Star Runner

Disclaimer: This is a work of gay erotic fiction. If this material offends you, or you are not legally permitted to read such works, please leave. The opinions and actions of characters do not necessarily reflect the opinions and beliefs of the author. The actions of these characters are meant for entertainment, not emulation or education. Because I was a teenager with the internet, I know one of you is going to get on here, and so I must reiterate, DO NOT HAVE SEX WITH ADULTS. This is not education for sex and/or relationships. If you are underage, do not contact me. This is for both our safety. Be careful on the internet.

Content Warning: Violence, mild gore, homophobic slurs, unprotected sex, mention of minors having sex with other minors and adults, sexual abuse by a police figure.

Please donate to Nifty. My email is DavidTPatrickccf@aol.com. My Bluesky account is DavidTPatrickccf.bsky.social if you want to keep up with with when I post new stories as well as other things I might do.

After a quick bit of fun with the customs officers of Shepard III, Jack finally gets to the station. After talking with a young pickpocket, Jack learns where the Art is and goes in search of Ric Mabi.

Chapter VI

6:00 p.m. 7751-5-5

Mining Station Shepard III, Gamma Arietes

I didn't know how soon I'd have to eat those words. It's been six hours of walking down garbage encrusted streets and rotting alleyways, asking in every rundown gun store and drug den barely putting airs to act like a legitimate pharmacy, stopping by a dozen piss-stained bars and half a dozen cum-stained sex shops. No one knows Ric Mabi or has even heard of him. All I can get are threats, samples for drugs, propositions, and gonorrhea on my boots from that one porn theater with twenty wet floor signs all over the place, even though it didn't serve drinks (if you get sick easily, just imagine the theater had a leaky roof and rain spontaneously appeared in an artificial atmosphere). I'm tired and irritated and my streak and eyes have turned a sickly shade of yellow. I'm so fucking desperate that I'm just walking through every store I see, not looking for a seedy place where a professional forger might hide, I just need a little bit of direction right now.

Unfortunately this street vendor isn't helping much with that, "I told you I don't know no Rick Bobby fella" he says.

I rub my eye in exhaustion and frustration, "again, it's Ric Mabi. And if you don't know him, do you at least know about the Art or someone who knows something about it?"

He scratches his beard, "you mean like museums and that? I'm not a bloody tour-guide."

I sigh and lean my head on the kiosk counter. There's an unkempt man in a large coat reading a newspaper and leaning on the magazine rack. He gives me an odd look.

"What?" I sneer.

He shrugs then hands the cashier a copper DIC stick, "Just the paper Colin, I've got to make a call."

The Kiosk owner transfers the funds and tosses the stick back to the man; I watch him leave down the street and feel a rough tap on my head, "look mate, either buy something or piss off, you're scaring off me customers."

"You mean all zero of them?"

"Fuck off you poofter," he says, shoving two fingers upwards.

I return his send off with the American gesture and push off the counter, glad that I accidentally knock over his coffee. I walk down the block, stepping over loose trash and year old cigarette butts. There's probably a dozen other stores I could ask in, but I have a feeling nothing will come about it. Benny swears by this guy and I believe him (even if Benny is the biggest moron I know), but I wish he told me that Ric Mabi would be as easy to find as a Jehovah's witness on Fire Island. I only found a few people who knew about the Art, but they only knew where to find fixers and weapon's dealers.

Taylor beeps in my ear, "This search is taking much longer than you implied it would, Captain."

"I know, Taylor. Would you shut-"

I bend over in pain as my stomach tries to digest the big helping of nothing I've had today. I've been running on freeze dried food packets and protein bars to make it through warp Space and now there's nothing I want more than a good hot meal. I walk down a few more blocks and spy a pub; there's a working sign, it has a decent sized crowd inside and it looked clean (three of the best signs to indicate you won't die of food poisoning when eating in a new place). I go in and the smell of hot oil and fresh bread causes me to double over from the hunger pangs. I will literally eat anything right now.

A waitress glances at me and yells, "Tables won't be ready for thirty minutes, sit at the bar if you can't wait that long, love."

I rush over to the bar and jump into one of the few empty seats. Looking around, most of the crowd seems to be workers for the Mine. Pretty much everyone is in a dull gray suit; the suits themselves are adorned with thick stripes in a variety of colors, probably indicating different roles on the station. Some are wearing helmets matching their stripes and some have work-bags stuffed with mining equipment. Most of them are human though I see a few different species in the mix, including a massive Terqet woman holding sandwiches in one pair of hands and two beers in the other.

A waitress with rusty hair pops out of the kitchen and rushes up to me, "what'll it be, love?"

I open my mouth, but I'm cut off by my stomach and a grip it in pain.

She barks, "speak up, flower. I've got ten other fellas I need to feed. Spit it out or I'm moving on."

"No, please" I groan "I'm fucking starving. Just give me whatever will fill me up."

"Well there's a lot that can get you full. Anything you had in mind, pet?"

I feel another squeeze of pain and grip onto the counter, almost crying at this point; the waitress nods in understanding and calls back to the kitchen, "A good old fashion English Breakfast and a cuppa!" She winks and moves onto the next guy at the bar.

I mouth `thank you.' I really can't manage to make any noise from my mouth. I didn't think it would take this long to find Mabi. That little bastard is lucky I'm literally starving to death, otherwise I'd run back to the station, drag her across the station by her overpriced shoes and toss her onto the track as the train pulls in. If I ever see her again, I swear, I'll shoot her goddamn head off (I know, I know. She's only a kid and once I get food in my belly, I'll probably forget all about her, but in this moment my stomach has devoured my logic and my tolerance for shitty kids).

I lean my head down on the counter and let out a long groan. If you didn't know any better you'd probably think I was seconds from dying, and it honestly feels like that to me. A dull clink sounds next to my ear and I turn my head to see a small tea cup pouring out earthy, rich steam from its rim. The waitress tells me it's Earl Grey and whispers that she put in a lot of extra cream and sugar so I could deal with my immediate hunger. I grasp the cup strongly, then pour the whole thing down my throat. Thankfully the add-ins cooled it off enough that my my tongue only feels a little from the heat.

A sharp beep shoots off in my ear, "Captain, I don't wish to alarm you, but there is a man who is observing you very intently. He is located at the right end of the bar."

I shift my eyes over to the right corner of the counter. There's one miner with an Afro and red stripes being enraptured by his phone, but next to him is a clean shaven man with hair like varnished wood looking at me. His eyes are half-lidded and every few seconds his teeth curl over his bottom lip.

I speak into the cup so no one can see me speak "yeah, I see him, and I'm no stranger to that look."

"I do not understand your meaning, Captain."

I sigh, "look, when he's biting his-" I glance over and see he's gone.

I jump a bit when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's the guy. He smirks and sits down next to me. He examines me up and down and raises a brow, clearly expecting to ask him what he wants. I'm too hungry to answer, but even if I wasn't, this guy is delirious if he thinks I'm making the first move. I mean, he's not bad looking, he's like the hot dad you see in retail magazines, the ones who look abnormally sexy in their polo shirt, but approachable enough to not seem out of place giving kids piggyback rides. But is he worth my effort? Fuck no. He better have one hell of a pickup line if he even has a dream of this anywhere, especially since I'm fucking starving. I want food right now, more than anything including sex (whoa! That's a weird thought coming from me). But I'm goddamn serious, that the only reason I'd want to suck a dick now is because the cum might provide some nourishment.

"Um... I am... sorry. But I've never seen anyone like you here before. I'm certain I'd remember it. You're not from around here, are you?"

Judging from the thick European accent, he wasn't from the station either. I didn't say that though, I'm still too hungry to really think straight.

"But, I can't help but feel... we've met before. No?"

How the hell should I know. If he's trying to insinuate we've slept together, then he needs to give me a bit more, because I've been with a lot of guys who look just like him. He probably thinks I'm some stupid American, who'd swoon over any generically hot white guy with an accent. Some of these European bastards need to learn the accent will only carry them so far, cause after the fifth round of bad sex, the novelty wears off (and after it happens with the third guy, you learn not put up with it again). I mean most Europeans are pretty decent fucks, but there's always that population of Euro-trash that relies on sprinkling in a few "cherie's" and "mein-leibschen's" to to get with the dumber population of the US (forget Barker. Where's the app that can match sleazy Euro-trash with dumb mid-western farm boys, so the rest of us who traveled outside of our state don't have to deal with Ukranian gym bros asking us to squeeze their pecs every five minutes.

"Yeah, I don't think so, pal" I say.

He chuckles, not getting (or at least not caring about) the hint "I suppose you are right. I would have remembered such a handsome face."

I couldn't place his accent apart from Europe and not the British Isles, which really narrows it down I know, but I'll remind you I haven't eaten for over eight goddamn hours. Honestly, it's a miracle I can even remember my own name at this point.

He leans closer "And I'd certainly remember such ... interesting eyes."

I look over into a metal napkin holder. It's too cloudy to make out anything distinct but the reflective enough to show my eyes and streak have turned a yellowish-green color. I think that specific shade is called neon-vomit.

"You're right, I probably do not know you... but I would like to" he purrs.

I almost snort out loud. How many times have I heard that line before? It's not that bad of a line, solid six out of ten, but it's been soured by overuse. If a guy isn't hot enough or interesting enough to use it, then I won't waste my time (and guys who use that line are hardly interesting).

"Look buddy, if you're aiming for a quick bj in the bathroom, literally any other time would be fine, but right now all I want to is stuff my face with as much food as possible." I grasp my belly as another groan rolls out of my stomach.

He raises his hands in mock surrender, "okay, I understand. But do I at least get the pleasure of knowing your name?"

If I was in a clearer head space, I would probably leave him hanging. Because guys like being teased a bit, but also because giving away personal information while you're on a job is one of the best ways for a Runner to get killed. I know this objectively, yes, but just as he asks my name, the waitress starts plating a tray full of sausage, fried eggs, bacon (English bacon, but I'll take anything I can get), and all kinds of rich and hearty smelling things. But I'm not thinking or at least I'm not thinking about the possible consequences of giving out my name to strange guys in pubs.

"Uh, Jack" I mutter while almost drooling at the sizzling fat falling onto the plate.

He chuckles and caresses my thigh with the back of his fingers "and do you have a last-"

He jerks his head towards the door, then I feel his fingers ball into a fist (maybe his spouse came in to spoil his extra-marital fun). I don't give a damn who he sees, all I care about are the plates full of fried, fattening English delicacies.

He turns back to me smiling, then kisses me on the cheek, whispering "Ciao, Bello."

Italian. I knew I recognized the accent. When you've taken a language since the fourth grade, you don't quickly forget it, or the accent. But like I said, I'm a bit busy drooling over my steaming food, which is finally placed down in front of me. The Italian guy gets up and leaves... I think. I don't care. Fried eggs and sausage, grilled tomatoes, beans on toast, a few scones, bacon (again, it is British bacon, but it's food so it might as well be roasted swan with quail eggs for how good it looks right now). And black pudding. Goddamn black pudding. Sounds disgusting in theory, but seriously, whatever medieval butcher though to mix pig's blood with fat and oats can use me however he wants (same goes for the beautiful men who invented pizza, reubens, cannolis, and Black & Whites). The waitress hardly has a second to put down the plates before I stab into the black pudding. Fuck, that's good, smokey and rich like someone found a way to infuse all the deliciousness of every kind of smoked meat into one circular slice. I waste no time shoveling the rest of the food into my mouth. The waitress smiles at me, but then she starts backing up as far away as she can; I guess I'm scaring her with how violently I'm ripping into this meal, but I don't care as long as I have food to eat. The two guys sitting to my left jump up and rush out the pub (I'm goddamn sorry if my if my table manners are so offensive to you, but this is the first proper meal I've had in days).

A beep goes off in my ear, "Captain"-fucking Taylor- "I believe there is something behind us which is causing the staff and patrons extreme distress. Unfortunately the camera function on your earpiece only face the direction you are facing, Captain. If you turned around, I could probably assess the severity of this threat."

