"Hey, Jack. Is V done yet?"
Roqi stood on the stairs, left hand in his pocket, right hand holding a PDA.
V had gone to see Vik for some cyberware work. If he remembered right, it was supposed to be a Kiroshi optical implant and a ballistic coprocessor in his palm. Not exactly the kind of thing you want to interrupt—it involved real biological integration.
"Oh, Lucky." Jack snapped out of his daze, like he'd been floating on a cloud. "V went to meet Dexter. Said it had to be face to face."
"Ah, I see. Alright then." Roqi ended the call.
Thinking it over, there didn't seem to be anything he needed to remind V of—and even if there was, it was already too late.
That fat bastard Dexter always kicked off his meetings with some wannabe motivational speech: "You wanna be a nobody, or a legend?" The kind of smug tone that just begged for a punch. Same vibes as those so-called "experts" or "success coaches." Totally cringe.
And the guy smoked in his car. Seriously?
Cough. Keep it civil.
BANG BANG BANG!
CRASH!
…BOOM!!
Roqi had barely taken a few steps to clear his head when a shootout broke out right in front of him, making him flinch hard.
What the actual fuck!?
He dove behind a low wall in a dramatic (and totally fake) "tactical maneuver," peeking his eyes over the top to assess the situation.
PING!
A sharp crack rang out just 20 centimeters above his head.
A stray bullet had hit the railing, sparking off a brief but vivid flash.
FUCK!!
Roqi dropped down instantly, and then came the shouting from the cops.
"Drop your weapons! Hands where we can—!"
BOOM!!
A grenade cut that command short.
Chunks of concrete and dust rained down on Roqi's head.
Roqi: (╬￣皿￣)
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?
That was it. Enough was enough.
He grabbed his SMG, braced it against a concrete barrier, and aimed it straight at the asses of the gangsters who'd opened fire.
RATATATATATATA—!!
A stream of bullets tore through the air, chewing through the gangers behind cover like they were weeds in a field.
Nobody had expected an ambush from behind. In seconds, those tunnel-visioned idiots got shredded.
Roqi held his SMG steady, swapped the mag with a quick slap and reload.
It was a DalaTech DS1 Pulse—custom "Pink Beast Mode" edition. Extra pink paint job, extra violent performance.
Dala's designers had real balls—you had to admire that. The gun looked like someone had dismantled a regular LMG and then let a blindfolded five-year-old put it back together.
But it was smaller than most SMGs, so easier to conceal. Downside? The recoil was notorious—borderline unmanageable. Still, the low price tag made it a slum staple.
It was one of the few weapons Roqi could actually afford to mod. Faster fire rate, nastier punch, tighter control, and a more satisfying handling feel. He paid nearly ten times the cost of the standard model for it—and it was worth every eddie.
2.25 seconds. 40 rounds. Enough kick to knock a small-framed shooter on their ass.
RATATATA! RATATATATA!
Roqi moved past a pillar that had been blocking his view, locked onto a guy crouched in the corner, and shredded him. Immediately flicked to a second one—eyes wide in shock—and dropped him with a quick burst.
Cleared.
He lowered his gun, gave a hand signal to the cops across the way. They finally lowered theirs too.
"Who the hell are you!?" barked a voice over a portable speaker.
"Me? Just a passing Kamen Rider. No need to thank me—justice is my purpose."
Roqi gave a dismissive wave, flicked the safety back on, holstered his gun, and rolled his sore shoulder.
Then he gave a light kick to the groaning gang member at his feet. "Tiger Claws? What are they doing here? Thought this was Maelstrom turf?"
He looked up. Graffiti everywhere, overturned grills and busted tables. The kind of alley where gangsters and lowlifes hung out. You could find addictive pills, street hookers who'd do you right there in the alley, black market cyberware ripped off corpses—or soon-to-be corpses.
Places like this were all over Night City. The NCPD only engaged the Tiger Claws here because they stumbled on criminal activity—nothing more.
No value left here, so Roqi didn't plan on sticking around.
His head was a mess.
Normally, after a shootout like that, the adrenaline rush would clear his thoughts. But today, he was stuck in a mental loop.
Dexter had V handling two things: recover a prototype military bot codenamed "Flathead" from the Maelstrom—after their leadership got gutted—and meet the client to confirm the job specs.
All just prep.
And the job itself? Not complicated.
Just sneak into the ultra-guarded penthouse of Yorinobu Arasaka—Arasaka's crown prince—at Konpeki Plaza, the tallest tower in Arasaka Waterfront. Steal a prototype Relic chip, supposedly capable of granting immortality. One built with infinite cash and time.
Totally easy. Worst case? You die.
