Chapter Text
"Cadet Vasquez. Please, step forward." Called the instructor at the podium, turning to face the line of young cadets dressed in their formal dress uniforms. One cadet stepped forward, dressed the same as the rest of the rank and file cadets, his soft face holding an air of rigid seriousness to match the weight of the ceremony he was in. Raising a white gloved hand, Vasquez saluted the instructor who called his name and stood at attention. "Today, your life as a cadet of this esteemed academy ends. Tomorrow, your life an officer of the law begins. Do you solemnly swear to serve the public's trust in the NCPD? Do you swear to protect the innocent lives of Night City from the violent scourge that also inhabit it? Do you swear to uphold the laws of Night City to ensure the safety and stability of the citizens?"
"Sir, yes sir." replied the cadet firmly as he held his salute.
The instructor smiled as he held out a small polished wooden box to the cadet, "then allow me to be the first to welcome you, Officer Vasquez, to the Night City Police Force." A round of synthesized applause filled the auditorium's hall followed by the flashing of cameras mounted on hover drones.
"Thank you, sir" the newly minted officer said as he accepted the wooden box, holding it delicately in his gloved hands as if it were made of glass despite it's surprising heft.
"The people of Night City and the NCPD expect great things from you, don't let them down." The senior officer waved his arm back towards the line, letting the young officer know to return to the line with the rest of his graduating class of 2075.
Upon returning to the line of graduates, the next name was called and the same speech from the instructor was retold anew, and before long the ceremony was over. Many of the newly graduated had broken off into small groups to hit up a club or brothel to celebrate their achievement with a bang, others went to join family members before their careers as police officers began. Marion Vasquez had no such plans as he sat inside his beat up Ford Jazz, finally out of his dress blues and into some casual street clothes. The high he was feeling from holding the physical manifestation of all his hard work over the past couple years could not be matched by any street drug or chromed up joygirl. Gingerly, he opened the wooden box and found the cause for it's heft despite it's small size. Inside his graduation box was an Arasaka LEH revolver cleaned and polished as if fresh off the assembly line, a standard issue sidearm to all newly appointed NCPD officers, underneath the barrel were six .44 magnum bullets embedded in felt interior. Next to the revolver's grip was a silver badge marked with Vasquez's serial number and Night City Police Department. Beneath the badge were three fully loaded revolver speed loaders, and under the box's lid was the diploma from the graduation listing his note worthy skill sets of pistol marksmanship and people skills. From what Vasquez had heard, Precincts usually ignored these skill listings and just threw the rookies out onto the beat, but sometimes if a graduated cadet had enough Corp connections or wealthy enough families, their skill set could bump them up to a more advance position from the get go.
"Not like I need to worry about that", Vasquez mused as he closed the box and set it in the passenger seat, and started his car. He worked hard to earn his badge, and he'd work hard to climb that career ladder. All he'd ask for is a fair shot to prove himself.
With night falling, the drive back into the city showed off it's neon glow in all it's glory. Massive advertisements, corporate logos, holographic billboards, despite the late hour the glow of Night City and made it almost seem like broad daylight, the effect was enhanced by the amount of cars on the road and people on the sidewalks. It felt good to be back in the city after spending the past couple of years in the academy dorms, even though right now Vasquez he was currently homeless, he felt like he was returning home.
Driving into downtown Night City, Vasquez headed into the Little Italy district until he saw the NCPD precinct. Parking his Ford Jazz in the carpool and shouldering the duffel bag carrying all his possessions, he headed inside. Vasquez took some pride in the fact he had never been inside a police station before so he didn't exactly know what to expect, the interior decorating was almost nonexistent save for a few scattered plastic plants which Vasquez guess were to give it a homely aesthetic but the darkened bulletproof windows and ceiling mounted auto-gun ports destroyed that illusion.
As Vasquez stepped up to the front desk, the cybernetics in ears picked up the nearby hum of electricity above his head around where he noticed the hidden gun ports were located, all the while the uniformed male receptionist looked up with a nearly obvious fake smile. "Can I help you, sir?" He asked with a rehearsed level of enthusiasm that was about as sincere as his smile.
