Three days had passed since his recalibration, and Andy had been heavy on the booze to forget it. The process was always unpleasant, laced with feelings of rage and visions of suffering. Whatever had happened between him and the AMC’s invasive software, it had drilled too deep and broken something in his brain. Demons watched him from the dark spots which blotted his drunken vision, waiting for him to fall asleep. He felt their cold presence whisper to him from his shadow, oozing from the pores of his skin. He could almost see their faces when he closed his eyes, terrible and patient. They would catch up to him eventually, unless he drank himself unconscious, merging the hours of light and dark into a blur.
He awoke one morning shivering, having not zipped his sleeping bag up properly and searched for the bottle, only to find it empty. Crawling out of their tarpaulin shelter, Andy searched the bags tied to their motorbike for another to clench his thirst. The morning light was pale. The air was quiet. Shivers struck Andy like a gong. He couldn’t remember having eaten, but didn’t feel particularly hungry, just empty. Finding his stash empty, he gave up his search and crawled back under the cover of the tarp, wrapped himself up in his sleeping bag and shimmied close to Clara. She felt warm against his arm. He turned around, put his back to hers, and huddled into a ball.
It was as though he’d blinked, but he must have slept, because he could hear his sister outside rummaging around. Andy crawled out of the shelter, taking his sleeping bag with him.
“Good morning,” Clara said. She had a small fire on the go and was brewing some tea with pine bristles and leaves. “Sleep well?”
Andy was thirsty, but his headache was no worse than usual. “Yeah, fine.” He looked around their surroundings for the first time. They were in a small copse of trees on a hillside. The ground was covered in ferns and moss. Clara must have scavenged every last piece of dry wood in the copse to get the fire going, and it wouldn’t last long. Andy squatted next to the flames, opening his leather jacket like bat wings, soaking up the heat. “Where are we?”
“South west of Milltown. James, the cartographer, gave me a tip off. There’s supposed to be vaults in this region. Old ones, built during a war, refurbished for the cataclysm. If they’re empty, one could make for a good home, or might contain salvage.”
“Nice one.” Andy felt his spirits lifted by the heat. “I’ve out for three days and you’ve already figured it all out.”
“Four days, Andy.” Her tone was solemn. Clara stirred the hot flask of tea with a stick which she’d stripped the bark of. “You haven’t talked to me in four days.”
Guilt struck Andy. It was an emotion he rarely entertained. He swallowed it down, hiding his face in his fringe. “Shall I make up for it by talking loads today?”
“That’s alright.”
“No, it’s the least I could do. Here we go.” Andy held his breath, observing their surroundings, trying to pick something out to talk about.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
“Wait for it…” His attention fell on Julie, who had slept at his hip, never leaving his side. He withdrew her, heavy in his palm as he held her aloft, his other hand on his chest. “Oh Julie, my sweet-”
“Shut up.” Clara scowled, removing the flask from the fire, but a tired smile touched her lips as she poured the tea. Normally, Clara led their conversation, but they sat in an uncomfortable silence while they drank. With each beat of his heart, his sister grew more distant, his chest felt heavier. He’d let her down because he wasn’t strong enough to bear the demons which had always stalked him. A shadow fell upon him. Baleful faces appeared in the fire’s coals, laughing at him. They were coming back. His mouth felt dry. Just a little drink to take off the edge would be nice, but he was completely out. If he had a little drink, he could think straight and apologise properly, and make amends.
Clara built up the flames. The embers crackled and popped as they consumed the wet wood, steaming wet yellow fungi stuck to its bark, hissing as it burned. The smell sifted through Andy’s thoughts, grounding him in the present, if for a moment.
“Pass me your arm,” Clara said.
Andy held his arm out. Clara slipped her terminal over his wrist, tightening the straps to adjust to his arm. A cold spot on his forearm felt like ice melting over his skin. She sat beside him on a log, operating it, humming to herself with satisfaction.
