Motorplex

A great many ideas were contributed by my friend Red and, starting this chapter, my friend whose pen name is Lust_Demon!

Chuck recoiled with a yelp and ducked behind Mike. Mike was stunned. He hadn't been expecting people at all. Did they live here? Was this just a normal business? It seemed busy inside, if the muffled din of a crowd behind the boxes told him anything. He couldn't see into the building through the little box hole, so he wasn't even entirely sure it was a person behind that wall or if it was a prerecorded message. It certainly had that prerecorded tone: perfectly delivered and pleasantly lilting with added happiness.

"Oh jeeze," Chuck whispered. "Oh jeeze people. Little group of isolated people. What if this is a Terra situation? What if we're some kind of first contact? We gotta play this safe-"

"Hi," said Mike. "I'm Mike Chilton. This is Chuck."

Chuck cowered. "Mikey what are you doing?"

The voice spoke again, and out of the darkness, a single eye leaned into better view. A lone brown eye belonging to a dark-skinned face, it spoke in a woman's voice. "How many in your party?"

Mike held up two fingers. "Uh, two."

"Mikey!"

More of the boxes shifted, and from the shadowy interior came four people. Two men, two women, one of the women much older than the rest of the group. They flanked Mike and Chuck, sending Chuck into a hyperventilating fit, but Mike couldn't see any reason to worry. They were all unimpressive-looking people: short, no chins, sallow-skinned and almost grayish in the light. Dressed in normal clothes (albeit heavily repaired with a variety of materials), all of them wore blue vests with white acrylic name tags. Mike read their names in short order: Quintessa, Marcus, Michael, and the oldest was Madge. The crowd noises grew louder once the cardboard was moved, and Mike was sure there were more people inside. A lot more.

Mike gave Chuck a hard nudge with his elbow. "Check it out, they have a Mike too."

Chuck only whimpered.

Markus might have been the one in charge. He gave the two an appraising look before signaling to Quintessa with his first two fingers. When she talked, Mike recognized her as the one who had been speaking. "Please wait for the next available customer service representative. Calls may be recorded or monitored."

He gave a little smile. "So we waiting out here or-"

The group swept behind him and Chuck, formed a line, and pushed forward.

"-or we're going in!" Mike put an arm around Chuck and lead them inside. "That too!" He gave Chuck a little pat when his friend squeaked in protest. "Relax, I can handle anything these guys throw at us."

They stepped into the building. The quartet of vest-wearers shut the boxes behind them.

Mike said he could handle anything the place threw at him, sure.

He didn't count on there being a new, even more awful smell than the acid lake.

He and Chuck gagged as the collective reek of human bodies hit them all at once. Living bodies, to clarify, all the sweat and musk and funk of unwashed pits and clothes in close proximity and stagnant air, layered under perfumes and body washes that had long since passed their expiration date and wandered into the ripe manure odor territory. It hit them hard, and closed in from every side, and Mike nearly couldn't see from the distraction.

When his eyes focused outward again, it was to a vertical maze of catwalks and rope bridges criss-crossing the largest megamall he had ever seen. Every wall was a store, twenty different stores, Lit individually with different-colored lights and connected by a winding maze carved out of boxes. Stacks of stained and crinkled cardboard boxes that stacked about to his shoulders, just at the eyeline of the blue-vesters, cut paths in every direction to and from the ground level stores, and some even formed stairs that were taken down and put back up in different locations right before his eyes. Even the path he and Chuck walked was hurriedly blocked and reopened as they passed by even more people in blue vests. Mike's attention was caught by the blue-vesters. They only made up about a fourth of the population that he could see. There were a scattered few in green vests with pins and lanyards, and they stood a little taller than the plain unclothed folk that made up most of the crowd. Most kept their eyes down. Only a few reached taller than the box walls. The racket made by the mass of people moving, talking, stomping their feet on wood plank rope bridges, of metal clanging against metal and indistinct foods being dropped into deep fat fryers, of water being sloshed across the floor, all hit into Mike's ears at once and left him dazed. He held tighter to the back of Chuck's shirt and reeled.

