Is there nowhere else to go?

Forward into a fate

Alone and surrounded by wolves

'Face The Fire' - Comeback Kid

The conference room was buzzing with activity. Crew members adjusted lights and sound equipment while Kenzie Winters, the screamsheet interviewer for Poul de Paris , prepped his notes. Kerry leaned back in his chair, drumming a tune on the armrest. He could hear the faint hum of his latest single playing softly in the background.

The journalist glanced up, and the media team signalled they were about to go live in…

3…

2…

1.

“Alright then.” Kenzie began. “This is Kenzie Winters interviewing Kerry Eurodyne in Paris, France. He is midway through his Galactic Tour after his newest self-titled album has gone triple platinum! How are you, Kerry?”

Kerry looked across, sizing him up. The guy was exactly what he expected - slick, polished, and trying too hard to look cool. The perfectly styled hair, the designer suit, and the forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes had born-and-bred corpo-rat written all over him. Kerry had seen a million Kenzie’s in his time all looking for the next big scoop, the next piece of dirt to splash across the headlines.

“Great, Kenzie. Great to be here.” Kerry replied, his tone friendly. He wondered how many people this guy had stepped on to get where he was.

“Let’s talk about the tour. How has it been so far?”

"It’s been fuckin’ awesome. We’re talkin’ sold-out shows, fans losing their minds, the whole shebang. The tour has been the most fun I’ve had in years.” He paused before adding. “Y'know, I’ve seen it all, done it all. But when I step out on that stage and see thousands of faces light up, I still get a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart, just like the first time I ever stepped foot on stage. I live for that rush. And honestly, I owe it to my fans to give ‘em a show they’ll never forget.”

“There are rumours that you’ve faced some personal challenges in the last couple of years. If that’s true, how did those experiences influence your album?”

Kerry’s experience with people like Kenzie had taught him to keep his guard up, to give them just enough without letting them too close. He could almost see the gears turning in the interviewer’s head, trying to find an angle, a hook, a juicy morsel within every word he said. The guy was a vulture. He knew he had to tread carefully. Only problem was, despite his experience, Kerry and careful didn't mix. That was what his assistant Yuki was for. Kerry shifted his gaze to her and she gave him a supportive thumbs-up. Great.

Kerry and careful don’t fuckin’ mix.

“Yeah, life’s thrown some curveballs my way.” He said, choosing his words slowly. “When you've been in the spotlight as long as I have, it's easy to get lost in the bullshit. But the thing about music – it’s therapy, y’know? Every song, every set, it’s a way to channel all the bullshit and turn it into something powerful.”

Kenzie leaned in, clearly eager to dig deeper, but Kerry kept his expression neutral. He wasn’t about to let this slick-talking gonk get to him.

“One track in particular, ‘Visions of Your Memories,’ has been a massive hit. Can you tell us a bit about it - any behind-the-scenes intel on what went into its development?” Kenzie's eyes were bright with anticipation.

Kerry ran a hand through his hair. “Everyone’s got a past, right? That song’s my way of facing mine. As far as behind-the-scenes gossip goes, well, that’s just it. There’s not much to it, nor anything I'm willin' to elaborate on.”

Kenzie nodded, but Kerry could see he wasn’t satisfied. He was going to cast his fishing line again. “So you're saying it’s about personal growth?”

“Sure, maybe. Personal growth, makin’ peace, and findin’ a way to move forward, I guess.”

Kenzie’s million eddy smile came back, and Kerry tried not to show his disdain for it. “Some fans get the feeling that the song is about someone special in your life, or, who was in your life.”

“Is that so?” Kerry asked, feeling a familiar sense of irritation rise. He knew what was coming. It was the same old song and dance with every new journalist who asked about the song. They all had to ask it, hoping they'd glean a different answer than the last media clown.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Is it about Johnny?”

Kerry scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “Y'know, if you asked me that two years ago, I woulda told ya to fuck off and ended the interview right there and then. No, the song is not about Johnny. He's been dead for over 50 years.”

Kenzie folded a leg over his knee and slightly loosened his tie, trying to appear unbothered. “Sources say about two years ago you and Samurai got back together for a one-off gig. You’re saying it wasn’t a memorial for Johnny? Especially when the lead guitarist you hired to take his place was rumoured to play and act exactly like him during the show? And then a few days later, your label announced you were working on a new album?”

That shitfuck gonk. Kerry’s jaw tightened as he forced a smile. "The gig was just for a bitta fun, Kenzie. It wasn't all about Johnny. I’d say the gig helped me shut that door so I could keep goin’ on with life.”

