146-150

Chapter 146: Grasshopper 

This kind of place, you don’t even need to think twice—optical camouflage is definitely countered at the main gate, but the walls? Not so much.  

Riku remembered how, back when he played stealth assassination games, he always loved climbing walls. Even if he could walk through the front door, he’d never take it. Maybe it was too much Assassin’s Creed, always itching to scale every surface. 

It was already eight or nine at night, and the sky was dark as a black diamond. Dogtown was nowhere near as flashy as Night City. You could tell just by the number of neon lights—Dogtown’s nights actually felt like night, not drowned in the kaleidoscope of colors like Night City. 

Dodging the sweep of the searchlights, Riku got to work. The prison’s walls were high, easily six or seven meters, rigged with all sorts of defenses—electric fences, spikes, the works. But none of that could stop Riku. 

With a few quick steps, he scaled the wall, vaulting over the wires and spikes like they were nothing. To him, this height was no big deal. 

Landing smoothly on the other side, Riku didn’t move right away. His eyes scanned the surroundings, his nose twitching as he picked up the scent of humans, pinpointing their positions. 

Searchlights swept the area relentlessly. Riku moved carefully, avoiding their beams. Those lights might just be able to detect optical camouflage, and he wasn’t about to test that theory—better to just steer clear. 

“How’s it going?” V’s voice crackled in his ear. 

Riku had already slipped out of the prison yard and made his way to a barracks. The prison wasn’t huge, but it had a yard for prisoners and guards to stretch their legs. Whether the “Netherhounds” actually used it was another question—human rights probably weren’t high on their list for the inmates they nabbed. 

“Hold on, I’m thinking,” Riku replied, pressing himself against a wall. 

He suppressed his presence, relying entirely on his nose to track positions. This wasn’t the best time for a break-in—guards were still active, not yet settled into the dead-of-night lull. But their alertness was laughably low. From the noise inside the barracks, it sounded like they were playing cards, and not just for fun—there was gambling involved. 

Made sense, though. This was Dogtown, ruled by Kurt Hansen. Who’d dare mess with the Netherhounds here? 

Riku skirted the barracks and found the cell block. Compared to the lively barracks, this area was quieter, but the guards were still slacking. Not a single one stood watch at the entrance—they were all lounging in the guardroom. 

“Six guards,” Riku whispered. “Two patrolling the cells, four in the guardroom. Let’s give it a shot.” 

No hesitation. He crept toward the cell block. Sneaking through a window was a non-starter—the windows were tiny, and the whole place was sealed tight, designed to keep prisoners in. The front door was the only way. 

The four guards in the guardroom were chatting away, oblivious to Riku’s approach until he was right at the door. 

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

An alarm blared in the guardroom. The four guards snapped to attention, grabbing their weapons and turning toward the door. The alarm had detected optical camouflage fluctuations. 

Voom! 

Riku didn’t hesitate. His Shadow Sword Case materialized, twin blades drawn as he activated his Sandevistan. In a flash, he rushed the four guards. Gunfire erupted, sharp and chaotic, as they reacted swiftly. 

Clang! Clang! Clang! 

Riku’s dual blades danced, deflecting bullets and sending them ricocheting back. The guards took hits from their own rounds, caught in the crossfire. 

“What the hell?! You exposed?!” V’s voice crackled again. 

The alarm was confined to the guardroom, but the gunfire echoed far. V and Jack Wells had heard it, and they were getting antsy. 

“Yeah, I’m made. Gonna rush it. Be ready to bail,” Riku replied. 

In the same breath, his blades claimed a guard’s head. The cramped guardroom gave the four no room to maneuver, leaving them at Riku’s mercy. He dispatched them quickly. 

Grabbing a few grenades, Riku darted into the cell block. The whole prison was now on high alert—time was running out. 

Boom! Boom! 

Two explosions roared from the prison’s main gate, smoke billowing like it’d been hit hard. V and Jack were drawing attention to buy him time. 

“Die, all of you!” V shouted, hoisting a rocket launcher with a grin. She fired another round, obliterating a searchlight tower aimed at her and Jack. The gate was already blasted to bits by their combined firepower. 

Boom! 

The tower collapsed, pulling the guards’ focus to the gate. They assumed a full-scale assault was coming from there. 

The gunfire inside the prison died down. The warden sent only a few guards to check the cell block, redirecting most to secure the gate. It was a logical call—defending the entrance was priority. One sneaky intruder couldn’t cause that much chaos, right? 

“What’s going on?!”  

Two patrolling guards in the cell block ran toward the commotion, guns raised, only to meet Riku head-on. They opened fire, but Riku didn’t break stride, charging straight at them. 

Shnk! 

His thermal katana, Buro, sliced through subdermal armor, cleanly severing one guard’s head. His quinque, Bloodsong, plunged into the other’s chest. 

The sudden violence stunned the prisoners. But some snapped out of it, shouting at Riku: 

“Get me out! I’ve got eddies stashed away! Save me, and it’s all yours!” 

The prisoners went wild, yelling anything to seize the chance. A guy who’d just cut down guards like that? Had to be here for a rescue. Maybe they could hitch a ride to freedom. 

Riku swung his blades, clank, clank, clank, slicing through cell locks. Prisoners poured out, shouting thanks and scrambling in a frenzy. Some stayed put—smart ones who knew rushing out was a death sentence. 

Riku quickly found his target: Amadu Jawo. The guy was sharp, not running with the others. Or maybe he just couldn’t—he looked rough, covered in wounds, lying weakly in his cell. 

“Amadu Jawo?” Riku asked, matching the face to the image Mr. Hands had provided. This middle-aged man had clearly been through hell. 

“I’m… you’re from Mr. Hands—” 

Before Amadu could finish, Riku scooped him up and bolted out of the cell block. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

Outside, gunfire erupted. Reinforcing guards met the escaping prisoners, mowing them down without mercy. The prisoners fought back with scavenged weapons, but they were outclassed in every way—training, gear, everything. It was a slaughter. 

Riku slipped through the chaos, his Shadow Shield protecting Amadu. He could tank bullets, but Amadu couldn’t. If the guy got hit, saving him would be a hassle, requiring precious Rc Cell Suppressors. Riku wasn’t about to waste those, so he kept Amadu shielded—and knocked him out for good measure. 

“Gotta make another trip back for more Rc Cell Suppressors,” Riku muttered, ducking around a corner. He wasn’t taking the front gate like the other prisoners. They couldn’t climb the walls, but he could. 

Boom! Boom! Boom! 

He tossed a few grenades to give the prisoners a fighting chance and ease the pressure on V and Jack. 

