Lix had thought that planning for a heist into a gang infested hanger would be exciting, like in the movies! Low lights and cigar smoke, hard liquor poured over rocks while rough and tumble men, one being her sexy mechanic, leaned over a table and talked strategy. You know, the hard-boiled stuff you read about in saucy books hidden in the electronic depths of your comms device that you absolutely keep hidden from the world and didn't have book marked for a special fantasy session later tonight.

That isn't what was happening here, not at all. Currently, Skrunkles was curled up on a pile of hoodies he'd pushed into a corner, his whip cord tail wrapped around him as he snored like a swimming pool whistle, while Jack and Taran loafed on recliners in the employee lounge. Both had external phones to their ears, held fast by hunched shoulders and tilted heads, as they scribbled notes on tablets, periodically texting each other prevalent information.

The Kux'lar found herself without much to do, and that pissed her off. With a growl, the 'Roid Racing captain stomped her way passed Taran's guards and temporary store front employee into the lounge and slithered her way into Jack's lap, curling up in the Human's space to listen and learn. As he should, he shifted and squirmed until she fell and settled comfortably into the crook of his waist. Mechanical arms draped over her haunches as they continued to scribble notes, settling nicely on her scales. Deep and dulcet tones drifted from the man, filtered by the subtle tinny twang of surgically repaired vocal cords, now more mechanical than organic.

"That's right… Arington Freighter and Co. yes… any outstandin' bounty in the Koorka Station region?"

Arington Freighters? Lix blinked, her tail beginning to slowly sway as she dug into Jack's, no, her jacket. Careful not to cut the screen with her claws, the Kux'lar retrieved her own comms unit and began a search on the well-worn device, looking up the aforementioned cargo company. Her ping was met with an immediate return of disgruntled employee reviews and class action lawsuits citing unfit workplace practices and attempts to reduce the company's income.

"Greeaaat, I'm on hold again." Jack groaned. "Arington Freighters is fightin' class actions left an' right." The man let one hand drop so he could slap it to his forehead, attempting to chase away a growing headache. "An' those dipshits down in hangar fifty-six beta, our good ol' friends the Keelkaulers? Are rogue Arington deckhands."

"Fack" Taran helpfully added. Lix looked between the men, her scaly lips twisting.

"I don't really follow."

"How much do ya keep up with politics?" Jack's hands dropped his tablet between his hip and the cushion of the recliner to rub the lizard's side, eliciting a content hum from her gullet.

"Mmmhhh… I avoid it like the plague, why?"

"Cause you'll need context. So, ya know the Council of Trade an' Culture make laws an' whatnot, yeah?" Lix nodded at her Human's words. The council was a collection of representatives made up from the galaxy's wealthiest corporate entities. Based on the overall galactic gross domestic product, which had been steady for the last century, a company could file to place one representative upon the Council of Trade and Culture once they passed a certain threshold of productivity and capital income.

Those sweet, sweet Roarks.

The Council's representatives would debate on cultural and economic law, as it related to the interests of their region's customer base of course, and then vote each session. Surely, citizen, you can be confident the representatives of your favorite company would have your best interests in mind. If not, simply take your Roarks elsewhere! Vote with your purchases, it's that easy! Of course, the company you often take your money to is owned by a shell company that is in turn owned by the uncle of the very representative that dared slight you… but semantics, right?

"Gnah… yeah, Dad used to complain about some representative all the time. Problem was he wasn't in just one company. He was in a conglomerate that banded together to meet the requirements for the council, so it was really hard to get their profits down low enough to strip their representative rights." Which was another issue. If one company just couldn't compete with the big dogs, they could combine their economy might into a conglomerate to meet the representative quota. Fair's fair in a competitive market after all.

"Yup, Hell, that Meelk stuff you like so much is owned by a conglomerate."

"Super wheat and vat grown meeeaaaat!" Lix twisted, forcing her head beneath Jack's chin with toothy grin.

"And a little water and then some heat."

"It's Meeeelk!"

"Ya'll eat tha' stuff?" Taran typed away on his own tablet, his eyes bloodshot from staring at the electronic screen for hours on end. "It's nothin' bu' plastic."

