Jimmy had reduced his equipment load somewhat for the evening. He emerged from the warehouse wearing a heavy tactical armored vest, with integrated pockets for four different magazines just above the beltline. Each pocket held a boxy magazine for the BAR, with distinct colors wrapped around their bases. Four shell racks were attached to his belt, each loaded with different colored shells. His BAR was in place at his back, with the super 90 shotgun beside it, and an odd-looking, double-barreled handgun seated in a quick release rig at his thigh that extended up his leg with four different magazine well attachments. Kurt recognized an extended double magazine of +P jutting from the top of the rig, but the others were obscured beneath the wrap of the magazine pockets.

  Kurt glared at the sidearm. “Hey, what the hell is that gun?”

  In place of an answer, Jimmy pulled the firearm from its holster and tossed it to Kurt. A quick scan answered his questions.

  Arsenal Double-Barrel 1911

  Pistol. Sidearm. Weapon drops upon death only if equipped in the Primary/Secondary slot.

  Caliber: .45 ACP

  Rate of Fire: Semi-Automatic.

  Capacity: 8x8 Round Double Magazine or 8 round separate magazines.

  “This seems really weird,” Kurt said while shaking his head and handing the firearm back to his friend.

  Squinting one eye, Jimmy smiled and holstered the gun. “Yeah, but you’re an Infiltrator, not a Heavy like me.”

  Gadot had been shrugging into her fitted armor and stopped to glare at Jimmy. “Woah, hang on, a what?”

  He smiled demurely and handed them both a card. “I got the upgrade during the hit on Ursa. Didn’t want to distract you guys. My very own specialist class, made just for me. Seems that way, anyhow.”

  Mr. James

  The Heavy

  “Holy crud, dude! Congrats!” Kurt grinned at Jimmy. “That’s a seriously cool title, too. Not just Heavy, but The Heavy.”

  “Yeah, that’s great. I’ve never heard of it either. Usually combat specialists get military-related classes. Very cool, Jimmy.” Gadot practically beamed at Jimmy. She flushed slightly and looked back at her gear. “I guess Big Bore really was all you needed.”

  He gave her a quick smile before turning toward their vehicle for the night, a low-slung 2015 four door Ford Mustang. It was midnight purple in color, with a modified exhaust profile jutting from the rear of the vehicle’s skirts. “Yeah, it really was. I got it up to level ten fighting the Russians and that was that. Great bonuses to heavy armor and my usual arsenal. Couple cool tricks for high-aggro weapons too.”

  After a few jostling but well-meaning shoves with his friend, Kurt ended up in the rear of the car, watching the landscape go by as they moved down the coast towards Pirate turf. He was mildly disturbed to see a freeway sign go by overhead, covered in red spray paint and braced on either side by skeletons. It stated just a single phrase in large, splashed lettering: “Abandon hope, all ye who enter.” The next sign had similar adornments and the phrase: “Here there be monsters!”

  “How are there skeletons on those billboards?” Kurt peered through the rear window in confusion. “I thought everybody dusted when they die?”

  Jimmy snickered from the front seat. “Yeah, those are plastic. Party store gags . . . or stolen from medical schools or labs.” He pulled his sidearm and removed the large double magazine, replacing it with two separate magazines of specialty ammunition. One had a stripe of red and yellow, indicating Starburst rounds, and the other was a silver-banded Armor Piercing magazine that Kurt recognized from his own arsenal. “Makes their point rather succinctly though, I feel. Not exactly a ‘stay off my lawn’ sign, just enough of a warning to let you know what you’re getting into.”

  The landscape passing by through the windows was ragged, apparently having seen heavy action from the Pirates during the week. Buildings were blasted and burnt out, with street lights torn down, whether intentionally or by accident Kurt couldn’t tell. He watched a stripped-down old hot rod careening around a corner, automatic weapons fire rattling off from inside as the police swerved wildly in chase. The pursuit passed directly beneath them as they drove by on an overpass.

  They pulled off the freeway at a coastal resort, with a towering hotel attached to a series of docks extending out into the ocean. The building was scorched, with windows missing and burn marks all over the sides that were still intact. One corner of the top floor was simply gone, blast marks around the edges suggesting a detonation of some significance.

