Rattle-!
As the brutal vibration of the off-road vehicle climbing over the rough rocky terrain slowly dragged Ji-hwan’s consciousness up from the dark, his awareness began to rise to the surface.
"……."
When he forced open his heavy eyelids, the thick smell of blood that had been stabbing at his nose was gone, replaced by stale dust, old leather seats, and the sharp tang of motor oil.
Ji-hwan reflexively sat up and looked around. What came into view was the interior of a large vehicle—old and rugged, but boasting absurd durability.
The six-seater cabin was so packed with cargo that the line between the back seat and the trunk was almost meaningless. Unknown work boxes, luggage, and thick tools like wrenches were scattered everywhere in the chaotic, Nomad-style mess. Outside the window, he could hear the six massive off-road tires grinding heavily through the wasteland’s sand and wind.
It was a monster of a six-wheeled vehicle the Nomads trusted most: a modified Chevillon Emperor.
'You don't see a vehicle like this often, even among Nomads.'
"Well, look who's awake."
The voice that snapped Ji-hwan out of his thoughts came from the driver’s seat: a middle-aged man’s rough, easygoing voice.
Through the rearview mirror, the driver—sporting a stylish mustache—glanced at Ji-hwan and met his eyes before continuing.
"I thought you were dead. I’ve never seen anyone bleed out like that and still get back up. And your wounds are already healed……."
Even the driver, who looked like he’d seen every kind of hell, wore a stunned expression as he watched the corpse he’d assumed dead sit up just fine.
Ji-hwan brushed the dried blood stiffening his coat and asked in a low voice, "Well… I’m kind of tough, I guess. Uh… who are you?"
At Ji-hwan’s short, dry question, the man shrugged with a friendly smile.
"Dakota Smith gave me a real urgent job. Said to go to the abandoned power plant and carefully bring back a friend. Name’s Falco. Just a normal Nomad driver."
Falco. Hearing the name, Ji-hwan gave a quiet nod.
"I owe you one."
Ji-hwan rummaged through the inner pocket of his blood-crusted jacket and pulled out the bulky, old-fashioned physical terminal Dakota had given him—the kind that came in a thick metal case.
When Falco saw the clunky device as Ji-hwan checked his connection status, his eyes widened.
"Hey, buddy. That thing in your hand—don’t tell me it’s one of those physical terminals people used back in the day? You don’t have a personal link in the back of your neck? Or did you forget to put a comm socket in your brain?"
Falco stared in disbelief at the 20th-century relic, something that made no sense by Night City standards, while Ji-hwan silently lowered his gaze.
Outside the sleeve of his worn leather jacket were his own thick hands.
His body—one that had endured repeated brushes with death, skin torn open and bones shattered in agony—had never had a single implant installed. Years ago, a ripperdoc at the Aldecaldos camp had diagnosed him with "0% cyberware compatibility." He was a grotesque outlier who rejected machines so violently that he couldn’t even take the most basic comm socket or personal link.
Ji-hwan toyed with the clunky old terminal in his hand and gave a bitter smile.
"Well… my body has a pretty severe rejection reaction."
At that bitter answer, Falco slowly stroked his thick mustache, looking intrigued as he side-eyed Ji-hwan.
In Night City, being the kind of person who violently rejected chrome meant being left behind in the survival race. And yet this man sitting in the passenger seat had survived the middle of that terrifying power plant against a swarm of Maelstrom enemies. Ji-hwan caught his breath, then suddenly frowned as a memory flashed through his mind.
'There was one bastard who got away.'
The penalty for pushing his abilities beyond their limit, and the pain right before he lost consciousness—the back of Maelstrom sniper Deadzone as he fled with his tail between his legs came back to him.
"Falco."
"Yeah?"
"Did you happen to see a Maelstrom guy running away from this area on your way to pick me up? He had a mechanical arm and a bunch of red lenses embedded in his face."
At Ji-hwan’s question, Falco kept his eyes on the road and slowly stroked his thick mustache, tilting his head.
"Hmm. The sandstorm was pretty fierce."
