The next morning, I wake up in Niko’s bed.


    Once I’d worked out the details of my plan to retake his Regalia, and related it to him and Saffi, the three of us went out for dinner at a local noodle shop that he’d frequented when he lived here. A real hole-in-the-wall place- literally. The entire restaurant, if it could even be called that, consisted of a hole in the wall of some huge building, with the dingy kitchen visible behind the aging proprietor. Our noodles came in cheap disposable bowls that we ate out of on a bench, but despite the lackluster presentation, they were genuinely great.


    At some point during the meal, or maybe when we went out to get drinks after, I mentioned the couch I’d slept on the previous night being uncomfortable, and Niko offered without hesitating to let me sleep with him. Not exactly scandalous, considering it’s no secret we’re dating, but I was still pretty embarrassed at him saying something like that out loud in front of Saffi. Apparently my parents’ provincial values rubbed off on me more than I’d thought.


    After enduring Saffi’s laughter and finishing our drinks, we went back to the Den, and I did exactly that. Nothing unchaste happened, mainly because Tommy’s bedroom was right next to ours, but it was nice going to sleep next to Niko- and even more nice waking up next to him.


    We don’t get much time to enjoy it, though, because only a few minutes after I wake up, there’s a series of sharp knocks on our door.


    “Princess! Puppy! Get your asses up!”


    My nickname was bestowed last night, after we all had a few drinks in us. I protested, on the grounds that I’m about the furthest distance from being a princess conceivable, but according to Niko, once Saffi’s given you a nickname, there’s no getting rid of it. At least mine is slightly less demeaning than his.


    “Wassamatter?” I call through the door blearily, sitting up in the bed. It wasn’t exactly built for two people, so there’s not much space between Niko and I.


    “We’ve got a job,” she snaps, brooking no dissent with her tone. “Mother wants all hands on deck, and that includes you. Congrats- you just got drafted.”


    The urgency in her voice is sufficient to jolt both Niko and me completely awake, and we react in almost exactly the same way, rolling out of bed and scrambling to get dressed. Whatever this job I’m being drafted for is, I’m sure it’s going to entail violence, so I dress appropriately, with a lightweight, non-restrictive top and durable pants with plenty of pockets. All borrowed from Niko’s wardrobe, of course, which means it doesn’t fit me perfectly, but it’ll have to do for now.


    When we get downstairs, Saffi’s sitting at the table across from someone I don’t recognize, both of them examining a series of images that show an aerial view of a building that seems to have been built in the style of an ancient Japanese temple, complete with the shrine gate out front.


    “Bout time,” the mystery man says, giving the two of us an unimpressed glance. Admittedly, we do look a little disheveled, but that’s mainly because we didn’t have time to clean up properly before rushing down to meet them.


    Our new arrival has long, black hair, with the tips of his pointed, elfin ears poking through. He’s wearing a black flak jacket over a white button-up shirt, and sensible black slacks that seem less than practical for a combat mission.


    “This is Asher,” Saffi says brusquely. “Our current prospect to replace you.”


    Niko nods, looking the other man up and down, giving no indication of whether or not he approves. Instead, he turns his attention to the images on the holo-screen, purely professional.


    “What’s the sitch?” I ask, pulling up a chair next to Saffi.


    “The Maeda-rengo hit the Bazaar last night.”


    Maeda-rengo… one of Limbo City’s yakuza families, and a major rival of the Red Sun Syndicate that Niko used to serve, and Saffi still does.


    “Shit,” my horned companion says from across the room, pouring himself a glass of synthetic orange juice. I send him a silent brainband request to get me a glass as well, even if the stuff tastes disgusting compared to the real thing. “How bad?”


    “Could have been worse, but it’s still an affront. Mother wants reprisals. She’s got Klahan’s team going after a couple of their fronts, but it’s just a distraction. We’re going after the big fish.”


    Klahan? I ask Niko silently, as he puts the glass down and takes a seat across from me.


    He runs one of Mother’s other teams like this one. Worked with them before, they’re good guys. Reliable.


