And yet, Roqi suddenly laughed.
He parted his lips, revealing clean white teeth, and chuckled softly.
He really liked to laugh.
In the brief time they'd spent together, Roqi always used different types of laughter to express his emotions—
A smile, a bitter chuckle, hearty laughter, silly giggles, cold sneers, mocking smirks, warm laughs…
Sitting next to someone like that, it felt like sadness had less weight. Seeing that ever-upturned mouth and those clear eyes, even the fog hanging over Night City seemed to lift, if just a little.
Though Mo'er still didn't understand what was so funny.
"So now, we're both homeless."
Roqi handed over his PDA. On the screen was a message:
Eviction Notice
From: Megatower Property Management
To: Roqi
Dear Sir/Madam,
Due to the dangerous consequences caused by your tenancy, as per lease agreement VD-233056386/2077, you have been forcibly evicted and no longer have the right to occupy this property.
Seeing Mo'er's confused look, Roqi explained everything—from Goro Takemura's identity and the reason they were being hunted, all the way to their current fugitive status.
But she remained calm. To her, an NCPD warrant that didn't involve a MaxTac raid was hardly worth noticing.
In the past six months in Night City, Roqi had spent most of his time fighting alongside V and Jackie. Quiet days at home were rare—and even then, he usually got dragged to Wild Hunt, Mama Welles' bar, or some club. Most of the time, Roqi would just sip a drink and scroll through his phone.
So, there wasn't much at his place that was really his—just some daily essentials like clothes.
His only real losses?
A custom pink macho-man pistol, a limited-edition Gundam model, and a hotpot-chicken Bluetooth speaker.
Even though Roqi had accepted the situation, his heart still ached a little.
Until he found a new place, he really didn't have a home. And with Night City's rent and deposits being what they were, unless he wanted to crash in some rats' nest in the slums, or a dodgy motel where NCPD kicked down doors every week, his priority was finding a safe roof—for himself and for Mo'er.
Only, Mo'er seemed a little too quiet. Almost… restrained?
Thinking about what he had done earlier, Roqi felt uneasy.
She hadn't rejected or resisted… but he couldn't forgive himself.
He used to think "leaving things to time" was a coward's excuse. But now, he understood. Sometimes, there's just no better option.
Like now—he had no clue how to apologize to the "sweet and obedient" Mo'er.
After thinking long and hard, he finally found a way:
Call Regina.
"Regina, it's Lucky."
Ignoring Johnny's annoying encouragement—"Strike while the iron's hot!" "Take the chance!" "Now's your moment!"—Roqi made the call.
Beep...
Click.
Disconnected.
Turns out Johnny cut the line.
[Dude! Stop messing with my PDA! I swear, if you keep this up, I'm getting a new one.]
After shooting the ever-bored Johnny a warning, Roqi called again.
"Hey, Regina, it's Lucky."
"Yeah, I know. What's up?" she answered, clearly busy.
"Got any nearby gigs in Watson? Give me something."
"In a rush to pay me back? I'm not even charging interest."
Roqi had helped her land a solid contract recently, and Regina, ever the practical fixer, had been generous with repayment time. She knew that capable, dependable mercs like Roqi were long-term assets. Quick profits weren't worth burning bridges.
"Didn't you go after some big score? What—didn't work out?"
"I tried. Didn't stick."
"Well, that's your business. As long as you're alive—because otherwise, I can't collect."
"There's a job. Someone's paying to rescue his sister from Maelstrom. Just keep the target alive. Details are in the attachment."
Call ended. A few seconds later—ding.
Job Type: Mercenary Needed Urgently
Target: Rescue Lucy Chakri, kidnapped by Maelstrom
Location: Clean Cut Clinic, North Longshore Street
Details:
Blood must pay for blood. Bode, out of his damn mind, joined Maelstrom. He quickly learned their rules: give up your body, your life, or your cash.
His sister, Lucy, chose the third. Not with real eddies, but by offering her medical skills—three months of cyberware repairs to pay off the debt.
But it's been five months now.
Time to pull her out. Bill it to Bode. He might still have some hidden eddies.
Roqi gave Delamain the address.
The ride was quiet.
