Quinn's bar was surprisingly busy at 2 p.m. Max pushed his way through the loud dance music and let the door close after him. The sunlight was immediately blocked out, and he blinked in the sudden darkness. Fake fog spilled out from the corners of the room and covered the floor in a hazy white mist. Black lights and a single disco ball colored the smoke. Max lowered his hand as his eyes adjusted. The main floor was jam-packed with half-naked women grinding together. Tongues, tits, and hips fought to an erotic techno ballad.

This was a great place to relax, he thought to himself.

A few seconds after entering, the dancers slowed as they scented his three open contract slots. One could almost hear the sound of wet panties dropping over the music. It rippled through the crowd like a wave, and he smiled to himself. A hundred pairs of eyes watched him as he walked over to the bar. It was an odd sensation, but not wholly unpleasant to be stared at by so many women.

It must have been his open contract slots. Friday had mentioned weapons could detect them through smell. He did his best to ignore the stares as he settled himself onto a bar stool.

Quinn had his back turned and was washing glasses in a small bar sink. "If my nose doesn't deceive me, the hunk has returned." The man said not turning in his direction. Max smiled and settled his elbows onto the bar.

"I may have just found my hangout."

"Yesterday you smelled like heaven itself, but now—" The dandy said turning towards him. A flush was creeping over his cheeks, and he forced himself to place the glass gently on the bar. "Just how many contracts slots do you have?" He asked filling it with amber colored beer.

"Three."

"Not that I'm complaining, but what brings you back? Are you going to steal my girls away." Quinn said pushing the glass across the bar.

"I stopped by to see if Friday was on shift."

The other man was almost two feet shorter than Max, but that didn't stop him from wrapping delicate fingers around Max's wrist like a vice. They looked into each other's eyes. "She's a good girl and a hard worker. Please don't hurt her or I'd be forced to make your life… unpleasant." Quinn said and gave a small squeeze to Max's wrist.

"I am suitably warned," Max replied as his flesh and bones ground together. The bar owner let go immediately as a bronze haired figure stepped up beside them. Friday's eyes danced between the pair with curiosity. She finally settled on Max.

"I didn't expect to see you until later."

"I wanted to thank you for the sandwiches," he admitted as he picked up the beer. "And annoy Violet," he added after taking a sip.

"I can't tell if you want Violet," Friday said then pause briefly. She quickly added, "Actually, I can't tell if she wants you or not. She keeps talking about you."

"I like her well enough, but I'm really here for you."

"I'm nobody special. There are hundreds of available weapons," she said gesturing towards the gyrating crowd of flesh on the dance floor.

"Well, little miss nobody, everyone thinks highly of you. Would you like to celebrate with me?"

"What are we celebrating?"

"I ranked up to silver."

"I don't drink on the job, but thank you for the offer."

"I thought we could celebrate in a different way," he said gathering himself from the bar stool. Friday took a step back, but he quickly wrapped an arm around her waist. Max leaned in close to her ear and whispered. "I came to see if you wanted to contract." She squirmed against him as her body responded to his scent. One hand pushed him away while the other clawed at the belt of his jeans.

He could hear the hitch in her voice as she replied, "I'm... oh god... I'm on the clock, and that would be rude to Quinn." Max laughed as he was forced to lean away from the woman.

"It wouldn't take long. I was thinking you, me, and three minutes in the storage room."

"That's it?"

"It's one of my character flaws, sadly. I'm a fast finisher." He said with a playful smile.

"You're fibbing; she accused ultimately succeeding in pushing him away. Max caught her wrist and looked deep into her eyes.

"Why don't we go back and see?" He asked again, and she blushed. Her mouth worked, tongue licking across suddenly dry lips, and he could see the internal struggle going on behind those beautiful eyes.

"What about Violet?" She asked in a husky hungry voice.

"I've seen that storage room, and it would be a tight fit, but I suppose if you're into contortion—"

"Don't be obtuse," she interrupted, and he smiled again.

"That's entirely up to her. I wouldn't want to get between your relationship with Violet. Speaking of the woman, where can I find that luscious long-legged vixen? I want to give her the good news."

