My Girlfriend’s a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?

A back alley in Japantown—Tyger Claw turf.

"Bauren, this all you got today? Where's the rest of it?"

A Tyger Claw thug in a red jacket leaned against the wall, eyeing a small bag with annoyance as he shook it.

"Took it off a couple punk-ass kids who didn't know better. Boss hasn't handed down today's batch yet. What's your rush?" replied another in a black tank top, his body inked in a riot of Tyger Claw tattoos.

"Then hurry the hell up. Look at the time—we still gotta hit another spot tonight. If I can't move my full quota, I ain't getting a wink of sleep—hm?"

He cut himself off, eyes locking on the two figures rounding the corner. Years on the street told him these two weren't here for small talk.

"Hey there, chooms."

Roqi strolled up with his hands in his pockets, Mo'er walking behind him, casual and smiling.

Just another typical afternoon in Night City.

But for these Tyger Claws… this day was about to go very wrong.

"Here to buy some gear? Don't got any right now, come back later."

The other thug replied offhandedly, then turned—and froze solid.

Full military-grade chrome, and some gear he didn't even recognize but could tell was top shelf. He'd only ever seen hardware like this on corpo spec-ops teams or counter-terror units.

There was no way a guy like this was hitting them up for Glitter.

Shit. They're here for blood.

The thought had barely formed before everything went black. Roqi slammed him into the wall.

"Seen this guy?" he asked, holding up a PDA. A candid photo filled the screen.

A fellow Tyger Claw. No colors, but that neck ink and street vibe made it clear.

"H-he's one of ours, I think…" the thug stammered, forcing a nervous smile.

"But you don't know him." Roqi stared him down for two seconds, then sighed.

WHAM!

Just as the guy thought he was in the clear, Roqi spun and nailed him with a high roundhouse, crushing his skull. His body flopped into a trash heap like a broken doll.

Across the way, Mo'er calmly snapped the second thug's neck. She shook her head as if disappointed.

The two stepped out of the alley as the rush of traffic and noise returned.

"Next spot."

Roqi crossed a line off his checklist and glanced at the next lead.

Ten minutes later, a BBQ stand in Japantown.

Tucked in the shade of looming towers, litter and graffiti were more common than sunlight. Tyger Claws loved to hang out here.

A few of them loitered around their bikes, chatting and chilling.

"Yo, got any Glitter?" Roqi asked as he flicked a photo of Gikawano to them. "Fifty grams. Also—seen this guy? Been hunting all day."

The gangsters exchanged a glance. One popped open a metal tin and handed over a small packet.

"Only got ten-gram bags. How many?"

"Five." Roqi pulled out a credchip.

"Nice threads, choom. Ronin gear?" one asked, eyeing his outfit.

"This is short hanfu, not Ronin crap," Roqi replied, brushing his sleeve and straightening the katana on his belt. "Seen the guy or not?"

"Looks familiar…" a guy lounging on a bike muttered. "He used to hang around here, but wasn't under our boss. Try the west side."

"You from around here? Don't think I've seen you."

Roqi grinned and waved him off. "Little China. Arasaka nuked our squat, so I'm looking for a new place."

"Arasaka? Damn. You really crossed them? Not scared of their hit squads?"

"Worry less about Arasaka and more about your feet."

Roqi's smirk turned razor-sharp. He took a step back.

The Tyger Claws glanced down—just puddles and trash.

Too late.

A small black cylinder whizzed through the air above them.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!"

Zzzzzrrt—CHHHK!

It floated midair, spinning, and exploded into dozens of searing laser lines—like a weaponized disco ball.

The gangsters were shredded in seconds, sizzling meat hitting pavement.

"Damn… this thing really packs a punch."

Roqi shuddered, imagining being on the wrong end of it.

Black market special. Thanks to Rogue and Regina, he'd gotten it dirt cheap—some of it hadn't even hit fixer warehouses yet.

Mo'er whistled cheerfully. When Roqi looked her way, her face had returned to calm neutrality… except for the faint blush on her cheeks.

