They finish the negotiation and walk out of the bar.
On the second-floor landing, Jack sits drinking. Seeing them side by side, he flashes Rocky a secret thumbs-up.
They reach the door.
Night City's street lies almost empty at this hour; only the bar behind them pumps life into the quiet.
"Rebecca, did you drive?"
"No."
She shakes her head. She doesn't keep a car; Falco usually picks her up on missions. Tonight's an exception.
"Then I'll take you home. Where do you live?"
"Thanks. Northside Industrial District."
Going home without a car at night is inconvenient; she doesn't refuse.
"I live in Little China. It's on the way."
Rocky calls his motorcycle through the vehicle link, swings on, pats the pillion, and nods for her to get on.
Rebecca blinks; she didn't expect the ripperdoc to ride, but climbs on without hesitation.
"Sit tight."
The engine lights off; speed rises. Her hands settle on both sides of his waist.
She feels the muscle under his jacket is nothing like an ordinary clinic tech.
Wind whistles around them.
Rebecca straightens, leans forward, and puts her mouth near his ear. "Didn't expect a ripperdoc to be this strong."
"I train every day. In this underground line, you have to protect yourself."
"True."
Rocky carries her through Night City.
She doesn't move away after closing in to speak.
He keeps his eyes on the road and doesn't notice the wide eyes studying him.
It's the first time Rebecca has observed this man up close for this long.
Watching his focused profile, she decides that, besides being a little strange, he's solid, especially in how he treats her.
Her petite frame brings constant trouble: arrogant intermediaries and frivolous mercenaries who look down on her and tease; even bar security that stops her at the door.
Rocky never looked down on her. He trusted her. Warmth lands in her chest, an affirmation she doesn't get often.
Thinking about it that way… he's pretty good, she admits.
The bike runs strong, and Rocky's skilled riding eats up distance. They cross most of Night City and roll into the Northside Industrial District.
Something ahead trips Rocky's instincts on the main road toward her block.
His right prosthetic eye tightens focus.
The road's blocked by several vehicles. Seven or eight gangers stand across the lane, chrome obvious even at a glance.
Maelstrom.
Maelstrom digs in around the Northside Industrial District. They're crazed for chrome and willing to install anything on a body.
A reserve army of cyberpsychos. Tonight they're "team-building."
"Rebecca." Rocky eases the throttle and calls her name.
"What's wrong?"
"Maelstrom's blocking the road ahead."
"Huh?"
She plants her hands on his shoulders and lifts them to look forward.
As Rocky said, a pack of lunatics crowds the way.
"These guys aren't easy to mess with. What are you going to do?"
If Maine were here, maybe they'd go head-on. She can't not now.
"What do we do? We rush it. Sit tight!"
Rocky eyes the line ahead with a sunny smile, rolls the throttle open, and drives straight at them.
The sudden speed jerks Rebecca back; she clamps his waist and nearly loses her grip.
"He, are you crazy? Why not take a detour?"
"No detour. Trust me, Rebecca."
He doesn't like Maelstrom's pure lunatics, which are as disgusting as Scav's. A dog blocks the road; you clear it.
"Trust you? Fine, you lunatic."
Sincerity for sincerity. She's already on the bike; she won't jump off now. If he's going crazy, she'll match him.
She draws her pistol, hugs him with both hands, and presses tight to stay stable.
Feeling her tighten against his back, Rocky's grin widens. His mind touches the interface and installs a module.
{Module installed}
{Status: Active}
Maelstrom hears the engine roar and turns toward them.
"Hahaha, prey! Dismemberment party starts!"
"I'm taking his eyes," one cackles. "We'll use them to watch him get torn apart."
The bike doesn't slow, doesn't turn, doesn't detour. It charges straight in.
"What is this guy doing?"
They don't process it in time. No one expects someone to drive right through.
At full speed, Rocky reaches the gap and snaps out a hand.
An iron palm fills a ganger's vision, Gorilla Arms closing in a single terrifying frame. Steel fingers bite; bone gives.
Rocky snatches the unlucky man like a doll and drags him through the air at flesh-screaming speed.
He whips his left arm and throws.
The body slams a concrete pillar. The head bursts like soft tofu; scarlet blood and brain matter stamp the concave face of the support like a blooming flower.