Fans and Moirai. Part 2

- US Cracks! US Cracks! Us Cracks! - the crowd chanted loudly as the three-girl band did nothing but sing along and pose and make cute faces.

- That reminds me of something," I whispered. - Oh, right, k-pop. Their idols used to make me vomit when I was young, when there were commercials and dorama clippings with their plastic surgeon-designed faces.

- What are you grumbling about, Skipper? Don't like music and girls? Well, it's a sign you're becoming a perpetually disgruntled old man. You're getting old," grinned Private.

- You won't, Private. I'm always young at heart. I'm just sick of this false and luscious cavalierness. And pimply teenagers and big-aged kids with messy hair who don't know there's such a thing as deodorant don't improve my mood," I nodded at the crowd of underage and not-so-young fans who were shouting at one of the singers, who was showing a heart with her hands and chirping in Japanese.

- Uh, guys... I see some guy brought a doll that looks like one of our customers and started fucking her," Manfredi said over the comms.

- Apparently, even braindance doesn't work for some people. Just mark him as a possible target, just in case. Who knows what's in that psycho's head. If he gets violent, he'll take a bullet in the knee.

That's how some time went by. The concert ended and the fan meeting began.

- Can you sign a t-shirt?!

- Let's take selfies!

- Blue Moon, I love you!

The girls acted like typical Aydols: giggling, sending air kisses, and replying something in Japanese. Although it felt like at times they were sickened by who they had to socialize with. It wasn't the easiest or the most pleasant job, but it was much harder for the guards to filter the fans, to throw out the crazies and perverts. At least it wasn't our job. We just stood behind, promoting both our company and US Cracks. PR, nothing more, nothing less. Well, that's what it seemed like until the thrashing started.

Some odd bunch of fans formed a knightly wedge and began to push their way through the crowd. The guards got nervous and wanted to stop them, but the crazies had weapons, which they somehow dragged through the scanners. A couple of moments and the bodies of the guards lay on the floor, riddled with bullets. The crowd began to realize that a massacre was about to break out. Panic set in. Some fans wanted to protect the Aydols, but they had no weapons, so despite their zeal, they shared the guards' fate and were killed by enemy bullets. But even that little hiccup was enough for us to start evacuating the singers.

- Where are you taking them?! We have a security protocol..." one of the older guards started to say, but I just pushed him aside until I could see the back of a Private walking behind us with a shield in his hand, covering our rear.

- I don't care what your protocols are. TT has its own protocol that clearly states that we are to get our clients as far away from danger as possible. If you get in the way, we'll follow your dead bodies. You better go and help the others apprehend the killers. Well? - I pointed my rifle at him, and he gulped, stepped back and talked to someone on the radio.

- Kowalski, what's up?

- The guards are holding, but they'll buy us a couple minutes at the most. This guy's talking to his superiors and trying to put all the blame on us. We're in his way," Kowalski reported and went back to monitoring the perimeter and the network.

- Whatever. All right, let's get to the nearest site, call the bird, and get the hell outta here. We're being paid for them, not for the property and the company building," I ordered briefly. My display showed the path to the nearest evacuation point.

- Damn it, we'd have to walk across open ground until we reached the point. All right, Kowalski, Manfredi and Johnson. You each take one client. Me, Rico and Private will keep you safe. Let's go! We've only got a couple minutes to spare.

We quickly formed up and through automatic translation were able to convey to the singers the simple message that each of them should follow their Archangel.

We were ambushed on the way out by a few mercenaries who had hoped to use the light cover to shoot us, but the Private with the shield calmly took the fire, allowing Rico and I to kill the enemies. The only annoyance was a wave of attacks through some netrunner's net. Kowalski had to work a little harder to build up a defense against the gradually increasing attacks, but so far they'd all been mosquito bites. Annoying, a bit of a nuisance, but that's about it.

We were about three-quarters of the way through when a couple of minivans appeared on either side of us, driving at full speed. A bunch of mercenaries sprang out of them like popcorn. It got hot. And if I thought that the enemy reinforcements were the first sign of a shitty situation, the frantic attacks through the network only reinforced my thoughts that the situation was getting worse. The only way out is a quick breakout.

- Private! Reno Formation! Clients to the Center! Kowalski to the center! Speed! - I ordered and began to crush the enemy fire, buying time for the others to form a diamond shape.

