>> The Disloyalty Program

Machine-arms click as dead robot cashers twitch back into life. Disturbing entire sheets of dust as they rise. “Oh, my! W- W- Wel….come…. to….” Wheezes the one with a slashing streak across its face. “….Your Friendly…. Local autoMart…..” Click. Whir. Lens caked in dust, focusing on nothing. "WAR-ning. This- this- Friendly Local Store is in Short Term Hiber-nation Mode! Goodness! That means you are tress- tress- tresPASSING! WARNING! INITIATING-"

Which is as far as it gets before Demon tears its head clear off.

Kami snarls and tosses Tufty, one-handed, right at the damn machine. He shrills, flails, and latches on - scrabbling and jerking as his hands are shocked on the wire-filled stump. But he jams his arm in it to the elbow and begins to tear, as the rest of us spread left.

Me and Zip opening fire on the other counter - the one facing ours - while Demon holds our backs. I hear him hammer down on the second bot in line, literally yanking off arms like matchsticks as Tufty fights Headless. Skittering and screaming as the doomed bot splays rubbery shocker-tendrils from its back. I spot em in my peripheral, and everybody flips out of the way.

But I see a flash of green rage and fire in his terrified eye. A jolt of something madder than adrenaline. Harder than steel. And he almost flickers with speed. Stabbing claws into the back-side of its case, and ripping the entire zapp-unit out. Trailing live shockers as he kicks off a pillar, then Demon's prey. Hurling it, tentacles and all, into the feeble - groping - arms of the third bot in line. He impacts the wall beside it. Flipping backward to land on the counter, with one foot. Smack. Then backwards, again, to land on the first bot.

Panting with crazed adrenaline, and smothering down his fringe.

I flip onto the opposite counter as a stocker bot veers at me. Loader prongs gleaming. But that puts me right in the line of the middle bot on that side. It swings at me, and I pounce. Slamming both heels into arms and chest as its shockers begin to unfurl.

But it's damaged. Shot to hell. And I void it's warranty with the crook of my crowbar. Smashing down through fragile - bullet-torn - shell to crack the delicate internals. It sticks, and I wrench - hard. Tearing out it metal heart, plus miles of cable and tubing. Hurling it away as I leap onto the second bot in line. Right in the middle of the row. Stabbing the barrel of my gun into a hole, and firing off an overcharged quad-shot. Smoke oozes out as the servos begin to fail, leaving me barely enough time to flip off its back. One hand hitting the counter as I launch directly off it.

Slam. Onto the plastic shoulders of bot number three.

Blasting its face into the counter.

"Deeply sorry! E-e-e--escalating priority sit- sit- situation to our Customer Care Team-!" It jabbers as I slam my black-bladed army-knife into its neck, and jam my crowbar into the core of its limp - half-broken - shocker tendrils. Dropping it with a yelp that sends me flipping backward, onto the counter. Right as the third and final bot in line whips around. Slashing its own sticky, rubberised, feelers at my general location. Sparks snapping from the copper dots along their length.

Swearing voraciously, I flip backward again to escape - and unload a quad-shot directly into its face. The thing jolts, but doesn't fall. And the second, middle, bot is rising again - dust in its eyes as it snatches, blindly, at the blurred shapes of my team. Which is when I spot the stubby pair of extra-chunky arms sliding free from its sides.

"GUNS! THEY GOT GUNS!" I roar, and jump to smash the mid-bot back into the counter. Firing directly, and repeatedly, into the core of the end machine. It jerks, spasms, and falls. Right as the one I'm stood on begins to unhook its own weapons. But I latch on, flipping my hips around to straddle it. Kicking down with tough heels to snap the fragile weapons.

Then I go absolutely ham on it.

"Good-ness me-me-me-me, an error! Mishandled-"

"Mishandle this!" I quip, poorly. Hammering my gun into the side of its head. "Yeah! Your.... coupon.... of existence.... is expired!"

"Shut up, Spook!" Kami yells, smashing a robot arm into a robot skull. Twisting it off. And hurling it into the side of a shelf-stocker bot that comes blurring past on wide, rugged, omni-wheels. The thing screeches. Spins. And launches a sticky silicone shocker-net at Tufty, who leaps - wildly - to dodge. Landing on one leg, and bounding along the counter as a second machine hoses it down with capture-gel. A plan that works great - right up until Kami beats its head inside-out with her titanium fists. Opening the airspace for Tufty leap the goo, landing on a Karen-Resistant Decoy Manager Bot.

Which, it turns out, is less than GMO-proof.

I leave my own prey a ruined lump of torso, flashing with red and blue lights, and leap again. Hammering down on a cleaning puck that warbles, unhappily, and drops the knife it must have stolen from the kitchen section. Leaving Demon to eviscerate the final cashier on the other side. Leaving it a doomed, twitching, mass of wires and broken circuity.

