Chapter 30: Applying Pressure
"Can I really tag along? I mean, Rogue didn't invite me. Won't this piss her off?"
Standing outside the entrance to the Afterlife, Jackie rubbed the back of his head, his face a mask of nervous tension. It was two in the afternoon. Fuck, Jackie had never been inside the Afterlife at two PM. Getting in before opening hours was reserved for the Afterlife's "special clientele"—the heavy hitters Rogue personally vouched for, and the fixers setting up gigs.
Naturally, Jackie felt a strange mix of awe and anxiety. And seriously... this was Rogue! Was he, Jackie Welles, actually about to be a guest of Rogue? Did this mean he'd finally made it into the major leagues? The thought of rubbing shoulders with the legends, talking big-money deals... excitement bubbled up inside him. Holy shit, this is delta!
Rhys turned, giving Jackie a weary look. He'd lost count of how many times he'd told him it was fine. You're already here, aren't you? After the car chase with 6th Street, wrecking two vehicles, and nearly getting pinched by the NCPD, Jackie had been asking the same question non-stop. Now they were at the door, and he was still asking.
Maine threw a massive arm around Jackie's neck, laughing heartily. "Rhys is right. You got dragged into our mess, so you might as well see it through. Unless you've got something better to do?"
"No, no! I'm free all day! Mostly just help out at Mama Welles' bar, do odd jobs for Vick and Misty to earn gas money for my bike," Jackie quickly replied.
Maine squeezed Jackie's bicep, his tone mockingly incredulous. "Seriously? How are you this broke, choom? Jackie, you look like you could wrestle a cyber-bear. How'd you end up like this?"
"Ah..." Jackie sighed, looking helpless. "It's a long story..."
"Then save it. We're here. You can tell us your sob story later. Those two will love it," Kiwi interjected coldly from the side.
Pilar, walking ahead, turned and gave Kiwi a thumbs-up. He wasn't interested in hearing some dude's life story either. Who gives a shit? "Nice shutdown, Kiwi! You're getting good at that!" he praised her.
"Fuck you! Ugh, whatever, do what you want!" Kiwi snapped, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Deep down, though, she cursed again—this goddamn gonk crew!
They descended into the Afterlife. The bouncer at the bottom wasn't the familiar Emmerick, but a thick-lipped, heavyset black man in a tactical vest. A strange mask covered his face, and snake-like scales patterned his exposed arms.
"About time. Rogue's been waiting," he said, looking them over with an unnerving grin. "Come on, follow me. I'll take you to her."
"Fuck... that's Wayland," Maine muttered, his voice hushed despite being physically larger than the man. There was a clear note of respect, bordering on fear.
Jackie, standing close to Maine, heard him, and his jaw dropped. "Son of 'The Snake'?" he whispered automatically.
Wayland, walking ahead, chuckled without turning around. "That's right. Andrew Wayland's kid. But don't worry. I'm nothing like my old man. Much more cheerful. No need to be tense; I'm easy to talk to. Come on, Rogue's getting impatient."
He led the way, chatting amiably. He seemed friendly enough, maybe even a little goofy. But a quick cyberware scan would reveal the truth: he was a walking arsenal, packed with high-grade military chrome. He had inherited his father's deadly legacy, a true specialist capable of crippling an entire district single-handedly.
He was an expert-tier solo.
Wayland led them through the mostly empty Afterlife. The few patrons present were clearly Rogue's people.
"In here," he said, pushing open a door opposite the restrooms and gesturing for them to enter.
Rhys went in first, followed by Maine and Sasha, with the rest crowding in behind. The private booth wasn't large. In the dim light, a woman sat on a plush sofa, watching Rhys intently. She wore a yellow crop-top under a gray-black bomber jacket, tight black leather pants, and black combat boots—it was Rogue.
"Come in, all of you. Wayland, close the door," she commanded, gesturing vaguely.
"Yes, ma'am." Wayland nodded, shut the door, and took up position just inside.
"Don't be nervous. Sit down," Rogue said, pulling out several bullet glasses from under the table and pouring drinks.
Rhys moved towards a side seat, but Rogue stopped him. "You. Sit here, next to me."
"..." Rhys hesitated.
Maine gave him a gentle nudge. "Don't just stand there..."
Rhys had no choice but to go and sit beside the queen of the Afterlife.
Rogue finished pouring and passed the glasses around. When she handed one to Jackie, she paused, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but then offered a faint smile. Jackie took it with both hands, looking utterly star-struck.
"Do you know why I called you here?" Rogue asked, leaning back against the sofa, languid but radiating authority.
"Uh, is it about Janus?" Maine ventured immediately.
Rogue looked at him. "Nothing happens in the underworld without me knowing. What you pulled... it wasn't exactly small-time."
"Here's the situation: Arasaka was supplying weapons to the Tyger Claws to bolster their forces. 6th Street got wind of it, tipped off Militech, and Militech gave them the green light to hijack the shipment. Normally, this would just escalate the gang war on the border of Santo Domingo and Westbrook. But then Night Corp got involved."
She poured herself another drink. "The mega-corps screw each other over constantly, but they always maintain a clean public image. So, the dirty work, the stuff that can't see the light of day, gets outsourced to the gangs. You need black-ops crews to handle wetwork, money laundering, burying scandals. And Night Corp... they've always aimed to 'clean up' Night City, to reclaim the power they lost."
"Simply put, you were pawns. Sacrifices meant to ignite a full-blown war between the Tyger Claws and 6th Street."
"Janus never expected you to survive, let alone succeed. But you exceeded everyone's expectations. You not only survived, you zeroed him."
"So... you knew this was a setup from the start?" Maine asked, his brow furrowed.
"Like I said, nothing happens without me knowing." Rogue took a sip of her drink, understanding the unspoken accusation in his question. "This business is like that. You get screwed, it means you weren't good enough. Knowing the score, reading the situation—that's part of the skill set."
"It was a double-edged sword. Fail, and you disappear. Succeed... and you get my attention. You step into a higher circle." Rogue stated it simply, matter-of-factly.
Intervene? She had a thousand other things on her plate. Why would she waste time on corpo-gang squabbles? Did they think she was still the solo from decades ago, ready to burn down the establishment at a moment's notice? Those days were long gone. She was a fixer now, not a merc.
"However..." Rogue suddenly leaned forward, setting her glass down. An intense pressure emanated from her, filling the small room. She locked eyes with Maine.
"A fixer gets flatlined by the mercs he hired. What, are you planning on quitting the business?"
Her voice was dangerously quiet.
"Who gave you the balls?"