Everything was different. The crumbling hotel facade was now a five-story monument of marble and precious metal, which explained why it had taken two hours to find. For a full minute, Max stared at the enormous Armory, and wondered how many weapons stayed here. Two golden lions stood guard like silent sentries. He worked the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. It was a delaying action, and he knew it. The adrenaline-fueled trip through these halls was still fresh in his memory.

Finally, he shook himself and marched up the flight of steps to the double doors. They opened silently at his approach, revealing a lobby covered in a thick red carpet. He recognized the wallpaper—no longer cracked and peeling—first, then the furniture, and several nearby statues. A long counter with consoles and weapons on displays filled the right side of the lobby.

A hundred or so scantily clad females lounged on couches and chairs, but a dozen Meisters crowded the weapon counter. Max scanned the women who seemed content to talk amongst themselves. They all, more or less, wore a black bikini. He pictures the gathering like a field of wildflowers. Each different in little ways, but every one beautiful.

He turned toward the weapon counter but barely made it two steps. A woman with caramel skin stood in a group of Meisters. She wore a black bikini like the others, along with a sheer sarong around her hips. Pushing two Meister's to the side, she started toward him with a determined look in her eyes. And what incredible eyes they were. They were two colors; one an emerald green and the other like smoky amethyst. The woman came to a stop and put her hand on a caramel colored hip.

"You came back," she said in a middle eastern accent. Max couldn't recall encountering such an exotic beauty before. She was of average height with dark hair, a sculpted chin, and a figure to remember.

"Do I know you?"

"You cheeky rat. Surely thou remembers our pact?" She said, stepping toward him. The women went up on tiptoes, grabbed his face, and peered into his eyes. Then she pressed her face to his neck and sniffed. Behind her, the other Meisters glared at him in annoyance.

"Ah, yes, the Sphinx," he said, and the woman laughed like a musical chime. "Now that you're not looming over me, I didn't recognize you."

"Do you have a name?"

"You can call me Nefertiti,"

"That's a mouthful."

"My friends call me Nefi," she said, moving closer still. Her fingers traced his biceps through the t-shirt before feeling up his abs.

"And you are?" She urged, reaching around him. Her chest pressed to his as her fingers felt his ass. Then she plucked the curved blade from his belt sheath and examined it.

"Max."

"Short and to the point," She said poking a finger with the tip of the knife. "I like it. However, I am surprised to see you again."

"I hit Silver yesterday, and I'm looking for a contract."

"Silver… so soon, but I'm afraid I can't give you my boon."

"Still talking in rhyme?" He asked, and she laughed like a tinkling bell again. Nefertiti held the blade out by its tip, and he took it. He fiddled with the sheath for a second, then slid it back into place.

"It pops out from time to time, or when I'm bored and so inclined."

"What do you mean by boon?"

"To contract, of course, but you aren't fit to hold me—yet. I won't accept a Meister unless he's Platinum rank, at least."

"I thought you were a pistol?"

"No silly. I was a special prize if anyone managed to survive the night. Since none accomplished such a difficult feat, I am left to pick my own Meister."

"So… what are you?"

"An IWI Industries, Tungsten Carbine Plasma Cannon," she said, running her fingers along his collar. "I might consent to let you try me. The gentlemen behind me have been begging all morning." Ten Meisters formed a semi-circle behind the woman. Each one was giving him the stink-eye, and Max smiled back wolfishly. A collection of weapons, grenades, and other gear already hung from them.

"That guy isn't even Gold Rank, is he?" One Meister asked. He hadn't come in here looking for trouble, but he couldn't pass up this opportunity if only to piss them off. The woman was still against him, and Max let his hands roam down her curves. They descended to her ass, and he gave her a hard squeeze.

"Stop that, you rascal," she growled huskily, and he settled for resting them on her lower back.