    “This is the Imperial Serpent Bathhouse,” Saffi continues, gesturing to the building on the screen. “Intel says a couple ‘kuza bosses hang out here most afternoons. We’re gonna go pay them a visit, remind them not to fuck with the Syndicate.”


    “And then,” says Asher, contempt for the three of us practically dripping from his tongue, “Mother’s conventional forces will seize the local branch of the Maeda-rengo’s private resurrection facility, which will force them to either enter the public queue, where they could spend months, or ask their superiors to use their resurrection facilities, which would result in a significant loss of face. In either case, a victory for us.”


    A three-pronged attack. Strategically sound, though maybe an overzealous response to what seems like a fairly minor offense by the yakuza. But then again, if Mother let it fly, she’d be the one losing face, and there are doubtless plenty of ambitious opportunists within the Syndicate who could use that to try and usurp her.


    “Exactly. So draw arms. We’ve got about an hour ‘fore we leave.”


    Nobody’s yet bothered asking if I’m willing to help- I guess they’re assuming it implicitly. And Mother’s continued assistance with our heist plan is probably conditional on Niko and I pitching in with this job. That’s fine by me, though. It doesn’t significantly interfere with my plans, and doing a good job with this will probably buy us some favor from her.


    “Got it. Is Tommy up yet?”


    “Should be,” Saffi replies. “But he’s not coming with us, he—”


    “I know. I need to talk to him about…” I glance at Asher. “The other thing.”


    Understanding my meaning, Saffi nods.


    “Okay. He should still be in his room. Just don’t take too long, you gotta get prepped before we leave.”


    Brushing her admonishment aside with one hand, I get up from the table, downing the last of my synth-juice, and head upstairs to go knock on Tommy’s door. It takes a couple tries before he responds, and when he opens the door, I see why- he’s wearing clunky, retro-tech headphones, to match the analog keyboard he uses. Most of the tech he’s got in his cluttered room seems terribly archaic to me, but I guess it must work for him.


    “Wassup? Is something happening?”


    “Yeah, me and the others are going out, but I need you to do something to help out with the heist.”


    Immediately, the kid perks up, and gestures for me to enter the room. He sweeps some dirty clothes off of his bed, and motions for me to sit down, before dropping into his desk chair and spinning it around to face me.


    “Sure, whaddaya need?”


    “See if you can get your hands on this stuff,” I instruct him, blinking twice to transfer the list. “I budgeted it out already, but if you’ve gotta go a bit over to make sure we get it in time, that’s fine.”


    Tommy nods along, eyes closed as he peruses the list in his head. After a minute, he gives an impressed whistle.


    “Wow, you’re going all-out, huh? Lucky for you, I know where to get all the goods. Is this it?”


    “One more thing. I need you to find me a specialist. Or better yet, find a couple, give me options. I’ll send you the details of what exactly I need in a few minutes. Nobody too expensive, but nobody too cheap, either. Preferably people you already know are reliable, or who have some existing relationship with the Syndicate, but… I’ll take what I can get.”


    “Okay, I can do that. We’ve worked with plenty of mercs before, so it shouldn’t be too hard. Though some of them might be a little weirded out to be working for you.”


    “I’ll worry about that,” I tell him with a vulpine grin. “You just worry about getting me what I need.”


    <hr style="font-weight: 400">


    Not long after we’re all armed up and ready, a hovercar arrives outside to transport us to our destination. It’s an imposing vehicle, sleek, black, and armored, with windows so tinted they may as well be completely opaque.


    The four of us pile in, though thankfully the back of the hovercar is spacious enough that nobody has to sit on anybody’s lap. Ordinarily I’d have no problem doing so, so long as it was Niko’s lap, but with Asher joining us, I’d feel less comfortable.


    His presence brings the mood down rather significantly. Whenever I try to make conversation, his swift, harsh responses shut it down almost immediately. Consequently, we spend most of the ride in silence, going over the intelligence available to us on the Imperial Serpent Bathhouse, where our targets will be relaxing by the time we arrive.


