April 25, 2021. 14:30. Vancouver.
Machines and coupling cables held Michelangelo in place. It was typical, routine, and as standard as any other day.
His suit was gently folded and placed on a table nearby alongside his combat gear. Cold, sterile lights shone down on him as he stood motionless, centred inside a laboratory for Arasaka's Vancouver branch, held in place by metallic claws gripping his body.
Engineers scurried around the floor, reading optimal levels of measurements and diagnostics for hardware and implants that one day would be released onto the market for both mercenaries and armies.
In a way, Michelangelo was getting the best of what Arasaka had to offer, if one ignored the risks that came with using such experimental technology.
His vision shifted from the engineers, watching as a small tube connected to his torso. An engineer gently opened apart the chassis that barely contained his remaining organs, sending down a liquid medicine meant to dull Michelangelo's senses, the coolant-like chill spreading slowly through the remaining nerves in his torso, preventing him from tipping over the edge into full-blown cyberpsychosis.
He might not have been infected by whatever the Neo-Tanwir had, but he had his own problems to deal with.
Scanners hummed while data sprawled across a multitude of screens. An engineer muttered aloud.
"His cybernetic response is within expected parameters."
Another paused, frowning slightly as the numbers stabilized.
"No feedback spikes. Neural latency is negligible."
Situated farther in the room, watching over the entire process and carefully reading the diagnostics on the screens, stood Ingrid.
Her arms were crossed, eyes flicking between the readouts and Michelangelo himself.
"Good," she said calmly. "Any complaints?"
"If we keep increasing the dosage like this, you'll have to attach a tank to my back."
Michelangelo stared blankly at her. Along the sides of his face, what few natural veins remained burned as the medicine was pumped throughout his body.
Ingrid blinked once, her face indifferent to the comment.
"Noted. Anything else?"
"My optic lens shifting seems jittery. Are you sure there's no problem?"
An engineer shook their head.
"None that we can detect. If it happens often, let us know. We're pushing out a firmware update soon."
"Very well. No other complaints that I'm aware of. Thank you all again for your help."
As soon as the words left him, the nearby engineers started piecing Michelangelo back together, and the claws that held him released their grip.
Instinctively—almost reflexively—Michelangelo flexed his hand, feeling the whirring of servos and the digitized interpretation of what would once have been touch. If there was one thing that drove him insane, it was any delay in his senses. Nothing was more disorienting—or a clearer reminder of where he stood in life.
"Ingrid, please tell me more about this briefing."
She raised an eyebrow, answering back somewhat vaguely, typical of her.
"Which briefing?"
"Do our engineers have high enough clearance for me to be more precise?"
"No. No, they don't." She quickly gestured for the engineers to leave the area. "Thank you. You're dismissed."
The engineers promptly exited the area, uncoupling Michelangelo from the remaining cables and returning his gear.
Now it was just Ingrid and Michelangelo in the room.
"The only briefing I happen to remember is the one that has me returning to my homeland," Michelangelo continued, his eyes staring directly at Ingrid without a blink. "Unless there's work I happen to have forgotten."
There was a moment of pause from Ingrid. She glanced at Michelangelo and then back at her tablet.
"You remembered correctly. Arasaka intelligence has become increasingly focused on Autumn Blade and this… railgun of theirs. In addition, we're investigating another matter regarding our Italy branch." She swiped across her tablet a few times, jumping from one image to another. "Wissen has already been made aware of this—we wish to remain on good terms with him, after all. But as for the other matter, the Italian branch has been struggling with organized opposition. Adam Smasher was considered an option, but we opted for a more discreet agent. Therefore, we will be sending you in."
"I'm assuming this organized opposition happens to have a lot of resources and may now have the aforementioned weapon?"
"Not quite—but it is possible. The organized crime may halt our expansion in the region, but the focus is actually on a group of insurgents. Whether or not the mafia becomes a problem later is still a possibility. For now, you're to simultaneously monitor the situation with the railgun and act as cleanup with the insurgents."
"Very well. Do we have any details about these insurgents? Motivations, typical tactics, biometric data, safe house locations?"
A brief pause.
"Also, am I to establish contact with the mercenaries and Wissen to monitor them?"
