Six months after the micro-incursion, during the main New-Montreal incursion

  I looked up at the sky, little dots of black and tears in the clouds occupying most of my vision. “Altany, I’m going to need something that hits high, like really high. Anti-air shit. I should’ve installed that crap a long time ago, what we have is pitiful.”

  The hologram of a cyborg red panda prowled around my legs, looking profoundly unconcerned. “Projections estimate your area of the city will not be anywhere near the epicenter of this incursion. May I propose a long-range coil-gun? I’m certain cluster-flak will do the trick.”

  I nodded, snorted at the name, and caught the massive hand-held sci-fi artillery system out of the air with a smile. It had large electro-magnets on six sides of a barrel I could have fit my fist in. There were, of course, tons of glowy bits. No human should’ve been able to lift it, let alone fire it! Bracing it against my heavily armored shoulder, I looked up and spotted some pods going my building’s way. They would not make it.

  The moment I fired, the concrete under my feet cracked a bit and some rain pulsed away from me. It took less time than I’d imagined for the round to scream its way through the air and make it to the enemy. The super-sonic crack would have messed with my ears if they weren’t so well augmented, all four of them. My red and black armor didn’t yield in the slightest, the alien Damascus-steel looking alloy proving its sturdiness yet again.

  Cluster-flak was an appropriate name for it! Not only did it explode mid-air, but the projectiles it spread exploded as well in a truly impressive display of high-explosive shrapnel delivery! I took quite a few more shots while sending instructions to my enforcers.

  “All enforcers, create barricades at sky bridges, accept all civilians. Disarm any corpo-security personnel that wish to enter. Mobilize the militia for those barricades. Get ready for civilian extraction missions.” All of them listened carefully. It might be a good occasion to spread the Bear-Yakuza’s good reputation to neighboring buildings...

  They were all equipped with vanguard-grade equipment and augs. No other forces in the city could compare for this type of shit. Other samurais had criticized the idea of arming normies, especially arming them so incredibly well, and I could understand. The points I received from them were reduced, but I didn’t expect any.

  They were my enforcers, my people, and their safety was a priority. Having them be extremely effective may have cost me personal power, but they could match me with numbers and organization thanks to the upgrades I gave them. Sure, they were more equipped to fight off other gangs than the antithesis, but that still meant being better than any corpo-sec assholes or PMCs.

  “Inform those Family corpos that I’ll be fighting in the under-city after the skies are clear. I’m sure they’ll forget its existence if I don’t remind them…” My feelings on that organization had been made obvious on several occasions. Corpos were corpos, even the nicest possible version. They needed to be handled carefully since they had samurai backing, which is why I let Robin handle them. I sent the same message to him with a lot more care and tenderness. That man was good at handling people, and I just wasn’t. I didn’t want to hear the corpo-speak bullshit they’d spin about risk and liability or whatever corpos used to justify being uncaring bastards.

  “Do you think you should inform your samurai partner of your intentions?” Asked Altany with mild reproach in her tone.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be fine with it. Can’t imagine he’ll want to sit on his ass and do nothing while innocents are dying, that’s just not his thing. Just like it’s not mine. That’s why we work well together.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  A grin spread on my face. A dangerous grin. A grin that promised incredible amounts violence. There was a reason I’d accepted the name ‘Mad Panda’.

  Before the micro-incursion, six months before the New-Montreal incursion

  Robert sat on his ample chair, checking monitors and trying to ignore the smell he was dealing with. Sure, he was a wage-slave, but he was a comfortable one. His job was simple, easy, and it didn’t require anything from him aside from a mountain of paperwork he didn’t have to get up to go through. He’d even been able to skim some money off his budget. The Sewer-Dragons handled a lot of stuff, so the workers he had to send out were in less danger than the position implied. That meant taking the money for them and using half to just give the Dragons what they needed to get the job done.

  Today however, he’d have to do more work than usual. This stupid important inspection was eating into his frequent breaks. Not moving from his stupidly comfortable chair that he’d bought himself and brought to the office, he used his legs to propel it from one monitor to the other. A ping came from the team and he responded with exasperation. “Reading you loud and clear team I-139. You coming close to that closed off section? Got a show coming soon…” Robert had mastered the art of multi-tasking. He could fill out forms while playing that old samurai-themed gacha game, even! A few more credits and he’d be able to buy the Emoscythe Mordeath Noir waifu!

  “Yeah yeah, cool your man-tits Bob! We’re wading through shit here! Fuck’s sake what is that sludge? God I want to puke…” Jean-Pierre complained over the comms. They’d had to drop relays every so often. It kept comms functional in the sewer through all the interference. No one wanted to break them and be on the hook for reimbursing the little things. They were supposed to be able to handle the acid in the air and all that nasty stuff. However... Yeah, these were 'lowest bidder' equipment.

  “Uh, boss?” The new guy that was sent forward asked. Greens always took the most dangerous job, that was tradition, but it also meant getting shitty info.

  “What the fuck is it? Speak you jackass- fuck what the shit brushed my leg? Are there fish in the sewer?” JP asked while constantly complaining.

  “Yeah uh… I don’t know what did that but I think the next section is… clean?”

  That stopped everyone in their tracks. Every feed stopped moving and everyone shut up. They’d had to open a closed off section of the sewer and inspect some really vague anomalous readings some corp gave them. Of fucking course, they couldn’t do shit about it and asked the city! It's not like they had more personnel, equipment, credits to hire subcons, etc...

  The entire sewer system was in intense disrepair, but it kept on mostly not shitting the bed so no one questioned it. The Sewer Dragons maintained them so it wasn’t Robert’s problem. However, when a corp greased the right palms or blackmailed the right people, his department had to get shit done!

  Every so often, they found some truly weird shit. Communities, mutant rats, whatever. However, no part of the sewer could be called clean. Even if the sludge didn’t make it somewhere, there were rats and dirt or whatever. Sludge had been entering this section in large quantities for a while. The few explanations passed through all of their heads and Jean-Pierre suddenly made a connection faster than Robert.

  “Stop! Don’t move! Don’t do anything kid! I swear to god if you make a noise I’ll fucking kill you! Do you get me!?” That was another problem with sending the green and eager forward, they had no idea what they could be running into.

  “Uh… sure, boss? I don’t know what you’re worried about, there's nothing here. I can check out fur… Oh, hey…”

  The peace broke as the image on the kid’s feed showed the worst possibility. “Run! Everyone run! Now!” Jean-Pierre may have lost his shit a bit but that was the right attitude. Robert was frozen in fear. He made a few connections. The last incursion was years earlier, if those things had been down there all this time, feeding on the sewers…

  “Fuck…” Robert said with eyes wide. He’d have to call corporate, hope they’d do the right thing, or else he might not survive this mess.