Night City would be the ideal ground zero for a demonic incursion. Basically lawless, out of control corporations and gangs who'll do anything for more power and eddies... yeah, I can imagine certain groups forming, and making deals with decidedly noncomputer daemons. The ideal hunting ground for a Slayer in need of a change of scene.
It was a lovely day for a walk.
It was a lovely world for a walk too. Nicer than Mars had been, at any rate; compared to that airless and literal hellhole, the desert was a paradise. There was even a city to walk towards. Even better.
A browse of radio comms revealed that there were humans, the city was called Night City, and that much of its entertainment was a moral cesspit. So he left VEGA to analyse the signals and instead enjoyed the few sounds of nature.
So he walked, relishing the break from his usual gory work like some accountant at a beach resort. The sun was in the sky, which was blue, nothing was attempting to kill him, and he was very slightly annoyed when VEGA announced, "There is a small remotely operated vehicle pacing us. Comms traffic indicates that it is being operated by a group belonging to Militech Corporation."
He made an enquiring noise. His vocal cords had been wrecked early in his career, eons ago, so any vocalising he did could be politely described as 'basic'.
"The group in question appears to be part of border control operations. As an independent city-state, Night City has a problem with illegal emigration as well as immigration. Would you like me to patch voice channels through?"
An affirmative grunt was the response.
"...still moving towards the border," a female voice scratched through the static, "No visible weapons. That armour of his... Christ, what the fuck has he been through?"
"Some of that damage looks fresh. Like he beat up a slaughterhouse."
"Anyone recognise that symbol? Looks like something out of that alert after the Pacifica incident."
He stopped, cocking his head.
"Fuck, don't remind me. Those guys even squicked out the Voodoo Boys, remember?"
He tensed. Despite spending almost all his cursed, overlong life in almost constant battle, he wasn't stupid.
"Hey guys, he stopped. I think... oh fuck! Radio silence people! If he hits the border move to intercept!"
"Voice communications have shifted to encrypted channels," VEGA said, "Currently unable to access their networks at this range. I recommend accessing their base for more efficient intelligence gathering."
He grunted, then growled his displeasure at threatening potential allies.
"A display of restraint and careful application of force should be more than enough to acquire intelligence. Acquisition of local weaponry is also recommended. Waypoint active. Decryption successful."
"He's moving again. Heading straight for us."
"What? How the hell did... Oh fuck, the drone!"
"Couldn't he run or something? He's just walking like he's strolling through fuckin' Konpeki Plaza. It's creeping me out."
"Who cares? Collins. Mitchell. Take crews to the border edge. If he crosses, detain him."
He smirked. He didn't need to run everywhere. Better to conserve his energy for the upcoming punch-up, since these 'Militech' sorts probably wouldn't want to share anything with him. Besides, it was a lovely day for a walk.
About five minutes later, he was greeted by a huge hologram, which he deduced correctly to indicate the border, and the unwillingness of the two squads of Militech guards to let him cross it. Had to admit, they were showing admirable discipline in the face of overwhelming odds.
One walked up, rifle one hand, the other raised in the universal stop signal. "Stop right there. By order of Night City Corporation crossing the border is prohibited except at established border control facilities."
He obligingly stopped, examining the soldier. It looked like mostly anti-ballistic kit, meant to defend against small arms fire. The grip he had on the gun, professional. Despite the fact that he now had a heavily armoured immortal warrior standing over him.
"State your business."
He stood there, then raised one hand and tapped it against his throat.
"You can't speak?"
He nodded.
"Perhaps I should speak with them," VEGA suggested.
He grunted an affirmative.
"Owing to permanent vocal chord damage," VEGA transmitted on the Militech comms, "The Doom Marine is unable to speak. I am VEGA, previously the operations AI of the UAC Mars facility. You may direct any questions to me."
He just stood there and listened to the responses.
"Fuck! Comms are compromised!" – "Doom Marine? That's not a name, that's a job title!" – "Get ICE up before that fucking AI rapes our servers!" – "Did that thing say 'Mars'?" – "What the fuck's the UAC?"
It was all quite amusing, especially the expression on the guy in front of him.
"Wh – what the hell – uh –" he took a deep breath. "Why are you here?"
"After terminating the mastermind behind the incursion, he was recalled by Director Samuel Hayden. Upon relieving him of the artifact used in that process, Director Hayden deliberately used the recall system to send the Doom Marine away. We arrived here and decided the nearest city was the best destination."
He arched an eyebrow. He had expected VEGA to openly talk about demonic incursions.
"Eavesdropping on your communications earlier, we noticed reference to similarities between the sigil on the Doom Marine's helmet and alleged symbols uncovered in the 'Pacifica incident'. As such we have decided to investigate this potential threat to Night City."
"Shit," someone said, "So much for open comms now."
"Panama all, this is Sceptre actual," a new voice cut in, "Orders as follows: Capture person of interest and..."
One moment, the guard had his rifle in hand, the next he didn't, because it was in his instead. The Doom Marine studied it with some interest; not as powerful as the UAC's heavy, but serviceable enough until he could confirm whether ammunition for the HAR was available. With trained mental impulses, he transferred the weapon into the suit's argent storage.
"Put your hands on your head! Face down! Now!" One of the other Militech guards, this one more professional. Weapon up and no doubt hot. Wasn't sure how much damage it could do to his praetor suit, but that required the user to be able to hit the target. And he was very, very fast.
It was a tricky fight, thanks to VEGA's suggestion. Since his normal methods left the targets resting in pieces, it was probable that some of the men and women he had to subdue might have snapped necks or traumatic brain injuries. The broken bones were fairly inevitable. Nonetheless, he crossed the border into Night City's territory, acquired samples of the local small arms from the local Militech patrol, and began a dead run towards the looming spires.
The drone would have followed, but went out of range, and crashed.
It was a shame, he thought, that he now had to run and hide from at least one of the ruling factions. The sun, after all, was shining, the sky was an un-hellish blue, and not a demon in sight.
It was such a lovely day for a walk.