“Anything I want?” Andy’s eyes were wide and hungry as he surveyed the armoury.

“Within reason,” his smartly dressed tour guide replied. “Anything which you might require during your employment with us.”

Located on the second floor, the armoury was lit by electrical bulbs–no windows or candlelight. A variety of assault rifles stood to attention in racks like fields of sunflowers; bandoliers full of grenades hung from hooks like fruitful pea-pods, ready to burst. Beehive sacks of miscellaneous ammunition piled in one corner beside the honeycomb boxes of assorted rounds. Andy opened a cabinet and brushed his fingers over machine gun belts, cascading like bronze waterfalls, and shuddered.

“Should do.” His voice broke a fraction like an adolescent. Swallowing his delight, Andy cleared his throat. “Yeah, whatever. I can make this work.”

The sun was setting by the time Andy had finished making his selection. He excited the armoury wearing new boots, armoured gloves, and a slim tactical vest underneath his leather jacket. A semi-automatic pistol tucked into a breast holster–some company for Julie–he knew she got lonely during the long hours while there was nothing to shoot. His brand new bandolier was bountiful with frag, stun and smoke grenades. A short barrelled assault rifle slung over his shoulder, two large magazines taped together in the magwell and four more stashed in pouches of the vest. There had been other gizmos for the rifle, but Andy preferred the basics: iron sights and some duct tape. He had ammo for both sidearms, but chose not to take a speedloader for Julie. He considered the devices impersonal–Andy liked to touch the bullets as he fed them into her cylinder, assigning each of them to his targets. This one’s for you. And this one’s for you.

Something drew his attention at his hip–Julie was vibrating softly, or so it seemed that way.

“What’s the matter, babe?”

Julie didn’t respond.

“You don’t have to feel jealous, girl. This?” Andy brandished the rifle. “This ain’t nothing. This is just a tool.”

Julie was silent. It was her go-to. She had spent years buried beneath the body of a dead man before Andy had rescued her. Though she was passionate, Andy got the impression that she had abandonment issues, and with Andy’s Augmentation pushing them together, binding them with new abilities, he wondered how much longer this casual period between them would last before things got serious.

“The pistol?” Andy said, patting the 9mm in his breast holster. “This skinny bitch? Babe, Julie, she ain’t a threat. She doesn’t compare, you know that.”

“Excuse me?”

The voice came from down the hallway. It was a militiaman, younger than Andy, a different man than the one who had escorted him to the armoury over an hour ago. Or so it seemed… he wasn’t wearing a waistcoat, unless he’d just taken it off at some point. Andy couldn’t be sure, he wasn’t great with remembering faces.

“You got anything bigger?” Andy said.

“You’d like to compare something bigger?”

“Yeah.”

“Bigger than what?” the militiaman asked.

“Bigger than what I could feasibly hold in my arms.”

The kid stared at him confused.

“I want to fix something to my jeep,” Andy said.

The kid blinked. “Like an LMG?”

“Like an LMG.”

“Erm,” he scratched his head. “I’m not sure about that, I’d have to ask.”

“Well, show me first, ask later.”

The kid’s eyes wandered the ceiling for an answer. He fiddled with a button on his waistcoat, his forehead shone in the candlelight of the corridor, suddenly sweaty. “I…”

“Come on,” Andy said. “I’m expected to be somewhere.”

“Okay. But only to look. I would need to get permission before you take anything else.”

Andy didn’t respond. The boy took him down a flight of stairs and through the mansion towards a workshop. The air was crisp with the smell of metal shavings and diesel. A series of workbenches were occupied by vehicle parts, machinery and weaponry. The room was lit softly from electrical desk lamps, fastened to tables and shelves dotted around the room. The floor was smooth where the wood grain had been packed by dust. Mounds of sawdust and fibres piled in every tiny corner. Two heavy calibre machine guns were mounted on the walls, while one more was in pieces, clamped to a bench, being worked on by engineers.

“That one,” Andy pointed to one of the mounted machine guns, painted dark red and black.

“Excuse me,” an fat engineer dressed in work overalls interrupted them. “Who’s this?”

