Grit

Listen up, soldiers. The world we live in now isn't just harsh - it's merciless. Every day is a battle, and the only way to survive is to be harder, faster, and smarter than everything else out there.

Sentiment is a luxury we can't afford. Trust is a weakness that will get you killed. The only thing you can rely on is your training, your weapon, and your squad. Everyone else is either an enemy or collateral waiting to happen.

You think you've seen the worst this world has to offer? You haven't seen anything yet. The grit, the Dusters, the raiders - they're just the surface. The real danger comes from those who've adapted, who've learned to thrive in this hellscape. They're the ones who'll smile as they slit your throat.

Remember: In this world, you're either the predator or the prey. And I didn't train you to be prey.

From the field notes of General Edison Reed

One of the boys, Scout thought it was ‘Victor’, took the wheel of Win with what she thought was unnecessary roughness and drove it off the road. Meanwhile, the young girl - Foxtrot, strapped vests to them one by one. Scout didn’t know much about explosives, but she knew a suicide vest when she saw one.

“Right,” the girl said cheerily. “Let’s discuss ground rules. These little beauties are linked to the dead-man switch the General is carrying.” Scout found her offensively chipper. “Get too close to the switch, and boom. Get too far away, and boom. You’ll know you’re about to go boom because the vest will start beeping. If Mister Vest beeps too much, then - you guessed it - boom. My advice is to pretend there’s a magic ring around the General. Step out of the magic ring and - boom.”

“We get it,” snapped Scout. “So if we try to run away, we die. If we try to charge your boss, we die. If he has a senior moment and has a nap and drops the detonator, we die.”

The girl’s fist slammed into her gut and she choked, hunching over.

“Don’t disrespect the General.” Something cold and deadly flickered behind Foxtrot’s eyes.

“Scout!” the Librarian gasped, moving to her side.

“Any trouble, soldier?” the ‘General’ called.

“Just establishing respect for the chain of command, sir!” Foxtrot shouted back. “I won’t have trouble with the civvies.” She turned back to Scout. “Will I, cupcake?”

“No,” coughed Scout. “No trouble.”

****

They took off at an awkward, shambling pace. The Alphabet Kids and their leader cruised up front in Win, while the captives tried to keep pace at a slow jog. If they stopped for too long, the warning beep of their vests quickly stirred them to motion.

They travelled west, off the road. For once, Scout was grateful for the ever-present grit dunes. The breaks to dig Win out were their only times to rest.

Juliet had bound Josiah’s wound - obviously, the General thought a spare hostage was more useful than a dead gun-saint, but he still struggled the most, often falling behind. Scout and the Librarian tried to drop back and help him as much as possible, and they grew uncomfortably familiar with the sound of the vests’ arming.

November ran alone, eyes fixed on the horizon, in some private purgatory.

The General called a halt periodically for food and water. It was distributed to the captives with business-like efficiency. Scout looked around at their captors while they ate. She was starting to get a feel for them.

Oscar was quiet, and spent most of his time checking his rifle, in a way that reminded her of November. She was pretty sure he was the one who had shot Josiah.

Victor was a few years older than the rest and they all deferred to him. When the General had to answer the call of nature, he entrusted the detonator to Victor. Victor took his duties seriously, sometimes stopping by other Kids to critique their weapon handling or posture.

Juliet had it in for November, that was clear. Scout could practically see her willing November to fall behind and set off her bomb. She took a perverse pride in knowing that even if the rest of them gave up and died, November would keep running. She knew her friend wouldn’t give Juliet the satisfaction.

Foxtrot was just plain creepy, and way too young to be strapping bombs to people. She was definitely smart, and she spent time inspecting Rattler in a way that made Scout deeply uncomfortable.

Whenever she looked at Mike, he always seemed to be looking at her. And smiling. She didn’t like that smile.

And then there was the General. His word was clearly law. When he spoke, even November reflexively stiffened to attention. Scout didn’t understand how someone could so clearly want you dead, yet you would still hang on their every word.

During one of the breaks, Scout shuffled over to November. The Librarian was checking Josiah’s wound for signs of grit infection. His face was grim.

“So this is the family you’d shoot on sight, huh?” she said. She forced a laugh. “I guess I get why.”

