EMP!
From high above the Coronado Farms sector, one would witness a truly terrifying sight:
A substation belonging to Night Corp suddenly erupted in a massive burst of white-blue light. Arcs of electricity, as thick as natural lightning, surged like electric dragons!
BOOM!
After the blinding flash ca the explosion—a colossal, fiery, and unnatural one.
From the substation's core, darkness swept across Santo Domingo. Hundreds of electrical boxes ignited at once. The fire beca the only light in the region, and that glow was anything but comforting.
People looked up. Thick smoke spread across an already-black sky. Rain sliced through the haze and hamred against windows.
Advertisents, music, TV broadcasts—all sounds ceased. Gunshots and engine roars now rang louder than ever—
Along with distant factory explosions caused by unstable voltages.
Fear spread with the darkness.
Leo, moving between buildings, suddenly froze. Sparks flickered at his neural interface.
He had been multitasking—moving while running calculations. His brain acted as a wireless server, receiving and transmitting data.
And EMPs were especially lethal to wireless-dependent networks. His neural interface caught fire inside his skull!
The processor above the cybermod at the base of his neck burned straight through his skin, overloading the entire cyberware system!
Thankfully, his implants had failsafes. The flas were snuffed out by the rain.
Leo imdiately blacked out and plumted from thirty ters up—
THUD!
Two octopus arms slamd into the wall, anchoring him in place. His body dangled in midair, lifeless, eyes glazed over, staring at the street below.
Massive brain cell loss. A regular person would be dead in ten seconds.
His support drone instantly rerouted power through backup lines and maxed out the secondary heart pump used for injecting lizard serum.
Leo's normal dose? One milliliter a day. Now? Thirty milliliters. Injected all at once.
The remaining brain cells went feral, devouring necrotic tissue and converting it into fuel. In ten seconds, the lizard's transgenic regeneration kicked in and rebuilt his brain.
His pupils slit vertically again.
"Haah—"
Cold, wet air rushed into his lungs. Leo blinked in shock.
This kind of thod was common among elite netrunners and tech experts. Before the Old Net collapsed, daring netrunners used tactics like this to trigger blackouts.
Each such blackout was "gloriously" recorded in the archives.
In theory, this blackout was similar to the one he caused in the company plaza.
But he looked at the EMP's epicenter—Night Corp's substation.
Others might not know, but Leo did. Night Corp had a hidden, roaming AI managing that grid. Stability of the power network was its lifeline.
Yet after the collapse of the Old Net… soone still managed to crash a grid controlled by an AI?
Leo ripped the fried processor from his neck and ducked beneath an eave. He pulled out a surgical kit from his toolbox and began ergency repairs.
BOOM!
The sky split with a thunderous crack—a sniper had fired!
In the darkness, cut off from all comms, Leo's heart tightened. He couldn't tell if Morton had been taken out.
With net support, coordinating across a 6km-wide urban battlefield was simple. Even hundreds of 6th Street troops could move like clockwork.
But without it? Running an op across 6,000 ters in the city was hell.
The good news: it was pouring. Coil-based sniper rifles couldn't reach full power. Moisture could even ruin the propellant—regular snipers might actually be more reliable now.
Leo shook his head. One of his empty octopus arms angrily pointed in the direction of the gunshot.
He had installed a special auditory localization module to triangulate snipers.
First shot? Always reveals position. Especially in the rain, which cuts the range drastically.
Leo had to believe Morton was still alive. That ant they still had a shot.
Protective missions really were a pain compared to assassinations.
David held his breath under the rain. Across the river, the glowing lights of the city center offered faint illumination, but it was dimming under the storm.
Oddly, the muzzle flashes in the dark streets were brighter by contrast.
Gunfire echoed. He heard screams and wild shouts. Cars exploded. Bodies—twisted and broken—slamd into the pavent.
He relied on sound alone to figure things out.
The original plan was for 6th Street to push all the targets into the main avenue for a final encirclent. But now? The sky was dark, the comms were fried.
The rcs were smart. They'd turned off all their vehicle lights, relying on enhanced combat optics to navigate and identify hostiles.
It was working: 6th Street's combat capability varied wildly. Many of their implants were junk-tier—completely unusable in these conditions.
What should have been a number-based slaughter flipped. Small rc squads were now winning—thanks to their top-tier augnts and solo experience.
The tables turned fast. David watched the street corners nervously.
BOOM!
