Pacifica Stadium.
More precisely—the New Pacifica Stadium.
The original stadium had been completely destroyed during the Arasaka invasion. What stood now was a newly rebuilt venue, reconstructed to full international standards.
All facilities were state-of-the-art: a standard running track on the outside, a football field at the center. It could host track-and-field events, football matches—and in its spare time, an unrestricted fight to the death posed no problem at all.
The match was scheduled for 10:00 PM, the beginning of a day in Night City.
At 9:30, several beams of intense white light snapped on, cutting through the darkness like drawn blades, converging on the center of the field.
The audience thought the fighters were about to enter.
Instead, a raised platform rose from the ground—and a band, complete with full instrumentation, appeared in a blaze of light.
"Hello everyone! We're Samurai! I'm Saburo Arasaka!
Next up is our new song—'Never Fade Away'!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Johnny said nothing more.
He glanced at guitarist Kerry Eurodyne, drummer Denny, keyboardist Nancy—each old friend nodded back.
Johnny swept his hand across the guitar.
A fierce, tragic melody erupted through the speakers, instantly seizing every ear in the stadium.
Years of shared history showed in their flawless coordination. Each instrument interlocked perfectly, delivering a majestic 23-second intro.
When Johnny grabbed the mic and sang, that raspy, weathered voice cut straight through every heart like a blade.
"This scarred and torn heart
remains frozen still."
"Casting away sorrowful feelings,
leaving only cold memories."
"In this story under assault, on the brink of annihilation,
there is no escape."
"FIGHTING IS THE ONLY TRUTH!"
As Johnny roared the line, fireworks detonated from all four corners of the stage.
The crowd exploded, responding with a tidal wave of screams.
The members of Samurai exchanged glances.
For a moment, it felt like the old days again—young, reckless, tearing through Night City's streets, stirring chaos wherever they played.
Time had passed. Youth had faded.
But rock was still rock.
Unchanged.
After a brief instrumental break, Johnny roared out the second verse:
"These bloodstained hands—
when will they reach the end?"
"This insane fate—
its conclusion may hold nothing but emptiness."
"Confusion, even eternal loneliness—
so absurd it makes part of your heart laugh."
"FIGHTING IS THE ONLY TRUTH!"
Fireworks erupted again.
The crowd roared again.
Johnny gripped the mic, screaming out the song's climax with every ounce of his lungs:
"There's nothing left
that can be lost again."
"No matter where we are,
we'll reclaim the future that should be ours."
"Someday my soul will return to this planet—"
"But before this body falls apart, before it's completely shattered—"
More than fifty thousand voices sang in unison:
"FIGHTING IS THE ONLY TRUTH!!!"
The song ended.
The stage slowly descended.
The audience rose to their feet, screaming and applauding as the members of Samurai waved back.
There was no doubt—"Never Fade Away" would become a hit of the year.
Technically polished. Perfectly synchronized.
And Johnny's desolate, hoarse voice was the finishing touch.
But most important of all—it carried genuine emotion.
Because Johnny wasn't singing ideology.
He wasn't singing the future.
He wasn't singing a cause.
He was simply singing himself.
"Fighting is the only truth."
That was Johnny Silverhand's entire life, distilled.
Even after his body had rotted away, even after his soul was dragged from a cyber-grave and forced to inhabit the person he hated most—
he still chose to charge forward, screaming at this fucked-up world:
FIGHTING IS THE ONLY TRUTH!
V chuckled softly.
She suddenly felt that her 200,000-eddy investment probably wouldn't go to waste.
Seeing her old friend reach such heights filled her with pride.
Even though she'd cursed "Johnny you dumb bastard" countless times in her head—
At this moment, she could only say one thing sincerely:
Johnny Silverhand is the greatest bard, the ultimate rocker, the most badass motherfucker of the 21st century.
"Let the match begin," V said, clenching her fist.
"After hearing Johnny's song, I can't wait to beat Lancelot to death."
Lancelot felt the same way.
Though he couldn't understand why Saburo Arasaka, a perfectly good corporate president, would go sing rock—but damn, the song was good.
He felt like even if another AI riot broke out, he could handle it alone.