“Why aren’t you out yet?! We can’t hold them!” V’s voice came through, gunfire and explosions roaring in the background. Just the two of them, they were bound to get overwhelmed. 

“I’m climbing out. Run now, we’ll meet up later,” Riku said, already scaling the wall. 

The prison was in chaos, and the nearby former NCPD precinct was stirring too. He had to move fast, or they’d all be pincered. 

“Dammit! They’re trying to box us in! We’re out!” V shouted, ducking back into their Thorton. She was having fun, but getting surrounded wasn’t part of the plan. 

“Let’s go!” Jack yelled, revving the Thorton’s engine. The chaos inside had lightened the heat on them—perfect teamwork. 

Boom! 

V fired one last shot before diving into the Thorton. The car swerved through a hail of bullets, speeding away. 

“Woo!” Jack let out an excited shout as the Thorton picked up speed. Two pursuit vehicles roared out of the prison, hot on their tail. 

“No more rockets. Lose them,” V said, checking the trunk—ammo was spent. She switched to her gun, but the pursuing cars were armored. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

Bullets pinged off the Thorton, and the pursuers leaned out, keeping the pressure on. 

“Dammit!” V popped out, unloading precise shots. Her aim was deadly, forcing the pursuers to duck. 

“Riku! Where are you? We’ll pick you up!” Jack called over the comms. Two chase cars weren’t a problem—he figured they could swing by for Riku. 

“Bring them to me. I’ll handle it,” Riku replied, sending his location. He was already in the clear, having slipped out over the wall unnoticed. The guards were too busy with the escaping prisoners to spot him carrying Amadu. 

The Thorton wasn’t far. It screeched around a corner, the two pursuit cars right behind. 

Boom! 

Riku leapt from a wall, his four crimson Rinkaku tendrils flipping one car. The two vehicles crashed into each other. 

Boom! Boom! Boom! 

His tendrils hammered the cars relentlessly. The occupants didn’t stand a chance as the vehicles exploded, reduced to scrap. 

“Let’s go,” Riku said, hopping into the Thorton. He could tell if his targets were dead—experience points didn’t lie. Though harder to earn now, the Netherhounds still gave enough to count. 

Boom! 

Before the Thorton could move, a cannon blast rocked the ground nearby. Riku set the unconscious Amadu down and looked up. A figure was closing in fast from the sky. 

It was a mech suit, powered by a “dual-shoulder flight system.” Less a backpack, more a high-powered glider. 

“ACPA! Grasshopper!” Jack shouted, stunned. The Netherhounds were a proper army, so an Assault/Combat Power Armor wasn’t surprising. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

V fired at the circling figure, her aim true even on a moving target. But the bullets bounced off the ACPA’s armor. 

The Grasshopper ACPA was a ZetaTech product, lightweight for recon and special ops. No wonder it caught up—battlefield-grade ACPAs were too heavy for this speed, even with modified flight systems. 

Boom! 

The Grasshopper landed, blocking the Thorton’s path. Its heavy machine gun unleashed a barrage at the car’s windshield. 

Clang! Clang! Clang! 

The bullets bounced off the reinforced glass, but the sound was unnerving. Even the toughest shield couldn’t take that kind of pounding forever. 

Jack floored it. The ACPA’s flight pack flared, and it landed on the Thorton’s roof. 

“Dammit!” V and Jack cursed in unison. 

Riku didn’t hesitate. He flung open the door, flipped onto the roof, and lunged at the ACPA. 

Boom! 

His fist slammed into the Grasshopper’s head. The mech wasn’t huge—just over two meters, intimidating but not massive. Nicknamed the “street brawl ACPA,” it was too light for heavy combat, where multi-ton mechs would tear it apart. But in close-quarters urban fights, it shone. 

Riku’s punch would’ve pulped a human skull, but on the Grasshopper, it just tilted its head. War machines were built different. 

Shing! 

The Grasshopper dropped its gun, drawing a custom oversized knight sword. 

Riku’s four Rinkaku tendrils lashed out, knocking the mech off the car. He leapt after it, his blue-purple Kakuja armor extending, blades aimed at the Grasshopper’s head. 

The mech dodged with a backflip, its flight pack flaring to evade. It swung its sword at Riku as he landed. 

Riku blocked with his Kakuja armor, the impact forcing him back two steps. War machines were stronger than even a fully cybered-up human. 

“Think a combat mech makes you hot stuff? I’ll rip you apart!” Riku roared, activating his Ghoulification. Rc Cells surged, forming a spiked, clawed, demonic armor around him. His frame grew, dwarfing the Grasshopper. 

Chapter 147: A Man's Romance 

Buzz! 

The Sandevistan activated, and the demonic beast charged at the "Grasshopper" with unbelievable speed, slamming it to the ground with a single swipe. The "Grasshopper," known for its lightweight agility, didn’t even have time to react. 

Boom! 

The mechanical armor crashed into the ground. The pilot inside the "Grasshopper" was utterly dumbfounded. This demonic beast, appearing as if it crawled straight out of the depths of hell, possessed terrifying strength. 

Sure, the "Grasshopper" was lightweight compared to other multi-ton humanoid tanks, but its nearly 500-kilogram frame was still a crushing force by human standards. 

Boom! 

Four scale-like claws extended like sharp blades, stabbing toward the "Grasshopper." It was clear this demonic beast could hardly be called human. 

The pilot maneuvered the "Grasshopper" to block, but the demonic beast pinned it down. With two arms and four tentacle-like appendages attacking relentlessly, the "Grasshopper" was completely overwhelmed. 

One of the "Grasshopper’s" arms wrestled with Riku’s strength, while its other hand wielded a giant sword to fend off Riku’s kagune. But against the four scale-like kagune, the pilot had no way to counter. 

Buzz buzz buzz! 

The flight pack activated, spewing flames as the "Grasshopper" began skimming across the ground. The demonic beast, still pinning it down, was dragged along, crashing straight into a nearby wall. 

Boom! 

The impact shattered the wall as Riku’s two horns gouged through it. The "Grasshopper" finally seized a chance to break free, escaping into the sky. 

Its flight pack was overheating, nearly burnt out from the strain, but it hadn’t completely given out yet. 

Whoosh! 

Riku unfurled his wings, Rc cells erupting as massive purple wings spread wide. The fallen angel’s wings stirred a gust of wind, and the demon soared into the sky, charging at the wobbling "Grasshopper." 

"What the hell is this thing?!" 

The "Grasshopper" pilot tried to dodge, but the failing flight pack made it impossible to evade completely. 

"Aaagh!" 

With no other choice, the pilot swung the giant sword at the demonic beast. 

