## Chapter 1 — Rogue’s Booth Afterlife breathed the way old predators slept. Not quietly. Not safely. Just efficiently. Bass rolled through the floor in slow pulses. Glasses clinked. Neon reflected from bottle rows and chrome implants and old blood polished out of surfaces that had seen too much to care anymore. Somewhere deeper in the club, somebody laughed too loudly at something that probably was not funny. Rogue’s booth sat above all of it like a sniper nest pretending to be furniture. Ace stepped into the upper level first. Automatically. Always first through thresholds with unclear intent. The Shadow Aura moved under her skin in a faint pressure shift, barely visible where the booth’s low amber light caught the edges of her silhouette wrong for half a second. Enough to unsettle instinct. Not enough to notice consciously unless someone already knew what they were looking at. Mai followed beside her, silver hair catching fragments of neon like clean cuts through dirty light. Shammy came last, tall enough that the booth suddenly looked smaller around her, static whispering softly along the edge of the railing as she passed. Rogue watched all three approach with the expression of a woman already regretting the next ten minutes. That was rarely a good sign. “Sit,” Rogue said. Ace sat opposite her. Mai slid into place beside Ace with practiced precision. Shammy folded herself into the remaining space with impossible grace for someone nearly two meters tall. The booth lights flickered once overhead. Shammy glanced upward. “Old wiring,” Rogue said flatly. Shammy smiled faintly. “Probably.” Rogue lit a cigarette. Real tobacco. Expensive enough to be insulting. “You’re getting a small job,” Rogue said. “And before any of you start acting offended, small is good.” Ace leaned back slightly. “Didn’t say anything.” “You were about to.” “I was breathing.” “Threateningly.” Mai reached for the slim encrypted shard Rogue slid across the table. “Parameters?” “Civilian-sensitive courier chain,” Rogue said. “One witness verification. One package transfer. No shooting unless somebody truly earns it.” “That narrows nothing down in Night City,” Ace muttered. “Correct.” Mai slotted the shard into a reader disk from her sleeve. Data reflected faintly in her silver-blue eyes as routes and timestamps unfolded. “Low priority?” she asked. “Low visibility,” Rogue corrected. That changed the atmosphere slightly. Ace noticed. So did Mai. Shammy tilted her head almost imperceptibly, like someone hearing distant thunder beyond a wall. Rogue continued. “Three contacts. None important enough to die over. None stupid enough to trust local courier traffic anymore. Somebody moves a witness token across districts quietly, everybody gets paid, city keeps spinning.” “Which means,” Ace said, “someone already made it weird.” Rogue pointed the cigarette at her. “Exactly. Which is why I’m telling you now: no noise.” Ace nodded once. Mai continued reading silently. Shammy looked down toward the club floor. “Atmosphere already unstable,” she said softly. Ace closed her eyes for half a second. “Why do you say things like weather reports.” “Because people behave like pressure systems.” Rogue snorted smoke. “She’s not wrong.” That was the moment Reyes arrived. Not dramatically. Which somehow made it worse. She appeared at the booth entrance carrying a drink she absolutely had not paid Afterlife prices for, red hair still damp from outside rain, jacket hanging open like rules were optional where she walked. “Hey,” Reyes said casually. “Rogue.” Rogue stared at her. Slowly. “No.” Reyes blinked. “I didn’t even say anything yet.” “You’re thinking near my booth. That’s enough.” Reyes looked past her toward Ace. Then Mai. Then Shammy. Her grin widened. “Oh,” she said. “This already looks irresponsible.” Ace felt dread arrive with perfect tactical clarity. Small. Precise. Entirely justified. “You’re not coming,” Rogue said immediately. Reyes leaned against the booth entrance. “Didn’t ask.” “You were about to.” “I was breathing.” Ace looked at Rogue. Rogue looked back. Neither of them appreciated the symmetry. Mai calmly removed the reader shard. “Operationally speaking, additional mobile support could reduce exposure.” Rogue pointed at Mai now. “You stop helping.” Shammy’s eyes drifted toward the lower club entrance. A second later she said: “Another one coming.” Ace physically felt her soul attempt to leave her body. Kiro burst into the upper level three seconds later carrying three tangled cables, an agent in one hand, and the expression of someone whose curiosity had defeated common sense somewhere around midnight two years ago. “I FOUND THE THREAD,” Kiro announced. Then she saw everyone looking at her. “…oh no.” Rogue lowered her cigarette very carefully. “No.” Kiro pointed vaguely downward. “To be fair, nobody told me this was a secret meeting.” “It isn’t,” Rogue said. “Great!” “It is now.” Kiro stopped moving. For exactly one second. Then: “Oh, that’s much worse.” Reyes was visibly trying not to laugh. Ace considered violence. Measured violence. Professional violence. Mai pinched the bridge of her nose once, already recalculating the shape of the evening. Shammy watched all of them with serene fascination, static whispering softly along the edge of the booth lights. Rogue leaned back slowly. “I need all of you,” she said with terrifying calm, “to understand something very clearly.” Nobody spoke. “This job,” Rogue continued, “stays quiet.” Ace nodded immediately. “Agreed.” Mai nodded after her. Shammy smiled faintly. Reyes raised one hand innocently. Kiro tried to look like a person capable of silence. Rogue narrowed her eyes. “You are not bringing the entire orbit system into this.” A beat. Then: From somewhere downstairs, two Moxes shouted Reyes’s name happily across the club. Reyes closed her eyes. Ace stared at the table. Mai looked upward like patience was becoming a religious test. Shammy softly said: “Pressure increasing.” Ace pointed at her without looking up. “Don’t.” --- ## Chapter 2 — Noodle Stand Incident Rain in Night City never fully committed. It lingered. Hung in the air. Collected on signs. Drifted sideways through neon until streets looked submerged under electric algae and cheap advertisements. Japantown smelled like wet concrete, broth steam, ozone, fryer grease, old cables, and too many people refusing sleep at the same time. The noodle stand sat wedged between a shuttered braindance kiosk and a repair shop that had allegedly closed six years ago but somehow still accepted deliveries. Ace already hated the location. Too public. Too crowded. Too visible. Which was exactly why Rogue had picked it. Nobody noticed quiet exchanges in loud places. Usually. Steam rolled upward from metal pots behind the counter while the owner — a narrow older man with cybernetic fingertips stained permanently yellow from broth spices — moved with frightening efficiency between bowls, burners, and irritated customers. The place had maybe twelve seats. Fifteen people occupied them anyway. Ace stopped half a second before entering the light spill from the hanging lanterns. Reyes noticed immediately. “You’re doing the thing.” “I’m assessing.” “You’re glaring at noodles tactically.” “They could be hostile.” Kiro leaned around Ace’s shoulder. “Statistically speaking, public food locations are actually one of the safest places for covert exchange because human brains filter routine sensory saturation really effi—” Ace looked at her. Kiro stopped. “…I’m helping wrong again.” “Yes,” Ace said. Shammy stood beside the stand entrance, tall enough that rain seemed to bend differently around her. Tiny static flickers danced briefly along the edge of the hanging paper lantern above her head before fading. Several civilians glanced at her automatically. Then glanced again. Not because of fear. Because Shammy had the unfortunate habit of looking like weather pretending to be human. Mai stepped forward before the social gravity worsened. “Table,” she said calmly. The owner pointed toward the rear bench without looking up from his broth station. “Six minutes.” “We didn’t order yet,” Reyes said. “Six minutes anyway.” Reyes blinked once. “…I respect him already.” They settled into the back section. Or tried to. The geometry became questionable immediately. Ace sat first, automatically selecting the angle with the clearest line to the street. Mai beside her. Shammy across from them. Which left Reyes and Kiro negotiating the remaining space like two people whose brains interpreted “personal boundaries” as a soft recommendation. “You’re stealing my side,” Reyes informed her. “There IS no side,” Kiro shot back. “This is seating anarchy.” “That’s not a phrase.” “It became one spiritually.” Ace pinched the bridge of her nose. The owner arrived carrying bowls anyway. Nobody had ordered. He distributed them with the confidence of divine judgment. “House special,” he said. Then stopped. Looked at the group again. His eyes narrowed very slightly. Not suspicious. Calculating. People