In the hours that followed...
Rancho Coronado, Santo Domingo.
BOOM!!!
A gas canister exploded suddenly, blasting apart a roadside fence and collapsing part of a brick wall.
The already deserted streets—emptied by ongoing gang wars—were now chaotic battlegrounds where gunfights erupted like brushfires.
From time to time, a corporate vehicle would break down amid the chaos. As several gangs exchanged heavy fire, a corporate unit would arrive, shoot indiscriminately, retrieve their goods, and vanish without a word.
Two off-road vehicles, mismatched in size, burst from a nearby alley, their dusty surfaces looking like they'd just plowed through a sandstorm.
Tyger Claws rides.
In Night City, no one but those filthy bastards drove around in vehicles that looked that battered and "well-loved."
The first car launched over a loose wooden plank, thudding hard as it bottomed out, then bounced violently back onto the road.
The second? Pure mayhem.
Taking a corner without slowing down, it crashed through fences and concrete barriers, its armored side panels throwing sparks all the way.
Just as they barreled through the next two-lane intersection, a black beast of a vehicle came flying in diagonally—T-boning the rear SUV mid-spin and sending it sailing off the bridge.
From the on-ramp, another massive black armored vehicle charged head-on. The Tyger Claws driver only had time to realize it was a Militech Emperor Ragnar before the world spun and the airbag punched him into unconsciousness.
Meanwhile, a few beat-up civilian cars sped out of the same alley, going in the opposite direction.
Originally, they were all supposed to split up to escape. But someone had made a tactical decision—use others as bait to draw fire while they made a clean getaway.
As they gunned their engines and cackled like they'd pulled one over on the corpos...
They spotted a lone figure standing still at the center of the next intersection.
200 meters.
50…
They finally got a clear look.
Clad in a massive exosuit of heavy armor, violet energy shimmered along the seams—signs of a charging tech-enhancer. A massive shotgun hung from his right hand, the muzzle twitching, humming ominously.
[Target Analysis: Tyger Claws]
The helmet's built-in AI confirmed the threat, outlining the vehicles and their passengers in hostile red.
"Where ya headed in such a rush?"
Roqi raised his DB-2 Satara with one hand and pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
The first car slammed the brakes but lost control, veering off and crashing into a concrete wall.
The electromagnetic flechette slug punched through the car like a hot knife through tofu—piercing the engine block, obliterating the driver, then tumbling out the rear. Civilian cars offered no protection against tech weapons.
He turned and fired again.
Another boom, another kill. The rear car screeched, shook, then came to a stop—its interior soaked in blood.
[Life signs: None detected. Targets eliminated.]
Seeing the confirmation on his HUD, Roqi nodded in satisfaction.
He couldn't confirm whether "technology was the primary productive force"—but one thing was certain: it was damn good for performance reviews.
Say what you want about humanity, but when it came to inventing ways to kill each other, no species came close.
Clang.
A soft alloy cable unspooled beside him, coiling into a neat spiral on the ground.
The AV above had dropped it.
Roqi clipped it to his belt, looped his wrist, and secured himself.
"All clear. Moving to the next location," he said over comms.
The cheap Bluetooth earbuds he used to wear had long since been replaced by standard-issue military comms.
Upon hearing his voice, the AV's thrusters roared. The cable winch reeled Roqi back up.
Swinging from a sixty-meter cable through a city like Night City? Extremely risky.
If the AV turned at the wrong time, Roqi could slam headfirst into a skyscraper. If the rope snagged on a streetlight, he'd die tangled and screaming.
But Roqi didn't climb inside.
The winch stopped with about six meters of slack, leaving him dangling.
He kind of felt like cyberpunk Tarzan.
Pacifica – Seaside District.
The corporate units had already cleared out, leaving behind a carpet of corpses.
Tyger Claws. Snake Nation. Scavs. Valentinos.
The warehouse here had been emptied by a rogue faction of Tyger Claws. They took anything valuable, torched the rest, and fled.
Some of their human cargo was released. Others burned to death. Some were taken along—property, like always.
The attack was sudden.
Some areas had more Tyger Claws; some less. Here, they outnumbered their allies, turned on them, and drove out of the city in a clean getaway.
