Rogue’s message had been short. > 48h off-grid. No jobs. No favors. No “just one quick thing.” > Touch the network and I will find you and make you regret being efficient. Ace had read it twice. Then once more, just in case there was a hidden clause like _“unless it’s interesting”_. There wasn’t. Which made it worse. --- The safehouse lasted exactly **two hours** before Ace stood up, paced once across the room, and stopped mid-step. “This is stupid.” Mai didn’t look up from the book she wasn’t reading. “We are complying with instructions.” “We are rotting.” “That is not the same.” Ace pointed at the kettle. “It hasn’t exploded in hours. That’s unnatural.” “That is the desired state.” “Not for it.” Shammy sat near the window, watching rain draw uneven lines down the smartglass. “It is behaving,” she said. Ace turned. “See? Even she’s bored.” “I am not bored.” “You’re staring at rain.” “I am observing non-repeating patterns.” “That’s fancy bored.” Shammy considered that. “…acceptable approximation.” Ace threw her hands up. “We’re going out.” Mai turned a page that didn’t need turning. “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” Ace leaned forward slightly. “Yes.” Mai finally looked up. “Rogue was explicit.” Ace grinned. “Rogue is not here.” Mai held her gaze. That lasted three seconds. Ace added, “We won’t take a job.” Mai’s eyes narrowed. “We won’t even _look_ like we’re taking a job.” “That is not a reassuring distinction.” “It’s the best one you’re getting.” Shammy tilted her head slightly. “Going outside will increase environmental input.” Ace pointed at her. “Exactly.” Mai sighed. Not dramatic. Not defeated. Just… calculating. “Where?” Ace shrugged. “Somewhere normal.” Mai’s expression said everything. “There is no normal in Night City.” “Then somewhere pretending to be normal.” “That is worse.” “Perfect.” Shammy stood. Decision made. “I will accompany.” Mai closed her book. “…fine.” --- Japantown at night had two speeds: - **too fast** - **too loud** Sometimes both. Neon bled into puddles like the city had tried to wash itself clean and given up halfway. Vendors shouted over each other in at least four languages. A synth-food stall vented steam that smelled vaguely like noodles if you didn’t think too hard about it. Someone argued about prices. Someone else argued about identity. A bike screamed past too close to pedestrian space and no one reacted because reacting took energy. Ace inhaled. “See? Better.” Mai scanned the crowd. “Statistically incorrect.” Shammy’s eyes moved slowly, tracking pressure changes in the human flow. “It is… dense.” “That’s one word for it,” Ace said. “Chaotic.” “Better word.” “Alive.” Ace smiled faintly. “Best word.” --- They lasted **eight minutes** before the first problem. It wasn’t a fight. That would have been easy. It was a **vendor**. A small stall wedged between two larger ones, selling skewered meat that might have been protein-adjacent. The man behind it wore a stained apron and a grin too wide for the hour. “Hey! Short one!” he called. Ace stopped. Mai stopped because Ace stopped. Shammy stopped because everything else had. The vendor leaned forward. “You look like you need real food.” Ace blinked. “I—” “Not synth crap. Not corpo paste. Real grill. Real fire.” Ace stared at the skewers. They did, in fact, look real. Suspiciously real. “What is it?” she asked. The vendor grinned wider. “Tonight? Special mix.” “That is not an answer.” “It is a lifestyle.” Mai stepped in. “Ingredients.” “Protein base.” “What protein?” “Depends how you define it.” Mai’s gaze flattened. “We define it strictly.” The vendor hesitated. That was new. “…mostly pork.” “Mostly?” “Look, you want food or philosophy?” Ace stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly. “Wrong question.” The vendor swallowed. “…pork,” he said. “Better.” Ace took one skewer. Examined it. Sniffed it. Took a bite. Chewed. Paused. Mai watched her. Shammy watched the air around the stall. Ace swallowed. “…okay, that’s actually good.” The vendor lit up. “See?” Mai exhaled slowly. “You are going to regret that.” “Probably.” Shammy leaned slightly closer, observing. “It is thermally uneven,” she said. Ace blinked. “What?” “The heat distribution is inconsistent.” “It’s grilled meat.” “Yes.” “…okay.” Shammy tilted her head. “I would like to try.” The vendor froze. Then slowly handed her a skewer. Shammy took a bite. Paused. Analyzed. “…interesting.” Ace grinned. “Welcome to normal.” --- They lasted **three more minutes** before the second problem. It was **music**. Or something claiming to be. A nearby bar had its doors open, blasting a bass-heavy track