I grunt, annoyed that every time Taylor wants to "assist" me, it's always at my inconvenience- but, looking around I can see that something is certainly off. My stomach was screaming so loud that I only just notice the low hum you usually get in a diner- tangled conversations, clattering silverware, and shrill slurping of diners trying to get the last bit of soda from under the ice- had gone. Peering over my shoulder I see a few people left quickly with half finished meals, but everyone else just quieted down. Most are staring into their food, maybe picking up a fry and pushing it around their plate; those who are talking only speak in whispers that couldn't be heard over the sizzle of the grill. Speaking of, it looks like someone pressed pause on the kitchen, or like the staff had lost power with their heads bending down, staying perfectly still. Even the massive Terqet woman who was throwing down beers and burgers like they were popcorn has all four arms tightly folded and is looking out the window very intently. Like there's something in the pub she really doesn't want to see.

At this moment, I'm about ninety percent sure something bad is going to happen to me.

This certainty becomes a hundred percent when I feel a small small tube of metal gently press into my side, and in my ear a guy whispers, "Hello there friend, mind if we borrow you outside for a minute?"

I swallow the bits of egg and toast in my mouth and say "can I at least finish eating first?"

A hand clamps down on my shoulder and not so gently pulls me from my stool.

"Guess that means no?" I grin.

Perhaps I shouldn't be so cocky, but if they wanted to kill me they'd have pulled the trigger. The guy who yanked me out of my chair is what you'd expect. A beefy bruiser type with a face swollen and red from many altercations, most of which he probably came out the better looking one. The guy who asked me to leave is pretty big too. He's nowhere near as large but he's tall, and more alarmingly has a gun pressed to my side.

He smiles disgustingly and tilts his head towards the door (what is it about holding a gun that turns people into sick, smiley bastards?).

"I mean, you could at least let me take it to go. I haven't even paid yet" it may seem like I'm just putting off an alleyway beat down, which I am, but also you never know what luck a few extra minutes will bring you. Maybe a rival gang drives up to eat or maybe a handsome stranger blows these bastards into dust and sweeps me off my feet (and into his bedroom) or maybe luck would be kind enough to let me come up with my own plan.

He snorts, "Funny. No I'm sure they won't mind giving you a free meal out of the kindness of their hearts. Isn't that right love," he smiles at the waitress who shoves a towel under her skirt in fear of pissing herself.

"It... it... i-it's f-fine" she squeaks.

"You heard the lovely lady, come along fella" he waves towards the door and his friend pulls me out of the pub.

I guess luck isn't in a generous mood at the moment. I'm dragged outside and the bigger guy pushes towards an alleyway behind the pub (the back alleyway beat down comment was a joke, I didn't think I'd actually get mugged in an alley). The other goon puts his gun in his coat pocket to be less conspicuous in the open, but he makes sure I can tell he's still holding it, ready to fire. I'm led all the way through the alley until I'm up against a chain-link fence. The big guy twists me around and presses me against the fence with one hand. The wire pinches my back and butt, though that becomes less of a concern when the other guy pulls out his pistol and aims it at my gut. We're far enough in the alley that anyone walking by probably wouldn't notice. Even if they did see, they probably couldn't tell what was happening. For all anyone could see it probably looks like I'm about to blow these guys; that'd be my first thought if I was walking by this scene (and given my limited options for escaping this, that might be what ends up happening. A belly full of cum is better than a belly full of plasma). And if someone could see that I was (metaphorically) fucked, they'd have to be pretty stupid to try and help.

The smiley guy says "so then friend, got anything you'd like to tell us?"

I shrug and answer, "okay, you got me. It's true. I can take two at a time with no lube, but trust me, it's only hot for the first few minutes and then everything starts chaffing. You can raw dog, but at least use some spit."

The guy pauses for a second, then bursts out laughing. He laughs so much that he sort stumbles against one of the alley walls trying to keep himself up. He coughs for a bit and swallows some air back into his lungs. He looks at the big guy and waves his hand towards me. Instantly the big bastard balls up his fist and jabs it into my stomach.

I grunt and hold myself up with the fence. I feel like I'm about to expel what little food I ate today, but thankfully the feeling subsides. The big bastard doesn't react. I don't think I saw his face move a muscle since I saw him in the pub. The smiley bastard grabs my hair and yanks my head up to look at him. This close, I can see how fucked up his douche-bag smile is. He's really leaning into that particular British stereotype (I swear some of them are horizontal).

"That's adorable, it is, lad. But now, why don't you be a good boy and tell us about Ric Mabi, why don't you?"

Figures that's what this is about. Probably shouldn't have been asking around so much, but the Art is usually a place where you don't have to worry too much about dangerous grudges or turf wars and the like. The ease I have walking around the Art on Sayfaam, lulled me into a false sense of security and I stupidly assumed I'd have an easy time searching for Ric Mabi. And usually when you go to an Art looking for a forger, or a fixer, or whatever, you can always find someone who knows a guy or at least knows a guy who knows a guy. But no one here knows him, or is pretending not to (I was to think Benny had made him up under an auto-asphyxiated induced hallucination until these assholes confirmed his existence).

"Ric Mabi? Can't say I've ever heard of him. Friend of yours?" I say, hoping to stall for luck.

The brute curls his fingers into another fist but smiley puts up his and then uses his other one to cup my cheek, "you're a cute one aren't you? And very pretty. Ain't he a pretty boy?" he asks that last part to his partner. The brute doesn't make any indication he registers what smiley is saying, his eyes are locked on me, waiting for the slightest excuse to put me back in line.

"Yes, pretty as a rose he is," he raises the barrel of his pistol and slides it across my cheek until it's pointing at my ear, "it'd be a shame if this pretty flower got damaged, wouldn't you say lad?"

I see it's going to be that kind of day; oh well, "even if I did, hypothetically, know who you're talking about, surely you would've heard that I was, hypothetically, looking for him too. Meaning, I don't know where the hell he is."

He laughs, "true, true. But I have an inkling, you'll get to him."

"Have you tried the yellow pages? Like I said, I can't find him. You can't find him and you're from here."

"Exactly that pretty boy!" He says, "no one on this bloody station has seen hide nor hair of him. And he doesn't seem willing to crawl out of whatever burrow he's dug himself. But perhaps he may come out for a tourist with a few DICs in his pocket."

I hear beeping, followed by Taylor saying "Captain, I know you would prefer if I did not interfere in your affairs, but it does appear that you are in serious danger. If you would like, I can contact the local authorities and have them at your location in approximately two minutes."

"No!" I bark.

The last thing I need right now is police. Cops will either be on their side or they'll arrest all of us and get the Stardust.

"No?" the smiley guy laughs, "we ask nicely for you to help us in our time of need and you turn us away. I tell you, it's always the pretty ones that have hearts of ice."

He gestures to the brute who cracks his knuckles and winds up to sock me in my gut again.

I get another beep in my ear, "then would you like me to hold off on contacting the authorities unless it becomes absolutely necessary, Captain?"

"Yes, of course!" I say.

"What?" the smiley bastard holds up a hand to stop his partner.

"I mean of course I'll help you," I blurt out.

The smiley guy gives the goon a `can you believe this guy' face and says, "it's always the pretty ones that can't make up their bloody mind. So you'll help us then?"

I try to answer but Taylor beeps again, asking "to avoid confusion, Captain, I would like to discuss the specific parameters that qualify as `absolutely necessary.' Currently I define necessary as you becoming completely unresponsive or unable to communicate with me. Are these parameters satisfactory?"

"I don't know!" I say.

"Well which is it love, yes, you will help us or no, you won't? I'd prefer a yes, but my associate here" he motions to the brute cracking every bone he could think to crack "would be very satisfied if you said no."

I'm beginning to notice a pattern where Taylor, just by talking, makes things about a hundred times more difficult for me. Fortunately, I haven't lost my ability to bullshit my way through a conversation.

"What I mean is, I don't know if I'll be so helpful if this big fella," I jab my thumb towards the brute "is gonna be twisting my arm the whole time. I'd be much more productive if I was provided some compensation for my assistance."

The guy reveals more of his crooked, broken teeth, "always the pretty ones with nothing going on up in their head. Look, my boy, perhaps you don't understand what's going on here, granted you sound pretty new to this station. But what you need to know is, even if I did feel like being all friendly with you, Mr. Delaney wouldn't approve of me going easy on you."

"Delaney?" I flip through my memory trying to think if that name should have any significance.

"Yes indeed lad, see Mr. Delaney has been hunting down our dear Mr. Mabi for weeks now. So while I'm willing to play around and put up with the whole ignorance act, Mr. Delaney's not as patient... and nowhere near as gentle as my partner, here."

Fucking great, it just figures the guy I'm looking for is being hunted all over the city. He hasn't been found yet, and since he's clever enough to escape this Delaney guy and his goons, it strengthens my confidence in his ability to fake a permit (though of course this also means it's going to be a pain in the ass finding him, but for now, let's focus on the guys with the big fists and the small gun). Now how do I get out of this shit show?... Well, he thinks I'm pretty, might as well test if that though goes beyond aesthetic appreciation.

"True, gentle is nice, but I won't deny that every now and again, I don't mind if things get a little rough. It's good to know that there's a man with a firm grip on things. Someone strong and sturdy to keep everyone in line. This Delaney guy must be really powerful, to make tough guys like you heed his beck and call," I carefully push the pistol away from my body and brush my fingers along his stomach and crotch, "I mean, the authority he has... must be intoxicating. I bet you'd like to know what it feels like. To have that power over someone. To just take someone in your hand, pull them around in whatever way you please. Push them down, bend them, break the to your satisfaction. I bet you'd love to do that right now."

The smiley bastard cocks and eyebrow, then widens that disgusting, smarmy grin and says "isn't that sweet? Pretty boy's offering us a shag. Lovely as that sounds, we have a job to do and you're going to have to offer more than a rosy fuck to butter us up. Ain't that-... You fucking ape! Are bloody stiff right now?"

I flick my eyes over to the huge brute who, on top of having a large pole pushing through his trousers, has his mouth open to his chest with a bit of drool leaking out (poor bastard short-circuited at the thought of pounding me).

The smiley bastard turns his back to me whining, "unbe-fucking-lievable. From the time I wake to the time I go to bed, I'm making calls, looking up addresses, and dragging my arse all over the bloody first ward trying to find a damn ghost with no help from this damn wanker I'm paired with. Then, the first half-decent tip we get in a week is in our hands and the bloody gorilla gets boned up because our lead is a slag. I tell you, if I wasn't getting paid a queen's bloody ransom I'd... "he trails off into irate mumbling.

A gun toting bastard with his back to me and a giant dumb bruiser too horned up to think. Well Luck provided the opportunity, it'd be rude not to take it. I step forward to give my leg more room to gain momentum. My foot swings up and makes direct contact with his balls.

The smiley bastard lets out a sound that's a cross between a dying dog, a dying cat, and pig that got shot the moment it reached climax (the description makes no sense to me either, but it's the most accurate analogy I could think of). He falls to his knees cradling his now cracked cadburry eggs. I bring my leg back to the ground, sprint up and jump onto his back like a spring board, putting a good two meters between me and the goons. I've got to think fast. Going down the street gives me options, but I don't know the city and they do. I could run through the pub; the panicking people will provide a distraction and some cover if they start shooting (I don't want innocent bystanders to get hurt, I'm just saying, if the options are them or me, I'd rather be sending flowers than growing them).

