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The server farm hums behind reinforced glass, and I can see three Tsumemon skittering across the racks like roaches when you flip on the kitchen light. My shoulder twitches. Not actually sore yet, but it will be once Kuro gets into it with them.
"Three visible," I mutter, scanning with my Digivice. The electromagnetic readings are a mess - office buildings always are, all that wiring in the walls and fluorescent lights - but there's definitely more than three signatures. "At least two more hiding. Maybe behind the HVAC unit?"
Kuro's already moving, low to the ground, claws clicking on linoleum. BlackAgumon aren't built for stealth exactly, but he's gotten good at it. Lots of practice. The JSDF pays twenty thousand yen per Tsumemon, a hundred thousand per Keramon, and this building's been losing data for three days. A less scrupulous person would let this problem go terminal for maximum payout. But I've got scruples to spare. Management finally shelled out for an exterminator.
That's us. We're the exterminator.
The Tsumemon in the server room haven't noticed us yet. They're focused on the cables, those horrible little claws working at the insulation, ingesting data through... I don't know. I never really thought about it too hard. One of them has already gotten fat - it's twice the size of the others, which means it's close to evolving. That's the one we need to deal with first.
Assuming my little fella doesn't have his own plans, of course.
I tap the key card against the reader. The door's fail-safe system is good - designed to seal automatically if there's a fire or manifestation event. It clicks open and Kuro flows through before I can even step forward.
The first two Tsumemon die fast. Kuro's claws are better than any attack he's got at this level - quick, efficient, no collateral damage. Their rubbery flesh goes first, and there's no blood, just flesh coming apart, and an inability for them to hold their form. They quickly turn into sludge, then into an ozone-smelling sort of wispy fog.
The big one, though. The big one sees us coming.
"Shit--"
By the time I'm finished cussing, a Keramon's hand has reached out from behind another row of servers. Already gripped the fat Tsumemon like a baseball and started to squeeze. The Tsumemon writhes, edges starting to fray, the digestion beginning before it's even hit the stomach. Then, peeking out from its little corner, the Keramon stares at me, jaw hanging open. It squeezes, and the fat Tsumemon bursts like an overripe tomato, splattering rubbery digiflesh across the computers.
"Yummy..." it gurgles, the air rumbling. "Bug..."
It opens its mouth and I feel the buildup in my teeth, that electric charge feeling you get right before a storm. The Digivice in my pocket goes haywire, sensors redlining. "Kuro, MOVE--"
"BLASTER!"
I've been hit through the link before. You never get used to it. It's not like normal pain - not like touching a hot stove or skinning your knee. It's wrong pain, pain that doesn't come from anywhere, pain that just suddenly is. Like someone's pressing on a nerve that doesn't exist in a body part you don't have. My shoulder doesn't hurt. The pain isn't... local. I feel it in a body I don't have.
Kuro staggers, snarling, and the Keramon is already laughing, gelatinous drool leaking out from between its muppet lips. "Let's play! Let's play!" it burbles, other hand reaching out to fumble and grope for another computer to suck data from.
He doesn't think. I feel it through the link, that spike of rage overriding tactics, and he breathes.
"KURO, DON'T--"
Too late. The attack shout's long been trained out of him, but that doesn't mean I can't recognize a Pepper Breath when I see one, a gout of flame that just doesn't work quite like a normal fire. It's a projectile, a tennis ball from a pitching machine and a loogie all at once, and it's going to set the fucking sprinklers off. I feel it in my throat, too, a sort of awful charring sensation like someone just made me vape Tabasco.
The fireball catches the Keramon dead center in its mouth. It shrieks, eyes going wide, and it swallows, before the rest of the Pepper Breath bursts out of the back of its head like a sniper round. Really burning, not just taking damage, actually on fire because Pepper Breath is real flame, produces real heat, ignites real materials, and Keramon are made of something flammable apparently.
The fire suppression system triggers immediately.
I have half a second to recognize the hiss of pressurized canisters before the room explodes into white dust. Some sort of powder that turns the air opaque and tastes like burnt metal. It coats everything: racks, floor, Kuro’s scales, and if I didn't keep my mouth shut it'd coat my tongue too, but I don't need that going in any important holes.
The Keramon is screaming now, that horrible chittering turned into a raw mechanical wail, because it’s on fire and covered in suppressant powder, and Kuro’s already on top of it. I’m running before I consciously decide to move, boots slipping on dust-slick linoleum, because a burning Digimon near live servers is how you end up with a five-million-yen insurance claim even if the fail-safes are supposed to prevent that.
