The Militech operatives had stolen equipment from the Riot Response Unit.

They ambushed a convoy and made off with unverified and dangerous gear.

Now, it was clear what that gear was.

They had taken Riot Response exoskeletons—and strapped those high-load frames onto madmen. A single user could now dominate an entire block.

Exoskeletons and ACPA suits aren’t the same.

Aside from a few exceptions, ACPA requires the body to adapt to the machine. The entire setup revolves around the person becoming a component of the ACPA. The suit is the primary system; the human is just an essential cog in the mechanism. In contrast, exoskeletons prioritize the human as the core.

Some models might still require auxiliary cyberware, but most are designed for plug-and-play usability. As long as your body can handle the strain, you can operate one. The exoskeleton simply enhances the user’s combat performance.

In Karl’s view, an ACPA pilot without their suit might lose a fight to a solid NCPD officer—someone from Andy’s elite squad, for example. But someone trained in using an exosuit? They could still hold their own without it. With it, they became beasts.

A single Riot Response officer could already take down a standard cyberpsycho in a one-on-one.

With an exosuit? They could probably tear through an armored vehicle.

“I remember those Militech guys raided a Riot Response convoy to get the gear. Think they actually fought the officers head-on?”

As four figures approached fast, Oliver ditched his clunky Phantom Dogs rifle and pulled several short-fuse modified grenades from his pocket.

“Riot Response lost four men—standard escort team size,” T-Bug said over comms.

“Careful, these Militech people aren’t amateurs.”

“I already recognize one of them.”

Jack pointed at the lead figure, who was charging forward in an exosuit, suppressing with a mounted machine gun.

“That Korean guy with the six cyber-eyes from Gear Group—we saw him in L.A. Looks like he passed selection and got drafted. Off to die for Militech and the New United States!”

“Jin Ji-yoon,” V confirmed, already discarding his Phantom Dogs uniform under the stunned gaze of nearby recruits. He drew his Thermal Katana.

“The one who modded himself crazier than the Maelstrom. No restraint using his Sandevistan either.”

Karl remembered him too.

Gear Group—a unit more cybered-up than Maelstrom, better armed than the Tyger Claws, and with more battlefield experience than 6th Street.

They were forged in combat arenas, handpicked from over 60,000 candidates—each one teetering on the edge of cyberpsychosis. Truly elite in the most brutal sense.

“Mister Kurt Hansen,” Karl said, glancing at him through gunfire, “even among your Phantom Dogs, I doubt many could match these psychos, handpicked from sixty thousand.”

As their vehicle was riddled with bullets, Karl smirked.

“Looks like you’re getting your eddies’ worth out of this contract.”

“Those bastards from L.A.? My mutts would never lose to them!” Hansen barked.

“Their kind of training treats soldiers like disposable parts. Give me enough men, and I’d bury every last one of them in a proper battlefield!”

A classic clash between grizzled veterans and corporate tacticians who’d never fired a real shot.

“I remember Arasaka used to drop a modified cyberpsycho into enemy lines during the Corporate Wars. You think Militech’s copying that tactic?”

“I hired you to protect me, KK,” Hansen growled.

“Not to grill me. You’re not a fucking journalist. Why the hell do you care?”

Karl just shrugged.

“I’m curious.”

“Curious? Now?”

Gunfire crackled all around them.

“Of course,” Karl replied with a cool grin.

“Protecting clients can be boring. Gotta keep the conversation going so they don’t get too stressed or scared.”

Then, without warning, he sprang into motion.

“If the client feels unsafe or under-stimulated and doesn’t renew the contract later, that’d be a shame.”

By the time Hansen realized what was happening, Karl had already dragged him away from their cover—right before the vehicle they’d been hiding behind exploded in a burst of flame from leaking Choon-II fuel.

They took cover near the entrance of a building.

Hansen squinted toward the fireball.

“They’ve got four exosuits… and no idea how many more waiting in the wings.”

“I know,” Karl said calmly.

He handed Hansen the helmet he’d been holding.

“Wear this. Might save you from a stray round.”

Then he clasped his hands behind his back, watching the battlefield.

In his earpiece, the perimeter team reported contact with enemy forces.

“But they don’t know who they’re messing with.”

A bunch of psychos who hijacked a Riot Response convoy? Sure, they were enhanced and dangerous. But Karl had seen worse.

If this was all they had, then honestly… the job wasn’t that hard.

“I remember you gave Riot Response unrestricted access to Dogtown, right, Mister Hansen?”

Helmet in hand, Hansen suddenly understood what Karl was implying.

“You’re thinking of calling in the cyberpsychos?”

“Call them in? No, no, nothing so dramatic,” Karl replied smoothly.

“I’m just a good citizen who noticed the hard-working, community-minded Riot Response Unit lost some gear.”

He smiled softly as he watched a flash of the Thermal Katana sweep through the battlefield—sending limbs flying.

“I’m just letting them know. After all…”

His tone dropped to a whisper.

“If they take too long, their toys are going to get broken.”

Because exosuits aren’t ACPA. They’re only as good as the person inside them.

And these guys?

They’re about to find out they’ve brought toys to a real fight.

–

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