Of course, Leo himself was an all-natural person—no matter if ten thousand netrunners simultaneously cast Short Circuit, Overheat, or Suicide Protocol on him, it wouldn't have any effect.
As for V, Lucy, and Jackie, their anti-netrunning cyberware had been specially arranged by Leo through Rogue—state-of-the-art fourth-generation implants (legendary tier), ensuring that none of them would end up like Evelyn, who had broken down with just a single probe.
But what about the others?
Old Viktor, Misty, Mrs. Wells, Pepe, Chihiro and her daughter Ryoko…
What if the Voodoo Boys had sent them threats too? And what if one day, they didn't just talk—what if they decided to make an example out of someone?
Since Rogue was already looking to move on them, they might as well clean house all at once.
Just then, Rogue's optical implant lit up with a soft blue glow—she was receiving a remote transmission.
Leo didn't speak, waiting until she finished her call before opening his mouth. "Someone reach out to you?"
"No. See for yourself." Rogue shook her head and raised her voice. "Turn on the TV—switch to WNS."
The smart TV in the room responded instantly, switching to the WNS news channel.
Onscreen, the anchor—with obvious signs of facial implants—wore a solemn, pained expression.
"Good evening. This is Arif Iqbal, and this is WNS News. Today marks one of the saddest days in the city's history—Mayor Lucius Rhyne has passed away."
As he spoke, the screen behind him displayed a photo of Mayor Rhyne—grayscale.
"We've received confirmation of his passing from his family. He passed away peacefully in his sleep. The exact cause has not yet been disclosed, but early reports suggest a malfunction in his cardiovascular implant."
"Following his untimely death, the remainder of his term will be assumed by his closest aide, Deputy Mayor Weldon Holt, who has already announced his candidacy in the upcoming election."
The scene changed to City Hall, where a press conference was underway.
Weldon Holt, wearing dark sunglasses, stood beneath the flashing lights of countless cameras, delivering his statement with calm assurance.
"Today, we gather to mourn our great mayor and dear friend, Lucius Rhyne."
Rogue picked up the tequila on the table and took a heavy swig. "Mourn? Sounds more like he's celebrating."
Leo agreed. "No one wants to be second-in-command forever—just like there's no such thing as retiring at sixty."
Naturally, Holt couldn't hear their comments—and this wasn't even live. It was pre-recorded.
Onscreen, Holt continued. "But after we dry our tears, we must look to the future—that future which Lucius envisioned for our beautiful city. I vow to do everything I can to ensure the work he started carries on. Rest in peace, my friend."
The broadcast returned to the WNS studio. The anchor resumed. "Rhyne's political opponent, former district attorney Jefferson Peralez, also expressed his deep condolences regarding the mayor's passing."
The footage switched to Peralez's PR team, who, upon hearing of Rhyne's death, had immediately arranged for Jefferson to record a short tribute.
"You see, Mayor Rhyne and I often disagreed politically. Sometimes our debates were even harsh—but no matter how fierce our arguments, we always shook hands afterward in mutual respect."
"Today, I bid him farewell for the last time. Thank you, Lucius. Thank you for all you did for this city."
The camera returned to Arif Iqbal. "Who will inherit the mayor's seat? That question may be answered soon. According to the first public poll after Rhyne's passing, Holt and Peralez are currently neck and neck."
…
"Rhyne's actually dead?" Leo still remembered that just over half a year ago, when he first arrived in Night City, Rhyne had already begun his mayoral campaign. Who would've thought he'd pass away before finishing his term?
It was too sudden.
Rogue turned off the smart TV. "He died at home? Guess he was lucky—way better off than Richard Night."
The Richard Night she referred to was the founder of Night City, and its first mayor.
He was born in the early 20th century and lived through both World Wars, the Cold War, and, at the end of the century, witnessed the collapse of the United States that ended it all.
Having seen so much war, Richard Night had resolved to build a perfect city.
First, he partnered with two others to open an architecture firm. Then he founded his own company, Night International.
Eventually, he launched his dream project: constructing a utopian city.
He purchased the entire town of Morro Bay, a small, neglected settlement on the border between Southern California and Northern Baja.
Two years ago, the town had nearly been flattened by a local gang. Thankfully, military intervention prevented its total destruction.
This ravaged, sparsely populated land became ideal for development: safe, clean, and free of crime, poverty, and chaos—thus, Coronado City was born.
Richard attracted major corporate investment through generous tax incentives, which fueled economic growth and laid the groundwork for a stable population—corporate employees only, of course.
The project was a huge success. The budding city of Coronado was a marvel. Thanks to meticulous planning, it was beautiful, welcoming, and safe—especially compared to the rest of post-collapse America.
