The smell of breakfast alerted Max someone was awake. He'd gone back to dozing on and off for most of the night. Despite all the action, the bruises, and the constant running, he felt good. The ache in his neck was gone along with the bite marks. Even the scars on his chest had vanished overnight. He rolled off the mattress, glanced with annoyance at the single boot in the corner, and left the bedroom barefoot. A woman sans her halo stood in the kitchen in pink cotton pajamas. Morning sunlight streamed through the bay windows and turned her hair a golden bronze.

"Good Morning," he said taking a seat at the open counter. Friday started with a squeak. Then turned to face him, saw his naked chest, and quickly returned her focus to the sausages.

"I'm sorry for my behavior."

"We didn't exactly do anything. Besides, I had a bunch of tricks last night. You're the only one that gave me a treat for Halloween, so thank you for that." He said and Friday turned a way in embarrassment. The coffee machined beeped and Max poured himself a cup. Friday hurried to set milk and sugar down next to him.

"Breakfast?" She asked returning to a pan of eggs and sausages.

"Love some," he replied stirring a spoonful of sugar into his coffee. He tasted it and settled more fully onto his stool. Friday poked at the eggs before turning one over. The holy aura was gone, and her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail.

"Violet mentioned I couldn't use a primary weapon until Silver. You’re a Scar-H right?" He asked and she nodded without looking back.

"Yes, divisions are separated into metal groups, and each division has five ranks. Players begin at bronze one and rank up to bronze five."

"So I'm a scrub?" He asked taking another sip of his coffee.

"Hardly. Gun Meister starts all Meisters with a pistol so players get accustomed to the game. At Silver you gain another contract slot, so you can register with primary weapons and wear armor. After obtaining Gold you can use explosives and register with special weapons."

"Like what?"

"Flame throwers, grenade and rocket launchers, basically anything that doesn't throw a slug."

"I see. So, how many Divisions are there?"

"It goes from bronze to silver, then gold, platinum, diamond, and finally, tungsten." Friday replied, and Max gave a short whistle of appreciation.

"So at Silver, we could contract?" He asked and Friday paused mid egg-flip to blush all over again. The sausages crackled in following silence. The waffle iron beeped which shook her from the moment.

"I can't promise anything. Violet and I are in a relationship, and I'm in no rush to find a new Meister." Friday said pushing the waffles towards him. Max pulled the butter and jar of maple syrup toward him.

"Speaking of Violet, I still don't know what she is. That little detail got lost in the chaos." He said, and by some magic summoned the woman. Violet slid onto the stool next to his. Today she was dressed in black leather pants, the right leg of which had been cut off to display her collection of skulls. Her top was a short torn black t-shirt with faded white letters, and a collar circled her throat.

"I'm a very common, plain Jane, Glock 19," she said reaching for the coffee, milk, and sugar.

"9mm, right?" He asked examining her expression. She was back to being cool and collected like when they'd first met.

"So, you know a little bit about guns?"

"Enough to be dangerous," he replied with a conspiratorial smile. Violet poured herself a cup of coffee and dropped four spoonfuls of sugar into the drink followed by a tiny splash of milk.

"So, what's on the agenda?" He asked taking a sip of his own mug.

"I have to stop by work and let Quinn know I found a Meister. Thankfully, I have today off, so he has time to get a replacement."

"Sucks for him."

"This isn't the first time I've taken time off work, so he'll understand. Afterward, we can go shopping. You'll need—" She paused to look over his shirtless torso, and lack of footwear.

"I suppose you'll need clothes first, then a holster, ammo, and some spare magazines." She said like it was something she repeated far too often. "That's… if you still want me," she added shortly after.

"I'll keep ya, though I tend to prefer the full-sized Glock 17."

"At Silver, you can modify my slide and grip to any length. You can also change my caliber, sights and a number of other things. If, and it's a big if, you reach gold, you can buy advanced mods like silencers and full-auto conversion kits.

"Sounds useful," he admitted.

"Some Meisters spend thousands of credits customizing their favorite weapons," Friday said holding out a butter knife and fork to use. Max turned his attention to the plate full of waffles and sausages. Before he could pick up his fork, Violet snaked a hand out and grabbed it. Her silver eyes met his as she plucked the fork from Friday's hand.

