“I’ll go with you. Apparently, someone cut off the arm of a defenseless nun. Some people are just barbarians—cutting down anything and anyone in their path, without thinking” Mila said, her gaze full of reproach as she looked at me.

  I hadn’t known she was a nun back then. It feels cruel to say that after the fact.

  “I’ll come along. Honestly, I don’t see what use I’d be here. It’s not like I want to help move the kids or that you took the only medic with you.” Claire chimed in.

  Now add a tsundere to the mix. Why not?

  I sighed, climbed into the driver’s seat, and motioned with a wave. “Fine. If you’re coming, get your asses inside. I want to finish this before the combat stym in my veins wears off.”

  I will surely sleep like a log no matter where I am.

  Shivering slightly, I waited for Claire to settle in as co-driver and Mila to drape herself comfortably in the back. Carefully, I guided the car down the narrow, winding road—one side the river, the other the abandoned village—where mortar fire had turned most of the buildings into ruins. Walls cratered with bullet holes, roofs caved in, creating a ghostly, desolate wasteland. The smell of smoke, salt, and dust hung heavy in the air.

  Finally, I spotted the battered bus ahead, half-concealed behind a crumbling brick wall beside a derelict hangar. Its faded yellow paint peeled like old paper, exposing the battered frame beneath. One tire was flat, rubber cracked and deflated; the windshield fractured into a spiderweb of glass. Yet, despite its battered state, it still held together. I pulled over and stepped out, my hand resting cautiously on the Liberty at my hip.

  The bus was empty—a layer of dust blanketed the seats. I climbed inside, inspecting each row carefully. No weapons remained; I didn’t want the kids—nor anyone else—to get any ideas of revenge for their parents, at least for now.

  Heading for the driver’s seat, I was oddly relieved to find the key still in the ignition. I pulled the lever for the hood—and looked, or rather, what should have been the engine compartment.

  Nothing. Just an empty space, with a servo spinning its pump and an old battery sitting lifeless.

  “Mila, can you find a tow bar while I try to change this tire?”

  “Why not,” she replied, with a shrug. “Not like I’m some mechanic or anything.”

  If I’d once been a nomad now turned-psychopath, where would I stash my tools? Probably right next to the bus, so I wouldn’t have to carry them around.

  I scoured the debris of the house nearby—lucky enough to find a working jack and a decent tire iron. Dragging them behind me, I set about removing the flat. Then I started searching for the spare tire in the storage rooms of the bus.

  Reflecting now, I should’ve done it in reverse.

  I spotted the spare almost directly beneath the driver’s seat. Finished swapping the tire, I turned to see Mila approaching, a tow bar slung over her shoulder.

  “Now what? That’s a tractor tow bar—it’s not going to fit,” she said skeptically.

  “I’ll handle it,” I replied. “Can you move the pickup in front of the bus, please?” Then, recalling Claire, I added, “And make sure Claire’s not asleep in the cab.”

  “What!?” Mila spun around and sprinted to the car, as if she’d forgotten Claire also existed.

  After searching for the entrance, I entered the hangar that had somehow survived mostly intact—besides the bullet holes. I slid open the door and was nearly overcome by the scene inside, the stench hitting me first.

  The interior was dim, but enough to see the hanging, naked corpses—suspended from the beams by steel rods pierced into their chests—and the bodies sprawled across tables. Most of them bore a nomad’s rough look, clothed and more or less intact.

  Scum. I hope whoever did this died a slow, agonizing death, like being burnt slowly alive.

  Near the door, I spotted a barrel filled with scrap construction iron rods. I grabbed two, dragging them back toward the bus.

  Attaching the tow bar was straightforward thanks to the built-in bracket. For the Larimore, I placed the bar over the coupling and wrapped construction iron around it, securing it tightly for the drive.

  “Mila, can you steer the bus to the docks until we get there?”

  I slid into the driver’s seat and the engine was coughing to life. The bus lurched forward with a creak from the tow bar strained under the weight. I eased into the pedal, moving cautiously

  As we made our way back toward the docks, an uneasiness settled over me, the silence of the abandoned village stretching long and thick, amplifying my trembling instincts. The desolate streets remained eerily still, broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the occasional stressed groan of the makeshift tow.

  When we reached the docks, the kids and nuns still clustered nearby, huddled tight alongside the mercenaries standing guard by the submarine. They looked wiped out and frightened, but the sight of us seemed to ease their tension—at least a little. I pulled the bus to a halt and climbed out, motioning for them to get on.

  The nuns helped the kids into the dusty seats, settling them with gentle words. “Abigail, can you take the wheel and brake when needed?” I asked.

  She turned after lowering a child into a seat and nodded. “Yes, that’s no problem. But—can you blink before you turn at a curve? That would be easier, along with being safer.”

