V didn't take offense at the remark—instead, he spoke from the heart. "You know what I admire most about nomads? Your taste for freedom—no,
V didn't take offense at the remark—instead, he spoke from the heart.
"You know what I admire most about nomads? Your taste for freedom—no, your hunger for it."
"In Night City, that's rare. Corporate filth has its claws in everything."
"I honestly can't believe you'd consider handing the most precious thing you have to them."
He finished, gazing at Saul, as if trying to draw an answer from his eyes.
"Thanks, V. I couldn't have said it better myself," Panam said with a big nod, crossing her legs with satisfaction.
Saul said nothing. Arms crossed, brow furrowed, he looked like he was staring at V and Panam, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere—troubled, heavy, and far away.
Worrying about the future. Everyone's future.
"We've dealt with corps before," Roqi suddenly spoke up. "Real deals. The deep, dirty kind."
He glanced at V, who sat beside Panam on the couch.
"Never. Ever. Make a deal with a corp."
"It's like trying to trade furs with a starving tiger—they only care about devouring more. If the profit's big enough, they'll eat you whole."
"There are plenty of futures for this clan, but cutting deals with corps means selling your soul—and slapping a price tag on your head."
"You really trust the word of wolves, jackals, or snakes?" He chuckled at Saul. "Especially when corps are far more ruthless and greedy."
One thing he didn't say aloud: that's capitalism.
"Yeah, Lucky and I used to ride with the Bakkers," V confirmed.
"The Bakkers? You left? Why?" Panam looked curious. "We've never crossed paths, just heard of them."
"Not for anything good," V muttered, exchanging a glance with Roqi, eyes burning with quiet frustration. "Compared to them, Aldecaldos are saints. Some of those folks were no better than Snake Nation. Couldn't trust them with shit."
"Snake Nation…" Saul echoed, frowning. "Their rep's not great. That's all we know."
Not great? That's putting it very mildly.
Roqi wanted to vent but didn't really know the state of the Bakkers or Snake Nation now. But if they were pulling that kind of filth before, there was no reason to believe they'd cleaned up.
"You've got a point… Panam and I have had our share of fights."
Saul's tone softened. Maybe it was V and Roqi's shared nomad roots, maybe it was their honesty. Either way, he was opening up.
"Well, who hasn't?" Panam shrugged.
"No need to dig everything up," Saul added pointedly.
"Agreed," she shot back with arms folded.
"If you ever want to come back… the camp's ready to welcome you," Saul said gently. "But you'll need to rein it in. No more lone wolf stunts."
Panam groaned. "Ugh, here we go again…"
"Hey, kid. There'll be plenty of time to shout at each other later," Saul said, stretching his sore limbs. "But right now… if you don't mind, I'd like to catch some sleep."
"Need help getting to bed?" she teased, smirking at his limp.
"Get lost."
Saul waved her off and hobbled into the next room. As he passed the scattered Aldecaldos, the frown on his face faded just a bit.
"You know what they call these storms in North Africa?"
"…Haboobs~"
He raised his brows and smirked. "Now that's a sexy name."
Haboobs—the legit meteorological term.
Roqi stared in silence, then broke into laughter as the lewd joke finally clicked.
Roqi, Cold Joke Resistance: 0%.
Just like when Jackie told that "tube" joke back in the day—cold jokes hit harder the longer they stew.
His chuckles were infectious. V rolled his eyes but couldn't help himself. One snort turned into a giggle, then full-on laughter.
Panam joined in. Then Mitch, Scorpion, and eventually, every Aldecaldo in the building.
By the time Saul leaned against the doorframe, looking baffled, the whole crew was cackling.
"What's wrong with all of you?" Panam asked, somewhere between confused and amused.
"For the Haboobs!" V raised the bottle triumphantly.
"Damn right—for the Haboobs!" Panam grabbed it, chugged a mouthful, and slammed it on the table. "Ugh—tastes like gasoline!"
"Ha! That's disgusting," she laughed, shooting V a look that was warmer than whiskey.
Across the room, Roqi nudged Mower with a smirk.
"What?" she whispered.
He nodded toward the couch with a goofy grin. "Check it out. Something's cooking…"
For some reason, watching his bro flirt made Roqi want to poke fun.
"I don't usually sleep indoors," Panam whispered to V. "This is only the second time… with you."
"Days and nights on the road, my ass's glued to the seat. I forgot what lying flat feels like."
She glanced around, checking if anyone noticed—but Mower's implants picked up everything.