"I am going to puke," Chuck told him bluntly.

Mike had to cut the tension or he was going to lose his breakfast too. "Do it. Might improve the smell of the place."

Tucked into Mike's arm, Chuck pulled at his bangs and raked his fingers down his cheeks, looking as distressed as a little dog in traffic. "I am never giving Texas shit about his laundry ever again. I don't think I'll ever smell anything else, ever again. I think it's seared into my nose. Next time I'm packing you a gas mask"

"Make it two."

"Mike after two seconds of this, I swear, I'm never coming scavenging with you again."

Quintessa spoke behind them. "Attention shoppers, please proceed in an orderly fashion through the double doors."

The blue-vesters opened a set of double-doors for them, leading Mike and Chuck into a storeroom filled with stacked pallets and more blue-vested workers. The workers shot them dirty looks as they passed, which got Mike feeling a bit more than uncomfortable. He let his eyes skim over the merchandise instead. Lots of foods, lots of clothes, some mangled and re-assembled toys-

"Chuck look!" Mike grabbed his shoulder and pointed to a tucked-away stack in the far corner, against a wall. If his eyes hadn't been trained to look, he would have missed it: a steering column and a stack of tires. "Jackpot!"

Chuck finally smiled. "Replacement tires! Looks like 9Lives size."

The blue vesters lifted their heads.

"Hey, uh..." Mike pointed to the far stack. "Are those for sale?"

Marcus looked to his group. "Price check?"

"Price check," Madge agreed. "Manager assistance to front desk."

"Where's the front desk?" asked Mike.

Quintessa and Michael grabbed each of his shoulders and lead him out, with Chuck close behind via Marcus and Madge. Chuck was already making distressed noises and trying to pull out of their grip. Mike's gut coiled and his hands reflexively made fists.

"Hey!" he told the two. "No need to manhandle us! We were going peacefully!"

"Where were they bringing us before?!" Chuck wailed. "I thought we were going to customer service!"

Marcus raised his head over the crowd. "Attention Shoppers: Manager needed for Price Check at Front Desk."

The entire ground floor stopped moving all at once. Mike just had time to get a chill before the collective shoppers converged on them and pulled the box labyrinth clear in a mass wave. The quartet of vesters suddenly had a road's worth of "clean" floor, which Mike was fairly certain he and Chuck were being paraded down. Sunken eyes peeked out from behind the newly arranged box walls, watching them while they were marched.

"Mikey do something!" Chuck pleaded.

"Just- lemme see where we're going here," said Mike.

A few minute's walking lead them to, and Mike was only partly certain, maybe what used to be a Pictures with Santa pavilion. Whatever it was, the structure had been built up and up until it reached maybe three stories high. The tower almost looked built around it, or like the structure had punched through the original roof, but Mike couldn't tell. Bridges curved around it. Doors opened away from it. It had its own light sources from flood lights stuck haphazardly into the poured concrete walls. The cobbled building-in-a-building didn't quite make sense to him, although the high fence of cinder blocks and green-vested workers patrolling with flat-faced dogs on leashes spoke volumes. Whatever this place was- and he realized that it was probably Front Desk even though it was in the rough middle of the building- it was important.

The green vesters met the blue vesters at the one opening in the fence. "Business."

"Code 111, Aisle 3," said Marcus. "Price Check for consumer, Manager assistance required."

The green vester nodded. "Please wait for the next available customer service representative. Your call is very important to us." Then he left for the big pile of whatever through the cinder block fence.

"Hey!" Chuck wriggled in Madge and Marcus's grip. "How come our call was recorded or monitored?!"

Marcus threaded his hand into Chuck's hair and pushed him down, doubling him over, and in the split second it took for Chuck's yelp to reach his ears, Mike felt Michael's hand ghost against the back of his neck. The tight coil of his back snapped fast. He slammed a shoulder into Michael's collarbone and wrenched the opposite arm out of Quintessa's grip. Madge was too old to hit; he shoved himself between her and Chuck and caught Marcus by the elbow, throwing him over his shoulder and into a green-vester with a guard dog. Chuck fell into his step and ducked behind him, and Mike was already reaching reaching for his staff when the vesters suddenly backed off en masse.

