Claire was the same as ever—calm, poised, and utterly unshaken by fame or myth.
She didn't fawn, didn't flinch. Even with Neo's name echoing across every corner of Night City, she greeted him just as she always had: with quiet respect and a hint of amusement in her eyes.
Neo slid into the bar stool, posture relaxed. "Chilled rum," he said simply.
"Mm. One chilled rum." Claire nodded, then turned toward the blond kid beside him. "And for you, rookie?"
Lexington was drinking in the whole place like a kid seeing space for the first time—chrome ceilings, holographic bottles, mercs with too many stories carved into their skin.
When Claire's voice cut through his daze, he blinked. "Ah—uh, I'll take a Johnny Silverhand."
Claire arched a brow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Good choice. Everyone wants to start with Johnny."
It was almost tradition. The first time you stepped foot in Afterlife, you ordered the drink named after the legend who blew up Arasaka Tower. A glass full of rebellion, death, and rock 'n' roll.
"One chilled rum, one Johnny Silverhand," she said, beginning her work with rhythmic precision.
As she mixed the drinks, she kept talking, voice even over the clink of glass. "You've been the city's favorite rumor lately. Every bar, every net-feed, every backroom job board—someone's got a story about you and the Edgerunners."
She poured the liquor smoothly. "After Konpeki, you went dark. Everyone figured Arasaka erased you. Guess not."
Neo smiled faintly. "Even mercs need days off. We can't 996 forever."
Claire chuckled. "Fair. You're not an actor, no need to live in the spotlight."
She glanced at him again, eyes gleaming. "Though for someone who's not an actor, you're bigger than most celebrities. Word is, half the mercs in this city wanna buy you a drink tonight."
Neo swirled his rum, watching the ice clink softly. "Let them want," he said quietly. "I'm not fond of crowds. Too much noise, too many hands. You smile at everyone long enough, and you forget who deserves it."
Claire grinned. "Still humble, huh? I like that. Most guys who step over legends like Saburo Arasaka and Adam Smasher don't stay grounded for long."
Neo didn't respond. He just took a slow sip of the rum.
Stepped over them, huh?
If only they knew.
Adam Smasher—sure, that one was on him. But Saburo Arasaka? That was his son's doing. Still, the public didn't care about the truth. The corps needed a scapegoat, someone to cast as the rogue killer, the new face of rebellion.
Arasaka fed the lie to the city, and Night City devoured it whole.
He didn't bother correcting them.
Sometimes the myth served better than the man.
"Ahh—holy hell, that's strong!"
Lexington coughed violently after his first gulp of the Johnny Silverhand. The drink burned down his throat like liquid fire, his eyes watering instantly.
Claire smirked. "Welcome to Afterlife, kid."
The regulars nearby chuckled softly, but none dared mock him openly—not when he was sitting beside Neo.
Neo's phone vibrated against the counter. He glanced down.
[Incoming call: Takemura Goro]
About time.
He answered. "Takemura."
"Neo-san," came the deep, measured voice on the other end. "Where are you? I have progress regarding Anders Hellman's whereabouts."
Neo leaned back. "Afterlife. Come find me."
"I will arrive shortly."
When the call ended, it didn't take long for Takemura to appear—straight-backed, sharp-eyed, every inch the disciplined Arasaka samurai, even stripped of his rank. He stepped into the bar like a soldier walking into enemy territory.
Neo gestured toward the seat beside him. "Drink?"
Takemura shook his head crisply. "I do not drink. But thank you."
A samurai who refused liquor in Afterlife—that was a rare sight.
Neo didn't press. He turned to Lexington. "Lex. I've got something for you. Go to Watson. Find a ripperdoc named Viktor Vector. Tell him I sent you. He'll give you a tune-up, check your chrome, maybe add something useful. After that, he'll take you to the Edgerunner base."
Lexington's eyes widened. "Me? Seriously?"
Neo smiled. "Everyone starts somewhere. This is yours."
Lexington downed the rest of his drink—barely keeping it down this time—and bolted from the bar.
When he was gone, Takemura frowned slightly. "You recruit strange ones. The boy has no aura, no presence, no special talent. His cyberware is… basic."
Neo chuckled. "So was everyone, once. Nobody's born legendary, Takemura. You trained for years to earn your title as Arasaka's bodyguard, didn't you?"
Takemura paused, then nodded slowly. "Perhaps. You speak truth."
Neo's gaze hardened slightly. "People like to think history's shaped by great men. But most of the time, it's the ordinary ones—the Lexintons—who move the pieces while nobody's watching."
Takemura exhaled. "You always had a way with words, Neo-san. Very well. Let us speak of Hellman."
He straightened, his tone shifting to business. "Anders Hellman is currently within a Kang-Tao research facility, deep in the Badlands. The data on him is sealed under heavy encryption. We cannot pinpoint his exact coordinates—only a general radius."
"Then we don't move yet," Neo replied simply.
Takemura blinked. "You do not wish to strike while the trail is warm?"
"Rushing gets you killed," Neo said. "Besides, I've already lined up a guide—someone who knows the Badlands better than any corpo drone ever will. She'll meet me here soon."
Takemura hesitated. "You already have a contact?"
Neo smirked. "Met her out in the wastes a few nights ago. She knows every road, every clan, every ruin. You'll like her. Or not. Doesn't matter—she'll get us there."
The ex-samurai went silent for a long moment. Then he sighed quietly, as if resigning himself to being outpaced once again. "I see. Even when I try to help, you're already three steps ahead."
Before Neo could reply, a loud, mocking voice cut through the bar.
"Well, well, what do we have here?"
A group of mercs at a nearby table turned, sneering. One of them raised his glass, grinning wickedly. "I knew I smelled something weird. Turns out it's a corpo dog."
The air in Afterlife shifted.
Eyes turned toward the commotion. Hands hovered near holsters.
And Neo—still holding his half-empty glass—just smiled faintly.