A swift kick to my ribs rips me out of my sleep, easily overpowering my pain dampener. Where even am I? The ground is cold and hard beneath my body, and something wet has seeped into my clothes. My head is pounding with a familiar throb from long ago.

Right. I remember.

I dump chemicals from my internal container into my bloodstream to try to feel a little better. It'll take a bit before this feeling leaves, but it will help eventually.

"I said get up." Mara's cruel voice grates against my brain, and is punctuated by another kick. "I don't have time to deal with your bullshit."

I fight through the pain and force myself to my feet. My left leg has only gotten worse. I can barely even stand to put weight on it without the brace. I don't think it's an infection, just an ever-worsening compound fracture.

Mara stands in front of me, impatiently waiting for me to move. She's armored to the teeth. Heavy armor encases her entire body, with just a few holes distributed throughout for airflow. A rifle is already in her hands, with a pistol and knife on her hip. She even has grenades strapped to her chest.

Something big is certainly happening, but I'm smart enough to not expect what I hope.

"Grab your gun and be at the bunker in an hour. Remember where your loyalties lie." She turns around, not bothering to wait for my non-existent response.

Something very big.

I glance around the alleyway I'm in, my eye pulling up a recording of where I left my gun. She's gone. Who thought it was a good idea to steal my gun?

How long was I out for? My eye says ten hours. Great. Sorry I missed breakfast Vince, I'll make it up to you after I kill whoever I have to.

Question is, who's dumb enough to steal my gun? Well, Mara for one. Give me an impossible to follow instruction as a pretense to do God knows what when I fail. Why play that game though? There are much simpler instructions to give me that are equally impossible. Maybe for the entertainment of me looking for it? But why not do it before now? If she wanted to break me, she won. I'm already broken, there's no need to do this now.

No. I just have to believe some other fucker took a piece of me. Even if she is playing some sick game, I have to look.

Who hates me enough to possibly take my gun? Everyone after the display in the main courtyard. I'm lucky they didn't do worse while I was out. I should have been more careful, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight.

I limp out of the alleyway, leaving behind the people I bought supplies from, and step onto the street. It's busy. People are running in every direction, many of them armored with a gun in their hands or on their backs, and even more are just citizens, desperately trying to scurry out of the way. Some of Mara's lieutenants are standing on the rooftops, barking instructions that pound against my skull over the din.

I pick my way through the throng of people towards my room. I turn the corner and can plainly see the door has been forced open. My belongings have been thrown out of the room. My clothes and Vince's towels are being trampled beneath the boots of the people who survive here. My cleaning supplies have been emptied atop them.

My fingernails dig into my palm so hard I wouldn't be surprised to see blood. I did everything. I fucked up. Don't take it out on him. As soon as whatever is happening is over, I'm tracking down whoever's responsible. It's probably the same people, actually.

I step inside, my eye taking in everything. My sheets and excuse for a mattress have all been slashed thoroughly with a dull knife. The small table I have for storage has been smashed to pieces.

Whoever did this was thorough, I'm almost impressed. Not thorough enough, though. I crouch down the best I can without bending my leg and collect a few strands of hair that were left behind.

It's blond. Alright, that's a start. All the same color too. If this was a one man job, that makes things easier for me. It's likely someone close to the kid I executed, but who? He wasn't around for long enough for me to record him talking consistently with anyone.

I was out for ten hours. I check the recording on my eye, hoping to catch a glimpse of the perpetrator, but my head was locked on that fucking thing I stuck in my arm. Just ten hours of me staring at it.

I need to get a microphone installed in me somewhere. It'd be a nice compliment to my eye for times like these.

Whoever did this did it recently. The clothes outside my door don't look as bad as they could, and the cleaning fluid hasn't had a chance to dry yet. I'd say this happened likely in the last hour.

How long have people been moving for? With how prepared everyone is, starting around an hour ago would make sense. My guess is someone saw me in the alleyway while getting rallied for whatever Mara has planned and took their chance.

That doesn't tell me much. If they're still carrying my rifle, they're dumb, which means they probably stashed it in their room? Of course, they could have just tossed her into the lake and been done with the whole thing, but this feels personal. Chances are they'll want to keep the trophy. That does make things easier, but doesn't answer who did it.

I step towards my next door neighbor and knock on the door. Grace opens the door, but recoils when she sees me.

"Ivy! I'm sorry I can't." She tries to close the door, but I stick my foot in the path. The impact echoes up my leg, further worsening whatever's wrong.

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I push her back, stepping inside and closing the door behind us.

Tablet. Please. I sign to her.

"You need to leave, please. I can't be seen with you."

I don't have time to sit here and repeat the same request. I step past her, grabbing her tablet off the table, and opening to the writing app.

I need to know who trashed my room. I turn the tablet around to show her.

"I don't know." She says quickly.

She's terrified, but I just don't have the ability to feel bad about that right now. Why do people always insist on lying to me? Do they really think they're going to get away from it? I pull back my hair away from my eye, and Grace recoils once again.

I can tell when people are lying. It was a direct order from Mara, don't make me tell her you didn't help. I type out.