"The insurgents draw inspiration from an older terrorist group, the Tanwir. Their motivations are in direct opposition to modern-day society, although you're free to research more of their ideology in your spare time. As for typical tactics, they prefer guerrilla warfare—ambushes, hit-and-runs. There are a few locations you are to visit in Europe, but we're making a stop in Italy first. As for the situation with Wissen and his mercenaries, you're to simply monitor for now."
She stopped scrolling on the tablet and eyed Michelangelo's sheathed katanas.
"What do you think of the fold-blades?"
Michelangelo paused, his gaze lingering on his primary weapons—the Arasaka-Fold HF Blades.
They came straight from Arasaka's R&D division in Japan: a tailor-made upgrade to Michelangelo's previous set. To the untrained eye, the configuration seemed impractical—two katanas mounted on Michelangelo's back, their sheaths crossing slightly over one another.
Yet the design was deliberate. In reality, it was partially psychological manipulation.
When deployed, the weapons resembled traditional swords, but most of the time, the blades were not rigid at all.
They compressed and coiled to nearly half their length while stored within the sheath. The moment Michelangelo drew them, the blades extended outward with a mechanical snap, transforming into full-length katanas mid-draw. The surprise alone was often enough to catch an opponent off guard.
The effect was intentional. An opponent expecting the reach of a shortened sword would inevitably misjudge the moment the blade extended.
Each blade was locked directly to Michelangelo's neural link and implants. When activated, the weapons entered a high-frequency micro-oscillation, disrupting molecular cohesion in whatever they struck. Armour, bone, reinforced plating, synthetic muscle—under the vibration, everything gave way beneath the strike.
Michelangelo's bread and butter. And he possessed more than enough force to fully utilize them.
His implants amplified his reflexes, reaction time, and kinetic output, allowing every swing to land with devastating efficiency. When he fought the cyberpsychos in Surrey, he had initially used the weapons as conventional blades. Only after Shock secured the virus samples did he activate their true capability to finish the fight.
"I would never expect someone such as yourself to suggest a heavily modified person research terrorist doctrine, Ingrid," Michelangelo said, trying to recognize the comedy in the situation. "Are you looking for feedback on the weapons, or flattery?"
A soft puff of air escaped her nostrils—amusement, even if her face did not show it.
"You've earned some leeway, Michelangelo. Don't betray my trust. And I was asking for feedback. You're the first person ever to use the fold-blades. Flattery isn't necessarily exclusive, though."
"They work exceptionally well. They were easily able to penetrate concrete, rebar, and armoured implants. They're quite effective at what they're meant to do, and I'm excited to further test some of their lauded capabilities."
His tone flattened, dry and deadpan.
"They need some form of hand protection if you expect to bring them to market and see widespread use. Furthermore, as requested, I attempted dual deployment. It may be user error, but there was some slight warping when the blades collided with one another. I don't know if that is expected."
A short silence passed.
"Now, if there's nothing left, I suppose I need to begin packing for a flight—and ensuring I don't fall for a doctrine that would see me systematically disassembled, metaphorically as much as physically."
The words felt heavy in his mouth. Even now, he recognized he had been given an opportunity soldiers would only dream of. Yet a soldier's duty was more often a losing bargain than a dream.
Would there even be anything left if they did take him apart?
An echo of a man who should have died years ago.
"You have four days to prepare. Report back here at our regular time—we'll be taking the Kagegami to Italy."
Michelangelo nodded; he knew the aircraft well.
The Kagegami was a covert operations platform—sleek and angular, comparable in silhouette to an old Blackbird, though far more advanced. It could push into supersonic ranges when needed, equip and deploy agents through rapid aerial drops, while also serving as Ingrid's mobile command center.
Michelangelo had worked long enough to be more comfortable operating alone. Teamwork was always appreciated, but with Arasaka, one was just as likely to be stabbed in the stomach as to be offered a helping hand.
"Do you think you can arrange for someone to take care of my cat?"
"Easily. I'll notify the caretaker now."
"If there are any other questions, say so now. Otherwise, I must conclude my business as well."
Michelangelo opened his mouth. He was displeased with the caretaker. His cat, Gatto, had gained three pounds the last time Michelangelo was away.
He knew better than to argue, though. He knew how Ingrid felt about living property.
"Yes. I'll see you in three days. Be safe—and please keep me posted if any circumstances change."
"Of course."
Michelangelo waited to be dismissed before taking his leave. He tried to meditate on his thoughts, searching for some trace of emotion.
He expected joy.
But all he found was dread.
Home…