Bork Lazer

COLD PLAGUE

“ Oh, jesus, oh fuck -” The thief blubbered out loud. Omar almost sympathized the man and then, it was quickly lost when he remembered how he ended up handcuffed in their patrol vehicle in the first place. He rocked back and forth, a terrified expression on his face. “ Please let this be a dream, please let this be a dream…”

Omar opened the back door without a word and grabbed the shaking thief roughly by the shoulders. The thief’s denim hoodie was no match for the downpour and became immediately soaked. It was then that Omar immediately realized how hard it was just to see in the rain. The relentless sheets of grey splattered down onto the roads and seemingly cloaked the shambling bodies towards him. The sound of Mira’s pistol echoed in the wind -

And then, for the second time today, something grabbed him by the ankle again. Omar looked down and gaped in horror as he saw the freckled face of Emma Hopkins. She was a rookie in the force like him. Now, her dimpled face snarled flecks of blue spittle, paddling herself on the wet road wit what remained of the rest of her limbs.

“Motherfuck-” Omar swore as he brought his foot down and slammed down on Emmas head. What remained of his fellow officer became little more than a stain on his boot as meaty chunks sprayed all over the asphalt. The thief looked deathly pale and heaved over in a dry gag.

“ Holy shit, man-” The thief’s eyes then perked up and pointed over Omar’s shoulder. “ Look out!”

It only took a moan from behind for Omar’s reflexes to kick in. He swung his baton behind in an arc, aiming for what he hoped was the face. It stopped as though lodged in a piece of wood. Clamped around it were the jaws of another body. An EMT, by the looks of it. Their uniform was stained brown and red, old and new blood. The former EMT wrenched his head away and to Omar’s horror, the baton began to crack.

Police batons were made out of high quality oak wood coated in Teflon polymer. He once saw an officer drop it into the department’s wood chipper and come out the other end unscathed.The EMT had now bitten off a piece and was now grinding it like taffy between his molars. His head then disappeared in a puff of blood followed by the sound of a shotgun being reracked. The headless body collapsed to the ground and behind him was a grizzled old man, white muttonchops on either side of his cheek, and a furred stetson on his head.

“ Omar, that you?”

“Jack, the hell’s going on?!,” The old officer didn’t bother replying and walked towards him, shotgun still in hand, before hissing and clutching his left wrist. He turned the other side of his palm and blood trickled from his wrist, dripping from several dented cuts in the shape of teeth.

“ We were just returning back from the..Gah!,” Jack waved his wrist and shook his head as though a bee stung him. “ - the hospital. Then, the morgues…..they started coming out of the fucking morgues, man.”

“ Where’s our reinforcements? What about the station?”

“ Most of the station’s been infected. I’m…”Both of their eyes wavered towards the gouged cut on Jack’s wrist and then, locked onto each other again. “…..Listen, that’s not important right now. Last I heard, they’re calling the National Guard in for a quarantine.. You and Mira have to evacuate, leave the - “

Both Omar and Jack froze as they heard a loud-pitched chalk-like screech. It came at random intervals, scraping on the road like a careening automobile. The dark shadow lumbered out from behind a set of dumpsters near the station. Blue like claws dragged on the pavement like some demented ice skater. Its maw was a pit of icicles jutting out, some piercing through the cheek and sprouting from its chest. Somehow, even though its body was shredded beyond belief, it steadily treaded towards the trio of officers, gangly arms by its side.

“ Oh shit.”

A Roleplayer's Guide to The Wal

(TL;DR: Central repository for most of my thoughts and musings on my personal take on the Walmart Apocalypse setting. Feel free to gain inspiration from this as much as you like.

---

“ - Reporting another successful fiscal year with a 13.5% rise - “

“ - Always Low Prices! - ”

“ - happy to announce that we have completed construction of the Eastern Seaboard Mega-Centre- “

This is the Wal. A land of endless aisles and shoplifters.

“- Hundreds arrested and executed for shoplifting - “

“ - Why did you kill them all? - “

“ Black Friday, man. Black Friday.”

How did the Wal come to? No one knows. But, then, we all know of the Fall.

“ - Clocks frozen at 11:59 -”

“ For we swear by the oath of our cardboard encrusted ancestors - “

“ - Damn Smilers. I told you not to let them in -!”

Now, there is only one truth I know.

“March, for today we shall Exit and enter the Gates of Sliding - “

“ Get ready for a drop into the Bargain Bin, boys.”

The Wal is All.

