The daycare walls were covered in crayon and finger-painted art of children past. Now the hall stood vacant, silent as a grave, and a ruin of the age. The door open, and a man-shaped shadow crossed over a family of red stick figures holding hands. The lean Meister was male with hair dyed forest green. Gray fabric dangled from his vest and pants in strips, and he aimed the Remington 700 sniper rifle—also covered in gray cloth—down the darkened hallway. A second man holding a chrome plated Barret .50 caliber rifle came through the door next. This one wore light recon armor over green camouflage and a Halloween facemask. Behind them, the red wall drew in like the angry fingers of god.

The two men looked at one another, and the first jerked his head toward the hallway in a 'you-go-first,' gesture. The second shook his head adamantly and lifted his Barret for display. 'My gun is bigger,' his eyes said. For almost ten seconds they continued the silently argue over who would take point. Finger gesture, shake of the head, nose point, eye glare; it all happened as the evening sunlight silhouetted the two players. A tentative agreement reached, they crept forward together into the gloom.

All was silent save the two sets of boots shuffling across the decades-old maroon carpet. Long rifles swept the hallway ahead of them as they crept forward. The first room was an office, which was locked when they tried the handle. The next two doors were a bathroom and supply closet. The air in both was pungent with mold and chemical cleansers. They worked their way forward until something cried out, both froze as a nightmarish clown under foot laughed again. The sound shrieked and echoed down the hallway.

The playroom door some twenty feet down flew open, and someone holding a compact SMG appeared. The small Meister fell sideways into the hallway spraying his weapon on full auto. Both snipers reacted by snapping their rifles up and firing. The fifty caliber bullet flew past the man's head and punched a finger sized hole in the back of the building. The other sniper only managed to hit a stuffed toy, which exploded in a shower of stuffing. 9mm bullets struck the guile suited man first. He staggered backward against the dozen pistol rounds slamming into his chest and stomach. As he fell, the shots tracked onto the second sniper as he worked the bolt on his weapon.

[Match Complete]

"We almost had that!" Calamity snarled smashing a clenched fist on the couch arm. It seemed padded just for that purpose. The screens slowly faded out as two Meister's came into the lobby. "You have pistols for a reason," she spat to the two men.

"Bite me," the first sniper said shoving past them.

"No, hell no!" Cal hissed, shaking her fist at them. "You don't get to say that and bring a sniper rifle to a CQB fight." Everyone glared at them, but Max forced himself to shrug. It wasn't worth getting angry over.

"You can't win them all," Max sighed, stepping toward the elevator. The door opened, and everyone piled inside.

"There was just one enemy left! They could have sent one person forward." She said, and the two rifle-toting Meister's stiffened. That was precisely what they'd been arguing about, but neither had been willing to sacrifice themselves. One of the other Meister's chimed in finally. The man had been knocked out early from an unlucky headshot.

"They could have done anything. Anything, but that and we would have won."

The elevator doors opened again on a packed competition floor. Max stepped away from the others, and the two snipers stormed off on their own. They quickly vanished among the heavily armed players. It was midmorning, not-quite-noon, but everyone was logging in to run matches.

"That just shows how important teamwork is," he said as Calamity followed him off to one side. "We got super unlucky with those random players," Max added, pushing into the bar. Cal stomped her feet as she followed him to a table. They slid in, and Max pulled the Glock from his holster. He popped the mag and started loading bullets while Cal ordered drinks.

"Aren't you mad?" Cal asked, pulling her own pistol out.

"Nah," Max said, sliding a full magazine into his Glock. It clicked home, and he racked the slide. "99% of the people that play this game are civilian. They aren't trained to fight, so expecting them to be professionals right off the mark is unrealistic."

"I wish Wulfe was here," Calamity grumbled.

"You and me both, but she's visiting Diego today. She'll probably be back tomorrow."

"Can we go again?" She asked, and Max shook his head.

"We could do casual matches for practice, but we ran two comps already. Besides, my girls have to work in an hour, so why don't we break for today."

"It's just; I thought we'd do better."

"I learned a valuable lesson."

"Oh?"