"Yes, my name is Marion Vasquez. I was assigned to this precinct." Vasquez said as he handed in his registry card, watching the receptionist swipe the card into the computer as their eyes began to glow a digital shade of blue.
"Ah yes, Mister Vasquez," the receptionist commented as he read the data off the card, "confirming registration to the system. Welcome to the force, officer." The blue glow faded from his eyes, "you are to be assigned to the beat patrol of sector A4 with officer Madison, beginning at 0900 hours. Would you like to register into the bunkhouse or do you have your own lodgings?"
Just as Vasquez had suspected, a beat patrol though he didn't know what sector A4 was, maybe this Officer Madison would fill him in. The mention of a bunkhouse sparked his interest, "sure, I'll settle in the bunkhouse." Before the words finished leaving his mouth, Vasquez watched the receptionist type away into their computer, their cybernetic eyes glowing again.
"You are now registered into the bunkhouse," the glow faded again, "if you proceed to the elevator behind me, it'll take you right to it."
The smile and optimism wavered briefly on the receptionist's face and Vasquez listened to him, it was then that he noticed the blinking red light in the receptionist's temple. Mood chip, of course, Vasquez thought. The receptionist would need a mood chip to put on a friendly face when working the front desk, and by this late into the evening it must've been needing a recharge. Vasquez adjusted the bag on his shoulder and tried to spare the guy a burnout, "thanks for the help, I think I can take it from here." Before he could give the receptionist a chance to reply, Vasquez had already walked around the desk and headed to the pointed out elevator.
As he stepped inside, Vasquez watched the receptionist tap the blinking red light on his temple and withdraw a small data shard. When the doors closed, Vasquez took a look at the key pad for the various floors until he found the floor for the bunkhouse. Once in the bunkhouse section of the precinct, Vasquez began his search for his room in the midst of all the other dorms the belonged to the other beat cops. After a brief period of wandering, Vasquez found his room labeled as M. Vasquez and L. Madison. "Looks like I'm not out of sharing a room yet," Vasquez muttered under his breath as he stepped inside the room.
With a wave of his hand over the illumination pad, the lights turned on as Vasquez tossed his bag onto the simple bed that looked untouched. The furniture of the room was very basic, two beds, two desks, two chairs, two footlockers, and two regular verical lockers. It seemed his partner was out at the moment, but judging from their side of the room they seemed lax on the strict minimalist style of the room. Empty Nicola cans and fast food wrappers littered around the waste bin, a small collection of Braindance shards were piled onto a corner of the desk closest to their bed, and two holo-posters of rock bands decorated the wall over their bed. Vasquez pushed his curiosity aside, he was tired and the weight of the day was bearing down on him. Tucking his bag under his bed and draping the jacket he was wearing over the foot of his bed, Vasquez kicked off his shoes. Falling into bed, he couldn't even manage to get under the covers before he succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.
In what felt like the blink of an eye, Vasquez found himself awake and struggling to ignore the rustling noise he was hearing nearby. "Rise and shine, rookie." A female voiced called out to him from beyond his sleep blurred vision, "we got a long day ahead of us."
Sitting up from his newly disheveled bed and rubbing the sleep out of his organic eye, to see his partner dressed partially in her uniform's pants and boots and a silver tank top while she dried her hair. "ah'm guessing you're my patrol partner, Madison, right? Marion Vasquez." He said as he offered his hand to shake.
The woman draped the towel over her shoulder, "Leslie Madison, and that's right. Until you flatline or I find someone better."
