The dim lights of the cantina flickered in a rhythmic pulse, casting erratic shadows on the patrons and the smoke-filled atmosphere. A few screens flickered with news, interstellar trade routes, and interplanetary updates. The haze of the room barely muted the lively chatter. The establishment was filled with the usual crowd of outlaws, smugglers, mercenaries, and bounty hunters, their conversations mixing with the low hum of cybernetic enhancements, the occasional clinking of glass, and murmured deals.
Ubel sat at a back table, leaning slightly forward, deep in negotiation with a smuggler. An older man with a crooked grin and a scar that ran from his temple to his jawline, framed by a thick coat that shimmered with tech modifications. The smuggler’s fingers tapped on the holo pad, discussing a particularly juicy contract for illegal weapon shipments to Neptune and Uranus after explaining how he intended to split a haul. Ubel already had numerous contracts that were much more profitable than this one but he still had enough space for more in Blitzkrieg, so he intended to maximize the profit for his trip.
"This haul from the outer belts ain’t no small game, kid. And I’ll even cover transportation costs such as fuel and your food supply." The smuggler rasped, his voice rough from years of breathing recycled air and narcotic fumes. "You take a quarter, and I’ll handle the rest such as paperwork. So, you can expect a clean transfer. No trails. And we will meet up at the rendezvous near Titan’s orbit. The risk ain’t low, but you seem like you’re itching for a bigger cut of the profits. And if you proved in this transport contract that you are as good as you had claimed and from what I have heard, then I’ll accept a split fifty-fifty with you on the next runs."
"Sounds fair to me. As long as the goods are what you say they are, I have no issue with the arrangement." Ubel grinned lazily, toying with his glass.
"Good. Then we have a deal?" the smuggler smiled, offering his hand to finalize their agreement.
“However…” Ubel seems to have some additional complaints.
“Hmmm?”
The young boy pointed the straw from his drink to the old smuggler.
“You’re pushing for a deal like this 'cause you know my ship is faster than yours. And I like that. But I don’t work for half-baked promises. Let’s say… I take forty-five now and see how it goes.” his voice was calm but commanding, even in his youthful avatar form.
"Sixty-forty, kid," the smuggler countered, squinting at Ubel. "I know you're taking the shorter route, fewer risks. I will not increase your cut anymore. Deals off if you will not accept."
“Fine, fine. Forty it is then.” Ubel smirked.
He was about to seal the deal when a deafening crack tore through the cantina, drowning out the ambient noise and causing a sudden silence in the establishment. A high-caliber round tore through his right arm.
“Fuck not again…” Ubel could only close his eyes as he felt another déjà vu in this situation. Another round sheared it clean off at the elbow, the impact flung him backward, crashing into the table behind him as blood sprayed across the floor.
Then the remains of the projectile struck an unsuspecting patron sitting near him and hitting her rigid body. Sparks flew from the connection where flesh met cybernetic components, the metal shearing off as the woman’s entire upper body was torn clean off from the rest by the force of the blast. The cantina erupted into chaos.
The smuggler ducked, his face paling as Ubel crumpled to the floor, gripping the bloody stump where his arm had been. Then few more shots struck through the cantina’s walls, cleanly taking the head of the poor smuggler, killing him instantly. While Ubel was able to lean back his head, dodging the shot after predicting that the sniper was aiming for his head. The impact of the missed shot created another deep crater just near his body where it landed.
There was silence for a moment before it was replaced by another blast. The door to the cantina exploded inward and through the smoke and debris. Dozens of assailants stormed the cantina, dressed in combat suits that gleamed with augmented plating and advanced optics. They moved with military precision, their rifles and heavy weaponry spitting bullets that danced with electronic guidance, finding targets even through the thick, acrid smoke now filling the air. From the entrance, the staccato rhythm of machine-gun fire filled the air, cutting through tables, walls, and flesh alike.
But the patrons of the cantina were not helpless civilians and the intruders were met hail of bullets. This wasn’t the first time a firefight had broken out in the cantina. The clientele, a mix of cyber-enhanced mercenaries, bounty hunters, and smugglers, drew their weapons in a blur of motion. Energy pistols hummed to life, and ballistic skin-tight armors flickered on as the patrons returned fire. The entire place lit up with tracer fire, flashes of neon blue and orange from energy weapons and gunpowder alike. Patrons who moments ago had been drowning their sorrows in cheap whiskey were now unleashing weapons of their own—shotguns, energy pistols, even a few high-end rifles.
Ubel, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, rolled behind an overturned table. His vision and mind were already working through the haze of smoke and gunfire, analyzing the situation. He noticed that the attackers were equipped with black tactical gear that gleamed under the cantina’s flickering lights, and they moved like a well-coordinated unit. Not the usual street thugs—these were trained mercs or cartel enforcers. Their armor was ballistic-grade.
"More than… thirty of them," he muttered through gritted teeth, tapping into his neural augmentations to enhance his awareness. "Not just street thugs. Mercs. Cartels? Who the hell sent them?"
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Ubel quickly assessed his options, knowing full well that his usual tactics wouldn’t work here.
"Shit," Ubel muttered under his breath. His ability to calculate outcomes was being muddled by the chaos of the shootout. He wasn’t much of a shooter himself, and with only one arm functioning, it was even worse. He pulled a high-caliber pistol from the jacket of the dead smuggler, aiming it with his remaining hand. A plasma bolt screeched past Ubel’s head, narrowly missing him as it struck the bar, sending up a plume of molten wood and metal. Behind him, a group of patrons had taken up positions near the bar, their heavily augmented bodies reflecting in the dim light as they fired back with expert precision. He almost forgot that the clienteles here weren’t just drunkards and junkies; they were killers, smugglers, and mercenaries in their own right.
