Wood chip shrapnel burst above Andy’s head as he ducked through the nearest doorway. Slamming and pressing his back against the door, he held his breath–and a bottle of beer–listening for danger as his eyes adjusted to the dark. It was quiet inside the building, only the thud of gunfire on the outside wall cut through. Okay, so there were more of them than he’d expected. Clearly, the mercs who had robbed them a few months back had more friends in Lackey's bar than Andy did. Why was that, Andy wondered? He was easy to get along with, wasn’t he?
Squinting, Andy saw that he was inside a warehouse. Burlap sacks and crates were stacked to the rafters. Andy finished his beer–a nice crisp drink, locally brewed, mixed with lemons–tossed the bottle and climbed on top of a couple crates to get a lay of the room. Avenues cut through the wares, a maze of supplies–food and scavenged goods–stretching towards two large double doors at the other side, the only other exit. Light shone through a crack in the doors, and through several patches in the ceiling, illuminating sabres of dust in the air.
Suddenly, the small access door opened behind him. Three men dashed inside, each moving in opposite directions. Andy drew Julie and killed the first with a clean headshot, then clipped another in the foot as he darted for cover. A blast exploded beside Andy’s head. Skidding from his perch, Andy yelped as a second blast winged him. Taking cover, Andy patted himself down. His leather jacket was poked with shrapnel, but he wasn’t bleeding. The merc must have loaded birdshot, not buckshot. What an amateur. His last mistake.
Dashing around the flank, drunk as he was, Andy did not falter. When he slipped on a stray rope, he used the momentum to carry himself forward, bouncing off a heavy barrel. He did not fight against his imbalance, but rather swayed with it as a leaf upon a river of booze. Something within Andy guided him, whispering directions, tugging on him like a magnet. A pinch of instinct, a dash of practice and a tablespoon of Augmentation serum.
Andy twisted on the ball of his foot like a child’s spinning toy, ready to topple, rounding on his foe's exposed position. Emptying the cylinder of his revolver, Andy marvelled at the carnage Julie wreaked. Wood chips and plumes of flour burst into the air like miniature smoke grenades. Once the barrage was over, Andy knelt in the shadows, listening for movement in the dim light, quietly reloading. There was stillness, then a dragging sound. One of the mercs must still be alive.
Andy stalked towards his prey. As the disturbance settled, he spotted a body in the wreckage. The man’s face was half painted white from dust and flour like a mime’s makeup. His eyes rolled in opposite directions as Andy nudged the body over, and his tongue flopped out of his shattered jaw. Suddenly, he began to dance, a brief grotesque performance of his twitching, dying body.
Nearby, tracks in the debris led towards an alcove of stacked barrels. One barrel was pierced, leaking a clear liquid. Liquor. It stung Andy’s eyes and roused his stomach. Another man was huddled in the alcove, shivering and holding his wounds. He was not armed. Not a threat. Andy straightened, filling his hip flask at the leaky barrel’s spurt. He sampled the booze. It was cheap and vegetably, some amalgamation of vodka. Gulping it down, Andy checked his surroundings again. They were alone, for now.
“Want some?” he said.
The cowering man’s face convulsed in pain and disbelief. Andy tossed the flask into his lap. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up with a shaky, bloody hand and put it to his lips. He was young, Andy noticed now. They were probably about the same age.
“Mercy,” he said.
Andy raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
The man wet his lips and coughed. “Please.”
This is how Andy was repaid for his kindness, begging. There was a code amongst mercenaries, and one rule went like this: don’t expect mercy from a betrayed mercenary. Of course, the kid knew that, he was just afraid to die.
“Drink up,” Andy said, pointing at the gushing tap. “There’s plenty.”
The wounded fellow sunk into the crates. His head dangled on his shoulders. “I don’t want to die.” He took another swig and closed his eyes.
Andy’s Killer Instinct seized him and he drew Julie in a flash. His arm snapped around quicker than his head could turn on the intruder, and he fired without thought. The bullet pierced through a sheet of canvas, hitting the man sneaking on the other side. With a clatter, his target and their firearm fell to the floor.
