Queen’s Gate was a world on the border of the Crown’s territory, which meant it acted as a stopover for many who wanted to cross into and out of Britannian Empire space. According to GalNet, that translated to the need for a substantial customs and immigration service.

In orbit and in the general area of space was a considerable naval defense force in case the Soviet Republic, whose borders it touched among others, tried anything too aggressive. As a result, a large space station was also in orbit, providing regular transport shuttles up and down. All of that added together equaled a need for Soul Warriors to be present both on the planet and in space around Queen’s Gate. And that meant there had to be hunting grounds because Soul Warriors did not stick around anywhere they didn’t have a chance to grow. Apparently even the military made sure its comparatively few Soul Wielders had access to gain myst.

That was all surprisingly excellent news to Rory. As an awful and hopeless planet, he had feared there would not be areas set aside specifically for Soul Warriors to hunt. Thankfully that fear was unfounded. All Rory needed to do was find a nearby area with low-level creatures and hunt them. He could then sell their carcasses for money to live on and increase his wealth. At the same time, he would earn vessels, gain summons, and invest in Withdraw Soul, thus also gain strength. He would then be able to fight stronger creatures that sold for more, thus gaining more vessels, summons, and strength. Eventually, Rory would have earned enough quid that he could be able to move him and his mum out of the slums, get her into rehab, buy some better hunting gear, and continue the cycle of hunting and selling until things were okay again. And he could do all of that while staying low-key, just like any other Soul Warrior hunting out there on a nowhere planet getting no attention at all by anyone.

Rory paused. That actually sounds like… kind of a good plan, he though, surprised. It could totally work.

Sure, there were a few unknowns, like how much his kills would net him. But his research said it was profitable about half the time for groups of three to five, so he figured since he didn’t have to split the sales with anyone, he could make it work. And if he needed more, he could just hunt more.

Feeling like he had a quality plan, Rory pulled up various maps and hunting grounds. There was actually a hunting grounds locator on GalNet. Brilliant!

Rory was thrilled to find that it had a whole filter system which he used to name his planet (Queen’s Gate), city (Brompton), distance willing to travel (close enough for a day trip), type of creature (any land-based), and finally creature level (0-4). That last selector was grouped into 0-4, 5-10, and so on.

Well, while the search system may have been brilliant, the results were less so. Nothing met his criteria. Rory swore. In Gaelic.

As none of the other criteria could be flexed, he expanded the search radius. It looked to him like if he wanted to go through with the plan for hunting, he would have to give up on keeping his hunting trips to a day. That meant he would have to leave his mum alone for longer periods of time and learn how to camp out. The first he could address by leaving some shine and food in the flat. The second, would require research because he didn’t have a bloody clue.

It was right after that thought that the alarm he had set on his commo went off warning him it was 11:00. Rory immediately went around hiding everything new that he had acquired in the vault in his ring. The ring itself went into the bottom of his sock under his foot but in his shoe. He got the money ready and put on the most loose-fitting and rattiest long-sleeved shirt that was so big it covered his hands. He then put on the worst pair of full pants he owned along with his old wrist commo and waited in his sleeping area.

He sat up, closed his eyes, and waited for Mycroft and goons to come while still pondering a plan moving forward.

***

It turned out he was right to get ready early. They came at 11:17, announcing themselves with a hard banging on the door. Rory jumped up and ran to it. He opened it only about a foot, which was more than enough to see Mycroft on the other side with his closed fist at head height clearly ready to smack the door again. Two toughs were behind him in the hall. He looked a little surprised but smiled.

“We’ve come to get your ma. You’re better off without her anyway. You won’t be spending on her ‘shine.”

Rory reached into his pocket and pulled out two twenty and one ten-pound note and held them up. “I got the money,” he announced neutrally.

The chubby man’s smarmy grin vanished and he looked at the money. “Bullocks!” he exclaimed angrily with a glare. “Where’d you get that?”

