Paunch grunted as blood sprayed from his arm. Fire flew in wide, fitful plumes from his palm. Mateo smelled burnt rubber. He heard a clicking sound and glanced over: the vadu was talking. The Penzo drifted to the right. Paunch’s arm was pulled taught, like a muscular cable stretched in front of Mateo’s chest. He could see the teeth of the jaws dig into it, felt a twitch of sympathy in his stomach. What could he do? Fire was useless. He thought about lighting up the driver, but if he did that the Penzo would crash and both Mateo and Paunch with it, never mind the package.

To his left, he could see Paunch’s bike beginning to wobble. The wheel turned, left and right in small adjustments, as Paunch struggled to keep the path straight while he was tied by his own arm to the Penzo. The vadu spoke again, a cacophony of clicking and distorted buzzes, and the car slowed and curved further to the right. Mateo tapped the breaks, trying to adjust his speed in sync with the car. Paunch did the same. He saw Paunch’s wheel curve to the left. He knew that look, that characteristic uncertainty in the path of the bike. Paunch was going to slip.

“SMOKE.”

Mateo glanced up. Underarms was riding ahead of him, an icepick in his hand. Without a word, Underams tossed the pick into the air just as Mateo, struggling to catch up, raised his aching right hand. The icepick whipped towards him, was about to whip past when something kicked in and Mateo jerked his hand and snatched it out of the air.

Without missing a beat, Mateo jammed the icepick into the tentacle which held Paunch’s arm. Water flew from the hole and the tentacle slackened. He heard Paunch heave in air. He jabbed it again, widening the rent, and the tentacle sagged completely. Paunch shoved at the handlebars of his bike, knocking it back into position, and quickly reached over and opened the now limp jaws of the tentacle. Without a word he disappeared from the scene, dropping back. The tentacle dropped down and slipped under the wheel of Mateo’s bike. He rammed his shoulder down and put all his weight into holding the bike steady as it hiccuped. If the vadu hadn’t held onto his handlebars, he would have spilled.

These next sounds, he would never forget. The rubbery smack of the tentacle bouncing on the pavement. The mechanical judder as it slipped under Wisely’s wheel, where he rode behind Mateo. The scream of panic, the crash as Wisely swerved right and bounced off the car, and the crash and thwap as Wisely spilled, his bike turning to the side and bouncing off the road as he disconnected and flew away. Mateo checked his speed, then looked immediately away. As the tentacle ran under Wisely’s wheel, the Vadu was jerked forward, pulled half out of the car before it snapped.

He didn’t have time to think about that now.

He flipped the icepick in his hand and jammed it as hard as he could into the right goggle of the vadu. It cracked, and a single chip of glass fell from the goggle, the size of your fingernail. Mateo dropped the icepick without another thought, pressed his palm to the goggles of the vadu, and let the fire gush out of him with a speed he knew would sting in the morning. He poured fire into the armoured helmet of this monstrous thing that was, somehow, a human being.

The vadu slumped down in the window. Mateo unwrapped the remaining tentacle from his handlebars. He glanced up. Above, on the radioactive HUD of his helmet visor, was a red line in the road. Plan B was in action. He only had a moment.

He swerved the bike to the left, running it up onto the sidewalk and jerking it around an electricity pole. The Penzo went over the spikes and the front wheels burst. These were heavy duty spikes: Thrift was insistent, would talk endlessly on modern rubber and the way a good spike will shred it. The Penzo flew over them at speed and immediately turned to the right, jumped over the lip of the sidewalk, and smashed straight through the shopfront of a convenience store.

In the distance came the sound of sirens and the signature pop of a zus.

“Again!” said the boy, the sound of giggling bouncing around in his head. Mateo shook himself and ignored it, driving over to the car.

Underarms had already pulled up beside the crashed Penzo. He opened the door and pulled out the driver, dropped him onto the street and knocked his lights out. The man slumped. Mateo pulled up as Underarms was opening the passenger door. He dragged out the body of the vadu. Chained to it’s wrist was a large, square, plastic medical box. The bottom half was cherry red and the top clean white. It was stamped with a symbol Mateo didn’t recognize: a §.

Mateo looked at the hand of the vadu. It was an ordinary, human hand. A woman’s hand. Underarms used a set of pliers to break the chain and without a word tossed the box up to Mateo. The sirens were getting louder. They had only moments.

Once again Mateo stamped fire into the bike mounts and sped off into the night.

