One

The Crime’s Victimless, The War’s Not

Or: “In Which We Meet Jackson Stark In The Act Of Petty Theft.”

“Speed, Strength, Survivability. The three ‘S’es upon which Starfall Innovation National pride themselves with regards their military hardware. Unfortunately, we forgot to add a fourth ‘S’ with Jackson Stark - shutting the fuck up.”

From a report from an unknown SIN scientist circa 2029.

Hull, England. April 2nd 2035.

The streets of Hull were empty and desolate as Jackson Stark walked along, his brown suede trench coat flapping in the wind behind him, but he didn’t mind all that much. He found himself smiling at the sight of the deserted streets and empty shops, wondering if this was what the place had been like during the Nine Day War of 2031 or the Witch Invasion of 2030.

Ah, who the fuck cares, he thought, laughing as he kicked a can. Point is, it’s a fuckin’ free for all.

The main street of the city centre was normally bustling with pedestrians, and he found it oddly refreshing to see not even a single sign of anyone walking about the place. There were scattered bits of rubbish – indeed, a public bin had been halfway through being emptied when the evacuation order had hit, judging by the strewn contents being all over the ground. He could also see a couple of abandoned shopping bags, the contents of which were probably beyond salvaging a full day after the evacuation.

But, Stark thought as he walked along the street towards the statue of Queen Victoria in the centre, there’s definitely stuff here that is worth saving.

There was a bank along the street – one of the many boring high street banks, with a glass-front showing off all the ads.

Jackson Stark didn’t like to think of himself as a criminal. After all – how could one be a criminal when one technically held no citizenship? But all the same, there was a certain pragmatism in waiting to rob a place until the people had gone away.

After all – if there even were police or security staff still somewhere around (doubtful), they’d probably have their hands full with the ongoing land invasion.

With no one here, it was an easy enough thing to take his pistols out and shoot the windows and doors in. The glass shattered, and with a careful duck, Stark picked his way into the bank and headed for the back, where – in theory at least – there would be money still in the desks.

Carefully, he looked around to see if there was any sign of security.

Nope, he chuckled. No chance.

There was a part of him that wondered if what he was doing was technically profiteering from other people’s misfortune, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Firstly, Karma had to be on his side for that one – why the fuck wouldn’t it be? – and secondly, there was literally no one here. No scared people with barely a tenner in their austerity-fucked wallets, no bank-clerks just doing their jobs. The banks themselves had probably already written off the actual cash that was here.

Shit’s all gone digital, Stark thought, and he chuckled as he went to the door at the back of the bank space. Welcome to the cashless society, fuckers.

There was a single locked door that led to the bank counters, and he aimed his pistol and shot it out in one smooth motion, wincing slightly at the sound of the lock disintegrating from the shot.

Well, that’s going to ruin some poor locksmith’s day, he thought. Then again, they’ll just get paid to fix it when all this shit is done. He laughed again. Truly, a victimless crime.

His good humour died a moment later, though… after all. How many people had suffered and died to make these circumstances happen? Would people ever come back here? Would there even be some poor locksmith to fix this shit?

The crime’s victimless, he thought. The war’s not.

He ignored those thoughts, though. After all – he was a criminal, even if only by necessity. Had to keep a certain level of professional detachment from things like that.

Right then, he thought. Be professional.

Grabbing the cash was easy enough – of the four registers, two had been left open, and there was easily eight hundred pounds in notes waiting for him. He pulled out the wallet he’d pilfered and filled it to bursting, grinning all the while.

This is gonna buy me some damn nice shirts, he thought.

There was a sound – the crunch of glass. In a flash, Stark’s gun was up, aiming at the ruined door to the bank – only for him to stop.

There was a child there – a girl, no older than eight, with dark curls about her face and a dirty school uniform on.

“Shit,” Stark swore under his breath.

He came out from behind the desk quickly, and sure enough the kid stayed put, eyes wide as she stared at him.

“The fuck are you doing here, kid?” he asked.

“I…” she replied, but she said nothing more, looking at him with those scared eyes as though afraid he was going to shoot her. For a moment he contemplated it – certainly, it’d save him the witness – but then he sighed.

Me and my magnanimous nature, he thought. Talk about ‘professional detachment’.

“Look,” he said, “you do know there’s a fucking war on out there, right?”

She nodded. Great, not a total dipshit.

“Where are your folks?” he asked.

No reply.

“They leave without you?”

A single nod.

“You get separated from ‘em or something?”

Another nod.