“What is it?”
“I’m able to get a reading of all of your abilities. James upgraded it for me. He’s a good man. Not an employer exactly, but someone to trade with. Someone who we owe a favour now.”
Checking the pockets of his combat vest strapped beneath his jacket, he was relieved to discover one was full of .45 rounds for Julie, and another two were brimming with shotgun shells. “What weapons do we have?”
“You’ve got a pump action shotgun,” she said without looking at him. “Seems to be in good nick. I’m still on the submachine gun and nine-mill. Not sourced a replacement marksman’s rifle yet, or your assault rifle.”
“Or my machine gun.” Andy longed to hold a hefty cannon in his arms, feel the recoil push back against him as he fired. “Alas.”
“I’m done.” Clara relinquished his wrist. “Check it out.”
Displayed on the terminal were a list of Augmentation’s abilities, like a more advanced version of the notes Clara used to draw for him on paper. Andy scrolled through the list–it was longer than he remembered. “Cool.”
“No, not just cool. Andy, can’t you tell how useful this is? It shows exactly how your Augmentation is developing and changing your DNA… What kind of fighter it’s turning you into. You can have control over it, you can shape it in a certain direction, study your abilities and combine them and maybe create new ones and…”
Andy groaned, putting his head in his hands. “Okay, okay.”
“What? Andy, what?”
Frustrated and fatigued, Andy struggled to formulate the words. “I just don’t think about it the same way you do.”
“I thought you were coming around to the idea of developing this, you know, getting stronger?”
“Yeah, but my way. Not here, on a computer screen, first thing in the morning. I need to be in a fight. When I’m in the zone, I feel more creative.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, that’s how I’ve figured it out,” Andy said. “Like with the big-ass lava lamp, Julie and I had to come up with something on the spot. Improvise. You know, go with the flow. And it worked.” Andy jabbed the final entry on the screen. “See here. Vortex Bottleneck. I came up with that on the fly.”
“That’s cool.” Clara’s voice had lost its bluntness. She spoke softly, and Andy wanted to keep it that way.
“What about the others? Just take a look, it might help.”
Andy scrolled to the bottom of the list. Displayed was a write-up of his Affinity delineation, with two new entries transcribed. Although he’d witnessed them during his calibration process, he’d failed to commit them to memory:
Delineation: Affinity
Vortex Shot (Tier 1): Wielding the affinity revolver, the Gunslinger is able to conjure immense, explosive energy into a vortex boom, the equivalent of 5kg TE kinetic force, capable of destroying multiple foes in a wide blast. The Gunslinger must be poised in order to conjure the vortex, or else the ability will fail.
Vortex Cannon (Tier 2 - Shotgun Variant): This ability requires more poise and physical endurance to use. Kickback may destabilise the user. The cannon has a wider berth of effect, capable of projecting 25kg TE kinetic force.
Vortex Bottleneck (Tier 2 - Sniper Variant): This ability condenses 5kg TE of kinetic force into a tighter beam, delivering a more accurate shot at further distances.
He and Julie had used the Vortex Cannon ability to decimate the zombie horde back at the shopping mall one week ago. He’d since entirely forgotten about the ability roughly three bottles of whiskey ago. That was bad. If this was something he could summon on command, it was probably a good idea to remember it. Andy took another sip of tea, rubbing his temples, trying to clear his head of dreariness. It blagged his brain a little just how far his relationship with Julie had come in such a short span of two weeks. Supposedly, his artificial intelligence implants had done some of the legwork too, behind the scenes. But it wasn’t as simple as point-and-shoot anymore. Andy always had style, but with these abilities, he had class. Clara was right. He could strike a compromise.
“Got anything else cooking, AI?”
“What?” Clara asked.
Andy tapped his skull. “Private conversation sis, do you mind?”
