SmoMir Chpt 11

==Mirrorsmoke Company - Chapter 11 -==
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Albany City​
New Oslo​, Draconis Combine
October, 3018
The act of infiltration wasn't unknown to us kids, but what that usually entailed was us inserting ourselves undetected into enemy territory, doing our business and then disappearing not long after. There was skill and a patient mindset involved in doing it long term, embedding ourselves into Albany City like sleeper agents.
 
Frankly, I wasn't sure if we could handle it.
 
I was aware, maybe now more than ever, how differently my kids acted compared to the average Combine citizen, much less a kid born into that life. We were made into cold blooded killers, and I'd hoped for sure that Logan had rescued us before that could fully set in. But when I saw how Kristin didn't so much as flinch when she took her first life, or how Lisbeth could laugh off just how close she was to getting downed inside her 'Mech–I had to wonder just exactly how far we really were to that line we couldn't uncross.
 
As far as I was seeing? We weren't the hearts and minds type of rebels.
 
I didn't need Logan to tell me how easy it would be to turn Albany City against the Combine. The average person living in the city just wanted to live their life, trading freedom over safety.
 
First, we'd hit key infrastructure, cutting them off of power and other basic amenities, even the hospitals. When the riots start, we'd do false flag attacks, make the local forces hit the populace a little harder than they should. Then we'd go for the Kuritan's themselves, make them take the gloves off in their attempt to quell the rising discontent.
 
All it would cost us was a few days, along with the killings and atrocities that followed the ensuing chaos, not to mention the detachment of Sword of Light coming to execute what was left of us right after.
 
I wasn't naive to think that what we were doing was some righteous cause, as if that even justifies our actions somehow. I knew that for some of us, they were in it just for the chance to bite back at the Kuritans. It was too damn easy.
 
We might not stop blood from being split, but I sure as hell would be doing my utmost to keep my kids from being as red as the Combine.
 
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Albany City. I'd honestly missed the place, despite the life I have had to live. Three thousand square kilometers of landlocked ferrocrete and factory smog, all of her tightly packing a population of nine million. She wasn't all that pretty, but she was home.
 
Entrance through the city walls was exclusive, needing a pass card with your identification marks not getting tagged as expired from seven years ago. That was just getting into the city. Albany was split into different walled wards, and each ward only provided entry that depended on one's status within the caste. When we still lived on the outskirts, normally we had an in by way of a group of guards manning the tolls, who took some small pity for a bunch of orphans trying to sneak in to see the fireworks festivals up close.
 
We weren't those kids anymore.
 
"Watcher, we're attempting infil now," Ed whispered subvocally, but it might as well have just sounded like he was speaking normally. Effective Dataplatings usually required invasive surgery, like the one he had subdermally screwed into his jaw. I opted out, and instead sported a pair of glasses that allowed bone conduction to communicate just as well. "They've started inspecting the truck."
 
Alongside was the Infoskin; practically a spy's best friend. Like living makeup, it allowed us to change our appearances, even adding more on our facial structures. I couldn't help but glance at myself in the rearview mirror, unused to the Emerald eyes that looked back. My blonde-turned-black hair had grown into these scraggly spikes that I had to tie into a ponytail.
 
"Copy, Speartip. The papers you have should be good," I heard Logan say, the vibrations tingling in the back of my neck. "But feel free to grease some palms if necessary. We don't want them sniffing around any deeper in that truck."
 
Fresh food as bribes wasn't something you'd see everyday, but it was perfect. Not so readily abundant here in the cities, not unless you were a noble by birth. All of it as thanks for the rescue of the twelve people from Vesterby.
 
That was, if we even managed to bribe the tolls in the first place.
 
Security had been more stringent now, the guards coming out of the booths with x-rays and chemical sniffers, scanning our truck from above and below for anything untoward. Even with a few probes and suggestions in pure Japanese didn't help. They took no bribes, fearing for their necks on the line.
 
I couldn't exactly blame them. After what the snakes had dubbed as the 'Lindorm Massacre', eavesdropped in their satellite comms, things have gotten a lot more tense for everybody these past few weeks. I'd underestimated just how far reaching the consequences of our attack was, for it to even be whispered here in the south.
 
There was blood in the water now, and only a matter of time before the Dracs did something about it as a show of force. Hell, they were combing Nordmarka as if their lives depended on it.
 
Good luck finding us now, though.
 
After a few tense moments of questioning, we were promptly let in without further problems. We drove further into Ward C, one of the more Kuritan-influenced parts of the city, and all of a sudden it was like unlocking a faded memory, each passing street and corner practically triggering a blow from my childhood as blinding as the sea of neon lights that dotted the billboards.
 
It was funny in a way. I'd spent half of my life being broken down, and the one thing they could never take from me was already crumbling away like dust on its own.
 
"Watcher, we're almost at the parlor," I said, trying to get away from these thoughts. Mission first. "So far so good."
 
"Acknowledged, Speartip. Now for the hard part."
 
The Yakuza.
 