Riku dodged the slash, grabbing the "Grasshopper’s" head with one hand and diving toward the ground. He slammed its head into the earth, skidding a distance with the momentum. 

Boom boom boom! 

The "Grasshopper’s" head scraped across the ground, faint cracks appearing on its high-tech helmet. Inside, the pilot was rattled, his brain feeling like mush as the virtual reality interface flashed red warnings. 

"This…" 

Riku and the "Grasshopper" came to a stop beside the Thress. V and Jack, watching this epic clash of demon versus mech, could only gape, speechless. 

Honestly, they were floored. They knew how tough the "Grasshopper" was—a battle-tested machine from the Fourth Corporate War, refined over generations into a mature war machine. 

Yet Riku was overpowering this war machine with his bare body. No wonder biotech companies had such a huge bounty on him—this guy was unreal! 

Boom! 

Riku didn’t care what V and Jack were thinking. His four scale-like kagune kept stabbing, pinning the "Grasshopper’s" limbs, while his blue-purple kagune blade relentlessly struck its helmet. 

The "Grasshopper’s" helmet had a specially armored visor—opaque from the outside but clear from within, displaying a game-like virtual reality interface. 

The pilot stared at the terrifying demonic beast hammering him, despair creeping in. This monster felt like he was fighting an "Arasaka Oni." 

The "Arasaka Oni," a super-heavyweight battlefield ACPA, was modeled after a demon with horns, even larger than the beast before him. If it were an Oni, he’d already be torn to shreds—they weren’t even in the same league. 

Crack! 

Under Riku’s ferocious assault, the "Grasshopper’s" helmet finally shattered. The sharp blue-purple kagune pierced through, drawing blood as it was pulled out. 

Splurch splurch! 

A few more stabs, and Riku lifted the "Grasshopper." He confirmed the pilot was dead—neutralizing the threat. 

Riku opened the Thress’s trunk. Though spacious, it wasn’t a cargo truck, and fitting the "Grasshopper" inside was impossible. 

"Just ditch it! This thing’s too heavy and bulky!" V said, understanding Riku’s intent. As a scavenger, she was tempted by the "Grasshopper," but risking their lives for it wasn’t worth it. No matter how valuable, survival came first. 

"Hold on, almost done." 

Riku didn’t say more. His Rc cell armor receded, reverting to his humanoid form. He tossed the "Grasshopper" into his shadow space. With the pilot dead, the mech was just an object, easily stored in his shadow dimension. 

In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t thought of it right away. Opening the car door, he slid into the back seat and patted the driver’s seat. 

"Let’s roll!" 

Jack Wells started the Thress. Even if the trunk could fit the "Grasshopper," they shouldn’t have tried. The Thress was heavy enough, and adding a 500-kilogram mech would’ve pushed the engine to its limits. 

But in Riku’s shadow space, weight wasn’t an issue. The Thress sped away from the battlefield, far from the prison and police station. The guards were busy quelling a riot among the inmates and didn’t spare forces to chase them. 

Two cars and a "Grasshopper"—they felt it was more than enough. This wasn’t arrogance; most people wouldn’t have escaped, especially after exhausting their rocket launchers, barely able to dent the "Grasshopper." 

But they had Riku, who could dominate the "Grasshopper" with raw physical power. This supposedly unbeatable street mech was nothing special in his hands. 

"They got away?!" 

After the prison riot was subdued, the warden and the nearby police camp commander got word that the culprits had escaped. 

"How is that possible?!" 

The camp commander was incredulous. A "Grasshopper" couldn’t stop them?! And it was destroyed and lost contact?! 

"Should we report this up? Amadu Javo got away, and we didn’t get anything useful out of him." 

The warden’s face was grim. It seemed this group was here to rescue Amadu Javo, likely Hanz’s people or some heavy hitters he’d hired. 

"Never heard of Hanz having someone this strong." 

The camp commander frowned. In their five years in Dogtown, they’d clashed with Hanz’s crew plenty. If Hanz had an ace like this, he’d have played it long ago, not let his territory get squeezed like this. 

"Report it. We can’t hide it." 

After some thought, they decided to report the situation. The attack was too loud to cover up, so it was better to be proactive. 

Though they didn’t know the specifics or even see the attackers, it was clear Hanz had found serious help. They’d done their best, but the enemy took out a "Grasshopper"! 

"It’ll be fine. The boss never thought much of Hanz—just a middleman running small-time schemes." 

The warden comforted himself, and he wasn’t wrong. Kurt Hansen never took middleman Hanz seriously. Strength was everything, and in Hansen’s eyes, Hanz’s tricks were beneath him. 

Their views of each other couldn’t be more different. Hanz saw Kurt Hansen as a formidable foe—powerful, ambitious, cunning, and a major threat. Hansen wanted all of Dogtown under his control, which was unacceptable for a middleman like Hanz, whose interests would take a hit. 

Kurt Hansen looked down on sneaky middlemen like Hanz, but Hanz saw Hansen as a life-or-death enemy. This difference in perspective likely sealed their fates. 

In Dogtown’s political game, Hanz was likely to come out on top, not the seemingly unstoppable Kurt Hansen. 

At the Heavy Hearts Club, Riku tossed Amadu Javo onto a sofa. The man was still unconscious. 

"Delivered safe and sound," Riku said. 

Mr. Hanz, pouring tea from a pot, handed cups to Riku, V, and Jack. 

"I knew I picked the right crew. True pros. If my people were half as good, Dogtown would be ours. Hell, even Pacifica or beyond wouldn’t be a stretch." 

Hanz smiled as he poured, his words flattering. Middlemen were like that—strength was everything. Show it, and they’d treat you like family, ready to toast with you. 

"I like that flattery," V said, grinning. She knew it was buttering up, but it felt good. 

"Just the truth," Hanz replied, raising his teacup in a toast. The three clinked cups with him. 

"Got any big jobs? We’re your team," Jack said, downing his tea. Hanz was smooth, and building ties with him wasn’t a bad move. 

Middlemen like Hanz had deep networks and their own crews. For local intel or jobs, they were far more useful than the NCPD. Fixers like Padre or the Old Captain were prime examples in Night City. 

Bidding Hanz farewell, the trio left the Heavy Hearts Club, each heading home. Riku was eager to tinker with his new toy—the "Grasshopper" mech. 

High-end weapons like Nekomata or Ashura, or cutting-edge Sandevistan implants like Reality Distortion, Peregrine, or Apogee, could sometimes be nabbed through smuggling or ambushing convoys. But ACPAs? Those were tightly guarded, high-tech, and nearly impossible to replicate outside corporate hands. 

