Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 617, Section 31: Flashy
"As a passenger, especially one who isn't particularly interested in car chases—shouldn't I have a say?" Karl gripped the roof railing, looking in the rearview mirror. In the mirror, the chasing cars were still relentlessly pursuing them even after a sharp turn.

“If you ask me, let’s just take them out.” Carl clicked his left hand as he cocked his pistol. “Let me shoot out the tires of two cars, or hack into their control systems—that’ll make sure those sycophants behind them learn what politeness is in no time.”

“Do we really have to play this road game with them? Even if it's a racing game,” he glanced out the window at the sparks flying from the guardrails, “I only play the rocket launcher-equipped item race.”

"What?" Johnny slammed the steering wheel shut, the tires screeching as they scraped the asphalt. "You think I can't shake off these bastards?"

“I didn’t say that.” Karl suddenly leaned down, and a bullet pierced the rear window, leaving a smoking bullet hole in the center of the spiderweb-like cracks.

The pursuers had clearly given up on capturing the vehicle completely and began firing at the tires. "But if this continues," another burst of bullets clattered against the chassis, "your beloved car might be headed for the junkyard."

Johnny suddenly grinned, and in the projected movements synchronized with his mechanical limbs, he released the steering wheel with his right hand (limb) to reach for a cigarette, while his left arm controlled the vehicle to complete another drift.

The smell of burning rubber mixed with gunpowder smoke filled the carriage, and he actually started whistling amidst the hail of bullets.

"When you modified it, did you have V and T-BUG design the program for you? How come you can even whistle?"

"You were just pretending to be so protective of your car—" Carl was speechless: "but you drove it like a madman crashing a rock concert!"

Another bullet grazed the rearview mirror. Johnny finally put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it with one hand, took a deep breath and exhaled. The smoke mixed with gunpowder smoke filled the car, almost making Andy, who was holding him, choke.

"Cough cough. I hate secondhand smoke." Andy coughed several times, choked by the gunpowder and secondhand smoke. His lungs had been modified so he could tolerate secondhand smoke entering his lungs, but the feeling was still unpleasant. Even so, Andy's arms were still tightly wrapped around Johnny's waist.

Although his professional conduct as a police officer prevented him from letting go, his physical reaction made him want to kick the Johnny silver dog out of the car.

Johnny suddenly slammed on the brakes.

The world tilted amidst a sharp scraping sound, and Carl saw a pursuer's car slapped sideways against a fire hydrant as if by a giant.

Amidst a towering column of water, the Porsche 911 glides into the alleyway with millimeter-level precision—a feat only a madman could accomplish, and Johnny Silverhand has always been a madman.

Taking advantage of this perfect drift that allowed him to break free again, Johnny seized the opportunity to sharply turn the steering wheel. The moment the tires regained grip, the car began to speed through the narrow alley like an arrow.

“If you smoke in the car again, I’ll gag you, Johnny.” Carl was also choked by Johnny’s smoke, but he had to admit that Johnny’s drifting this time was really quite skillful; his choice of where to drift was perfect.

The motorcycles that were chasing them didn't have enough grip and lost control when they suddenly turned around, sending the riders and motorcycles flying. Few of the other cars that could catch up could squeeze into the alleyway that was just big enough to accommodate a Porsche 911. Even if a car managed to turn around, it crashed head-on at the entrance of the alley. This not only prevented the other cars from catching up, but also blocked the cars that followed them with their wrecked vehicles.

However, shaking off the pursuing vehicles doesn't mean the matter is over.

How could a group of people who dare to hijack cars on the streets of Night City not have a related organization? They are probably more familiar with the roads of Night City than the city government's road management department. Many of them had already called on their companions to prepare. And that preparation, which was originally just for prevention, just happened to catch Johnny Silverhand's driving thoughts.

At the end of the alley, two black SUVs were blocking the road, with heavy machine guns on their roofs already pointed at them.

They didn't fire immediately because their target was never the people inside the car, but the Porsche 911 that would captivate any old-school car enthusiast.

The bullets that had been relentlessly chasing them were mostly aimed at easily repairable parts like the tires. Under the barrage of heavy machine gun fire, turning the Porsche 911 into pieces would be no problem at all. This group of people was trying to force Johnny Silverhand and his two companions to get out of the car by pointing the dark muzzle of their guns at them.

But Johnny Silverhand wasn't the type to stop just because a gun was pointed at him.

Johnny floored the gas pedal, yelling, "I'm a rock musician, I only smash guitars, I don't give guitars away!"

