_ _ _ 'Hero Sato'

One nap to sleep off the lingering effects of my painkillers later, I was nibbling on a light meal, sipping down cold coffee and picking my way through what little intel I had. Legwork made all the difference between a clean painting and a messy one. Any two-time hustler with a piece could gun down someone in the streets, only to wind up dead or caught in a week's time. Painting was as much an art as a science. I'd been thinking of this working vacation as just another job, I needed to change that. This was a whole new canvas, in someone else's studio with new rules that required a new way of thinking.

I slipped into worker's coveralls (proper coveralls without any revealing slits) and slung a duty bag on my good shoulder. I stashed what I could where I could, gaging how visible each hiding place was and how quickly I could get to my guns if needed. I reread my Ident, rehearsing my faked persona and affiliations until they were natural enough to sound plausible. My whole plan was paper thin but it was the best I could manage on short notice with my celebrity status. I slapped on the appropriate patches to get me clear of my room's siege, planted a short brimmed cap on that barely did anything to conceal my plain face and wrapped a bulky yet lightweight toolbelt around my waist to better conceal the pistol in my waistband.

I popped a cigarette in my mouth and got to work, clutching at the new worker's orientation primer like a candle in the dark as I opened my door.

Instead of a clawing horde like I'd been expecting, an orderly queue had formed twenty bodies long. With a practiced glance to my primer and an entirely genuine awkward panic, I mumbled something about getting to my new job and made my escape. The chorus of desperate (if disillusioned and frustrated) pleas fell on deaf ears as I all but ran from the hall. The crude, mass-printed map on my orientation primer got me pointed to the service corridors and worker-only access tunnels. From there I was all but invisible, merging into the throng of the downtrodden and the destitute.

These corridors were stiflingly hot, the ventilation deliberately reduced to keep the scent of toiling humans confined to their section of the station and away from the glass paradises they serviced. I spotted several other men in the crowds; lost as they were within the press of feminine humanity, their sex and the promise of escape that it entailed went deliberately unnoticed. It wasn't long after that I spotted the clandestine cameras—and the looming threat they represented—at regular intervals. I stooped lower into the crowd, discretely swapping out my laborer's patch for another before breaking from the main flow at the next junction.

Stepping from the claustrophobic, stiflingly functional workers' crawlway into the posh airy halls of the station proper was like night and day. One minute, I'm practically buried alive in dimly-lit cloying heat, then I'm blinded by pale light and a crisp autumn breeze. According to the primer, level 3 was the station equivalent of a suburban area with a mix of residential, commercial and convenience all pressed together for the station's more prominent members. Strategically placed between the necessary industries of level 4 and the executive high-life of level 2, residents were close enough to that better life to reach out and dream, while simultaneously seeing the price of disappointing their superiors. A firm reminder that what had been given could just as easily be taken away.

The residential tunnels were triple-tiered in a stepped V shape, regular arching walkways connecting the mirrored sides. Bright grey tiles lined everything save for the ceiling which was a recreation of the daytime sky of Intatenrup, shedding imitation light that felt indistinguishable from the real thing to my skin. What people I saw were clearly divided; those few clothed in worker's garbs largely stayed on the bottom tier and everyone else went about their day above them. The sparse crowds on my tier weren't thick enough to disappear in, but no one should look twice at another indentured servant who knew his place.

I scouted around for a bit, but there was only so much walking around and rubbernecking I could pull before someone noticed something was off. There was always a subtle tell that betrayed those in places they shouldn't be. Hab C-025 was on the third tier, surrounded by what looked like mostly residential neighbors. Two square windows maintained the symmetry of the picturesque little condo— if anyone was home, they liked the lights off. Foot traffic got lighter the higher I looked in the tiers and those workers who did venture above their bottom rung for their duties were noticed with a sneer or a leer and just as quickly forgotten by their betters. That made things easier for me.

Being a social chameleon was all about who, when and where; the confidence that you knew who you were and that others should too. The walls between the well-to-do and those without were paper thin at best if all that stood between them was a change of clothes, a cocky stride and a cushy place to lie one's head. It was a laughably fragile illusion that a few strong prods would shatter in an instant. There had to be more to it than what I was seeing from the outside in. If I'd had the time for a more thorough infiltration I might have parsed the subtle minutia of this false paradise and penetrated it properly, but time wasn't on my side. Rush jobs always fell to scat. I didn't have the time or the means to do things my usual way— the right way.

