"Brrr, brrr, brrr…"
A call came in on Roqi's PDA, which he'd left on the side.
Since he was immersed in braindance, he wasn't wearing any earbuds—so he didn't hear it.
Melissa, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. The blue glow in her eyes faded, revealing amber irises beneath. She picked up the PDA, glanced at the caller ID, and smirked.
"…"
She answered the call.
Both ends went silent for a moment.
"Where's Roqi? Who are you? Put him on."
Rogue spoke bluntly and directly.
The moment the call connected, she picked up on the difference in background noise and instantly realized she wasn't speaking to Roqi himself.
But as the queen of Afterlife, Rogue Amendiares wasn't one to be intimidated by anyone.
Coincidentally—or perhaps inevitably—Melissa Rory, senior inspector of MaxTac, wasn't an easy opponent either. Her underworld influence might not compare to Rogue's, but when it came to raw force, hers hit far harder.
Two heavyweights. And from their first exchange, it was clear they'd already sensed the toughness in each other's tone.
"This is the High Tactical Response Division," Melissa replied evenly. "If you've got official business, book an appointment at the front desk."
If Roqi had witnessed this showdown, he'd probably mutter, "Sometimes, a clash doesn't need a reason—just like two tigers can't share a mountain."
Mower, sitting nearby, rolled her eyes and smiled quietly before reaching out to poke Roqi in the lower back with her finger.
No words were needed. A person immersed in a braindance is cut off from sound and vision—only touch can break through that level of sensory isolation.
Roqi had encountered this plenty when raiding Tyger Claw dens: he'd be slicing through with guns and blades, and still find some poor bastard on a couch giggling or moaning through a BD—totally unaware of the slaughter outside.
Lambs to the slaughter, really. At least lambs try to run.
Ironically, knockoff braindance gear—janky visuals, weak sound design—left users more aware of their surroundings.
But Roqi's setup was top-grade, even T-Bug approved. The noise cancellation was superb. If his neural response hadn't been sharp, Melissa might've had to poke him three or four times to snap him out of it.
"Huh? What's going on?"
Roqi blinked, removing the BD helmet. His hands were still stuck inside those armored editing gloves that looked like mini-mecha gauntlets.
He followed Mower's gaze and saw Melissa holding his PDA.
On the screen, one name stood out: Rogue.
Oh fuck. Not good.
Cops and mercs were natural-born enemies. MaxTac and Afterlife were like oil and fire.
He'd grown up on stories of cops chasing crooks. It was hardwired into his subconscious. The instincts kicked in instantly.
Roqi wanted to mediate—to prevent bloodshed.
Melissa glanced his way—and that glance alone stopped him in his tracks.
What happened next, though, caught him off guard.
Melissa said nothing. She simply handed over the PDA with a completely unreadable expression.
Stern? Cold? Annoyed? Indifferent? Amused? Hard to say.
But those eyes… they made Roqi's skin crawl.
She had been watching them train for days. Other than eating, sleeping, and bathroom breaks, it had been nonstop drills with Mower.
T-Bug and Pavarotti had already gotten paid and left.
But Melissa stuck around.
This training chip was a prototype developed in-house by MaxTac. Technically, Roqi and Mower were the very first testers.
So far, no major issues had been observed.
For a draft version with just a shell of its final form, the performance had wildly exceeded expectations—a promising sign.
T-Bug deserved credit too. Her talent as a netrunner and her experience modding chips had opened up new possibilities for both corp-trained and street-smart tech developers.
Just like MaxTac recruited wildcard mercs, their R&D also sometimes tapped into outlaw expertise. The backgrounds didn't matter—what mattered was talent.
With early testing a success, the next phase would be scaling up: picking testers from regular operatives, reserves, and full-time squads.
And from there: optimize, iterate, patch, and improve—step by step toward a complete system.
That was how a training chip reached maturity.
Roqi had thought Mower, given her traumatic history with experimental cyberware, would be deeply averse to using prototypes.
But her mental resilience surprised him.
Her words? "MaxTac ain't the same as those soulless bastards in military biotech."
The "response tuner" they once installed in her wasn't just untested—it didn't even have a serial number. Straight off the soldering bench, wired right into her nervous system.
Its purpose was to harmonize body and cyber components—so you didn't end up with a minivan chassis trying to handle a supercar engine and tearing itself apart.
But one thing clued Roqi in: Mower always asked him to insert or eject the chip for her.
He'd thought it was a cute gesture at first.
Then it clicked—and it broke his heart.
Not everyone can face their trauma head-on.
And even if they can, pain still finds its way in.
"Hey, it's Roqi."
He took the PDA and spoke under Melissa's watchful gaze.
"Sounds like you've got a feisty superior," Rogue teased. "Can you step out? Meet me at Afterlife."
"The Voodoo Boys?"
Roqi raised an eyebrow.
"Exactly. The investigation's basically done. It's time to move."
Rogue remained cool and composed, always the one in control.
With her confirmation, Roqi nodded and looked at Melissa.
Can I go?
His eyes asked the question.
"You're not under orders right now. It's up to you," she replied, standing up and instructing the test staff, "Submit your test parameters. I'll send you the list of candidates later."
The staff nodded and returned to their terminals.
Beyond the one-way glass was the training arena. Occasionally, combat units came here to calibrate their gear.
Right now, it was empty and eerily quiet.
Floodlights beamed from the ceiling. No view of the night sky, but the shadows glowed with that deep blue tint that only belongs to darkness.
