Match 20
Tales of Friendship
Starring: Giselle Summerton
“It’s something I’m worried about,” Giselle explained to the screen in front of her desk, “I know your operatives are capable, but I’ve already lost several of my best in attempting to put down the climber early.”
“You lost several of your best because you decided pillaging Safrazo was a priority. Forgive me if I lack sympathy for your losses,” replied the stylized image of a bright red rose, wreathed in scarlet thorns on a white background.
Giselle’s face remained set in a calm, serene smile, but her eye twitched behind the modified plastic. Her face wasn’t the first face she had. It wasn’t the second either.
It, like most of her skin, was more like a shell. A white shell, flexible in some ways, rigid in others, and shiny where skin naturally wouldn’t be. She was dressed professionally, covering her artificial, doll-esque joints and the black diamond patterns crossing up her arms and legs, along with the pink 23 printed in flowing cursive on her left collarbone. Her elbow-length fuschia gloves were largely concealed by the long sleeves of her salmon blouse, itself paired with a cerise vest and a maroon string tie. Her skirt, long enough to drape over her calves, more matched the jacket held by one of her nearby slaves, being primarily crimson with black accents, and she further added to it with matching heels and carmine pantyhose.
Straight blonde hair spilled down her back, perfectly straightened and groomed so there wasn’t even a hint of ruffling or curls as her scarlet lips smiled back at the Red Rose of the Scorava Family. “You are forgiven, Don Scorava. Though it pains me to lose two of my best, I aim to take it as a lesson, going forward. I allowed my wants and fears to get the better of me. A weakness that has cost me much so very quickly. Yet that is why I ask for your support in this trying time. A renegade threatens our businesses, and as I have been a friend to you, I do so wish you’ll be a friend to me.”
“No one loves a slaver, Diamondback.”
“...” Her smile didn’t drop. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m weighing my options in regards to our continued affiliation, Miss Giselle. Your ventures are profitable and make for a decent way of removing persons of issue. But there’s an inherent revulsion many feel when it comes to the idea of other human beings forced into labor. Especially sex work.”
“They’re disgusted with the idea, not the reality,” Giselle countered, “The majority of my organizations’ sales are for physical labor. Businesses need workers to produce all those amenities civilization requires, and it cuts costs to simply purchase permanent workers rather than rent employees.”
“What a fun way to describe it. It doesn’t distract people from the images a practice like this conjures. The thoughts of human beings, packed like sardine cans inside of ships taking them from their homes to lands they never knew to serve at the pleasures of masters who regard them as chattel at best.”
“Every master regards their slaves as chattel, whether they pretend to be employers and employees or accept their reality. And besides, we don’t use boats anymore. Planes are faster and there's less hassle with customs and ‘freedom fighters’.” She allowed herself a small smirk. “It’s far harder to rob a plane than a ship, especially when you want the cargo aboard to survive.”
“So you say. Sinking human lives to the bottom of the ocean to avoid controversy is a viable tactic, sure. I just don’t like the risks.”
“What risks? Half the time, we tell these people in piddling wasteland settlements that they can travel to new lands of opportunity, and then don’t let them leave. From there, it’s just training. The Kingdoms are wealthy and don’t care for the silly moral qualms of the Victorians. To obey an authority and serve your community is better than to live in feckless freedom, or so I’m told.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” said the mobster to the slaver in her lavish office, with wide windows displaying the tamed, tropical landscape around Pariso, “I’m not going to help you. My people will handle Altamirano. You can stay out of it, and we’ll see how I think about our arrangement afterward.”
Her eye twitched again and her smile strained. “What’s there to think about? My business is a source of profit for your organization. We share revenue, you guarantee connections and protections. How many of your businesses use our labor?”
“Too many. I’ve begun phasing them out, for the most part. Paid employees are an investment. Slaves are a liability.”
“...They are very much not though, especially outside of the States! Why, you could-”
“It’s better to be loved than feared, Miss Giselle. What motivation can I give a slave except for freedom? A slave can’t profit because he can’t own a thing.”
“Well, no, see, you give them small amenities, particularly temporary things, to get them indebted-”
“Like paying them money. Like an employee.”