"You heading to the ripperdoc? To study the Grasshopper?" V asked Riku in the Thress, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. As a scavenger, she was dying to check out the ACPA—something they rarely got their hands on. 

"Let’s go together!" Jack said, just as excited. He turned the car around, and the two decided to skip home, following Riku to the ripperdoc. Riku had no objections. 

At the ripperdoc, Riku pulled the "Grasshopper" from his shadow space. It took some effort to crack open the ACPA and remove the corpse. The inside was a bloody mess, needing a thorough cleaning. 

After washing it down, the trio hauled the "Grasshopper" out and began inspecting it. Mechs were a man’s romance, and even if the "Grasshopper" was lightweight, it had them hooked. Well, V was a woman, but she was just as obsessed. 

"The virtual reality interface is Sega-Atari’s. It’s the best out there. Zeta-Tech’s ACPAs always use Sega-Atari’s systems—they don’t mess with that tech themselves," Jack said, clearly knowledgeable. He was into bikes and cars, and he kept up with ACPA news. 

"Sega-Atari…" Riku paused. The name rang a bell. This world had plenty of familiar-sounding companies, often with a twist. Take Macroware, for example—Riku nearly lost it when he first saw it. Probably an Easter egg. Macroware was notorious for releasing half-baked games, much like Cyberpunk 2077’s rocky launch. Riku could only imagine CD Projekt Red poking fun at themselves. 

Sega-Atari, a merger of Sega and Atari, had developed virtual reality interfaces back in 2014, initially for gaming, sparking a fighting game craze. A year later, in 2015, Mitsubishi-Sugao applied it to ACPAs, birthing the first combat-ready model. 

ACPA stood for Assisted Combat Personal Armor. The first prototype, "Kakashi," was built in 2010 by Mitsubishi-Sugao, a company formed from the merger of Sugao Industries and Mitsubishi, specializing in armored vehicles, tanks, and cars. 

Mergers were common in this world—Kenketsu-Adachi Military, Sega-Atari, Mitsubishi-Sugao. Survival demanded it, though some were forced mergers after corporate wars. 

ACPA history traced back to 1993, when Japan’s Self-Defense Force announced plans for a "smart mech" walking vehicle. Western media and military scoffed, doubting its feasibility. But in 2015, Mitsubishi-Sugao proved them wrong. By 2017, with Arasaka’s backing, ACPAs were mass-produced. 

That’s when the West woke up. The "Grasshopper" debuted then, focusing on lightweight design, carving a niche against bulkier ACPAs. Zeta-Tech nailed it, and the "Grasshopper" was still in use today. 

"Can this Grasshopper still work?" V asked, pointing at the helmet Riku had smashed, where the virtual reality interface was housed. 

Chapter 148: Dismantling the Grasshopper 

“No way I’m fixing this thing,” Riku said, inspecting the helmet. The tech was way beyond his current skill level. 

He could maybe tinker with the hardware, but software? He hadn’t touched that yet. No Neural Link installed either. Too much to learn, and he’d been focusing on the physical side—hacking skills were still uncharted territory. 

“Figures. That virtual reality interface is Sega Atari’s core tech,” Jack Wells said, like it was obvious. Sega Atari was a titan in the gaming industry, and their VR interface was the heart of it. Not something just anyone could crack. 

“Sega’s the best in the world?” Riku grinned, thinking of a certain isekai uncle. 

“Best or not, they’re definitely better than Microsoft,” V quipped, clearly burned by some half-baked game purchase. 

“Think Vik can fix it? Doesn’t seem likely. Normal folks like us don’t exactly get to play with this stuff,” Jack said, scratching his head. ACPA tech was locked down tight—regular people never got near it. 

Especially in Night City, where the Alvin Protocol kept things in check. Signed a few years back, it restricted corpos like Arasaka and Militech, limiting their military presence and heavy weapons in the city. ACPAs, being “humanoid tanks,” were strictly off-limits due to their destructive potential. 

That changed when Arasaka Yorinobu pulled his oyakoko stunt, framing Militech after offing his dad, Saburo. He flooded Night City with troops, ignoring the Alvin Protocol entirely. Once he broke the rules, everyone else followed, and Night City got real lively. 

“Call Vik and ask,” V suggested. No one objected, so they dialed him up for a video call. 

Beep. Vik picked up, still in bed, eyes half-open and groggy. 

Riku angled his view, letting his cybernetic eye capture the Grasshopper ACPA in crisp detail for Vik to see. 

“You guys… where’d you get a Grasshopper?!” Vik’s jaw dropped, instantly awake as he stared at the mech through the feed. 

“Snagged it in Dogtown. Kurt Hansen’s stash,” Riku replied. 

Vik blinked, stunned. These three went to Dogtown and stole a Grasshopper from Kurt Hansen? But it made sense—Dogtown was a lawless zone where the Alvin Protocol meant nothing to Hansen. He didn’t care about Arasaka or Militech’s treaties; otherwise, he wouldn’t have carved out his own turf. 

“It’s busted, isn’t it?” Vik noted, spotting the cracked headpiece. Clearly, this wasn’t acquired through legitimate channels. 

“Yeah, we can’t fix it. Got any ideas?” V chimed in. 

Riku didn’t entirely agree—he could fix it, just not conventionally. His biological approach could work, but he was curious to see if Vik could handle it. Plus, it’d be a chance to show the old doc a real war machine. 

“Hold tight, I’m coming over,” Vik said, already grabbing his gear. As a ripperdoc, he was naturally intrigued. 

Call ended, the trio waited. V and Jack plopped down to chill, while Riku circled the Grasshopper. Compared to him, V and Jack were clueless about this stuff, even if they were curious. They could only wait. 

Riku’s own tech know-how wasn’t enough to fully grasp the mech’s structure, let alone build one from scratch. 

“Think Vik can pull it off?” Riku wondered. Hand-crafting a mech wasn’t impossible—Thomas Starr, a Militech engineer, had done it. His was a crude exoskeleton with metal plates, a flamethrower, and a power source, built in a cave in a month. Sounded familiar? Yeah, straight out of Iron Man’s Mark 1 playbook. Starr’s story was eerily similar. 

If Starr could do it, Vik probably could too. His skills leaned medical, but he had enough mechanical chops. The question was whether he could handle something as advanced as the Grasshopper—leagues beyond a Mark 1. 

Vik arrived soon, speeding in and wide awake. He stepped into the room and gawked at the towering Grasshopper. Riku’s strength had grown to the point he could take down an ACPA head-on? Vik knew V and Jack couldn’t pull that off—had to be Riku. He’d gotten stronger, but this strong? 

