The vehicle's manufacturing is not Military Technology's forte, nor is it their main business.
However, the Bimong Armored Vehicle consistently ranks as the most trusted armored vehicle for many consecutive years, dominating a significant portion of the high-end armored vehicle market.
Upon seeing this vehicle, Andrew quickly dispelled his doubts—
because this vehicle was not sold to the public at all; only ruling entities and corporations could purchase this armored giant. Every day at the border, you could see Military Technology using this vehicle to transport soldiers.
He must be some suit on official business. Andrew thought it would be better not to ask too many questions.
So, he introduced Lille to the mechanic Mike—fix it quickly and then leave.
"Wow... This is my first time touching this vehicle. Even covered in 3.8 centimeters of armor and with a windshield that can withstand heavy machine-gun fire, the powerful drivetrain can still make the Bimong drive through the sinful environment...
Oh, look at this massive cargo box, the Bimong Giant Beast... Oh, wait, why does the cargo box seem to be missing a part?"
The Bimong's rear cabin could seat people, and it had retractable cargo boxes on both sides. Lille and V had just unmounted one of these retractable cargo boxes.
The mechanic Mike was already deeply immersed upon seeing this vehicle—unlike the junk cars driven by those wanderers, this was a real beast.
But why is a part missing? No wonder this vehicle looks a bit... "lopsided."
Lille smiled slightly, "Just fix it and don't ask questions."
"Uh..." Mike's heart skipped a beat; the sheriff had already warned him not to be nosy, "Yes, sir, yes, I think it might be a misaligned circuit..."
"Just fix it," Lille checked the time, "I'll give you two hours. Fix it, and you'll get a tip. If not... you might lose some 'performance pay.'
Where's the communication tower?"
"Not far, exit and turn right for 300 meters, then turn left. It's quite obvious; you can use it freely."
Lille nodded slightly, gesturing for V to follow.
Once outside, he immediately saw the signal tower in the distance, very conspicuous in this barren wasteland.
Connecting the communicator to the signal tower could find the sheriff's channel over a wide area, reaching the person he needed to contact.
Willie McCoy, the middleman among the wanderers.
Climbing the signal tower made the desolation of this place even more palpable.
In fact, from higher up, looking out over the wasteland, it wasn't entirely barren—you could see many ghost towns.
These ghost towns were left behind by companies that wanted to develop the wilderness but went bankrupt before they could start. Now, they had become camps for wanderers.
V found a suitable connector in the electrical box and hooked up the mobile radio, "So, we're looking for wanderers to help us smuggle?
Do you know how Night City perceives them? Social parasites, criminals hiding in Evil Land."
"Of course, I know. But, in reality, true wanderers were farmers decades ago. Night City, Washington... many skyscrapers in the cities were built by them. The ghost towns and oil wells on this Evil Land were too.
You come from Haywood, just think of them as wandering Haywood people."
"That's terrifying—wandering Haywood people, sounds like locusts."
Hiss—
The communicator crackled.
"Hello? Who is it?"
Lille immediately spoke, "Dennis Burger King, are you Willie McCoy? I have some questions. Can you smuggle now?"
"Uh—who are you? Someone saw a Bimong enter the town this morning. Are you the guy in that vehicle?"
"I ask, you answer. If you want to earn money, don't talk too much."
"Humph—you think everyone is like you, willing to do anything for money? I don't trust you people..."
"Fifty thousand Euro."
"...I said..."
"A hundred thousand."
"I..."
"Pretty tough, huh? One hundred fifty thousand."
On the other end, it was clear McCoy's train of thought was disrupted—
Remember, wanderers are incredibly poor, far beyond imagination.
Besides having vehicles, they lacked weapons, medicines, prosthetics, food, even clothes.
Wanderer brokers weren't much better off. The wasteland offered nothing but freedom; earning some money was incredibly hard.
So, everyone relied on so-called "family ties" to support each other—of course, this significantly reduced the demand for high rewards.
One hundred fifty thousand Euro was an unimaginably high sum for them.
McCoy's breathing became heavy but quickly steadied, "Damn it, demon! Shut up! I... I told you it's not about the money!
The border posts aren't even processing customs clearance now, no one can smuggle, understand! At least not for another three months!
Right now, I can't clear customs for you!"
V's heart sank—you couldn't wait three months in this ghost town, could you?
She looked at Lille, only to find Lille chuckling softly, relaxedly saying, "Good, at least you know the rules."
"What? You... you are trying to trick me!"
"Not entirely—not being able to right now means there were clearances pending before? Name, location, I suspect this batch is related to Military Science."
"You bastard, you dog..."
"Don't get worked up. I only suspect a connection with the corporation. I'm not associated with them—here's the deal, you pass this job to me, and I'll handle the cargo for the client.
And I'm willing to give you a ten-thousand-Euro referral fee."
On the other end, McCoy temporarily shut off the communicator.
He was impressed by Lille's ability to lie through his teeth—everything Lille said pointed to him investigating possible irregularities in recent smuggling on behalf of Military Science!
Yet, he hadn't said it directly, giving McCoy an irresistible offer while also providing a way out.
McCoy couldn't tell if this guy was genuinely investigating or using this chance to make some extra cash—probably both.
His flushed face quickly cooled down after a puff of his cigarette, and just as he was about to speak, Lille continued:
"Think about it; one thousand Euro is enough to buy medicines for a whole tribe for half a year. If used on ethanol2 fuel, it could sustain a convoy for four to five months."
McCoy was puzzled—what did that mean? Was he tempting him?
But earlier, he mentioned a reward of one hundred thousand Euro?
Lille continued, "Too bad, time is money; now the reward is ninety thousand Euro. Congratulations, you lost your medicine and fuel."
McCoy's face, which had just cooled, flushed with anger again—
"Damn it, are you messing with me? You're driving a Military Technology Bimong Armored Vehicle and want me to tell my client you're the guy handling his smuggling?
You think anyone would believe that?"
"Eighty thousand Euro—I'll disguise myself as a Buckley Family wanderer unwilling to join Snake Nation, but the vehicle is indeed an issue.
So you have to lend me one. The good news is, I'm willing to leave my vehicle with you. A vehicle is life, right?
Alright, now it's seventy thousand Euro."
McCoy felt his heart race with every word—money! That was all money!
"Bastard! We are negotiating!"
"But you haven't agreed yet, so I have to deduct a bit from the budget to compensate for my wasted time, sixty thousand Euro."
McCoy lost his temper—in just a moment, a year's worth of fuel for a convoy was gone! Along with the medicine, food...
He cursed Lille for reminding him of what one thousand Euro could accomplish; now, all he could think about was the money he was losing!
He had to decide!
"Fine, fine, you damn filthy mutt; is money all you care about? I'll do it! I'll do it!"
Lille's tone shifted from relaxed to chilling, "Since that's the case, I am now your superior and client. Do your job well.
And, you speak so crudely; I assume no one taught you how to talk?
Including you, Mr. McCoy, lacking everything but money. The current price is fifty thousand Euro. Want some time to think it over?"
McCoy almost ground his teeth to dust—it was damn difficult to earn this money.
"No need! I'll have someone drive over now! Yes, stay where you are! I don't want to reveal the tribe's location to you...
Boss!"
As soon as he finished speaking, V burst into laughter, discreetly giving Lille a thumbs-up and silently saying, "Nice job, Lille."
It seemed McCoy's tongue was about to cramp.
Luckily, the wind was quite strong; otherwise, McCoy might've died of anger if he heard the laughter.
Lille chuckled and continued, "Then I'll wait for you here; I'll give you three hours."