People often say that when MaxTac shows up, there will definitely be casualties. Roqi figured, maybe not always casualties—but the place bei
People often say that when MaxTac shows up, there will definitely be casualties.
Roqi figured, maybe not always casualties—but the place being trashed beyond recognition? Guaranteed.
During the few minutes Mower and Oda were clashing in a high-speed chase, there were still some pedestrians on the street. A few daring drivers even took the opportunity to get in their cars and flee the scene.
But the second the MaxTac AV hovered above the street, even the rubberneckers on balconies across the way scrambled back inside—and within seconds, the lights went out too.
That's the kind of reputation MaxTac had. Rightfully earned.
Before even touching down, they swept the street with a Vulcan cannon barrage. Roqi had never seen a law enforcement unit operate like this before.
But when those officers jumped out of the AV, there was no room left for humor.
Full-body cyberware. Heavily armed. Cold-blooded. Existing for one purpose: eliminate all threats.
MaxTac officers had... a distinct personality.
A personality that sometimes blurred the line with cyberpsychosis itself.
RATATATATATAT!!!
One of the MaxTac operatives landed with a twin grip on two M221 Saratoga kinetic SMGs, lighting up the night in a strobing blaze.
Caught in his firing arc, Oda was forced to zigzag under the hail of bullets. Two mags emptied—and at least a dozen fresh holes opened in his armor.
If even someone like Oda—one of Arasaka's elite enforcers—could barely keep up, then damn, these MaxTac freaks were legit. Their fire-control implants and weapon-tracking tech were ruthless.
Honestly, Roqi was a little thrown. He'd only ever seen that infamous MaxTac woman before. Seeing someone else on the team? Felt… weird.
This was Roqi's third encounter with MaxTac.
He was starting to get a feel for their deployment habits: when the chaos was loud enough, violent enough, or insane enough… you could count on a squad of psychos showing up to prove they were even more unhinged.
Not just cyberpsychos. Any high-combat threat to Night City public order? Fair game.
And the scariest part? Even after identifying Oda as an Arasaka asset, these two shiny, chrome-polished monsters didn't hesitate. They pulled out heavy machine guns.
Militech MK.31s. Big boys.
"Target equipped with military-grade cyberware. Escalating threat level."
Roqi had never seen anything like it. Oda—the guy who'd been chasing Mower across Night City and survived a face full of mines—actually hesitated.
The instant those guns lit up, Roqi knew he'd made a mistake sticking around.
These weren't the standard turret or vehicle-mounted versions.
The MK.31 was originally a fixed emplaced heavy weapon, usually firing 7.62mm.
These units? Pumping out full-force 12.7mm rounds. So powerful they could blast your guts out your mouth from recoil alone.
And the MaxTac grunts holding them? Didn't flinch.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!
Engines cut out. Concrete walls turned to dust. Steel vaporized. Oda had to roll and dodge like mad just to avoid being shredded.
Sure, he was Hanako Arasaka's bodyguard—but not even he was built to tank this kind of sustained battlefield firepower.
One shot from these would split a baseline human in two.
Roqi had to admit—he'd been watching for fun. But this wasn't funny anymore.
"Move! Mower, this way!"
Crouching behind a wall, Roqi waved frantically to Mower, his face scrunched up with stress.
Two people throwing down the firepower of a reinforced platoon… MaxTac wasn't just crazy—they were efficiently crazy.
"BOOM!!"
Take the red-eyed, black-plated freak who just sent Oda flying with a single blast.
Oda, using his hyper-agility and unpredictability, closed in.
Thermal mantis blades—perfect for slicing through uncuttable armor.
But just as he raised that burning blade…
The MaxTac agent's chest snapped open with a mechanical clack, revealing a pitch-black cannon the size of a fist.
A mix of ablative shrapnel and incendiary gel sprayed forward in a deadly bloom that covered 30 meters.
"Shit! The future really has arrived!!"
Roqi dragged Mower behind the wall just in time, heart pounding.
That thing was internal!?
A blast like that—loaded with flechettes, anti-armor rounds, and thermite? Anyone without heavy armor wouldn't even leave behind bones.
"TPA…"
Mower muttered, eyes scanning the smoky trail of fire across the pavement.
"What?"
"Tri-propylaluminum. Usually used in incendiary rockets. Can't believe someone would install that inside a person."
The wall behind Oda had turned into melted sludge.
And Oda himself?
Still alive.
Roqi scanned the area. No sign of his creepy silhouette.
"ふふん..."
A chilling laugh echoed from beyond the barrier.
Soaked. Smoldering. A shredded husk of a man stood outside the street railing. Flames still clung to him. Torn fabric hinted that it used to be a suit. His cybernetics sparked and hissed with raw electricity.
It was Oda Sanada. Still not dead.
Water ran down his arms, hissed off his mantis blades—screeching like a boiling kettle, like a ghost screaming in agony.
"Fucking terrifying..."
Roqi took a shaky breath.
