"The Voodoo Boys and the Animals are both quiet. No movement so far," reported the scout merc. "Only the Animals from Grand Imperial Mall stepped out once for supplies."
"Keeping their cool, huh." Pangolin nodded. "Keep watching. Rotate shifts in thirty."
Like any good fisherman waiting for the standoff between clam and crane, he had to stay low-profile and wait silently for the clash. But proper recon and surveillance were still a must.
"Perfect. I'll head out and take a look."
Roqi stood up.
He'd come here ready to unleash hell—but instead, the long downtime was making him restless.
Truth be told, Roqi wasn't exactly the ideal recon scout. But because he didn't have any cyberware, he only had to worry about traditional security systems—cameras, infrared sensors, and the like.
Those high-end detection systems designed to catch cyber implants—often full-spectrum—could easily sniff out any unshielded augmentations. Especially against cyber pros like the Voodoo Boys, getting spotted could lead to a remote breach.
And if they cracked your ICE? With how ruthless the Voodoo Boys were, things would go downhill fast.
But Roqi didn't have that problem. If he got spotted, all he had to do was run.
Actually, the Voodoo Boys weren't that great in direct combat either.
So...
"If I get made, worst-case scenario? Cut my way out," Roqi chuckled.
Of course, he was only half-joking. They'd spent days tracking like patient hunters—one screw-up wouldn't be worth scrapping all that prep.
"Bati Hotel or Grand Imperial Mall?" he asked Pangolin.
One was the Voodoo Boys' home turf. The other, the Animals' forward base—so deep inside contested territory it might as well be an isolated island.
One was crawling with elite netrunners, the other with roided-up meatheads. It didn't take a genius to guess which was more dangerous to scout.
"Best if you check both," Pangolin said with a slight frown. "Rogue said you've got a plan, but I still don't recommend going too deep. They've got numbers. If they catch you before you can pull out, you'll be in serious trouble."
He knew Roqi could handle himself—but numbers matter. Even ants can bite an elephant to death, and Roqi wasn't a walking tank. And the Voodoo Boys weren't ants either.
"I'll test the waters. If it gets bad, I'll bail," Roqi nodded calmly, without bragging.
He loosened his ankles. If things really went south, he could just pull a super jump and jet-propel himself out. Who'd catch him?
But beside him, Mower was clearly thinking: I'm coming too.
She wasn't some naive, reckless heroine from a B-grade drama. She was ex-SWAT—battle-hardened and deadly.
"I'll handle Bati Hotel. You take the mall," Roqi said decisively.
He saw the disapproval in Mower's eyes immediately. Anyone with half a brain could tell he was intentionally taking the more dangerous task—and she wasn't buying the act.
"Stay safe. Keep it low," Pangolin warned as they stepped out the door.
Roqi parted ways with Mower at the corner and headed straight toward his target.
The Bati Hotel sat among a cluster of buildings, facing the ocean. If it were still running, its sea-view suites would probably cost a fortune.
Watching from the top floor of a villa nearby, Roqi realized something:
This wasn't just Voodoo Boys turf—it was a Haitian stronghold.
The hotel's spacious lobby, clean walkways, and organized shopping zones were completely transformed. Gone was any sign of its former elegance.
In their place: makeshift stalls like those in megablocks, trash everywhere, chaotic graffiti in Haitian style, and layers upon layers of unauthorized constructions—creating a sort of "terraced slum-fortress" hybrid.
If Roqi hadn't done his homework, he might've thought he was in Mumbai.
As for the Voodoo Boys...
It took a long look through his binoculars—and a tip from a scout—before Roqi spotted two of them near the entrance, chatting next to a psychedelic-colored van.
Their clothing had no uniform style—indistinguishable from locals except for occasional trench coats and sunglasses.
Outdated? Maybe. But in this community, it was still "in."
But one problem became clear: there was no way in through the front.
He'd have to cross a densely packed Haitian marketplace—full of bootleg food, shady meds, knock-off clothes, and illicit deals in every corner. Every vendor was probably an informant.
Most were Haitian immigrants from the original wave between 2062 and 2077. In just 15 years, the first generation was still holding strong. That "Haitian connection" was unshakable.
And Roqi? He looked like a corpo in a street gang den.
From this angle, the only way in was straight through the hornet's nest.
"Any other way? I'll try. Worst case—I go full Spider-Man," Roqi said while scanning the area.
"Two hundred meters toward the docks, then turn to the ocean. There's a rear entrance—guarded, though," the scout replied. "We didn't get close. Didn't want to tip them off."
He didn't mention the vibe Roqi gave off with those binoculars—like some old-school operator from the Saburo Arasaka era.
Sure, the thing had more features than an optical implant—but like a katana, it still felt "classic."
Same reason people associated the Tyger Claws with old Eastern cultures. Not just the bloodlines—but the blade-heavy loadouts.