“Yes, but you have to do things like have protections in place and let them go home at the end of the day! That’s not economically feasible!”
There was a sigh through the screen. “Why don’t we save this talk for later? You can regale me with the benefits of owning human beings, and I can pretend your business doesn’t disgust me on a visceral level.”
“Wh-But-” She stood up, actually letting herself scowl. “You’re the one that’s supported me all this time! You profited! You can’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now!”
“I did profit, sure. I worked alongside a number of people I couldn’t stand to amass my power. I’m not having you killed, Diamondback, I’m just not interested in your line of work anymore.”
“So what, I’m no longer an investment to be protected?! Are you just going to let Altamirano kill me!?”
“Not at the moment, no. I’m not interested in your business, so I won’t be 'investing'. You still have other investors though, so I’m sure you can stay afloat if you really want to stick with this messy business. As for Altamirano, she’ll be handled. My best women are lined up behind you, so I’m not interested in letting her get a shot at you either. Just settle down and wait it out. You’ll be fine.
“Oh, and don’t go courting anymore kings. Shao isn’t the last one of them I’ll be dealing with before the year is up, and I would appreciate it if you keep out of the line of fire.”
“...”
The silence was expectant.
Giselle glared at the rose. “...I’ll do that.”
“Good. Have a nice afternoon, Miss Giselle.”
The rose disappeared, leaving three flashing ellipses in its place as the call ended, before they were replaced by shattered glass as Giselle pitched a paperweight through it.
“MOTHER FUCKER!” she screamed a second later, gripping the edge of her desk and flipping it, “THAT CONDESCENDING ASSHOLE! WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS?!”
She punted her desk, sending it skidding across the room, then whirled to shoot one of her butlers through the head, her revolver–primarily white with violet engravings and twin purple ♦’s set on either side of its ivory handle–snapping to her hand in an instant and shooting straight through the full-head leather mask the topless slave wore. Hell, her personal slaves wore barely anything, just thongs and masks, along with cufflinks and bowties. Better to show off their muscular chests and what they were packing at their crotches.
All of her personal slaves were male–mainly because she preferred dick, though there was a fantastic rush she got at dominating a worthless peon that should be physically stronger than her–and they were all, ultimately, disposable and interchangeable. A dairy farm needs only one breeding male, so the rest are expendable; the same logic applied to mankind.
Then Giselle realized she shot the slave she had holding her jacket and let out a frustrated growl at seeing the garment stained with blood. Sure, it was red now, but blood always died to such an ugly brown… “Take that to get cleaned, or it’s your head next!”
The surviving butler present bowed low, then did as she commanded as the door to her office slid open. “Huh. The meeting didn’t go well?”
Giselle scowled and fired again, her bullet plinking off the electric blue personal shield her primary operative had installed. “What the fuck do you think!? Damned dickless bastard had the fucking balls to say my business is shit! Evil, abhorrent, all that pussy shit, and about MY fucking business! Who the fuck does that asshole think he is?!”
“The CEO of Giochi Sanguinosi?” Mihail offered, tilting his head like the brainless fuck he was. So she aimed lower and shot the blond moron in the crotch, earning a flinch even as he grinned. “Ah, alright, you’re a lot madder than usual, good to know.”
“OF COURSE I FUCKING AM! THAT ASSHOLE THINKS HE CAN JUST DROP ME LIKE A SHITTY EX! I’VE MADE HIS FUCKING SYNDICATE BILLIONS! YOU THINK THAT DUMB FUCK WOULD BE HALFWAY AS WEALTHY IF IT WASN’T FOR ME!?”
Mihail shrugged, then took a pack of cigarettes from his inventory and handed one over, before lighting it with a blue lighter so she could take a drag. Stupid as he was, Mihail Lupul had his uses. Aside from being a handsome fuck.
And he was decent to look at. Tall, fit, with fair skin and hair as blond as honey, slicked back to droop over his neck. At the moment, he wore a white tank top and beach shorts, showing off his well-sculpted chest, arms, and legs. Almost literally sculpted, since a good chunk of his body was cybernetic, still colored the same as his natural flesh. Even his narrow jawline was made of a visible steel, which added a nice shine to his clean-shaven face.
