168. Good Morning, Johnny
Cold. Darkness. Trembling.
Johnny Silverhand's consciousness gradually rose from the depths of chaos, like a diver finally breaking the surface. The fog clouding his thoughts dispersed, and sensations rushed in like a tide—a feeling of life he had almost forgotten.
Every inch of his skin conveyed unfamiliar sensations, and every breath carried the chill of fresh air.
Driven by instinct, he tried to move his fingers. The feedback from those tiny joint movements was so familiar, yet incomparably strange. This body—heavy, warm, filled with the faint vitality of flowing blood.
"Not bad. Your body's in very good condition." A familiar voice sounded beside him, carrying a hint of teasing. "Get up, Johnny. Open your eyes. You're awake, so quit pretending to sleep."
That utterly familiar, slightly impatient urging was like a key, completely reconnecting Johnny to the real world.
He opened his eyes.
Light flooded in, a little harsh—almost dazzling.
He blinked, adjusting to the body's most basic physiological response. His vision gradually cleared, and he saw the laboratory's cold ceiling lights and smelled the faint scent of disinfectant in the air.
He moved—not with thought-driven commands on a data level, but with real movements, muscles pulling bones. He propped himself up on his elbows, and this simple process was filled with novelty and clumsiness.
"How does it feel, superstar?" Oliver stood beside him with his arms folded. "According to those researchers, the new body needs time to adapt. The neural connections need to settle in, so don't expect to jump up and start playing guitar right away."
Johnny did not answer immediately.
He lowered his head and looked at his hands—not cold cybernetic metal anymore, but human hands covered in skin, blue veins visible beneath it. He clenched his fists, feeling that long-lost, genuine sense