Duplicate

With the appearance of the Anomalous Zones, or, the High-Energy Anti-Euclidean Fields, the world’s economy was sent into a pretty wild shock. Sure, the Average Joe now had to worry whether he’d meet his corpo deadline and whether his coworkers would actually try to kill him, but on the flip side, the Average Joe could carry – or drive – very valuable Duplicates out.

The Average Joe could boost his net worth by multiples of tens, hundreds, thousands – shit, make that millions if he’s lucky – by carrying out things that nobody would miss.

The Duplicates, of course. Piracy isn’t stealing, you’ve probably heard that one before. Someone takes a thing without paying, but he took a copy. Where’s the harm?

An old argument. Well, in this case, the Duplicate is a physical item. Sometimes it’s just one, sometimes it’s two, rarely it’s six, eight, twelve… You get the idea.

Is it stealing? I don’t think so. If you think so - well, up yours, prick, ‘cause a lot of governments are on your side. Back to the Average Joe…

The Average Joe could become an overnight millionaire, but he could also become an overnight corpse. If the Average Joe is caught at Ground Zero when a new one opens, his APR – not what the bank gave him on his tiny and filthy place, but his Anomalous Particle Resistance – better be good. If it’s not, I’m afraid Joe joins the statistics instead of becoming a millionaire.

If Joe is still with us, and assuming that Joe still has stable ground beneath his feet, and did not find himself inside a concrete wall - Joe’s not Average anymore. He’s just plain fucking lucky.

It would be now wise for Joe to grab any corporate secrets that may have duplicated themselves out of their safes, lockboxes, vaults, que sera sera. Et cetera?… Either one of these, I think.

Anyway, those pay well. Financial reports, blackmail material, dirty secrets - “there’s always a buyer”, or so the people who buy these say. Next up are regular valuables: shiny bars, shiny watches, rustling papers with dead old men on them.

Finally, there are, let’s say, ‘contraband’  goods that might end up as Duplicates. Selling them is a bad idea for many reasons - primarily because they’re just so damn useful.

When the Rescue Divers evacuate people, most of them either grab whatever is right within their grabbing range, or they freak the fuck out and run to the nearest gathering point without taking anything. Thank you, people whose lives are more valuable than their belongings - I hope that one day my life will be as valuable as yours. Thank you for the Duplicates nonetheless.

If Joe managed to pack his pockets full of Duplicates – or if he’s fucking smart, a backpack – and did not get ripped to shreds by the time he gets to a gathering point, then Joe is indeed one lucky fucker. If it’s his first time, then not only did he survive at Ground Zero, but he’ll also be able to cover his medical tests, afford medicine, and if he’s really really lucky, nobody will rob his house, if it happened to be in the Zone.

I say “robbed”, because some people do not have the decency to only take the dupe. Imagine Joe lived through all that, only to find out that someone stole all his noodle cups when he gets back to his hovel- excuse me, home.

Sucks. At least Joe’s probably going to be fine next time.

There are three types of people in the Anomalous Zones who are there willingly. The government says that there are only two, but I insist that there are three.

The first type are the Rescue Divers. Remember Joe and the APR? The Rescue Divers are people who rescue the Joes like him. If you think Joe was lucky, you are not ready for the average Rescue Diver. They lucked out on their APR lottery - superhuman strength, superhuman agility, superhuman reflexes, superhuman regeneration, sometimes all of above. You know these types. They’re the ones who are perfectly equipped to handle everything in Anomalous Zones. No, they do not wear capes. At least in public.

You call the cops if some nutcase is swinging a sword around at two in the morning on the street outside. You call the Rescue Divers if outside the street is swinging around…

…Is what I want to say, but you’re not calling anyone if you’re caught inside an Anomalous Zone. Not right away, at least. Again, the Divers handle that.

The second type of people has many names: “Criminal Divers”, raiders, bandits, thieves, criminals, scum, murderers, psychos. The list is long, believe me.

Usually, they don’t call themselves anything. Some of the more dignified ones might call themselves Zone Raiders, or something to that effect. The government insists that unless you are a Rescue Diver or a part of a research program, and are willingly inside of an Anomalous Zone, then you’re definitely a Criminal Diver. Now, I can’t speak for everyone who enters the Zones, but it can be safely said that the aforementioned list is mostly accurate.

