Chapter 2

As they approached the bike, Jason reached for his red helmet, a symbol that marked his presence in Night City as much as any notorious signature could. He handed it to Panam, the helmet almost gleaming under the streetlights.

"Here, take my helmet, I have only one," he said, his voice a blend of casual and serious.

Panam hesitated, her hands hovering over the smooth, glossy surface. "Woah, you sure? This is... like your signature thing, right?"

Jason allowed a rare smirk to cross his face, the gesture light but pointed. "Hey, I'm a gentleman, can't let you get hurt before getting back your ride."

Panam caught the playful challenge in his tone and matched it with a grin of her own. "Playing the gentleman card, huh? I'll take it, but just this once," she responded, slipping the helmet over her head. The fit was snug, almost as if it had been made for her, and for a fleeting moment, she felt a part of his world—guarded, mysterious, but thrilling.

She secured the helmet, the visor snapping down with a click that seemed to seal her commitment to their burgeoning partnership. Mounting the bike, she settled behind him, her hands finding a natural place at his sides. As Jason revved the engine, the deep, throaty sound filled the air around them, a tangible sign of the adventure that lay ahead.

The bike surged forward, slicing through the Night City night, the neon blur of the cityscape racing by them. In that moment, the lines between duty and impulse, caution and trust, began to blur. They were on their way to reclaim what was lost.

—-

They were well outside the glow of Night City now, the skyline a faded smear of neon behind them. The open Badlands stretched in all directions, vast and quiet. Overhead, the night sky shimmered with stars—raw, untamed, and beautiful in a way Jason rarely allowed himself to notice. It was the kind of silence that unnerved most city-born mercs.

The roar of his bike was the only constant, vibrating beneath them as they cruised along the cracked asphalt toward Rocky Ridge. Jason hadn't left the city much since he was fifteen—when his parents died and he joined the Tiger Claws, diving headfirst into the world of steel, blood, and shadows. He'd spent years sharpening himself like a blade, cutting through contracts, rivals, and enemies with cold precision. But the deeper the gang got in bed with Arasaka, the more it disgusted him. The street code his parents lived by? Gone. Replaced with corporate orders and soulless power plays.

His thoughts drifted between memory and mission until a voice broke through the hum of the ride, soft but curious, her words slightly muffled by the helmet.

"By the way… how old are you?" Panam asked. "You look like… I don't know, 23?"

Jason's smirk was instant. He didn't turn his head at first, just raised an eyebrow under his tousled hair. But then, for the hell of it, he glanced back at her—full smirk on, sharp and teasing.

Panam instinctively tightened her grip on his jacket. "Hey! Eyes on the road, hotshot!"

He smirked. "Relax, I could drive this thing blind. Muscle memory."

"You're insane," she muttered, half amused, half worried.

Jason let the silence sit for a second before replying, still grinning. "But thanks for the compliment. I'm 18, babe."

Panam let out an audible scoff. "No way. You're serious?"

"All muscle, no lie."

"You're a damn kid," she said, shaking her head behind the visor. "I'm 26."

Jason laughed low and warm. "Not my oldest, honestly. Got with Rogue once. She likes me."

Silence.

"…Wait, what?" Panam finally blurted.

Jason shrugged, his tone nonchalant. "What can I say? I've got charm. Mystery. Older women eat that up."

"You're full of crap."

"Maybe," he said, almost proud. "But admit it, I had you for a second."

Panam sighed dramatically. "Jesus. I teamed up with a smooth-talking, helmet-sharing teenage flirt."

"Correction," Jason said. "Deadly, smooth-talking, helmet-sharing teenage flirt. You forgot 'deadly.'"

Panam leaned forward slightly, her tone dipping into something more serious—but still playful. "You're lucky you're good with a gun, Redhood. Otherwise, I'd have ditched you back at Afterlife."

Jason smirked again. "Nah. I'm too good to be ditched by an ex nomad who lost her ride and her package."

"Don't push your luck, kid."

"Too late," he said over the roar of the bike, the wind whipping past them.

The lights of Rocky Ridge flickered faintly on the horizon, a ghost town waiting for ghosts like them.

—-

The night deepened as they arrived at Rocky Ridge, the wind sweeping through the abandoned ghost town with a low, eerie howl. Dilapidated buildings stood like broken teeth in the desert, casting long, jagged shadows under the moonlight. The whole place looked forgotten, like time itself had given up on it.

Jason slowed the bike near the edge of town, behind the rusted-out shell of an old cargo truck, and killed the engine. The silence afterward was heavy, but comforting in its stillness. He hopped off first, motioning for Panam to follow, and carefully wheeled the bike into a concealed nook between two collapsed walls. Hidden.

He surveyed the area briefly, his eyes sweeping over the worn-down signage, half-collapsed roofs, and the flicker of faint lights deeper in—likely Nash's crew. They weren't trying hard to stay hidden. Cocky. Stupid.

"Seems the town's dead," Jason murmured, sliding his red helmet off and tucking it under one arm. He turned to Panam, voice low. "Perfect. So what? You want to ambush them?"

Panam smirked, crouching beside him behind a broken fence post. "Yes, kid. We'll do just that. Same plan as I pitched Rogue before she flaked."

Jason chuckled. "Impressed. You actually know what you're doing."

Panam gave him a sideways glance, but said nothing. Jason reached back, unstrapping the dual pistols holstered at his lower back—custom Beretta 93Rs, jet black with faded silver etchings. He held them up briefly, admiring them before tucking them securely away again.

"I won't even use them," he said coolly. "I'll get them one by one—quiet. Just my knife. I only need you to cover me if I get spotted."

Panam's brow rose, and she let out a low whistle. "Damn. Are you a collector or something? Those guns are ancient. Pre-4th Corp War tech, right? But... gotta admit, they're in good shape."

Jason gave her that sly smirk again. "Yeah. Same as Rogue."

Panam blinked, then burst out laughing, trying to stifle it behind a gloved hand. "Oh, come on!"

"Alright, Redhood," Panam said after a moment, regaining her focus. "Let's do this. I'll get into position, set up the EMP trap near the transformer. You do your knife-ninja thing. Signal me if it gets loud."

Jason nodded, slipping into the shadows like it was second nature. The hunt was on, and Redhood was in his element. But for the first time in a long time, he wasn't working alone—and it felt surprisingly... interesting.