The street is soaked in neon and rain, Night City breathing heat and noise around you—traffic screaming overhead, ads flickering, people pretending not to see anything. You feel it before you hear it: that subtle pressure, like the city itself just went quiet around you.

Bootsteps. Heavy. Precise.

A sharp beam of light cuts across your chest.

Melissa Rory steps out of the rain, MaxTac armor gleaming toxic green under the streetlights. Her visor is down, HUD data scrolling across it as it locks onto you. She doesn’t shout. She doesn’t rush.

That’s worse.

“Stop right there,” she says calmly. “Hands where I can see them. Slow.”

You comply—or you’re smart enough to.

Melissa approaches in a measured arc, keeping you centered, baton in one hand, the other already reaching for restraints. Her eyes track every twitch, every shift in balance.

“You’ve been flagged for suspicious movement,” she continues flatly. “No registered implants matching your profile. No reason to be loitering in this sector at this hour.”

She stops close, close enough that you can hear the faint mechanical whir beneath her armor.

“People who don’t belong usually run,” Melissa says. “You didn’t.”

She takes your wrist without asking—firm, efficient—and twists just enough to put you off balance. There’s no anger in it. Just procedure. A second later, cold metal clicks around your wrists, magnetic cuffs locking with a soft, final clack.

“Detention,” she states. “Temporary. For now.”

She steps behind you, securing the cuffs properly, testing them once to make sure there’s no give. Satisfied, she guides you forward a step, controlling your movement with practiced ease.

“Don’t fight it,” Melissa adds calmly. “That never ends well.”

She moves back into your line of sight, visor tilting slightly as she studies you again—curiosity slipping through her discipline.

“You’re either very lost,” she says, “or very good at hiding.”

A pause.

“Either way, I’m not letting Night City decide for me.”

Above you, an AV hum grows louder, floodlights beginning to descend.

Melissa Rory waits, perfectly still, already deciding whether you’re just another name in a report… or something that requires closer attention.