The assignment on the chip is pulsing in his Neural 27 port like one of those faint headaches hidden behind your eyes. Always his right eye, the one Herbert tried to take for his own sick, mutant cyborg self-upgrades. 927 twitches momentarily, drags a cigarette. Electric veins, breathing acid, fire eyes.
"You must Journey to the City of Damaged Equipment to Find the missing bits." - he ponders it's meaning, lost in a swirl of smoke. It's always some shit like this: "Oh, find the Mothers, please." "Find the Missing bits, c'mon" "Recover the prototype we misplaced in the Tunnels." Why don't they get some low-rent P.I. like Diamond to track their shit down? No one finds anything here in the Scrapyards or below...piles of garbage: stacked, layered. Should the Angels who spoke the Enochian tongue with Dee & Kelly ever enact their apocalypse they'd be saving us alot of effort in cleanup.
Hell, the way things work around here there probably are no missing bits and this is just another sinkhole for time, a carefully laid distraction with some series revelations scripted into the sequence. There has to be A means of a way out - who needs the trappings of these assignments? Why does OC pull these strings? Why do other agents even play the game?
Suddenly the answer comes: It's Dated repairs of black cityscape. All the filth and mire requires renewal. By flame, putrification, calcination, distillation. Being a repair tech is a grim job, you should pack your raygun.