The smell inside the truck was stifling. Connor hadn’t realised how bad old blood could smell. Either that or it was Allan. He wound down the window and breathed in the stuffy city air. It was only a fraction better than the truck, but it was a smell he was accustomed to.

“Close it! It’s fucking cold out there,” snapped Allan.

“I’m dying in here. Something reeks.”

“I know,” said Allan cryptically. “But you’re encased in a layer of bone. I’m freezing my scabby little tits off. Close the bastard.”

Connor hit the switch, closing the automatic window.

“You want to know why I really wanted to drive?” asked Allan.

“You’re a control freak that has to have his way?” replied Connor.

Allan chuckled. “Fuck you, then.”

They rolled past the suburbs on the outer limits of the city, passing modern, bespoke mansions of the wealthy and the simple yet spacious homes of the upper-middleclass. They had everything out here that the inner city didn’t. Connor looked at the manicured yards, tree lined streets, luxury cars and gyros with jealous hunger.

“You want to know what that smell is?” asked Allan, barely holding back from laughing.

Connor turned away from the window and the lifestyle he could only dream of. “What is it?”

“You’re sitting in it!” roared Allan.

Connor looked at his lap. “I can’t feel anything through this armour…”

“The kid must have shit and pissed himself when he saw you. I took one look at it and noped the fuck out. Ha!” said Allan, slapping his thigh.

“Eh… I’ll wash it off when we get back,” said Connor. “At least there’s one positive. I can make my enemies piss their pants with my looks.”

“You’ve got a face only the devil could love, boy,” agreed Allan.

They took a winding route, steering clear of the tenements and police hot zones. Connor doubted they could bluff their way through a routine stop with a division’s worth of weapons in the back and a bone plated boy in the front. They pulled up to Allan’s squat, deep within the abandoned industrial zone near the river. The doors and windows were either missing or smashed in. Only the concrete shell remained after looters had burnt or sold anything, they could pry off the building. A few graffiti handles decorated the concrete surfaces, the product of bored kids rather than gang markings. Allan looked at the decrepit office building with a mix of relief and disgust, as though he hated that he called this home.

“We need to get rid of this truck. Get the goods inside then we’ll dump it in case the Reyes are combing the city for it,” said Allan as he held open the driver’s door.

Connor jumped out of the passenger’s seat and joined Allan at the rear of the truck. “Will it be safe here?”

Allan shrugged. “Not long term. There’s nowhere to lock them up. Others come by occasionally to see me. It’s a big complex with a few different squats. It’s the safest I can think of right this second.” Allan opened the rear door and jumped onto the deck. “I’ll pass it down. You haul it inside.”

“Why do you get all the easy jobs?” asked Connor, his hands on his hips.

“Because you’re all muscle and little else. Leave the thinking for me, Grunt,” snapped Allan with an officers commanding tone. He passed down the first crate. “Shit this is heavy!”

Connor hefted it over his shoulder. “Another.”

Two at a time, he ran the crates inside the building, building a pile in a back room. After long, tense minutes of Allan swearing at him to run faster, Connor received the final crate.

“I’ll get started on the cache if you get rid of the truck,” said Connor, walking away.

Allan fell against the side of the truck. “…wait…”

Connor stopped and turned back. Sweat beaded on Allan’s forehead and his skin had turned a bright shade of red. The veteran wheezed and coughed as his body slumped further to the floor of the truck.

“You don’t look so good,” started Connor.

“…no shit…”

Connor lay the crate on the ground. He mounted the deck with a hop and scooped up Allan, cradling the man against his chest like a sleeping child.

“…the truck…” protested Allan, the words coming between sobs of air.

“It can wait. You need to rest,” said Connor. “We can move it later.”

The fight seemed to deflate from the man as the fatigue set in. “Okay…”

Connor jumped from the deck and carried his friend inside.

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“Haven’t done any P.T in years…” whispered Allan.

Connor bit his lip. Allan’s body was probably weakened after years of living on the streets and constant drug abuse. He wasn’t the soldier he thought he was. “You’re going to need to take care of yourself, Al. I can heal you if you want.”

Allan shook his head. “Don’t. That shit gave me nightmares last time. Bill…”

“Bill what?”

“Nothing,” sighed Allan.

Connor set Allan down in the corner of the room. The vet leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, and face pinched in pain. The pile of crates tugged at Connor, begging to be explored. Allan needed attention first, however.

“Can I get you anything?”

“…my bag…” wheezed Allan. “…over by the fire…”

Connor wandered back out. Allan’s worldly possessions fitted into a frayed and stained hiker’s backpack. They had hidden it under some wooden planking before they had left for last night’s mission. Connor retrieved the backpack and the final crate from outside. He stood at the door for a moment and watched the sun peek over the horizon. Pink daylight washed over the drab grey concrete. The noise of the city radiated through the vacant lot, amplifying the buzz of gyro fans and the hum of street traffic. His gaze dropped from the spires of downtown Boise to the delivery truck.

