Chapter 125: Journey to the Moon (Finale)

"Boss, want me to handle this Neo personally? Smooth things over?"

Placide's deep, gravelly voice filled the room. He stood like a statue before Maman Brigitte, his cybernetic eyes flickering faintly under the dim green glow of the monitors.

He didn't need to explain what "handle" meant. Everyone in the Voodoo Boys knew that when someone "handled" a problem in Pacifica, it rarely walked away breathing.

Brigitte didn't answer immediately. Her focus remained fixed on the glowing threads of code dancing across the holo-screen before her. Streams of encrypted data pulsed in erratic rhythm—something powerful was moving beyond the Blackwall again.

Placide went on, his tone steady but sharp. "The team we sent to Night's Ember didn't return. No comms, no bodies, nothing. Either Neo wiped them out, or they pissed him off and paid for it."

"Could be he didn't like the message. Could be he just wanted to send one back."

Brigitte finally looked away from the code. "And now he's here," she said. "In our home."

"Yeah," Placide nodded. "And from the sound of it, he's not here to beg. Still, he passed a message through the locals instead of storming our gates. That smells like negotiation."

Her cybernetic eyes glinted. "Then go. You can speak for me. See what he wants."

Placide bowed his head slightly. "Understood. What about the Blackwall data?"

Brigitte turned back to her screens. "Leave that to me. It's… restless lately. I have a bad feeling."

Placide grunted. "Then I'll make this quick."

...

St. Sloan Street – The Quiet Scripture Chapel

When Neo, Rebecca, and Jackie Welles arrived, the chapel's doors were already open. A faint smell of incense hung in the air, masking the stench of oil and rust.

Inside, rows of kneeling figures whispered soft prayers under flickering neon light.

Placide was waiting at the altar, arms folded, towering like a steel giant.

"So," he said, his tone a growl. "You're the Night's Ember crew. And you," his gaze settled on Neo, "must be the man himself."

Neo stepped forward, unhurried. "That's right."

"I'm Placide," the man said. "Second to Maman Brigitte. She's occupied. The Blackwall keeps her busy. So she sent me in her stead."

He took a slow step closer. "You came to Pacifica. You want something—speak it. Whatever business you have with the Voodoo Boys, you can tell me."

Neo looked at him for a long moment. Then he smiled.

"You?" he said quietly. "You're not qualified to talk to me."

The words cut through the chapel like a blade through glass.

The murmurs stopped.

All the praying figures suddenly went still—then rose, one by one, faces shifting, eyes flaring with the telltale blue glow of neural syncs.

The prayers were gone.

Only killers remained.

Rebecca cocked her gun with a grin. "Guess we're doing this the fun way, huh?"

Jackie didn't even speak; he simply rolled his shoulders, metal joints cracking like gunfire.

Placide's cybernetic muscles flexed as his voice dropped to a snarl. "You think you can come here and—"

Neo interrupted him with a quiet laugh.

"You really think," he said, "that swapping out a few churchgoers for soldiers makes you my equal?"

He took one step forward, his hand resting on the hilt of Shusui.

"Tell me, Placide—do you know why Adam Smasher ruled Night City for decades?"

Placide sneered. "Because he was a monster."

Neo's smile widened. "No. Because no one worthy enough ever came for him."

The air shifted.

It was subtle at first—a pressure, like the world itself drawing breath.

Then it hit.

An invisible wave crashed through the chapel, thick and suffocating. Candles flickered out. The glass trembled. Every single Voodoo Boy in the room froze mid-motion, their augments sparking wildly as Neo's Conqueror's Haki exploded outward.

Rebecca whistled low. "Oh yeah. It's that mode."

Jackie grinned. "Showtime."

Neo unsheathed his blade.

In the blink of an eye, Shusui sang.

Placide didn't even finish his next breath before his head was gone, spinning through the air like a coin in slow motion before thudding to the blood-soaked floor.

The silence lasted only a second. Then the room erupted.

Rebecca's gunfire shredded the air, tracers carving through flesh and metal alike. Jackie was a force of nature, slamming bodies into walls, his cyberarms tearing through anything that moved.

Within moments, the chapel became a slaughterhouse.

The Voodoo Boys—hackers, infiltrators, ghosts of the Net—were powerless here, trapped in the physical world with a demon who knew no limits.

And when it was over, not a single one was left standing.

Neo wiped his blade clean on Placide's coat, sheathed it, and sighed.

"Johnny," he said, summoning the Relic's projection.

The air shimmered, and Johnny Silverhand appeared beside him, grinning like the devil.

"Yo. You rang?"

Neo tilted his head toward the back of the chapel. "Burn it."

Johnny smirked. "With pleasure."

A flick of digital flame, and the Net itself screamed. Johnny's data form surged outward, slipping through firewalls like a vengeful god. One by one, every connected Voodoo Boy's neural system ignited. The screams came through distant speakers before cutting out entirely.

In minutes, the Voodoo Boys—from their lowliest runner to their hidden servers—were wiped from existence.

Pacifica fell silent.

...

Neo stepped out into the street, the moon high above, pale and cold.

Rebecca stretched, yawning. "So… that's it? They're done?"

"Yeah," Jackie said, lighting a smoke. "Guess so."

Neo looked up at the moon, eyes thoughtful.

"After this," he said, "we're taking a trip to the moon."

Rebecca blinked. "The moon? Like, the actual one?"

He smiled. "Yeah. But first, we've got a stop to make."

"Let me guess," Jackie said. "Arasaka."

"Exactly."

...

What came next was a blur—a speedrun of revolution.

Neo moved through the Arasaka Tower like a blade through fog. Those who served Hanako and Yorinobu fell without ceremony. Those who resisted vanished beneath his sword. By dawn, the tower was silent.

And in the highest suite, two men sat across from one another—Neo and Yorinobu Arasaka—talking long into the night.

When they emerged, they were smiling.

The deal was simple:

Yorinobu would reform Arasaka from the inside out, dismantling its corporate tyranny.

Neo would step back, let the system reset from its core.

For the first time in half a century, Night City had a chance to breathe.

...

Weeks later, the Night's Ember crew stood on the surface of the Moon.

The Earth hung in the sky like a fading scar, glowing over the Sea of Tranquility.

Jackie and David were laughing near the rover, Dorio and Maine arguing over who packed better gear, while Johnny Silverhand's digital form hummed along to some old Samurai riff, echoing across lunar dust.

And a little ways off, Neo stood between Lucy and Rebecca, holding both their hands beneath the alien stars.

The three of them leaned close, whispering things only the void would hear.

"Think Night City misses us yet?" Rebecca asked.

Lucy smiled faintly. "Let it burn without us for once."

Neo laughed quietly, the sound soft and human in the still air.

"Let it," he said. "We've done enough."

...

(End of Book)