Stray Cat Strut 5 E-Book

RavensDagger

• Herausgeber: Podium Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Stray Cat Strut
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 555

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Cyborg samurai Cat LeBlanc takes charge when aliens overrun a city—only to discover humans may be the greater threat—in this cyberpunk adventure.   A small city mostly populated by well-to-do retirees, Burlington, Vermont, is now home to the Antithesis. The alien flora has taken root underground and throughout the surrounding woodlands, giving birth to monstrous beings driven by instinct to consume Earth's own living creatures. With only three rookie samurai to protect them and resources dwindling fast, the people of Burlington are facing extinction.   Cat LeBlanc's success against the Antithesis in the megacity of New Montreal has raised her profile amongst the samurai. And despite her antiauthoritarian attitude and appetite for destruction in combat, she's been assigned to assume command of Burlington's defenses. Against her better judgment—and though it means taking time away from her girlfriend, Lucy, and their adopted gang of children, "the kittens"—Cat accepts the mission.   Accompanied by pyrotechnic nun Gomorrah, Cat finds Burlington's downtown is indeed struggling to survive, but the privileged residents of River Heights thrive behind the protection of their privately funded militia. Worse, the undisciplined trio of samurai-in-training she's supposed to lead are variously arrogant, rebellious, and insecure. Now, Cat must forge a fighting force out of them while playing politics with the city's wealthiest power brokers.   Unfortunately, their enemy doesn't also suffer from political and personal conflicts. The Antithesis is of one mind, a hive determined to spread their contagion across Earth. And if Cat can't rally the samurai, soldiers, and citizens of Burlington to work together, the fall of the city may foretell humanity's eventual fate . . .   The fifth volume of the hit LitRPG sci-fi series—with more than nine million views on Royal Road—now available on Audible and wherever ebooks are sold!

Leseprobe

————   BOOK 5   ————

RAVENSDAGGER

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission from Podium Publishing.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Edgar Malboeuf

Cover design by Edink

ISBN: 978-1-0394-2800-3

Published in 2023 by Podium Publishing, ULC

www.podiumaudio.com

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

GOOD INVESTMENTS

CHAPTER TWO

FINALLY GETTING GOOD

CHAPTER THREE

A NOT-SO-QUIET HOME LIFE

CHAPTER FOUR

WHERE THE FUCK IS BURLINGTON?

CHAPTER FIVE

LEADERSHIPPING

CHAPTER SIX

OUTRANK

CHAPTER SEVEN

BIG GUN POLITICS

CHAPTER EIGHT

RIVER HEIGHTS

CHAPTER NINE

EYY

CHAPTER TEN

HOPE

CHAPTER ELEVEN

IRON SPINES

CHAPTER TWELVE

ALMOST COOL

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ACTUALLY COOL

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

OPPOSITES DISTRACT

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE BAD KIND OF INTERESTING

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MAKING LOTS OF LITTLE PROBLEMS

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

GROWTH

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MEETING OF THE GREATS

CHAPTER NINETEEN

VITAL DEFENSIVE PREPARATION

CHAPTER TWENTY

NANOMACHINES, SON

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SHOULDERING

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WELCOMING

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CAT-THEMED TOWER DEFENSE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

HOLDING ON

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

TRICKLE DOWN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

INTEL-CHAN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

WALK THE WALK

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

MORALE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

WEAPONIZED CRINGE

CHAPTER THIRTY

DOG GONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

SPROUT

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

HORSES TO WATER

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

MINOR IMPROVEMENTS

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

KNIFE’S EDGE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

WHEN BUSINESS TAKES CARE OF ITSELF

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CATMODORE LUCY

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

A GENIUS IDEA

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

FIRE AND HAMMER

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

GETTING A CLUE

CHAPTER FORTY

ALL AT ONCE

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

EXTINCTION OF THE NEW SORT

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

QUIET

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

AND I HAVE KILLED IT

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

JENNIFER

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

UNCANNY

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

MONSTER INTERRUPT

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

COVER

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

A TIME FOR EXPLANATIONS

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

BACK STAGE STORY

CHAPTER FIFTY

THIGH PILLOW

INTERLUDE

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

WAKE UP

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

A CAT’S STRUT

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

INTIMIDATION

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

ALL THAT WEALTH IS GOOD FOR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

HUNGER OF THE MASSES

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

A GREAT IDEA

INTERLUDE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

THE OKAY BEFORE THE OOF

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

FINAL HOURS

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

ENJOYING THE VIEW

CHAPTER SIXTY

CALLSIGNS

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

KITTYKOPTER

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

QUICK THINKING

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

MECHCATULAR NYANZERFAUST ACTIVATE

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

GETTING HOT

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

T. REX VS GIANT MECHA CAT

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

SPINNING A YARN

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

LATE

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

PAPERWORKER

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

NICE

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

GOOD INVESTMENTS

Was spending some precious points on a kiddie pool a good investment?

No.

Did I do it anyway?

Yes.

Was I currently sitting in my brand-new pre-inflated kiddie pool, shirtless and with only some panties on while watching the news with some five-hundred-percent-daily-recommended-sugar-intake drink in hand?

Also yes.

When I gave Lucy a bunch of resources and told her to furnish the house, that had apparently included getting a TV wide enough that even sitting across the room from it, I had to turn my head to see the entirety of it. It was very extra and I loved it. Exactly the kind of stuff I expected some super-rich celebrity to have in their house and that I’d dreamed of having one day.

Now all I was missing was a useless private jet and a butler. Or maybe some maids? I could get a maid uniform for Lucy, she’d love that.

The door to the room opened, and I prepared to chuck my can in case it was a kitten walking in. Instead, it was Lucy with a tablet held up to her chest. She paused halfway in to read the little door-hanger sign I’d left hooked on the door. “Don’t Tits Open Inside?” she read.

“What? No, you’re supposed to read it from the top down, then left to right,” I said with a demonstrative wiggle of my can. “Don’t open, tits inside.”

“And that’s supposed to keep people away?” Lucy asked.

I shrugged, then grinned as I noticed Lucy’s attention straying downward. Hell yeah. “What’s up?” I asked.

She closed the door with a click and moved over. “Why are you in a kiddie pool naked—”

“I’m not naked,” I interrupted.

