Night City, border.
"What's the date today?"
"The sixteenth."
"Payday's coming up... Gimme a smoke."
"Call me Dad."
"Fuck off."
Two Inspection Bureau officers responsible for border security were smoking and chatting idly.
Their job wasn't exactly busy, anyway. They just had to keep an eye out and make sure The Forgotten didn't cause trouble.
And the truth was, nobody ever did cause trouble—those people all looked half-dead. It felt like they wouldn't even fart if you kicked them in the ass a couple of times. They didn't look like they had that kind of fire in them.
Whatever. Getting paid to coast through the day was even better, wasn't it? Inspections weren't their responsibility anyway. That was City Hall's job, so the hard work had nothing to do with them.
And they didn't have to stare at the director's deadpan face. This was fucking great...
Just as they were thinking that, before either of them could react, a bullet came whistling through and knocked the cigarette from one man's mouth with perfect accuracy.
"Fuck! Who the hell... No, wait!"
A spark had flown into his eye. He cursed in pain, but quickly realized something was wrong.
The buffer zone, which had been empty moments ago, was now choked with rolling dust.
The roar of engines drew closer. Squinting through one eye, he saw a massive convoy advancing toward them.
It was a sight they had never seen before—mainly because these people were dressed too strangely. The vanguard all wore revealing leather protective suits, their entire faces concealed beneath iron masks carved with fangs. The people behind them looked a little more normal, but not by much.
If no one told you otherwise, you'd think it was some bizarre fashion show...
Their vehicles were equally terrifying—at first glance, they looked