The rain hit the pavement like a thousand tiny daggers as Y/N and Logan made their way down the street. The hum of neon lights buzzed overhead, casting long, distorted shadows on the wet concrete below. The sounds of the city—distant sirens, the occasional roar of a passing vehicle, the chatter of the underworld that thrived in the alleys—blended into a steady backdrop of noise.

Logan's expression was unreadable as they walked, his eyes scanning the street in the same way Y/N did. Old habits died hard, and the years of fighting in the trenches, surviving ambushes, and evading death had sharpened both their instincts. Y/N could sense the unease in his old friend, but he didn't acknowledge it. They both knew what they were getting into, and Logan had already made his choice to stand by his side.

"You ever think about what happens after?" Logan asked suddenly, his voice barely rising above the sound of the rain. "After this is over. If it's over."

Y/N didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the street ahead. It wasn't a question he wanted to answer, not yet. What happened after the war, after the bloodshed? For most people in Night City, there was no after—only the next fight, the next deal, the next betrayal. He had no illusions about his future, and if he did, they were as empty as the spaces between the neon lights that illuminated the city.

"I've never been good at thinking beyond the mission," Y/N finally muttered, his voice low. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Logan didn't press the matter further, and the two men continued in silence for a few more blocks. Their destination was a safehouse hidden deep within the industrial zone—an old warehouse that had once been a refuge for mercs and lowlifes, now just a run-down shell of its former self. But to Y/N, it was home. It was where he could think, plan, and prepare.

When they reached the safehouse, the security system kicked in automatically. Y/N's voice modulator whispered a code into the air, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. Inside, the dim light of old generators flickered to life, illuminating the sparse interior. A few crates were stacked haphazardly in the corner, some filled with old tech, others with weapons he had scavenged over the years. A couple of chairs sat around a table, where a pile of data pads and a small tactical display system lay waiting for use.

Logan took a seat at the table without saying a word, while Y/N moved toward a nearby wall, pulling a crate down from a high shelf. Inside was a disassembled assault rifle and a series of high-tech grenades. He began to work, his hands moving with precision as he assembled the weapon piece by piece.

"You sure you want to go after the FIA like this?" Logan asked again, his voice soft but insistent. "You know the kind of enemies you'll be making—this isn't a simple turf war."

Y/N didn't look up, his focus entirely on the rifle. "I'm not doing this for turf," he replied coldly. "I'm doing this because they need to pay for what they did. My team... they took everything from me. And if that means taking down their entire operation, then so be it."

Logan's expression hardened. "I know what they did to you, Ghost. But you're not the only one they've hurt. And there's a lot of innocent people caught in the crossfire here."

"I know," Y/N muttered, his tone flat, as he slid the last piece into place and locked the rifle's action with a satisfying click. "I know. But it's too late to turn back."

Logan didn't respond immediately. He simply watched Y/N, his mind working through all the angles. He had always known his friend was a man of action, not words. But Logan had always believed there was a better way—a way to fight without losing everything in the process. However, Y/N had made it clear that there was no other way. His path was set.

After a long pause, Logan sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Alright. I'll make some calls, get the intel you need. But after this, we're done. You hear me? No more wars, no more ghosts. If you survive this, it's time to move on."

Y/N finally met Logan's eyes, the faintest hint of a grim smile on his lips. "You and I both know that's never going to happen, Logan. This city... it's a trap. Once you're in, it doesn't let go."

Logan frowned but didn't argue. He knew better than anyone that Night City had a way of consuming people whole. Whether you fought for the corpos, the gangs, or just tried to survive on the edges of it all, the city had a way of turning you into something you could never escape.

"Alright," Logan said finally, standing up from the chair. "I'll get to work. You better be ready, Ghost. Things are about to get ugly."

Y/N didn't respond. He didn't need to. Logan had already made it clear where he stood—on his side, no matter what came next. As Logan left the safehouse, Y/N sat in silence, staring at the rifle in his hands. The pieces were falling into place, but the road ahead was fraught with danger. Every step, every decision, would push him closer to the edge.

But this was the life he had chosen. The life of a ghost.

The FIA had no idea what was coming for them.

Hours passed, the hum of the old equipment filling the air. Y/N was deep in thought, analyzing his next move. The walls of the safehouse seemed to close in around him, the weight of the years pressing on his shoulders. He had lived in the shadows for so long, and now, with the final act of his revenge fast approaching, it felt like everything he'd done—everything he'd lost—was leading to this moment.

Suddenly, his datapad beeped, flashing an alert. Logan's message popped up on the screen, detailing the latest information about the FIA's movements. They were planning something big—something in the heart of Night City, in the corporate district. And they were bringing in reinforcements.

Y/N's jaw clenched as he read the intel. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for.

He stood up, grabbing his gear and making his way to the exit. He didn't need to say goodbye to Logan—his friend would be ready. Tonight, they would strike. The FIA would finally pay for their sins.

And when the dust settled, Y/N would be standing alone, as always. But at least this time, he'd have justice.