Jax had traded his previous life for a world where guns outnumbered souls. In 2075, Night City was a pressure cooker with the lid taped shut. The legendary mercenary V wouldn't start their war for another two years, but the city was already bleeding.
Six million registered residents, maybe seven million in reality, and enough firepower to arm every man, woman, and child three times over. It was a place where "family" was a death sentence and "home" was just the space between two bullets. You didn't plan for tomorrow; you just hoped the morning lottery didn't broadcast your name as the latest casualty found in a dumpster in Charter Hill.
Jax stepped onto the main floor of Lizzie's, the sweet-and-salty tang of a cheap synthetic candy on his tongue. The neon was a violent pink smear across his vision.
"Jax? Finally crawled out of the basement?"
Marlena leaned against a support pillar, her blue hair cascading over a jacket that barely qualified as clothing. She looked like a Mox pin-up, but the way she held her baseball bat suggested she knew exactly where a man's femoral artery sat.
"Marlena. New skin?" Jax asked, eyeing the subtle iridescent sheen on her arms.
"Hand-picked. Realer than the real thing," she purred, stepping into his space. She hooked a finger into her collar, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Changed a few other things, too. They even glow in the dark. Want a private demo?"
Jax stepped back, a tired smirk playing on his lips. "I'd try it, but Wheeler would have my head on a pike by sunrise."
"Tsk. Coward." She patted his shoulder, her expression softening. "It's good to see you're still breathing, Jax."
"Don't get soft on me, Marlena. It ruins the aesthetic." He flashed her a grin—and a middle finger—as he pushed through the crowd toward the back offices.
Mateo, the bartender, caught his eye as he passed the counter. "In the back," he said, leaning over the synth-wood. "Kolina's waiting. She brought company. Susan's there too, so watch your step."
"Company?"
"Mercs," Mateo whispered. "The kind that smell like trouble and high-grade chrome."
Jax felt a familiar itch at the back of his neck. He knew who was in that room before he even opened the door.
The private lounge was quieter, the bass reduced to a dull throb. Kolina sat on the plush sofa, her yellow ponytail a bright spot against the dim lighting. She was the woman who had pulled a starving, confused Jax out of the gutters five years ago, back when the Moxes were just a dream of broken people protecting their own.
Opposite her sat a collection of legends-in-the-making.
A mountain of a man with a white beard and chrome-plated jaw sat dead center—Maine. Beside him, the sheer physical presence of Dorio, a woman built like a main battle tank. And in the corner, a petite shadow with black hair and a laptop—Lucy. The twin vents on her neck puffed out rhythmic plumes of cooling steam, making her look like a gothic industrial spirit.
"Sit," Kolina said, her voice warm but firm.
Susan, sitting to Kolina's left, didn't look warm. she looked like she wanted to liquidate Jax's assets. Jax ignored the glare and took a seat, his natural reflexes keeping him perched on the edge of the cushion, ready to move.
"Maine," Kolina gestured. "This is Jax. He's the one who handled your Tyger Claw problem."
Maine pulled off his shades, revealing optics that hummed with a predatory blue light. He scanned Jax with the clinical coldness of a ripperdoc. "This kid? You're joking."
Maine's voice was a gravelly bass. "Basic Kiroshi optics, an operating system that belongs in a museum, and dermal layers a schoolkid could afford. You're telling me this organic brat zeroed three Tygers?"
The room went cold. Lucy looked up from her screen, her eyes flickering as she ran a quick scan of the room's local network.
"Watch your mouth, mercenary," Susan snapped, sitting upright. Her hand drifted toward her waist. "This is Lizzie's. Street rules don't apply here unless I say they do. You want to insult my people? Do it outside."
"Maine," Dorio warned softly.
Maine raised a massive, cybernetic hand. "Relax. I'm a professional. I just don't like being sold a fairy tale."
Kolina looked at Jax, a silent request in her eyes. She knew him. She knew he hated being a performing seal, but she also knew the Tyger Claws were turning the heat up on the Moxes. Jax was too hot to keep in the building.
"Jax," Kolina said. "Show him."
Jax sighed. He didn't want the life of a merc. He didn't want the glory or the short fuse. But he owed Kolina everything.
"Is this really Susan's way of kicking me out?" Jax asked.
"It's my way of keeping you alive!" Susan barked. She slammed a data shard onto the table and slid it across. "A hundred and twenty thousand eddies. Everything you've earned from the side-gigs. Take it and disappear for a while. You're a headache I can't afford right now."
She followed the shard with a gift: a pink-painted pistol.
"An Omaha?" Maine leaned forward, interested. "The Lizzie special. Hits like a freight train."
"I'm the best muscle you've got, Susan," Jax said, his voice dangerously low. "Who's going to keep the peace when I'm gone? Anna?"
"Strongest?" Susan scoffed. "In your dreams, kid."
The air in the room didn't just change; it vanished.
In a movement so fluid it bypassed the mercenaries' combat processors, Jax vanished from his seat. There was no hiss of a Sandevistan, no blur of digital speed. It was just the raw, explosive power of human muscle fiber.
Maine didn't even have time to blink before the cold, pink barrel of the Omaha was jammed firmly under his chrome jaw.
"Is this enough of a resume?" Jax whispered, his face inches from Maine's. "At this distance, even your high-end plating won't stop a tech-slug from turning your brain into grey slush."
Dorio was on her feet, her hands reaching for her belt. Lucy's laptop snapped shut, her eyes glowing as she prepared to fry Jax's nervous system.
"Wait!" Maine roared, his voice vibrating through the gun barrel. He didn't look scared. He looked delighted.
He slowly leaned his head back, moving away from the muzzle, and let out a booming laugh. "Now that's what I'm talking about! I was wondering when the man who gutted those Tygers would show up."
Maine extended a hand the size of a dinner plate. "I'm Maine. I run the crew."
Jax didn't lower the gun immediately. He let the tension hang for a heartbeat longer before thumbing the safety and tucking the Omaha into his waistband.
"Jax," he said, finally taking the hand. "Mox enforcer. And apparently, your new headache."