“Kid, catch this gentleman up on our arrangement.” Andy strolled over to the LMG and unlatched the chains affixing it to the wall.

Behind him, the two talked in hushed voices, then the youngest one’s tone pitched up an octave and he waved his arms. “I don’t know. He’s a guest of the master. I don’t know.”

The engineer sighed. “Excuse me sir, you shouldn’t be here.”

Andy hoisted the massive gun down and hefted it on his shoulder. His assault rifle slipped and he caught it in the crook of his arm, hunching to carry both weapons. His spine ached under the weight. “That’s quite alright, I’ll just be on my way.”

Suddenly, the weight lessened. Two more engineers were lifting the machine gun off his back, while the third, more talkative one, got in his face. “No, I don’t think so. Callum, fetch a senior.”

Andy watched his dreams disintegrate before his eyes as the engineers repositioned the LMG back on the wall-mount. Defeated, he bowed his head and tried to get past the fat engineer.

“I don’t think so. Wait here.”

“I’m sorry, I would love to oblige.” Andy slid under the engineer’s outstretched arm. A trickle of his Augmentation’s powers seeped into his veins, enhancing his dexterity as his Evasive Fire ability hummed in the background of his mind. Andy skirted out of reach and towards the stairs. “But time waits for no man, not even I.”

The big engineer stepped after him. “This workshop is off limits to guests.”

“As I am now made plainfully aware.” Andy had intended to say painfully or plainly, but got caught somewhere between the two. “Adios.”

Andy marched up the stairs, and moments later, the young militiaman came running after him. “Excuse me, can you wait here. I need to get a senior.”

“Here, in the stairwell?”

“Well, maybe at the top of the stairs.”

“Take me to my lodging,” Andy said. “If you need to fetch a senior, tell them I’ll be waiting there.”

The young man hesitated.

“I’ll make it worth your while…” Andy said, finishing the sentence in his head: In that I won’t shoot you in the balls.

After a little friendly cajoling, the militiaman obeyed, escorting Andy out of the mansion and towards the town’s clifface. Outside, the sky had an evening shine, which reflected in the white chalky puddles along the path. His guide shivered, but Andy didn’t feel the cold. They scaled the timber ramps and arrived at a shack three stories up. “Well done,” Andy said, tipping his guide a .22 bullet from the bottom of his pocket. “Breakfast at five, is that correct?”

“Breakfast?” the young man blinked. No sense of humour.

Andy turned around and entered their shack. Inside a small shack with two beds stuffed with old linens. Clara was kneeling, her high powered rifle lay neatly dismantled on the floor like a drawing of weapon schematics. The candlelight lit her face, transforming her features into shadowy auburn.

“What’s up?” Andy said, slinging his assault rifle and packs on the bed.

“I’m just packing, preparing everything.” She was cleaning a chamber with a wire brush and oil cloth, checking every cavity for dust and imperfection. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, that’s a good point actually.”

Clara nodded to a bowl of half-eaten food. “It’s all yours.”

“Nice one.”

“What did you get from the armoury?” Clara asked.

“Guns,” Andy said over a mouthful of chunky stew.

“I can see that.”

Andy patted his new sidearm and grenade bandolier, twisting his hips to show them off like a fashion show. “You like?”

“Very nice.” She whistled. “I got enough ammunition for the two of us as well. Although, It’d be nice to know exactly what we’re getting into before we pack. Blue Eyes was just getting into it before you interrupted our meeting. Luckily, there’s a mission briefing tonight at the headquarters.”

Finishing the food, Andy jumped into his bed and unscrewed his hip flask. “We’ll be fine. We’ll improvise.”

“I know we’ll be fine,” Clara said, “because I always prepare. Do you want me to service your revolver?”

Andy blanched. “I beg your pardon?”

“Strip it, service it.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“You’ll do no such thing!”

Clara scowled. “Not this again.”

“Who do you think she is?” Andy took a steadying breath. “Julie doesn’t strip for just anyone. And service her. That’s disgusting.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Hmm. I know what you were implying.”

“Well, if you won’t let me do it, then at least bloody clean the thing. Look at it.”

