Adventure of Behemoth 1

Rain needles the alley as Behemoth hauls himself out of the crawlspace, service card clenched in his fist. The Fixer is already at the bar door, one hand out, the other hovering over a cracked portable deck.

The Heavy Mercenary shifts to cover the alley mouth, watching for patrol lights. Somewhere above, a corporate drone whines past the rooftops, blind for now.

Behemoth passes the card over. Its diagnostic glow flares against the rain, and the Fixer snaps it into the deck with practiced speed.

On the deck’s dead screen, a corporate map blooms in red fractures. The cordon line buckles, node by node, as the first stolen credentials open a path straight into the company’s buried systems.

Behemoth plants himself by the bar entrance, a steel wall in the rain. The Fixer leans over the deck, shoulders hunched, as red map fractures crawl wider across the dead screen.

The Heavy Mercenary keeps the alley mouth covered, then shifts his weight as a distant patrol sweep fades. Above them, the drone’s whine thins and slips away into the skyline.

Behemoth does not chase the deck, does not crowd the work. He just holds the line, rain sliding off his armor while the alley stays quiet under his watch.

The Fixer’s fingers dance faster. The service card’s diagnostic glow flickers green, then steadies, feeding the deck a fresh routing tag.

The corporate map buckles again, one more node folding under stolen credentials, and the Fixer bares his teeth at the screen. He is in.

Behemoth keeps the entrance covered, and the alley answers with nothing but rain and the soft click of the deck keys. The Fixer lowers his head over the screen, already pulling the stolen tag into place.

The Heavy Mercenary eases a half-step wider at the mouth of the alley, rifle tracking the dark street. No contact. No movement worth firing at.

Inside the portable deck, the corporate map fractures open another seam. The service card glow stays steady green, feeding the route clean and bright.

A faint tremor runs through the alley light, then settles. Above the cordon, a distant search beam wanders nowhere near them, and the Fixer’s grin turns sharp at the first clean line of data.

Behemoth holds the doorway in silence, a wall of armor and rain, while the alley stays quiet around him. Tanya’s old minigun rests steady in his grip, pointed low but ready, as the last of the decryption scrolls across the deck behind him.

The Fixer works fast, shoulders hunched over the glowing screen. The service card’s green tag pulses against the dark, feeding the line cleanly.

A soft mechanical chirp comes from the portable deck, then stops. The Fixer’s mouth tightens, not with worry, but with greed at what he is seeing.

He shifts the deck under one arm, one hand still hovering over the keys like he does not trust the data to stay put. The rain taps harder on the alley lip, and the smart-scope mark on the Heavy Mercenary’s rifle wavers over the empty street.

Behemoth keeps the angle covered, but the strain of the hold costs him, his knuckles whitening on the weapon as the concrete edge digs at his stance. Behind him, the screen keeps pouring corporate truth into the dark.

Behemoth lets the minigun rest in his grip and keeps the doorway measured, rain hissing off his armor. The alley feels calmer for it, like everyone is waiting on the same next word.

He taps the deck, and the green service card glow washes over his fingers and the scrolling corporate map. The decryption stream keeps moving, clean and steady.

He slides a credchip across the wet deck lip toward Behemoth, then finally looks up from the numbers. Behind them, the drone shadow thins over the cordon while the smart-scope mark still jitters uselessly across the empty street.