---

Central Lore Primer

- Before the Fall, the world was run by Wal-Corp: a trans-national corporation which was the preeminent world leader in every industry and field imaginable. Agriculture, electronics, politics, genetics, electrical engineering, computing. Governments were replaced by branch management teams, internship academies took the place of universities and farms were replaced by vertical greenhouses the size of mountains. By the year, 2050, everyone became either an employee or customer of Wal-Corp.

- No one remembers when and how the Fall happened but there’s a few things we know. Long-term customers tell us stories of how an eternal eclipse fell across the land and the night grew teeth. They tell us of how the Parking Lots became full with the bodies of loyal customers attempting to seek shelter under the Wal. At first, life was peaceful under the Wal. Customers shopped. Employees worked. Wal-Corp reaped profits like never before. Then, came the Low Price Rebellion. Consisting of disaffected groups dissatisfied with the hypercapitalist screed of Wal-Corp, protests and riots erupted in the lower aisles. This eventually escalated into Bloody Friday, a chain of cyber attacks and thefts in an attempt to cripple and subvert Wal-Corp’s vaunted PA overseer systems. Instead; things took a turn for the worst as the Wal-Tomatons became berserk and turned on their former masters.

- There is no exit or entrance in the Wal. Legends tell of the Gates of Sliding where people attempt to checkout and leave the confines of the Wal. Many have tried escaping to no avail. The syncrete walls of the Wal are virtually impenetrable and few means exist to tunnel through them in time without alerting Security. Unholy leviathans past their expiry date dwell in the depths of the plumbing. Some have managed to eek out an meagre, sun-bleached existence of the Roofs but those who have managed to trek to the edge almost never survive the jump down.

- Almost everyone is a shoplifter and no one is a customer. Whatever went down on Bloody Friday revoked the status of everyone in the Wal into a bootleg version of hostis humanis generi. You cannot use free Wal-Corp health and safety auto-clinics because you are a shoplifter. You cannot legally buy any Wal-Corp product because you are a shoplifter. You are not officially allowed on the premises of Wal-Corp property because you are a shoplifter. All shoplifters will be punished appropriately according to Wal-Corp’s charter code with no quarter.

- Society is divided into departments who have embraced the madness of the Wal by adopting mad ideologies to survive. From the balkanized Free Sections of Grocery, the Stationary Shogunate, the Cleaning Crews and the roaming Brand Gangs, every inhabitant of the Wal is unique in their own way, carving out a unique philosophy suited to their section and their surrounding environment.
The employees are either dead or untrustworthy. The mass majority of employees including the Board of Directors died during Bloody Friday. There are rumours of hidden enclaves of employees biding their time or hiding amongst the general populous, disguised as customers.Becoming an employee is highly difficult with little to no reward and pray that Wal-Corp doesn’t find out that you haven’t been reporting to your manager….

- The Wal-Tomatons are inherently untrustworthy. Centuries of software erosion and a lack of essential firmware updates from Wal-Corp’s central systems have made them extremely prone to glitches. There is no rhyme or rhythm to their subroutines or directives, for they will singlemindedly seek fufillment of their tasks by whatever means necessary. Some individuals have claimed to be able to reprogram Wal-Tomatons but these measures are often always temporary as Wal-Corp’s electronic copyright countermeasures force a reversion back to factory mode…..

- Technology is an anachronistic mix of jury rigged equipment and Wal-CorpTM products which are functionally indistinguishable from supernatural phenomenon. From special sale halloween masks that transform you into monsters, the highly addictive life-extending drug known as Age B Gone, mutagenic puppy chow and nano-assembling kitchen knives; each department has a monopoly on a certain piece of Wal-Tech.

-Everything has a price or capital to be more exact. The exchange of capital for goods is a time-honoured tradition in the Wal. Charity is viewed as an utmost sin.

- The world outside the Wal, for all intents and purposes, is a mystery. Were it not for the horrors of what lies outside, most of the Wal’s inhabitants would be wiped out by hordes of security automatons.

Guidelines To Making Your Own Version of The Wal

1)The tenets of obsequious hyper capitalism must be observed within the setting to a satirical extent but never to the extent where it glamourises without retrospection. The Wal as a setting is both deeply amusing and terrifying. It is a nightmarish manifestation of not just America’s but an increasingly global fetishesm for consumerism, materialism and corporate culture taken to dire extremes.

