With the manifest and chips in hand, Peter walked into the checkpoint building, his steps steady despite the tension in the air. He eyed the guards armed to the teeth, their fingers itching to use their weapons. Though Peter knew his steel-like body might withstand a bullet or two, he wasn't willing to test his limits. Not now.
"Please hand over your weapons here," barked a guard at the entrance, gesturing to a nearby window.
Peter nodded, pulling the pistol from his waistband and placing it on the counter. The guards tensed as he moved, their rifles shifting ever so slightly in his direction. They relaxed only when Peter's gun was securely handed over.
"Proceed to Interrogation Room 2," the guard ordered, waving him through.
Peter walked down the dimly lit hallway, finding the door marked "2" and stepping inside. Sitting behind a desk was a familiar figure: a checkpoint officer with an air of smug arrogance.
"Your documents," the officer said flatly, barely looking up.
Suppressing his irritation, Peter handed over the cargo manifest. The officer scanned it briefly, a flicker of recognition passing over his face as he noted the "LOA" label on the manifest—an indicator that the cargo would be flagged once it crossed the border.
"What are you transporting?" the officer asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
Peter kept his expression neutral. "It's all written there."
The officer raised an eyebrow, then leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. "Well, sometimes things aren't as clear as they seem. Anything else you'd like to declare?"
Feigning compliance, Peter pulled out a chip and slid it across the table. "An additional item for the manifest," he said coolly.
The officer's demeanor shifted as he pocketed the chip. He placed the manifest over it as if nothing had happened. "Which group do you belong to? Saul's crew? Viper Gang?"
Peter hesitated only for a moment. "Saul's crew," he lied smoothly.
The officer nodded, seeming satisfied. "Alright, you're clear. The roadblocks outside have been lowered. Move along."
Peter left the room without a word, reclaiming his weapon at the counter before heading back to the car.
"How'd it go?" V asked, glancing at him anxiously as he slid into the passenger seat.
"Handled. Shouldn't be any problems now," Peter replied confidently.
"I don't know... something still feels off," Jack muttered from the backseat, fidgeting nervously.
"Oh? Do you always get these feelings, Jack?" V teased, her tension easing slightly.
"Of course not! I'm just saying..." Jack trailed off, his unease apparent.
"Relax," Peter said, leaning back in his seat. "Just keep driving."
The car rumbled down the dusty road, the desert stretching endlessly on either side. The checkpoint was behind them, and for a moment, the trio allowed themselves to breathe a little easier.
But then Jack's voice broke the fragile calm. "Uh... guys? Is it just me, or are those cars coming straight at us?"
Peter and V turned to see a convoy of vehicles speeding toward them. The Tiger Claw Gang insignia was unmistakable.
"Shit," Jack cursed.
Peter's jaw tightened. "Guess the checkpoint guard sold us out." His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. The veins in his arms bulged, his fury barely contained.
"We don't know that for sure," V began, but her words were cut off as the first car in the convoy opened fire.
"Leave the cargo, you bastards!" one of the gang members yelled, their bullets pinging off the car.
"Fuck them," Peter snarled, pulling his pistol and leaning out the window. Without hesitation, he began firing at the attackers, his movements sharp and precise.
Jack, not one to be left out, grabbed his own gun and joined the fray, though his shots were more about suppressing fire than accuracy.
Peter, however, was a different story. Each time he squeezed the trigger, a Tiger Claw member dropped. His focus was laser-sharp, the world around him slowing as his targets came into view.
"Jesus, Peter! Your aim is insane!" Jack shouted, his admiration clear even in the chaos.
Peter didn't respond. He was locked in, his heightened senses picking up every movement, every sound. His bullets found their marks effortlessly, taking out drivers and gunmen alike.
Within minutes, the gang's convoy was in disarray. Cars veered off the road, some crashing into each other as their drivers fell. The remaining vehicles turned tail and fled, the surviving gang members shouting in panic.
"Yeah, you better run!" Jack hollered, leaning out the window and firing a few celebratory shots into the air.
V pulled the car over at the entrance of a rundown motel, cutting the engine and exhaling deeply. "Well, that was fun," she muttered sarcastically.
Peter stepped out of the car, holstering his pistol. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable.
"Hermano," Jack said, slinging an arm around Peter's shoulders. "You're a damn sharpshooter. Ever think about partnering up permanently?"
V, still seated in the driver's seat, watched Peter closely. She'd known him for over a decade, but the man who had just taken down a convoy of armed gangsters with chilling precision felt like a stranger.
Peter ignored Jack's question, his mind elsewhere. The Tiger Claw Gang's ambush wasn't random. Someone had tipped them off, and Peter had a good idea who.
He glanced back toward the horizon, where the checkpoint sat in the distance. His fists clenched again. That guard would regret underestimating him.
For now, though, they had bigger problems. Night City was close, and it wasn't the paradise the checkpoint guards had mocked it to be. It was a battleground, and Peter was ready for whatever came next.
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