She probably could’ve made a mint selling him as a fucktoy to some wealthy heiress, but there were a few things getting in the way of that. For one, she’d invested way too much in his upkeep at this point for any sale to be worth it.
There were two types of people in the world: sales and investments. A sale was one time thing, a peon traded for profit, while an investment was a person of value who brought in more profit the longer they were maintained. The main reason Giselle was fucking furious with Scorava was that she should be an investment for anyone, but the fucker was treating her like a cheap sale. That shit rankled, and she’d already decided she’d make him pay for it.
For another, as noted by the 24 at his neck, barely covered by the collar marking him as hers, Mihail was the Twenty-Fourth Ranked. One number below her. By all rights, he was the biggest threat to her life around, but she didn’t fear him in the slightest. Much like the once miserably overgrown landscape she’d built her dominion over, he was tamed, and she had contingencies to make sure he stayed that way. Carrots and sticks for a man who enjoyed both.
And last, no one would buy him once they saw his eyes. Mihail had cold eyes. He smiled, he laughed, he had an easy look to him, but his eyes were murderous. It didn’t matter if the skin around them was creased into a smile; the eyes themselves were violent, tiny pupils pinpricked against ice-blue tundras.
She liked his eyes. They wouldn’t lie to her. “Faaaaaahhhh...that damn asshole’s going to pay for this.”
“How’s that, boss?”
“You’ll know. Come on, I have other calls to make.” She started walking to her private elevator and he fell into step behind her, a cheerful smile on his face.
Mihail liked the way his boss moved, the way she walked. The sheer murderous rage boiling up under her was a delight as she moved through her mostly empty office. His boss was a wealthy woman, but her office only had its desk and screens, because it was her place of business, not her place of comfort. “The tigers are back from the dragon’s den, boss. Came back with a recent flight.”
“Good, we’ll talk to them first.” She dismissed the revolver in her grip and brought out her phone as the elevator started moving down, the glass wall letting her see out into her resort. There was no better word for it, really. Calling it a hamlet, village, even a town was inaccurate, because it wasn’t some shitty little nothing of a settlement out in the wide world. It wasn’t meant for anyone other than those her organization favored, whether they might directly work for her, or simply paid enough to enjoy her luxuries.
Of the four skyscrapers taking up the beachside of her coastal resort, hers was the tallest. The smallest was reserved for guests, the tallest was for her and anything she felt she should have direct access to, the second-tallest was meant for her Ranked operatives, and the third contained her labs. From her current position, she could see out at her harbor, and at the Augrin parked at one of her docks.
“Y’know, Monson probably would’ve been good on our side,” Mihail noted, peering over her shoulder at it, “Those ships of his would’ve made him useful, yeah?”
“Bah! That fucking upstart tried putting himself up there, but he couldn’t make it. Skalk had more to offer just in terms of manpower, nevermind the mutagens. What the fuck would Monson give us? Boats? I already have boats, and I’ve done the pirate shit better than he ever could.”
“Huh...you’d look good in a captain’s hat.”
“Of course I fucking would, I’ll look good in anything,” she snapped back, then started walking again as the elevator dinged at her indoor pool, “Oi, bitches! Form up!”
There were some immediate splashes of water as her three operatives quickly formed up in front of her, backs straight and eyes forward. Water still dripped from their barely covered bodies, but that wasn’t an issue unless they got it on her. The black, two-piece bikinis did look good when contrasted against the orange and white; something to keep in mind for future sales.
“Report.”
“Yes ma’am,” one began, “Tai Shao and his organization was destroyed by the renegade, Xinyue Jiang. We were unable to retrieve any of his physical assets at the time, and his digital assets have been seized by Giochi Sanguinosi.”
She felt her temple throb. “That fucking asshole did that deliberately...fucking making me out to be a goddamn issue, and now cutting off my lines of fucking support…”
“What about Crosswhite, boss?” Mihail asked as he walked up to the second orange one, staring down at her with interest, “He still buys a lot.”
“Crosswhite will stay as one of our customers, that I’m sure of. For a fucking robotics bitch, he prefers human labor. Probably gets off on it...fuck, now I’m even more pissed off…” She scowled, glaring at the placid face of her genetically modified operative. “And how about you, huh? How do you feel about this?”
