The Ole Razzle Dazzle

20 minutes prior to the ambush Razzle had ceased to exist.

They were deep in Zone Three, scouting the area for a drop site they could loot for generator parts. Of course, the likelihood of generator parts still being at a drop site this far into a cycle was slim to none, but they were desperate. Their own hunk of junk had spat out a series of sparks and screeches before promptly exploding. Leaving the three of them without a light or heat source and, therefore, extremely vulnerable.

Zone Three was riddled with drop sites directly from the Homestead, full to the brim of Mission approved garbage, and, more importantly, castaways from the Old World that were forbidden within a Homestead. Thus, it was their best bet at finding the pre-war parts they needed.

Unfortunately, everyone and their droid in the Zones used pre-war parts too. They were not having much luck, having salvaged half of a drive belt and nothing else. Just as they were about to give up, Phantom had pulled up short, lifted her SandShield and squinted at the horizon.

“What is it?” Dazzle asked, spinning the loop of the belt around his forefinger.

“An Outpost, I think.” Phantom replied, Razzle looked up from where he was still sorting through the garbage of all garbage. “Outposts still use generators,” he observed passively.

“Exactly.”

Phantom snapped her SandShield back over her eyes and started to stride with purpose towards the smudge on the horizon. Razzle and Dazzle were left with no other option but to follow.

To attack an Outpost would be considered exceptionally stupid by just about every single person in the Zones. Except Phantom.

Outposts were manned by Missionaries, the crack team of scouts sent out by the Mission to curb hedonism. Which manifested as, attack people living in the Zones with extreme prejudice. After all, if one was to spend any time in the Zones, they’d find one massive orgy. Quite literally – The Party at the End of the World.

After the war, the Mission propped itself up as the solution to life in nuclear wasteland. Demonstrate that you could live without sin and you too could be admitted to the Homestead! Dazzle had scoffed and called it a cult. Unfortunately, it was a cult with power and resources.

Which meant that they could be extremely shitty in their approach to morality. Admission to the Homestead was difficult, one had to live a Mission approved lifestyle. However, life outside the Mission was harder.

The Zones were dangerous. Desperation brought out the worst kind of human behavior. The drugs, the blood sports, and the brothels, in the eyes of the Mission, justified the Outposts. Hedonism was the antithesis to the Mission, and it had to be eradicated.

This was a very nice way of saying that the Mission condoned violence, as long as it was theirs.

All said, it was a terrible idea to rob an Outpost.

So naturally that was what Phantom proposed they do.

The plan had been simple. “Hit and git,” Phantom instructed her brothers. They needed parts and the Outpost would have plenty. They didn’t have time for finesse, no one wanted to get caught in the Zones at dark. So, they adapted their tried and true – chaos and looting.

Phantom tasked herself with infiltration, as the lightest and smallest, she had been slipping in and out of tight spots for years. While she was doing this, the twins would give the Missionaries the ole Razzle Dazzle. This was code for generally making a nuisance of themselves.

It had been decided they would use the small detonators they carried for emergencies to draw out the Missionaries, away from the house. Failing that, they would start shooting. Thankfully their blaster cells were fully charged.

The hit had gone well.

Dazzle and Razzle had brought out the Missionaries guns blazing. There had only been five. What luck!

In the smoke and confusion Phantom had slipped in through the front door while the twins picked off the Missionaries. The SandShields gave them an upper edge over the unprepared Missionaries. The smoke and grit in the air was pervasive.

Having the element of surprise meant that minutes later there were five bodies on the ground. The smoke dispersed and Phantom reappeared out a 2nd story window. The pockets of her dark leather jacket bulged with parts and, no doubt, other goodies she’d lifted too. She took a moment to retie her hair, scraping the ratty tussles into a rushed bun, then jumped straight to the ground and took off at a sprint.

The twins took this to mean they had moved to phase two of their plan. Time to git.

This was where things went to absolute shit.

Between one second and the next, Razzle went. Although perhaps ‘went’ is not the best word, it wasn’t clear that he went anywhere. He was gone. Gone, gone. Like he’d never been there in the first place.

Dazzle dropped his blaster, frantically whipping his head around in search of his brother. Phantom scrabbled to retrieve her hacked Reader from one of the numerous pockets of her pants. She gave it a hard smack to the side to get it started.

“He’s gone.” She said simply. Her voice flat with shock.

