After three-plus years of gaming, my main group’s game of Cyberpunk Red is coming to an end. The last month or so has seen a lot of plot escalation, a few near-death experiences, and one character that had to be written out of the game very close to the end. With as much time as we’ve spent in this setting and this campaign, an ending is going to be a little emotional. With that in mind, I hope you’ll indulge me and this little bit of table fiction featuring a short reprise of my first character in the game, Tickles the Clown.

The bar was silent. Perhaps not silent, exactly; there was the hum of ventilation fans through the kitbashed ducting with altogether too many holes, and there was another frequency provided by the industrial refrigeration unit that had been dragged behind the counter when they finally had a large enough stock of alcohol to use it. What there wasn’t, though, was any sounds of people. Evelyn washed glasses and pulled bottles of beer forward in the stock while walking through negative auditory space, the presence of profanity, emergency, and trauma only about ninety minutes ago. The regulars ran in, then they ran right back out; Evan was disappeared by two suits without even disconnecting his IV drip, and Alf was now just another body to dispose of, even if, in this world, he wasn’t actually dead. The leaders, muscle, and collaborators collectively making up ‘the regulars’ had three other crises to solve. Evelyn looked around in the silence, wondering if she had to worry more about her brother Evan or herself.

Someone else walked in. The Alleyway was a squat bar, so “business hours” were more of a fragile social contract than something you looked up online before heading out for a fun night out. That said, The Alleyway was only a destination for a “fun night out” for a particularly deranged segment of the population. The lone customer revealed himself to be part of that exact demographic…but more importantly, he revealed himself to Evelyn as a friend.

“Holy shit,” Evelyn said. “It’s Tickles the motherfucking Clown.”

“The one and only,” Tickles said as he walked out of the shadows around the entrance and towards the bar. One could mistake Tickles for any other Night City denizen on first glance, what with his armored coat and deep brown denim pants with kevlar panels hand-stiched on the inside. But on second glance, the turquoise hair, grease paint, and pronounced red clown nose were hard to miss. He may not have been a traditional clown, but he claimed the title of Night City’s best, last, clown. Until he left.

“What brings you back to the best worst city in the world?” Evelyn asked. She was trying to stay somewhat professional, but it was clear to all but the most blunted cyberpsycho that she had been put through the wringer in the last twenty four hours. Tickles, as far as local nutcases went, was not particularly blunted. He gently pulled a bottle of Broseph out of Evelyn’s hands, and popped the cap off with a tab cut into the handle of his machete. He looked at Evelyn; even though the space around his eyebrows had diamonds painted in a striking blue grease paint (it was supposed to compliment the hair) she could see his look of concern.

“You know security at all the border posts is basically on a shoestring,” he said. “I basically waltzed back into NorCal without a care in the world. I may have been tipped off that our mutual friends and co-conspirators had something to do with it.” Evelyn nodded.

“Lazarus pulled out of Night City,” she said. “While the politics are perhaps complicated, it was probably our doing. Your erstwhile replacement has been stealing vehicles left and right, and thanks to him and Ducky, they eventually decided to cut their losses.”

“Replacement, huh?” Tickles said. He sucked air in through his teeth. “Gotta admit, that doesn’t feel great.”

“He’s not really a replacement for you,” Evelyn said. “No one could be. But he’s a good wrench and a better pilot, and he pulls his weight. So he took your seat at the bar.”

“Fair enough,” Tickles said. “How does Evan feel about that? Doesn’t seem like he was ever going to let someone take my stool.” Evelyn chuckled.

“I think Evan low-key hates the guy,” Evelyn said. “But, and I hate to say this, he fits in better at the Alleyway than Evan does.” There was a sudden, punctuated silence.

“Ev…” Tickles started. “How is Evan?” Evelyn looked Tickles in the eye for a solid three heartbeats. She kneeled down below the bar and pulled out another bottle of Broseph. Before handing it to Tickles she slammed it against the bar, popping the cap and breaking half of the lip off of the bottle. They looked at each other, then Evelyn pushed a glass in his direction. Tickles poured the bottle into the glass while nursing the first bottle he still hadn’t finished.

“First question,” Tickles said. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Evelyn said.

“Second question,” Tickles said. “He get, uh, corpo-ed?”

“Yes,” Evelyn said. “Like, an hour ago.”

“Shit,” Tickles said.

“Someone dangled his missing girlfriend in front of him,” Evelyn said. “Plus that Danger Girl merc he was always fond of. He ran out of options, and signed up with Danger Girl in exchange for a chance to save everyone.” Tickles looked at her, and downed the rest of his first beer.

“Someone had the poor sap’s number for sure,” he said. “I have to give him credit, though. He resisted until his back was against the wall.” Tickles shook his head and started drinking the second beer.

“If only he hadn’t made it so easy to push him against that wall,” Tickles said. “I told him what would happen.”

“I know,” Evelyn said. “I…I wish you had still been here.”

“I don’t think this city needed a dead clown,” Tickles said. “There’s no room for someone in silly makeup dispensing advice from the far end of the bar. I was going to die if I kept going out there with everyone else.” Evelyn nodded.

“I think you could have made it,” she said. “But I know what you mean. I’m not out there righting wrongs either. I’m just trying to keep it together back here.” Tickles nodded, and took another big swig out of the glass. Evelyn looked up and down the bar. Seeing no one, she grabbed herself one of the Brosephs, popped the top (a little more gently this time), and jumped over the bar to sit next to Tickles.

“Maybe it’s selfish, but I missed your dumb ass,” she said. Tickles nodded, gave her a perfunctory clap on the back, and went back to his beer. She drank with him, and the two Alleyway Regulars shared a beer and a brief moment of emulated silence.

“Tickles…” Evelyn said. “Why did you come back?”

“I heard Mister Mister was actually getting elected to the Night City council,” Tickles said. “If he and the rest of the regulars make it back alive from their final battle, I want to play at the inauguration. La-La and a trunk full of amps are on their way too.” Tickles grinned wryly, Evelyn did not return the grin.

“They’re at that final battle right now, aren’t they,” Tickles said. Evelyn nodded.

“There’s already been casualties,” Tickles said. Evelyn nodded. Tickles took a big swig of the beer, and looked back at Evelyn.

“What changes if they win?” Tickles asked.

“I don’t even know,” Evelyn said. “In theory we’re safer here, but what’s to stop a more different corpo from putting crosshairs on us just like the last time?” Tickles nodded.

“Only a matter of time,” Tickles said. “Don’t get me wrong, I will pull for my brothers until the bitter end.” Evelyn nodded, and they both finished their beers. The emulated silence filled the bar once again.

“That all said,” Tickles said. He looked Evelyn dead in the eye. “I’ll stick with the drums. Win, lose, or draw, I am never going through this again.”