by Noah Barnett
The armed explosive began to blink, and he shoved it back into the bag and closed the zipper. Dragging the heavy pack across the floor, he quickly wrenched the door open. Bullets zipped past him, but he threw the entire bag inside. Another shot sank into his flank, as he turned and sprinted away from the stairs. He managed to make it partly down the hall before the explosion slammed into his backside. The blast wave picked up Charlie’s puny human body and tossed him down the corridor.
He rolled to a stop surprised he wasn't dead. It felt as though someone had taken a bat to his ass, chest, and stomach. Smoke was still licking around the stairwell, and the metal door had impaled itself in the opposite wall. He dragged himself to his feet and stumbled forward. His body felt drunk, and Charlie struggled with his unresponsive legs. The stairs were a twisted mess, but he managed more or less to climb from one floor to the next. On the bottom floor were several bodies outside the stairwell. Nearby was an emergency exit and he pushed open the fire door.
A man with a salt n' pepper beard stood ten meters away next to a low wall. He wore the gray uniform of a Confederate, and under the officer's hat was a tangle of pure white hair. Charlie stared at the civil-war era soldier as he questioned his own sanity. It took longer than it should have to notice the ancient musket leveled at Charlie. He reacted finally by raising his own rifle. Delusion or not Charlie would not go down without a fight. The musket flashed belching a cloud of smoke, and a .58 caliber ball slammed into Charlie like the fist of god. Darkness closed over him as his body was knocked back through the fire exit.
The door opened on lobby one. Charlie wasn’t even sure he was annoyed or not. He hadn't expected to be slain by a ghost from the past. There was a nearby console, and the screen came alive as he touched it. On it was his recent match statistics. He had killed ten people which honestly surprised him.
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Killing an enemy = 100 x Battle Rank x Weapon Multiplier.
(Bronze 1, Silver 2, Gold 4, Platinum 6, Diamond 10, Tungsten 20)
(Explosives 1, Rifles 1, SMG's 1.25, Pistols 2, Melee 10)
1 x Diamond - pistol = 2,000c
1 x Platinum - rifle = 600c
2 x Gold - explosion = 800c
4 x Silver - explosion = 800c
2 x Bronze - explosion = 200c
Total = 4400c x 2 (Mission Bonus) = 8,800c
Charlie was impressed he'd dispatched a Diamond player. That had to be his greatest achievement to date. The number of credits he’d earned was impressive as hell. It was almost as much as winning a match. At least he wouldn't have to worry about rent now. His stats appeared next which hadn't changed much. Charlie was still Silver One despite killing a diamond player.
_____________
Player ID - NA1339872
Registered Competition Name - Charlie
Clan - None
Hours played - 46
Wins - 4
Losses - 1
Kills - 9
Deaths - 3
K/D Ratio - 3.0
Battle Rank - Silver One
Player Score - 1202
Credits - 15,532c
Doors nearby continued to spew a steady stream of men and women. Charlie saw the older Confederate enter the match lobby. He was distinctive against the backdrop of Kevlar vests and urban camo. The man had a bemused smile as he strolled casually to the elevator carrying a long musket. He had a bandolier across his chest, and several leather satchels containing balls, patches, and powder. On his wrist, a much smaller pouch shook with loose primers. The man carried no other weapon besides the ancient flintlock. Charlie's annoyance grew, and he followed the man inside.
The elevator doors opened and they stepped out onto the lobby. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. His irritation boiled over and he said, "I despise joke characters." The other man turned curious that someone was talking to him. Charlie glared at him.
"I assure you, young man, that war is nevah a joke," he said in a thick southern drawl.
"Using an old musket is just stupid. If you don't want to take this game seriously then play something else." Charlie replied eyeing the musket on his shoulder. "Use an actual weapon like everyone else."
"You sir, are going too far." The man said putting a hand on his musket. "I take umbrage with your callousness. If you think me and my rifle a joke then I gladly challenge you to a duel."
Charlie paused blinking. He had taken part in one duel already and seen the consequences that came from it. The old man, despite being a joke, was willing to put his weapon on the line. Charlie had just gotten Fara so he wasn't ready to lose her just yet.
"Fine, I over spoke myself." Charlie gritted out.
"Do not apologize to me. It is not my honor you have impeached." He said stroking his rifle.
"Grace will you kindly change forms. This ruffian deigns to speak to you."
Charlie's face heated as the musket started to glow. A southern belle-flower appeared in the yellow light. She had a colonial hairstyle of pleated curls. White lace hid the black collar around her neck, and a brown bronze hoop dress covered her entire body. It was the first time he'd seen a weapon that wasn't showing fifty percent skin. She flicked a small paper fan open covering her lower face.
"I apologize," he managed in a more normal tone. He turned to the Confederate again and asked in a slightly mocking tone, "Care to explain why you chose to dress like that?"
