Max glanced over at the only other male in the group. Aside from the dirty blond hair and orange shooting glasses, the guy was almost nondescript — twenty-five to thirty, a short goatee covering a weak chin, and a heavy bulletproof vest. The neon green painted Saiga-12 shotgun in his hands stood out more than he did. Radioactive stickers plastered the weapon's frame.

Calamity knelt with two other women next to a pallet of concrete bags. She held the G36 with a bit more confidence since the training session. At least, she'd learned to keep her finger out of the trigger well. The blond woman next to her was playing with the selector switch on the Scar Light. A lit cigarette smoldered between her pert lips, and wafts of smoke drifted upward. Max glanced at the assault weapon she treated like a cheap guitar. It was the same tan/bronze color as his own but used the smaller 5.56 caliber rounds. A laser device was mounted on the top rail just ahead of an EOTech holographic sight. The woman wore no armor, so she must have prioritized weapon mods.

The third woman was six feet tall and wore a prep school uniform under a light recon vest. A blue plaited skirt matched a thin buttoned shirt. Black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she held a p90 loosely in one hand. The other was scratching her nose as she scanned the warehouse floor. Max leaned out around the pallet and looked around himself. Darkness filled the space, except rain and age, had eaten holes in the roof, so swaths of the warehouse illuminated with yellow moonlight. Racks of construction supply were slowly falling over under the weight of time. Ten aisles ran the length of the warehouse—each large enough for a forklift to do donuts. The whole building was a single enormous rectangle, and in the middle, a large black walnut tree was slowly reaching skyward.

"Don't light another cigarette," Max growled, and the blond woman froze with a fresh cig in her mouth.

"You ain't my mommy, so bite me," she replied, pulling a set of matches from her pocket.

"It gives away your position in the dark," the second man replied. She looked between Max and the other man, then struck a match, and raised the flame to her cigarette.

"Leave her be," the p90 girl said saddling a little closer to her friend.

"If you two are so badass, how about you push forward. We'll flank to the left." Max said through clenched teeth.

"We all stick together," the blond said aggressively.

"Smoke if you want, but I'll slap that shit from your mouth if you follow us," Max said duck walking to the next storage aisle. Calamity gave the blond a 'what are you doing' look then followed after.

He crossed two more lanes before ducking down an aisle labeled Grounds Keeping. They stopped about twenty meters from a patch of moonlight stretching across the concrete. Shovels and digging equipment littered the ground from a collapsed rack.

"Why don't I climb atop one?" Calamity suggested.

"The racks aren't continuous, and you'd probably get stuck up there," Max said and glanced pouting face. The industrial metal was good steel, but rain and weather had ravaged them for countless years. Numerous aisles were a maze of collapsed shelves and damaged merchandise.

"Not saying you can't do it, but it'll be impossible to get back down once the teams closed the distance. Is it worth the risk?" He asked as the shotgun guy worked his way forward.

"Might give her a height advantage," the other man said, and Max shrugged. Several aisles to their right, the girl—visible by the glowing cherry—inched forward. If he could see it three stacks away, the enemy would too.

Shotgun guy continued forward at a low crouch, then went prone a dozen paces from the moonlight. Max looked up through the torn roof at a harvest moon filling the sky. For a full minute, the three lay on the concrete with their weapons pointed down range. Finally, the man stood and started to back, but Max grabbed his vest collar.

"It's better to go around, we'll be exposed," the man whispered back.

"Wait until the shooting starts, then run forward. The enemy will be too distracted to switch targets. Let's rush past the tree and take up defensive positions."

"I agree," Calamity said, switching her rifle to full auto. She raised to her knees, and they waited.

"Should I go the way left?"

"If we had night vision," Max said reached out a hand to touch both players. It was dark enough they were dark blobs against the black. He wanted to keep together because Max didn't entirely trust Calamity not to shoot him in the back when things went down. Max glanced over to where Cherry blond had been, but she'd finally put the cigarette out. They better not try anything cute, because if anyone came up behind them, he'd shoot first and apologize never.