"Wait in the car. I'll be quick," Roqi said to Delamain's screen, though he was really speaking to Mo'er.
For some reason, Delamain's glowing blue bald head was starting to get on his nerves.
"I used to do this."
Mo'er's reply was short—and firm.
She was smart. Most of the time, she only needed a few details to figure out the whole picture. She understood her own condition well. But with Roqi… her usual composure faltered.
"You're not fit for combat right now." Roqi shook his head, then softened. "I'm not looking down on you, or giving up on you. I just think… you should rest. Then we'll see. Okay?"
"I know."
Mo'er turned away. Her soft hair fell gently over her shoulders.
Looking her in the eyes wasn't easy.
Because… damn, she was beautiful.
Roqi had to admit, she had stoked the fire earlier, but it was mostly on him for not holding back.
That "soft warmth" had been… surprisingly fierce.
"Thanks. I feel a lot better now."
Huh?
Roqi stared at her, completely stunned.
What the hell? He thought she was gonna murder him.
Like, "wake up with your junk missing" kind of payback.
[Not bad. You're halfway to my level, kid.]
Johnny, mic still hot, was having the time of his life.
[Still standing there? What are you waiting for—me to teach you how biology works?]
Smack.
Roqi shoved the PDA under the seat and cut the feed.
Silence.
He had no intention of talking to that dirty old perv.
"Well… that's good."
And immediately regretted saying something so dumb.
What a useless line.
Luckily, just as he was drowning in awkwardness and tempted to leap out the window (blocked, thanks to Delamain's bulletproof glass), the car rolled to a stop across from a row of shipping containers.
They were in the Northern Industrial District.
Night City's forgotten corner. Full of dead factories and broken tech. Perfect set piece for a post-apocalyptic flick.
Most importantly—this was Maelstrom turf.
"Step further, you're a cyberpsycho. Step back, you're a dead freak."
That summed them up.
Across the street stood the clinic—Clean Cut?
Roqi stared at the huge sign, then the massive mechanical hand on the roof.
Clean Cut? (Bit too on the nose…)
Typical Maelstrom. Messed up, but still trying to look legit for normie clients.
Clean Cut – Precision Cutting.
Medical Services.
Open 24/7.
Next to it, a towering Kang Tao holographic billboard gave the place a weirdly official feel.
If they just cleared out those Maelstrom deathmobiles and did some sweeping, the place might even pass for decent.
Roqi turned. In the sunlight, Mo'er's cheeks were rosy and striking.
But now wasn't the time.
After checking she was alright, Roqi stepped forward, hand resting on the hilt of his katana.
"You got business here?"
A chrome-faced Maelstromer crossed his arms, blocking the door coldly.
Some welcome.
Roqi looked down—still wearing that ridiculous outfit.
White bathrobe-like nomad garb, headset around his neck, assault rifle slung behind, katana at his waist.
Yeah. Definitely didn't look like a client.
"Oh, I'm looking for… uh, what was her name?"
With that, Roqi drew his blade and entered the side room.
The Maelstromer collapsed at the doorframe, a puddle of blood forming beneath him.
Shhlick.
Another got slashed mid-turn.
"Shit, my memory's getting worse."
Crunch.
He skewered one more standing by the door.
"Mo'er, you remember her name?"
BANG!
Across the room, someone's skull shattered.
"Lucy."
Ding-ding-ding! Security cameras swiveled—alarms triggered.
Too late. The last Maelstrom died under the rainbow Kiroshi signage, blood spilling near a frosted case.
A sealed medbay opened. Roqi's blade was already through half the room, stopped in front of the wounded patient and a startled doctor.
"Don't shoot!"
The female doctor finally raised her hands.
"You got something against guns?" Roqi looked at his blade, annoyed.
"I'm a doctor, not with them." Seeing she wasn't in danger, the woman kept working on the Maelstrom.
"Ah, Jessie. I finally remembered her name."
"It's Lucy." Mo'er wiped blood from her hands, correcting him.
Damn it! Why's that name so hard to remember?
The doctor ignored him. "Black screen again? Dammit…"
She kicked the mess of cables, then continued her work. A moment later, she remembered—oh right, intruders.
"You two are…?"
"Just passing masked riders. Your brother sent us."
