"..." Roqi lay with his eyes closed, his lashes fluttering faintly. He felt something stir beside him and instinctively rolled over, pull
"..."
Roqi lay with his eyes closed, his lashes fluttering faintly.
He felt something stir beside him and instinctively rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter.
But the hard, cold surface beneath him forced him fully awake.
Last night's sleep had been anything but comfortable—borderline painful, even.
This wasn't home.
Realizing that, Roqi suddenly opened his eyes. Through the doorway streamed soft morning sunlight, and sitting quietly at his side was Mower.
"Huh? A blanket? What time is it? Why is it on me? What did you cover me with?"
He sat up quickly, the blanket slipping from his shoulders.
Then the soreness hit—his neck, his back, his shoulders, his head—all stiff and aching.
Thankfully, the blanket had kept him from getting chilled.
"I woke up before you," Mower said softly. She extended both hands and gently massaged his shoulders. "Panam and the others already left. V said he'd wait for you, but I told him to go ahead."
Roqi checked his PDA—it was a little after ten, well past the time anyone should still be in bed.
He'd crashed hard, knocked out from pure exhaustion. It was messy, but inevitable.
"Mm..."
Now that the Aldecaldos' issue was settled, Roqi let out a long yawn and leaned against Mower's embrace, completely relaxed.
Outside, the haboob had finally passed. The Badlands remained barren as ever, but now they glistened under the sun's rays with a desolate kind of beauty.
Even though they were out of Delamain's service zone, the old AI had still sent a car over—probably because of their "premium perfection" subscription plan.
It had taken a while to arrive, but at least they didn't have to hoof it back on foot.
"Hey, Lucky! I heard from V you guys finished the job?"
Roqi's PDA rang, and he picked up immediately when he saw it was Jackie. On the other end came that trademark booming voice, complete with "hahaha" effects.
"Yeah," Roqi said through a yawn, and Jackie launched right in.
"I was tied up doing something for Padre, really couldn't get away. Otherwise, you know I'd have been there."
He sounded genuinely regretful. "But hey, forget that—got time today? Drinks are on me! Consider it an apology, hehe..."
Roqi raised a brow. "What's this? Working for Padre making you rich?"
"Rich? Yeah, right, mano," Jackie laughed. "Hitting it big overnight? Maybe I used to dream like that, but Dex taught me a lesson."
"Working for Padre, it's not a fortune, but it's decent. Most importantly? It's solid, dependable." Jackie chuckled again. "You and V've only been in Night City half a year, but I've been in Heywood for years. I know who's legit—and Padre? He's the real deal."
Padre was one of Night City's top fixers, and the first one Roqi and V had connected with after arriving—thanks to Jackie.
He'd survived countless shake-ups in the underworld, while others came and went. His reputation just kept growing.
To some, Padre was on par with Wakako Okada in Westbrook.
And his day job? Community priest.
Yeah. Seriously.
He'd once told Roqi, half in jest, that he'd watched Jackie grow up. Jackie's mom, Mama Wells, was also an old acquaintance.
So who was dangerous in Heywood?
Mama Wells, who ran the Coyote Cojo bar, definitely made the list.
But even more dangerous?
Padre—sitting inside her bar.
At first, Roqi had thought the guy was just some fence dealing in stolen goods. Later, he realized Padre was basically Heywood's own walking "Doomsday Device."
Roqi learned the concept of a "fixer" from Padre.
Despite his gentlemanly appearance, Jackie once whispered to Roqi that Padre's body was covered in ink—not flashy stuff, but old-school gang tattoos. Every mark commemorated a rival killed or a crew wiped out. His body was like a living death register for the city's underworld.
It reminded Roqi of someone else.
Viktor Vector.
Old Vik wasn't just some tech nerd Biotechnica tried to poach—he was a legend.
V had once found an award certificate in Vik's basement:
Awarded to: Viktor Vector, 2nd Place – Heavyweight Class 4th Watson Boxing Open Tournament April 3rd, 2061 Host: Harriet Bonar Chairman: Kincaid Roberts, NCBA
Vik had fought his way to the finals without a single cybermod.
By 2061, even street kids had implants. For someone to go in unaugmented and still come that far? That was old-school toughness.
Night City was full of these monsters.
Sometimes Roqi wondered why that thought always snuck up on him—but reality constantly backed it up.
"All right, see you later," Roqi agreed to Jackie's invite. "Let's be real, the relic's a bust. But hey, looking at where we are now—we made it, more or less."
"¡Así es!"
Jackie agreed enthusiastically. "Padre, Wakako, then Regina, El Capitan, and now even Rogue—man, we're tight with nearly every major fixer in Night City."
From Watson to Heywood, Westbrook to Rancho Coronado—aside from that hot mess that was Pacifica—every notable fixer knew about their crew.
Especially Rogue. That long-term collab was enough to make any merc envious.
"Speaking of Rogue—what's going on with her? She's top-tier, man. She could throw you scraps and it'd still be a feast."
