Life is a rhythm—it needs light and shadow, left and right, sunshine and rain. Its flavor lies in the gentle twists and turns of change.
Night City is a cacophony, a place where everyone drowns in dreams—be they self-made or sold by others. In a place like this, staying sane and untouched is a challenge.
After a long day, zoning out alone under the starry sky can help settle the mind and reflect inward.
But that trick doesn't work in the Dream-Chasing City.
Even the night here is chasing dreams.
The city's nights are louder than its days.
To truly find yourself, you have to carve out a mental space amidst the chaos.
Roqi's method was simple—just look at Mower's profile. One glance, and the whole city—the towers, the traffic, the crowds—faded into cinematic background noise. In that moment, only she existed.
In times of turmoil, the noise comes from superstition; for fools, comfort is found in lies.
But Roqi didn't buy into illusions. He refused to be a self-deceiving idiot.
He gently took Mower's hand.
The warmth and texture were real—a bond only they shared.
Looking back, Roqi couldn't help but find life surreal.
In his past life, he'd never have imagined a single thing that had happened to him here. And now, in this swirling, unpredictable metropolis, the winds of change were howling.
But none of that mattered right now.
Right now, he just wanted to visit Jackie.
When he arrived, Jackie looked pale, but he was already back to his usual self—lying in bed, watching a holographic boxing match mid-air, tossing jokes and commentary at Vik.
These two weren't just couch critics.
Vik was a certified boxing legend in his younger days, his basement shelves lined with trophies. And Jackie's punches? Vik once said they hit like cannonballs. Behind the Afterlife bar, Jackie even had a garage with weights and bikes he tinkered with to stay ripped.
Seeing him lying in bed now, weak as hell, hit Roqi right in the gut.
"Don't give me that face, mano. I'm still alive and kickin', aren't I?" Jackie grinned, pushing out a raspy laugh. "I ain't going anywhere! Look at me—I'm built like a tank!"
"Haha… ha… hah…"
Roqi just stared, his lips a tight line. Jackie's grin slowly faded into a sheepish chuckle.
"Come on, man. This was just a freak accident. A tiny mishap," he said with a goofy grin. "Next time, I swear I'll be more careful."
"You better."
Roqi rolled his eyes, but the knot in his chest loosened.
He knew the truth. Merc life—or just being in the game—meant one thing: death walks with you.
It doesn't hit hard when you're the one risking your own neck. But when it's someone you care about? That's when fear, regret, and helplessness eat you alive.
They needed to move from muscle to mind.
Be more than grunts—be the ones calling shots.
Like Rogue, who once blew up Arasaka Tower with her squad. Or Padre, whose name alone made enemies shit themselves.
Only a rare few mercs truly make it—become legends, get courted by corps, or rise as kings of the underworld.
But that was still far off.
So they had to keep grinding.
"Hey, Lucky—I heard the news! You're a total psycho, cabrón!"
Jackie's voice snapped Roqi out of his thoughts—his face a mix of disbelief and pride.
"You joined MAX-TAC?! After they wiped out those Respect Logistics bastards?"
Jackie's voice hit a new decibel.
"We thought they hauled you off! Scared the hell out of me, dios mío!"
Seeing him all animated like that, Roqi couldn't help but smile.
"Yeah, they did haul me off. But it worked out," Roqi said, seeing the curiosity in both Jackie and Vik's eyes. "I'm in MAX-TAC now."
"For real?! Damn, man—that's next level!"
Even in his weakened state, hearing it from Roqi himself blew Jackie's mind.
MAX-TAC—mysterious, feared, and godlike in firepower. Most mercs dreamed of touching their gear, let alone joining their ranks.
Jackie, Roqi, and V had once sat in a car watching a MAX-TAC squad drop from the sky, drooling over their gear.
And now?
Jackie could brag that one of his ride-or-die bros was in MAX-TAC.
He broke into a fit of silly giggles on the hospital bed.
"Lucky, tell me—are they all nutjobs? Any of 'em try to 'examine' you?"
His childish curiosity didn't match his age. Jackie was like a grown-up kid who refused to grow up.
Mrs. Wells had been there many times already, nearly threatening to drag Jackie out of the merc life.
Roqi and V had seen it.
Not a loud drama queen—more like crossed arms, resting bitch face, "don't test me" kind of authority.
Still, the moment Jackie woke up, she melted into nothing but concern.
Underneath all that fire, she was just a mother who loved her son.
Jackie was weak to that.