Unfortunately, Luck is a very fickle bitch, and they decide at the last second to take their anger out on me. I glance over my shoulder and see mongo wasn't quite as stunned as I had hoped. He recovers in a second and with speed I wouldn't have expected from someone that big, he grabs the smiley bastard by his coat and hurls him at me. The guy screams as he flies through the air and only just manages to catch on the back of my legs. I stumble, almost falling flat on my face, but I'm able to steady myself by banging against the wall. This slows me down enough that the brute is able to rugby tackle me, I wheeze as his weight crushes all the air out of me. I try to scratch my way out from under him, but he uses one hand to shove me down, and it feels like he's gonna break my spine with how hard he's pressing. The bruiser uses his other arm to put me in a choke-hold, covering my entire body with his. It's like having a blanket of lead on top of me, if the blanket was grinding its boner along my ass. He snarls and I shiver when he licks the back of my ear. This would be kind of hot if I wasn't in the immediate danger of getting shot.

Taylor beeps me, cheerfully asking "would now be an appropriate time to contact the authorities, Captain?"

"No!" I grunt, straining to breathe from the tree trunk of an arm pressing on my throat.

"No?" the smiley guy growls.

He shuffles forward, one hand cupping his balls while the other holds the gun. I try harder to slip out of the big guy's grasp. I can feel the Stardust in my bag jab into my back as I squirm beneath this absolute brick shit house of a man (go to say, it's amazing how something so small and light can effortlessly withstand being roughed up like it is. Expect nothing but top design from Starborn, I guess). The smiley bastard kneels down next to my head, caressing my cheek with the barrel pointing straight at my head this time.

He sighs "It's always the pretty ones... that think they can get away with being downright nasty, just because they've a rosy face and a bonny arse," he uses the gun to brush my hair a bit "but in this city, lads like you will learn quick, that having a pretty face won't protect you if your rude to the wrong people."

He widens his ugly smile and circles the barrel around my head, probably trying to decide which angle would be most painful for me. He teases me for a minute but then something catches his attention in his periphery. He turns his head towards the alley entrance just in time to catch a beer bottle right in his gnarled smile.

There's a sickening crack from the bottle breaking- or his teeth shattering- or maybe a gruesome blend of both. He flips backwards and the gun clatters to the ground in front of me. Mongo takes a second to realize what just happened, but when it hits him, he release me and pushes himself off the ground. Too bad for him, the guy hits- well kicks- him quicker than he can stand. Right in his jaw. And since he's jumping up, the kick throws him off balance and he lands right on top of the smiley bastard who's clutching his mouth and howling like a sick dog (the snap I hear when the bruiser falls is definitely bone, and judging by the squeaky moan, it wasn't one of his).

The bruiser stands up quick but the woman- I can now see it's a woman- jumps over me and punches the guy right in his cheek. Unlike her first strike, this punch only causes the man to move his head slightly. He growls and pulls his hand back for his own hit, but this lady isn't wasting any time. She clocks him three more times in the face before he can throw his first punch. His fist flies at her like a bullet, but she ducks under it and jabs him twice in the stomach. The woman's like a goddamn jackrabbit. The brute keeps swinging, but she ducks and sidesteps each blow, peppering him all over with her own strikes (though they might as well be finger pokes for how he's reacting to them). He hasn't hit her yet, but she's going down if he gets her even once with that wrecking ball fist.

Luckily there's a way to even the playing field in our favor. I almost forgot about the gun the smiley asshole dropped. I flip over and grab the pistol. Standing up, I aim it right at mongo's chest. He immediately backs up, putting his hands up.

Normally in this situation, I'd say something clever or witty, but then normally, the person who's supposedly here to help me doesn't kick the gun out of my hand and back kick me into a wall. I slide onto the ground, not because it was that hard a kick, but cause it caught me off guard and I didn't account on being attacked by my rescuer.

The bruiser uses the opportunity to grab her by the waist and throw her back into the fence. She clangs against the metal and thuds to the ground. The brute then lumbers towards the gun, winded from the woman's barrage and his own overexertion. I scramble towards him and do a sort of leaping kick right into his shin. I fall on my side as I watch him topple to the ground clutching his leg and roaring. I don't think I did any permanent damage, but it still must hurt like a motherfucker.

I snatch the gun and I start booking it away from this absolute cluster fuck of goons. I'm only a few meters away when my arm's yanked backwards. I spin around and there's the woman, trying to pull the pistol from me. She pulls against it pretty hard (maybe those hits on the big guy were doing something), but I refuse to let go. We scuffle around the alley in a tug-of-war with a very shitty rope. She tries kicking me a few times, but I'm ready for her so I easily jump out of the way, but the kicks I return don't do me any good since she's still damn fast.

We keep with this back and forth for a minute until- I'm not sure if she sees it first and I follow her glance or vice-versa- we see the bruiser charging at us; both hands out, ready to slam the two of us down. The woman and I look at each other, and in less than a second we silently negotiate a truce. Simultaneously we both drop the gun and leap backwards just as the bruiser reaches us. The gun clacks to the pavement, his foot slams on it and he slips. The gun skids behind him and he barrels straight into a large metal trash bin. His head makes a dull clunk, but he straightens up and turns towards us. He staggers for a second then crashes down on his face. There's a massive dent in the bin where his head hit. The woman and I exhale, relieved that he's down cause it was unlikely we could've taken him down even if we worked together. But luck (and mongo's own stupidity) were kind enough to take him out.

We look at each other and both agree the truce has ended. We turn to dash towards the gun, only to see it pointed at us.

"Well now my loves, we've all had our fun" the smiley bastard says while wiping blood from his mouth; it's such a mess, I can't tell if the cuts are around or inside his mouth.

He laughs, "play time's over. Now, I think it's time for you two, to make up for all the trouble you've caused."

He scratches his chin, "ah, but who to start with? Pretty boy was quite rude to me, but then you, lass, were very mean to my partner over there."

He hums to himself, "who to choose? Who to choose?" and walks back and forth between the walls of the alley, taunting us with the power his damn gun gives him.

But that confidence can be used against him, because when you're certain everything's going right for you, you become blind to everything that can fuck you over. And I'm immediately proven right when he starts chortling and puts his free hand over his eyes, giving the woman the perfect chance to pick up another bottle from the ground and chuck it at his head.

The bottle shatters against his jaw. He drops the gun to clutch his broken mandible while she dives for the pistol. She slides on the filthy ground and scoops it up before smiley can even start bending down. She grasps the weapon firmly in her hands, aims and shoots, sending an angry bolt of plasma straight into his thigh. He yowls like a dog and collapses to the ground, cradling his leg. The plasma burned through the trouser and brands the poor bastard with a nasty wound. It looks like it took off a centimeter or two of flesh and is about the size of a doughnut; it the color of a raw, bloody steak with blood and fluids oozing out until the smoking heat dries it up.

I turn to run, but she aims at me shouting, "don't fucking move!"

I freeze. There's not much I can do since she has the gun, and unlike tweedle-dum and tweedle-dipshit, she probably won't fall for any smooth talk. I watch her march up to me, getting a clearer look at her. She has the average height for a human woman, and she has short cropped blonde hair, and very clear muscle definition. The smiley bastard's screaming lowers into pathetic sobbing and incoherent cursing (most I can make out is that she's a stupid cunt' and I'm a bloody poofter').

She grabs me by the shoulder and says "move!"

"Look lady, I'm new to town so if I got mixed up in some fucking turf war bullshit, I swear it was by accident."

She squeezes my shoulder harder "I said move. So shut your bloody mouth and move."

She pushes me forward and pokes the gun into my ass for added motivation (I've taken a lot of things up my ass, but I don't think plasma will go in smoothly). We walk out of the alley, not bothering to check on the concussed brute or his whimpering partner.

We get to the front of the pub where a waitress and a gray car is waiting, and the waitress asks "how much of a mess did you make back there pet? Are we going to need to call someone to clean it up?"

The woman with the gun (I guess she's my kidnapper now) peers around me and answers "you may have to order a new rubbish bin, but everything else should clean itself up."

The waitress nods approvingly, "well you better get a move on love. Sooner or later someone in the pub will get nervous enough to phone the police-oh! Almost forgot" she hands me a paper bag "I packed your leftovers. Just heat them up if you're feeling peckish. And there's a slice of cake in there too. Chocolate fudge, just to make up for any trouble, flower."

You'd think she was sending me on the school bus and not in a car with my kidnapper. No, all she does is give me a friendly little wave while the armed street boxer shoves me into the driver's seat (wait- my mistake. The British have it reversed). The doors lock and there's no way for me to get out. I try to shift the gears but they won't budge. Right- the key is on the outside with her. She wouldn't be stupid enough to leave it here with me (those creeps in the alley, probably would've but it's not like I can hitch a ride with them at this point). I watch the waitress and my kidnapper talk, straining to their muffled conversation through the window.

There's a beep in my ear and Taylor asks "Captain, would now be an appropriate time to contact the authorities for assistance?"

I groan and answer, "again, no Taylor. How long will it take you to get that when things turn bad, you don't bring in the fucking cops?"

"But, Captain, you appear to be in severe danger. It is the job of law enforcement to protect the general population and uphold the law. It would be prudent to contact them as soon as possible."

I roll my eyes and start rummaging through the glove box to see if there's something I can use as a weapon, "Taylor, the police don't protect people- scratch that- the police don't protect most people. If you're rich, then yeah, you get premium services, but try living just one income bracket below upper middle class and see how helpful the cops are then."

Taylor pushes, "but it is the duty of law enforcement to protect citizens regardless of their wealth or status. They are trained to enforce the law and keep the peace. Are not police, the most effective way to combat crime?"

Shit. There's nothing in the glove box except the car manual and maps to each of the station's wards. I shut it and start digging around in the console. There's a flashlight but it's not big enough for me to knock her out with.

"Captain?" Taylor asks.

"A little busy, Taylor" I say while pulling out energy bars and decrepit ticket stubs.

"But is it not the duty of law enforcement to deter criminal activity?"

"Taylor, the only way cops deter crime is that everyone's too scared of getting their goddamn head blown off by a trigger-happy pig. And that's only some people. There are guys who the cops are afraid of who can burn down a fucking orphanage and the cops won't even move to stop them."

"Surely you are exaggerating, Captain."

I'm so fed up with this goddamn machine algorithm, that I have to stop searching just to argue with this little shit, "I swear I once saw a hit-man hover around a guy in a park for an hour. He waited for the one cop stationed there to duck into a coffee shop. Shot the guy the second the cop closed the door, then walked away like he was on an afternoon stroll."

"It is improbable that the officer did not hear the gun shot, and even if he did not, surely one of the park visitors who witnessed the murder would have informed him of the crime, correct?"

I snicker "yeah, but he was already online for his caramel latte, so they had to wait for a regular patrol car?"

"This story seems highly fabricated. Meaning no offense, Captain, but I suspect you are attempting to tease me with a falsehood," he says.

"I swear I'm not bullshitting, Taylor" well that's a lie. I did omit a few details (namely that the cop spent ten minutes on the toilet before getting on line).

"Regardless of this isolated incident, would it not be preferable to have some outside assistance with you current circumstance, Captain?" Fucking hell! Did the guy who designed this thing have an irritation kink or something? He never lets up.

"Okay, let me make something very clear to you. I-" I'm yanked by my ear towards the driver seat. The last thing I hear Taylor say is "Captain-" before my earpiece is pulled out. I'm let go and I watch my kidnapper shut off the earpiece and toss it to the back of the car.

Before I can say a word, she shoves the pistol in my face and says "shut up and strap in!"

Naturally, I do what she says (I mean she has a weapon). Fuck, I'm really starting to regret not bringing my gun with me, but it would've made getting through security a pain in the ass. This was supposed to be a day trip. Find Ric Mabi, get a work permit for Dagdah, and get the fuck off this station. Instead I get stuck in some gang-war crap, and now I'm probably being brought to some damp, rusty warehouse filled with power tools made for my displeasure.

She books it from the pub and makes very sharp turns at almost every intersection (I swear we must have made a circle at least twice).

"Who are you?!" she demands.

My stomach lurches when she makes another abrupt turn, but I manage to answer, "Jack."

"Jack, what?"

"Beaucul."

