Ogre mutants were bad at bluffing. The brute sitting beside Andy grimaced at its cards like they were soured milk, then threw a handful of bones into the pile. "Fifteh boens." Its accent was chunky, clogged by the tumorous bulges in its throat. Predictably, with a clatter, every mutant at the table chucked their betting-bones into the pot. If there was one thing mutants struggled to do, it was turn down a challenge.

  They all turned to face Andy. Either by a feat of his sister's creativity, or the mutant's stupidity, the disguise was working. Green paint covered his arms and face and he wore a cartoonishly large witch's nose, tied behind his head with elastic string. Andy felt naked without his leather jacket, but took solace in the company of Julie, his .45 revolver, at his hip. She hummed in her holster, pining to be set free. "Hold on baby," Andy whispered, stroking her handle. "Soon."

  "Wos dat?" The runty mutant dealing the cards leaned over the embossed metal table.

  "Don't rush me," Andy growled, doing his best impression of a mutant. The voice modulator helped. It was one of the gizmos Clara had provided for the mission, worn like a necklace, hidden in plain sight. He glanced around the satellite complex's control room, making eye contact with each mutant at the table. Present were the patriarchs of three tribes: The Bossers, The Boasters and The Bosses. Mutant politics were rich and complex like that.

  "Runty's a thinka'," the fattest mutant at the table heckled. Its humongous muscles were buried beneath rolls of fungus-grey fat. A sledgehammer rested upright beside its chair, only the legs of which escaped the folds of its gargantuan arse. Somewhere on its bestial face were the worn grooves of mankind, warped by radiation, remoulded into a horror of the apocalypses.

  Resisting the urge to draw his revolver on the ugly creature, Andy inspected his cards: Queen-Ten suited. If he'd been playing with other mercenaries, it would have been a pretty good hand. But as per ogre mutant rules, his cards were considered weak and runty. The radioactive abominations favoured picture cards, and the King was mightiest of all. Maybe if he scratched off the Queen's hairdo, he could convince the table that she was just a girly looking King, but it would take a lot of bluster and bravado to sell.

  "Fold," he grumbled, chucking his cards away. He needed a better hand before he assassinated his target.

  "Tiny runt's scared of fightin'." Andy's target: the behemoth mutant, sat opposite him puffing smoke like a furnace through five cigars tied together like the barrel of a minigun. Its eyes were dots inside its tremendous head, like two nails hammered into a swollen corpse, milky and bloodshot. It stared back at Andy, face twitching to an inaudible rage. On its head was an imposing helmet made from the skull of a stag, antlers jutting out the top, decorated with hanging bones, some of which bore the rotting remnants of human flesh. The dress piece signified him as the alpha–the mutant who kept all the other patriarchs in check.

  Andy sighed. It wasn't the right time yet. How was it Clara had put it during the mission briefing? He remembered back to their conversation in the jeep a few hours ago: "Our mission is to create instability. Just killing a few of them won't work. We can't have them blaming humanity for this, or else they might look outside their tribes and seek revenge. Make it look like a mutant did it–like it was a fair fight."

  Okay, so shooting the alpha mutant now would not be humiliating enough for his sister's plan to work. The other mutants at the poker table would perceive Andy's actions as cowardice. They might be dumb, but they had a rigid code of honour. Andy was required to undermine the alpha with a challenge first. The execution should be flashy: wait for a sure-kill hand, then pull the trigger.

  Alert: Immediate danger detected. A robotic voice reached him from within the deep recesses of his mind, as though he was wearing an earpiece with the volume turned way down. Eliminate mutant. Priority targets established-

  "Shh," Andy said to the artificial intelligence in his head. For as long as he could remember, Andy had heard voices which others claimed weren't there, but the Artificial Intelligence implant was by far the most vivid and persistent. It had first talked to him after he had injected himself with military-grade Augmentation Serum a couple years after the world had ended, mistaking it for a quick high. The effects had been immediate and permanent, invading his DNA, transforming him into a biological weapon.

  Alert: Pollutants detected, the voice badgered him. Motor and cognitive abilities impaired. Avoid contaminated liquids.

  It hadn't shut up since.

  "Chill out," Andy said, hiding his voice in a sip of the mutant grog. He slouched in his chair as the room spun pleasantly, like a swing twisted around its chain. The whispering voice inside his head grew unintelligible, subdued by the hum of booze to a distant sanctimonious breeze. But no matter how drunk he got, his mind was drawn to certain tactical assets and a crucial part of him remained alert. It was one of his Augmentation's enhancement modules.

  Some Augmented people had developed hulking muscles and herculean strength, others could control the elements, shooting fireballs and flying through the sky, or so the stories went. Andy's Gunslinger Augmentation gave him Combat Conceptualisation: an artificial intelligence implant which ran tactical programming, mapping the room as though it were a video game… Badass.

  Andy realised that he was standing beside a window the moment it shattered. Something grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him through the glass. His Killer Instinct triggered, and Julie struck out to intercept the beast, but Andy's arm smashed into the window frame. Shards of glass stripped his skin as he was dragged off his feet, back inside the compound.

  Andy struggled helplessly as he was pinned to the floor. A huge hand gripped him by the skull, thumb digging under his jaw, pulling him to his knees. The room was dark by contrast, and his sunglasses didn't help, but he recognised the alpha mutant's carrion antler crown. His target had come to say bye to him, what a stroke of luck!

  "Runty hummy's gunna look nice all skinned up on ma' wall." The mutant's palm smothered Andy's nose, stinking of filth. A low rumbling laugh rang in his uncovered ear. Blood trickled from the ogre mutant's skull where a chunk of it was missing, seemingly it didn't need that section of its brain.

  Andy choked on his Augmentation's hormones, mixed with adrenaline and unavoidable fear like a primal cocktail, shaken not stirred. His powers were useless without a gun, and he'd never been that physically strong to begin with. Yet, a wisp of calm touched his nerves. Floating atop the waves of panic, like driftwood in a storm, came a voice from outside, sweet, yet stern. In a flash, Andy envisioned his revolver outside in the snow. He must have dropped Julie as he was dragged through the window. Now she was all alone, and cold, and calling to him.