Just as Maine fell silent and his crew hesitated due to a strong sense of déjà vu, a low, authoritative engine roar came from the other end of the passage.
A black ground vehicle, with an antique design, sharp lines, and adorned with the Imperial Aquila and noble crests, stopped outside the factory's blockade, surrounded by several private guards in excellent armor.
The car door slid open, and a tall, middle-aged man stepped out, dressed in a refined but not overly ornate noble attire, closer to a practical style.
He had a resolute face, sharp eyes, and a steady gait. A distinct old scar, as if grazed by some energy weapon, marked his left cheek. He exuded the formidable aura of a seasoned veteran, completely unlike the pampered Hive City nobles.
The commander of the Arbites and Sheriff Atkins immediately straightened up and saluted respectfully upon seeing him.
"Count!"
The man, referred to as Count, nodded slightly. His gaze swept over the chaotic factory gate, then landed on Maine's crew and the two iron guard prototypes. A flicker of imperceptible surprise crossed his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure.
"I am Count Cassius von Gresham." His voice was not loud, but carried an undeniable authority. He directly asked the Arbites commander, without even first communicating with Maine and the others, "What is the situation now? What are the workers' demands?"
His attitude somewhat surprised Maine.
There was no exasperation, no immediate demand for suppression, but rather an inquiry into the situation first, which seemed extremely pragmatic.
The commander immediately reported: "Count, the workers are protesting long working hours and demanding increased rations and reduced work hours. They have damaged three automated production lines and detained four workshop supervisors."
Count Gresham showed no emotion after hearing the report. His gaze merely swept over the closed factory gate again, the scar on his face appearing deeper in the dim light.
He was silent for a few seconds, that brief pause as if weighing something.
"The production lines cannot be stopped for too long." He finally spoke again, his tone steady but with an undeniable decisiveness, "Restore order as quickly as possible. Control the core instigators who caused trouble and damaged equipment, and deal with them according to the law.
As for the majority who were merely incited or coerced, as long as they are willing to immediately return to their posts, they can be spared prosecution."
He looked at the commander, his eyes sharp: "My demand is clear—restore production and avoid unnecessary losses. The Arbites know what to do."
"Understood, Count." The commander immediately nodded, his tone full of assurance, "That is also our intention: resolve the issue, maintain production, and control bloodshed to a minimum."
At this moment, Maine took advantage of Count Gresham's scrutiny of the factory gate to quietly ask Sheriff Atkins beside him: "Are the conditions at his factory... really that bad? Why are the workers rioting?"
Sheriff Atkins looked at Count Gresham's back, lowered his voice, and quickly responded, his tone even carrying a hint of helplessness: "Quite the opposite, Count von Gresham's factory has a standard sixteen-hour workday and provides one nutritious lunch.
This is already top-tier treatment in Vista Prima's mid-Hive.
Other factories nearby generally operate eighteen hours, with no lunch, only basic synthetic nutrient paste.
Some unscrupulous workshops even extend work hours to twenty... The workers' unrest is likely due to incitement, or... simply accumulated grievances finding an outlet."
Maine exchanged glances with his crew, both seeing expressions of disbelief on each other's faces.
A sixteen-hour workday plus one lunch was considered "generous treatment" here?
In Night City, even the lowest-tier nomads could scavenge for their own time in the dumpsters, yet here, even a moment of respite was a luxury for the workers.
Dorio unconsciously clenched her fists, remembering the days when the Animals could at least freely fight and brawl.
Pilar instinctively pushed up his goggles, as if that would allow him to see the suffocating reality before him more clearly.
"At least this Count is somewhat reasonable." Rebecca pouted, her voice showing a rare restraint, "If it were Arasaka or Militech, they would have sent armored vehicles in long ago."
"It's probably a rarity even here" said Pilar.
Maine nodded silently.
Indeed, compared to the corporate tactics they were familiar with, the Count and the Arbites' handling of the situation was already considered restrained.
Although their positions differed, at least they weren't aiming for total annihilation.
He took a deep breath, preparing to order his team to cooperate with the Arbites' actions—
Just then, a distinctly different set of footsteps echoed from the end of the passage.
The sound was heavy and uniform, with the crisp click of metal heels on the ground, a stark contrast to the Arbites' more disorganized steps.
As the footsteps grew closer, the air seemed to solidify, and even the previously noisy factory gate behind them suddenly fell silent.
First to appear were a squad of soldiers in blue carapaced armor, astonishingly well-equipped: their shoulder pads bore unfamiliar insignia, and the hellguns and plasma weapons in their hands gleamed coldly.
These soldiers moved as if cast from the same mold; every turn, every step was perfectly synchronized.
Planetary Defense Force soldiers followed like a tide, quickly occupying various strategic positions.
Their sheer numbers almost completely blocked the entire passage.
The newly arrived soldiers coldly scanned the original Arbites team, their eyes filled with ice and severity.
Maine noticed Count Gresham's face instantly turn ashen, and the Arbites commander's finger unconsciously pressed against the holster at his waist.
This formation was clearly not here to mediate a labor dispute.
At the core of this force was a person in a black robe, their face hidden in the shadow of a hood, revealing only a sharply defined chin.
He wore a prominent insignia on his chest—a red letter "I" with a white skull embedded in the center.
The moment they saw this insignia, the faces of Count Gresham and all Arbites members suddenly turned pale, even their breathing catching.
The man, dressed in a crisp, dark grey officer's coat and bearing that striking insignia, stepped forward.
His face was stern, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's, and he surveyed the scene with an oppressive gaze that seemed to scrutinize everything.
His voice was steady, yet like the arctic wind, devoid of any warmth: "In the name of the Holy Inquisition. I am Inquisitor Kaelas Walker, of the Sacred Hammer Conclave."
His declaration seemed to freeze the air around them.
"We have detected abnormal psychic fluctuations and signs of heretical activity in this Hive City. Based on intelligence cross-referencing—" He paused, each word clear and heavy.