The Daily Bloon

“So, really, what are we doing out here?”
The wind ruffled their hair. The gentle crunch crunch of their boots on the old city grounds filled the air when neither of them were talking. Every now and then, a chilly blast of air–probably from a landing hold several miles away–would rush towards them, making Beyt pull his ragged cotton tunic a little closer and Loot shiver for a moment.
“You’ve only asked five times, so far, Loot. Do you even listen anymore?” Beyt grumbled in annoyance. Really, this was only the second time, and was a fair question, for Beyt’s first answer was anything but satisfying, but Beyt was a little on-edge, and Loot’s bothersome questions weren’t helping his mood.
“Screw it, man, I’m just curious. I always hate walking through these old cities. Kinda creeps me out, ya know? Like, I can imagine one of those office buildings standing right here, where hundreds of people went to work every day, content with their cell phones and Game Boys and all that shit.” Loot’s left foot slipped off of a cement block on the last word, almost causing him to fall.
“Careful, man, you don’t wanna be shipped to a medhold just for a sprained ankle. You’d just be wasting our med’s valuable time, eh?” Beyt smiled. “Besides, why are you so deep all of a sudden? Shouldn’t you be complaining about the lack of women on this tour, anyway?”
“Shit, I just hate tours. Why can’t we get put on a matchbox-sit from time to time?”
“Because you’re an awful shot and you pissed your pants last time.”
Loot turned red. “Shut the hell up. I’ve told you, man, I had been holding it for a really long time!”
“Well, you could’ve at least pissed towards the enemy. Maybe you would’ve got some of them in the eyes. Then they would’ve been as bad of a shot as you are!”

