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Chapter 5: Meet the Uzi

The tiki-style bar was a riot of sound and color, with a few glowing neon signs and the faint sound of steel drums playing in the background. Blaine took a sip of cold beer and sighed. He felt much better now. Across the table Troy tipped back his own drink. They hadn't won the match, but the kills had been gratifying and team dynamics in the game were interesting.

"Since the devs don't want to draw the attention of Cyber Rights activists they've done all they can to make the NPC experience a fulfilling one," Katya was explaining as she snuggled up under Blaine's arm. "We've been given the option to work as vendors, for example, in the shops and bars and restaurants. It's good for our development and keeps us from wasting away while waiting for our meisters. And since we earn a paycheck we're allowed to enhance our experience with luxuries just like players in the Real World."

"Can I have you go to work while I'm offline?" Two incomes would be quite nice.

"I'm afraid not," she sat up to look at him, pride sparkling in her eyes. "But I don't need to. Slinging drinks in a bar is nothing compared to taking care of my Meister."

"It's our true calling," Troy's Colt Python had turned out to be a dainty little Japanese woman he'd named Saori. She was snuggled down in Troy's lap, dressed in a student's uniform. "It's not as much fun to buy snacks and drinks if there's no one to share them with."

Troy eyed her empty glass and she giggled innocently. "What? You said I could treat myself!"

He raised a hand to flag down their waitress. "Ahhh you're lucky you're so wonderful."

"You're lucky I'm so wonderful," Saori countered, popping another bar nut into her mouth.

Blaine studied the waitress as she took Troy's order, trying to guess what sort of weapon she might be. Naturally tan, soft brown hair pulled back in a messy tail. Middle Eastern, maybe? Her features were soft, and her eyes were intense hazel that shone as she looked at him. "Another beer for you? And another Royal Flush for the Lady?"

"One more... but no more, no matter how much she begs," Blaine patted Katya's shoulder and she giggled. The server didn't have a name tag on her bikini top. Would it have had a random name? A gun type? A serial number? She tilted her head to the side, smirking, and he realized she thought he was ogling her breasts. "Sorry, I was just... wondering what kind of gun you are."

"Sure you were," the smirk broadened into a teasing grin. "Couldn't you guess the caliber?"

She was giving him a straight line, but Blaine didn't want to be too vulgar. He decided to play it safe and made a cupping motion with both hands. "Proportional?" he guessed.

Troy choked on his drink, and Katya elbowed him in the ribs. "I'm an SMG," the waitress chuckled. "An Uzi submachine gun chambered in 9mm. I know, it's an older design, but the movies make it popular. There's a lot of competition in this category but I'm hopeful I won't have to wait much longer for my first contract."

"I would have guessed at least .45," Blaine said, running his fingers over Katya's shoulder. She purred and nuzzled into his hand. "Is there a conversion kit?"

"The option is there but if you know what you're doing then you don't need it," the Uzi made a sexy little hip roll, daring him to disagree.

"Are you a micro?" Troy asked. "I'm a tank, I need a machine pistol when I level up to silver. If you're still available..."

"Oh, you're sweet," the server said before he could commit himself further. "But I'm not a pistol. Even if you give me a shorter barrel I'm still way bigger than the Mini or Micro versions. I was designed for two-handed use in urban warfare."

"Ahhh," Troy sounded disappointed. Maybe he had a thing for Mediterranean women. "Sorry, my bad. I need a machine pistol. If you like I could introduce you to my clan's sniper, she could always use a good sub gun."

As the Uzi sauntered away Troy shook his head and smirked, cutting his eyes at Blaine. "You know, you're a flanker build. Never too early to start thinking about your next contract."

Blaine hesitated, glancing at Katya, but she didn't seem bothered by the conversation at all. "He's right," she agreed, watching the Uzi bending over the next table. "A gun like her would be very useful once you hit Silver rank. SMGs are popular with scouts and flankers."

"Mmm, you could go scout," Troy mused. "I think it's boring. You run a sniper rifle or DMR and you sort of do your own thing."

"I had enough of regular fire team work already," Blaine admitted. "It would be nice to try something new. What other roles are there?"

"You were already playing as a flanker last match," Troy gestured with his beer. "Running around me, picking them off."

"And then there's Heavy Support, which you're not built for," Katya squeezed his thigh apologetically. "You need higher strength and endurance. You carry heavy machine guns, or mortar systems."

