When worlds fall apart, you learn to work with even its most despicable scum to survive, even if said scum once tried to take your life.

Although the end of civilization might have been years away, the arrival of Adortha Vidris wasn’t all that different to us.

“No need to glare, kid,” Kassem said, peeling a strip of flesh from some hairy fruit with his knife. “I told you it was all a misunderstanding.”

“How fortunate, then.” I snorted, arms crossed and leaned back in my chair. The knife didn’t necessarily scare me, but I wanted time to react in case it came my way. “Else, spending days down within piss-dark tunnels, filled with murderous insects, would have been a real shitty experience. Almost to the point I would’ve thought someone wanted me dead.”

Kassem lazily waved off the notion with his knife as he plopped the piece of fruit into his mouth. It was crunchy.

Colors was there, too, restlessly flipping between us with her wide, heterochromatic eyes. One was the same sharp green as her hair that day, while the other remained silver.

“As I said: a misunderstanding,” Kassem repeated, peeling another bite from his fruit. “I might have told Georgie that I wanted to test your mettle — in a most friendly manner, of course — and he might have misinterpreted my words. The big oaf can be a bit slow sometimes, but he really is soft-hearted, you know? Had he wanted you dead, he would have ripped your head off and tossed your corpse inside one of those craters. Considering the fact that you are still here, head and all, I conclude that it was all a misunderstanding. Let’s let silly bygones be bygones, yeah?”

Even if I was no longer sure whether I could trust it or not, my interface couldn’t detect any hostility in his words or body language. Not in Colors’ either, and she was like an open book to read — eyes wide and attention constantly darting back and forth between us, like a little sister that nervously waited for her brothers to start fighting.

Indeed, maybe there was a time when the Slobber Knuckles had wanted me out of the picture, but with Adortha Vidris here; imperial judge, jury, and executioner; the situation was different.

As such, I reeled in my emotions.

Violence seemed far too high up on my list of priorities these days – teenage hormones, or the work of my UI? – but now wasn’t the time for that. I had been forced to work with thousands of murderers and war criminals before – aliens that would one day try to strangle and poison you, only to become the key to your survival the next.

Kassem really was a slimy pile of tentacles, but I had seen worse. I had been worse myself.

“Leaving attempted murder aside,” I said, still watching each careful motion of the man’s knife. “I don’t suspect you came here just to give me your heartfelt apology?”

A smile found its way onto Kassem’s lips. “See, kid, I knew you would understand.” He laughed. “At the end of the day, you and I are not so different. Even with a bullet in our belly and a knife in our backs, we can see things for what they truly are.”

With an easy gesture from the man, Colors reluctantly slid a leather case onto the table.

She glanced once at Kassem, before locking onto me. “This is mine,” she said, “and I’m only lending it to you, OK? Just because I feel bad about what Georgie did to you.”

Unzipping it, I could feel my eyebrows rise significantly.

Are they still prodding for my connections with the Astral Fleet or…

Laying there before me was a T1 Coilgun, a bit outdated, but still standard issue in several of the more isolated sectors of the Stratos Apolytos reach.

With an initial charge time of 2.37 seconds, a modest fire rate of 40/rpm, and a magazine that only fitted some eight rounds, it would never have lasted for long if not for the fact that it could punch through an inch-thick lead sheet at over five hundred meters. It held a special place in my heart, as with most soldiers who had ever had the pleasure of using it.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

I looked over at Kassem, never bothering to lower my eyebrows.

“So, here’s the deal,” Kassem said between the last crunchy bites of his fruit, “Mikayes hears that you’ve lost your gun over our misunderstanding, he comes to me, and I check with Palette here,” he nodded towards Colors, “and she just so happens to have this beauty lying around. The one problem is that, if these bullets were ever to start coming our way, I’m not all willing handing it out, you see.”

“But circumstances are forcing your hand?” I asked.

“In a sense, yes.” Kassem sighed, putting his knife aside. “With one thing having inevitably lead to another, an operation that was meant to span months has been cut down to three short days, at the end of which we will all be turned into gooey bits unless things start to happen. And I don’t want to be turned into gooey bits. I like myself just the way I am.”