When V filled Roqi in, he nearly died laughing. Loud, cruel, merciless laughter. Jackie's face had turned green.
Seeing the trio joking around, Vik couldn't help but smile too.
When Roqi and Mower pulled out their updated MAX-TAC chips, even Vik let out a low whistle.
"Damn, Lucky."
V turned the chip under the light, admiring the etching.
"Solid stuff."
Even Vik, usually calm and stoic, nodded his approval. That said a lot.
"MAX-TAC ain't your average beat cop. They're on another level."
"Wait, Vik—you know a lot about them?" V asked.
"Old stories," Vik replied with a nostalgic sigh. "Their rep's been around since way back. Everyone knew the name."
Roqi then gave them the quick and dirty version of MAX-TAC history—from the early 21st century to now.
Totally independent. Unshakably clean. Brutal, efficient, near merciless.
Only a unit like that could've kept Night City from total collapse over the years.
"Been hell lately. Fucking Maelstrom…" Roqi shook his head.
They'd all had run-ins with them. Roqi, Mower, and V had even helped Panam rescue Saul from the gang.
Especially V—his "private" time with Panam had escalated quickly, thanks to the boys' support. But he never spilled details, driving Jackie and Roqi nuts with curiosity.
"Ha. Maelstrom."
V chuckled, voice dripping with disdain.
"In the Badlands, you can trust some Nomad clans. They're rough, but decent. But never trust Maelstrom. They're rabid dogs."
He looked at them both. "Panam said that."
"Just thinking about the black market in this city pisses me off," Roqi said, recalling everything he'd seen with MAX-TAC. "Respect Logistics, Scavs, Maelstrom, Snake Nation…"
"Just when you think life's hard enough, someone finds new ways to fuck you."
"This ain't no dream-chasing city. It's a meat grinder."
He almost spit in disgust—but stopped himself out of respect for Vik's place.
"I'm not surprised about the corps or Scavs," Vik said, fiddling with a tool. "They've always been this way. You'll get used to it."
"Oh right—didn't Biotechnica or someone try to recruit you?" Roqi asked.
"Yeah," Vik confirmed. "A few of 'em did. But once you're in a corp, your life ain't yours anymore."
"As for the Scavs? I've hated those assholes forever."
A legend like Vik had no trouble handling Scavs.
Their business was stripping implants from people and selling them to ripperdocs.
Not legit trade—just black market horror.
Plenty of docs gave in.
Vik never did.
Back when they saved Sandra Dorsett in Japantown, Roqi found an old email—a threat from Vik to the Scavs:
"If your goons show up here again, it won't just be dislocated jaws next time."
And the reply?
"You're dead."
Nothing ever came of it. They didn't have the guts to come after him.
"What surprised me was Snake Nation getting involved," V muttered, glancing at Roqi.
"The Buckle family joined them. Wonder how that turned out."
"Hopefully it failed," Roqi said. "Better to split up than sell your soul for corpse gigs."
Running corpo smuggling lines in the Badlands—or worse, human trafficking?
Roqi and V would burn bridges before going down that road.
Thankfully, the city had calmed down. That filth wasn't gone—but order had returned.
Even one less victim made a difference.
"So what's next?" V asked.
Roqi looked at Mower, then at Jackie and Vik, and shrugged.
"Rogue's got a job out in the Badlands. Asked if I could lend a hand. You in?"
"When?"
"Within five days. It's been two already, so... soon."
"Can't," V said, shaking his head. "Panam's got a gig. Saul's not thrilled."
It wasn't ditching—Panam's job was personal. Roqi's was business. Adding more people meant splitting the eddies.
And Roqi didn't even need help.
"What's she planning?" Roqi asked.
"Basilisk. Heard of it?" V smirked. "She and Saul argued all night. Scorpion and Mitch are losing it."
"Basilisk?"
Roqi repeated the fantasy-sounding name.
The Basilisk—Militech's maglev armored vehicle. Doesn't fly, but hovers low and fast over rugged terrain.
In the Badlands, it's a wet dream and a nightmare rolled into one.
If you're the one aiming its cannon, people will call you daddy.
The Aldecaldos had their eye on one. A Militech convoy was moving it.
If they snagged it, it'd be a total game-changer.
Funny thing was, Rogue's gig for Roqi also involved hitting a corpo convoy out there.
Could be some overlap.
As Roqi reached for his PDA to call Rogue—
The PDA rang first.
"Well, speak of the devil."
He smirked and looked down at the screen.
Big, bold letters:
[Regina Jones]
"…Huh?"
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