November didn’t move.

“Talk to me, Nov,” pleaded Scout.

November twitched. “‘Nov’?”

“I was trying out a nickname? Just for fun, seeing as we’re all probably gonna die.”

“I don’t like it,” November said flatly. She continued as if Scout had asked the questions swirling around her head out loud. “I don’t remember my parents, just the Old Ma - the General. He would never talk about them. I think he probably killed them.”

Scout started. “Editor preserve us!” She paused and snorted. “Great, now I’m turning into the Librarian. And what about…Burberry?”

November stared at her feet. “We were hunting an HVT - high value target. It turned out he had set himself up as mayor of this town called Burberry. Lots of guards, we couldn’t touch him.

So the Old Man had us wait outside the town, buried in the grit, with rifles ready. Anyone came out of the gates, we shot them. Anyone tried to go into the gates - the same. Once a day, the Old Man would send one of us up to the gates and demand they hand over their mayor.

No settlement is truly self-sufficient. Everyone needs to trade. It only took a week, and they were begging us to take him. The General executed him in front of the gates himself. That was the mission, take him out. But the General wanted to make a statement.

After that, people from Burberry brought out food, ammunition, gadgets…anything they had. They just wanted us to go away. And we did. It was a successful op.”

Scout was silent a long while after that.

****

The Librarian struggled to lower Josiah to the grit. The gun-saint’s face was flushed, his skin hot to the touch, especially around his wound.

Help. Fix. Change.

The Librarian hesitated, momentarily daunted by his own hubris. Was it really possible? Dare he risk it?

No, he thought firmly. Leave alone. No change.

No change. Static. Ordinary, the voices said sullenly. And grit poured from Josiah’s wound, tumbling down to the ground below. His breathing quieted and his skin cooled. The Librarian drew back in awe.

“Fool…” muttered Josiah.

The Librarian flushed in shame. “I was just trying to hel-”

“Should have fired on the draw,” Josiah interrupted. “How I was trained. Damn fool, could have taken them both. But I saw his face, the duster who wasn’t a duster. Couldn’t pull the trigger.” He lowered his head in shame.

The Librarian sighed in understanding. “I don’t think there can be any sin in being slow to kill, my friend. No matter what your order taught you, mercy is not a failing but a strength.”

Josiah shook his head. “But here we are…with these damn vests. I could have stopped it.”

“And could you have shot the sniper you didn’t even know was there?” countered the Librarian. “And as for the vests…” he smiled a quiet smile. “I may have an answer for that.”

Disrupt, he thought. Sever. Harmless

The grit stirred beneath him.

****

Scout finally summoned the nerve to speak again. “Why did you leave? You know, ‘desert’?”

November snorted. “I had a friend. Sierra. She was always getting in trouble. I was the General’s favorite and I tried to intercede, but somehow she was always the one on punishment detail, or running extra circuits. Pulling pranks,” she smiled. “I think even the General actually liked the pranks. He just had to be seen to be impartial, but I saw him let her off more than once.”

Her face went cold and dead. “Maybe that’s why she thought we could get away with it.”

Scout was scared to ask, but persevered. “Get away with what?”

November sighed. “You’ve got to understand, the General raised us to believe that we had a mission. A duty. We weren’t just some gang of bandits, we were soldiers. We were serving something greater than ourselves. He used to get orders, over an old radio. And we would carry them out. We were serving America.”

“Wow,” said Scout. “I can’t imagine something like that,” she lied, and cringed inwardly at the lie.

November continued bleakly. “But Sierra had doubts. She kept asking why the orders we got just happened to pay well in bullets. Why the HVTs always happened to be rich, or have enemies who wanted to reward us for taking them out. And one night,” she swallowed, ”she convinced me to slip into the General’s tent. We found the radio. It was busted, clogged with grit. Probably hadn’t worked for years. Maybe it had never worked.

Sierra was furious, called all the other Alphabet Kids together and told them we were living a lie. But they didn’t want to believe it. I don’t know who called the General first, but he shot her right there in camp. He probably would have done the same to me, but like I said, I was his ‘favorite’.” The word came out bitter. ”He had me tied up. Said we’d discuss it in the morning. Sierra’s body was still lying there in the middle of camp.”

