"Karl, long time no see."
"Yeah, it's been a while. Where's Saul?"
"Over there on the left—just head on over. He's been totally obsessed with that thing, hasn't left it alone for hours. When you're done, wanna grab a drink? V's been visiting more than anyone else on your crew lately. Hard to catch the rest of you."
"I'd bet that has more to do with Panam than anything. Not today though—maybe another time."
After stepping out of the AV, Karl greeted Mitch—an Aldecaldo friend he'd gotten to know over the past few weeks—and headed in the direction he'd pointed to find Saul.
As he walked through the camp, Karl noticed an NCPD patrol vehicle parked nearby. A cop, clearly off-duty, was kicking back at the Aldecaldos' small camp bar, sharing drinks with some of the nomads. When he noticed Karl, he lifted his glass with the others in greeting.
Karl nodded back.
The Aldecaldos–6th Street–NCPD trade route had been active for nearly six months now. By this point, it was well-established. Everyone involved was making good money and keen to keep it going. When there's profit to be made and stability to preserve, mutual trust comes easy.
Thanks to that shared interest, their relationships had grown surprisingly fast. These days, seeing an NCPD patrol taking a break at the Aldecaldo camp—or nomads getting help from cops in the city—was almost routine. Among all the groups, only 6th Street still kept a bit of distance. Friendly, sure, but not too close. Given their ties to Militech, that cautious stance was probably for the best.
Karl's thoughts drifted to Deputy Commissioner Johnson. Word around the department was that his influence had already surpassed that of the actual commissioner. It was all but guaranteed he'd take the top job once the current one stepped down.
And honestly, it made sense.
Johnson had come from nothing—worked patrol for over a decade in the most thankless, dangerous jobs. He always led from the front, took the hardest assignments, and spent most of his paycheck outfitting his squad. He'd saved forever just to buy himself a long-dreamed-of Militech rifle.
Even after moving up the ranks, he kept the same attitude. Any extra funds went toward better gear for his team or payouts for fallen officers' families. A commander like that—selfless, dependable—had the full loyalty of the department. Way more than some paper-pushing appointee who inherited the commissioner seat just because the last guy dropped dead.
That new guy had started his term by trying to fire half the force and gut their benefits. No one liked him—no surprise there.
But Johnson? He'd lead the charge, feed his team first, and only take leftovers for himself. A boss like that? If people didn't follow him, now that would be strange.
So yeah—NCPD was due for a leadership shuffle soon.
Thinking about Johnson also reminded Karl of how differently NCPD officers had started treating him lately.
It felt... off.
He remembered some of them calling him sir recently. And that just didn't sit right.
Karl had always called people older than him sir out of respect—but being addressed like that by cops who were older than him? It made him uncomfortable.
He wasn't a mob boss. He didn't need that kind of formality. Even if he got it was meant well, it still rubbed him the wrong way.
He just wasn't used to being treated with that kind of deference.
While he mulled that over, he arrived at the armored tent.
This was, without a doubt, the most important spot in the entire Aldecaldo camp. More vital than even the leader's own quarters. Leaders could be replaced—but if their transport rigs went down, the whole tribe could starve.
It was bustling inside. Most of the Aldecaldos here were busy working—but even so, when they saw Karl, they all took a moment to greet him and point him in the right direction.
"Been a while, Karl. How've you been? Saul's inside—go on in. You guys brought some real heavy hardware this time."
"Yeah, been a while. It is a beast of a machine, though I bet it doesn't top your love for armored trucks, right?"
"Well hey—there's stuff we love to death and can't get enough of, and there's stuff that's just so badass you love it no matter what. This one's both. You renting it out? I saw Saul's eyes light up. He'd probably pay top dollar."
"Nope. This one's ours. We're keeping it and tuning it up ourselves. But if you're interested, I might be able to score a drone or two—those'd be more practical for you guys anyway."
"Fair enough. You can talk that over with Saul."
After a few words, they waved him on and got back to work. Karl stepped into the armored tent—five or six meters high and over ten meters long—and saw Saul jump down from the top of a towering piece of machinery.
Just like they'd said, the moment Saul saw Karl, his eyes lit up—like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Fully equipped, heavy-class. Karl, where the hell did you get this? No way this thing's street-legal. You sure you don't want to keep it here? Free of charge—we won't charge you for storage."
"Get lost, Saul."
Watching the normally stoic, tough-as-nails Saul blurt out something so shameless, Karl realized: they'd gotten way too familiar.
He never should've revealed this monster in front of a hardass like Saul.
But then again... no one could resist this thing.
Karl looked up at the machine Saul had jumped from.
It was massive—nearly 2.6 meters tall. Just from the exterior, you could tell how absurdly well-armored it was. Standard grenades or shells wouldn't leave a scratch.
He took a deep breath—air thick with dust and oil—and had to admit, even he was a little starstruck.
"This ACPA? We're keeping it for ourselves."
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