Chapter Thirty-Three - The Perfect Fit

“Fashion amongst Samurai is a quick-moving and vicious thing. Most lower-tiered Samurai will change outfits and styles at the drop of a hat, sometimes literally. Their mass market appeal requires that they stand out, at least a little, from those that came before.

Most of the established Samurai, strangely enough, don’t seem to care as much about it. By the time they’ve gotten that far into their careers they’ve usually figured out the look and style they want to adopt.”

--Edith Rockwell, lead clothing designer, Nimbletainment Inc. 2032

***

New Purchase: Under Shoulder Autoloading Holster Mark I
Points reduced to... 224

I stared at the box waiting for me on the ground, right next to a couple of other boxes that I’d kicked around. Myalis had convinced me to get healed up properly before moving on. Then she got me to buy a juice box.

I sucked at the little straw sticking out of the one-point drink until my cheeks caved in.

It was, hand down, the best drink I’d ever had. Both sweet and savoury, with a bit of a citrusy tang to it, and it left me with an after-taste as if I’d just bitten into one of those really expensive organic apples Lucy and I had once stolen from the better part of the city.

Point was, alien food was the best and worth every point.

“I can never give any of this to Lucy,” I said as I yoinked the straw out of the box, then tipped it over for one last drop.

I can’t see how it would be bad for her.

“It would be bad for me. She’d never stop nagging me for more. And then she’d go full puppy-dog on me and fake cry and I’d fold like a stack of cards. She’d drain away my points in an afternoon.”

Learning that my Vanguard is susceptible to attractive young women looking pitiful is rather distressing.

I snorted. “I didn’t ask you to get jammed in my head,” I said. “Now, let’s see this thing.”

I could get used to opening up boxes only to find new toys in them. It beat the hell out of... literally any Christmas ever. The best we ever got were some really nice school supplies from a Samurai-run charity one year, and as cool as they had been, they’d still been school supplies.

The lid came off with a dull ‘thwap’ and I flung it aside without a care to reveal... a sort of jacket... thing.

I pulled the auto loader out of the case and held it up. There were two holes for arms with elbow-length sleeves, and a zipper at the front. The entire thing only reached down to the lower ribs though. More like half a jacket than a jacket proper.

Shrugging, I set it aside, tore off my own shitty grey coat, and left it on the ground. The thing had a fist-sized hole in it already, it was finished one way or another.

Putting on the auto-loader was a little tricky. It had pockets on the back and two boxes tucked just under the arms and over pouch-like openings. It looked pretty sleek though, like a custom made leather coat.

Place your gun in one of the holsters.

I did as Myalis asked and brought my Trench Maker into the right-side holster. The entire thing squeezed around the gun like a vacuum seal in less time than it took to blink. I had to tug at it a little to pull it out. “Cool,” I said. “What about the loading?”

Touch an empty magazine to the box below your arm. I would suggest buying a few.

“Sure, give me, uh...” The gun was empty as it was, and there were four pockets at the back of the auto-loader. I imagined they would seal up the same way. “Five magazines. All incendiary.”

You really do like those rounds. Perhaps you should try something else? The Trench Maker can use micro-missiles, sabot rounds, explosives, and many other load-outs.

“Just incendiaries for now,” I said. Though some of those had sounded damned tempting.

New Purchase: .45 Armour Piercing Incendiary Magazine. Five Units
Points reduced to... 214

Five fresh magazines appeared next to the empty box before me. I took one and tapped it to the slim little box under my armpit.

A trio of little arms unfolded themselves from the box, grabbed the magazine in little pinchers, then rotated around and behind me where I couldn’t see them even looking over my shoulder. They slotted the magazine into one of the back pockets and then slid back into place.

“Cool,” I said. I watched the little arms slot away three more magazines, then I stuffed my Trench Maker into place. The little arms got to work right away, tossing the empty magazine to the ground and fitting in a new one in under two seconds. “Nice.” I looked down at myself, then nodded. “It even kinda looks cool. Does it come in colours that aren’t black?”

It does. You may pick next time. I didn’t think it would matter.

I perked an eyebrow. “Which colours can I pick from?”

Which hex code is your favourite?

“I... nevermind, just curious.”

I have your measurements, so it should fit quite comfortably.

I blinked, then felt the inside of the auto-loader. It was nice and padded. A quick zip, then some bouncing up and down revealed a few important things. “When you said measurements, you weren’t kidding.”

If I gained any weight the damned thing wouldn’t fit, but it didn’t encumber my breathing or anything.

Is there anything else you need?

“I... think this will do for now,” I said. How much time had I just wasted playing dress-up with cool guns? I shook my head, considered putting on my torn up jacket, then gave up on that. I probably looked a mess with my black half-jacket and torn up and bloody clothes, but I looked like a dangerous mess, and that was a fashionable enough statement for me.

I considered tossing everything in the trash, then gave up on that idea. The whole building was filled with dead aliens, it probably didn’t matter all that much that I’d left some junk on the ground.

“Time to go see if the others are still alive,” I said.