“—without me?” she continued.

“But I could be with very little persuasion,” I said. “I was just relaxing, watching the news. The whole world got messed up pretty bad, you know. It’s my job to keep up with all of that.”

“While mostly naked in a kiddie pool?”

“The job description never included any details about how I should keep informed. Or that I should bother at all. Actually, my job comes with very little by means of instructions, which is great because I’m iffy with those.”

Lucy pulled a chair over from next to a little makeup table tucked in what had become ‘her’ side of the room. She set it next to the pool, took off her shoes and socks, and dipped her feet into the water. “Oh, that’s cold!”

I scooted over and placed her feet on my stomach, then started stretching the muscle in the arch of her foot. “It’s meant to be a chill-out pool,” I said.

“We’re not actually leaving this here, are we?” she asked. Her eyes went half-lidded, as they usually did when I put some effort into a massage. “Because it doesn’t fit the decor at all. Also, while I’m totally down for trashy-chic, a pool in the bedroom’s a bit weird.”

“If it’s inflatable, it’s deflatable too,” I said. “Rac can toss it into the matter reconfiguration machine later, get some exotic plastics out of it or whatever. What’s with the tablet?”

“I was doing some homework,” Lucy said with a knowing smile. “Have you done yours?”

I sank a bit deeper into the pool until the water was up to my nose and I had an excuse not to open my mouth.

“Cat,” Lucy whined. “Come on, it’s not that hard, is it?”

I pushed myself up a bit. “But it’s homework. Come on, we’re too old for that.”

“No we’re not. We’re basically college-aged. Plenty of people our age have homework to do. I’ve done mine.” She wiggled her tablet for emphasis.

“But it’s so boring,” I said.

Lucy sniffed. “I’ll tell Grasshopper,” she said. “Can you imagine how disappointed she’d be? Not even angry or pissed off. Just, like, sad. She’ll look you in the eye and be like, ‘I understand, it’s okay.’ But deep down you’ll know she’s sad because you didn’t even make the effort to try.” I glared up at Lucy until she broke down into a cruel cackling fit. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But you really should do your homework.”

I pushed myself up until I was sitting on the edge of the pool, legs pulling back until my feet splashed. Grasshopper had spent the evening with the kittens, going over lessons that we were probably all supposed to get if we had ever had a proper education. She was … actually a pretty good teacher.

Her weirdness helped. So did her ability to liberally spend points to summon up teaching aids. It was one part lesson, one part live comedy show, and the kittens had eaten it up. So had Lucy and I, admittedly.

Then the lessons had ended. Grasshopper gave us all homework and left without a hint as to when she’d return, but only the ominous promise that she would.

My homework was in two parts. One was a set of questions meant for someone in early high school, covering things like chemistry and math. Grasshopper left a note saying I could cheat as long as I understood how the cheating worked … I didn’t know what that meant, exactly. The second part was a link to a matrix-location where there was an online shooting arena.

I think my bad aim had offended her, somehow.

I had been planning on working on that for a while anyway, so no harm in actually trying. “I’ll get to it,” I said. I let my hands drop with a pair of dismissive splashes. Was I being a petulant little shit? Yes, yes I was. It was nearly noon, on my only day off in a long while, and I had planned on doing nothing of import all day.

I’d even set some rules for myself, such as the ‘you can only wear less clothes, not more’ one, which had so far served to make the day passively entertaining and relaxing.

“I’ll make sure you do,” Lucy said. “If I wasn’t so sore I’d make a game of it or something.”

I nodded. Grasshopper had kind of blueballed us yesterday. The making up of that afterward was great, but I wasn’t ready for more just yet. Maybe in an hour or three. “I need to go over my purchases too. Can’t just spend everything on cool furniture.”

Lucy nodded. “You should. Your armor looked a bit … cooked last night. You’ll need something better.”

“Yeah, that’s on the list. I’m thinking of getting something big too. For moving around.” I gestured to the TV. “Looks like things around New Montreal are cooling down. Literally and otherwise.”

That massive heat bomb Gomorrah and I had dropped next to the city had made the news. Some environmentalists were whining about it, others were complaining that it had been a massive and unnecessary destruction of property and infrastructure. But most commentators were happy that they hadn’t been eaten by plant monsters overnight, so the mood was pretty grateful overall.

Other cities weren’t able to complain as much, with the media people being on the same menu as everyone else as far as the Antithesis were concerned. Some places had come out of it better than we had. Other places had gotten utterly screwed. The full tally wasn’t out yet, but it seemed that even just a couple of days into it, this global incursion was probably one of the biggest losses of human life in a short span since the first world war.

Then the news cut out to an ad for burgers with free at-home delivery.

“Okay, I’m gonna get this training shit out of the way. We can do the rest of this homework stuff later, alright?”

Lucy pulled her feet out of the water and wiggled them dry. “Sure,” she said. “Want help with that? Either part?”

“Uh, yeah, I can’t remember where I put that matrix stuff. I probably shouldn’t shell out for another when I still have one that’s perfectly usable.”

“Oh, I know where it is, give me a minute!” Lucy darted out of the room, slipped on wet feet, then caught herself with a giggle by the door. “Running’s complicated, you know.”

I nodded, then waited for the door to click shut before I started to stand up. Now, where could I find a towel?

I think I was supposed to feel a bit guilty about relaxing at home while the world burned, but it felt so distant. The people dying were far from home, and I had a whole heap of little distractions to deal with between now and then.

I’d feel guilty about it later, when it became my problem to fix all of the world’s many, many issues. For now, I was busy debating whether or not to wear a shirt.

CHAPTER TWO

FINALLY GETTING GOOD

Mesh Sex is the best, no worries about birth control, there’s always someone willing, and no matter the kink, you will find a group of enthusiastic weirdos to talk to about it!

—An enthusiastic Meshizen, 2039

I wasn’t about to go gallivanting in the matrix while in the kiddie pool. Nah, I was going to do that on the bed. I laid down, fiddled with my augs until I found my Full-Dive System, and I flicked it on. There was that weird sensation of sneezing backward as I dove in.

One of these days I’ll convince you to buy better neural augmentations. Then you won’t need to set up all of these extraneous things.

