“The thing about Private Military Companies, or PMCs, is that they are very profitable in areas where conflicts are heavy.

In an almost perfectly maintained Arcology there wouldn’t be a PMC but as Macroon has aged, some corporations and companies want the use of a private army to be contracted to help their own forces in a…hostile takeover.

This isn’t as common as it once was, that’s why we have reduced the spending budget on equipment, training, and personnel. Most corporations nowadays only hire us as extra numbers to intimidate their competition, no shots are actually fired and if they were, whoever hired us would have to pay for their replacement. ”

* Killalot PMC Captain Mercer in a manager wide email, April 2051

***

The large room spread out like a warehouse, over a kilometer in length and width, it had storage shelves behind the concrete barricades.

The shelves held a miscellaneous assortment of things ranging from furniture, hover cars, Samurai plushies, and a machine gun nest pointed in my direction. How fun.

The concrete barricades themselves were constructed in a line of walls that looked to be dragged off a hover truck, a couple checkpoints were set open to allow people to enter from my side of the wall.

Only a couple of the walls had graffiti so I assumed they were rarely used.

As I watched I could see a couple people go through the checkpoint, having to empty their pockets and stepping through a secure looking steel door and into safety.

I guess the toll was pretty high but I’m sure I could pay it, I did have a pretty great bank account as I had two salaries and almost nothing to spend it on.

I mean…I could spend money on new equipment but it was difficult to acquire the things I wanted legally and the illegal methods always were more trouble than it was worth.

So I strode across the room, holstering my pistol, the Hammerhead served me well now that I knew to use it as a tool. I guess I would turn it in at the checkpoint. No need for the weapon anymore.

That thought caused a pause. I shook myself, no need to do it again. As Monitor said, I am not a warrior, just an Engineer with a plan.

An Engineer…when did I last think of myself as an engineer? I hid that side away after the Ascendency disaster and worked as a technician.

I guess Monitor was rubbing off on me. The A.I. was fascinating and funny.

Man, I already miss them and it has only been a couple of minutes.

If I had to describe the feeling…like walking into a zone without wifi, or when your friend is at work while you have a day off.

But I guess I won’t see or hear from them again because…we don’t need to speak with each other.

I was still standing in an open area cleared of all debris for a clear line of fire for those manning the barricades and machine gun nests and one of the people in uniform called out my way.

“Get over here!”

Clearing my head I strode their way.

As I closed I could see their equipment.

They were clothed with an assortment of blacks and reds in a cameo pattern that was designed to intimidate and identify themselves rather than actually hide.

So the opposite of camouflage.

Over the uniform they both had an impressive tactical vest holding an array of dangerous gadgets. Grenades were snugly arranged above their ammo. A shock baton and pistol were on either hip.

Glaring my way under Killalot PMC helmets, I met the two sentries. The red haired female placed a hand on their SMG, a model that looked eerily familiar, a Stingray.

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I had a flash of the security. Roody lounging while he was order to relax. The others were fuzzy in my mind but I still recalled faint images of them marching with me.

I was safe but they didn’t make it.

Turning to the other sentry I found another Stingray but he was all business and didn’t look intimidated like the younger of the two.

The bald sentry just waved me closer.

“What outfit are you a part of? You are attempting to enter a Killalot safe zone, all foreign PMCs or corporate security must agree to the terms and conditions of Killalot PMC and pay the fee.” He said in a gruff monotone.

“I’m a civilian.” I said, not sure if they’d believe me.

“A lone civilian? You entered from a Red Zone, it's hot in that direction. We are about to send a Platoon in to clear it out.” He also appraised my outfit which was strange but…not military or security in origin. The blood, both human and Antithesis, had been washed by my trip in the pipes. Any that remained was faded and on dark materials.

My utility belt and tablet were what really saved me, there was a clear logo of RuCorp, a civilian corporation.

“I got lucky?” I said, shrugging.

“Whatever.” He said dismissively and out of the corner of my eye I saw the redhead relax her grip on the Stingray. “You are required to pay our fee to enter, if you do not possess enough credits then everything on your person is forfeit and you’ll be billed in the future for the remainder of your debt.”

He handed over a tablet that was more robust than mine, but as I navigated the payment option I noticed it was a lot slower.

