Emmerick Bronson—tall, silent, and always wearing that "fuck off" face.
When Roqi first saw him, he'd assumed the guy was just a bouncer at Afterlife. Turns out, this towering brute—respected, even feared, by NCPD officers—was actually the mercenary captain of the whole Afterlife crew.
He wasn't the boss of every merc out there, but every merc in Night City either respected him—or stayed the hell out of his way.
Unlike rookies like Roqi, V, and Jackie, Emmerick had long since made a name for himself. If Morgan Blackhand and Andrew Weyland were considered "legend-tier mercs," then Emmerick was already brushing the edges of "epic." One big, high-stakes job, and he'd be riding shotgun with legends.
He didn't stand at the door to act as security. His presence was more of a living filter—screening who was worthy to step inside Afterlife. Not every punk off the street made the cut.
And if anyone didn't like that? Too bad. No one argued with the Gatekeeper of Afterlife.
"Hey. Rogue told me to come see you."
Roqi stepped outside but didn't leave like the others. He stayed put.
Emmerick's face twitched slightly—just enough to suggest interest. That alone was rare.
He dealt with all kinds of scum and edge-runners daily—smooth talkers, schemers, gang trash. You couldn't afford emotions in this line of work, or you'd burn out fast.
To outsiders, Emmerick's gear and stone-cold presence made him seem like the final boss in a Corpo security sim.
"Lucky?"
His words matched his face—short, blunt, no time for fluff.
"That's me. Rogue said I could learn something from you. I'd appreciate the chance."
Roqi nodded politely, standing firm.
Emmerick gave a barely perceptible nod… and then said nothing else.
Just stood there.
Now there were two statues guarding Afterlife.
Roqi wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but it didn't feel like he was being ignored. It felt intentional.
A few minutes passed.
Then finally, Emmerick spoke.
"See them?"
No gestures. Still staring straight ahead.
But Roqi understood. The ones loitering nearby—gangsters, wannabes, mercs who hadn't made the cut. Sneaking glances. Whispering.
These people didn't have clearance. Maybe some of them would get in someday—after Night City chewed them up and spat out the weak. But for now, they were stuck outside.
There were even some minor gigs being traded out here—low-tier work too small for the heavy hitters inside.
"Yeah. They look kinda nervous."
Roqi picked up on it—the sidelong stares, the hushed tones. Then a thought hit him. He turned to Emmerick with a knowing look.
"Lemme guess. To build a rep, first you gotta strike a pose?"
But Emmerick shook his head slowly.
"They're not scared of how we look. They're scared of what we represent."
Something clicked in Roqi's mind.
Emmerick's reputation as Afterlife's merc captain. His strength. His authority. The legend of Rogue. The blood-soaked tales surrounding this place. The myth that Afterlife mercs were untouchable.
Any idiot with half a brain wouldn't dare pick a fight. In their eyes was a cocktail of fear, envy, and longing.
"That's one lesson. Here's the second."
Emmerick continued, still motionless.
"They come to you. You don't go to them."
Simple truth. Plenty of hopefuls had been turned away at these doors, lacking skill or rep.
Night City had no shortage of dirty work. Clients were everywhere, desperate for someone to clean up their messes—or create new ones.
Mercs didn't have sides. They worked for whoever paid.
But Afterlife was different. At the top, you picked your jobs. The jobs didn't pick you.
"Big gigs go to big names. And big names don't take small gigs—kills the brand," Emmerick said. "Most clients aren't hurting for cash. They don't want cheap. They want sure things."
"You're off to a good start. Dexter, Militech—people know you now. Afterlife's got a new wild card."
Roqi nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
"What about NCPD contracts? Crime tips? Or are those not worth the time?"
"If it boosts your name, take it. If it hurts your rep, drop it." Emmerick replied. "Make the gangs flinch when they hear your name. Make 'em sweat when you're near. That's how legends are born."
He tapped something into his PDA, then forwarded a file.
"I've got a gig Rogue wants you to take."