2)Make the mundane ludicrous. The Wal is a darwnistic hellhole that forces you to either adapt or die. That hypochondriac in the pharmacy section who spends it all on placebos pills? Make him into a mad witch doctor who attempts to experiment with bogus prescriptions on unwary passerbys? That uber-competitive soccer mom in the sports section? Make her into a cult-like figure who recruits orphans from all sections of the Wal and brainwashes them into child soldiers to do her bidding. That tacky ass under-age vaper near the checkout. Make them into a guru shaman who gets ‘visions’ from smoking flavored cigarettes. The only limit is your imagination.

3)The 10 tips above are general things that I consider central to any Wal-Canon but you can alter them as you see fit.

4)There should always be an undertone of horror with the Wal. When you play with the Wal, you can’t forget how deeply fucked up it is and attempt to romanticize the idea of all of humanity being trapped inside a death world like environment.

5)When considering brands or franchises, either play it ironically or play it straight to a satirical extent.
There is always a world outside the Wal and it is in ruin but aside from that, not much else is clear.

COLD PLAGUE

It was odd hearing Mira's voice being so stilted. As his superior, Omar looked at Mira as a steadfast rock throughout his time in Lambour. Now, he wasn't quite sure what to make of her. It was both humbling and frightening at the same time to see her locked in the same straits that he was. His hands trembled as the growing pools of blood on the tiled floor felt like they were drowning him in their crimson glow. The hand that had fired the pistol still felt leaden, numb. The gunfire still rang in his head like a bell.

Omar wordlessly nodded in response to Mira's command, heart still pounding and nerves still frayed from killing not just one but two people in the span of a day. His instructors told him that it was a statistical inevitability that he would have to take a life in his line of work. As soon as Mira walked out of the door, Omar felt as though a valve had been released. He hunched over onto his knees and his stomach somersaulted under the wave of nausea he had been forced to hold in. The sting of bile made him cough as he swallowed it down. His knees buckled under an immovable weight.

Then, the voice of a morbidly obese gas station owner broke him out of his self-induced reverie.

" Excuse me, senor. Would you like me to get you water -?"

" No, no," Omar waved his hand, coughing. He straightened his back and looked at the shopkeeper. " I'm fine. Just remember to follow my superior's instructions."

He then exits the shop, following closely behind Mira.

---

Manuel Francocci considered himself a humble man. He had been divorced twice after his wife discovered him ‘cheating’ with his neighbour and his last wife left him for some argentinian pig. His only son left him to die in a war overseas in some sandbox. He was late on his tax. He’d been forced to mortgage his house. And now, two people had died in his humble convenience store that he had sold all of his life savings to build.

Truly, this was the culmination of bad luck. One could only wonder whether there was some way for him to avoid all of this misery and nonsense.

As he took out a mop and dipped in a bucket of water, he failed to notice the still corpse, head blown up, slowly begin to rise back up. It jerked shakily, arms spasming, before pulling itself up with renewed vigour.

When Mr Francocci turned to look back at the corpse, all he saw was a pool of blood followed by a frostbitten mouth jutting out with jagged crystals of ice.

---

“I’ll take the wheel,” Omar said as he slammed the boot closed and sidled up in the driver’s seat. It was a voice that brokered no discussion and no debate. He adjusted the rear view mirror to take a good look at himself. Even wit the blood wiped off his face, he could still see it, still feel it. Something greasy crawled on his skin that made him want to scratch it off.

The drive was silent on the way to the station. The streets were emptier now and the rain had intensified into a downpour. The roof of the cruiser sounded as though it was being pounded by a foreman. In the rear view, Omar could see the perp being restless in his seat, leaning back and forth. He tugged against his handcuffs for a moment and then, limply gave up on his efforts. He shuffled forward and craned his neck towards the cage that separated him from Mira and Omar.

“ Hey, what the hells’got you two so spooked. You were chatty - “

“ Do us both a favor,” Omar interrupted, leaning back to look at the perp. “ And shut the fuck up.”

Twenty minutes of near peaceful driving returned some warmth back into Omar’s hands. The sound of the round almost washed away his memories of killing two people today. In fact, all he could dread was the huge deluge of paperwork he would have to sift through to write the incident report.

When the station came into view, Omar noticed two things that were wrong.

Firstly, the western gate was left wide open. It was normally closed to prevent civilians from entering.

Secondly, a cruiser was parked at a slant angle to the entrance, the lights still flashing.

“ What the hell….,” Omar parked the car a few feet away from the cruiser. The rain briefly calmed and he could make out a figure dressed in a service coat behind the truck. They weren’t moving towards them or making any sort of motion whatsoever. They were just standing still.

