Cyberpunk and Mercenaries
"Enemies spotted ahead."
At Tori's words—as the party's vanguard and scout—everyone snapped into combat formation. Amon drew his swords, while Even the yellowhead and Hail the bluehead aimed their rifles and machine gun forward. In place of a staff, Paul pointed his circuit-etched gauntlet ahead and began chanting. He was reciting the incantation even before the monster appeared because he knew exactly what was coming. After all, there was only one type of monster on these lower floors.
"Thirty skeletons confirmed. Same as always."
Tori issued the command in Paul's stead, since he couldn't speak while preparing his chant. With that, she charged straight into the enemy ranks. The skeletons' orderly formation crumbled in an instant under her assault. Crunch! The front-line shieldbearers shattered shield and all under her tackle. The fragments rattled as if trying to reassemble, but when she stomped on their spines and skulls, turning them to dust, they never rose again.
[Tori. Clear the line of fire.]
Having smashed the shieldbearers, Tori fell back as if her job was done. Right on cue, the bluehead's machine gun roared to life.
Whoa, conventional weapons really are something else.
In a low-fantasy setting, thirty skeletons appearing at once would spell instant despair. But as the saying went, any sufficiently advanced science was indistinguishable from magic. Before modern conventional weaponry, the skeleton squad was just another "routine" encounter. The entire unit was obliterated in seconds.
But the machine gun alone wasn't enough to finish them off. Plenty of skeletons remained with intact spines and skulls. Cleanup wasn't the bluehead's job. It fell to the mage, who had been chanting all this time.
"Burst!"
With his activation word, a massive explosion rocked the space. The acrid smell of gunpowder wafted on the wind, tickling Amon's nose. What the hell does this spell mix in to smell like that? He was curious, but since he was no slouch as a mage himself, he kept quiet. When the smoke cleared, not a single bone fragment remained.
Amon let his sword droop, feeling utterly deflated.
"Was I even needed here?"
Even the yellowhead burst out laughing at Amon's words.
"I'm useless too, just hitching a ride. Think of it as a freebie."
"No. You're not useless."
This battle's VIP, the bluehead Hail, spoke up. His logic circuits whirred at full throttle, delivering Amon's reason for being there without a trace of humor or subjectivity.
"Conserve your strength. The entrance skeletons are fine with us three, but deeper in, we'll need you. Same for you, Even."
Amon and Even were left speechless by Hail's matter-of-fact explanation. It was awkward to respond when he took their jokes so seriously. Ignoring them, Hail checked his remaining ammo and the machine gun's condition right there. Conventional weapons were great, but ammo was heavy, and malfunctions were a nightmare. Post-battle checks were mandatory.
The rest of the party waited patiently while he worked. Whirr-click. Hail's circuits instantly calculated the ammo count in his feed bag.
"154 rounds expended this fight. 1,346 remaining. For reference."
Amon's gaze automatically flicked to the massive ammo bag on Hail's back. 1,300? Weight aside, it seemed like a lot at first glance, but it was deceptively finite. A tough monster could chew through a thousand rounds in no time. The others seemed to share his sentiment.
The party memorized Hail's report and pressed deeper into the building. Fortunately—or perhaps inevitably—Amon's moment to shine came quickly.
"Enemies ahead! Tar slime!"
Paul immediately began chanting for anti-slime magic. But unlike with the skeletons, Tori didn't charge, and Hail grimaced as he aimed but held his fire. Only the yellowhead unleashed a barrage at the slime.
Boom-boom! Swapping his assault rifle for a shotgun, he hammered away relentlessly. The slime recoiled briefly from the shotgun blasts but melted the pellets inside its body and kept advancing.
"Ugh... I hate slimes..."
Tori grimaced. She despised slimes because punching them risked damaging her fists. The bluehead felt the same—bullets did nothing permanent, and it was a massive ammo sink. Thus, pinning down tar slimes fell to the yellowhead's shotgun. While Paul chanted, the party turned to Amon.
"Think you can handle it?"
"No pressure. We didn't bring you for the slime specifically—it's for something else."
