"You little shit!"
Daemon locked onto the black-haired young man peeking around the corner and immediately raised her Crusher power shotgun.
PONG!
A deafening blast tore through the steel corridor, the impact triggering a piercing metallic screech that echoed like thunder through every hallway in the factory.
Steel was a bitch for sound.
The roar carried far—loud and clear—into the corridor where Karl was now sprinting for his life.
"Fuck, was that a shotgun?! Should've aimed for that instead!"
Cursing under his breath, Karl could already hear Daemon's heavy cyber-enhanced steps closing in from behind.
He wasn't fast enough.
What was supposed to be a simple sweep had turned into a goddamn death trap.
A power shotgun and subdermal armor in a tight corridor?
He could already picture his corpse in a pool of blood.
Oliver had burned through their grenades setting traps earlier.
If they'd saved just one…
Up ahead, Karl spotted Jackie and Oliver. Both had clearly heard the shot and realized things had gone sideways.
"RUN!"
Mid-sprint, Karl holstered the Lexington, dropped to one knee, and snatched something leaning against the wall—
The Copperhead.
Not too long. Not anymore. You're perfect.
A rifle in close quarters was clunky—but in a straight hallway?
Just aim forward and let it rip.
Jackie hobbled forward, Oliver supporting him, both of them bolting toward the exit.
Karl stayed put, braced against the ground, and let loose.
Bullets screamed down the corridor.
A Lexington wouldn't stop her. But the Copperhead?
That was different.
Daemon had almost closed the gap—Crusher nearly in range—
Then Karl's barrage pinned her down.
She snarled, eyes fixed on the blonde helping his injured buddy escape.
Meanwhile, the one with the rifle never stopped firing.
Her jaw clenched until it felt like her implants would crack.
This humiliation was beyond anything she could stomach.
"I know your ammo's running low, kid! You and that 6th Street bastard are dead!"
She grabbed a Yukimura pistol off one of her dead crew. Arasaka make. Discontinued. Still deadly.
One hand on the Yukimura. One on the Crusher.
She crouched low, ready to move the second the shooting stopped.
"Oliver, did she just say your name?" Jackie grunted, limping fast.
"You know her?"
"Fuck no!" Oliver's voice cracked.
"This is my first time in Watson! How the hell did I piss off a Maelstrom boss!?"
"Shut up and run! I'm down to burst shots—almost dry! MOVE!"
The urgency in Karl's tone made both of them shut up and pick up the pace.
They didn't need details.
If Karl was this rattled?
It was bad.
Don't start a fight you're not ready to finish.
Karl carved that into memory.
Then—
He stopped shooting.
Out of ammo?
Daemon peeked around the corner, gun raised.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three bullets tore into her side, carving clean slashes.
But Karl's gut sank.
That wasn't her real body.
A real subdermal tank wouldn't go down from that.
Second lesson learned.
He tossed the now-empty Copperhead and drew the Lexington. Let out a few parting shots. Started running again.
Still shooting?
Daemon froze mid-step.
That gun should be empty.
She listened.
And then it hit her.
That sound—
"FUCK! THAT SOUND!"
Lexington.
That goddamn Lexington.
The first gun she and her brother ever used. It saved their lives more than once when they were nobodies scraping by in Watson.
And now—
That same cheap piece of shit just made her hesitate?
"FUCK YOU! You really used a Lexington to bait me?!"
She snapped.
Both guns ready, she exploded from cover—cybernetic eyes blazing.
But all she saw—
Was his silhouette, vanishing down the hall.
"YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
Twice.
He'd baited her twice.
Her optics flared crimson, bathing the walls in red.
No more holding back.
She'd been saving her strength for when she got her hands on Oliver.
Not anymore.
Now she was going to kill the black-haired bastard too.
Even if they lit her up with the Copperhead again—she'd walk through it.
No more hesitation.
KILL. KILL. KILL.
Her cyberware kicked into overdrive.
Internal systems whined like turbines.
Speed increased.
She wasn't leaving this factory without someone's head.