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"Wow, he actually dared to talk to you like that."
"I say, do you really think so highly of him?"
Rogue was the only one left in the private room, sitting on the sofa and playing with a shot glass. Looking at Crispin Weyland, who had re-entered the booth to check on her, Rogue replied irritably, "If you could also climb fourteen floors without the help of a full-body conversion, I would certainly think highly of you, too."
"Oh, I can't do that. I think I'd fall off by the time I reached the third floor," Crispin said, looking down at his chubby belly before meeting Rogue's eyes with a serious expression.
"Then let me put it another way. If Kerfu's situation were yours, would you have done what they did? Storming a building regardless of your own life just to teach the other party a lesson?" Rogue asked.
"Me? What are you talking about? If it were me, a Fixer wouldn't dare to screw me over. Look at all this chrome," Crispin said, flexing his arm.
Joking aside, Crispin understood exactly what Rogue was getting at. As Night City's development became more "civilized," the rules in the underworld had fossilized. The relationship between Fixers and mercenaries was no longer an equal partnership.
In the old days, it was a simple trade: a job for a life, and the profit was split fairly. Now? Fixers acted like corporate middle managers, squeezing mercenaries for every eddy while shielding themselves from the risk. Since Night Corp allowed the megacorps back into the city to maintain a superficial balance, the class gap between those who gave the orders and those who spilled the blood had widened into a chasm.
The reason for this shift was the corporations' obsession with public image. In 2026, a company's reputation is its most fragile asset. Ever since Arasaka Kei famously committed suicide to atone for the family's failure, corporate leaders have been terrified of public outrage. They need "black hands"—people from the streets to do the dirty work—so their competitors' "reporters" don't catch them in a scandal.
This need had created a surplus of Fixers who acted as liaisons for corporate money. Mercenaries could try to bypass them, but unless you were a legend, why would a client trust a "cattle and horse" edgerunner with nothing but two broken pistols?
"Alright, stop spouting so much nonsense," Rogue rolled her eyes at Crispin, whose personality was so much more boisterous than his father's. "We can't interfere in Dogtown right now, but Chicago..."
"Wait, I have to stop you there. That place is even more of a headache," Crispin interrupted. "We shouldn't touch those people; they're absolute lunatics."
"Since when do you tell me what to do?" Rogue asked sharply.
Crispin shrugged, offering a simple smile. "I'm just reminding you. The maglev network plan is still just talk. Besides, Chicago is more dangerous than Dogtown. A three-hour journey there is basically a death warrant."
"That place is a giant purgatory. Compared to them, Night City is a city of virtue," Crispin said seriously.
Chicago had been dying since the 2011 biochemical leak. After the 2020 Corporate Wars, it became a semi-autonomous lawless zone. In Night City, you occasionally see a cyberpsycho; in Chicago, you barely see anyone who isn't a modified freak. There is no NCPD there, no Night Corp hiding in the shadows. It is a stage for a permanent carnival of violence.
Crispin didn't want Rogue overextending. He also knew Arasaka wouldn't approve of her reaching out to the mid-west gangs. "Arasaka won't agree. You've already done too much behind their backs. If Michi—"
"Shut up!" Rogue snapped. "If your mouth worked half as little as your father's, you'd be better off. Just go."
"I think it's pretty good now, being your bodyguard," Crispin scratched his head.
"Go play with your mother's eggs! Get out!" Rogue barked.
Between Jax's defiance and Crispin's chattering, her patience was gone. In her younger days, she would have slapped both of them. Yet, in Jax, she saw a spark—a flicker of that "overly righteous" spirit that used to define the best of them.
"Find some work to send his way," Rogue said as Crispin reached the door. "I need to see what that kid is truly capable of."
"Okay, I'll find him something troublesome," Crispin promised.
Rogue poured herself one last drink, a solitary smile touching her lips in the dim light of the booth.
"Alright, kid. Let me see if you're as brave as you appear. Don't disappoint me."
She drained the glass and closed her eyes.
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