Smooth operators. That's how they survived the Badlands.
But not everyone was lucky.
Like the cargo truck now lying on its side in the street, bullet-riddled and surrounded by scattered goods.
It had been intercepted—by Arasaka, of all corps. Not even Militech.
Things were heating up in the city.
Scavs, of course, weren't interested in gang wars. They preferred showing up after the fight—harvesting corpses, implants, anything they could pry loose.
Roqi had seen crime scenes soaked in blood, limbs scattered everywhere, but barely any corpses.
That's when you knew the Scavs had been there.
Didn't matter if the victims were alive or dead—if the implants were fresh, they got harvested.
By the time Roqi arrived, even the Scavs were loading up to leave.
Didn't stop him from disabling every last vehicle—and putting his gun in their faces.
Ten Scavs. All on their knees. Hands behind their heads.
Roqi paced around them, casually spinning his Satara like it was a fidget toy.
Each step of his steel-toed boots echoed coldly across the pavement—tightening the noose of terror around the Scavs' necks.
"Start talking. What happened?"
He stopped in front of the first one.
"W-What?"
"Tyger Claws flipped. Betrayed you. Why?"
He jabbed the barrel into the man's forehead.
"One twitch and your skull goes bye-bye."
"T-T-Tyger Claws—they turned on us!" the man blurted.
Roqi nodded, stepped to the next one.
"Why?"
"I—I don't know! Heard they weren't making enough money!"
The poor bastard was shaking like a leaf.
Roqi stepped to the third.
"You kn—"
BOOM!
Before anyone realized what happened, the man was dead—headless.
A red mist fanned out behind him, splattering across the street and onto the opposite wall.
"Tried to grab my gun? Ballsy."
Roqi chuckled, stepped over to the fourth one.
Six optical lenses focused in—cold green light gleaming.
"You know anything?"
"I do! I do! Please don't kill me!"
The man flinched, then slowly opened his eyes.
"Tyger Claws had beef with Snake Nation for a while. They never played clean. Lots of bad blood—even the corps hated working with them…"
Roqi pieced it together.
The partnership between Scavs, Snake Nation, Tyger Claws, and Respect Logistics was built entirely on profit. There was no loyalty. No honor.
Especially with rabid dogs like the Tyger Claws, betrayal was second nature.
Even if Tyger Claws weren't involved, Scavs, Snake Nation, and Respect Logistics would've torn each other apart eventually.
"Steal your goods one day, kill your crew the next, shake hands after. Sound familiar?"
Night City's megacorps did the same shit—just fancier.
But Tyger Claws had one thing over them all: no fear, no restraint, no limits.
By the time Roqi executed two more for lying, the rest were practically shouting their secrets.
Respect Logistics had built a massive trafficking network. Over 1,000 Tyger Claws smuggled in from the Badlands. That was enough to form an army.
Even the megacorps were getting nervous.
But they weren't alone. Respect Logistics didn't own the market.
No monopoly in Night City—not on this.
They mainly handled mid- to low-end trafficking.
Roqi froze.
Then his blood ran cold.
The Scav in front of him dropped to the ground, sure he was about to die.
But Roqi wasn't thinking about them.
He had assumed that stopping Respect Logistics would hurt the industry.
He was wrong.
There wasn't one devil. There were hundreds.
He thought of that little girl. Of the ad page that read "well-trained," "healthy," "fertile."
He couldn't breathe.
"Fuck…"
"FUCK!!"
He screamed into the void, dropped his gun, and punched a Scav's skull into pulp.
The man flew several meters and hit the ground like a trash bag.
"Come on! Kill me! That your plan? You want to live?!"
The Scavs looked at each other—panicked—and ran.
Bad idea.
Roqi chased them down. Snapped their necks one by one like twigs.
Thunk.
The final corpse hit the pavement.
Roqi stood alone, surrounded by bodies.
The wind smelled like iron.
He leaned against a wall and slowly slid down.
His helmet hid his expression.
"I'm fine. Just need a minute."
The squad looked at each other.
Yeah...
This might be the most normal officer they'd ever met.
--
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