The dust settles fast, drifting down like snow, leaving a chalky film on the racks. The servers will survive - one’s going to need a deep clean, maybe a drive swap - but the Keramon isn’t getting back up.
Kuro doesn’t need instruction. He’s already got claws hooked into that weird rubbery hide, and I feel the impact through the link but distant now, muted, because the burn in my shoulder is fading to a dull ache and the adrenaline is doing its job. I feel it under my fingernails as a faint pressure, the sensation of rending something that resists.
The Keramon tries to fire again. The light builds in its shredded mouth, that sickly yellow-green glow, but Kuro’s already inside its guard and his claws find something important. The light sputters out. Its eyes dim with the last remaining cackle wheezing out like a broken vinyl player.
It dissolves slower than the Tsumemon did. Bigger patterns take longer to collapse, I guess. I watch it fade to static, to nothing, and then it’s just me standing in a powder-covered server room hallway with a dust-greyed BlackAgumon, the suppressant system still hissing and an alarm starting to wail somewhere.
The fail-safe door is closed. That’s good. The servers are fine. That’s also good.
My shoulder hurts like someone stuck a fork in a socket that’s connected to my spine. That’s less good, but manageable.
“You okay?” I ask, which is stupid because I can feel that he’s okay, more or less. Shoulder’s going to bruise. Mine too, probably, or whatever the psychosomatic equivalent is.
Kuro shakes himself, sending little white clumps off his scales. “Got it.”
“You also nearly set the building on fire.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Because the suppression system works.”
“See? Planning.” He sounds entirely too pleased with himself, currently resembling a very small, very smug dinosaur who lost a fight with a cappuccino machine.
I want to argue but my shoulder hurts and I'm covered in chemical powder that's probably going to give me a rash and there are still two more Tsumemon somewhere in this building and I need to figure out how to explain this to building management in a way that doesn't get us banned from future contracts.
The Digivice beeps. Two more signatures, moving away from us now, probably spooked by the noise. They're heading toward the cubicle farm on the fourth floor.
"Come on," I say, kicking dust off my boots. "Let's finish this before they get into the workstations."
Kuro follows, leaving big clawed footprints across the linoleum. My shoulder throbs in time with his breathing. Somewhere in the walls, I can hear the remaining Tsumemon chittering to each other, that high-pitched whine they make that's just barely in the audible range.
Twenty thousand yen per roach. A hundred thousand for the Keramon. Minus whatever we're going to have to pay for triggering the fire suppression system and probably replacing whatever servers got coated in powder.
I really need to invest in a hazmat suit.
We find the last two in a supply closet, huddled behind boxes of printer paper. They don't even try to run. Kuro makes it quick.
The building manager meets us in the lobby, looking harassed. His eyes track from my dust-coated jacket to Kuro’s powder-whitened scales.
“Did you trigger the fire suppression?”
“Keramon happened mid-hunt,” I say, which is true. “Caught us by surprise. Had to respond with fire, which tripped the optical sensors.”
“The powder system,” he says flatly. “Do you know how much it costs to recharge those cylinders and clean the filters?”
“Less than it costs to replace a server farm that’s been eaten by Keramon?”
He doesn’t look happy but he transfers the bounty anyway. Two hundred thousand yen, minus forty thousand for the recharge and another ten for the rack that inhaled too much suppressant. The receipt prints out with that horrible dot-matrix screech and he hands it over like it personally offends him.
“If you come back,” he says, “try not to use fire attacks in the server room.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll mention it to Kuro.”
Kuro, currently trying to scrape caked-on powder off his claws with his teeth, looks utterly unrepentant.
Outside, the sky is grey and threatening rain. Kuro stops on the sidewalk to shake himself one more time, sending clumps of half-dried foam across the pavement. My shoulder still aches, that phantom nerve pain that'll probably last another hour or two, but it's fading. The adrenaline crash is hitting instead, leaving me tired and cold and vaguely nauseous and smelling like industrial chemicals.
A hundred fifty thousand yen. Split that with Kuro for his trouble - seventy five thousand each. Beats a desk job.
My phone buzzes. Text from the JSDF contractor: Office complex in Minato, possible Keramon nest, pays 500k if you can clear it before they hit infrastructure.
I look at Kuro. He looks at me. His shoulder is already bruising, dark purple-grey against the black scales.
"You up for another?" I ask.
He grins, showing way too many teeth. "Always."
My shoulder twitches. Not sore yet. But it will be.
I text back: We'll take it.