The Scout

Monday, 29th of February, 198 A.C, 20:24

“There’s an idea that pops into your head sometimes, up on that wall. It’s a dangerous one, waiting to swoop in when you stop to wipe your brow or switch out the socket on your wrench. Your perspective pulls back and you can see – I mean *really* see – what’s happening around you. What’s happening *to* you. And that’s when the thought worms its way in. You realize that the world ended two hundred years ago. We’re all just playing catch-up.” - Frankie Colman, technician for the Spark Department of City Limits

Empty guns reload. Sticks are splints.

I shouldn’t have been using my Veil. We had finally beaten back the second wave and the militia was handling the remaining trickle just fine.

I grabbed the splint from my backpack and secured it firmly along the forearm of the person I was treating. He was out of the fight, but people with injuries like this could still help with logistics, given that they were in stable condition. Fortunately for him, his was a good sort of injury. An orderly fracture, with an orderly treatment.

I finished up and looked for Ira. After a half minute of searching, I found her preparing the vanguard for re-engagement. I had to admire her leadership. She was firm enough in her command to keep everyone regimented, but soft enough not to induce unneeded chaos among her troops in the form of anxiety.

I… was not so good at that myself. Even now I was clamming up, only able to give her a nod and ready my shotgun to cover the deployment.

In the interest of gun safety, I kept my weapon pointed well away from the vanguard, aiming instead for potential problem spots along their path of engagement. The maneuver went well, and they got into position without major incident.

Not a moment too soon either. Just as they were settling in, the Psychons surged once again out of the buildings on the far side of the former parking lot.

That’s okay. Just breathe. It’s not as bad as last time. You made a promise, remember?

I nestled the butt of my gun back into my shoulder. The wall would hold. I would make sure of it.

One target at a time

Our defense had been battered by the last wave, but it had not bowed. The combined efforts of the vanguard and covering fire cut the oncoming monsters down to small chunks which the wall guard mopped up handily.

As the cleanup was winding down, I set my shotgun back in my pack to reload.

I took a moment to survey the wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a felis pop into existence. It was the one I had failed to kill at the start of the night, ready to harry its prey again.

Unfortunately for the cat thing, my tomahawk was itching for a rematch. With some quick footwork, I interposed myself between the Psychon and its target and took a wild overhead swing. The axehead made contact just above its left eye and dug down several inches.

I slammed the felis to the floor of the rampart with my follow through. To finish the job, I stamped down on its head with my left foot and wrenched my tomahawk free from the already dissipating monster.

See? Nothing to worry about. You *own* this wall.

A klaxon sounded a distance off to the East.

Shit. Okay. That’s okay. You can juuusst…

I scanned the wall. Klaxons meant that a neighboring wall section’s line had broken. Normally we’d send our reserves to box in the leak, but we were already running dangerously low on fresh militia members.

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A spattering of folks behind the wall grabbed weapons and went to help. With luck, the people stationed two sections over would have more manpower to spare.

I also caught the Heister heading out to provide backup. She didn’t have her bat out, strangely enough. I wondered why that could be.

That left myself, the Aegis, and the Deadeye still on the wall. Plus *maybe* the Scrapper, although she would probably be more useful helping out with the leak. Come to think of if, where the hell was she? Last I saw she was carrying people to the field hospital, but to my knowledge she hadn’t come back for around a half hour.

***

The Scrapper

Someone entered the tent. I heard more than saw them, considering I was still hiding behind a crate. The danger of leaking my identity composed me for just long enough to slip on my Veil. It was ill-fitting on my damp, puffy face.

A pair of workboots turned the corner. Whoever it was, they paused upon seeing me.

Sniffling, I worked my gaze up along the figure’s form. Black pants with dirt stains running along the white stripes on the sides. A worn, torn courier’s jacket to match the pants, spattered lightly with blood. And… fresh bandages that didn’t quite cover Dad’s face.

The sight of him alive and on his feet almost sent me sobbing again, but I choked back the worst of it and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see my tears through the eye holes of the kitsune mask.

His expression was complex, even with only his left eye, mouth, and jaw to go off of.

I absentmindedly tried to wipe my face, forgetting that my Veil would get in the way. My hand clunked awkwardly off the plasticky material of its surface.

The contradictions in Dad’s face resolved into a tired sigh. “You really are just a kid, aren’t you?”

I looked down at my shoes.

“My lungs aren’t what they used to be,” he continued. “My jacket soaked up the worst of things from those birds, but I must have overexerted myself trying to get them off of me. I think…” He paused to rub his nose. “I think if you hadn’t gotten me to the field hospital as quickly as you did, I would have asphyxiated.”

Hearing that statement produced a gentle warmth deep within me. He was going to be okay. What I had done had mattered.

Confusion quickly mixed with the warmth, however. “Why are you telling me this?” My wavering voice was enough to mask my identity, I hoped. “Don’t you hate me? What this *thing* on my face represents?”

Dad started coughing, and for a moment I thought he was having another attack, but after slumping down against a nearby pallet, he recovered enough to speak. “I do. Yeah.”

He stopped there. Unsure whether he was done, I opened my mouth to respond, but was cut off by a sudden tsk from him.

“I dunno,” he said. “Something about you reminds me of my wife, as silly as that is. Well, I guess I should say ex-wife.”

That piqued my interest. “What do you mean?”

Dad studied the roof of the tent. “Yuki never knew when to quit.” A faint smile played along his lips as he recalled his time with Mom. “She did everything she could to help people. Worked as an EMT, volunteered for what felt like a half dozen nonprofits, even took care of our daughter on the days I had to start taking courier work to keep us afloat.”

His expression turned distant now, and he struggled to find the words he wanted to use. “It’s a wonderful trait, but. The world is just too heavy for one person to carry. By day’s end, the effort of *trying* would wipe away everything that made her, well. *Her.* The woman I fell in love with.”

He picked up speed, the meter of his voice slightly syncopated. “Spark broke her in the end, that mask will break *you* in the end, if you keep pushing against its intended purpose. Because that purpose is not to help people, no matter how much you might think it is, how much those squadmates of yours might think it is.”

My voice was quiet now, but steady. “So what do I do?”

Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t answer that for you. I’m nothing but a sorry excuse for a single parent. Just… They sell you those Veils as boundless power fantasies. But you’re still human, still limited. Remember that always. There’s no shame in recognizing your boundaries.”

We both flinched as a klaxon went off in the distance. I leapt to my feet and helped Dad up.

“Thank you, D- Mr…” I caught myself and trailed off.

“Hartmann,” said Dad, “Mr. Hartman.” He nodded in thanks for the hand up. “But you can call me Kuno.”

“Well, Kuno.” The name felt weird in my mouth. “There are flesh eating monsters running loose in the city, and this short break has given me a little bit of gas in the tank. But I’ll make sure to pace myself. It would be very rude of them not to wait patiently for me to catch my breath.”

Dad chuckled. “You’ve got Yuki’s sense of humor too.” He shooed me off. “Alright then, get going. I’ll be just fine, thanks to you.”

“Yeah,” I said to myself. “Same here.”