You can’t just change your Samurai name! We have traditions! Fromage Flinger is a great name for a Samurai. It’s got alliteration and everything!
Message from the Samurai Rolodex to Wendy Simmons, aka Fromage Flinger.
**
Thomas was very unhappy. His sister had convinced him that getting off of the mesh, and out of the house, would be good for him.
“Meet me at the mall, it’s got the best recycled air! Way better than that dingy apartment structure of yours” And she’d been right; the air here was pretty nice. He’d been sitting waiting for her long enough to get a good long sample.
Add to that she’d asked him to meet her by Sephinrothora, the anime themed cosmetics store. Which wouldn’t be so bad, if it weren’t for the migraine including clouds of perfume wafting out of its entrance. So instead he sat a little down the hallway, in front of Sporty Checkers, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, and trying not to signal he was worth talking to.
His augs pinged; a text from his sister. Which was odd, she hated texting, she always wanted to fill your view with her face, get your full attention. “Tom! Are you ok? The trains have all stopped! They are restricting bandwidth. I think I hear incursion sirens! I’m so sorry! Please be safe! Go home!”
As if he was in a movie, and the writers had been waiting to create drama, the incursion sirens blared to life around the mall, stilted automated voices calling to calmly follow the arrows to the shelter.
Panic erupted around him.
Everyone reacted at peak emotional chaos. As if they didn’t live in a world where this could happen everyday. Parents picked up children, looking around with wild eyes for the bright arrows flashing on every surface. Employees scrambled over customers to get out of their stores. Customers ran, unpurchased items clutched unthinking in white knuckled grips.
Of the three F’s of a stress reaction, Thomas was much more of a freeze person. Sitting frozen on the bench staring at the panic around him gave him a perfect angle to see three stick clutching neanderthals bowl over an older man and the toddler clutching his hand. The trio were rapidly lost in the crowd, sticks raised, shouting about kicking plant butt, and becoming Samurai.
Thomas didn’t see himself as a hero, not by a long shot, but he at least had a heart. Seeing an older man struggle to get to his feet, while being clutched by a wailing toddler, in the middle of a seething crowd, was more than enough to break him out of his state of frozen panic.
At nearly 2 metres tall, and barely over 90kg, the willow thin Thomas towered over the crowd as he stood and to weave his way toward the downed pair. Receiving more than a couple stray elbows to the hip, and crunched toes, for his efforts. By the time he reached them the older gentlemen had ceased trying to stand up, he simply clutched the crying child to his chest, curling around the boy to protect him.
“Hi, I’m Thomas.” Thomas said with as much confidence as he could muster. “Are you ok? How can I help? Can I pull you up? Should I get you to the bench?” He’d moved without thinking about what he could actually do, and now he stumbled over his words, hands flailing awkwardly as they too seemed to be hunting for purpose.
Looking up with obvious pain in his eyes the older man spoke. “I think there’s something wrong with my ankle, I can’t stand up. Please, can you take my grandson to the Shelter with you? I don’t think I can make it.” The toddler wailed louder and clutched to his grandfather as he tried to push him toward Thomas.
The noise of the crowd was increasing down the hallway, Thomas looked up to see a large wave of people swarming in their direction. They’d be trampled if they didn’t move.
“Hold on to the kid” Thomas hollered to the old man as he grabbed him under the shoulders, and began dragging them both toward the nearest shelter he could see, the entrance to Sporty Checkers. It was rough going, Thomas was far from fit, and it was a long way to lean over. The duo helped as much as they could, scrambling with the limbs that weren’t damaged or clutching to each other.
Thomas dragged them past the entrance and deeper into the store, into the footwear section, where there was a bench to lean on. “Wait here, I’ll see if they have a first aid kit, or something to drink, or something.”
The man looked up at him again, determination in his eyes. “Please, even with a bandage or something for my ankle, there is no way I can stumble to the shelter before it closes, with or without the crowds out there. Please just take Jeremy and go”
Almost incoherent through his sobbing Jeremy clung tighter to his grandfather. “No Ampa, no go”
Thomas looked around the store full of items he had no clue of their use beyond sports and hitting things, balls probably. He glanced out the entrance to the crowd surging past. “I don’t think either of us could push into that crowd and make it to the shelter at this point. We should probably hunker down here for the time being. When the crowd slows down, we can try to go; together.”
