The world of Cyberpunk 2077 was just absurd.
They'd signed up for a motorcycle race and ended up being hunted — simply because Vash's bike was too good. The attackers' logic was simple: they wanted the Kusanagi, so they'd take it by force.
As for who lived or died along the way? Who cared.
The mohawk rider crept closer, fangs bared. Then he swung an iron chain straight at Vash.
Vash loosened his grip on the throttle. The Kusanagi hesitated for a heartbeat at high speed — and the chain snapped through empty air.
The mohawk rider jolted at Vash's calm reaction and immediately raised the chain for another strike.
He didn't get the chance. The Kusanagi CT-3X drifted in tight. Vash rose slightly off the seat and fired a flying kick right into the man's face.
The mohawk had already been riding one-handed, half-standing to swing the chain. The kick shattered what little balance he had left. He pitched off the motorcycle like a ragdoll.
At that speed, falling meant one of two outcomes: death — or living just long enough to wish you hadn't.
The riderless bike slammed into a roadside rock and exploded into scrap.
Vash sat back down like he'd just swatted a fly, "I was playing violent motorcycle games when you guys were still sucking milk."
He flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror: Jackie was in trouble.
They'd targeted both of them.
Jackie rode a heavy bike and wasn't even trying to place — just enjoying the run. But the drifters had gotten greedy. Even his machine looked valuable enough to strip.
"Fuck!" Jackie finally snapped, rage boiling over, "You bunch of bastards — got the guts to stop and fight, huh?!"
Two riders boxed him in, sliding up on either side and occasionally bumping him.
The heavy bike was stable and didn't flip, but each collision made it sway. At this speed, even a pebble could send you tumbling — especially out here, where the Badlands were littered with wreckage and broken structures. One wrong angle and you'd end up wrapped around a crumbling wall.
This wasn't racing. It was attempted murder.
Jackie had lived on the edge for years. He'd never been humiliated like this.
"You bastards—!"
He rammed the rider on his right, playing straight into their setup. The biker on the left pulled a gleaming combat knife from inside their jacket and leaned in.
While Jackie wrestled the right-side rider, the left one lifted the blade — aimed for Jackie's back.
Boom Boom Boom!
At the critical moment, an enraged engine howled.
Vash had turned back. The Kusanagi CT-3X screamed at full throttle, eating the distance in an instant. Before the knife-wielding rider could react, Vash was already on them.
The biker froze — one stunned heartbeat.
Then Vash's hand snapped out, stole the knife, and drove it into the rider's neck.
The blade punched clean through. Blood burst out in a hot spray. The biker toppled off the motorcycle already dead.
From Vash's approach to the counter-kill — it all happened in under a second.
Jackie heard the commotion and glanced back. The sight sent cold down his spine. If Vash hadn't arrived when he did, that knife would've been buried in his back.
After that, Jackie stopped holding back.
He slammed the heavy bike into the rider on his right at full speed. With their plan shattered, the biker couldn't stand against a furious machine built like a tank. They were forced into a bad line, pushed into a dead end, and finally crashed hard into a tree.
A moment later, Vash pulled in behind him, "Jack, you alright?"
"V… damn." Jackie swallowed, dead serious, "I owe you one, choom."
"Don't start." Vash replied, "We ride together. Anyone comes close again — we send 'em to meet their maker."
He was genuinely furious. This iron-headed friend of his had nearly died right there.
Not long after the start, three out of ten bikes were already down.
Maybe Vash's turn-back kill had been too clean, too brutal. Either way, in the second half of the race, the remaining riders kept their distance.
In the final sprint, Panam took first. Vash and Jackie crossed the line second and third.
According to the rules, first place took the entire pot.
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"We lost — damn those bastards." Jackie cursed, heat rising in his voice, "Sons of bitches were scum, man. V, you could've won — one hundred K eddies! Gone. Just like that!"
"Jack, calm down." Vash said.
"I can't accept this." Jackie ground out, "It's like a cooked duck flying off right when it's in your hands."
"There's plenty more money waiting for you in this city." Vash said as he swung onto his bike, "C'mon."
"Sigh…" Jackie exhaled, "Alright. Fine."
Just as they were about to ride off, Panam, the race champion, removed her helmet and called out from a distance.
"You two — wait a second."
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T/N: Comment, give me Power Stones, like and favorite, it all supports me and makes me go foward with this. Appreciate my other stories as well, I guarantee the good work!
That's it and happy reading! (-‿◦)