On the southern seafront of Little China, hidden behind dense rows of high-rises, lies the Afterlife Nightclub—a world tucked away within the city's alleys.
At a glance, it might look like any other dive bar where people drink and party.
But this place... isn't for just anyone.
Fifty years ago, the Atlantis Club was where Night City's top mercs and fixers gathered.
Now, it's the Afterlife.
All sorts of people linger outside, but only a rare few are allowed in.
"I've never actually been here before," Roqi said as he and Mower descended the stairs, passing a huddled homeless man and heading down a narrow hallway.
The place felt far more spacious and real than it ever did in the game.
Back when Dexter DeShawn and T-Bug were waiting in a booth to plan the Konpeki job, Roqi had been too busy picking up Mower from Vik.
So neither of them had stepped into this so-called merc mecca.
Here, if you kept your ears open, you could gather more intel than you would in a place like Cloudtop Lounge.
"So what now? Call backup? Drop a few bodies and drag 'em in?" one NCPD officer muttered to his partner.
"Told you already, man. At the Afterlife, rep talks. Cops ain't worth shit here," the other officer replied. "They won't let us in. Not worth it."
"Unreal. That bitch Rogue thinks she owns the place now?"
"Yo! Quiet down! She hears you, she'll blow your nuts off. Don't drag me into your shit."
A hulking bouncer stood nearby, arms crossed, blocking the door.
The Afterlife wasn't ruled by laws—only by the street code.
Anyone could show up. That didn't mean they were getting in.
You could say anything—just don't mouth off to the wrong person.
Even the cops had to loiter outside.
It was a strange balance. A web of criminal influence, yet somehow harmonious.
This wasn't a battlefield. It was the underworld's beating heart.
"Hold it."
Roqi, still chatting casually, was suddenly stopped by the bouncer.
"You're not going in."
"Tch..."
Nearby punks chuckled. Another wannabe tough guy trying to impress his girl.
"I'm here to see Rogue. Is she in?"
Roqi explained his reason.
"Rogue? Hah! This kid thinks this is a goddamn theme park!"
Laughter broke out. People found it hilarious.
Roqi sighed in exasperation.
"Weird... V and Jackie got in. Do I need a pass or something?"
He muttered, glancing at Mower.
Thinking back, V and Jackie had dropped Dexter's name to get in.
"Oh! That's it!" Roqi said suddenly. "I know Dexter."
"Dexter? He's been dead for days. Where have you been?" a flashy woman nearby said with a smirk.
She didn't buy his act for a second.
Roqi glanced at his balance, raised an eyebrow.
"So what if I'm broke? You gonna throw me out?"
"No. I'll just say—come back when you've got cash. Straightforward."
Even that didn't rattle Rogue.
She was easily one of the toughest people Roqi had ever met.
Even enemies could talk civilly with her, just from how she carried herself.
"Fixers are never simple... except that dumbass Dex," Roqi muttered to Johnny.
"Because she's fucking Rogue," Johnny said, not hiding his admiration. "But... she's changed."
"Everyone changes. Especially after fifty... no, fifty-four years," Roqi replied.
"But her eyes haven't. That's still Rogue. Tell her about me. She'll help."
Johnny was certain.
"You sure?"
"Quit asking. Just tell her."
"You two had a thing? Real smooth, Johnny."
"Kid, you wouldn't get it. Rogue never said no to me."
The bouncer kept his eyes locked on them, ready to shoot if they so much as twitched.
Roqi leaned in close to Rogue and whispered:
"Johnny Silverhand. He's in my hands."
It sounded like a hostage threat.
Then he saw her reaction.
That look people gave cyberpsychos—wary, disgusted.
Classic Rogue.
(Author's note: Mower's design is based on Motoko Kusanagi from Ghost in the Shell: SAC_2045. Her full name: Motoko Mower. Love it!)
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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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