[Now, go meet our people.]
The suit-wearing man called D let out a deep yawn, put his PDA away, and his eyes lit up with a faint blue glow.
"How strange—he clearly has implants, so why isn't he using them?"
Roqi lowered his voice, hand covering his mouth as he asked Mower in a whisper.
"To prevent tracking, and to prevent hacking." Mower responded quickly. It was a common and simple anti-surveillance measure.
"True." Roqi smacked his forehead, realizing it only now.
In a cyber world, personal information was at constant risk of being exposed. The damage a hacker could cause was far greater than in the old days when cybertech wasn't so advanced.
"Ch... C, where are you?" D frowned as he called out a few times—no response.
Annoyance started creeping onto his face, but before he could get mad, the sound of rapid-fire gunshots cracked just outside the window—loud and close. Too close. Just a wall away.
Roqi watched as the customers, experienced as ever, dove under their tables, hands over heads, striking textbook "don't shoot me" poses.
"Ugh—!" "I've been hit—!" "Someone help me!"
Amid the rhythmic gunfire, the occasional explosions hinted that things were escalating fast.
"Let me listen... Hmm. Copperhead, Pulse, Overture... oh, and Carnage." Roqi calmly named off the weapons being fired like he was reviewing a playlist.
Submachine guns, rifles, shotguns—all different tempos and tones blended into Night City's daily gunfire symphony. Screams added perfect punctuation; rage and terror echoed in every note.
But the show wasn't even halfway through before D stormed out of the diner and charged headlong into the firefight.
Roqi and Mower followed, expecting to see some dramatic shootout... but instead found a mess of corpses and wounded bodies strewn about.
"The Patriots from 6th Street, lovers of America, versus the Soviet-born Scav gang of organ thieves. And the final winner is..."
"These two passersby."
Leaning against the diner's glass wall, Roqi glanced at two breathing, upright men in suits.
One was D. The other, unfamiliar.
The unfamiliar one had stubble creeping back on his face, just barely growing in. Noticing the grin on Roqi's face, he cautiously gripped his gun tighter, glanced at D—who nodded—and finally relaxed and walked over.
"You settled things?"
He glanced at Mower, then turned to D.
D nodded.
"I'm Lucky, she's Mower. And you are...?"
Roqi looked at the flat-topped man.
"Call him C."
D cut in before the other man could respond.
"You're way too cautious." C frowned, shrugging.
"Better cautious than sorry. Once trust is earned, names can come later." D remained firm, but he didn't hide this discussion from Roqi and Mower—it was almost like he wanted their input.
"No problem here. Being careful never hurts," Roqi said understandingly.
"You can call me Charlie, and him Delta—if we're sticking with the whole mystery theme."
C softened the moment with a smile.
It was a joke referencing military lingo. In combat, to avoid confusion, letters often have designated code names: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta...
This C guy? Probably ex-military. Possibly heavily augmented.
Roqi didn't get the usual slimy corporate spy vibe from them, but that didn't rule out the possibility.
"Hop in. Time's ticking."
D motioned for them to get in a nearby van parked discreetly on the street.
The vehicle blended in perfectly with the city traffic—waiting at red lights, keeping safe distances, nothing out of the ordinary.
In Arroyo, derelict factories dotted the landscape. Despite decay and weeds growing wild, many company-owned factories still stood firm. Trucks groaned past like blood vessels pumping through the industrial heart.
Further out, Coronado Ranch painted a suffocating picture of perfection. White picket fences, lush green lawns—eerily pristine. Tree-lined roads snaked through, guiding suburbanites from the rural calm back into the factories and foundries.
All that remained now was the city's grimy utility zone—a fragmented reminder of the shattered American Dream.
From the east, the road stretched flat and sandy like it aimed for the edge of the world.
Highways and overpasses divided Santo Domingo into compartmentalized districts.
But even along Militech's designated route, vulnerabilities remained—abandoned buildings and cluttered zones made for perfect ambush spots.
Eventually, the van stopped beneath an overpass.
D slowly turned the wheel, steering the van into a scrapyard filled with rusting car shells.
Next to them stood the towering Megabuildings H6 and H7. The latter stood out, its middle section bulging three times wider than the rest, supported by pillars that looked flimsy from afar, but up close were massive.
This was the area between Arroyo and Coronado Ranch.
"Not far from Corporate Plaza," Roqi noted, frowning at the looming silhouette of Arasaka Tower in the distance.
"But not close either," D countered. "It's isolated—best spot we've got."
He sent a data packet to Roqi's PDA—it contained transport routes.
Militech was confident. Arrogantly so.
Their convoys always entered from the east and took the same overpasses. The info was probably leaked—but Roqi didn't care how they got it.
Highways meant fast travel, but also traps. Rooftops, underpasses, chokepoints—all offered ambush potential.
Now, escape plans.
Three color-coded routes. Red, blue, green.
Red: east-southeast, toward open roads. Best for vanishing—unless they got followed.
Blue: northeast, through Charter Hill and into Watson. Risky. Rich zones meant tight security.
Green: deep into Coronado. Twisting roads, low surveillance, easy wilderness access. Best option.
Then Mower proposed a bold fourth route: northwest through Vista Del Rey and the city center—right past corp turf.
"If we're fast, they won't ID us," she said calmly.
It was risky, but well-calculated. Blend in with city logistics, don't draw attention.
Everyone was impressed.
Now, the hard part: stopping the convoy.
Two main plans:
EMP blast from a van: fries electronics in a 10m radius. Downsides? Risks frying the cargo too.
IED roadside bombs: damage risk to fragile cargo, but effective.
Convoy consisted of one Militech Behemoth and two Chevrolet Emperor guntrucks.
They had a hacker team negotiating... with the Voodoo Boys.
Roqi facepalmed.
"You serious?"
"They're dangerous. Use and kill their contractors," Roqi warned.
D panicked and canceled the meeting—just in time.
"Any alternatives?"
"I know someone. Helped us fight Arasaka. Worth every eddie."
"We'll cover the cost."
Perfect.
"Also, we need drones. Mount cluster bombs. Hide them under the overpass. Once they pass—BOOM."
Mower added: "If we can get an anti-materiel rifle, we might not need bombs at all."
Clean. Precise. Deadly.
D grinned.
"Working with you two is a pleasure. Let's keep it that way."
"Absolutely. Here's to a clean job."
.
.
.
🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
📢 Cyberpunk Alert! 📢
Loving My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew? 💘🤖You can read more chapters in advance exclusively on Patreon! 💥🧠
Join the ride through Night City and stay ahead with early access! 🌆🔫
🔗 Join here: www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus👤 Patreon name: SrMagnus
Thank you for your support, chooms! 🙌