The mansion of Old Blue Eyes was decorated in a random garble of scavenged lavishes. The floors were laden with eclectic rugs, none of the furniture matched. Clara climbed to the third floor and followed a corridor towards his boss’ office. Pictures and paintings filled every blank space on the walls, depicting rock stars of the past, technical schematics on blue backgrounds, paintings of foreign peaceful landscapes and even photographs taken during the cataclysm. Clara’s eyes lingered on one photo: a stampede of terrified people fleeing through the streets from a swarm of rats, so many that the rodents cascaded in waves. One woman faced the photographer, a silent scream held on her lips. Clara shivered and looked away.

Clara knocked on the ornate oak doors to Old Blue Eyes’ office. The smell of fabric softener and perfume rode on a draft of cigarette smoke as the doors were opened and she was admitted inside. Two large windows overlooked a private garden in the centre of the Harmonies’ district. The sun shone softly through red velvet curtains, an assortment of wardrobes lined the walls–Clara counted eight in total. One was open, displaying an array of suits. Beside it, Old Blue Eyes was standing with two others, a tailor and a smartly dressed soldier of the gang.

“Ah, Clara,” Blue Eyes spoke with a baritone gravitas that swept across the room like a trombone. “Take a seat, this won’t take much longer.” The older man was dressed impeccably as usual, in a grey dot-chequered suit and trousers with a navy blue bowler cap and a black tie. Clara sat in an enormous lounge chair, almost swallowed between its arms, fidgeting with the button of her military jacket. Blue Eyes and the tailor passionately discussed the suit they had selected for the third man, crooning at the fit of the shoulders, purring at the length of the cuff, chirping at the sharpness of the collar. The man whom they dressed stood to attention, unmoving, chin raised high. Among the Harmonies, the quality of one’s suit reflected one’s rank, while accessories such as bowties and bowler caps were awarded like medals.

“Wow, yes,” Blue Eyes announced. “That is perfect. It suits his frame wonderfully. What do you think, Metcalf?”

“It’s very good sir,” the Harmony replied. “Very good.”

“Excellent,” Blue Eyes clapped his hands. “But what about this tie?”

Clara inspected the contents of her boss’ dark oak desk while she waited. She had only met with the man once before in person, and found herself intrigued with his life–of course, it was better to negotiate if she understood him on a more personal level. An obsidian crystal jutted out of a frozen explosion of sparkling shards. A small standing mirror pointed at the desk’s throne, behind which hung five paintings of musicians coated in sweat, belting into microphones, striking guitars and caressing keys. A world of wonder blossomed inside Clara’s mind. She knew so little about the world before the cataclysm, and these heroes of the past, who rallied crowds of millions simply by the power of their voices and instruments.

A peculiar book caught Clara’s eye, the spine of which was glued together and tied with threads. The laminated cover bore a hand-drawn insignia, framed by elaborate drawings of DNA strands. It wasn’t like books of old–sturdy and machine manufactured–this manuscript was battered, seemingly well read and travelled, and painstakingly written by hand.

“Well deserved too, Lieutenant,” Blue Eyes said, drawing her attention away from the modern book. “You showed those fishfolk how to dance quite a jig, I hear.”

“I did sir.”

“Then you must enjoy your days’ leave. You’ve earned it. Theador, fetch Lieutenant Metcalf something to see him on his way.”

The tailor handed the man a fistfull of railway spikes tied together in a bundle–the currency of Quadra.

“I hear the ladies do a little something extra for a man in a suit,” Blue eyes said, taking a step closer to the Lieutenant and lowering his voice a touch as though to conspire. “But don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

The Harmony man blushed and grinned, then straightened his expression, saluted and departed. Two guards opened the office door before him; both wore suits, one white, one black in contrast to the tone of each man’s skin, a bold fashion statement. Whatever weaponry they possessed was hidden within their ensemble.

“Good work, Theador,” Blue Eyes said to his tailor.

“My pleasure, sir.” The tailor was carefully brushing the suits which they’d procured, returning them to their selected wardrobes. He had a classical British accent which Clara had only ever heard being imitated before; being from England herself, she didn’t think people actually spoke like that.

“Well Clara.” Blue Eyes turned to her. His tone transformed into a slowed to a business-like manner. “I’m glad to see that you are well, and beautiful as always. What of the mutants? Worse for wear I should hope?”

“A lot worse, yes.” Clara cleared her throat, a small spike of adrenaline putting a vibrato in her voice. “We figured out who the alpha was and assassinated him, along with a good number of high ranking mutants from the different tribes. When we left them, they were already shooting at each other to prove who was the new boss. Your assets should be safe.”