"I'd love to try you out," he said, stroking her spine right where a tail would be. She pulled him through a side door and into a storage space. The other Meisters grumbled between themselves but followed them inside. Bulletproof windows revealed a small range and several players trying out new weapons. Ammo filled the shelves, and the woman pulled a few magazines down. She held them out along with a set of hearing protection. Max took the offered ear plugs, then joined her inside the range.

The woman's dark skin glowed briefly, and Max was forced to look away from the flash. Laying on the table was a rifle straight out of science fiction. It was gunmetal gray, and probably 40 inches from rail tip to buttstock. There was no barrel. Instead, two magnetic superconductors were separated by a few inches. The weapon's weight surprised him, and Max grunted as he picked up the 25 pound rifle. Despite how cool she looked Nefi was a heavy weapon.

"The magazine combines case-less ammunition and a replaceable battery. Insert it into the well and activate the rifle. It will take a few seconds to convert the tungsten carbide into energized plasma."

Max pushed an oblong rectangular box into the well, and a small display lit up atop the gun. There was a safety on the side, and he flicked it down. The weapon hummed to life and instantly grew warm in his hands as the first round slid into the plasma chamber. The little display on top switched to a charging bar. He raised the cannon to his shoulder and braced it with his off hand. Thirty meters downrange was a cardboard target, and it begged for the first shot.

He settled the ghost ring sights over the target and drew in a short breath. The trigger slack tightened until there was a click. The weapon discharged with a loud 'tha-whump', and a ball of blue, green plasma shot between the magnetic rails. At first, it was about the size of a tennis ball and covered with crackling electricity. By the time it struck the target, it was basketball sized and exploded in a wash of eldritch energy. The cardboard man was missing most of its chest, and what was left was engulfed in green fire.

"Holy shit, no wonder those players are hound-dogging you," he said admiring the weapon.

"There are limitations. The plasma bolt disperses quickly in an atmosphere, so the shot has an effective range of 50 meters. Anything beyond will only cause minor burns."

"So you're more like a shotgun?"

"It doesn't roll off the tongue like Plasma Cannon," she said in a syrupy voice. "Besides, there are mods to increase the range at the cost of extra weight."

"Can you be modded for close range?"

"There are burst modules and a shorter mag rail if a close range weapon is what you're going for."

The display lit up again as the next round finished charging. Max aimed at a closer target. He squeezed the trigger, and a fist-sized hole appeared in the target's head. The plasma round continued downrange until it exploded against a wall. Behind him, several Meisters excitedly pointed at the damage.

Max was more than impressed. He'd seen grenades do less to a concrete wall. The sheer destructive potential was incredible, but the cannon's short range was a problem. Friday could handle anything past a hundred meters, so he could switch to this when clearing a room. The ammo counter said he had three shots left, so he fired at another random target. Each shot required about two and a half seconds to charge, and he was torn by the long reload time.

He purposely fired the next round into the concrete floor about twenty feet away. It sank in about an inch before exploding in a shower of flying debris. Max jerked sideways as a chunk of concrete slammed into the glass next to his head. There was a foot deep crater, and rock dust filled the air. The last round went into a cardboard target at the far end of the range. It washed over the paper cutout and set the man on fire, but cause no physical damage. Max grunted to himself and pushed a stud near the mag well. The box fell free with an electrical pop and a hiss of escaping gas.

Max loaded the weapon again since Nefertiti had grabbed more than one magazine. The cannon finished charged, and he fired off several more bolts of blue-green energy.

"I don't suppose you'd consent to come home with me?"

"Not a chance. You're rising in rank, but nowhere close to take me home," She groaned changing forms after the last shot. She sagged against him, and he was forced to hold her still. Her caramel skin was flushed from excitement and her nails dug into his flesh. Now that she'd been fired, Nefertiti smelled like ozone, or maybe the burned smell after a lightning strike. He wanted her, badly, but it was a long way until Platinum rank.

"We have a pact, still?" He asked hopefully and she licked her lips. Her button nose twitched as she inhaled his scent, but she gathered herself and pushed away. Nefertiti purposely fixed the sarong around her waist as she turned away. He caught up and opened the door as she started for the range exit. The other Meisters crowded behind them like they were forming a line. Two, in particular, were glaring daggers at him.