"Oh shit, this game has mortars?" Blaine hadn't even thought of support by fire.

"Yes, they were added a couple of patches ago. But it's very niche, most players don't bother once they learn how complicated it is. That's a Platinum or Tungsten level role usually."

Blaine grunted. "So really I only have a couple of options don't I?"

"Yeah, unfortunately," Troy sighed. "Did you dump endurance or speed?"

"Endurance."

"Then yeah. Scout sniper or Flanker is your best bet. Either way, you'll want a good SMG."

Blaine looked back over at the Uzi. She was cute in a foxy sort of way. Katya followed his gaze and gave his thigh an encouraging squeeze.

"If you want to try sniping you should talk to my sister," Troy suggested. "She's pretty good at it. I know this game isn't quite like real world stuff, so she could explain the role better. She runs the Wolfguard clan. Their tank quit so she talked me into joining as his replacement. Didn't warn me about all the sex."

"Bet you didn't complain though."

"Nope!" Troy laughed aloud. "It was a good surprise. Can't believe she didn't get me into the game sooner. Anyway, I'm meeting them at their clan hall in half an hour so they can invite me. I'll run pistol matches with you anytime though. You have a cell phone?"

Blaine dug it out and Troy gave him his contact information. "We're in game every Friday and Saturday night for sure. Alex has work during the week. We're casual, no tryhards."

"I had enough tryharding to last me the rest of my life. You trying to recruit me?"

"You can never have too many friends," Troy said firmly. "And I like your style. I'll introduce you all sometime when I'm no longer the new guy."

The waitress came back with their drinks. Blaine noticed with some amusement that there was lipstick on the rim of his glass.

"So what do I call you?" he asked the waitress as he sipped his beer. "I don't think 'that Uzi with the pretty eyes' would fit on a name tag."

"I haven't been named yet," she flicked her hair back. "But my ID number is 1000034557. My friends call me 557."

"557 works for me," Blaine grinned. "But I'd rather give you a proper name."

The Uzi bit her lip, lowering her eyes coyly. "Find me when you hit Silver and you can call me anything you like."

"Don't tease her," Katya chided gently. "Not if you don't intend to contract with her. Being contracted is very important, and it's not the fun kind of edging."

"You say that," Blaine squeezed Katya's thigh lovingly and it was the blonde's turn to blush. "Well, 557, I'm going to be a scout or a flanker. Are you usually here?"

"Most days," the Uzi confirmed. "You can ask Josie at the bar if you don't see me. But watch out for her, she's a P90 and she'll haul you out back herself if she knows you're looking to contract with a sub gun."

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Blaine had shot P90s before and while they were excellent guns they just didn't fit him very well. He watched the perky butt saunter away to the next table and glanced at Katya. "You don't mind sharing, do you?"

"Not at all," she purred, and her fingers crept up Blaine's thigh. "She's cute. And you'll need a gun like her when you rank up."

Troy laughed. "You two need a room? There's a roach motel down the road."

"I think we just might," Blaine chugged the last of his beer and stood up. "I'll see you around, man. You playing tomorrow?"

"Yeah! Save a match for me," Troy clapped Blaine on the shoulder. "Just don't burn out your trigger finger tonight."

The shower cut off, hot water sluicing down his shoulders and dribbling from the chair into the drain. Blaine opened the stall and reached for a towel. It wasn't there. Frowning he peered out through the steam. He didn't have any clean towels.

Well, he'd showered yesterday, so the towel hadn't made it through the wash cycle yet. It was probably still sitting in his hamper.

Why was he showering twice in two days? It wasn't like him. Blaine wasn't a filthy man, but he also wasn't very active. There was no point in cleaning up every day if he just sat around.

He was a bit more sensitive to new behavior since he'd started playing Gun Meister a week ago. So far nothing had really changed in his life. But here he was showering whether he needed it or not, just for that fresh feeling.

Maybe it was the activity levels in the game, leaving him with a post-workout feeling? That sort of made sense. Or maybe he was used to cleaning up for a woman's company.

Either way, he had no towels now. Muttering to himself he hoisted himself over to his wheelchair, where he could reach his hand towel by the sink. He used that as best he could, then dug a fresh one out of the drawer and finished with it. He was still damp, but he would survive.

Now he needed to do laundry. Taking both hand towels he wheeled himself out into his lair. He went ahead and scooped the 'not quite filthy' pile into the hamper as well before getting dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie.