They continued to wait in the dark until an air siren went off overhead. At roughly the same time, a red energy barrier appeared at either end of the warehouse. Max raised a hand to his ear and cupped it. There was sound like a boot scuffing concrete, but it was too distant to make out direction. Ahead of them was a patch of moonlight, then more darkness until the aisle reached the middle of the warehouse. The tree and it's thick branches shaded the ground below it, so a halo of illumination circled the center.

Finally, gunfire erupted off to their right. Both the p90 and Scar-L fired down the aisle in a wild spray of bullets. The flashes from both were like a gang of paparazzi taking pictures. The two Meisters were silhouetted a dozen feet behind and to their right. A second or two passed before several weapons spit lead back. Max crept forward the grabbed an armored shoulder.

"Go, we'll be right behind you," Max said, nudging him forward.

They stood and sprinted into the moonlight. Nothing shot, not until they'd plunged back into the darkness on the other side. Max leaped over jumbles of fallen goods before dropping to the ground as bullets tore down the aisle. Max heard more than saw a body hitting the ground just ahead of him. Rounds zipped past his head as Calamity fired back, and he crawled forward. He'd hoped to reach the center first, but at least one person beat them here. Max kept his ass low and shuffled forward across the concrete. The prone figure of shotgun guy appeared out of the darkness. Bullets tore apart his hip and dismembered one of his legs. Max set the Scar against the corpse and tucked his shoulder into the buttstock. Then looked through the small red dot, and waited for the enemy to fire again.

Off to their right, the battle continued to rage. He didn't hold out much hope for the two, but at least they were keeping the enemy busy.

"You still good, Calamity?" Max asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Yeah, I think so," Cal replied short of breath. She fumbled with the magazine release, then worked a fresh one into the well. He waited a few seconds for her to finish.

"You have to drop bolt catch or use the charging handle to load the first round," Max said, and a racking sound soon followed. She didn't say thank you but began crawling forward until they were both using the corpse as cover. For a while, nothing happened, and the warehouse grew deathly silent. Thirty feet away, the tree stood like a welcoming bastion and wondered if they could reach the thick trunk first. Could he trust her to watch his back as he dashed across the circle of light? Maybe it would be better to send her across first.

"Do you want to try climbing the shelf?" He asked in a whisper. This close to the center it would offer a good vantage point, but she'd be stuck up there when the wall closed in.

"What if they shoot at me?" She asked nervously and turned to look into her eyes. They were close enough he could see the fear in them. This match was her first firefight involving real weapons.

"I'll cover," he said injecting as much confidence as he could. If anything, Calamity would reveal the enemy location when they started shooting. She nodded to herself more than anything, then slowly rose to a crouch. Nothing happened, and she grabbed the closest rack. The woman hauled herself to the second shelf, then used a pallet of mulch to climb one higher.

Max focused on the red dot, ready to fire, but Calamity reached the final shelf without incident. It was empty except layers of dust and bird droppings, so she rolled to her knees, breathing heavily. With her weapon ahead of her, she moved slowly forward.

Maybe he could make the enemy reveal their location. He hoped they wouldn't be able to tell a pistol shot from a rifle. Max drew the Glock from its holster, and roughly aimed down the aisle. Without looking, he squeezed off seven rapid shots. The bullets pinged off metal shelves and chipped concrete, but better still, someone laying on the ground fired back. He ducked his head as rounds thumped into the corpse and its heavy armor.

He dropped the Glock and aimed at a muzzle flash about sixty meters ahead of him. Max focused his attention on the red dot, settling it over the spot, and squeezed the trigger twice. The Scar bucked against his shoulder in a satisfying push. He waited for the enemy to start shooting again.

Calamity wasn't in the light, but there was sufficient brightness to see her dark shape against the sky. He felt for the dropped Glock in the darkness, discovered it had rolled to the concrete, then reholstered the pistol. Max gathered himself, then sprinted forward into the light. From another aisle, a weapon fired at him.

A bullet slammed into his chest, and he dropped to the ground under the tree. Above him, Calamity rose up on her knees and quickly fired down on his attack. The bullets stopped chewing the air around him, and he supposed that had been worth the risk. Absently he fingered the spot where above his left lung. The sharp pain had been momentary, and now only a subtle throb remained. Laying on his back, he scooted closer to the trunk until he was entirely in darkness. Only about four minutes were left, and the circle was only about forty meters away. It wouldn't be long until the effect caught Calamity. He set the Scar down and withdrew Violet.

