The dull of the Ferryman's rotors pitched up to a higher, harder rhythm, vibrating through my seat. The sudden, hard roll of the Ferryman's airframe pulled my eyes to the window in the side door. The giant monolith that was our home base, Charon's Gate Medical Arcology, slid into, then out of view as the airframe J-turned, leveling out.

  "Alright. Looks like we have one last job for the day." The pilot chimed through the overhead intercom. "Link in for briefing." As he spoke, there was a harsh buzz in the base of my skull, as a data-screech filtered through my mind, a progress bar titled //Data_upload = Briefing_029.MLD// flickering into view, slowly filling.

  Granger's gravelly voice came from my left, drawing my gaze from the window. He jutted out his orcish tusks and grunted. "Hopefully something a little more interesting." He cracked his neck, cybereyes glimmering in the lowly lit cabin. The progress bar filled as he finished speaking, the pilot clearing his throat.

  "Sure, sure, Granger. Let's do a rundown. Client: Watson Agreo, Axiom Dynamics Suit. Peddles the dark shit from their underground labs for them. Has Gold Standard coverage with us from his company, but four days ago, he signed up for the seven-day trial of Platinum standard, separate from his corporate package." My eye ridge rose as he spoke, tail lashing in silent question against the bulkhead. "Area of Operations is the Bench. Downtown Meridian. We are T-45 seconds from landing. Biomonitor stopped transmitting two minutes and 37 seconds ago. Vidr is the primary technician." I bobbed my head in understanding

  A burning itch bloomed from the base of my skull where the cable inserted, as more data injected into my cybermantle. A hexagon flickered into the center of my view, giving me a direct image link with the chin-mounted camera’s view as the co-pilot panned it towards the area of operations. A striped neon blue caution line glitched into existence in the sky, drawing a box around the client's last known sector. The bland human face of the client flickered into existence in another hexagon attached to the camera view. I snorted softly at the forced smile of his corporate photo. The finer details flitted by idly, my attention locked on the camera feed as it flicked from visuals to thermal imaging.

  The streets resolved into giant, glowing white veins, pumping the city's people through the darkness. With a low hiss, I reached down under my seat, grabbing my helmet. The sleek black metal and ceramic faceplate stared back at me in silent question. With a quick flip, I pulled it on in a well-practiced motion. The pale orange feathers that made up the crest, which started just behind my eyes, flattened against the back of my skull and neck.

  "Client shoulda never gone down into The Bench," Granger huffed, voice now digitized through the helmet comms. "Asswipe is just asking to get iced by the gangbangers down there." The sound of the rotors melted into a quieter rhythm that rocked through my seat instead of my ears. A series of soft clicks came through the speakers in my helmet, our comms linking up. A moment later, the darkened interior of the Ferryman resolved on my visor in a cascade of pixels. Across from us were Martin and Val. Both humans. Martin was racking the bolt on the assault rifle in his hands, as Val thumbed through her medical kit with ease.

  I ran my right, clawed hand along my snout, where it wasn't covered by the helmet. Despite the appearance of a scaled hand, the underlying surface of blackened steel was cool against my face.

  My hand fell away, catching on the gorget of my body armor. Across from me, Val's narrow, delicate face vanished under her helmet. My eyes itched slightly, as three names materialized in the upper right corner of my vision. Their vitals blinked a slow, easy blue-green in time with their heartbeats. My hands ran along either side of my torso, testing and cinching the straps of my combat rig. My right hand landed on the grip of my pistol, an ammo counter flaring to life in the lower left. Twelve rounds in the magazine of my Praetorian.

  "At least we can thank Axiom for these fine pieces of iron they gave us to go save their mooks with." I hummed, drawing my pistol. With one hand, I hooked my clawed pointer and middle finger around the rear sight and pulled back. A single brass round was seated firmly in the chamber. With a I let the slide snap back into place and reholstered the pistol. Thirteen rounds before I was empty.

  The pilot's voice crackled in my ear. Martin stood from his seat, steady on his feet even as the airframe rolled.

  "Pilot, requesting door speed," he chimed, the heavy beat of synth music bleeding from his open mic. In response, the low whine of the rotors faded, the vibration through my seat almost vanishing with it.

