The New Man: Adam Smasher Si

by Crossposted

Crosspost of Seat Admiral’s fanfiction on SpaceBattles, all credits go to the original author.

6. Upload 06

Arnold Armstrong was a gigantic man. That much was evident from his height and bulk alone. He was the first person outside of a Dragoon that actually reached eye-level with him that Adam had met in a very long time. Eight feet tall, and perhaps four or five hundred pounds of muscle and bone. Muscle and bone, because as far as Adam could tell, he had absolutely no cyberware anywhere in his body.

Perhaps the most extensive array of both long term CRISPER-backed eugenics and bioware that Adam had ever seen before on a meatman. Adam had upgraded Arnold to meatman status instead of meatbag when he first met him, because of what he was doing. Lifting 1800 pound weights while his sister cheered him on, while standing on a bed of red coals like a fucking monk. That's an amount of weight that Adam would have struggled with in his Dragoon frame, not anymore though.

Adam didn't care for meatbags, because they were so fucking pathetic most of the time. Metal was better than meat, it was simply a fact. Everything meat can do, metal can do better. Most meatbags just couldn't keep up with the mental strain it put on them, and those that could keep themselves together enough to go borg usually couldn't go much further than that. Bioware was a second place option, less straining to have but also much less effective overall. Most people could handle a fair bit of bioware, but it wasn't as good.

Arnold had more than a fair bit of bioware, he had more than Adam had ever seen on a non-exotic before, and all of it was functional rather than cosmetic bullshit. It wasn't overly fiddly bullshit like UV resistant skin or extra eyelids or other shit that you could just get equipment for. It was all foundational, strength, speed, durability, and healing rate.

Pure functionality, no extraneous bullshit, and in sufficient amounts to match a Dragoon in lift capacity, match most borgs in reflexes, and almost match an Alpha Class in durability. He couldn't jump nearly as far, and he was far slower than the vast majority of borgs, but that was the limitation of flesh.

Adam and Uriel respected the classics, even if modern tech had long since replaced most of it. A good steel club was never going to stop being useful, even if a club made of endosteel was far superior. Arnold Armstrong had taken his body above and beyond the vast majority of meatbags, and even some borgs. He had reached the upper limits on what could be done with flesh, and then went about refining what he had with constant training.

Monoblades had almost no place in the modern battlefield. They were old tech taken to its near logical extreme, and the results showed. It was good enough at cutting meatbags and could handle light armor to a degree, but it broke too easily and you had to get in close. Usually, just shooting a rifle at your target was a vastly better option. Plate armor stopped being used because guns started being too strong. The modern soldier was given armor not to survive direct hits, but instead to survive shrapnel and glancing blows.

Arnold Armstrong was like a monoblade. Old tech taken to its logical extreme. Adam respected the man for it. Shame that Arnold Armstrong didn't like Adam Smasher at all. At least he was honest and polite with it.

If Adam had to guess the reason, it was because he fucked Arnold's sister.

Repeatedly.

Until pregnancy.

Then some more after that.

Uriel chuckled even as Arnold gave a side-eye glare at him and Victoria led them on a tour around the Arena. She was showing him the specifics of what she had been doing with the place recently, and other shit that he didn't care for so long as everything was mostly working and the funding for the rest of the reconstruction went through. He paid enough attention to get the information down, but his focus was on the hulk of a retrograde warmachine walking next to him.

His (Uriel's) conclusion? Adam didn't need to worry, Arnold was worried about his sister, and wouldn't make trouble. He was the responsible one of the family. So long as Victoria had her needs taken care of, he wouldn't be an issue for his territory. Victoria's needs were easy to meet, basic necessities, a house, violence, and the occasional fucking.

Adam paid her well enough for the first two, her job for him covered the third, and he enjoyed fulfilling the last one. Victoria had everything a halfmeat could ask for, and Arnold couldn't complain about it. His open and polite dislike was refreshing as well, no corporate bullshit of hiding dislike under rules and false smiles.

The first thing Arnold had said to Adam was 'I do not like you, Adam Smasher. I shall tolerate you for my baby sister's sake.' Something that the mentioned 'baby sister' took issue with, starting a small argument among themselves. He never backed down from his statement though.

At least he was willing to say it to his face. Indeed, Adam found Arnold Armstrong significantly more tolerable than the vast majority of meatbags in the world. It would be irritating to have to slaughter him should he start trying to pull bullshit.

Bullshit like the fuckers in his territory had been starting to pull recently. Little skirmishes between what were obviously gang members starting up more and more frequently. Not enough to need a ripperdoc to patch anyone up, but enough that Adam had already had to shoot a couple fuckers that decided to pick a fight with each other within ear range of him. Not those who were brawling with each other, but the ones that pulled out weapons. They could save the murder for the arena, which they had also done.

The fatality rate for the Arena had jumped recently. Why? Poison. It had become real popular recently for fuckers with blades to start coating their weapons in some sort of neurotoxin, because it worked real fast. All you had to do was get a cut in, and the other guy would drop soon enough. Or they would die after the match.

It didn't affect the chrome junkies too much. It was hard to poison a chrome arm after all. It was cutting into his meat-fighter population though. Everyone with a bit of meat and no hard armor on? They started dying much more often.

It had gotten to the point where Victoria restricted the use of poison to the 'Anything Goes' division. The most prestigious and difficult tournament style in the whole arena, specifically because every tactic and style was allowed, save for guns because those might kill his spectators. Hard to sell tickets when there was a good chance of death from stray bullets.

Anything Goes has recently become dominated by fuckers with speedware and poisoned monoswords. A high speed clash in which even a slight cut meant death in a few minutes. The fans fucking loved it, it sold like hotcakes. The most recent champion was a dude from Tyger Claws, Junichiro or something like that.

He had hired the Animals a while back because they had helped out with the attack by the panzerbot. They refused to wear armor most of the time. Their population was starting to thin out too much to have them patrol everywhere they used to. He'd have to look into hiring other fuckers if he wanted to maintain the level of security he had been.

He hated negotiating, it was one more fucking thing that he had to do that wasn't turning meatbags into corpses. Just another annoyance that he was going to have to fucking deal with recently.

Victoria asked him a question. He gave a noncommittal grunt that she smiled at. Meattank kept glaring at him.

—

It was late by the time he got back from that little bit of social adventurism. It was something he had to do, but not something he enjoyed doing. That was true of most things though, he had long since gotten used to it.

He walked inside the main room, where his bench was.

There was something off.

He scanned around the room. Everything was in the same place as it had been, there were no signs of entry of alteration.

He focused for several minutes, walking around and trying to find what the off feeling was from.

He couldn't find it. It was bothering him. He started listing the features of the rooms in his head.

It was quiet. There wasn't anyone inside except him.

Ah, it was normally louder than this, with the brats and woman in his house. They were up in the Tower right now.

Mystery solved, he walked over to his bench, and sat down on it.

Was there anything he or Uriel had to review for right now?

…

He decided to ignore it if there was. He opened his oldest compilations and hit play, setting an internal alarm for the next morning.

He started reviewing his old murders, noting all the mistakes and inefficiencies he made back then. He then compared that to the slaughters he had been on recently, making sure he wasn't falling back on bad habits.

The room was silent for hours.

—

He was going out for patrol again today, and Adam had found yet another irritant upon starting to gear up again. He was down to two magazines and a bit spare of fifty-caliber caseless bullets. His orders wouldn't arrive until next week at the very least.

He grumbled to himself as he put the fifty caliber revolver and insufficient ammunition on his belt and started looking for another weapon to carry for patrols. He still had a decent amount of brass cased fifty caliber shots, but that was for the Browning M2 and he really didn't feel like picking up all the litter that would produce each time he had to kill something.

What else did he have? Preferably caseless.

…He still had a decent stack of five-five-six caseless rounds. Probably about six hundred by sight. He could use the HK21 if he wanted to go through the effort of putting them on the belt feed.

Eh, he hadn't used it in a while, might as well. He walked over to grab a belt feed, and then over to the box with the correct rounds. Kneeling on the floor, he began the half-hour process of loading up a belt feed. Once he was done with this one, he'd grab another to carry around and load that too. He'd do this until he had maybe five total drum magazines.

He wasn't particularly worried, he still had several dozen crates of ammo in a variety of sizes. If he kept up this pace of usage, he'd get his bulk order in just in time for him running low. That and he could always just start beating the meatbags to death physically if he did run out. Besides, the chance to dig into his dusty antiques was more fun than he was expecting, it had been a long time since he used anything in this section.

Belt feeds finally loaded and then loaded into a few magazines, he walked over to grab the MK21, and performed a maintenance check to make sure everything seemed to be in working condition. Everything was in order, so he loaded it with a drum and set out on another daily patrol.

Another day, another few dozen meatbags to slaughter.

Heh, he was minding this part of his job less and less as time went on. Just walk around and kill meatbags that meet a certain criteria.

He'd have to do this more in the future.

—

He had to attend yet another fucking meeting around noon, this time about the church he commissioned. Apparently, the construction crew was being harassed at the building site by meatbags he might have to kill. They weren't being violent, but Adam was hoping they'd turn that way when he got there.

He walked up to the area that had been partitioned off for the building, it was sizable. It would take the place of one of the permanent housing blocks, and be more or less directly across the main road from his own permanent HQ, when that started going up. It would drop the max population capacity down in the far future, but that was worth the joke to him.

When he got there, he saw a tense stand off between his workers and a number of people with stylized Vs and rose tattoos. Ah, the valentinos were out in force today, goody, he might get a chance to kill a bunch of the posergangers. Apparently they were serious business nowadays, but he still remembered when they were a bunch of frat boys who just wanted to fuck pretty women, it was unlikely that they changed that much.

In their front, talking to his chief construction worker (some guy named John, he did decent work), was a rather old looking man in a wide brimmed hat and a white and gold poncho. He had his hands resting on a jewel encrusted cane with a skull motif, and one of his arms was a similar gold and jewel encrusted chrome design. His features were weathered and wrinkled, his eyebrows and beard both bushy and gray.

He was wearing a white suit underneath leather chaps and a vest. All around his outfit faint skeletal motifs could be found. He turned with the rest of the table as he approached, no one was reaching for their guns. Shame.

"Ah, senor Smasher, good day to you." The old man with decent fashion called out to him as he approached, his gangers staying still and polite so he wouldn't have an excuse to off them. The Pacifica workers greeted him with 'hello bossman' of various varieties. He didn't bother with responding as he approached, simply shifting his gun to be holding it by the stock and resting on his shoulder as he got next to the table.

On the screen was a number of tablets displaying a number of designs for buildings, most of them looked real fucking ugly.

He looked at his foreman and the old guy and waited for an explanation as to why he had to be here. The two men began speaking at the same time, cutting each other off. They exchanged looks, the foreman looking a bit irritated and the old guy looking patient. The foreman huffed and gestured for the old man to go first. The old man politely nodded, even as his bodyguards glared.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Francisco Murrieta Campo-Orta, of the Valentinos Bandidos. I came to your men here with suggestions on the design of the house of worship you had commanded of them." He spoke calmly, politely, and factually. From his point of view, all of that was probably true. From anyone else's point of view, he was threatening his workers into doing shit that he didn't tell them to do. Adam let his constant glare settle on the old man for a while longer, making it clear he wasn't impressed.

"Ask before threatening my workers." He growled out, letting everyone else in the scene in on the subtext. The old man didn't defend himself there, knowing it wouldn't help him. Adam turned to the foreman, to see him roll his jaw and nod in agreement. That was basically what had happened then?

Well, before he kills them, he might as well see what they were suggesting.

"What was the planned design?" He asked, and his foreman pointed out a tablet. Adam picked it up and started looking. He and Uriel started getting angry.

What was this post-modern architectural nightmare bullshit? Fucking hell it was hideous. Concrete, steel, and glass arranged in…

It was a giant pile of shit, literally in this case, the silhouette was obvious. He let his glare intensify and frown deepen.

"Where the fuck did you get this from?" He growled out, and his foreman was quick to answer.

"Arasaka commissioned some architect over in Europe for it. Some guy named Gehry."

"It's dogshit, never accept a design from that meatbag again."

His foreman nodded, and snapped a finger back to a guy at a computer, who typed something up. Adam directed his attention towards the old man, who was nodding as if he had expected this result. Adam decided to not kill them this time, because they had prevented a giant worthless waste of a building from going up in his territory. He looked down to the tablets on their side of the fold-out table, and started picking them up one by one and going over the designs.

Eventually, he found the one he liked the best, a nice cathedral looking thing. He turned it around and tapped on the screen.

"This one, use less exterior glass and add a few balconies for AA guns."

His foreman nodded and reached out for the tablet, walking with it and handing it off to the guy at the computer, who fiddled with it. Adam turned to the old guy, and made a deliberate scan of his lackeys around the vicinity. He glared at the old guy again and spoke.

"Don't pull this shit again, next time send a fucking message."

The old guy nodded and replied.

"Ah, my apologies senor Smasher, but you understand that it is difficult to get a point across sometimes. I had to be sure this was brought to your attention."

Adam grunted in reply. Yeah, the design could have been real fucking bad, the old guy did him a pretty big favor there. He'll repay him by not killing them all. The old guy, seeing his acceptance, continued.

"One more thing, if you would senor Smasher. Have you given any thought to who you shall hire as ministers of faith in this house? If not, I have a few faithful locals in mind." He suggested again.

Adam was going to just post a hiring offer online, but this worked well enough. The old man was using this opportunity to get spies and whatnot in his territory, but Adam didn't particularly care. It's not like he was doing anything secret here.

"Your lackeys follow the rules in my territory, or I kill them." Adam replied, and the old man nodded and smiled.

"You are an honest man, senor Smasher."

"Lying is for meatbags, I'm above it."

"Davey! Lucy!" Came the call of Becca from the other room, followed by rapid, stomping footsteps through the hallway. He blinked away the screen he was looking at, which was playing the footage of various martial arts that Kagekaze told him to look at. A lot of them were performed by some guy named Zaburo, who apparently used to work for Arasaka back in the day. David didn't know much about martial arts, but the dude seemed pretty preem at it. Smooth and flowing in between stances and strikes.

He still got hung up on the fact that he worked for Arasaka now. Well, technically he worked for someone who worked for Arasaka, but that was close enough for most people. Some other club goes still gave them shit when they went to Afterlife, but Rogue giving them approval meant they couldn't do anything but grumble at them. He hadn't directly spoken to her in a while, so reminded himself to thank her when he got back. His crew (Well, Smasher's crew now he supposed) didn't have many things to do together outside of jobs, so being able to go there was nice.

Lucy unburied her head from where it was in his chest, sleepily blinking but not untangling her arms from around his torso yet. Man, she was the cutest. David was reminded of the cat sometimes, with the way she acted when she wasn't getting worried over nothing. He was fine Lucy, the medics do good work, he wasn't going to lose himself over getting tenderized a bit.

Becca burst into the room in a comical fashion, feet skidding as she practically tumbled while clutching a tablet. The cat was hot on her heels, pawing at her feet as she dashed.

She got unbalanced as she turned the corner, and fell on her face.

David and Lucy stared for a moment, as Becca lifted the undamaged tablet triumphantly. She lifted herself off the floor and teetered over to them mischievously, ignoring her ungraceful entrance. All but giggling to herself, she raised the tablet for them to look at. He grabbed it and held it so that Lucy could also see.

It was some sort of forum site, with a video labeled "MMM Yearly Lineup 2076 - Tick Tock (Kerry Eurodyne)" The opening image was of a shirtless man with a Militech branded vest and helmet on.

"What's this, Becca?"

"Some fan vid about the most popular mercs in the last year, they do one every year, watch it to the end!"

Giving a half-shrug, he pressed play with his thumb. The vid started, with the recognizable voice of Eurodyne singing in a deeper tone than normal in the background. He didn't keep up with the guy's music, so he didn't recognize the song.

Tick, Tock

Timing like a wall clock

Body like a hard rock

Everyday like tick tock, tick tock

The first couple of clips were of a man in a white, sterilized-looking outfit. He looked sort of like a heavily armored trauma team member, but with an open jacket and a gas mask. His eyes were yellow and slitted behind stringy black hair. The first few scenes were of him flatlining a few gangers, or standing in the aftermath of such. Prominently on his lower stomach was a tattoo of Biotechnica's corporate logo.

Lots of gas grenades and chemical bombs it looked like, people melting or suddenly dropping as he walked through them, bullets bouncing off his chest, leaving scratches that healed up before the clips ended. A couple guns with silence rounds or a knife with a loaded canister that occasionally was replaced.

Tip, Top

Working on it nonstop

Scene like a chop shop

Everyday in tip top, tip top

The next few clips were of a man that David actually recognized. It was the dude that helped Smasher out in France, that guy from Kang Tao. There were a variety of scenes which had him in a coincidental pose or framed shot. Lots of camera footage from him in the aftermath of some skirmish, bodies around him.

There was even a scene of him leading a fighting retreat from another bot, he looked roughed up and the bot looked unharmed even as bodies around them piled up. It ended with clips of that fight in France, with him executing the panzerbot with a thermal round.

Drop, Drip

Grabbing hunnies by the hip

Dancing 'round you with a skip

Bullets fallin' drop drip, drop drip

He felt himself blanch at the next few scenes.