I present the third type: Joe the Diver. If Anomalous Particle Adaptability gave you superhuman intelligence, the Rescue Divers would be this.

Remember Joe? He’s back. Accidentally enriching himself in the Zone made him almost pay off his mortgage, and he didn’t have to worry about the bills for a while, but there’s only so much money you can make off the Duplicates that can fit into your pockets. Joe has made his decision - he’s done being a corporate slave until retirement. It has nothing to do with his former boss almost ripping his face off, it’s pure economics!

Joe is not a rookie anymore. Joe’s been at Ground Zero of the new Zone! Joe brought a backpack for the dupes this time - wise. Joe saw a profusely bleeding man begging for help, but Joe didn’t have a tourniquet. Joe now prays for the man’s peace every day, and has a tourniquet. Joe even packed some food into his backpack.

“Haahhh!… Haaahhh!…”

Joe even brought a gun. His fatal mistake. Joe might have been at Ground Zero, but that was two weeks ago. Joe didn’t quite understand what he was walking himself into when he crawled through a hole in the fence made by another criminal scum-thief like him trying to make ends meet. Joe thought that his plan to enter from the Zone’s edge and sneak his way to the nearest warehouse full of goodies was flawless.

Joe didn’t know that two weeks later, the entrance and exit vectors had already fluctuated so bad, that he found himself inside someone’s apartment on the fifth floor. This is not what Joe expected when he crossed into the Zone’s blurry layer from that alleyway between the buildings. How could he tell right away that the apartment was on the fifth floor? Why, the building’s side was missing. It didn’t quite agree with the local topology, so it crashed down a few streets away. In triplicate, of course.

Joe was an optimist. There was a Duplicate computer right there. Too heavy to carry out comfortably, but semi-fresh GPUs resell for a reasonably high price. Someone none the wiser could even buy it at a face value, thinking that it was a genuine article.

Clunkkk!…

“…Haaahhh… Haaah…”

A few empty and Duplicate cans rolled away. Not by Joe - by me. Anyway, happy with his almost break-even haul, Joe headed for the apartment’s door. It was locked, but the keys were hanging on the wall right there. Joe thought that was lucky.

That was his last mistake. If the door is locked and the keys are there, that means the owner is there, too. Joe found that out too late. Joe also found out that after two weeks, nothing is the same anymore. Joe only realized that his peashooter is useless against the owner’s carapace, when he emptied it. Had Joe lured the owner to the missing wall and tripped it five floors off, I might have had a laugh about his story with him.

You’ve probably figured by now that I’m not Joe. I’m not a Rescue Diver, either.

Taking a break, taking cover behind a dumpster – mostly hiding, really – I took another AP exposure pill and took a few sips from my half-empty bottle. That’s going to set me back by another fifty, but despite the price, I have no tumors that I know of yet. So they might be working, actually.

“Pfwah… Haaah…”

I kept huffing and puffing. Back to Joe. Since the Divers encoded the emergency comms for the Zone, I unlocked his phone. I don’t know what significance his lock screen numbers had to him, but it was pretty easy to guess his code from the blood on the screen and its amount. I sent his girlfriend his half-written message, explained that Joe didn’t know that usually you should bring nothing less than a 7.62 to the Zone by this time, and sent her a photo of Joe to let her know that I’m serious.

Am I a psycho? A scumbag? I don’t know. I thought that if I had someone who’d send me so many messages, I’d probably want that person to know what happened exactly, and that I won’t be coming back. I asked his girl if she knew his mother, and requested her to forward the news to his mom. No idea if she did, but I guess that’s Joe’s problem.

Joe said he didn’t mind me reading his journal on his phone, so…

“Back to work. Hupf…”

Silence.

That’s not good. Outside, you’d hear birds chirping, insects buzzing, dogs yapping, or at least the wind howling. When it’s dead silent like that, it can only mean two things.

One, everything is already mutated. Two, everything is already dead.

Unlike Joe, I’m a realist. Two would be just far too nice. I peeked up and down the alley. Nothing. Honestly, it’d be more reassuring to see at least some of these things shamble by. Your own mind is the best horror director - it knows exactly how to spook you.

I don’t want to be spooked. I want my full backpack liquidated. I want to go home and watch some braindead stuff. I want a microwave meal, or maybe a burger. Or splurge, and get a pizza.

