Golden Row

Red Zone

2232-08-11

1800

Back before the war, the golden row earned its name for the density of high-rise buildings rented by banks, companies and conglomerates. Chic boutique shops, jewelry stores and Michelin starred restaurants lined the avenues below. Now, the immaculate streets that would have been parked and traveled by expensive cars, sidewalks walked upon by the upper crust of society are now bare, covered with rubble, broken glass and extremely dangerous.

A corpse lay strewn in the middle of the street, face down, with a thin coat of dust covering his clothes. A figure darted from one of the buildings, its wide glass windows long blown out, and headed towards the dead man on the street. The man’s stomach growled, it has been a while since he ate. The other night, he think, and he could use a new gun himself. It was old, and well past its usefulness. He has picked it off another scavenger unlucky enough to encounter a pack of mutants and was still clutched on his hands, its two barrels filled with spent shells when he picked it up. It worked as well when he pulled the trigger, but there was always a nagging feeling in the back of his head that it might come a time when he needed it the most, the gun would fail him. So, with shoulders hunched, gun in his hands, he looked around the buildings looming over him with suspicion but went on ahead and nudged the corpse on the shoulder.

A gap toothed grin crept up his face as the body didn’t move. He laid his gun on the ground then unslung his backpack, laying it next to the rifle. The gun was a fresh AK, likely dug out of a bunker sometime and shipped to the planet. He would be able to use it well and maybe set up a band of his own, use his old gun to arm one of his friends where they can try to make some moves; ambush someone and take their gun. Settling the dreams of tomorrow to the side in the meantime, the man then went on to go through the corpse's pockets and his bag, coming up with trinkets, bits of food and a bottle of clean water. He stashed it on his bag and searched for more only for him to pause. Feeling watched, he slowly looked over to the far building, eyes widening as he recognized a partial silhouette inside one of the restaurants. The man tried to get up and run but was too late. A round snapped and hit him in the forehead, punching a small hole and spraying shards of bone and mushed brain matter off the back of his head.

“I told you it wasn’t clear.” Arthur muttered, his head turned away from the rear doorway he was covering.

“We've been here for a while. Of course someone’s going to come by eventually.” Marcus replied, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the side. Looking outside, he scanned the surrounding windows for any changes but found nothing but the constant breeze blowing and the silence of a dead city.

“You should be glad with free kills whenever you get it.”

“That’s one way to say that I just shot another person in the head.”

“They're all just codes and pixels.”

‘Got to say, that was a good shot. Clean.’ Marcus thought to himself. “I think I could see the point in that quote back then, something about its good thing that war is so terrible or else we'll all grow to like it too much or something."

"That's from Robert Lee. It is well that war is so terrible, otherwise we should grow too fond of it."

"Yeah, that. And war is hell."

“Sherman. Not trying to put him down, but him saying that war is hell is just plain wrong. War is worse than hell. In hell, people you find are the ones who deserve to be there, sinners. There’s no kids and good people in hell. But war, War doesn’t care whether you're there fighting for your home, or there to take someone else's, or just caught up in the fighting. You're all part of the suffering, starvation, disease, violence and death. Shit.”

"Never took you for a goddamn philosopher." Marcus replied, then quickly caught himself, glancing at Arthur. “You know what, scratch that.” He then looked over to the client and saw him still engrossed over the diary on his hands. "Any progress on that front bossman?"

In between them, another player stood hunched over his little book, muttering to himself.

Crawler, Arthur’s client who hired him to get him to a location. The problem is that he is far from being able to take care of himself yet still very willing to jumping into risky quests, making up with it using mercenaries. Arthur took the job, then reached out to Marcus for some help. It wasn’t that Marcus minded helping, it wasn’t free. The price having first dibs of the loot every raid, and if he didn’t find anything of note, just let Arthur keep it since he needed it more than him.

“Don’t distract me.” Crawler muttered. To which Marcus could only shake his head. A few minutes of waiting later, he closed his book. “We’re close."