The party eyed Amon's swords expectantly. Amon wasn't entirely confident, but he nodded anyway. I've got plenty at home anyway. Surprisingly, these blades were a dime a dozen for him. He'd looted enough from Hickzen Group guards to fill a closet, exaggerating only slightly. Losing a couple was no big deal.
He drew both swords. "I'll give it a shot."
At his words, the yellowhead paused firing. Amon dashed into his line of fire, swinging wildly in a dual-wield flurry. He hacked the slime to bits. Surprisingly, the swords held up fine. The slime's body, which melted shotgun rounds, couldn't touch them. Whether due to the blades' quality or Amon's divine power, he couldn't say. But one thing stood out.
It can't regenerate either.
Like the demons Amon had sliced before, the tar slime's wounds didn't heal. Riding the momentum, he shredded it. The slime stopped moving after being divided into thirty pieces.
"Did that do it?"
Who said that? The guy chanting resurrection? Fortunately, it stayed dead. The chunks melted away, leaving only a nucleus-like eyeball that evaporated.
With the slime handled on Amon's end, Paul—his chant interrupted—asked flatly, "How'd you do that?"
"All thanks to the gear."
Amon credited the equipment over his divine power. The party bought it. Non-healing and binding enchantments were basic on top-grade holy-material weapons. No further explanation needed.
"Knew you could do it!"
The yellowhead slung an arm around Amon's shoulder without hesitation. Thanks to him, the slime went down far more comfortably than usual.
"Mind handling the next one if it shows?" Paul asked apologetically. "Sorry if we're overloading you."
Amon's jaw dropped. This level of character in cyberpunk? Why's a guy this decent a merc? Against such good people, Amon was weak. He turned down Paul's bonus offer and agreed to handle all tar slimes this run.
The rest of the delve went smoothly. Skeletons as per usual; tar slimes to Amon. They even cleared the other monsters that justified recruiting him without issue.
"Ghouls!"
Ghouls—the real reason for Amon's recruitment. Unlike slimes, bullets worked on them; you could shred them to chunks. But they weren't as fragile as skeletons, disintegrating from a graze. To stop a ghoul, you had to decapitate it, and bullets struggled with that. They needed a vanguard who could sever head from body. They had Tori, of course. But...
"Ghoul on the ceiling!! Amon!"
"On it!"
...that was the problem. Tori was nimble enough, but her reach was short, arms only so long. And punching necks one by one took too long. Hence the need for a sword vanguard: Amon.
Slash. Amon's flash step sliced through the ghoul's neck, leaving a clean cut that detached head from body moments later.
"You a mana user?"
Paul noticed the gleaming sword. Amon just smiled. It wasn't wrong.
They methodically cleared the ghouls. Machine gun and shotgun blasted legs; Tori's fists and Amon's silver flashes took heads. Once Paul's chant was ready, his nuke erased them dustless.
Despite joining today, Amon meshed seamlessly. The party even floated making him a fixed member.
"What do you say? Join us for good?"
He wanted to say yes—they clicked, and they were great people. But how would they react to his goals? Or his hidden divine power? He couldn't commit rashly.
"Mind if I think it over?"
Having gleaned some backstory from his gear, they understood.
"Let us know whenever."
The delve resumed. It was more fun and faster than expected. Per Paul, this was their tenth run here. They looped the entrance not from weakness, but because they were searching.
"This building's basement was a defensive magic research site back in the day."
Paul's attack-and-buff focus made him seek barrier spells for peace of mind. With Amon added to the familiar route, progress was incomparable. But despite the speed, no harvest. No magic recipes, no drops.
"Ah... empty-handed again."
The yellowhead sighed. They'd combed the floor thoroughly.
"Regrettable, but that's it for today."
Paul was most disappointed. The party comforted him as they packed up. Then—
"Something at twelve o'clock."
The bluehead pointed to a corner. All eyes turned. Hail nodded, felt along the wall, then slapped a sticky bomb from his belt onto it.
"Out."
Everyone evacuated. BOOM! Explosion, then rubble falling. Back inside, a hidden passage appeared, ending at a door.
"Boss room?"
Amon muttered. Paul shook his head.
"Not the boss—mid-boss."
"How do you know?"