I'd done all the legwork I dared risk and turned my back on my target. I wrestled down the urge to find a place to smoke, instead pulling out my comm in place of my coffin nails. I made a little show of it, selling the lie just enough, not that I thought anyone was watching. Using my paper-thin excuse, I turned back towards my target on one last errand. The theatrics were probably unnecessary but it gave any tails a chance to betray their interest in me. A discrete glimpse around didn't spot any turning heads, which did nothing to placate my caution. I checked my comm as I reached the foot of a stairway, the barrier between where workers belonged and where people of consequence lived, feigning trepidation. Consciously masking my planetside stride, I took the stairs three at a time as I rose above my supposed station.

I climbed to the third tier and kept my damned eyes down at my feet. Approaching straight away would be too conspicuous, as would dallying where I didn't belong. I headed for C-028, three doors down from my true target, and knocked on the door— tools in one hand and my forged credentials in the other. Working my way down the street wouldn't throw a determined observer off my trail, but it was better than nothing.

A pale, smiling woman in a dark business-casual skirt and pale blouse opened the door, her expression souring immediately when she saw me.

"Apologies ma'am," I said with a quick bow and a subservient tone. "There's been some power drain in the area. We think there might be some damaged wiring in one of the units on your row." I gulped down a stuttering breath. "I-I need to inspect your tubes. Ma'am."

A glance at her eyes showed me just how displeasurable my interruption (and indeed my very existence) was. Averting my eyes, I saw the subtle shift in her weight as she no doubt sized me up. She swayed her hips as she thought, bouncing from one foot to the other before reaching a decision.

"Hurry up then." She said with a sigh. "I'm not going to wait on you all cycle."

"Of course, Ma'am. Apologies for the intrusion, Ma'am." I gave another twitchy bow and stepped inside. She took a breath and wrinkled her nose at my intrusion. Her scowl deepened when I walked by.

"You should have bathed before coming here. The whole place will reek of you for days."

I hide my initial search behind an awestruck gaze around at the blatant luxury of the loft-style condo. My safehouse was little more than a closet compared to the plentiful opulence on display.

"If you drool on my floors, I'll have you flogged in the channel." The business woman coldly stated.

"Of course, Ma'am. Apologies, it's… where might the access p-"

"In the back with the plumbing. Your supervisor will be hearing about your incompetence, you trog."

I gave another bow and put some distance between her and I. The loft's design was an exotic sub-species of the planetside ones I was more familiar with; a combination bedroom/study/bureau overlooked the entryway den from the second floor, the kitchenette further from the door and further back still the bathroom and utilities were pressed to the rear wall. The dividing floor was thinner than seemed possible to my terran sensibilities. The entire condo was rounded in a way that opposed the traditional square geometrics known to me, the ceiling and walls appeared carved to maximize the size of the upper demi-floor and make the most of the available light. I wasn't much of an interior designer or an architect, but I saw the appeal with my painter's eye.

I opened the utility closet and set to patching up my cover with some busywork.

"Who the hell are you?" The business woman demanded directly behind me. I could almost feel my cover crumbling around me as that strange, yet somehow familiar warmth started spreading through my limbs.

"Hero Sato, Ma'am. Station janitorial and main-"

"Botshit."

I froze in my work, assessing if the situation was still salvageable. It might be, unlikely though it was, so I turned to face the icy storm growing behind me. I slowly reached for my forged Ident card and offered it up, then bowed fully in prostration. Which just so happened to place my hands within easy reach of my concealed pistols.

"Hero Sato, station janitorial and maintenance services." She dropped the card to the floor. "I might believe that if you didn't walk like a dirty rock. That, and the help aren't permitted to drink coffee."

"Scat." I cursed, sliding one hand inside my coveralls.

"I'll give you twenty seconds t-" I pounced upwards, throwing my weight into the woman's midsection, knocking the wind out of her.

My tackle propelled both of us into her bathroom, a luscious shag bathmat negligibly cushioned her impact as I hammered her down into the floor with my good shoulder. She feebly clawed at my back for desperate seconds before she finally felt the cold iron of my revolver on her face. Before she could catch her breath I braced myself, shifting my weight to my off leg, confident that my knee on her stomach and hand around her throat were all I needed to keep her pinned.

