Author's Note: This chapter is a bit different. Can you tell how much I enjoyed writing it? Ahaha
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The Electric Orgasm was not exactly the kind of place that screamed luxury or prestige.
Its black-and-white tiled floor carried the wear of countless boots and spills, and the dim neon lights lining the ceiling casted uneven shadows across the room. A small stage sat in the corner, unoccupied save for a set of drums, a mic stand, and a beat-up guitar that had seen better days. The place hummed with quiet chatter and the occasional clink of glasses, and the air was heavy with the faint smell of booze and cigarette smoke.
The bar's regular visitors were far from the movers and shakers of Night City. These were the small-timers, the grunts still clawing their way out of the gutter. They were not yet big enough to sip with legends at the Afterlife, and perhaps never would be, but they still needed a drink and a place to vent their frustrations. Dino Dinovic, the fixer and owner of the Electric Orgasm, leaned against the bar, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he surveyed the scene. His sharp eyes caught every detail, from the chipped paint on the walls to the tension brewing in front of him.
Two mercs were standing across from Dino, their argument rising above the general noise of the bar.
The first was a pale, wiry man. His cyberware was minimal but sleek, a single optic enhancement glowing faintly and a neural processor port on the side of his neck. He wore a faded leather jacket patched with duct tape and a pair of grey, thick boots. His voice was gruff, and his tone carried a heaping help of dismay.
"You're tellin' me Sarah's gone because she couldn't keep up?!" he snapped, his grip on his bottle tightening. "That's bullshit, Rigs! She was solid. You're the gonk who bailed when shit hit the fan."
Standing just beside him was a bulkier man with a shaved head and a metallic jaw that glinted every time his face moved. His arms were covered in gaudy tattoos of flames and skulls, poorly inked and horribly maintained. His left arm was entirely chrome, with the joints clicking loudly with every gesture he made. Unlike the wiry man, he looked completely unfazed, his cybernetic eyes glowing red as he scoffed, swirling a glass of something amber-coloured.
"Yeah—and what? Gonna cry about it, Daze?" Rigs said, his voice a low growl. "You gotta know when to pull out. That's the gig. If you freeze up, you're scrap—and she froze up."
Daze slammed his hand against the wall beside him, the sound drawing the attention of a few nearby people. "She froze up 'cause we were in over our heads, you motherfucker! You said that smash-and-grab was gonna be smooth. Instead, we walk right into a fucking corpo kill squad!"
Rigs sneered, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp. "Just part of the job, kid. Any plan can go to shit. You've gotta be ready for that."
"W-We gotta go back. We owe her that much. Once things calm down, we can at least get her body outta there…"
Rigs snorted. "You fuckin' dumbass. 'Calm down?' Corpo security ain't gonna pull out; they'll double down. They know we breached their ops, and you wanna waltz right back into their backyard?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Man, I'm starting to think Sarah wasn't the only one who couldn't keep up."
"What the fuck was that…?" Daze hissed, his fists clenched tight. "How am I ever gonna face her mom again knowing we left her out there? To rot in the dirt like she was nothing?!"
Rigs leaned back, smirking, and raised a fresh drink in mock salute. "Oh, that's it, huh? Guilt's eating you alive? Nah…" He chuckled darkly, the sound cruel, callous and cutting. "I shoulda figured—always knew you had a thing for her. Thought you could be her input someday, huh? Well, let me tell ya something…" He leaned forward, his grin turning dark. "She was more into me anyway."
The words hit Daze like a hammer, and for a second, the entire bar seemed to go silent.
"That's it!" Daze growled, launching himself at Rigs without hesitation.
His fist connected squarely with Rigs' jaw, sending the merc sprawling across the floor and crashing into a nearby table.
Rigs recovered quickly, shaking off the hit and throwing himself back at Daze. "Hahaha! You're gonna regret that, choom!" he snarled, slamming a fist into Daze's stomach and driving him back against the bar.
Daze groaned as his back slammed against the counter, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the bar. The sharp sting of alcohol mixed with the pain in his ribs as Dino, sitting nearby, scowled at the mess.
