I stood outside in the sunshine, not wanting to grace the shadowed hovel that I currently called home with my presence. In the white t-shirt and black shorts, I waited for my lense to confirm that the new equipment had synced properly.
Brown box sat on the deckchair, as I had removed the sideloader immediately and found how to click it in place.
With a quick wave, Roxy had left for the city about ten minutes ago. The odd feeling of emptiness had faded away as the frustration of the new tech not fitting just right took its place. But now it was done.
Lense confirmed the process was all green.
I pointed my gun-arm out to the empty wastes and narrowed my eyes. Racked the chamber open, and tiny mechanisms on the sideloader whirred and prodded towards the opening. Everything empty, but it seemed to work fine. Chamber closed.
Back to the box and there was a round disc gadget. Must be the Maintenance node mentioned on the invoice. Three small wires poked out of the back of it, where a note had been attached. It told me to wait, Clara would install it.
Last item in my gift package was the part to affix to the handlebar on my bike. A loose tube shape with a high friction surface, so that my gun-arm could rest against it and allow me to turn with greater ease.
//W: Package received. Many thanks.
//Clara: Node will literally kill you if installed incorrectly.
//Clara: But I trust you would heed my warnings.
//W: Node is untouched, and I am alive.
//Clara: Rockslide mentioned your twilight activities.
//Clara: We will talk more tomorrow.
//Clara: But, keep doing what feels right, Mr Dubs.
What an odd sign-off. Keep doing what feels right?
Killing targets and fulfilling my contracts felt right.
Befriending Roxy and Clara felt right.
Living a more normal life felt... right.
Yet… putting myself against dangerous opponents far beyond my capability and still scraping through the victory was the sweetest thing of all. I had tried to shuffle away those feelings, but…
Defeating Skyblade. Being able to barely counter the powers of Sweet Jade. Both things warmed my heart. Made me feel accomplished more than plowing through two dozen gangsters with ease ever could.
What did that say about me? Did I just enjoy the suffering, or was I really meant for something greater than being a hired gun?
No matter. Today wasn’t the place for dour thoughts. I boxed the node back up and placed it just inside my doorway so that I wouldn’t have to enter fully. Circled to the side of my home and clipped on the handlebar addition.
Hand and side-of-my-gun on hips, I looked out at the day before me. Still relatively early. Boss wouldn’t give me a new contract so soon and hadn’t sent pickup instructions for my reward. Roxy and Clara were both busy with their day jobs and I…
I couldn’t stand the thought of doing nothing. Normally, I could stare at the wall for hours, waiting for something to happen. But now I wanted to… my eyes went over to the city.
Into my house—a necessary evil—I dug around the crates for my spare boots.
//W: Got anything to mask my gun-arm?
//Clara: Like a shroud? I could probably fabricate something to go over the barrel.
//Clara: To make it look like a drill?
//W: Perfect - I realize I am asking a lot of you. I appreciate everything.
//Clara: No issue, it is a blessing to have someone keep my mind active.
//Clara: I am under instruction from Rockslide to do anything you ask of me.
//Clara: You just need to say the word.
I closed the chat window down and pulled a face - with what active parts of it weren’t covered by my mask. While it was nice that Clara was fully onboard with my progression, her phrasing could use some work.
Faux-drill would take some time, and I was uncharacteristically impatient. Wanted to chew through this new life and get a taste of it. An odd metaphor, considering.
Bike whirred into life. I adjusted my seating to see how the new hand-rest felt. Should probably pick up a helmet soon. Dashing my brains out in a vehicular collision would be a bit of a drab way to end things. I’d earned a good death at this point, I hoped.
Cloud of dust kicked up as the motorbike pulled forward, sensors eventually pinging my departure from our two-house neighborhood. With the League seeing me as a pawn, and Boss willing that to happen so as to reverse the game on them, I felt more comfortable in being overt with appearing in the city under the light of the sun for a change.
Destination? One of the grimier stretches of road slightly further east. I’d seen the name of a shop a handful of times in the last five years. Hal’s Handovers. A courier service that gave off the impression they’d go the extra mile, even if it dabbled in grayer areas of the law.
But having a way to spend my hard earned credits would be a big step in me leaving my hovel of desperation. At least, without having to go into the city every time I needed a new shirt or the magical bubble potions.