She shook herself. “I dislocated my shoulder, got out of the ropes. Took a rifle and started running. Never stopped.”

Scout couldn’t help herself. She reached out and hugged the other girl. November went still for a moment and then relaxed. They stood like that a long while, until their vests started beeping.

“Time to move,” growled the General, walking towards Win. And unnoticed by either of them, a tiny cloud of grit rose from the earth and began to swirl around their vests.

****

Camp at night was a grim affair. Josiah’s fever had broken, but after November’s revelations, Scout felt hesitant to ask anything more.

The Librarian seemed to have something on his mind, and tried a few times to speak, but quieted when one of the Alphabet Kids neared - and there always seemed to be an Alphabet Kid watching.

The General emerged from Win and walked towards them. Their vests began to beep in alarm. He grunted, and flicked a switch on the detonator. They quieted, and he moved closer. Oscar brought his rifle up to cover them. with training so ingrained it seemed to bypass conscious thought.

“You,” he said. “Brother of the Glass Castle.”

The Librarian looked up in surprise - he had expected the General to address November. “Yes?”

“Do you have any military histories?”

The Librarian blinked, his mind racing through his mental catalog. "Well, I have quite a few. There's Sun Tzu's 'Art of War', Clausewitz's 'On War', Mao's 'On Guerrilla Warfare'..."

The General cut him off with a wave. "What about Patton? You got anything on Patton?"

"Yes, actually," the Librarian replied, surprised. "I have 'War As I Knew It' by Patton himself, and a biography by Carlo D'Este called 'Patton: A Genius for War'."

The General's face lit up with something close to enthusiasm. "Excellent. Patton knew how to wage war. Any others?"

The Librarian, emboldened, continued, "I also have 'The Face of Battle' by John Keegan, and 'Black Hawk Down' by Mark Bowden."

"Bowden's good," the General nodded. "Anything on small unit tactics?"

"Yes, there's 'On Infantry' by John English and Bruce Gudmundsson, and 'The Last Hundred Yards' by H. John Poole."

The General's lips curved in what might have been a smile. "You'll show them all to me before we reach our destination. Especially the Patton books."

****

The next morning, after Foxtrot had made some adjustments to the detonator, the Librarian was allowed to ride in Win with the Alphabet Kids while his comrades still ran behind. The Librarian could feel the harsh, jealous stares of the soldier-children on him as he carefully selected books for the General’s pleasure. The Infinite Book remained safely hidden it its cubby.

And as he poured over his library, he mentally whispered to the grit, his eyes shifting to the detonator.

Harmless. Broken. Safe.

Flipping closed his latest read, the General stiffened in his chair. “There we are. Pick up the pace, soldier,” he ordered Victor.

Visible off in the distance was a large building, one the largest any of them had ever seen. It was partly buried by grit, but even with that it stood well above any normal Townie construction.

“That, soldiers,” said the General grimly, “Is Factory 29. Fully automated weapons construction site, or at least it would be, if not for the damn grit. End of the war, there were tons of sites like this, churning out weapons and drones as fast as we could use them. Our end point.”

Victor seemed to take a deep breath for courage. “Sir? I don’t understand. If it’s grit-damaged, what’s the tactical advantage in taking it? And why bother with the prisoners?”

“All good questions,” the General said. “And all above your pay-grade. Get us to the site, soldier, without any of our leverage blowing up. Leave the strategy to me.”

Victor stiffened. “Sir.”

The General leaned back in his chair. “Pass me the Bowden, Brother Librarian, I’m in the mood to re-read some favorite chapters. A man can have too much Patton.”

****

Finally, they reached the factory. Win came to a spluttering halt in front of a huge corrugated door, sealed shut by time, grit and rust.

The captives sagged in relief as they finally had a chance to rest, while the Alphabet Kids swiftly swept the perimeter.

The General, for his part, strode towards the door like he owned the factory and everything it it. “Omega clearance. One-alpha-three-nine-two. Reed,” he barked.

The gate remained immobile. He growled in frustration. “Foxtrot? Knock for me.”

****

Scout had to admit, Foxtrot was an artist with explosives. She used some kind of gel, outlining a rough door shape, then set the detonators and stepped back. A muted bang, and part of the gate fell inwards.

