The moment Ethan got into Sophia Warren's car, he knew this wasn't gratitude.
Not with the way she gripped the wheel.
Not with the way she avoided his eyes.
And definitely not with the way she'd sent someone to follow him first.
The red Bentley slid forward like a beast wrapped in velvet, smooth and expensive, its engine humming low beneath the silence.
Ethan sat in the passenger seat, one arm resting near the door, his eyes half-lidded as he watched the lights of Seabrook City smear across the glass.
"What do you want from me?" he asked flatly. "A meal?"
Sophia didn't answer at once.
She only pressed the accelerator a little harder, guiding the Bentley through the late-night streets without any clear destination. It was obvious now—she wasn't taking him anywhere. She was building a moving box of privacy, a sealed space where no one could overhear what came next.
That alone put Ethan on guard.
At first, he had assumed this might be related to the incident from two days ago.
After all, that same night, Marcus Warren—Sophia's father, one of Seabrook City's biggest tycoons—had called to thank Ethan for saving his daughter. He had even promised to treat him to dinner sometime soon. But with Seabrook University District still in chaos, that dinner had never happened.
Still, none of that explained the nervous tension in Sophia's face.
And it definitely didn't explain why she'd sent that clumsy, black-bearded man to shadow him.
Something was off.
Ethan was still sorting through the possibilities when Sophia finally spoke.
And the first sentence out of her mouth nearly made him think he was still hallucinating.
"That night…" she said softly, her fingers tightening around the wheel, "didn't you message me and tell me to come to the bar?"
Ethan turned his head.
Sophia's voice dropped, almost reverent.
"Leader. I joined the organization. I'm a Player now too."
For a second, Ethan just stared at her.
The city lights flashed across her face—bright eyes, flushed cheeks, a beauty so polished and elegant that most people would lose their bearings sitting this close to her.
Ethan didn't.
Because right now, he was too busy wondering if she'd lost her mind.
"…What did you just call me?"
Sophia finally looked at him, and the admiration in her eyes was so sincere it made Ethan feel a headache coming on.
"You're the founder of Wildfire," she said. "Of course you're our leader. You're the one guiding us—to protect the good, destroy injustice, and fight back against the rot."
Ethan went still.
Then he understood.
Not fully. Not comfortably. But enough.
Johnny Silverhand.
That lunatic must have used his body at the bar to say a lot more than Ethan remembered.
And apparently, Sophia had swallowed every word like gospel.
Sophia's breathing grew a little quicker as she continued, the more she spoke, the more emotional she became.
"After I got home that night, I kept replaying what you said over and over. At first I was shocked. But then I realized…" Her voice trembled, not with fear, but conviction. "You were right."
Her eyes shone.
"To fight those hypocrites—to fight the system, the capital, the corruption—we can't stay divided. We have to unite. We have to resist. We have to crush them completely."
A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.
"Leader… every member of Wildfire is ready to follow your orders."
Ethan nearly laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was absurd.
He suddenly remembered why he had always found Sophia hard to deal with.
It wasn't her beauty. It wasn't her status. It was that maddening, impossible sincerity.
He had heard stories before—about how she'd once stolen money from her own family just to donate it away. At the time, he'd thought it was insane.
Now, sitting beside her, hearing this starry-eyed revolutionary speech, he could only think one thing:
She really is that kind of person.
The kind who believed too hard.
The kind who mistook fire for light.
The kind who would run into a blaze thinking she was saving the world.
"I'm not your leader," Ethan said coldly. "And don't call me that again."
Sophia blinked, then quickly lowered her voice as if she had just discovered some great hidden truth.
"Right… you want to keep your identity secret."
Ethan closed his eyes for half a second.
No, idiot. I just don't want to be associated with the psycho currently eating my brain.
But Sophia had already leaned closer, speaking in a conspiratorial tone.
"Then what are your orders, Ethan? What should we do next? Should we target the General Affairs Department? What they did that day…" Her expression darkened. "It was horrific."
That finally made Ethan turn and look at her properly.
She was serious.
Dead serious.
This rich girl, wrapped in designer fabric and driving a car worth more than most people's homes, was talking like she was one speech away from joining an underground war.
A dry, disbelieving laugh escaped him.
"The General Affairs Department could crush you with two fingers," he said. "Worry about surviving first."
Sophia opened her mouth to object, but Ethan cut across her before she could speak.
"Have you entered Night City already?"
That changed everything.
Her face lit up instantly.
"Yes." Excitement sparkled in her eyes. "I already created a character. I'm level three now. It cost a bit, but it was worth it."
Of course it was.
