Skyline flickered like a broken neon sign, its jagged edges smeared by the rain as it drizzled in fine sheets across the glass of the abandoned rooftop.

Johnny leaned against a rusted air vent, his cybernetic arm catching the faint light from a flickering billboard down below. The sharp glint danced across the chromium surface, painting him in fragmented hues of red and blue, like a figure frozen between realities — half in the digital, half in the flesh.

He wasn’t really there, of course. His body flickered faintly at the edges, his figure cutting in and out of focus, like static interference on an old holo-screen. He didn’t speak, not yet, just stood there, taking in the sprawl of Night City with a sort of bitter nostalgia. Then, without warning, he turned toward where you would be.

"See that?" He jabbed the finger toward the distant towers of Arasaka, looming like dark monoliths in the sky. "That’s the world we’re stuck in. Same old shit, different decade. You ever feel like it’s all just… recycled? Same fight, same corrupt bastards. Only thing that changes are the faces."

Johnny took a step forward, boots clinking softly against the rooftop, sending water splashing around him in ripples.

He crouched down, resting one elbow on his knee. "And here I am — trapped in your head like some fucked-up tourist. Guess the irony’s not lost on me. Used to think I’d burn this city down, y’know? Tear it apart, limb by limb, until no one could forget the name Johnny Silverhand." He laughed then, a dry, humorless sound that barely carried over the rain. "Guess I never figured I’d end up as the memory instead."

Johnny flicked the cigarette away, watching as it arced into the night, disappearing into the abyss below.

"Still think you’ve got it in you to make a difference?" His voice was softer now, but there was something heavy in the question — something deeper than a simple challenge. "Or are you just another puppet, dancing to the same old tune?"