No. I don't think I will.

You decide not to volunteer as a bodyguard. You weren’t in the mood for babysitting until God-only-knows. Apparently, the room feels the same way because no one says anything. The tall man up front grunts and then mumbles something under his breath. Kenji stands up and says he’ll go. You aren’t surprised since he is also Japanese and probably wants to be with his culture again. Not to mention the hell he just went through and now has to unwind and relax somehow.

The officer tells him he may leave now and go to the theater across the street to begin working there. So, Kenji does as he’s told, leaving you and McKinley inside. You suppose you've probably blown your chances in seeing Akiko again, but if fate decides you two to be united, perhaps it'll be more memorable than spilled coffee.

“One of our Wide Rangers has requested additional help,” the officer upfront continued his speech. He straightened his back and scanned the room as the heads of his soldiers perked their heads up. “You’ll be paired with Clova, of course, as she’s the last of the WRP.”

McKinley nudged you. "I think you should do that."

You look at him. “What?”

"Our Warps get hunting contracts. Sometimes they get tangled with contracts that involve humans, but not often. So you’ll be right at home.” You didn’t tell McKinley that you usually dealt with other humans, so he chases. "Simple work, and it'll let you stretch your legs a bit within the unit. Plus, you're with Clova. She’s well-respected within our ranks.”

Someone beside you mumbled a question, asking why they hadn’t just made a new detachment, but it went unheard. Everyone who had perked up was back down again. Silence fills the lobby. You stood up and said you were interested.

The hulky officer smirked to himself and told you he’d be with you momentarily. But, before you sat back down, you saw a girl with deep black hair and pale skin among the crowd staring at you. It wasn’t her skin or black hair that caught you off guard; however, it was her dark red eyes pierced into you that caught your attention.

The rest of the meeting was finished with numbers and reports and spring plans that are so detailed that you could see them in your head. It takes about 20 minutes before everyone is dismissed. That’s when you and Clova are called up.

The officer relaxes now that not everyone under his command is staring at him. He sizes you both up and sighs. “Hard believe our warp was two dozen strong when we left Washington.”

Clova grunts, her expression darkens, and she becomes rigid.

“Excuse me, sir. What’s a warp?” You ask.

“Wide Range Party, or patrol. WRP, warp, or warpe. Anyway,” the officer turned and regarded the girl beside you. “Clova, take Warren and show him around for the day. Get to know each other and teach him the structure of the unit’s body. You know how to deal with contractors. So I’m figuring I don’t have to tell you what not to do with him.”

Clova rubs the back of her neck. “Wasn’t my fault the lost the ones we had before. No one took my advice.”

There’s a pause, and then the officer speaks. “That’s why you’re in charge now. Don’t get killed, you two.” He walks off, casting his trust on Clova.

“Hm,” Clova responds, turning her blood-red gaze on you. “I heard McKinley plucked you out of Tiny’s Tavern. That true?”

“It is. Didn’t think anyone else knew about it?”

She shrugs and exercises her back. “No one else has heard of it. I had a company contract that took me down there last year. Everyone died searching for a Toymaker.”

“Toymaker?” You inquire. “Never heard that before.”

"Members of the Automatic Rifle Syndicate group from the east."

You shake your head. "I never heard anything like while I was shacked up at Tiny's."

Clova deflates as she lets all the air from the lungs go. “Count your blessings, and be happy you got out of there. It might seem like a little town with regular people, but they’re all up to no good. That was the first time I was the sole survivor. Didn't sting as much as this one did."

You heard Clova suck in her lips and then smack them. You shuffled awkwardly and then followed with something else; another genuine question. “The other people...are they Toymakers? Whatever those are…”

“No they're not. Toymakers are gun runners, right?” Clova starts to explain the title. “They influence factions and local powers. They prop up whoever pays the most with firearms and war material. When whoever they are supplying starts to take too much of the area, they start providing the opposite side with higher quality weapons and suggest guerrilla tactics. At that point, the quality of weapons they were giving to the first power begins to decline, and they start to sabotage the material they are providing.”

