[TN: Happy holiday eve, everyone]
Badlands. A long convoy rolled past the border checkpoint.
The lead Behemoth beast-truck activated its signal-jamming system the moment it cleared inspection. The convoy continued on for a while, then vanished into the yellow sands.
Before long, the Aldecaldos' new home in Night City came into view.
Rows of operating wind turbines were densely interconnected. Solar arrays, a large substation, and a transmission hub tied everything into the local network.
It wasn't a particularly luxurious canyon—but once the convoy entered, it became clear there was more to it than met the eye.
Brand-new weaponized Mackinaw pickups filled the space. A dazzling armory. A power-armor hangar still mid-assembly.
Along with well-stocked supply warehouses and clan members smiling from ear to ear.
[Jossy: Saul, you weren't kidding—holy shit]
[Jossy: We were fighting for our lives on the damn US–Mexico border, and you're holed up in paradise!]
The words sounded like complaining and cursing, but the tone was full of relief.
Saul laughed as well.
[Saul: You old bastard—didn't we give you a Basilisk?]
[Jossy: Oh… right.]
Saul parked at the outer perimeter and got out of the vehicle, standing at the gate—
For no particular reason. He just wanted to see the expressions on his people's faces.
The Aldecaldos were far more than this group. Though their numbers along the US–Mexico border had shrunk drastically, they still counted in the hundreds of thousands.
Panam walked over to Saul, satisfaction written on her face as she watched their clanmates.
Saul leaned in and asked quietly, "What's with the power armor?"
"New job. You'll like it."
[Panam: Leo, the Badlands are ready.]
Santo Domingo, Coronado Farms.
At night, long banners were strung across the street:
"Community Mutual Aid Center."
Crowds lined up to receive relief from the 6th Street gang. Some pushed carts deeper into the warehouses. Others clutched rifles, nervously following recruiters into registration rooms, signing their names into 6th Street's network.
Though Santo Domingo's power plant still hadn't come back online, 6th Street maintained order remarkably well.
A pickup truck rolled slowly down the middle of the road. Morton stood in the truck bed, shouting at the top of his lungs:
"Listen up! Folks! Right now—anyway, right now there's work for you!"
"Not a gunfight. Just fixing roads, putting up buildings, that sort of thing. Anyone who can work, anyone willing to work—come with me!"
"Oh—and this time, tools and protective gear are included. No loans, no buying your own!"
The people still receiving aid looked at one another. Soon, a large group stepped out of line and followed the pickup toward the warehouse.
After shouting himself hoarse, Morton sat back down in the passenger seat, looking genuinely happy—his grin harder to suppress than the recoil of a Copperhead rifle.
"Man… haven't felt like this in a long time."
"Boss, you think this… 'Extreme Metal' thing—how big's it gonna get?"
"How the hell should I know? But it'll scare those corp dogs shitless."
[Morton: Burger King, I've found the manpower. Santo Domingo can start construction.]
Heywood, Vista del Rey. The church.
The priest finished the day's prayer from the pulpit. Below him sat rows of burly men dressed in flamboyant colors. Most wore sunglasses. Every visible inch of skin was covered in dense tattoos. Each wore a gold cross engraved with Latin text.
Outside the church, younger punks craned their necks in anticipation. Headlights turned the basketball court bright as day.
"My brothers and sisters, we gather here not only because we are Valentinos—
but because we are the guardians of Heywood.
As Ephesians Chapter Six says: 'Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.'
Put on your armor. Take up your weapons. The storm is coming."
Eyes shifted inside the church. Outside, the younger crowd had long since lost patience—excitement gleaming openly.
No-limits racing?
City-wide scale?
This was what real men were meant to do.
When the priest finished, he turned to face the Valentino bosses, each wearing a different expression.
He could tell—though they were calmer than the kids outside—
They were still Heywood-born. They liked the spotlight.
[Priest: Leo, the Valentinos have taken up their armor.]
Westbrook, Japantown.
Westbrook was under full curfew—
And the order didn't come from NCPD.