"God damn it…" Dino muttered, wiping the spilled drink off his lap. "That was a '92 Tsushima Black…"
Daze tried to push himself upright, but his body protested. Rigs loomed over him, his cybernetic arms whirring as he grabbed Daze by the collar and yanked him up like a ragdoll.
"Pathetic…" Rigs cackled, his lips curling into a sadistic grin. He raised his fist, the metallic knuckles gleaming under the bar's dim lights. "Even Sarah hit harder than you."
But before Rigs could land the blow, a strange sound cut through the tension—a slow, thunderous thudding. Each step seemed impossibly heavy, like an ominous drumbeat in the small bar. Time seemed to slow as both mercs turned their heads toward the source.
From the shadows near the entrance, a massive figure emerged. A towering black man, muscles pressing against the fabric of his plain white shirt, strode toward them calmly. His face was unreadable behind dark, empty shades, and a communication headset sat snugly around his head and against his ear.
The thudding stopped just behind Rigs and Daze.
"Huh? Who the fuck are yo—" Rigs began, but the words barely escaped his mouth.
In one impossibly fast motion, the stranger grabbed Rigs and Daze by the backs of their collars, his massive hands clamping down with unyielding force. Before either merc could react, he lifted them both effortlessly off the ground and turned around, slamming them into the floor with a brutal precision that echoed through the bar.
The impact knocked both mercs out instantly.
They laid sprawled on the floor, unconscious and motionless, as the bar fell into stunned silence.
Dino leaned back in his stool, smiling. "Ah, there you are."
The towering man, stoic as ever behind his shades, stood amidst the wreckage. Not a single bead of sweat dotted his forehead.
Dino tilted his head toward the mess and waved dismissively. "Eh, don't worry about these gonks. I'll have one of the lackeys drag them out back. Let 'em finish their little scuffle outside, away from paying customers."
The bouncer gave the faintest nod, the slight incline of his head more acknowledgment than agreement.
Dino chuckled and picked up a fresh glass from behind the bar. "Good work, though. As quick and clean as ever. Gotta say, you make my life a hell of a lot easier, choom." He glanced toward the dimly lit clock on the wall. "Oh, and by the way—it's final call. End of your shift. Go ahead, grab yourself one last drink and kick back for a minute. You've earned it."
The bouncer stood silent for a beat, then turned and walked toward the bartender, his heavy footsteps thudding softly against the black-and-white tiled floor. The room seemed to adjust around him as he moved, conversations quieting slightly, patrons stepping subtly out of his way.
Dino raised his glass toward the bouncer's back, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "I can always count on you…"
The fixer stared at the silent, enigmatic man and finished his sentence before he enjoyed his new drink.
"...Reed."
With a bit of time, the bar had settled back into its usual murmur of conversations and clinking glasses, the earlier scuffle now just a faint memory among the patrons.
Solomon Reed sat at the counter, his broad shoulders relaxed but his posture still carrying an air of vigilance. The deep blue lighting of the Electric Orgasm reflected off his dark shades, making it impossible to read his expression. He looked like a statue carved from stone, unyielding and unbothered.
Behind the counter, the bartender approached with a casual smile. "What'll it be tonight, Reed? Your poison?" he asked, though the question was purely rhetorical at this point.
Reed's voice was barely above a murmur. "The usual."
The bartender nodded knowingly and reached under the counter, retrieving three pristine glasses and a sleek, rectangular bottle—a premium liquor as dark as the shadows creeping along the bar's tiled floor. It was the strongest drink the Electric Orgasm offered, potent enough to knock out lesser men with a single shot.
But Reed was not like most men.
The bartender lined up the three glasses neatly and poured the amber liquid. The viscous alcohol swirled as it filled each glass. Reed watched the process silently, his face impassive. The bartender slid the glasses toward him without a word, knowing the ritual.
Every night, at the end of his shift, it was always the same: three glasses of his preferred drink. Never more. Never less.
