## Chapter One — Market Weather Kabuki smelled like rain, hot oil, ozone, and bad financial decisions. The rain itself wasn’t heavy tonight. Just persistent. Thin cold sheets drifting through neon haze and steam vents, turning every surface reflective and every alley deeper than it looked. Market holograms bled color into puddles. Pink. Cyan. Toxic green. Advertisements warped across wet pavement under passing feet until the whole district looked like somebody had spilled a slot machine into a drainage system. Ace hated crowds. Not dramatically. Not in the “lone wolf” way mercs liked to romanticize after two drinks and a body count. Crowds were simply inefficient. Too many variables. Too many hands. Too many blind angles. Too many people walking directly into each other while pretending the city had room left for mistakes. Kabuki specialized in mistakes. Ace walked half a step behind Mai through the market flow, hood down despite the rain, one hand in her jacket pocket, the other free. Her eyes moved constantly—not paranoid, just practiced. Rooflines. Reflections. Hands. Waistbands. Escape routes. Drones. Camera placements. Who noticed them. Who pretended not to. Mostly the second category. Mai moved through the crowd like she had already solved it mathematically. Silver hair tied back loosely, dark coat catching faint rainwater under neon light, expression calm in the deeply suspicious way it always became when obsolete technology was nearby. Every few meters she slowed near a stall, scanned inventory, dismissed ninety percent of it instantly, then continued before the seller could fully begin the sales pitch. Shammy wandered beside them at her own impossible rhythm. At nearly two meters tall she should have drawn every eye in the district. Somehow the opposite happened. People looked toward her and then around her, as if the atmosphere itself gently suggested more urgent things elsewhere. Tonight her white hair carried faint electric-blue highlights where neon reflected through the rain. Or maybe not entirely reflection. Kabuki weather liked Shammy back. She tilted her face upward slightly as they passed beneath a maze of hanging signs and tangled power cables. “The air folds strangely here.” Ace glanced sideways. “It’s called bad city planning.” “No.” Shammy smiled faintly. “Pressure layering. Heat trapped between the buildings. Rain falls differently every few streets.” Mai stopped at a hardware stall without looking up. “She’s correct.” The vendor immediately straightened. He was old enough to know what Triad-shaped people looked like even before he understood why his instincts disliked the geometry of the group. “You buying or browsing?” Mai crouched slightly to inspect a tray of dusty interface boards. “Depends. Are these authentic pre-war Kyoto signal bridges or modern reproductions with artificial oxidation?” The vendor blinked once. Ace almost felt bad for him. Almost. “They’re authentic.” Mai looked up. The silence lasted exactly long enough. The vendor sighed. “…mostly authentic.” “Mm.” Mai picked up one of the boards carefully. Rain hissed softly against the market tarp overhead. Ace leaned against the side of the stall and watched people flow around them. Kabuki at night always looked like it was trying to improvise civilization from scraps: - noodle steam - patched umbrellas - black-market braindances - counterfeit chrome - children sprinting through alleys too fast for adults to stop them - music leaking from places with no visible speakers - vendors yelling over generators older than some governments A drunk salaryman stumbled into Ace’s shoulder. Then immediately corrected course after seeing her face. Smart. Shammy tilted her head slightly. “The rain changes three blocks east.” Ace looked at her. “You can tell that from here?” Shammy pointed upward. Between the stacked rooftops and glowing ad boards, wind moved strangely through the district. Tiny shifts. Tiny pressure inconsistencies. Warm currents from vents colliding with cold rain descending between towers. To Ace it looked like weather. To Shammy it was apparently literature. Mai finally spoke again without looking up from the hardware tray. “This one is genuine.” The vendor perked up immediately. “Yes! High-quality piece, very rare—” “The soldering is original.” Mai turned the board slightly under the neon. “The repair work is not.” The vendor’s soul visibly