“Seventeen!” Cillian screams in my face, “you killed seventeeerans! Just… how? Even Boriss couldn’t- well, maybe he could. The guy's a monster, but still. I hope you realize that you’ve pissed off a lot of people by takin’ so many out. Why did you even do such a crazy thing?”

  I bite into a sandwich as I y on my bed.

  “Well,” I say around my bite of sandwich, “First off, this is a really good sandwich. Who’s the chef? Sed,” I pause to chew, “I really didn’t think I’d fight more than two or three. You know, kick a bit of ass, a everyone riled up enough to send in the bear.” I swallow and take an even bigger bite. “Really, I never expected this pce was chocked so full of bloodthirsty murder-hobos. You’d think they’d get fed up and send in Ursus Major to y ass like I asked, but no, they just kept ing.”

  “Ursus? You mean Tibbers? Why the fuck do you want to fight Tibbers. The only person who’s ever beaten Tibbers is Boriss, and then, only barely.”

  I stop chewing to raise an eyebrow at the sober Scot. I swallow my bite.

  “Did you fet our little versatioerday?”

  Cillian stares at me for a moment while the little gerbil in his head starts running on the wheel.

  “Right. You’re a bloody loony. So, what? Killing Tibbers to make the test easier?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fu’ looney.”

  I shrug, “Well, when the shit hits the fan, I’ll be the oh the ons to blow the crap out of it.”

  Cillian perks up. “ons? Like what, spears and swords?”

  I give him a ft look over my sandwich.

  “Cold ons are for cold bodies. What I ’t gas, I’ll shoot, and what I ’t shoot, I’ll blow up.”

  “Downside has no guns.” Cillian excims, “at least that's what you told me.”

  “Downside doesn’t, but I will.” I finish my st bite of sandwich, “just as soon as I make them. Shouldn’t be hard to sp together a zip-gun. And if you make this hooch,” I reach over and steal a bottle of the san's rotgut, “then you’ve got everything I o distill nitric acid.” I take a swig and cough, “hell, this is already one sock away from a Molitov.”

  “Fug nutter,” he says and steals his bottle back. He takes a big swig and burps. “So when's yht with Tibbers?”

  “In three days. Apparently, there’s some anizing to be dohere should be plenty of time to finish my preparations before then.” I stare at my empty hand and miss my missing sandwich. “I’m going to need a lot of basic resources. I could easily ibalize from the supplies I have avaible here, but that takes a bit of time and research.”

  “Then yoin’ to want to go to the silver district. The prisohere do a lot of craftin. They don't have it anywhere as good as we do, but they do have a lot more than bronze and bcks.” Cillian expins.

  “Wait, we move into different districts?”

  “Only to a lower rank,” he adds. “Golds go into silver, which go into bronze, which go into bcks. You 't enter into a higher rank except if you’re silver, then you e to gold for work and earn passes.”

  “Right… work. What are the passes used for and how do you earn them?”

  “They’re used to buy stuff from outside. Better food, clothing, and district approved appliances. You earn ‘em by doing menial shit like cooking or undry. Better your prisoner rank, the better your jobs, the better your pay.”

  “Oh, cool. So I use passes to get whatever supplies I want from outside? That makes things much easier. How long does it take?”

  He shrugs, “Three to four months to get somethin in here. You have to pay upfront, though.”

  I grimace.

  “Alright, nevermind. I 't wait that long.” I hop out of bed. “I guess I’m heading to the silver district.” I reader my mattress and pick up the bag of passes.

  “Shite! Are those all passes?”

  I nod. “Yup, apparently I get paid fhting, and I get paid even more for winning. With that and my cut from Boriss’ bets, I’m somewhat rich. Well, prison rich. Anyways, I’ma head out and grab what I need. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  He waves goodbye and I make my way out of the Gasthaus, down several streets, and finally ehe Silver District.

  Where the gold district otlessly aively empty of people, the silver district is less and smothered in bodies and neon lights. Yes, the silver district glows with the vibrancy of a red light district mixed with a crafting bazaar. On one side, you have a hawker selling basic goods like kit utensils and socks, while oher you have a neon lit smithy wherein a bcksmith smelts scrap metal in a makeshift crucible.

