The Watch

The sound of the shot rebounded from the concrete, amplified to a crack of thunder.

The injured mutant swayed, wobbled a few paces, then fell to her knees. Her ragged gasps scraped the alley walls and reverberated within my own chest, damaged, flooding, dying. I reloaded the Cruiser and stood over her.

Yep. The readings in my mask displayed her rapidly decreasing vitals; the sensor on the far right had dropped from a full green to a blinking red. I leveled the barrel at her teal, scaly face, at her bloodshot, straining, wild red eyes.

Not even human anymore.

There came a final crack of thunder, rebounding in the sudden silence.

I put down the gun and checked the pulse at the stained neck (never could be too sure), then pulled a zip-strip tag around her cold, lifeless wrist.

Done.

"Gasman, come in, this is Droid, stationed at 12th," came the voice over the radio. You had to hand it to the Company for their quality in making digital radios - it almost sounded as though my teammate were in the helmet with me. "Client 9-204-47G should be heading around the -"

Shouldered the shotgun and headed for home. "Already got her. Thanks for the update, though."

"Jesus." My tech momentarily broke protocol. "Are you psychic or something?"

The very mention of the word made me think, automatically, to someone I'd grown up with. A very blurry someone I didn't feel like remembering. "Could be. Agent Gasman, signing off."

But then -

"Gasman, come in, this is Killbot. Stationed at Monroe." I released a valve to my gas-mask. "This is the Gasman, go ahead."

"I got a type F hiding somewhere in this mess," he nearly spat over the radio. "Completely invisible. Requesting backup?"

I waited. Took time to do an inventory of my tools: euthenasia-kit, check; health-kit, check; ammunition at 85%, check; Father Steele's cigarettes, check; specialized detonation-devices (or "G-bombs"), check; and one leftover package of Gummy-Bears I picked up from a mission in-town. Huh. How long've THOSE been here?

"Hello?"

"I'm sorry, Killbot, but was that a question or...?"

"You prick, get over here!"

"Tch. Is that any way to talk to your boss? Fine. Hang tight, Fem-bot, be there in a second."

I slung the Cruiser and took off my helmet, long enough to stuff a couple of yummy-Gummies in my mouth, and made it around the icy corner, feeling something in my pocket from before I'd blown the mutant's head off, something she gave me before the execution.

And speaking of mutants -

A gas-masked figure crouched behind a vehicle partially hidden under dead, dirty ice and snow with a rifle, his back completely open to attack from my vantage-point. I sighed into the reciever, back in my mask now, and walked up to him casually, making no point of stealth. Killbot whirled to look at me. "Wh - what are you DOING? Get down!"

"Oh, shut up. Here." I tossed him the package of Gummy Bears and sat down in the open on a frozen bench. "You got a whole lot to learn about stealth, my friend."

"And aren't you the one to talk," he muttered, crouching lower and still not willing to admit that his cover was totally blown. (Denial, I love it.) This street was very narrow and pristine after a coating of fresh snow; and what my Second-in-Command also had to remember, next to stealth, was that oftentimes, an answer will hide in very plain sight. "Class F, huh." I took up the cruiser, and pointed it in his direction.

Killbot could only stare. "What. Are. You. Doing."

"A Class F is a mutant capable of camouflage. A Class D is one of some Psychic component or persuasion. Namely, very good at dodging our perceptions. Better yet...your perceptions."

I jumped to my feet and fired a single shot.

BANG!

"Sonova - !"

The rapport was sharp and loud - Killbot ducked away from the shattered vehicle, and the once-invisible monster standing right behind him, suddenly appearing: hellishly-red, flayed skin, and only black sockets for eyes. Frantic, Killbot fumbled for his gun, but I'd already got him again - and the headless mutant keeled onto the snow.

"In plain sight." Hiding in the corner of your eye. I made a mock salute, rested the Cruiser on my shoulder, and started off. "You can claim that one. And pay better attention, next time."

There was a reason I was the leader in this field.

My Second panted, brushing himself off. "How did you know? And what..." He looked at the Gummies. "What are these for?"

There was a reason I'd been chosen to take on this dirty, thankless job with a bunch of humans as crew, working for what had been my worst enemies.

"Simple: just looked from a different perception; a different point of view. Itex listed it as an F becuase they're morons. And if you'll excuse me, my shift's up eight minutes ago."

There was a reason I was here, a different reason than that I was born for, probably - a reason I worked as an Exterminator for the government that destroyed my life and owned the world, as a licensed murderer. The previous kill's necklace felt like a massive weight in my coat-pocket.

"Hey! What about these?"

I stopped, looked over my shoulder at the masked-soldier, holding up the package of Gummies. "Oh, those. Nothing - they were just to screw with you. See you tomorrow."

The reason I signed over my life and skills to those enemies, in a world past the Apocalypse?

I switched off my gear and hurried home.

After all, I had a kid to get back to.