The wind tore across the Badlands like a screaming ghost as Neo rode his Rayfield Galatine S9 'Avalon, the sleek machine gleaming like liquid steel under the dying sun. Beside him, Jackie Welles' Arch Nazare thundered in unison, the two bikes slicing through the desert roads like twin comets burning across the dusk.
Engines roared. The city lights faded behind them. Ahead lay only dust, heat, and the raw pulse of freedom.
To anyone watching from the highway, it was a sight to burn itself into memory—two top-end monsters of chrome and carbon fiber cutting through the flow of traffic with impossible precision.
Drivers cursed, gaped, and fumbled for their optics to record the scene.
"Holy shit!" someone yelled from their car.
"That's… that's a Rayfield Galatine S9 'Avalon, right?!"
"The brand-new one? You kidding me?! How the hell can anyone afford that thing?!"
"Man, I'm behind on rent and these chooms are out here riding dreams. Night City really is a goddamn joke."
But Neo didn't hear them. His world was the road—the vibration beneath him, the thrum of the engine through his veins, the shimmer of the heat on the horizon.
By the time the sky turned amber, they'd left Night City far behind. The towers were just scars against the horizon now, swallowed by the sand.
Jackie raised a fist and pointed ahead, grinning beneath his visor. "There, hermano! The racing pit!"
They crested a ridge, and before them sprawled the chaotic heart of the Badlands—the makeshift arena where dust, gasoline, and death all shared the same track.
In Cyberpunk 2077, players raced here for creds and glory. In the real Night City, the stakes were bloodier.
There were three types of races in the Badlands:
Bike Sprints—pure speed and precision.
Off-road Gauntlets—for the madmen with trucks and armored rigs.
And then there was the infamous Battle Run.
The one everyone came to see.
Jackie pulled up beside Neo and killed the engine. The air buzzed with sound—revving motors, screaming crowds, the smell of oil and cheap booze hanging thick.
"So," Jackie said, grinning, "what's your poison, hermano? Bike Sprint, Off-road, or… the Battle Run?"
Neo tilted his head, intrigued. "Battle Run? As in… the kind of 'battle' I'm thinking?"
"Exactly that," Jackie said. "Here, there ain't no rules. You ride whatever you've got—bike, buggy, muscle car, even half a tank if it still moves. First across the finish line wins. Everything else? Fair game."
"No rules?" Neo repeated, eyes narrowing with interest. "So… close combat, ramming, weapons?"
"Anything goes," Jackie said. "Just don't make it too obvious, or they'll gun you down after the race. Before that? It's all open season."
Neo chuckled. "So basically… Road Rage with consequences."
He flexed his gloved hands on the handlebars, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Yeah. I can work with that."
Jackie laughed. "Didn't doubt it for a second."
They could already hear it—the low, rhythmic growl of engines waiting at the starting line, the shouts of gamblers, the thud of fists against metal.
The air itself trembled with adrenaline.
"Feel that, hermano?" Jackie said, inhaling deeply. "The smell of oil, gunpowder, and bad decisions. That's the scent of freedom."
Neo nodded, his voice calm but laced with excitement. "Haven't even started and I can already feel my pulse syncing to the engines. This… this is what living feels like."
Jackie slapped his shoulder. "Then let's go sign up before the race fills out."
...
At the registration tent, a rough-looking Nomad sat behind a scratched data terminal. He eyed them both, unimpressed. "What'll it be, chooms? Bike race or off-road?"
Neo frowned. "No Battle Run?"
The Nomad blinked. "You two wanna join that?"
Jackie's grin vanished. "You got a problem with that, cabrón?"
"N-no! No problem!" The man raised his hands quickly. "It's just… the Battle Run's not for amateurs. You lose there, you don't just lose creds—you lose limbs, bikes, maybe your life."
Neo tilted his head. "We'll manage."
Jackie leaned forward. "We play for keeps. Sign us up."
The Nomad sighed, muttering something about "suicidal city punks," then opened a file on his holo-pad. "Fine. Entry fee's five hundred for normal races, five thousand for Battle Run—each."
Neo slid a credchip across the counter without blinking. Jackie followed suit.
The Nomad looked down at the two chips. "Ten thousand eddies," he muttered, whistling low. "Not bad for a couple of strangers."
"Regulation check," he added, glancing up. "Need to log your rides before you hit the track."
Neo and Jackie each tossed him their ignition chips.
The Nomad caught them, scanned the data… and froze.
His voice cracked. "T-T-the Arch Nazare… and… holy shit—is this a Rayfield Galatine S9 'Avalon?!"
Neo's smile was faint but sharp. "That's right."
"You two from Night City?"
"Yeah," Neo said. "But don't worry. We're not corpo. Not cops either. Just punks chasing some wind. I used to run with the Nomads myself."
The man let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "All right. You're clear. Welcome to the Battle Run, chooms."
Neo and Jackie exchanged a look—half excitement, half challenge.
They could already feel the weight of eyes turning toward them as they stepped into the prep zone.
The roar of the engines outside dimmed for a heartbeat as every racer in the lot turned to look.
Whispers spread like wildfire through the crowd.
"Rayfield Galatine S9 'Avalon…"
"Who the hell are these guys?"
"From Night City? Gotta be corpos… or psychos."
The tension was electric.
Neo swung a leg over his bike, visor sliding down with a click. Jackie revved his Arch, grinning from ear to ear.
"Think they'll come for us first?" Jackie asked.
Neo smirked, twisting the throttle once, letting the Rayfield's engine scream like a blade through the night. "They can try."
The crowd cheered as the two bikes rolled toward the starting line, their engines harmonizing into one deafening roar.
In the desert wind, the air shimmered with heat and danger.
And as the signal lights began to count down, Neo whispered to himself, voice barely audible over the thunder of chrome:
"Let's see how wild this city really is."