Just then, Emmerick casually stopped some punk from slipping in.
"Rogue? For me?"
Roqi raised a brow. Surprised.
"Hope it's not some end-of-the-world job. I still wanna enjoy the scenery."
"Client's big, risk is low," Emmerick said calmly. "Target's a Tyger Claw—goes by Yoshikawa."
"Tyger Claws?" Roqi blinked, then scoffed. "That's it? What, does he have a private security team or something?"
"He's gone underground. Deep. Our informants can't find him. Might be dead. Might've skipped town. Either way—he vanished."
"Find him. Kill him. Then collect from the client."
Emmerick studied Roqi for a second, like he still couldn't figure out why Rogue was betting on him.
"This time, you're the fixer. You can do the job yourself, or hire it out. Your call. But it gets done."
"Just don't keep the client waiting."
Roqi opened the file, scanned the target's details… and frowned.
Yoshikawa.
That name sounded familiar.
He racked his brain—and then it hit him.
Back at Clouds, he'd overheard two dolls chatting backstage. About a politician named Natsuko, whose daughter Riko had died. The killer? A Tyger Claw named Yoshikawa—her supposed lover.
Roqi had saved the note… but that was in his old PDA, the one now in Rogue's hands. He'd forgotten about it—until now.
"Anything else I should know?"
"Client wants it done fast. Doesn't care how. And—she wants a reason."
"A reason? You mean like why he did it?" Roqi smirked. "What, I gotta play detective now?"
Emmerick nodded.
"Tyger Claws run Westbrook. Why not go to Wakako? Why come to us?" Roqi asked.
Even government or corpo types hired mercs when things got too messy. Some preferred gangs—cheaper and easier to disavow when things blew up.
Westbrook was mostly Tyger Claws and the Mox. Watson was Maelstrom turf. In the underworld chessboard, Watson had the edge. That's why Night City's heart beat in Little China—not Japantown.
"Afterlife is the best," Emmerick said. "And Wakako's smart. She won't deal with politicians unless she's guaranteed something in return."
Wakako Okada—queen of Westbrook. Not just ruthless or commanding. She was sharp.
Old, yeah—but in Night City, anyone who lived past seventy deserved a medal. Wakako had outlasted most of her enemies. No one knew how many years she had left. No one dared to bet against her.
Stepping back into the sunlight felt like stepping between two worlds.
Roqi and Mower walked the street, talking strategy.
The client had sent a full info pack.
Yoshikawa looked like any streetwise gangster—sharp suit, cocky sneer, tight jaw, piercing eyes. His whole face screamed "Don't fuck with me."
The client: Natsuko Asou, Deputy Director of Night City's Department of Public Health and Human Services.
A department that was basically invisible. Not rich like the Finance Bureau. Not puppets like NCPD. Not even relevant.
Last Roqi heard of them, they were planning to flood Watson's sewers with neurotoxin to deal with squatters.
For some reason, the image of boiling rats flashed through his mind.
Public health in Night City? What a joke.
Maybe that's why Natsuko couldn't find Yoshikawa herself. Her department was powerless. After exhausting her options, she'd finally landed on Roqi.
Back when Mower was still with Militech, she had tech that could find anyone. But those days were gone.
Still, her instincts were sharp as ever.
"Only rats know where rats run."
She marked a wide zone from Watson to Westbrook—Tyger Claw territory. With Arasaka's help, they were expanding fast.
"You're saying we knock on doors?" Roqi frowned. The map was massive.
And he knew what "asking around" really meant: breaking in and busting heads.
But damn. That's a lot of turf.
"The grunts won't know shit. We need the ones who hear things," Mower said. "Black market dealers. Ripperdocs. Fixers. Runners. If Yoshikawa's still alive, someone's seen him."
"Cash or cracks to the jaw," Roqi grinned. "Someone'll talk. Just a matter of price."
"He used to frequent Clouds. That probably means he lived near Japantown. Even if he ran, people there would recognize him."
Roqi slapped his PDA.
Alright. Time to start digging.
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