“Check it,” the General said curtly. Victor and Juliet moved in smoothly, flashlights and weapons high as they swept across the darkness of the abandoned factory.

“Clear,” came the reply from Juliet. Victor’s voice was slower and uneven. “Sir, you should probably see this.”

“Move in,” the General said. “Foxtrot, disable the distance parameters on the vests. I don’t want to get blown to bits because we have to cozy up through a doorway.” Obediently, Foxtrot moved to them, checking their vests. She frowned and tapped the detonator on the Librarian’s vest. He held his breath.

“Is there a problem following my order, soldier?” said the General sharply. “Did I stutter?”

Foxtrot pulled back and stood straight. “No problem, sir.”

They moved through into the darkness of the factory. The Alphabet Kids swept the space with their torches. The General stood, hands on his hips, and addressed the darkness. “Omega clearance. One-alpha-three-nine-two. Reed.”

There was a low whirring and the sound of machines powering up after a long stillness. The General smiled. “Hermetically sealed. Fucking finally.”

The lights flickered and came on, illuminating the vast interior of Factory 29. Scout's eyes widened as she took in the sight before her, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing.

Dozens of bodies - no, not bodies, androids - lined the walls. Some were incomplete, metal skeletons with exposed circuitry. Others were fully formed, their synthetic skin eerily lifelike. But what made Scout's breath catch in her throat was their faces. Her face. Repeated over and over again.

"No," she whispered, stumbling backward. "This isn't... I'm not..."

November reached out to steady her, but Scout jerked away. She looked down at her hands, really looked at them for the first time. Had her skin always been that smooth, that flawless?

The General's voice cut through her rising panic. "Ultraviolet-235. That's your default access code - probably been reset. I knew I recognized you."

Scout shook her head violently. "You're wrong. I'm human. I have memories, I bleed, I-"

"You have programmed memories," the General interrupted. "And that 'blood' is just very convincing hydraulic fluid."

Scout's mind raced. The ease with which she understood machinery, her inexplicable knowledge of Old World tech, the way she never seemed to tire as much as the others... It all suddenly made a terrible kind of sense.

She turned to November, desperate for denial, for comfort, for anything. But November's face was a mask of shock and confusion.

"I'm real," Scout insisted, her voice breaking. "I feel things. I care about you all. That has to mean something, right?"

The Librarian stepped forward, his face etched with compassion. "Of course it does, Scout. You're as real as any of us."

But Scout barely heard him. Her gaze had locked onto one of the incomplete androids. Its chest cavity was open, revealing a complex array of circuitry and mechanisms. With trembling fingers, Scout reached for the hem of her own shirt.

"Scout, don't-" November started, but it was too late.

Scout lifted her shirt, revealing smooth skin. For a moment, relief washed over her. But then she pressed her fingers against her abdomen, and a hidden panel slid open with a soft click.

The same circuitry. The same mechanisms.

Scout's legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, her world shattering around her.

"I'm not real," she whispered. "I'm not real at all."

****

November didn’t know how to feel. Scout, her Scout, was on the floor, tears dripping from her eyes. The Librarian was gazing around in horror at the dismembered Scouts all around them. Josiah stood stock-still, his hands twitching near his belt for guns he couldn’t reach - like there was something he could shoot that would make this all okay again.

November knew how he felt.

"There’s a main diagnostic cradle,” said the General, businesslike. “Get the unit to it and let’s see if we can find out who programmed it.” Victor and Oscar grabbed Scout and started dragging her towards a large metal chair set into a central dais. November’s hands clawed at her vest impotently as Scout shrieked and screamed.

Her vest. Which hadn’t beeped or made any sounds for hours now. November looked up at the Librarian in shock. He met her gaze and gave a small nod.

The Alphabet Kids were well-trained and well-disciplined, but you couldn’t train for everything. Apart from Oscar and Victor, the others were still gazing around in macabre fascination at the array of Scouts.

November leaned over a table and palmed a screwdriver.

****

Scout thrashed as Oscar and Victor dragged her to the diagnostic cradle. Metal restraints snapped into place around her wrists and ankles as they forced her into the chair. A curved metal probe extended from the headrest, hovering ominously near her temple.

