The duo came to a halt outside another featureless grey dome. He had asked the girl to stay in the crate of marijuana- as she didn't have an official identity yet, she would not be allowed to enter. He trusted that the guards would allow him to enter without opening the crate- after all, he was the Gunrunner. His reputation for keeping the privacy of his clients was legendary.

One of the guards stepped forward, gun pointed at his chest.

"We'll have to search your cargo for any contraband."

By contraband, they meant anything that could compromise the safety of the city- explosives, infected material, and the like. Most cities didn't regulate the flow of formerly forbidden objects like drugs and guns.

"Sorry, I can't let you do that. Client confidentiality."

"You shitting me? Open that crate, now."

The barrel of the rifle was practically touching the Gunrunner's chest. He stood, arms crossed, frowning slightly as the guard's spit flecked onto his face.

"Hey, Gil, take a chill pill. He's the Gunrunner, for fuck's sake. If we can't trust him, who the fuck we gonna trust?"

Gil turned his eyes towards the other guard, who was holding his hands, palm out, in a placating manner.

"Well, who the fuck is the Gunrunner?"

"What, you live under a rock or something? He's only the best courier in the entire States, and the first one to manage a cross-country delivery. Let it go, man, he's got a reputation to maintain."

The rifle drooped, until it was pointing at the ground between the Gunrunner's feet.

Gil glared at him, before turning away and stalking off. The other guard came up, and extended his hand.

"Sorry about that. Ol' Gilbert over there's got a bit of a short fuse. Real honored, by the way. That shipment of insulin two years ago saved my sister's life."

As the Scourage only demolished biological material, it left everything else completely untouched- and in some cases, even managed to sterilize it. This meant that hospitals, pharmacies and factories were fully functional, though most lacked personnel to operate. 

Two years ago, Chicago had run out of insulin and a couple of other commonly used drugs. The board of governors paid the Gunrunner to obtain and deliver those drugs from any working factories that produced them and were willing to sell. He managed to pull it off flawlessly, turning up with a crateload of insuline, morphine and thorazine quickly enough that casualties caused from loss of drugs were minimal.

"Glad I could help. Now, if I could get inside, that'd be great. I'm tired of staying out in the wasteland, smelling like sweat and piss."

The guard laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Sure, walk right in. Say, you haven't had a Scourge check in a while, why not-"

"Got it done in Detroit."

"Oh. Well, then, I'll tell them to let you in without a check."

The guard opened a locked door on the side of the dome, and went in. After a few minutes, he re-emerged, and waved the Gunrunner towards the airlock.

Inside, Chicago was much the same as before- despite the loss of the John Hancock center. Due to the government's inability to handle the Scourge, rioters had filled the streets of Chicago. In the course of the rioting, a group of people armed with guns had forced everyone out of the tower, and then detonated charges at the base that toppled it- into another block , demolishing it. The group had been thrown to the police by the enraged crowd, but the fallen tower was still in ruins.

After the riots, Chicago had been filled with corpses- prime material for a Scourage infection. During the cleanup, somebody opened the airlock, which let the Scourge in. The citizens had barely reacted in time, locking themselves in their homes as the nanomachines ran rampant through the streets, killing anything unlucky enough to be outside.

Due to this incident, Chicago was nearly completely wiped out- but they managed to force the infection back in the end. Flamethrowers were an invaluable asset- despite being unwieldy to use and heavy to carry, they could stop a Scourge infection dead in its tracks. Fire was one of the few weaknesses the nanomachines had, and pretty much the only one readily available other than electricity. When exposed to a flame, the nanomachines burned and shriveled up into masses of black dust. This black dust still carpeted some parts of the city, and most of the buildings showed scorch marks.

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The Gunrunner wheeled the motorcycle into an alley, and then opened the crate. The girl climbed out, stumbling over the long hem of the coat.

"Listen carefully. You are not allowed to let go of my hand, in any circumstance. There are plenty of bad people who would capture you and sell you back into slavery, so you need to pretend that you're my daughter in anyone asks. Understand?"

The girl nodded, and he smiled reassuringly.

"Good. Now, I imagine you. must be getting pretty tired of that heavy old coat."

At this, she shook her head, but he plowed on.

"We'll have to get you proper clothes, first. Can't have you running around with nothing but an oversized coat."