Breakfast thief, he thought and waited until she'd put it in her mouth. Then he grabbed the second sausage and pushed it into his mouth.

"Hey!"

"You've not eaten around Seals have you?" He asked around a mouthful of food. Max reached for her syrup covered waffles next, but she quickly pulled the plate in close. The silver fork hovered in the air like a snake ready to strike. The dog came trotting out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Friday turned and stroked the dog's ears.

"You want food too?" She asked and the animal barked in agreement. The woman fished a sausage from the pan and held it out. Rusty happily tore into the treat, wolfing it down in seconds and looking expectantly for another. His entire body hummed with unbridled pleading.

"Come on. They'll end up doing that all morning. Friday is a sucker for puppy dog eyes and Rusty knows it." Violet said popping off the stood. Friday was already holding another cooked sausage out for the golden retriever.

Violet grabbed a small black purse and the car keys hanging on the hook by the door. Max followed her out to the elevator, and she pressed her palm to the control screen. It activated, and she touched the ground floor icon. She lead to her battered Dodge Charger, and Max was forced to yank the passenger door open. The engine cough twice before roaring to life. They backed out and onto the nearly empty street.

"It won't take long to get there. The bar is a couple of blocks down from the mall."

The morning mist still clung tenaciously to the blacktop, and the stores zipped past as Violet drove straight through red lights with a death-wish. Max couldn't help but remember the last few seconds of his life. The accident had been too fast to leave a lasting impression, but he could distinctly remember the flash of headlights as they barreled into him. Violet finally turned into a small parking lot were a single story building stood out among the others with garishly rainbow paint. "Crossed Stars," was written across the front windows in a rainbow of colors. The Charger braked to a stop, and they climbed out.

Violet led him around the side and through an open employee door. Then past kegs of beer, cases of hard alcohol, and six-foot-tall stuffed penguin. The large room was dim except pink and purple lights splitting the space into two sections along with a dance floor in the middle. A royal party must have taken place because the floor looked like a warzone. Beer bottles and empty glasses littered the tables like spent shell casings and glitter covered everything like techno-flavored confetti.

A man stood in the middle of it all with a broom and a pleased expression on his face. He was vaguely Hispanic with dark hair and a lean effeminate body. A pink Italian barrette perched precariously on his head against all known laws of physics. He had a pink sequin vest on over a fishnet top, and a white feather boa hung around his neck which dangled almost to the ground. He'd somehow squeezed into a pair of pink short-shorts, and set of platform boots. The music had been turned down, so Violet stopped a few feet away to shout.

"Quinn!"

The man turned to her with a surprised smiled. "Violet, you should have stopped by last night. There was a real monster bash!" He squealed with a chirpy lisp. "I'm still sweeping up the fur and feathers—"

They met on the dance floor and Quinn kissed Violet on each cheek. He paused to stare past Violet at Max, standing near the back hall. "Oh…my… lord. Who is that hot slice of beefcake behind you, and when does that buffet open? Please tell me he swings for our team."

"Sorry to disappoint, but Max kept staring at Friday last night, so I don't think you have a chance." Violet said glancing back at him. Max tried not to be too uncomfortable standing there half naked.

"You should know we men love a challenge, and for that…. Umphhf, yummy!" He replied with a small squeal.

"That's the other reason I stopped by. He's my new Meister."

"Ahh, I figured as much, but I had high hopes you brought me breakfast," Quinn said with a sigh. "Both Yohan and Reily found Meister's last night, so I'm desperately short staffed."

"I'm sorry. I know I do this way too often."

"Not your fault, darling. If I could find a Meister like Carlos again, I'd probably close up the bar and never look back."

"You're not mad?"

"Not looking forward to tomorrow, but I wish you the best. Besides, he could be the one."

"Please, Quinn… not that again," Violet drolled.

"Trust me, when you find 'the' Meister. You'll know it because it's like being in love." He said clutching the broom to his chest. Violet glanced back at Max.