The voice didn’t reply. In fact, it hadn’t talked to him since they had their argument on the lava lamp factory floor. Even during his recalibration, it had been elusive, speaking in whispers, as though it was afraid of him. “Huh, must be on a break.”
“Look at the other entries.” Clara scrolled to the top of the list. “This one is new.”
Transcribed under his Marksman’s delineation, two new abilities were written:
Delineation: Marksman
Heavy Weaponry (Tier 1): The Gunslinger is able to activate their musculature to its fullest extent in order to operate heavy weaponry.
Ricochet Shot (Tier 2): The Gunslinger envisions the internal geometry of a target, combined with external geometrical factors, developing an immediate and comprehensive understanding of ricochet potential.
Clara read the text out loud beside him. “Did your AI tell you about how to improve your abilities during calibration? What to work on next? How to train?”
“Yeah,” Andy said. “It said: Drink more, you’re slacking. So I followed orders.”
“No, seriously Andy.”
Andy paused, thinking back to his recent recalibration. The hallucinations were haunting, yet graciously vague. “Not much really. The robot voice has been shy, acting strange. I think we had a falling out.” Andy shrugged. “Probably finally got sick of me. I told it who was boss down in that factory, made it obey me. Since then, it’s been in a strop.”
“A falling out?” Clara asked, scanning the terminal. “I don’t think AIs go into strops.”
“Well I don’t know then.”
“Could this explain things?” Clara pointed to an error message displayed at the bottom of the reading which read: DNA compromised. Mutation present. Containment aborted. Soldier compromised.
“Huh.”
“This happened because you never recalibrated,” Clara said. “The Augmentation screws with your DNA. It’s constantly changing things. It’s not perfect technology. You’ve probably developed some sort of cancer because you never looked after yourself.”
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“Nah, I doubt it.”
“Oh yeah? What about your dodgy toe, Andy?”
“We don’t talk about my toe.”
“My AI told me that if I avoided recalibration for just thirty days, there was a three percent chance of my DNA corrupting. Three percent! You went two years without using an AMC when you first got Augmented, and then what… six times since then?”
Andy grunted. “I’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’ve not screwed your abilities up for good.”
“My AI’s just being pissy. I told you, I made it my bitch. It works for me now.” Andy stood up and drew Julie, aiming her off into the forest. As soon as he touched her handle, power flowed through him like a hot shower. “I still feel it. We’ve still got it.”
“Alright, I get it. Calm down.”
“Want me to prove it?” Andy stumbled through the bracken onto the road. “Give me something to shoot, I’ll hit it. I’ll hit that bird in the sky.”
“No, I trust you.”
Clara’s words doused Andy like a bucket of water on flames. His sister looked at him worriedly, with a touch of amusement. Andy holstered Julie, feeling a little embarrassed about his outburst. “Alright.”
“Let’s keep an eye on this warning message, see if it changes. I’m sorry to have a go. These vortex abilities are pretty cool,” Clara said, taking her terminal back.
“What’s that?” Andy pulled a face like he’d smelled something foul. “Are you giving me praise?”
“No.” Clara turned her back on him, kicking out the fire. “I’m saying keep up, cause I’m coming for you. How long do you think it’ll be before I’m stronger than you? A month? Two months?”
Andy opened his mouth to speak, but his mind faltered on the dying embers as Clara kicked up a cloud of ash. His sister was driven, combat experienced and physically fit, and now she was Augmented too. “Shit.”
“You’re right shit. With a little training and attention to detail, I’ll surpass you in no time.”
“Nah, I have natural talent. I’m a killer. You’re just a bookworm.”
“A bookworm with magic hands.” She splayed her fingers in front of Andy’s face, and a spark jumped between her tips.
“You keep saying that, sis, and, I think you think it’s cool. But it’s really not. The magic hands bit is forced.”
“What, no it isn’t.”
“It’s forced.”
“It’s a classic, like a magician.”
“It’s try-hard.”
