chapter 54

..Battle..

Every ACPA (Armored Combat Personal Armor) pilot is taught one vital lesson before stepping into their armor and experiencing its superhuman power: never get so absorbed in your superiority that you ignore smaller, but potentially lethal, threats. Among these threats, grenades and rockets are the most emphasized.

The armor of an ACPA is comparable to that of a main battle tank. However, even tanks can be incapacitated or destroyed when hit by multiple rockets, or worse, a single well-placed, specialized round. Grenades, while less powerful, still demand respect.

So, when the first grenade rolled into view, the ACPA pilot instinctively dodged to the side. But after evading, he noticed something strange—the grenade didn't explode. It simply stopped on the side of the road, sitting idle.

A dud?

That was his first thought. Then, he saw Karl casually toss another grenade toward his position without even glancing.

Weighing his options, the pilot chose to dodge again. Unlike before, he didn't attempt to shoot the grenade mid-air with the heavy machine gun in his hands. The ACPA's perfect evasion reflex, drilled into him through relentless training, took over once more.

But the second grenade also landed harmlessly.

Another dud.

It finally clicked.

The pilot realized Karl was toying with him.

An overwhelming sense of humiliation boiled within him. This wasn't the first time this mercenary had gotten the better of him. Earlier, Karl's shooting had humiliated him. Now, the same man had made him look like a fool again, exploiting his caution with fake grenades.

Just a street mercenary. A lowlife who survives in the dirt, mocking me, an elite!

The pilot fumed. He had climbed the ranks, beaten his peers, and earned the honor of piloting an ACPA. For this mission, his superiors had violated Night City's strict bans to smuggle his ACPA in. He couldn't fail them.

Driven by anger, the pilot abandoned Haruko, who lay gravely injured nearby, assuming she was no longer a threat. He turned his full attention to Karl, who had just disappeared into a nearby building.

Think you can hide behind stone walls? My armor can crush stone like tofu.

The ACPA was a medium-class model, designed for precision strikes on the battlefield. While not as nimble as light armor, it had a significant speed advantage over heavy models. Each step left deep footprints in the concrete as the pilot advanced, calming himself with the assurance of the power at his command.

In his mind, he replayed his earlier mistakes.

He shouldn't have dodged. His armor could have absorbed the grenade blast without issue. He should have stood his ground, withstood the explosion, and torn Karl apart with the machine gun.

But none of this self-reflection included abandoning his reckless need to humiliate Karl.

The pilot's obsession with the ACPA's power was common. Once someone experienced the extraordinary, it was almost impossible to return to being ordinary. This attachment was often left unbroken during training, as exposing the illusion of invincibility often led to dangerous madness.

Karl, meanwhile, had taken shelter inside the building.

The pilot, without hesitation, chose a direct approach.

Crash!

The ACPA barreled through the wall, scattering concrete and debris into the air.

"Sir, you need to register—"

The frightened voice of a receptionist was cut off by the sound of the collapsing wall. The ACPA pilot emerged into the lobby, a wide space of about 800 square meters. Seven staff members in professional attire screamed in terror at the intrusion.

The pilot ignored them. They were insignificant bugs compared to his prey.

Scanning the room, he spotted Karl retreating up a 20-meter escalator leading to the second floor.

Without hesitation, he raised his machine gun and opened fire.

The weapon's 2,000-round-per-minute firing rate unleashed a storm of bullets. The escalator was obliterated in seconds, but amid the twisted metal and crumbling debris, there was no blood or sign of Karl.

He must've slipped away at the last second.

But there was no escape.

The ACPA pilot charged forward, planted his feet, and used the armor's powerful legs to leap directly to the second floor, five meters above.

When he landed, he saw Karl again. But this time, Karl wasn't running.

He was waiting.

As if anticipating the pilot's arrival, Karl lobbed another grenade—this one primed to explode.

Boom!

The explosion rocked the second floor. The pilot's ascent was cut short as the blast sent him hurtling back to the ground.

Dazed but not out, the pilot instinctively aimed his machine gun at Karl and squeezed the trigger.

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..Facing ACPA..

"What's your name?"

