Neon Grave

Chapter 29 Ride Mighty in the Concrete Jungle 1/2

Somewhere in the city, Murphy's law landed in force. It materialized as a deadly machine the size of a semi-truck, an inverted battering ram. Around its glossy surface, undulating grooves mirrored the likeness of a coiling snake. Like a head in recoil, before they lunge, its central shaft swirled with energy that slowly illuminated brighter and brighter near the base. The giant rod probably heated somewhere around several thousand kelvins. Then, like the hammer of lightning, it pounded the ground, and an earthquake manifested.

That's when the buildings started to fall.

Carefree, the Azarean speeders set the city's new pace. After burning through several square blocks, their white convoy broke next to the heavy tectonic weapon after it smashed a kilometer-wide sinkhole in the middle of a heavily populated area. So, as people were buried alive beneath layers of sprawl, the aliens somehow chained their little earthquake maker to one of their bumpers. Just like that, they were towing a WMD across the city.

Endlessly, throughout the adpocalypse of Siren's media, the same Azarean woman was still spewing the repeated set of words over and over.

"Resistance begets violence. Resistance is treachery. Resistance is annihilation."

In the face of catastrophe, the deviants carried on shamelessly. Those who could get away, anyway. The gangs were terribly bold, as it were, motivated to loot and pillage every compartment with an open door. In the greater context of turf wars, the new state of chaos was a crime boss's perfect opportunity to take more real estate. However, they were amazingly naive in this regard.

A general panic consumed the fools with slow hearts. They assumed that the Azareans had come to exterminate humans. They assumed it was a free-for-all and that crime could carry on. Had they paid more attention, the gang leaders might have gotten wise. The Azareans wanted order.

To be caught stealing, looting, maiming, burning, or otherwise being a criminal cliche meant you were gunned down on the spot. Too many enterprising inmates learned this the hard way. The Azareans were cracking down on criminality, hard and fast. And patrolling the streets, they enacted swift justice in the time it took to pull a trigger. In no time at all, everybody had figured it out; steer clear of pointy ears.

But the city had another problem: too many disasters, not enough help. Siren suffered from a chaos epidemic long before the earthquake happened. Then the alien with quadruple arms appeared, putting a dent in the police force. After the decimation of Sub Terra, medical personnel became scarcer than ever before. Medicine was already in short supply, insurance in even shorter supply. Thus, many citizens were left to rot in agony. Topping off the crisis, the Shaz'ra pressed on unchallenged. The suffering was not on their radar.

And from atop a deserted roof, Jessica kept a close eye on the madness. Every groove of the white convoy flashed as a beaming contour inside of V-Ray lenses. They were an unstoppable force whose present crime was ignoring traffic lights. What is their mission? Madame Beelz, after prolonged radio silence, came through with an answer.

"Lynx, they're burying Sub Terra."

Jessica gained a rasp in her voice. "What do you mean?"

"The Siren City cell is situated deep underneath you. It's a network of underground facilities like the headquarters back in New Sumer. That Azarean machine just dropped several kilotons of earth and debris on top of everyone unlucky enough to be stuck on latrine duty. That's no goddamn coincidence!"

It was deliberate. "Do you know the extent of the damage?"

"They buried a portion of Sub Terra's people, along with some enterprising criminals who set up shop in those buildings."