left his body for a second. Ace smirked. Shammy noticed first. “You’re enjoying this.” “No.” “You absolutely are.” Ace shrugged. “Watching scammers meet Mai is educational.” The vendor tried recovering dignity. “It still works.” Mai nodded once. “Yes. Poorly.” The man looked genuinely offended now. “That hardware survived thirty years.” Mai placed the board down carefully. “And someone taught it suffering afterward.” Ace snorted before she could stop herself. The vendor pointed at her. “She’s laughing at me.” “She’s laughing at your repair standards,” Mai corrected. “Difference?” “Precision.” Shammy laughed softly. The vendor looked between the three of them and made the extremely intelligent decision not to continue the conversation competitively. Mai selected two smaller components from another tray. “These are acceptable.” “Those cost extra.” “Obviously.” The vendor hesitated. Then named a price high enough that Ace almost respected it. Almost. Mai stared at him. Rain tapped softly against hanging tarps overhead. A tram screamed somewhere deeper in Kabuki. Finally Mai said: “No.” The vendor blinked. “No?” “No.” “That’s not negotiation.” “It is classification.” Ace folded her arms. “Here we go.” The vendor recovered slightly. “Lady, this is Kabuki.” “Yes.” Mai’s expression remained perfectly calm. “Which means the actual price is approximately forty percent lower than the insult you just attempted.” Shammy looked delighted. The vendor looked wounded. Ace watched three teenagers nearby pretend not to watch the conversation while absolutely watching the conversation. Finally the vendor sighed dramatically and lowered the number. Mai immediately lowered it further. The man stared at her in betrayal. “You enjoy this.” “No,” Mai said. Ace and Shammy both looked at her. Mai paused. “…a little.” That was when the sound reached them. Metal hitting concrete. Not loud. Wrong. Ace’s head turned before the echo finished. Half a second later: - bottle breaking - somebody shouting - a woman’s voice trying to keep things verbal - male laughter answering too quickly Not drunk laughter. Predatory laughter. The kind that arrived after a line had already been crossed. Shammy’s posture changed first. The air around her tightened slightly. Mai slowly set the hardware piece back onto the tray. Ace was already looking toward the alley mouth across the street. Rain drifted through pink neon between buildings there, turning the narrow passage into smeared color and shadow. Another impact sound. Someone hit metal hard enough to dent it. Then a voice: “Last warning.” Female. Controlled. Bleeding underneath. Ace pushed away from the stall immediately. Mai’s eyes narrowed toward the alley. Then she stopped. Not because of danger. Recognition. “…Suzy.” Ace looked at her. Mai was already moving. “That’s Suzy Q.” The vendor blinked. “The Mox?” Nobody answered him. Across the street, another voice laughed. Too eager. Too cruel. Then came the sound Ace hated most in Night City: someone still trying diplomacy after the situation had already become violence. Ace crossed the street through rain and neon without breaking stride. “This isn’t collection anymore,” she said quietly. And just like that, Kabuki stopped being a market. --- ## Chapter Two — Debt Collection Weather The alley smelled like wet concrete, blood, cheap synth-smoke, and overheated chrome. Kabuki’s market noise faded strangely once inside the narrow service corridor, swallowed by stacked buildings and dripping pipes overhead. Neon from the main street leaked in through the rain in broken colors—pink on one wall, toxic blue on another, red flickering weakly from a dying sign somewhere above. A woman sat against a dented maintenance door holding her side. Mox. Pink jacket soaked dark with rainwater and blood. One eye swelling shut. Still conscious. Still trying to keep her pistol lowered. That told Ace everything she needed to know. The other Mox stood in front of her. Tall. Dark curls shaved short on one side. Gold-ring piercings catching neon light. One hand raised slightly in a calming gesture despite the blood running from a split lip. Suzy Q. And facing them: Five gangoons. Three Tyger Claws. Two Maelstrom. Which already explained why the situation smelled wrong. Temporary alliances in Night City usually meant somebody expected profit or corpses. One of the Maelstromers held a shock baton loosely in one