The elevator finally came to a stop at a relatively clean transfer platform in the Mid-Nest.
When the gate opened, it was no longer the suffocating darkness and filth of the Lower Nest, but the relatively orderly, though worn, passages of the Mid-Nest area, which still maintained basic order.
The injured were quickly taken away by the medical personnel who had been waiting there. Sheriff Atkins was about to bid farewell to Maine's crew when the data pad on his arm suddenly emitted an urgent communication request tone.
He immediately answered it, and after listening for a few moments, his brows furrowed tightly, and his expression turned extremely grim.
Ending the call, he turned to Maine, his tone urgent and tinged with helplessness: "Captain Maine, the situation has changed. A large-scale riot has broken out at the 'Unified Standard' Parts Factory in Manufacturing Zone Seven of the Mid-Nest. The workers have occupied part of the production line, and the situation is spiraling out of control.
Most of our forces are tied up in the Lower Nest, clearing out residual cultists and dealing with gang wars in several other districts. We can't spare enough manpower to suppress it in a short time."
He took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over Maine's crew's reassuringly excellent equipment, especially the two silent iron guard prototypes: "The production lines there are very important; they cannot be shut down for long.
I implore… no, I, on behalf of the Vista Prima Adeptus Arbites, request your assistance to quell the riot as quickly as possible and restore production order."
Maine frowned slightly.
Suppressing a worker riot? This was completely different from the type of mission he had anticipated.
He glanced at his teammates, seeing similar hesitation on their faces.
But he did not immediately refuse; instead, he said in a deep voice: "I need to consult."
He reconnected to his dedicated communication link with Osiris and briefly reported the situation: "Lord Magos, the Adeptus Arbites is requesting assistance in suppressing a factory riot in the Mid-Nest, citing insufficient police force. Please instruct."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the communication, then Osiris' steady synthetic voice sounded, devoid of any emotional fluctuation: "Assistance approved. The 'iron guard' project requires more test data from various environments, including handling low-intensity, high-density crowd control scenarios.
Pay attention to collecting the machine's performance parameters in confined spaces and under limited firepower conditions. The primary objective is to restore production order."
"Understood." Maine ended the communication and looked at Sheriff Atkins, "We have permission to assist. Lead the way."
Guided by another team of marshals, they rode in a specialized armored transport vehicle, quickly traversing the intricate passages of the Mid-Nest.
Soon, they arrived at the scene of the incident—the "Unified Standard" Parts Factory.
The factory gates were tightly shut, but through observation windows and vents above the high walls, one could faintly see figures moving inside and hear the clamor of shouts.
Outside the factory, more than thirty fully armed marshals had already gathered. They wore uniform black armor, carried riot shields, shotguns, and stun batons, forming a tight cordon, confronting the factory from the outside.
Several armored vehicles equipped with water cannons and sonic dispersers were also parked nearby.
A Adeptus Arbites commander with higher-ranking epaulets came forward. After a brief exchange with Atkins, he looked sharply at Maine's crew: "Thank you for your support.
The rioters inside have destroyed production equipment and are holding management personnel hostage. They must be cleared out as quickly as possible. Your heavy equipment is perfect for forcibly breaking through their defenses."
At the commander's command, the factory's heavy metal gates slowly opened from an external control panel.
The scene inside instantly came into view for Maine and the others.
There were no fierce-looking mutants or fanatical cultists as imagined.
Gathered in the factory's main workshop was a dense, endless crowd of people.
Most of them wore oil-stained grey or blue work clothes, their faces gaunt, their eyes a mix of anger, fear, and a sense of desperate hopelessness.
They held wrenches, iron bars, cutting torches, and other production tools. A few held crude laser pistols or homemade explosives, obtained from who knew where, forming a stark and glaring contrast with the well-equipped marshals outside.
They shouted indistinct slogans, mostly "We want food," "Stop overtime," "No to pay cuts," and similar cries. Their voices, amplified by their numbers, were loud but could not conceal the weakness that stemmed from the bottom of society.
As the factory gates fully opened, outside light poured in, illuminating the interior of the workshop and clearly revealing the appearance of Maine's crew, this "reinforcement," to the workers.
Bulky bodies covered in dark red ceramic steel and plastic steel, explosive guns and plasma cannons gleaming with dangerous light, two iron guard prototypes standing like metallic giant soldiers, emitting a low energy hum... All of this, combined with the workers' crude tools and their thin bodies, formed an almost absurd scene of an extremely unequal power comparison.
Time seemed to freeze at this moment.
Maine felt his blood also slightly freeze with this stillness.
Rebecca's excited expression froze; her hand, which was gripping the control stick of the plasma cannon, unconsciously loosened.
Pilar stopped his habitual fidgeting, his long arms hanging somewhat unnaturally.
Dorio's tightly clenched fists slowly relaxed, her brows furrowed. Even Valerie and Jackie in the cockpit fell silent.
Too familiar.
This scene, this stance, this suffocating sense of confrontation... how similar it was to their past experiences in Night City!
Only then, they were on the side of the workers.
They were mercenaries who stormed corporate gates for their wages, street kids forced to fight Arasaka security forces for survival.
They had once been one of those "rioters" holding crude weapons, facing the elite corporate armed forces.
And now, they wore power armor and cybernetics more advanced and powerful than corporate security, wielding terrifying weapons that could instantly vaporize flesh and blood, standing on the side of the Adeptus Arbites, on the side of the order maintainers, pointing their guns at these ordinary people fighting for their most basic survival rights.
"Damn it…" Rebecca cursed under her breath, her voice devoid of its previous swagger, only an indescribable irritation. "What the hell is this…"
Pilar adjusted his goggles, his voice dry: "Hey… guys, don't you think… we might be on the wrong side?"
Dorio silently watched the familiar despair in the workers' eyes; her powerful body now felt a sense of powerlessness.
She used to be someone who earned a living through strength, and she knew well what it felt like to be pushed to the brink.
Falco pushed up his sunglasses, scanning the workers. Data streams showed that the vast majority of them were pure humans, without any modifications, with weak life signals and malnutrition.
His voice came through the internal channel, carrying a subtle tremor: "Targets… primarily unarmed civilians, possessing low-grade tools. Threat level… extremely low."
Valerie sat in the iron guard cockpit, looking at the terrified yet stubborn faces of the workers transmitted by the sensors. She remembered several employee protests she had participated in suppressing during her time at Arasaka; then, she was a detached corporate agent, but now, she seemed to have become the one personally carrying out the suppression.
The machine feedback from the neural link felt exceptionally heavy at this moment.
Jackie looked out through the iron guard's observation window, muttering: "Geez… this is worse than fighting mutants…"
Maine stood his ground, not immediately issuing an attack order.
The explosive gun on his left arm felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Osiris' order was to restore production order and collect test data.
The marshals' request was to clear out the rioters.
Logically, they should follow orders.
But emotionally, a certain resonance, deeply rooted in the streets of Night City and belonging to Maine the mercenary, was violently clashing within his chest.
How should he choose? Should he obey the Lord Magos' command, fulfill his "assistance" promise to the Adeptus Arbites, and crush this insignificant resistance with overwhelming force? Or… All the team members looked at Maine, awaiting his decision.
The workers inside the factory also seemed to be awed by this suddenly appearing "army," far beyond their comprehension. The shouting gradually subsided, leaving only tense breathing and the faint sounds of tools clanking.
The air seemed to solidify, pressing down and making it hard to breathe.