This city—and everything in it—often felt unreal. Whether you were rising or falling.
Only people, and the flicker of their humanity in the dark, could guide the lost through the fog.
To Roqi, the endless drills might've been dull, but the human presence made all the difference.
Stepping outside MaxTac's HQ, though, that same old loneliness hit again—an emptiness blowing through the deserted streets, chasing him like a shadow.
Just a few days away, and the city already felt off.
Maybe it wasn't the city.
Maybe it was him.
Day and night—two faces of Night City.
One side: lights, heat, chaotic celebration.
The other: cold silence. But if you sync your soul to it, each district plays its own tune.
Afterlife? A symphony of retro rock, jazz, punk, and electronica.
Still the same as always.
Shops and crowds clustered outside. Mercs and clients came for the usual: booze, food, contracts, and fun.
Down the stairs, the lights dimmed. The true Afterlife emerged, loud and gritty.
At the long hallway beyond Emmerick's guarded door, Afterlife mercs, underground players, and greenhorns hoping for a shot all lingered.
Once inside, loneliness vanished. All that was left was energy—rowdy, rough-edged professionalism. Merc culture in pure form.
No one here gave a damn about manners. You could fake civility all you wanted, but this world had its own code. Nothing like high society.
"We know they're unarmed—completely empty-handed. But we don't know how many are inside that bunker."
"We'll be fine. We've got Sham with us. Right, Sham?"
"Don't tempt fate. Focus on the job."
"Alright, heads up. We're sending in a drone first. Don't wanna land straight into a shitstorm."
"…"
Voices clashed and overlapped, turning Afterlife into a chaotic marketplace. If you listened closely, you could hear all sorts of rumors—some with context, some without.
"You made it."
Rogue sat alone in a booth.
"Yeah. I'm here." Roqi nodded and sat with Mower. "Where's Pangolin? Off on a job?"
"You think I'm the kind of person who dies without a bodyguard?"
Rogue shot back. "Work's work. That's how mercs survive."
Roqi didn't argue.
"This place always this packed?" He looked around. Busy, but not overcrowded. "Even Tyger Claw punks show up. Been here before, but it's still surreal."
"Not many high-end mercs I recognize though."
"You mean that crew over there?" Rogue caught his glance. "Old clients. Dozens of contracts behind them. Trust is earned."
Roqi looked their way. The difference from low-tier mercs was obvious.
A whole other league.
"You and Dexter only pulled one gig, and it shook the entire city. Imagine what people are saying."
Rogue met his eyes.
"Let them try—sneak into Konpeki Plaza, witness Saburo Arasaka get murdered by his own son, and survive the chase," Roqi scoffed.
"No one cares," Rogue said without malice. "It's not about skill. It's about reputation."
"You're right. People don't even believe what they see—let alone hearsay." Roqi poured himself a drink. "Reputation… branding…"
They didn't need to say the obvious:
Roqi killed Dexter himself. Pulled off a monster job for Rogue. Slammed through gangs like a wrecking ball.
Still alive. Still rising. His name getting bigger.
That was the brand.
If he'd flubbed his debut, no one would trust him now.
"You know me—I always do it my way."
Stealth if needed. Guns blazing when it counts. Beat down the enemy and walk out the front door—simple, brutal, effective.
"That's how we used to do things," Rogue smiled.
She didn't mind his style at all.
"So how are things done now?"
"Stiff. Overcalculated. No improvisation." She gestured vaguely. "It's all too rigid."
"Sounds like you miss the old days." Roqi suddenly found himself intrigued by that era.
If he'd been part of it—what kind of legend would he have written?
"If you'd told me back then I'd be a fixer, I'd have laughed in your face," Rogue chuckled.
"There was no me back then. And if there was, it was in another timeline," Roqi mused. "So that's why you want to make me your fixer apprentice?"
"You'll never know your talent until you try."
Rogue said it with full confidence. She was living proof.
Before becoming the queen of fixers, she'd been a legendary merc with the Atlantis crew.
"Enough small talk."
She snapped her fingers. A merc approached and handed her a small box.
"All the info we've got on the Voodoo Boys. It's all in here."
-
-
-
MY GIRLFRIEND'S A CYBERPSYCHO—WHO KNEW?
🤖💘 MY GIRLFRIEND'S A CYBERPSYCHO—WHO KNEW? 💘🤖
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
📢 LOVE MEETS CYBERPSYCHOSIS! 📢
My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew? has 100+ chapters ahead available on Patreon! 💘💥
Romance is already complicated.
Now add:
🌃 Night City🦾 Cyberware🔫 Gunfights💀 Cyberpsychosis💥 Property damage❤️ And a girlfriend who might snap at any moment
Love hurts.
In this case, it might also come with bullets, broken walls, and emergency trauma care.
Don't wait for the madness — read ahead now on Patreon!
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🛑 ALSO AVAILABLE ON PATREON:
🌃 Cyberpunk: Dogtown Legend🔥 Cyberpunk: The Relentless👩👦 Cyberpunk: Lucy Adopted Me and I Got a System🧠 My Cyberpunk 2077 Simulator🛡️ Star Wars: The Rise of Mandalore🌌 Star Wars: Relics of the Past🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort⚡ The Rebirth of Harry Potter🌹 R18: Reincarnated in Her World
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🔗 Patreon: www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus👤 Patreon Name: SrMagnus🐦 X / Twitter: https://x.com/SrMagnusBook
⚠️ More Power Stones = faster updates!
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━