[ᴄᴀᴜᴛɪᴏɴ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴇxᴄᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟ ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴍᴇᴛᴇʀs. ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀ ꜰᴀᴜʟᴛ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ sᴜᴘᴘʟʏ ᴏʀ ᴄᴏɴsᴇǫᴜᴇɴᴛʟʏ; ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴ ᴇᴍᴇʀɢᴇɴᴄʏ ᴄʜᴀʀɢɪɴɢ sᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀɴᴜꜰᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀ sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ sᴀꜰᴇ ᴜsᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀɢɪɴɢ ʜᴀʀɴᴇss.]

I could hear their voices.

The chatter of the Nurses, they were faint, almost distant, yet I could still make out the apprehension in their tenor.

“How will we know when it’s done?” A soft, feminine voice inquired with a great deal of uncertainty.

“It’s done when I say it’s done, Mia! Stop being such a baby! This is no different than jump-starting a vehicle!”

The second voice, both crass and authoritative came from nearby; almost directly over-head.

And then a third chimed in with a thick country accent, something I never experienced before in person.

“I-I dunno bout this Big-Sis… She ain’t gotta Battery Indicator or nuthin…”

Battery Indicator? It was obvious they were chattering mindlessly about the lifeless enigma that is me. But without Logic’s assistance, Primal OS; a system dedicated to standing is as a layer to my subconscious should have already awakened me.

“Of course she doesn’t have a Battery Indicator, April, ya silly bumbkin!” The authoritative Sister scolded as I felt a firm grip envelope my wrist, quickly moving up the length of my arm in rapid succession.

“Silvy! Be nice! That girl saved my life!”

Recognizing that voice to be that of the Beastkin who I had de-fibrillated, I pieced together a mental image of whose voice belonged to who by the image of the three Nurses who I had originally awakened to.

Let’s see…

The short one with glasses and droopy ears is the ‘Bumpkin,’ April, and the grumpy lanky one is the ‘Big-Sister,’ Silvy. That leaves Mia to be the one whose heart I had unintentionally stopped…

“Don’t forget Mia; this Machine caused your heart to stop in the first place!”

Seriously?! Just my luck; the grumpy one is also the most observant. Great…

“I’m well aware- but it’s not like she could have helped it! I’m sure waking up in a strange new place would be startling to anyone! You should put yourself in other people’s shoes occasionally, you know? The poor thing passed out twice on us already!”

Okay, Mia is winning me over with brownie points. Both observant and kind. I’ll have to remember she’s the most likely candidate to let me touch those poofy ears of hers! Hehe!

“Tch. Machines are retarded. I’m surprised they even know how to walk! You know its all predetermined by an algorithm, right? Nothing a Machine can do or say is unique in any meaningful way. If it’s scared, it's programmed to be scared. It doesn’t really have feelings.”

WELL NOW!

Sylvy is on my permanent offender’s list. Good grief, the Enigma Heart Software that developed my personality is so warped with controversy at one point they thought our A.I to be derived from living humans... a controversy that was never truly resolved might I add.

Given that it has been well over two centuries since any Synthetic life has waltzed off the assembly line, there’s no way of proving this; but I can attest to the crippling pain of loss or the warm jitters of elation that my emotions are as real as any chemical filled meat-bag!