"To someone who is genuinely interested, I would be compelled to." The Confederate agreed. He took the woman's gloved hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, then turned to Charlie with a thin smile.
"Shall we depart these facilities? The noise is not conducive to proper conversation."
Charlie followed the man out of the Competition Center, and they crossed to a small park. The man took from his pocket a filigreed handkerchief and dusted the stone bench. The southern woman took his offered hand and carefully perched on the seat. Only when she was finished organizing her dress did he join her.
"Proper introductions are in order," the older man said and waited.
Charlie sat on the opposite side. He touched both his weapons and said, "You can change forms." Both blonds appeared already sitting beside him. Fara, however, scooted as far from him as possible on the seat.
"This is Grace, and you do her a disservice by calling her a musket. She is an 1861 Springfield Rifle." The man said gesturing to his weapon again. "My name is Montgomery Cunningham the 22nd," he added touching his chest with splayed fingers.
"This is Elva and Fara. You can call me Charlie." He said gesturing to each girl first then to himself.
"It is truly a pleasure to meet your acquaintance," he said kissing both of their hands. Fara smiled for the first time since Charlie had seen her.
"So?" Charlie asked a little tartly.
The man gathered his thoughts before saying. "It wasn't until the mid-eighteenth century that war changed. Several innovations came about during the American Civil War which altered the battlefield entirely. As I said before, Grace is as modern a weapon as either sitting beside you. She is a rifle by manufacture, capable of killing a man well out to four-hundred yards." Montgomery said in a lecturing voice.
Charlie glanced at the woman. He hadn't gotten a good look at her as a weapon. All he'd seen was a long hexagonal barrel and cocking mechanism.
"She also uses a minie'ball. You may recognize the shape most modern bullets use." He said withdrawing a paper cartridge from a leather case. He rolled it across the table and Charlie picked it up. Inside the thin wax paper was a charge of powder and a conical bullet. "Grace is quite literally the culmination of these technologies," he said pausing to take up his weapon's hand. He kissed the back of her glove before continuing, "If I may be so bold as to say, she is the mother of all modern firearms. I for one, am humbled and honored to carry her into battle."
"You do go too far, sir." The weapon said in a sultry southern accent. However, as she said this, her face blushed scarlet, which she hid b
ehind the intricate fan. Montgomery kissed her gloved hand again before turning to Charlie.
"By now, I hope you understand that I take my duty seriously." He said in a firmer business like tone.
"I apologize," Charlie said and glanced at Grace. She was still fanning the blush across her cheeks. "To you as well," he added. Their conversation was interrupted by a small chime. Grace slid the cuff of her sleeve up and exposed a treacherously modern wristwatch. She touched the face and turned to Montgomery.
"It's time for your medicine."
"What would I do without you, dear?" He said and stood from the table.
"You're sick?" Charlie asked.
"Cancer, I'm afraid. This is the third time. When they chase it down the thing jumps elsewhere. Sadly, my own body seems intent on rebelling against me." Montgomery said taking the hat from his head, and bowed politely.
"I shall take a short leave, so please, continue without me." He said walking away and out of sight. Montgomery would never do something so uncouth as logging out in public.
"He doesn't carry a pistol?" Elva asked.
"Olivia, left…" Grace sighed and lowered her fan.
"Monty is sometimes gone for weeks at a time for treatment. He is always profusely apologetic, but there are long periods of unavoidable absence." She said toying with the fan in her fingers. "Olivia, found another Meister," she sighed.
“What Grace failed to mention is that she has the patience of a saint," Montgomery added coming back into view.
Grace's eyes lifted and she turned towards him. "I would have left you long ago if anyone would have me," She said flicking her fan open. The bite of her words were belied by the playful tone in her voice.
"I'm afraid we'll have to cut our gaming short today," he said in apology. Grace held out a hand which Monty took. She slid from the bench to stand beside him. "If you'll excuse us," he added with another bow.
As they walked away, Charlie turned to Elva and said, "Send them a friend request. I don't know if we'll play together, but he was interesting."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Intermission
Charlie crouched under the corpse of Lady Liberty. The old girl had been cruelly disfigured. Her head was missing, and a melted hole took her arm off. The final affront was the fact someone had disrobed her leaving only an iron skeleton. In the New York Bay, an aircraft carrier had been broken in half and partially submerged. Tiny toy-like jet fighters littered the beach the vessel had crashed upon.
"Why do you lick your gun?" Charlie asked. Remy turned to him with the revolver still partially in her mouth. After a second she smiled slyly and removed the cannon.
"It drives Philip nuts," she admitted.
"That's it?" he asked.
"Is there a better reason?" She replied caressing her dainty fingers over the revolver.
Charlie rolled his eyes and said, "I just wish you wouldn't do it in the middle of a firefight."
