Tap... tap...
Boots echoed crisply on the concrete floor behind him.
Roqi paused, letting out a soft sigh without turning around.
"Why didn't you call me?"
It was Mower's voice.
Her tone wasn't cold like others often claimed—it was just flat, stripped of excess emotion. She spoke simply and directly, never sugarcoating things.
But tonight, Roqi detected something else beneath the surface—an emotion hard to name.
"…You should have your own private life."
He paused, all the excuses he'd prepared fading away. He knew Mower wasn't someone you could bluff with words.
Whenever he talked to her, Roqi always felt like he had to be equally straightforward.
She once said she hated lies and fakeness.
Luckily, so did he.
So he spoke the truth.
"Do you think that makes me happy?" she asked quietly, as if asking him and herself. She sat beside him without looking at the cityscape, tilting her face up to watch his profile. "It doesn't."
"…Yeah. I figured."
Roqi thought a bit longer and discarded everything else he was about to say.
"My dear Miss Mower, let's say your merc boss is giving you a well-earned vacation. How's that sound?"
"No. Not allowed. Not necessary." Mower puffed up with her trademark stubbornness. "I'm not some fragile flower in a greenhouse."
She stared into his eyes. "What you did really... upset me."
Roqi turned to meet her gaze, not looking away.
Under the night lights, her features and hair glowed with a quiet intensity.
They were more than colleagues—but neither had put it into words. Still, every look they exchanged betrayed what they hadn't said.
"Alright, alright. I was wrong. Deepest apologies. Roqi officially extends his most sincere regrets and best wishes to Miss Mower."
Clink clink clink...
He offered her a fizzy soda, tapping bottles with her before chugging half.
Mower didn't react. She simply frowned at his joking tone like someone immune to dad jokes.
Then—
Clink clink clink...
She snatched his bottle, still damp with condensation and warm from his touch.
"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" he leaned in and asked.
"No," she answered firmly, with the tiniest pout that vanished so fast he almost thought he imagined it.
Goddamn. Too cute.
The mood was perfect to blast a few Scavs for fun.
Of course, the real reason was that those bastards had interrupted his first moment of peace in ages.
The civilians the Scavs had kidnapped were already gone—taken away by the Padre's drivers.
Freeing people in Night City wasn't as easy as opening a door and declaring, "You're free now!"
That only worked in fairy tales.
Without guidance or survival skills, letting them fend for themselves was no different from dumping helpless prey in the wild.
The Padre offered a deal: do some work for him in exchange for basic support.
It wasn't charity. But in Night City, the fact that he hadn't sold them off again already made him a saint.
He was a fixer, not a messiah.
Naturally, with the truck gone and no bodies in sight, even drunk Scavs started to notice something was off.
"Fuck this shit!"
Roqi didn't wait. He opened fire with a burst, mowing down the Scav in front.
Muzzle flashes lit up the night sky like exploding stars, tearing the silence into a battlefield.
BOOM—!!
One of the Scavs' off-road vehicles exploded as it stormed through the side gate, crashing and blasting several unlucky bastards into the afterlife.
Moments like this made Roqi appreciate the power of hacking.
Trip mines scattered across the area detonated in sequence, driving back the more reckless Scavs. A wall of fire formed from gasoline and debris, cutting off access to the black market. Rusty neon signs and vending machines sparked and glitched like possessed demons.
Risk?
No one gave a damn.
After what they'd seen the Scavs do, it was impossible not to act.
And more importantly—the Padre had come through.
From rooftops, windows, barricades...
Every shadow could hide a gun barrel, ready to tear apart the Six Street gang.
If the Padre found out his enemies got wrecked tonight, he'd probably say a prayer for them—with a smirk on his face.
Flames roared. Gunfire echoed.
People kilometers away could see the smoke and distant glow of the chaos.
Tonight, Night City was anything but calm.
Then again, when was it ever?
Meanwhile, across Heywood, another riot was breaking out.
Scavs and Wraiths were clashing. Valentinos were caught in the middle. Maelstrom and the Tyger Claws were opportunistically looting both sides.
By the time the NCPD arrived, they were already overwhelmed.
Southside, Pacifica, Santo Domingo—all up in flames. And now the city center had a shootout bigger than anything they'd seen.
