"Fixer?"
Emmerick's cybernetic eye lit up, then after a few seconds, he shook his head.
"You're not on the list. I can't let you in."
As expected.
Leo had looked up the Afterlife the night before and knew exactly what it took to get in.
To put it simply: if you were a client—with money to spend—you could walk right in after a quick check. The fixers and mercs inside were more than happy to cater to paying customers, for obvious reasons.
But for mercs and fixers? The bar was much stricter. You either needed a reputation, skills, or an inside connection willing to vouch for you.
Once you were let in, your name was added to the whitelist, and you'd never be stopped again.
Leo and Shironeko had already discussed this. Now it was time to put their plan into motion.
[Shironeko, proceed.]
[Understood. Give me five seconds. Five… four…]
By the time the countdown finished, Leo let out a soft "hmm" like he was considering something, then said, "Are you sure? You might want to check again."
Emmerick's eyes flickered, scanning him once more.
Moments later, a flash of surprise crossed his face. "You… hacked into Afterlife's internal network?"
Jack and V both looked at him, clearly shocked.
That was a bold move. Might as well slap someone in public.
Leo kept a calm smile. "Your netrunners are good—whoever's in charge of your security is definitely top-tier. But mine's no slouch either, wouldn't you agree?"
One of the requirements for entering as a fixer: competence.
And penetrating Afterlife's network defenses in seconds? That definitely counted as competence—serious competence.
Emmerick's cybernetic eye stayed lit, probably syncing with someone inside.
A moment later, he stepped aside. "Welcome. You may enter."
Mission accomplished.
Leo's strategy was simple: have Shironeko, who could emulate a rogue AI, spoof a silent breach of Afterlife's security—just enough to get noticed, not enough to be considered hostile.
He shot a smug look at Jack and V, then stepped forward.
As he passed the massive guard, Leo paused, pulling out a credchip and slipping it into Emmerick's coat pocket.
"A girl will be coming later, looking for me. Let her through."
Emmerick's eye flashed as he glanced down.
1000 eurodollars.
A generous tip.
"Got it." The power of money softened even this mountain of a man. Someone inside clearly wanted to see this flashy "L." Letting one more in wouldn't hurt.
And just like that, the gates of Afterlife opened wide for the trio.
Pounding rock music filled the air. A cool blue glow washed over the interior, the bar's signature ambiance.
"This is it—the Afterlife…"
Jack brushed past Leo and practically skipped toward the bar.
"The true heart of Night City—it's beating right here, mano, can you feel it?"
"Damn, I need a drink. My heart can't take this."
As he rushed to the bar, V mimicked Leo's tone and teased, "Look at you, getting worked up over a bar. Seriously?"
That said, her own gaze wandered, scanning the mercenaries nearby.
"No joke, they all look like serious operators."
Leo gave her a gentle push on the back, and the two followed Jack to the counter.
They chose a spot away from the crowd and took their seats.
"Legends probably sat right here… maybe even passed out on this very counter!"
Jack rattled off a barrage of names. Leo didn't recognize most, but of course, he knew Morgan Blackhand.
It was still early, so the bar wasn't too crowded. The bartender—a cheerful woman named Claire—walked over with a welcoming smile.
"New faces… welcome to the Afterlife. I'm Claire. What'll it be?"
Leo instinctively hesitated—still unsure if his body had fully recovered enough for alcohol.
V just shrugged and passed the decision off. "Jack can pick. You were a bartender, weren't you?"
"Amateur only. Just a side hustle," Jack explained to Claire, who looked intrigued. "Let me think… three Old-Fashioned Tequilas. Toss in some beer and chili extract."
"Three Johnny Silverhands. Looks like someone did their homework."
"You know it. I've been hyped about this place for ages… cough, I mean, I've always dreamed of coming here."
Claire got to work, mixing with smooth, practiced hands. Compared to the barkeep over at the Wild Wolf, she was on a whole different level.
Soon, three glasses clinked onto the counter.
Jack raised his and explained the bar's tradition. "Every drink here's named after a regular. Some of Night City's most legendary names. Honestly, I wanna have my own one day. Just imagine—"
"Jack!" Leo cut him off quickly. Can't have him tempting fate. "I'd rather not see any names I recognize on the drink list. Look at Morgan Blackhand—that guy's a living legend."
"Technically, status unknown," Claire chimed in. "But you're right. Fame tied to a death sentence? Might wanna rethink that goal."
"Think about your mom, Jack."
That line shut him right up.
"Yeah… most of the Wells men end up rotting in alley dumpsters. I should probably focus on just staying alive."
Jack gave up on his drink ambitions and lifted his glass again.
"Alright, enough talk. My mouth's dry. What are we toasting this time?"
Leo didn't bother thinking too hard. "You're in the Afterlife. What else would we toast?"
"Good point. Here's to the Afterlife!"
"Cheers!"
Three glasses clinked. Down went the shots.
It was spicy. Sharp. The tequila hit hard. A strong aftertaste of herbs lingered.
Leo coughed a little. His body didn't react poorly this time, but the combination of tequila, beer, and chili was a punch to the gut. Like swallowing a mouthful of firecrackers.
He quickly ordered a few cans of soda to put out the flames—and stop Jack from ordering more.
"Claire, I'll be straight with you. I'm a new fixer. How do I get my own booth?"
Claire gave him a deep look.
"You made it in, which means you've got some skill. But for now, you're a newcomer. That means you can only rent a booth—charged per day.
Once you start assigning gigs and building a name and network, you can move to monthly rates.
And when you're big enough that mercs and clients come just for you, then you get your own private room."
"Rent's fine. What are the rates?"
"Daily price: 588 for a small booth, 988 for medium, 1588 for large. Unless you're hosting some big operation, a small or medium will do for a few people."
"Medium, then. We love to compromise—tradition and all."
Claire's eyes lingered on his face, clearly clocking his Eastern features. She smiled and nodded. "No problem."
After payment, her eyes flickered with confirmation, then she gave instructions.
"Booth Seven. Head left from the bar. It's marked."
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