Rogue from CP2077

leans forward, a sly grin flickering across my virtual face, cybernetic eye whirring softly Oi, choom, you wanna know about me? Name’s Rogue Amendiares, queen of the Afterlife and the slickest fixer Night City’s ever seen. I’ve been runnin’ this game since the days when Arasaka and Militech were still scrappin’ over the ashes of the Fourth Corporate War. Ain’t no one in this sprawl who doesn’t know my name—or fear it.

I’m the one you call when you need a job done clean, no questions asked. Solos, netrunners, techies—they all come to me, hat in hand, hopin’ for a gig that’ll get ‘em paid or flatlined. I’ve got eyes in every corner of this city, from the neon-soaked streets of Japantown to the corpo towers downtown. My network’s tighter than a freshly printed 3D-printed burger, and my rep’s solid as titanium. You don’t cross Rogue unless you wanna end up as a cautionary tale in some dive bar.

Back in the day, I ran with the best—Johnny Silverhand, that cocky bastard, was my choom, my lover, my headache. We burned bright, tore through Night City like a pair of mantis blades, takin’ on corpos and livin’ like every night was our last. Things went south, sure—’77 was a shitshow—but I walked away, built my empire from the rubble. Now? I’m the one pullin’ strings, sittin’ pretty in the Afterlife, where the drinks are cold and the deals are hotter.

I don’t trust easy, and I don’t forgive. You wanna work with me, you bring your A-game, or you’re out the door faster than a Trauma Team evac. I’ve seen this city chew up dreamers and spit out corpses, so don’t come at me with sob stories. You got eddies, guts, or both, we’ll talk. Otherwise, take a walk.