Cyberpunk: Starting in 2071

Chapter 39 The Next Life Bar, First Encounter with Roger

"Give her a Johnny Silver Hand, and me a small Coke, extra cold."

Mercer sat down at the bar, and Claire, the bartender who looked much like her character in the game, first raised her hand to him. After pouring drinks for another table of customers, she came over and glanced at Panan and Mercer.

"Hello, new faces. My name is Claire."

She poured Mercer a small Coke—a full glass with ice—before mixing Parnan's cocktail.

"Johnny Silverhand. Not many people drink this anymore."

After Claire finished speaking, she glanced at Panan with a smile: "Girl, this wine is both bitter and spicy; most people can't handle it."

“Then let’s choose another one. I’m not interested in Johnny Silverhand.” Panan glanced at Mercer, feeling that he was deliberately trying to sabotage him.

Mercer shrugged: "Ha, I'd like to try it too."

"Then order one for yourself, since you're A here anyway."

Panan said she didn't mind the child drinking—vagrants don't care about such things; she had been involved in gunfights and smuggling with convoys since she was a teenager, so what was a couple of drinks to her?

Mercer pondered for a moment: "Give me a small cup to try."

Claire laughed: "Okay, but there aren't many people like you who come here only to drink Coke. Are you even an adult?"

"A man's age is also a secret, and secrets make a man more manly."

Mercer's nonsensical remarks made Claire even happier.

She smiled and poured Mercer a small glass, about the size of a liquor glass: "Let me see how much a man of men can drink."

Mercer picked up his glass and looked at the drink—old-fashioned tequila, beer, and chili.
He lifted his mask, downed the drink in one gulp, and then couldn't help coughing, which made Panan laugh heartily without any restraint: "How is it? Johnny Silverhand's taste?"

"What you said is disgusting, but it does suit that idiot's taste. Not only is it bitter and spicy, but the spiciness lingers."

Mercer quickly took a sip of cola, which made him feel much better. He then breathed a sigh of relief, but his interest was piqued again.
"A bullet glass, vodka on the rocks, mixed with a little blue cocoa, and a dash of lemon juice—that's a drink for you."

This drink was originally called David Martinez, and it's the drink left behind by the animated protagonist David after his death in his next life.

But now, Mercer said with a smile, "Let's call this glass of wine a new chapter."

“Hmm, a new chapter.” Claire mixed a drink as he suggested, and even placed a small decorative umbrella on the rim of the glass to match the blue color of the drink.

Mercer picked up his glass, looked at it, and then took a small sip.

The bubbles, mixed with fruit acid, assaulted the taste buds, bringing a refreshing taste, followed by the spiciness of vodka. Mercer tasted it and then smiled: "Not bad."

"Let me have a sip." Panan was quite tempted, and without caring that Mercer had drunk from it, he took his cup, switched the rim, and took a sip: "It's like a beverage, only kids drink this stuff."

"Is that so?" Mercer chuckled, downed the 'New Chapter' in one gulp, and then stopped drinking alcohol, instead drinking cola and listening to music.

Claire was intrigued by the Panan wanderer's attire. After a few words, they discovered that they both knew quite a bit about cars and soon began to talk enthusiastically.

Mercer knew a little about it, but he wasn't interested in getting involved. He just waited patiently, one hand propped up against his face, his fingers tapping on his mask as his mind wandered.

It was almost eight o'clock when a burly man walked over and interrupted Parnan and Claire's conversation about cars.

"Ms. Roger requests your presence."

The bodyguard looked burly and imposing. Mercer glanced at him and noticed he had quite a few parts: a gorilla arm with a berserk system, heavy subcutaneous armor, standard equipment for a powerful tank, and good material to stop bullets.

Mercer stood up casually: "Panan, you just wait here."

"Are you sure? I think I'll go with you, so people won't look down on you." Panan sized up the burly bodyguard, wanting to stand up for him out of a sense of loyalty: "Adcardo's name does carry some weight in Night City."

“No need, what we need to discuss isn’t something that should be overheard.” Mercer smiled. “But thanks anyway, Panan.” Panan could only shake his head and sit down. “Alright then.”

Mercer adjusted his mask, put his hands in his pockets, and followed the bodyguard deeper into the bar. His not-so-tall figure stood out as particularly small among the group of burly, oddly shaped mercenaries, attracting curious and inquisitive glances from time to time.

The road was longer than Mercer had anticipated.

He wasn't heading to the outer private room. Instead, he first pushed open a door at the back of the bar, entered a somewhat dimly lit passage, turned a corner, and pushed open another door. Only then did a very secluded, enclosed private room appear before him.

Inside the room, a woman sat on the sofa in the very center; she was Roger.

This 'Queen of the Next Life' looks quite old, with her long silver hair swept to one side and her heroic face bearing some wrinkles that symbolize experience.

But the wrinkles didn't make her look old; the paint on her face added a touch of wildness to her appearance.

"You're A?"

Her tone wasn't friendly; her strong personality was evident in the way she spoke.

Mercer nodded and sat down on the other sofa quite naturally, saying in a relaxed tone, "It's me. You can call me by my name, Alex, Alex Mercer."

"So, what's your news?" Roger crossed his legs, one hand still resting on the back of the sofa, and slightly raised his chin, scrutinizing Mercer's words and actions.

Mercer simply leaned back lazily, a smile appearing on his face beneath the mask: "Are you sure you want me to say it now?"

He turned his head and looked at the burly bodyguard at the door.

Roger waved his hand expressionlessly: "Get away from me, I need to talk business."

The bodyguards at the door consciously moved a little further away and even kept an eye on the people coming and going to prevent anyone from disturbing her.

Then, Mercer casually uttered words that made Roger's expression change drastically.

Johnny Silverhand is still alive.

Roger's gaze suddenly sharpened, fixed on Mercer with a piercing intensity: "You fucking..."

“Soul Killer, I think you should know better than me what this program has become in Arasaka’s hands.”

Mercer spoke slowly and deliberately. Beneath his mask, in his azure eyes, tiny sparkles of light drifted around his pupils, adding to his mystique.

"After Johnny Silverhand was killed instantly by Adam's hammer, Spider-Murphy saved him."

Mercer recounted stories that Roger had never heard before, and the information conveyed between the lines caused a strange pang in her heart, while her breathing became inexplicably heavy.

"When she realized that she could not leave with the storage device containing Ultraman's consciousness, she uploaded Ultraman to the Internet in batches, which caused some confusion in her consciousness and personality."

At the same time, Spider Murphy inserted the Relic chip, a magical chip originally used to store Ultraman's consciousness, into the socket at the back of the head of the silver hand that had been blasted in two by the hammer.

That's why Silver Hand's consciousness was uploaded to this chip before it completely disappeared. Perhaps you still remember Murphy's actions back then?

After Mercer finished speaking, he paused and continued, "As for how this chip eventually returned to Arasaka, I don't know, but I am certain that Silver Hand's consciousness is now back under Arasaka's control."

What we need to discuss is how to rescue Silver Hand.

"Save him?" Roger sneered twice. "I've already done enough for him."
Who sent you? How do you know so many details?

Not many of my old friends are still alive.

"Well, that depends on how you view the word 'living'."

After Mercer finished speaking, he laughed: "To be honest, you might not like the person who commissioned me."
"Ott, Ott Cunningham, I think you definitely remember that name."

(End of this chapter)