"Quit standing around like an idiot—get moving!"
Dallas's shout snapped Chans out of his blissful daydreams of striking it rich.
Above, the scorching midday sun pierced the atmosphere and beat down mercilessly on the dry, lifeless land.
The weather was decent today—no toxic rainbow clouds, no acrid chemical odors drifting from the factories.
Maybe they just hadn't rolled in yet. Either way, it was best to take advantage of the rare moment—clear skies, good timing, good cover—and finish the job before vanishing without a trace.
"WEE-OO! WEE-OO! WEE-OO!"
The blaring siren kept shrieking, but the driver—already dead in his seat—was in no position to shut it off.
After pressing the "emergency alert" biometric button, the truck's central system had automatically triggered every protocol it had.
Not that Trauma Team would be coming. There wasn't a single living soul left at the scene.
"BANG! CRASH—SSZZZZT—!"
Rust grabbed a shotgun and blasted the control panel into pieces. The alarm died instantly.
"Hurry up!"
Following the orders of the small-time boss Rogue had sent, the mercs kicked into gear. Some dragged gear from the truck's interior; others waited below to receive it. One trailer was in reverse, ready to load.
The equipment was heavy—some of it absurdly so—but thanks to cyberware and prosthetics, the operation moved fast.
"Zzt—Maelstrom picked up the alert. They're heading your way."
It was Mitch's voice.
Thanks to V and Panam making the introductions, Rogue had established a working relationship with the Aldecaldos' Bright family. Their first joint operation had been the downing of Anders Hellman's AV in Jackson Plains.
And when collaboration works and both sides walk away satisfied, further cooperation naturally follows.
With Roqi and his crew's help—and Rogue's financial backing—the Aldecaldos had recovered from their previous setbacks.
As Panam put it: without them, Maelstrom would've done far more damage.
This wasn't just firepower on paper—it was about protecting real family.
So the moment Rogue asked for help, the Aldecaldos responded. Not for pay—though Rogue wasn't stingy.
Mitch and Scorpion were classic nomads: elite, resourceful, with more survival experience in the Badlands than most city dwellers would see in a lifetime.
The plan? Pretend to lose to Maelstrom, leave behind some "forgotten" loot and a PDA supposedly for "internal use." Once Maelstrom picked it up, feed them fake intel.
Urgent Message
From: Mitch Bright
"Route 64. Respect Logistics convoy wrecked! Bring the boys—fast! Coordinates here…"
A high-priority "urgent" message, casual phrasing, straight to the point.
If Roqi hadn't been told it was fake, even he wouldn't have noticed.
Now those Maelstrom idiots were already racing toward the trap.
The "wolf" in the bait-the-tiger-to-eat-the-wolf plan was in place. Now it was just a matter of luring in the "tiger."
Meanwhile, five kilometers away at the Sunset Motel…
Roqi and Mower had been waiting a while—scaring off waves of junkies looking for a fix and lowlifes trying to score black-market or sex deals.
Places like this, crawling with scum, were like cockroach nests. Toss in one firecracker, and monsters would come crawling out.
Decked in full armor and exosuits, mounted on MaxTac's armored heavy bikes, Roqi and Mower looked like two black bombs gleaming under the sun.
The bartender was nearly in tears.
Because of them, business was dead. Bar revenue and room rentals had dropped by more than half.
Everyone knew the kind of clientele this place attracted.
Panam was considered one of the "good" ones among nomads.
But others? Some negotiated in back rooms to pimp out their daughters, others got high and screamed. Shootouts weren't rare—blood often soaked the floors.
Decay, madness, indulgence, confusion, despair...
Until no one even remembered who they used to be.
This was California. In the year 2077.
"Beep-beep…"
Two urgent beeps, and the comms in Roqi and Mower's ears came to life.
"Emergency dispatch: Armed robbery on Route 64, east of Night City. Victims: Respect Logistics convoy. No survivors. Suspected perpetrators: Maelstrom."
"Proceed to the scene immediately. Request backup as needed. Aerial fire support will be available within three minutes."
The voice belonged to a civilian dispatcher—though Roqi couldn't tell who. They all sounded the same.
"Unit One, auxiliary ops officers Roqi and Mower reporting. En route to scene."
Roqi replied, then ended the call and nodded to Mower.
Then he called Dallas directly.
"Dallas, it's Roqi."
He didn't wait for a reply before continuing:
"MaxTac's taking over this op. We're heading out. If I see you there, I'll open fire."
He gunned the engine and roared off like a missile.
VROOOOOMMMMM—!!
The hybrid-fuel ARCH Talon had enough launch torque to pulverize anything in its way. After that, it ran on high-yield CHOOH2.
Not that the formula actually looked like that.
Unlike old bikes with rattling frames, this one was sleek, deadly, silent—a black tank slicing through the Badlands.
