There had never been a drink like Andrei Volkov.
Formula: any liquor + a little love + one toast: "To Andrei Volkov."
No one in Afterlife truly knew who Andrei Volkov was, or what the name meant. Only Neo did. To everyone else, the story had simply been... beautiful.
Because Neo told it that way.
And because he told it that way.
When a legend speaks, the city listens.
Neo didn't care how others interpreted it. The meaning was his alone, sealed in the quiet space between him and memory.
Around the bar, mercs began ordering the drink in droves.
Claire rubbed her temples. "Okay, okay, everyone wants a Andrei Volkov. I get it. But maybe you could queue up instead of yelling over each other?"
Her voice carried that half-annoyed, half-amused tone of someone who'd seen too much Night City chaos to be surprised anymore.
"Seriously, I've got ten glasses in progress. One more order and I'm switching to auto-mix!"
That shut the crowd up. The mercs formed a rough line, all awkward grins and drunken reverence.
Takemura was among them. He requested his Andrei Volkov with quiet precision: "Sake. A little love. One toast."
He hadn't touched alcohol since becoming a samurai. But tonight, he broke his vow.
He lifted the glass, the faint aroma of rice and steel filling the air. "This one," he said softly, "is for Andrei Volkov."
He drank, set the empty cup down, then turned toward Neo. "Neo, shall we begin the next phase of our plan?"
Neo opened his mouth to reply, but Rogue cut in first, her tone playful yet sharp. "Next phase? And what might that be? Mind if I listen in? Maybe even... participate?"
Her smirk hinted at more than curiosity—it was opportunity. "After all, getting the chance to work with Night City's newest legend sounds like a profitable affair."
Neo gave a faint laugh. "Next time, perhaps. This one's already arranged."
Rogue arched a brow. "Already arranged, huh? Well, fine. But if you're teasing me with 'next time', I'll hold you to it. So tell me—what's the other deal you mentioned?"
Neo reached into his coat and laid something across the counter. A blade.
The unreleased Arasaka katana X.
The weapon gleamed faintly under the bar's low light—sleek, black, humming with a dormant pulse.
"This," Neo said, "is the Unregistered Katana X. A prototype from Arasaka's private collection. No serial, no designation. Just... unknown."
He tapped the blade. "It was hanging on Saburo Arasaka's suite wall in the Konpeki Penthouse. I brought it back as a souvenir."
He paused, then smiled faintly. "It's also Johnny Silverhand's new home."
The name dropped like a live wire.
Rogue froze. The ice in her glass melted between her fingers.
She knew Neo wasn't talking about a sword. He was talking about a soul.
"Come with me," she said quietly.
...
They moved to the private lounge upstairs—Rogue's domain. The door shut behind them with a heavy click. She waved away her bodyguards. Only Neo and Takemura remained.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low, trembling slightly. "That blade," she said, "you said it's Johnny Silverhand's new home."
Her eyes met his. "You're telling me that bastard's still alive?"
Neo's lips curved slightly. "Alive… depends on how you define it."
He leaned back, voice steady. "If you're talking about the flesh-and-blood Johnny, the man—the carbon-based organism—he's been dead over half a century. But if you mean the idea of him, the data, the mind that refused to die…"
Neo's gaze flicked toward the katana. "Then yes. He's right here."
Rogue didn't speak. She just stared. The faintest tremor passed through her gloved fingers.
Neo continued, "You know the kind of man Saburo was. You know what Arasaka's been chasing for decades—immortality, the dream of digital souls. To them, life is just a file to back up. A consciousness to upload."
"Relic," she murmured.
He nodded. "Exactly. The Relic chip. Saburo's ultimate gamble at eternity. But every experiment needs test subjects. Someone has to be the first to step into the void."
Neo's tone darkened. "Johnny Silverhand was their first rat."
Rogue's eyes widened.
"His bio-signature, his DNA, his entire engram—they ripped it out and stored it in cyberspace. Compressed it into the Relic's codebase."
He touched the sword lightly. "Now he exists as data—a ghost bound to silicon. This katana, the one forged from Arasaka's black projects, connects to that code. It's how I summon him."
Takemura's expression tightened. Even for a man who had served the beast, this was blasphemy.
Neo whispered something—a short phrase that crackled faintly in the air. Then he swung the katana once.
The blade pulsed.
And Johnny Silverhand appeared.
"Jesus Christ!" Johnny snapped. "Every damn time, man! Can you warn me before you drag me out of the net?"
He looked around, still flickering, voice echoing with digital static. "Fuck!—oh, hey. Rogue?"
The name caught in his throat.
Rogue just stared at him. Her face—usually unreadable—was trembling, caught between shock and something much deeper.
Johnny froze, words tumbling uselessly from his mouth. "I… uh… damn. You look—uh…" He laughed once, nervously. "You look good for someone who still hates my guts."
Rogue said nothing. She stepped closer.
Her hand reached up—hesitant at first, then firm—and passed through his face.
Her fingers met nothing but cold air and light.
"Figures," she whispered. "You really are just a ghost."
Johnny tried to smile, but it faltered. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Rogue's gaze hardened. "You said ghosts don't exist. Remember?"
Johnny blinked. "…You're still pissed about that?"
"I'm not pissed," she said, her voice low and sharp as a knife. "I'm wondering what the hell you are. You're not alive. You're not dead. You're just… data that refuses to admit it's gone."
Neo watched them quietly, his reflection flickering beside Johnny's.
The air in the room was thick—like the city itself was holding its breath.
Two legends, once lovers, now facing each other across half a century and a grave made of code.
Johnny opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
And for once in his digital afterlife, Johnny Silverhand—Night City's loudest voice—had nothing left to say.