Fuck, he thought. He considered leaving her there… but he wasn’t a cold-hearted bastard, or at least he tried not to be.

Professional detachment my fucking left bollock.

He holstered his pistol in a single smooth motion.

“We need to go,” he said. “Betcha ten to one those black knights’re gonna show up any fucking minute -”

He stopped, his eyes widening as his ears picked up a distant sound. He could hear the rhythmic stamping of armoured feet.

“Shit,” he hissed. He looked around, noting the stairs leading underground. “Alright, kid, down there, now.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The girl nodded and ran down the stairs. Stark pulled his pistol back out and moved behind one of the various upturned tables that dotted the main space.

Hell, he thought, I never checked the fucking cash machines. He sighed. Something to do later.

He watched the street carefully from behind the table, watching for any sign of enemy troops. There was a sound – a slow droning from overhead like a very fat, very lazy bee, and a moment later a shadow passed over the bank building and over the street. Daring to look upwards, Stark’s eyes widened again as he saw what could only be an Aeclissian airship passing overhead. He hadn’t seen one in person – only in the news reports, where their size had never quite registered.

Sitting in a building under one made it quite clear – they were big fuckers.

Pass over us, pass over us, he thought, but even as he thought it a group of the black-armoured Union Guard passed through the street, coming from around a corner. Stark hissed, ducking behind the table and hoping they hadn’t seen him. He tried to remember how many of them he had seen.

Fifteen, twenty, something like that? he thought, closing his eyes. Definitely too many for him to deal with on his own, especially if that kid was still here. Fuck my fucking benevolent and caring self.

Regardless of whether leaving her would have been sensible five minutes ago, it definitely wasn’t going to be now. The only hope was to let the enemy pass through.

The droning continued overhead for a long moment, and then started to die off. Risking a glance, Stark could see the airship as it moved over the city towards the estuary. The Union Guard, on the other hand, were still marching through the street. The majority of them had already marched through, but there were a few who had stuck around in the square.

Shit, he thought. Why don’t they just fucking go already?!

But expecting them to go was a fool’s game – they would stay put until some fucker moved them. And that wouldn’t be for a while, knowing Stark’s luck, by which point getting out of here – with or without the kid – would be impossible.

Shit, he thought again. His hand went to his pistol. Carefully he slunk over to the stairs the girl had gone down, before walking down as stealthily as he could. He saw a flash of hair ducking behind a sofa.

“Hey, kid, it’s me!” he hissed.

She popped her head out from behind the sofa. Stark resisted the urge to roll his eyes – if one of the Union Guard had said the same thing, she’d have been dead.

Kids, he thought. Guess that’s why I don’t want ‘em.

“Got a plan, but you need to stay in cover, yeah?” he said to her. She just nodded, and he raised his pistols.

Let this work, let this work, let this work…

And with a deep breath, he went back up the steps. Sure enough, there were something like a half-dozen still there, looking like they were on some sort of guard duty. Stark grimaced, before stepping out into the street. Everything around him seemed to slow down for a moment as the conditioning and genetic manipulation kicked in.

Gee, thanks Starfall, you pricks.

The Union Guard saw him a fraction of a second before he began firing. One shot – straight through one’s head, blasting the back of his skull clean out. The second shot smacked into a Guardsman’s shoulder, sending him spinning away and to the floor. The third brought up a shield but Stark’s bullets punched right through it, and he dropped, letting out a cry.

Stark risked a quick glance – the rest of them, wherever they had gone, were not coming back yet. He glanced back at his targets – three left, and now they were reacting, their movements almost comically slow to his enhanced eyes. Then they made the last mistake they would ever make.

They hesitated.

The three of them were torn between running and charging. To Stark’s enhanced eyes, they were practically standing still. He aimed again – another volley blasting through the skulls of two and the chest of the third.

Another moment passed, and then all of them were dead.

There was a moment of ringing, empty silence. He let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

Shit.

He turned back to the bank, ran inside and dashed down the stairs. The girl was already poking her head out at the sound of his footsteps.

This kid really doesn’t have a sense of self-preservation, he thought.

“We don’t have much time,” he said aloud. “We have to go.”

She nodded, still silent, before following him back up the stairs. He felt a pang of irritation at leaving the money in the cash machines behind, but it didn’t matter.

He kept his pistols up, narrowing his eyes as he kept watch for more Union Guard. Sure enough, it looked quiet for the moment.

