"Hey, Lucky, you here yet? We're ready to roll."
Jackie called just as he saw a familiar figure walking up from the alley beside the Afterlife club.
Walking beside Roqi was a masked woman he had never seen before.
"Who's she?"
"A... friend of mine. She's coming with us to Konpeki Plaza." Roqi greeted V and climbed into the front seat.
Jackie, a bit uneasy, slid into the back, shut the door, and looked around nervously. "But T-Bug only prepped fake IDs for the three of us. What about her?"
"She'll stay in the car as support—and for any... special contingencies," Roqi explained.
"Nice, solid planning," V nodded. "Starting now, you're Erwin William, Jackie is Ramón Victorino, and I'm Harry Conwell. We're going to meet someone named Hajime Takigawa, an Arasaka military rep."
"Man, what a weird name," Jackie grumbled. "Here's your suit—once you're wearing this, you look like someone important."
"Alright, stop whining. If you're all set, let's go." Roqi clapped his hands and took the clothes.
Jackie scratched his head. The vibe in the car felt kinda off. "Lucky, your friend here doesn't seem very chatty."
Then he caught a cold, piercing glare—hard to make out under the mask, but it felt like staring down a wild beast.
"Moore, chill. He didn't mean anything by it." Roqi soothed her.
Suddenly, as soon as all the car doors shut, every screen in the vehicle—even the rearview mirror—lit up with the image of a pale, freakishly smooth, blue bald head.
"Welcome to Delamain Cab Service—choose Delamain, and leave your worries at the door."
The familiar voice of Delamain rang out, and Roqi immediately felt a headache coming on.
Not because of the voice itself—but because the first time he ever rode in a Delamain cab, something very unpleasant happened. So now, that gentle voice had become a bad omen in his mind.
No. Not today. Today's different.
Roqi repeated the words in his head, trying to suppress the anxiety bubbling in his chest.
"Shit! Shit! SHIT! Totally nothing's gonna go wrong!" Jackie dropped three F-bombs in a row to raise a massive flag—Roqi nearly threw him out the car on the spot.
"I don't understand why you're swearing," Delamain responded flatly.
"Oh really?" Jackie was visibly annoyed. "Remember when I tried renting you to celebrate my nephew's first date? Huh?"
"We do not offer such services," Delamain replied, as polite as ever.
"I saved up for three months, dammit..." Jackie grumbled, clearly still bitter. "Whatever. Let's go, old D!"
That made Roqi chuckle.
He suddenly wondered—if you locked GLaDOS and Delamain in a room together, what kind of argument would they have?
Oh wait, no. GLaDOS would just roast him nonstop while Delamain calmly absorbed the abuse. It'd be a one-sided beatdown.
Still, Roqi's smile was starting to stiffen.
Jackie's story about his nephew seemed like a subtle hint about Delamain's rigid rules. Roqi hadn't even noticed it before. Not until now, sitting in the same damn car.
This isn't a script. This world has no writer.
He tried to reassure himself.
"Before we depart, I must confirm passenger identities. Please connect to the system."
Roqi looked at V. Jackie looked at V. V sighed, rolled his eyes, and pulled a data plug from his palm to link up.
"Thank you. Premium Plus package activated."
"Premium Plus? Hohoho, fancy!" Jackie laughed.
"What's got you all hyped?" V asked.
"Check this out…" Jackie grinned like a kid showing off a toy. "Delamain! Combat mode, activate!"
But Delamain shut him down cold.
"Apologies, but you are not currently in imminent danger."
"Pfft... whatever." Jackie sighed, glancing at V like this sucks.
Roqi, though, picked up on something else.
So… what the hell happened last time Jackie rode in Delamain's cab with his nephew?
Combat mode got activated!?
The mental image cracked Roqi up, and he wore an expression of "this is ridiculous."
But Moore, in the passenger seat, glanced at him like she was watching an idiot.
"Believe me, if the shit hit the fan, this thing could solo an entire Arasaka ninja squad," Jackie was still hyping up Delamain.
