"Gotta say, the gangs in L.A. are really packing heat." The KK team crowded around the bar's narrow window, watching the scene unfold outsid
"Gotta say, the gangs in L.A. are really packing heat."
The KK team crowded around the bar's narrow window, watching the scene unfold outside. Everyone looked impressed.
What caught Karl's attention were the weapons the so-called Gear Crew members were wielding. These L.A. gangers were modified to a level rivaling Maelstrom, and nearly all of them carried high-end weaponry—luxurious enough to compete with even the Tyger Claws.
"Ajax rifles... I remember Johnson deliberated forever before getting just one of those. And these guys? Practically standard issue. Guess that's what you get when you're in a city with New American troops stationed nearby—military-grade weapons are everywhere."
Karl's gaze scanned over their cyberware and gear.
"Not a single one looks second-hand. Give them a bit of training, and you could toss them into New America's army as elite assault squads."
"More than that," Oliver added, clearly the most knowledgeable about New America's military.
"The way the Gear Crew moves and fights—it's textbook New American Army tactics. I'd bet good eddies they've been training for this since childhood. If the army wanted to recruit them, all they'd need is a little polish and discipline."
"So what you're saying is… the Gear Crew's backed by the New American military?"
"Makes sense," V chimed in.
"This is frontline territory between Militech and Arasaka. Training up your own people sounds pretty logical."
It was a simple truth.
Unlike the chaotic tangle of companies, factions, and gangs that defined Night City, L.A.—run by the New American military—only had one power on top: Militech. Anyone surviving in this city was either supported by them, or at the very least, tolerated.
"So who are the guys on the other side?" Jack asked, nodding toward the group currently fighting the Gear Crew.
They were nearly twice in number and size, with little visible cyberware—just bulging muscles and thick subdermal plating.
"Animals?"
"Pebbles," the bartender said, finishing up the microwave steaks.
"That's the other half of what young people here turn into."
"Wait, you mean..." Oliver blinked, recalling what the bartender had said earlier about spotting them as outsiders.
"You're telling me that in this city, young people either become full-on cyberpsychos or meatheads?"
"Welcome to Los Angeles," the bartender snorted.
"Now you've seen it for yourself. A city where every young person ends up consumed by either chrome or flesh. Around here, there's no such thing as a middle ground."
He placed the plates on the counter.
"These poor bastards might not see it, but I do. You lot—aside from the guy with the buzzcut—you're clearly not nomads. I don't care where you're from, but take my advice: leave. This ain't Night City, and it ain't like the rest of New America either. This is L.A.—a dead city with barely 300,000 people left, where every young punk is busy chasing muscles or metal. It's pathetic."
"Three hundred thousand...?"
Karl remembered what he'd read about L.A. Once, it had over four million residents. Now, not even one-tenth remained—and the youth were all fighting to become monsters of steel or flesh?
"Why?"
Karl turned and asked, but the bartender didn't answer. Instead, he tapped the counter and pointed at the steak.
The message was clear: you want answers, you pay.
Without hesitating, Karl spoke the code phrase from the intel.
"Wildcard. At ease."
"...Huh?"
The bartender blinked, surprised. Then his expression turned serious.
"So you're not just curious passersby. You're here for something important."
He reached behind the counter and, with the sound of gunfire and shouting echoing outside, pulled out a bottle of rum and poured himself a glass.
"Alright. I don't know how you got that phrase, but rules are rules. If you know the password, you get five pieces of intel for free. That last bit about the gangs? On the house. I'm not refunding your steak though. You want to count your last question as your first freebie?"
"Of course," Karl nodded.
Sure, maybe they could get this info elsewhere, but the contact had specifically sent them to this bar. That meant the intel here was probably top-tier. Worst case, they'd just pay for more after using up the freebies.
Besides, Karl wasn't eating—but his teammates were always happy to shove weird food in their mouths.
"Alright then. Here's number one," the bartender said after a sip of rum.
"The reason's simple. In this city, the youth live by a single rule."
"A rule?"
"The moment mankind picked up the first stone, the gears of war began to turn. These kids—they are those gears. Always spinning."
"Stones and gears..." Karl muttered.
"So that's where Pebbles and Gear Crew get their names. But what do they have to do with war?"
"This is the frontline of New America," the bartender said, downing the rest of his drink.
"Whether they've got ambition or not, the youth here are pushed and pulled by the government and corporations. They all train for war. And this ruined city—Los Angeles—it's the testing ground. Only the best get selected to become the nation's 'honored' soldiers or corporate enforcers."
"They turned a city of 300,000 into a proving ground?" Oliver asked, doing some mental math.
New America had claimed that 20% of its population were youths—a figure of questionable accuracy, but let's assume it was true.
That meant 60,000 young people.
Sixty thousand potential conscripts.
For comparison: even the largest gang in Night City, the Valentinos, had only around 6,000 members. All the city's gangs combined barely reached 20,000, maybe 50,000 tops if you counted hangers-on. That was out of a population of seven million—roughly one in 140.
And here, in a ruined city of 300,000?
They had 60,000.
"New America basically built a military boot camp right on Arasaka's doorstep," Oliver muttered.
By treaty, neither Militech nor Arasaka could bring large-scale military units or heavy weapons directly into Night City. But L.A.? That was just down the road.
If war broke out, the frontline New American troops wouldn't just deploy immediately—they'd bring 60,000 cannon-fodder recruits with them.
And considering New America's total standing army hovered around a million...
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