Wraith Camp.
Bang!
A gray-black bionic arm slammed into a solid steel punching bag, warping it as it flew through the air.
The hunk of iron soared up and then dropped back down. The man dodged to the side and threw another punch as if practicing boxing with an opponent.
One hit, two hits, three hits—
Bang!
The accumulated kinetic energy snapped the iron chain, sending the iron block flying into a steel pillar in the cement factory. The echo resounded throughout the factory.
"Too bad, those nomads are pretty tough. We can't keep playing this slow game."
Bowen, a burly man nearly two meters tall with a blue mohawk, spoke.
Both of his arms had undergone modifications, made of custom bionic fibers using top-tier technology. They were powered by micro-fuel engines and bio-motors, distributing energy efficiently throughout his arms.
These arms were so strong that one punch could pierce bulletproof steel plates—
But the rest of his body wasn't modified enough to withstand that kind of force.
Bowen relaxed his body and turned to one of his subordinates. "When's that guy Jotaro Kujo in the city making the next delivery?"
(TN:Is that a motherfucking jojo reference)
"He said everything's ready, just waiting for the cops and the military to clear it."
"Good." Bowen licked his lips. "Damn, these days it's hard to find a couple of fresh kids."
This time, he'd hit the jackpot: Militech had supplied them with a huge batch of goods, ordering them to kill people.
But with a little trickery, they hadn't used much of the resources, and Militech had to step in themselves—
A win-win!
Now, he just needed to sell the surplus military supplies on the black market, make a killing, and then buy some toys to enjoy.
That's life!
As Bowen indulged in these twisted thoughts about how to enjoy the stolen goods from Militech, a voice from outside the factory shouted urgently:
"Boss! Boss!! There's a convoy coming!"
Bowen frowned—his subordinate burst through the warehouse door, slamming into it from running too fast.
"What the hell? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure! Militech's drone got a clear look. It seems to be Aldecaldos!"
"Aldecaldos? Are you fucking kidding me? Militech cornered them at Stone Ridge, and now you're telling me an Aldecaldos convoy is coming here?
Are you high? Seeing ghosts—oh, wait, we are ghosts!"
"Hahaha—"
"I'm serious! I swear—"
Zap!
The drone screen his subordinate was wearing on his head suddenly exploded! Bowen couldn't laugh anymore.
His expression quickly shifted as he immediately dialed the contact from Militech.
At the Militech office, Meredith had stopped thinking—
She was facing the same dilemma as her former colleagues in the city center:
You couldn't say they were careless; they'd already mobilized the maximum resources they could to accomplish a goal.
Yet somehow, every time they closed in, the enemy responded with even more brute force.
It was like the enemy didn't care that they were in the city center, didn't care about attacking a megacorp, didn't care about the consequences of such raids.
And the most frustrating part? They kept winning!
What now?
She had no troops left. The closest units were border patrol forces from Militech, but—
Those units couldn't be moved, and even if they could, they wouldn't listen to her.
Even if they did, where was she supposed to find those nomads?
[New message from: Wraiths]
Bowen: Fuck you, Militech! You let them escape?!
Meredith clung to the message box like it was a lifeline—
This was her last chance! An idea flashed in her mind:
If Bowen used Nash as bait, she could use Bowen as bait. One way or another, the enemy had to be eliminated!
Meredith: They made it over?
Bowen: Yeah, they're here! Damn it, get me some backup now. I've lost dozens of men today!
Meredith: Big talk. When your ass is on fire, try speaking more politely.
Bowen: My ass on fire? Yours is the one that's burning! When I die, let's see which idiot in the Badlands still wants to work with Militech.
Bowen: When I'm dead, everyone in the Badlands will know you're useless. I don't know what'll happen to Militech, but you'll definitely be buried in toxic waste!
Meredith's blood pressure spiked, but she kept her cool.