  <> Martin slid the heavy door open slowly. A blast of cold air and the roar of the rotors flooded the cabin, overwhelming my helmet's dampeners. I flicked my tail once in annoyance, punching the release on my harness, its thick straps retracting into the seat behind me. The camera view shrank down to the corner of my vision. The street below was a mess as traffic ground to a halt, the Ferryman projecting a holographic landing area onto the road. Civilians clumped on the sidewalk, gawking at us as we slowly sank towards the ground.

  I gave a bounce on the balls of my feet before moving to stand beside Martin. One of my hands landed on his shoulder, the other holding the heavy medkit. The pilot chattered to our dispatch. <> he paused, head tilting, then gave a slight nod. A moment later, a mechanical voice blared from the cockpit: |Master Arm Off|.

  "Guess they really want to shoot us," Val called over the rotor wash from behind me. Granger chortled heartily as the pilot flipped his middle finger at us from the front of the helicopter.

  "Get your asses outta my bird. Client is dying." The pilot’s smile was audible despite the fully enclosed helmet on his head. The whole airframe rocked heavily as the wheels hit the pavement. Martin was first out the door, rifle at a low ready as he moved forward. I dropped down as soon as he cleared the door. The first thing that struck me was the cold. Between the beating rotors threatening to knock me over and the chilled air of autumn, it seeped straight into my bones through my scales.

  A lethargy threatened to overtake me. Thankfully, it began to melt away as heat began to bloom from my heated undersuit. The second thing that hit me made me stagger to one side, claws digging into the asphalt underfoot. My tail lashed to keep my balance. "Get out of here, you fuckin glitch-gecko!" One of the 'brave' members of the peanut gallery on the sidewalk shouted. On the ground, a plastic cup clattered. The smell of cheap beer filled my nose as it dribbled down my helmet and into the scales on my snout. My claw twitched over the grip of my pistol as I side-eyed the pudgy man, the burning hot desire to shoot him square in the flabby head rushed to the forefront of my mind. Before I could even bare my fangs to hiss, Martin had moved forward.

  His voice came out as a modulated bark. "CLEAR THE AREA. OBSTRUCTIONS WILL BE SHOT." The civilian paled, the crowd backing away from him. Val pressed a folded cloth into my hand, her hand landing on my shoulder pad, head tilted to one side. Silently, I wiped my snout clean and nodded to her, tucking the cloth into the magazine pouch at my side. Granger was already halfway across the street, a digital black and blue striped line lit up under his feet. It vanished into the shadowy alleyways ahead.

  the pilot chimed, the wash of the rotors intensifying as I bounded over the median and followed the orc.

  Val fell in behind me, with Martin at the end of the line. As the shadows engulfed us, the roar of traffic started up again, and the nervous chatter of the crowd melted away. There was a soft click from Granger's Shotgun as he ran a thumb over the safety lever. "What's that Saurid sense of smell got, Vidr?" Martin murmured through the comms, the sound of the synth now gone.

  I flicked my tongue out, letting it catch the air, before I pulled it back into my maw. The thick scent of stale cigarettes, skunk spliffs, and sex all but hid the undertones of freshly burnt gunpowder and wet blood. "Gunfight. Scent's faint, but it's up ahead. Wager that'll be where we find Mr. Agreo." Empty food carts and closed hole-in-the-wall bars lined either side of the darkened alleyway.

  The flashing blue line turned sharply around the next corner. Granger stopped at the corner, carefully leaning out to look before he gave a wave of his hand. Martin broke from the rear rank and took point, rifle shouldered. The only movement in the shadows was the bobbing blue reticles that highlighted where Granger and Martin's weapons were tracking. The steady beating of the Ferryman overhead was the only promise that we were not alone.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Val and I fell in behind Martin. Finally, I drew my pistol, its reticle flaring to life against the ground ahead of me. The blue line in my HUD terminated at the crossroads ahead, where a humanoid lump lay in the open. A rumbling hiss bubbled up from my chest as I lengthened my strides, digitigrade legs catapulting me along ahead of Martin and Val. The soles of Martin and Granger's boots skidded across the concrete as they entered the T-junction, each one watching both the way we came and the two paths we had not taken.

  It was quiet, bloodstains and bullet casings riddling the floor around the patient, his pistol held limp in his hand. With light steps, Val skirted around to the patient's other side, dropping her bag next to her. She tore her helmet off, setting it next to her, eyes shimmering. With a blink-click, I tagged the body, an amber outline tracing his body. My left hand hovered over Watson, wherever it passed, revealing the underlying bones, veins, and nerves, as they lit up as blues, reds, and greens. When my hand hovered over Watson's chest, it bloomed with a glitching, spreading deep red. Six silver blips sat at varying depths inside.