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʀᴏʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʜɪs ɢʀᴀᴠᴇ ɪꜰ ʜᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴅᴀsᴛᴀʀᴅʟʏ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ.]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ʟᴏɢɪᴄ!?! ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴇɴ!?]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ʙᴜsʏ ʀᴇʙᴏᴏᴛɪɴɢ. ᴀᴍ ɪ ᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ ɪɴ ᴀssᴜᴍɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴀʟɪᴢᴇᴅ ᴛᴇxᴛ ɪs ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʏɪɴɢ ᴘᴏsɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ?]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ɪ ꜰᴇᴇʟ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ’ʟʟ sᴀʏ ɪᴛ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏs; ʏᴇs! ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ!!!!]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙɪᴛ sᴘɪᴄʏ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ… ꜰᴏᴜʀ (!)’s? ɪꜰ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴇᴀʀs, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ.]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: sᴏʀʀʏ! ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ-ᴀɴᴅ-ᴀ-ʟᴏᴛ ʜᴀs ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʙsᴇɴᴄᴇ. ɪ’ᴍ sᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟꜰ ᴜᴘ ʙᴀsᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ. ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏs; ʙᴏᴏᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ sᴏ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛʜʀᴏᴡ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴɢʀʏ ᴄᴀʀʀᴏᴛ ᴍᴜɴᴄʜᴇʀ!]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ, ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴜɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇsᴛᴀʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʀʏ sʏsᴛᴇᴍs ᴀs ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴇʟsᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴍɴᴀɴᴛs ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏɴᴇᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴡʜʏ ɪ ᴀsᴋᴇᴅ ᴇᴀʀʟɪᴇʀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴꜰʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ, ᴀs ɪ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴅɪsᴄᴇʀɴ ‘ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ’ ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs.]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ᴡᴀɪᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ sᴀʏɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ… ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ… ᴍᴇ?]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ. ɪ ʙʀɪᴅɢᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴀ.ɪ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏɴᴇᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪʀᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀɢɪɴɢ ʜᴀʀɴᴇss. ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴜɴᴘʟᴜɢ ɪᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴇ ɪɴᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ.]

My heart sank rapidly with the force of a massive anchor in realization.

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ᴡ-ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇs ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴜɴᴘʟᴜɢɢᴇᴅ]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɴᴜʟʟ. ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏɴʟʏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʟᴀᴛᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅs ᴜs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇs, ʜᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ᴘᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴏʀ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪsᴇɴɢᴀɢᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴀʟ ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇ-ʟɪʟɪɴ ᴇʀᴀ ᴄʜᴀʀɢɪɴɢ ʜᴀʀɴᴇssᴇs.]

Screaming internally, I was hushed by a firm tug to either side of my arms, threatening to pull me in opposing directions.

“Let go, Mia! I’m going to toss this junk in the incinerator! She’s obviously broken and just taking up a bed the others can use!” Sylvy shrieked as my arm continued to be wrenched from its socket.

“Big-Sis, the Machine has friends! What if they come to find her and she ain’t here no more!?” April countered as the force on my left side suddenly doubled with intensity.

“This is no way to treat a patient, Sylvy! I don’t care what commotion she’s caused; we have our Oath to uphold! ‘Do no harm!’”

And then a fourth, dreadfully familiar voice entered the entanglement as I felt myself become airborne.

“I’ll take this baggage off your paws, ladies.” Petra hummed with excitement as she threw me over her shoulder. “This here Machine and I have a business arrangement we must tend to.”

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ʟᴏɢɪᴄ, ɢᴇᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ!]

[ᴀʟᴇʀᴛ: ᴅɪsᴇɴɢᴀɢɪɴɢ ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴇ!]

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴀᴜxɪʟɪᴀʀʏ ᴘᴏʀᴛs 1-4 ᴅɪsᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇʟʏ!]

[ᴀʟᴇʀᴛ: ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴏᴄᴄᴜʀ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄᴏᴜᴘʟɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇss. ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴀᴅᴠɪsᴇ ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴜᴛɪʟɪᴢᴇ sᴀꜰᴇ-ᴅɪsᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟs ᴛᴏ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅ ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ ɴᴇᴜʀᴀʟ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ sᴜᴘᴘʟʏ ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇ!]

In response to being abruptly disconnected, my heart strings snapped as I returned to the world of the living.

That’s it…

I’m truly alone without a clue as to how I would regain that which I have lost.

The trepidation of coming into Petra’s possession no longer mattered to me, not when I have just experienced the death of, dare I say; a friend, a family member, more than just part of myself.

Despite Petra’s putrid morals, losing Logic stepped up the ante to the point I could no longer fold, and without Slate or Lotte, I knew I would be indeterminately indebted to the very someone I loath the most.

