San Diego, November 2056

  Mustang Sally removed the top bun of her burger to show the rest of the table.

  “Does that look like spit to you?”

  “No, Sally. It ain’t spit,” Kevin Knives said.

  The others agreed.

  “I don’t know. Looks like spit to me,” Sally growled

  Knives prodded at the onion and tomato with his knife.

  “Just mayo and ketchup mixed together a little.”

  “Did you just knife my burger?”

  “Relax, it’s my eating knife.”

  It didn’t need saying that he kept that knife clean, mostly.

  She turned her long-faced ire toward him, which all things considered was probably the lesser of two evils.

  Sally got her name from how hard she could hit. Kicking like a horse as the saying went.

  At least, that’s what anyone would say when asked.

  Nope.

  It was definitely not because of the equine qualities to her facial structure.

  “It’s clean.” He stabbed his steak and took a bite. “See.”

  That mollified her.

  “I think he spit on my burger. He’d want payback for last week. Right? It makes perfect sense,” she growled.

  “Is anyone going to say something here?” He glared at the rest of the table.

  They were part of a medium-sized mercenary company or a large adventuring band depending on perspective.

  Ranks were as fluid as a nebula outside of the core command group, which none of them at the table were a part of.

  “Clare?”

  She had seniority.

  “I don’t think I need to say anything. The beating Sally got should make her think twice about trying to brawl with that cook again,” Clare said between bites of her burger. “This is really good… spit or no spit.”

  “Why the fuck would an old burger man know how to scrap?” Sally grumbled as she put her burger back together to take an angry bite.

  Knives considered telling her how nearly every so-called civilian working the support stuff in the airport base was a retired or semi-retired Rayna’s Ranger or other combat veteran. That it was a policy thing being this close to the undead spawn zone under downtown San Diego to have combat-capable people running the airport food places and other necessities like gear maintenance and production and medical services.

  Indeed, it was all very comprehensive for the independent merc or adventurer. More importantly, it was very cheap.

  “Who cares about the spit?” he said. “This steak is a fifth of the price compared to back at our old grounds. I don’t know about you, Sally, but I’m really racking up the Universal Points.”

  So, yeah, he had no problems with the cook possibly spitting in his food.

  Not that the old man seemed the type.

  Grizzled fellow, what with his brawny arms and full sleeve tats that really worked in those scars in an artistic manner.

  Very protective of his staff as well.

  Not that they couldn’t take care of themselves.

  He had seen plenty of newly-arrived independents learning the hard lesson to keep their hands to themselves, remain professional and most importantly, internalize the words ‘the customer isn’t right’.

  It was actually on a sign outside of every food place.

  Those that treated this place like they did the more chaotic areas outside Southern California ended up bloodied, bruised and on the timeout list for access to the spawn zone. The reason they were there in the first place. Well, that and the hope of being recruited.

  One look at the lives these people lived and he was ready to sign up. No questions asked.

  “No one is starting shit,” Clare said. “Our ban is almost up. You mess that up and,” she ran a finger across her throat, “bosses orders.”

  “Dan did say she’d do them herself. Not deep enough to kill, but enough to leave a nasty scar,” Sally mused.

  Their boss may have been a cutthroat, but the old woman wasn’t wasteful.

  “I don’t know. Might be humorous to watch that burger man flip you like one of those patties and pound you into shape a second time.”

  “Shut it, Knives before I kick you.”

  Conversation turned away from food spit to their upcoming spawn zone runs.

  The rewards and experience had been good for the month until that unfortunate, one-sided brawl.

  The rangers ran it with a very generous tax structure.

  He struggled to understand what they were getting out of the way they did things.

  They could’ve been profiting way more and his mercenary mind couldn’t see the angle they were working.

  Everything they’d sussed out made them fairly confident that there wasn’t some kind of secret con underlying the whole operation.

  Above board as above board could be.

  He looked out the airport window toward the sun slowly dipping westward.

  Early dinner followed by training and then sleep.

  It hadn’t been a bad way to spend the past week.

  Didn’t even have to worry about the monsters attacking the walls.

  The rangers’ defenses handled those fine.

  Still, no one was taking things for granted.

  The burger man and his staff were all armed.

  Guns holstered or within reach.

  Blades sheathed at their waists or maces and hammers hanging in loops.

  That lightweight-looking armor that had him and his fellow mercenaries jealous on at all times.

  He knew that first day not to mess with them.

  They way they moved and worked as if they weren’t wearing weapons and armor suggested a familiarity only obtainable through experience.

  Plus they tended to be on the older side.

  Oh and the scars.

  Shit.

  Only a moron would think they could take them easily in a fight.