in Night City learned pattern recognition the same way desert people learned weather. By surviving bad predictions. The owner looked at: - Ace’s swords - Mai’s impossible calm - Shammy’s atmospheric weirdness - Reyes’s merc posture - Kiro’s cable nest and half-disassembled agent Then toward the street. Where two off-duty Moxes had just recognized Reyes through the window. “Oh shit,” one of them yelled happily through the rain. “Reyes!” Ace closed her eyes. Reyes looked delighted. The Moxes pushed inside immediately, soaked jackets dripping onto the floor. “You vanished for like three weeks,” one said. “Two,” Reyes corrected. “That’s worse.” The second Mox noticed Ace. Paused. Then very carefully did not stare. Which somehow made the situation more noticeable. Kiro noticed the tension and smiled brightly. “Hi!” The Mox looked at Kiro’s cable bundle. “…what is that.” “I don’t fully know anymore.” “Concerning answer.” “Frequently.” The noodle stand owner quietly slid another bowl into place without being asked. Outside, rain hissed against the street. Inside, attention had started accumulating. Not dramatically. That was the dangerous part. Little glances. Interrupted conversations. People noticing unusual geometry. Too many dangerous-looking people acting casual together. One booth over, a salaryman lowered his voice mid-conversation. Near the entrance, two teenagers began pretending not to photograph the room. Ace noticed all of it. Of course she did. “This is already loud,” she muttered. “We’re eating noodles,” Reyes replied. “Incorrectly.” Mai calmly unfolded the encrypted route strip beneath the table edge. “To be fair,” she said quietly, “our visual profile is somewhat distinct.” Kiro leaned over instantly. “Ooh, route timing?” “Eat first,” Mai said. “Cruel.” Shammy looked toward the window. “More pressure arriving.” Ace stared into the middle distance. Three seconds later the door opened again. A courier stepped inside shaking rain from a cheap hooded jacket. Stopped. Saw the table. Froze for one microscopic second too long. Ace noticed. Mai noticed. Reyes noticed. The courier tried recovering smoothly. Failed. “Contact?” Mai asked softly. The courier nodded once. People nearby heard only: > “contact.” The courier approached carefully. The noodle stand had become too quiet around their section now. Not silent. Worse. Listening. Mai held out one hand beneath table level. The courier slipped a tiny shard case into her palm. Clean. Fast. Professional. Then Reyes casually said: “So if this escalates, we abort?” The courier went pale. Ace turned slowly toward Reyes. “What,” Reyes said. “Operational question.” Kiro immediately joined in. “Technically de-escalation thresholds depend on civilian density and response latency because if signal spread already entered recursive propagation—” The courier looked like he might actually die. Nearby civilians heard: - escalate - abort - civilian density - propagation Absolute disaster. Ace physically felt the exact moment the atmosphere changed. Not danger. Interpretation. The entire noodle stand quietly decided: something was happening. Shammy noticed too. Her eyes moved slowly across the room. “Ah,” she said softly. Ace pointed at her again. “No weather metaphors.” “I wasn’t going to use one.” “That somehow worries me more.” One of the Moxes leaned toward Reyes. “…what the hell ARE you people doing?” Reyes looked genuinely thoughtful. “Honestly? I’m not fully sure anymore.” The noodle stand owner stopped beside the table again. Not nervous. Very calm. Too calm. “You paying separately?” he asked. Ace narrowed her eyes slightly. “…why.” The owner shrugged. “People about to start gunfights usually ask for one bill.” Reyes made a choking sound halfway between laughter and death. Kiro lost control instantly. Mai looked down at the table with the expression of someone watching structural collapse in real time. Shammy smiled faintly into her tea. Ace wanted to evaporate into another dimension. Near the entrance, one of the teenagers finally succeeded in taking a blurry picture through the steam and rain-streaked glass. The image caught: - Ace half-turned toward the room - emerald reflections from the swords - Reyes laughing - Shammy distorted by lantern static - Mai holding something hidden under the table - Kiro leaning over cables like a conspiracy theorist raccoon And because Night City hated peace: The Shadow Aura bent the image slightly wrong. Just enough. --- ## Chapter 3 — “Micro-Corp Polycule Hit Squad” The picture hit the local boards twenty-three minutes later. Not the big ones first. That was the important part. Real Night City rumor propagation never started on mainstream feeds. It started in tiny localized channels: - district chatter groups - food review overlays - delivery rider threads - gang-adjacent rumor pools - private “watch weird shit happening” streams Then the city decided whether something deserved mythology. Tonight, apparently, it did. --- The original upload carried no title. Just: > “what the fuck is happening at hoshino noodles rn” Attached: one blurry rain-smeared image. Replies appeared instantly. --- > “why does that look like a hit squad” > “nah corpos don’t eat noodles that cheap” > “the small one has swords” > “THAT MAKES IT WORSE” > “is that a Mox meet” > “no that’s Afterlife talent” > “wait is that Reyes??” > “ohhhh no” --- The image spread sideways from there. Compression artifacts multiplied. Every repost made Ace’s silhouette less human. The Shadow Aura distortion helped exactly zero. In one repost, her eyes reflected green. In another, somebody sharpened the image until the swords looked like glowing fractures in the air. A thread title appeared thirty-one minutes later: > **NEW MICRO-CORP POLYCULE HIT SQUAD???** That was the exact moment things became unrecoverable. --- Meanwhile, in reality: Ace stood beside a vending machine three blocks away while Mai verified route continuity through an encrypted burner shard. Nothing dangerous was happening. Kiro sat cross-legged on a concrete barrier trying to untangle charging cables that had somehow formed a knot structurally similar to advanced mathematics. Shammy watched rain slide sideways through neon. Reyes smoked an herbal cigarette she had stolen from Ace specifically because it annoyed her. “Your city is stupid,” Ace muttered. Reyes exhaled smoke slowly. “Incorrect.” Ace looked at her. “It’s OUR city now,” Reyes said. “That’s worse.” Kiro suddenly made a noise. Not panic. Worse. Discovery. “Oh no,” she whispered. Mai looked up immediately. “What.” Kiro turned the agent screen around. Silence. Long. Terrible. Ace stared at the thread title. Then at the blurry image beneath it. Then at the comments. One post read: > “small one definitely kills people professionally” Another: > “silver-haired one looks like she audits souls” Another: > “tall woman might be an AI weather weapon” Reyes physically folded against the vending machine laughing. Not loud. Which somehow made it more disrespectful. Ace pointed at the screen. “What,” she asked with horrifying calm, “is THAT.” Kiro tried very hard not to smile. “Social pattern escalation.” “That is not an answer.” “It’s a REALLY interesting answer though.” Mai took the agent from Kiro with surgical precision. Scrolled once. Twice. Then stopped. “…why,” Mai asked carefully, “does one user believe I’m an accountant.” Kiro leaned sideways to look. “Ooh. Corp compliance assassin theory.” Reyes nearly died again. Ace was beginning to understand violence spiritually. Shammy observed the thread peacefully. “People are trying to reduce uncertainty through narrative assignment.” Ace looked at her. Shammy continued: “They saw incomplete information and constructed a weather model.” “That sentence was a crime,” Ace informed her. “It was accurate.” Mai continued scrolling. Her expression shifted slightly. Ace noticed first. “What.” Mai turned the screen. A new post had appeared. --- > “heard from a fixer in Kabuki that the silver-haired one already knows when you’re lying” --- Below it: > “NOPE” > “absolutely fucking not” > “that’s not real” > “my cousin saw her once at a deal and forgot half his prepared speech” > “you mean the auditor woman??” Mai blinked once. “…auditor woman?” Reyes grabbed the agent again. Read three lines. Started laughing so hard she had to lean against Shammy for structural support. Shammy steadied her automatically with one hand against her shoulder. Static crackled softly through the humid air. That did not help the visual profile situation at all. Across the street, someone quietly took another picture. Ace noticed. Too late. “Stop letting people photograph us.” Reyes wheezed: “You say that like we’re celebrities.” “We are absolutely not.” Kiro looked up from the screen. “…Ace.” “What.” “There’s another thread.