"When did you get on the station?" she asks, narrowly swerving around a bus.

"I thought you wanted me to shut up?"

She lifts the gun towards me, "I will shoot you if you don't answer."

"Okay, I was joking!" I shout, part in fear and part in surprise because she almost hits an old couple crossing the street, "I got here this morning. My bag still has a security tag on it. You'll see it's for like ten or eleven or something."

She starts slowing down, driving at the speed of a rude asshole rather than a maniac. She stops making random turns and seems more intent on reaching a specific destination instead of losing a possible tail.

"Who sent you?" she asks.

"Who sent me?"

She sucks her teeth, "yes, who sent you? That scene in the alley, makes it doubtful you're working with the Kings."

"Wait, I though those guys were working for some guy called Delaney- that's who those bastards said their boss is."

"Same thing. The Delaney's run the kings," she explains, "and since you're not with them, it means you're with someone else. So who is it?"

I hesitate, because how do I explain that a convent sent me here without sounding like I'm spewing bullshit (okay, they didn't technically send me here, but I need to be here to get where they want me), "I came on my own. I needed something from a guy, so I came here."

"What do you need and who do you expect to get it from- remember I can still blast you" she shakes the gun.

"I didn't forget. And... I need a work permit from a guy called Ric Mabi. I have no idea where he is and it seems no one else on this goddamn station does either. Is that what you want to know? If you want him, you're not getting it from me. I'm not being tough, I legitimately don't know where he is."

She peers at me through the corner of her eye, trying to figure out if I'm bullshitting, "how'd you hear about him?"

"Benny. My fixer."

"A Runner?!"

"Yeah."

She nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer, "alright. I'll believe you... for now. And if you're not taking the piss, you may just live to see tomorrow."

"Wow, I'm truly blessed, aren't I?" I sneer.

"Aye, and if you want to keep being blessed, you'll be kind enough to tell me who-"

A siren screams behind us, and blue and white lights flash rapidly in the rear-view mirror. The woman quietly swears and pulls the car over to the side of the road. It's weird that they chose to pull us over when we're barely going a kilometer over the speed limit and not when we were having near misses with lampposts and baby strollers.

She turns to me, "just keep quiet and let me deal with this."

She drops the gun on the floor as two officers step out of the patrol car; one goes to the driver's side and the other stands by my window. For some reason, I have the dreadful suspicion this won't be a normal car stop.

The woman rolls down the window and says, "afternoon sir. Is there any trouble?"

He stares her down for a minute, attempting to come off as intimidating though really it just comes off as awkward and try-hard.

He leans in and says, "we got a report of an armed kidnapping. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

"Um... no sir. We were just driving back from dinner," I hold up the bag of food to show she isn't lying (well, technically she isn't lying. Indeed I ate some food and that other ate a big helping of glass and plasma).

"Interesting.. Interesting," he tickles the stun baton at his hip, "cause the report said the perpetrator was leaving a pub. Funnily enough, in a car matching the description of this one. Funny isn't it?"

I can tell she wants to release a deluge of curses from her mouth, but she manages to channel her frustration onto the wheel which starts squeaking under her grip.

The cop leans in further (careful pal, she looks ready to bite your nose off) and points to the floor, "do you have a permit to carry that weapon?"

A growl reverberates in the back of her throat. Can't believe she forgot she had a stolen gun with her (can't believe I forgot she had it. I could've ratted her out and been on my way, but no. I had to pretend I'm all buddy-buddy with her). He motions for her to step out of the car, then makes her put her hands on the car roof while he takes the gun from the floor and slams the door shut.

The other cop walks around and they both start grilling her. Seeing that they're busy with her, I take the opportunity to reach to the backseat floor and pick up my earpiece. I switch it on and ask Taylor what's going on, on his end.

"Taylor, are you there?"

"Yes Captain."

"Is the Etoile okay? No one broke in or anything, right?" Did you think I was worried about Taylor? Hell no! I'd be fucking celebrating if someone took him out.

"No Captain, no one has even approached the Etoile since you left. I do hope the aggressors have been properly handled."

"Yeah, not exactly," I say, "one of those `aggressors' took me hostage but I think she might know something about Ric Mabi, and at the very least she isn't with those other bastards. But the cops pulled us over- for kidnapping for fuck's sake- I don't know who even told them about the car. Maybe they work for the Delaney guy and their just yanking us around for a bit of fun... I don't know."

"But Captain, you are the kidnapping victim, surely the police are here to aid you."

I sigh, "I keep telling you, cops never help with shit. They only make things-" no he fucking didn't!

"Taylor... did you call the cops?"

He doesn't respond and I ask again, anger simmering in voice, "Taylor... did you?"

"Well Captain, you directed me to only contact the authorities if the situation was dire enough, and you were unable to contact me. Our communication was cut off abruptly and I had no method of determining your safety, so give the previously set parameters, I called the police when you became unresponsive for sixty seconds."

I thought I'd be calm when he told me. I mean I already figured out what he'd done, so this is just verbal confirmation of what I already knew. But I'm not calm.

"YOU STUPID FUCKING ARTIFICIAL BASTARD!" I scream "I SWEAR I'M GOING TO-" I'm interrupted by a knock at the window.

I look out and see the other cop motioning for me to step out (not the smartest thing for me to do; go on an angry tirade in front of a cop. But Taylor has done nothing but be the fucking worst). I open the door and he pulls me out of the door and slams me against the car. I see my kidnapper is cuffed to the door of the police car while the first cop interrogates her. Most of his questions are along the lines of `so what do you think you were doing, huh?' A very imaginative form of intimidation that is wearing her down, in the sense that she looks like she's nodding off from boredom.

The cop who pulled me out gets right in my face and takes up my whole view. His face is broad and pinkish like a pig, his thin pale lips curl into an ugly sneer.

"You seem real angry there, friend. Upset that we caught you committing a crime?"

I crinkle my nose because his breath smells like coffee that's been left out for a week and respond "and what the hell would that be? Driving in the same car with a lady, unchaperoned? Goodness, alert the Telegraph."

"Think that's funny do you?" he lets out an obnoxious puffy laugh, "well I know your lot. A bunch of no good trouble makers, disturbing, the peace and what not. You think you can get away with it until someone finally calls us on you pricks, and we catch you with drugs or something. Then we do more digging and lots of more things turn up. I've got a nose for the stink of your shite. Runs in the family, my cousin has it too. She writes for the telegraph you know?" he gets all smug like he told me he's screwing the queen.

"Yep, I bet she's a regular Ida B. Wells."

He looks confused and steps back, then his face darkens from porkish pink to tomato red. He puffs out his massive chest and slams his hands on the roof of the car, trapping me between his giant arms, bursting with veins.

"Think you're funny, huh?" he growls, "well don't you get funny with me. The last guy to get funny with me got a broken arm and is now taking it the arse in prison. So he's sure as shite not acting funny anymore," he leans in and huffs his rancid breath in my face, "so you better not be funny with me."

Oh, I see. He's one of those cops. The kind that's boring and has absolutely no personality so he spends all his off hours at the gym building muscle. If he's jacked and big, who'll care if he's as dull as static. And he's not bright at all so he acts tough and starts getting physical when someone gets smart, because he knows he can't beat anyone intellectually; might as well beat them literally. Law enforcement and military are lousy with these types; high paying jobs that require the bare minimum of education, and come with instant societal respect and prestige. The perfect career for an insecure, dull, petty moron. I don't mean that everyone in the army or police are boring, violent, idiots (my dad went to West Point and he's probably the smartest person I know) but those jobs do seem to attract that particular demographic of douche-bag.

I look back into his red, hog-like face, smirking as I tell him "oh no sir, I won't be funny at all. I promise... unless we're headed to the forum, in which case I can't guarantee what will happen on the way there."

I can tell from his expression that my joke went so far over his head, it hit the glass ceiling keeping in the atmosphere. He starts boiling knowing he's to dumb to understand the joke, but in his defense most people probably wouldn't get it (hey, I take dick up the ass, I'm culturally obligated to know an abnormal amount of musical theater trivia). But this kind of guy, when he doesn't get something, he takes it as a threat, and that threat needs to be pummeled to the ground.

He presses his nose right to mine, "you know, I bet a faggot like you would actually love getting raped up the arse, wouldn't you? I bet you dream about fellas shoving their dicks into you. Well, why don't you confess and we'll make your dreams come true, fag."

I don't even try to hide my eye roll. Every time these ignorant assholes' egos get bruised, their immediate response is to be as boringly homophobic as they can be (at least the Catholic church commissions interesting artwork of queer people being tortured in hell). I wouldn't need to Run if I had a DIC for every time I get called a faggot. Hell, most of the times I was called fag, I was in a swing in a leather bar. I mean, if you're trying to insult us with a slur we started using during sex, maybe its time to update the lexicon.

He huffs and grabs me by the arm, pulling me to the front of the car, "Alright then," he says "I think it's time we do a proper search. Strip down."

"Really?" I can't believe I'm doing this old song and dance again.

"What did he say, Captain?!" Taylor cries into my ear (fuck, I wish he'd lower the volume when he shouts).

The cop smiles evilly, "yes, for me and my partner's safety, I think it's necessary to make sure you don't have any concealed weapons that could harm us."

Taylor says, "but Captain, you are the victim in this situation. I made it very clear that a woman matching the description of your abductor was taking a man of your description hostage. Why would they have reason to suspect you as a criminal?!"

I shrug, both to Taylor and the cop. It's not the first time a cop made me do this, and if he thinks this embarrasses me, then he clearly hasn't been paying attention. My flight suit is pretty good for physical dexterity, has a decent enough temperature regulation for varying weather, and its durable enough to withstand water, fire, and abrasions- for modesty, it does little more than hide my skin. If I wear this every day, what makes him think I'll be ashamed of nudity (and have you seen me naked. It's a fucking blessing to see me in the buff).

I slip off my boots and unzip my suit. As I take it off, I notice a delivery guy on a bicycle crash into some garbage cans while gawking at me (not the first time I've caused an accident). I put my hands on my hips, waiting for his next pathetic attempt to shame me.

His face contorts in rage, either because he realizes I just don't give a shit if people see me nude, or maybe he's jealous of how fucking good I look (another reason guys like him get super jacked; they usually don't win the lottery in the looks department, but they think if they gain enough muscle, they'll reach an acceptable level of attractiveness. Sure, some idiots do fall for the biceps the size of watermelons, but most can tell when a guy gets jacked cause his face looks like a goddamn pug, they're dumb as a Floridian with brain damage, and they've the personality of someone who only watched Christian children's shows their whole life).

"Y-... you like that you bloody poofter? Love showing everyone what a fag you are?"

Flit. Queer. Dick-licker. Cock-sucker. Pansy-fairy cum-dump! Come on, man. Something besides poofter and faggot; if you're going to be a bigot at least be creative.

"Captain" Taylor says, "it is illegal for him to treat you in such a manner!"

"Ugh, will you just shut up so I can get this over with in peace?"

"You want me to shut up, do you?" Oh right, forgot he's right here, "well I think your aggressive behavior warrants a more thorough search. Turn around and put your hands on the hood of the car."

"God-fucking-damn it, Taylor," I mutter under my breath.

I'm beginning to think whoever put that damn AI in my ship, was trying to get rid of the infuriating thing. I do as I'm told, put my hands on the hood and present my ass to him. I hear a crash, and I glance over my shoulder and see the exact same delivery guy collapsed on a couple of trash cans, twenty feet past the first ones he knocked over.

The cop steps up and laughs, "I bet that's a pretty common position for you."

He snaps a rubber glove onto his hand and says, "now let's check to make sure you're not hiding anything inappropriate up there."

He grabs my cheeks with both hands- well it feels like he slapped them very hard, trying to hurt me. He pulls my ass cheeks apart, stretching enough that it feels like the skin is starting to tear. I hear him snicker as he stares right into my hole. Guys like him, love to look at other guys' assholes; to them it's a man's weak spot and as soon as you penetrate it, you've conquered that man (and if he wants to claim as me as a conquest cause he stuck his dick in me one time, then he better get in the fucking line).