"It's called multitasking," she said leaning around the corner. Remy took careful aim and fired twice at a distant shadow. The bullets connected and the target collapsed in a bloody heap. Remy ducked back next to Charlie as a splatter of return fire hit the stone brickwork. There was less than a minute left in the round, and he did his best to ignore the red circle at his back.
Charlie rose and aimed at a target leaping onto the base of the statue. His round struck, but the enemy continued to sprint toward the old girl's sandaled foot. He switched to full auto, but the man was already halfway there. The gun bucked against his shoulder, and the figure staggered from a hit before throwing himself behind cover.
“One of us must get under Lady Liberty's skirt," Remy said reloading her revolver.
The problem would be the enemy waiting under there. Remy withdrew a double-barreled saw’d-off from a thigh holster.
“Cover me,” she said struggling to crawl onto the statue’s base. Several bullets skipped past from the enemy holding the other side.
They both mounted the base and Charlie sprinted for the left side. A bullet skipped past his left foot, then a second missed his head by barely an inch. He threw himself forward into the statue's skeleton. On the right side, Remy rolled to an awkward stop and aimed up with the shotgun. Her finger squeezed the trigger on both barrels as bullets stitched her side. The blast peppered the enemy player with two dozen buckshot pellets, and the corpse slid from the skeletal perch.
"Good job, Remy. You might be a weird little perv, but you are amazing at the game."
Charlie knelt next to the statue and waited. The red barrier closed in, and a woman with over-sized melons crawled up onto the base with the circle hot on her heels. Charlie didn't give her a chance. He let out a long breath as the sights lined up on the sniper. She ran forward, breasts bouncing as his finger stroked the trigger. Blood sprayed out in a mist as six rounds punched into her lightly armored chest. Two other bullets flew over her shoulder, and he let go of the trigger. Her beautiful face planted onto the stonework as she skidded to a bloody halt. Darkness closed over him.
[Match Complete]
[Team Win]
"Another game?" Remy asked as he stepped out into the lobby.
"Sorry, can’t. I wanted to jump on a used car before it was gone. Afterward, I was going to get some lunch and relax."
Three random players were already in the elevator. Remy stood in the doorway preventing it from closing. She flicked open the breach of her double barrel and loaded two more shells inside. "That's right. You live out near the water." She said giving the weapon in her hands an absent caress before slipping the gun into a thigh holster. Remy backed into the elevator as Charlie entered.
"It's cheap," he admitted putting his palm on the control screen, and it ascended.
"Did that before, couldn't stand the commute. It's a game. I don't want to spend twenty minutes driving into town." She said walking beside them.
He didn't mind it. Besides if he managed to get this car it would make the trip that much shorter.
The lobby was still full, but Charlie pushed his way outside. He met the man standing next to a white 1965 Shelby Mustang Convertible with two thick black racing stripes down the middle. The stock tires had been replaced with custom racing slicks, and running lights had been added to the front grill. A good car for drag racing down the empty evening streets.
"You're in luck. I got a phone call about the car just before you got out here." The man said. Charlie smiled, because this was his field of expertise. He did a once around the vehicle, and noticed the man had hit something hard on the left side. The back bumper had been quickly replaced but not repainted.
"That'll be quite a fix," Charlie muttered just loud enough to be heard.
"A couple of grand," the man said following Charlie. A second scrape marred the right side, and he ran a hand over the damaged front panel.
"How about five thousand," he asked.
"The ad was for eight."
"True, but a factory Mustang is only sixteen grand," Charlie said running a hand over the damaged part of the car. The guy had probably bought it early. With the mods visible, it was obvious the player had dumped money into the Mustang to keep up with more expensive sports cars. Now he was selling it to upgrade.
"Seven Thousand."
"Five-point-five," Charlie countered.
"Six."
"Done," Charlie said holding out a hand. They shook on it and went inside to make the trade. The money he saved could be used to repair the bodywork, but he wasn't about to waste a fortune fixing a write-off. The man held out the keys after they'd transferred the credits over.
Removing Fara from his shoulder, Charlie set her on the passenger seat. Then climbed into the driver’s side and ran a hand over the leather upholstery. He slid the key into the ignition, closed his eyes, and listened carefully as it turned over. The engine started with a roar, and a turbocharger spun up to full speed as the car shook. Elva appeared sitting on his lap and smiled. It was a Mustang, and Elva was part of the
reason for the purchase.
"I love it," she said turning sideways and settled her feet on the passenger seat.
Her arm circled his neck as she settled against the driver side door. He pushed the clutch in, and shifted the car from neutral into first. Elva gave a shriek of surprise as the vintage muscle car shot forward. Then pressed herself harder to Charlie as she hung on. The car screamed onto the street, and Charlie goosed the engine again speeding through the intersection. He wasn't doing it just to make Elva squeal and squeeze him tightly, that was a side bonus. Charlie was checking the wheel alignment which did pull to the left a tiny bit. It confirmed his suspicions there was damage, but it wasn't as bad as he feared.