Still basically active, but what’s it gonna do? Waggle at u-

“Turrets!!” Kami screams, and we all dive for cover.

“You cOuld have asKed for help.” One of them stutters, shaking its barrel.

“Sorry Pol.” We all grumble in unison. Retrieving our dignity from under the counter.

“You shoUld be.” It garbles, horribly, as ruby-red lasers dart across the shop - settling on the few loose workers. “TheSe are aRmOur pieRcing.” A single, magnetically driven, gauss round punctures each. Shattering tile with a hideous snap. A second of consideration later, the turrets retract in a whirr of servos. Packing themselves back into the ceiling.

Leaving only silence.

One of the bots takes a step, then falls flat on its face.

“Damn, mate…. Like that was…. like….” Zip shakes his head. “Came in here, all cocky…. Could’ve got drilled. Over dusty ole food….”

“Yeah….” I breathe out. “Shitty rookie mistake. Gettin’ careless. Number one thing that kills Ruin Delvers, now I think about it….."

“Careless! Yes! Look!” Demon growls, tossing me the head of a bot.

“Hooligans Detected…!” It warbles, faintly, as I scrub dust and dirt off the murky glow branded deep into its forehead.

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

Revealing…..

“Corp Logo. Old one. Defunct. Should’ve bloody known…..” I toss the thing at its body, and rub my face. “Alright. Corp in play. Can’t assume nothin’. So keep ya eyes out. Got it?” They stare at me like idiots, so I clap my hands. “C’mon then! We won! So let’s get bloody goin'! Clear out what you can carry! Good food only!”

“Um…. Gosh…, In this place?” Tufty blinks.

“Point noted! Grab anythin' that’s borderline edible! Kami, you got the scanner?”

“Yep.” She slaps her armour.

“Right then!" I nod. "She's gonna be mobile, so grab her over if you got anythin' weird or suspect!" I cough. "Or you think it'll be funny.”

"Oi!"

Fist meets hand, with a smack. “And no booze, drugs, or crap like that! Got it? I ain’t having us sick or wasted when The L.M.G. knock our door down….”

Kami winces, but we get to it. Ripping tiny packages off our amour that expand into thin holdalls.... while Zip does the practical, sensible thing and jimmies the shopping-carts. We grab one of each, and split into pairs to raid the heck out of our new pantry. We then re-split in then sweets isle, and re-re-split in the cake isle - after some furious whisper-shouting. Finally settling on me and Tufty handling snacks, while they chisel a few ready-meals out of the freezer.

Tufty peeps round my ankles as they storm off, then swallows. Offering me a shy hand. Like he used to, when he was small.

Cold rips my insides as I pull mine away.

“Bit…. old for that, cat-butt.” I stumble out, and his face flashes with… something. His ears snapping back as he whips furious eyes away. Puffing cheeks. It's extremely adorable. “Hey.” I nudge a foot, and he hisses. But I jerk my head. “C’mon. You can ride on the trolly.”

Ears perk, instantly. “Gosh!! Can I ??” The kid chirps, with a little hop-and-pounce onto the front. Crouching, with perfect balance, on the thin rail as I rocket toward darkened shutters. Colours blurring as we exit the isle like it’s hyperspace. Landing in a bygone age, where rows of rusty-red apples gleam beneath artisanal stasis lights. Waxy pears, all neatly lined up in their plastic pockets. Dusty bananas gathered in identically printed bunches. Tufty snuffles, cautiously, at the shrink-wrapped treats. Retrieving one with careful reverence.

“Wow….. I’ve….. gosh…. I’ve only seen pictures….” He breathes. “Are they real? Spook? Are they?” A glimmer of true hope in his eyes. "Real fruits!"

I hesitate, just for a second, and sigh. “Just upmarket sim-food, kid. Sorry. Real fruit would’ve rotted to nothin' by now, stasis or no.”

“Oh….” He whispers. “But do you know what they taste like? Do the pie-apples taste like the red apples?”

“Pineapples.” I snort, lifting one. “ But nah….." Then ‘gain, I only had it once before Surface crap got banned…. and that was a long, long, long time ago..... A world of cracked yellow memories, and adults five miles tall.

“Um….” He blinks. “D-didn’t that all happen a hundred years ago?? Were you really-”

“Nah. Bans got started then. But it didn’t catch up to food or stuff like that til much later. And didn't spread where we were ‘til I was, uh….. six I think?” I toss the fake fruit into the air, and catch it. “I still bloody remember it. First they vanished all the stuff that looked like animals. Plants. All that stuff. Then, a little later, it was fruit and foods. And they bloody told us they were gonna stop there! Hah!”

“Really??”

“Welp. Either that, or I’m yankin’ your chain.” I grin. “Try to guess which.”

“Mean.” He sticks his tongue out. “Um… can I try one?? Only I’ve never had fruit before…. Even not-real fruit…..”