He jams a gloved finger into me. I gasp and grit my teeth which makes him laugh harder. Didn't hurt that much, even though the bastard didn't use lube or anything, it just caught me by surprise. He pistons it in and out a few times, not even attempting to put up the pretense that this is a cavity search. I don't know why, but every time a guy wants to prove how powerful and masculine they are, they just end up sucking at sex. This cop is finger fucking me like he's winning a thousand DICs with every thrust, but it's so bad. No that it hurts, it's just so bad. He keeps missing my prostate and he's keeping his finger completely straight, not even attempting to move around my rectum or stimulate me in any way. This is fucking awful. I peek around the car to see what the other cop is doing with my abductor.

He put her in the backseat and he's standing outside the car while interrogating her. I don't think they even notice I'm getting fingered. He's too busy asking the same stupid questions and she's too busy shouting at him to `fuck off'. I'm literally having sex in the middle of the street and this guy is too dense to notice, or his partner has done this often enough that he's ignoring it, either way, a great example of integrity among law enforcement (I have no idea where people get the crazy idea that cops are scum).

"Captain! Captain! This should not be happening! This is a gross abuse of power!"

I whisper, "actually this isn't that abusive... most cops just start fucking you. They aren't polite enough to prep you first. But then again, it'll probably take longer now. I kind of prefer them to just pump and dump so I can get on with my day."

"You mean he intends to have anal intercourse with you. But his language greatly indicates that his repulsed by homosexual acts!"

I groan softly when he accidentally grazes my prostate, though he immediately goes back to his uninspired fingering, "Taylor, it doesn't matter if a guy seems homophobic, at the end of the day, all a guy wants is to blow his load into an ass or a mouth, doesn't matter if it's attached to a guy, a girl, someone in between or outside. An ass is an ass."

Taylor says, "but Captain, surely you are opposed to being taken advantage of in such a degrading manner?"

"What?! Haha!" I laugh and the cop pulls his finger out all the way and roughly shoves three fingers inside which does hurt. I hiss and look at him over my shoulder; the bastard grins to let me know he meant it to hurt. I wasn't even laughing at the asshole (if anything, I want to cry out pity for how utterly pathetic his bedroom skills are).

I lower my voice and continue speaking to Taylor "you say it like I'm a goddamn damsel in distress or something. If the options are getting the shit kicked out of me and arrested or taking some pig dick, I'd rather be porked."

"But Captain, surely this officer would not attempt to sodomize you in public view, it would make him liable for indecent-"

The cop pulls his finger out of my sore ass and shoves me down on the car's hood "couldn't find anything... yet. Given how big of a poofter you are, I suspect that I may have to probe a lot deeper. Lucky for you, I have the perfect search tool," he snaps off the glove and unzips his trousers.

I personally don't think an extra centimeter in length will find anything, but whatever, I'm just happy to get this over with. Every time this happens with a cop, it seems like they all do these fake threats and intimidation routines; no negotiation or flirting, just a big show of force before they pump into you. I'm half-tempted to just start pulling down my pants before they can finish their shtick. Just cut the crap, get your thirty seconds of heaven and let me move the fuck on.

"You might have some trouble sitting for a few weeks, so get ready for that" he says (I'll be shocked if I don't fall asleep while you're in me you limp-dicked bastard).

Another quick beep sounds in my ear, "pardon me Captain. I will be silent for a few moments as I need to concentrate. Excuse me."

Perfect! I won't have to listen to Taylor for a whole minute while Sergeant Shit-lick gets his rocks off (and when he's done, I'll have forty-five seconds all to myself).

He lines up his dick to my hole and the instant he presses forward, sirens start blaring all over the block. Hell, probably the whole city! I can hear deafening horns overlapping each other and reverberating off building for what must be miles.

"Shit!" the cop says. He quickly pulls up his pants, jangling the buckle back into place.

The other cop comes running, crashes into his partner, almost sending them both to the ground.

"Fuck mate, watch it!" the bastard says.

"The alarm's going off! Do you hear it?!" the other cop splutters.

"Of course I fucking heard it, you daft prick! Get in the fucking car and call dispatch!" he yells over the screaming sirens.

"But what about the girl in the car, or him?" he points to me, not even looking surprised that I'm naked and sticking my ass out.

"Oh for-" he growls and dashes over to the police car, yanks the woman out of the back seat and digs around in her pocket until he finds what he's looking for, then unceremoniously tosses her on the road.

"Got the keys, we can come back for the car later!" he shouts, waving his partner over.

The guy who was interrogating her asks, "but what about those two? We can't just leave them here" he says this while stepping over her, "the sergeant is going to be pissed if we just let them go!"

"He'll be pissed if we don't respond to a bloody bomb threat you dumb twat-head! We've got the keys and the gun, they can't do bloody much, can they?"

The one cop climbs in the passenger's seat. I can't hear their argument anymore, but I can see him make another feeble protest and his pig of partner respond with angry gesticulations. The patrol car's thrusts go into overdrive and they zoom upwards to one of the sky-ways, heading towards where ever they need to be.

Once they're out of site, the woman jumps off the street and dashes towards me.

"Alright, listen. We've got some time thanks to that alarm. I'm going to go fetch something, you stay put and-" she looks me up and down and wrinkles her nose like she smells something sour "put some bloody clothes on."

She races down the road before I can say another word. I look around making sure it's okay to dress and that no one nosy will ask any questions, but the street is disturbingly empty; even the bike of that delivery guy is just lying in the middle of the road (guess he stayed to watch the show until the alarm went off and his entertainment was cut short).

I put my leg through my suit and hear a beep in my ear again, "hello Captain, I am now available for open communication," alas the best things in life are fleeting.

I sigh, "hi Taylor. What do you want?"

"I merely want to assess if your safety and comfort are at an acceptable level Captain. I hope your answer will be in the affirmative."

I pull my suit up my legs and tuck in the goods while I explain "as long as that alarm is sounding off for something far away from me, I'll be fucking peachy."

"That is Shepard III's station breach emergency alarm system. It is used when there is a threat to the atmospheric pressure and atmospheric integrity of one or more of the station's arms or the command center."

I freeze with my halfway in the sleeve, "I beg your fucking pardon?"

He cheerfully informs me, "these specific alarms sound when a natural or man-made threat to the pressurized integrity of the station occurs. In this case, it is a response to a bomb threat to the first ward. If the threat were legitimate, it could result in the depressurization of the first ward and the deaths of thousands, as this section of the city would be exposed to the vacuum of space."

My brain shuts down. Just for a second. And everything around me feels not quite right, like when the audio and video are of sync by a half second and everything just feels off kilter. That's what it feels like. When you're a runner, death is basically holding onto you're sleeve to keep up with you. If I'm getting shot at, or the Etoile's dodging through an asteroid field; that's shit I get myself into, so I can presumably get myself out. Something like this, a situation where I have no autonomy, and no chance of affecting what happens is more than a little unnerving.

"Captain" Taylor says, his voice a little slower in my head "you are alright now, is that correct?"

"Huh?"

"You are in a state of comfort and security, are you not?"

I shake myself back into focus, "no, not really Taylor. If anything, things have gotten progressively worse" (just to recap, for anyone who wasn't paying attention: I had to buy a brat lunch and watch her eat it in the most revolting way possible, I ran around the city for six hours looking for one guy, I was starving and had my meal interrupted by two goons looking for the same guy I was, I was held hostage by the person I thought was there to rescue me, we got pulled over by two moron cops, one of whom I almost had to fuck, and now there's a possibility that the entire ward is going to have a hole blown through it, resulting in my death... and everyone else in the ward, obviously).

"But Captain, that officer is no longer abusing you and grossly misusing his authority. Is this not a positive development?"

"Are you glitching or something, Taylor?! Yeah, that was was annoying, but I'd rather be scraping cop cum out of my ass than suffocate in the vacuum of space!" I yell.

"That should not be a concern Captain. The bomb threat is not real."

I want to punch him so badly. I don't care if he's non-sentient code. I really want to do it, but all I can do is angrily zip up my flight suit.

"Sorry Taylor, I didn't know the psycho bomber sent you a copy of his diary, and that you're privy to all his most personal thoughts, and-" I didn't really think of it before, because what would a bombing have to with me, but thinking about it, the alarm going off just before that cop would've stuck his cock in me, was very convenient, "Taylor... did you... make that bomb threat?"

"Yes Captain, I created a false manifesto and encrypted the origin of the message, claiming a high power explosive would detonate in thirty minutes at an inter-ward terminal. I apologize for going silent I had to concentrate on studying academic papers and psychological evaluations that have been conducted on high profile terrorists. I wanted my manifesto to appear as convincing as possible. It appears to have paid off."

"You faked a bomb threat, so I wouldn't have to fuck a cop?"

"As I always state Captain, you're safety and well-being are my top priority. And no one was harmed by my actions."

"You're right. Apart from the city being thrown into chaos and the lasting psychological scars brought on by the looming threat of terrorism; victimless crime."

I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he- it gets scarier and scarier with time. I mean, if it can do this much damage in a few minutes without trying to harms anyone, I'd hate to see what it cooks up when it does try.

"Perhaps I was a bit drastic in my decision, but I assure you, a large scale emergency was the only method to get the officers away from you. I believe I was very effective in getting rid of them."

"Yes, you were Taylor," I just know he'd be grinning smugly if he had a mouth, "but you're also the reason I had to deal with them at all."

"That assessment is... correct, Captain" he says.

I sit on the hood of the car, taking in how empty the street is. It wasn't that busy before hand, but there's not a soul nor sound apart from the sirens.

"Next time I tell you the police are no fucking help, maybe try listening."

"I will be certain to take this into consideration the next time a similar situation arises, Captain."

I laugh while I pull on my boots, "yeah, I'm sure there will be plenty of times I'll be rescued by someone who then proceeds to take me hostage."

Speak of the devil, I watch as she rounds the corner, bolting like and Olympic racer. She appears from the opposite direction she left, presumably to shake any tails she might have had.

Over her shoulder is a plain backpack. She motions for me to follow her through the door of a small apartment building. We get inside the hall and she shuts the door, bracing it closed. With her free hand, she opens the bag and dumps a drab miner's outfit on the floor.

"Put that on-oh! And these too," she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pair of goggles and a gray cap.

I pick up the dusty uniform, holding up the sleeves which are about a foot longer than my arms and say "I usually prefer something more form fitting and coal dust gray isn't the most flattering color on me."

She rolls her eyes, "just pop it on, that flight suit will paint a bloody target on your back."

I unzip the baggy tarp and step in, saying "I don't see who'd be targeting me. I didn't see a soul on the street- which by the way- shouldn't the city be flooded with panicking people? Mother's clutching babies and all that?"

"Protocol for these alarms is for people to stay indoors, seal all entrances and use up the indoor oxygen until help can arrive," she peers up the stairwell making sure no one's spying on us.

"Does that work?"

"Course not," she says "unless you've paid for your flat to be space proof or you're lucky enough to find shelter in a company office or something. Really it's just so the visitors don't freak out."

I cuff the pant legs all the way past my knees (who was this made for?) and fasten the cloth belt tightly around my waist. I start cuffing the arms in the same way. I don't know how I'm supposed to look inconspicuous in this clown outfit. Then again, I remember walking all over town and everywhere my eyes looked, I saw gray suits and caps. Over a third of everyone around here are miners in uniform. Even this woman is wearing one, though she cut the sleeves off at the shoulder (I notice she isn't swimming in her miner outfit, but I suppose I can get it tailored later). Most people will just glance over us as another indistinct feature of the scenery and any miners will just assume we work in a different department than them.

A thought comes to me "so the locals just go along with this, even though they know it's bullshit? Wouldn't they be panicking or running for the nearest ship?"