Reed picked up the first glass, holding it between his thick fingers. He swirled the liquid for a moment, then downed it in one swift motion. The alcohol burned on its way down, but he did not flinch, did not grimace. Just set the empty glass back down and moved to the second.
The bartender watched him for a moment, then broke the silence. "Rough night?"
Reed did not answer immediately. He stared at the second glass, his fingers tracing the rim before lifting it. "Same as any other." he finally said, his tone as neutral as ever.
The bouncer turned his attention to the small TV mounted in the corner of the bar, the low hum of its audio cutting through the ambient chatter and faint music. Gillean Jordan's poised face filled the screen, her golden hair immaculate under the studio lights and her outfit as sleek as ever.
"Breaking news." her crisp voice announced. "An exclusive report just in—an AV owned by Zetatech, registered under Kang Tao's operations, has crashed in the Badlands within the last hour. Preliminary evidence suggests this was not a technical malfunction but rather a targeted attack by as-yet-unidentified individuals. Kang Tao representatives have declined to comment at this time, though sources close to N54 suggest heightened security alerts have been issued across corporate territories."
Reed's fingers tightened around the glass, observing without expression. The footage accompanying the report—a shaky drone capture of the burning wreckage, the faint outline of the AV's Kang Tao insignia barely visible through the smoke—played in the corner of his vision as he downed his second glass.
The bartender glanced back at the TV as well. "Something catch your eye?"
Reed barely acknowledged the question, his focus still on the TV. "No." he said quietly, setting the empty glass down with a clink.
Jordan continued, her tone growing graver. "Kang Tao has yet to release an official statement, but this incident is likely to exacerbate ongoing tensions in the region. Stay tuned to N54 news for more updates as this story develops."
Reed reached for the third glass.
But before he could, he caught movement in his peripheral vision. The stool to his left, which had been empty moments ago, was now occupied. Almost immediately, his senses were overtaken by the rich, floral scent of perfume—a fragrance so striking it was simply impossible to ignore.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. The woman sitting beside him had dark, flawless skin and a buzzed haircut. A golden necklace gleamed against her collarbone, and her cropped jacket, adorned with tiny blue crystals that shimmered like stars.
"Good evening." she greeted the bartender with a smile so perfect it seemed unreal.
The bartender, busy polishing a glass, glanced her way. "What'll it be?"
The woman rested an elbow on the counter, her fingers lazily tracing a small circle on the surface. "Give me the strongest thing you've got." she said, her voice sultry and smooth. "It's been one hell of a day—need something strong."
The bartender glanced at the woman with a touch of regret. "Sorry, but we've only got one last bottle of that, and…" He gestured toward Reed with a nod. "…this guy here's already finishing the last glass."
The woman turned her head, her gaze settling on the final glass in Reed's hand. Her expression remained calm, but there was a playful glimmer in her eyes as she studied him.
Reed stared back at her in silence, his hand still resting on the base of the glass.
"Well…" she said after a moment, her voice taking on a teasing tone, "I guess the question is… are you the kind of man who'd let a lady have the last taste?"
The bartender, sensing trouble brewing, quickly leaned in. "Listen, I'm telling you—it's way too strong for you. We're talking three-day headache strong."
The woman waved him off without breaking eye contact with Reed, her grin widening. "I'll take my chances."
Reed did not flinch. He did not smirk, did not argue, did not say a word. Instead, he slid the glass across the counter into her waiting hands.
"Thanks, stud." she said with a wink, raising the glass to him in a mock toast. Without hesitation, she tipped the glass back and drank it all in a single, smooth gulp.
The bartender winced. "She's gonna—"
The woman set the glass down with a light clink, her face twisting momentarily in response to the intense burn of the alcohol. She took a slow, careful breath, her expression smoothing out almost immediately.
"Mmm…not bad…" she said, her voice only slightly hoarser than before. She glanced at Reed, who watched her impassively. "What—did you think I couldn't handle it?"
"I think…" Reed finally spoke, his tone neutral and unwavering. "You're the type that doesn't take no for an answer."