    Unfortunately, we don’t have much information about what we’ll be up against inside of the bathhouse, but it’s a public facility at the end of the day, so we probably won’t have to worry about turrets or force-walls, just ordinary bodyguards and security staff.


    Our driver is a triad indent, someone who got in so deep with them that he’s effectively the organization’s property. The tattoo of their symbol, the eye staring out from the center of a crimson sun, on the back of his neck, is proof. He doesn’t say a single word to us the whole time, just keeps his eyes locked on the road, hands firmly gripping the wheel. The car drives itself, of course, but he’s clearly glad for any excuse not to interact with us at all.


    “So, what exactly is the plan when we get there?” I ask, glancing between my three companions. All of us are wearing body armor, but nothing of the quality provided at the Citadel. It’s lighter, at least, but probably won’t protect against anything more than small-caliber rounds. Which, hopefully, is all we’ll have to worry about from the yakuza boss’s bodyguards. Nobody’s gonna want to hang around a bathhouse when there are people toting around assault rifles.


    “We go in through the front,” Asher replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.


    “Yeah? What happens if our guys slip out through the back door while everybody is panicking?”


    He rolls his eyes and heaves a condescending sigh.


    “They will not flee- to do so would be inviting accusations of cowardice from their rivals. Besides, they have no reason to fear death, given their access to a private resurrection queue.”


    “Which they don’t know we’ll be cutting off. Right. But if we get clipped, we’re stuck in the regular queue like everybody else?”


    “If you’re that concerned, feel free to wait in the car,” Asher sneers.


    “Oh, I wasn’t worried for my own sake, just thinking about what a shame it would be if nobody had to put up with you for a few months.”


    With a contemptuous sniff, Asher turns away, shifting the position of his sheathed sword slightly as he does so. Like anybody who favors a melee weapon, he’s probably got wired reflexes, and maybe some hypermobility implants, to make closing the distance between you and a gunman before they can pull the trigger that much easier. And, of course, he’s got a gun of his own, dangling from a strap around his chest. Looks to be a compact SMG, high rate of fire and sizable ammunition capacity, but poor accuracy and range. Makes sense for someone expecting to fight at close range.


    Saffi’s got two pistols in her underarm holsters, and Niko is carrying a combat shotgun, of the kind I’ve seen him use to put holes in targets at the firing range hundreds of times before. I’m carrying a ‘Trident’ hand cannon, with its signature three-barrel design that lets me fire three times as many rounds a minute. Each of its cylinders only holds nine rounds, and I’ve only got five extras on me, so I’ll need to be conservative with my shooting.


    After more than an hour in the car, we arrive at the bathhouse, in a part of town that seems to pass for upscale around here. It’s not on the ground level- we shifted to a skylane about halfway through the drive -but it’s not up in the clouds with the megabuildings either. The buildings in Limbo City are so densely packed that, in some areas, platforms, walkways, and bridges have been set up on the rooftops to create a middle layer between the squalid surface level and the more comfortable megabuildings.


    At first, these rooftop communities must have begun as shoddy, ramshackle patchworks, but they’ve been greatly expanded since then, with grimy glass walkways spanning the divides, holographic advertisements dominating the empty spaces, and entire buildings constructed on the rooftops of other, larger buildings beneath them. For the most part, the buildings beneath are the claustrophobic ‘block’ housing complexes, where hundreds or even thousands of people live in coffin-like ‘apartments.’ And right above them are places like the Imperial Serpent, a luxury bathhouse where landlords, gang bosses, and the rest of what passes for the elite among the lowest rungs of society.


    One thing these rooftop neighborhoods seem to lack is guardrails. Looking down at the surface far beneath us, I begin to feel somewhat nauseous- until very recently, I’d more or less lived my entire life on a flat plane, so I still don’t do super great with heights. Niko seems to notice my discomfort, and leads me away from the edge before Asher picks up on it.


