“The only thing worse than nearly getting torn apart by a pack of xenos is figuring out how to thank the Samurai that saved you. Either they don't give at shit and blow you off, completely collapse at the thought of someone interacting with them, or take it as an opportunity to never shut up for the rest of the op.

  You can guess which one I like least.

  - Tobias Gregor, Squad C Captain of Shatterhead Private Security

  “Sending drone up.”

  A tiny, palm sized quadcopter lifted up from the palm of Rudy’s hand and flew into the black expanse of the tunnel. Apparently they had done a brief fly around once the first xenos started to appear a week back, but chose not to send it in too deep at the risk of aggravating a possible hive. Now that the plan was to clear out what was there for good, we needed to collect as much information as we could manage.

  Seeing the place up close only highlighted how unnatural it all was. The walls were entirely this tight, packed dirt that one could easily mistake for a sort of cement if not paying attention. Most unsettling of all was how smooth it was; barely an extruded bit of stone or derelict crack could be made out in the walls, some parts even looking polished in their precision. It was terrifying how efficient the Antithesis were at making these tunnels, and what’s worse was how close the tunnel actually was to the rest of the mine, only a few minutes deep into the cavern after walking at a brisk pace.

  Rudy remained silent as he guided the drone through his pad, all of us watching with bated breath for his observations. A minute later, he gave a thumbs up, though never took his eyes off the screen. “Seeing an offshoot of the tunnel farther ahead, but not spotting any xenos at the moment. Should be good to move ahead.”

  “Send the drone down the offshoot,” Hazel called out, a quartet of flashlights all flickering on at the same time. “Don’t want to get pincered if it all goes to shit. Everyone else, you heard the man.”

  So began our slow and methodical operation. My mask already had night vision installed so I had little problems seeing farther down into the tunnels, but the conditions meant our game plan was caution first and foremost. Every step was careful and deliberate, and Rudy had no problem circling his drone through both the main tunnel and the offshoot several times over to make sure absolute nothing snuck up on us.

  It was quite professional in how thorough everyone operated, but frankly it was also pretty boring. I had thought my trek through the desert had prepared me for the tedium, but at least the desert had stuff to look at. All that existed in here was dirt and darkness.

  “So…” I ended up sliding out after long enough. “Anybody got plans after this?”

  It was Hazel who ended up speaking first. “Not particularly. Kind of married to the job, and no matter how nasty this op gets, it just means I get to drown myself in paperwork for the next week or so. Encountering an Antithesis is at least a dozen forms, and fighting a hive is about a dozen more. And not the type you can just e-sign at the end with your names, but ones with actual boxes and parameters.

  “Well you ain’t exactly losing sleep over the prospect, are you?” Campbell replied. “See, Hazel here is the type of sick fuck that actually enjoys doing all that bureaucratic hogwash, believe it or not. It’s frankly astounding that she didn’t end up as an accountant at some megacorp.”

  Hazel gave a scoff, as if taking mock offense to what he said. “Being an accountant doesn’t let you punch and shoot something if a number doesn’t add up, so that’s probably for the best. Gonna do the usual routine after we're finished here I assume, Campbell?”

  He laughed. “As in get shitfaced at a bar? You bet. There’s a great place not far from the Murdock building if any of you ladies, gents, or otherwise would like to join me. Plenty of good drinks and cute girls. I know Hazel at least is into both of those.”

  “Count me in.” Barrett replied, raising a hand. His voice was muffled from behind his suit, but one could hear a bit of enthusiasm in his reply. “I’ll always go for a drink after being in this musky suit for an afternoon.”

  Yours truly, on the other hand, was less than thrilled by the offer of booze, to the point of unintentionally making a noise of disgust. “Ugh, pass. Seen too many horror stories of drinking before a fight to ever want to indulge in it myself. Take it from me, when you get punched in the gut enough, whatever’s in it doesn’t like staying there.”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Oh, experienced in the ring, are you?” Campbell asked, his interest piqued.

  “Would you believe me if I said Targ actually had a decent fighting scene? It's basically the only interesting non-corpo thing in the place.”

