As the smoke cleared, a colossal figure rose from the shattered pavement, triggering an immediate wave of screams from pedestrians. Shops scrambled to shutter their doors and call the Association for help.
The arms were incredibly massive, but they weren't muscle: they were high-grade Prosthetics that looked expensive at a single glance.
A jet-black finish made the pure white skull patterns on the body stand out sharply: from a distance, one might think a skeletal giant had arrived.
However, the flickering blue visual sensors in the eye sockets, burning like ghostly flames, revealed that this was a human.
"Capture!"
The voice emanating from the skeletal jaw wasn't mechanical, but a clear, feminine tone.
CLICK.
Instantly, three squads moved in from different directions in a synchronized pincer maneuver, while unmarked drones circled above to coordinate the strike.
However, the onlookers were baffled by the dense smoke at the mouth of the alley, which refused to dissipate. Neither infrared filters nor drone scans could penetrate the mist.
"Obana."
Putato strode out of the fog, his limbs trailing long wisps of Hardened-Mist. Faced with this sudden ambush, he felt no fear: instead, he was exhilarated because he had finally found the name of his target.
The pure white smoke draped over him like a cloak, and the smiling mask concealed his every emotion. Yet, the name "Obana" was instantly recognized by the leader of the Prosthetic unit.
The metallic skull scrutinized Putato for a heartbeat before spitting out a new command.
"Kill!"
The combatants, who had been on high alert, pulled their triggers without hesitation, creating a lethal crossfire. One black-clad operative even raised a rocket launcher once more.
Sensing the threat, Putato retreated rapidly, vanishing back into the mist. A rain of bullets struck his Hardened-Mist, igniting countless tiny sparks upon impact.
Within the fog, Putato felt a vibration at his waist, only to realize his communicator had been smashed during the skirmish. Though puzzled, he knew there was nothing more urgent right now than dealing with these lunatics who dared to interrupt him.
"Advance!"
The skeletal figure pointed a finger. The gunfire ceased, and the combatants swapped places with drones, drawing greatswords as they crept forward.
They moved in squads of three with perfect synergy, guarding every angle against an ambush: even if Putato were to disregard his dignity and launch a low-level strike on all fours.
CLANG!
Putato threw a punch, only to be blocked by the sturdy blade of a greatsword. The other two operatives quickly swung from the left and right, aiming to cleave him in half.
Unfortunately for them, the golden knuckles on Putato's hands were already fully primed by the violence.
BOOM!
The savage impact triggered a detonation of the Softened-Mist, instantly vaporizing the blades and shredding the upper torsos of the combatants.
Even without a data readout, Putato could feel his violence index skyrocketing.
In his exhilaration, he snapped his right hand forward. The Violent Knuckles pulverized the greatsword on his right and tore away the hands clutching its hilt in the same motion.
THUD!
Putato looked down slightly to see a blade wedged firmly into the Hardened-Mist at his left waist. Feeling a surge of gratitude for the smoke's reliability, he threw a follow-up punch.
BANG!
A spray of flesh and blood erupted, dyeing the white mist a sickening pink.
"Next."
Putato let out a long breath, beckoning the remaining two squads with a taunting wave.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
Drone fire swept the area again. Putato found the constant harassment annoying but necessary to guard against. He ripped a hidden weapon from his coat and, after issuing a "guaranteed hit" prescript, flung it out.
A series of whistling sounds was followed by several mid-air explosions. Every drone was taken out of commission.
A strange itching sensation radiated from his stomach. Putato immediately realized a new tattoo was being etched.
He noticed that several bruises, previously mitigated by the Hardened-Mist, were rapidly vanishing.
The surging physiological activity made the mist around him billow violently. Putato grinned and activated his Hematic Pump, drawing his Honesuki with his left hand as he transitioned from defense to offense.
"Retreat!"
Even as the skeletal figure gave the order, the remaining two squads were engulfed by the Softened-Mist and detonated into pink vapor by Putato.
Controlling his breathing, Putato felt an endless stream of vitality pouring from the tattoos on his stomach. He was practically a perpetual motion machine!
"Who are you? Did Obana send you?"
Putato circled the edge of the mist, observing the skeletal Prosthetic user. She had stood by and watched her subordinates get slaughtered, never once stepping into his smoke.
"I am Shamisen."
Before Putato could wonder why such a name didn't match her appearance at all, she tossed out an even more confusing question.
"What... are you?"
"You f***ing came looking for trouble and you don't even know who I am?"
Shamisen began to pace around the perimeter of the mist. Her bizarre behavior made Putato frown: he didn't dare launch a reckless attack, as her Prosthetics were far more advanced than those of the three at home.
Putato suddenly recalled what the Me Me Me Pontiff had said, that man thought he was just a segment of an imprint.
"Oh? Are you going to tell me I'm some 'personality fragment' too?"
"No."
"Standard personality overwrites vanish within three days, yet you don't fit the symptoms at all."
Seeing that this giant had almost completed a full circle without any intention of attacking, Putato wasn't in a hurry. He'd humor her and stall.