"In that case, I feel relieved, because I know he ain't it." She said with a ruddy growl. Quinn patted Violet's tattooed arm with a sad smile.

"Be off with you now before I hand you my broom." Quinn said, and the two did that kissed cheeks again before Violet turned away. She brushed past him in a blur, and Max trotted after her to the used car.

The mall was a massive t-shaped building just a couple blocks down from the bar. It looked empty at first, but Max quickly caught sight of several couples like himself. Usually, it was a giddy looking guy dressed in a grey uniform walking next to a beauty. One or two of which wore nothing but black bikini's.

"Sam's Surplus has used clothes, but you may not find shoes that fit. It's a crap-shoot with their inventory. You start the game with one-thousand credits, so it's up to you want to buy."

"Is there a tactical store?"

"Sure is, but expect to pay a premium," she said walking through the food court. They quickly arrived at Teddy's Tactical Threads were several manikins flanked the doors dressed in 5.11 tactical. Just inside were shelves stuffed with every combination of camouflage clothing. A Meister stood halfway down one aisle trying to decide between urban digital pants and desert khakis while female hovered nearby. Violet peeled off and went to sit on the bench nearest the door. She pulled a mobile phone from her purse and immediately ignored him. That left Max to wander around and find his outfit.

Max wandered back toward the shoe section and quickly discovered his thousand credits wasn't going to last long. A single pair of leather combat boots would cost 120 credits. Then picked out a pair of plain blue jeans, a pair boxers on discount, then splurged on a Blue Alpha Tactical Belt because Max was going to need a holster. In the shirt section, he found an Under Armor tanktop, then everything up to the counter. A girl with green hair and an eyebrow piercing snapped her chewing gum at him. Still, she began to push his items through the scanner.

"Place your palm on the screen, if that's everything." The girl said gesturing to the nearby console. His purchases came up in a list.

____________

Size 12 Belleville Field Boots - 120c

Large Wool Socks - 4c

Large Cotton Boxers - 6c

Levi Jeans - 100c

Extra-Large Under Armor Shirt - 35c

Blue Alpha Tactical Belt - 65c

Total = 330c

_____________

Max touched the accept button and his credits dropped to 670, and the bored attendant pointed him toward a nearby changing room. Max felt much better fully clothed, and he checked himself in the mirror. The white tank clung to his muscled frame, and the Jeans were tight. Still, he pushed from the room and over to Violet who was still poking away at her phone. She looked up as he neared and scanned him.

"You mentioned a holster store?" He asked.

"Mike's Magazines and Holsters are nearby." Violet replied slipping her phone in the purse. She stood shouldering it and lead him back toward the food court. Rifle and pistol magazines were stacked together into a miniature medieval fort, with a moat of spent shell casings.

"Do you need help finding a holster or magazines?" Violet asked and her expression hoped he would not.

"I pretty much know what I want."

"Holsters are that way," she said pointing past him. Max wandered past the magazine fort and toward the aisle she'd indicated. Halfway down he located a T.Rex Ragnarok OWB holster. On the same aisle, he found four Pistol Pouches for 25 credits a piece.

The real shock came when he found the extra magazines. A factory default 15 round Glock mag was just ten credits. The seventeen round ones were 100 credits, nineteen round mags were a thousand credits, and a thirty-three round mag was ten grand. He let out a dejected sigh holding the holy grail of Glock mags. Maybe someday he could afford one. He put that one back and considered his options. The holster and mag pouches would come to 230 credits, which left him with about 450. He could buy almost thirty factory mags or get three 17 round mags. That would leave him enough for ammo, which he still needed. He took his items up front and the found old man casually kicked back on a stool.

"How much for 9mm?"

"Ten credits for a hundred rounds," in a rough gravely voice.

"Then I'll take ten boxes along with all this," Max said putting everything down.

"If you want range time see Alex in back. He can rent you a lane and shooting gear."

______________

T.Rex Ragnarok OWB Holster - 130c

4 x Snake Eater Burro Pistol Pouches = 100c

3 x 17 Round Glock Mags = 300

1000 rounds 9mm = 100c

Total - 630c

_____________

Max slid the Kydex holster on, and the grizzled vet nodded as he watched Max fit the pistol pouches on next. He took his ammo and mags back toward the range. Another man, this one with short blond hair and blue eyes manned a glass counter. Behind him were bulletproof windows showing off rows of shooting lanes and a couple of new players like him.