= = = = = = =

Mateo rode through the Gwae for half an hour, taking a circuitous route of back alleys to avoid notice from the patrols. He came out on Fu Reik street, crossed an intersection onto Yeiou, and pulled into the darkness behind a parked up removal lorry.

The medical box had remained between his thighs for the entire ride. He jumped off the bike, opened the seat, and placed it inside, looking down at the strange § symbol. He looked at the perfectly clean, rigid plastic of the box. He took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Open the box.” Whispered the voice in his head.

Mateo thought about it. He turned the box around. Some kind of black foam had been filled in along the seam, between the red and white halves. It was perfectly smooth, and he had a feeling it wasn’t the kind of substance he could melt back down if he cracked it open.

“You have to open it,” said the boy. “You can’t meet the fence without knowing what you’re selling him. How will you bargain?”

This, admittedly, was true. They would open the box back at the pool regardless. The boys would want him to wait, but what were they going to do? He looked at his hand, cigarette caught between the fingers, and saw the number 1 written clearly in black marker.

“What are you waiting for?”

He tossed the cigarette, slid the box out of the seat locker, lowered the seat, and placed it. Then he took out his flick knife and slid it along the seam of the box, splitting the strange rubbery black substance. He undid the clasp and opened the box.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

A bright, silvery light filled the alley. It seemed somehow familiar to Mateo. He tried to remember where he’d seen it last, and found that he couldn’t. In his head, the boy gasped.

“That’s from the Park.”

= = = = = = =

“Did you stash it?”

“Yeah, I stashed it.”

“Where?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s safe. How’s Wisely?”

Three hours had passed before Underarms called a meet. Mateo had spent it riding around the city, staying away from the Gwae, just circulating and burning rubber. He’d already changed plates and there were plenty of F-bikes in Zone Six, but he didn’t want to risk a run in with the Beetles regardless.

It was deep night time. They had assembled at the top of a tall parking garage in Pokro, a swish super mall that bordered the Jayu financial district. The parking garage was under construction. No No, who’s uncle was a senior foreman in one of the big rhata construction companies, had worked up a little booklet that told you when certain constructions sites would be totally empty. This came in very handy.

From the top of the parking garage they could see much of the city. At this time, it was all light and shadows. Light steaming off of the advertisements and glancing along the silvery walls of the apartment buildings, trains of headlights running along tracks of streetlamps, the occasional crack of a zus passing by overhead, warm patches of light that marked the parks, huge gaps of darkness where the government building and the private estates remained unlit. A misty rain fell, further thinning the light and giving the city an elusive, immaterial feeling. They sat on their bikes, facing each other in a circle: Underarms, Paunch, Thrift, No No, Jake, Dove, Glow, and now Mateo. Mateo gestured and Jake tossed him a beer, then threw one to Glow, who dropped it.

“They put him under,” said Underams. “He’s pretty fucked up but he aint dead so I guess we’re happy.”

“What’s the damage?”

“His head’s fine. Thank fuck it wasn’t Paunch,” Underarms shot Paunch a look, where he sat cross legged on his bike, one arm wrapped up in a thick bandage, the other holding a beer. He smiled back calmly.

“You sure?” said Mateo.

“No. Couldn’t exactly take him to a hospital.”

“Who did you take him too?”

Underarms gestured at No No

“Giggler.”

“Giggler works for the fucking Cretes, No No. Why did you take him to Giggler?”

“They all work for the Cretes, bro. We needed a good doctor. Wisely coulda died. Still could.”

“So now the Kid will know we’re the ones that ran the hit.”

Underarms cut in: “The Kid doesn’t concern himself with minor biker gangs. But sure, it’ll be known. So what? We want a reputation. It’ll mean work. What got you so skittish?”

“Nothing.” Said Mateo, sipping his beer. No No continued.

“Fractured both wrists, fractured femer.” He paused, coughed. Sipped his beer. “Damage to the spine.”

Thrift swore. Underarms threw his can of beer at a nearby wall. “Fuck.” He muttered.

Everyone was quiet for a while. Underarms slowed his breathing and composed himself, adjusting one of his suspenders. “Fine. Nothing to do about that now. We all know the risks.”

“Two in three weeks,” muttered Thrift.

“Enough,” said Mateo, quietly. Everyone looked at him. He took his time. Gradually his nerves died and calmness settled over him. He had no difficulty looking every member of the chapter in their eyes, one at a time. He took a sip of beer and swallowed it.

