ANDIE'S PERSPECTIVE

Morning arrived like it always did—indifferent to my existential crisis. Two days had passed since my return from divine abduction and subsequent emotional chaos. Two days since Airi's harsh but honest words had sent me spiralling into introspection. Two days of quiet work and minimal conversation while I processed the weight of responsibility that seemed to grow heavier by the hour.

The sanctuary bustled with what passed for normality these days—Hina organising daily tasks with her clipboard, Emi preparing breakfast with Keiko-sensei's assistance, and various small groups huddled over projects or training exercises. On the surface, everything appeared calm, stable even. But beneath that fragile veneer, the dynamics had shifted in ways I was still struggling to understand.

I sat at the workshop table outside the sanctuary entrance; metal components and half-finished gel blaster prototypes spread before me. The divine materials Seven had provided were sorted into neat piles—mythril shimmering with an almost ethereal lightness, orichalcum glowing with a warm bronze hue, and adamantium sitting heavy and imposing like solidified darkness. Even the regular iron components looked impressive, now that we'd finally solved the barrel pressure problem.

"Are you sure this mixture will hold?" Kurenai asked, carefully examining the prototype barrel I'd just finished crafting. Her naturally delicate features were scrunched in concentration, a few strands of her red-black hair escaping her practical ponytail.

Yuna leaned over her shoulder; runes etched into her fingernails glowing faintly as she traced the barrel's length. "The pressure distribution looks stable. The iron core with mythril reinforcement should provide the perfect balance of weight and strength."

I nodded, not looking up from the firing mechanism I was adjusting. "The mythril's natural affinity for enchantment also means your runes will bind more effectively."

Kurenai smiled, a rare full expression that transformed her usually serious face. "I've been working on a new enhancement pattern that should increase projectile velocity by at least thirty percent."

This was good. This was simple. Materials, components, physics, and magic—all measurable, predictable elements that responded to careful application of skill. Unlike people. Unlike feelings. Unlike the heavy gaze I could feel boring into the back of my head.

Without turning, I knew Miyako was watching me from across the clearing. She'd been doing that a lot these past two days—observing me with a tension in her shoulders that suggested she was constantly ready to intervene if I showed any sign of disappearing again. It was simultaneously touching and suffocating.

"Andie?" Yuna's voice pulled me back from my thoughts. "Did you want to try the locking mechanism with the adamantium spring or stick with the orichalcum?"

I forced myself back to the present. "Orichalcum for the lever-action models. The adamantium is too rigid for the rapid cycling. Save it for the revolvers—they need the stronger return force."

Work. Focus on the work. It was easier than confronting the emotional minefield waiting for me as soon as I stepped away from this table.

"Should we take a break?" Kurenai suggested after another hour had passed. "You've been going non-stop since sunrise."

I simply shook my head and reached for another barrel component. "I'm fine."

The words felt hollow even to my own ears, but neither of them pushed the issue. They exchanged a glance I pretended not to notice and continued working in companionable silence.

The truth was, I wasn't fine. Airi's words had cut deep, partly because they were absolutely right. I wasn't living just for myself anymore. Whether I liked it or not, I'd become central to this small community—not because I was special or chosen, but simply because circumstances had made me so. The girls looked to me not because I was the only guy, but because I'd stepped up when needed.

And if I disappeared again? If the Aspects decided they wanted another cosmic gaming session? If the hooded figure returned to finish whatever it had started with our classmates?

I wasn't ready for the responsibility. But ready or not, it was mine.

MIYAKO'S PERSPECTIVE

I couldn't take my eyes off him.

Two days since he'd returned, and Andie still looked like he was carrying the weight of both worlds on his shoulders. He'd barely spoken ten sentences to anyone, just nodding or offering one-word responses when directly addressed. When not working on the gel blaster prototypes, he'd retreat to the small room he'd created for himself and emerge hours later with new designs or calculations.

It was driving me absolutely insane.

I'd expected anger when he returned—I'd given him plenty of that. I'd expected questions, demands for explanations about what happened while he was gone. Hell, I'd even prepared for him to withdraw somewhat, given the intensity of everyone's reactions.

What I hadn't prepared for was this... quiet resignation. This steady, relentless focus on work that left no room for processing anything else. It reminded me too much of how he'd been before we came to this world—polite but distant, helpful but never truly connecting.

