"Do you think this car will even make it to Night City?"
"No idea," Jack replied with a shrug. "But I think we'll be fine."
Moments later, black smoke erupted from the vehicle's hood, and the engine gave a final, sputtering groan. Jack coughed, stepping out of the car with a string of curses. "Ahem! Damn it! This piece of junk didn't even make it all the way here. What a f***ing waste."
Peter and V exchanged exasperated looks, black lines forming on their foreheads as they stared at the car. They had tried driving slowly, hoping to keep the car alive for the journey, but their efforts had proven futile. The car was officially dead, just as they reached the outskirts of Night City.
Jack kicked the car's tire in frustration, but Peter raised his hand to stop him. "Getting mad isn't going to help. Let's focus on finding a new ride."
Jack glanced at Peter, noting his calm demeanor. It struck him that Peter was a perfect balance for his own fiery temperament—someone who could keep his head in tense situations. In Night City, where trust was a rare commodity, finding someone reliable was like striking gold. Jack grunted in agreement, knowing how many so-called "brothers" in the city would sell you out for the right price.
"So, where exactly are we right now?" Peter asked, breaking Jack's train of thought.
Jack pulled up a map, his face darkening as he scanned the location. "Desafortunado (bad luck). We're in Santo Domingo. Not good news."
V raised an eyebrow. "What's so bad about it?"
Jack sneered, leaning back against the car. "This is the Sixth Street Gang's turf. A bunch of ex-military types who started off as 'protectors' for the neighborhood. But now? They're just gangsters with a fancy excuse."
Peter's mind clicked into overdrive, recalling the information he'd picked up about the Sixth Street Gang. His supercharged brain made it easier to piece things together. The gang was made up of about 2,300 members, mostly veterans who claimed to keep their territory safe. They rarely crossed into other gangs' areas, but within their own turf, they were known for extorting small businesses under the guise of "protection fees."
While the Sixth Street Gang wasn't the most dangerous group in Night City, Peter knew better than to underestimate them. It was better to pass through their territory than risk running into the Tiger Claws again. After all, the Tiger Claws hadn't sent their top enforcers last time, but Peter doubted their next encounter would be as "lucky."
"Ding~"
Jack's holo-communicator lit up, and he scowled when he saw the name flashing on the screen. It was the middleman for their current job.
"Tch, esto es realmente difícil (this is really difficult)," Jack muttered before answering the call. "Yeah, it's me. What's the problem?"
The voice on the other end was sharp and impatient. "Jack! You were supposed to deliver over an hour ago. Where the hell are you?"
The speaker was Toby Jais, a low-tier middleman who was practically pulling his hair out over the delay. Toby knew how valuable the red iguana was—so much so that he had spent 50,000 euros bribing a corporate employee to "lose" it. He'd even forked over another 10,000 euros to grease the wheels with the border police.
Toby wasn't a big-time player like Tanaka, the Priest, or the Captain. He scraped by on the scraps the major middlemen didn't want, and this iguana was supposed to be his ticket to the next level.
"Look, Toby," Jack interrupted, his voice steady. "We got hit by the Tiger Claws crossing the border last night. If you want to yell at someone, go take it up with them. I've got to go now."
Before Toby could respond, Jack ended the call.
"Jack Wells!" Toby's voice exploded in fury, though the line was already dead. Slamming his communicator onto the desk, Toby fumed. He was practically broke, with only one loyal lackey to his name. Everyone else under his command was a mercenary, ready to bolt the moment the money dried up.
Night City was ruthless that way. Loyalty only lasted as long as your wallet was full.
"F***! Jack Wells, you'll regret this!" Toby shouted, but deep down, he knew he was powerless to do anything.
Meanwhile, Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "He thinks he can threaten me? That guy's all bark and no bite."
V clapped Jack on the shoulder, laughing. "Wow, big guy. I didn't take you for the type to cheat someone."
Jack shrugged, unbothered. "In Night City, you don't survive by playing nice. Even if you're just a beggar on the street, you've got to be ready to screw someone over if it means living another day."
Peter frowned but didn't say anything. Jack had a point. Night City was a chaotic, lawless mess where morality often took a backseat to survival.
The trio resumed their search for a new ride, their boots crunching against the dusty pavement. The heat was oppressive, and the air smelled faintly of oil and decay. Santo Domingo wasn't the worst district in Night City, but it wasn't exactly paradise either.
"What about the police?" Peter asked after a while.
Jack laughed bitterly. "The NCPD? They don't care about order. As long as you don't mess with the corpos or the rich, they'll turn a blind eye to just about anything. Hell, they're practically a gang themselves."
Peter nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. He had only been in this world for a short time, but he already understood how it worked. Survival came first. Trust was a luxury.
As they moved further into Santo Domingo, Peter's mind began racing again, forming plans and contingencies. The Sixth Street Gang might not be the worst enemies, but that didn't mean they could afford to let their guard down.
Whatever lay ahead, Peter silently vowed to protect V and Jack. In this city of broken dreams and jagged edges, they were the closest thing he had to family.
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