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"Can I really go in with you guys? I mean, Rogue didn't invite me. Won't she be upset if I just tag along?"
At the entrance of the Afterlife, Jackie was fidgeting, repeatedly adjusting his leather jacket with a nervous expression. It was two in the afternoon—a time Jackie had never seen the inside of this place. Those allowed through the doors before opening hours were "special customers": high-tier solos and fixers coming to arrange the city's most sensitive business.
Jackie felt a strange, electric buzz in his chest. That was Rogue. The Queen. Was he, Jackie Welles, finally sitting at the big table? Was he becoming a "big shot"? The thought of talking deals as an equal with the underworld elite made his heart hammer. Holy crap, this was awesome!
Jax looked at Jackie, exhausted by the repetition. He'd lost count of how many times he'd told Jackie it was fine. They'd already escaped 6th Street, totaled two cars, and dodged an NCPD patrol together. If Jackie wasn't "in" by now, he never would be.
Maine threw a massive arm around Jackie's neck, letting out a booming laugh. "Jax is right. You got dragged into the fire with us, mano. Since you're already here, just come along. Unless you've got a hot date with a vending machine?"
"No, no, I'm free all day," Jackie said quickly. "Usually I'm just helping Ma at the bar or doing odd jobs for Vik and Misty to pay for gas. I'm all yours."
Maine squeezed Jackie's shoulder, eyeing his physique. "Mano, you look like a tank. How are you living so thin? You've got the build for the big leagues."
"Sigh… it's a long story," Jackie muttered, his bravado dipping for a second.
"Then don't tell it. We're here. Save the drama for the bar later," Kiwi interrupted coldly.
Pilar, leading the way, turned and gave Kiwi a thumbs-up. "Good call, Kiwi! Nobody wants a sob story before a meeting with the Queen. You're finally getting the hang of this!"
"Screw you! I'm just saying we're on a clock!" Kiwi snapped, though internally she was cursing. Her icy professional persona was officially dead, buried under the sheer weight of this crew's nonsense.
As they descended into the underground, they weren't met by the usual bouncer, Emmerick. Instead, a thick-set man in a tactical vest stood by the iron gate. His skin was dark, his lips thick, and his arms were covered in what looked like snake scales.
"Finally. Rogue's been checking her watch," the man said with a grin. "Follow me."
"Holy crap… that's Weyland," Maine whispered. Despite being nearly a head taller than the man, Maine's voice was thick with respect.
"The Old Snake's son?" Jackie hissed.
Weyland turned around and started walking backward, leading them through the club with an easy, practiced gait. "That's right. I'm Andrew Weyland's kid. But don't look so stiff; I'm way more cheerful than the old man. Rogue's the one you need to worry about—she's getting impatient."
Weyland looked honest enough, but an optical scan would have revealed a walking armory. He was a human weapon, packed with high-grade chrome, a domain expert who could likely zero half the room before they drew a breath.
The Afterlife was nearly empty, save for a few of Rogue's personal hitters. Weyland pushed open a heavy door across from the restrooms and gestured for them to enter.
Inside, the private booth was dim, smelling of expensive tobacco and old secrets. Rogue sat on a plush sofa, her silhouette sharp against the low light. She wore her signature yellow crop top and black leather gear.
"Come in. Weyland, the door," Rogue commanded, her voice like velvet-wrapped steel.
"Yes, ma'am," Weyland nodded, closing the door and taking a sentry position.
"Sit," Rogue said. She reached under the table, pulling out a row of bullet glasses and a bottle of high-end liquor.
Jax moved toward a side seat, but Rogue's eyes locked onto his. "You. Sit next to me."
Jax froze. Maine gave him a subtle, frantic nudge in the ribs. Jax cleared his throat and sat beside the Queen.
Rogue poured the drinks with a steady hand. When she reached Jackie, she paused for a fraction of a second, her gaze evaluating the "uninvited guest" before offering a faint, professional smile. Jackie took the glass with both hands, looking like a kid meeting a superhero.
"Do you know why I called you here?" Rogue asked, leaning back into the cushions.
"The Multiverse Kerfu situation?" Maine ventured.
Rogue looked at him, her gaze cool. "Nothing underground escapes me. The mess you made... it wasn't world-ending, but it wasn't quiet."
"Arasaka was arming the Tyger Claws to squeeze the district. 6th Street found out and sold the info to Militech. Militech funded the heist. It was supposed to be a simple proxy war between gangs in the shadows of Santo Domingo. But Night Corp decided to stick their nose in."
She took a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving the crew. "Megacorps love to screw each other, but they have to keep the suits clean for the public. That's what gangs are for—black hands for dirty money. But you weren't supposed to survive. Kerfu played you for pawns to ignite the fuse. He never expected you to actually finish the job, let alone put a blade through him."
"So… you knew it was a set-up?" Maine frowned, his grip tightening on his glass.
"I just told you. I see everything," Rogue said. "In this business, getting screwed means you lacked the insight to see the hook. Insight is a capability. If you had failed, you'd be just another gutter-memory. Because you succeeded, you've entered my sight. You've moved up a circle."
Maine felt a surge of pride, but it was quickly dampened by the temperature in the room dropping ten degrees. Rogue leaned forward, her presence suddenly heavy, suffocating.
She looked Maine dead in the eye.
"However," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "A Fixer died at the hands of the mercenaries he hired. That is a stain on the profession."
"Tell me, Maine... who gave you the guts to break the Golden Rule?"
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