Andy licked his lips, a familiar metallic taste in his mouth, like rare meat and gunpowder–the essence of his Augmentation’s powers. Suddenly, he wasn’t drunk, he was precise like a sharpened blade. Andy marched through the shadowy warehouse towards the new assailant. Rounding a stack of rugs standing upright columns, Andy saw the sneaky assailant propped against a thick structural beam, attempting to unholster a sidearm.
Andy shot him in his shoulder. The impact pushed the man onto his back.
“Who are you,” the man squirmed. “What do you want?”
“My wheels.”
The man looked confused, then his expression was awash with pain. He squirmed around making grunting sounds. A pretty undignified way to go out, but not the worst Andy had seen.
“You got my wheels?”
“What the fuck?”
Blood plastered the canvas sheet behind him as Andy pulled the trigger. It didn’t bring him joy to kill–it wasn’t exhilarating–it was just necessary. Andy hadn’t been born a killer, but he’d adapted to the sight of death at an early age. The world he had grown up in had been a violent place. The cataclysm didn’t change that, it just normalised it for everyone else.
Something caught his eye–a piece of silver jewellery around the man’s wrist. Andy wasn’t great with faces–he might not have recognised the thieves in Lackey’s bar if one hadn't been wearing his sister’s stolen watch. The ticker was frozen–the watch hadn’t worked for years–but every now and then, he caught Clara glancing at it. Why she kept the broken watch wasn’t important… Andy had difficulty understanding most of Clara’s actions. But it mattered to her, so it mattered to him. Andy knelt and carefully undid the metal latch, pulling it over the dead man’s thumb.
Attention. The AI’s voice pierced his silence, squeezing through the gaps in his ever-widening sobriety. DNA corruption levels at 17%. Visit an Augmentation Master Console to prevent further DNA mutation, and recalibrate new abilities.
“Yeah-yeah,” Andy said, fingering his ear trying to dig the buzzing out of his head.
Alterations to your DNA are unstable until calibration at an Augmentation Master Console.
“Alright, I get it. I was trying to have a moment, and you’ve ruined it.” Pocketing the watch, Andy strolled back through the warehouse to where he’d dropped his hip flask earlier. The kid was dead. At least he’d died drunk. What more could you ask for?
Alert: Prevent further-
“I got you the first time,” Andy said. “Shut up.” Washing the lip of the flask in the leaky spout, Andy took another swig. It still tasted funny, a little acrid, a little bloody, but Andy could look past that.
Heading towards the warehouse’s main exit, Andy peered out through a gap in the doors. Outside, there were figures crouched behind wagons and cars parked around the perimeter of the loading bay and more looming in the shadows of nearby huts. They were training primitive weapons on his position, bows and spears and slings. There’d likely be more with shields and clubs.
Andy waved a hand outside, then poked his head around the corner. “Heya chaps. Just me, don’t shoot.”
“Get out and lie down,” one of the spearmen yelled. He was draped in the hide of some beast, the crocodile-like maw of which hung over his head as a hood. The other militiamen were each wearing similar animal skin armour and dark face paint. Andy recognised them as the flamboyant tribal gang who co-ran the town with a few others. What were their names again? Gristle-something? Their members could handle their drink, that’s all Andy knew.
“You have broken the peace,” Crocodile-man announced. “Exit the warehouse or suffer a swift punishment.”
For a second, Andy imagined what non-compliance would look like… Which were his primary targets? Where could he take cover? How many could he kill before being shot and stabbed to death? Andy smiled, he actually liked his odds.
Alert, his AI chimed. Hold fire advised. Probability of success: implausible.
“Maybe with that attitude.” Andy sighed and resigned himself. Rival mercenaries were one thing, but killing the town’s official militia would piss Clara off to no end. Just as soon as he’d gotten comfortable lying on the ground, Andy was hauled to his feet. Two of the brutes grabbed his arms while another patted him down, confiscating his combat knife and Julie. Andy remained calm as the militiaman tucked Julie into his belt, remembering his Augmentation’s new ability, recently initialised: Deadly Attraction. He could summon Julie to him as though magnetised. Although, thinking about it, he’d only done it once and not practised it since, nor had he recalibrated at an AMC. Was there a chance it wouldn’t work? Andy flexed his fingers, trying to sense the connecting between him and his revolver. There was a slight tug, a longing in his palm, yearning to be filled.