"Everthin' is nothin' but plastic." Jack returned to sifting through his own tablet of despair, rubbing his own tired eyes with a pair of steel fingers. Even mechanical as they were, fatigue was still a hazard his mind plagued him with just like any fully organic man. "Anyway, as I was saying. So the council writes the laws, but it's up to the representative companies to enforce 'em. So, guess what that means for alllll the toys down in hangar fifty-six beta?"

"It's all stolen." Lix answered, shuffling until she was curled into a scaly ball on her Human's lap. All except her tail, which wrapped around his warm neck in a strange, lazy hug. "Meaning… what freighter did you say? Arington?" Jack nodded, shifting the hold her tail had on his neck. "Arington is liable for enforcing the theft of everything the Keelhaulers took off that freighter."

"Yup." Taran sighed. "But they be in breach o' they employment contract too. So guess what? Bounties. Meanin' we gotta make sure we ain't about to step on really expensive toes." Lix tilted her head, trilling in confusion. "Corporate enforcer teams an' such." Taran explained. "We go in there guns a blazin' an' make it look like we did their jobs, make em' look bad an' such, it's gonna be a bad time down here in the Vents."

"Yuuuup. Corpo teams are prideful little punks. But they got top line gear and practice enough with 'em to back up that pride. So!" Jack clapped his metallic hands, rousing Mo'Ona from his slumber. "Skrunkles! You're up lil' guy!"

"Gneeeeeeaahhhhhh… yous gots it! Leave it to Skrunkles!" With a twisting stretch that flung his hastily made nest, Mo'Ona fled the scene of his sin before Taran could discover that the hoodies were now infested with tiny flea like insects. That would be a sight to see, but alas, duty called. Little paws beat a quick staccato over the worn steel deck of Pew for You and out into the crowded halls of the Vents like a flash, Skrunkles quickly vanishing into the roiling crowd that hardly noticed his coming. Only the street vendors seemed to notice his proximity, each and every one eyeing him with open suspicion. A Hux on the move was a Hux seeking, or running, from trouble. In the end, that was exactly what he was doing.

Soon, Mo'Ona slid into the shadows and sidled up next to another of his kind, fangs nipping at his arm as he chittered and chattered in a language far too fast and high pitched for anyone but another rat to understand. The questions, and answers, came quick, clipped, and snappy. Where is this? How do I get inside? I'll tell you this. I'll give you this. Food is there. Vendor is sleepy. Easy mark.

And that was that. The biting and scratching was over. To anyone looking in from the outside, it would have appeared as if two Hux had slammed into each other in the grimy darkness of a corner and scrabbled angrily at each other, fighting for the best spot to case the crowd. In reality, an entire exchange of information had occurred in the swish of a tail and a blink of an eye.

Skrunkles now knew the location of the Keelhaulers bay, their supposed numbers, how viciously they defended their territory, and which of the vendors had the best kebabs today. Not to mention, which of said vendors would have his throat slit on his way home for trying to snatch up a Hux to cook…

Now the problem was getting there. Hangar bay fifty-six beta was near the bottom of Koorka Station, an offloading platform designed for oversized haulers to ascend up through a scissoring set of doors that were well out of the way of Koorka's normal traffic. Mo'Ona wouldn't make it anywhere near the normal entrances, as his new biting friend had oh so helpfully informed him that anyone not bearing Keelhauler colors were getting blasted on sight.

And security wouldn't give a rat's ass if a Hux wound up dead in the depths of the Vents.

Maintenance and tertiary access were a no go as well, for as untested and unprofessional as the Keelhaulers were as a gang, they still leaned on their origins as mega-hauler deckhands, and you couldn't quite be a fool to make it as a roughneck in deep space. Every normal entry was guarded with fire and iron, and the eager will of spiteful blue-collar workers pushed too far and ready to back up their threats of violence and death.

Thus, Skrunkles found himself squeezing his half mammalian and half arthropod body between pipes in the Greer section of the Vents in an act that would make most people with bones blanch. The bands of chitin that periodically circled his body stretched, his flexible skeletal structure flattening as he squeezed himself into a space no wider than his own leg. Organs shifted, joins popped and crackled, his eyes bulged in their sockets seemingly ready to pop from his tiny little head…

These areas weren't void spaces per say, but they married up next to them quite nicely. Koorka Station was modular in function, each bay, habitat, and junction was easily slotted to and welded in neat little patterns using these handy spaces that brave workers could get paid three months wages in two days to work in.