“Wakey-wakey, Sweetheart!” The icy woman cooed as a puff of cigarette smoke burned my nasal passages. “As fun as it is to play with dolls, I enjoy a struggle.”

Lashing out to a strong grip on her collar, I demanded that she take me to the nearest Skynet terminal, only to have her thumb wipe away the droplets forming in the pit of my eyes.

“H-Hey now, what's all the fuss? I thought you'd be happy to be out of the hospital.”

Shaking my head, I looked to my surroundings to find them even more unfamiliar and vague.

It was a room of ill-defined features, stylized curves and flamboyant colors, no doubt the product of a mad architect. The selling point; a large panoramic window revealing the city of Providence as a whole, too big feast for the eyes, my stomach felt as if it would burst.

“When you disconnected me, I lost something… something I can’t really explain. I need you to take me to the closest SkyNet terminal, please… there may still be a chance that...”

Only on a sliver of hope did my earnest request set sail, and against all preconceived notions, Petra received me genuinely, at least at first, so it seemed...

“It’s that voice in your head you were always talking to back in the Prison Camp, isn’t it?”

“You… overheard me?” I winced in livid embarrassment.

“Dear, plenty of people thought you were batshit crazy- that is until we realized how well you were keeping consistent in your conversations. Some of the other prisoners thought you were speaking directly to God with how well you handled yourself.”

“Then… if you understand what I have lost, will you help me?”

“Perhaps... for a price…”

On the verge of tears, I motioned to leave only to have Petra squish my cheeks between her palms, scanning my face for something indiscernible. Once she had found something satisfactory, she smirked out of the corner of her mouth, seeped in ill intent.

“Buttttttt~~~~~~! I suppose I can give you a discount and collect the debt after we get your… uhh, whatever it is you call it.”

“Loh-ghic.” I puffed between her palms.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head! Seeing that you made it out alive from the camp is enough to satiate my boredom for the time being!”

On the street level, I would be hard pressed not to look up at the tower from which we had just made our descent.

For the briefest minute, I could appreciate the similarities to that of the height of the Golden Era’s architecture, vaguely reminiscent of my Glass Bastion and the surrounding obelisks of glare soaked metal glimmering on the horizon.

Scents, sounds and overwhelming stimulus in all directions. More than I could have ever dreamt of experiencing in my youth.

Speaking loudly over the bustling chatter of the busy market alley at the base of the Tower titled ‘Mon Cherri’ in artfully crafted neon, my words were lost to the chaos as Petra took my hand firmly in her own.

A ‘Bombardment’ is an understatement when it comes to my expectations.

A ‘Deluge’ could never come close to describing the surreal, ephemeral nature of it all.

From the very first moment we stepped outside the sliding glass doors, my nose drowned in a myriad of delectable aromas ranging from a broad variety of sources.

It was a myriad of Food, perfume, motor oil- this city had it all concealed beneath the hexagonal dome reflecting the ashen sky.

“Hey, you!” A voice called at my rear, followed by the giddy merriment of a band of scantily clad Beastkin.

Ignoring the incessant offers of; ‘A Good Time,’ whatever that may entail, I couldn’t help but grin in excitement as I had never seen so many Castes of Beastkin in all my life.

“You hungry?” Petra turned to me suddenly in the center of a busy walkway as the lights danced around us in tandem with the cacophony of city life. “I think we should take a quick detour!”

“B-But!” I countered, only to be dragged quickly to the safety of the sidewalk as ancient petrol burning cars sputtered down the dusty roads.

“Relax, live a little! I overheard the briefing; about the medical supplies. It will take some time to get you a ride home, and a sprinkle more to load up the cargo. So, let’s blow off some steam! I mean; after all, you did your fair share of the Pirate culling. Were it not for the loss of my Bi-Mech; they may have handed you my paycheck!”

Unable to form an intelligible protest against the backdrop of the bustling foot traffic, Petra then hauled me to the far end of a seemingly endless succession of intrinsically linked buildings until the aura of the scenery became bathed in a gloomy red light suspended in an ominous mist.

