The CDPO Specialist
The situation in Alba was shifting, and Roy could feel it.
There were signs, small at first, like the way people in Chinatown kept their conversations shorter, their eyes flicking to corners they never used to check. Gigs became harder to come by, at least the ones that paid well, and the streets had a new kind of tension to them. Roy had spent the last few weeks moving from one job to another, taking whatever legal work he could find, but even he could tell the wind was blowing the other way.
After the Dumas job, he’d decided that being a career criminal wasn’t for him. Mercenary work? Maybe. But outright crime, the kind that left a trail, the kind that came back to bite you—didn’t seem worth it.
Irya had told him to lay low, and for once, Roy had listened. She wasn’t taking any gigs either, just spending her credits, burning through the money she’d earned, living like she didn’t have a worry in the world.
Roy wasn’t that lucky.
He was broke, and broke men didn’t have the luxury of sitting on their hands. So he kept moving, working small-time jobs, making enough to keep his head above water. Nothing fancy, loading docks, transport runs, janitorial work, anything that paid in legal credits. It wasn’t much, but at least it kept him clear of trouble.
Or so he thought.
Because the thing about trouble was that it had a way of finding you, even when you were trying to avoid it.
The room was cold.
Not physically, Roy had been in colder places he thought, but there was something about the way the walls pressed in around him, sterile and gray, that made the air feel thinner.
A single light buzzed above, casting a harsh glow over the metal table. His wrists were free, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t trapped. Across from him sat a CGOM officer, a woman in her mid-forties with sharp, calculating eyes and a face that had long since stopped giving a damn about excuses.
“Roy Inman,” she said, leaning forward slightly, fingers interlocked. “Or should I say, Ron Hyde?”
Roy exhaled through his nose, keeping his expression neutral. “That depends. Which one gets me in less trouble?”
The officer wasn’t amused. “Your background check flagged a discrepancy,” she continued. “We ran a deep scan. Turns out your employment history is… nonexistent.”
Roy didn’t flinch. “I’m new to Mars.”
“That much is obvious,” she said, tapping a file. “Fake identity. Forged work documents. If we wanted to, we could hit you with false identification charges and slap you with a few years in prison.”
Roy swallowed hard but kept his face blank. He’d never been in this kind of situation before. Sure, he’d seen people get hauled in, heard stories about interrogations, but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely.
“I needed work,” Roy said simply. “No experience, no real records, no way to get a job without a little… creative problem-solving.”
The officer studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “You got lucky.”
Roy blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re an idiot,” she said bluntly. “But you’re also not a threat. We’ve looked through your history—what little of it exists—and all we see is a guy taking random gigs, trying to stay afloat. There’s no link between you and anything serious. Just stupidity.”
Roy said nothing. He wasn’t about to argue with that assessment.
“You’re getting fined,” the officer continued. “Forgery isn’t a light crime, and you’re damn lucky it’s just that. You’ll pay the fine, lose your job, and if we catch you doing it again, we won’t be so lenient.”
Roy nodded slowly, his stomach twisting. He didn’t have much to begin with, and now they were taking what little he had left.
It was better than prison.
But it still felt like shit.
Sepp nearly fell out of his chair laughing.
Roy sat across from him, arms crossed, staring at his empty glass like he could will it into refilling itself.
“Let me get this straight,” Sepp wheezed, still grinning. “You went back to a job you infiltrated, using a fake identity, after a high-profile assassination attempt went sideways?”
Roy scowled. “It was good money.”
Sepp pounded his fist against the table, shaking his head. “I swear to God, Roy, you’ve got some kind of death wish.”
“I didn’t think they’d check after I was already hired,” Roy muttered.
Sepp wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “That’s the best part! The job was over, man. You could’ve walked away clean, but noooo, you just had to stick around.”
Roy sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, alright, I get it. I fucked up. You done laughing?”
Sepp smirked. “Not even close, but I’ll give you a break. You’re one of the most retarded people I’ve met for a while.”
Roy shook his head, slumping back against his seat. His financial situation had just gone from bad to worse. The fine had drained what little he had left. His hotel gig was gone. He barely had enough for groceries, let alone fuel. The Mustang GT replica sat idle, useless without enough credits to get it running.
