Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 628, Section 42: Change is Needed
As the Tsunami Design Bureau personnel bid him farewell and departed in the airships they would transfer to after entering the city, Karl pondered the timeframe they had given him.

One month.

They will complete the manufacturing of the weapon for Karl in a month.

And at this time.
Karl did the math and found that it was exactly around the same time that Arasaka met with military technology.

What a coincidence.

Karl's hand unconsciously brushed against his waist, and then he felt empty, and suddenly felt a sense of disorientation.

His hand froze, his knuckles curling slightly, as if he could still feel the weight of that old buddy.

Since arriving in this world, he has almost always had his gun with him, especially Zhongye, which has been with him for the past ten minutes since he arrived. Suddenly leaving his old friend feels strange and unfamiliar.

Fortunately, you can get used to it.

After giving V a couple of light squeezes, Carl turned to look at him: "If something comes up in the next few days, I might have to use another gun temporarily."

“We have a ton of weapons in our armory, feel free to use any you like,” V said, flicking open the scabbard at his waist with his thumb to reveal the chrome-plated grip of the ‘Golden Fierce Woman’ sword beside it. “But seriously, those Tsunami guys are really something else.”

He pulled out a bit of his katana with one hand, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the energy groove on the katana. "If they hadn't prioritized your order, I would have wanted to get a whole upgrade package for myself and Oliver."

V is indeed less equipped than his teammates.

"Let's take a look at the effect of my weapon first before ordering another one. Didn't you notice the eyes of the other designers who followed this tsunami designer? They were all staring at the weapon on your waist. Their eyes clearly indicated that they hoped the rest of us would also order custom-made weapons from them."

Honestly, I don't really understand why they're so enthusiastic about this kind of thing. Are all these design people just bored, or is it that places like this, full of geniuses, just like to tackle high-difficulty designs?

Carl's question was met with a shrug from V: "Who knows? Maybe they really do like this kind of work. Didn't you notice the condition on them? There wasn't even a trace of stimulant or energizer injections. It's unbelievable for company employees."
They didn't even show the slightest mental fatigue from working overtime. If they weren't actually tsunami personnel, I would have suspected they were imposters. It's strange to have this kind of energy at work.

"I've only ever heard the joke about office workers constantly injecting themselves with stimulants, getting more and more energetic, until they burst like balloons."

Johnny Silver Hand, who remained silent throughout Carl and V's conversation with the tsunami designers, appeared as a quietly placed, android dog decoration. He stared at the direction in which the tsunami technicians had left in their hovercars, and all he saw was a holographic advertising cloud of neon dust.

“But speaking of ‘Tsunami’,” Johnny Silver Hand holographic projection took out a virtual cigarette and took a deep breath, “I have heard some rumors before. It is said that only the top madmen in the industry can get into that place, receive sky-high salaries, and enjoy emperor-level benefits. The whole department is like an arms addict club, and every member has a morbid fanaticism for gun design.”

Johnny Silverhand sneered: "I didn't believe this bullshit propaganda at all until I saw those lunatics with my own eyes today. Turns out there really is such a stupid club."

“That’s rare.” Carl raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised. “I thought the only option in Johnny Silverhand’s factory settings was ‘anti-corporation’.”

Carl leaned closer to Johnny Silverhand's holographic projection: "Johnny Silverhand actually spoke well of the company? Should I have someone do a full scan of you? Maybe there's something wrong with the biochip, or maybe you got a virus while watching some vulgar mermaid."

"Fuck you! Don't treat me like Oliver, you can't even understand a movie. I understood this kind of thing when I was eight." The holographic image of Silver Hand suddenly increased in brightness by 30%, and his middle finger almost poked into Karl's face.

Johnny Silver Hand's holographic image suddenly distorted for a moment, noise sweeping across his outline like a sandstorm. He twitched the corners of his mouth, but he wasn't smiling.

