Rule 1: Hold all questions until Doma signals they are finished.

  Rule 2: One question per Network. And no, if one journalist works for SunSports, and another works for SunSams, they know you are from the same network

  Rule 3: All questions must be relevant to what the conference is about.

  All Rule breakers are subject to immediate evacuation per Doma's discretion at any time. Make sure your parachutes are secure before you enter the hall.

  -Rules for Press conferences hosted by Doma, disseminated by senior journo James “Steelballz” Jonson, 2050

  When the chief assigned me to attend The Family's press conference today, I was ecstatic at the level of trust given, but also very confused as to why it was labeled ‘Doma's Press Conference: Night Raid Results’. It sounded less official and more pervy, but the chief said it was The Family, so it must be official.

  My confusion grew as the armorer gave me a dense backpack with my normal vest and helmet cam, as well as a pamphlet. “Read it on the way, John, and do not take off the packtill you return.” The look in his eyes brokered no questions.

  Hoping into my Mico commuter, I made my way to The Family HQ for the first time, also being able to mark myself as a Family Journo, accessing one of the few perks I actually wanted from my job: being able to fly between traffic lanes to get somewhere.

  I know the network paid a lot for this perk, as did a few others, but the feeling of pushing my tiny engine to its limits for an extended period of time was wonderful. I almost forgot to read the pamphlet as I spotted the building in the distance.

  The pamphlet was basically a piece of A4 paper folded into itself, with the words ‘Do not forget: Follow These Rules, do not spread’. Reading the inside, I grew even more confused. These rules were for Doma press conferences? I only get one question!

  I couldn't panic anymore as my car parks in its assigned spot for my network, and I pull myself out, seeing other journos walk through the lot. I move quickly, drawing eyes from others and hearing them chuckle. Why aren't they moving quickly to grab the best seat? Why do none of them have vests? As I arrive at the door, I push through my competitors' stares as I follow the lines to the conference room. I slow down as I enter the room, and see that there is no roof! No glass, no tarp cover, nothing! But it feels air-conditioned, so it must be Samurai magic.

  I look to find a seat, and pause as I see a chair marked for my network in the second row. I see others already seated, chatting with each other with no animosity or suspicion, and I feel like something's wrong.

  Journos are competitive by nature, always hunting for the best scoop for their network. While most times journos in the wild don't overlap in topics and are thus able to coexist, Press conferences have always been a battlefield. Who asks what question first, how is that question asked, how does the questioned react, respond, answer. What don't they say. Dozens of eyes watch through our cams for every micro expression, every contradiction, and they write like mad.

  Taking a seat next to a larger network reporter, she looks at me and smirks. “First time?” She asks. I don't answer, trying my best to look ahead. She cackles, “Oh, man. They really sent a frog?”

  I bristle at her tone. A frog is normally high praise for journos, as frogs don't let go when they have their prey in sight or in their mouths. I look at her with confusion.

  “Hey, frog, listen. Chill out, yeah? Once the conference starts, you will understand why all of us are relaxing.” She says, patting my shoulder.

  I sit in silence as the remaining journos take their seats. Shortly after, Doma descends from above and lands behind a podium at the front of the room.

  “Good morning, everyone. Thank you all for coming to this very important Q and A. I hope you weren't pulled from anything important to be here.” She says, wiggling her eyebrows at us. I hear quiet laughter erupt around me, as if everyone was in on a joke that I wasn't.

  As it dies down, the screen behind her changes from a white wall to an overview of the city. “Last night, a series of raids led by high ranking members of The Family took place against five megacorporations, GreenTowers, ICantBeliveItsNotMeat, AgriWorld, BeanTech, and Bestlé due to irreconcilable differences between their actions and the people of New Phoenix.”

  The screen shows a tactile overview of the raid, the Samurai involved, who hit where, how many people they led.

  “For years now, we have been slowly working to dismantle these corporations for one simple fact. They have been holding the state hostage in order to maintain their monopoly over the food and water production that every person in Arizona requires to survive.”

  New lights appear in the city, marking dozens of points below the city plates. “When we worked to repair the city infrastructure nine years ago, we, the Family, were forced to stop at the water and food sectors due to a series of toxin injectors installed by these corporations on the water supply, primed to inject deadly toxins into the water supply of not just New Phoenix, but every town and city that resides within Arizona. They were set to go off with numerous triggers, least of which proximity and tampering. It was only recently that we finished our preparations in order to neutralize them, and thus were able to move against the corporations in order to capture the executives responsible for holding the entire state hostage.”

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  A number of faces and names appeared on the screen, listing their titles, salaries, and other crimes they have committed.

  “At this time, we have taken control of these companies' compounds and will continue to provide, clean, and improved food and water that is distributed to the citizens who call Arizona home. There will be no disturbances in the supply chain.”