  Blinking? I hadn’t even thought about it. Does the car even do that anymore? Yes, it does. I’d convinced myself it didn’t, since nobody’s really bothered to blink in ages.

  “Yeah, I’ll do it,” I said. “But before we go, we need to swing by the warehouse where the other kids are. Make yourselves comfortable behind the wheel.” With everyone accounted for, I pivoted and drove toward the warehouse.

  It was exactly as I had left it—though I caught a strange glance from the netrunner when I emerged from around the corner, the way his eyes lingered on me.

  Pushing past him, I stepped inside, heading straight to the nun, helping her to her feet and easing her toward the car. Mila saw her first, guiding her into the back of the Larimore, then climbing in beside her to tend to her wound.

  While all this was happening, Abigail had disappeared into the warehouse, gathering the children with her companions.

  Once everyone was aboard, I slid back into the driver’s seat and started the engine again. I turned to the backseat and asked the nun, “So, how do we get to your monastery without stumbling into the unknown? Oh—and what’s your name? I don’t think I caught it earlier.”

  “My name is Rory,” she said, her voice faint but steady. “The route’s simple—follow the main road until the interstate crossroad, then turn left and stick to that.”

  As we moved along, I kept my mind sharp, eyes scanning the empty road ahead. A nagging feeling told me we weren’t alone—somewhere behind that silence, we were being watched.

  Suddenly, a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon, growing larger and closer with every second. Approaching fast, I could see it was a convoy—armored trucks, light tanks, and off-road vehicles, all bearing one emblem: a black circle embossed with an orange scorpion—the symbol of MetaCorp, North America’s leading shipping giant and one of the seven nations.

  Mila leaned forward from the back seat, her eyes wide with urgency. "Pull over," she hissed sharply. "It's better not to let them think we're a threat."

  I nodded, guiding the Larimore to the side of the road. The convoy thundered past, trucks and light tanks kicking up turbulent clouds of dust behind them. Two offroad vehicles halted before us, their weapons trained lockfast on our position as the convoy rumbled by, then sped away—their form vanishing on the distant horizon.

  Metacorp, I thought they only moved their cargo via airships or through their subsidiary DTR. Why bother lugging supplies along crooked roads in trucks, risking delays, when they could simply fly over it all in a fraction of the time?

  In the distance, a small town spread out under the horizon—its church tower crowning the skyline, a larger motel standing nearby.

  "That’s it. We’re staying there in the town—well, technically, a ghost town," Rory said with a hint of grim humor. "We’re the only ones around—not counting the Buddhist monks who’ve built a temple out of a housing complex, or the Odin worshippers camping near the abandoned gunshop."

  “How come you guys even ended up working for the Raffen as a nanny in the first place?” I asked, my voice edged with curiosity.

  “Well, they came here a few months back, asking if anyone could watch some kids for a while. After their third visit, without any hostility, one of us decided to go with them—and got paid pretty well, no mistreatment at all. More of us followed suit, because even though we’re mostly autonomous, we still need the cash. Strange as it sounds, they were nice enough—though the makeup was horrible,” Rory chuckled dryly.

  “I don’t know what to make of that,” I muttered. “Other than the feeling they might’ve been trying to lull you into lowering your guard.”

  We reached the edge of the town near the church—yet strangely, no signs of life anywhere. I killed the engine and stepped out.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The moment my feet touched the ground, a heavy blow from the side hit me hard. I crashed into the dirt, pain exploding in my nose and behind my eyes. I tried to rise, but a weight pressed down, pinning me to the ground.

  "Don't move," a voice growled into my ear. "You're surrounded."

  I turned my head to the front and saw a… a heavily chromed woman in nun's clothing straddling my waist, a Nue pressed to my temple and a Unity at Mila’s side.

  That I see pretty much a complete borg in nuns clothing? Didn't think I'd ever see something like this.

  Without moving hastily, I glanced around—at least ten armed nuns were positioned on the ground, guns aimed at us, some on rooftops with sniper rifles at the ready.

  Where the hell am I? The Hitman universe?! With assassins masquerading as nuns!?

  “Don’t even think about it,” the borged-out nun hissed as I tried to shift my arm.

  “Sister Gabriella, please lower the guns,” Abigail said calmly, stepping out of the bus with her hands raised.

  The borg nun studied Abigail silently, unmoving. “What happened? Why are you with strangers, along with a bus full of kids? What about the nomads?”

  Abigail took a steady step forward, still with her hands raised. “Sister Gabriella, it’s okay. These people brought us here after they took out the raffens we were working for. The nomads? They were actually raffens in disguise.”

  She scanned the armed nuns, voice calm and even. “Please, put down your weapons. They mean us no harm.”

