Wells Town - Traitor Revealed
The moment she heard the wife's words, Lena floored it, driving straight to the abandoned ranch on the outskirts of town. Spotting the punk lounging at the entrance, she itched to just run the bastard over, but knowing it'd be the worst possible move, she held back and stepped out of the car.
"Aigoo, sis. What's up this late at night?"
She wanted to put a bullet right in his chrome-studded eye for blinking it so cockily, but she held back once more.
"Where's your boss?"
"Boss man's in a shit mood right now. Best not to poke the bear."
Wham! Her fist slammed straight into the punk's solar plexus as he swaggered on.
"Guhk! Cough... urk!"
The solid hit sent him sprawling, clutching at the ground and flailing. Ignoring the drooling mess gasping for air, Lena kicked the door open and stormed inside.
"You chrome-headed fuckers! You crossed the line in my turf?!"
Striding in, she grabbed a nearby gangbanger by the collar and hoisted him up. It was hard to believe her petite frame packed that kind of power—the guy couldn't even resist as she slammed him against the wall. Pinning him there with one arm, she drew her pistol from her hip and jammed it under his chin.
Only then did the drunks scattered around start staggering to their feet, fumbling for their guns—but the room felt anything but tense. Some idiots even grabbed booze bottles instead, cackling like hyenas.
"Looks like the sheriff's in a bad mood tonight."
A voice from upstairs made her swing her gun that way.
"Put away that nasty thing. What's the matter with you?"
"You chrome-loving fuck, laying hands on town folk?! That's not part of the deal!"
Growling like she was about to shoot, Lena faced Rukt, the gang boss, who grinned smugly as he leaped down from the second floor.
Thud! The old house creaked from the impact, but he didn't give a shit, stomping over to her.
"Not part of the deal, huh? That's funny."
"......"
"I heard you stole one of our 'clients.'"
"...Your client? You fucking know who that is and you're calling him a client? If we'd left him here and your boys touched him, we'd all be fucked!"
Despite the massive height difference, Lena was yelling up at the hulking brute, which had the gangbangers snickering. From the side, it looked ridiculous: a tiny woman barking at a massive thug.
"We don't know shit—we never even saw the merchandise."
The gang erupted in forced guffaws, making Lena glare daggers at them.
"You motherfu—!"
"You're the one who shouldn't be yelling!!"
Rukt bellowed, his voice a total shift from before. Lacing it with thick curses, he roared even louder at Lena.
"The only reason you're still breathing—the only reason I haven't chopped off your limbs after you punched my boys—is 'cause of what I heard when I was in the city! You arrogant little shit!!"
"......!"
"You think killing one of our gang initiates makes you hot shit? Pull this crap one more time, and we'll start hacking off the townsfolk's arms and legs one by one!"
"...I know your boy took Joel and my guest, so who the fuck are you yelling at?"
She knew their type inside out. Show weakness once, and you're done. Even sensing something off, she played dumb.
"Hahaha!!"
"What's so funny?"
"Boys, bring in the new guy!"
"......"
At the random command, Lena eyed the two punks who stood up. They slipped out the back door and soon returned, dragging someone with them—a face all too familiar to her.
"......! Jo...?"
A middle-aged man in a grease-stained jumpsuit. Her puzzled voice slipped out.
"Still don't get it? I heard all about your bullshit plans already! Hiring some psycho merc labeled 'No. 23' to come after me?! Saving a freak like that—you must think I'm a total idiot!"
"...Jo, you fucker..."
Dr. Walter, mechanic Jo. One of the two she trusted with her anti-gang schemes stood there awkwardly.
"...Don't hate me, Lena. The living gotta live."
"Yeah, yeah! Gotta survive!"
Rukt slapped Jo's shoulder, laughing boisterously at his mumbling.
"...How could you, Jo? Joel was your nephew, you dog-fucking traitor!!"
Lena looked ready to lunge and throttle him, but Rukt blocked her with a hand, chuckling merrily.
"Alright, alright, no family drama here—take it outside! Hey, you! Help 'em sort it out nice with words!"
With mocking laughter ringing in her ears, Lena was all but shoved outside. The punk followed, bottle in hand, staggering as he led her and Jo to a collapsed water tank.
"Sis, hand over the gun."
"......"
"Shoot in a fit of rage, and they'll all swarm. Beat him to death or strangle him, and one townie pays the price."
Lena holstered her pistol, glaring at the smirking punk.
"Like hell. Go fuck your cyber-eyes outside, you chrome-ass wipe."
"Whoa..., feisty—I like it. Have fun now."
Screeech, creak. The gangbanger opened the shed door and shoved Lena and Jo inside.
Screeech, creak.
Hearing the door shut, Lena turned her glare on Jo beside her. The room was dim, lit only by a dangling old bulb from the ceiling, but her cyber-eyes pierced the gloom, revealing Jo's sullen face clearly.
"What the hell have you done?"
"...LCPD doesn't give a shit about us. Even Thurlon and Bedlen won't help, right?"