"I mean, if there really was a breach, the chances of anyone surviving are basically none, but most of the alarms are false flags. Some anarchist revolutionary or troll claiming to represent the Kings, threatens to blow up the station, but they're just blowing hot air."

I hear a beep and Taylor says, "I used rhetoric consistent with anarchic anti-capitalist extremists to make it convincing."

She cracks open the door and peeks out, "but people stay inside to avoid actually getting killed."

I pause futzing around with the uniform, "what do you mean?"

"Not that bright for a Runner are you?"

"Fuck off," I say "there are plenty of Runners dumber than me."

"Don't be thick. Streets clear of tourists and all the cops racing off to where ever the bomb is supposed to go off. Now's the perfect time to kill a bloke if you were planning to do it and didn't want to get locked up."

"If that's the case, I'm surprised there isn't one of these every week."

"Nah," she says "the only people who could even pull off a thing like this without getting caught would be someone like the Kings, and the Delaney's are smart enough to wait for a few crazies to call in a scare before they use one. If they got too frequent, the police might actually convict them for something." She looks at me struggling to keep my sleeves rolled up and says "let me do it."

She pulls out some fastener pins from the bag and pins everything into place, "sorry about the fit. Couldn't borrow a spare with the lock down. Had to get one of Ric's I stashed a few blocks over."

This is Ric Mabi's uniform? And she stashed it for him, which should indicate she's a friend of his, hopefully (hey, I'm working on seven hours of getting nowhere. I'm desperate. So what if she tried to take me hostage? I'm at least starting to get somewhere).

"So you do know Ric Mabi?" She doesn't answer and keeps pinning the uniform, "hey, I asked you-"

"Put these on and follow," she shoves the cap and goggles towards my face, then walks out the door.

Taylor beeps me, "her avoidance of your question indicates the affirmative is true, Captain."

"Obviously," I snap.

I strap on the goggles and shove the hat on my head before following the woman. She's half way down the block and isn't even glancing back to make sure I'm keeping up; guess I'm just supposed to follow like a good dog. I run after her, but when I catch up she doesn't slow down her brisk pace and I have to jog a little to catch up.

"Hey! Fucking wait up a second!" I say, "you know Ric Mabi?"

"Keep your voice down" she grunts.

"Sorry."

"Why not just announce on the radio for Christ's sake?"

I lower my voice to a whisper, "you know him?"

"I just work for him- keep your eyes forward. Don't make it look like we're talking."

I straighten my gaze ahead, looking at her in the periphery to keep up with any sudden turns she makes. Like in the car, I'm certain we circled the same blocks a few times (I get the point of not wanting to be followed, but I'd still like to see Ric Mabi some time this week).

I probe a bit further, "are you a middle man then?"

"More like a bodyguard; Ric's smart but he's shit in a fight. You'd be pretty safe betting against him in an amateur boxing match. If any bloke needs to get tossed around, I do it for him."

"And the King's and Delaney- who are they? Mob?"

"The Mob, at least on the station; they run the whole criminal world here and the Delaney's are at the top."

"What did Ric do to get a whole mafia family on his case?"

"Not the whole family- at least I don't think. So far it's just Philip Delaney, the boss' son and lieutenant, though the longer he spends looking for Ric, the more the other family heads will catch wind and after that we won't have that easy of a time keeping out of trouble."

"What do they want Ric for? There must be dozens of forgers in the city they can use. Does he owe them money?"

She stifles a laugh, "I can barely get that miser to tip the delivery man. He's not dumb enough to owe anyone, especially not the Kings, a single DIC."

"Then why do they need him?"

She grabs my arm and pulls me through a narrow alley, that most would miss unless they knew it was there. We squeeze through some plastic bins that smell like they're halfway through the process of turning back into oil.

"What do they need him for?" I repeat.

"Can we talk about this later?" she says.

She bumps against a chain fence blocking the alley. She grabs one corner of the fence and folds it over, giving us a way through. Once on the other side, I let the fence go and it clangs back to its position."

"Be more quiet" she growls.

"Look, I've been searching for this guy all day. I'm tired, I'm hungry. I nearly get killed in an alley. And I get my ass probed by a cop who couldn't finger properly if his mother's life depended on it. So quit it with the secretive bitch routine and answer my goddamn questions."

"Call me a bitch again and I'll be bringing you to Ric hogtied in a dufflebag" she mutters while peering around a corner.

"Sorry" I say "but I want to know what shit I'm getting into and you're not giving me much. I don't even know what to call you."

"Valerie" she hisses.

"Thank you. Now, Valerie, can you stop being a cagey bitch and tell me what the fuck is going-"

Bang! A gun goes off. A ballistic from the sound and both of us crouch behind a parked car. We check ourselves first then look around for anyone or any sign of bullet damage. Nothing. It wasn't aimed at us, but it was still close. And neither of us have a weapon.

"You know what?" I say "we can probably talk later."

She rolls her eyes and begins running. I follow. We spend five minutes dashing across empty streets, crouching behind cars, and ducking into alleyways. I think she's having trouble getting us to where ever we're going. Every time we come across a window with the shades open, she stops and turns back to find a different route. I get that she doesn't want to be followed but this is bordering on paranoia. Maybe it's a good thing. I mean, if Ric Mabi is worth this much precaution, then he must be some kind of counterfeiting prodigy.

Valerie keeps running and ducking until she gets to one particular street sign reading `Sarah St.' She leans against the wall and takes some breaths. It's the first time she's shown any sign of being winded.

I walk up behind her, "you okay?"

She nods, "a little. Not really, but we're here and we haven't been followed, at least as far as I can tell."

She swallows a big gulp of air, lets it sit for a moment and then shoots it back out.

"Come on," she says "this way."

The walking pace she's going now is much slower than the half-sprints and jogs we were doing earlier. It doesn't look like she's tired, she's just trying to walk casually. The buildings here are much lower density than the main areas of the city. Nothing tops six stories and some of the homes are made from brick (some people think brick buildings in a space station looks tacky, but really there's no better place for them. With the station being climate controlled, there's no rain to cause erosion or water damage. Earthly aesthetics without the inconvenient, earthly climate). It's actually a bit peaceful walking down this area, if you ignore the constant sirens screaming about impending doom.

"There it is" Valerie says pointing across the street to a small brick building.

Four stories if you include the shop front. The shop is an ice-cream parlor reading Sarah St. Ice-Cream Parlor' (no points for creativity). One corner of the building has a door for entry to the apartments above, but the door's barred off and red-tape crossing over it reads closed for renovation'.

"If you were hungry, you should've gotten something at the diner" I say, then remember "Fuck! I left my food in the car."

"There'll be something for you to eat here," she says.

"I had maybe a few mouthfuls of protein since I got here-"

"Six mouthfuls including the semen you ingested this morning Captain," Taylor interrupts.

"-I'm going to need something a bit more substantial than a mint chip cone," I say through gritted teeth.

She gives me a quick grimace and says, "Mint chip? Really?"

"Oh, apologies for having good taste."

"Look just get inside and you'll get everything you need. Even terrible ice-cream flavors" she mutters then walks inside.

I follow Valerie through the frosted glass double doors, and enter into a very cold looking room. Yes, it's an ice-cream shop, obviously it's cold, but I mean the décor, everything from the booths to the stools is either a powdery or silvery blue. The walls are patterned like a blue candy cane and the floor is checkered in cloudy quartz tiles colored white and light blue. The lights shine on the floor in such a way that it actually resembles ice. The counter is a glittering blue marble and behind it, above all the soft serve machines is a large menu screen that reaches almost all the way from the entrance to the back of the shop. In the center of the room is a metallic pedestal with a holographic display. The hologram shows a shimmering image of Sundaes and specialty milkshakes, with the name of the specific concoction rotating around the picture. Every ten seconds or so, the image changes to the mext item on the menu, switching from a Bake-sale Sundae' to a Strawberry Cheese-shake'.

It makes me a bit nostalgic. I remember going to ice-cream parlors kind of like this all throughout high school. It was just a chill place to hang out, filled with teens from other school. Maybe a few families and horny college kids trying to act sweet and innocent before pitching their date the idea of getting it on in their dorm room. I'd go there every night after a hockey game, and all night I'd have a group of St. Sebastian's rowdiest hockey players throwing different shakes, malts, sundaes, and egg creams at me until one of them got me something I was in the mood for. Then that guy would have the privilege of being the first and last one with me that night. The shop did excellent business on those nights, especially when our team won and I'd be kind enough to upgrade a blow job to a full fuck. They'd get a hundred orders in one night. The servers got tips in the triple digits and I got to use twenty-five of St. Sebastian's finest athletes in the rest rooms, so everyone was pretty happy even if there was quite a lot of clean up after closing. There was this one time in my junior year, when the team captain, David Grenat, and the goalie, Sparky Argent (his real name is Curtis, but everyone called him Sparky, because he went on three separate ski trips to his grandparents' cabin in Canada and every time, he went skiing in a storm and got struck by lightning), got me what I wanted at the same time. David said Sparky was copying him, Sparky said David was mad cause he got in line first, then they started going on about the game, and they ended up beating the shit out of each other for five minutes. The manager got them kicked out, and feeling a bit responsible I agreed to take them back to my place. And believe me, there is nothing quite like violence and adrenaline fueled competition to make a hockey player fuck you hard. That was by far the best double penetration I had that year (... you know, sometimes I think I might not have had the most normal high school experience).

Valerie rings a bell on the counter and something clatters in the back.

Someone shouts, "be there in just a second love."

Out from the back rushes a heavy woman, with a large volume of breasts held up by her apron. She has on a frosty blue dress and half-moon glasses. Her hair is in an untidy bun, hastily put together with a blue ribbon. Her face is quite pretty and pleasant, round pink cheeks, bright eyes, and a smile bright as high beams. She has one those faces you see on boxes of cookies or brownie mix to show that whoever made the made them, probably kisses each sweet before sending it off to be enjoyed by some cherub cheeked child.

It's a really sweet face, so I'm shocked by the words that come out of those sweet cherry red lips "Val, how the fuck are ya? Probably a mite better now that yer off the streets. If I was out there, I'd be pissing me self so much you'd think a bloody pipe burst. No worse place to be now than out there. Wouldn't go out there for the life of me. I could be carrying a load of shopping and the second I heard that siren, I'd run me fat arse to the nearest door. Now you know how much I hate running, but it beats getting me tits shot off in a fire fight."

"Wasn't too much trouble, Sarah," Valerie answers, "we didn't run into anyone and we were quick and careful. We started around the west side of Shield park" (normally cardinal directions don't work in a space station, but the way the city wards are laid out, it allows for North to just be the direction towards the command center, though I'm sure the command center itself had a hell of a time with directions).

The woman exhales as if she was the one running across the city "you ran all the way from there. Bloody hell, I think I'd rather lose me tits than go that far on foot, and they probably would have fallen off during that trek. You're barking mad you are."

"Actually, running's very good for your mental health."

"And I say you're mental. I mean, if we were in the Victorian era, and you got up at four'o'clock in the morning to run all over the town in the freezing cold and blazing heat everyday, for hours at a time, just for the sake of running, they'd have you locked in the fucking loony bin before tea time."

Valerie laughs, "just try it, see if you like it. I'm certain you'll love it."

"Me mum said the same thing about asparagus, and me boyfriend at Uni said the same about anal. Fool me once and all that."

I clear my throat, reminding Valerie that'd I'd like to see Ric Mabi today. She rolls her eyes, turns back to Sarah and nods towards me so the ice-cream vendor notices me.

Sarah raises a suggestive brow and says, "oh, I see. Ya got a fella you want to butter up with a bit of `dessert' before supper, hm?"

"Ew" Valerie and I say together.

Valerie side eyes me and says, "no, with any luck he has someone to take him off the market. Spare the rest of us from him."

I scoff, "you'd be lucky if I even gave you a minute of my time. And that's if you had the right equipment to begin with."

