“STAN. DARD. PHYS. I. CAL. AND. FOUR. LIVE. FIRE. TESTS.” Henry was a bit surprised to hear Gerald had her do that many gun tests. “I. WAN. TED. TO. BE. SURE. IT. WAS. N’T. THE. TER. MI. NAL.” Gerald swiped his fingers across the screen until he pulled up a set of photos of physical targets that had been shot. One greatly resembled the pistol test, so Henry assumed that was a repeat. The next was identical to the rifle test. The third picture seemed to be identical to the second. “DONE. AT. THE. RAN. GE’S. FAR. THEST. DIS. TAN. CE.” The final picture was similar to the second and third, but bullets were slightly spaced around a central point on the head of the target. “THAT. ONE. I. HAD. HER. SHOOT. WHI. LE. THE. TAR. GET. MO. VED.” Henry leaned back into his chair and pondered for a moment.

“Guess the physical turned out well?”

“YES. SHE. IS. AN. EX. CEL. LENT. RUN. NER. TOP. PED. OUT. AT. A. HUN. DRED. K. P. H.”

“Holy damn, that is fast.”

I was already having trouble keeping up with the rest of the team.

“What about strength?”

“A. BOUT. A. VER. AGE.” Henry pondered some more. “STILL. FEELS. OFF. HUH?”

“Yeah. This all screams whisperer to me, but I have no idea why a whisperer would want to infiltrate this outfit. Even excluding the syndicates and Ultras, there are plenty of better targets to pick for a heist. And I have no clue who’d be willing to hire one to mess with us.” There was a small whirring sound as Gerald’s wheelchair graft rotated him slightly so he could reach the small printer on his desk.

“THAT. IS. WHY. I. WANT. HER. ON. YOUR. TEAM.” Gerald grabbed a plastic slip from the printer and set it by the tablet. It was a temporary ID for Mercy. “YOU’RE. GOOD. AT. PICK. ING. UP. DE. TAILS.” He turned back to face Henry. “KEEP. AN. EYE. ON. HER. AND. LET. ME. KNOW. ANY. THING. SU. SPI. CIOUS. GOT. IT?”

“Where is she now?” Henry picked up the ID and tapped it against the desk.

“TOLD. HER. TO. TALK. WITH. THE. QUAR. TER. MAS. TER. TO. GET. A. UNI. FORM. THEN. HEAD. TO. THE. AR. MORY.”

“How long ago was that?”

“WHEN. I. MES. SAGED. YOUR. TEAM. WHEN. I. COULD. N’T. REACH. YOU.” Henry grimaced at that and gave a few nods.

“Well, guess I better get in uniform too.” Henry hopped to his feet  and launched for the door.

“HEN. RY.” He paused just as his hand was about to turn the door handle. “I. LIKE. THE. NEW. HEN. RY. I. WOULD. LIKE. TO. KEEP. HIM. A. ROUND.” With a final nod, Henry opened the door and headed straight for the locker room. 

Since the locker room was directly across from Gerald’s office, Henry figured he’d check there first in case Mercy was still getting changed. The door opened in front of Henry as a few of his coworkers stepped out and he slipped past them. Taking a quick gander at what was the unofficial “ladies’ side,” Henry didn’t see anyone and there was no one on the “guys’ side.” He quickly made it to his locker, boots squeaking against the damp floor. The warm and wet scent of water vapor mixed with aerosol deodorant punched his nostrils.

Henry usually left his locker unlocked since he never left anything in there besides his uniform. He opened the locker door and took off his jacket and holster to hang on it. Reaching inside, he first grabbed a padded shirt that was made of cut resistant materials. Next he grabbed the protective vest. Some of Henry’s coworkers poked fun at him for wearing the vest, and if Henry had been younger, he would never have worn one. He had been shot and stabbed a few times, and despite how unpleasant it was, he wasn’t bothered by the idea of it happening again. What did bother him was when he came home after his last injury, Chicory had a breakdown upon seeing him. Putting on the vest hindered his movement a bit, but a little discomfort and ridicule was worth it. He was able to put the holster on over the vest. Lastly, he put on the company jacket: a dark forest green weatherproof jacket with “STREET SWEEPER, INC” in arching, bold gray text on the back. 

After shoving his burgundy jacket into the locker, Henry headed for the Armory, boots squeaking all the way. Upon leaving the locker room, Henry spotted the door to Gerald’s office closing and his gut told him that it was probably Mercy, so he booked it to his left, past the gun range, and pushed open the door to the armory. There was a small area past the door before you reached a service counter surrounded by metal caging and a heavy metal door. Gerald was deathly serious about making sure everything was accounted for and that nothing from this business ended up on the streets. To help him do that, he had hired Wallace, a tiny muroid in his mid-twenties that loved guns and organizing. Henry had never been behind the counter before, but he could always see how meticulously well kept the armory was, not to mention how well maintained all the equipment was. Currently, Wallace was arguing with one of the company bounty hunters.

