Kazin

Before I can jerk away, the man of the Seven Star Mob grabs me by my collar and hurls me in the direction of his lackeys. I fail to catch my balance and fall over the tangle of my legs to taste the cold pavement.

“This one’s not in good shape,” one of the mobsters say.

The man who confronted me seems to be their leader. He approaches me as I attempt to climb back onto my feet.

“Clap him in chains, and take him to the garage.”

Cruel hands like vices grab at my arms and neck. I have no strength remaining within me; any fighting spirit I might have had left has dissipated. One hundred against one? I don’t stand a chance. I remain still as they tie me in reinforced chains. Several onlookers stop to steal a curious glance before continuing on their way. None of them appear to disapprove of what the mobsters are doing to me—quite the opposite, many nod as if in commendation. I realize then that this area is hostile to Joryoku. I had learned of these neighborhoods and city districts during lessons with Norbu—areas of the city controlled by other gangs and syndicates not of the Joryoku clans. Of all the places I could have escaped to, I had chosen the worst one.

The mobsters crowd around me and lead me towards a corner of the plaza. Beneath a massive neon sign is a mass of parked hoverCycles. Many of the bikes are emblazoned by what appears to be the emblem of this so-called Seven Star Mob—a large four-pointed star surrounded by six smaller ones. I’m tossed like a sack into a sidecar as the mobsters mount their cycles.

My ears are deafened by the thunderous sound of the roar of the engines as the mobsters start them up. The mobsters have modified their bikes to be of the petrol-consuming sort of the past, ripping out their hoverTech engines in favor of the sort which heralds their arrival with the trumpeted blast of petrol and pistons. Old-fashioned and spectacular.

The horde of bikers roar their way out of the plaza, diving deeper into this miniature city below the metal canopy. The buildings here are old but lively. They are not of steel and metal like the skyscrapers of the new city, but of plaster and stucco and wood and brick. Not a one of them reaches over five stories in height. There is character to this place, and were it not for my current predicament, I might have taken a liking to it.

I wonder where my captors are taking me. As the mobsters ride through the streets, shopkeepers and laborers and passersby all yell in greeting to the gang. They seem friendly with the locals, a fact that thoroughly surprises me. Eventually we arrive at what they call the ‘Garage’. It is a looming wooden building that was once a mechanic’s shop.

Two of the mobsters dismount their vehicles. They slide the double-doors open, and the rest of the gang rumbles inside. The Garage is cavernous, lit along the ceiling by fluorescent orange bulbs. There are all sorts of machinery and vehicular parts scattered along the grounds.

When the mob has parked and switched off their engines, I am hauled out of my sidecar and thrown onto the ground before their leader—the guy with the spiky crimson hair. He languidly pulls up a chair, swivels it so that the back is facing the front, then sits in front of me, crossing his arms upon the top rail.

He spits on the ground in distaste. “To what can we owe the visit of a Joryoku member to the humble sector of Royang?”

“Royang?” I mumble.

“That’s the name of this neighborhood,” the leader says. “Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Kazin,” I mumble.

“Kazin,” he repeats. “My name is Mugen. Nice to meet you.”

I am wondering why he tolerates this exchanging of pleasantries with me, when before he had expressed his disdain of Joryoku.

“So, Kazin,” Mugen says. “You look like you’ve been in a fight of some kind. Tell me, are the Yamda and the Kargu finally at each other’s throats?”

“It’s about damn time,” says a short kid beside Mugen. He has blonde hair that falls to his shoulders. He is small of frame with narrow shoulders, and he appears to be even younger than me. “I’d thought they’d never begin their war.”

Mugen chuckles and points with his thumb. “You’ll have to forgive Jin here. He’s not so fond of you Joryoku, though I daresay that applies to all of us. Bear with his commentary, would you?” Mugen’s face darkens and he leans closer to me. “Now, tell me why you’re here before I rip out your throat.”