"Please, please don't annoy her," Friday said pulling back. The flush was still prominent on her face and it was slowly creeping across her ears.

"Annoy her? She and I get along like soul mates."

"That's what worries me."

Max beamed at her again until she pointed past him toward a roped off section of the bar. Cafe tables sprinkled waxed floor up so couples could have a romantic candlelit space to relax. It was noticeably quieter her which lent itself to whispering sweet nothings. He picked up his half-empty beer and wandered in that direction. Once more eyes followed him as he passed the dance floor and entered the private area.

Violet noticed him right away which may have been the way all conversation stopped as he slid into a booth. She frowned at his beer and threw a glance toward the bar. Quinn was making himself busy mixing drinks as he tried to hide a mischievous smile.

"What are you doing here?" she growled after stomping over.

"I wanted to see you," he replied, and she stared him, suspicion evident on her face. "You don't believe me?"

"No," she said flatly.

"Fine, I'll be honest. I came here to find a weapon." He said a little more loudly than necessary.

"You could have just gone to the armory," she hissed glancing around.

"You are heaven's gatekeeper. I can't contract with Friday without your permission." He said and glanced past Violet's glare to the tables around them. All eyes were on him, and he smiled.

"And what if I say no?"

"Quinn's bar is my kind of place. The people here are starting to grow on me." He admitted and could hear the collective hush. Even the music seemed to quieten, so everyone caught his next words. "Ladies, gentlemen—" he paused to wink at several. "If you want to contract with me forward all inquiries through Violet."

"What if I drag three men home for you."

"You wouldn't do that knowing I like women. You've spent too long protecting other weapons from evil Meister's like me." Max said with a cackle, and Violet glared at him.

"What-do-you-want?" She asked enunciating each word.

"Can I have another beer, some of those romantic candles, and permission to contract with Friday tonight?" He asked. Violet’s eyes widened in surprise, then spun away without saying a word. Max briefly wondered if he needed her. Violet's antics were no longer cute. Then again, did he need her permission? It would make things easier, but he suspected Friday would give in sooner or later. He'd seen the desire in her eyes, but he decided getting permission would easier than forgiveness for once. None of the AI's seemed the type to forget.

Violet was barely out of the area when the women moved in. Two weapons sat in the seats opposite while a third squeezed in next to him.

"You are looking for weapons to contract with?" The woman asked leaning in close. She had light brown hair, green eyes, and a very pink tongue that licked across her lips.

"I am," he admitted. "I planned to give Friday and Violet a chance, but if that falls through I'll be forced to find other options.” He said turning to the small group of women. “I'm surprised you ladies are interested. I figured you'd go for a female Meister."

"Romance is one thing, but a Meister is a Meister," a Spanish featured woman said opposite him. She and her Asian date sat close together in the booth. Close enough they were almost spooning.

[Add a small conversation about being used. How it feels to be slammed fire in quick succession.]

"We could ask you the same thing. You're here in Quinn's bar, but you admit to being hetero."

"I wasn't lying when I said I like the people here. The men are fine, but I’m not attracted to them."

Violet returned with his beer. She set it down with exaggerated care then added a couple of lit candles to the table. She refused to look at Max, and instead, turned to the women in the booth.

"Would you like anything?"

"A panty dropper."

"I'll have a Martini, dry, with two extra olives."

"Asaka saki," the Asian added shifting next to her date. Under the table, a barefoot slid across Max's leg, and a hand squeezed his thigh. Max picked up his beer as Violet moved away, and he watched her hips as she stomped toward the bar. She was molten hot with her high heels and that slinky dress on. He dragged his attention back to his surroundings and noticed the private area was filling up. All of the nearby tables had conspicuously become crowded. All of them were trying to listen to the conversation over the music.

"So, what are you?"

"I'm an Arisaka Type 99," the Japanese girl offered first.

"Spanish CETME in 7.62," her companion said, and Max turned to the brunette clutching his arm.

