37. The Afterlife Bar

"Hey, Karl, Oliver, take a look at me now. Do I look formal enough? Do I finally have the vibe of a mercenary qualified to step into the Afterlife?"

In Little China, Watson, just over fifty meters away from the Afterlife, Jack patted his clothes and asked his two friends to evaluate his appearance.

"So-so," Oliver said, glancing sideways at the Saratoga submachine gun Jack had purposely tucked into his waist, leaving the grip exposed. Oliver then patted the Shingen smart submachine gun similarly holstered at his own waist. "You look way too try-hard. Not as natural as me."

"Seriously, what are you two even doing?"

Karl felt that these two idiots had been acting a bit foolish ever since they found out they were heading to the Afterlife, and the closer they got, the more ridiculous they became.

To his surprise, his calm attitude was met with astonished questioning from both Oliver and Jack. "Karl, do you even know where we're going?"

"Of course I do. Isn't it just a bar where mercenaries go to pick up gigs? I heard it used to be an underground morgue... Is there a problem with that?"

"The problem is huge!"

Jack spread his arms wide, exaggerating the gesture. "Only the mercs who step foot in that place can be called true pros, you understand, Karl? Morgan Blackhand, Weyland, legends whose names shake the world! Back in the day, they were just like us—dressed ordinarily on an ordinary day, walking casually into the Afterlife, and then picking up world-shaking gigs. Show a little excitement, Karl! We're doing the exact same things those legends did!"

"Personally, I don't see anything to get excited about."

A bar converted from a morgue—just thinking about it gave off a gloomy, ghostly vibe. Staying in a place like that definitely wouldn't be comfortable. However, Karl was actually quite interested in these so-called world-shaking gigs. He really wanted to know what kind of job could possibly be considered world-shaking.

Chatting idly, the trio arrived in front of the bar they had never visited before. Descending the stairs and passing through a dim corridor tinged with a gloomy blue mixed with other chaotic hues, a massively built bouncer appeared before them.

Before coming here, Karl had done a little research on the stories surrounding the Afterlife in Night City.

As he recalled from the rumors—whose veracity was anyone's guess—the bouncer's name was Emerick Bronson, a watchdog specifically tasked with vetting whether newcomers had the qualification to enter the bar. Word had it that he had some ties to the Animals gang. Who knew if that was true, but considering the Animals always took on this kind of bouncer work, the possibility was quite high.

The moment Karl and his companions spotted him, the bouncer spotted them in return. As a seasoned doorman, his gaze immediately swept over the three of them, quickly skipping past Oliver and Jack, before finally coming to rest on Karl.

He blinked. Then blinked again. Right now, Emerick looked as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, yet was still trying hard to recognize him.

This comical blinking continued until Karl finally stopped right in front of him.

"Ahem."

He cleared his throat a few times, as if using the sound to steady his internal fluctuations, then crossed his arms over his chest and made a blocking gesture.

"Got an appointment?"

"Can't I just want to walk in and take a look?"

Although Karl actually had an appointment with Blanca, he was rather curious about what would happen if he showed up without one.

"No appointment means you don't need me to call ahead at the entrance."

With that, Emerick naturally stepped aside. Behind him stood a door; simply pushing it open would lead straight into the Afterlife.

This time, it was Karl's turn to blink.

He stared at the cleared path, looked back at Emerick, and finally pointed at the three of them. "You don't need to stop us?"

"I've seen the footage. It's all over the city. I'm not foolish enough to think a merc who was crazy enough to go toe-to-toe with an ACPA wouldn't be qualified to walk in here."

Emerick raised his right hand, curled four fingers, and gestured with his thumb to the side. "The other two are your squadmates, right? Head on in together. We welcome teams."

"Guess I've really made a name for myself."

Karl sighed inwardly, and just as he reached out to push open the door beside Emerick, he was called back by Emerick, who seemed to have suddenly remembered something.

"By the way, I don't even know your name yet. Care to leave it? That way, if you have an appointment next time, I can give a heads-up in advance."

"Just call me KK. Or Karl, if you prefer a non-mercenary moniker."

"KK, got it."

Emerick nodded, reached out, and helped Karl push the door open.

A rush of light, accompanied by the heavy scent of alcohol, poured out from behind the door.

"Welcome to the Afterlife, and I hope you have a great day."

"Appreciate it."

Karl stepped into the Afterlife. As for Oliver and Jack, nervousness from their first visit made them stiff, trailing closely behind Karl like a pair of bodyguards.

Once inside the Afterlife, what was Karl's first impression?

The answer was...

This damn place really does look gloomy. It feels way worse than the El Coyote Cojo.

An underground venue with zero natural sunlight, paired with those sickly green lights—wasn't this the exact definition of the underworld?

Come to think of it, it actually fit quite well. Which of the mercs coming here to pick up gigs wasn't walking the edge of life and death? Drinking in the Afterlife was practically like coming home.

After stepping inside, Oliver and Jack relaxed a bit. Since Blanca only needed to meet with Karl regarding the job, the two friends simply gave Karl a nod and settled down near the bar, looking ready to grab a drink.

Seeing what they were doing, Karl wasn't in any rush to see Blanca; he decided to tag along and watch for a moment.

It wasn't that he was worried they'd overindulge—he trusted Oliver and Jack's limits, as they would at most have a light drink. It was just that Karl had heard the Afterlife had a special drink menu, and he wanted to see what was on it.

Then, he watched as Jack quite familiarly rattled off a string of words to the approaching bartender.

"An Old Fashioned tequila, with a splash of beer and a hint of chili."

So this was the special menu. Wasn't it too spicy?

"Give me the exact same thing."

Oliver seemed intent on drinking whatever Jack was having, and their words made the bartender nod in instant comprehension.

"Two Johnny Silverhands, coming right up."

Johnny Silverhand...

Karl recognized that name. Wasn't he some kind of rock musician and terrorist?

Why on earth was his name the moniker of a drink at the Afterlife?

He didn't quite get it.