[NCPD Dispatcher: Cyberpsycho sighting in Haywood.]
[NCPD Dispatcher: Multiple corporate facilities in Santo Domingo report suicide-style terror attacks.]
[NCPD Dispatcher: Haywood status code updated.]
"Breaking news—terror elements identified as 'Midnight Drop' have carried out suicide attacks against civilians, primarily targeting small and mid-sized business owners and corporate management."
"Analysis suggests dissatisfaction with corporate policy and management structures. Under extremist influence, these individuals adopted anti-capitalist ideology."
"This threat is escalating and must be met with decisive force."
"Choose Arasaka Security Services. We provide 24/7 comprehensive protection. Should contract failure occur, compensation coverage exceeds one hundred million eddies."
"WNS News continues live coverage of this unfolding urban security crisis."
NCPD was scrambling. Midnight Drop's coordinated suicide detonations weren't part of anyone's race-day projections.
But honestly? NCPD mostly complained for form's sake.
Anyone with half a brain knew: employees hiring muscle to hit their own bosses wasn't exactly rare in Night City—especially in smaller corps.
Got eddies to open a company, but not to hire security?
Then getting robbed was practically a performance review.
NCPD's fate was to hustle in circles over incidents like these—busy all day, unclear what was actually accomplished.
NCPD couldn't contain it.
The corps didn't see it as a problem either.
At least one corp was definitely pleased.
Arasaka.
Arasaka sold small-scale security contracts. Their brand promise was simple: buy their protection, get elite coverage. If they failed, they paid out. Sometimes they retaliated afterward.
That's how the corporate war with Militech had escalated in the first place.
Militech dominated heavy military contracting and industrial armament.
Private security? Arasaka was still the uncontested king.
Urban chaos wasn't a liability to them.
As long as the dead weren't clients, it was market expansion.
[Songbird: I thought those three were confident there wouldn't be complications?]
[Stout: I don't know… but based on my understanding of him, this may also be within projection parameters.]
[Stout: He built Militech a massive advertisement. By his usual style, he'll provide counterbalance incentives to our competitors too.]
[Songbird: So he's baiting two megacorps with a bone tied to a fishing line?]
Stout hesitated.
Because that was exactly what was happening.
And she knew she was technically complicit.
But the agent whose clearance level Stout couldn't even query didn't press.
Instead, she began correlating data streams.
[Songbird: High-frequency EMP. Targeted. That output could potentially induce neural disruption at range.]
[Songbird: Honestly… the fact that the vehicle is still mobile is anomalous.]
[Songbird: Considering electromagnetic suspension, magnetic locking plates, and integrated precision electrical control architecture—it should have ignited.]
[Songbird: Our engineers confirm the design includes layered EMP mitigation protocols. Installing those on such a complex system is non-trivial.]
[Songbird: Reboot time is significantly lower than current benchmark platforms. In fact… degradation appears minimal. Strange. Electromagnetic suspension has defaulted to mechanical spring mode, and primary drive motors should be compromised.]
[Songbird: Maintaining stability under these conditions… statistically improbable. Not human.]
[Songbird: Active defense micro-munitions. Locking array is unfamiliar. Similarity index suggests possible overlap with the California border checkpoint incident—Kang Tao derivative tech?]
[Stout: I don't know.]
[Songbird: …Oh?]
The tone made Stout's scalp prickle.
But Songbird returned to silent analysis.
Her conclusions diverged sharply from the regional PR manager's perspective.
Which was fine.
Then a previously silent voice joined the channel.
[Special Operations Commander "Executioner": Prepare defensive grid. If they cross the perimeter line, open fire immediately.]
From here onward, route selection became delicate.
The current artery could run straight into Corporate Plaza.
If Leo failed to turn at the next intersection—or if some hot-headed gangster surged past the agreed safety boundary—
Escalation would become unavoidable.
On the roof of Militech Tower, the Special Operations Commander stood beside an AV door, watching the tide of wreckage and steel surge through the avenue below.
Inside the AV sat a man wearing NCPD uniform insignia.
An unusual pairing.
Why was MaxTac cozy with Militech?
"How long has it been since you were back in Night City? Nostalgic?" the NCPD commander asked.
The woman in the combat jacket smiled faintly.
"A bit. Reminds me of the old corp-gang urban conflicts."
"It's not the same," he said quietly.
She didn't respond.
From her perspective, it was familiar enough.
If anything, current gang firepower was weaker than what she'd seen in her prime.
She could already visualize the outcome:
The three headline instigators self-destruct.
Gangs overstep.
Corporations escalate purges.
She leads tactical extraction.
Case closed.
Militech didn't hesitate when something interested them.
And from the looks of it—heavy armor deployments, fortified positions, elevation advantages—
Her real adversary tonight might not be those three.
It might be the Europeans backing the hardware.
But then something unexpected happened.
The local gangs' scrap-metal convoy slammed through the European mercenary formations.
Mercs scattered.
Some even triggered cyberpsychosis episodes under pressure.
The makeshift fleet stayed intact—not disciplined, but cohesive.
Corporate Plaza's high-rise observation decks were full of executives watching.
To them, it was a spectacle.
These street idiots were noisy.
They couldn't threaten fortified corporate defense lines.
If they crossed the perimeter—
NCPD armor was staged.
MaxTac Scorpion AVs were ready.
One surge forward would restart a full anti-gang purge.
Through reinforced glass, Leo saw the MaxTac commanders readying their posture, subtle grins forming.
You can turn.
Can your mob?
The Mackinaw's horn blasted twice.
Big Barley amplified it into a seismic siren.
The truck swerved into the Westbrook corridor.
The Valentinos followed.
Not one crossed the perimeter.
Instead, they lay on their horns.
The noise pierced the acoustic insulation.
Lower-grade residential towers vibrated.
Corporate observers scowled.
Street-level kids grinned.
Both sides believed they'd won.
NCPD exhaled.
MaxTac lost a chance to vent.
Leo had never been watching them.
He'd been watching the towers behind them.
Someone up there was watching back.
The Militech Special Operations Commander adjusted her evaluation.
Not a single perimeter violation.
The MaxTac commander stood.
"This is why we don't issue warrants on them."
She nodded.
"Not MaxTac's target. Still a New United States jurisdiction."
[Executioner: Update assessment file.]
The horns echoed around Corporate Plaza.
Corporate employees loathed it.
Yet some, deep down, had a thought:
What if I could ditch this desk and floor it through the city like that?
What if I could ram someone into the asphalt and force them to admit I'm right?
But the Emperor wasn't panicking.
So the eunuchs endured.