The convoy crawled sluggishly through the crumbling ruins of Northside Industrial District. The streets, lined with broken pavement and half-toppled neon signs, felt claustrophobic even in daylight. Abandoned buildings loomed over them like rotten teeth, casting jagged shadows across the route.
"Where we at?" Jackie grunted from the backseat, peering out through the armored window, fingers twitching like he already expected trouble.
"Northside Industrial," Oliver answered tensely, his hands glued to the Alvarado's steering wheel. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but even the familiar hum of the vehicle's luxury suspension couldn't ease the knot tightening in his chest.
"Somewhere near the old projects. Front escort says some debris just 'spontaneously' appeared on the road. They're clearing it."
Carl shifted in the passenger seat, tapping his knee impatiently. "This smells bad."
Jackie snorted, adjusting the strap on his shotgun. "You think we're gonna get hit?"
"No idea. But I do know roadblocks don't just 'pop up' outta nowhere," Carl muttered, eyes sweeping the battered skyline. "Maine, crack your door open a little. We're sittin' ducks here. If it gets ugly, we jump."
Maine grunted from behind his shades, his big frame barely fitting in the back next to Jackie. "This early, KK? Shit..."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Carl said dryly. "Still... feels fast even for Night City."
He trailed off mid-sentence. His instincts prickled sharply — a flash of red flickered in the corner of his eye.
He snapped his head up, tracking a trail of smoke and fire blooming from the fifth floor of a nearby tenement. For a split second, the world seemed to freeze, the burning cylinder slicing through the sky directly toward them.
"RPG!" Carl bellowed, already throwing his door open.
The others reacted a heartbeat later. Jackie swore under his breath, Maine kicked his door open with a curse, and Oliver froze for half a second too long.
Carl dove out in a clean roll, hitting the cracked pavement and scrambling into a textbook blast survival posture: back to the explosion, face down, hands crossed over his chest, legs stretched, everything tucked in tight.
A half-second later, the street erupted into a hellish roar.
The explosion hammered the convoy like a giant's fist. The shockwave slammed into the side of the Alvarado, twisting the massive frame like a soda can. Steel screeched and glass shattered, debris spraying like shrapnel across the broken concrete.
Even with its high-end armor, the Alvarado wasn't built to eat a direct rocket blast. The hood crumpled in, the front tires shredded, the engine block smoking. But the car held — barely — shielding Carl and the others from the worst of it.
Through the choking dust, Jackie's voice broke out, hoarse but alive: "¡Hijo de puta! That was close, choom!"
Carl coughed once, tasting burnt rubber and metal in the air. "No shit."
Maine hauled himself up behind the ruined trunk, cradling his heavy machine gun like it was a baby. His shades were gone, but his expression was grim and furious. "We gotta move, KK. Now."
Meanwhile, Oliver staggered out of the driver's side, blood dripping from a fresh gash along his right forearm. A jagged chunk of shrapnel had torn into him — not deep, but ugly. He grit his teeth, face white with pain, and clamped a wad of med-gauze over the wound with his good hand.
He didn't scream. He didn't whimper.
He just cursed — loud and long.
"Motherf—! My goddamn gun! My SOR-22! I didn't even get to shoot it once!"
Carl shot him a quick look. The front end of the Alvarado was a smoking, twisted mess. There was no saving Oliver's prized weapon — not unless he wanted to dig it out of a pool of flaming wreckage.
"I'll get you a new one," Carl promised, crouching behind the warped rear quarter panel. His voice was low, hard. "First we survive."
Up ahead, the convoy was in chaos. Some of the lead vehicles had been blown apart outright, their occupants burning or lying motionless across the pavement. Fires crackled and thick black smoke billowed up into the yellowing sky.
Arasaka's own security detail, positioned farther back, had survived mostly intact — by design, no doubt.
The mercs?
Cannon fodder. Meat shields.
Another rocket screamed down from above, slamming into a second car just ahead. Carl didn't bother waiting to see the carnage.
"Jackie, Maine — grab Oliver. Get to cover!" he barked, already sprinting toward the shattered husk of a nearby delivery truck. "I'm taking the roof rats."
Maine's teeth flashed in a vicious grin. "You crazy, KK."
"Maybe," Carl growled. "But they shot first."
Jackie helped sling Oliver's arm around his shoulders, dragging him back behind the remains of their ruined car. "Dale, choom! Don't bleed out on me yet."
Maine covered them, pivoting with practiced ease, laying down bursts of suppressive fire toward the suspected rooftop positions.
Carl didn't look back.
He sprinted straight toward the building, boots slamming into the cracked asphalt, heart pounding in time with the distant sirens already starting to wail.