Night City, 2077
The Afterlife pulsed with green light, every wall and table awash with the sickly hue. It sank into the liquor bottles stacked behind the bar, crawled across the concrete floor, and turned every face into something only half-alive. Sofie hated it. The color dragged her back into the moments she feared most. It was the same green tint that bled into the world when her Sandevistan surged to life. She pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, as if that could shut it out.
According to Ares, the bar had once been a morgue. Now, The Afterlife was the beating heart of Night City’s mercenary culture. Every job that mattered passed through these walls, as had every legend worth remembering. The greatest of Night City’s legends had even been added to the menu in the form of their favorite drinks.
Sofie and Ares sat across from a woman who carried herself like the bar belonged to her—because it did. Gray hair cut sharp around a face lined not only with age, but experience, a jacket of black leather stretched over shoulders that had seen more firefights than most mercs would survive. She didn’t need to posture. Her reputation filled the booth before she spoke, the kind of presence that made even the hardest Solos think twice. This was Rogue, queen of the Afterlife, and she didn’t waste her words.
The sealed case sat on the table between them, black composite scuffed from the road, but still locked tight. Sofie kept her hand near it, though not protectively—more a quiet statement that it had been in their care from start to finish. Rogue’s glass was half-empty, her gaze sharp, all business. She reached forward and took the case, turned it just enough to check the seal, then gave the faintest nod. Whatever was inside, remained a mystery to Sofie, to Ares, and to anyone who hadn’t paid for it. Rogue didn’t offer an explanation. She wasn’t obligated to.
She slid the case to the edge of the table. One of her people appeared without a word, lifting it away to vanish into the noise of the bar. Rogue leaned back, glass in hand again, and regarded Sofie and Ares with the faintest curl of a smile.
“Professional,” she said. Her voice was low, but carried easily over the thrum of the music. “Plenty of mercs can’t resist cracking the goods open. Curiosity kills faster than a bullet in this city.”
Ares snorted, arms folding across his chest. “Didn’t pay us to be curious, just to deliver.”
Rogue’s eyes flicked toward him, then back to Sofie. “And deliver you did.” She took a measured sip from her glass before adding, “Heard there was some noise out by the edge of the city. Maelstrom maybe? Didn’t slow you down. And you kept my delivery in perfect condition too.”
She raised the glass slightly, as if in salute, then set it down with a soft clink. Her eyes lit up in blue for a heartbeat, and Sofie’s visual display reported that the payment Rogue had promised was flooding into her account.
“Client’s satisfied, which means I’m satisfied. Good work kids. The eddies are yours.” Rogue slid out of the booth, sauntering away and leaving them alone.
Sofie leaned back once Rogue was gone, the tension in her shoulders refusing to let go. The green glow pressed in from every direction, turning the air itself sour. She twisted the silver ring on her finger, the small circle of metal anchoring her, a shield against a place that felt designed specifically to draw her fears up from the depths to look her in the eye.
Ares saw her fidgeting, and tilted his head. “You’re wound tight again,” he said, keeping his voice low so only she would hear. His right arm stretched across the back of the booth, giving her an opening to lean into him if she wanted. “Same as last time?”
“It’s this place,” she admitted. Her eyes traced the bar’s green wash, the mercs drinking hard under its glow. “Feels like something’s crawling across my skin or—like I’m… being dragged underwater.” The words scraped at her throat, but she trusted him enough to say them. She squeezed the ring again, a reminder of the vow they’d made, the life they were building outside this neon prison.
Ares’ left hand found hers under the table, warm and steady. Her ring clinked softly against its twin as his hand folded around hers. “You’re not gone,” he said, meeting her eyes. “You never were. You’re here. With me. Don’t let the lights or the ghosts in this place tell you any different.” The corner of his mouth twitched into that half-smile she loved, the one that meant he’d stand between her and the world until it burned down.
Ares squeezed her hand once more, then pushed up from the booth. “C’mon,” he said, giving her a look that promised air and quiet waiting outside. “We’ve got what we came for.”
Sofie nodded and shifted to follow, relief loosening her chest at the thought of leaving the green light behind. She was halfway out of the booth when a shadow fell across the table.
“Thought that was you.”
The voice was rough, amused, dripping with a familiarity that didn’t belong. As it reached her, the speakers overhead kicked into the first verse of a new song. Kerry Eurodyne’s rasp cut through the bar:
Ares froze mid-step. Before Sofie could move, the newcomer clapped a heavy hand on Ares’ shoulder and shoved, not with malice, but the easy force of someone who thought they owned the space. Ares grunted as he was forced down into the booth opposite Sofie. The man slid in beside him, close enough that his carbon-black arm brushed against Ares’ jacket.
Chrome gleamed under the bar’s light. The upper half of his face was a nightmare of spiderlike optics mounted in polished steel, lenses shifting and focusing with insectile clicks. When he grinned, Sofie could have sworn she saw the gleam of a violet cybereye buried deep in the back of his throat, peeking at her from behind rows of steel shark teeth.
