Once we entered the clan’s dead zone we lost all comms and our direct link with the rest of the fire team. No choice, though—we couldn’t lose the target. I could swear my two FireLance ’bots hesitated right before they went full autonomous after crossing that invisible Rubicon somewhere between a puddle of something biological and a crushed silver carton of U.N. Refugee Agency pure-water. I sure flinched as my faceplate display glitched then rebooted as I formed a local network with my two ’bots. Just keep my helmet-cooling fan on, that’s all I ask, because a Marine can’t get much hotter than an off-grid underground Lagos rez in July. I’d vampire their batteries to do it, which was the first wireless power hack Gunny showed us on board ship on the way over.