Loot turned red again, then mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said at least I could whoop anyone’s ass in close combat.”
“Oh, shit, don’t start that again. I don’t even know why you carry that antique around anyway. What the hell is a slicer gonna do to help if they can shoot you from 20 yards away?”
Loot fell silent. They trudged on, the gravel under their feet becoming finer as they left what had been the downtown area of the city. The silence grew unbearable. Beyt made a motion to speak, but just then a tiny beeping noise emitted from his belt. Quickly, Beyt motioned Loot down, flicked the switch on the beeper to turn it off, and took the camo blanket from his pack and swept it over both of them.
In the distance, three Outlivers came into sight. They advanced slowly, but directly towards Beyt and Loot. Loot began to tremble. Pansy, thought Beyt. This’ll be an easy shot. They’re headed towards us, they’re slow, no pressure. He casually poked the muzzle of his gun out of the blanket, charged it up for 10 or so seconds, took aim, and…
…was amazed at how effectively a gunbolt can shoot through a quality pistol like his own.
“Hands over your head, bolters on the ground,” growled the Outliver behind them. He gave Beyt a kick for good measure. “And be slow about it.”
Slowly, Beyt and Loot rose from the ground, their protective gravel blanket no match for this Outliver’s keen eyes. They threw their bolters on the ground. By now, the three Outlivers they had seen had come close as well. They chuckled amongst themselves. One licked their lips in anticipation.
The Outliver laughed. “No funny shit, now. I hate it when you Runner pansies spill your blood over this nice, white ground. Stains the landscape, see.” He spat on Loot’s arm. Its corrosive make-up burned slightly, enough to send the aroma of burnt flesh wafting through the air. Loot did not cringe. “On your knees, now, Runner faggots.” Beyt glanced at Loot. He had knelt quickly, too quickly. He was trying to tell him something. But what would he want–
Of course. The slicer. It laid on his arm, ready to shoot out at the press of a button. It almost looked like a cybernetic graft on his arm like that, which is probably why the Outlivers weren’t trying to do anything about it. Beyt saw the button he had to push. Maybe with his elbow…
Beyt started kneeling down, feigned a slip, and let his crooked elbow fly in the direction of Loot’s forearm. Beyt closed his eyes, too scared to look. When he didn’t hear anything after a second, he took a peek. Everything was the same. He must’ve missed. Shit! he thought. I just screwed our only chance of getting out of this!
One of the three Outlivers laughed. “Hey look!” He said, gesturing towards Beyt. “He’s got a hurt leg!”
“We should make him dance!” laughed another.
“Oh, come on, Turgid, it’s rare for us to get these scum alive. Let’s have some fun with them! Make him dance!”
The one called Turgid grinned sadistically, and motioned toward Beyt. “Come on, Runner. Dance.”
Beyt slowly rose, thanked the Empire for his luck, and started moving his feet and legs around. He moved faster and faster on them, flailing wildly, screaming out to keep the effect, until, with one kick, he hit the button of the slicer on Loot’s arm.
Loot was up before the slicer was in his hand. He kicked the bolter out of Turgid’s hands and with the leg still up, bent his knee and caught Turgid on the jaw. By this time, the hand holding the slicer had pressed the appropriate buttons for lengthening the thing, and was able to finish his successive kicks with a quick thrust of the glowing red light, a swift curve down and then curve back up, with only the tapered tip of the slicer touching Turgid’s chest, but directly on his heart, burning through the walls of tissue like paper, and leaving a still-smoldering hole in his chest from which blood freely flowed.
Beyt had, during this time, tried to keep the other Outlivers from drawing their bolters but had only been able to kick the hand of one away from his holster before the other two had begun rapid-charging. It was to no avail, however: an arc of light swept through the two guns and would’ve caught their hands, too, if the Outlivers hadn’t been so quick to react. One started to run, but Beyt had moved quickly, too, and used Turgid’s already-charged bolter to shoot him before he was 30 feet away. The final Outliver was crafty, and used this time to bring his thick foot to Beyt’s stomach, sending Beyt to the ground unconscious. He then took several steps away from Loot, who was not too happy about that last kick.
Baring his teeth, the Outliver snapped off the medallion on his neck and pushed a button on it. A slicer blade sprung up. Its oranger blade betrayed its model make–it was less refined than Loot’s bright red slicer–but Loot would bet that it could still do as much damage as he had done to the groaning Turgid behind him. Loot closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
The Outliver, far from these silly rituals of dueling, leapt towards Loot, his acrid saliva flying from his roaring mouth. But Loot’s eyes were already open and his slicer already prepared, and he parried the attack and sidestepped quickly. The Outliver was suprisingly nimble, however, and landed gracefully, already beginning to swing his slicer horizontally towards Loot’s head. Loot ducked and tried to get the Outliver in the leg, but the Outliver also kicked out for this exact purpose and sent Loot sprawling on the ground. The Outliver turned towards Loot and waited for him to get up. He smiled at the incredulous look on Loot’s face.
“What are you so surprised about, Runner? We have honor the same as you. Best two of three. But,” he said, “this means that I get a small consolation prize.” He turned a crank on the hilt of his slicer. The blade flickered for a moment, then flared up bigger and bigger. The Outliver now had a very large beam, about a foot wide and three and a half feet long, extruding from the hilt. Loot shook himself off and got up.
“Fair enough.”
This time, it was Loot that charged, thrusting forward directly at the Outliver’s chest. But the Outliver simply brought his slicer in front of Loot’s point and pushed out.
Loot was pushed back several inches by the impact of his finer beam to the Outliver’s forceful beam. Not about to give more time to rest, the Outliver brought the tip of his beam up and slashed downward, intending to slice Loot in half. Loot barely brought his beam up in time to deflect it. Even so, the Outliver’s blade crashed a few inches from Loot’s feet, sending sparks flying as they fried the gravel on the ground, and Loot’s arm felt dead after the impact. Quick to recover, however, Loot stepped back and swiped his own slicer against the ground, sending a shower of sparks flying towards the Outliver. Unprepared for this new trick, the Outliver tried to shield his eyes his his arm. However, by doing this, he left his guard open, and he soon felt a slight burning in the middle of his chest. His eyes shot down to see the point of Loot’s slicer an inch from his skin, the chesthairs burning from the close proximity to the beam.
“Best two out of three,” grinned Loot, and he stepped back.
The Outliver grunted in agreement, and waited for Loot to begin the next round.
Loot smiled, then popped off the bottom part of his hilt. He pushed a few buttons, and a beam, a second one, emerged from the bottom of his hilt. The two sides flashed red together.
“My consolation,” said Loot.

Beyt regained consciousness to see Loot closing the eyes of the dead Outliver. Loot had a deep burn on his shoulder from too close of a call, but the Outliver was not as lucky–he had a 3 inch hole burned through him. However, Loot’s tears were falling onto his chest. He was crying over the body as if he were a fallen comrade. Beyt, not quite understanding, came over to Loot and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked Loot tentatively.
Loot nodded.
Beyt paused, then asked Loot why he was crying.
“Because…because of this war. It’s stupid.”
Beyt nodded. He didn’t understand what Loot was talking about.
“He had honor, Beyt. He had honor. He was…” Loot sniffed, shut his eyes for a second, then opened them. “He was a good opponent.”
Beyt waited for a while to see if Loot had anymore to say, and when it seemed he didn’t, began to talk himself.
“It’s ok. We can go back to our hold and report three Outlivers in the territory.”
“His name was Yggdrasil.”
Beyt paused again, not understanding.
“…What?”
“His name. It was Yggdrasil.”
“How…how do you know?”
“Because he told me. Because I asked. So I could send his soul back to the earth. To bless him, Beyt. To bless him.”

A cold blast blew across the old city grounds, empty save for a body wrapped in a camo blanket, burning blue as an orange slicer set on low gave the corpse a respectful fire to guide the Finder of Souls to guide the soul back to whence it came.