Chapter Thirty – Dog Gone

Chapter Thirty – Dog Gone

“In the early 2020’s, on average, 69% of all households had a pet. Now, that number is closer to 36%!

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–Petpetzoo frontpage, 2039

***

It was surprisingly tense, walking across hip-high displays with colourful toys on them, and past larger signs and cardboard cut-outs of action-figure heroes.

I duly noted that there were a lot of samurai-themed toys. Little action figures with changeable weapons and gear, and towards the back of the store, for the older customers, were posed figurines.

I wonder what Deus Ex would think if she came to our place and found a figurine of herself in a glass case. I was pretty sure we might still have a museum case or two left over too.

“The Kittens would love this place,” I said. “Though they’d make a mess of it.”

I pressed inwards, then froze as I heard something off to my side. Plastic crinkling, which was a distinct enough sound. I slowly turned in the direction of the noise and noticed a few boxes of toys discarded across the floor. I brought my Laser Pointer up and listened past the drumming of my heartbeat.

The noise came again, and this time I was able to pinpoint its location. I fired a trio of shots into a display a moment before a model three–now very much injured–came scrambling around to earn a fourth bullet to the face.

More aliens came pouring out of nooks and crannies. Mostly model threes, but a few fours and fives. Not that it really mattered. They were injured already and even if they knew they were under attack, they had no way of knowing where I was yet.

I walked around a display, using it as partial cover while I gunned down each alien that stuck its head out or went charging down one of the store’s corridors. “Resonator,” I said before chucking a grenade to the entrance. Some of them had noticed the militia parked outside and were running out. They were getting gunned down, of course, but I didn’t want to risk one of them getting lucky and ripping up one of the militia guys out there.

We only had so many competent soldiers on our side, no point in losing one because of rank stupidity.

When the room quieted down once more except for the high-pitched whine of that resonator, I lowered my guard and my gun. “Nice place, but maybe we should wait before visiting it,” I said as I kicked the head of a very dead model three.

You should consider spending some time with your Kittens.

“I got them stuff,” I said. I started to make my way deeper into the room. The aliens had to have come from the basement or something. “And where we’re living it’s… like, not comparable to where we lived before. They have their own rooms and a working shitter, not to mention three meals a day.”

Yes, that’s true. You’ve done well by them financially and when it comes to their physical needs. But if you want to form any sort of emotional attachment, you’ll need to spend actual time with them.

I considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” There was a door behind the sales counter at the back. The bottom half of the door had been ripped apart, little bits of presswood scattered across the floor. I vaulted over the countertop, then leaned my head close. No noise on the other side.

I usually am.

“So, oh wise AI living in my head, what would you suggest I do with the Kittens?” I asked. I didn’t have the first clue what to do with them to build bonds or whatever. I opened the door, then pointed my gun in while I swept the room. It wasn’t much more than a storage space with a desk in the back and a vending machine for employees. There was another door though, and, I noted, a staircase leading down. Bingo.

Anything that has you spending time with them. Perhaps visit a dog park?

“A… dog park?” I asked.

Yes. Here, this is a list of Google searches made by the Twins:

Myalis opened up a small screen in the corner of my vision, and I quickly read through the list while pausing my search.