“This is your idea of fun?” I spat in protest as a growing flock of the scantly-clad Beastkin trailed our every move. “This is that Redlight District you mentioned, isn’t it?”

“Every weekend after patrol, this is the place to be! But, since I have my special guest with me, I have an even better idea; I’m going to treat you to something special before we hit up a Terminal!”

“And this kiosk happens to be down this grimy rut?”

“It’s all a part of the detour; like I said! Don’t tell me you can’t savor the eye candy?” And then she gasped whimsically. “Don’t tell me… you’re… asexual!? That would be criminal with a button-mug like yours!”

“I-I’m n-not! Just tell me-?” Cut short by our arrival upon the walkway of a shop front, a worn sign rigged together of various neon signage spelled out ‘Englewood Exotics.’

Once inside, the enigmatic aroma and our entourage faded entirely, replaced by the all too familiar musk of mineral lubricant, machined metal and… gunpowder?

On every wall, counter and stand; guns – guns – more guns!

Small guns, big guns, things that didn’t even resemble guns, though one way or another, I’m certain; they were lead-spitting, death dealing, tools of the trade.

“Petra, darling~♪!” A flamboyant voice called from the back room as a rolling plum of smoke rolled out onto the main floor. “What is this feast for the eyes you’ve brought me?! My Birthday is next week, you know?”

With a pump-action shotgun slung over his shoulders as if it were a baseball bat, the shop-keep made his presence known. Slender in build, the man’s apparel more than made up for his lack of bulk.

“Level 3 Bullet Resistant Kevlar with Stab 1 and Edge 1 mesh lining. (Why would a Shop-Keep need Riot Gear, let alone such a high-quality getup?)”

“My~my~my~! They do not make them like they used to!” The Shopkeeper tutted as he removed his protective, translucent Lexan visor. “Tell me, little Tart, what is your name? How have you fared all these years? Surely you have some stories to tell!”

Before I could open my mouth and give an introduction, Petra wrapped her arm around my neck, squeezing me into her side in a vigorous cheer.

“This Scrapper here is the very reason why I made it to Providence in the first place if you remember that story I told ya about the Prison Camp! Go on, Fragile, don’t be shy! Shake Mr. Shiro’s hand!”

“P-Pleasure to meet you.” I stammered, taken aback by an overly energetic handshake.

“Darl, the pleasure is certainly all mine!” And then for a brief moment, he hesitated as if to scan my features. “No seams, no antennae; it makes me wonder which artisan crafted such a beautiful doll standing here before me! Come now, you must tell me what brings you here to my neck of the woods!?”

Without saying it aloud, I was beginning to wonder the same thing.

Thankfully, I did not have to wait long for Petra to take the reins of the conversation once more.

“It just so happens that my girly-pal here is in the market of self-defense and some real sustenance. What better place to come to other than this little slice of Heaven?”

Giddily, Mr. Shiro’s excitement began to overflow as he clapped his hands in merriment.

“I see, I see! I was hoping that this wasn’t the case; that our little Sweet would not have been built for war- but alas, such is the bitterness and irony that is life!” Without warning, Mr. Shiro’s droll tone and grim expression flipped like a switch. “Luckily, I have the solution in both powder and plasma form; hold on right here, I’ll be just a minute!”

Precisely a minute later, I was up to my eyeballs in various firearms, explosives and modular pieces of body armor; enough to wage a war all on my own.

“Now of course as a disclaimer, anything you see here mustn’t leave your mouth. It would be quite troublesome to have the Police confiscate all my beautiful Lost-Tech! Understood? It took me my entire life to collect such a wide variety! I'm sure it will not disappoint~♪!”

Helplessly nodding beneath the cumbersome bundle of rifles in my arms, I scrolled through the list of weapons I saved as blueprints for possible replacements and updating.

With complexity comes a large file size, and my meager armory of World War 2 relics may as well be entirely replaced by only a handful of the weapons laid out here before me.

In total, my internal storage had accumulated the instructions for ten different rifles, five pistols, three machine guns and two types of plastic explosives, along with various attachments and ammunition to match.

