Chapter 45: Ambush

"Where are we now?"

Jack had been on edge ever since leaving the Arasaka Waterfront.

He was ready for an ambush at any moment—but the waiting was the worst part.

"We've entered North Watson Industrial Zone."

Oliver sat in the driver's seat, hands gripping the wheel, trying to calm his nerves.

"Right now, we're passing through the old abandoned apartment blocks. The convoy's slowing down—lead car just radioed in. Apparently, the road's blocked by random junk. They're sending guys to clear it."

"You think we'll get hit here?"

"No idea. But I do know this shit ain't random. Get ready. Mann—crack the door open a bit. At this speed, we're sitting ducks. If things go south, we bail."

"KK, you're saying we're gonna get hit this fast?"

Mann gave a stiff smile, adjusting his sunglasses.

"Motherfucker, can they at least let us breathe first?"

"Maybe I'm just paranoid—"

But before Carl could finish, something flared in his peripheral vision.

A red spark—flickering on the fifth floor of a nearby building.

His enhanced reflexes kicked in, and he snapped his eyes toward it.

And what he saw made his stomach drop.

He knew that shape.

Even before coming to 2075, Carl would've recognized that silhouette instantly.

"RPG!"

[RPG: Rocket-Propelled Grenade]

A portable anti-tank launcher capable of obliterating lightly armored vehicles.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

An ambush right out the gate?!

What kind of final boss was so scared of the hero that they just camped the goddamn entrance?!

Carl's brain raced through calculations—the rocket's trajectory, the blast radius, and the damage spread.

The math was brutal.

The rocket was set to impact ten meters ahead of their vehicle.

And in 2075, most RPG models had a fifteen-meter lethal radius.

The Alvarado—luxurious but not bombproof—would not withstand the blast.

Sitting inside?

Instant death.

No time to think.

Carl threw open the door, vaulted out, and rolled away from the detonation zone.

His body moved on pure instinct, executing a maneuver he had learned in a Braindance combat sim.

[Explosive Evasion Technique]Face away from the blast.Drop flat on the ground.Cross arms, hands flat against chest.Tuck chin between biceps, close eyes & mouth.Extend legs, point toes downward.Stop breathing— shockwaves rupture lungs.

"BOOM!"

A deafening explosion tore through the air—so loud it felt like it was ripping apart reality itself.

For a second, Carl couldn't hear a damn thing—just the high-pitched ringing of ruptured eardrums.

But beneath the chaos, he caught the unmistakable sound of twisting metal—

"Screeeeeech!"

The Alvarado's massive frame absorbed the brunt of the explosion.

It didn't flip over, but the entire front end had been crushed, warped into an unrecognizable shape—

A twisted mass of steel and burning wreckage.

"Damn."

If Carl could actually see it, he probably would've laughed and called it "popcorn art."

"Ptuh! Ptuh!"

Jack spat out dust and grit, shaking his head.

"Hijo de puta! They didn't even wait—we just left the fucking door!"

Carl's warning had come just in time.

Jack barely had the reflexes to react—unlike Carl, he didn't pull off any combat drill-style evasions, but his subdermal armor and naturally durable physique meant he avoided serious injury.

Now covered in dust, Jack lifted his head beside Carl.

"Shit... we need cover, fast."

Mann, on the other hand, had been the first to react.

Thanks to Carl's earlier call, he had cracked open his door beforehand—when the RPG hit, he bailed instantly.

Now, he was in position, crouched behind the car's trunk, clutching his heavy weapon, scanning the area through his cybernetic optics, searching for the attackers.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Compared to the others, Oliver got the worst of it.

Being in the driver's seat, he had no reaction time—not to mention, he didn't have Carl's reflexes or Jack & Mann's armor.

When the blast hit, he got shredded.

A piece of shrapnel, still searing hot, had lodged itself deep into his right arm.

Blood poured out.

"Motherfucker—"

Oliver clenched his wounded arm against his side, pinning it between his ribs and his armpit.

With his good hand, he pulled out medical gauze, yanked the shrapnel out with his thumb and forefinger, and pressed down hard to stop the bleeding.

His face twisted with rage.

But it wasn't just about the injury.

[Militech Revitanol] - Rapid-Acting Medical Stimulant

*Inject to accelerate clotting & temporarily suppress pain.

"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL WHOEVER SHOT THAT ROCKET!"

Oliver roared, voice boiling over with fury.

"I just bought that gun—spent everything I had to modify it. My brand-new fucking rifle—I DIDN'T EVEN GET TO FIRE A SINGLE SHOT!"

When the RPG struck, Oliver had barely managed to escape—his SOR-22 precision rifle?

Left behind in the wreck.

A weapon he had saved up for, spent weeks upgrading, a gun that had never even fired a round in combat—now, completely obliterated in a single blast.

His anger was justified.

"No worries. I'll handle it."

Carl stood up.

The RPG attack hadn't been random—they weren't the main target.

The convoy had been the bait.

Their vehicle was just collateral damage—pure luck had saved them.

But that didn't mean the bastards upstairs would live.

Carl's eyes locked onto the apartment complex where the rocket had been fired from.

"Jack, Mann—take Oliver, find a secure position, and coordinate with the other mercs.*

"I'll deal with the guys upstairs."

Without waiting for a response, Carl rushed toward the building.

Watching his retreating back, Mann finally understood.

Back when Carl had said "You'll understand when the fight starts", Mann hadn't known what he meant.

Now he did.

"So this fucker's a lone wolf..."

A lone wolf that also gives orders.

"Well, this is gonna be interesting."