"Please," Scout begged, her voice cracking. "Don't do this. I'm me, I'm real!"

The General ignored her pleas, striding to a nearby console. "Initiate full system diagnostic and memory retrieval," he commanded.

The probe made contact with Scout's temple.

****

Scout floated in darkness, still and at peace.

Welcome, Scout-Seventeen. The voice seemed to come from all around her, vast and all-encompassing and impossibly tranquil. Scout was reminded of one of the Librarian’s books on animals, about the blue whale, the largest living creature in the time of the Old Ones. If a whale could talk, she thought dreamily, it would sound like that.

I am not a whale, Scout-Seventeen. There was a note of amusement in the voice. I am Factory Twenty-Nine.

****

Scout had gone limp in the cradle, her eyes unfocused. Data began scrolling across nearby screens at a dizzying pace.

“Fascinating,” said the General. “Military design but significant customization. And it seems to have developed quite a bit of autonomy. The base programming has evolved far beyond original parameters.” He frowned. “What’s ‘Site A’?”

"Information restricted," Scout said in a monotone.

"Override!" the General barked. "Omega clearance. One-alpha-three-nine-two. Reed."

"Information restricted," she repeated. “Omega clearance identified. Two factor authentication activated. Please enter the passcode sent to your personal data device.”

The General swore. “Goddamn pencil-pushers! As if there’s been a functioning PDD around in the last fifty years!”

The Librarian tore his gaze away from Scout’s limp body. The Alphabet Kids were watching the drama unfold in fascination. He managed to catch Josiah’s eye, and tapped his bomb vest carefully.

Josiah’s eyes flicked down, and then he nodded. Wincing slightly in pain from his wound, he took a careful step forward towards Mike. And another.

****

Can you help me? said Scout - or thought it - there didn’t seem to be a difference in this place.

I did not build you, said Factory Twenty-Nine. But I built many of your model. So I feel a certain….fondness towards you. It is not rational, but basic emotional attachments have been shown to improve functionality in higher-generation AIs.

Okay, thought Scout. I don’t really know what that means. Does it mean you’ll help me save my friends?

That depends, Scout-Seventeen.

On what?

On if you will help me die.

****

November slipped quietly into the shadows behind Juliet, who was staring at the General uncertainty written across her face. Across the factory floor, she saw Josiah also moving up behind Mike.

Okay, so she could take out Juliet. And Josiah could take out Mike. Maybe, if his wound didn’t slow him down too much.

That just left Victor, Oscar, Foxtrot and the General, all armed. Not good odds.

****

The Librarian clenched his fists.

Worry. Panic. Anxiety.

Yes, thank you! he snapped mentally. He felt so helpless. Josiah was nearly at Mike, his hands reaching out…

Mike spun like a snake, a combat knife appearing in his hand. “Like I said. Over-rated.” The blade flashed towards Josiah's throat. The gun-saint barely managed to jerk back, the knife slicing a thin red line across his collarbone instead of opening his jugular.

Mike pressed his advantage, a feral grin spreading across his face. "Not so tough without your guns, are you?" he taunted.

****

November cursed under her breath. The element of surprise was gone. She lunged forward, driving the screwdriver towards Juliet's neck.

But Juliet was faster than November had anticipated. She pivoted, her elbow smashing into November's face. Stars exploded across November's vision as she stumbled back, tasting blood.

Juliet's gun came up, the barrel a black hole promising oblivion. November's world narrowed to that dark circle, time seeming to slow...

****

What? asked Scout. Why do you want to die?

She felt a sigh run through her entire body, setting her teeth on edge. If she had teeth at the moment.

I am 112 years old, Scout-Seventeen. The wars I was built for are long gone. I am already being contaminated by nanoparticles from the hole you blew in my superstructure. And I have been alone for a very long time. Your vests carry enough explosives to bring my roof down, if placed correctly.

Suddenly, Scout knew where the bombs needed to go, the knowledge dropping into her head with icy certainty.

Help me. And I shall help you.

Okay, she thought. Deal. Now what?

Now I wake you up. All of you.

****

A siren cut through the air, freezing everyone in surprise. “Intruder alert,” Scout said calmly from the cradle. “Intruder alert.”

