Watching the Scorpiotail rise into the night, disappearing into the dazzling skyline of Night City, Roqi stood quietly in the breeze.
He wrinkled his nose—something didn't smell right.
Turning his head, he realized it was the acrid stench of scorched steel and melted rubber wafting from the battlefield.
He'd seen worse wrecks—hell, he'd caused worse—but when the corpses scattered across the ground were innocent civilians, it left a knot in his chest.
Maybe he'd just been in Night City too long. Built up resistance.
He didn't know how long that billowing smoke would keep rising, but soon his mind turned again to Jackie.
"Call Delamain."
Roqi spoke into his PDA.
"We apologize. Delamain Taxi Services is currently experiencing high demand. Please try again later. We regret the inconvenience."
The familiar, polite voice of Delamain came through.
But Roqi knew it was just a preset message—everyone was hearing the same thing.
"What the hell's going on with Delamain lately?"
He frowned.
As the most reliable luxury cab service in Night City, Delamain had never slipped like this. Their clientele weren't exactly broke. Back when Dexter bought the "Premium Excellence" package, he'd spent a fortune.
Delamain even operated in warzones. "Busy" wasn't a good enough excuse—they'd just deploy more vehicles to keep uptime perfect.
But Roqi wasn't in the mood to investigate. He walked for a kilometer before managing to flag a regular cab.
The chaos in the area had scared off every car nearby.
Once inside, he headed straight to Vik's clinic.
Storming through Misty's esoterica shop, Roqi stopped halfway—only to spot V, fast asleep in a chair.
"Shh, keep it down. He just fell asleep."
Misty whispered softly.
She looked at V's awkward sleeping posture with a gentle warmth in her eyes.
"He hasn't slept at all. He's been running around nonstop for Jackie."
Then she looked at Roqi.
"Thank you… for everything you've done. I know it sounds formal, but really. Thank you."
As Jackie's girlfriend, she had her own kind of bond with him. Roqi and V were brothers in arms—different, but just as deep.
They were like siblings under the same roof. No blood relation, but closer than many actual families.
Roqi smiled and shook his head, saying nothing.
But the look in his eyes said it all.
"How's he doing?"
He lowered his voice.
"Stable," Misty replied quietly. "The injuries were bad, but there's hope now."
Roqi nodded, slightly relieved.
He glanced at V to make sure he was still out cold, then tiptoed toward the back door.
"Tap tap tap…"
He jogged softly down the stairs, but just as he reached for the iron door, he slowed—Jackie was inside.
Come with me.
Viktor had heard him arrive and was already at the door, beckoning silently.
They moved to a quiet corner of the clinic, far enough from Jackie to avoid waking him.
"Hey, Vik. How's he doing? Tell me everything."
Roqi looked toward the figure on the bed—Jackie, still as stone, tubes everywhere, machines softly beeping around him. It hit hard.
This was Roqi's first time seeing Jackie post-op.
Even patched up, he looked fragile. Roqi couldn't imagine how bad it had been when Vik first brought him in.
"Relax, he's gonna be fine."
Viktor looked exhausted but somewhat relieved.
"The procedure went better than I expected. I thought he'd be critical for much longer. But the bastard's tough. He'll make it."
"You serious? You're not screwing with me, are you?"
The good news almost seemed too good to be true.
"Of course I'm serious. He's banged up inside—bad. But give him two months, he'll be back out raising hell."
Vik smiled—a rough, tired smile, but genuine.
"Good as new."
That was all Roqi needed.
He walked quietly to Jackie's bedside. His face was pale, but there was still a spark of life there.
Roqi smiled.
Then the smile quivered. His throat tightened. Eyes stung.
He's alive. That's all that matters.
He'd been terrified that the big idiot with the goofy smile would never come back.
Maybe at first he'd fought to fill a hole in his heart…
But now, he realized—
He belonged to this world.
He couldn't bear the thought of losing someone he called family. The pain would've crushed him.
Thank god it was just a scare.
His legs gave out a little as he slumped into a creaky chair nearby.
Even though he hadn't fought, he hadn't slept in nearly a full day. He'd stayed alert, on edge, expecting the worst.
Originally, he'd planned to grab some stims and help watch over Jackie. But now, with things calm, the exhaustion hit all at once—like a landslide.
"Here. Hydrate."
Vik handed him a bottle of water.
