"Citizens, please believe in the policies of our city council..."
Lucius Raines' voice droned endlessly through the plaza, and Karl—standing in his NCPD uniform for over half an hour—was starting to nod off.
Honestly, few things were more sleep-inducing than a dry, repetitive political speech full of recycled slogans.
But before Karl's eyes could fully close, something caught his attention—a lone figure pushing slowly through the crowd.
Dressed plainly, the man might've blended in… if it weren't for the clear signs of heavy cyberware beneath his clothes. Karl focused on him and recognized exactly who he was waiting for.
Peter Horsva.
The name popped into Karl's HUD via his connection to the NCPD network.
A seemingly average Night City citizen with a criminal record. He'd done time—and ever since getting out, he'd become a vocal critic of Mayor Raines, calling him an Arasaka lapdog, denouncing his empty promises, and swearing revenge for betraying the people.
Sure, what Horsva was saying wasn't entirely wrong. But he was just another angry citizen—one of many. Nobody had taken his threats seriously.
Until now.
Today, Peter Horsva had the means to act on his words.
His cyberware wasn't anything a regular guy could afford—definitely not someone like Peter, who had worked market stalls to scrape by. Full chrome arms and legs, each gleaming with polished alloy. Embedded beneath the arms, clear mantis blade housing slots.
This wasn't bargain-bin chrome. His whole setup had to be worth tens of thousands of eddies—maybe more depending on the material. For your average Night City citizen, that was a fortune they'd never earn in a lifetime.
He had the gear. Now he was following through on the talk. And while that might make him seem "authentic," Karl couldn't be sure Horsva was even acting of his own free will. With that level of modding, it was entirely possible someone had implanted a behavioral trigger—a kill switch for Lucius Raines.
Karl squinted at the flicker of red light in the man's cybernetic eyes, then quietly sent a message over the linked NCPD team channel.
"Suspicious individual approaching from four o'clock—on my position."
None of the officers made a sound. Their discipline was flawless. Instead, they silently began shifting the crowd—subtly widening the space around the target without drawing attention.
Within seconds, a corridor had opened up in front of Peter Horsva—a perfect runway straight to the podium.
And at the end of that corridor stood Mayor Lucius Raines, arms puffed out, belly protruding, completely unaware.
Horsva's red eyes stopped flickering, locking in. Like a system had finished booting. Then—sching—his mantis blades shot out with a metallic hiss.
"Attention! Suspicious individual!"
An officer's shout cut through the plaza.
But it was too late. Horsva surged forward, ignoring civilians and rushing straight down the newly-cleared lane. His legs—mechanical, reinforced—propelled him with terrifying speed. In a blink, he crossed the plaza and reached the outer barricade.
There, only one NCPD officer blocked his path.
Peter Horsva's thoughts were singular now: kill Lucius Raines. That officer? Just an obstacle.
His reflexes screamed: cut him down.
But just as that command reached his limbs, another instinct surged up—older, deeper, more primal.
Don't.
You'll die.
That NCPD officer—plain uniform, Ajax rifle in hand—radiated danger. Even with all his new chrome, all his edge, Horsva's instincts screamed: this guy will end you.
So instead of charging through, Horsva planted his feet and leapt.
His augmented legs released their stored energy, launching him nearly four meters into the air, clearing the officer entirely.
Karl watched him sail by overhead.
Electro-jump. Nice. Chrome's legit. At least the guy's having fun.
Karl didn't move. Didn't even blink. Just stood there like a stunned rookie officer.
What could a low-ranking cop do against a cyberpsycho, anyway? That's Special Response Team work. Maybe a sergeant. Not his job.
As Horsva arced through the air—mantis blades glinting in the sunlight—Lucius Raines turned toward the noise, frowning in confusion.
He saw the threat too late.
He wasn't a merc. He wasn't trained. He was a politician—a soft target with no business being in a kill zone. His bulky frame couldn't even flinch in time.
Just as he realized he might actually die today, something caught his eye.
A figure closing in—fast.
Someone he recognized.
An NCPD sergeant.
Andy.
-
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