The wind never stops, just like time never ceases to flow.
By the time Roqi got up from the ground, the blood trickling through the cracks had already dried.
He had only closed his eyes to meditate for a few minutes, but time in Night City seemed to stretch endlessly.
Master Yim was right.
MAX-TAC was nothing but a group of lunatics searching for redemption in hell.
When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes back.
The dragon slayer eventually becomes the dragon.
No matter how you say it, that's the truth of MAX-TAC.
They weren't neighborhood cops dealing with domestic disputes or petty street fights.
If you tried to handle MAX-TAC cases with kindness or empathy, you'd only end up destroying yourself.
As part of MAX-TAC, their job wasn't to judge—it was to eliminate high-risk threats, no questions asked.
Regina once told him during a job:
"Crime is like a hydra—cut off one head, another grows. But fuck it, cut it anyway. At least we get a break before the next one pops up."
Roqi thought that line deserved a spot in Night City's Top 10 Quotes of 2077.
He took back every complaint he'd ever made about MAX-TAC.
Now, he was that kind of guy—
Spot the target. Engage. Eliminate. Leave none alive.
Usually, going scorched-earth had its pros and cons. But in Night City?
"I don't know who I am. I don't know where I am. All I know is—I'm about to raise hell.jpg"
Seeing Roqi suddenly come alive after being dead silent for so long, his teammates flinched, then exchanged worried looks.
From Heywood to Westbrook. From Santo Domingo to Pacifica.
At MAX-TAC HQ near Corpo Plaza, dispatchers were constantly feeding him new targets.
And every time he arrived at a new site, he'd drop from the cable like a missile, land hard, and unleash destruction with his weapon.
Fixers who knew him gave advance warnings to their people—stay low, stay quiet, protect your turf. Don't make trouble.
Because MAX-TAC always prioritized visible aggressors.
Some hardened gangsters even dropped their weapons the moment they saw a MAX-TAC unit enter—lying flat on the ground, doing full ceremonial kowtows. Left the officers confused:
"You're pulling this stunt? Bro, I don't even know how to respond.jpg"
Meanwhile, cyberpsychosis cases hit an all-time high over the last few days.
But Roqi believed the chaos didn't cause cyberpsychosis—it just exposed it.
Especially among overworked corpo employees.
One of them had been a high-ranking bodyguard. After learning his wife and child were killed in the chaos, he snapped on the spot.
By the time Roqi's team arrived, the guy had already hacked through two entire blocks—none of the people he killed were responsible. All innocent.
So Roqi stopped his heart with a single punch, then laid his body beside his family.
Was he pitiful?
Yeah.
Was he innocent?
No.
And even if Roqi didn't want to think, even if all he did was mechanically eliminate threats, he still couldn't suppress the rising brutality in his chest.
People used to say, "Don't see the world through rose-tinted glasses."
But in Night City, the people who truly cared about you would say, "Try to stay hopeful—there's still a little beauty left in this fucked-up world."
Thanks to the Griffon's light frame and long range, they had just enough fuel after roaming the entire city to return to base and resupply.
"Reel in the rope. We're heading back," Roqi said to his teammates, tightening the straps on his armor.
He'd bungee-dropped a dozen times in one night.
Even someone as built as Roqi was starting to feel the toll of this DOOM Marine style of deployment.
Though... yeah, it was effective as hell.
The NCPD officers nearby had been giving him cautious, almost fearful looks since earlier.
Despite the long-standing friction between MAX-TAC and NCPD HQ, Roqi still didn't like their guarded attitude.
Still in Heywood. Just a few blocks north from the Valentino-run turf controlled by the Priest was city government territory.
The area was filled with classic American and European architecture—City Hall, Parliament, Central Square, parks, opera houses…
They were like masterfully sculpted works of art, occupying the most prized real estate in the city.
Not a commercial hub, but just five kilometers south, and the crumbling ruins showed you the real Heywood.
The contrast was jarring. It wasn't quite "heaven and hell with only a wall between," like the Arasaka Waterfront, but it fully demonstrated the gradient from wealth to poverty.
While most of the city lacked police coverage, this district was crawling with NCPD officers.
Their mission? Work with government security to protect the VIPs who lived and worked here.
Normally, MAX-TAC handled the real dangerous stuff.
But today's call led them to some low-tier thugs.
By the time they landed, NCPD had already dealt with them.
What pissed Roqi off wasn't the ease—it was how little the cops cared about wasting resources.
Their excuse?
"Why risk your life saving peasants when you can guard the elites?"
Watching that NCPD officer put on a noble face while clearly licking corporate boots made everyone want to puke.
Roqi had made up his mind.
As soon as he got back to HQ, he'd tell dispatch: never assign him to this kind of bullshit again.
Next time, he might actually shoot someone.
Just as he was about to board the AV, someone called out.