Andy drew his revolver. Dry blood streaked over her burnished silver exterior. “I’ll give her a wipe.”

“Please do,” Clara said.

Andy squeezed a wet cloth into a bucket and wiped his baby down. “Any news?”

“Yeah, the Visionaries updated our maps.” Clara shook her wrist terminal at him. “A new zone has been discovered north of here.”

“Cool. What is it?”

“Gelatinous blobs,” Clara said. “The surveyors stumbled upon a water treatment plant that was infested with this carnivorous jelly-like substance. A whole bunch of them got eaten by it. They suspect that if the ooze had spread further, it could have infested all of the waters on the continent, if not for a nearby mega-mole infestation disrupting the underground pipe systems.”

“Disaster averted,” Andy said. “How do you kill a blob?”

“Fire? Ice? Something elemental. I don’t think bullets would cut it.”

“Huh. You got anything like that?”

“No.”

“Let’s avoid the blobs then, eh?”

“Yeah, let’s.”

The cheap vodka which Andy had filled his hip flask with from the warehouse wasn’t quite hitting the spot, so he got up and searched the cupboards for booze. “Megamoles…” He shook his head. “Some of these apocalypses are ridiculous. Who’d have thought megamoles could destroy the world?”

“Yeah, the Visionaries marked it as Class One… more of a minor catastrophe than an actual apocalypse.”

“Megamoles,” Andy rolled the word around in his mouth, imagining what they might look like, what powers they might possess. “I’m curious.”

“Well, don’t be. We’re not going that way. That’s small fry. I’ve got us a job east of here in a city infested with, drumroll please…”

Andy glanced at her when she didn’t continue. “What?”

“Drumroll please, Andy.”

Andy banged his hands on the cupboard.

“Zombies.”

Andy pumped his fist. “Yes. My favourite.” He closed the last barren cupboard and checked beneath the beds, accidently knocking one of Clara’s rifle components on the floor. “Oops. My bad. They didn’t stock us with complimentary booze then?”

“No, just pillow mints.”

“Really?”

Clara scowled at him. “No, of course not. Listen, I picked up a submachine gun for hordes,” Clara said, patting a duffel bag on her bed. “Plus a few gizmos I want to try out.”

“Good stuff.” Andy made for the door. “I am going to nip into town to buy more supplies.”

“Andy, you’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m off to get shitfaced,” he clarified. “Don’t wait up.”

“We have a meeting tonight,” Clara said. “With Blue Eyes, our employer. Have you heard of him?”

Andy shrugged. “Has he heard of me?”

“After your shootout earlier, yeah, he has.” Clara put aside her maintenance. “Andy, he’s a big deal. This quest isn’t just some little assassination job or scouting mission. This is a step up for us, professionally speaking. We might finally earn enough to buy our own place in Quadra, or elsewhere. Our own headquarters and storehouse. Our own armoury.”

“Okay, I’m listening” Andy paused in the doorway, wrestling with a question on the tip of his tongue. He clenched his jaw and gripped the door frame.

“What is it?” Clara asked.

Andy had stalled long enough. “Do you need me to come with you?”

“To the meeting?” Clara scowled.

“Yeah.”

“God no.”

“Okay, phew.” Andy relaxed.

“Listen to me,” Clara said forcefully. “I want you to find the deepest, darkest hole in the Underbelly and stay there the night. No trouble, no more gunfights. Keep your head low.”

“Darkest hole, got it.” Donning his leather jacket, Andy left his assault rifle and bandolier on the bed, taking only Julie and her nine millimetre playmate with him.

“You’re off out like that?” Clara admonished.

“Like what?”

“Bro, you stink.” She tossed him a deodorant can.

Andy inspected the deodorant can. ‘DESPERATION PERSPIRATION’ was written on it in a loud font. There was an image of a bear roaring. “Wow, cool.”

“Stay safe,” Clara said, her voice faltering a touch.

“Nothing to worry about.” Andy gave her the thumbs up and closed the door after him. He walked towards the town’s rear where the settlement stooped at the mountain’s base. Passing through the marketplace, Andy glanced into the boots of lorries, cars and waggons, ignoring the trader’s trying to coax him in for a closer look at their wares. His money was only good for one thing tonight. The smell of ale lured him towards a tavern, but he veered away. He wouldn’t be welcome in any pub under the sky after the gunfight earlier. The Underbelly was the only place he could get a drink.