“What does that do exactly? Why not just make the dollar from one side?”

Clova thinks for a moment as if she didn’t know the answer herself. “Conflicts cause the local government to split out into more factions. You break up groups into smaller ones; then, they have more customers. More customers to talk to and make a profit from. If there are no organized bodies to confront or stop their dirty trades, they can continue making their coin. Toymakers have been popular this far north since they try to contact the Canadians and Russians across the pre-war border.”

“So, what’s up with the name then?” You ask Clova.

“The TOY part comes from how they play with the governments and factions, but the full name comes from what they do. Make firearms or toys for armies to kill each other with, make sense?” Clova is informative about the ideals of this Toymaker group and trained on the details of how they operate. But, you know she’s withholding more on the subject.

You’re about to say something, but she stops you by continuing with something else. “Enough about that. We ought to get a move on before Kevlokk closes the armory. You and I have a little more freedom when it comes to weapons and whatnot. We get the best gear too.”

“Sounds like I volunteered for the right gig then. So what else do we get?”

She smiles as she steps towards the exit. “The best food too. And when we’re not fielding, we have the weekends off. Don’t talk to me on Sunday though, that’s my day of rest.”

“Is that a religious thing?” You ask her. She smiles wider and shakes her head. “Am I wrong then?”

“The only religious person in the unit is McKinley. I heard his wife is supposed to be too, but…” She trails off, obviously aware of a few things. “I don’t know. That’s his wife and nothing to do with me.”

While outside, you notice how much colder it is. Clova looks over and knits her brows. “I’m a local to these parts. So the cold doesn’t bother me too much. It’s the snow we’ll be getting within a few weeks that’s hell for me.”

“I can get behind that,” you look up, noticing the overcast weather more than ever. “This is my first time being this far north, so I haven’t adjusted as much as I would like.”

“That’s fine,” Clova assures you. “The only things we need to worry about this time of year are Russians and mutants.”

“What kind of mutants? Like NSH types?”

“New Sub Humans? It depends on how you look at it. I’m sure you’re used to the people that got like fox ears and dog tails, and maybe some weird lunatics that think they’re vampires or something. Perhaps 7-foot giants with horse cocks that don’t tire easily.” Clova stopped to think for a moment, making moaning noises as she racks her mind for more things to say. “The-the ones up here have extra arms, third all-seeing eyes, and asses full of their organs. Montana had a bunch of nuclear silos back in the day, so Russia hit the state hard.”

“We’re a little ways from Montana now,” you remark.

“Something to do with the wind. I guess a lot of the fallout found its way here. Some spots are hot with radiation, so whenever we leave, we’ll be packing some respirators and extra medicine to prevent rad poisoning. There's also some tinfoil hat theories though. We'll talk more about it later if you'd like. ” The idea of hauling extra gear while maneuvering around forested areas and hunting didn’t settle with you, but you know Clova knows best. She continued her banter. “Listen to everything I say and take it to heart, Warren. I work better in teams, and this little adventure I signed up for took my team away from me.”

“I heard...Losing two dozen soldiers in a single excursion is nothing to joke about." Despite Clova not wanting to talk about it, she brought it up more often than she didn't. You knew you shouldn't dig any deeper than the surface however. "I promise you that I’m flexible, though I’m going to stick to your side like I’m glued to you.” You tell Clova as you turn the street. There’s some more traffic here, shoppers and travelers going around.

“I hope you’re not just pulling my leg,” Clova dodges a running child. “You’re the first person that’s directly under my command, so if you died or got mauled somehow, it wouldn’t look good on my record.”

“Surely, I’m more than a stat to you, right?”

Clova lets out a soft laugh, her attention brought forward as you break through a crowd towards an enormous tent comes to view. More men in field gray uniforms stand idly outside, chatting and resting. “Don’t call me Shirley, and we’ll get along just fine.”

