Chapter 119: It’s Normal to Give Grenades to Children!
The Badlands might look like a godforsaken wasteland to some, but to others, it had its own rugged charm.
If you were lucky enough to hitch a ride behind an armed convoy, the trip could even become scenic. The wide-open desert stretched endlessly into the horizon, dotted with the occasional Joshua tree or jagged hill. Here and there, skeletons of old oil fields rusted in the wind, and mountains of garbage loomed like brown glaciers on the skyline.
Crumbling asphalt roads crisscrossed the land like veins, some partially buried under dunes, others cracked and sun-bleached beyond recognition.
Off in the distance—when the wind wasn't choking you with dust—you could still catch a glimpse of Night City. Skyscrapers glittered in the haze. Holographic ads blinked like angry gods watching from a distance. From this far out, the city looked like a dream. But up close, that dream was a nightmare.
A beautiful, flashing, blood-slicked nightmare.
David sat quietly in the passenger seat, gazing out the window as Arthur drove. His mood had finally recovered. Whatever internal storm had shaken him earlier had passed, or maybe it had simply settled into a dull simmer.
He seemed to have inherited Arthur's resilience—his ability to rebound from the weight of it all.
Arthur glanced at his son, then back at the road. "You know," he said, "on days like this, the view out here almost makes you forget how bad Night City stinks."
David chuckled faintly and nodded, eyes following the sweep of wind over the sand.
They passed through what looked like a ghost town—a half-constructed suburb frozen in time. Concrete shells of homes sat lifeless under the sun. Cracked windows, missing doors, sand piling up in the corners.
David furrowed his brow. "This place looks... new. Or at least it was new. Why did everyone just leave?"