"This is a game, and I should have remembered that. I'd never expect someone to jump through an inferno for a kill. The guy that killed me had balls. I'll give him that." The beers came, and he quickly drained his glass.

"There's always tomorrow," he said, setting the empty down. Cal only drank half before standing.

"I suppose I need to get some work done, so I'm going to head back to the hotel to clean Yohan and Raphael. It's not far if you want to join me."

"I won't have time to clean the girls, so they'll both smell like gun powder all evening. I'll relax for a few minutes before going over to Quinn's." Max said with a smile. Calamity seemed crestfallen, and Max pretended not to notice. Now that she was on the team, the woman was untouchable in his eyes. He raised a hand in mock salute.

"Good work, soldier," he said, and she rolled her bright blue eyes. Calamity turned away and quickly disappeared through the bar's glass door. Max lowered his hand, then grabbed the leftover beer, and drained it. Technically, it was Friday that needed to be at work soon. He ordered another beer and spent the time reloading his rifle mags.

Both weapons began to glow at roughly the same time. Violet appeared in the seat opposite while Friday—face smudged—sat next to him. Friday rubbed a black spot off her nose, and Violet reached into a small purse. She pulled out a wetnap and offered it over. The battle rifle took it gratefully and cleaned her face off.

"Are you done," Violet asked. Max pushed the last spare magazine into his vest's pocket.

"I think so," he said, returning the spare ammo into the daypack. The thousand rounds he'd bought were almost gone, and he'd have to get more soon.

No, he thought. Better to hand over his rent first before worrying about ammo. He could always resort to casual matches. His stats weren't tracked anyway, so it was an easy way to earn credits.

Max said, pushing from the booth and stood. Both women held hands and followed him from the bar. Rusty waited in the car with a bone in his mouth and a wag to his tail. He licked Friday in greeting, and the woman laughed.

"You are such a good boy!" She said, scratching behind his ears. "Yes, you are!"

Before they left, Max tossed his gun belt, vest, and armor in the trunk. Friday sank in the passenger seat and used the visor's mirror to fuss with her hair. Max slid into the back seat with Rusty. The dog woofed impatiently and put his head on Max's lap.

"You get off at 8, right?"

"Yes, Max?" Friday asked, turning in her seat.

"What are you doing afterward?"

"I love Quinn. He's a darling, but I'm not a party girl. I prefer to stay at home and enjoy a quiet evening."

"How about I clean you tonight, then we can watch some TV until Violet gets home. I am interested in seeing how your evenings usually play out." He said, and the two women looked at one another like a married couple. A conversation took place silently, and Max marveled at how they could do that. It was easy to forget they weren't human. Violet finally reached over and gripped Friday's leg through her dress. She kept her hand there on Friday's thigh, possessively. The woman blushed and went back to work on her makeup self-consciously. Max smiled to himself as long fingers continued to kneed flesh like a cat marking its property.

Quinn's wasn't far, and they arrived early for Friday shift. Max opened the blacked-out door, and techno erotica spilled out like a physical force. He stepped in after the girls, and the door struggled to close against the buffeting noise. It was too loud to speak, so Friday kissed his cheek before threading her way through the crowd. He turned to examine the bar. The dance floor was packed with gyrating bodies despite being before noon. His first time had been awkward like he was an outsider peering in through the window. Max may not have been gay, but he merged with the candy and rainbow atmosphere. Quinn was frantically manning the bar.

To his surprise, Violet tapped his shoulder and gestured towards the dance floor. The offer was so unexpected that he nodded in reflex. She took his hand, leading him onto the raised platform. A vast majority of the weapons in Gun Meister were female, so women dominated the space; hugging, bobbing, and grinding together. Violet pulled him toward the center, then pressed herself to his muscled body. She draped her long arms around his neck as her body swayed to the music. Today she wore a short leather skirt with fishnets, a dark corset, and a hungry expression on her face. The woman stared up at him with those voracious silver eyes.