"Scream and you die." I growled.

She nodded as much as she could while catching her breath. I relaxed my grip around her throat without taking my hand away.

"I'm not here for you," I said. "but I will kill you if you compromise me in any way."

"And here I was hoping you'd come to do just that. Compromise me." She chuckled with a nervous smile that didn't get past her lips. Her rich brown eyes kept flicking from me to the gun. "Do you really need that?"

"Call me old fashioned, but I'd rather not strangle you." I stated gruffly, fighting down the memories bubbling to the fore as her pulse hammered into my fingers.

"My, aren't you quite the gentleman? Well, you've got me pinned down, all hot and bothered, then you say you're not here for me. An indecent woman could get jealous." I put some more weight on her abdomen by way of reply. "Oof. So where oh where do we go from here?"

"I can kill you-" I started.

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"Which I'd rather you didn't."

"-or we can come to a mutual understanding. Then I leave and we never see each other again."

"What kind of understanding?" She asked.

I climbed off of her slowly, keeping my gun trained just under her face. I unzipped my coveralls and reached deep inside. The business woman got off her back and onto her knees like it was second habit, pausing her advance once she heard me cock the hammer of my four-shooter. The pleading look in her eyes paired with her bedraggled state of dress and tasseled hair had me tempted to take her up on the implied offer. It was tempting… Instead I pulled the much quieter holdout pistol from of my waistband before tucking my revolver back under my shoulder.

"And here I thought you were happy to see me." She pouted.

"How much do you know about your neighbors?" I asked, ignoring her.

"Not much. Most are joy girls or married women, same as me. Except that recluse…" She started, then several things must have clicked for her. "Hero Sato… You're the Void Dragon's new hitman!"

"Not so loud." I hissed.

"Oh relax. You think these condos aren't soundproofed? I've been eight girls deep in screaming ecstasy without a single noise complaint more times than I can count."

"How soundproofed?" I asked, focusing in on the useful information to keep my imagination from wandering into the dangerous territory of daydreams.

"I can't really say. But I know how loud a gun is. You might not want to risk it."

"You don't care that I'm going to kill him?"

"Better him than me. Besides, he's a creep. I'll sleep better when he's gone. Plus, life is cheap in Paradise. Evan is one more pawn knocked off the glowing clouds." Sarcasm edged into her voice, but there was a brittle truth ringing throughout.

"Ivan Balakin." I corrected but she just shrugged. "What else do you know about him."

"I know he blasted the last hitman right in front of my door a couple days ago. The guy just bumped into him then the whole atrium heard gunshots. I've never talked to him but he always seemed like the nervous type, quick to assume the worst. And he's big. Big and tall, kind of fat too."

"Scat." I cursed, finally relaxing my aim to her visible relief. Something else rose to take her tension's place, some expression I couldn't quite nail down.

"Wait, that's it?" She asked incredulous.

I raised an eyebrow at her.

"There isn't anything else your going to do to me?" She clarified without actually clearing anything up.

"You do realize I can still kill you, right?" I answered deadpanned.

"Obviously. I know what a gun is for. But after all that," She motioned to the bathroom floor. "You're just going to walk out of here without having your way with me?"

"That's the plan." I said, stowing the flimsy printed pistol and straightening out my disguise. I could see what she thought of my answer. "Try not to look so disappointed. I'm not that kind of man."

"I am disappointed." She cursed while blinking back tears. "It's not every cycle some sweaty planetside boy breaks into my home and pins me down. You're young, a lean slab of meat compared to those flabby old pigs that paw at me while I manage their accounts. Then you up and leave without doing a thing to me. You're the worse kind of decent. A man like you doesn't belong here in Paradise. How the hell could there still be any decent men left in the galaxy?" She flashed a heart-wrenching smile even as her lips quivered. "You say you're old-fashioned, but you're just cruel. Reminding me that there's still good everywhere but here. And here I thought I was done with hope."

If it was possible, I'd have put a bullet in every single one of her problems then and there. I'd have lined up everyone who hurt her and shot them all dead without batting an eye. It was stupid to think impossible thoughts, but that didn't stop me. Heaven (Tengoku, Paradise, whatever the hell they called this damned station!) was built on the suffering of thousands to make a handful feel all-powerful. If not for any other reason, that was why I could never stay here. I was no hero. I was a murderer. I couldn't fix every problem with a bullet, but I could comfort a crying woman in front of me.