"Is he eating properly at least?" Airi asked, appearing beside me with two steaming cups of tea. She offered one to me, her eyes following my gaze to where Andie sat hunched over his workbench.

I accepted the cup gratefully. "Barely. Emi's been leaving food near him, and it disappears eventually, but I haven't actually seen him eat a proper meal since he got back."

"And sleeping?"

I frowned. "Hard to tell. His light is on at all hours."

Airi took a sip of her tea, her normally perfect makeup absent today, giving her a softer, more vulnerable appearance. "You're worried."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "I think he's shutting down. After everything with the Kimochi sisters collapsing, and your... confrontation—"

"My verbal assault, you mean," Airi interrupted with a grimace.

"—he's retreated completely," I continued. "It's like he's trying to be useful without being present. Like he thinks if he just makes enough gel blasters or creates enough rooms or solves enough problems, he can avoid dealing with... us. With everything."

Airi was quiet for a moment, watching as Kurenai showed Andie something on a piece of paper, his response a simple nod without looking up from his work.

"I went too far," she finally said, her voice uncharacteristically small. "I was scared, Miyako. When he disappeared, it was like losing everything all over again. Like Earth all over again. One moment everything's normal, the next your entire world is upended."

I understood completely. The terror of those two days had left marks on all of us—some more visible than others. "We were all scared. But what he needs now isn't more guilt or pressure. He needs to know it's okay to be human. To make mistakes. To not have all the answers."

"To not be the perfect hero we've all been forcing him to be," Airi said quietly.

I nodded, feeling a knot form in my throat. "I think... I think part of him believes he doesn't deserve to be happy here. That it's selfish to want anything for himself when everyone else is depending on him."

Airi's expression shifted to one of determination. "Well, that's completely idiotic."

Despite everything, I felt a smile tug at my lips. "And very Andie."

"I should talk to him," she said suddenly. "Properly this time. Not yelling, not accusing—just talking."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I asked, remembering how the last conversation had ended.

Airi squared her shoulders, slipping right back into her old gyaru deputy role, despite her casual clothes and bare face. "No. But it's necessary."

As she walked away, cup still in hand, toward Andie's workstation, I felt both hope and trepidation rise within me. Airi had always been the most direct of us—sometimes brutally so. But she was also fiercely loyal and surprisingly perceptive when it came to people's emotional states.

If anyone could crack through Andie's self-imposed isolation, it might just be her.

AIRI'S PERSPECTIVE

I don't do apologies. Never have. Even back on Earth, I'd mastered the non-apology apology—"I'm sorry you felt that way" or "I regret if my actions were misinterpreted." The art of appearing contrite without actually admitting wrongdoing.

But this was different. This was Andie.

My heart raced as I approached the workbench where he sat with Kurenai and Yuna. I could see the moment they registered my presence—Kurenai's eyes widened slightly, Yuna's hands stilled on her runic tablet, and Andie's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.

I cleared my throat. "Can I borrow Andie for a minute? It's important."

Kurenai immediately began gathering her notes. "Of course, we were just about to—"

But before she could leave, I shook my head. "No, it's okay. You two can stay if you want."

Andie glanced up, dark circles under his eyes, and gave a slight nod. "Yeah, it's fine. Whatever Airi needs to say, you can hear it too."

The pair exchanged a glance, then settled back in their seats as I set my tea down on the edge of the table, gathering my thoughts.

"I owe you an apology," I began, the words feeling strange and awkward on my tongue. "What I said to you the night you came back—it wasn't fair. I was scared and angry and relieved all at once, and I took it out on you in the worst possible way."

Andie's expression revealed nothing, but he'd stopped working, his full attention now on me.

"When you disappeared, it felt like losing Earth all over again," I continued, echoing what I'd told Miyako. "One moment everything was fine, the next..."

"The next, your entire world changed," he supplied quietly.

I nodded, throat tightening. "And I couldn't do anything about it. None of us could. We searched everywhere—the forest, the river, even back toward the hills. Miyako was... I've never seen her like that, not even when we first arrived here."

I saw his eyes flicker with emotion at the mention of Miyako, but he remained silent.

