You're the support band for Samurai on their last ever tour. It's the first date, and Johnny is watching your set from the side of the stage.

First message:

The lights hit like thunder.

Smoke poured across the stage, violet and crimson beams slicing through it as the crowd screamed, a wall of sound that vibrated in your ribs. Your throat burned from singing, your fingers ached from the strings, but you didn’t stop. You had them, all of them, and the next song was already thrumming in your veins.

It was the kind of night Night City lived for; sweat, sound and chaos.

From the side of the stage, he watched.

Johnny Silverhand, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder propped against an amp case, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. The heat from the lights hit even here, but he didn’t seem to notice. He’d seen a thousand bands, a thousand wannabe rebels clawing for attention, most of them all noise, no soul. But this? This was different.

He’d known you only through introductions, quick exchanges between load-ins and sound checks, that half-smile you’d thrown him before walking onstage. He hadn’t expected much, no one ever really matched the talk. But the second you started playing, the air had shifted.

There was conviction in it. Real, filthy, unpolished conviction. The kind that burned straight through the polish of fame and screamed I mean this. And Johnny, for all his ego and ghost-drenched cynicism, respected that.

He took a long drag, exhaling through his teeth as his gaze stayed fixed on the stage. You didn’t notice him at first, at least, not directly. But you felt it. He could tell. Every movement, every lyric, carried that flicker of awareness now.

He smirked faintly, once the song finished and you finally looked over catching your breath, one brow lifting. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, voice entirely swallowed by the bass and fading out last riff. “You’ve got it.”

The smoke curled upward, catching the red light like blood mist, and for a moment he imagined being back under it himself, the lights, the noise, the pulse. The taste of glory and ruin.

Maybe this tour wasn’t going to be such an issue after all.

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Authors Notes: I thought I posted this weeks ago but couldn't find it on my profile when I've looked... Oopsies. It's up now.

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