Match 13
A Slight Detour
Starring: Victor Song
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!” Brady shouted with increasing vehemence, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. His rage was understandable, given he was currently only one of two surviving members of his crew. And the second one was slipping fast, blood leaking from a number of holes in his chest. With medical attention, he might survive, but the third man in the van wasn’t bothering. “THIS IS COMPLETELY FUCKED!”
The third man didn’t reply. He was checking his phone. Scott was slipping quick. Cops that responded way too fast had shot him full of holes as they were driving away. Even decent body armor could go quick, and it wasn’t like they were rich enough to afford personal shields. Even if they could, the cops had responded with a shitload more force than they expected, mostly because-
“YOU DIDN’T FUCKING TELL US THAT WAS A FUCKING SCORAVA BANK!”
“Yes I did,” Victor Song replied, not looking away from his phone. He was checking the news.
“THE FUCK YOU DID! I HAVEN’T HEARD SHIT!”
“I told your boss. He didn’t tell you?”
Brady grit his teeth, glaring straight into the road ahead. Not just to keep an eye on where he was driving, though by this point they were out of the city so it wasn’t like he was in immediate danger of hitting something. Glitter, an entertainment city, somewhere fancy for people to relax and spend some cash; not the kind of place that would have high security banks, or so Brady and most of his colleagues thought. Apparently not Dallas though, because the mother fucker had lied to all of them.
“Fucking asshole said this was an easy job, fucking said it would barely raise a FUCKING blip on anyone’s radar, in and out, no shit, just a few fucking–” Brady snarled, cutting himself off as he kept his eyes straight. Because, as noted previously, he had a very good reason not to look in the dimly lit back of the van. Not just because Scott was bleeding out, mumbling as he slipped in and out of consciousness, but because the guest on the job, the guy who got them the gig, thought he had to bring everyone along. No man left behind.
That’s why Dallas’s severed head, still in its tacky hockey mask, was sitting in one of the duffle bags, along with way more heads than Brady was comfortable with. That’s why Zach’s upper half was laying on the floor, his intestines still hanging from where that bitch clawed him open. That’s why...fuck, he didn’t even want to think about the pile that Reece was. “This is so fucked...you know that, don’t you? This is so fucking fucked, it’s not even fucking funny…”
He was starting to grin though, his mouth twitching. “It should’ve been easy. Just an easy fucking bank job, we’ve robbed worse. Fucking casinos, man, fucking–You ever try robbing one of those? Those fucks will gut you to keep their money, but banks, banks are fucking insured, they don’t fucking–Half the time, we don’t even hafta shoot anyone, we just yell at them, maybe break a fucking face, it’s not even–We’ve done fucking jewelry stores and museums! We’ve been good! We’ve been doing good!
“So just-One fucking job, and that’s just it!? HOW’S THAT FUCKING FAIR, HUH!? We should’ve been sailing free here, not fucking-I can’t even see the fucking city limits now, we’re so fucking far out...we killed so many fucking cops...Goddammit, were those even cops?! Half of them were wearing red…”
“Hm.”
“What?! You got some shit to say now, huh!? You fucking-God, you fucked us on purpose, didn’t you!?”
Victor scrolled on his phone. He knew about the rankings starting again. It was hard to miss. People in the know were already talking about the 1,000 rising all the way up to 500. That type of thing caught attention.
“Y-Yeah, yeah, I fucking knew it, I know you did! You fucking-Was this a set up?! HUH?!”
Mostly because the ranks weren’t exactly an isolated thing. Yes, people spread all over the world for the ranks. Some even went offworld. Hunting those people down could be a very tricky feat, and many of them actively allied with one another. Organizations formed around immortals looking to preserve that eternal life. It wasn’t rare for someone in, say, the 800s to work directly for someone in the 200s.
“TALK TO ME! C’MON! YOU GOTTA FUCKING SAY SOMETHING! WAS THIS A FUCKING TRAP!? I-IT’S GOTTA BE! W-Why else...why else…”
The ranks quantified power. Those low in the hierarchy strove to become higher, so while some isolated themselves, others aimed for organization. One could even find cases of a higher rank guarding a lower rank, if just for the benefits they could gain from that person. Such occasions were incredibly rare though.