(＃￣Д￣) Fuck that! I don't wanna die—WAAAGH!
"I can't panic. I can't panic…"
Roqi rubbed his chin, pacing around like a madman.
"Stay calm. Focus. Be cool. Losing your shit now? Instant L."
"Let's break it down logically."
"Step one: we get to Konpeki Plaza…"
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!
(＃￣Д￣) I'M GONNA DIE!!
He grabbed his head and screamed.
Only to see the NCPD officer beside him—who'd looked thankful a second ago—now watching him like he was about to hit a MaxTac panic button.
"Heh…" Roqi instantly switched gears. "Sorry, had a lot on my mind. Just thinking things through."
"Hope your shift goes well, stay safe, stay healthy. Bye now."
He said it in that awkward polite tone only old swimming instructors have, then bolted from the scene.
He wandered the crowded streets, waiting at lights, head down in deep thought.
"First step: Konpeki Plaza…"
"Okay, deep breath. We do this one step at a time."
"Infiltration will be fine. Then the real problem… escaping…"
Hmm?
Hmm!?
"WHY THE FUCK DO WE HAVE TO DO IT THEN?!"
Roqi stopped in the middle of the road, eyes wide. He slammed his fist into his palm.
If things followed the original chain of events, then the three of them were looking at:
Disguise → Infiltration → Hacking → Gaining access → Entering suite → Stealing Relic → Witnessing Yorinobu kill Saburo → Alarm → Escape → Jackie gets shot → Relic case leaks → Jackie uses the Relic → Escape → Jackie dies → Sad boy vibes → Rage quit → Open Steam → Contact support → Request refund.
(＃￣Д￣) GODDAMMIT, CDPR!!
What harm could Polish devs do? Oh right, just kill Jackie and crush your soul.
Roqi suddenly had the urge to book a ticket to Europe and nuke CDPR's headquarters.
So now, he had to do everything in his power to finish the Relic job before Yorinobu flipped out.
Let all three of them escape and fade into legend.
And anyone asking "why not wait until Saburo's dead to sneak in"—please, line them up and execute them with a Trauma Team AV autocannon for thirty minutes straight. Once the alarm goes off and Arasaka reinforcements arrive, you'll need a goddamn Gundam to survive.
If Delamain hadn't pulled V and Jackie out, the whole tower would've been swarming with Arasaka troops.
At that point, only Wind, Forest, Fire, Mountain could save them.
In that bloodbath, V, Jackie, even Dexter—they were just pawns.
Disposable pieces in a game rigged by megacorp capital.
Someone wanted to take a shot at Arasaka, but needed sacrifices to do it.
But now, someone named Roqi had jumped on the board, ready to flip the game upside down.
"Two options," Roqi muttered, sipping an overpriced but damn good cup of strong tea at a café. "Option one: move early, dodge the risk, and get out clean. If we escaped post-alarm with a bleeding Jackie, pre-alarm should be a breeze."
"Option two: we can't move the timeline. We have to brute-force it."
"In that case, I need an alternate escape plan."
Roqi smirked. "Rooftop escape via AV—need to learn to fly and crack it. Front door? Go head-to-head with Adam Smasher—may the best man live. Window escape or maintenance shaft? Hell no, even if Jackie getting shot was RNG, I'm not risking it."
"Here's your tea," said the waitress sweetly, setting the cup down.
"Oh, thanks…" Roqi smiled, then slipped back into his "cold-blooded tactician" face. "So rooftop escape really is the best plan… right?"
Konpeki Plaza wouldn't launch AA missiles… right?
Arasaka AVs wouldn't tail us… right?
The Kujira, Arasaka's aircraft carrier, wouldn't send in jets… right?
(＃￣Д￣) YEAH FUCKIN' RIGHT!!!
Roqi clutched his head in agony. When corps are involved—especially when their core interests are threatened—they will kill you in ways you can't even imagine.
Any escape plan needed to be subtle and practical, with backups for every "what if."
But no matter which route he chose—it would cost a lot of money.
He checked his account. A few thousand eddies left.
Night City prices were straight-up criminal. With automation wiping out tons of low-skill jobs, the poor were beyond broke. A week of bento meals cost 100 eddies—5 per meal. Budget synthfood? 30 eddies for the whole week.
Then there was rent, utilities, net fees—bills stacking like corpses.
"Dream city" my ass. Every day you woke up just to get squeezed dry for surplus value.
This wasn't some game where you healed up with a MaxDoc or bounce back from a plot wound.
This was reality—one where you could die at any time, for any reason. Katanas don't cut exosuits. Jackets don't block bullets. MaxTac ends you with one shot.
He needed money. Lots of it.
Enough to fund an entire escape plan.
.
.
.
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