“Frustrated, ma’am. I worked well on Tai, and now I will likely require separate modifications for my next assignment.”
Giselle eyed the stoic bitch for a moment, before shrugging. Clones always weirded her out. Easier to understand natural born humans, they always had a set of behaviors to them. Clones though, they were off. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t use them though. “Did he name you?”
“Yes ma’am. I1 was designated Maltese. I2 was designated Bengal. I3 was designated Siberian.”
“Why was your designation ‘I’? That’s annoying to hear.”
“I1 was led to believe it referred to the term Infiltrator, ma’am, however, an alternative proposal is that we are the ninth generation of genetically modified cloned humans.”
“Really? On nine already...well, whatever. You’re not nearly cost-effective enough to replace the generic laborer.”
“My apologies, ma’am.”
“What kind of name is Maltese anyway? It doesn’t make me think of a tiger, more like a bird or some shit.”
“Yes ma’am. I will divert to Primary Three to undergo proper reassignment surgery.”
“No, not yet, I’m still fucking talking, dumbass.” Giselle sighed irritably, then cupped her chin in thought. “Bengal and Siberian though, that could be marketable...Yeah, that might–”
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She paused at the audible crunch and blood spray, then snarled and whirled to glare at Mihail, who had his fist all the way through I2-Bengal’s head. The dead clone was still standing mostly straight, though its legs had bent with the force of Mihail’s fist, which was dripping blood and brain into her fucking pool!
“THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?”
“Eh?” He blinked, looking to her and not pulling his forearm from the clone’s head. “You just said you didn’t like Maltese.”
“THAT’S FUCKING BENGAL, YOU DUMBFUCK!” Giselle snapped, then glanced at Maltese, who was still staring at her instead of the sudden corpse. “That was Bengal, right?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Fucking great!” She snarled, scowling at Mihail again. “Why the fuck would you even do that?! Those shits cost money, you stupid bastard!”
“Yeah, but so do slaves?”
“These cost more money, you fucking moron! And you’re getting fucking skull chunks in my pool!”
“Ah, sorry. I thought we’d only need the two, like the twins.” He pulled his fist back and it dropped straight into the water, soaking it with red blood and absolutely ruining the fucking chemical balance. “Though I did get my skull-punch down right. Usually they go flying. You need leverage to get it through without the flying part. Or...torque? Is torque the word?”
“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW! WHY THE FUCK WOULD I KNOW THAT?! Fuck, how much fucking money was that down the drain...fuck, I didn’t even spring for the double aging with these ones, they’re fucking naturally raised, fuck–”
Giselle paused, then looked to the passive clones still standing there, studying them for any hint of reaction. They were meant to be emotionally dead, but if they reacted to the death in their midst negatively…
After fifteen solid minutes of watching the clones and ignoring an increasingly bored Mihail, who pulled out his phone to start playing some stupid game, Giselle nodded. “You’re Bengal now. That one keeps Siberian.”
“Understood, ma’am,” Bengal answered.
Giselle looked to Siberian, who answered, “Understood, ma’am,” in the exact same cadence. Fucking creepy.
“Get a butler to fish that out,” Giselle commanded, pointing to the useless wreck, then walked to Mihail and snatched his phone, chucking it into the bloodsoaked pool. “And quit fucking around!”
“Aw, my Ereshkigal…” Whatever the fuck that was, Mihail shrugged it off a second later and followed Giselle to the lift, where she promptly slammed his face into the glass. Not hard enough to shatter the glass, but enough to smash his nose.
“You don’t fucking kill without my say-so, GOT IT?!” she snarled, grinding him against the glass.
“Nhhhhghh...mn, h-hyeah, b-b-boss…”
She made a point to yank him back and smash his head against the glass two more times, before letting him drop. He stood a second later, gripping his nose and snapping it back into place, before pulling out a comb and using it to fix his hair as blue blood poured from his nostrils.
Giselle was magnanimous enough to ignore it, though she made a mental note to further dock his pay as he dripped blood across her floors. There was so much fucking blood in her business, she almost thought she should’ve had that Grindhouse name. But fuck that. Vivian could keep her fucked up surgery fetish, Giselle was more interested in profit.