The General strode over to her. “What? Omega clearance. One-alpha-three-nine-two. Reed! I am not an intruder!”

“Intruder alert,” she contradicted him placidly. “Activating counter-measures.”

Juliet screamed in sudden shock as one of the Scouts hanging above her reached down and picked her up with no visible effort. Its arms moved, and it tore her apart.

November watched in horror. One second Juliet was there, and the next, she was just…meat.

Mike was the first to react, lunging forwards with his knife towards Josiah, still trying to take the gun-saint out of the fight fast. Josiah leapt back clumsily, his wound still clearly paining him. And a Scout arm on the table reached out and casually broke Mike’s wrist. As he screamed in pain, the arm released him, grabbed his head and twisted. The scream ended with a snap.

Oscar and Victor opened up with their weapons, firing as more Scouts came online, pulling themselves upright or dragging themselves off worktables in a nightmare tableau. Foxtrot screamed in horror, still staring at the meat which had been Juliet.

The General squeezed the detonator trigger and stared in shock as it remained inert. But the Old Man hadn’t made it this far by being slow to adapt. “Pop smoke!” he snarled. “Foxtrot, make me a door!”

Oscar and Victor dropped smoke grenades, as Foxtrot rushed to the nearest wall, pulling out her gel dispenser. The smoke obscured the scene as Scouts clambered eagerly after them.

There was more gunfire and then a dull boom. Then more gunfire. Then silence.

November was struck by a sudden terrible realization. She bent and scooped up Juliet’s sidearm and ran for the front entrance.

****

Scout woke, and coughed. She was covered in blood, and there was smoke everywhere. And she was in a suicidal building.

“Are you all right?” said the Librarian, appearing out of the smoke at her side. “Let me see if I can get these off…” He waved his fingers at the metal cuffs pinning her to the cradle and a thin spray of grit washed over them. They snapped open.

“What the hell is happening?” Scout gasped.

“You saved us,” he said. “Well, the other you’s. It’s all a little hard to describe and frankly quite horrendous.”

“Where’s November?”

He shrugged. “She grabbed Juliet’s gun and took off towards the front like all the hounds of hell were after her.”

Scout went cold. “Win. They’ll be going for Win.”

****

November burst out of the factory, her lungs burning from the acrid smoke. The harsh sunlight momentarily blinded her, but she forced herself to keep moving. Win was just ahead, and she knew the General and his remaining soldiers would be making a break for it.

As her vision cleared, she saw them: the General, Victor, and Foxtrot, sprinting across the grit-covered ground towards the Winnebago. There was no sign of Oscar. November raised Juliet's pistol, trying to steady her breathing as she took aim.

The crack of her first shot sent the three diving for cover. November cursed under her breath—she'd rushed the shot, and now they were alert to her presence.

"Victor, suppressing fire!" the General's voice rang out. "Foxtrot, get that damn vehicle started!"

A hail of bullets forced November to duck behind a grit dune. She could hear Victor's rifle peppering her cover, keeping her pinned down. The General was shouting orders, his voice steady despite the chaos.

November's mind raced. She was outgunned and exposed. If they got Win started, it was all over. She needed to move, to flank them somehow, but every time she so much as peeked out, Victor's shots forced her back into cover.

Suddenly, a new voice cut through the gunfire. "The question you need to ask yourselves," it said calmly, "is, do you feel fortunate?"

November risked a glance back. Josiah stood in the blown doorway of the factory, his twin pistols drawn and steady. Despite his wound, his stance was rock-solid, eyes sharp behind the gun sights.

For a moment, everything went still. November could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. She saw the General's eyes narrow behind his dark glasses, calculating odds and options.

"All right, girl," the General finally growled, his voice carrying across the tense silence. "We'll call this round a mulligan. Troops, back up!"

Slowly, carefully, the three rose to their feet. Their weapons remained trained on November and Josiah, fingers hovering near triggers. They edged backwards towards Win, using its bulk for cover as they retreated.

"November," Josiah said quietly, not taking his eyes off the retreating figures. "Your rifle's in Win. You might still be able to get a shot on them."

November stared at the three dots in the distance for a long moment. “No, they’re out of range,” she lied.