Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 958, Section 168: Good morning, Johnny.
Cold, dark, trembling.

Johnny Silverhand's consciousness gradually rose from the depths of chaos, like a diver finally breaking through the surface of the water. The fog of thought dissipated, and his senses surged like a tide—a feeling of life that he had almost forgotten.

Every inch of my skin felt unfamiliar, and every breath carried the coolness of fresh air.

Forced by circumstances, he instinctively tried to move his fingers. The feedback from those subtle joint movements was so familiar, yet utterly strange. This body was heavy, warm, and filled with a faint sense of life flowing through it.

"Not bad, you're in good physical condition." A familiar voice sounded from the side, with a hint of teasing. "Get up, Johnny, open your eyes. You're awake, so stop pretending to be asleep."

This all-too-familiar, slightly impatient urging acted like a key, completely unlocking Johnny's connection to the real world.

He opened his eyes.

The light poured in, somewhat dazzling, even blinding.

He blinked, adjusting to the body's most basic physiological responses. His vision gradually cleared, and he saw the cold overhead light in the laboratory and smelled the faint scent of disinfectant in the air.

He moved, not through data-driven thoughts, but through real, muscular movements that pulled his bones together. He used his elbows to support his upper body, a simple process that was both novel and clumsy.

"How are you feeling, big star?" Oliver stood to the side with his arms crossed. "According to those researchers, it will take some time for your new body to adapt, and the neural connections will need to adjust. Don't expect to be able to jump up and play the guitar right away."

Johnny did not answer immediately.

He looked down at his hands—no longer cold, metallic prosthetics, but human hands covered in skin with visible blue veins. He clenched his fists, feeling that long-lost, real sense of power.

Memories flashed back like a data stream, finally settling on Ultraman's gentle call before consciousness was stripped away.

"Where's Ultraman?" He looked up, his voice hoarse from long disuse, but it was definitely coming from that throat.

“She’s gone.” Carl’s voice came from the other side. “After she finished her part and safely ‘sent’ you back, she melted back into the other side of the Black Wall. She said, ‘We’ll meet again someday.’”

gone.

Johnny paused for a moment.

He wasn't surprised by the result, but a sense of emptiness still welled up in his chest. More than fifty years of separation couldn't be satisfied with just one reunion, but at least...
Hope remains.

Will we meet again?

Johnny shook his head, seemingly trying to shake off those complicated emotions, then looked at Oliver and, in his signature, somewhat matter-of-fact tone, uttered his first clear command since his consciousness returned to his human body:
"Stop talking nonsense, Oliver, have a cigarette."

Oliver paused for a moment, then shook his head and laughed, scolding:

"Damn it, you're already thinking about this the moment you've come back to life? Don't even think about it. This is a sterile laboratory, not some smoky nightclub. Besides, with your body like a newborn, your lungs are more delicate than a baby's. If I light a cigarette for you now, I'll have to take you to Old Wei's tonight to get a prosthetic lung—and you'll pay for it?"

"You think I don't have money? I think I've saved quite a bit!" Johnny wasn't really that suicidal after all. Asking for cigarettes was just a habit. He couldn't handle the new lung transplant soon.

He tried to move his neck, making a slight clicking sound, and then tried to use his palms instead of his elbows to sit up completely. But this seemingly simple movement was extremely difficult, and his body felt like a strange machine that wouldn't obey his commands.

“Hey! Slow down, Johnny.” Jack helped Johnny up from the side: “You’re as soft as a puddle of mud right now, don’t fall and break yourself.”

V also lent a hand, but didn't forget to make a sarcastic remark: "Looks like even legends have to learn to walk again, Johnny. Need a walker? I can ask around and see if they have any pink ones."

“Fuck you, V,” Johnny cursed, but there wasn’t much anger in his voice; it was more like a long-lost, realistic banter between friends. Undeterred, he tried again with Jack’s help, this time grabbing the cold bed railing, his arm muscles trembling slightly from the effort.

He slowly moved his legs off the bed, and the moment his soles touched the cold floor, a strange, incredibly solid sensation shot from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.

It's the ground.

A solid, solid ground that can support his entire weight.

He took a deep breath—the air that was nicotine-free yet full of life—and tried to lean forward to steady himself. But like a newborn foal, his legs gave way completely, and he stumbled forward and fell.

"Ouch!" Just as he was watching Johnny stand up and let go, Jack rushed forward again, his strong arms supporting Johnny and stabilizing his swaying body.

"I told you to slow down, what's the rush?"

Leaning against Jack's strong arms, Johnny breathed heavily, and even beads of sweat appeared on his forehead—a physiological reaction he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He looked down at his trembling legs, then looked up and around: Oliver with a helpless expression, V suppressing a laugh, Jack supporting him with concerned eyes, and Carl standing a little further away, watching everything with a grin.

Without a cigarette, I can't stand steadily; I'm as weak as a dog.

But the feeling of being grounded was so real; the sensation of my lungs expanding and contracting was so clear; and there were these noisy, damned, yet strangely reassuring companions.
An indescribable emotion surged in his chest, washing away the dust and emptiness accumulated over fifty years. He broke free from Jack's support and stood up with difficulty on his own. Although he was still trembling, his back slowly straightened.

"Don't treat me like a little princess who needs to be protected, Jack. Just treat Misty the same way. I'm sure she'll love you."

He twitched the corners of his mouth, complaining about his friend as he went back, and then steadily straightened up.

Then, his hoarse voice rang out in the laboratory, carrying a certain declarative quality:

"Johnny Silverhand, 2077, damn it, the old days are back."

"It's still going on like this, so get used to it first."

Carl stood at a distance, making sarcastic remarks, but when he saw Johnny standing there again and looked at his face, he still smiled.

"Well then, good morning, Johnny."

"Good morning, Carl. By the way, come here, I have something to do."

"Something came up?"

Carl sensed something was off, but seeing Johnny's relaxed, reborn expression, he instinctively walked over without suspicion.

lunge forward.

"Damn it, you've really gotten used to being a dog, haven't you? Go ahead and bite me."

As it turns out, their biotechnology research projects are truly impressive; no wonder their biological weapons can be deployed into battle as soon as they come off the production line—even though Johnny's body is brand new, his teeth are ridiculously hard.

(End of this chapter)