More than one pair settled on him as Violet ground her crotch against his. He was forced to grab her hips to keep up with her rhythm. Half a dozen women stared at them as they danced, and soon they were pulled into a gaggle of panting girls. He was a Meister, one with a free slot. The scent of his open contract was like an aphrodisiac to those around him. Violet let go of his neck and pushed her hands into his back pockets. She kept them together as more bodies closed in. Hips and chests pressed against Max in a growing swarm of female attention.

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What had they said? Romance was important, but a Meister was a Meister. Hands snaked up his shirt, into his pockets, and down his pants. All the while, Violet ground her body into his like she was trying to merge with him. He got the impression she wasn't just possessive about Friday as strong fingers kneaded his ass.

An hour later, Max stumbled off the dance floor with the mother-of-all hard on's. Violet followed as he made his way to the private area for a little peace and quiet. Like the rest of the club, it was full of warm bodies, but they managed a free spot.

Max tried to fish his smartphone out, but his pockets were crammed full. A rainbow-colored thong came out first. He eyed it for a moment before tossing it on the table. More slips of paper fell out as he dug deeper. Then finally, the smartphone popped out in a shower of numbers. Violet smirked as she picked up the panties and unfolded them. On the crotch, a phone number was written in glitter lipstick.

Thanks to the music, he hadn't heard the phone ringing. There were several missed calls from Wulfe. Thankfully, it had only been a few minutes and quickly sent a text.

Max - [Hey, I'm at Quinn's]

Wulfe - [Is Cal there?]

Max - [No. She's off punching keys]

Wulfe - [brt]

Violet leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Shall I keep these for you?" She was twirling the thong around her finger.

"It's tempting, but I already know what weapon I want next."

"You should try the Armory. The sooner you fill that slot, the better." She said, dropping the undies to the table.

"That's where we first met?"

"Yes, uncontracted weapons stay for free. You can search for whatever make/model you want. No guarantee, though.

"Good to know," he said, picking up the panties. He had no idea who they belonged too, but he figured 'what the hell,' and stuffed them back into his pocket. Maybe he'd call them when had a free slot again.

"I see Quinn is waving at me," Violet said, and Max turned in his seat. The little man was jumping up and down behind the bar. "I think Quinn wants me to clock in early."

"Go ahead. I have to meet with Wulfe anyway."

"You'll be fine by yourself?" She asked, and he laughed.

"You, worried about me?"

She leaned in close and gripped his thigh. His erection hadn't wanned in the slightest, and Max grunted as she kneaded the muscle. "You might do something… typically male."

"Relax, I'll save it for tonight," Max said, pushing her hand away. She eyed him, then flicked his nose as she turned away. He watched her ass walk away and had to admit she had a point. Max did his best to forget how horny he was. A feat he was only partially successful at.

The door the bar opened, letting in the midday sun. A tall supermodel briefly blocked the intrusive light. She scanned the bar, spied Max as one of the few men, and approached. Behind her, a Meister followed in her wake. Today was full of surprises. Diego looked almost exactly like he did in real life. Short with dark hair and eyes like cut obsidian. The man must have just stepped out of character creation because he was wearing an all gray uniform. They b-lined in his direction and stopped a few feet away.

"Where's your weapon, Wulfe?" He asked, and the woman lifted her shirt. A concealed holster and the full-sized pistol were half-hidden into her pants

"I never go anywhere unarmed," she said with a smile. Diego wore a chagrined expression.

"I couldn't believe my ears when Wulfe said where we were going. I figured she was pulling my chain."

"Why?"

"I didn't think you knew."

"Knew what?"

Diego glanced over at Wulfe, who was grinning in triumph. Max was confused until he saw the second man bringing up the rear. He stopped next to Diego. The man wore nothing except a black speedo and an innocent, childlike smile. He blended in with the crowd, and Max had assumed the man was another weapon looking for a contract.

"Wow, I had no idea, but it's good to see you!" Max said, standing to shake hands. Diego slapped some skin, then pulled a stool over. His weapon, bare chest glistening, sat next to him.

"Don't ask, don't tell…" Diego said and pulled a stool out for his new friend.

"I'm sorry to hear about your leg."

"Better the leg than dead. Lots better than Carter and Winslow. Kingslan too, but fuck him, he was an asshole."