And besides, everyone wanted a taste of Paradise. It’s what drew her current guest, relaxing in a luxury suite, to her coast.
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Tusk let out a low moan as the firm fingers worked their way into her back, pressing the tension out of every joint. She should’ve felt vulnerable in the lair of one of the great Raider Queens, but she just couldn’t help but feel good. Getting waited on, hand and foot, by muscular and scantily dressed men wasn’t ever one of her dreams, but now that she was experiencing it, she had to wonder how she could have ever been ignorant of such a life.
She wasn’t an idiot though. Her suitcase of vials was still well in sight, even as she rested on the table, and she still had weapons and armor in her inventory, even as she relaxed with only a towel to provide some semblance of modesty.
Not that she was especially interested in keeping it on with the absolute hunk tending to her…
Then the door to her room opened and her eyes snapped open with it, immediately looking towards the woman entering. Even then, she didn’t feel the thrill of fear she thought she might at coming face to face with Giselle Summerton. Even with how strange that face was.
“Good afternoon, Queen Summerton,” she greeted, smiling faintly, “I apologize for not standing. Your servant isn’t letting me.”
“Not my servant, my slave. You can call them butlers if you really want to be coy about it, but let’s not bullshit each other.”
Tusk shrugged. “Sure. May I stand, your majesty?”
Summerton inclined her head, and the masseuse stepped back, holding his oiled hands behind his back and baring his muscular chest, which was still quite a nice sight. Though she had to admit, the man stepping in with Summerton was a nice sight too. The cyborg look was a good one for him, especially with that wet, blue tank top clinging to his pecs…
“Are you standing or what?”
Tusk immediately stood, bowing her head. “My sincere apologies, your majesty.”
“Sure sure, whatever. Look, you caught me in a bad mood, but it’s turning to a good one just from seeing what you brought, so take that as you will. That’s the case then?”
“Yes, your ma-”
“Yeah, no, stop with the majesty shit, it’s getting annoying. Ma’am works, master or mistress also does.”
“Yes ma’am,” Tusk replied, nodding with a neutral expression, just in case Summerton took offense to her smiling, “I hope it's an adequate payment for my stay here.”
“It’s an adequate payment for a lot of things, girly. So sure, I’ll keep you around.”
“Without selling me, or owning me as a slave.”
“I know the terms, I already signed off on it,” Summerton replied, sounding irritated again as she brought out a tablet from her inventory and tossed it to Tusk, who promptly checked the contract displayed, thoroughly looking through every part of it. From every indication and wording, she was fully protected in her new role as an executive in Paradiso, in all its forms. Protection from the raiders that made up the organization, protection from enemies of the organization, protection from sale, execution, dismemberment, assault, or further inconveniencing, guaranteed protection from affiliated organizations–All around, she was set in luxury.
“I appreciate your thoroughness, ma’am.”
“Yeah yeah. Mutagens, now.”
Tusk nodded, then handed over the locked case. “Who should I send the code to?”
“Me. Print it here.”
Tusk nodded again, then wrote out a simple string of symbols and digits that would let them open the complicated lock on it. Whatever happened from there wasn’t her problem.
“Good. You’re a decent investment so far. Keep at that. We might need someone who knew chimeras to get this project off the ground.” Summerton smiled, putting a hand on Tusk’s shoulder. “I think we’d both prefer if that was you, right?”
Tusk smiled back. So she’d need to keep being useful then. That wasn’t unexpected, and she had some other things from back in her days in The Maw she could use. Memorized formulas and codes, just in case. “I look forward to working with you further, ma’am.”
“Same here. One more thing. Did you happen to grab a revolver from Altamirano?”
“No, ma’am. I didn’t have the opportunity.” Tusk didn’t let her surprise show. Why was the revolver significant?
“Shame...well, it’ll come to me sooner or later.” Summerton smirked, completely unphased by the idea of Nimia coming for her. Which, well, she was better funded, protected...but maybe Tusk should start making contingency plans. Just in case. “For now, enjoy your stay here. I have another meeting to attend to, but I can leave you with some company, if you want it.”