Thomas turned to resume his hunt for a first aid kit, or beverages, or anything really. Whatever confidence had possessed him to drag the pair in here, and speak like he had a plan, was rapidly fading back to directionless panic.
Minutes later Thomas returned, arms full of random things he thought might help. He’d found some sports drinks in a cooler by the till, the scanty first aid kit was tucked behind the counter as well. On his way back he’d seen a row of sporting braces, he’d grabbed several with images of ankles or knees on them.
Thomas dumped it all on the bench on which Grandpa was leaning. He had stretched his legs out in front of him, and managed to pull the sock and shoe off of his injured leg. The ankle was swollen and growing purple. “This is what I could find, I’m not sure if there’s anything in the kit that would help, it seems like mostly plasters and gauze, might be a couple painkillers, if they haven’t expired, it was pretty dusty.”
Thomas turned to Jeremy, holding out a selection of sport drinks. “Do you want red, orange or blue?”
Jeremy looked to his grandpa, whom he had stopped clutching tightly but still sat close enough to touch. After a brief nod from the elderly man, Jeremy reached out. “Oange, ike itty at” He handed it to his grandfather after struggling to open the top.
The man looked to Thomas with a grateful smile. “I’m Dexter by the way, thanks for, well, all this.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, sure. I sorta moved without thinking… Um… I grabbed whatever support things I thought might work…” He motioned awkwardly in the vague direction of Dexters injury. “I, um, this is… I’m going to peek out the front, see how the halls look. I’ll be right back” Thomas turned to head to the door.
“Take a baseball bat, or a hockey stick with you, just in case” Dexter called out to him.
“Um, which are those? Is one going to be better than the other?” Thomas stared back at Dexter nonplussed.
“The metal sticks, just over there.” He said pointing at a rack of bats. “Hold it with two hands, and swing if anyone, or anything gives you trouble”
“Oooh, ok, yeah, a weapon, good idea.” Thomas jogged sheepishly to the rack of metal sticks Dexter had pointed to and grabbed one at random, before heading back towards the entrance.
The narrow part fit better in his hand, he was going to assume that’s how it should be held. He peeked out into the hallway, now mostly deserted. A few slower stragglers still shuffled by. Thomas could see movement in some of the other stores, looters, or people hiding; he couldn't be sure.
Feeling a trickle of courage, he stepped out slowly into the hallway. The lights on every surface still flashed pointing the way to the shelter. They hadn't turned red yet, that was good, the shelter was still open.
The floor was scattered with detritus from the exodus. Lost shoes, bags of shopping, hats, and purses, a few streaks of blood, and a set of bloody footprints leading away from a shattered shop window. No bodies though, and no sign that the incursion was close at hand yet.
Thomas hoped they were just on the edge, or maybe just close enough that the alarms were only a precaution. His eyes drifted to the bench he’d been on waiting for his sister. His sister! She’s probably worried sick! Thomas quickly opened the message app with a flick of his eye. A dozen missed texts, he hadn’t even noticed. He skimmed through, she was fine, the train had diverted to a shelter. She was worried about him.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
With a sigh of relief, and a dash of guilt for worrying her, he sent back a quick text. “I’m fine so far, no sign of plants yet. Helping a man and his grandkid get to the shelter. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. I have a metal sports stick just in case. You’d be proud, I’m finally taking an interest in physical activity.” Message sent, surroundings scrutinised, calm, sorta gathered, Thomas headed back to his companions.
Dexter was sitting on the bench this time, Jeremy standing beside him. The boy held a smaller plastic version of the metal stick Thomas carried. His cheeks were streaked with dried tears, his eyes still red from crying, now bore a look of childlike determination.
Dexter had opened the first aid kit and several packages of brace things. At least one of which he had wrapped around his ankle. A mismatched pair of sneakers had replaced the dress shoes he’d been wearing. He had needed a larger shoe for the swollen left ankle.
They had apparently gathered a few more pieces of sporting equipment as well. Some helmets, and what looked like a padded chest guard for each of them. A set, probably for Thomas, was sitting neatly on the bench, along with a scattering of sticks.
