For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 4

               “The destructive force of the human race is unlike any other; the disease which followed was simply the embodiment of that destruction.” –Dr. Jean Matthews, lead scientist

               In 2055 the world was as it had been, it carried on without concern. On the first day of September things began to change. Many men made mistakes, first in a lab, then in a compound. Two men were scared. They let the virus spread back into the world, when they made one of many mistakes. Over seven billion people living on the planet when it started; not counting those that stayed, only a little over one billion made it into space.

               The virus spread, not necessarily quickly, but surely. There were very few places that were smart or lucky enough to block off their borders and keep their homes free of reanimated corpses and mutated beasts, mostly islands or areas with extreme cold. Some, in more remote locations, took to trying to wipe the plague out by destroying entire groups or even villages that had been touched by it. Many parts of Africa and Eastern Europe had been cleansed by fire and atomic force, but to no end. The governments and great minds of the world did their best to find answers to stop the spread with science. All elaborate plans had failed, in some ways causing more harm. After eight years of trying, the majority of what was left of the people of Earth gave up on their home.

               One of the many plans, a project known as Cibola, had been in effect over those eight years. Engineers and construction workers worked diligently building a new home, and the ways to get there. The giant mass web of metal was erected around what was then known as the International Space station, eventually swallowed and forgotten. The ships were built first, large boat like vessels that weren’t meant to go very far or fast. Materials were shipped up first while the initial city was built, then the mass exodus of the human race began. These ships eventually became parts of the giant network. Smaller craft were constructed to move faster with more important personnel.

               The first city, now known as Elysium, was originally just a large hollow holding area for the masses before proper construction began. Many of the workers called it New Ellis Island up until the day the construction was done, some of the older ones still do. Over the next year materials, equipment, and people were carried up by the hundreds in the bloated space boats that shook the skies.  When the majority of the people were safe expansions began and what was left of the former governments began to argue and couldn’t agree on what was best for the survivors. The survival of the human race was all that could be mutually seen by all parties. Those that chose to stay on Earth created their own ruling systems and prepared for a dangerous fight to hold onto their homes.

               Disagreements lead to the creation of new cities and new leaders. Expansion needed to happen but it did so under stressed conditions. There was a period of lawlessness and then marshal law. A large prison facility had to be constructed on the moon. Each city was different, changed by those who built it and the many more who came to inhabit it. Lost, there were many that tried to make these new cities home, reconnect with their culture.

               Elysium City was the center which each other was built out from. It was the biggest but in many ways it had become the most dependant on the others. Valhalla Prime set the highest in the web and stretched towards the North Pole. Doing all that they can to be self-sufficient, this city has become untrusting of the others. Mandarin City was to the East and was shaped like a diamond; highly populated—a domain that repopulated in preparation for their eventual return to Earth. Cairo City lay towards the South, still growing. It’s citizens having founded a new center that spawned new religions and cults. Finally there was Neo-Tokyo, the smallest and quietest of the new cities that had put their efforts towards retaking Earth through technology. Together these five different entities held to a common set of rules and loose alliances to maintain peace. Many were amazed that that peace has lasted twelve years.  

               The year is now 2075. Many humans have been born in the chilled embrace of space, not yet knowing the warmth of the sun or next to anything of the home of their ancestors. Due to strings of illness and rising numbers in miscarriages the population isn’t replenishing itself as it should.

Here, now, they are born and raised in what is loosely called a childhood until the age of twelve when they are given a job based off of their skill set and aptitude tests. The legal age for drinking, smoking, and prostitution differ from city to city but average out at fourteen. Punishment for crimes is met with a much more harsh and swift hand. All of these factors come together to create an unstable borderline near military society of people who were close enough to touch the brink of death. Now, recovery.

              

               Nyx sat in the room that she had been taken to, fingers tapping a nervous pattern out on the wooden table. She was staring down at the polished piece of furniture at her reflection, one of the few wooden handcrafted tables she had seen up here. The long rectangular room she sat in was in the Presidential district and it looked like it was used for board meetings or important dinners. The walls were lined with painted portraits of former American presidents, most she only knew the names of because they were engraved on the small plates at the bottom. She was sitting across from the partially singed portrait of Abraham Lincoln, his face not easing her concern. She stared back into her own with her bright green painted lips from work; at least they had let her change into the small denim shorts and grey hooded sweatshirt.

               The doors at the end of the room were large and wooden. They opened on hinges instead of sliding like the others on the station. The lights were different also; a comfortable gold tinge from lamps and ceiling fixtures instead of bright white flood lights built into the walls and pulsing greens and blues along the outer hull walls and city streets. It was so different and comfortable that it was uncomfortable. She wasn’t cold, and that bothered her in a way. Almost every part of the city was cold up here, but this room seemed to be at an almost perfect temperature. She remembered being younger and going to the far sides of the cities when her mother would let her. There, they would burn the thrusters extra hard to destroy and break up asteroids and debris that were getting too close. The result was a fun little light show and the excess warmth felt great, like a seasonal treat.

               She was pulled from the fond memory by the sound of the door handle being moved. The large wooden door was pulled open and she saw her partner step in. He was eyeing the room suspiciously, just as she had when they brought her in. She wanted to stand up out of her chair and run over to him right then, but she knew better. She knew Bronson could tell that she was happy to see him.

The guard that had escorted him in closed the door afterwards. Bronson took one last nervous look around before pulling out the chair next to Nyx.

“What the hell is going on,” she whispered in an agitated voice.

“I don’t know.” Bronson said as he stared forward at the painting. He matched her whisper even though he was sure the room was bugged.

“We’re paid up right? We haven’t broken any of the on-world laws? Right Bron?”

               “We’re clear.”

               “Then what the hell is this about? They pulled me straight out of work,” her voice had accidently risen above its planned tone, but she was scared and missing out on easy credits.

               “Calm down. It was the President’s seal. It’s probably a forced job transfer or a private contract,” he lied to her, knowing this was no type of job transfer.

               She paused. Her fingers had stopped tapping against the table and were now knotting up nervously.

               “You’re a guard, have you ever met him?”

               “The President, No.”

               “Do,” she bit her lip, “you still have your gun on you?”

               “No,” he shifted uncomfortably at the mention and brought one leg up to rest on his other knee, his hand checking the bottom of his polished shoe. “They said it wasn’t allowed in here, assured me no one else would have one.”

               Nyx looked like she wanted to ask something else, her painted dark green lips parted but quickly closed afterwards. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence that followed. They would face whatever was coming together, but everything was still uncertain.

               Finally the double doors opened and the two hunters turned to get their first glance at the president in the flesh. Bronson was hard to read. Usually, only Nyx could tell when he was really upset, but when Jonah Pierce walked through the door it was pretty obvious he wasn’t happy. Bronson noticed that the pouch from Pierce’s belt was absent now as well. Whatever he had treasured so much that he got from the planet had either already been delivered to the buyer or was stashed away some place safe. Bronson knew it was important, and it wasn’t just a hunch, he didn’t believe in those.

               Pierce had opened the double doors for three men that followed behind him. It wasn’t hard to see the established pecking order. The man who entered first, after the doors were opened for him, was young and in a formal military uniform. Bronson’s eyebrow rose when he saw the three stars that rested on each of the man’s shoulders. His hands were folded behind him as he walked to the head of the table. He paid no mind to his two guests until after he was seated. His hair was parted perfectly down the middle. It was dark and spiked up slightly in the back. His features were smooth from youth and were untouched by exposure to the harshness of the sun. There was a stern tenseness in his eyes though.

After him was the older man with the goatee that was beginning to go from brown to grey. He was wearing thin rimmed glasses that had scratches on the side of the left lens. In his hands were several notebooks and files. Clipped to his jacket was a black and yellow badge with his picture and a barcode that underneath it read, “Dr. Henry Ramos”. He took a glance at Bronson and Nyx before sitting in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table.

The final man was a suit; almost no one wore suits anymore. There was no middle class anymore, suits were worn by government employees and a few heads of companies. He had dirty blonde hair and a metallic implant over his right eye that looked like it was attached to a fake eye, it didn’t move like his other one did. He sat down next to Nyx but didn’t make eye contact with her. She couldn’t help but notice his hands shake slightly as he pulled up something on his electronic tablet. His fingernails and hair were better kept than hers, and probably more than most of the people in Elysium City.

“Thank you for joining us,” The General said, as if they had a choice. “My name is General Stefan De Soto.” Once the military was reformed on Elysium city with what was left, the extreme number of deaths left a lot of higher positions open. De Soto was the youngest three star general in history. “After some deliberation on a particular issue, both of your names came up quite a bit.”

“As far as head hunters,” The suit clarified. He had opened one of the files and was reading something. Nyx realized that she could hear his mechanical eye operating next to her, a small piston sounding off, or metal moving against metal, either way it unnerved her.

