Sergeant was overcome with emotion as he looked back, remembering the first time he had heard that name and the verdict he had passed on it:
Back then, he had thought three idiots had played him for a fool.
Now those three idiots had saved him. Didn't that make him an even bigger idiot?
Turns out he was the idiot all along.
Of course, that was just the voice in his head talking. In the real world, Burger really was his boss now.
"Boss, want a smoke?"
Lier shook his head.
It was no wonder Sergeant's knees had gone weak. The more he learned about that night's raid, the more frightened he became in hindsight.
Put it this way: if the people in the car had opened fire at the last moment and shot him, the hotheaded idiot, dead onstage,
then what came next would have been his men collectively pissing themselves in terror, unable to move.
Meanwhile, the enemy had charged a thousand miles, taken his gang leader's head from amid a hundred guns, then strolled away as his underlings stood there pissing themselves in fear.
They would have trampled on Sergeant's reputation in Sixth Street and become the new top mercenaries.
Maybe Sixth Street would have ceased to exist altogether.
And that was without even mentioning that, had those three bosses not been there, he would have been lying dead in the Badlands already.
Of course, there were also rumors that these badass mercenaries had come to Night City because of the three bosses. But there was no point tracing things back endlessly. Sergeant knew exactly where he stood.
He turned and looked at the few people kneeling in the open space-
They were the former Cannon's underlings, the traitors he hadn't managed to catch.
Sergeant waved and