Back to taking the train, then.
Sepp finally calmed down, taking a swig of his drink. “So, what’s the plan now?”
“Same as before,” Roy said. “Find work. Stay out of trouble.”
Sepp raised a brow. “Are you sure about that second part?”
Roy smirked. “No, but I can try.”
Later that night, Roy found himself sitting alone in Haven, nursing a cheap drink he could barely afford. Kasi was off in the corner, talking to a few girls Roy vaguely recognized as part of the same brothel network she had ties to. He wasn’t in the mood to make conversation.
The news played on a small screen behind the bar. More reports about the increased CDPO presence in Alba, more stories about augment malfunctions leading to violent incidents.
Mars was shifting.
It wasn’t just Dumas’s survival that had changed things. The whole planet was tightening up. More regulations. More oversight. More crackdowns on the people who had gotten too comfortable in the gray areas of the law.
Roy had slipped up, but he wasn’t the only one.
He sighed, leaning back against the booth. The fine had hurt, but it had also been a lesson.
And if Mars was changing its tune, then he needed to figure out how to change with it.
----------------------------------------
After the whole interrogation mess, Roy found himself in desperate need of work. Credits weren’t just tight, they were suffocating. The fine from the CGOM had left him scraping by, and losing the hotel gig only made things worse. For a while, he drifted between odd jobs, taking whatever legal work he could get his hands on.
Eventually, Uncle Lin Fang threw him a bone.
“There’s a mechanic looking for a hand,” Lin had said, barely looking up from his PDA. “Martian-born, real particular about his cars. You need the money, he needs a worker. Sounds like a perfect match to me.”
Roy wasn’t about to argue.
That’s how he found himself at Pedro Pascal’s Auto & Mod Shop, standing in the cluttered garage, surrounded by half-assembled vehicles, oil-streaked tools, and the scent of metal and grease.
Pedro Pascal, big, broad-shouldered, with a prosthetic arm and an exoskeleton strapped to his back gave Roy a skeptical look.
“Are you a mechanic?” Pedro asked, arms crossed.
“I can be,” Roy answered confidently.
Pedro raised an eyebrow.
Roy sighed and rolled up his sleeves. “Look, I’ve been doing odd jobs for a while. Even if I don’t know something, the AR-headsets walk you through it. Worst case, I learn as I go.”
Pedro grunted. “True. But tools can only do so much. AI can show you how to fix a car, but it can’t teach you to feel the machine. It’s the finishing touch that matters.”
Roy nodded, trying not to let that go over his head.
Pedro studied him for a long moment, then gestured toward the toolbox. “Alright, rookie. Let’s see what you got.”
The work was brutal.
Roy had always considered himself fit, but after just a few days under Pedro’s watchful eye, he felt like he was running on fumes. Pedro worked with mechanical efficiency, his exoskeleton enhancing his movements, allowing him to lift heavy parts like they were nothing.
Roy, meanwhile, relied solely on muscle and determination.
That determination lasted exactly one week before he realized fuck this.
By the second week, he finally caved and asked Pedro if he could repair an old exoskeleton unit he’d spotted collecting dust in storage.
Pedro smirked. “Go for it. If you can fix it, you can use it.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Roy spent the better part of a night jury-rigging the damn thing, scavenging spare parts and a battery pack until it powered on with a satisfying hum. The next day, when he strapped it on and felt the relief of its mechanical support, he nearly cried.
The job didn’t get easy, but it became manageable.
Two weeks in, he was surprised to realize he actually… didn’t mind it.
For the first time in a long while, Roy had a job that wasn’t a total headache. No guns, no backroom deals, no watching his six. Just work. Honest work. The pay was decent, enough to afford two meals a day — two whole meals, which felt like a goddamn luxury. He could even start saving a little.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was steady.
Roy had just finished working on a CGOM vehicle, wiping the sweat and grease from his forehead, when he heard the clack of boots against the concrete.
His stomach twisted.
He turned and immediately wished he hadn’t.
There she was.
Lieutenant Lee Jisoo.
The officer from the Colonial Division of Public Order.
The first thing Roy noticed was the katana slung at her hip, ornate, sleek, and somehow more intimidating than any firearm she could’ve carried. The second thing he noticed was her.
