What could be more surreal than seeing a massive truck barreling straight toward you across the Badlands?
Maybe watching that same truck tear through a sandstorm with zero visibility, half its body buried in sand, and still showing no signs of slowing down as it charges to flatten you like a bug.
The scene felt torn from some absurd nightmare—heavy with suffocating pressure.
And yet, the three people in the vehicle—Karl, V, and Jack—showed no fear at the oncoming threat.
After all, in Karl's time, a steel behemoth like this might have sent someone straight into the afterlife. But now? In front of these three? That truck wouldn't last five seconds before being torn to scrap.
Karl's monowire, V's katana, Jack's brute-force implants—any one of them could dismantle the thing like it was made of tinfoil.
The real problem wasn't the truck itself.
It was their own vehicle—a much flimsier thing by comparison.
And that car was the real headache.
Partially buried under storm-blown sand, the vehicle had some cushioning, but not nearly enough. The truck's momentum alone could crush their ride into a pancake.
And the worst part? The car didn't even belong to them.
It was Panam's baby—her most treasured ride. She had lent it to V for this mission, handing over the keys with full trust. If it got totaled here…
Sure, knowing Panam, she'd probably be more relieved they were alive than pissed about the car, but still—none of them felt okay about the situation.
Because that car didn't just carry an engine and wheels. It carried Panam's trust.
If they turned it into scrap metal, how the hell would they explain that to her?
That kind of pressure weighed even heavier than the truck itself.
"No choice. We get out—now!" Karl made the call without hesitation.
One glance at the monstrous size and heavy plating of the truck charging at them, and Karl already knew what it was.
Most likely it was the automated Militech transport truck—the one that had gone rogue with a Basilisk disassembled in its trailer.
Come to think of it, bioethanol fuel these days really did last absurdly long. They'd assumed the truck had been buried or lost somewhere in the desert. Who would've thought it was still circling around the same zone, like a massive mechanical beast that had lost its way?
Clearly, the auto-nav system had glitched. Who knew if it mistook them for some carjacking gang—or was just reacting to a bug in its protocol—but the result was the same: the truck was charging at them like a pissed-off rhino.
Even with the sandstorm raging, the massive vehicle held a perfect line. It wasn't swerving at all.
Seven seconds to impact.
Wind howled. Jack shoved open the car door, now heavy and sluggish from the sand buildup, then quickly pulled a few grenades from his belt and hurled them ahead of the oncoming truck.
Militech trucks were designed to withstand standard explosives. But Jack wasn't trying to blow it up.
The truck's momentum meant even if it took damage, it could still plow through and crush them. To stop it, they needed to hit the ground itself.
The grenades detonated just ahead of the truck.
Fortunately, most of the sand here was storm-drift. The layer beneath was still solid Badlands ground. Jack had packed the grenades with extra punch, and the blasts tore away the surface sand, blowing open a massive four-meter-wide crater.
The automated truck had no idea it was headed into a trap—and barreled straight in.
A light vehicle might've had the speed to clear the gap. But in a sandstorm, keeping balance mid-air was nearly impossible.
The truck had the weight to punch through crosswinds, but that same weight was its curse.
The nose dipped and slammed into the pit, and the rear wheels popped up off the ground.
Jack, always fascinated by vehicles, had watched countless racing vids. He'd noticed a pattern: even though heavy trucks could flatten almost anything in their path, the tiniest shift in trajectory could cause a cascade—momentum would magnify the imbalance, making the entire vehicle go out of control.
This was exactly that.
The instant the front end plunged, the rear's weight crushed the front wheels under, and with a horrific metal shriek—krrk—ka-KLANG—the truck crumpled under its own bulk.
Karl had just stepped out of the car when a twisted metal rod sprang loose from the wreck and shot past his chest.
If he hadn't dodged in time, that thing would've impaled him.
He glanced back at the truck. It had completely stopped.
Like a beast tamed by force, it now lay half-buried in the dust, motionless.
"I don't think 'no effort, big reward' really works here," V muttered, trying to find a fitting quote for the moment. "What's the right phrase for this...?"
"'When one road ends, another opens'? No, that's about finding another way after a failure. Doesn't quite fit," Karl said, thinking. "I'd go with lucky break. We were wandering around looking for the truck, lost contact with the others in the storm—and just happened to find it this way. Pure accident, but it worked."
"Makes sense, I guess," V nodded at the wreck. "Well, at least we're not dead…"
Then he looked at Jack. "Fast reflexes, man. I was this close to jumping out and slashing the damn thing with my sword."
Jack grinned and tapped his own head.
"You're forgetting—this here is Jack Wells's golden brain. Shiny, smart, and packed full of ideas."
"A golden brain like that puts you above the rest," Karl chuckled, flattering his friend as he made his way toward the wreck in the storm. "Now let's check it out—just hope the cargo inside isn't totaled."
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🔥 CYBERPUNK: THE RELENTLESS
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🔥 THE STORY DOESN'T STOP HERE. NEITHER DOES HE.
Night City breaks people every day.
Some crawl away.
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Cyberpunk: The Relentless has 500+ chapters ahead available for readers who want to keep going.
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⚡ NO BRAKES. NO MERCY. NO TURNING BACK.
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