"How much do you have left?" Violet asked glancing at his shopping.

"Fifty creds or so. I'm about busted," he admitted.

"Good, you have enough for pistol training."

"I know how to use a gun," he said rolling his eyes.

"If you say so," she replied dubiously turning to the attendant. "He needs a lane, eyes, and ears," Violet said.

"Lane two is open," The younger man said pointing behind him. The lane was 15 credits and the shooting gear 5, but he accepted the charge again. Violet was already opening the range door when he grabbed his shopping bags and followed. Men and… a few women were shooting in their own lanes—all of them carefully aiming down range. They stopped in bay two. Max smiled indulgently at Violet as she went through the four gun rules, and he was certain Violet was patronizing him, but safety was important.

She finished by saying. "I'll warn once if you finger my trigger. Do it too often and I'll mock you unmercifully. If you understand the rules, eject my magazine and load it with ammo." Violet stared at him for a long second, then closed her eyes. Her skin began to glow yellow, and Max was forced to look away. He blinked, looked back, and saw a Glock 19 laying on the shooting bench.

"Interesting," he said picking up the weapon to examine. Many called the Glock an ugly plastic brick, but he thought there was a simple beauty in the utilitarian design. Both upper and lower receivers were a flat black. The Glock logo marked the front of the pistol followed by the model number. The rear slide was etched with vertical grip grooves, and the sights were the factory default white dot and goalpost. Max tore open the first box of ammo, and pushed the first couple in without difficulty, but as he reached the thirteenth round, he was forcing them in.

"Aren't you going to shoot?" Violet asked. It was as if she were standing directly beside him and whispering into his ear. Max turned his head but only saw the other shooters in their own lanes.

"Well…"

"Easy there girl, a man needs a little foreplay," he said slipping a 17 round mag into the well. It clicked softly, and he grabbed the slide, racking it hard. Hanging before the lane was a fresh piece of target paper, and he sent it down about halfway.

Glocks didn't have manual safeties, so all he had to do was raise the weapon up to eye level. His grip was high and tight, and the front sights naturally settled onto the target. He squeezed the trigger, and a hole appeared in the paper less than an inch off center. Max was surprised by the lack of felt recoil, but maybe that was another benefit to his strength score. He took three more shots to confirm his feeling. One ragged hole appeared dead center and Max smiled. He experimented by holstering the weapon and raising his hands. Then brought them down, drew the gun, and fired. The bullet punched through the paper way off center.

"I am definitely out of practice," Max muttered holstering the pistol again. Max intentionally slowed down his movement, took a firm grip, and drew the pistol. This time the bullet hit the target in the upper chest and he pushed the Glock out to arm's length. The next two rounds were a double tap to the face and head. His next draw was faster with four controlled rounds. Each bullet struck the X in the target before the slide locked back and he used his thumb to hit the release. The empty mag dropped free and his fingers closed around the thin box. Using his index finger, Max guided it into the open well and shoved it home. Then thumbed the slide release and pushed the weapon forward. The next three shots were a bit high and to the left but still caught the target's shoulder. It was a good thing he bought a thousand rounds to practice with because he fucking needed it. For the next two hours, he dumped ammo downrange. Eventually, he holstered the pistol and left the range smelling of spent fowling.

"What happens now?" He asked catching her scent of gun powder. The Glock in his holster began to glow before a tall, pale-skinned woman flashed into existence. Violet seemed apathetic, but there were several sooty spots on her neck, cheek, and forehead.

"You're out of money, so a competition match is your best option." She responded rubbing at the smudges.

"A match it is," he said excitedly and they headed for the exit. They left the megamall and climbed into Violet's battered muscle car. It started, died, and sputtered to life again with a roar. Before it could die again, she threw it into gear and spun out onto the busy street. The competition center was about a mile down the same avenue. It came into view. It was oval shaped, about three blocks in diameter and glass fronted. Advertisements for pistol mods, sports drinks, and tactical gear covered every available surface. Violet pulled into the lot which was quickly starting to fill. It was midday, and the players were beginning to log in. Max closed the rusty door with a needed slam and joined Violet as they headed toward the entrance.