As for V?
Just a normal human.
There was no way she could be more dangerous than a rogue AI.
The two stood facing each other at the center of the field.
Since this was unrestricted combat, there was no ring, no formalities.
The rules were simple:
No hot weapons.
No hacking intrusion.
Everything else was allowed.
The fight would end only when one side surrendered—or died.
After the rules were announced, both pressed AGREE under the witness of tens of thousands.
The match began.
Lancelot struck first.
Born on the Moon in low gravity, but as First Knight of the Round Table, he had undergone extensive genetic modification and extreme training.
Earth's gravity didn't hinder him—in fact, he moved effortlessly.
At over two meters tall, with long limbs, he was terrifyingly fast and possessed massive reach.
By contrast, V barely came up to his chest.
Seeing the attack coming, she raised both arms to guard.
BANG!
Lancelot's fist slammed into her forearms with a thunderous crack.
V slid back a step, unloading the force.
Lancelot pressed relentlessly, chaining together a storm of punches.
BANG—BANG—BANG—
The sounds echoed nonstop.
The crowd was stunned—V was being completely suppressed.
Meanwhile, Lancelot's fans screamed like lunatics, hyped as if they'd just snorted Black Lace. They were so obnoxious that even the NCPD guarding them felt like emptying a mag just to calm them down.
President V is invincible.
She's just probing. Waiting. Defensive counterattack.
That's what every Night City resident believed.
Reality slapped them hard.
Lancelot threw a hook, destabilizing V's guard—then seized the opening and drove a heavy right straight into her face.
"Ugh!"
V was blasted backward, skidding across the turf, carving two deep trenches into the grass.
The stadium went dead silent.
No one could believe V had been hit.
Lancelot's fans, however, went berserk.
And Lancelot himself was ecstatic.
"This is Night City's legend?
That's it?!"
But when V stood up—
She was smiling.
Lancelot frowned.
"Did I knock your brain loose? What the hell are you laughing at?!"
V spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva and exhaled in relief.
"Because I'm reassured now.
I was worried you'd seriously hurt that kid Aaron.
But after feeling it myself—"
She grinned.
"With punches this soft, you couldn't even break into a sex doll.
There's no way you could've taken him down."
"What?!"
Lancelot exploded with rage.
Any remaining restraint vanished.
He decided to go all out.
He launched forward.
His metal combat boots shattered turf and soil.
His towering frame surged toward V at terrifying speed.
His advanced cyberarm ramped to full output—
the punch screamed as it tore through the air, aimed straight at her face.
V moved.
No wind-up. No tell.
At the instant the fist was about to touch her nose, V shifted.
Barely.
Just half an inch—head and upper body tilting right.
The punch, powered by his entire body and mechanical assist, howled past her temple, stirring only a few strands of hair.
Lancelot pitched forward from the momentum—wide open.
V's right fist shot out.
Simple.
Unadorned.
It slammed into his stomach.
The once-arrogant First Knight's face instantly twisted.
He staggered back two steps, clutching his gut, and vomited bile.
What the hell was that punch?!
Too—too damn heavy!
Cold sweat poured down his face.
As V advanced, he shouted "Wait!"—
but secretly scooped up a handful of turf and flung it at her.
Dirt and grass briefly obscured her vision.
Lancelot followed with another punch.
But "obscured" was all it was.
With the Kiroshi Oracle Optics active, Lancelot was already locked.
Debris meant nothing.
Even a wall wouldn't have saved him.
V dodged effortlessly.
Her left hand flashed out, gripping the inside of the elbow joint on Lancelot's right cyberarm.
A universal mechanical weak point.
Because of torque mechanics, once the elbow is seized, the arm can't exert force.
Beginners don't know it.
Veterans don't talk about it.
You only learn it through real life-or-death fights.
Her right hand tightened.
Synthetic skin tore.
Fingers jammed into the joint's physical structure.
The arm was disabled.
Then her right leg snapped upward like a coiled steel whip.
Tier 5++ reinforced tendons unleashed overwhelming force.
Her kick smashed into the outside of Lancelot's left knee—the leg bearing his weight.