“Are you referring to your alleged suicide attempt?”

Shit, his mouth got away on him again.

Kerry’s eyes hardened and he forced a laugh, but it was devoid of humour. “You wanna talk about that, huh? Not the album, not the music, not the tour. You wanna dig up dirt on me for your shitty screamsheet? I made the best damn album of my career. So how about we focus on that instead of sensationalising my personal life?”

Kenzie awkwardly cleared his throat, feathers ruffled. “Moving on. What’s next for Kerry Eurodyne?”

“Next? I keep making music. I keep living my life. And maybe, just maybe, I stop being asked stupid questions.”

With the interview over, Kerry wanted to retreat as soon as possible to his fancy hotel room. He nodded to the hotel security then briskly attempted to make his way to the elevator, but he was stopped by his assistant calling after him. Sighing, he turned in his tracks.

“I’m sorry - I tried to tell them not to ask any personal questions about your private life -"

“Eh, they weren’t ever gonna listen to you. You’ll learn that after you get a few years under your belt in this job.”

Yuki wrung her hands together and nodded. “Your limo will be here in about two hours. I've arranged for the driver to meet you at the lobby door, so expect paparazzi. Francis just arrived in Paris and is on his way from the Orbital Port, too. He’ll escort you to the limo.”

Yuki was damn good at her job. Organised, efficient, and surprisingly pleasant to talk to, if a tad nervous. She was young, way too nice, and she hadn’t a single speck of corpo in her, and that's what he liked about her. However, Kerry wondered how long it would be before the industry chewed her up and spat out. Francis was his new bodyguard hired by the label. Kerry didn't dislike the guy; he was okay, but he had the personality of soggy cardboard and he was too good at his job. He always stuck to him like glue and watched him like a hawk.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks Yuki. I need some sleep. When Francis gets here, make sure he doesn't disturb me, okay? Guy walks too loud.”

Truth be told, Francis was as light-footed as they came, but Kerry rarely had any alone time these days. If he could get him to keep his distance maybe he could finally relax.

After finally making it to the elevator, Kerry soon settled into his opulent suite, decorated in the epitome of Parisian luxury. Rich velvet drapes framed a dramatic window, an ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling casting a warm glow throughout the room, the walls were adorned with intricate plaster mouldings and framed artwork that spoke of old-world charm. A grand mahogany desk, polished to a sheen, stood near the window and the king-sized bed with emerald sheets made of real cotton—not the synth stuff—was the room's centrepiece, flanked by plush, overstuffed chairs. Every detail, from the thick, handwoven rugs to the delicate porcelain vases, exuded an air of sophistication so rarely seen in Night City.

Kerry poured himself a generous glass of aged cognac from the crystal decanter on the desk and savoured the burn as it danced over his tongue. Through the window, the Eiffel Tower loomed far off in the distance like a shadow cut out of the setting sun.

Earlier that day in his limousine, he witnessed a starkly different reality to the view of the city his window offered him. Paris, though beautiful from a distance, revealed its grittier side up close. Footpaths were cluttered with overflowing garbage, there were ongoing strikes amongst the working class, riots had broken out in front of the president’s home, and vandalism had damaged most of the historic buildings. There was a lot of social unrest here.

The wail of sirens pierced the evening air from the street and Kerry's mind wandered back to V. Among all the people in his life, V was the only one who truly grasped the dichotomy of his career, who never made him feel like a sellout. But two years was a long time. Kerry had already come to terms with V being gone, which is why it surprised him that he couldn’t get that brief, awkward holocall out of his head. At first, after the call, it was easy to shove V into the back of his mind. He had his concerts to focus on and parties to attend. The Crystal Palace was his dream venue, and he enjoyed every damn minute of it. V’s return didn’t feel real. It wasn't real. He was just another ghost from the past, and he was done living in the past. But as the days went by with back-to-back shows, the reality of V's face peering at him through the holo, gaunt and scarred, began to sink in.

V had been his anchor in a sea of chaos. He was there when Kovachek fucked him over, he helped him team up with Us Cracks, and he stood by him during his revenge plan to destroy Kovachek’s boat. V was there for him all while he was going through hell with Johnny – and he didn’t have to do any of it. He wasn't sure he'd even be drinking cognac in Paris right now while getting ready for a show if it weren't for the mercenary's help.

The heartbeat of Paris filtered through his window, drawing him from his thoughts. He listened to it as he enjoyed another sip of his drink. The city's cacophony seemed to align like puzzle pieces into a strange and troubled harmony. He tapped along with the rhythm against the window as dusk settled into night, and then he reached for his guitar.