“I told you, I’m not super fond of having my brain messed with. Also, where am I loading into?” I asked. For the moment, I was a shapeless nothing in a void, which … while not exactly unpleasant, wasn’t nice either.

Then the world turned on, as it were, and I found myself in a room with cement walls all around. There were a few tables to one side, then a couple of booths overlooking a long, long room with some holographic targets floating at the end. They looked like glowing orange model threes, though these were entirely stationary, and a bit cartoonish.

“Is this the place Grasshopper wanted me to see?” I asked.

This is a training facility. The tablet to your right allows you to pick and choose a weapon, as well as attachments and equipment. The range is to your left. You shoot things from there. Time is slightly dilated here, so that three hours training in Mesh will count for one outside of it.

“Uh-huh,” I said as I walked over to the little panel and picked it up. Then I stared at my hand. It was … a hand. My hand. Mostly. I squinted and noticed that the texture of the skin wasn’t quite right. “Right, VR bullshittery,” I said. Outside of the Mesh, that arm was cybernetic. I glanced down at myself, just to be sure. I looked … like me, but in a dull gray jumpsuit. The only hint of personalization was the nametag “CAT” over my left breast.

You can hardly train with a weapon if you’re not in your own skin.

“Yeah, I suppose,” I said before tapping the panel. It lit up and I found myself with a dozen options. “Assault rifles, DMRs, Bolt-Action Rifles, Handguns, Shotguns, Exotics … I’m guessing these are the bigger categories for guns? How many guns are on here?”

All of them.

“When you say that,” I said.

A large number of gun enthusiasts have re-created nearly every weapon ever made by humanity as faithfully as they could, including many prototypes and otherwise lost weapons. The latter were designed from existing photographs and records. All of these are available for you to play with.

“Wow, what a bunch of nerds,” I said.

I also took the liberty of adding digital versions of the weapons available to you through your current catalogs. All seven hundred thousand of them.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

I don’t think anyone expects you to memorize all of them. This space should let you try things out on your own, though.

I tapped on the shotguns list, because I happened to be fond of those, then frowned as it subdivided itself some more. Automatic, Semi, Pump, Heavy. I didn’t know what Heavy was, so I pressed on that, and was greeted by a long, long list of guns. Each had a little thumbnail next to its name and some information that went over my head. I guessed that ROF was Rate of Fire, and the weight and ammo count were self-explanatory, but a lot of it was clearly meant for nerdier nerds than me.

Heavy, as it turned out, meant the kind of guns that required two normal humans to operate, or that were loaded onto a vehicle. I could probably manage them with my power armor on. I scrolled down, then stopped on one in particular that looked cool enough to try.

“Okay, how do I get this one?” I asked while pointing to a HMSG-m49. The name wasn’t as sexy as the gun itself. The rifle was an all-black thing, with a curvy trigger guard and handle that swept up to the stock at the back.

Tap the selection, then configure the weapon as you please. Afterward, press the Ready button on the bottom right and the weapon will appear on the range bench.

I tapped on the thumbnail, which brought up a 3D version of the gun with little lines pointing to all the things I could modify. There were dropdown menus. The drop-downs had their own drop-downs. “Oh shit, this is getting complicated,” I said as I got lost in barrel-length options.

Perhaps keep the weapon stock for now and modify it as you find things you dislike?

“Right, right,” I agreed. This was giving me a whole new appreciation for the crap Myalis did. I asked for a gun, and she just gave me one with the bells and whistles all set up the way I liked.

The heavy shotgun appeared at one of the waist-high tables in the range and I walked over to it. It was bigger than I’d imagined from the picture, a meter-long gun with a barrel as big around as my forearm and sleek heatsinks covered by polished steel.

The box below the bench will contain ammunition for whichever gun you summon. They will not—with some exceptions—appear pre-loaded.

“Makes sense,” I said. If this was meant to be training of some sort, it made sense to have reloading be part of the simulation. I fiddled with the box magazine that went into the gun for a bit before it fit into place, then I pulled back on the bolt and leaned into the stock. This gun had a cheap ironsight mounted on it instead of all the fancy holographic stuff I was used to. Still, I held my breath and placed the crosshair over the distant form of the model three target.

The kick was … wrong.

My body moved back, but the sensation of it didn’t make any sense. I supposed that I’d run into one of the limitations of the Mesh. Sensations in here were a little muted already, so it tracked that recoil wouldn’t work the same.

A smaller copy of the target appeared on the table next to me, with pinpoints showing me where I’d hit it.

“Hey, that’s … nearly a bullseye,” I said.

You have been improving. Though your accuracy against moving targets is still lacking.

“Look, I spent most of my life with just one eye. I’m not tripping over myself now that I’ve got working depth perception, but it’s still hard to tell where something is moving to.”

Understandable. With time, the discomfort will pass and you’ll grow more accustomed to tracking and firing upon moving targets. Practice will, of course, help.

“That’s what we’re here for,” I said. “Uh, I’m not feeling this gun. It’s too … big? Chunky? Maybe it’ll feel better with power armor on, but right now, eh.”

I understand. The gun is limited by being a model entirely designed by humans with limited crafting capabilities. There are some very potent weapons available to you from your various catalogs.

“I’ll definitely be needing something more potent,” I said. The last little while had me running into a lot of bigger, meaner aliens. My current level of firepower wasn’t keeping up with the amount of resistance the bastards I met could put up.

Fighting the Antithesis was something of an arms race, one that I definitely wanted to be on the winning side of.

“So, what do the Sun Watchers have that’s decent?”

This one might interest you. It’s actually a relatively common medium-to-short-range gun. It is technically a shotgun because it fires shells and it’s a smoothbore gun, but I think most modern classifications would consider it a PDW or submachine gun based on weight and ergonomics alone.

The big gun on the table disappeared, replaced by a much smaller, much sleeker weapon. Not to say that this was any less lethal. I picked up the gun and checked it out. Bullpup, meaning it had the opening for the magazine just under the stock, and with a set of holographic sights at the front and middle. The barrel was a bit bigger than the joint on my thumb, which I imagined let it pack a punch.

“What’s this called?” I asked. “And what does it fire?”

