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Down the desolate slope of the garbage mountain, the convoy was forced to a halt. Two men, their postures relaxed but their hands never straying far from the submachine guns slung across their tactical vests, stood blocking the path. One of them raised a flat palm, signaling the lead car to stop.
Jackie braked hard, the tires kicking up a cloud of ochre dust. Jax stepped out into the dry, baking heat of the Badlands, looking ahead to see Maine already engaging the sentries.
"Babos sent us," Maine said, his voice deep and projection-heavy to reach through the wind. "He said you've got a shipment waiting for pickup."
"Names. Give me the contact," one of the men demanded, his eyes hidden behind polarized goggles.
"Leon Lundell. He gave us the coordinates and told us to burn rubber getting here. Said there'd be hell to pay if we arrived after today," Maine replied smoothly.
Jax activated his Kiroshi optics, the data streams flickering in the corner of his vision. The NCPD database—surprisingly comprehensive even out here—pulled up their files.
NAME: Adam Jackman
AFFILIATION: Aldecaldos
IMPLANTS: Synthetic Lungs, Mobility System, Tendon Reinforcement.
CRIMES: Smuggling, Illegal Confinement.
NAME: Marlon Scriv
AFFILIATION: Aldecaldos
IMPLANTS: Basic Kiroshi Optics, External Drive, Flexible Joints.
CRIMES: Smuggling, Robbery.
These were the family's soldiers—lightly chromed compared to city mercs, but built for endurance and the harsh desert terrain.
"You picked a hell of a day to show up. Whatever, follow me," Adam said, gesturing toward the interior of the camp. He glanced at his partner. "Marlon, stay sharp. Ping me if the Raffen so much as sneeze."
"Yeah, yeah. My eyes are open," Marlon muttered, leaning back against a rusted guardrail.
Adam led the crew deeper into the enclave. Jax saw a sprawling city of tents and reinforced shipping containers. There were about a hundred Aldecaldos visible, most of them busy maintaining vehicles or checking heavy ordnance. But the centerpiece was a massive, grayish-white structure that looked like a pressurized bubble.
A greenhouse.
"Eyes front, kid. Don't let your gaze wander," Adam warned, noticing Jax's curiosity.
Jackie let out a sharp "tsk," his jaw tightening as he stepped forward to confront the man's attitude. Maine's hand clamped onto Jackie's shoulder like a vice. He gave Jackie a slow, meaningful shake of the head. Maine wasn't here to play tough guy; he wanted to get the job done and get his crew back behind the city walls before the desert decided to kill them.
Jax offered a small, knowing smile. He wasn't looking for a fight either. He wasn't V, the type of legendary lunatic who would zero a sentry just for a lack of manners.
"Finally," a thin man said, stepping down from a raised loading platform. He looked weary, his skin leathery from the sun. "I've been waiting for you. The last idiots Babos sent had the luck of a terminal patient. Ran straight into a sandstorm, lost their bearings, and ended up in Nightwalker territory. Never heard from 'em again."
"I'm Leon. You the ones?"
"I'm Jax," he replied. "We're here for the goods."
"Good. Carry 'em down yourselves. I'm busy," Leon said, leading them onto the platform. He yanked back a heavy, dust-caked cloth, revealing three large refrigerators.
Jax recognized them immediately. "Ice coffins." These were the external cooling units hackers used to keep their brains from melting during a deep dive, or more grisly, the boxes Scavengers used to transport harvested organs.
"Three boxes," Leon pointed. "Deliver them to the drop-off in the city. Mission over. Simple, right?" He tossed a heavy burlap bag onto one of the units. "And that's a gift from the family. Spore olives, celery, basil. Real food. But I don't want a single box missing its seal, you hear me?"
Jax reached into the bag, feeling the cool, firm texture of the produce. Spore olives—a North American delicacy he'd only ever seen in braindances. They looked like miniature cabbages, vibrant and green.
"We understand," Maine nodded.
Jax stepped up and lifted one of the ice coffins with a single hand. Leon's eyes widened behind his goggles. A fully loaded cooling unit weighed nearly three hundred pounds. Jax held it as if it were a briefcase.
"Alright... you're a strong one, huh, buddy?" Leon muttered, impressed.
The crew loaded the cargo. Maine and Pilar's cars had enough trunk space, but Jackie's borrowed ride was too small. They ended up lashing the third coffin to the roof with heavy-duty cables, the metal of the roof groaning under the weight.
They pulled out of the camp, hitting the main road through the Badlands. Ten minutes passed in relative silence.
"This is it?" Maine asked over the comms, sounding genuinely skeptical. "Mission complete?"
Lucy was equally puzzled. Eight thousand eddies for a glorified grocery run? Even with the danger of the Badlands, the payout seemed astronomical. She felt a surge of rare happiness—finding easy money in Night City was like finding a unicorn.
"Luck of the draw," Maine said. "Last team got zeroed, so we're getting the 'hazard pay' without the hazard."
"I don't know," Pilar chimed in from the rear car. "Our luck usually sucks. Last time we did a data heist, we ended up—"
VROOOOM!
A roar of high-octane engines cut him off. A pickup truck, customized with jagged armor plates and a mounted light machine gun, crested the slope behind them.
"BANG!"
The truck slammed into the back of Pilar's car, sending him careening off the asphalt and into the desert scrub. Pilar's voice filled the channel with a panicked shriek.
"Turn around! Help Pilar!" Maine barked. "Jax!"
Jax didn't wait. He kicked his door open and nimbly flipped onto the roof of Jackie's car, hooking his boots into the cables holding the refrigerator for stability. He drew his Katana, the black hair whipping across his face as the wind roared past at eighty miles per hour.
"Four vehicles, Maine! Raffen Shiv!"
"Damn it, Pilar! You jinx!" Maine cursed. "Look what you've done!"
"MY FAULT?!" Pilar yelled, wrestling his car back onto the road while being flanked by two trucks. Armed riders in blue-black leather opened fire.
Jackie pulled a hard drift, the smell of burning rubber filling the cabin as he swung the car around to face the attackers. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, a wild look on his face.
"Mano, hold on! I'm sorry, brother, I'll pay for the car later!" Jackie roared.
BOOM!
Jackie's car slammed into the side of the lead pickup. The impact dented the frame and sent the Raffen driver's head into the steering wheel. Before the man could recover, a shadow fell across his windshield.
Jax leaped from the roof, his Katana drawing a black and red arc through the dusty air.
"One down," Jax muttered as the blade bit into the truck's roof.
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