“Vik, can you fix this thing?” V asked, though she wasn’t hopeful. Even for Vik, this seemed like a stretch. 

“Lemme take a look. Been a while since I’ve seen one of these,” Vik said, approaching the mech and inspecting it closely, looking like he knew what he was doing. 

“Been a while?” The trio perked up. So Vik had seen ACPAs before—and maybe even worked on them? 

“What’s so surprising? Back in my day, Night City had ACPAs,” Vik said casually, focused on the mech. He didn’t elaborate on his past, clearly not in the mood to reminisce. 

“Makes sense. Night City did have ACPAs back then,” Jack agreed, but he didn’t add that even then, they weren’t something regular folks got near. Seeing one and fixing one were worlds apart. 

Riku coughed awkwardly. Here he was thinking they’d show Vik something new, but turns out they were the newbies. Vik had seen more than they had. 

“This… it’s trashed. The operating system’s completely fried. You’d need a whole new one,” Vik concluded after his inspection. He couldn’t fix it. The tech had evolved too much since his day, and they didn’t have the materials to repair the OS anyway. 

“So it’s just scrap metal now?” V groaned. The Grasshopper’s core was its VR interface. Without it, the mech wouldn’t even start. 

“Nothing I can do,” Vik said, shaking his head. You either know it or you don’t, and he didn’t. He couldn’t just whip up a new VR interface from thin air. 

V and Jack’s excitement fizzled out. They’d come hoping to test-drive an ACPA, but with no way to fix it, that dream was dead. “Came hyped, leaving bummed,” as they say. They said their goodbyes, ready to crash after the high-octane job with Riku. 

With V and Jack gone, it was just Riku and Vik. Vik couldn’t fix the VR interface, but he could still understand the Grasshopper’s structure. 

“Let’s take it apart. I’ll fix it my way,” Riku said, grabbing tools to study the mech’s insides with Vik. If conventional methods were out, he’d use his own. 

His plan? Ditch the OS entirely and bio-activate the parts. Even without the system, he could make the Grasshopper run. As long as it started, he was golden. 

“Fine, but you’re doing the heavy lifting. My strength ain’t cutting it,” Vik said, nodding. He didn’t know Riku’s exact plan but was happy to assist. Normal human strength couldn’t dismantle an ACPA—otherwise, it wouldn’t survive a battlefield. 

“No problem,” Riku replied, getting to work under Vik’s guidance. It was tough—the mech was built to last. Riku shifted to his third form, the Demon Beast. Stooping low, he started tearing into the Grasshopper. 

“You…” Vik’s jaw dropped at the sight. Now he understood how Riku took down the mech. The Demon Beast form was intimidating as hell. 

“Rc Cells?” Vik recognized the vibe. He’d transplanted Riku’s four Kagune himself, so he knew Rc Cells well. But this? This was beyond anything he’d imagined. Healing, regeneration, weapon resistance, wings, tendrils, armor—and now a Demon Beast? What were these Rc Cells? Where did Biotech get this tech? 

“Yup, Rc Cells,” Riku confirmed, offering no further explanation. Let Vik’s imagination run wild—Biotech could take the blame. 

Vik let out a sigh and got to work directing Riku. They dismantled the Grasshopper piece by piece until it was a pile of parts. 

With Vik’s help, Riku roughly figured out what each component did. He’d likely get it once the bio-activation was done, but Vik’s guidance made it easier. The mech was complex—without him, Riku might’ve spent ages puzzling it out. Intelligence stats really shone here. 

“The pinnacle of industry, the power of tech,” Vik mused, looking at the scattered parts. War machines like this showed off humanity’s technological and industrial might. Weapons tied to life, power, and status. Truth only existed within a cannon’s range. 

“Vik, can we replicate this thing?” Riku asked. A Grasshopper wasn’t cheap—if they could copy it, they’d be set. 

“No way. Not with our industrial capacity,” Vik said, shaking his head. This wasn’t something a workshop could churn out. You needed precision instruments. 

With the right industry and materials, Vik might manage a knockoff Grasshopper—minus the VR interface. But those conditions were steep. 

“Fair enough,” Riku nodded. No surprise there. Vik could probably cobble together a Mark 1-style mech like Night City’s own Iron Man, but an ACPA was another beast. The precision parts, especially the power core, were near impossible to source or replicate. 

Dismantling done, Vik left, but not before sketching a blueprint for Riku. He’d drawn it while guiding the disassembly, making reassembly easier. 

With the blueprint, Riku started bio-activating the parts. He was glad for Vik’s sketch—some smaller components were hard to place post-activation. Without the need to keep the outer shell, he’d have just bio-activated the whole thing for simplicity. 

The downside of fully bio-activating the mech? It couldn’t function in daylight. For a mech, that was a dealbreaker. The shell was for daytime use. 

Following the blueprint, Riku reassembled the Grasshopper. It felt like building a mini Gundam, though this was a budget version, nowhere near the real deal. 

Soon, it was done. The Grasshopper stood tall again, its head patched up by Vik. He couldn’t fix the OS, but sealing the gap with some steel was easy enough—though not as sturdy as the original. 

Vroom! 

With a thought, Riku powered it up. The energy core hummed, and the parts whirred to life. The bio-activated Grasshopper didn’t perform better, but it had a new trick: Overload Mode. 

Classic Overload Mode. With regenerable parts, the core could push to the limit, no holds barred. 

Riku summoned Flesh Puppet No. 10 from his shadow space and had it enter the Grasshopper. The puppet was a natural pilot—Overload Mode would overheat the mech, but the puppet, essentially a humanoid Quinque, didn’t care about heat. Even if the mech’s armor was breached or the puppet’s head was destroyed, Riku could keep controlling it. As long as the Kagune was intact, the puppet wasn’t truly dead. 

Chapter 149: Money’s Meant to Be Spent 

"Not bad, not bad at all." 

Riku eyed the "Grasshopper" with satisfaction, though one thing bugged him—it couldn’t be turned into flesh and blood. 

"Sunlight… sunlight’s a real issue." 

He glanced at his [Limit System], pondering. Maybe it was time to head back to the world of Demon Slayer. Last time, he left because his strength wasn’t enough, and he wasn’t in the mood to play along with the Demon Slayer Corps’ theatrics. But things were different now. 

He didn’t have a clear read on the strength of the Corps’ Hashira, but judging by Mr. Urokodaki, a former Hashira, they couldn’t be that tough. Riku’s growth spurt had leveled him up significantly, and he’d unlocked his third-stage demon form. It was time to spar with the Demon Slayer Corps. 

