"Hey, is he alright?" After too long without hearing from V, Panam couldn't hold back anymore and called out over comms. "He's totally fine,
"Hey, is he alright?"
After too long without hearing from V, Panam couldn't hold back anymore and called out over comms.
"He's totally fine," V replied, his voice light and relaxed. "First thing he did was ask me for a cigar and a girl. Thought I was Raffen Shiv. I told him you sent me—he calmed down immediately."
Panam let out a breath of relief. "Yeah, that sounds exactly like Saul."
But the approaching waves of sand and smoke quickly swept away her brief moment of ease.
The sandstorm was almost upon them.
Anyone who'd spent time in the Badlands knew—this was the true apex predator out here.
"Alright, you two—get the hell out, now!" she urged.
"I snuck in. They don't know I'm here. I'm heading out now."
V tried to keep her calm.
"I'm starting the engine. Coming to get you!" Panam said quickly. "The basement should have a maintenance tunnel—use that!"
"Got it, I'll check," V said. The sound of metal clattering came through the channel. "Found it. Maintenance shaft."
"Perfect. Move!"
Panam fired up the vehicle, racing toward the road.
By now, the sandstorm was nearly on them, close enough to sting their skin.
The ground wasn't swept by mere wind anymore—it was a rolling wall of dust and debris.
Visibility had dropped to below twenty meters. You couldn't even see the outline of the factory, let alone where the Raffen Shiv were.
"Where are you?"
Mower's voice cut in—her first words since joining the comms.
"I'm out! Switch on the high beams—the hazard lights aren't bright enough!"
Seconds later, a figure appeared in the storm—half-crouched, fighting the wind, launching forward like a cannonball.
Every step left a crater in the sand.
"Drive!"
Thunk—Roqi slammed the car door shut behind him, covered head to toe in dust.
The moment he entered the vehicle—away from the sandblaster that was the storm—his ears filled with relative silence, save for a faint ringing.
Elsewhere, at the factory's eastern side, V and Saul climbed out of a nondescript tunnel exit and into Panam's van. All three vehicles tore away from the site at full throttle.
They plunged straight into the heart of the sandstorm, navigating by what little they could see and the vague directions of a GPS that couldn't warn them about airborne debris.
In moments, the entire Badlands would vanish into the storm.
Then, only endless wind, dust, and flying metal would remain—debris moving fast enough to launch a man skyward or smash him to bits.
Even a grown adult had no better chance than a paper doll.
Maybe only someone like Adam Smasher could walk through that unscathed.
"This storm's getting brutal," Saul said, sounding far too energized for a recent hostage.
Guess that "Supercharge" compound V gave him really worked wonders.
"At least it'll cover our trail," Panam said, eyes glued to the road.
Saul glanced awkwardly at V before speaking. "Either way, we shouldn't go straight back to camp."
"No need to be paranoid. That's just wasting time," Panam replied, glancing sideways.
"Hmph. Being alive isn't a waste of time," Saul muttered, turning his head away.
Clearly, they hadn't resolved anything.
Still, the mission had created a fragile truce between them—like two people swearing they'd never see each other again, yet instinctively protecting each other without question.
After a moment of silence, Panam turned on the radio.
Same electro-rock track as before—but this time, roaring through a sandstorm, it hit different.
They passed the Stone Ridge Mountains and entered the Red Peaks.
The storm stayed on their tail, relentless.
If this kept up, Night City would wake up tomorrow caked in dust.
Not that the air quality could get worse anyway.
They needed shelter. Fast.
"See those houses? Let's take cover there!"
In a storm like this, everything looked the same. No landscapes to admire, no sunrise or dusk—just a never-ending wall of dust.
Panam's voice snapped everyone to attention.
Roqi squinted through the haze and saw shapes—low silhouettes scattered in the distance.
"They look familiar. Should be safe… for now," Saul said, peering through the window.
Once the vehicles entered the cluster of old houses, Saul jumped out immediately.
"Inside! Quick!"
Everyone bailed from the cars, staggering under the shrieking winds, then rushed inside the building.
The small, windowless house was pitch black, but the bodies brought warmth.
Outside, the storm still screamed.
Whining, howling, like the Badlands themselves were alive.
"Whew… finally somewhere to sit down."
Roqi slumped into a corner, utterly wrecked.