I caught a few eyes as I weaved my way through the streets of Goldarch. Considering how busy this time of day seemed to be, it was a lot less attention than I had expected. Cybernetics aside, perhaps the casual clothes made me stand out less. Could I have lived like this all this time?
Rolled to a stop at the beaming red of a traffic light. Turned my head to the side to see a cop car pull up in the next lane. Two men shaded by the confines of their vehicle looked my way, blank expressions beneath their hats.
[Officers.]
I gave them a brief nod. They did not return it, but turned away as the light changed to a bright green. Much better than them drawing pistols or pulling me over because I looked like an escaped lunatic. Not that I didn’t look odd with my cybernetics, but something about my outfit signaled that I was up to something reasonably legal. Hiding in plain sight. I should have known it was this easy.
Pulled away just after them and went further along the road before hitting a right. Much more residential than I was used to - although there were plenty of shopfronts that had housing atop them. Tower blocks in the backgrounds. People milling around doing their normal daily errands. Most looked content enough.
Was this what heroes felt like?
Not in the literal sense, but I was more powerful than most that I passed. A super solider with cyborg augmentations. Even dressed to fit in, I was beyond them and so much different. Superheroes were also this way, but stuck around to impress and try to save these civilians leading simple existences.
Any further reflections shuddered from out my ears as I pulled the bike up against the curb and set the kickstand down. There was the shop.
Bold text title over worn and faded wood. Might have been bright yellow at some point, but now was a tired brown. Too many years in the sun with little upkeep. Large window was dusty and mostly obscured by flyers. Would have looked closed—if not abandoned—were it not for the open sign pinned on the door.
I had made the choice to enter the city unarmed, aside from the single remaining Sanguine stake. Didn’t want to invite any trouble, despite it seemingly being my nature. Just wanted to get this business deal off the ground, and then maybe take a more scenic route home and see if there was anything else in this end of the city that caught my eye.
Stepping away from my bike, I adjusted the clothes I wasn’t used to wearing yet. I never thought I’d miss the super suit, but after testing one out in the field, it turned out there were some uses other than to titillate the masses.
A sigh escaped my re-breather as I pushed open the door. Alongside the tinkle of a small bell above the entrance, I was immediately assailed by a thick musky smell. Long forgotten dust and aged wood. Like they hadn’t opened a window to air out in years.
The left side of the room had a row of chairs, each looking to out-compete the others in how long they could hold off on retiring and claiming a pension. Neck and neck. Above them, the shop's name once more in ink that was probably once black, but had faded to a brown-gray and was partially covered by posters for events and initiatives that had long passed.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Right wall had a wooden rack along it holding pamphlets and catalogues. Plenty of them yellowed from the sunlight that managed to enter through the part of the window not clouded up. Dogeared in places, but some seemed newer or less used. Most likely ways for people to find something to order if they didn’t have STAR or city-net access.
Across the dirtied tile floor head of me was a counter. The freshest looking thing in the shop - uncomfortably so, as if it had been installed this very morning. Hadn’t even had the time to accumulate the clutter and dust the rest of the place was layered with.
The shop proprietor stood there. He was an iguana-looking Anthrasc. Scaled skin of a dusty green-yellow hue, large round eyes an interesting pink color, and a wrinkled high-collar shirt that had a garish cactus print all around it.
“Morning, sah,” he began, a slight rural twinge to his voice that reminded me of Roxy. “How can I be helping yah?”
[Greetings. I am looking for a courier service and had a few questions.]
“Came to the right place then! Name’s Hal, son of the Hal who started up this place.” He grinned and leaned forward on the counter. “Shoot.”
Tempting, but wouldn’t be very beneficial to my current agenda. Oh, but he probably was asking for my questions.
[How close can you deliver to the wastes?]
Hal pulled a face, and a long tongue came out to lick around his lips. “Ah. We have a few runners that might, but it depends how far… and there’s a premium, yah understand?”
[Acceptable. Do you have a map?]
“Sure thing, mister…?”
[Dubs.]
Might as well lean into it. Not much of a name… but neither was Agent W.
Hal gave me a nod, before turning to one of the low cupboards out of sight. Murmuring to himself, I watched as he dug through stacks of paperwork before finally withdrawing a large folded sheet.