At that answer, Ji-hwan clicked his tongue inwardly.
'So he got away by luck. Or he hid in the dust.'
Realizing he had no lead to follow for now, Ji-hwan rolled his stiff neck and turned his gaze out the window.
"Well, I’ll run into him again someday."
"Don’t say creepy stuff like that. Here, strap in tight. I’m taking us to Dakota’s garage in one shot."
Falco grinned and slammed the accelerator. The massive Chevillon Emperor let out a heavy engine roar and tore through the Badlands’ harsh sandstorm, racing furiously toward Dakota’s garage.
Later, when the Chevillon Emperor slid into Dakota’s garage yard and came to a stop, the passenger door opened and Ji-hwan dragged his heavy body outside.
And there was fixer Dakota Smith, already walking toward them after noticing their arrival.
Falco, still in the driver’s seat, rested an arm on the window frame and watched Ji-hwan’s back as he got out.
His mind was still full of the unbelievable scene he’d witnessed when he arrived at the abandoned power plant to pick Ji-hwan up.
In the middle of the yard, surrounded by countless Maelstrom corpses, Ji-hwan had been lying at the bloody center of it all. Right beside him was the corpse of Slash, a hulking Maelstrom executive with a huge hole blown through his chest.
At the time, Ji-hwan had been sleeping so deeply he looked dead, his entire body covered in wounds so horrific they hardly seemed human. When Falco carefully approached and checked beneath his nose, he had felt a faint but definite breath and confirmed, with relief, that the man was still alive. Then came the grotesque sight that made him question his own eyes.
From Ji-hwan’s bare body—without a single mechanical part—faint red steam had risen, and the torn, ruptured wounds had been repairing themselves with stubborn force.
Having witnessed that impossible regeneration with his own eyes, Falco had suddenly understood why Dakota had been watching over this nameless Asian man so closely.
"You’re back."
Dakota looked Ji-hwan up and down as she approached and spoke.
Ji-hwan gave a light nod and reported in a dry voice, "The job’s done. Though……."
He frowned slightly and continued, "I lost one at the end."
He meant the sniper Deadzone, who had run for his life right out of Ji-hwan’s sight.
But Dakota merely waved a wrinkled hand as if it didn’t matter.
"It’s fine. A punk like that’ll end up dead on his own anyway. Don’t worry about it."
As their conversation wound down, Falco leaned out of the driver’s seat and cut in with a smile toward Dakota and Ji-hwan.
"Dakota, ma’am. I should probably get going."
Falco had a thick mustache and looked like a pretty sly adult, but compared to Dakota, a battle-hardened veteran who had ruled the eastern Badlands her entire life, he was practically young enough to be her grandson.
Adjusting the brim of his wide cowboy hat, Falco gave Dakota a respectful but apologetic look.
"I’m afraid I won’t make it in time for the funeral for our people who lost their lives. Sorry about that."
He was talking about the tragic incident where Dakota’s people had been horribly butchered by Maelstrom.
Then Falco carefully added the reason he had to leave in a hurry.
"My crew’s waiting on me. We’re getting ready to hit an Orbital Air logistics warehouse tonight and strip the place bare. So I can’t stay away too long."
Ji-hwan, listening quietly to that audacious plan, frowned and asked, "Orbital Air?"
A megacorp that monopolized space logistics. Ji-hwan questioned the casual way Falco tossed out the name of an enemy even top-tier mercs in Night City would find hard to handle, and Falco tipped his wide-brimmed hat with a meaningful smile.
"Can’t tell you the details yet, but it’s a big one."
At the young man’s claim that he was going to rob a warehouse belonging to a megacorp that monopolized space logistics, Dakota let out a snort of disbelief.
"You’ve got a lot of nerve. Orbital Air, huh."
"Yeah, I get it. For us Nomads, mourning the dead and getting over grief all happen differently. Don’t feel bad about it. Just go and don’t get yourself killed."
Falco answered Dakota’s generous understanding and mature concern with a soft smile, then turned and walked over to Ji-hwan, who was standing quietly by the passenger side.