Meredith: Listen up. That batch of Militech gear you received? I'll upload a new driver upgrade and firmware update for it.
Meredith: Don't get killed too quickly. We'll be there soon.
Bowen: That's more like it—damn, hurry up. How the hell did you let them get away?
Meredith cut off the communication. She had no desire to argue with that slippery bastard from the Wraiths.
On another front: there was no way the ambush on Militech could go public.
She wasn't an idiot.
But she'd forgotten that if Bowen didn't know the full extent of the Aldecaldos' firepower, how could he prepare for the fight?
Meredith had a background as a covert operative—but commanding combat? She was purely an academic.
The kind who hadn't touched those skills since leaving school.
Besides, the main issue now was that both the Wraiths and Aldecaldos had to die!
The Wraiths had obtained proprietary company drives, and the Aldecaldos had inflicted massive damage on the company's image—both of these needed to be handled by her.
No troops on hand? Trick the border patrol.
How to trick the border patrol colleagues?
Solidify the target's identity as a fugitive, then send it to the border patrol commander as official intel.
Verifying the target would be a major credit.
If they captured the target, confirming it as the recent A-Class fugitive, even if things went wrong, she wouldn't be dumped into the sea. Probably.
"Damn it. They have to be fugitives."
Meredith took a deep drag from her cigarette before throwing it to the ground—this time, she'd handle it herself.
[Militech Internal Notification]
[A-Class Fugitive: Burger King, Leader of Burger King Big Shots]
[Sighting: Badlands]
[Current Status: Fleeing toward the border, may know of unrecorded smuggling routes]
[Requesting Support.]
[Militech Internal System Processing Result:]
[Border Armored Units to Assist in the Capture.]
"Quick, quick, quick, get the gear on this batch of guys—two of you, get over here. New Militech cyberware and drivers, installing them is like winning the lottery!"
The entire Wraith camp sprang into action—as long as their leader was alive and hadn't fallen, their efficiency was high.
Bowen held a Saratoga submachine gun in his arms, shouting orders and waving his arm around.
A small subordinate passed by him, and Bowen grabbed him by the collar: "You, go to the modification room. I've got something good for you."
The subordinate laughed awkwardly, about to speak—
Smack!
Bowen slapped him across the face, still smiling. To an outsider, it might've looked like a big brother lovingly advising his little bro.
"Listen up, Militech firmware. Once it's installed, you'll be able to use that badass Minotaur mech."
The subordinate, now too scared to speak, nodded furiously, trembling like a frightened animal in Bowen's grip.
"Alright, go on—bring another one, too. Each Minotaur mech costs hundreds of thousands, full Militech edition, let's try them all!"
Bowen grabbed another guy, and the three of them headed into the cyberware modification room.
"It's you two this time. Once this is done, you'll be second-in-command. Ever seen a Minotaur mech?"
Bowen pointed to two large crates nearby, then pushed the two subordinates onto the operating tables.
"In a bit, you'll be in those things, tearing everything apart—this is genuine Militech gear. You'll be crushing people like they're little chicks. Alright, start the modifications."
The two swallowed nervously, their eyes filled with a mix of excitement and fear—
Half-willingly, they laid down on the operating tables. Bowen gave a look to the cyberware doctor.
The doctor injected both with a hefty dose of anesthetic—
In no time, the two unlucky guys were sleeping like babies.
"Max out the power, link it all through their nervous systems."
"Boss, that's dangerous—"
"I know. Keep them on anesthetic. When I tell them to wake up, you make them wake up.
Oh, and take out the cyber reception module—no point in leaving it for cyberpsychos to use. Can't have them getting hacked."
The tech was indeed impressive.
But he had no interest in becoming a cyberpsycho. Being a cyberpsycho meant even your dick had to be removed, and then how would he mess with kids?
Better to let his subordinates become the psychos.
With that thought, Bowen shouted a few more orders over the channel and hurried toward the basement.
(End of Chapter)