My Girlfriend’s a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?

"Hey, are you actually dumb, or just playing dumb?"

Roqi squatted down in the narrow alley, which was lit up with colorful signs and buzzing neon.

Strings of red lanterns hung overhead. A nearby sewer vent glowed with light, buzzing and crackling from some exposed wiring. Walls were plastered with old posters and fresh graffiti—your typical back alley in Kabuki or Little China.

Chinese diners, hardware shops, motels, karaoke joints—cheap entertainment crammed into the cracks between high-rises. Look up, and all you'd see was the stolen sky.

The Tiger Claw enforcer Kenmochi Taki ran a pachinko parlor here.

Basically, it was an electronic gambling arcade.

Not that unusual in Night City. But she'd set up shop right across from one of Regina's supply depots.

Yep—this whole place was one of Regina's arms caches. Who would've thought?

In a place like this, the NCPD might expect to find drugs or bootleg BD gear. But weapons stockpiled in the middle of a busy commercial district? That was some next-level fixer thinking. Roqi even wondered if that missile launcher he bought off Regina had come from this very stash.

Funny how small the world could be.

The lead Roqi was chasing just so happened to be connected to someone Regina wanted to erase.

Not that Roqi cared about her reasons.

Fixers weren't in the charity business. Every dirty job they handed out would make most mercs' skin crawl. They rarely pulled the trigger themselves, but their hands were soaked in blood all the same.

With that in mind, Roqi and Mower had no problem tearing the place apart—along with the Tiger Claws guarding it.

"Regina's warehouse is literally across the street. What the hell were you thinking? Bringing heat right to her doorstep?"

Roqi shook his head. "Yoshikawano. Where is he? I know you know him. Talk, or Regina gets your corpse in a bag."

"Alright, alright, goddammit! I'll talk!"

Kenmochi Taki—red hair in two messy buns, blind sunglasses over her face—lay sprawled on the floor, hands shielding her face, inching backward.

"He's staying in a motel near the roundabout market. That's where I put him!"

"You sure?" Roqi eyed her, casually running his katana across her neck.

"Yes! I swear! I arranged it myself! Let me go, alright? Whatever Regina's paying you—I'll double it! Triple!"

No way was she gonna test that blade—her goons were already crumpled on the floor. Two of them even had combat implants, and they still got sliced down like paper dolls.

"Pachinko pays that well, huh…" Roqi scratched his chin, giving the parlor a curious once-over.

"If you want it, the machines are yours!"

Seeing Roqi wasn't in a killing mood, Taki cautiously slid out from under him and sat up, leaning against a table, trying her best to smile.

Thud!

Her expression froze. Her glasses fell to the floor.

"Really? You tried to draw on me?"

Roqi scoffed, glancing at Mower behind her—who'd knocked her out cold with a precise chop to the neck.

Mower shot him a look that said: Why didn't you do it yourself?

"You know me—I either miss or hit too hard."

Roqi waved it off.

Mower had tried to train him five times on how to knock someone out clean with a chop or a gun butt.

Only once had it worked. The other attempts? Eighty percent fatality rate.

Sure, it looked badass—but damn, it was messy.

He watched as Mower effortlessly stuffed Kenmochi into the trunk of a fixer's car. The professionalism with which these corpo types executed abductions, assaults, and hits made even organized crime look amateur by comparison.

"You got her? That's a big one. Didn't expect you to let her live. Still, one less rat on the street," Regina said. "And the guy you're looking for? I know the name. Didn't think he was connected to Taki."

"What do you know about him?" Roqi asked, strolling with Mower.

"He handled all the nastiest jobs. Even in the Tyger Claws, he was considered vicious," Regina said. "Killed more than his share. What'd he do this time? Never mind. Best not to ask."

"Somebody wants him dead. That's all," Roqi said with a grin. "Oh, by the way—Taki said you two were friends?"

"Worked a few gigs together. Things went fine. Didn't think she'd screw me over so quick," Regina sighed. "Actually had a job in the market district, but V handled it already. Could've saved you a trip."

"What kind of job?"

"Cop was poking too deep. Someone wanted her gone," Regina yawned. "But V convinced her to quit and go Nomad. Guess there's still a few good ones left."

"Yeah, well… NCPD's just a bunch of corporate dogs. A decent cop's a rare thing."

Roqi chuckled.

"Anyway, job's done. Regina Jones is satisfied. Stay safe out there."

Click. Call ended.

It wasn't long before they reached Kabuki's northern roundabout.

