Location:Safehouse – outskirts of PacificaTime: One day after the attack
Silence.
For the first time since his arrival in Night City, Bee couldn't speak. No voice lines. No soundbytes. No synthesized words. The damage to his throat ran deeper than just chrome and circuitry it had shattered something personal. His identity had always come with sound music, humor, and the warrior's cry.
Now… nothing.
Bee sat against a wall, one hand clutching his damaged voicebox. It was beyond local repair. Rogue's top ripperdoc had already said it: "Not without alien tech. And even then… permanent might mean permanent."
Lucy patched up his armor. Quiet. Focused.
But her eyes were red.
Not from exhaustion.
From crying.
Scene: Morning in the Hideout
David Martinez leaned on the counter, sipping an energy drink, still shaken. "So, let me get this straight… that thing wasn't even from Earth? You're not corpo tech? You're…"
Lucy shot him a look. "You say anything about this to anyone Rogue, Maine, even a fixer you'll disappear, got it?"
David nodded slowly, but the fire in his eyes had lit.
"No offense, but… I wanna be like him someday."He looked at Bee."Even if he's busted up… he didn't flinch."
Bee looked up, surprised.
Lucy smiled faintly. "Yeah. He never does."
Later That Night
Bee stood on the roof alone. Night City glittered, uncaring, below. He played an old track through his system something from a forgotten Cybertronian memory.
A soft instrumental melody. Echoes of a home lost.
Then footsteps.
Lucy climbed up, sitting beside him.
"You're still you, you know," she whispered. "Even without the voice. You're still a light in this city."
Bee tilted his head.
Lucy leaned her head on his shoulder.
"You don't have to speak. I'll speak for you."
They sat there for a while.
Together.
Unspoken words between them.
Scene: The Arrival
Meanwhile, in the Warrens beneath Watson, an old vault flickered to life. Hidden doors hissed open after decades of dormancy.
Out stepped a figure human… at first glance.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing weathered Nomad armor mixed with tech centuries ahead of Earth. Glowing blue eyes under a hood.
He walked into the light and whispered in a deep voice:
"The last Autobot signal. Finally."
A Cybertronian insignia flashed faintly on his glove. Not Decepticon. Not Autobot.
Wreckers.
Scene: The Legend Spreads
Word of Bee's rooftop battle traveled like wildfire corpo agents, street kids, fixers all whispering about a "golden ghost" who fought off a monster and vanished into the shadows.
They gave him names.
"Silent Bolt.""Mute Knight.""The Chrome Saint of Pacifica."
The myths began to form because Night City needed legends.
Even if the legend bled. Even if he couldn't speak for himself.
Lucy just smiled.
Let them talk.
Bee had earned it.