               “The man to my left is the President’s advisor, Alton Goldsmith.” De Soto motioned slightly with a hand before refolding them on the table. “He’s seen your records. You’re; quiet, careful, safe especially for such a small team. In fact there have been almost no problems with your work. You don’t take too much, you don’t get greedy.”

               Goldsmith spoke up as he glanced at one of his many papers.

               “Even if we don’t overlook your citations you’ve accumulated, Mr. Bronson’s military service back on Earth and here as a guard is exceptional.”

               Nyx wanted to blurt out that they needed to get to the point. She had a sneaking suspicion they didn’t really need her though, so that idea passed. She was trying to read her partner but Bronson was watching the General, watching his eyes closely.

               De Soto opened his mouth to speak again but paused, reconsidering his words.

               “I won’t treat you like amateurs, and time is an issue.” The General leaned closer towards Bronson. “You’re a soldier,” he said, knowing Bronson, knowing the type. He knew the right strings to pull. “Right now, your city needs you. No, the planet needs you.”

               “Little overdramatic don’t you think,” Nyx said.

               The General paused. He knew that he only had to convince Bronson to go and Nyx would follow, but her statement was still irksome.

               “No, it isn’t.” The aged voice of the doctor answered her. “If the information I received last night was correct, we could save Earth, save our home.”

               “This is Doctor Henry Ramos,” the General broke back in. “He is the most studied man in the plague and its effects on the planet that is alive today.” He chose his next words carefully. “During the years that the world’s militaries were still trying to deal with epidemic planet side, Dr. Ramos was helping the North American government with several projects.”  

               “I worked on a lot of things. After the bombings in Europe though, many of them were abandoned. There was one though,” Ramos paused. “There was one in particular, a project they named Vita Nova,” his hand shook ever so slightly at the mention of it. “It was abandoned, moved, thought unusable.” He steadied his left hand with his right. “On one of the trips down recently though I was able to reestablish a connection with several of the computer mainframes on the West Coast, something I knew would be valuable but there was so much more.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’ll spare you the details. What I’m saying is that there was data recorded for Vita Nova, data that has been recording for the last twelve years. The project isn’t just still running, it worked,” he said with a wonder in his eyes.

               “At some point the project was moved to a secure location, no one who was left alive that had high enough clearance knew where though. That’s why operatives were sent to known military sites that had most likely survived the past few years, and we were successful.” He motioned to Pierce who had been standing in the back corner of the room silently, assuming his role as lap dog. “This is Jonah Pierce. He retrieved a data stick that had the information about project Vita Nova, and where it was moved to.”

               “We’ve met,” Bronson said in a dry huff.

               “Mr. Pierce produced the needed results, we now know where project Vita Nova is, and we are ready to retrieve it.”

               Bronson shook his head slightly and finally spoke up, leaning forward in his chair. “Why are you using non-military personnel,” he asked, motioning to Pierce then back to himself and Nyx. “Since I’m guessing you didn’t tell us all of this unless you wanted us to go and get it.”

               “Well,” Goldsmith began. General De Soto raised a hand and stopped him.

               “No, you aren’t wrong. My forces are stretched a bit thin as of late.” A small smile broke across his face, a weary smile. “I have been dealing with many things. There are the riots, as I’m sure you know. The issues with the Australian settlers have become a problem. Then there is matter of the recent breeches on the lunar prison’s security. Throw these things on top of the operatives I have working Cairo City and Neo Tokyo, and you’ll understand how hard it is to keep things together with a military force that isn’t replenishing itself like it should.”

               Bronson rubbed his chin as he listened to the men.

               “If I may,” Ramos broke in. He looked at Bronson and Nyx. “I asked for them to make sure not to send brutes on this mission, someone who will think before pulling a trigger. I implore you, I’m well aware that pessimism and disbelief are the common trend in the recent past, but,” he stood, becoming passionate in his plea. “This will work, I assure you. I’ve run the scenarios a hundred times.”

               “It’s my belief that a small team, one with skilled hunters can sneak in without any of the other cities or the Earth settlers getting wind of what’s going on. You’re familiar with the nomadic groups, the cannibals, the militias, and of course the corpses that could all get in the way. We also believe that the Aussies have agents in North America still.”

               The General tried to read his guests as the words sat in.

               “My men are mostly new, young. They don’t have the same experiences dealing with what has infested that planet.”

               “We get new reports every day,” Goldsmith chimed in. “Stories about the cannibals, booby traps going off accidently, giant scorpions. Why, just the other day I had two reports of intelligent zom-“

               “That’s quite enough,” The General interrupted. “I think they’re more aware of what dangers that rock potentially holds than we are. What is important is that project Vita Nova can fix all of that. Right, Dr. Ramos?”

               “Yes, yes.” Ramos nodded emphatically as he adjusted his scratched glasses.

               There was another long moment of silence and Bronson looked away from the other people in the room. He thought for a long moment. Nyx looked at him as thoughts raced through her mind. There was a lingering question though.

               “What do we get out of this?”

               “We get the Earth back,” The doctor replied.

               Goldsmith glanced at the General and then back to Nyx.

               “The President is willing to offer you an amount of credits equal to one year’s salary under your current job title. However, my research shows that you have been trying to get out of that job for three years now. We can make that happen, any job you want to be trained for. We can cut out the paperwork.”

               Nyx was prepared to laugh at Goldsmith when he had begun, credits were nice but this wasn’t a typical head hunt. It was the second part that caught her off guard. She could get out of the club; make a lot more credits than she needed if she chose wisely. She thought about it, the truth that she would have gone with Bronson if he went anyway was much further away from her mind than she liked. There was a greedy side to her that poverty had fed her.

               “As for Mr. Bronson,” Goldsmith continued. “The President is prepared to grant your brother, Elijah Bronson, a full pardon from prison.”

               Bronson sighed and stood.

               “No,” He looked back at Goldsmith. “He knew what he was doing. He’ll finish out his time.” Glancing at the General, Bronson eyed him carefully. “Small team, right?”

               “You, your partner, Captain Dine, and one of his men; four should be sufficient with your expertise.”

               “You know exactly where we are going? What we’re looking for? You have a way to get us down and back up without alerting any of the other cities or settlers? You aren’t putting us in unnecessary danger?”

               “Mr. Bronson,” the General said, shaking his head. “I may look young but I’m not new to any of this. I’ll treat you better than I treat my own men. You’re doing the human race its biggest favor to date.”

               Bronson swallowed hard and pushed the chair out from the table. “I’ll do it then, if it needs to be done, I have just as much responsibility as anyone else.”

               “Me too,” Nyx said standing. She looked at Goldsmith though as if to reaffirm the conditions he stated earlier.

               The General stood. “Good, it’s settled then. I’ll let Captain Dine know.” He folded his hands behind him once more and headed for the door with Goldsmith and Pierce following behind him. “I’ll inform him that you’ll be in cargo hold twelve in one hour.”

               None of the three looked back at their soldiers of fortune as they exited. There was a pause of silence as the doctor lingered behind. Dr. Ramos approached the two hunters. His shaking hand grasped Bronson’s forearm and squeezed against the muscle tissue.

“Please, I beg of you,” his tongue wet his lips, he was having trouble speaking. “I don’t mean to sound old and over dramatic but this may be the last chance for any of our kind to actually save our species. You two could do that if you can get Vita Nova to me.”

Bronson and Nyx both stopped staring at the bulging shaky eyes of the doctor long enough to share a glance of their own, each wondering what they had just gotten into. 

For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 3

               The French Quarter of Elysium city was one of the first parts of the space colonies built. It was originally an arrival and processing area that after the initial egress of the planet was no longer required. For the first few years it was the home of many surviving residents of the Southern United States and Mexico until the housing divisions were finished for each city. It was then refitted and divided into four large sections. One of the four sections remained as homes for those that owned or operated businesses around this district. It was pretty plain for the most part with a lot of ivy growing over lattice work; iron gates outside of the townhouse homes.

               Two of the other sections were divided up for holding shops that specialized in fashion and art, specialty food items and jewelry, everything other than the necessities. The final quarter, the one with its street lights and buildings done up in reds and purples to contrast against the dark painted walls and festive greens and golds that hung from the balconies and banners around it, held the majority of the entertainment businesses for the night life crowd. Bars, clubs, adult film theatres and prostitution houses lined the streets in this area and men and women stood outside of each giving their best efforts to convince the passer-bys to come in.

