Chapter Twenty-Seven – Sometimes a Girl Just Wants to Blow Shit Up

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Sometimes a Girl Just Wants to Blow Shit Up

“There are ten billion people on Earth right now. And, by our best estimates, approximately one in one hundred thousand is a Samurai. That’s point zero-zero-one percent of the world’s population.

I think that this nearly mystical level of rarity just adds to the occultism around the Samurai.”

–Excerpt from ‘The Cult of the Samurai,’ 2044

***

I had a bit of a problem.

For one, I was on the floor, chest heaving and feeling like I was a bit past the point where I was meant to die.

I wasn’t dead though, which was nice.

That would change very soon if the turrets placed next to the doors decided to open fire again. I had no idea if they could break through my armour, and I didn’t feel like finding out. Also, one of them had shot me in the tit and I was betting that would leave a bruise.

I raised my cybernetic arm towards the door, and with a flick of my augs, had the top of it open and reveal the rocket launcher within.

The rocket came out with a sound like a hollow fart and whistled across the corridor.

Then, with an impact that made the floor skip under me, it turned the front wall of the merc’s hideout into a nice big crater.

The old lady at the nail saloon came rushing out. “What is this!”

I coughed, turned over, then pushed myself up to my feet. “Me being a bit dumb,” I said. “Myalis. A helmet please.”

Certainly.

New Purchase: Mark IV TIGER-C Helmet
Points reduced to… 8,366

A box appeared by my feet and I scooped down to pick it up.

“You’re samurai!” the lady said.

“Yup,” I said. “Nearly a dead one too.” The helmet, of course, had a pair of cat-ear slots on the top, and a sort of mask-like front with a visor over the top of the face. It was sleek, gunmetal highlights, a sapphire visor and that familiar blue steel covering the majority of it. It also had whiskers. “Really?”

Those are very sophisticated devices. They analyse the composition of the air around you and reproduce it within the helmet without any harmful effects. They also detect minute vibrations in the air, making up any losses of audibility caused by covering your ears.

I rolled my eyes as I tucked the helmet under one arm, then tied my hair back in a loose bun. On the helmet went. It was a bit snug, but not too much so. The moment it was on the insides inflated and it felt as though someone had buried my face in a layer of pillows.

It would do.

I stretched a little and pulled my Whisper off my shoulder to tuck it up against my chest. “Go hide away,” I said to the old lady. “Or maybe close up for the afternoon? I figure we’re going to have a lot of curious people around soon.”

The lady nodded and jogged off to her shop. Soon the shutters were rattling down over the front.

I took off towards the mercenary base. My rocket had really screwed up the front door. The turrets that had tagged me were scattered everywhere in bits and the heavy door was crumpled as if it was a cardboard box and someone with a bat had gone to town on it.

“Gomorrah?” I asked.

“I’m here,” I heard her reply. There was a faint crackle in the background. Gunfire? “Are you meeting any resistance?”

“Uh. Yeah. I got shot in the tit.”

“You didn’t need to be so specific,” Gomorrah said. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I said. “I’m about to kick in the front door. We’re trying to keep anyone important-looking alive, right? ‘Cause I’m somewhat in a ‘blow stuff up’ mood right now.”

“I’m well. Still at ninety-plus percent with my flamer fuel. The tank’s inoperable, by the way. And yes, we want to keep some of them alive. I hope you have better luck than I have. These men don’t seem keen on surrendering.”

I brought Whisper up. “We’ll have to see. Stay in touch.”

I kicked the door. Then when that didn’t do much, I kicked it again.

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I sighed. “Myalis, I need one of those black-hole bombs.”

I think I have something for that.