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Description
My first name is Eddy, number 302.875.106.592.253. Short number thirteen of twenty. Nineteen, really. One of us was dead before training began. Or early enough, at least, that by the time we first went onto the Field, none of us remembered twenty. And, truth, at age eight, none of us really cared. We'd already seen more than a few different ways for people to die.

That's how it is. Do it right or do it dead.

I say first name, and some dumb Outsider always asks "What's your last name?". The answer I give them is the right answer: I haven't got it yet. Usually this includes more color. Idiots gotta learn their places, after all.

So, as I said, my first name is Eddy. It isn't short for Edward. It's just Eddy.

I met an Edward once. Interesting guy. Smiled a lot. Died beautifully. Took six with him. Crazy bastard.

My name's Eddy. I've taken a lot of names since I started, but Eddy's always served me well. I've been an Elder--one of the guys who deals with the Novas, so I've seen the Book. I know why I was called Eddy.

The Book's full of everything. Ain't nothing the book can't train you on. If you can read it. If you have the time. If you give a damn enough to learn anything more than the Game. Me, I'm the type that doesn't give a shit about the Game. Funny, since I'm one of the most active players: Everybody wants to kill me.

The first chapter's on names for Novas. I have to name the kids, might as well know what the names mean, right? That's what I thought. Seems my Elder thought the same, 'cause I was definitely nailed for it.

Eddy. Unresting. Which fits, since even as the little shit I was as a Nova I rarely slept. Kept up with distractions while the others dreamed of--what, breakfast? Always pacing and bouncing and boxing about. My Elder asked me if I ever slept. I said sometimes, but not for long. Never for long.

It's something that carried over from before I was born into this body, if the few dreams I have are real. At least here in the Camp you're safe in your bed. Usually. On the open road, you never have any guarantee you'll wake back up if you go down to sleep. So I don't go down easy.

First party's the only party you ever really get to know everyone. Well enough to maybe start to like them. They're the only ones whose names register some strange resonance when you hear them later.

For me, those names are Brand, Dare, Gervaise, Otway, Gunthar, Jerwais, Farley, Raynor, Madison, Asta, Alphonso, Hilda, Valda, Valdis, Jarrat, Clothilde, Isa, and Sid. In short number order. I could give some of their long numbers, too. The ones who lasted long enough.

Our party lasted longer than most. We died harder than others. Owe that to our Elder. Much as we all hated him. I probably still would, if he was alive. I don't give a damn about the dead one way or another. All you are when you die is meat and memories. And I've got no use for either when they're bad.

But we--like I said--our party lasted longer than most. Half of us replaced Nova for Sarid. Three of us passed that, too. I'm Jivanta, as was Farley, and Dare was Priscilla. They start splitting sexes at thirteen, at least in name. We all still bathed together when we had to, even if Dare was a chick. Farley and I didn't give a damn. She was Dare.

And three's a hell of a lot safer than one or two. Especially when you're slicked up and can't hold a gun right. When a knife'll skid loose because there's soap and water between your skin and it, you feel damn safe knowing that at least you've got partners nearby if some crap kicks up. Even if your partners look like they're missing parts. Even if the guys attacking you don't have those problems.

This one time, not too long ago--a couple weeks before Dare and Farley ran out of lead--a handful of fresh-fucked Outsiders came in on us when we were showering. Must've thought they were hot. Must've thought we were sissies for bathing in a group.

Damn fools.

Their leader was bigger than me--which is saying something, since I'm five-six and one-sixty at thirteen. I'm lean and mean, and this fool was green. He was probably fourteen, maybe fifteen. But I'd never seen him on the field, so he was obviously fresh. Which means he showed potential. They don't usually bring in anyone over twelve.

Anyway, he comes in and makes some idiot comment about 'a woman's duty'. Spews some crap about what he plans to do to Dare. She ignores him but Farley, he was less the forgiving type. The only thing that kept him in check was my signal to keep bathing and ignore the dumb bastard.