- Ready!

- I'm in position!

- I'm on it!

- Locking on!

Four confirmations, and the Private revealed additional shield sections, standing at the head of the rhombus, trying to cover as large an area as possible. The cost of the extra protection was a reduced field of view, but right now all they needed to do was pick up speed and break through to the bird.

- Repeat! Speed! Speed! Speed! - The triple emphasis on the word "speed" means they must not stop, even if one of them or a client is injured. The key is to get away.

The private ran, moving faster and faster with every second. The others sped up, too, except for the singers, scared out of their wits by the noise of gunfire, who followed their Archangels like robots. It seems that as soon as we are in the bird, we will have to inject them with powerful doses of sedatives and tranquilizers. The initial shock will wear off and they'll get hysterical.

- Fuck, that's not what I should be thinking about! We need to clamp down and cut off the enemies," I muttered to myself and sent Rico permission to use his chrome in overdrive and wait for my sign.

The enemies noticed the targets starting to move away and tried to go to intercept. Great timing as some of them started to leave cover while others tried to pin us down with overwhelming fire. They might try, but it wouldn't work with two marksmen, especially when we started to spread our chrome. I signaled Rico to start, and we synchronized out of cover.

The flow of time slowed down. I hunted down a squad of interceptors and began firing at them, aiming for their legs and lower torso. The barrel of my rifle lit up with bright flashes, spitting out one bullet after another. The roar grew with each second until it sounded like thunder. Nearby, Rico's sniper rifle blasted bassily. Enemies were falling, and while my bullets left bleeding wounds, Rico's sniper rifle tore through enemy flesh. One bastard even had his leg torn off at the knee.

But you couldn't call it just shooting running game. Bullets came at us, too, but our body armor kept most of them out, and the rare lucky hits were blocked by subcutaneous armor. Though after one of them hit one of the plates of blast armor particularly hard, I had to stop cosplaying Three Hundred Spartans and go back to cover.

- Riko! How many?! - I reloaded the weapon, inserting armor-piercing incendiary rounds. Mercenaries don't have the best equipment, so I could have risked expansive rounds, but I dismissed the idea, because mercenaries have some protection, unlike street gangsters who wear T-shirts and cheap jackets.

- Six! Maybe eight. Two of them are still alive, but they're badly wounded. Roughly speaking, eight of them are out of action. You? - Rico waited for me to finish reloading, holding his submachine gun at the ready in case of another attack.

- Killed three and incapacitated another. Two of them are lightly wounded, but they can't run fast enough, so we just have to hold out until support arrives or the mercenaries run out of nerve. They sure as hell fucked up the targets, and they're not gonna catch a damn thing now. Oh, shit! Head! Netrunner! - I felt as if someone had pushed the migraine button in my head to full blast. Blood came out of my nose.

- ARGHHHHHH!!! BITCH!!! AHHHHHHH!!! - yelled Rico, fumbling in his unloader for a first aid kit with special syringes.

- Shit! Rico, put down all the stimulants! I'll hold my position," I tried to pin the enemies down with return fire, preventing them from taking advantage of the cyberattack.

The only thing that saved me was my new high-grade chrome, and instead of lying there shuddering in pain like Rico, I got a terrible migraine and high blood pressure.

- Damn, the bastard hit us when Kowalski wasn't around. Ah, you scumbags! Freeze! Shit! Strike! - Another group of mercenaries went for a break, and I was running out of ammo. I quickly took out grenades and started throwing them, ignoring the enemy bullets hitting me.

The grenades exploded without delay, as they were set to shock mode by voice command. I missed only one, and instead of hitting the asphalt, it went too high and exploded, hitting the wall. Even so, the grenades stopped the breach, and the shrapnel and explosions took out all the mercenaries.

- Skip... Shk... Skipper! I think I'm coming around. Switching the submachine gun to illumination fire mode. Turn on the smartlink and set markers," Rico wheezed. There were several auto-syringes lying on the ground nearby.

I shook my head, imagining what a setback he'd have after such a dose of stimulants, but in our situation there were no options. Quickly connecting to his smart-weapon through the general command network, I illuminated the particularly annoying freaks hiding behind a small concrete flowerbed.