He glanced at the bulky old terminal in Ji-hwan’s hand, then tapped a few buttons with quick, practiced fingers to save his own comm frequency directly into it.
"Hey, Ji-hwan. If you ever get work lined up out in the wasteland or in the city, call me. It pays to have the contact info of someone as skilled as you."
At Falco’s friendly, easygoing offer, Ji-hwan tucked the terminal into his pocket and gave a silent nod.
"I will."
Satisfied with that dry but certain reply, Falco shrugged and hopped lightly back into the driver’s seat of the massive Chevillon Emperor.
Vroooom-!
When he started the engine, the heavy-duty machine’s massive motor let out a deep, satisfying rumble that shook the air.
Through the window, Falco grinned and flicked two fingers in a jaunty salute over the brim of his wide cowboy hat.
"Take care. See you again soon!"
With that lively farewell, Falco slammed the accelerator to show off his outrageous driving skill.
The Emperor’s massive tires dug deep into the dirt and unleashed a proud, booming exhaust note as the vehicle sliced furiously through the rough sandstorm and raced off into the Badlands.
After watching the Emperor’s shrinking trail of dust for a moment, Dakota finally looked away.
Her sharp eyes slowly swept over Ji-hwan’s battered state, a mess of blood and dirt. Staring at the man who had crossed the line of death with nothing but his own body, Dakota spoke in a low voice.
"Then let’s talk business."
She pulled a thick credit chip from her pocket and casually tossed it toward Ji-hwan. With a soft tap, Ji-hwan reached out and caught it, but Dakota folded her arms and said, "That’s the official payment for wiping out those Maelstrom bastards. It’s probably not enough for avenging our people, but I put in what I could."
But instead of putting the credit chip in his pocket, Ji-hwan held it back out toward her and quietly shook his head.
"I can’t take this."
Dakota’s brow tightened slightly.
"What are you talking about? You finished the job, so you get paid. That’s basic in this line of work."
Ji-hwan toyed with the credit chip in his hand and gave a bitter smile.
"Truth is… I didn’t say that for the money."
Back when Maelstrom’s attack had left Dakota with a gunshot wound in her abdomen and she was being hauled off on a stretcher in a rush, Ji-hwan had deliberately framed her request to avenge the people left behind as a "job."
"Ha. You think I’m the East Badlands fixer and wouldn’t notice that little act of kindness from you?"
Dakota tapped away the hand Ji-hwan had offered and forced the chip back into his grip.
"Whatever you were thinking when you accepted the job, you avenged our people. There’s nothing dumber in Night City than bleeding for free. So take it."
At her firm, mature scolding, Ji-hwan stared down at the credit chip in his hand, looking dazed.
In the end, he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and carefully slipped the chip into the inner pocket of his old leather jacket.
Ji-hwan silently tucked the credit chip into the inner pocket of his worn leather jacket, and Dakota continued, "Revenge was something that had to be done, of course. But……."
Dakota frowned and let out a deep sigh.
"This whole mess has drawn way too much unwanted attention to the Badlands."
Ji-hwan immediately understood what she meant. The military data shard that had started everything, and the megacorp lurking behind it.
"When my netrunner cracked the shard’s firewall, I said the location data had already been sent to them. And now that the Maelstrom leftovers you dealt with have been smashed, the corpo behind them is going to want to figure out what happened here too……."
Dakota’s sharp gaze fixed on Ji-hwan.
"They’ve probably already got your face and combat data too, so be careful, Ji-hwan. Those huge bastards never leave alone the people who mess with their plans."
Her warning carried weight, but Ji-hwan didn’t show even the slightest sign of being shaken.
Slowly, he turned his head and stared toward the Night City skyline, faintly glowing beyond the sandstorm.
Somewhere in that steel forest dressed up in flashy neon signs, the people who treated human beings like disposable parts and tools for bio-experiments were surely hiding.
"It doesn’t matter."
A cool, dry voice slipped from between Ji-hwan’s lips.
"Even if they don’t come for me first, someday I’ll go there myself."
His eyes held a hard, unwavering resolve.
