Chapter 20

Among the clubs in Night City’s Watson District, there exists a place called legendary.

An upscale club said to have been frequented by those who shaped Night City’s legends. Its name is Afterlife—a resting place for legends. Converted from what was once a mortuary, it’s an exclusive establishment so strict it might as well have a sign saying "No second-rate customers allowed."

In the parking lot before this place’s entrance, a single car pulled up. The kind of vehicle that made the local lowlifes stare in confusion—a Delamain taxi, the sort only big shots or the wealthy would regularly use. And not just any model, but a customized version none had ever seen on the streets, causing murmurs to spread.

Everyone focused on the backseat, trying to peer through the tinted windows to see who was inside.

"Here we are. Have a good evening, Ms. Jugra."

Hearing that name, anyone who recognized it was undoubtedly a top-tier info broker. It belonged to someone known throughout the ripperdoc community as a technician without equal these days.

And anyone who knew the small figure emerging from the backseat was either with the Tyger Claws or someone who could afford high-end chrome. Many dreamed of visiting the clinic near Jig-Jig Street’s entrance in Japantown.

She wore her usual mechanic-style overalls, though today with slightly more flair—layered with a vintage jacket bearing a half-chromed oni mask logo wreathed in flames.

Few here would recognize that emblem, but those who did knew it represented the rock band SAMURAI. Clearly vintage merchandise, likely a concert jacket from the band’s heyday—anyone who realized that would’ve been blinded by its hidden radiance.

The schoolgirl-aged girl walked toward Afterlife’s entrance stairs with natural ease, receiving her baptism. When two punk lackeys blocked her path, the icy, stone-cold gaze from her eyes made them shrink back instantly. With both hands in her jacket pockets, she descended the stairs as onlookers watched with bated breath.

At Afterlife’s entrance stood Emmerick, the bouncer and subordinate to its queen.

"...You’re too young to be here, kid."

"Sorry, got invited. By some impotent bastard called Faraday."

"...Very well. You may enter."

"Good dog."

Jugra brushed past Emmerick with those casual insults, her face completely deadpan. The bouncer felt goosebumps crawl up his arms and a chill down his spine.

Naturally, the sight of an underage girl in a club bar created palpable dissonance, drawing stares from patrons mid-laughter or business negotiations. Surveying the room, Jugra sighed and took a seat at the counter, leaving the relatively principled bartender Claire at a loss. Despite Jugra’s intimidating aura, Claire suppressed her reservations about serving a minor.

"Um... would you like some milk?"

"Nah, came here to drink. Let’s see... tequila, splash of beer, and chili pepper, was it?"

"Ah, a Johnny Silverhand. Are you a fan of his?"

"Something like that. My clinic only plays SAMURAI tracks."

Seeing no alternative once the order was placed, the easygoing Claire mixed the cocktail with practiced hands. Soon, Jugra had before her an Old Fashioned with tequila, a beer float, and chili pepper lining the glass—a tradition at Afterlife, where legendary figures were commemorated through signature drinks.

This one honored Johnny Silverhand, the legendary rockerboy who blew up the old Arasaka Tower forty-nine years prior in an explosive act of terrorism.

After studying it briefly, Jugra swirled the glass to mix in the chili and downed half in one bold gulp.

"...You handle your liquor well. That’s a rather strong drink."

"First time drinking, actually."

"You’re joking..."

"Nope. Dad was strict—never allowed it. Not that I can hear him scolding me anymore."

Claire thought to herself that this girl’s brand of dark humor proved she belonged here.

As Jugra began sipping the remainder, another woman observed with wide-eyed astonishment—an ageless beauty who looked nothing like an elderly woman. This was Rogue herself, the queen reigning over Afterlife. Between the vintage attire and the Johnny Silverhand cocktail, it was no wonder the attention of Johnny’s former comrade was drawn.

Watching Jugra order a Nikola for her second round (on Claire’s recommendation), Rogue averted her gaze, muttering about getting sentimental before returning to business.

"Pardon me. You are Jugra Kagura, correct?"

The question came from a distinctive man with three kill counts tattooed around his right eye, appearing when Jugra’s second glass was half-empty. She studied him with suspicious eyes before sighing deeply, checking her watch and sighing again.

Other patrons, noticing the tension, began watching with amused interest.

"That I am—assuming you’re the person I was supposed to meet twelve minutes ago, Faraday."

"...My apologies. An urgent matter required my attention. Drinks are on me."

"Whatever. Must’ve been quite the operation. Bet you needed all hands on deck."

Jugra’s veiled jab about Faraday’s own hands being needed (given his two-faced nature) made the man seethe internally. After all, this girl before him had single-handedly dismantled Faraday’s network of disposable scavengers.