hand, twitching chrome optics scanning too fast across the alley. Overstimmed. Chemical burn visible in the jaw tension alone. A Tyger Claw with gold tattoos across his throat smiled when he saw Ace and the others approach. Bad smile. The kind men practiced when they mistook escalation for control. “Private business,” he said. Ace looked at the injured Mox. Then at the dent in the wall beside her. Then at the baton. Then at Suzy Q still trying not to force the next step. “No,” Ace said. The Maelstromer laughed. “Tiny bitch thinks she gets a vote.” Shammy stepped into the alley behind Ace. The rain changed. Not dramatically. Just enough that droplets started falling harder at the alley mouth while the center space became strangely still. Mai stopped beside Ace, eyes on Suzy first. “You are injured.” Suzy Q stared at her for half a second. Recognition landed immediately. “…Mai.” The Tyger Claw frowned. “You know these people?” Suzy didn’t look away from Mai. “Yes.” Ace noticed something important then: Suzy Q relaxed. Not much. Enough. Which meant she understood exactly what kind of people had just entered the alley. The Tyger Claw noticed too late. “What the fuck is this—” The Maelstromer moved first. Mistake. Too fast. Too angry. Baton already coming up before the sentence finished. Ace stepped forward. Not flashy. One motion. The baton struck empty air where her head had been half a second earlier. Ace caught the Maelstromer’s wrist, redirected momentum sideways, and slammed him face-first into the concrete wall hard enough that chrome teeth shattered across wet pavement. The baton clattered away. Ace never even looked at him afterward. The second Tyger Claw reached for his pistol. Mai shot the weapon before it cleared leather. The disruptor round hit with a flat metallic crack and the pistol came apart in the man’s hand like someone had removed its willingness to remain a machine. He screamed. Mai looked annoyed. “You attempted escalation.” The alley pressure changed violently. The remaining Maelstromer tried charging Shammy. Bad decision. Shammy raised one hand slightly. The air hit him sideways. Not a visible blast. Worse. Sudden pressure inversion. His footing vanished beneath him and his body slammed into a pile of wet crates hard enough to fold the stack inward. He stayed down making sounds like broken electronics arguing with biology. The last two Tyger Claws hesitated. That hesitation saved them. Ace’s katana slid free with a low emerald hum that painted the rain green for half a second. Nobody breathed. Ace held the blade low. Relaxed. Calm. Which was exactly why the alley suddenly felt far too small. “This,” Ace said quietly, “was your chance to stop.” The gold-tattooed Tyger Claw looked around. One Maelstrom unconscious. Another trying to stand and failing. One Claw clutching a destroyed hand. Three unfamiliar women who had dismantled the alley in under six seconds. And Mai. Recognition hit him late. His expression changed. “Oh.” Mai’s voice remained perfectly level. “Yes.” The man backed up one step instinctively. Ace noticed he positioned himself between her and the injured Mox anyway. Interesting. Not courage. Habit. Pack behavior. Predators sometimes protected what they thought belonged to them. Ace hated that instinct. The man tried recovering control through volume. “You think the Mox can dodge debt forever?” Suzy Q finally spoke again. “You stopped collecting debt three minutes ago.” The alley went still. There it was. The line. Everybody present knew it. Debt collection had rules in Night City. Brutal rules, ugly rules, criminal rules—but rules. Once intimidation became entertainment, the transaction changed. The Tyger Claw smiled again, weaker this time. “You don’t know the whole situation.” Ace tilted her head slightly. “You hit someone sitting on the ground.” The man’s eyes flicked to the injured Mox. Wrong move. Ace moved. Fast enough the alley barely processed it. One second she stood three meters away. Next second the katana rested against the Tyger Claw’s throat. Not cutting. Just touching. Rain slid down the emerald edge in glowing droplets. Ace looked up at him calmly. “That means I no longer care about your situation.” Nobody moved. Not even the injured Mox. The Maelstromer against the crates coughed blood and static somewhere behind them. Shammy’s air held the alley in suspension. Mai stepped past Ace