“ Stay in the damn car,” Omar said to the perp. “ Mira, watch over him. I’ll check on what the hell’s going on.” He stepped out, blinded by the shower of rain. He parted his arms through the dense thick rain as he stepped closer. He squinted and he could make out a tuft of ginger hair in the weather.

“ Bromley? What’s going on. Bromley -,” The figure turned around and Omar swore out loud as he saw the same frigid blue eyes and gnashing teeth back at the gas station, only with a different face.

“ Fuck, Mira! He’s turned into one of those fucking things!”

COLD PLAGUE

Hands still shaking on the trigger, Omar shakily nodded as he holstered his Glock to go examine the body inside the freezer. His breath shuddered as he kneeled down to look at the still corpse more closely. Even in the dim light, he could still see the blood. It was easily the most gruesome sight that he had seen in his 10 years of work as a police officer. The flannel jacket was torn to shreds and everything down below his chest was a gaping well of guts and viscera that continually bled out a pool of red. The woman he killed had gobbled her way n to the spine where visible teeth-like indentations were strewn across the bone.. Omar switched on his flashlight to take a better look at the body. The checkered wounds on the open chest and the neck reminded him of roadkill that he’d seen driving over the interstate. Omar moved the light to his head.

The victim’s eye blinked.

Omar shouted out loud as the corpse became possesed, hands leaping out towards him. Omar pulled out his Glock immediately and aimed for the head. The relief he felt when he pulled the trigger was quickly replaced by dread as the gun clicked empty. The man, in the midst of his fumbling for a new magazine, managed to slip a blood-splattered hand over his ankle and a spike of frigid pain went up Omar’s spine.

“ Fuck!,” Omar instinctively recoiled back his foot and stamped down on the hand hard. He felt the hand, the bone under the sallow skin shatter into a thousand pieces under his sole. The man didn’t seem to notice it, still limply pawing at him. Omar took a step back, panting in pain. The dead man in front of him attempted to lift himself off the floor to walk towards Omar but the rules of human physiology, namely missing half of your lower torso, prevented him from doing so. The man realized this and so began to drag himself across the floor in a bloody trail. Omar quickly reloaded his Glock, pulling the slide back to check there was a bullet, before firing at the man’s skull.

The man’s skull exploded in a shower of blood and he became motionless. Omar prodded the corpse gently with his foot to see if it still moved and clasped his chest, heart still beating fast. He stumbled out of the freezer, absentmindedly walking past Mira. His finger wiped a speck of blood that was on his mask before looking at her with uncertainty.

“ The girl was sick. Do you think this is…,” Omar’s mind didn’t want to connect the thoughts. Surely, it couldn’t have been related to the outbreak. “- some sort of symptom? Maybe, we should contact EMS and see if there’s any similar - “

The sound of Blue Monday punctuated the air. Omar looked down towards his vest where his cell phone was stored. Nodding apologetically to Mira, Omar flipped open his vest pocket and spoke into the receiver.

“ This is Omar speaking. Who is this?”

“ Fucking finally!,”A panicked nasally voice with a country twang nearly defeaned Omar. “ I’ve been trying to reach you and Mira through comms for a minute now! We got multiple 10-34’s near Lambour General. We need reinforcements.”

“ Carl?,” Omar said, confused. Carl was supposed to be at the station today on desk duty. “ Relax. Give me a sit-rep.”
“ Fuck, Omar. I don’t know what’s happening in this crowd. The next moment, they’re complaining it’s too warm in the hospital. The next, they’re swarming out in droves. I- “ The phone suddenly became filled with static before returning back to the sound of audible screaming. “ Just get her as fast as you - KZZZTTTTT”

The call declines. Omar tries again and all he’s met with is his caller declining the call multiple times. Eventually, he throws up his hands and looks towards Mira for guidance.

“ Carl just called us. Apparently, there’s 10-34’s at Lambour General. Says he needs back-up. Do you think we should respond or get the perp back to the station?”

Somehow, the thought of dealing with a riot brought a sense of certainty into their current situation. Dealing with pissed off civilians was easier than the violation of natural laws that they were observing before them right now.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Before Aroxy could even process the reply, Helma directly connected the crew comms to the Heavenly Sword channel and proceeded to rant in it.

