Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 862, Section 72: The Cleaner

Carl always felt that he had a special connection with riding in cars and encountering RPGs. He even wondered if his constitution was such that he would always get bombarded whenever he delivered something.

If such a constitution truly exists, then Carl has decided that he will never accept delivery assignments again from now on.

Whether RPGs pose a threat is debatable. The main issue is who would be bored and bombarded every day? If it's not your own car, it's fine, but if it is, the daily wear and tear on the vehicle could be enough to match the reward for the mission.

The piercing "RPG!" warning arrived almost simultaneously with the intense flames from the rocket's tail.

For a well-trained Ghosthound soldier, the brief flight time was enough to make an evasive maneuver—he jerked the steering wheel and pulled back as far as he could, trying to use the engine compartment and bulletproof structure to protect himself as much as possible. Although it wasn't perfect, there was no way to ask for much more in this short time.

In emergency situations, whether one's life is spared is entirely up to luck.

Compared to the fleeting time of the hounds, this time seemed to stretch out dozens of times for Karl.

His dynamic vision and neural reflexes allowed his brain to complete threat identification, ballistic prediction, and calculation of the optimal evasion route the instant the attacker's shoulder-mounted launcher emitted its first puff of smoke.

As he watched the flames approach, he even had time to reminisce about the past, sigh, and then watch how his teammates avoided them.

After confirming his evasive maneuver, Carl frowned slightly.

'You'll die if you keep doing that.'

Karl extended his hand and subtly adjusted his posture in the brief moment before the hounds noticed, before looking back at the firelight.

Without panic or a large-scale dodge, just before the devastating bullet was about to kiss the bulletproof glass and the outer armor plate, he subtly tilted his body to the right, perhaps less than four centimeters, as if brushed by a gentle breeze. At the same time, his left hand seemingly casually rested on the inside armrest of the passenger door, his wrist lightly pushing against it at an imperceptible angle.

In an instant——

boom!
A deafening explosion suddenly engulfed the entire front of the truck! Even with the protection of the external horizontal armor strips, the reinforced bulletproof glass was instantly covered with spiderweb-like white marks under the terrible impact, and then shattered completely.

The bulletproof steel plate on the driver's side was instantly pierced, and a terrifying shockwave mixed with hot metal fragments swept into the car like a destructive storm!

"Ugh—!"

The driver who was trying to evade was the first to be hit. Even though he was wearing light subcutaneous armor, which absorbed some of the shrapnel and reduced the impact, the destructive force was still far beyond his protection limits.

He was slammed hard against the back of the driver's seat. The armor groaned under the strain, and many of its outer layers instantly charred and cracked. He didn't even have time to utter a sound before his head lolled to the side and he lost consciousness completely. Blood slowly seeped from the gaps in his helmet and from his mouth and nose, but his chest still rose and fell slightly—the armor and a bit of 'luck' from his posture had barely saved his life.

Meanwhile, on Karl's side...

The shockwave from the explosion, carrying scorching metal fragments and glass shards, rushed into the driver's cab, but as if it had a life of its own, it strangely "divered" in front of him.

That perfectly timed four-centimeter sideways movement allowed him to avoid the most deadly path of the shards. Several sharp fragments, hissing as they cut through the air, grazed the edges of his clothing, tearing the seat back beside him to shreds, but only managing to rip his clothes.

A violent jolt and a deafening roar filled the space, and the passenger-side window shattered. But Carl merely swayed slightly with the violent jolting of the vehicle, as if he were only passing through a slightly bumpy section of road. He even had the leisure to raise his right hand to shield his eyes from the flying shards of glass—a composed, even slightly disdainful, gesture.

"A bit noisy."

Admittedly, the roar caused by a close-range RPG explosion is the most unpleasant. If the vehicle hadn't been somewhat protected in this regard, Karl felt he might have experienced the shock of being hit on the head with a sledgehammer.

The aftershocks of the explosion had not completely dissipated, and the cockpit was filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder, burnt metal, and a faint smell of blood. But Karl had already slowly lowered his hand, his gaze sweeping over his unconscious and seriously injured teammates beside him, and then looking through the cracked windshield at the street in front of him that had been temporarily halted by the explosion.

His eyes were calm and unwavering as he casually pulled out a 'Power Healer' from his waist—a perk of being a member of the Ghost Hounds guarding the armory, or rather, a convenience brought about by the 'necessary' resource consumption.

Without the slightest hesitation, Carl raised his hand and injected the medication into his teammate next to him.

"Not bad driving skills." His voice was steady, as if he were making a comment. "At the last moment, when facing the RPG, when you instinctively steered to avoid it, you actually subconsciously steered the driver's side towards the impact—"

“Whether you panicked and turned in the wrong direction or not,” Karl said calmly, gazing at the other’s pale profile, “at least you saved me the trouble of calculating the trajectory.”

If this saves him some effort, then for Carl, who likes to slack off, his life might be saved.

Karl had originally planned to deflect a piece of the incoming shrapnel to alter the trajectory of the other fragments and ensure his safety. However, thanks to the initiative of the Ghost Hound pilot, most of the explosive force was directed towards the pilot, saving Karl some trouble.

"Then let's consider it as getting revenge for you. I happen to have a reason to deliver this job, so let me see who dares to pick up the goods."

Karl's gaze swept over the cheering figures in the distance. They were approaching with various weapons in hand, clearly believing they had successfully disabled the vehicle and were about to come over.

Since they didn't intend to completely destroy the vehicle, their goal was likely to steal the cargo rather than simply a malicious hostile attack.

Was it a chance attack?
Just as he was thinking this, Carl noticed a symbol on the group of people.

A mark that only appears in Dogtown, on a certain faction.

As for which faction it is.
"It seems that it's not just about helping you get revenge and incidentally completing the transport; I also have my own reasons for taking action."

Karl smiled at his unconscious teammate beside him, then his eyes instantly turned cold.

In this city, he has a few taboos, and he is someone who will absolutely kill anyone who comes near him.

First, there's a certain banned drug; second, there's the power structure in front of us.

Scavenger.

That bastard who had his kidneys removed!
(End of this chapter)