“You know I meant blow them up metaphorically, right?”

My question was directed warily at Cash as I watched him mix ingredients in his lab.

“They’re not explosives,” Cash assured. “Not that kind of explosive, anyway.”

During our commute between Kalo-Mahoi and Rodan, a few of us had repurposed some of the spare rooms for side projects. Ryuuk, an experienced gunsmith, had turned one of them into a workshop where he tinkered with various weapon prototypes, while Dick and I turned part of the large cargo area into a training dojo of sorts.

Cash had commandeered the empty bunkroom adjacent to his quarters for a laboratory. As it turned out, he was quite the chemist, his bionic enhancements giving him an edge in analyzing compounds and diffusing various toxins. He also kept a small supply of basic anti-toxins in a bionic storage compartment housed somewhere on his body I didn’t care to investigate. It’s what had saved me from the puff crab incident on Kalo-Mahoi.

“But are you implying that literally blowing up the headquarters of a major faction in New Iberia might be ill-advised?” he quipped.

“I’d probably do it if it was just ill-advised,” I bantered back. “More like suicidal and pointless. Blowing up a building isn’t going to put them out of business.”

I walked over to his work table, screens of various sizes displayed chemical data analysis from the compound he was examining.

“Hopefully, whatever you find here will.”

“I warned you the odds of finding traces of the memory compound in Ryuuk’s system after all this time, plus a couple of trips through a teleporter, is unlikely,” Cash murmured as he studied the data. “The teleporter alone would be enough to wipe any substances out of his system. It’s why they use it for detox in some penitentiaries.”

It was true that a teleporter should have erased any substances in the blood. The science of teleportation technology was beyond me, but I knew inhibitors like drugs, alcohol, even certain medications, didn’t survive reconstitution through a teleporter. I nodded, acknowledging the long-shot play but also unable to shake a gut feeling that we needed to start with analyzing Ryuuk’s blood.

“I wish we could take a straightforward approach and just bomb the shit out them,” I said. “But we both know it wouldn’t take long for them to rebuild.”

“In the meantime, we’d be making a powerful enemy,” he added, nodding. “But you think exposure is going to do anything? We’re talking about a shell corporation operating on a lawless planet.”

“True, but Avaria is not a lawless planet. It’s a member of the Pact Worlds,” I pointed out. “Uncovering evidence that the drug exists is just the first step, proving that Catalysis is a subsidy of ChemPact and that they’re using the drug to enslave nearly an entire culture will be the most crucial steps.”

“So, what? We find evidence linking the two? Surely, they’re not dumb enough to leave a trail; otherwise someone like Vomero would have hacked that secret long ago.”

“I’m sure there’s not anything that will be stored in the network, but there is bound to be something kept more locally that can connect the dots.”

“Ahhh, so we’re breaking in,” Cash said. “Now, we’re talking.”

“Sneaking in, not breaking in,” I said, nearly laughing at Cash’s crestfallen expression. “The first thing they’d do if we bust through their defenses is scrub anything we might be after.”

“None of which explains why I’m analyzing Ryuuk’s blood instead of mixing up a special batch of Choke Smoke.”

“A couple reasons,” I explained. “One is that we need an idea of what we’re looking for. Catalysis isn’t just making the drug. I’m sure there’s a billion little side projects they’ve got in development, and we need an idea of what we’re looking for.”

Cash nodded, “And the second reason?”

“The second reason is so you can do what you do best.”

“Kill people for profit?” he asked, cheekily.

“No...make an anti-serum for the memory drug,” I countered, shaking my head in amusement. “Worst case scenario, we get caught. I can handle getting caught, but not if they decide to mind-fuck us and make us the next amusement at Fable.”

The screens on Cash's worktable beeped, and the holo-display projected on the table in front of us lit up. A 3-D diagram of what looked like a double helix and a cell of some sort materialized with several highlighted portions. I looked at Cash, completely unable to decipher what we were seeing.

“Good news and bad news,” he said. “There’s no trace of the drug in Ryuuk’s system, but I do think I know a way to inhibit anyone from drugging us with it.”

“How can you do that without knowing what it is?” I asked.

“I always wondered why I’d never heard of any drug that could accomplish what Ryuuk describes on such a large scale,” Cash mused. “I mean in theory, it would be so easy for people to come down off the high and figure out what was going on. Yet, it seems like Ryuuk might be the first, or at least one of the few. That’s improbable given that the drug needs to be repeatedly administered.”