For people like Sophia—people with money, access, and zero hesitation about spending—it was obviously easier to move in Night City than it was for people like Ethan, who had to measure every step and every coin.
Cash power.
Simple. Crude. Effective.
Sophia smiled, clearly proud of herself.
"I even bought a gun there. I can show you—"
"Don't."
Ethan's voice came out sharper than intended.
She flinched.
"Don't casually pull anything out of Night City in the real world."
Sophia paused, then nodded.
"…Right."
For a moment, silence settled inside the Bentley.
The city outside kept flowing—lights, storefronts, passing people, traffic signals bleeding red and gold onto the polished hood.
Then Sophia spoke again, quieter this time.
"I still can't believe you're really like this."
Ethan's brow twitched.
She kept driving, but her gaze had gone distant, lost somewhere inside herself.
"When I got your message and saw the address, I didn't understand. A bar near the slums? It didn't make sense. But I went anyway."
Her fingers loosened around the steering wheel, then tightened again.
"And when I heard you speak…"
Her voice softened into something that was dangerously close to awe.
"I felt like I was hearing someone finally say the things I'd always wanted to say."
Ethan said nothing.
Sophia swallowed.
"For years, I've watched families like mine devour everything. Land. Resources. Influence. They act like the city belongs to them." Her jaw tightened. "They smile in public, donate in front of cameras, speak about responsibility… and behind closed doors, they strip ordinary people for parts."
There was real disgust there. Real pain.
And for the first time, Ethan understood that this wasn't childish rebellion. Not entirely.
Sophia had seen enough ugliness to become sick of it.
"I've wanted to fight them for a long time," she said. "My father. The family. The entire machine." She laughed bitterly. "But I never knew how."
Then she looked at him.
"That night, when you spoke, it felt like seeing a torch in the dark."
The sincerity in her expression almost made Ethan uncomfortable.
Because it wasn't meant for him.
It was meant for Johnny Silverhand.
For the ghost in his head.
For the maniac who wanted to set the world on fire and call it justice.
Ethan leaned back into the seat and let out a low, humorless chuckle.
What was he supposed to say?
That she'd fallen in love with a speech given by a dead terrorist hijacking his body?
That the "leader" she admired wasn't him at all, but a digital parasite slowly devouring his mind?
That every passing day brought him one step closer to death—or worse, replacement?
If he told her the truth, what then?
She'd either look at him with pity…
Or horror.
And Ethan couldn't stand either.
Then Sophia said the one thing that finally snapped the last thread of his patience.
"You must be a Player too," she said carefully. "If you need money, I can help. I can find a way to get funds from my family—"
Ethan turned his head.
Fast.
"So you can steal from them again and hand it to me like charity?"
Sophia froze.
The hurt in her face came immediately, naked and obvious.
"That's not what I—"
"Stop the car."
Her lips parted.
"Ethan, I only wanted to—"
"Stop. The car."
He tapped the window impatiently, each knock sharper than the last.
The atmosphere inside the Bentley changed instantly. The warmth vanished. The silence turned brittle.
Sophia bit her lip, then slowly eased on the brakes.
The Bentley pulled to the side of the road.
She looked small then.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Hands gripping the wheel, shoulders tense, eyes lowered like someone scolded for a crime they didn't understand.
Ethan exhaled through his nose.
His anger had cooled a little. Not because she deserved it, but because she was too naive to even understand why she'd crossed the line.
He reached for the door handle, then paused.
"You need to hide your Player identity," he said without looking at her. "Carefully. This isn't just about you anymore. If the wrong people find out, your whole family gets dragged into it."
Sophia nodded quickly.
"…Okay."
She started to unlock the door.
Then everything changed.
A violent instinct screamed through Ethan's nerves.
He moved before thought caught up.
His arm shot out. His body lunged across the center console. In one brutal motion, he slammed Sophia down against the driver's seat and covered her with his own body.
"What—"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The gunshots exploded like thunder.
The windshield shattered.
Glass burst inward in a glittering storm.
Sophia's scream died in her throat as bullets tore through the space above their heads.
The sound was deafening.
Metal shrieked.
Tempered glass rained over Ethan's back and shoulders.
A shard sliced across his forehead, and warm blood immediately ran down the side of his face.
Sophia stared up at him, frozen.
He didn't even blink.
That was the terrifying part.
Not the blood.
Not the shattered glass.
Not the bullets.
It was the look in Ethan's eyes.
Calm.
Cold.
Focused like a predator that had already found the source of danger.
"Don't move," he ordered.
His voice was low and absolute.
Sophia obeyed instantly.
Outside, chaos erupted.
