Chapter 279: The Reasonable Count
Just as Maine fell into silence and his team members hesitated due to a strong sense of déjà vu, the low and dignified roar of an engine came from the other end of the corridor.
A black ground vehicle with an archaic design, rugged lines, and decorations of the Imperial Aquila and noble heraldry, escorted by several private guards in fine armor, stopped outside the factory blockade line.
The door slid open, and a middle-aged man with an upright posture, dressed not in flashy formal wear but in noble attire closer to a pragmatic style, stepped out.
His face was resolute, his eyes sharp, and his steps steady. There was an obvious old scar on his left cheek, as if grazed by some energy weapon. He radiated the aura of a veteran who had experienced many battles, starkly different from those pampered Hive nobles.
Upon seeing him, the Adeptus Arbites commander and Proctor Atkins immediately straightened their bodies and saluted respectfully.
"Lord Count!"
The man addressed as the Count nodded slightly. His gaze swept over the chaotic factory gate, then landed on Maine's squad and the two Iron Guard prototypes. A trace of imperceptible surprise flashed in his eyes, but he quickly regained his calm.
"I am Count Cassius von Gresham." His voice was not loud but carried an unquestionable authority. He asked the Adeptus Arbites commander directly, without even communicating with Maine and the others first, "What is the situation now? What are the workers' demands?"
His attitude surprised Maine somewhat.
No exasperation, no immediate demand for suppression, but asking about the situation first—appearing extremely pragmatic.
The commander reported immediately, "Lord Count, the workers are protesting excessively long working hours, demanding increased rations and reduced hours. They have damaged three automated production lines and detained four workshop supervisors."
Hearing the report, Count Gresham showed no emotion on his face. His gaze swept over the tightly closed factory gate again; the scar on his face appeared deeper in the dim light.
He was silent for a few seconds, seeming to weigh something in that brief pause.
"The production lines cannot stop for too long." He finally spoke again, his tone steady but carrying unquestionable decisiveness. "Restore order as soon as possible. Control the core agitators who led the disturbance and damaged equipment, and deal with them according to the law.
"As for the majority who were merely incited or coerced, as long as they are willing to return to their posts immediately, they will not be pursued."
He looked at the commander, his eyes sharp. "My requirements are clear—restore production and avoid unnecessary losses. The Adeptus Arbites knows what to do."
"Understood, Lord Count." The commander nodded immediately, his tone full of assurance. "That is our intention as well: solve the problem, maintain production, and keep bloodshed to a minimum."
At this moment, Maine took advantage of the gap while Count Gresham was examining the factory gate to whisper to Proctor Atkins beside him, "Is the treatment in his factory... really that bad? Why are the workers rioting?"
Proctor Atkins looked at Count Gresham's back and responded quickly in a lowered voice, even carrying a trace of helplessness. "Quite the opposite. In Count von Gresham's factory, the standard work shift is sixteen hours, and a nutritious lunch is provided.
"This is already top-tier treatment in the Mid-Hive of Vesta Prima.
"Surrounding factories generally have eighteen-hour shifts, no lunch, only basic synthetic nutrient paste.
"Some unscrupulous workshops even stretch shifts to twenty hours... The workers rioting is probably due to incitement, or... just pent-up resentment finding an outlet."
Maine exchanged a look with his team members, and they saw disbelief on each other's faces.
A sixteen-hour workday plus a lunch was actually called "generous treatment" here?
In Night City, even the lowest Nomads could find time for themselves in trash heaps, yet breathing seemed to be a luxury for the workers here.
Dorio unconsciously clenched her fists. She remembered the days with the Animals when at least they could fight freely.
Pilar subconsciously adjusted his goggles, as if this could make the suffocating reality before him clearer.
"At least this Count is reasonable." Rebecca pouted, her voice carrying rare restraint. "If it were Arasaka or Militech, they would have sent armored vehicles crashing in long ago."
Maine nodded silently.
Indeed, compared to the corporate methods they were familiar with, the handling by this Count and the Adeptus Arbites could be called restrained.
Although the standpoints were different, at least they weren't out for extermination.
He took a deep breath and was about to order cooperation with the Enforcers' action—
Just then, a distinctly different sound of footsteps came from the end of the corridor.
The sound was heavy and orderly, with the crisp sound of metal heels striking the ground, forming a sharp contrast with the disordered steps of the Enforcers.
Accompanied by the approaching footsteps, the air seemed to solidify. Even the noisy clamor behind the factory gate suddenly quieted down.
First appearing in view was a squad of soldiers clad in blue carapace armor. Their equipment was astonishingly fine: unfamiliar insignia etched on their pauldrons, Hellguns and plasma weapons in their hands flashing with cold light.
These soldiers moved as if cast from the same mold; every turn, every step was perfectly synchronized.
Following closely were Planetary Defense Force soldiers surging like a tide, quickly occupying various strategic positions.
Their numbers were so great that they almost completely blocked the entire corridor.
The newly arrived soldiers scanned the original Enforcer squad indifferently, their eyes full of coldness and harshness.
Maine noticed Count Gresham's face instantly turn ashen, and the Adeptus Arbites commander's fingers had unconsciously pressed on the holster at his waist.
This formation was clearly not here to mediate a labor dispute.
At the core of this group was a person draped in a black robe, face hidden in the shadow of a hood, revealing only an angular chin.
On his chest, he wore a conspicuous insignia—a red letter "I" with a white skull embedded in the middle.
The moment they saw this insignia, the faces of Count Gresham and all Adeptus Arbites members turned pale abruptly; even their breathing seemed to stop.
The man, wearing a crisp dark gray officer's coat and bearing that conspicuous insignia, stepped forward.
His face was grim, his eyes sharp as a falcon's, scanning the scene with an oppressive sense of scrutinizing all things.
His voice was steady, yet like a polar wind, devoid of any warmth. "In the name of the Holy Inquisition. I am Inquisitor Karras Walker of the Ordo Malleus."
His declaration seemed to freeze the surrounding air.
"We have detected abnormal psychic fluctuations and signs of heretical activity in this Hive. According to cross-referenced intelligence..." He paused, every word clear and heavy.
(End of Chapter)