I sighed at the word. When above you was the oppressive regime that was the Draconis Combine, the below then were the sharks, supping from the blood spilt by an errant mistake or a whisper of discontent. The Unproductives lurk here, the criminals, the bottom feeders. Those who had no means to better their station in life in the bottom of the totem pole, and so took to digging themselves deeper below.
 
We were a lot alike, I suppose. Still distasteful to work with scum, but there was an overlap there that I could understand.
 
Logan once claimed that to truly know a city, you had to know its rats. A stupid way to phrase it, but we were still going to put it to practice. The question then would be, how exactly do you get to know these rats? His answer was to politely knock on the door.
 
This was the third time we've done this, and I should have kneed him in the gut when I had the chance.
 
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Pachinko parlors were meant to trap a person inside for hours. They were prison, practically. Loud celebratory jingles that tickled the brain funny; bright lights and gimmicks that flashed over the eyes, tethering them to the screen, playing inside this dark room with no windows and no sense of time all to keep you distracted from the outside world.
 
This was just one of the many ways the Yakuza could get their hooks in someone's life.
 
The fun part starts when you go into debt with them.
 
Our training kicked in as soon as we stepped inside. The only way out was the only way in, and the quick furtive glances from the regulars meant that we already failed trying to go unnoticed.
 
To my right was Ed, eyes up front, doing the same as I was, looking through his peripherals. He was carrying a box of fruit and other sweets, an incredibly paltry and frankly insulting amount of food, considering the wealth some Yakuza clans could amass even under intense CGC scrutiny. But the fruits were not the tribute.
 
Hidden under all that food was a case containing ornate pistols, and depending on how well this meet and greet would go, a hell of a lot more arms inside our truck.
 
We ventured deeper into the parlor, a wide open space filled with rows upon rows of loud pachinko machines, the sounds oppressive to my ears. On the other side of the room was a single door, labeled 'VIP only'. There was a booth beside it, manned by a pretty face, but most likely no less dangerous than the four swiveling heads eyeing us to my left like hawks as we tried to walk towards her.
 
"Three. On my right," Ed whispered subvocally, tapping the brim of the box. He'd identified the guards.
 
"Four. Left flank," I said just as quietly, rapidly tapping the side of my thigh. "Watcher, advise?"
 
"I have to keep reminding you that these aren't soldiers, Speartip," Logan replied coolly. "Don't engage unless you're in mortal danger. Try not to kill. At all. You do that, and they'll try and take off the kids' gloves, and that's not something we can easily cover under the carpet."
 
I agreed, as much as I hated it. From what I knew, there was a veneer of civility among the Yakuza clans. They say faces and shows of force reigned supreme in the criminal underworld, but they usually kept it calm and civil in most cases in order not to draw the attention of the law enforcement.
 
They were just muscle, I had to remind myself. Quiet movers and shakers. The Ashi-gumi's bread and butter was smuggling, and from rumors, were known to have some kind of contact outside the realm of the Draconis Combine. If this somehow worked out, we intended on finding out how.
 
Hopefully, they won't screw us over like the last two times.
 
"Act it up, just like last time. Pretend you're a bunch of dumb kids overreaching above your station; make them think they just had a score present itself on a platter."
 
Before we could even talk to the lady in the booth, the guards surrounded us. There was someone huge behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder, keeping me from taking another step. I turned around, and the man a full head taller than me looked like a typical meathead; bulging muscles inside a suit two sizes too small, and the way he stared at me looked like he wanted me to start something just so he could put me in the ground.
 
Irezumi. Tattoos. A small head of a Lung Dragon snaked its way on the side of his neck, and likely along his back. These guys were the real deal.
 
Goddamnit. Logan, you should be the one doing this scam, grow up already!
 
"Uh, hey," I said, calmly tilting my head upwards. "Is there a problem, man?"
 
Muscles just stared at me. "What are you little puppies doing around here at this time? Got an appointment?"
 
Ed and I shared a glance. "Let me handle this, Dav," he said, subvocally. "Let's try not to escalate."
 
He turned to the guards. "We're your new neighbors, guys!" Ed said, smiling. He was shaking the box of fruits he'd been carrying. "Figured we owe the manager of this establishment a little bit of tribute from us."
 
"Is that right?" Muscles asked. His hand was loose, but still on me. I could easily break his fingers if he wasn't going to let go of me anytime soon. "And who are you supposed to be?"
 
"Why, we're the new business partners of your boss!"
 
That earned us a laugh from the goons.
 
"That's it, keep going. Act like idiots way above your head."
 
"We're not actually going to meet the guy in charge, are we?" I whispered to Logan.
 
"Nah. Looks like they're going to beat the shit out of you for screwing around with their time, and then take the guns."
 
I figured as much.
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"I don't care who sent you little shitlings, but go tell your bosses not to go pissing around in our pond anymore, you hear!?"
 
Muscles, surprisingly, had the decency to hold his punches back as he went for my face. I knew because of a minder who had been about his size, who delighted in telling me how soft I was as he punched my ribs as hard as he could. 
 