But tragedy struck just four years after construction began—Richard Night was assassinated by unknown assailants.
In his memory, the city was renamed to Night City.
…
After chatting a bit longer with Rogue, Leo left Afterlife.
Though he had decided to deal with the Voodoo Boys, they weren't like other gangs. Even Rogue needed time to prepare. She told Leo to take care of anything he needed in the meantime—she'd contact him when everything was ready.
Just as Leo stepped out and was about to hop on Fenrir, his phone rang.
"Hello, Leo. This is Elizabeth Peralez."
"Hello."
Leo frowned slightly. Elizabeth—wasn't she Jefferson's wife? With Mayor Rhyne dead and the election around the corner, shouldn't she be busy helping her husband campaign?
Why was she calling him now?
Had something happened?
"My husband and I have a rather delicate matter. We think you might be able to help us."
So something had happened.
"What kind of problem?"
Elizabeth hesitated for a second. "It's better not discussed over the phone. Could you meet us in person? We'll explain everything. Like I said, it's a serious matter."
Leo furrowed his brows. The wife of a mayoral candidate was asking for a personal meeting—and couldn't explain over a call. That didn't seem normal.
But considering their prior cooperation had gone smoothly, refusing might mean burning a valuable bridge.
"Alright. Tell me the time and place—I'll be there."
…...............
.....
.
In a dark, overlooked alley somewhere in the Glen, a luxury car waited quietly.
The driver—also serving as a bodyguard—politely, yet cautiously watched as Leo pulled up on his motorcycle.
"You must be Leo. Please, get in."
Once his identity was confirmed, the guard opened the door for him. Leo climbed in, and Jefferson immediately reached out to shake his hand.
Meeting in person, Jefferson looked just as he did on TV. Elizabeth sat in the front passenger seat, turning to greet him.
"Hello, Leo. Thank you for coming."
"You're too kind, Mr. Peralez." Leo shook his hand and gave Elizabeth a nod. "Let me be direct—what kind of job is this?"
The couple exchanged a look.
Elizabeth gestured for the driver to start the car.
Only after they pulled out onto the streets of Heywood did she begin to speak.
"Well, as you probably know, Mayor Lucius Rhyne recently passed away."
"I just saw the news. Said he died at home—natural causes. Something about a cardiovascular implant malfunction."
Elizabeth glanced at Jefferson before replying.
"Yes… that's the version the public is supposed to hear."
"The public version?" Leo caught the implication in her tone. "You're suggesting there's a larger conspiracy?"
Elizabeth nodded. "We can't be sure—that's why we need you. Out of everyone we know, you're the most capable and trustworthy merc."
Jefferson picked up where she left off. "We want to know what really happened to Rhyne. How he died. Why, when and how."
Leo had figured it wouldn't be an ordinary job. But he hadn't expected it to be tied to Rhyne's death.
The irony was thick—Rogue had just joked that Rhyne was lucky to die peacefully, unlike Richard Night. And now here were the Peralezes, implying Rhyne hadn't died naturally at all.
Leo didn't accept immediately.
Partly to signal that this job wouldn't come cheap.
And partly because he was curious—why come to him instead of hiring professionals like private investigators?
"I'm just a merc. Not a detective. Wrong line of work."
Elizabeth explained. "We can't trust any of the city's PIs. The reputable ones all have corporate ties. The independents are too frail. You're the only one we can count on."
Jefferson seemed to sense Leo's hesitation and followed up quickly.
"We know this isn't an ordinary job. Don't worry—the pay will match."
Faced with their sincere gazes, Leo finally agreed.
"Alright. What leads do you have? I can't investigate blind."
"There's something. A few days before Rhyne's death, a cyberpsycho attacked City Hall. The incident was covered up to avoid public panic. Rhyne personally suppressed the news. We suspect his death might be connected."
Elizabeth added with a trace of sarcasm, "Naturally, NCPD claims the two incidents are unrelated."
Her tone wasn't unwarranted. Among the city's elite, few had any faith in the NCPD's efficiency or competence. It was why the wealthy preferred private corporate security.
"Hold on. Let me guess—this suspicion of yours, it has something to do with the upcoming election, doesn't it?"
"Of course it does," Jefferson replied frankly. "If Rhyne was murdered, like I said we need to know the how and why."
Leo understood. If there really was a murderer behind Rhyne's death, Jefferson could be next.
Bribery, lobbying, and backroom deals were par for the course in politics—no matter the region. But if someone was resorting to assassination, it meant the game had escalated—and all bets were off.
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