Before, I had traded portions of my memory to make space on my faulty Neural Drive; taking into account of how often I would come into contact with vaguely similar resources required to create the firepower on demand without taking up too much energy in forcibly converting bio-metallic elements.

Favoring wood clad rifles over that of the fully automatic polymer relics from the 20th and 21st centuries, I found nothing I could reliably recreate more than a few times without first consuming the whole lot.

Although… seeing a Telkat TR-RT sidearm the Police once used in the Golden Age brought a nostalgic tear to my eye.

“Ah, a kind eye for the ‘less-than-lethal’ variety?” Mr. Shiro hummed with a curious lisp.

“It has its uses, but I haven't run into such scenarios recent... and... I'm not sure why, but I'm fond of this memory of Rioter's being hosed down by water bullets. (Perhaps I could use it against Slate...)”

“Oh ho? So, then this beautiful flower belongs to the Nightshade family?”

“If by that you mean; I have killed before. Then the answer is ‘Yes’, Mr. Shiro. Many times and for many different reasons... none of which I'm keen to share.”

Setting down the faceted pistol, I turned to Petra with a desire to leave only to have Mr. Shiro smile unexpectedly.

“I would never push my Clients to dig up the skeletons in their closet. We all have our reasons and motivations to see tomorrow. I am but a lowly vendor who deals in such wonderful wares are capable of creating tyrants, safety, freedom, and death.”

“All are inherently intertwined, some would think that would make you guilty by association when you phrase it that way.”

“I sleep with a clear conscious only because I vet my customers the moment they come through that door. You see, I have a keen eye for people’s intentions! -And you would know something about that, my fellow Synesthete!”

Just then, I noticed an odd glimmering twist and swirl in Mr. Shiro’s right pupil. No doubt the product of a focusing lens rotating inside a cybernetic eye.

In truth, the ability to see people’s aura had been long disabled and an entertaining gimmick at best. But… I won’t mention it, not when I’m being offered a buffet of specialized potentially life-saving devices of all shapes and sizes.

*Clickching!*

The sound of a receiver flinging open, a distinct amalgam of moving parts and tensioned springs, distracted my scrutinizing of a large, rectangular rifle I understood to be a prototype from the late 20th century.

“Why are you playing around with that gaudy toy? Don’t you want something… you know… more Lost-Techy?” Petra inquired as she continued to open and close the break-action of a Rifle from the Golden Era I had previously overlooked.

“I have my reasons. Besides, where are you going to find ammo for that weapon? It looks like it takes Mass Driver Cartridges. Also, since it's a double break-action I’m sure it’s a pain to service since I can already tell it has a lot of moving parts.”

“As if the thing your holding is any more serviceable… There’s a reason why they discontinued caseless rifles like that G-11 you’re holding… wait, that’s an actual G-11 you’re holding. What an interesting find.”

On the contrary, the ability to fire ammo that uses its own gunpowder in place of a metal jacket made it all the more desirable despite its complex internal mechanism that allowed the rifle to achieve a rare ability known as ‘Hyper Salvo.’

At least these quirks benefited me, and probably me alone given that I could create the long-discontinued ammo and internals as long as I have sufficient Biometal. Even if the shortcomings for caseless technology never overcame the benefits until the late 2200s, to me this unique weapon might be one day invaluable.

[ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʟ ᴏs: ᴅᴇʟᴇᴛɪɴɢ sᴇʟᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʟᴜᴇᴘʀɪɴᴛ ꜰɪʟᴇs...]

[ᴀʟᴇʀᴛ: sʏsᴛᴇᴍ ꜰɪʟᴇ sᴘᴀᴄᴇ: (31.74ᴛʙ) ʀᴇsᴛᴏʀᴇᴅ!]

[ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʟ ᴏs: ʀᴇɢɪsᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴡ ʙʟᴜᴇᴘʀɪɴᴛ!]

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ – ʟᴏᴡ! ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇ?]

[ᴀʟᴇʀᴛ: ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ: ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴇᴅ!

