Jack was two miles from the homestead’s marked location when what sounded like air raid sirens started to play. It was long and droning, an ominous sound in the barren wastelands. “What’s that?” Jack asked nervously, looking around. “That doesn’t sound good,” he muttered.

  “It isn’t” Hex stated. “That’s a dust storm alarm.”

  “Where are the sirens?” the Shunted asked.

  “They’re remnants of the Ancient’s weather forecast system,” the AI stated. “They’re practically everywhere. They’re built like fortresses, and nobody is stupid enough to destroy one. Warning of dangerous weather is too useful in these battered lands. I’d suggest you start running. You’d likely get lost until my DUGPS link starts functioning again, and we could go miles in the wrong direction. Besides, inhaled dust and sand is bad for one’s lungs.”

  Jack started running.

  The wind started slowly, though the Shunted could see billowing clouds on the horizon. That’s not good… he thought. Not good at all… Up ahead in the distance, he could see some kind of building, its shape strangely different from what he’d expected a house to look like. Already his vision was getting bad, and grit blew across his skin. “We can make it,” Hex said reassuringly. “We’ve just got to get to the homestead, and then we’ll be… well, smooth sailing, I suppose. Though I’m guessing there’s not enough water around here to go sailing.”

  Jack could tell the AI was nervous and kept running. He could feel his Stamina depleting, and it was getting harder and harder to see by the second. Jack almost ran into what looked like a coil of barbed wire, though there was no fence around. Odd.

  Jack passed by what looked like crude roadblocks of barbed wire and scrap metal spikes. “This feels more like a fort than a homestead…” he muttered.

  “I’d agree,” Hex stated. “I’d suggest you pull out your firearm.”

  Jack did that, seeing what looked like an old, rusted-out water tower standing over a battered selection of houses and what looked like a warehouse. It was hard to make out, but some symbols seemed to be printed on the side of one of the buildings. Curious, Jack crept forward, revealing a crude skull surrounded by a chain. “Oh no…” Hex muttered.

  “What is it?” Jack asked, a bad feeling growing in his stomach at the AI’s tone.

  “That’s the symbol of the Chainers. Group of slavers.”

  Jack gulped. “Slavers?” he asked.

  “Yes. They take in prisoners and outcasts the settlements don’t want or need and sell them off for a decent profit. Generally, they live for a few years before dying. A rare few manage to work off their debts. It’s said that a User who survives their subjugation is never the same. Traumatized and numbed, many take their own lives or never reconnect due to the damage. Keep in mind the Chainers are among the more… merciful slavers out there. They don’t… well… rape their prisoners and generally don’t beat unless one has stepped out of line. No slaver is anywhere near a good person, but they’re saints by comparison to some of their peers.”

  Jack felt sick to his stomach. “And how do you know they won’t try and jump me?” he asked. “Or kill me for you?”

  “You’re a spirit. They likely will believe that when you leave your current body – i.e., death – you’ll come back to haunt the group or possess one of their bodies. Besides, they generally deal only with criminals and those specifically sold to them. You should be safe. Don’t push your luck with other factions or the Fanatic-aligned groups.”

  Jack nodded, heading towards the main building with a sinking feeling in his chest. That building appeared to be made of an old bar reinforced with scrap metal and expanded into a keep of sorts. It was crude but sturdy-looking, and Jack could spot sentries on walkways heading to the different buildings. There were what looked like armed guards walking, many armed with what looked like crossbows and pipe guns similar to Jack’s own, though some had longer barrels or multiple. All wore gas masks and full-body coverings like improvised hazmat suits.

  As he reached the front of the building, a light beamed down on the Shunted, and a voice yelled down “Hold it! State your business!” Jack cleared his throat. “I’m here to get out of the storm and get supplies. I’m headed to Salt Flats. I was wondering whether I could stay for a night.”

  “You got anything to trade? Domars? Supplies?”

  “Uh… I’ve got ammunition…” Jack stated nervously. “Thirty-eight caliber.”

  “How much?” the figure demanded.

  “A small amount…” Jack stated cagily.