Tusk paused, then looked to the tall, muscular man who had come in with Summerton. The one sporting a very blatant tent in his shorts as he stared at Tusk. “...I...wouldn’t mind that.”
“Good. Mihail, entertain our new executive. No touching her in ways she doesn’t want to be touched, got it?”
“Yeah boss,” he replied, before stepping closer as Summerton exited, pulling his top off in one swift motion and smirking, his firm pecs outright glistening in the candlelight. “So, on the table, or on the bed?”
“...I think the bed would be better.” Tusk had a feeling she would like staying here.
For however long it lasted.
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Giselle pressed a button on her remote, watching as the view through her office windows gradually tinged towards a warm sunset, hours before it would occur naturally. She wanted the proper ambience, and the orange sky felt appropriate when dealing with her...colleague.
Or at the very least, her representative, who sat at the provided tea table and sipped the glass of iced tea provided with a mockery of what good manners could be. She held it with a false daintiness, her pinky out, to contrast with the fact her sandaled feet were up on the chair she squatted on, pretending to drink carefully from it as her long tongue lolled out of her mouth and into the liquid.
Vivian LoVullo had a thing about making genetic aberrations, and Tongue was no different. In many ways, she looked like a normal woman, albeit one with pink skin and cherry-red hair cut into a mohawk. Even that wasn’t particularly unusual, what with skin- and hair-dyes existing and mohawks being fairly popular among raiders and punks, but on closer inspection, one could notice the surgical scars crossing over her entire body, the screws in her shoulders and hips, the fact that her mouth curved up her cheeks and almost to her ears.
Then there was the fact her red eyes had horizontal pupils. That was just weird.
“Alright, you’ve had your tea, now let’s get to talking,” Giselle demanded as she sat at the table, not bothering to touch her own iced tea.
“Mm~ Oh, sure, course, will do!” She nodded, her head bobbing as she smiled and started to undo the buttons of her beach shirt, quickly pulling to open to bare a chest where semi-translucent sacs had replaced her breasts. Apparently it was for storing venom or some shit. There were other translucent spots like them tracing down her chest, all made for something bizarre, but the main point of interest was when she removed her shirt completely and turned in her seat to show the TV screen installed in her back.
“Why the fuck do you always do this?” Giselle demanded, glaring as the screen turned on, showing the image of a red ♥ on a black background, repeating multiple times in a distorted reel before it finally settled.
“Well that’s a fine howdy~! Why do you alway start by criticizing my tastes, hmm~?” Vivian asked, her voice as chipper as always even with the unmistakeable sound of a knife cutting through flesh sounding out in the background. Though, known Vivian, it was probably because instead of despite.
“Because your taste has always been shit! I don’t know why you insist on making so many damn biohazards!”
“Cause it’s fun~? And besides, Tongue’s all good with it! She just wants to spread the word of her benevolent doctor~!”
“It also tingles nice,” Tongue added, earning a giggle from Vivian.
“That’s also true~! Besides, experimentation gives me a nice boost~! You’d have one too if you really ramped up those cloning tanks~!”
“Please, like I want some shitty half-baked disposable shit,” Giselle retorted, “I want that, I’ll ask for your fucking zombie virus or whatever.”
“Eh, can’t, already sold my stock to Rhodey, you know~? She calls first dibs~.”
Giselle paused, considering the idea of her murder-happy death-dealing colleague owning multiple vials of shit deliberately designed to kill as many people as possible and reanimate their remains. Which, honestly, wasn’t all that different from usual, so she really didn’t give a shit. “Fine, whatever, but, that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Hmm~? And why are you calling then~? Is it about your failed boyfriend, or the monster twins you lost~?”
“Neither! It’s about that fucker Scorava cutting me out!”
“Ohhhh~ Yeah, that would be something you’d like to discuss~ Though are you sure you don’t wanna talk boys? I heard Shao was a hottie~”
“Does it fucking matter? The asshole got dead before I could use him. And no, nothing was left of his corpse, I checked.”
“Mm, pity. Ginny and Georgie went up in flames too, so that’s another avenue lost...I’m sure I could get you replacements if you really want~”
“You’re going to find me a pair of biker raiders sadistic enough to replace my enforcers? No, don’t answer, you’re going off fucking topic again.”