"Maybe you can help me find a weapon. I'm looking for a grenade launcher. A Paw-20 or a Milkor would be best, but I'll settle for a single shot launcher."

"You're not gold, at least, you don't smell like it," she said, sniffing him again. Her face was inches from his chest, and a pink tongue licked across her lips. The more he was around this woman, the more he wanted her in his harem. He forced himself away from the image of her on his bed, spread eagle, and eager.

"I'm planning for the future. I already have a Scar, which handles like a dream, but I can't count the number of times a well-placed grenade saved our bacon."

"Hmm," the woman stopped near the lobby entrance and tapped a manicured finger against her chin in thought. "I do know someone, but she's—a bit odd." Max thought about Violet and Friday. He didn't begrudge them their relationship, but Max sometimes felt like a third wheel.

"I doubt it can get any weirder than what I'm currently involved with," he replied with a weary sigh. Nefertiti examined him for a second then walked across the lobby to the consoles.

"Don't try anything fish," a male meister hissed grabbing his arm, and Max jerked to a stop. He looked back at the massive player following him. He was probably two inches taller with a wild mane of blond surfer hair. Mr.Muscles looked like he was addicted to protein shakes and steroids cocktails. It was a good thing they didn’t have to use the facilities in Gun Meister. Max doubted this guy would be able to wipe his own ass.

"Or what?" Max asked, and the fingers on his arm tightened.

"A noob like you should know his place." Another player added. She was a woman of towering height and breasts to match.

"Oh, I know my place. It's between that cannon's caramel thighs," Max said, jabbing his thumb into the Meister's wrist. The grip weakened, and Max yanked his arm free. He gave them a death's head grin before turning toward Nefertiti. The woman waited for Max by the consoles, and her long finger poked him in the chest.

"I don't know the girl personally, but I've seen her around," she said, and the manicured fingertip poked his nose. Nefertiti lowered her hand and pointed past him to the elevators. A woman with dark auburn hair stepped out. She paused to snap her bubblegum as she looked around. Her skin was the color of cream, and she had thick nerdy glasses perched on her narrow nose. The girl looked like the main character in every teenage romance ever made. Wholesome, innocent, bookish were words that came to mind, but really she was the girl next door.

"Missy," Nefertiti called, and the woman turned towards them. Her chestnut hair bounced as she came towards them, and he noticed they were done up in two pigtails. Like everyone else, the woman wore a black bikini and a black and gray plaid skirt. She snapped her bubblegum again as she came to a stop.

"Nefertiti here says you're a grenade launcher?" Max asked, and the girl turned to him. Her eyes were like liquid chocolate, and they took his measure with a glance.

"I sure am," She said, drawing the bubble back into her mouth. The woman had a slight Canadian accent.

"You're new to Gun Meister, eh?" She asked in a voice like maple syrup over Belgian waffles. The woman was almost opposite that of Nefertiti. The plasma cannon was an exotic eastern beauty, while this girl looked like someone you'd run into at the local library. It had been—what? A week since Halloween. Had it only been only seven days? The woman stuck out her hand, and Max took her dainty fingers in his.

"My first week," we admitted, and her eyes studied him again.

"Silver, eh. First week?

"I already have a Scar-H. I got an extra contract slot on Halloween, and I'm looking for my next weapon." He said, and the woman shifted. She settled her hand on her hip and looked up at him.

"Now I see why, Nefi was talking to you. The girl is nice and all, but she's got an ego the size of a planetoid."

"What model you are?"

"Milkor Six Shot Grenade Launcher," she said, looking past him. The gathered Meisters were starting to edge into Nefertiti's space. Max turned to follow her gaze. The plasma cannon was caught up in conversation with them, and soon she was walking back towards the range.

"There was a time when grenade launchers were all the rage," the woman mused to herself. "Now you can buy the launcher mod for any assault rifle."