  “Should I be as nervous as I feel right now?” Kurt fidgeted in the backseat, taking in the intimidating environment.

  Jimmy barked a laugh. “Naw, man, they won’t eat you or anything. This resort is a regular raid. Pirates hit it every . . . tuesday? I think. Anyway, yeah, they tend to leave the place pretty rough when they come ashore.”

  Gadot shook her head as she drove past the resort, pulling into a pockmarked parking lot in front of the docks. “Friggin’ Pirates.” She weaved between craters and parked the car directly in front of a barrel-chested man in his thirties. He wore a long, braided, blonde beard and shaved head, cradling a sawn-off 40mm grenade launcher and wearing a pair of ragged, knee-length, blue jean cut-offs with a bandolier of grenades across his otherwise bare chest. He casually turned his weapon towards their vehicle and nodded at them.

  “Jerome?” Jimmy perked up at the sight of him, getting out of the car and spreading his arms wide. “Jerome!”

  The man squinted. “Turn yer blasted lights off!” As soon as Gadot obliged, he jumped up from his perch, spreading his arms and smiling wide. “Jimmy! Get over here, ye daft bugger!”

  As they embraced, Kurt opened his door and ran over to join in. “Jerome the Gnome?” He latched onto the hug and the three of them bounced in a small, awkward circle as Gadot stared, one eyebrow raised.

  “Racialist!” Jerome scowled at Kurt, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in feigned indignation. “I was never a Gnome, ye bastard.”

  Kurt stood back with a smile. “Gnome, Dwarf, what’s the difference?” The exchange was clearly familiar, as the stocky man with the long beard grinned from ear to ear and made a couple of false jabs at Kurt’s belly. “I see you still like the black powder. Must be a few more options for you in this game.”

  Jerome clicked open the grenade launcher, playing with the shell. “Oh, I be in a candy store, no denyin’ that.” He poked at Kurt’s suit jacket, revealing his arsenal. “Ye still prefer the fancy little weapons, o’course. Can’t take ye anywhere. Damn fine to see ye boyos back together, though. Jimmy was lost without ye, Kurt.” Stroking his beard while attempting to look serious, he ignored a harsh jostle from Jimmy.

  “Slanderous! How’s the crew?” Jimmy was still smiling as he looked out over the ocean at the various lights scattered across the horizon.

  “Oh fine, fine. Not the same without ye, of course, but can’t be helped.” Jerome seemed to remember something, snapping his fingers. “What am I sayin’? Ye boys need to be fackin’ off. I’m supposed to be meeting some delegation types, bringing ‘em in to see the Queen.”

  Jimmy shrugged, raising his arms and eyebrows at the same time. Kurt pulled a face, also shrugging.

  “Nay! It’s you idiots?” Jerome stalked down the dock to their rear, shoving his grenade launcher into an oversized holster at his hip while muttering to himself. “Never tells me nuffin’.”

  Gadot walked up behind them. “I assume you know him from Brescia?” She walked past, following Jerome down the dock.

  Kurt fell into step behind her. “Yeah, we grouped up a bunch of times back in the day.”

  “He transitioned to the Pirates quite naturally. We did a bunch of great runs in this game before I left.” Jimmy hefted his shotgun, covering their rear casually. “Good dude. And a pure explosives build is actually really useful to have around.”

  They approached a rundown-looking, center console fishing vessel bobbing in the water at the end of the dock. It was covered in bullet holes and had what looked like scars from a fire around the front end; scorch marks and bubbled paint. Jerome got behind the wheel and brought the boat sputtering to life before looking at them expectantly. Jimmy hopped down into the boat, turning back to offer a hand to Gadot. She ignored it, stepping lightly down onto the deck and looking around like it might be sticky. Kurt reached for Jimmy’s hand instead, cautiously stepping onto the boat with his friend’s help.

  “Is this safe?” He looked around with obvious disgust on his face. “It won’t sink?”

  Jerome shoved the accelerator handle into full, and Kurt fell over backwards onto a bench seat as the boat roared out of the harbor. “Maybe!”

  From his vantage point on the bench, Kurt glanced over the lip of the boat, holding a death grip on the railing. “Please don’t sink us. I don’t know if there are sharks, but I don’t like sharks.”