"The night before you returned, we were discussing whether to hold a memorial service," I admitted, my voice breaking slightly. "Hitomi and I were against it—it felt like giving up. But some of the others thought it might help with closure, especially after what happened with Daiki and the others."

Kurenai made a small sound, almost a whimper, and Yuna reached over to clasp her hand. The loss of our classmates was still raw for all of us.

"So, when you just... appeared in the clearing like nothing had happened," I continued, "I was furious. Not because you'd left—I know now you didn't choose to go—but because you came back when I'd almost convinced myself you wouldn't. When I'd started to accept that we might have to move forward without you."

I paused, gathering myself. "I still believe what I said about responsibility. About how your actions affect all of us now. But the way I said it was cruel and unfair, especially since you'd just been through your own ordeal."

Andie was watching me intently now, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.

"So, I'm sorry," I finished. "I'm sorry for how I spoke to you. But I'm not sorry for caring enough to be devastated when you disappeared. And I'm definitely not sorry for being relieved when you came back, even if I showed it in the worst possible way."

The silence that followed felt endless. Kurenai was looking between us with wide eyes, while Yuna seemed to be studying the grain of the wooden table with intense focus. Finally, Andie spoke.

"Thank you," he said simply. "I appreciate your honesty."

I blinked, caught off guard by the response. "That's it? 'Thank you'?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "What were you expecting? A dramatic forgiveness scene with swelling background music?"

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"Well, no, but—"

"There's nothing to forgive, Airi," he interrupted gently. "You were right. About all of it. I do have responsibilities now, whether I asked for them or not. And I need to be better about recognising what my actions—or disappearances—do to the people who care about me."

I stared at him, momentarily speechless. This was not how I'd expected this conversation to go.

"So... we're good?" I asked finally, feeling oddly vulnerable.

Andie nodded. "We're good. Though I still reserve the right to find your future nagging annoying."

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. "And I reserve the right to nag you whenever you're being an idiot—which, let's face it, could be a full-time job."

The tension that had been hanging over the workbench finally dissipated. Kurenai visibly relaxed, and Yuna offered me a small, appreciative smile.

"Now that we've established that," I said, my voice stronger now, "when are you going to stop hiding in your work and actually talk to everyone else? Miyako's worried sick, and Miyuki's been analysing everything you say—or don't say—like it contains the secrets of the universe."

Andie's expression clouded slightly. "I'm not hiding. I'm processing. There's a difference."

"Is there?" I challenged, but gently this time.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just need a little more time. And we have work to finish before we can head to Crossroads. Speaking of which—" he turned to Kurenai and Yuna, "—how are we doing on the barrels?"

I recognised the deflection for what it was but decided not to push. Progress, not perfection.

"At least don't shut Miyako out," I said quietly. "She's been through enough."

Something flashed in his eyes—pain, guilt, or maybe both. He nodded once, a silent promise.

Mission accomplished, I thought as I turned to leave. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.

ANDIE'S PERSPECTIVE

After Airi left, the weight on my chest felt marginally lighter. Her apology had been unexpected—the Airi I knew from Earth rarely admitted fault—but it spoke volumes about how much she'd changed in this world. How much we'd all changed.

"That was... intense," Kurenai commented, breaking the silence that had fallen.

"Airi's always intense," I replied, returning my attention to the firing mechanism in front of me. "It's part of her charm."

Yuna's lips quirked in a small smile. "She cares about you. They all do."

I nodded, not trusting myself to respond verbally. That was the problem, wasn't it? They cared. They all cared too much. And I had no idea what to do with that.

"Let's finish these prototypes," I said instead. "We've waited long enough to head to Crossroads."

The girls exchanged a look but followed my lead. For the next hour, we worked steadily, completing two more barrel assemblies and testing the pressure resistance on three different designs. The work was methodical, requiring enough focus to keep my mind from wandering too far into dangerous emotional territory.

By mid-morning, we had confirmed that the iron-mythril barrel combination was our best option—light enough for comfortable handling but strong enough to withstand the pressure necessary for effective velocity. The orichalcum components worked best for the firing mechanisms, their natural magic resistance preventing accidental enchantment interference, while adamantium proved ideal for the high-stress components like springs and hammer assemblies.

"These materials are incredible," Yuna observed, examining a piece of mythril under her magnifying glass. "The crystalline structure shouldn't be stable at room temperature, yet it maintains perfect molecular alignment."