"That mean you side with those fuckers!? You insane?"
"You don't get it, exile bitch. Raised in the city—you have no clue what it's like out here!"
"Those are the bastards who killed your nephew! You saw how!"
Even as she screamed in fury, Jo just snorted.
"Got cocky, head smashed in. ...Tch, funny hearing family talk from a reject disowned by hers."
"......"
"And you're out of options too, right? Why else cozy up to scum like that? If you're suicidal, die alone!"
"What...?"
Jo jerked his thumb back, making her turn. Under the bulb, something wrapped in dark, ragged cloth. At first glance, discarded rags on a chair—but no, it was a person. She'd been too focused on glaring at Jo on entry.
"...Finally looking my way, huh."
His bleary eyes cracked open, and for a split second, the gaze peeking through his hair gleamed oddly. The bound stranger—Rukt's "No. 23"—continued with a grim expression.
"Too much shit happened. I'm beat, for real..."
Lena looked a bit startled. That cyberware fucker must've drooled premium spit on my left eye—her face came into focus. ...Nah, she was just close enough now.
"What the hell happened?"
"...Asked back when they demanded answers. Then the whole crew piled on and beat me like a drum."
"......"
She frowned, studying me intently, clearly not getting it.
"Head injury...?"
"Nope."
Why do all the women I meet peg me as a lunatic so casually? Been wondering since my past life.
"...Jo, get out."
"Yeah, fuck off—I can't stand the sight of you, traitor."
"......"
Seeing her pissed at my state, Lena growled the eviction in a low voice, and I chimed in without thinking.
Screeech, click.
"Wait up!"
I stopped Jo at the door.
"What's your family name? Seriously curious. What kinda surname goes with a Jo?!"
Tell me before you go, asshole! I yelled at his back, but the backstabbing prick vanished without a word.
"Don't do anything stupid, sis."
"...I know, shut it."
"Yes, ma'am. Have a good time with your friend. We'll chop and sell him tomorrow. Pretty even build—fetches a good price. If you wanna use him, I'll look the other way since you're sis."
Seeing Lena's hand twitch toward her pistol, the punk ducked behind the door.
Screeech, creak. Quick bastard.
"...Fucking dogs..."
"Two questions."
She nodded heavily, gesturing for me to ask.
"Pria?"
"...She's in safe. Looks like she really does have connections. No worries."
Hearing that eased the aches from their prodding.
"Good. Next: what's that fucker's real family name?"
"...Why obsess over that?"
"Gotta be Jo-the-Dog or some shit."
"...Chil. Jo Chil."
"Fucking perfect!"
Jo Chil! Just like I thought—looked like a child-murdering thug who offs parents in front of kids. My gut, honed by years of experience, never lies.
"...You look tougher than you seem."
"Actually, kinda nauseous. That headlight-eyed prick spat all over my face—reeks."
"......"
With a soft sigh, Lena leaned against some nearby junk.
"So what happened? Spill properly."
"Headlight asked something. Got curious, asked back. Then the mob rushed me—felt like a human drum set."
"......"
Not computing, she stared seriously. Definitely thought I had a concussion. Couldn't explain simpler, so I just gave her the "you're right" eyes.
"...Sorry. Didn't expect that rat to run straight to them and lick their boots."
After a beat of silence, she apologized in a deflated tone.
"Shouldn't you be glad? You sniffed out the traitor."
"Didn't hear? They're chopping me up for parts tomorrow."
"Then finish it before tomorrow."
"...Finish what?"
"Just need an hour. How can they leave me alone that long?"
"...What changes in an hour?"
"One hour and... oh, got any blades? Something to grip and fight with."
Axe, club, judge's brush, desk leg, chair leg, human leg—anything works.
She hesitated, then pulled something from her boot. Like the short sword from that video warrior I'd seen once, but shorter—a dagger about a foot long.
"What're you gonna do with this?"
Hand outstretched like "gimme," I raised my rope-bound right hand as high as possible. The beating had loosened the ropes a bit; with max effort, I could grip the hilt to hide it.
"We're fucked either way—whole town turns gang turf or dies. If we're starting, let's start."
"......"
Wanted to transmit mentally, but my qi wouldn't cut it. One transmission proves my mystic skills, but no dice. Hell, at that level, better to just slash with sword qi.
She eyed the knife, then slowly slipped it under my right arm.
"...Kinda sliced you."
"Sharp blade—careful. But seriously, what can you do with that?"
"Told you. Show you some Eastern cult shit."
Or was it cult mystery? Brain-fogged. Must've headbanged too hard in their mosh pit. Skull still ringing.
"Alright, keep everyone off me for an hour."
"......"
"For the next hour, nobody touches me. No one. And when I signal, bolt for town—you can outrun those fucks, right?"
"......"
"Answer."
"...Fuck, really..."
No clue if I'm doing the smart thing. With her voice cracking like she might cry, I finally began circulating my energy.