“Nothin’?” I uttered in very wary disbelief when I looked left and right down the street, filled with rubble and crushed Duplicate cars stacked on top of each other.

I couldn’t believe my luck. Really, I couldn’t. Peeking over my shoulder, checking my corners, I kept heading for the train station. There was no way that I would be allowed to just walk out with a backpack full of stuff. It was heavy, too. I saw a few Nooses hanging down the street, but that’s alright - I detoured into another alley.

The closer I made it to the train station, the more my undoubtedly worried gaze under my furrowed and sweaty brows was lingering on the rooftops and windows.

Do you play video games? I do. I need to decompress after this shit. The more things go right, the more you’ll be convinced that things are about to go very wrong.

Remember the second type? Why do you think the list involves lovely professions such as ‘bandit’, ‘murderer’, ‘psycho’, and other equally nice occupational titles?

I play games, and on the internet, some people lovingly call places like these “open PVP zones” - Look it up! It’s for a reason. When seconds count, the police are only minutes away.

I jest. If you need the cops to help you in the Zone, you are SOL, you poor SOB. Luckily, it’s actually the first few hours in a new Zone that are the most dangerous.

You see, when someone gets mutated into a monster, it’s usually easy to notice. Internal or external hemorrhaging, reddened – and usually bleeding – eyes, sudden growth of dental protrusions, very often you’ll hear a very nasty crack when their skeleton pops into whatever is its new intended shape, and so on. It depends on how bad their APR was. Imagine a zombie. Okay, now that’s not quite it, but it’s good enough - you get the idea. You’ll see this guy coming. Unless you’re like Joe.

Now, what do you do when the monster isn’t mutated? Not in the ‘his mutations aren’t visible’ kind of sense.

What do you do when the monster has a human face, it’s smiling at you, asking you about your day, and how your kids are?

In the ‘your friendly neighbor just realized it’s open season’ kind of sense. Who do you call? No, don’t hum the theme, I’m being serious here. Most people around the world can only pray, and hope someone’s going to pick up the call. Unless you lucked out and Ground Zero includes a police station, you’re SOL, buddy.

It took an uneventful while, dodging spatial anomalies, but I finally made it to the train station. Why a train station?

Why, fixed features tend to provide better spatial stability. Bridges, roads, train tracks, tunnels… It’s not a guarantee. Nothing ever is.

Remember all those illustrations from school featuring a magnet and its field? It works a little like that. Most of the time. Until it doesn’t. That being said, looking for spatially stable areas like this leads to better outcomes than crossing your fingers. By about ninety percent. Don’t quote me.

There was a chain link fence in front of me, with a yellow warning hanging off of it. I filter these out automatically, basically. Unless it has a symbol for electricity, biological stuff, chemicals, or that radioactive triangles thingy, I don’t really care about some fines and trespassing. What are they going to do, check the CCTV, call security on my ass?

…Actually, some corpos have wisened up. Free stuff is free stuff, after all - why wouldn’t they want a slice? A duped warehouse is probably good for the books. I entered through the gap between the fencing. Someone moved a segment out of its concrete base. I guess he wasn’t afraid of the fine too.

“Shit!…” I cursed out through my clenched teeth, stumbling for nearest cover, which happened to be a stack of regular, tarp-wrapped crates. Empty, from the sound it made on contact with my noisy backpack. I tensed up and kept listening for the footsteps ahead.

“…I want both of you by the book this time. Understand?” A woman said with an extra duo of footsteps drawing closer.

“Uh-huh…” One man begrudgingly groaned, “Tsk. Sure.” Another replied with a click of his tongue, not any more pleased.

“Oh for fuck’s…”

I peeked out, saw the three Rescue Drivers, and immediately slid back into my cover.

Just my luck. Badges. The worst type of Rescue Diver. And from the looks of it, if they’re only sending in three of them, they must mean serious business. The guy had what looked like a pneumatic pile driver on his forearm. Huge fucking thing, and looks absolutely silly, but I wouldn’t say that to his face. Definitely super strength.

“I’m serious. I’m willing to overlook a lot, but if there are more inadequacies, I’m not going to cover for you anymore…” The girl Badge insisted in a stern voice, which honestly sounded more cute than threatening, but it was also not me who she was bitching at. She carefully made her way around the Puffballs floating everywhere. I took another careful peek.