  He regarded Sally’s long face and sighed.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Look alive,” Clare said.

  Eyes followed her gaze.

  The boss ambled past the empty terminal.

  Cutthroat Dan walked alone.

  Clare tsked.

  The boss had developed a bad habit of wandering without a proper bodyguard ever since they came to this place.

  “Well, don’t stop chewing on account of me,” Cutthroat Dan said. “I just want a word.” She beckoned.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Knives shot to his feet.

  He followed her to the large windows over-looking the empty runways.

  “This place creeps me out.”

  “Boss?”

  “It’s the sound of my boots echoing.” The boss looked back down the way she had walked. “This would’ve been packed with people. All those conversations blended into, like, a droning hum. Just constant background noise.”

  “I wouldn’t know, boss.”

  He had been born long after the airport’s living days.

  All he had to go on were the stories from the few old-timers in the company.

  “Flew through here a couple of times, actually. Sea World, the zoo, touristy stuff, you know?”

  He did, but only in the intellectual sense.

  “I remember that pirate ship and the aircraft carrier.”

  “When they weren’t part of the zones?”

  “Yeah.” Her smile seemed angry to him. “No monsters or rewards. Just lame old tour guides and noisy kids.”

  “Sounds kinda terrible, boss. No offense.”

  “Knives. I have a job for you.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “You hangout with some of those rangers.”

  “Some. Mostly support people though. We play cards, dice and tell stories.”

  What he didn’t say was that he was putting out feelers toward a more permanent type of residence.

  He wasn’t angling for a spot in the rangers, but he was willing to serve a term in that self-defense force if that’s what it took.

  The mercenary company had been great compared to the other alternatives, but it would’ve been nice to have a place of his own to fill with stuff.

  There was something sad to him about all his belongings fitting in one backpack and one bag of holding.

  All it took was a few weeks in this place to finally notice.

  “See if you can find out anything about them expecting some kind of extra trouble in the near future.”

  “I can do that, boss. I’ll hit them up after training.”

  “You’re excused from training. Do it right now.”

  “Okay.”

  Well, that was concerning.

  He walked out of the airport and headed toward one of the maintenance hangars.

  Sentries eyed him, but let him pass.

  It bothered him a bit that they didn’t see him as threatening enough to even hassle for weapons check.

  It wasn’t like he was not carrying all sorts of knives on his body and a couple of guns and grenades in his messenger-style bag of holding.

  He found the usual suspects of many a night gambling points over cards, dice and a few stories.

  The old men and women were maintenance, but he had learned not to scorn them for many were retired rangers and could easily handle him.

  It wasn’t that hard to notice how much deference the younger, active rangers gave them.

  “Busty, my man!” He approached the absolutely jacked, fire hydrant of a bodybuilder standing next to a brutish golem of steel and ceramics. “I see you got some fighting in.”

  “Knives! How you been?”

  “Well, you know. Been up to nothing waiting out our ban.”

  “I heard.”

  Ranger Busty had an impressive chest, which accounted for the name.

  The joke was that he put many of the women to shame with his ample assets.

  Knives shrugged. “I’m not complaining. It was fair. Rules are rules.”

  “Don’t worry, brodie. I’m not holding it against you. It’s always kinda funny when someone decides to fuck around and finds out!” Busty’s armor displayed signs of combat. Scratches, dents, dark blood and the like.

  The golem was in the process of having much of its outer layer of armor replaced with undamaged panels.

  “Rough patrol?”

  “Eh, define ‘rough’?”

  “I dunno? More monsters than usual? Tougher variety? Elites? Wandering boss? Something like that?”

  “What’d I tell you about spying!” A booming voice echoed across the cavernous hangar.

  “I promise I’m not spying, Chief Velasco.” Knives held a hand over his heart. “I’ll even say that under a truth spell.”

  The wiry old woman ran the maintenance team and was entirely too open with a random stranger.

  Again, it told of how they simply didn’t see him as a threat.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Which, he wasn’t.

  It was almost as if they knew that with certainty.

  It wasn’t like they gave every independent free reign.

  He was an observant young man and he had observed other sorts being given greater scrutiny.

  “Alright, I’ll let it pass this time… if you do another video for my grandkids.”

  “Sure.” He began drawing knives from his person.

  “It’s gotta be more impressive than the last one.”

  “Easy enough.”

  Work stopped and phones came out of pockets.

  Kevin Knives.

  He earned the name cause he was a magician with knives.

  Juggling dozens while making them disappear and reappear in dangerous places near his body with closed eyes was quite the impressive sight even in this world of magic and Skills.