From above, Eurodyne howled the chorus:
She knew that face—if you could still call it one. Years ago, back when she first fell in with the Wire Hounds, she had crossed paths with him only once. A single encounter, a passing moment, yet it had left a scar in her mind. His was the kind of visage you couldn’t forget, even if you wanted to.
“Tyler,” Ares said, the name flat, heavy as a curse.
The grin widened. “C’mon, brother, how many times I gotta tell you? Deathwing. Always been Deathwing to you.” He clapped Ares on the back, the carbon-black arm landing heavy and far too familiar. “No need to get formal—we’re among friends here.”
Sofie’s stomach turned at the word. Back when she had first crossed paths with “Deathwing” his chrome had already swallowed most of his face. Whatever he had looked like before, she would never know. Now there was nothing left but a monstrous amalgam of flesh and metal, grinning at her as if they shared some bond.
“Crazy thing about H5,” Tyler said, settling into the booth. “Hard to believe Night Corp swept the whole damn tower clean huh? Just—poof. Place had a heartbeat once. Now it’s a fuckin’ corpse.” He gave a low chuckle that rattled with a mechanical thrum as the speakers roared in behind him:
Ares didn’t rise to the bait. His jaw worked, but his voice stayed flat. “Night Corp wanted it back. So they took it back. Nothing much to be done about it.”
“True enough,” Tyler said, nodding like they were in perfect agreement. He leaned an elbow on the table, metal fingers clicking against the surface. “Still, I can't say I mind. Freelance life’s been good to me. No leash. No rules. Just me, the city, and as much chrome as I can carry.”
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The lyrics pounded overhead as if answering him:
Tyler drummed his metallic fingers on the tabletop in time with the chorus, optics whirring as if the lenses themselves enjoyed the beat. “You know,” he said, raising his voice over the music, “this track’s got me thirsty.” His grin widened, steel teeth flashing. “Eurodyne belting out always makes me think of the other guy.”
Before Ares could stop him, Tyler leaned back in the booth and bellowed across the room at the bar. “Hey! Three Johnny Silverhands!” His voice cut through the noise, drawing more than a few looks. “Make ‘em strong!”
Sofie winced at the volume. Ares’ jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The message was clear enough: Tyler wasn’t about to let them leave. Not yet.
Tyler turned back to them, sprawling across his half of the booth, elbow propped wide, chrome fingers still tapping to the rhythm of the music. His optics clicked and refocused, flitting toward Sofie only long enough to rake her up and down before swinging back to Ares. “This your output?”A wolfish grin played on his lips as he asked. “Gotta hand it to you, choom, you always had an eye for the good stuff—cars, guns, and now women. Didn’t think you had the moves to pull a looker like her though.” His lenses darted toward Sofie once more, lingering a second too long. “A bit small for my taste, though. So I’ll let you keep her.”
Sofie’s hands tightened into fists in her lap, but she kept her face still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Sofie isn’t my ,” Ares said evenly. His tone was cold and she could see a familiar twitch in his jaw revealing just how annoyed he was. “She’s my .”
Despite the tension at the table, the words hit Sofie like a bolt of lightning, sudden and bright. The sound of it never failed to make her chest flutter, even after nearly a year. She wanted to smile, to let the giddy warmth roll through her—but she clamped down on the feeling. She swallowed it down, forcing her face into calm neutrality before the words could turn her cheeks red. This wasn’t the time, nor the place.
She hadn’t spoken a word since Tyler had arrived. For now, she had no intention of breaking her silence. To Sofie, it looked like Ares had the situation in hand.
For a second, Tyler’s grin froze. His optics whirred, lenses stuttering as they refocused on Ares. “Wife, huh?” The word came out flat, caught somewhere between mockery and disbelief. “Guess everybody’s gotta find a chain to wear.” The smile twitched back into place, teeth glinting. “S’pose it suits you.”
Before the silence could settle, the server slid three tumblers onto the table, condensation bleeding down their sides. Each was a Johnny Silverhand—a tequila old-fashioned splashed with beer and rimmed with chili powder, the kind of drink one ordered when they wanted to feel like a Rockerboy who never gave up. The smell of spice and bitter heat rose from the glasses, stinging Sofie’s nose.
Tyler swept one up immediately, his metal fingers clinking on the glass. He raised it high, voice booming over the music and drawing eyes from nearby tables. “Well, don’t just sit there. To old friends, new jobs, and chrome enough to keep us kicking. Prost, chooms!”
The glasses clinked together, the sound sharp against the thrum of the bar. Sofie raised hers without flinching and took a measured sip. The tequila burned, the beer left its bitter edge, the chilly powder sparked across her tongue—but none of that bothered her. She’d long since lost her aversion to strong drink and spice. What soured it was the company. Drinking with Ares was an enjoyable evening. Drinking with Rogue was business. Drinking with Tyler Monterro felt like swallowing poison.