“ Why don’t you goose-stepping, jobbie jabber, baw bag, cludgie Heavenly Sword chickenshits come over here so I can shove that limpdick pussy ass GongGong up your asshole - “

Aroxy immediately shut down Helma’s comm privileges and grimaced at what he saw through the Von Luckner’s periscope. Radical insurgents and dirty bombs were like mixing oil and fire. The Free World Civil War thankfully never had guerillas who had access to enriched nuclear material. Through a twisted lens, Aroxy had to begrudgingly respect the insanity of the stratagem. The dam was the utilitarian nerve cluster of Nui Awa and silencing it would not only contaminate Nui Awa’s water supply for generations but likely blow them back into the Stone Age. It was a brilliant heartless tactic that only madmen could have come up with.

“ Turn 10 degrees to the left. 30 degrees up. Load smoke and fire on my signal.”

“ Only problem with that one, sir,” Ansel replied whilst loading a firing belt of 50 cal into the Von Luckner’s auxiliary Ramseys. “ We’re out of smoke.”

“ Acknowledged.” Aroxy blinked and then, peered out of his periscope in disbelief. “ I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Could you repeat that again?”

“ I said, we’re out of smoke.”
Aroxy wordlessly nodded and then, at the speed of a slug, slowly craned his neck over towards Takka who had taken command of the auxiliary MG mounted to the Merry Go Round’s turret to bisect a dazed insurgent who had been launched from their motorcycle.

“ Correct me if I’m wrong, Lieutenant Takka, but I remembered I specifically said to requisition new ammo from the quartermaster at HQ?”

“ Well……….,” Takka shrunk in his seat.

---

“ So, like….. So like…” Takka teetered on the edge of his seat as he stared at the reflection of himself in the puddle. His bloodshot eyes squinted, shifting towards the deconstructed tank shell cuddled in his hands. The gunner wasn’t sure how he managed to screw the top of the shell off and insert a rubber hose into it but in all honesty, the last 4 hours of his life was a total maze. He took a puff off the noxious mixture from the shell and breathed it out in sputtering gags.

“ Get this. Got a wild theory for you. What if we’re all just puppets controlled by cats. Cats with laser eyes. Think about it. That fucking Kerensky little shit thinks he can fucking jack my body at night and pilot it to rewire the quantum strings of the universe, he’s got another thing coming…”

---

“ Goddammit.” Aroxy slammed his fist against the hull of the tank. “ Guess we’re doing this the hard way. Helma, we still got incendiary?”

“ Aye, aye, cap.”

“ Takka, aim downrange of Echo-1. We’re gonna keep firing until all that goddamn truck can see is a forest fire.”

Takka and Helma worked together like a well-oiled machine, Helma chucking shells into the autoloader and Takka scattering the subsonic projectiles down a quarter of a klick from the front of the truck. The rounds splashed a sea of fire onto the plains, lighting the dry spring grass orange, as a cloud of black smog rose up to swallow the big rig.

COLD PLAGUE

Mira’s screams broke Omar out of his trance and he sees his superior squirming on the ground, the shadow of the woman over her. There is no time to think, only act. Omar took a deep breath to concentrate, barrel pointed at the woman’s face. Just as her teeth were an inch away from Mira’s throat, Omar presses the trigger. The 9mm bullet cores through the left side of her temple and exits out the other side in a bloom of dark red blood. Warm droplets spray on his cheek. The woman drunkedly teeters on her feet, jaw slack, before collapsing on the ground.

He stares at the body of the still, cooling corpse. His pistol is still aimed up, ready to shoot at any sign of movement. He takes a step and then, another. The corpse still lies motionless. Even after shooting her in the head, Omar can’t still help but believe against all logic that hse somehow may still be alive. He prods her with his foot and then, his head falls in both relief and shock.

“ Fuck,” says Omar. He holsters his pistol and walks over towards Mira, worry evident on his face. He silently appraises her for any signs of injury. He cannot bring himself to even acknowledge what just happened to her out of some hope that she can come up with an explanation. It only takes a few seconds of looking into her fearful eyes that he realizes that she’s in the same straits that he is. Omar then grabs her arm in a solid grip and slowly helps her onto her feet.

“ Did you see what I see?,” Omar gestured to the still body with a nod. “ Mira, this can’t be fucking real -”

“ My god, officers!,” Omar turns his head to see Mr Francocci standing in the open entrance of his office. His head tilts to get a better look and his gills turn green. He leans over in dry heaves. “ Oh god, oh god, I am never going to financially recover -”

Omar pinches his nose in exasperation as the store owner begins to go in the midst of an rant.