With the accelerator roaring, the Porsche 911 shot straight toward the roadblock like an arrow. Johnny's eyes gleamed with a mad light, while Projector's lips curled into an almost ferocious smile.

Meanwhile, the carjackers in the SUV across the street understood Johnny Silverhand's madness from his driving—this lunatic was willing to perish with everyone else!
"Should we shoot him? Shoot him to pieces?"

One of the carjackers in the driver's seat of the SUV asked his companion for his opinion. Being assigned to guard such a remote section of the road to prevent accidents, he was obviously not an important member of the carjacking gang, so they dared not make a decision on their own when the boss was not around.

"Shoot? Smash this multi-million dollar treasure?" The voice of the carjacker in the passenger seat changed. "The boss is determined to turn us into specimens! Have you forgotten what happened to the last guy who accidentally damaged the car?! He was skinned alive!"

Once those words were spoken, it was clear what to do.

The two SUV drivers exchanged a glance through their windows and simultaneously jerked their steering wheels. They knew all too well the value of this Porsche 911 on the antique car black market—a similar model had fetched an astronomical price at auction in Dogtown last year, and even if it was totaled, repairs would be enough for the entire team to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.

"Damn it!" the hijacker in the driver's seat roared, slamming on the gas pedal. "I don't believe two armored off-road vehicles can't stop an old relic. At worst, we'll fix it up and sell it to the old captain. He buys everything!"

With both sides making their decisions, an absurd ballet of death suddenly unfolded in the alley: three cars sped towards each other, each person pressing the accelerator—both sides were gambling that the other would back down at the last moment.

Carl looked at the approaching SUV, his tone still calm: "Johnny, you have a few seconds left to beg me to save your car."

“Hush,” Johnny suddenly released the accelerator, his mechanical limb making a complex gesture across the dashboard. “Watch, Carl, I’ll show them what ‘Silver Hand Special’ really means.”

Just two seconds before the collision, Johnny's body moved. He kept his mechanical limbs on the steering wheel, and something popped out of his body.

Karl immediately recognized what that thing was.

Those were liquid nitrogen grenades, originally imported from Dogtown and stored in Hera's Sky Dome. I don't know when Johnny put them into his body's storage.

The grenade shattered through the windshield during its launch, instantly creating a smooth layer of ice on the road. The two SUVs spun like tops whipped by a giant, their anti-skid systems blaring alarms. The wide tires, modified for the streets of Night City, became a fatal hindrance, spinning wildly on the absolutely slippery ice. The vehicles drifted uncontrollably to the side, creating a deadly path for the Porsche.

Johnny's mechanical fingers tapped out the final beat on the steering wheel.

Compared to the off-road vehicles that inevitably slowed down after entering the ice, the Porsche 911 was still at its peak speed. The moment its tires started to slip on the ice, it had already forced its front end between the off-road vehicles that were slipping on the left and right.

The Porsche sliced ​​between the two cars like an ice scalpel, its tires leaving a spiderweb-like pattern of cracks on the ice. Before it could even slip, it was already sandwiched between the SUVs.

The three cars completed a steel kiss in eerie slow motion—the Porsche's front end scraped against the SUVs like a wedge, sliding aside the most threatening front end and embedding itself into the side doors of the two SUVs. Sparks from the metal friction bloomed like fireworks in the icy fog. "Hold on tight!" Johnny suddenly slammed on the handbrake. The Porsche's rear end, propelled by inertia, swung in a perfect arc across the ice, slamming the right SUV against the wall like a heavy punch. The left SUV was flipped over by the force, its already flimsy door, due to modifications, being torn off by the friction, revealing the two carjackers inside.

"Let's get this exciting, guys!" Johnny whistled as he rolled down the window.

The moment the icy fog dissipated, the robbers witnessed an unforgettable scene: in the driver's seat, Andy, dressed in an NCPD uniform, was using his legs to stabilize himself, holding the grimacing Johnny in his left arm, and holding the Constitutional Military "Liberty" pistol horizontally in his right hand, the light shining on the badge reflecting a cold light.

“According to Chapter 7, Section 3 of the Night City Code,” Andy’s voice was colder than a layer of nitrogen ice, “you are suspected of illegal modification, endangering public safety, and attempted assault on a police officer.” He pulled the trigger with the elegance of signing a document.

"Bang! Bang!"

Two bullets pierced precisely through a non-existent car door.

The first shot blew up the car fire extinguisher, and the second shot, amidst the white mist, struck the passenger in the forehead and pierced through the driver's seat next to it. Carl noticed that Andy had deliberately avoided the vehicle's fuel tank—his professionalism was appalling.