The second guy followed her path, almost triggering a Puffball with his huge sword, which looks like it was straight-up yoinked out of a guillotine. The Puffball jittered a little, then settled. Does this guy do this for fun? Probably super reflexes. And strength.

“…So? What’s the game plan?” The pile driver guy asked the girl while she fiddled with a G-M counter type of thing, probably an AP counter. It beeped rather menacingly.

“…Elevated.” She replied, putting her counter away.

“About to collapse?” The ridiculously out-of-uniform-regulation guillotine sword Badge asked. Naturally, my ear grew in size.

“Not anytime soon… But we'd better not dawdle. If the spatial anomalies are materializing in these densities in a place that should be stable…”

I looked at her while she was busy looking at a floating Puffball on the platform they presumably arrived from. If they came from there, then there must be an exit as well, and if there is an exit, I am so insanely, unbelievably lucky. I just need them to leave so that I can skitter out.

My gaze lingered on her face. She had an over-engineered and over-sized peashooter on her hip. It probably spits anomalous rounds, unlike Joe’s. I wonder what her super is.

“Pft.”

Super model. With a stifled chuckle and a smirk on my face, I slid back into my cover, waiting for them to just leave already!

“Let’s go. We hit the garage, scoop up the civvies, and we’ll take the shortest path out.”

Yes, yes, yes! She said the word! Perhaps prematurely, but I already clenched my fist in triumph. Her wording made me furrow my brows, though.

The shortest path ‘out’? Not ‘back’? Not ‘here’? My healthy sense of paranoia reactivated, and I shifted my rifle into an awkward ready-not-ready position, probably grimacing nervously while at it. I was feeling eyes on me, but the Badges were walking past my cover and away, yet the sensation of being watched was still there.

Feel free to call my super power superstition, but I only have two gut feelings - good and bad. Good is when my gut is full of unhealthy but tasty stuff, and bad is in times like these. When all is well, I simply do not have gut feelings. I turned my head to take a peek at the girl- okay, her aesthetic shapes in her Badge uniform. Sue me, okay? I’m already halfway home. It was for situational awareness, too, while at it.

“It’s silent. I don’t like it.” She remarked, then glanced back over her shoulder, resulting in what I can only describe as direct eye contact.

“Fffffff-” I’m not afraid of women, but I immediately hid back behind my crate, cringing heavily.

“Wait. I think I saw something.” She said, and I could hear her boots clack directly for me.

No you fucking didn’t! Go away!

“Ah.”

I uttered in baffled surprise at the unexpected eye contact. Looking around for a way to slip out, I found a frightened face of a little girl staring at me from beneath an abandoned pallet with a tarp thrown on top. I just blinked back at her.

I am not sure what to make of it. A six year old girl has pretty slim chances of surviving an Anomalous Zone alone for two weeks. To be honest, Joe had better odds, yet he lost the bet all the same. I heard about entire people duplicating, but I’m fairly sure that’s bullshit. Maybe she wandered in by accident? I think that’s the plot of a movie that’s coming out soon.

That explains the eyes on me, at least.

To be honest, if not for the fact she looked more scared than I probably do, I would have likely put some rounds into her. But I doubt that would sit well with Ms. Volunteer Cop making her way for my piss-poor hidey hole. If she doesn’t blow my head off on principle, I should probably ask the girl under the pallet how did she even squeeze in there?

“Pffft…” I let out a resigned huff. In the best case, I’ll be looking at some time. A lot of time, when they look at what’s in my place. In the worst case, they’ll just off me. Raider scum. Blam.

Then I turned my eyes back the way I came, and there I saw it.

Ugly bastard with blades of whatever anomalous shit that was for arms, jutting jaw full of teeth, and streaks of dry blood from his eyes. Most of his skin was the usual necrosis black, and replaced with hardened carapace. I quietly took my rifle and pointed it at him, hoping that Ms. Cop would notice him, instead of me. That explains my gut feeling, actually. See?

“Hey-” Ms. Badge said with a soft, sweet, but urgent tone, which was definitely not intended for me, unfortunately, as her head jumped up in surprise the moment we looked at each other.