“You think I’m against the company because they don’t refill their employees’ coffee?” His voice deepened, like a dull knife scraping against metal. “Listen, Carl, I don’t hate the word ‘company’—I hate their rules that spread like cancer.”

He raised his hand, projecting his fingertips across the air, and the data stream exploded behind him into a holographic wasteland: cracked farmland, hunched scavengers under the neon lights of Night City, and cyber-psychotic patients convulsing in a prosthetic clinic.

“I’ve seen farmers swallow their own seeds after the water source dries up, and I’ve seen Night City squeeze the living out of them like batteries—dreams are the positive electrode, flesh and blood are the negative electrode.” Johnny’s pupils suddenly flashed violently. “And now they’re even recycling wails. Karl, in their hands, even souls are becoming decimal points at the end of financial statements.”

He suddenly closed in, the holographic projection hissing: "You think my blowing up the abandoned tower is a madman's performance art, you think I'm an anarchist madman, right? But I'm wrong, you're all wrong!"

“This isn’t some bullshit ideological debate; it’s a corpse preventing more corpses from being born.” Johnny tapped his temple, and the android’s head emitted a metallic sound. “As long as this damn chip is still running, I’ll get stuck in their gears—biting with my teeth, digging with my nails—until they either stop or collapse, taking my brains with them. I may not know what’s right, but I at least know what’s wrong. As long as I’m alive, I will never give up the fight!”

After these words, which sounded like a roar, were uttered, the holographic projection of Johnny Silver Hand flickered twice.

"damn it."

He suddenly cursed, then squatted down: "Damn it!"

Carl and V stared at Johnny's silver hand.

They watched Johnny Silverhand suddenly erupt, watching this Johnny Silverhand who, even after fifty years, was still the same Johnny Silverhand.

“This feels a bit like Johnny Silverhand, someone I don’t recognize yet who feels familiar.” Carl said, nodding slightly. “You know what, Johnny?” he began, his voice an octave lower than usual, “Sometimes I wonder if you’re more clear-headed than anyone else.”

"Wake up. After waking up for more than fifty years, I still see this damn Night City?"

"At least there have been some changes, haven't there?"

"Some changes."

Johnny Silver Hand's holographic projection slowly stood up. He looked at Carl: "There have been some changes, changes so much that I almost don't recognize this city anymore. I've seen too many people—either tamed by the company, turned into cogs; or burned to ashes by anger, but you..."

Johnny shook his head. "You're a fucking Russian roulette bullet, a dud stuck in the cracks of the times. It neither fires nor misfires, it just rusts away. Nobody knows when you'll explode, or who you'll blow up—but you, this dud, are fucking more useful than all the bullets that have been fired!"

Johnny's projection suddenly laughed, a broken laugh with static interference: "You know what Carl, you know what's most ironic? You know what I saw the first thing when I reconnected to the network after returning to this era?"

That was my rebellion, which has been trivialized and turned into something foolish. Even rebellion has become part of their entertainment. My music has been turned into a rebellion-themed mecha, and my face has been printed on T-shirts sold to rebellious middle-class kids. They've digested me, Karl, do you understand? Just like digesting what I've seen in the past, like corpses being swallowed, swallowed up, until not even bones remain.

"But the Johnny Silverhand I know is still alive and well."

Carl's voice was like a dull knife slowly cutting through damp cloth, tearing Johnny's gaze. Carl stared directly at Johnny, his pupils bright, as if sparkling.

“Rock star, terrorist, corporate nemesis. Call them whatever you want,” Carl said. “All I know is that for over fifty years, you’ve been smashing the same world with the same guitar, the old Johnny Silverhand is still screaming, he’s never stopped playing, and that’s enough.”

"If once isn't enough, then do it again; if twice isn't enough, then do it three times; if three times isn't enough, then keep fighting. Just like what you just said, Johnny, a statement I couldn't agree with more, never give up the fight."

Carl looked at Johnny: "You've had a second chance, so why do you still think things and times won't change? Since you're still here, what reason do you have not to fight? Silver Hand is here, Johnny is here, are you waiting for someone to give you a license to resist?"