To boost his strength fast, hunting demons was the way to go. Devouring the blood of a Demon King granted extra attribute points, and demons gave way more experience than other creatures. 

He hoped the Corps would play nice. Wouldn’t it be great if everyone could just hunt demons together happily? If they didn’t, well, he’d have to make them see reason. According to Mr. Urokodaki, at least the Oyakata-sama shouldn’t be too stubborn. Riku just needed to keep the Hashira in check. 

While thinking, Riku stashed the "Grasshopper" mech into his shadow space. He took a moment to rest, clear his mind, then headed to Old Vic’s shop. 

It was noon, and Old Vic’s place was open as usual. The guy never missed a day unless something big came up. He loved watching boxing matches in the shop or even live at the arena when he had downtime. 

Before leaving, Riku wanted to upgrade himself. He had plenty of cash now—why let it sit around gathering dust when he could turn it into strength? 

"Riku? What brings you here?" Old Vic said, surprised to see him. He figured Riku would be tinkering with the "Grasshopper" all day. "Lost interest already? Kids these days lack dedication." 

"I fixed the Grasshopper," Riku replied. "I’m heading out in a couple of days to grab more Rc cell suppressants. Before I go, I want to slap on some new cyberware to boost myself." 

Old Vic was mid-surgery with a client, so Riku hung around, observing like an apprentice. 

"You fixed it?!" Old Vic’s eyes widened, but he stayed focused on the surgery, professional as ever. 

Riku watched, mentally listing the cyberware he wanted. A top-tier subdermal armor was a must—he was going all-out with Old Vic’s best stuff. Time to flex some cash. 

After taking down Kli Hall, Riku, Jack, and V had scored a hefty pile of cash. Most went to keeping their "company" running, but they each pocketed a nice chunk. Kli Hall’s years of savings, plus his HQ being dismantled and sold, added up to a tidy sum. 

On top of that one-time haul, their organic meat smuggling business would keep paying dividends—or rather, salaries—every month. It wasn’t about profit, but the workers needed wages to keep things going. 

The money came from the business itself. With so many employees, Riku, V, Jack, Padre, and the Old Captain couldn’t possibly cover salaries out of pocket. The smuggling operation had to generate its own profits. 

Riku, V, and Jack took a symbolic 10,000 eddies a month. As "owners," they didn’t manage the day-to-day, so taking too much felt wrong. On the streets, reputation mattered, and they weren’t shameless. Padre and the Old Captain got 15,000 each for running the show. 

They didn’t take any extra profits, which was pretty generous. It kept organic meat prices low, making it affordable for more people. Their job was to ensure quality and stay under corporate radar. 

There was some risk. More organic meat sales meant fewer synthetic meat buyers, which could draw attention. But the risk was low—those buying organic meat were mostly folks who couldn’t afford it before, not the usual synthetic meat crowd. 

Riku saw the salaries as necessary. Pure volunteer work wouldn’t last long. The pay wasn’t bad either—V and Jack were happy with it, eager to keep supporting a cause that helped people. Doing good and getting paid? Win-win. Plus, with Kli Hall’s loot, their wallets were already stuffed, so they didn’t sweat the monthly cut. 

Riku was here to upgrade his cyberware because of that windfall. He had enough to splurge on high-end gear. V, meanwhile, was hunting for Nekomata, Ashura, or Nobunaga sniper rifles. With one of those, she’d be dropping bodies left and right. 

Old Vic finished the surgery, and the client left. After cleaning up, Riku hopped onto the operating table. 

"How’d you fix the Grasshopper?" Old Vic asked, pulling out a subdermal armor while eyeing Riku curiously. Did this kid have some hidden tech skills? 

"In a way you wouldn’t expect," Riku grinned, summoning "Grasshopper Mech No. 1" from his shadow. Its pilot was "Flesh Puppet No. 10." 

"What the…?" Old Vic’s jaw dropped. He knew Riku’s shadow storage couldn’t hold living things, so how was the Grasshopper moving with a pilot? 

"Not a real person. It’s a fake I made with Rc cells," Riku explained. 

Old Vic was floored. The versatility of Rc cells left him in awe of biotech researchers. Who was the genius behind this stuff? But he quickly brushed it off—Riku’s weirdness was old news. 

"This is my best heavy subdermal armor. Most guns, even with armor-piercing rounds, take forever to get through. But don’t test it against anti-materiel weapons," Old Vic said, showing off his top gear. It was military-grade, too heavy for regular folks without supporting cyberware, or it’d tank their agility. 

"Got it," Riku nodded. No subdermal armor could stop an anti-materiel rifle—those could punch through light armored vehicles. With armor-piercing rounds, they’d shred multiple people, no matter the armor. 

"This armor’s 80,000 eddies. I know you can afford it—Kli Hall’s stash got you guys loaded, right?" Old Vic teased while prepping for surgery. 

They’d each cleared over 600,000 eddies, with the rest left for Padre and the Old Captain as operational funds. The business was big, not profit-driven, so they needed cash for emergencies. 

"Watson’s next on the list. Jack’s learning from Padre to take over there," Riku said. Watson was a mess—Tyger Claws, Maelstrom, Mox, and Scavs all mixed in. Without serious muscle, you couldn’t make a dent. 

"Oh, and swap out my optical camo too. It’s super useful when I need to keep a low profile." 

Optical camo was a game-changer, but his current one was too easy to spot. He wanted an upgrade. 

"No problem. Money’s meant to be spent," Old Vic chuckled, pulling out his latest optical camo model. It was leagues better than Riku’s old one—and pricier. "120,000 for the newest version. Way better than yours. Worth every eddy." 

Old Vic admired Riku’s restraint. Night City’s kids often burned bright and fell fast. Corporations were the biggest reason—going up against them was suicide for most. Even Johnny Silverhand, who blew up Arasaka Tower, only dented one branch of a global empire. 

But it wasn’t just corps. These street kids got cocky once they made a name, losing sight of their limits. Most ended up dead. Riku keeping a low profile was rare and smart. 

"Install it! I’ve got cash! Throw in a second heart too!" Riku said without hesitation. Strength meant more money-making opportunities. 

"Biopump, lung expansion, adrenaline booster, rectifier, guidance system—hook me up. Add a visual cortex and micro-vibration generator too. That’s it for now. Oh, and keep an eye out for a better Sandevistan." 

Riku scrolled through Old Vic’s inventory, picking carefully. He didn’t have much cyberware—partly because of cost, partly because some low-end implants were worse than his natural body. Synthetic organs, for instance, often underperformed his own. 

