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started to burn from the heat even as it was pulled apart, falling in pieces.
    Then they were gone.   Flames licked up from the floor, where something had fallen as it burned.
    “Mason!”   Carter’s voice was loud in his ear.   “What—”
    “The feed, Carter.”   Mason coughed again.   “They were on the feed .”
    “I don’t—”   She stopped.   “That’s impossible.”
    “You can see them, can’t you?”   He walked over to the burned patch on the ground.   It was an arm, cut and torn from the Tenko-Senshin’s barrage.   He poked it with a gloved finger.   “And you can see this.”
    “The dead don’t walk, Mason.   We know the hallucinations are just…   They’re an effect, from the rain.”
    “This look like an effect?”
    “No, but…   Wait.   What’s that?”   Mason’s optics flickered once, twice, then a reticule highlighted a section of an arm.   “That tattoo.”
    Mason leaned forward, poking the arm with the barrel of the Tenko-Senshin.   The tattoo was typical military-style, the falcon, globe, and anchor faded with age.   A barcode was etched underneath, the six-digit service number faded to illegibility.
    “Give me a second,” she said.   “I’ll enhance that.”
    Mason’s optics flickered again, picking out the barcode and service number.   A section popped into relief, image enhancing algorithms kicking in.   A sound was coming down the link from Carter.   “Are you…   Jesus.   You’re humming.”
    “Yeah.”   She went back to humming.   “I love my work.   What can I say.”
    “It’s hardly the time, Carter.”
    “Oh.   Right.”   She stopped humming, and a chime sounded.   “It doesn’t matter, we’re done.   That arm belongs to…   John Smith.”
    “I’m not in the mood.”   Mason rubbed a hand over his face.   “His name’s actually John Smith?”
    “Yeah.   From Nebraska.”
    “John Smith, from Nebraska.   What’s his arm doing here?   And when did he die?”
    “Well, that’s the thing.”   A military service record started to download to Mason, the pages flipping over in the top right of his optics.   “According to the Marines, he’s not dead.”
    Mason nudged the arm, then stood up.   “Looks pretty dead to me.”
    “Well it’s obvious, isn’t it?”
    “Carter.”
    “Yes, Mason?”
    “I’m a field agent.   I didn’t study sociopathy.”
    “Sociology.   I’m a sociology major, Mason.   Amongst other things.”
    “Whatever.”
    She sighed, then paused for a moment.   “It’s got nothing to do with sociology.   It’s just logic.   The reason why… Specialist Smith doesn’t have a deceased date on file is because you only just killed him.”
    “Specialist?”
    “Career Retention Specialist.   It’s in the file.”
    “He was…   Wait.   He was in HR?”   Mason looked up at the darkness around him, then let the Tenko-Senshin’s beam fill the spaces between the columns with light.   You’re babbling.   Get your shit together.   Only little kids are afraid of the dark .
    “It’s the Marines, Mason.”
    “Christ.   I thought they shot people.”
    “They do.   And they have an HR department to make sure they retain people who are good at shooting.”
    Mason blew out a nervous laugh.   “Well, I guess that makes sense.”
    “I know you don’t like HR, Mason, but this is a bigger issue, ok?”
    “I don’t follow.”
    “You’re like dealing with a child.   A retarded child.   The atmospheric effect?   You remember.”
    “Sure.   The effect.   The rain.”
    “Right, the rain.   We figured it made you see things.”   Carter coughed.
    “It does.”   Mason nudged the arm with the toe of his boot.   “I saw a dead man walking.”
    “No,” said Carter, “you didn’t.   You saw a live man walking, and then you made him a dead man.   It becomes even more imperative that we find the technology for the Federate.   You need to get to that buyer, and