               The White Tiger club was probably the biggest of its type in Elysium city. It had a bright flashing white sign and a hand painted image of the creature it took its name from behind it. There were other small random green and red lights that littered the outside wall of the club that made it stand out. From the ground level up close though, you could see the bouncers, standing by the doorway and scrutinizing everyone who came up. They gave the men who wanted in a friendly pat down before they entered and the few women got an even friendlier one. Closer to the street though there were two girls who danced around the long poles of the streetlamps topless, beckoning patrons to enter.

               The inside of the club was two stories with an oriental theme. White and pink lights in long sheets lit up the bottom floor with greens and yellow bulbs lining the second. The lights were blinding on the first floor with four stages that the people were gathered around. The music that thumped through the speakers had no lyrics, something made hastily on a computer for very cheap. The music business had taken a hit since they had moved off of the planet. Turn the bass on anything up loud enough though and drown it out, it’ll work for background noise. The drinks were usually watered down and the food was almost non-existent, but no one came for those things.

               On each of the four stages a new dancer appeared every hour. Their styles varied and their costumes were personalized, a mixture of girls from different parts of the world formerly, or other cities if they were really young. Working the poles with precision the dancers moved to the rhythm that vibrated the walls. Underneath the lights they entertained the men and women that came in after work. Good entertainment was hard to find in these cities.

               Nyx was on stage one tonight and she was quite the draw. There were a few things that made her stand out from the other girls and people took notice. She was an exceptional dancer with a body that was not too thin or overly toned. Food was harder to come by depending on your situation and most of it was processed meal paste or military rations. Nyx’ extracurricular activities kept her in a bit more money and better fed, as well as worked her body out. Her time down on Earth also gave her something the majority of the other girls couldn’t easily get, a tan. Nyx hadn’t been just kissed by the sun; they were quite intimate as it were. Dangerous, sure, but she liked the feel of it compared to the coldness she felt up here.

               Flexible, a compliment she had received often. She knew how to manipulate the pole and as she put it to the other girls, move in waves as if you were water. She chalked some of her expertise up to her practice in Tai Chi and gymnastics training. She wished she had stuck with gymnastics more but when one teacher dies and the next one keeps trying to touch you inappropriately, interest can be lost quickly.

               The tattoo on her back was a large mural of an ornate catholic cross with the background of the full circular moon. It was detailed and had taken a few years to get finished but it was her, her name meant night. She embraced it and the symbol of the cross meant a lot to her and her faith. She wore a similar one around her neck at all times, a gold cross on a silver chain, even when she danced. The mural on her body looked good under the flashing lights, customers always asked about it.

               These types of clubs had changed a lot since relocating to space. It was hard to slide electronic credit singles into the garter belt or g-string of an entertaining dancer. Instead, now there were a series of small ports patrons could tip their favorites with. People were generally a little stingier now though and more concerned about themselves, that’s where the second floor came in.

               Like in the old days, the girls would walk around the floor of the club when they weren’t dancing on stage. There was always the offer of the lap dance or private table performance but with the military in control prostitution was a hundred percent legal. They just taxed the hell out of it with the clubs. So the clubs set up a second floor where men danced on one side and women on the other, private performances that lead to negotiations. Once the arrangement was made there were private rooms towards the back of the top floor that the girls paid to use to make their money. You had to pay to get up to the top floor in the first place though and going up there almost guaranteed you’d be spending more money for something, even if you didn’t want to touch.

               It was a night like tonight that Nyx had decided she was in the mood to take Gerald upstairs. He was a repeat customer, hell she knew all of them, but he was a good customer. He had even worn a tie tonight with the old pale blue jacket and the bushy mustache that accented his boy like smile. Her bosses harassed her when she didn’t do this part enough but she had built up enough of a reputation as a ‘draw’ in the club that she could tell them to fuck off from time to time. She wasn’t proud of it but it was work and next to hunting or a nice government job it was some of the best credits you could make. She knew exactly what Gerald wanted and their exchange was little more than two sentences.

               “Usual price okay, honey,” she asked as she plopped into his lap in the dark red chair in the private room.

               He had been undressing her with his eyes, a task that wasn’t hard since all she was wearing was a dark green bikini and grey boots with fur on them.

               “Sounds good,” Gerald said with a big smile as he placed a large calloused hand on her bare thigh. “You’re too good to me, Nyx, you know that?”

               “Or,” she proposed as she ran a thumb gently over his cheek, “you just may be too hard on yourself there, big guy.”

               She kissed him softly for a long moment, suckling on his bottom lip before sliding off of his lap. She smiled and extended her hand, palm face up. She coyly bit the fingernail on her other hand as she waited. The man pulled out the small device that looked like an electronic drive with a small disk at the end, a virtual wallet, everyone had one here. Nyx took it from him and went to a small black table that held an electronic device that she swiped it under. It was out of the way in the small dark room with the dim red lights and padded walls, so the customer wouldn’t be thinking about how much they were spending. When the dim blue light flashed she punched in a series of numbers on the keypad and smiled at Gerald, handing it back to him.

               She resumed her position back on his lap. Instead of simply plopping down though, she wrapped an arm around his neck and slid in a bit more seductively. She kissed his neck as her left hand tugged at the string to her bikini top. She threw the dark green fabric to the couch across from them, revealing her breasts to him. Part of why Gerald liked Nyx was because her breasts were nice and round as well as the cute dark nipples on them being erect from the cold of the space station and as tanned as the rest of her body.  He gently placed a hand on one of them and then slid it down her flat stomach over the belly button piercing she had. She kissed the side of his face then nibbled on his ear as she felt the fingers push between flesh and fabric, lifting up the last piece of clothing she had on and slowly sliding underneath them between her legs.

               Nyx sighed contently, head moving to lean back on his shoulder. Her hand ran down his chest. She relaxed a bit, knowing he’d be content for a few minutes as he had his fun. She was exhausted as she lay there on Gerald, conserving her energy for what was to come. Coming back from the hunting trips always meant that she’d be tired for the next couple of days but she couldn’t lie to herself. She already wanted to get out of here, to get back to the dangerous warzone for some reason. She wondered why she liked it better than the safety of space.

               In the midst of these thoughts and the act of moving her hips slightly against Gerald’s hand she almost didn’t hear the sound of the doorknob moving. It was locked. Whoever it was would get the idea that the room was occupied and go onto another one. The noise came again though with the metal scraping against metal sound a little bit tougher this time. Nyx shot up awkwardly, away from Gerald and his playful hand. He looked stunned and was still sitting as the door was forcefully pushed open. Nyx threw an arm up over her breasts to cover them, barely having time to do that.

               Two men in gray and black military fatigues stood at the door with guns attached to their belts and the first with a flashlight he was shining at her, then Gerald. The marine motioned out the door behind his partner with the light as he looked at Gerald.

               “You, out,” the officer’s voice was serious.

               Gerald obliged him after shooting a glance at Nyx. She figured if he could have spoken to her he’d have said he was sorry, but he hoped she would be okay. The marines weren’t like the guards though. You didn’t want to test them. Gerald was out of the room by the time Nyx turned around and picked up her top. With her back to the men, she replaced it quickly.

               By the time she had turned back to them the marine with the flash light had closed the distance and had an outstretched hand towards her that held a small digital pad on it. She paused for a moment, realizing she could cross out a few of the reasons to why she thought they were here. She took the pad in her hand and looked it over. With an eyebrow raised in confusion she briefly scanned the electronic document that came up at her touch. The words all made since but the usual jargon was there which caused her to have to re-read a couple of parts. It didn’t really sink in though until she scrolled down. On the last page at the bottom of the document was the emblem of the large bird in gold and black, the seal of the president.

               The security office for the French Quarter was like any of the other government built buildings, grey and dull with large walls around it. This particular one was nestled in between two rail bridges which caused an almost constant humming sound. The machinery for the defense systems added their own buzzing sound to the noise surrounding the building, much like the bright lights that lit up the area around the walls of the security office though, the noise was only heard when they were actually working.

               Bronson stepped from the darkness of the French Quarter streets into the bright blue of the flood lights. Bronson nodded to the guard in the small box-like station and was preparing to go in until he heard a voice call after him.

               “Bronson, hey man!”

               Pausing, Bronson looked up at the scraggly-haired individual who was coming from the darkened street and into the light with a panicked look on his face.

               “Cletus.”

               “Bronson, Bro, come on man. I need some help.” Cletus spoke quickly and with furious hand gestures. “I need some credits man or Tiger Mike’s going to fucking kill me dude. You’ve got to help me man.” His eyes were bloodshot and pleading. His hand was already shaking as he held out his credit drive for his money.

               “Cletus, you’re using again.”

               “No man, no. The hell man, you-you know I wouldn’t start that shit again after what it did to me.” He almost sounded convincing. “After I got the job at the plant and you helped me out, I wouldn’t do that to you man.”

               “Cletus,” Bronson said his name louder to quiet him. “I told you six weeks ago that Tiger Mike was killed in the raid. You’re just back into your bad habit.”

