Stitches left his room feeling refreshed after a deep sleep. He felt a lingering desire to be warmed by some sunlight but there were no windows in the apartment for him to see outside. He’d turned his jumpsuit inside out following Jerry’s example but he felt defanged. Putting on an intimidating front was something he’d been doing for a long time. It felt awkward staying so approachable, but with a group to represent, he knew he had to settle on their terms.

Witch sat on the couch brushing her teeth. As she noticed Stitches approaching, she tugged the side of her hood to hide her face.

He couldn’t help but feel a little coldness in the way she held herself apart from them. He thought back to what Vic said, What’s she hiding from us? he thought.

She took a sip of water from the glass cup sitting in front of her and swished it around in her mouth.

Her black lips had odd parts connected to their corners but with the shade from her hood he was unable to tell what they were.

“Where’s the other two?” he broke the silence.

Witch spit into the glass and dropped the toothbrush into it. She pulled her handkerchief back above her face before turning to face Stitches, “They left to pick up their gear.”

“How long was I out?” he looked around for a clock, “What time is it?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know, I woke up as they left,” she got up to take her cup to the sink, “It’s been an hour at least since then.”

He sighed, “Where the hell are they selling the alarm clocks around here? You’d think they’d be included as an essential.”

“Mmhm,” she answered as she dumped the contents of the cup.

“Listen, about the day we arrived… I didn’t mean to see,” he met her eyes, “I didn’t mean to stare so long either.”

She exhaled quietly and walked back, “Its fine, people seeing doesn’t bother me. The stares are what get under my skin, especially when there’s a lot of them.”

Stitches scratched his head and sat down, “But, I mean… we’re all metamorphs here. It’s not like the stares have the malice of a human’s behind it.”

Witch leaned onto her thighs, “That’s not it… maybe it is a little… but,” a frustrated groan escaped from her, “eventually it was less about how I looked and more about keeping the hunters off me. It’s just programmed into my brain now; subtlety means survival.”

Stitches eyes drifted away from her, “Yeah…” he picked his teeth at a memory, “for me it was whichever hole I could scramble away through. Once they figured out the way keep me baited into the fight it was just a matter of exhaustion.”

He brushed his thumbs together creating some sparks, “What about you? How’d they manage?”

Witch stood up and buried her hands in her hoodie, “You don’t have to worry about me, I’m the furthest thing from shy in a fight,” she walked out through the door.

Stitches sat back in his seat. He knew she was dependable; they’d been through similar trials after all. However, Vic’s classified information and her refusal to answer his question set off warning lights in his head.

He’d seen her type before in the slums. As he remembered the stomach-churning confessions of junkies he used to know, he decided he’d rather focus on getting equipped. He could occupy his thoughts with planning out tomorrow’s excursion instead.

 

Stitches wandered through the ruined streets of the compound, manual held open by his thumb. He peaked at it every so often to check the map but was otherwise absorbed in thought.

The assignment boards at HQ were littered with long treks out into the city to either wipe out some locals or bring back something shiny. He was optimistic about the group he’d gathered, but experience was key in high risk jobs and he knew they had none. Still, his greedy side almost drooled at the sight of the cash listed on some of the postings. It burned something fierce to ignore them and sign up for guard duty.

He was anxious to see some of the creatures in action. Knowledge on how they fought and maneuvered through their surroundings would be the difference between life and death for him and his team.

According to the things he’d heard from his slum friends, ash savages were just psycho tribals left over by the ascension. Large raiding bands would often wander out from the ruins to attack rival tribes or test their luck with human towns.

They were simple, but plenty smart enough to repurpose captured gear. Once when he was a teenager, he remembered a news story about some ash raiders that managed to get equipped with a stolen military shipment. They laid siege on a human border city for a couple months before running out of ammo and finally retreating.

His thumb rose to his teeth as he again considered keeping the kevlar he already had over a new set of melee centered gear. The suit that filed his assignment paperwork told him that ash people using firearms in the Crown were few and far between. They’d limited the amount of ammo that could be taken off the compound to ensure that captured guns couldn’t be turned against them. To prevent supply shipments from being captured by the occasional rogue band that wandered onto the highway, company policy dictated that all vehicles driving to or from the compound be rigged with explosives.

He didn’t answer when Stitches asked about the bus.