Listening to Karl's words, the girl in his arms was silent for a while. Just when Karl suspected that she had fainted from blood loss, she asked in a faint voice, "What's your name?"

"Karl. My name is Karl. You can call me K," he replied, glancing at her. "If you don't have the strength, don't talk. The less you talk, the better your chances of being saved."

"But Karl, you're telling me this now because you want me to say something, don't you?" Her face grew paler, but there was a seriousness to her expression. Then, as if discussing something of great importance, she moved her cherry-red lips and said, "My name is Haruko."

"Haruko?" Karl repeated, noting her seriousness. "That means 'child of a sunny day,' right? Were you born on a sunny day?"

"It doesn't really fit with the gray skies of Night City," Haruko said with a faint smile, a brightness in her expression despite her condition. "Maybe that's why I got hurt."

"Superstition," Karl muttered. He wanted to sound dismissive, but seeing Haruko's pale face, stark against the neon-lit chaos of Night City, he couldn't bring himself to be harsh. "Hold on for a little longer. We'll be there soon."

Karl considered stopping a car to rush Haruko to safety, but the sound of gunfire in the distance made that impossible. The only vehicle he'd seen had sped away the moment the driver heard the shots. No one wanted to stick around near a firefight.

"Damn, everyone's a great driver when they need to be," Karl grumbled.

He couldn't steal a car; not a single one was willing to stop. Still, the Blue Bi Building was only a few hundred meters away. At his pace—about six meters per second—it would take roughly two minutes to get there. Could Haruko hold on that long?

Trauma Team protocols flashed in Karl's mind. If the bullet hadn't hit any vital organs, she should be able to survive for about fifteen minutes. It had been at least seven minutes since the fight began, which left him with about eight minutes to spare.

Plenty of time—unless something went wrong.

Karl regretted not studying the Trauma Team's medical procedures more carefully. He'd focused too much on combat training. If it were Oliver here instead of him, Oliver could have administered first aid on the spot. Karl, on the other hand, didn't dare touch Haruko's wound for fear of making it worse.

That regret faded quickly when Karl saw what stood before him.

If Oliver had been here, he wouldn't have been able to handle this.

A giant figure, standing two and a half meters tall and holding a machine gun, blocked Karl's path.

"Is this... part of the test?" Karl asked dryly, looking down at Haruko.

"Maybe not," she replied, her tone thoughtful. A strange expression crossed her face as she added, "Looks like we're going to die together, Karl."

Karl sighed. "Even though you've got beautiful eyes, I hate corporate lackeys. There's no need for us to die together."

Gently, he placed Haruko by a flower bed, ensuring she was comfortable as she leaned against the green plants. Even in 2075, real greenery could still be found in Night City. Hopefully, the plants wouldn't need a new nutrient supply today.

Karl's hands were steady as he set her down, causing Haruko no extra pain. Once she was secure, he turned his attention to the massive figure standing before him—an ACPA, or Advanced Combat Power Armor.

Karl smiled grimly as he looked at the heavily armed exosuit. "ACPA, huh? So they've really sent one."

The figure didn't immediately attack. Instead, the ACPA's operator seemed to take his time, blocking the path and watching. It was clear this was a deliberate move, letting Karl see hope before snuffing it out.

The pilot raised his weapon but didn't aim it at Karl. Instead, he tapped the barrel of the gun with an armored finger, then gestured to his helmet. That gesture made Karl realize who he was dealing with.

The last time Karl had fought this person, a bullet had passed through the barrel of his weapon and struck his head, causing an explosion. Karl hadn't been able to finish the job back then, and now, this opponent had returned.

"It seems I should've tried harder to kill you last time," Karl muttered.

The ACPA pilot said nothing. He simply raised his machine gun.

Karl knew what was coming next. The pilot enjoyed watching his targets squirm, pretending they had a chance. But Karl wasn't going to stick around for that. The moment the gun began to rise, Karl turned and sprinted.

Running from an ACPA was reckless, but standing and fighting was suicide. With his limited prosthetics, Karl knew he didn't stand a chance.

As he bolted, something rolled across the ground toward the ACPA.

A grenade.

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