With his eyes adjusting to being awake, Vasquez noticed Madison wasn't wearing silver tank top, she was topless and silver coloring was due to a skin weave. The Kevlar-like fibers glistened from having gotten wet during Madison's shower. Another thing that caught Vasquez's eye was when Leslie reached over to shake his hand, he noticed she had a long scar running from between her middle and ring knuckle down to her forearm. Shaking Madison's scarred hand, Vasquez checked digital display on his skinwatch, noting his beat was thirty minutes away from starting. "Front desk said we were doing sector A4," he said he stood up to grab his uniform from inside the locker on his side of the room and began to undress. "Where is that?"
"That'd be the Upper Eastside, we're walking the whole sector and responding to any and all disturbances." Madison went to her own locker now that she had dried off, the silver fibers resuming their flesh-like coloring as she put on the rest of her uniform. "You an NC local? Accent makes you sound like an out of towner and I gotta say, after my last partner I'd prefer to have someone watching my back who actually knew some of the local gang customs."
Pulling on his uniform piece by piece, Vasquez tried to keep his accent from slipping out. "Born and raised in Texas, but I've lived in Night City longer than I've lived out of it. I know which gangs can be reasoned with and which ones can't be." Taking the wooden box from the bag under his bed, Vasquez pinned the badge to his uniform's shirt, "you don't have to worry about me."
Madison tied her shoulder length brunette hair into a tight bun, "we'll see, rookie, we'll see." Stepping past Vasquez, she made her way out of the room, "meet me by the armory when you're done, we'll get the rest of your gear."
Vasquez watched as his partner left the room as he finished the last touches of his uniform, tying on his boots, strapping on his belt, and finally holstering his sidearm. Looking at his reflection in the mirror of his locker, Vasquez almost didn't recognize himself. Taking a deep breath, Vasquez closed his locker, turned out of his room, and headed towards the armory.
Awake and aware, Vasquez began to notice things in the police precinct he initially didn't the previous night. Desk jockeys typing and filing away reports, uniformed and plain clothes officers moving in and out of the offices, and as Vasquez got closer to the armory he even saw a handful of SWAT and MAX-TAC officers along with what he could've sworn was an Enforcer 'Borg. He had seen the firepower the boostergangs liked to throw around on the street, and now he knew why, though he didn't know if that made him worry or feel better with the state of the gear he now had access to as a peace officer.
Meeting up with Madison, Vasquez grabbed the first of his patrol gear, a ballistic helmet and visor fitted with a plug for the processor behind his right ear, once inserted a digital display lit up the visor reporting various information. Next, Vasquez was give a ballistics vest made by Arasaka that was to protect him from the firepower carried by the various boostergangs of Night City, but he couldn't ignore that some of patrol gear from other officers being returned for repairs were covered in blood and bullet holes. Last but not least was a portable med-kit for basic first aid, an Excalibur class nightstick, two sets of handcuffs, and six cylindrical cases that carried three speed loaders each for his sidearm plus a seventh empty cylindrical case for the ammo given to him in his graduation box. Now here he was, armed with only a sidearm and a hundred and thirty-two .44 magnum rounds, body armor that may or may not be very effective on a good day, and 'good luck, rookie' pat on the back.
Before long, Vasquez had left the station and boarded a tram with Madison, on their way to their patrol sector. "So here's the game plan, rookie. Patrol routes of sectors change daily, the department says it's to protect officers from being targeted by gangs, but the truth is it's to spread as many able bodied uniforms in an attempt to counteract the high mortality rate of the beat patrol." Madison reached into her pocket and withdrew a small vial, uncapping it she took a drink of the black liquid inside, "if by skill or luck you survive two years out on patrol, you're automatically dubbed a 'senior officer' and you get to apply for a specialization. Brass sometimes makes an exception after only one year of service, but you better good at kicking ass or kissing ass to get that kind of promotion." Madison passed the vial to Vasquez who took an experimental sniff only to realize it was a to-go vial of Pick Me Up, a breakfast coffee which he eagerly took a drink of to help him wake up and get some kind of nourishment in his stomach. "But for now, let's worry about day one," Madison continued after she took back her coffee vial and downed the rest, "Upper Eastside isn't exactly a picnic area. It's got gangs and Corps fighting it out for control of the sector in every back alley and sometimes in the streets at night."