It was himself, and a number of camera recordings of himself. There was him fighting against some militech soldiers, from one of their head-cams point of view. There was him flatlining scavs, moving with the sandy and a few of them dying each time he disappeared. There was him fighting against Blackbeard, and getting his ass kicked.

…Did he really grin like that when he was fighting? Did he really do those poses? He didn't even notice! Why didn't anyone tell him?! He didn't want to watch the vid anymore, but Lucy grabbed his thumb before he could pause it. He looked at her, betrayed, she smiled and kept watching. Defeated, he kept watching the vid. He made a note to stop rolling his shoulders and flexing so much in a fight.

Hid, Hed

Tracking you with infrared

Turning rain into lead

Everyone they hid, hed, hid, hed

It was good to note that the next scene was not of him, but rather some guy from Militech. Short brown hair, brown eyes, a five-o'clock shadow, and a relaxed confident grin on his face. His posing seemed much more deliberate as the scenes showed him almost lazily approaching a building of gangers and taking them out one by one. Lots of dodges and seemingly nothing but headshots as his pace forwards never stopped.

He seemed to know where they would show up before they did, guns already aimed in the right direction as he fired at gangers that just showed up. He was in what looked to be a fairly standard army uniform, sans the jacket, revealing a frame that was probably enhanced, but could be natural. The final scene had him with an American flag tied around his upper left arm, even as he snapped a borg's neck off.

Real, Steel

Violence as an ideal

Engine of the grindin' wheel

Everything is real steel, real steel

The final scenes were of Smasher, and the editing went up along with the music. Lots of panning shots of him walking it seemed, walking and turning his head with his signature glare on full blast. Then transitioning to a scene of him turning waves of guys into bloody rain with the stupid-big guns he could use with one arm and him tearing people in half.

Every now and then it would show a scene of him as his old self, his old look that was. Scene of a more human-looking faceplate occasionally flashing back to an entirely inhuman visage, both stained in gore and red. The final scene being a far shot of him looking at the sunrise, surrounded by a field of scrapped cars and Wraiths.

Finally, the vid ended and he blinked. He looked up to see Becca's grinning face.

"Why is there a vid that involves me flexing so much?"

"Look at the comments Davey, you got fangirls."

He paused, and moved the tablet out of the reach of Lucy's cruel fingers.

"Lemme see!" Lucy demanded, and he refused. Holding the tablet even higher. He kept speaking to Becca as she grinned maliciously.

"You are a wicked creature, choom."

Lucy paused in her scampering up his body to get the tablet now raised high into the air. She turned and asked Becca a question.

"What's the site name?"

Becca suddenly lost her smile, and fidgeted.

"Uhh, it's just a random site I found, I dunno." He raised a brow and slowly lowered the tablet so that he and Lucy could check. Lucy raised a foot to stop Becca from approaching and snatching the tablet back.

"...Maxome Mercs Monthly?" He read off the name as Lucy grinned and Becca scampered out of the room. The cat blinked at her, and sauntered after her as she left. He shook his head and handed the tablet off to his input's grabby hands. She tucked herself back into him and he opened up the martial arts vids again.

David was good at going fast, but slow moments were nice too.

—

They were on their way to the security office, where Kagekaze met them in the mornings to discuss their schedules for the day. They had been doing this for a couple days now, so the routine was normal.

When they got there though, there were two guards outside of the office that they didn't recognize. They were standing on the other side of the hall from two of Kagekaze's own underlings, and they looked bored. The four of them slowed down as they approached the office, and stopped to stare at the four guards in the hall.

One of the bored, unfamiliar guards spoke up "Martinez and his crew? The security chief is in a meeting with the president, we're to lead you four to them when you arrive." He clearly wanted to be somewhere else right now.

David looked over at the ninjas in front of Kagekaze's door, one of who nodded tersely in front of the door. What was with all this business?

He nodded a bit reluctantly, and motioned for the others to follow behind him as he walked after the unfamiliar security staff.

They were led into the elevator, and he made sure to stay between them and the others at all times. The guards looked bored, but that didn't mean they were harmless. Those guns came in high calibers.

The elevator ride was tense, and took entirely too long. Soon enough they were in the top floors and being led to the head-honcho's office. There were more guards here. He might be able to flatline them all, but it would be hard. He kept his mental finger on the trigger of his sandy.

The door to the president's office was fairly plain and unassuming. The door opened and they were gestured to move in. David went first, but made sure none of his crew was left behind in the hall before leaving the door frame. He turned to see Kagekaze sitting on the other side of a desk talking to what was presumably the president of Arasaka NC.

David's first impression of the man that Adam wanted dead was 'someone's dad'." He looked like an unassuming, slightly balding Japanese guy. He was a bit stocky, he was wearing a suit and tie, he had a bored expression behind his thick-rimmed glasses. He had no visible chrome lines on his body, but one of his eyes had a chyron currently active.

He looked like a normal, completely average and plain dude. David was suspicious the moment he realized that fully.

This dude was rich enough to afford to look like anything he wanted to. He decided to look as average and uninteresting as possible. That meant he was pulling sneaky shit. Like a smarter Faraday. Fucking hell he hated Faraday, that dumb bastard. He was glad he flatlined that fucker, and regretful that he didn't do it slow enough.

The dude finished whatever he was talking to Kagekaze about, and turned to them. They stopped in the middle of the room and waited for a moment, waiting for him to say something. His mother and Lucy fidgeted behind him, but his stance was rock solid. Just like meeting a client, breathing smoothly and deeply, speaking from the diaphragm, look confident, look firm.

The president eventually spoke to them from his average-looking office chair.

"David Martinez, Lucyna Kushinada, Gloria Martinez, Rebecca Salcedo. We have not spoken yet. I hope your employment under Arasaka Security has been pleasant thus far, despite the unpleasant circumstances behind your employment."

He even spoke like a normal, boring dude. There was almost nothing that stood out about his tone or voice other than how average it was. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to respond here, so he trusted his instincts and stayed quiet. The president continued speaking, without a skip.

"Now, I wanted you here today in hopes of settling the issues found within your contracts. Namely, the fact that Arasaka has not been fulfilling his obligations to your four according to industry standards, which we are the best at. It is our hope here at Arasaka that we can address these issues and avoid potential legal difficulties and future unpleasantness."

David tilted his head in a slightly suspicious manner and narrowed his eyes a tad. He was the only one who signed a contract, and it was with Smasher specifically. That was so that the others could bail if ever they needed to. Alright pres, how are you going to spin this?

"What issues specifically?" He asked.

"The most obvious is the lack of specified benefits and services that we at Arasaka would provide, namely your contracts as it does not provide a health plan, insurance, or indeed any other form of legal support. It is dreadfully inadequate as it stands, and a potential employee of ill-nature may use the numerous loopholes in the document to abuse you four. As the representative of Arasaka NC, this is a grievance I wish to correct."

"One of the biggest issues is the fact that only you, David Martinez, are defined in the document, and your legal protections as few as they are only extend to you in such. Arasaka owes more to its high-performing employees than this, and as such we would like to expand your protections and services, and extend that to include your loved ones."

"Now, if you would like to take a seat, we can revie-"

He was cut off by the door opening suddenly, as he was about to glare at the person at the door, he stopped suddenly. David turned to look.

"Sorry to interrupt, Jugey, but I need to borrow them for a bit."

It was a woman with fluffy black hair with bangs that extended down just a bit past her shoulders. She was wearing a black bodysuit underneath an open suit jacket and suit pants. Her eyes had a hint of dark eyeshadow, and her left arm was an armored cybernetic.

She had a headset on with stylized cat ears.

Flanking her were two others with the same stylized cat ear headsets. They were in the same black bodysuits, probably some sort of lightweight armor, and had a variety of combat accessories. By accessories he meant guns and gear.

David glanced back. The president had a neutral expression on his face, but a hint of furrowed brow.

"Of course Lady Arasaka. May I ask what time they will be available again?"

The now-named 'lady Arasaka' put a finger to her lip and looked up for a few moments.

"No." She replied simply to him, before turning to them and smiling. "Come on, this office is stuffy, we can talk somewhere else."

David didn't really want to be in this office anymore, so he nodded and gestured for the others to follow. Lucy looked relieved to be leaving, Gloria was looking at the newcomer like a hawk, and Becca looked like she was meeting childhood heroes.

They followed the woman, and left the office behind. It was only in leaving that he noticed how much easier it became to breathe afterwards. He made a note to never go in there again if he could avoid it. He turned his attention back towards the woman leading them away.

'Lady Arasaka' huh? He only knew of two Arasakas that were women, and one of them was in Japan. So this was that 'Michiko' lady, Adam's old input or something. He scanned her up and down. So this is Smasher's ideal woman huh? Fluffy black hair and in a bodysuit.

He could see the appeal. Lucy elbowed him, and he turned to her, confused. She glared at him, and he wasn't sure what he did wrong. He made a note to kiss her randomly tonight, that always got her embarrassed.

"So, let's get out of this tower and get something to eat. I haven't gotten breakfast yet, and there's this diner that has the best omelets." The woman spoke. She sounded happy to meet them, but in general…

She sounded tired, tired and just a little bit sad.

David was fine with getting food, he was a bit hungry and he could certainly afford it nowadays. Smasher's jobs paid really fucking well.

They loaded up into a car, again driven by a woman in a bodysuit, but she had actual cat ears instead of them being a headset. The car had one of those backseats in which multiple people could look at eachother from the other side of a pop-out table, two sets of seating facing each other.

She sat on one side, and they piled in on the other side. She spoke once they were all in and the car was driving.

"Allow me to actually introduce myself, I'm Michiko, I'm here on old 'Kaze's request. He asked me to make sure the geezer didn't get his grubby fingers into your four. That and provide extra lessons."

Becca couldn't hold herself back anymore and finally burst. "You founded Danger Gal!" They all turned to her and she half shrank, half expanded in a combination in embarrassment and excitement. "What?! It's Danger Gal! "Bad Guys won't see us coming~." She trailed off as their smirks grew.

Michiko giggled a bit at that. "Always glad to meet a fan of my girls. You're Rebecca, right?"

Rebecca nodded in response, too embarrassed by her earlier outburst but too proud to retract her statement. Michiko turned to them one after another. "And you're Gloria, Lucy, and David, right? My girls have been keeping an eye on you four, and they like to gossip in the breakroom."

"Mooommm~" The driver playfully complained as Michiko gave a small smile at the lighthearted teasing. She spoke to Gloria in a stage whisper "They're not actually my daughters, but they certainly give me headaches like it." Gloria smiled conspiratorially and reached over to ruffle his head, he pulled away from it, grunting. He wasn't about to let his mom mess up his hairdo.

"I know my brat does, at least." Dignified, he grumbled in response.

…He was very glad she was alive.

They made more small talk on the way to the diner. David found himself like this exec much more than the other.

If she was allowed to judge it, then she would say that she was a good multitasker. Not the best perhaps, but one doesn't run an investigation-focused private military company for a few decades without getting some experience in it. Her taking the four in her car out to a diner served no less than five purposes. She was trying to be efficient with her time recently, because getting everything together for a good public reveal was taking up a lot of her time. She was glad for it though, more time working meant less time dwelling.

The first thing it accomplished was that it allowed her to perform a direct analysis of the four that had caught Adam's attention. Anything that did that was something to investigate further. She knew Adam better than most, she knew how little he thought of other people. For him to tolerate other people so close to him for such a long time…

She had to look into that, Adam didn't do things for no reason. As a general rule, humans were social creatures. They were starvation-adapted, pack-oriented creatures who hunted through ambush and endurance-based pursuit. They formed social groups by instinct, finding themselves in niches and generally attempting to stay in those niches. Almost every human on the planet requires a social network to stay functional.

She said almost, because she knew how Adam works. Adam has never needed someone else to keep going. Not friends, not family, not her.

So he was tolerating the presence of other people in close proximity for extended periods, and investing greatly into their growth as combatants. Why? His statement to Arasaka was known, and while it wasn't discarded, it was lowered in priority. She knew his inflections, he wasn't telling the whole truth when he said that. They were building up to a fifth corporate war, judging from military pressures rising across the globe, but he had recruited them long before that was looking likely.

He had information that she didn't, she just had to figure out what it was.

The second thing was that it allowed her to fulfill Kagekaze's request. He was the single greatest special operations trainer Arasaka had left alive, and was personally responsible for training more than a fourth of all Arasaka spec ops. Getting on his good side was sure to make the operations of her girls easier in the future, and lower the rate at which Arasaka interfered with them. Her girls were trained by Zabby, they were some of the best there were, but they couldn't fight armies.

She remembered Kagekaze from her youth. He would always call her 'kawaii-himechan' and indulgently answer her questions about 'nin stuff' she called it. That was a long time ago, and DangerGal had had many operations against Arasaka in the years between. It was entirely possible that he was operating against her in full. She had a good spy network, but it was hardly perfect, and the old shinobi was probably able to get around it if he wanted to.

The fact that he bothered to ask this favor of her foretold good things, but she couldn't be certain, even with a third of the tower under her nominal control. By control, she meant influence at best. Turns out, when you stop acting like a doll that just recites opinions, stuffy old timers trying to pull your strings stop listening to you as much. Go figure.

The third thing was that it allowed her to block off the old fucker in the tower from getting his grubby little maggot fingers in four new kids on the block. She was doing this partly out of spite, and partly out of office politics. Jugemu Jun was not an especially creative man, but he was filled with a blunt and low cunning that made him dangerous. That, and he was the only one who was written on Adam's contract other than her.

She didn't say leash, never leash, Adam wasn't a dog.

Arasaka was only recently rebuilt here in Night City, back in 2070 when the corporation was welcomed back after the Unification War. But Jugemu Jun had been an operations director of Arasaka interests in the Free States region for much longer than that. The nuke hit Arasaka Tower back in 2023, but it took a few years for the political ramifications to really settle in. It wasn't until 2026 that Arasaka was officially fully prohibited from the region.

A special operations division was left behind, operating from an uninhabited island off the shore and making sure that Arasaka interests in the entire western half of the Americas were preserved. Arasaka special operations American division codename "Night Parade" was the primary hand and arm of their influence against rivals in the region, primarily Militech, Petrochem, and Mexican Metals. Jugemu Jun was not the leader of this division, he was their logistics officer, in charge of maintaining and deploying war assets for the operatives.

Chief among those 'war assets' was Adam Smasher, whom Jun was given direct control over. It wasn't a well known fact, but Dragoons had an inbuilt smart camouflage system and IR thermal dams. It was very hard to spot a Dragoon that was trying to hide. Adam Smasher got his reputation and title as The Butcher from those days.

There was a reason that no one had been able to get rid of Jun in all these years, because he was the only one in the region that could call Adam Smasher down on you. She had been granted second-stage contract authority by her grandfather when Arasaka was welcomed back to Night City officially, but…

She didn't intend to ever use it, which meant Jun stayed unchallenged in that regard. Going after him meant either discrediting him enough to get Saburo to dismiss him, or risking Adam Smasher. As blunt and boring as he was, Jun was very good at cleaning his tracks. He had to be, otherwise he wouldn't be alive today. Fifty years Adam had been under his direct orders. It made her stomach turn.

The fourth thing that this allowed her to do was influence the behavior of others in the Tower. By very publicly and openly opposing and cutting Jun off in the way she did, she signaled her direct opposition to him. A line was drawn in the sand, you were either supporting Jun or you were supporting her. Normally this would only result in death, Jun getting Adam to purge a dissenting element from Arasaka NC, and the rest falling in line again.

This was not normal, because she was Michiko Arasaka, granddaughter to Saburo Arasaka. Even if he could order Adam to kill her, he would not be able to survive grandfather's wrath after the fact. In addition to this, she was on the contract at a higher priority than him. She could, at any time, order Adam to kill him.

Jun, in the eyes of everyone who knew that detail in the tower, just lost his greatest advantage. His blunt hammer with which to smash opposition to his influence. He already took steps to counteract this, it looks like he was well aware of the fragility of his position. He got two DaiOni jockeys from Japan now, so the question of military victory was still in question.

Who wins in a fight? Two DaiOni or one Adam Smasher? That was the deciding line between those that were going to support her or support Jun. Who they thought would win. In the end, politics came down to who had the bigger stick. She didn't intend to order Adam. But the potential was there, and that was enough to get people to align with her.

This was the start of getting Jun removed from Arasaka NC. If she could do this cleanly enough, then she could be in a strong position to request the position of president of Arasaka NC from grandfather directly. Then she would be in control of Arasaka assets in the entire region. Then she would…

She wasn't sure yet, but she'd do something to help people. Something like what was going on in Pacifica.

…

…maybe, he would be willing to help her…

…

Her stomach growled at her, and she reacted appropriately to the guests in one of her cars. Getting them to smile or laugh about it. The fifth thing was that she was hungry, she wasn't lying about not having eaten today. She hadn't been to the diner in a while either, the last time was when Marc was still alive. It was a well-known psychological fact that smiling made a person happy, so she forced herself to smile, even if just a little bit.