  Jimmy laughed from the bow. “No sharks, dude, you’re Okay. There’s no animals in this game at all.”

  Gadot took a few steps over, using the handrails to steady herself. “Or children.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Cutting the wheel and taking them past a group of pleasure craft in a cluster, Jerome turned back, beard whipping in the salt spray. “Apparently we’re not to be trusted! Can’t imagine why.”

  Kurt became paler the longer the journey went on, still half-sitting, half-slumped on the bench seat. He noted with some distress that Jimmy was standing confidently at the bow of the ship, one foot lifted against the bench, perfectly steady no matter how hard they hit the waves.

  Entering the open ocean, Jerome cut the wheel again, turning them towards what appeared to be a brightly lit island. Kurt looked again, peering at the twinkling lights in the distance, as he saw what they really were. Several smaller vessels seemed to be clustered around one massive ship, and even at a distance Kurt could hear loud music traveling across the water.

  As they approached, the scene became clear. A gargantuan oil tanker was the focal point of a party, with a multitude of other ships around it also hosting revelers. People were dancing and drinking, occasionally firing weapons off into the air or at each other. The tanker was adorned with heavy metal plating and splashed with incoherent patterns of paint all over the hull, most of it crimson. Jerome cut the boat’s engines and drifted towards the mess, grabbing a bullhorn and laying on an air horn for a few seconds.

  “Clear a path, ye daft bastards! Important officer business fer the Queen!” At his demand, a handful of ships fired up their engines and moved, leaving enough room for them to squeeze into. One particularly noisy sailboat didn’t seem to notice, and Jerome quickly became irritated. “Shift her out the way, ye great swingin’ tits!” He scowled over the top of the megaphone. “MOVE. THAT. BOAT.” When they still didn’t seem to hear, he reached for his grenade launcher. “Alright. Be that way then. Where’s me flashbangs?”

  Pawing at his bandoleer, Jerome pulled out a shell and squinted at it, then shook his head and slipped it back in place with the others. The next one he grabbed received a cursory inspection and a nod before being shoved into the stubby launcher’s tube. He stood and lobbed the shell at the ship with a quick flip of his wrist and a hollow thump sound.

  The boat ignited in a fireball that reached up to the sky, illuminating the darkened sea around them as chunks of burning wood scattered and landed sizzling on all sides. Jimmy picked up a bit of burning hull that had landed near him with his fingertips and casually dropped it over the side, apparently unfazed by the chaos. Hundreds of people all around them roared in cheers and laughter.

  “That was high-ex, Jerome. Flashbangs have a grey stripe. High-ex is yellow,” Jimmy said.

  Jerome stared at the sinking remains of the boat, split in the middle and rapidly vanishing beneath the water. “Oops. Hehe!” With a shrug, he gunned the engine again, driving his boat through the gap in the crowd and approaching alongside the giant tug to dock. Varying ladders were scattered along the sides of the tanker, and several standing flood lights illuminated the deck.

  “Learn the physical markers, Jerome. Like the ridges around the base of the grenade. They’re colorblind friendly. Or just turn on the colorblind filters in the settings, dude, c’mon.” Jimmy was clearly exasperated with the subject.

  His jaw setting petulantly, Jerome glared at Jimmy. “I am not colorblind.” A frown cutting into his bearded features, Jerome guided their boat to bump against the side of the ship, and the space behind them rapidly re-filled with revelers vessels.

  Gadot hesitantly followed Jimmy’s sure steps up a nearby rope ladder. The trip was somewhat harrowing, as it dangled from an intimidating height.

  Kurt read the name on the ship as they passed it, leaning out to see it clearly. “Jahre Viking?”

  The answer came from above him, as Jimmy explained, “Yeah, it’s a legendary unique drop Kitty got way back. The world’s single largest, man-made moving object. Bigger than a lot of modern buildings, actually. Came with a full cargo hold, too — no idea what for.”

  “Probably a bonus sell item, if you can find a buyer. Oil was a sort of treasure in this era, I guess.” Gadot sighed and looked around nervously. “I assume that was Pirates crew we just blew up. Hope nobody is too cranky about it.”