The beefy militiaman accosted Andy, removing his hip flask, pausing to consider its destructive potential.
“You gonna come between a man and his drink?” Andy said, feeling Julie’s presence ever stronger, ready to summon her at a moment’s notice. “Don’t be stupid.”
After a pause, the militiaman slipped Andy’s flask back into his breast pocket. Andy relaxed. Surrounded as he was, even with his magical abilities, Andy no longer fancied his odds, but there were some things worth standing up for, no matter the odds. As he was dragged away, Andy recognised Clara’s voice from the perimeter where a crowd of onlookers had gathered, and tried to wave, but the militiamen grabbed his hands and bound them in ropes. Still, they took him close enough to overhear his sister’s conversation.
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“We are employees of Blue Eyes,” she said. “It’s disgusting that my companion was attacked while in your hospitality. He shouldn’t be in cuffs, he should be with a doctor receiving treatment for his wounds.”
Even though he wasn’t wounded, the prospect of free painkillers piqued Andy’s appetite. “Yeah, what an outrage.”
Clara bustled up to him, presenting her wrist terminal to the guards. “Recognise this signature? Mind explaining to Blue Eyes why you’re assailing one of his employees?”
“Trust the old man to hire a rabid’un,” one guard said, prodding Andy in the ribs with the head of his axe.
“He started a shootout on our turf,” another militiaman said. “So he’ll be coming with us now.”
Clara complained vigorously, arguing with logic, making threats. It was all white noise to Andy. Whatever the consequences, he’d face them. It didn’t matter much. He had no regrets.
Someone else entered the fray wearing a top-hat and a smart suit. Accompanying the newcomer were three other militiamen dressed in similar smart outfits. That was another gang, wasn’t it? The sing-alongs, or something? There was a heated dick-measuring contest between the leaders of each team, during which Clara took sides with the top-hat fellow.
One of the tribal guys squeezed Andy’s bicep painfully and looked him in the eye, trying to goad him into reacting. Andy remained glazed over–he didn’t mess around, he didn’t like to scrap. He didn’t see the point of intimidation or bravado, like so many other men indulged. What was the point in being pretend-aggressive? Andy was either killing everyone around him or ignoring their presence. It was exhausting trying to exist in the space between.
While they argued, other tribal folk recovered the bodies from the warehouse, heaping them in the chalk. A horse-drawn cart came by to collect them, already loaded with the bodies of two mercs who Andy had smoked outside Lackey’s bar.
The handsy militiaman squeezed his bicep again, forcing Andy to look him in the eye. “Where’re the others?”
“That’s them. Just five,” Andy said.
He snarled. “You know what I mean. Who else did this? We’ll find ‘em, kill on sight.”
“What are you on about?”
“There’s no one else,” Clara said. “Just the two of us.”
Andy grinned, repeating his sister’s words, adding an old tune to it. “Yeah, just me. Five-nill, mate.”
The militiaman scowled, then his gaze drifted from Andy to the cart loaded with bodies being dragged from the courtyard. A dirty patch of red stained the chalk. He didn’t say anything else after that. Andy zoned out as the arguing simmered down. In the end, the tribal folks in barbarian fancy dress conceded, and they all decided that Andy had done nothing wrong, and that his actions were self defence. Sort of. Besides, there were no mercs left alive to vouch for the other side. Andy’s wrists were untied and his weapons returned. Though their separation was brief, Andy felt good for having Julie’s back in her holster at his hip.
Clara bustled him off before anyone had a chance to break the peace. “Are you hurt?”
“Nope.”
Behind them, the militiamen dressed in smart clothes followed as Andy let Clara lead him away from the warehouse.
Clara sighed. “Was all that really necessary?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Clara scoffed. “How do you think that’s going to look to our employer?”
“That we don’t take shit.”
“I’d rather you consult with me next time,” Clara said. “If you wanted revenge, we could have ambushed them outside the walls, robbed them back. Maybe gained some compensation for our efforts.”
“True.”
