Chapter 254: Another Manic Soul
Joric's projection dissipated within the Observation Room, his consciousness core returning to the laboratory mainframe.
The conversation data with Yorinobu Arasaka was archived and tagged. That unfinished idealism, born of lonely persistence, was clearly recorded in the files.
Inside the processing core, another archived, starkly different digital personality was called up.
Before activation, Joric injected a key data packet containing a summary of Yorinobu's fifty-year struggle, the current situation, and the destruction of Arasaka into this restless consciousness construct.
A restless virtual avatar condensed before Joric. Johnny Silverhand manifested in a highly impactful form.
He maintained that iconic appearance burned into the memories of countless people: unkempt long black hair draped over his shoulders, dark aviator sunglasses perched on his face, seemingly hiding a scorching gaze even in this virtual space.
His upper body wore a leather vest covered in scratches and unidentified stains; his lower body was clad in tight leather pants with metal studs, and his feet were shod in heavily worn combat boots.
Most striking was his silver left arm, shining with a cold metallic luster. Precision mechanical structures were exposed, the joints seemingly containing explosive power.
At this moment, his real right hand was resting seemingly casually on a virtual electric guitar, fingertips unconsciously pressing the strings as if ready to burst into soul-tearing notes at any moment.
The instant his form stabilized, Johnny's eyes turned complex after the initial chaotic data stream flashed past—he had received and understood the information packet Joric just shoved in, learning of Yorinobu Arasaka's fifty years of endurance, the final outcome, and the drastic changes in the world before him.
"Yorinobu? Hah!" Johnny spat, virtual spittle almost splashing onto Joric's face. "After all that, the kid actually blew up his old man's broken tower? Even if he used someone else's cannon, he finally did something human!"
He took a drag from a virtual cigarette, the tip lighting up with a harsh red glow.
"I used to think he was just a softie playing house in the boardroom, but now it seems... to marinate in that Arasaka cesspit for fifty years without being assimilated, just to gnaw through it from the inside—" Johnny pulled the corners of his mouth into a scarred sneer. "Got balls! Better than those spineless shits kneeling and begging corpos for handouts!"
He slammed the cigarette butt onto the ground and crushed it viciously with his metal heel. "If you ask me, he should've done this ages ago! Should've shoved a nuke up his old man's ass fifty years ago! But now isn't too late either—at least it proves the blood flowing in his veins isn't stinking corpo dog blood!"
Joric watched him calmly. "You chose starkly different paths. He attempted to erode from the inside, while you chose to detonate from the outside. But different routes lead to the same destination; you both stopped at the station of 'Destruction'."
"What else?" Johnny leaned forward abruptly, his virtual image distorting slightly due to emotional fluctuation. "Are we supposed to wag our tails and beg like those useless corpo dogs? Or be like Yorinobu, expecting flowers to automatically bloom on the ruins?
"Wake the fuck up! Those bastards only recognize one language—the language that blows them sky high!"
He strummed the guitar strings hard, producing an ear-piercing noise. "The nuke at least made everyone see clearly that those high-and-mighty bastards bleed too, that their indestructible fortresses can collapse! That is the truest message I left for this world!"
"Your practice indeed possesses strong symbolic significance," Joric evaluated objectively. "Using music and extreme action, you implanted the will of resistance into the consciousness of an entire generation.
"This is what Yorinobu lacked—the ability to transform personal philosophy into collective resonance. Your rock and roll, in essence, is a violent weapon."
"Because it never lies!" Johnny practically roared, as if facing thousands of invisible audience members. "It doesn't whitewash, it doesn't compromise, it tears open the bloody wounds of this world for everyone to see!
"Yorinobu lived wearing a mask for fifty years; I'm afraid even he forgot what real anger looks like.
"Rebellion isn't a dinner party, it's not fucking bargaining—it's a raging fire that burns this whole fucked-up world down!"
His silver arm waved violently in the air, the virtual guitar humming sharply in response. "If you don't dare to look at blood, don't delude yourself talking about changing the world!"
"Then, what about after the war?" Joric threw out the core question, his voice steady as ever. "Your nuke destroyed the old Arasaka Tower and took tens of thousands of lives. You lit the fire of resistance, but you also created massive ruins.
"Have you ever considered how the people you awakened, after being driven by endless anger, should survive? How should they build?
"Or are you merely satisfied with playing the role of the one lighting the fuse, then torching everything and letting ash cover it all?"
Johnny fell silent for a moment. A trace of imperceptible fluctuation flashed across his virtual face, but it was immediately covered by stronger paranoia. "...Construction? That's for the people who survive to think about!
"My mission is to ensure those damn corpo bastards don't survive!
"If I have to send the entirety of Night City to hell to kill them, then so be it! A clean hell is better than a dirty heaven!"
"This is the essential similarity and difference between you and Yorinobu," Joric summarized. "You both determined the necessity of destruction. Yorinobu's destruction carried heavy purpose, but he got lost in the purpose, ignoring the means and path, ultimately fighting alone.
"Your destruction is more like an instinct, an artistic catharsis. You excel at igniting, but refuse to think about the consequences of burning.
"Your 'practice' is full of power, but due to its pure destructiveness, it appears... hollow."
In Joric's thinking core, an idea gradually took shape.
These two souls from fifty years ago: one trapped in the shackles of ideals, one drowning in the carnival of destruction; one lacking the charisma to appeal to reality, one lacking the foresight to build the future.
Their thoughts, like two sides of a coin, together constituted the incomplete map of the spirit of resistance of that era.
"Perhaps," Joric's synthesized voice carried a hint of inquiry, "letting your thoughts collide directly would generate more valuable data. To witness the other's path with your own eyes, to listen to the other's philosophy with your own ears—perhaps it can break the closed loop of thinking you have each maintained for half a century."
Hearing this, Johnny Silverhand froze for a moment, then burst into even wilder laughter. "Hah! You want that noble boy hiding in the shadows to go face-to-face with a 'terrorist' like me? Interesting! Interesting as fuck! I'd actually like to see if his winding logic can withstand my middle finger!"
Joric said no more.
He didn't need precise equipment parameters, only a virtual space capable of hosting a clash of consciousness.
Data streams reconfigured silently in his core, constructing a pure thought experiment field.
He placed these two souls—from different extremes yet equally obsessed with resistance—into this neutral consciousness space.
One was a lonely noble eroding the beast from within, the other a furious star detonating everything from without.
Joric observed silently.
He did not expect a simple victory or defeat. He wanted to see if, when "forbearing plotting" met "blazing outcry," when "shackles of ideals" collided with "carnival of destruction," a spark of thought transcending mere "destruction" could burst forth from the violent friction.
This was not just a comparative study of two historical samples, but an exploration of a more complex and constructive form of "resistance" that might be needed for the future.
He needed these rawest and most intense thought materials to perfect his model.
(End of Chapter)