Now came the fun part, the reason he didn't like laundry day. Sighing, he took himself to the door and opened it, wheeling himself out into the hallway.

"Hi Blaine," Mrs. Humphries said at once. "Laundry day?"

"Yes ma'am," Blaine said automatically. You'd think an old lady named 'Humphries' would, well, humph a lot. But his neighbor was always smiling when she saw him. Now she came and grabbed his laundry basket from his lap. "I was heading that way anyway, I can get that for you."

Normally he'd grumble a thanks and sulk all the way to the washers. But as she shuffled along, chattering about someone playing their music too loud upstairs, he didn't have it in him to be grumpy. Maybe he was just in a good mood today, or maybe her small act of kindness reminded him of how Katya always looked out for him. What did Mrs. Humphries even do with the rest of her spare time?

"So how are you doing though?" he asked, surprising even himself. "I mean, when you're not helping me out. What have you been up to lately?"

She broke off her monologue about modern music tastes and blinked, a little surprised. "Why me? Well... I've been all right. I got a new fern. It wasn't doing too well when it arrived, someone hadn't been watering it, but now it's starting to come back."

He felt a wave of shame. Sitting around and watching plants grow... no wonder she was always happy to see him. Smiling, he kept asking her about her house plants while they emptied his hamper into a washer/dryer unit and made the long trek back. She was very proud of her plants, it seemed. Ferns were just the beginning. He lingered at his door for a few minutes to finish hearing about a poinsettia that had done something scandalous, then made an excuse about water boiling and shut the door.

The laundry would be done in an hour, and he didn't want to log out once he got going in the game, so he killed time by pulling everything out of the closet to find his old box of knives. As a soldier he'd carried a folder everywhere he went, they were always useful, but since coming to live here there wasn't a real need for them. He picked through the collection to find a clip point SOG Trident and snapped it open.

The old reflexes were coming back, he noticed, as he flipped from hammer grip to icepick and back. Not that he'd ever need such a thing in real life now, it wasn't like he was worth mugging, but there was something about shaking off old rust that felt good. The edge on the blade wasn't all it could be though so he sat with a whetstone and put a new edge on the old blade until it was time to bring in the laundry.

Then he could get back to the action.

It wasn't really a tiki bar since the beach was almost ten miles away, but the ambiance was good and 557 looked great in a bikini top. Blaine leaned back in his booth, arm around Katya, and watched the pretty Uzi moving between tables. This was his third visit now. The cyberpunk bartender had been right–routine was good. He'd had mixed results in his last couple of ranked matches, he was getting a little too aggressive, playing a little too fast, and these Bronze 4 players were all hungry for kills.

Usually 557 paid more attention to him. Tonight every unregistered gun in the place seemed to be gravitating towards one particular corner booth. He couldn't see from where he was seated. Maybe the guy was tipping really well? He didn't resent the hustle, but his beer was getting dangerously low and he didn't want to walk to the bar just then.

"I think that's a newly ranked up player down there," Troy said when he turned to see where the waitresses were. "I've heard that the guns can sense when a player has an open contract slot, so they flock around and compete for it."

Everything else in the game catered to the ego, so it made sense. Blaine nursed the last of his drink and watched as several girls, including 557, took turns posing for whoever was in the booth.

"I think he's making them audition," he said.

"That's a little rude," Saori peeked up over the top of the booth. "Taking advantage of our natures like that. It's not like he can contract with more than one of them unless he just hit Diamond."

"Maybe he's a returning player whose contracts expired?" Katya suggested. "It's still a little mean though."

Curiousity won out, and Blaine slid from the booth to go get a refill and take a peek at this high roller. He went to the bar and set his empty glass down for the bartender, then casually turned to survey the room. A man and a woman he didn't recognize, dressed as Meisters with holsters and tactical gear... and one familiar face.

Ahhh shit.

At the booth he could see that Troy had turned his knees out. The big man was ready to leap out of the booth, but his brow was furrowed. Katya was also leaning forward but her green eyes were wide and her lips parted slightly. Excitement? Fear? He couldn't tell.

Tommy glanced over his shoulder at his friends, eyes wide with mischief. "Want to see more? Come here baby." He snapped his fingers and 557 bent obediently forward, her hair falling down over her face, the little bikini top straining to hold her chest in.

