📢 [NetSignal – Encrypted Broadcast from the Undernet]
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"If I remember right, it should be this door."
After snooping around the outside of the All Foods factory for a while, Roqi finally found the door he remembered.
No matter what choices V and Jackie made—before or after picking up the Flathead—this was always the exit point.
It was also where they'd meet the late-arriving Militech rep: either the triumphant Meredith Stout, or the smug prick Gilchrist.
But today, that script was about to change.
Now that Meredith Stout had already received V's message, she'd arrive earlier—and so would Militech's assault.
As for Roqi...
Shing—
A sleek, straight katana rang as it slid free of its sheath.
Today, Roqi was flipping the script. He would stealth his way inside and cut through Maelstrom from within.
Click-click-click…
He tried the door. Locked.
Through the narrow glass pane, he couldn't tell if anyone was inside.
After scanning the area and confirming it was clear, Roqi stepped back a few meters, got a running start—and BANG—kicked the side door in.
It slammed into the wall with a crash, then bounced slightly.
"Huh!? What the hell!?"
A gang member who'd been welding something on the ground looked up in shock, blinded by the sudden sunlight.
He reached for his pistol and cautiously approached—
But before he could react, shhk—Roqi was already in front of him, both hands gripping his katana, the blade buried deep in the man's chest.
Blood foamed from his lips as he collapsed without a sound.
Roqi dragged the body into a dark corner, crouched low, and moved on.
The room was massive—crates, tangled wires, rusted machinery, and scattered vehicles lay everywhere. The ceiling stretched eight or nine meters high, with skylights overhead pouring dusty beams of light into the musty air.
The Maelstrom logo loomed high on the wall: a furry human skull with spider-like eyes glowing blood red. The shattered skull was a testament to their obsession with cyberware—no matter the cost.
Every door was either sealed tight or rusted shut. Roqi didn't dare make another loud entrance. Any more noise would set off alarms.
"There."
He spotted a stairwell on the second floor. No direct access.
Roqi climbed a tall shelf, then leapt—catching the railing of the upper walkway and pulling himself up.
He slid a door open quietly and entered a darker, messier zone.
Wires everywhere, blinking lights and status indicators added just enough glow to see. A few bored Maelstrom gangers wandered slowly, leaning against the walls.
Their faces were riddled with mods—every last one of them had grotesque cyberoptics replacing their eyes. They moved aimlessly through the steel maze, like wandering cyber-zombies.
There was a path here.
A main stairway led downward—broad, but heavily trafficked. Roqi crept along until he found an alternate route: a suspended maintenance corridor, dark and half-abandoned, reeking faintly of mold and lined with discarded beer bottles and junk.
He passed through a narrow skybridge. At the end, a locked door. Below him, a few Maelstrom thugs lounged on crates, chatting or dozing.
Careful not to make a sound, Roqi climbed onto a high shelf, hugging the wall, inching along like a ghost.
"Camera."
He spotted a wall-mounted unit scanning back and forth. With smart AI built-in, it would flag anything suspicious and instantly bathe the place in red alarms.
Three meters ahead, a Maelstrom soldier stood with his back turned. Holding his breath, Roqi crawled up the stairs, moving at a crawl.
Dark. Extremely dark. Lights off.
Great for stealth—hell on the eyes.
Blinding patches of light in some spots, pitch-black shadows in others. No wonder Maelstrom replaced their damn eyes.
At the top of the stairs, a control room filled with gauges and monitors. One guard was checking data—until he looked up and locked eyes with Roqi.
Shhk—!
One clean slash—blood sprayed across the console.
Roqi caught the body before it hit the ground, dragging it aside. His hands and sleeves were soaked.
The carotid artery had burst—blood sprayed like a geyser. He even had to wipe the screen with his arm to read the display.
Surveillance system—offline.
The nearby camera stilled, then quietly retracted into its casing.
Perfect.
Roqi exhaled a deep breath.
Holy shit, that was intense.
A solo infiltration. No backup. Full risk.
If it weren't for the nerves of steel he'd built up over the last six months, he'd be a shaking mess.
Shaking off the adrenaline, he slipped through narrow corridors until he reached a familiar location.
The rumble of engines. The clash of metal. Loud voices yelling.
This was it—the production line where "meatbags" were churned out. Random chunks of tissue and additives mixed into revolting meat paste.
In 2077, everyone used synthetic meat—whether you were a clean vendor or a scumbag. The only difference was whether it was FDA-grade... or this factory-floor sludge.
Roqi crept through the conveyor lines, weaving between crates and materials. Sticking to the shadows, he slipped behind a glass door.
This is it.
His grip tightened around the katana. He slid the door open and advanced toward two Maelstrom goons with their backs turned.
Shhk! Splat!
Two bodies dropped without a sound.
Most operatives preferred knives for stealth—not enough strength, and swords got messy.
But Roqi wasn't most people. One swing, and heads rolled.
Avoiding another security cam, Roqi navigated by memory until he found a sealed room.
Above, the vents groaned. The fans spun slowly, filling the air with a low hum.
He stopped in front of a pneumatic door marked with a radiation symbol.
Someone slumped in a pile of crates nearby—barely conscious.
"Hey… Brick?"
Roqi perked up and tapped the door.
"Hey, you! Yo! Help me out of here…"
A muffled voice shouted from inside. The guy had spotted him.
Infrared tripmine. Keypad lock. Immobilized prisoner.
This was Brick—former boss of Maelstrom, ousted by Royce.
The passcode? Should be in the next room.
Roqi slipped inside like it was his own place, pulled up a laptop, disabled the surveillance feed, and quickly found a message from Royce to Dum Dum and Toma:
"Brick's locked up.
Code is 9691.
Don't fuckin' spread it."
Heh.
Roqi smirked, shut the laptop, and pocketed the detonator lying on the desk.
9691—done.
Clunk. The door opened.
"Careful! If I move even one centimeter, I'm done. That laser's wired to a mine," Brick warned.
Roqi smiled, held up the detonator, and deactivated the laser under Brick's tense stare.
"Fuck… I've been losing hair from the stress."
Brick sagged, finally able to move.
"How long you been in here?" Roqi asked.
"Hell if I know. Over a week. A couple loyal guys tried sneaking me food—Royce caught 'em and nuked 'em in a microwave. Made me watch," Brick growled. "Who the fuck are you? Who sent you?"
"Me? Nobody. Just tagging along with a friend," Roqi said casually. "Flathead. Dexter DeShawn already paid for it. Royce bailed on the deal."
"Fucking psycho," Brick spat.
"How many people still loyal to you?"
"Maybe half. If I walk outta here, two-thirds might follow me. Royce? People fear him—but they don't respect him. This place used to be mine."
Respect? Yeah, right.
Roqi almost cracked a joke but held back.
"Good. We'll take care of Royce. Militech's virus is about to hit their systems. Once it does, they'll storm the place. Get your people and get out."
Brick's cyber-eyes flickered.
"Why're you helping me?"
"Simple," Roqi said, stabbing his katana into the ground. "One—you're less insane than Royce. Two—you value loyalty. I can respect that. And three—if I ever get into shit with Maelstrom again, maybe you'll return the favor."
"I won't forget you or your crew. If we cross paths again, I've got your back," Brick said, pounding his chest.
He'd been with Maelstrom for years, but unlike most, he still had a code. Still scum—but at least, scum with principles.
CLACK—
Suddenly, the lights and machines shut down.
"Move! Militech's in! Grab your crew—don't use the back exit!"
.
.
.
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