               There was a sobering moment of silence as Cletus’ head dropped and synapses slowly fired that he had been ignoring. He only looked back up when he felt Bronson’s grip around his forearm. Cletus looked up with tears in his eyes as his body shook.

               “Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

               Bronson nodded to the guard and the red laser fence at the entrance to the walls dropped. The two men entered the complex as it came back up and the building shook while the two rail cars passed by overhead.       

               After Cletus was put into the detox cell and Bronson finished the paperwork he was finally able to stow his gear in the locker room, a sure sign of what kind of night it would be at work. He was on desk for the first two hours. He still checked his weapon once again and looked over the board to see what he had missed while he had been gone back on Earth.

               “You hear what those koala-fuckers did this time?”

               Opie Pascal had come in behind him with a grin on his face as he finished off a nutrient bar and missed the trashcan with the balled up wrapper.

               “No, I didn’t.”

               “Those Aussie pricks aren’t going to let us send any more people their way, they’re closing off their borders. Hell, the brass says they may stop sending us supplies next. They’re pissing off all of the cities. Valhalla and Mandarin city are both pushing to go to war over this shit.”

               Bronson paused and mulled over the information for a minute as Opie grabbed a watered down soda from the fridge.

               “I just don’t get it man. They’ve gone native.”

               “They were the only ones that weren’t infected. They were smart and shut the borders off before it could get over there.” Bronson answered him in an informative manner as if Opie didn’t already know the reason. The other officer scoffed as his soda opened with a pop.

               “They were too chicken shit scared to come up here and now they think we’re going to infect them by coming back down or something? I don’t get it.” He kicked the chair out from under the table to sit on it. “I think we should go down there. Take that place over, grow our own shit. It’s our damn right; most of us are from Earth originally.”

               “Riots still going on in Cairo City,” Bronson asked, changing the subject.

               “Nah,” Opie said pulling up an electronic pad to read the news. “They got that shit handled, I knew they would.”

               Bronson simply nodded to his fellow guard and excused himself, heading out of the room. Opie was just one of the many men that he felt didn’t deserve to be a guard. In truth they were bullies or hate-filled individuals who wanted the power and authority that came with the shield. The ability to carry a weapon when others couldn’t and to make people respect you because of how hard you could make their lives here appealed to people like Opie Pascal. They had to have a talk with him about using his position to stalk his ex-girlfriend a couple of times.

               Bronson took his job seriously, and the oath he swore was to protect not harass. He headed to the front of the building to the desk. There he’d spend a couple of hours watching the monitoring boards and answering calls. Other officers came in and out of the building and spoke to him or discussed reports they were handing in. He fielded several information calls and put out a few dispatches of reports to different locations outside of the French Quarter. It wasn’t until his time at the desk was almost up that he got the domestic abuse call.

               The buzzer went off and the address scrolled across the small screen in a sickly green text. Bronson stood and straightened his uniform before he checked his pistol for the fourth time that night. Opie was heading towards the desk as Bronson headed out.

               “I’m answering the 414 before I start my patrol. Everyone else is handling something else.”

               “Okay,” he said as he set his ass down in the chair where it would spend the rest of the night. “Yeah I’m good.”

               “You’ve got the desk for the rest of the night,” He stated the obvious to Opie to make sure he did his job. Something that he hated he had to do to feel better about leaving him alone there.

               He nodded to the man in the guard hut as the laser fence came back on behind him. Double checking the address on his electronic palm he turned to the left and headed towards the apartment buildings the business owners and their families stayed in. The street was quiet tonight for the most part as he passed by the different colored buildings. He took a glance towards the White Tiger and the other clubs. He knew Nyx was at work tonight and still needed to pass off her part of the credits to her. Bronson wasn’t a fan of going into those establishments though unless there was a reason for him to be there, especially while he was in uniform.

               He was two streets away from the address and the possibilities of the scenario began running through his mind. Nothing he hadn’t dealt with before but the spats of jealous lovers can sometimes turn unintentionally violent. When two people are in a heated argument, you arrive suddenly to break it up. You are the new aggressor and the focus of their anger. It didn’t matter. He was always cautious and would judge the situation once he got there. He was already planning out the route he would take for his patrols tonight. He liked to change things up so that he didn’t become predictable.

               Turning on to Kings Rd. he realized that he was being followed. It wasn’t uncommon to see two soldiers walking the normal beat down here with the guards, but there were usually circumstances behind it. The late hour made it odd as well. Bronson eyed them for a moment as his hand moved slowly to his side. They were both carrying weapons; one of them had a scoped assault rifle slung over his shoulder.

               “Officer Bronson,” one of the men called out when it was obvious that they had been spotted.

               The three men stood almost alone on the windy street eyeing each other. Bronson nodded and glanced down at his badge, letting them know they could check it. He felt uncomfortable though and his hand didn’t move from where it was as the other came to rest on his hip.

               “This is for you,” the soldier in the hat said, outstretching a hand with the small electronic pad in it. There was a smug expression that stood out to Bronson.

               “You mind,” he asked, pointing down to his own badge around his neck.

               The two marines glanced at each other as if this was unusual. They both reached for the chains around their necks and pulled out the metal badges that hung around them. Bronson took out the PDA device from his belt and after running a thumb across the screen a green light emerged that he ran over the barcodes on their badges. Each one gave him a polite tone of acceptance. When he was done he simply nodded and took the data pad that the man had offered him.

               His eyes scanned over the same document and symbol at the bottom that Nyx’ had not long before. He read parts of it again. Handing it back to the soldier he folded his arms in front of him.

               “I understand,” Bronson acknowledged to them. “Currently I am on a distress call but I’ll go to his office as soon as I’m off shift.”

               “That won’t be necessary officer. Someone else has already been dispatched for that call. Your presence in the President’s office is required sooner rather than later. We can take you straight there.”

               Nodding to the two soldiers he felt that familiar sinking sensation he didn’t like starting up again in his stomach. 

For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 2

                Above the Earth existed a new colony, a shining example of man’s progression and ability to overcome the harshness of any environment. It took time, but they gathered in the home of the gods and built their array of metal and continued out from it in different structures and massive tunnels until it stretched over a third of the sky around their former home. It was now their new home. Still they ravaged mother Earth for their supplies with great metal arms that reached down into the depths of the planet to steal what the dead could not. With the iron fist of the former world’s militaries governing over them, man and woman from many different regions and cultures would have to learn to live together in a new floating city of Babel.

               The Mithras docked in Elysium city after meeting the proper protocols. Four men wearing all black thick suits and dome like helmets came out with long tubes in their hands. Each man positioned himself at a different point of the ship. A hiss broke from each tube. The switch on the bottom was flipped and pure blue flames with yellow tips kissed the metal hull of the Mithras on each side to cleanse it from its journey.

Once the fire had stopped and the four cleaners had pulled back their hoses the rest of the crew descended upon the ship like a swarm of worker ants. The pilot released the pistons and with a groan the back cargo bay door and side entrance that lead into the cockpit chamber lowered. Two metal clanks sounded off simultaneously as the passengers all gathered their gear.

Pierce didn’t make eye contact with anyone from the ship as he turned the engine of the ATV over and rode it down the metal ramp out into the hold. He was eager to reach decontamination first.

“Got a bad feeling,” Bronson said out loud as he carried his pack in one hand and their bounty in the other.

“When do you not,” Nyx asked with a smirk as she pushed strands of her hair away from her eyes, the area still hot from the flames, and now the smell of gasses and oil filled their noses. They began to walk around the ship. A twin sized duffle bag was thrown from inside the cockpit door and landed beside them.

“Damn these thirty-six hour shifts,” Tower exclaimed as he threw more bags down. They made a thud on the metal floor that caused a few heads to turn their way. “I’m so tired I feel like one of the corpses we just left.”

The two hunters regarded Tower as he came down the ramp and smiled at both of them. Nyx was the only one to return the smile.

“Sorry about asshole over there,” he waved a hand in the direction Pierce had sped off. “Too many like him these days, trying to make money at any cost. I don’t mind hauling people like you two around. You haven’t stopped giving a shit about other people yet,” he shook his head, “even if you might have to shoot em’ someday.”

“Thanks,” Nyx wasn’t above taking a compliment from a smiling face.

“We better go,” Bronson said. Turning, he looked back over his shoulder at Tower. “Thanks, I’ll keep you in mind next time we go down.”

The pair walked across the large expanse that was the main cargo hold for Elysium city. They went through the sliding metal doors into a long corridor that had instructions in multiple languages written on the walls in different colors, all about protocols and containment procedures.

“You’re one for one today.”

“I’m not here to make friends, Nyx.”

“Oh,” she scoffed. “A fact of which I am painfully aware. The first time we met you put me in handcuffs.”

