Cobalt-blue snow flickered through the door of the command bridge as Osmond stepped through. Snow on his pale blonde head melted to water immediately. The cold warmth of the cruiser’s citadel enticed him in as the door sealed shut behind him. The derelict wreck he and Leon used as their headquarters was far from perfect, but this dead-hulk had enough rations to keep their people alive, though starvation might be a better option. The only saving grace was an arsenal of merchandise - relics from the war.

The hulk stuck out like a sore thumb in the frozen slum-scape that Osmond stared out into, sighing in disappointment. Leon turned towards him, sitting across the room, his piercing eyes stang Osmond as he looked him up and down. They were both a mess of chemicals and cybernetics, breaking apart an old friend's mind, right in front of Osmond.

“You’re late,” said Leon, staring at Osmond with a bloodied fringe and eyes. A puff of red crytera was inhaled through his mouth. Osmond shivered at the sight of Leon's hand, gently resting on one of his Imp-4899 revolvers

The Imperial Slab-earpiece uplink attached to Leon’s left ear was buzzing with a low red hue. “Your… uplink…” Osmond muttered.

He shook his head. Osmond tried to avoid certain things in the room. “It took the engineers much effort. But they have done it again! The channels are back online… We are thriving once more.”

Leon slowly moved his hand away from his revolver. Osmond avoided his glare, glancing towards the two seats beside the command table… Two corpses sat on them. Their heads had been blown out.

“Pay these two no attention, Osmond. Conspirators... Little faith of them in me. Tell your subordinates of this.” Leon grabbed his shot-axe from beneath the table, a combi-weapon stolen from the Imperials. It was made for combat engineers, where bloody melee meets brutal buckshot. It was large, unwieldy but powerful.

“As you command,” said Osmond. His chest tightened as he forced his eyes off the corpses. Slowly walking across the room, he sat down on one of the empty seats, far from the dead. He hid his quivering hands in his pockets.

So many dead, yet too many to give up. The endless blizzard outside raged onwards, the infamous Narisan ‘winter’. It was spring. Leon walked to one of the free seats, walking by a corpse and pushing it to the ground.

The body made a small thud noise as it crashed into the steel deck.

“Our shipments to Anagora. They’ve been stopped.”

“I am aware… of that,” said Osmond, taking a glance at a holographic photo hidden on his watch… He hoped it would give him strength, but the holographic visage only gave him regret. Those three… he wondered where they were now.

"You knew?” Leon gestured to the dead bodies as blood dripped out of their bludgeoned wounds. He continued, “They stopped the shipments to the Loyalists. Why would they?”

Leon puffed another inhale of crytera, using the stimulant to keep his paranoid mind ready. Osmond’s heart sank at the sight, but he steeled his voice. “No idea, Leon.”

“The Loyalists were good customers… The Mischief Board knew well who to pick.” Leon pondered for a moment, yet even as he thought Osmond could feel his glare ever-present - locked on him. Any sudden movement might be his last.

Sliding his watch underneath his sleeve, Osmond maintained a steady facade. “Yet they lost, those Contract-Breakers must never learn of our involvement.”

“But perhaps with our weapons, they would still be afloat - and still willing customers.” Leon pressed the command table’s interface, and a screen popped out. It showed the recent battle on the Ptolemy-2 Station. Osmond felt… relieved that the Loyalists lost. The tape showed the Contract-Breaker slicing through the Loyalist lines. “The loyalists were ill-equipped…”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Maybe because they spent most of our cargo luring the AGENCY to that skyliner? We cannot focus on them anymore—” suggested Osmond, speaking out of turn instinctively.

Leon’s blood-shot eyes glanced up at Osmond, through the holo-recording. Osmond felt the agony and adrenaline pump through his heart as he quickly backtracked.