“ - Mr Francocci - “

“ - The cleaning bills alone would - “

“ Mr Francocci -” Omar says with a little more force. “ Sir, do you recognise this woman as the same one that came into your store?”

The store owner leans over hesitantly, his eyes peering through the cracks of the hand that cover his face.

“ Yes, I think she is, officer.”

“ Did you notice anything funny about her.

“ She was struggling to stand, sir,” The store owner rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “ I remember now. She was complaining that it was too hot in my store. When she vomited on my floor, her friend moved her to the freezer.”

Her friend. Omar stands up for a moment to take a quick look at the body he saw in the freezer with the flashlight. His face pales. It’s a gruesome sight. The man’s belly is completely excavated, torn to the bone. Omar can see white ribs poking out of the sternum. Why the hell had the woman eaten her friend? What would possess someone to eat a human?

“ Shit,” Omar steps back out, shaking his head. “ Mira, we got another casualty in here. Should we call EMTs?”

COLD PLAGUE

Now by all himself, Omar shuddered again as another groan surfaced from behind the door. Omar walked, more caution in his steps than ever, as he made his way to the freezer door. The surface was coated in a slick sheen of white frost that wormed in tendrils across the foam. He rapped his fist against the door lightly before speaking out loud.

“ Police, open up.”

The moans continued on. Either the perps were deliberately ignoring him or they were somehow getting their rocks off in a cooler room in the middle of a town-wide pandemic. Omar spoke again, this time more forcefully.

“ I said, open up. We’ve got you surrounded.”

Again, the damn moans keep going on as if they didn’t even hear him. Omar rapped the door again. No response. Omar’s finger absentmindedly thumbed the trigger of the Glock in worry. He could wait for Mira to come back with the perp or go inside to spare her the trouble. Who in their right mind would spend 1 hour being stuck inside an virtual icebox in one of the oldest counties in the north east?

Pushing his body against the freezer door, Omar slowly pulled it open, hiding his body behind the frame. Wafts of icy air billowed out of the door and into the restaurant. Omar twisted his frame in and pointed his pistol out, only to be met by darkness. Grunting in annoyance, Omar reached for the flashlight hooked on his belt and flicked it on. The beam of light cut a swathe through the impermeable void. His flashlight glinted off the gleaming icicles that hung from the damp metallic shelving units. All the while, the moans continued to echo inside the refrigeration unit, piercing the hum of the air conditioning units.

Suddenly, he heard a slick sound of something wet falling to the ground. Omar turned his flashlight around and his blood chilled. It was a woman standing over a still corpse of a man on the ground. His eyes were glazed over and his mouth was ajar, a trickle of blood flowing out.

“Maám, are you -,” Omar’s mouth gummed up the moment her neck craned around towards him. Her skin was a ghoulish white, varicose veins coursing underneath her neck and skin. Everything below her mouth was covered in dripping red blood, flowing down her shirt and pants. Strings of viscera were stuck between her blue lips and a long piece of pink gut hung out of the corner of her jaw.

She slowly stood up, tilting her neck curiously at him, before trudging forward drunkenly. Omar shifted the barrel of his pistol up at her neck.

“ Put your hands on the ground right now.,” Omar commanded but the woman paid him no mind. She continued walking forward towards him, arms lengthened out towards his neck. “ I said - “

Omar’s words were cut off as the woman leaned forward in a stumbling push, clawing at his neck. The cold of her skin scalded him numb, causing him to shout in pain. The trigger depressed and a loud bang issued from the barrel. The woman’s head flicked back and then, turned to look at him with that same dead-eyed look. The only difference now was that there was a gaping hole in her right cheek where he could see a swollen tongue flapping up and down.

“ Fuck!,-” Omar cried out. “ Mira?! We got a situation here!”

COLD PLAGUE

Omar didn’t quite know how to react to Mira’s action. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry that he misinterpreted her instructions or grateful for saving him from a potentially foolish mistake. Omar wondered if his time in New Jersey had made him too soft for the shit that happened in the north-east. It took a second for him to process Mira’s instruction as he leaned down to pick up the shotgun. He turned it over to the side and recoiled at just how unmaintained it was. It was an antique 870 but you couldn’t tell that from how chewn the wooden stock was or from the rust-coated barrel. Omar set the shotgun down and produced a clear plastic evidence bag from his person, zipping it open to wrap it around the long gun. He signed as he settled into the minutae of logging down evidence detail with a pencil.

