Sorry! Door was unlocked!

  - Samurai Lecher, moments before being declared dead for 160 days after “accidentally” walking in on Samurai Grindstone while she was undressing.

  Suffice to say, I was quite hurt to find out Shermanson’s standard for what was “serviceable” sat significantly below mine. Can’t say I’ve ever had the displeasure of tasting free corporate food, but if the sad, watery gruel I was served was on the higher end of the bell curve, that made me much more concerned about the state of corporate nutrition. Three points had to be sacrificed in my endeavor to not collapse from hunger mid-fight, and those were three points I was likely to never get back. Until I killed a Model Three or above at least, but it’s the principle of these things.

  In the midst of my disappointment I received a message from Shermanson about an hour later regarding where to change. Apparently he caught onto my oath of anonymity, so he made sure to put me in a place absolutely no one else visited for me to get into my equipment, which turned out to be a musty old utility closet with exactly one working bulb. At least it had enough space to actually be able to stretch all of my limbs, unlike some places. Never done it myself, but I’ve read horror stories about people having to change inside of porta-potties, and that is a fate I would wish not even upon my worst enemies. Except maybe the Antithesis.

  I unloaded my bag onto the floor of the storage room, taking out everything I would need while stashing the rest of the bag in a spot that wouldn’t be obvious. That turned out to be the top shelf of the closet, which I only reached by literally throwing the bag up as smoothly as I could. Getting it down was going to be a slight hassle, but that was a future Max problem and present Max was currently the one at the wheel.

  Four different items laid out before me. The first was a jet black jump-suit, adorned with tiny metal plates all across its surface like hyper-advanced lizard scales. Amazingly, it also had pockets, which was a welcome bonus. I had stripped out of all my clothes, aside from the ones that covered the naughty bits, so all I had to do was slip myself into it from the back. It was a perfect fit just as I remembered, and as soon as my head was safely tucked inside the hood of the suit, the zipper automatically closed up and the suit became skin-tight around my body. Not enough to restrict my movement, but enough to not be baggy or in the way. Only my hands remained uncovered, but that was the part of my mostly fleshy body that required protection the least. I imagine how little it left to the imagination would be unflattering to most, but I wasn’t exactly a prude so who cares how it clung to my frame. Wasn't much to show in the first place with how thin I tended to keep myself, aside from the lean muscle I had gained over the years.

  Going up from the bottom, I put on the boots next. They looked like a fairly average pair of work boots, aside from the fact they were almost completely metal and had a pair of vertical jets on the back of each, the entire thing painted black to match the rest of the equipment. I slipped each foot into their respective boots, and as soon as my toes sat flush with the ball of my foot, the entire inside tightened snug. I gave a quick tap of the foot to make sure the entire thing was secure, and a smile crept up onto my face when the shoe refused to shift or jostle.

  For the real test I did a small hop in an attempt to touch the ceiling of the room, several feet higher than even my most outstretched arm. The moment my feet left the ground the jets of the boots puffed out, pushing me all the way up the very top of the room and letting my fingers gently brush the ceiling before gravity took over and I returned to earth with a cushioned impact. Realistically the boots could propel me much, much higher if I really wanted, but this was a nice little warm up.

  “Cal, how’s the charge on the boots?” I asked. Had to make sure all my bases were covered after all.

  Your left and right are sitting at 74% and 73% respectively. I doubt you will have any issues about running out of power unless you are in combat for far longer than expected.

  “Don’t jinx it.”

  A complete superstition with no scientific backing. If you want a far more surefire way of predicting various advantageous or disadvantageous scenarios, there are several items within your Class I Combat Simulation Catalog that may interest you, albeit more expensive than your augs.

  “I’m good, thanks.” I brought my attention back to the remaining two sets of items, more specifically the most important set of all: my gauntlets.

