Chapter Two – It’s Me Again

Chapter Two – It’s Me Again

700 flying vehicles violently grounded after Antithesis-related satellite failure.

–NewsWorld headline, March 5th, 2054

***

Since I didn’t want to dive into any sort of clusterfuck without doing at least some amount of ass-covering prep work, I figured I ought to ask some of my friends for help.

But first, snacks.

I padded over to the kitchen then checked the fridge for leftovers. There were a few things, but the Kittens had been picking away at everything. Lucy had made this meat sauce with little meatballs, and the little shits living in my house had plucked all of the meatballs out of the sauce.

Shaking my head, I settled on some toaster pastries from the cupboard. It was fast, and it was something I could eat while walking around. While I waited, I noticed some of the brats poking their heads in, and I told them that I’d be off. “I won’t be gone for long. Myalis will be watching over you.”

I only volunteered to watch over one child.

I figured that one child was me. “I don’t know what direction you’re in, but can you assume that I’m politely directing these two fingers in your direction?”

Cute.

I was gonna head down a couple of floors and go bother Gomorrah.

Of all the Samurai I knew, she was the one I’d worked with the most, and I trusted her. Plus we were neighbours, so I figured she thought of me as a friend. That was probably how it worked, right? People didn’t move next door to someone that they didn’t like, right?

Fuck, how did normal adults make friends? Most of the people I knew were orphans stuck in the same shitty system. I hoped that that wasn’t the only way I knew how to get to know people in the future, because it would be a little sad if it was.

I jumped a little as the toaster went off, then I juggled the pastry to keep from burning my fingers too badly. I was pretty sure my new skin was more fireproof, but it was the thought that counted.

Right, samurai friends…

Gomorrah was the first I’d ask, but if things in Quebec were as much of a clusterfuck as I expected, then I’d definitely want to drag more along.

Would any of the higher-tier locals want to come? I was pretty unfamiliar with the more Family-related samurai. The Dial-Ups and Lags, and the Jolly Monarchs who hung out around New Montreal sometimes.

Something told me that higher-tier people were probably above this kind of mission. Might not hurt to ask, but I didn’t know them well.

Grasshopper… yeah, okay, her I could ask. Even if she said no, it wouldn’t sting, and I wasn’t spending any social capital with her if I just asked.

Who else… Deus Ex was right out, she foisted this shit onto me to begin with.

Emoscythe? That was possible, but I already owed her a favour that I was worried about, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to add more to that.

Which brought me to the less-high-tier samurai that were from around the city.

Crackshot was worth asking. He was cool and dependable. Gros Baton might not mind visiting Quebec. Plus there were more French people over there, so he’d be useful to have for translation. Hedgehog was a stick in the mud, but he was good too, so that wasn’t a bad idea.

Then there was Tankette. She was also dependable. If we were going to be playing a more defensive role, then she might be nice to have around. Princess… urgh. I didn’t wanna. But Shy, on the other hand, was nice to have around.

I nodded to myself as I walked towards the elevator, picking up some boots along the way and slipping them on with a hop. I left them untied. Half because I just didn’t care (it wasn’t like I was going far) and half because it would bother Gomorrah in a way that I found kind of amusing.

I finished my snack on the way down, then stepped out into the small entrance lobby that Delilah and Franny had built, leading into their home. I didn’t even know if either of them were here.

Still, I walked up to their door and knocked. “Yo! Is anyone home?”

It took a minute, but the door opened, and I found myself standing across from Delilah. She was in casual wear. A long skirt that even a grandma would find a bit stuffy, and a rather nice blouse that looked like it might be silk or something. “Catherine,” she said. “What are you wearing?”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Boots?”

“I meant the… pants.”

I looked down. “They’re booty shorts.”

“They’re an affront to god and fashion.”