  Sister Gabriella hesitated a moment, her gun still pressed against my head. Then, slowly, she lowered it, her eyes never leaving mine. “Explain,” she demanded flatly, devoid of emotion.

  Abigail drew a deep breath and recounted everything—the raffens, their masquerade as nomads, how we’d killed them and how the kids now needed a new home, somewhere with no viole—less violence than a big city.

  As she spoke, I felt the weight on my chest lessen slightly. I took a trembling, ragged breath, my heart hammering. The blood trickling from my nose along with the dull ache in my backside lessened too.

  She was heavy. So deceptively sleek, yet so weighty.

  Gabriella’s gaze bore into me, as if she could read my mind.

  When Abigail finished, silence stretched. Then, slowly, Sister Gabriella rose—there was no sound of movement, not even a rustle of fabric—her eyes unreadable as she looked down.

  “You may stand,” she finally said. “But do not make any sudden moves. We will take the children inside, and then we'll talk.”

  I nodded, slowly pushing myself up. Legs shaky, head throbbing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mila and Claire—calm, impassive—but Claire’s eyes flickered with a hint of fear.

  The nuns lowered their weapons but kept them close, moving toward the bus, helping the children disembark and herding them toward the church. Gabriella watched them go, expression inscrutable.

  Until Rory stepped down, missing her arm. Gabriella strode toward her. “Who did this to you?”

  Shit. Hopefully she’s not going to kill me.

  "It was a misunderstanding. She didn’t know I was a nun at the time, and I didn’t realize she was a merc. I tried to fight her, and she cut off my arm—then she stopped, as my rosary fell to the ground," Rory explained, desperately trying to calm Gabriella down.

  Once the children were safely inside, Gabriella turned back to us. "Follow me," she ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument.

  She definitely knows I cut off Rory’s arm.

  She led us into the church, down a narrow corridor, and into a small room. It was sparsely furnished—just a table and a few chairs. She gestured for us to sit, then took a seat opposite me. "Now," she said, her eyes boring into mine. "Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."

  I took a deep breath and began to speak. "We were hired to wipe out a Raffen base along the Columbia River. We attacked just before their guard shift changed and killed everyone who fought back. Until I entered the warehouse and fought Rory, cutting off her arm—then I realized she wasn’t Raffen and was protecting kids."

  "Still, you’ll need to pay for what you did," Gabriella interrupted, then continued, "You cut Rory’s arm without mercy. Maybe you saved her life afterwards, and you saved the kids too. But now we’ve got fifty more mouths to feed, so I’d like to ask you to help us in some way."

  Better than getting killed on the spot. And—fair enough, though I’ve got no money left. Too much spent on liquid nitrogen, trapping the factory and the magnesium—except for a thousand eddies. "Are a thousand eddies and the bus enough for now? As for the arm, I might be able to ask a Ripper for a favor." "That will do. But if you hurt one of my proteges again, I WILL make you regret it," she said, her tone still emotionless, but with a look that screamed—‘I will deliver.’

  Never hurting another nun, huh. Didn't plan to do it in the first place.

  "By the way, is it common for a MetaCorp convoy to pass through this interstate?" Mila asked as we concluded our conversation.

  "Why do you ask—and more to the point, what do you intend to do with that information?"

  "Nothing immediate, at least. It's just useful to know, because it’s odd to see a MetaCorp land convoy—or, more precisely, you don’t usually see land convoys unless they have no access to water or air."

  Gabriella studied Mila with an indifferent gaze for a moment before replying. "They pass through here every two weeks heading west. Always the same number of vehicles, but they never return. Either they go around us on their way back, or they cross the fields."

  Strange—like they’re purposely avoiding notice. Yet, they wouldn't make the trek every two weeks unless they were transporting something to a point where they abandon it and switch to another route.

  "Thanks for the info. I don’t quite know what to do with it, but it's better to have it." Mila rose to her feet. "We’re leaving now."

  As we followed her down the hallway into the main hall, a sudden, piercing pain rent through my stomach. I stopped, looking down to see a girl, no older than ten, stabbing a knife into me.

  I KNEW I would regret moving the kids away. Still thank god for combat styms that linder pain.

  "Don’t do anything, Mila," I said, gripping the girl’s hand and the knife, slowly pulling her away from the blade before Mila could strike again.

  Once I had her hand free, she tried to run, but Mila held her steady. I lowered my gaze to meet the girl’s eyes and spoke calmly, despite the pain. "What do you think you’ll achieve with this? Do you really want to kill me because I killed your parents?"

  "Yes!" she snapped back.

  "And what do you think will happen after you've killed me?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

  "I don’t know. I don’t care. You killed my father, and I will avenge him." Her defiance was apparent, through her eyes flicked around desperately, searching for an escape.

