Cyberpunk: The Relentless

✨ Special Appreciation Chapter ✨

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7:00 AM, Badlands.

A "Thorton Mackinaw Larimore" pickup truck cruised over the desolate terrain.

"I hate every two-seater vehicle."

Once again crammed between the passenger seat and the driver's seat, Karl voiced his sincere complaint. "Why do we always have to drive these damn two-seaters?"

"Quit complaining, Karl," Oliver replied in a calm tone as he kept his eyes on the road. "Neither the Quartz nor the Hera we own are modified to handle the Badlands' sandstorms. This pickup truck is our best option, so just deal with it."

"Sigh..."

Karl let out a long sigh, but he knew Oliver was right. Compared to the Quartz and the Hera, the Thorton Mackinaw Larimore—designed for cargo transport, long-distance travel, and extreme durability—was indeed the most suitable choice.

"Look on the bright side, Karl," Jackie chimed in, keeping his hand on the truck door without fully closing it. "At least with this truck, even if we get lost in the Badlands, we have twenty gallons of water (about seventy-six liters) in the back. We'd survive for days."

"Look on the bright side? Why the hell is getting lost the starting premise!?"

Despite his complaints, Karl wasn't actually upset about the truck itself—just the two-seater design.

First, because it was clearly the best vehicle for this kind of terrain. And second, because the old-timer from the Afterlife, a veteran merc who hung around The Wolf Bar, had lent it to them out of goodwill. The guy even made sure to reinforce it with Badlands protection. If he was willing to entrust them with his precious ride, it would be downright rude to complain.

The wind howled as it carried sand, pelting against the windows with a harsh scratching sound. Listening to this, Jackie brought up another topic:

"You know, when we passed through Santo Domingo, I really thought we were about to get into it with those 6th Street guys."

Jackie was referring to the tense standoff that had happened about two hours earlier.

Because of his past with the gang, Oliver had been kicked out of 6th Street and was banned from ever returning to Santo Domingo. But to get to the Badlands, the fastest route from Watson ran right through Santo Domingo.

Originally, Oliver planned to just drive through unnoticed, figuring he could avoid trouble.

But when he drove the pickup through Santo Domingo, a few 6th Street members spotted him.

Within minutes, more than twenty armed gangers surrounded them. The tension escalated as they raised their weapons. Jackie had already drawn his gun, ready for a fight.

"From the way things looked, I was about to shoot first," Jackie admitted.

"No need to rush," Karl said, still relaxed despite having been sandwiched between Oliver and Jackie earlier. "They wouldn't have dared to pull the trigger."

"That's true."

Jackie grinned at Karl's confidence. "Twenty guys? They really thought that was enough to take Oliver down?"

"I'm starting to think that rather than trying to kill Oliver, they were actually scared shitless of you two showing up," T-Bug's voice crackled through the comms.

"From what I saw on the cameras, half of them were trembling when they gathered around. Honestly, it felt less like they were threatening you and more like they were terrified that you had come to kill them."

"When they kicked me out of 6th Street, they acted so damn cocky, talking all that shit about how 'not even my father or my sister could save me' if I ever came back," Oliver muttered.

"Looking at them now? 6th Street's really gone soft."

At the center of the previous conflict, Oliver didn't seem to have any strong emotions about the situation. He simply shook his head in slight disappointment.

"I actually saw the guy who was the loudest when they kicked me out of 6th Street. I was planning to take him out first if they tried anything. But that bastard spent the whole time hiding in the back, too scared to even say a word. And here I was, still holding a grudge against someone like that? Seriously, what a joke."

"Wanting to stay alive isn't a crime."

Karl responded calmly. "Everyone has their own way of living."

"Maybe..."

Oliver muttered, but then, out in the distance, a massive cloud of dust began to rise—rapidly approaching them.

"Is that...?"

Jackie narrowed his eyes at the dust cloud, immediately thinking of the worst: "Sandstorm?"

"No, those are tire tracks—a convoy heading our way."

Oliver, more familiar with the Badlands, turned the wheel to avoid the oncoming vehicles.

"Maybe we're just in their path by accident. I'll try to steer clear."

That was his reasoning, but deep down, Oliver knew something was off.

A normal convoy wouldn't spread out like this—they'd form a straight line to make it easier for trailing vehicles to follow their tracks. But this?

This was a full-frontal charge.

And worse—they weren't backing off.

The moment Oliver turned to avoid them, the convoy adjusted their trajectory and continued charging straight toward them.

"That confirms it—hostiles."

Glancing at the rearview mirror, Oliver quickly identified their vehicles.

"Thorton Colby C240Ts—classic Nomad rides."

"So what? Nomads looking for trouble?"

Jackie heard the roar of engines, followed by gunfire and wild shouting behind them.

"Shit. Could be the Wraiths?"

"Who knows..."

Karl gripped his Liberty pistol.

"But they're already firing at us. No point in asking questions now."

"T-Bug, how many vehicles?"

"Six. Your signal's weak out there, so I can only tap into the front-mounted cameras. No clue on their numbers."

"That's good enough."

Jackie grabbed his Saratoga, then kicked the door open and jumped out.

'Berserk' activated. 'Synaptic Accelerator' engaged.

Time slowed to a crawl in Jackie's perception.

In mid-air, he twisted his body, planted one hand on the roof, and pushed off, flipping himself onto the top of the truck in a single fluid motion.

"I'll handle the top side."

The moment the words left his mouth, Jackie stabilized himself, dropping into a crouched position atop the moving vehicle. With both hands gripping his Saratoga, he opened fire on the approaching convoy.

"Then I'll take care of their systems."

Karl responded, already shutting his eyes and reclining in his seat.

"T-Bug, I need access."

"Already on it."

As data surged into his neural link, Karl's vision shifted—his consciousness diving into the networked systems of the pursuing vehicles.

The convoy was right behind them.

.

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