She quietly relayed the conversation to Roqi, who raised his eyebrows in unison with her. Gossip mode: engaged.
"So… does this feel better?" V asked, still playing it cool.
"No. Just different." Panam lazily stretched out, slumping deeper into the couch. "Y'know, a cozy little inn out here wouldn't be half bad. Fireplace, beer…"
"Just missing a grumpy old guy at the front desk."
Even now, she couldn't resist teasing Saul.
Maybe that's what nomad love looked like—rough edges wrapped in loyalty.
"You enjoying your stay, ma'am?" V said with a grin that nearly made Roqi applaud.
For once, V wasn't screwing it up. He had style—his own brand of smooth.
Nomads didn't like fake. They liked real.
"Mmm? Couldn't be better." Panam propped her legs on V's lap.
"Whoa—whoa!"
Even Scorpion—usually the quiet one—couldn't hold back.
One by one, the others looked over, whistling and snickering.
"What? Never seen a lady chill before?" Panam flipped her hair confidently.
"Nope. They're just jealous," V said, cool as ice. "Take your boots off—you'll feel even better."
"Haha. I've been wearing these all day. If I take 'em off, you guys'll die."
More laughter.
Nomads were tough—but not immune to stinky boots.
"You worked hard today. You should rest," V said, nailing the mood.
"Oh? And how exactly should I rest?" Panam replied, clearly fishing.
Across the room, Mitch and Scorpion huddled in a corner like two old geezers watching life go by.
"Damn… they're good," Mitch said, shaking his head with a grin.
"You're supposed to say, 'Ah, youth,'" Scorpion burped, choking down some awful rations.
"Hey, I'm not that old!" Mitch laughed, running a hand over his hairline. "…Okay, maybe a little."
Then his eyes fell on Roqi and Mower—snuggled in the corner—and a trace of melancholy crept in.
"Never had a wild love story when I was young. Kinda regret it."
The air in the old house was heavy with dust—and something else.
Romance.
Roqi yawned, pulled Mower against him, and wrapped the blanket tighter.
Earlier, he'd found one of the few blankets in the place. He laid it over her entirely, making sure she was warm.
Mower tried to move, but Roqi held her down.
So what if she was full of implants and had a crazy tolerance for cold? Tonight, she was getting a damn blanket.
"Mm… do you hear that?" Panam mumbled.
"No?" V listened closely.
"The wind's dying down."
Nomad intuition. She could sense it—just barely.
Maybe V had dulled his instincts living in Night City. Or maybe he was too focused on her to notice.
"I don't know about haboobs, but… listening to the wind sweep across the plains like that… I'm not falling asleep anytime soon."
Sleep crept in slowly, like a tide.
Panam curled up on the couch.
It wasn't a car seat. It wasn't a cave. It wasn't a patch of dirt.
It was hard. Old. Dirty.
But it was a real place to rest.
She tossed a bit. Sleepy, but not ready to give in.
"Let's talk," she whispered.
"Talk? Sure. About what?" V asked, yawning.
"Raffen Shiv. Night City. Merc stuff… anything. Hurry. I'm drifting…"
"Then sleep—we're not charging by the hour." V smiled.
"Less talk, more talking!" she insisted.
"Okay, okay…" He thought. "Oh yeah, found something earlier when I hacked their system."
"That cement factory? Someone inside sabotaged the alarms for the Raffen Shiv."
"For real? Not surprised," Roqi muttered from the corner. "At this point, people'd sell their own mom for eddies."
"No doubt," Mitch chimed in.
"Hey, Lucky—you want half the couch?" V looked around the crowded room.
Some had blankets but no space. Others had space, but nothing to cover up.
Cardboard, curtains, anything to curl up under.
It reminded V of the bad old days with the Bakkers.
They were broke—but at least they had each other.
"…"
No answer.
The room got quieter.
Their night chat died before it even started.
"Shh… he's already asleep…"
Mower lay in Roqi's arms, eyes wide open under the blanket.
She tried to move. Sleeping under someone all night? Not comfortable.
"Mm… what's wrong…?"
Roqi stirred immediately, eyes barely open.
"Sleep… keep the blanket on…"
He mumbled, head drooping again. But his hand never left the edge of the blanket—making sure it stayed on her.
V looked at the two of them… then at Panam beside him, already snoring gently.
His eyes grew heavier… his vision faded…
…until everything turned black.
Outside, the storm still howled.
Inside, only the soft hum of the heater spread warmth and quiet light through the air.
A long night. Dreamless sleep.
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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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