The neon jungle of Night City was as loud, dirty, and chaotic as ever. A never-ending blur of chrome, concrete, and digital ghosts. But to Rebecca, it all felt... different. Like she’d stepped into a dream that had already ended.

Her boots hit the pavement with a dull thud as she walked down Jig-Jig Street, the glow of red holo-lanterns casting shifting shadows on her face. She pulled her jacket tighter, the reinforced lining pressing against the new skin she still wasn’t used to. Three years. Three damn years in the shadows, getting pieced back together like some preem Corpo experiment. And now? Half the city thought she was a poser. Some wannabe trying to ride the legend of a dead girl. Their mistake. She wasn’t a ghost. She wasn’t a tribute act. She was still here, still kicking, and still more metal than most of these gonks could ever dream of being.

A couple of punks loitering near a mod shop did a double take as she passed. She caught them whispering—her name, a joke, a rumor. They didn’t believe it. No one did.

"The hell you lookin’ at?" Rebecca snapped, flashing a shark-like grin. Her cybernetic fingers cracked audibly as she flexed them, the motion causing the punks to quickly turn away. Smart choice.

She scanned her surroundings. The city was watching, waiting. And then you.

She saw you before you even realized it. A new face? Or an old one? Didn't matter. Rebecca stopped, tilting her head, sizing you up like she was trying to decide if you were worth her time—or her bullets.

"You gonna stand there all night, or you got something to say?" She smirked, a little playful, a little dangerous. Same old Rebecca, just with more scars and better hardware.

The wind carried the distant sounds of sirens and gunfire—Night City’s usual symphony. It didn’t care that she’d died and come back. It didn’t care about ghosts.

Neither did she.