Not all Samurai want to fight. Some do it because they have to; some because it’s the fastest way to points and better gear. Even the reluctant eventually get there, if only to keep themselves, and what they care about, safe. Kill aliens. Get points. Buy gear. Simple enough.
~ Street-side interview with Samurai “Granny Smith”, 2056
The lock hissed, gears grinding as the heavy door shuddered open. I tensed at the sound, Piping Tip already in my grip, muzzle angled low but ready.
The stale air that rolled out was wrong. It was thick with copper and rot instead of the sharp tang of recycled oxygen. I had hoped for a crowd of desperate faces. Instead, the shadows beyond were silent. Too silent.
My pulse kicked up. I stepped forward.
Inside, the dim emergency lights flickered weakly across a wide chamber meant for dozens, maybe hundreds of people. Empty benches lined the walls with an opening leading deeper into the shelter. Crates of water and rations sat unopened in neat stacks. But the floor wasn’t empty.
Movement, a skitter, quick and sharp. Then another.
Three M-3s were sniffing around the supplies, barely illuminated in the pale red glow. One lifted its head, its three-hinged jaw opening to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.
My breath caught. If I’d made it here earlier… I’d be like one of those crates, split open and emptied out.
The nearest creature shifted, claws scratching against the metal floor. The sound made my skin crawl.
You have company.
“Yeah,” I muttered, voice low, finger curling tighter on the trigger. “I noticed.”
The aliens turned as one, leaping toward me in a blur of motion.
Reflex took over. I snapped the Piping Tip up, sights resting on the first plant-thing charging straight for me. Time stretched as I squeezed the trigger. A thunder crack. Recoil slammed my arm. Sight back in. Miss. Fire again, hit. Still coming.
“Shit.”
Two more shots. Each kick rattled my bones, but the first monster finally staggered, crumpling to the ground.
I twisted to face the second, nearly on top of me. My foot caught on something soft. I stumbled, barely catching myself before falling on a body sprawled across the floor. The alien lunged, teeth snapping. A desperate sidestep, muzzle flashing inches from its face. The bullet tore through its skull, spraying green-black plant matter across the shelter. It dropped hard.
The third, gone.
Pain lanced down my back. A shriek ripped out of me as claws shredded through the flimsy barrier of my shirt and skin. White-hot. Blinding.
I spun, firing blind. Muzzle flash strobed the room, bullets ricocheting off concrete and the scattered bodies beneath me. A twisted leg snagged my ankle, I stumbled, almost toppling over a corpse, heart hammering. Slide locked back. Empty.
“No no no no no”
Panic surged, ugly and electric. I swung with all my strength, the pistol’s weight thudding against flesh. Once, twice, again, until the alien sagged under my blows. I kept hitting until it stopped moving.
My breath came ragged, the echo of it bouncing through the blood-slick silence.
Nothing else moved.
Hands shaking, I carefully navigated the corpses as I dropped the empty magazine and fumbled a fresh one into the Piping Tip, slamming the slide home.
Targets Eliminated!
Reward… 30 points.
Current Points: 31!
The voice startled me. “Holy shit, I was not expecting that,” I said as I nearly fired the weapon on instinct. “Give a girl a bit of warning when updating her points.”
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Sorry about that. I figured you might like a bit of good news before the bad news.
As soon as I heard the words “bad news” my back kindly reminded me that it now had several deep lacerations in it. Pain exploded as the adrenaline started to retreat. “Oh fuck,” I mumble as I stumble to a nearby bench.
Yeah, that’s the bad news. There’s actually two bits of good news, though! First, the Model 3 didn’t damage your spine. The second is that you have enough points to heal yourself — and maybe buy a change of clothes! Might be a good idea since your shirt is not so much a shirt as it is conveniently placed strips of loose fabric.
Nodding as I tried to ignore the pain, I managed to say “Healing, please!”
