The Afterlife. Located in the gut of Watson's Chinatown, it was more than a nightclub—it was a graveyard for the mediocre and a cathedral for the legendary. To walk through those doors was to announce that you were no longer just another body in the morgue; you were a player.
They called it "breakfast," but by the time the crew rolled into Chinatown, the sun was already starting its descent. Most mercenaries live by moonlight, making the Afterlife a ghost town during the day. Only those who knew the rhythms of the city—and how to bypass the "closed" sign—found their way inside before the 6 PM rush.
Maine killed the engine and stepped out, his massive boots hitting the pavement with a heavy thud. Dorio followed, her eyes scanning the street with practiced professional paranoia. In the backseat, Rebecca took a sharp, jagged breath, her twitchy energy barely contained as she reached for the door handle.
Jax stepped out last, adjusting the brim of his hat.
"Relax, Jax," Maine said, his large hand coming down on Jax's shoulder like a falling tree. "The Tyger Claws don't have the stones to start a fire in here. You can lose the hat."
"I'm not hiding from the Claws," Jax replied, shaking his head. "It's a habit. Keeps the peripheral noise down."
Since his second year in Night City, the hat had been his shroud. It was a piece of armor that didn't require a battery—a small comfort in a world that was always watching.
At the entrance, they were met by a wall of meat and cybernetics. Emerick, the gatekeeper whose gaze had judged a thousand aspiring legends, narrowed his eyes at Jax.
"And who's the fresh meat?" Emerick asked.
"He's with me, Emerick," Maine interjected, his tone casual but firm. "Clean record, solid hand. He's in."
Emerick was silent for a heartbeat, his optics whirring as he processed the request. "Fine. But watch yourself, Maine. You're finally gaining some traction. Don't let a stray dog trip you up."
"I know the rules," Maine chuckled.
The heavy doors hissed open, venting a chill that carried the faint, antiseptic sting of the building's former life as a morgue.
"Let's go, Jax! Time to show you the real world," Maine announced, throwing an arm around Jax's neck and dragging him into the belly of the beast.
Inside, the bar was nearly empty. Instead of the familiar face of Claire, a male bartender was methodically polishing glassware, prepping for the evening's carnage. The space was cavernous, far larger and more oppressive than any digital recreation could convey. It felt cold, ancient, and heavy with the weight of the dead men whose names graced the drink menu.
"Over there are the booths," Maine pointed out, playing the part of the veteran mentor. "Big shots and fixers. We're not quite there yet, but soon."
Maine had spent the last twelve hours trying to recruit Jax, moving from persuasive to annoying and finally landing on persistent. He seemed convinced that Jax's silence was a sign of weakening resolve rather than simple indifference.
"Here!"
A sound like a sharp quack echoed through the bar. Sasha was sitting in a low booth, and hovering uncomfortably close to her was a man who looked like a biological glitch. He had a pair of massive Gorilla Arms clamped onto a torso as thin as a reed—looking like two hydraulic pillars supporting a bamboo pole.
"You son of a—!"
Rebecca didn't wait. She launched herself across the floor, leaping onto the thin man like a rabid octopus. She began raining punches down on his head, her teeth bared in a snarl.
"You jerk! You said we'd go together! You ditched me for some skirt!"
"Maine's car is safer than mine! And we just got here five minutes ago!" Pilar yelled, his massive chrome arms reflexively shielding Rebecca to keep her from falling even as she tried to scalp him.
Maine led Jax to the table, ignoring the sibling carnage. Sasha looked up, her cat-like features softening into a smile as she nodded to Jax. She knew he was her shadow for the night—the man hired to keep her brain from frying while she danced in the net.
"Alright, sit," Maine commanded.
Rebecca finally disentangled herself from Pilar's head, sitting down and nursing a cocktail with a look of lingering fury. Pilar adjusted his disproportionate arms, grinning sheepishly.
"Jax, the crew's all here," Maine said, his voice dropping into a serious register. "Let's do this properly. I'm Maine, Lead. This is Dorio, my second—she handles the heavy lifting. Sasha is our ghost; don't let the cute face fool you, she'll melt a corporate server before they know she's there. Pilar is our tech—guns, chrome, signal jamming, he's the backbone. And Rebecca... she's the wild card. Support and 'enthusiastic' violence."
Jax nodded, noting Maine's subtle shift from "the" crew to "our" crew. He didn't correct him.
"The Biotechnica job," Maine said, lighting a cigar and letting a plume of thick smoke drift toward the ceiling. "It's time. We go tonight."
Sasha leaned back, her eyes flickering. "Finally. If you hadn't insisted on waiting for a bodyguard, I'd have been in and out of their sub-net two days ago."
"Maine's just playing it smart, Sasha," Pilar interjected, leaning in close again. "This is our first big corporate play. We nail this, and the fixers start calling us. No more scraping for bottom-tier contracts."
"So, what's the play?" Rebecca asked, elbowing Pilar in the ribs to clear her personal space. "Are we sitting here until dawn again?"
Maine shook his head. "Small footprint tonight. Sasha and Jax handle the infiltration. Stealth is the only way this works. Rebecca, Dorio—you stay here. If the sirens start, I don't want a loud distraction; I want a clean exit."
"Why me?" Rebecca protested, her face scrunching up.
"Because you have the impulse control of a thermal detonator," Maine said flatly. "Jax and Sasha go in. Pilar and I stay in the getaway van, handling the signal blackouts and the extraction. As soon as Sasha pings us, we move."
Jax leaned back, feeling the weight of the Lizzie pistol at his small of his back. He looked at Sasha, the "ghost" of a crew that was destined for tragedy. He wasn't a hero, and he wasn't a savior. But tonight, he was the only thing standing between her and a corporate hit-squad.
"Ready when you are," Jax said.