Sarah looks confused, "what like an elliptical, love? Seems like a large investment for sex."

Valerie taps the woman's arm, and leans in close "Sarah, he's gay."

"Well then that is a large investment for diminishing returns," she looks me over and gets a coy smile on her face and flutters her lashes behind her half-moon glasses, "or maybe he just hasn't met the right woman yet."

The look of revulsion on my face makes her cackle so hard that all hints of flirtation are erased by her shrill tittering.

"Oh, the look on your face! Calm down pet, I'm only teasing. Besides, if I wanted to try that, I wouldn't do it now. I've been in the back of the shop all day and it's colder than Santa's ball sack."

Valerie looks around to make sure no one else is in the shop and asks "Sarah?"

"-I'm telling ye, me tits feel like two bags of ice. If I jumped, I'd knock all me fucking teeth out."

Valerie tries again, "Sarah-"

"And me fanny's like a bloody freezer. Talk about an ice box! Wouldn't even need a cooler to keep me drink cold, just stick it in me cunt and it'll stay nice and frosty."

"Sarah!" Valerie slams her fist on the counter this time. Seeing that she now has Sarah's attention, she lowers her voice and says, "he's a regular."

Sarah peers over at me, "is he? I don't think I've seen him before," her voice still has a bright ringing tone, but under it I detect a sort of seriousness that she didn't have before.

Valerie says, "he's new, but he'll be one of your regulars soon. You'll probably start seeing him more often for your specials."

"Specials?" I ask.

Sarah smiles and says "custom flavors made fresh in the back. Their experimental, so I don't just give them to anyone. You'll get a taste before anyone else, though I'll warn you, the flavor's a bit off sometimes."

Sarah went past the multiple tubs of ice cream and lifts up a section of the counter, then motions for us to follow her to the back. Valerie struts behind her, acting as if this is completely normal and we weren't just almost killed by the mob and sneaking through a city all but abandoned by the cops. I'm weirded out by how casual Sarah and Valerie are, and how Valerie insisted we stop here even though she was so worried about us being hunted. I'm suspecting this sweet foul-mouthed ice-cream shop owner might be Ric Mabi herself. It would make sense to have a real, normal day life and work part time as a pseudonym-ed forger.

In the back there's a metal prep station for specialty orders like cakes and ice-cream sandwiches. On one end there's four blenders for shakes and at the other end are three marked specifically for smoothies. The walls are lined with glass cased freezers, filled with large ice-cream tubs. Beneath the prep station are innumerable drawers for toppings and mix-ins of all kinds.

Sarah rushes past her work station and opens a steel door that could be mistaken for a vault if this weren't an ice-cream parlor; clearly it's a freezer. Though the back room is already cold, when she opens the door, it's like a door to the goddamn Arctic opens. I feel like I'm back on Echo and I'm really glad I have this large miner outfit to keep me a bit warmer. We go in and Sarah shuts the door behind us. Inside are various tubes of brightly colored flavorings, with dispenser nozzles all over the wall. It looks more like a chemistry lab than an ice-cream freezer.

"Alright then, flower. As one of my new regulars, I'm going to whip you up something really special. Just turn around while I get it prepared. I want it to be a surprise."

She motions for me to turn away and I just shrug and follow her directions. I honestly don't get this. If she is Ric Mabi, why go through this act when we're safely locked in windowless freezer? Why doesn't she just name a price for a permit? In the corner of my eye, I see Valerie has also turned around.

"She won't let you in on the secret recipe," I joke.

"It's safer if I don't know," she says bluntly.

Taylor beeps me, "if you turn you earpiece camera around, I will be able to see what she is doing, Captain."

I ignore him. Valerie already took away my earpiece once which led to the entire city going on lock-down, so it's best to avoid a repeat of that disaster. Though, it's not like I need more reasons to ignore Taylor. I can hear Sarah pull a bunch of levers and push some buttons, and it makes me think that whatever ice-cream she's experimenting with is going to be ruined by the overwhelming number of flavors she's mixing together, resulting in a saccharine mess like that would only appeal to toddlers who haven't trained their pallets enough to desire tastes other than sugar. After a few more switch pulls, there's a loud rumbling, like all of the soft serve machines in the freezer started churning at once, followed by a pop of decompression, like a stuck fridge being opened.

"Alright then loves," Sarah announces, "it's ready for you. Enjoy!"

I'm expecting a few things. A forger's workstation, a gun pointed at my head, and even actual ice-cream; but one of the soft serve machines opening to reveal a ladder going up... it's surprising. And just confusing (at least I'm not getting shot, but still, ice-cream would've been nice). Sarah's leaning against one of the machines, giving a smile that strangely warms me up. I open my mouth to ask a question, but Valerie just walks ahead and starts climbing the ladder. Sarah says nothing but stares at me expectantly; clearly I'm meant to follow Valerie. I hesitate. I don't know what's up there. It could be these two women's torture dungeon for all I know.

Taylor beeps in "Captain, I do not believe the building code in this neighborhood allows for the construction of a hidden alcove behind heavy machinery. With you permission I could contact the authorities and have them investigate Ms. Valerie and Ms. Sarah for suspicious activity. Only if you ask me to, Captain."

And with that, all my hesitancy is lost (nothing like a bothersome helicopter AI to push you to take potentially dangerous actions out of pure spite). I march through the opening and Sarah gives a sweet little wave. The second I place my hand on the ladder, the machine locks back into place and I'm trapped in this claustrophobic hole with no where to go but up (that's the literal upwards direction; in terms of fortune, it seems the day is determined to be as shitty as possible). I start climbing, and it only goes up about fifteen feet before I reach the end. Valerie pulls me onto a small landing and turns to a metal door and pushes a buzzer a few times in some sort of code, I guess. We wait a few seconds, and Valerie pulls out her vibrating phone.

"Why are you calling me?" she asks.

She's quiet for a moment while the person on the other end speaks, then says "No, that was last week's code, remember.

She pauses, "yes, I'm sure. I'm the one who made up these codes, remember?"

She sighs, "look, just open the fucking door, will you."

She hangs up and we wait another minute before the door slides open. We step through and the door slams down behind us, blending perfectly into the wall of this cozy looking apartment. You'd expect your grandma to live in a place like this. Everything is in summery colors; the rugs have intricate floral patterns, and the striped pink and cream couch has a doily on each arm. On the kitchen island, there's a tea set painted with the pastel hues of Easter, and counters had more flowers on them than appliances. I have a strong hunch, this is Sarah's apartment; she has a mouth like a sailor, but she still seems the type to have a frilled table cloth and porcelain figurines of cats dressed as cowboys and sushi chefs on every shelf.

Valerie looks around the room and calls out, "Ric?! You here?"

A voice comes from the half open bathroom "yes, believe it or not, it takes a minute to get down here."

The guy, I presume to be Ric Mai, ducks his head through door before stepping out. And at once I'm enlightened as to why the miner uniform I'm wearing has about an extra foot of fabric for each limb. Ric Mabi is a Kithren. The guy is just under eight feet tall, with long thin arms and legs, though he retains a bit of bulk around his thighs and biceps. He scratches the short, antler-like protrusions poking out of his short scraggly with a thick black finger nail. His face is long and angular and his nose is flat and dark in color, giving the effect that I'm looking at some sort of deer straight on, which makes sense as I recall that Kithren are descended from some sort of Cervid creature.

He looks at me quizzically with his large eyes and scratches his short beard, "Val, if you want to bring a guy home, you don't need to get my approval. Just keep the noise to minimum and send him packing before breakfast."

Valerie groans, "he's a client, Ric."

Ric Mabi walks over to the kitchen and starts carelessly opening cabinets, disinterestedly viewing the contents, "I though we weren't taking any new clients. You said it was too risky, right?"

"He says you two have a mutual associate."

"Do we now? And who is it he thinks we both know?"

By now I'm fed up with all the bullshit on this station and won't stand for being ignored in a conversation, so I harshly say "he can speak, if you bothered to ask."

Ric Mabi languidly moves his eyes to me, "well then speak all you like. Tell me which of our friends referred me to you?"

"Benny Rodriguez."

He nods as if considering my answer. Then he goes over to the knife holder, pulls out the chef knife and tosses it to Valerie. Valerie catches it and goes for a swing at me. I jump back just in time. Holy fucking shit, this escalated pretty quick. She swings twice more and I barely dodge her. I catch that she's focusing on cutting my top half which leaves her footing very insecure. She swings again and I dodge, but I move in this time and kick her knee outwards. She falls but catches herself on the cherry coffee table. I grab for the knife but she recovers too quickly for me and jabs it at my stomach. I'm forced to back up more. Shit, shit, shit. I'm really wishing I had brought my gun with me now.

"Careful not to get too much blood on anything. If that couch gets stained, Sarah will make me replace it, and that won't be cheap."

I glance to the kitchen and see Mabi is barely watching us; he's putting most of his attention towards making a pot of coffee. What an absolute prick! Can't even bother to look at me when he sics his lackey on me.

Valerie gets back on her feet and starts lunging at me, fully intending to jam the blade into my guts. I keep backing up, but I'm a few feet away from the floral printed wall and won't be able to move soon. I take a gamble on her next lunge and drop to the floor. She lunges right over me and before she has a chance to bring the knife down on my head, I bring my legs to my chest and with as much strength as I can muster I kick her across the room. She's lands on her back and the knife skids across the floor, sliding under a hutch. I leap up off the floor and jump over Valerie, diving for the blade. She catches my leg and I lose my balance, roughly hitting my shoulder against the hard wood furniture. I gather myself quickly frantically feel underneath the hutch for the knife.

Valerie shouts "toss me another," and my heart stops.

Everything's silent except for the gurgling of pouring liquid.

Mabi says, "Hm? Sorry, did you say something?"

Valerie growls in frustration and I feel her crawl on top of me, She wraps her arm around my neck, trying to choke me out. I finally find the blade's handle, quickly pull it from under the hutch and slice Valerie across the forearm.

She cries out and her grip loosens. I stand myself up while she clings onto me, then I fall on my back, slamming her against the floor. This knocks the wind out of her. She's still wheezing when I turn over and put my knees on he legs to prevent any unexpected crotch shots. I raise the knife, ready to drive it right through this bitch's chest.

Mabi says, "would you mind not killing Val. It's troublesome finding good muscle with at least half a brain."

"Sorry if fighting for my life, inconveniences you," I spit at him.

I only take my eyes off Valerie for that half second to look at Mabi, but it's long enough to give her an opening. She punches me in the gut making me wince over in pain, then grabs the knife from me. She grips it firm in both hands and tries to push it through my stomach. I catch her just in time. For about two minutes, both of us are stuck in this scrappy stalemate. She can't get out from under me or push through my strength to puncture my flesh, but there aren't any maneuvers I can make which would give me a clear advantage. If I try and push her arms away or go for the knife, she could easily weave around me and go for the kill; if I try to leave, I'd free her legs for an easy groin shot. Not an ideal situation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ric Mabi walk over to a high-backed sky-blue chair, the wooden frame studded with fake pearls. He sits and stretches out his legs which are too long to comfortably rest flat on the floor. He stares at the two of us, calmly sipping a tea cup of coffee.

"So." I grunt "do you treat all your clients this sweetly, or am I just that damn special?"

He takes another slurp and says, "see, I normally don't do this, but Benny is a close personal friend and he doesn't like people going around using his name so casually; especially if it's being tossed around by some grifter looking to get cheap services. But of course you would know that, with you two being so close and all."

I can't look away from Valerie cause I don't want to get run through with stainless steel, but I open my mouth dumbstruck, "what are you talking about, Benny doesn't-" I stop.