"The last party to encounter the lich reported two death knights guarding its door. That was twenty years ago; lich went deeper, never seen since. But probably unchanged."
Amon got it. The party prepped to enter.
"Mid-boss means way better drop odds."
Tori grinned, clashing fists. The others were game too. But Amon dissented.
"I don't think that's wise."
His caution shone again. No boss intel; he'd planned to farm trash mobs and bail. No mid-boss prep. He'd joined only for the entrance.
He didn't want the risk. "Sorry, I'm not ready."
The party didn't blame him—instead, they apologized.
"Our fault. We pushed an unplanned fight on you."
Others echoed the sentiment. But bailing now, after finding it? Others might claim it. Bosses dropped essences/recipes but respawned unpredictably—competition was fierce. Plus, thanks to Amon, they saved ammo and were in top form. Felt like a now-or-never shot. Paul couldn't tear his eyes away. Still, duty-bound, he started leading Amon out. Unable to watch, Amon spoke.
"I'll head up alone."
"What?"
"Monsters don't respawn for 24 hours post-kill. We cleared coming in, so the way up's safe."
"But..."
"Just checking: do you need me for this mid-boss?"
The party shook their heads. They'd reached near the bottom before. No issue with an entrance mid-boss.
"Then do as I say."
Lips pursed, they relented. Paul finally spoke. "Thanks."
Amon nodded and rose. The bluehead grabbed him.
"Just in case, take this."
A one-use barrier. He had five, unused today. Amon accepted gratefully. Safety first.
"Check the boss before I go, just in case."
If it was some hidden nightmare, even they'd bail. The party thanked his escort and opened the door. A three-headed wolf chimera locked eyes with them. Amon tensed at the unknown; they sighed in relief.
"No hidden BS. Standard mid-boss."
They'd beaten it before, no casualties. Amon relaxed and turned for the exit. The party headed in.
"See you topside!"
"Payment on the surface!"
Thumbs up, door shut.
The ascent was trouble-free. Smoother than descent, eerily quiet without monsters or people—peaceful save the chill. Amon surfaced safely. The sun, hovering at entry, was long gone.
Time to head home. Sonia would worry. He headed to the Explorers' Guild for his report. But inside, chaos reigned.
What's going on? Ears perked, he pushed to the counter, catching fragments: scavengers, trafficking, dungeon. He had a hunch but needed confirmation. He asked his usual clerk.
"Heard 'scavengers' a lot on the way. Something up?"
"Yeah... scavengers spotted in the dungeon. Bodies suggest a week active. Cops investigating, but no sign they've exited."
"Those organ traffickers?"
"Spot on."
Amon stroked his chin unconsciously. Unease gnawed at him. Nah, no way. But it wouldn't fade. Delaying home, he dug deeper—bribing weathered explorers and cops. He pieced it together.
Thorough bastards. Factoring first disappearance, they'd operated a month undetected. Pros, not sloppy gangs—rational, systematic.
Their MO clicked. Parties challenging mid-bosses vanished most. Smart. Bosses dropped big but risky. Individuals died to trash/traps; wipes to bosses. A full party vanishing post-mid-boss? Routine in dungeons. No suspicion.
Bonus: post-raid parties were exhausted. Vanguards drained, rears ammo-low. Weakened, even stronger parties were fair game.
Realization hit; Amon's hand went to his phone.
He powered off and headed back to the dungeon entrance. Feeding bills into the turnstile, he cursed inwardly. Damn, damn, damn...
No coincidences in this world; tragedies had omens. Maybe paranoia, but his gut screamed truth. His pace quickened.
Paul, Tori, Even, Hail... Their kind faces flashed. If they'd been rude, he'd have ignored them like any city dweller—minimal guilt, par for the course. But they were rare gems in this shithole world. An invaluable experience. Worth risking his neck.
Justifying it, he retraced his steps deeper. If only it's nothing... He'd gladly take their teasing, etch a new black history of pointless hardship.
A junction appeared. Left, fourth path! He sprinted without slowing. Then—BOOM!! A deafening blast from that direction.
Shit! Common dungeon noise. But to Amon, it rang different.
Please, just be alive! He bolted at full speed.