Vasquez nodded as he surveyed the other occupants in the tram he and Madison shared with, "I'm aware. If I recall, it's mostly Chromer gang turf due to the Slammer and Metalstorm clubs. Might run into some Brawlers, but that could be the extent of our gang relations for today. Unless someone gets lost from Upper Marina or City Center."
Madison gave a mock applause, "you are a local, well done, rookie. That just bumped your chances of survival from none to slim." A few minutes of idle banter on the tram later, Vasquez and Madison arrived at Sector A4. "You may have been just another face in the crowd before, rookie, but now you may as well be a member of a gang that every other gang hates. Last chance to back out."
Vasquez stepped through the tram's open doors, "I didn't work this hard to get here and quit." The second Vasquez's feet touched left the tram, the digital display on his visor lit up followed by the radio in his ear buzzing to life and began reporting disturbances and crimes. This was it, he was now officially on the clock.
"Where to first, rookie?" Madison asked as she followed him off the tram, her own visor lighting up, "I doubt we'll get to all of them."
Watching the numbered reports scroll over his cybernetic eye, Vasquez tagged one of them, "domestic dispute, not that far from here." With Madison's approval, the two of them made their way off the tram platform and onto the bustling street as the various walks of civilian life of Night City went about their various morning commute. A short walk later and Vasquez and Madison arrived outside a small diner where a father and son were arguing. "Sir, what seems to be the problem?" the response was about as expected as it could be, the father turn to address Vasquez and began ranting in Spanish while his son tried to wave off Vasquez saying the cops didn't need to get involved. Looking to Madison, Vasquez saw his partner stand back with her arms folded over her chest watching to see how he'd handled this.
"One at a time, please," Vasquez said to stop the two from trying to speak over each other before addressing the father, "sir, you first". Vasquez said in Spanish. According to the father and owner of the diner, he didn't want his son's girlfriend and her friends in his diner because they scared off his patrons. When the father finished, his son gave his side of the argument that yes his girlfriend was in a gang and she and some members come by here for lunch or dinner, but they always paid and didn't treat this place like a Chromer club. After getting both statements, Vasquez joined up with Madison to give his report.
"Well, should we shoot them or cuff them?" Madison asked jokingly.
"I don't think there's much we can legally do. Dad is worried about his son's girlfriend's gang frequently coming here to eat and he says it scares off his 'honest working' patrons. Son swears up and down the gang is harmless, they pay their bills, they keep the noise within reason." Judging from the reports Vasquez's visor was feeding to him, this wasn't the first time a disturbance was reported by the father. "Son won't say who the gang is because he doesn't want them harassed, but with the father's input it's not hard to figure out."
Vasquez waved to get the father's attention and asked what he called the gang, to which the father responded in a mix between Spanish and broken English. "Hombres de musica, es how you say, de hays."
"Thought so, DJ's. They're harmless for the most part, as long as they don't hock their bootleg merch around here, it shouldn't cause any problems."
Madison nodded in approval and uncrossed her arms, "okay, rookie, you've heard both sides, you got an understanding of the situation. Now what?"
Vasquez shrugged, "I guess try to find a compromise." Rejoining the father and son, Vasquez addressed them both. "Okay, while the DJ's aren't necessarily angels, your girlfriend could do worse. Just remind them not to sell anything around here and they should be okay." Vasquez switched from English to Spanish for the father, "sir, you are well within your right to refuse them service, however, we can't arrest them if they haven't done anything illegal. I recommend you let them eat here as long as they pay their bills, eddies are eddies after all. Plus, if they recommend this place to other musicians, that's free advertisement and more income." Vasquez watched as the father silently mulled the idea over, before throwing his arms up in defeat and telling his son that his girlfriend and her friends could continue to eat here so long as they behaved, all the while muttering under his breath as he went back into his diner. The son expressed his gratitude before being called back inside to resume his shift.