Its actual name is a single word whose meaning has no equal in English. It roughly translates to “the captivating way a beam of light travels across the ground.” As for its ammunition, this can use a number of fifteen millimeter shells. Mostly fin-stabilized discarding sabot seeking rounds with miniaturized warheads.

“Oh, neat.” The gun had fire-modes too and seemed compatible with my eye’s software. “Yeah, I’ll try this out. Got all day to figure out how to shoot straight, right?”

CHAPTER THREE

A NOT-SO-QUIET HOME LIFE

Samurai don’t tend to show marked improvements in their abilities. At least, no more than you would expect from a normal person.

They don’t learn at rates that are superhuman, not unless they are specifically purchasing items to help them do so.

It’s this researcher’s opinion that this might be a good thing. It’s comforting to see that anyone, if they apply themselves and are sufficiently motivated, can become just as talented as a samurai.

—“On the Learning Rates of Samurai,” academic paper, 2026

I spent a good couple of hours practicing with the Laser Pointer. The gun took a bit of getting used to. It didn’t have the same kind of kick as my Bullcat had, but it still needed careful handling. The punch it delivered was nice, though.

Myalis started me small, with mid-range targets that stood still. Then she summoned an image of myself shooting and pointed out how I could change my stance to improve. That … made some sense, a little. Really, the important thing was pointing the end of the barrel at what you wanted dead. How you held the gun didn’t matter.

Not unless you wanted to be consistent.

We worked out a few kinks, Myalis proving surprisingly patient. Eventually the targets started to move around slowly, mostly from side to side, and I started to see the value in basically posing while aiming.

Eventually, Myalis moved me into a digital building with concrete walls and lots of little rooms. The targets were still stationary, though they were replaced with holograms that lit up in passing. I had to turn and shoot them as quickly as I could.

Myalis said that the next step would be moving targets in changing environments, with “kills” only awarded on immediately fatal hits, but she rattled out some statistics about my accuracy and target-finding speed, which had noticeably improved in just a couple of hours.

A few more sessions like this and I’d be halfway competent, according to her. Personally, I was pretty happy. The time spent in the range had been fun too, and it didn’t even leave me feeling sweaty or anything.

Once we were done playing with guns, Myalis brought up one of my next big purchases.

You have used two suits of armor recently. Both have been damaged. One by falling debris, the other by high heat exposure. While you still have both of them, and they are repairable, it’s possible that future engagements will also lead to situations where your current armor is just not capable enough to keep you safe.

“Yeah,” I said. “I need something bigger and tougher, then?”

Not necessarily. Larger armored suits do provide more space for armoring. Thicker plates of conventional materials and reactive sections as well as more room for internals generally means that the larger a suit is, the more protection it will give.

“You’re about to tell me that that’s not always true?” I asked.

You have met other Vanguard who have been fighting for considerably longer than you have. Do you recall their equipment?

Deus Ex came to mind. The first time I saw her, other than these two massive pilon things, she was wearing some pretty thin armor. Just a few panels over what looked like a padded skinsuit.

I didn’t take her for someone who would put looking cute over being well protected. “I think I see where you’re going with this. I imagine the magical third factor here is cost?”

Essentially, yes. I would suggest two purchases. While the suits I would suggest to you now are mostly part of the Sun Watcher technology tree, there are several advances in material sciences that are above what they can provide at the tiers you’ve unlocked for that catalog. Therefore, I would suggest buying a tier two Power Armor catalog, then investing in a single powerful suit that can cover all of your needs.

That sounded like it would cost a lot. But then, I had a lot of points to spend. Nearly six figures worth.

“That sounds fair enough,” I said. “I liked the big armor, but it was a bit … big, you know? I can’t imagine using it to get around.”

Perhaps something more like a medium suit of power armor? Fully enclosed, but not as bulky. I’m certain we can fit all the devices you desire into something like that.

Myalis started to summon models of the various armors she had in store for me. Mostly they fit a single, very obvious theme. Sleek, a bit taller than I was, with a long cat’s tail and protrusions above the head for my ears.

I didn’t mind the look, and from the looks of things, I could pick out the colors as I saw fit, which only made sense since most of the examples she laid out had the kind of stealth system I was growing really fond of having.

I didn’t need to make a choice yet. In fact, I was supposed to have a day off, and this was starting to look a lot like work. Was I even supposed to train on my one day off after so long without? “Myalis, I think I’ve had enough of the Mesh for a day,” I said.

I logged out of the Mesh, the matrix fading away even as I regained sensation across my body. There was a weight pressing down on my stomach. I glanced that way to find Lucy, with a pillow set onto my bare stomach, sleeping soundly while curled up in a ball. She’d covered a bit of me in a blanket, but had clearly not gone through too much effort.

I reached down and ran my fingers through her hair, as if attempting a futile effort to straighten her curls out.

That woke her up, and she blinked dumbly for a bit before smiling. “Have fun?” she asked.

“So-so,” I said. I’d have to get her an aug like my own so that we could spend time together in the Mesh. There was so much weird stuff to see there that I kind of wanted to dive in and just explore for a day or two, but that would be infinitely more fun with Lucy around. “I’ll bring you next time. Myalis had me going through weapons drills and that kind of stuff, you might find it fun.”

“Hmm, commando Lucy,” she said. “Battlefield expert. I like the idea.”

I laughed. “Alright, now get off me.”

“You don’t want to snuggle?” she asked.

“Your weight’s pressing into my bladder,” I said.

Lucy laughed and rolled off of me. “Fine, fine. Are you hungry?”

“Did you cook something?” I asked as I swung my legs off the side. “Because if so, no.” That earned me a smack to the back of the head with her pillow.

Lucy scooted off the other side of our frankly too-large bed then bounced to her feet. “I’m starving!” she declared. “Let’s order more trashy food than we could eat in a week.”

“Sounds wasteful,” I said as I walked over to the en suite (with only one sink, because two was stupid).

“We can shove the leftovers in the fridge. Besides, have you seen how much the kittens eat? You’d think they’d never seen food before, the way they can empty a fridge out. Maybe if they continue to eat that way, they won’t all grow up to be little runts like us.”

“Hey!” I called back. “I’m not a runt.”