"Join Horrible Old Men! We placed second in last year's tournament!"

"Not Safe For Work is accepting new applicants. We have virgin guns!"

Max passed a dozen recruiters decked out in tactical gear, skin, and cleavage. Girl, Inc wasn't even trying to be subtle about it either. He stopped to examine the woman and the camouflage paint covering her body. The only clothing she had on was a holster strapped to her green thigh, and a golden AK74/U slung across her back.

"New to Gun Meister? Join Girls, Inc! We'll provide ammo, gear, and training!" The tall ginger haired woman shouted. She lowered the little megaphone and glanced at Max as he eyeballed her.

"You just joined last night?" She asked Max, and he gave her a half shrug. He must have looked like a scrub with just a pistol and a handful of mags, but he wasn't alone. Yesterday's Halloween event had drawn in a clutch of new players, and some of them were walking past him now.

"You should sign up with us. Our only requirement is a female avatar, so you'd have to remake your character. Since you're bronze, that doesn't seem like a big deal. You can even re-contract with your current pistol, which is what I did," The woman said patting the holstered weapon on her thigh. The idea had some appeal, and the offer wasn't bad, but he had no interest in spending his eternal days as the opposite sex.

"Interesting offer, but I'll pass. I like the swinging meat between my legs."

"Not going to get a better deal than us. Everyone knows we have the biggest compound on this side of the server. We're the best clan in the game." She replied moving toward him. Maybe she sensed his interested like a shark sensing blood in the water. Max pointed past her toward the gray-haired man thirty feet down.

"Didn't those guys say they got second place?" He asked.

"Pfft, they lost most of their members when Star Nova went live. Why do you think they're out here recruiting newbies?" She asked glancing over at the geriatric soldier.

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"Heck no! We are a full-service clan. Get em young, train them up, and they'll stick around longer. That's what the boss says anyway. Those old farts started as ‘the best of the best' types. They only took diamond players and above." She scoffed in a voice loud enough for them to hear. The old man gave them an off-hand bird. The girl turned back and added in a more normal tone, "They walked out of the tourney with fifty thousand dollars and the second place trophy. Now look at ‘em."

Max whistled as the old man shouted his recruiting slogan again. A dozen new players walked past not even glancing at the veteran. Everything about his kit screamed skilled, from the pistol tight against his waist to the perfectly aligned rifle mags. He'd either had combat training or practiced to find that perfect ratio.

"What was the first place prize?"

"Five million dollars which was taken by us, of course." She said in a tone filled with undeserved pride. Her gear—what little there was—looked sloppy and unorganized, but maybe that was to show off her tits. "Well—" she admitted sheepishly. "Not me personally, but Pink Squad took the championship. They got half the money for themselves, and the clan took the rest. They're reinvesting the winnings, which is why I'm standing out here butt naked covered in green paint."

"So?" She asked putting her hands on her hips.

"Thanks for the tip, but I'll pass."

"You know where to find me if you have second thoughts," she said with a little wave.

Max passed through the front doors and had trouble believing half the player population had left. Men and women filled the front lobby. Black tiled floor stretched toward a convenience desk were two people were answering questions from newbies. Several enormous monitors hung down from the ceiling which was showing a clan match in progress. Off to the right, a dozen circular elevators and a stairwell down. People were coming and going from them in a river of tactical gear. On the left was an open lounge with a hundred or so booths. Black leather couches dotted the area full of chatting players. It amazed Max, and he tried to imagine what it was like during the height of Gun Meister's popularity. Violet prodded him in the shoulder.

"Go up to any console and place your palm on the surface. Select either a deathmatch or a team match. It's up to you."

"What's the difference?"

"The prize money. Deathmatches payout ten-thousand credits to the winner, but the same amount is split between five people in a team match. Killing other players is the other way to make money."