Only he really was dumb. Really dumb. He took us ignoring him as an invitation to start something. So he grabbed Dare's wrist and pulled her around, moving in like he was gonna bite her face. Only Dare, being a bit shorter than him, had him starting to bend over for it. And she brought herself up full-force to meet him.

Crushed his damn nose with her forehead. That was enough to get his cohorts after us. So I let Farley join Dare while I finished washing my hair. Time I was done, it was over. We were in pretty good moods, so they got off easy. None of them died.

I squeezed my hair out over their leader's face. My long, clean hair. Most of us keep our hair short, even bald. Some of the Outsiders do longer cuts, but us Campers tend to keep it short. No getting it caught in something. No having it used against you. I never liked mine to be cut, so it wasn't. Not since I was six. Seven years of hair's a lot of water.

When he spluttered back into consciousness, he saw the three of us standing above him, Dare and Farley drying off. I leaned down over him, with my hair making a tunnel between his face and mine so all he could see at the end of the tunnel was me.

"You boys must be new," I said evenly. "You don't recognize us. You don't respect us. Usually, we'd just end crap like you right now and be done with it."

His eyes bulged, and I smiled. "But we want to be done with the showers for today, which means we let you fucks live. There's blood around here, but none of it's ours. You six are the ones cleaning it up. If your Faramond has a problem with it, tell him to take it up with Unit One-six-nine's Cadeyrn Eddy."

I flicked my hair back out of his face, and started walking away, followed by Dare and Farley. "Oh," I said at the doorway. "The next time we meet, you'll treat the Priscilla with respect. You weren't born in this hole, so you may not understand. But as far as you're concerned, the name 'Priscilla' means 'stay the fuck away if you want your meat sack intact'. Next time, I won't stop her from ending you."

We walked off, and the guy spit behind us. Farley stopped to finish him up, but laughed instead when he heard the familiar clink of a tooth hitting the tiles.

It was a good day.

Description
My first name is Eddy, number 302.875.106.592.253. Short number thirteen of twenty. Nineteen, really. One of us was dead before training began. Or early enough, at least, that by the time we first went onto the Field, none of us remembered twenty. And, truth, at age eight, none of us really cared. We'd already seen more than a few different ways for people to die.

That's how it is. Do it right or do it dead.

I say first name, and some dumb Outsider always asks "What's your last name?". The answer I give them is the right answer: I haven't got it yet. Usually this includes more color. Idiots gotta learn their places, after all.

So, as I said, my first name is Eddy. It isn't short for Edward. It's just Eddy.

I met an Edward once. Interesting guy. Smiled a lot. Died beautifully. Took six with him. Crazy bastard.

My name's Eddy. I've taken a lot of names since I started, but Eddy's always served me well. I've been an Elder--one of the guys who deals with the Novas, so I've seen the Book. I know why I was called Eddy.

The Book's full of everything. Ain't nothing the book can't train you on. If you can read it. If you have the time. If you give a damn enough to learn anything more than the Game. Me, I'm the type that doesn't give a shit about the Game. Funny, since I'm one of the most active players: Everybody wants to kill me.

The first chapter's on names for Novas. I have to name the kids, might as well know what the names mean, right? That's what I thought. Seems my Elder thought the same, 'cause I was definitely nailed for it.

Eddy. Unresting. Which fits, since even as the little shit I was as a Nova I rarely slept. Kept up with distractions while the others dreamed of--what, breakfast? Always pacing and bouncing and boxing about. My Elder asked me if I ever slept. I said sometimes, but not for long. Never for long.

It's something that carried over from before I was born into this body, if the few dreams I have are real. At least here in the Camp you're safe in your bed. Usually. On the open road, you never have any guarantee you'll wake back up if you go down to sleep. So I don't go down easy.

First party's the only party you ever really get to know everyone. Well enough to maybe start to like them. They're the only ones whose names register some strange resonance when you hear them later.

