"Most of Night City's infrastructure is contracted to Night Corp. As everyone knows, they're a construction company that takes build quality very seriously."
"But that explosion just now—did we see a truck full of explosives? A bomber aircraft? A tank? No, right?"
"That's because the explosives used were most likely nano-scale composite charges. We can infer this from the blast yield, fireball size, and the way the rebar sheared."
"Aluminum nanoparticles and iron oxide nanoparticles, when perfectly proportioned, react violently in an extremely short time. The energy release is fast, intense, compact, and highly concealable."
"But taming that perfect pairing and making them combine at exactly the right moment requires proprietary know-how. The choice of high-energy binders determines both reliability and safety."
"This is extremely advanced technology. I'm not saying which company these weapons came from, but as far as I know, Arasaka holds a large number of patents in this area."
Night City program Guns & Saddles, special episode: Attack of the Racing Kids.
This is Night City's most popular gear-analysis show, famous for being brutally real. When they recommend equipment, they use real incident footage—robbers cut in half by mantis blades, homeowners shooting intruders in their sleep.
But live battlefield commentary like this is unprecedented.
Now they've brought in experts from all sides to analyze the weapons appearing in the riot.
To be honest, scenes like this haven't happened much in the past few decades—
If the streets truly spiral out of control, no one knows who the fire will burn next. In Night City, anything can happen.
Yet today, strangely, the mood feels almost festive, even though so many people have died and so much infrastructure has been destroyed.
Amid the chaos, an oddly warped sense of order emerges.
Another expert immediately counters. "Not necessarily nano-explosives. It could be a traditional TNT–RDX mix. Militech has a nano-scale catalytic agent—pair it with specific metal powders and you get the same small-volume, high-yield result."
"That's just arguing for the sake of it."
"Ahem." The host cuts in. "Gentlemen! Watch the screen! That big vehicle looks like it's going for it!"
"Impossible. That's not an AV."
The other expert nods. "Agreed. My guess is they're turning around, heading toward Pacifica to hide."
At first glance, this looks like an impossible task.
A broken bridge sags inward at the fracture, continuing to tilt and collapse under gravity.
The initial twenty-meter gap will only widen.
At the jump point, the bridge deck is still mostly level—
But no one can guarantee the structure won't suddenly give way.
The ramp was welded on-site by Six Street techs, built entirely from armor plates, anchored by several heat-driven spikes hammered into the deck as supports.
When the spikes went in, the already-wobbling bridge shuddered again, making everyone's stomach drop.
In theory, it's possible to clear the gap. Under ideal conditions, the required speed isn't as extreme as it looks—two hundred kilometers per hour should be more than enough, well below the Legendary Mackinaw's top speed.
But theory and standing here are two different things.
Everyone is scared.
"Hurry it up!" Morton shouts from his vehicle like a hard-nosed foreman. "Finish it and pull back! Park behind the ramp! That thing weighs ten tons—don't let it slip!"
Three vehicles inch sideways into position in front of the ramp, parking brakes locked. The drivers bail out and sprint for their lives—
Just moments ago, they could clearly feel the ground shaking beneath them.
The bridge was moving.
"Boss! Done!"
Morton nods.
[Morton: Done.]
The Legendary Mackinaw's top speed is around 350 km/h, but with virtually no aerodynamic optimization, it needs a very long run-up to reach that velocity. That's why Leo drove in the opposite direction earlier.
This stretch of elevated roadway is empty and wide open.
The vehicle drives nearly three kilometers the wrong way, long enough that commentators and viewers alike think the burger-painted Mackinaw is bailing out.
But the real acceleration starts now.
The Mackinaw turns around.
Jackie and V are excited and tense, four-point harnesses cinched tight. No matter how much they trust Leo, their bodies don't care.
[Big Mac: Engine ready. Jump mode loaded.]
"Heh." V taps the console. "Big Mac sounds more excited than we are."
Jackie grins. "Why does everything we've done tonight feel this insane?"
It really is insane.
The bridge is blown. Taking a massive detour would be perfectly safe.
And honestly, they've been doing a lot of things that look unnecessary from the outside.
Like this.
"It is insane." V laughs. "What kind of millionaire does suicidal racing with someone drowning in debt?"
Leo is calm. He smiles.
Sometimes living is about chasing the rush. Slipping away to detour here would be humiliating.
He's done plenty of things others call pointless.
"Living is about feeling alive. Hold on!"
ROOOOOM—!
The engine roars violently, even the drones above feeling the shockwave.
The Vulture engine's peak output is 5,800 horsepower.
Alcohol-2 compressed hydrogen detonates in the cylinders, the sound like constant explosions pounding their eardrums.
That immense power converts fully into mechanical force, colossal torque hitting the wheels as the electrostatic systems max out.
No wheelspin.
The tires tear an entire layer of asphalt off the bridge.
The vehicle launches forward, the surface cracking under it as if hit by an explosion, sparks flying everywhere.
Boom!
Acceleration beyond any AV.
A ten-ton vehicle hits 100 km/h in just two seconds.
The Mackinaw charges forward, carving a massive crater at launch. Over more than two kilometers it accelerates brutally, breaking past 350 km/h before slamming into the ramp.
In the viewers' horrified eyes, even with a long, curved approach ramp, the forty-five-degree armored jump platform visibly dents under the impact. The anchoring spikes snap, sliding backward, the reinforcement vehicles behind it deforming and shifting under the force.
BOOM!
The impact is deafening.
The Legendary Mackinaw leaves the ground.
The collision may shave off some speed, but from above, nearly 300 km/h is still more than enough to clear forty-three meters.
But—
BOOM!
A second explosion rips through the bridge.
"There's another blast!"
On the far end, the bridge detonates again.
Rebar bends and snaps, the deck sagging further downward.
Real-time calculations flash on-screen, marking the projected landing point—now on a section that's already bending. Even if the Mackinaw lands, it would slide straight down with the collapsing deck.
The bridge isn't collapsing fast—but to a vehicle, it's like an inescapable black hole.
This isn't an AV.
You can't escape gravity.
For the first time, viewers feel genuine dread, and genuine contempt for the ambushers.
People understand survival at any cost. They respect survivors.
But deep down, most want to see indomitable challengers crush obstacles head-on, unstoppable, shoving everything aside. They admire those who overwhelm schemes with raw force.
Because that's the version of themselves they dream of: uncompromising, fearless, unyielding.
Sadly, in reality, that admiration vanishes the moment the challenger fails. It becomes "winner takes all."
People compromise. They amputate limbs for work, take loans for better cyberware, trade away the ability to feel touch—
All just to survive.
They come to this city because they can't fight their desires.
And only ruthless winners get to realize those desires, even if warped by gravity and reality.
If you're truly stubborn, you end up like this armored beast—
Bulletproof. Rocketproof. Missile-resistant.
But when gravity and the road betray you, gravity always wins.
Except this time—
BANG!
The Legendslams down onto the already-tilting bridge deck.
Jackie and V hold their breath.
What happens now?
The vehicle doesn't fall.
The electrostatic adhesion system overloads completely, current far exceeding spec, scorching the bio-material surfaces nearly black.
A massive force grips the Legend, adding to gravity instead of yielding to it.
The tires crush into the deck, generating impossible friction.
Behind the vehicle, the collapsing bridge disintegrates, concrete and steel crashing down, while the Legend climbs upward, seemingly shaking off the ruins.
Rebar snaps. Concrete slabs fall. The bridge turns nearly vertical. The Legend slows—
But it doesn't stop.
It isn't claimed by gravity.
And then—
BOOM—
It clears the roadway.
"Physics doesn't exist anymore!"