Roqi rolled his eyes.
What, he stormed in with a sword and she thought it was a routine delivery?
"Bode?" she blinked, then turned back. "Okay… wait there."
"What's wrong with him?" Roqi asked, eyeing the half-dead chrome freak.
"Heart rate 33 bpm, blood pressure 52/102, temperature 31°C."
Mo'er's cyberware readout was crisp.
"Shit… carry him out. Even if he lives, he's gonna need antibiotics with every meal."
"This junk should've been trashed years ago!" Lucy cursed, still doing CPR.
"Heart rate 29, blood pressure 50/92, temp steady."
Mo'er yawned.
Small stuff.
She'd seen worse during her time with Militech.
"I'll handle bleeding. You give him one unit of synthetic blood," Lucy ordered.
"Me?? I'm not trained!"
"Just do it! First one on the left!"
She pointed with her eyes, hands never stopping.
Roqi turned to the table—piles of clutter under bad lighting.
What the hell… This wasn't a game. No item glow here.
No wonder mortality was high. Even a ripperdoc struggled under these conditions.
"Here."
Mo'er poked his shoulder, handing him a pneumatic injector of synthetic blood.
Roqi looked at her, resisted the urge to ruffle her hair, and jammed the needle into the guy's chest.
"Don't get it on my hands," Lucy warned, flicking her wrists. "Okay, now we wait for it to seal."
She stepped back, exhausted.
"Why save him? We just offed like seven or eight of his buddies outside."
Roqi frowned.
These were Maelstrom psychos. Wasn't she enabling them?
"I'm a doctor," Lucy said immediately.
"He's killed people. You'll never save enough to make up for that." Roqi pointed. "Keeping him alive just means more will die."
"This is a surgery room, not a courtroom." She checked the vitals. "Heart rate 52, blood pressure 58 over 114, temp 32… okay, he's stable. Let him rest."
"Thanks. Let's go."
Roqi hesitated, words caught in his throat.
Surgical Lucy and Normal Lucy were totally different.
He looked at the wounded guy, then at Lucy's blood-splattered butcher's apron.
And suddenly… he understood.
Maybe that's what being a doctor meant. Having a conscience and a line you wouldn't cross.
Fools, the lot of them.
Reminded him of that dopey chef at Baratie.
Here, there were no criminals. Only patients.
He turned and saw Mo'er standing there, stunned. Her eyes shimmered like calm waves stirred by light.
That window to her soul let a sliver of sunshine into this damp, dark OR.
"See? There are good people in the world."
Roqi's nose tingled. He smiled warmly and rubbed her head.
Only a heart like that could make someone a real doctor.
And no one knew that better than Mo'er.
Lucy's blue surgical cap glowed under the lamp, like it held something sacred.
Kindness is rare, but even a few stars can light up the night.
This, too… was Night City.
"I was going to kill him after you left… but now…"
Roqi looked back.
"I don't know if it's right or wrong. But for your sake—he's still breathing."
"My honor."
Lucy nodded, gave the OR one last glance, and left.
Back on the street, sunlight chased away the clinic's chill. Roqi and Mo'er waited by the curb for Regina's pickup.
Minutes later, a beat-up Hella rolled up. Lucy got in and vanished around the corner.
The wind blew gently, lifting Roqi's coat hem.
When he turned, Mo'er was close—eyes lowered, quietly sad.
He'd never seen her like this.
"You can lean on my shoulder."
Her ears twitched. No response.
Roqi sighed and looked back across the street at Delamain, polishing his katana like always.
Finally, a soft but firm body leaned against him, hugging his arm tightly, leaving no room to escape.
The pressure on his back clearly said: Don't turn around.
She couldn't remember the last time she felt this safe.
Family. Home. Words buried by time were slowly becoming familiar again.
Not long ago, she'd punched someone to death—now here she was, vulnerable and quiet.
Roqi didn't mind the closeness. In fact, he liked it.
He just hoped no one they knew saw them.
Two hardened killers from Konpeki Plaza… caught up in a tender moment.
His cheeks warmed slightly. He smiled, feeling Mo'er gently squeeze his arm twice.
This feeling… wasn't so bad.
.
.
.
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