After all, once the Association arrived, everyone would just scatter. As long as he eventually gutted Obana, none of this mattered.
"Either the Putato who underwent the Cone process before has returned fully intact, or a Putato personality from elsewhere has overwritten this one."
"But what exactly are you?"
"Are you with Green Journey, too? Working security inside? What's the pay like?"
Shamisen completed her massive circle around the mist and returned to the alley entrance. The deep blue flames in her skeletal eye sockets suddenly turned crimson.
"Green Journey is over. Whatever you are, you don't need to exist anymore."
Instantly, a swarm of drones descended rapidly. Putato heard the increasingly clear electronic voice:
[ Terrain and enemy scanning complete. Combat model transmission in progress! ]
Damn it!
He hadn't expected that her small talk was just a cover for this. Putato's heart hammered; he immediately tried to retreat into the mist.
But he watched, jaw dropped, as Shamisen extended her limbs. A massive array of high-grade weaponry rapidly deployed.
Two razor-sharp mantis blades snapped out from her forearms. Dual six-barrel grenade launchers rose from her shoulders.
Her outer thighs flipped open to reveal rows of heat-seeking micro-missiles.
Finally, her chest plating slid aside to unveil the glowing crimson barrels of a rotary machine gun.
"You f***ing pay-to-win player!"
This level of armament wasn't just expensive—even Putato was stunned by the sheer cost. In a panic, he desperately converted everything into Hardened-Mist.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A carpet-bombing of firepower obliterated the mist environment Putato had created. The smoke from the explosions smothered the mist, and the smell of ozone and burning concrete completely suppressed the scent of blood.
With most of his mist consumed, Putato looked pathetic, covered in soot and blood. But fortunately, they were mostly superficial wounds; having survived this long, he was incredibly durable.
Flash!
A lethal glint of steel lunged at him. Putato's expression shifted violently; he gripped the Blood Sword with both hands, swinging it in a wide horizontal parry. The terrifying force sent him skidding back dozens of steps.
A deep gash, bone-deep, appeared across his chest.
"What the hell did you turn yourself into?!"
"I am Shamisen. I was indeed a security guard for Green Journey. Unfortunately, that meant nothing in the face of the Head."
"..."
Two streaks of sonic booms, trailing after-images, tore through the length of the street.
Putato vaulted over a high wall, narrowly evading the savage cleave of the mantis blades. He heard the masonry behind him being pulverized by sheer violence, his heart hammering with anxiety.
He spun around, attempting to dive into the sewers under the cover of his mist. But Shamisen's massive Prosthetic limb instantly smashed the sewer entrance to pieces; the flying shards of the manhole cover nearly crushed the nearby vending machine.
"I can't shake this person at all!"
Sprinting through a sewer bend, Putato gripped his Smoke Lantern. Dense Softened-Mist gathered in the cramped, dim tunnel; once detonated, it would surely ignite the surrounding methane.
However, a split second later, a missile slammed into the corner, turning the entire sewer passage into a roaring inferno of fire and light.
"Has she seen through all my tricks?! Every ability I've used, she has a countermeasure for. This thing is a literal killing machine."
Covered in Hardened-Mist, Putato endured the internal injuries from the shockwave and forced himself up. He was immediately met by Shamisen's insidious slash. He hurriedly raised his Violent Knuckles and Blood Sword to block, only to be swept off his feet and sent flying.
Shamisen paused, staring at her right mantis blade, which was now twisted and deformed from the impact of the Violent Knuckles. She detached it with her left hand and tossed it into the foul-smelling water.
"Are there survivors from the organization still in contact with you? Where exactly do these Workshop weapons come from?"
"I suppose researching such taboo technology never leads to anything good. Whether it's the 'outside' or the 'inside,' I don't understand why you people cause so much trouble. It makes my new job so much more... clandestine."
Clutching his chest, Putato watched Shamisen's movements with wide eyes. The constant threat of death left him drenched in sweat; a droplet rolled over his brow, stung his eye, and trickled down his cheek.
Should I use the Death Tattoo?
Putato wasn't sure if she had a way to neutralize it.
Furthermore, directly above the sewers was the densely populated commercial district. Even if Putato didn't care about collateral damage, if he triggered a chain reaction, he wouldn't be able to handle the consequences.
The Pianist had nearly wiped out a Backstreet district due to a Seed of Light's Distortion, only to be hunted down and pulverized by the victims' vengeful survivors. Putato had no desire to reach the Pinnacle of The City only to find he was at war with the entire City.
His mind raced, searching for a way out but finding nothing. Then, the sudden echo made him surge with joy.
[ Congratulations on your promotion at Molar Office ]
[ Acquired Work Item: Dionysus' Vine Crown ]
[ Description: A celebration is a stage for the crowd, but a cage for the individual. ]
[ Effect 1: You can manifest a Dionysian Festival centered on yourself. The alcohol concentration of liquids within the festival's range will gradually increase. ]
[ Effect 2: The alcohol produced by the Festival is highly volatile and will evaporate the sanity of all biological creatures within range, excluding the invoker. ]
A flash of inspiration hit Putato. That earlier communicator alert must have been Olga; she was the one helping him apply for the Grade 5 Fixer promotion.
