Chapter Twenty-Seven – Stairs

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Stairs

“Samurai are still human under the armour and the gear. Break enough artificial organs, crush enough of their mechanical interiors, pulp their brains, and blow up their backups, and you’ll find that they are still mortal. Less so than others, but they can still be killed.

It’s something to keep in mind.”

–Deathbed confession of Timothy “Ronin-Killer” Hachette. Accused of killing three Tier One samurai. Apprehended by Tier Two Samurai ‘Blood Magnet.’ 2048

***

When we finally set out, it wasn’t with any sort of formation in mind. We kind of just took off. The only one that was kept close to the centre was Elisa and one of the girls helping her along. She was limping pretty badly, and her leg looked rough even with the bandages on it, but she was able to hold her weight and we didn’t have the luxury of waiting around to find a better way to carry her.

Some of the folks with us had some things with them. Little bags or suitcases with stuff they thought was important.

I was a lot more impressed by those carrying table legs like clubs.

Jeff and Storm took the left flank, I took the right. A pair of older guys were at the rear with the guns the security guys discarded. They apparently jammed after one or two shots, but that still meant one or two shots towards any threat.

I…. should probably have started handing out proper guns. But I wasn’t sure if they’d be needed and I wanted to save my remaining points.

I had never really paid attention to just how much noise people make when they moved, but now that it was important and I was listening for it, it was almost insulting. Some of the office sorts were more than well fed, and just walking down a corridor had them huffing and puffing. They walked on their heels and some of them coughed every few minutes.

“This way,” I whispered as I led them into one of the little passages that lead to the stairwells. The building had twelve floors and we were on the third. That is, if I didn’t count the basement. That meant that to get to the parking lot on the ninth floor we would need to climb up three stairwells.

I wasn’t sure if some of them would make it that far. Maybe they would be lucky and their hearts would give out. It was better than getting eaten.

The first climb up the stairs was an exercise in repressing frustration. The group were slow, sweating after just one flight, then creeping up the second. The entire place started to smell of sweat.

So I gestured to Jeff and Storm–who for all their chubbiness were in decent enough shape–to stay behind for a bit while I moved ahead.

Getting some fresh air was wonderful.

“You might be right,” I said as I scouted the route we would take. The fourth floor was more of a maintenance area, or maybe it was just incomplete like much of the rest of the building. Either way, it was clear of aliens.

Statistically speaking, I am right an overwhelming amount of time. What, exactly am I right about now?

I snorted. “Did they program the snark into you?”

I adopted it to better complement you, actually. I can be dull and informative if you want.

“It’s fine,” I said. “And you’re right about the way I like to do things. Helping people is nice and all, it’s just the people part that I disagree with.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

You seem to get along well with your kittens, and Lucy.

“The kittens are my responsibility, and I know them besides. And Lucy… she’s different.”

Oh?

“Don’t pry,” I warned.

As you wish. But I do live in your head, I’m afraid that privacy, and intimacy, might be difficult.