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” Kiro rotated the screen slowly. Thread title: > **SPOT THE TINY MURDER GREMLIN** Ace stopped moving entirely. The city noise around them continued: - traffic hiss - distant sirens - rain on signage - someone arguing in Japanese nearby - bass thumping through alley walls But Ace herself became perfectly still. Reyes saw the exact moment her soul left her body. “Oh,” Reyes whispered joyfully. “That one’s gonna survive forever.” Ace looked at the blurry collage already forming underneath the title. Half the images were fake. One was literally a child with kitchen knives. Another was clearly an unrelated cyberpsycho attack. One picture MAY actually have been Ace three months ago. Hard to tell. Comments streamed underneath: > “SAW HER IN PACIFICA” > “nah fake” > “she climbs walls” > “tiny black-haired woman with glowing swords approached my cousin and he cried instantly” > “bro that’s called anxiety” > “NO YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND” Kiro’s eyes were shining now. Not maliciously. Scientifically. “This is evolving unusually fast.” Mai gave her a look. “Kiro.” “I’m just saying the memetic velocity is fascinating.” Ace closed her eyes. “You are not studying my public humiliation.” “I’m studying emergent myth formation.” “That sentence means the same thing.” Reyes took another drag from the stolen cigarette. “Oh this is incredible.” Ace turned toward her slowly. “You are encouraging this.” “Yes.” “At least you admit it.” “I’m honest in my crimes.” Shammy looked toward the dark rain-washed street. “More observation vectors accumulating.” Ace didn’t even bother correcting her terminology anymore. Two pedestrians across the intersection had absolutely recognized them from the thread already. Ace saw it happen live. The double-take. The whisper. The phone coming halfway out. One whispered: > “I think that’s the tiny one.” Ace made a sound so spiritually exhausted it almost counted as a prayer. And somewhere deep in Night City’s endless digital bloodstream, the city decided the rumor was real enough to keep alive. --- ## Chapter 4 — Tyger Claw Analysis Failure The first Tyger Claw assessment arrived forty-seven minutes after the noodle stand image spread beyond Japantown. Not because the organization was fast. Because organizations built around survival learned to pay attention when: - unfamiliar armed people appeared publicly - known mercs clustered unusually - Moxes acted relaxed nearby - Rogue’s name surfaced repeatedly - and local civilians began whispering before gangs did That last part mattered. Fear spreading upward from civilians usually meant one of two things: - cyberpsycho event - corporate operation The problem was: this matched neither correctly. Which made it worse. --- The analysis room above the pachinko hall smelled like burnt synth-coffee and overheated hardware. Three Tyger Claws sat around a projection table covered in enlarged stills from the noodle stand. The blurry image floated above the center. A woman with chrome jaw implants tapped the projection once. “Unknown operational unit,” she said. “Potentially contracted.” A second analyst zoomed in on Ace. Image quality degraded instantly. “…why does the distortion keep doing that.” “No idea.” “Compression artifact?” “Maybe.” The projection sharpened briefly. Ace’s silhouette bent strangely around the lantern light again. The analyst frowned. “Hate that.” Another image appeared beside it: Mai partially visible through steam. Then: Shammy entering through rain haze. Then: Reyes laughing beside the table. Then: Kiro surrounded by cable clutter. The room became quiet. One analyst finally asked the obvious question. “…are they dating.” Long silence. The chrome-jawed woman pinched the bridge of her nose. “That is not operationally relevant.” “It changes command interpretation.” “…unfortunately true.” Another image expanded. Ace again. Tiny. Compact. Wrong somehow. One analyst zoomed further. “Small one carries blades openly.” “Confidence display?” “Or cyberpsycho.” “No.” “Why no?” “Cyberpsychos don’t sit calmly in noodle shops.” The analyst considered this. “…fair.” Another file appeared beside the images. KNOWN ASSOCIATIONS: - Afterlife adjacency - Mox contact recognition - Rogue verbal references - unidentified netrunner - unidentified atmospheric anomaly woman The youngest analyst pointed at Shammy’s picture. “I still think she’s a weather-mod.” The room ignored him professionally. A new line appeared: POTENTIAL STRUCTURE MAP The projected hierarchy immediately became nonsense. Attempt one: - Reyes = field lead - Mai = handler - Ace = enforcement asset - Shammy = intimidation - Kiro = signals Rejected in twelve seconds. Reason: too many civilians visually tracking Ace. Attempt two: - Ace = primary - Mai = strategic oversight - Reyes = external contractor - Shammy = environmental control - Kiro = intelligence support Rejected after conflicting eyewitness reports suggested: - Ace deferred to Mai occasionally - Reyes ignored authority structures casually - Shammy altered group emotional state without speaking - Kiro talked continuously but seemed operationally important anyway One analyst stared at the floating web of contradictory arrows. “…what IS this.” Nobody answered. Because nobody knew. --- Meanwhile: Ace sat in the passenger seat of Reyes’s ugly car glaring at the city outside like she wanted urban planning itself arrested. Rain crawled down the windows in neon streaks. Mai reviewed witness timing beside her. Kiro sat in the backseat still reading the thread. Which was a mistake. “Oh my god,” Kiro whispered. “No,” Ace said immediately. “Yes.” “No.” “They think you killed three Maelstrom gangers with office supplies.” Reyes started laughing again. Ace stared forward into eternity. “That didn’t happen.” Kiro tilted her head. “…did it ALMOST happen.” Ace did not answer. Kiro slowly lowered the agent. “…that’s somehow worse.” Shammy sat beside Kiro watching the city lights distort through rain. “Pressure continuing to accumulate.” Ace pointed backward without turning around. “I’m begging you to stop describing social panic like climate science.” “It behaves similarly.” “That is not helping.” --- Back in the Tyger Claw analysis room: A fixer liaison entered carrying fresh intel. “More chatter from Kabuki,” he said. “About what.” “The silver-haired one.” Mai’s image expanded automatically. The liaison hesitated slightly before continuing. “Fixers are warning each other not to lie near her.” Silence. The youngest analyst blinked. “…why.” The liaison shrugged. “No idea. Apparently she already knows.” The room collectively disliked that sentence. One analyst enlarged Mai’s image further. She looked calm. Professional. Composed. Which somehow made the rumor believable. The chrome-jawed woman muttered: “I hate competent-looking people.” Another analyst pointed toward Ace’s distorted silhouette. “I hate whatever that is.” The youngest analyst quietly reopened the public thread. Scrolled once. Then froze. “…we have another problem.” The others looked up. He rotated the screen slowly. --- > SPOT THE TINY MURDER GREMLIN > 14.2k active users --- The room stared in horrified silence. New images appeared every few seconds. Fake sightings. Fake stories. Conspiracy maps. Blurry camera captures. One user had created a stylized animated icon: tiny black-haired silhouette with glowing green swords and furious eyes. Another user wrote: > “if you see her nearby LEAVE THE DISTRICT” Another: > “nah she only attacks if provoked” Another: > “that’s what a murder gremlin WOULD want you to think” The youngest analyst looked physically ill. “…the city turned her into folklore.” The chrome-jawed woman leaned back slowly. “That fast?” “Nobody had anything better to do tonight apparently.” Another pause. Then: “…recommendation?” The room became quiet again. Professional quiet this time. The kind where paranoia became policy. Finally the chrome-jawed analyst said: “Do not engage until structure understood.” The youngest analyst looked at the chaos web of contradictory hierarchy arrows floating above the table. “…I don’t think there IS a structure.” Far across the city, Ace suddenly shivered without knowing why. Reyes noticed immediately. “What.” Ace looked out into the neon rain. “…nothing.” But the Shadow Aura shifted faintly under her skin anyway. Like the city had started looking back. --- ## Chapter 5 — Valentinos Side Panic Pacifica reacted to rumors differently than the rest of Night City. Other districts accelerated. Pacifica absorbed. Information moved slower there, but deeper. By the time something reached the local Valentinos, it had already been filtered through: - cousins - street vendors - neighborhood security chats - old women on balconies - three separate noodle deliveries - and at least one person who swore they “knew a guy” Which meant the version arriving at Marco’s phone around midnight had become spectacular. Marco stared at the message for a long moment. Then reread it. Then sighed with the spiritual exhaustion of a man realizing the universe had once again selected him personally for nonsense. Lena looked up from the kitchen counter where she was portioning leftover arroz into storage containers. “What.” Marco rotated the screen toward her. The message read: > AFTERLIFE MOVING UNKNOWN UNIT THROUGH JAPANTOWN > POSSIBLE MICRO-CORP BLACK OPS > Mox adjacency confirmed > Tyger caution elevated > small blade carrier identified as primary threat vector Below it: the blurry noodle stand image. Lena stared at it. Long enough that Marco already knew what her answer would be. “Oh no,” she said quietly. Marco pointed at the image. “You recognize this immediately?” “That’s Reyes.” “I know that’s Reyes.” “And Kiro.” Marco closed his eyes briefly. “God damn it.” The image zoomed slightly as Lena expanded it. Steam. Rain blur. Shammy half distorted by lantern static. Mai partially hidden. Ace caught mid-turn like an urban cryptid. And somehow: the worst part really WAS Reyes laughing. Marco leaned back in his chair. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Counterpoint.” Lena waited. “This LOOKS incredibly suspicious.” “Yes.” “If I didn’t know them, I’d think this was the beginning of a gang war.” “Yes.” “If I was Tyger Claws, I’d absolutely assume somebody important was about to die.” “Yes.” Marco rubbed both hands down his face. “…why are they like this.” Lena sealed another food container calmly. “Because Reyes and Kiro were left unsupervised together.” Marco pointed at her immediately. “That’s EXACTLY what I was about to say.” --- Across the apartment, Shammy’s old hoodie still hung over the couch from two nights earlier. The room smelled faintly like: - coffee - rain - cooked rice - detergent - ocean humidity pushing through cracked windows Actual home smells. Which somehow made the absurdity of the situation worse. Marco reopened the rumor feed. Big mistake. A new thread had appeared: > WHO IS THE SILVER-HAIRED AUDITOR WOMAN Replies streamed underneath. > “fixer in kabuki almost threw up during negotiation” > “heard she predicts lies before people say them” > “nah she just looks disappointed professionally” > “THAT’S MORE TERRIFYING” Marco started laughing. Lena tried not to. Failed slightly. “Mai’s going to hate this,” Marco said. “She’ll pretend not to understand it first.” “She absolutely understands it.” “Yes,” Lena agreed. “That’s why she’ll pretend.” Marco scrolled further. Then froze. “…oh no.” “What.” He turned the screen. --- > SPOT THE TINY MURDER GREMLIN > 22.8k ACTIVE --- Lena physically leaned closer. The thread had become pure Night City folklore acceleration. Posts included: - blurry sightings - conspiracy maps - “confirmed encounters” - fake casualty lists - fan art somehow already existing One user had drawn Ace as a tiny cyber-demon with glowing swords. Another: as a heavily armed raccoon. Marco stared at the raccoon version for several seconds. “…okay that one’s kind of accurate.” Lena actually laughed out loud. Quietly. Dangerously. Marco pointed at her. “You’re enjoying this.” “A little.” “That makes you complicit.” “Yes.” He scrolled further. Someone had created a fake threat chart. LEVEL 1 — RANDOM GANGERS LEVEL 2 — CORPO KILL TEAMS LEVEL 3 — THE TINY ONE Marco nearly fell sideways laughing. Lena took the phone away before he dropped it. Then her expression changed slightly. “Wait.” “What.” She enlarged a newer image. Ace exiting a convenience store beside Reyes twenty minutes earlier. Blurry again. Distorted again. But recognizable enough. Lena narrowed her eyes. “They’re heading south.” Marco straightened immediately. The humor remained. But operational instinct clicked in underneath it. “Toward Pacifica?” “Possibly.” “Why.” “No idea.” Marco considered the image. Then: the thread. The panic. The Tyger chatter. The Mox traffic. “…this city is going to accidentally manifest a gang war over noodles.” Lena nodded once. “Very possible.” Marco immediately grabbed his phone. “Calling Reyes.” Lena looked up. “Speaker.” “Obviously.” The line rang twice. Then Reyes answered over road noise. “What.” Marco did not waste time. “Why is Pacifica rumor traffic saying you’re part of a black-ops polycule death squad.” Long silence. Then: “…that,” Reyes said carefully, “is objectively the coolest thing anyone has ever called me.” In the background: Ace: > “Give me the phone.” Reyes: > “No.” Ace: > “Reyes.” Reyes: > “Absolutely not.” Kiro somewhere farther back: > “Wait wait wait send me the exact wording—” Mai: > “Kiro don’t document this.” Shammy, serene as always: > “Pressure widening geographically.” Marco folded forward against the table laughing helplessly. Lena leaned one hand against her forehead. On the phone, Ace finally managed: > “Marco, nothing is happening.” Marco looked at the thread again. Then at the blurry image. Then at the active user count climbing in real time. “…Ace,” he said gently. “I need you to understand this very clearly.” A beat. “The city disagrees.” --- ## Chapter 6 — Spot the Tiny Murder Gremlin By one-thirty in the morning, the city had fully committed to the bit. Ace discovered this because somebody had printed stickers. Tiny stickers. Tiny glowing-eyed sword gremlin stickers. She found the first one on a traffic pole outside a convenience store in Vista del Rey. Ace stopped walking. Very slowly. Rain ticked softly against nearby signage while traffic hissed through wet streets beyond the overpass. Nobody else noticed immediately. Which was unfortunate for everyone involved. The sticker depicted: - enormous glowing green eyes - oversized swords - aggressively tiny proportions - a black hood - the words: > TINY MURDER GREMLIN > SPOTTED AGAIN Ace stared at it in complete silence. Reyes noticed first. “Oh no.” Kiro immediately leaned sideways around Ace’s shoulder. Then made a sound somewhere between delight and scientific revelation. “They’re iterating visually already.” Ace turned her head one centimeter. “Kiro.” “That’s not even fast for Night City actually, this is approaching memetic optimization speeds—” “Kiro.” Mai saw the sticker next. Paused. Looked at Ace. Then at the sticker again. One dangerous corner of her mouth twitched upward before she regained control. Ace noticed. “Don’t.” “I said nothing.” “You THOUGHT something.” “That is currently not illegal.” Shammy tilted her head toward the pole. “The proportions are inaccurate.” Ace looked at her in exhausted disbelief. “That is your contribution.” “They made your swords too large.” Reyes physically turned away from the group because she had started laughing again and apparently wanted to survive. A pedestrian walking past slowed slightly after hearing the phrase “tiny murder gremlin.” Then looked at Ace. Then at the sticker. Then immediately kept walking faster. Ace watched this happen live. “…I hate all of you.” “Not true,” Reyes said. “Deeply true.” Kiro was already taking pictures of the sticker. “For documentation.” “You are making this worse.” “I think the city already crossed that threshold independently.” Unfortunately: she was right. --- Three blocks later they passed a noodle kiosk playing a local chatter stream through cheap speakers. The host sounded delighted. > “—still unconfirmed whether the so-called ‘micro-corp polycule unit’ is connected to recent Afterlife movement, but sightings of the alleged ‘tiny murder gremlin’ continue across multiple districts tonight—” Ace stopped walking again. The host continued: > “—forum users remain divided whether the figure is a solo assassin, cyberpsycho, or extremely dangerous influencer—” Reyes folded against a wall laughing so hard she nearly dropped her cigarette. Mai covered her eyes briefly. Shammy looked genuinely interested. “…dangerous influencer is structurally fascinating.” Ace pointed at the kiosk. “Turn that off.” The vendor behind the counter blinked. “…what.” “That.” The vendor looked between: - tiny angry sword woman - Reyes dying of laughter - Mai looking like a disappointed auditor angel - Shammy glowing faintly in the rain - Kiro recording everything Then very carefully turned the volume down. “Thank you,” Ace said. “You’re welcome,” the vendor replied immediately. Then quietly: > “…holy shit it IS her.” Ace physically deflated. --- The thread count passed thirty thousand users around the time they reached the next contact zone. Which would have been survivable. If the fake sightings had not started becoming impossible. Kiro sat sideways in the backseat of Reyes’s ugly car surrounded by open feeds. “This one claims you appeared inside a moving metro train.” “False.” “This one says you killed six Scavs with a soup ladle.” “False.” Reyes glanced sideways from the driver seat. “…probably false.” Ace stared at her. “Mostly false,” Reyes corrected. Mai took the agent briefly. Scrolled once. Then frowned slightly. “What.” Mai rotated the screen. A heavily edited image showed: - Ace standing on top of a traffic barrier - swords glowing unnaturally bright - Shadow Aura exaggerated into black smoke Caption: > IF YOU SEE HER, LEAVE THE DISTRICT Underneath: forty thousand likes. Ace looked at the image. Then at Mai. Then back at the image. “…that is not even physically possible.” Kiro leaned forward immediately. “Oh that’s