    “How much of the city is like this?” I ask quietly, gesturing to the area around us. If I hadn’t just been looking off the edge, I’d probably have a hard time telling if it was even built on the rooftops. That’s not to say it’s exactly like the ground level, though. For one thing, there’s a lot more open space, even some public areas, like a little park with holographic trees that flicker on and off intermittently.


    “Decent amount,” he replies, as we head back to where Asher and Saffi are waiting by the car, having finished their call with Mother to confirm that we’re on-site. “Only parts that were built by one corp or real estate group, though, because otherwise the buildings’ heights are all inconsistent and it doesn’t work.”


    “Makes sense,” I mumble back, trying to get my stomach to stop doing somersaults.


    “Everybody good to go?” Saffi asks, tightening the straps on the ballistic vest she’s wearing under her clothes.


    “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”


    Snorting derisively at me, Asher locks his sword’s sheath into position at his hip, and nods.


    I’d probably get us in trouble if I fragged him, right? I ask Niko silently.


    Saffi and I wouldn’t rat on you, he assures me, chuckling. But... I don’t know, maybe give him a chance. I was pretty tightly wound when I first joined up too. Wherever he was before Mother found him, it can’t have been good.


    Rolling my eyes at him, I turn to follow Saffi and Asher towards the bathhouse, the red metal shrine gate outside the entrance visible even from a distance. It seems to be the largest, nicest building around here, the rest mostly little concrete outgrowths designed for function over form.


    As we stride towards the gate, people start to take notice, and wisely hasten to vacate the area, realizing that nobody walks around visibly armed and armored like we are unless they’re expecting a fight. Grinning, I tap out a rhythm on the side of my holster, an old gunslinger tune. We’re not exactly a posse getting ready to kick open the door to a saloon, but it’s close enough to make me happy. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    My heart breaks a little as the bathhouse’s doors slide open automatically at our approach, but that’s forgotten almost immediately after, as Niko blasts off the receptionist’s head without so much as a word of warning. Her blood and brains splatter against the wall behind her, fragments of her skull embedding themselves in the print hanging above the desk, which depicts a majestic serpent with an ethereal crown floating above its head.


    Harsh, maybe, but we didn’t need her sounding the alarm for security. The gunshot will still have alerted them, but it’ll also have sent most of the patrons running, which will slow the security team down.


    The handful of people in the lobby, including the woman who was talking to the receptionist just a second ago, don’t run- they freeze for a second, then start screaming, but they don’t run. Instead, they cower in place or run for cover. It does occur to me that if we shoot any of these people, they’ll be stuck in the public resurrection queue, potentially for months, which could have catastrophic consequences for their lives. To prevent that, I pull out the Trident and fire a round into the ceiling, then raise my voice to address the room, once the screaming has ceased.


    “Get the fuck out of here, now.”


    Before the words have even left my mouth, they’re going, and the rest of the crew moves further into the room to let them exit. Asher ignores them completely, heading towards the door, but Saffi gives me a nod before following him.


    Heading through a set of those Japanese paper doors, we enter a small lounge, where a couple people seem to be hiding behind the couches, though most have already headed for the exits. Behind the bar, however, is a man holding a shotgun, leveled directly at us. There’s no thought process, instinct just takes over, and I plug him twice in rapid succession, the first shot striking him in the chest, which makes him reel backwards just as he’s firing off his own shot- meaning he ends up discharging the gun into the wall far to the right of us. My next shot goes right through his neck, a burst of blood erupting from the wound, before he collapses sideways and hits the ground.


    Behind him, my bullet hit a bottle of liquor, which is now pouring down onto his corpse. While the others fan out from behind me, I approach the bar and grab a half-empty glass sitting there, abandoned by whoever ordered it as they fled. Picking the glass up with my free hand, I raise a mock toast to the corpse, then take a drink. Whiskey, neat.


    “Stop fucking around,” Asher snaps, pointing the tip of his sword straight at me. “We’re on a job.”


    “Maybe you are, but I’m just volunteering here,” I reply, and chuck the glass at him. He carves it in half with a single stroke, and doesn’t flinch as the two halves fly past him, centimeters away from his face. It pains me to admit how cool it makes him look.