“Somehow, his blood analysis explained that discrepancy?” I asked, and Cash nodded.

“Ryuuk doesn’t have any of the chemical left in his system, but the traces are there. Catalysis didn’t design a hallucinogen or mind-altering substance. This is gene therapy.”

“Wait, what? They’re altering the DNA of these people?”

“Sort of, yeah,” Cash said, pointing to the holo-display. “The drug is meant to attach to certain cells in the brain stem that affect memory. It’s probably why they’re given low-doses over a long period of time. Overtime, skipping a few doses, even for a week or two, wouldn’t be enough to reverse the effects. It would take more like months or even up to a year to wear off, naturally.”

“Then how did it wear off for Ryuuk after a week of puking his brains out and not eating?” I asked.

“That’s what he thought did it, but in reality, it was the sickness itself that set him free,” Cash said, pointing now to the cellular diagram. “The analysis says these are the genetic markers of antibodies for Avarian Stomach Flu.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Egh. I’ve heard it’s not pleasant. Though, thankfully, nobody remembers much of it afterw...”

Cash smiled as I made the connection.

“Wait...one of the symptoms is short term memory loss. So, what? Did the virus just reset his memory or something?”

“In a way,” Cash said. “That virus is aggressive and works on the same cellular receptors that the drug acts on. When his body responded to the virus, it created antibodies that attacked anything attached to those cells, that included the virus and the gene therapy.”

He reached out to flip the display to another close-up version of the cell. Now that I better understood what I was looking at, it was easy to make out the compounds attached to the cell’s receptors.

“What’s more,” Cash continued. “The antibodies remain in Ryuuk’s body. As do a scarce few markers from the original drug. There just aren’t enough of them to do anything.”

“So, is Ryuuk immune to the serum, now?” I asked, and Cash nodded.

“Most likely, yes.”

“And what does that mean for an anti-serum for us?”

“You mean what does that mean for you,” Cash said smiling mischievously. “Well...and probably Vomero. Knowing this is how the serum works, I doubt Dick or I would be affected at all.”

“Well...yeah I mean for me, sure, but also for, ya know all the people on Avaria who---oh fine!! Dammit! Yes, for me!”

“Well, I’m sure someone could bioengineer a vaccine for it, but that’s beyond my expertise...”

“What?” I asked as he pointedly stopped in his explanation.

“There is another way you could protect yourself from it,” he said, too casually. “Basically, the same way Ryuuk got immunity.”

“I’m not giving myself the bird flu!” I said, and Cash roared with laughter.

“It’s Avian Stomach Flu,” he clarified, still chuckling. “But if you prefer not to spend a week puking and shitting your brains out, then you’re just going to have to avoid getting caught.”

I just shook my head and surveyed the rest of the chemicals measured out on the table. Some of them didn’t look like they were used for analyzing blood compounds.

“So, you never did tell me what you’re brewing up here,” I commented, indicating the workspace.

“It’s that Choke Smoke I mentioned earlier. Specifically, Choke Smoke grenades.”

“What is Choke Smoke? Sounds made up.”

“It’s a special invention of mine. Picked out the name, myself.”

“Yeah, that much I already gathered.”

“I like naming things practically. This, when aerosolized, causes your airway to seize up completely, leaving you gasping for air like you’re--”

“Choking?” I finished, sardonically. “I gotcha. So, why are you weaponizing it, then?”

“Because it’s fun, Skye,” he said, grinning. After a moment, he added, “aaand because I’ve been through enough shit with you by now to know your plan isn’t really to just sneak into Catalysis, find some incriminating evidence, and tattle on Carl Marshall.”

I gave him a long look, trying my best to seem stoic, calculating, and reserved. I couldn’t hold it for long, however, and cracked a small smile.

“I didn’t say it was the whole plan, just an important part of the plan.”

“The boring part of the plan, you mean?”

“Oh, god,” I said, with a suffering sigh. “Sooo boring. These kinds of jobs were always my least favorite as an Outlaw. Covert subterfuge is not my strong suit, which is why I’m leaving most of the planning for that to Vomero and Dick.”

“Meanwhile, you plan to do what exactly?”

“Send a very clear and detailed message to Metal Mouth about what happens to people who pick fights with an Outlaw.”