His picks were all supplementary, enhancing without replacing. The second heart would kick in if his main one failed. The biopump sped up blood flow, lung expansion boosted breathing, and the adrenaline booster ramped up both—perfect for his Breathing Techniques. While others trained hard, he’d scienced his way to strength. 

The visual cortex sharpened perception for better aim. His shooting was already solid, but this would make non-smart weapons deadly accurate. 

The micro-vibration generator was inspired by his chainsaw sword. It made weapons vibrate at specific frequencies, like a built-in vibroblade. Some folks used it for… other things, but Riku was focused on combat. 

"Wait up, I’ll make you happy," Old Vic said, shaking his head with a grin. He wasn’t worried about Riku handling the implants—his body was like a living machine. Adding cyberware was like slapping on extra parts. This was the guy who took down a Grasshopper bare-handed. 

"Total’s 500,000 eddies. The second heart, optical camo, and armor are the big ones. The heart’s 150,000—performance is meh for the price, but that’s how it is," Old Vic said, showing the bill. 

Riku paid without blinking. No more owing Old Vic. He had about 200,000 eddies left—enough to hunt for a better Sandevistan or maybe a neural link later. 

"Let’s do this," Old Vic said, hyped for the big job. He rarely got orders this size, but with Riku, there was no risk. Even a botched surgery wouldn’t faze him. 

Riku lay on the table, letting Old Vic work. Pain was nothing new—he was numb to it. It hurt, sure, but it didn’t really hurt. 

Hours later, in the afternoon, Old Vic clapped his hands, tools down. The surgery was a success. 

Riku hopped off the table, feeling the changes. The lung expansion was the most noticeable—his breathing felt deeper, stronger. Activating the biopump and adrenaline booster, he felt his body heat up, blood racing, each breath like a whale’s gulp. His strength, speed, and reflexes were noticeably sharper. Science was power. 

[Water Breathing level increased. Current level: Lv2.] 

A system notification popped up. [Water Breathing] had leveled up, thanks to his efforts and this surgery as a catalyst. He’d been close for a while. 

"Constant state’s not far off. I just need to get the feel for it," Riku thought. His body was ready for Constant Breathing; he just needed more time to adapt. He’d learned Water Breathing in under two months—too fast to fully master. 

Buzz! 

He activated the micro-vibration generator, his hand trembling slightly. It worked bare-handed but shone with melee weapons. Best not to misuse it for weird stuff. 

"How’s it feel?" Old Vic asked, pleased with his flawless work. 

"Amazing. I feel like I could storm Arasaka Tower," Riku said, giving a thumbs-up and joking. 

"I’d advise against that," Old Vic said, dead serious, as if Riku might actually try. It was his job to warn clients—some got cocky post-surgery. Whether they listened was on them. 

"Relax, I’m not a cyberpsycho," Riku quipped. Then his phone rang—V’s icon popped up. 

"Riku? What’s up? Don’t forget we’re meeting the Nomads this afternoon. Jack and I are coming to get you." 

Riku couldn’t leave yet. He had to meet some friends outside the city with V and Jack. 

Chapter 150: The Nomads 

The nomad friends outside Night City valued this deal more than anything. For nomads, farms and ranches were the backbone of survival. They tilled the land, raised chickens, and lived self-sufficiently. On top of that, they’d smuggle organic meat into the city, trading it for other essentials they needed. 

Living outside the law, entirely self-governed by their clans, the nomad tribes in the 2070s still lived like the nomadic tribes of old. 

But when you compared it to the city, it wasn’t always clear who had the real “rule of law.” The tribes’ codes worked a hell of a lot better than the city’s, that’s for sure. 

Loyalty was everything to the nomads. No matter what their code of conduct was, loyalty to the clan always came first. 

The nomad tribes around Night City had been here for a long time. As one of the biggest cities in America, Night City had enough pull and spending power to keep them around. The lawless Badlands outside the city gave the nomads plenty of space to survive. Many clans settled just outside Night City. If you didn’t have to roam, who’d want to keep wandering endlessly? 

“The Badlands are freakin’ huge,” V said from the passenger seat of the Thorton. 

V and Jack had run plenty of jobs in the Badlands, often smuggling goods. The route to the border station was one they knew like the back of their hands. The Badlands were harsh—endless deserts, Joshua trees, low hills, dried-up oil fields, piles of junk, and isolated towns painted a picture of desolation. Old asphalt roads crisscrossed the wasteland, some half-buried under sand. 

“Sometimes I think it’s wild how these nomads survive out here,” V went on. “I couldn’t do it. Eating sand every day? Hard pass.” 

Jack chuckled, glancing at a dust storm in the distance. They’d left the city behind, cruising the Badlands in their Thorton. It wasn’t exactly built for off-road, not a proper off-roader by any stretch. 

“You think they don’t have ways to pass the time?” Riku shot back, glancing at Jack. “Mobile libraries, network hubs, comms centers—bigger nomad camps even have their own mobile theaters and cinemas.” 

Jack raised an eyebrow, and Riku continued, “Hate to break it to you, but nomads are often better educated than the city’s workhorses. Their lives are way richer, too.” 

Most nomads were more cultured than the city’s corporate drones. They followed old-school American rural family traditions, not the “savage education” you got in Night City. In many cases, their speech was more complex and refined than the slang-heavy chatter of city folks. 

“No way,” V said, skeptical. “I thought they were just homeless drifters. Nomads watching plays? Studying philosophy?” 

V had her biases. The city’s propaganda painted nomads as parasitic scavengers, living off theft and ambushing careless travelers—a threat you had to stay sharp for in the Badlands. 

She hadn’t dealt much with nomad clans. To her, they always looked dusty and rough, penny-pinching and hard to deal with—not her style. 

“The nomad clans have been around as long as Night City,” Riku said. “Almost a century now. They’ve got their own survival philosophy. Don’t mistake them for homeless wanderers. Think about the Meta Corporation.” 

He dropped the name casually, and V’s eyes widened. The Meta Corporation was one of the original Seven Nomad Nations. Unlike other nomads, Meta was a legit registered company now, a logistics giant holding shares in countless transport firms, controlling over 50% of the U.S. market. Their HQ was in Meta Port—a mobile island that literally roamed the seas. 

“Tch, I forgot Meta was one of the Seven Nations,” V said, clicking her tongue. “You think Victoria Meta still calls herself a nomad? No way she does.” 

“Who knows?” Riku shrugged. “Anyway, the folks we’re meeting aren’t from Meta. They’re from the Aldecaldo family. They’ve been rooted outside Night City for decades—fifty, sixty years at least. They even helped during the Great Reconstruction.” 

