Joanne saw these nomads as neither mysterious nor noble. They were no different from any criminal gang—calling them a gang was already giving them too much credit.
Joanne believed this group of drifters was nothing more than a bunch of anarchists wandering along the edge of civilization, a mob that worshiped violence.
She believed the nomads had been born from their refusal to accept the conveniences of modernization, which had led them down the road of bloody rebellion.
In her view, these outsiders who had come to Night City from California, or even farther away, and lived in rusty trucks and trailers had chosen filth and squalor of their own accord.
Their convoys transported weapons and supplied food for Mega Corporations through plunder.
She paranoically believed that every nomad was a murderer or rapist with irrefutable guilt.
They would kill for money, taking on the bloodiest, most vicious jobs that no one else was willing to accept.
It was precisely because she held the nomads in such contempt that Joanne used them as test subjects.
Even after causing the deaths of dozens of people, she still felt not the slightest remorse.
"Make him disappear from my sight. Looking at this trash makes my whole body uncomfortable."
"Yes."
The driver suddenly honked several times.
The Armored SUV's horn released a shrill noise.
Its intent to drive him away was unmistakable.
But whether that "nomad" was deaf or what, no one knew.
He neither overtook the convoy nor fell behind.
Instead, he maintained the same speed as the convoy from beginning to end.
"Forget it. Since he doesn't want to leave, let him stay. He won't be going anywhere. Just kill him directly. This is the Badlands, after all. Killing someone here won't cause any trouble."
Killing someone in the city still