"Cal stay where you're at," he shouted. There was no point in keeping quiet, so he added. "If either of you badass girls are alive, you have five seconds to run over here."

There was movement, but not from behind them, so Max fired the Glock at the noise. He was rewarded with the sound of bullets hitting flesh before weapon locked back, and he sank back into cover. No return fire came, so the enemy was either learning or running low on ammo. Max thumbed the mag release, and the empty plopped onto the ground. He pawed at his waist until he located a new magazine. It clicked home. Max could swear Violet groaned into his ear as he racked the slide.

There was at least one enemy left, and he was hoping he could get them to reveal their position. This time he held the pistol out as far away from the tree as possible. He fired once and waited.

Nothing followed several seconds of silence, and Max reholstered the Glock in annoyance. Two minutes passed in silence and the circle crawled to within feet of Calamity. Max saw the woman stand suddenly, and jump from the fourth shelf. A sickening crunch followed as she hit the ground, and sprawled across the concrete. Her weapon skidded across the ground and vanished in a flash of light. Cal looked like a broken toy as she crawled toward him. One leather-clad leg stuck out at an impossible angle, and she was only using her right arm to pull herself forward.

Whoever was left was going to have to come out into the open, and it was going to happen soon. Max reached for Friday and switched her to full auto. He held the weapon, feeling the metal finish with his thumb.

Several bullets cut into Cal from behind, and Max swung behind the tree. More rounds slammed into the trunk roughly where he'd been laying. A figure stepped into the moonlight with his rifle raised. He dropped the mag, which Max thought a mistake. The guy should have reloaded while under cover of darkness. Max set the Scar against the tree and fired a burst while the enemy hunted for a new mag. The heavy bullets staggered him, and he fell backward out of the light.

That's when someone attacked him from behind. The first bullet struck Max in the back, and he dropped the Scar in surprise. The next could of rounds hit the tree. He turned in shock and drew the Glock again.

A woman ran towards him with a little SMG in her hands. The last of the bullets skipped over Max's head as she fought to control the recoil on the move. Self-preservation kept him on the move, and he ducked back around the tree. The woman dropped her TMP as it ran dry, and she reached for a black semi-automatic.

She kicked at his weapon as he fired. It wasn't painful, but he lost control of his fingers. His Glock tumbled away under the tree's bough. Her pistol came up, and he grabbed her wrist. The gun fired twice cracking concrete as he brought her elbow down on his knee. The bone broke, and her sidearm fell from a limp hand.

"Damn it," she cursed and backed away. Max drew the Karambit with numb fingers. The woman had pretty green eyes, and they looked wildly about for her weapon. Then she lunged for something in the darkness. The woman rolled over and fired into his chest armor. The pain spiked momentarily, but he drove the knife into her throat. Blood poured out across the ground as her weapon went over again. The second bullet struck his stomach like an iron fist gut-checking him, and he yanked the blade sideways.

Emerald rolled, and the pistol clattered to the ground. Max staggered and fell back against the tree trunk. He looked up through the foliage at the full moon above and marveled at how pretty the night was. Darkness closed in, and two words floated in the void.

[Match Complete]

A door opened before Max, and he stepped into the private lounge. All ten players were together, and several had their hands thrown up. A woman with piercing green eyes punched his arm.

"Man you are so lucky, you had so much endurance," she said, stomping toward the elevator.

"I was a sliver from death there at the end," Max admitted joining the others.

He settled the Scar against his shoulder and stepped into the lift next Calamity. The woman straightened her jacket and matched his stance with her G36. Someone hit the ground floor button. As it ascended, he turned to the woman.

"Ready for another?"

"I have to get some work on the novel done," she said, running a hand through her black hair.

"Too bad, you did well."

"I think you're just saying that to be nice," she replied, stepping off the elevator. Max followed her through the lobby and outside. Finally, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She stopped to look back.

"It'll take a while, but I hope we can be friends," he said holding out a hand.

"Just don't think that's going to happen again."

