Chapter 117: Grand Opening! Rogue Shows Her Support!

Watson District – Kabuki.

Once upon a time, this place had been the pride of the Neon Medical Corporation—its glass towers reflecting sterile light, humming with the sounds of clean machines and clean lives. People used to come here to be reborn, patched up by chrome and profit.

But that was before.

Now, Kabuki was the slum heartbeat of Watson, the broken ribcage of Night City. The corporations that hadn't been gutted by Arasaka were driven out, pushed across the bay like rats fleeing a flood. And in the vacuum they left behind, a different kind of life crawled in.

The lost. The desperate. The alive.

In a city where people were the one thing that never ran out, Kabuki didn't stay empty for long. Street merchants, cyberjunkies, fixers, tech scavengers—every misfit with a dream or a death wish found a corner here.

Now the alleys were choked with flickering signs and hanging red lanterns, their glow fighting the shadow like blood on concrete. The narrow streets twisted through layers of grime and color, lined with knockoff makeup stalls, rusty weapon shops, illegal clinics, and dusty junk stores.

And when the sun went down, Kabuki changed.

The black market came alive.

Implants, organs, steroids, neurodrugs, synthetic viruses, BDs so real they burned the soul—if you knew the right name, the right alley, you could buy anything.

In the north, gangs ruled the abandoned warehouses. Junkies lived like ghosts in the ruins of factories. Every wall here had blood under the paint.

Dozens of factions tangled together, their alliances shifting like sand. And yet, no one—no gang, no fixer, not even NCPD—had ever claimed control.

Kabuki was a no-man's land of greed and freedom.

A perfect chaos.

A vacuum of power.

And that was exactly why Neo chose it.

...

The Night's Ember Bar was born here, in the heart of the storm.

As Neo had put it: "Kabuki has everything. Vice, noise, people, danger—and that's exactly what we need."

After all, Night City's soul was layered right here: corporate dropouts chasing dopamine, drifters trying to get lucky, mercs looking for meaning in the smoke.

The district was the city's true portrait—messy, loud, alive.

And it was the only place fit to burn.

...

When you have money, things move fast.

When you have Neo's kind of money—and the Edgerunner name backing you—things move faster than physics allows.

The plot was secured overnight, no questions asked.

The contractor didn't haggle. The fixer didn't blink.

Everyone in Kabuki knew whose name was on the papers, and nobody wanted to die curious.

And so, with a flow of eddies and a fleet of construction bots, Night's Ember Bar rose from nothing in a single day.

Black and gold. That was the theme.

Dark, but not empty.

Layered shades of black—deep, matte, glossy, soft—each one catching light differently. The gold trim shimmered like veins of fire, tracing along the edges of walls and stairs like liquid metal.

Infront of the entrance, Jackie stood, arms crossed.

"Damn, hermano. This… this ain't just a bar. This is art."

He'd helped build it, watched it take shape piece by piece—but seeing it now, whole, glowing in the smog-filled dusk—it hit different.

David just gawked, eyes wide. "Holy crap… it's real? Like, this place actually exists? Its…"

He fumbled for words, then blurted, "It's poetry, man! Pure poetry!"

Lucy, standing beside Neo, tried to keep her composure. Her lips curved, but she said only, "The code runs well."

Rebecca didn't even pretend to be calm. She spun around, grinning like a child on her birthday. "This place is sick! You did it, boss. You actually did it!"

Neo took their hands—Lucy on his left, Rebecca on his right.

"What are we standing out here for?" he said with a smile. "Let's go see how it feels inside."

...

The interior was exactly as he'd envisioned. Maybe better.

The main hall was open, multi-leveled, framed by polished chrome beams and a ceiling of pulsing lights that moved like waves of fire. The centerpiece—a massive holographic mural—depicted a burning city skyline under storm clouds.

They reached the bar counter, and a holographic drinks menu unfolded before them, words floating in midair:

Neo / V / Lucy / Rebecca / Jackie Welles / David / Maine / Dorio / Pilar / Lexington / Johnny Silverhand / Rogue

Rebecca whistled. "That's some lineup. But, uh… who's gonna make all this stuff? We don't exactly have a bartender, do we?"

"Who said we don't?"

A soft, familiar voice came from behind the counter.

From the prep room stepped Claire Russell.

Rebecca blinked. "Wait, isn't she the bartender from Afterlife? What the—how did you—"

Neo scratched his nose, smiling awkwardly.

Claire grinned, drying a glass with a towel. "Was the bartender at Afterlife. I quit. Needed a change of scenery. Now I'm with Night's Ember."

Rebecca's jaw dropped. "You can just—do that?"

Claire shrugged. "A bartender's loyalty is to the craft, not the place. I served the legends at Afterlife. Now I'll make new ones here. Simple as that."

Her hands moved gracefully, bottles flipping, liquid glittering under the lights.

Three glasses landed on the counter—

Neo. Lucy. Rebecca.

"Your drinks," Claire said. "From one legend in the making to another."

Lucy lifted her glass first, touching it gently to Neo's. "To new beginnings. And a good burn."

Rebecca followed, clinking hers with a grin. "Hell yeah! To Night's Ember!"

Neo nodded, his smile steady. "To the flame that never dies."

They drank. The world seemed to hum.

And then the door opened.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.

"Thought so," came a familiar voice, low and cool. "Claire's gone, and here you are."

Rogue Amendiares walked in, trench coat swaying, her eyes taking in the decor with the scrutiny of someone who'd seen everything.

She gave a small, almost amused nod. "Not bad, kid. You've got taste. For someone trying to steal half my legend."

Neo smiled faintly. "Not steal," he said. "Just… continue it."

Rogue's smirk deepened. "Heh. Careful what you wish for. Legends burn fast in this city."

She glanced at the glowing dragon above the bar, its golden light reflecting in her shades.

"Still," she said softly. "Damn fine work."

And with that, she took a seat, as Night's Ember officially came alive—

a bar built for the lost, the furious, and the dreamers—

the new heart of Night City's fire.