Clara reached out and poked Andy between the eyes. A jolt of electricity pinched his brow, sending a spasm through his body. Andy arched his back and staggered backwards with a yelp, grabbing a branch to stop himself falling.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” Clara extended a hand above him. “I didn’t mean to do it so hard. Are you okay?”
Andy drew Julie and pointed her at Clara’s head, but kept his finger off the trigger. In a dramatic tone reminiscent of the anime programmes he used to watch as a kid, he boomed, “Vortex Shot-o.”
Clara laughed. “Alright killer, settle down and help me pack up.”
“Why didn’t it work?” Andy slapped the revolver in his palm, then peered down Julie’s barrel. “Dammit. Give me that terminal back, I need to read up on how to shoot this thing. Is it this sticky out bit here? Do I pull that bit? Where do the bullets come from?”
“Yeah, yeah. You won’t be making fun when I’m shooting lightning out of my eyes because I put in the hard work and training.”
“I will actually. That sounds ridiculous.”
Together, they packed their gear onto the motorbike and readied to set off. “We’re on the outskirts of a couple of zones,” Clara explained. “But further west is a region of fae creatures.”
“What’s that?”
Clara scowled at her terminal, reading the notes. “Trolls, fairies, gnomes, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds lame.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a distress signal nearby. I’ve been honing in on it for a couple of days, but the mountains keep blocking the signal. We’re getting closer, could be something in it.”
Andy nodded slowly. “Which way are we heading now?”
Clara roamed out onto the road and pointed through the woods towards a mountain in the valley opposite. “Around that way. We have enough fuel to last us about a week. If we don’t find anything by then, we’ll return to the Haven Inn and start again.”
“What about those patriots who gave us the lava lamp job?”
“Patricians,” she said. “No. I don’t want to work with them.”
“Alright.”
Clara paused, something unspoken. “I don’t trust them. They’re extremists. Dangerous.”
“Say no more.” Andy mounted the bike. “I want to drive.”
“Andy, the road-”
“I’m sick of riding bitch. It’s your turn.”
Clara glared at him stubbornly. It was the exact same face she used to pull when they argued as kids.
“Fine,” she conceded. “But don’t go too fast, the suspension can’t handle it.”
“Rodger, todger.”
For the better part of a day, they bounced through the hills on uneven country paths with Clara directing him.
“What kind of trolls are we talking about?” he asked, slowing their motorcycle to a crawl so that they could talk over the growling engine.
“Fantasy trolls.”
“That could mean anything. Big angry ones with clubs or the more whimsical under the bridge fairytale sort?”
“I’d imagine the fairytale sort. A lot of the reports in this area lean in that direction. James leant me a book before we set off–an encyclopaedia of folklore. It said trolls are weak to fire in some mythologies, and ice in others.”
“What isn’t weak to fire.”
“Alright… Especially weak.”
Near nightfall, Clara’s terminal beeped loudly. They were getting close. Dismounting, they wheeled their bike into a bush. Clara fitted a small tracking under the engine so that they could find it if they wandered far. Andy slung his shotgun over his shoulder and followed Clara, climbing up a verge, gripping spindly tree roots crawling over the rocky earth. Clara stopped periodically, assessing their progress and mapping a route. The terrain was unpredictable, rocks slipped underfoot, some branches tore as he trusted his weight to them, but it was nothing compared to the thousands of stairs of the lava lamp factory. At least out here, there was fresh air.
At one stop, Andy breathed deeply, rhythmically, and actually felt a bit of a headrush coming on from the exercise. He wouldn’t admit it to Clara, but he was kind of enjoying their hike. It was rare they got outdoors, just the two of them without being in immediate danger. It reminded him of the good old days, hiking through the wasteland with fuel canisters strapped to their backs. Clara often beat herself up about how their career as mercenaries was going, but considering where they’d come from, Andy thought they were doing just fine.