  There was a grunt, and the door squealed open. Jack quickly headed inside the building, the sheet metal doors screeching closed again. Inside were three men and a woman, all wearing leather jackets with the skull-and-chain insignia on the back. One, the woman, had a pair of gas tanks on her back connected to what looked like a homemade flamethrower at her side, while the other two carried shotguns and trench clubs. All of this was made for close-quarters combat, and Jack understood the need to stop a riot or breakout but the flamethrower seemed unnecessarily cruel.

  “They may be among the more merciful slavers around here, but they still see their slaves as assets, not people,” Hex stated. “To them, it’s not murder; it’s property damage.”

  That’s inhumane… Jack thought as one of the slavers turned to him. “We’re going to need to-, “ he stated before his eyes focused on Jack and mouth opened. “Oh…” he stated as the other two looked over, jaws dropping as their gaze caught him.

  “Spirit…” one muttered.

  Jack immediately became extremely uncomfortable.

  “What… what can we do for you?” The one with the flamethrower asked, clearly nervous.

  Jack replied, “I’m simply looking for a place to sleep for the night and a meal. I will gladly trade you these bullets for that service.” In reality, he’d like to beat the slavers senseless, but the ugly fact that they outnumbered and outgunned him meant he couldn’t do much other than barter with them.

  “Of course,” the slaver stated as Jack reached into his backpack and pulled out the rounds, the lizard squeaking slightly as he nudged him. “Is… that a Rot-Lizard?” one of the slavers asked nervously.

  “A friend,” Jack said simply, trying to bullshit his way through. “It seems to have an… attachment to me.”

  “He has a familiar...” one of the male slavers stated.

  “It’s working,” Hex stated. “Just get through the night, and we can be on our way, hopefully with a convoy.”

  Jack desperately hoped the convoy wouldn’t be one carrying slaves, but he was quickly learning you had to take what you were dealt. I’m just one guy. How am I supposed to stop an entire well-armed group of morally repugnant people all likely higher ranked than me in everything?

  I’m lucky they haven’t Identified me yet.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “It’s considered rude and you[‘ve given no obvious ill will to them. Besides, superstition.”

  The female slaver shakily took the box of rounds before motioning towards one of the slavers. Get him a room in the guest wing.” She turned to Jack. “A convoy should be coming along tomorrow. I’m sure you should be able to find a passage to Salt Flats, though I’m not sure why you want to go to an out-of-the-way trading post, I might add.”

  “I have my reason,” Jack said simply.

  “I… I see,” the flamethrower-wielding woman said nervously. “Follow me then….”

  Jack was led through a building, the howling of the storm audible through the walls the entire way. Eventually, they reached a pair of reinforced doors with four guards at attention. It was quickly opened to reveal a caged walkway over a large, open building with far too many people inside.

  The slaves.

  They didn’t appear as bad as Jack would have thought, though all had a half-starved look, and many had crude bandages covering obvious signs of abuse. Most were lying down, but some were looking up, eyes dull and emotionless. However, Jack’s eye caught one woman in the corner who looked up at him with anger and rage he had no words for. Quickly turning his attention away, Jack followed the slaver through another door and into what looked like a bunkroom where dozens of people were sleeping. The Shunted was led to a small room with a simple bunk, a closet, and a small gas lamp on the ceiling connected to a pipe. “As I said, there should be a convoy arriving tomorrow. You should be able to catch a ride there to Salt Flats. Safe travels… spirit.”

  With that, Jack was left by himself, trying to lie on the bed and go to sleep, knowing that he was willingly associating with slave owners.

  ====--------====

  Amethyst was furious.

  My name is AMTS-49906, she – no, it – reminded itself. I am not an organic. I don’t need any name other than an identification number. I am an emotionless, uncaring spy and assassination unit who will follow any order from my superior, no matter the cost.

  That sounded stupid, considering she had no superior, and the damn personality virus infecting her made her feel repulsed by that through. Damn it…

  At least she had enough capability left to act as a simple, low-rank Scavenger. This was partially because of her programmed ability to act and lie like second nature and the fact they’d drained her of all but her most essential Nanos. Specifically, the ones making up her form and enough required to be far below Rank 10. The slaves above were simply too powerful to do simple menial work reserved for slaves and too powerful to be anything other than a gamble or threat. She’d been stuck in this cage for over a week after a bunch of Catchers had scooped them up and sold them over to the Chainers. No slaver in the Scorch cared about where their slaves came from other than making sure they had at least a convincing origin story to put on record.