After two clean and swift shots, Andy looked through the car window at the other SUV that had been fishtailed and crashed into the wall. In his line of sight, blood was seeping from the gaps in the deformed doors of the other SUV that had crashed into the wall.

Andy commented: "The shoddy crash beams, the substandard airbags, and..." He pointed to the sex-themed advertising chips scattered inside the car, "This junk is more deadly than bullets in a car crash."

"The modifications they made to the vehicle cost them their lives. The doors were probably made too thin for emergency escape and were not shockproof enough. There were also too many miscellaneous devices inside the car, which could easily cause accidental injuries in a car accident."

Carl nodded in agreement with Andy's assessment, while Johnny Silverhand rolled down his window after confirming the damage he had caused to the two SUVs.

“I told you I didn’t need your help,” he glanced at Carl sideways. “My ‘police-community cooperation’ with Mr. Cop is going very well.”

They were just talking about Santo Domingo a moment ago, and now they're cooperating happily with the police?
Johnny, I didn't know you knew how to change faces.

Just as Carl was about to complain, an electronic voice came from the miniature body camera worn in Andy's collar:

"The law enforcement record has been completed in the cloud! Facial recognition has confirmed the identities of the four suspects, and they have been identified as members of the carjacking gang that has recently emerged in Watson District. According to regulations, Officer Andy, for your selfless act, you will be awarded the Night City Police Department Third Class Electronic Medal of Honor. Your merit has been recorded, and you are now eligible to apply for eight hours of administrative leave—"

The mechanical voice changed slightly, "Your actions of posing as a vintage car enthusiast and successfully luring a carjacking gang in Watson District have been reported and may be included in the NCPD's annual classic case."

Johnny Silverhand listened to Andy's report from the recorder. His eyelids in the projection seemed to twitch. He looked at Andy and asked, "When did you report this?"

"From the moment you start driving this car."

Andy said calmly, "I'm a police officer, after all, so I naturally know the possible consequences."

"So, you're using my offer to take you and Karl for a spin?"

Johnny realized something: "So, your comments about my driving skills before were also intentional?"

"No, this is the truth from the people of Santo Domingo. When it comes to driving skills, the people of Santo Domingo don't lie."

As Andy spoke, his body camera continued to emit a voice: "Friendly reminder, according to the latest instructions from the chief: 1. The cordon radius is expanded to three blocks; 2. Drones are deployed to retrieve the vehicle involved; 3. An application is made for the 'Good Samaritan' award for those who assisted."

"The vehicle involved in the incident."

Johnny Silverhand stared wide-eyed at Andy: "Wait a minute, Santo Domingo kid, in my memory, your NCPD's 'blockade' always involves arresting good Samaritans and the vehicles involved. You're not going to include my car in that, are you?!"

Andy slowly changed the magazine on his 'Freedom' pistol: "According to Article 88 of the newly revised Night City Policing Act, those who act bravely in the face of danger are obligated to cooperate with the police in completing their statements, however..."

"but?"

“This matter can be postponed, and according to the latest revised Public Security Administration Law, the assisting personnel can postpone making electronic records.”

"It can be postponed."

"But this car probably can't be driven any further now; you're still driving too roughly."

Andy bypassed Johnny and looked at Carl, seeking his opinion: "So, how about we walk the rest of the way?"

"of course."

Carl pushed open the car door with a hint of ease, as a chilly wind swept into the cabin. "Anyway—" he stretched, "the journey isn't far anymore."

"The road isn't far anymore?" Johnny's prosthetic eye suddenly focused, and only then did he realize that Andy's arm around his waist had always maintained a tactical alert posture, and that Carl's seemingly casual reminders of needing help had always spurred him on to change course.

The memory suddenly rewound like a dream: those cool drifts, those thrilling sharp turns, were all carefully designed navigation traps by these two. They weren't enjoying racing at all; they were putting reins on a wild horse.

“You guys…” Johnny groaned as Andy carried him out of the car, his titanium alloy joints groaning from the strain. He jumped up and down, staring at the two nonchalant bastards in front of him—Karl was still tracing a route on his phone, while Andy was calmly contacting his subordinates.

The sirens of the NCPD could be heard in the distance. Hearing the sirens, Johnny rarely showed a speechless expression: "I'm performing a death race like an idiot, and you two are playing a live navigation game?"

"You chose this yourself."

Carl turned his phone toward him; the screen displayed a map of the tunnels accurate to the meter, with each red line marked with Johnny's 'improvisation'.

“I have to say,” Carl tapped his phone screen, “you always choose the flashiest path.”

(End of this chapter)