  “Yeah, I’ll pass too,” Rudy chimed in, still keeping eyes glued on the pad. “Never liked the taste of alcohol anyways. Shame there’s no place that sells instruments in this town, ‘cause that would be my preferred way to spend a night.”

  That caught my attention. “You do music?”

  “Mmm. Piano in high school. Wanted to be a musician, but there’s a reason they call creatives starving artists. Picked up this job to pay the bills and have been occupied with it ever since.”

  He gave a defeated sigh. “Frankly, my odds of actually getting a chance to throw myself back into music seriously are pretty much slim to none. Would be cool to maybe play one of the big organs in Pheonix before I croak, but not counting on it.”

  The buzz of the drone once again came into earshot before receding back in the echo of the tunnel. “That’s four runs, no xeno sightings. Sending it out again.”

  Watching the drone retreat into the darkness once again, our conversation dried up, leaving us all in an awkward silence again. This time it was Campbell who picked up the slack, addressing me. “So what's your story, missy?”

  “As in, like, becoming a Samurai?” My hands fell back behind my head while I stewed on the question. “I mean… you’ve probably heard how that whole story goes in your line of work. Incursion appears, nearly die fighting some aliens, get a chip in my head, buy cool shit, kill some more aliens, buy more cool shit, etcetera etcetera. Not sure my version of those events is any more interesting than that.”

  “Nah, that’s bull.” Garrett interrupted. “Every Samurai I’ve heard of started their career with some crazy stunt. Doubt you’re any different.”

  “Well…I guess I did punch a trio of Model Threes to death with just a brass knuckle and a trash can? And I did also fight an Eighteen for close to an hour straight.”

  I practically felt the sensation of four sets of eyes all falling in me all at once, each one staring at me with a mixture of amazement and disbelief as if I had just grown a second head.

  “Okay, saying it out loud does make it sound way more impressive.”

  “See?” Barrett replied. “This is the insane stuff I’m talking about. We didn't even get a quarter of that excitement last time we were down here.”

  “Last time?” Something about that struck me as odd, and a moment later the gears finally started to turn. “Wait, were you guys the ones who dealt with the previous hive?”

  “Got it in one,” Hazel answered. “Well, me, Barrett, and Campbell at least. Rudy hadn't joined up with us yet. Can already say that you're far more pleasant to be around than that other Samurai, despite his effectiveness. His language was…colorful.”

  Campbell gave a heavy scoff at such an understatement. “Kid cussed more than my old man. Who was a sailor. Wouldn’t shock me if that name of his was self-inflicted.”

  A sharp hiss from behind us cut out jovial conversation short, and our attention fell to Rudy, his fingers now furiously tapping the screen. “Shit.”

  Hazel immediately straightened. “Rudy, has the drone been taken down?”

  “No, but I doubt it's gonna stay that way. Not seeing any signs of xenos, but it's having a hard time keeping a signal.”

  “Nines.” Barrett spat out, visibly tightening the grip on his flamethrower.

  Of all people it was me, the actual Samurai, who was caught out of the loop. “Wait, Model Nines? The camo guys?”

  “Yup,” replied Campbell. “They can block comms.”

  Correct. While it is a less commonly discussed function of the specific model, the Model Nine regularly releases spores into the air that intercept and interrupt electrical signals in machinery, making it one of the more ideal models for jamming communications and electrical equipment.

  Ah, so that was why the drone was cutting out. And if there were Model Nines hanging out farther into the tunnel…well, when there's smoke there's fire, as they say.

  Rudy's dire tone worsened when an audible hitting sound came from his tablet followed by a crash, and he let out a curse. “Dammit, the drone's down. Sounds like it got hit by a Model One or something.”

  The sound of crashing footsteps could be heard from the tablet before the drone fully disconnected. The distant sound of stampeding movement echoed down the tunnel. “Seems like they're bringing out the welcoming party,” I mumbled.

  Everyone tightened up. “Safeties off if they aren't already,” Hazel barked out. “Max, if you could take point.”

  A malicious, excited grin stretched across my face, even if no one else could see it. “Gladly.”

  I strode forward, smacking the metallic knuckles of my gauntlets together before bringing them into a fighting stance. “Hopefully this will be a decent warm up. Let's dance, you overgrown weeds.”