Chapter 48: Boss Fight
"Fuck! Lauren's dead! Goddammit! Thirteen guys flatlined for that piece of shit cargo, and we get nothing!"
Prang stood on the second-floor catwalk, muttering curses under his breath, grieving for his fallen choom. Lauren was just... gone. Prang knew this was the likely end for all of them, but thinking about his buddy—the guy he'd been drinking and laughing with just yesterday, chopping up bodies together for sellable chrome—gone without even leaving a corpse... it hit him hard.
Lauren's death jolted Prang out of his usual apathy. He suddenly realized this life... wasn't what he wanted. Sure, the killing felt good sometimes, watching people scream and beg... But what if that was him?
The thought of leaving the Wraiths... Hsss. He shivered involuntarily and shook his head. Impossible. Joining was easy; the Wraiths took anyone. Leaving? That was a different story.
He pushed the unwelcome thoughts away, reached for his inhaler, needed a hit. But as he lowered his head, a blur of motion caught his eye. Just a flicker, gone in an instant. Prang paused. He blinked, leaned over the catwalk railing, trying to get a better look.
The moment he leaned out, his pupils contracted. A hand clamped over his face. In the next instant, he vanished from the second-floor catwalk. A figure in a baseball cap appeared in his place.
Rhys glanced back at the body he'd stashed on top of a large shipping container, then turned and moved on.
Three down.
"Has he... has he been doing this the whole time?"
Rhys's actions weren't unseen. Lucy was still jacked into the factory's security feed. She'd been tracking his movements, feeding him intel on Wraith positions to avoid contact. But because of that, she'd witnessed everything: the near-invisible infiltration, the impossible speed, the silent, brutal efficiency with which he'd taken out three Wraiths without raising a single alarm. She was utterly shocked.
"Surprising, isn't he?" Maine's voice chuckled over the comms. He couldn't see what was happening, but he could imagine.
Sandevistan? Sure, that shit's preem. Activate it, and it was like time stopped. You could dodge bullets, appear behind someone and blow their head off before they even knew you were there. But Sandevistans had drawbacks. Heavy neural strain, constant need for immuno-blockers. Push it too hard, and your body just shut down.
And Rhys? He moved like he had a Sandevistan always active. No, not just a Sandevistan. His reflexes... they'd tested it back at the hideout. Sasha clocked in at 72 milliseconds, second place. Rebecca hit 103, third.
And Rhys? 34 milliseconds.
Average human reaction time was around 300ms. Trained operators might hit 200. That supposed 'human limit' of 60ms? That was adrenaline dump in a near-death state, not a reliable baseline. Maine himself—ex-military, combat veteran, chromed-up merc—tested at 214ms. Even Jackie was faster. It wasn't that Maine was slow; 214 was damn good. But compared to Rhys...? Fuck, no comparison.
A Sandevistan with no side effects, combined with Kerenzikov-level reflexes... If Maine were Biotechnica, he wouldn't be experimenting on animals. He'd be dissecting Rhys. That would yield far more useful data.
Maine was about to elaborate further on Rhys's freakish abilities, but Rhys's voice cut in.
"Didn't find it in the monitoring room. Heading to the third-floor office now."
"Lucy, give me an analysis of the third floor, need to prep."
Lucy's soft voice replied instantly, "Affirmative."
"Okay, path is clear. Go up. I'll guide you."
"Copy."
...
The third floor was... unexpected. Lucy had warned him, but Rhys hadn't anticipated this. Not a single Wraith guard in sight. This was supposed to be a major outpost, maybe a hundred strong. Rhys had only seen about thirty Wraiths total from the first floor to here, and he'd taken out seven. Where was everyone else? Resting in their quarters?
Uncertain, Rhys approached the door Lucy had indicated. It was electronically locked—password, fingerprint, and retinal scan required. If Sasha were here, she could bypass it in seconds. Biotechnica security hadn't stopped her; this rusted junk wouldn't either. But Sasha wasn't here. So, Rhys had to use his own method.
Just then, Lucy's voice came over the comms. "Door's encrypted. This is tricky. Either me or Kiwi would have to physically... fuck!"
"What did you say?" Rhys asked, having just grabbed the door handle and wrenched the reinforced steel door clean off its hinges. He'd been focused on breaking in and hadn't caught what she said. He couldn't rip open Biotechnica's doors yet, but this one was no problem.
"...Nothing," Lucy's voice replied after a beat, a hint of disbelief in her tone. "I said... continue." Even Maine, with his chrome arms, probably couldn't rip that door open. There were ways to bypass security, but brute force... she'd never even considered it. Is this guy really some kind of escaped corporate experiment?
Rhys stepped inside. It was a large office, maybe seventy square meters. Besides a desk stained with oil and blood, the room was littered with weapons—smart guns, power weapons—and several open medical cases. He scanned them. Airhypo and Bounce Back inhalers, Type-II.
Rhys's eyes lit up. Jackpot! If Jackie had had one of these after the Konpeki Plaza heist, he wouldn't have flatlined in the car. He could have made it back to Vick.
Rhys moved forward, reaching for the valuable meds. Easy to carry, just stuff them in his pockets.
But as his hand reached out, a jolt of danger surged through him. He instantly dropped into a crouch, rolling forward and springing back to his feet. He looked up just in time to see the steel desk sheared in two, sparks showering the air. The medkit on top was also sliced open, the precious inhalers scattering across the floor.
"Motherfucker! Those useless pieces of shit! Let someone sneak all the way in here!"
"Fucking knew it! Five minutes and no update from the monitoring room? Like the corps wouldn't come looking for this shit! Told 'em to stay alert! But guess what, Bort? When I checked the security room, everyone inside was already fucking zeroed!"
Two voices echoed in the room. Rhys looked up. Two Wraiths. One was short and wiry, the other built like Maine. He narrowed his eyes, running a scan.
[Name: Crispin Zobrist]
[Affiliation: Wraiths (Lieutenant)]
[Implants: Sandevistan Mk.3, Reinforced Tendons, Kiroshi Optics Mk.3, Biomonitor, Gorilla Arms, Subdermal Armor, Synth-Skin...]
[Criminal Record: Smuggling, Murder, Disturbing the Peace, Drug Trafficking...]
[Name: Bort Mitchell]
[Affiliation: Wraiths (Lieutenant)]
[Implants: Dynalar Sandevistan Mk.4, Synaptic Accelerator, Ballistic Coprocessor, Reinforced Tendons, Microrotors, Mantis Blades...]
[Criminal Record: Smuggling, Murder, Drug Trafficking, Unlawful Imprisonment...]
"Got some balls, choom. The guys we sent after you this afternoon didn't chase you down, so you decided to come to us instead?"
"Bort, I like this kid's style. Maybe we should recruit him?"
"You hear that?" The smaller one, Bort—the one who'd just attacked him with Mantis Blades—spoke again. "Giving you a chance. Those gonks downstairs? Always hated 'em. Dead is dead. But you... you got potential."
"Come on. Give me your answer. Swear fealty to me!"
Rhys just stood there, his face impassive. He reached behind his back, undid the strap, and drew his katana. He held the black-and-red blade horizontally in front of him, then beckoned with his free hand.
His answer was clear.