"We moving out?" Arthur replied.

“We are.”

Marcus and Arthur shared a look. "Equipment check before we go."

Marcus patted his vest, filled with 8 magazines, grenades, flashbangs and smoke. Level 4 plate inserts covering both front and back along with a level 4 shield generator attached to his hip, rated to withstand 10,000 joules of energy which is roughly equal to 3 rounds of 7.62x51mm NATO, powered by a disposable energy cell. It's also able to trickle charge lost capacity through a combination of absorbing solar energy and body movement using panels and a light weight rotor, like the ones used in watches. He had a water bladder on his back attached with a hose and his pack, filled with extra water, food, ammunition and extra bags to carry loot, and an extra 200 round nutsack for Arthur.

His rifle, M4A1 Sopmod in a block II configuration, was suppressed, along with a holographic sight with a co-witnessed 3x prism magnifier, PEQ-15 laser/illuminator attached to the quad rail handguard along with an extra light and a foregrip. He tested the light, and lasers, along with making sure that the batteries were all fresh.

Arthur was armed with a m249 saw, in the paratrooper version with a collapsing stock, shorter barrel, and a holographic sight. He wore gray digital pattern, the same camo pattern as Marcus. Arthur also equipped the same energy shield and plate carrier set up although in a different pouch configuration which was filled with grenade pouches and an extra nutsack on top to the one already loaded to his gun and a couple more on his pack.

The caliber and set up commonality was something that could not be understated. It allowed Marcus to dip into Arthur’s ammo in case he runs out and vice versa. On top, the common gear allowed for easier friend or foe identification along with giving Marcus an easier time having access to Arthur’s gear in case the situation calls for it. He would know where the grenades, and medpacks would be located, right where he had his.

Arthur finished checking his gear the same time as Marcus. He looked over to his friend and both nodded, coming together and performed equipment checks on each other, making sure that none was missed. Crawler watched with patience with a blank stare, his bulging pack on his back looking like a massive tick by how big it bulged and protruded. Marcus had no idea what the client was bringing into the party, but that wasn’t his concern. All he needed to do was to help Arthur escort him to a spot. If he happens to get himself killed after the contract was over, then it was none of his business. They got the location, and they’re going to get him there.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"I'll take front." Arthur said and led the way to the back of the restaurant, past the scavenger corpse they had killed and paused by the open door leading out to the rear of the building. He looked back at Marcus and nodded.

Marcus nodded back. With Arthur having much more time spent in game than him, it was expected that he take the more dangerous end of their three man stack. Arthur peeked his head outside, signaled an all clear, then sprinted out of the room and into the alleyway. Marcus noted his path as he crossed the open space and disappeared behind one of the many steel dumpsters.

“You’re up next.” Marcus said to the client.

A second later, Arthur popped back out of cover and waved over. Client sprinted across just as a distant shot rang out, followed by automatic gunfire. The gunfire lasted for a second, giving Marcus only a rough estimate on where it came from and only a clue of what happened. Marcus followed a few seconds later. Arthur was standing by a corner, peeking and scanning the route ahead. He then stepped behind his friend. Reaching over, he patted his shoulder.

Traveling a couple blocks took them thirty minutes. Careful was the way to go with the amount of places another player, scavenger or raider may be hiding. They sat at the back of a boutique lingerie store with its product having been passed over by any prospecting scavenger. Across the street was their target, a glass building much like the others with a central atrium visible from the street, illuminated by sunlight peeking from a central skylight.

Glass crunched underfoot as they cross the street to enter the center lobby. Behind it was a waiting area couches and planters containing long dead decorative plants and a non-working fountain, the water being long evaporated leaving a layer of grime.

Marcus looked up at the sky line to find staggered platforms giving a good view of the building's atrium. He imagined how it would have looked with the platforms populated with plants and lit up by the interior lights. "Place looks empty." Marcus muttered.

"Most of them are." Crawler replied. "But the diary says it's here, although in code, that its somewhere around the third or fourth floor."