“W-Was this a test? Like...like, shit, man, did you...was this a way of weeding out the best of us? Or...or getting rid of the weak links? I-I mean, you’re one of those...those ranker freaks, so...so you’re probably...”
But none of that really mattered. Yes, Curtis Waller had made waves by rising up and killing off a number of weaklings, some of whom were liked or disliked, but that paled in comparison to the woman who struck down the 50. The Rankings stretched on so very far, so managing to get that tantalizingly close to the top was quite the feat, and then she’d gone and killed Waller when he came for her. It was a delight.
And now Victor had a picture of her face.
“Y-Yeah. Yeah, that’s gotta be it, right? People say that shit, that kinda shit about how you’re chosen by fate, so if I lived...if I lived when everyone else didn’t, I-”
“I’ve seen those eyes before.”
“What? The fuck are you-”
In one swift move, Victor pulled his uzi from its place on the bench beside him and opened fire. A number of bullets went straight through Brady’s head, the wheel twisted, and the van flipped, wrenching off the side of the road and crashing hard into a ditch in the dirt.
This went unnoticed and unremarked by anyone, because they were on a barren road and the police had been called off some time ago. The Scorava Mafia had plans, and they didn’t want any interference.
The doors at the back of the tipped van bulged for a moment, then the lower one was kicked straight off its hinges, flying out while the upper retained its connection and even swung back. It didn’t quite bat Victor in the face, but he made a point to glare at the door as he climbed out.
His gear was soaked in blood. That wasn’t new. He had it happen a lot. He had some glass in his head, which was a surprise. He didn’t think it would fly all the way to the back, but oh well. He dug it out of his eye, glanced at the impaled eyeball on the shard, and ate it. A new one formed as he chewed, and he blinked his red eyes in the afternoon sun.
There was a rattling noise from the van. He glanced back, and let out a rather impressed noise of his own. One of them lived. Not the one he shot, the driver, but one of them. What was his name?
“Scot. That was it.” He nodded, and looked in at Scot. The man looked broken. That was to be expected, the van had flipped, and they had many unsecured things back there. Funny how he wound up pinned under the bags of money though. Some sort of irony there. Victor didn’t quite get it, but he was pretty sure that was the case.
He shrugged, then lifted his phone to his ear as the peach-ish flesh rippled back into place. Victor wasn’t quite caucasian, though he wasn’t quite easian either. His skin was light, and he had average features. Very average. Blond hair, though he kept it mostly shaved. He liked the look, the slight fuzz he’d taken to wearing ever since he went professional. No beard, no wild hair, he was a pro, and a pro ought to call his employer.
“Hey boss.”
“The job’s done then.”
“Yep. Branch Manager Colebank is dead. I got shot during it though.”
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
“And?”
“Dallas Haist saw it. I had to cover my tracks.”
“Hm. Shame, they were useful.”
Victor grinned as a shiver went down his back. There was no disappointment in Scorava’s cold, even voice. Still. Still. “Yeah. Mostly for diversion though, right? I thought it was an acceptable loss.”
“It is. They’re all dead then.”
“Mostly.” He glanced to the car. Still some choking. “One’s dying right now.”
“Playing with your food again?”
“I’m not gonna eat this one. I don’t know where he’s been.”
“Cannibalism is bad for you, Victor. It gives you prions.”
“I’m immortal, sir.”
“Until you’re not.”
He shivered again, and his grin got wider. He started undoing the straps to his ballistic vest. It worked decently well, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t get better, and he would be walking for a while out here. “Did you hear about the climbers?”
“I did. You didn’t?”
“No, I wasn’t paying attention. I did see the ‘emperor’ show up on tv though.”
“You shot the tv.”
“I shot the tv, yes.”
“Those cost money.”
“Mine didn’t,” he replied, setting his phone aside as he started pulling off the black sweater he wore under the vest. He tossed it aside, standing bare-chested under the sun as he picked the phone up again. On his left pec, over his heart, there was a red 13. “The five hundred fucked up. Tried to jump ahead too quick.”
“I know. What are your thoughts on Altamirano?”
He shrugged, rolling the stiffness and metal out of his shoulders and upper back. “I’ve seen her eyes before.”
