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It was late night in Heywood.
Because it bordered City Center and sat adjacent to the downtown shopping plazas, Heywood was the beating heart of Night City. Unlike the dilapidated ruins of Santo Domingo, Heywood was a place of polished chrome and vertical ambition. Here, the street lights actually worked, and the skyscrapers didn't just house refugees—they housed the people who owned them.
Santa Teresa Mansion was one such fortress of the wealthy, protected by layers of smart-security and a small army of private contractors. On the fifteenth floor, in Room 1503, a man known as 'Two-Face' sat on a designer sofa.
Kerfu was 1.7 meters of lean nerves and expensive hardware. His moniker was literal: half his face was a polished metal mask, the other half a mask of human anxiety. He was currently screaming into his comms.
"Don't give me that slag! I told you to get me a shuttle out of the city! Now!" Kerfu roared, a cigarette bobbing between his lips. "What do you mean I messed up? Barton, if it were you, would you have bet on a bunch of street-rats survives a 6th Street ambush? There were twenty shooters and a netrunner squad! How was I supposed to know Maine's crew were monsters?"
He slammed his black cybernetic fist onto the table. "And don't talk to me about Wakako! I called her this afternoon. She didn't even let me finish. She said I broke the code, and if I end up as a stain on the pavement, it's my own incompetence. She's blacklisted me from the Afterlife, Barton! The Queen has spoken!"
Kerfu's panic was justified. In Night City, you can survive a corporate hit, but you cannot survive being erased by Wakako Okada. She was a living legend—the woman who had walked through the fire with Johnny Silverhand and lived to rule Japantown. If she said you were done, you were done.
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the building. The apartment's alarm blared, red lights strobing against the luxury wallpaper.
"They actually came?" Kerfu sneered, walking to the window.
He zoomed his optical implants down toward the main gate. Below, the entrance was a riot of flame and gunfire. He saw Maine—the massive, white-haired bear—hiding behind a car, trading shots with the mansion's security.
"Idiots," Kerfu laughed, taking a long sip of champagne. They were trying to force the front door of a high-security skyscraper. It was suicide. He didn't care if his bodyguards died; he had his money in the banks and a plan to vanish. He just needed to finish his routine and get to the roof.
Kerfu walked into the bathroom, stripping off his clothes. He grabbed a razor, intending to shave the organic half of his face—a ritual before he fled. He looked into the mirror, leaning in to check his skin.
And then he saw him.
A figure stood in the shadows of the bathroom, perfectly still, wearing a baseball cap pulled low. Jax's eyes reflected in the mirror—calm, dark, and utterly devoid of hesitation.
Kerfu's heart hammered against his ribs. His hand darted toward the vanity cabinet where he kept a hidden Unity pistol.
"If I were you, I'd raise my hands instead of reaching for that drawer," Jax said softly.
A red and black Katana hummed to life, the thermal edge pressed firmly against Kerfu's naked waist. The heat from the blade was already singeing the air.
"Arasaka thermal monowire," Jax noted, his voice a pleasant, terrifying murmur. "Even with a sub-dermal mesh, this blade will part you like a hot knife through synth-butter."
Sweat poured down Kerfu's face. "You... you're an Arasaka shadow? Look, I have intel! Night Corp's data manager is—"
"You've got it wrong, Mr. Kerfu," Jax shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "I don't work for the suits."
"Then you're..." Kerfu's eyes went wide. "Maine? I'll give you the money! It's all in the Rothschild account! Just let me live!"
Jax pulled the brim of his hat lower with two fingers. The thermal glow of the Katana reflected in his pupils, turning them a predatory orange.
"I don't want your eddies, Mr. Kerfu. I want the variable settled."
"Wait—!"
Jax didn't wait. He stepped forward, and the Katana slid through Kerfu's torso with the effortless grace of a master stroke. The heat cauterized the wound instantly, but the damage was absolute.
"Mr. Kerfu," Jax whispered as the Fixer's knees gave out. "Please accept this gift from Maine's crew. Sweet dreams."
Jax turned back to the mirror, elegantly flicking the blade. A single drop of blood hissed as it hit the floor before the thermal edge vaporized it. He didn't look back at the man who had climbed the corporate ladder only to die naked in his own bathroom.
Jax walked toward the window, the sounds of the battle below still raging. He hadn't used the stairs. He hadn't used the elevator.
He had climbed.
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