ughfr I like thinking about angel motifs in reference to engram Johnny, and religious motifs in general with him and Vs relationship, all cuz of some throwaway line meant as a 'joke', almost. But it's like, he is a guardian angel, isn't he?
(heavy religious themes)
He's that thing suspended, only existing between life and death, but also? Legitimately V's guardian angel. The only one who had been picking them up when they were down, literally. The thing that saves them, condemns them, revives them so many times after, like during the scav side mission. The only one who could protect them at the time, when he brought them back to the Sofia. Who saved them again in the elevator.
And especially when I think of how, in my eyes, Johnny always considered himself something much much less than deserving, much much worse than any kind of angel, even the ugly ones with all their fucked up eyes. Something sinful, ruined, divergent, deserving of hurt, an eternity of self punishment. And here he is, finding himself to be one of the only omnipresent forces that V can rely on, that reminds V there's something bigger than V, both of them, at play here. Johnny preaches that to V constantly, even.
How Johnny is the only one who can see everything V is doing, like god, how it's pushed that god always knows what you're thinking, doing, needing, desiring, tempted towards, succumbing.
How Johnny's the snake too, telling V, convincing them, to do what he thinks is selfishly the best for himself, but not for them. Tells him 'do it' when they have a fucked up, impulsive thought that could damn both of them. Who puts V through penance, harsh words and petty punishments. That no matter the players choice, he influences V, corrupting them, making them crave cigarettes like Johnny's sin lives through them too, because it does, doesn't it? If that's all he thinks he is? How you might not even notice, as a player, how he influences your choices and actions too, with V. A devil in disguise, snake with a silver tongue.
That to Johnny, with a V who does love him, it does feel like worship, because V's the only one who can love him, see him, believe in him. Ground his existence into reality. To be acknowledged, taken into consideration. Who can read him like a book. An angel who speaks through V, talks to V. Who V wills into existence through belief and faith alone. Belief and faith that Johnny is real and so are their secret conversations, hidden only between them and god. Worship so strong they give themselves over to Johnny, like many do with gods, angels, jesus. Gives themselves over to Its love, even. Gives Johnny the body, and believes him into existence, love given and faith all too trusting.
V's final waking moment in real space, baptized, then reborn with a new soul into a digital landscape, free roaming, the promise of free will like an illusion. Like wealth, freedom, a heaven. Much more of one, at least, than the hell Johnny was trapped in, in Mikoshi.
Johnny risen again, after 50 years, prophetic. Johnny reborn into a new body. Johnny who's been saved, who's atoned, who's changed, who's repented. Soul a little lighter now, accepting and wanting to be different. Who wants to honor V again, the way V had done for him, putting their faith in him so strongly that Johnny can create a whole new chapter, a whole new testament to a whole new life he's still unsure he deserves.
Johnny and the metaphor of his trailer, of this disgusting near inhospitable space he lives in, both body and mind, that when he invites you in, and tells you to keep your shoes on and mind your feet of all the glass and don't touch anything that looks a little strange yet you're too curious about what the fuck kind of stain is coating it right now and the mold you'll potentially breath in and his AC that doesn't work except only to permeate the space with heat and the smell of warm cooking garbage and odor, that he's forewarning you at the welcome mat, when he lets you inside, if he does, because christ if he doesn't let just anybody in, if anyone at all,
he's forewarning you and saying something else there too, about himself in many different ways, don't get comfortable, that he's sharp and will cut, especially when you least expect it, that you don't get too curious, don't try to figure him out when he doesn't even know, don't go poking where you don't belong, don't set him off when you ask, that he'll harm you eventually, even if it's slow growing but the effects will show up one day in you and your life all the same, eventually when you realize you can't breathe the same like you used to, that he's gross and some days can't bring himself to shower, can't bring himself to fix it or his problems, that he's disgusting, something nasty warped by something he'll never get over, something that sticks like stink to shit, that he's not nice or kind or warm-hearted, but something else that will cook you from the outside in, himself included
mmmhm delicious image of Johny and Kerry absolutely covered n blood n gore like they just walked off the battlefield, alive together, adrenaline still pumping as they just fought off the worst hoard they've encountered yet, Johnny grabbing Kerry by the back of the neck, pulling him in, an act of camaraderie between soldiers almost, resting their foreheads together with the most crazed intense manic look you've ever seen, unblinking, eye contact burning, still breathing hard from the fight,
'Like a brother to me, you know that, right?' he'll tell Kerry, grip firmer now, 'Me and you, we're in this together, till the end, got that?' which to Kerry sounds an awful lot like, 'I need you, alright? I admit it. you can't leave me, please, not yet.' a plea over the blood still rushing in their ears
