You head over to the stairwell and fire escape, peeking your head out the window. The wind is coming inwards, towards you. Meaning, that if you were to face toward the sniper, the wind is going to the right. That must be what's throwing off their shots. You head down to the opposite end of the hallway, opening the window. Here, the wind is blocked by the building you’re in, calming it somewhat. That might give you the balance and stability you need to start crossing the street.

Hopping out the window, you land on the top of a garbage dumpster. It groans, but does not give way. Looking to your left, you can see a pile-up of vehicles on the street. It's not a small street -- several lanes in either direction, perhaps a major road or even a highway. It's very open, with almost no cover. It'll be dangerous, but it must be done.

"I'm not dying here."

You hop from car to car, careful not to slip on the slick metal. Some are slightly submerged, others peek out from the rushing water. A few shift dangerously, but you lower your body and grip on to the edges, holding on for your life.

Lightning flashes. You remain perfectly still. Breath held, not a single muscle moving. The light disappears, and you are shrouded in mist and darkness once again. And you move to the next car.

You continue this rhythm. Lightning, stop, hold, wait, move. If the sniper spots you while there's light, you'll be shot. The wind is freezing. Your fur stands on edge. Your clothes are soaked once more, and your body is battered by the rain. But you dare not shiver, not even a bit, lest your grip weaken and you fall into the torrent.

The next time lightning strikes, you look up at the sniper's building -- though only with your eyes, not moving your head an inch. You see the glint again, from high up, much higher than the third floor you were on. Their elevated position from across the wide road gives them a full view of every window in the apartment building, a clear line of sight into every room. Hell, the neighboring buildings are in view as well, though not as well given the angle. And with the open road you're on... this sniper has so much area on lockdown. A safe, secure, and deadly sniper position to be sure. But why there? Why aimed at the building you were in? Did they know you were there? Did they wait for... however long you were in there?

"Val." You speak in a low whisper, nearly inaudible because of the howling winds. But Valerie responds nonetheless.

"I know your memory is ... damaged, but do you know how long I was in that room?"

"Yes."

"Twenty years? That's..."

You pause, as lightning flashes. As rays of thunderous brightness shine down upon you, images flash through your head as well. Calendars, years, birthdays, history. A year ... is a long time on its own. Twenty, nearly a lifetime for some. And just as fast as the lightning illuminated you, it leaves. And as the light leaves, so do the images.

"How old am I?"

"I... I've never done math before but that doesn't seem to add up."

"But... but why?"

You've nearly reached the sniper's building. "Who are 'they'? And what is the 'right time'?"

You hop over a tall concrete barrier, which does little to block the flood. "So you're also lost on what a lot of this is, is that it?"

The building looms over you. An open window. An entrance to the viper's lair.

"I... thank you, I guess."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Well, I'm thanking you anyway. I appreciate being alive... even if it is awful and cold and scary."

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An open window greets you. You step within.

"So... this sniper. How should I ... take care of them?"

This building seems to be an office of some sort. A maze of cubicles, all an absolute mess, with smashed computers and papers strewn about. Bloodstains, scuff marks, bullet holes. A poster with a cat hanging from a branch, proudly stating "Hang in There!", splattered with an indiscernible fluid. The room is empty of life. At the far end, a familiar sight: a stairwell, FLOOR 2 emblazoned above in a once-lit neon sign.

"I... I don't know if I can do it."

"I've never shot a gun. I don't know if I could shoot someone."

"I don't like that."

"That killing is the easy way."

You don't answer. Valerie has a point, but it feels wrong. Bad. Slowly, you make your way towards the stairwell.

And then, you hear a noise from the other end of the office. Another window, creaking open. You duck down. Voices. A pair. They speak in low voices, an audible whisper.

"Man, fuck this sniper."

"You hear what Mark said?"

"No, what?"

"The sniper's got the nearby blocks on lockdown. Mined it to hell and back. Clara nearly got her legs blown off trying to flank this building."

"Cripes. Glad we didn't hit any of those mines. What the hell is this sniper even doing here? They've been here for the whole ten months we've been scavving this city."

"Dunno. Got a real chip on their shoulder about that apartment complex across the way."

"Who the fuck cares about that place? Everyone knows it's been stripped clean, even got warning signs from other scavvers to stay clear. If you're gonna shoot fish in a barrel, at least choose a barrel with fish in it."

"Well, then that's their mistake. They're so focused on aiming at a ghost town, we can gut him real quiet-like."

You remain still, peeking out from a cubicle wall, watching their movement. They're stealthy, but not incredibly so. Papers rustle and glass shards scratch under their heavy boots. Rain-slick coats, hoods pulled up. Woolen beanies, cargo pants, backpacks with supplies. Cruel machetes hang from their waists, and they carry rifles in their hands. They scan the room, but don't spot you.

"Let's hope," you say under your breath, slipping from cubicle to cubicle.

"Fucking dark in here."

"Well, I ain't turning on a flashlight. Gotta be stealthy."

"Oh, sure, like the sniper can see us down here from his tenth-story window or however the fuck high up he is."

"Just... keep your eyes peeled."

"... Right," you say, watching them go up the stairs.

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You study the two scavengers closely. They're different from you. A pale flesh, rather than your soft grey. You can't see their ears. The images flash again. Cells, embryos, a heartbeat, birth, growth, life, death, blood. Humans. These are humans.

"Yeah, I got that," you whisper.

"I... I could just tell."

"No, no, it's okay." You make your way towards the stairwell, shadowing the two men. They mutter among themselves, something about the weather. "Sometimes things just... come to me. Ideas and words, out of nowhere. It's jarring, really."

You wait for the men to get up to the next floor before you begin going up. Thankfully, the muffled rain covers any slight scuffs or light clanks your metal feet make upon the ruined carpet. They are attempting to be stealthy, but aren't doing as good of a job as you are.

"Conditioning?" you say, so quietly you are nearly mouthing the words.

"I'm not alone, though. I have you."

Valerie doesn't respond, and just does her usual humming sound.

Slowly but surely, you arrive several floors up. It's so strange, sneaking behind these two people. Living people. Moving, talking, breathing. One of them stifles a sneeze, then the two pause for what seems like half a minute, checking to ensure nobody heard it. You did, of course, but you are crouched on a stairwell landing, shrouded in shadow and waiting for them to move. Valerie, thankfully, has turned her screen off, even while talking. She understands your caution.

It's strange. Not long ago you had hoped to meet the living. Now, you trail them but do not speak. You don't dare make any sound above the quietest of whispers. Why are you so scared? They're heading up to kill the sniper. By all accounts, they're on your side. And yet, you get the feeling that if they saw you, they'd chase you off... or worse.

The two men go down the hall, where individual private offices are boarded up. The hall reaches a T-junction about halfway down, with a path headed left. Presumably, the sniper's hiding spot is in that direction. You arrive at the top of the stairs, peeking your head out to watch them slowly sneak towards the junction. They're no longer whispering, and making an active effort to remain stealthy. Old pipes groan in the walls and the occasional draft sweeps up a scattered paper or two as the storm outside continues to batter the building.

A few steps before they reach the intersection, you notice something. Close to the ground, right at the corner. A little red dot. It blinks on for just a moment, then disappears. A second goes by, and then again. Rhythmic. The two scavengers haven't noticed it at all...