\n Flexible Survival

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\n Chapter 1

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\n She was a gorgeous beast. The way the flashlight bounced off her pale white and ebony black form, the smooth curves of a body God never intended. We had been cast into hell, and its seducers were out in force. She hadn't noticed me yet, too obsessed with a hellacious lover's quarrel with a companion demon.

\n They were not using words. Most mutants lost the ability. They gestured and growled. Sometimes they swiped or tried to take a bite out of one another. The other was just as large as she was, he had four legs, just like her. They seemed to be arguing over a long discarded pastry, the sort that was easy to find in any Seven Eleven, before everything fell apart.

\n My job wasn't to break up mutant debates. They called me Erik, last name Copple. I had achieved certification as an independent field agent, authorized for covert operations, cleared for demolitions, and with the distinction of completing the official agent training. You'd think the official agent training would be completed by everyone, but there's rarely time for any of that. You learned fast, often in the field, or you failed.

\n This wasn't to say I was some kind of bad ass. I knew the two creatures I was watching could cause me a lot of trouble. I had good tools. An automatic rifle I secured from those survivalist nutjobs in Fairfield. Come to think of it, I was pretty sure I was only some five blocks away from them. Might as well have been a hundred miles. They don't come out of their hospital unless they have to. Especially not just to help a non member.

\n "Field Agent Copple," spoke a clear voice in my head. Ah, the ever faithful comm radio. The only truly universal equipment, given to every agent. It was something even those crazed, money loving, Zephyr psychos agreed on. Radio tells home where you are, tells them if you need help. It lets you talk to them, and lets them talk to you. It even analyzed combat situations in real time. I was very proud of it. I had a reason to be, some of its code was written by the same hands that clutched firmly to the gun that day.

\n "Copple here," I replied, ducking back under the concrete divider.

\n "Situation's changed, abort mission. New coordinates being downloaded now."

\n Was that Mary? She worked the comm station a lot. I was almost certain it was her. I liked her. All business on the clock, but she could really party once she punched out. And she was unsullied. A pure example of woman, smooth flesh, two arms, two legs, a face without a snout or beak. Only two breasts, just large enough to want to grab, without getting lost in. Yea, if she wasn't dating that creep, Jason, I would have made my move ages ago.

\n "Roger that, en route."

\n Popping up before my vision, the new target flashed up. Only I could see it. Only I needed to see it. I liked to think of it as a secret little letter between Mary and me... Not that she ever added anything to it outside mission spec.

\n The directions pointed me to The Mall. There were a lot of abandoned malls since P day, but only one The Mall. I slunk away from the crumbling cement divider and started marching off through the city. I've been to far worse places than The Mall. Mall Rats lived there. Of all the mutant strains, they're unique in being entirely functional, and entirely friendly. Some of the techs are certain the Mall Rats were someone's personal project. A smashing success, I supposed, considering they got along so well.

\n I could feel eyes on me as I walked, but I wasn't too nervous. Most mutants in that part of the city avoided me, and most agents that weren't fresh. The tougher ones were sent packing too regularly when they appeared. Making good time through the streets of Fairhaven, I approached The Mall. It used to be a gleaming example of human engineering. It still was, in some ways. Some of it even still had power, and the Rats got water from somewhere. The soft report of distant gunfire brought me out of my thoughtfulness, and I hurried inside to relative safety.

\n Rod was there. Rod was always there. The front area was gloomily lit and two stories tall. Right in the center of it was a stand with a wide variety of goods in glass cases. Price tags were written in big bold letters and hung off the front of each. I still wondered where they kept finding soda. It seemed to be one of the Rats' specialties. There were other rats milling around besides Rod. Many of them looked up as I came in and a chorus of 'hey dude' and 'What's up' was thrown at me with some waves and nods. There are worse places in the wastelands to be.

\n The Rats lived up to their name. They were usually thin, though height varied wildly from short to very tall. They were covered in fur, often black, sometimes brown, sometimes white. Usually, it was one color, but the occasional spotted or striped Rat could be seen. They all had long naked tails. They came in male and female variety. Unlike many of the more feral mutants, they also wore clothes. Usually brightly colored, or pitch black, Rats seemed to choose between trying to scream out their tastes, or just went Gothic. Jewelry was very popular, with piercing in ears and bangles jangling around on tails a frequent sight. With ears as big as those, some of them seemed to take it as a challenge to fit an ever increasing amount of studs and other shiny objects on them.