"Are you ok… with things?"

"What did you hear?" Diego asked, and Max kept from glancing at Wulfe. He knew a lot more than he should.

"That some Westpoint graduate botched the mission," Max replied casually.

"Botched?!" Diego laughed bitterly. "Man, it was a massacre. We're not the ones that spill blood, and I've never seen anything like it."

Max glanced at Wulfe again, who had stolen a seat from another table. He wondered if Diego meant the robots, or how high command had thrown them under the bus. Not a topic to dwell on.

"I have a proposition if you're interested. The idea struck me last night after Wulfe left."

"Oh," Diego mused taking another drink.

"There's an e-sports tournament in two months. Squads compete for points, and we have three of five members right here."

"I'm not sure if I can commit to anything right now," Diego said after a few seconds.

"It's not like your signing up for four years. We set up a clan, then sign a contract to split the winnings five ways. The new year's tournament takes place in January." He said, gauging their interest. Diego looked liked he wanted anything to take his mind off the missing leg. Wulfe was unreadable, so he changed tactics. "It'll be work. At least eight hours a day to get Calamity and our last theoretical member trained up in time. We have a good chance."

"What do we get for all this effort?" Wulfe asked dryly.

"First place is five million, second place is fifty thousand, and third through ten get five thousand each," Max said, watching their expressions change. Now he had their attention. Violet showed up then carrying a tray of glasses and two pints. He hadn't ordered them but was grateful for the interruption.

"I might know someone who'd help," she admitted, and they both turned in her direction. "I said might," she repeated taking the offered beer.

"Well?" Max asked, trying to pry it out of her.

"We met at Quantico, they're not military, but we exchanged contact info. I won't say anything else unless they agree to come."

"Good, that's settled. I assume Calamity will agree just for her book," he said, and Diego turned to him.

"You really didn't know?"

"That you're gay? Not even a little. Wulfe did?"

"I have functioning gaydar," She said, draining her glass.

"Whatever," Max drolled.

"Why did you come here?" Diego asked, searching for Max's face.

"At first it was to annoy that woman right there," he said gesturing toward Violet making the rounds. She sensed their gaze and turned in their direction. "Now, it's a habit," he admitted blowing her a kiss. Violet gave him the finger, and he laughed.

"You already ran two matches today?" Wulfe asked, and he nodded.

"Calamity and I rolled with some fools who couldn't find their assholes with both hands. She needs work, especially her communication, but I think she'll do fine. You two could breeze through the early matches together. The sooner you get silver, the soon we can train together."

Max took his phone out and glanced at the time. It was just past 2 pm so the competition hall would be packed. That number would only grow as people got off work. It was part of the reason he always went in the morning. When he glanced up, both Seals were looking at each other. Wulfe had that mother hen expression, while Diego looked like a kid staring at a double helix rollercoaster for the first time. Excitement mixed with fear and a dose of anticipation.

"We could run a casual match together. It won't help you rank up, but you'll get a feel for the game."

"I thought you said both your weapons were working?" Wulfe asked, and he shrugged.

"I'll use a knife," he replied, and the woman scoffed. "I did it before, and I usually managed a kill." They looked at him like he was stupid. Max may not have won many matches, but he'd earned some coin cutting players open with a blade.

"Diego and I will go play two matches. You can…" She waved her hand vaguely at the bar.

"Probably better this way. If we teamed up, you'd have to fight against primary weapons." He said, pushing from the chair. The other two stood, and they shook hands again. "I'll see you tomorrow. Calamity will be happy to see you."

There was plenty of daylight left, but he didn't feel like dancing again. The women around him kept eying Max like fresh meat, and any minute now they'd start approaching. Maybe he'd check out the Armory, which sounded like a better use of his time. He picked his phone from the table, crammed it into his overfilled pockets, and left the bar.

It was a touch windy, but the sky was bright and cloudless. There was something electric in the air like a storm was on the horizon. Cars zipped past in a steady stream toward the competition center. Max turned in the opposite direction. From what he could remember the cloning center and Armory weren't too far from each other.