"Let me see what you've got," Tommy was reaching for her thigh now. 557 pivoted gracefully and leaned forward again, showing off her ass with a suggestive roll of her hips. She shivered when Tommy's fingers began to trace up her leg, cheeks darkening. Her fingers crept to her belt and she started loosening the strap with eager fingers.

Blaine could have looked away. If he really wanted to. But if 557 was willing to accept a contract on these terms then she would be no fit choice for him. The mug clinked down on the bar, harder than he intended. The Uzi's eyes flickered open and met his. At first she smiled, like she always did when she saw him. Then there was a flicker of self-awareness as she seemed to notice she was actively disrobing. Her blush deepened. Emotions cascaded across her face–confusion, recognition, and finally shame. She held her shorts closed with one hand and snatched up her tray with the other, her shoulders hunching furtively. As she scurried past he could see her mouth drawn into a thin, angry line. Poor girl.

"Ay, baby, where are you going?" Tommy's mocking voice called after her. 557 walked a little faster, avoiding Blaine's eyes as she headed for the back of the bar.

"Whatever, puta," Tommy beckoned the next girl into groping range. "Israeli trash."

"Pinche pendejo," Blaine muttered into his beer. The bartender snorted.

"What's that?" Damn, sound carried really well in here. Blaine considered his options, but didn't feel any need at all to back down.

"I said, pinche pendejo," he set the mug down to emphasize the words. "In Spanish it means–"

"I know what it means," Tommy growled. But the spell was broken already. As if 557 was the first stone of an avalanche, one by one they turned away from the booth and returned to their work.

Tommy was fuming. "Hey!" he said, standing up from his booth. "Why don't you mind your own business?"

Blaine belched obnoxiously.

Before the group could decide whether to start anything or not they vanished as quickly and quietly as if he'd blinked them away. What the hell? He looked around and saw his group was still at their booth, watching him.

"I moved them to another instance," the bartender said shortly. "Start more shit and I'll ban you myself."

"I'm sorry about that," Blaine lied. The bartender grunted and made a shooing gesture. Blaine walked back to the table. Katya's hands shaking. As he slid into the booth she slid onto his lap, pressing her fists against his chest and burying her face in his neck.

"Thought you were trying to pick a fight," Troy grunted.

"What would the point be?" Blaine shrugged as he hugged his trembling gun. "Can't have a fight worth anything. What are we supposed to do, scream at each other? Tickle fight?"

"The system has a certain amount of damage it allows before it flags a fight," Saori explained. "You could bump shoulders or even wrestle on pads. But you're right, there wouldn't be much you could do."

Katya was still trembling, her knees squeezing his hips tight. Her lips pressed to his neck, hot and loving, but her knuckles ground into his sternum as if she wanted to hit him too. He stroked her hair and let her vent her silent passion. Saori launched into an explanation of player griefing the nuances of ruining another person's experience an far you could go before qualifying for a report. Blaine was only half-listening. It seemed like useful informaton but his attention was on Katya who was only slowly relaxing in his arms.

557 reappeared at their table, tray in hand. Her face was carefully neutral but she couldn't meet Blaine's eyes while she was getting their refill count and scooped up their empties.

Katya reached out as she turned to leave, fingers brushing the Uzi's hand. The submachine gun froze, shoulders hunching again, but all Katya said was, "We've all done stupid things for a contract. Don't let him get to you."

557 bit her lip and her fingers clenched briefly around Katya's. Without another word she hurried away, losing herself in the flow of traffic around the bar.

"She's trying so hard," Katya sighed, now relaxing into Blaine's lap like a tired cat. "I hope she finds a good Meister soon. Waiting for your first can be really tough."

"Man, you'd better contract that girl if you can," Troy chuckled.

"You think she'd still want me?" Blaine asked. The poor girl had seemed grateful to escape his presence.

"If she didn't want you she wouldn't care," Saori rolled her eyes. "You'd better rank up soon! And that goes for you too, Troy, I want a sister."

"I suppose I can run another ranked match tonight," Troy groaned. "How about you Blaine? Want to run a team match?"

"Actually, I think I'm going to go into a deathmatch." Blaine flexed his fingers on Katya's thigh and she clawed gently at his chest. "I'm really close to Bronze Master, and I think I can get over that hump if I get lucky tonight."

"Hit Silver by next weekend and you'll get more than lucky," Katya whispered as she ground herself gently on his lap.

That settled it, he stood up without waiting for his drink to arrive. "I'll get the drinks next time Troy. I've got some killing to do now."