"Hold up. Don't leave. We're short-handed. Help us protect this area."
Roqi turned and saw a suit motioning for him to stay.
"You talking to me?" Roqi asked flatly.
"Who else?" The suit waved him over. "You guys—seal the perimeter. Don't let any rats slip through."
He pointed at the southern edge of Reconciliation Park. The area didn't have any fences—easy for people to slip in from the south.
"And what the hell does that have to do with me?"
Roqi looked at him.
Not MAX-TAC. Not NCPD. Just one of those guys.
A corpo dog.
And not just any employee. The bootlicking, sell-your-mother kind of corpo dog.
And this piece of shit thought he could give orders?
Where the hell did he get that sense of entitlement?
"Isn't it the cops' job to protect tax-paying corporations?" the man shot back.
Was he out of his mind?
Roqi almost laughed.
[Target Scan: Blood Alcohol Content—Elevated. Status: Moderately Intoxicated.]
Figures. Just a drunk idiot.
Not worth arguing with a guy who probably couldn't count to ten.
But the man's gestures only got bolder, even as Roqi ignored him.
"A cop like you think you're better than me? Bet you don't even make half what our security does. Poor bastard."
His face cycled through smug grins, condescending sneers, and mockery.
"Oh boy…"
At first Roqi was angry. Now he was just entertained.
Alcohol had dulled his brain and twisted his suppressed arrogance into a clown act.
Honestly, not even the worst case. Just another dumbass with a broken moral compass.
Night City had too many shrinks—and still not enough. Everyone was messed up, and therapy didn't work.
"If Melissa heard you, she'd probably break your bones and use them as soccer balls."
Roqi sighed and shook his head.
Had to be a nepotism hire. With that IQ and EQ, any normal employee would've been dead by day two.
Roqi grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward like a ragdoll.
He pointed at the paint on his chestplate.
"Read it out loud for me."
"MAX-TAC," he said coldly. "Maximum Tactical Response Division."
The man froze. Empty eyes locked with Roqi's visor. Then—realization.
He stumbled back several steps in horror.
"Psycho Squad?!"
His voice cracked into a shrill squeak.
That sobered him right up.
What the hell had he just done? Tried to boss around a MAX-TAC psycho?
Corporates and NCPD were partners in crime. But MAX-TAC? Different story.
Companies rarely crossed paths with MAX-TAC. But their reputation was terrifying.
Corpos might fund the city—and by extension, MAX-TAC—but all they had were "allocation rights" and "polite requests."
NCPD might play ball. MAX-TAC didn't.
Find criminal evidence? They shoot first, ask never.
But Roqi couldn't care less what this guy thought.
He stared coldly at him.
With his helmet on, his expression was unreadable.
Vrrrrrrrr—
The AV rose. The suit didn't dare stop it. He just stood there in the wind, stunned and humiliated.
…
MAX-TAC HQ.
A worn-down, battle-scarred Griffon descended.
Blue thrusters dimmed until it landed cleanly on Pad 12.
The laser guidance systems shut down, and a holo-sign hovered above.
[Landing Pad #12]
[ID: MT-R 11m Lucky]
[Model: MILITECH Griffon-2L Armored Gunship]
[Verification Complete — Vehicle Registered]
[Resupply Process Starting — Please Exit the Vehicle]
Automated announcements echoed through the hangar.
Not Roqi's problem. Ground crew would handle it.
It was his first time returning as a fully recognized MAX-TAC officer—with a completed mission under his belt.
A far cry from when he'd been dragged here in cuffs.
Strange feeling.
Just as he was heading toward the maintenance room to strip out of his heavy armor and get some rest, a message popped up on his HUD.
It was from the female dispatcher who'd sent him out.
Roqi dismissed the squad and headed into the HQ building.
He found her in a row of offices, looking both tired and annoyed.
"Back already?" she asked.
"Mm." Roqi was exhausted. That was all he could manage.
"Well, if Captain Rory hadn't told me to, I wouldn't be babysitting rookies."
That's when Roqi realized—this serious-looking officer was actually a chatterbox.
"I told you not to waste the ammo. That didn't mean 'don't use any.'" She sent over the gunship's inspection report, face full of disbelief. "Next time, fire all your shells before landing. If you're short on time, just shell the damn street!"
"Don't tell me you went through all that and didn't fire a single shot."
Roqi shrugged. "I just jumped down and handled it."
Officer: …(blood pressure rising)
She nearly choked, then sighed and chuckled.
"Fine. Since you're new, I won't scold you. Anyway—Captain Rory reviewed your footage…"
Roqi perked up. "And?"
"She was… satisfied."
"What kind of satisfied?"
"Well…" She took a sip of coffee and smiled.
"She's never complimented anyone. Like, ever."
"But when she watched your video, she nodded."
"And that means?"
"That's the highest praise she's ever given."
-
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