Sunlight gleamed above the satellite tower on the mountain’s peak like a giant heavenly arrow pointing down into hell. At the mountain’s base, carved into the rock, was a tunnel large enough to slide a stack of tanks through. The tunnel’s maw was reinforced with a steel rim, like the barrel of a massive cannon. Banners clung to the roof like loose teeth, waving in the wind. Some kids kicked a ball against the rockface, playing in the chalk. A drunk stumbled out of the tunnel and fell to the ground. The onlookers didn’t seem to notice, nor did they bother Andy as he passed them into the candlelit throat of the Underbelly.

The tunnel inside was ribbed with a hard plastic material, like the rough throat of some massive beast. The sound of chatter and music echoed through the cavern, merged and confused. It washed over Andy in waves. The tunnel’s huge railway track had been dug out and repurposed years ago, replaced with wooden walkways. On either side of the tunnel’s interior, shacks rose three stories high to the roof. Bridges spanned above his head. Women in corsets and colourful makeup waved to passersby from bridges and balconies. Men hooted at them, raising beer-bottle salutes.

A child ran up to Andy, holding his hands out begging. “Spare a spike, mister?”

Andy sighed. He knew the score–behind every child beggar was an old ringleader, banking on the charity they earned. Andy gazed into the shadowy eaves of a nearby shack. Two men slumped into rickety chairs, watching the street impassively. It could be them, or it might not. What did it matter? Andy was staying out of trouble tonight, not ridding the streets of scum. If he did that in the Underbelly, there’d be nothing left. Not even him.

“Sorry mate.” Andy patted the kid on the head, turning to leave.

“Please mister.” The boy grabbed the tail of his leather jacket. Andy snatched his wrist and breathed sharply through his nose, eyes wide with anger. But the boy was small, and frankly, just trying to get by. He and Clara had been the same once, scrounging what dregs they could. The boy looked scared. Andy softened his grip and bent in close.

“Listen kid, I’ve got something you can keep for yourself.”

“What?” he said, and though he shrank away, his eyes were bright and curious.

“Advice.” Andy winked, putting his arm around the kid and leading him off towards the nearest bar. “Learn how to kill for yourself, ‘cause soon, you won’t be small anymore, you’ll be done with begging, and someone will try to use you for something else… They’ll work you to death in the mines or on farms, or get you in a gang to do dirty work.” Andy unscrewed his hip flask and took a swig. “Nah. That’s not a way to live. Learn to kill for yourself, kid. That’s the only way to be free.”

Andy offered the flask to the boy. He took it in both hands and sniffed the cap, scrunching his face up in disgust. “Eww.”

Andy snorted, taking back his flask. “Suit yourself.”

Andy ventured deeper into the tunnel, beyond where the light from outside could penetrate, until only the light of lanterns pierced the shadows. He stopped at every boozer along the way, trading credits for whatever the strongest thing they had was, and a pint of beer to chase it.

Alert: Contaminates detected, his AI chimed. Tolerance activated.

“Good luck,” Andy replied. He handed the barman the engraved bolt. It was a specific shape and size, scavenged from the railway that once ran through the settlement and the countryside beyond. All Andy knew was that he could trade it for booze.

“What was that?” the barman asked.

“Cheers,” Andy raised the wooden mug and drank.

After the sixth bar, Andy swayed down the track. By the tenth, he was stupefied. His journey derailed into an alcove off the central tunnel. He lounged in a canvas hammock, draped in cloth and shadows, listening to the symphony of the Underbelly, sipping pure spirit from a corked, coconut shaped bottle. The air was damp and still. He closed his eyes and let the booze sink in. With it, came flashes of the day. The nightmare he’d had before calibration in the AMC chamber. He couldn’t remember the specifics, nor did he want to. It felt like there was something his subconscious was trying to tell him–warn him about. Something deeper than the AI voices, deeper than his DNA. Andy shivered. He didn’t want to know.