The woman chuckled, resting her chin on her hand as she observed him, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she leaned in slightly closer, her voice honeyed and smooth. "Catherine." she said, offering her name like a gift.
Reed did not react, his expression remaining carved from stone.
Catherine tilted her head, waiting for him to reciprocate, but when he did not, she simply smiled. "Silent type, huh?"
She straightened and crossed her legs elegantly, tapping a finger on the counter. "Tell you what, since you know I don't take no for an answer…how about you step outside with me? Let me give you a proper thanks for the drink."
The bartender, who had been eavesdropping shamelessly, snorted as he polished another glass. "Good luck with that, lady. We get dames saying that from time to time, but I keep telling 'em, they're barking up the wrong tree. This guy just isn't interested in—"
"Sure." Reed interrupted, his deep voice cutting clean through the bartender's rambling. He stood from his stool and began heading toward the exit without hesitation.
The bartender's jaw dropped. He stared after Reed, then turned to Catherine, who had risen from her seat and was now smirking at him.
"Your bouncer…seems like a real no-nonsense kind of guy." she remarked, her tone light and teasing. "But you know what? That's exactly the kind of guy I like."
She winked at the baffled bartender, then pivoted on her heel and followed Reed out the door, the faint scent of her intoxicating perfume lingering behind her.
Catherine had one hand pressed to the building behind Reed as she leaned in close. The sultry scent of her perfume wrapped around them, rich and delicious.
But Reed's stoic demeanor still did not waver. He leaned back against the building, arms casually by his sides, watching her with an unreadable expression.
"So…" Catherine began, her voice low and playful, "Are you finally gonna tell me your name, or do you want me to start guessing?"
Reed stared at her for a moment, then spoke with his usual calm voice. "Solomon Reed."
"Solomon Reed…" she repeated, savouring the sound of his name. "Strong name. Concrete. I like it." She shifted a little closer, her fingers brushing down his shirt. "You've got that silent, no-nonsense thing down to an art, huh? Must drive the ladies wild."
Reed remained as unflappable as ever, his gaze steady on hers, giving nothing away.
Catherine chuckled, leaning in just enough that her breath brushed his ear. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're playing hard to get. But something tells me that's just your natural charm."
She pulled back slightly, her grin widening as she stepped away. "Lucky for you, I'm not the type to scare off easily." She motioned toward the alleyway with a casual wave. "Come on, Mr. Reed. I wasn't kidding about your reward…it's right this way."
Reed gave a subtle nod, his silence as much an answer as any words might have been.
Catherine led the way, her heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of her step as deliberate as the confident tilt of her head. When they emerged onto the open street, she stopped beside a gleaming white Rayfield Caliburn.
The car practically sparkled under the streetlights, its sleek, aerodynamic design a masterpiece of both form and function. The body was a pristine, polished white that seemed to glow, accompanied by a subtle gold trim along the edges. Its curved, razor-sharp lines gave it an incredible elegance, and the black-tinted windows selfishly hid away the luxury it had inside.
Catherine turned to Reed, gesturing toward the car with a proud smile. "What do you think? Not bad, huh? She's fast, she's gorgeous, and she turns heads everywhere she goes."
She tapped a slim device on her bracelet, and the Caliburn's doors opened upward with a soft hiss.
The interior was every bit as lavish as the exterior, with seats upholstered in creamy white leather that seemed to mold perfectly to the body. Catherine slid into the driver's seat, her movements ever so graceful. She turned her head to look at Reed, her smile playful.
"You coming, or are you gonna keep me waiting, Mr. Reed?"
Reed stepped in without hesitation, settling into the passenger seat with his usual composed demeanour. Catherine glanced his way, her eyes glinting with mischief as she activated the engine, the Caliburn responding with a low, powerful hum.
The sultry woman's grin widened as she leaned back in her seat, one hand lightly gripping the wheel. "So?" she began, her voice dripping with amusement, "What do you think? Impressive, huh? She's my pride and joy."