composited from three different sightings.” “How do you KNOW that.” “The shadows are inconsistent.” Ace covered her face with one hand. Reyes was no longer helping. At all. “If this keeps going,” Reyes said, “you’re gonna get merch.” Ace looked at her through her fingers. “If I see merchandise I’m leaving the planet.” “That sounds difficult financially.” “Kiro can hack us a spaceship.” Kiro looked up immediately. “…give me six months.” Mai slowly lowered the screen. “Please never say things like that near her.” --- Meanwhile: Back in Kabuki, a fixer named Hoshin was having the worst negotiation of his career. Not because the deal was dangerous. Because Mai had arrived first. The meeting took place in a second-floor tea room above a pachinko arcade. Quiet. Minimalist. Expensive enough to pretend morality existed there. Hoshin had prepared carefully: - numbers memorized - fallback routes planned - leverage hidden - lies calibrated Then Mai walked into the room. Alone. Silver hair still faintly damp from rain. Perfectly calm. Hoshin immediately forgot half his prepared speech. Not because Mai threatened him. Because she looked like someone who already knew the ending of the conversation. Mai sat across from him. Folded her hands neatly. And said: “You altered the timing window.” Hoshin froze. Just slightly. Mai saw it immediately. “…No,” he said. Mai tilted her head. Not accusingly. Worse. Precisely. “The original relay timestamp was twenty-two fourteen,” she said calmly. “You shifted it to twenty-two twenty-one after the Kabuki outage.” Silence. Hoshin stared at her. “How—” Then stopped himself. Mai’s eyes sharpened slightly. “There,” she said softly. “That expression.” Hoshin felt actual fear for the first time that evening. Not combat fear. Audit fear. The terrible realization that your mistakes were already visible before you entered the room. Mai did not even seem angry. That made it catastrophic. Outside the tea room, two junior fixers waiting for unrelated meetings exchanged a nervous glance. One whispered: > “That’s the silver-haired one.” The other immediately straightened his jacket. Inside the room, Hoshin quietly abandoned all remaining lies for the rest of the meeting. Which only reinforced the rumor further. --- ## Chapter 7 — The Woman Who Already Knows By two in the morning, fixers had started rehearsing before talking to Mai. Nobody admitted this publicly. That would have implied fear. Night City preferred euphemisms for fear: - professionalism - caution - operational awareness - strategic respect But the pattern spread anyway. A fixer heard Hoshin got dissected verbally in under four minutes. That fixer told another fixer: > “Don’t improvise around the silver-haired one.” Which became: > “She notices inconsistencies instantly.” Which became: > “She already knows before meetings start.” Which finally became: > “Don’t lie to her.” And because Night City could not resist overbuilding mythology: The rumor evolved into: > “She can tell before YOU know you’re lying.” --- Mai discovered none of this directly. Which somehow made it worse. She sat in the rear booth of a tiny twenty-four-hour tea bar near Charter Hill reviewing relay confirmations while Ace stood nearby glaring at the city through rain-streaked glass. Shammy quietly warmed both hands around a ceramic cup. Kiro had obtained three separate feeds tracking rumor spread geographically. Reyes was reading the comments aloud because apparently cruelty fulfilled her spiritually. > “‘Silver-haired auditor woman spotted near Kabuki data exchange.’” Ace closed her eyes. Reyes continued: > “‘Possible corporate interrogation specialist.’” Another scroll. > “‘DO NOT freestyle negotiations around her.’” Kiro nearly slid out of the booth laughing. Mai finally looked up. “…what.” Reyes rotated the screen helpfully. Mai read the thread in silence. A dangerous kind of silence. Not angry. Analytical. Which was somehow exactly the problem. One post read: > “Friend of mine lied about inventory numbers near her and immediately forgot how to speak.” Another: > “No she doesn’t threaten you. That’s the terrifying part.” Another: > “Feels like being audited by inevitability.” Mai blinked once. Then: very calmly: “…I asked one clarifying question.” Reyes physically lost control again. Shammy smiled faintly into her tea. “The city appears highly sensitive to structural confidence.” Mai looked at her. “That sentence was deliberately designed to annoy Ace.” “Yes,” Shammy admitted peacefully. Ace pointed at both of them. “You are becoming a coordinated threat.” Kiro looked up from her feeds. “Oh no, it’s MUCH worse now.” Nobody liked her tone immediately. “What,” Ace asked carefully. Kiro turned the screen. A new thread had appeared. --- > HOW TO TELL IF THE AUDITOR WOMAN IS ABOUT TO END YOUR CAREER --- Mai stared at the title for several seconds. Then at Kiro. Then back at the screen. “…career.” Kiro scrolled. Posts streamed upward rapidly. > “she tilts her head before you collapse financially” > “if she starts speaking calmly you’re already dead” > “my cousin said she corrected a timestamp from memory” > “THAT’S NOT NORMAL” > “heard she once stared at a guy until he confessed tax fraud” Mai looked genuinely offended now. “I have never investigated tax fraud.” Reyes pointed at her. “That is NOT the important part of that sentence.” --- At the next table over, a young courier accidentally overheard: - “auditor woman” - “career” - “investigation” - “confession” The courier looked up. Saw: - silver-haired woman in composed posture - tiny black-haired sword carrier beside the window - tall atmospheric anomaly woman - known merc Reyes - chaotic cable goblin netrunner Then very carefully paid his bill early and left. Ace watched him flee. “…did we just accidentally clear a tea shop.” Mai looked around slowly. Half the nearby customers were pretending not to listen. The other half were pretending not to leave. Shammy observed the room with soft fascination. “Pressure redistribution.” Ace pointed at her again automatically. “No.” “I only stated—” “No.” --- Meanwhile: Across the city, inside a heavily encrypted Tyger Claw internal channel, the analysis board updated again. THREAT STRUCTURE REVISION: - Small sword carrier now classified as urban panic vector - Silver-haired woman classified as negotiation destabilizer - Tall atmospheric woman classified UNKNOWN - Red-haired merc classified as behavioral accelerant - Blonde netrunner classified INFORMATIONAL HAZARD The youngest analyst read the last line twice. “…informational hazard.” The chrome-jawed woman shrugged. “She keeps amplifying rumor spread accidentally.” “That’s not a real classification.” “It is now.” Another update arrived from a fixer network. One line only: > “If the silver-haired one asks a question, answer immediately.” The room became quiet again. One analyst finally muttered: “…I think the city invented a new cryptid.” Nobody disagreed. --- Back at the tea bar: Ace suddenly noticed someone outside photographing the building. Again. The person saw Ace looking directly at them. Panicked instantly. And ran. Ace stared through the rain-streaked window in exhausted disbelief. “…why.” Kiro checked the active threads again. Then winced. “Oh.” “What now.” Kiro slowly rotated the screen. A fresh post had already appeared: --- > AUDITOR WOMAN + TINY MURDER GREMLIN CONFIRMED TOGETHER AGAIN > POSSIBLE ACTIVE OPERATION Attached: a blurry image through rain-speckled glass. Mai closed her eyes briefly. Reyes laughed into her sleeve. And somewhere deep in Night City’s sleepless nervous system, thousands of people who had never met the Triad began adjusting their behavior around rumors that did not technically exist. --- ## Chapter 8 — “What Did You DO?” Rogue realized something had gone catastrophically wrong when three unrelated fixers contacted her within eleven minutes asking the exact same question in completely different wording. The wording variations were: - “You moving assets?” - “You starting something?” - “Need districts cleared?” - and, somehow worst of all: > “Should we be worried about the tiny one.” Rogue stared at the last message for a very long time. Then lit another cigarette. Then another. The second one remained unlit between her fingers while she reconsidered several life choices. Afterlife around her continued normally: - mercs posturing - chrome glinting under neon - bartenders ignoring crimes professionally - somebody losing money loudly at cards But beneath it: the city’s rumor current had shifted. Rogue could feel it. Thirty years in Night City taught pattern recognition whether you wanted it or not. And tonight the city had latched onto the Triad like a dog finding a moving car. Claire approached the booth carrying two glasses. “You look homicidal.” “I’m thinking about retirement.” Claire looked genuinely alarmed. “That bad?” Rogue rotated the agent screen toward her. Claire read the active thread title. Then another. Then another. --- > SPOT THE TINY MURDER GREMLIN > AUDITOR WOMAN SIGHTINGS MAP > MICRO-CORP POLYCULE UNIT THEORYCRAFT THREAD > WHO IS THE WEATHER GIRL --- Claire physically leaned back. “…wow.” “Exactly.” “That’s a LOT of internet.” “That’s a lot of idiots.” Claire kept scrolling. The active user count climbed in real time. Thirty-seven thousand. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. One post theorized the group was a deniable Arasaka wet-work unit. Another insisted they were Biotechnica anomaly retrieval. Another: > “nah they’re definitely dating” Claire started laughing. Rogue pointed at her. “You don’t get to enjoy this.” “I absolutely do.” “This is becoming operationally dangerous.” Claire zoomed into one blurry image of Ace exiting the tea bar. “…okay but to be fair she DOES look like a tiny murder cryptid.” Rogue closed her eyes. “Not helping.” --- The first cancellation hit two minutes later. A mid-tier fixer aborted a dockside meeting in Watson after hearing the Triad had supposedly been seen nearby. Then: a Tyger Claw scouting group quietly withdrew from Japantown streets. Then: two independent crews postponed a weapons transfer because they believed “something larger” was developing. Nobody knew WHAT. That was the problem. The city was reacting to absence of information by manufacturing strategic intent. Classic Night City. Rogue finally activated the comm. Ace answered immediately. “What.” No greeting. Good sign. Or terrible sign. Rogue exhaled smoke slowly. “…what did you DO.” Ace’s silence arrived instantly. Not guilty silence. Offended silence. “We followed instructions.” “Instructions included staying quiet.” “We ARE quiet.” In the background: Reyes laughing. Kiro saying: > “OH MY GOD THERE’S FAN ART NOW.” Rogue pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ace.” “We completed two contacts cleanly.” “Ace.” “No violence.” “Ace.” “No anomalies.” “Ace.” “No escalation.” “Ace.” Rogue finally snapped: > “THEN WHY DOES HALF THE CITY THINK YOU’RE A POLYCULE ASSASSINATION CULT.” Silence. Deep silence. Then somewhere farther back: Kiro very softly: > “…okay the cult part IS new.” Rogue heard Ace’s soul leave her body through the comm. --- Rain hammered against the overpass where the group had stopped temporarily beside a closed transit entrance. Ace stood motionless beside the ugly car holding the comm like it personally offended her bloodline. Mai quietly reviewed route updates beside the hood. Shammy watched rainwater overflow from broken drainage channels with peaceful interest. Reyes sat on the hood smoking Ace’s stolen herbal cigarette again because apparently consequences had ceased to matter. Kiro remained in the backseat surrounded by six open feeds and escalating digital catastrophe. “Ace,” Rogue said more calmly now. “Listen carefully.” Ace closed her eyes once. “I’m listening.” “You are accidentally creating social panic.” “That sentence should not exist.” “Doesn’t matter. It exists now.” Mai finally looked up from the datapad. “…she’s correct.” Ace stared at her. “You too?” Mai adjusted the display toward her. District chatter maps glowed across the screen. Small spikes. Tiny fluctuations. But spreading. Kabuki. Japantown. Watson. Now Pacifica. “People are rerouting movement patterns around sightings,” Mai said quietly. Reyes leaned sideways to look. “…oh wow.” Ace took the datapad. Read the overlays. Traffic deviations. Cancelled meetings. Increased local chatter density. Nothing catastrophic. Which somehow made it more believable. The city wasn’t panicking openly. It was adjusting subtly. Like an animal sensing weather. Shammy noticed Ace realizing the parallel. A tiny smile appeared immediately. Ace pointed at her without even looking. “Not one word.” Shammy looked delighted. --- Back in Afterlife, Rogue received another incoming call. Valentino local coordinator. Rogue accepted reluctantly. Marco appeared on-screen looking spiritually exhausted already. “Please tell me nobody’s actually starting a war.” Rogue stared at him. “You too?” “Rogue, there’s a thirty-thousand-user thread tracking something called the tiny murder gremlin.” Claire fell against the bar laughing again. Marco continued: > “One of my cousins genuinely thinks Ace can teleport.” Rogue rubbed one hand down her face. “…can she.” Marco paused. “…probably not?” Neither sounded fully convinced. --- Back under the overpass: Kiro suddenly froze. Then slowly lowered one of her screens. Nobody liked that expression. “What,” Ace asked carefully. Kiro swallowed. “…someone made merch.” Silence. Rain hammered concrete overhead. Traffic hissed somewhere beyond the dark. Then Reyes quietly said: > “…show me.” Ace: > “NO.” --- ## Chapter 9 — Kiro Makes It Worse The merch appeared at two forty-three in the morning. Which, in retrospect, was honestly impressive production speed. Kiro held the agent screen like she had just discovered a new branch of mathematics. Reyes immediately climbed halfway into the backseat from the hood outside. “Show me.” Ace: > “NO.” Too late. Kiro rotated the screen. The listing floated above the dashboard in all its cursed glory. --- > TINY MURDER GREMLIN — LIMITED RUN STICKER PACK > Japantown Urban Legends Collection > 500 eddies Preview images: - Ace with oversized glowing swords - Ace climbing a wall like a raccoon cryptid - Ace emerging from neon fog with red glowing eyes for some reason - tiny angry chibi version labeled: > “PROFESSIONALLY HOSTILE” Reyes physically stopped functioning. Shammy leaned slightly closer from the backseat. “The artistic interpretation lacks atmospheric fidelity.” Ace turned slowly toward her. “You are helping less than anyone here.” “Statistically unlikely.” Mai took the screen next. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “…there are six hundred preorders.” Kiro zoomed in. “Seven hundred now.” Ace stared into the rain beyond the windshield like she was considering walking directly into the ocean and remaining there forever. “This city is diseased.” Reyes wiped tears from her eyes. “No. This city is ART.” Ace pointed at the merch listing. “That one has me breathing fire.” “Creative liberties.” “I do not breathe fire.” Kiro squinted. “…probably.” Ace turned. “Kiro.” “I’m saying your actual anomaly profile already breaks several visual assumptions.” Mai lowered the screen slowly. “There’s more.” Nobody liked that sentence. Mai rotated the display. New listing: --- > AUDITOR WOMAN SURVIVAL GUIDE > “Always Tell The Truth” mug series --- Reyes made a noise so violent she nearly fell fully into the backseat. Shammy’s shoulders shook once with silent laughter. Ace looked at Mai carefully. Mai stared at the mug in complete stillness. The mug depicted: - silver hair - glowing silver eyes - a tiny checklist - the phrase: > SHE ALREADY KNOWS “…I have never audited anyone,” Mai said softly. Kiro pointed at the screen. “The public strongly disagrees.” Another listing appeared underneath. --- > WEATHER GIRL STORM WARNING HOODIE > LIMITED PRINT --- Shammy blinked. “…weather girl.” Ace slapped one hand over her face. Reyes had now fully lost the ability to breathe correctly. Kiro kept scrolling. “Oh no no no no.” “What NOW,” Ace demanded. Kiro enlarged the next image. --- A cheaply rendered conspiracy chart. CENTER: Tiny Murder Gremlin Connected with red lines to: - Auditor Woman - Weather Girl - Red Widow - Signal Witch Ace stared. Then pointed one finger. “No.” Kiro was openly fascinated now. “They gave us titles.” “We are not a supervillain organization.” “Technically they think you’re a micro-corp polycule death squad.” “That sentence keeps getting worse.” --- Rainwater hammered the roof of the ugly car hard enough now that conversation felt isolated from the rest of the city. Like the entire vehicle existed inside its own absurd little pressure pocket. Mai kept reviewing the feeds with increasing concern. Not because of danger. Because of propagation. “This is self-sustaining now,” she said quietly. Reyes finally calmed enough to breathe. “Meaning?” Mai zoomed the map outward. Rumor spread indicators pulsed district by district. “People are now contributing because other people are contributing,” Mai explained. “The original sightings no longer matter.” Kiro nodded immediately. “Classic recursive folklore reinforcement.” Ace looked at both of them. “You two are enjoying this academically.” “Yes,” Kiro admitted instantly. Mai waited one second longer before quietly saying: > “…a little.” Ace looked personally betrayed. Shammy leaned lightly against the seat. “City pressure reached autonomous circulation.” Ace pointed at her automatically. “Stop narrating this like a hurricane.” “But it behaves exactly li—” “No.” --- Meanwhile: Back in the Tyger Claw analysis room, the atmosphere had deteriorated significantly. The youngest analyst stared at the merch listings in horrified disbelief. “…there’s merchandise now.” The chrome-jawed woman slowly lit another cigarette. “Kill me.” Another analyst enlarged the conspiracy chart. “Who the fuck is Signal Witch.” The youngest analyst pointed weakly at Kiro’s image. “…apparently