I never just luck out. I wanted to say that, but I was just silently staring at her confused face with a ‘I want to be anywhere else but here’ kind of grimace on my own.

Since she made no effort to be sneaky, unlike me, the ugly bastard beyond the chain link fence started darting for her. And me. I figured I could chalk this up to self defense, but I didn’t want to make any sudden movements with a gun in my hand. That, and I figured a 6.8 to this guy’s badly malformed skull would solve the problem, if I had to solve it myself. She definitely at least glanced at my ample backpack - my gastropodal wealth.

Klk-BOMMFFFfff!

Okay, I admit it, I flinched. She drew her peashooter and blasted the mutant without even taking her gloved hand off my stack of crates.

“Aaaa!” The girl ‘neath the pallet screamed - I almost did too. The shockwave was massive, the noise was deafening, and the impact was sick. Both in the 90s and the now kind of sense. All that hardened carapace, anomalous materials, and all that’s left of him was his legs down from his knees in an already half-coagulated pool of black blood.

Super reflexes on top of super model, huh? Lucky girl. I don’t know if it was the recoil that did it, or if it was for the cinematic flair, but her gun hand was raised high into the sky, barrel smoking like a chimney. Smoothly shifting her stance, she holstered her devil’s peashooter without any urgency.

“W- wait!” Sounding almost a little hurt, she called out to the little girl, briefly reaching for her as the pallet girl slipped out towards the other two, presumably utterly terrorized by Ms. Cop and her gun. “Incoming!” The gruff voice of the pile driver guy shouted. Incoming what? A little girl? Do you not have an indoor voice?-

THUMPFFFFFTTTTTFFF!

The ground rumbled. I peeked out. A mutant somehow flew in, crashed through the second platform’s feeble roof meant to keep water out, not whatever this is. The other two immediately took on their preferred combat stances. I caught Ms. Cop glancing at me one last time, a little troubled, but she then darted back to those two. Maybe I have a shot for conjugal visits?

I’m not sure how this thing got here. It probably jumped. I’m not sure what it is, but it looks bear-like.

“Huh…”

…Come to think of it, doesn’t this Zone feature a zoo? It had a bear in it. Had is probably the operative word here.

“Ggghhhhnuuuuuuurgh!!” The bear-mutant gurgled out as it rose to its definitely not plantigrade hind legs. Half the size of an 18-wheeler is a good approximation.

“James, Andrew, I’m covering you! Handle it quick!” Ms. Cop shouted to James and Andrew, whichever was which.

“…Here. Sit here. Don’t go anywhere, we’re with the police. You’re safe with us.” I heard the Badge scoop the sobbing girl up from the ground. She was sobbing and covering her head while curled up in a ball after she lost balance from the mutant’s landing. I’m not sure how she lived this long with tactics like these, but I guess luck has to be distributed to someone. Ms. Model Cop put the littlest citizen on the opposite side of my inferior hidey hole.

“…Hnnnnruuurrrgh!!” The mutant roared as it dumped its front legs onto the two. Though its claws were mostly where they should be, they were larger than any proportionately up-scaled bear would have, and were made of the same material that the eggheads everywhere were fighting over.

Pfsht-THUNK!

The pile driver riposted, driving its pile through the bear’s mutated paw. You’d think stupid melee weapons like these would get these two clowns killed, but you would be very sorely wrong – they’re not shy about flaunting the fact that their arms are literal cannons in the presence of Anomalous Particles.

“Get some!” The man with the stolen guillotine roarer back, dancing in the pool of black blood as the two continued to whale on the bear.

I think I saw enough of this type of stuff on Japanese shows, so I’ll pass. A quick peek outside. Yup.

Ms. Cop was distracted. Her ponytailed head was swiveling around, but her vision was mostly focused around those two.

Practically begging my backpack to not make a noise now, I decided to make my exit through the Badges’ entrance.

I never get lucky, though. Instead of being focused on what a normal child would not be able to take her eyes off of - two tall men with giant weapons fighting a giant monster, she was looking at me, like I am the monster. I felt a little bad for her, but I’m not going to take her through a field of Puffballs.

“Aaa!…” She let out a cry, and ran off, against the instructions of Ms. Cop, and running off just behind her back.