A police logistics officer once said Arasaka had developed "hoverbikes"—with glowing rings and sci-fi flair.
No surprise. Arasaka did it all—from defense to security, heavy industry to hospitality. An empire.
Roqi had seen news about Arasaka competing with Roam Robotics—a MomiJi Group subsidiary.
Founded in 1887, MomiJi was another Japanese giant. Unlike Arasaka, it shared global expansion tactics with Seimei Kogei.
Both made motorcycles—including hover variants.
Their payload capacity was still unclear. Armor doubled the weight. Add weapons, and you faced an entirely new engineering problem.
Lost in thought, Roqi and Mower raced across the Badlands, twin sand trails flaring behind them.
"We're approaching the coordinates. Dallas, status?"
Roqi asked calmly. Thanks to wind-filtering comms, he didn't have to yell.
Five kilometers—a short sprint at this speed. Before long, they were halfway there.
The roar of engines, the vibration underfoot, the rushing scenery—pure exhilaration. Adrenaline surged.
After all, who doesn't love speed?
To Roqi's surprise, Mower was even more thrilled—nearly shouting with glee.
"This is awesome! Hell yeah! Woohoo!"
Her face flushed with excitement.
No way you could ride like this in Night City—too many potholes, people, power poles.
She gave a wild cheer, looked at Roqi with sparkling eyes.
He grinned, gave her a thumbs-up, then pointed at her flying hair—telling her to put on her helmet.
They'd be entering a combat zone any second now.
Time to be ready.
"We've pulled out. Heading toward Route 76."
Dallas checked the map, confirming all personnel, vehicles, and equipment had moved as planned.
"Heading straight into the city is risky. We'll loop north, unload near Stone Ridge, then stage a fake Maelstrom retreat to divert the corps' attention."
Their strategy:
From Stone Ridge, a few operatives would return to Rogue with the goods. The rest, still disguised as Maelstrom, would rush toward the site, draw fire, then retreat—forming a V-shaped trail.
"Got it. Your call. Stay safe."
Roqi didn't argue. He wasn't the expert in smuggling logistics. That was PDG's job.
His and Mower's mission?
Rip Maelstrom to shreds when they showed up to loot.
The Badlands were mostly flat—minor elevation, but no real hills.
As they neared the coordinates, the scene came into view.
Several Maelstrom vehicles charged across the desert like wild dogs, kicking up dust as they approached the ruined convoy.
But the moment they got close, they knew something was off.
Why were all the trucks flipped?!
Blood. Corpses. Bullet holes. It was obvious: they were late.
Someone had already cleaned the place out.
The Badlands housed many factions—and infighting was common. Especially among chaotic gangs like Maelstrom.
"Fuck! It's all empty!"
A Maelstrom goon cursed, staring at a half-open trailer a few meters away.
They came for loot—found nothing but scraps.
"Fucking Aldecaldos! Bastards beat us to it!"
He stormed over and kicked open the back door.
Click.
A faint snap. Barely audible.
BOOM!
An explosion engulfed him.
And then—like dominoes—more detonations followed.
Dragan had left them a present: booby traps.
Radio-triggered, infrared-activated.
Enhanced tech made these mines far deadlier than the old stuff. Step into the radius, and it was over.
"It's an ambush!"
"Help! AHHH—!"
"…Guh…"
Maelstrom was blindsided. Screams filled the air.
One tried to crawl away with half an arm—collapsed and died before help could arrive.
Shock trauma to the organs. Fatal.
Whizz—
Dust fell like ash, visibility dropping.
The gang scattered—only to spot a black projectile cutting through the air.
BOOM!
Another blast rocked them. Morale broke.
Shrapnel, nails, fire—ripping through bodies and vehicles.
CRACK—!
Shhhh—
A sharp rifle shot echoed across the desert.
One Maelstrom exploded in a mist of blood and bone.
They panicked, scanning frantically.
In the distance—two bikes. One figure stood on a bike, clad in black armor, holding a massive rifle.
The other bike launched another missile—
headed straight for them.
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🤖💘 MY GIRLFRIEND'S A CYBERPSYCHO—WHO KNEW? 💘🤖
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📢 LOVE MEETS CYBERPSYCHOSIS! 📢
My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew? has 100+ chapters ahead available on Patreon! 💘💥
Romance is already complicated.
Now add:
🌃 Night City
🦾 Cyberware
🔫 Gunfights
💀 Cyberpsychosis
💥 Property damage
❤️ And a girlfriend who might snap at any moment
Love hurts.
In this case, it might also come with bullets, broken walls, and emergency trauma care.
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👩👦 Cyberpunk: Lucy Adopted Me and I Got a System
🧠 My Cyberpunk 2077 Simulator
🛡️ Star Wars: The Rise of Mandalore
🌌 Star Wars: Relics of the Past
🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
⚡ The Rebirth of Harry Potter
🌹 R18: Reincarnated in Her World
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