Blue Eyes lounged in his throne, a soft smile on his lips that seemed at odds with the intensity of his stare. A trilby hat sat atop his head, tilted to almost obscure his sapphire eyes which twinkled like stars in the darkening sky. He expressed the exuberance of a man half his age, yet with the wisdom and charm of experience.

“Cigarette, Clara? Oh, no. You don’t smoke.”

“Thank you, anyway.”

“Your partner smokes though, correct?” Blue Eyes struck a match and lit a cigarette. “Where is he?”

“He needed rest,” Clara said, a little too quickly.

Blue Eyes took a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke rose lazily to the ceiling where a candle chandelier hung from the wooden beams. “I hope this job wasn’t too much for him. You know, of the three mercenary teams I commissioned, you’re the only ones to have come back alive so far, and in quick fashion.”

“I hope the others are safe.” Clara hadn’t known about the other teams–hadn’t known that there had been an element of competition. She was glad to hear they’d won.

“They will discover soon enough that the job is already done, and come home.” Blue Eyes dragged, tapping into a crystal ashtray, then returned his attention to her, looking her up and down. He squinted and started singing. “You can go to extremes with impossible schemes… if you’re young at heart.” He held up a glass, and a serving boy took it to fill from a liquor cabinet. “Do you have any evidence?” Blue Eyes said, all business-like again.

“Yes, I do.”

“You may send any documents to me,” Theador interjected, tapping his wrist terminal. He had a similar model to Clara’s, made by the Bulwark Project, the same company who invented the Augmentation serum and kept humanity from the brink of destruction eight years ago. Clara booted her terminal out of standby and searched for his transmission request and sent him the images which Andy had taken on the digital camera. Once, Clara had worked for a clan who required a severed head on the desk as evidence that their mission was a success, but the Harmonies preferred to keep a clean record. Information was valuable, literally. People traded guns and ammunition for information on the apocalypse zones. You might feel like a badass carrying around a .50 calibre rifle, but it wouldn’t come in much use if you had to traverse a zone ravaged by freak storms, or escape a city plagued by a swarm of rats. Clara’s eyes unconsciously shifted towards the corridor and the photo outside.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Theador transmitted the photographic evidence onto a wall-hanging monitor, then returned to grooming his suits.

“Ugly things,” Blue Eyes said, swirling his tumbler of whiskey and ice. “It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Why are they here?”

The mutants were in the northern mountains because they occupied the arid territory to the west, and had expanded over the years as their species multiplied; but Clara assumed that wasn’t the answer which Blue Eyes was looking for. During her travels, she had found the older a person was, the more they seemed to contend with the reality of the apocalypses, like a cognitive glitch, as though they were searching for a generational answer to a grand question: why had this happened? To Clara, the world before the cataclysm was just a blur–a few disparate memories of her childhood. She had grown up in the new world, learned its tricks and figured out how to survive, while so many others withered in the shadows of the old world unable to abandon the old rules of the game. There were few like Old Blue Eyes who had rolled with the punches and built something out of the ruins. Yet, there was still that pause in his breath and that look in his eye as though he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and required a second glance. Often, in the wasteland, all you got was one look, one chance.

“Remind me,” Blue Eyes said, rousing himself from deep thought. “What was the payment we agreed upon?”

Clara considered embellishing the price promised, but it was an old habit, admittedly a little childish. “We’re on your tab for the mission; that’s fuel, supplies and ammunition. And fifty spikes for payment.”

Blue Eyes nodded.

“Also, we want to use your AMC again to calibrate Andy’s Augmentation. Oh, plus Andy wants to take a peak in your armoury.”

“That’s how I remember it. I am happy to oblige,” Blue Eyes said.

“And one more thing,” Clara said.

Blue Eyes tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, which rose underneath the rim of his trilby.

“Five minutes of your time.”

“Ten for being so lovely,” Blue Eyes said. “Fifteen if you share a drink with me.”

Clara’s heart beat a little faster, but she didn’t let it waver her, she knew his flirting was just a ploy. “It will only take five.”

The older man was silent, his eyes like spotlights, basking her in his attention.

“We want better work,” Clara said. She had thought of more tactful ways to phrase it on the journey over here, but when it came to it, simplicity was the best. “We’re not that challenged by mutants, or killer cattle, or crab people. The mothman you had us chasing a few months ago turned out to just be a guy in a costume, not an apocalypse at all, just some crazy guy stealing from farms. We don’t want trivial work. We don’t want to travel the same roads with trade caravans every summer. This job with the mutants,” Clara motioned to the gruesome images on the monitor. “It proves our worth. You said it yourself. Four teams, and we’re the first ones back with the mission done. We deserve better work. More like this, and more.”

Blue Eyes finished his cigarette, twisting the butt in the ashtray. “How skilled is he, your partner? How reliable is he?”

“I trust him with my life.”