I don’t know when she did it exactly, but by the time I looked at it, her gun was already drawn - thankfully lowered, but her staring at me like I’m an animated bag of garbage was really something else. When she realized I’m not intent on shooting any of them, probably because of my pleadingly displayed palm, she turned her attention to the fleeing girl instead.

“Wait! Come back! You’ll be in danger if you run away!” The gun Badge yelled at the pallet girl, though her attention was split between her, and the two pummeling the bear mutant.

“Ah!-” She perked up when the pallet girl almost ran into a mutant shambling out of a corner. It noticed the young girl, and even brought some friends along.

The Badge took aim faster than I could see, but then just aimed her extremely overbuilt gun at the mutated dogs’ slavering jaws of teeth.

I could tell from the look on her face that she didn’t know exactly if the screaming, crying little girl was inside, or outside the range of whatever she was slinging, and she wasn’t willing to take a gamble. At the same time – it looked like those two weren’t lucky either – even more mutants started shambling into the platform.

With her attention split, it was my cue.

BANG! BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG!

“Huh?!” “What the fff…?” The two male Badges said when they glanced back at me. I just kept shooting.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six… I lost count, and honestly, I think I missed a few shots, but at least none of the mutt-ants took a little nibble out of the pallet girl.

I glanced at Ms. Cop again. She looked like she was glad that I was there, but also looked like she wanted me gone immediately. I felt like doing her a favor, and disappearing right away.

“…Focus on that thing! Hurry up and kill it already! I’m covering you!”

BOMFFFFft! BOMFFFFFttttt!

Ignoring me completely, she shouted and started blasting what MMO players would call ‘adds’ - with the effect not unlike as the last time.

I suppose her ignoring me was also a dubious honor of trusting me with her back, which I could now look at freely.

I had no time, though. “Hey! C’mere!” I said, spreading my arms, waving her in, and encouragingly nodding my head.

I’m getting the girl – unfortunately the younger one – and getting the fuck out of here.

BOMMMFFFTTTtt!…

“Aaaaa!” The girl screamed in panic in response to a mutant splattering at a considerable, yet arguably short distance away from her.

I’m never lucky. “Ah?” was the most I could muster out when the girl abruptly turned and started running straight for the field of Puffballs.

And Ms. Model Cop, despite being closer to her, was busy keeping the other two in a fight. I suppose one could say that she trusted me with the girl’s safety.

“No!-”

I couldn’t even explain why that was a bad idea - there was just no time. I doubt a six year old could understand a bunch of bullshit about hyperboloids, Euclidean space, or exotic particles.

FWUNK!

While I dropped my rifle and broke into a sprint, a pile driver violently pierced something in the background. I assume it was the bear. It sounded meaty.

By the time I was already closer than Ms. Cop and halfway to the girl, I glanced at the Badge and heard her let out a tiny, confused “Wh-?” before her eyes snapped wide open.

I am not in the mood to see six year old minced meat and pâté.

As expected, bawling and running, she tripped one of the Puffballs above her. It started wiggling violently. A six year old has practically no inertia, so…

With the speed of a cheetah and the gentleness of a career football player, I tackled the little girl and locked my arms around her waist.

As soon as I felt her secure in my grip, the Puffball above us turned from its slightly translucent, soft, and milky white shape into a light-bending, roaring, and pitch-black orb.

“Hngh…” I grunted slightly. It’s not easy to keep your breath when something is trying to suck it out of you.

With the random six year old girl in my grasp, I felt a little like a child predator. Luckily, what happens in the Zone, stays in the Zone.

‘Mulchification’ is the word on my mind. Not sure why, but I think it’s related. Might have read it somewhere on the internet.

A glance at the Badge could tell me that she knows what a Puffball does from first-hand experience. It’s the type of a look on someone’s face where they are too horrified to keep looking, but want to see what ultimately happens. Odd to see it directed at me.

I could feel myself slide a little closer to the shrinking Puffball. The thing with Puffballs is, they don’t grow weaker as they shrink - they grow stronger.

Despite the inertia, I was lifted off the platform’s floor slightly.

POFFff!- Thunk!

The Puffball then disappeared with its nigh-iconic and extremely menacing sound, not unlike an anemic cat vomiting up a furball - it’s funnier when no internal organs come out.

I landed on the floor with the girl, and my full backpack rattled horribly. I then decided to take a breather. Literally. I needed to take a breath.

