Old Man of the Badlands

"This is a nice truck, Juan. But when did it finally stop being a Thorton Mackinaw and start being a Welles Arms Light Tank?" Boss Campo asked while we drove through a long stretch of Badlands road.

"Hmmm… I don't think there are any original parts anymore… the last upgrade was four weeks ago. Axles were getting iffy under the new weight." I shrugged as we continued through the middle California desert, "Any reason why we're doing this meeting so deep into the Badlands, or even taking this meeting at all. My eyebots can have this entire desert scouted in two weeks tops."

Campo nodded to my point then answered, "It's a matter of respect, and paying it back to the old guard. Santiago Aldecaldo may be on his last legs, but he is still the master of these desert sands, and we are natural allies in this matter. We will not trample on the decades of stability he has provided due to the trials of the final years of his reign."

The survivors of Sixth Street somehow managed to meld into the Wraiths, a gang of desert outlaws, and brought their Militech contacts with them. Now the megacorp is chroming up and arming the remnants and megadosing them on immune-suppressors so they can just barely manage to get into position before going cyberpsycho. The Wraiths provide transport and smuggling services to this unholy alliance, delivering these man-shaped timebombs to Valentino and Welles Arms associated locations to do as much damage as possible.

Now that we knew what to look for, they had far less free reign to pull these kinds of operations off and more often than not are stopped by a pair of Sentry Bots weapons hot. Still, the amount of collateral damage they'd inflicted in just a short amount of time is unacceptable.

"Cool story, boss." I went with it and turned off the road to a well traveled dirt path up into the mountains.

We only went a quarter of the way up before we pulled off to an outcropping that had an old man and his motorcycle waiting on it. The man sat on a plastic bench attached to an outdoor table, looking out at Night City in the distance.

Santiago Aldecaldo obviously spent far less of his resources preserving his youth than Rogue or Kerry, as the man looked like an old piece of cracked leather with long unkempt gray hair and a wild beard down to his chest and a magnificent mustache that made his lips disappear.

"Bunch of ungrateful asses." the man grumbled as we walked up to him, "All these years I've kept the nation together, strong. And they all want to fall apart now. Why? Dafuq did I fight for all these years?"

"Perhaps, mi amigo, one final hurrah is in order." Boss Campo suggested as he slipped across from Santiago.

The elderly man turned his round sunglasses bearing face to Campo and nodded, "That we can agree on. Gotta get rid of the Rafen Shiv before they get us with the death of a thousand cuts. Gotta get Dog Killer before I flatline. I'll be damned if that piece of shit outlives me. I hear you're the one that's going to help make that happen."

The greatest of the Nomad legends turned those shades on me. My eyes told me much more than his did. The guy was riddled with cancer. Nothing immediately pressing, but just all over. He'd likely been doing anti-rad treatments for years after the Arasaka bombing. Would explain why he never invested in some more graceful aging if he was constantly battling reemergent cancer.

"Yeah." I nodded, not really caring to elaborate.

"Good." Santiago replied and handed me a shard, "All the current info we have of the Wraiths."

"Thank you, Santiago." Boss Campo expressed our gratitude with a steady voice and expression.

"I'd tell you to make Dog Killer suffer, but I just want him gone." Santiago grimaced at the thought of the man then turned back to the view of Night City, "We rebuilt this city. My son lives there. Don't let Militech blow it up again, no matter who they hire to do it."

Boss Campo and I left back the way we came, and my truck sent the data on the shard to the Badlands Park. I'd still have the eyebots scan the whole desert, but the intel would get us sending out strikes today rather than a week from now. At least if it holds water.

I'd take the Brotherhood of Steel to the suspected location of Dog Killer, or at least the biggest wraith HQ the Aldecaldos knew about currently, while the Valentinos would hit the other three camps with a core of Welles Arms combat bots leading the charge. So long as they are where Santiago says they are we'd cut the heart out of the current conflict out tonight, whether we nail the ringleader or not.

Either way, Kenworth was happy to climb back into the desert camo painted helicopter for another night of slaughter.

"Where do you think you're going?" I said as I grabbed the arm of one of the gonks wearing a Mk I Stealth Suit climbing into the hold.

"Slaying monsters." Ciri answered with her voice distorted by the full coverage helmet.

"You sure you want to ride down this path?" I asked as I stared into the black facemask, "You panic and they could be on us."

"I've completed your basic training just like everyone else." Ciri insisted, "I'm choosing to fight with you, unless you feel the need to keep me trapped in a prison of my own fear like Avallac'h."

"If things start getting frosty, get behind me. Or V. Or Kenworth… The Wild Hunt is really fucked if they have the balls to show up." I shrugged and let her go.

"Who's showing up now?" Rebecca piped up as she came from behind me.

"Fantasy elves. Come to steal my Princess." I answered.

"Ahhh… that's so cute that you view a murderous psycho bitch like V as your princess." Rebecca cooed.

"No. This is Ciri, my actual Princess. Royal blood type." I corrected the gun toting loli.

"Fucking nova, choom!" Rebecca squealed and grabbed Ciri to climb into the helicopter together, "Just stand behind me when the shooting starts, Princess. I got the boom, and any fantasy elves will find out the hard way why you don't fuck with the girl with the cannon."

"I've never killed fantasy elves." Kenworth's robovoice carried from the dark center of the hold and his eyes lit up extra bright red.

"I haven't either." I said as I pulled myself inside and pulled a flask out of a hard pouch, "Here's to hoping."

I drank the whole thing and let the smooth comfort of the liquor settle in for the flight.

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Wanted to get the fight out tonight, but allergies are kicking my whole family in the groin. My father might be the only one unaffected by the changing of the seasons, but he'd never say anything if it was bothering him so who really knows?

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