As he opened it up across the counter, I was once again shocked at how large a city Goldarch really was. More of a state, if anything - but my world history was spotty. I had kept to one side for the most part. My vision of what was north or west paled in comparison to the whole.
Giving it a once-over, I then placed my finger somewhere slightly north of my actual home. Somewhere I could build a drop-off point with cameras, so that if anyone squeezed the location from Hal or the courier, they’d still be off enough to give me an early warning.
[About here would be perfect, I can provide exact coordinates when appropriate.]
“Not impossible.” He rubbed at his chin. “I have a guy in mind who would be up for that. Are we talking one-off or regular?”
[Regular. What are the weight or bulk restrictions?]
“We can do most domestic things, sah. Can’t deliver a whole house, of course. If you’re looking for wholesale or construction then I have some others in the business I can recommend.” He stood back up straight. “Our boy has a van, so anything bigger would be a no-go.”
Shame they wouldn’t be able to bring me over a house. A bath… maybe. I paused as something jostled and dragged on my gun-arm.
Looked down, expecting this bubble of normality to be thrown into violence once more.
It was a small iguana-boy, wide eyes looking up at me while his hands clasped around my arm.
“Neat gun, mistah!”
Hal grunted and leaned forward to look over the counter at the boy. “What I tell you about bugging customers, Schroeder?”
[It’s not a gun, it’s… a partially assembled drill unit.]
“Nah! This looks exactly like what they used in Violent Murderbot 3 against the bug invasion!”
I was hoping that was a movie, although he looked rather young for something with that manner of title. Not that I was one to judge. The things I got up to probably made that kind of show look like a kid’s cartoon.
“Skedaddle, already!” Hal tried to shoo the young one out to the back door - which eventually worked. “Always popping up when I’m trying to close a deal.”
He watched him go up the stairs out of my line of sight before turning his large eyes back to me. “Sorry about that, Mr Dubs. Schroeder is a smart kid and means well, but with his ma gone it’s hard to find the time to temper his overflowing forge.”
[No apology necessary. I would like to sign the contract for your services.]
“Right you are!” He grinned, showing off sharp but relatively short teeth. “Now, we do require a deposit of 500 credits, for insurance and the like.”
I nodded as he tallied up an invoice on a small device. Courier work had some danger to it, even more so going outside the city limits. Criminals probably used the service too, so the deposit helped cover those who didn’t show or welched on their bill.
“Just so you know,” he said quietly, “there’s been a few fellas out front keeping an eye on you.”
It was something I had been aware of. Oddly shaped shadows moving across the back of the shop from where the sun made its dismal attempt to light the place. Wasn’t sure exactly why I had gotten the attention as such a normal-man today.
//W: Clara. Is my bike likely to garner unwanted attention in the city?
/Clara: Yes.
No further explanation came - she must be busy. I could read between the lines, however. I’d stolen the vehicle from a prominent gang leader, so if other gangs recognized it, I would reap that reward. On my mental list, I added getting the vehicle repainted and modified.
[Do not worry, I am not so easily bullied.]
Hal held out the invoice for me to pay digitally. “Need me to call the cops?”
[Whatever happens, just keep yourself and your son safe.]
My STAR completed the payment and added the contact details for both the shop and my assigned courier - showing as ‘VM’. Hal gave me a nod of thanks, but was looking nervous about the potential gang violence on his doorstep. He’d seen worse, I could tell. The door would have a remote lock and he’d have something for self-defense beneath the counter. You couldn’t survive this long without that kind of preparedness.
[Was a pleasure meeting and doing business with you, Hal. Take care.]
“You too, sah. Look after yourself and send over the drop coordinates with your first order.”
[Oh - one last thing. Do you have a pen I could borrow?]
Bell tinkled once more as I stepped out into the daylight. Painting the stage already prepared for me to become the main star of this performance. Which was somewhat apt, as this gang appeared to be some kind of clowns. Or worse - mimes.
Small bowler hats atop frizzy haircuts, their faces daubed a ghostly white while black circles had been drawn around their eyes and mouths. Maybe to look like skulls? Clown skeletons? Outfits were mismatched but all monochrome. Flared jackets and pants, stripes of black and white.