A backstreet garage in Little China.

"Hey, you hear what happened in Japantown?" one Tyger Claw said, putting down his wrench.

"What now?" his buddy asked, mid-paintjob on a gang ride.

"Bunch of our guys got smoked. Not a turf war, not revenge—someone's targeting us."

"Another corpo psycho, probably," the painter grunted. "Last time some punk killed a suit's family. Turns out the guy had money. Wiped out an entire squad."

"This time's worse. I heard five or six locations, more than a dozen dead."

A third Claw pushed past. "Move it. You're blocking."

He crouched down. "Probably a wild card. They'll hire a merc soon enough. Wasn't our crew anyway."

Life in the gang meant keeping your head low and your iron ready. Death came with the territory.

"Bike repair? Got a few ahead of me. Can I get it by tonight?" a voice called from the entrance.

"What needs fixin'?"

A greasy Tyger Claw looked up, tool in hand.

"Just a dent. Got a date tonight."

"Rush job's 50% extra. Otherwise, come back tomorrow noon." He eyed Roqi, then glanced outside. "Where's your ride?"

"On its way. My buddy's driving."

Roqi gave him a polite smile and wandered inside.

The shop was basic—an open-air yard under the freeway. Five Tyger Claws, a few civilians.

The bike story? Total BS. But convincing enough.

"Rush it. Send the bill, I'll pay remote." Roqi added, "Also—I'm looking for someone. Urgent. You know him?"

He sent Gikawano's photo.

"What's your business with him?" the first guy asked, suspicious.

Nobody asked about gang members for no reason.

"You hear about the Japantown thing, right?"

Roqi glanced around, lowered his voice like he was afraid of eavesdroppers.

The Tyger Claws perked up like rabbits.

"Shhh! Keep it down!"

Roqi yanked one down by the shoulder. The rest gathered in, curious.

"Think a corpo's hunting us. Gikawano's in trouble. He pissed someone off and now they're sniffing around. I gotta warn him. He's not answering his comms."

"Shit! That makes sense!"

The Claws nodded with wide eyes.

"Where you from? Don't recognize you."

Roqi's clothes, katana, swagger—it all passed the vibe check, even without tattoos.

"Japantown. Same turf as Gikawano. Don't know him?"

"You know Shen Wei?"

"Shen Wei? Like the Triad guy from Hong Kong? Why would Tyger Claws have one of those?" Roqi scoffed. "Little China's got Chinese bosses. Japantown's run by Miyagawa Ryoume and Obata Ishin. No Shen Wei."

"Just messin' with you."

Trust level: maxed.

"He used to fix his bike here. My buddy's tight with him—heard he's laying low in the Kabuki roundabout."

"Place is packed. Food, drinks, fun, you name it. I'd live there if rent wasn't nuts."

"What's your buddy's name?"

"Kenmochi Taki. Sent his contact to your PDA." He smirked. "All-inclusive deal?"

"No hookers. Just drinks. See ya."

Roqi stood up.

All the Claws had stopped working and were watching him.

"Catch you later. When's your ride showing up? I'll throw in a discount."

"See ya."

Roqi brushed off his hanfu, then—

Shhhk!

His katana flashed. Two heads dropped. Two more gurgled as their throats split.

THUMP!

One final kick. The last thug slammed into a support beam, impaled through the chest. Blood trickled down the steel.

"Damn. Blood again."

Roqi sighed, sheathing his blade as civilians screamed and ran.

"…Please… don't kill me…"

A middle-aged man huddled next to his beat-up sedan, clutching his head.

"Try Umran Street's garage. Good service."

Roqi exited and regrouped with Mo'er.

At her feet, half a dozen biker punks lay twitching—burnt black and broken.

"He's probably in the Kabuki roundabout. Got a lead on a friend—Kenmochi Taki," Roqi said.

"Ask Regina. She knows that zone best," Mo'er suggested.

"Damn, you're sharp. I totally forgot." Roqi smiled. "Been chasing this all day… next time we meet Gikawano, I'm taking him apart."

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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?

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