"I think I'm better off by myself right now," he said, and Violet nudged him toward a side console. Max got into line behind several others. Once it was his turn, he placed his palm on the screen. It lit up with several options.

_______________

[Character Stats]

[Quick Death-Match]

[Quick Team-Match]

[Quick Casual Match]

[Custom Casual]

_______________

The majority of the screen was taken up by the five selections. Along the edge was a sidebar offering even more options. The line of Meisters behind Max was growing though, so he just hit Quick Death Match.

"Please Enter Lobby 49," the screen said in a female voice.

"Now you enter an elevator, then swipe your palm on its screen, and it'll drop you into the right lobby," Violet said pointing towards the flowing river. He started toward the cluster but Violet stopped him. "It'll be crowded," she suggested and began to glow. A weapon appeared in his holster and he smiled to himself. That little transformation magic would probably never grow old to him.

It took a minute for him to get inside an elevator. The players walked in a clockwise circle upon entering and swiped their hand over a screen as they passed. He followed their example, and the monitor beeped once at him. Two more people climbed in after him before the doors closed and it started down.

"Lobby 22," the elevator said in a chirpy robotic voice. The doors opened onto a small lounge and four people pushed from the congested elevator.

"Lobby 38," it said next and three more people got off.

"Lobby 49," the voice chirped, and he exited along with one other person. Several plush couches were set up around a group of screens which all displayed the words, "Please wait."

Max slouched into a chair near the corner of the room, while the other man took a seat facing the elevator. He was average sized with long blond hair, a gray uniform, and a Desert Eagle tucked under one arm. He turned green eyes on Max, scanning him in return. The elevator opened and four more people joined them. Most still wore the outfits given at character creation, but a few had jackets on. Max drew his pistol from the holster, and the other players immediately turned to him, but he only press-checked the weapon. The extractor, technically, served as a loaded chamber indicator, but physically checking was an old habit. He pushed the slid back until there was a sliver of brass cartridge visible. Satisfied, he returned the pistol within the holster.

The man with the Desert Eagle took out his weapon from a bulky shoulder holster. He went so far as to rack the slide on his gun, and a chubby .50 caliber American Express cartridge landed on the lounge carpet. Flustered, he bent to pick it up, and the handgun went off like a naval cannon in the small room. The bullet narrowly missed another meister's head and shattered a television screen.

"Sorry, sorry," he gushed as several players drew their weapons. Max's hand was on his pistol's grip ready to draw. "I know. You keep telling me about the trigger thing." The guy whispered under his breath. After a few awkward moments, he put the magnum back in the holster and snapped the leather closed.

"Don't kill anyone until the game starts," Violet warned, and he turned his head, but no one was there. It was the second time he'd experienced her talking into his eardrum. "From your reaction, I figured someone did something stupid. It's dismally normal for new Meisters to have a couple of accidents." She said and he continued to look around.

"I can speak to you in this form, and only you can hear me." Violet added as the elevator door opened.

"Wooah, looks like the shootings already started," a woman said walking into the lounge. She popped a piece of gum and sauntered in like she owned the place. "Nice to meet ya'll. I feel a little bad cause this ain't my first character." She added settling against the wall. The blond had shoved herself into a tight pair of blue jeans with an army green tank top. The sides of her head were shaved while the top was shoulder length. Max didn't see her weapon, which meant she was concealing it be leaning against the wall.

The psychological trick was wasted effort on him, but judging by the other expressions, it must be working. The awkward silence that followed was eventually broken by the elevator opening again. Several more people walked in, and the world grew dark. There were a few moments of disorientation, but bright white text floated in the void.

[Match Starting]

Green foliage covered everything. Max stood next to a broken light post, and poison ivy crawled up the iron pole. The cracked concrete under his feet was so bad that weeds concealed much of the gray stone. A dozen feet away was a faded street sign, and judging by the unreadable script, he was somewhere in Europe. Turning entirely around he saw a red transparent wall crossing the street and bisecting a petrol station. Max wasn't going to touch that energy barrier, because the crackling red field screamed, ‘die, fucker, die.'

