Eighty miles an hour—Legend's body swayed slightly under the storm's push.
It wasn't fast. Even for Jackie—who didn't have a Sandevistan—it wasn't fast.
But because of Big Wheat, by the time someone on the truck noticed something was wrong, it was already within twenty meters. A normal person's reaction time simply couldn't do anything.
Human nerves were limited by structure. Bioelectric signals traveled through the body at near-light speed, but transmission across synapses still relied on chemical neurotransmitters—molecules that needed time to diffuse, be received, and trigger the next signal.
Unless there was a method that could override chemical transmission entirely, replacing the whole process with raw current.
That was one of the original purposes of the Sandevistan.
They couldn't predict mines on the ground—but the instant something happened, the Sandevistan's current could flood the nervous system, bypassing neurotransmitters and outpacing biological reaction limits.
The explosion couldn't be stopped.
But what came after the explosion—how you responded—was something you could still fight for.
Two gangers lunged in, both wearing combat jackets. Around their necks was the same tattoo: a blind man crying, his eyes gouged out.
At their waists were long ropes—obviously meant for boarding and fighting, so they could clip back onto their car afterward.
But now those ropes had become death sentences.
The mine was powerful, but Legend's undercarriage carried Crony Titanium armor plates that could withstand the shock. The armor flexed slightly; the impact was absorbed by the complex electromagnetic suspension and internal frame, spread as evenly as possible through every load-bearing structure.
So the entire truck only hesitated for a heartbeat—then it lifted almost parallel to the ground.
But the pickup in front didn't have that luxury. The blast tore its chassis apart and flipped the rear end skyward.
If nothing changed, those two idiots would be yanked by their ropes—dragged into the wreckage and shredded into a slurry of metal and meat.
So in that instant, they cut loose—clean, decisive.
By the time the pull traveled down the rope, they'd already slipped free. Still carrying their original velocity, they dove toward Legend's hood—
At that speed, with that kind of extreme reaction, they were already congratulating themselves for being absolute gods.
Four powerful synthetic limbs reached for the bumper—
And they had no idea someone else had reacted just as fast.
Big Wheat opened a seam in the front armor plate—perfectly timed with V's mantis blades.
So they never got the chance to grab the hood.
If anything, it was the mantis blades that grabbed them.
THUD!
One skull slammed into a blade. Another blade punched between ribs, then carved along bone toward the left side.
Both bodies smashed into the windshield armor, splattering it with a wide smear of something that definitely wasn't road dust.
V retracted the blades. The storm snatched the corpses away to either side—leaving them to rot in the Badlands.
"Bloody hell—that's Blood and Tears," Leo said as he logged the kills into temporary storage. "They like gouging out victims' eyes. Another serial-killer gang—and an elite one. But the mines weren't theirs. The chemical warehouse hit at Kenley wasn't them."
Blood and Tears—back in the old gang-dominance era, they'd been infamous in the combat zone. A hard gate: only fighters with at least three years of experience could join.
But in Night City? In this line of work, hardly anyone survived three years. The ones who lived long were rich, not skilled. So the gang slowly faded.
"What a stupid name." V slotted her blades into the cleaning ports built into either side of her seat. "You really are a naming demon."
"I didn't name them. NCPD's been giving terrorists weird nicknames for decades," Leo snapped.
Like Jackie—he'd been one of the victims.
"Mano, I—"
"Sit down," Leo cut him off. "There'll be more mines."
BOOM!
They hit another one.
This time the jolt was worse. The chassis shifted in a way it wasn't supposed to.
[Electromagnetic Suspension Dead-Zone Warning]
[Minor undercarriage deformation]
If they kept eating mines passively, the damage would exceed projections.
The best evasion was to leave the highway again—get off-road. Leo had scan data on every racer, and none of them could keep high speed in the storm off the asphalt.
But that meant he'd have to slow down too.
And if they weren't the first to break out of the storm and reach the next segment, it wouldn't matter.
The mine-layer's luck was disgusting—this was the perfect environment for that strategy.
They had to kill him.
But killing him in this weather…
Like Leo said earlier.
Only instinct.
He spoke into the comms: "Motorcycles. Strike the mine-layer."
At that, Jackie and V woke up instantly.
BOOM!
Explosions kept blooming behind them—and the grins inside Legend split wide.
Up ahead was a Thorton Colby —another pickup, but a light one. The engine inside was stolen—a high-output monster.
With AWD, off-road tires, the whole setup was built for tearing up Badlands asphalt.
Their plan from the beginning was simple: race to the front, drop mines, flip as many people as possible. If things got too hot, bail out. Just showing up and surviving one segment was profit. Quitting mid-race wasn't shameful.
It was strategy.
A few days ago they'd taken a job from the Brain Dancers gang—steal a wrecked Type-66 Coyote. The moment they'd hooked it up, Brain Dancers said they didn't need it anymore. The engine could be salvaged—consider it payment.
They hadn't expected it to be that good.
Patchwork and prayer later, that thousand-horsepower Coyote engine inside the Colby felt like a gift from God. Unstable in the sandstorm, sure—but right now?
Fast was king.
"AHAHAHA—heaven finally rewards the ones with brains!"
"Those idiots—no brains at all! A little thinking, brother, and we cut them down like dogs!"
In the bed of the truck, the guy tossing mines wore bulky protective goggles—the kind techs used in workshops. The driver had a pair too, but wasn't wearing them.
After his grand "cut them down" declaration, the driver was already imagining the moment they hit the city entrance first.
Maybe someone would be smart enough to go off-road—but off-road meant slow.
They'd still be first.
And if they were first, tonight's mission would be overachievement: show up at the start, complete a full segment, and open an abyss-wide gap to the pack.
If they were first, their brains would be recognized. Maybe corporate dogs would come begging for inventions. Maybe he'd become a real designer.
No more "freak."
He'd be an inventor.
A deadly inventor.
Boom…
Another muffled blast behind them. The Lone Peak wove snake-like across the highway. The driver even let go with one hand, waving like a drunk prophet.
"AHAHA! I laugh at the Burger's foolishness—heaven itself takes our side!"
In his excitement, he never noticed what was happening behind him.
Limited visibility worked both ways.
In the bed, the mine-dropper noticed explosions blooming on both sides of the road—
That was strange. He didn't remember tossing mines that wide.
Why did it feel like someone was detonating them off the asphalt?
Then—
BOOM!
A blast erupted at their side.
The mine-dropper saw something he would remember forever—because it was the last thing he ever saw:
Out of the yellow-brown storm, a woman in a black illuminated jacket burst sideways on a motorcycle wreathed in flame and smoke—so fast the bike was practically airborne.
Like a Valkyrie riding a white warhorse from some myth-game.
And why could he tell it was a woman, even through the thick mask and reinforced exoskeleton?
Because his brain insisted it had to be.
He turned to run—then his vision swung over the truck roof, and he saw the same kind of motorcycle smashing toward the driver's window.
A massive second Valkyrie—like she was hugging a rocket.
The "rocket" punched through the window armor.
Warm liquid sprayed out.
He felt an unnatural warmth hit his face and thought—damn, that's a hell of a toy.
Only then did he realize something:
He was standing in the bed.
How could he possibly see over the roof like this?
The next second, his consciousness disconnected permanently.
His head lifted from his neck—and the storm carried it up into the sky like a tossed ball.
"YES!" V shouted into the wind, pure exhilaration. She nodded at Jackie.
Jackie gave her a thumbs-up.
Following the plan, they cut speed and peeled away into the storm, vanishing into the yellow.
The Legendary Mackinaw was about to start passing.