Not Love, Death and Robots.

Not Love, Death and Robots.

- Marcus Berkut, we have an emergency call. The client needs an evacuation. The situation is unknown, and after transmitting the evacuation request, communication with the client has been cut off. We only have coordinates from the point of contact.

- Copy that. We're on our way. We'll be there in approximately two minutes and thirty seconds.

- Copy that. Good luck.

After I finish talking to dispatch, I turn to my team.

- So, we're back on a mission to rescue a client with no idea what's out there. We're running out of time. Kowalski, you're in charge of finding information that can help us. You got a couple minutes. Check the client and then the location where the evacuation request came from. Rico and Private, set the robot up with a universal missile kit. Medics, prepare a stretcher and a resuscitation kit, - I hand out orders to everyone, and myself start to look at the map and realize what awaits us.

Okay, we're going to the upscale neighborhood of Knight City. And that's only half the problem, we're flying to one of the private homes, which, judging by the size, is worth a lot of money. People who can afford this kind of real estate value their lives so they don't skimp on security. Anything can be waiting for us there, from overpowered guards in suits to a fully autonomous security system with turrets that can match the firepower of the Maginot Line.

- Kowalski, we'll be there shortly. Any luck finding out anything?

-Uh, Skipper, I think we're on our way to rescue the bride.

- What?!

- Checked the last point of contact. There was someone streaming a news report almost a dozen meters away. Just in case I checked, and there's our client in her wedding dress, and the streamer says the ceremony's gonna start in a few minutes. Here, check it out for yourself. - Kowalski sent me the link.

- Send the link to the medics. Have them take a look and find out what our client's condition is. - I'm following the link.

- Skipper. There's something wrong with the bride, - Johnson says, and his brother nods, supporting his words.

- You think she's high? Even to my amateur eye, it's obvious she's not quite in control of herself or realizing where she is. - I frown, looking at the newlyweds.

- Nah. I know the bride and groom are under a lot of stress during the ceremony and it's normal to take a couple of sedatives. But this bride is acting like she's taken enough sedatives to kill an elephant. And she's moving like a remote-controlled toy.

- Thank you. I was beginning to hope for a false alarm from a stressed-out bride. Well, let's hope there's no shooting or fighting.

- Heh, Skipper, are you really hoping for that? What's a wedding without a good fight?!

- Oh, fuck you, you fucking comedians. All right, everybody get ready. We're almost there.

Our bird landed on the lawn a dozen meters from the arch where the bride and groom and some priest were standing. We quickly left the aerodrome and, adopting an offensive formation, moved toward the client. The amazing thing was that none of the guests even panicked or tried to leave the ceremony. On the contrary, they started talking loudly about something and taking pictures.

When we reached the bride, we formed a protective barrier around her, cutting off the groom who started to freak out and the priest who was dumbfounded by our sudden appearance. The medics began to diagnose the client's condition, and I, along with the others, held the defense.

- Who the fuck are you?! Get the fuck out of here! Security! - shouted the groom, and then from all sides came the guards, some hiding among the guests, being dressed in costumes, and the rest, apparently, just waiting inside the mansion, so that their combat equipment did not ruin the wedding atmosphere.

- Get that bitch back here! Now or my guards will shoot you like fish in a barrel! These are ex-Delta fighters! - the groom threatened us and pointed his finger at us.

But after he mentioned Delta, the Private laughed loudly, and then the others, including me, joined in. Why? Because he threatened us with Delta. That unit is considered among other special operations forces to be an overrated and over-publicized bunch of show-offs. As they used to joke at Fort Grimm, if you want to fail a mission but do it in style, call Delta. Well, they were also called the "mission will fail successfully" squad. So to threaten us, former members of a unit that is openly and deservedly ridiculed in the N.S.A. Armed Forces, is like telling a good joke.

- Shut your mouth or you and your toy soldiers will learn about Hancock's merry-go-round, - I calmly answer my fiancé, while tracking the movements of his guards.

- What the fuck is a Hancock carousel? Don't you just... - begins to shout, but my calm but threatening voice makes him shut up.

