Chapter Nineteen - Humanity Degraded​

“When cybernetic replacements became more common, there was this prevalent fear that they would make a person less human.

The notion that having a bionic heart or a mechanical hand makes a person any less greedy, vain, prideful, and dumb, is entirely wrong, of course.”

--Excerpt from a VoidFight Forum post, 2033

***

“So, where are we going?” I asked as we pushed past the entrance into... I guessed it was the Ratways, at least judging by the stencils on the nearest wall.

“Down this passage until that large junction ahead into sludge line 537. It looks like it’s a big tunnel that goes on for... a few kilometres actually. It might be a long walk,” Gomorrah said.

“If I may interject,” Myalis said, speaking through my coms so everyone could hear. “The locals use vehicles to travel across the larger lines, including sludge line 537.”

“Who’s that?” Rac asked.

I heard Franny inhaling. “That was a saint’s companion,” she said with a weird amount of reverence.”

“That’s just Myalis, my AI,” I said.

“ ‘Just’?” Myalis asked.

“She’s very arrogant for a bunch of ones and zeroes,” I added.

Myalis was quiet for a while. “I won’t argue, except to correct you on two mistakes you have made. First, it isn’t arrogance if it is entirely earned. Second, I’m hardly made of something as primitive as binary.”

“Your AI is a lot more vocal than Atyacus,” Gomorrah said. She ducked under a low-hanging pipe, and I did the same right after her.

“You mean Myalis is more interesting than your Atyacus,” I shot back.

The Ratways really deserved their names. The passageway was a long series of corridors, cut apart by large bulkhead doors that were usually left wide open. Each segment was filled with pipes, either vertical along the sides, or straight horizontal pipes that cut across the ceiling. QR labels were slapped onto all of them, though I imagined some of the pipes weren’t being used for much, especially those that looked like they were rusted through.

There was a nice sludge of decomposing detritus in the corners, though I did recognize some of the trash. Cups and straws and brightly coloured boxes from a few fast food joints I knew.

“People ahead.”

I blinked out of my reverie and focused. Gomorrah wouldn’t say something like that for shits and giggles.

I tapped Gomorrah on the shoulder. “Let me check ahead,” I said.

She nodded, then shifted to the side where part of the cement wall that jutted out would cover her a little better. Her flamethrower came up, ready to spray whatever goop she had in there.

Walking carefully, I moved up to the next bulkhead. The door was all metal, and about as thick as my thumb. It had some instructions stickered to it and a complicated wheel lock. I made sure not to touch it as I peeked into the next room over.

It was a larger segment. The ceiling still low, but the room was wider, with cement half-walls spaced out evenly across. There was a bulkhead at the end, but also one to the right, between two cement half-arches that reached the ceiling.

I couldn’t see anyone, but it wasn’t hard to hear the shuffling of cloth and the slow sound of people breathing.

Three of them? No, more than that. Five, with two of them hiding behind one air vent that was rattling loud enough to wake the dead.

I reached under my coat and grabbed my Icarus’ handle. The moment I pulled the launcher out, it would be visible.

“Five dudes,” I said, voice low. I trusted my helmet’s voice dampening, but I wasn’t taking chances. “One to the right, three at the rear, one more to the left, behind that vent thing.”

“Alright,” Gomorrah said. “How do you want to do this?”

“I’ll move in, then foam our two buddies to the left from the back, that way I can take out the next three, then the last two. If I do it right, they’ll never have time to react or figure anything out.”

“Not a terrible plan,” Gomorrah said. She moved up next to me, footfalls light on the cement floor. She had the door between her and the other side. “I’ll move in when it all goes terribly wrong.”

“It’s not going to go terribly wrong,” I said.

Then I stepped in and everything went terribly wrong.

“The air shifted,” one of them said. It was a whisper that I heard repeated from all the others. Shitty headsets, maybe? They were organized enough to have comms, at least.

I started to move to the left, intent on skirting around the edge of the room.