“You’re too thin,” Lucy complained. “I want something to grab at, and you’re all bones.”

“Then grab my bones,” I snarked back as I left the washroom. I realized that one of the downsides of not having pants on was nothing to wipe my wet hands on after rinsing them off. I could have used one of the towels next to the sink, but they looked clean and almost decorative. Lucy had spent a lot of time picking them out.

We ended up sitting on the bed while ordering from three different places, just picking out the items that looked tasty, which was most of them since we were both hungry.

After that, I scrounged around for some clothes to wear, realized that I basically had none, and then I suffered through Lucy and Myalis buying some shirts and pants from a basic catalog, which I was obliged to model for Lucy.

There was something incongruously wrong about modeling an outfit that had rips and tears in it as part of its design.

We had to cut it short when one of the kittens screamed through the door that there was a nervous delivery guy waiting outside.

As it turned out, deliveries were supposed to be drop-and-go, but the poor driver didn’t want to just leave a stack of food at some samurai’s door in case something happened to it—delivery theft being an entire career as it was—so he stood there with the food and waited until I grabbed it from him and sent him on his way.

And then, for the rest of that day, we ate, talked shit, and made merry.

All in all, it was a pretty nice day off.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHERE THE FUCK IS BURLINGTON?

It’s unfortunate that, in times of crisis, the common man cannot trust his government and his co-citizen. Now we need to trust in these samurai. Some of them are true, red-blooded Americans, sure. But just as many of them are foreigners, strangers here to lord over God’s chosen people!

I say it’s about time we do something about it.

—Pastor Loud, during his last televised broadcast, 2026

Very, very early in the morning, two days into my semimandatory break, Lucy and I were sitting in our dining room (which was still weird to think about) contemplating life, love, and fast-food fries.

“Why,” I asked as I dabbed a sad, pitiful fry into some ketchup, “Do these things always taste like shit once they’re cold?”

Lucy pressed three fries of her own into a plastic container of some sort of mustard-ish stuff. It was yellow and tasted strange, but she liked it. “I don’t know,” she complained before chewing down.

These were the leftovers from two days ago. The choice stuff was all gone already. Picked over by the kittens and Rac as if they were a flock of starving scavenger birds. The burgers were the first to go, then the pastas and the chicken and rice, and all the other food slowly disappeared over the course of the day.

Now all that was left were six family-size boxes of fries and a mixed assortment of dipping sauces and packets of ketchup.

“We need to buy better food,” Lucy said as she grabbed a few more fries.

“Mm,” I agreed. I could have ordered something, but the effort was just too much. Honestly, it was a wonder that I was out of bed at all. Last night, Gomorrah had sent me a message, asking me if I wanted to head out today, and I’d said yes.

We were supposed to meet at her church in the morning, so I had diligently set an alarm and woken up early.

I regretted it. Not that I didn’t love spending time with Gomorrah, it was just the obligation that weighed on me.

Then I got a ping from Gomorrah between one fry and the next. “Huh,” I said.

“What’s up?” Lucy asked.

“Gomorrah’s here.” I sent her a quick reply, telling her to come in. If the door was locked then … well, she could figure that out, I was sure. “We’re here!” I shouted back.

The clonk-clonk of my favorite pyromancer’s boots echoed through the halls until she stepped into the dinning room. She was in her full regalia, all shiny black not-leather and full face expressionless mask. “I thought we were going to meet this morning,” she said.

“Hi, Delilah,” I said before gesturing to the fries on the table. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

Gomorrah stared me down, hands on hips. I could just imagine the frown she was wearing at that moment. “Cat, it’s eleven.”

“A.m.?” I asked, just to be sure.

“Yes, a.m.,” she said.

“So … I’m not late?”

Gomorrah stared some more, then she reached up and undid her mask to reveal her unamused face. She was still as pretty as ever … though there was something weird about her that I couldn’t quite place. Maybe when it wasn’t so early I’d figure it out. “Hello, Lucy,” she said, much more sweetly than she’d addressed me.

“Hi, Delilah,” Lucy said. “How are you doing? Oh, how’s Franny?”

Delilah’s cheeks flushed, not brightly, but enough that I noticed. And if I noticed, then it might as well have been a siren for Lucy. “She’s well. We’re well. I think.”

“Oh?” Lucy asked. There was a weight of implication on that single syllable that had Delilah standing a bit taller. “Well is good. I can’t wait to meet Franny again. I’m sure we have a whole bunch of things to talk about.”

“I’m sure the opportunity will come up,” Delilah replied.

“So, what are we doing today anyway?” I asked.

“Well, you might start by putting some pants on,” she said.

Lucy giggled, then poked me in the shoulder. “Your undersuit thing’s in the bedroom. It’s a bit melted though.”

“Yeah, I’m just going to buy a new one, I think. Hey, do I have time to shower?” I asked Gomorrah.

The look she gave me was priceless, especially when I started laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“No, I’m kidding, I showered already,” I said.

“But you’re not wearing any clothes,” Delilah said. “Did you just … shower, then change back into sleepwear?”

I pinched the front of my shirt. It was one of those Lucy had made. It said, If you can read this you are in range. “Okay, first, this isn’t sleepwear, it’s an oversized T-shirt for sleeping. It’s different. Second, I didn’t change into fresh clothes, I just put this back on.”

“Cat, that’s disgusting,” Delilah said.

I sniffed. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you never did it,” I said.

She didn’t. “You can literally just buy something. It’s like, a single point.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. It didn’t matter what she said, I’d won the argument and we both knew it.

Gomorrah sighed and shook her head. “Go get dressed. We have things to do.”

I laughed as I got up. “Yeah, alright. You still haven’t told me what you’re planning though.” I ran off to our bedroom and got changed. Most of my gear really had melted, so I had to get new stuff. Fortunately, what I had last time was pretty decent. “Hey, Gomorrah!” I shouted, head sticking out of the bedroom.

“What?” she called back.

“What are the chances we’ll be shot at or something will try to eat us in the not-fun way?”

“Low?”

“Thanks!”

I shut the door. So I didn’t need to buy that new power armor yet. I settled on asking Myalis for a new set of formfitting suit. Something worth a fair bit more than what I’d been wearing so far.