\n The directions pointed right at Rod, so I walked up to him as he looked at me. His audacious clothes were splattered with oil, a common problem for the Rat. He raised a naked, pink, hand.

\n "Hey dude. You here for the pick up?"

\n They say Rod came from another city that didn't get rescuers until almost everyone had gone feral. Had a girlfriend, doesn't like to talk about it. I assumed she didn't go Rat like he did.

\n "Yea. How're things?"

\n He smiled. Odd thing, seeing a smile on a snout, but it seemed many mutants retained their expressions even when they lost their human faces. He pulled out a briefcase from under the display case and set it on top.

\n "Same old, same old. Had some four legs rush in here and start ripping apart a freezer. You know anything about that?"

\n I took the briefcase and held it loosely at my side.

\n "A freezer? I did see some four legs, two cats, Northeast side of town just before I came here. They weren't holding any parts though."

\n "Yea? Too bad. I'd love to know what they were planning to do with them."

\n Rod's always been a tinkerer. I imagined he was more curious about their project than angry about the missing parts.

\n "Were you storing anything the freezer?"

\n "Hell no," he said with widening eyes, "You have any idea how much power it takes to keep a freezer locker running for a day? I'd rather keep the lights on for a few months."

\n With P day, there wouldn't be any new oil drilling for some time. The gas we had was going to have to last us.

\n "Yea, I can imagine that. You got anything new today?"

\n "Well..."

\n I knew that tone. He had something, but he wanted top cred for it.

\n "I got a little something, but it isn't ready for public release yet. But, see, we know each other. I can trust you, right?"

\n "Course you can, Rod. What miracle have you performed this time?"

\n He ducked down and came up with a long, narrow, box and set it on the counter. With two clicks of unbuckled latches, he flipped it open. It looked like a hunting rifle.

\n "A gun? That's not your usual style."

\n "This is no regular gun!" he said loudly, as if he were offended, but he looked happy. He was always happy showing off his toys.

\n "This gun doesn't fire bullets. It uses nanites to focus heat into a thin line. It's like a laser pistol, rifle version." He runs his pink fingers across the device, and settles on a tiny knob, "You can even adjust the power output, but I don't think it would stay in one piece for long if you fired it at max more than once a day. Overheating issues."

\n "So how much is this going to set me back?"

\n He put a hand on his chest, "Don't say it like that, dude. I'm only recouping the cost of parts and research. This isn't easy, or safe, work. You know that." He smiled, a display of many sharp Rat teeth as he leaned forward, "I'll cut you a good deal." I could see his tail flickering behind him, jangles coming from the bands he wore on it.

\n "I'll give you twenty thousand creds and you'll thank me for it," I said, low balling the estimate.

\n I was rewarded with a sputter, "You have to be kidding me. Just the frame cost that much!" He pulled the gun free of the case, "Hell I'm not even sure I can make another of these. It's one of a kind. Way better than that AK you tote around, be real."

\n I held up my free hand placatingly, "Relax. I'm tugging your tail," A favored expression around the Rats, "Tell me what you want for it, Rod. I'm on a mission and have to get moving."

\n "I know you're good for it," he says, holding out his hand in the air. A loud slap as I brought my hand down on it. The Rats loved their high fives. "Tell you what. Fifty thou, you take this guy out for a spin on this mission of yours. You like it, give me another fifty. You don't like it, give it back and I'll give you fourty back, and we'll chalk it up to a ten K rental."

\n Rod's gizmos usually worked as advertised. He was a good guy. He would probably go to pieces if someone got hurt because something he made didn't work when it was supposed to. I tapped my comm device, "Fifty thousand credit transfer to Rod."

\n Rod smiled and tapped as his own. Rat comm devices were fitted to run along the outside of their large ears. "Fifty thousand credit transfer from Erik." With the two way confirmation, a soft chime informed me that my money had left me. Paper money was a thing of the past. He pushed the box towards me, "A pleasure doing business. Tell me all about it when you're done, right, and keep it chill, dude."