"Heh, sorry about that, I wasn't lying about not having eaten yet today." She apologized light heartedly to her guests, who responded with appropriate giggles or smiles. In the case of the lone boy…

There was a wary, sharp look in his eye. His input and mother had similar suspicious looks towards her, but for entirely different reasons she could reasonably assume. He was entirely focused on the safety of what he considered 'his', he would mourn others, but he wouldn't hesitate to flatline them if they threatened that. It was a good attitude to have, he was a cute kid, reminded her of Marc. A sweetheart that always kept trying to pile burdens on himself for the people he cared about. It might have driven the kid to his grave like it did Marc, were it not for Adam's sudden change of heart.

His input was suspicious of everything related to Arasaka, owing to her trauma at the hands of one of Jun's 'cost-saving projects' so many years ago. Danger Gal had learned about it too late, and while her girls tried to help the kids escape, they weren't fast enough. Only little Lucy was left, on her own, on the streets of Night City. She had one of her girls watch after her long enough for her to find a mentor to take her in, it was the least they could do.

DangerGal, the bad guys won't see them coming. Sometimes though, they don't see the bad guys in time. She wanted to help people, she was naive like that.

"It doesn't matter how far or where we go. They'll catch up eventually."

She wasn't quite certain why his mother was suspicious, but she was willing to guess that she was simply looking out for her son. Her son who was just a little while ago face to face, practically glaring directly at the biggest representative of Arasaka power in Night City. It was understandable that she would be tense afterwards.

It was the fourth of the number that was the most pleasant surprise. The girl that kept sending excited glances her way and practically vibrating in excitement. It was always nice to see a fan, and this one was particularly cute about it. There were more XBDs made about her girls than she thought there would be, starting out. So seeing a genuine fan and not a fan was always a pleasure.

She kept the small talk up the entire way to the diner, it was good to make a good impression. She was pretty good at talking at this point, and pretty good at getting information out of people. Often, the best way to do that, was to simply ask in a natural manner. So as they were led to the corner booth in the breakfast diner, she waited for them to order drinks and then start talking. Her girls were already around the building, even if she only needed half as many, they worried after her entirely too much.

"So, while we wait for the old fart in the tower to get busy with something else, introductions are in order I think. I'm Michiko Arasaka, founder and head of DangerGal, nice to meet you." By setting it like this, she could get information about how they saw themselves. Their most important self-descriptor in their minds. It was a good data point to have.

She ignored the spike of hurt from saying 'Arasaka' instead of 'Sanderson'. That pain was only going to dull in time.

"David Martinez, Smasher's apprentice, thanks for the save earlier." Unsurprisingly, the boy took the lead with a firm opening. He was the first to throw himself into a line of fire, he was used to it, and wanted to do it. He was Smasher's apprentice. Not Adam, not Adam Smasher, Smasher. It was informal, but not informal enough to use the first name. It was the kind of reserved, quiet and understated respect that men reserved for each other.

The kid was willing to use himself like a shield. Polite too.

"Gloria Martinez. I'm this one's mother, and former EMT too I suppose." The mother went next, being comfortable with talking, but not enough to throw herself forwards like her son. She was his mother first and foremost, that was her most important job in her mind. Being an EMT was barely an afterthought to her.

She was dedicated to her loved ones. Everything else was secondary.

"Lucy, his input and a netrunner." She kept up her guard, but she was willing to talk. Guarded, suspicious. She defined herself as her primary relationship first, and then personal skills second. She put her-hard earned skills entirely secondary to her love for another.

She was head over heels, and distrustful of others.

"Becca! Re- uh, Rebecca, I'm their friend, a kickass crack-shot, and kindofyourbiggestfan." A nervous, bubbly start. She was excitable, and meeting someone she was very emotionally invested in. Even then she defined herself as their friend first, before anything else. Then she defined her skills next, being proud of her abilities with a gun. Then, and only then did she burst into fangirling.

As loyal as can be, proud and crass, and tripping over herself when it came to things she was invested in.

Michiko smiled fondly. Where the hell had Adam found these people in a place like Night City? Most were entirely too cruel these days. It made her downright nostalgic.

Their server came back, with her black coffee and the drinks for the others. She took a sip, uncaring of the hot temperature. She'll heal up the burn in time for her food to arrive.

"The usual sweetie?" The old server asked, hand on her hip. She nodded, it had been years since she had been here, and old Karen still remembered her. There was a reason this was her favorite diner, even ignoring the fact that she could see the food being made behind the bar to her right. Always need to be careful of people adding things to your dish, this place never did it, but many tried pulling something like that in the past.

She kept them in a casual conversation, nice and loose and nothing important being talked about. She wanted them to like her, that would help her keep them away from Jun.

Hmm, she was still a bit too unassailable to them right now. She needed to make herself seem more 'down to earth'. The best way to do that would be to make a mistake. Now… if she had David's personality down right here…

She yawned, her mug of hot coffee slipped from her fingers, she immediately reacted with alarm. It would be too late, the drink would spill on her lap.

She activated her sandevistan, careful to keep her expression locked and eyes still.

David activated his sandevistan, reaching over and grabbing the mug from her unresisting fingers, using it to scoop up the liquid suspended in the air. He was absurdly fast, perhaps fifty percent faster than she was capable of. She had one of the best sandevistans money could buy on the market.

Her sandevistan deactivated, and she blinked to see her mug being offered to her, David's arm reaching across the table and holding it. She sheepishly took it from him.

"Ah, thanks for that, I guess I'm not quite awake yet." She was gracious in her 'failure' to keep her cup from falling. "A sandevistan, right? You didn't need to do it on my behalf, I have a change of clothes in the car. You should save your use of it for if you need it." She redeemed herself a bit by offering advice and informing them of an existing measure she took. That, and she subtly encouraged him to brag about his capabilities. She could know how well he could use that ridiculous super-sandevistan.

"Ah don't worry, I got more than enough for the rest of the day."

"Really? How many times a day can you use it?" She asked casually, pretending to be trying to steer the conversation away from her 'blunder'. Sandevistans put immense strain on the body, higher class sandys putting more strain than lower class. The sandy that David had, judging from her one time witnessing it in person, must be a corporate custom prototype. The kind of thing that you could only use a few times a day before it became too much.

She knew he had a sandevistan for about a year now, and that it was fairly high grade. But seeing it in person was quite something.

The kid blinked and thought to himself for a bit. "Uhh, maybe twelve times…" Ah, that was really good for such a high-class model, the kid had quite a lot of talent. "...when I first got a sandy, 'bout a year ago."

Wait, what?

"Nowadays I can use it all day, if I pace myself. Smasher's tips helped a lot. Must be because it's one of his spares."

…She took a drink of her coffee, letting out a deliberate hum in response.

…

Adam Smasher's personal sandevistans were not something that could be purchased. They were custom for his use and his alone. Arasaka 'Omagatoki' model Sandevistan. Their performance was so absurdly high that most test subjects broke after a handful of uses. It pushed the user's perception of time to a degree not yet matched by any model of sandevistan currently in active use. The Kang Tao 'Warp Dancer' was the second best, and the best that most elite soldiers could utilize, let alone civilians.

There was no reaction in response to David's statement. It was a fact they were simply aware of. Completely mundane. The boy was telling the complete truth.

The boy could use a sandevistan model that broke most people as long as he wanted to, provided that he 'pace himself'.

She took a deeper drink of her coffee. She was starting to see why Adam took an interest in the boy.

His chrome tolerance was utterly absurd.

He had run out of another type of ammunition yesterday. He still had the fifty caliber revolver, with a total of eighteen shots, keeping in reserve in case he needed it. His supplies of other types of bullets were beginning to get low though.

No 5.45mm, no 5.5mm, no 5.56mm, no 6.5mm, no 7mm, no 7.5mm, no 7.62mm, no 12.7mm, and no 14.5mm. He was entirely out of ammo for his various rifles, he didn't bother buying anything in smaller calibers before this. That, and he never had that much of his personal stock of ammo for much of anything. He had some, but most of it was before his long-term contract days, when he still had to buy some of his own bullets. Reserve stock from before the nuking of Arasaka Tower, he was almost embarrassed to see so many tiny bullets from those days. Had he really been that weak in that Samson?

He paused for a moment, and looked down at his arm. He bent it, feeling the myomer coil and flex around bones of endosteel. He was much stronger now, and much heavier than the Samson frame had been. He could probably do some of his more fun ideas from those days, like using an Autocannon without a tripod. He made a note to look up the biggest gun from Militech he could use and order later. Probably not tank cannons though, he wasn't heavy enough to handle the recoil.

He wasn't about to use snipers for patrols of all things, and sub-machineguns were for fucking meatbags to use, he wasn't about to touch one. He had a few revolvers, but not much ammo for them. He considered bringing out the Hellbringer .666, but he only had twelve shots for the thing.

You had to custom order rounds for the Hellbringer, no other gun used that gimmick-sized bullet, and the company that made the Hellbringer, Magnum Opus, went under years ago. Enthusiasts of the gun had to order their rounds from a sub-division of Militech focused entirely on custom bullet creation, and at a fucking premium at that. Each bullet was fifty eddies a pop, he wasn't about to waste them on fucking patrols of all things. The Hellbringer was staying in its very nice bulletproof glass case, with all the extra shots lined up around it in the style of a clock.

Regardless, he wasn't worried, the ammo had been ordered at the start of this week, it would be arriving in about three days now. He just had to stop rifles for a while, and start using his shotguns instead. He couldn't use his grenade launchers or missiles when patrolling his own territory, then he'd break some of his own shit and have to pay for it to be fixed again. That would be a pain in the ass.

So shotguns it was. He still had a large amount of ten and twelve gauge rounds, and if worse came to worst he could always just clear out some local gun shops of all their ammo stock, he had the money for it.

Decision made, he walked over to the shotguns section, and grabbed the only shotgun he ever bothered with nowadays. The Tsunami Arms Ragnarok, firing twelve gauge EAE rounds with dual-reciprocating barrel action and hydro-shock recoil compensation. Carrying forty shots per reload and having an effective range of seventy meters, it was the hardest hitting shotgun he had. Really easy to fire too, for his cybernetic body that was, he could fire it one-handed.

It was a baby that cost him four-thousand, five-hundred eddies when he bought it back in the day. He wasn't even sure if they sold them on the open market, he got to buy his from being Arasaka's chief killborg and securing one from the SDF 2021 arms trials.

Still, not being able to use all of his guns from needing to make an emergency order like that was fucking irritating. Ah well, gun in hand, and ammo cases on his belt he started walking for the door. Time to patrol his territory again…

The territory that he was in charge of developing…

Including its industry…

…

'Uriel.'

'Yeah?'

'Look into starting an ammo production company.'

Uriel paused his watching of the Netrunning guide for middle schoolers.

'...just ammo or full native arms production?'

Adam thought about it for a bit as he walked outside and started another randomized pattern of patrolling.

'Full native, everything needs guns and ammo.'

'Can do.'

This whole affair made him realize how fucking annoying waiting for his bullets to arrive was again. He had forgotten it from his early days, but the frustration had fully returned at this point. If he had any say in it, he was never going to have to wait for bullets again. If that meant starting a shit-ton of gun factories, then so be it. It would make him money too, which was a nice bonus for further expansion.

More guns meant more money, more money meant more buildup, and more buildup meant less of a chance for the meatfucker to take him out. A bit less than one month until the new year.

He didn't know the deadline after that.

—

He was about halfway through his patrol. The day had been mostly slow so far, him walking and his location being broadcast to the ripperdocs. He had been asked to carry a tracker and press a button whenever he needed a body picked off his streets, that way they could skip the conversation and already have a location from him. Uriel had followed the broadcast, and made sure that was all it was doing before Adam had agreed. It was convenient for both him and them, so he didn't mind doing it. It's not like he was trying to be sneaky here, so being handed a tracker wasn't an issue.

It was their de facto leader that asked him to, some meatdoc named Vik. The meatdoc was clearly fairly nervous about talking to Adam Smasher, but he was quick and concise with the explanation, so Adam didn't have a particular reason to kill him. Meatdoc even loosened up enough to crack a joke near the end.

'Of course, the real reason I'm asking is so Stacy will stop being so jumpy all the time, talking to ya. Having a shell-shocked secretary gets old after a while.'

It wasn't particularly funny, so he didn't laugh. Decent effort doc, joke was too long, get better material. Doc seemed familiar to Uriel, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. It probably wasn't particularly important, so he dismissed it and went back to work on figuring out the legal requirements for factory creation.

A few hours and a few dozen meatbags so far today, not particularly bad by any means. They were starting to learn not to do dumbshit on his streets. He even paused to watch a fist-fight between a couple gangers. He had been ready to execute the first fucker that pulled weapons, but that never happened. They stuck to unmodded fists and beat each other senseless, but nothing lethal or permanent. Three mox against two sixth streets, that was a good waste of about five minutes of his time.

He couldn't possibly confine all the violence to the arena, but low-level shit like that didn't matter. Only thing hurt here was pride and a few bruises, they'd be fine. It was funny to watch the meatbags fighting cheer for a bit before realizing he was standing among the crowd, gun upholstered but finger off the trigger. They froze like deer in front of a one-ton truck.

Still, they remembered the 'nothing that requires a doc' rule, so he couldn't kill them without breaking his word. He simply moved on after the fight was concluded.

Pausing his stride for a moment, he drew his gun and shot down an alley, turning a meatshit's head into rain. Don't shit in his alleyways, there were toilets for that. He pressed the button on the tracker and went on his way.

He looked at the meatbags, still giving him a wide berth on the streets, but not really surprised to see him roam around anymore. Most of them were unremarkable, and most wore what could be described as 'neon rags'. It was like a rainbow parade of bad fashion. Occasionally he saw bodysuits and armored jackets though, which was much more bearable. He hadn't kept up with fashion trends in years, if ever. He didn't need to know what it was called, he knew quality when he saw it. Most in the modern day clearly couldn't. Why not get optics that let you see how shit your styles were, meatbags?

…Uriel, make a note. See if we can get those made too.

Uriel chuckled and made the note.

It was then that he heard gunshots. Not a few gunshots. Many gunshots. He started running as fast as he could in the direction as Uriel checked the cameras in that direction.

There was a shootout happening. A bunch of fuckers with guns had rolled up to a group of Animals in his employ, in their little guardhouse next to his Arena. They started firing at everything in that direction. You motherfucking meatbags, he told you not to do this shit in his territory.

Uriel went to burn their chrome out.

…He couldn't interface with their chrome.

Adam activated his sandevistan, and continued running. These fuckers clearly had chrome, Uriel could see it through the cameras. Why the fuck couldn't he burn these fuckers to death. It wasn't like they had an ICE, Uriel's netspace hand just slipped right through them.

…His netspace hand. Uriel looked closer at their chrome, ignoring the bullets in slow motion. It was slightly bulkier than what he was used to seeing.

These fuckers had old-tech chrome installed. Modern-day chrome all used wireless connections to operate itself, to shave down on weight and internal complexity. It was easier to set up than doing it all with physical wires and whatnot, and often cheaper in material cost too. It was through those wireless connections that Uriel was able to interface with people's chrome the way he had been doing.

These fuckers were using the older style of chrome, twenty-forties or older. A bit more expensive, a bit harder to produce, but no wireless connections to abuse. Which meant immunity to quickhacking. His own frame was the same way, nothing except his wireless communications hardware could be hacked, and even that was backed up by his top-of-the-line Arasaka ICE. He had long since wondered why meatbags left themselves open with it.

On one hand, it was a pleasant surprise to see the meatfuckers finally realize what a vulnerability it was. On the other hand, it was fucking infuriating that he couldn't stop them from shooting up his employees right now. He had paid for those fuckers, they were wasting his goddamn investment right now.

As he ran, Uriel started checking the chrome of everyone in his range, to see how many of them were doing this already, without him noticing.

His sandevistan wore off, he kept running. It was nice to confirm his new speed in such a way, a smooth sixty-six miles per hour was nothing to scoff at. His feet strained the crete of the street, causing a noticeable crack with each step. Uriel made a note to get the road-crew to come fix this, he'd have to pay them overtime for it. How fucking irritating.

He turned the corner to see the armored van of fuckers about to drive off, not on his fucking watch. He activated his sandevistan again.

The world slowed to a crawl. His weapon wasn't big enough to take out that armored van. It was a big shotgun, but still just a shotgun. What could he use here?

…There was a motorcycle in the parking lot, a meatbag cowering behind it. He had a stupid-looking half-trimmed, half-top knot looking haircut. The motorcycle looked decently heavy, and it was the closest thing along the way.

He went wide as he ran up, grabbing the cycle as he approached the van and pulling it behind him. The meatbag started falling in slow motion behind him.

Getting close enough to ensure a good shot, he stomped and buried his heel in the crete. Twisting his entire body into the throw, he flung the motorcycle into the Armored Van. His sandevistan deactivated.

The motorcycle, propelled by the strength of his new frame, crashed into the armored van hard enough to send it into the air and fall over on its side, both vehicles being almost totally destroyed from the impact.

There was a tremendous boom and scream of metal when it happened. It was quite satisfying. Keeping his gun trained on the wreckage in case any meatbag decided to come crawling out, he pressed the button on the tracker. He looked over the scene.

A dozen upjumped little shits dead, the same amount or more of the Animals dead, and two totalled vehicles. Who the fuck let a fucking van into his territory? He was going to have to butcher a few fuckers when he found out who. Motorcycles and vendor carts were allowed near his arena, but that was fucking it.