  "Internal bleeding. Six bullets defeated the client's armored jacket and subdermal armor implants. Heart rate is 32 bpm." I seated my pistol back in its holster and drew the long knife that sat next to it. Two of the ribs in Watson's chest had black shatter points in them. "Working now. Two broken ribs, too. Can't see what else has him dead and dying though, sans the pneumothorax." I chimed. With a flick, the blade of my knife began to oscillate. It cut through the Kevlar jacket and shirt in a single motion.

  It revealed Watson's partially caved-in, hairy chest. The scent of fear and blood blinded my nose in an instant as I looked over the craters where bullets hadn't broken through the subdermal armor. My hand dove into the medical kit at my side, grabbing the pistol grip of a pseudo-skin sprayer. With four thick coats of the pale grey goo, the sucking wounds in the patient's chest were sealed.

  "Administering Thoracic Decompressor." With my right hand, I checked the bones, carefully placing the tip of the decompressor into the divot between two of his ribs. With a wet snap and pop, the metallic valved catheter punched through the plate and flesh. With a soft hiss, his chest slowly inflated, but his breathing stopped before it could fully expand. "Fuck." I hissed.

  I reached up to where my neck met the base of my skull and withdrew a data cable. As it uncoiled, I felt each inch leave its port. "Connecting to the patient's auxiliary biomonitor slot. Primary is broken." When the plug was positioned just over the soft spot behind Watson's ear, I jammed it in hard. There was a wet pop of flesh tearing before I felt the burn of data begin flowing.

  A message glitched and repeated endlessly in the diagnostic box that resolved in my vision.

  =//ERROR : CONDITION = IS_DATA_NIL//=

  =//DATASTREAM ERROR: Packet checksum failed//=

  =//REASON: Unable to deserialize payload//=

  =//PAYLOAD CLASS: [RECURSIVE_ONTOLOGICAL_HAZARD]//=

  =//FIREWALL EXCEPTION: Heuristic analysis failed//=

  =//ATTEMPTING PAYLOAD QUARANTINE...//=

  =//...QUARANTINE FAILED. PAYLOAD COPIED TO LOCAL CACHE.//=

  =//PAYLOAD SIGNATURE: [ASYMMETRIC_ESSENCE_BURN]//=

  As it repeated, I felt a burning in my spine, as though a hot iron rod had pressed into my nerves. "" I tore the cable from his biomonitor. "Nasty virus in his system. Biomon is barely holding on. Data's gibberish. Anything on your end, Val?" I took deep breaths as her eyes glowed brighter.

  "Yes. I can see it. Like a tower of Babylon. Endless and building ever higher," her voice almost echoed as she stared into the air above the client's chest. "If I touch it, it'll consume me," she whispered hands hovering over Watson. "Life support, Vidr. I'll handle this hex."

  Tendrils of magic dripped from the fingertips of one hand like puppet strings, her other drawing a yew wand from her medical bag. As she worked her magic, I adjusted the patient fully onto his back. "Administering micro-ventilator." I tilted his head back and inserted a thick, lubricated tube into his throat in a single fluid motion. With a soft whine, the impeller fans began to breathe for him.

  The silence of the alleys broke suddenly. <

  "Understood, Ferryman. Per Platinum Standard requirements, we are Protocol Zero. Target incoming Boosters with your spotlight." Martin snapped. A light lanced down from the sky, illuminating eight men dressed like gangbangers. But their clothes were clean, each one armed with the same rifle. As threat boxes appeared around each one, the weapon was designated an Axiom Dynamics H-112 assault rifle.

  "Scratch that, Ferryman. Redesignate Boosters as Third-Parties. We are going sharp." Granger growled, his massive frame barely hidden behind the pillar of a building he had ducked behind. I darted to a pile of crates, quickly pressing my shoulder into them. Wood scraped hard against the concrete as I shoved it into place between the client and the incoming disguised corporate soldiers.

  A round zipped past my head as I ducked into the makeshift cover. "Receiving spikes!" I shouted.

  "Applying Treatment." Granger's words were underlined by three dull cracks of thunder as his shotgun filled the alley with flying lead.