Madison rested her hands on her hips, "well, you got your feet wet on your first patrol response. How do you feel, rookie?" She asked, not exactly waiting for a response before she started walking.
"I know it wasn't anything major or important," Vasquez said as he walked alongside Madison, "but it felt good. For almost all my life, I was just living on the street and it feels good to make a positive impact for once."
"That why you joined NCPD, to make a difference? Don't take this the wrong way, but you sound like you saw a few too many holo-vids." Madison cycled through her own reports in her helmet's visor, leading the rookie to the next reported disturbance.
"Believe it or not, you wouldn't be the first person to tell me that." Vasquez said as he surveyed the ever shifting crowds, "I grew up in a rough part of the city, saw a lot of good people hurt or forced into doing some bad things to survive. I've been called naive before, but I think if I can help someone, either by bringing some scumbag to justice, sticking up for the little guy, or as something as small as mediating between a father and son. I consider that to be a good thing."
Madison laughed out loud, putting her hand on Vasquez's shoulder to steady herself before pushing up her visor to wipe her eyes. "Oh, rookie, you're just too much." She managed to compose herself as they walked, "I don't know what to tell you, but I'm happy that you at least have a goal to work towards."
Vasquez felt his face flush as his partner laughed, "well why'd you join the force? Can't be the paycheck."
Madison playfully punched Vasquez's shoulder, "partially." Reaching into the pocket of her pants, she drew out another vial of Pick Me Up and took a sip. "Not much suited for a traditional desk job, wasn't going to follow in mom or dad's footsteps, so I figured why not try my hand at being a cop. Best case scenario, I get scouted into Corporate Security. Worst case, I get the skills needed to survive." She passed the vial to Vasquez. "To be honest, NCPD could use more cops like you than me."
Taking a swing of the vial of coffee, Vasquez smiled, "now who sounds naive?" He held out the vial to return it to Madison only for the offer to be turned down. The officers walked their beat towards where Madison had marked the location of the next reported activity.
"You ever been to the Slammer, rookie?" Madison asked as she pointed up to the two large buildings ahead of them.
"I know of it, but I've never been inside." Vasquez replied as he surveyed the surrounding crowds, noting how many gang members were sprinkled in the crowd as well as the private security while cycling through the reported crimes in the area in an attempt to find the one that drew them here.
"Well, since gangs like to come here to settle differences rather than out in the street and get the police involved, usually we're not needed." Madison pointed out where private security were patrolling the grounds around the crowds as the various gangers registered for the Arena while civilians went to various betting booths. "However, they're paid to only patrol the grounds around the Slammer and the Arena and within, and it's not uncommon for Arena participants to suffer 'accidents' off the grounds. So we'll monitor the alleys and surrounding area, but for starters, Arena Security reported one of the scheduled fighters went missing about half an hour ago."
"He get cold feet?" Vasquez asked as he followed Madison past the crowds toward the alleyways, his right hand resting on his sidearm.
"Not likely, participant was a Sacred Blade, and a ranking member too. I think he'd sooner part with his head than leave a challenge to a duel unfulfilled." Madison walked with Vasquez into the alley, her hand rest on her own sidearm. "I figured he'd stay close to the Arena to prep, but personally I think more Blades die from their honor code than any blade or bullet." Tapping the side of her helmet, the helmet's flashlight illuminated the shadowy alley. "All it would've taken would be the implication he was hiding behind the Arena's security, and he'd be out the door."
Tapping his own helmet's light on, Vasquez made sure to look in the areas of the alley whenever Madison's flashlight left. "I've seen it growing up, it always about honor with them. Kinda reminds me of that alien race from that old sci-fi tv show from the 1980's. What were they called, K something?" Before he could finish his train of thought, Vasquez's light illuminated a splash of bright red on the alley wall. "Uh oh."
