Chapter Thirty – Bypass

Chapter Thirty – Bypass

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?

It’s like you people want to die!”

-Former CFO of Nimbletainment after the July 2044 incident.

***

Our trek across the city was uneventful. Unexpectedly so.

Maybe it was the way Gomorrah was dressed. In full, high-tech gear, her flamethrower hanging close by her side. Maybe it was the way she was walking, as if she owned the damn place. Or maybe anyone that would cause trouble knew something was going on and they all just collectively decided to mind their own damned business for the morning.

It was still super damned early. I didn’t think I’d ever gone out at this hour to cause trouble. I guessed that troublemakers weren’t the sort to wake up at the crack of dawn.

From the ground, it was hard to tell which tower housed the rich and affluent, and which was built to make them richer and more affluent. They were all the same lifeless grey, with the occasional splash of colour—graffiti and painted rebellion that hadn’t been wiped out by the automated sweepers yet.

“The nearest entrance to the sewers might be off-limits,” Gomorrah said.

I shook myself out of my daydreams. “Why’s that?” I asked. A glance at my own map indicated we were getting closer to the building where we could get to the sewers from the basement. It didn’t seem different to any of the others around it.

“The entire bottom half of the building is owned by a pharmaceutical. They make drugs there, and the security is pretty tight.”

“So we ask them nicely to let us into the sewers. It’s not like we’re there to steal their overpriced insulin or whatever,” I said.

“They might not be so understanding,” Gomorrah said.

I blinked. “The fucking cops were willing to play nice with us. Why wouldn’t some legal pill-pushers do the same?”

Gomorrah gestured vaguely ahead. “They’re hardasses. I think I’ve heard other samurai complain about them before. The thing is, it’s the one industry that’s well backed by samurai. Easy money, and all the company needs to do is produce some drugs for cheap.”

“Yeah, I don’t get it.”

“A lot of samurai sold the recipes for meds to these big companies. They expect the companies to sell them, almost at cost. That means curing people of a lot of things relatively cheaply. It’s why we’re not going through the twelfth iteration of some plague. Those same companies use that backing to sell their own drugs on the side. It’s a big industry, with plenty of cash to be made.”

“And because they’re basically helped by samurai, they think they can just do whatever?”

“Not whatever,” Gomorrah said. “But they might try to flex a little if we don’t approach things the right way.”

“Sound like a bunch of dicks,” Rac interjected. I’d almost forgotten she was there. Then there was a loud slurping sound followed by a smack and a whine. “Fuck, my brain.”

“I warned you,” Franny said.

“Uh, what’s going on?” I asked. I knew that Franny and Rac had left to visit the bathrooms, but that was it.

Rac moaned, and I was a little worried before she replied. “Aunt Franny got me a slushie, and now my brain hurts.”

“She drank it too fast, and please, please don’t call me that.”

“Alright,” I said. At least the kid was having fun.

“Man, it’s been an hour since you’ve shot at anyone,” Rac complained.

Maybe too much fun, even. “Calm your tits, we’re going to go see the boss in a bit. I bet there’ll be plenty of people to shoot at.”

We came around the corner and Gomorrah pointed to a building across the street. Our destination. It looked the same as all the rest, with a few doors at street level and an opening that had a ramp where self-driven trucks could slip into the building.

There were spikes all around the base of the building, little ones, no longer than a finger, and with a blunted edge. Probably to keep out the homeless, I figured.

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We looked both ways before crossing, especially since I was invisible and didn’t particularly feel like getting splattered by anything going a hundred kilometres an hour.