Jimmy spun around, his eyes flashing with raw terror. He immediately dropped into a squat, hands clasped over his head.
Finn cracked open a bottle of Nuka-Cola Quantum, took a slow sip, smacked his lips, and only then turned around at a leisurely pace. “That’s right. It was me.”
Standing in front of them were eight thug-looking punks armed with submachine guns and rifles, homemade grenades strapped to their waists. Their hair was dyed in wild red and green streaks, and every one of them wore a bulletproof vest.
The leader raised his assault rifle and aimed straight at Finn. He pressed his lips tight, teeth grinding as he snarled:
“Heard you’re a Tier 2 Vanguard. Good. Let me show you what real—”
BANG!
A deafening gunshot cracked through the air. His head exploded into a cloud of red mist. The headless body toppled straight backward.
“Huh?” Finn stood there holding the Nuka-Cola bottle, completely stunned. I haven’t even moved yet. How did he die?
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
From the far end of the street corner came the savage roar of a light machine gun. A storm of bullets poured out, ripping through the thugs’ lives. Their bulletproof vests shredded like wet paper under the metal onslaught.
“Philip’s guys are here!…”
The few still alive screamed in panic, rolling across the ground to dodge the bullets. One of them even stood up straight, using his own body as a shield for his companions.
The guy blocking the shots had some kind of special ability; every bullet that hit him simply deflected away. They scrambled for cover in the corners and alleys, ducking behind cars and other steel obstacles, then raised their own guns to fire back.
Finn saw that the crew with the light machine gun also had red-and-green dyed hair. So it was just Demon Gang infighting. Finn leaned against the wall, settling in to watch the show.
The gunshots were deafening. The two groups were firing at each other with wild enthusiasm. Every so often someone let out a muffled grunt and crumpled after taking a bullet.
The once-quiet street had turned into a full-blown battlefield in seconds. Bullets screamed back and forth, weaving a thick, deadly web of firepower.
Finn stood right on the edge of the chaos, leaning casually against the shop doorway. He sipped his Nuka-Cola while enjoying the show, completely relaxed. Life didn’t get any better than this.
Caught up in the war scene unfolding in front of him, Finn felt his trigger finger itch. He pulled out the handgun he’d looted earlier, aimed at one of the red-and-green heads, and squeezed the trigger.
The weak pop of the pistol was swallowed whole by the roar of gunfire. The guy dropped instantly.
“Not bad. My aim’s actually pretty decent,” Finn muttered, satisfied. He slipped the handgun back into his pocket, took another swig of the crisp Nuka-Cola, and went back to watching the gunfight like it was prime entertainment. A few stray rounds smacked into him and only kicked up tiny sparks.
The fierce shootout lasted five minutes. In the end, the crew with the light machine gun came out on top.
On the bullet-riddled street, they roared past in a pickup truck, chasing down the mutant with the bullet-deflecting power. One of them raised a spiked iron club high and smashed the guy’s head to pieces with a single swing.
The gang completely ignored Finn and sped off to hunt down members of rival crews in the other blocks.
Jimmy was still squatting on the ground, trembling like a leaf. The shop owner stayed crouched behind his steel-plated counter, poking a periscope out.
The metal periscope swept left and right twice. Only after making sure the gang members were gone did he cautiously stand up.
“Sir, you’ve got nerves of steel!” the shopkeeper said with heartfelt admiration. He picked up his hand-rolled cigarette, hands still trembling as he struck a match and lit it.
“Let’s go.”
Finn called out to Jimmy, who was still squatting on the ground with his head in his hands, then lifted one crate of Nuka-Cola. Jimmy grabbed the other. The two of them headed back to Michael’s inn in West 7 Sector. Gunshots cracked nonstop the whole way, like the entire district had turned into one big gang war zone.
……
In the distance, a highway motorcycle came roaring down the street. Olivia crouched low over the handlebars, hugging the bike. A massive matte-black sniper rifle was strapped across her back, and a submachine gun with a huge drum magazine hung at her waist.
The motorcycle tore through the bullet-swept streets and slowed to a smooth stop right in front of Michael’s inn. Olivia swung off the seat, pulled off her black helmet, and let her bright golden hair spill out.
The wooden stairs were open to the air. Finn had already gone up and was standing at the second-floor landing, digging for his key.
Olivia brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead, looked up, and shouted, “Finn, do you know anything about the Demon Gang leader?”
“Why are you asking me?” Finn rested one hand on the balcony railing and looked down at Olivia, who was leaning against her motorcycle.
“The Demon Gang leader loves taking his heavy bike out for joyrides. It happened right here in West 7 Sector. A few days ago he rode out of Black Mountain, and from the direction he went came the sound of a nuclear blast with a mushroom cloud rising. After that, he never came back.