without hurry and crouched beside the injured Mox. “May I?” The woman blinked. “…what?” “Medical evaluation.” The Mox stared at her for another second. Then laughed weakly through split lips. “Sure. Why not.” Mai examined the injury quickly. Bruised ribs. Likely cracked. Shoulder partially dislocated. No arterial bleeding. Concussion probable. Manageable. Mai looked up at Suzy Q. “You allowed negotiation too long.” Suzy leaned against the rain-slick wall and wiped blood from her mouth with the back of one hand. “You opening with criticism?” “Yes.” “…good. Means you’re actually Mai.” Ace almost smiled. The Tyger Claw under her blade swallowed carefully. “You done proving your point?” Ace looked at him. “No.” Then she stepped back. The sudden absence of the blade frightened him more than the threat itself. Interesting again. The man glanced toward the alley mouth. Escape calculations now. Good. Ace preferred survival instinct over desperation. “Take your people,” she said. “Leave.” The Maelstromer on the ground snarled something wet and cybernetic. Ace looked at him. “Or stay. I genuinely don’t care.” Shammy tilted her head slightly. The air pressure around the alley dropped one sharp degree. Not enough to hurt. Enough to suggest weather could become personal. The Tyger Claw made the correct decision. He grabbed the wounded Claw by the jacket and started backing toward the street. One step. Then another. Then stopped. Not bravado this time. Confusion. He looked at Mai. “…why the fuck are you helping Mox?” Mai finished resetting the injured woman’s shoulder with one precise motion. The crack echoed through the alley. The Mox hissed through her teeth. Mai answered without looking up. “You are bleeding on public infrastructure and behaving like unsupervised animals.” The Tyger Claw blinked. Suzy Q barked out a laugh despite herself. “…still terrifyingly polite.” Mai looked at her evenly. “And you are still injured.” The Tyger Claw decided the conversation had become actively dangerous to remain inside. Good instinct. The remaining goons pulled back into the rain and neon beyond the alley mouth. Not running. Not slowly either. Ace watched until they disappeared into Kabuki foot traffic. Then she slid the katana back into its sheath. The alley exhaled. Shammy’s pressure eased. Rain immediately rushed back into the space like the city reclaiming atmosphere. Behind Ace, the injured Mox finally looked up properly. First at Mai. Then Shammy. Then Ace. “…holy shit.” Ace grimaced slightly. “Don’t start.” “You took down Brickjaw in like three seconds.” “I don’t know who that is.” The Mox pointed weakly toward the unconscious Maelstromer. “The chrome idiot.” “Oh.” Suzy Q pushed herself away from the wall carefully. Pain flashed across her face for half a second before discipline buried it again. She looked at Mai. Then at Ace. Then at Shammy. Rainwater ran down neon reflections across her jacket. “The Mox owe you.” Ace answered immediately. “No.” Suzy raised an eyebrow. “No?” “You already got hit. That’s enough paperwork.” The injured Mox started laughing hard enough that her ribs immediately objected. Mai looked at her. “Stop doing that.” “Sorry.” “No you are not.” “…fair.” Suzy watched the interaction quietly. Assessing. Ace noticed. Professional eyes. Not gang eyes. Not gratitude-blindness either. Suzy Q was calculating exactly what kind of people had just walked into her problem without hesitation. And exactly how rare that was in Night City. Finally she said: “You three busy?” Ace narrowed her eyes immediately. “Yes.” Mai said at the same time: “Possibly.” Ace looked at her. Mai ignored the look completely. Suzy smiled despite the blood on her mouth. “There’s a Mox place two blocks over. Safe. Warm. Dry.” She glanced toward the alley mouth. “And if Brickjaw wakes up before his remaining brain cells do, I’d rather not have a second round in the rain.” The injured Mox lifted one hand weakly. “Also I would kill for coffee.” Mai stood smoothly. “You likely have a concussion. Coffee is unwise.” The woman stared at her. “You really are terrifyingly polite.” Shammy smiled softly. Ace sighed toward the neon sky above the alley. Kabuki rain answered by getting slightly heavier. --- ## Chapter Three — Mox Territory The Mox bar sat beneath a braindance parlor, behind a noodle shop, under a flickering sign that had probably been repaired by violence at least