Chapter 259

That powered suit freak got attacked? How the hell does a regular guy bite through a powered suit?"

"The guys who were with him said the attacker looked like a junkie. Must've been high on Psionium or something—his physical abilities were off the charts."

"A junkie, huh."

Hearing that word jogged Gidcue's memory of that morning. The grotesque grin on the face of the harbor guard staring at the hover bus. And he wasn't the only one—there were plenty more standing around with similar expressions. 'The bosses will handle it.' The Marcio Cartel was gearing up for a major operation. In a few days, there'd be an auction dealing in smuggled animals and slaves. Ships from all sorts of species were already pouring in from across the stars. In a situation like this, there was no way the cartel would let junkies cause chaos. A massive crackdown was probably coming. It was ironic—criminals policing junkies—but it had nothing to do with Gidcue. His job in the organization was way more important than busting addict skulls.

"Man, looking at this food's making me hungry."

"Freddy, you bastard, you wanna end up spaced like the last guys?"

"Just saying, asshole. You're so touchy."

Before Gidcue and his buddy Freddy lay a spread of delicacies most people only dreamed of. They were in what used to be called the Second Command Post. Now, it served as a hotel for the cartel's most VIP guests. Their job was to ensure those dishes made it safely to the VIP staying upstairs. To that end, they were armed to the teeth—far better than your average low-level grunt. New-model mid-grade powered suits and Gauss rifles, no less. Their gear alone could rival a Mega Corp's armed police squad.

"Preparation complete. Moving out."

The android loaded the cart with the food and started rolling. Gidcue and Freddy followed it into the elevator, falling silent. The elevator shot up and stopped at the 100th floor. The doors slid open to reveal a corridor decked out in opulence rivaling the meal being transported. The pair stepped out, trailing the android. Pirates in high-grade powered suits and fully armed androids lined the hall. Feeling their stares, Gidcue swallowed hard. The guests on the 100th floor were big deals. The boss himself had ordered them treated like royalty.

"Cleared."

They passed the heavy guards and entered the room, where laughter echoed from within. It was a voice he heard maybe once a year, but he knew exactly who it belonged to. The master of Kessha Arma and head of the Marcio Cartel. One of the elders wielding the strongest influence in Space Dogs: Montana Marcio. Stepping into the massive dining room with the android, they spotted a giant with brown skin and a Cult with deer antlers.

"Hahaha, Cults are just so fascinating!"

"Fascinating, you say. An intriguing perspective."

The massive man filling a sofa big enough for three grown men was the fortress's ruler. Across from him sat the Cult woman, nodding coolly despite his words. She was the VIP Montana Marcio had invited—and one he'd been buttering up for nearly half a year on this sprawling 100th floor.

"Ah! Perfect timing—the food's here. Cynthia."

"My thanks for your consideration, Montana."

"Consideration? Thinking of the favors you and that gentleman have done for me, this is the least I can do."

With a wave of his hand, the android began setting the table. That was their cue to leave. Gidcue and Freddy bowed politely and backed out.

"Holy shit, dude, any idea who that Cult chick is? Never seen the boss schmoozing like that."

The moment the elevator doors closed, Freddy started yapping about the scene. Gidcue shrugged it off.

"She's a big fucking deal, that's why she's been holed up here for half a year."

"Fair point. Hasn't been anyone staying that long before."

"They're way above our pay grade. Mind your own business."

That had been dinner service, so their shift was done. Other grunts would handle the rest of the hospitality. Gidcue and Freddy turned in their gear and left the Second Command Post building.

"Hey, drinks are on me tonight—let's live like kings."

"Look at you, taking hover buses and balling out."

They both had to show up at the command post tomorrow, but like true pirates, neither gave a damn. Credits or no, they'd lived fast and loose so far. And they'd keep doing it.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Urgh."

Stumbling drunk out of the high-end bar, Gidcue blinked in the dim light. Freddy had vanished ages ago with a wolf-girl hooker. He'd thought about finding some fun himself, but his credits said otherwise. The buses he'd taken lately, plus the booze-up, had his terminal flashing warnings. 'I'll just jack another one.' The first score was always the hardest. With one big hit under his belt, the next would come easy. Clinging to that lazy optimism, Gidcue wandered the streets. Unlike the dive bars near the arena, this area was packed with upscale entertainment spots. It was quieter than other red-light districts as a result. Come auction time, though, it'd be jammed like everywhere else. 'Walk it off?' Short on credits, he opted to hoof it instead of busing. He headed toward the capsule housing district. Even late at night, the streets had plenty of foot traffic. Folks here were after one of two things: a girl on their arm like Freddy, or drowning in booze like Gidcue. But these guys on the street weren't going inside—they were just standing around, waiting for someone. 'What the hell?' It struck even his booze-addled brain as weird, but he ignored it. He didn't have the luxury to worry about what richer assholes were up to. About 30 minutes in, the glitzy strip gave way to streets lined with rundown buildings. This was the fortress's ordnance depot and factory zone. Back when Cults ran things, it never went dark. Not anymore. It only lit up for auctions—otherwise, it was a dead zone devoid of any human warmth. No power grid here, but at least it wasn't pitch black, thanks to the planet's glow overhead. So he shouldn't be spooked, but tonight felt off. '...

