No words were needed.
As the first Tyger Claw charged, the rest followed, weapons drawn, swarming toward Karl.
A lone man couldn't possibly take on KK—that was their assumption. So they launched an all-out assault. Sixty-five Tyger Claw melee fighters, backed by fifteen Voodoo Boys netrunners. Eighty against one. KK had no chance.
No chance?
If Karl knew what they were thinking, he might've agreed—on one condition.
If sixty-five attacks came at him from different angles all at once, and he was hit with simultaneous hacks from the fifteen netrunners—then yes, he'd probably lose.
But all at once? That was the catch.
"I've always liked the Tyger Claws' approach to combat," Karl said slowly, lips moving in decelerated time. "Rushing in with blades and cyberarms—much better than chasing down runners one by one."
He'd already identified the weak point of the first attacker. Karl's legs tensed, and he charged directly at him.
Whoosh—
The first Tyger Claw thought he heard a gust of wind. But before the sound reached his brain, Karl was already at his side.
No wasted motion. No theatrics. Just two figures crossing paths—except one of them now had a neurotoxin blade buried in his neck. Just a second ago, it had been dancing between Karl's fingers.
"Guh—"
Arterial blood gushed into his throat. Eyes bulging, unable to speak, he stumbled forward a few more steps before collapsing face-first into the ground. Crimson soaked the concrete around his lips and throat.
That was the end.
In his final moment, a Tyger Claw who had never fought KK before finally understood the gap between them.
That speed… that precision… he had no chance.
With that last strangled breath, the first attacker—once so confident with his Sandevistan and Mantis Blades—was dead.
And he wasn't the only one.
Karl's pistol, Midnight, opened fire. In a shimmer of muzzle flashes, bullets rained on the Tyger Claws at the front.
Every one of them had a Kerenzikov or Sandevistan installed. Bullets? Nothing but a nuisance. They dodged, deflected, parried—each bullet just another annoying fly in their slowed-down perception of time.
But they didn't notice the real trick.
Karl wasn't just shooting randomly—each round was placed with calculated intent, exploiting the gaps after their evasive moves. He didn't fire where they were—he fired where they would be.
Thwip—
Six more dropped.
Karl kept a mental tally. That surreal sensation—like seeing the future—was getting stronger.
He'd never been able to take down cyberware-enhanced enemies like this before. Not with just two bullets apiece.
Was this calculation? Instinct? Or actual precognition?
He felt like his vision extended farther than ever.
Could he… actually see the future?
The thought was absurd. But his mind was spinning with ideas, too many, too fast. He needed to rein that in. Thinking too much was throwing off his focus in combat.
The rapid fall of their frontliners didn't faze the rest of the Tyger Claws. They'd expected casualties. This was part of the plan.
Wear KK down.
They assumed he was running on a Sandevistan or Kerenzikov. Either way, the neural and physical strain would add up. Maybe he could go four, five bursts—but nine? Ten?
They just had to outlast him.
Fueled by this belief, they surged forward even faster—trying to finish him before his next reset.
But to Karl, their rhythm, spacing, and movements were clear as day.
Left flank— one of them would hit the ten o'clock position in 0.4 seconds. Monowire to the neck—clip his buddy's arms while you're at it. That'll ease pressure on that side.
Karl leaned left and prepared to execute.
At the same time, he hadn't forgotten the Voodoo Boys watching from afar.
T-Bug was already defending against net intrusions, but those distant eyes still bothered him. Time to send them a message.
He didn't use standard daemons anymore. As T-Bug had told him, those plug-and-play quickhacks only worked on systems that hadn't seen them before. Veteran netrunners? They'd shrug that crap off.
No—if you wanted to cripple someone, you hijacked their cyberware and rewired their body directly.
Karl picked out two of the less-dark-skinned netrunners among the Voodoo Boys.
Nothing racial. The others were just too dark and hiding deep in the shadows—too hard to spot. These two stood out. Easy targets.
As the monowire sliced through the first man's throat and severed the second's arms, Karl's breach protocol was already complete.
"Tweak the nerves. Overdrive the hormonal glands. Hyperthyroid surge. Cut motor control. Done."
Go feral.
Karl turned his gaze elsewhere. And right on cue, the two hacked netrunners let out guttural howls, eyes red, and charged—straight at their own allies.
"Set the parameters to Animal Gang specs," Karl muttered. "Let's hope the Voodoo Boys' bodies can take it."
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