“Let’s keep this on business. We’re a biker gang. It’s late, I’m tired. Wisely will be alright. He’s a tough old sack of shit. Giggler can mend a spine and if he can’t, we’ll find someone who can. That isn’t up for question.” Mateo paused, composing himself. “We hit a Tripple Black Penzo tonight. Does everyone know what that means?”

Everyone nodded.

“Glow, do you know what that means?”

Glow, who had been nodding, paused. “…No?” He ventured.

“A Tripple Black Penzo is a Holder whip. Okay?”

“Err,” Glow looked around him. He was only fifteen. “By Holders you mean people with a synthcard?”

Mateo nodded. “Yep. People with permission to go beyond the Wall and into the Park. Holders means the elite. The Holders control the companies, own the city grounds. They have positions in the government, in the justice system. Police Commissioner Geckor is a Holder, and his daddy runs the Yroin Energy ‘Glom. Or did before the Kid kicked him off. They have direct relationships with the capes, particularly the Executive Branch. It is fair to say that whoever we stole from was a pretty big cheese, never mind the fact that they had a vadu looking after the package. Thrift, do you know what type of maicha that was?”

Thrift shook his head. “No. I didn’t see it. But from what I heard it was a custom build. Most maicha are too bulky to put in car, and it takes a lot of skill to use high dexterity appendages like those tentacles. She will have been expensive. Very expensive.”

“That’s what I figured. Now, I know what I wanna do. But it’s worth asking: are we sure we want to go forward with this thing? We’re kicking the beehive here. I’m willing to discuss throwing it in before we commit. Thrift?”

Thrift thought about it.

“Sure. We already stole it. Holders are fickle. They’re not going to forgive us if we just give it back, and I don’t know how we would anyway. Has everyone switched plates?”

Everyone nodded, apart from Glow and Dove who hadn’t been on the op.

“I’m fine then,” said Thrift. “Let’s go forward.”

“Seconded,” said No No. “It’s a lot of X.”

Paunch nodded. Jake nodded. Mateo looked to Underarms.

“What do you say, Arms? You wanna sell this thing?”

Underarms looked at him, his face inscrutable. He crushed a beer can, which Mateo hadn’t even seen him drink, in his hand, and threw it behind him. Then he looked back at Mateo.

“I wanna know what it is.”

“What’s what?”

“The package. What’s in the box?”

Mateo glowered. “How would I fucking know?”

“Tell him!” Said the voice of the boy, sternly.

“Because you opened the box.”

“Says who?”

“Me, I guess,” Underarms sighed. He weighed his helmet in his hand, glancing away before looking back at him. “Look at your hand, Mateo. You’re the big boss now. You wanna be professional? You gunna lie to your fucking chapter?”

Mateo looked around. Everyone was watching him. Glow took a slug of his beer, spilling it over his chin and then nearly falling off his bike. Thrift was watching him, full of kindness. Paunch was inscrutable. No No cleared his throat.

“Well? Smoke? Did you open it? Come on, I wanna know too. It’s calm, just say. Of course you opened it. I would.”

Smoke shook his head. He looked over the skyline, not returning their gazes as he spoke.

“I don’t know what it is.” He sighed. “I think it’s an organ, maybe from behind the Wall, or maybe from a lab.”

“An organ?” asked Jake.

“What did it look like?” asked Underarms.

“Like a heart, but weird. It was sort of trippled, like a heart with an extra chamber or whatever. It was see-through, and it had all these strange colours flashing though it. It jerked like a heart, but slowly. It’s either a heart or a very strange jellyfish. It’s Holder-shit, no doubt. Magic, I guess. But I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Me either,” said Thrift. He thought for a moment. “So, fine. It’s a magic organ. Does that change anything?”

“Not really,” said Mateo. “But it’ll be worth a stack. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like it’s from another world.”

“More than 600 X?” asked No No, as if he could not imagine such a figure.

“Sure. Of course it is, otherwise what’s the fence gunna do with it? It’s probably worth 2 thousand X or more. Maybe it’s priceless. Thrift, can you do a bit of research?”

“Sure.”

“Has anyone run past a bloodbox?” asked Mateo.

“Yeah,” said Underarms. “I checked one at Gigglers joint. There’s a fence up. He’ll meet ASAP.”

“I’ll go.” Said Mateo. He waited for someone to argue. He looked at Underarms. No one said anything.

“Fine. We can talk about other shit back at the pool. Let’s go to bed. I’ll link the fence empty and let you know how it goes.”

There was a muttering of goodbyes, an exchange of handshakes and fist-bumps. One by one they shoved down their helmets and tore off into the night.