"No," he said with a chuckle. "Romance novels are full of sexual tension, and that sells books, but a real combat team has to trust each other. The drama gets in the way."

"Really? You never did anything with her?"

"Hell no. We don't play those games in the Navy. You should have seen Wulfe crush the few men that tried to hit on her. She made a seal cry." He admitted, and he took out his new smartphone.

"I can believe it," Calamity said with a smile.

"Do you have a number?"

"My real one?" She asked in surprise.

"Yeah, this thing can call outside, so maybe we can play again tomorrow."

"Sure," she said slowly, then typed in her email address and phone number.

"Have a good day," He said with a wave. The woman walked through the parking lot and out onto the street. He checked his phone and saw it was only two in the afternoon. The time had gone by surprisingly fast, and the girls would have to be at work soon.

"I suppose that means I'm done for today as well," Max said, and the Glock in his holster began to glow. Violet appeared in a flash of yellow light. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"You have time to run another match," she said, and he shrugged.

"Friday mentioned Derek would never clean you both, so I assume Meisters are expected too," he said, and the Scar glowed yellow next. The bronze hair women appeared with a flush to her face. She linked arms with Violet before turning to Max.

"We have two hours, which should give us time to freshen up. Let's head back to the penthouse." She said and gave Violet a peck on the cheek. The woman relented and wrapped an arm around Friday. They turned away still hugging, so Max was forced to follow them to the used car.

"How'd you like being used again?" He asked, climbing into the back seat. Friday closed her eyes and placed the back of a hand against her forehead.

"I'd almost forgotten what it feels like," Friday admitted and bit her lip.

"So it does feel good?"

"Good?" She asked in a breathy rush and laughed self consciously as Violet started the car. "It's more than just good. It's like being complete or having your purpose fulfilled. It's—"

"Better than sex," Violet interjected and Friday blushed, but didn't contradict her lover. The car turned onto the drive and the two held hands across the divider. Max smirked leaning back in the seat. He had promised not to get in the way of their relationship, so they were going to flirt openly. Five minutes later, they pulled into the complex.

They headed upstairs, and Friday unlocked the apartment door. She almost danced to a small side cabinet in the living room. Inside was a yellow tackle box, which she brought to the coffee table. Max plopped down on the leather couch and set the spare ammo down. Friday knelt on the sofa next to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said, kissing his cheek again. Violet sank onto the couch on his left side.

"I'm glad you stayed," Violet added.

"Who first?" He asked and Friday eagerly transformed.

The Scar appeared in his lap, and he unloaded the weapon. He double checked the chamber was empty, then pushed out the takedown pin. The trigger module came away in his hand, and he set it down on the coffee table. Then he removed the buttstock and pulled the carrier group free. That was it; the Scar was surprisingly easy to field strip. Max popped the yellow tackle box open. The smell of gun solvent and Hopps #9 hit him in the face. Nostalgia quickly followed up with a second punch to the gut.

Inside the top rack were wire brushes of every size, bore snakes, and a medley of cotton patches. Underneath he found the can of solvent and an old oil rag. Max spread the cloth out, and liberally coated the Scar. The trigger module was already clean. Still, he used a handful of patches to clean off the old oil. The factory trigger had not impressed him, and he added it to a list of mods he wanted.

The part that needed cleaning was the barrel and the front of the carrier group. He used the plastic nozzle to squirt solvent down inside, then ran the bore snake down its length. Friday groaned in pleasure as the wire bristles dragged down her breach. A small gush of copper fouling spilled onto the rag. He paused with the bore snake, ready to go in again. Now he understood why the girls had started a relationship. Each time the snake went in she moaned loudly in his ear.

"Once more please, once more, I still feel dirty," Friday groaned, and he glanced at Violet. She sat next to him patiently waiting for her turn. Max obliged, and she let out a loud whimpering moan as the snake worked down her barrel. Finally, he pushed several wet patches through it until they came out clean. He didn't bother disassembling the carrier group, not after a hundred rounds. Max squirted the bolt face with solvent and scrubbed it with a well-used wire brush. Then he wiped her down and reassembled the weapon.

Friday appeared lay across his and Violet's lap breathing heavily. Her whole body looked flushed.