her.” A longer silence followed. Then: “…Red Widow?” All eyes slowly shifted toward Reyes’s blurry image. One analyst muttered: > “Honestly that one tracks.” The room collectively hated how accurate that felt. Then the system chimed again. Fresh update: PUBLIC SIGHTING — PACIFICA EDGE Attached: another blurry rain-soaked image of the group beside the overpass. The analyst enlarged it. Ace stood near the car in profile. Tiny. Still. Wrong in the exact way predators were wrong. One of the younger Tyger Claws quietly whispered: > “…okay I kinda get the folklore thing.” Nobody argued anymore. Because by now the city itself had started participating in the myth. --- Back under the overpass: A delivery rider slowed near the ugly car. Looked once through the rain. Then froze. His eyes widened slowly. He looked directly at Ace. Then at the merch sticker displayed accidentally on Kiro’s screen. Then back at Ace. Long pause. Finally, in a tiny terrified whisper: > “…holy shit it’s really her.” Ace closed her eyes. Reyes immediately folded sideways laughing again. And the delivery rider sped away into the neon rain like he had personally witnessed an SCP containment breach. --- ## Chapter 10 — The Woman Who Already Knows At three-fifteen in the morning, Mai accidentally caused a minor labor dispute. Not directly. That distinction mattered to her. The problem was that Night City had stopped distinguishing between: - coincidence - presence - and intent Which was how the group ended up standing inside a twenty-four-hour freight checkpoint café while two cargo supervisors quietly imploded across the room. The café sat beside a container yard south of Charter Hill. Cheap lights. Industrial coffee. Three televisions permanently tuned to muted news streams. Rain hammering metal rooftops hard enough to sound like distant static artillery. Rogue’s final witness verification point was supposed to be simple: - confirm relay continuity - retrieve final token - leave Five minutes maximum. Naturally, the city had other plans. Ace stayed near the entrance watching reflections move across wet asphalt outside. Reyes occupied the counter stool beside her spinning a fork idly between scarred fingers. Shammy held a paper coffee cup with both hands like she was studying thermodynamics emotionally. Kiro sat backward in a booth surrounded by open feeds still tracking rumor spread because apparently she had decided this counted as field research now. Mai approached the contact table calmly. That was the mistake. The contact — a freight coordinator named Bellas — saw her approaching and immediately sat straighter. Then straighter again. By the time Mai sat down across from him, the poor man looked like he was preparing for divine judgment. Mai noticed instantly. “…are you injured.” Bellas blinked. “What?” “Your posture changed sharply.” “No.” Mai tilted her head slightly. “Then why are you sitting like that.” “…professionalism.” Mai narrowed her eyes very slightly. That almost killed him outright. Across the café, two dock workers noticed the interaction immediately. One whispered: > “That’s her.” The other: > “Don’t point.” Too late. Ace noticed THAT. And because Ace noticed: the Shadow Aura shifted faintly under her skin. Nothing dramatic. Just enough that nearby reflections bent wrong for half a second in the café windows. The dock workers saw that too. One of them immediately stopped drinking his coffee. --- At the table, Bellas attempted the handoff. Poorly. He slid the encrypted relay token across the surface with the cautious energy of someone feeding meat to a tiger. Mai looked down at it. Then back up. “You delayed confirmation by nine minutes.” Bellas froze. “Traffic.” Mai looked at the timestamp once. “…no.” Silence. Rain hammered metal roofing overhead. Bellas swallowed visibly. “It was only temporary.” Mai’s expression sharpened. “Temporary deviations still alter synchronization.” Across the café, one dock worker quietly stood up and left. The other followed immediately. Ace watched both exits happen in real time. “…why are people evacuating.” Reyes glanced sideways. “Body language.” “We’re sitting in a freight café.” “Yeah.” “That should not trigger evacuations.” Reyes looked at her. “Ace.” “What.” “You have internet folklore now.” Ace made a noise usually associated with dying machinery. --- At the counter, the elderly café owner slowly approached Reyes. Very carefully. “…you people starting something tonight?” Reyes blinked once. “No.” The owner pointed subtly toward Mai. “Then why’s she talking like a tax executioner.” Reyes physically bit the inside of her cheek trying not to laugh. “She’s just organized.” The owner looked toward Mai again. Mai was now calmly explaining timestamp drift theory while Bellas looked spiritually dismantled. “…that woman could make priests confess things.” Reyes completely lost control again. Ace stared into the distance. Shammy observed the room softly. “Pressure redistribution accelerating.” Ace pointed at her automatically without even turning around. “I hear one more weather metaphor and I’m walking into the ocean.” “Technically flooding would support the metapho—” “No.” --- Meanwhile: Kiro had made a catastrophic discovery. “Oh no.” Nobody even reacted immediately anymore. Ace just asked: > “How bad.” Kiro rotated one of the feeds slowly. A new thread. --- > AUDITOR WOMAN SIGHTINGS CAUSE 17% INCREASE IN HONESTY --- Reyes folded against the counter laughing silently. Mai finally noticed the thread title. Then slowly looked at Kiro. “…seventeen percent.” “One user made a spreadsheet.” “That is not scientifically valid.” Kiro hesitated. “…surprisingly it kind of is.” Mai stared at her. Ace whispered: > “We need orbital bombardment.” --- Then the televisions changed. Muted district chatter report. One of the screens displayed: - blurry noodle stand image - conspiracy chart - fake sightings map And beneath it: > LOCALIZED RUMORS CONTINUE REGARDING “MICRO-CORP UNIT” The café slowly became quiet. Not fully. Just enough. Enough for people to: - glance at Ace - glance at Mai - glance back at the screen One cargo worker whispered: > “…holy shit.” Another: > “The tiny one IS real.” Ace closed her eyes. The café owner looked between the screen and the actual group sitting inside his establishment. “…I’m charging extra if gunfire starts.” “It won’t,” Mai said immediately. Unfortunately: she said it with the exact tone of someone already compensating for future gunfire. The owner went pale. Reyes physically slid off the stool laughing. And somewhere outside beneath the rain-soaked freight lights, another blurry picture got taken through the café window. This time: Mai was visible beside Ace. Which meant the city’s two favorite emerging cryptids had now been photographed together again. --- ## Chapter 11 — Rogue Finds Out About The Merch Rogue found the merch listing at three-thirty-two in the morning. This was later than everyone else because: - Rogue had actual work - Rogue avoided public threads on principle - Rogue valued remaining partially sane Claire ruined that. “You need to see this.” Rogue didn’t even look up from the booth datapad. “No.” “Yes.” “No.” Claire slid the agent across the table anyway. Rogue read the listing title once. Then again. Then took a very long drag from her cigarette without breaking eye contact with the screen. --- > TINY MURDER GREMLIN — LIMITED RUN STICKER PACK > SOLD OUT --- “…sold out.” Claire was openly crying from laughter now. “There’s a waitlist.” Rogue looked up slowly. “A waitlist.” Claire nodded weakly. “People really like the raccoon version.” Rogue looked back down. The raccoon version depicted Ace: - climbing a wall - holding knives in her mouth for some reason - labeled: > “PROFESSIONALLY HOSTILE” Rogue closed her eyes briefly. “…I hate this city.” Claire leaned against the bar wheezing. “No you don’t.” “Tonight specifically? Yes.” --- The booth comm chimed again. Another fixer. Rogue answered immediately. “What.” The fixer on-screen looked tense already. “You hearing this chatter?” “Yes.” “You know who they are?” “Yes.” “…should we be worried.” Rogue considered several possible answers. Rejected all of them. Finally: > “Only socially.” The fixer stared at her. “That is not reassuring.” “It’s the truth.” The call ended thirty seconds later with nobody feeling better. Claire reclaimed the agent. Scrolled once. Then made another terrible mistake. “…oh no.” Rogue pointed at her immediately. “You stop saying that.” Claire rotated the screen. Another new thread. --- > AUDITOR WOMAN VS TINY MURDER GREMLIN > WHICH ONE WOULD KILL YOU FASTER --- Rogue stared at it in exhausted silence. Poll results: - Tiny Murder Gremlin — 62% - Auditor Woman — 38% Top comment: > “Gremlin kills body. Auditor kills finances.” Claire physically collapsed against the counter. Rogue rubbed both hands over her face. “…Mai is going to murder somebody.” “No,” Claire gasped. “Ace is.” “Fair.” --- Meanwhile: The group had finally reached the final relay destination. An underground archive