    Shaking his head, the swordsman turns around and heads for the next door- not into the baths themselves, but to the men’s locker room. Niko follows him, and I shrug before following Saffi to the women’s.


    On our way through the locker room, we pass a shivering, naked woman, who cringes as we pass by, trying to keep covered up with a towel, her viridian hair dripping with moisture. Not looking to make her any more uncomfortable, I don’t pay her any mind as we pass by.


    Apparently, I’m not quite so well-trained that I won’t get a little distracted by a glimpse of an attractive woman’s naked body, though, because the guard hiding behind a row of lockers takes me completely by surprise. Getting hit in the head with a baton isn’t fun, but I’m getting off easy- if she’d been packing heat, I’d have a hole in my head, and Sofie would be having to figure out how to hide the fact that I’m not physically present at the Citadel for the next six months, instead of the next couple days.


    The hand cannon goes flying from my grasp, and I stumble into the lockers on the opposite wall with a clang of metal on metal, head spinning. My vision flickers in and out, and as I struggle to stay conscious, four gunshots ring out, one after the other. The sound seems impossibly loud, echoing around the locker room, but I try to focus on it, letting the ringing in my ears be the point on which I fixate to maintain awareness.


    A few moments later, I feel Saffi grab my arm and pull me to my feet, her words indistinct to me. Biting down on the inside of my mouth, I force my eyes fully open, head still aching violently. It’s a good thing I’ve got combat-grade bone density augmentations, or I’d probably be looking at permanent damage, which is the last thing I need when I’ve got a heist to run in a few days.


    “--aid, are you okay?” Saffi demands, not an ounce of sympathy in her voice. She’s right not to be worrying about my feelings, though. There’s no place for that here.


    “‘mgood,” I reply, probably not very convincingly. But I push myself upright, take my gun when she offers it, and head out of the locker room. The guy who brained me was bathhouse security, not part of the yakuza bosses’ bodyguard crew. Hopefully I’ll fare a little better against them, even with my skull throbbing like there’s an angry bull trapped inside, trying to ram its way out.


    Red lantern-lights hanging from the ceiling provide the primary illumination for the main bathhouse area. There are two rows of heated pools, steam rising from their surfaces, with frosted glass between each, and a single lane down the middle. Almost nobody seems to be left in here, not the security team, and certainly not any of the bathers. One security guard is present, but he’s in the pool on the other side of the room, lying at the bottom of the pool, which is swiftly filling with his blood. Asher and Niko must have dealt with him on their way in, ahead of us, since Saffi and I were slowed down by my little fuck-up in the locker room.


    Most of the room is obscured by steam, but as we slowly move forward, both ready to hit the deck the second we hear gunfire, I see Niko, standing in the center lane, facing down an indistinct figure flanked by two armed guards.


    “I knew when I struck at Guanying that she’d send her children to punish me,” the figure says, in a weary voice with a distinct Japanese accent. “But I wasn’t expecting to see you here, little Stormwolf.”


    Just our luck- we’ve been recognized. At least it’s by somebody who no one will believe if he tries to report us to the authorities, though. Not even if he coughs up the memory- those can be staged or otherwise fabricated far too easily, especially with the yakuza’s resources.


    “The storm can appear without warning,” Niko replies, “and the wolf never abandons his pack.”


    His interlocutor throws his head back and laughs. Coming a little closer, but keeping behind the nearest pane of frosted glass so they don’t see us, I get a better look at him. He’s an older Japanese man, thin, with plenty of tattoos all over his skin, which I’m seeing much more of than I’d prefer.


    “That’s good, little Stormwolf. That’s very good. Such a shame you ended up with her, and not me.”


    For a moment, the yakuza boss sounds almost wistful. Then his voice turns cold, and he gestures to his bodyguards.


    “Kill him.”


    Without hesitating, both of them raise their pistols. Before either can fire, there’s a splash, and a blur of motion, black and silver. A moment later, the guns both hit the ground, along with the hands that were holding them.