“No, you are not getting another SAB12! The condition you brought the last one in was horrendous!” When Wallace got angry, he tended to let out little squeaks while he talked. Sometimes he squeaked when he was excited too. Combine that with the fact he stood on a stool just to see over the counter, most of the people working for Street Sweeper saw him as incredibly cute. Truthfully, Wallace liked the attention, but sometimes it infuriated him when he felt people were being condescending to him because of him being perceived as only cute.

“We were in the middle of a firefight and it jammed!”

“It wasn’t jammed! The safety was on!” Wallace saw Henry from around the person he was dealing with and held up his little pink hand to let Henry know he needed a moment. “I still don’t know what the hell you did but you broke the safety mechanism, which somehow also damaged the feeding mechanism! Most of the parts are damaged beyond my ability to fix!” Wallace fiddled with something under the counter and placed a pump-action shotgun on the counter then a scoped magnum revolver. “Until further notice, this is what you get from me! Don’t like it, talk to Gerald!” Wallace pointed to Henry. “Your usual?”

 “Yep.” Henry mosied up to the counter, leaning against it. “I can sign the forms while you get them.” Wallace slid a clipboard and pen in front of Henry. He signed and dated everywhere he needed to on the forms. Despite the fact that he had signed these forms hundreds of times and that they never changed, Henry always had to double-check if he did it correctly. Sometimes Henry wished that Wallace would set up a digital rental system he could sign into, but the guy didn’t seem the most tech-savvy. The other bounty hunter tried to keep arguing with Wallace, but when he went into the armory to grab Henry’s stuff, the hunter angrily grabbed the shotgun and left. “Hey Wally, quick question for ya.”

“Yeah?”

“A cheetah come through here?” 

“Yeah. She left a few minutes ago. I think I like her.” Wallace hopped back onto his stool, placing a helmet and a holstered pistol on the counter. “She was very particular about the gun she wanted to borrow.” He rested his head in his hands,  clearly swooning over her. “She wanted to know about fire rates, weights, grip styles, storage cases, different magazine types, scopes, calibers, ammunition types and which worked best with each gun.”

“Sounds like you’re ready to marry her.” Wallace became a bit flustered.

“UH, no, I, um, no no. I couldn’t, I mean, she wouldn’t. It, um, it’d be unprofessional!” Henry chuckled.

“Cat got your tongue?” Wallace glared at him. “Just teasing you a little, Wally.” Henry picked up the helmet and carefully inspected it. It was a ballistic resistant helmet, made from carbon fibers and kevlar with a series of translucent aluminum visors. Originally made for standard humans, variations of the helmet were made to accommodate the different humanoid species that existed now. This version was more elliptical in shape to account for snouts like Henry’s. Holding his floppy ears at the back of his head with one hand, Henry slid on the helmet with the other. “So, what did she get?” Henry’s voice was muffled in the helmet.

“She wanted an anti-material rifle, but Gerald didn’t want her to start with that. Even if he was okay with it, we didn’t have the model she wanted.”

“And that was?”

“A Q48. Military-grade stuff is hard to get, plus that specific model was banned for civilian ownership a long time ago in this country, so they’re very uncommon to find in the market. A bit easier to find if you’re near the northern border though.” Henry thought back to Mercy’s application.

 Maybe she really had fought in the riots.

“We compromised on a Macky 466 type B. Better range for this area and the ammo is still powerful enough to put holes in grafters if needed.” Henry grabbed the holster off the counter. When he first started out as a bounty hunter, Henry typically used a shotgun, but encountered enough situations where they proved inconvenient. When he tried switching to smaller firearms, he found their effectiveness against grafts lacking. Eventually he found a handgun that gave him the best of both. Inspired by the “Judge” handguns of old, Gavels were large caliber semiautomatic pistols that had a secondary barrel and firing mechanism for shotgun shells when it was engaged. Most models required the wielder to manually engage it, but this particular gun had been modified so Henry could use his cerebral assistant as well. “Actually, the mechanism that lets you fire shotgun shells with yours can use the same ammo as hers. Might help you in a pinch.” Henry hooked the holster onto the left side of his belt before fastening the bottom of the holster to his thigh with its belt. With a few tugs, he confirmed it was properly attached. Wallace put two magazines and four thin shotgun shells on the table and Henry stuck them in the side pouches of the protective vest.