CRACK!
A nauseating sound—metal snapping—rang through the stadium.
The advanced cyber-knee crumpled, shattered.
Hydraulics burst. Circuits fried.
Pale yellow fluid and bright blue electrical arcs sprayed out.
The few remaining natural bones and ligaments were pulverized like rotten wood.
Lancelot screamed, voice warped by agony, and collapsed forward to one knee.
In an instant, pain and imbalance stripped him of all momentum.
V didn't stop.
She yanked his trapped arm sideways, forcibly rotating his kneeling body.
Pivoting on her planted right foot, she spun—
Her left leg swept out like a battering ram, smashing into his remaining right shin.
THUD!
Like striking a solid tire with a steel bar.
His right leg snapped in half, metal piercing through synthetic skin, exposed to open air.
Neural feedback translated the damage into pain—
So intense that his scream cut off mid-note.
Not because it stopped hurting.
Because it hurt too much to breathe.
His massive body lost all support and collapsed like a felled tree, crashing into the grass and sending clippings flying.
Lancelot thrashed, trying to push himself up with his arms.
Useless.
Panic finally set in.
"I—I'm sorry!" he screamed at V.
"I was drunk! I was just acting out! I don't even remember what I did!"
V shrugged.
"That's fine. I'll help you remember."
She stepped in.
Her right foot came down.
Tier 5++ tendons engaged again.
She stomped—not stepped—
precisely onto the biceps of his left arm, which was bracing against the ground.
SPLAT—CRACK!
Metal frame and circuitry shattered.
His left cyberarm was crushed—
exactly the way he'd done to Aaron Waynes.
Bone shards punched through synthetic skin.
Blood and hydraulic fluid sprayed, darkening the turf.
Lancelot convulsed violently, a wet rattling sound leaking from his throat.
He wanted to surrender.
But the pain robbed him of the ability to speak.
V's eyes went cold as she scanned him.
She circled his body like a dead dog, picked her spot, lifted her foot again.
This time—his right arm.
She kicked the key connection point where the cyberarm met the shoulder—
the neural interface.
CREAK—BOOM!
Metal twisted.
Neural cables ripped free.
The fragile scapula and clavicle beneath shattered instantly.
In mere minutes, all four of Lancelot's limbs were destroyed.
The stadium fell silent—
then erupted into deafening cheers.
This was President V.
This was the legendary V.
Lancelot lay like dismantled scrap, nothing left but torso and head, trembling uncontrollably.
His electronic eyes flickered, dimming.
Blood bubbled in his throat.
Maybe that wasn't bubbling.
Maybe it was surrender.
He wanted this fight to end more than anything he'd ever wanted.
V didn't intend to give him that chance.
She flicked her toe into his throat.
Blood sprayed.
His vocal cords and speech system were obliterated.
In a normal match, that would've been illegal.
But this was unrestricted combat—
the rules Lancelot himself had begged for.
V was simply granting his wish.
She looked down at the heap of flesh and metal.
No joy of victory.
Beating a small elite wasn't worth joy.
No sadistic pleasure either.
Beating a small elite wasn't worth pleasure.
Only cold indifference.
Boring.
That was her only thought.
But she always finished what she started.
She moved to his side and planted her foot on the center of his back—
the spine, nexus of neural bundles and structural support.
Subdermal armor meant nothing before absolute force.
No hesitation.
Tier 5++ tendons fired one last time.
CRACK.
A low, clean sound—like snapping a dry branch.
Lancelot's body arched violently, then collapsed, completely limp.
All twitching stopped.
His eyes were wide, pupils dilated.
The glow of his cyber-eye died out entirely.
V brushed grass off herself and raised her right fist high.
The stadium answered with a roar like a tidal wave.
She was about to give a victory speech—maybe even promote Night City tourism—
When several massive flashes streaked across the night sky, like meteors, vanishing beyond the horizon.
The rare sight drew everyone's attention.
Even V asked over comms:
"What's that—meteor shower?"
"N-no, not meteors!" Sasha replied, panic in her voice.
"Just now—a meteorite struck Orbital Air's headquarters tower in New Africa."