Following the streaks of red on the wall down to their source, Vasquez found the body of a black male in his mid-twenties, dressed like a Native American you'd see in the old history vids. His hair was braided into cornrows with each braid tipped with a feather, he had red streaks of paint running under his eyes with what looked like paw prints on his cheek bones. From the neck down to his waist, his rawhide leather vest was shred as was his skin beneath it, he was so badly sliced open his various organs were spilling out onto his lap. "A bear on synthcoke wouldn't be able to cut him up like this." Vasquez said as he knelt down, noting that the Blade was holding a pair of synthetic bone handled bowie knives that were coated in blood, "and I only know of one gang that's crazy enough to take on a Sacred Blade in melee combat and win."
Madison drew her sidearm from it's holster, "Slaughterhouse, great."
"Holy shit, he's still alive." Vasquez could hardly believe it, but despite the Blade's stomach and intestines hanging out of his body, he could easily see the heart slowly beating as well as the lungs slow inflate and deflate. "I knew the Sacred Blades were tough but jeez."
Holstering her sidearm, Madison tapped on Vasquez on the shoulder and unclipped the first aid kit from her belt. "Call it in, rookie, I'll handle the patch up."
Standing up, Vasquez pulled down the small mic from his helmet and tapped his radio, "Officer Vasquez to dispatch, I need medical response at The Slammer. Victim has lost a lot of blood, multiple lacerations, and possible organ damage." A sound of metal scrapping on concrete drew both his and Madison's attention, "suspects are possibly still in the area."
A lone man dressed in red and black leather stepped out from around a corner in the alley. "If you pigs wanted more meat this morning, all you needed to do was ask and I'll make more." The man smiled darkly as he held up a blood soaked right hand with an extended middle finger. With the flick of his wrist, a blade extended from a compartment in his forearm. "Dinner is served, come and get it!" He called out as he turned on the spot and disappeared down the alley where he emerged from.
"In pursuit of suspect," yelled Vasquez as he held his hand over his sidearm and gave chase to the Slaughterhouse ganger, despite Madison ordering him to not fall for the bait. Rounding the corner of the alley, Vasquez caught a flash of silver out the corner of his eye and his visor's HUD suddenly shorted out, followed by what felt like something slapping the side of his arm. Keeping his momentum, Vasquez tucked and rolled away from the flash of silver, rolling onto his feet and standing with his hand on his sidearm, turning to face the Slaughterhouse gangster.
"Sooey!" The Slaughterhouse gangster laughed out as he popped a blood stained blade from his forearm while a trio of wolver claws popped from between the knuckles of his other hand. "Shame you left your sow all alone for my partner to deal with." As if on que, a pair of gunshots echoed through the alley, "never mind, sounds like Stiletto is already playing with her breakfast." With another flick of his wrists more blades extended, a second wrist blade and a second trio of wolver claws.
Vasquez steadied his breathing as his thumb cocked the hammer back on his Arasaka LEH revolver, by all accounts he was about to end up like the Sacred Blades' member. With fifteen feet between him and Slaughterhouse ganger, a run of the mill officer wouldn't even be able to get a shot off before being mauled, and that would be without the gangster being on 'dorphs. "I'm only going to say this once and I'd like to not have my first day end in a bloodbath. Put the knives away, sir."
The Slaughterhouse ganger's lips peels back over his sharpened chromed teeth, "I am not a 'sir' you fucking pig!" He snarled, his dilated eyes shaking. "I am Grinder, as in Meatgrinder, as in that's what you're gonna to look like you went through when they find your body." Reaching into his jacket, Grinder pulled out a box cutter and a butcher knife, "and you're wrong again, pig. It ain't your first day, it's your last day!"
Vasquez's cybernetic right eye lit up in a digital golden light as Grinder charged at him, all manner of blades poised to strike. Vasquez saw the brief glimpse of confusion on Grinder's face as his cybernetic right arm drew the sidearm out of it's holster. A shot rang out, hitting Grinder's chest and causing him to stagger as it deflected off of some sub-dermal armor while two more shots were fired from Vasquez's revolver, which tore into his throat and nose. Grinder went from a charging blade covered bull into a stumbling slab of meat sliding past Vasquez's feet and into a stack of garbage bags. Vasquez holstered his revolver and flexed his right hand's fingers, it had been quite a while since he had had to draw a gun that quickly.