that felt less like sound and more like physical assault. The rhythm tried to be consistent, failed, tried again, then gave up and doubled down on volume instead. Ace winced. “Okay, that’s… aggressive.” Mai’s hand went to her temple. “That is neurological warfare.” Shammy’s hair lifted slightly. “The air is vibrating incorrectly.” “That’s not how music works,” Ace said. “It is how this works.” The bass hit again. Harder. Ace’s expression shifted. Not pain. Recognition. “…I don’t like this.” Mai glanced at her. “Because it is loud?” “No.” Another bass hit. Ace’s jaw tightened. “It’s trying to be… consistent.” Mai stilled. The connection landed. Shammy nodded slightly. “Forced rhythm.” Ace stepped back. “Yeah. Nope.” They moved. Fast. Not running. Just… leaving. --- They lasted **ten minutes** after that. Long enough to find a quieter street. Long enough for the noise to settle into something less intrusive. Long enough for Ace to start breathing normally again. She stopped near a low wall, leaned back against it. “Okay. That was worse.” Mai nodded. “Agreed.” Shammy stood beside them, watching the thinner crowd. “The environment is less dense here.” “Translation?” Ace asked. “Fewer variables attempting synchronization.” Ace exhaled. “Good.” --- The third problem found them. They didn’t find it. A young man stumbled out of an alley two blocks down. Alone. Unsteady. Not drunk. Not high. Something else. Ace saw it immediately. “…shit.” Mai followed her gaze. The man stopped under a flickering streetlight. Looked around. Not like he was searching for someone. Like he had forgotten how searching worked. Shammy’s expression shifted. “Residual pattern disruption.” Ace pushed off the wall. “Yeah.” Mai moved with her. “Careful.” “Always.” They approached slowly. The man didn’t react at first. Then he did. Too fast. His eyes snapped to Ace. Too sharp. Too familiar. “I know you,” he said. Ace stopped. “…do you?” “You were there.” Not a question. Statement. Ace glanced at Mai. Mai gave a tiny nod. Proceed. “What’s your name?” Ace asked. The man blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened. Closed. “…I don’t know.” That hit. Harder than it should have. Mai stepped closer, voice calm. “Do you remember anything?” The man shook his head. Too fast. Then slower. “I remember… quiet.” Ace’s jaw tightened. Of course he did. “Do you want it back?” she asked. The question slipped out. Raw. The man looked at her. Really looked. And for a second— just a second— his expression softened. Relief. Then it broke. “I don’t know,” he said. Shammy stepped forward. The air shifted. Not much. Just enough. The man inhaled. Sharply. Like his lungs had just remembered how to work. “It’s loud,” he whispered. “Yeah,” Ace said softly. “It is.” Mai crouched slightly, bringing herself to his level. “Focus on something small,” she said. “Anything. A detail.” The man looked around. Desperate. Confused. His gaze landed on Ace. “…your hair,” he said. Ace blinked. “What?” “It’s… uneven.” Ace stared at him. Mai’s lips twitched. “Good,” she said. “Keep going.” The man frowned slightly. “Black… with… purple?” Ace touched her hair reflexively. “…yeah.” “Why?” Ace shrugged. “Because I like it.” The man nodded slowly. Like that answer made sense. Like sense was something he could hold onto. Shammy’s field steadied around him. Mai watched his breathing. Ace stayed exactly where she was. After a minute— just one— the man’s shoulders lowered. Not fixed. Not stable. But… less lost. Mai stood. “He needs a clinic.” Ace nodded. “Not Helix Mercy.” “No.” Shammy spoke quietly. “There is a facility two blocks north. Independent. Low interference.” Mai glanced at her. “You’re sure?” “Yes.” Ace looked at the man. “You coming?” He hesitated. Then nodded. “Okay.” --- They walked him there. No fights. No ambush. No sudden chaos. Just a quiet handoff to a clinic that didn’t ask questions it didn’t need answered. When they stepped back out into the street, the city felt… different. Not quieter. Not better. Just… less wrong. Ace stretched slightly, winced. “Okay,” she said. “That counts as not a job.” Mai gave her a look. “That was absolutely a job.” “It was a walk with benefits.” “That is not how that phrase works.” “It is now.” Shammy observed the street again. “The environment has stabilized.” Ace smirked. “We fixed Night City.” Mai sighed. “No.” “Worth a try.” --- They walked back toward the safehouse. No rush. No pressure. Just movement. Ace drifted slightly closer to Shammy without thinking. Mai matched on the other side. No words. No need. Three separate rhythms. Same direction. That was enough. For tonight.