Your new partner must find herself clever because she’s smirking to herself as she closes into the first set of guards. After that, there’s a small interaction between Clova and the others; they talk about the position that they’ve found themselves in, and then they predict some weather possibilities. However, she makes sure the conversation doesn’t spiral out of control because she’s soon asking about Kevlokk. That’s when the guards got quiet, and one of them yawned. “In the tent,” one of them says. “He’s under a pile of gun parts in there.”

Clova asks if you’re both good to go inside; they nod but tell you that he shouldn’t be distracted for long.

The interior of the tent speaks leagues above the exterior. It was just a large canvas tent that looked like it pre-dated the American Civil War of 1861. The inside was spacious, and it had levels of hardware displayed on tables and workbenches. There was heavy flooding here too, that mimicked carpet. Where the copy carpet stopped, there were wooden boards to prevent stains from happening. Faint streaks of gun oil and other industrial liquids are left on the wood surfaces. Rows of gun racks were stocked with black M16 **** rifles. Ammo cans are spilled over with empty brass near reloading benches. There is a single step in the middle of the room, where most of the equipment is stowed.

In the center of the room was a cold wood-burning stove. You guess it was warm enough outside to prevent the need to use it, but the interior was light and cozy even now. When you breathe in, you can smell the oils responsible for cleaning and maintaining the weapons used from every member of the unit you are now a cog in.

Then suddenly, a husky man cradling a dozen M16s came into view. He was of average height with dark circles around his eyes. You both awkwardly stare at each other until he finds Clova standing next to you.

“Clova,” he says, putting the rifles gently down. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving early for that contract.”

“Not at all,” she strolls up towards him. “I’m here to introduce you to the newest member of the warp.”

That must be Kevlokk. You step up and extend a hand. Kevlokk shakes your hand, leaving black smudges of oil behind when he pulls away. You exchange names and friendly smiles.

“And here I was hoping I had found someone else to work with. But, I suppose you got hammered pretty hard all the up here, didn’t you?” Kevlokk had a stern look behind his brown eyes as he regarded Clova.

Clova crossed her arms and looked away. “I wish I could go longer than 4 minutes in a conversation without some jackass reminiscing about all of us dying.”

“Hard to forget,” Kevlokk remarks. He looks at you. “You look like you can take care of yourself, though. I might be supplying and keeping you geared up for the rest of the year.”

“That’s the plan,” you put your hands on your hips and look around. Your eyes land on the rifles he was carrying a few minutes ago. “Is all that standard?”

Kevlokk follows your gaze. “Doesn’t have to be your standard. I’ve always recommended M14s or Garand's to warps since your biggest threats are wild game and some...interesting NSH’s. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure 308 kills a bit more effectively than 556.”

“Recoil kind of kills me, though,” Clova complains. “And they’re pretty heavy to be hauling through the woods with.”

Kevlokk works a smile to his mouth. “Well, Warren could carry the heavy hitter here now, and you can swing with the American standard back there.”

“Shit jams,” Clova counters and smiles, as if she's playing.

“No, it doesn’t.” Kevlokk’s smile washes away, and now he looks annoyed as if he’s heard that more times than he can count. “The construction keeps the elements out. You ever seen an AK get dumped in mud? Sure, it's easily to clean and to work again, but you want to do that while in combat? Listen, listen, listen... The M16 is built around a specific kind of bullet, alright? So when you shy away from those specifics, that's when you start having problems."

Clova looks at you winks. "He's triggered."

He starts to compare the success rate of mud tests he’s done, but Clova cuts him off. “Whatever, Kev. You’re boring Warren, and you’re kind of boring me now. So let’s get him geared up so we can get a move on.”

“You’re right,” Kevlokk guides you both to the rear of the tent. More rows of guns are here, but unlike the ones you saw when you stepped in, these were wood-stocked ones. These are the M14’s and Garand's he was talking about before.

“I’m not sure how much about these guns you already know about, but how about you pick one, and I’ll give you a quick rundown on how they operate and what to worry about. And, if you prefer 30-06, I'm sorry to say we are short on that currently."

You stare at the weapons and cross your arms…