Reed remained silent, his eyes slowly scanning the luxurious interior. His gaze moved from the ambient lighting to the polished dashboard, then back to Catherine, unbothered and unreadable. Without a word, he reached up and removed his dark shades, folding them neatly before placing them in his lap alongside his headset.
The silence stretched uncomfortably long. Catherine blinked, her confidence faltering slightly under his unyielding stare. "W-What?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light but failing to hide her growing unease. "Something...wrong?"
Reed did not answer immediately. His calm exterior was impenetrable, and Catherine shifted in her seat, her bravado now replaced by a hint of nervousness.
Finally, Reed spoke, his voice steady. "What've you got for me, Alex?"
Catherine froze. Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment, her perfectly curated smile faltered before vanishing entirely. Frustration flickered across her face as she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Wha—?! Are you...are you fucking kidding me?!" she hissed, her sultry tone now replaced with exasperation. She waved a hand toward her crafted face in disbelief. "You really didn't buy this?"
Reed shook his head slowly, unimpressed. "Not for a second."
Annoyed, Alex slapped the steering wheel in front of her. "Ugh!" she groaned, her frustration palpable.
Without another word, she raised a hand to her face, and a faint shimmer ran across her features. The illusion of her disguise melted away with a glassy effect, revealing her true appearance. Dark skin, short blonde and white hair, a small nose ring, and a scowl sharp enough to cut steel, all revealed by her cyberware.
It was the TNRTX10.0, the Behavioral Imprint-Synced Faceplate—an unparalleled piece of classified cyberware. Advanced beyond anything the public could fathom, it remained a ghost in the tech world, its existence known only to a select few. Originally an unfinished Militech prototype, abandoned and forgotten, the FIA had salvaged and reengineered it into a marvel of experimental spytech. So far, it had proven to be frighteningly effective.
By extracting a behavioral imprint, the device allowed its user to assume a nearly flawless replica of another individual. Physical traits, facial expressions, speech patterns, and even the most subtle quirks were mimicked to perfection. The transformation was so complete it could fool even the most cutting-edge biometric scans, making the wearer a ghost wrapped in someone else's skin—a living, breathing doppelganger.
Such a tool was not handed out to just anyone. The Federal Intelligence Agency hoarded its arsenal of advanced spytech with obsessive secrecy, reserving these treasures for an elite few—agents who had proven themselves utterly irreplaceable.
For Alex, earning the TNRTX10.0 was not a matter of luck; it was the culmination of years of relentless dedication. Blood, sweat, tears, and unshakable resolve had carried her through grueling trials, all under the watchful eye of her mentor, Solomon Reed—the first person to recognise her acting abilities.
And eventually…she had been deemed worthy in the eyes of the FIA.
With the faceplate deactivating, her voice dropped into its natural sound—deeper, more serious, and carrying a clear undercurrent of irritation.
"Five years, Reed." she grumbled, her tone accusing as she tilted her head at him. "Five years apart, countless hours of practice, state-of-the-art spytech...and I still can't fool you?"
Reed remained calm, his hands resting on his lap. He opened his mouth to respond. "That's because I—"
But Alex raised a hand, cutting him off. "—because you taught me everything I know?" She rolled her eyes dramatically. "God, that's so fucking cliché…"
"It's true." Reed insisted with a grunt. "You can fool anyone, Alex—but not me."
Alex sighed, leaning back in her seat as a wry smile spread across her face. "Well, thanks for asking how I've been." she said, her voice dripping with mock gratitude. "Five years in Monte Carlo, sunshine, expensive wine, luxury all around. It's everything I ever wanted—but I always knew the catch. When I'm called…I've gotta answer."
Reed did not reply, as though her sarcasm simply washed over him.
Alex raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing. "No comment? Typical." She leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the steering wheel as her tone softened. "Alright, how about you? Five years in this city, lying low, no comms, radio silence…did you ever start to wonder if we'd written you off? That the FIA was just gonna let its best agent rot in this dump?"
Reed's relaxed voice finally broke the silence. "Didn't feel long."
Alex blinked. "What?"