Faraday had been working an Arasaka request channeled through corp officials—tracking down experimental military tech leaked to the black market, aiming to reclaim it for profit. But his recruited Sixth Street teams and subordinate scavengers kept getting wiped out, his underworld connections systematically severed.

Finally, he’d traced these operations to an edgerunner team based in Santo Domingo, discovering their ringleader was this destructive young woman. He’d summoned her here to reprimand her for insubordination toward her senior while reasserting his authority.

Yet instead, this so-called "young upstart fixer" turned out to be a monster who kept spitting provocations like chewing tobacco. But causing a scene in the legendary Afterlife would only invite endless ridicule. So Faraday maintained his composed facade, reminding himself he was the seasoned professional here.

"My, my. Truly the genius ripper who shook the industry. It seems you’re well-versed in these matters too—quite the multitalented individual."

"Well, seems that way. At least I’m doing well enough as a fixer to use Wakako’s jobs for fun."

"......I see. It appears you possess... rare talents. How would you like to put them to use?"

"Oh? Do tell."

"The recent rumors about Arasaka’s military tech—I’d like to entrust its retrieval to you."

"...So that’s your game. Talking about this here, where even the walls have ears—what’s your angle?"

Those who could enter Afterlife were among Night City’s elite. Faraday, a small-time operator who’d clawed his way in through connections, craved that prestige. Simply gaining entry—let alone having the clout to invite others—was a mark of top-tier status in this city.

But the flip side? Everyone here was a monster who swam in the city’s underworld. Plenty would pounce on any juicy intel they overheard, especially when it involved a rising star like Jugra.

Faraday had deliberately scattered breadcrumbs, luring predators to circle her. The rumor about Arasaka’s military tech had already drawn covert interest. To many here, his clumsy maneuvering was just free entertainment.

All eyes turned to Jugra Kagura, waiting for her move.

The girl responded with a feral grin.

"Hah. Trying to send me on my first errand, old man? You fucking mocking me?"

Her voice—now a predator’s growl, stripped of all pretense—sent chills down every eavesdropper’s spine.

Only Rogue seemed amused, her smile tinged with nostalgia. She’d seen this before. The girl’s aura reminded her sharply of Wakako Okada in her prime, back when the Tyger Claws’ shadow fixer still walked Jig-Jig Street. Faraday, meanwhile, tasted fear like never before.

"If she had a katana, it’d be just like back then," Rogue mused, sipping her drink.

"You’ve been real obsessed with chasing my ass, you creep. But guess what? The shit you’re dying to hand to corpos? It’s right here."**

The club fell silent. Even the background music felt too loud.

Faraday toppled from his chair, realization dawning. Jugra had arrived seemingly unarmed—yet if her words were true, she’d smuggled it in.

As if to prove it, she shrugged off her jacket. Beneath her overalls and cyberbra, her exposed back revealed military-grade Sandevistan spineware coiled by a dragon tattoo implant. She twisted her wrist, exposing the monowire emitter.

"Y-You implanted two military-grade mods?! Are you insane?!"**

"Sanity’s just fine. Wanna run a scan? I’ll light up green."

"D-Did you butcher those scavs?! There were a hundred bodies!"

"Tch. That trash? Took seconds. Only Adam Smasher’s chrome could keep up with this." She leaned in, her four kill-count eyes locking onto his. "Did you really think fodder could handle hardware like this?"

The girl spoke calmly, but every word made the room feel like a cage with a starving beast. Faraday’s pride evaporated—he’d have begged for his life right then if not for the audience.

Then, inexplicably, Jugra offered him a hand up.

"But hey, Faraday? Gotta thank you for one thing."

"W-What?!"

"Bringing me here. With my rep, I’d never get in alone. Dressing up was fun."**

She yanked him back onto his stool, smoothed her jacket, and chirped in a girlish tone:

"So I’ll let bygones be bygones. Cool?"

"......Huh?"

"Great! Knew you’d be reasonable. Bartender—two Johnny Silverhands!"

The abrupt shift left the room stunned. Claire, baffled, served the drinks.

"To our new partnership. Cheers."

Their glasses clinked—hers deliberately held above his, etching their hierarchy in steel.

Every patron glanced at Rogue. Only the Queen of Afterlife could challenge such audacity. But Rogue just watched with that same wistful look before retreating to the back, abandoning her corporate guest.

Faraday, once a would-be kingmaker, was now just another corporate lapdog.

As the crowd drank in silence, the smart ones noted: No one would touch Jugra Kagura until her own cocktail graced Afterlife’s menu.

That night, liquor flowed like water. Claire would later say it broke the month’s sales record.