“And should I trust him with my enterprise?”

Clara paused. “We work as a team. What you can trust me with, you can trust him with as well.”

Blue Eyes leaned over his desk. “What’s to stop him from disobeying you, or betraying you?”

Clara scowled.

“Excuse my forwardness,” Blue Eyes said. “I must ask these questions now so that I’m not disappointed later.”

“Andy would never betray me.” The words tasted like she’d bitten into a rotten apple.

“He has been Augmented for… how long?”

Clara considered a lie, as the truth was somewhat embarrassing. Andy had been Augmented for six years, yet in that time, his abilities had developed very little. Clara had thought it was normal until she bumped into an Augmented bounty hunter at a bar three years ago–a Sonic Specialist archetype–whose abilities had advanced three and four tiers in as many years. He had developed a plethora of weapons and utility, all contained within his modified genetic code. The man himself had appeared detached if a little depressed, removed from the world of man and placed into something else.

But Andy was already removed. He was insane. If he improved his abilities, it could only benefit them both–advance their career as mercenaries–yet his unwillingness to practise his aim and calibrate his powers at an AMC stunted him. The fact that, after six years, his AI had installed only one new ability said worse than Clara wanted to admit.

“A long time,” she said. “However, for years we didn’t know what it was. We didn’t know about the Augmentation Master Consoles and calibrating abilities and delineations and archetypes. There was no pamphlet that came with the serum. Honestly, I’m still learning. But he’s good with what he’s got.”

Blue Eyes nodded. “Six years. We have his records from when you last calibrated with us…” He flicked through a terminal on his desk, raising his eyebrows. “In spring. Why the wait?”

“I’m going to be honest,” Clara said. “He’s unmotivated. Our career is stale. We need something to push us, a challenge. Give us something, you won’t be disappointed.”

Clara held Blue Eyes’ gaze, she did not waver before the sharpness of his eyes, did not bow her head as her heartbeat rose, and kept her hands–sweaty as they were–firmly by her side.

“There is something,” Blue Eyes conceded, raising his glass to his serving boy for a refill. “I am sending a relief party to Marsay city. Some of my men are doing important work there. Classified. Yet lady luck has not smiled generously upon them. They have been waylaid by… it still feels strange to say this, but zombies. They’ve stopped returning my calls.” He sipped his whiskey. “Does that sound like something in your expertise?”

“Yes.” Clara didn’t hesitate. “What zombies?”

“My reports are mixed, aren’t they Theador?”

The tailor was still busy brushing suits; he seemed to savour the task. “Very mixed, sir.”

“Some folks claim that the undead are docile things, men and women without souls, holding to the shadows, lamenting their long departed humanity. However, others have sworn to have been chased down and attacked by large groups of them. Theador will send you the specifics.”

Clara opened her terminal for communications and accepted the tailor’s download. “What about the surrounding apocalypse zones and the route there?”

“There will be a briefing later today. I trust you can be ready to depart swiftly in the morning.” Blue Eyes rose from his desk and turned to face the window. “I have hired two teams already. You will meet with them tonight, and one of my seniors will explain the details.”

Two other teams. Clara’s heart sank. “That… complicates things.”

“How so?” Blue Eyes said without turning.

“Andy and I work better alone.”

“Your partner doesn’t play nice with others?”

“He…” Clara hesitated. “The likelihood of mission success is much higher if we work alone. We’ll be more discreet that way.”

“Discretion may be necessary,” Blue Eyes said, “But so might force. You’ll find out once you are there.”

Clara chewed her lip. She could agree to the terms, then separate from the other mercs once they got started. Besides, the option of backup might come in handy.

“Sis,” Andy’s voice buzzed over her radio. “You there?”

Clara unfastened the receiver and returned “Over.”

“Before you freak out, I’ve got this under control.” Andy’s voice crackled louder than it should have over the distance of the transmission. Was the signal in Quadra really that bad?

“Got what under control?” Clara lowered her voice and pressed her mouth into the microphone, turning down the speaker volume.

“Remember those blokes who jacked our wheels last summer, left us stranded?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I asked them for our wheels back.”

Clara bolted out of her seat, startling the guards by the door, who reached for their concealed weapons. Clara raised her arms in the air non-threateningly. “I need to go.”

“Oh?” Blue Eyes said. “Shall we see you in the evening?”

“Yes.”

“Theador will see you out.”

“I’m okay,” Clara said, striding through the oak door. She paced down the corridor briskly, waiting until she was out of sight before breaking into a run. Jumping down the stairs, darting through the reception area and outside, Clara could hear the distant thud of gunfire. “Where are you?” she radioed.

“Around the side of Lackeys,” Andy said. “Had to make a little retreat. Turns out-” The transmission ended, punctuated by gunfire.