Walking by a large pillar, Marcus glanced at a floor plan and found the stairs. The floor plan sat recessed in the wall on its frame, it would be useful to have it with them so Marcus reached over to take it off only to find that it was well secured. They would have to go without, and so Marcus studied the plan, and tried to put it into memory, noting special care of where the fire exit, stairs and even the elevator shaft just in case they ever need it.

The plan would be to find a floor, a room, a nook, or a cabinet to shove the client into while Marcus and Arthur goes ahead and clear the path for them. A couple of floors up, they found their spot to which they left the client and went ahead.

Marcus took the lead. The light from both the atrium and the skylight could only reach so far. Flicking the weapon light for a second was enough to have a snapshot of what was in front of them, allowing them to navigate while minimizing their light signature and avoiding alerting anyone else inside the building.

Reaching the stairs, they slowly headed up, rifles pointed at the lip of the stairs as they could only hear the background sounds of the city; wind and silence broken by distant gunfire. As they reached the landing between the second and third floor, Marcus felt Arthur's hand on his shoulder.

Marcus didn't dare ask what's up but instead kept his rifle aimed up the stairs. He, along with Arthur, had an electronic headset allowing certain ranges of sound frequencies to be amplified while filtering out loud and background noises.

He strained his ears to which he heard the faint, but recognizable crunching of concrete. It was measured and steady, footsteps. Waiting in the dark stairwell, they listened at the sound of an incoming hostile, confident, unaware.

Marcus's heart raced. The upcoming firefight being what he loved about the game. Where a single shot hitting a vital part could end your avatar’s life in a flash. It left little time for complacency, when risks of death could just be brought up by a single slip, a single instance of bad luck.

Steadily, he headed up, just as the footsteps paused. Marcus stopped, only to feel relief as the footsteps continued, getting farther away, fading until he couldn’t hear them anymore. Continuing, they reached the third floor. From the landing, Marcus could see a hall running both to the left and right. It was as dark as the rest, but with weak candle light coming from the right.

Sidling by the corner, Marcus peeked the right hall and quickly pulled his head back. From the meager light, Marcus saw a man turn and enter a room. He saw gear from what little he could see of his silhouette. Vests, helmets and a rifle clutched on his hands along with a pistol in its holster.

Marcus looked at Arthur and muttered. "I saw one, I don't think he looked like any of the Scavs I've seen."

"Gear?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah."

“Not Scavs, Raiders.” Arthur replied.

Raiders, the level up from the common Scav rabble. Heavily armed and are very deadly. Marcus could already see the loot flashing through Arthur’s eyes. Raiders give a lot of exp and loot, to balance out their lethality. Marcus wouln’t have even though of taking them all by himself, but with Arthur, maybe. Still, considering that it was Marcus’ first time taking them on, he was still erring on the side of discretion.

“Call it.” Marcus muttered.

“Yeah. the odds I’m coming up with is around 40-60. Not really the odds you want to take if you prefer going home.”

“And a large exp penalty upon death.” Marcus muttered. While he wouldn’t be affected due to him being under level 10, Arthur would have to take the level hit if they decide to take on more than they could handle. “You lose the most if we fail here. You decide.”

“Fuck it. Were already here.” he said, reaching over to his vest and making sure that equipment were secure while being loose enough so he could easily pull them out of their pouches. Marcus did the same. “Just remember how we practiced and we should be fine.”

“And if we're not?”

“We’ll, we die. I lose my shit and exp. Both of us gets exp penalty and blocked from earning it for a few hours and I’ll have to come back to crawler with my head down saying that we’re not as we cracked up to be.”

Marcus paused, sparing a second to look over to his friend and see that he’s serious. He knew how much Arthur relied on his reputation of getting the job done. It was his way of making ends meet in real life. Failing his job now would not just be a blow to his professional reputation but a financial one too.

As much as Marcus may be confident on his marksmanship, he was having doubts. But he was here his friend was counting on him, and he didn’t want to disappoint. “Better not die then.” Marcus replied.