.
Neo tilted his head. "Done breaking down yet? Or do you want another minute?"
Johnny shot him a glare. "You think this is funny?"
"Yeah," Neo said plainly. "Kind of."
Johnny exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe realizing standing while Neo sat made him look smaller, he flopped onto the bed with a huff.
"Fine. Let's start over. Who the hell are you?"
"Arasaka's new lab rat?"
Neo snorted. "Please. You think I'd wear one of those corpo white-coats?"
Johnny eyed him suspiciously. "Then what, you a thief? A merc?"
Neo leaned forward slightly. "Name's Neo. Leader of the Edgerunner crew."
He paused, smirking. "And as for how we're talking right now—you've probably guessed most of it."
"You've been dead for fifty years, Johnny. Your consciousness was digitized—turned into soul data. Arasaka spent decades trying to perfect their little immortality project because of you. You're the reason the Relic exists."
Johnny stared blankly.
"You were supposed to stay locked up in Arasaka's Tokyo labs forever. But one day, Yorinobu—Saburo's second son—decided to pull a fast one. He stole your chip and brought you back here to Night City."
Neo gestured to the katana on the table. "And then I showed up. My team hit the Azure Hotel, got the chip out. You, Johnny Silverhand, came with it."
He leaned back. "So… yeah. That's how you're here."
Johnny blinked slowly, processing. Then his eyes narrowed. "You said you went into the Azure Hotel. That means you ran into that chrome psycho—Adam Smasher. Did you?"
Neo's lips curved faintly. "Oh, we met."
Johnny grinned, fire sparking behind his shades. "Heh. Bet he scared the shit outta you, huh? You probably ran—"
Neo pointed at the metal case sitting on the table. "He's in there."
Johnny froze mid-sentence. "…What?"
Neo's tone was calm. "You said Adam Smasher, right? The so-called Terminator of Legends? Yeah, I ran into him. And killed him."
Johnny blinked. "You… what?"
Neo shrugged lightly. "Cut him down. Took his head and brain module as souvenirs. Both in that box."
Johnny's face twisted. "No. No way. You're messing with me."
Neo stood, walked over to the case, and flipped it open. Inside, the preserved neural core of Adam Smasher gleamed faintly beneath cryo-light.
He grabbed the remote and switched on the TV—Channel 54, the city's most relentless news feed.
A holographic anchor's voice filled the room:
"Breaking update on last night's Azure Hotel massacre—sources confirm Arasaka's executive bodyguards and top-tier combat units, including Adam Smasher, were found destroyed. Officials have not released further details—"
Johnny stared. The screen flickered blue across his stunned expression.
Neo smirked and gestured at the case. "See, Johnny? You asked if Smasher was dead."
He gave the box a light tap.
"Now you can look at him."
Johnny's jaw opened—then closed—then opened again. "You killed Adam fucking Smasher?"
Neo gave a simple nod. "Yeah."
Johnny leaned back, stunned. "Holy shit. Guess I'm not the only legend in the room."
Neo grinned. "No, you're not. But there's a difference between being a legend…"
He tapped his chest.
"…and being the one who kills them."
For the first time, Johnny Silverhand didn't have a comeback.
He just stared—half admiration, half disbelief—at the man standing before him.
Neo turned toward the window, neon light cutting across his face. "Welcome to 2077, Johnny. Legends are history now."
Johnny snorted, finally cracking a grin. "Heh. Guess you're writing the next verse, huh?"
Neo looked back, eyes glinting like steel. "No."
"I'm burning the song."