“Come on,” he muttered to her, heading off towards the square. He hoped that there’d be something – a car, a van, anything – left abandoned in the car park of the local shopping centre. She kept up surprisingly well, following along with a slightly ducked gait as though she expected to be shot at any second. For a moment, something pinged in his mind: a memory of his own pain, his own fears, and a dark room with nothing but targets and the guns in his hands. Despite their differences, he felt a sudden kinship with this girl.

She shouldn’t have to live like this, he thought. He grimaced. No one should.

But ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ were irrelevant words that didn’t mean shit, and Stark had gone through far more than his fair share of them over the last few years. If he had a penny for every time something had happened that ‘shouldn’t’ have, he wouldn’t have felt compelled to rob a bank.

Or maybe he would, or was faintly amusing.

It didn’t take too long to get to the shopping centre’s car park, though they felt like the longest couple of minutes of Stark’s life. There wasn’t as much structural damage as he would have thought – plenty of damage to the windows, none of the stores had come through unscathed, but the actual walls, floors and ceilings all seemed fine. It took a few moments, once they got there, to find a car that didn’t look too bad – some ugly people carrier, Stark didn’t care what brand.

“Okay,” Stark said to the girl, who had been very good at staying silent the entire time they had been walking. “I’m gonna see if I can hotwire this thing. Stay low, and if anything Aeclissian shows up, hide. Okay?”

The girl nodded once, and Stark took it. He looked around, watching for Aeclissian troops, before breaking the car’s window.

Not a neat job, he thought, but we’re aiming for utility, not pretty.

He reached in, quickly unlocking the door.

“Alright,” he said to the girl. “In, back seat, stay low and stay hidden.”

The girl nodded, immediately opening the door and hiding on the back seat of the car, hands clasped over her head. Stark winced. This kid was clearly too used to this. But that wasn’t his problem – this fucking car was his problem. Returning his attention, he began prying the casing off from under the wheel.

There was a sound in the distance – a deep crump, crump, crump of explosions.

More fighting? Stark lowered his head.

“Stay here,” he said to the girl. He drew one pistol and got out of the car, looking around to see if there was any sign of… well, anything. The distant crump sounds continued, and if he strained, Stark could hear the sound of shouts. A battle was definitely happening.

I thought we’d been pushed out, he thought. That was literally half the reason he was still here. Fuck’s sake, now I have to dodge two armies.

He went back to the car, but before he could reach it, one of the doors to the car park opened, and a pair of Union Guard raced in. They stopped in their tracks when they saw him.

“Hiya fellas,” Stark said easily, before shooting them both in the head before they could react. They hadn’t looked like they were about to storm the place – more like they were retreating from something.

Two seconds later, ‘Something’ came into the space through the same door. A woman in military gear walked in, rifle up, aiming it at Stark for a moment before clocking the pistol and the decidedly non-Aeclissian gear. Behind her came -

Wow.

Behind this woman, along with a bunch of other military types, came a woman with a shaved head save for a long topknot, clad in what looked like a mediaeval surcoat and carrying a sword. Cold blue eyes set in a stern but beautiful face regarded Stark, looking him up and down.

Shit, Stark thought. She’s hot.

“Um…” he said out loud. “Hi? You lot the cavalry?”

The woman with the sword scowled, before looking at the military woman. The soldier let out a short laugh.

“Yeah, we’re the fucking cavalry,” she said. “Are you Jackson Stark?”

Any thoughts of the hot woman with the sword disappeared from Stark’s mind.

They know who I am, he thought, feeling the blood drain from his face. Shit, shit, shit…

He glanced over their uniforms. Nondescript black military fatigues didn’t exactly scream ‘Starfall PMC’, but then again, they didn’t exactly not. And he couldn’t be too careful… could he?

“Don’t worry, ‘Bounder’,” the sword-woman said gruffly. “We’re the ‘good guys’.”

The way she said those words didn’t fill Stark with much confidence – and frankly, using the name ‘Bounder’, his old alias from the Bad Old Days, didn’t help much either.

“What do you want with me?” he asked.

“Long story,” the soldier woman said. “But it’s nothing bad, we promise.”

Yeah, no one who says that ever means it. One hand twitched next to his other pistol, but before he could move to draw it, a large thing that felt very much like an oversized hand landed on his shoulder from behind him. He jumped, startled, but he suddenly found himself forcefully turned around, and facing…

That is a fucking troll.

It was seven feet tall, grey, with big ugly teeth, a big ugly nose and big ugly eyes. It grunted at him.

“Caught you, bitch,” it said in a deep, grunting voice tinged with – Stark noted absently – a vague cockney accent. “Epic fail.”

Well, Stark thought. Shit.

***