"I trusted him. After I left the Aldecaldos and came to Night City, he was my first partner." Panam stood with one hand on her hip, coldly staring at the twisted corpse at her feet. "Guess my kindness meant jack shit to him."
It was late at night on the winding roads outside Rocky Ridge. The air was getting chilly.
The ambush in town had gone off without a hitch. Aside from Panam's Thorton Mackinaw "Beast," the other two beat-up rides—a Thorton Galena "Gecko" and a Mizutani Shion—were turned into scrap metal courtesy of Roqi's anti-tank suicide drones.
The enemies barely had time to react before being shredded in a crossfire, their blood splattered across the car windows. The fight ended so fast T-Bug didn't even get a chance to jack in.
But Nash wasn't among the dead. He'd tucked tail and bailed.
Panam led the crew to a nearby Raffen Shiv outpost—one of their ghost dens.
Sure enough, Nash was holed up there.
Trying to snipe from the second floor like some big shot. It was laughable. Mower calmly raised her rifle and blew his brains out through the wall in one shot.
But revenge wasn't satisfying. It never really was. Nothing you did could bring back what betrayal took away. All that remained was emptiness.
Cars and cargo were just objects—expensive, sure, but lifeless.
What truly poisoned this city was how trust kept getting exploited, worn down, and sold out.
Roqi glanced at Panam's face and saw that emptiness clearly.
"How're you holding up?" V asked, stepping up beside her.
"Maybe a bit better," Panam replied, lowering the PDA she'd nearly used to call Rogue. She looked over at the crew, fully geared and ready.
Sure, Rogue's "holier-than-thou" attitude drove her up the wall, but credit where credit was due—she'd sent a solid crew.
The cargo, the car, the traitor—everything had been dealt with.
She still felt twisted up inside, but her face had softened a little.
"Let's move," she said, walking back to her truck and waving the others over.
"Hey, Bozz. I've got the goods." She made a call, her voice lighter now. "No need to rush. Let's meet at the Sunset Motel. I know you don't joke around—I'll be there, one hundred percent."
"We're all set. Just gotta hand the merch over to the 6th Street boys," she said over comms as the truck rumbled along the dark mountain road. "Then we go after Hellman—sound good?"
"You sure 6th Street won't try anything?" V asked.
"I've done plenty of runs for them. Never had trouble," Panam replied. "They know business."
Even psychos like the Maelstrom crew knew how to move product. Sure, gangs were ruthless, but they couldn't stay in power without deals.
And in Night City, you didn't survive long without knowing how to work with fixers.
Panam had been running cargo for Rogue. 6th Street wouldn't want to cross her—or Rogue, for that matter.
Unless they were dumb enough to act like Nash—a Raffen Shiv thug who thought no one could touch him in the Badlands.
Too bad for him, a handful of mercs had wiped out his whole crew.
In Night City, you needed power or perspective. If you had neither and tried to double-cross someone, you'd end up like Evelyn. Or worse.
The Sunset Motel stood just past the city's eastern checkpoint—the first strip of buildings along the road.
Cracked pavement with weeds pushing through, flickering lights barely holding on, wind-worn vehicles scattered across the lot, and square rooms in a standard roadside motel setup.
If there'd been a proper sunset and some palm tree silhouettes stretching across the sky, Roqi could've started singing Hotel California on the spot.
After all, Night City was in California.
Opulence and rot, pleasure and decay. People here didn't just drink to forget—they plunged into chemical bliss. A twisted version of the American dream, long broken.
By the van, a few gangsters in U.S. military fatigues—your textbook "patriots"—were hanging out.
Rifles ready, armor on, and eyes sharp. Illegal deal? Probably. Business as usual.
Cyberpunk 2077 meets California punk 1977.
A century had passed, but the world was just as rotten.
"Hey, Bozz," Panam called out as she stepped down from the truck, holding the crate.
"Hey, Panam. Where's Nash? He's not answering," boomed Bozz, a grizzled man with a big beard.
He glanced at Roqi and the crew behind her, eyes narrowing slightly.
"If I were you, I wouldn't waste time calling the dead," Panam said, lifting the crate slightly. "These folks are with me. Here's your order—AA+."
Bozz grinned and signaled his guy to check it out.
The crate opened. The man nodded and showed him the contents.
"Just transferred a fat sum to your account," Bozz said, shaking her hand.
"Pleasure doing business. Though, wasn't Rogue supposed to pay?" Panam asked with a smirk.
"You earned it—call it a tip," Bozz replied, climbing into the van. "We're out."
The 6th Street van rolled off without a second glance.
V let out a breath and lowered the gun he'd kept hidden behind the car door.
"That went smooth," Panam said, clearly in a better mood.
Her enemy was dead, her car was back, and the delivery was done. She was free.
"Raffen Shiv's wiped, 6th Street's happy—Panam Palmer had a hell of a day," V quipped.
"Day ain't over yet. You've still got time to piss me off," she shot back, unfazed.
"Next step: Hellman," Roqi said, leaning on the truck. "We'll need the Aldecaldos' help."
"The Aldecaldos? Why?" Panam asked, puzzled.
"You folks know the land best. We've gotta bring Hellman's AV down fast and disappear," Roqi explained. "If Kang Tao mobilizes, we're screwed."
He pulled up a map of southern Night City on his PDA.
"They're flying south from Santo Domingo. We take them down over Jackson Plains, retreat through the Coronado backroads, up the dam, through the mountains, and out into the Badlands."
He scrolled east.
"This zone belongs to the Raffen Shiv. Charging in would just cause trouble. Sure, they're not a big threat, but we need to stay off the grid."
