They crossed through Glen in Heywood, heading south toward a bridge spanning the ocean.
Moving between districts was nothing new in Night City—whether from the bustling city center to the neon buzz of Kabuki, or from crowded Japantown to the corporate polish of Charter Hill.
But only Pacifica gave the feeling of stepping into another world once you passed its corrugated steel outer wall.
Ahead rose an overpass and luxury high-rises perched above the coastal edge.
You didn't even have to crane your neck—sunlight shimmered across the ocean, reflecting brilliantly on the waves.
By the sea stood suspended villas, part of a would-be luxury zone, with beachfront boardwalks made for commerce and a row of empty commercial buildings lined up behind them.
Squinting, Roqi felt like he'd returned to the lively metropolis of his past life.
But when he looked closer, the illusion shattered.
Their car rattled along a cracked two-lane cement road. Everything outside was either unfinished or already abandoned.
Buildings that should've been occupied were instead overrun by squatters from every walk of life—resembling the slums of other districts in a strangely familiar way.
If the original developers had envisioned this as a stylish oasis in the desert, a glittering business hub, then what Roqi saw now wasn't far off—just painted over in "war damage textures."
The whole district looked like a bombed-out zone from the Middle East or Africa. Under the blazing sun, walls stood bleached and cracked.
A forsaken zone.
Roqi took in the scene with mixed feelings.
This was Pacifica.
Coming in from the north, the first landmark was the Floating Pier.
Dozens of elevated seaside villas lined the coast—almost picturesque.
If you ignored the squatters living inside.
The pier wasn't held by the Voodoo Boys, or the Scavs, or even the Animals.
Every sort of street scum had gathered here.
Across the beach, Scavs were throwing a rave. Animals lumbered by. A few Tyger Claws or Valentinos creeps could be spotted too—chaos incarnate.
Eager Yamasaki pulled over slowly, engaging the handbrake.
Descending the stairs, they stepped into the coastal commercial zone.
A stretch of beach and some old wooden buildings had already been claimed by a group of freelance mercs. They were few, but sharp.
Pangolin was leading them.
"So this is the spot? Damn, cozy."
Roqi strolled in with a grin.
Pangolin looked much more relaxed than he ever did around Rogue. No shirt—just shades, a neck-guarded flak vest, and board shorts. He stood by a grill, living the beach life.
BBQ by the ocean—luxury in the wasteland.
Seeing Roqi, Pangolin casually grabbed a handful of skewers and shoved them into his hand.
"Made these for you."
Caught off guard, Roqi smiled and accepted them.
"Smells like cumin. Real meat?"
"Yep," said Mower, glancing at the skewers. "Chicken."
In 2063, to combat deadly zoonotic outbreaks, the city passed the Avian Eradication Act, exterminating all birds within 18 miles of Night City.
In a world where the poor couldn't afford antibiotics, the best way to stop infections was killing the source.
That also meant no chickens.
Since then, smuggling in poultry—like real chicken meat—had become profitable for drifters and corpo traffickers alike.
And Rogue's warehouses? Full of contraband.
Free-range chicken from remote mountains? Yeah, she had that too.
So Roqi wasn't surprised by the meat—he was surprised by Pangolin's vacation mode attitude.
"This place used to be Scav turf," Pangolin explained. "They were blasting music and partying loud. I hate that shit."
Roqi understood.
Those loudspeakers and the Scav corpses were probably trashed in some dark alley right now.
The mercs had blended in perfectly.
Even the BBQ helped keep appearances.
Eager Yamasaki wandered in without a word. Pangolin didn't greet him—just grabbed food, sat down, and started eating.
"How's the Grand Imperial Mall? Have the Voodoo Boys made a move?"
Roqi slouched into a beach chair, mimicking Pangolin.
"Not yet."
Pangolin flipped skewers and dumped on chili powder. Roqi winced.
Thankfully, it was a personal preference—he hadn't ruined the whole grill.
"There."
Pangolin nodded. One of his guys turned on a projector.
Footage of the mall's exterior appeared—from a rooftop camera Pangolin had installed.
All the original cameras were long gone—scrapped and sold.