A car smashed through a barricade. In the firelight, David saw a 6th Street vehicle!
Most of the passengers were already dead. Only a high-ranking officer in the passenger seat was still firing, teeth clenched, barrel pressed to the car's roof.
The muzzle flashes lit up a sturdy man on the roof—anchored like a statue—wielding a shotgun.
David instantly swung his weapon around.
The man noticed him too and jumped away on instinct.
Another vehicle ramd through the gap made by the previous car. The man landed squarely on it.
No doubt—that was a rc car.
David opened fire. He didn't know if he hit anyone, but he quickly adjusted aim to the tires—this ti he heard the tire burst!
The car spun out. tal slamd into tal. More vehicles smashed through the barricade—and one barreled directly toward him!
David's heart skipped. They're going to ram !
Sandevistan: activated. He dropped the machine gun and dove aside.
THUD.
Rolling on the ground, David instinctively pulled out a pistol and dropped to one knee.
BANG BANG BANG BANG!
Gunfire rang out—not aid at him.
He looked back. A 6th Street officer in a tactical mask—likely from the previous car—fired wildly into the darkness.
The man yanked David behind a wrecked vehicle.
CRACK!
A bullet punched a hole right where David had just been standing.
"Nice job, kid! Which unit are you from? You're getting a field promotion!"
David almost blurted out 'Arasaka Academy, Class XX, Group XX', but caught himself. This wasn't a class reunion.
"I'm a rc!"
"Then you're the captain of Independent Unit 1! Hold this spot—I'm going to fix the headlights so our people can regroup. Shit!"
BOOM!
Another wrecked vehicle exploded. The officer yanked David down again. A tal shard sliced through where David's head had been, embedding into the car door.
"Got it?!"
The officer shoved his rifle into David's hands.
"Got it!" David nodded, turned, and fired into the dark wherever he heard movent.
CLICK.
Behind him, the ruined car's headlights flared to life, casting light across the battlefield.
"This way! 6th Street! Tactical regroup!"
The officer scread hoarsely. 6th Street grunts turned toward the beam like drowning n spotting land.
But then—
VROOOOOOM—
David's pupils shrank. Amid the chaos, a roaring engine drowned out all other sounds!
A vehicle was charging straight at them.
Sandevistan—on. David lunged for the officer. The man instinctively activated his own Sandevistan and launched himself away.
But the oncoming car was too fast!
CRASH!
The pickup smashed the just-repaired vehicle. David was flung by the shockwave, tossed into the air like a ragdoll.
The spotlight twisted. As David flew, the beam illuminated the scene—and it was worse than he imagined.
The road was clogged with twisted wrecks—like corpses. 6th Street's cars had crashed over and over due to darkness and confusion. The path was blocked.
But the bodies... bodies were everywhere. All 6th Street.
The living ones crouched behind cover, looking for a chance to shoot. The half-dead crawled, groaning, dragging limbs through pools of blood.
Sandevistan-activated silhouettes moved between cars—fast, smooth, lethal. Every shot they fired ant another corpse.
Then, through the blur, David spotted a familiar vehicle: Maine's Mackinaw.
He saw Maine's crew defending the truck—but in the shadows behind them, illuminated by the headlights, a rc already had them in his sights.
Midair, David focused. His implanted muscles aligned his aim—he steadied the pistol—
BANG BANG BANG!
The rc flinched. Sandevistan off, David hit the ground hard, no ti to break his fall. His ears rang.
Now Maine's crew could see him lying there, lit by the headlights.
But the light flickered, then died.
"David!"
Maine shouted, trying to get him to regroup.
But the yell exposed him.
David took two steps, just in ti to see—
—on the Mackinaw's roof, a man finished reloading and raised his weapon at Maine.
It all happened in a flash. Only David, with Sandevistan, could process it.
To stop that rc, he had to be faster. Faster than a speeding car. Tougher than a tank. Sothing that could smash obstacles and hit first.
What could do that?
Answer: a motorcycle with explosive propulsion.
In David's eyes, Sandevistan slowed ti to half-speed—but even then, the bike streaking overhead moved like a missile.
ROOOAARRRRR!
The engine roared.
The exhaust was a flaming rocket. Heat warped the raindrops. The bike soared three ters above the ground like a launch jet.
V rode it—mantis blades slicing clean through the rc midair, spinning on impact—
WHOOSH!
To everyone else, it looked like a flaming teor scread overhead.
Half a corpse dropped.
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