"The mayoral election is set to begin soon. Who will become the next mayor? Will they just be another puppet supported by Arasaka? Stay tuned to News 54 for our latest updates."
"Crime rates in Night City are showing signs of improvement. What's the secret behind this? Our exclusive interview with the NCPD breaks it down in just ten minutes."
"In 2077, the New United States presidential election is nearing its conclusion. Will Rosalind Myers secure re-election? And if so, does it signal the NUSA's growing ambition to further interfere with the free and democratic Night City? WNS brings you expert analysis tonight."
At the Afterlife, Karl sat listening to the stream of news updates while sipping a glass of sweet iced tea, feeling mostly detached from it all.
It was already 2077, yet the news was still the same old dance—Militech-backed News 54 and Arasaka-backed WNS throwing shade at each other, delivering nothing truly useful.
Christmas had passed, as always on December 25th. With it gone, the new year was closing in fast. After the holiday, Karl and his crew had taken a solid break, and only today had he thought about picking up a new job. But stepping into the Afterlife, he found that not much had changed.
"Want anything else?"
Claire, the Afterlife's bartender, approached as Karl nursed his tea.
"We've got a new snack menu. Some fresh stuff just came in."
"So something has changed. What are we talking about?"
"Fried onion rings. Chicken nuggets, that sort of thing."
"I thought chicken was banned."
Karl raised an eyebrow. "Has Rogue started ignoring Night City law?"
"Officially, it's still synthetic chicken."
Claire gave him a playful wink.
"You remember Jed from the logistics hub—the guy you introduced? His prices were solid, so Rogue figured some wannabe mercs would be dumb enough to think eating real chicken made them edgy. She put in an order to test it out. Turns out it sold well—Rogue actually expanded the stock."
"Rogue chasing small-time profits? No wonder she's the best fixer in Night City. Milking young mercs for a taste of illegal chicken just because it feels cool."
Karl chuckled. "Well, lucky me. I'll take a serving. Might as well donate some eddies to Rogue."
"One nuggets, got it."
Claire nodded and was about to walk off when Karl thought of something.
"Hey, how's the racing scene going? I heard from Oliver and Jack that something happened—everything okay?"
"No big deal. My guy almost wrecked his ride, but Jack and Oliver pulled him out in time. I think he's finally calling it quits. Honestly, it's the right call. The current top racing champ in the city? We trained that one. Nothing left to prove."
She's talking about Jack and Oliver winning the championship, Karl realized, remembering how their Hera came back looking like it had been through hell.
It was hard to believe a single race could beat up their custom Hera that badly. With Oliver driving and Jack supporting, and still almost totaled? That must've been one hell of a race.
Claire retiring made sense.
Karl had gotten used to seeing her behind the bar. If someone else took over, they wouldn't know his preferences like she did.
As he mused, he sensed someone approaching.
Turning his head, he saw Maine.
"Yo, Maine."
Karl gave a small nod. "You picking up work too?"
"Yeah. After all that drinking at your place, I think my neural system needed a reboot. Took a few days to recover and handled some errands. Then I figured I'd drop by Afterlife—and bam, ran into you. Back in action, huh?"
"More or less. I told you you were drinking too much, but you wouldn't listen."
Karl recalled how cleanup afterward had taken two whole days—almost a third of it just bottle disposal. He had to admit, their capacity for alcohol was impressive.
At least they were drinking decent stuff. If it had been gang-grade rotgut, Maine would've ended up in emergency care, not just mildly fried.
"You guys really need to pace yourselves better."
"I get it. Staying sharp's essential for mercs. But that night? That was probably the happiest I've ever been since coming to Night City. I had to go all in."
He wasn't wrong.
In a city where danger could break out at any moment, having a night to let loose, drink without worry, party without paranoia—it was rare. Irresistible, even. So yeah, maybe he overdid it a little.
Still, Maine was clearly proud: "But I did win the drinking game, right? I blacked out, sure, but I think I was the last one standing."
"You were the last one on your feet, yeah."
Karl kept to himself that the real winner was T-Bug.
Seriously, she'd already outdrunk Oliver and Jack during the pet-naming contest. Karl had thought maybe she drank less. Turns out, she just had the kind of body—or cyberware—that could process booze like water. He was starting to suspect she had a subdermal filtration system or a liver upgrade.
Maine, oblivious to Karl's thoughts, grinned wide.
"Knew it. Jack and Oliver can't keep up with me. I'll rub it in next time I see them."
He paused and glanced around.
"By the way, why are you here solo? Where's the rest of the crew?"
"They're doing some contract work for the NCPD. Temporary ops. It's the new year, right? Everyone's out chasing that fresh-start energy, trying something different. Figured they'd grab some easy eddies. You interested? I can send you the referral. Just walk around, grab some perps, get paid."
"Sure. Send it over. Getting paid just for showing up? Sounds like a good gig."
"Karl."
A voice cut through the air as someone approached.
"I've got a job. One I want you to take."
"Just me? Not us?"
Karl recognized the voice instantly and turned with a raised eyebrow.
"So it's solo-only? Then you'd better explain it properly, Rogue."
The newcomer was none other than Rogue herself—queen of the Afterlife, and still the most elite fixer in all of Night City.
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