This won't be the kind of book that's full of eloquent phrases or elaborate metaphors. I'm not a writer – I'm a cop. Or rather, I was a cop, before the mass redundancies.
I'm not writing this for money or fame. I'm writing it because I'm pissed off and won't stay silent while the NCPD goes to ruin.
Before you say anything – I know, we weren't perfect. Night City has never been a safe city, but we tried – as God is my witness, we really tried to keep our city safe, even while we lacked the money, people and equipment we so desperately needed.
The mayor couldn't have cared less. He wanted to cut costs. Apparently, since the NCPD wasn't "profitable," he said at a press conference (a day after seven of us were killed by a cyberpsycho in Vista del Rey) then why not privatize it? That very same day the NCPD was transferred into private ownership. All according to plan.
Our new Chief of Police (previously the head of the DataTerm sales department) cared only about one thing – money. He fired half of the force, cut down the number of patrols and ordered those working the streets to drop everything and start writing tickets.
It didn't take long to see the effects – the city's crime rate went through the roof, bodies clogged the alleyways and the sidewalks were painted red with blood. Meanwhile, the suits at Corpo Plaza were popping champagne and celebrating. Why? Because the demand for private security services had increased by a thousand percent.