New Purchase: Nano-Regenerative Suite
Points reduced to… 11
A familiar plain white box appeared next to me. Hand shaking, I managed to get it open before gratefully inhaling the swarm of healing nanites. Grateful as I may be, it still felt like the time I opened the oven door and caught a face full of smoke from burned bread.
Coughing. Ragged breaths. Then relief as the pain started to go away. A few more moments and I was able to sit up with relative ease.
“Does that ever get any better?” I asked, voice heavy, as I looked around. Sorrow filled me at the sight of the bodies of people thinking that the shelter was safe.
Are you talking about the Nano-Regenerative or about the feeling of sorrow that you are currently feeling?
“Both?”
It depends. For the Nano-Regenerative, there are things like a small factory of healing nanites that can be installed, tough skin-replacement options, or other means of mitigating damage.
As for the emotion, I would hazard that it’s kinda up to you.
“How so?”
The loss of life is often viewed as a tragedy. As a Vanguard, you have a higher probability of coming across this type of scene. Numerous Vanguards become desensitized to the loss of human life. It affects each person differently.
That being said, I know you to be a rather empathetic person who will sometimes wear her heart on her sleeve. If I were a gambling AI, I would put credits on you not becoming numb to the loss of life.
My brows drew close in confusion for a moment as I asked “Wouldn’t letting you gamble be viewed as cheating?”
I mean, yes. But even if I had the credits to gamble, I wouldn’t. The games tend to be rigged.
“Yeah… that makes sense.” Another heavy sigh at the scene around me, I decide to address something that would need to be dealt with sooner rather than later. “I think I need some new clothes.”
New Purchase: Class 0 Street Clothes.
Points reduced to… 10
Another box appeared on the bench next to me. Flipping the lid open, I found an entire new outfit waiting for me. Black leather jacket to offer some protection. A stylized shirt to replace the shredded one clinging to me. A pair of boot-cut jeans to replace and protect. Finally, new boots, free from the scuffs and blood.
When I picked up the shirt, I noticed that there is a chibi version of a certain rainbow haired baker sitting on top of what was supposed to be a dinner roll. Under it was the text *”I’m on a roll!”* in the same font that the bakery used.
“Wing, did you design the shirt?” I asked as I held up what was clearly a custom made piece of clothing.
I had picosecond to spare to design it. I feel like it adds character to the ensemble. I’m guessing that you understand why I went with ‘Biker Chic’ over your shredded ‘Yoga Chic’ look.
“Yeah. I’m grateful for the extra protection," I said as I started to change. He didn’t have to sound so smug about it, though. Once I was in my new outfit, I marveled at the comfort of it all. Denim and leather shouldn’t be this soft.
Slipping my final magazine into one of the pockets, I stood up and grabbed the Piping Tip. “Okay, we should check the rest of the shelter for any potential survivors.”
A good idea. However, have you considered what you’ll do when you’re done here?
“Not really. In all honesty, my entire focus had been getting here without much thought past that.” A hint of red stained my cheeks as embarrassment flooded me at my short-sightedness.
I would encourage you to treat this like one of your bakes. While living in the moment does offer some freedoms, having a bit of a plan will offer you a longer life.
“I will think about it as we continue on.” With that I moved out of the entrance area and into the hall of the shelter, alert for any danger.
Thankfully, there were no bodies or smears of blood on the floor as I tried to move silently. Keeping my weapon raised this time, I advanced to the first opening I saw in the hall. With no actual doors, the openings offered minimal cover as I peeked into the room. Pulse spiking. Empty.
Relief swept through me at the sight. With a layout similar to the first room, this had benches along each wall and a few crates of supplies tucked away in a corner.
Moving back into the hall, I continued my advance, going from room to room. As I was starting to relax a bit at the lack of activity, I looked into a room near the end of the hall. Inside I was surprised to see a handful of M-3s gorging themselves on the crates of what had to be painfully dry NutriBars.
The sight caused me to tense back up. Taking a deep breath, I readied myself for the battle ahead.
Discord for that!