"Nnnneeeeuuuuggghhh-aaahhhhhh… hoo!"

As if pushed from a tube of hardened glue, Mo'Ona slithered through the too tight space into… another too tight space. This time his rodent form twisted and bent down at nearly a forty-five-degree angle, curled around a series of pipes, and twisted as he pulled and groaned and crawled, his hips popping out of socket before painlessly sliding back into place with a pleasurable smock!

"Can't stop the roach rat! Geehee!" At least, that's what the intrepid little pilot attempted to say. Unfortunately, Skrunkles maw was wedged between a bulkhead and circuit junction, robbing the universe of his words.

All in all, it would be nearly a mile of snaking and twisting and crawling and contorting to make his way to outer edge of hanger fifty-six beta, not to mention however long it would take to get inside… That's when the real problems would arise. Not only would he have to avoid detection from the far more numerous and well-armed Keelhaulers, obviously, but much more importantly, he'd have to hide his tracks in the bay from ever being discovered by Arington Freighter and Co.

Eventually, the mega-corporation would come to collect. The crew's breach of employment contract, as well as continued seizure and use of the freighter cargo, was a slight that demanded response. Skrunkles wanted no part of that, not even his status as a 'Roid Racer would protect him from corporate enforcement team wrath. Few could withstand the long arm of council law, after all. At least, none that weren't on or had friends in the council itself, that is.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Skrunkles was neither. In fact, he didn't think a Hux had ever been a representative? Not that he cared, intergalactic politics weren't exactly high on the list of Hux priorities. The species knew well how the other races viewed them, their wispy fur and banded chitin, their grasping mandibles and small stature… It was half the reason they'd let civilization at large think they were some unrealistic mammalian-reptilian hybrids, even though the anatomy just didn't line up. Lix' reaction in the Stripped Bolt had been kind comparatively. Most Hux learned from a young age to start beating their paws in retreat the moment they heard a scoff of disgust, lest they spend a week in recovery from taking a boot to the head or ribs.

Paws scrabbled as his progress halted for the tenth time in as many minutes, claustrophobia and the ever-encroaching panic from being unable to take a full breath for so long working in tandem to pull his heart rate along an escalating incline. This was the rush Mo'Ona lived for, the fear and excitement that distracted him from Death's slow march towards his soul. Spittle slid down his chine as he twisted to such an obscene angle that he could swear a vertebra was about to break until finally his leg slid free from its metal pipe prison.

Surely there wasn't too much more to go? Fatigue pulled at Mo'Ona's limbs, his tail long since limp, as he pulled himself another few feet over and under pipes and electrical conduits. Aches and pain riddled his body, promising a morning that would be sore in the worst way possible. Not that Mo'Ona was a stranger to sore mornings, there was always someone willing to match his debauchery somewhere, be it from natural deviancy like himself or ten beers deep in a seedy bar.

"Maybe… ugh… Lix give… Skrunkles a massage…"

Skrunkles…

He'd never been given a nickname before. No one had ever cared enough to think one up. Insults sure, but never a nickname… Mo'Ona liked it, enjoyed the way it felt on his tongue when his spoke it, and how the sound circled his ears when Jack or Lix said it.

"Greeee… nice feeling. Still would abandon them both at the drop of a Roark, but for now, very nice!"

Finally, Mo'Ona felt the thick steel of a bulkhead beneath his paws, the markings left by construction crews and automatons indicating that he was on the outer hull of a treated pressure plating junction. Such bulkheads were made to withstand the repeated exposure to high temperature engines a freighter hanger would find itself often subjected to, as well as the constant shift from pressurized habitat to empty zero-g vacuum. They were also easily detached from the bottom of Koorka Station and hauled into open space whenever the need for repair arose. Repair such as strengthening the modular welds in the rare chance one became weak. Thankfully, that modularity would work in Skrunkles favor, as access to maintenance expansions was readily available to one who was small and could turn their hips nearly inside their own sockets.