  “Finally, Bestlé has declared war on New Phoenix, both the council and The Family, claiming we are slandering their good names and holding their executives hostage.” Her smile changes, and I feel a shiver of fear run down my spine, “And yet, as much as I would love to fight those idiots myself, they have offered a deal far too tempting for the higher ups to pass up on.”

  The screen changes once more, the faces vanishing and an email is shown.

  “This offer of theirs transfers thirty five percent of all Bestlé holdings in North America to The Family in exchange for all Class IV Samurai to vacate the state for two months, starting tomorrow.” I hear murmurs of concern from the others, and I feel my back is soaked in sweat. “No need to panic, however, as that does still leave us with numerous Class III Samurai as well as the defenses of the city as a whole. Many Samurai received a massive power boost from the stealth hive outside the city the other day, and we cannot see anything short of a WMD taking us down.”

  As silence settles in the audience, I receive a file that opens, showing a list of questions, titled ‘First come first serve’.

  As I scan the list, I feel both appalled and surprised. Every question here is something I would ask, and none of them seem censored or anything. But, how dare they tell me what questions I can ask! I then notice many of them have turned grey, and panic, selecting a question at random.

  “I will now be accepting questions,” she says.

  “Does the Family have a reserve of troops raised to fight their enemies?” I hear.

  “Not quite. We do have a number of people who have volunteered to work with us in combat situations, but the troops used last night were from the PMC Desert Rats, who are well known for working with The Family to deal with incursions.”

  “Are you really holding the executives shown earlier hostage?”

  “Yes and no. We are imprisoning them while we are finding an impartial judge and court, of which you can find sign up sheets and a poll for whether the public would prefer a local judge, an outside judge, or Samurai Blind Justice to run the trial. But we are not holding them to prevent the opposition from attacking.”

  A few more questions get asked and answered before it becomes my turn. I swallow and ask the question I reserved.

  “Does the raid last night have anything to do with the disturbance at Blizzard’s Remembrance Gala last night?” This question shocked me, as I didn't know something like this had happened.

  “In point of fact, yes. We had initially wanted to enact this raid tomorrow, however due to the actions of the heir of BeanTech last night, we decided to move ahead with the raid. We understood that with the reactions of Samurai War Games against being shot, the other corporations would most likely retaliate or threaten to use the toxins below. After a short meeting, it was decided to launch our assault before they could cause any undue panic.”

  I had so many questions now, like who was War Games, what do you mean he was shot, did the heir survive?

  As someone else goes to ask a question, I stand up, “Why did-”.

  And then suddenly I was thrown upward and out of the conference hall, soaring above the city, screaming bloody murder.

  ****************************

  “Did Doma just kill a journo on live TV?” Cody asked, sitting up.

  No, Cody. Every reporter in attendance has a parachute as a just in case measure.

  “Just in case she gets angry at them?” Buddy asked.

  Yes. And in case they break one of the official unofficial rules of Doma’s. And before you ask, they are available online if you are curious, as well as why they are unofficial.

  Roger, Buddy, and Cody’s augs light up, while I am doing my best to maintain rational thought with Cari sitting on my lap, turned sideways a bit.

  She mentioned that this is exposure training for me to be able to get used to, well, her. And I have to admit, it is working. I was able to listen to the entire press conference while only feeling Cari’s heartbeat a little bit.

  Then she turned and looked at me in the eyes and I felt my thoughts slip a bit. They were mesmerizing, the way they softened a bit when she looked at me, the way her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes.

  She pats my cheek, “Victor dear, don't get too distracted. If it helps, look at a different feature for a time. I have a question for you.”

  I shake out of my admiration and follow her advice, deciding to look at her…. Earing. “Yes?” Fucking, my VOICE CRACKED.

  I feel her suppressing a laugh, “Roger mentioned earlier that my family would have trouble reaching us, and not for reasons I was thinking of. May I ask what reasons those would be?”

  I glance at Roger, but he wiggles his eyebrows at me in that annoying way he does when he wants me to actually think for myself.

  I sigh, then stop as that action puts me closer to her. “Uh, right. So before I answer that, how much do you know of this place?”

  She raises an eyebrow at me, “Well, this is the home of a Samurai, so I expected at least exterior defenses, probably some interior ones. I don't know how strong you are, nor what Class of catalogs you have, but I expect them to be fairly high.”

  “Right. So it's a bit more complicated than that. We own ten floors of this building, firstly, so that's a lot of space to fight through to begin with.” I say. I feel her pulse quicken a bit, but it normalizes. “Secondly, the previous owner of this building, they made the exterior out of Class II materials for… fucked up reasons we can get into later.” Her pulse quickens again, “And due to the many Spatial Manipulation catalogs I have, each single floor has been expanded vertically to be seven floors. So we actually own seventy floors. And Morrigan, my… science officer? Yeah, she has been filling every floor with homemade weapons of so many types.”

  Cari grabs my cheek softly and turns my gaze to hers. Her eyes are very wide. “Victor. Are you saying you live in an above ground doomsday bunker?”

  “Kinda,” I mutter. “Its… complicated.’