hub beneath an old metro maintenance layer near Corpo Plaza. The irony: this was the first genuinely secretive location all night. Which meant nobody cared anymore. The city had already built a better story. Rainwater dripped steadily through cracked concrete overhead while old maintenance lights flickered weakly along rusted rails. The relay handler waited beside a reinforced shutter door holding a secure transfer case. Middle-aged. Nervous. Already sweating. Then he saw the group approaching. And things got worse. Ace noticed immediately. “…why does he look like he saw a ghost.” Reyes looked at the active thread count. “…probably internet poisoning.” Kiro tilted the screen. “Forty-eight thousand users now.” Ace physically stopped walking. “Forty WHAT.” The handler stared at Ace. Then at Mai. Then at Shammy. Then very carefully at Reyes. Finally: “…I was told this was discreet.” Ace pointed at the handler instantly. “THANK YOU.” Mai stepped forward professionally. “We are being discreet.” The handler looked at the rumor thread still visible on Kiro’s screen. Then at Ace again. “…respectfully, no.” Reyes nearly folded in half laughing again. --- The handoff itself took less than ninety seconds. Token verified. Relay chain confirmed. Package continuity intact. No violence. No betrayal. No hidden conspiracy. Exactly as Rogue originally intended. Which somehow made the surrounding mythology even more absurd. The handler passed Mai the final encrypted confirmation shard. Then hesitated. “…can I ask something.” Ace narrowed her eyes immediately. “No.” The handler ignored her courageously. “Is she actually dangerous.” He pointed at Ace. Long silence. Mai answered first. “Yes.” Ace looked at her in betrayal. Mai continued calmly: > “But not unpredictably.” The handler somehow looked MORE frightened after that clarification. Shammy considered the question carefully. “She is usually proportionate.” “That sentence should be illegal,” Ace muttered. Reyes stepped beside Ace. “For what it’s worth,” she told the handler, “the internet version is WAY worse.” Kiro looked up from the feeds. “…debatable.” Ace stared at the ceiling. --- As they turned to leave, the handler suddenly said: “…wait.” Everyone stopped. The handler awkwardly reached into his jacket pocket. Then held something out toward Ace. A sticker. Tiny. Cheaply printed. Tiny Murder Gremlin. Complete silence filled the maintenance corridor. Ace looked at the sticker. Then at the handler. Then back at the sticker. The handler swallowed visibly. “…my daughter made me ask.” Behind Ace: Reyes physically hit the wall laughing. Kiro stopped functioning completely. Even Mai’s composure cracked for half a second. Shammy actually smiled openly now. Ace accepted the sticker with the hollow expression of someone spiritually departing this dimension. “…thank you,” she said mechanically. The handler nodded quickly. “…you’re welcome.” Then quietly: > “…holy shit.” --- ## Chapter 12 — “Nothing Happened” The job officially ended at four-oh-six in the morning. No shots fired. No casualties. No betrayals. No anomalies. No hidden conspiracies. No corpses. Rogue’s original operational summary remained perfectly accurate: - one witness verification - one relay chain - one courier continuity transfer - zero strategic significance The city simply refused to believe that. --- The rain had weakened by the time they emerged back onto street level near Corpo Plaza. Night City glowed wet and sleepless around them. Traffic streams reflected across black pavement in endless neon smears while distant advertisements flickered overhead like synthetic auroras. The city looked calmer now. That was deceptive. Kiro checked the feeds again and immediately winced. Ace saw it happen. “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “They made a map.” Ace closed her eyes instantly. “Of course they did.” Kiro enlarged the display. --- > CONFIRMED TINY MURDER GREMLIN SIGHTINGS > COMMUNITY TRACKER --- Pins covered half the city. Most were fake. Several impossible. A few alarmingly accurate. One user had added: > “DO NOT APPROACH IF AUDITOR WOMAN ALSO PRESENT” Another: > “Weather Girl indicates elevated danger probability” Another: > “Red Widow seen laughing before incidents” Reyes looked personally honored. “I’m keeping that one.” “You are not adopting your fake criminal title,” Mai said immediately. “Counterpoint: Red Widow sounds metal as hell.” “It sounds like you murder billionaires professionally.” “…I mean.” Ace looked at Reyes slowly. Reyes raised both hands innocently. “I’m saying aesthetically.” Kiro zoomed further into the map. “Oh wow.” Nobody liked that tone anymore. “The city is rerouting nightlife patterns.” Mai looked over immediately. Sure enough: certain blocks now showed lower traffic density after reported sightings. Nothing dramatic. Just enough. Tiny behavioral shifts spreading through the urban nervous system. Shammy observed the overlays peacefully. “Pressure finally stabilizing.” Ace looked at her through exhausted half-dead eyes. “You waited three hours to say that again.” “I thought timing improved rhetorical effect.” Mai actually laughed once. Small. Quick. Gone immediately. Ace stared at her in betrayal. “You too.” “It was objectively well timed.” Reyes physically leaned against the car for support. “Oh my god I love this group.” “You are the reason this happened,” Ace informed her. “Incorrect.” Reyes pointed at Kiro. “She’s at least forty percent responsible.” Kiro gasped theatrically. “Forty?” “Forty-five.” “Cruel.” “Fair.” --- Rogue called exactly seven minutes later. Ace answered immediately. “What.” Rogue’s voice arrived through static and cigarette smoke. “Tell me the job’s done.” “It’s done.” “No blood?” “No.” “No explosions?” “No.” “No anomalies?” “No.” Long pause. Then Rogue asked carefully: > “…did any of you buy the merch.” Reyes immediately broke. Kiro made a choking noise. Mai covered her face briefly. Ace looked into the middle distance with the expression of someone watching civilization fail in real time. “…there’s MERCH NOW?” Rogue: > “Ace.” Ace: > “I thought Kiro meant metaphorically.” Kiro whispered: > “I did not.” Rogue inhaled slowly. Then: > “…I’m billing all of you for emotional damages.” The comm clicked dead. --- The city slowly thinned toward dawn around them. Not quieter. Night City never truly became quiet. Just softer at the edges. The group finally stopped at a tiny all-night food place tucked beneath an old transit bridge near the water. Grease. Steam. Artificial sunrise lighting. Coffee strong enough to dissolve ethics. Nobody spoke much at first. The emotional crash after hours of escalating nonsense had finally arrived. Ace sat at the edge booth nearest the exit automatically. Mai beside her. Shammy across from them. Reyes and Kiro opposite. Outside the windows: rainwater still crawled slowly down neon reflections. Inside: the cook kept glancing toward them every thirty seconds. Ace noticed. Of course she did. “…why is he staring.” Reyes checked the active threads again. Then physically started laughing before answering. “He recognized you.” Ace closed her eyes again. Kiro rotated the screen carefully. A new post had appeared six minutes earlier. --- > TINY MURDER GREMLIN + AUDITOR WOMAN CONFIRMED SOUTH DOCKS > POSSIBLE OPERATION COMPLETE --- Attached: a blurry image through rain-streaked diner glass. Ace looked at it. Then at the actual diner window beside them. Then back at the image. “…someone photographed us fifteen minutes ago.” “Yes,” Mai said calmly. “We were INSIDE A TUNNEL.” “Yes.” “That should not have windows.” “Yes.” Ace looked at her. Mai folded her hands neatly. “The city appears motivated.” Reyes nearly died again. --- Food arrived eventually. Bowls. Coffee. Fried noodles. Something Kiro insisted counted as breakfast despite violating several laws of chemistry. The atmosphere softened slightly. Not calmer. Just warmer. The kind of warmth people reached after surviving something profoundly stupid together. Kiro checked the feeds one final time. “…there are now nine contradictory conspiracy threads.” “Eleven,” Reyes corrected immediately. Kiro looked delighted. “You’re monitoring too?” “Of course I am.” Mai took a slow sip of coffee. “One thread believes we’re an Arasaka cleanup unit.” Shammy: “One believes I control storms intentionally.” Ace: “One believes I live in air vents.” Kiro looked up. “…do you.” Ace stared at her. “…Kiro.” “Fair question.” The cook behind the counter suddenly whispered something to a waitress. The waitress looked toward the booth. Then toward Ace specifically. Then whispered back: > “That’s the tiny one.” Silence. Perfect silence. Ace closed her eyes for exactly one second like her soul had finally detached completely from her body. Reyes collapsed laughing against the table. Mai lost composure outright for the first time all night. Shammy smiled softly into her coffee. And somewhere outside beneath the endless neon rain, Night City quietly decided the rumor deserved to survive another night.