  Jimmy turned back at the top, offering a hand to any who needed it. Gadot ignored it again, but Kurt was happy to be hauled the rest of the way up. “Pirates don’t take team-killing personally, as a rule. Happens pretty often. All the boats are stolen, and they’ll probably respawn here in the big party area anyway. This ship is the Pirate’s Stronghold. I’ve been on board . . . several dozen times.” His eyes held a tired expression, and he shook his head slightly.

  “But their gear just sank. I imagine they’d be pissed about that?” Kurt dusted his knees off and buttoned his suit jacket. He began watching the crowd, uncomfortable being around so many unpredictable players. A handful of gaunt men carrying shoddy-looking AK47 rifles walked the edges of the party, identifiable to Kurt as probable NPCs by the similarity of their ragged clothing.

  Jimmy sighed and stood with his hands on his hips, scanning the crowd with Kurt. He didn’t look thrilled to be back. “When I was in the Pirates, we pretty quickly discovered that just carrying a decent weapon as a sidearm and not wearing armor meant that we respawned at more or less our fighting capacity with no financial loss. It’s why I use this thing.” He patted his sidearm. “It’s become a pretty common strategy. Most Pirates just don’t care about dying anymore.”

  Gadot stepped up next to them, shouting to be heard over the din of the party. “Yeah, I’ve watched a few Pirate ops. They station a Hub nearby, set their respawn to it, and then just rush whatever objective until they clear it, or a ten bar washes them out. Crazy strategy, but shockingly effective.”

  Jimmy nodded. “Yep, that’s Kitty for you. She came up with it.” He pointed. “And there she is.”

  Seated in a tall-backed chair on the upper deck overlooking the dancefloor was a woman in her early twenties. The chair was trimmed in gold, draped in silk rags, and adorned with skulls on the front of the armrests. The woman herself was similarly decked out, a gold crown resting lopsided on her head underneath multi-colored hair, and silk ribbons sewn into her red leather outfit, heavy armored vest, and long peacoat. Her haircut was brash, composed of thick but soft spikes, each a staggered hue of pink or blue. She was staring directly at them and raised a hand in greeting when Jimmy pointed to her. Leaning over, she said something to a nearby Pirate and pointed at their group.

  The Pirate she sent escorted them to a ladder on the main deck. They climbed up after him, leaving the party behind and approaching Kitty’s throne. She rose as they approached, reaching out towards Jimmy with open arms and a big smile. He nodded and moved to give her the hug she seemed to want but was dismayed when she kicked him sharply between the legs. A cheer rose from the dance floor.

  “That’s for screwing up our crew!” Kitty scolded. Her voice was soft and light but raised harshly.

  Jimmy reflexively covered himself and took a step backward with a heavy grimace, but the pain faded quickly. He looked at her sideways, and then re-approached for the hug, arms out uncertainly. This time she embraced him, giving Kurt a wicked look over his friend’s shoulder.

  Kurt approached next, hands protectively over his crotch. “Hi Kitty. Please don’t kick me.”

  She appeared to ponder his request, raising one hand to her chin. “Oh, alright. Since you asked nicely. C’mere, you gorgeous idiot!” They embraced, and when Kurt pulled away, she clung to him, growling slightly.

  “What is that?” He shoved her back slightly, referencing the sharp bulks he had felt pressed against him during the hug.

  Kitty looked confused for a moment, before her face lit up. “Oh, you mean my ladies!” Stepping back, she yanked open the long, wool peacoat she was wearing, taking a wide-legged stance and throwing her hair back dramatically. Holstered in a long bandoleer across her chest were four flintlock handguns. Their handles were shining dark wood, and their barrels a burnished iron.

  She looked down at them, amused to play on their expectations. Kitty also had a strange-looking gun in a hanging holster at the center of her belt, dangling obscenely. It shared the look of the flintlocks’ handles, with a lighter color wood and rounded, copper-tipped grip. The gun had a picatinny rail across its top and a modern trigger system. Kurt stared at it in confusion. Kitty noticed his gaze and gave him a lurid wink, dropping her coat slightly and rubbing it back and forth across her shoulders while wiggling the holster between her legs. He blushed and looked away, and she laughed.

  “Oh come on, Kurtis, you’re too easy. Let’s get inside, guys, we can talk out of the noise.” Kitty raised an arm in the air and spun it. In response, four Pirates around the edges of the party moved towards them and the group walked to the ship's cabin. Once they were in front of a metal door, she spun a wheel on it and swung it open, stepping inside. Her crew members followed her in, each wearing a distinct set of weapons and armor.