  With a deep breath, I knelt by the patient again, as a black energy warred with the cool blue tendrils of Val's magic. "Administering Cryostat, Cerebraxil, and Kinetizine." I snapped. With my right hand, I grabbed three glass ampules from my medical bag. In a single motion, I rolled up my left sleeve. As the fabric ran up my arm, the 'scales' of my arm melted, revealing the matte black and neon blue cybernetic underneath. The outside of my forearm slid open, an empty revolver-style chamber popping free with a hiss. I slotted the three ampules in, snapping the plate shut with a flick of my wrist. An air-powered injector popped from the base of my wrist, just under my palm. Bullets spat past me as they splintered the boards of the wooden crates. I pressed the injector against the man's upper arm. With three sharp pops, the drugs were forced into his veins, the ampules ejected out across his body, tinkling against the concrete.

  With that, I drew my pistol and stood. Two hostiles lay in pieces mere feet from the cover they had rushed towards. The other six had found cover. Each round they fired came with dull, quiet pops instead of loud cracks. A half dozen rounds splattered off Granger's shoulder. Even where they pierced the armor, all that was left behind was smeared lead on his armored cybernetic arm. The next man leaned just slightly too far out of cover to fire at me. As his sights aligned with me, I squeezed the trigger smoothly. Each of the three shots I fired barely rippled up my cybernetic arm. The first two landed in the man's chest, knocking him onto his back. Before he hit the ground, the third landed in his pelvic bowl, drawing a wailing scream from him. "One Third-Party is Sundown." I chirped.

  As I ducked into cover, the world went a brilliant, painful white as a round clipped the edge of my helmet. The roiling static that blinded me accompanied a screaming ring that echoed through my ears. Martin's voice crackled in my ears, but I could only barely make his words out. "Shit! --- is time limited, --- ----- -- Confirm strike!"

  Slowly, the concrete floor flooded my vision, overtaking the static, blood very slowly pooling as it dripped down my helmet, dying one part of the world red. <> The ground rocked as a sky-shattering series of thuds echoed from above. I rolled back onto my feet in time to watch as shrapnel and fire erupted from the cover of our enemies.

  Martin rushed up, one hand grabbing my shoulder and pushing me back into cover. "Vidr! Fuck me, I thought you were terminal." His hands ran over my helmet, a sharp pain stabbing through my skull as he pressed a bandage into the new hole it had. "Just a graze. Package the patient for a lift. Fuck the LZ," he ordered, bracing his rifle against the crates. I grabbed the folded stretcher from his back and flicked it open. It landed with a rattle as I dropped the aluminum frame on the ground.

  Granger landed on one knee by Watson's head, as I knelt at his feet. "Val, what's the status?" I called.

  "It's nasty, and it isn't stopping. But I've slowed its advance. It's all I can do." She looked pale as a corpse, hands shaking heavily. I nodded to Granger. With a heave, we got the client on the stretcher and strapped him down.

  <> the pilot ordered quickly. A carabiner descended between us. Granger grabbed it and clicked it onto the lift ring of his combat rig and grunted.

  "Hate this part. Ferryman, Enforcer is ready for lift!" He growled into the comms. With that, he was lifted into the air by the winch. Less than thirty seconds later, a more elaborate series of carabiners and hooks descended. Martin and I had them attached to the stretcher in practiced moments. Before the patient was even off the ground, I had redrawn my pistol and begun watching down the alleyways. Every movement made the tip of my tail twitch.

  Val was the next to go, as Martin and I waited and watched for contacts. The thermal feed from the chin of the Ferryman showed all eight dead bodies in pieces behind us as he held that approach in the reticle.

  Next, I felt Martin hook the ascension cable to my harness. "I'm last man," he stated simply. The ground was pulled from under me as my weight settled painfully into the harness. My heart pounded hard every second it took for me to be pulled into the safety of the Ferryman's cabin. Granger hauled me inside and pushed me down into my seat as he turned and dropped the cable down for Martin.

  Another agonizing thirty seconds, and Martin appeared through the door, the Ferryman already rolling hard. My seat shook violently as it reached full throttle. But as the floor evened out, my eyes were glued to the window in the door. The monolith of Charon's Gate Medical Arcology towered in the distance. <> The pilot's voice was a dull growl in my ear.

  "Well ." My heart dropped as the words fell out of my mouth.