After receiving the markers and confirmation of authorization to fire, Rico put out the barrel of his submachine gun and squeezed the trigger, and a bunch of little deaths flew out in search of targets. A couple of moments and a few shrieks with a lot of cursing hinted that at least a couple of enemies we had not weakly so hit, and the rest of us also felt bad.

But there was a rumble behind us, followed by several loud bursts from large-caliber machine guns. An aerodyne with a TT emblem hovered above us, and I exhaled. Their own, the cavalry had arrived.

The mercenaries tried to retreat, but the embedded heavy machine guns on their sidearms made a liquid bloody paste of them. The threat was completely eliminated, but the same could not be said for the unknown netrunner. The net attacks continued.

- Kowalski! How's the evacuation going? - I asked over the net, trying to ignore the terrible headache.

- We've taken off! We're out of range of the enemy netrunner. Clients are safe, no injuries. We're flying to the nearest safe hospital.

- That's good. But we're still being targeted by the netrunner. Can you track it? - Not wanting to give myself another headache, I pulled out a syringe of painkillers and antishock meds.

- Couple seconds, use the bird's extra power. Requesting our base... Got it! Approximate location found. Sending it to you. He's close to you. Kowalski sent me a map of where the enemy netrunner is hiding.

- Go ahead, keep searching, and if anything, try a cyberattack. We need to distract or suppress that freak," I turned to Rico, who was still shaking from the stimulants and the netrunner attack.

- Well, let's go, junkie. We'll pay your dealer a visit," I grinned at Rico, who was acting like a junkie looking for a dose.

- Fuck you, Skipper. It's like I'm in love with that pink hare from the Powerbanks and Borg Energy commercials," Rico checked his rifle, trying to steady his breathing.

- You pervert! I don't know why I'm surprised. You're the one who showed that clip of Kowalski's naked men. Okay, let's go and show that clip to another netrunner, only this time we'll put it on repeat and make him watch it nonstop for a couple of days," I continued to taunt Rico, moving toward the enemy netrunner.

The cyberattacks were increasing, and if it hadn't been for the support of Kowalski and the other guys in the main office, we'd have been crushed by jellyfish as we approached the netrunner's hideout, which turned out to be a large mobile home.

I kicked the door open, and Rico threw a couple of light and EMP grenades inside. A loud pop and a bunch of swearing signaled the start of the assault for me. I rushed inside, and before my eyes I saw some bald guy shaking his head and fiddling with a small chest, either trying to break it or open it.

- My Moira! My Moira! - wailed the bald man. - I'll get you anyway!

I cursed to myself. He must be cyber-psychotic, or just plain crazy. Dilemma: Should I take him alive or shoot him?

- Huh? Bastard! Bastard! Scum! - The bald man noticed me and broke a small chest, ignoring the bloody fingers clutching some strange cards. - Let the serpent devour itself and I'll live. Ah ha ha ha...

He tries to do something with the cards, but I shot him in the arm. A couple of bullets were enough to damage and completely neutralize his arm. The pain from the wound sent the netrunner into a state of shock. Not wanting to waste time and take unnecessary risks, I shortened the distance and knocked him out with the butt of my rifle. After making sure he was unconscious and not dangerous, I applied a tourniquet to his arm to keep him from bleeding out. He still had many questions to answer.

Finished with the prisoner, I turned my attention to the cards that had fallen out of the broken chest, which the netrunner considered his last chance for salvation. They looked like ordinary cards, but one small but familiar emblem made me curse. And when I read exactly what was written on them, I decided to take one for myself. There were about twelve of them. These cards were very valuable and expensive, or rather, what they give. Not wanting to leave any traces, I started looking for something that could help me set the fire. A small bottle of disinfectant gel caught my eye. Sprinkling it next to the netrunner's chair, I flicked on the lighter.

The gel flared reluctantly-apparently it was long past its expiration date. But even that was enough to disguise the theft of the cards as a breakdown in the chair. I spared a couple of armor-piercing incendiary bullets for credibility. I'll clean up the security footage at the base.

Dragging the prisoner on my back, I headed for the exit. Rico was standing next to me, keeping an eye on the situation.

- What took you so long? - He asked.

- There was something important we'll talk about at the base, so let's call a cab and get there.

I lifted the visor of my helmet and lit a cigarette.