“…James! Kill that thing already!”

“Right-o!”

FWUNKk!

The gun Badge shouted towards the two, and the man with the pile driver climbed onto the downed mutant’s chest and drove a pile into its heart.

So that one is James, huh?

Still clinging onto the girl like someone who’s not allowed near playgrounds, I sat up, then stood up, minding the remaining Puffballs. Done whacking and hacking the bear mutant apart, the two also turned around to join the girl Badge. I then finally realized that I had dropped my M7.

To go back for it would be to probably get arrested. To leave it behind would be to abandon a very good gun, and possibly walk out as a folk hero.

“…I’ll be taking her back to safety! Good luck with your whatever! I’m going to the exit!” I said with an awkward grin and a friendly wave of my hand, turning for the platform from which the three came.

“Wait! There’s no exit there!” Ms. Cop shouted with her gloved hand extended out towards us, though she could see I can navigate the Puffballs.

“I saw you enter from here-” I pointed at the blurry, yet unmistakably normal space at the edge of the Zone, with the sobbing girl still held in my arm like a cat.

“It’s one way-!”

“What!?!”

I cut Ms. Cop off by accident. To be fair, I didn’t expect her to just casually acknowledge that I know what I’m doing, and ruin my plans in the same breath.

We took a moment to stare at each other with awkward grimaces before glancing at the sobbing girl.

“…Get out of the Puffballs.” She beckoned me with the tone and face of a mother that is no longer angry - just disappointed.

I cautiously obliged. Spattered with black blood, the two male Badges were glaring at me like hawks.

“Uhuuhuuu…” The girl moaned out as soon as I set her down on her own feet.

“Sssh… We’re police. Where are your mom and dad?” Petting the young girl, the gun Badge asked in a soft voice.

“D- dad ate mom… And then people were hurting each other with guns…” She replied, sobbing and wiping her cheeks.

I could tell from her “Ah…” and furrowed brows that Ms. Cop regretted asking that.

I took the momentary distraction to scoop my rifle back up, maintaining eye contact with the two towering over Ms. Mom like with a pair of wild animals.

“…What do we do with this guy, Mary? Arrest him?” Andrew asked. I suspect it’s because he’s an asshole.

She looked at me for a second, up and down. Probably not my best first impression.

“…No. Leave him be for now-” She replied, but as I was thanking my lucky stars, I glanced upward in relief.

I’m not Joe. I had choices to make, so I took the most harebrained one. I shoved Mary the Cop and Unnamed the Daughter as hard as possible.

FWRRRRIP!

Mary really does have superhuman reflexes. She first tried to counter my push by grabbing my wrist, then she noticed the black blade barely missing her.

“Ghakh!…”

She even noticed it ripping through my plate carrier like it’s made of cardboard, and then some. Mary only then noticed the four-legged mutant drop down from the platform’s roof.

Ouch.

The blow sent me flying, and tumbling towards the chain link fence.

“…Hakhrkh!… Khnnh!… Hrrk!…”

I spit as much blood out – the red kind, of course – as I could to try and catch a breath. The two cartoon rejects were already fighting, and I could hear Mary the Loud screaming something, but that wasn’t really important at the moment.

I pulled out my autoinjector. Self-made mix of buprenorphine, 6-beta-naltrexol, and methcathinone. That’s going to set me back by about five hundred - no painkiller will help with that pain.

“…Hrrkk… Hnnnghh…”

I injected my combat mix into my shoulder, as close to the heart as I could get it. Joe’s tourniquet won’t help here.

Hemostatic powder packet. Another hundred in the red.

…BOMMff!… BOMMFff!…

“…Hey! Are you alright?!…” Ms. Cop shouted my way, but I was busy dumping the powder from the packet into the bloody mess between my chest, and what’s left of my plate carrier.

Is this what it’s like to have someone be worried about you? Huh.

I got my rifle. There’s a big cut through the scope. Fuck. It might have been a dupe, but…

“…Hey. Can you breathe?” She asked.

“Huh?”

She must have gotten close while I was checking my gun.

“Can you breathe? Are you okay?” Ms. Cop kept asking, forcing her face in front of mine.

“…I hope the GPU is alright, or I might not make rent.” I replied with a shrug.

“…Huh?” She blinked at me like I was stupid.

Maybe I am.