I look into his eyes and know he’s not lying.

“There was a battle between the Yamda and the Kargu,” I answer. “I think I might be the only survivor.”

“Ah,” Mugen says, leaning back. “And what clan are you affiliated with?”

Jin saunters towards me and lifts my shirt. He sees the dragon twisting across my chest. “Yamda.” He scrunches his nose. “Only survivor as in last man standing, or as in, you ran fastest when shit hit the fan?”

I shoot a glare at him to conceal my shame, and he answers with a slap across the face. The stinging shape of his hand burns white on my cheek. “Oi, oi, no power plays here, Joryoku. You’re at our mercy now. Not so used to that, are you? What, with your bioEnhancements and your dirty corporate money fueling your activities?”

Mugen smiles. “So, the Yamda lost. The rabid northern dogs have yet another victory under their belts.” Mugen’s smile appears to falter. “How cruel were the Kargu?”

“So what?” Jin says, shrugging. “Let them tear each other to pieces. We’ll happily take what’s left.”

“Except they won’t be tearing each other to pieces,” Mugen says darkly. “At this rate, the Kargu will eat everything up, the Yamda will be erased from the city, and then even Royang won’t be safe anymore.” Mugen gazes at me with a searching look on his face. “Can you take us to the site of your battle?”

I nod. I can think of no reason not to. “Will you let me go?”

Mugen laughs, as does the rest of the mob. “No, no. We never let the Joryoku go. Our organization was founded for the very purpose of keeping Joryoku and corporate interests out of Royang. The choice you have before you now, little Kazin, is if you want to go peacefully or painfully. Up to you.”

A pit forms in my stomach as my mouth dries.

Mugen waves. “Take him away for now. Let him think on it for a while. Then we’ll make our way to where the battle was fought.”

I’m hauled to my feet and escorted to the rear of the warehouse. I’m thrown into a small shed, where they leave me with my worries.

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

I try to plot my escape, but I cannot think of anything. Every limb in my body burns from exhaustion, and a thick fog has settled within my mind. I nod off into an uneasy sleep.

When my captors wake me, the sky is still dark. They lead me out of the shed, back to the center of the warehouse where Mugen had interrogated me before.

“Widdle Joryoku was tired?” Jin croons. “Swept wike a baby for a whole day?”

I decide that I am truly starting to dislike this kid. “How old are you?” I snap.

“Old enough for your mom, prick,” he scowls.

Mugen steps between us. “You ready to take us there?”

Seeing no other choice, I nod reluctantly. “I think it was in a place called Namino.”

“Ah, the old industrial field,” Mugen says bitterly. “Of course. How poetic.” I wonder what he means by that. He beckons to his mobsters, and once again, I am dragged outside and placed into a sidecar as the gang begins to make their way towards Namino. This time, however, my sidecar is attached to Mugen’s bike. A place of honor for the prisoner, I guess.

A sickening nervousness grips my insides and twists its hold as we approach the place where I lost my companions. I am the only survivor, and for what? To be held prisoner by another gang? I realize how useless I am, how useless I have been. A shameful spite fills my mind.

Mugen leads the gang in their slow descent. Soon, they are skimming over the pavement, and I am filled with déjà vu.

“Why do you need to go to Namino?” I ask.

Mugen stares straight ahead. “Sometimes, after a large battle, the clans neglect to completely clear the area of all their dead and lost equipment. We pick up after them.”

Scavengers. My eyes flicker uneasily at the rudimentary bioEnhancements of the biker gang, suddenly realizing where they got them from, and why the different chips and parts seemed so asynchronized to one another.

Mugen notices my look and gives a crooked smile. “We’re all scavengers and vultures of something, Joryoku. Don’t you act so high and noble just because your equipment is newer and shinier to look at. All you are is a prettier parasite.”

I lower my eyes. “Straight ahead, then take a left, and you’ll come upon a large plaza. It’s the third warehouse on the right.”