They were standing around the shop in a semi-circle, intending from the start to pen me in.
[I’m not who you think I am. It would be best to let me pass.]
“Best for who?” The one ahead of me said, a wry smile crossing his lips.
“Best for who?” echoed around the rest of them as they whispered the same question. Some manner of intimidation tactic? Eight of them.
I struggled to not come out with a threat in response. This was my day off. My eyes went around the group. No firearms, but they were armed with melee weapons. My V-Force drive was already humming with potential, but I was hesitant to give in and do what I was best at. For once in this life, I would just walk away.
[I’m going to leave now. Good day, gentlemen.]
I made it a good three steps into the street, before the air split apart, a heavy crack striking me in the left shoulder. Stims washed through me as I looked back at my assailant.
Electro-whip in his hand. The grip of it illuminated in blue. Thankfully, the electric part of the weapon was just for making it to hit harder without as much physical effort. The gash through my shirt and bleeding flesh didn’t care for the difference.
[Last warning.]
Their response was to draw another four whips. Others had knives or other short range melee weapons, but their plan was a simple three-part attack. As I had stepped into the road, the gang members in my peripheral had moved around so that they could fully surround me better. Next up, the whips would assail me until I was a weakened pulp - allowing the coup de grâce from the undefendable blades of the others.
Worried eyes in the distance as the locals either got the hell away from what was about to happen, or hid away to watch events unfold. Probably not brave enough to get involved—even to call the authorities—especially if this gang was known around the area.
I managed to block the next attack with my gun-arm, the sharp tip of the whip doing nothing to the metal plating. Left me open, and another thug struck me across the back. Pain just angered me, and I turned - only to receive a whip from the other side.
An effective strategy, but not a set of rules I cared to play anymore.
Turned my glare toward the leader and charged towards him. Ignore the lash across my chest, but the next struck just above my right boot. Muscle tensed and cramped, and I dropped to a roll. Back up into a crouch and a dagger buried itself just above my collarbone. The leader glared down at me with sadistic eyes and a wide grin.
V-Force drive blew the loaded pen straight into the side of his knee.
As he squealed and dropped back, I stood and elbowed him to the face. One whip struck my cyborg arm, and a second ripped through the side of my stomach that had been hit with the shrapnel remover this morning.
Overcharge blasted through the air to deflect one of the quick attacks, knocking the assailant back a couple of feet - but they still had the advantage of range. Left hand grabbed at the leader to bring him up as a shield, until a crack across the back of my elbow had my hand go numb.
Twisted to block another with my gun-arm, before my knee was struck. Lost my footing and dropped to the good knee. Tried to grasp for some gravel or something, but there was nothing there and my fingers weren’t cooperating.
Uncontested strike to my head. Ears rang as I felt the warm blood run from the throbbing impact point. Eyes that were so tired of this went up to check my notifications.
//Roxy: Done here. Important news to share.
//Roxy: Coming home now.
I sent her my coordinates.
It must be news of whatever the League had decided my fate was to be. If they wanted to get rid of me, then I’d rather hear it sooner than later. Especially as it would determine how much I cared about these thugs breaking my skull open.
They paused their assault, and I looked up into the sky. A small shockwave in the air had drawn their attention away from carving me up, and the dark shape moving through the sky had a hint of familiarity to it.
Like a bomb, Roxy cratered down and struck the street a few feet away from me, cracking the concrete and blowing a wave of dust around us. Her eyes were literally glowing amber, something I’d never seen before. She gave the gang a slow glare as she turned around and stepped closer to me.
Roxy held out a hand to help me to my feet, which I took.
“Any of you assholes strike my sidekick again, and you’ll be shitting out your own teeth for a week.”
Faced with an actual superhero, their bravado sunk away into the gutter, white face paint circling the drain as their life choices were put to question.
At least, except for one of the thugs who decided whipping the super was a smart decision—despite the threat—almost immediately breaking the pensive silence with a sharp crack. The rest of the group had the decency to look horrified at the gall. Where the weapon struck Roxy on her exposed arm, a thin red line remained, but it had dealt very little damage.
I righted myself and stood back to back with her, blood soaked through my now ragged shirt.
[Any of you strike Rockslide again, and you’ll be shitting the whole gang’s teeth for a week.]