  They were a bulky set of things, being quite a bit wider and heavier than my normal prosthetics, while still keeping that same all-black color scheme as the rest. The only thing to break that pattern was the silver piece of metal shaped like a skull on the back of each hand. Apparently it was a more standard disc shape usually, but that cheeky bastard Calydon had modified it into the current shape during delivery, as my current Samurai name was just then beginning to stick. They slid over my hands and locked in with a satisfying click, and a second later after a small fuzzy feeling the new hands moved just as naturally as the old ones. Cal had shipped my prosthetics with the ability to interface with any new gauntlets that I get, which was proving to be a wonderful decision.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Finally sat my mask, which was a faceless black piece, save for the silver skull decal plastered on the front of it, the same color as the insignia on the gauntlets. Cal really liked leaning into the whole Death Punch moniker when I was in uniform. The mask was fully kitted out; x-ray, infrared, night vision, the whole nine all contained in a sleek form that slipped effortlessly over my face. With the bodysuit also going up over my face, it didn’t matter that the mask didn’t cover the back of my head. Once the thing was on, it was genuinely tricky to tell that I was looking through a mask and not just seeing the world through my own eyes, aside from the features that weren’t standard issue with my peepers.

  All together, I thought it looked pretty spiffy. The bulky size of the boots and gauntlets against the form-fitting suit was a little mismatched, but I thought it was neat how it highlighted the exact part I was going to beat things to death with. Some of the more fashion forward Samurai could probably pull a boatload of criticisms out of their overly gaudy hats, but I wasn't particularly interested in hearing how this exact shade of black didn't go with that exact shade of silver.

  Right on cue I got another message from Shermanson, this time saying where we were meeting up. I wasted no time, promptly leaving the closet and doing my best to ignore the slack-jawed stares that came from my presence. At the very least, walking with enough speed to make it look like you have somewhere to be is a fantastic way for people to not get in your way, especially when covered head to toe in Samurai-tech.

  Our rendezvous was luckily close enough that I could hitch a ride on the company shuttle bus, although it did have the unfortunate side effect of making everyone riding the bus alongside me extremely nervous. Frankly, I get it. Once I hopped off the bus, I found myself staring down an entire small mountain with various mines and quarries excavated across the area. I let Cal take the lead guiding me through the site while I gawked at all the machinery from behind my mask, watching them all dig up ton after metric ton of salt from the earth.

  Actually, that made me curious. “Hey Cal, what’s this place mine?”

  The Orson branch of Murdock Mining and Excavation specializes in coal mining, and as such it is the town's primary export. As you can see, however, there is also a high content of halite in the area which Murdock also extracts.

  Huh.

  Moving to a place blocked off by yellow tape was the sign that I was going in the right direction, and soon I was able to spot a group of four lingering by the entrance to one of the mining tunnels.

  “Hot damn,” the woman there said, crossing arms across her vest-covered chest while giving an impressed whistle in my direction. “Boss wasn’t joking when he said a Samurai was coming to help.”

  “I could just be a cosplayer who gets their kicks from trespassing into work sites for all you know.” I replied.

  The woman gave a heavy snort. “Nah, you’re the Samurai. Death Punch, I think it was? I’m Hazel Becken, the leader of this particular squad of Dust Devil Private Military, contracted by Murdock.” She gave me a handshake in greeting, one that was slightly uncomfortable even for my prosthetics. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

  She motioned her hand out toward the rest of the squad in the line, starting with the bald, bearded man on the left. “This is Campbell. Him and I will be out in the front alongside you. A right xeno-killing machine this guy is; I’m only the leader here because I’m better with the paperwork.”

  “Can’t deny that.” A smirk appeared on the man’s face as he cradled the assault rifle in his hands.

  “In the middle here is Barrett, our xeno cleanup specialist.” Hazel pointed to a man entirely covered in a silver, fire resistant suit holding a lit flamethrower in his hands and a hefty fuel canister on the back. He gave a simple wave, which looked extra dopey with his attire.

  “And here on the end is Rudy. He’ll be handling scouting and communications during the operation.” The person in question was downright shrimpy compared to the well-built Hazel and Campbell, and his eyes remained transfixed on the tablet in his hands during the entire introduction.

  It took a swift elbow to the side from Barrett to snap him out of his focus and actually acknowledge what was happening around him. “Ah, nice to meet you.” As soon as that last word came out, he was already glancing back down at the screen although now rubbing the side from where he had been elbowed.

  “Well, as you correctly deduced, I go by Death Punch,” I said. “Here to kill aliens and chew bubblegum, just without the bubblegum. Good to be working with you all.”

  “The honor is ours, Miss Death Punch.” Hazel said.

  I hesitated. “...Nope, that still sounds wrong. Just call me Max.”

  Hazel gave a laugh. “Max it is, then. Shall we get started?”