Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Opposite of Reassuring

“In the early 2000s there was a fear that the interconnectivity of the world could lead to trouble. Hacking was portrayed in the media as a new and terrifying crime.

The reality was a little more pedestrian at first. A good programmer with malicious intent could maybe steal some files, mess with some machines, or perhaps spy on someone, but other than the occasional virus there wasn’t too much to it.

Then Augmentations became a new standard. Everyone had one, and the world became far, far more digital. By the 2030s one in ten people in the world had an aug. By 2040 that was up to four in ten. When 2050 rolled around, nine in ten people had an augmentation of some sort, most of them used to keep connected to local or international networks, social media, and other feeds.

Hackers, those who knew what they were doing, could now turn a person’s entire life into a living nightmare.”

--Excerpt from The Rise of the Aug, 2052

***

My plan, insofar as I had one, was simple. Burst in, fire a few bolts into the room, then unload my railgun into the turret they were still setting up.

It was a nice plan because I got to shoot things.

I raised a booted foot, prepared to kick at the door, then I hesitated. It didn’t look like a door with an actual lock on it.

After making sure that my shoulder-mounted guns were set properly, I held Whisper close with one hand, then turned the door handle. A shove had the door moving in and got some of the office workers inside to look up. “Hey guys!” I said.

My railgun thumped and the gun emplacement in the middle of the room burst apart as a tiny bit of metal moving absurdly fast poked a hole through the middle of it.

Whisper came up and I aimed more-or-less in the direction of the first idiots to bring their guns to bear. The first bolt I fired thumped into and through a cubical wall, the next rammed into a projector box and fritzed it out. “Myalis, masks,” I said.

Fortunately, Myalis seemed to get what I meant. The gun on my opposite shoulder burped, twitched, then burped again. All across the room, masks were shredded apart as Myalis fired through them.

I was expecting the room to fill with gas or something, but there wasn’t anything like that. The nearest office worker opened fire with an SMG and I ducked back out of the room and moved away from the doorway before I got sprayed.

“Myalis, why isn’t that room filled with gas?” I asked.

It should be. If you’re wondering why you can’t see it... you are aware that not all gases are visible to the naked human eye, right?

“Oh,” I said. “I was expecting... I don’t know, orange-yellow gas or something.”

So that anyone you face can see the gas and react to it?

“It’s always colourful in the movies,” I said.

I’m sure.

I snorted and moved over to the door opposite the one I’d barged in from. Bringing the camera feed back revealed that two of the office workers on the other side had already slumped over, and the rest looked drunk. A clever one by the back had switched his mask out for a less holey one, but he was still stumbling about.

Opening the door slowly and quietly, I flicked on the invisibility on my jacket and held Whisper close. There was a neat puncture that was visually warped where I’d been shot early. Annoying that. I’d need to replace the jacket at some point.

A stop by the nearest office worker revealed that while he was slumped over and noodly, he was still breathing. “Nice,” I muttered.

“Stray Cat?” Gomorrah asked.

I shuffled past the gun emplacement, heading towards the back rooms. “Yeah?” I asked while looking into the offices I passed. Most of them were empty. Just desks with a few knick-knacks and workstations. No decorations beyond the occasional bland calendar. No pictures of family, no toys or models or anything.

Most corporations wished that they could have offices this bland, but something about being human made you more productive when you had a bit of colour around, and at least some things that helped pretend you weren’t some fleshy automata.

“I’ve cleared the garage, and all the rooms around it. Also, three of them surrendered. I have them sitting next to a firebomb.”

“That’s... okay,” I said. “I’m only at the entrance of the main office space. Still need to check some of the rooms around here.”

“I see. I’d keep clearing things, but the access to the middle floors is heavily reinforced. I don’t know if I can break through with what I have. And from what I can see, they have some nasty armaments on the other side.”

“Can’t you just buy some bigger toys?” I asked. The next bit of the top floor was separated by an intersection. To the left were the washrooms and a small lunch room and kitchen. The cameras there were pretty extensive, especially in the washrooms. “Creepy,” I muttered as I turned left instead.

“I could,” Gomorrah said. “But I don’t like the idea of running into people prepared to face me. We’re not immortal, you know?”

“Hmm, yeah,” I said. “Any access to their ventilation system? Power? We could siege them.’

Gomorrah hummed. “I think I had a similar idea, yes. Once you find the access from above, we could try to negotiate with them.”

“Stuck between two hard places, huh?”

“I don’t think that’s how the expression goes, but something like that.”

The hall was lined with bigger offices. With actual desks and better workstations. One long conference room had a nice table floating on a pair of lifts in the middle. The front offices had looked like they were bought with a budget, and I was guessing this is where the actual budget went.

“Alright,” I said as I finally found the stairs leading down. At least, the door leading to the stairwell. A door currently barricaded with thick metal shutters. “Found the stairs. No resistance or anything so far. Not even a second set of turrets.”

“Check the feeds from the second floor,” Gomorrah said. “They have corridors at the end of both staircases. With crew-operated guns at each. I’m counting about a dozen men in some very nice gear too.”

I rubbed at my chin. “Any way we can ping their augs? Send them a nice friendly message?”

“I’ll try,” Gomorrah said. “Give me a moment.”

I nodded and backed away from the door. “Think we could have broken into their augs from the start?” I asked Myalis.

Perhaps. Though most people who can afford it don’t place augmentations in their bodies without at least some security measures.

“Fair enough,” I said.

NOTICE​ All individuals within the Hour Men Mercenary building are now officially notified that the following Samurai wish to question you:

Gomorrah

Stray Cat

Please surrender. Lower all weapons, remove all offensive equipment from your person, and prepare for arrest and questioning.

Refusal to comply will be met with the wrath of god.​

“Damn G-girl,” I said. “Way to be polite and non-threatening there. Very diplomatic of you.”

Vanguard are not chosen for their diplomatic abilities.

I let out a rather inappropriate giggle at that.

A message was just sent out. Unsecured transmission. It’s addressed to you and Gomorrah.

“Huh,” I said. “Can I hear it?” I asked.

It’s text. Displaying it now.

Dear Stray Cat and Gomorroah,

Go fuck yourselves.

Gomorrah sighed. “How polite. So do we just burn them all or are we going to try something else?”

I considered it for a moment before replying. “I’m going to set a bomb up here by the door. Myalis, are they watching us?”

Negative.

“Right. So, bomb by the door here. Then... I think I might come in through a window after all. If we can knock them out peacefully... ish, then we can ask them some questions later. While they’re tied to a chair or something. Got that Gomorrah?”

I could feel her hesitating for a moment. “It might work. I don’t like the idea of you hanging off the side of this building while they know we’re assaulting them.”

“Ah, don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve never done anything like this.”

“That’s the opposite of reassuring.”

Snorting, I knelt down next to the door and flicked off the coms between myself and Gomorrah. “I’ll need a grenade. Motion sensor activated. Maybe... more knock-out gas? Something that’ll keep people rooted here. Oh, those sticky bombs would do.”

Certainly.

Two purchases later, and down to eight-thousand three-fifty, I was setting up a surprise for anyone that came upstairs.

“Alright,” I said as I got back up. Bringing up the building plans helped pinpoint where the windows on the floor below were located. The nearest one that matched above was in the conference room. “Time to swing on down and say hello to everyone downstairs.”

***