  Kurt hung back as Jimmy and Gadot went in. He felt the drag on his attention of the Perception skill, drawing his gaze down onto the deck. Looking up at him from the middle of the party’s dancefloor, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and white khaki pants, was Jimbo.

  Anger clouded Kurt’s expression, and he stepped away from the door, quickly scaling the handrail and dropping to the lower deck. Jimbo didn’t wait for him, sidling through the crowd and dodging Kurt to jog around the tanker’s tower and approach the front deck. The mental magnetism of Kurt’s perception skill drew his attention to the part of the bow Jimbo had ducked around.

  Drawing his Glock, Kurt darted around the corner of the tanker’s tower, weaving between party goers. The bow of the ship was clear of people, as it was apparently used for storage. As he chased after Jimbo through cargo containers, the barest hint of a plan came into his mind and his anger vanished. He halted his run and instead walked casually, more details unfolding as he realized the opportunity that had fallen in his lap.

  Kurt approached the tip of the bow, following the natural path Jimbo must have taken from weaving through large crates and scattered supplies, including an open crate of oversized munition shells. Muted music and cheering was audible, floating and echoing across the ocean around them. Jimbo stood casually, leaning against the lip of the railing and looking back at Kurt as he rounded the corner with a wry smile.

  With an overt movement, Kurt holstered his gun, approaching with hands before him in the universal gesture for ‘slow down’. “Hey, Jimbo. Fancy meeting you here.”

  Jimbo paused, his eyes wide in false alarm. “Big believer in coincidence?”

  Kurt allowed himself a quick laugh. “Not so much, no.” He put his hands in his hip pockets, jacket pushed back to allow a view of his new magnum. He hoped Jimbo would take it as a slip up and was pleased to see his opponent’s eyes hungrily take in the weapon. “I assume you’ll be off to report this development to the Goons?”

  A shrug and a teasing frown was his only reply.

  Nodding in turn, Kurt raised an eyebrow. “So you know what’s going on here, then?” He leaned against a guardrail a few feet away, looking up at the sky.

  Jimbo scowled, his head turned slightly to the side. “Yes?” A smile broke out on his features. “But why don’t you tell me? It’s rude to tease a spy with information.”

  Kurt sighed. “GoonStorm is buying out the Pirates and Ursa.” He threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “And here I am, stuck playing the white hat who gives a shit about saving this server.”

  “So you don’t care?” Jimbo looked skeptical, and his hand moved casually to his sidearm.

  Kurt leveled his gaze at Jimbo, holding eye contact and nodding. “Oh, I care. Just not about Illusion.”

  Jimbo scowled, looking down at the deck beneath Kurt’s feet. “You can’t steal the buyout.” He squinted and shook his head. “No one can.”

  “You know what all the best heist flicks have? The one element that makes them the most fun, the most believable?” Kurt raised a corner of one lip, cocking his head to the side. “An inside man.”

  Kurt turned to leave. He paused for a moment, turning to look over his shoulder. “You said you were interested before. Well, my endgame is somewhere in the neighborhood of three billion in dirty cash. How interesting do you find that?” Not watching Jimbo’s reaction as he walked away was excruciating.

  He heard a splash, quickly followed by a jet ski engine revving and fading into the distance. Shaking his head as he walked back around the corner, Kurt hoped he had done the right thing. Either way, it was in motion now. Jimbo was his only way to get to the buyout. A glance at his wrist showed him a level up in the Perception skill, and Kurt scowled at its mercurial nature and description.

  Primary

  Perception Rank 3 (Interaction)

  “A man’s mind is wont to tell him more than Seven Watchmen sitting in a tower.” Rudyard Kipling - 1918

  Noticing that which is not always obvious is a critical survival skill. Certain objects of use may become ‘focused’ or pinged on the map. NPC interactions may also become more overt to the player. Chances of both benefit occurrences increase with rank.

  Kurt glared at his wrist, before sighing and shaking his head at the inscrutable skill. “Guess I’m supposed to just be good at noticing things for this one,” he muttered to himself as he moved back towards the dancefloor, blending into the crowd.