“Some people say he stepped on a nuclear landmine left over from before the Cataclysm, but I observed that mushroom cloud and it didn’t look like the blast pattern of a buried nuke.
“I suspect it was some other kind of nuclear weapon. That day, the two of you came walking in from the exact direction of the blast. Do you know anything about it?”
Finn paused, stunned. In his head he thought, So the guy I casually blew away with a nuclear rocket was the Demon Gang leader.
Under the scorching midday sun, Olivia saw he wasn’t answering and shouted up again, “Finn, do you know something or not?”
“I don’t know!” Finn answered firmly.
“Fine then. I’ve got to go protect the residents the gangs are holding hostage.” Olivia slipped her helmet back on, swung onto the bike, and leaned low over the sleek, curved highway motorcycle, her long legs clamping tight around it.
She twisted the throttle and fired up the engine, then turned her head and yelled back to Finn, “Demon is the biggest gang in Black Mountain. Their leader’s dead now, so they’ve already started shooting each other over who gets to be the next boss. Things are getting messy around here lately. You two watch your backs!”
“Got it!” Finn shouted after the roaring motorcycle. “You’re still keeping an eye on me?”
“I’ll always be keeping an eye on you!”
The highway motorcycle spat bright yellow flames from the exhaust and sped off. Olivia’s striking figure disappeared around the corner.
Finn stopped where he was, staring in the direction she had gone. After a moment of silence, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Jimmy tossed his backpack onto the bed. “Bro, you think Olivia likes you or something?”
“Don’t overthink it. Thinking someone likes you just because they glanced at you is a classic low-EQ move.” Finn pulled out the looted guns and ammo and started sorting through them.
Jimmy scratched his head. “Guess you got me there… but after I learned street dance and anime dance, dropped out, and started running with the streets, my EQ got way higher.”
“Why’d you drop out?” Finn asked, surprised. “In a stable society, school is one of the few real ways to climb the ladder.”
Finn had read up on Jimmy’s home world, Gamma-TWO-A-9527—a blue planet at the far end of the galaxy’s spiral arm, inside the solar system. It was mostly peaceful and pretty prosperous, but class lines were locked down tight.
“My old man died in the war, and my mom’s always off working. She can’t really keep an eye on me,” Jimmy said, shrugging. “School was boring as hell. I wanted to learn dancing, but Mom wouldn’t let me, so I ditched class and started hanging with the crew.”
Finn let out a snort of laughter. “You skipped school because you wanted to dance? Come on. You don’t even have your own money yet. Dreams are great, but without the means to chase them, they’re just daydreams. Stop getting ahead of yourself and go back to class like a good kid.”
Jimmy straightened his back and declared in a loud, righteous voice, “Socks before shoes, bitch before boss! I can bite my tongue for a minute, but not my whole damn life! I’m a man with dreams! With ambition!”
“What dream is that? Let’s hear it,” Finn said, still sorting the magazines in his hands without even looking up.
“You know, on my planet, folk dancers look down on classical dancers, classical dancers look down on ballet dancers, ballet dancers look down on waltz dancers, and waltz dancers look down on hula dancers.”
Once Jimmy got going on dance, the words just poured out of him. “Bro, do you know which three are sitting at the very bottom of the whole dance pecking order?”
“Which three?”
“Belly dancers look down on street dancers, and street dancers look down on anime dancers!” Jimmy said with a dead-serious face.
“Huh???”
Finn froze. The magazine in his hand clattered to the floor. This world was getting a little… weird. He made a mental note to visit it someday if he got the chance.
“So what’s your dream, exactly?” Finn asked hesitantly.
Jimmy stood up straight. He spoke slowly, each word hitting like a hammer:
“I’m going to make street dance great! One day, I’ll stand on the stage of Vienna’s Golden Hall and perform a routine I choreographed myself, and I’ll shock the whole world! I’ll drag street dance and anime dance up from the very bottom of the dance pecking order! I’ll make everyone understand that all dance deserves respect!”
Finn was speechless. All he could do was give a thumbs-up. “That’s… that’s one hell of a dream!”
“To make it happen, I’m gonna get into Paris Dance Conservatory!” Jimmy declared, chest puffed out with pride. Then his shoulders slumped. “But when my mom heard I wanted to audition for a dance school, she cut off my allowance and wouldn’t let me find a teacher.”
“Don’t worry!” Finn clapped Jimmy on the shoulder, encouraging him. “Once we finish this mission, you’ll earn a bunch of Contribution Points. You can trade those points for your home world’s currency, and Contribution Points are worth a fortune! Plus, everything you pick up on this wasteland planet is yours to keep.”
“Really?” Jimmy’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Then I’m definitely gonna give it everything I’ve got!”