Johnny Silverhand paused for a moment, then his smile widened: "Damn, you're right, I am Johnny Silverhand, the biggest Johnny Silverhand in the world. I've already lived this long enough, so the second time is a huge win. What reason do I have not to fight!"

"so……"

V crossed his arms and watched as Carl and Johnny's conversation gradually veered from company criticism to a dangerous frenzy. Finally, he couldn't help but interject, "You guys aren't planning to carry a nuclear bomb to some company and bomb it again, are you?" He paused, his thumb unconsciously rubbing the hilt of his knife. "Let me make this clear, my knife gets dull from cutting too many people. If we're really going to do this, I'll have to prepare a few extra beforehand."

"Ha!" Johnny glanced at him from behind his sunglasses, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "It's just a discussion about ambitions. Karl's giving me a pep talk, all very inspiring, making me all fired up—but just because we're fired up doesn't mean we're going to carry nuclear bombs to our deaths right now, understand?"

Carl chuckled softly, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. "Ambition, goals, building some male friendships—isn't that normal? What's dangerous about it?" He tilted his head to look at V, a playful glint in his eyes. "But you, your first reaction was 'nuclear bomb,' your second was 'not enough knives,' you didn't even consider the option of 'don't go'—V, could it be that you're the most radical one among us?"

"Huh?" V raised an eyebrow, looking completely bewildered. "Why are you suddenly targeting me?"

He spread his hands, his expression a mix of helplessness and amusement: "It was clearly the two of you who were passionately denouncing the company, making us look like a team of heroes going to challenge the final boss one-on-one—think about Johnny's 'glorious deeds' back then, isn't it reasonable for me to make this connection?"

"So realistic that you can directly imagine us carrying nuclear bombs and charging straight in?" Carl glanced at him with a half-smile. "Although it doesn't seem impossible." He paused deliberately, tapping his fingertip lightly on the table. "But 'a thermal samurai sword chipping its blade'? V, are you planning to cut through an entire corporate army by yourself? Isn't that a bit too much of a stretch?"

V chuckled, about to retort, but Carl had already dropped his teasing expression, and his tone turned serious:
“What I was talking to Johnny about just now was his attitude towards the company.” His gaze shifted to Johnny, then back to him. “Johnny’s opposition has never been to the ‘company’ as an entity, but to the system behind it—the rules, the exploitation, the machine that turns people into cogs. So I said, since he has a second life, why not continue to fight?”

Johnny grinned behind his sunglasses without saying a word, but his tacit agreement was clear enough.

"As for the specifics of how to do it," Karl shrugged, "we haven't reached that point yet, at least—" he deliberately dragged out his words, "we haven't gotten to the point of pulling out a nuclear bomb."

V narrowed his eyes: "'Not there yet' what do you mean? Carl, you were just criticizing me, but you've been planning something similar yourself, haven't you?"

Carl didn't answer directly, but chuckled softly, his gaze drifting towards the neon-lit company building in the distance.

“There’s no way around it,” he finally said. “Johnny Silverhands’s resume is just too convincing.”

V stared at Carl for two seconds, then suddenly laughed: "I thought you wouldn't agree with such a simple and crude option as 'bombing it up'."

“I do disagree.” Carl’s fingertips unconsciously traced a circle on his palm. “I prefer change to destruction, but if the path to change is completely blocked—” He looked up, his irises reflecting the neon lights outside the window, “then I won’t criticize Johnny’s choice.”

A few seconds of silence lingered between the three. Karl narrowed his eyes and looked out the window—the sky of Night City was forever fragmented by holographic projections, and advertising airships glided by, leaving fluorescent trails, like an endless electronic carnival.

“You know what? From the first day I arrived in Night City, I felt like this was a ‘City of Light.’” His voice was soft, almost drowned out by the distant roar of the hover train. “Unfortunately, this light never shines equally on everyone, so…”

Carl's eyes lit up: "I think it should be changed."

(End of this chapter)