What I got from that was an outfit that wouldn’t fit me if I gained any weight at all. It was all black, with pads covering every surface. “Does this have temperature control stuff?”

Of course. As well as being hypoallergenic and airtight from the neck and wrists down, it has a heating and cooling function, can instantly harden to resist blunt blows, and is obviously tear- and puncture-proof. It has its limits, but it should provide a level of comfort that will leave you safe and comfortable against most low-risk threats.

That seemed decent enough. I took off my shirt and underthings then slid into the suit, which was pleasantly cool to the touch.

Then I ordered a long coat that could turn invisible on command.

I didn’t bother bringing a gun other than my trusty Trench Maker. It had been with me through a lot, and I kind of trusted it to carry me through some more shit. The sword was coming, of course.

“Alright,” I said as I bounced down the stairs. “I’m ready for … well, not whatever, but maybe some light fighting and such.”

Gomorrah nodded. “I think we’ll mostly be meeting people at first,” she said.

“Is this the part where you tell me what’s up?” I asked.

“Maybe on the way over. I said I would arrive by one, and at this rate we’ll be cutting it close.” Gomorrah refit her mask, then nodded to Lucy. “It was nice seeing you again, Lucy. I … I’ll let Franny know that you asked about her. I’m sure she’d love a call though.”

“Ah, we’re both in a similar situation,” she said. “Oh, we should start a club exclusively for the girlfriends of samurai.”

Gomorrah stumbled, but caught herself quickly enough. “That … that might be nice. See you later.”

I ran over to Lucy, pulled my new helmet off, then gave her a quick smooch. “See you later,” I said.

“Be safe,” she said.

I nodded, then ran off to catch up with Gomorrah. “Alright, so what’s up?

“Things have been developing while we were sitting back and relaxing,” she said. “Not all of it good.”

“The news seems pretty positive, which is usually a pretty bad sign, yeah,” I agreed.

Gomorrah nodded. “We had a few more experienced samurai going around and clearing out bigger hives around most cities. And I think something like seventy percent of all cities are now in orange–green zones. It’ll take a while to properly clear the surroundings, but it’ll get done. The big issues are the coastal cities and a few holdouts.”

“Are we heading all the way to the coast?” I asked.

“No. There’s a problem in Burlington. Laserjack asked if we could go over and see what we could do to help.”

I paused. “Where the fuck is Burlington?” I asked.

“It’s a small city to the south. What used to be Vermont, now it’s a corpostate for like, retirees and such. The city barely had any walls, and it got overrun pretty hard. They lost a few samurai already, and now the population is holed up in half the city while they wait for help to arrive or for the Antithesis to give up.”

“So we’re their only hope?” I asked.

“No, the Family’s asking other samurai to pitch in too. It’s just that we might be the first volunteers to arrive. Everyone’s busy, and most places didn’t get out of things as easily as we did here.”

“Well, that’s encouraging. And why, exactly, did you tell me I didn’t need to come loaded for bear?”

“Because we’re just going to meet the locals, not fight,” she said. “Not unless something goes terribly wrong.”

CHAPTER FIVE

LEADERSHIPPING

It takes the average samurai three incursions before they reach a level of comfort and stability with their own abilities and tools to be completely effective. Some take longer, and others are naturally inclined toward the lifestyle of a samurai. A few rare examples flake out and decide not to take part in combat and alien-hunting directly.”

—The Family’s Guide to Working with Noobs, 2051

“So, what do you know about the locals?” I asked as I followed Gomorrah outside. I immediately put my question on hold as I took in the car sitting on my landing pad.

The Fury had been Gomorrah’s baby. I think the only things she loved more than that car were fire, and maybe Franny, in that order.

The car sitting ahead of me wasn’t the Fury, not unless Gomorrah had gone really nuts with the modifications. It looked a bit like her old ride though, but bigger and meaner. The car was stationary, but it looked like it wanted to be breaking every speed limit in the province.

Four meters of pitch-black, obviously armored skin on a chassis that reminded me of an old-timey muscle car, with sharply angled paneling. It sat low on the pad, fat wheels tucked deep within. “Damn,” I said.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Gomorrah asked, clearly proud. “I’m calling her the Fury Resurrected. It felt like an appropriate name. Bigger engines, a better environmental control system, actual space-capable thrust, and a lot more armor than the first Fury.”

“Wait, it can go to space?” I asked.

“Yes, but not for long. And not very well, honestly. If I wanted something space-capable I’d just buy something specifically designed for it. I’m just saying, it’s a lot faster and can take more of a pounding. Oh, and it’s better armed too. Two Gatling guns at the rear, a forward-firing railgun, a missile-launching system, and flamethrowers for up-close work. It won’t be knocked out of the sky by an unlikely strike from a passing model eleven. Oh, and the interior’s big enough to accommodate power armor.”

“Oh, that’s a nice change,” I said. The doors to the new Fury opened up, gull-wing style, and I slid into the passenger seat while Gomorrah went around. “Hey, is this real leather?”

“Real fake leather,” she said with a nod as she sat behind the wheel. The interior really was more spacious, though I still pitied anyone that had to squeeze into the back.

“Nice,” I approved. “So, are we heading straight south? What’s the plan here?”

Gomorrah reached to the console in the middle of the dashboard and touched a few buttons. A hovering map appeared between us, projected from a tiny pinprick hole in the ceiling. New Montreal was impossible to miss, at least until she zoomed out and moved south across a bunch of nothing toward a city that looked a good deal smaller than ours.

“This is Burlington,” she said. “It’s a fairly small city. Population: just over half a million. There’s a big university there, and not too much else. It’s mostly a retiree city.”

“So chock-full of old people?” I asked.

“Just about,” Gomorrah agreed. She set the new Fury into motion and we smoothly rose up and away from my place, then turned and started flying just under the skylanes that had the most traffic. “The place is guarded by three samurai. They’re all new. Like, very new.”

“We’re not exactly old,” I muttered.

“Compared to these three, we might as well be,” she said. “All three of them became samurai near the start of the global incursion. Like Jimothy. But they’ve had it a bit worse. They were the only ones around to defend the city, except for the local cops, and maybe a small militia.”

That sounded like a hot mess. I could see why Laserjack or whoever wanted us to fly over and check on the place. “What are things like?”