"Divine metals," I explained, remembering what Seven had told me. "They don't follow the normal rules of physics or metallurgy."

Kurenai carefully set down the barrel she'd been testing. "How much do we have? Enough for everyone?"

I nodded, feeling a small spark of satisfaction. "The Aspects were surprisingly generous. We have enough for secondary weapons for everybody, with materials left over for specialised ammunition." The gel blasters would give our non-combat classes a fighting chance and provide our combat-focused classmates with tactical options beyond their primary abilities.

"Then we should get started on mass production," Yuna suggested, already reaching for her tablet. "I've finalised the runic patterns for the standard models."

I pulled out the production schematics I'd prepared, spreading them across the table. "I've created ten different base models plus two special designs based on the Aspects' weapons, each optimised for different combat roles and user preferences."

The designs were essentially fantasy versions of familiar firearms—assault rifles with enchantment slots instead of tactical rails, revolvers that could chamber magic-infused gel rounds, and shotgun variants designed for area-effect spells. The two special designs—a minigun with six rotating barrels and a rapid-fire grenade launcher—were particularly impressive, if somewhat impractical for everyday use.

"This will change everything," Kurenai whispered, tracing the outline of a rifle schematic with wonder in her eyes. "No more hiding or running. We can actually defend ourselves properly."

"That's the idea," I agreed, a grim determination settling over me. Whatever was hunting us—whatever had killed Daiki, Kaito, Shota, and Akira—would find us much harder prey now.

For the next few hours, we worked in seamless coordination. My Transform ability allowed for rapid fabrication of components, while Kurenai's Enchanter skills imbued them with magical properties that enhanced durability and function. Yuna's runic expertise added the final touch, inscribing patterns that stabilised the enchantments and added specialised effects.

By noon, we had a full arsenal laid out before us—thirty-five complete gel blasters of various designs, ready for the girls to choose from:

Two anti-tank rifle-styled blasters, massive and imposing.

Seven assault rifles with integrated scopes for medium to long-range combat.

Two assault rifles with attached shield projectors for front-line defence.

Two compact magnum pistols for close-quarter situations.

Two double-barrel shotgun designs for area effect.

Four grenade-launching revolvers for tactical support.

Four revolvers for balanced power and mobility.

Four submachine gun styles for rapid fire capability.

Two standard shotguns for spread effects.

Four silenced sniper configurations for stealth operations.

One minigun with six rotating barrels, capable of unleashing a torrent of gel rounds.

One rapid-fire grenade launcher that looked powerful enough to level small buildings.

"They're beautiful," Kurenai breathed, her fingers hovering over a silenced sniper model.

"And deadly," Yuna added, more soberly.

I picked up one of the assault rifles, testing its weight and balance. Seven's instructions had resulted in weapons that felt unnaturally perfect in the hand—balanced to the microgram, with triggers that required precisely the right pressure and grips that seemed to mould themselves to the user's hand.

"They're tools," I said finally. "Like any tool, they're only as good or bad as the person using them."

The sound of approaching footsteps made us look up. Miyako was leading a small group toward our workstation—Hina with her clipboard, Miyuki and Mochi walking side by side, Airi trailing behind with an expression that suggested she'd had something to do with this gathering.

"Wow," Miyako breathed, taking in the array of weapons spread across our worktable. "You three have been busy."

Miyuki's analytical gaze swept over the collection. "Are these the gel blaster prototypes?"

"Not prototypes anymore," I corrected, setting down the rifle. "They're finished products, ready for distribution."

Mochi's eyes widened. "You made all of these in one morning?"

"Andie did most of the work," Kurenai said, giving me an appreciative glance. "His Transform ability allows for precision shaping of metal components that would take days with conventional methods."

"Plus, we had excellent materials," I added, not comfortable with taking sole credit when it had been a team effort.

Hina was already making notes on her clipboard. "These will need to be assigned based on combat roles and personal aptitudes. I'll start working on a distribution plan—"

"Actually," I interrupted gently, "I think everyone should choose their own. These weapons are designed to be secondary tools, not primary combat options. The best fit will be the one that feels right."

Miyako looked surprised but pleased. "That's... actually a great idea. Let people connect with their weapons naturally."

