[TN:Two Chapter]
[Kassé: What the hell do we do now? We're totally boxed in!]
[Morton: Two minutes left.]
Actually, two minutes was just a guess. Morton had no idea how long it really was.
But he had to give them a solid number.
The situation was overwhelmingly bad: sure, those rcs had taken out a few 6th Street cars, but actual casualties were low. Just switch cars, and the pursuit continued.
anwhile, each of their rcs was pushed to the brink. Only 9 were still mobile.
The good news was: as planned, they'd successfully diverted 6th Street's focus to the already-exposed operatives, and drastically shrunk the combat zone—
That gave them control over the outer electrical grids.
Whether the 6th Street rcs had fallen into a trap wasn't important—because what ca next was borderline insane:
His hacker team was going to use the civilian power grid across the Coronado Farms sector of Santo Domingo to trigger a massive EMP centered on Woodhaven Street.
These utility systems were designed to deliver stable energy. To weaponize them like this ant bypassing regional safety systems, hijacking the distributed energy grid, and forcing it to release all its power at once.
It was a classic veteran hacker move. The better the grid, the more devastating the EMP.
And in a zone like Santo Domingo, pulling this off would an controlling nearly the entire Coronado Farms grid—half the district.
Their mission was to turn the tide for their employer. Controlling 6th Street was one way. Crippling infrastructure… barely counted as another.
Crashing the grid would force Night City's governnt to rebid and rebuild contracts anyway.
And Morton, as the "co-conspirator," would make a na for himself.
Once all those pesky electronics went offline, their cybered-up rcs could finally fight at full power.
If it all went well, they might even take out the 6th Street boss—two birds, one EMP.
"Night Corp's about to get wrecked."
The man known as Morton placed a compact power cell inside a substation's circuit box, then quickly moved on to his next target.
On rooftops, civilian RF antennae quietly rotated.
Above the shifting skyline of Night City, dark clouds thickened. Rain began to drizzle down.
The glowing sign of Night Corp flickered once.
Santo Domingo. A small residential building.
It was an older apartnt, but compared to the countless wooden shacks of Coronado Farms, this place was more expensive.
Why? Because it was company property, and closer to the industrial zones of Santo Domingo. Convenient for work.
In other words, most residents here were working-class folks with normal jobs.
Even with the window closed, you could hear the shouting of 6th Street echoing through the drizzle—if you didn't shut the windows, anyway.
Inside one unit, a woman brought a microwaved prepackaged al to a man at the table.
He looked annoyed: "Again with 6th Street. Just because of them, the factory says 'security costs are up,' so now wages are down. Now they just shut the place down!"
"Damn punks. 6th Street!"
He wasn't the only one. Anyone who could afford these apartnts probably felt the sa.
6th Street was like a shadow. Even though they didn't operate here much, factories still had to cut pay because of them.
He didn't care what 6th Street was fighting over. To him, they were just the reason he wasn't getting paid.
"Can't NCPD do sothing? I pay my taxes, don't I?!"
He shook his head and started eating.
That's when he noticed the window start to rattle—sothing deep and heavy resonated through the glass.
VROOOM.
It was an engine.
A powerful one. It was getting closer. His hands started trembling.
Please… don't co here…
"He said two minutes!"
"Two minutes?!"
A Colby Little Mule tore through the street. Just a small pickup—two in the cabin, one in the bed.
The rcs inside were panicking like ants on a frying pan. Ever since they'd been made, Morton had given only one order over comms: stall.
Compared to the detailed instructions from earlier, this made them feel abandoned.
None of them said it out loud, though. Right now, the only thing to talk about was how to run.
The man in the truck bed manned a heavy machine gun. The muzzle flashed too bright to see his face clearly, and his fire kept 6th Street's vehicles from getting close.
Suddenly, the machine gun stopped. The bolt slamd backward with a tallic clang.
"Reloading!"
"He's outta ammo!"
Both sides shouted at once. One 6th Street guy imdiately popped up with a rocket launcher—but the rc beat him to it.
He raised his arm, which split open to reveal a built-in launcher!
BOOM!
Good thing the driver reacted fast. He slamd the brakes just in ti—the launcher round barely missed.
The 6th Street officer cursed and yelled for the driver to resu pursuit, but the Colby Mule had already taken a hard turn and vanished.
Of course, this was 6th Street's ho turf. Numbers were their strength. More cars roared up from behind, shouting as they chased.
From a bird's-eye view, the rcs were now surrounded within a 1000-ter radius.
Eventually, they'd be funneled into a main road near the waterfront, with no exit. The gang planned to wipe them out there.
To 6th Street, these rcs were already trapped fish in a barrel. A hundred n versus a few? Even blind fire could shred them to pieces.
The rcs, speeding through the chaos, also realized they'd been boxed in. Each was counting down in their head—
1 minute 30 seconds. Two rc teams finally rendezvoused. They glanced at the enemies behind each other, then raised their guns for a synchronized crossfire.
It looked coordinated, but in truth, it was pure desperation—because they were caught in each other's lines of fire!
Chaos erupted instantly: both sides—rcs and 6th Street—opened fire!
The street beca a blender of bullets. It was raining, but the sheer density of gunfire made you forget that completely.
Here, bullets outnumbered raindrops.
Shrapnel tore through vehicles. Adrenaline pumped so hard it overwheld fear, at least for a few seconds.
In that hurricane of death, the only thing to do was scream. Scream like hell. Either expel all your breath… or crank your voice modulator to the max—like if you could out-scream the bullets, you'd drown out the fear.
But bullets howled like the storm, and when they sliced through bodies and tal, all screams were cut short.
Cars lost tires, drivers lost heads. Engines exploded.
BOOM!
Forty-five seconds. They couldn't stop now.
One rc jamd more stims into his neck, ignoring his wounds. His burning car whipped around without hesitation, still running.
More pursuers followed.
Explosions and gunshots echoed off apartnt walls. Holess folk crouched in alleys felt death brush their skin.
This wasn't a city anymore. It was a battlefield.
Even in Night City, battles like this were rare. And in Santo Domingo, 6th Street had made things safer—ironically.
People heard stories of gang wars in the dark corners of gabuildings or industrial towers.
But today, it was happening right in front of them.
David had already blocked the road with a wrecked car, forming a barricade. He lay behind it, a machine gun set up.
The two half-dead rcs from earlier were off to the side. David's mind was spinning.
This wasn't his first kill. But usually he killed monsters—real scum.
These two were different. A pair. Not unlike him.
Two young adults, aimless, trying to make a living on Night City's edge—now rcs dancing on a knife's edge.
Then he spotted a holess man curled behind a crate, clutching his head. It sparked a mory—
That could've been him.
Maybe that holess guy had a personality, dreams. But in this mont, without a gun, he had only one pose:
Trembling.
Wait—David spotted a gun next to him. Pink plastic. A toy, basically.
So it wasn't that he had no weapon. He just couldn't fight. He'd already lost to fear.
And suddenly, David realized: if he hadn't had the guts to grab a weapon back then, he would've ended up the sa.
This city was cruel. Mad. Only gentle to its own. If he didn't want to end up like the two dying rcs—
He had to clear his mind. Grip his weapon tightly.
On the wide main road, amid burning wrecks, flying bullets, and intensifying rain, neon lights painted the carnage in dazzling color.
From around the corner, car after car scread onto the street. Even the pouring rain couldn't extinguish their flas.
[Lucy: They're here]
BZZZZZT—
An ear-splitting shriek flooded the comms. Neon lights exploded in a flash—
David's mind went blank. Color drained from the world, and everything turned to black and white.
EMP.
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