Rusted out cars and trucks littered the ruined parking lot. A squirrel was sitting on a white BMW, chewing on a nut, and eyeballing Max without a care in the world. Two gunshots rang out in the distance, and the squirrel scampered through the broken car window. Max turned toward the sound as well. It hadn't been too far away.

His fingers closed around the grip of the pistol and drew it from the holster. The weapon and the 17 rounds was a hefty reassuring weight in his hand. He crouched slightly and slowly weaved between the cars, moving toward the sound of gunfire. Those two rounds had been fast and final. Nothing had happened afterward so he could only assume they'd killed their target.

He passed the petrol station and wandered into an overgrown alley. Plants struggled up the south-facing wall, but the weeds were shorter in the building's shadow. Keeping the weapon at the low ready, he jogged through the knee high plants. He paused, leaning against the brick building. Two bullets slammed into the wall next to him, and he flinched back around the corner. The two flashes had come from a cafe across the street.

Usually, he'd retreat, but the darkened interior had given him a good bead on the shooter. Raising his weapon, Max slowly inched out of cover and peered out. A woman in blue jeans was running up the street. She was already halfway down the block when he returned fire. His first bullet shattered a shop window, the second struck a parked car, but his third caught the girl in the back. She staggered briefly before turning the street corner and ran out of sight.

"Could have sworn I hit a lung," he harrumphed.

"9mm bullets do light damage, so it often takes multiple shots to ensure a kill. That's especially true against high endurance Meisters. You'll need three bullets to the torso."

"I see," he said lowering the pistol.

Max walked up the street until he saw blood on the ground which continued down the sidewalk before crossing the street. He waited a few seconds, crouched behind a delivery truck. Finally, he rose and followed the blood trail down the second alley between a pizza place and Chinese restaurant. A green dumpster was shared between the two. Max was only twenty feet away when the lid of the dumpster cracked open, and a pistol pointed in his direction. Both traded shots. Her unaimed rounds struck the wall about ten feet to his left. Max's made six holes in dumpster's side, and the woman's pistol dropped to the ground.

Max checked his surroundings ensuring the alley was clear before moving forward. He stopped a foot from the dumpster and lifted the lid with his free hand. Inside was a composted mess and one bullet-riddled corpse. She lay against the front corner, eyes closed, arm sticking out of the side.

"How long is this supposed to take?" He asked putting his back to the wall and reloaded the pistol again.

"Twenty minutes, you should hear the half-time buzzer shortly," Violet replied.

About a minute later a clipped air siren went off. Max glanced as an invisible god blasted an airhorn overhead. The red wall also started moving faster, something he hadn't noticed before. The thing inched inexorably across the street from the direction he'd come. It seemed to him there were two basic strategies. One was the follow the wall in as it shrank, and the other was to head directly for the center. The first would ensure nobody got behind him, while the other would let him prepare his defense.

He and the woman had been the only active combatants—so far. The others seemed content to wait, so they'd probably be forced to move when the wall did. He wandered away from the energy barrier and down the alley. There he remained, listening for movement which wasn't hard in the eerily quiet. Max caught the sound of labored breathing. Not from exhaustion but a heart pumping madly from fear. He stopped again, cocking his head toward a news van maybe ten feet away. There a moldy weather-beaten satellite dish sat atop like a withered stalk of corn. The front passenger window was busted out, and he could see no one was in the cab. The back of the van had no windows, just a logo for a local television station. The muffled sound of breathing came from inside.

Well, they had to know a gunfight just happened less than a block away, which would explain why they were breathing so hard.

Max crept around the back of the van making sure to give it a wide birth. He aimed low at the gas cap and fired. The bullet struck the truck in the side and through the thin aluminum. Fuel, the color of bean burrito diarrhea, began to leak out onto the ground. Inside the van, there was a loud male scream as bullet punched through the back doors. Five, ten, fourteen bullet holes appeared in the back door in rapid succession. By now a small puddle of old gasoline had formed under the van. He aimed at the ground and fired. The bullet skipped off the concrete which sparked, and the gas caught fire. The flame raced over the puddle, then up into the tank, and the whole van was in flames. The back doors flew open, and a man on fire rolled out onto the ground. He was lean bodied with spiky blond hair and a good pair of lungs on him. Max put three bullets into his chest as he rolled across to the ground screaming.