As for Roqi—his reason for using a katana was simple: he didn't want to give up his real hand just to install mantis blades.
And if fate ever gave him the chance to face Hanako Arasaka...
He'd slam the sword down and say:
"Oi, your father's blade. It cut a thousand men."
Badass. Maybe a little inappropriate—but badass.
Ahem.
Roqi shook off the thought and moved to the hotel's rear side.
Sure enough, tucked under the bridge was a small entrance, hidden behind stairs and walls. Easily missed by any passerby.
Two guys guarded it—one slouching, one standing. Both looked bored out of their minds, like tired office workers counting the hours.
Roqi didn't know whether the Voodoo Boys had bio-alerts installed on their grunts. If so, taking them out could trigger alarms.
So he went with the safe option.
"Lucky to T-Bug. Do you copy?"
He dropped to the ground, unpacked his gear, and nudged his backpack aside.
"Reading you. Don't shout," T-Bug replied. "Location?"
"Hang on…"
Roqi pulled a small box from his bag, extracted a matte-black, fist-sized iron egg, and placed it down.
He opened his PDA and booted it up.
Click-click...
The egg morphed into a tiny recon drone.
Military-grade. Whisper-quiet. Long battery life. Low-res cam—but enough for recon.
"Drone connected. I see the feed," T-Bug said. "Hold on—I'm installing stealth shielding. Don't want Voodoo scanners picking it up."
It takes a netrunner to beat a netrunner.
That's why Rogue hired T-Bug—because going up against the Voodoo Boys without someone who knows their game is suicide.
"Distract the guards. I'll send the drone in once it's clear," T-Bug said.
She took over control. Roqi's PDA acted as a signal relay, keeping latency down.
Even in low-density areas like Pacifica, signal stability sucked. Without proper towers, real-time feeds bounced wildly. Relays helped anchor the link.
Roqi nodded—then realized T-Bug couldn't see him.
He needed a distraction. Loud enough to draw attention, quiet enough not to blow the op.
He wasn't throwing a grenade. Might as well run in swinging if that was the plan.
Instead, Roqi raised his Ajax, fitted with a suppressor, and aimed at the feet of a passing pedestrian.
Thup—
Crack!
The silenced shot thudded against the tile. The round smashed through the pavement.
"Shit!"
The civilian jumped, startled by the sharp, all-too-familiar sound.
"Help! Somebody help!"
He bolted, sprinting down the road and vanishing around the far side of the hotel.
Roqi: ...
Wrong direction, but no matter.
His scream had already done its job.
The guards stood up, walked forward with rifles raised, scanning the area.
If they'd looked up, they might've spotted Roqi's eyes.
But nobody looks up—especially when the noise came from the opposite direction.
Classic misdirection.
"I'm in," T-Bug reported. "No one inside."
The drone, barely palm-sized, transmitted a low-res but readable feed.
Inside was a dim hallway cluttered with junk.
Click...
Right as she said that, the door at the far end opened—and two armed Voodoo Boys stepped in.
"Shit," T-Bug hissed, jerking the drone into action.
The feed tilted as the drone shot up, hugging the ceiling, and clung to a beam.
A suction cup popped out. The rotors stopped. The drone fell completely silent.
In tight spaces, even "silent" drones make noise.
This one, though, had a bat-mode: upside-down hanging, like a ceiling-mounted camera.
To anyone passing by, it just looked like a smoke detector or some scrap surveillance unit.
The two Voodoo Boys strolled right under it—shift change.
Guarding a back door was boring as hell. No net, no excitement. For lazy grunts, it was torture.
They stretched and yawned, walked in, and never noticed the drone.
"Hot damn, this is intense," Roqi whispered, giving an imaginary thumbs-up.
Spy work. Infiltration. His first real mission—it had a certain thrill.
"Still not as fun as that Rayfield Caliburn we jacked from Saburo Arasaka," T-Bug quipped.
She hadn't forgotten Konpeki Plaza.
That was the most expe
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💘 MY GIRLFRIEND'S A CYBERPSYCHO—WHO KNEW?
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💘 LOVE IS COMPLICATED.
Especially when your girlfriend could probably tear a squad of heavily armed mercs apart.
Welcome to Night City romance.
My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew? has 100+ chapters ahead waiting for you.
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💀❤️ ROMANCE, CHROME... AND QUESTIONABLE LIFE EXPECTANCY
💘 Romance
🤖 Cyberware
🧠 Cyberpsychosis
🔫 Night City action
😂 Chaos & dark humor
🌃 Dangerous relationships
🔥 Very bad situations getting much worse
People say relationships require patience.
Communication.
Trust.
Nobody mentioned surviving cyberpsychos.
🔥 100+ CHAPTERS AHEAD.
👉 Keep reading if you're brave enough.
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⚠️ Power Stones help decide release priority!
💘 Love hurts. In Night City, sometimes literally.
nsive drone she'd ever flown—until Arasaka's railgun turned it into a firework.