"Grinder, you need help with over there?" A female voiced called out from where Vasquez had left Madison to patch up the Sacred Blade.
Vasuqez drew and reloaded his revolver before he ran back to the spot he left his partner, only to find that the Sacred Blade was slumped over dead, and a woman dressed in similar red and black leathers to Grinder was standing behind Madison, holding a knife under her chin. "Grinder is dead", Vasquez said as he aimed his revolver at the woman's head, "let go of her and you won't have to join him."
The woman called Stiletto laughed as she looked between her hostage and Vasquez, "or I could slice this bitch open," she tapped the flat end of the blade against Madison's throat, "skin your ass alive", she pointed the blade at Vasquez, "then I can finished the job Grinder and me were paid to do, and off this street trash..." Stiletto pointed the knife in her hand at the dead Sacred Blade and then her head snapped backwards as a bullet struck her forehead.
Vasquez exhaled as Stiletto's dead body fell off of Madison, and twirled the revolver back into his holster, "you alright?"
Madison rubbed her neck, checking for any cuts only to find none, "I think so, thanks, Vasquez." Madison took a moment to collect herself, "damn bitch jumped me right after you ran off. I managed to fire off a few shots before she sliced me." She held up her right arm weakly, "must have cut something important cus my fingers went numb and I dropped my gun. Looks like they gave you the same treatment", Madison said as she nodded to a cut on Vasquez's sleeve.
Vasquez remembered he felt something tap his arm after he was jumped by Grinder, and sure enough he had a cut in the same spot as Madison, only there wasn't any blood. "And to think, I thought about one day getting a 'ganic arm back," he smiled as he flexed his fingers, pulling the med-kit off his own belt to patch up Madison as the sound of sirens echoed through the alley.
With medics attending to Madison, and a Meatwagon crew dealt with the two Slaughterhouse gang members and the Sacred Blades member, Vasquez inspected himself. Damage to his right arm was minimal, with Grinder's blade barely scratching past the faux skin covering it, the only thing in need of immediate repair was the plug cord for his helmet. Before long, Madison had the tendons in her arm repaired and Vasquez had managed to repair his plug enough to last the rest of the day until he could return it to the NCPD armory for proper repairs.
"Hell of a first day, huh?" Madison asked as she flexed her fingers, feeling the anesthesia wear off. "And that was a hell of a shot, Vasquez. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
"Oh it was nothing, I just waited until she pointed the blade away from you and took a chance at a clear shot." Reinserting the plug into the processor behind his ear, Vasquez watched as his helmet's digital display rebooted back up before his eyes. "It wasn't anything special, just by the book stuff from the academy."
Madison shook her head, "no, not that one. That shot you pulled off against Grinder." At the look of confusion on Vasquez's face, she tapped her helmet. "Buddy camera, when the you're on the clock and HQ loses your signal, the camera in your helmet transmits a feed to your patrol partner to either find them or document their last moments." She took a moment to let that sink in before continuing, "but I'm taking about the shot that took out Grinder. I've never seen anyone shoot or more that fast outside of the Psycho-Squad."
"Just some cybernetic enhanced hand-eye coordination." Vasquez explained as he and Madison left the alley to resume their patrol, "coupled with a lot of hours logged into the academy's shooting range."
"And the little twirl you did after you capped the girl?" Madison asked.
Vasquez rubbed the back of his neck, "I may have seen a few too many westerns and action movies as a kid."
Nudging his shoulder as she cycled through her visor's display of reports, Madison lead Vasquez back onto the open Night City street. "Well buckle up, cowboy. It's only eleven o'clock. If we make to the end of the day, drinks are on me."
Sliding down his visor and cycling through his own list of reported crimes and disturbances, Vasquez rested his hand on his revolver as he followed Madison to their next stop on their beat. "Sounds like a plan."