On the outskirts of Neoz City, among the skeletal remains of an abandoned apartment housing project, the night hung heavy and silent. Crumbling concrete towers stood like forgotten tombstones, their hollow windows staring out into the void.
Through the lens of my binoculars, I watched the hulking silhouette of the Goliath Armor stalk its patrol around a particular building. The machine's movements were unnervingly precise—slow, methodical, like a predator pacing its territory. Its armor plating gleamed faintly under the pale city glow, an unmistakable sign of advanced military design.
That building was our target. The hacker's nest. He had turned the derelict structure into his fortress, siphoning power directly from the city grid and hijacking nearby data lines to fuel his operations. To the untrained eye, the place was nothing more than a ruin—but we knew better.
For the last twenty-four hours, Boston, Kathy, and I had done nothing but watch and wait, recording every patrol pattern. Patience was our ally; recklessness here meant death.
Harry and his drone unit had already swept the perimeter, mapping the structure in full 3D detail. The recon drone, cloaked in stealth technology, slipped past the Goliath's sensors like a phantom. Its data gave us a clear picture: entry points, chokeholds, and the hacker's probable command hub.
I lowered the binoculars, my heart steady but sharp with anticipation.
"Time to move," I said, my voice cutting through the still night air.
"Alright," Kathy replied, her tone calm, but her eyes gleaming with resolve.
"Let's get this done," Boston muttered, his massive frame shifting as he checked the weight of his rifle.
Harry gave a soft digital chirp, almost like a growl.
The pieces were in place. Now it was time to strike.
Harry deployed a medium-sized drone, sleek and bristling with countermeasures. It wasn't built for combat, but for trickery. The little machine hummed to life, spewing out a symphony of decoys—flashes of light, bursts of sound, artificial heat signatures, flickering holograms, even false infrared targets. Under Harry's expert control, the drone darted and danced in the darkness, baiting the Goliath away from the building like a matador taunting a bull.
Once the armored behemoth lumbered far enough from its post, Kathy and I took position. From the shadows, we drew back the strings of our composite bows—sleek, modernized weapons designed for silent precision. Our arrows, tipped with adhesive C4 charges, whistled through the night and struck true, latching onto the Goliath's critical points: the leg servos, joint mechanisms, and integrated weapon mounts.
The machine's sensors twitched. Its massive head turned toward us. But before it could react, I triggered the detonators.
A thunderous crack split the air. Fire blossomed across the Goliath's limbs as controlled detonations ripped through its systems. Sparks showered down like fireworks while its legs buckled beneath the weight of its own armored bulk.
"Not dead enough," Boston growled. He stepped forward, shouldering a portable launcher. A salvo of Stinger missiles shrieked into the night, hammering into the disabled titan with explosive fury. The ground shook as the Goliath staggered. Boston didn't stop—he switched to his grenade launcher and pumped round after round into the already-crippled machine.
By the time the smoke cleared, the once-formidable war machine was nothing more than a mangled heap of steel and fire. The Goliath was no longer a threat.
"Move!" I ordered.
We advanced quickly into the building. The air inside reeked of dust, burnt circuitry, and ozone. No sooner had we crossed the threshold than the defenders came.
WAUVs. Weaponized Aerial Unmanned Vehicles—sleek flying drones armed with rapid-fire SMGs, their rotors sounds slicing the air with high-pitched whines. They poured out from the shadows like a swarm of angry hornets, opening fire with mechanical precision.
But Kathy and I were faster. Our cyber-brains had already mapped their positions the moment they entered range. Combat algorithms guiding our cybernetic arms with cold efficiency. Our rifles snapped and thundered, each shot calculated, each round finding its mark with surgical precision.
WAUVs fell from the air in burning fragments, their wreckage sparking against the cracked concrete floor. Still, more kept coming.
Boston barked a curse and cut loose with suppressive fire, his heavy rounds shredding through drones two at a time. Sparks lit the gloom like a storm of fireflies.
We pushed forward step by step, guns blazing, every shot tearing us closer to the hacker.
After what felt like an eternity of climbing, level after level of the ruined apartment complex, the last of the WAUVs finally fell silent. Their shattered husks littered the stairwells and hallways, sparking and twitching in pools of smoke and oil. For the first time in hours, the air grew still.
But there was no time to celebrate.
Because waiting for us at the next floor landing were three menacing figures.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, their body wrapped in matte-black plating and armored exosuits. Class-M cyborg shells—cybernetic bodies without human brain, but only with cyber brain, controlled by the Hacker. Their optic eyes turned toward us in perfect unison, scanning us with predatory intent.
Even from here, I recognized the heavy rifles clutched in their mechanical grips. My stomach dropped.
"APBRs…" I hissed. "They're carrying Armor-Piercing Bullet Rifles! Take cover, now!"
The command was barely out of my mouth when all three opened fire.
The air exploded with the shriek of gunfire. Armor-piercing rounds tore through the corridor like a hailstorm of molten steel. Sparks sprayed from walls, doors, and broken furniture as the bullets chewed everything in sight. We dove behind the nearest slab of concrete, the sharp concussions rattling our eardrums.
Chunks of masonry burst apart around us. The concrete barrier between us and the storm of bullets grew thinner and thinner with every passing second, fragments stinging our synthetic skin.
