Vash Dale woke in a half-dream, blinking at a world that wasn't his.
He sat in the driver's seat of a battered second-hand car. A scarred steering wheel rested in his hands, and the dashboard glowed with unfamiliar vehicle readouts.
"How did I end up here?" he muttered.
A sudden weight pressed behind his eyes. Dizziness rolled through him as a torrent of memories surged in — too vivid, too detailed to be imagination.
"Cyberpunk 2077…." He breathed, "Did I get dropped into another reality?"
He forced himself to stay calm and studied the interior. Even for a junker, the car had components he'd never seen — sleek interfaces, hidden panels, a faint hum of advanced tech.
As he sorted through the foreign memories, words failed him.
Of course he knew CD Projekt Red's Cyberpunk 2077. He'd taken three days off for launch, picked the free-spirited Nomad background, and played nonstop until the credits rolled. After that, he'd collapsed from exhaustion.
Now he wasn't "Vash" anymore — at least, not only Vash. He was V, the game's protagonist, still carrying the same Nomad origin. In these memories, he'd already left the Bakkers clan and was scraping by alone in the Badlands.
Night City. Arasaka. The gangs. Jackie Welles. T-Bug. Judy. Classic scenes and familiar faces flickered through his mind like a rapid-fire montage.
『 Congratulations, host, on your transmigration. You have successfully activated the Divine Check-in System! 』
『 System activation successful! 』
『 Daily Check-in refreshed. Would you like to Check-in? 』
A series of electronic, synthesized voices echoed inside his skull. Outwardly, Vash kept his expression steady.
A check-in system? How cliché.
Still… simple and direct.
"I can work with that." His lips tugged into a faint smile, "Check in."
『 Check-in successful! Host has obtained the 〈Perfect Driving Skill〉! 』
At the announcement, a flood of knowledge poured into his mind — techniques, instincts, muscle memory, all slotting into place as if he'd practiced for years.
In seconds, the Perfect Driving Skill was his.
It wasn't just driving. It included maintenance and modification too. Air, land, or water — if it was a vehicle that required human control, he could operate it with expert precision.
This is insane. He could already picture it: leaving Arasaka's corporate dogs eating dust, every pursuit turning into a clean escape.
He shook himself back to the present and studied the display panel of his car, an Galena GA40xt "Rattler", looking for problems.
The main fuel tank was dry, and the auxiliary tank sat at barely twenty percent. Worse, a wiring coupling near the engine looked chewed up and unstable — one good jolt and it could fail, stranding him in the middle of nowhere.
He checked his location. A holographic map blossomed into view, marking his position and nearby settlements.
"This heap won't make it to Night City." He said under his breath, "I need a repair shop."
He set a route toward the nearest town.
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The sun climbed, spilling warm gold over the barren Badlands.
Abandoned houses and piles of scrap lined the road. Out here, broken buildings and trash outnumbered people.
Vash rolled into a small town called Yucca. After circling a few streets, he finally spotted his destination: the Yucca Car Repair Shop.
Mike, the owner, stood outside smoking. When he saw a second-hand car creeping toward him — its hood spitting sparks — he straightened and pulled up the shop's rolling door.
Vash drove inside. He'd barely killed the engine when a stunned voice hit him.
"My God, buddy — how the hell did you drive this thing all the way here?"
"I'm in a hurry. Just fix it." Vash kept his tone cool. He could handle the repairs himself now, but doing it on someone else's turf was asking for trouble.
"Relax. I'll take care of it." Mike slipped on anti-static gloves and popped the hood. A second later he whistled, "Good Lord… it's this bad?"
"Got a restroom?" Vash asked.
"Inside. Left."
He splashed water on his face and steadied his breathing. In the mirror, he saw Mike hadn't started repairs at all — he was tapping away at a tablet, calculating.
"Hey, buddy." Mike held the tablet out, "To fix this, it'll cost at least this much."
Vash glanced at the number. He didn't have a single eddie to his name, but he didn't let it show, "Mike, that isn't the going rate."
"Going rate?" Mike crossed his arms and sat on the car's hood with a smug grin, "A Nomad like you knows the going rate? Sorry. This is my price. Pay it, find someone else, or fix it yourself."
"So you're one of those who thinks Nomads are garbage." Vash said quietly.
"Don't do philosophy." Mike's smile didn't fade, "Either pay up, or the tools are right there. Or go try your luck — see who else repairs a Nomad's ride."
"Then move."
Vash picked up a wrench as if he'd expected the answer.
Mike stepped aside, curiosity sharpening his gaze, "Alright. What's the plan?"
Vash braced the hood with one hand and studied the sparking assembly, "I'm replacing the faulty coupling."
He moved fast.
Bolts loosened in a clean rhythm. The damaged coupling wires came free with a sharp tug. He rerouted and reconnected what remained, tightening everything back into place like he'd done it a hundred times.
"Not bad." Mike admitted, grudging, "But how long will that hold?"
"Long enough to reach Night City." Vash set the wrench down.
He was about to say something — maybe thanks, maybe nothing at all — when the rolling door behind them suddenly rattled upward.
"Mike." A voice called out, amused, "Since when do you get customers out here?"
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T/N: Comment, give me Power Stones, like and favorite, it all supports me and makes me go foward with this. Appreciate my other stories as well, I guarantee the good work!
That's it and happy reading! (-‿◦)