I could have taken him.
 
"Listen, guys, we just wan–" I started.
 
He gave me another love tap. "I don't want to hear it! You think we haven't heard of you shits from the other clans?!"
 
I couldn't answer, my eyes clamped shut from the punch. I could feel his hands wrapping around my neck. I grabbed hold of the gun hidden under my jacket. "I'm only telling you this once. Don't start none, won't be none. Not in our territory. You hear me?"
 
All I could do was nod.
 
He dropped me, and soon enough I felt another pair of hands reaching for the keys in my pockets as I was laying down. I kept my eyes shut and waited until they left.
 
Before long I groaned, rising from the back alley pavement. I glanced around, starry eyed and cupping my jaw, wincing more from losing the truck rather than from the hits I had to take. Then I panicked, patting my body around, and I immediately felt relief as soon as I felt it.
 
Holy shit. I was so lucky they didn't find the gun in my jacket.
 
"Fuuck!" I shouted, trying to gather my bearings.
 
Nearby was Ed, who had been stuffed ass first into a garbage bin. He looked like a turtle who fell on its back, stone faced and rubbing a reddening black-eye as he watched the few stars that shone through the city lights.
 
"I hate you, Logan," Ed slurred aloud. "Next time, you're the one doing this."
 
I had been about to say something a hell of a lot more impolite, before I realized I had lost my glasses on the floor. Frantically I picked them up, fortunate that the bone conduction still worked.
 
"–elcome to Albany City, boys," I heard Logan snark. It was clipped. I could practically hear the goddamn frown on his face. "Bug out and lick your bruises."
 
"This is the third time a gang has hung us out to dry, Logan, and now we've lost our second batch," Ed hissed, as he began to rock himself back and forth out of the trash bin, struggling to get out. "The third time has even gotten us hurt now. We're just giving away guns to the criminals at this point."
 
"Guns we can track straight to the ISF–"
 
"Might be!" I corrected, quietly. "Might be going to this ISF of yours! Who's to say these dirtbags aren't just keeping it all to themselves?!"
 
It made sense for there to be a secret organization controlled by the Combine to act as spies among the people it governed. I believed Logan, but what I didn't share was his constant paranoia painting over all his plans as of now. Just how pervasive could a group of spies be, that they had their hands around three Yakuza clans?
 
"No gang I ever heard of has willingly shared an edge over another gang, much less somehow gotten everybody cooperating," he argued. "I'm missing something here–they're too tightlipped. We need to find out if they're either in bed with the enemy or if this is just some weird deal they have with each other."
 
"Fine, but this is three busts too many already, Watcher," I warned him, "Any more and it won't be the gangs coming to greet us. You know this, even if it's not the ISF."
 
The trackers on those rifles said nothing. The Yakuza kept dumping them in the same place, an abandoned amusement park like some sort of a dead drop location they had all somehow agreed on using. A few hours later the signal on those trackers would disappear, suggesting at least there was somebody out there taking in those guns, and were smart enough to know they might have been bugged.
 
The girls were on overwatch this time. Hopefully, they'd have more luck than us.
 
"...You think I haven't realized how impossible it is that even a single lost crate of guns hasn't raised any alarms at all yet? But fine, you've made your point, Spear-1," Logan conceded, thankfully. "We'll try a different angle that won't put all of you at risk. For now, head back, lay low and rest up. I'll switch you with Trident."
 
"That's all we ask, Watcher. Out."
 
I proceeded to pull Ed out of the trash can, helping him dust off the trash and dirt stuck on his back. Without any mode of transportation, we were made to limp the streets of Ward C by ourselves.
 
The nightlife was a fantastic cover for us. A river of people coming in and out of bright neon joyhouses and bars–proof that at the very least, there was some semblance of joy living under Kuritan occupation.
 
All in all, the ward was completely safe. You just had to walk in places where there's people, mind your business, and try not to look at anybody funny.
 
We were already being followed.
 
"One guy, he's been following us for a while now," Ed said, glancing at the convex mirrors in the street ahead of us. Damn good eyes on my brother. How he managed to spot the man among the crowd was nothing short of a superpower. "He's not doing it right. We could lose him, easily."
 
"One guy, or is it somebody acting as bait?" I asked quietly. All the cloak and dagger we've been doing these past few days was starting to make me paranoid too, honestly.
 
"Who knows. Just remember SERE training."
 
I tried to smirk, but a sharp spike of pain stopped me.
 
"You and I remember SERE very differently." I grunted. For one thing, it involved a lot of dogs, not the flood of people we were walking through. "What's he doing right now?"
 
"Dunno. He was trying to be casual, but failing. Saw something glinting under his jacket, might be a camera."
 
Right. If it was a scope, he'd have already taken a shot at us. I had to keep reminding myself that the average man couldn't actually get to hold a rifle, and in a crowd like this? Chaos would be the least of their problems.
 
"Split up," I decided. "Let's surprise him."
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Chapter 11