twice. Which meant it was stable by Night City standards. Pink neon glowed through rain-streaked windows. Music thumped softly somewhere deeper inside—not loud club music, not performance noise, just enough bass to make the walls feel occupied. Warm light spilled out across wet pavement in sharp contrast to Kabuki’s cold alley reflections. Ace noticed the security before the door even opened. Hidden cameras. Layered sightlines. Two separate kill angles near the entrance. Shotgun under the counter. Good setup. Not military-grade. Human-grade. Different thing entirely. The guard at the door straightened when Suzy Q approached, then froze seeing the state of the group. “Suze—what the fuck happened?” “Debt collection forgot what debt collection means.” The guard’s eyes moved past her. First Mai. Recognition. Then Shammy. Confusion. Then Ace. Immediate recalculation. Ace was used to that one. The guard opened the door without another word. Warmth hit them immediately. Not physical heat alone. Occupied warmth. People talking. Glasses clinking. Music leaking from old speakers. The smell of alcohol, cheap food, synth perfume, gun oil, wet jackets drying near heaters. Life. The contrast after the alley almost felt violent. Several Moxes looked up automatically as Suzy entered. Conversations stalled. Not fear. Assessment. One injured Mox supported by Suzy Q herself already meant the night had gone wrong somewhere. The fact that Triad walked in beside them made the room’s collective pulse change instantly. Ace felt it happen. Not hostile. Just sharp. The Moxes knew predators when they saw them. And Triad absolutely looked like predators. The difference was that predators normally walked into places like this already expecting ownership. Triad entered like guests. That mattered. Suzy jerked her head toward the back. “Clinic room.” A woman behind the counter immediately moved to help the injured Mox. “No booze,” Mai said before anyone could offer. The bartender blinked. “…you walked into a Mox bar and opened with medical restrictions.” “Yes.” The bartender stared for a second. Then started laughing. “Holy shit, Suze wasn’t kidding.” Suzy wiped rainwater off her face with one hand. “Told you. Terrifyingly polite.” Mai removed her coat carefully as they entered the back room. The “clinic” looked exactly like what happened when Night City women decided official healthcare was a bad joke and solved the problem themselves: - patched med equipment - clean towels stacked beside ammunition boxes - real disinfectant beside counterfeit synth-skin kits - old trauma diagrams pinned beside braindance posters - practical lighting - zero aesthetic interest in corporate sterility Ace liked it immediately. Which probably meant it violated several laws. The injured Mox sat carefully on the edge of a treatment chair. “Name’s Rina, by the way.” Ace nodded once. “Ace.” Rina blinked. “Oh.” That reaction again. Ace was getting increasingly tired of becoming recognizable. Shammy leaned casually against the wall while Mai began checking Rina’s ribs properly. Suzy remained standing near the doorway watching the room. Not distrustful. Professional. Ace noticed she never fully turned her back to anyone. Interesting. Mai pressed lightly against Rina’s side. Rina hissed through clenched teeth. “Cracked,” Mai said. “Not broken through.” “Lucky me.” “Yes.” “…you say that like an insult.” Mai adjusted the scan angle. “It is a classification.” Rina stared at Ace helplessly. “How do you survive conversations with her?” Ace shrugged. “She grows on you.” Mai didn’t look up. “That is not universally confirmed.” Shammy smiled faintly. “It is.” Suzy finally stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind her. The music outside dulled slightly. Private now. She looked at Mai carefully. “Haven’t seen you since Lizzie’s.” Mai nodded once. “That situation escalated.” Suzy barked a short laugh. “That’s one way to describe a cyberpsycho trying to staple a Tyger Claw to a jukebox.” Ace looked at Mai slowly. Mai continued scanning Rina’s ribs as if that sentence had not happened. “…what.” Mai remained perfectly calm. “He survived.” “That was not the concerning part.” Rina looked openly delighted now. “Oh this is great. She never told you?” Ace folded her arms. “How many terrifyingly polite incidents are there?” Mai finally looked up. “A non-zero amount.” Suzy leaned against the wall. “The