On the Net

General Viewpoint

"Howdy, howdy, Night City! Welcome back to Evening After Evening with me, ZiggyQ! My guest today is Wallace Bouden, Deputy District Chief of Watson with the Night City Fire Department. Hi there, welcome to the show!"

Said Ziggy, the talk show host who had become popular this year with the debut of his TV program, known for his ironic way of speaking and unpredictability in interviews.

"Hello, Ziggy. Thanks for having me."

Answered Wallace Bouden, a 50-year-old African-American man with 30 years of experience as a firefighter, representing the FDNC in this interview. Bouden knew exactly what kind of interview awaited him, but he had no other choice. If he wanted a raise in the NC firefighters' spending budget— which had been steadily decreasing since the tragedy of H3—this interview was the only option he had been given. Yet, this interview could very well turn out to be a trap or a joke.

"I hope you made it to the building without any issues? No cut stairs or disabled elevators preventing you from getting up to the studio?" Ziggy asked wryly, waving his arms in an exaggerated fashion.

"Hmm. No, no. Fortunately, I was able to get up here without any of the problems you described. Our department's firefighters also inspect the elevators and fire exits in our respective districts," replied Bouden, fully aware of what Ziggy was implying.

"Hold on, hold on! You're saying the firefighters are doing their job right? Then how do you explain what happened in the Heywood District Megabuilding H3? We can all remember that horrible fire... Let's take a second for the tragic lives that were lost..." Ziggy paused dramatically before continuing. "Well! So how can you say the FDNC is doing its job right when that fire burned up to 22 floors—a quarter of the megabuilding went up in flames! The elevators were supposedly inoperative 'due to malfunction,' and most of the emergency exits above the 50th floor were closed. So, tell me, Chief Bouden! What happened? Where were the firefighters when 384 people burned alive because they couldn't escape the inferno in that megabuilding?"

Bouden clenched his hands tightly, so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palms, drawing blood. It was the only way to contain himself after hearing this so-called journalist ask such cynical, irony-laden questions. Ziggy was filling his mouth with the deaths of nearly 400 people while ridiculing the FDNC.

Chief Bouden took a deep breath and recalled what happened at H3—

One of the worst fires in Night City's history. It was also intentional.

It happened during the last Valentinos war against Maelstrom. The Valentinos had turned the top eight floors of Megabuilding H3 into a base of operations and a clandestine drug lab. The NCPD knew about it but did nothing. Maelstrom knew too—and acted.

They broke into the H3 control room, deactivated all the elevators, fire systems, and closed most of the emergency exits. Then they set fire to the top 20 floors to annihilate the Valentinos on those eight floors, with no regard for the families, children, and adults who lived in the rest of the 22 floors that burned in the blaze.

But the information about the actions of the gangs was swept under the rug when the mayor of the city chose to declare that all these events were due to the inaction of the FDNC. This decision was made to avoid tarnishing Night City's already damaged image by exposing a gang war that had claimed 384 lives in a single day. Instead, the blame was shifted to the FDNC, leading the masses, the media, and politicians to hold us accountable for what happened. Salaries were slashed, and the budgets allocated to each district were further reduced.

Bouden still remembered Marcus, his counterpart from Heywood, who had served as the district chief. The media and society vilified Marcus as the main culprit of the fire, accusing him of failing to send firefighters to do their job and thus condemning all those people to their deaths.

Marcus couldn't bear the weight of these accusations. His breaking point came when his son was beaten so severely in high school that the boy fell into a coma. His wife, Maria, descended into madness upon witnessing what had happened to their innocent son. On top of that, the FDNC insurance did not cover the medical treatment, and they lacked the Eurodollars to afford the care he needed. When their son died, Maria vanished. It was believed she wandered into the Badlands, her mind shattered and her eyes empty of hope.

Marcus, having endured all of this, finally gave in to despair. He climbed to the roof of the Medical Center and jumped to his death. A man who had sworn to serve and protect his city was blamed and condemned by the very citizens and leaders he had devoted his life to.

His story became a tragic tale known only within the FDNC. Well, perhaps there was one other organization that knew the truth: the NCPD. Once practically brothers with the FDNC, their bond was severed after the H3 fire and its consequences. To Bouden, the NCPD betrayed them, shifting blame to the FDNC to protect their own image. This betrayal fostered a deep resentment between the two organizations, one that lingered to this day.

"We—Well, I can't answer for my fellow members of the Glen Sub-district. I can only speak for the men and women I supervise and vouch for their work. But I'm sure the firefighters who went to that fire did—"

Bouden began, struggling to maintain his composure, only to be abruptly interrupted. He clenched his fists, doing everything he could to suppress the urge to strike this plastic-faced provocateur, Ziggy, whose accusations seemed to drip with venom and mockery as he continued to criticize the FDNC's supposed failures during the H3 fire.

