Two days later.
Jack finally woke up from his injury-induced coma. Fortunately, everything turned out fine. His vital signs were stable, and aside from a long recovery, he'd soon be back to his energetic self.
The Priest had promised both him and V that this kind of thing wouldn't happen again.
So, Roqi finally allowed himself to return to MaxTac, though somewhat reluctantly.
But the moment he stepped through the door, he could feel that the atmosphere had changed.
As Night City's highest-level official anti-terrorist force, MaxTac was always busy—this wasn't the kind of city where you built "civilized society hand-in-hand" with friendly slogans.
Yet today, they seemed busier than ever.
Clerks and logistics officers rushed back and forth. He saw barely any full-time operatives. Even the airfield was nearly empty; older-model light armored gunships had been pulled out of storage and reactivated.
Melissa had told him to report back to HQ, but the holographic display at the entrance—which showed all current operatives' statuses—listed her as "On Assignment," with a red priority and "unknown" danger level.
This info was accessible to all operatives. For deeper mission details, you'd need administrative clearance.
Even Master Yi, the usually laid-back Inspector-in-Chief, wasn't at headquarters.
Roqi eventually found Mower's name at the bottom of the list. Still a probationary operative like him, she was listed under the same team as Melissa.
Whatever it was they were doing—it was dangerous. But knowing Melissa, Roqi felt at least somewhat reassured.
"You're the new guy… Lucky, right?"
As he wandered aimlessly through the hallway, Roqi bumped into someone who apparently knew him.
He didn't recognize her, but judging by her uniform, she was probably an administrative officer.
"Yeah, that's me," Roqi replied instinctively. "Inspector Melissa Rory told me to report in. I just got back from my leave."
It sounded awkward, even to him.
He'd only been at MaxTac a couple days before taking time off—granted, it was approved, but considering how swamped everyone seemed, he couldn't help feeling guilty.
This wasn't some exploitative corpo; it was a law enforcement unit meant to protect Night City from violent crime. That alone was enough to stir a surprising sense of responsibility in him.
Was this what it felt like to be roped onto a pirate ship?
He caught himself drifting. Wait—what's the salary during the probation period?
Another irrelevant thought.
"Alright, follow me. I'll get you processed."
The woman turned sharply and strode ahead without looking back, not caring whether Roqi kept up or not.
Everyone in MaxTac—field agents or support staff—had this kind of no-nonsense, military edge to them. A stark contrast to the sluggish inefficiency of corporate offices.
"You're officially a full-time operative now. Go to the logistics warehouse to get your gear."
After some fast clicking on her chip reader, she handed Roqi the activation chip that marked him as a full member of MaxTac.
"Full-time… operative?"
Roqi was stunned.
Sure, it was always just a matter of time, but he hadn't expected it so soon. Usually, you'd have to finish basic training first, right?
And what about regulations, laws, protocols…?
But then again, MaxTac had long tossed out the NCPD's bureaucratic red tape.
"This is per Inspector Rory's orders. Any issues—ask her directly."
The admin, who had a sharp yet attractive look enhanced by her uniform, now wore an expression that screamed, say one more word and I'll put a bullet in you.
"Melissa? Why…?"
"I said—ask her."
Apparently, casually dropping Rory's first name surprised her a bit. Maybe it wasn't taboo, but most people in MaxTac instinctively spoke about her with reverence.
"Now—Hangar 12. Grab your gear and get moving."
And what she said next almost knocked Roqi flat.
"Deploy? Deploy where?"
He hadn't adjusted to this whirlwind pace yet.
"Heywood. Where else?" she barked. "It's a shitstorm down there. I suggest you hurry."
"Oh—got it!"
The moment he realized how urgent things were, Roqi bolted, grabbed his gear from logistics, and sprinted to Hangar 12.
Hangar 12 was on the edge of the facility, less used than the others.
Why? Because hangars are like runways—you don't need one per vehicle. They're shared.
Waiting there was an old, battered gunship—its age obvious even at a glance.
[Militech Griffin 2L Light VTOL Armored Vehicle]
After basic repairs, the scorched alloy plating had been smoothed over. Still operational, but long since mothballed by MaxTac.