Moxes talk about you sometimes.” Ace immediately disliked where this sentence could go. “No they don’t.” “They absolutely do.” “Why.” Suzy’s expression shifted slightly. Because now they were reaching the real thing underneath the alley fight. Not reputation. Not combat. Meaning. “You intervene,” Suzy said simply. Ace frowned. “So do the Mox.” “Yes.” Suzy nodded slowly. “Difference is the city expects it from us.” Mai disinfected bruising along Rina’s ribs with clinical precision. Rina immediately regretted having nerve endings. “Fuck—” “You are fortunate,” Mai said calmly. “How.” “That is not a liver rupture.” “…you really sweet-talk everybody like this?” “No.” Rina looked at Ace again. “She’s lying.” “She absolutely isn’t,” Ace said. Shammy’s soft laughter drifted through the room again like warm static. Suzy watched the three of them quietly. Then looked at Ace. “Most mercs in this city don’t step into somebody else’s debt problem unless there’s money, territory, or ego attached.” Ace leaned against the wall near the sink. Rain tapped softly against the small back window. “There wasn’t debt anymore.” Suzy held her gaze. No smile now. “No,” she agreed quietly. “There wasn’t.” The room settled around that truth. Rina finally broke the silence by pointing weakly toward Ace. “You know Brickjaw’s gonna tell everybody a tiny goth samurai folded him into architecture.” Ace grimaced. “I hate that description.” “It’s accurate though.” “It really isn’t.” Shammy tilted her head. “You are small.” “Traitor.” “And you had a sword.” “Also traitor.” Mai finished wrapping Rina’s ribs. “There. Minimal movement for forty-eight hours.” Rina stared. “In Night City?” “Yes.” “You asking for miracles now?” Mai considered this seriously. “…fair point.” Suzy snorted hard enough to reopen the cut on her lip slightly. Ace noticed immediately. “You’re bleeding again.” Suzy touched her mouth. “Huh.” Mai already had disinfectant in hand. Suzy pointed at her instantly. “No.” “Yes.” “I walked in here under my own power.” “You also walked into debt negotiations with insufficient backup.” Rina laughed so hard she nearly died again. “Oh my god she’s bullying Suzy Q medically.” Suzy looked deeply offended. “I’m being professionally evaluated against my will.” Mai stepped closer. “You are being corrected.” Ace made a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. Suzy looked at her. “You too?” Ace folded her arms tighter. “I survive by accepting weather patterns.” Shammy looked genuinely pleased by that sentence. Outside the clinic room, the bar slowly resumed normal rhythm. Music rose slightly. Voices returned. Someone started arguing over cards near the front tables. The danger had passed. Not completely. Not forever. Just enough. Ace realized then how important that distinction had become in Night City. Nobody waited for permanent safety anymore. People settled for breathing room. Suzy finally let Mai disinfect the split lip with the expression of someone allowing dentistry during a hostage negotiation. “This is humiliating.” Mai dabbed blood away carefully. “You attempted diplomacy with men who brought Maelstrom support.” “Yes.” “That was tactically unsound.” “Yes.” “Then the humiliation is educational.” Suzy stared at her. Then suddenly started laughing again despite herself. Ace shook her head slowly. “You really are terrifyingly polite.” Mai finally looked faintly confused. “I have been informed repeatedly.” Shammy moved toward the little back window and opened it slightly wider. Cold rain-air drifted into the warm room immediately. The pressure changed. Relaxed. Natural. Shammy smiled softly. “The building stopped bracing.” Suzy looked at her. “You always talk like weather is a person?” Shammy considered this carefully. “Sometimes.” “…that’s either really deep or really concerning.” “Yes,” Ace said immediately. Shammy looked wounded. Ace pointed toward her. “You once described Pacifica as emotionally humid.” “It was.” Rina stared at all three of them. “What the fuck kind of merc team are you?” Nobody answered immediately. Because there wasn’t a clean answer. Finally Suzy did. “The dangerous kind.” Ace expected fear when she said it. Instead Suzy smiled slightly. Not because danger impressed her. Because she understood exactly how rare controlled danger really was in Night City. --- ## Chapter Four — Warm Light Territory Somewhere around the second