"Front blocked. Tail stopped. Move."
They flowed out, quick and practiced. V and the others dashed into the gap between trucks. Short bursts, aimed shots—non-lethal where it worked, lethal where it had to. The Militech guards were trained, but they were startled, clustered in the blind lane with their backs to the open street.
Lucy kept her eyes on the feed and her hands on the deck. Her backdoor kept the corp watchers busy, looping false diagnostics so their field teams chased ghosts. "Their comms are jittering," she said. "You've got about ninety seconds before someone runs a manual check."
V kicked open the freight hatch. Inside were crates—small, heavy, wrapped tight. Labels read military-grade cyberware: actuators, neural relays, encrypted sensor arrays. They moved fast, two at a time, loading the van and the delivery trucks they'd staged as covers.
A Militech tech tried to pull a manifest and radio the stop. V snapped him hard with a single shot to the shoulder—enough to shut his mouth. "No chatter," she growled, working the crates.
Max kept watch from the roof with a clear sightline. He was ready to move the moment the MRAP or response bikes showed up. "Three minutes and counting," he said into the comm. "Keep it tight."
Lucy's display pulsed. "Field override coming from the convoy command. They're running an ad-hoc sweep. Time's bleeding." Her voice lost some of its calm. "You need to be out before they lock the rotation."
V slammed the van's rear and threw the last crate inside. "Plan B," she said, already in the driver's seat. "I'll draw them off. You two go."
Max hesitated only a second. He'd planned to take chase, but the route of the incoming response looked faster than expected. "No," he decided. "I'll handle the chase. Lucy, finish the grab and get out. V, cover exits and draw them wide."
V grinned, more cruel than amused. "My favorite kind of job."
They moved as a unit. Lucy and the others shoved the last boxes into the van. V slotted the van into gear and eased it forward. At the alley mouth, she hit a remote—an EMP pulse that fried the lead truck's sensors and stilled its engine. The convoy staggered. Drivers cursed and braked.
That bought them a few breaths. V gunned the engine and shot down the alley, weaving between trash and parked cars. Bullets cracked off metal and concrete. A Militech MRAP peeled off the convoy and turned to pursue.
Max dropped down from the roof and sprinted to the bike he'd stashed. He kicked it into life and chased after the MRAP, engine whining. The chase started fast—dust, noise, the smell of hot rubber.
Lucy shoved a small transmitter into the van's battery pack, a last-minute mask to hide their signal. She shut the hatch and ran for the pre-arranged drop spot. Bullets chewed concrete near her shoulder. V took a risky turn and baited the MRAP into a narrow side street. The MRAP ground through rubble and got hung up on a collapsed barrier.
Max closed in, weaving through debris, and hit a sensor array on the MRAP with a single rifle shot. Sparks sprayed. The vehicle slowed, stalled. That left space for the van to slip through.
They drove hard, alley to alley, until V rammed the van into a hidden garage Max had checked earlier. They shoved the van behind crates and rolled heavy metal over the opening. The MRAP tore past the mouth of the lane and kept going, engines and radios screaming for backup.
Inside the garage, they all breathed hard, hands on knees, chests heaving. The crates were theirs. The hardware sat heavy in the van.
"Not clean," Lucy said, tasting blood in her mouth from the net strain. "But we got it." Her hands still shook from the ice and the push.
V popped a cigarette, offered it to Lucy. She accepted it like a small reward, took a long drag, and let out a laugh that was half relief and half weariness.
Max pressed his forehead to the cool concrete wall and checked the wristdeck. Traces were active—sweepers and angry field teams—but no direct ping on their convoy signatures yet. "We move out in ten," he said. "Lay low, split the freight, and spread it out. We don't keep all of it in one place."
They took a moment to collect themselves, checking wounds and gear. Then they moved again—slow, careful, already thinking two steps ahead. They had the cargo, and they had distance. But Militech would be hunting, and that would make their next moves more dangerous.
Dawn filled the street outside. For now, they were alive, their prize under their skin like a new weight. They left the garage the same way they had come—quiet, fast, and ready to vanish into the city.
The city swallowed them back up. Streets filled with workers heading to shifts, vendors opening stalls, taxis honking through clogged lanes. Just another day in Night City, except for the stolen van tucked deep in a back alley with millions in Militech hardware inside.
Lucy wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. She still tasted metal and static from the ICE fight. Her eyes were dull, but she forced herself upright. "We need to cut this cargo fast," she said. "Too much heat on it. Militech will ping serials the second they run inventory."
Max nodded. "Already planned. We don't sell it whole. We break it down. Pieces, parts—spread across three different brokers. Nobody sees the full picture."
V blew out smoke, a crooked grin tugging her lip. "And we make sure every broker thinks they're getting the better end of the deal."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "You trust them not to rat?"
"Course not," V said. "But by the time they're done bragging about what they bought, Militech will be chasing a dozen ghosts."
Max pushed off the wall, optics narrowing. "We can't sit here. Safehouse three blocks over. We stash half there. Other half goes to the docks by nightfall."
Lucy exhaled, a shaky laugh slipping out. "And here I thought I'd have time to breathe."
"You'll breathe when we're clear," Max said flatly.
***
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