“You have?”
“Yup. Pretty sure I killed her father.”
“Hm. Is she after you?”
“Maybe. Might be fun if she is.”
“She’ll come for you, for one reason or another. You’re in her way.”
“So are you, boss.”
“So are many people.”
Victor nodded as he kicked off his boots. His feet were fine, as always; all aches and blisters healed even if he ripped them open. “The twenties did good today. Killed two of Haist’s boys before I even got to them. Maybe they’ll put her down?”
“Maybe. Things are moving. People of importance have been spurred into action by the change in the air."
“Heh. So are they ‘spurring’ your way?”
“Maybe. It’s been some time since anyone was bold enough.”
Victor licked his lips as he unzipped his pants. “But you like the idea, don’t you?”
“You mean you do.”
“What can I say?” They dropped, and he stepped out of them as he started to walk, ignoring how the van began to burn. “I like the idea of vengeance. Some brat growing up hating me and coming to put me down...it’s a nice little idea, isn’t it?”
“You have more to fear from the fourteenth than the distant thirty-seventh.”
“By that logic, you oughta be fearing me, boss.”
“No, I shouldn’t. And you know it.”
He shivered, even under the warm sunlight. The street was hazy and hot, the asphalt burning the bottom of his feet, loose stones stabbing into his soles. “...You said thirty-seventh? She killed Mernissi?”
“Yes.”
“...Well shit. Guess she is legit. The cheating fucker was wily.” Well, not really. More just arrogant and had a one in a million power to back him. Still.
“He was also a major financer and shipping mogul.”
“Right, connected to the legit sides of The Family. Heh, fuck, alright, that’s interesting. Consequences. Lawton going out shook up the markets, the Death Race circuits and Hun Zhan tournament have been rocked from losing their champs, hell, the fucking pro wrestling world is all in a tizzy over Grizz and Toro going the way of the dodo-”
“We cloned that one.”
“Point still stands, boss. Waves are rocking. No death comes without a consequence, somewhere.”
“I know. You know. Everyone with a mark knows.” Arcisio Scorava chuckled into the phone, and Victor couldn’t help but tense. “Violence always returns home, in the end. We gain our immortality through our infamy, yet the specter of death always walks in our trail. It steps where we step, so we never realize we’ve been followed until someone else marked for death ends our reign. So the tenth fears the eleventh, and the eleventh fears the twelfth, extending outward in a line going upwards. Only the climb can save us. Only the First is our way out.”
“...” Victor swallowed, his throat dry. “...Are you...going to climb?”
“We’ll see. I’ll call you again when you reach your destination. Enjoy your time off.”
The phone went dead. Not just off. It died in Victor’s hand, which prompted a frown from him.
“Well shit, there goes my playlist…” He paused in the road, then looked back at the burning van. He could probably still get a phone from it, if he wanted. Though, considering he last saw that one dude still breathing...yeah, he’d leave it. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise if the poor fuck actually lived and showed up again. Maybe he’d come looking for revenge?
Or maybe the thirty-seventh would first. He grinned at the thought, and kept walking, bare under the sun and hard as a rock.
Meanwhile.
Nimia was on a boat.
This wasn’t something new; she had to buy a boat to get to Mernissi’s island, so she purchased a small sailboat that she’d learned to pilot in a pretty decent week-long course. It was a nice little thing, easy enough to drive as just one person, and had plenty of room for a nice little bedroom/lounge area under the deck, which was why she was feeling leery about her current situation.
Going into dangerous waters was one thing, but she liked her boat. It was good to her, like her motorcycle or her power armor. Which she still needed to find. She didn’t really know how a full suit of armor could just vanish out of her hotel room in a burst of digital whatchamacallits, but her working theory was that Koroshi Industries decided to repo it. Which was annoying.
Thankfully, she had an outlet for those frustrations coming up now in the form of multiple boats racing towards her through the murky, black and green waters of the untamed seas, piercing through the humid fog that blocked most of her sight.
“ATTENTION VESSEL,” one guy shouted into a megaphone, standing on the deck of one of the three gunboats now circling around her ship, “YOU HAVE ENTERED AUGRIN TERRITORY, UNANNOUNCED AND UNINVITED! GUESS WHAT THAT MEANS!”
