"Mr. Johnson."
"It's been a while, Karl. How've you been holding up?"
"Same as always—working gigs, nothing's really changed."
Standing outside the H8 Megabuilding in Westbrook, Karl chatted casually with Mr. Johnson while glancing up at the towering structure. It looked almost identical to his own building, and a thought hit him a little late.
"Wait—you live in a megabuilding too, Mr. Johnson?"
"What'd you expect?"
Johnson shot him a look, already guessing what was going through Karl's head. "Don't tell me you thought I had some private villa or luxury high-rise penthouse."
"Well, not exactly... but you're a precinct chief. I figured your place would be a bit roomier at least."
"This place is already a pretty damn good deal."
Johnson had always suspected Karl came from some upper-class background—probably some fallen corpo bloodline that ended up in the merc world. Now he was almost sure of it. "Roomier," he says—what kind of normal person talks like that?
In Night City, living in a place like this already meant you were doing pretty well for yourself. But roomier? How much was this kid pulling in every month?
Then again… Karl probably does rake in way more than I do…
As a precinct chief, Johnson's base salary—ignoring all the usual bribes and side income—was about €$300,000 a year. That broke down to €$25,000 a month. But out of that, he had to cover rent, food, gear for himself and his team, payouts to families of fallen officers, and more. It never lasted long. Sometimes, just buying a €$2,000 Ajax rifle meant weeks of hesitation.
Compared to that, Karl's earnings...
The more he thought about it, the more depressed he got.
Karl, meanwhile, was completely unaware of Johnson's financial spiral. His mind was on Andy.
Andy used to have his own place. But after taking on the Tyger Claws and landing on their hit list, it was no longer safe for him to go back. After Regina signed off that he was mentally stable, Andy had moved in temporarily with Johnson—into the very building they were standing in now.
He was waiting upstairs.
Karl and Johnson took the elevator to the 14th floor. As the doors opened, Karl immediately sensed something different about this building.
From the outside, it was nearly identical to his own H10, but the interior...
He spotted children running through the hallway and stopped in surprise.
Kids? Running around a megabuilding hallway?
Back in his day, that wouldn't have been odd at all. But now?
These towers were filled with tenants from every walk of life. You never knew who your neighbor was. Didn't the parents worry?
This wasn't Heywood or Santo Domingo, where street culture and neighborhood bonds gave kids some protection. This was a constant flux—tenants coming and going, newcomers to Night City settling in. If anyone wanted to hurt those kids, all it'd take was ten seconds and a loaded weapon. The halls were straight. Nowhere to run. No cover.
Johnson, noticing Karl's gaze, finally snapped out of his financial funk and pointed toward a nearby corner.
"Look over there, Karl."
"Huh?"
Karl followed his line of sight—and spotted a familiar face. A young officer leaning casually against a wall with a perfect view of both the kids and everyone coming up or down the stairwell.
Karl blinked. He recognized him.
One of Johnson's men. He'd seen him before on a few NCPD ops.
"Oh... I get it."
"All the families on this floor—cops?"
"Not just this floor, but yeah, most of 'em. Off-duty officers take turns keeping watch. Beats handing the kids off to parenting bots."
Johnson gave a slight shrug. "Guess I'm still old-school. Not everything should be left to machines."
"Can't argue with that."
Now it all made sense. This floor was basically its own little community—like a microcosm of the old neighborhoods in Heywood or Santo Domingo. Except here, the protection didn't come from gangs.
It came from a different kind of gang.
"NCPD's gang, huh…"
"No wonder Andy's been able to lie low here without anyone noticing," Karl said.
"He grew up here," Johnson said quietly, eyes on the kids. "Moved out later, but he's still one of ours. Can't just leave him hanging."
"And even if the Tyger Claws figured it out, they wouldn't dare hit an NCPD family block. Not in the open."
To keep gangs in check, you needed muscle, corporate power—or another gang. And in this case, the NCPD crew Johnson ran had plenty of weight to throw around.
The officer Karl had noticed earlier made eye contact with him, gave a silent nod.
Karl nodded back.
Nothing needed to be said. Message received.
"C'mon. Fourth door on the left."
Johnson scanned the lock with his cybernetic eye, the door hissed open, and he stepped into the suite with Karl behind him.
A few of the kids nearby had seen them enter. They ran up to the casually dressed officer in the hallway—the same one Karl had nodded to—still wearing his bulletproof vest beneath his clothes.
"Brother Booth, who was that guy with Uncle Johnson? The one going in to see Andy?"
"Him?"
Booth looked down at them, then at the weight of his vest and the pistol on his hip. He smiled.
"He's one of Night City's big shots. One of ours."
"A big shot?" one of the kids echoed, clearly confused.
"But I've never seen him in any braindance posters or on TV..."
"That's because he's the kind of big shot who doesn't need to be," Booth said, still smiling.
.
.
.
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