  His trick was that he did everything with as minimal application of both as he could get away with.

  Cheers and applause broke out as soon as he finished.

  “Better than the last time, chief?”

  “I’ll wait on what my grandkids say, but I think you outdid yourself.”

  Chief Velasco was a weird one.

  He hadn’t gotten much about her from the others from his not-spying besides hushed whispers about demonic summonings and what not.

  They were clearly messing with him.

  The Monsterpedia was clear on demons… real demons didn’t mesh well with society. That was to say, demons killed people or worse.

  Now, there were other summoner-type classes that could summon creatures that could appear demonic, but that was a matter of perspective.

  “Alright, people! Back to work!” Chief Velasco boomed. “Second shift, you’ve only got an hour left, so get to it. I don’t want to leave extra for third shift.”

  “C’mon, chief! First shift always leaves us shit to do,” Bella said.

  The mechanic was way too hot to be a mechanic, which was why Knives was still unsure whether or not she was some kind of counterspy.

  Seriously, she was pretty and shapely.

  Sure, her chest wasn’t up to Busty’s level, but really, whose was?

  A woman with back issues.

  That was one thing he was certain of.

  “Yeah, and they complain about third shift leaving them stuff. Be the change you want to see, Bella.” Chief Velasco regarded him. “Good routine, but either you start helping them or stay out of their way. Don’t need you distracting them with your flirting.”

  “I— don’t flirt… at least not during their work hours.”

  “Uh huh. Don’t think I haven’t seen you eyeing Busty’s cleavage.”

  The ranger had removed his chest plate and padded shirt, so when he flexed his pecs they bounced underneath the skintight undershirt. “Hey, chief, I don’t build these babies so that people don’t look.”

  “See, this is distraction. They are bantering when they should be working.” Chief Velasco threw a wrench at the ranger, who caught it and got to work helping out the mechanics with his golem.

  “Come down to the barracks after seven,” Busty said. “We can catch up while you lose your points to me.”

  “Alright.” He waved. “See you guys later. Chief.”

  They seemed normal.

  Nothing in their demeanor gave any hints of what the boss wanted him to look for.

  Thus, he wandered around, briefly stopping to chat and not spy with his many acquaintances until the appointed time.

  They started with rolling dice.

  Knives used the same abilities that let him toss knives like magic to cheat.

  Not cheating to win, but to lose.

  He had always been lucky even before he got a luck Skill.

  And he had learned that no one liked the person that won every single bet.

  So, he made sure to lose more than he won.

  The massive boost to his point totals just through all the savings on daily stuff like food and lodgings since moving to San Diego took the sting out of it.

  He had done the math.

  He was up by a lot compared to what he would’ve had had they stayed in New Mexico.

  Thus, he gambled for a few hours and was in the hole by about a hundred points when the alarms started blaring.

  Well… he supposed that made his job easy.

  He suspected what the boss wanted him to find out was now moot.

  “Hey, guys? I did the orientation thing and is that the ‘we’re under attack’ alarm?”

  “Yeah, sorta,” Busty said with wide eyes. “It’s the ‘Oh shit! We’re under attack!’ alarm.”

  The people he had been gambling with were already clearing out with calm efficiency to their assigned stations.

  “You got a place to be? With your company?” Busty geared up and activated a pair of golem dogs. “I need to get to my main dude.”

  “I’m supposed to head to our camp in the parking structure. We volunteered to help out in defense.”

  “Someone’s probably already over there telling you guys what to do. We’re headed in the same direction. So gear up and let’s roll.” Busty had done so calmly and quickly. Full armor and helmet, which aided the golem controller with his golems when things got too much for his Skills.

  As for Knives?

  He didn’t have much to put on.

  An armored coat and an open-faced helmet.

  A mix of kevlar, chainmail and steel plating for the former and steel with padded liner for the latter.

  He strapped on steel greaves and pulled out the ubiquitous M-4 carbine from his bag of holding.

  The knives?

  He used a Skill to pull them from his bag of holding to the various empty sheaths and holsters already on his body.

  Busty hopped into a golf cart parked in the lot.

  Knives took shotgun.

  It appeared that they were among the last stragglers.

  “Let’s not take the road next to the fucking water,” Busty said.

  “You think the attack is coming from there?”

  “Possibly, fishmen? Though, they would’ve said it was fishmen.” The ranger tapped the side of his helmet.

  “So, what is it?”

  “Golden portals opened up over the park and downtown.”

  The huge park was filled with museums and the zoo.

  Knives would’ve liked to see what those were like when they weren’t encounter challenges.

  Although, keeping wild animals in cages didn’t sit well with his free-spirit leanings.

