[CITY 3 - STRUGGLE]

“You!” Masaru snaps just as his copy, stronger, faster, and a dash more handsome, practically soars in between them.

It’s a sharp, aggressive punch, reducing Masaru’s initiative to bloodied tatters. He reels into the wall, his vision blurring for a moment.

“Already?!” Valerie shouts as she swings the weapon around, just in time for the copy to seize it by the barrel and immediately assume the better Valerie’s form. “Help!”

Masaru gets back to his feet just in time to join the wresting match for the weapon and quickly wins it out of the copy’s hands. Valerie swings her buttstock up into the fake’s chin, sending her spiraling into a pile of old brochures about “cat sightings” and boat rides.

“Thanks!” Valerie says as she steps back to get distance and prepare her shot… but something about her tone.

Masaru’s eyes alight with realization. The perfect Valerie wouldn’t be tumbling moronically in boxes. He remembers her performance last time: she was the embodiment of grace.

“See you later, asshole-”

Valerie, the actual copy, that is, takes the punch from Masaru like a true champion, but then he swings in again, and it sends her to the floor.

“She’s the fake!” The box-laden Valerie shouts as she slowly recovers back to her feet. “How did- nevermind, just get the rifle back!”

“Right! Take that, dumbass!” he exclaims as he makes his move.

But just as he leans in to get the rifle, he connects another dot a second too late.

Wouldn’t the “best” Valerie also be the best actor?

It takes a moment as Masaru weighs his options. He decides to go all in.

He takes the rifle from the clonked-out person and takes to his feet.

“Well?” the Valerie behind him asks, “Shoot he-”

He twists, resetting his feet with his aim at the hip for the standing Valerie. He takes the shot without a word, and his target doubles back.

Masaru plants his feet and cycles the round in the chamber. This time he understands how to do that, at least.

“Fooled me,” he scoffs.

The shot bullet emerges from the clasped fingers of the copy Valerie, the one who had so professionally tumbled into the boxes.

“You don’t even know what game is being played,” the better Valerie says as the true one begins squirming back to her feet, a huge red mark on her face. She drops the bullet to the ground: pristine and unmarred, just like her fingers.

“Okay,” Masaru says, readying his next shot as Valerie groans back to her senses, “What are we playing, exactly?”

In a blink, the better Valerie’s reached into her designer handbag and flicks out a pistol. “The Big Leagues!”

Masaru fires, but in the same moment he becomes aware of a jolt of pain and heat in his neck. His ears ring with the sound of gunfire – a moment of simultaneous thrill and horror.

So this is what it feels like, Masaru muses the moment an unbelievably accurate volley of shots obliterate his spine. It’s such a sharp pain, but it’s so incredibly short lived that it’s almost blissful.

The drowning feeling overtakes him again as his hearing and vision blur. Valerie, at least he’s pretty sure it’s the one he knows, shouts at the other. He can hear some laughter, another yell, and then more gunfire.

You’re tough… but it’s only a matter of time, Masaru thinks. I’m going to figure you out. You… The Knight… and…

His thoughts end with the last of his blood, the image of The Stranger burning in his mind with its fortress of opening teeth waiting for him.

…No.