“How’s it look out there?” Dexter asked, gripping a long wooden stick with a flattened curvy bit on the end.
“A couple stragglers, but the crowd has cleared. Lights haven’t turned red yet, shelter should still be open… Should we try and head there? It might be fine here, just close the gate, hide. The incursion might not even reach the mall…”
Dexter looked to Jeremy, who was doing his best to keep a brave face. “Not worth taking the risk of sitting still. And if Jeremy won’t leave me behind I guess I’ll have to limp as best I can.” Dexter paused, looking at Thomas with an emotion he couldn’t quite parse. “Thomas, right? Look kid, me and Jeremy, we can’t thank you enough. You saved us from getting trampled. As much as I’d like to, to ask you to stay and help keep the kid safe… I won’t be that guy. You should go, run ahead. Tell them we’re coming, try to keep the doors open. There’s no reason” He paused, words caught in his throat, he cleared it with a cough. “There’s no reason you should risk yourself with us anymore”
Thomas stared between the two family members, for the first time noticing how similar they looked. The terrified but trying hard toddler, and the wounded, resigned, grandfather. He glanced down at Dexter's ankle again, and the wooden stick he looked to be intending as a crutch or cane. His eyes flickered to the notification in the corner of his vision. Another message from his sister, or maybe it was his parents, they had to know what was going on by now.
A bittersweet smile started to grow on Dexter's face as Thomas hesitated. He probably assumed the lanky young man was going to leg it. He still wasn’t sure himself what he would do.
Taking one last look at the family in front of him, the gear they had gathered for him, and the blinking signs of his own family, Thomas made his choice. He sat down on the bench beside the pads and helmet, lifting them up and trying to sort out how they went on. “Is that the best sort of sport stick thing to work as a crutch for you? Are there any wheely thing, sports, stuff? I could just push you that way.” Frustrated with the many straps on the chest piece he turned to Dexter. “How the heck do I get this on?”
Dexter stared back at Thomas, his mouth opened to protest, when Jeremy spoke up. “I no ow!” He crawled to stand up on the bench, grabbing a couple straps. “Dis go-ver da head, urn ound. Elp Ampa, ant each.” Dexter helped his grandson get the correct straps over Thomas’ head, and the duo continued to help Thomas get into the very alien, to him, pads.
“Your parent’s never put you in any sports Tom? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look this confused and out of place in a sports store.”
Thomas looked down at himself, admiring the work the pair had done, and twisting to test his movement. Most of it was ill fitting, he was rather taller and skinnier than the average person the pads had been made for. He blushed lightly at the comment. “No, we grew up in a pretty tightly packed mega structure. Spent as much time in the mesh as I could, to get away from the crowds..”
**
They were halfway to the shelter when the alarms that had faded into the background switched to full blast again, the arrows flashed more urgently and shifted toward orange in hue.
Dexter looked to Thomas. “Breach alarms, they are in the building. The shelter will auto seal in two minutes, or less, if they breached near it.” He turned to look at his grandson. “Jeremy, I know you are a big boy, and you don’t need help, but it would help grandpa out a lot if you would let Thomas carry you for a bit, ok?”
Jeremy, grim faced and determined, looked between them. “Iggy acck?”
“Piggy back is a good idea bud.” Dexter looked to Thomas questioningly. Thomas shrugged and turned around while kneeling down.
“Hop on Jer Jer, and hold on tight.” Thomas’ heart was beating like it would break through his chest, like some sort of alien baby. He shook his head, bad time for that visual. Hooking his arms under Jeremy’s legs, gripping his metal stick across in front of him, he stood and they resumed their trek, a little more urgency in every step.
Dexter limped as fast as he could push himself, his face a grimace of pain and worry. He spoke between heavy breaths. “Thomas, no matter what, get him to safety. If it looks like we won’t make it, you run, and don’t stop”
Thomas replied with only a nod. He needed to save his breath, he told himself, but really he wasn’t sure he could reply without needing to choke back tears. Trauma bonding or something, a small part of his mind offered as explanation.
They were getting closer to the gates, the lights were shifting more and more towards red. They pushed onward. Dexter opened his mouth to say something, probably to ask Thomas to run again. Thomas shook his head with a glare. All of us together, his face seemed to say. Idiotic and stubborn, Dexter’s return glare replied.