“One in five dead, nearly half the city lost, it’s just not looking very good, and while the big-name samurai have been actively breaking most hives, I don’t think they’re destroying those inside of cities.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Too much collateral. There are shelters and people hiding that would die just because there’s a tiny hive nearby. Look, Atyacus will send you the package.”

I got a ping, and when I checked it (it had taken surprisingly little time for me to get used to not having pop-ups and ads shoved through my augs at all times of the day) it was a set of compressed files from Gomorrah.

I leaned back, trusting the nun to drive while I looked over what she’d sent. There was a lot there. Maps, connections to live satellite feeds, historical documentation about the city, the location of shelters and projected numbers of survivors. Just heaps of stuff. But it was also organized so that I wasn’t instantly swamped without a clue of where to start.

The thing that caught my attention first was a time-lapse of the Antithesis movement in and around the city.

They started on the edges, but most of them seemed to come from this big lake right next to the city. The aliens poured out right onto beaches and behind waterfront homes that had no defenses. The defenses the city did have were all outward-facing from the outer edge of the city. Nothing faced the waterfront.

That was a mess and a half. The city was effectively split in half, with the Antithesis quickly taking over a big chunk of it and only stopping once they were nearer to the less clustered sections to the north of the city.

There seemed to be a lot more homes with big yards where the Antithesis had taken over, with the occasional bigger complex or stretch of suburbia. The parts still holding out were the more urban areas with apartments and stores all jammed together.

Downtown Burlington wasn’t all that impressive, not compared to the megacity I’d spent most of my life in. It looked like everyone was being forced to get real close to each other while the few defenders the city had built barricades pointing outward and tried to keep the aliens at bay.

“Only three samurai, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Gomorrah said. “You’re going to be in charge of the four of us.”

I blinked. “Um. Can you go back for a second there. Be in charge?”

“Yes,” Gomorrah said. She glanced my way, and even if I couldn’t see her face, I had the impression she was smiling. “And before you ask, yes, I really did mean you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because someone has to be,” Gomorrah said. “And I’m not exactly the leadership type. You, on the other hand, are actually somewhat experienced.”

“I’m used to bullying children.”

“So you’ll have no trouble with samurai,” Gomorrah replied. “Look, it was partly my idea, but Laserjack approved of it. Someone needs to take charge in Burlington. The samurai there now are too green, the political situation is a mess, and you’re good at blowing right past those kinds of issues.”

“Yeah, but I’m … fuck, I don’t know,” I said.

Gomorrah shook her head. “You won’t be alone. And I don’t think anyone’s expecting you to be perfect at this. Just see what you can do, I’ll help where I can. The Family will be redirecting reinforcements to the city before the week’s over.”

“That’s five days from now,” I said.

“So we just need to hold out for that long,” Gomorrah said. “We’ve done worse, I think. Besides, we’re not far from home. We can drive back every day so that you can sleep in your own bed if you really want.”

I worked my jaw. I didn’t like it. But … yeah, maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. I did like giving people orders a lot more than I liked taking them. I flitted through the files until I found dossiers on all three samurai.

Two men, one woman, all fresh as newborn babes. They didn’t have good photos of them. By the looks of it, every picture was taken by a civilian aug and uploaded somewhere. The samurai themselves had only had very light communication with the Family so far.

The first on the list was a guy in his late twenties. Whip-thin and rather scrawny. Going by the name Sprout. He seemed to be leaning toward a specialization in biological weaponry, mostly plant-based things.

That sounded outright stupid when dealing with the Antithesis.

Next guy didn’t have a samurai name yet. He was Sprout’s opposite. A big guy with heavy body mods. Couldn’t see anything about his fighting style or what kind of stuff he was getting.

The last, the woman, was in her thirties. The only photos they had of her were taken from afar. She had some sort of coat on, with lots of spikes on it, and seemed to be in the thick of it. They were calling her Manic.

“Holy crap, these are like, the dregs,” I said.

Gomorrah scoffed. “We weren’t much better at the start,” she said.

“I mean, sure, but still.” Maybe I was too used to working with professional … ish samurai. Those that, if they weren’t professional, were at least experienced enough to make their weirdness work.

This was going to be a spectacular mess, I could just tell.

CHAPTER SIX

OUTRANK

A samurai in motion outranks everyone.

The complexity in this situation lies in deciding if you should run with them, or in the other direction.

—US Core of Special Ordnance Disposal: Technicians’ Manual, 2050

I almost fell asleep as Gomorrah drove us across the afternoon sky. We received a few warning calls as we left New Montreal’s flight space, mostly automated messages telling us that we were shit out of luck if some flying aliens decided to munch on us, but a few calls came in with actual people on the other end, again to tell us that we were on our own the moment we left the area immediately around the city.

It wasn’t illegal to move (after all, some folk were going to leave no matter what, and if they left, that was fewer mouths to feed), but it was pretty damned stupid to try and cross any distance while no one was around to protect you.

Telling the nice concerned people that we were samurai was usually enough to reassure them that we knew what we were doing. Although one guy from an insurance place insisted that he could sell us great travel insurance, and I ended up hanging up on him.

I had a lot of reading to do about the situation over in Burlington, but I got bored of reading reports on my augs. It wasn’t exactly a strain to use the fake floating screens projected onto my eyesight via my augmentations, but it also wasn’t as easy to focus on those. I could be looking at pictures of kittens or girls with nice butts.

Burlington was about forty-five minutes away, if you flew in a straight line with no traffic. With Gomorrah behind the wheel testing her new Fury’s engine, it took ten minutes, and half of that was spent decelerating.

“We need to travel somewhere farther,” Gomorrah said. “Maybe across the ocean?”

“So that you can push the acceleration to the max?” I asked.

“We barely hit three-fifty an hour before I had to start slowing down,” she complained. “This beauty can go a whole lot faster. I’m talking fast enough that the planet’s curvature becomes an issue.”

I shook my head, but I was pretty happy for her. If Gomorrah’s fun came from burning things and going fast, then I could get behind that.

“There’s the city,” she said, gesturing ahead of us.

I sat up straighter, pulling out of my slight slump so that I could see the place we’d be dealing with, with my own flesh-and-blood eyes.