"I didn't check!" Unfortunately, that's not a lie. "I did hear two people talking though."

Two? I only saw the hair from one person though. One of them must be bald, I should have considered that. I'm getting sloppy. Or it's the twins who did it. A quick check shows them eating dinner with the kid I killed once. Last I checked, they didn't seem like fighters. They wouldn't even have to take a risk of angering Mara by not responding to her summons.

That seems like as good of a place to start as any.

I'll figure it out myself. I type on the tablet and hand it to her. It'll be easier for her to tell people she didn't help me if she doesn't know she did.

I step back out onto the street and close the door behind me.

Do I know where the twins live? My eye pulls up a recorded memory. In one of my trips to Vince I caught them both leaving a room. That's as good a place to start as any.

I push against the endless flow of people and head to the nearest staircase. Just one floor down the city is far less busy. Most of the people down here are civilians, desperately trying to stay out of the way of anyone armed. Every window with shutters is closed and the lights are off, trying to pretend people aren't home.

I walk up to the twins room and knock loudly on the door.

Nobody responds, and I bang again. I don't bother knocking a third time, just grab the lockpick from my hair and get to work. It only takes a few seconds to get it unlocked and to push the door open.

I'm met on the other side with a pistol in my face. Interesting, I don't think he's supposed to have that. Civilians are restricted from keeping weapons, and if he's not helping upstairs, he's not a fighter.

My eye takes in the entire room behind him, locking onto a reflection of my gun hastily stuffed behind the bed. It doesn't look like they've damaged her, and for their sake, I hope that's true.

"Get the fuck out." The man with the gun growls. He's serious, I have no doubt he'll fire if I do anything. His finger is already hovering just above the trigger's activation point. I'm not fast enough to disarm him, not in my current state.

I hold up my hands and step away, letting him close the door.

How do I get my gun back without getting shot? Easiest way would just be to head upstairs, snag a pistol off someone, and come back. They'd deserve it after what they did upstairs.

No, I can't. Too high a risk of Mara getting angry. Going crying to Mara or any of her people will only get me spat on, only metaphorically if I'm lucky.

What are my chances of winning in a hand to hand fight? Not great with the shape I'm in, and even worse if the second twin has a gun too. A pipe would help, but the chances still aren't as good as I like.

Best bet is probably just threatening them. It'd be way easier if I could talk, but so would a lot of things. I need to get my hands on a tablet, but I don't want to harass Grace any more.

My eye runs a quick cross check between everyone I saw upstairs, and everyone who's house I know. I passed by a few people who live down here. I approach one and knock on the door. When no one answers, I let myself inside.

I'm not a fan of peering into someone's life like this. I set my eye to look for a tablet, and black out the rest of my vision. It finds one on the table, and the idiot thankfully left it unlocked and on. Sloppy, but he must have been in a hurry.

I grab it, find a notes app, and start writing.

I don't care what you did to my room, and I don't care that you stole my gun and hid it behind your bed. Mara has ordered me to get my weapon back, and you know I follow my orders. Either hand my gun back, or I get Mara involved, and I replicate what happened outside the canteen. It's your choice.

That should do it. Now how do I get this to them without getting shot? Opening the door again is suicide.

I walk into the alleyway beside their house, press the tablet against the window, and knock on the glass.

When no one responds, I knock again, and again.

Eventually I hear them stirring inside, and watch through a reflection of another glass window as one of the twins rip it open. His face goes from anger, to confusion at the tablet, and slowly turns white as he reads.

He steps away, and a moment later the front door opens and closes. No footsteps head towards me, glad I'm not about to get shot.

I turn the corner, and one of them had the good sense to lean my gun against the front of their house. A small crack runs through her plastic covering.

Guess we're both a little broken.

I grab her and limp my way towards the nearest railing. I have an hour, I grab a spare stick from my pocket, and light it. It'll take the edge off my pain, and I need a clear head for whatever comes next. I need this.

I stay there for forty minutes, burning through my stash quickly, my pain disappearing with every breath. I walk up to the bunker, unimpeded by my leg. The place is full, with a row of people densely packed together at each window, their rifles pointed at the entrance to the city.

Morgan stands in the center, leaving an open spot beside her. I slide in, claiming my place.

"Couldn't be bothered to get here on time?" She holds out her hand, dropping two bullets into mine.

I quickly load one into my gun and press the butt against my shoulder. That's better. The entrance is already open, I guess they'll be here soon.

"Focus on blowing through heavy armor, leave the rest to us."

It's only ten minutes of tense silence before Morigan speaks.

"They're here." She says.

My collar makes a small clicking noise in the back, and suddenly loosens. That's weird. Is this some kind of test?

A heavy riot shield begins to make its way down the stairs. I hold my fire until I see their head. A familiar metal foot steps down behind them.

Glad to see you made it, girls.

I don't hesitate to grab the pistol out of the man next to me's holster, and put a bullet directly into Morgan's head.

A moment after I fire, a white hot pain spreads through my skull, wiping away everything else. I fall, my rapidly fading consciousness holding onto only one thing.

Sorry Vince, guess I fucked up.

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