Max nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the fading glyph. The little fox flickered once, then vanished into static.
He exhaled — long, quiet — then leaned back in the creaking chair. "Well," he muttered under his breath, "I guess that means it's time for Alex to start enjoying the luxuries of Night City."
Mary's voice carried a faint amusement. "Luxuries? You mean sleepless nights, synthetic noodles, and constant paranoia?"
He smirked faintly. "You make it sound so glamorous."
"Just saying — you've had better vacations."
"Yeah," he said, pushing himself up from the chair, dropping a few chipped creds on the counter. "But this one comes with anonymity, and right now, that's priceless."
The café's old door squeaked open as he stepped out into the gray morning. Rain still poured like the city itself was trying to wash away the sins no one wanted to see. He adjusted his hood and started down the slick street, boots splashing through puddles glowing faintly with the reflections of broken neon.
"Mary," he said as he walked. "Start a search on unlisted safehouses — low-traffic, cheap, no digital footprint. I'll need a place to set up for the next few days. Weeks, maybe."
"On it," she replied. "You planning to wait it out until Militech gets bored?"
"More like until they get off my ass," he said. "They'll dig, they'll scream, they'll send cleanup crews. But eventually… they'll stop caring. They always do. Especially when they think there's nothing left to find."
A holo-ad flickered to life on the wall beside him — some smiling model selling chrome augmentations with perfect teeth. He glanced at it once, then turned away, heading deeper into the alleys where the ads didn't reach.
"Found a few options," Mary said after a few seconds of quiet digital hum. "Some safer than others."
Max walked on through the drizzle, the faint hiss of rain against synthglass surrounding him like white noise. "Let's hear them."
"Option one," she began, her tone professional, "a capsule unit down by the docks — cheap, anonymous, crawling with scavvers. Nobody will notice you, but you'll be sleeping next to someone's used aug casing."
"Pass," Max said immediately.
"Option two: an old service loft near Watson's lower edge. Decent cover, functional power grid, minimal data traces… and a leak in the ceiling the size of your ego."
He chuckled under his breath. "Tempting, but I'm not in the mood for mold."
Mary paused, then added, "Option three — a high-end corporate suite in Charter Hill. Currently unoccupied, owner's off-world, and the security is laughable. With a few tweaks, I can make it look like you've been renting it for months."
Max slowed, glancing up at the skyline where the bright towers shimmered faintly through the rain. "A corpo suite?"
"Think of it as blending in… just higher up the ladder," Mary teased. "Besides, if Militech's watching the gutters, they won't expect you in a penthouse."
He smirked. "You're saying I should hide in plain sight?"
"I'm saying you should enjoy a real bed for once. You've earned it."
He laughed quietly, adjusting his hood as he turned toward the distant glimmer of uptown. "Alright. Send me the access codes."
"Already in your feed," she replied smoothly. "Elevator will recognize you as Alex Mercer, registered systems consultant for a phantom logistics firm I just invented. You're officially boring now."
"Perfect," he said, a trace of satisfaction in his voice.
By the time he reached the maglev line, the rain had softened to a mist. The train hissed to a stop, doors sliding open with a sigh of hydraulics. He stepped inside, silent among the scattered commuters — a ghost dressed like a nobody, riding through the veins of the city.
Minutes later, the elevator doors opened onto quiet luxury. Soft amber lights, chrome fixtures, a panoramic view of Night City sprawling endlessly below. The air even smelled clean — filtered, perfumed, untouched by the rot of the streets.
He dropped his soaked coat over the back of a chair and walked toward the window, looking down at the pulsing glow far below.
"Well, Mary," he said with a faint grin, "you weren't kidding. Lavish."
"Told you," she replied, smug. "You might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Consider it a tactical retreat — with style."
He chuckled, pulling off his gloves and letting them fall onto the glass table. "Yeah. A tactical retreat… sure."
Outside, lightning flashed across the horizon — jagged and brief, reflected in the mirror-sheen of the towers.
Max leaned against the window, eyes cold and thoughtful. "They'll come looking again. They always do."
Mary's voice softened. "Then let them. For now… you're just Alex Mercer, a ghost in the penthouse sky."
He smiled faintly, watching the rain trace silver rivers down the glass. "Guess it's time to see what it feels like to live like the people I used to break."
The room was silent except for the low hum of the ventilation system and the muted roar of the storm outside. Night City glimmered beneath him — a million lights flickering like circuitry across a dying god's corpse.
Max — Alex — stood there for a long time, just watching. Watching the world that had chewed him up, spat him out, and now didn't even realize he was still breathing.
Finally, he turned away from the window. "Mary," he said, pulling the neural jack from behind his ear and tossing it onto the counter, "run diagnostics on the suite. Make sure there aren't any nasty surprises."
"Already ahead of you," she replied. "No active surveillance, no hidden transmitters, no smart furniture with listening subroutines. The only thing spying on you is the minibar — and it's out of champagne."
He snorted. "Tragic."
"Truly," she deadpanned.
He moved through the suite slowly, taking it in. The place looked expensive — real leather couch, dark marble counters, walls lined with holo-panels that shifted between soft ambient visuals and blank black mirrors. The kind of place a corpo exec would rent when they wanted to pretend they weren't rotting from the inside.
***
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