The chaos that had engulfed the city finally came to an end after a short but violent upheaval.
The prime culprit, the Maelstrom gang, had been expelled from Night City by a coalition of multiple factions.
There was no longer any place for them here.
They'd managed to piss off nearly every major player in the city. Say what you want about the Maelstrom, but when it came to stirring shit up, they had a real talent for it.
After all, many of them had originally been exiled from nomad clans for that very reason.
Dead or on the run—Maelstrom had learned the hard way that Night City was far more dangerous than they'd imagined.
The truth behind the chaos didn't matter. Maybe someone out there cared, but that someone sure as hell wasn't MAX-TAC.
With Maelstrom gone, order returned more quickly than expected.
The always-overworked MAX-TAC squads finally got a breather.
Roqi wasn't being deployed anymore.
Partly because he was still technically in training—everything he'd done before had just been part of his evaluation. And partly because, with more units returning to HQ, they weren't strapped for personnel anymore.
As Roqi slouched over a desk, yawning lazily, he heard a familiar set of footsteps from the hallway.
The cadence, the rhythm, the sound—yeah, that was definitely Melissa.
Moments later, Officer Melissa walked in wearing her casual uniform, expression cold as ever, and made a beeline for him.
Just as Roqi was bracing himself for a scolding, a short, clipped voice snapped:
"Move."
Roqi blinked.
"Oh—sorry," he mumbled, getting up.
He'd been slumped across Melissa's desk.
Since he was still a trainee—even if technically a full member—he wasn't assigned an official workstation. Neither was Mower.
Melissa moved with her usual sharp efficiency, though she looked a little worn out.
Roqi hesitated, then asked, "Where's Mower?"
He glanced toward the hallway but didn't see her.
Melissa and Mower had gone on a mission together, so they should've come back together.
Could it be—?
A dreadful thought crossed his mind.
"She's showering," Melissa replied without looking at him, linking into the central computer. Blue light glowed in her eyes as she started working.
Oh. Showering.
"Where? I should go check on her. Just in case, you know? What if the toilet revolts?"
Melissa's glow dimmed as she gave him a withering stare, then re-entered cyberspace.
"Hehehe…" Roqi chuckled sheepishly.
"Hey—what's with the new hairstyle?"
He glanced around aimlessly until noticing her hair looked quite different.
Images flashed in his head: that night at Azure Tower, when Melissa's mech blew up, she had long black hair. But when she first joined MAX-TAC, it was a sharp short cut.
Now? Dark brown bob.
Did she and Mower both go to some beauty spa? That didn't seem like something the She-Devil would do.
Melissa exhaled sharply through her nose, visibly restraining herself.
"You tell me—why?" she asked in a flat, icy voice.
Roqi shivered.
"Yeah, why?" he asked nervously.
Melissa exited the system again and stared him down.
He recognized that look.
Once, a corpo dog tried to blackmail her—offering evidence of a rival's crimes if MAX-TAC gave him protection.
Melissa agreed to meet him.
Then he mysteriously died.
Realizing what that meant, Roqi immediately dialed down the goofiness.
He didn't want to become a soccer ball.
Another awkward silence followed.
MAX-TAC's team leaders and captains slowly filtered back to HQ. Numbers were returning to normal.
Roqi stood there feeling like a kid brought to the office who wasn't allowed to touch anything, just stare at the wall going "Abba abba abba."
This wall's really white. These tiles are huge.
A soft fragrance hit his nose—clean, slightly damp, like fresh out of the shower.
Melissa's collarbone still glistened faintly with moisture. Her hair looked freshly washed.
How did she manage to come back from deployment without breaking a sweat?
Sensing his gaze, Melissa paused her report and logged out.
"…"
They locked eyes.
"Like what you see? Take a good look."
She deadpanned.
"It's a wig. Got it?"
A… wig?
Roqi's brain stuttered.
Then his jaw dropped—then snapped shut again.
He recalled a rumor:
All MAX-TAC members were bald.
Not because it made them stronger—but because their helmets needed direct neural linkups. Hair got in the way.
Clean-shaven heads were ideal—for hygiene, cooling, and interface access. Like netrunners prepping for jacking in.
Roqi's helmet had no internal ports—his gear was all externally controlled since he lacked implants.
Not all MAX-TAC members were metal monsters. Many used biological upgrades instead.
Cyberware vs Bioware—old Gen-3 implant categories.
Then came Gen-4: luxury and power.
Melissa clearly chose power.
Her arms were fully cybernetic, but her appearance was otherwise unmarked. No flashy etchings, no aesthetic implants.
Still, the wig caught him off guard.
He imagined her bald… and involuntarily shivered.
Melissa noticed.
A cruel smile slowly formed on her face.
"Report."
A crisp, confident voice echoed from the doorway.
It was Mower.
Roqi practically leapt aside like she was a lifeline.
Her time in Militech had left a permanent mark—her military presence was undeniable.
Also… she smelled good.
Mower shot him a brief glance, then turned her attention to Melissa's desk.
Do girls just emit fragrance after touching water or something?
Roqi stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"You both passed the assessment," Melissa said.
Formally, per protocol.
"From now on, you're official MAX-TAC officers."
Clap clap clap.
"Nice! So I totally didn't just get dragged onto this cursed pirate ship," Roqi said, clapping with fake enthusiasm.
"You leaving by yourself or do I need to escort you?"
Melissa glared at him, a smirk playing on her lips.
She had an odd urge to roll him into a meatball.
Clack.
Two chips hit the desk—freshly updated with their biometric profiles.
"Your IDs are finalized. Don't lose them," Melissa instructed.
Then she looked at Roqi.
"As for your vacation request—denied."
"Why!?"
Roqi looked heartbroken.
"Why?" Melissa repeated, unimpressed. "Nine-to-five, weekends off, one-month paid leave... Is that supposed to be funny?"
Roqi thought seriously.
"Forty hours a week, thirty days of public holidays... sounds reasonable."
In Night City, there was no Spring Festival or National Day.
Eighty to a hundred hours a week was standard.
Biotech gave six paid days off annually—ranking third among major corps.
Night Corp ranked fifth, enforcing an 80-hour workweek.
Roqi suddenly felt his request was… a bit much.
But corps treated people as disposable anyway.
He could live just fine as a freelancer. Take safe jobs. Avoid high-risk gigs.
Better than being a corporate dog.
Too bad MAX-TAC wasn't something you could join—or leave—whenever you felt like it.
Looking at Melissa, Roqi felt joining MAX-TAC was a massive mistake.
Cursed pirate ship, indeed.
"I knew you'd act like this."
Seeing his crying face, Melissa turned away, suddenly flustered.
"You're an off-roll member. You don't need to stay at HQ—but you must carry your comms. When missions come in, no refusing."
Huh?
Off-roll?
Roqi's eyes lit up.
He'd forgotten about that loophole.
"Whoa, awesome!"
"Don't thank me." Melissa rubbed her temples. "If you're gonna thank someone—thank her."
Roqi went on high alert.
"What did you do to Mower? What did she give up!?"
His brain flooded with wild scenarios.
Melissa suddenly smiled like a fox.
Her face practically screamed: Gotcha.
"Fine," Roqi clutched his chest. "Tell me. Whatever it is—I can handle it."
"She wants you to train with her. Every day."
A new expression crossed Mower's face.
Roqi recognized it immediately.
Schadenfreude.
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