As the sleek, vintage-style sports car slowly came into view, Karl hadn't even gotten a clear look yet when Johnny Silverhand exploded in the physical world.
"Fuck! That's my goddamn car!"
Iron Chunk jumped at the sudden outburst from the mechanical dog, nearly drawing his weapon. Karl, frowning, stared at the antique vehicle. "Your car?"
"Didn't expect one of Adam Smasher's goons to be hiding my baby!" Johnny's voice trembled with excitement. "Porsche 911. 1977 legend! Miles better than that piece-of-shit Hera you drive!"
"Really?"
Karl squinted at the Porsche 911. After confirming it was a two-seater, his interest immediately waned. "Another two-seater. I hate two-seaters."
"You don't know jack shit about classics!" Johnny's projection began pacing frantically in front of the car. "This beauty could trade for its weight in gold right now! If V and the crew were here, they'd be on their knees begging me just to touch the steering wheel! Come on, come on, lemme in! I'll show you what the flashiest ride in Night City looks like!"
Karl sighed and turned to Iron Chunk. "Thanks for guiding us. Seems like the contents of this container fall under my jurisdiction. I'll be taking them. You can go find Officer Andy now. That alright?"
"N-no problem." Iron Chunk finally managed to pull his eyes away from the dog jumping around like it was possessed. Clearly eager to leave this bizarre scene, he said, "I'll go find Officer Andy right away."
Watching Iron Chunk all but run off, Karl turned his attention back and stepped into the dim container.
Dust floated in the shafts of angled light, casting a hazy veil over the Porsche 911. Karl extended a finger and swiped it gently across the hood, immediately picking up a thick layer of dust.
It had probably been sitting here for at least six months, with no dust cover—hence the dull, grimy appearance.
"Johnny," Karl flicked his fingers, shaking off the dust, "this car's been idle for at least half a year. No cover, either. The ethanol's probably all evaporated from the tank. You sure this thing'll still start?"
"Shut it!" Johnny's projection whooshed in front of the car. A few robotic arms extended from the dog-shaped body, checking each part with surgical precision. As mechanical joints hummed, his tone spiked with glee: "Damn! That Smasher lackey knew his stuff—this baby's in way better condition than I expected!"
Karl watched as the robotic arms trembled with excitement, like a long-lost father reuniting with his child. The projection even tried fixing its hair in the rear-view mirror—even though the reflection was just a dog's face.
"Just clean it up and fill it with gas, and I swear everyone in Watson'll break their necks turning to look!" Johnny thumped the car door with his body, sending up clouds of dust.
"You said it was 'the flashiest' ride a minute ago, now it'll 'break necks'?" Karl shook his head. Still, seeing Johnny this happy was a rare thing. His eyes scanned the rest of the container and spotted something in the corner—a standing bundle and a metal box with transparent tape wrapped around the corners for collision protection.
Grayson had said there were personal items in here too.
Karl remembered Iron Chunk mentioning them.
Personal items—and considering the car belonged to Johnny Silverhand, those items stored alongside it probably did too.
With that in mind, and while Johnny was still circling the car like he was catching up with a long-lost lover, Karl began unwrapping the bundle and opening the metal box.
Layer by layer, the packaging peeled away until a cold metallic sheen was revealed—a chrome-plated cyberarm, resting silently in shock-absorbent foam. It gleamed with a cold, silvery light in the dim container, and its iconic design and unique engraving made Karl recognize the "legendary relic" immediately.
"Johnny," Karl called, shaking the mechanical arm slightly. "I found your silver hand."
"My silver—wait a sec!" Johnny's projection swiveled toward Karl. The moment he saw the arm, the hologram flickered violently, as if gasping in shock. "Fuck! That can't be—"
"Your arm. 2077 model," Karl said in a mock auctioneer's voice. "With fifty years of vintage wear."
"Adam Smasher, you sick fuckin' hoarder!" Johnny's projection flared into red static. The mechanical dog started rampaging in the container, clawing at the steel walls with screeching metallic scrapes. "I should've turned his goddamn brains into a souvenir back in the day!"
Karl watched the outburst with a quiet shake of his head.
Johnny was clearly overthinking it—first of all, even if Smasher had considered this a war trophy, why would he hand it over to a subordinate for storage? And why would it sit untouched for half a year after the guy died?
This was more likely... some random thing he tossed to his goon without much care.
Karl's eyes shifted to the unopened metal box, and his curiosity grew stronger.
He'd found Johnny Silverhand's car and his cyberarm. Could it be...
Just as Karl began to suspect all the items here might be related to Johnny, the rockerboy seemed to realize the same thing. He stopped obsessing over the car and the arm, and turned his attention to the unopened box in Karl's hands.
"Don't tell me that thing's holding my sunglasses or a lock of my hair. That'd be fuckin' creepy."
"Shouldn't be," Karl said, weighing the box. "Feels like it's holding something solid. Heavy, even."
Something heavy...
Karl suddenly had a pretty good idea of what it might be.
"Johnny, of all the gear you carried back in the day, wasn't there one more thing that always came with your arm?"
"You mean—?"
"Your gun."
Johnny Silverhand had died at Arasaka Tower. According to him, he was clutching his weapon to the very end. If the arm was here, then it made sense the gun would be too.
And Karl had to admit—he was very interested in that gun.
The legendary Malorian Arms 3516, custom-built for Johnny Silverhand. One of a kind.
Semi-automatic, prototype smartlink, compatible with all ammo types, three fire modes: ricochet, wall-penetration, and incendiary.
Karl wouldn't say he was a gun nut, but as a merc, owning a legendary, badass piece like that? He couldn't resist trying it out.
And just as he'd hoped, when he opened the box, lying in the cotton padding inside was—Johnny Silverhand's Malorian.
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🔥 CYBERPUNK: THE RELENTLESS
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🔥 THE STORY DOESN'T STOP HERE. NEITHER DOES HE.
Night City breaks people every day.
Some crawl away.
Some disappear.
And some simply refuse to stop.
Cyberpunk: The Relentless has 500+ chapters ahead available for readers who want to keep going.
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⚡ NO BRAKES. NO MERCY. NO TURNING BACK.
🔫 High-intensity combat
🌃 Night City
🤖 Cyberware & chrome
💀 Deadly enemies
🏢 Corporate warfare
🔥 Escalating conflicts
⚔️ One relentless road forward
Every victory creates another enemy.
Every enemy leads to something bigger.
And Night City always wants another body.
🔥 500+ CHAPTERS AHEAD.
👉 Why stop now?
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