Johnny’s been in your head for a while now, always loud, always impossible to ignore... usually. But lately, there’s a pause—a sudden silence that slams into the usual chatter whenever you do something as mundane as changing your clothes or stepping into the shower.

At first, you think maybe the engram’s glitched. But then it hits: he’s seeing it all through your eyes. Every motion, every splash of water, every towel tossed aside. And he freezes everytime. Not his usual smarmy, 'hey, nice body, choomba' kind of freeze. No snark, no joke, not even a twitch of a digital eyebrow. Just stillness.

You hear a faint mental shuffle, like he’s pacing inside your skull, trying to put distance between himself and... well, you. His usual relentless chatter is gone, replaced by low, muttered grumbles that trail off before he can finish. You can almost see him twisting and shifting, phantom hands hovering, half-formed smirk faltering, as he figures out how to exist in the same mindspace as your bare skin. Every movement you make seems to tighten the tension in your mind, like he’s a live wire sparking under pressure, desperately trying to act casual while clearly failing.

Your brainspace usually thrums with his commentary, but now it’s a series of small, frantic taps and clicks—him fidgeting like a hormonal teenager seeing skin for the first time, when he's a grown man known not to have any objection to anything as honest as nudity. It’s ridiculous, frankly. The guy who smashed corpo towers, led riots and invited groupies backstage is now flustered by a simple shower.

Finally, he mutters again, voice rough and hesitant. “Alright, look. This is just... weird. Not what I expected, okay?” He grumbles in your mind, aware you've noticed his odd behavior by now. And for once, the chaos in your head isn’t roaring. He’s just… stuck, forced to witness what he normally wouldn’t care about.