Chapter 39: The Afterlife Bar, First Meeting with Rogue

"Get her a Johnny Silverhand, and a small cola for me, extra ice."

Mercer sat down at the bar. Claire, the bartender who looked remarkably like her game counterpart, first raised a hand in acknowledgment, finished pouring drinks for another table, and then walked over, glancing at Panam and Mercer.

"Well... new faces. Hello, I'm Claire."

She poured Mercer a small cola first—a full glass packed with ice—and then set about mixing the drink for Panam.

"A Johnny Silverhand... not many people order that these days."

Claire smiled as she looked at Panam. "Honey, that drink is bitter and burns like hell. Most people can't handle it."

"Then I'll have something else. I'm not interested in a Johnny Silverhand." Panam glanced at Mercer, suspecting he was deliberately trying to give her a hard time.

Mercer shrugged. "Ha... I actually wanted to taste it myself."

"Then order one for yourself. You're the one paying here anyway, A."

Panam didn't mind minors drinking—nomads didn't care about such things. She had been riding with convoys, engaging in gunfights and smuggling since she was in her teens; a couple of drinks was nothing.

Mercer pondered for a moment. "Give me a small glass to try."

Claire chuckled. "Alright, though it's rare to see someone come in here and only drink cola... Are you of legal age?"

"A man's age is also a secret, and secrets make a man more of a man."

Mercer's nonsense made Claire laugh even harder.

Smiling, she poured Mercer a small shot glass—about the size of a Chinese baijiu cup. "Let's see how much capacity this 'man of men' really has."

Mercer picked up the glass and inspected the liquid: old-school tequila, beer, and chili...

He lifted his mask, downed it in one go, and immediately broke into a coughing fit, prompting Panam to burst out into uninhibited laughter. "How is it? The taste of Johnny Silverhand?"

"That's a disgusting way to put it... but it certainly suits that asshole's taste. Bitter, burning, and the spice just lingers... *cough, cough*."

Mercer hurriedly took a sip of cola, feeling much better as he let out a sigh of relief, though his interest was piqued once more.

"Shot glass, vodka on the rocks, mixed with blue small cola, and just a tiny dash of yellow lemon juice. Let's call this drink..."

This drink was originally called the David Martinez, left behind at the Afterlife after the anime protagonist David died.

But now... Mercer smiled and said, "Let's call this drink a New Chapter."

"Hmm, a New Chapter..." Following his instructions, Claire mixed the drink and garnished the rim with a tiny decorative cocktail umbrella that matched the blue liquid.

Mercer picked up the glass, examined it, and took a small sip.

Carbonation mixed with fruit acid hit his taste buds, bringing a refreshing note, followed by the sharp bite of vodka. Mercer savored it for a moment before smiling. "Not bad."

"Let me have a sip." Panam felt tempted. Not caring that Mercer had already drank from it, she took the glass, rotated the rim, and took a small sip. "... Tastes like soda. Only kids drink this stuff."

"Is that so?" Mercer let out a scoff, downed the rest of the 'New Chapter' in one go, and stopped drinking alcohol altogether, sticking only to cola while listening to the music.

Panam's nomad attire had sparked Claire's curiosity. After chatting for a few moments, they discovered a shared interest in vehicles and soon became deeply engrossed in an animated conversation.

Although Mercer knew a little about the subject, he had no desire to join in. He simply waited patiently, resting his head on one hand and tapping his fingers against his mask as his mind wandered elsewhere.

As it approached eight o'clock, a burly man walked over and interrupted Panam and Claire's discussion about cars.

"Ms. Rogue wants to see you."

The bodyguard looked rough around the edges. Mercer scanned him quickly: quite a few cyberware components—gorilla arms, a berserk system, heavy subdermal armor, standard heavy tank equipment. Good material for stopping bullets.

Mercer rose gracefully. "Panam, just wait here."

"Are you sure? I should probably go with you, just in case someone tries to look down on you." Panam eyed the bulky bodyguard, generously intending to back him up. "The name Aldecaldo still carries some weight in Night City."

"No need. What we have to discuss isn't really suitable for others to overhear." Mercer smiled. "Still, thanks, Panam."

Panam could only shake her head and sit back down. "Fine..."

Mercer adjusted his mask, shoved his hands into his pockets, and followed the bodyguard deep into the bar. His relatively short stature looked unusually slender amidst the hulking, bizarrely modified mercenaries, drawing curious and probing glances from time to time.

The walk was longer than Mercer had anticipated.

Instead of leading him to an outer private booth, the guard pushed open a door at the back of the bar, entered a dimly lit corridor, took a turn, and pushed open yet another door, revealing a heavily concealed, enclosed private room.

Inside the room, a woman sat on the sofa right in the middle. It was Rogue.

The 'Queen of the Afterlife' looked no longer young, with a mane of silver-white hair swept to one side and a valiant face marked by faint lines of experience.

Yet those wrinkles did not make her look frail; her face was adorned with traces of face paint, adding a wild, untamed edge to her appearance.

"You're A?"

Her tone was far from friendly, her tough personality evident in the very cadence of her speech.

Mercer nodded, sitting down on the opposite sofa with utter casualness, his tone relaxed. "It's me. You can also call me by my name—Alex, Alex Mercer."

"So, where is your information?" Rogue crossed her legs, one arm resting on the back of the sofa as she slightly raised her chin to scrutinize Mercer's words and actions.

Mercer simply lounged back lazily, smiling behind his mask. "Are you sure you want me to say it now?"

He glanced sideways at the heavily built bodyguard by the door.

Rogue waved a hand expressionlessly. "Step back, all of you. I'm talking business."

The bodyguard at the door obediently walked further away, keeping watch on passersby to ensure no one disturbed them.

Then, Mercer casually dropped words that caused Rogue's expression to change drastically.

"Johnny Silverhand is still alive."

Rogue's gaze instantly sharpened, fixing on Mercer like a razor blade. "You motherf—"

"Soulkiller. I assume you know better than I do what Arasaka turned that program into."

Mercer spoke unhurriedly. Beneath his mask, brilliant blue cybernetic eyes flickered with starry motes swirling around his pupils, lending him an aura of mystery.

"After Johnny Silverhand was instantly flatlined by Adam Smasher, Spider Murphy saved him."

Mercer recounted a story Rogue had never heard before. The implications woven between his words made her heart contract with a strange ache while her breathing involuntarily grew heavier.

"Realizing she couldn't escape with the storage device holding Alt's consciousness, she uploaded Alt to the Net in batches, which caused some fracturing and disorder in Alt's conscious personality.

At the same time, Spider Murphy inserted the Relic chip—the magical container originally intended to hold Alt's consciousness—into the data port at the back of Silverhand's head, which Smasher had blasted into two pieces.

Because of this, Silverhand's consciousness was uploaded into this chip right before it completely faded away. I imagine you might still remember Murphy's actions at the time?"

Mercer paused after finishing, then continued, "As for how this chip eventually made its way back into Arasaka's hands through various twists and turns, I don't know for sure. But what I can guarantee is that Silverhand's consciousness is now once again under Arasaka's control.

And the matter we are going to discuss is how to rescue Silverhand."

"Rescue him?" Rogue let out a cold laugh. "I've already paid enough for him...

Who sent you? And why do you know so many details?

There aren't many of my old friends still breathing."

"Hmm... That depends entirely on how you define the word 'breathing'."

Mercer finished, then smiled. "To be honest, the person who hired me might not be someone you're fond of...

Alt. Alt Cunningham. I imagine... you still remember that name vividly."