He heard the yelp of surprise behind him, turning his head back he saw the meatbag pushing himself up and staring at him. Ah, right, he just used his motorcycle as an improvised weapon, didn't he?

"How much did it cost?"

The meatbag looked stupefied, frozen, and trying to process what had just happened. Adam didn't have any patience at the moment, so he repeated himself, letting his irritation seep into his voice.

"Your bike, meatbag. How much did it cost?"

The meatbag startled at that.

"Uh, twenty thousand?"

Adam grunted and wired him the appropriate amount, then turned his attention back to the vehicle. It didn't look like anyone was crawling out yet, but he was going to wait until his rent-a-cops and the ripperdocs got here. He had some fucking questions he needed them to answer.

They better hope the answer is satisfying.

—

Uriel had eventually gone through the camera footage to find where the van had entered his territory. The answer was through the fucking road. Not even disguised, just drove through after a brief chat and a substantial bribe to the guards at that checkpoint.

Those guards died screaming afterwards, his arms were going to be stained until he got the chance to powerwash them after his patrols today. That, and he had to call in the cleaners to pick up the chunks he beat them into.

Two fucking hours, having to deal with this horseshit. Staying at the site until his tremendously slow cops got to the scene to secure it, staying until the ripperdocs showed up and started stabilizing what meatbags were alive, following afterwards to interrogate the living meatbags that were in the van, interrogating them, finding who let them through, killing all involved very slowly to set an example to his workers.

It was a fucking time-sink on that end, now he had some questions for the ripperdocs. If these meatbags got their chrome installed from one of them, then he'll have a second data point to figure out what gang these fuckers came from. They had claimed Sixth Street while he was ripping fingers off, but information extracted under torture was unreliable at best.

He walked through the entrance of the ripperdoc guild base. Hall? House? It was where their legal operations were held, whatever the name for that was, he didn't care. He walked past the timid meatgirl with rabbit ears at the entrance desk, and the guards they had hired. They didn't try to stop him, which was good for them.

He walked through the hall until he got to the end, and opened the door. The meatdoc was in his office/operating room, and typing at his computer. He looked up and jumped a tad at seeing Adam in the entrance. He kept calm as he greeted him though.

"Ah, Smasher, you need something from me?"

"The meatbags in the bus, who installed their chrome?"

Meatdoc paused for a bit, and raised a brow. "...The ones from about two hours ago? They're still cataloging the chrome right now I think, I can call in and ask though."

Adam grunted and nodded. Meatdoc turned to the side and started a call.

"...Hey Missy, have you inventoried 12D-766 through 792 yet?"

"…Right, right, the ones who have gotten done, check their Serial for me."

"...Got it. Thanks Missy, you're a real sweetheart."

Meatdoc ended the call, and turned back to his computer, pulling up some sort of search engine and typing in a list of numbers and letters. Adam waited, quite patiently for how the day had been going thus far, for him to be done.

"...Right, it looks like the stock was distributed over to Rainwater and Ryder primarily." The doc paused and realized something, and looked over at Adam somewhat nervously. "Hey, you're not going to kill them are you? I can do some favors for you if it means you leave them alone."

Adam grunted, he doesn't murder every meatbag he comes across. "No, they didn't do jack shit. Just tell me where they operate."

The meatdoc looked relieved at that, and nodded. "Their shops are up in Watson." Adam noticed he wasn't told exact addresses, just general location. The meatdoc was trying to shield them in case he was lying. Didn't matter though, because he got the info he was looking for. Unfortunately, it only made things more confusing.

Westbrook was mostly Maelstrom territory, and they usually installed their own chrome with gang-only ripperdocs. That, and these meatbags didn't have nearly enough to be Maelstrom, not even close. The Mox were up there too, but somehow he doubted they would bother with this shit. They were small enough he could wipe them out in a weekend, so them doing this attack made no sense.

The Tyger Claws were nearby, but they and Maelstrom had a fairly long-standing 'murder on sight' policy outside of his territory. Them heading past Maelstrom territory to install chrome and then head down here to attack his men? Possible, but he doubted it. He didn't know the Tyger Claws had any particular grudge against him or the Animals. It was possible they were hired by an outside party though. He put them on the 'maybe' list.

Sixth Street was farther away, but still possible for all the same reasons that Tyger Claws was. He put them on the maybe list too. The Valentinos could have done it, but they were even farther away, and their boss probably wouldn't try antagonizing him again for quite a while. Uriel got a good sense of the old man when he was bothering his workers.

…Were there any gangs he was forgetting about? Maybe one of the countless minor fuckers. Upjumped little shits wanting to build a rep by attacking Adam Smasher's assets in his territory. He was also the Butcher of Arasaka. It was entirely possible these were independent meatbags who just happened to have a grudge against him.

He growled. They said Sixth Street while he was ripping them apart, so that was his best lead for now. If only he could go investigate. Ah, he was going to go do that right now! It wasn't like he was ordered to stay in Pacifica or anything! Goddamnit, he hated the fucker in the Tower.

He turned and walked away. Before he left, he paused at the doorway and half-turned back.

"When did the ripperdocs start offering wired chrome instead of wireless?"

The meatdoc raised a brow at this. "Kravitz started offering it a couple of weeks back, and they sold well enough. We started bulk orders and selling it as a pricier alternative about a week back."

A week, a solid week of not noticing this shit because Uriel was busy figuring out how to actually Netrun. He grunted and left, going to finish his patrol for the night, however little of it was actually left. He wasn't going to begrudge the meatbags for getting better chrome, but it sure would have been fucking nice to know ahead of time.

On the plus side, he expended only a little ammo today.

The students of Adam Smasher were not terribly impressive to look at, if she were the judge of it. Then again, compared to the man who once tore her arm off as an afterthought, they would likely never measure up.

It had been a routine job for DangerGal Elite callsign 'Victoria', a simple matter of going in and eliminating a borg that was gunning for her client's life. They had already gotten sufficient evidence and a permit from the local police to take them down, preferably alive but dead being acceptable too. It was rather hard to kill a runaway samson frame that was after a squishy construction foreman's life. For most that was, you needed some fairly heavy artillery to take out a man made of metal and stronger than the strongest person could be.

She was that heavy artillery. She was what "Mama" called in when they needed a sledgehammer over a scalpel. She gave a private, invisible grin underneath her integrated helm. Michiko always gave a long-suffering sigh and huff over being called that, it never really got old.

Still, the job was going well enough. She had been deployed to go take out the runaway borg, and she had caught up to it in a parking garage. The hunt proceeded smoothly, she was forcing it to take damage to the joints, soon enough it would be unable to move fast enough to prevent a coup de grace. She loved the thrill of battle, she left home chasing that thrill afterall.

It was at that point the ceiling shattered, and a camouflaged dragoon crashed down upon the both of them. Grabbing both of them by the arms, and tearing them off. She had activated her sandevistan to get away, but the samson wasn't so lucky. It was torn apart, limb by limb, over the next few minutes. All the while, the retractable front-optic mount stared directly at her as she fled. Her job was done, the samson was destroyed, all it cost her was an arm.

As it turned out, that samson had killed the son of an Arasaka exec on his rampage. Adam Smasher had been deployed to rip it apart, and then rip apart any living relatives too. She was just unlucky enough to be next to it when he attacked. DangerGal had an agent assigned specifically to monitor the Butcher at all times after that job. It was too much of a risk for any of her squishier sisters.

She was callsign 'Victoria', the strongest of the DangerGal elites, and she had been crippled as an afterthought. Her pride had roared at that. Her pride had not stopped roaring at that.

The roar had gotten more and more quiet over time, not from the incident, but rather with the context of who had done such to her. The more the dossier on Adam Smasher filled, the quieter that roar had gotten. Now it was a dull rumble, always present but not too distracting, like an idling engine.

To be a legend in Night City, you had to die. That was the rule for the cyberpunk. Burn bright and fast and die brutal and fast. If you die in a good enough way, you become a legend, and that old granny over at Afterlife started selling a drink with your name. That rule had only ever been broken by two people, Morgan Blackhand and Adam Smasher. No, no one else was in that category, no matter what dumbasses say about the piper, spinster, or grand-uncle.

Morgan Blackhand was, in many ways, the founder of the modern mercenary. The ideal and standard by which merc and hired guns were measured, even years after his disappearance. She said he had disappeared, because no one was sure if he was actually dead. His body was never found after all. The man who delivered the third dose of sunshine in a can to the Japanese. He was a legend for a reason.

Adam Smasher was a legend for entirely different reasons. There was a reason most legends end up dying fast, that reason was usually Adam Smasher. The man who started his merc career around the same time that Blackhand did, that so many other legends did. The man who outlived them all, his career still going strong almost a century later. The man who had a seemingly endless tolerance for chrome.

The man who could live in a dragoon frame like a normal person lives in their skin

Adam Smasher was the laughing metal reaper at the end of someone else's story. His legend was written in the blood of a hundred other legends.

She had survived her last encounter with him, all it cost her was her arm. It infuriated her that that was all she could say. She was DangerGal Elite callsign Victoria, she was what they called in when they needed something destroyed. The next time they met, she intended to be on equal footing. She didn't lose last time, she just withdrew. She didn't intend to ever lose, she was 'Victoria'. She wasn't about to feed another predator's legend.

She had been sharpening her claws ever since, on the bodies of those that mama called her out to break. Little prey interested her none, her sisters could handle them, she would only improve against larger, tougher targets. Idly, she wondered if that meant she was hunting turtles. Turtles wouldn't do her any good, she needed crocodiles to skin.

The Butcher's change in behavior had surprised all of them. Callsign 'Rachel' nearly had a heart attack when she noticed the immense and overnight changes, and had been a worried wreck ever since.

The monster that tore her arm off in an instant basically adopted a bunch of kids. They had to be special, right?

Looking at them listening to what Callsign 'Sierra' was saying from her perch, all she could feel was boredom.

The boy was the most interesting of the bunch, in that he had a decent talent for handling chrome, better than most squishies. He wasn't handling as much as she was, let alone his mentor. He had to use suppressants to handle that boondoggle a few months ago. He was good for a kid, but that was about it. She wasn't particularly impressed. She labeled him 'dog', not really a predator, too domestic for that, but he had some fangs on him.

The girl was apparently a fairly good netrunner with some super net-diving unit in her brain, but that didn't help someone stop bullets, so it was ultimately not that important. Her combat skills were laughable, and her chrome was middling. Basically a civvie still, she was even less impressed. She labeled her 'housecat', there was potential there, but she was too timid too matter right now.

The other girl wasn't anything special at all. Just some former mox girl with chemskin and some big guns on her hips. Time to kill, less than half a minute. Basically a civvie still, still not impressed. She labeled her 'mouse', tiny and basically not a threat unless you sat still and let her bite you. Rat would be impolite, so she would refrain.

The woman was an outright civvie, only a few weeks of on and off training, and a career of being an EMT before that. She came back from the dead, which was neat she supposed, but otherwise unremarkable for a zombie. Callsign 'Romeo' would probably go on about her 'fuckable hips', but she had long since learned to ignore her perverse ramblings. 'Zombie' was good enough for now.

The Butcher had another under his employ, a poser 'Victoria', who was still mostly meat. She had intended to go challenge her, but the cowardly meatwoman had gotten pregnant as a way to get out of having to fight. That was fine, she could just wait until she couldn't hide behind a baby anymore. Then she could issue the challenge and either win directly or prove that the meatwoman was a coward who backed down from challenges.

There was only room for one true Victoria in Night City, she would make the meatwoman change her name after winning. Her name would be poser legally as well as in actuality after that. It would be good to finally set the record straight again for that.

Then, she would get back to sharpening her claws. She intended to set the record straight with the Butcher, she wasn't a lesser, she was an equal. She was Victoria, and she hadn't lost yet.

The match would have to be non-fatal, of course, mama needed another Beau, and she had been pulling herself out of her slump ever since she updated the Butcher's profile. They had been lovers once, apparently, so it would work fine and mama could stop being so mopey all the time. She had been acting like callsign Sierra for a few years now, all mopey and depressive, it was getting annoying.

She let her thoughts idle in tune to the rumble of her pride, and watched Sierra talk to the guests behind a leonine faceplate. Lounging off to the side, waiting for her next hunt.

It had been a few days, her claws were getting dry.

—

Kagekaze had a small gift for his temporary students, it should help protect them from getting ambushed, a most important facet of staying alive long enough to learn more. He had joined them in his student's old quarters and brought with him four boxes stacked up in his arms. They were at the central dining table, and the boxes were set there.

He had told them to grab their most reliable firearms, the guns they intended to always have with them if possible. Martinez-san had brought out his shotgun, a more recent acquisition from what he had heard, a Militech Standard Military Shotgun. Twelve gauge, eight round magazine, folding stock. A reliable weapon for all the needs that a shotgun is used to fulfill.

Martinez-san, the mother, had brought her personal sidearm. A Techtronica-15 with an under barrel extra battery pack. It made sense that she would pick such, she was unused to combat and such a weapon would allow her to contribute still. A weapon that was useful at all but the highest levels of combat, a realm that she was unlikely to ever enter.

Kushinada-san had also brought her sidearm, a Constitutional Arms Unity handgun. A simple, robust, inexpensive handgun. It fired a common round, it was reliable with minimum maintenance. It fired decently fast enough, and was decently high caliber. It was a weapon that basically everyone could use. She was still not comfortable with combat, even after all this time, and her chosen weapon reflected this.

Rebecca-san had brought her primary arm, an Arasaka WAA Bullpup Assault rifle. It seemed that with the excess of firepower that she typically mounted upon her hips, she elected to go with a weaker but much faster firing weapon. Considering it again, he supposed the hip-mounted cyborg rifles were her actual primary arm, and the gun she had presented was more of a sidearm for faster shooting. It too was compatible with smartgun chips, so it was understandable that she would use that model. The integral optical sight would help this purpose as well.

Regardless, they had made their choices, so he began the lesson.

"Each of you, please take a box, and remove its contents."

They soon got to doing just that, curious mumbles and hums as they did so. Inside each of the boxes was the same thing. A specialized universal-locking scope-mount, containing a micro-computer, an integrated radar/sonar system, a wireless internal agent link, a speaker/microphone, and a holographic scope-screen. This was a popular device over in Nihon, and the utility was well known, but it was a recently developed technology and they were not being sold outside of the country yet. He had to special order them.

"Fancy scopes?" Martinez-san asked, turning it over in his hands curiously.

"Go ahead and attach them to your chosen firearms, their mounts should be universally applicable. Afterwhich, press the button near the top, just before the screen."

They did so, after a bit of struggling with it, and the holographic screens popped up with two options. 'Koyo' and 'Aidoru'.

"These scopes are known as Segatari AI-Doru Shoujun, or the Segatari AI-Dol Gun Scopes, they contain five components, a microcomputer, a sensor array, a wireless link, a speaker/microphone, and a projector scope screen. They are intended to serve as Artificial Intelligence aids, using their sensor array to detect potential danger and warn the verified user through their internal agent."

"Wait, these things put an AI in our guns?" Rebecca-san spoke out excitedly, practically bouncing in her seat. Mah mah, how cute. He used body language to signal the impression of an amused smile her way.

"Learning AI specifically, designed to start as a blank slate but slowly learn your habits and adapt to be a more efficient aid." He raised a skeletal hand. "Please make no mistake though, they have very limited scope in what they can do. All they can do is attempt to detect movement around you, and warn you of it. It's a useful tool to prevent being struck from behind, but projectiles are much too fast for them to notice in time to warn the user."

He tilted his head. "Well, they can also use their sensory array to deep-scan themselves and relay what components are damaged, but that's an out of combat utility."

Kushinada-san spoke up warily at that. Ah, she had bad experiences with AI in the past, didn't she? Hopefully this would help her overcome that fear in a safe and controlled manner. "If that's all they do, then why is it a learning AI?"

He chuckled, and rubbed the back of his head. This would help assuage her fears, if he was acting so casual about it. "That's because of their intended marketing. I believe it's common amongst the youth to maintain imaginary relationships with fictional characters, correct? These Scopes have a useful tactical effect, but they are intended to be…" He paused to make sure he got the word right. "...'Waifus, I believe the term is."

There was a deadpan from Kushinada-san at that, and grins starting to grow on others. Kushinada-san continued. "They put learning AI on guns for that?"

He gave the impression of a smile and head tilt. "Yes. Now, if you would all press one of the two choices, and proceed with system setup. 'Koyo' is the option for pure utility, for no personality. 'Aidoru' is the option for a personality."

"I'm picking Koyo." Kushinada-san immediately replied in a dull tone, only to be stopped by Martinez-san's finger on her hand. He smiled at her teasingly. Rebecca-san leaned in and coyly spoke. "You know you have to do it, Lucy. It's the only way."

"This is silly." She retorted, only to be immediately countered by Rebecca-san.

"It would be funny though!"

Her hand was squeezed by a smiling Martinez-san, and she groaned in defeat. "Fine."

All four of them pressed the 'Aidoru' option, and the micro-computer connected to their Internal agents to confirm users. Once that was done, the set-up told them to set the weapons down and not touch them for a while. The sensory system was currently making a 3-D model of the gun and comparing that to a large database of weaponry, then installing the pre-programmed personality seed as appropriate to the weapon model and modifications added to it.