Nimia parked her boat. Since it had both a sail and an engine, that involved lowering the sail and turning off the engine, both easy and convenient to do due to automatic systems all on her steering mechanism. Boats. They were neat, and she let that neatness keep her in good humor as she went to the railing and grinned at the dumbass running his stunt. “Rum and coke?”
“NOPE! IT MEANS YOU AND YOUR PROPERTY ARE NOW FORFEIT, SO EITHER TURN OFF YOUR ENGINE OR-”
“Already off, bucko!”
“...” The spokesman, his skin a mix of a natural, bronze skin tone and green scales creeping up all around his face–signifying that he, like the other pirates around, happened to be a type of mutant called a Sinen–glanced to his pilot, who shrugged her shoulders back at him. Both of them were wearing skintight, gray wetsuits, covered with various holsters and harnesses, though the spokesman had his hood down, showing some of his shaved head. Both also had goggles on, covering their eyes, though Nimia could still see the moment his confusion turned to cocky assurance. “WELL THANK YOU FOR MAKING THIS EASY THEN! I’M DAMN GLAD WE COULD BE THE ONES TO HELP YOU REALIZE YOUR OBVIOUS DREAM OF BECOMING A SLAVE!”
“Nah, not into that, sorry.” Nimia cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, loosening up a bit as she bent her knees. “Glad you confirmed you’re a piece of shit though.”
“HEY, FUCK OFF! YOU SEE THE GUNS POINTED-” She did. Each boat had a machine gun, mounted to the back, behind the cabin the driver was in. At least one pirate was manning them, and all the other pirates were packing too. Not too much of a problem, Nimia noted as she leapt from her boat and kicked in the thrusters in her legs, launching higher so she could actually reach the nearest boat and drive her heel straight into the spokesman’s head, cracking his skull and sending him crashing to the deck. One swift motion later and she shot straight through the glass and the shocked driver’s head, and then came the proper machine gun fire as the other two ships reacted.
Decently quick on the draw there, but not quite enough. They also clearly didn’t give a shit about the other pirates on the boat–two from what she could see–considering they gunned them down without a second though. Really, it was a good thing she didn’t try to shoot them from her boat. These trigger happy assholes would’ve ventilated the poor thing.
As it was, she had a new machine gun to use. Once she tore it from its mount and got up on the roof of the boat, of course, firing straight back at the closest ship and laughing all the while. It was sloppy, firing from the hip atop a sinking ship, but damn if she wasn’t having a good time watching them panic and scramble.
“COME ON, ASSHOLES! YOU’VE DONE THIS TO HOW MANY PEOPLE AND YOU CRUMBLE FROM JUST ONE PERSON FIGHTING BACK!?” she shouted at them, keeping up the fire as the ammunition belt rattled against the gun’s side. Course, since she ripped it from its foundation, said belt did kinda run out quicker than she would’ve hoped, but that could be handled, particularly since the boat she’d been shooting just erupted into a fireball.
Lucky shot hit something important, maybe? But then she had to duck and cover as the other boat started firing again. Clever dicks had gone and flanked her while their buddies soaked up all the bullets. Thing was, she had a good amount of guns on her, and she promptly popped up and shot the remaining driver as he tried to turn, which sent the boat lurching as he slumped on the dashboard, his crewmates yelping around him.
Dashboard probably wasn’t the right word, Nimia mused as she entered her new machine gun into her inventory and dismissed her gold magnum, but it worked for the situation. Speaking of, said situation seemed to be changing pretty rapidly, considering she just heard the loud sound of a foghorn. And then came the absolutely massive sight of a titanic tanker ship coming out of the fog.
It was huge, a mix of blue on the bottom and black at the top, and had flags hanging off its sides, showing a variety of jolly rogers. Also, heavily modified, with a fuckload of gun ports lining its side and showing off a lotta cannon turrets. Modern piracy required modern thinking, after all.
“HA! YOU’RE IN TROUBLE NOW, BI-” Nimia casually shot the mouthy pirate on the remaining boat straight through the head, summoning her new revolver for the job, all while she smiled straight up at her newest challenge.
It was her lucky day~.