For me, those names are Brand, Dare, Gervaise, Otway, Gunthar, Jerwais, Farley, Raynor, Madison, Asta, Alphonso, Hilda, Valda, Valdis, Jarrat, Clothilde, Isa, and Sid. In short number order. I could give some of their long numbers, too. The ones who lasted long enough.

Our party lasted longer than most. We died harder than others. Owe that to our Elder. Much as we all hated him. I probably still would, if he was alive. I don't give a damn about the dead one way or another. All you are when you die is meat and memories. And I've got no use for either when they're bad.

But we--like I said--our party lasted longer than most. Half of us replaced Nova for Sarid. Three of us passed that, too. I'm Jivanta, as was Farley, and Dare was Priscilla. They start splitting sexes at thirteen, at least in name. We all still bathed together when we had to, even if Dare was a chick. Farley and I didn't give a damn. She was Dare.

And three's a hell of a lot safer than one or two. Especially when you're slicked up and can't hold a gun right. When a knife'll skid loose because there's soap and water between your skin and it, you feel damn safe knowing that at least you've got partners nearby if some crap kicks up. Even if your partners look like they're missing parts. Even if the guys attacking you don't have those problems.

This one time, not too long ago--a couple weeks before Dare and Farley ran out of lead--a handful of fresh-fucked Outsiders came in on us when we were showering. Must've thought they were hot. Must've thought we were sissies for bathing in a group.

Damn fools.

Their leader was bigger than me--which is saying something, since I'm five-six and one-sixty at thirteen. I'm lean and mean, and this fool was green. He was probably fourteen, maybe fifteen. But I'd never seen him on the field, so he was obviously fresh. Which means he showed potential. They don't usually bring in anyone over twelve.

Anyway, he comes in and makes some idiot comment about 'a woman's duty'. Spews some crap about what he plans to do to Dare. She ignores him but Farley, he was less the forgiving type. The only thing that kept him in check was my signal to keep bathing and ignore the dumb bastard.

Only he really was dumb. Really dumb. He took us ignoring him as an invitation to start something. So he grabbed Dare's wrist and pulled her around, moving in like he was gonna bite her face. Only Dare, being a bit shorter than him, had him starting to bend over for it. And she brought herself up full-force to meet him.

Crushed his damn nose with her forehead. That was enough to get his cohorts after us. So I let Farley join Dare while I finished washing my hair. Time I was done, it was over. We were in pretty good moods, so they got off easy. None of them died.

I squeezed my hair out over their leader's face. My long, clean hair. Most of us keep our hair short, even bald. Some of the Outsiders do longer cuts, but us Campers tend to keep it short. No getting it caught in something. No having it used against you. I never liked mine to be cut, so it wasn't. Not since I was six. Seven years of hair's a lot of water.

When he spluttered back into consciousness, he saw the three of us standing above him, Dare and Farley drying off. I leaned down over him, with my hair making a tunnel between his face and mine so all he could see at the end of the tunnel was me.

"You boys must be new," I said evenly. "You don't recognize us. You don't respect us. Usually, we'd just end crap like you right now and be done with it."

His eyes bulged, and I smiled. "But we want to be done with the showers for today, which means we let you fucks live. There's blood around here, but none of it's ours. You six are the ones cleaning it up. If your Faramond has a problem with it, tell him to take it up with Unit One-six-nine's Cadeyrn Eddy."

I flicked my hair back out of his face, and started walking away, followed by Dare and Farley. "Oh," I said at the doorway. "The next time we meet, you'll treat the Priscilla with respect. You weren't born in this hole, so you may not understand. But as far as you're concerned, the name 'Priscilla' means 'stay the fuck away if you want your meat sack intact'. Next time, I won't stop her from ending you."

We walked off, and the guy spit behind us. Farley stopped to finish him up, but laughed instead when he heard the familiar clink of a tooth hitting the tiles.

It was a good day.