[ Last time Vincent felt this numb was when he lost both of his arms to a salvage job gone wrong. Yet this time the phantom pains and sense of loss aren't due to something, but someone.

Johnny's gone.

Knew it'd be hard to let go of his tapeworm, but this is... Didn't understand that becoming intrinsically linked to everything that makes up that someone else meant losing a piece of himself too. So yes, he won against Arasaka by destroying their tower of horrors, Mikoshi's servers—but it all tastes like ashes in his mouth.

And now he's here, drafted into another battle he doesn't quite understand. The stars are beautiful but they cannot fill the void gnawing at his soul, begging to be filled with the presence who used to be there. Doesn't even see his face in the deep purples and coral pinks—instead it's Johnny's. Always Johnny.

I see your eyes, I know you see me
You're like a ghost how you're everywhere

That night in Watson, his apartment. How Johnny smashed his head against the window, told him to stick some iron in his mouth and pull the trigger. His roiling anger washing over all, so thick Vincent tasted it at the back of his mouth, coppery, pungent. Vincent craves it. Acerbic anger to wash away this nothingness like the tsunami Johnny Silverhand was.

Was.

Vincent shuts his eyes tightly, lips shaking. Bumps his head against the viewing glass. Then does it again, over and over, harder, faster until the whole window shakes. Maybe if he splits his head open, like Johnny did that night, he'll feel something again. ]

[ Whatever it is going on down there, it has nothing to do with Vincent. He needs a project, stat. Anything to distract him from what (and who) he's left behind.

Support. This isn't his battle—or it won't be until he gets more info. With his cyberwear non-functional and fresh off another battle, he'll be no good to anyone as a fighter until he catches his breath. But logistics and repair? That he can do. A nomad's bread and butter. His form of Zen.

Stellar Nomad. Fate's funny like that. Trades maneuverability and speed for steadiness and personal space. It's no fighter, but right now a base of operations appeals more than joyriding or racing. Can be his new Galena. It's even red like that ancient, beloved piece of junk of his.

Multi-tool on hand, V wastes no time getting into its guts. He's wrist-deep in an electronic panel, under one of its wings, when half of his body pops out from under, holding out his hand. ] Hey, can you pass me that fuse-looking thing? Chip. Thanks.

[ OOC: Feel free to plot something else at me, PM me or PP at tsuchinoko if you'd like to work something out. ]