Three hidden cams now kept watch, tracking every move the Animals made.
"The Voodoo Boys are playing the long game," Pangolin said. "See those two near the car in the bottom right?"
Roqi looked—two guys in casual wear, arms crossed, loitering in the open.
Taunting the Animals.
"That whole area belongs to the Voodoo Boys. Locals, gang members—you name it. But they haven't done shit yet."
The feed switched to the Batty Hotel—the Voodoo Boys' HQ, barely two klicks away.
They weren't a big gang, but they had deep roots. And most other crews preferred not to tangle with their cryptic, netrunner brand of madness.
Best not to provoke them now.
The Animals and Voodoo Boys were on the brink—any move could spark war.
If Roqi's crew jumped in now and hit the Voodoo Boys, they'd become the target of full retaliation.
Better to wait until both sides were bleeding—then strike from behind.
But just as Roqi considered sending in scouts, gunfire broke out nearby.
The whole crew snapped to attention.
Some even flipped off safeties by reflex.
Pangolin motioned for calm, then strolled outside to look.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunshots—rhythmic, sharp, like nails being hammered.
"Medium-caliber rifle. Semi-auto. Precision shots," Mower said, ears twitching. "That's a trained veteran, for sure."
She ran the audio through her system.
"HJSH-18 Authentic. Arasaka-manufactured."
"Who's out there?"
Roqi joined Pangolin, arms crossed.
He'd seen a crowd at the floating pier earlier. Hadn't cared.
Now it looked serious.
"Tyger Claws car under the bridge," said a merc approaching.
"No shit," Pangolin muttered, nodding toward the pier.
A body tumbled down the stairs—leaving a red trail behind.
"Damn. Clean headshot."
Roqi whistled.
This wasn't some game revive mechanic. A hit from the Authentic blew through any skull.
Only top-tier exosuits might block it—and the Tyger Claws clearly didn't have that kind of gear.
Bodies kept piling up.
Roqi found it strangely beautiful—like an artful execution.
They grabbed beach chairs again and started watching.
Beep-beep...
Roqi's earpiece buzzed.
"Emergency Alert — Active shooter near the Floating Pier, Pacifica coastline. Multiple civilian casualties. Proceed immediately."
Time to work.
Roqi and Mower stood. Pangolin looked confused.
"We've got hero duties. Be right back."
Roqi smirked and grabbed his weapon.
They hadn't brought full Terror Squad gear or the ARCH Talon—this was Rogue's job—but that didn't stop them from doing some undercover policing.
"More bodies," said Mower, pointing.
Tyger Claws cars had crashed under the bridge. Corpses everywhere.
"Jeez. Crushed ribs."
Roqi eyed one who'd clearly been hit by a vehicle.
Nearby lay another, riddled with bullets.
"Check this."
Mower waved him over.
A van. Rear doors open. Empty inside—except for a scantily clad woman's body.
"Tortured to death. Dead for days," Mower scanned. "Citizen: Sofia Ramirez. No criminal record."
In Night City, even sex workers were considered disposable.
"Revenge for love? How cliché," Roqi muttered.
He didn't waste sympathy.
Tragic backstories didn't move him. Night City was full of them.
If a guy wanted revenge and went full Rambo? Roqi would clap and sell popcorn.
But when they started indiscriminately killing civilians? That's when the Counter-Terror Tactical Unit stepped in.
"Headshot. Headshot. Another headshot."
They advanced cautiously up the pier, using cover.
Corpses littered the hundred-meter dock.
Roqi tensed. Whoever this was—real threat.
Not the kind of opponent you face casually.
A mistake here meant a bullet between the eyes.
Bang!
Thud.
A Tyger Claws thug stumbled past—took a bullet to the head, dropped like a sack of meat.
His lifeless eyes froze mid-horror.
Civilians scattered, screaming like headless chickens.
And yet—the bullets kept coming.
Indifferent. Efficient. Deadly.
Roqi pursed his lips.
Then gave a smile.
One that didn't reach his eyes.
-
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MY GIRLFRIEND'S A CYBERPSYCHO—WHO KNEW?
🤖💘 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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