The burly man hit the floor with a dull thud. Wading through the pooling liquid, the two of them stepped into the hazy violet glow, leaving behind a trail of indistinct footprints under the dim light.
Corridors stretched out on both sides, lined with shadowy cubicles. Most of the doors stood open—clearly, the fleeing staff hadn't bothered shutting them.
At the far end of the hall, footsteps approached—the Tyger Claws security, late to react.
Arthur gripped the Swallow in a reverse hold. Its black blade was sharp but gave no reflection, slicing the faint light into scattered fragments.
Timing it perfectly, Arthur tensed his shoulder and sent the Swallow flying in silence, like scissors cutting through the dark.
A figure rushed around the corner just then—only to be met with a spray of blood darker than the purple glow.
Before the guards could even process their comrade's sudden death, Arthur's right hand, fresh from throwing the Swallow, had already drawn the Prelude from his waist.
He shifted slightly, raising his arm, the revolver's black muzzle aimed squarely down the corridor.
Wrinkles tightened at the corner of his eye, forcing the target into sharp focus.
Inside this youthful body resided a monster no living creature—except disease itself—could kill.
As more guards charged forward in succession, Arthur's revolver roared, firing shot after shot.
The muffled cracks of gunfire echoed down the corridor, carrying far.
From the distance came voices—nonsense to Arthur's ears.
"Damn you, Arthur!"
Rebecca glared at him, fury written across her face, flipping the Iron Guts in her hands as she muttered loudly.
She was clearly annoyed he hadn't left her a single chance to fire.
Arthur summoned the Swallow back with ease.
Up ahead, the corridor opened into a lavish, spacious ballroom.
At its center stood a raised circular stage, about a meter high, surrounded by sofas and simple partitions.
The Tyger Claws had already gathered there, staring tensely toward the hall.
Then two figures emerged—one tall, one small.
"Enemy attack! Counter them!"
"Kill those bastards!"
In an instant, a storm of bullets rained toward them.
Arthur leapt to the edge of the stage in a single stride, dragging along the screaming Rebecca.
The brat had no sense of cover—avoiding bullets seemed down to pure luck.
With his large hand, Arthur shoved her head beneath the stage's edge, finally freeing himself to fire back.
Bullets tore across the ballroom.
Glass, sofas, and crystal lamps shattered under the barrage.
Amid the roar of gunfire, Arthur peered out cautiously.
The Tyger Claws wore their usual gaudy outfits—hair dyed in garish parrot colors, luminous tattoos glowing in the dark.
Arthur didn't even need Divergence Tagging; they had already made themselves bright targets.
"Unbelievable. These clowns with feathers in their hair think they're sharpshooters now."
He pulled back, smoke curling from his barrel as he reloaded the chamber.
Compared to the guards at the CHOOH2 Plant not long ago, these Tyger Claws were nothing but street thugs, spraying bullets without aim.
Well, they were just bullies who preyed on regular people. Their skill matched their status.
Under the violet lights, blood splattered across the dance floor—until silence fell once again.
Arthur holstered his Prelude, glancing at a thug with long bright-green hair sprawled at his feet before tossing the body aside.
"Maybe shaking your ass on the street suits you better."
They moved on, finishing any twitching survivors with an extra shot, until they reached the staircase leading upstairs.
But blocking the stairwell was a burly man in a silver suit.
Shorter than Jackie, but broader, like a concrete pillar planted firmly in place.
He stood with his hands behind his back, chest puffed, head high. His stance looked arrogant, yet something in his bearing radiated humility.
Despite the raging gunfire outside, he hadn't moved an inch.
Arthur didn't bother to think twice—he drew his gun and fired straight at the man's head.
Sparks flared where the bullet struck, but the man only tilted his head and met Arthur's gaze with a savage grin.
"Now! It's my turn!"
He bellowed in a language Arthur couldn't understand and charged forward.
Thud!
His fist slammed into Arthur's crossed arms, driving him back several steps.
Silently, Arthur increased the weight of every bone in his body, bracing like a dam against a river to absorb the impact.
In the past, against these muscle-fiber freaks, Arthur would've kept his distance, worried his bones couldn't withstand the blows.
Now, there was no need for restraint.
The burly man shook his fist. That strike had been his full strength—enough to outmatch a bear—yet hitting Arthur felt like punching a steel post.
Snarling, he raised his arm again and swung down hard.
But this time, his strength never landed.
With a crash, he was hurled back, crumpling like a ragdoll.
When he hit the ground, only half his body remained.
Rebecca had already backed well away from the fight.
"Woo-hoo! Did you see that, Arthur? My Iron Guts!"
She raised her shotgun high, smoke still streaming from the barrel.
"Nice shot. Just be smarter next time—don't blow yourself out a window."
Arthur tried the glass door, but the display showed he lacked access.
Glancing at the mess on the floor, he figured the access card was probably inside. He shifted aside silently.
"Looks like... it's your turn again. Sometimes I think your gun's better suited for demolition."
Rebecca hefted Iron Guts, sneered at the door, and pulled the trigger.
The blast blew a gaping hole through the glass, shards scattering across the floor.
Using the butt of her gun, she widened the opening, and the two crouched low and slipped inside.
The stairwell was dimly lit, lined with half-open dressing rooms—clearly where the girls had prepared themselves.
The layout here was more complex than below, so Arthur and Rebecca advanced cautiously. The Swallow darted silently through the shadows, taking out lurking enemies without a sound.
They cleared two floors of defenders, but it was only a warm-up. Their true target was the office at the top.
And to reach it, they needed the elevator.
After searching, they finally slipped through a small, inconspicuous door, leaving behind the violet haze.
The space beyond was open, exposed to the city outside. From across the room, the skyline was visible, neon lights glowing from below and flooding the area in color.
It was the maintenance level, keeping the Clouds system running.
Deep inside, they found the elevator.
"Damn it, Arthur, it needs authorization!"
Rebecca fiddled with the panel for a while before scratching her head, her twin braids swaying.
"I can't stand that old hag, but I've gotta admit—she made things easier. No netrunners now, so we'll have to find a terminal."
From behind a mesh wall, Arthur spotted a panel and waved her over.
"Come check this out. Might be what we need."