Chapter 121: The Price of a Ghost

The Relic.

That cursed, sacred piece of tech that had reshaped the fate of Night City—its data core didn't just house code. It contained a man.

Johnny Silverhand.

And now, both the chip and the legend inside it were in the hands of one person.

Neo.

Leader of the Edgerunner Squad.

Slayer of Adam Smasher.

The man who "killed" Saburo Arasaka himself.

A walking contradiction between rebellion and precision, freedom and fury—

and the most dangerous man alive.

To Yorinobu Arasaka, that realization landed like a knife twisting in his chest.

He had heard of Neo before, of course—anyone who breathed Night City's air had. But hearing was one thing; truly understanding who he was, what he was… that was another matter entirely.

Yorinobu had unleashed his full corporate intelligence division to dig into the man's past. What came back?

Nothing but static.

According to the data, Neo was a former Bakkel Nomad, a wanderer who had rolled into Night City years ago. The files after that were a blur—merc jobs, a handful of well-known incidents, and then silence.

Everything else… wiped clean.

Even with Arasaka's global surveillance networks, Yorinobu couldn't trace him. It was as though Neo had stepped out of the cracks in the system—unbound, unreadable, untouchable.

And that terrified him.

He had spent nights turning the thought over and over, sleepless beneath the hum of neon.

If Neo was strong enough to defeat Adam Smasher, if he could survive Arasaka Tower, then why had he gone quiet since?

It wasn't fear—no, a man who burned the Tower wasn't afraid of anyone.

Then what was it?

Was he waiting for something?

Planning something even bigger?

Yorinobu leaned back in the silent conference room, muttering to himself, "Should I bring you in… or destroy you before you decide I'm in the way?"

His reflection in the darkened window smiled back, cold and tired.

"Neo. Night's Ember. Even the name sounds better than Arasaka."

He sighed and stood, killing the lights before walking toward the exit.

...

"Sir."

His personal aide and two cyber-ninja bodyguards straightened immediately as he stepped into the corridor.

Yorinobu didn't slow. "I have a private matter to attend to. You're all dismissed for the evening."

The aide hesitated. "Sir, with respect—"

"Now."

His tone snapped like glass. None of them argued again.

Moments later, he was in the underground garage, slipping into a nondescript sedan with tinted windows. For once, he left the convoy, the armored escort, the pretense of power behind.

Tonight, he wasn't Arasaka's heir.

He was just a man chasing the ghost that haunted him.

And that ghost was at the Night's Ember Bar.

...

The city outside was alive. Kabuki burned bright with light and music, the streets overflowing with people chasing dreams, data, and dopamine.

And inside Night's Ember, Johnny Silverhand's voice set the world on fire.

Every soul in the room was moving—drunk, shouting, lost in the pulse. Johnny stood center stage, his holographic form flickering in sync with the beat, his guitar screaming rebellion into the dark.

Back in the control room, Neo leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. The job was done, the crowd was his, the city was watching.

Lucy and Rebecca lay beside him at last, unclothed and spent, asleep in the tangled sheets after what they'd shared together with Neo.

He smiled faintly, pulling a blanket over their nakedness. "Rest easy, you maniacs."

Then, as he reached for a cigarette, his holo-comm flickered to life.

Jackie Welles: "Bro, got a visitor from Pacifica. Says he wants a word."

"Pacifica?" Neo raised a brow. "That's… rare. What kind of visitor?"

"Voodoo Boys' middleman."

Neo froze. "The Voodoo Boys?"

Jackie nodded on the feed. "Guy says his name's Edward. Quiet type. Looks like he can melt firewalls with a stare."

Neo chuckled lowly. "Interesting."

Among the gangs of Night City, the Voodoo Boys were an enigma. While the Animals, Tiger Claws, and Valentinos fought for turf and trade, the Voodoo Boys fought for something far stranger—the Net itself.

They didn't rule through muscle, but through code. They were explorers of the Old Net, dreamers who hacked through the forbidden digital wastelands beyond the Blackwall, wielding viruses that could cripple cities.

They were the closest thing Night City had to ghosts that walked among men.

If they'd sent someone all the way from Pacifica to talk to him… it had to be big.

Neo pocketed his cigarette. "Got it. I'm coming down."

He cast one last look at the sleeping women, then stepped out into the chaos of the club.

The air hit him—heat, sweat, the pounding bass. He slipped through the crowd, people parting instinctively, like they knew who walked among them.

Near the bar, Jackie waved him over. "There he is. My choom, the legend himself."

The man beside him turned as Neo approached.

Tall. Dark skin. Chrome-thread tattoos pulsing faintly across his temples. His eyes—cold, alert, calculating.

"Edward," Jackie said, clapping him on the shoulder. "This is Neo. The man who turned Night City upside down."

Edward smiled politely, extending a hand. "Neo. The name doesn't do you justice. Seeing you in person… I understand the rumors now."

Neo shook his hand lightly, studying him. "Let's skip the flattery. You didn't drive from Pacifica just for a drink."

Edward laughed softly. "If I said I did?"

"Then I'd comp your tab," Neo replied dryly. "But something tells me you've got business."

The middleman's grin widened. "You're not wrong. I came to make an offer."

He tilted his head toward the stage, where Johnny Silverhand was mid-scream, bathed in neon red.

"Specifically… about him. Or rather, about the chip that brought him back."

Neo's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. "Go on."

Edward steepled his fingers. "Someone's put up a bounty. One million eurodollars. Cash. For the Relic chip."

He paused, watching Neo's reaction. "My clients want to buy it from you."

For a long moment, Neo just stared. Then, slowly, he smiled.

A quiet, dangerous smile.

"Edward," he said, voice almost kind. "You can drop the act. I know it's the Voodoo Boys who want it."

Edward's grin faltered. "Now, now—"

"One million euros," Neo continued, leaning forward, "is the price of a mid-range car, not a ghost of history. You came all this way offering pocket change for the only chip in existence that can resurrect a man's soul?"

He chuckled, low and cold. "You're not negotiating. You're insulting me."

The Voodoo Boy's smile returned—but tighter, strained. "I assure you, no insult was intended. One million is an opening offer."