It had been the NCPD themselves who wouldn't let the firefighters in, even after three hours of waiting—three hours of watching desperate people jump from windows to escape the flames. The police claimed they couldn't secure the H3 control room, where Maelstrom had barricaded themselves to prevent any attempts to extinguish the fire. The gang held out as long as they could, even dying in the process.

By the time the NCPD finally secured the control room and allowed the firefighters to reactivate the fire systems, elevators, and emergency exits, 21 of the 22 burning floors in the H3 tragedy had already been reduced to ash.

"YES, YES, the same thing the late Deputy District Chief of Heywood said. What was his name… Marlin? That his brave men put their lives on the line to—"

Ziggy interrupted himself, flinging his upper body theatrically onto the desk in front of him to convey mock exasperation at Bouden's explanation. But suddenly, his eyes lit up as though he had just received breaking news.

"Oh, Chief Bouden, I'm getting word of an NCPD chase happening right now in Watson! Apparently, there's an FDNC truck involved. And since we have you here as an expert in the field, why don't you share your thoughts? Thanks to the insatiable workers at Channel 54, we've got exclusive live footage of what's going on."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Ziggy," Bouden replied, his tone serious and cold. He was still processing the disrespect Ziggy had shown by mistakenly calling Marcus "Marlin." Another jab, another reminder of how a good man had been framed, driven to despair, and ultimately, to his death.

Despite his simmering anger, Bouden forced himself to stay seated in what he now considered a circus of an interview. He knew how badly the FDNC needed their budget restored. Without those funds, they couldn't properly do their jobs—jobs that had already been made nearly impossible after the H3 tragedy.

Shifting his focus to the supposed NCPD chase involving an FDNC truck, Bouden furrowed his brow. Did someone steal one of our trucks? he wondered. But almost immediately, he dismissed the thought. If that had happened, he would have been informed right away.

Instead, unease settled in his gut as he waited to see what exactly Channel 54's exclusive footage would reveal.

---

Pov of Bes Isis

"Ho-ho! Looks like you've got a flower up your ass, Bes. Apparently, Ziggy does care about the chase, just like you said. We're live in 20 seconds. Be ready, and remember—don't screw this up. Unless, of course, you want the network's AV to become your second home, like what happened to me when I pissed off the bosses by publishing that story about Biotechnica's supposedly health-hazardous meds without their permission."

Lyle McClellan, a veteran at Channel 54, chuckled at his own misfortune. He was a true journalist, one of the rare few left in the business, though his cynicism had grown over the years. Unlike that plastic man Ziggy, who only cared about ratings and building a career on the backs of guests he ridiculed.

"Shut up already, Lyle!" I snapped. "I don't regret what I did. Those Biotechnica bastards are killing people with their medicines, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, same tune as always. Corpo this, corpo that. Listen, I don't care about your crusades, but if you really wanted to bring down Biotechnica, you should've waited until you had firm proof. Instead, you went and put out a half-baked story, and now look where it's gotten you—barely clinging to your job and stuck here in this metal coffin, controlling traffic with me." He laughed bitterly. "What I'm saying, Bes, is that anyone else would've been kicked to the curb already. So, don't screw this up. You hear me?"

Before I could respond, the comms crackled to life.

"YOU'VE GOT 10 SECONDS. AND WE'RE LIVE."

I took a deep breath, nodding as Lyle's words echoed in my mind. I pushed my frustrations aside and focused on the task ahead: broadcasting the live feed of the NCPD chase. To me, the whole thing looked more like a prank orchestrated by a couple of teenagers having the time of their lives. They were singing, laughing, and even shooting water at the NCPD cars chasing them, all while blasting music through the fire truck's PA system.

The music was so loud, I could hear it from inside the AV. It sounded like one of Jackie's hits—you know, that trendy singer who either inspired laughter or admiration. I couldn't decide if the guy was a joke or a genius. But then I remembered how he'd released all his music into the public domain, giving people the freedom to do what they wanted with it while shielding it from corporate use. That move? That was pure rebellion. It reminded me of the kind of thing we could've done back in the day, if we hadn't been broke deadbeats, scraping together eddies just to keep our instruments working.

Watching the chase unfold, with its bizarre mix of music, gunshots, laughter, and sirens, something stirred in me. It took me back to the old days, back when Johnny was alive, pissing off everyone in his orbit. I hadn't thought about that fucker in years, but now? This chaotic symphony unfolding below me was like a scene ripped straight out of our past.

"LIVE!" shouted Lyle, snapping me back to the present as he lowered his hand in a sweeping gesture.

["Good afternoon, Ziggy," I said smoothly. "This is Bes Isis, reporting live from Channel 54's AV, flying over Watson."]

["Howdy, howdy, Bes!" Ziggy's gratingly cheerful voice came through the feed. "Meet Chief Bouden of the FDNC, who'll be joining us to comment on the exciting news you're bringing us."]