"Five years." Reed repeated. "Not long in this city—or any city. I knew the wait would end. It always does."
Reed acted as sure as always, but having known him for so many years, Alex could see past his stoic facade. She saw something alive in his dead eyes—a glint, perhaps.
It was not excitement or joy, not exactly. It was something closer to…reassurance. A quiet acknowledgment that he was still wanted, still needed. For years, Reed had been a nomad of the FIA, transferred from Langley to the farthest corners of the NUSA's sprawling cities. Night City was merely the latest stop on his endless journey. But this time was different. This time, there had been silence.
Five long years of it.
His superiors had assured him that a mission of critical national importance awaited him in Night City, urging patience and discretion while he laid low and adopted a false identity. But Alex knew better than most what that silence must have done to him. Reed was not built for waiting. He was a soldier, hardwired to thrive on orders, objectives, and purpose. A lethal ghost of a man with the skills and tools that could perhaps rival even legends like Morgan Blackhand, yet completely unknown and unseen by most.
Even a single year without direction would have gnawed at him like a festering wound. But five years must have been nothing short of torture, though he would never let it show. Not in his words, not in his expression, not even in his posture.
But after working alongside the man for so long, Alex understood. Reed was not just a ghost, he was their ghost. An instrument of the FIA. A spotless record, with not a single failed mission in his long, extensive career. His very identity, his sole reason for living, was tied to serving the agency and his country.
Without that purpose to guide him, Solomon Reed would be utterly lost.
Alex leaned back in her seat, sighing before reaching beneath it. With a smooth motion, she slid out a sleek black suitcase. It was unmarked, its surface pristine with a faint metallic sheen. She set it on her lap and pressed her thumb against the biometric lock. A quiet click sounded, and the case sprang open.
Inside, nestled against dark foam padding, were several documents and a red shard. Alex plucked the shard from its slot, holding it between her fingers as if it were a prize. She turned to Reed, her expression shifting to one of mild amusement as she wagged it playfully in front of his face.
"Well…" she said, her tone hovering between seriousness and a smirk. "You don't have to wait anymore. Your mission's here. Our mission, actually."
Reed's gaze shifted from her to the shard, his face as blank as ever. For a moment, he simply stared at it, the red glow of its surface reflecting in his eyes. Then, without a word, he reached out and took it from her hand.
Slotting the shard into the port near the back of his head, Reed straightened slightly as his cyberware engaged. His optics flared with a sharp, blue glow, casting streaks of light across the interior of the Caliburn. The soft hum of data transfer filled the silence as streams of information began to scroll rapidly across his vision.
He scanned through flashes of information about a netrunner—an extensive, complicated history that unraveled before his eyes. Details of her early life, family ties, her meteoric rise as a prodigy, and her years under Arasaka's employ. Her transition to Kang Tao followed, leaving behind a trail of espionage, data breaches, and netrunning attacks that painted a picture of unparalleled skill and dangerous volatility.
Records flashed of infiltrations into Militech, Biotechnica, Orbital Air, Zetatech, and even her own employers, Arasaka and Kang Tao. Her list of exploits seemed endless, toppling firewalls others deemed unbreakable, implanting worms so sophisticated entire systems were crippled instantly, and evading counter-intelligence squads with ease.
Reed's stoic face remained unreadable, but the sheer volume of her dossier tested even his composure.
She had done too much, achieved too much, all while remaining dangerously young. It did not make sense—no one should have been capable of this, yet there it was, laid bare in the data.
The scrolling finally slowed, settling on an image. Reed studied it closely. It was a professional employee photo, polished and formal. She was clad in a sleek Arasaka uniform, her posture rigid, her expression neutral. Her magenta hair stood out, bright and radiant, unlike the tiredness lingering in her eyes.
Reed's gaze lingered on the woman's face, taking in every detail. She was completely unfamiliar to him. He let the image settle in his mind before finally breaking his silence. His voice was calm, but there was weight to the question.
"Who is this?"
Alex folded her arms and kicked one of her feet up.
"That…" She exhaled and spoke slowly. "...is your target."
