Jackie looked at the noticeably emptier bar and couldn't help but frown. "Mom, business... why does it feel so slow? Is our reputation not as strong anymore?"
Mrs. Welles pushed a glass of Jackie's usual tequila in front of him, then served drinks to the others in turn, sighing, "It's not that our reputation isn't strong, Jackie, it's that times have changed."
As she wiped the bar, she lowered her voice. "Ever since that 'administrator'... that AI took over the city, the streets have indeed become much safer.
Fewer gunshots, fewer shady characters.
This is a good thing; at least I don't have to worry about being hit by stray bullets when I close up and go home at night."
She changed her tone and pointed to the empty booths. "But the rules have also gotten stricter. The Valentinos... they've reined themselves in a lot."
She cautiously glanced at the door, her voice even softer. "Those quick-money, dangerous jobs from before are hard to come by now. The administrator is watching closely, and those 'tin cans' are not to be trifled with."
"The worst part is, there are fewer gigs now," she continued, unconsciously speeding up her wiping motion. "The infighting between corporations has been suppressed, and gangs don't dare to clash casually.
Naturally, there are fewer 'dirty jobs' that require mercenaries. All the fixers I know are very cautious now and don't dare to post missions easily."
Mrs. Welles placed the cleaned glasses back on the shelf, a complex expression on her face. "Many old regulars, those mercs and fixers, have either found legitimate work, left Night City, or simply stay home and don't go out. Without them, the bar's business naturally slowed down."
"Now, most of the people who come for drinks are neighborhood regulars," she said, pointing to a few quiet patrons in the corner, "or some relatively well-behaved gang kids, drinking cheap beer and chatting. It's not like before, when they'd spend a fortune and cause trouble at the drop of a hat."
She looked at Jackie, her tone calm but imbued with the wisdom of age. "To be honest, Jackie, your mom has lived this long, been through corporate wars, and survived the wildest years on the streets. Now, like this..." She surveyed the somewhat quiet bar. "I can't say I like it. The streets are too quiet; they've lost that old warmth.
But I can't say I hate it either. At least I don't have to be on edge all day, fearing someone might pull a gun in the bar or get robbed on the way home."
She shook her head gently, her fingertips unconsciously tracing an old scratch on the bar. "It's just... I always feel uneasy. It's as if Night City has had its soul sucked out, losing that vigor it should have."
Jackie listened to his mother's words, his gaze sweeping over the empty booths, a difficult-to-describe pang of sadness welling up in his heart.
He had originally planned to show off his influence in Heywood to his friends, to prove with the familiar hustle and bustle that he was still the well-connected Jackie Welles.
But the scene before him was like a bucket of cold water poured on his heart.
His proud street status seemed to be quietly fading under the Impact of the new order.
He picked up his glass and downed the tequila, the burning liquid seemingly scorching the knot in his chest.
He slammed the glass on the bar and forced out an exaggerated smile. "Hey! Business might be slow, but at least it's safe! And you can relax a bit, Mom!"
His voice was deliberately loud, as if trying to convince himself. "Besides, isn't Jackie Welles back! I'll find a way to make the Wolf's Den lively again! Your boy is with Lord Archmagos now!"
He looked around at everyone, the last phrase, "Your boy is with Lord Archmagos now," resonating particularly loudly. It was both to cheer himself up and to announce to everyone that even if times changed, Jackie Welles would still find his place.
But in his tone, there was a hint of unwillingness and stubbornness.
Maine glanced at Jackie, said nothing, but raised his glass.
Dorio smiled, Lucy quietly sipped her drink, her gaze occasionally sweeping over the few scattered old customers in the bar, who were also secretly observing these "legendary" figures.
Rebecca had already jumped off the booth and was curiously examining the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner of the bar.
Valerie sat next to Jackie, gently swirling her drink, the ice cubes clinking crisply.
She saw Jackie's forced smile and the hint of disappointment in the depths of his eyes, and she understood.
She extended her mechanical right hand and patted Jackie's shoulder, her voice calm but with a rare hint of softness. "Jackie, the order has just been established. There will always be a period of instability like this.
Lord Archmagos needs stability, and only after stability will opportunities arise. Your connections and roots here will be useful in the future."
Her words weren't so much comfort as a realistic assessment. Jackie paused, looking at Valerie, and seeing the unusual composure and certainty in her eyes, the restlessness in his heart seemed to calm down a bit.
He grinned, a more genuine smile this time. "You're right, V! Your boy is a local big shot! There will always be a time when I'm needed! Come on, let's drink! No going home until we're drunk tonight! Mom, another one for me!"
Mrs. Welles watched her son perk up again and smiled, skillfully pouring him another drink. "That's the spirit! Friends, don't just stand there, drink! Try my corn chips, same old taste!"
In the bar, the warm lights remained. Although there weren't many customers, with Jackie's deliberate lively atmosphere and Mrs. Welles' thoughtful hospitality, the place gradually became more vibrant.
Maine's crew members relaxed in their seats, chatting in twos and threes about their recent experiences.
Rebecca had already fiddled with the jukebox in the corner, and a lively old song flowed through the room—though the volume was perfectly adjusted, not too loud, it indeed injected long-lost vitality into the space.
Jackie skillfully moved between his friends and mother, his hearty laughter occasionally ringing out, playing the role of the hospitable host impeccably.
However, in the occasional glances out the window, when he caught sight of the patrolling soldiers' regular figures or observed the unusually quiet streets, his gaze would momentarily become vacant.
In this city, where rules were redefined by AI, he, this "local big shot" who once thrived in chaos, indeed needed to rethink his future direction.
The Night City he knew, full of danger and opportunity, was transforming, and Jackie Welles, too, had to find his footing in the new order.
But at this moment, under the familiar lights of the Wolf's Den Bar, surrounded by dear friends and family, he preferred to put these complicated thoughts aside for now.
Raising his glass, making his laughter louder, he was still the Jackie Welles who made things happen on the streets of Heywood—perhaps the form would change, but that inherent straightforwardness and responsibility would never change.