By the time he finished a quick shower, Kurt had forgotten about the dreams entirely. Grabbing a quick breakfast of cold granola with almond milk, he wandered up to his plug-in couch and eased into the luxurious material. Swiping up the internet on his wrist, he browsed the night’s activities.

  GoonStorm had been making its presence and anger felt. Their player killer patrols dominated the chatrooms and threads. Kurt found mentions of their hit against the Goons, but it was usually buried beneath complaints about the constant patrols and speculation about when the Downtown Cluster would be free of them again. The GoonStorm take-over conspiracy theorists were out in force as well, telling people this was how it would be when they owned all the turf in the city, or discussing possible ways to stop them. Very little solid information was mentioned about the three-man squad that had robbed their heist, and Kurt figured that would make Gadot happy. GoonStorm and the internet’s short memory span had done a wonderful job of covering their tracks for them.

  He glanced at the clock on his phone and discovered it was only a little after eight in the morning. Jimmy wouldn’t be up and around for a couple hours at least, but Kurt wanted to log in anyway and go shopping again if nothing else. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, leaving the empty bowl on a nearby end table and plugging in. Swiping through his options, he logged into The Life of Crime.

  The world around him faded to black as the game sounds kicked in. His safehouse rattled softly, the sounds of the train moving on the track coming in first. As his visuals loaded, he smiled to take in the long carriage with its pleasant wooden seats and museum-quality riveted walls. He reached in his pocket for the bundle of bills representing his dirty cash, removing them in hundred thousand dollar increments and tucking it into his storage briefcase. Placing the last stack back into his pocket, he decided it would be an appropriate time to go shopping for fresh ammo and perhaps to get in a little practice.

  Kurt pulled up his map and went looking for a good gun shop, preferably with a range attached. It didn’t take him long to find one in the path of his train’s route, and he marked a waypoint to it on his map. Once the train stopped, he slipped his plastic keycard into the slot in the lock and the train doors opened with a metallic rattle. Exiting along with dozens of other NPCs and players, Kurt couldn’t help but smile as he blended easily into the crowd coming out of the subway station. He walked right past a parked GoonStorm patrol, snickering internally at the bored looks on the players’ faces.

  Entering the gun shop, Kurt approached the counter and began browsing specialty ammunition. The shopfront itself was small, tucked away into the corner of a strip mall at the base of a skyscraper alongside a couple of other unimpressive businesses. It sported a U-shaped counter all around the inside of the shop, with a door leading to the range tucked into the back corner behind a swinging gate. A friendly young man with a big, bushy beard stood behind the counter and happily brought out boxes of ammunition for Kurt to look through.

  He had unlocked access to two new types of specialty ammunition for his 9mm pistols: Ratshot and Armor Piercing. Scanning over the odd-looking, tube-shaped bullets of Ratshot, he discovered it was a miniature shot shell that fired tiny lead pellets, originally designed for use against rodents or snakes. Setting those aside, he scanned over Armor Piercing. The rounds looked normal, aside from a silver colored material covering the top, and Kurt’s scan told him it was an aluminum coating for the heavy steel bullet. The stats for both ammunition types were unimpressive, but Kurt decided to buy a box of Ratshot, despite the minimal damage rating it sported. He had an idea about that ammunition type in his drum magazine he wanted to try out.

  He also refilled his +P, subsonic hollow-points, and standard ammunition before paying a minimal fee for some time on the range. The man behind the counter explained that the rental fee covered his ammunition costs for the range, and Kurt correctly assumed that meant he wouldn’t lose any of his own ammunition supply. After he paid, the man thanked him and opened the door, leading him down a short hallway to the back of the shop.

  The range was far more impressive than Kurt had expected. It had only three lanes, and Kurt chose the one furthest from the door. As he approached the small counter, the lane lit itself with bright, omnidirectional lighting without a clear source. The firing lane seemed to extend in a cone in front of him, allowing for multi-directional targeting. Stepping back with a frown, he leaned over to glance at the lane beside him and found it dark. Shrugging, Kurt reached for a touchscreen pad in the wall beside him. It was filled with options for target practice, and Kurt quickly became confused. He exited to the home screen of the tablet and selected a basic program.

