The stench assaulted my nostrils. It was sulfuric, yes. But also ashes, gunpowder, singed fur, and still something else. Something putrid. It was dim inside, the only light currently coming from the exterior lamps filtering through filmy windows. Again I cursed myself for my lack of preparedness. I would give anything to have those thermal goggles back.

The warehouse was multi-leveled with a grid of catwalks, and appeared to sink into the ground, with subterranean corridors connecting to other sections or perhaps adjacent warehouses.

I drew my revolver and made my way down metal staircases to the lower level, ducking to avoid hitting my head on thick chains and cables. I followed the sounds of fighting. There was another light source ahead. A flicker of flame dancing on a pile of ash and fabric. I circled around a massive stack of girders in the middle of the warehouse floor to get a closer look.

Crunch.

I stopped and looked down. What had I stepped on? My eyes adjusting to the light cast by the tongue of fire, I saw. It was the skeletal remains of a human hand. Blackened. I had cracked two of the fingers under my boot. I quickly stepped back.

Looking ahead, I noticed other bodies, equally crisped, lying in the recessed corridor. Then I realized what that elusive smell was. Burning flesh. Shouldn’t these bodies disappear? Go back to the Restoration Point? I thought about what the ColSec officer said about the explosion in The Commons. A bottleneck at the Restoration Point. What was it like to die and not be able to respawn? Would you know that you were dead? Or was it just empty nothingness. I hoped not to find out just yet.

I climbed down into the corridor. Fighting must have started in this warehouse and spilled over into an adjacent building.

There were more flames ahead. Small fires and charred remains. Blood stains from man and beast dragged over concrete. The further I went, the heat of fire and the coppery scent of blood grew more potent.

“Ohhh bog… Ugh…”

I pivoted, instinctively pointing my gun at the source of the moan. There was a person propped up against the wall in an unnatural way, like a rag doll. Their face was burned badly, and blood seeped from their mouth. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, not that it mattered. Maybe they were like me.

Sorry, you scared me!

“Kill me… please…”

What?

“My spine… my spine is broken. I can’t move. The pain… oh bog… losing krovvy but not quick enough…”

I realized they must be in terrible agony from their burns and other injuries.

Listen. Maybe I can get help for you. Do you have any consumables? Anything?

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“No… put me out of my misery. I can’t fight… can’t move… just kill me…”

Where are the others? Did anyone survive?

The person coughed up blood, tried to shrug a shoulder or move their head to the side but failed.

“More lewdies are… deeper in… kill me you dram nazz… do it…”

This person would just respawn, I reminded myself. It wasn’t murder or anything. I would be doing them a favor. Volunteers helping each other, and all that. But then, I hate to admit, a selfish thought. I only had five bullets. Did I want to waste one on this mercy killing? Such a dram selfish thought.

The crippled Volunteer seemed to read my mind.

“Shotgun… take my… oh bog…”

I looked down at their feet. A blood-stained single barrel shotgun rested there. I dematerialized my revolver and carefully picked up the weapon. It was a break-action shotgun, old school, so I located the breach lever and opened the action. There was a spent shell, which I discarded. Looking down again, a belt around the Volunteer’s waist held maybe half a dozen shells, with many additional empty slots where shells had been.

Curious, I concentrated on the weapon to access its details.

[Weapon: Breech-loading Shotgun

Weapon Type: Ranged (ballistic)

Level: 2 of 10

Frequency: Common

Damage Output: 80

Details: A breech-loading shotgun with a single long barrel. One of the oldest and simplest shotgun types, this design allows the shooter to open the action and manually insert a shotshell and reload, removing spent shells after firing.

Properties: Ammunition - requires 12 gauge shotgun shells. Holds one shell at a time and must be manually reloaded.

Size: 40 metabytes]

80 damage output? Wow. And the weapon had been upgraded a level. That must have contributed to the impressive power. At least impressive compared to what I was packing.

“Kill me!” the victim wheezed in agony.

Are you sure? Is there anything else–

“Do it!”

I plucked a fresh shell off the belt, loaded the shotgun, and closed the break with a click. Uncertainly, I brought the barrel up against the Volunteer’s head. They struggled to move their head and torso, attempting to lean into it, eager for the reprieve it would bring.

I’m sorry…

I shut my eyes and pulled the trigger. There was a tremendous blast. The Volunteer’s head turned to paste, splattering me with shreds of gooey flesh and bits of bone. When I opened my eyes the head was vaporized. Gone.

A wave of nausea hit me. I dropped the shotgun and fell to my hands and needs, retching and gagging. Nothing came up of course, just dry heaving that twisted my insides in a vice.

The headless corpse slumped further down the wall. No respawn yet.

What did I just do? I shuddered, getting back to my feet. I just killed somebody. No, not really. Not on purpose. I hadn’t meant it. It wasn’t real, right? Right?

A deep growling caught my attention, and I turned to see two pairs of glowing red eyes approaching from down the corridor.