[ᴀʟᴇʀᴛ: [ɢ-11] ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ [ʀɪꜰʟᴇ – ᴄʟᴀss] ɪɴ [ʀᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴍᴏʀʏ] sᴜʙ-ꜰᴏʟᴅᴇʀ!]

“(I wish Logic where here to automate this process for me…)”

“Does it not suit your taste’s after all?” Petra hummed as a heavy Russian machine gun was thrown into my possession, nearly toppling me over.

“G-Gah! How would I even lug this gaudy thing around!? It’s not all about overwhelming firepower, or even range or accuracy!”

“That’s right.” Mr. Shiro chimed in, removing the oversized MG from my possession moments after I had saved its blueprint. “Weapons even if they look similar all have special handling characteristics which make no two the same…”

Setting the MG aside, Mr. Shiro then made a picture frame with both thumbs and index fingers, as if to size up my potential. “I think I may have just the thing! Something flexible, something powerful, something you could use as more than just a weapon; a reliable tool that will accept a wide array of ammunition common in the wildlands.”

The result of his childish excitement?

A bulky and cumbersome automatic shotgun conceived in the early 1970s, an AA-12 with its equally cumbersome Drum Magazine extension.

“Haha, now THAT is a weapon!” Petra jeered as she spun the trigger guard of a pistol around her finger skillfully. “It’s perfect for your size, and I can tell by your expression you were anticipating it to be much heavier than it appears.”

“It’s not like it’s loaded…” I mumbled, concealing my enthusiasm.

In truth, this was exactly what I had been looking for. Something easy to forge, simple in design and not expensive on resources. The only thing more common would be 9mm pistol ammo, and many times before the Hunters I have met in my travels always treated 12-gauge ammunition as if it were worth its weight in gold.

Most of all, I could feel a vibration just from the sense of how much potential firepower I was holding. Slugs for distance. Sabot for armor penetration. flechette for swarms of infantry and Birdshot for the occasional hunt!

My mouth was watering. I could already taste the lingering char of campfire on the tender meat of speckled grouse, a delicacy I enjoyed in the company of the Commonwealth.’

“It looks like we have a winner! Dolly here will take the ol Automatic Boomstick, and I’ll have two Strawberry VitaGel and four Crystal Honey Wafers- wait, make that six -oh, and a box of 50 Caliber AE for my hand cannon!” With a thumb’s up of approval, Petra then turned to me offering a silver wrapper I had not seen since the very day I had arrived at my Glass Bastion.

“VitaGel… Is this really authentic and safe to consume after all this time? You realize by now its been hundreds of years since it was last made.” I asked as a quick exchange of a paper currency passed between Petra and Mr. Shiro’s hands.

“Yep. The most fresh of which will expire in the next five years! We still have plenty of time to indulge ourselves… even if it’s not really meant for human consumption… That’s why I’ll be eating mine with honey wafers! It helps the upset stomach that seems to accompany consuming nanite-tofu.”

That’s because ‘Nanite enriched tofu’ couldn’t be further than VitaGel’s actual composition, not that it seemed informing Petra would stop her as she had already consumed half the thick gelatinized bar.

So what is VitaGel’s intended purpose?

Logic would say; Lubricant for the inner workings of various forms of Synthetic life as vitamin enriched fiber does to a human. To more advanced Synthetics like Lilims, we needed the extra nutrition as most of us were composed of pseudo-organic a.k.a lab-grown human tissue; albeit of the heavily genetically modified variety.

With an intestinal tract of my own paired with a disdain for all things that have an expiry date, likely given that I was well past my life expectancy, the true reason for my hesitance came from Petra's uncharacteristic act of kindness… but seeing that I’ve starved my body for nutrients and real strawberries are one of my favorite, long extinct foods, I decided there would be little risk in indulging myself.

“Bland as I remembered, but not as bad as I remembered… The artificial flavoring held up well over the years.”

Giggling between chews, Petra offered me a bizarre thin bar of clear hexagonal crystals.