  "Let me tell you what’s likely to happen," I said, my voice steady and deliberate. "They'll toss you out, send you to some distant orphanage where everyone will despise you, bully you. Do you truly believe your father would want you to throw your life away just for revenge?"

  I paused, letting my words settle. "If he was a good father, he’d want you to live—grow up, find a purpose. Maybe one day, when you’re ready, you can come find me and settle your score. But don’t throw everything away now, when you’re still just a child."

  The girl gazed at me, tears welling in her eyes. For a moment, she stood there, caught between her grief and her thirst for vengeance.

  Then, slowly, she lowered her eyes. "I hate you. I will kill you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But I won’t throw my life away. Not yet."

  I nodded, a flicker of respect crossing my face. "Good," I murmured. "That’s the smart move."

  Turning to Mila, who still held the girl, I ordered, "Let her go. She’s no threat right now."

  Mila hesitated briefly, then loosened her grip, eyeing me questioningly. The girl lingered a moment, rubbing her wrist, before, with one last glare, she spun around and dashed into the church.

  I watched her retreating figure, a swirl of emotions flickering across my face. I knew I’d made an enemy today. But until she’s big enough to kill me, I might as well be dead already.

  Why did you let her go? The smart thing would be to kill her right now," Mila asked as we made our way to the Larimore.

  "Because, while that’s the smart move, it’s not the right one. If we start killing everyone who might someday kill us, then sooner or later, someone else will be about to kill us too," I replied.

  "Must admit, that makes some sense," Claire suddenly chimed in, much to my consternation.

  I had completely forgotten about her. How is it that she just makes me forget her existence by silently following along?

  "Anyway, Mila, do you know the way back to camp? Because I don’t, and I’m starting to feel like I could sleep any moment now—so I wouldn’t mind if you lit a fire under my ass," I said as we stood outside the car, still shaken from Claire’s scare.

  "What do you mean, you don’t know the way back? You’re a nomad, an outlaw—at least you should know the coordinates of the camp," she snapped.

  "I can’t help it. I had amnesia, and I wasn’t allowed to leave the camp. Why would I need to know how to get back?" I grumbled.

  "Fine. Toss me the shard, and I’ll call Erik to get the coordinates. Now, go to the backseat to rest, and don’t remove the knife. Under no circumstances is this understood," Mila relented.

  I grabbed my axe, yawned, and hacked through the construction iron rods to lower the tow bar so we wouldn’t haul the bus with us. Then I stepped into the backseat, nearly asleep—climbing up nearly asleep is always a good way to end up face-first on the ground, but not this time. I took out the shard, handed it to Mila as she settled into the driver’s seat, and Claire got into the passenger seat.

  The engine roared to life, and we drove off. I gazed at the landscape before remembering I still had notifications disabled. Quickly turning them back on, my vision swam with messages for a while…but in the end, this was what I got.

  "400 Marksman exp gained. Skill level gained."

  "1300 Explosives exp gained. Skill level gained."

  "300 Handgun exp gained."

  "500 Dodge exp gained. Skill level gained."

  "700 CQC exp gained. Skill unlocked. Skill level gained."

  "300 Blades exp gained. Skill unlocked. Skill level gained."

  "200 Engineering exp gained."

  "600 First-Aid exp gained. Skill unlocked. Skill level gained."

  "250 Driving exp gained. Skill level gained."

  "Skills: Athletics lvl 4 exp 2450/4000

  Engineering lvl 4 exp 3450/4000

  Dodge lvl 2 exp 200/1000

  Handguns lvl 3 exp 250/2000

  Assault lvl 3 exp 400/2000

  Driving lvl 2 exp 500/1000

  Explosives lvl 3 exp 600/2000

  First-Aid lvl 1 exp 400/500

  CQC lvl 1 exp 450/500

  Blacksmithing lvl 2 exp 100/1000

  One-Handed-Weapons lvl 1 exp 50/500

  Animal-Handling lvl 3 exp 850/1000

  Lock-Picking lvl 1 exp 0/500

  Vehicular Assault lvl 1 exp 250/500

  Netrunning level 2 exp 50/1000

  Programming lvl 3 exp 0/2000"

  It took considerable time and some truly strange encounters for certain skills to advance to this level, but I’m genuinely excited to see Engineering hit level 5.

  As I surveyed the landscape, another notification chimed—not from the skill system, but from the security measures I’d set at the metal factory.

  “LoMila asked, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror for a brief moment as she kept her focus on the road.meet a grisly end,” I chuckled quietly to myself.

  “What’s so funny back there, Kassy?” Mila asked, glancing over as she drove.

  “Someone’s breaking into my workshop. Sadly, they’re not going to make it out without a lasting trauma,” I muttered, then yawned and rested my eyes for a moment.