  A paper target on a cardboard backer materialized twenty-five yards away, attached to the ceiling by a metal rail. The target was simple, concentric circles dictating different scores, radiating out from a bright yellow bullseye. Kurt’s applicable skills appeared on the touchscreen beside him, showing his gains by means of a greyed-out bar that filled with color as the skills gained exp. Raising his new Glock, Kurt aimed carefully and held down the trigger. The gun bucked wildly, drawing a line up the paper and onto the wall behind it. He pressed the reset button on the touchscreen beside him, and the target reformed, the bullet holes evaporating as he watched. His small arms and gunslinger skills ticked slightly upward.

  Reloading his gun, Kurt tried again. This time he fired in small controlled bursts and was pleased to see much better marks on the target. His exp gains were small but steady. Target practice would not give him as much experience as combat. Kurt gained a single level in small arms and managed to bump his rank in gunslinger up one as well.

  After roughly an hour of practice the door opened to his right, and he squinted to see a man being shown in by the bearded owner. Kurt’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the man being led in. It was the player who seemed to like disguising himself as a police NPC, and he was wearing his Illusion City Police Department uniform. Kurt reloaded his Glock and raised it, squeezing the trigger. A solid click was all that came from his gun and he glared at it, perplexed.

  Ignoring the attempted aggression, the man in police uniform smiled and approached. “Hi there. Silly question, I know, but, friendly?” He was an older man, in his forties or fifties with greying hair beginning to show at his temples as he removed the patrolman cap from his head.

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  Kurt glared at him before responding with a shake of his head. “Not even slightly, no.”

  “Ha! Well, I appreciate the honesty, anyway. You can call me Jimbo.” He approached and extended his hand. Kurt looked down at it and then back up to him but didn’t reciprocate the greeting. Jimbo frowned and nodded. “Understandable. Our first couple of encounters have been . . . intense.”

  His eyes narrowing, Kurt’s finger twitched beside his weapon’s trigger guard. “You could say that.”

  “Oh, you can stop with the gun. They won’t work on other players in here.” He spread his arms wide and gestured to the room around them while moving in a slow circle. “We stand on holy ground. Or at least, neutral ground.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, running a hand over the wall to his side. “These places were important in this era. A place of rules and order. Who you were didn’t matter, just how you comported yourself. All became equals with a gun in hand.” He finished with a small smile and a barely audible sigh. “I can appreciate that.”

  Kurt started to set his Glock down on the counter but realized the vulnerability of that motion and holstered it instead. “What can I help you with, Jimbo?” His voice was tense with anger.

  Jimbo stood still, looking at Kurt as if sizing him up. “You interest me. You appeared out of nowhere a few nights ago, and suddenly the city is torn to pieces. We’re hovering on the precipice of all-out war. Goons patrol the streets, zealously exerting their distorted image of control, and yet . . . they’ve suddenly become weak. Vulnerable.” He paused, reaching for the Desert Eagle holstered at his thigh. He set the gun down on the counter next to him, before turning and leaning against it. “I can’t help but feel like there’s something more going on here. Something big.”

  Kurt’s eyes narrowed, causing Jimbo to smile. “Sorry, pal. Can’t help you.” He un-holstered his Glock and began firing at his target again, practicing his burst fire control while trying to ignore the enemy to his side.

  Jimbo tapped at his screen and then began firing at targets of his own. Kurt could only see his own target in the range, the lane Jimbo fired from appeared empty from his perspective. They fired a few magazines of ammunition off at their own targets for a while, the only sound the thunder of Jimbo’s large caliber shells and the rattling cracks of Kurt’s Glock.

  Reloading his Desert Eagle, Jimbo paused while gazing down range. “You should know, I’m contracted to the GoonStorm company right now.” He squeezed off a single round, his lips screwing up in disappointment as the shot went wide of the target. “I’m supposed to be gathering information on your crew.”

  Kurt closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not smart to be telling me that.”

  Shrugging before squeezing off a few more rounds, Jimbo glanced over at Kurt. “You must be new.” He fired off the remaining rounds in his magazine, dropping it out to fall to dust on the floor. “Disguise players like us are a rare breed. I mean, sure, everybody puts on a suit to rob a bank every so often. But walking with the Goons as the manager.” He kissed his fingertips and raised them in salute. “That’s something else entirely. I tip you my hat, sir.”