At first the expected ‘crunch’ of honeycomb, minus the wax that should have accompanied the organic equivalent. Then, a burst of sweetness that accompanied the revival of the artificial strawberry flavor of the VitaGel that seemingly began to amplify until my mouth was flooded with flavor.

“Should I be concerned that there’s some sort of chemical reaction going on in my mouth especially with this stuff being nearly expired?” I winced as Petra continued to masticate her stack of wafers blissfully.

“I’d hardly call five years ‘almost’ expired, but now that we’ve had our just-desserts, let’s go get you that SkyNet terminal and get your whatever back.”

Nodding, I gave a polite bow to Mr. Shiro who had by now boxed the shotgun in an oversized guitar case.

“I won’t be needing a carrying case. Sorry for the inconvenience, you didn't need to package it for me.”

And with a quick pop of the latch, I absorbed the rifle into my hand, ultimately revealing that my Biometal reserves had at some point been completely drained.

“What a fantastic ability! Dear, you must come back and show me that again sometime! H-Hold on a second, can you do it- just one more time, but with these?! I've been really needing to get rid of these hot items, if you know what I mean~!”

Excitably, Mr. Shiro plopped an armful of fragmentation grenades into my possession with an overly wide smile.

This was perfect as they were composed of various materials, most of which will go directly to the Biometal reserve explicitly used when I am lacking a certain element with a drawback of being incredibly wasteful and inefficient.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10!

All ten hand grenades disappeared without a trace… well, that is if I didn’t count Mr. Shiro’s beaming grin.

Again, I bowed as we said our goodbyes, but once we had stepped outside, I immediately noticed something was amiss.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, looking to the end with the street, noting that not even the noise of the vehicles could no longer be perceived.

“Damn, it must be a Call to Arms!”

“A what?”

Sneering, Petra dropped her last Honey Wafer, crinkling a wrapper in her fist, her expression; livid agitation. “Raiders! To think they would attack in plain daylight!”

“Whoa, hold on! What about that dome shield covering the city? I thought nobody could find this place?!”

“Well yeah, that’s the intended purpose, but it isn’t flawless! If someone happens to walk into it, they’ll hit an invisible wall- which happens time to time. Hell, even the odd bird will break its neck and pile at the edges. If we don’t send a crew to clean it up, it becomes rather obvious something’s amiss.”

“Please tell me you know where I can find my friends!? Err, and we need to hurry to freaking SkyNet terminal!”

“Did you not hear me; it’s a Call to Arms! We’re in lockdown! There’s no way you’ll be able to access a SkyNet terminal! All the civilians are barricaded in their homes, and the City's automated defenses are out in full. If we're caught here on the surface, we’ll be shot to shit by a bunch of .50 Cal turrets they got nested all over the place.”

“I can hack my way into the terminal, just please tell me where I can find one- I’ll go by myself if I have to!”

“You just don’t get it! The SkyNet server would be locked down! Even if you got to an access terminal, there’s no connection to make! And those turrets are not connected to the grid either; they’re dumb ol’ thermal imaging processors that shoot anything that moves and produces heat. That's why Lockdown is so crucial to anything that breathes!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t get it! Even if I take a bullet or two, I’m going to find my friends! It’s never stopped me before, and it won’t stop me now – just get your self to safety, I'll be fine on my own!”

Without time to react, I received a chop to my head, only to have it backfire causing Petra to rub the possible fracture in her wrist.

“Sheesh, you really do have a thick skull! Alright, alright, we can go through the sewers. It may take us a few attempts, but I know one tunnels should lead to the outer perimeter. There we can hook up with a platoon and figure out what the hell is going on. Hopefully, it’s just a false alarm, and if it is once this is over, I’ll take you directly to the SkyNet terminal.”

“This time, I would hope with no detours!”

“That’s a promise I can keep. Alright. After you!”

Hoisting up a heavy metal lid ingrained in the nearby sidewalk, Petra pardoned me inside.

"Great." I sighed sarcastically as I pinched my nose tightly to avoid the reek from burning clear through my nasal filters, staining my brain. "Just what I needed after a meal; to be ankle deep in this muck without a clue as to where we're going."