“ Oh, thank you, officers,” The pudgy shopkeeper was dusting himself off as he approached the pair. His skin was pallid and moist with sweat and fringes of tufted hair grew around his bald head. “ Is there anything that I might assist you with?”

“ Can you tell us what happened here, Mister…..?”

“ Alfonso Francocci,” The shopkeeper puffed up his chest proudly.

“ Mister Francocci,” Omar said brusquely, all business. “ We need the details of what happened?”

“ Of course, officer. I was closing up my store early today.” Alfonso then looked at the man in Mira’s grasp with an irritated look. “ Then, this stronzo burst from the back of my store and pointed that gun at me. He asked me to empty all the cash in my register and when I refused, he gave this to me.”

“ Was he accompanied by anyone else?”

“ Yes, a woman and a man.” Omar felt his fist clench, the robber avoiding his gaze of disappointment as the rookie officer looked at him. “ She said she felt sick and went with her friend to the cold room.,” The shopkeeper pointed over Omar’s shoulder and Omar’s eyes followed the direction of his finger to a freezer door located near the dairy section.

“ I haven’t seen them since,” The shopkeeper rubbed his hands together out of worry. “ Do you think they might have - uh- ran away?”

Then, Omar heard the groan. A bass-like rumble that teetered on being animalistic from behind the freezer door. Omar looked at the shopkeeper to see if he was in the midst of a coffee-induced hallucination and the shopkeeper's frightened face dashed that theory. The rookie officer pinched his nose, looking up as though he was praying to some pagan god for good fortune before reaching down towards his holster.

“ Stay here,” Omar didn’t even bother giving an answer as he took out his Glock again. Just as he was about to make his way to the freezer, he paused and nodded towards Mira. “ You wanna get the perp in our vehicle or you feel comfortable letting me handle this one?”

COLD PLAGUE

“ I repeat again, come out with your hands behind your head or we’ll be forced to use lethal force -,” The sound of a gunshot erupting made Omar drop the radio. Sucking in a breathe, he grasped his pistol firmly with both hands and ran towards the front of the gas station. He didn’t know who fired the first shot but he wasn’t keen with leaving Mira alone in there by herself. His boots splashed apart the rivers of rainwater that were beginning to inundate the streets, soaking the scuffs of his woolen jeans.

Once he was at the door, he could hear muffled sounds of commotion. With one hand still on the grip of pistol, the door opened with a quiet whine. Omar pushed it enough just so the edge of the door touched the lip of the bell. Immediately, Omar could hear someone shouting in a coarse, uneven voice. Male. Probably in his late 20s or early 30s. He took a peek through the crack and briefly saw a broad shouldered figure in a hoodie waving a pump-action shotgun around.

“Not a chance!,” The man spoke out. “ You make one more move towards me and I’ll paint his fucking brains all over the counter, you hear me?!”

“ Please, sir….,” A heavily lisped voice whimpered out loud. “ I’m willing to help you with your situation but you have to believe-”

There was a cry of pain and then, the sound of a shell being re-racked into a shotgun. “ You shut up if you know what’s good for you, old man.”

Alright. That was enough. The sound of lightning split the sky above and Omar used the opportunity to push open the door quietly as to not spook the robber. He didn’t want to have to fill in on the incident report about how the owner was missing half his head. The robber was still looking in the direction of wherever Mira was and didn’t notice Omar’s pistol pointed a few meters away from his head.

“ Hands on your head right now!” The robber turned his head towards Omar in surprise. This close, he could see the straw blonde hair poking out of his hood. A cherokee blue bandana was wrapped around his mouth. Freckles dotted the underside of his shadowed grey eyes. “ Put the shotgun on the counter slowly and step away from the hostage. You’re surrounded.”

The robber shifted and bounced on his feet. His movements reminded Omar when he watched mice struggle to escape the mouse traps his mom had laid around the house. “ You’ll have to do something for me first.”

Shit. Now wasn’t a good time for negotiations. He barely passed that course when the NJPD made it mandatory. Omar signed inwardly, still putting on the face of consummate professionalism as his finger rested on the trigger.

“ Put your shotgun down on the table and we can talk.”

“ You’ll just cuff me, man.” The robber scoffed, still pointing his shotgun down at the man below him. “ You’ll listen to what I have to say and then, we’ll talk.”

Omar’s fingers danced on the pistol grip, contemplating the actions he could take. The man was on edge, on the verge of breaking. Even if he’d managed to shoot him, a mis-fire from the shotgun could still happen. Talking him seemed like the best distraction for Mira to catch the robber off guard.

