On the outskirts of Night City, along Route 64.
This barren expanse in the city's eastern fringe is indistinguishable from any other stretch of wasteland.
Highways laid decades ago span the Badlands, hovering between ruin and functionality.
Only the portions closer to Night City have seen recent maintenance. If you get lost in the Badlands without reliable navigation, just head toward the faint glow in the sky—you'll find your way. When the road improves and roadside wrecks and corpses increase in number, you know you're close.
The PDG and Rogue's crew, designated for the convoy ambush, were already in position near the highway, silently awaiting their target.
The weather struck a balance between dry heat and a cool breeze—not too hot, not too cold.
Warm sunlight bathed the land, accompanied by a wind thick with the scent of sand, dust, and a deep, earthen heat rising from below—a strange, complex sensation.
But anyone who's spent time in the Badlands knows:
Add a hint of acrid, unfiltered industrial air—and you've got the true scent of the Badlands.
These lands don't just house nomads and Maelstrom. They're the dumping grounds for factory waste.
Minefields from the Unification War remain untouched seven years later. Only smugglers know the safe paths.
Abandoned wind farms stand rusted and skeletal, their twisted blades like corroded titans bowing in the acid rain.
The region's best-known feature is Biotechnica's protein farms—far to the south. In the east, you'll find the remains of autonomous zones built by Stone Ridge, now ghost towns after corporate collapse.
Only the solar power plant stands out—shimmering fields of panels visible for miles. But no sane person approaches corporate property guarded by lethal drones.
Whatever exists out here eventually gets buried by time and wind. Once abandoned, it turns to relic.
Tire tracks are rare signs of activity—often followed by gunfire.
The corporate media brands nomads as violent anarchists, unhinged lunatics.
But those who truly know them understand the truth: they're complex.
The slander isn't entirely baseless, just exaggerated. This isn't a romantic frontier—it's a battlefield.
Still, some clans—like the Bright family of the Aldecaldos under Saul—don't attack civilians. They strike only at the corps that smear them.
It's no wonder corporate propaganda vilifies nomads.
Smuggling, killing, theft… they operate in family units, roaming mercenaries.
Just like mercs—there are good ones and bad ones among nomads.
The worst of them have a name:
Maelstrom.
In truth, there are no saints. Corps tear apart lives, driving people into exile. Nomads become raiders and mercenaries in turn.
As Roqi once said:
"You're not wrong. I'm not wrong. We just stand on opposite sides."
But when weighed against the corps—their crimes are worse.
That's why Roqi took every job against these megacorps without hesitation.
He and Mower were stationed at the Sunset Motel, where highways crossed.
The same spot where Panam once met V.
Five kilometers from the ambush point on Route 64—farther than when they kidnapped Hellman.
For PDG, corp response times were so slow they could strike twice and sip coffee in between.
Right now, they were disguised as Maelstrom.
Their vehicle, outfits, and weapons—all screamed Maelstrom. Cheap, brutal, disposable.
Thanks to Rogue's help, their disguise was flawless.
But their movements—too clean, too professional—betrayed them.
Roqi's tip?
"Hold the trigger. Don't let go."
Everyone immediately got it.
That chaotic, unrefined style—full-auto panic fire. It wasn't art—it was survival instinct.
Once the image was locked in, it was easy to emulate.
Nok carried a D5 Copperhead. The others wielded DS1 Pulses from Darra Polytechnic—dime-a-dozen guns in the slums.
The exteriors looked rusted and worn, but the internals had been swapped—triggers, barrels, firing systems.
Respect Logistics had no idea what was coming.
They'd dealt in human trafficking. Roqi didn't feel a shred of guilt.
Even if Maelstrom had been purged from the supply chain and MaxTac had raided a warehouse…
Roqi knew the changes were cosmetic. The rot remained.
Respect Logistics was just one of many.
He once thought robbing the rich was stupid—not all rich people deserved it.
Scavs were monsters, sure. But next to corporate suits? They were small-time.
Roqi didn't chase justice. He had one belief:
"If you aim at a megacorp, don't miss."
"Fuck, why are they so late? Are they always like this?"
Roqi was getting impatient. The convoy hadn't shown, and Dallas hadn't checked in.
"Drink? On the house."
The bartender-slash-manager offered politely.
He'd been observing them for a while. Even in the heat, they stayed glued to their bikes—clearly waiting.
But he didn't dare leave either.
A Six Street car was still smoldering in the lot.
It was his first time seeing MaxTac in person—riding armored bikes, ruthless as the legends say.
Yet, oddly… cordial.
"No thanks. Alcohol dulls judgment."
Roqi tapped his temple, pulled out a bottle of Pure Water. With a flick of his exoskeleton-gloved hand, he popped the cap.
Now it looked like a crumpled cup of water.
He stared at it.
Glug glug glug…
The bartender quietly stepped back.
He knew Roqi's meaning:
"Stay out of this."
The wind howled. The dust flew.
In the Badlands, everything gets dirty.
Their excuse for being here was to clean out Six Street's drug trade.
Had they shown up earlier, it would've looked suspicious.
"All done."
Mower returned, armored up, climbing onto the ARCH Talon.
She'd loaded Six Street's drugs with thermite and tossed them into the fire. At 2500–3500°C, nothing survived.
Better to destroy it than let motel guests fight over scraps.
Roqi didn't care about lowlifes. But if a brawl broke out and HQ sent him to mop up?
No thanks.
Their mission: hijack the convoy, blame Maelstrom, leave no trace.
"They're here!"
Roqi had been zoning out when his comms flared.
Before he could respond—static, shouting—chaos.
Sounded like a party.
Roqi and Mower locked eyes.
Game time.
On Route 64—
Black smoke spiraled into the sky, stark against sand and sky.
A flaming truck lay flipped on the roadside.
Another couldn't stop in time, crashed into the rear.
No EMPs were used. Would've fried the instruments inside.
These tools needed care.
So they went analog.
A netrunner jammed communications, hacked the peripherals—blinking lights, rogue wipers, locked brakes.
They left core security untouched—on purpose—so alerts could go out.
At first, Respect Logistics guards laughed—these clowns can't even breach armor.
Then their people started dying.
Sniper rounds punched through the cabs.
Staying in meant dying.
They jumped out, threw smoke, regrouped.
Didn't help.
Drones scanned them from above. Biometric locks pinpointed their positions.
And Maelstrom? Too coordinated. Too good.
Then the suicide drones came.
Lines broke. They died one by one.
Two survivors tried to flee. The truck was dead.
An anti-vehicle spider drone had fried it.
"Move move move! Grab the goods and bounce!"
A hidden truck roared back to life, its fake Maelstrom livery catching sunlight.
"Holy shit—Seimei Kogei!? We just hit the motherfucking jackpot!"
Dallas yelled as he pried open a crate.
Nippon Seimei Kogei Associates—a legendary Japanese biotech firm from the early 21st century.
Their greatest achievement? Full-body human cloning—mind and all.
By 2015, the tech was complete. In 2016, the division was wiped out in a covert op.
At the time, global cloning was barely in phase two.
Seimei Kogei clashed with Arasaka's vision.
Though little material was lost, their stolen research was priceless.
Roqi didn't know what happened since.
But Seimei Kogei's gear was still the most advanced—and most expensive.
They hadn't just pulled off a hit.
They'd struck gold.
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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.
Don't wait for the madness — read ahead now on Patreon!
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🛑 ALSO AVAILABLE ON PATREON:
🌃 Cyberpunk: Dogtown Legend
🔥 Cyberpunk: The Relentless
👩👦 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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