He himself didn't have a use for such a thing, his own sensor array being more powerful than the one that came installed in the scope. That, and he typically carried no external weapons, doing so would compromise his stealth systems. His body contained all the weaponry he needed for the vast majority of missions.

Still, it might help them avoid potential harm from ambush, and the scopes were inexpensive enough to matter little to him. Of course, the primary reason he got gear that helped them avoid ambush was not because of outside dangers. With little Michiko snubbing Jugemu so publicly, and accepting them under her influence, there was a high chance for retribution from internal agents aligned to Jugemu.

Soon enough, little cartoon females appeared in the holographic screens on the scope and started saying hellos to their owners in slightly synthesized tones, their language being chosen during set-up. All of them were in perhaps more scandalous attire than what was really appropriate, but otherwise held resemblances to the firearms they were attached to.

Little gun-kami brought to awareness, technology was truly a wonderful thing.

While they busied themselves with entertaining little amused conversations with the cartoon women on the screens, Kagekaze received a notice from Maria-chan.

Idly, he pulled it up in his line of sight to see what it was.

He froze, and raced out of the room as fast as he could, leaving behind his confused temporary students.

It was an event he hadn't foreseen, but was disastrous in consequence if not immediately corrected.

The message was brief, and frantic.

"Battlegroup Yurei has gone rogue, and has disappeared with Project Yokai."

Kagekaze hadn't returned yet. He had run out of the room very suddenly yesterday, and they hadn't seen hide or hair of him since. Ignoring the fact that he didn't have skin or hair. The Tower had become very tense and nervous as well, with many elements of security being told to go on high alert but not being told why. Of course, none of that explained why they were currently sitting on the otherside of a table from two Gemini borgs, one man and one woman.

The reason why? Socialization apparently. They had shown up at the door with a bulk order of chinese take-out, and said they were here to meet and greet the people Adam Smasher took in. No one there recognized them, but they were being polite about it, so they let them come in with the offering of lunch.

The man was as tall as he was, with black-blue hair and eyes. He had moderate bulk, but was built more for speed than power. His features were sharp, but his demeanor was low energy and laid back. David hadn't seen his expression budge more than a centimeter other than when the woman interacted with him, whereupon it broke out into a tolerant smile. He had glasses and the underlayer of a three-piece suit on, no jacket, but the white shirt and vest were there.

The woman was a little taller than Lucy was but shorter than the man, with bright pinkish-red hair and an expressive face. Her frame was fit and comparatively trim, toned body that looked to be the result of lots of cardio exercise. It wasn't the result of exercise, of course, but it had the same look to it. Her face cycled through expressions rapidly, and spoke in a cheerful, happy tone that seemed unshakable. She was wearing the typical garb of an office lady, black skirt and white button-up top to match the man, but with several of the topmost buttons undone.

Currently, she was in the middle of a rapid monologue about something that David was starting to lose track of. All the while slurping cupfuls of noodles and chugging sweet tea. Every now and then the man would chide her for speaking with her mouth full, and she would nod vigorously before swallowing and continuing, often forgetting what he just said with the next cup. It seemed the man had finally let her run her course long enough, because he started speaking. The moment he did she immediately stopped.

"Aka, we haven't introduced ourselves properly yet." He gently reminded.

She nodded, and slurped the noodles hanging from her mouth down without chewing. Finishing, she paused as he leaned over with a napkin to wipe at her mouth. She grinned and suddenly threw her head forwards to kiss his cheek, and he smiled back before leaning back on the couch again. She turned to them and gave a sloppy salute in mock american fashion.

He wasn't expecting what she said next.

"Arasaka strategic weapons unit, Akakyu, registered DaiOni jockey number 9! Nice to meetcha!"

It suddenly got very tense in the room. David had seen those DaiOni walk around the upper floors before. He had heard Smasher talk about them before, mostly his old frame that was stolen. They were big, they were very fast, they carried a fuckload of guns. He was not eager to pick a fight with one. He would in a heartbeat if one of these borgs came after his crew though. He would put them through the floor if he had too.

He wasn't quite sure how he would do that yet though. The man spoke up, almost lazily and seemingly unaware of the sudden tension in the room.

"Arasaka strategic weapons unit, Aoihachi, registered DaiOni jockey number 8. And don't worry we're not on here orders or anything."

David replied cautiously. "Oh yeah?"

Aoihachi replied without skipping a beat. "Yeah, it's Sunday, our one day off a week. We'll be called in if an emergency happens, but otherwise we're just relaxing right now."

Akakyu spoke up. "Hehe, yeah. I was interested in what senpai's new henchmen were like, so I wanted to see."

"Senpai?" Rebecca asked, casually curious.

"Henchmen?" Lucy asked, casually offended.

"You get days off?" Mom asked, casually surprised.

Aoihachi smiled a tad as Akakyu burst into giggles. He replied as she was trying to contain herself.

"Adam Smasher was the first DaiOni jockey, deployed in an emergency security action. Is it any wonder we call him 'Senpai'? As for the henchman thing…" He turned to raise a brow at Lucy. "You're on his payroll now, you live in his house without rent… It's either henchmen or family, ne?"

The others sputter a bit at that, but not him. He didn't really care what people called them. He was Smasher's apprentice, and his crew was under his Smasher's protection, that was enough explanation for him. Their reactions set Akakyu off on another fit of giggling though, so Aoihachi continued.

"As for the days off. It was discovered during further DaiOni testing that having such reduced jockey psychosis rates by more than ten percent, or something like that. Senpai can live in his DaiOni, but the rest of us aren't made of such stern stuff." He joked.

David realized he was rather relaxed with these people, even despite himself. They were a natural pair that bounced off each other in likable ways. That may be deliberate though, so he made sure not to lose his guard. He wasn't about to let anyone pull a fast one on him.

Being around corpos for a week was fucking exhausting. No wonder Smasher just started murdering them after decades. He was starting to consider it himself already, even knowing the consequences. There had been no less than twelve fuckers trying to pull fast ones on one of them so far. These were the only ones that didn't seem to want anything from them other than the introduction. Didn't mean he was going to trust them, that sounded fucking stupid to do.

He could trust his chooms, he could trust his mom, he could trust Smasher. No one else needed to be on that list.

"The DaiOni is that rough, huh?" Rebecca said, with a sad glance towards him. Hey, what was that about?

Aoihachi and Akakyu both got quiet. Aoihachi got a distant look in his eyes as Akakyu laid a hand on his arm. It took a moment, but eventually he started a reply.

"...The DaiOni is overwhelming. Your mind gets placed into an angry god made of chrome. You become strong enough to toss trucks like hunks of firewood. You become fast enough to grab a man while his sandevistan is active. You become durable enough to shrug off anything but the main gun of a tank. You become heavy enough to shatter steel-reinforced concrete with a stomp. The sensors are like a flood, a layer of virtual reality over the entire world alerting you to a thousand notifications of potential threats and hazards, and how to best eliminate them."

As he spoke, David started getting reminders. He swallowed, and stared at the table.

"...The DaiOni roars at you, constantly. It wants nothing more than for you to wade into a fight and destroy everything around you. It makes sure you know the best way to kill everything you see, constantly, and then tells you every other way too just to make sure you know. Shironi, one of our other senpais, coined a term for it. She called it 'wrestling the demon', and we've since adopted that as official terminology. The DaiOni practically fights on its own, our job is to hold it back long enough to not kill anything except the enemy."

His vision flashed. Massive limbs made of blackened chrome, strong enough to crush a man into paste. An array of hands on his fingertips, each with their own set of functional fingers. The ability to reach out and will weapons into his hands without gesture. Body too heavy to move until he commands the world to stop holding him down.

The feeling of being able to fly without wings. The feeling of being able to smash armies into piles of meat and scrap…

A hand on his leg was squeezing. His vision focused again. The hand on his leg was familiar. He loved that hand. His vision trailed up the arm it was attached to. It was attached to Lucy.

The feeling of Lucy's touch.

He smiled and leaned back, putting his hand on hers on his leg. He focused again on the two guests, who were patiently waiting for him to pull himself together.

…He nodded at them, and they nodded back. Aoihachi stood up sedately, followed by Akakyu practically bouncing up. Aoihachi spoke, waving with one lazy hand.

"Ah, sorry for bringing up memories like that. We know how hard it is sometimes. We'll not overstay our welcome, so we'll be off. Feel free to keep the rest of the food, Aka and I don't actually need to eat after all."

They walked to the door, left with Akakyu giving an exaggerated wave and 'Cya henchies!' as she left.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting from the DaiOni jockeys. It probably wasn't that though.

He grabbed a cup of noodles, and tried slurping it.

…Hey, this was pretty fun in retrospect.

—

Arasaka Saburo sat on a comfortable cushion.

In front of him, Arasaka Yorinobu. He was attempting to disguise his anger at him the best he could, but it was for nought. A father's eyes know his son better than any other. It was not a hot, fresh anger. It was an old anger, an anger from one who felt betrayed by family. An anger that a ronin felt for a tyrannical daimyo.

His son… He was young and brash, full of righteous fury over the evils of the world. It was Saburo's misfortune that his son blamed him for all those evils. He would grow out of it in time. He hoped as much.

Jorogumo model-three poured both of them a cup of tea from his personal stock. She had dramatically improved, only a single ripple in the pour and two degrees off in posture. A vastly more successful model than one and two at its intended purpose thus far. One was useful still, but he had ordered a kunai, not a katana. Two was almost entirely useless still, even with improvements from three's instructions.

He took up his cup, knowing that his son was watching his every move. His son was not an expert in social matters, of hiding one's true intentions and reading those of others. It was partly why Yorinobu had installed that grade-two kerenzikov and 'boostmaster' so long ago. Decades of seeing the world slow enough to count the wing beats of a bumblebee, and he still wasn't able to hide his thoughts from his father.

Kei was able too, the skilled administrator that he was. Yorinobu was not Kei. Kei was born to lead the affairs and bureaucracy of a nation. Yorinobu was born to lead armies. It was bad luck that he was determined to lead that army against his own people.

He sipped at his tea, and held it passively again, waiting. Yorinobu eventually relented, and took up his own cup of tea. He sipped, and closed his eyes. His posture was off by two degrees. His right eyebrow twitched.

Heh, frustrated that the tea was too good to complain about. His son was predictable in that way.

Eventually the tea of the cups was drained, and a refill was provided by Jorogumo model-three. It was then that he began to speak on matters of business and exchange. His son was in no mood to speak on personal matters, not for fifty years or more.

"The transferrel of Smasher Adam's Long-Term Contract is contingent on three things."

His son was paying attention, eyes sharpened to a hawk-like focus.

"The first is a trial period of six months, in which your management of his contract will be reviewed to ensure no mishandling of his power." This was to be expected, his son knew this walking into the family compound again.

"The second is the maintenance of the following list of existing Long-Term Orders I have given him already. You are not to impede these without extenuating circumstances. You are to use your best judgment for what circumstances count as such." He continued, a scroll being held up by model-three and offered to his son, who took it silently. He would likely review such later in exacting detail, studying over the scroll over and over again. He had never gotten into the habit of memorizing the contents of a document in one pass and then reviewing them later.

Lastly, to both deal with a now troublesome asset and test his son…

"The third condition is the deployment to Night City. You are to replace Jugemu Jun as acting president of Arasaka NC."

His son's eyes glinted at him, and his right eyebrow twitched. Saburo knew that he would agree. Because that much power could be used to kill his father, much easier than what he had right now.

Saburo was waiting for the day his son finally slew him.

Waiting and dreading what his Engram would have to do afterwards.

He desperately hoped that Yojimbo would be a good influence.

He did not want to kill his son.

He did not want to lose another son.

—

David sat on the concrete stairs leading into a side-garage of Arasaka, looking out into the busy streets in front of him. It looked like it was going to rain soon.

He heard footsteps, and readied his sandevistan.

Katsuo offered him a can of soda, and he took it. He let his sandevistan relax.

"Tanaka."

"Martinez."

They cracked their carbonated aluminum cans open, and took simultaneous sips. Root Beer this time, Katsuo's favorite. He liked it well enough, and besides that, the drink was free.

"You doing well?" He asked.

"About as well as I can, I suppose." Katsuo responded casually, taking a sip. The dude was better at handling loss than David was. It was admirable in a cold sort of way. Mom died and he went off the rails straight into the edgerunner life. Katsuo's mother died, and he kept trucking along just the same, even if a bit more quiet nowadays.

'Being sad sounds like a waste of time, to tell the truth. She's dead, and not coming back. No point in being sad about it.' Katuso had told him once, after a long night drinking cans of soda and watching the streets. His voice was dull and flat, but the expression gave it away. A furrowed brow, narrowed eyes, the tiniest hint of a frown.

Katsuo was good at moving along, but he was going to carry that weight. David respected that, all he carried back then was a jar of fake ashes and a deathwish.

"Work still the same?" David asked after another few sips in comfortable silence. It had started to rain by this point, but they were sheltered by the building. The rain was carried by the wind fast enough to angle and hit the neighboring building instead of them as it came down.

Katsuo groaned a tad at that, and let loose a frustrated huff. "They've been cutting my hours down more and more. I think I pissed someone in management off by accident."

"They've been cutting your hours? What are you down to now?"

"Barely within the range of full-time worker. I'm going to need to find another source of income if I want to keep the bills paid."

David gave a joking suggestion. "Heh, you could chip in that karate and join me on the job, I'm sure you'll be fine."

"That sounds a lot like getting killed with extra steps."

"What, you don't think you'll win against gangers?"

"I don't have any training Martinez, no, I don't think I will win against murderous gangers."

"Then let's get you some training, you said your hours were being cut, you have free time. C'mon I'll teach you how to throw a punch."

"Heh, I think you already did that."

"Now imagine doing that to some ugly gonk on the street."

Katsuo chuckled and stood up, his second drink finished. "I'll think about it. I gotta get back to work now."

David chuckled back and went back to street watching. "See you later Tanaka."

"See ya, Martinez."

Katsuo walked away, door into the building closing behind him. David lounged in the liminal space between noisy street and silent alleyway. These kinds of places… It was hard to explain. They were nice.

So he sat, and finished the root beer flavored sodas, just letting time pass him by. In the distance, thunder started to crack and roll in.

He reached over, and realized he had finished the last one. He stood, cracking his bones, and reaching down to grab the trash to throw away. He straightened up again, breathed in, and breathed out.

He opened his eyes.

A massive boom echoed in the distance.

No, multiple booms.

Then the entire city, once illuminated with countless neon lights, went pitch black.

And the streets began to roar with the countless yells and screams of confused civilians.

"Tell them the story, Jackie, of how you almost lost all your savings!" Mama Welles called out from the kitchen over the sound of sizzling SCOP and vegetables. The vegetables were bought for this special occasion, specifically by Jackie to try and appease his mother's justifiable fury over him spending so much money.

"But I got it back! And now, the lesson is learned without consequence." He called back, jokingly. He was sitting in the small room that served as both a dining room and living room, one arm around his girlfriend, a woman with a short mess of pale blonde hair and dark shadowed eyes. She was smiling in good humor and fiddling with a pack of cards.

"You got lucky! Where would you be if you hadn't?!" She fired back, grabbing the sizzling pan in pan-holders and bringing it over to the table, followed by a stack of five plates and utensils. Jackie grinned and countered.

"Ah, but I did get lucky, and that's all that matters now! Besides, I got to see an NC legend use my bike to break a bus full of guns. Who else gets to say that?" His mother harrumphed in response, and smiled over to the other two in the room. A man and woman sitting on the couch that had been scooted up to the central coffee table.

The man had brown hair that had been cut short, and sides shaved down more than the top. A layer of stubbled covered his lower face, and his right ear was pierced. The woman sat upon his lap, his arms wrapped around her belly keeping her in place. She had dark red hair that was shaved on the side and flopped over. Her optic lines crossed over the highest point on her cheek and then swooped upwards across the side of her head, coming from dark eyeshadow around her bright optics. The man was grinning in lighthearted amusement, the woman looked disgruntled but resigned.

"C'mon Jackie, stop wasting time here, tell us what went down." The man said, head leaned forwards and resting in the crook of the woman's neck. She grunted and closed her eyes, leaning her own head back to rest on his slightly. Two jackets of the same type and brand were off to the side, hanging over the back of the couch.

"I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it." Jackie responded, grabbing a forkful of vegetables and SCOP and taking a quick bite. He almost yelped as he forgot the temperature, and quickly swallowed it down. "Okay, I'll tell you as it cools." His mother, Mama Welles, was not sympathetic to his plight, judging from her expression.

Jackie began his story, both hands raised and palms facing downwards. "Alright, so there I was with my baby." He paused to kiss his girlfriend on the forehead. "I had driven it out to Pacifica, you know, to see how it was. She was a dream as I drove her, even with all the issues you noticed Vic."

The man named Victor nodded assuredly.

"So I brought her down to the Smashbowl right, one of the safest places in the city. No one causes trouble unless they want Smasher to come down and kill them. I figured it was all good."

He paused her, and reached for the fork. Mama Welles smacked his hand, which he shook in exaggerated pain.