I was going to explain that Benny doesn't give a shit if you throw his name around for clout (not that it'd get you more than a swift punch in the jaw) and that he'd probably be fucking thrilled that his name is being used like that, but then though then it occurs to me that Benny... fucking Benny... that lousy fucking scum sack, who's had every stripper in New Ny spit on his goddamn face, would of course chat up his reputation to anyone that didn't have the displeasure of being in his company for more than a week. That shit stain convinced Ric Mani that he's some big shot fixer who runs the Art with a bimbo on each arm and penthouse lined in leopard fur; and Ric thinks I'm some schmuck trying to pull one over on him by using the great Benny Rodriguez's name.

Mabi swirls his cup, "it's unfortunate things had to come to this, but see I have a business to run and the situation has gotten a bit dicey lately, so I can't just sell my services to any name-dropping riff-raff coming off the street. Meaning no offense."

Taylor beeps, "Would you like me to contact the authorities now, Captain? As we discussed, I can only do so with your express permission."

"Not... now," I mumble through gritted teeth.

"Very well, Captain. I shall check in again shortly to see if your answer has changed."

I don't know what pisses me off more, Taylor or Ric Mabi sitting there, apathetically watching me and Val claw at each other, like we're some late night re-run of a show he hardly cares enough to watch.

"Val, try and hurry up. Oh, and Mr.- what was your name again?"

"Jack!" I growl.

"Sure, Jack- don't worry. I'll let our very good and mutual friend, Benny, know you stopped by."

"Oh, don't bother," I say, rage fuming from my mouth, "once I'm done with you two, I'm flying back to Sayfaam to beat the ever living shit out of that pathetic, small-dicked, brain dead worm I have for a fixer! That pussy-assed masochist is going to get his head bashed in so many times, he'll be coming for days straight! That absolute fucking moron almost gets me killed to get a fucking permit?! I'll rip off his balls and shove them into his mouth and pull them out through his ass!"

Ric Mabi takes a long sip of his coffee, sounding like a garbage disposal.

"He's good, Val."

Valerie puffs out a sigh and lets her hands and the knife fall to her chest. She closes her eyes and takes a few heavy breaths. I'm tempted to go for the knife in case this is some kind of ploy.

She opens her eyes and angrily says, "get off."

I slowly remove myself from her and back away, getting some distance should she try another attack. Valerie pulls herself off the floor, holding the knife loosely in her hand.

She passes Ric Mabi on her way to the kitchen and mutters "you need to find a better vetting process."

Mabi shrugs, "it's the first time we tried it, so now we know it needs a bit of work-shopping."

She tosses the knife in the sink and starts soaping her arm, "next time I ask you for a weapon, could you be so kind as to get off your arse and assist?"

"I thought I hired you because you can handle these things on your own?"

"I'm sorry!" I shout, "what the fuck-" there's a dull crunch under my foot accompanied by a tinkling across the wood floors. I look under my heel and see a half shattered Maine Coon cat in gel green nurse's scrubs, holding an over-sized thermometer.

Mabi sighs, "well shit. Sarah'll have me paying through the nose for that one. Didn't I tell you two to be careful."

"It's not my fault!" I cry, "it got knocked off the hutch when I hit into it. I didn't see it fall on-"

What the fuck am I defending myself for? "You tried to kill me, jackass!"

"Technically Val tried to kill you. I just... endorsed it."

"Oh, well that's completely different then," I snap, with as much venom as I can muster.

"Good, glad we've got that settled then," he says.

He holds the cup over behind the chair and shakes it, "a refill Val."

Valerie mutters nastily under her breath and snatches the tea cup from him, pouring some more coffee into it. Am I crazy? Was he not just about ready to chop up my corpse and throw it in a black trash bag?

"Can someone please catch me up, because I feel like we just skipped a few steps between killing each other and having coffee in the living room."

Ric holds out his hands for the cup Valerie brings him and says, "well, you know Benny. I assume you're one of his Runners."

I blink, "you didn't believe me when I said I knew Benny. That's the whole reason you tried to kill me!"

He sips his coffee, "no, Val tried to kill you, remember? And any prick can come in here claiming to know Benny. That cunt throws his name around like he's some underworld big shot. But only someone who truly knows Benny would so passionately want to cave in his skull like you do."

It's true. I do want to crush Benny's face underfoot, especially since he told me to go among these completely mad people.

"So, you couldn't have, say, followed up with Benny to make sure I was legit. We had to go straight to lethal reverse psychology mind games?" I slam my fist into the hutch, rattling the poor costumed cats, "did that fuck wit not even bother to call ahead to let you know I was coming?"

"If he called, I wouldn't know. Outside communication is too risky."

"Because of this Delaney bastard I keep hearing about?"

Mabi snaps his fingers, "that's the one. He and his goons have been hounding me for almost two months. Shit, my business is going tits up because I can't talk with clients or even do my work."

"Hold on," I say "I came here because I was under the impression you could get me a work permit quick."

Mabi clicks his tongue a few time and answers carefully, "I can get you a work permit to... where is it?"

"Dagdah."

"Oh sure, sure. That's easy enough, but not now. I won't be able to accommodate the `quick' aspect of your request."

"How long would it take?"

"Three weeks... give or take."

I'm going to kill Benny. I'm not waiting three weeks on this goddamn crap hole of a station, while holding onto an item that people would send literal armies to get. I wanted to get out of here as fast as possible, and Benny always hyped up this guy as, not only an expert forger, but one who could get you quality work in a matter of days.

Mabi smiles, "I see you aren't liking the idea of prolonging your visit to our lovely station. Well then my friend, I believe there's an arrangement we can make that would satisfy us both."

"I'm not taking a cheap permit. It needs to be authentic looking."

"Hey" he actually gets a bit animated, "I don't do half-assed work. If you get materials from me, they are of assured quality. But I'm not here to prove my credentials. I'm proposing a way to get you a permit fast."

He raises a brow teasingly, and I motion for him to go on, "see the reason work is taking so long is because the Kings are breathing down my neck, it's hard to verify clients aren't spies, as you discovered, and it's a bitch to get the proper materials and information to make the documents."

"If the Kings are pissed at you for a bad permit job or whatever, you'll have to deal with that yourself. I'm not offing a mob boss for you," the last thing I need is a hit on my head.

"Yeah, I'm not stupid enough to do any sort of dealings with the Kings."

Valerie yells from the sink, "just dumb enough to hire people that would deal with them."

"Gary was dumb, we knew that. We just didn't think he was that dumb."

I wave to get his attention, "hey, you're losing me again. Who the fuck is Gary?"

"An ex-partner," Valerie says.

Mabi laughs, "yeah, he'd like to think that. The guy couldn't fake a sick note. To even insinuate we're anywhere equal in skill is just..." he covers his face with his long fingers and silently laughs to himself, "no, no. He was a glorified secretary. He could just about send the post and answer the phone. He's no forger. The only reason Delaney hasn't gutted and batter fired him is because he has the cycle."

"Yeah, you're losing me again," I say.

He waves his hands to dismiss me, "it's too long to get into tonight. I can tell you tomorrow. All you need to know right now is that the cycle is the key to getting you your permit in a few hours."

"How? What is it?" I ask.

"In the morning, remember. For fuck's sake, you Runners need to slow down for a minute. Anyways, you get that cycle and that permit is yours- free of charge of course."

I consider his offer, "shouldn't it already be free of charge?"

He snorts "and what would make you think that?"

"Well considering you tried- sorry- Val tried to kill me. I figure we can count the permit as your apology."

He chuckles, "that's a sweet thought kid. But neither Val nor I will agree to that."

"Oh no," Valerie chimes in, "I think you should give it for free and pay him for getting the cycle back," Ric is about to protest, but she comes up behind him, snatching his coffee away, "he almost killed me too, remember. So you better pay up or you'll be finding yourself some new muscle."

He stares at his empty hand and shakes his head, "no loyalty these days, I swear. Fine! Fine, a free permit and let's say five thousand DICs for the job. I'll probably make fifty times that amount in the next month once I have the cycle."

"And you're still not going to explain what that is," I say.

"In the morning," he brings in his long legs and grunts as he stands up.

He ducks down a little when his antlers hit the ceiling fan, then he slowly makes his way to the bathroom.

"I've got a few more things to prep for tomorrow, especially if you're able to get the permit cycle back tomorrow. Mean time- Val," she looks over to Mabi "get him whatever he'll need for going to the second arm tomorrow. At least a new uniform. He looks ridiculous wearing one of mine."

"I'm going to second arm?" I ask, still not sure what he even wants me to get.

"Tomorrow," he says before disappearing into the bathroom.

I turn to Valerie, "can you at least explain... anything, I guess?"

She finishes the dishes and says, "the Kings are based in the second ward. Delaney will be keeping the cycle and Gary close to him, and he almost never leaves the King's territory."

She dries her hands on her pants and starts for the hidden door.

The last thing she says to me is, "you can sleep here. The bedroom's down that little hall, the kitchen's plenty stocked, and you know where the bathroom is. Don't leave without permission. We can't risk this place being discovered."

And without so much as a `goodbye' she opens the hidden door and leaves. I'm left alone in this pink and fluffy apartment with nothing to do but rest and wait for the morning. I'm fucking exhausted. The adrenaline from the fight with Val and the goons and running around the city stopped me from noticing it, but everything is either aching or throbbing (except for that one part of a man that feels good when it's throbbing) and it's a bit painful keeping my eyes open. I just flop onto the fluffy striped couch to nap for an hour. Fuck, it feels like someone hunted down the softest birds and plucked their softest feathers and stuffed them all into this couch.

"It would be beneficial for you to eat something before you begin your rest, Captain."

Fuck, I forgot about the nagging artificial prick in my ear.

"Shut up, Taylor" I mumble.

"I only mention it Captain, because you did not intake much nutrients today. I do not wish for you to wake up with pain from severe hunger."

I groan in annoyance, "I'm just napping Taylor, I'll eat something in a bit."

"Be sure that you do, Captain," he lectures me, "it is important that you have all your physical and mental faculties at their optimal function for our mission tomorrow."

"My mission," I grumble and turn my face into a pillow stitched with a thousand pink roses. If luck is willing, this side job will only take tomorrow.

Author's Note: So this is the second half of what was orginally chapter V, but on my proof-readers recommendation, it was split into chapter VI. I am still working on Chapter VII though I may be a bit slower with that, but I also have other projects I'm thinking of putting on here. Apart from that, you can follow my Bluesky to keep up with what I'm doing, donate to my Kofi if you'd like to support me directly. If you want to give feed back or criticism but don't want it to be public you can always email me, just make sure any criticism is respectful. If you don't like my work, that's fine, there are literally thousands of stories on this site that might be for you.

As I stated earlier don't email me if you are under 18. I understand that for some young people that online spaces are the only safe places that they can explore and learn about Queer identities, Queer culture, and Queer sexuality but often these online spaces aren't made with minors in mind; these are adults talking about adult things. So when you are a minor, keep in mind that even though a vast majority of the Queer community is kind and loving, there are always bad actors. Be very aware of power dynamics; an adult has more life experience, social experience, and is legally emancipated where as a minor doesn't have those experiences and is, in a lot of cases, dependent on a parent or guardian. There are people who will use your inexperience to their advantage. They will abuse the fact that some Queer minors only have online spaces as the only place they go and safely be themselves. The reason that I don't want to interact with minors in any way, is firstly, I and anyone else will be viewed as grooming you, even if our conversations are non-sexual and benign. Secondly, and most importantly, if you are a minor and you and I have good and harmless interactions, that sets a precedent in your subconscious that all online interactions will be safe. You will think on some level "well, David T Patrick" wasn't a creeper, so it's probably safe to talk to this creator" and all it takes is you trusting the wrong person once, to have something horrible to happen to you. So I am setting up the boundary now, and explaining why this boundary needs to be in place. Yes online Queer spaces can feel like they're the only safe place to be for you, but as with every community, there are bad actors in them. So for your safety, if you are under 18, please do not interact with me or any other nsfw creator.

But now that that's done with, please donate to nifty archive and do let your favorite writers know how much their work means. It really is awesome to hear from everyone.

David T Patrick