  Mutated animals, however? They could stay in cages forever.

  His phone rang.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Where you at?”

  “Hitching a ride on the way back.”

  “You with your ranger buddies?”

  “One of them.”

  “Good, stick with them. Be useful.”

  “Don’t you need me?”

  “We’re going to do backup defense if they get past the walls. I’ll call and let you know if anything changes.”

  “Got it.”

  “Don’t die.”

  His cutthroat boss hung up before he could respond.

  “Uh,” he turned to Busty. “I’m supposed to stick with you and help out.”

  “I don’t know, brodie. You’re cool with the knife tricks, but we haven’t trained to do combat together.”

  “I’ll stay out of the way and look for openings.”

  “I guess it’s all hands on if those bastards break through.”

  A loud boom jolted them.

  Almost throwing Knives from the cart.

  Busty cursed. “Alright, my doggos! Go! Kill enemies! Protect allies!”

  The two golem dogs darted ahead.

  “You can just give them commands?”

  “Oh yeah. They’re smarter than actual dogs, plus I have a Skills. You know how it is?”

  “I’m an ally, right?”

  “Don’t worry. You all got scanned.”

  He did remember an extensive process, which include a variety of scanning, before being allowed in the base.

  “Just don’t purposefully attack rangers, support staff or anyone else here… Earthian… and non-Earthian.”

  Before he could ask for clarification on that last bombshell, they reached the source of the boom.

  The maintenance hangar was shrouded in a cloud of dust and debris.

  “No fires,” Busty said, eyes darting, likely reading the information his golem dogs were transmitting to his faceplate. He might’ve even had a direct video feed. “Looks like a partial roof collapse. Lucky that the area it dropped on was empty. Shit! We got casualties!”

  The ranger floored the pedal, drifted around the corner and came to a screeching halt, jumping off to run into the debris cloud.

  Knives followed, carbine shouldered and ready.

  “Help! Someone! The chief’s trapped!”

  The voice sounded like Bella’s.

  He slowed to avoid tripping over fallen concrete chunks, iron beams and other debris.

  A sniff made him cough, but not before he caught that familiar iron tang.

  He hopped over a sizable pool of crimson leaking from beneath a waist-high mound of twisted debris.

  Scanning the space he noted a strange clump of… bones?

  He snapped his carbine up.

  “Hold fire! It’s not a threat. At least, not anymore,” Busty said.

  The ranger crouched down next to Bella and Chief Velasco.

  The former’s face was covered in grime and blood.

  The latter looked rather relaxed despite having her lower legs crushed beneath some of the collapsed roof.

  “Undead artillery,” Chief Velasco said.

  She explained what had hit them with the same energy and tone that he had seen her use when giving her crew routine instructions.

  “Stones, dirt and anything else they can pack inside a bone ball. Of course, back then they’d pack it with all sorts of worse things than heavy crap. Poison, disease and undead monsters. All fired from this flesh sphincter cannon thing. Ever see one of those, Busty?”

  “Only in vids and pics, sir.”

  “Takes me back to the war. Almost enough to make an old demon nostalgic.” She sighed. “If one got through our defenses then that means they must’ve fired a lot. Means that those old days might be making a comeback. Better get this crap off me before—”

  Loud booms showered them in dust.

  “What’re you getting on the comms, Busty?”

  “Er… you’re right about that, sir.”

  “Well, hurry up and lift this off me. Unless those muscles are all show and no go.” The chief chuckles turned into a hacking cough.

  “I have enhanced strength,” Busty muttered.

  The ranger squatted close to the chief and slid his fingers into the gap between the debris and the floor.

  Knives cleared his throat.

  Enhanced strength or not, there looked to be a lot of weight pinning the chief’s legs.

  “Don’t mess with my confidence. I can do this! I deadlift half a ton for reps! All day, baby!”

  Busty took several deep breaths and yelled.

  Impossibly, to Knives, the weight moved.

  “Help me pull!” Bella snapped.

  Knives placed his carbine on the floor and pulled the chief’s left arm.

  The old woman grunted, but gave no other sign of pain as the two of them pulled her free.

  “She’s clear!”

  Busty dropped the weight with a whoop.

  “I can’t know for sure, but that might’ve been my personal best! Felt like it!”

  “Congratulations,” Chief Velasco said flatly. “Now, get your golem and get out there. We’re about to have incoming.”

  Knives leaned down to whisper. “Do you, like, know that for a fact?”

  “Chief! Your legs!” Bella was horrified. “Medics! We have to get you to the medics!”

  “Don’t bother, girl. They’re going to be busy with people that really need them. Just drag me over there.” The chief pointed to the growing pool of blood Knives had hopped over.