"So I waved to the guards they got there, mostly Animals. They don't get up to much if you don't, they like fighting each other more, you know? So I was waving and they were waving back, when all of a sudden a bus pulled up. This was shady already, the only cars in Pacifica are corpo, right Val?"

"I don't work in that department Jackie." Valerie replied.

He didn't respond, and simply stared expressionless. She groaned, keeping her eyes closed, and spoke again.

"Yes, only Arasaka-owned vehicles are currently permitted to drive in the Pacifica region outside of the Arena parking space.

Jackie nodded, and continued. "So I was suspicious immediately, but it was only when I saw irons poking out the windows that I jumped behind my bike. They fired for a minute, and flatlined all the guys I was just talking with."

"They started to rev up the engine to drive off again, and I thought, 'thank god, they're professionals.' They didn't go for poor little me and my baby." Victor and Valerie chuckled at the joke. Misty looked relieved, and Mama Welles kept glaring at her son for the slightly grim joke. Jackie continued. "When all of a sudden, I'm falling sideways, my bike is gone, and the bus flies ten or twenty feet to the side before falling and bursting into flame."

Jackie gestures to himself with both hands. "I look up from my hands and knees, and I see none other than Adam Smasher posing like an olympic athlete who just hit a world record in shot put. I push myself up, and he's holding a shotgun at the burning bus."

"He glances back at me, and I think for sure I'm a goner. No! He asked me a question, you wanna guess what it was?!" He pointed, to which Victor responded. "If you were single?".

Jackie scoffs and partially lifts up Misty by the waist, who yelps a bit. "You wish choom! No, he asks me "How much?"."

Jackie pauses, sets Misty down, and makes an exaggerated face looking around the room. "I think to myself, is he talking to me? How much what?! He gets annoyed, and asks again. 'Meatbag! How much for the bike?"

Jackie leans back and holds up a finger in mock realization. "He was talking to me! He called me a meatbag! I didn't see any other bags of premium meat around!" He grins and does a mock flex. "I'm too dumbfounded by all of this, I reply honestly! Twenty thousand!"

Jackie leans back and huffs in disbelief. "Next thing I know I'm getting twenty thousand eddies deposited in my account from an unknown account. He used my brand new bike to beat a band of bus-bound gangsters into scrap, and paid me for it."

Jackie shakes an accusing finger at Valerie, who now has her eyes open and staring at him with a brow raised. "You didn't tell me Adam Smasher was like that! I would have expected him to leave without a word, any other corpo would have I bet."

She grinned slightly. "Please Jackie, it was only twenty thousand. I make five times that a year." Jackie scoffed and waved a hand. Victor shook his head and looked at Jackie.

"Rich people, huh?" He said with an expression of faux-annoyance. "Only twenty k, she says."

Misty chimed up. "Got no respect for the little people, no respect at all I say."

Jackie joined back in. "I say! I say!"

Mama Welles was about to say something before everyone in the room received a message. Everyone except Valerie that was. They all went silent. Valerie furrowed her brow and sat up straighter.

"...Hey, what was that?"

Victor suddenly shot up. Standing her up as he did, he immediately went for their jackets as everyone else in the room got up too. "Everyone into the car. We need to get to Arasaka Tower."

Jackie nodded, and pulled Misty and his mother along, grabbing all the guns in the house as they moved. Valerie grabbed his arm, and glared worriedly. "Victor, tell me whats going on."

Victor looked her in the eye, and grabbed both of her shoulders. "Someone just placed a bounty on every member of Arasaka in Night City, and sent it to everyone they could."

Her eyes widened, and she started running for the garage and car too. She flinched, and steadied herself, sending a glance back at Victor. It took him a second to realize, fumbling he grabbed a tiny pink remote from his pocket and turned it off. Valerie stood up straight again and made her way to the car.

"...She had that in the whole time?" Jackie asked, from the side. Victor nodded.

"What the hell man, this is my mother's house." Jackie deadpanned.

It was about that point in which everything went dark, and everyone with unshielded chrome dropped to the floor.

The EMPs had gone off.

—

Abbey Hyena was born in twenty thirty-four. She grew up on the Night City streets, briefly joined the Animals to get off her feet and get a name, and then left to become a Solo of moderate success. She might be the baddest bitch in Night City, but she didn't have the best track record when it came to jobs. The fighting part was easy! It was the talking and the clients that were bullshit.

Those cunts always tried to cheat her out of her hard earned eddies! So what if the package was a little beat up? She had gotten it to you! Be grateful and stop trying to cheat her, you bastards! She grumbled all the way back into her Pacifica apartment block. It was her second-favorite part of the city, even if she had to encourage the former residents to fuck off with a fat cheque.

She opened her door to see her sanctuary. Her bed in the corner, her shelves opposite to it, a desk with a computer and chair, a door that led into a bathroom. It had everything she needed, including her favorite part. She dropped her duffel bag, and flopped forwards on her bed, crashing against the body pillows there.

All three body pillows of Adam Smasher she owned.

One in his early days, blonde 'Elvis' Gemini, strong and smiling and wonderful. One of his Night Parade days, his Dragoon frame stripped of armor revealing the network of strong myomer muscles beneath. One of his current days, salt and pepper sweptback hair, grim and matured. The goods were just barely concealed from her curious eyes by strategically placed hands and bent legs.

They were all so perfect, she couldn't possibly choose between the three! She breathed in deeply, face still buried in the crotch-space of NP Adam. Without conscious command, her tail began to wag. This was the best, second only to how she imagined the real thing would be like. How would he smell? How would he taste? She wanted to know.

She reluctantly pushed up from her love-pile of pillows, and looked out the window to the Smasher Palace. It was her second-favorite sight in the whole city. She sighed, one day she would be in there, with him.

…one day he would be in her, she gulped and promised to herself. Her tail wagged harder at the thought. When she got big enough, when she was good enough, she'd march right up to him and demand to work under him!

…under him…

It took a minute to shake herself from the daze, wiping away the bit of drool. She got up and went to shower, reminding herself to wash her Adam's off tonight. She only had two changes of the same outfit, but that was fine, she washed them everytime she changed. She washed herself off quickly to not waste too much water, and started toweling off. She had to go slow around her ears, they were sensitive.

She imagined what his hands would feel like on them. Her tail wagged.

She looked around her room again. All her wonderful portraits and posters of Adam. On her desk, all his cute little figurines and statuettes. Under her bed, a lockbox containing her most precious possessions. Little scraps of his armor paneling and spent ammo casings, lost against particularly worthy opponents and hunted down by her after the fact.

She was a little worried, for when their fateful meeting would occur. What if he didn't like girls with long black hair or tanned brown skin? What if he likes short girls with small boobs?

What if he hated her tail and ears? She hugged the body pillow worriedly. She would have to cut them off immediately. She hoped he liked them. She played with the collar around her neck, the little eclipse symbol on it, proof of her private love. She huffed, and grabbed a bag of kibble from the floor, munching on it worriedly, careful not to get any of her Adams dirty or messy from it.

She grabbed her 'Zeus Powerkeg' 3-liter Mug, and brought it up to take deep gulps of water from it. As she did, she received a message. Grunting, she set the mug down on her knee and read through it. Bag of half-empty kibble in her lap.

…

She stood up, and grabbed her guns and duffel bag of ammo.

She was going out tonight. In the distance, multiple explosions rang out.

The baddest bitch of Night City was on the hunt for any fucker who went after her (future) man.

She ignored all the lights going off around her. Her eyes could see in the dark just fine.

—

In a Maelstrom den in their newly claimed Badlands territory, sat a group of men around an open fire, listening to a radio tuned to cause auditory feedback in their internal chrome. That part completed the song, and no-chrome chucklefucks couldn't possibly get it. They all called it 'bland' or 'painful to listen to'. Shows what they knew about music, that was to say, absolutely fucking nothing.

Things had been going real fucking well for Maelstrom these past few months, and all they had to do was follow a bit behind Adam Smasher's recent rampages and reap the rewards. One of their biggest rivals wiped off the map, a shit ton of netrunning gear in pacifica looted from the knockoffs (who were also dead), a fuck load of gear and territory in the badlands taken from the scav-knockoffs (who, again, were also dead now).

All the chrome picked out of their stashes and bodies alone was a fortune, even if they only got some of it. All of that fortune went right into chroming up the lads, the ones with some fucking sense and loyalty. Hell, even Brick got his act somewhat together, his wiring wasn't quite so shit anymore, and he got his ugly chimp face covered in metal plating. All in all, a massive improvement to his own sore optics.

Fucking Brick, he should have gotten a plate to cover his face welded on years ago.

He got a message, and judging from the reactions of the boys, they got it too.

He considered it for a moment.

One of the dumber boys spoke up.

"Well shit, we should hop right fucking on this! We can just drive by the academy an-"

The dead meat was cut off by the fact that he had just shot him with a big fucking bullet. The boom was nice to listen to. The dead meat collapsed, and the live boys flinched back at the sudden gunshot.

"That's fucking retarded, dumbass."

The boys were looking at him now. Did he really have to explain fucking everything to these bozos?

"All of our territory is in Night City. Arasaka is a global fucking corp. What the fuck do you think is going to happen immediately after this little rumble?" He paused for a half second. "That's right, Maelstrom gets the heavy fucking artillery called down on it, proportional to all of our boys who decided to take the fucking bait."

He glowered at them, optics glowing hateful red.

"We are staying right fucking here, and letting this bullshit pass. Then, once this shit is over, we move in and take what we can swallow. It's been working fucking wonders so far, and we're not going to screw this shit up for a fucking day-trading scam. Got it?"

They were about to nod dumbly. Then each and every one of them collapse suddenly, breaking out into micro-seizures. The radio turned off, and so did every other electronic in the area.

Fucking EMPs. Fucking fuckers, he told them to get the shielding installed. Goddamn retards he has to wrestle into being functional. He glared at their spasming forms for a moment, before turning back to the fire.

Explosions in the distance, disrupting the peace and quiet.

It was going to be a long fucking night. Joy.

—

All across Night City, the same message was distributed. From poorest to richest, from corporate to streetrat. Everyone save the employees of Arasaka received the same message, and a digital token of authenticity.

Then, one minute after the message was distributed, a massive explosion occurred in every major utility facility, and no less than twelve EMPs were let off in a gridlike fashion all around the city.

—

If you are receiving this message, then you are neither an employee of Arasaka, or a relative of an employee of Arasaka.

I am Shaitan. I am placing an open bounty. For the next twenty-four hours, the following cash-value rewards are available to everyone in Night City. These rewards are for the verified death of an employee of Arasaka, or a relative of an employee. The Switzerland national bank has agreed to handle the distribution of the wealth to claimants on my behalf. You must have unedited video and audio evidence of your act to claim the reward.

For the death of a relative of an employee of Arasaka : one-thousand eurodollars.

For the death of an employee of Arasaka : ten-thousand eurodollars.

For the death of a security employee of Arasaka : twenty-five thousand eurodollars.

For the death of a cyborg employee of Arasaka : fifty thousand eurodollars.

For the death of an executive of Arasaka : one-hundred thousand eurodollars.

For the death of the president of Arasaka NC : five hundred thousand eurodollars.

For the death of Adam Smasher : One million eurodollars.

The following is a NFT'd seal of authenticity, proving the cooperation of the Switzerland national bank in claiming this bounty.

Remember, there are more of you than there are of them.

May the Red Sun set in Night City.

Ichirou regained awareness slowly, the shaking slowly fading away, the pain beginning to go with it. He breathed in and out, and tried to see through staticy vision. He was on the ground, had he fallen?

He had been fighting, he could feel a bullet in his leg. What had he been fighting?

He was a disgraced member of the Tyger Claws, given a chance to redeem himself in a raid. It was a raid against the Animals. It was coming back to him. He was fighting the Animals, shooting at them with his fellow disgraced. Why had they stopped?

He blinked, in his vision was a message. It was a bounty for every Arasaka employee in Night City. Each of the disgraced received it, and got behind cover in astonishment. Then… everything went black.

It was still dark, he blinked and looked around. He was laying on the floor. He was about to push himself up. A massive steel-clawed boot stomped down in front of him, cracking the stone floor.

He flinched back, and looked up.

A lipless, snarling and crocodile face glared down at him. A dragon loomed above him, hateful eyes glaring. It crouched in front of him. He looked around worriedly. His fellow disgraced were all around him on the concrete floor, each with a hulking figure in front of them, their weapons all removed or bound.

He swallowed, they had been captured. Why did they all fall like that? The lights in the building were all out, but the glare of various optics and screens lit it just enough to see.

He looked again to the snarling dragon. His eyes adjusted enough to the darkness to see the figure more clearly. The snarling visage was a steel helmet, the dragon's snarl not changing in expression. The helmet was set upon the armored frame of a truly massive man, somewhere between seven and eight feet tall. He was clad entirely in plated metalgear armor that was then covered again in ballistic plating. His arms were covered instead in battlegloves, upon which wolvers were mounted and currently extended.

It was Beast, de facto leader of the Animals.

He was a dead man already.

"The message." A voice like a rumbling thunderstorm rolled out from the armored dragon. It was punctuated by an actual boom of thunder from outside the building.

Ichirou wasn't sure what he was talking about, so he asked. "T-the message we all received b-before?" The steel dragon nodded at him, so he was quick to pull it up and send it over. The eyes of the steel dragon glowed as it read the message.

It paused for a long moment. So Ichirou took his chance, the other Tyger Claws listening in from their places.

"P-please let us go, some of us have families in Arasaka. We need to go help them!" He desperately cried out. It was a long shot, but anything to survive, they could get their honor back later. "We can get back to gang war later, this is more important!" This was met by grumbling from his fellow disgraced, and laughter from the surrounding Animals.

The laughter was cut off by Beast raising a gauntlet. They all stopped immediately. Beast stared him down, and he did his best to meet the stare of the massive figure, more than seven feet tall.

"...Why the attacks?" The steel dragon asked. He gulped.

He would be dead if word of him leaking info went back to Tyger Claw leadership, but he would be dead if he didn't answer. His resolve hardened, he had a little brother in Arasaka Academy. Ichirou was fine with dying, but not tonight.

"Someone in Arasaka Tower hired the Tyger Claws to make attacks against the Pacifica defenses."

The steel dragon was silent. A feminine scoff from the side drew his attention. He looked over to see a muscular woman-beast, armorweave clearly visible within her skin, a thick layer of fur over her limbs, and a similarly fluffed armored tail swishing behind her. Atop her head were two curled horns, and her eyes were slitted and narrowed. Her hands ended in massive black claws sprouting from furred paws.

Her breasts were barely contained behind a grease-stained white wife-beater shirt. She did not have a bra on. He struggled to look away from the shameless woman. She had purple eyes, a clear indicator of optics.

"You're not believing this prey, are yah boss?"

"Quiet." The steel dragon responded, her mouth immediately snapped close. Her teeth ground against each other. The steel dragon rose from the crouch and looked around for a moment.

"...One night." The dragon glared down at him again. "One night of truce. Tell Tigerking we talk after this." This was met with rumbles and growls from the Animals. These growls were silenced with the steel dragon's own growl, which echoed loudly through the room.

"We work for Smasher. Smasher is Arasaka. We are being hunted by humans."

The steel dragon stepped forwards and shattered concrete. Steel claws dug into the stone.

"We are the Animals. We gore the hunters tonight."

A pause from him was met with snarls and nods. He looked down at the bound and injured Tyger Claws.

"Give them their small guns. We keep big guns."

Ichirou supposed that was fair.

—

Eren Shepard strode into the office of the chief, who was currently shouting over the radio to get the emergency power supply for the station online again. His shoulder-mounted headlights allowed him to walk through the panicked station without trouble, and his night-vision visor let him see in the dark regardless.

The chief huffed and leaned back in his chair after a minute of yelling at various employees to get them moving. It was busy for a hot minute, and with the imminent chaos the city was sure to erupt into, the NCPD was about to be incredibly busy for days afterwards processing as much of the criminal activity as they could.

Or at least, they would be, but no orders to muster stations had been called. He had questions for the chief.

"Ah, good old reliable 'Iron Shepard', whaddya need? Make it quick, we're in an emergency right now."

"Why have you recalled all officers in the field?" A mere 2,500 officers of the NCPD. Even assuming a mere one percent of the city takes the bait, that would be a riot of 60,000. It was more important than ever that they quickly move to suppress and engage roving groups before they grew to unmanageable sizes.

"Why? You're normally faster on the draw than this Shepard. You received the message too, right? Everyone with a hope for moving out of this shithole or a grudge against the boys in black are going to be out in force. We don't have enough men for that, I'm calling everyone in to weather the storm."

Eren listened to the chief. He took in what he was saying, he processed the logic and calculated the pros and cons.

It was absolutely unacceptable.

He pulled his gun, a Desert Eagle, and pointed it at the chief.

The chief flinched back and raised his hands. "What the hell Shepard! The fuck are you doing?!"

"You are under arrest for negligence of duty and obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."

The chief grew thunderous at that, and almost started yelling. A vein popping in his neck. "Shepard. You're going to put that gun down right now and hope to god I don't have your badge for this bullshit."

Eren did not drop his gun. The door to the office opened and two of his fellow officers almost entered. They saw the scene and their hands went to their guns, although they did not draw them yet. The chief yelled at them, hands still in the air.

"Jenkins! Pattersby! Get Shepard out of my office and into a cell! He's lost it!"

Jenkins narrowed his eyes at Eren. Eren did not move a centimeter, gun still aimed at the chief, finger still on the trigger. "Shepard… So, wanna tell us why you're pointing that Deagle at Chief Fawlter?"

"I am placing Fawlter under arrest. He has decided to recall all officers and has no plans on deploying them for the duration of this night."

Jenkins and Pattersby realized the implications immediately. Fawlter rushed to explain.

"Of fucking course I am! We don't have the manpower to cover any of the shitstorm that's about to blow through. We send any squads out tonight and we're losing them!"

"Negligence of duty and obstruction of justice."

Pattersby nodded slowly, and hesitantly spoke. "He's got a point there Shepard. If we lose too many men tonight, we're not going to have them for the future. It might be better to pull everyone out for tonight."

Eren turned his visor just enough to look at Pattersby from the corner of his optics. Pattersby, a mostly good officer, but entirely driven by pragmatism over doing the most long term good. Normally effective, unacceptable here.

There were other officers lining up in the hall outside, checking on the situation, listening in.

"Are you an idiot, Pattersby?"

Pattersby got mad. "Of course not! That's why I'm-"

"You're not thinking."

Turning his optics back towards the chief completely, he raised the volume of his voice so that those listening in the hall could hear clearly.

"We are officers of Night City. The most dangerous city in North America. The city with the most heavily armed gangs in North America. The city with the highest officer fatality rate in North America."

"Each and every year we lose no less than a full five squads of officers. We cannot predict what weapons the gangs will or will not bring. At any point, any one of us can die in the line of duty. You think tonight is any different from every other night?"

"We are the officers of the Night City Police Department. We are the hand of the Law and bringers of Justice to the criminals of this city. Those criminals are out in force tonight. Those criminals are practically walking towards our lines of fire tonight."

"A full mobilization and decisive action in this night can dramatically lower crime in the city for years to come. Tonight is the night of action, the night in which the Law can achieve a decisive victory over crime."

"You would let the status quo of a shrinking budget and increasingly stretched patrols continue over fear from a mass of creeps roaming the streets. You want to put your head in the sand and let those bastards win?"

"I'll arrest you too, and do this myself if I have to."

There was a stretch of silence.

Jenkins slowly pulled his handgun out.

He aimed it at Chief Fawlter.

"Chief Fawlter, you are under arrest."

—

Meredith Stout groaned as she poured a few tylenoxol into her hand and swallowed them, washing them down with a bottle of water. Shaking her head, she stumbled out of her office and into the hall. The pain killer was preemptive, as she was sure tonight was going to be a huge fucking headache.

Shaitan… that name was familiar. She thinks he showed up in a few after reports she's read through before. He was an Eclipse borg, right? Militech gave the guy missions sometimes. She shook her head, didn't matter, the fucking bastard had just riled up the city and place a hit on all of Arasaka.

If someone could do that to Arasaka, then they could do that to any other corp. That was an unacceptable precedent to allow.

She walked into the mess hall, filled to the brim with the private security officers of Militech stationed here in Night City. She raised her announcing pistol and shot a blank in the air.

The dumbasses jumped and half of them drew weapons before seeing it was her. That was pissing her off, it should have been all of them that drew their irons. She'd yell at them later for that, right now she had business to do.

"Oi! Full mobilization people! Get your ACPAs on and get patrolling!" The room burst into mumbles for a second.

One cheeky brat spoke up. "Wait, we hunting 'Saka heads?"

"Who the fuck said that!" She yelled out. The brat in question was pushed up by his fellows. It was that Sharp kid, the dumbass with the grapple hand. She'd discipline him later with scrubbing the fucking toilets, but right now she needed everyone out and about.

"Private Sharp! You're a dumbass shit-licker! If we let this happen, the fuck do you think happens when some cheeky fucker decides to call a hit in on Militech?!" She had to be mean to the boys and girls, otherwise they'd try to cozy up to her. She only fucks on her time, she wasn't about to waste time on a horny private.

Unless they were a cute one that was. This wasn't the time for it anyway, she was a professional.

"...Oh."

"You're damn right 'Oh'! You incompetent fuck-weasel!" She shouted at him. She turned her gaze around the room. "Everyone up and out, we're suppressing the fucking riots as best we can! Go ahead and field test all those fancy new guns that HQ sent over." She grinned at the sudden cheers.

Now… to yell at the techies to fix the fucking generators. The emergency supply only lasted so long and it was best to be on top of things.

She groaned internally. She wasn't going to get any fucking rest for a while, just her luck.

—

Jun groaned, and grabbed his head. It was throbbing in pain.

The room was dark for a while, but the emergency generators were beginning to kick back on. The power was coming back online. What was that, everything went out, and he was on the floor.

He pushed himself up, and looked around. He was in his office, there were black-clad Arasaka guards looking in the door to him. It felt familiar. Everything went out…

The HQ had been hit with an EMP attack. Everything was coming back online slowly. He was on the floor. His cyberware was shielded, why was he on the floor? He pushed himself up, and brought up his desk-screen to check on the conditions of the stock and provisions of the Island.

Militech were finally making their attack, having started with an EMP. Their counter-measures beforehand made sure they weren't about to be followed by an ECM from blimp. The burning artillery had struck true.

The Island was under attack. He looked at the state of their forces. They were more than he remembered, had they gotten reinforcements? They must have, the HQ had sent word back to the Mainland some time ago about the imminent attack. He grimaced, Militech had struck earlier than they were anticipating.

Communications were finally back online, quickly he contacted the chief of security.

"Agent, the Island is under attack. Deploy our heavy assets to defensive positions at the entrance of the HQ, and organize the fulfillment of the bunker protocols!"

The chief of security replied with affirmation, and he finished the call.

…Where was heavy asset Kuroichi? He wasn't in the HQ.

He groaned and grabbed at his head. His headache was tremendous. He was starting to remember.

He had deployed Kuroichi to raid a Militech research facility. They were testing an upgraded form of ACPA down in the Nevada desert. Kuroichi was the only asset both heavily armored and stealthy enough to reliably take it down. He wasn't here, and wouldn't be here for days even if recalled immediately.

He cursed, the facility was likely bait to draw out their strongest asset. They didn't have anything of the same effectiveness. He looked up, and Arasaka ACPA was in front of him. It couldn't be a DaiOni, those were all on the Mainland, back in primary HQ.

His vision started to stabilize. Why was it spinning? It was one of their Arasaka Standard-B jockeys. Good, he needed one around him to fend off any Militech Eclipse borgs. If he died, then the warriors would not have the equipment they needed with them when they deployed. He had to make sure they had their equipment, otherwise Arasaka interests in Gaijin lands would all collapse.

He was Provisions Manager Jugemu Jun. He would not let Militech achieve victory on this night. Quickly, he began rapid-fire calls to organize a defense.

It was the last day before his shipment of ammo would arrive. It was a bulk shipment, but judging from his weekly usage rates he would have to either order more or limit the number of meatbags he killed on his patrols. Considering that every meatbag he has since killed completely deserved it, he went ahead and put in a second and third shipment order. Logistics were starting to annoy him intensely.

He and Uriel had been brainstorming during their patrols. The requirements for the guns he would produce were simple. They had to do some fucking damage, they had to be as rugged as possible, and their ammo had to be as common as possible. Ideas had been brought up and dismissed back and forth. In the end, neither of them knew enough about how guns actually worked in order to have anything more than basic ideas. They would have to get to a gun expert.

This would have been simple if Hijikata was still alive, but that fucker got slaughtered by a panzerbot with a penchant for shanties. He'll have to go ask the new techie, the cross-dresser, if he was worth a damn in making gun designs. That's what he would do, if he wasn't currently confined to Pacifica. He'd have to do it once the upjumped shit fucked up enough to be executed.

The big gun that Hijikata made for tiny-woman, he mentioned something about it being a test-type for a mass production model. Maybe he left some notes behind about it, it could be useful here. Worse case scenario, he just starts up an Araska-branded franchise for some of their less gimmicky weapons.

There was a flash of light in the distance. Maybe about 1.31 Miles out, judging by his sensors. He started a timer, and soon enough a rumble of thunder rolled over his position in the middle of the street. He was off by about .12 miles. He grunted, that was annoying. He continued his patrol through the soaked streets, rain coming down fast enough to obscure meatbag vision, but not his own.

There weren't many meatbags in the streets, and most of them seemed much more concerned with getting home rather than staying out. This patrol was likely to be boring. That was annoying but he supposed he needed to conserve ammo anyways. The streets were incredibly dark, most of the lights went out a while ago.

The entire city's power went out a while ago. It had been a few decades since something like that had happened. It was frequent enough back in the pre-nuke days. Some fucking punk decides to commit a bit of domestic terrorism. It could be a netrunner, it could be a gang of fuckers with ideals, it could be corporate warring. It was hardly something to be surprised by. Pacifica's powergrid was still hooked up to the main city's, they didn't have enough generation to go fully native yet.

No, what pissed him off was that some fucker tried to set bombs off in his generation sector. Uriel had set up flags to warn him of signals entering and leaving that area to prevent corpo sabotage bullshit, and had managed to intercept the detonation signal long enough for the EMPs to go off and disable the bombs anyway. That had been a few fucking minutes of his time to go over and grab them. He tossed them into the ocean after, because those fish have had it too good for too long.

EMPs, industrial sabotage, a city-wide riot in the distance… It looked like some fucker was going all out on this. Props to them, he supposed. Adam wasn't particularly happy with this, mostly because the rumble didn't seem to be happening much in Pacifica and he wasn't allowed to leave and join it. It pissed him off, but oh well.

His foot stomped hard enough to crack the concrete. He ground his endosteel teeth together.

God fucking damnit. A city-wide riot and he couldn't go slaughter them! This was fucking bullshit! Fucking Jun! You were more tolerable in the old days! Civvie duty made you worthless! None of this bullshit about profits, just 'go there and kill this thing!'. Adam was tempted to break a few buildings.

A meatbag shot at him from an alley. He threw his knife and impaled the fucker in the brain. Fucking meatbags, you need to riot more here. He stomped over to take his knife back, the foot-long blade having gone straight through the fucker's skull. Note to self, if he threw a bit harder, he might make the next skull explode instead.

A shotgun and a bagful of slugs, his mono-three sword, and all of his knives. That was the loadout he was reduced down to. He was practically forced to rely on bottom-of-the-barrell gear. The shotgun had a nice kick back in his samson days, but with this new frame it felt like a fucking purse pistol.

He needed guns, big guns. That kick was the most comfortable thing in the world. A sound from above, he looked up, infrared alerting him to a heat signature.

Meatbag on the roof pointing a gun down. He activated his sandevistan and jumped, grabbing the edge of the roof and using it to swing his body around in a kick to the fucker's chest. His sandevistan deactivated.

His foot went through the fucker's torso instead of caving it in. Adam almost stumbled as he planted his other foot on the room and adjusted his arms to balance with the unexpected weight. He stayed there for a moment, before kicking the fucker off his feet. It took a few kicks to extract the meat from where his torso was wrapped around Adam's ankles.

His foot was covered in meatguts now. He'd have to wash that when he got back.

A flash of light, 0.98 miles out?

A rumble of thunder, 0.92 miles out.

He grunted, this little game was just starting to annoy him now. The rain continued pouring down. Hey, that might clean him off before he gets off patrol tonight.

He jumped down from the roof of the rather short building. It was one of the entrance buildings for the sewer network in the region. It was still being renovated down there, although he made sure it kept up to date with the construction of the region. A full half of the construction crews was dedicated to practically dismantling the underground part of the region and rebuilding it. It was slow work, because renovating it had to be done in small chunks to prevent the city above from collapsing inwards.

Fucking plumbing, tough as shit to do. The temporary housing regions still had the old plumbing in place. The sections currently being renovated was underneath the future site of the permanent buildings. It had to be done first, just in case one of them fucks up and accidently causes the destruction of a city block with a misplaced pillar. None of that shitty concrete either. This was quicklime hotmixed stuff, otherwise known as roman concrete. It cost a tad more than normal, but that was fine.

He didn't want to bother refurbishing shit ever again in the future. Everything in Pacifica was being built to last a few centuries at minimum if possible. That would save him more money in the long term than anything else. The less he had to pay over time, the better position he would be in later. Building up momentum until he was unstoppable.

Long term preparation was not something he practiced very often throughout his life. Uriel had convinced him of the usefulness of it. Taking things as they come would get him killed when the meatfucker came, and he refused to let that happen. The dividends were already starting to pay off with just a few early investments of his time and money that he wasn't spending already. Sure, he had to do shit that wasn't killing meatbags, and that was annoying, but this was so that he would live longer to keep doing it in the future.

Shame he had to put up with the bullshit that meatbags constantly produce. He missed the days he could just sit around and wait for another thing to murder. A vacation lasting for fifty years. He grunted in satisfaction, he was a luck-fucking bastard.

There was a vehicle racing for him on the road. A jeep looking thing. He narrowed his sensors.

An Arasaka Kuma Land Rover, four-thousand pounds, top speed of ninety miles per hour.

It was accelerating right for him on the road. Some meatbag was trying to crash into him, they clearly had a deathwish. It got close to him. He activated his sandevistan.

He crouched, and let its front gently push into his hands. Once there, burst upwards, and threw the front of the thing up into the air as hard as he could. His sandevistan deactivated.

The Kuma flipped over him, spinning in the air and narrowly avoiding hitting him in the head with the back. It tumbled through the air, and landed on the street behind him some fifty feet back, rolling quite a ways after impact. My, what a sight. He almost wished for more meatbags to try shit like that, it was certainly a unique one.

He walked over to it leisurely, to see the corpse of the brave fucker that tried that.

A flash of lightning, 0.6 miles?

A roll of thunder, 0.6 miles. He grinned in triumph, heh, take that weather, he's reading you like a fucking book.

He got to the Kuma, and flipped it over again to look at the occupant.

He paused.

The Kuma was empty of meatbags. He narrowed his optics. He reached over and ripped open the space behind the steering wheel. There was a box there, hooked up to the internals of the car.

A fucking drone? What fucking meatbag had the audacity to use a goddamn drone against him. Uriel let his fire wash against the wireless that had to exist in order to let the thing function. He looked at it and paused again.

The wireless was just a comms unit.

…Did they hook up a drone control unit that required verbal commands? Why? That was fucking retarded. What the fuck was going on, what dumbass decided this was a smart idea? He was going to have words with them, and by words he meant a fist through their vital organs.

The squeal of tires on wet concrete alerted him. He looked up to see more vehicles racing towards him. It looked like a few limos given security retrofits and some more armored jeeps.

Three Lexus ZS-5000s, two more Kumas. Who the fuck rigged a bunch of cars with drone control units? He started running for the part of his territory that he didn't mind scrapping. The Lexus' had a top speed of one-hundred and forty miles per hour, but their acceleration wasn't the best. That gave him… nine seconds before they caught up with him on the open stretch of road. He counted the seconds, and jumped at the end.

He shattered the roof of one of the limos, which immediately braked to try and shake him off. Nice try, droneass. He used the energy of the sudden brake like a catapult to jump, soaring over the sewer entrance and landing on the other side of the building. He rolled into a running start from the cars now forced to go around and find another route. This lighter weight frame let him pull acrobatic bullshit like that off more often, it was surprisingly fun.

His chrome feet shattered the road as he ran. This was not the time to be worrying about cost too much, he had a fucker with expensive cars and drone cpus after him. The average Lexus ZS-5000 cost six-hundred thousand eddies, the average Kuma cost anywhere from fifteen-thousand to twenty-eight thousand eddies, the average drone cpu cost anywhere from fifty-thousand to a hundred and fifty thousand back in the day.

Someone was pouring a fuck ton of money into this ineffectual strategy. That meant connections, that meant corporate, corporate meant that he could worry about long-term costs later. Long-term meant nothing if he was dead, and an outright corporate attack like this was something that had a small chance of pulling that off.

Still, this tactic was downright insulting. Use helicopters or something next time meatfuck, those can fly and carry decent sized guns. These cars couldn't touch him so long as he was careful about it. Just ramming him with cars wasn't going to do jackshit.

He stumbled suddenly, his shoulder jerking from a sudden impact. He activated his sandevistan and looked around as he kept running.

There, on the roofs. Invisible to IR but he could spot them with NV. A lot of bots with big snipers pointed at him. He had just entered into a killbox. He snarled. He had not just fallen into a fucking trap. Uriel tapped into the camera feeds of the entire region.

…Every rooftop on a building higher than he could jump. Each one had at least one bot. He didn't fall into a trap, his territory had been filled with a fucking drone army while he wasn't looking. Who and how the fuck had…

The EMPs had taken out the camera feeds. Uriel hadn't been able to scan for fuckers moving while Adam was dealing with the bombs and the first half of the patrol. The city was a fucking distraction, wasn't it?

This was to take him out.

He grinned in a very mean way. A whole fucking army of bots to scrap. It was like it was his birthday.

His sandevistan deactivated just in time for him to be almost behind cover at the end of the street…

Another rifle round hit his arm. Fucker. Alright, so their cpus were good enough to keep up with him under sandevistan speed, or they had predicted where he would be, or this was a lucky potshot.

He recognized the bot. It was those mass-manufacture security bots Arasaka sold and rented out to dumbasses who decided drones were a good investment. 'Oh no! My bot got hacked and now it's shooting at me!', get what you fucking deserve, meatbag. Arasaka RR Mk 2., for clients who wanted shitty protection. They had some utility for stations where meatbags couldn't survive, of course, but at that point just use a mounted sentry.

He could have sworn they had red optics by default, not gold.

They had been dressed up in samurai shit, pretty clearly supposed to be mocking Arasaka with the attack…

He narrowed his optics, as he approached the region set to be destroyed anyways. The Lexus had been given an Arasaka standard security refit, The Kuma was an Arasaka design, these bots were Arasaka designed and dressed in samurai bullshit.

Either this was the most fucking obvious false-flag in the world, or Jun was deciding to forfeit his life trying to actually kill him with undisguised drones.

He activated his sandevistan to get a good look at what fuckers had followed him.

A flash of lightning…

His instincts screamed at him, he threw himself to the side as hard as he could.

…0.01 Miles away.

A lance of lightning crashed down where he had just been standing. It didn't come from the sky, it's angle was too horizontal. His sandevistan deactivated, and he rolled into a crouch with his shotgun and a knife drawn. The concrete of the road partially melted and started to steam as rain washed over it.

He looked up.

There on a nearby roof, was a four-armed figure. A front set of arms crossed in an 'x' in front of its body, which angled to the side partially. A back set of arms with a bulky armored tube of some sort mounted on the forearms, connected to each other by a thick wire and to a back-mounted powerpack by another set of thick wires. One of the back-mounted arms was pointed at the thunderstorm above, the other pointed at where he had just been.

The figure looked to be a man made of plasteel, a stylized faceplate that looked to be a bearded man with three golden optics. The plasteel frame had the look of a nude white marble statue, plated in accentuated gold around the joints.

There was a pause as he locked optics with the fucker that had just shot lightning at him. The marblebot stared down at him, and tilted his head.

"You dodged the first strike."

He narrowed his optics, and checked the hud. One-hundred percent.

"Gonna have fun scrapping you, I'm two for two right now."

"Unfortunately for you, Adam Smasher, I am not my brothers. I am Legacy of Aryas 88, bearer of the word Storm."

Adam paused and stared at it, Uriel burst into laughter. The panzerbot mimed a sigh and slumped its shoulders.

"Yes, I know. My brothers and sisters conspired to play a trick on me. I'll be stuck with it for a while."

Adam growled back. "You'll be scrap in a while, you and the fucker in the tower now that I got proof enough to kill him."

The panzerbot paused and processed the statement, and then started laughing uproariously. Adam growled at the fucker, and scanned the area around him while he had time.

…Eighty bots on the roof, the roar of at least five vehicles driving this way in the distance, and the distant sound of AV thrusters just barely detectable over the storm.

The panzerbot settled down into chuckles while he was checking, and eventually spoke again in a highly amused tone.

"Hah, hah, I shall have to tell Blackbeard his little trick worked wonders."

Adam growled. "So… That fucker is still alive then, good to know."

Aryas froze and looked down at him. "I should have not revealed that. I'll make up for it by killing you."

"If you think you're hard enough, scrapfucker." Adam snarled back.

A flash of light. He activated his sandevistan and threw himself to the side.

A bolt hit where he had just been, turning the road into steaming slag.

His sandevistan deactivated. Bullets started to rain down on him.

Adam had a shotgun, a sword, and a few knives.

This was a distinctly poor situation. The AV thrusters roared in the distance.

The steady downpour of rain, the distant rumble of thunder, the bright flashes of interspersed lightning. There was nothing more soothing than the thunderstorm to him. A time in which all life retreats to their dens and homes leaving only himself in an empty and turbulent world. This was his private and sublime pleasure, his delectable luxury. To stand in the midst of a storm.

It was the primary reason how he decided his first path of combat to master.

His sensors read the winds, he grounded himself, and raised an arm to the heavens. His sandevistan activated, and for an entirely too short timespan he could track the hammer of the gods.

His stern-right arm sent forth an invisible beam, digging a channel through the very air. The lightning flowed down through it, through the thick chain of carbon-nanotubing wire to his stern-left arm. He had already dug a second channel with an unseen ray, and the lightning raced down it.

He was Aryas, he was a conduit.

It crashed against the black-rock roadwork, turning it into a brilliant column of freshly steaming slag, cooled by the constant rainfall. His target had activated their own sandevistan just in time yet again, and had barely dodged the smiting god-force.

The Red Sun Asura was an utterly sublime foe, Aryas had nothing but respect for his combat prowess. His behavior was another matter entirely, but there was no disregarding the proficiency of his abilities. Lightning, hammer of the gods, was the second-fastest of all celestial things that act upon the earth. Second only to light itself within the domain of the world.

Adam Smasher was not dodging it. He, even at his fastest, could not hope to approach it in speed. Smasher was not dodging the lightning, he was dodging Aryas. Aryas was a hair faster than him, the combination of kerenzikov and sandevistan barely surpassing Smasher's own. There was but a single motion in which Aryas had to perform slowly, which was the channeling of lightning.

Every motion had to be careful and deliberate, lest he improperly ground himself and be struck down for the disrespect for nature. Once the stance was established though, the lightning traveled as fast as it was ought to. Fast enough to be but a blink to him, even in the deepest stages of self-acceleration.

Smasher was dodging it by moving just as his stance was established, barely a fraction of a second to react, activate his sandevistan, read Aryas' stance, and move. There were perhaps no more than two-hundred individuals throughout all of history who could perform such against Aryas' speed, and no more than a handful who could perform such reliably. Most of those individuals required a kerenzikov, a sandevistan, and boostermasters for both.

Smasher only had the sandevistan and a boostermaster, as far as he was aware.

His sandevistan expended, he had no way of dodging all the bullets that rained down on him from so many guns. The sound of bullets, so similar to the sound of rain when massed, potentially as efficacious as lightning when properly coordinated. It was the reason he chose his second path of combat to master.

He directed his newfound army to fire in staggered shots, to ensure a constant stream of bullets. He split them in twain and twain again, to allow four positions to be targeted at once, maximizing the chance that some amount of damage would be inflicted. He did this without sound, without motion.

His new tiger-warriors did not need verbal commandments, they were within the light of his Anja, they knew his directions as surely as they knew each other. They were united in battle under the light of his combat-crystal. All that one beheld, they all beheld. All that one knew, they all knew. All that he demanded, they obeyed.

He was Aryas, he was a commander.

It was how he knew that they were not alone in this district, in this storm. There was an observer that one of his warriors had spotted, a woman with the ears and eyes of a cat hidden behind a stealth system. Normally she would be invisible to him, but the falling rain rendered her as obvious as Smasher was, outlined by the descending water.

He hesitated for a moment. The chiefest quest of the Ordo Panzer was in secrecy, in suppressing the knowledge of the art as best they could, in preventing disastrous escalation in force. By all rights, he should strike her down where she lay, and ensure the secrecy of this battle.

But that would oppose his virtues of compassion and temperance. She was a bystander in this battle, merely an observer. He was loath to slay those that he did not need to, and his duty in this quest was the defeat of Smasher. He was under no standing order to ensure secrecy, nor was he obligated to fight to destruction in this encounter.

This was a matter of convenience. He had been instructed to attempt to take Smasher's life if possible as an afterthought by Scars of Herakles 2. The raging storm and his close proximity would be their best chance outside of sending forth multiple grandmasters, or one of the single-digit grandmasters. Any other objective was a goodly bonus, and the primary objective was not critical.

Roland's mistake had already compromised the feasibility of the chiefest quest. There was no real need to maintain grand secrecy anymore. So he allowed the unseen woman to be left to observe unmolested. There was no need to strike her down, and he had no interest in sublimating violence.

Other grandmasters would have no issue with the deed, having long since left behind the individuals of humanity in dedication to humanity as a whole. He was incapable of such detachment, his mantled eidolon allowed it not, and he was glad for it.

He was Aryas, he was a champion.

Smasher had lept backwards, and had immediately started running for cover in the nearest building. It was a dilapidated ruin of a thing, but the liquid-stone was still thick and sturdy enough to deter the shots of his tiger warriors. Smasher was struck many times by the firing line directed to aim there, and his movement was chased by the other three. He narrowed his sight upon the building. The storm would not last forever, and when it went so too would his chance to destroy his target.

Aryas did not pursue the path of individual combat prowess, as so many of his siblings chose. Such a path did not sing to him. He had chosen to call down the hammer of the gods, he had chosen to become a commander and tactician. This was the path that he chose to pursue. In a duel, he was among the weakest of his siblings.

In a war, he was among the stronger of them.

In a storm, he was among the strongest.

Here he was in the midst of a storm, with an army to lead. The number of individual warriors that could overcome him in such a situation were perhaps three throughout all of history. The founder Gilgamesh, the traitor Solomon, and the king Arthur. Not even Herakles would be able to overcome him here.

Smasher was not among that number. Not unless he was…

No, that was not for Aryas to determine. If Smasher survived this night, the Ordo would decide in moot.

Now, how was he to approach Smasher in this situation? The most simple and least effective method would be to send his warriors inside, thus dooming them to being destroyed one after another in close combat.

He could potentially knock down the building by having the children ram against the support structures until it fell. That would trap Smasher beneath the rubble, but leave him no method to actually destroy him afterwards. It would have to be discarded.

Very well, he would have to use the children entombed in legged vehicles instead of wheeled vehicles. He directed a tiger warrior to send the appropriate commands, calling the steel beasts to their location.

When he usurped the loyalties of the tiger warriors, he had discovered what they had been guarding in that deep fortress in the bottom of the bay. The horrors of such nearly drove him to an early attack against the ones responsible, it burned against his virtue of compassion, burned into a white-hot rage.

Children should not suffer at the hands of adults, and yet that was what he had learned there. Immediately he commanded his tiger warriors to slay all inside and escape with the children, and they rushed to obey. It was quite difficult to defend against one's own former army all simultaneously deciding to turn against the comparatively defenseless galvanists.

The children had suffered too much, and yet their potential aid was too much to discard immediately. He had to recruit them for one final mission before they could rest, it burned at his virtue of compassion. Only the ones that had suffered the most, bound in that effigy of humbaba, he had sent forth to the nearest fortress of the Ordo.

He had his anima destroy the datafortresses within immediately. Nothing less than complete annihilation was acceptable.

He would ensure they would have good lives after this, for as long as they wished to live afterwards. Even if he had to raise them himself. The children obeyed him, for they knew no better. No better than torture and battle. His virtue of valor demanded he strike against their captors. His virtue of temperance demanded he fulfill his duties first.

While he was determining the best method to force Smasher from the sheltering ruin, he was alerted. A tremendous boom echoed out, and a hole opened in one of the near-corners of the ruin. Moments later, a second boom echoed out, taking out another chunk of the building's walls nearest to him. Smasher was destroying his own cover? Why was he…

His optics widened, immediately he ordered all his warriors to leap to other buildings on the left and right. He raced to follow them.

The building Smasher was in groaned titantically, and the entire tower began to collapse towards the building he was just standing on. A few moments of falling, and they crashed into one another. A massive cloud of quickly-wettening dust burst forth and covered the street.

This was a rather clever tactic, taking advantage of his immense strength to create a more favorable environment. Aryas ordered all units to look for movement in the streets. As soon as they spotted something, they would fire. He ordered them to continue moving in an outwardly-spiraling pattern, to ensure they were not easy targets.

A tremendous boom alerted him. A squad of units was sent forth as fast as possible to observe. It had come from where one of the children had been driving. He had ordered them to move up and down the streets in a specific pattern to ensure the Smasher had as few paths available to him as possible.

He had gone for them first, not Aryas and not the warriors. His virtue of compassion demanded blood. His virtue of temperance reminded him that Smasher was not told of the children according to the files. Smasher likely thought they were mere automatons, although knowing their true nature would be unlikely to stop him.

The squad he had sent forth got to the edge of the rooftops of that street.

He promptly lost connection to them, one after another. The other warriors witnessed chunks of rubble, flung at high speeds from below, crash into their frames and destroy them.

His tiger warriors were also disrespected by their creators. Minds of efficacious and proud warriors, placed into bodies of cheap mass production and substandard weaponry. It was downright insulting to behold. All those that survived he would get new arms and armor for, he would ensure it. A commander is worth little without his men.

He had just lost a squad to flung rubble, he was losing ground. He instructed his units to bait an attack and then observe as he ran over and scaled the nearest tower that could overlook that street.

Smasher had just landed on the engine-block of one of the children, destroying their body's ability to move, but leaving their precious biopods intact inside the steering mechanism. He held the armored steel hood aloft, bent partially around one arm as an improvised shield against the array of guns that had not relented in firing upon him. The other hand had discarded the shotgun, and was in the process of throwing heavy rubble instead.

Another of the children was racing for him from the end of the street, charging as a raging bull. Aryas prepared a stance to strike him as he dodged, no doubt leaping above it.

Smasher rooted his stance in a familiar way instead, readying his improvised shield and drawing a foot-long knife with his other hand. What was he doing now, practically ignoring the bullets coming down and leaving little pricks in his armor.

That stance was familiar, but where had he seen it?

The child raced closer. Aryas recognized the stance as one of Rolands.

…no.

The child raced closer still.

It took Roland twenty years to master his chosen art! Smasher had a single battle with him!

He ordered the child to stop immediately. It was too late.

The child rammed into the shield. The shield shook with the blow. The shaking traveled up Smasher's arm, through his chest, and through his other arm. The shaking traveled into the knife, and Smasher sliced it against the center of the vehicle in nearly the same instant it struck his shield, holding it in a backwards grip and ascending.

There was a terrible screech of metal hitting metal. The vehicle burst into two large halves and many thousand scraps, split in twain at the point of the relatively small blade in Smasher's hand. The child suffered a blow with all the force of its own weight and speed, but compressed to a point no wider than a knife's edge.

Three vehicles and five of his warriors were already destroyed.

Aryas had nothing but respect for the Red Sun Asura's combat prowess.

It was unfortunate that he had left himself open at that moment. Aryas activated his sandevistan.

Aryas already had his stance in place. He had already adjusted it to be accurate. He opened his wrist-chakras, and dug a channel between sky and Smasher.

The hound of the gods raced down through it, and struck Smasher squarely upon his back, turning the armor there into slag. His sandevistan deactivated.

Smasher was sent skipping across the street, the kinetic energy of the heavenly hammer enough to send him crashing into the depths of another ruined structure. That was only part of the hammer, the other part in heat energy.

Aryas hummed in frustration. Smasher had shielding against electro-magnetic disruption, so that element was not expected to succeed. The thermal damage was expected to be greater than merely slagging his back armor. That level of heat would outright destroy the vast majority of warriors, flesh and metal alike. They would have had their core melted through as their systems struggled to contain the sudden temperature spike.

Smasher's armor was rated against heat then, and was frustratingly more durable than their previous estimations. Several potential materials were crossed off the list for what it could be made of in that one strike. He would need more than one smiting to destroy, that was an incredibly rare accomplishment. His respect for him grew with every clash.

Aryas checked his reservoir of power. He could perform seven more safely, and fifteen if he needed to. He checked the status of the storm again. It was predicted to last another one and a half hours. This situation was well within the range of his abilities.

He looked at the edges of the street. The children in the legged vehicles were soon to arrive. He sent them words of thanks. They did not know what that meant.

His four virtues cried out for them.

—

Adam pushed the stone column off his body, his sensors screaming in protest. If he had to describe what he was currently feeling, it would be 'bullshit' and 'pain'. He muted the automatic warning of his critical temperature levels, and the potential core failure if it continued to rise. Uriel went about micro-managing his subsystems to regulate the heat as best as he could, disabling whatever they could and preparing to activate them if need be.

It was not an unexpected realization, but it was certainly an unpleasant one. Adam was not faster than lightning, who knew? He wasn't faster than sparky was either, except for when the bot got into that stupid looking yoga pose. That was his only time to dodge.

This was horseshit. At least the fucker was taking the fight seriously. He wasn't making a single noise the entire time, that was one less annoyance Adam had to deal with.

He checked his vitals. Back armor completely fucking gone, entire internal structure suffering micro-damages due to the brief but intense heat, nervous system just a little bit cooked. As it turns out, lightning hurt real fucking bad, who fucking knew? At least his Biopod was completely fine, given the multiple redundant layers of protection it had.

The shotgun was worthless in this fight, he was better off throwing rocks, so that was what he was doing.

Three cars and five bots later, and he had a smoking hole in his back. At least three cars and upwards of ninety-five estimated bots left to go. It would be fucking easy if not for the fucker throwing lightning at him.

He got up from his seated position on the floor, and looked out to the streets, rain still pouring down upon them. That entire street was no doubt being watched by all the fucking guns.

Alright, not going outside of cover again if he can avoid it. Sniper rules here, no poking out his head unless he can guarantee a kill and a quick retreat.

Those fuckers weren't about to come to him though. He had to take them down from street level, while they were on the rooftops. He rolled his shoulders and legs around, to loosen up anything that might have partially welded together from the lightning.

Alright, so bringing down a building they were in front of didn't work last time. How about bringing down a building they were on?