The Unforgiven

The Afterlife seemed unchanged from the outside, people crowding around its doorway smoking and drinking. Mercs and their outputs, weapons slung over their shoulders or hanging off their belts. The car park was full, a typical Friday night turnout, leaving no room for the car pulling in now except the central lane.

Rogue looked out over the steering wheel, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. There were no unfamiliar characters around, except for a homeless guy going through the dumpster by the taxi console.

"Well, it's still here," Crispin said from the seat beside her, "Not a smoking ruin."

"Or so it seems," Rogue replied, "Arasaka are patient enough to wait a week."

"Your contacts said they weren't around," Crispin countered, "Their forces haven't moved from the Waterfront in months."

Rogue shook her head. "We're only a short drive away," she said, "If they want us, they can still come. Unfortunately, there's a limit to how long I can leave for and I will not be cowed by threats alone."

Crispin shifted in his seat, leaning to the window to look up at the roof. "So what now? Do we sit here or do we go in?"

"We do nothing," Rogue replied, "You take the car, park it on the main road and keep the engine running. I go in and check things out, pretend like nothing is wrong."

"People will know something is up as soon as you walk in," Crispin said, "But if that's how you want it..."

"It is," Rogue insisted, opening the door, "See you in ten."

Without another word, she stood up out of the car and walked around the hood, stepping straight towards the entrance to her kingdom. The crowd outside caught notice quickly, all heads turning to her. There were nods and quiet greetings, but she paid no heed beyond a casual wave of the hand. She was busy, she wasn't there to hear petitions.

Descending the stairs to the corridor below, she yet more people hanging around the vending machines, and Emmerick barring the way to the club itself. He perked up as soon as he noticed her appearance, crossing his large augmented hands in front of him and blocking her way. Playing the bouncer a little too hard, annoyingly.

"You're alive," he said, half a question and half a statement.

"I am," Rogue replied, "Nothing happen here?"

"It was quiet," Emmerick stated, glancing at the mercs a little bit away, "Too quiet."

Rogue couldn't help but find that suspicious. "How cliché," she thought aloud, "You going to let me past or what?"

The bouncer grumbled, clearly disappointed that he wasn't getting details about her absence, before stepping aside to let her inside. The music seemed to boom as the inner doors opened to allow her passage. Every chair had an ass sitting on it, every booth filled.

The balance of power had shifted, and the corps weren't putting their own assets into play... which meant good times for mercs and gangers of all kinds. Combat by proxy and the era of opportunity for those with the spine to act were both back. It was like the old days in more ways than one, though it still lacked soul, no matter how many people believed in the power of Jesus or Joshua Stephenson.

Johnny Silverhand was gone again, and his would-be successors fled.

Rogue went behind the bar, to pick up a bottle and a glass, knowing well the bartenders would be too busy to get her anything she wanted. If you need something done right, you do it yourself, even if it's just the right drink at the right time. She began mixing herself up a Jackie Welles, a new thing that had become popular for good reason, when her chief bartender came up to her.

"Hey Rogue, welcome back," Claire said loudly over the music, grabbing three bottles of beer between her fingers from the fridge behind, "You have a visitor, he's waiting in your booth."

Rogue frowned, not liking that someone just decided to go to her private area. She craned her neck, trying to see who was over there, but could only see a glass of whiskey and a pair of legs in white trousers; they were sitting in the corner of the booth that wasn't visible from behind the bar.

"Who is it?" Rogue asked, finally.

"Takemura," Claire answered, popping the tops off of the beers and giving them to the customer, "Looking fresh with a new suit, no weapons and tipping bigger than usual. No idea what that means, but he must've pulled off a big job."

Like someone had poured cold water down her back, Rogue wanted to shiver. Whatever the hell this was all about, it could not be good. She had fled to a more defensible location and prepared to make a last stand, all because Arasaka had started looking for Takemura again, an objective that very much should've led through her.

Yet the Arasaka assault had not come, and now, Takemura was back... and prospering.

"Thanks Claire," Rogue said, completing the drink she had been preparing, "I'll talk to you later."

"Gotcha," the bartender said.

Rogue manoeuvred out of the bar and across the floor to her booth. She ignored its other occupant at first, sitting down in her preferred spot where she had a good look at the entrance, having a sip of her drink and crossing her legs. Only then did she deem to grant the interloper with her a single look.

Takemura was waiting patiently, swirling the glass of whiskey around before drinking, his eyes never leaving her. Like Claire said, he was wearing a spotless white suit over a white shirt, with black shoes. By the way the cloth sat on him, she could tell the clothing had a tactical protective weave within it, protection against penetration by low calibre projectiles. Yet no visible weapons, unless he had cyberware in his arms under his sleeves.

"Good afternoon, Rogue-san," he said, "I am pleased to see you have not been harmed since you gave me the warning that Arasaka had renewed their interest in me."

Rogue narrowed her eyes at the man. He was remarkably calm.

"I hope that my generosity was not misplaced," she said, "For a man wanted by Arasaka, you seem to be in the opposite place that I would have expected to see you in. Though I suppose you could say that suit is appropriate enough for a funeral."

Takemura smiled. "Yes, there has been a change in circumstances," he said, "Michiko Arasaka offered me a position, one I could not refuse yet am happy to take up. I am once again employed by the Arasaka Corporation."

Rogue sat back, draping an arm over the back of the couch and taking another sip of her Jackie Welles, to give herself time to think. What did he want? Was it good or bad news?

"Congratulations," she said, "Though I can't say I am pleased with the news. You are a very effective mercenary. The Afterlife will not be the same without you."

With a turn of the head away from her, Takemura's smile dampened slightly. "I must thank you, as I did when we last spoke," he said, "Without your assistance, it is unlikely I would have survived to see this day. You showed me that there is some honour in this profession to be found, and it prevented any … unnecessary unpleasantness."

"And as I said, you owe V," Rogue replied, "Is this why you have come back? One last drink? You are free to come back any time you want, you are not the only Arasaka agent who comes here."

Takemura's smile entirely disappeared. Bad news then. Fuck.

"Aside from giving you my thanks in person, I am here on behalf of Arasaka," he said, "The past months have been ones of recovery from the attack that V and his gang launched against us, but now, we are once again in a position to assure our enemies' demise."

Rogue felt her insides clutch up, immediately regretting that she had come back so soon. But she couldn't let Takemura know that. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Am I your enemy, Goro?" she asked, "Now that you are Arasaka again?"

"That is entirely within your power to decide," he replied, "It is possible that our enemies may ask you to aid them. We demand that you refuse any such calls."

"Do you?" Rogue said, "I had no clue I was such a large threat."

"I will not pretend you are anything other than capable of great harm," Takemura said, "But we are capable of far greater. Do not fight us. You have completed jobs for us in the past, and we are grateful. That, combined with what I owe you, is why I am speaking to you of this. There are others who could deliver this message far less politely, and I would not want to see the result of that."

So, Arasaka was asking nicely. But who were they so afraid of?

"Is there anyone in particular I should be wary of aiding?" Rogue asked, "Since this seems like an oddly specific request."

Takemura lifted his glass and finished his drink.

"It is not a request," he said, "And you know of whom I speak."

"V, I would assume," Rogue answered, "But he is gone."

"He may have reason to return," Takemura replied, "It is a slim chance, but it seems his gang's contract with the Alpha Dome in Arizona has been terminated. They may blame Arasaka for this, though they are a victim of their own success in destroying the more chaotic nomads. Or they may see Night City as the only place they can earn money. Regardless, you are not to aid them."

Rogue stared at the man, wishing she could tell him to go to hell. If V had the eddies, she had no problem helping him or the Aldecaldos. The same way she had little problem with taking eddies for Arasaka gigs... although each time that happened, it stung a little, even all these years later, and the wounds had been reopened when Johnny had come marching back into her life, however temporarily.

"I cannot make guarantees," she answered, "But I will take your words under advisement."

"You would be wise to do so strictly," Takemura said, rising and placing his empty glass in front of her, "I regret any offence you may take from this warning, but it is necessary for your own protection. Goodbye, Rogue-san."

He turned and left the booth, walking without care, passing by the other mercs as they stopped to stare at him and around the corner, out of the place.

Rogue's insides mixed like CHOOH2 and explosives in her belly, rising to her throat, not sure what they were until she picked up the glass Takemura had used and threw it against the wall with all the power she could muster. It shattered into a thousand pieces with a loud smash, showering the place he had been sitting with shards. It was pure rage she was feeling. She had protected Takemura at his lowest point, and he had turned around to go back to Arasaka at the first real opportunity.

She immediately felt shame for the loss of control, and hung her head, wondering whether Johnny had been right all along. A blaze of glory had far more dignity than this existence.

Claire came hurrying up, eyes going between the debris of the glass and Rogue herself. "You alright?" she asked, "What did Takemura do?"

Rogue finished her drink in a single gulp, not bothering to taste it.

"No, I'm not alright," she admitted, "And in this case, you should mind your own business. It's not safe."

Claire's eyes widened, and she hesitated, before nodding. She got the message and left it be, leaving to return to her duties.

Rogue felt a pang cut through her. Loneliness. What an idiot, she thought, wanting something she couldn't have, whether it was a dead rockerboy or freedom from the corps.


Named for The Unforgiven, by Metallica