They walked around, looking for a clothing store. Nobody bothered them, though whether it was because of the Gunrunner's stormy expression or the fact that he kept his hand on his gun was unclear.

After blocks of unmarked buildings, the two finally came across a clothing store.

As they entered, a small bell rang, prompting the man and the woman behind the counter to turn around.

"Welcome!"

This was from the woman, who walked out from behind the counter. The Gunrunner marveled at how short she was. Could malnutrition have stunted her growth?

"Er, do you have any children's clothing here? For her."

He gestured at the girl, who waved a sleeve-covered hand. The woman, after noticing her, gasped.

"Oh, my, but she's cute! Is she your daughter?"

The woman had the girl's face between her hands, and was giggling as she rubbed the girl's cheeks. The girl sent a panicked look at the Gunrunner, so he stifled the grin threatening to appear on his face and coughed.

"So, the clothes?"

"Hm? Ah, yes. Over here."

The woman led them through racks full of clothes to a wall festooned with coat hangers, from which hung colorful shirts, pants, skirts and underwear. The Gunrunner was hopelessly stumped, and turned to the woman for assistance.

"Uh, er, could you, say, help me choose clothes for her? I'm, not very good with things like this."

"Sure! This... And this... And maybe- no, this..."

Every time she spoke she thrust more clothes into the Gunrunner's arms, until his face was almost completely obscured by the mound of clothing he was holding. The Gunrunner desperately looked around the store, and met the eyes of the cashier, who was wearing an inhumanly wide grin. When the Gunrunner raised an eyebrow, the man shrugged apologetically, and mouthed 'sorry'.

"Do you have any changing rooms?"

The woman barely looked up from the clothes.

"Yes, that way."

"Thanks."

 He dumped the pile of clothing on a bench in the changing room, and left while motioning for the girl to enter.

"Try everything on, and pick out whatever you like. As long as it fits, that is."

He sat outside the room, and waited for the girl to choose her clothes. As he waited, he drummed his feet on the ground and watched the owners conversing in low voices. Although he couldn't hear them, he could guess the content of the conversation- they were discussing some extremely amusing inside joke.

The door to the changing room opened, and the girl exited, wearing a truly horrendous ensemble.

She was wearing a blank yellow t-shirt that clashed magnificently with purple shorts, and to top it all off she wore the brown coat over everything.

The Gunrunner was pretty sure his jaw hit the floor. He was also pretty sure he was mumbling something. What he was absolutely sure of was that he sighed, and took the coat off her. She was holding a now much smaller pile of clothing, and the Gunrunner carried it to the counter.

"How much?"

The cashier counted the clothes carefully before replying.

"This comes to- 45 dollars. Thanks, and have a good day!"

As the Gunrunner left, he realized he couldn't remember the faces of the couple. This was unusual for a man like him, whose skills in perception were unmatched. He wondered if he was getting old.

At his side, the girl was beaming up at him. She likely had never gotten to choose her own clothes in the past. Just the new clothes seemed to have transformed her. She was still pitifully thin, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

As he made his way through the streets, a man bumped into him.

"Oops, sorry, sorry. Excuse me."

The Gunrunner frowned. He had the nagging feeling that he had seen this man before, but couldn't quite place his face.

----------------------------------------

The Stalker was relieved. It had been necessary to get close to the Gunrunner in order to slip the tracker into his coat, but for a second he had been worried that he would be noticed. He turned a corner, and walked two blocks before taking out a handheld device that looked much like a mobile phone. He checked that the tracker was still active, and smiled. Unlike the Gunrunner, there was no warmth in the smile. It was a predatory grin, as though the Stalker was some sort of wild animal.

On his way to Chicago, the Stalker had come across a group of bandits. He had spotted them from afar, waited them to turn their backs to him, and had silently approached, using abandoned houses and cars as cover. When he got close, he slit their throats from behind one by one. The last one was rather troublesome- he noticed the warm spray of blood from one of his comrades, and had turned around. The bandit had been fast. He had almost managed to bring the gun up before the Stalker's knife slammed into his jugular, instantly severing it and draining the life from his body.

His prize was not the money the bandits carried, although he still took their wallets. No, it was their vehicle. The bandits had owned a battered truck with half a tank of gasoline- more than enough to make the trip. This discovery had shortened his travel time significantly, and allowed him to enter the city a little while after the Gunrunner.

The hunt was on, and the hunter had the scent. All that was left was the kill.