'Quiet,' Szy'm'czyk murmurs across the comlink. 'They sleep.'
I raise a hand to halt the squad and motion for silence. Then, stepping carefully to avoid obstructions, we approach the end of the tunnel.
If I ever needed a graphic picture of Hell, this is it. We're using UV spots and goggles, so the picture is kind of grey and grainy, but that just makes it worse somehow. Sleeping Carriens litter the floor of the sewer nexus like sinners awaiting judgement, whilst around the walls four big sewer tunnels pump crap into the room to drain down an even bigger central hole in the floor. Bones, many of them still with meat attached, are scattered ankle deep everywhere I look.
'I think I see our boy,' Knight says in a slightly ill tone. He points at a half-eaten body hanging by its wrists from chains over the big pit. I can just about make out a pile of SLA-issue gear on the floor nearby, but the obvious prize is the Oyster hanging from the body's belt by a dummy cord.
'Why he want to keep computer so bad?' Fred wonders aloud.
'Bloody good question, Fred,' I tell him. 'Especially when there's - is that a Chopper on the floor there?'
'A Chopper? Cool!' Crucify pushes past Knight to get a better look. 'I got dibs on that puppy! Fwap!'
'Keep it down,' I hiss at him. I survey the scene again, and the beginnings of a plan start to come together in the back of my mind. 'Szy'm'czyk, do you have a silencer for the GAG?'
'Of course.'
'Good. Okay, if we do this right we can be in and out fast with minimum engagement time. Szy'm'czyk, when I give you the signal I want you to cap a couple of Carriens at each of the cardinal compass points. Make it messy.'
'Can you explain your reasoning for that decision?' Knight asks. The formal tone means he's recording, so I turn enough that he can get a three-quarter profile.
'Sure. Carriens aren't that bright, and the blood will send them into a feeding frenzy. I want them paying attention to dinner instead of us.'
'Nice,' Crucify admits grudgingly. Figures, it's the kind of idea that would appeal to him.
'Once their attention is fully engaged on dinner, Knight, you make a hop for the body. Cut the cord and retrieve the Oyster, then hop back. You have enough room in there for that manoeuvre?'
He takes the question seriously, a good sign, gauging the height of the nexus and the distance to the hanging body. 'I think so,' he says at last. 'It'll be a little tight, but I should be able to pull it off.'
'Okay,' I say. 'The rest of us provide covering fire. If anything goes wrong, we pop flares at equidistant points around the area; that should buy Knight a few extra seconds to get back.' I look around them. 'Everyone got that?'
They nod. 'I'd just like to say,' Knight pipes up, 'that for sheer psycho son of a bitch insanity, you're running Crucify a close second.'
Crucify gives him the finger, and I chuckle under my breath. 'All right. Let's do this thing.'
The whirring of gears comes faintly over the endless spackling of rain on the streets. We maintain cover, trying not to move, to do anything that will give our position away to the lurking monstrosity down the road.
Shadows move coherently, and I catch a glimpse of light bouncing from a metal surface. It's getting nearer.
Across the way, I see Knight lurking in a shattered shop front. He makes a hand signal - Enemy spotted. I reply with another - Enemy approaching this position. Even from here, his body language tells me how disgusted he is. I don't blame him; nobody here wants to fight one of those bastards. Even Crucify is hunkered down with the rest of us, trying not to be seen.
Crucify. wait a minute, I may have an idea. He's a lot better at reality folding than I am, not a skill I would necessarily have expected from him (he says he wants to pilot Foldships eventually; battleships, would be my guess). Right now, he's got a top range of a couple hundred metres. I scan around, looking for something that will fit our needs.
Bingo. One block down there's a tall building, should just be in range for him. Best of all, the top floors are clearly about ready to give up the ghost. I settle back into cover and half close my eyes. Numbers flood across my inner vision as I compute equations; then the formula is ready for me and I inject the words and pictures. Take grenade. Fold to top of building. Set grenade ten seconds. Return. Then I fire it off to Crucify.
His head comes up and he looks up at the building. With a savage grin, he motions for a grenade, and I hand him one of my sticky-backed specials. He studies it for a minute, making sure he knows how this brand works, then takes a deep breath and starts to formulate. His body seems to ripple, then dissolves from the legs up as a disc like barely-visible heat haze rises swiftly from the ground. Different. I wonder who taught him reality folding? I switch my attention to the building top; yes, there he is. And then here he is, as he folds back again. I give him a thumbs up, and a split second later the grenade goes off.
Instantly the Manchine down the road bursts into action. As it clears the building it was systematically gutting, we get our first good look at it; almost ten feet tall, draped in rotting skin and flesh, its limbs ending in hooked, barbed claws. It takes a running leap at the building, clearing an impressive two stories in a single bound, and continues straight up the wall, claws digging in for traction. It's going so fast that it actually jumps clear at the top, landing with a thud as it scans around for targets.
That's when the abused architecture finally decides to wave the white flag. With a groan and a snap, the floor gives way; the manchine has no face, per se, but I an almost picture the comical surprise as it plunges through the rotting floors on its way back down.
'Run!' I bark over the comlink, and nobody is slow in responding. The crashing is still going on as we break past the building and head for the Wall at full pelt.
But we've wasted a lot of time here, and evening is drawing on.
It's a race, now.