“It’s close,” Clara said, nodding ahead, down a shadowy verge. The sun had dipped behind the hilltops, softening to a grey-blue, but Andy could still see fine. In fact, he could focus better now that the sunlight wasn’t aggravating his hangover. Clara put her finger to her lips and pointed ahead. The sounds of grunting and snuffing came from below. Andy crept forward until he had a full view of the clearing below.
Two humanoid beasts loitered outside what looked like the entryway to a mineshaft, each twice the size of an average man. Their skin was as rough as bark, their lips were squat like horseshoe mushrooms, tiny eyes like pebbles sunk into their green-ish grey mossy complexion. One of the trolls crouched on its haunches, tearing apart a fluffy carcass in its hands. Its long, carved fingernails were each like a vulture’s crooked beak. They seemed unwieldy long, however the troll butchered the rabbit with ease.
The second troll was hard at work, scraping away the stone into which the mine-shaft door was set. A thick mane of black wiry hair ran down its scalp and spine like a skunk’s streak. White pebbles lay scattered at its feet, its face and arms powdered with dust. Andy didn’t know how long the trolls had been there, mindlessly scraping away at the rock, but he commended their tenacity. They must really want access to whatever was inside.
Andy held two fingers up to Clara.
She held three back, then pointed towards the edge of the clearing. Andy squinted. He had mistaken the third troll for a crooked tree, they were so perfectly camouflaged. The creature stood unmoving, gripping the tree’s trunk, merging like a chameleon.
“The distress signal is in there,” Clara breathed into his ear, softer than the wind. She pointed at the stone archway. “The trolls… maybe they’re peaceful?”
Andy scowled at her, then raised an eyebrow.
“Fine.” Clara sighed, shifting into a pounce. “Ready?”
Andy nodded.
“Go after me,” Clara said. Clenching her hand into a fist, yellow light seeped through her fingers as though she was clutching a bulb. Her hand shook as her expression hardened with concentration. Knelt beside her, Andy could feel the heat building in her hand like a campfire. Suddenly, Clara rose to her feet and threw the light like a stone. Electricity lashed through the air, crackling like a flashbang above the heads of the trolls. They flinched and gazed at the sky, crouching in fear.
“Shit,” Clara said, unslinging her SMG and opening fire. Andy rose to his feet and blasted the troll nearest the archway with his shotgun. Each round blew chunks in its stoney carapace. He didn’t need to activate any of his Augmentation’s abilities–it was easy work, and Andy preferred to go vanilla sometimes. The troll moaned and raised its hands to protect its face, then fled into the forest with its brethren. After just a few paces, the trolls blended with the trees, disappearing out of sight. But Andy could hear their heavy footsteps retreating into the wood.
Clara took point, clambering down the verge while Andy remained in overwatch until she signalled it was clear.
“Cool ability,” Andy said, climbing down after her.
“It’s not what I meant to do.”
“The flashbang got them.”
“It was supposed to be a thunderbolt.” Clara pouted, approaching the archway cut into the rock. Dug one metre into the rocky alcove was a stout metal door. The rock around the frame had been chipped away by the trolls, but they hadn’t seemed any closer to breaking in.
“Here we go.” Clara rasped on the door. “Anybody home?”
There was silence.
“We’re mercenaries. We responded to your distress signal. Can you hear me?”
“Hello?” The voice crackled from a vent in the door’s frame–a small speaker set into the steel.
“Hey, yeah. We dealt with the trolls outside. That’s what I’m assuming the distress signal was about.”
“Thank you,” the voice crackled. “Yes. It was.”
“Okay, so, you owe us.”
There was no response. Clara sighed. “Why don’t you open the door so we can negotiate. It’s safe to come outside now.”
“There’s a microphone in the speaker system.”
“Okay?”
“I can hear you just fine where you stand.”
Clara shared a look with Andy, mouthing ‘Arsehole.’
“And a camera,” the speaker said.
