Monsters swarm the town of Dystopia on a daily basis, and people run for their lives like they were trained for it. Some of us, however, were trained to combat our fear and brooding--and kick down biological warfare for the sake of mankind. Easier said than done...
It didn't always rain in Dystopia, but today it was. I gathered my hood around my temples and pushed through the crowd to the emergency supplies store. Men, women, children shuffled further together as a way of shaking the rainwater from their tresses, but I threw out my palms and they stepped aside. This was a store, after all.
The clerk never smiled. He gave me a once up and down, and leant forward from his stool, his unsaid query as dark as his hair.
"A packet of cacao. And a 6-point, please," I said, ramming my knuckles onto the table. This would've hurt—were it not for the previous desensitisation of my knuckles and the line of foam-fur in the fingerless gloves.
The dark, heavenly scent hit me almost immediately. Then undischarged cordite: bitter, ripe and tempting. I snaffled the cacao bean bar into one of my coat pockets, replacing it with ten silver coins. The Clerk nodded a second time and passed the rifle into my hands.
I was employed to 'deal' with the invasion of micro-spores, and deal I would. I cocked the rifles into place, eliciting that ripple of jolt through the passive majority, and strode back into Dystopia's rain-sullied tarmac.