A voice boomed. "Thank you for your patience!"

He was about a foot taller than anybody else Mike had seen yet. Heavier than everyone too, a substantial thick man where the others were various flavors of skinny. His skin still had that grayed color as the rest of the population, but his jet black hair and dark eyes made it look like all his colors had been drained out of him and injected into his clothes. They were some of the best looking in the whole complex. He wore a royal green suit and yellow tie under a red vest, with his golden nametag displaying only the word "MANAGER" in engraved letters. Most of the pieces were whole, in original condition with minimal tailoring, and his shoes were a clean polished black with no-slip soles.

The Manager sized up Mike, standing with Chuck tucked into his arm, ready to fight, and must have seen something he liked. He smiled. "Thank you shopping at Motorplex today! My name is Tony, I will be your manager today! Can I start you off with one of our specials?"

Mike already didn't like him. "You can start off keeping your goons' hands off my friend!"

Manager Tony's smile didn't drop, but it did lose a little edge from thought. "I'm sorry, we don't seem to have Goonshands in stock. Would you like me to place a special order?"

"No, I'm telling you to leave Chuck alone!" Mike slammed his hand on Chuck's shoulder and gave him a good shake. "Or I'm dropping the nice act and hitting back!"

Manager Tony just gave a nice little shrug, hands clasped in front of him. "To expedite your call, please select one of the following options. You can say: Make a Payment, Customer Service-"

Mike leaned into Chuck's shoulder. "Help me out here, buddy."

Chuck barely spoke above a whisper. He was keeping his eyes on the crowd of vesters looming around them, watching them with tired, suspicious eyes. "Maybe they don't understand normal English anymore. We might need to talk back to them in customer service lingo or something."

"Why do you think?"

"It's the only thing I've heard since we got here. They only reacted to us when you asked how much the car parts cost."

"Wait right!" Mike spoke up. "SO, we uh- wanted a Price Check on some car parts back at... Customer Service?"

"You have selected Price Check!" Tony clapped his hands together and grinned, and a few of the vesters visibly relaxed. Mike loosened his grip on Chuck and tapped him a few times for reassurance. "Please select your method of payment."

"Oh! No no, I still wanted to browse," Mike added. "Does that make sense? Browse? Shop? Price Match Compare or whatever?"

"Yes!"

"Yes! Good, awesome!" He was getting the hang of this! Retail talk wasn't so bad. "So, we good? Got a... shop directory, or anything? You are here?"

"Directory Assistance!" Manager Tony cupped his hands and shouted over his shoulder. "Directory Assistance to Front Desk!"

"All right! We're back on track!" Mike pulled Chuck back into another half-hug. "And I only had to beat 'em up a little bit!"

"And what exactly are you planning on shopping for?" Chuck grumped.

Mike rolled his eyes and smiled. "Whatever we can afford."

"Afford with what?"

"I dunno, maybe that shitty magnet flashlight is worth something."

"You," Chuck grunted, "Are trying to make me mad today. Those are survival supplies!"

"So's the motor oil and tires!" Mike countered. "Besides, if we open up some nice trade today, we can come back later, and with a better idea of the stuff they want to trade for."

"This is going way too fast-"

"Only for you, Chuck. We'll be fine." Mike tousled his hair. Chuck bat his hands away and stood off to huff and pout with his arms crossed. Mike laughed. Chuck was just being a baby; he'd get over it once they were out of here with swag.

Directory Assistance came from the back: a short, round young gray woman with blond ratty hair in high pigtails and a green vest. Her plump lips were dry and chapped, and she stared out at Chuck from behind ragged bangs for a few long seconds before noisily licking and smacking her lips together. She didn't wear a nametag. Chuck quickly pulled out of his pout to hide behind Mike, and Mike had to force his grin a little.

At the very least, they'd get the shopping done. He hoped ROTH was okay back with the gang. He wondered how they were doing.