A Nomad in Turmoil

"So, Hector didn't kill that old bastard."

Cedric, who had returned to the tribe, appeared somewhat dazed, possibly due to the side effects of curing his cyber psychosis.

His cybernetic body had been entirely replaced with basic functional implants, no longer equipped for combat.

"Are you disappointed?" Navi sat beside him, filling him in on recent events.

"No," Cedric shook his head. "If it were me, I would have definitely killed that guy. But I know Hector wouldn't. That's exactly why the old chieftain chose him to succeed. You don't know what he's like before he acts—always taking half a day to think it through. Sure, he's capable, but when it comes to killing..."

"You think he should be more ruthless?"

"No." Cedric shook his head again, looking somewhat lost. "I understand what the old chieftain meant now."

Without even considering his own experiences, killing someone like Ziggy Q would only lead to another host taking over, perhaps even by the next day. The TV station would only remember that a nomad committed murder publicly.

But now, everyone knows that Hector didn't kill Ziggy Q. People also know that Red Ocher had been experimented on, his blood containing toxins, and that no one dares to claim or treat this virus.

Whenever Ziggy Q appears on TV, people will look at his altered face and remember Hector's shot. They'll remember what happened that night.

Ziggy Q's career is already over. It's not just him, but the entire brand. That's the equivalent response to the humiliation.

Maybe one day, the brand "Ziggy Q" will be completely discarded, and the disgraced host, lost without the spotlight, will have to survive in society. Perhaps then, he will regret what he did today.

Cedric looked at the people in the tribe, wrapped in reflective cloth—

Right now, he was the only one with these symptoms; everyone else was dead.

It was as if an entire generation had been cut off.

The tribe members without protection were in an increasingly difficult situation. Even something as mass-produced and cheap as kibble had to be soaked in drinks to be eaten.

Watching his family eat such things constantly tormented him.

Cedric stared blankly at it all—he had been the one who recklessly ventured into biotechnica, the first to do so.

And now, he was the only one who survived, also the one suffering the most.

Suddenly, he recalled something the old chieftain had once said to him and muttered:

"Navi, remember this—we nomads are not killers. When you decide to kill someone, you should look into their eyes. Look into their eyes to make sure they'll go to hell after they die.

Or, perhaps—you'll be the one going to hell."

Navi paused, then nodded.

Just then, Leo walked out of the tent—he had just finished taking stock of the supplies Regina had sent over.

Mostly food and drinks, along with some standard civilian implants. They weren't as good as military-grade combat implants but were stable enough.

Cedric's words were overheard by Leo, who nodded in agreement. "You guys are talking about Ziggy Q? Hector's choice in that matter did us a big favor. That shot, at the very least, cost our enemy millions of Eddies."

Cedric, I need to ask you something. I'm looking for a nomad camp with a full set of medical equipment for cybernetic implants."

"Well, you've come to the right person." Cedric stood up with his cane. "Although you're already a legend in Night City, when dealing with nomads, you'll need someone like me—a big brother, if you will, among the nomads."

"Navi, you should come too. The other tribes haven't met their new chieftain yet."

"The Aldecaldos are divided into many tribes, each specializing in different things—that was over a decade ago, though. It's becoming more and more blurred.

As for why? Well, it started with a bad example.

Over ten years ago, the chieftain of the Santiago tribe disappeared, and then all sorts of people started emerging from the tribe.

Corporations began recruiting tribes with special skills, and some people jumped at the chance, completely forgetting what the companies had done to us!

From that point on, many tribes were assimilated, split up, and slowly lost touch with one another, leading to today. Sigh, as you can see."

In the car, Leo nodded slightly. This aligned with the truth he had imagined:

Dividing a large organization into several specialized departments is a way to improve operational efficiency. It's also highly adapted to the way society operates.

However, specialization means strong coupling, which weakens internal cohesion.

Nomads are essentially clan-like organizations based on kinship. While some may excel in certain areas, they still need to help each other solve various problems and learn new skills together.

Specialization improves efficiency in specific fields but turns the internal tribes into tightly coupled small groups.

Those with outstanding abilities often wonder: Why stay in a "family" that's dragged down by other parts, when you could join a more "civilized" society offering better conditions and earn more money?

These groups can't withstand the pressures of capitalism because their specialized skills can easily be converted into money—a unit of power.

Then they find that much of what they earn has to go toward developing and supporting other areas, helping the rest of the group grow.

This isn't inherently a bad thing—but after Santiago disappeared, it was clear that no one in the Aldecaldos could properly exercise this distribution of power.

When income distribution is mishandled, it's no wonder people start thinking differently.

A great idea had turned into poison for the larger organization. With a little outside temptation, people could easily be lured away.

No wonder every nomad in the game thinks about cooperating with corporations. Intimidation and temptation—it's all there.

Leo thought for a moment and asked, "What was Red Ocher known for within the Aldecaldos?"

"Red Ocher used to be a small group of miners who fled the corporations. We knew how to find water and minerals, but those are basic skills if you want to survive in the Badlands.

We taught those skills to other tribes and then started focusing on vehicle modification—that Mackinaw is nice, right?"

"It's very nice—have you seen the news?"

"What news?"

"You'll see for yourself later. I won't spoil it—keep talking about the Aldecaldos."

"Where was I? Right, vehicle modification—that's a survival skill all nomads need: knowing your car.

But modifying vehicles is more of a necessity for survival, so we had to take on dangerous jobs from time to time.

In general, Red Ocher doesn't have any particularly outstanding skills, but we know everything a nomad should know."

That made sense—tribes with specialized skills were poached, leaving the less skilled ones behind.

They could survive, but living well would be much harder—and it was clear the tribe they were about to visit was in the same situation.

"So, who are we going to see now?" Leo asked.

"We're heading to the Bright family. They're in a similar situation to ours, but they mainly do smuggling.

They've been stationed in Night City for a while, and life hasn't been easy. I've got some history with their leader—some camaraderie forged during an oil raid.

Oh, their leader's name is Saul Bright. He's even considered working with Biotechnica before, asking us about it. But we haven't been in touch for a long time now."

Cedric sighed. "There's a clause in the Biotechnica contract. It's really messed up, but we're almost there. I'll give them a heads-up."

Leo looked at the growing cluster of white tents and RVs in the distance and thought to himself: Saul Bright—that's the badass who helped V storm the tower in the game.

The Bright family camp also had implant doctors, perfect for using their equipment to repair and examine V and Jackie.

Cedric suddenly said, "A fixer wants to talk to you. It's Dakota Smith—a kind-hearted old woman. Do you want to chat?"

"Of course."

"Hmm, she says she'll be here soon."