“Procedure.”

She laughed at his response. “They still have you guarding the French Quarter, or did your transfer finally come in so you can leave me?”

“I’m still there. I’m sure I’ll see you at some point tonight.”

“Right,” she nodded. “Hey, I want to go grab a shower and a quick nap before work if possible. You okay with running the heads by yourself, just give me the credits later?”

“You trusting me with your half of the money, that isn’t like you.”

She laughed hard at that and threw her head back slightly as they reached the end of the hallway which broke off into ten different smaller pathways.

“If I can’t trust you, Bronson, I can’t trust anyone on this floating shit pile.”

He didn’t respond to her. They broke up and took two adjacent paths out of the ten. At the end of the smaller tunnels were large metal doors with a small octagon of glass and several warning labels, one of which was against radiation. A loud hiss as the door opened and the room decompressed for each of them.

The doors shut behind them in their separate rooms. Several vents lined the ceiling and metal grates ran across the floors. Four small circular white lights framed the two doors. There was a table and several pull out drawers on the left wall. The lights turned from white to yellow and the two began.

Before Bronson could do anything else he opened up the drawer marked “bio-organic specimens”. Careful in his task, he removed each of the six heads and placed them in there with space in between each. Once satisfied with their positioning he slid the drawer shut tightly and locked the handle back into place.

Nyx had no need for the first drawer, she opened the second first. Inside her machete and pistol were placed. The radio, that she had worked hard to earn, had been placed down separately and gently. Lastly, she reached down and fathered up the ends of each shirt in her fingers before pulling them all up over her head. The clothes were discarded onto the small table that was built into the wall. In between her breasts, above the faded brown sports bra was the golden cross on the long silver chain she wore. It was placed in the box on top of everything before shutting and securing it.

Bronson’s guns and dog tags were put in the second drawer on his side. They were also carefully placed, safeties on. They would be cleaned later, as he did after every trip out. Bandana and mask inside his hat he placed it down on the table. He unclasped his belt and then his holsters and leg straps. His boots and pants were on the table next followed by his shirt and brown boxers. He was stripped clean of clothing and anything else on his person. Bronson was tall and muscular with long dark hair that was getting to the length he had begun to put it in a ponytail. His body wore the scars of war, next to his tattoos of service on his arms. His left calf was missing a large chunk that had grown back at a right angle, a pound of flesh he had lost.

Nyx’ clothes were also discarded onto the table as well. She had shorter auburn hair that barely made it down to her shoulders. She was tanned, but not as evenly as she would have liked. She was thin and her muscles were toned from the work that she put in with Bronson and the others. The tattoo that took up the majority of her back was a large cross with the full moon behind it. It was something she valued, something no one could take away.

Both placed their feet where the outlined diagram showed on the floor. Nyx always tensed up at this part. The yellow lights near each door darkened into a sickly orange and began to rotate in large circles around the room, shining their lights in circular patterns. The two hunters closed their eyes tightly. A chilling gas that smelled like mint shot down from the vents above engulfing the room. Before the gas was fully settled six small silver spigots popped up from the metal grating at their feet. Liquid shot out in a continuous wave from the rotating nozzles. Burning against their flesh, the liquid mixed with the gas and hardened into an almost cream-like shell over their skin.

No matter how many times she went through it, Nyx still flinched and shivered while the bio-bath was going on. Bronson simply put his mind somewhere else. To him it was still better than a trip to the dentist.

The vents calmed and the spigots sank back down underneath the grates. A tone sounded. The spinning lights stopped their motion and turned a bright green of approval. After a pause Bronson clenched his fists, his muscles flexed. Several large pieces of the new off-yellow shell broke apart and fell away. Popping his neck roughly, many of the other pieces followed and fell to the floor falling down into the metal grates to be disposed of. Nyx preferred to use her fingernails to get the material off of her as fast as possible, not liking the itchy feeling it gave.

The next step would be to clean the shell off of your clothes. They had learned to simply shake the item furiously until the substance broke apart. It didn’t take long for the material to begin to evaporate as the room’s temperature increased, after temporarily becoming a goo-like substance.               

Nyx was usually out first. Bronson saw her give a wave of her hand as she crossed the rest of the bio-tech area and headed under the large electronic archway that would take her home. Bronson went to the table just outside of the door that had let him out. The two drawers awaited him. He first retrieved his weapons and secured them and his dog tags back in place. The second drawer contained the heads, now sealed in plastic with a yellow dye lining the inside that showed that they were not contaminated. He opened up the black canvas bag and replaced them each in the pattern he liked. Cargo returned to his shoulder he headed across the room to a different archway, one that spelled out “Titan Gardens” in electronic blue letters. The same name and directions to other places that were this way were broadcasting across the archway in other colors and different languages.

“Weapons, ID’s, and anything you’re bringing back from outside, I need to see it!”

Bronson followed the voice of the bellowing security guard up to the checkpoint. Reaching into a pocket he produced a small black piece of thick folded leather. From between the folds he produced the metallic card with his picture and information on them. The guard scanned them and then looked to the rifle on Bronson’s back and the pistols on his side.

“Gonna need those.”

Without answering Bronson flipped open the top of the black leather to reveal a golden plate. The image of a black and gold bird with a barcode under it caused the guard to raise an eyebrow and then nod.

“Right, well you can keep the pistols but the rifle still has to go in your storage unit.”

“I’m aware,” Bronson said as he pulled the black canvas bag from his shoulder and pulled open the draw strings so the man could see inside.

“Ah,” he remarked with a smile, “productive day for you.” A small device the shape of a pen spread a green laser out over the heads. The guard counted them and then marked something down on an electronic pad. Motioning Bronson to step through the scanner, he buzzed him through. Nyx always had to leave her weapons in her storage compartment outside of the main city. Bronson’s job made it where he could carry most weapons on him at all times, just in case, it was the main reason he wanted the position. He stopped at the personal holds section of strong metal framed lockers. At locker G-18 he paused and entered an eight digit code that he knew by heart. He checked his rifle and wiped it down with a cloth after removing the ammunition and separating the scope from the weapon.

Past the check point were the platforms. The rail systems were all running through this point, as they did with the other five major points. He walked to his marker up by the purple line and waited. Standing there, bags in hand, he thought back to before all of this. When he was much younger he would wait for the subway in New York to go see his father or a baseball game. There were so many differences to this, but the reminder was always there.

The outskirts of the city, places like this, were pretty bare at this hour. First shift had ended and second shift would be preparing to leave soon. Unless your third shift job was on the outer rim of the space colony, at this time, you were either heading to bed or to the French Quarter. Everyone had to have a job after age sixteen, based off of your test scores and what you could do. There were no exceptions. Bronson was a security guard. He didn’t mind his job because it felt like a service. He felt like he was doing something good for what was left.

An electronic hum began softly along the singular metal rail and grew louder as four speeding platforms rode it into the station. The platforms had no operator on them, just markers to show you where to board them. The purple circle indicated where you could stand. There were several people riding the rail to other stops. Bronson chose the rectangular block with the fewest number of people on it. There was a buzz that let them know that the magnetic field which held them all in place and kept them from being thrown off was activating. It took some getting used to, suddenly feeling ten pounds heavier and restricting your movement until the next stop. He wasn’t going far though.

One of the perks for being a guard was opting to live in Titan square, in the Titan Gardens district. It was the safest place in Elysium city. They were mostly single room one person living areas. No smoking, no pets, just the way Bronson liked it. The gardens were a mixture of metal and stone along the floors and walls with a sprinkling of real trees and flowers amongst all of the fake ones. There were a series of solar windows that opened up in the roof and walls to help light the gardens, one of the few places where natural light could get through. The sun’s rays were so harmful though that the shutters had to rotate depending on the time of day. Bronson lowered the brim of his hat to block out the sun as he crossed the marble-lined courtyard to his quarters.

In the back of the quarter, in building H, Bronson entered his single-room apartment. The walls were off-white with nothing on them and the ceiling was bare other than the lights and two vents. There was a desk with a small computer console on it and a bed with black sheets but no frame, it rested close to the floor.  Next to the bathroom with the stand-up shower was a small closet. He slid the door to the closet open and pulled a silver case from behind some old boxes. In the case he replaced his two .45 pistols and retrieved his guard-issue service piece. A 9mm. weapon that was also equipped with a flashlight on the bottom of the barrel and a sun setting. The handle came to life when he touched it, requiring a thumb print for the safety to be removed.