“ Alright. Start talking,” Omar nodded. The robber rolled his shoulders, lowering the shotgun slightly away from the shopkeeper, before speaking.

“ My little bro….” The robber’s voice trailed off. “ He’s now sick with the same bug that’s been passing around. I can’t afford a check up at the ER for her. I need him to be checked up at the doc right now.”

“You can’t cover it under insurance?”

The robber shook his head in frustration and shakily replied back.

“ I can’t afford insurance, asshole,” The robber choked back a swear. A pang of sympathy ran through Omar’s heart as he momentarily lowered his pistol before raising it back up. His parents would’ve never forgiven him if he’d failed to take care of Omid and he sure as hell didn’t want to know how he would be able to handle facing the loss of his brother.

“ How old’s your brother?, Omar said softly.

“ 7,” The robber gulped guiltily, eyes shifting towards the left of the store where another door was located. “ I brought him with me. He’s holed up in the staff room on his DS. Your partner can go over there to verify and check it out for you.”

“ You heard all that, Mira?” Omar asked out loud, pistol still trained on the man’s head. “ I’ll keep point. You can check it to see if his story matches up.”

COLD PLAGUE

Well, there went any hope of a quiet afternoon.

With a note of lazy reluctance, Omar obeyed Mira’s command and pulled the receiver close to his mouth. His other hand opened the front drawer and throws a box of tissues onto Mira’s coffee-soaken lap. “ Dispatch, this is Zero-Eight-Five-Two. Ten-Four, copy.” The line chittered with static haze before a clear voice parted through it.

“ Ten-Four, Zero-Eight-Five-Two. Be advised that witness reports indicate 3, over.”

3? Omar’s stomach knotted on itself, his knuckles turning white. Hopefully, there’d be two or three units to help back them up if things went south but with most of their units either sick or occupied with keeping martial law on the streets, they’d be lucky to get even one. Omar hesitated, looking at Mira nervously, before recollecting himself and replying back.

“10-4. Inform us if units are en-route,” The radio clicked silent and Omar signed as Mira sped through Lambour’s roads and bricken buildings. “Fuck,” Omar whisepered to himself, shaking his head. As if an pandemic wasn’t bad enough, it looked like disaster attracted the worst of opportunists. It appeared that Lambour County wasn’t going to the sleepy northern town that he originally thought it was going to be. Puddles were split into mist under the wheels of their cruiser as they entered the perimeter of the outer eastern boroughs.

Omar looked at the panoply of neon signs that hung off the sides of shop fronts, laundromats and craft shops in Willard County. Willard Street was a local staple in Lambour, connected to the first by-way for weary travellers off the I-95. Now, those same glass windows that showed glazed baked tarts and heirloom crafted wooden puppets were covered by seams of wax papers which were jaggedly written with phrases in red ink such as “STAY OUT” and “ORDER ONLINE”. The gas station at the corner was cherry red and looked positively quaint in its antiquity, the cherry red pumps still visible in the heavy rain. As Mira stopped the car off the side of the gas station, Omar could see a few local citizens standing by. He squinted through the rain to get a good look but the only thing he could make out is the door of the gas station, slightly left ajar.

Before opening the door, Omar places a white parka folded up into a triangular bundle into Mira’s hands and puts on one himself. He pushes it open and immediately regrets it. The rain is heavy, blistering. The plastic parka he’s wearing isn’t enough to stop the drops from battering him senseless. He dips his hand into his hand and fumbles around for his sidearm. His fingers unclasp the strap and the tupperware like sensation of a standard U.S issued Glock greets his fingers. His index finger hooks around the trigger guard as he reaches into the car to take out the microphone.

“ This is the Sheriff’s office. All individuals inside the premises of this building must come out now with their hands behind their head. Failure to do so will lead to - “

The sound of thunder rips through the air. Then, Omar realizes it’s not thunder when a spiderweb of cracks unfurl across their window. He ducks down and shouts a word in Hindi that he thinks is a swear.

“ Should we go in?,” Omar questioned Mira, his eyes shifting uneasily towards her. His senior's expression creases in concentration before replying back. " Stay here and keep him talking. I'll go around the back."

A protest began to arise in Omar's throat about how they should wait for reinforcements but the longer they'd wait, the more likely the situation would escalate. Omar took ahold of the radio again.

" This is your final warning. Step out with your arms in the air."

" Fuck you, man!," A voice cried out from the gas station. " You drive away first or I swear to Christ, I'm going to shoot the guys I have here in the head!"