“I’m sorry. Your booking doesn’t include a terrorist incident,” Chad says, drawing himself up. “If you don’t vacate our premises, I will be forced to contact the authorities.”
“As if you haven’t tried,” Ali says, floating up and wagging his fingers at Chad. “Good thing I blocked you. And your friends.” He shakes his head. “We’ve deployed a communication router. Also, if you haven’t realized it, take a good, close look at boy-o over here.”
Chad stares at me then looks up, spotting my revealed Status. He rears back, mouth dropping open as he hisses, fangs dropping in surprise. His hands drop next as he readies himself to attack or defend.
Mikito appears next to Chad, moving so fast she’s almost teleporting. She hits him with a series of short, quick jabs and elbow strikes that chain together, taking his health down and putting him in a stunned Status. Another series of blows and a Skill use and he drops, unable to do anything.
“I thought we were trying this without violence,” I complain even as fan club members drag Chad’s body aside.
“We did. You failed.” Mikito points at the floor and the floors below. “Now come on, we’re on a schedule.”
Shaking my head, I follow Mikito as she leads the alpha strike team. It’s kind of different, having her take charge, but this is her fan club and her plan. I just gave her the overall objectives and passed on information. The details of the execution are hers.
By the time we hit the skybridge that connects to our target—a series of condos set in the middle of the skyscraper opposite us—the first part of the plan has kicked off. We get to watch it all, since Ali has a news feed playing next to him, set to display for the team.
— a familiar figure, striding across the ballroom floor. A hand rises and clenches, and people going for him fall. Bodyguards scream and curl up, private security shields flare and crash as Judgment for All takes effect. The diplomat, one of the ones known to be against Earth and a prime instigator due to his ties with the Zarry Cartel, starts bleeding. Even as the alarms go off, emergency personnel punch through the cheap dimension lock that the dimension stabilizer the Hand carries emits. Weapons are drawn and fired, but the Hand isn’t staying still, moving through the group with his swords, cutting and dicing.
Another screen, another video of destruction.
This time, it’s the Beacon of the Angels striking the living tree that houses this target. Shields gleam and glimmer as they fight off the attack, even as the Hand continues to cast Beacons and strike with his sword. Automated defenses open fire upon the Hand, but the evolved Penetration Skill shield holds up easily, giving the Hand more than enough time to dish out damage.
More guards, more emergency personnel scramble. And fall right into his trap, as the Hand triggers Judgment for All, killing them and adding to his shield. He stops for a bit, just using his sword and striking the shield with it as he regenerates his own Mana, tossing out the occasional nanoswarm grenade to reduce the shield regeneration rate.
The Hands draw emergency security personnel with their brazen attacks. Sadly, they only manage to draw away one of the six teams that ring our target. The rest of the reinforcements come from other locations. Still, it’s better than our expectations of none, though nowhere as good as what we hoped.
The interception teams slide into place around the buildings as we arrive at the skybridge joining the two buildings.
One of the fan club members, dressed like a cyberpunk-ninja with wires and glowing dots along her head and arms, finishes the hack of the security systems just in time, killing the forward alerts. That doesn’t do much for the physical sentries who spot us and attempt to raise their friends.
The scouts who are part of the vanguard are already across the bridge, having either walked across innocuously or invisibly. They launch their backstabs as the guards scramble, even while those of us in the main group keep strolling forward. The scouts and guards enter into a short, bloody brawl. Made even shorter when the rest of the vanguard arrives and adds their burst attacks.
As for me? I’m stuck in the middle of the group, watching as the fan club sweeps ahead like a well-practiced special forces team. Even Ali’s busier than I am, doing his best to block off System notifications and communication channels, aiding the comm team. Mikito, the three musketeers, and a number of other fan club members are all around me, blocking my way.
My fingers twitch. I’m eager to step in and do something. I feel the System notifications, the buzzing of System Mana flowing all around me. I could reach out, Edit the information and Skills, kill notifications and reduce Mana regeneration rates. I could help.
But I hold back, because this is not the time.
“Relax, we have this,” Mikito murmurs. “And try to look a little more confident.”
“I am relaxed,” I bite out.
“Really?” Mikito looks downward, where I’m white-knuckling my sword. I make it disappear, feeling guilty, while explosions and screams echo toward us. “They really do have this.”
“A bunch of Basic and Advance Classers?” I raise an eyebrow. “You know the guards are mostly Advanced Classers, right?”
“Yes. But we have numbers, surprise, and skill on our side,” Vrasceids says, joining the conversation from where he walks beside me. “The only way to gain our Samurai Class was to reset ourselves. We are all, significantly, more experienced than our Levels would indicate.”
Each step takes us deeper into the rising skyrise, its defenses broken. Smoking bodies, struggling figures are all around us, appearing and disappearing as we walk past them. The alpha team, my group, peels off at intervals, joining fights as necessary.
“Levels aren’t the only gauge of strength,” Mikito says sniffily. “As you should know.”
“Skill, not Skill, eh?” It’s true enough that she has kept up with me through all this by displaying more skill than Levels. Still, Levels are an absolute unit of strength that is hard to overcome. Almost impossible at the highest tiers.
“Also…” Mikito grins, shifting her stance slightly. Hitoshi appears in her hand even as her Haste Skill triggers and wraps itself over her body, shrouding her in a cloak of Mana. Then, Blitzed. She leaves behind a garbled message as she blinks away, leaving me alone. “Theyhaveme.”
I watch her leave before I turn to the remnants of the alpha team who have been left behind to guard our retreat. It’s only Vrasceids and the cyber-samurai now, the other pair of musketeers in charge of their own strike teams.
“You not going?” I ask.
“We have other orders,” Vrasceids says, his pale-green-and-black gills flaring open and closed as he tastes the air.
My eyes narrow even as the continuing screams, the shouts, and the addition of a high-pitched whine as Hitoshi comes out to play echo through the building. Explosions, the telltale shattering of tiles as people lose control of their Strength, the smashing of walls and the pop-hiss of failed shields all tell a story of combat around us.
“Hells doors. You’re babysitting me, aren’t you?”
We pass through the entrance foyer, blasted and torn, and turn toward the fighting in a marked corridor. Upstairs, more fighting occurs, the battles more contained as the beta strike teams slide in from above to deal with the office and off-duty personnel who reside there.
Vrasceids’s face is smooth, calm at my irritation. “I would not describe our duties like that.”
“Maybe not, but that’s what it is.” I close my eyes and touch upon Society’s Web. I follow the threads that reach out from me, watching the way certain threads hidden from normal sight appear under my System Edit Skill. Threads that I know lead to certain high-ranking members of the Galactic Council.