"He missed your gas piston and regulator," Violet quipped, and Friday reached up putting her hand on the woman's cheek.

"Next time," he said holding out his hand. Violet glowed briefly and a Glock appeared in his palm. Friday sat up to give him room and leaned against his side. He popped the mag and racked the weapon. Then turned the locking pin, and squeezed the trigger, so the slide came free. Max pulled the recoil spring free, then the barrel and squirted everything down with solvent.

Friday leaned in and whispered, "She loves having her trigger safety scrubbed." Max glanced at her. That was a part he would never have touched on his own. It was just a spring, and a bit of plastic.

"How about you and I double team Violet again?" He asked, and a sharp intake of breath sounded in his mind. Max handed the lower receiver to Friday and reached for the barrel. The woman wasted no time in grabbing a teenie tiny wire brush. She slowly and methodically went to work on the weapon's trigger, and a wailing moan filled his ears.

He pulled a 9mm bore snake through her barrel.

"Here I thought Violet liked anal, but wow. She could blow eardrums with that voice." Max said on his third repetition.

"Bite me," Violet groaned.

Max picked up the wire brush to clean her slid groves. At the same time, Friday used a rag to clean out her mag thoroughly. Violet's cursing quickly dissolved into a fit of panting cries.

"What if we make her beg us to stop?" Max asked in a conspiratorial whisper. "She seemed annoyed that I missed your gas regular. We could keep at this until she's mint condition again."

"I think she'd like that, but she'd never lower herself to begging. Besides, I have to be to work in forty minutes."

"That's too bad," Max wiped off the slide, then added a few drops to oil. Friday handed him the lower receiver, and he reassembled the pistol. Violet appeared in an even more agitated state, and purple hair stuck out wildly like she'd just had a night of great sex. The woman sprawled limply across Max's lap, while her head lay on Friday's. The woman stroked Violet's cheek for a short while before turning to Max

"I need to shower still. Do you mind?" Friday asked pensively. He would have liked to join, but the woman had a complex about being seen naked. Max reached for the remote and turned the television on while Friday disappeared through the bedroom door. He heard the distant shower turn on, and turned up the volume.

Max flipped channels until he came across an official GMO broadcast. Two people sat behind a glass table with the Gun Meister logo on the surface. A ticker at the bottom of the screen displayed how many matches were currently running. Behind the desk, a man in a suit shuffled papers. The woman next to him wore a lavender dress with a pair of pistol bullet earrings.

"Well, Dianna! The New Year's tourney is only two months away." The man said, turning to look at the other caster.

"I know! It's so exciting!" Dianna replied in a girlish squeal. Max dropped the remote and settled back against the couch.

"What are your predictions for this year?"

"Girls, inc won the last tournament, and all their showings have been strong. Of course, I'm root for them." The female said, and they both laughed.

"It's hard to disagree with their record, but I can think of several contenders. Not-Safe-For-Work has shown some real promise for such a young clan."

"A lot of squads are signing up for that five million dollar prize," Dianna agreed, and Max rubbed his chin.

That was a nice chunk of change. Max wondered if he could put together a team. Calamity wasn't as terrible as he feared, and Wulfe was one the best seals he'd worked with. If they could get Diego to join that was most of the squad already. Violet stirred slowly before pulling herself up. She stumbled toward the bedroom, then caught herself on the door jam.

"What do you say we watch a replay of the last ten matches," Dianna said to her co-host. "There were some great plays in the final rounds." Both man and woman pointed their fingers at the camera. The rotating Gun Meister logo flew forward and exploded like a grenade.

Max was impressed by what followed. The players might not have been trained military, but there was real skill at the top levels. The first battle took place on a wheat farm, and someone with a Barret made a 900-yard headshot. The shot sent the enemy team crawling through the wheat at a snail's pace. He sat for a few minutes watching the combat play out, and thankfully, they'd edited out the boring parts. Friday came out of the bedroom in a pink summer dress and a pair of flats. Rusty finally made his appearance as well, by trotting after the woman.