  And now a Shunted was processing her only friend’s corpse.

  Ally, AMTS-49906 reminded itself. I don’t have friends; I have allies. The only good thing is that it’s still weak, and thus, I can neutralize it easily. The infiltrator android had all the sketchy information the Ancients had on Shunted stored in her – its – memory banks, but like every other AI in the Scorch, it had a mostly erased memory of life before the Fall and a mysterious personality virus infecting its neural network. This gave the android’s base cold, emotionless, and uncaring personality a war against a more emotional and compassionate personality.

  AMTS-49906 hated it. However, it was slowly and surely losing that war to Amethyst if the name it had fabricated to communicate with Kesh and his allies was sticking, and feeling anger that he’d been possessed by a Shunted. Sure, he had been on the verge of dying from the Rot – thanks to inhaling irradiated dust in a rad mine they’d been exploring – but to the infected part of her – its – brain, it felt like defiling. The claws. The green, slit-pupiled eyes. The fangs she’d x-rayed in the no-longer-human being’s mouth.

  I’m going to kill that thing the first chance I have once I get out of here.

  Amethyst knew she didn’t have much time. Come noon tomorrow, and the Shunted would be gone while who knew how long she’d – it would – languish in this place before being moved to Ancients knew where to. If the android wanted to escape, it’s have to do it now.

  I need a weapon first, though. And the only source I have is one of the guards.

  AMTS-49906 was low-key scanning its fellow slaves to make sure they were all asleep. Unfortunately, two were still awake, likely too nervous or coming off a Stimm high from work to fall asleep. Inwardly sighing – yet another annoying habit the virus had given the android – Amethyst turned to its character sheet.

  The damn alias is even on my Character Sheet… AMTS-49906 thought angrily. Is the Director infected, too?The android had been percolating the idea for centuries now. It was a likely way that it once infected itself, it had given the virus and pseudo-personalities to all other sentient mechanicals. Too bad it hadn’t met many other machines it could share the theory with.

  Turning back to the sheet, Amythyst’s mood went even more sour. All of its attributes had been set back down to factory settings (though they weren’t exactly low for the android’s rank), and only two of her Skills were still at their peak. Only one was above three. The rest were reduced back to ones and twos. Grinding its teeth, AMTS-49906 scanned again, seeing two were still awake, and realized that it would have to take a more direct approach.

  It's not even giving it in quantum code anymore… Amythyst thought petulantly, the language still understandable, but read Basic becoming annoyingly more and more understandable to her worryingly developing pseudo-personality. Getting up silently, the android crept over to one of the duo still awake, who looked over at her, eyes slightly unfocused and dilated. With a move like a striking snake, a hand lashed out and pushed a certain nerve on the man’s body.

  He immediately dropped like a stone.

  Moving on to the next target, the android saw it was a female, rocking back and forth while crying softly. The hand struck out once more, and she collapsed as well. With the threat… neutralized, Amethyst slowly crept up before leaping onto the walkway and activating Formless. Immediately, the android’s body melted into its androgynous, silver-metal-like form, flowing through the cracks of the caged walkway, and then slowly strode down the cage before oozing through the cracks in the guard bunkroom door. The slavers assumed they’d hear any attempt to enter the building long before they got in. They likely had never heard of a Mk. III Spy Android before.

  Slipping into the familiar calm of a mission, AMTS-49906 crept through the bunkroom, growing claws before slitting the throats of every single guard in there.

  Not now! The android thought frustratedly. I’ve got a Shunted to kill.

  Stalking towards the room it knew the ‘spirit’ was in, AMTS-49906 melted through the door, though it was feeling exhausted from the tedious and intense task of restructuring one’s body. A quick check revealed that AMTS-49905 had used over a quarter of its respectable Stamina pool to get here. Looking around revealed the Shunted stripped down to its underclothes, the weapons Amethyst had given Kesh stored in the closet. Looking over at the Shunted revealed it was wearing a field PCW, complete with inset ports on the puppeted body's arm.

  Stalking closer, AMTS-49905 raised a claw, ready to slit the thing’s throat wide open, when a beep sounded, and a blue box appeared: