Air Shots

Smog City (a.k.a. The Veil) - Viktor

"Air shots! Air shots! You come to the Veil, you need what I sell! Air shots here!" Viktor bellowed to the passing crowds of the morning commute into the factories, whose stacks dotted the skyline of the Veil district of Vargos. The air choked those new to its level of pollution the moment they entered, creating a healthy seller’s market for vendors like Viktor, who sold pressurized cans of clean air to those who didn’t live in the district. Most factory workers lived in the Sprawl and the Roman Stacks, making each shift in the Veil an undertaking that jeopardized their lives. Ironically, those who worked for the air shot manufacturers were often the most common consumers of the product, as the dangers of the factory district made it a revolving door for workers, with some walking in only to be wheeled out on a stretcher from one breathing-related malady or another.

Viktor had been in the hustle for a long time, and with the Veil growing in population despite its hostile atmosphere, he wasn’t worried about losing business anytime soon. That was what made that day in Smog City such a disappointment.

Viktor wandered over to a parked car full of mean-looking men, Gilded Teeth gangsters by the look of them. Plentiful cybernetic enhancements, high-powered weaponry, four of them packed into the car, and the driver looked especially intimidating—two cybernetic arms, a shoulder-mounted rocket-propelled grenade launcher, and his entire jaw replaced by a metallic set of teeth. The jaw replacement was growing in popularity around Vargos’ underbelly, with Quang Xi - Blackfoot pumping out liquefied meals left and right, giving people one less reason to put off replacing their mouths with the scariest contraptions possible.

Viktor set his hand on the roof of the car and stuck an air canister through the driver’s side window.

"Hello, friends! You need an air canister here. Air is no good. You take and pay for twenty, I give you thirty—deal?"

The gangsters looked at each other, then burst into laughter, slapping their heavy metallic hands on the seats and dash before the man in the front seat spoke up through the laughter.

"Yeah, we’re good. Now how about you take that shit out of our car before we—"

He never got to finish. The side of his head erupted with a pop into an explosion of gore and chunks of bone, shattering the car window. He’d been shot. Before Viktor could even register what was happening, the driver’s door burst open, sending him sprawling to the ground as the remaining three gangsters jumped out and took cover behind the car's open doors.

More shots rang out, peppering the car and the asphalt. The crowds of commuting workers Viktor had been pestering only moments ago dove for cover wherever they could as bullets continued striking the vehicle. The Gilded Teeth men readied their weapons and returned fire in the direction of the attack. Viktor crawled for cover behind one of the car doors, moving faster than he’d ever run in his entire life, his breath coming in sharp bursts that made him feel like he was about to throw up from the poisoned air of the district.

The driver, now sharing cover behind the same door as Viktor, shoved him down as he popped over the edge, opening fire down the street. Viktor couldn’t get a good look at their attackers, but he could hear an odd sound coming from further down the road—humming. Deep, guttural, loud. Like gears grinding against themselves in some great machine.

"Paltry! Use that fucking asshole as a shield and move up! They’re going to flank us!" one of the gangsters yelled at the driver.

The driver nodded and seized Viktor by the collar, hoisting him up in front of him like he weighed less than a stuffed animal. He advanced toward a pillar on the side of the street, using Viktor as a shield, firing his weapon with his other hand. The kickback from the gun was hardly noticeable in his cybernetic arms. Between squinting his eyes shut, Viktor caught a glimpse of what they were firing at: a group of about ten raggedly dressed men and women wielding scrap weapons, judging by the loud clicks their firearms made after each shot. Behind the group, two people knelt with their heads bowed, large speakers linked directly into their data jacks extending out from their temples.

These were members of the Carrion Choir, the CCC, a cult most considered a rumor unless they’d seen them in person. The kneeling individuals were their signature “Choir Boys,” whose voices had turned metallic, unable to produce any sound but the low hum after years of eating human flesh tainted by whatever cybernetics their cadaver meals had contained. They were the embodiment of Vargos’ bodily heresy, their existence forever tainted by disillusionment and the blood of their victims.

The driver made it to the pillar with Viktor in tow without taking a single hit, tossing him aside before positioning himself behind cover. His metal jaw prevented him from speaking, but when Viktor met his eyes, he saw something unsettling: fear. The Carrion Choir was an uncommon sight, and for those unlucky enough to witness them in real time, it was usually the last thing they ever saw. Viktor believed that this Gilded Teeth gangster, built for fights like this, shared the same fear he did.

They weren’t just going to die here. They were going to be eaten.

The driver continued firing as the metallic humming grew louder. The Choir’s fighters moved up in careful formation. Whoever they had been before madness consumed them, they clearly retained just enough of their minds to move with basic combat tactics. They advanced, using abandoned cars and piles of scrap metal as cover, until they were a mere fifty feet away. Shots rang out in a careful rhythm from both sides, each group firing, reloading, and waiting for openings.

The driver got his first kill, clipping one of the Choir members in the shoulder. The wounded cultist ducked behind cover as the driver reloaded. Viktor wasn’t loyal to any Vargos gang, least of all the bullies that made up the Gilded Teeth, but he wasn’t about to die here just to become food for the monsters closing in.

Scrambling forward, he grabbed one of his jumbo air canisters and held it up to the mute driver.

"Throw this at the Choir Boys, the ones on their knees! It will explode! Big boom! Without the Choir Boys, they will leave! Part of their code is to only fight when the Choir Boys are near!"

He screamed the words, shaking the thermos-sized canister in the driver’s face with a trembling hand.

The man grunted, seized the canister, and as soon as he finished reloading, took his chance. He flung it as close as possible to the kneeling cultists and emptied the clip in its direction. Viktor heard the high-pitched whiz of bullets striking concrete for a moment, then—

An explosion.

The humming stopped.

Viktor watched from his hidden position as the canister erupted in a burst of flame, sending the kneeling Choir Boys flying into the sides of buildings. The Carrion Choir soldiers immediately ceased fire. In eerie unison with the end of the humming, they dropped their weapons and fled, scattering in all directions as if losing their ability to think without the background noise.

The Gilded Teeth men opened fire on the fleeing cultists, picking some off as the others vanished into the shadows of back alleys and the overarching haze of the Veil.

Silence.

For the first time in Viktor’s life, the Veil went completely quiet.

He crawled toward the car, now riddled with bullet holes and surrounded by shattered glass and spent shell casings, and grabbed his dropped bag of merchandise. Digging around for a moment, he finally pulled out a handful of small canisters and shoved them upward toward the confused faces of the Gilded Teeth gangsters.

"Well, after that, I’m sure you could use a breath of fresh air!"

The Gilded Teeth men looked at each other, then burst into fits of laughter.