Even our own IBRBS suits—normally more than enough against conventional fire—wouldn't last long against this. Not against APBRs. Those rifles were designed to punch through tanks.
Kathy's face was determined. Boston muttered a curse, clutching his launcher but unable to peek out without being shredded instantly. Harry beeped nervously from behind me, his sensors no doubt screaming at the incoming ballistic data.
Three Class-Ms versus one Class-C, one Class-B, and one modded human.
We had APBRs of our own—smaller than the ones the Class-Ms carried, but deadly enough if used correctly. All we needed was an opening.
I yanked a handful of micro-bombs from my belt—tiny spheres no larger than pebbles—and tossed them blindly over the crumbling wall. A quick mental command sent through my neo-bluetooth link, and they erupted in sharp bursts of fire and concussive shockwaves.
The explosions weren't catastrophic, but they didn't need to be. They were precise. Controlled. The blasts staggered the cyborgs, their armored frames stumbling a step backward as sparks cascaded off their exo-armor.
That was the opening we needed.
"Now!" I shouted.
We leaned out from cover, unleashing a storm of armor-piercing rounds. The deafening cracks of our APBRs thundered through the hallway, each bullet slamming into reinforced plating with sparks and metallic shrieks. The enemy shells jerked and twisted under the barrage, their armored hands blown apart as they lost grip on their massive rifles.
But I wasn't done yet.
I flicked another handful of micro-bombs beneath their heavy boots. The pebbles rolled and scattered across the floor, blinking faintly. A heartbeat later—BOOM!
The ground shook. Fire burst beneath them, knocking the cyborgs off balance and tearing through their joint servos. Their legs buckled, pistons sparking, stability lost.
"Focus fire!" I barked.
We concentrated every shot on their heads, our bullets tearing into the armored skull casings until the cyber brains inside ruptured in showers of circuitry and oil. One by one, the Class-M shells collapsed, crashing to the ground like felled titans.
The sudden silence after the last echoing gunshot felt deafening. Smoke curled from their shattered frames, glowing optics fading into darkness.
Three Class-M cyborgs—military monsters that should have been unstoppable—now lay ruined at our feet.
I exhaled, my synthetic lungs hissing softly. "That… was too close."
We pressed onward, climbing to the next floor.
The space we entered was eerily empty, the walls stripped bare except for a tangled jungle of cables that all converged toward the center of the room. There, illuminated by the cold glow of multiple monitors, sat a lone figure in a hoodie. His fingers danced furiously across a sprawling array of keyboards, the clatter of keys echoing like a strange, mechanical heartbeat.
We advanced in careful formation, rifles raised, sights locked on the hooded man. Every step forward felt heavier, the silence around us oppressive save for the rapid-fire keystrokes.
"I never expected you to make it this far," the hacker said without turning, his voice laced with a mixture of irritation and awe. "I underestimated the human brain, it seems."
He finally rose from his chair and pivoted toward us, pulling down his hood to reveal a pale face and sharp eyes that glittered with manic arrogance. A smirk tugged at his lips. "Congratulations on finding me."
"Stephan Garner," I declared, my rifle steady. "You've got nowhere to run. Surrender now, or we put a bullet in your head. Your choice."
Stephan chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "So eager for blood, are we? Is this about your cheap cyborg body? Upset that I tried to reprogram your little toy shell?"
"Don't test us," I warned coldly. "We're not the police. We're bounty hunters. Your poster says dead or alive. We don't care which."
His grin widened, eyes gleaming with malicious glee. "Alright, alright… but don't you want to know who hired me?"
My brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Stephan leaned back against the desk, arms spread as if savoring the moment. "Heh… someone paid me a fortune to kill that politician. A very powerful someone." He began laughing, a high-pitched, manic sound that echoed off the hollow walls.
"What?" I demanded, taking a half step closer.
"I hold valuable information, don't I?" he sneered. "You can't kill me—not if you want to know the truth."
The words barely left his mouth when a sudden flash of steel erupted through his chest. A katana blade, impossibly sharp, pierced clean through his body from behind. His eyes went wide in shock as the weapon slid free, leaving him staggering and drenched in blood.
We all snapped our weapons upward—but there was no one to aim at. The blade shimmered as if suspended in the air, wielded by an invisible hand.
"That's stealth camouflage!" Boston roared. "Open fire!"
Gunfire erupted, a hailstorm of armor-piercing rounds tearing through the room. Sparks danced as the katana blurred in impossible arcs, deflecting bullet after bullet with inhuman speed. Whoever wielded it was more than just fast—they were something else entirely.
Then, in an instant, the blade winked out of existence. Our bullets punched into nothing but empty air.
"Gone," Kathy hissed.
The assassin had vanished as suddenly as they appeared, leaving only the fading echo of steel.
"Damn it," I growled under my breath.
We rushed back to Stephan, but it was already too late. Blood pooled beneath his twitching body, staining the floor in a growing crimson halo. His lips trembled as he tried to speak, voice thin and broken.
"They… finally… found me…" His chest rose in one final, shuddering breath before collapsing forever.
The three of us stood frozen, staring down at his lifeless form. The room that had once thrummed with energy from computers and screens now felt like a tomb—cold, hollow, and silent, save for the quiet drip of blood onto the floor.