"Sweet son of a-"

Kerry flinched backwards, brandishing a bottle of overly expensive wine as a weapon, eyes wide and face pale as if he had seen a ghost.

Well. He had seen a ghost. Or else this was some cruel hallucination or trick.

"V? No."

It couldn't be. V left on death's door with Panam years ago. This could not be V. Christ, he knew he should have put a copyright on V's likeness or something, anything to protect those memories from weirdos and freaks looking to capitalize and get close. It had only been a matter of time before something like this happened, but was it so bad of him to have wanted to play ignorant and pretend no one would touch his memories of V?

"No. Who the hell are you? Who the fuck do you think you are?"