Fuck. What's with this vibe?' The familiar commute home looked even more decrepit. Abandoned buildings seemed to harbor something lurking inside. Even hammered as he was, the heavy atmosphere made him shiver. It was like the whole street was alive, writhing. 'This mood's fucked.' Desperate to get home, he picked up the pace. His cyborg mods forced his body to metabolize the alcohol faster. For a split second, his head cleared—and that's when he heard it. Footsteps. Not one set, but several, coming from behind. 'What the—' He whipped around, feeling like ice water had been dumped on him. Bathed in the planet's light, a group stood in the street. Some wore filthy rags, others guard uniforms. One even had the ratty jacket pirates like Gidcue favored. Fifteen of them, all different getups, staring him down—with their lips pulled back in creepy grins. "Wh-what the fuck are you punks?!" Gidcue yelled at the grotesque mob. He yanked his laser pistol from his coat and aimed. 'What kind of bullshit is this?!' This had to be the junkie pack from that morning. Now it clicked what Freddy said: a powered suit grunt got jumped by them. He hadn't gotten it before, but facing them now? Yeah, they looked unhinged. Dangerous as hell. '...

Gotta run.' These were the freaks who'd hurt a suited-up guy. No telling what they'd do in a straight fight. Hiding in a building and calling for backup seemed his only play. Gidcue fired at the lead one and bolted. No time to check if he hit—he just ran. "Hah, hah, hah!" First full sprint since fleeing Star Union. He ducked into a nearby derelict building. Windows gone, walls crumbled, ceiling half-collapsed—but the debris made perfect cover. Hunkered behind rubble, he peered out with a shard of broken mirror. The junkies walked right past his hideout. They hadn't spotted him, as planned. "Phew, fuck my mom—" "You alright?" "!" Just as relief hit, a voice from the shadows made him jump up, pistol trained on the darkness. A young man stepped out. "Shimura Cartel?" "Don't shoot." "What the hell are you hyenas doing here?" Gidcue clocked the green-haired pirate instantly. Shimura Cartel—petty thieves scraping by near the harbor. With only five members total, even the Marcio Cartel left them alone. "Never mind that. Not the time." Gidcue pulled out his terminal and called for backup. "Yo, it's me. Junkies swarming the ordnance sector. Get here quick... What? You idiots. Second Command's right nearby. Call them, dumbasses. Yeah, yeah. Tell 'em I requested it." Backup requested. As he pocketed the device, the green-haired pirate approached. "You connected to Second Command, huh." "It's my workplace. Of course I know 'em." "Impressive." The pirate nodded like he was impressed. His crew would take another ten minutes to arrive. Gidcue kept watch via mirror and spoke up. "What, you got food in your belly to come out here?" "Needed something from around here." "You're nuts. Come in daylight next time." "Had to dodge the cameras." Gidcue snorted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the lame excuse. "Bullshit. Cameras here's been dead forever." "Really?" "Think we've got spare energy for dead zones like this? There's tons of spots like it." "Fair enough." "Dumbass." "One thing— what do you do at Second Command?" "Security. Can't say more." Mid-chat, something felt off. Green-hair claimed he came at night to scrounge ruins buried in debris. Where were the search gear? Flashlight? Nothing on him. "You said you're looking for stuff. This cool?" "Fine. Already found it." "Found it? What?" Gidcue pressed, but the pirate just smirked silently. Fellow pirates guarded their loot, sure—but it felt shady. 'And...' He checked the mirror. The junkies combed every building—except this ruin. Something here was keeping them away. A tale from a drunken night a few days back surfaced: a devil wearing human skin. Eerily similar to his spot. 'Sh, shit...' Conversation died. Only breathing filled the ruins. Human breaths, sure—but Gidcue couldn't relax. What if it was the devil licking its chops? Trembling, he gripped the mirror shard again. Heart pounding like during his sprint. Wanted to turn, but terror pinned him. He aimed the mirror not at the street, but over his shoulder. If the guy was human, green hair should show. But he regretted it instantly. Over his shoulder loomed not a man—but a spider-like monster. It crouched low, jaws hovering right behind his head.