“Perfect,” Mugen says. He swerves into a side street, and the rest of his gang follows. “We’ll scout the area from here on out,” he says to them once the roar of their engines is dampened. “Check for stragglers, other scavengers. Take them out if you see them. The last thing we need is for the Kargu and Yamda to know we've scavenged their site of battle.”

The members spread out on foot while I am prodded on by Jin and Mugen. We march beneath the shadows towards the warehouse. We come upon the plaza, and sure enough, it has been cleared of all vehicles—both Kargu and Yamda-owned. Nausea greets me with a stranglehold on my throat.

When the doors to the warehouse are pushed open, we see that the Kargu have done a fair job of clearing out the place. Aside from burn streaks from beamShot and the odd bloodstain on the ground, the place is immaculate.

The mobsters immediately begin scouring the warehouse. They check beneath equipment, inside crates, peek into side rooms. I had initially doubted whether they would find anything, but their hoard of loot grows and grows. There are flameSwords, cracklers, even a couple of photonBlasters. Many of the weapons are damaged, but none of them are beyond repair. Thankfully, there were no bioEnhancements for them to harvest—if I had seen bloody chips and plates in their pile of plunder, I think I really would have hurled.

I am forced to follow in Mugen’s footsteps by a vigilant Jin. They have chained my ankles together to prevent me from running, and I can find no crack in Jin’s watchfulness through which I might attempt an escape. I grow more and more discouraged, and dread hangs heavier over my head with each passing minute.

Scenes of the brawl pass through my head like fleeting memories as I walk through each section of the warehouse. There was where the Yamda were forced to pull back for the first time; there was where I saw bioEnhancements sputter and nerve endings scorched from a Yamda who had pushed themselves to their limit; there was where Ganzama took out a Kargu fighter’s skull with a bioCharged punch; there was where Kala shoved her crackler through a Kargu’s throat.

Despite myself, I do vomit to the side, earning my a cry of disgust and a kick from Jin.

Mugen looks back once from the racket of my gagging before continuing on, but Jin clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Little Joryoku can’t handle coming back. Little Joryoku misses his friends?” He spits on the floor. "They're in the ground, where they belong. Can't say they deserved anything less. The only good Joryoku, after all, is a dead one." He laughs.

Anger blazes inside me and I stand up straight. I tower over him. I look Jin straight in the eye.

“Say that again, you fucking shrimp.”

Jin’s eyes widen, and then he glares at me in a mix of incredulity and rage. “What’d you say, Joryoku?”

“I said, say that again, you little asshat. I shit shits bigger than you.”

In a movement of bioCharged speed, Jin tackles me to the ground. I hear the whir of a crackler going off as he flips his on. I wonder with mocking glee if he can even hold onto the thing while it gathers its electrical power.

“Fucking Joryoku!” Jin screams. “I’ll kill every single one of you!”

“Hey, get off of him, Jin!” Mugen’s hauling a kicking and screaming Jin off of me.

I laugh. “Yeah, let daddy take you away, kiddo. Parental supervision for the widdle child and his temper tantrum.”

I sink farther into the ground as someone bashes my leg with a crowbar. I cry as a weighty pain blooms across my thigh and I wilt deeper into myself.

Mugen hands off Jin to a pair of mobsters, and he stalks over to where I am lying. He kneels and leans closely. He whispers dangerously in my face. “I’ll give Jin the honor of separating each of your limbs from your body before he takes your head.”

I swallow nervously just as a mobster calls from the far side of the warehouse.

“Mugen! We got something here!”

I am forced onto my feet and held where I am by my mobster guards. I strain to look over their heads as Mugen rushes over to the scene. I can’t see much. Mugen appears to stand over a drum barrel. He directs his mobsters, and they tip it over, spilling its contents. What I see shakes me to the core.

A thin girl with black hair streaked in purple is lying on the ground, at the mouth of the barrel.

Kala.