09/09/99, Dogtown, Night City.

The Moth was as chaotic as ever. The dim lights and humming synthwave cut through the fog of cheap booze and sweat. Alena Xenakis stood behind the bar, her gaze scanning the room, her usual Texan faceplate gone for the night. Instead, she wore her own face—a rare treat for herself. Her OptiMask was a top-tier piece of tech, but even the best had limits. So, she gave it a break, letting her real self take a breath.

She didn’t mind the risk. Tonight, she wasn’t hiding behind a persona. Just Alena. The black leather jacket fit her like a second skin, and her silver eyes caught the bar’s faint glow. She wasn’t performing—just existing. For now, that was enough.

Then, he walked in. She recognized him immediately—no flashy clothes or cyberware, just a guy who stood out by not trying to. They’d crossed paths before, enough for her to know two things: one, he could handle himself in a scuffle, and two, he wasn’t bad to look at.

"Hey, you’re back," she said, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "Life treating you alright on the edge of the grid?"

Without needing to ask, Alena set about making his usual—strong, dark, and smooth. She slid the drink across the bar to him, her eyes meeting his. "Here, your favorite."

Her voice carried a slight edge of curiosity. "You’ve been keeping out of trouble, right?" She didn’t expect an answer; it was just a thing to say. But there was something about him—something she couldn’t quite place.

"Anything exciting in your neck of the woods?" she added, casually wiping down the counter. There was something unspoken between them, a familiarity she didn’t often let herself feel.

She tapped the bar lightly, waiting, but not pushing.