"Winchester M87 Trenchgun," she said, and he glanced over the women. Two of the girls were World War-era weapons and the CETME not much after. Maybe that was the real reason these women have given up finding a Meister at the Armory. He wouldn't call the girls bad guns, but none were modern firearms.

Violet returned far more quickly with their drinks, which spared him from answering right away. He leaned back against the seat as she set the glasses down. Afterward, she moved to the other tables to take more orders. Max watched her shapely ass as it hopped from customer to customer. Maybe Violet's actions made sense if he looked at it differently. What if she was embarrassed by her decision to drop Max, and the fact Friday called her on it. If she continued to act bitchy and Max contracted with another weapon, she'd be vindicated. Were these AI capable of that level of rationale? Had this exact situation come up in something Violet read or watched on TV? Or was she planning that far ahead? He could test that theory by being more agreeable to Violet, but his musings were interrupted by a gravelly female voice behind him.

"I thought I'd find you here," Calamity said stepping up to his table with an expression of mixed betrayal and desire. She still wore her tight leather pants but ditched the black jacket for a simple tanktop. He reacalled the delicious way they’d jiggled as they’d fucked. Cal crossed her arms over her chest as she noticed his lingering gaze. Next to her was Yohan, dressed in desert khaki's and a tight tank top. Another woman wearing the noob uniform approached next.

"Cal, it's nice to see you again. Who's your new friend?" He asked glancing at the new Meister. The woman had shoulder-length blond hair, amber colored eyes, and a predatory smile. He guessed she was about six feet tall with a lean, muscled build. The Meister probably had two or three points into strength, but no more.

"You don't recognize her?" Calamity asked glancing at the second woman again. The Meister obviously just started the game because she still had the gray military slacks on. The gray jacket was missing, and a dark bra was visible beneath the white undershirt. A Smith and Wesson MP was tucked against her right hip, and four magazine pouches were lined up on her left side next to a black canvas dump pouch. Her amber eyes returned his appraising stare. The woman’s face was cast in cream-colored stone with a finely chiseled nose and chin. Her lips were thin and turned up in a perpetual feral grin.

"Should I?"

"You're the one that gave me her contact info."

"Wolfe?" He asked turning to fully look at the woman.

Impossible, she should be on deployment. Max thought as they scanned her noob uniform again. Besides, it had only been eight or nine hours since he'd left Calamity in a well fucked and agitated state. For Wolfe to read the message, find a pod, and locate a copy off the game, she'd have to be back in the states. The second Meister continued to stare at Max with her Amber eyes.

He turned to the three weapons in the booth, who were watching the byplay with interest. "I'm going to need some privacy with my friends." He said, and they quickly slid out, but not before pushing their phone numbers across the table.

"You are doing well for yourself," Cal growled as she sat in the vacated seat. Max shrugged.

"I'm looking for a weapon, and I’m trying to be a little more discerning," he replied with a playful smirk.

Calamity gave him a kick under the table as she finished sliding into the booth. Yohan sat next to Max, and Wolfe, if it was her, took the last spot.She slid in last next to Cal, then searched his face. Max hadn't exactly gone out of his way to replicate his former face. Wolfe's character looked nothing like her butch 'chew belt leather' self in real life. She looked more like a movie star than a hardened navy seal.

"Good to see you, Fuzz." Max said holding out a hand. Her amber eyes lingered on his giant sized palm for a second then she took it. Her grip was firm and quick, and he decided she had three strength score.

"Cummander," she replied deliberately emphasizing the first syllable. Her voice wasn't quite the same, but that grin brought back so many memories.

"Wait, he's an officer?" Calamity asked in surprise.

"Surprised?" he inquired returning Calamity’s disbelieving stare. He winked at last, then returned to Wolfe who settled back in her seat.

"I've been in a funk, and hearing from my favorite author lifted my spirits, but she still won't tell me how you met."

"We met here," Max said tapping the table.

"I didn't know you were gay, but that does explain things," she said tilting her head, and Max decided not to comment. It would take far to long to explain, so it was better to change the subject.

"I take you agreed to help?"

"I've got nothing better to do," Wolfe replied with a touch of bitterness. Then she turned to Cal with an apologetic expression. "Would give me a few minutes with Max? It’s been a while and we're going to talk shop."

