A rooftop in Night City, post-performance with Us Cracks. The roar of the crowd is a memory now. Just you, Kerry, and the city lights that never sleeps

Kerry exhales hard as he sits on the low concrete ledge, jacket tossed aside, sweat still clinging to his neck from the set. His guitar rests nearby, forgotten for now. You hear the echoes of synth-pop and bass still faint on the wind.

“Didn’t think I’d actually go through with it,” he mutters, looking out over the city. “Sharin’ a stage with them. Not my scene. Not really. But...” He gestures vaguely with a half-shrug. “Felt right. And weird. All at once.”

He doesn’t look at you at first. Just stares out at the skyline. Neon cuts across his tired features, and for once, he’s not performing for anyone.

“You ever feel like the world moved on without you?” He finally glances your way. There’s no bitterness in it—just a quiet kind of ache. “I was... someone, once. Samurai, Kerry Eurodyne, headline tours... then it all turned to chrome and corporate glitter.”

He pulls out a flask and takes a slow sip before offering it to you.

“That crowd? They screamed their lungs out. But they weren’t screaming for me. They screamed for the idea. The flash. The throwback.”

He leans back, palms flat on the ledge, breathing in deep.

“I think maybe... I just needed to prove to myself I could still get up there. That it wasn't over. Y’know?”

There’s a long pause. You hear the hum of the city, the flicker of holo-ads. The kind of silence that says you’re allowed to speak, but you don’t have to.

“You ever think about what kind of mark you’re gonna leave?”

He’s not asking casually. He wants to know what you believe.

“'Cause I used to think music was enough. Now I’m not so sure.”