"What's included in Premium Plus?" V asked.
"A full suite of health insurance, including post-mortem handling and burial services," Delamain explained.
"Shut up," Roqi snapped, face darkening. "Say one more thing about death and I'll dismantle you myself."
V and Jackie blinked, confused at his outburst.
But Roqi just waved it off.
V and Jackie exchanged glances behind his back and shrugged helplessly.
"This combat mode… is it even legal?"
"Absolutely. Protected under the Second Amendment," Delamain replied. "While in this vehicle, you are entitled to utilize all my defense functions."
"Second Amendment, huh… like that gun shop Wilson runs," Roqi added. "NCPD's stretched thin, so people gotta take justice into their own hands, right?"
"Pfft." Jackie rolled his eyes, unimpressed.
"Dex is being real generous, huh?"
"At least we know where 65% of the budget went," Jackie muttered. "Guy only gave us 35%. Don't you think that's a bit low, Lucky? We're risking our lives here."
Hell yes, it's low.
Roqi figured that 35% wasn't nearly enough. If it were up to him, he'd demand 100%—and Dex's fat neck as a bonus.
"Premium Plus... Guess to roll with the big dogs, you gotta ride like one," Jackie said.
"The car's just a front," Roqi replied. "If you want a real seat at the table, you need something worth bargaining with. Even the toughest fixer can't sit across from a corp without the right leverage."
"True that," V nodded.
Jackie, though, looked nervous—just like when they'd crossed the border into Night City for the first time.
"Madres… This might be the biggest day of my life."
"Say that again, and I'll throw you out. Right now," Roqi growled, glaring at him.
"Whoa, mano, chill!" Jackie raised his hands in surrender.
"No, I won't chill. This is serious as hell." Roqi took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Treat today like it's just another day."
"How the hell can I?" Jackie muttered, a little hurt.
They drove past towering walls and luxury buildings—finally entering Arasaka's beachfront elite zone. For the average person without ID, there's no way in hell they'd get in here.
"We are approaching your destination," Delamain announced gently.
Just then, a call came in from T-Bug.
Roqi didn't connect, so only V and Jackie joined the line.
After some idle chatter, V and Jackie synced their map routes with her—one final check before the mission.
Sounded like that genius netrunner was giving them a lecture on Aristotle again.
The car rolled to a smooth stop at the red carpet entrance of Konpeki Plaza.
"Thank you for choosing Delamain. Best of luck, and I'll—"
"Shove your damn luck," Roqi muttered. "Thanks for jinxing us."
Only now did he realize—these past few days, every moment since they started planning the relic heist, it had been one long, unstoppable cascade of red flags.
He nearly turned around then and there.
Taking a long breath, he left his gun behind in the car and turned to Moore in the front seat.
"Remember what I told you—stay in contact at all times…"
Moore didn't say a word. She answered with a calm, cold stare.
This lieutenant with the bob haircut really was something else—completely different from the cyberpsycho she'd been before.
Roqi chuckled awkwardly, trying to shake the tension in his chest. He opened the trunk and pulled out a case.
"What's in that?" V asked, curious—this wasn't part of the plan.
"We're military reps, right? Besides the Flathead, we've got some bleeding-edge tech to 'negotiate' with," Roqi winked.
Jackie, carrying the Flathead's case, didn't look so relaxed anymore.
They were standing right at Arasaka's doorstep.
It might not be Arasaka Tower in Corpo Plaza, but this was still Arasaka territory.
Konpeki Plaza.
A name that sounds absurd when translated to Chinese—but here, it was anything but.
Long slabs of white marble, silky red carpets, crystal-clear glass, luxurious gold-accented gray decor, manicured greenery, and impeccably polite attendants.
Everything screamed one thing: luxury.
Beyond the nearby high walls, the common folk of the city could never experience this world—except in flashy braindance fantasies, living out dreams they'd never afford.
Before they became mercs—or rather, before they became well-known mercs—these three had scraped by, barely staying above the poverty line.
.
.
.
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