Clara narrowed her eyes. “So you saw us spend ammunition to take care of those trolls then, risking our lives, because of your distress signal.”
“No, I was… busy. Listen here, denizens of the wasteland. I am grateful for your efforts to rid my doorstep of pests, however, I am a solitary fellow, unwanting and unwilling to open my front door to strangers. Please, take my thanks as payment, and these.” A thin latch opened at the bottom of the door. A short stack of paper was pushed through the opening.
Andy ripped the sheets out of the opening and jammed the barrel of his shotgun through the latch. “Open the door, dickhead, or I’ll shoot.”
Someone screamed inside, the voice crackling over the intercom. Something bashed the barrel of Andy’s shotgun. The blood rushed to Andy’s head. Crouching down, he aimed the muzzle upwards as much as he could, but Clara put a hand on his shoulder before he could fire. “Chill, bro.”
“You owe us,” Andy growled, retracting his shotgun.
“What are these?” Clara picked through the papers the vault occupant had handed over. They contained cartoon scribbles divided into squares, annotated with writing. “Is this a comic?”
“It’s a screenplay.” The voice was sharp, like a yelping dog whose tail had just been stood on. “Marco and the Marconaughtic Strangers. That’s the first edition. There are only fifteen copies in the world. A very rare and valuable piece of post-cataclysm media.”
“We could smoke him out,” Andy said. “These vaults always have air vents. We barricade this exit, find the airhole. Light a fire.”
“Yes, good idea Andy.” Clara spoke loudly, her voice taking on a superficial tone. “We could smoke him out, then blow the door open and steal everything inside.”
“You’re bluffing.” The voice behind the door stammered. “Are you bluffing?”
“Although, we don’t want to overdo it like we did last time,” Clara said. “Those maps were ruined by the smoke, and the poor bastard hiding inside had trashed the place trying to get out. Let’s be more careful this time, make sure he’s asleep when we do it. Maybe give it a few hours and come back.”
“I don’t understand why you would just be standing there explaining your plan like this,” the voice said. “You’re definitely bluffing.”
“I’m trying to demonstrate that we’re ruthless,” Clara blurted, banging her fist on the door. “Are you stupid? You hired us for a job-”
“No I didn’t.”
“You de-facto hired us when you sent your distress signal out. Rules of the wasteland.”
“Actually, I didn’t know if that distress signal was even working.”
“Well, it was.”
There was silence.
“Listen, it’s just us two. My name’s Clara, and this is Andy. We’re mercenaries. We’ve done you a job, we’d like to get paid. Some food, ammunition, supplies, anything you can trade will do.”
Further silence.
“It’s getting dark out here. Now, it’s one thing for you to not pay us, it’s another to leave us stranded in the wasteland with a bunch of pissed off trolls roaming the woods at night. Open the door, please.”
Andy turned his back on the vault entrance, scanning the surrounding forest. He sensed something staring back. It was one thing ambushing a monster like that, catching it off guard, but it was another fighting a whole group of them in their home territory at night. Either they had to get inside the vault right now, or leave the area quickly and return to their bike.
“It’s a mess in here,” the voice said.
“Trust me,” Clara said. “I’ve seen worse.”
There was the sound of metal scraping against metal as several latches were released. The door creaked open on heavy hingest, grinding against the grit left on the ground where the trolls had tried to dig their way inside. Warm air hit Andy, carrying with it the stench of body odour. A face appeared in the crack. His dusky complexion was speckled with a scraggly black beard. Rectangular spectacles framed his bloodshot eyes. The young man’s hair was a mess, knotted in clumps like a tangled fishing net. He pushed his head out a fraction further, scanning each of them, eyes lingering on their firearms. The collar of his shirt was bright and colourful, blossoming with red and orange flowers. He grinned, bearing his yellowing teeth. “Greetings, denizens of the wasteland. My name is Gabriel, welcome to my humble abode.”