Chapter Fourteen – Mally

Chapter Fourteen – Mally​

“You can’t survive in the sewers. Those who work within them can only survive thanks to their extremely robust survival equipment.

It will be impossible, or impractical, to convince normal people to work in these conditions. I suggest that the board find a way to improve our existing robotic infrastructure to care for the maintenance of these sewer systems. It would be more expensive, but the cost in lives would be worse otherwise.”

–Report to the Board of Infracorp, 2032

***

I twisted my head left and right to crack my neck. That energy drink had given me a kick in the rear, but I still felt as if I should be in bed. I wouldn’t be able to sleep, and I’d probably be restless as hell, but still.

Gomorrah was going to owe me for messing up my sleep schedule.

Or I could spend the next couple of days napping here and there. Had to live up to the “cat” part of my name.

“Alright,” I said as I switched channels. “Rac, tell us what we have to know.”

Gomorrah and I paused at the top of the last landing before the “ground” level of the sewer opening. There was a single working neon sign, large and piss-yellow, with a green blow-up palm tree next to it. It read “The Oasis!” in letters taller than I was.

Below that were the stalls and roads leading into the sewers. I could make out plenty of amateur artwork staining the cement walls. Long eastern-style dragons, often made to look like they were diving out of manholes.

I tried a quick headcount. Maybe fifty people in all. Most of them looked… pretty normal. Vagrant chic, with maybe a few more augs than I’d expect from homeless people. Lots of prosthetics going around, and a lot of people were wearing long, brown coats that hung low on their frames.

“Right, right!” Raccoon’s voice came in my ear. “Okay, see that place at the back, on the right? Looks like a sort of watch room, with the windows?”

I looked that way and made out a control room set above and next to the large entrance into the sewers. It had angled windows overlooking the Oasis. Mirrored windows, so I couldn’t make out anything within. “Yeah, I see it.”

“That’s where some of the people in charge of the Oasis stay. There’s like, a place with rooms and stuff in there. That’s what I was told, anyway.”

“So we’ll find the Sewer Dragons there?” I asked.

“Well, yeah and nah. The people here are Sewer people, but they might not be Sewer Dragons, you know? A lot of them are just hiding out in the sewers ‘cause they’re safe, in a way. But pretty much everyone works for the Sewer Dragons in one way or another.”

“Huh,” I said. “So we… don’t gun them all down?”

“Yeah, just some of them,” Rac said.

“I would rather you didn’t go in and kill everyone,” Franny snapped.

I frowned ahead. “Weren’t you going to go in with a bat? I can’t picture you dropping the bat for a bible to go all gospel on them.”

Gomorrah placed a hand up on my shoulder. “We’ll try to employ some discretion,” she said. “I’m sure Cat wouldn’t mind purchasing something less lethal for the occasion?”

“Yeah, fine,” I said. “Myalis? Sell me on something decent?”

I see three simple options, you might even consider using all three. Your Icarus can use foam grenades. They fire a rapidly expanding, breathing foam that turns into a cement-like substance a few moments after expanding. This cement breaks apart rapidly, though it takes hours to weaken and days to fully melt away on contact with oxygen. As for other options… Your Cyberwarfare augmentations can disable some prosthetics and augmentations, and your Trench Maker can easily accept electrified gel-rounds.

“Electrified gel rounds?” I repeated.

“That sounds so cool,” Rac said.

I’d forgotten to switch channels. Oops?

They’re small impact-dissolving gel capsules. They will not penetrate, but will disperse kinetic energy against any surface they hit. They’re also electrified, similar to a modern taser, though the shock isn’t long-lasting. They should be capable of disabling organics.

I nodded. “Let’s gear up then. Gomorrah, you, uh, going to tone down the fire or something?”

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“Foam,” Gomorrah said.

I slid my Trench Maker out of my thigh holster, then slid the magazine out of it. Soon enough, I’d replaced it with some gel-rounds and I did the same with my Icarus. The extra grenades I gave to Gomorrah, who had some room in her pack, which she said was explosive enough already that some more wouldn’t matter.