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a flick of his ear.

“You’re going to run into something if you think so deeply while you walk,” Maribel teased.

He smiled, “Where’d you come from?”

“I need to get some armor together before I go mutant killing.”

“Wait, already? Shouldn’t you get a lil experience before you go out there?”

“I’ve done my share of hunting; you won’t get anything done waiting for animals to come to you,” She pushed her hair out of her eyes, “What are you taking first?”

“Uh… Guard duty,” Stitches muttered embarrassed.

She looked at him with a wide smug grin.

“Tsk,” he looked away, “some of us like a little prep work before jumping in headfirst.”

He peeked at his manual, he still had a ways to go for his shop of choice, “So what kinda abilities do you have anyways?”

Maribel pleased that he finally asked, took a breath before a jet of fire erupted from her pursed lips.

“Woah! That’s fuckin cool!” Stitches blushed and tried to hold back a bit, “I mean, I’m sure that’ll be plenty viable out here.”

She giggled, “My foster siblings used to call me dragon girl.”

“Dragon Girl?” Stitches thought back to his old crew, “the hell didn’t I get a cool name like that?” he mumbled.

Maribel turned, “My shops this way, later!”

Stitches waved, talking himself out of following her a bit more even though he thought up an excuse.

 

The building he approached was an old diner stripped clean of salvageable cooking supplies. He’d tried the other shops, but was disappointed with the high prices of the more customized places and inability to try the gear on at the cheaper stops. A clerk he was arguing with pointed him towards the teens saying they’d probably be desperate enough to accommodate him.

“X13” Stitches mumbled reading the sign hanging from the door.

Unlike the previous shops he visited, the two humans in this building weren’t behind protected counters, and their merchandise hung on displays within reach.

Stitches raised an eyebrow, Are they just starting out?

An excited looking human approached “Welcome! Can I help you?”

Stitches flipped his manual over to some notes he took on the back. “I need something stab proof for my core and groin and extra plating on my forearms and legs,” he pocketed the book, “preferably lightweight as you can get it. I need to be able to move without being weighed down.”

“Certainly!” The human chirped before scurrying about, collecting items laying on the shelves.

There was a nervous look within the humans face he was attempting to hide. Stitches didn’t blame him, most humans that meet a metamorph for the first time typically don’t let their guard down.

The human laid down some gear on the counter near Stitches, “Here you go, please try them on!”

Stiches grabbed the shirt laid out surprised by its weight.

“Most puncture resistant fabrics you find on the market are only fifty steel threads per square inch but these are double that!”

He felt the tough material underneath the black cloth, “You sew metal into these? Why not kevlar?”

“Kevlars expensive!” he said with a smile, “This works just as well with only a little extra weight.”

 Stitches put on the shirt and added the sleeves, tightening the metal plates to his forearms to prevent them from slipping. He did a couple test movements and was surprised by the freedom of his movement, “huh thought for sure the arm plating would mess with me.”

He picked up the waist armor with shortened legs, “Where’s the changing room?”

“We don’t have one.”

Stitches looked at him expecting a ‘just kidding’.

“If you want, I could turn around.”

He sighed and slid the armor on over his jumpsuit, tightening the belt and straps above his knees. He took the leg armor finding it to be just a pair of pants with metal plates sewn into pockets at the thighs and shins.

“I’m gonna need knee protection with this,” he said as he pushed his leg through, having a slight bit of trouble as they caught his shoes, “You sure this is the lightest you got?”

“Yes,” the clerk confirmed placing two knee covers on the table.

            Stitches tightened everything on before grabbing his knee and pulling it up to his chest. To his satisfaction everything sat in the right place as he made a couple more test motions.

            The clerk, excited, placed a jacket down on the table, “Would you like to try this too? Its experimental, but you might find it useful!”

Stitches took the jacket holding it in front of him, it was heavier but it looked much sturdier than the shirt, “No thanks. Armor shouldn’t follow the word experimental,” he handed it to the clerk.

            The clerk backed away eyes widening, “U-uh…” his hands floated in the air for a bit before dropping slightly, “S-sorry you surprised me is all…”

            Stitches placed the jacket back onto the counter with an annoyed sigh. Ignoring the clerk’s sudden panic, he flipped through his cash clip, “It’s fine, how much?”