One of them, a merc with a cybernetic eye and arm, used a smart rifle to launch guided rounds that snaked through the air, targeting the attackers’ weak points. Another customer, a woman in a sleek black combat suit, activated ballistic skin enhancements, allowing her to charge forward through the barrage of bullets, her arms glowing as she returned fire with dual-energy pistols.
Ubel peeked out from behind his cover, squeezing off a couple of shots from his pistol. He wasn’t aiming to kill—just to buy some time. His heart raced as he dodged a barrage of bullets, barely managing to keep his remaining arm intact. Then he realized that he was forgetting something and quickly realized that he felt strange about this attack. He started thinking that he may not be the target of this attack but was also countered by his thoughts about those precise shots from a sniper. He was deep in his thoughts but was interrupted when a bullet whizzed by his ear, grazing his cheek.
One of the attackers, an enormous man with a heavy machine gun, roared as he laid down suppressing fire, forcing several patrons to take cover behind the scattered furniture and debris. Ubel watched as the man’s rounds tore through the cantina’s walls, ripping apart tables and sending shards of metal and glass flying everywhere. The mercenary and the woman that he noticed earlier, were struck down, their bodies crumpled against the walls of the cantina.
Ubel’s mind raced, trying to calculate a way out of the situation. The number of attackers and their firepower made it clear that this wasn’t just a random hit. These were elite mercenaries, likely on a contract to take out a target—if not him, specifically. The attackers seemed almost fearless, charging forward despite the resistance. One of them hurled a fragmentation grenade toward the center of the cantina. Ubel’s eyes widened. Without thinking, he dove to the side as the grenade exploded, sending tables and bodies flying through the air. He also noticed that the actual firefight was way opposite from what he had heard or watched in typical Hollywood action movies or anime and manga. Here, he heard no taunts, no words, no yell, or even a scream of rage. The clientele of this ruined establishment and the attackers all just silently continued in their deadly exchange.
“Professionals… huh.” He can only grin as he felt genuinely impressed at both sides letting their skills talk. Then he pinched himself as he found himself getting dragged out again by interesting things. But despite that, he was not ignorant of combat awareness. He wasn’t skilled at gunfights, but he could read the battlefield well enough. The enemies were driving the patrons into a kill zone.
"These guys don’t even care," Ubel thought, laughing as he peeked out from his cover. "They’re either suicidal or stupid, attacking a place like this. They’re breaking every truce that was established on this station."
Even Ubel knew that despite the lawlessness, there were some parts of the station where infighting or shootouts were prohibited and were under the protection of the ruling circle. And this cantina was situated in one of them. So, he could only imagine the bounty or the price for declaring war against the ruling circle of this station.
But then, something unexpected happened. Out of the smoke-filled haze, two women emerged from behind an overturned bar counter, weapons drawn, moving with a practiced, deadly grace.
Their fluid movements and precision marksmanship instantly set them apart from the rest of the cantina’s patrons. These women’s movements were smooth and coordinated as they engaged the assailants with practiced ease. Ubel’s neural augmentations flickered to life, instantly analyzing their faces and pulling data from his memory banks. He recognized them.
Twins.
The same twins he had briefly scanned days ago at a bar when he was scoping out a trader to offload some cargo. They had seemed unremarkable then, just another pair of UGTR agents that were pretending to be drifters in the crowd of outlaws and criminals that infested this station.
"Thank the gods I am not the target this time," Ubel muttered to himself, another assumption settling in.
Identical in almost every way, from their short, cropped hair to the way they wielded their high-caliber pistols with deadly accuracy. The first twin fired off a series of headshots, each one hitting home as she methodically took down assailants with pinpoint accuracy. The second twin moved like a dancer, flipping over tables and blasting attackers with a compact energy rifle, every movement a blend of precision and grace.
These two were most likely the real targets of the attack, and he was probably just another collateral damage.
But that didn’t explain why several high-caliber rounds had targeted him specifically… this made Ubel muse in deep thought.
During the firefight, one of the twins, reloading her weapon, called out to her sister over the cacophony.
"I don’t get it… How the hell did we get compromised this early? We left no trace."
"I don’t know," the other replied, ducking behind cover as bullets whizzed overhead. "We covered every angle. No data leaks, no contact trails.”
Behind them, the other patrons of the cantina were still holding their ground, their impressive array of weaponry lighting up the room. It was a brutal, evenly-matched firefight—one that saw skilled killers on both sides taking heavy losses.
Within minutes, the last of the attackers fell, their bodies slumping to the floor amid the smoking wreckage of the cantina. The once-bustling establishment was now a scene of devastation—bullet-riddled walls, shattered furniture, and the acrid stench of blood and burnt circuits filled the air. The patrons, now victorious, began to assess the damage, tending to the wounded and stripping the bodies of their fallen enemies for useful gear.
The aftermath was grim. The once lively cantina was now in complete ruins, littered with bodies—both the attackers and patrons who had joined the fight.
“Well… that went well.” Ubel grinned as he flexed his former, lost limb, stretching it as he stood from the dusty floor of the establishment.
However, at a distance, someone else was aiming at the cantina. A pair of red eyes were once again aiming at Ubel. This person was smiling coldly after seeing Ubel’s arm which had been shot earlier, had now returned.