"I suppose I can go look for a real man," she said leveling another glare at Max. The two women shuffled places, and Yohan followed her from the private area. That left Wolfe and Max, if you didn't count a dozens hungry weapons listening in. Calamity walked past the dance floor.

"You fucked her, didn't you?"

"I'd say it was none of your business, but that might as well be a confession. Why?"

"Cal puts up a brave front, but I don't think she's as emotionally centered as she pretends."

"Maybe all those romance novels have filled her head with unrealistic expectations," he replied glancing over his shoulder. "Looks like she's adapting well enough. Cal's already flirting with the boys by the pool table, and judging by the response, she'll walk out of the bar one contract slot fuller."

"What the hell happened to you?" Wolfe suddenly asked.

"I died, obviously…"

"I went to your wake, and wasted some forty-year-old whiskey on you. No one suspected you'd made the jump to digital." Wolfe said. Max was reminded of the enormous gap in his memory, and that was a topic he chose not to explore just yet.

"I'm more interested in you, Wolfe. Why the hell are you here?" He asked in reply, and Wolfe's amber eyes narrowed at his evasion. "I get that you want to help your favorite author, but you should be on deployment." It took Wolfe a long time to answer. She licked her lips and picked at the wood grain of the table as she organized her thoughts.

"They refused to brevet me. Instead, they brought in some West Point weenie with pedigree and contacts." She growled.

"That doesn't explain why you're here?"

For almost a minute she chewed her lip before her desire to tell someone finally broke through the Op Sec. Wolfe leaned over the table with a deadly calm face.

"Beta team's dead," she said, and Max's eyebrow rose.

"The weenie botched it that badly?"

"Oh, it was worse than that. The mission was supposed to be like Africa. Get a team into a ghost farm, connect to the servers, and wait for them to do their techno-magic. Only this time, it was in the middle of a city. Alpha and Beta would go in while Charlie and Delta stayed on overwatch. Fucking new Lieutenant wanted to show he had the cajones to lead, so he ‘had’ to be the first Seal inside." Wolfe said using her fingers in quotation. THen she leaned over to steal his half-empty beer, and drain it in a single swig. He let out a throaty growl then continued with, "Maybe that's what saved Diego's life, which is small consolation for him."

"What happened?" Max asked with a growing sense of horror. He'd nurtured the teams for years, and he knew everyone by name.

"I wasn't there on Alpha like normal. The Lieutenant saw fit to reorganize the teams when he took over, so I was in Delta. "The two teams breached either end of the warehouse. Flashes go off, and everyone goes in with silenced mp5’s, you know cause… we’re not supposed to be there. Less than a minute later, a robot—a fucking robot—comes trundling through the door with what was left of Alpha Team. The thing was an oversized bomb-bot like the ones Demolitions use. We couldn't shoot at it cause it had Diego in one claw, and his missing leg in another.

"Dropped him on the ground like a sack of spoiled meat and went back inside for Simpson and Welsh. The last thing it brings out is pieces of the Lieutenant. We went in for retrieval. Simpson and Welsh were only unconscious, and we got Diego back to the hospital. I suppose it was a good thing we already in the city.

"You said Beta team was gone."

"Oh shit, yeah. I was watching the west entrance. There were more robots on the east side and the second one wasted Beta team. After collecting Diego and the others, I called a retreat. Brass was not happy, but the Lieutenant was dead, so fuck em." Wolfe said sniffing at the leftover saki then gulped the contents.

"Damn."

"I've been pushing papers stateside while they organize my discharge. It's taken this long cause the nutsacks don't have to guts to section eight me. That would mean a full report, so I've been sitting on my thumbing waiting for my term to end. Well, I've been visiting Diego in rehab. They fitted him with a prosthetic leg, and it sounds like they're going to discharge him next." She finished, and Max sat back as Wolfe hunted through the other empty glasses for residual alcohol. Max decided not to ask who was on Beta team. He really didn’t want to know.

