Chapter 123: The Night Before the Storm

No one—not even the sharpest fixer in Night City—would have guessed that on the grand opening night of Night's Ember Bar, Yorinobu Arasaka himself had been there.

He came disguised, wrapped in anonymity, his corporate sheen traded for the face of a common man. For once, he wanted to walk among the people he ruled from above—to feel, even briefly, what it was like to exist without every breath being watched, every word being weighed.

He didn't want the usual prelude to his visits—the panicked phone calls, the frantic staff lineup outside in the cold, managers smiling until their cheeks cracked, voices trembling as they said what they thought he wanted to hear.

He wanted silence.

No power.

No titles.

Just a man, sitting at a bar, drinking under the neon glow.

But that was a dream he could never truly have.

Because no matter how much he changed his face, his eyes still saw like an Arasaka, and the world still bent around that unseen gravity.

The truth was simple: he didn't hate the power—he hated the isolation it carried.

And so, for one night, he escaped it.

He sat quietly, drinking a cocktail named after the man who had burned down his father's empire—The Neo.

And as Johnny Silverhand's music screamed through the speakers, Yorinobu caught himself laughing softly.

It was absurd.

By every logical script, he should've been hunting this man—ordering his death, wiping out his crew, crushing every soul tied to Night's Ember under Arasaka's heel.

But here he was, drinking to him instead.

When the song ended, Yorinobu finished his drink, left a few eddies on the counter, and walked out. No one stopped him. No one recognized him.

For the first time in years, the heir of Arasaka disappeared into the crowd like a shadow among shadows.

...

As the night deepened and the last of the crowd filtered out of Night's Ember, Neo gathered his team in the backroom. The hum of machinery and faint echoes of distant traffic filled the silence.

He didn't waste words.

"The bar stays open. Business as usual," he said, his tone level. "But tomorrow morning, Lucy, Rebecca, Jackie—you're with me. We're going to Pacifica."

The room fell still.

Maine crossed his arms, his cybernetic joints clicking softly. "We're not all going? Pacifica's no joke, Neo. That place makes Kabuki look like a spa. The Voodoo Boys play a different game out there."

Neo shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Pacifica's chaos with better weather. The rest of Night City isn't any cleaner. We'll handle it. Just a gang, after all."

"'Just a gang,'" Maine repeated under his breath, shaking his head. "Only you'd say that."

Across the table, Dorio chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax, big guy. You've seen how he works. Neo doesn't move unless he already knows the outcome. If he says it's fine, it's fine."

Maine sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Still doesn't stop me from worrying."

"You can worry from here," Neo said. "Keep the place running. If anyone asks, we're on a supply run. Don't make it a story."

David straightened immediately, fist against his chest. "You got it, boss! I'll keep Night's Ember shining like chrome."

Lexington, standing beside him, nodded quickly. "Count me in too. No one's getting through our doors without a smile and a scan."

Neo gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Hold the line until we're back."

The meeting broke apart soon after. One by one, the crew filed out to rest, the adrenaline of the night finally giving way to exhaustion.

…

Back in the private suite, Neo lay on the wide bed, Lucy curled against his left side, Rebecca against his right. The hum of the control systems mixed with the distant pulse of the city beyond.

None of them spoke for a while.

Then Rebecca, as restless as ever, traced a finger along his chest. "So... no fun tonight?" she whispered.

Neo caught her hand gently, a faint smirk on his lips. "Tomorrow's business. Tonight, we sleep."

She groaned softly but relented, nestling in closer. Within minutes, the room was quiet—only the soft rhythm of breathing breaking the stillness.

...

The next morning, dawn came pale and gray.

Neo, Lucy, Rebecca, and Jackie Welles rolled out before the city even fully woke. Their bikes roared across the highway, leaving the glittering towers of Night City behind as the world bled into the desolation of Pacifica.

Once upon a time, Pacifica had been a dream—a golden promise built by corporate architects and sold as paradise. Luxury resorts, shopping boulevards, chrome-drenched clinics, beaches filled with smiling tourists.

That was the vision.

Reality was a corpse.

The investments had failed, the corps had fled, and the dream rotted under the weight of poverty and gang wars.

Now the air was thick with gunpowder and paranoia. Crumbling resorts served as fortresses for mercs and smugglers. Half-dead neon signs flickered over gutted malls. The only laws were written in blood.

The NCPD didn't patrol here anymore. Neither did the megacorps. Pacifica belonged to those who took it.

And the Voodoo Boys had taken plenty.

They didn't rule with guns or muscle—they ruled through fear of the unseen. Their hackers controlled surveillance, comms, and the net infrastructure that still survived beyond the Blackwall. In Pacifica, the data itself whispered their name.

But not everyone was afraid.

When one cyberpsycho lunged out of a broken storefront, shrieking through distorted optics, Jackie Welles simply grinned and met him halfway.

One punch.

A wet, final crunch.

The body hit the ground like a bag of meat, and the crowd that had gathered scattered in silence.

Message received.

No one touched them again after that.

...

They made base at a half-collapsed hotel called Westwind Manor—once a five-star luxury retreat, now a half-lit husk reeking of mildew and gun oil.

Inside, Jackie was already at work, setting up calls through old contacts. "Don't worry, hermano," he said with his usual grin. "I still got people here. We'll have a meeting set up by tonight."

Rebecca leaned against the window, twirling her pistol. "Pacifica, huh. You can taste the tension in the air. I love it."

Lucy, meanwhile, sat cross-legged on the couch, fingers dancing over her portable rig. With a few quick keystrokes, she scrubbed their travel logs clean. "Done. No one in Night City—or out here—knows we came."

Neo nodded approvingly. "Good work."

Then he looked to Jackie. "So?"

Jackie grinned. "All lined up. Meeting's tonight."

Neo's gaze shifted toward the window, out over the shattered skyline of Pacifica.

The Voodoo Boys were waiting.

And he was coming to collect.

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