- I'm gonna shove your head up the ass of the head of the scum. And his head to the next in their internal hierarchy of degenerates. And so on until someone else's head is up your ass, thus closing the circle. You'll be running around like a merry-go-round and making people laugh. So shut up and get out of here before I make it real.

- Do you have the strength to do that? - Apparently the head of the guards has stepped forward.

- Easy. It won't even take much effort. At Fort Grimm, not a single Delta fighter could become an instructor, which speaks volumes about your strength. Not even instructors. Only one out of 100 Delta Force fighters could ever complete the minimum training. So, just in case, grease your ass with Vaseline and put a condom on your head, you'll thank me later, - I mock him, but at the same time I continue to monitor their behavior.

But our exchange of pleasantries is abruptly interrupted when a loud shout comes from behind.

- Manfredi, Johnson, report! - I contact the medics on the intercom, keeping the guard, who had hidden the groom behind his back and had me in his sights.

- Client was remotely monitored. Did a body cleanse and removed the chip. She's coming around.

- Trauma Team, get me out now! That asshole held me down and tried to marry me against my will! That's it, bitch, as soon as my father finds out what you did, you're finished! - screamed the client loudly.

- Guards, kill them all! - shouted loudly failed fiancé and rushed towards the house.

Immediately I activate the chrome and start shooting at the guards closest to me. Three bursts and two bullets in each. That's enough to take them out. But their chief turned out to be a cunning bastard and used one of his subordinates as a human shield.

The rest of the squad, except for the medics, open fire as well. But suddenly, auto-turrets rise up from the ground and start attacking us. Mort fires a mini-missile at one of the distant turrets, and breaks the nearest one by ramming it. Good job, but right now we should be getting the client out, not shooting enemies.

- Kowalski! Hack or jam the enemy turrets. But before you do that, change Mort's behavior from aggressive to defensive. Rico, suppress the enemy shooters in the house. Private, help the medics evacuate the client. - That's when a bullet hits my helmet.

- Skipper! -Mort yells loudly and rushes towards me, throwing me to the ground and trying to cover me with his body.

- Yeah, get off me, Mort. I'm in one piece. Better get a couple shots off that rocket launcher at that asshole who tried to shoot me. - Tapping the robot's body, forcing it to step aside and let me get to my feet.

- Yes! - Mort turns around to face the building and fires several mini-missiles into the window where the shooter was seen. After he finished firing, he started pushing me with his body toward the airfield.

- Kowalski! Did you download the nanny-bodyguard program into his brain?

- I don't think so. Although he did ask me to show him Madagascar. Maybe he copied Mort's behavior.

- Shit, I feel like I'm leading a bunch of clowns instead of dangerous fighters. Kowalski, you're gonna die in physical training with Mort a few times. I'll make your ass bleed and Mort's shoot sparks.

- Skipper! We're done loading. We're just waiting for you.

- Tactical retreat. Here we go.

Retreating under enemy fire is not a pleasant experience, but thanks to Mort and his armor, along with a good amount of firepower, we were able to get to the aerodrine safely enough. Bullets ricocheted off or just fell to the ground without doing any damage, and he suppressed all enemies with his machine gun.

Once everyone was inside the aerodyne, the pilots began a sharp climb in altitude. The overload from such a quick takeoff didn't stop me from doing a quick debriefing of the crew. Everyone was unscathed. The client we saved from marriage and a douchey fiancé was unharmed, but she should see a doctor.

- DADDY! KILL HIM! - the client was screaming loudly, apparently talking to her father.

The whole flight to our hospital, all she talked about was what Daddy should do to her failed fiancé. The girl had a very rich imagination, or she was very angry, because the list of things that awaited the kidnapper when he was caught was very long. So much for the joke: today's wedding, tomorrow's funeral. Not my problem, though. The client's safe. We're safe. Job done.

A few days later, I received a strange message in my inbox saying that the dad of the bride we rescued liked the description of Hancock's Carousel. Attached to the message was a video in which my words were made real with the participation of the loser groom and his security guards.

What can I say? It's Night City.