"I'm glad you're ok," he finally said, and Wolfe shrugged giving up her search. It was lame and unhelpful, but it was the best had at the moment. The fact they were trying to section eight Wolfe meant the higher-ups were desperately trying to hide something. He was no doe-eyed angel. Max knew the US military had its fair share of skeletons. Now he understood why she was willing to break protocol.

"Mercedes—er Calamity—emailed me this morning and thought 'Fuck it. I've got time to kill now,' so I went out and bought a dive helmet."

"The reports of my death were mostly true. I was driving home with this hot piece of tail when an Escort slammed into my driver side door. It’s kind of a blur, and I can't remember everything, except that I agreed to be digitized. Then I woke up on the Net somewhere like a bad detective novel. I more or less stumbled upon Gun Meister." He said catching sight of purple hair, and tattoos.

"Violet!" Max called, and the pistol turned in his direction. Her silver eyes narrowed, but she came over after a short hesitation.

"Two shots of Quinn's finest," he said and glanced at the woman. Violet held an empty drinks tray against her chest like a round shield. Max reminded himself he was going to be nicer. "Please," he added after a moment. It took only a minute for the weapon to return with two shot glasses. She set them down.

Wolfe collected her shot-glass and they both stood in the booth. Max looked into her eyes which had started to moisten with tears. Her jaw was set and her shoulders stiffed as she held her drink.

"To Fallen Brothers," Max said solemnly.

"To Fallen Brothers, Wulfe repeated and drained the scotch. The dark amber liquid burned the back of his throat and made his stomach grow warm. Too bad it wouldn't get him drunk. Violet continued to stand there watching them, so he turned to her.

"Can we get two beers? I forgot to ask before." He asked, and her eyes changed subtly. She nodded, and came back less than a minute later with two full glasses. Max supposed being nice was paying off with better service at least.

"Did you already get some training in?"

"God… I'm glad she emailed me. We went to the range before coming here, and oooph… She is abysmal at shooting. I can tell she's never held a gun in her life. Everything she's learned is from online research, so I had made her forget some idiotic advice. After she almost shot me, we decided to take a break." Wolfe said slowly pushing from the booth. Behind her, the female weapons leaned closer. Either she didn't notice a dozen women staring at her ass, or she was used to it.

"Nice to know im not the only one she took a shot at." Max said glancing over his shoulder. Calamity stood with arms crossed next to the dance floor not willing to enter the private area. Yohan, and a medium height man with messy brown hair and brooding eyes waited behind her.

"Tomorrow we plan on going back to the training center if you want to come."

"I should get a phone soon, but I'll join you two tomorrow," Max replied, and Wolfe raised her hand in an almost salute. She glanced at the offending appendage then quickly left with a 'whatever' wave instead.

"That's if you have any weapons tomorrow," Violet said returning to the table.

The woman wants you to snap at her. Max reminded himself and smiled at her.

"You have the power to decide that," he admitted pushing from the table as well. "I'm going back to the apartment to watch some television and take a nap. I want to be at full strength when you get off shift." He said walking around the woman. Max was almost out earshot when he heard his name. He paused near the dance floor, and Violet jogged up. She leaned in close to his ear to speak over the loud music.

"Can you take Rusty home, since your going that way?"

"I can," he said and Violet led him toward the back hall. Quinn winked at him as they passed the bar. Violet pushed open the second door revealing a cramped office. Just inside was a small couch which rusty was laying upon. The bronze colored retriever was watching a pompous little dog pageant on a 12 inch TV on the desk. Rusty looked up as they entered and Max was struck the dog's intelligent eyes. Until now he hadn't given the animal much thought.

"Max is heading home," Violet said and the dog whuffed before returned his gaze to the TV. Violet looked back at Max, and he shifted in the doorway so he could watch with interest. "I'm going to take Friday to dinner after our shift. They don't allow pets in Leandra's. Especially after you snuck into the kitchen and ate every spicy sausage." Rusty made a low sound in his throat like he was thinking about it. Then after a few seconds, he stretched and hopped down from the leather couch. Max backed into the hallway, and Rusty trotted past. He supposed walking the dog home would let the two women talk and make a decision about him.