coffee, the room stopped feeling like aftermath and started feeling inhabited again. That was a subtle difference. Aftermath carried tension in the walls. Everybody stayed half-ready for the next interruption. Weapons remained mentally loaded even when holstered. Conversations stayed short because nobody trusted time yet. Inhabited rooms breathed differently. People leaned back. Jackets came off. Voices loosened. The rain outside softened from sharp hiss to steady background static against the windows. Rina sat sideways in the treatment chair holding an ice pack against her ribs with theatrical resentment. Mai had somehow convinced her not to drink alcohol by delivering a ten-minute explanation involving inflammation, recovery time, and “self-sabotaging healing behavior.” Rina later admitted she understood maybe four words total but felt medically threatened enough to comply. Ace sat near the back wall with a mug of coffee warming her hands. Not drinking much. Mostly existing. The adrenaline crash had arrived quietly sometime during the clinic conversation. Now her muscles felt heavy in the deeply familiar way combat always left behind once the body realized it had survived another night. Shammy occupied a stool near the open window, long legs folded awkwardly because the stool had clearly been designed for smaller humans and worse posture. Rain-cooled air drifted around her constantly now, mixing with warm bar atmosphere in soft little currents. Several Moxes had wandered into the back room over the last twenty minutes under increasingly transparent excuses: - checking supplies - looking for tools - bringing towels - asking about Rina - “totally unrelated reasons” Mostly they wanted to see Triad up close. Ace noticed. She pretended not to. Suzy leaned against the counter near the sink watching the room with one hand wrapped around black coffee. No makeup repair. No cleaned blood yet. No attempt to look untouchable again. Interesting. A younger Mox near the doorway kept sneaking glances toward Ace’s katanas. Finally she lost the battle against curiosity. “Those real?” Ace looked down at the sheathed blades beside her chair. “Yes.” “…can I ask what happened to the Maelstrom guy’s face?” “Concrete.” The girl blinked. “That’s it?” “He accelerated incorrectly.” Rina nearly spit coffee laughing. Suzy pointed at Ace. “See? This is why people talk about you.” Ace looked genuinely offended now. “No they don’t.” The younger Mox immediately said: “They absolutely do.” Traitorous agreement spread through the room instantly. Ace looked around slowly. “…seriously?” One of the women near the med cabinet shrugged. “You walked into Totentanz once carrying a severed turret.” Ace froze. “That was tactical.” Rina looked fascinated. “That was YOU?” Mai sipped coffee calmly. “Yes.” Ace turned toward her. “You are not helping.” “No.” “…that sounded like agreement.” “It was.” Shammy smiled into her mug. “The turret deserved it.” Ace pointed at her. “You especially are not helping.” The room laughed softly. Not explosive laughter. Not sitcom rhythm. The kind that happened when tension finally started unclenching from people’s shoulders. Suzy watched Ace carefully over the rim of her coffee. Then said quietly: “You really don’t notice what people think of you.” Ace frowned. “I notice plenty.” “No.” Suzy shook her head slightly. “You notice threats. Angles. Exits. Pressure. But not reputation.” Ace looked away first. Which, to Suzy’s credit, she did not push aggressively. Instead she gestured lightly around the room. “You know what most people in this city do when they see a Mox getting worked over by Claws or Maelstrom?” Ace already knew. So did everybody else. They keep walking. Suzy continued: “Maybe they feel bad. Maybe they don’t. But they keep moving because Night City teaches survival before courage.” The room quieted again. Even the music outside suddenly seemed farther away. Suzy looked at Ace directly now. “You moved toward it.” Ace shrugged once. “They crossed the line.” “Yes,” Suzy said softly. “And most people still would’ve kept walking.” Ace stared into her coffee. That bothered her more than praise ever did. Because from her perspective the decision had not been heroic. It had been obvious. Which meant the city itself had become bad enough that obvious things now looked exceptional. She hated that realization. Mai noticed immediately. Of course she