"Let's get out of here. While they're still busy fighting."
He glanced at Mower. "You good? Hurt?"
She shook her head. All good.
Time to dip.
No more playing peekaboo with death. It was exit-o'clock.
As for Oda… and wherever the hell Takemura was?
They could tango with MaxTac all they wanted.
No thanks.
Later…
Sunlight filtered through the unopened blinds, bathing Roqi as he yawned awake.
The one-bedroom in Little China cost him over 3,500 eddies a month, furniture included.
In a city where kibble cost 400 eddies a month, this place was luxury for anyone who wasn't corpo-backed.
Night City's cost of living was more ridiculous than San Francisco or LA.
Only mid-tier corp workers with stable gigs could afford something like this.
Roqi, sitting on 800,000 dirty eddies, couldn't buy property—but renting for a few years? No problem.
Compared to the sardine tin megablocks, he loved this bed.
What? You thought those 500-eddie megablock rooms were V-tier luxury?
Roqi, who once lived in a 10-square-meter shoebox, had opinions.
Even V—arguably the most successful merc in the building—could only afford rent that was three times higher than a kennel's. And 1,500 eddies wasn't even enough for a basic apartment.
So when V and Jackie found out how "wastefully" Roqi was spending his money, they were floored.
If they hadn't started pulling gigs from Rogue, V wouldn't even have rent covered next month.
Roqi had offered to split the cash. But every time, he got the same glare:
"We're brothers. Don't insult us."
Jackie, always the grinning teddy bear, would suddenly go full serious whenever that topic came up.
"We got hands. We got legs. Fuck the relic. We'll figure it out."
"Mom always said: do it yourself, and you'll never go hungry."
Direct Jackie quote.
The job kidnapping Hellman had paid well. If Roqi hadn't insisted on paying his share, V and Jackie would've treated him to a full week of drinks.
Different childhoods, different goals.
Roqi was all about stability. Home. Security.
V and Jackie?
"Seize the flower while it blooms."
"Drink today, cry tomorrow."
"Live hard, die free."
But they weren't completely reckless.
Their rising rep—and Rogue's support—was starting to push them toward more strategic thinking. Mostly thanks to Roqi's constant "inspiration."
"Call it advice. Or brainwashing. Whatever works."
V thought Roqi was chill... until he got on his "stability" soapbox. Then he made Jackie's mom sound tame.
"Play it safe. Level slow. Don't get cocky." Something like that.
Jackie might grumble about Roqi being too cautious—but he still followed through.
Even Mrs. Wells doted on Roqi now. Every time she saw him, she lit up like Christmas.
Even Mower once teased:
"You talk like a fucking corpo."
That damn familiarity...
Bored, Roqi swiped away yet another Arasaka mortgage ad on his PDA and chucked it aside.
Time for a brutal deathmatch: him vs. his blanket.
"Arasaka? Not even a dog would sign up."
With a dramatic yell, he flipped across the bed—only to still be lying down.
Mission failed.
"What's Arasaka done now?" asked Mower from her bed, tuning up the hydraulics on her cyberarm.
"Nothing. Just… realizing everything in this world belongs to the corps."
He buried his face in the blanket and tried to banish the images of Takemura and Oda from his brain.
Not an exaggeration—corpos ran the world.
Just look around this apartment.
TV? Corpo-made. Power? Corpo-supplied. Shows? Corpo-produced. Signal? Corpo-controlled.
Food, fashion, housing, transit... even the air you breathe? Corpo-owned.
Even if you didn't see it, the corpo reach was there.
Got alloy limbs? Built by Militech?
Yeah. That's the point.
The scariest part wasn't just the reach—it was that they wanted to price tag everything. From birth to death, humans were value machines.
"It's always been that way," Mower said, pushing her hair back and continuing her tune-up.
"Speaking of which..." Roqi rolled over to sun his ass. "Gotta hand it to those bodyguards. Even MaxTac couldn't take them out."
Night City did have one perk—live newsfeeds that didn't hold back.
Apparently, Arasaka backup had arrived less than five minutes after they left.
Takemura and Oda weren't on Yorinobu's side—but the conservative faction wasn't dead yet. Not if they could get MaxTac to stand down.
The footage wasn't bloody, but the destruction looked like a literal warzone.
Middle East-level wreckage. And it was 2077. That region had been at war for 130 years now. But that's another tangent.
Mower didn't argue.
The fact they survived at all? That was victory.
Roqi only got away with bullying Takemura because the guy's implants had been remotely deactivated—and even then, Roqi was still running for his life.
As for Oda?
A cyberpsycho-tier enforcer juiced with ZetaTech mods and Arasaka software. Not someone you beat in a fair fight.
If not for the Claymore mines Roqi had insisted on planting, last night might've gone a lot worse.
DING DING DING—
Just as Roqi started making that look at Mower again, his PDA buzzed under the blanket.
Curious, Mower glanced over with her Kiroshi optics—zooming in on the caller ID.
[V]
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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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