Chapter 255

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They had arranged massive trailers around the perimeter like walls and laid laser mines outside the camp. Up high, sentries were stationed, standing watch. The moment they saw the camp, the sentries inside had already noticed them too.

"Just stop here," Panam stepped off the vehicle. "I'll go talk to them. You guys stay in the car."

The group waited a short while outside the camp. Two people emerged from within. One of them was heavily bald, his left arm replaced with a cybernetic prosthetic—not the kind that boosted strength like a gorilla arm, but clearly a combat-grade implant nonetheless. The other wore a hood, looking from a distance like he had wandered out of an Assassin's Creed set.

As soon as the hooded man spotted Panam, he burst out laughing. "Yo, what kind of wind blew the big shot back home?"

The bald man followed with a laugh. "Hahaha, is this a person or a ghost? Or did I just not sober up yet?"

Panam greeted them in her own colorful way. "Heh, fuck off."

After exchanging fist bumps with the two, the hooded man turned to the Delamain cab trailing behind and his tone shifted. "Panam, you in trouble?"

"No, I'm not. They're my backup."

The bald man's tone eased up. "Not bad, Panam. You've only been in the city a short time and already made some friends."

"It's not like you think. The situation's complicated. Hard to explain in just a few words," Panam said, scratching her head.

"I remember when you left the clan, you weren't driving this ride. Don't tell me you traded your sweet wheels for some friends?"

"No. My car got hacked. Done in by the Wraiths. We're on our way to settle the score. Mitch, Scorpion, I need your help."

Mitch, the bald one, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "You know I've got your back, no need to say it. But…"

Scorpion, the hooded one, picked up where Mitch left off. "But right now, it's not that simple."

Panam had never been the patient type. Seeing her two old friends hesitate like this, she stopped pretending and laid her cards on the table. "Let's be straight—are you helping or not?"

Mitch sighed. "The old man told us to stay put. Lately, we've been stuck fixing busted generators, scavenging batteries."

"Generators? You serious? This is about some piece-of-shit generators?" Panam paced like an angry little wildcat, arms crossed. "Don't tell me Saul's the one who told you to stay out of this. Do you guys still even see me as family?"

Scorpion understood the friction between Panam and Saul, so he didn't blame her for reacting this way. He reminded her calmly, "This isn't about Saul. I'm talking about the clan. Don't bite the wrong guy."

Mitch flicked the unfinished cigarette onto the ground and crushed it underfoot. "Listen. We can't leave camp. No way. But… Saul never said we couldn't loan you some gear."

Panam fell quiet for a moment, understanding that this was the furthest Mitch and Scorpion could go. The clan had its rules, and everyone had to follow them. If Saul didn't permit them to leave and they went anyway, they could end up like Panam—cast out. Life in the Badlands was hard, but surviving in the city wasn't much easier. Besides, Mitch and Scorpion weren't like her—Saul still accepted them.

Seeing the situation, Panam didn't push it any further. "Alright, fine. I want your sniper rifle, and I'll grab my own gear."

"Maybe it's better if you wait here. If Saul sees you, he'll blow a fuse. I'll go grab your stuff with Scorpion."

…

A short while later, Mitch and Scorpion returned. Mitch carried a kinetic sniper rifle in his arms, and Scorpion lugged a heavy gear case.

"Here—your stuff. And this is my sniper. Take care of it, Panam."

They loaded the gear into the vehicle.

"Don't worry, I will. I… I'll get going. Won't stick around to get on your nerves."

Panam scratched her head. The atmosphere had gotten heavy. She was never good at dealing with this kind of scene and instinctively wanted to get away. Mitch and Scorpion smiled at her like they were watching their bratty little sister.

"Go on, give us a call sometime."

"Take care of yourself out there."

…

Panam got back in the vehicle, started it up, and turned around, heading toward Rocky Ridge. The Delamain cab carrying Leo and the others followed behind.

No one spoke along the way. Only the wind howled across the open desert, rattling the Joshua trees. Sand swept across the wasteland. In terrain like this, riding a motorcycle would leave you caked in dust without fail.

"Panam, you and your clan leader don't get along?"

"What? What kind of nonsense is that?"

Panam instinctively tried to deflect.

"You didn't even dare go into the camp. They had to bring your stuff out to you."

Panam let out a breath of frustration. "If Saul sees me, he won't have anything nice to say."

"Saul… he's your clan's leader?"

"No, he's their leader."

"What happened between you guys?"

Panam arched a brow. "Is now really the time for this conversation?"

"It's a forty–fifty-minute drive to Rocky Ridge. You'll get bored if we don't talk. But if you don't feel like chatting, I won't push you."

Panam sighed deeply. Maybe it was because Leo and the others had offered help that she didn't keep her guard up like before. Or maybe she just needed to vent.

"We moved out here because Saul promised to change things, to give the clan a better life."

"But you've seen it yourself. Just a couple of tents in a pile of sand. A better life? What a fucking joke."

In the early 21st century, Juan Aldecaldo founded the Aldecaldos. An immigrant, he delivered a fiery, passionate speech to the media, mourning the death of his son in a gang crossfire. He expressed grief over the collapse of America, and his pain resonated with thousands who felt the same.

The Aldecaldos began in Los Angeles, but during the Collapse, Juan led a large caravan of nomads south to Mexico. There, with the help of other tribes, they rebuilt Mexico City and gained fame. After Juan died, the clan carried his ashes back to California and buried him in his homeland.

For three generations after, the Aldecaldos were led by the Santiago faction. Today, they're one of the most well-known nomad groups on the West Coast. They never settle in one place, traveling constantly with their convoys from one camp to another. Panam's clan was one branch of the Aldecaldos. Saul had led them to the outskirts of Night City, hoping to give his people a better life.

Unfortunately, things hadn't gone as hoped.

"I wanted to make a difference. But Saul's just a coward with no balls. I'll say it straight—if we rely on him, the clan's doomed."

"You really don't hold back, do you?"

Leo could understand Panam's frustration. It was that classic question—better a lion leading sheep or a sheep leading lions?

He himself had once been a nomad. Not for long, but long enough to know the difference between a wise leader and a foolish one was night and day.

That former clan leader, whose name Leo had nearly forgotten, had made the disastrous decision to attack the Snake Nation's convoy. That brought Snake Nation's retaliation. It led to their downfall and eventual absorption.

It wasn't just him—previous Bakker clan leaders had made similar mistakes. Back when Serita Bakker was in charge, the family was strong. But her successors quickly squandered their supplies, broke pacts with other clans, and dragged the Bakkers into ruin. In the end, Snake Nation swallowed them whole.

Leo didn't have deep feelings for the Bakker clan, so he could speak about it calmly. But for elders like McCoy who had strong emotional ties, that loss probably hurt deeply.

As for Saul, Panam's current clan leader—Leo knew nothing about him. But if what Panam said was true, then their clan really was in trouble.

Seeing Panam still fuming, Leo shifted the topic.