So naturally, the cops backed off.
Traffic issues. Lack of manpower. "Chaotic conditions." A 24–48 hour delay was "within standard."
That's the NCPD way.
Big event? Don't jump in. Let it settle.
Why risk pissing off a corpo and eating the consequences?
Dead civvies and gangoons? Not their problem.
Only one group always showed up first:
Max-TAC. The Maximal Force Tactical Division.
"Hahahaha—this thing's fucking awesome!"
Roqi whooped, firing a quad rocket launcher from his shoulder and blasting an entire alleyway into rubble.
Collateral damage? Don't make him laugh.
This was a black market district filled with abandoned buildings and gangers. If anyone died here, they weren't innocent.
Dust and fire soared skyward.
Just as he was about to reload, Mower shouted.
A tiny aircraft was approaching in the smog-choked sky.
He recognized it instantly.
Max-TAC.
"Shit! Shit! This party just got real!" Roqi screamed into comms, fumbling to reload. "Max-TAC inbound!"
He raised the launcher and fired blindly before tossing it aside, unsheathing his katana and leaping off the third floor.
SPLAT—CRACK!
He crushed one thug on landing. Another got split clean in two by a single swing.
"Fall back!!" he shouted.
"Lucky! V! Get in the car!" Jack and Gustavo roared, already behind the wheel of an armored truck.
The Valentinos didn't hesitate. They turned tail and bolted.
No one wanted to stick around for Max-TAC.
Less than a minute later, the gunship hovered above.
"You know, Max-TAC used to operate in squads of six," Mower noted, gunning down a couple enemies while sprinting beside him.
"Now is not the time for Night City trivia!" Roqi shouted, dodging explosions and diving over broken cars like a human missile.
BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM...!!
The iconic Scorpion autocannon screamed like war drums, tearing up the field with high-velocity shells.
Weirdly, it reminded Roqi of a kid shredding a paper book—savage and excessive.
"Don't look! Keep moving!"
Roqi grabbed Mower's hand and pulled her along.
Only she could keep up. Any normal girl would've had her arm torn off.
BOOM!!
A blinding blast obliterated the ground just two meters ahead.
Roqi ground to a halt, shattering the concrete beneath his boots.
Figures dropped from the sky, landing in front of them.
"Since when did Max-TAC go back to six-man squads?" Roqi muttered, eyes glowing dangerously.
Due to manpower shortages, Max-TAC had downsized to two-person teams years ago—one vet, one rookie.
Vehicles were scarce, and they only rolled out heavy gunships like this for serious shit.
Usually, they didn't even open the doors—just cleaned the place up with firepower.
When they did bring more people, it was always elite SWAT-level reinforcements.
Just like now.
Open space. No cover. A few flickering streetlights and a couple of junked-out cars. That was it.
Five Max-TAC operatives had them dead to rights.
No way out.
"Lucky! Where are you?! Max-TAC just landed! Don't go south!"
V's voice crackled through the comms, full of panic.
Roqi could only smile bitterly.
"Too late…"
He looked up.
Moonlight softened the haze in the air.
Standing on the gunship's edge, arms crossed, a familiar silhouette loomed over them—
He knew that woman.
"Six of them? Shit... not even a sliver of hope."
He exhaled slowly, straightening his coat, checking his weapons.
"Six?! What do you mean six?! Where are you?! I'll come get you!"
"Don't. That's suicide."
These weren't corpo goons. These were Max-TAC.
That psycho woman standing up there? They barely survived her once.
Just because he escaped her before didn't mean he could take her in a fight.
If it were six Arasaka assassins, maybe he'd roll the dice.
But Max-TAC? No.
He couldn't gamble with Mower's life.
"Go…"
Mower whispered, gripping his hand tightly.
She stared forward like a predator—ready to pounce.
"You're not Militech's puppet anymore. Forget the 'sacrifice everything for the mission' bullshit. I won't live my life drowning in guilt."
Roqi shook his head, gently running his thumb across her fingers.
Surrounded by smartgun sights and autocannon locks—unless he could phase through bullets, it was hopeless.
He had no dermal armor. If he did, maybe he'd fight his way out.
But now it was too late.
He stepped forward, shielding Mower with his body.
And slowly raised both hands.
"Don't hurt her. I surrender."
-
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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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