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"Are you really not going to see Viktor?"
"I'll go tomorrow or the day after. I still have a call to take, and I figure it'll take quite a while."
Jax climbed out of the car beneath the massive Megabuilding in Rancho Coronado. He turned back to Maine and Jackie, offering a tired but genuine smile. "We'll be free for the next few days, and we have plenty of time, don't we? Besides, I don't have any cyberware installed, so there's no need to rush to the ripperdoc for a tune-up."
Maine nodded, his heavy armored arm resting on the door frame. "Alright, if that's how you want it. But Jax—what about your steel? That Katana is trash now, isn't it?"
Jax felt a pang of conflict. That thermal Katana had been an exceptional tool—in game terms, it was at least an Epic-tier blade. Night City was full of specialized weapons, but Jax hadn't been a "Katana main" in his previous life. He only knew the legends, like the Byakko.
The Byakko—jokingly known as "Wakako's Secret" or the "Old Lady's Passionate Love"—was a masterpiece. Its legendary ability to lunge at enemies from a distance made it a favorite for any high-reflex solo. But given his current... "complicated" relationship with Wakako Okada, there was zero chance she'd just hand it over as a gift.
Maybe I should have someone craft a custom piece, Jax thought.
He didn't just need a sharp edge; he needed utility. A blade that could aid in stealth, something with a built-in sensor or perhaps a high-tension grappling hook for vertical infiltration. He needed a multi-tool of death.
"I have some ideas," Jax said. "I'll talk to Pilar. He's a wizard with hardware."
Pilar was more than just a loudmouth; he was a top-tier technician. If he weren't a mercenary, he'd be a senior engineer at a corp like Militech or Kang Tao. He understood that a gun from fifty years ago wasn't necessarily weaker than the chrome-plated garbage sold in corporate stores today. In 2026, "innovation" often just meant more expensive plastic and fool-proof aiming systems at the cost of raw stopping power.
"Alright, we're heading out then," Maine said, signaling Jackie to move.
"Yeah, I'm going to go face-plant into my sofa. Catch you later," Jax waved them off.
The adrenaline had finally left his system, leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue. The Potential Burst had squeezed every drop of energy from his cells. He trekked up to his apartment, the hallway lights flickering with the usual Megabuilding instability.
Inside, he collapsed onto his sofa. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, he forced himself up, grabbed a cheap synth-drink from the fridge, and dialed a familiar number.
The holographic screen flared to life. Susan sat in her high-backed executive chair at Lizzie's, her sharp features framed by her pinned-back hair. Behind her, the neon purple and pink of the club cast long shadows.
"Why are you calling me?" Susan asked, her voice as dry as the Badlands.
"I was going to ask why you sent that email," Jax replied, slumping back into the cushions.
"To celebrate, obviously," Susan mocked. "The Rising Star of the Edgerunner circle. Night City's newest legend-in-the-making."
Jax rolled his eyes. He knew Susan. Her emails were filled with genuine, frantic concern, but the moment they were face-to-face, her "corporate ice" defense came right back up.
"If you're just going to needle me, I'm hanging up. I'm exhausted, Susan."
Susan's expression softened, just a fraction. She crossed her arms. "You've become a big deal, Jax. The street is talking. They say you single-handedly wiped out a hundred Nightwalkers. They say you're a one-man army."
She paused, her gaze turning serious. "Kolina and I have been talking. Using your fame to bolster the Moxes... it would make the Tyger Claws back off. They're lunatics, but their bosses are businessmen. They respect power. But tying you to us... it might hurt your reputation as a solo."
Susan gave a bitter, sarcastic smile. "After all, how do the 'Big Mercs' see the Moxes? A mutual aid society for girls in fishnets and a record store that sells smut."
Jax reached up, adjusting the baseball cap on his head. He tilted the brim so the Moxes' logo—the pink skull and crossed axes—was clearly visible to the camera.
"I was raised by those people, Susan. Do you think I'm ashamed of them?"
Susan was silent for a long moment. She spun her chair away from the camera, her voice muffled. "Alright. I get it. I'll make good use of your scary new reputation, then."
"Susan."
"Spit it out."
"I'm going to change things," Jax said softly. "One day, when people in this city talk about the Moxes, they'll do it with respect. And a little bit of fear. I promise you."
"Yeah, yeah, kid. Whatever. I've got work to do. Don't die."
She hung up instantly. Jax smiled. Cold, selfish, and complex—that was Susan. But she had been his mother in every way that mattered.
Lizzie's Bar, Watson.
Susan stared at the blank screen for a moment after the call ended.
"What did the brat say?"
The door to the office swung open. Anna Nox leaned against the frame, dressed in a leopard-print bodysuit and neon pink jacket. Her Mantis Blades were retracted, but her presence still dominated the room.
"He's being a sentimental fool," Susan muttered.
"When are you going to stop lying to yourself?" Anna laughed, poking her head back in. "You've treated him like a son since the day he walked in here. If you didn't love him, you would've traded him to the Tyger Claws months ago to save us the headache. You're just as soft as he is."
"Get out!" Susan roared, throwing a heavy metal paperweight at the door.
Anna dodged it with a cackle. "Stubborn old lady! Everyone knows!"
Susan slumped back into her chair, a ghost of a smile touching her lips as she looked at the empty space where Jax's face had been.
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