"I'm so sorry. I was excited about today. I forgot to make you breakfast." She said pitifully, and the dog huffed angrily. The woman turned the burner on and fetched large skillet. Rusty lay on the kitchen tiles like he was starving to death. He weakly whimpered, and Friday paused with a ground beef patty in her hand. The retriever kicked his pawed feet a little. She sighed, put the patty back and withdrew a full sized steak.

"Is this better?" she asked and the dog looked away, ignoring her.

"Please, Rusty, I'm sorry!" She said and took out a bacon wrapped Tur' duck' din. Now the retriever sat up with interest. It sizzled as soon as she set the monstrosity in the pan, and the apartment filled with the scent of cooking meat. Max returned his attention to the television but was thinking about that prize money.

"How do you make a clan?"

"You just need five players and a clan name to register," Friday said, flipping the Tur'Duck' Din over. Rusty's lethargy was a thing of the past, and he sat up with tail wagging.

"I see," he mused. He supposed the real problem would be convincing them to train seriously. His other option was to compete for a spot in an existing clan. Friday carried the cooked meal over to Rusty's bowl and dropped the meal in juices and all.

"You're going to burn your tongue if you don't let it rest," She admonished, but Rusty ignored her.

"Do you want anything before I go?" Friday asked, and he turned toward the kitchen. He glanced at the clock and saw it almost four.

"No, but thank you," Max replied and the woman turned the burner off and cleaned out the pan. She bent over the sink scrubbing the bacon grease out. He wanted to compliment her, but her body image was in the gutter. Derek had been a subtle and sadistic bastard. It was too bad he was out of reach. Max stood and moved past Rusty, who was licking the bowl clean.

"I changed my mind," he said and the woman looked at him questioningly. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and he could make out a white bra under the dress.

"Can I have your panties?"

"What?!"

"Your panties, I'd want them."

"No, nooo… I can't possibly," she said in rush. Her cheeks turned a shade of pink that almost matched the dress. The woman backed up until she was virtually climbing the kitchen counter. Max wished he had puppy dog eyes, but he settled for putting a hand on her hip.

"It's just, I keep thinking about last night, and that insatiable vixen," he said squeezing her plump waist. "There's something beautiful and wanton hiding behind that innocence."

Friday coughed, "I can't, I… have to get going—"

She stopped talking as Max knelt. Then her breath hitched in as he reached under her dress. The skin was hot to the touch as he felt his way up her legs. Finally, his fingers closed over a cotton slip.

"I can't?" he asked, tugging lightly, but they didn't come away. Friday let out a long shaky moan but pushed away from the counter. The white panties slid down her thighs and into sight. She stepped out of them and sagged back against the kitchen counter.

"I'm going to keep these," he said, standing. There was a damp spot along the crotch as he rubbed his finger across the fabric.

"Come on, Rusty, we have to go," she said, realizing what time it was. The keys were in her hand, and the penthouse door open.

The two were almost to the elevator when Max called out, "Have a good time at work."

Max twirled the panties around his finger with a smile on his face. Hopefully, little things like that would boost her confidence, but in the meantime, he would enjoy her blushing face. He pushed the undies into his pocket, then wandered back toward the sound of a shower running. The bathroom door was open and steam slowly rolled across the carpet. A fuzzy silhouette stood behind the fogged glass.

"I seem to recall you didn't have to work until six."

"So," Violet said, turning in the shower and scrubbed at her pits.

"Maybe I could wash your back,"

"For two hours?" She asked dryly.

"There are lots of places I could scrub," he said suggestively. Max leaned against the bathroom door and waited while she considered the offer. They'd been getting along much better, but a no would tell him everything he needed about their relationship. She could make this a contract of convenience. No one said they had to like each other, as much as he wanted that. Max was just as stubborn in his own ways, and he'd be damned before he apologized.

The frosted door opened, and steam spilled out. Instead of saying anything, a hand holding a soapy sponge appeared. Max was touched. Everything about Violet's previous actions said she'd refuse him, and this move was unexpected. Maybe, just maybe, they'd find something in common. Max pulled his shoes, pants, and shirt off in a flurry. Then took the offer sponge as he stepped into the shower.

"The back first, then we can discuss on places to scratch," she said, turning away from him. She didn't see him smile as he applied the sponge to her backside.