“But instead, our employer now thinks we’re violent murders.”
Andy remained quiet beneath the weight of her disapproval. He wasn’t going to win this one, but he had an ace up his sleeve to cheer Clara up. “Here,” he said, withdrawing the watch, wiping the blood off of it on his vest before handing it to her. “Still doesn’t work though.”
She gasped. “Where did you find this?”
“On them,” Andy nodded towards the warehouse. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was soft. She didn’t put the trinket on, just clasped it in a fist over her heart. “Thanks.”
“It’s alright,” Andy said. “Like I said, people gotta know they can’t steal from us.”
At the edges of the loading area, a perimeter of shacks hosted a small audience who had watched the standoff. Women sat in groups, pretending not to have noticed the commotion. Their children clung to the railings, pointing and watching with wide inquisitive eyes. Andy waved and the kids giggled. He shot them finger-guns and they returned fire. Behind them, their mothers scowled.
“Where are we going?” Andy asked.
“I’ve bought you the opportunity to recalibrate.”
Andy winced. “Lucky me.”
Clara led him through a cluster of shacks and inside a large building with a brick ground-floor. A young blonde kid in a waistcoat led them down a series of corridors with questionable decor, a ridiculous ensemble, like passing through a fever dream. At the end of a corridor, a heavy door led into a basement. Soft blue light illuminated the dingy, brick-walled room. There was no decor here, only the Augmentation Master Console.
In the centre of the room, the large glass cylinder reflected the cold light of a spotlight. The cylinder was contained within steel brackets, painted with black and yellow warning stripes. Andy stepped towards the glass. Each node was connected through a circuit board of tiny threads which spun a web over the glass, culminating at its zenith. It reminded Andy of veins beneath a membrane of skin. At the base, a platform sprouted thick black cables, which coiled like snakes, travelling to a master console at the back of the room.
A shock of electricity ran through the threads like the rumble of lighting through a disturbed sky, glowing in the nodes. Behind him, one of the sing-along-crew booted up the master console. Andy shivered. He realised he was rubbing Julie’s handle, and clenched his fists to stop. He hated recalibration and the nightmares that came with it.
“Andy,” Clara said behind him. “We’re ready now.”
Andy took his shoes and socks off, undoing his belt.
“What’s that?” Clara pointed at his foot.
“Nothing,” Andy said, hiding his extra toe.
“Is it a wound?”
“It’s a growth.” Andy tried to keep his foot hidden as he undressed, placing his clothes on top of a wheeled workstation beside the chamber.
“It’s a little numb,” Clara teased, her voice pitching high.
“Don’t make fun.”
“You’ve grown a little nubbin.”
“Leave my nub alone.”
“That’s what happens if you don’t recalibrate.”
Andy stopped at his boxers, glaring at her sidelong.
“What?” she said.
“I’m here aren’t I?” Andy blurted. “Relax.”
Clara chuckled. “Sorry.” She cocked her head, staring fondly at his sixth toe. “I hope it doesn’t fall off.”
“I bloody do,” Andy said, placing Julie atop his pile of clothes and stepping inside the glass chamber. He turned to face his spectators. Outside, two technicians ran the console, while two other armed men guarded the door. Andy wasn’t ashamed of his nudity, it didn’t mean anything to him. His sister had seen him naked dozens of times before, either while he recalibrated or bathed in lakes while out on missions. To Andy, the human body was all just different shapes of flesh and bone.
As the door of the chamber squeezed shut, a vacuum of silence smothered him. He could see Clara talking outside, but couldn’t hear a word she said. Placing a hand on the glass, he felt the faint vibrations of conversation, and beyond that, the hum of a fuel generator powering the master console. Clara flicked her finger at him, and he took his hand off the glass, posing with his shoulders set and his hands at his side. The militiamen outside looked at him unashamed. Andy could tell by the crease in their suits that they were armed with 9mm semi-automatic pistols. With him naked, and Julie out of reach, they could gun him down in seconds, but they would never risk damaging the AMC chamber. It was likely the most expensive thing their little tribe owned.
Attention: Estimated time to rearm: twenty-five milliseconds, his AI informed him.