It came from the Tyger Claws.
The streets were tense. At this hour, far fewer people walked outside than even a few days earlier.
Curious residents peeked out their windows. They saw only a handful of service vehicles—almost no private cars.
"Woooo!"
A sports car tore through what should've been a jammed lane. The man inside was flushed red, foot jammed to the floor. The woman in the passenger seat was pinned beneath him, making sounds better left unnamed.
The engine screamed through Japantown. The rev-bombing grated on nerves.
For ordinary people especially—it felt like rich assholes shitting on their heads.
"Hahaha! I fucking love you, Tyger Claws! The peasants should clear the road!"
The car flew down the street. Suddenly, a hunched silhouette appeared on the sidewalk.
The rich kid sneered and nudged the wheel.
Told you not to go out. Standing in my way? You got a death wish.
Blinding headlights flared at the far end of the street.
Boom!
The next second, the sports car exploded and flipped end over end.
Hiss—
A yellow-green painted sports car skidded to a halt, leaving long tire marks in front of the burning wreck.
The man who'd been ecstatic moments earlier crawled out of the twisted doorframe, terror in his eyes as he looked at the boots stepping toward him.
Tyger Claws colors.
"Cough—cough… why… you guys… my dad's Arasaka…"
Thk!
A katana punched into the back of his skull.
People in the buildings on both sides of the street froze in horror.
The Tyger Claws had just killed the son of some Arasaka executive?
Maeda withdrew his katana. Only then did two motorcycles finally arrive behind him.
Civilians were stunned—
but the gang members were even more so.
Weren't they Arasaka's dogs?
Dogs biting dogs?
"Curfew applies to everyone. No exceptions."
Maeda glanced at a little girl on the sidewalk who'd wet herself. She was pale with terror, unable to stand.
"Don't kill me… I just went out to buy some medicine, for my family…"
"Get lost. Don't walk on the main road."
Maeda waved his men onward and climbed back into the sports car.
Citywide curfew would take time to enforce, but Japantown was already largely locked down.
[Maeda: Burger King-san, Japantown curfew is rolling out normally.]
[Susie: Mox side is normal too.]
"The Tyger Claws just killed an Arasaka employee's son."
"That's on him for being blind. I said it—if you're on the street during the designated time, your life depends on your own ability."
"But the race hasn't started yet."
"Ms. Abernathy, you're mistaken. I never said this rule only applies once the race begins. If that stupid corp dog wants revenge for his kid, let him show up on race day."
Afterlife. A small back room. Three people sat inside.
Arasaka's representative, Abernathy.
Militech's representative, Stout.
After Leo snapped at Abernathy, Stout looked openly impressed.
That's right. Don't give Arasaka face.
"The Japanese love breaking rules."
"I didn't bring you here to discuss that. I'm just informing you—
you don't want Night City's market swallowed up by Europeans, do you?"
Abernathy's expression barely shifted. Then she smiled.
"Bold. Arasaka has been watching you. You're right."
Leo pulled out a tablet and slid it to the center of the table with one finger.
"Excellent. Then the two of you—as Night City's biggest arms dealers—can't just sit back and watch."
"And on this matter, don't sabotage me. Let's be honest."
"What you can do, what you can't—settle it all now. And…"
"Make sure your employees stay off the main roads. Bullets don't have eyes."
"I have no objections. Let's get it done."
As Abernathy nodded, Stout stubbed out her cigarette.
There wasn't much conflict here, so there wasn't much to negotiate.
What Leo needed was a single agreement:
On paper, they would "maintain public order." In reality, they only needed to secure their own turf. The main route would avoid their property anyway.
A stamp of approval.
With that, Leo also gained access to the media resources of WNS and News 54.
And if they wanted to sponsor some gear, he'd gladly take it.
Negotiations began. The small tablet passed back and forth, filling with more and more terms.
[Little Octopus: Boss, things are about to kick off elsewhere too. The Suez garrison is moving.]
[Leo: I know.]
[System: Unstable energy burst – 2 hours]