  “Hey, brodie,” Busty punched him in the arm. “Can you watch over them, while I—”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thanks. Good luck!”

  “You too.”

  Busty disappeared into the debris cloud.

  Knives noticed as the cloud cleared around him that there were other people milling about.

  “You know what you’re supposed to do!” Chief Velasco bellowed.

  He felt something run through him.

  His pounding heart, the blood roaring in his ears, they eased enough to give him a little bit of clarity.

  As for the people?

  They snapped out of it and began moving with a purpose.

  His purpose?

  Helping Bella drag the chief over to a blood pool.

  Chief Velasco swiped fingers and began painting crimson on the gray floor.

  He exchanged a wide-eyed look with Bella.

  “Don’t you have a place to be, Bella?”

  “But— your legs!”

  The chief snorted as she kept painting.

  Despite crushed legs, she managed to sketch a large circle in a language or symbols that Knives didn’t recognize.

  It was beginning to trigger his magic senses.

  Mana flowed from the chief to the circle.

  “Oh my God! You are a demon,” he hissed.

  The chief’s laugh was just on the border of maniacal.

  “Not really. That would’ve been stomped flat the moment they noticed. Demons… real demons are always bad news. I’m a warlock and I’m calling an old friend for the first time in years.”

  Chief Velasco began chanting in words that sent a shiver up his back and bumps all over his body.

  A lot of mana.

  More than the strongest magic-types in his company.

  He guessed that meant she had to be around Level 40.

  A bright flash of light blinded him and the sound of reality tearing deafened him.

  When things cleared a monstrosity stood inside the crimson circle.

  “Hello, my familiar. Time again to wet your tusks and claws,” Chief Velasco said.

  It crouched, but was tall enough to stare Knives straight in the eyes.

  The beady black eyes sent his inner self running for the nearest hole like a mouse when faced with a tiger.

  It resembled a boar with glistening tusks, but sharp teeth like a predator. Thickly muscled back legs ended in wide hooves the size of dinner plates. Where it was wrong was the front legs. Or rather arms. For the long, wiry limbs ape-like limbs ended in clawed hands.

  It was armored in dense, wiry fur of a reddish brown color.

  The fur on its back were more akin to sharp spines judging by their stiffness and the way the tips glinted in the fading red glow from the circle.

  “Go.”

  The familiar grunted then dashed out of the hangar

  “Um… can we take you to a medic now?” Bella said after a moment of silence.

  “I’m not done.” The chief continued chanting.

  Crimson streams snaked across the floor from multiple directions.

  If each source—

  That meant six people had been killed, crushed beneath the fallen debris.

  Knives wondered if he had known them.

  The odds were good that he had made their acquaintance. Gambled, drank and shared stories.

  It didn’t sit right to watch their lifeblood being used by the chief to fuel her spells.

  “Sorry, guys,” the chief whispered. “Always a ranger. Till death and beyond.”

  A crimson circle took shape.

  This time beneath the chief.

  Knives closed his eyes and plugged his ears so that it wasn’t as unpleasant as the first time.

  When he opened them the chief stood on healed and changed legs.

  It was like an animal’s with those backwards knees.

  The chief appeared—

  Well, whatever she had said earlier, he was of the opinion that she’d have to try harder to convince him that those demon accusations weren’t accurate.

  Her brown skin had darkened to charcoal.

  Fur like her familiar’s had sprouted from all over her body.

  Those on her back and limbs appeared stiff and sharp.

  Her face had grown bestial.

  Larger mouth with sharp teeth and two tusks protruding from her lower jaw.

  Her long, black hair had turned into a sharp mane.

  Fingers lengthened into dagger-like claws that she flexed experimentally.

  “See? I’m fine,” Chief Velasco growled.

  “Yessir, chief sir!” Knives saluted for some reason he didn’t understand in the moment. “I’ll, uh, escort Bella to safety?”

  “Good kid. Take him to shelter… Bella! Pay attention and stop gaping like a stupid fish. This is a real battle. Mind your surroundings and be alert or else.”

  Bella stammered a moment. “Yes, chief!” She also saluted for some reason.

  The chief vanished with a gust of wind.

  Bella grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the rear of the hangar.

  They followed the stream of people outside and to the nearby terminal.

  Knives figured it was probably the most heavily defended place that was closest. What with the guns and missile launchers on the roof.

  He couldn’t see them, but he had seen rangers and other security people up there from when he looked across from the parking structure where the independents were housed.

  “Incoming!”

  The voice drew his eyes skyward.

  What had the chief said about the undead’s artillery?

  Something about—