Long, jet-black hair, sharp emerald-green eyes, and an athletic build that practically screamed authority. She had an eyepatch-like visor covering one eye, the cybernetic interface glowing faintly.
Her legs for days moved with a confidence that made Roy’s mouth dry. The blue bomber jacket with CDPO emblazoned on the back sat snugly over her crisp white shirt, which was tucked into black leather pants that did nothing to help Roy’s already distracted brain.
It didn’t help that he had made the grave mistake of looking.
At her thighs.
Or, more specifically, at the thigh-gap between them.
A thing of beauty.
Purely objectively, of course.
Lt. Jisoo, with her sharp gaze, immediately noticed where he was looking.
Her expression turned icy.
“Eyes up, citizen,” she said, voice cold enough to drop the room’s temperature.
Roy immediately looked away, trying and failing to act like he hadn’t just been caught admiring the view.
Jisoo tilted her head slightly, as if suddenly recognizing him. “Wait. You’re that janitor who used a fake identity.”
Roy felt something deep inside him wither. “Uh—”
Jisoo’s emerald eye narrowed. “Up to something no good?”
Before Roy could sputter out a response, Pedro, still wiping grease off his hands, spoke up.
“He’s a damn good worker,” Pedro said simply. “Diligent. Haven’t had a single issue with him.”
Jisoo regarded Pedro for a moment, then looked back at Roy, studying him. She was clearly debating whether or not to press further, but after a few seconds, she exhaled sharply.
“I’ll take your word for it, then,” she said to Pedro.
Then she turned to Roy.
“You’re lucky,” she said, voice laced with warning. “Don’t give me a reason to question it.”
Roy nodded stiffly. “Got it, Lieutenant.”
Jisoo gave him one last lingering look before shifting her attention to the vehicle he’d just finished servicing.
Pedro, who had been watching the exchange with an expression of barely contained amusement, waited until Jisoo was out of earshot before grinning like a damn idiot.
Roy groaned. “Don’t.”
Pedro smirked. “Oh, I’m definitely gonna say something.”
Roy sighed, rubbing his temples.
“She caught you staring, man.”
“I was distracted,” Roy muttered defensively.
“By her thighs.”
“Pedro.”
The mechanic chuckled, shaking his head. “You got a death wish or something? Staring at a CDPO officer like that?”
“It was a glance,” Roy grumbled.
Pedro gave him a look.
Roy sighed again, heavier this time. “Fine. Maybe a little longer than a glance.”
Pedro let out a full laugh. “Man, you are so lucky she didn’t book you for something just to make a point.”
Roy exhaled, glancing toward Jisoo as she inspected the CGOM vehicle. “Yeah. I know.”
Still, as dangerous as she was, Roy couldn’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time they crossed paths.
----------------------------------------
He was just being poetic. Roy didn’t believe in fate, but the universe sure seemed to love throwing him into bad situations.
The streets of Alba City were always alive, a seizure-inducing dance of neon lights, street vendors, and wandering souls looking for their next thrill under the red-tinted sky of Mars. Chinatown was no different. He had just stepped out of a noodle shop, sipping on a Martian-brand cola, when a familiar presence made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Lieutenant Lee Jisoo.
Even in a crowd, she stood out. Not just because of her uniform, but because she had that kind of presence.
The kind that told you she was someone you didn’t want to fuck with while being pretty.
She was heading in the opposite direction, seemingly focused on her own business, when Roy felt her gaze suddenly shift.
She felt someone staring.
Her hand instinctively dropped to the ornate hilt of her katana.
Roy barely had time to react before she locked eyes with him.
The emerald-green gaze sharpened, studying him with a mix of suspicion and mild annoyance.
“You again?” she said, her voice cool, but edged with something more dangerous.
Roy raised a hand, the other still holding his cola. “Before you start thinking I’m some kinda stalker, this is just a coincidence.”
Her expression remained unreadable, her fingers still lightly resting on her blade.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with tension.
Jisoo narrowed her eyes slightly. “Coincidence?”
Roy nodded, then casually gestured toward Chinatown’s bright district, the neon lights reflecting off the rain-slicked pavement. “I mean, where else am I supposed to eat? Good food, good atmosphere. Not my fault you decided to walk in my general direction.”