She stiffened as I pulled her to her feet and hugged her, expecting me to go further and do worse. I doubted she could recall the last time someone didn't have a more sinister motive. Had she ever had someone who cared about her as an actual human being? Her arms clung to me with a desperate strength I wouldn't have believed her capable of. I couldn't remember the a time when someone held me. Hell, I wasn't even sure if I was doing this right.

"Here I am, getting ready to kill a man I've never met before in his own home in cold blood, and you call me decent. Like I'm some cowboy from the those old stories. I'm nowhere near decent." My final words were no more than a whisper. "This life makes monsters of us all."

She melted in my arms and started sobbing. The broken, snotty mewling was completely at odds with the icy professional who'd first opened the door for me, from the jaded corporate woman who'd been threatening a menial because of something as stupid as status.

While she bawled her eyes out, I couldn't stop myself from wondering if every woman on this station had to keep her heart locked away lest it betray her. Even with another woman in my arms, I thought back to Shenhua Yang-Sarpi and the frigid look of disappointment she'd worn with misting jade eyes. Even with another woman in my arms, I still remembered how warm she'd been.

"Umm…" The business woman's half-heard word drew me back to the present. "Your gun is poking me."

"That's not-" I broke off from our embrace a little too quickly, tripping over the toilet and backing myself into the wall.

"The bedroom is upstairs and I've got the whole, day, off." She said.

"Thanks, but-"

"That looks painful, the least I can do is take care of you."

"No, really-"

"If your worried about being caught, you can use my mouth."

"Don't make me pull a gun on you." I threatened.

"At this point, I'm kind of hoping you do." She leaned closer and gave me a wink. "So how about it, Cowboy?"

Somehow the upper buttons of her blouse had come undone. The view was outstanding. I tore my gaze away, retreating out of the bathroom. My Ident card was still on the floor where she'd dropped it. I plucked it up, clipping the plastek onto the soiled breast of my jumpsuit. Her brown eyes followed my hands eagerly, then paused to fix on my dampened chest.

"If you go out like that people will know you did more than just inspect my plumbing."

"Well I didn't plan on bringing a spare outer." I grumbled.

"Spare? Oh right, blood." She said, answering her own question as her eyes flicked from my features to the subtle bulges of my concealed firearms and the considerably less subtle bulge that wasn't. She was looking at two different versions of me, the cowboy and the murderer, both present but neither fully realized. A lone man trying to be decent despite his monstrous nature. Her eyes met mine and she recoiled at what she found.

"How are you with scalding pain?" She blurted.

"Dare I ask why?"

"I've got an idea to cover that whole mess and your breath. Trust me, no one around here will blink twice at a worker having a cup of burning hot coffee thrown at them."

"Okay." I said with a shrug. She blinked in disbelief.

"Okay? I could be lying to you, or just trying to hurt you."

"But you're not."

"You don't know that-"

"I may not be from around here, but I'm a halfway decent judge of intentions. Call it an occupational hazard." She laughed softly at me words.

"You really are something else, Cowboy."

"As are you, miss…" She looked about her condo, as if someone else had snuck into her home to eavesdrop. I'd noticed Shenhua doing the same thing before and it made me wonder at the significance.

"June-Hahn." She whispered.

"June-Hahn, I'd be honored to receive first-degree burns from you." She laughed again, her smile finally spreading beyond her lips to the rest of her features.

"Where the hell have you been all my life, Cowboy?" Her words held more than that simple question. There was an invitation there, a promise too. I wanted to say yes, to yield to that base desire, but I couldn't give my word when I knew it would be impossible to keep.

"I've been murdering people." I stated coldly, the temperature of the room seeming to drop five degrees as I did.

"Right." She said with a shiver, taking the meaning behind my words like a slap to the face. "I should go get that coffee ready."

"I'm sorry." I whispered. "I-"

"Don't be. You said it yourself, this life makes monsters of us all. We've all got our jobs to do, so go do yours, Cowboy. I'll sleep a little easier with one less monster around."

She put on a pot and we shared these last minutes of honest companionship in silence.