"Quiet, fast, and far from Night City. Somewhere safe enough to interrogate Hellman however we want."
Rogue's interest in the relic wasn't something you wrapped up in a couple of questions.
If things went as planned, Hellman's dream of defecting to Kang Tao would be over. From here on out, his job was helping get Johnny out of Roqi's head.
If he'd betrayed Arasaka once, he could betray Kang Tao too. And Rogue.
Best solution? Cage him and squeeze out every bit of use.
"Why not stay in the city? Jackson Plains is big. We can find cover," V argued.
"I'm not betting on Kang Tao taking their sweet time," Roqi said. "See that satellite power station by the dam? It's their southernmost outpost. Full of drones and bots."
"Even if we shoot down the AV, we've only got five klicks of escape room heading south."
That power station marked the edge of Night City's southern boundary. Beyond that? Nothing but border patrol and wilderness.
And ZetaTech's Octant drone had night vision range up to six klicks.
If the AV got airborne again, they'd spot everything.
South was a dead end—pursuers behind, border ahead, mountains and sea on either side.
No backup. No escape.
"But if we run into the Badlands, we vanish in a puff of dust," Jackie said, suddenly getting it.
"…"
Panam folded her arms, thought for a moment, then let out a sharp breath. "Alright. I'll talk to some people—but don't expect an army."
"You're not part of the Aldecaldos anymore. They'll still help?" V asked.
"No favors," Roqi said, snapping his fingers. "We're hiring them."
Nomads like them didn't own land or live rich. Their vehicles were their homes and their livelihoods.
"But the Aldecaldos don't like city folk," Panam warned.
"That's why we need you," Roqi said. "You speak for us."
"We don't need many. They won't be fighting—just driving and guiding. Local support. We pay well, they'll say yes."
And since Rogue was footing the bill, Roqi felt no guilt. Spending eddies like that felt damn good.
Panam thought it over and finally nodded.
This crew might've been sent by Rogue, but they were honest. Straight shooters. Just like her.
They said they'd get her car—they did. Said they'd find Nash—they did. Quick, clean, no BS.
She liked that.
Especially now, when facing her old clan. If she brought them work instead of just awkward feelings, it might smooth things over.
She'd left the Aldecaldos. According to nomad code, they owed her nothing.
Same thing had happened when Roqi and V left the Bakkers. Only William McCoy had secretly lent a hand. The rest? Gone with the wind.
"All that talk's got me thirsty. Let's grab a dri—ow!" Jackie yelped.
Roqi had kicked him square in the butt, shooting him a glare.
"Tomorrow, after you visit the Aldecaldos, we meet and finalize the plan," Roqi said. "V goes with you—he'll handle it."
Then he grabbed Jackie by the waistband and shoved him into the car.
"Let's roll, people! El Coyote Cojo's waiting. Drinks on me tonight!"
"Hey!"
V stepped forward, watching their ride peel off in a cloud of dust and exhaust.
"Uhh…"
"What are you waiting for? I'm in a good mood—drinks on me," Panam said, climbing the stairs without even turning back.
V quickly followed, stepping into the soft glow and sound of the Sunset Motel's roadside bar.
Meanwhile, on the streets of Rancho Coronado…
"I still don't get it. Why'd you leave V behind? What are you trying to pull?" Jackie muttered from behind the wheel, clearly confused. "And why is it always me driving, anyway?"
"Are you blind?" T-Bug sighed from the passenger seat, utterly exasperated.
"I—" Jackie started to retort, but then paused, his brow scrunching. "Wait a sec… You're trying to set V up with that wild chick?!"
"Well, look at that. Your reflexes aren't completely hopeless," Roqi said flatly. "Why do you think I cut you off earlier?"
"You think V and that crazy chick actually make a good match?" Jackie asked, skeptical.
He personally preferred someone more like Misty—gentle, soft-spoken, and caring.
"I honestly don't know what Misty sees in you," T-Bug shot back, rolling her eyes. She let out a long, dramatic sigh, like mourning a flower picked by a gorilla. "Women's minds… you wouldn't understand."
"You're a woman too," Jackie grumbled, rubbing his big forehead.
"Eyes on the road," Roqi said, patting his shoulder. "Think about it. They're both nomads, both mercs. No family ties. They live free, fight hard, say what they mean. Didn't you notice how well they clicked?"
"Now that you mention it... I guess they did hit it off," Jackie admitted reluctantly.
"I've been paying attention," Roqi continued. "Think about all the mercs we've met—how many of them does V actually vibe with that easily? At the very least, they'll be great friends. Personally, I think Panam's solid—she's not the backstabbing type."
"I agree," T-Bug chimed in. She didn't talk much, but her eyes missed nothing.
"Great. So I'm the only one completely clueless." Jackie groaned. "You think I should call Misty over?"
El Coyote Cojo was Jackie's mom's bar, but Mrs. Wells didn't seem too fond of Misty.
They weren't just going there for free drinks—Roqi and V always paid their tab. Mrs. Wells only ever charged the base cost.
In her words:
"I'd rather lose money than have my boy running around like a maniac. He should stay in the bar where I can keep an eye on him."
Of course, that was never going to happen—merc life doesn't exactly come with PTO.
"…Roqi?" Jackie called after a pause, confused when he got no reply.
He turned—and there was Roqi, happily sprawled across Mower's lap, his head resting on her thighs, rolling around with a blissed-out smile.
"Damn…" Jackie muttered, envious.
Guess he'd be cuddling up to Misty later tonight, too.
.
.
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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?
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