“Hold on. Let’s take a look…..” I flip the plastic-wrapped thing again. “Mmmm. Sticky, but still pretty firm…. Smells… kinda fruity….. Better take a closer look.” I flick a quick glance around, then open my left palm. Tufty huslting in to block us from view as little lights flicker between my fingers. Fine lasers criss-crossing the stacks as I sweep my scanner-implant across the display. Tagging every fruit I can see with a coloured outline.

“Ah! Why did you scan me??”

“No reason.” I snort. “Now. Let's see….”

‘Farmer Frank’s noFruits' (Various)

Synthetic food item.

Age: 78.5 years

Stability: Moderate

Edibility: Questionable

Other: Items exhibits signs of being held in long-term stasis.

Born in the mythical “First Era” of The City, when << DATA CORRUPTED >> “noFruits” later became slang for any form of succulent confectionery designed to look, smell, and taste like 'real' fruit. Reports vary about the accuracy of this claim; with most claiming they merely taste like artificial sweets. However; noFruits persisted as a popular & nostalgic desert long after the Funeral Of Nations.

Humanoid GMO (Neko Form)

Synthetic lifeform - Cybernetic

Age: 12.7 years

Stability: Moderate

Edibility: Questionable

Implants: Wired Reflexes, Berserk, Pain Ray, Military-Grade Brain Augmentations (Various), Grade ‘D’ Ichor Nanites.

Other: Subject appears to have suffered massive head-trauma.

Small & generally slight, ‘Nekos’ are a Feline GMO variant known for their speed and agility. Standing about half to three-quarters the average human height, they have typically quite minor feline features. For example: catlike eyes, ears, tail, and (rarely) some limited fur. While Nekos are only considered ‘half’ GMO by the Post Human Alliance, due to their limited animal traits, the breed is nevertheless one of the most populous Feline variants to have appeared over the last two centuries.

“Welp. Good enough to sell as antiques, at least….. Not you, I mean.” I toss the noFruit again. “Pretty rare find, too. Bet we could make a-“ I do a quick ‘Badger-check’. “-total bomb on these, to the right guy….. Or trade em for some actual fresh snacks, maybe....."

“Oooh! Gosh! Maybe we’ll be rich!” Tuffy purrs and hops, happily clutching his cheeks. “And can we try some??”

“Wouldn’t count on 'rich'.” I snort. “But yeah. Dump a box out, and we’ll grab two of each. One to try, and one to tryn’ sell….” A few seconds later, we drop the case into the trolley, and Tufty pops up on the side to sniff it happily. Curling up on the corner of the cage, like a figurehead, as we scoot down the biscuit isle. Scanning and grabbing as we go.

“Oh! Can we get the big Rooshas Caramel Cookies!? The triple chocolate ones!?”

“Nah, they’re fifty credits.” I tease, waggling the cart. “Ya think I’m made of imaginary outdated money?”

“Huffff!” He floofs his fringe. Whopping my arm with his tail. “But really? Really?”

“Heh. Y’sure do open up when it’s just us…..” I chuckle as he bops me again - huffing hugely. “Alright! Alright! Scan away. Get two. But put em in the ‘don’t let Gremlin see it’ pile….”

With an excited little hop, he swipes his left hand over the gleaming stack in a glitter of rainbow energy. Awakening every little holo cartoon, even as he shines his own little light.

And then pauses. “Um….. uh……”

“What?”

“Um, there’s..... weird stuff in them?”

"Weird? What?" I blink, flipping his screen to see the ingredients. "Let’s see. Synthetic sugars…. sweeteners, coal-dyes, artificial flavourings, bulking agents, smoothing agents, creaming agents, numbers, preservatives, artificial flour, waxes, carcinogens, perfuments, salt, synthetic oils, metals, plastic…. and synthetic vitamins too!" I grin. "Sounds bloody awesome!"

“Gosh? Um? Really? Metals and perfumes and poisons, though??” Tufty sticks a tongue out. “Yuck!”

“Yep! Just what a growing GMO needs!” I cough. “If they’re a scaly lil bin.”

He slicks his tongue out. “Mlem! She’d eat the wrap, too!”

“Yeah.” I snort. “Plus the bag they came in. The shelf. The floor under it. Maybe a nearby wall, too….. In fact….” I add, in a slower voice. “We’re gonna need a ‘lil monster’ proof place to store this….”

We grab some synthetic jerky off a hanging thing, plus a nice choco-nut-marshmallow spread to dunk our healthy snacks in. Specifically the jerky, if they're Badger. Then we swing down the chiller isles for ice cream.

And stop. Abruptly.

“Uh…. W-what’s that?” Tufty trembles, shrinking into a quiet huddle in the basket and peering over the edge. I slow the cart to a stop at the edge of the darkened isle.

It’s a dead spot. Darker than even the dim-lit isles.

No stasis lights. No light at all.

But there....

....in the chillers....

.....something....

....squirms....

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