Rory sighed. “Does it really matter, Mycroft?” Rubbing the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding the money but his arm still holding the door, he said, “Look. I’m knackered from a day making that damn money. The debt’s paid. Just take it and go.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed the money from Rory’s hand, took a step back and started examining it, as if looking to make sure it was real. Apparently not finding anything wrong with it, and not thrilled with that fact, he looked over his shoulder.

“Search it,” he ordered his goons.

The two toughs stepped forward and shoved Rory back. He stumbled and smacked into the wall, but said nothing and stayed there. As there weren’t too many places to hide things in the tiny flat, it wasn’t a long search. The two toughs went through his bedding and clothes and then the same for his mother, who just stirred and moaned but stayed asleep thankfully. Then they went through the bathroom, and then there was nowhere else to look.

The longer they looked and found nothing, the more Mycroft’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together. When they could find nowhere else to search, Mycroft pointed at Rory. “Him too,” he ordered.

The guys patted him all over, searched his pockets, which had one shilling and two pennies, which they pocketed. Rory had those in case this happened. He had figured it would be less suspicious if he had a few coins extra besides the fifty points in paper. Mycroft even relax a fraction after taking them, so it seemed to work.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The search of his person continued until the left good got a little precocious, causing Rory to jump. “Watch your hands there, mate, or I might think you’re asking me to dinner!”

Mycroft was obviously neither entertained by his whit, nor pleased by his lack of finding anything worth something. Rory understood this whole scene, at least in some ways. It was the slums and Mycroft was an enforcer and could take what he wanted. But at this point, Rory felt the guy was being kind of a prick. The fact was he was already making out like a bandit on the whole thing. Why did he need to squeeze even more?

Rory wanted to try to move things along, especially since – except for the ring in his sock – there was quite literally nothing to find but two bottles of shine and hole-filled, smelly, stained clothes. “C’mon, Mycroft. You got the debt money. Give what I owe to Chief and with the rest you can buy brand new trousers and trainers to make up for me splashing them. Lemme sleep.”

Mycroft let out a breath and put his hands in his pockets. “Well. There’s a little bit of a bugger, Sheehan,” he said.

Of course there is.

Leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling, Rory asked him, “What could the problem be, Mycroft? You have all my money now. You even took my last penny.”

“Well, ya see…” and Mycroft starting pacing. “We didn’t expect ya to have the money. So we already promised yer ma to someone who was interested.”

Rory’s head snapped down and it was his turn to glare with narrowed eyes. “Then go back and say she’s no longer available,” he said in a firm voice.

The big man removed his hands from his pockets and put them on his hips. “We can’t just up and do that,” he explained. “We have a reputation to uphold. He paid twenty pounds for her and we need it made up. Ya got twenty more, Sheehan?”

Rory took a step away from the wall the two toughs took a step forward to stand between him and Mycroft.

“No!” Rory growled. “I barely survived getting you that.”

Rory had no problem lying to this wanker. Truthfully, if he could, he’d probably pay it just to make it all go away, but everything he got from Mick, including the money, was in the ring. There was no way he was exposing that. Besides, after all this, he was pretty confident it was too late. In the Whibley Slums, once enforcers got in their mind that something was theirs, they’d take it. Even so, Rory wanted to try one last time anyway. Just to keep his conscience clear.

“Come back tomorrow,” Rory offered. “I’ll figure something out and try to have it then.”

“Can’t do that, Sheehan. Deal’s already been made.”

“I had nothing to do with the deal. It’s not my fault you sold something not yours.”

Mycroft’s eyes scrunched and his lips pressed together. “Sheehan, you gotta know it doesn’t work that way. If ya don’t have twenty pounds to settle up, I’ll be taking her whether you like it or not.”

“Get out, Mycroft,” Rory said with a growl. “Before it’s too late.”

“Or what? Too late for what? What ya gonna do?” the big man huffed.

“Get out,” was all Rory said.