“That’s going to kick the viper’s den,” Cash said. “I thought you said that was a no-go?”

“No...I said blowing up a faction’s headquarters was a no-go,” I clarified. “Killing a few lower-tier goons who had it coming, while it might be ill-advised, is a good way to judge just how aligned they are with Marshall’s interests.”

“And if it turns out that they’re fully aligned with Marshall’s interests?”

"We use it as misdirection from our actual goal,” I said. “If this city and the factions who run it operate the way Emery says they do, then we’re already on Catalysis’ radar. There’s no scenario where we don’t step on their toes unless we just hand over Ryuuk.”

“And while they’re focused on our beef with Joey--” Cash still refused to call him Slack-Jaw, “they won’t think to check beneath their noses?”

“Basically.”

“What about Ryuuk?” Cash finally asked. “How do you think he’ll feel about it?”

“I’m not asking him to come with us,” I said, solemnly. “Ryuuk’s a good guy—too good to do what has to be done. You don’t send good guys to deal with scum like that. They’ll always lose trying to ‘do the right thing’ or whatever.”

“So, we’ll go be the bad guys for him? Is that it?”

“Exactly. We’re the bad guys. Well, mostly you,” I quipped, grinning. “I’m more of a chaotic neutral.”

“Says the person who came up with this plan,” Cash shot back.

“Does that mean you don’t want to come with me to put holes in Marshall’s lackeys?” I asked, skeptically.

Cash simply looked at me incredulously.

“Of course I’m in. Have you even been listening?!” He held up one of the small, marble shaped vessels he’d just finished filling with the neurotoxic gas. “Choke Smoke....grenades.”

* * *

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Four hours later, I scowled at Cash through my particle-shielded mask. It kept the noxious fumes wrecking havoc on the occupants of the room from inducing similar spasms of asphyxiation in me. Cash was immune to the Choke Smoke, of course, and smiled devilishly as he dropped one of the goon’s lifeless bodies on the floor.

“You could have warned me what this stuff looks like in action,” I said, pulling my light dagger from the goon I had been fighting. “I’m not going to be able to eat dinner tonight, thinking about their bulging, bleeding eyes.”

A few of the henchmen Slack-Jaw employed seemed immune to the toxins; others had devices they used, much like my mask, to protect them. The guy I fought tried to divest me of my mask, hoping it would score him a victory. He even succeeded once, an accomplishment that proved futile as my cleansing tattoo easily neutralized the toxin.

That particular ability had cleansed an over-powered Void miasma and knocked a Lycan curse into remission. It could certainly handle a little Choke Smoke.

The same could not be said for Marshall’s men who weren’t lucky enough to be immune or protected. They all died horrible deaths, gasping for air as the veins in their eyeballs burst and their lips turned purple. Grotesque, but effective at leveling the playing field as our opponents dropped from approximately a dozen to about half that.

Three-to-one odds proved just challenging enough for us to let off a little steam as we sliced, punched, and blasted our way through the remainder of Slack-Jaw's men. It hadn’t taken much effort to discover where they were staying, an old rock mill on the southern side of the city, not too far from Free Market. Clearly, they were cocky, not even bothering with a lookout. So, deploying the neurotoxin grenades into their hideout was as easy as walking through the door and tossing them around.

As Cash finished punching the last guy into oblivion, I surveyed the scene. His men might have been caught unawares, but Slack-Jaw was either lucky or much more cautious than his counterparts. I didn’t see his face among the dead.

“I guess he doesn’t bunk with the hired help, huh?” I said to Cash. At his quizzical look, I clarified. “Slack-Jaw.”

Cash rolled his eyes at the use of that ridiculous nickname.

“It’s just as well,” he added. “I’d have felt disappointed if he went down so easy. He wouldn’t exactly be the boogey man Ryuuk makes him out to be if he got caught with his pants down like these guys.”

I rummaged through some of the dead guys’ pockets, looking for any information that might be useful. It was mostly ID badges, which I slipped into my jacket pocket, and one had a vial of what looked like a common date-rape drug.

Ugh! I thought in disgust. I wish I could bring this guy back to life and stab him more painfully the second time around. That’s what you get for trying to be nice, Skye, regrets that you didn’t stab some perverted predator in the dick instead of a clean cut to the jugular.

I was just ramping up for an inner tirade when the wall next to Cash exploded, sending him plummeting across the room and through the opposite exterior wall.