As Ji-hwan stepped out of the blood-soaked slaughterhouse and onto the roof of the abandoned factory, a blue hologram split the air in front of him.
What appeared on the screen was a geometric, intricately layered encryption code of the highest security grade—something ordinary mercs or hackers would go their entire lives without ever seeing.
Staring at the ominous spinning light, Ji-hwan barely managed to part his cracked lips.
"Who are you?"
At his question, his voice rough with blood and fatigue, a low, alluring laugh came from beyond the hologram. It belonged to a middle-aged woman whose absolute authority carried the power to decide life and death in Night City’s back alleys.
[You sound surprised. Well, I get it. You just came out of a fight where you were betting your life on every second.]
It was the voice of Rogue Amendiares, a living legend of Night City and the queen of fixers who ruled the club known as Afterlife—the final destination of every big-name merc in the city.
[Ever since you first set foot in the city, I had a few of my own informants tailing you. But after a few alleys, you slipped their eyes and ears like a ghost and vanished cleanly. Not many top-tier mercs could pull that off without noticing.]
At Rogue’s relaxed words, Ji-hwan frowned faintly and touched his blood-smeared brow.
Instinct. That was how he’d noticed someone’s sticky gaze on his back and shaken them off in the alleys. But he never imagined those watchers had been the queen of Afterlife’s own people.
[Still, no one in this city can hide completely. What you did for that kid crying in the alley after losing his mother... the way you rescued that old couple cornered by gangbangers... and lately, the way you’ve been so diligently "cleaning" the backstreets while chasing down Maelstrom’s filthy little crimes...]
Ji-hwan’s eyes narrowed coldly.
No matter how carefully he moved through the blind spots of CCTV, it seemed he still couldn’t escape the wide reach of the woman sitting at the very top of this city’s information network.
"So the queen of Afterlife was listening in on every breath I took."
More than annoyance, a strange sort of admiration came first. Ji-hwan twisted his blood-dried lips and let out a dry snort.
"So that’s all you dug up while snooping around behind me? For Night City’s best fixer, you sure sound pretty bored tonight. If you’ve got nothing useful to say, I’m hanging up."
Despite Ji-hwan’s provocative tone, Rogue’s voice through the hologram only deepened with interest and amusement.
[No, I’d say I left out the most important part.]
Her voice dropped, becoming more serious.
[My network confirmed that you went inside... but I’m curious what exactly you did to that Maelstrom stronghold by yourself. Their entire comms network went completely silent. What the hell did you do in there?]
Ji-hwan briefly recalled the mangled lump of flesh that had been Vice, sprawled at his feet on the bunker’s shattered concrete floor just moments ago.
The bastard’s screams as he begged for his life, and Ji-hwan’s merciless dismantling work that buried those screams for good. In a voice utterly devoid of emotion, he answered.
"Revenge."
That was all it was. For someone else’s sake or not, that was the beginning and end of it.
At that short, dry answer, a heavy silence fell over the line for a moment, carrying the weight of the murderous intent behind it. Then Rogue’s hearty, satisfied laughter cut cleanly through the cold night air on the rooftop.
[Hahaha! Good. I like that. Much better than those third-rate wannabes who ramble on about their glorious exploits to excuse themselves or make themselves sound bigger than they are. That one short answer proves your worth.]
Ding.
[Received: Afterlife VIP Invitation and Encrypted Coordinates]
A blue notification popped up in the corner of Ji-hwan’s vision.
[Drop by Afterlife sometime soon. I’ll even buy you a drink myself. I’d like to see with my own eyes whether you really have what it takes to become the city’s next "legend." I’m looking forward to it.]
"No, I’m not interested in that kind of thing..."
Before he could finish, the encrypted call cut out without giving Ji-hwan a chance to answer.
Ji-hwan stuffed the blacked-out hologram phone back into his bloodstained jacket pocket and let out a dumbfounded sigh.
Seriously, this insane city never let him rest for even one second.
Before he could even wash the blood off, another massive power was already trying to grab his leash and yank him around.
At the same time, in Night City’s premier merc club, Afterlife.
Past the noisy electronic beat filling the hall, the cheap synth beer, and the thick smells of sweat and gunpowder from dangerous mercs, there was a private VIP room tucked away in the deepest, most secretive part of the club.
Rogue Amendiares leaned back halfway into a plush, top-grade natural leather sofa, lost in interesting thoughts.
"Rogue, your whiskey. Just one ice cube, like always."
Then came a soft, gentle voice.
Claire Russell, Afterlife’s resident bartender, carefully set a heavy crystal glass down on the table.
Even among the savage mercs where blood was spilled every other day, she never lost that easy, friendly smile of hers.
"Thanks, Claire. You can head out now. Tell the guard not to let anyone in."
When Rogue gave a light wave, Claire silently nodded and slipped out of the VIP room.
Once the thick soundproof door shut completely and the outside noise was cut off, perfect silence settled in. Rogue lifted a hologram panel into the air with one hand, the other holding a cold glass of whiskey.