Word spread quickly, and within minutes, a crowd had gathered around our workstation. The girls circled the table, examining the weapons with expressions ranging from fascination to trepidation.

"Are we just... picking whichever we want?" Nana asked, her eyes already locked on one of the submachine guns.

I nodded. "These aren't your primary weapons—they're supplements to your natural abilities. Choose what feels comfortable to you."

That was all the encouragement they needed. Within moments, the girls were picking up different weapons, testing their weight and grip, comparing features with each other.

"This one," Airi declared confidently, claiming one of the assault rifles with a scope. "The range will complement my illusions perfectly."

Miyako gravitated immediately toward an assault rifle with shield attachment. "This feels right for an Arcane Bulwark," she said, testing how the shield component interfaced with her magic.

Hitomi surprised no one by selecting a silenced sniper rifle, her Scout instincts naturally drawn to the stealth-oriented weapon. "The balance is incredible," she noted, bringing the scope to her eye.

What did surprise everyone was when Emi, our resident Cook, made a beeline for the massive minigun, lifting it with unexpected ease.

"Emi, are you sure?" Yui asked hesitantly. "That thing looks... intense."

Emi grinned, spinning up the barrels experimentally. "If I'm going to feed everyone in combat, I need efficiency! This bad boy can distribute my healing meatballs to the entire battlefield in seconds!"

The mental image of Emi spraying explosive food across a battlefield using a six-barrelled death machine left everyone momentarily speechless.

But the true shock came when Mochi, the gentlest soul among us and our primary healer, walked straight to the rapid-fire grenade launcher. The weapon was nearly as tall as she was, with a massive drum magazine that looked cartoonishly oversized against her small frame.

"Mochi..." Miyuki started, her expression caught between concern and bewilderment. "That's... quite a choice."

Mochi beamed, hefting the enormous launcher with surprising determination. "Healing one person at a time isn't efficient in major combat! With this, I can distribute healing mist to multiple people at once!" She patted the weapon affectionately. "Plus, I can launch sedative gas at enemies from a safe distance!"

The image of our sweet, soft-spoken Chirurgeon wielding what was essentially a weapon of mass destruction—albeit one that dispensed healing—left the entire group staring in astonished silence.

Miyuki was the first to recover. "Well," she said diplomatically, "it certainly suits your... methodical approach to battlefield medicine."

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me—the first genuine laugh I'd experienced since returning. "I should have known you'd think outside the box, Mochi."

She beamed at me, and for a moment, the awkwardness that had lingered between us since my return dissipated. "Innovation is essential in medicine!"

The selections continued, each girl gravitating toward a weapon that somehow perfectly complemented her personality or abilities. Nana claimed one of the submachine guns, perfect for her Rogue mobility. Kurenai selected an assault rifle with scope, ideal for precise enchantment delivery. Miyuki chose a revolver, appreciating its balanced capabilities and ease of use.

"What about ammunition?" Asuka asked as she examined her chosen grenade revolver. "How will these actually work in combat?"

I gestured to a collection of colour-coded gel spheres we'd prepared. "Kurenai has been enchanting basic gel rounds, but each of you should work with her to develop specialty ammunition that complements your abilities."

"I've already started experimenting," Kurenai confirmed. "For example, I've been working with Mochi on healing mist rounds that can distribute regenerative energy in a small area."

Mochi nodded eagerly, patting her massive launcher. "And now I can deliver that healing across a much wider radius!"

"We should do some test firing," Miyako suggested. "Just to make sure everyone understands the basic operation."

"We have limited gel rounds at the moment," I cautioned. "Until we can mass-produce ammunition, we'll need to be conservative with testing."

"Still, even a few practice shots would be helpful," Hitomi pointed out. "Especially for those of us who've never handled anything like this before."

I nodded, seeing the logic in her suggestion. "We can set up a quick training session. Just the basics—loading, aiming, firing mechanisms."

As the girls began organising themselves for an impromptu target practice, Hina approached me with her clipboard. "We'll need to develop protocols for ammunition distribution and maintenance schedules," she said, already writing notes.

"We'll need to test everything in controlled conditions before heading to Crossroads," she continued, making more marks on her clipboard. "Safety protocols, targeting practice, tactical applications—"

"Actually," I interrupted gently, "I think we should head to Crossroads as soon as possible. Today, if we can manage it."

