Chapter 22: When Will It Be Our Turn...
By the time they reached the Afterlife, it was already evening.
Maine led the way, and as they descended the familiar steps, they were greeted by the same bouncer. Rhys had to wonder if the guy ever took a break.
The crew walked in like they owned the place, finding a booth in the main hall and piling in. Dorio was off at the bar, getting a round of drinks.
Rhys glanced at Maine, who was bouncing his leg impatiently. "Excited?" Rhys asked.
"Hell yeah, I'm excited!" Maine shot a look at Rhys, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble. "We keep some of this hardware for ourselves, sell the rest on the market... we're looking at hundreds of thousands of eddies. And that's before we even start haggling."
"Before we start counting eddies, I think we should be figuring out how to deal with Janus," Pilar interjected.
As a Night City native, son of the legendary merc 'Pops Sunrise,' Pilar had inherited his father's street smarts. He knew the game inside and out. He hadn't been on board with taking the risk, because getting on a mega-corp's radar was a death sentence. They could crush a small crew like them as easily as stepping on an ant.
But the deed was done. And as Maine said, what was the point of being a merc if you didn't risk it all for a big score? Now, Pilar was all for going after the fixer. If they let it slide, their rep would be zeroed. No matter how you spun it, that bastard Janus was in the wrong.
A fixer could skim off the top, they could charge insane finder's fees, but what they couldn't do was intentionally send a crew into a meat grinder. Who would run gigs for them after that? If word got out about what Janus pulled, his own career would be flatlined. Which meant he would do anything to silence them first.
The crew had to strike first. They couldn't let the fixer tell the story. A fixer's word could turn black into white, and in this biz, they were the ones with the power. If Janus talked first, the crew would be caught with mud on their hands, and it wouldn't matter if it wasn't their shit. No one would listen to their side of the story.
"If we don't handle this right, forget about the corps coming after us. Our careers as mercs will be over," Pilar said, leaning back with his hands behind his head.
"Pilar, can you get a word with Wakako?" Maine asked.
Pilar shook his head. "Wakako won't risk it for us. That old broad's whole game is playing all sides and offending no one. She's got her own operation in Japantown for a reason. Do I really need to explain how connected she is?"
"But she helped you and Rebecca get on your feet. You've got to mean something to her, right?" Maine pressed, a hint of desperation in his voice. He knew it was a low blow, but he was running out of options. He had strength, sure, but in Night City, strength alone wasn't enough. You needed connections, power, and eddies. All three.
This city was full of psychos. Anyone could get strong by pumping themselves full of chrome. As for surviving the fallout... what was the average lifespan of a merc, anyway?
Average lifespan? No, that wasn't the right term. An average lifespan in Night City was a fucking luxury. In this business, mercs were a disposable commodity.
A rookie's average survival time was less than three months. If you made it past that, you became a mid-tier operator. You had decent chrome, a bit of a rep, and you could start picking up better gigs. But that's exactly when you'd get zeroed on a high-difficulty contract. Their average survival time was one to two years.
As for the legendary mercs... you could find them on the drink menu at the Afterlife. All the legends of Night City were on that menu.
"Don't be a gonk. She's been through nine husbands. You think they all died of natural causes?" Pilar said flatly. "Her empire keeps growing. The Tyger Claws respect her, even the corps need her. You think she got there by relying on men? That old woman's famous quote about marriage is, 'Love is a luxury, but graves are a necessity.'"
Maine sighed. Wakako was a true major-leaguer, one of the top fixers in the city. A player like that... they were out of her league. She had no reason to help them.
So, it was all on Rhys. He just had to hope Susan could track Janus down.
Dorio returned with the drinks, and the crew started to knock them back.
"To hell with all the worries."
"Here, Kiwi, choomba, welcome to the crew. Have a drink. Starting tomorrow, you're one of us," Maine said, grinning at Kiwi. Screw the problems. A bullet to the head just leaves a scar. Not worth stressing over.
Kiwi looked up at Maine, didn't reach for the glass, and instead shifted into a defensive posture. "I never agreed to join."
"Don't be like that. If you weren't planning on joining, why'd you jump in back there?" Maine was undeterred. He stood up and pressed the glass into her hand. "Welcome to the crew," he boomed.
Kiwi looked down at the glass, her eyes flickering.
In the next moment, Maine raised his own glass. "Everyone, a toast! To Kiwi, our newest member!"
"WOOO!" Rebecca was all in, raising her glass with both hands and chugging it down.
Rhys lifted his glass as well, taking a sip of the industrial-grade vodka. In a way... he didn't hate this life. But he knew he couldn't be a merc forever. Eventually, he would go back to the Mox. But now wasn't the time for buzzkill thoughts like that. He had that much social awareness, at least.
The crew drank hard after that. Even Kiwi, though she was quiet, put away her fair share.
Night fell, and the Afterlife began to fill up.
Rhys was sitting across from Rebecca and Kiwi, with Maine on his left and Sasha on his right. He took another drink and saw Rebecca suddenly shoot to her feet.
"Bro! Bro!" she yelled, slapping Pilar's cheeks with her small, meaty hands—hard. "Look!"
"Wha—?" Pilar, already half-drunk, blearily opened his eyes. Rebecca was practically straddling him, yanking on his collar and pointing. "Isn't that Rogue?"
Rhys turned. A woman in a yellow, cropped long-sleeve shirt and black pants with low-heeled leather boots had just walked in.
The moment she entered, a hush fell over the Afterlife. Every eye was on her.
She ignored them all, exchanged a nod with Claire at the bar, and walked straight towards the "forbidden zone"—the VIP booths reserved for legends.
Maine watched her go, a wistful, emotional look on his face.
"I wonder when it'll be our turn to sit at that table..."
Dorio wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "We'll get there," she said softly. "Look, our crew is getting bigger. With Kiwi and Rhys, we're stronger than ever before."
"It's just a matter of time."
Maine listened to her comforting words, his gaze shifting to Rhys. He drained the rest of his glass.
He set the empty glass down, but another voice echoed in the back of his mind.
But Dorio,
Time... time is the biggest problem.