Neo didn't make a sound.
He stood quietly in the dim light of the ruined rooftop, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, simply watching the curve of Panam Palmer's back as she scanned the streets below.
Tight leather jacket. Yellow bodysuit peeking beneath it. Fitted high-waist jeans hugging the kind of form that could make a saint forget their vows.
Her skin caught the moonlight—faint bronze with a desert sheen.
Goddamn, Neo thought, lips quirking faintly. That's unfair.
He wasn't made of stone—and right now, restraint was in short supply.
Panam shifted slightly, perhaps sensing something. Maybe his gaze lingered too long. Maybe instinct warned her that a hunter's eyes were on her.
She spun around—rifle raised.
Neo didn't flinch. He simply lifted a finger to his lips.
"Shh," he whispered, voice calm as ever. "Easy. It's me. We met at the Battle Run. I'm here to handle your… problem."
Good timing—because if he'd taken one second longer to explain, she'd have put a bullet straight through his head.
Her eyes narrowed. "You?" She ducked low, grabbing his sleeve. "Then shut up and get down—one of those bastards just spotted movement!"
In a flash, she pulled him into cover behind a pile of scrap metal. The two crouched side by side in the dark, breaths steady, hearts pounding.
She hissed under her breath, "You said you came to help me? Alright then, genius—twenty hostiles, all armed. They've got rifles, shotguns, even a rocket launcher on one of the rigs. We've got two people. So tell me—how the hell do you plan to help?"
Neo looked at her, eyes reflecting the faint flicker of distant firelight. "That's easy," he said. "We kill them all."
Panam blinked. "...What?"
Before she could question the sheer absurdity of that answer, Neo stood up.
"Jackie," he said casually, voice carrying through the hollow ruins. "Let's get started."
For a split second, the raiders below froze mid-step.
Wait.
Who the hell was Jackie?
They got their answer fast.
A thunderous crash shattered the silence as a wall exploded outward, concrete dust spraying through the air. Through the hole charged a mountain of a man—Jackie Welles, gorilla arms gleaming under the broken moonlight.
"Buenas noches, cabrones!" he roared, his grin wicked and wild. "Miss me?"
His right arm—a full military-grade Gorilla Arm Mk.IV—swung forward like a freight train.
BOOM!
The nearest scav's upper body simply ceased to exist. Flesh and armor vaporized in a spray of red and chrome.
Another turned, screaming, rifle raised—too slow. Jackie lifted his arm to block the barrage, sparks ricocheting off the reinforced plating. Then he lunged, driving a fist straight through the man's chest.
The sound was wet. Final.
Two down in five seconds.
Jackie picked up their guns, dual-wielded like a soldier born to it, and charged deeper into the maze of ruins. Gunfire echoed, loud and furious, a violent percussion that filled the empty town.
Up above, Neo stood on the rooftop edge, arms still folded, watching calmly.
He'd thought he might need to intervene—but watching Jackie plow through the enemy like a tank with a vendetta? Not so much.
Beside him, Panam's jaw had gone slack. Her wide eyes reflected the chaos below.
She'd seen her share of mercs. But never one like Jackie Welles—and definitely never anyone like the man standing next to her, silent, utterly unshaken.
Because she'd noticed it too.
The way Jackie had appeared right after Neo spoke his name.
The way Neo hadn't even bothered to shout.
The way he watched, commanding the battlefield without lifting a finger.
That wasn't coincidence. That was control.
Jackie's laughter rolled through the streets. "Come on, pendejos! This all you got?"
He ripped the door off a car, used it as a shield, then hurled it like a discus, crushing two men at once.
"Need a hand up there?" Neo called, his tone almost teasing.
Jackie barked a laugh mid-fight. "What? With these clowns? Don't insult me, hermano!"
He tore another scav's head clean off and threw it like a baseball.
Panam's voice trembled slightly—not from fear, but awe. "What are you people…?"
Neo didn't answer.
Down below, one surviving raider—seeing the massacre—panicked. He dove into a nearby off-roader, slamming on the ignition, tires screaming as he tried to flee toward the dunes.
Jackie swore. "Shit! One got away! V, mind clipping that tail before he calls reinforcements?"
Neo's eyes narrowed, tracking the vehicle speeding into the night.
"On it," he said.
Panam, snapping out of her trance, quickly handed him her sniper rifle. "Take it. It's zeroed for—"
He waved it off with a faint smile. "Appreciate the offer, but I don't use guns."
She frowned. "Then what the hell do you—"
He moved.
The motion was fluid, almost silent. His hand fell to the hilt at his hip.
The Autumn Water—that strange, jet-black katana he carried like it was an extension of his body—whispered as it left the scabbard.
Shing.
A pulse of energy rippled across the rooftop. The air itself seemed to shudder.
Neo's left hand gripped the blade, dark veins of Armament Haki flooding across the steel, coating it in black fire.
Then—
He swung.
A clean, single motion.
The sword didn't cut through air—it erased it.
A crescent of dark-green light carved through the night sky, traveling faster than a bullet, slicing through wind, distance, and sound.
SNAP.
The off-roader in the distance split cleanly down the middle.
Not crashed. Not wrecked. Bisected.
Its frame slid apart, each half still glowing from the friction heat before collapsing into the sand.
Even the asphalt beneath it bore a single, perfect scar that stretched for dozens of meters.
Panam froze.
The desert wind carried the sound of falling debris.
Neo sheathed the blade with a quiet click. "Now…" He turned back to her, expression calm. "You were saying something?"
Panam stared at him like she was seeing a ghost. Her lips parted, words catching before she forced them out.
"You… what are you?"
Her voice was a whisper now. "No one that strong just walks around Night City unnoticed. People would know. Someone like you doesn't just appear."
Neo smiled faintly. "Then consider this your exclusive scoop. I haven't been around long."
He stepped past her, the faint glimmer of his sword fading.
"Killed Adam Smasher not too long ago," he added casually. "Maybe you heard about that."
Panam blinked. Once. Twice.
Her mind struggled to connect the dots.
Adam Smasher.
The Reaper of Night City.
And the man standing in front of her said it like he'd stepped on an insect.
The wind swept through the ruined city, carrying the faint scent of blood and engine oil.
Panam's voice came soft, stunned, almost reverent.
"…You're not just from Night City, are you?"
Neo's eyes glimmered faintly under the moonlight.
"Not really," he said. "I just decided to make it mine."