"Heard the higher-ups are supposed to send us a batch of new gear..."
Garcia slowly slid his chair over until he was beside Mark, then leaned back and spoke.
Mark gave him a disdainful look. the moment Garcia finished.
"You actually buy that? Oh, right—those bigwig saints upstairs will technically give us new gear, but who knows what the quality's gonna be."
He exaggerated a dramatic expression, then dropped it and went back to sorting through his paperwork.
Garcia scratched his head. Thinking about it again, yeah… that was usually how it went.
Every time the city government approved funding or sent down new equipment, the chief took his cut first. Then the deputy chief. Then the department heads and supervisors.
Only after that would a few squad leaders get something—and only "a few," because some refused to play along.
And the final result? Regular officers got nothing. No equipment. No money. Nothing.
"See? This is our Night City. This is what those guys upstairs do for us—hand out new gear so I can work overtime? Not happening."
Mark rolled his eyes and pulled out a map marked with Night City's layout. Only this one was covered edge to edge with crime markers—missing persons, homicides, kidnappings, the works.
"And every now and then we get a gang firefight on top of it. My god. And they want us to stop that? I swear those clowns upstairs had their brains sucked out by a toilet."
Garcia shrugged. Here he goes again—but none of it was wrong. Hardly any NCPD officer wanted to get involved in gang shootouts.
Those gang members were full of cyberware, with firepower that often outgunned the cops.
Meanwhile, regular officers had nothing but a bulletproof vest and a handgun. With their tiny monthly salary and zero support from above, it was best not to go looking for trouble.
Unless the higher-ups felt like giving them Counter-Terrorism Unit equipment—then Night City's crime rate wouldn't be a problem at all.
Just as Garcia was about to end the conversation and finish the rest of today's cleanup work, a sudden commotion spread through the station.
"What now?"
He leaned out and looked toward the entrance, asking a colleague standing nearby.
"Heard the new gear's here—and apparently it's serious this time, not that joke stuff."
"For real?"
Garcia stared at him in disbelief.
"No idea. But checking it out beats sitting here doing boring paperwork."
The man bolted toward the entrance.
"What's going on?" Mark poked his head out.
Garcia explained the situation, and Mark's expression turned suspicious.
"Alright, let's go take a look."
Soon, officers all over the station were leaning out windows, watching the scene outside. Chief Terrison was talking to a man in a Night Corp uniform.
Terrison kept nodding and bowing—making promises, by the look of it. Then truck after truck opened their cargo doors, and rows of fully equipped Campbell II intelligent security robots rolled out.
The officers were stunned, clearly not expecting anything on this scale.
"Hey, no way—are we actually getting upgraded gear?"
"I bet it's for the special response teams. Nothing to do with us."
Two officers whispered to each other. After all, NCPD had different policing units.
Terrison began directing personnel to set up the robots outside, then walked toward the station building.
The officers immediately retreated, eyes down, minds elsewhere.
Terrison didn't care. After clearing his throat, he announced:
"These are military support units provided to NCPD by Night Corp and PROJECT Corporation. The robots outside are PROJECT Corporation's intelligent security units. Another shipment of PROJECT Corporation firepower weapons is still en route and should arrive tomorrow.
I'm telling you this because your equipment will be updated soon. The Campbell II units will join your patrol teams—one Campbell robot paired with three officers. Someone will brief you on the details later."
With that, Terrison headed back to his office.
The station went silent for a split second—then exploded into chatter.
"No way! We actually got funding?!"
"These things aren't here to replace us… right?"
"Bet our workload's about to go up."
"At least it'll be safer than before. I've seen some of PROJECT Corporation's weapons."
...
The uproar at NCPD had nothing to do with Roland, who had just arrived in Agas City.
"Sir, we've reached Agas City."
Hearing the announcement, Roland glanced at the smiling, gold-bright flight attendant in front of him and gave a simple nod.
He really wanted to complain about the bizarre aesthetic—full-body brass cyberware mods? Was that supposed to look good?
But he didn't dwell on it. Stepping off the plane, he immediately noticed how different this place was from Night City. The airport wasn't nearly as high-tech.
After leaving the airport, Roland squinted against the light. The entire cityscape was nothing like Night City.
The streets lacked the usual types of people, replaced instead by figures in punk jackets and bandanas. Even the architecture had a different style.
He scanned the area and spotted his contact.
"You must be Mr. Vimers? I'm the staff assigned to receive you. You can call me D."
A silver-skinned man dressed like a butler approached him with a pleasant smile.
"Mm. Take me to the hotel."
"Of course. This way, please."
D nodded, gestured invitingly, and held a hand above the car door.
Roland's expression twitched slightly. He'd just been wondering which would hurt more—hitting the man's hand or hitting the car frame…
For now, he needed to settle into the hotel—then meet the mayor tomorrow and get a read on the situation in Agas City.