Jack chimed in, steering the Thorton. “Night City owes them big time. After the nuke, Night Corporation and the city hired them to clean up radiation and clear rubble from the Arasaka Tower blast site. They got the ruins cleared, but the promised medical aid? Never showed. A lot of their people died because of it.” 

Riku nodded. He knew plenty about the Aldecaldos’ history with Night City. When he played as male V, he’d chosen Panam Palmer as his partner, and Panam was an Aldecaldo through and through. 

“Tch, hope these Aldecaldos are friendly,” V muttered. “Sounds like they’ve got reasons to hate city folk. Corps really screwed them over.” 

The Thorton rumbled along, and Jack grumbled about needing a new ride. The Thorton was more of an armored business car—fine on highways, but a pain in the Badlands’ rough terrain. 

“Someone’s coming,” Riku said suddenly, his ears picking up a sound. He leaned out the window, his cybernetic eye scanning. Sure enough, two cars and a few motorcycles were closing in. 

“Nomad Mules,” Jack said, spotting them in the rearview. Thorton’s Colby Solitaires, nicknamed “Little Mules,” were rugged haulers popular with migratory nomads. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

Gunshots rang out. The “Little Mules” weren’t friendly—they opened fire, trying to force the Thorton to stop. These guys meant trouble. 

“Dammit! Probably Wraiths!” V cursed, leaning out to return fire. Bang! Bang! Bang! Her shots swept a biker off his ride, the rider tumbling across the desert. 

Riku joined in, his aim sharpened by his visual cortex implant. He wasn’t a sharpshooter, but he was good enough to keep the bikers at bay. 

The Mules, though, were faster than the Thorton in the Badlands. Two of them flanked the car, trying to box it in. Jack growled—sure, the Mules had light armor, but the Thorton was a tank in comparison. They dared to ram him? 

Boom! 

Jack slammed the Thorton into one of the Mules, sparks flying as armor scraped. The Thorton’s weight won out, shoving the lighter Mule aside. 

BOOM! 

A rocket exploded on the highway, but Jack swerved, dodging it. “These Wraiths don’t play fair!” he shouted. 

The Wraiths were outcast nomads, the real drifters. Banished from the clans, they survived by raiding—hitting travelers, corporate convoys, and their favorite target: other nomad camps. 

“Stop the car. Let’s deal with them,” Riku said. 

These Wraiths had made a mistake. The Thorton’s “corporate armored car” look probably made them think they were hitting soft company suits—prime targets for kidnapping and ransom. 

Jack pulled a slick drift, stopping the Thorton. Riku leapt out, charging a Mule. His four Sandevistan blades shot out, stabbing through an open window. The Wraiths, firing from inside, hadn’t expected such a bold move. 

The Mules screeched to a halt, and the bikers closed in. V jumped out, gun in hand, activating her Sandevistan. Bang! Bang! Bang! Her sharpshooter aim dropped Wraiths left and right. 

The first clash left the Wraiths stunned. They’d thought they had easy prey, but they’d stumbled into a shark. 

“Dammit! These guys are tough! Pull back!” one Wraith shouted, turning to flee. Wraiths had no loyalty—bunch of scumbags who only stuck together out of necessity. 

But Riku, V, and Jack weren’t letting them off. You start trouble and think you can just run? What did they take them for—some back-alley joytoys? 

The trio tore through the Wraiths. Then another group rolled up, their vehicles sporting a bold emblem. 

“Aldecaldos,” Riku said, recognizing the red background with a white raptor skull and “Aldecaldo” written across it. Proper nomad clans always displayed their crests proudly—family meant everything. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

The Aldecaldos opened fire on the Wraiths, jumping in to help without hesitation. 

“Wipe out these Night Wraiths!” a woman’s voice roared. Riku glanced over—a black-haired woman leaned out of the passenger side, firing wildly, fierce as a snarling cheetah. 

“Panam,” Riku muttered, recognizing her instantly. Panam Palmer of the Aldecaldos looked much like she would two years later, just a bit younger. 

Together, Riku, V, Jack, and the Aldecaldos mopped up the Wraiths. This particular crew called themselves “Night Wraiths,” marked by their cyan-colored clothes and a ghostly cyan emblem. 

“Thanks, Aldecaldo friends,” Jack said, stepping forward to talk. 

Panam hopped out of her car, striding over with long legs to shake Jack’s hand. “No big deal. Taking out Night Wraiths is just part of the job. You guys are tough—you’d have handled them without us.” 

Her gaze flicked to Riku and V, surprise in her eyes. The pretty-boy-and-girl duo didn’t look like the type to wreak havoc like they just did. 

“Still, thanks for the assist,” Jack said, grinning. “I’m Jack Welles. This is Devil and V.” 

“You’re those guys?!” Panam’s eyes widened, her voice rising. The other Aldecaldos climbed out of their cars, curious about the commotion. 

“Kinda rough around the edges,” V whispered to Riku, eyeing their clothes. 

Riku’s lips twitched. “It’s called practical.” 

Night City’s flashy street style wasn’t his thing either—too over-the-top. Nomad gear, at least, was functional. Living in the dangerous Badlands, their clothes prioritized utility over fashion. Backpacks and satchels were standard, keeping essentials within reach. 

Out in the Badlands, carrying enough water, food, and weapons was common sense. The former kept you from starving or dying of thirst; the latter kept you from getting flatlined. Nomad clans had their codes, but plenty of others on the road—like the Night Wraiths—lived to prey. 

The Wraiths were a big reason nomads had a bad rap. To most city folk who rarely saw nomads, Wraiths were nomads—robbers, ambushers, and raiders hitting small towns and suburbs. Nomads couldn’t shake the stigma, so proper clans like the Aldecaldos were sworn enemies of the Wraiths. 

“You here for business?” Riku asked, stepping forward. 

“Yup,” Panam said, snapping back to her no-nonsense self. “Let’s move. We’re close to the meeting spot. We’ll talk there.” 

Riku, V, and Jack piled back into the Thorton, following the Aldecaldos’ two cars toward the destination—a spot chosen by the nomads, clearly coordinated between families. 

They arrived at an abandoned farm, one of many such structures in the Badlands, along with ghost towns. Nomads often turned these into meeting halls, living quarters, hospitals, or schools. 

“Looks like plenty of folks are already here,” Riku noted. The Night Wraiths had delayed them a bit, and the meeting spot was already packed with vehicles. 

“Everyone’s eager,” Panam said as they walked. “No surprise, since you took out Kurei Horu. Good riddance, honestly. I never liked that guy. Hope you’re more reliable than he was. We nomads aren’t pushovers.” 

(End of Chapter)