The moment the little Hux found the access panel designed for releasing the large plate that would allow for an expansion of the ventilation system and popped the latch, allowing him a tiny gap with which to squeeze into, he knew he was on a time limit. Somewhere, in the depths of the station, an alarm had just popped off of a breach in the previously sealed bulkhead. Soon, drones would be released into the thin space to weave their way between the pipes and observe the damage so a Greer engineer could come along and get paid far too much money to reseal a plate and twist a knob.

Mo'Ona had to be long gone before then.

Unfortunately, in his haste, the little pilot nearly found himself racing over the finish line of life itself.

The space below the expansion plate held no ventilation nor conduit, just open air over a bay stuffed to the gills with people, cargo, and angry voices. The vessel the Keelhaulers had mutinied and emptied of her sweet, sweet innards had been an eighty-thousand-ton super freighter with upwards of one thousand crew. Of those thousand, three hundred had been deckhands in charge of ensuring the safety and upkeep of the precious cargo that now sat in orderly rows and columns like soldiers awaiting word far below.

A drop of almost two hundred meters.

"Gleck!"

With a gasp that caught in his throat, Mo'Ona opened his maw wide to unleash a grasping web of wet mandibles that latched onto a passing pipe in the ceiling just before he fell beyond its reach. As if two insectoid hands had reached from within his gullet, the barbed edges digging into the steel and held, his paws swinging up to grasp the cold metal like the lifeline it was.

Were he capable of sweating… he would be.

"Gnh… glk… closh 'all…"

Claws securely dug in, Mo'Ona slowly twisted as much as he dared, glancing at the chaos below. Keelhaulers of every shape and size heaved crates of all kinds in seemingly mindless patterns that only came together at the last minute. Guns, armor, ammo, explosives, you name it, and the Haulers had it. Not to mention their numbers. Every one of the original three hundred deckhands were probably below, sans the few casualties they'd suffered so far at the hands of the unforgiving Vents and Mad Jack's lack of control.

Most were running drills under the barked orders of a rough man covered in tattoos that covered his one remaining organic limb, a scarred arm that gestured wildly while his mechanical legs and arm gleamed in the overhead light. Mercenary, or prior council enforcer most likely, Skrunkles decided. Most concerning was how… coordinated the new gangsters were beginning to look. Skrunkles had grown up poor, either stealing or doing favors for food, and knew well what most organized crime looked like.

This was certainly a gaggle of untested street trash… but their movements…

One side of the hangar saw groups of them lay down ever more accurate fire while others trained the art of the reload. Others still didn't even have magazines in their weapons, but moved through imaginary rooms marked by tape on the deck, learning how to operate as a team. On the far side, another rough and tumble character ran the already physically imposing Keelhaulers through boxing and wrestling drills, honing their close quarters tactics and showing the softest places on aliens to gouge and rip and stab.

The Keelhaulers weren't just learning how to fight, they were learning war.

None of that mattered, not to Skrunkles. Oh no, for his eyes zeroed in on the largest of crates, some being dismantled.

Mining equipment… and among them… several bright and shiny pingers…

***

Sleep was something of a bad ex to Jack, or a cold, perhaps. Always sticking around, always coming back for short periods of time, but never leaving with him feeling satisfied or fulfilled. Lix on his chest, snoozing away, made his nap a tad bit better, but the drag of exhaustion on his eyelids still pulled at them with the incessant continuity of gravity.

He'd been so tired for years now.

Lix snored… It was like a high-pitched whistle… Were it not for his hearing implants the noise most likely would have gone unheard…

"She really got ya wrapped aroun' 'er lil' claw." Taran's comment was quiet, respectfully, as he sent the final few messages and emails to the relevant parties. "Ain't seen ya let anybody get close like that since… well… that doctor lady." Jack said nothing at first, letting the silence of the room grease the cogs of his thoughts.

"Yeah well… she didn't give me much choice."

"She took ya jacket. Shoulda known right then an' there, fool."

"I guess." Jack shrugged, gently as to not disturb the resting reptile. "Just kinda happened. Lil' fast for my taste, if'n I'm honest."

"When are ya ever honest?" Taran chuckled, tossing his tablet aside to stretch.

"I've spoken less lies than normal lately… I'll admit…" Taran squinted at the mechanic from the corner of his eye, an unsure grumble tumbling from his mouth. The stare was returned with a stoney glint, an emotionless threat that was carried by far more than the cold implants whirring in the Human's eye sockets.