    It takes a few seconds for me to process what just happened. Asher, who must have take a side route past the baths, had been hiding in the bath nearest to the boss and his bodyguards, and leapt out, quite literally disarmed them with his sword, and gotten out of the way, just in time for Niko to raise his shotgun and put a fieldball-sized hole in the tattooed man’s chest.


    The force of the blast knocks the frail man off his feet, and he hits the wet floor with a squelch, blood oozing out of his wound.


    Got to admit, that was pretty slick, I say to the group brainband channel. Immediately, Asher makes me regret the compliment.


    And you were of no help at all, shockingly.


    Shut it, Niko tells him tersely. We’re not done here. There’s still two lieutenants in here, and they’ve got security of their own.


    Now determined to show Asher up, I tighten my grip on the Trident and proceed further into the room, not down the main lane with Niko, but along the right-hand side path, next to the towel racks and little cubbies to store your sandals and other belongings. Based on the room’s layout, we’re less likely to be seen this way.


    Moving slowly, I try to keep my footfalls as light as possible, to minimize the sound my boots make against the tiled floors. The visibility in here is for shit, though- which is why neither Saffi nor I notice the guy on the other side of the nearest wall of frosted glass until it’s too late.


    I throw myself to the side as the first bullet pierces the glass, but even with implants and wired reflexes like Asher, I couldn’t outrun gunfire. If it was automatic, we’d be dead, but that’s little consolation. Saffi cries out in pain, and a moment later I feel myself get hit. The ballistic vest absorbs most of the impact, but it’s still enough to throw me back through the glass wall behind me, and into an empty bath.


    Submerged in the steaming-hot water without warning, I hiss in pain, but don’t let it distract me. Saffi wouldn’t still be screaming if she was dead, so it’s up to me to stop the guy who shot us, before he can finish the job. And I’ve only got a couple seconds before he notices the bath I fell into isn’t rapidly filling with blood, and figures out why. No time to even get up out of the water.


    I open my eyes, ignoring the stinging pain, and get as good a fix as I can on the indistinct shape of the yakuza bodyguard. Sticking my gun up out of the water would be a dead giveaway, so instead I just angle the barrel in his direction and fire, letting the water muffle the sound of the discharge. Thanks to the recoil stabilizers, the Trident barely so much as twitches as I let off three rounds in rapid succession.


    The figure stumbles back as each shot connects, and I see a crimson stain spread across his black silhouette. It’s not until he collapses, however, that I finally surface, gasping for air.


    Saffi, you okay? I call out across the brainband, still coughing up water as I wade out of the bath, running my free hand through my sopping wet hair.


    Yeah, he just- nngh -grazed my shoulder. Still good to go.


    You sure? It’s okay if you wanna hang back, we can probably take things from—


    No. No, I’m— I gotta see this through. Come on.


    Slapping a medipatch on her shoulder to staunch the bleeding, she presses on, and I follow.


    Despite the hot steam in the air, I still shiver slightly, as one might be expected to do after they’ve just been dunked in a hot bath and then jumped right back out. Hopefully I’ll have a chance to towel off, maybe even blow-dry my clothes or something, before we leave. Luckily, a police response is about the last thing we have to worry about. If they send anybody at all, it’ll be hours from now, but upon hearing it was gang-related, they probably won’t even bother.


    This room isn’t terribly huge- we’ve only got a few baths on our side to check now. A few steps into the next bathing area, I hear gunshots and tense up, prepared to dive for cover, before I realize that it came from the other side of the room, meaning it’s either Niko and Asher doing the shooting, or being shot. No use asking them which it is- it’ll just distract them. Instead, I keep walking, now even more alert.


    Finally, we enter the last bath on this side of the room. There’s one bather still inside, and he’s flanked by a pair of bodyguards standing outside of the bath, above him. Both of them have their guns trained on us the moment we enter, but Saffi moves faster, training each of her pistols on them and firing before they even realize they’re supposed to be doing the same thing. One shot hits its mark, drilling a hole right through the left-hand guard’s forehead, but the other, fired from the arm that was grazed by a bullet earlier, misses by a millimeter.