okay but Johnny after getting out of cryostasis? finally dethawed and blood pumping almost warm again? imagine with me the total mindfuck it'd be for him when he starts aging again
(talks of death and mortality and a slight overlay of depressing silvervdyne by the end)
he died in his 30s, that's the last he remembers himself looking, suspended for years in cyber hell experiencing a marathon loop of reliving his own memories, only ever sees himself make it to his 30s before it starts all over again, has seen himself in his 30s for the last 50 years now, it's all he knows, and it's all he sees
then he's alive again, sorta, in V's eyes at least, and Johnny can see what V sees, a weird glitched out feedback image of himself, like looking through a poorly developed photo, abberated, third person perspective of himself every time he reappears for V and talks and rants and paces to him, for weeks maybe months on end, there he is, 35, unaging again, just like when he was asleep, seeing his own face in the memories of his that V relived, seeing his own face anytime he showed himself
then he wakes up again, a little colder feeling, a little colder looking, wakes up wrong, sick, healthier, missing a piece of himself he left in V, missing a piece of himself he left in the relic, it's weird, recognizes himself yet doesn't, face his but its own thing entirely, almost haunting, how he expects to see V again, expects to look young like himself again, sees his face and it's young and old and infinitely timeless, preserved, yet haggard, prolonged
then months rolls by, and he's aging again, maybe a little quicker this time, like he was still abusing drugs that were weathering him down with premature wrinkles, but no. He's 36 now and soon 37 38 39 40. skin sagging, losing facial definition, hair turning white at the roots, some strands that he can't hide behind the boxed hair dye, not in the salt n pepper of his beard, nor body hair, smile and frown and anger lines deeper, youth tied to humanity the way anything is in this world, already feels like a walking corpse a lot of the days, but to see and feel this thing that reminds him he's still human yet feeling lesser than for it, god the cognitive dissonance he must feel, that disconnect there, dysmorphic the image he sees, always shifting, always the same, the incongruence when he looks in the mirror and expects to see that 25 year olds' face, to see his own 35 year old face, that's now ticking up too close to 40, time he just got back already feeling like it's slipping between his fingers, neverlasting and yet,
I don't think he'd get cosmetic work done, not like Kerry even though he's suggested it before, when Johnny first showed how much he was freaking out about it, shown in the silence as he studied his face too long and too hard in the mirror just before their shower, I feel like that would b something like hmm admitting something to himself he doesn't want to admit, again like a feeling of defeat, probably used to talk heavy shit about people who got work done like that, for aging, 'people too scared to b 'ganic these days', was a personal stance of his even that he was pretty stubborn about, seeing that I don't think he was a guy who enjoyed heavy chrome or youth enhancements beyond like. his arm obvi (which he hated anyway) and a couple new pairs of lungs n livers for selfish self destructive use,
it's just a mind fuck really, to see yourself suspended in age for so long just to watch urself get older again, something that should feel like a privilege to him, but isn't, like watching those sped up videos of food rotting, mold seeping that's eating him up and drying him out and warping his face into something and someone different and new and the same, and it scares him and thrills him and makes him angry, makes him want to go back to the relic, to escape it, escape V dying still, his aging a reminder of mortality, of himself and V and Kerry, makes him want to go back to cyrosleep, to be put back in suspension again, makes him want to be forced thru another endless loop of memories from when he was younger, to remind himself of what he looked like, to remind himself he's still him, to remind himself that this is a face he should feel grateful to have again, each wrinkle a new meaning and another tick on the wall of days he got to live again, the days he resented, the days so new and bright and scary and doomed and inevitable, just like everything always way,
V was going to die, soon, Kerry too, eventually, and then Johnny would be left with a face that is his, that isn't his, a face waiting to die too
ohffff found a good song that made me think about something I wrote way back when about Kerry wishing it'd be easier if he never met Johnny at all, down the final last steps of their relationship, before they fall off their path and their relationship crumbles from the weight of it, Kerry having enough, like how in abusive relationships, you think it would be easier if one you died, that maybe then you'll be able to get away from it, escape it fully, because you know the pull will still be there even if you do leave, and you know you won't be able to help yourself, that eventually ull b pulling up their contact bc u miss them and the good times and u want to live there for a little while more, because you crave it, the (mis)treatment, wires crossed and love a whole new definition now, that it'd be easier, Kerry thinks, if Johnny died. Or Kerry did instead, because how could he want that for Johnny? think that about him, selfishly? When he's the one who wants to escape?