  To my surprise, the local denizens immediately noticed me..

  “Is that him?”

  “That has to be him.”

  “What is he doing here?”

  “Is he here to trade?”

  “Is that the guy who sughtered all the fighters?”

  “Damn, I’d love to be bent over by him.”

  “He doesn't seem that capable.”

  “Do you think he’d give me an autograph?”

  I tinue walking deeper and deeper into the silver district. As I do, the quality of workmanship ay of stores increase expoially, to the point that it is being rather overwhelming.

  At least until a certain someone crosses my path.

  “rade Quasi!” Boriss yells with the full might of his lungs. “You visit, yes?”

  I turn towards the grinning Russian as he exits a restaurant. Looking at his foot, I he silver bracelet cirg it.

  "Huh, I didn’t realize you’re silver.”

  “Da,” he taps his chest, “I am former soviet super spy.”

  I raise an eyebrow, “You’re a soviet spy?”

  “Former,” he corrects. “I y till two-thousa. Very secret KGB special indepe operative.” he expins fidently.

  “Um,” I frown, “The soviet union colpsed in een wo.”

  He snorts at me, “Bah, is all phey colpse to make America luard.”

  I stare at the grinning Russian for far too long than is fortable, and then I ge the subject.

  “Well, I’ve e here to buy some resources. I don't suppose you give me dires.”

  Boriss chuckles, “rade Quasi, I will do better.” he raises a fist, “I will take you to resources, is only right to help rade, yes?”

  “Right.” I say with hesitancy. “Well, I’m going to need several things. First, I’m going to need gss bottles.”

  He nods.

  “Sed, I’ll need some gasoline and styrofoam cups.”

  He nods a lot slower.

  “Third, I’ll need rags, sugar, paper towels, and any product that has a high tration of benzene.”

  He doesn't nod.

  “And, uh, potassium chlorate if it’s avaible.”

  Boriss frowns down at me with a look of disappoi.

  “Why napalm? Why not simple molotov? Is easier, yes?”

  Huh. He’s actually not just all brawn.

  “One of the problems with normal molotovs made with alcohol is that they don't st or stick as long. sidering what I’m probably going to o deal with, I doubt a bit of alcohol is will be potent enough.”

  He stares at me for a long moment.

  Then nods.

  “rade Quasi, you look like man who expects, how you say, dung to hit fan? Yes? You expect big problem." He pces a hand on my shoulder. “Then big problem needs big Russian solution.” he grins. “Let us go make big pipe bombs. Is easy, follow.”

  He lifts his hand from my shoulder and starts walking away, leavih fused and fbbergasted.

  After a moment, I rush o him and follow on the side. He leads me deeper into the silver district. Eventually, we arrive to a shop called “Marrens ing Supplies.”

  Wheer, my nose is hit with the smells of hundreds of chemicals that probably should not be inhaled for too long.

  A skinny twig of a man rushes from his ter.

  “Wele to Marrenes ing Sup- oh, Boriss. What are you here for? Did your toilet get stuck again? I’ve got more acid to it out!”

  Boriss waves his hand. “No, no, strong Russian dung not break toilet again.” he points at me, “rade Quasi needs chemicals. You have, yes?”

  When Marren looks at me, his eyes widen. “You're the new guy. The ohat killed all those veteraerday! Holy… wow. You took them out like they were children.”

  “Yes,” Boriss nods, “Like strong Russian mom.”

  “Right,” Marren says, unsure how to respond. He turns to me. “Well, I’ve got chemicals for all of your needs? What I get for you?”

  I gnce again around the store, finding a lot of rather iing tainers. There are jars beled asbestos, ammonia, lead, and even mercury.

  “I don't suppose you have any potassium chlorate?”

  The man frowns.

  He walks to the entrance of the store and closes the door.

  “I don’t have such dangerous chemicals.”

  He moves and closes the shutters on a window.

  “It would be extremely illegal to have such a dangerous substance.”

  He retreats to the er of the room. He grabs a rge shelf and pulls it out of the way to reveal a hidden hole filled with various vials.

  “But, I do have some vials filled with unknown substances.”

  He grabs an unbeled vial filled with a white powder.

  “So,” he raises the vial up, “want some?”