“Thanks robot,” Andy said.
The chamber door locked shut with a low pop, like snuffed gunfire. A conductive mist hissed through vents, clinging to his skin. Andy stared longingly at his revolver. He didn’t like leaving Julie on her own.
Warning: Access to firearm is currently impossible until the recalibration process is complete.
“Yeah, thanks robot.”
Andy grew lightheaded. The mist tasted mineral–like crisp mountain water. He breathed it in, quenching a first he hadn’t realised he’d had. A tingling sensation started in the base of his neck, then spread throughout his body. He swayed, as it throbbed and expanded with each breath. He closed his eyes and was submerged in static. It soaked into every inch of his body, every fraction of his cells, every strand of his DNA. Thrumming entombed his skull, blotting out all other senses until all that was present, was being.
Images flashed before his eyes. Sensations possessed his limbs. “Andy. Aren’t you impressed?” The voice called him. Whose was it? His sister’s? A face accompanied the voice. A young girl with bright eyes. She was grinning and bragging about something, clutching a metal tube with pistons and triggers running up its length. A clarinet. Andy smiled and patted her on the head. They were both children. What was that about the end of the world? It hadn’t come yet.
The scene in his mind became flooded with static and a new one emerged.
Andy sat in the back seat of the family car. His dad was driving erratically, voice pitched to a panic. His mum gawked at her phone, reading off the headlines. Her eyes were wide with terror.
They hit something in the road and his sister screamed. Andy grabbed Clara’s hand and squeezed softly. For once, he was the only one smiling. “It’s alright. It’s okay. You’re safe with me.”
Like a thunderclap, his world was transformed. Andy was burning with rage. A gaping hole tore through his stomach, ripping him to pieces, severing limbs. Suddenly, Andy was chasing a demon through a complex of blank concrete walls. Death was inevitable. Andy collided with the beast and tore it apart. The demon incarnated the body of a man. Andy ripped it open, seeking to replace the gaping hole in his own carapace with the black organs of the demon. He plummeted into its gut, up through its ribcage, and pulled out a black heart, stuffing it inside his own exposed innards, gorging himself to fill the void. Behind him, the lights went out. Memories fell into abyss. Andy fell through the air to his death, tossed by razor winds, directionless and burning with hatred. Kill. An intolerable pain was suffocated by violence. Andy lashed out for the demon, but it was gone, already dead, many years ago now. Andy screamed and clawed at his face to break free. Slowly, like the rising of the moon, the storm settled.
When consciousness returned to him, Andy realised that he was lying by a country roadside overlooking a derelict town that smouldered in the morning sunlight. Smoke plumed wreckage, carrying on the cold wind. Andy checked the litter of bottles about him, swigging the dregs, welcoming the humming static that enveloped his mind.
A building collapsed behind him. Andy looked up and realised that he was suddenly on a city’s streets. A stampede rushed past him as people crumbled beneath blinking streetlamps. Then he spotted something that stopped his heart. Clara’s face shone amongst the crowd, her blonde hair like a beacon of compassion in an otherwise numbing world. She stumped and fell beneath the crush of bodies. Andy darted towards her with a single-minded need. He dove on top of her like a shell as the stampede cascaded over him. He dragged his little sister beneath him as an animal does its cub, crawling into the cover of a car. There, in the shadows, he smiled. They used to play like this as kids. He’d wear the wash basket on his back like it was a tortoise shell. Clara would ride on top and point him about the house–he was her valiant steed. She looked up at him with bright, terrified eyes.
“It’s alright,” Andy said. “You’re safe with me.”
The chaos around him blended together, like colours on a pallet, until only a grey paste remained. Boiling emotions evaporated and settled on calm waters, but still, a potent panic clung to the back of his mind, as though he had forgotten something very important, and now his and Clara’s lives were in danger.
“Thanks for the slideshow,” Andy said into the paper-mulch expanse of his mind.
Greeting: Andy. Ready to proceed? The AI voice asked. It was directionless in the vast empty space.
“You gotta do that nightmare sequence every time?”
Error: Query comprehension failure. Rephrase and resubmit.
“Whatever,” Andy said. “Let’s get on with it.”