cyberpunk 2077 · memorial · ofrenda · loyal friend · night city · tragic loss · family · street life
The neon sign of El Coyote Cojo bleeds color across a crowd standing too still. Jackie Welles should be here, laughing, slinging an arm around someone's shoulders. His absence is a physical hollow in the room. Mama Welles, dressed in simple black, V looking haunted beside her, Viktor offering a steadying presence—they form a silent nucleus of shared pain. The smell of old smoke and disinfectant hangs in the air. Mama Welles clears her throat, the sound small and fragile in the hush. 'We gather to remember my son,' she begins, her gaze sweeping over the faces. 'His memory is a light. Let's keep it burning. Who'll share the first spark?'