Bronson then re-secured the silver case in its hiding place and pulled out a coat hanger with a grey suit on it. The wide shouldered padded guard’s suit was thick and heavy. In the grey of the fabric were several strips of armor woven into the cloth down the legs and arms with a sheer plate over the chest and back. The black belt that went with it held two pockets of ammunition, hard-light cuffs, and a collapsible baton in a holder on the side. He slid his guard-issue pistol in on the right hand side and finished the suit off by placing the grey cap on his head which showed his extra rank for military service in gold bars. Removing the black folded leather piece from earlier he turned it inside out and hung it around a silver chain that hung from his neck, the gold and black bird showing above the barcode for all to see.

               Black canvas bag in hand, there was one more place to stop before work. A quick ride out of the Titan Gardens and into the Trade District changed the scenery from a bright and new feeling to that of dark browns and hastily built structures with a lower ceiling under the area. The street lamps here were dull and the sidewalks were filthy, that was nothing compared to the smell though. The rails ran above the district, which caused the rattling and humming sounds that echoed through the alleyways. To Bronson, this place was the closest he had ever felt to home out here.

               Towards the back of the Trade District was a grouping of buildings in a semi-circle that all had flashing neon and advertisements for making credits. The furthest building down the row had a red and white cross on it with a young girl standing outside of it. She was dressed as a nurse in an excessively short white skirt and a push-up bra to show off her breasts in the outfit. She was passing out fliers about donating plasma for credits. Next to it was a slightly cleaner building that advertised that they wanted to purchase semen samples. There were a few other buildings, nothing illegal out in the open like this though. The three largest buildings in the large semi-circle though were the ones that didn’t out themselves on their signs. “The Sandstorm Company”, “Wolsten”, “Dead Man Inc”, they were all laid out in different types and fonts on their signs. They all wanted the same thing.

Bronson’s choice though was “Cada-dine”. Bronson preferred his evils to be of the lesser variety. Cada-dine hadn’t given up on everyone, on Earth; they were still actively trying to find a cure. At least they were convincing about it. Walking in, there was another cold mist that sprayed him down before the other set of doors opened and the lounge music of the white sterile lobby hit his ears. He went and stood in line behind the other two customers. His right hand gripped the canvas bag tightly as his left rested on his hip with the back of his hand touching the handle of the pistol, anxiously.

When his time came the young Indian girl behind the counter in her black business suit smiled at him. Her name tag read Sandeep.

“Back again,” she asked, handing him a tablet to begin filling out the electronic paperwork.

Bronson nodded, “six today, split two ways if you would.”

“Not bad for just two of you. How’s your partner anyway?”

“She’s fine, thanks.”

Her finger twirled in the strands of her straight long dark hair as she waited for him to finish. When the paperwork was done he double checked the tablet, scrolling back through and then handing it to her.

“How is it down there these days? I haven’t been in over a decade.”

The door to the side opened and a man in a white containment suit came out. Bronson opened the black canvas bag and the man removed the six plastic bagged heads of the former living dead and placed them on a small cart.

“Probably better you don’t, to be honest.”

“Oh,” she mused, sliding the two small disks through the machine. “I’m sure if I went down with you I’d be fine.”   

Bronson forced a smile and held his hand out palm up for the two small circular discs. Sandeep deposited them into his hand.

“Thanks for your business. We’ll put them to good use.”

Bronson nodded and turned from the counter. He headed out the door, folding up the now empty canvas bag in his hand. Checking the time, he turned to head towards the French Quarter. It was connected to the Trade District by two large multi-level tubes. Bronson walked up on the top level as transports and people on personal use vehicles sped down below him heading to and from. As he walked he could see the Earth through the glass out one side and the distant reaches of space out the other. Seeing both of these views was one of the things that made him appreciate walking this way. Lying in between two of the most unattractive parts of the city was this serene view. No work, nothing dead; from up here, everything still looked normal. 

For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 1

               High above, on their perch they were safe. Flat on their stomachs the two individuals laid across the old cracked pavement motionless. The larger figure dressed in blacks and dark browns, his form extended by the rifle he held, stared down the lens of a high powered scope. The second individual was shorter, dressed in grays and dark greens with a hood for protection.

               “You’re clear,” a soft voice said from underneath the hood, a pair of camouflaged binoculars jutting out from underneath the cloth.

               The old bridge that connected the road over the deep valley had been broken on both sides for several years. The wind blew past their ears and the heat beat down on them, the sun was vicious these days. From their perch they peered down at their prey, a lucky lone straggler. Through the scope he could see the young Asian woman, or what was left of her, fidgeting at the hole in her stomach as she stumbled across the rocks. She wore nothing but the muddied jeans and leaves in her hair. Her breasts were small and perky but accented by the large pink and purple butterfly tattoo that had been splattered with dried blood.

               Bronson couldn’t help but think she was probably an attractive woman at one point, but that would have been before she had started walking around without her lower jaw. Now his sights on the custom scope were lined up perfectly between her eyes. He looked past the make-shift suppressor on the weapon and tried his best to account for the wind, he was no amateur though. His gloved finger caressed the trigger with a cool contemplated action. He had been watching her for almost thirty minutes, just waiting for his spotter to make sure all of the other elements were right.

               The rifle made deafening thump, but the noise wouldn’t carry across the valley, and that was the important part. Discretion and subtlety were words to live by in their line of work. Through the scope he saw the small puff of red mist spray from the back of the once beautiful woman’s head. There was a pause that might have been something akin to respect as he looked away, allowing the body to slowly slump to its knees and then on the ground.

               “Count em’, Nyx.”

               She paused and pulled back the hood revealing her short black hair and a devious smirk of deep purple lips.

               “What, you think they’ve multiplied magically?”Standing, she began to brush the dust from her pants and elbows, a fruitless effort out here. “You know it’s been a shitty day. Let’s just bag the heads and get back early.”

               His lips didn’t move. There was just a deep growl in his throat that showed his displeasure to her notion.

               “Hey, I’ve still got to work tonight and I’m betting you do too,” she said wagging a finger at him. “So forgive me if I’d like a few extra minutes to myself.” She said as her eyes glanced upwards at the hot burning sky.

               She quickly replaced the hood and reached down next to where she had been lying, fingers wrapping around the handle of the machete. She gave him one last glance to let him know that she really was done for the day before grabbing the long black spun cords of rope.

               Bronson finally stood and removed his wide brimmed black hat. He slung the rifle over his back and adjusted his side holster with the old colt .45 with the long nosed barrel that he had stolen. The metal of the gun reflected the light of the sun brightly when it wasn’t covered up by the old dirtied duster. His tanned cargo pants and black muscle shirt were torn and singed a bit as well ever since the incident with the fire two weeks back.

               Nyx had already secured the rope around the metal support and was tightening it to her waist. He didn’t like her going down first but she was at the point where she had become impatient. Their hours were long out here: and with the heat on top of everything, keeping arguments to a minimal was preferred. Bronson wasn’t a huge talker anyway and they had been doing this long enough for her to know what she was doing. Even with that being true, he still watched her as she rappelled down the supports for the old bridge. It wasn’t easy getting up or down, but it was the best spot they had found so far, especially for their methods.

               Nyx hit the ground, her hand on the handle of the machete at her belt, just in case. She unhooked and made sure the rope was ready for her partner. A quick nod to let him know and then she was off to start what she referred to as the fun part.

               There were only six today, but that was six thousand credits which meant three thousand credits for each of them. It was more than they could hope to make in a week at their so-called jobs. So though she hated it, Nyx raised the machete from its sheath and let it pause in the air as she focused. The bright hot sun reflected off the metal before it quickly came down and cut into the dead Asians woman’s neck. She’d do three. Bronson would get the others, that was how this partnership worked. She was already cutting the little dangling bits off of the neck base when her partner made it down with their bag.

               Reaching into the black canvas bag he removed several smaller bags and handed three to her before beginning his own work in the valley. The two worked in silence. It wasn’t like the conversation was going to be all that interesting but this practice also helped them listen out for threats while they were tending to the heads of the deceased.

               Once all of the heads were bagged and secured in the black canvas bag it was time to go. Bronson threw it over the same shoulder as the rifle, adjusting both straps to make sure they were secured in place. Nyx always offered to carry the bag, she had worked hard to prove her worth down here and she would have run herself in to the ground to show she was tough enough to do the job. Bronson always refused though, saying the weight of the bag on a good day would slow them down if she carried it. He didn’t let her carry it on light days either though, which she didn’t like. The truth was though that if something ever happened to the cargo in question, whoever was carrying the bag would be held responsible and he didn’t want to put that on her. This was a risk versus rewards job and it was a little too easy to not get any reward if you messed up.

               The pair walked out of the valley the same way they had come in, each observant though they were both already in the mindset of what they would do when they returned back home. Once out of the valley they could see what used to be the city to their right. The skeletons of old sky scrapers and temples of the all-powerful dollar lay hollowed out, destroyed, or just abandoned amongst an almost desert terrain. Even though it wasn’t discussed, each time they got to this point Bronson would pause and admire the city for a moment or two and Nyx remained quiet in this time. Though the more they came down the less he seemed to linger. It had been years after all.