The sound of sharp claws scrabbling on the tiled floor had Thomas looking over his shoulder. That was one of them, the plant things, coming around the corner. Dexter had told him to take Jeremy and run, Dexter was a good man, and Jeremy was a good kid, they just needed a little more time. Good kids deserved good grandpas. Thomas turned, and set Jeremy down. He was being stupid, he knew, his sister Tiffany would probably say so at his funeral.
“Run, you two can make it. Jeremy, take care of your grandpa, he’s a good guy.” Thomas gripped his metal weapon in two hands like Dexter had told him and ran toward his fear. He smiled inside as he heard Dexter curse at him while running with his grandson to the shelter.
*****
Tiffany was very unhappy, and frankly fairly worried. Her adorkable brother was stuck in a mall during an incursion. All because she had insisted he get out of the house. Add on top of that he had somehow grown a hero complex instead of heading to the shelter. If he didn’t make it out alive, she would have some very choice things to say at his funeral.
His last message to her had been a simple; I love you Tiff, and some sort of emoji from one of the games he worked on.
Lacking anything else to do, stuck in a train in a safety shelter, she was doom scrolling through whatever media she could find, for any news from the damn mall, and her idiot brother. Her heart sped up when she found a link, “Hacked mall camera footage of new Samurai fighting”. They had reached the mall, her brother was in danger. She clicked the link with trepidation.
The footage showed some skinny kid in a hodgepodge of sports equipment that barely fit, swinging a glowing baseball bat that shot out an arc of light to annihilate a small swarm of model 1s, in the mall's two story food court. There were more herbaceous remains around him, though it was hard to tell what model they had been.
His foot slipped in some gore, and he awkwardly caught himself. He looked around and scratched the back of his helmeted head, possibly in embarrassment. It reminded Tiffany of her… no way… She paused the video and looked closer. Those long legs, that awkward head tilt… No. Fucking. Way. It. Was. Him.
Her awkward, gangly, never leaves the house, brother was a god damn Samurai. When she got out of lockdown she was going to give him the biggest noogie of his life, while cursing him out. After hugging him of course.
Tiffany scrolled down through the comments, mostly people discussing names, asking where people thought he learned to play sports. Comparing his swing to famous players with side by side photos and gifs. She couldn’t resist, she had to post.
“Hahaha, that’s my brother. He’s never played a sport in his life. I bet he doesn’t even know what a baseball bat is. He probably calls it a Sports Ball Hitty Stick thing. I’m amazed he didn’t fall on his ass just trying to swing it.”
Her reply immediately got a raft of replies, most full of incredulity or calling her an attention seeker. She ignored them, until one came in. It was from a local Samurai “Potato King”
“As the first senior Samurai to encounter this youngster, and with such a great lead in from his own sister, I will follow our traditions. I dub this young man Sport Ball Hitting Stick Guy, Sport ball, or hitting stick for short. Welcome to the team!”
Tiffany stared at the comment, unbelieving. Thomas was going to kill her. Her Augs pinged, unknown caller, it picked up with no input from herself.
Don’t worry Tiffany, I won’t let him hurt you. It would be a terrible shame for my new Vanguard to have that kind of publicity this early in his career. I will help him perfect his noogie game though. Can’t wait to meet you in person! Ta ta for now!
Her brother's new Protectorate AI hung up. Tiffany put her head in her hands, a crazy mix of emotions whirling in her mind. At least he was alive.
*****
Dexter lay on a bed in the shelter's nursing station, clutching Jeremy to his chest. The two of them had their eyes locked to a screen on the wall. It showed the young man they’d left behind swatting model ones out of the air like they were gnats.
“Om Om!” Jeremy said happily while pointing with his plastic bat.
“Yeah Jer Jer, It’s Tom Tom” Dexter leaned back, finally able to relax as the weight on his heart lifted. The kid had made it. He’d more than made it, he was a big damn hero now. To the potentially the whole world now, not just a grateful old man and his grandchild.
Dexter hugged the happy, giggling, Jeremy to his chest. He hoped the kid got a decent samurai moniker, one that reflected the huge heart hiding inside that gangly body.