Chapter 15: Can't Break Through

The Copperhead assault rifle, capable of firing 640 rounds per minute, unleashed its full fury in Karl's hands. Every round found its mark.

One to the head. One to the heart.

Seven Maelstrom gangers—each given two bullets—dropped in under two seconds.

By the time the rifle fell silent, not a single one of them was still standing.

"Damn, mano, your aim is fucking insane!"

Jackie, completely ignoring his still-bleeding wounds, was already trying to get up to check for survivors and finish the job.

"Sit your ass down first," Oliver muttered, grabbing him and checking the wounds. Once he confirmed nothing vital was hit, he finally let out a breath of relief.

"If you keep pulling shit like that, you'll burn through your lives real quick."

"But hey, I'm still breathing, aren't I?" Jackie grinned. "And you gotta admit—the results speak for themselves."

"You wouldn't shut up about how good Karl's aim was the whole drive here. I just wanted to see the magic in action."

"That's some serious bullshit," Karl muttered, shaking his head. It was the first time he'd seen someone take two rounds and still crack jokes about it.

"If they'd aimed a little better, you'd be fucking dead."

"Relax, choom. I had it handled. Covered my head, had the vest on. I wouldn't have risked it if I wasn't sure."

"After this job, we're getting you some damn subdermal armor—even if we gotta pool our eddies," Oliver added, shaking his head. "Honestly, I feel like dead weight right now. I need implants too. Can't keep watching you two handle everything and still split the cut."

"Your aim isn't bad, Oliver. Maybe grab a sniper with some smart-link mods. Cover us from range."

"But I'm nowhere near as good as you, Karl."

"Which is exactly why you need the sniper rifle," Karl replied, tilting the Copperhead in his hands. "I'm best up close—fast kills, in and out."

"Honestly," Jackie chimed in, "Oliver should just be our team medic."

He pointed at his neatly bandaged wounds—handled mid-conversation.

"Hey, my sister's a ripperdoc. I picked up a few things from her," Oliver muttered, downplaying it.

Then he scanned the room and spotted a security cam.

"We need to move. This place is crawling with cams. Won't be long before more of Maelstrom's freaks show up."

"Let's shift positions, take out a few more, and leave one breathing," Karl said, grabbing some grenades off a corpse. "I really need to learn to hack... or find a damn netrunner."

"If we had one, we could just wipe the cams, find the container, chuck a frag, snap a pic, and we're out. Easy gig."

"So all this mess is because you didn't want to get your hands dirty?" Oliver said dryly.

He was starting to think he might be the only halfway normal person on the team. Still supporting Jackie, he lifted his pistol and shot out the nearest camera.

Whatever. These two were his crew now. May as well roll with it.

By the time Maelstrom lieutenant Daemon reached the spot she'd seen on the feed, all that remained were seven bodies.

"Fucking useless," she growled. "Couldn't even stall them for five minutes?"

She wanted to shoot their corpses again just out of spite.

"Boss! Blood trail!" one of her gangers called, pointing at fresh droplets on the floor.

"Leading that way!"

The scattered blood drops formed a clear trail.

"Finally, something useful." Rage boiling, Daemon motioned for her crew to follow it.

They turned the corner into a narrow hallway—

BOOM.

A grenade trap detonated.

The first Maelstrom gangers were consumed in fire; the rest were blown back, bodies ragdolling onto the floor at Daemon's feet.

"FUCK! It's a trap!"

"They fucking played us!"

Karl, hearing the blast from ahead, turned and switched to his Lexington—better suited for close quarters.

Jackie's wounds were bandaged; there'd been no real trail.

The blood? A soaked rag, dropped in intervals as they moved.

The trap? Set by Oliver—basic, but effective, courtesy of his time in 6th Street.

"Oliver, keep Jackie safe. I'll check what's left."

Karl didn't expect a clean sweep—just to stall them.

But when he rounded the corner...

There wasn't much left to stall.

Daemon had barely twenty-something gangers under her. Seven were dead. The trap took out more. Some were out scavenging.

Now? Counting her—only four remained.

Karl's trigger finger moved on instinct.

By the time he realized he should leave one alive...

Three were already down.

The last one?

His bullet hit her square in the head—

CLANG.

It didn't go through.

"What the fuck? Another one with a metal skull and optics?"

He fired again, aiming at the seams of her cyberplate.

CLANG.

Still bounced.

Her red optics turned toward him, glowing with fury.

And in the back of his mind, Karl heard Jackie's warning again:

"Lexington? That peashooter can't even scratch subdermal armor."