"Aight, aight, none o' my business anyway. Here's hopin' ya rat comes through."

"He will. Little guy is made for this stuff."

"I'll take ya word for it…"

"Ya don't have to. Trust Hux nature instead. Mo'Ona has no allies left after Ters ate vacuum. Guy's runnin' damage control, flippin' the coin and joinin' what he sees as the winnin' team. Simple survival for a pilot like that." Jack sniffed, rubbing his nose with a metallic thumb. "An' havin' a blast along the way is just a bonus."

"Well now I really don' trust 'em. Those be the kin' o' folk what stab ya in the back right quick."

"Yup. If it keeps 'im alive. Tha' bein' said, I think he's pitchin' all in on us. Hux don't last long alone."

"That they don'…" A blanket of silence once again drifted down upon the duo, Taran leaving the couple alone to clean his counter and inventory the new stock that would be replacing the damaged goods from yesterday's assault. It had been beyond brazen for the Keelhaulers to openly attack the Vents, much less kill a Ripper. Word in the gang was retaliation was imminent within the next few days, damn whoever was between the two gangs. Citizenry would have to lay low, hiding in their homes and the gutters, while the lead flew and blood flowed.

Not that Taran minded, as Roarks would also find their way into his humble store. Pew for You was settled nicely in Ripper territory, so there was a possibility his gang would call upon him for ammo or arms, but the common folk would flock to him for the same, at much higher prices. A discount on body armor would encourage looser purses elsewhere…

It wasn't a common event for the Vents, quite rare in fact, for two gangs to bump heads. The old guard above, Jack and his old now disbanded crew, loomed overhead like titans ready to squash flat anyone or anything that threatened the hard earned… peace wasn't the right word… efficiency, that they had killed and bled for. Now the Keelhaulers were doing just that, and in ways that were less than savvy. It meant one of two things; They were stupid, or they had an ace up their sleeve. Taran was betting on the latter. Now they had the added wrinkle of an expected corporate response… the only question was when?

The quiet was disturbed by the buzzing of Jack's comms unit, the mechanic quickly reaching up to his ear to tap his lobe twice to answer the call via his implant.

"What ya got for me, Skrunkles?" Taran observed Jack's face for any change, a tension of anxiety twisting like a wound clock spring in his chest as the indecipherable squeak of the Hux' voice filtered through the man's implant. As usual when the man meant business, Jack betrayed no emotion nor thought, no indication as to what his little rodent spy had discovered. "Good work, those numbers are… a problem but nothin' we can't figure out. Get outta there before you wind up as nutrient paste."

Quick, sweet, and to the point. Taran didn't trust, or enjoy, the look in Jack's eyes as he killed the connection. It was the same kind he used to have that promised a grave amount of bodies and blood in the Vents. It was the leer of Mad Jack, it promised work was about to get done for sure, but at a cost that was hard to predict. Back in the day, it was hard to avoid, but now Taran was a member of the Rippers, and the Vents had at least some pull.

"Jack… remember people live down 'ere now. Don' go be burnin' down the Vents 'cause ya bored."

"Don't assume ya know what I'm up to."

"I be assumin' folk will want ta get outta the way when Mad Jack comes a warmongerin'." Jack simply waved Taran's concerns away with a scoff, rolling his gleaming mechanical eyes.

"Please. I ain't got the resources for that anymore. I'm gonna ride your coat tails. Or the Rippers, more like. If I know y'all, there'll be a response within the week. Ya don't shoot up central Vents without pushback. We're just gonna… tag along. An' if a pinger goes missin' once we're inside…" He trailed off with a shrug that jostled Lix ever so slightly, the Kux'lar shifting closer to her source of warmth with a trill. "An' then y'all will get to deal with Arington too."

"Ya just excited fer the scrap, ai'n't ya?" Taran accused with a pointed finger. "Ya jus' can't leave ya gun in ya pants."

"Make whatever call out ya want, Taran. I'm after that pinger and ya can get fucked if'n ya don't like it." Gone was the jovial tones, the cordial comradery, the controlled peace that Taran had realized he'd taken for granted slipped away like a fine veneer… It was then, he realized, that the slumbering reptile in the man's lap had a disastrously weak grasp on how tenuous her hold over Jack's psyche was.

