Chapter 42: Carjacking

“Simply put, he can’t ride a bike.”
Seeing the puzzled look on V’s face, Jackie finally broke the silence, laughing as he explained.

“Say what you want.”
Arthur didn’t deny it. He stood still, watching as they pried open the wooden crate with a crowbar.

“Damn—Apollo. Badlands Knight. I knew it.”
When the lid swung open, Jackie let out an appreciative whistle.

The motorcycle was pure brutality: a solid metal frame, a massive engine stuffed into the front, radiating raw power.
Its paint was a plain, dusty yellow. The tires were studded with square, thumb-sized knobs—clearly built for the Badlands.

As the two wrestled the bike free, Arthur clapped his hands and stood up from the doorway.
“Well, brothers, looks like we’re set. Time to grab that damn core.
But you’ll need to wait for your old friend—my ‘Old John’ ain’t exactly quick.”

...

The Badlands roared to life. Three vehicles tore across the wasteland, engines howling, a cone of dust billowing behind them.

Up front were the two yellow Apollos, their riders crouched low to avoid the sand pelting their faces.
Behind them, Arthur’s junker wheezed like an asthmatic runner at the finish line.

Through the cracked windshield of his Apollo, Jackie craned his neck to shout across to V.
“Hey! V! What do you think of my buddy back there?”

V wore round shades, the lower half of her face hidden behind a black wind scarf.
At Jackie’s teasing, she chuckled softly and shook her head.
“He’s fine. Just doesn’t hold his liquor. Other than that—still watching.”

“You gotta tell me about the night before last. I’ve never drunk that much in my life.”
Jackie’s voice wavered, half nervous.

“Hah! You mean when you two were slapping each other silly? Or when you locked arms and started kicking around like you were dancing?
Or maybe when you went around ripping braindance headsets off strangers, yelling for ‘Lenny’?
Those poor bastards were in heaven one second, then saw you two—faces went purple, like they’d seen a ghost. Funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
But really... who the hell is Lenny?”

Her words sent a chill down Jackie’s spine. He couldn’t even picture walking into Lizzie’s Bar again.

“You’re full of it. And I don’t even know any Len—” He coughed, choking as a mouthful of sand filled his throat.

Arthur, alone behind them in his car, was perfectly at ease. Out here, he barely needed to steer—just kept the gas floored.

...

They reached the ambush site soon after: a half-buried stretch of highway bending around a massive rock formation. Beyond it, a yawning chasm split the earth.

Arthur climbed out and immediately spotted Jackie spitting mud.
“See? That’s why I’m driving.”

Catching the odd look on Jackie’s face, Arthur tilted his head.
“What’s wrong, my friend? Dirt go down the wrong pipe?”

Jackie held back the urge to explain. Sometimes, not knowing you’d embarrassed yourself was the same as not having done it at all.

“Alright, gentlemen... dancers.” V’s voice was muffled by her scarf as she stifled a laugh.
“Let’s stash the rides.”

Using the rock mound as cover, they hid the vehicles. The highway curved around the formation in a crooked “L.”

V pointed toward the road.
“Truck should be here around ten tonight. Heavy hauler—the cab doors sit over two meters high. We’ll ride up alongside and climb aboard.
Arthur, you take the lead. Deal with the driver if you can.”

Arthur rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing on the road ahead.
“My effective range is from a thousand down to three hundred meters. If the truck’s moving fast, the window’s short. You’ll need to time it right.”

V frowned. Not at his skill, but at the wide margin—it made her uneasy.
“Confident? We could tighten it up.”

“Ah—” Arthur flicked his hand upward, his rasp tinged with a nasal drawl.
“Girl, what’re you even talking about? I ain’t some kid out rabbit-hunting.”

“Fine. Guess I’ll just be the little girl standing in front of the target, praying I don’t get a hole blown in my head.”
V shot back without blinking.

“Hey, you two.” Jackie cut in, grinning.
“We’re missing something. Like, maybe a netrunner to cut their comms? Best not to let word about this core get out too soon.”

“Uh, hello? I’m a netrunner. Didn’t you know?”
V gave him a side-eye.

“Huh. Figured most netrunners avoided the spotlight.”
Jackie shrugged, feigning innocence.

“As he said, the slower the news spreads, the better. And we’ll need that truck intact—thing weighs hundreds of tons. We’re not carrying it ourselves.”

They worked through the finer points of the plan, then lay low, waiting.

As night fell, the Badlands sky glowed bright, stars unmasked by city lights. Far off, Night City still burned in neon.

V’s eyes steadied. She tapped the temple of her head.
“Truck’s forty klicks out. Time to move. Split up, just like we planned. Keep comms open.”

Arthur headed ahead—his job was blocking the cab and, ideally, eliminating the driver.
V and Jackie would flank, climbing up the sides to take control.

The two Apollos roared off, lights off, cloaked in darkness. The later they were seen, the less time the hauler’s guards would have to react.

Within minutes, the ground trembled.

Twin beams pierced the horizon like searchlights. The truck barreled forward like a low-rise building on wheels.

Its windshield spanned floor to ceiling, twin wipers as long as men dangling diagonally.
A monstrous bumper jutted forward like jagged black fangs, chewing through the dust with every roar of its engine.

It was a beast from SovOil—the kind of iron brute only vodka-drenched Russian engineers could dream up.

V and Jackie kept to the edges, dodging the blinding lights. Even at a hundred meters back, they were pounded by the storm of dirt it kicked up.

V’s voice came sharp over the neural comms.
“Twenty-seven klicks to the ambush. I need to lock their access points and plant Daemons.
Jackie, we’ll have about eight klicks to climb aboard.”

The roar and grit drowned out any chance of shouting. They pressed low to their bikes, the comms their only lifeline.

They’d shifted the ambush up slightly—to give the truck enough braking distance to avoid plunging into the cliff beyond.

“V, focus on your work. Eight’s enough!” Jackie barked.

Flattened against her bike, V’s vision flooded with cascading data. The ground blurred beneath her wheels, vanishing in a fast-forward reel.

Her long braid cracked like a whip in the sandstorm, streaming behind her as she pushed past 170 kilometers per hour.