By conventional thinking, the obvious move when faced with a roadblock would be to turn around and find another route. After all, a wall of fire loomed ahead—denatured ethanol burning in violent tongues of flame. No sane person would see that as a path forward.
But that's exactly what they were counting on.
Whoever set the blockade was waiting for them to turn around—into an ambush already prepared.
The only way out was to do what no one expected.
And Oliver had already answered that question—with action.
The Herrera surged straight into the inferno.
If it had been a stock model, that decision would've been suicidal. The factory-standard materials would have melted under the intensity of ethanol-fueled flames. The car would've become an oven, roasting everyone inside in minutes.
But Oliver's Herrera was far from standard.
Custom-built with premium-grade materials and painstakingly reinforced, it was a unique beast on the streets of Night City. On the surface, it looked like any other Herrera. But when push came to shove, it revealed its true nature—explosive acceleration and defensive strength beyond anything the city had seen.
Its armored glass and plating effortlessly resisted the outside heat. Inside, the team barely noticed the flames surrounding them.
As they watched calmly from within, the Herrera barreled toward a burning wreck—a car that had already exploded and was still ablaze.
According to traffic safety guidelines, even charred vehicles pose the risk of secondary explosions and should be avoided. But under Oliver's hands, the Herrera didn't swerve. It crashed straight into the wreck.
The damaged vehicle, already warped from fire and impact, shattered and flew apart. Flaming metal fragments scattered, but the Herrera burst through the wreckage and kept going. Behind them, the two unmanned Mehir MT28 Coacher buses—originally meant to trap them—were now far behind.
Trying to outrun a maniac from Santo Domingo in an AI-controlled city bus?
Not a chance.
"Shit! They broke through! They just charged into the damn fire! They're insane! Go after them—don't worry about the perimeter anymore! We should've hit them sooner. Everyone move!"
Back on the street, where the Herrera had just blazed through, a group of gangers emerged. Dressed in mismatched gear, they poured out of alleyways—some running, some on bikes—scrambling to give chase.
But they wouldn't need to chase.
KK was already here.
"There—watch out! KK just got out of the car!"
Through the glow of the burning street, a lone figure stepped forward. Standing against the backdrop of the inferno, the fire itself seemed to dim around him.
KK had returned.
He had disembarked before the Herrera exited the flames—walking straight back into the trap.
The KK team hadn't broken out of fear. Their priority was the safety of their client. That meant getting Seisen out first.
But now that he was safe, someone had to go back.
Who had set this up? Who had leaked their route? Who had the balls to try?
You can't protect your client if you don't know what's coming. That's why KK had returned.
And he came alone.
First, because the others had to stay with Seisen.
Second—because for this bunch?
KK figured he was more than enough.
Feeling the heat against his back, Karl muttered under his breath: standing all cool with a flaming backdrop might look badass, but it wasn't exactly comfortable. In his hands were Ebon Night and his toxin-laced dagger.
The people in front of him bore clear insignias. He had already identified them as he walked.
Tyger Claws.
And then—
He glanced at the rear of the formation—dark-skinned figures staring at him with raw hatred.
The surviving remnants of the Voodoo Boys.
He'd thought they would've learned to hide by now. But apparently, even among the Voodoo Boys, there were still a few too dumb—or too stubborn—to back down. Ironically, they had more guts than their former leadership, who had once run at the sight of him.
So, let's think this through.
How did these Voodoo Boys and Tyger Claws find his route? Who supplied them with hacked AVs and coordinated the ambush?
Where did the intel come from? Who backed them?
Was the target Karl himself? Or Seisen, who'd just returned to Night City?
Hopefully both.
Karl spread his arms wide, striding forward so every single enemy caught in the trap could see.
It was casual. Deliberate. Arrogant.
To the gangers, it felt like he was looking down at them from a throne.
"Just KK, huh? Makes things easier."
"He's got no idea he just walked into his own grave."
Sixty-five Tyger Claws, plus fifteen Voodoo Boys. Eighty in total. All armed. All backed by some unknown sponsor.
Not everyone had top-of-the-line cyberware, but their gear matched—or exceeded—that of a standard Arasaka combat unit.
Sixty-five street soldiers hardened to Arasaka-tier standards. Fifteen Voodoo netrunners with high-end cybertech. The kind of force meant to crush the entire KK team.
They even calculated that this team might be able to take on Adam Smasher.
And yet—KK had walked in alone.
What, did he think he was Smasher?
"Let me take this punk out. I've had enough of KK's attitude. Let's see if he's as badass as everyone says. Waste him fast, then we go after the target."
With a shout, one of the Tyger Claws sprang forward, mantis blades gleaming on his forearms. He activated his Sandevistan and charged straight for KK.
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