Dazzle shook his head in incomprehension. Despite all evidence to the contrary, people simply didn’t stop existing. But the Reader was clear, Razzle had never been there in the first place.

Preoccupied as they were by the case of a missing brother, neither Dazzle nor Phantom had picked up on the ambush until it was way, way too late. The true numbers of the Outpost team showing their faces. It had been too optimistic to assume that it would have been manned by a small team. Home from surveying the Zone they had seen that the place had been compromised and fanned out in preparation for an attack.

This was the fourth ambush they had stumbled into this cycle; they were getting sloppy. However, this particular instance was beyond stupid. But the duo was a little frazzled.

It’s strange how the immediacy of getting shot at can squash any manner of urgent problems, including your brother disappearing. It was on instinct that Phantom dropped the Reader to the dust and pulled her own blaster, plastering herself to her brother’s back. It quickly became apparent that they were woefully outnumbered.

Desperation fueled their actions. Dazzle left the protective bubble they had created and tackled the nearest Missionary. Unprepared for physicality the Missionary went down hard. Phantom started firing at a greater and more erratic pace. Doing anything to draw attention off her brother.

Dazzle pulled a sharp blade from his left boot, although blade was a generous term for the scrap of serrated metal, and plunged it into the exposed neck above the crisp white collar of the Missionary uniform.

Phantom threw a detonator into the air and shot it. Bracing herself, she rocked back at the ensuing blast. Less prepared to deal with Zone made detonation devices, the Missionaries toppled. Allowing for Dazzle and his blade and Phantom and her blaster to make quick work.

They stood panting in the aftermath. Dazzle pushed his hair back out of his eyes, leaving a smear of tacky blood. He grunted in annoyance and wiped his hand against the rough material of his pants. Phantom retied her hair.

Immediately back on task, she began picking her way through the scattered remains, looking for their Reader. Dazzle patted down the Missionaries, pocketing Nutrio-Bars and blaster cells.

As he came to the last body he yelped in shock.

Lying on the ground was Razzle. Exactly as he had been before he vanished. He groaned and made an aborted attempt to get up, before flopping back to the ground. Dazzle rushed to his side.

“Razzle?”

The man groaned and blinked rapidly against the grit of the air. “Mhmm?”

“It’s not him.”

Dazzle frowned, pausing midway to helping Razzle to his feet to look over at Phantom. She stood several meters back from the scene, face screwed up tight in concentration. She was staring at their Reader. She smacked it hard on the side. Her frown deepened.

“I don’t know how, but it’s not him. It can’t be – the reader says he’s still gone.”

“Course it’s him. Who else could it be?”

“Look at him Daz. That’s not Razzle.”

Dazzle followed his sisters gaze to the man’s chest, the man’s bare chest. It wasn’t there.

“What happened?” Not-Razzle asked, rubbing at his eyes. Dazzle felt his breath hitch. That was not his brother’s voice. It was polished, the vowel’s pronounced and clean. He sounded like one of those pre-war movie stars Phantom was too young to have ever known.

“Where is it?” Dazzle countered.

Razzle blinked at him in confusion, his head tilting to the side in a gesture that was so un-Razzle it sent chills down Phantom’s spine. “Where is what? Daz could you help me up now please and tell me what’s going on?” The speech pattern was wrong. So very, very wrong.

Phantom dropped the reader to pull out her blaster. She pointed it at her not-brother’s chest. Her hand shook but her voice was firm, “Who are you?”

“I’m Razzle?” He didn’t sound completely sure.

“Then, where. Is. It?” she bit out, pushing her blaster closer to the man’s bare chest. He scrambled back, “Watch where you point that thing!”

“It’s not him.” Dazzle said.

“No, its not.” Phantom agreed.

Missing from his chest was the one identifier they all wore. Something that signaled they were together, a crew, not entirely lost to the pull of the Zones. A small, heart shaped pendant, made by their grandmother in the Old World. The speech patterns, the voice, the indignation could have been overlooked as long as he had it. But he didn’t.

The Reader insisted he wasn’t there at all.

Dazzle smacks not-Razzle hard against the temple with the butt of his blaster. “We need to leave.”

Phantom nods. The Zones were a brutal place and there could be no time for Not-Brothers.

Razzle was gone.

Dazzle and Phantom moved on. Each ignoring the other’s tears.