"Let them through." That was the second thing the officer said after stopping the standoff. "Let them through?" The checkpoint guards looked
"Let them through."
That was the second thing the officer said after stopping the standoff.
"Let them through?"
The checkpoint guards looked confused.
They glanced at their newly appointed superior, stunned.
A group of drifters carrying high-risk weapons—and they were just gonna let them walk in?
Even if this was a payoff situation, shouldn't there be at least some fake procedure? Like detain them briefly, then quietly let them go, share a bit of the bribe money afterward?
But now—nothing, no eddies flashing—just letting them walk? This was beyond crazy.
Ignoring their confusion, the unfamiliar NCPD officer quickly approached Karl and his team.
"Need a hand towing your vehicle, Mr. KK?"
'KK?'
The moment the name dropped, the checkpoint guards froze.
They heard that right? KK?
It was KK.
Slowly, realization sank in.
They lowered their Ajax rifles and squinted at the dusty, battered figure standing in front of them.
Through the grime and the sand, those bright, piercing eyes were unmistakable.
Shit.
It really was him.
The entire checkpoint went dead silent.
Some guards started to sweat as they realized what they'd almost done.
They had pointed their guns—at KK.
If only someone had said so sooner!
"...Huh?"
Hearing someone call him by name, Karl finally caught on.
He wiped his face, shaking off loose sand. As the grit fell away, everything clicked into place.
Oh.
No wonder these guys had been so aggressive—he was so covered in dust and dirt, they hadn't recognized him.
Patting more sand from his hair, Karl chuckled to himself.
Badlands wind could practically sandblast a new face onto you.
No hat, no dust cover—rookie mistake.
Once he looked a little more like himself, Karl turned to the unfamiliar NCPD officer.
"You know me?"
The officer nodded, stepping closer and lowering his voice.
"I'm with the Deputy Chief."
"Mr. Johnson? I don't remember seeing you around before."
"I used to be in Investigations. Knew the Deputy Chief back then. He pulled some strings to get me transferred here. Didn't expect to bump into you, Mr. Karl."
A political transfer, then.
Karl didn't mind.
It was working in his favor.
If this guy hadn't recognized them, Karl might've had to put the entire checkpoint to sleep.
Karl thought for a second.
"You mentioned helping with towing?"
"We've got a tow truck."
"Can we borrow it for a bit? We'll bring it back after we get to Night City."
"Of course, Mr. Karl. Do you need us to send a driver too?"
"No, we can handle it."
Karl glanced around at the guards still standing frozen, stiff as statues.
He felt a little bad.
After thinking it over—
"I sent some eddies your way.
Buy everyone a few rounds."
Karl transferred enough money for the whole checkpoint crew to eat and drink well.
"Consider it my treat."
The checkpoint guards were stunned silent.
They heard that right?
KK—the living legend—had just... bought them drinks?
Not furious.
Not slaughtering them on the spot like some horror scene out of a bad braindance.
Buying them drinks.
Bribery?
The thought flickered through their minds—but it was too absurd.
This was KK.
Everyone here knew: if KK had wanted to, he could've wiped this checkpoint clean without breaking a sweat.
Instead, he smiled, treated them like normal people—and paid for their drinks.
It was an honor.
The real KK was nothing like the blood-drenched monster from the braindance reels.
Seeing him here, dusty and laughing...
It didn't feel real.
It wasn't until they watched the checkpoint's tow truck hauling the half-wrecked Skytower Hera into the distance that someone finally broke the silence.
"So that's KK, huh?
I used to think those rumors about the 'real KK' and the 'braindance KK' being different people were just hype.
Guess it's true."
"I'm putting this on my résumé—'Pointed a gun at KK, survived, got bought drinks.'
Might even land me a corp security job."
"But seriously—why's KK's crew still rolling around in a busted Skytower Hera?
If they'd been in a real ride, even covered in dust, no way we would've mistaken them for armed drifters.
No one even looks twice at those junkers at the dealerships."
"Maybe there's a reason.
If KK's still driving one—even half-wrecked—maybe there's something special about it."
Unaware of the chatter behind them, KK's crew rode toward the city skyline, their battered Hera in tow.
Night City.
No matter what else changed—
It was still home.
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🔥 Cyberpunk: The Relentless
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