               The two followed what used to be Interstate 15 for five miles. They stopped to rest after they reached the once green faded road sign that read: “Las Vegas 20m”, a usual rest place for them. There were fewer dangers on the road.

               “Wanna call in?”

               Bronson nodded to her. Nyx reached down to her belt where there was a small black box attached with several blinking blue and green lights that let her know the device was working and connected. She removed a slender ear piece and stick from the box. Placing it in her ear and listening across the channel before she spoke, she cleared her throat.

               “Rat pack calling Mithras, rat pack calling Mithras,” there was a pause as she called the sun god. “Come in Mithras.”

               “Mithras here,” a broken voice said across the line.

               “Requesting extraction Mithras, when is your next scheduled pick-up?”

               There was a few seconds of radio silence, a moment that always made Nyx nervous.

               “I’ve got ya, girl. I’m coming in now. There’s another party needing a lift at LZ-121 if you can hoof it over there you can ride.”

               The man on the comm. With the southern accent sounded friendly but she got his meaning, don’t be late unless you want to get left. They could always wait for another transport but then what was the point of knocking off early this trip? She glanced at Bronson to make sure he agreed with her but the big man had already started walking.

               “Roger Mithras, party of two incoming to LZ-121. See you there.”

               If there was a response she didn’t wait for it. The earpiece and microphone were replaced on the black box as she picked up the pace to catch her partner. Running in this heat could spell disaster if you weren’t careful. Bronson knew all of the survival tricks though, and he had made sure Nyx had learned enough not to slow him down.

               The landing zone was only two miles from where they were and they had made pretty good time. It was an old abandoned drive in theatre, now just a flat paved surface really with a few lingering structures that showed what used to go on there. They leaned against the wall of the former concessions stand and Bronson checked the canvas sack, checking their investment.

               “Looks like we’re the first ones here,” Nyx said re-adjusting her sleeves and hood after the run. She lifted the collar of her shirt to check for the golden cross on the silver chain that she wore around her neck. “I’m not used to waiting on them.”

               “I used to hate waiting for trains,” Bronson grumbled. “Best and worst part about New York was the public transportation.”

               Nyx sneered, “I bet it was nice before, you just don’t like anything.”

               There was a rumble in the sky, like if thunder was set on loop.

               “There we go. I don’t hate that sound.”

               Nyx laughed and stood. She was feeling more relaxed now since they were about to leave and was about to say something snarky to him. That was when she noticed him staring off into the distance though at a small dust cloud over a hill, she had to squint to see it. Right then the black box attached to her waist began to vibrate violently against her and she almost jumped. It was a warning. Her hand moved quickly to retrieve the headpiece and place it back to her ear. Again she paused to listen across the airways before doing anything else. This time a frantic voice, no Mithras but someone else, was yelling across the radio.

               “That boat better be ready to go! I’ve got a whole horde of dead fucks behind me! Do you hear me Mithras, anyone!?”

               “Bron, we’ve got trouble.”

               Before she could even finish he had already thrust the Canvas bag in her arms and was bringing his rifle up. The sun flared slightly off of the rifle’s scope, there was no prep time and these would be hard shots.

               From the dust cloud, over the hill an ATV popped up with a small jump from its speed. As it landed back in the sand the tiny vehicle bucked and pulled the wrong way, leaving the driver trying to regain control. The goggles and head gear of the rider wore didn’t look familiar to Nyx. She didn’t have time to think about that though as she saw the other spots coming over the hill, bobbing heads and shoulders all walking grouped together. There had to be thirty or forty of them at least she thought: all different colors, shapes, and sizes and all hungry.

               Even if Bronson’s rifle wasn’t silenced she wouldn’t have heard the shots. The sky broke out in another loud roar as the blue-white flames of afterburners burned away the clouds above them. A halo-like circle had been made as the grey metal ship that was about the size of a small house came in slowly to land on the old cracked pavement.

               Throwing the canvas bag over one shoulder Nyx fished for her sidearm with her free hand, though she wasn’t sure if this was going to go well if they got close enough for her to use it. Bronson’s rifle moved just slightly after each pull of the trigger, taking out the ones closest to them. He knew this wasn’t going to do much though as he saw the others piling over the hill, a wall of corpses that he had nowhere near enough bullets for. A part of him couldn’t help but realize how much money he was sacrificing there as well. Bullets were expensive and there were no heads to show for them.

               The ATV sputtered as it hit the main road and raced towards the parking lot. Nyx looked up at the craft, their way home, and silently prayed for it to move faster. From the cockpit the pilot eyed the situation and his hands moved quickly. The ship spun around with a burst of the right afterburner. The large dome-like cylinder shot out a blue flame and now the back of the ship faced them. Without even touching the ground yet the large cargo door fell slowly with the robotic pistons that held it in place.

               “In, now,” the voice said over the outside speaker system.

               The metal door clanked on the pavement as the ship hovered off the ground still just a bit, its struts shaking from the tension of the still pulsing engines. Nyx looked up to see the ATV turn sharply up onto the ramp with another choking sputter. The vehicle didn’t slow much and had to screech to a halt in the loading dock of the Mithras.

               Bronson fired one more shot with his rifle into the fray hitting the lead ghoul in the ankle, almost obliterating it. The figure slumped and fell but there was no time to make sure it stumbled up his brethren, like Bronson had hoped it would. He turned sharply as the rifle strap was flung back over his shoulder. He glanced to Nyx, she was safe and she had the bag. The door to the cargo area was already closing. He heard the mechanical whirring of the pistons as they struggled to speed through the closing procedure.

               “Let’s go,’ barked the man in the goggles at the pilot.

The door wasn’t closed yet though and Bronson was already climbing in up over the lip of the ramp. He cussed as he slid down the metal. The door wasn’t even sealed yet when the pilot called back.

“Hold on to something!”

There was a rumble and the tail end took a small dip as the thrusters re-adjusted. The horde that had been following behind the rider was almost at the ship, and they’d pay for that. The engines roared and the flames shot out in two heavy plumes of hot whites and blues which incinerated the first few corpses and burned about five or six others to the ground where they stood. The ship shot upwards and Nyx could see out the side that the once faded pavement was now pitch black with little splashes of color from the flaming bodies.

They soon hit the clouds and the rumbling of the ship lessened. Nyx had been clutching the canvas bag the whole way up to make sure nothing had happened to it. She was turning to ask Bronson if he was alright even though she knew the answer, her surprise was that he was not only already standing but with a single punch had just knocked the other cowboy off of his feet and onto the metal grate floor.

“You piece of shit!”

The guy looked stunned from his new position on the floor. Nyx wasn’t used to seeing Bronson this angry, she wasn’t sure if she should try to intervene or not. It didn’t matter though. Her partner hadn’t finished his tongue lashing.

“You recklessly endangered all of us by going into a populated area didn’t you? You took in a vehicle when you’ve been warned the noise attracts them, didn’t you?”

Bronson raised his hand again as if he were going to backhand the man. He wasn’t going to, until the guy started reaching for his sidearm, the one he couldn’t even bother to use to help the others with the mess he had made.

“Back off,” the guy stuttered out as he pulled the pistol. A size thirteen black boot was already pinning his wrist back down to the metal though.

“For what,” Bronson asked the guy as he glanced over at the ATV and the green sack with blood stains at the bottom, “three, four heads? You almost got us killed for that?”

“Fuck you,” the rider hissed. “Let me up, now. You don’t know who I work for.”

The cockpit door swung open just after the boat finally leveled off.

“What the hell is going on,” the pilot asked with an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, his uncut blonde hair hanging over his eyes slightly.

“Get him off of me!”

Bronson finally obliged and took his boot off of the man, but he was watching him closely. Tension stained the air as the hull shook and the atmosphere was broken. The pilot looked over Bronson and Nyx, then to the other man. He looked around before speaking to him.

“You’re Jonah Pierce, the guy that called me down earlier right? Thought there were three of you?”

“They didn’t make it,” the rider said with a crack in his voice. “I’m the one that called you, but they got eaten.”

“Great,” the pilot remarked sarcastically. “Two more problems to deal with next time we come down.” He turned to Bronson and Nyx. “I’m glad you two were here, I’m Tower, Jason Tower.” He extended a hand to both of them. “I’m going to get us underway, you guys sit tight.”

Tower headed back to the cockpit and shut the door. There was a moments pause where Bronson was looking across the cargo bay at Pierce.

“Once again you prove to be good at making friends,” Nyx commented with a smirk.

“We saved his life,” Bronson said low. “He endangered ours, he’s lucky I don’t report his ass.”