Tyler downed his glass in one pull, the chili rim staining his lips and steel teeth. He overturned the glass with a clatter, laughing low in his throat, rattling with a metal undertone. Above them Eurodyne’s voice ripped through the speakers:
“Ah, crazy times out there,” Tyler said, bracing his elbow on the table. “Wellsprings is still smoldering from the riot two nights ago. Militech’s sniffin’ around the border crossings again. Corps are bleeding each other dry up in the towers just as much as us down here.” His grin widened, lenses narrowing as they clicked and refocused. “Whole city’s full of marks who think they’re untouchable. Don’t take much to prove ‘em wrong.”
The song surged, punctuating his words:
Ares sipped his drink, eyes cold, offering nothing. Sofie remained silent. Tyler was loud enough for all three of them.
It seemed to her, that in his mind, the song was a hymn, proof that the city belonged to those willing to burn it all and feed on the chaos. Every lyric was part of an anthem for his kind, the ones who believed they could carve themselves into gods. But to Sofie, the words were nothing more than curdled threats.
The chorus that lifted him only pressed down on her, heavy with the danger that waited if she ever gave into her fears.
Ares set his empty glass down with a hard click. “We were just on our way out,” he said, tone flat and final.
Tyler ignored him and lifted a hand in the air to signal for another round. “No need to rush off,” he said, wrapping an arm around Ares’ shoulder. “World’s out there chewing people to pieces, and here we are—three mercs in the Afterlife, drinks in hand. Doesn’t get better than this.”
Sofie’s patience cracked. “We’re done,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut through both the music and Tyler’s performance. It was the first she’d spoken since he’d dropped into their booth, and she made sure it landed.
Tyler looked straight at her, lenses narrowing, and as the song swelled into its penultimate chorus, Sofie realized that, for the first time, he was looking at her as more than a collection of features—as a person instead of an accessory.
He smiled, but it was thinner now, brittle at the edges.
Sofie slid out of the booth on her side of the table, standing without another word. Ares followed, bracing a hand on the seat back and vaulting over it in one smooth motion, landing on his feet without hesitation or giving Tyler the satisfaction of denying him exit any longer.
They had barely cleared the booths when the next round hit the table, three fresh cocktails sweating under the green light. Sofie didn’t look back. She wanted distance—space between her and that grin, those “eyes.” The song was still pounding in her ears.
Behind them, she heard the clatter of glass—Tyler downing one drink, then another. His laughter chased them toward the stairs, rough and metallic, loud enough to mask whatever else he was doing.
By the time they reached the stairwell outside the bar, the music and green glow were fading behind them. In their place came the hum of Night City bleeding down through the concrete. The air grew cooler as they climbed, carrying the tang of ozone and exhaust from the streets above. For a heartbeat, Sofie let herself imagine they were free.
Then came the weight on Ares’ shoulder again—Tyler’s carbon-black arm draped heavily across his back, the other still clutching the last drink. His laughter echoed up the narrow stairwell, metallic and hollow, chasing them toward the surface.
“C’mon chooms,” he said as though they hadn’t already left him behind.“No sense in ghosting out when the night’s just getting interesting.”
The stairwell spilled them out into the night. Neon washed across wet pavement, painting the parking lot in shifting colors like oily residue as the puddles rippled in the rain.
Ares shrugged Tyler off and led the way to the car. His Thorton Merrimac was crouched in the shadows like a waiting predator. Its lines were sharp, its bodywork polished to a subtle gleam. The engine roared to life as Ares pulled open the driver-side door. Despite Tyler’s continued presence, Sofie felt the tension fall from both Ares’ and her own shoulders at the sound of it.
Behind them, Tyler tipped back the last of his drink and let the glass shatter against the asphalt. His optics flicked over the Merrimac, lenses narrowing as if cataloging every detail. A low whistle slipped from between his steel teeth.
“Nice ride,” he said, stepping closer, grin spreading in the shifting neon as he placed a hand on the upper boundary of the open door. “Had one just like it once. Shame what happened to it. Still—looks like you’ve kept this one on the road. Must’ve set you back quite a bit.”
Ares slid into the driver's seat, his eyes never leaving Tyler. “Not everything’s about eddies and chrome,” he said flatly.
Tyler’s grin twitched, his optics whirred. With one hand in his jacket pocket, he stepped back from the car. “Sure, brother. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
The Merrimac’s engine purred beneath Ares’ hand, a low growl that drowned out the rest of Tyler’s laughter. Sofie climbed in beside him, the heavy doors shutting away the neon and the noise. For the first time all night, she felt like she wasn’t fighting to breathe.
In the side mirror, Tyler stood grinning at the edge of the lot, chrome gleaming as the rain poured down, watching them drive away. Sofie turned from the sight and let her hand rest on Ares’ arm as he shifted gears. The Merrimac rumbled forward, steady as her husband beside her, and the tightness in her chest finally eased.
