Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 616, Section 30: Racing
"Wow! This is the kind of car a real man should drive!"

Johnny Silverhand's roar mingled with the engine roar of a Porsche 911, this classic car, worth its own weight in gold, streaked across the streets of Watson District.

Passersby turned their heads in surprise—in Night City, luxury cars are not uncommon, and antique cars are also common, but to combine the two and swagger down the street is definitely a walking ATM.

When a normal person sees a golden car driving on the road, they will always take a second look.

“We’ve got tails behind us.” Karl squinted as he saw more than a dozen rapidly approaching cars in his rearview mirror.

Motorcycles, modified cars, and even a few dilapidated pickup trucks belching black smoke converged on the main road from various alleyways like a school of sharks drawn by the scent of blood. In Night City, money is the basic rule of survival, and this Porsche in front of you is enough to make any street kid dream of being an emperor.

Car theft and robbery are old business in Night City; even Jack did it a lot back in the day. Car hijacking is just a more radical extension of these two methods of heated debate about vehicle ownership.

For the street thugs of Night City, what do they do when they see a golden car driving on the street? Without a doubt, they go and rob it.

Selling this would make enough money to live a life of luxury for generations. Why not make it and then regret it for the rest of your life, only to end up in a sewer and choke to death by someone else's pee?

If you don't have work, don't come to Night City. If you do have work, why don't you take it?

Perhaps because there are many people in Night City with this idea, after Karl said that quite a few people followed, he saw more and more vehicles in his rearview mirror, and even some vehicles that passed by immediately turned around and joined in.

"Don't they all think about whether there's something wrong with the people who can ride in this car and come to the street openly and honestly?"

Carl glanced at the various vehicles speeding behind him and turned to Johnny Silverhand, saying, "Johnny, are you flooring the gas pedal? I think if you slow down any further, they'll come up and ram you to stop you."

"Ha! This is all the scrap metal?" Johnny slammed on the gas pedal. His mechanical prosthetic arm and the classic sports car's control system worked perfectly together, and the Porsche 911 suddenly roared out of proportion to its age, instantly leaving its pursuers three car lengths behind.

"Even in fifty years, they won't be able to touch my taillights!"

Johnny Silverhand was absolutely right. Compared to his shaky driving this morning when he was still getting used to Hera the Sky, Johnny Silverhand, who was now accustomed to driving with his mechanical limbs and in his most familiar car, was now much better at racing than the average street thug.

"How about that, Carl, and the kid from Santo Domingo? This is the kind of racing real men should be doing!"

"Is this so?"

Carl recalled the racing scenes he'd witnessed between Jack and V in Night City: "It didn't feel as good as V and Jack's."

Then Carl thought back to Johnson's driving, which had given him a bit of a fright: "Not as good as Chief Johnson either."

"With this level of skill, they're only good for running around the Watson area. If they come to Santo Domingo, they're probably only good for hauling cargo."

Andy, a native of Santo Domingo, offered incredibly insightful commentary. Santo Domingo is the closest area to the Badlands, making it the perfect place to practice driving. Coupled with the vastness of the Badlands and the chaotic alleyways of the city, Santo Domingo drivers who have made their names on these two types of tracks have never been weak in skill.

Just like how Oliver, a true Santo Domingo native, is usually the driver in Carl's team, Johnny's skills, in the eyes of Andy, a Santo Domingo native, are really nothing special. 'Isn't Andy's personality when commenting on driving skills a bit different from his usual calm demeanor?'

While Carl was thinking this, Johnny Silverhand was already arguing with Andy: "What did you say, you Santo Domingo brat—"

Johnny's roar was interrupted by a sudden, ear-piercing sound as a Thunder Macintosh "War Horse" equipped with a crash beam rushed out from the side alley, sparks flying from the metal scraping together.

"Johnny, you've been caught."

Carl's voice remained calm, even tinged with a hint of mockery, but Johnny Silverhand had already spotted another approaching threat through the car window—three modified motorcycles spewing eerie blue flames from their tails, rapidly closing in like hellhounds. Their engines screeched through the night sky, and the riders, their goggles flashing crimson, were clearly seasoned carjackers.

They spread out in unison, forming a pincer movement to encircle the Porsche 911, attempting to corner it.

"Hey, do you need anything—"

Just as Carl was about to offer his help, the situation suddenly changed.

The modified Nissan Tingwei Mackintosh that had previously cut in roared out from the side and headed straight for the three motorcycles. The serrated blades welded to the body were still covered with undried blood, clearly indicating that the owner was no pushover. When he realized that the three motorcycles dared to strike first, the Mackintosh owner did not hesitate to swerve the steering wheel sharply, and the steel behemoth crashed into the outermost motorcycle!
"boom--!"

Metal tore apart, sparks flew, and before the motorcyclist could even scream, his rear wheel was sliced ​​off by the sharp blade. The entire vehicle went out of control at high speed, tumbling and crashing into a holographic billboard on the roadside, exploding in a blinding flash of light.

“This level of illegal modification violates Night City law, and I have already opened a case.”

As Andy spoke calmly and professionally about his job, the remaining two motorcycles that had been attacked immediately adjusted their tactics. One of them pulled out a gun and began firing at the modified Nissan Micino, while the other motorcycle accelerated sharply, the eerie blue flames from its rear reaching their peak as it attempted to overtake the Porsche on the left. The rider controlled the handlebars with one hand, while the other hand had already drawn a modified smart submachine gun.

"Fuck you, you're asking for it!" Johnny sneered, then suddenly jerked the steering wheel, the Porsche's rear wing almost grazing the motorcyclist's helmet, forcing him to scramble to avoid a collision.

Just then, the rampaging modified Thunder Macino ignored the gunfire restraining the motorcycle and closed in again. The burly man in the driver's seat grinned, revealing a mouthful of metal dentures, and slammed his right hand down on a button—

"boom!"

The modified Nissan Tingwei Mackintosh suddenly unleashed a burst of power from its rear, and the entire car crashed into the side and rear of the Porsche like a cannonball!

"Is that all you've got! Hold on tight, you bastards!" Johnny yanked on the handbrake, and the Porsche drifted perfectly at a 90-degree bend at the street corner, instantly shaking off its pursuers. The rear wheels of the Porsche 911 scraped against the virtual flowerbeds on the roadside, sending a row of holographic billboards flying.

Amidst the bursting neon lights, Carl saw Andy, who had just calmed down, actually smiling—this Santo Domingo man, who always had a stern face, now revealed a wolf-like, ferocious grin because of Johnny's actions.

"I think I've reached a certain level now."

This is Andy's assessment.

(End of this chapter)