  Sighing and trying to focus on his groupings, Kurt fired off another full magazine in short bursts. “Don’t know what you mean.”

  Jimbo shook his head. “You’ll want to start controlling that body language if you keep playing disguise. The game can help cover up stammers and excessive use of hesitation markers while speaking, but body language is a dead giveaway.” He looked Kurt up and down. “You’re tense. You obviously knew who I was the moment I walked in, and you keep showing little stress indicators as we talk. You say one thing, but your body language tells me everything else.”

  Kurt turned to face him, his anger surprising him as it began to fade. “You want to mentor me now? Maybe invite me to your guild?”

  Jimbo smirked. “Not just yet. I’m on the clock is all, and I will be sharing the information I’ve already gathered with my clients at GoonStorm.” He paused, looking at Kurt as if sharing a private joke. “But between us, I mix work and pleasure. Like I said, you interest me, as does this fascinating little three-man campaign to topple the biggest crew in the game.”

  Controlling his reaction in an effort to indicate only boredom, Kurt turned back to the shooting range touch screen, selecting a different style of target. The circular paper was replaced by a man-shaped target, with different score zones on various parts of the body. “Like I said, dunno what you’re talking about.”

  “Much better! You have real potential for this.” Jimbo stayed as he was, invested in the conversation in spite of Kurt’s attempts to stay uninteresting. “It could work, you know. You guys keep hitting their heists, or even just fight them and win like you did the other day, and they’ll start losing members. Getting that officer busted was an inspired touch. Wouldn’t take much to fracture a guild that size with tactics like yours. You’re already the only thing they talk about.”

  Kurt remained silent and focused on controlling his physical reactions. He fired off a few bursts, using both hands to control the recoil.

  Jimbo squinted, shaking his head. “No, you still tensed up in the shoulders. It’s hard to control, I admit. But as with anything, you can learn how with practice. Have you gotten the Infiltrator class yet? It’s hard for me to gauge when you started playing, so please don’t be offended if I guess low.”

  Swiping through his options again on the control, Kurt tried to suppress his reactions as he spoke. “How did you find me?”

  Turning his body to lean against the counter again, Jimbo looked towards the ceiling. “Oh, I have my ways. Tell you what, give me one of your secrets and I’ll give you one of mine. We can start simple if you like. When did you start playing?”

  Kurt hesitated to answer but couldn’t see any harm in this one question. “The night we met in the stairwell was my first time.”

  Jimbo smacked the counter with his palm, clearly frustrated. “I knew that was a starter Beretta. I should really learn to trust my memory more.” He shook his head. “Deal’s a deal. I found you today with my network of NPCs. I had an idea you were based in the Cluster, so I set up stakeouts looking for you. You might want to change up the suits, you’re still wearing the same one you wore to the GoonStorm heist.”

  Looking at his suit with a nod, Kurt had to concede the point to Jimbo. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

  “By the way, all of GoonStorm is looking for that stealth pistol you have sticking out of the back of your pants.”

  “How do you keep showing up at our heists? And how the hell are you immune to cops?”

  “Oh, those would cost you dearly. Tell you what, you tell me who your driver is, and I’ll spill.” Jimbo crossed his arms and offered Kurt a predatory smile.

  “Speaking dishonest sneak to dishonest sneak, I won’t respond to questions about my friends.” Kurt nodded as he spoke, his respect for this strange man growing. “You’re too good at this particular aspect of the game and I’m just getting started.”

  An unimpressed look came over Jimbo’s face and he sighed. “Alright, fair enough. I’ll leave your friends out of it and you leave my methods out — how’s that?”

  Taking a deep breath, Kurt stared at Jimbo for a moment. “Okay, fine. Why are you interfering? What’s it to you?”

  A slow smile crept onto Jimbo’s features before he answered. “I already told you, I’m interested. That’s rare for me, so I’m part of it now. Like it or not.”

  “You’ve chosen the wrong side.” Kurt moved to leave, shouldering past Jimbo. He turned at the doorway, one hand holding it open. Irritation was obvious in his expression. “See you on the field, then?”

  Jimbo nodded with a sad smile. “Not if I see you first, kid.”