She didn’t respond immediately, as if weighing his words, trying to decipher if he was being sincere or just fucking with her.
Then, after a pause, she exhaled sharply. “You’re weird.”
Roy grinned. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Jisoo folded her arms, clearly debating whether she wanted to entertain this conversation or just walk away.
Then Roy, for some stupid reason, decided to be honest.
“I mean,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t really help it, especially when I see a beautiful woman.”
Her reaction was instantaneous.
She stared at him like he had just short-circuited her brain. Her expression shifted slightly—mildly surprised, a little irritated, but also just a little amused.
Then, just as quickly, her eyes hardened again.
“Don’t look below,” she said, voice flat. “It’s rude. And creepy.”
Roy raised his hands in surrender. “I totally agree.”
Jisoo sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Men are exhausting.”
“Hey,” Roy said, smirking, “I was just being honest.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just—”
She turned to leave.
Then Roy’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
The moment his hand connected, the air froze.
Jisoo’s entire body tensed.
Her emerald-green eye turned to ice as she spun on him, her free hand already moving to strike.
Then—
BANG.
The street pole behind them exploded.
An armor-piercing bullet tore through the metal like it was paper, embedding itself into the building behind them.
Jisoo’s expression shifted immediately, anger replaced by pure tactical focus.
She didn’t hesitate.
She shoved Roy down and dropped to cover.
Her pistol was already in her hands.
She glanced at the hole in the pole, quickly calculating the shot’s trajectory.
Without missing a beat, she fired one precise shot, the bullet ricocheting off a metal railing before embedding itself into the sniper’s skull.
Roy barely had time to process what just happened when he heard the rush of footsteps.
Four hitmen.
They moved fast, armed, trained, rushing toward Jisoo’s blind spot.
Roy barely had time to shout a warning before she drew her high-frequency blade.
It happened in seconds.
Jisoo pivoted. The blade sang through the air, cleaving through the knees of two men before they even had time to react.
The third hitman tried to shoot, but she was already inside his guard.
She snapped her leg up, delivering an axe kick to his skull—caving it in with brutal efficiency.
Roy let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Then another car screeched to a stop nearby.
More reinforcements.
The doors started to open — Jisoo didn’t wait.
She reached for the folding shotgun strapped to her waist with her left hand.
Before the hitmen inside could even raise their weapons, she emptied both barrels into the car.
Blood painted the interior.
Silence.
Just the distant hum of the city, the flickering neon reflecting off wet pavement, and the scent of gunpowder.
Roy slowly stood up, taking a deep breath.
“…fuck,” he muttered.
Jisoo, still crouched, glanced at him sharply. “Stay still.”
Her radio crackled.
“Lieutenant Lee, report.”
Jisoo pressed a hand to her earpiece. “Shots fired. Four confirmed hostiles down. Possible sniper presence. Requesting reinforcements at my location.”
The response was immediate.
“Copy that. Units en route.”
Roy sighed, knowing that meant sticking around was no longer optional.
Jisoo holstered her pistol, giving Roy a long, measured look. “You okay?”
Roy took another sip of his cola, pretending like he hadn’t just watched her slaughter five people in the span of a minute.
“Yeah,” he said. “You?”
She exhaled sharply, clearly annoyed at his casual attitude, but didn’t press the issue.
Instead, she looked at the carnage around them, then back at him.
Roy sighed heavily.
“…I really need to stop running into dangerous women.”
Jisoo, exhausted, just shook her head.
Within minutes, CDPO units swarmed the area.
Roy watched as the officers secured the perimeter, confiscated weapons, and covered the bodies. Drones hovered overhead, scanning for more hostiles.
Jisoo stood off to the side, talking into her radio, giving a detailed, precise report in her usual cool, professional tone.
Roy, meanwhile, just sat on the curb, drinking his half-empty cola, staring at the neon reflections in the puddles.
One officer, passing by, gave him an odd look.
“…Should I be concerned about you?” the officer asked.
Roy took another sip.
“No.”
But Jisoo said otherwise, pointing at her patrol car. Left with no choice, Roy got inside the car and left with her.