Vincent lingered in the private lounge, watching Judy disappear back into her den in the basement of the bar. The bass-heavy music pulsed against his ribs, but his mind was already racing ahead. Afterlife. That wasn't just a lead; it was a risk. The kind that either got you exactly what you needed or got you flatlined.
He exhaled, rolling his sore wrist absentmindedly. No choice. He was already in too deep.
Sliding back into the booth, Rita studied him with narrowed eyes. "That look means we got a lead."
"Afterlife."
She let out a low whistle. "You sure you wanna poke around there? You're playing with the big leagues now. That's merc turf."
Vincent smirked, but there was no humor in it. "What's one more bad decision?"
Rita shook her head but didn't argue. She knew better. "Fine. But if we're walking into Afterlife, we need a name. A reason to be there. You're not just gonna stroll in and ask around about Songbird."
Vincent drummed his fingers against the table. She was right. Afterlife wasn't the kind of place you walked into blind. You needed an angle, an in. His rep wasn't enough; he was just another fixer's errand boy as far as they were concerned.
"Rogue."
Rita blinked. "You wanna talk to Rogue?"
"If anyone knows who's still got ears in this city, it's her."
Rita huffed. "You realize she doesn't just sit down with randos, right?"
Vincent shrugged, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness. "Then I guess I better not be a rando."
Afterlife stood like a monolith of legend, its heavy steel doors swallowing people whole and spitting them out either richer or dead. Vincent adjusted his jacket, ignoring the way the bruises on his ribs protested with every step. Rita walked beside him, her cybernetic arms flexing with subtle readiness.
The bouncer barely spared them a glance before stepping aside. That was the thing about Afterlife—it didn't bother with small-time intimidation. If you belonged, you belonged. If you didn't? You wouldn't make it past the door anyway.
Inside, the bar thrummed with low conversations and the hum of high-tier cyberware. Mercs, fixers, —anyone who had power or knew someone who did. Vincent had been here before, but tonight, the stakes felt different.
Rogue sat at the bar, as immovable as ever, nursing a drink that probably cost more than Vincent's entire net worth. He took a breath and approached, Rita hanging back just enough to let him handle this alone.
"Word is you've still got your ear to the ground," Vincent said, sliding into the seat beside her.
Rogue didn't look at him right away, just took a slow sip of her drink. "Word is, kids like you shouldn't waste my time."
Vincent smiled, all sharp edges. "Fair. But this isn't a waste."
She finally turned her gaze to him, cool and unreadable. "You don't even know what you're looking for, do you?"
Vincent held her stare. "I know enough."
Rogue smirked. "That's what they all say."
A pause. The air between them was thick with unspoken calculations. Then, she leaned in slightly, voice lowering.
"You're looking for ghosts, Vincent. People who don't want to be found. But let's say, hypothetically, someone knew where your ghost might be. What do you have to trade?"
Vincent's pulse quickened. This was it—the moment where he either proved himself or got shut down. He leaned in, matching her intensity.
"I don't have eddies. I don't have power. But what I do have is a debt."
Rogue raised an eyebrow. "A debt?"
Vincent nodded. "Someone big owes me. Someone I think you'd like to collect on."
Rogue considered him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smirked. "Now that's interesting."
Vincent exhaled, just barely keeping the tension from his shoulders. He wasn't out of the fire yet—but at least he wasn't burning alone.
"This isn't just some corp suit looking to dodge taxes," Vincent said, leaning forward. "We're talking a federal agent. Melissa."
That got Rogue's attention. Her eyes flicked between him and V, then back again. She didn't look surprised—Rogue never looked surprised—but there was something else there. Calculating.
"NUSA?" she asked, like she was confirming a rumor.
Vincent nodded. "She's got a hard-on for me. Thinks I know where Songbird is."
Rogue tilted her head. "Do you?"
Vincent smirked. "No. But she doesn't know that."
Rogue exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "Jesus. Either you're suicidal or the best liar in this city."
Rogue considered them for a moment. Then she leaned back, drumming her fingers against the table. "Melissa's not just some street thug or corpo goon. She's got backing. Resources. And if she's after you, she's got her claws deep in the city."
"Which is why I'm here," Vincent said. "I need to make her lose the trail. Misdirection. False leads. Make her chase ghosts until she doesn't know what's real anymore."
Rogue nodded slowly. "Not a bad plan. But you'll need the right people. Data pushers, netrunners, fixers who know how to plant fake evidence and make it stick."
Vincent tapped his fingers on the table. "I've got a few names. Rita can get us data thieves. I just need your connections to make sure it doesn't come back to me."
Rogue smirked. "You've got balls, kid. But this isn't a one-time favor. If I pull strings, I get something in return."
Vincent exhaled. He expected that. "What do you want?"
Rogue leaned in. "Melissa's a problem, yeah. But she's not the only one. The NUSA's been tightening their grip on this city, and that's bad for biz. You help me make some noise, shake up the hornet's nest while you're running your con, and I'll help you vanish."
Vincent exchanged a glance with Rita. It was risky. But then again, everything in this city was.
He turned back to Rogue. "Deal."
Rogue smiled, the kind of smile that meant trouble. "Then let's get to work."
"That's just preem.I'll give you a ." Vincent left Rouge hanging and left the bar.
Vincent sat alone in the neon-drenched alley outside the bar, cigarette burning low between his fingers. The Afterlife. If ghosts had answers, that was where he had to go. But getting there without Melissa's eyes on him? That was the trick.
He knew she had people watching. Maybe not right now, maybe not here, but soon enough, someone would pick up his trail. He had to make them see what they expected to see.
He pulled out his phone, flicking through a few old messages before landing on one from a fixer he barely trusted—Santiago. Guy was a small-time hustler with a knack for deepfakes and ghost routes through the city. Good enough for what Vincent needed.
"I gotta delta" Vincent gave a nod at Rita and then he walked off.
VINCENT: I need a burner ride. Something loud.
SANTIAGO: Loud? You got heat?
VINCENT: Enough to burn me alive. Can you do it or not?
SANTIAGO: 2 hours. Westbrook. Bring eddies. I got an idea too, tell ya later.
Vincent stubbed out his cigarette and pushed off the wall. Two hours. Enough time to set the bait.
By the time Vincent got to Westbrook, Santiago was already waiting, leaning against a busted-up Type-66, its paint chipped and neon decals flickering. Next to him stood a guy Vincent didn't recognize—a wiry dude with shaggy hair, his face covered in synth-scars.
"Who's this guy?" Vincent asked. "This is a best idea you came up with? A body double? Sandy... you sure?" Vincent looked at him with doubt.
Santiago smirked. "Meet Leon. He's got your height, your build. And for a little extra, we can patch his voice to sound like yours."
Leon gave Vincent a lazy salute. "Long as I get paid, choom, I'll play house."
Vincent eyed him. "You know who's after me? and for fuck sake, dude don't even looks like me, I'm asian, he's white.."
Leon shrugged. "Not my biz. Just tell me where to go and what to say."
Vincent handed Santiago a credchip, then pointed at the car. "Drive through Watson. Stop by my usual haunts, make a scene. Pick a fight with a bouncer, get loud at a bar, whatever. Make sure Melissa's people see you."
Leon grinned. "You got it."
As Leon slipped into the car and peeled out, Vincent turned away, slipping into the crowd. Time to vanish...