Then one of them tossed something over their barricade, and I crouched down and winced, waiting for the explosion as the thing... thumped to the ground with barely any noise?

I turned and stared at what looked like a large wet bundle of rolled-up socks. “Huh?” I asked.

Then the bundle started to hiss, and a faint, mostly smoke poured out of it and across the room.

That’s just a plain smoke grenade.

“How do you know?” I asked.

Your helmet’s filtration system can detect potassium chlorate, lactose, and other components in the smoke.

The smoke was rising, coming out faster now, and I could see it swirling around my feet. “Is something moving there?” one of the ambushers asked.

That was good enough for me to start the party.

I whipped my Icarus up and placed the gun’s red arc over the heads of the nearest group, then I fired. Turning, I aimed towards the back where my targets conveniently stood up, guns rising as they aimed in my general direction.

I was expecting some bangs, but instead the air filled with loud thumps that sounded more like a pneumatic hammer than a gun going off. Still, something clattered off the walls behind me, and I ducked while squeezing Icarus’ trigger.

The next four shots I took went wide, one smacking into the barricade they were using for cover, then I finally hit one of the assholes shooting at me, right in the face.

He gurgled something that sounded like a curse before foam expanded around his face and upper torso. “Got one!” I cheered.

A pair of rounds rammed into my side, and I winced reflexively before my mind caught up and I realized that it hadn’t actually hurt.

Gomorrah stepped into the room and put an end to the little shootout. One spray to the right, then an arc of foam sent splashing across the far end of the room, off-white goop splattering everything and expanding in seconds to swallow up any of the idiots around us.

I stood up from my half-crouch and searched for more targets, but the room was cleared. The most any of the five could do was kick with their legs while their torsos were glued to the ground.

“Well done,” I said.

“That’s three for me, two for you,” Gomorrah said.

I blinked. Was she being competitive all of a sudden? We’d worked together for a few days and I’d never really had the impression she cared about getting more kills or anything of the sort. Then again, we had never fought with an audience watching over us. “You know what my aim is like,” I said.

Gomorrah hummed something noncommittal and moved over to one of the ambushers, who was stuck in the foam in such a way the top of his head was still partially visible. His eyes were darting around madly, and he was twitching from side to side to try and free himself. Gomorrah pointed the end of her flamerthrower’s nozzle into his face. “We have questions,” she said.

Then she fired.

I’d half expected fire, and from the gasp I overheard, so had Franny. Instead, a yellowish liquid splattered onto the guy’s face and the foam melted away, revealing his entire head. “Whaa!” he shouted.

I had to hold back a snort at that. Seeing as how there wasn’t anyone around, I flicked off my cloaking. “Hey there, pal,” I said. “Myalis, shut off their comms, please. And can you root around and see what they were thinking?”

Five guys with what looked like pneumatic guns trying to take out even a single samurai was suicidal, at least by most standards.

“Who are you, and why were you trying to ambush me?” Gomorrah asked.

“Didn’t know you were a samurai!” he said. “We heard some corpo-types were here making noise.”

“And your first idea was to attack?”

“This is our home!” he shouted.

I shook my head. This guy sounded like he was on the wrong end of zealous. “Who told you we were here?” I asked.

“The doc! The doc pays attention to that kind of thing.”

I do have some messages from a contact calling itself Doc Hack. They claim a single corporate agent would be at our current location and they should be killed and disposed of.

I shut off my helmet comms. “Any sign that the good Doc knew we were samurai?”

No obvious signs, no.

“Anything about the folk we’re looking for?” I asked.

Not directly. But there might be some oblique references. Doc Hack has been putting out requests on what’s essentially a community bounty board for cybernetic parts. It seemed quite urgent.

“Huh,” I said. “Can you figure anything out from the sort of parts they’re looking for?” I asked.

At a guess, they are converting more people into Sewer Dragons. Notably, a group was praised for breaking into a factory from its sewer connection and stealing a crate full of commercial-grade cybernetic lung replacements.

“Fuck,” I said.

That didn’t bode well.

***