“I could~ Sure, the world’s turned again and our breed would be dead if we weren’t giving them life support, so I can’t quite bring you natural replacements, but I could easily make you a pair of bodyguards~ Ooo, maybe to match with your cute hound~?”
“...Make it three, and we’ll talk.”
“Mmm~ Always so greedy~ It’s always been a flaw of yours, dear, ever since–”
Giselle fired a shot straight into the ceiling, her revolver summoned in a second. “STICK TO THE FUCKING TOPIC! Scorava’s decided he doesn’t need my business out of fucking nowhere and I HATE BEING FUCKING BLINDSIDED! So that fucking pissant’s going to pay for it, and you’re going to fucking help me!”
“Oh? Whyyyy~? I like Cissy fine, even if he can be a bore at times~”
“Because I have Skalk’s mutagens, and his fucking data on the topic!” There was an audible hitch of breath and Giselle let herself smirk. “His surviving lieutenant, Tusk, brought it to me.”
“...I do hope you’re taking dear care of her then, Gigi, because you just earned my interest~ Well, not that you’ve ever lost it~”
Giselle bit back a shudder. Even she didn't know if it was out of disgust or...history. “Of course I’m taking fucking care of her, she’s a damn asset! So are you working with me or what?”
“Mm~ Sure Gigi, I’ll help you out~ Though are you sure you just want this to be a one time thing~? We could work better close together~ The Snake and the Spider, back again~”
Giselle scowled. “Fuck off. We’re not joining up, no fucking merger, this is just a fucking transaction, and you know why!”
“I know you’re afraid to commit~” Vivian giggled again. “But fine, we can talk once your plan is done~ You want Cissy to pay, and you want Altamirano to die, right~? Well I can make that happen~ First off on it, do you still have any of those brutes around? The twins’ little pack~?”
“The fuckers deserted, back to bandits. If you find ‘em, they’re yours.”
“Ooo~ Nice offer already~ Well, let me give you a few things in return, since Cissy likes me so much better~”
“And people let shit slip when they’re high off their asses.”
“That too~! Like the fact that the five-twenties are all going to be on a job in the States~ Ah buh buh, no interrupting,” Vivian tutted before Giselle could tell her off for holding shit back, “I know you don’t like it when I speak around too much, so let’s try to get everything down in one take, hm~? Cissy’s top girls are tracking a high value target under Bureau protection, because those poor sillies can’t help themselves~ You’d think centuries of trying to maintain order in a world that doesn’t want it would give them a clue, but nope~
“But back on topic, since I know you’re dy–you’d love to know, the Five are aiming for a witness willing to testify against Cissy, though I know what you’re thinking, ‘why does that require his five best kitties on the job? Even with the Bureau involved, it’s not like Scorava hasn’t stitched rats before, so why all the hassle’, hm~?”
The heart vanished as the screen displayed a brightly lit room and Vivian, in full surgery garb, leaned into view over an occupied surgical table, her white lips split wide in a bloodshot smile. “Because that rat’s his kid~!”
Giselle blinked. She couldn’t quite help that reaction, especially as her mind raced. “...Not Dominic?” Couldn’t be, that asshole was higher than Vivian.
“Oh no no, not him, a younger brother,” Vivian explained, moving back and giggling as she fit her surgical mask back in place. Not that it would help with sanitizing, with how streaked with gore it was already. “Luigi Polidoro Scorva, some poor goomah’s child who would normally never amount to anything, but had enough stones to try joining up with the family he idolized~ Supposedly, course, and idolization always blinds people~ So much that a sudden flaw, a crack in the facade~? It’s enough to destroy a childish ideal of respectable business and heroic protection of the downtrodden and turn it into a deep enough loathing to betray blood and kin~ Though whether it’s loathing them or loathing himself, I can’t tell~
“And it’s not really important, aside from a simple explanation to why Cissy hasn’t just had the boy shot~” She leaned back into view again as she cut into the body on the table, blatantly smiling even with the goggles over her eyes and mask in place. “And why he suddenly wants to cut business with you, Gigi. Apparently, the boy ran when he found out about the slaves~”
“What?! That’s what set him off!?” Giselle snarled in disgust, openly scowling. “Cowardly little shit–He lives a life of fucking luxury because of me and he can’t even be grateful!?”