A voice broke back over the intercom, Tower making sure he had made his point. “Keep it friendly back there while I’m taking us in. I’m overworked enough as is without you guys causing a ruckus.”

Pierce shot his two saviors a look before he began checking over his ATV. Nyx and Bronson strapped into the bench on the side of the hold, the green leather straps and silver metal buckles securing them into place. The shaking began to increase and Pierce almost fell over trying to strap himself in.

Bronson eyed the small leather pouch that Pierce had his hand clutched firmly to, something more important than the heads he had collected. Glancing at Nyx to tell her something, he realized she was caught up in the spectacle outside of the ship again. He glanced out the thick dusty window with her as the last bits of blue faded into black and the engines burned hot and fierce to propel them further upwards. Amongst the blackness of space, just above the planet, a web of metal and lights stretched outward. Their home, amongst the stars, grew closer. Nyx watched it in awe. She hated Earth, and she whispered a silent prayer every time they left unharmed. 

The Job No One Wants

            “Why do we need help?”

            “John,” Phil paused, “You’re a dumb twat, but not for that reason alone, I’ll explain it in full.”

            Phil was a cranky old man to begin with but when you threw the fact that they were trying to do something illegal on top of that. The four men sat around the old stone table at the even older Irish pub. They could hear the trains riding the rails in the distance and the commotion of the patrons inside to their left of their round table. It was cold out, even for New York State. They wanted privacy and this was a good way. Phil was a convicted felon, even if it was years ago, there was no assurance his place still wasn’t tapped.

            “You think you’re all set to break into a fortune 500 private security company because you have a professional safe-cracker and a stone cold killer on your side?” Phil had continued after taking a drink from the pint in front of him. “You’ve never even done this before. Last I heard the biggest crime you were up to was robbing old women of their pension checks.”

            John would have usually had a sarcastic remark for that. He said nothing, because it was true. Castor was eyeing them both waiting for Phil to get to the point. He didn’t like being exposed like this. Castor didn’t really like Phil either, every chance he got he referred to him as their hired killer. Killer or not, he was starting to realize these guys were the only people he could tolerate.

            “You need some inside information.”

            “We have an insider,” Ryan finally spoke up.

            “Your girlfriend doesn’t fucking count.” Phil shook his head. “When I say inside information I mean floor plans, security details, and access codes.”

            “She can get that stuff!”

            “Right, well what about when Lela gets caught and she vanishes on you, eh? She’s useless to you then, and you’re out your girl.” He snorted. “Plus I ain’t confident she could get it done.”

            “Enough.”

            “Plus you started with her for her looks, not her hacking and espionage skills I’d assume.”

            “Enough,” Ryan said a second time.

            “Why this chick that you’ve found then,” John switched the subject but he was doing it out of his own curiosity.

            “Varla Samson, the only person who actually has an axe to grind with Condor Security like you do.”

            “And why is that,” Castor exclaimed in between glances around the stone patio.

            “Varla Samson is a shareholder in Condor Security. She has access to all of the things we need and a grudge against Michael Temple, the CEO.”

            “What’s her gripe?”

            “Well Jonny-boy, let’s just say it had something to do with her little sister and a bottle of lube. She fell victim to Mr. Temple and his little soldiers.”

            “Wonderful,” Ryan scoffed.

            “Just keep that in mind for what could happen if he catches little Lela.”

            “That won’t happen.”

            “Don’t get defensive over your girlfriend, it could happen, anything could happen and that is why we should be prepared.” Castor was right and Phil knew it. He had to make sure these boys knew exactly what they were dealing with on all fronts.

            “Varla could be our greatest ally or a fearsome enemy if we aren’t careful. She’s going to expect us to try and fuck her over, I’d imagine, so we need to make sure that we don’t give her any reason to believe that we have.”

            A young couple emerged from the side door of the bar. They were laughing about something and the noise caused a shush over the whole group as they stared at the intruders. The girl pulled her jacket tighter around her, partially because of the cold but some due to feeling exposed in front of these men.

            “Let’s go over here…,” the young man’s voice trailed off.

            “You three could scare away a corpse,” John quipped.

            “Let em go find somewhere else to screw, get back to your story old man.”

            Phil finished off his pint and nodded to Castor’s request.

            “Reason I urge caution is Varla may not seem like it but she is quite the little killer.” He looked up at the night sky, recalling the tale. “She used to live in a penthouse down on Lexington, nice place but not big on the security. It was pretty well known that she had quite the nice art collection ranging from Georgia O’Keeffe to obscure Rodins. A guy that used to be called Mick Tanner broke into her place one night with intent to steal all of these and any petty cash he could find lying around. He was an amateur safe cracker and a pretty shitty fence but he had managed some decent scores and found himself a sneaky little way in through the roof.”

            “Get to the point…”

            “Let him finish Ryan.”

            Phil paused and eyed Ryan harshly, he hated being interrupted.

            “Right, so he goes and gets a bunch of the paintings from her main room but all the good stuff is in the bedroom with her in a safe. He figured he’d just slip in and nip her in the back of the head one good time and be gone before she had the chance to wake up. Seemed like a good idea until he went in there and saw her all sprawled across the sheets with her face planted in the pillow and nothing but a pair of black panties on. She used to be some kind of swimsuit model or something; still shows too after all these years. So Mick, he hesitates, really thinks he’s screwed the pouch on this one too because the door woke her up and her tired ass isn’t going to take too long to realize what’s going on.”

            “I swear this sounds like a porno,” John muttered.

            “It kind of is. She realizes what he’s doing but all her shit is insured and the important stuff he’s not going to be able to fence without letting people know where it is. She’s got a little bit of an exhibitionist in her, so she decides to let him in her, right? I guess she thought ol’ Mick should be thrilled for the opportunity at such a pretty girl but it wasn’t really the case. Sure, he dropped pants and went at her, enjoyed her quite a bit I’m sure, but then he got greedy. Mick bent her over and started going at her bum to keep that rush of dominance of whatever was getting him off going.”

            “So he raped her,” Ryan sounded unsure of his own question.

            “She may have told him to stop. I don’t know I wasn’t there. Either way, she didn’t like it.”

            “Just finish.” Castor said as he lit another cigarette.

            “Right, that’s what he did. He took advantage of the situation and left his little kids sprayed out all over her and her nice sheets. He took the paintings and locked her in the bedroom to give himself some time to get them all down to his van.”

            “Let me guess,” John said with a smirk, “he was stupid enough to try to fence them here in New York? He got caught.”

            “Oh yeah, no one ever accused ol’ Mick of being overly smart or anything.” He motioned for Castor to hand him one of the cigarettes. Castor paused, keeping count of how many he had taken with that gap toothed smile of his. “So let’s jump ahead two weeks to when someone makes Mick Tanner a deal he can’t refuse on the Rodin. It’s at some warehouse over near 6^th avenue. Mick thinks he’s being all safe by bringing a friend and keeping the paintings in the van until the deal is made. When they come in though it’s all dark and shit and both of them wind up with black hoods over their heads.”

            Phil paused to light the cigarette before continuing.

            “So Mick wakes up bent over some crate and tied down to it. Took him a second or two probably to realize his pants were down round his ankles.”

            “Really,” John questioned with an almost disgusted look on his face.

            “Yep, there he lay all bound and bare for Varla who stood in front of him. She didn’t say nothing though. She just had four big guys there with foreign objects and a coupl of big dildos, told em to pay Micky back for what he had done.”

            “You said he ‘used’ to be called Mick Tanner.”

            “Right you are Ryan, Varla wasn’t finished with him. He was standing there what blood coming out of his arse after those boys were done with him and then she came back. She asked how he liked it or some such and wanted to know if he had learned anything.”

            Phil was a good storyteller. As he paused to take a long puff on the cigarette John and Ryan leaned forward.

            “Well, what did he say,” John said glancing between the other three.

            “Hell if I know,” Phil said letting out a long stream of smoke. “Whatever he said she slit his throat right after that and his body ended up in the river. His friend got dropped off somewhere in Harlem, couldn’t do much about it either he hadn’t seen anyone’s face and neither one of them knew the fake buyers real name.”

            “Right, so she’s killed someone.” Castor wasn’t impressed.

            “And you think just cause you have you shouldn’t be cautious, she’s vicious.”

            “But you’re convinced we need her.”

            “Yes Ryan. Unless you want to take another year planning this perfectly, you need Varla Samson and I can get you a meeting with her.”

            There was a good thirty seconds of silence before anyone spoke up, it was a big decision.

            “Set it up,” Castor finally said.

            Ryan looked at him for a moment. He considered himself the kind of default leader of the group but Castor was right, no one wanted to wait any longer to make this happen. Phil was a good storyteller, but the three young criminals had unfortunately missed his point.