I'm definitely buying her a drink next time!
Though Putato didn't yet fully grasp the mechanics of this item, it was certainly enough to catch Shamisen off guard.
"Hmm? Where did you pull that from?"
The melodic inquiry arrived simultaneously with the savage Mantis Blade. Putato grit his teeth, gathering all his Hardened-Mist to block. Simultaneously, the ethereal Dionysian Festival manifested.
BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!
Illusory theatrical music and the roar of a cheering crowd erupted out of nowhere. Sensing the anomaly, Shamisen increased her strength, slamming Putato back with enough force to send him flying.
THUD!
Putato was cratered into the sewer wall. He coughed up a large amount of blood, but fortunately, his internal organs were reinforced with Tattoo Augmentations. They hadn't been turned into mincemeat just yet.
[Brain fluid contaminated. Please replace immediately!]
"What is this?!"
Shamisen, who had been about to deliver the decapitating blow, instinctively clutched the specialized alloy casing protecting her brain fluid intake at the back of her head. She was suddenly bombarded by a dozen liquid contamination warnings.
Trembling, Putato pulled out a shattered pneumatic syringe and haphazardly jammed it into himself. He felt his broken bones knit back together and used the momentum to scramble back to his feet.
"Is it a mental breakdown? Sedatives!"
Shamisen injected a supplement without hesitation. The feeling of confusion subsided slightly, and she quickly realized Putato was behind this. Doubt and fear flickered in her mind: this ability wasn't in any of her databases.
She looked up, re-locking her gaze on Putato.
CRACK!
A terrifying metallic fist slammed into the wall, but Putato finally saw the move clearly. He dodged to the right, kicked off the wall, and spun around to deliver a heavy kick to Shamisen's side.
The massive Prosthetic body was knocked into the pool of foul water by the mist-enhanced strike. She stood up, visibly shaken, and instead of attacking immediately, she looked around in a daze.
"Wine? Why is everything smelling like wine?!"
"No! Why is it acting up now? Sedatives!"
Watching her, Putato realized Shamisen might actually have a case of genuine City Madness. Her frantic injections within the Festival's range were effectively drinking poison to quench thirst.
Sure enough, after several more shots, Shamisen lost her calm, cold composure. She became erratic and paranoid.
"I'll kill you!!"
Having exhausted her sedatives, Shamisen charged at Putato with mindless rage, not even bothering to use her Mantis Blades.
Leaning against the wall, Putato felt his own heart racing. While his sanity wasn't being evaporated, the conversion of liquids into alcohol was very real.
SMASH!
Shamisen's fist shattered an iron pipe, sending a spray of alcoholic wastewater in every direction.
With absolute focus, Putato leaned forward and accelerated, flashing past Shamisen's flank. He poured every ounce of strength into the golden knuckles, striking directly at the spot she had touched earlier: the nape of her neck.
CRUNCH!
Metal fractured. The massive impact pulverized the protective plating at her neck, crushing the brain fluid conduit along with it.
"I'm a master of Prosthetic modification! I was born to break people like you!"
His face flushed crimson, Putato felt like he was on top of the world. He discarded the Blood Sword, pinned the unbalanced, falling Shamisen with his left hand, and began raining down punches with savage intensity.
The drunken state seemed to skyrocket his violence index. His terrifying blows acted like a forge, hammering the specialized alloy into scrap and shredding the flesh beneath. The once-formidable Prosthetic warrior was instantly reduced to a heap of junk.
Shamisen felt a sensation she had long since forgotten: the feeling of being utterly wasted. In a final, desperate surge for survival, she flailed blindly, trying to seize Putato.
Just as her steel hand clamped onto Putato's left arm, ready to crush it, there was a sickening crack, and her head was torn loose.
Gurgle.
Sinking into the muddy alcohol, Shamisen's head, driven by a final spark of spite, cranked its speaker to the maximum. Her melodic voice rippled through the liquid into the air.
"Obana, you moron... what parameters did you mess with?! What kind of monster did you drag in here?!"
"I just wanted to do my job!"
BOOM!!!
Putato's fist pulverized Shamisen's mangled head. He collapsed into the filthy water, exhausted. But the sharp sting of alcohol entering his nose and mouth jolted his senses, prompting him to immediately deactivate Dionysian Festival.
"Ugh... blurp!"
Propping himself up on the tunnel floor, Putato vomited uncontrollably into the water beneath him. His skin was flushed deep red, and the world was a blurred mess of double vision.
He decided he really needed to work on his alcohol tolerance.
...
Drunkenly crawling out of the sewer, Putato pulled the chip from his broken communicator and jammed it into a newly purchased one. He found over a dozen missed calls: mostly from Olga, the rest from the Hana Association.
Having just survived a brush with death, Putato's heart tightened again. What kind of scheme was the Hana Association cooking up now?
Please tell me my Fixer identity isn't compromised!