The night air was sharp and cold, the sea breeze brushing against the skin.
Waves lapped against the concrete walls of the harbor, stirred by the wind, while automated robots worked tirelessly, moving cargo back and forth.
It was late. Other than the ocean wind and the occasional call of a ship's horn, silence hung over the waterfront. Guards stood ready at their posts, outwardly professional, with no sign of slack.
Of course, that was only the image. In blind corners without cameras, some of the guards were chatting idly. They were human, not machines—except for the unlucky ones stuck on sentry duty, no one could stand an entire night without a word.
From the high ground, snipers swept their gaze across the waterfront, cyberoptics giving them total battlefield awareness.
To them, the harbor was a chessboard. Every "piece," every corner, was marked. Even if they overlooked something, memory augments would flag it red on their HUD.
An infiltrator would inevitably encounter guards. But a missing guard meant alarms. Taking over a camera meant being seen by a sniper. Even invisibility was no guarantee; thermal optics weren't fooled. Exposure meant thunderous retaliation.
Breaking into this zone was nothing short of impossible.
That's why most gangs didn't bother. Why sneak when you could just roll up with enough firepower to turn the place upside down?
Tonight, one crew had chosen exactly that.
On the rooftop, an Arasaka sniper in full tactical gear scanned the perimeter. Cyberoptics fed him data streams—status logs of every corner, every guard. It was like playing an FPS with wallhacks.
With his training and augments, he could manage thousands of people singlehandedly. In a crowd of tens of thousands, he could still pick out a twitch.
This night, like all others, his mission was simple: keep the rats out.
It was a routine he'd repeated countless times.
And tonight, it would get him killed.
He hadn't paid attention to the horizon.
A faint flare bloomed in the distance, like a child's firework—so easy to overlook.
He glanced toward it. His pupils shrank.
BOOM!
The rooftop erupted in fire, the blast scattering sparks and debris like fireworks.
At the same time, the other sniper nests exploded one after another. Whoever planned this knew exactly where every sniper was hiding. The "vipers in the grass" were wiped out before they could strike.
Snipers were too dangerous to leave alive. High accuracy, fast repositioning, and deadly counters. The solution? Saturation bombing.
Exposed snipers didn't get second chances.
War began in an instant.
Missile fire was the trumpet's call. The blast at the main gate came next, shaped charges tearing apart reinforced steel doors.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
A dying sniper screamed over comms—his last warning.
Armored trucks barreled through the breach, their flatbeds bristling with mounted MGs and grenade launchers.
On each one stood hulking brutes, muscles straining against their harnesses, laughing madly as they cut down guards.
"Die, corpo dogs!" they howled, beasts set loose.
Arasaka's defenders reeled. No one had imagined anyone bold—or insane—enough to assault this turf. Much less with black-market heavy ordnance.
The alarm systems screamed. Every available guard converged on the breach.
Electrified barriers rose from the ground to block the invaders' path.
But before the vehicles hit, a gunner hefted a multi-barrel rocket launcher and obliterated them in a single blast.
The convoy rolled on. Auto-turrets popped up, only to be bricked instantly by onboard netrunners.
The waterfront filled with chaos.
Finally, Arasaka deployed drones—dozens of them, weaving through fire while spitting guided micro-missiles.
They struck weak points, shredding tires. Two trucks blew out, forcing their crews to dismount and fight on foot, heavy weapons in hand.
Their allies wheeled around, splitting from the convoy to cover them, holding ground, drawing fire, and blocking incoming reinforcements.
Gunfire roared. Bullets poured like rain.
The raiders had juiced up on combat stims. Even surrounded, they didn't falter—hunkering behind vehicles, firing MGs, launchers, and rockets like they were handguns.
Their sheer ferocity stunned the security forces.
The curtain had risen.
On a nearby rooftop, by the perimeter wall, another crew had been watching.
All eyes turned to the boy leading them.
"Holy shit, Lin Mo—how the hell did you know this was gonna happen tonight?" Maine demanded, disbelief in his voice.
Lin Mo only smiled, calm and certain.
"That's a secret."
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