Vision flickered in John’s eyes with the bright flashes of snow he was more used to seeing on old abandoned televisions than in the world around him. With this startling, blinking and screaming optical sensation came the whine of bees in his ears and the sensation of tumbling deep into himself. With a startled gasp — his skin soaked in cold sweat from the bad air conditioning — John sat straight up on the unforgiving motel bed, a stoney erection clenched in his fist and the room echoing in hollow emptiness. With sudden speed, he tumbled sideways across the bed and grasped at the floor for his bag. He found it still present, following the dive with a sigh of relief.

Lifting blurry vision from the ground, John was overcome with nausea and thumped back down on the bed. The ceiling was a shade of institutional nicotine cream that did nothing good for his stomach. Light burst up through the thin excuse for curtains over the windows, playing patterns across the ceiling and lulling John into a sense of ease. His stomach slowed its chaotic churns and he was distracted. The scent of his night’s companion still lingered, oranges and chocolate mixed with the lingering cherry clove.

Street sounds filtered up from ground level to his second story economy lust palace. Breathing deeply of the scents around him, John took stock of what life had brought today. From the echo of the lot, he would hazard much of the motel complex was empty by now. Many of the company men and their guests would be back in town proper, terrified of their pictures ending up in the hands of someone enterprising. Their nocturnal visitors caught what sleep they could for the next night’s curbside vigil, dreaming of their next rich john. Reaching off of the bed and into his bag, John pulled free his Aeos unit. Tilting it to avoid window glare on the screen, his eyes searched over the unit until it registered his proximity. The screen flipped into itself, coming to life with a USAP flag he had to resist saluting and reminded him that he needed to find someone to change the loading screen. With a redirection of his irises and a thumb press, he was into the storage account that kept track of food allotments. Being recently released from the military, he was a little nervous of walking around with so much and the possibility of his Aeos being hacked.

The screen registered 191 units of credited food among the federal stocks. This represented the next four years of his life if he was careful not to squander it, minus the single week of rationing he payed to last night’s distraction. The smallest trade he had was enough food to live for an entire week; fresh food that would keep Lyria well fed in return for her 12 straight hours of ministrations.

John dropped the device back into the bag, landing with a military grade thunk atop the service weapon he had been allowed to keep when he came ashore. The broken down Fabrique Nationale Herstal SCAR-H could be called a relic compared to the weapons John had been issued during Last Incursion but it served him well and could do everything he might want in a pinch. Not to mention, how does a guy complain when the entirety of your Honorable Discharge is a short and uncomfortable bureaucrat crediting you nearly 200 food chits right as you step off of the boat with a good luck pat on the back and a free ride to the nearest major city? They hadn’t collected any of his gear, any weapons aside his long range rifle and special munitions, and left him standing in a major city only slightly less capable of sieging a foreign country. Much of that gear went missing or was traded at stops along the journey to Midwest Regional Block 14, old Cincinnati. A young woman from his dreams had said what a wonderful place it had once been, right before they witnessed the white glare of Taiwan’s beaches turning smokey quartz.

With a groan, John hauled his carcass up to his bare feet and walked with a step by step chain of grunts to the bathroom. His bones ached, muscles burned and he could only imagine how the girl felt today, sleeping off a night of aggressive and almost violent sex. John had been careful not to mark her up or do her any lingering damage, but by the time he had finally fallen asleep she looked ready to retire from her night job. This thought pulled out a chuckle as John leaned forward over the toilet, relieving himself with his cheek pressed against the cool tile wall. Whatever drug it was that Lyria had found for him at his request, it left lastnight a long sweaty haze. It also let him be startled nearly to death when an alarm monitor in the room went off and announced in bright red lights that he had 45 minutes until he would be charged again or rousted by staff. John found some amusement in this as Lyria had payed the room fee, and he could easily imagine a couple of grown men dragging him naked out of the room and pitching him headlong into the parkinglot.

“Fourty-five, huh? Just enough time…” he muttered and reached into the shower, turning the knob and frowning at the pathetic excuse for water pressure. “Well, if they throw my ass out, it is going to be a clean ass for at least a few minutes.” Without ceremony or even a thought to close the bathroom door, John stepped into the tub and fought against the still frigid water for his right of cleanliness.

It was probably the tub that kept the shrapnel from getting him, and the water that kept the fire from charring the skin from the bone. At least, that is how John would rationalize it later that night. First thing, the tub began falling but John had his eyes closed at the time and could only sense the tumbling down while much of the bathroom went upward in a concussive blast like a geyser. His eyes flashed open in time for his body to be smashed against the bottom of the tub when it made contact with the one below. After a moment of recovery, he pushed the puce shower curtain aside while it smoked and got a good view of the room he had landed in. Obviously, someone in the room below him had brought about a world of pain for themselves. Pushing himself up, he stepped out onto the smoking floor. The fire had burned so hot and so suddenly that it had exhausted the air in the room and imploded the floor above.

John looked up, trying to judge how difficult it would be to get back up to his things. “Suits me fucking right for thinking back home would be any better.” he said and grimaced. His left foot caught in something wet and hot, and he looked down to regard the skinless charred victim of the morning’s sudden burst of energy. The age and gender were indeterminate, but it was obvious they had a taste for vinyl clothing by the smell that moving his foot stirred. The whole room stank of burned carbon and ozone, a taste that permeated John’s mouth as he headed toward his neighbor’s bed. The room was notably devoid of any personal possessions beyond a carelessly pitched Aeos. John’s toes tingled and he bit at the inside of his cheek for a tenth of a second before grabbing the Aeos and heading for the door. He wanted to know why this had happened and especially if it had been directed at him in some way.

All that stood between John and his clothes was a fifty yard dash, a stair climb and another fifty yard dash. And by now, who knows? Maybe the whole welcome wagon would get to see him streak in the mid-day light away from this scene of carnage? He didn’t think about it once he got the door open, he just made the distance pass by. Aside of one very startled looking cleaning staff member that saw him charging down the walkway toward her, erection acting as a moving advertisement for the power of adrenaline and then finally past. Beyond that, his short journey was uneventful.

John’s clothes fit tightly and the sticky wetness transfered from his left foot into his left boot with a wince. He had heard of these sorts of things happening, but not while hold up inside a five square mile brothel at the edge of town. He had to get out of this Playground quietly, before anyone could tie him to it.