"Drunken, unaware of sky in the water— A boat of dreams presses down the Milky Way."
Roqi had a dream—poetic, surreal, and a little absurd.
Bathed in the moonlight, tipsy and dazed, he lay in a gently swaying little boat drifting through a sea of stars, moonlight, and flowers. Faintly, he heard music—a haunting melody from a distant guitar, melancholic and lingering, like a yearning echo through the ages.
Ripples spread across the lake's glassy surface as light rain began to fall.
Between countless petals and leaves, he found the source of the music—a classic, elegant pavilion.
But just as he was about to approach and take a closer look, the music stopped abruptly. His heart skipped a beat.
There was no delicate, wistful girl inside. Just Johnny Silverhand, clutching an electric guitar.
"Oh hell no!!!"
Roqi shot up in bed, every hair on his body standing on end, nearly going into cardiac arrest.
No elegant pavilion—just the hotel room from last night.
Mower startled, looked at him with concern, and gently patted his back.
"You okay!?"
Still shaken, Roqi sat back on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair.
Mower, hair still damp, shook her head and handed him a sleek, high-end PDA—a Dōgetsu Electronics model. Way out of his price range.
"Rogue sent it. Regina says she needs you."
She quietly sat next to him and passed over the breakfast tray from the nightstand.
Roqi turned on the PDA. Missed calls, unread messages.
Everything from the old device had been transferred. Just needed to get used to the new OS.
Two missed calls and one message from Regina:
URGENT CONTRACT From: Regina Jones To: Lucky Have you seen this? Contact me ASAP. Urgent.
Timestamp: 2:00 AM. It was nearly lunchtime now. He'd slept like the dead.
He licked his lips. Mower held a container of rice porridge. The smell made his stomach growl.
Compared to junk food, rice was still his comfort meal. Some habits didn't change. And Mower had remembered.
She sat quietly, playing with her hair. Sunlight fell on her back, casting two shadows onto the floor.
Water ran in the sink. Toothbrush scraping. Splash of a rinsed face.
"Hey, Regina, it's Lucky."
He smacked his cheeks and put the call on speaker.
"Yeah, yeah. You don't need to intro yourself every time," Regina replied flatly. Then her tone shifted.
"No idea how you linked up with Rogue, but congrats. I've got a job. Technically, someone else is looking for someone to do the job. You free?"
"Always. Who turns down a Jones contract? Hit me."
"Ever heard of 'Old Captain'?"
"Old Captain? Miles?"
"God. Your name-face-memory issues… Miles is the NUSA president. Old Captain's name is Muammar Reyes."
"Close enough. Muam, Miles, Res..."
"Okay, bad joke time is over. I sent you his contact. Don't delay. He's solid."
"Thanks. I'll pay you back soon."
He tapped the contact and dialed.
"Yeah? What do you want?"
A gruff voice. Definitely someone with clout.
"Lucky here. Regina said you had a gig."
"Right. That's me. Heard about you. Took down Dexter, huh? Regina sent a real one."
"You already know me? Great. Let's skip intros."
"Perfect. I like confidence."
"I run Rancho Coronado. Here's the deal: Militech's moving a high-value shipment. Big security. Even special forces. We need pros. Insiders."
"They're offering 20% of the cargo's value. Probably worth a fortune. Details, you negotiate with them."
The call ended.
Mower had heard it all. Roqi toyed with her fingers.
"It's Militech. You sure you—"
She gave him a sharp look. Message received.
"Yeah. Fair."
She let him ruffle her hair. Then she picked up the PDA and dialed the client's number. She held it out to him.
Her eyes said: Get moving.
"..."
The line connected. Silence. Just faint ambient noise.
"Old Captain sent me."
"Brandon Street. Foodscape."
Click.
Weird guy.
But not unusual for Night City.
He looked it up: a diner on Brandon Street in Rancho Coronado. Surrounded by warehouses and overpasses.
"Let's go. Time to meet our guy."
Roqi stood, rubbing his hands together.
But Mower stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
"Still hungry?"
No answer.
"Didn't sleep well?"
A slight furrow of her brow.
"Don't want the job?"
She pouted.
"Ah. Got it."
He sighed, gazing at the ceiling.
He sat next to her, fingers running through her hair. It smelled like flowers.
"Your heart rate just spiked," she whispered.
His hand froze.
Smooch.
He got up, adjusted the katana on his waist.
She followed, smiling softly.
...
"Thank you for choosing Delamain. With Delamain, leave your worries at the curb."
Roqi slammed the cab door. They entered FOODSCAPE.
Nice name. Basic diner. Not fancy, but not a dive.
Midday sun warmed the sidewalk beyond the overpass.
"Two teas. Light ice. One fruit salad."
Still full, Roqi picked something light.
They sat by the window. Silent.
Roqi with a katana and Ajax slung on his back—a walking red flag. But in Night City? Totally normal.
A couple of gangers chatted at the bar. A middle-aged woman sat quietly. Office workers behind. A tired man in a suit gnawed on pizza.
Everything seemed… calm. Too calm.
Roqi took a sip of tea.
Buzz.
From: D To: Lucky You're here.
Short. Cryptic.
Roqi hid his expression behind his drink and scanned the room.
Nothing.
Where are you?
Nearby.
Then Mower nudged his foot under the table.
A glance to the left.
The suit guy.
Still munching pizza.
She must've spotted something he hadn't.
He trusted her.
Stop eating. Let's talk.
The man paused. Wiped his hands. Picked up his PDA.
Good eye. Let's get to the point.
Yeah, right.
Just the two of you? I told the Old Captain I needed pros.
Since when is numbers the measure of skill?
Fair. Let's see what you've got.
In two days, Militech moves a shipment through Rancho Coronado. Heavy escort. We hit mid-route. Need real firepower.
Standard 80/20 split. You pick cash or loot.
Yes? Or we walk.
They'd done their homework.
Still, something felt off. These weren't mercs. More like professional thieves.
I'm in. But payment goes through Old Captain. Fixer rules.
Middleman? Fine. Get it done, we'll talk.
The man smiled. Thin mustache. Raised brows.
Didn't make him look friendly.
.
.
.
🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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