Chapter 10: Quiet Observance...

1 Peter 4: 12-17

“Beloved, do not think it strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened to you; but rejoice to the extent that you partake of Christ’s sufferings, that when His glory is revealed, you may also be glad with exceeding joy. If you are reproached for the Name of Christ, blessed are you, for the Spirit of glory and of God rests upon you. On their part He is blasphemed, but on your part He is glorified. But let none of you suffer as a murderer, a thief, an evildoer, or as a busybody in other people’s matters. Yet if anyone suffers as a Christian, let him not be ashamed, but let him glorify God in this matter. For the time has come for judgment to begin at the house of God, and if it begins with us first, what will be the end of those who do not obey the gospel of God?”

The early morning dawn spreads across the crystal blue sky, painting the edges of the clouds in soft pinks and golds that chase away the last stubborn shadows. The rising sun breaks over the roof of the Cybervet building, glinting off its patchwork metal siding and weathered solar panels like a quiet promise of another every day in Sixshot.

A puff of dry Texas dirt billows up from underneath Moose’s shoes as he stops short in the middle of the wide, rutted street. He motions with a subtle tilt of his chin toward the scene before them, the movement unhurried, deliberate.

“What do you see?” Moose asks the question in a slow, careful drawl and tilts his head slightly. He hikes his pack higher on his shoulders, the straps creaking softly under the weight of Bibles and road-worn necessities, then slips both hands into his pockets.

Cbot stops smoothly beside him, her boots settling into the dust with barely a sound. Her optics flash a steady green as several soft whirs and clicks accompany the precise turn of her hooded head. She focuses on the Cybervet building ahead—its mismatched additions, the faint hum of machinery within—taking it all in. After a few thoughtful moments and one final swivel, she draws her cloak a little tighter around her frame, the dark fabric settling against her like a second skin against the warming breeze.

“One building. Several parts. Potential underground sections.” Cbot’s voice stays quiet, calm, and pointed, firing off each observation one by one in rapid but measured succession as Moose listens, head still tilted. “I see a water filtration tower, several civilians—non-threatening—threat level low.”

“I see trouble,” Moose says, his voice dropping lower as one of the men walking the street steps up to the door of the shop and knocks. It is a harsh rap, an insistent tap, tap, tap—unforgiving and demanding. The bearded, wild-haired man adjusts his gun belt on his hip with a metallic clink, his spurs jingling sharply against the dirt as he waits for an answer at the door. His shadow stretches long and jagged across the weathered planks.

The door to the shop opens with a soft creak of hinges, and out steps a woman in faded vet tech scrubs. A crisp white doctor’s coat drapes over them, a holopad glowing faintly in one hand. Her long black hair is pulled back in a practical ponytail that sways with the movement. She looks to be half machine and half human—a cybernetics-enhanced vet—with one eye clearly mechanical, its lens whirring softly as it adjusts focus on the man before her.

The two engage in quiet conversation just inside the doorway. Hands wave in measured gestures. Heads tilt in turns. The man’s voice carries a low rumble of insistence; hers stays even, professional, with the faint electronic undertone of augmented vocal cords. Tension simmers beneath the surface, but no raised voices break the morning calm.

“Come on, Cbot,” Moose says after a moment, his tone steady but carrying that familiar thoughtful weight. He begins to walk down the street again, boots stirring fresh puffs of dust. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”

Proverbs 22: 3

“A prudent man foresees evil and hides himself but the simple pass on and are punished.”