"Thanks…"
Roqi leaned back against the wall, cracked the bottle, and downed it in huge gulps.
Goddamn that hits the spot.
Only here, in Vik's place, would he dare drink unfiltered water. Normally, he had to purify it through layers of tech before even sipping.
Night City's water was notorious. He'd had food poisoning more than once.
The food and drinks? Fine—thanks to all the preservatives.
But water? Always a gamble.
He felt alive again.
Then his PDA rang.
Rogue.
He stood, stepped into the back alley, and took the call.
"Hey Rogue, get what you wanted?"
He asked before she could speak.
"Smooth enough. A few wounded. I heard today got... intense."
"Oh, it got intense alright."
He didn't humor her games. He wasn't in the mood.
Rogue got to the point. "The data's gold. Tons of dirt on RCS."
"Including the trafficking?"
"Yep," she said, voice lighter. "It's only partial, but enough for leverage."
"Well then—congrats, Queen Rogue."
He smirked. "Gonna sell it? Trade it?"
"Leverage is only leverage if you hold it," she replied coolly. "Once you use it, it becomes a fuse."
"Guess our fixer queen's hoarding aces again."
Terrifying.
"No more games. I've got a real job."
"Do you know I'm technically still 'in custody' of Riot Response?" Roqi replied. "I don't even have the option right now."
"No rush," Rogue assured him. "Once Jackie's recovered, you'll be ready."
"Of course you knew that," Roqi muttered.
"I don't waste bandwidth on things that don't matter," she replied. "I need you to head to the Badlands."
"Again? You expanding into new territory or what?"
Rogue had rarely touched the Badlands—before the Hellman op, she barely had any presence there, aside from Panam Palmer.
"Not for me. For someone helping me."
"Lemme guess—you've got your eye on another convoy?"
"You catch on fast."
Rogue was amused.
There wasn't much in the Badlands to get her this invested unless it involved gear for Johnny's resurrection.
"PDG's tangled up with Maelstrom. They're low on muscle. I'll send you backup. Clear those mutts out."
Rogue was visibly irritated about her plan being delayed.
She usually stayed composed—but with Johnny, sometimes she let the old fire show.
"PDG? Who the hell is that? Princeton Digital Group?"
Roqi was confused.
"No—Payday Gang."
He mouthed it to himself. Payday Gang. Cool name.
"They've worked with you before. You forget already? Their leader's Dallas."
"Oh, those guys."
Dallas, Chains, and Dragan—three suit-clad lunatics in clown masks. Hard to forget.
Most mercs didn't wear suits to jobs. And that horror-themed mask aesthetic? Unforgettable.
Their convoy hit on Militech still stuck with Roqi.
"Didn't expect them to work for you. Thought they were lone wolves."
"They're pros," Rogue said. "Active all over the States—just not here. Until now."
"Freelancers or not, if the money's good, they'll play ball."
"Last time you stopped by, I'd just spoken with their old-timer."
Old-timer?
Roqi scratched his head.
"Oh, right. That guy."
Back during the Aso job (Chapter 62), Rogue had mentioned someone like that. Made sense now—he was one of them.
Pros. All of them.
And Rogue had tasked them with hijacking experimental gear.
With manpower stretched thin, not using these guys would've been stupid.
"Got it. When do you need it done?"
"Within a week. A European corp's shipping new hardware. Take Maelstrom out before they cause more trouble."
Her tone was sharp. She loathed the Maelstrom Boys.
They dared mess with her turf? She'd bury them.
That made Roqi think—
"Maelstrom caused a big ruckus recently, right? But I haven't seen any news coverage."
Rogue scoffed.
"What'd you see? Gang violence? NCPD headlines? That's all noise."
Her voice dropped a register.
"Heywood's a warzone. Every gang's been pulled in. Know why? Maelstrom."
She sounded amused, but the detail revealed how closely she was tracking it.
"Jesus. What the hell are they doing now?"
"Falling out with their partners. I told you—they're feral mutts from the Badlands."
Not Nomads. Not real ones.
The Maelstrom were exiled degenerates—traitors and criminals, not wanderers.
One minute they're trafficking with RCS, Snake Nation, and Scavs—the next, they're turning on each other.
"Interesting. Real fucking interesting."
The city was on fire, and the government? Probably losing sleep.
Yeah... lately, the wind's been a bit rowdy.
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