Across the street, the shattered front of a jewelry store spilled broken glass onto the pavement. Masked men in black rushed out carrying heavy bags, weapons in hand, moving with the desperate speed of wolves fleeing a kill.
But Ethan's gaze narrowed on two of them immediately.
Mechanical arms.
Players.
Those two weren't ordinary robbers.
Their cybernetic enhancements made it obvious. They held submachine guns one-handed, firing with reckless confidence, ignoring recoil as if it barely existed.
A police car was already positioned across the road, officers crouched behind it and firing back.
"Drop your weapons!"
"Freeze!"
The command was swallowed by gunfire.
"No one stops us!"
"Anyone in our way dies!"
The bandits opened up with savage force.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—!
The police car's body was instantly chewed apart. Sparks burst from the engine. Smoke and flame began to spit from beneath the hood as the officers scrambled back before the vehicle turned into a bomb.
Sophia's breathing went ragged.
Her face had gone completely pale.
The memory of Seabrook University, of blood and death and the Black-clothed men, had clearly returned in full.
Her hand flew to her chest, reaching instinctively for the mark where she could summon a weapon.
Ethan caught her wrist immediately.
"No."
She looked at him, panicked. "But they—"
"We're not the target." His eyes stayed on the gunfight. "Don't pull anything out of Night City unless you want the General Affairs Department knocking down your door tomorrow."
That shut her up.
The bandits moved fast.
They blasted a path clear, piled into a white sedan, and roared away from the curb.
The acceleration was monstrous.
The car shot forward like it had been kicked by a giant, screaming up the road with impossible force.
Sophia stared. "That's not normal…"
"No," Ethan murmured. "It's modified."
In seconds, the sedan was already reaching terrifying speed.
And then Ethan saw it.
On the roof of a nearby building.
A figure.
Black trench coat.
Still as death.
Ethan's expression changed instantly.
His pupils tightened.
A cold current slid down his spine.
"The General Affairs Department," he said.
Sophia followed his gaze, and the moment she spotted the figure, her breath caught.
Before she could speak, the man moved.
He jumped.
Not climbed down.
Not descended.
Jumped.
Straight off the building.
Sophia's mind went blank.
The height alone should have killed him.
But the Black-clothed man didn't fall like a human.
He dropped like a warhead.
Like a meteor.
Like judgment.
BOOM—!
He crashed onto the hood of the fleeing sedan.
The entire street shook.
Sophia jerked in her seat as if the Bentley itself had been hit.
A thunderous cloud of dust and fragments burst upward. The sedan's front end folded inward with a hideous metallic scream. Then the rear of the vehicle lifted off the ground and the whole car flipped through the air like a toy kicked by a giant.
For a split second, it hung there—
Then slammed down upside down.
The impact was so violent that anyone inside should have died on the spot.
But what shocked Sophia even more was what came next.
The Black-clothed man stepped away from the wreck.
Perfectly steady.
Perfectly unharmed.
Not a limp.
Not a stagger.
Not even a torn sleeve.
Sophia could only stare.
What kind of monster is that?
Beside her, Ethan's face had turned grim.
"This one's stronger than the one I saw before," he said quietly.
He was already calculating.
Already comparing.
Already measuring escape routes, angles, speed, distance.
And the conclusion he reached made his stomach sink.
Against this kind of opponent, a direct fight was suicide.
Unless he struck first—and struck perfectly—his only real chance would be to run.
The Black-clothed man stood beside the ruined sedan like a steel statue. Moments later, a black military jeep rolled in from the far end of the street and stopped beside him.
More Black-clothed men got out.
Subordinates.
Efficient.
Emotionless.
They pried open the twisted doors, dragged the unconscious robbers out by force, and tossed them into the jeep like cargo.
Sophia watched, conflicted.
The robbers had just sprayed bullets through a city street. They deserved to be stopped.
But the Players…
No one knew what happened to captured Players.
And somehow, that uncertainty made everything darker.
Then the giant who had fallen from the sky turned his head.
His gaze swept the street.
Stopped.
On them.
Sophia's heart nearly stopped.
"He saw us…"
Ethan didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Because the Black-clothed man had already started walking toward the Bentley.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like there was nowhere else in the world he needed to be.
The heavy tread of his boots echoed across the road.
One step.
Another.
Another.
Each one sounded louder than the last.
Sophia's fingers tightened so hard around the steering wheel her knuckles turned white.
Ethan's hand moved toward the shattered door, every muscle in his body drawing tight beneath the blood and glass.
The Black-clothed man stopped just outside the ruined windshield.
Then—
He lowered his head and looked directly at Ethan.
And smiled.
"Found you."
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