He'd had the roughest time of all—almost fell from the rooftop, and now had half the desert inside his clothes.
Including Saul, there were fourteen people crammed into the room.
Mower didn't say a word. She sat beside Roqi quietly.
"Haah… perfect timing. Dinner, anyone?" Saul laughed breathlessly, collapsing into an old couch.
"I'm good. I already ate five pounds of sand," Panam muttered, pacing in frustration.
After checking the building, she frowned.
"Looks like we're stuck here for the night. Shame there's no power."
She and V fiddled with the breaker, and finally, the lights sputtered to life.
Everyone sighed in relief.
"Hey, it worked! We've got light!" Panam grinned and dropped onto a couch. "Lots of useful junk here. The Ingers must've left in a hurry."
"Biotechnica probably made them a decent offer," Saul added.
They knew the previous owners, apparently.
Whether Biotechnica bought the land or recruited them, it didn't matter now. The place was empty—and that made it safe.
Everyone was exhausted, especially after racing the storm.
"Damn, it's cold in here."
Saul hugged his broad shoulders, eyeing Roqi and Mower huddled up, and the rest of the shivering Aldecaldos.
"I tried turning on the heat. No dice."
Panam kicked the broken furnace and turned to V. "You give it a shot. Maybe it only likes you."
"Auto-ignition system. I'll short it and jumpstart it."
Panam sat across from Saul, crossing her legs, looking just as drained.
"Thanks. If Saul freezes to death, this whole rescue was a waste," she added with a smirk.
Saul sighed but didn't argue.
Soon, the heater kicked on—and V returned, looking like a powdered donut.
Panam slapped a bottle on the table. "Look what I found. Pre-war stuff. Hopefully it's not toxic after all these years."
She'd pulled it from a cabinet—nothing fancy, but vintage.
"What is it?" Roqi nudged Mower.
She scanned it quickly. "Whiskey. Very old."
A pause.
"Somewhere between ethanol and chemical weapon—depends on how well it was sealed."
Roqi winced at the description.
He was no fan of whiskey to begin with—and this one sounded like a trip to the ER.
"Today was our lucky day," Panam smiled.
"'Lucky,' huh?" Saul scoffed. "Strange word choice."
"You gonna start lecturing again?" Panam said, raising an eyebrow. She poured herself a glass and waved at V. "Come on, sit. This'll take a while."
"I'm not here to lecture you," Saul said. "But we do need to talk."
A clan leader. A former member.
By nomad rules, that's enough to make them strangers.
But no one saw it that way—except them.
"Chill out, will ya? We're all family," Mitch tried to mediate.
He shot a look at Scorpion, who just rolled his eyes. Not his thing.
When Panam left the camp over their future, Scorpion hadn't said a word. He just stood by, waiting—ready to step in when either of them was in trouble.
While Panam and Saul argued, the other Aldecaldos stayed silent. They didn't have the pull to weigh in.
Not because they lacked brains—because no one had the answers.
Saul leaned forward, elbows on knees, face weathered and tense.
"This Raffen Shiv thing—it was aimed at headquarters. They want everything: routes, camps, supply lines."
Nomads don't have regular jobs. They take what they can to survive—freight jobs, contracts, merc gigs.
Fighting Raffen Shiv? That's just a side hustle. A bloody, losing one.
If those psychos learned where their weak spots were—especially the camp's non-combatants—it'd be a massacre.
"If they get that intel, two attacks could wipe us out," Saul said grimly. "And if you'd screwed up the infiltration today? I'd be dead."
"Not the time for this, man. Aren't you tired?" Roqi said, flopping to the ground with a yawn. "I get being cautious, but don't act like we didn't put everything on the line for you."
He glanced around at the others who'd risked their lives.
The point stung—but it was true.
"We can't beat the Raffen Shiv on our own."
"So we sell ourselves to Biotechnica?" Panam snapped. "Tell me that's not the dumbest shit I've ever heard."
They were back at it.
The Aldecaldos weren't rich. And Panam and Saul had wildly different ideas for the future.
That's why they clashed constantly.
"I'm with Panam. That idea sucks," V cut in.
"Damn right!" Panam said, sitting up straighter.
Saul shot V a skeptical look. "And you think you're qualified to have a say in this?"
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