The blue data floating densely in the air was a detailed file on "Kim Ji-hwan"—the mysterious Asian merc who had recently been tearing through Night City’s backstreets.
Originally, this had been highly sensitive top-secret information, carefully hidden away by Dakota Smith, the big-name fixer of the Badlands, deep inside her highest-security server.
But exactly how Rogue had used illegal backchannels, how much eurodollars she had spent, and what kind of genius-grade netrunner she had brought in to steal the entire security file from Dakota’s database was something only Rogue knew.
"Zero chrome implants. No artificial cyberware at all... and yet he’s a rookie who chewed through an elite Zetatech tactical unit with nothing but his bare body. Not some fairy tale magic, either."
Rogue took a sip of whiskey and scanned Ji-hwan’s profile on the hologram with gleaming interest.
At the very bottom of the file, she typed in the fresh report her informants had just delivered: the complete destruction of the Maelstrom base.
[Final update: Partial destruction of Maelstrom forces in the area and death of leadership, including a named target (Vice). Solo operation successful.]
Watching the data update, Rogue’s red lips curved into a very attractive smile.
For decades, she had sat in this dark corner of Afterlife and watched countless mercs and so-called legends appear like moths to a flame, only to turn into a handful of ash and vanish without a trace. She had seen more cyberpsychos than she could count, their bodies decked out in chrome until ninety percent of them were machine.
But never once in her long life had she seen a living thing move in a way that so thoroughly shattered Night City’s standards and common sense, all while breaking through the limits of the human body by sheer force.
"Dakota, you sharp old fox. Now I finally get why you wanted to keep a rookie like this locked away and use him all for yourself..."
Rogue downed the remaining whiskey in her glass in one go, imagining the day he would soon walk through Afterlife’s heavy doors with confidence.
And for the first time in a long while, a deep current of curiosity and excitement flashed in her once-bored eyes.
[Call ended]
Back on the factory rooftop, the hologram vanished into the air after Rogue’s call ended.
Ji-hwan shoved the phone into his bloodstained jacket pocket and leaned heavily against the rooftop railing, as if he might collapse at any moment.
Then the adrenaline that had been surging wildly through his veins throughout the fight, burning his blood like fire, finally rushed out of his body all at once as his tension broke.
In its place came a horrific wave of exhaustion, and a pain so intense it felt like his ligaments and muscles were literally being torn apart.
It was the brutal backlash of pushing his limiter past its maximum using nothing but the raw strength of the human body, without the help of chrome.
His head spun dizzily, and the neon lights smeared across his vision as the world swayed.
'Damn... no way. Driving a motorcycle all the way to the Badlands in this condition is insane. I’d die on the roadside before I got there.'
Even simple thought was being rejected by his overloaded brain.
Breathing hard, with hot blood mixed into every rough exhale, Ji-hwan decided to find somewhere nearby in Watson to crash for a few days and get some food and sleep first.
He dragged his creaking body down the rusted metal stairs from the factory roof.
From the lower levels of the factory, intermittent grotesque metallic screeches, beastlike laughter, and pitiful screams still drifted up—apparently Brick and Royce were still putting on a cheerful(?) dissection show with the remaining scraps of Vice’s flesh Ji-hwan had left them. Turning his back completely on that disgusting, blood-soaked noise, Ji-hwan trudged toward his motorcycle, which he had hidden under a camouflage tarp in a dark alley corner.
Step, step.
Only the sound of blood dripping from his shoes echoed through the alley.
Walking through the damp, filthy alley with no one around, Ji-hwan pulled the hologram phone from his pocket again and tapped a familiar number.
Before the ringtone could even sound three times, the call connected immediately.
[Ji-hwan? ...So you were alive after all.]
It was Dakota Smith, the big-name fixer of the Badlands. Her voice was blunt and rough, but underneath it was clear relief.
Ji-hwan opened his stiff lips.
"Yeah. It’s done. I took care of the bastard buried under the Maelstrom base."
[How? It couldn’t have been easy to drag him out, could it?]
"I just... no, anyway, I wrapped him up nicely and delivered him to Royce and Brick. The Maelstrom bastards can handle the cleanup themselves."
[Wrapped him up...? What... ]
At Ji-hwan’s utterly calm, matter-of-fact report, a long, deep sigh of relief flowed through the line from Dakota’s side.
[Still... I’m glad. Honestly, I was worried sick you’d lose your head to revenge and wipe out every last Maelstrom bastard in that factory. When you deal with cyberpsychos fully swallowed by their madness, even a sane person can end up drunk on the blood and turn into a monster... Anyway, I owe you one. Thanks, Ji-hwan.]
There was more than businesslike gratitude in Dakota’s voice. It was sincere.
[Because you finished that bastard tonight, the poor souls he was ripping open alive and using as meat shields can finally rest a little easier too. You did good. Really.]