something that to me, plays off of the suicidal ideation I see Kerry struggling with loooooonnggg before 2077 or even ever meeting Johnny, forming samurai, something he had always daydreamed about even as a kid
Johnny and his trailer another thing that haunts him,
that he doesn't want to come home to, looming, can't ever seem to get himself comfortable these days, relax, feel safe, not like he didn't at Kerry's, to the extent he let himself anyway, never in a way he'd admit, doesn't want to come home to the trailer like his body or the memories or nightmares that soak sweat into a dirty mattress on the floor, doesn't want to come home to himself, doesn't want to come home reminded of himself, his being lathered like gunk and mold creeping on walls and the dirty dishes on the counter, yellowing and peeling like the posters on the wall, like the near black stains settled in the rugs, doesn't want to come home to the empty fridge, filled with leftovers well passed expiration, save for a couple beers,
doesn't want to come home to a bedroom he can't even close the door of, can't lock, to make sure nothing breaks in like his delusions of paranoia convince him will happen, doesn't want to come home to the hallucinations like writing on the mirror, broken voices and metal rattling, quick dashes of black from the corner of his eyes, visual glitches, doesn't want to come home to the drugs, the spinning out, the hangovers, masochistic, doesn't want to come home having to face himself when he spends so much time running from it, he tells himself it'll start tomorrow, he'll pick up, make up a new place Silverhand can be proud off, but it's Johnny who lives there, in the dark rooms, isolating himself until he finally decides the life Silverhand will make for them, fetid stifled air in a overheating trailer a little easier to breathe cuz Johnny won't be around to have to see his failure painted across so clearly anymore, Silverhand will be the one to do something about, like he always is
ouggffff thinking of silverdyne brokeback mountain au.. his father showing robbie what happens to men who ain't what they supposed to be... Robert going out on that job to brokeback the first time around to get away from his father, get money and save up to move and find himself a respectable girl and decent job at any other ranch to make themselves a home, make himself a life outside his father's farm.... Robert who introduces himself to Kerry as Johnny, cuz ain't he needing to be knowing all that, ain't needing to bring that kid he was all the way out here with them, out in brokeback, it'll be different, he could be anyone and ain't no one'd be the wiser
(dialogue blurb under cut)
"Kerry Eurodyne," kid offers, hand out and expectant, mouth slanted in something too awfully friendly, clear he thinks he's charming. Robert grunts, considers it for a moment, smoke puffing out from around his cigar, no move to be made.
"John."
The Kerry fella chuckles, like there's something funny about that. He shakes his head like he expected as much.
"What," brown eyes glint on up over at him, all too bright and near orange. "Your folks just stopped at John?"
Robert's lip pulls, plucking the cigar from his mouth with his bad hand. Joints ache rolling the butt between his fingers, near crushing as annoyance flairs. At the poor fucker for asking too much.
"Linder," he grits. Don't know why he does. Not like he owes the kid nothing. It's beyond him, really, as he looks out into the expanse surrounding them.
The chuckle from behind reaches around him softly, though, softer than the harsh light of the day and the sun beating down on them. Then it's the sound of the ground kicking up, shifting, rubber against loose soil and gravel.
"Nice to know you, John Linder."
The cigar is placed back, teeth biting down harsh. One puff, then two, sound popping sharp from his lips.