Burlington matched up to what I’d seen pretty well. It was a smallish city, with a large downtown area in its southern end and a sprawl of homes and estates around that. Even from the air it was pretty obvious that this was a place for the semi-well-to-do.

Gomorrah flew in a wide circle around the city, and I took note of a few things that hadn’t shown up in the first pages of the report I skimmed.

From what I read, most of the resistance was located in the downtown portion of the city, which made sense. That area basically sprouted from nothing. It went from a few streets with apartment buildings and little stores to suddenly a wall of larger complexes and buildings that stuck out of the landscape like sore, stainless-steel thumbs.

They weren’t anywhere near as big as what I was used to. My own building was on par with most of the skyscrapers here, even, and it was obvious that they lacked the sort of elevated platform setup that a proper megacity had.

Still, there was a kilometer-wide square of larger commercial and high-density housing which was, in turn, surrounded by barricades and defenses. I saw lines of barbed wire next to flipped-over hovercars and debris being used to create a wall. Lots of greenery in that wall too, but I’d inspect that once I was on the ground.

The problem was that the downtown area wasn’t the only defended one. A section of the city near the lake had a few dozen armed cars around it, some actively moving around, and someone had set up guard towers and cement blockades with gun nests behind them.

They looked a lot more professional than the downtown defenses.

“That’s going to be trouble,” I said.

“That’s going to be your trouble to sort,” Gomorrah pointed out.

“Are you happy about that?” I asked. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m not. I don’t like politics.”

Gomorrah shrugged. “You’ve handled them well before.”

“I threatened to shoot the mayor.”

“Yes, and?” She asked. “That’s exactly how a samurai does politics well. With collateral damage. Personally, I don’t have the constitution for it.”

“What’s that mean?” I asked.

She hummed. “I think I’m too used to listening to people in authority? I grew up with nuns telling me how and when to do every thing. Franny was always the rebellious one. I can follow along with a bit of antiauthoritarianism, but it’s not something that comes naturally to me.”

“You’re really painting me as a rebel here,” I said.

“You’re not?”

I chose not to argue that point, sensing that I’d probably lose. But really, I wasn’t that rebellious, was I? “Land downtown, there’s more people there. Bet they have more problems that need solving. Did the report say they have a headquarters?”

“They do. There’s a mall. It’s central to the area, so I suppose it makes sense to use it as a staging area,” Gomorrah said.

We flew down and through the downtown area. There was some traffic out, but it was exceptionally sparse. No callouts or warnings came as we slid to a halt over a busy road. People in hoodies and jeans were moving around, carrying boxes onto vans or shuffling around in little teams with shovels and picks.

There was some organization. People were wearing bands in different colors on their arms, or tied around their heads, and usually people with the same markings were together.

Our arrival caused something of a shift, mostly because Gomorrah parked half-on and half-off the sidewalk right in front of the building. “Nice place to park,” I muttered.

“I don’t want anyone scratching the paint,” she said. “That might set off the Fury’s self-defense mechanism, and I don’t want flambéed civilian on my conscience.”

“Hey, I’m not a parking cop,” I said. “You can argue with them about it.” I adjusted my coat, made sure my helmet was on straight, then loosened my shoulders. “You ready for the spotlight?”

“Always,” she replied.

With that, we pushed the car’s doors open and stepped out. This Fury was a little taller off the ground, which was nice. It made my exit a lot easier, and at a glance, it looked like I’d need to make a good entrance.

One thing became immediately clear now that I was on the ground. These people weren’t doing so good.

It wasn’t just the cheap, work-dirtied clothes. Those were normal in a situation like this. It was the look on their faces. They looked one part hungry, one part desperate, and all tired. I don’t think “hopeless” has an expression, exactly, but what I was seeing now was pretty damned close to that.

We were the hope these people were waiting for. It put a bit of weight on my shoulders to discover that so suddenly. This was a city of hundreds of thousands, and they were relying on five of us.

There was a group of police officers milling around the entrance in full riot gear and army surplus junk. They straightened up as we approached. “Hey,” I said. “Where’re the local samurai at?” I asked.

“Uh,” the one I addressed said. I saw the gears clicking in his head, waffling between two choices. Be a normal police officer and use his own authority to try and bully me, or act like a proper human being when faced with something bigger and scarier and just give me what I wanted. “They’re inside, ma’am,” he decided. “By the McDonald’s.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I stepped past him and entered the mall. It was surprisingly busy inside. Someone was brushing broken glass aside into a large heap to one side while others were stacking clothes into boxes that were being carried out by others. It looked like properly organized looting, mostly carried out by young adults and older teens with yellow bands.

Gomorrah and I walked across as if we owned the place, and we were followed by a wake of whispers and pointing.

Honestly, I felt pretty damned cool at the moment. I just hoped that we could earn all that coolness in the next few hours, because as I entered the food court and found three people arguing next to a tipped-over table, I was getting the impression that it wouldn’t be all that easy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

BIG GUN POLITICS

If given the option between being poor and rich, choose to be rich. That’s what my father used to tell me. He was a good man, worked hard for what he earned.

As I grew up, I learned that there was more to it than that, especially here in America. This land has the greatest legal system in the world. It’s one of the easiest to buy your way into.

Remember though, it’s a legal system, not a justice system.

—Mister P. J. Vermille of River Heights, 2034

I came to a stop and crossed my arms as I took in the scene.

Of the three people arguing, one was clearly a samurai. An inexperienced, new one, but he was undoubtedly like me and Gomorrah. It wasn’t even just the strange gear he had on that gave him away. There was just … something about the way he stood that said he was a weirdo and had no business being anywhere near anyone in charge.

The other two were entirely different. A woman in the kind of business chic that screamed “high-end secretary” and a man in a square-cut corpomilitary outfit, with a plastic pistol strapped to one hip and the obligatory complement of low-ranked mooks standing at attention in the background. A few people had noticed us, but no one was telling the three of them.

The way everyone was milling around felt like kids watching their caretakers having a nasty argument. It would probably have been best for morale if this circus happened behind closed doors.

“I’m going in,” I told Gomorrah as I turned on my stealth systems and faded away. “Stay around here?”