In a rather genial tone, Mycroft said, “You know, Sheehan, I’m glad you said that. I have just the right buyer for you too. He’s into red-headed boys.”

After all these years around Mycroft and his kind, Rory could tell when the man made the decision to act. He swore in his mind, frustrated that the enforcer had forced it to come to this. Rory did not like violence. He really didn’t. He’d known some people in the slums who had thrived on it… until they died. They always disappeared after too many deaths. But despite hating to fight, he would. As he had in the past, he would defend his mum and himself. Even against the slum boss’s enforcers.

“Take him,” Mycroft ordered firmly.

Rory watched as the one on his left moved first, apparently more ready – or excited – for the order than the one on his right. As Rory pushed his hands through the long sleeves he was hiding his inscriptions with so he could move freely, he reflected that the thing about toughs in the slums was that they weren’t like security in the cities. Sure they were really big and strong, but not trained fighters. They were used to using their bulk to intimidate and occasionally beat up people who were unable to defend themselves due to being malnourished and abused. Only rarely did the enforcers have to actually fight someone who could fight back, and that was usually when facing off against another tough from a different group or slum who generally had a similar level of skill.

Rory had seen Jonny Mycroft and his goons fight others in the past. And they were just like that. Brawn, but little skill. That said, they had lots and lots of brawn. And that was what was going through Rory’s head as the left thug got within reach. Well that and that Rory didn’t have a bloody clue how to fight either. But once again, a Soul Weapon was an advantage that most normal humans, at least in the slums, had little defense against.

Thus, Rory called his weapons to him in a flash while sweeping his arms up and over at the closest thug as quickly and precisely as he could. Feeling only token resistance, the left enforcer stumbled and fell towards Rory, his hands around his own neck, which was gushing blood all over his expensive clothes and the already disgusting apartment floor.

Just as Rory was turning to face the right, he felt massive arms wrap around him and one of his arms. He then felt a great weight push down on him. While he was certainly healthier and stronger than he had been since moving to Queen’s Gate, his body was still suffering from the consequences of years of malnourishment. So as hard as he tried to keep himself upright, he was driven towards the now bloody ground. Seeing the floor approaching his face, Rory quickly unsummoned his weapons and used his free arm to try to stop him head from cracking into the disgusting flexcrete.

His hand slipped along the blood but he managed to cause his head to slam into his arm instead of the hard surface. Unfortunately, Mycroft had apparently seen him call and recall his weapons.

“Y-y-your a warrior!” Mycroft stuttered out while pointing shakily at Rory.

Right then, Rory felt the big thug’s massive weight shift on top of him. The large man lifted his torso while at the same time, drawing back his arm with a hand clenched into a fist. Without even a moment’s though, Rory resummoned his chakram and thrust the left one forward into the man’s chest. It entered with barely any resistance and stopped when Rory’s fingers met his sliced open chest.

Mycroft made a break for it then, sprinting to his closed door. Rory threw his right chakram ahead of the fleeing man and it embedded a few inches into the wall a foot in front of him. Mycroft managed to skid to a stop before making contact with it, but he overbalanced backwards and fell on his ass with a thump.

Rory kicked the thug off of his legs and climbed to his feet, not taking his glare off of the enforcer. He recalled his weapons and walked to stand over the other man. “Damn you, Mycroft!” he spat through gritted teeth. “Why didn’t you just leave with your money?”

“I-i-it’s not too late.” the big man pled. “I c-c-can just bugger off now. W-w-won’t t-t-tell noone.”

Rory glared down at the enforcer. There were so many consequences to this evening that Rory had a hard time processing them all. Someone like Mycroft going missing or being found dead would ripple through all of the slums, not just this one. But in the end, the greatest threat, always, was being found out. And that meant…

Rory’s weapons reappeared in his hands. He gripped them so hard he thought he heard his joints creak. Mycroft whimpered at his feet and he stared down at the man. Then he raised his hands up he swung down with enough force to create another scar in the already cracked and ruined floor.