An act then? Could Jack be playing a role to appease her while hiding or suppressing his nature? Had the infamous doctor's therapy been less effective than previously hoped? The thought sent a shiver of fear through the shop keep, for both himself and the Vents. Slowly, he raised his hands in placation.

"Oi, simmer down. I'm just sayin' I live down 'ere too, ya know?" The stare down lasted several more seconds before a red scaled paw smacked Jack on the top of his head, Lix's claws carefully pulled back to avoid slicing him open.

"Be nice… ngh… and quiet…"

It was as if a switch had been flipped. Jack blinked away the promise of death and pain, his eyes whirring as he adjusted the raptor in his lap into a more comfortable hold. Taran breathed a small sigh of relief as the aura of violence left his shop, the tension easing from his shoulders as disbelief colored his face.

Just one word… just one touch…

And Mad Jack had crawled back into his hole…

This was nothing like what Jack had with Liliana. That had felt empty from the start, a desperate attempt to feel something in the tumultuous midst of war and death when life could be taken from you at any moment. This however felt… warm and raw. What Lix had done to Jack… the hold the lizard had over the once visceral… well… warlord… was astonishing. Though Taran dared not say anything. A glace back at his guards ensured their silence as well. An ill thought comment could very well spark Jack's temper regardless of Lix' proximity.

As it was, he was content to let the raptor deal with the man's dangerous temper. Better her than him, at any rate.

"So," Jack began after Lix had dozed off once more. "When are the Rippers gonna move? Y'all got a plan?"

"Not tha' I'm suppose ta go spoutin' it off ta people. But the boss woul' prob'ly like ya ta know what's what. We's gonna try an' do shit quietly. Nice an' discrete like, by talkin' ta the inner rings an' tellin' 'em what be goin' on an' killin' air to the hangar."

"Starve 'em out, eh? Arington might be alright with that, leave everythin' intact. It would make swipin' the pinger a bit harder when I go in an' make it vanish."

"Not our problem."

"Nope. Good luck gettin' the inner rings to play ball though." Jack grinned, tilting his head as he squeezed Lix. Her growl of displeasure was soft.

"That be the point o' contention. Inner rings would work wit' Arington before us." No company wanted to be caught dead working with rank-and-file citizenry after all. The optics of having to rely or cooperate with the 'common folk' was nothing more than blood in the water to the corporate world. If it ever got out that Arington enlisted the assistance of gangs and shopkeepers, attacks on their freighters and employees offering their contracts to rivals would skyrocket.

No, alternatives would have to be explored. Which meant an angle to tactics Jack hated most, that being dialogue. Talking wasn't exactly a weakness of his, not by any stretch of the imagination… if one was thinking of talking shit. However, when it came to diplomacy, it usually came at the end of a revolver. The art of peacefully making deals wasn't one he was particularly skilled at, not without threats of death and fire at least.

However, he did have friends in the inner rings… or… friends was a strong word. Acquaintance… perhaps that too was a too strong word…

Jack knew someone on the inner rings. Someone who had stormed away and claimed he no longer wished to have anything to do with Jack so long as he may still live the last he'd seen him. Which, of course, put a damper on things… Maybe time had healed some of those wounds?

Jack's musings screeched to a halt as Mo'Ona returned, the Hux huffing and puffing with an ear-to-ear grin gracing his muzzle. So wide, in fact, that a mandible or two was visible in the depths of his gullet. The rodent's little chest rapidly heaved with a staccato beat, his nose wiggling rapidly as he struggled to get his lungs under control.

"Dats was… sos much funs!" Mo'Ona's tail reflected his exuberance, the whip cord length of naked skin and muscle undulating like a dying snake. "If Skrunkles gets ta do stuffs likes dat… he's sos in! I'm sooos in!" Paws flew to his mouth as he giggled, dancing in place as he spun a quick, shameless circle in the middle of Pew for You, uncaring of who saw. This was what he'd been hoping for, action and espionage, adventure that could keep his heart racing and his mind at ease! "So's! So's so's! What's the plan?!"

Surely Jack would have concocted some masterful way to snatch a pinger from the Keelhaulers like the secret agents in the holo-vids everyone loved to watch so much!

"Simple, my dear rat. We kill them all."