Blinding sun crept across the wooden floor, painting a long white streak in an otherwise pleasantly dim interior. It reached across the makeshift stage, highlighting the dust dancing in the waves of hot air above the guitar amp. From the tiny crack left in the back door went a thick, ragged cable powering the box, pumping the tubes straight from a microfusion cell. The bar, "Atlantis" it's name, had electricity alright, coming from a wind turbine somewhat beyond the peak of it's sloped roof. It was useless on a day like this however, so it was the bike powering up the house this time - a favor returned without unneeded discussion on either part. Strings slowly decayed from their dual phantoms into one vibrating shape, reflecting perfectly off the pristine blue finish.
Today will be special, thought Kyle, observing the orange glow pulsating within his amp, following the grate on the back, frowning at the blinding streak of light as he reached the top. He was up next, his partner finished a melancholic passage on a beat up harmonica. He replied in suit, savoring the moment when two musicians could talk to each other through their art, oblivious to how bored the audience was with their wasteland blues. That's what he called it, even though nobody ever bothered to ask. It was months since he had someone play with him, on any instrument. The heat toyed with his box somewhat, adding a hint of fuzzy distortion to the sound, seeming almost too perfect in how it matched the harmonica's worn buzz. Tiny drops of spit reached the invisible wall of light as the old timer went on to stretch his part a little, picking up the tempo a bit.
That's when words "mutant" and "huge" had reached his ears, almost making him miss his part. Kyle tried to listen in, playing a few quiet notes, but the old man clearly wanted to liven up the jam, and he couldn't resist the urge. Regretfully, Kyle forced himself to lead the part to a quick end, but not without an inevitable solo before that. There was some tired applause and a few caps rang inside the case. By then he collected enough clues to assume a supermutant with a big gun was at the drug store.
It was two days too early, and he heard no gunfire, which was very unlike his mark's projected behavior, but still, there weren't many supermutants in these parts... After quickly collecting the caps, a few handfuls at least, Kyle put the guitar gently in the case, cable still plugged in, and excused himself for a moment, saying he'll be right back. His partner replied with a nod, picking his earnings from his hat. While at the guitar case, Kyle slipped a small box out of the side, unnoticed as always, and was now on his way to the back entrance of the drug store, pulling a stinger glove over his right fist. A wicked contraption, three thick needles above the knuckles, packed with enough paralyzing agent to drop the biggest of supermutants in less then a second. Powered by a shotgun slug, the needles could easily penetrate through the skull if it the heart wasn't a viable target.
He cocked the weapon and stormed through the door, just to see he got the wrong mutant.
“Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity”
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