"YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!"
Demon's augmented vocal cords distorted her scream into a mechanical snarl as she rounded the corner, her four crimson cybereyes burning through the factory's gloom like dying embers.
The Militech Crusher shotgun in her hands erupted with a deafening roar that shook the steel catwalk beneath their feet, flechette rounds chewing through the reinforced corridor walls like a starving animal tearing into fresh meat. Sparks erupted in brilliant arcs as the hypervelocity projectiles ricocheted wildly, filling the air with the acrid stench of scorched metal and ozone.
Carl barely registered the shotgun's muzzle flash before his body moved on pure survival instinct. He threw himself backward just as the wall where his head had been exploded outward in a shower of molten shrapnel. A white-hot fragment embedded itself in his calf, sending jagged bolts of pain up his leg. He didn't have time to think about it - already turning to run as Demon's distorted, glitching laughter echoed through the narrow space like a malfunctioning sound system.
"KK! What the hell—" Oliver's voice cut off as Carl skidded into view, the Copperhead assault rifle he'd earlier dismissed as too cumbersome now gripped in blood-slick hands, its barrel still smoking from recent use.
"FUCKING MOVE! SHE'S PACKING A CRUSHER!"
Jackie didn't need to be told twice. Despite the blood soaking through the ragged bandage on his thigh - the fabric now more red than its original color - he grabbed Oliver's shoulder for support and began hobbling toward a service junction up ahead. His face was pale beneath the grime and sweat, but his movements remained determined. Carl spun on his heel, bracing the rifle against his shoulder as he unleashed a withering barrage of suppressive fire back down the corridor. The deafening reports of the Copperhead mixed with the metallic ping of rounds sparking harmlessly off Demon's reinforced plating.
"You think you're clever, you little shit?" Her voice oscillated between human snarl and mechanical distortion as her damaged vocal modulators struggled to keep up with her rage. "I'm going to peel the skin from your bones while you watch! And I'll feast on your fucking eyes!"
Carl's grip tightened on the rifle until his knuckles turned white, the muzzle flashes illuminating the corridor in stuttering bursts of hellish orange light. Each ricochet sent metallic screeches bouncing off the walls, the sound waves vibrating through the metal framework like some industrial death knell.
Two Lessons Learned:
1. Never engage in close quarters against an opponent with superior firepower. The Crusher's second blast had nearly taken his head off, forcing Carl to dive behind a structural support beam as the deadly swarm of flechettes turned the air where he'd been standing into a kill zone.
2. Always conserve emergency explosives. Oliver's earlier trap had eliminated their immediate pursuers, but now they were left with nothing but desperation and dwindling ammunition.
Jackie and Oliver had nearly reached the next junction when Demon reappeared, this time wielding a battered Arasaka Tamayura pistol alongside her monstrous shotgun. The twin weapons gleamed ominously in the flickering emergency lighting, their polished surfaces streaked with grease and old blood.
Carl's suppressing fire forced her to momentarily retreat, but the Copperhead's ammunition counter flashed a dire warning - final magazine. He ejected the spent clip with practiced efficiency, his free hand already moving toward the Lexington at his hip even as he knew it would be too—
Too slow.
Demon stepped fully into the open, the Crusher leveled directly at his center mass. "No more tricks, meatbag?" The weapon's distinctive pump-action racking sound echoed through the corridor as she chambered another round.
Three rapid shots from Carl's pistol sparked against her armored forehead in quick succession. Useless. The rounds might as well have been thrown pebbles for all the effect they had.
Click.
Empty.
With no other options remaining, Carl hurled the weapon at her face with all his strength. Demon instinctively flinched—just for a fraction of a second—but it was enough. He lunged forward in a desperate tackle, gripping the assault rifle like a club as he brought it around in a vicious arc.
The improvised swing connected solidly with her shotgun, deflecting the barrel upward at the last possible instant as it discharged into the ceiling with an apocalyptic roar. Molten debris rained down around them like hellish confetti as Demon snarled, her backup pistol rising—
"KK, DOWN!"
Jackie's warning came just in time.
Carl dove to the side as the jury-rigged explosive device rolled into view, picking his discarded Lexington mid-roll. Not a standard grenade—Oliver had somehow rigged a dead Maelstrom soldier's cyberarm with its own thermal charge during the chaos. The resulting explosion tore through the corridor with devastating force, the shockwave knocking Carl several feet through the air before he hit the ground in a painful roll.
Flames engulfed Demon's scream of rage, the heat so intense it blistered paint from the walls thirty feet away. Carl didn't wait to assess the damage—he was already moving, the stench of burning synthetic flesh and scorched metal clinging to his clothes like a second skin.
"Since when does that chromed-up psychopath know my name?" Oliver gasped as he half-carried, half-dragged Jackie between towering factory machinery. Blood from Jackie's wounds left an intermittent trail behind them, each drop gleaming darkly against the industrial flooring.
Jackie winced with every step but kept his focus sharp, his eyes scanning for exits. "Must've made an impression back in Santo Domingo," he gritted out, his usual humor strained but present.
Carl scanned their surroundings as they moved deeper into the factory's industrial maze. The towering machines provided temporary cover, but no clear exit path. "Save the theories. Focus on moving."
Behind them, Demon emerged from the smoke like some nightmare given form—half her faceplate melted away to reveal grotesque cybernetic workings beneath, her remaining four optics glowing with unnatural intensity through the damage. "OLIVER!" Her voice was pure distortion now, sounding more like grinding industrial machinery than anything human.
They ducked behind a massive hydraulic press just as another shotgun blast shook the factory, the sound waves vibrating through the metal floor plates.
Jackie slumped against the machine's base, his breathing ragged but controlled. "Got any bright ideas, choom?"
Oliver crouched beside him, checking his bandages. "We need to find a way out before she corners us."
Carl reloaded the Copperhead with trembling hands, the adrenaline crash making his fingers clumsy. Another two vital lessons now burned themselves into his memory with painful clarity:
1. Always keep extra extra emergency explosives on hand, no matter how secure you think you are with your first emergency boom.
2. Never, ever underestimate a Maelstrom lieutenant's capacity for vengeance.
The sounds of Demon's incoherent rage echoed through the factory's metal rafters, growing closer with each passing second. Carl peered around the hydraulic press, seeing the distorted shadow of their hunter moving between the machines. The memory of those four burning crimson eyes would haunt him for nights to come—if they survived that long.
Another shotgun blast shook the factory, closer this time. Carl tightened his grip on the Copperhead. "We move on three. Stay low."
The trio slipped through the labyrinth of machinery, the factory's groans and hisses masking their footsteps. But Demon's laughter followed, a glitching, mechanical promise of violence that clung to the air like static.