    The remaining guard flinches for a critical second, before training his gun on Saffi, but his hesitation gave me all the time I needed. Unceremoniously shoving my partner to the side, so the bullet aimed for her goes through the space between us instead, I fire off three rounds from the hip, leaving a triangular trio of gunshot wounds in his gut.


    Not quite dead yet, he struggles to turn the gun on me, but his strength is rapidly failing, and it slips from his hands before he can pull the trigger. When he hits the ground, I turn my attention to the man in the bath. He’s laughing uproariously, each guffaw sending another ripple through the rolls of fat that comprise his corpulent form.


    He’s easily the fattest person I’ve ever seen, big enough to make me wonder if he chooses to look like that, because the idea of somebody actually eating themselves into that state is just too disgusting to contemplate. He’s got his hair done up in a bun, and curiously, not a hint of the tattoos that we saw on the older boss’s body earlier. I guess they’d look all weird and stretched out on him, though.


    “Ryouta Serizawa,” Saffi hisses vehemently, righting herself without even a glance in my direction, much less a thank-you for saving her from getting killed again.


    “Ooh, you know my name,” the rotund yakuza lieutenant says, feigning fear. “Is that supposed to be intimidating?”


    “Incredible,” Saffi mutters. “You don’t even remember, do you?”


    “Remember?” He cackles, splashing water everywhere as he flails his flabby arms with amusement. “Please. I destroy lives like yours on an industrial scale, girl You wouldn’t expect a farmer to remember the name of every piece of livestock he sends to the slaughterhouse, would you?”


    Well, that explains why she was so adamant about seeing this through, and why she’s been wound so tight about this whole mission. She’s got a personal stake in seeing this guy dead. The exact reason why, I don’t know, and I’d rather not guess. I’m sure the answer is suitably upsetting.


    “Go ahead,” he chortles, as Saffi snarls and levels her guns at him. “Shoot me. I’ll be right back here, this time tomorrow, laughing while I watch my boys take you apart.”


    “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” I retort, pointing my own gun at him. Both he and Saffi ignore me completely.


    “Mindkiller’s not the only way to destroy a person’s mind, you know,” he continues. “It’s just the quickest. And I prefer to take things slow.”


    “What a coincidence,” Saffi hisses, venom seething from every syllable. “So do I. You’re in luck, though. My orders today are to kill you quick. So consider this a preview, before the main event.”


    As Serizawa opens his mouth to laugh, she empties both magazines into him, riddling his massive, bloated body with bullets. Blood gushes from each wound, and the bath is soon stained completely crimson, his body swiftly slipping beneath the surface.


    Breathing heavily, Saffi continues to pull the triggers on the empty weapons for a few seconds, then realizes what she’s doing and stops abruptly, looking back over her shoulder at me. I’m careful to keep any hint of judgment off of my face, and she seems to accept my neutrality, efficiently reloading both pistols and holstering them.


    Saffi here. We’re finished over her. What’s your status, boys?


    All good, Niko shoots back casually. Fuckers put up a bit of a fight, but we got them in the end.


    Indeed, as I look over to the other side of the room, I notice the glass partitions riddled with bullets, some almost entirely shattered. I must have tuned out most of the sound, being so focused on what was right in front of me.


    Good. Let’s get out of here.


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    According to Niko, back when he lived here in Limbo City, his favorite thing to do after killing somebody was to go dancing. So that’s exactly what we do.


    Asher declines to join us, although nobody quite extended him an invitation. He’d probably be out of his element in a nightclub- the only thing more rigid than his blade is the stick up his ass. So I’m glad to ditch him, and hit the dancefloor with Saffi and Niko.


    Obviously, we swing back by the Den first, to change out of our blood-soaked clothes and shower, reporting back to Mother that our job is done while we’re on the way. From what Saffi says she was told, it sounds like the other hits went off without a hitch as well. Retaliation for last night’s affront, secured. And unless they’re willing to lose face by begging their superiors for help, the boss and his lieutenants who we killed won’t be back on the streets for months. As far as triad dirty work goes, this is something I can feel reasonably good about.