"What, me? I’m exhausted enough to have my eyeballs fall out. ...But Dakota, before we hang up, let me ask you one thing."
Ji-hwan stopped in front of his motorcycle and yanked the camouflage tarp off the seat.
"Just now, a woman named Rogue Amendiares contacted me on my personal line. She shoved an invitation with coordinates to Afterlife’s VIP room in my face. She seemed to know everything I did in that factory tonight. Unless you leaked it, do you know anything about this?"
The moment that cold question fell, Dakota’s breathing stopped on the other end.
A short, frigid silence. Then came the sound of something hard slamming onto a desk, followed by the savage grinding of teeth.
[......So Rogue stole it after all... Hah. She’s crossed the line.]
Right after Ji-hwan entered Night City from the Badlands, Dakota had noticed the unpleasant traces of someone forcing their way into her top-security server.
She had immediately raised the firewall and tried to trace them back, but the intruder vanished like a ghost without leaving even the slightest trail.
Only now did the puzzle finally click into place: who had been behind that insane hack, and why Ji-hwan’s data had been singled out and stolen.
[That bitch Rogue really did strip my database bare. She even brought in some expensive military-grade icebreaker just to steal your information... Fine. I’m putting this down as a very expensive debt in my ledger. I’ll make her choke on blood for it someday.]
At Dakota’s low, furious muttering, Ji-hwan scratched at his bloodstained brow.
"I don’t know how things work between fixers, but... do I really need to go there? I’d rather just ignore it because it sounds like a hassle."
[If Rogue personally called you out, there’s no way to avoid it forever in this rotten city. No matter how annoying it is, showing your face once is just how the backstreets work. And if the queen of Afterlife called you herself, that means she could be a pretty solid lifeline for you as you move through this crazy city.]
'And she’ll probably pass along the annoying gigs too.'
Suppressing her boiling anger, Dakota gave the most rational advice she could.
[But you don’t need to rush over and kiss her ass right this second... and just hearing your voice, you sound like you’re about to be carried to a morgue. Rest first, Ji-hwan. Rogue can wait a day or two, so get some proper sleep.]
"I was already thinking of crashing somewhere nearby anyway. My whole body feels like every bone in it’s about to snap, so I’m not making it to the Badlands tonight. I’ll call you again once I’ve got my head straight."
The call ended. Ji-hwan lifted his lead-heavy legs and climbed onto the motorcycle.
Vroooom—!
With a rough exhaust note like a beast’s roar, the motorcycle slid out of the dark alley.
As Ji-hwan twisted the throttle, Night City’s flashing holograms and garish neon signs streaked across the rain-slick asphalt before his eyes.
He was riding through the empty roads of Watson, the cold wind cutting at him, when—
Bzzzt— bzzzt—
A lighter notification buzzed from inside his jacket pocket, different from the heavy vibrations of the calls with Rogue and Dakota.
Ji-hwan eased off the speed a little and pulled out the hologram phone with one hand, bringing the screen up.
[Sender: Falco]
It was that cheerful, gutsy nomad driver who had recently taken off with the swaggering claim that he was going to rob corporate logistics from Aerospacial in this crazy city—and then had gone silent for a while, making Ji-hwan wonder if he’d gotten himself killed.
Along with a short text message, a high-resolution photo appeared on the screen.
『Hey, my romantic Eastern friend! Enjoying the Night City night? As you can see, I’m having a damn amazing night!』
Ji-hwan let out a snort and opened the photo.
In it, Falco had a thick cigar hanging crookedly from his mouth as he adjusted his trademark mustache and flashed a cocky V sign at the camera. Behind him, there were mountains of Aerospacial corporate cargo boxes—easily enough to fill two giant container trucks.
That wasn’t all. On either side of Falco, rough-looking but cheerful armed mercs were perched on top of the loot crates, clinking cheap beer bottles together and cheering like maniacs. To pull off a huge job like robbing corporate logistics in savage Night City and still survive long enough to send proof shots afterward—that kind of guts was something else.
"That bastard. He really did pull it off."
Ji-hwan’s eyes, which had been ice-cold just moments ago while tearing Vice apart, softened as he looked at the rowdy photo.
In this shitty concrete jungle full of blood and endless betrayal, the fact that there were people this stubbornly, absurdly cheerful enough to survive anyway felt strangely comforting.
With a lighter heart, Ji-hwan twisted the throttle hard.
Racing through the rain of the glittering city center, he soon spotted a shabby, run-down motel on the outskirts, its sign half-broken and blinking in a grotesque stutter.
Whether it was the queen of Afterlife’s sly gaze or the power struggles of fixers, none of it mattered to him right now.
All he needed was a bucket of hot water to wash off this miserable exhaustion and the disgusting blood of other people clinging to him, plus a cheap mattress to lie his torn-up back on.
Ji-hwan tossed off his helmet and opened the motel’s worn-out door with heavy steps.
Inside, he was finally going to get some sleep.
And maybe, for a few hours, Night City would leave him alone.
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