“Oh the born rich are never grateful, you and I both know that~ We’ve killed enough investors to know it~”
“Yeah, and this shit dies too! Fuck it, not only am I crippling his fucking cats, his brat dies too!”
“Ha~! Ahhh, there’s that vicious side, Gigi~ Mmm, careful, you’re going to make me want you again~”
“Fuck off and finish your fucking report!”
“Fiiiine, fine fine, you always know when I’m holding something back~ Heh, anyways, apparently Cissy’s already sent retrieval teams, but they all lost badly~ The agents involved must be more decent than expected...but what matters more to us than to them is where a good strike point would be, right~? And the Bureau doesn’t run the tightest ship~ Oh, speaking of, say hi to Agent Lamb~!”
Vivian reached off screen, then pulled a partially severed head into view. Partially, because it was still attached to a distended spine, stretching far further than it naturally should. Giselle smirked at the sight, especially with how the head was still visibly mumbling. “Hello Agent Lamb. Thanks for all your help.”
“Heh~ He appreciates it~” With that, she tossed the head again, giggling as she did, and leaned close to the monitor, pushing her hands straight into the agent's open chest as she did. The wet squish did nothing to detract from Vivian's good humor. “The main part I’ve heard is that Cissy’s been keeping up on attacks, trying to get his boy back, and the agents are taking a roundabout way to get back home to Kanawha as a result~ Or maybe they’re not going there at all? The ways I hear, they could be going anywhere from Allegheny to Dorado, but I’m sure it’ll be in States' territory~”
“...Is that it? Those fucks are all going to be in one place, at once, to grab some little shit on the way to somewhere you don’t…” Something clicked in her head, and Giselle grinned. “Ah. Ha, those dumb motherfuckers are going by train, aren’t they? The cross-continental railroad, delivering people and goods to where they gotta go!”
“Ooo, a daring train raid! Oh, that brings back memories~” Vivian giggled to herself, then smirked at the monitor, pulling down her mask to make sure Giselle saw it. “I bet you’re right~! The question is though, what are you going to do about it~?”
“First? I’m gonna find what fucking train it is they’re catching. And second…
Giselle smiled right back, her grin wide and cruel, matched in horrific cheer by her fellow monster on the other side. “I’m making some calls~”
----------------------------------------
“Shower’s yours,” Nimia announced as she walked back into the hotel’s bedroom. Greenie didn’t look up though, too entranced by some kind of magical girl show on the tv. “Hey. You want it or not?”
“Huh? Ah, later, Akiko’s going up against Vesuvius and I’m not missing that.”
“...I don’t know what that means, but alright.” Nimia huffed, using the towel around her shoulders to brush at her hair as she sat on the other bed, watching a red-haired woman in an admittedly cute vest and dress fistfighting a crimson-skinned gynoid, fire bursting out around both of them as the match increased in intensity. “...What’s going on here?”
“Hm? Oh, okay, so like, this would take a while to explain, but basic thing is that this is a follow-up sequel series thing where the mage warriors, a group of six former magical girls, now adults and living average lives, are suddenly sucked back into the fight for justice by an evil capitalist trying to make living weapons called ‘valkyries’ out of the remains of one of the eldritch abominations they killed in the previous series.”
“...Huh. So why’s the red gal fighting a different red gal?”
“It’s like a mirror match thing. Vesuvius is a recurring foe of theirs because the thing about the valkyries, like all robotic foes, is that they can survive their body being destroyed as long as they have the central processor still up, so now she’s been upgraded and wants a revenge bout against her rival while the rest of Akiko’s team has to go up against the rest of Vesu’s evil counter team.”
Nimia blinked at that, then settled back, pulling her legs up on the bed with her as she settled in to watch, then paused when her phone buzzed. Which was weird, because who the hell would even have the number to call her?
She reached over, paused again when she saw the scales on her right hand had spread over her fingers and to the back of her hand, then just shrugged that off to grab it and answer. “Sup?”
“Sup yourself, you punk fucking bitch,” came the immediate, audibly irritated and weirdly familiar sounding reply, “You’ve got a train to catch.”