“What type of ammo you give her?” Wallace crossed his arms.

“Standard ballistics, three mags, a magazine of emp rounds, and a mag of shredders. Nothing too fancy.” Henry had his cerebral assistant sync with the helmet and it came to life as info began being displayed on the inside of the visors.

“Alright, thanks Wally.” Henry’s voice was no longer being muffled. “I’ll try to bring everything back in one piece.”

“Hey, I appreciate it, but I’m not particularly worried about you. Compared to most of the bozzos that come here, you have a pretty good track record.” Henry smiled at Wallace and headed out the door. 

As soon as Henry exited the armory, he saw Mercy awkwardly leaning against the wall by the double doors to the front, arms crossed with a rifle case propped up beside her. Henry had expected her to be taller, but her application did have her at approximately one and three quarters meters. It seemed that she had opted for athletic clothes instead of the typical work apparel. Seeing that they left her forearms and shins exposed, he wondered if they didn’t have the right size or if she deliberately picked them. She wasn’t wearing any protective gear from what he could tell. As his eyes fell to Mercy’s feet, Henry was surprised that she was wearing a tattered pair of human sneakers. The shoes seemed even more out of place with her digitigrade legs. Henry knew about the scar on her face, but he was surprised by the scars on the rest of her body. They were thick and bright pink, like some massive parasite living just beneath her skin. Some of them seemed to be located at joints while others went in wild directions. 

Perhaps they were surgery scars from having her grafts installed or injuries from the riots?

Her expression was one of annoyance, which made sense considering the two coworkers beside her that appeared to be hitting on her. Henry expediently made his way towards her. Before he had made it halfway across the room, Mercy had turned and locked eyes with him. Her eyes were a light shade of amber, which made her pupils stand out as piercing black dots. The black of her pupils was so intense that it masked the red tint of her artificial eye. Henry could feel the primal challenge behind her stare. He could also feel his heart beat a little faster as her gaze remained upon him. As Henry finally crossed the room, the two coworkers stopped pestering Mercy to see what he wanted with her.

“You’re Mercy, right?” She didn’t respond, continuing to stare at him. She seemed to be taking in every detail of him. “I’m Henry, your patrol captain. You ready to go?” Mercy continued to stare silently at Henry for a few moments before standing up and grabbing the rifle case. Slinging it over her shoulder, she walked around Henry to the double doors and headed outside. Henry followed quickly behind her. When they were back in the bright autumn sunshine, Henry placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She flinched. “By the way.” He retrieved the ID from his pocket. “You’re going to need this to get into the office until your SIG key gets set up.” He held it out to Mercy, where she stared at it for a moment before slowly grabbing the corner of the card and pulled it from his hand. She studied the ID for a few more moments before pocketing it. “Also, what’s your SIG? It’d be useful for us to have it.” 

The two of them stood there in awkward silence as Henry waited for Mercy to say… something. Anything. She kept staring at the ground, her eyes shifting as she was in thought. A few seabirds interrupted the silence with their calls, but nothing seemed to spur Mercy. It began to make Henry’s hair stand on end.

“Hey, you okay?” Mercy mumbled something. “Uh, can you say that again?” She looked up from the ground, staring dead ahead down the street.

“I don’t just let strangers into my head.” Henry was starting to get worried. Mercy didn’t seem like she was… all there.

“It’s just so we can communicate while we’re separated. That’s all.” Mercy’s body was incredibly rigid, to a degree that Henry didn’t know if she was breathing or not. “Okay… well… I guess we’ll figure that out later.” Henry pulled up his communications with Reggie, feeling a bit of remorse at the last message he had sent the team.

ME: Hey, you got a sec to talk?

REG: Are we back on speaking terms?

ME: Sorry, I shouldn’t have sent that last message.

REG: What happened?

ME: Just stuff with Lily again.

REG: Everything good?

ME: Idk and I didn’t get to finish talking to her.

REG: You talk to Gerry yet? He stopped messaging us so I assumed you did something.

ME: Yeah, I did. Under a bit of probation rn. Do you know where everyone is?

REG: We were thinking of meeting up for lunch? Wanna meet us?

ME: Yeah, I need to introduce you to the new teammate. 

REG: OH?!

ME: Yeah, so where should I meet you?

REG: I think folks would accept a bowl of curry as an apology.

ME: …Winston’s isn’t cheap.

REG: We’ll handle our drinks and appetizers. 

ME: Fine, but only one serving. We’re heading straight there.

REG: Roger that ^.^

Henry let out a sigh and turned to Mercy, who was watching him with great intent.

“Hungry?”