“Why don’t we have that sort of technology?” The voice reached Andy, growing louder as the speaker approached. Two people entered his little alcove and took up hammocks at the opposite side. The old lady came out with two coconut shell drinks–seemingly the only thing they served here.

“No one does. It’s not real.”

“It’s got to be a little bit real.”

Andy peered out of his cocoon. The light in the alcove was dim, but his eyes were well adjusted. The speaker was a young man with curly hair, tall and skinny like Andy. His companion was a bulldog of a man, short and muscular with a buzzcut.

“Why do you suppose that?” The man with the buzzcut swigged his drink.

“Why would the old geezer send us to recover it, and the scientists too, if it wasn’t valuable?” The younger man dangled his legs out of his hammock. He took a sip and scrunched his face up at the acrid strength.

“We’ll know soon enough,” Buzzcut said. “Maybe this is God's plan after all.”

“Then what?”

“Then what what? Speak properly, Curly.”

“Then what do we do?” the other said, meeker this time.

“Take it, of course.”

The old serving woman returned with more drink, stored inside a large crab-like spiral shell, which she skillfully powered into her patron’s coconut bottles, only spilling a little bit over their hands. Exotic. Lighting a wad of incense and a bunch of candles, she held out her hands until enough engraved bolts were placed in them, then left. Gradually, the air became drier, and Andy’s mind hazier as the smoke filled his nostrils and untangled his brain.

As the candlelight brightened the alcove, Buzzcut spotted Andy and stared. “We’re not alone.”

“Don’t mind me,” Andy said. “Just another denizen of this fine establishment.”

“Oh yeah. What’s your name?”

“Dimitri,” Andy said. “Dimitri Wellington Boots. I own this section of the Underbelly. That old woman is my lover and my wife.”

They both stared at him for a moment, then went back to their drinks. Andy couldn’t believe that had worked.

“And the others?” the young man continued. “Kill them once the job’s done?”

“Curly,” the other growled. “We’re not alone.”

“Oh, that pisshead? He hasn’t got a clue.”

Buzzcut smacked his companion across the head. “You don’t have a clue.” They both left Andy alone after that. Waves of delicious numbness washed over him. The smoke and booze mingled and fizzed in his veins like a laboratory experiment. He saw bright lights and heard gunshots. He gazed down the iron sights of Julie at the demon who had taken everything from him, but watched it from a dispassionate distance. This is who he was now. Completely uncaring. He would surrender to the demon, but not before killing it. It was wearing the skin of a man, dressed in a large winter coat, lying on the concrete ground pretending to beg for its life. Andy pulled the trigger, but nothing came out. He checked the cylinder–Julie was full. He fired again, but nothing. Not even a comical cap-gun bang. The demon laughed at him. Andy lunged for it.

He hit the ground and bolted awake, holding his arms up to protect his head. Andy drew Julie and searched for targets. The chamber was dark and empty but for a candle which flickered in a puddle of wax in the middle of the floor. Andy wheezed a sigh of relief, then doubled over in a coughing fit. He checked his gear–it was all there. He hadn’t been robbed. Sitting upright on the sodden wooden floor, Andy waited for his heart to slow down.

Exciting the chamber, Andy stumbled down narrow stone corridors towards the main tunnel. To his left, the Underbelly ended with a pile of rubble where it had collapsed many years ago. To his right shone a blip of grey light as the overcast morning sky seeped through the tunnel’s mouth. Pulling his leather jacket tightly around himself, Andy found a dustbin fire to warm his bones. Beside it, an old man dressed in rags curled up with a mangy dog on a bed of sodden cardboard. Andy tore off a dry corner of cardboard to help get the fire going again and checked pockets for a watch. Did he still own one? If Andy knew the Underbelly, things got quiet at around the 5am mark, when the drinking and whoring finally got boring.

It was probably a good job he’d gone out drinking, it was better to leave the diplomacy to Clara. He’d make up for it on the road when it came time to kill something big.

Julie hummed in her holster at the thought. “That’s right.” Andy patted his revolver, warming himself in the orange glow of waking flames. “Soon, my sweet. Soon.”