It was clear through the layout and maintenance of the user interface that it preferred connecting to someone’s augs for payment.

I paid the exorbitant fee, something that would empty out the savings of a normal person, and entered.

They didn’t pat me down seeing as the payment came back in full but they did eye my belt, tablet, and jacket with the obvious bulge it had.

I should’ve felt relief now that I was in a safe location with the PMC soldiers watching out for me. But I didn’t.

I was bedraggled, my outfit still damp and had some glass pieces strewn about. They are professionals, I should trust them.

But I felt more exposed without Monitor’s overwatch.

As I passed through the secure doorway I found a strange sight. A tent-like area spanned all directions with people chatting near actual fire or electric heating devices. All different apparel and people milling about.

They did all share a very distinct mournful look, as they seemed to have lost their homes, jobs, bank accounts, friends, and families.

I spied a familiar group standing away from the others by their gray-blue jumpsuits.

Standing on the edge were Dossi, Chelsea, and Corden. The others I didn’t recognize but as I moved closer I paused, maybe other group made it here. I didn’t spy Urgi, Bremen, or Denstill but they knew the version of me that…I don’t want to share with the few friends I had with the rest of the technicians.

I was glad they were safe. But maybe I don’t approach them.

I moved along the wall to where I wasn’t next to anyone else. I opened my tablet, reaching out to Monitor.

Nothing came back.

I guess…I was alone.

Sighing as I couldn’t relate to anyone else. Chelsea was great to have a social conversation, Dossi and Corden would enter a technical debate over electronics but…I had questions about what I just experienced. Fighting, surviving impossibly dangerous situations, what it was like to be an A.I. but…I don’t have anyone to talk to about that.

I was debating trying to talk to the soldiers, looking for someone to bond with when I saw a screen on the side of a tent.

It was playing some news reel that was full of advertisements about the current outbreak when it fizzled and refreshed with a new video that was crisper, it was even in a higher resolution than before.

It was this change that caught my eye because I was still looking for Monitor and it loved taking over other screens like this.

But instead of the familiar blue box it was a hulking figure in a gunmetal gray interspersed with red mech suit.

My blood ran cold.

They held their massive flamethrower in one mechanized hand and stared directly at the camera, their reflective faceplate revealing the actual shape of a camera on the other end and not an interface device. An actual camera like in the media about the old ways to create films. What the news should be using.

The quality of the image was so clear that the small tongue of flame at the tip of his flamethrower could be made out even if he stood a couple meters back.

“SAMURAI OF MACROON.” Came the voice of Sky’s killer. “YOU CAN SEE WHERE I AM.”

Then he held up a strange device, the only thing I recognized about it was the fact the device contained Sky’s heart.

“IF I DON’T GET WHAT I WANT. YOU KNOW WHAT’LL HAPPEN.” and with that, the screen reverted back to the newsreel, showing the newscaster obviously confused at what he just saw and beginning to report over it.

That was a threat for Samurai but I recognized the space where he recorded it. Amadeus was standing in a nuclear reactor, the blue glow from behind him was a telltale sign it was Nuclear Three owned by RuCorp.

The other nuclear reactors had to avoid using that coloration due to RuCorp. copyright infringement.

The Samurai would know where he was but…they were heading into a trap. Amadeus already killed one Samurai. Sky-Blue Wire didn’t expect it but if Amadeus was calling them over he probably had some Samurai killing traps and weapons about to deal with them.

I had to think carefully, I would need to get to the Fifteenth Floor, cross the floor to the reactor and somehow surprise Amadeus when my Hammerhead couldn’t pierce his armor.

As I was standing up to head out I paused.

Why was I heading back out there? This was a Samurai level problem. Leave it to the gods to battle it out.

But…Sky was killed by this man. That and…I felt a strange connection to this, not that I was excited for battle and the killing that follows.

I wasn’t battle hungry.

What was I?

I was worried? What, that another Samurai may die? I don’t know them but…the idea did worry me because one of the Samurai out there housed Monitor and I didn’t want to see Monitor die because of Amadeus.

Surely Monitor’s Samurai already knew about what Amadeus was up to as Monitor saved me from Amadeus when Sky was killed but Aerthyos couldn’t help Sky in that fight.

Taking a deep breath I moved back to the checkpoint. I had places to be.