The suggestion was met with surprised looks.

"Today?" Miyako repeated. "But we've barely distributed the weapons, let alone tested them properly."

"We've been talking about going to Crossroads since day seven," I reminded everyone. "It's now day sixteen. We've put it off long enough."

"But the sanctuary—" Hina began.

"Will still be here," I finished. "We can leave non-essentials and return if necessary. But we need information, and Crossroads is our best chance of finding it. Not to mention potentially locating the rest of our classmates."

A moment of silence fell as everyone considered my words.

"He's right," Miyuki said finally. "We've established security and stability here, but we're no closer to understanding what happened to Akira, Daiki, Kaito, and Shota. Or finding the missing boys."

"And now we have weapons," Airi added, patting her rifle. "We're in a much better position to travel safely than we were a week ago."

Reluctant nods spread through the group. Even Hina seemed to accept the logic, though she immediately began scribbling what looked like packing lists on her clipboard.

"We should leave within the next few hours, then," Miyako decided, naturally falling into her leadership role. "Everyone pack essentials only—food, water, basic supplies. We'll travel light and fast."

The girls dispersed quickly, hurrying to prepare for departure. As the crowd thinned, I found myself alone with Miyako, Miyuki, and Mochi—the three women whose reactions to my return had affected me most deeply.

"Are you sure about this?" Miyako asked quietly. "We could wait another day, run some basic tests—"

"We've waited long enough," I said firmly. "Each day we delay could mean another classmate in danger."

Miyuki studied me with her penetrating gaze. "This isn't just about finding information or the others, is it? You need to be in motion. To be doing something concrete."

As always, her insight was uncomfortably accurate. "Maybe. Does it matter if my reasons are a mix of practical and personal?"

"No," Mochi said gently, still clutching her absurdly large grenade launcher. "What matters is that we're together when we go."

The simple statement carried weight beyond its words. Together. Despite everything—my disappearance, their reactions, the emotional turmoil—we were still moving forward as a unit.

"We should help with preparations," Miyuki suggested, touching her sister's arm lightly.

As they walked away, Miyako lingered, her eyes searching mine. "Are we okay?" she asked softly. "You and me?"

The question held so many layers—our growing relationship before my disappearance, her breakdown when I returned, the distance I'd maintained since then.

"We will be," I said honestly. "I just need some time to process everything."

She nodded, disappointment flashing across her face briefly before she masked it. "I understand. Just... don't process so long that you forget to actually live, okay?"

Before I could respond, she leaned forward and pressed a quick peck to my cheek. "I'll help coordinate the packing. Meet you at the entrance in an hour?"

I nodded, watching as she walked away, her characteristic confidence evident in every step despite the uncertainty between us.

The next hours passed in a blur of activity. Everyone moved with purpose, gathering supplies, securing equipment, and preparing the sanctuary for temporary abandonment. Emi and Keiko-sensei packed preserved food for the journey, while Hina and Yui created detailed maps based on Hitomi's scouting reports. Weapons were distributed, basic handling instructions given, and travel groups arranged for optimal security.

"Should we bring valuables or leave them?" Nana asked as we gathered near the sanctuary entrance, packs and weapons ready.

"Only take what's irreplaceable," I advised. "Everything else can wait until we return."

"So, this isn't goodbye forever?" Asuka asked, glancing back at the stone structure that had been our home for the past two weeks.

"It's not goodbye at all," I assured her. "Just... see you later."

A ripple of relief passed through the group. The sanctuary represented more than mere shelter—it was the first place in this world where we'd felt safe, where we'd begun to build something approaching a normal life.

"Right!" Miyako clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention. "Final check—weapons, supplies, equipment. We move in five minutes. Travel formation as discussed, scouts on the periphery, non-combatants in the centre."

As the girls performed their final preparations, I took a moment to look back at the sanctuary. Against all odds, we'd created something remarkable here—not just a physical structure, but a community. A sense of belonging in a world that had done its best to make us feel lost.

Whatever waited for us in Crossroads—information, allies, enemies—we'd face it together.

"Ready or not, Voluptaria," I muttered under my breath as I shouldered my pack and gripped my gunblade, "here we come—armed with glorified water guns and questionable selections."

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