“Me too,” Colors somberly chimed in.

My enemy’s enemy?

“And this operation…” I began, only for Kassem to roll his eyes.

“Come on now, kid, don’t insult both of our intelligence. Mikayes has his goals and aspirations, we have our goals and aspirations, and they will, naturally, not always be perfectly aligned. But you already knew that, and Mikayes certainly already knows that. If anything, it’s your goals and aspirations that are the biggest mystery here.” He tapped his fingers against the table, giving long enough of a pause for my silence to confirm I wouldn’t share anything, before he continued with a click of his tongue, “Well, let me just be crazy and assume that you, like the rest of us, have a reason for being here, and that our recent addition isn’t helping with that.”

I quietly nodded, absorbing the words.

I had figured that Kassem and Adortha wasn’t exactly celebrating in the same corner, and this more or less confirmed it. They weren’t working on the same paycheck, but that only told me so much.

The Astral Fleet, not to mention the entirety of the Stratos Apolytos, had never been a singular, unified entity even on the best of days. I still wasn’t sure where the Slobber Knuckles, less so the Hand of Freedom, fit into this messy puzzle.

“And you just so happen to give — lend,” I corrected as I saw Colors’ pouting expression, “me a gun that could very well pierce an Executioner’s armor?”

Kassem spread his arms defensively. “Whatever you choose to do with this thing once it’s in your possession is not my responsibility, as long as it doesn’t end up aiming our way.”

“Then why not keep it and save yourself the worry?” I asked.

“Because I thrive in chaos and, with recent developments, I figured the pot needed a bit of stirring,” Kassem said matter-of-factly. “From where I sit, I can very well see where this game is headed, and I can’t say I’m a big fan of it.

“Our dear Mr. Biggins — may he rest in exactly the kind of place he deserves — was the worst kind of loser, just flipping over the table with his dying breath.

Shaking his head, Kassem continued, “So, you could say this is me reaching out to help Mikayes play his wildcard: you. I don’t think you can make our situation much worse, and if you end up dying, well, I’m sure me and Palette will figure out a way to get back this coilgun for her.”

𐫰 𐫰 𐫰

My new weapon was heavy, but not heavier than where I could comfortably carry. Not heavier than my lost sleep and lingering injuries.

The night had been a hectic one, filled with bad plans replacing even worse ones, and now, it was gradually turning into an uncertain dawn.

The death of Mr. Biggins, Lieutenant Keshig, and four of our Ruskel crew had certainly set the tone for things. Especially as Adortha Vidris’ stealth craft had faded from existence during some point in the night, like a hungry leviathan dipping down into dark waters.

He was still there. The fact that our System communication was still limited to our planet only spoke of the fact, and time was ticking away. Three days, or even less depending on how our new overseer decided to count them, wasn’t a whole lot of time.

Fortunately, the situation had also let the metaphorical cat out of the bag. There wasn’t a whole lot of room for tiptoeing around anymore, or for playing a safe hand. Mikayes and Kassem seemed more or less on the same page that morning, and the same went for the rest of our crew as well.

Our sonar scans of the Cratered Plains had revealed a labyrinthian structure hiding just underneath the planet’s crust, with neither end nor beginning in sight. We needed somewhere to start, and so, we now headed to the Migmian tribe that had first shown Mikayes the Artifacts.

With their old employer dead, Suno and Drudgery were with us as well, and the cyborg alien would have to work overtime to find us the answer we needed in time. Maybe I could help, maybe I couldn’t.

The entire Transporter was rattling around us where we ripped towards our destination, the wind-resistance making our speed barely maintainable this close to the planet’s surface. But, once more, there was no room to play things safely anymore.

So, with the coilgun rested against my shoulder, I stared down at my UI.

My enemy’s enemy, huh…?

I still hadn’t figured out what my System’s end goals were, but compared to the fall of all civilization, it couldn’t be all that bad…right? Much as I fancied maintaining full autonomy over my mind and actions, I also needed strength.

Now, my eyes rested upon that message I’d gotten but never followed up on.

Sufficient EXP Earned,

Level Up Available…