The Badlands were soaked with a stench that no amount of wind could wash away.
In fact, the stronger the wind blew, the worse the air smelled — carrying dust, rotting trash, and the metallic taste of radiation.
Night City could easily clean up the area if it wanted.
It was already 2076.
But... why bother?
After all, Taipingzhou and the Badlands didn't belong to Night City.
And if you had the cash to care, you'd be in the Ritz Bar watching Mewtwo flicks — not dragging your a** across a radioactive wasteland.
Oh, and by the way — in case you forgot —
there were no birds here, either.
Ever since the Bird Extermination Act passed, Night City had officially become a land "where even birds don't bother to s**t."
Arthur chuckled to himself, fiddling with an ancient, scratched-up radio — a relic older than his grandfather.
He flipped to a specific channel and pressed the mic.
"This is Arthur. My dear wanderer friends, I've arrived at the scheduled location.
Please report your arrival time."
He grimaced.
He hated using such ancient tech, but Wanderers insisted on radio contact — no fancy implants, no cyber-links.
Out here, even brain-comms were useless. No signal.
Static crackled... then a voice replied:
"This is Saul from Aldecaldo. Password?"
Arthur sighed and deadpanned into the mic:
"I'm not a cyberpsycho."
"...Password accepted.
Bang bang bang!
Zhuo! Damn!
Address sent!
Get your a** moving or you'll be claiming your reward in hell!"
Arthur clicked off the radio, eyebrows raising slightly.
If he wasn't mistaken, he'd just heard several gunshots through the mic.
Yup. Another typical day for a wanderer...
Arthur threw himself into the battered Sword in the Stone, slammed the pedal, and tore across the cracked wasteland toward the given coordinates.
Honestly, Arthur wasn't surprised.
Homeless wanderers often ended up hunted by corporate mercs.
They didn't have permanent bases, intelligence networks, or heavy defenses.
If they saw a warehouse, they robbed it.
Simple as that.
Problem was...
They didn't exactly check if the warehouse belonged to Arasaka, Militech, or some other pissed-off megacorp.
Result?
Well, today's result was obvious — bullets flying, trucks exploding, and Wanderers running for their damn lives.
As Arthur approached the location, he could already see the chaos.
Fire and smoke painted the horizon.
Gunfire rattled the air.
The ground itself seemed to vibrate from the sheer amount of lead flying around.
Arthur scratched his head.
Such a big scene... and all I brought was this lousy pistol?
With a sigh, he tossed the tiny pistol onto the passenger seat.
He would need something much heavier if he wanted to survive this dance.
As he thought about finding better weapons later, several vehicles — heavily customized wasteland rides — roared past him.
Behind them, chasing hard, were black-armored corporate convoys.
Clearly not the local scavengers.
Arthur could tell at a glance — these soldiers were well-trained, heavily cybered, and way above the wanderers' league.
Zhuo...
Those bastards must be Militech's elite recovery team.
Arthur swerved through the dust cloud, jammed the accelerator down hard, and activated his neural boosters.
With a nerve acceleration blast, time itself seemed to slow down.
Arthur grinned.
He kicked open the door, climbed onto the roof of his speeding car, and then leapt across the gap — landing catlike on top of one of the armored black SUVs.
"BANG BANG BANG!"
The corporate mercs weren't stupid.
They immediately detected Arthur and snapped into hypermode.
Dozens of barrels rose toward him at once.
Arthur's left-hand Mantis Blade flared out with a clang and swept through the air, deflecting the incoming rounds with impossible precision.
They're fast... but I'm faster!
His right Mantis Blade stabbed downward with brutal accuracy — punching straight through the armored roof and into the driver's chest cavity.
The SUV jerked violently, swerving out of control.
Arthur vaulted from the roof just as the Sword in the Stone — on autopilot — smashed into the crippled SUV at full speed.
BOOM!
Both vehicles went up in a magnificent fireball.
Arthur tucked and rolled across the asphalt, sliding under the next corporate car.
Without missing a beat, he sprang onto the second vehicle's roof.
A shotgun blast tore through the metal near his head — barely missing.
Arthur laughed under his breath, kicked open a hole in the roof, grabbed the driver, and yeeted him onto the side of the road like yesterday's trash.
He yanked out two grenades, bit the pins loose, and dropped them casually into the driver's seat.
Then he leapt away like a damn grasshopper on steroids.
BOOM!
The explosion was spectacular.
Wreckage scattered across the road, forming a barricade that completely blocked the Militech convoy's path.
Arthur landed heavily, then sprinted ahead without looking back — nerves still crackling with acceleration.
F**k fighting a corporate death squad head-on.
I'm just a friendly citizen assisting with Night City's justice!
Some time later, after leaving chaos smoldering behind him, Arthur finally reached a stretch of the Badlands — empty except for broken rocks and swirling radioactive dust.
He lit one of Lucy's stolen cigarettes and leaned against a half-buried billboard, squinting into the horizon.
A convoy kicked up dust in the distance.
Soon, battered trucks skidded to a halt in front of him.
Out jumped a broad-shouldered, bearded man, wearing the signature patched leathers of Aldecaldo Nomads.
He grabbed Arthur in a bear hug before Arthur could even protest.
Jesus, buddy, what soap did you not use this year...?
Arthur grimaced and shoved him off with a cough.
The stench of sweat, oil, and exhaust was overwhelming — not surprising for wanderers who hadn't seen clean water in months.
The man patted Arthur on the shoulder roughly.
"Thank you, Arthur," he boomed.
"You helped Adecado today. You'll always be our friend!"
Arthur smiled faintly and flicked ash from his cigarette.
"Friend, huh?
Sounds like something I'll regret later."
But he didn't say it out loud.
Because in Night City...
Having a few more friends with guns was never a bad thing.