Despite the name, it wasn't really a traffic hub. It was a unique blend of traditional architecture, adding a splash of style to Kabuki's chaos.

Old friends reuniting over ramen. Kids gawking at the latest braindance ads. Every corner of the circle crammed with vendors selling knockoff brands at rock-bottom prices.

Like every good Chinese market, it was crowded, noisy, and smelled like a hundred different street foods all at once. Trash everywhere. But it had soul.

And once night fell, the Kabuki roundabout became Night City's black market core.

The third ramp led directly into it. Deals ran till sunrise.

Implants, organs, combat drugs, cyberware, steroids, synth-viruses, braindances—you name it. If you knew where to look, and who to ask, you could get anything.

Some underground ripperdocs even claimed they could install prototype Arasaka or Biotech gear—stuff "from Chiba labs" or "Scandinavian bioclinics."

Roqi didn't doubt it. Black markets working with Scavs probably did sell body parts yanked fresh off the bone.

On the south side of the circle was a sunken market. Down the stairs and into a maze of noisy stalls.

Even this late, it was packed wall to wall. Stalls of all sizes sat crooked on cracked concrete. Overhead, a web of walkways and industrial scaffolding stretched to the sky, just like Umran Street.

Fast food. Cheap booze. Ceramics. Sheet metal repair kits. You could find anything.

It was bigger and busier than Roqi expected—though still cheap and gritty. The locals weren't exactly rolling in eddies.

Even here, ads were everywhere—half the noise in the air came from them. The rest was human.

Naturally, there were Tyger Claws. You could spot them a mile off—flashy outfits, armed to the teeth.

Roqi and Mower ignored them and made straight for the motel Taki had mentioned.

Self-serve kiosk. Pay up front. Room assigned automatically.

"You notice the rates fluctuate with demand?" Roqi said, glancing at a pair of sexbots leaned against a vending machine.

Clack.

The door popped open. Mower was already inside.

"Damn, that was fast!"

"Standard bypass suite. Unless the lock's high-end, I can crack it," she said, tapping her head.

"What about that one? Show me again."

Roqi pointed at a door labeled RC.

Apparently the motel was an old residential building converted into cheap rooms. First floor was stuffed with arcade cabinets.

Roqi never got the appeal—everyone had neural ports, and people still played these relics?

Then again, even Taki's shop had some.

"Whoa, this must be the back office." Roqi stepped inside, spotting a long hallway and a dusty desk tucked into a corner with an old PC.

The motel wasn't fully automated. A few staff still worked maintenance. The terminal was open—and bingo, guest list.

"So RC means Registration Card, huh? Let's take a peek."

Room 202 – Wilson family (2 adults, 1 child). This week paid.

Room 204 – Sabrina Ellis. Reserved 3 nights. Paid.

Room 302 – Someone (DO NOT DISTURB!)

Room 303 – Anna (no surname). Monthly renewal. Do not disturb. Four days missing.

Room 306 – Yu Sen. Ongoing stay. Regular payments. Do not disturb.

Two floors. Six rooms each. Tiny spot.

Still, better than no income.

"Room 302… that one's sus as hell."

Roqi squinted at the screen.

Not much info, but that "DO NOT DISTURB!" with an exclamation point? Shady.

"Let's go pay dear Yoshikawano a visit."

He headed upstairs and knocked.

Knock knock knock.

"Anyone home? Community outreach."

Silence.

Knock knock knock.

"Anyone there? Free ramen?"

Still nothing.

Knock knock knock.

"FBI! OPEN THE DOOR!"

Dead quiet.

Roqi looked at Mower, shrugged, drew his katana, and gave her the nod.

Her cyberoptic flickered. Click. Door unlocked.

Roqi kicked it open and stormed in.

"…Huh? Nobody?"

…

Meanwhile—

At the building's front door, a wobbly figure stumbled in.

A beer in hand, burping up seafood sushi, the man yawned and staggered up the stairs.

Dinner had hit hard tonight.

Stupid biotech shrimp—big, juicy, suspiciously cheap. Tasted great, though.

Food safety? He'd worry about that if he lived long enough.

Hell, people had been hunting him for weeks.

That so-called deputy commissioner? Total joke. Couldn't even track him down.

What pissed him off was his own gang bailing. Even Arasaka dropped him the second things got ugly. Some family.

He took another swig.

The door scanned his biometrics. Click—unlocked.

"…Huh? Who the hell are you?"

Through booze-fogged eyes, he stared at the two strangers in his room.

Something was very wrong.

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🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?

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