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?"
Arthur let out a dry laugh. "You've arrived at the legendary Stone Ridge Mountain. The great development project that failed before it even began."
He cleared his throat and mimicked a marketing voice. "'Stone Ridge Mountain—affordable luxury without breaking the bank! The first phase now open for reservation! Easy highway access! A strong guarantee of new employment opportunities!'"
David blinked. "Wait, that's... an ad?"
Arthur nodded proudly. "Yup. When your mother and I were dating, that ad was playing non-stop. It was going to be the next big thing. A satellite community just outside Night City. Low prices, high hopes."
"And what happened?"
"Same thing that always happens. Some corpo backed out, funding dried up, and poof—everyone vanished. Well, everyone except the squatters and ghosts."
Arthur looked around at the half-finished homes. "Back then, I almost spent everything I had on a down payment here. Wanted to build a life, y'know? Lucky for me, I got drunk instead and blew the money on a braindance and some joytoys. Best decision I ever made."
David gave him a sidelong glance. "You really are something else."
"I try."
Soon, they reached the outskirts of the Aldecaldos' current camp. It was different from the last time Arthur had visited. Containers had been stacked and repurposed into a makeshift bar. Tents had popped up in organized rows. Despite the haphazard appearance, it was clear this place was built with purpose. There were escape paths, blind zones, sniper nests.
A small fortress, wrapped in dust.
Standing guard near the entrance was Mitch, cradling a massive sniper rifle. The man looked like he'd been carved out of sandstone—lean, weathered, and built for long fights. When he spotted Arthur's car approaching, his expression tensed.
A second figure—Scorpion—raised a rifle and moved into position behind a nearby stack of barrels.
"Hey, buddy," Mitch called out, voice echoing through the dry air. "This ain't a playground. If you've got a death wish, keep driving."
Arthur rolled down his window and casually leaned out. "What? You don't recognize family when you see it?"
Mitch squinted. "No way... You? The lunatic from downtown?"
"The one and only."
"Motherfu—"
Mitch laughed, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "You old bastard. What brings you to our dusty doorstep?"
Arthur opened the door, stepped out, and stretched his arms. "Wanted to see some familiar faces and maybe stir up a little chaos. You know, the usual."
Mitch chuckled. "Still shameless after all these years."
Scorpion relaxed, lowering his rifle. "Well, if it ain't Arthur. We thought you were dead!"
Arthur grinned. "Probably should be, but I'm not."
David climbed out of the passenger side and stood silently beside his father. Mitch noticed and raised an eyebrow.
"Who's the kid?"
Arthur clapped David on the back. "My son."
Mitch did a double-take. "You? A father? And here I thought you were committed to a life of solitude, whiskey, and poor choices."
"Well, I never planned to be a dad. Life happened."
David gave a respectful nod. "Hello, Uncle Mitch."
Mitch scratched his beard, clearly flustered. He patted his jacket pockets, then checked his belt pouch. "Dammit, I don't have anything for a proper gift..."
After a pause, he pulled a round metal object from his belt.
"Here. First time meeting a nephew, I guess this'll have to do."
He placed the object in David's hand.
David looked down.
"...Is this a grenade?"
Mitch shrugged. "Well, yeah. It's defused. Probably. Think of it as symbolic. A memento of how dangerous this place is. If you ever get pinned down by scavvers, pull the pin and die like a legend."
David stared at the grenade.
Arthur was unfazed. "Nice. That's actually pretty generous by Night City standards. My first gift was a rusty .22."
David blinked. "Should I... say thanks?"
Mitch patted him on the shoulder. "Only if you mean it."
David nodded. "Thank you, Uncle Mitch."
Mitch smiled. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. Just don't lose it. Scavvers are always on the lookout."
Arthur leaned in. "I brought him here for a reason. Figured seeing your camp might toughen him up a little."
"Well, you've come to the right place," Mitch said. "This isn't a place for softness. We run drills every other day, and everyone carries—kids included."
David blinked. "Even kids?"
"Especially kids."
Arthur laughed. "Welcome to the real world, son. Where giving a child a grenade is considered bonding time."
David held the weapon delicately, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
Welcome to t
he Badlands.
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