"Good to know," he mused stepping back from the burning vehicle. Max had only hoped to scare the guy into jumping from the van, but that had worked out even better. His second option was to empty the mag into the backdoor. All and all, it was an excellent experiment. Behind him, the vehicle collapsed as each tire exploded. He stopped at the nearby intersection and crouched next to another car.

The energy barrier seemed to be moving a bit faster now. It had crossed over the dumpster with the girl and followed him partly down the alley. About four blocks away, the other side of the circle slowly advanced, but it was hard to see past all the abandoned vehicles littering the street. There were maybe six minutes left as the circle herded everyone together. Max admired the simple system, which kept people from just sitting there all game.

Max hit the mag release popping the partial into his waiting hand. He felt along his belt until his fingers closed on a fresh mag, brought it out and performed a combat reload, then shoved the partially empty mag into his pocket. For a few seconds, he chewed his lower lip as he considered what to do next. Should he preemptively head into the middle, then wait for the circle to bring everyone to him? After waffling for a minute, Max stood and began weaving between the cars. Nobody took a shot at him, not even as he reached the second intersection. Max was more-or-less where the match would end.

Bullets rang out about a block away, and Max turned to see two men firing at one another down the street. One had a giant chrome Desert Eagle which is what shattered the quiet reverie. A second man cowered behind a taxi cab and fired blindly over the trunk.

Max moved to put a two-door sedan between himself and the men. The guy by the taxi was still firing over the trunk, while Mr. Deagle attempted to reload his magnum with shaking hands. He succeeded, finally, and stood from the planter he was hiding behind. The man by the taxi was cursing and digging in his pockets for more bullets, which fell out like gold coins and started rolling away. The USP lay on the ground while he desperately shoved bullets into his only magazine. Mr. Deagle jumped the planter and sprinted into the street, then skidded across the hood of the taxi firing his weapon. Heavy handgun bullets chewed up the already broken blacktop. Both men stared at one another before the first grabbed his fallen USP.

So there they were, within touching distance from each other scrambling to reload first. Max waited to see how things turned out but did spend the time setting up a shot. He could see both in the middle of the street, so he rested his forearms on the car's hood.

The man with the USP was, at first, trying to shove the mag in backward, but still managed to beat Mr.Deagle to the reload. Realizing this he dropped his gun and jumped forward. Both men fought for the black pistol before it went off with a muted bang. Max waited while the two men stared at each other like long lost lovers. Then Mr.Deagle slowly slid to the cracked blacktop, blood pooling around his body.

The second sat, shock written on his face before he grinned like a madman. He looked like a kid who'd gotten the GI Joe he always wanted for Christmas, so Max gave him two seconds to enjoy that feeling. Then he slowly squeezed the trigger, and the Glock barked. The happy, victorious smile was still on the guy's face as the side of his head exploded. He collapsed atop the other player in a lovers spoon.

Max scanned the different avenues of approach, currently empty which was good because he'd been distracted by the firefight. The circle was only a block away and more players would soon appear. Seconds ticked by on the final minutes of the game. He kept his head on a swivel looking for enemy players. The energy wall was barely half a block away when someone fired several shots followed by a foreboding silence.

Nearby, the glass door to a shop shattered and a man climbed into the street just ahead of the death wall. Max moved to place the car between himself and the new target. He aimed while the guy sprinted forward, and his first bullet missed, but the two follow up shots dropped him before he reached cover.

A bullet shattered the car window next to Max, and he dove sideways as more rounds punched into the driver side door. Someone had come out of the alley about fifty feet away while his back was turned and was running towards the car filled intersection. Max rolled onto his side and took at aim at a pair of legs as they skidded to a stop behind a nearby vehicle. The gun barked again, and blood sprayed from a shot to the thigh. His target jerked sideways falling backward. Max could sometimes notice little things, especially at the oddest times, and a pair of bright red eyes looked back him. That didn't stop Max from pumping four more rounds into guy's lower torso. As his target collapsed to the ground, darkness closed in.

[Match Complete]