The rain didn't stop. It never really did in Night City — it just changed weight and sound.
By morning, the streets were quiet. Broken drones lay in the gutters, their black shells cracked open. Protesters walked through the wreckage, tired but awake, watching smoke rise in the distance.
Mary's voice came through Max's comm — calm, even.
"City feeds are trending under one tag. #NoMoreGhosts. Over forty-seven million hits."
Max stood at the edge of a broken overpass. Water ran down his face and along the metal lines of his hand.
"That's more people than Militech ever planned for," he said.
Kade joined him, arm wrapped in a bandage. "They canceled the strike ops. Said it was a containment failure."
"Figures," Max replied.
Kade looked at him. "Zero-One. It was one of you, right?"
Max nodded once. "Yeah."
For a while, neither spoke. The city hummed quietly below. A few kids ran by, one wearing a jacket with a rough stencil — a broken drone under the words GHOSTLINK = GODLIES LIE.
Mary spoke again. "Militech isn't finished. Their divisions are merging under new names. They'll be back."
"I know," Max said. "But they'll move slower now."
Kade glanced out at the skyline. "So what happens next?"
"We keep things simple," Max said. "People will build what they want. No ghosts telling them how."
Mary's small hologram appeared beside him, blue light flickering. "You're still connected to Ghostlink. The more you dive, the worse it gets for your neural core."
Max looked ahead. "Noted."
Kade gave a short laugh. "That's your answer to everything."
A light flared below — a group had set up a projector, showing shaky footage of the night before. Max standing near the relay truck as it exploded. The crowd watched in silence.
Mary said quietly, "You've become a symbol."
"Symbols fade," Max replied. "Let them tell their own story."
He turned and started walking. Kade called after him. "Where are you going?"
"Nowhere special," Max said. "Just need to see what's left."
Mary's voice followed him. "You know this won't end neatly."
"It never does," Max answered.
The city behind him buzzed — broken, alive, still moving. Above the ruins of Militech Tower, someone projected new words across the smoke:
"GHOSTLINK ENDS HERE."
And below it, smaller, flickering through static —
"BEGIN AGAIN."
The rain eased into mist as morning light spread through the clouds.
Night City didn't wake up. It just remembered.
The mist lingered low over the streets, softening the edges of everything — the cracked pavement, the half-lit signs, the faces of people who hadn't slept in days.
Max walked past them without hurry. The air smelled of ozone and burnt plastic. Somewhere in the distance, a generator kicked in, flooding a block with uneven light.
Mary's voice came through again, quieter now.
"City grids are unstable. Power's running on local circuits. Half the net's dark."
"Better that way," Max said. "Let them see what silence feels like."
He passed a shattered display screen still flashing old Militech ads, frozen mid-frame. The smiling faces glitched between static bursts — promises of safety, order, efficiency. He watched for a second, then kept walking.
A group of mechanics worked near an overturned transport, stripping it for parts. One of them noticed him, whispered to another. They didn't approach. They just watched as he passed, like they knew the story already.
Mary spoke again. "Local chatter says the unions are meeting at South Block. They want a reconstruction council."
"They'll figure it out," Max replied.
"You don't plan to join them?"
"No point," he said. "I was built for breaking things, not running them."
A gust of wind carried the faint echo of laughter — real laughter — from a nearby alley where kids were painting over an old Militech mural. One of them sprayed new words in sloppy red paint: "NO MASTERS."
Max stopped for a moment, watching them. Then he kept moving.
They reached an old tram line that hadn't run in years. The cars were rusted, windows smashed, tracks covered in puddles. Max stepped over a loose cable, his reflection broken in the water below.
"Mary," he said, "lock down the comm line. No more broadcasts."
"Understood. You're going dark again."
"Just quiet," he said. "For a while."
There was a pause. Then Mary said, almost softly, "You always come back."
"Only if there's something left worth coming back to."
He climbed onto the tram's roof and sat there for a while, looking out across Night City. The skyline flickered — some towers still burning, others already patched up and running new corp tags.
The rain had stopped. The air felt heavier, but cleaner somehow.
Max reached into his coat, pulled out a small drive — cracked, burnt at the edges. Ghostlink's last fragment. He turned it over in his hand once, then tossed it into the dark water below. It sank without a sound.
Mary's voice broke the silence one last time. "And that's it?"
"That's it."
The sky was beginning to brighten — not clear, but less gray. Lights in the city shifted from cold blue to soft orange.
Max leaned back, eyes half-closed. "Let them build something new. Something that doesn't need saving."
Mary didn't reply.
The comm line went quiet.
And in the distance, the city began to hum again — low, steady, alive.
The day moved slow. Light crept between towers, cutting through the haze until it touched the tram yard where Max sat.
The city was quieter than it had ever been — no ad drones, no corp broadcasts, no orders in the air. Just the sound of water dripping from broken cables and the faint buzz of street generators struggling to hold the line.
Max stayed still. The quiet didn't bother him. It felt like a clean wound — open, but healing.
Mary's line stayed silent, just static now, a faint hiss under the city's hum.
Hours passed.
People started to move again. From his spot on the tram, Max saw groups clearing streets, fixing lights, trading tools and food. Nobody looked up to see him. Nobody needed to. That was the point.
He lit a cigarette, let the smoke mix with the thin mist. The taste of ash and rain felt almost human.
A stray cat climbed onto the other end of the tram, its fur soaked, tail twitching. It stared at him for a few seconds before curling up near his boot. Max didn't move it away.
***
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