Now, with every asset stretched thin, the old bird had been pulled from the mothballs and prepped for flight.
Two ground crew were working on her—loading rockets, feeding ammo belts, charging the main core.
This was a ship with a proud service record. Once again, she would fly—and strike terror into Night City's underworld.
Roqi paused, then realized something.
There was no full-time operative on site.
Was he early?
He looked around.
The pad was empty. A gunship approached from above—one that had just burned through its ammo and returned to resupply.
In less than three minutes, with the help of maintenance bots, it was ready for deployment again.
Still—no sign of any official squad leader.
Roqi, who had planned to gear up in transit, now found himself fully armored.
His helmet—a semi-open model—gave him retinal HUD functions even without implants. Integrated targeting, scanning, warning systems… everything a MaxTac operator needed. He looked like a cyber samurai, ready for war.
His heavy armor covered torso, arms, and joints. It came with an adaptive tech weapon charge module, increasing charge rates and providing skeletal support without sacrificing mobility.
Same with the greaves and combat boots.
Walking around in it, Roqi felt like he'd gained 20 kilos. But for someone with his strength, it was just a warm-up. Like wearing a second skin.
"Good thing I asked for heavy gear. Perfect fit," he muttered, bouncing in place.
His weapon of choice: the Rostovič DB-2 Satara.
A strange-looking shotgun firing steel flechettes instead of pellets.
Critics called it heavy and clunky. Supporters said, who cares—this baby could punch through walls like butter.
And MaxTac were definitely supporters.
Even heavily-cybered cyberpsychos had to respect the Satara.
The armory quartermaster—a slightly loony old vet—had enthusiastically recommended this "big, hard, unbreakable beast" to him, sneering at even high-end tech rifles like the Ajax.
Roqi still remembered the awe he felt watching MaxTac operatives through a car window, years ago, wielding these weapons like gods.
Now he could choose his loadout freely. Damn right he'd go for the dream gun.
"Sir."
One of the reserves already inside the gunship saluted him hesitantly.
"When are we deploying?"
Huh?
Deploying?
Roqi froze.
Putting aside the weird fact that he, of all people, was being saluted by more senior reserves…
Shouldn't the actual squad leader be giving orders?
"Maybe I should ask…"
He called HQ. That same admin picked up.
"Hi, I'm in Hangar 12. Our team's full-timer hasn't shown yet. Any idea how long—?"
He didn't expect her to sound half-annoyed, half-amused.
"Inspector Rory didn't tell you? You're leading this mission. She left a note. Time's tight. This op doubles as your field assessment."
What the hell?!
Roqi's face twisted into the universal expression of someone who just read something cursed on a public subway.
This was MaxTac, for crying out loud! Could they at least pretend to be official?
Then again…
Knowing Melissa's style—result over process, big picture over nitpicking, straight to the point—it made sense. That was MaxTac's entire vibe.
Chaotic, no-BS, strangely motivating.
"You've got 3 reserves and 2 regulars. Six-man team. Here's the coordinates—blow up the fire support point."
"That's it?"
"Of course not. You're new, right? …Wait, you are new. If all goes well, you might have time to rearm and refuel."
"And if things go bad?"
"Use bullets. The Griffin's old. Can't carry much ammo. Don't waste the big guns on weaklings."
Roqi remembered well—back in Watson, he saw MaxTac operatives take down Tiger Claws without firing the gunship's turrets.
They'd landed slowly and executed the gangsters one by one.
Ammo and fuel were expensive. Gear and lives mattered more.
When manpower's low: high-priority targets get two full-timers, low-priority gets one plus reserves.
When ships are limited: high-priority teams get 3–6 full-timers; low-priority gets 2+ full-timers and 12+ total crew.
When both are short… you get this—scraping together vehicles and people however you can.
Looking at the holographic mission screen, Roqi muttered internally:
Even MaxTac's down to sending rookies out in old gunships. What a time to be alive.
If one ship carries too many elites, it's overkill. Wasteful.
But when half the city needs help—MaxTac's gotta spread its resources thin.
"Sir…?"
The reserve whispered, snapping Roqi out of his thoughts.
"Deploying now!"
He straightened up, snapped into command mode.
These past few days, Night City had gone to hell in a handbasket.
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