Did someone tell him? Did they rat? Osmond’s eyes briefly glanced towards the corpses. “—We must direct our attention elsewhere, right? Right? Dead Loyalists are not good, paying customers,” Osmond blabbered on, trying to explain himself… His lungs were barely able to hold down the stress.

Breaking through the stressful monotony, Leon sighed. “You make a fair point there… Fine. This time, I will heed you. But what of the AGENCY?”

There was little of Leon left behind those eyes. The only thing that remained was their shared dream: Narisa alive. Home clear of all taint from the war. But Leon was right, if the AGENCY arrives, it’ll all be for nought.

“My friends in the Mischief Board tell me it’s just a rebranded Clandestine,” Osmond started. Leon was reloading his revolver, yet one eye glared at Osmond upon the mention of the word ‘friends’. Osmond corrected himself. “Associates… however, I believe we cannot negotiate with them.”

“Why not?” asked Leon, sliding the revolver beside other pistols along his vest-plate. “Clandestine were good buyers from our past, given their situation, they’d probably like a few extra guns… Do you not concur?”

“The Contract-Breaker will not know of our old deal with Clandestine, but engaging in talks may lead one of his talons or agents to it…” Osmond started to worry, overriding any sense of fear. “He was, as the Board put it, ’greatly affected by the attack’.”

Leon snarled, slamming a fist down, “Yes. The Mischief Board is right about him… he’s stone-cold. No negotiating—”

Osmond felt a wave of relief come over him, it seemed some of the old Leon was still in him. Trying to hide was the best thing they could do now, he thought.

“—Therefore: we must eliminate him before he does us.”

Osmond raised an eyebrow, then sprouted upwards, leaving his seat. “Wait, hold up!—”

Leon gave him a glare, posturing his hands in a calm but threatening manner. Yet Osmond had to get this off his chest.

“—We need to lie low… Small deals, nothing too big to attract their attention. And this is the fucking AGENCY! ENFORCERs are bad enough, but these mercs are the mercs they send in when the SPTU can't handle shit!"

“No,” stated Leon, “I have assurances and a deal. They’re not invincible.”

“I—but, these are ex-Clandestine, who themselves are ex-military, navy or whatever. They have the equipment and the money to back up their skill… Look, please! These assurances can not protect us from a whole fucking army.” Even on a frozen shithole, Osmond knew that there were some people they don't fuck with, the top dogs of the merc business is one of them. “Can we really trust the Mischief Board?”

“They are not involved. Neither are my assurances from the Seven Crims.”

“Then who gave you these assurances? They might not be trustworthy…”

Leon slowly pushed himself upwards, standing taller than Osmond. “My sources are reliable, and they speak sense to me. End of,” he said. “We have to do what we can to survive. The dream lives on, but never if we all perish.”

“I’m not questioning you, I’m just worried.” Osmond stood up, even slower than Leon, “Just… how are we going to take them down?” Assurances? This was madness. But he can’t talk Leon down from this…

“All armours have chinks, my source has told me of one. We eliminate that chink, and the Contract-Breaker presents himself.” Leon gave off a cruel smirk, unnerving even Osmond. “I don’t care where those three are… we were stronger together. But you and I? We were the bedrock of it all.."

“Things… things haven’t been the same since that explosives job…”

“I still have you,” said Leon, giving a rare nod to Osmond.

Osmond grimaced, the thought of responsibility was hard.

But times have changed, their original gang was gone to the wind. And now, without them, Leon is leading his people into the jaws of the Maelstrom…

“Then what are your orders…”

“Take the fight to them.” said Leon, “The AGENCY is still young. After what happened on Anagora, they’ll be swamped with bureaucracy. Hit them while weak, kill the fourth of the seven…”

“We… never mind, I see the logic behind your point.” Osmond realised that it was pointless to object.

Leon gave Osmond one final glare as he ignited a cigarette with a simple rub of the tip, the friction and paper-mechanisms ignited the end. “Good. I will contact our fixers under the Board. Our weapons, their men.”