    For most of the trip back, Saffi is quiet, brooding. But when we get to the club- Ascendance, a Triad business located not far from the Den -she drops her moody attitude quickly. At first I wonder if she’s putting up a front, trying not to bring down the vibe, but it seems like she’s genuinely cheered up just by being here. Or maybe it’s who she’s here with.


    Since Niko left, it seems like she’s been dealing with Asher and Tommy alone, two tasks I certainly don’t envy. Now that he’s back, at least for the moment, some of the weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She can relax and unwind the way the two of them used to- which apparently involves dancing and drinking. A lot of drinking. I stop worrying about the exact amount somewhere around my third shot.


    Before we enter Ascendance, I download a quick club dancing skillsoft from the brainband, to make sure I don’t embarrass myself on the dancefloor. That quickly turns out not to be a problem, though. The people here aren’t dancing with any sort of skill or grace, so much as they’re gyrating and grinding against one another, making vague attempts to match the tempo of the beat.


    At first, I have to admit I’m hesitant about joining in, but the liquor helps with that. Before long, the three of us are all out on the dancefloor, and in the darkness, broken only by brief flashes of swirling strobe lights, it’s next to impossible to tell who you’re touching, or where. There seems to be an unspoken agreement amongst everybody here, though- what happens on the dancefloor, stays on the dancefloor.


    A lot of the people here are very clearly n something a lot stronger than alcohol. They’re moving more aggressively, and when I do catch a glimpse of their faces, I see an electric mania in their eyes. Intoxicated by the energy of the club as I am, though, it doesn’t make me nearly as uncomfortable as it otherwise might. Instead, I let it infect me, to the point where I’m moving with almost as much intensity as they are.


    In the center of the dancefloor is a circular bar- the eye of the storm, as it were. Occasionally, the people sitting around it are bumped and jostled by a dancer who strays too close, sometimes even spilling their drinks, but I suppose that’s the risk you assume when taking a seat there. And in the middle of the bar area is a pillar, which starts off narrow, but widens towards the top. Atop that platform is the DJ, tiny and indistinct from our position, but made massive by the hologram that mirrors his movements, projected above the platform. He manipulates the music from a series of holo-screens that he plays like an instrument, building the beat to a crescendo and then denying us the climax, over and over, with each time seeming to increase the energy in the room, almost paradoxically.


    Finally, the moment comes- the beat drops, and everyon loses it. Including me. Everything becomes a bit of a blur- I shake my hips, I wave my tail, and I end up pressed against somebody. I can’t tell who, whether it’s Niko or Saffi, but all of a sudden our lips are locked in a fiery-hot kiss. Even this close, I can’t tell who it is I’m making out with, and not a moment later we’re separated, some other dancer forcing his way in between us.


    My mind is in a haze, and before I can think much about what just happened there, somebody bumps into me, serving as a timely reminder that I’m now standing still in the middle of the dancefloor.


    Putting the moment of passion out of my mind, I continue dancing, but swiftly find that I’m beginning to tire. Through some nnverbal brainband communication- the only way to communicate at all, with the music this loud -Niko, Saffi and I agree to take a break.


    The three of us all make our way off the dancefloor, and pile into a nearby booth, each breathing heavily. None of us can quite look at either of the others in the eye. Finally, Saffi speaks.


    “I’m, uh, I’m gonna go get us some more drinks.”


    Maybe that’s unwise, given our current collective state of intoxication, but I can’t bring myself to complain. As she stands and leaves the booth, to fight her way back through the crowd to the bar, Niko looks up at me.


    “You have something on your face,” he says, gesturing to a spot on my chin.


    Raising a finger to my face, I wipe the offending blemish off, and stare down at a smear of pink lipstick.


    “…huh.”


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    Hey, Sofie. You mind if me and Niko hook up with a friend of his?


    Is she hot?


    Oh yeah. Smoking.


    Then go for it. Just send me the mem after. A girl’s bound to get lonely with nothing but holograms for company.