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The Badlands.
A hostile expanse of sun-bleached death surrounding the neon oasis of Night City. Old asphalt veins, half-buried by shifting dunes, cut through a landscape of dry oil fields and rusted mountains of scrap.
A Chevrolet Emperor 620 Laguna—an Arasaka-spec SUV—sat hidden behind a low ridge of packed dirt. The Arasaka logos had been crudely sprayed over with matte black paint, making it look like just another nomad raider's rig from a distance.
But inside, it was a mobile command center. Modified by the Counter-Intelligence Department, it boasted reinforced plating, signal dampeners, and a high-end server array in the trunk. This was a "Hacker's Chariot," designed to provide the massive computing power necessary to suppress enemy ICE. In a digital war, computing power is the only true currency. A solo Netrunner facing a corporate server is like a man bringing a knife to a nuclear silo.
The SUV was also the hub for two military-grade reconnaissance drones circling hundreds of meters above, invisible to the naked eye.
"How much longer? My legs are cramping in this bucket," Rebecca shouted. The luxury leather seats weren't enough to contain her restless energy.
"Quiet," Maine grunted from the passenger seat. He looked like a strict father trying to keep his kids in line before a graduation ceremony. This was their first corporate-tier hit, and the weight of the mission was etched into the lines of his face.
"Hmph." Rebecca pouted, returning to her dual Shingen smart-SMGs.
This operation was fully bankrolled by V. He couldn't provide personnel, so he'd provided fire-power. The equipment spread across the team was gear the Afterlife regulars only dreamed of: smart-guns, tactical grenades by the crate, and a Nekomata tech-sniper rifle.
The Nekomata was a masterpiece of corporate lethality, a railgun shrunk down to a handheld frame. Kael held it now, his fingers tracing the cold metal. V had put everything on the line for this; if they succeeded, the gear was "combat loss." If they failed, they wouldn't live long enough to worry about the paperwork.
"They're here," Lucy said. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were glowing a steady, deep blue as she fed the drone feed directly into the team's shared HUD.
"Target confirmed. Jackie, prep the jammers," Kael commanded.
"On it," Jackie said, racking the slide on a Satara electromagnetic shotgun. He'd left his gold-plated pistols at home; today required the kind of stopping power that could punch through an armored chest plate.
"Finally! Let's break some toys!" Rebecca jumped out of the car, smart-guns already whirring to lock on.
The Militech convoy appeared on the horizon, kicking up a massive plume of dust. Two armored Behemoths protected a central transport truck. To any nomad or scavenger, the Militech logo was a "Do Not Disturb" sign.
The drivers were relaxed, nearing the Night City perimeter. They were yawning, their nerves numbed by the heat.
BOOM.
The lead Behemoth was launched into the air as a buried pressure-charge detonated. It flipped three times, a twisted heap of smoking metal.
"Ambush!" a guard screamed into his comms, but all he heard was static. Jackie's jammer had turned the area into a dead zone.
Kael, perched on the high ridge, peered through the Nekomata's scope. The world turned into a wireframe of heat signatures.
CRACK.
The rail-slug traveled at supersonic speeds, punching through the reinforced windshield of the transport truck. The driver's head didn't just bleed; it vaporized.
Down in the kill zone, Maine and his crew opened fire. Smart-bullets curved through the air, seeking the gaps in the tactical squads' armor. Dorio moved with the grace of the athlete she used to be, lobbing incendiary grenades with surgical precision.
"Sniper! Eleven o'clock!" a Militech scout yelled. He didn't get to finish the sentence. Kael's second shot tore through the armored glass and the scout's chest, pinning him to the seat.
The Nekomata's recoil would have shattered a normal man's shoulder, but Kael—backed by the Power of Three—absorbed the shock as if he were part of the rifle.
The rear armored vehicle deployed smoke, a thick white wall obscuring the road. To any other sniper, the battle would have slowed. But Kael saw the world through Lucy's drones. The thermal silhouettes of the surviving soldiers glowed like beacons through the haze.
"Nuo! Three of them are flanking you! They've got Sandevistans!" Lucy's voice was sharp with worry.
"I'm moving to support!" Jackie shouted, but he was pinned down by a heavy machine gunner in the transport's rear.
"Stay on target, Jackie," Kael said, his voice a clinical rasp. "I'm the famous BT, remember?"
Three shadows blurred toward the ridge, moving with the jagged, unnatural speed of a "Peregrine" Sandevistan. Time, for them, had slowed to a crawl. They were ghosts in the dust.
Kael stood up. He didn't aim at the flankers. He aimed at the heavy machine gunner pinning down Maine's team.
CRACK.
The rail-slug punched through the gun's housing, the gunner, and the engine block behind him.
"Die, you meat-bag!" The first Militech flanker reached the ridge, his Mantis Blades snapping open. He was screaming, his mind already slipping into the red haze of cyberpsychosis from the strain of the high-end Sandy.
The flanker's eyes widened. He realized Kael's gaze wasn't frantic—it was tracking him.
How? the soldier thought. He has no spinal chrome!
Kael didn't need a Sandevistan. The Pilot instincts of Titan-Kael and the CCG training of Ghoul-Kael allowed his mind to process reality at a speed the soldier's hardware was only trying to mimic.
Pop. Kael drew the Kenshin and put a round through the flanker's open mouth. The man's momentum carried his lifeless body past Kael, sliding into the dirt.
The remaining two flankers hesitated. One tried to dash in a "Z" pattern, his body a blur. Kael activated his Jump Kit, the blue thrusters launching him ten feet into the air. From his aerial vantage point, the "Z" pattern was just a slow-moving target.
He rained down tungsten rounds, targeting the assailant's leg servos. The soldier collapsed, his Sandevistan sparking as it short-circuited. Kael finished him with a casual double-tap while still in mid-air.
Finally, there was the squad leader. He was the most experienced, his movement fluid. He realized he couldn't outrun the drones, and he couldn't out-shoot the "ghost" on the ridge. He charged, a desperate, last-stand roar on his lips.
Kael met him halfway. In close quarters, the difference in reaction speed was a chasm. Kael parried the leader's strike with the barrel of the Kenshin, kicked his lead leg out from under him, and placed the muzzle against the man's temple.
Pop.
The silence of the Badlands returned, broken only by the crackle of burning electronics.
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