The swordsman noticed them first. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say he launched himself first, because his approach was not subtle.
He led with the right blade, which was notable imdiately because the left hung uselessly at his forearm. His right thigh was soaked dark through the fabric, the earlier wound still leaking with persistence.
Nyx watched him approach.
She didn’t really care about him.
What she did care about was the sensation that surfaced whenever sothing moved toward Proxy.
A malice that had no ending.
She moved straight at him.
The distance shortened fast enough that the blade ca wide and she was already inside his range before the swing could complete. Her shoulder struck his chest and the impact carried the authority of strength boosted by implants. She heard his breath leave him all at once, expelled without negotiation.
The SMG was already pressed into his ribs before he finished understanding what was happening.
She pulled the trigger.
At that range the burst t his stomach in a truly grievous fashion. The sound was compact and dense and disappeared almost entirely into him.
He folded around it, collapsing to one knee. The blade in his hand dragged a gouge through the turf beside her boot.
Nyx was already moving.
Behind her, Proxy had both hands inside the crate.
He worked through the contents quickly. Efficiency, in this context, ant not hesitating long enough to form sentintal attachnts to any particular item.
A flat hard case opened to reveal a RAM expansion chip, the kind designed to slot directly into an expansion port and multiply active buffer capacity. He pocketed it.
Two sealed trauma kits followed, objectively superior to the dical supplies he had been carrying. Two fresh handgun magazines. A knife still sheathed. Ration blocks. Water units.
Everything went into his pack in a continuous motion while he listened.
The sounds behind him did not suggest calm.
The racer’s slides were locked back. Both guns had emptied during the previous exchange, and she was moving her hands quickly now, dropping spent magazines and reaching for replacents.
Blood from the cut along her forearm ran steadily downward, dripping across the ammunition she was attempting to seat.
She required three more seconds to complete the process.
Nyx crossed the fairway in one.
The racer noticed the approach and threw one of the empty SMGs directly at Nyx’s face out desperation and reflex
Nyx took the impact against her shoulder and barely processed the pain as noteworthy. She closed the remaining distance and caught the raised gun before the reload seated.
They were close now.
Close enough that their breathing beca a shared sensory experience rather than a private one.
The racer was strong. That fact registered imdiately when she wrenched the SMG sideways, her greater mass pulling the muzzle off-line.
Nyx let her.
She surrendered the impasse entirely and instead drove the heel of her palm upward into the racer’s nose with every ounce of force she had.
The nose cartilage warped with a clean crunch. Red followed instantly, flooding down the racer’s face.
Her grip broke. She stumbled.
Nyx felt the impact in her palm and experienced the thrill of combat. She kept moving, because behind her the swordsman had regained his feet.
The wet, laboring rhythm of breathing that suggested a body operating on montum rather than pain response.
But he was upright. And the right blade remained working.
He swung wide at her back.
Nyx dunked into the motion instead of away from it, allowing the arc to pass above her rather than through her.
The SMG stock ca around and connected with the back of his damaged shoulder, the one that had absorbed rounds earlier.
"Caraj-"
The tactical officer arrived from her left and wrapped his arm across her throat while she had been dealing with the other two. He had moved quietly.
The forearm wound had been wrapped tightly to slow the bleeding, and the arm that remained uncompromised slid across her windpipe and pulled her backward off balance.
Nyx dropped her chin imdiately, protecting the airway, and drove her elbow into his ribs.
He resisted it.
She drove the elbow back again. Harder.
This ti she felt so ribs give inside his side.
The shift in his grip that followed created the opening she needed.
She hooked her foot behind his ankle and threw her weight backward into him.
They fell together.
The ground rose quickly to et them.
She took the impact on her shoulder, rolled through it, and ca up again with her lip split open against her own teeth.
Blood arrived imdiately, hot on her tongue.
Her ribs on the right side ached slightly.
Three opponents.
All still alive.
Behind her she could feel Proxy’s presence instinctively. When he wasn’t there the entire world acquired a different texture.
Right now the world still felt normal, which ant he remained at the crate.
Which ant the three of them had not yet reached him.
Which ant the task remained simple.
That was all that mattered.
The racer brought the reloaded SMG up.
Both guns now held fresh magazines. Blood continued pouring from her nose, streaking down her chin and soaking into her jacket.
She opened fire at the place where Nyx had been standing, which was already three ters wrong.
The rounds tore into the turf.
Nyx moved low along the bank of rough lining the fairway and curved around its far side, approaching the racer from the direction she had neglected to cover.
At the crate, Proxy reached the back of the foam cradle.
The large gray unit resting there possessed a power cell housing and an antenna array folded flat against its body. The mounting system clearly suggested it was intended for installation in a vehicle rather than carried by a person.
He recognized it imdiately as a portable signal jamr.
It was precisely the type of expensive hardware designed to produce communication blackout that made him essentially blind.
He slid both hands underneath it and lifted.
It ca up heavy.
In fact, too heavy to be practical without the vehicle mount it had clearly been designed for.
He rotated it, searching for so kind of carry configuration.
There wasn’t one worth trusting.
The window of ti he possessed was small.
It was also shrinking.
He put the jamr back.
Straightening with the items he had already taken, he stepped away from the open panel.
The hand that seized his collar from behind did so without sound.
The cold cylinder that touched the back of his neck was placed with precision.
A woman’s voice spoke quietly beside his ear.
"Tell her to stop."
Proxy beca very still.
Across the crate, Nyx had co off the bank and was advancing toward the racer with the SMG raised.
Her eyes burned amber.
Blood stained her lip.
She was not slowing.
After all, there were three people that still had to die.
"She won’t," he said.
A brief pause followed.
"So let’s talk about what happens next."
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