“One problem at a time,” he reminded himself.

Allan seemed to be asleep when he returned. Connor stood over him, debating whether to wake him or not when the vet’s eyes flickered open.

“Bag,” demanded Allan.

Connor held it out to him. “No drugs right now, eh?”

Allan snatched the backpack from him. “Don’t tell me how to live, you pious ass.”

“We need to be thinking clearly.”

Allan gave a bitter laugh. “I am. I need something to take the edge off. My heart is going to explode if I don’t do something.”

Connor felt like slapping him. “I can help.”

“I said I don’t want that kind of help,” snapped Allan. He raised a shaking hand to his chest. “I just need to calm down a little…” He fumbled the bag open and rummaged through the pack.

Connor watched, arms folded, preparing himself to remove anything illicit from Allan’s hands should it appear.

Allan nodded toward the pile of boxes. “Get organising, Grunt. There’s a bunch of five-five-six, nine and fifty ammo in there. Separate it out into different piles.”

Connor let out a long sigh. He didn’t want an argument, but did he want to forcibly stop Allan from medicating himself? It would be easy enough to connect with him with a tendril…

Allan blinked up at him with his only eye. “Did I stutter? Move!”

Connor flinched and got to work. Bright yellow stencils marked the plastic crates, identifying what was inside. Allan barked orders from his perch if Connor moved a crate to the wrong pile.

“Those are nine-millimetre rounds! Can’t you read? Over there!”

“That’s mini-ex! Don’t throw it around or you’ll blow us both sky-high!”

“Good luck loading a fucking grenade into those assault rifles. Move them to the corner!”

The venom leaked from Allan’s voice as Connor toiled. By increments, the vet calmed down and became more pleasant. Connor knew he had slipped something while he wasn’t watching. Connor shifted the last crate and stood back to marvel at their score.

“Now… If those markings are correct…” grinned Allan from the corner. “I have enough hardware to outfit several platoon’s worth of soldiers.”

Connor stared at Allan; his face contorted in a picture of anger. It took him several seconds to realise his helmet was expressionless. He made a mental note to add a hinging section to the face plate.

“What are you staring at?” asked Allan.

Connor sat on a stack of crates opposite Allan. “What now?”

The veteran looked at his feet as he thought. “I’ll get the word out amongst my brothers. I’ll have to be discreet. Only take on those whom I trust. After that, we get back in shape. Figure out our first target.” He looked at Connor. “What about you? I never asked about your next step. Are you sticking around? I may have a position for you.”

He shook his head. It was the first time Allan had taken an interest in his plans. Maybe now that Allan had a future to look forward to and ulterior motives to cater to, he gave a damn about Connor. “No. I’ve got to take care of something out East.”

“What could be more important than cleaning up your hometown?” asked Allan, grinning.

“Family, for one thing,” replied Connor. “And there’s a long story involving clones and evil corporations conducting illegal tests.”

Allan pouted until he eventually nodded his head. “Family comes first. I agree. I have no idea what you mean about clones or whatever. But after that?”

“I’m still figuring that out. This,” he said tapping his chest, “is a gift. I can honestly help people who are suffering from physical pain. Then there is the whole hero angle. I think ultimately, I’ll do what can help the most people. Absolve myself of the sins I’ve committed.”

Allan gave Connor a measured look. “What sins?”

“I’ve killed people. Innocent people,” said Connor, looking away. “They were only doing their jobs.”

“I’ve killed people who were doing their jobs. They even gave me a medal for it,” replied Allan. “There’s no difference.”

“Really? You think there is no difference?”

Allan laughed. “Of course not! The end always justifies the means. If it didn’t, we would all be going to hell. And who is to say they’re right? That these people who you killed were innocent? I’m guessing they were after you. Possibly trying to get you first? If they had succeeded, would they still be innocent?”

Connor didn’t know. He stood and walked around the small room. “Then is revenge justified? Because I want it so bad… I want to hurt the people who hurt me and my family.”

“The god-squad have a word for it, if it means so much to you. They call it vengeance. Or even Holy retribution.”

Connor stopped pacing. “Is what you’re planning? Vengeance? Is that how you’re justifying it?”

Allan spread his hands apart and leaned casually against the wall. “What the scum of this city is doing on a daily basis can’t be right. I’ll do what I need to.”

Connor snorted. It didn’t feel right killing people. He couldn’t just let Kemprex get away with what they had done to him either. The law seemed incapable of helping him if his incarceration in Chesterton told him anything. The bloated, diseased bodies of his victims swam into his thoughts, blank, leaking eyes staring at him accusingly. He had made so many mistakes…

The sound of a multiple cars screeching to a stop echoed through the building. Connor and Allan looked at each other.

“The truck…” they said in unison.