The countless deaths he had witnessed on the bottom rung of Night City, the tragedies of the ones who had been lost after crossing so many lines of death.
Ji-hwan was carrying a murderous determination to crush the people behind all of it with his own hands.
Seeing that unmovable, stubborn back of his, Dakota let out a deep, heavy sigh as if she’d run out of patience.
"Haa…… you really are a hopeless stubborn fool."
She shook her head in resignation, then shifted the topic with a gentler voice.
"The funeral for our people will be in a few days. There won’t be any jobs in the meantime, so… get some rest."
At her considerate suggestion, Ji-hwan withdrew his gaze and nodded toward Dakota.
"Understood. I’d like to pay my respects to the ones who died unjustly too."
At Ji-hwan’s sincere answer, a very faint smile bloomed at the corner of Dakota’s stiff mouth.
"Yeah. Thanks, Ji-hwan."
With that brief farewell, Dakota hurried off to handle the garage and take care of her people.
As her back receded and he was left alone, the exhaustion he had been suppressing finally broke through like a dam and crashed heavily over Ji-hwan’s entire body.
His body had been forced to the brink with reckless bursts of thought acceleration and body enhancement, then stitched back together by sheer stubborn force. The mental and physical energy consumed in the process was beyond imagination.
"Let’s wash up and lie down……."
Ji-hwan exhaled a heavy breath and slowly dragged his tired steps toward the shabby room behind the garage that Dakota had set aside for him.
When the lukewarm water from the rusty showerhead ran down his wounded body, washing the crusted blood and the Badlands’ choking dust into the drain, Ji-hwan roughly shook out his wet hair and stepped out of the shower.
He collapsed onto the worn-out sofa in the shabby room Dakota had given him, leaning back as fatigue settled over his whole body like damp fog.
His eyelids grew heavy like lead, and drowsy sleep crept in, but his mind kept replaying the bloody battle with the Maelstrom executives over and over.
The greatest harvest from this fight was not simply the slaughter of enemies, but a new "combat sense."
Ji-hwan looked quietly down at his own hands and retraced the battle step by step.
The first was the efficient use of Body Enhancement.
Until now, Body Enhancement had simply been a way to cram brute output into a specific part of the body to increase destructive power. But the sensation he had unconsciously used while tearing Slash and Specter apart was something different.
It felt like synchronizing the act of striking itself—throwing a punch, stepping forward—with Body Enhancement, binding them together in a single breath.
An enhancement method that skipped the conscious process of tensing muscles and forcing power out, and instead made the body reflexively launch itself along the most efficient trajectory and output the moment he decided to attack.
If he could properly control this sensation, he would be able to unleash far sharper and faster follow-up attacks while reducing wasted stamina and recoil.
The second thing that dragged Ji-hwan deepest into thought was the sensation that made his body react before his mind did: the feeling of killing intent.
The trajectory of the bullets fired by the Raffen Shiv cowboy boss he had faced in the abandoned factory, and the cold shiver that pierced the back of his neck just before sniper Deadzone pulled the trigger on the Nekomata from the second floor of the power plant today.
In both brushes with death, before his brain even registered the murderous intent pouring out from beyond the scope, his body sensed the déjà vu first and instinctively twisted away to evade it.
This keen sensitivity—his body feeling the killing intent of an unseen enemy and reacting on its own—was a sense only those with flesh, or those who had crossed countless lines of death, could possess. Cyborgs buried under layers of metal, their biological instincts dulled away, could never imitate it.
'How do I make these fragmented senses truly my own?'
Ji-hwan buried his head deep into the backrest of the worn-out sofa.
Night City’s underbelly was too deep and too dark to rely on a survival instinct that happened to flare up by chance.
He had to forge these senses into reliable weapons he could draw at will. To survive the coming pursuit of the megacorps and the even more vicious enemies ahead, his current incomplete state was nowhere near enough.
As he kept turning the problem over in his head to prepare for the next battle, sleep slowly began to swallow his reason. His heavy eyelids closed little by little, and Ji-hwan finally sank into a deep, dark sleep, buried in the old leather sofa.
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