did. “You are frowning at sociology again.” Rina looked between them. “…does she always know exactly what’s happening in your head?” Ace answered immediately. “Unfortunately.” Mai took another calm sip of coffee. “You become approximately twelve percent more irritated when confronting systemic moral failure.” Suzy blinked slowly. “Did you quantify her conscience.” Mai tilted her head slightly. “…possibly.” Shammy looked delighted. Ace looked betrayed. “This relationship has become hostile.” “No,” Mai said. “Merely measured.” Rina held up one hand carefully. “Okay, hold on. I need clarification.” Nobody stopped her. She pointed weakly toward Mai. “You’re terrifyingly polite.” Then at Ace. “You’re apparently some kind of violent alley cryptid.” Then at Shammy. “And you— honestly I still don’t know what’s happening there.” Shammy smiled warmly. “That’s fair.” Rina looked at all three together. “How the hell did this team happen?” Silence settled for a second. Not awkward. Thinking silence. Ace expected Mai to answer clinically. Or Shammy poetically. Instead Suzy did. “They fit.” Simple sentence. Heavy one. The room accepted it immediately. Because it was true in the way obvious things sometimes were once somebody said them aloud. Ace looked toward the rain-patterned window. “…still weird.” “Yes,” Shammy agreed happily. The younger Mox near the doorway finally gathered enough courage to speak again. “So… you really took down Brickjaw alone?” Ace groaned quietly. “He has a name?” “He’s kind of famous.” “That’s depressing.” “He punched a guy through a ripperdoc wall once.” Ace thought about the alley for half a second. “…okay that actually tracks.” Suzy smirked slightly into her coffee. “He’s gonna be furious when he wakes up.” “Good.” “No, you don’t understand.” Rina grinned painfully. “His entire thing is intimidation. Reputation. Big cyberpsycho energy.” Ace already disliked where this was going. Rina pointed dramatically. “You folded him into a crate stack in six seconds.” “…less good.” The younger Mox leaned forward eagerly. “And then held Razor-Throat at swordpoint.” “I didn’t know his name either.” “That makes it WORSE.” Mai calmly set her coffee down. “To be precise, Ace held the blade against the carotid region while allowing a mathematically survivable retreat corridor.” The room stared at her. Mai blinked once. “…what?” Suzy slowly lowered her mug. “You narrate violence like a dissertation.” Ace buried her face briefly in one hand. “This is my life.” Shammy tilted her head. “You say that fondly.” “I absolutely do not.” The room laughed again. And this time Ace let herself hear it properly. Not forced. Not survival laughter. Not stress hysterics. Just people alive after something ugly failed to become uglier. That mattered. A knock sounded lightly against the open clinic doorway. Another Mox leaned inside. “Suze?” “Yeah?” “Bar’s asking if your new cryptid friends want drinks on the house.” Ace immediately answered: “No.” Three separate Moxes booed her instantly. Suzy pointed at them triumphantly. “See? Reputation.” Ace looked deeply tired. “I hate this city.” Shammy glanced toward the rain outside. “No you don’t.” Ace opened her mouth. Stopped. Because unfortunately Shammy was right in the most irritating way possible. Night City was horrible. Cruel. Predatory. Exhausted. Beautiful in all the wrong places. And somehow still capable of producing rooms like this: - warm light - coffee steam - bruised people laughing anyway - strangers stepping between knives and debt collectors because some lines still mattered Ace hated how much that complicated things. Suzy watched the expression cross her face. Then smiled slightly. “There it is.” Ace narrowed her eyes. “What.” “That look.” “What look.” “The one where you realize you care.” Ace pointed toward the door. “I can still leave.” “No you can’t.” “…probably not.” “Exactly.” Rain tapped softly against the windows. Somewhere in the bar outside, music shifted tracks. Slower now. Lower bass. Somebody cheering over a card game. Shammy closed her eyes briefly and listened to the air moving through the building. “It stopped expecting violence.” The room went quiet one more time. Not because the sentence sounded strange. Because everybody understood it immediately. In Night City, even buildings learned fear eventually. And tonight, for a few hours at least, this one had decided it was safe again.