"That's one way to do it, but I prefer to keep my rifles streamlined."

"Do you wanna try me out?"

"No, I've used a Milkor before," he admitted. The bubblegum changed sides, and she licked a nervous tongue across her lips.

"Listen, I'd love to contract, but there's something I should tell you—"

Max stopped her. He quickly reached up and covered her mouth with his palm. The girl stopped talking, and they stood there looking at one another for a moment.

"I don't care if you're in a relationship. I don't care if you're currently working. It doesn't even bother me if you like girls. I desperately need a grenade launcher, and whatever your deal is we can work around it." Max said, and let go of her mouth. She popped her bubblegum again to give herself a second to think.

"I was going to say; you have to be Gold to contract with me. You can't use explosive devices until you rank up."

"Oh," he said, feeling a touch stupid. "So we can't contract even if I have a slot?"

"Sorry, no."

Max frowned but kept himself from sighing in annoyance. He thought he could get away with contracting her now and bring her into a match later. She took her gum out and flicked it into a nearby trash can. His thoughts were interrupted as she circled him.

"I suppose I could stay at your place. I've already waited long enough for a Meister."

"It's not technically my place, but I don't think they'll mind."

"I'm Missy," she said, sticking out her hand a second time. He took it—again—and shook. This time her grip kept his for several awkward moments longer.

"Max," he replied, and she let go.

"Do you mind if I run upstairs to get my things?"

"Go ahead, but I don't have a car."

"I'll just bring a day bag then," she said, skipping toward the elevator. Her chestnut pigs bounced, and he watched her from behind. The girl spun and tapped the elevator button, then pointed at him, and gave him a 'you wait right there,' gesture. Missy seemed perfectly normal, and frankly, he needed that in his life. He just hoped Violet and Friday would be okay with another housemate.

Max pondered what to do about his extra contract slot. He had a pistol, a battle rifle, and soon would have a grenade launcher. The Plasma Cannon was a distant possibility, but Platinum rank seemed like a long way away. A machine gun would round out his gun collection.

He waited for about twenty minutes and spent the time using the Armory's search console. Half a dozen grenade launchers were staying at the hotel, and twenty more stand-alone systems. He also found a single M249 Bravo available, but the profile said the weapon was male.

The elevator doors opened, and a brown-haired woman bounced out. She carried a bag slung over her shoulder like someone off to their first day of school. A light gray jacket was draped over her other shoulder. Black stockings and a pair of sneakers now adorned her long legs. Max turned as she took his elbow, and he canceled his search, and they turned toward the exit.

"So tell me about yourself," he said as they left the Armory.

"Gosh, I'm not sure what to say. It's been a while since anyone asked about me. I was manufactured during the first month the game was live. Things are a bit goofy now with all the plasma cannons, rail guns, and other super weapons appearing since Star Nova went live." Missy said, skipping down the marble stairs.

"You've been around. I take you've had your fair share of Meisters."

"Not especially. I had one meister for most of that time. She deleted her previous character after a few months and started over."

"Why?"

"I'm sure there were lots of reasons, but she always said she wanted to be short and cute."

"Playing an MMO just to be short and cute is a stupid motivation," Max commented dryly. "I imagine she had pink hair too."

"No, it was a sort of teal color," Missy said and slipped a hand into his as they walked. "How about yourself?" She asked after a short pause.

"Military until recently. You could say I'm retired, so I spend a lot of time in the game." Max said, not willing to get into the whole 'ghost' thing just yet.

"That's good to hear, eh," she said trotting alongside him. They made it to the intersection and were forced to wait for the light.

"Cause I'll stick around?" He asked, and Missy shrugged.

"No, well, yes technically, but my first Meister used to say 'why do something if it isn't fun?'"

"There's some truth to that," he admitted and started across the street. There wasn't much else to do other than head home and wait for the girls to get off work. Tomorrow the gang could get together for some casual matches. He hoped Diego and Wulfe reached silver quickly. The soon they trained, the better.