Jackie had been tied up with Padre lately and hadn't caught up with Roqi in a while.
"What do you think?"
Just the thought of that old woman made Roqi roll his eyes. "I do jobs for her, and she still treats me like a kid. But she gives solid gigs, even helped me build a brand or whatever."
"¡Chingón!"
Jackie was so pumped he nearly crashed his bike.
"You know what that means!? You've made it, bro!"
Roqi rubbed his temple, overwhelmed by Jackie's excitement. "It's not that dramatic. Basically, Rogue's taking me under her wing. Used to be small-time hustle—now we're legit."
It wasn't humblebragging. Just facts.
Before they had scale, merc work was blade-to-the-throat desperation. Survival barely paid the bills.
Just look at the tenants in the megablocks—no income, no chance.
Even V, who was good with money, barely scraped by each month. Rent, food, essentials—gone. Want to upgrade implants? Better start saving.
In emergencies, only Old Vik could help—and even then, V still owed him 21,000 eddies.
They'd hoped to score big off the Relic job—maybe retire. Instead, they almost died. If not for Rogue giving them gigs, they wouldn't even have rent.
Even Jackie, whose mom ran a bar, still lived in a tiny converted garage.
Just three guys scraping by with their gear, hoping merc work would keep them afloat.
Fall off? You'd be living like a rat in some condemned ruin.
"Well, now you're tight with Rogue, I've got Padre, just waiting on V."
Jackie parked his bike and found a quiet spot. "Looks like we've finally got a future... just don't think we're retiring anytime soon."
"V? He's tight with the Aldecaldos now," Roqi said. "He and I were both in this line of work already—it's familiar. And hey, can't let him be all alone. But listen—you better keep your mouth shut around him."
"Oh? What's up? Lemme guess... Panam?"
"Good instincts, mano."
Roqi had been trying to be coy, but Jackie nailed it.
"Panam Palmer, you've met her. Aldecaldo. She's in Night City now."
"No shit—that's what this was about?"
Jackie remembered V calling about it earlier. "Helping a girl? That ain't shameful!"
"V called me too. Said it all went well. Guess I better find a good spot tonight—we gotta celebrate."
"Yeah, sounds good."
Roqi smiled softly, completely on board with the plan.
He was beat. He needed a good meal, good drinks, some banter, and then a warm bed with Mower to crash in—couldn't get better than that.
In Night City, anyone could have a top-tier experience.
As long as you figured out how to pay for it.
"Hey, Jackie..."
Roqi's tone dipped slightly.
"Have you ever thought about... retiring?"
Huh? What kind of question was that?
"Retiring?" Jackie paused. "For real?"
"Yeah. For real."
Roqi leaned back into the soft car seat, staring out at the scenery flashing past the window.
In Night City, "retirement" was as rare as dying of old age.
"You really wanna quit now, after everything we've built?" Jackie was confused. "Lucky, did something happen? You can tell me, bro—I got your back."
"Heh. Thanks, Jackie."
Roqi chuckled wryly.
It wasn't himself he was worried about.
"No, nothing's wrong. I just wanna hear what you think—about retirement."
"You serious?"
Jackie rubbed his head. "You're making me feel like a grandpa."
He glanced out at the water rushing beneath a bridge. "Honestly, I once thought relic would be our one-way ticket out. We'd go out in a blaze of glory, retire, live free."
"But you know how it goes—life's never that simple." He sounded surprisingly chill. "Still, look at us now—work coming in nonstop. We've never been this loaded."
"That's true. Feels like we finally get to pick our gigs."
Roqi thought back to their early days.
Three nobodies, chasing dreams in the city of dreams. Bittersweet nostalgia.
But hey—Night City was still Night City. There was always a next job.
"Money coming in, time to enjoy it—that's what we wanted, right?"
Jackie's voice echoed as Roqi's vision blurred.
The world had veered off-course long ago, and it left him feeling uneasy.
Honestly, he wasn't scared for himself. But Konpeki Plaza still haunted his dreams.
Today it was Konpeki. Tomorrow? Who knew.
But danger would never make them stop.
Because risk came hand-in-hand with opportunity.
Unlike those lost souls stuck in the slums, they still had a shot at the future—even if it meant gambling with their lives.
As for grand dreams? Sure, they wanted to be legends. Make it big, ride off into the sunset.
But small wishes?
Jackie wanted a motorcycle shop next to Misty's. V dreamed of being a free-spirited nomad.
And Roqi? He just wanted to be a happy little couch potato.
Preferably a pervy one. Double the joy.
Dreams, wishes—didn't really matter to him.
Nice to have. Not essential.
"Talking retirement at twenty? Bit early," Roqi said, stroking his chin. "Even Wakako's a 90s relic and she hasn't quit."
Of course, that was just the surface.
What really kept him going?
Simple.
He was broke.
And honestly... cuddling with his girl at home sounded way more fun.
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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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