This station, these damned tragic women, they'd be the death of me if I stayed here. I'd felt protective before, but never like this. The simple act of treating them like human beings was as foreign to them as the impossible vastness of space was to me. I could barely imagine the cruelties needed to put such a system in place, let alone to keep up the status quo for generation after generation. The thought of it set a burning, murderous rage in the pit of my stomach and the palms of my hands. If I stayed, I would never paint again. Painting was an art and there would be no art in my butchery. I would slaughter everyone I could and tear Tengoku down to Intatenrup in order to put an end to such vilified indifference to human suffering.

When the coffee machine started sputtering its last drops, I realized that I'd been hoping it wouldn't finish. That somehow, I could stay in this condo forever and shut out the rest of the universe or at least Tengoku. June-Hahn poured herself a brimming mug and I shut my eyes on that childish fantasy forever.

"You ready Cowboy?" She asked, tension sounding clear in her voice.

"As I'll ever be. Let's put on a good show. Shall we?"

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you broke into my house, Cowboy."

"You were the one that let me in." I said coyly.

"Yeah… I guess I did." June-Hahn took a deep breath to steady herself. Her sad smile vanished under the icy mask of a jaded and ruthless business woman. "Get out. Get out of my house! Get OUT!"

The door opened, allowing me to make my very public escape from the enraged woman.

"I'm sorry Ma'am!" I said bowing parallel to the floor.

"I always knew you workers were worthless scum but don't they even teach you to read! I should have you flogged for wasting my time you insolent cur! C twenty-eight, not C twenty-five! Do you see the difference you moron!"

I raised my bow enough to see where she was pointing, gritting my teeth in expectation of what would come next. If anything, knowing it was about to happen made it worse.

"Did I say you could raise you head?!" June-Hahn roared, stabbing out with her mug.

Her coffee splashed messily across my chest, then my jaw, arms, and hands all caught the stinging excess. I knew better than to cry out in pain, but for the sake of a good show I did it anyway. I clenched my trembling fists until my knuckles were creaking as steaming coffee ran down my arms. A trickle of boiling liquid found its way into my splinted finger and the nerves that had been exposed by my recent surgeries. The second pained yelp to pass my lips wasn't all show.

"Did I say you could speak, you cur?!" June-Hahn bellowed. "Well, did I?!"

I collapsed in on myself in mock agony, prostrating myself in the steaming puddle of black coffee even as it soaked my palms and knees. Curiously, the heat of it wasn't that bad but something about being scalded had my skin itching.

"No Ma'am. Apologies Ma'am, I beg your forgiveness!"

She let the moment linger while my skin scalded without burning. Aside from my broken finger, it wasn't as painful as I thought it'd be.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood today. Clean this up, go do your kusoking job and maybe you'll still have a job to do next cycle after I finish reporting your incompetence to your owner!" June-Hahn slammed her door hard enough to make the boiling puddle jump into my face.

I waited an extra second for good measure before leaping up in pain and sparing a bashful look around. Our show hadn't drawn a crowd and while several heads were turned in my direction (most looking cruelly delighted, the rest just looking cruel) no one had stopped. I cast my gaze downwards, as much to take in my disguise as to maintain my cover. June-Hahn had certainly covered her tracks well, if it weren't for my layered attire my entire torso would been steam-fried instead of merely irritably pained.

I'd traded my ability to blend into the working masses for being a social pariah. I needed to finish this rush job before things went even more ploin shaped. I tagged the mess with a wet floor sign and walked with partially-feigned indignity down to the worker's tier. There was a man holding a mop and bucket out for me with a look of muted, sympathetic pain.

"Hang in there pal." He whispered, offering up his tools.

I inclined my head imperceptibly in thanks and took them from him. Mopping up the mess while my clothes still dripped coffee seemed like exactly the futile effort indicative of the pointless cruelties within Tengoku. Human suffering for the sole purpose of imposing one's will on their lessers. Elevating some above the rest not by building up the few, but by making the masses sub-humanly small; a never-ending cycle of pointless hardship for the gain of a mere handful. For all the near-white tile and bright lights, that atrium seemed as desolate and merciless as the southern tundras of Intatenrup. I gave my head a shake, focusing on the task at hand only to realize I'd finished.

Now all that was left was to put the finishing touches on this painting.